#not being terrified of having every aspect of my life and expression picked apart in my own home. or something

[fruitmouse]

looking at pics of me with long hair is sooooo strange now

[jenomark]

JANUARY

➔Pairing: Doyoung x Reader (Female) | Jaehyun x Reader (Female) ➔Other Members/ Characters: -.- ➔Genre: Plot (ft. smut, romance, angst, fluff etc.) ➔Warnings: Angst ➔Word count: 4,716

➔Summary: You are dating handsome and lovable Jaehyun. You stay at his apartment all of the time, along with his roommate Doyoung. Doyoung has feelings for you, which he doesn’t quite understand. What begins as an innocent crush changes the lives of all three people over the course of seven months.

AUGUST SEPTEMBER OCTOBER NOVEMBER DECEMBER

Jaehyun sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor, leaning back on his arms, his hair a tousled mess, and his eyes red from not sleeping well. Moving never agreed with him. He hated change and how hard it was to settle into newness. He aspired to keep things as they were, which was why he hardly shopped for new shirts or baseball caps. The older and more used things were, the happier they made him feel. He didn’t want to exist in a world where he had to pick out new things to decorate a new apartment with, to pretend like he cared about separate cutting boards, one for meat and the other for vegetables.

Maybe he was just tired of giving a shit altogether.

He sat for a while on the wood floor that was scuffed after having to move his furniture alone. He kicked a lone sheet of bubble wrap with his foot, trying his best just to pop a bubble with his big toe. He blew hot air out of his mouth and looked around, willing his brain not to stir up old memories.

His phone rang and he ignored the call, something he didn’t often do. Jaehyun was a social butterfly. He liked talking to people, and liked the attention at the other end of the call, the way someone could feel excited just by talking to him. He knew the people he loved would be worried about him, and he resented any of those feelings they might have.

“I’m a grown up, for fucks sake.” he had told his mother before he left to pack up his apartment on his own.

His mother didn’t raise an argument, just let her only son go. So, Jaehyun was left alone to pack up his whole life, or what was left of it. By the time he got to the apartment he used to share, more than half of the things were gone. He hadn’t realized how little material possessions he owned, or how easy it was to pack up what he did have.

Jaehyun got to his feet. He knew he had to make a move and look for a new apartment for one person. It really was time to grow up and be the man he always wanted to be. He took one last look around the apartment before he locked it up forever, crossing that threshold and only thinking about you once.

December

“-I cheated on you.” he said. “I cheated on you the night I went to the bar without you.”

He meant it to sting. He wanted to see how the realization would set in, how the relief would slowly be replaced by repulsiveness. Your pretty little face scrunched up with it until you opened your mouth to berate him. More than anything, he wanted you to blame him for ruining the relationship, to use him as an excuse for your own infidelity.

Instead, there was only relief. It made Jaehyun feel disappointed.

“Do I know her?” you asked.

“No.” Jaehyun said. “She was a stranger. That doesn’t matter. It was just one time”

He was lying through his teeth. Not the best liar, Jaehyun was surprised you bought it. You looked understanding, which made him want to hurt you, really hurt you. The fight left him as soon as you admitted defeat. It was easy to love you but harder to unlove you.

“I have something to confess.” you said, sounding as pathetic as you looked.

He didn’t always know that you were cheating with Doyoung. There was a time, in the beginning, he used to laugh behind Doyoung’s back at his little crush on you. It was like a game for Jaehyun to watch his roommate squirm any time you walked into the room. It gave Jaehyun a mental pat on the back to know that he could get someone like you, someone everyone else wanted, someone Jaehyun’s roommate could not get. Looking back on it, it was wrong of him to think like this. Like everyone else, he was still learning how to be a better human being. He thought it would just take time.

Jaehyun had many crushes throughout his life, so he could hardly blame Doyoung for what should have been an innocent crush. You were pretty special. In a lot of ways, Jaehyun wished he hadn’t taken you for granted so much, because there were aspects to the relationship that were so good for him. He felt stupid to lose them. Also, you were beautiful and the sex was some of the best he’d ever had.

He supposed that he became really suspicious the feelings weren’t unrequited around Halloween. Something felt off at the party, and it had nothing to do with his drinking. You glowed whenever you were around Doyoung, much brighter than he himself ever could make you. That was the profound moment, the one where he tried so hard to convince himself that it wasn’t true. He began to blame himself for thinking negatively. The guilt ate away at him, gnawing at him whenever he was alone with his thoughts.

“Should I be scared of this confession?” Jaehyun asked.

There was so much bitterness dripping from his voice, but he was trying his best to remain neutral. Seeing the way your face deflated made him feel sympathetic towards you, something he was learning that adults could do.

You nodded, the tears falling quietly.

“Say it.” Jaehyun said.

You looked at him. He would always remember the way you looked at him, and how he wished things had turned out differently. In your eyes, he could see how certain you were of the future, how sure you were with your own choices.

“I cheated on you, too.” you said.

Jaehyun didn’t react like you wanted him to, which threw everything off. Your expression was accusatory, and he could see that you were wondering if either of you ever loved each other to begin with.

“Do I know him?” he asked.

“You don’t seem surprised.”

Jaehyun shrugged. “What does that say about you?” He squeezed his fists down by his side to calm down. He tried a different approach and added, “We shouldn’t do this outside.”

He started walking towards the car, hoping you would follow, but you didn’t. He walked back to you, reaching out his hand to touch your arm.

“You knew.” you said, the realization dawning on you slowly. “You knew I cheated on you this whole time?”

Jaehyun let his hand fall down by his side. When he spoke, his voice was thick. “Yes, I knew.”

“Did you cheat on me because I cheated on you?”

“Let’s talk about it in the car, please.”

He started walking, but again, you didn’t follow. Frustrated, Jaehyun turned back around. He looked at the windows to make sure no one was watching the show. He didn’t need his mother or his little cousins knowing what a wreck his life could sometimes be. By then, all the steam had left him. He was no longer angry or bitter, just numb.

“Yes, I knew you cheated on me,” he said. “I didn’t cheat on you because you cheated on me. What level of petty do you think I am?”

“How long have you known?” you asked.

“Does it matter?”

You looked terrified and so small. Jaehyun had to resist the urge to scoop you up and hold you in the cold air. He was still an asshole, but he was becoming a sensitive asshole. He thinks that’s the moment where the true change began.

Slowly, you started walking towards him. You both made it back to the car, a place that was starting to feel too heavy for Jaehyun, too boxed in. Closing the car door blocked out all of the air and sound. It was just the two of you, one person silently crying and the other trying his best not to break down with you.

“Why him?” was all Jaehyun said.

It was a question that had been bugging him for a long time. Sure, Doyoung was more emotionally available. He was outwardly intelligent. His charms were many, and he wasn’t bad looking. He kept most of his promises and could have been a good friend in a past life. People never had the wrong idea about Doyoung when they first met him, either, not like they did with Jaehyun. Their opinion of Jaehyun wavered, but Doyoung always brought forth the same reaction. He was the man a mother could like. He was the one you fell in love with, the one who felt right from the start.

Jaehyun could feel the mood in the car turn even more sour. You didn’t know he also knew it was with Doyoung. Maybe you were going to convince him that it was someone unimportant, some random in a bar, just like his story.

“Am I that awful?” Jaehyun asked. “I know I haven’t been here for you a whole lot. Our relationship hasn’t been the best.”

You cried a little harder. “No, you’re not awful.”

“So, why? Why do this to me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Good to know.” Jaehyun said, starting the car.

He drove away in silence, the only sound coming from the hum of the car. He dropped you off in front of his and Doyoung’s apartment. It was getting harder to remain feeling numb. As he sat in the car in front of his apartment, Jaehyun could feel every emotion flooding through his veins. He gripped the steering wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white.

“I’m not coming inside,” he said. “I’ll find somewhere else to stay until both of you are out of my apartment. Take as long as you need.”

You got out of the car and came around to the side where Jaehyun’s window was open. He opened it to the cool night air in order to breathe in the freshness. It just ended up making him feel ice cold, inside and outside.

Jaehyun leaned out of it and said, “By the way, I never really cheated on you. I just said that to make you admit it. Thanks for saying it.”

The numbness returned and followed him around for roughly a month. You and Doyoung moved out within three days, not bothering to stew in feelings of guilt, like he wanted you to. Jaehyun didn't know what to do with himself, after that.

He would walk in and out of Doyoung’s empty room in the apartment, thinking up memories of you two fucking where Doyoung used to keep his bed. It was tortuous and stupid, and it helped no one in the long run, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to draw emotions out of the pit of his belly.

Not seeing you had made it harder for him to move on. He thought about going to see you at your job, to casually stop by where he knew your group of work friends would be, but there were people in his life who always talked him out of it. He just wanted to feel something, anything at all.

His own work friends suggested he hook up with random strangers, but he never actually had it in him to go out and do it. Building any kind of relationship with someone wasn’t a great idea, even if it made him feel like he was getting some kind of sexual revenge on you. Walking around his half-empty apartment wasn’t the best choice either, but it helped him pass the time.

He didn’t get to tell you, but it was Doyoung that eluded him to the affair. When Jaehyun had asked him to take care of you, he had never seen someone so confident in his ability to do so. There was love in that man's eyes, a love that can only be felt when the person you love loves you right back. A little after that, when Jaehyun really looked at you and saw you, he confirmed that something serious was going on.

In a way, Jaehyun hoped it was just sex. He could take it if you and Doyoung were sneaking off just to fuck each other when he was at work. Adding love into the mix hurt him a little more, made him aware of the things he lacked.

So, back and forth he went like that across the apartment. He did things he wasn’t proud of. He blamed himself and didn’t blame anyone else but you. He cursed your name in the darkness. He took his aggression out on Doyoung, even going so far as to ring up his work and tell them Doyoung was thinking about quitting. It really was petty, which maybe he definitely was being, but it wasn’t anything he couldn't correct himself for. He was trying. He really was.

Jaehyun took the last box from the top of the stairs, carrying it down in his arms like a delicate baby. On the side of the fridge, the only thing he wasn’t taking with him, was a calendar marking the end days in January. He thought of the next tenants moving in, and how they’d throw it out without hesitation. Maybe they’d have a more solid year ahead of them than he felt he did.

He couldn’t believe how fast time was moving, and he willed it to just slow down long enough for him to catch his breath. Soon enough, it would be February, and he’d have been single for nearly two months. The thought of spending his birthday alone made him sick to his stomach.

He walked down the stairs, looking into the box to see an old picture frame belonging to you on top. It was one your dad had taken of you as a child at the zoo. You were in shorts, your knobby knees sticking out, and your missing-toothed smile making him want to smile back. Jaehyun kept it in his room because it reminded him from time to time of you, of how one person can come into his life and change it all.

Jaehyun didn’t just want to throw it out, so he kept it with him until he moved. He didn’t know what to do with it now, but he figured he should probably return it. You’d want that photograph more than he did, but just barely.

After feeling like he wanted the whole world against you, Jaehyun started to refocus his attention on self-care and self-love. Slowly, he began to unpack his own responses to things, how he could choose to act better in every situation, and how the only person holding him back from a better life was him.

He began to feel better, too. It wasn’t going to cure him, but it was worth a start. He couldn’t stop the pessimism from reaching inside of his shirt and clawing at his bare skin, but he could change some things that didn’t serve him.

When he reached the outside, his heart a little raw from seeing your childhood photo, his mother was waiting for him in her car. Sometimes a momma's boy just needed his momma. He placed the box in the backseat and slid into the passenger seat.

“Are you ready?” she asked, patting his knee.

“I am.”

Bars felt comfortable because they were noisy. He would go to one after work, order a drink and sip on it until he felt tired and went home. He wasn’t there to get drunk or to meet new people. Sometimes, he caught up with his work friends. Other times, he sat there alone, chit-chatting to the bartender on duty. He laughed when things were funny. He let his foot tap away against the floor when the music was good.

“Is this seat taken?”

A pretty girl was standing hesitantly in front of the chair next to him. Jaehyun smiled and shook his head no. She sat down beside him, bringing her purse on her lap and looking at him with curiosity.

“I see you here a lot.” she said.

“Ahh,” Jaehyun said. “I think that’s my cue to stop coming every day. I swear, I’m not an alcoholic.”

Her eyes widened, afraid that she had offended him. “I didn’t mean-”

“-I’m kidding.” Jaehyun said. "It's a joke."

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Jaehyun pushed his empty glass away from him and swiveled his chair to face her more. She looked self-conscious with the way she tucked her hair behind her ear. Jaehyun felt too awkward, so he turned his chair back around.

“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked.

“No.” She said, “I came to talk to you because you looked lonely.”

To that, Jaehyun didn’t know what to say. Instead, he ordered another drink and let her talk his ear off. She talked about everything and nothing the whole night. Jaehyun partly listened and partly let his mind wander. She was nice and interesting enough, but he wasn’t ready to start talking to other women in a way that suggested sex or relationships.

He could have used a friend. He would have liked to have found a friend in her, but she made it clear that she wasn’t interested in him in that way when her hand found her way to his thigh. She moved it upward with each word she spoke, her fingertips dangerously close to fondling him.

“This was fun.” Jaehyun said, feeling the buzz of alcohol running through his system. “Unfortunately, I have work early tomorrow and need a full night's rest. See you sometime?”

The girl looked taken aback at the sudden change of events. Jaehyun got up from his chair, said goodnight to her and sauntered out of the door. He hadn’t even realized they didn’t exchange names.

Jaehyun decided to walk home. The night was cold in the way winter was, but manageable. His jacket kept him warm enough, and if his bones chilled, he hardly noticed. He watched people as he walked, watched them happily walking along the sidewalks and dipping into whatever door they fancied. Slowly, he began to smile and feel more at ease, but maybe it was the alcohol making him feel that way. Or maybe it was a sudden feeling that maybe everything could be alright, only if he allowed it.

He woke up and he was drooling. Jaehyun lifted his head from the pillow, looking to his left and right. There was a knocking sound that felt like it was coming from inside of his head. He hadn’t been that tipsy last night, so he knew a hangover was not the cause. He lifted himself up from the bed in his mothers spare bedroom and threw his legs over the side of his bed.

The knocking continued, more feverishly than before. Jaehyun ignored it and picked up his phone to see if he had any missed calls. There were none.

“I’m coming!” Jaehyun yelled when the final knocks were more forceful. He muttered to himself,” Fucking fuck.”

He walked across the room before realizing he was shirtless. He grabbed a dirty t-shirt from the floor and brought it over his head, letting the hem of it meet his sweatpants. In case it was one of his mothers snooty friends, he looked in the mirror and cleaned up his messy hair. He didn’t need anyone judging him for sleeping past noon on a weekend.

“Coming.” Jaehyun called again.

He walked out of the spare bedroom that was just to the left of the living room and ducked down to see if he could recognize the person standing on the porch. Or rather, people. He saw just a flip of hair before he ran behind the door and held his hand to his chest to get his heart to stop beating.

Doyoung’s voice was low and quiet, but Jaehyun could hear everything he said. “We’ll come back later. He's not home.”

Jaehyun didn’t have to hear your voice to know that you were there, too , that the hair he saw belonged to you. It was dyed a darker color, but it was unmistakably you. Yet, hearing the sound of your voice made his toes curl underneath him. He didn’t think seeing you so soon after the breakup would help him.

“He’s home.” you said, your voice somewhat impatient.

It was smart of you to come when his mother was at work. He thought you might have purposely done it this way, to avoid any more awkwardness. After all, Jaehyun’s mother was sure to ride for her son, to take a look at both of them standing on the porch and curse them out. At that imagery, Jaehyun smiled to himself.

“I don’t know.” Doyoung said, his voice nervous. "Should we be bothering him like this? It's too soon."

Jaehyun backed away from the door. He wondered if he had time to run back into the bedroom and get himself more presentable. He wanted you to see what you had been missing out on. He was a handsome guy, definitely one worth giving a second look to. He suddenly wished he had taken that girl at the bar home and fucked her, so that he could talk to you and Doyoung and have her walk out of the bedroom naked, unaware of what was going on. He'd love to see the look on your face then.

No, Jaehyun thought to himself. I should appear wounded. I am wounded.

The unkempt hair and slightly red-rimmed eye look was working in his favor. Before giving it another thought, Jaehyun whipped open the front door to his mothers house and faced them both down. He kept his face stoic, his voice even. “Can I help you?”

It was Doyoung who spoke first, his voice not as sharp as usual. “You have something of hers. She was wondering if she could have it back.”

“Can she speak for herself?” Jaehyun asked.

The whole time Doyoung was speaking, Jaehyun kept his eyes on you. It was a mistake to do so. There was nothing more heartbreaking than to see how well you were surviving. Your skin was glowing and flawless. Your new hair made you look mature in a way that was sure to make everyone notice you. You were dressed in nice clothes that matched Doyoung’s vibe. Jaehyun couldn't stop the jealousy from taking root in his soul.

“She can.” you said, speaking for yourself. “You have my picture and I’d like it back. Do you, by any chance, have it here?”

Jaehyun wasn’t really listening. He was looking into your eyes, daring himself to get lost in them. Maybe it was the fact that you were unattainable now, but it made him want you all over again. It was hard to let you go.

“Are you two dating now?” Jaehyun asked.

All three were silent, even Jaehyun. As soon as he spoke the words, he began to wish they’d stuff themselves back inside of his mouth. Jaehyun tried to recover and said, “That’s none of my business. Of course, I have your photo. I’ll get it.”

In their faces, Jaehyun shut the front door. He felt like he was going to have a heart attack. He clawed at his own neck and willed himself to breathe. He walked through his mom's house and went down to the basement where he was temporarily storing his belongings. Apartment hunting was going decently well, but he found out he could hardly afford more than a pot to piss in by himself. Having his mother support him had been a blessing, but it wasn’t easy.

After rifling through some boxes, he found the photo in question. The first few days he spent with his mother, he kept it on his bedside table. When he realized it was causing him too much pain, he brought it down to the basement with the rest of his things. He never thought you would come back to get it, or to remember it, or to show your face at his mother's house.

When Jaehyun opened the front door back up, you were gone. Doyoung stood, his eyes struggling to make eye contact. Jaehyun opened the screen door wide and handed the photograph in its frame to Doyoung.

“If you’re here to apologize, don’t bother.” Jaehyun said. “I’m over it.”

It was a lie, one too obvious for either to believe. Doyoung’s grace allowed him to let it go, to open his mouth and shut it right away. Jaehyun sat down on one of the porch chairs and motioned for Doyoung to do the same. Jaehyun shot a look in the direction of where you waited in a car, his face not betraying what he was feeling inside.

“I’ve been thinking about what I should say to you,” Jaehyun said. “But I’ve come up with nothing. All of that anger, and it still feels like I’m a fool with no way to defend myself.”

“You’re not a fool.” Doyoung said.

“You make me a fool by saying that.” Jaehyun said. “I’m a fool who was cheated on and too stupid to realize it, even with my suspicions. By my best friend, of all people.”

“Was I your best friend?” Doyoung asked. He sounded surprised, a little annoyed.

Jaehyun didn’t have an answer for that. Before, he would have answered it quickly. Of course you were my best friend. You were my roommate, my punching bag, and my buddy when all else failed. He had let Jaehyun’s lady live there because he was a nice guy, not because he was secretly in love with her. At that thought, Jaehyun chuckled darkly.

“Maybe not.” Jaehyun said. “It seems I never really had either relationship in the first place.”

“You didn’t want me to apologize.”

“No,” Jaehyun said. “It doesn’t do any good. I could apologize for not being the best boyfriend, but it didn’t matter. I could apologize for being a shitty roommate, maybe a friend, but you would still have made your choices.”

Doyoung played with the ring on his finger. He looked down at the frame in his hands, at the sweet girl looking back at him. “I owe you transparency.”

Jaehyun waited a long time for Doyoung to speak again. He was patient and channeling maturity. All he wanted to do, really, was go back inside and go back to sleep. Still, he waited and looked at Doyoung. When Doyoung didn’t speak fast enough, Jaehyun had to speak his mind. If he didn't, it would bother him too much.

“You’re dating her, yes?”

“Yes.” Doyoung said.

“In love?”

“Yes.”

“For a long time?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel bad about it?”

“About loving her? No.” Doyoung said. “About hurting you? Yes. I did consider us some type of friends.”

“Not the type that doesn’t steal his boy's girlfriend, huh?”

The dig might have hurt Doyoung but Jaehyun couldn’t tell. Doyoung stood up, deciding that he’d had enough of the conversation. Jaehyun followed, rising to his feet in a way that desperately made him want to appear calm and cool.

“I’ll make this quick, since I have to go.” Doyoung said. “I don’t want to lose you in my life, Jaehyun.”

“Fuck you.” Jaehyun said, the words slipping out.

Doyoung’s lips parted. “I deserve that.”

“And her? Does she want to lose me?”

“I can’t speak for her, but no, she doesn’t.”

“Fuck right off.” Jaehyun opened his screen door. “A timeline where my girlfriend cheats on me with my roommate and they come back because they don’t want to lose me? Unbelievable.”

“Believe it.” Doyoung said.” Because it’s true. She won’t admit it, but there is something codependent about you two. About me, as well. Sometimes I feel like life isn’t the same without you in it. Actually, I know it’s not.”

Jaehyun shook his head as Doyoung turned to go. “I didn’t expect this. I wasn't prepared.”

Doyoung threw his hands in the air. “Me neither. I’ve learned not to expect anything anymore. Life is fucked. I'm trying my best to unfuck myself.”

Doyoung walked down the steps and back towards the car. Jaehyun watched him go, pausing way too long before going inside of the house and closing the door behind him.

[goldentournesol]

All That Matters

*gif originally posted by @heat-waveee​ *

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Reader doesn’t visit Spencer in prison.

Length: 3.0k

A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SEASON 12 FINALE AND BEGINNING OF SEASON 13! 

Part 2: Here For You

masterlist

Spencer’s absence was felt in every aspect of her life.The bullpen wasn’t the same without him, her apartment, although they lived separately, wasn’t the same without him, even the jet wasn’t the same. She was so used to looking over and seeing his tall frame sprawled over that beige couch that she found herself glancing over out of habit just to find someone else there. It was just as disappointing every time. Her heart ached for him. It ached because she knew that there was nothing more she could do to help him or ease the pain he felt as he was being tortured in prison and it took a huge toll on her mental health. Everyone else had visited him, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“Hey, Spence.” JJ said tearfully as soon as he took a seat across from her in the visitation room.

“Hey, is everything okay? It’s not my mom, is it?” He hurriedly asked with slight panic.

“No, no, she’s fine. Y/N and I saw her yesterday, she asked about you.” She nodded, smiling in an attempt to reassure him. He mirrored her expression with relief when she told him his mother thought he was at the beach. A short silence ensued.

“How are you doing?” JJ asked, as sympathetically as possible. Spencer fought back tears.

“I’m okay. I’m, uh, really happy to see you.” He admitted, even though he knew it probably wasn’t a good idea she was visiting. However, she reminded him of the promise she made him the last time she saw him. She promised she’d never leave him alone.

“How’s…” he paused with a swallow, “Y/N doing?�� The question came out tentatively, his facial expression displaying something between a grimace and a hopeful look. The last time he’d seen Y/N in the courtroom, she was in a silent fit of tears.

“She’s...fine.” JJ lied. Spencer raised his eyebrows questioningly. It didn’t take a profiler to know that that was a straight up lie. “Alright, she’s not doing very well. I just didn’t want to tell you that because I knew you would worry about it and I don’t think you need any more of that.” She gestured around. Spencer heaved a sigh. He expected her response, he just didn’t want to hear it. 

Later that day, JJ found Y/N at her desk, nose deep in a file. Her eyes were frantic as they raced through the words on the page, hoping to find something useful. She had thrown herself into the case files, the Spencer-related and the non-Spencer-related. When she wasn’t occupied with the work, her mind would wander over to Spencer, which would send her into a whirlwind of panic, guilt, and rage. 

Panic because she didn’t want to imagine what he was going through, alone, scared, hopeless--. 

Guilt because she hadn’t visited him yet, she just couldn’t bring herself to see him. Not when she couldn’t wrap her arms around him, not when she couldn’t kiss him, or hold his hand. 

Rage because time was moving so slowly without him and they weren’t any closer to getting him out.

She hadn’t heard JJ come up from behind her and rest a hand on her shoulder. She yelped out in response, having been totally focused on the file.

“Woah, sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” JJ said as she was met with Y/N’s red rimmed eyes.

“It’s alright.” Y/N muttered softly.

“Y/N, when was the last time you took a break? Or got some sleep?” JJ asked, noticing the constant nervous tapping on her thigh.

“A break? I can’t--I can’t take a break, JJ!” She uncharacteristically snapped, standing from her seat. JJ took a step back at her sudden outburst, her friend’s eyes aflame. 

“How am I supposed to take a break when he’s in there, probably terrified out of his mind?! How do you think he would feel if he knew I was sipping on some tea or...or styling my hair instead of helping him get out of there?” She spat, not even caring that she was gaining attention from people around her. She didn’t know that this was the guilt taking over and speaking for her, but JJ knew.

“He asked about you today...again.” She stated coolly, seeing Y/N’s angry expression soften immediately. She averted her gaze quickly, heart wrenching in her chest. She grabbed some files and made a move to leave, probably to shed some self-wallowing tears, but JJ stopped her by grabbing her arm gently.

“We’re going to get him out of there, I promise. But we need you on board with us. I suggest you go home and get some rest. This won’t be solved overnight.” JJ assured her with a determined voice. Y/N pulled her arm out of her friend’s grip and made a beeline for the exit.

It’s not like she didn’t want to see him, of course she wanted to see him. She wanted to see him more than anything, but she wouldn’t stop. She wouldn’t rest until she caught the son of bitch who put him in there. Spencer wanted nothing more than to see her face and hear her voice.

 At first, he genuinely couldn’t blame her for not wanting to visit, but as matters outside the prison began to worsen, the matters inside were on another level. Then, hope began to elude him. He stopped hoping to see her, stopped hoping for a future. Spencer struggled to see his future as anything other than void and bleak as the four walls of his cell consumed him every night. He tried to file away any resentment he felt for her, he even stopped asking JJ about her. Whether or not she chose to share anything about his girlfriend was completely her choice. It had become too painful for him to think about her, let alone talk about her. 

And in the beginning, he was thankful for his eidetic memory because it allowed him to replay their conversations and memories on a loop. But now, the memories mocked him and kept him up at night. She became a part of his past life and he didn’t know whether his new life after prison could accommodate her.

What if they never solved the case? What if he had to spend the entirety of the 25 years in prison? Would she come see him then? At what point would she move on from him? Would she even bother showing up to break up with him? Or would he eventually have to learn from JJ that Y/N found a new lover as she mistakenly mentions her name in conversation?

This is ridiculous. She loves him. He knows that.

Right?

 Curse the intricate inner workings of his brain. It never ceased. He shouldn’t be thinking this way. But pulling himself out of the darkest place he’d ever been was proving to be increasingly difficult. 

Rage filled him as he learned of his mother’s abduction. He didn’t know why he expected Y/N to come take him home when he’d been released instead of JJ. He shouldn’t have done that. He also shouldn’t have felt disappointed when he saw Penelope all by herself right outside the prison doors.

But he did.

No one mentioned her on the way back to the headquarters, but she invaded his mind anyway. He didn’t have the time or the energy to be thinking of her, he needed to find his mother. 

She had been eagerly awaiting his arrival in the bullpen with the rest of the team. She grinned for the first time in months as she saw his tall figure appear through the glass doors. She watched as Rossi grabbed Spencer’s face and kissed his cheeks before pulling him into a bear hug. She watched Emily stroked his hair and kissed his head. Even Matt threw his arms around Spencer. Tears fell as she watched the scene unfold across the room from her desk. 

Spencer’s entire attitude shifted as his eyes finally landed on her. His smile dissipated, his shoulders were pushed back, and his eyes, his kind, soulful eyes were cold as they bore into her wet ones. She felt a shiver race its way down her spine. The air in the room shifted. It was eerily quiet, everyone waiting for the fallout. But Spencer stood still and silent, neither of them making the first move. There was so much left unsaid between them.

“Let’s go find my mother.” Spencer spoke as he averted his gaze from her and made his way to the conference room. 

A silent sob wracked through her body as she fell back into her chair, her fingers gripping at her roots in frustration. Penelope rushed to her quickly and tried to console her, the rest of the team already in the conference room discussing the case.

“Go help the team, I’ll have Emily brief me later.” Y/N said, taking a deep, shaky breath as she pried Penelope off of her frame. Penelope reluctantly nodded and made her way into the conference room. Spencer’s expression was stone cold and indecipherable as he watched Y/N scurry off into the direction of the bathrooms through the window. 

Hours later, they had managed to retrieve Diana after learning that Cat Adams was in fact impersonating Mr. Scratch along with some help from Lindsey Vaughn. They were now doing the best they could to track down the real Mr. Scratch, but the team had been caught in a horrific car accident, which led to Emily’s abduction. Spencer was currently at home with his mother. Y/N, Penelope, and Matt hadn’t gone with the rest of the team. Y/N had been too shaken up to go out into the field.

“Y/N, get Spencer and meet us at the hospital!  Rossi’s refusing treatment until he talks to you two!” Matt yelled as he and Penelope raced to the hospital. Y/N nodded and called Spencer. Her name was the last he wanted to see on his phone, but he picked up anyway. He almost didn’t.

“Spencer! There’s been a terrible accident, Emily’s been taken by Scratch, I’m picking you up now! Rossi’s refusing treatment! I’ll explain everything on the way to the hospital.” She spoke frantically into the phone, speeding off into the direction of his apartment. He hadn’t even had time to reply before she hung up. Minutes later, he got into the car and noticed her panicked state.

“Are you okay to drive?” He asked, immediately noticing her rapid breathing, wide eyes, and white knuckles from gripping the wheel tightly. She met his eyes, shaking her head. Spencer saw the tears and switched places with her, driving to the hospital. He also noticed how she failed to manage her breathing.

“Hey, hey. Try to match my breath.” He breathed in and out slowly. She shook her head in disbelief, hating the fact that this was their first encounter. He was still the caring man she fell in love with, even though she knew he probably hated her guts right then. Her breathing evened itself out and she fiddled with her fingers.

“I’m good, I’m good.” She muttered, mostly to herself, “Spencer, I-” she began but he cut her off harshly.

“Not now, Y/N.” He spat as he rolled into the hospital, searching for JJ and Rossi. Y/N’s heart wrenched as he ran to JJ’s side, treating her with the tenderness she craved. She found Rossi and ran to him quickly.

“Where’s Spencer? Get Spencer.” He uttered, obviously in pain. Y/N brought Spencer over.

“What’s going on?” He asked, walking into the room.

“Shut up and listen.” Rossi demanded, eyes shifting between Y/N and Spencer, landing on Y/N as he spoke, “First, you, go through my pants pockets and find my keys. Second, you’re back on the team.” He referred to Spencer.

“Not sure I should be. Has the director approved that?” He asked.

“I’m making the calls now. I’ll take the heat. You’re back on the team.” He panted.

“I’ve got the keys.” Y/N said, holding them.

“There’s a little one there to a file cabinet in my office. Inside, there’s Chicago Bears season tickets. When you get them, call Matt Simmons. I promised him those tickets.” He seemed adamant.

“Rossi, did they give you something to make you loopy?” Y/N asked.

“I’ll get the doctor, we’ll get him into surgery.” Spencer stated and made a move to leave.

“Just shut up and listen.” He insisted, “Emily is missing. Stephen is dead. As for you two ass clowns, you’ll do me the courtesy of following my orders. And for the love of God, work through whatever it is you two are going through and then I’ll go into surgery.”

She and Spencer nodded as they left the room. “This has nothing to do with season tickets.” She stated and he agreed.

“Ass clowns?” Spencer muttered confusedly and she repressed a giggle. 

They had been so caught up in the urgency of the case that they hadn’t found the time to talk, but Y/N was glad that Spencer was at least conversing with her, even if it was strictly about the case. With Emily now found and Scratch finally dead, they learned to breathe again. Y/N offered to drive Spencer home from Stephen’s funeral, seeing how morose he seemed. He reluctantly agreed and got into the car.

“I know you don’t want to, but we really have to talk.” She said softly, afraid that if she spoke too loud, he’d either snap or break. It was unclear which was more likely to happen.

“Now’s not really the best time, Y/N.” He spoke defeatedly, his hands running over his face and digging into the sockets of his eyes.

“It’ll never be the right time, Spencer.” She pushed, “I missed you.”

He laughed crudely, almost mocking her, “Oh, you missed me?”

“Yes, I missed you. Of course I missed you. I’m sorry I didn’t-”

“Sorry?!” He practically screeched, turning to face her. Her jaw clenched in reaction as she focused on driving. 

“You’re sorry for what exactly? For not coming to visit me? For not bothering to write me any letters? For practically pretending like I didn’t exist? Do you have any idea how often I hoped to see you? Do you have any idea what it feels like to be disappointed to see one of my best friends because I was hoping it was you? I hated myself for it, but it happened. How could you, Y/N?!” He seethed, voice uncharacteristically booming through the small space between them. It was laced with hurt and betrayal. She abruptly pulled the car over on the side of the road and turned to look at him. 

“How could you forget about me like that?” Spencer’s voice was small and shaky, tears threatening to spill.

Her own tears found their way down her cheeks as she stared at his heartbroken face, “Forget about you? I could never forget about you, Spencer.” She sniffled softly.

“You were all I could think about. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t eat. I’m pretty sure I developed an ulcer from the stress, by the way. I didn’t visit because…” she swallowed, pausing to blow her nose, “because I was angry. I was so angry, Spencer. Not at you, of course. At the situation. It was unfair to you and I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I know no amount of apologies will undo it, but I couldn’t handle it. I knew I wouldn’t have been able to handle seeing you in there and not be able to hold you or kiss you or...or touch you.” She paused again to blow her nose. 

Her words were disguised by the sobs, but Spencer managed to comprehend them. “It would have been too painful for me, I’m sorry. I was too weak and too selfish. You deserved so much better than that, I know.”

Spencer’s heart ached to see her cry, but he was so upset that he didn’t know if he could forgive her just yet. His throat got that familiar feeling of being so tight that he couldn’t speak. He just shook his head and rubbed at his eyes, turning away from her.

“Just take me home.” He whispered and she nodded, pulling herself together. Spencer occupied himself with a loose thread on his clothes, the soft hum of the engine was the only thing filling the silence between them.

She pulled up in front of his apartment complex and he was about to step out of the car when she reached for his arm, stopping him. She drew her hand back immediately, realizing that that was the first time they made physical contact since he got back. She hoped she wasn’t overstepping. He stared at her curiously at both reaching for him and drawing back.

“Spence, I understand if you want to end things. I just...I love you. I never stopped loving you and I never will.” She reminded him and he nodded, the tenderness she’d grown so used to returning to his eyes.

“I love you, too.” He spoke quietly, offering her a tight smile that obviously hid a lot of pain. 

She watched as he got out of the car and disappeared inside the building. He hadn’t confirmed nor denied that he wanted to end things with her and she didn’t know if she should be relieved at that. All she did know though was hearing those four words from Spencer again breathed a new life into her lungs.

He still loves her.

That’s all that matters.

Part 2

[alpacaparkaseok]

Lost & Found - 12

Pairing: Park Jimin x soulmate (oc)

Warnings: Insecurity, anxiety, abandonment, oc feels like she’s gonna puke which, honestly, same

Word Count: 4.5k

a/n: holy. crap.

anyways, enjoy! 

just remember that if it’s not ok then it’s not the end 

Chapter 12. Bittersweet

series masterlist

“You wanna grab some lunch?” I ask as soon as I get into the car after my appointment with Dr. Mo. She seemed pleased with my progress, and reassured me that I did the right thing in writing Jimin’s letter.

The only thing left to do is wait.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Sunmi begins to drive. “How’d your session go?”

“Good, I think. I couldn’t stop fidgeting the entire time.” I blow a strand of hair out of my face. “Mind if I invite a friend to lunch?”

Sunmi glances at me sidelong, arching a brow. “Does this friend know about your thread and that you’re currently being chauffeured by a Bighit employee?”

I chew on my lip. “Well, yes to the first question and no to the second. But she knows everything else.” I bring my phone up to my ear, listening to it ring. “She actually helped me cut the thread...but she’s a really cool person. I swear.”

Sunmi just waves me off, appearing to be indifferent to adding another person to our lunch party. At this rate, I’ll have to invite Chung-hei as well.

“I was just going to call you! What happened last night? You left in a rush.”

“Wanna come to lunch? I think we’ll just grab something and eat it back at my apartment.” I look at Sunmi, who gives me a thumbs-up.

“And then you’ll explain what happened last night?”

I laugh at her persistence. “Yeah, sure.”

We discuss her order before she promises to meet me at the apartment. “I feel like I should invite my other friend as well,” I admit, looking at Chung-hei’s contact on my phone. “She’s Namjoon’s soulmate.”

Shrugging, Sunmi pulls into a drive through. “Don’t ask me, I’m just the driver.” She pauses. “Oooh, should I get a milkshake?”

“Yes,” I gasp. “Get me one too-”

Chung-hei picks up on the third ring.

“I was just thinking about you!” She chirps. I can’t help but smile at the sound of her voice.

“How adorable,” I drawl. “Wanna meet up at my apartment for lunch? I’ve got a couple of friends coming over that I want you to meet.”

“Sure! I was just planning on taking a break, anyways.”

“Great. You want the usual from the diner on 6th?”

“Ooh, how sexy, you even remember my order.”

I snort, rolling my eyes. “Whatever. See you soon.”

✂

“How far are we going to run today?” Namjoon asks, not sounding entirely thrilled at the prospect of cardio at this hour. It’s an odd hour to be going out for a run, but the weather is warm enough for a jog around their closed off neighborhood.

“I have no idea,” Jimin admits, looking excited to just get to go outside. “Just...a ways?”

Namjoon snorts. “A ways?”

“You know what I mean.” Swinging the door opens, Jimin pauses before stepping out. “Oh, mail’s here.”

Namjoon doesn’t think much of the statement, the mail is always here around this time of day. That is, not until he looks down at the pile of mail and sees a familiar looking envelope poking out from behind another letter.

“Ah!” He shouts, crouching down and scooping up the mess. “Ah!” He shouts again for emphasis.

Jimin looks at him with a half-smirk. “Is there a reason that we’re shouting?”

Unfortunately, Namjoon is unable to do much else besides shout. He backtracks into the house, tossing aside the undesirable letters in an effort to get to the one that really matters. In his excitement, it slips to the ground.

Jimin leans down, grabbing the letter that Namjoon points at with yet another shout. “What?” His stomach drops. “Did we forget to pay this month?”

“No!” Namjoon exclaims. When Jimin shrugs and attempts to hand it over to him, he thrusts it back at him. “That’s yours!”

“What do you mean, ‘it’s mine’?” Jimin asks, frowning. “We split the cost-”

“Jolie. It’s from Jolie,” he pants, finally catching his breath and calming down. “Read it.”

Now, Jimin realizes, would be the perfect time to panic.

Reading the expression of confusion on his face, Namjoon takes a deep breath before leading Jimin to the couches in the living room. “Remember when I told you about going to visit Jolie right after she cut the thread and how I gave her-”

“You gave her this?” Jimin asks, looking down at the electric bill envelope with no shortage of disbelief. “Joon, this is probably just a bill-”

“No, we just got the electric bill three days ago!” Namjoon explains excitedly. “Just, read it.”

Jimin comes to stand before the couch, but he doesn’t sit down. Not yet. He’s too busy fighting the nerves that have manifested, the envelope shaking in his hands as he stares down at it.

“O-ok.”

He perches down on the edge of the coffee table, not even thinking to sit on the couch. Not as he tears the envelope open and slides out a piece of paper that looks suspiciously like notebook paper.

Namjoon is attempting to back out of the room to allow his friend a private moment, but stays just long enough to confirm that this is indeed the long-awaited letter.

When Jimin unfolds the paper enough to see the first line, addressed to him, he begins to greedily gulp down air.

She has beautiful handwriting.

Finding Namjoon’s eyes from across the room, Jimin wears his emotions on his sleeve. The hesitant hope and utter fear of what he’s about to read is apparent, and it’s with a quivering lip that he calls out for his friend.

“Can you stay with me?” He quietly requests. Namjoon nods, hastily coming to sit across from his friend on the couch.

In the silence, Jimin reads through the letter. Namjoon watches as his brows furrow. A hint of a smile touches his cheeks at the very beginning, and he mumbles something about Elle. Then his lips part in a pained, silent gasp.

He’s silent throughout, however as he gets to the final few sentences, he finds himself reading through them again and again. It’s almost as though his eyes deceive him, like something isn’t quite connecting.

I still want you.

I still want you.

I still want you.

I still-

His thoughts are interrupted when Joon reaches out to lightly nudge his knee. “You ok?”

Ok?

“Yes?” It’s a question more for himself than anything. His eyes drift back to the page, to Jolie’s swirling handwriting and the promising statement within.

It terrifies him to the bone, which only makes him frustrated. In his utter confusion, he reads through the letter again, assessing every word.

It’s a question that Jimin hadn’t thought to ask himself before. Now that his soulmate seems within reach, he hesitates. Why?

She still wants him. And while her reasoning is sound, albeit leading to rash and hurtful choices, Jimin finds himself feeling like he’s missing something as those four words echo through his mind.

When the answer comes to him, he gasps it out as though he’d been holding his breath.

“I want to believe her,” he says, looking like he’s just about ready to cry from the frustration. “But I- I-”

Namjoon just nods, an understanding look in his eyes. It’s that look that helps to calm Jimin down, his racing heart finding solace in the fact that it might be normal to find it difficult to trust so readily.

“I can’t,” he quietly confesses. “Not yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Namjoon reassures. “Just take it one step at a time.”

Finally setting the letter down, Jimin rubs at his face. “What step are we even on?”

Namjoon chuckles quietly at his question. “Who knows. This is uncharted territory. But the way I see it, you’re in control now. You decide if you want to move forward with her in whatever way you see fit, or if you’re ready to just leave it behind. Have a fresh start.”

While both thoughts seem to have their own terrifying aspects, Jimin knows that leaving Jolie in the past simply isn’t an option.

“She said she had an aunt here, but Joon, that’s it. I’m all she’s got left.” He doesn’t know why he brings that up now, but his heart aches to think of it. For nearly a year now, she’s been so alone. Going through her grief, hardly coping. “Which may sound a little pretentious, but...I don’t want her to be alone.”

Namjoon leans back against the cushions, and Jimin seems to realize for the first time that he’s sitting on a table. He makes no move to get off of it, simply leaning forward on his elbows with a creased brow.

“Then maybe that’s where you two start,” Namjoon muses. “Neither one of you is ready to just dive into a relationship - that should be the last thing on your mind. But for now...just don’t let her be alone. I mean, the best you can while keeping your distance until, you know, you’re ready.”

Namjoon’s advice soothes the gaping hole in Jimin’s chest, letting him breathe freely for a moment. Just one step at a time.

He realizes, for perhaps the first time in his life, that just because she’s his soulmate, Jimin doesn’t have to immediately hand over his heart. It’s in pieces at the moment as is, partly due to the severed thread hanging from his left hand and partly due to the tangible heartbreak in Jolie’s letter.

No, Jimin can first let it mend. Take his time to heal.

Perhaps they can heal together.

✂

“Ah, I’ve seen you in the news!” Christina snaps her finger as she makes the connection, grinning at Chung-hei who chuckles.

“Yeah, that’s me,” she sheepishly admits. “Please tell me I look even better in person.”

“Oh,” I chime in, “loads better. You looked hideous in those pictures they used.”

Taking a huge bite, Chung-hei vigorously nods. “I know, right?! I seriously almost called them up to ask them where I could send some better photos. If they’re going to be talking about me, they might as well have some good pictures to use.”

Sunmi nearly chokes on her milkshake, fanning her cheeks as she stifles a laugh. Christina smiles fondly at Chung-hei and I.

“Why didn’t you?” She asks, clearly invested in the story now.

Chung-hei takes her question in stride, setting her chopsticks down. It’s a clear sign that she’s going to become fully immersed in the storytelling now. I lean back, ready to watch the show.

“Namjoon’s a protective idiot, that’s why.”

Now I’m the one choking, Sunmi hitting my back even as she grins devilishly. “What?! Did I just hear you say something other than praise about Namjoon?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Chung-hei levels me with a glare, scooting her chair back to get up. I immediately throw my hands up in surrender. “Ok! Ok! Just keep telling your story!”

The first few minutes between all of my friends had felt like seeing three different worlds collide. Of course, Christina was the odd one out among the other two: her profession made her a bit of an odd candidate. A part of me was dying to tell her story, to help Chung-hei and Sunmi see just how amazing she was. However, all it took were a few jokes at my expense (something that Hei and Christina both have an uncanny ability to do) before the three of them were picking at their food and chatting like the neighborhood gossips that they surely are.

“What was it like?” Sunmi asks, and suddenly I’m thrown back into reality and realizing that I just missed the entire story.

“It was…” judging from the faraway look in Chung-hei’s eyes, she’s talking about when she first met Namjoon. “I don’t know. I always expected sparks to fly or the world to stop spinning, but it wasn’t like that at all.”

I glance over at Christina, gauging to see if we’re veering into something that might make her uncomfortable. She catches my gaze, giving me a little nod that tells me she’s alright. Interested in the conversation, even.

“It just felt like coming home after a long day,” Chung-hei continues. “Like kicking off tight shoes and scrunching up your toes in the warm grass. Like the most common, simple things that life has to offer, that somehow make you believe that everything really will be alright in the end.”

My emotions get caught in my throat as I think about those little things and realize that it’s been far too long since I last drank in the beautiful normal.

“Wow.” I’m not sure who whispers it, but I grunt in agreement.

“That sounds so nice,” Sunmi says with wide eyes. Chung-hei smiles a radiant smile, one that isn’t too wide but reaches her eyes anyways.

“Yeah. It really is.”

The four of us get a little lost in our own thoughts, but eventually Christina clears her throat and shoots me a pointed look.

“So...what happened last night?”

Ah. Right.

Just like that, the reminder that my letter may very well be in Jimin’s hands right now has me fidgeting in my seat, just like I did all throughout my session with Dr. Mo.

With a tight smile, I explain the events of last night. How I essentially poured out my heart in the letter (this earns me a proud smile from Chung-hei), and how I confessed that he was all I wanted still.

The memory of him under those dazzling lights at the concert rush back to me. His white shirt loose on his body, hair swept back mainly because he kept running his hands through it. Full lips parting into a smile just as quickly as they would melt into a teasing pout. The crowd was wrapped around his finger, nearly as tightly as the bright red thread dangling from his left hand.

The thread that I stared and stared at while Chung-hei and I slipped backstage, growing ever nearer. Getting close enough that I swore I could hear his voice, his laugh like a waterfall.

I was drowning in that laugh, unable to come up for air until I found myself practically begging on my knees outside of Christina’s apartment.

“Hey,” Christina gently pulls me from my tormented state. “Are you nervous?”

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly before answering. “Yes.”

Sunmi, who sits beside me on the couch, wraps an arm around my shoulder and gives me a tight squeeze. Chung-hei abandons her food, leaving it on the coffee table and coming to sit on the other side of me.

“You told the truth,” she quietly comforts. “And that’s all you could do.”

I clench my jaw, staring at a wooden knot in the coffee table before me. “I told him that I forgave myself. But I feel like there’s so much I’ve done wrong, I hurt him too much-”

It’s Christina that rises from her chair and pushes everyone’s food aside until she can sit on the edge of the coffee table and reach out to cup my chin. Once I raise my eyes to hers, I see a raging fire in them.

“You don’t look back.” Her voice is made of steel straight out of the fire. “You cannot punish yourself for what’s already happened any more than you already have. Move forward. The only way to heal is to move forward and be better.”

I wonder for a moment how many times she’s repeated that to herself on the days when the shadows seemed a little darker and her past loomed a little larger.

“What do you think he’ll do?” I ask, my voice small.

Chung-hei sighs softly. “He still wants you...but I don’t know. He might need some time, Jolie.”

It stings, but I force myself to nod. My only hope is that he’ll allow me to somehow be a part of the time he needs to take for himself.

Eventually I ease into a semi-comfortable state, my friends chatting it up while I try to focus. Try as I might, my mind wanders back again and again to the letter. Maybe it got lost in the mail. Or maybe it won’t be delivered until tomorrow.

Maybe they really thought it was a bill and won’t open it for days, forgetting about it. It’s probably laying on that stupid kitchen island that Taehyung wants me to use for rolling dough out, collecting dust-

When my phone vibrates, I nearly jump out of my skin. My jolt makes Sunmi and Chung-hei jump as well, giggling lightly.

“Sorry,” I mumble, fishing my phone out of my back pocket. “My phone just-”

Elle’s bf 🙀: Hey...can we talk? Like, call?

I’ve rarely been able to curse fluently, but today appears to be the exception as a string of curses flow under my breath. The sentiment is mirrored as Sunmi and Chung-hei peer over my shoulder.

Christina doesn’t need to see the text to know what just happened. “He texted?”

“I’m gonna die,” I breathe out in response, heart rate ratcheting up at an alarming rate. “Dead, I’m dead-”

“Ok, look at me,” Chung-hei grabs my shoulders and forces a warm smile onto her face. “This is good-”

“Good?!” I shriek, looking down at my phone and back up at her. “How is this good? I feel like I’m gonna puke-”

“Great, but save the puking for after the phone call,” Chung-hei butts back in, taking charge of the moment. “Because right now there’s a boy on the other side of that message trying to be brave, and he needs you. He’s probably freaking out, and he needs some answers and reassurance that his soulmate really actually meant every word she wrote in that letter. And you meant it, didn’t you?”

I find myself nodding along, wishing that I hadn’t just eaten a ridiculous amount of food. Not as my stomach churns at the thought of talking in real time with Jimin.

“Go ahead and text him back,” Sunmi coos, the calm to Hei’s invincible will. “And...you know what, nevermind. I’ll ask about the way you have him saved under your phone later.”

It takes me an embarrassing amount of time to formulate a response, and even longer to type it out without making any typos. Staring at the send button, I groan, unable to press it just yet.

“I really might throw up.”

“I’ll get you a glass of water.” Christina springs up from the couch as Chung-hei begins to rub soothing lines up and down my arms. Despite the warm temperature in the room, I can’t stop shivering.

“If you want us here, that’s fine...but I also think it might be good for it to just be the two of you. So you can talk freely” Hei gently advises, so different from the little pep talk mere moments before.

I stare at the wall, chewing ferociously on the inside of my lip. The thought of my friends not being here makes me feel even more vulnerable, but at the same time I know this is something I have to do alone.

“Will you come back after?”

“Of course,” Sunmi reassures. “We’ll just go on a ride or something while you two talk. Text us when you’re done, and we’ll be back before you know it.”

Christina sets the glass of water in my hand, urging me to drink. With a few swigs that help to clear my head and temporarily calm my stomach, I press send.

Me: Of course. I’m free right now, go ahead and call if you can.

I’m not sure if I want to cry or squeal.

Both. I want to do both.

My three friends get up (Christina taking her food with her, a detail I hardly notice) and file through the door, offering me warm smiles and words of encouragement. Try and I might, I can hardly register them amidst the swirling feelings of panic and doubt crawling through my veins.

The sound of the door closing is what makes the first tear slip out.

Grabbing my phone and staring at the couch before deciding that I’d rather the comfort of my blankets and pillows, I jump and stub my toe against the coffee table when Elle jumps through the kitchen window. She appears to be unbothered, but follows me into my room and leaps onto the bed. She circles my feet before brushing up against my calves, laying between my legs. Resting her chin on my shin, she looks up at me with those big eyes of hers.

Waiting, just like I am.

I’m not sure how long it takes, but it feels like an agonizing eternity before the phone finally rings.

When it does, I scoop it up and stare at if for a moment. I pinch myself for good measure, giving myself one last chance to wake up.

Of course, I don’t wake up. This isn’t a dream. I realize that when my shaky thumb swipes to accept the call and I bring the phone to my ear.

It’s quiet, but I can hear the soft, shaky breath on the other side of the phone. Almost like Jimin was holding his breath but couldn’t quite hold it any longer.

It takes me approximately four seconds to remember that I’m supposed to say hello.

Of course, I fail even at that. “Jimin?”

It’s not the most eloquent way to answer the phone, but I need to know.

“Jolie.”

✂

“Jimin?”

Jimin stands outside on the balcony, facing the large pines that obscure his view of the rest of the neighborhood. When he hears the breathy, slightly panicked voice on the other end of the phone, he realizes that he should definitely be sitting down for this conversation.

“Jolie.” It’s a statement that should have been a question, but he knows - knew, from the single syllable his soulmate had utter, his name, no less, that it had been her.

It had to be her. His name had never sounded so beautiful coming from any other mouth.

When the silence stretches on, Jimin sinks to the ground and sits facing those great pines. The railing obstructs his view a bit, but it isn’t like he’s actually watching them. No, his gaze is a little dazed as he scrambles for something to say.

“I- I got your letter.”

There’s a pause in which Jimin is absolutely positive he hears a sniffle - the pitiful sound making him reach out to grab the metal bars of the balcony railing for support.

“Oh.” And then, “I’m sorry, I’m such a mess right now-”

“No, I am too,” Jimin rushes to reassure her. “I think it’s safe to say that we’re both a bit of a mess.”

He hears a wry chuckle and suddenly he can’t help but smile slightly, basking in the short-lived sound. “Jimin, I…”

“What?” Eager to hear what comes next, Jimin can’t help but widen his eyes as if that will urge Jolie to continue.

“I...t-thank you for the flowers.”

Someone might as well have brought him back to life. Shoulders relaxing and lungs expanding, Jimin blinks and finally sees the trees.

“Thank you for the letter.”

✂

Jimin’s voice is deeper than I thought it would be. His soft, angelic singing voice acts as a good cover for the delicious timbre coming through the phone.

Of course, I may be biased.

“You’re welcome,” I manage to squeak out. “You deserved an explanation. I hope it didn’t leave you more confused than before.”

“No,” he responds, dragging the word out in a way that makes me feel warm. “It was beautiful. I’m so sorry, Jolie, about your parents. I wish I could do something- change it.”

The familiar pang of pain strikes true, but it fails to linger like it normally does. “It’s nobody’s fault, Jimin.” His name is delicious on my tongue, and I fight the urge to say it again. “But I really, just...I know saying I’m sorry doesn’t cut it, but for what it’s worth...I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

It’s quiet except for the sound of a breeze and distant chirping, leading me to believe that he’s outside. If I close my eyes, I’m right there with him.

“Thank you. I...that means a lot. Thank you.” He takes a deep breath, and I can tell that he’s getting to the reason he called in the first place. “This might sound a little strange, but I need to say it.”

“Go on,” I urge.

“You mentioned - don’t hate me, because you said it was the cheesy part,” I can’t help but snort at his playful manner that peeks through. “But you sounded like you were willing to give this a try…? Give us a try?”

Blinking rapidly to dispel any lingering tears, I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes. But only if you want to. I completely understand if you feel like you can’t after everything that’s happened-”

“I want to. I- I want you.”

My heart pounding in my ears, I bite down a gasp. “You do?”

“But just...can we take this slowly?”

Letting out a sigh of relief, a tentative smile makes its way to my lips. “Yes, please.”

Judging from Jimin’s little laugh, he’s more than happy with my response. “Good. I just don’t want to be alone anymore, you know? And hey, if I remember correctly, you thought I was funny-

“Woah, I thought Jaemin was funny, not you. You’re gonna have to start all over now.”

Jimin makes a sound of protest that I hope masks the schoolgirl-like giggle I let out at the sound. “Really? You’re ridiculous. Hey! Is Elle there?”

“Oh, she is! She’s sitting here eavesdropping, wanna say hello?”

“Yes, put me on speaker. I’ve missed my cat.”

“Your cat? Really?”

“Yah, put me on speaker already-”

His voice cuts off, and I strain to hear another person that speaks in the background. It’s muffled, but despite the poor quality I can hear the panic in their voice. A moment later Jimin returns, however his joking banter is gone. Indeed, he sounds deadly serious as he tries to calmly speak.

“Jolie,” he begins, and suddenly it’s cold. “You’re at home, right?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “What happened?”

“Stay inside,” Jimin instructs, not answering my question. “Do not leave, you understand me? And don’t let anyone inside. I don’t care who it is, do not let anyone in.”

My blood runs cold at that. “Jimin, you’re scaring me, what’s going-”

“Promise me.”

The pure desperation in his voice leaves me paralyzed, but I manage to speak. “I promise. But Jimin, what’s happening? Is everything ok?”

“I’ll call you tonight, ok? Just- don’t leave.”

With that, he bids me goodbye and the line clicks off. Scrambling to pull up the numer, I immediately call Chung-hei.

It rings and rings, eventually going to her voicemail. I end the call only to begin a new one to Christina.

Again, no answer.

Sunmi’s number is the last one I try, holding the phone up to my ear. “C’mon, pick up, pick up,” I chant, pulling my knees up to my chest.

But it just rings, over and over again.

“Hello, this is Kang Sunmi. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to take your call, please leave a message-”

Ending the call with a violent jab, I start the calls again from the top.

Previous - Next

main masterlist

taglist is open! comment/send an ask, or click on the link in the series masterlist!

taglist: @secretlycrazyhummingbird @marianeamine @baepsaetay@dreamcatcherjiah @kookie-vuitton @thecaffeinatedscribbles@moon-write @fangirl125reader @heishichoulevi @knjkitten@sacha-cff @vik7797  @eusticenatalie @hesmyphenominiall​@miriamxsworld @kayahay @onewoneman @preciouschimine@missseoulite @somewhereinthestarss​ @chubsjmin @daydreamerwestwood @010op10 @4evahevah​ @mawwnsterr@hikka-light @biasnation @eusticenatalie @betysotelo18​ @fangirl125reader​  @shhhhsecwet @channiespup@loudnecktrashrascal​

[ace-oreos]

For the prompt ask if you’re still doing it- alpha gets back from being tortured by ventress, Fordo’s there to pick up the pieces, both mentally and physically

I have to admit, I was excited to do this as soon as I read it - putting Alpha in a more uncertain situation like that and seeing how it develops is really fun. It’s also very challenging, which is partly why it’s so fun. @shadow-hyder was a huge help when I was stuck halfway through trying to navigate Alpha in an emotional situation we rarely see him in. 

Prompts like this that make me explore new aspects of Alpha’s character are my favorite.  😁 So many thanks to you, anon! 

I feel like I should mention that I was listening to Nonstop from Hamilton... well, nonstop right around the halfway point. So there may be a few vague references in there. XP 

tw: mentions of blood (nothing graphic) 

The barracks block is empty and silent, and Alpha-17 can only be grateful. He’s not ready to face anyone else. 

Luckily, Fordo isn’t due back from the Mid Rim for a few weeks yet - Alpha made a point of checking not long after he was discharged from the medbay. 

(It still isn’t enough time.)

(The most he can hope for is that he’ll be able to pull himself together long enough to ward off any concern.)

He forces himself to shower, rinses the last of the caked blood from his skin. The water would almost be soothing if it didn’t make the wounds littering his skin sting and burn. Proper medical treatment wouldn’t go amiss, but the idea of admitting to his vulnerability makes his stomach twist and his throat tight. 

It’s nothing I can’t handle by myself, he decides, shoving away the doubt that’s already wormed its way into his thoughts.

It’s nothing he can’t handle when he wakes from a fiftful doze some hours later, damp with sweat and breath coming short. It’s nothing he can’t handle when scars that are just beginning to form break open and bleed anew when he pushes a little too hard during a solo training session. It’s nothing he can’t handle when he can’t bring himself to let his guard down long enough to sleep and instead paces the halls at all hours of the night. 

At first, the quiet is a relief - time to process his thoughts he wouldn’t be afforded otherwise. But it becomes stifling over time, the silence that both presses in and somehow leaves too much room for him to think at the same time. The stark walls don’t offer shelter so much a reflection he’s not yet willing to see.

He almost misses Fordo, some days. Other days he can only be thankful that Fordo isn’t here, because his brother is the only one who would see that he’s falling apart at the seams.

_______________________

Training becomes an escape, of sorts, and Alpha throws himself into it for hours on end. He can almost convince himself that nothing has changed if it weren’t for the twinge and pull of half-healed wounds that leave thin trails of blood on his skin when he refuses to let up. 

(It wasn’t enough last time.)

He suspects Fordo wouldn’t approve, but it’s for the best. 

(He won’t make that mistake again.)

(He isn’t any less of a soldier than he was before, and sometimes he even recognizes as much, but then he remembers feeling utterly powerless and he can’t bring himself to stop.)

Alpha can’t shake the feeling that he’s running out of time somehow, so he attacks it the only way he knows how: relentless, single-minded, determined to find the vulnerability at its source and eliminate it. 

He doesn’t know what he’s trying to prove, but he does know - all too well - it’ll keep eating away at him until he does something about it.

_______________________________

It doesn’t take long for Alpha to find comfort in his voluntary solitude. Training alone after hours lets him breathe again. It’s… calming, almost; nothing like the uneasy restlessness that overtakes him when he slows down a breath too long.

(You don’t know when to stop, Fordo warned him time and again - but he’ll have to eventually, and he doesn’t know what will happen when he does.) 

He’s putting himself back together for the first time in his life, and he thinks it might just work if he were left to his own devices. 

But Fordo, being the sort who would give his life for a brother without a second thought, never met a challenge he didn’t like to puzzle out so he could piece it together again his way. It’s only a matter of time before he adds himself to the equation, so Alpha isn’t as surprised as he should be when Fordo arrives unannounced just before reveille. 

“I thought you were slugging it out with the CIS in the Mid Rim,” Alpha says slowly, not bothering to hide his bemusement.

Fordo shrugs. It’s not like him to evade the unspoken question, but there’s something his face Alpha can’t quite read. “We took their forward operating base a few days ago. My squad can manage without me.” 

“Fordo…”

“We’re winding down anyways,” Fordo dismisses. “This wasn’t much of a haul as far as those things go.”

Never one to dance around an issue, Alpha asks pointedly, “So what are you doing here?” 

Fordo’s silence is enough of an answer. The carefully neutral expression is gone, and Alpha doesn’t like the look playing across his brother’s face now. 

“You shouldn’t - ”

“- have bothered?” Fordo interrupts. “Don’t give me that osik.”

“Your men need you.”

“And my brother doesn’t?”

“I thought you could figure it out for yourself,” Alpha returns.

“I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t,” Fordo counters. 

Alpha closes his eyes against the rush of anger that overtakes him. He wouldn’t be half as furious if he didn’t know there was gratitude somewhere beneath it. I don’t need your help. He doesn’t need Fordo’s help, except - 

Except he does, and it terrifies him to admit it, and there’s no chance Fordo will be fooled by any sort of front he puts on - 

“Udesii, ner vod.” Fordo’s hands are raised, placating. “I know it’s not what you want, but let me worry about you just this once.”

“Because I could jeopardize the mission?” Alpha grinds out.

Something he’s tempted to mistake for hurt flashes across Fordo’s face. “Because I care.” 

He doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he doesn’t even try.

___________________________

It’s a mark of how remarkably Fordo knows him that he isn’t put off when Alpha spurns his attempts to help. He navigates Alpha’s temper with steady patience Alpha has never seen before and responds with diplomacy to rival Kenobi’s. If he’s frustrated, he hides it well. 

A few days and Alpha doesn’t bother taking out his residual anger on his brother. It’s not really directed at him, anyways - he just happens to be a convenient target for the deep-seated disquiet that’s been threatening to overwhelm Alpha for weeks now. 

Alpha doesn’t resist when Fordo drags him to the mess hall, more for his brother’s peace of mind than his own. It’s still too much of a crowd for his taste, but letting Fordo have his way spares him a great deal of aggravation. 

Fordo doesn’t press him for conversation, which suits Alpha fine. Bad enough that there’s been plenty of time for rumors and speculation to circulate the ranks; the last thing he wants is to recount everything that happened after Jabiim. Some days Fordo relays his squad’s latest doings, and Alpha can’t help but smile despite himself. 

It’s early enough that the mess hall is nearly empty aside from a handful of pilots just returned from a simulation. Alpha is forced to admit, however grudgingly, that Fordo might’ve been on to something, insisting that they come so early. 

“You should eat,” Fordo adds halfway through what’s shaping up to be a long-winded account of a recent misadventure on the other side of the galaxy. 

Alpha shrugs noncommittally in response. “‘M not that hungry.”

Fordo looks skeptical. “How long are you going to keep this up?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Alpha mutters, studying the table so he doesn’t have to meet his brother’s eyes. 

“You’re impossible,” Fordo says under his breath with an eye roll to match. He shoves his own plate towards Alpha. “Go on.”

Alpha swallows a few mouthfuls without complaint. As is his standard now, it’s for Fordo’s sake more than his own. No doubt Fordo knows exactly what he’s doing, but his brother doesn’t question it. 

__________________________

Fordo joins him to train now. He follows Alpha’s lead and goes about it in grim silence, but there’s something companionable about it nonetheless. 

Alpha soon takes to challenging Fordo over the training droids. An organic opponent is more complex; another Alpha ARC means it’ll be a good fight. Fordo doesn’t hold back by any means, but he’s mindful that Alpha isn’t quite back to top form yet. 

It would be a lot easier if he didn’t feel every pull and strain when he and Fordo are locked body-to-body or when he’s slammed to the floor because he couldn’t dodge his brother’s attack in time. Afterwards he’s careful to hide the new scars that have opened again, dressing the wounds when Fordo is out of sight. 

He’s cursing at a length of bandages that he can’t quite secure one-handed when the door slides open. Bracing himself for the lecture, Alpha lifts his chin. 

Fordo, to his credit, takes it in stride. “Let me give you a hand with that.”

Alpha fights the urge to pull away when Fordo touches his arm. He’s careful, gentle, but Alpha’s skin burns with the contact. Thankfully, Fordo knows what he’s doing and doesn’t take longer than he needs to; Alpha’s hands are shaking by the time his brother sits back.

“It’s okay, ner vod,” Fordo says softly. 

It isn’t yet, but Fordo is here with him, and Fordo is hurting with him too. Alpha can’t express it, but he nods anyways, and he sees in his brother’s eyes that he understands.

__________________________

Fordo is unusually quiet, even for 0500 and barely six hours of sleep. Alpha still prefers to conduct their meals in near silence, but he’s become accustomed to Fordo’s idle chatter. Their corner of the mess feels odd without it.

 Just as he’s readying himself to speak, Fordo draws a deep breath and says, “I got new op orders last night.”

“It was bound to happen,” Alpha answers like it doesn’t cut far deeper than he expected.

“Given the chance I would’ve sent this one on,” Fordo continues slowly, “but I’ve got a squad waiting for me.”

And we don’t have forever. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Alpha assures. “I get it.” 

A look of relief crosses his brother’s face like he had something to feel guilty about in the first place. “Vor entye, ner vod.”

Alpha allows himself a smile. “Someone has to keep your di’kute in line.”

Fordo laughs at that. “You’re telling me.” Then his face becomes pensive. “What about you?”

“I’m lucky to have made it this far without Kenobi asking when I’ve got time to help him win over another unsuspecting Senator. I’m sure I’ll have a new assignment soon enough.”

Fordo turns his fork over in his fingers. “We could always use another soldier.”

It’s not an offer he extends lightly, Alpha knows. He’s tempted to take him up on it, but…

“I appreciate it. Really, I do.” He hesitates as he mulls over how to phrase it. “But I have things sorted out now. And…”

Fordo smiles. There’s an edge of regret to it, but it’s genuine. “Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“I will,” Alpha promises.

Fordo’s gone by the next morning. They don’t waste time on goodbyes; neither of them put much stock by promises that can’t be kept. 

After so many days of his brother’s quiet company, his quarters are strangely empty. The silence isn’t the refuge it was, but it’s not hostile, either, like it’s still holding on to some part of his brother’s presence. It’s still comforting in its own right, but not in the way he’d imagined.

It’ll be back to the front soon enough. He can only guess what the war will throw at him next, but if he’s lucky, it won’t be long before he sees Fordo again. He hasn’t properly thanked his brother yet, and he’s curious to see if his brother’s squad lives up to their reputation. It’ll certainly be interesting, Alpha thinks. 

Vode an.

[saltskinandasociopath]

a very earthling question (onkey, 2min - teen)

summary: 'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

(earth girls are easy, onkey (and 2min) style.)

pairing: onew/key, taemin/minho

notes/warnings: some fluffy alien romcom for this valentine’s day.

can be found on ao3 here.

———————————————————————

there is a spaceship outside of kim kibum's salon. it was not there last night, and it has no right to be there now.

this is, coincidentally, the least of kim kibum's problems. he is a colored-in shade of human misery, from breaking up with his on and off (permanently off) boyfriend, and ritualistically categorizing all the places in his life he has yet to cleanse of his presence; to the impending foreclosure of his business; to the sniffing bloodhounds of the other competitors in the area, ready to acquire his, frankly, absurdly sizeable space.

(it is absurdly sizeable, to taemin's key observation, because there's hardly ever customers. it's a hard market to break into, temperamental and not temperamental enough, in equal measure.)

the apartment he occupies above the space is tiny, made tinier with taemin's form crowding the couch, and kibum is mulling the utter dead end that his life has become, when a great collision rocks the dumpster.

and. it is a spaceship. it is definitely a spaceship, almost cartoonishly so. it's about the size of a parade float.

it's probably a parade float, is the second thought. some idiot drunkenly taking it for a joyride down an alley. look, there's an opening, light beaming out before it's blocked out by one body, then another. two figures that are probably human, beneath their bobbled helmets, their thick, stuffy jumpsuits.

this neighborhood gets all sorts of characters. it's why kibum chose it a little over a year ago, taking a chance on the already crowded area, the unfriendly lease agreement, the questionable landlord. these are just two more characters, talking in a garbled tongue that kibum just isn't hearing right.

it's 4am, anyway, and kibum doesn't have time for this. so he throws on his headphones, viciously tugs off taemin's socks in a pique of spiteful vengeance, and heads to his bed to mull over ways to make his bank account stretch even thinner.

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

'hey kibum, there's someone banging on the door. hey. hey, kibum.'

kibum is sleeping, he would be horrified to recognize, halfway on his laptop, lodging a canyon of a line across his cheek. when he scrambles up, his joints aching from the unnatural position he had dozed off in, he finds the time on his phone - 7:17 am.

'do you mind? i'm trying to sleep.' taemin says, nonchalant.

'god you are just the worst,' kibum says. he is looking down at his phone, checking his email when the reminder comes up - bank visit 730.

FUCK. SHIT. goddamn it. the bank, his loans for the space, seeing if he's using the space as intended and isn't secretly - something? insolvent? incompetent? kibum is certainly something, something sharp and biting and near-poisonous in proximity, as he throws on his clothes and tries to arrange his hair into something presentable. taemin holds up his bar of deodorant as he passes and kibum grabs it and pauses to apply it, unwilling even in his panic to let the stink of body odor be his signature scent.

he hurtles downstairs, his shoes sliding off at the heel as he careens down the stairs. in the salon he can see the banker (? is that even the term - auditor? realtor? pain in the ass, really) standing outside the door. whoever it is, is an actual asshole, because it's only 7:27 and he's been at the door for 10 minutes, chomping at the bit to rob kibum of his pride and joy. what a miserable bastard.

he is flipping on the lights, and taking one last duck into the bathroom when he spies them. the aliens. the parade floaters. whoever. they're just standing there, one of them a good 4 inches than the other, helmets still on like they're robbing him. one of them has a device in his hand that looks halfway between a smartphone and a gun.

holy fuck he's being robbed. he has literally negative to give, and he's being robbed.

or

or

he's desperate, is his excuse. he puts his hands together, and extends them out.

'look. i will give you anything you need, if you can just let me pretend you are customers for 15 minutes. just to get his asshole off my back? alright? just - ' he nods, looking between the two of them. the shorter one on the left, clad all in yellow, makes a jerky motion that might be a nod? he'll take it, especially when he moves to put away his gun phone. kibum makes a reckless motion to grab his hand and lead him out. the other one in blue is following when kibum glances over the top of the yellow-tinged helmet. the one whose being tugged along, his grip is loose, almost skittish, but kim kibum is not a quitter. he maneuvers both of them into chairs and holds out his hands again.

'just - stay there. and play along. please.'

before they can respond, or decide kibum's meager wealth is worth the charade, he turns away and schools his features as he strides to the door, popping it open with a cool, professional 'good morning'.

'mr. kim,' the bank asshole says, like he's the one being inconvenienced in every aspect of his life. 'am i interrupting?'

'actually, you are,' kibum replies, opening the door wider. 'i had some urgent client requests to handle this morning, so we'll have some company. i hope that helps you make an informed determination on our operations.'

he's impressing even himself with his handling. the asshole is looking at the two, weird as they are, like they aren't random intruders. which, no, of course not. of course. kibum moves forward to make the case more persuasive.

'i think we're ready to take that off now, sir,' he says to the one in yellow, whose gripping the ends of the chair like he's terrified. still, he doesn't make any motions when kibum moves towards the - neck latch? of the helmet - where it clicks into his get-up. when kibum fumbles with it, he gently moves his hands aside to do it himself, releasing the catches and lifting it up off his head in a smooth, practiced motion.

and, well. shit. kibum doesn't really have time to dwell on how gorgeous one of his assailants is, with sweet, expressive brown eyes. there's a discoloration to his cheeks, a yellow blush brought out by the vibrant tones of his clothes. his nose is thick, straight, and sharp cheekbones and jawline that together are really affecting his ability to make this whole thing believable. he clears his throat and meets those eyes with his own eyes wide, encouraging and asking for forgiveness as he moves to run his fingers through his hair.

his purple hair. it's one of the nicest dye jobs he's seen in a while, perfectly and naturally applied like it had grown out of his scalp like that. if his robber is from one of his competitors, coming in here and scaring the hell out of him, he's going to be monumentally pissed, but at that point he'll have to concede he's outskilled. it's not even fried out, it's almost inhumanely soft. perfect styling, too, framing his face - jesus, that face - like art.

he plays with it for a moment - a half-second - too long, but hides it with a murmur of consideration.

'excellent, i think this is about what you were expecting?' he turns the chair around to face the mirror and the man growls, like he's surprised, or scared, by the motion - like he's never been in a spinning chair? goddamn everyone loves these chairs, it's weird. but it tapers off when kibum steadies it at the stop, his black-painted fingernails resting at his shoulders.

(he can feel them shift slightly beneath his touch, and he's keyed up on panic, chalking his noting of that up to panic)

the man is just staring, silent now, at his reflection, and the asshole is still watching them. his (gorgeous, awkward) robber must have stage fright, so kibum smiles wide in the mirror, meeting his eyes. after a moment he follows the silent instruction, crinkling his eyes, breaking his face into an all new level to kibum's panic, with a wide, warm smile that feels like sunshine. he looks like sunshine, all in yellow, like a lavender flower blooming.

'great!' he says, chirpy in a way that sounds unbelievable to his own ears, but he's moving onto the other one, who is already moving to take his helmet off.

well, fuck, they're both good-looking. this one is a hell of lot less tolerant of kibum's performance, spinning himself around, moving away from his hands as he goes to check out his hair (black, surprisingly close to standard, especially in comparison). it's short in the nape of the neck and when he makes a motion to get up, kibum pinches, hard, giving himself a moment of surprise to push down, his hands full-weighted against his trapezius muscles.

at that point, he goes with the program; his smiling motion is a little quicker, but kibum has already picked his favorite and it's too little, too late, robber asshole.

'we can settle up after we're done, okay, guys? thanks again!' he hates his customer service voice - he doesn't even use this voice for real clients - but bank asshole seems like the type of guy who says 'the customer is always right' so he rubs it in extra sweet. he takes his time settling in, setting his shoulders down and back, lifting his chin high as he plays the part.

'these were just two of the clients we have booked today. actually - they were multi-day appointments, follow-up to ensure all their services were to their exact requests. performers, you know?' he knows he doesn't know. and he knows that bank asshole knows he doesn't know, that he has no idea what's trendy, or stylish, or experimental. helmets for protecting hair? why the fuck not. he'll sell that line all day long if he has to.

he doesn't have to. bank asshole is taking photos - without even asking! - and making notes on his phone. he made the case that he could make, and it was better to have someone here than not. even if they were a little difficult and a little criminal.

'well, thank you for your time,' bank asshole says suddenly. he moves to stand and shakes kibum's hand. when he turns, the two - instead of waiting in their chairs - are standing shoulder to shoulder, their helmets at their hips, expressionless, like a low-rent daft punk. he squares his shoulders like everything's normal here, and sees the asshole out with a cool nod.

as soon as he leaves -

he exhales, letting his shoulders and his head drop, releasing a moan to start, and then turning it into a yawn as the adrenaline starts to settle. the lack of sleep, the push to herd his brain into performative professionalism, on top of negotiating his own robbery.

oh. right. he's being robbed.

giving less than a fuck (but not zero fucks), he turns and resigns himself.

'thank you,' he says firstly, pointing it towards the one in yellow. 'ironically you probably saved my ass.'

the one in blue rumbles, like a whiny drunk, before it turns into a questioning 'ass?' the one in yellow turns to him, sharp, an obvious look of dismay on his face. he gestures, hurky, at his gun-phone - kibum tries to take a look at it, but suddenly takes several steps back as the one in yellow - not blue, it would have been easier if it were blue - raises it and aims it at him.

'whoa whoa, just - wait, i can get you - i can get you whatever money, i just have to go upstairs - ' and he squeezes his eyes shut as the one in yellow squeezes his hand, and it fires -

nothing happens. well, not nothing - there's some odd, light noise, like chimes, like the rounding noise of a balloon being blown up, and kibum dares to open its eyes and there are bubbles, iridescent in a way that doesn't quite look right, black and purple and green and red, stringing from one color to the next in a rhythm that's shifting, like it's looking for the perfect hue to settle on, shrinking and expanding out with little explorative tones that feel, inexplicably, like sticking your tongue out to taste the air, except with sound.

it doesn't look real, so jury's out if he's now suffering visual hallucinations, but he glances at the other two and finds the one in yellow is looking at him, with increasing levels of horror.

he opens his mouth and shrieks, incomprehensible syllables that make kibum want to cringe in on himself, but he's also still looking at him long enough to see his eyes shift, from the human brown to an alien orange.

alien.

spaceship.

he's not proud of it, but he passes out. at least in unconsciousness, he doesn't have to worry about dignity.

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

when he comes to, he's propped up in one of the salon chairs. across from him, taemin is sitting on the counter, playing with a pair of scissors. honestly, it's one of the most disconcerting things he can think of, and that's before the blue alien walks into view. taemin beams at him, and gets a smile in return, more tentative than earlier, more genuine.

'taemin,' he says, urgent and undecided about whether or not he needs to risk his life for his worst friend. 'what are you doing?'

'waiting for you to wake up. eating cereal.'

he doesn't have cereal. he ignores this discrepancy and slowly starts to get up. the one in blue doesn't stop him from steering taemin away so they can have this conversation slightly more privately. he still doesn't know where the one in yellow is.

'this is going to sound crazy. but these guys - they're not human - i don't think so, anyway.'

taemin puts his finger on his lips to shush him - to actually shush him, like he's a child and not the most rational, most human individual in the building.

'i know. they showed me their ship outside. it's pretty cool, actually.'

he turns to retrieve a box of cereal from behind the nearest mirror. this would explain kibum's ant problem. his arm goes elbow-deep as he takes a handful and starts eating it dry, talking around it.

'their names are jinki and minho. minho's the one in blue. jinki's out back trying to fix the ship. they crashed.'

'you talked to them.'

'no, they're telepathic. just - beamed it. right into my head,' taemin says, his eyes sparkling with mockery. 'yeah of course. i even introduced you too.'

'kibum,' says a new voice behind him. taemin keeps munching his cereal. kibum turns.

jinki looks infinitely more composed from earlier, which is impressive considering he looks like he's been actively rooting around in an engine, dark smears across his forehead, his gloves covered in something undeniably gooey. unfortunately nothing has really changed the actual look of him, and kibum - who will need therapy - chokes around his first 'hi' like an idiot.

the second one comes out a little smoother. it's hard to hear himself over taemin's chewing.

'kibum,' jinki says again.

'what?' he asks.

'that's all we've managed so far,' taemin says from behind him. when kibum turns to look, he shrugs and puts the box down, licking his fingers clean. 'but it's impressive, right? i'm probably going to be in history books.'

'lucky us,' he hisses. 'you don't even know they're peaceful.'

'um, you've been passed out for at least 30 minutes. and they left you alone and put you in that chair. i was up for leaving you on the floor. they're better than me.'

'low. fucking. bar.'

minho has moved to their side, looking between them like he's unsure whether to intervene or not. kibum turns away in a huff. so now he gets to handle aliens. he can't just leave them to taemin.

with a start, he realizes how much brighter it is outside, and, checking his phone, realizes he's near to the opening hours. he can't afford to leave the little he has, to take up recreational alien-babysitting. he also has, like, an obligation as a member of the human race to not have their ambassador be taemin.

he takes what he thinks is a discreet glance at the other three, and finds jinki looking back at him, patiently waiting. he flashes a nervous smile and looks back down to his phone.

ok.

plan.

small kernel of a plan. jinki is working on their ship. he can keep an eye on him from the salon, with the back door popped open. and he'd rather keep both aliens handy, but if he has them both down here, then taemin will undoubtedly lurk around too. so.

'go back upstairs,' he orders the pair of them. minho doesn't understand him, but he jabs his finger up to communicate the general spirit of it. taemin shrugs, but grabs minho's hand all the same.

his human-looking hand. he must have taken off his gloves at some point, which means that jinki's hands are probably similar.

it's traitorous or selfish or maybe just horny if he wonders what the chances are of the rest of their bodies being human like.

anyway.

jinki turns to follow them, but kibum reaches out to grab him by the sleeve. jinki looks at him, confused, and then takes his own gloves off - and, yes, they are human-like too. he clips them to his belt and grabs for kibum's hand, his grip still as light as earlier. outside of the glove, his hand feels terribly small and delicate, easy to dwarf in kibum's.

'your ship,' he starts, then falters. taemin has already disappeared up the stairs. he starts moving back towards the alley, prattling about taemin's ability to preoccupy people, for lack of anything else; jinki keeps pace beside him, his eyes kept trained on kibum's face, dipping down to watch his lips move. kibum tries valiantly to ignore what that does to him.

he pushes out into the alley, where the ship is opened up, a couple pigeons perched on its antennae.

'you can work on it,' he says, semi-helplessly gesturing towards the ship with their still-joined hands. 'and i'll be inside - ' he puts his free hand to his chest and then nods his head towards the path they just took. ' - if you need anything.' he lets go of jinki's hand and tries to reiterate with slightly more smooth motions.

jinki seems to get the gist of it, at first, but he grabs kibum's hand again and brings it up between them. bizarrely, kibum thinks he's about to kiss the back of it, he just has a gentle, warm look in his eyes that doesn't belong at all - but he doesn't. instead he meticulously opens his fingers, one by one, and then puts his gun-phone against his palm, and wraps his hand around to close it again. he maneuvers kibum's fingers into a series of motions, clicking a switch here, and there, until one of the screens lights up, with a series of lines running seamlessly from left to right.

jinki meets his eyes seriously and brings the device to his mouth. he speaks, clear and decisive: 'jinki'.

then, he moves it back to kibum and nods encouragingly.

'um, okay,' he says. he leans in, and clears his throat. 'kibum.'

jinki nods again and releases his hold. he clutches his hands together in mimicry of kibum's own posture, and mouths silently.

'you want me to talk into this,' he holds it closer to his mouth again, and, in doing so, notices the lines from earlier spiking with each syllable. oh. okay. translation device. or recording device. or... communicator? either way, it's not like it can do any harm. probably, anyway. his life is suddenly full of probabilities, when he had felt dead set on the certainty of failure.

'okay,' he says, deliberately slow, into the device, and is granted with a wide, happy smile from jinki.

he starts backing away from jinki, out of his own preservation instincts and the need to get the salon opened on time. he keeps his eye on the alien, on the off chance he has misunderstood, but jinki is also turning away, casting one last glance back at kibum, and nodding encouragingly when kibum clicks the button and says 'goodbye' into it. if it sounds a little sappy, well, there's no one here to call him out on it.

when he steps back into the building, he takes a few deep breaths and buoys himself up to start the day. everything else before this moment won't count for a good 10 hours.

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

he can't hold it the entire time, it's just not possible. but he does keep it on whenever he has one hand free, from greeting customers and employees as they arrive to clock in. he puts it aside when he's intent on a cut, or a wash, conscious at all times of when he's left it alone, peeking more often down the back way. occasionally he catches a glimpse of yellow, and once he saw jinki staring upwards towards the sky, lost in thought.

it twangs something in his chest, that he has to push aside.

he manages to get through the majority of his day like this, when his stomach suddenly and angrily growls. one of his stylists is nearby, and quirks an eyebrow at him.

'don't even start,' he says, and she sticks her tongue out, making him laugh. why not, he has to take a break at some time. he'll run upstairs and make sure minho and taemin are fine, and drag jinki along with him, and make sure he has something to eat to.

the question of what aliens eat is a good one, and kibum doesn't know, but he can at least ask. they're aliens, they can probably figure out if something will kill them.

'jinki,' he calls as he heads outside. there's a great clatter from the spaceship and jinki pops up, his lips parted and he lets out a pleased bark. kibum, fighting his own smile, motions for him to come down and simultaneously says 'let's eat some lunch, okay?' into the device.

'okay,' jinki repeats amiably, and kibum is positive he doesn't know what he's saying, but he isn't about to object to his sweet agreeability. especially considering they're going upstairs.

he waits semi-patiently for jinki to come down and then sneaks them both inside after looking, shooing jinki up the stairs.

'taemin, minho, have you guys eaten anything yet?' kibum calls out as he turns the key - there's no click, taemin didn't even bother locking - and enters. he waves jinki inside and takes a quick scan to make sure everything is in order. it looks like there's plates in the sink, the TV is loud from around the wall, but neither taemin or minho are anywhere to be seen. but, if they ate, then that speaks positively towards jinki being able to eat something. he clicks the button and starts talking.

'i'm going to give you some water. food...normally i'd just run out to GS25 and grab something, but i should have some packets here...taemin! what did you eat, i'm trying to feed for four here....'  he trails off as he realizes he hasn't heard much of anything since coming in except the TV. he abruptly turns and jinki senses the sudden change in his mood, setting his shoulders back and walking with more caution into the underlit apartment.

it's a small place, with a hole of a bedroom and a bathroom split off from the hybrid kitchen/sitting area. there's only so many places for people to lurk. kibum throws open the door to the bedroom, half-expected taemin to have taken over his bed, and minho resigned to the small desk in the corner, his helmet a pillow. but no such find waits for him there. which means they've either left, and they're altogether fucked, or -

jinki, following kibum's example, apparently is already turning the handle on the bathroom, and when he opens it he jumps back with a noise kibum can't even properly describe - it's like a gasp, gurgled through a mixer of soju and rock salt. when kibum takes the three steps necessary to arrive at his vantage point, minho is turned away, shoulders hunched in, his right arm in an all-too-human motion, and taemin is wiping his mouth and looking exceedingly - exceedingly - unapologetic.

'tell me you did not just suck an extraterrestrial dick, taemin, jesus!'

jinki makes some more noises that kibum trusts has the same energy.

kibum has always known about taemin's hobgoblin-esque exploratory promiscuity. he only asks that his friend be safe, perfectly unbothered that his metaphorical line in the sand is the human race.

he, understandably, never expected to have that sanguine understanding stress-tested.

while he's been busy engaging in a one-sided staring contest, jinki has pulled minho out into the hallway, and is having a furious conversation that sounds halfway between static and muzak. kibum has to consciously tune them out, has to do something to communicate that this cannot happen again, and also - how the fuck did this happen?

'how the fuck did this happen?' he yells. 'i left you alone for a morning, and you put him in your mouth? you don't know where he's been!'

'space,' taemin says. 'and this apartment.'

'you don't even speak the same language, you - you asshole - how can you even call that consensual?'

'hey,' taemin looks genuinely offended. 'i gave him some porn first and showed him how to turn it off and turn it back on. he found a blowjob one and had a boner. i asked and made sure he was good with it. c'mon, hyung, i'm not that guy.'

'fine. you are still the guy who just sucked a dick without having any idea of what it could look like, or what - what it was like when he came - or if the - if it was okay for you to swallow.'

'i didn't swallow,' taemin looks incredibly pleased with himself for his foresight, and holds his hands up in the universal sign for obviously. 'it's fine.'

'it is no way fine,' kibum hisses. 'you are such a dumbass.'

as he lets out the invective he turns and faces the other pair, who have stopped their own discussion and are now looking at him with expressions of apology and confusion - jinki - and...resolve? consternation? whatever. minho doesn't look nearly apologetic enough for kibum's mood.

'you're a dumbass too,' he hisses, stabbing a finger at minho.

'dumbass?' he parrots tentatively, pointing at himself, and then taemin. kibum rubs his temples.

'yes, exactly. both of you. glad we're all on the same page.'

'dumbass?' jinki asks, quieter, and pointing at himself.

'....no,' kibum responds, shaking his head. he can't even be bothered to try to explain, he just heads back to the kitchen. 'c'mon let's eat something. taemin, you are gargling and brushing your teeth first.'

'ok, but that means i have to use your toothbrush.'

the only respite kibum can take is that jinki helps him as best he can in the kitchen, monitoring the water he sets to boil and handing out the chopsticks when the convenience store ramyeon is done cooking.

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

he doesn't have much of a choice except to leave minho and taemin again. jinki seems much more opposed to it, pausing in at the bottom of the stairwell. he gestures towards kibum's pocket, where the edge of his device is poking out. at the motion, kibum pulls it out.

'sorry, i forgot to use it upstairs. don't think you'd want to remember much of it, to be honest.'

jinki shakes his head, and silently holds his hand out. kibum passes it over, watching as he holds it up to the side of his head, and presses a smaller button. the device says 'jinki', then 'kibum', and the rest of all the little pieces of conversation kibum has had throughout the day, speeding up until it's completely unintelligible, spitting noise into jinki's waiting ear. when it finishes, jinki nods, a small smile.

'thank you,' he says, clearly, carefully watching kibum's face.

'oh,' he replies faintly. 'you're learning? that helps you speak?'

jinki narrows his eyes in effort, and kibum realizes it's limited just to what has been recorded. has he talked about learning today, with the elderly mrs. park, or the chatty server from down the street? probably not. 'thank you' is thrown around so much in customer service, no wonder it's the first thing he picked up.

'you're welcome,' he says back, and jinki's smile is a quickly blooming thing that smacks kibum right across the face. he takes a step closer and presses it back into kibum's hand.

'use it more,' he asks softly. 'please.'

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

it's stupid, but he does. he memorizes the feel of pressing it just enough so it activates, and what it's like when his finger slips. he finds a little clip and fashions an attachment to his apron, so it's sitting on his collarbone. when there's an odd question about it, he says he's taking better notes of his day for record-keeping, and that seems to work well enough, though one or two stylists keep giving him odd looks. he doesn't acknowledge them.

at the back of his mind, he knows he's doing this for more than just improved communication, that he likes the way jinki smiles at him, the cadence of his voice when he says his name - the proud look in his eyes when they managed to exchange just a few words. he likes his steady, reserved presence. he has a sweet temperament that smooths down kibum's rough edges, just by being.

it's a crush. kibum brooks no self-deception. it hasn't been a week since he's broken up with his last boyfriend, and jinki is an alien, an actual alien, preparing to leave the planet, that he's known for all of nine hours. and he has a crush on him.

maybe when they lift off, he'll get burned up in the rocket fumes. frankly it's the only satisfiable outcome kibum can see from this.

he has one last appointment for the day, an older lady of the neighborhood who likes to talk, even when kibum doesn't. for once, this anticipated division doesn't bother him much, because it can be put to good use. he makes sure the button is pressed down and secure and leads mrs. choi to the chair, nodding along as she starts laying out her day, her impending anniversary, her entrenched drama with the other salon down the street (the cause for her patronage of kibum's location). it's all much formless noise to him, to be certain. luckily for him she doesn't need a partner to have a conversation, and he's lost in the focus of trimming when there's an unmistakable 'kibum?' from his right.

both he and mrs. choi turn to find jinki standing there, lavender hair a stringy mess, coated through with goop. kibum almost swears in dismay, stopping himself only in the nick of time. he looks down at mrs. choi and, before he can say anything, she swats up at him like they're friends. important to note that they are not friends, but kibum needs the money, and also needs jinki to stay undiscovered.

'jinki,' he says cautiously. 'what's wrong?'

visibly uncertain on how to proceed, jinki raises his shoulders, and lets them drop.

'it's a mess,' he says, and, yes, kibum did call a few things a mess today. 'i need to clean up. upstairs. okay?'

'oh honey,' mrs. choi says, feigning an unwarranted level of camaraderie. 'you really do. are you kibum's boyfriend?'

'friend,' kibum hastily corrects. he doesn't need to get himself into a fake-boyfriend scenario for further emotional torture. he looks square at jinki and nods. 'okay. take my key and go upstairs. wash.'

jinki nods, and kibum is grateful, glad that he managed to phrase it in a way he could understand. he excuses himself to go to the desk and pulls out the key ring, wiggling out his apartment key. jinki saw him use his key earlier, right? he should be able to figure it out. he takes a moment to send a text to taemin too to warn him.

'thank you,' jinki says again, and kibum dips his head back, oddly formal, and familiarly warm with pleasure when jinki turns with a small smile.

mrs. choi should go back to her old stylist, he'll lose her business gladly, because she greets him with a loud 'how handsome your friend is! you must be close, to let him use your shower.'

she says the last part with a relish to her voice, and god, kibum could kill her so easily. he laughs, hollowly, and she continues on.

'he's very polite too. have you known him long?'

'no.'

'mmmm, well. if you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't let him get away. and he seems to like you too!'

'well it doesn't matter who we like. can't really help that he's leaving town soon,' he says tightly.

she lets out a hiss of disappointment. he could give her a terrible asymmetrical cut in return.

'well, that's too bad. he seems to like you well enough, and well enough could be, well, enough to get him to stay!' she laughs gaily.

'ha ha,' he says.

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

'hey, it's me,' he calls through the door. knocking on his own door is just the way to end this day, tired and more emotional than he ever cares to disclose. 'let me in already.'

he hopes taemin hasn't gotten so far as to fuck minho. or let minho fuck him. or let minho suck his dick. if there's any chance they're incompatible, then spitting could hardly have been the apex of protection. taemin could be rotting from the mouth in, or minho from the dick out.

a small, tiny part of him thinks they'd deserve it. a larger part says if that happened, his crush on jinki would have the shit topper of misfortune it deserves. just to round it out perfectly.

he knows jinki must still be up there - because he checked out back before locking up, and the ship was half-dissembled, with jinki nowhere to be seen even when kibum called out - but he did not expect it to be jinki opening the door. he also did not expect jinki to be wearing some of his clothes, an oversized sweatshirt that makes him look like a college student.

'hi kibum,' he says, and he beams when he says, 'welcome back.'

it's so cute, is the thing, so exceedingly domestic and homely that kibum may not survive its cruelty, knowing it won't last.

'i washed,' he continues as kibum sets down his things blindly. 'taemin gave me clothes.'

'good,' he croaks. he fishes out the device before he can forget, hands it over to jinki's obvious pleasure. he holds it up to his ear, and kibum just watches his face, his eyes closed, as he learns. it's not fair, is it? life's not fair, is what they always say, but they're talking about things like losing your job, being left behind by the people you thought were you friends. not being teased with happiness, with love, and having it literally leave for the stars.

well, maybe there's an astronaut or something who can relate. whatever. kibum isn't about to argue technicalities with his own feelings.

'where's taemin and minho?' he asks, instead, when jinki has finished and is setting the device back down in the table. kibum presses the button before he asks, leaning back against the couch. he might as well keep giving his words, it's all he can do.

'they went out,' jinki says. 'for food.'

'okay,' kibum says. he's tired, but jinki looks like he's on the precipice of a question, and kibum knows he's going to have to say goodbye, so he doesn't wave it off.

'earlier,' he starts. 'taemin and minho. what are they doing?'

trust him to ask the hard question.

'sex,' he says. he hasn't said it at all today, it's not something you talk about with your customers. he's open, but he's not that open. he casts his mind back to some of the idle chatter from the afternoon. 'they kissed. taemin was making him happy.'

'oh,' jinki says. he sounds unfinished. he brings his fingers to his lips, and asks in confirmation. 'kissed?'

kibum nods.

'okay,' jinki says, then repeats it to himself. 'kibum?'

'yes?'

'does kissing make you happy?'

he snorts.

'sometimes.'

jinki tilts his head, his brows gone quizzical. there isn't enough vocabulary between them to explain it, but something in his eyes feels compassionate, and - kibum is just sunk. there's no way he's getting out of this without some damage.

'you're good,' he says, plain and honest. kibum flushes and turns away, but jinki continues speaking. 'you're good to us and to others. you should be happy.'

'i want to be,' kibum confesses to his hands. 'i want to be happy.'

jinki moves to his side, the couch arm between them.

'"sometimes"', he says back to him. he touches his lips, and then reaches out, stopping short of touching kibum, but pointing towards him all the same. 'tonight?'

kibum looks at him, and considers a thousand things that don't matter, because he's already saying 'yes', already watching jinki go down on one knee, then the other, folds his arms across the couch until his hands are resting on kibum's upper arms. he smells like his soap, but in this light his brown eyes spark orange once more, and there's a buzzing beneath his touch that hasn't been there before, and then he can see every star in his eyes, can see countless worlds in every freckle, and he surrenders at the first brush of jinki's lips against his.

it's only a momentary touch, but it lives past its occurrence. isn't that a thing? like the light shining down well after the sun had exploded, kibum can still feel his lips after he moves away.

jinki asks.

'are you happy?'

the light is blinking out.

kibum shakes his head, manages to smile a little.

'not tonight.'

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

he closes the salon the next morning, contacting the few appointments by phone call to make sure they get the notice. minho and taemin both slept on the couch overnight, wrapped up in each other, while jinki slept on the floor. the blanket kibum had lent him wrapped tightly around his form. it turned out his bathroom was hosting their suits, the helmets on the floor of the shower, so kibum just washed up the best he could with the sink, brushing his teeth with his finger on the recollection of taemin's earlier use.

apparently minho had also lent his device to taemin for a similar purpose, so the morning was filled with a lot more korean than he was used to, most of it full of minho's innocently profane conversations.

'you had to corrupt him,' he had wearily warned taemin after minho had given an enthusiastic definition of a rimjob to jinki.

'it was educational,' taemin retorted, and in a way, it was. it was certainly more straightforward than anything kibum had given jinki. but still, jinki had cast him his own looks, alternating between amusement and confusion. kibum shrugged helplessly and tapped their shared device reassuringly.

for now, it was much of the same as yesterday, minho and taemin keeping each other company while jinki worked on the ship. kibum was stewing over his business, trying to think past today, or tomorrow, to the return to his regular life.

it was much easier when jinki wasn't calling him out, excitement laced through his voice.

'kibum! come here!'

he gets up and heads out to the back. the ship looks great, with jinki perched atop the cockpit, half his body hidden inside.

'good news?' he asks, careful to have the button clicked.

'yes! very good!' he yells joyfully back. 'come here!'

'how?' he asks, because he doesn't feel like possibly cracking his back from falling onto the pavement. jinki laughs, the slightly alien rhythm of it, and extracts himself, climbing down with no problem at all. when he meets kibum, he turns to present his back and leans forward slightly.

'get on,' he says.

'it's called a piggyback ride,' kibum says uncertainly. he reaches out to touch the broad expanse of his back, before retracting. 'are you sure?'

'yes!' jinki says.

well, when it's said like that, kibum does his best, hopping awkwardly up and wrapping his legs around his hips. jinki grabs at his ankles and starts up, so that kibum is sitting further up on his back. he still smells like kibum's soap, even back as he is in his suit, and it's making the whole experience that much more surreal as jinki clambers easily back up to where he was.

'um, jinki, it's a little small,' because the entry is. looking into it, he's not sure how jinki expects both of them to fit, when he must have just had enough room to squeeze his lower half into the porthole-sized space. jinki shakes his head.

'it's not small,' he explains, without explaining. 'watch.'

he starts squeezing himself in, getting to his earlier position of being cut off at the waist. when he moves to slide down further, his upper half disappears in a blink, leaving the gap empty.

'what the fuck - jinki!' he yells, looking down and also watching his own step, now paranoid about being transported god knows where.

'it's okay!' comes his voice from - inside? kibum peers closer and can't see him at all. anxiously, he dips one toe into the space, but nothing happens. as though entering a cold pool, he starts to clamber in, toe, foot, knee, then the other. all of the sudden he can feel a grip around his ankle and shrieks in fear, starting to kick out before jinki's voice calls out again.

'it's me, i'm here.'

'okay,' he says, chanting it to himself, once, twice - on the third time he bends his knees to go lower, and just as the metal siding brushes his belly button he can feel something wrap around him, like a squeezing flash of warmth, and then he really is being squeezed, by jinki's solid arms, the alien smiling at him reassuredly.

'not small,' he says, and releases him so kibum can see he's now inside a spaceship a good three times bigger than it was on the outside.

'yep. you're right,' he concedes. 'not small.'

'i want to show you something,' jinki says, and he takes him to the front. out of the window he can see the entry into his salon, and beneath it is an expanse of controls. on the far left, there's a screen with another alien, his helmet off, pink hair almost cartoonishly bright.

'jonghyun,' jinki says, with clear affection in his voice. 'kibum.'

'hi,' kibum says, waving. jonghyun waves back, but doesn't speak, clearly turning to look at jinki to translate.

he's gotten so used to jinki talking in korean that it's disorienting to hear him let out those indiscernible noises again, and to hear jonghyun respond back in kind, but he doesn't want to interrupt the clearly happy reunion. jinki is smiling wide, and jonghyun's a bit softer, but obviously genuine.

they're talking about his coming home. kibum wraps his arms around his torso and waits, because what else can he do? this was an accident, after all, and accidents get fixed.

they are talking for a while, it seems, their tones shifting into something more serious - as best kibum can tell - so he takes a step back and begins looking around. the ship is bigger than outside, but clearly was only ever meant for two - two seats, two beds towards the back. there has to be some food for their journeys, kept somewhere, or maybe they were fed nutrients, like in the matrix, until it was time to wake up. it's a big universe, and jinki is meant to be somewhere else in it. not here. not with kibum.

'done,' jinki says, cutting through kibum's thoughts. when he turns back, jinki is looking at him, so he comes forward. from the screen, jonghyun looks pleased to have jinki (and minho, but - you know - fuck him, he goes in the same bucket as taemin) coming back soon.

'done?' he asks and jinki nods, pleasure evident on his face. he performs a complex little signal with his hands that jonghyun reciprocates, and then reaches out to turn it off.

'can we go outside?' kibum asks, because he doesn't think he can stand to be in this ship anymore, with its two seats, two beds, and engine ready to leave. he moves aimlessly back towards where jinki caught him, and jinki lets out that alien laugh, richer for having talked to jonghyun, high off of his happiness.

'there,' he guides kibum to one of the circles decorating the floor, hand gently clutching at his elbow. 'wait.'

that bright, warm flash and kibum is on top of the ship, with taemin and minho looking up at him from the blacktop. before he can make an excuse for his expression - because he can feel it - he can feel the pressure of tears at the corner of his eyes, jinki appears as well. he turns and leans forward again, inviting kibum to ride his back once more, and kibum - he's not proud of this at all - he clutches jinki in a hug from behind, before jumping up into the piggyback.

they climb down together, kibum burying his face in jinki's neck. he's sure he can feel a snotty tear or two, and wipes it across his yellow suit before sliding off.

'ready?' minho asks, anticipation evident in his voice.

'ready,' jinki says. in unison they make that hand signal jinki just shared with jonghyun, and kibum clears his throat.

'thanks for - thanks for crashing into our planet,' he offers, with a respectable command of his voice.

'it was our pleasure,' jinki says.

'literally,' taemin interrupts, elbowing at minho, and the taller alien blushes with a greenish tint. he steps forward to be side by side with jinki, and they each bow forward to taemin and kibum, from their waist, in perfect form.

then, jinki turns to minho:

'i've spoken to jonghyun about the return, and he is prepared,' and he turns to taemin, who - kibum is now noticing - has a bag over his shoulder. 'i have marked all foods that can be eaten. do not stare at the stars too long; you will burn your eyes out.'

'what,' says kibum.

'i brought sunglasses,' taemin argues.

'that's not enough,' minho says, and jinki is handing him his helmet, and minho is moving to place it over taemin's head, and jinki is taking off his suit, revealing one of kibum's old t-shirts, and some sweatpants, and -

'what,' says kibum.

'i want to stay,' jinki says. as he steps out of his suit, he stumbles, and minho catches him with long practice. he moves forward and kibum instinctively turns away from minho and taemin's gazes, trying to find some privacy, to find some equilibrium, because jinki is talking like -

'i like you,' he says.

'you don't know what that means,' kibum says, but jinki smiles.

'yes, i do,' he says, gentle, always gentle. 'i'm not leaving town.'

mrs. choi, and kibum's fingers on the button, keeping it on. jinki pressing the device against his ear, listening carefully and telling kibum he should be happy.

'it's not fair to you,' kibum says again, because he is selfish, he has always wanted more for himself, and in his experience what he wants, doesn't agree to be had. 'your planet - '

'my planet doesn't have you.'

jinki closes his hands over his.

'kibum,' he says. 'will kissing make you happy today?'

'yes,' he whispers, and jinki smiles. there are stars in his eyes.

the space between them closes, their lips pressed together, the world is shaking, rumbling like it never has before and jinki is holding him close as the ship lifts off, taemin pressed against the window like a bug. behind him, minho waves, the light bouncing off his helmet.

jinki is pressing another kiss to kibum's hair as he watches the ship become smaller and smaller, until it's little more than another dot of white among the clouds.

and kibum -

he's happy.

[a-lil-perspective]

Hunter x Reader

A/N: What nobody asked for. I didn’t think a title would be appropriate for this particular piece of work. It really doesn’t coincide with any Star Wars themes, save for everybody’s favorite Sergeant making his debut within. It’s more of a Lil perspective. (Lol I’m sorry my last two brain cells have no sense of humor) For context: I have been absolutely suffocating lately, in every sense of the word. It’s almost indescribably oppressive, so I wrote this in desperately seeking comfort and therapy. Just a fragmented depiction, addresses underlying mental health issues and sensory disorders—in carrying my own subtle semblance of it, I love exploring those complexities with Hunter. It turns out soft. I think. Also, if you squint hard enough, you will see some song lyrics scattered throughout the fic in the form of thoughts. I wrote this in the format of Reader, though it’s practically a self-insert, I’m just not brave enough for those particular pronouns. :) Sorry in advance if this doesn’t apply to you...

▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️▫️▪️

Isn’t anyone trying to find me... Won’t somebody come take me home...

The silence was prodding. Hunter’s gaze darted to your tense form numerous times over the span of several painfully long, anticipating minutes. Each time, your lips remained pulled into a tight line while your extremities fidgeted in repetition. Agitation hung thick in the air. A terse statement of Y/N’s mystics echoed off the walls, to no-one in particular.

“I think... I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Hunter’s eyes incredulously searched you. “What do you mean?”

You see me standing, but I’m dying on the floor...

Your fists reflexively clench in grabbing at any semblance of weight to prevent your form from being dragged down into the mental abyss. You could feel it’s foreboding pull. It’s impending chaos.

It’s coming.

“Talk to me, Y/N...”

Your grip slackens, and you slip right over the edge. Hunter is too late to grab you.

I only want to die alive...

Your broken, unbridled guttural cries in response to the months of overwhelming emotional suppression caused Hunter to wince, and his own sensory receptors gain enough momentum to inwardly complain. He instinctively stuffs it down before kicking into action.

“Hey, Y/N, I’m here—”

Electric. The touch. His touch. It pricked, and the very fine hairs adorning the skin along your arms instantly retaliated to the calloused padding of Hunter’s fingertips caressing. It exacerbated your state of distress and just like that, your neurons overloaded. Sharp, stale air seeped in between your grit teeth and inhalation of insecurity.

Your sudden intake of breath and harsh flinch caused Hunter to cease in brushing up and down the outer region of your upper arms. His eyes narrowed slightly and quickly picked apart your stance. It greeted him like an old adversary with the remnants of a longstanding history, and a discomfiture swirled around Hunter at it’s painful familiarity.

“I can’t do this...” You breathe out despair.

The existing in general? The physical connection itself?

The latter wasn’t your fault. But it sure as hell felt like it. It certainly wasn’t his fault. Thankfully, somehow, the glint in Hunter’s shifting irises reassured you that he was privy to your suffering, to some degree; he knew. He understood.

Of course he did.

For who to better understand heightened tactile sensitivity than Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99? He was neither confounded nor dissuaded by your particularity in the slightest.

It had always been an inherence of yours; a rather obnoxious caricature within the conundrum, some obscure accessory buried in your already heavily packed bags. An extra ingredient that completely screwed up the recipe. Constituted as awkward, plain and simple; the dramatized detail never became easier to address with age, and the thick lump of disdain in your throat only grew.

You set your jaw in frustration. How to even begin picking up and putting together the pieces of a person who’s constantly missing one, or several. You were never satiated, equanimity never extended it’s stay for long; simply just renting. There was always something, someone, leaving a smoking hole in your chest, forcing every euphoric guest out.

I seek to cure what’s deep inside... frightened of this thing that I’ve become...

Your features twisted in agony and discomfort that accompanied the stoked episodes. It made you bitter. It threw you to the streets and dubbed you a martyr before satirically exposing, taunting at the misfortune of your dealt deck of cards. It was downright embarrassing, obtruding. Trepidations instantaneously trampled your meager, sensory overloaded form each and every time. Your bitter, corrosive laugh was all the evidence in that moment; a feeble reminder of your hypocrisy.

Because how, pray tell, does one’s physicality simultaneously experience both a revulsion for tactility and desperate craving for touch itself? You never understood exactly the way the two collided and contradicted themselves. Your teeth clamped your tongue in quelling the deprivation and plea for more rising in your throat, while your neurons worked to whisk your form as far away from the man as possible—away to the repetition of obsolete emptiness and desolation awaiting to greet you. As always.

“Let me help, cyare.” Begging... the man was hurting for you.

Don’t want to say yes, don’t want to say no...

Your mind ached. You can’t stop the pendulum in your head. Forced to look through a kaleidoscope of melancholy. Pleas echoed in a cavernous empty shell, but fell on deaf ears. Tears cancelled their appointment, and the well currently ran dry. There was... nothingness. And you fought the growing complaisance with the notion. Numbness was terrifying, and being terrified was numbing. You didn’t do well with attitudinal changes, seeking restitution more than ever while you wholly acknowledged the aspect of a ginger touch; the literal power within one’s fingertips to effectively mitigate your suffering. An opportune moment standing before you, his brows furrowed in sympathy and the corner of his lips angled in assuring you of his patience.

But the sharp pang and quick successions of staccato rhythm reverberated deep in your chest and only exaggerated your pain. Curse your heavy heart. A huff of breath incited subtle movement in the loose strands hanging over your profile, to which Hunter borrowed a moment in reaching out to sweep the curtain back.

Your head was under water, yet... you were breathing just fine. You just had yet to find the damned drain to expel the pernicious and suffocating sea of psychological terror into.

I just need to clear my head... don’t let it go to your head...

You quiver under Hunter’s intense appraisal, and shame swirls thickly. “I’m so sorry—”

“Don’t be. Please.” He immediately interjects, his palm turns upright and opens invitingly. “I’m here. Tell me what you need.”

Just tell him what you need.

“I... I don’t know.” Your admission speaks in a whisper of loss and uncertainty. You roll the flesh of your bottom lip between your teeth, the lump returns to your throat, and it’s crawling. Your gaze flickers.

“Just focus on me, cyare.”

Another catch: you can’t maintain eye contact to save your life. Kriff your soul. “That won’t work.” Your eyes anchor to the cold floor as sheer panic and the sturdy walls themself began to rise around your trembling self.

I can’t come alive... I want the room to take me under... Feel myself fading away...

“Okay—it’s okay,” he soothes. Hunter fervently wracks his brain—the way he decompresses and approaches his own form of stimming is slightly different; it’s different for everybody with a hyperactive response to stimuli. It took the Sergeant years to cultivate those particular penchants and even longer to tailor and perfect them to his predilection. If anything, he felt slightly apprehensive in the success of his methods.

Your hands that now wrap tightly around your rigid form are currently the only familiar pair of hands granted permission to access the area. You give a brief squeeze and teeter on the balls of your feet.

Hunter didn’t require a sniper’s nonpareil eyesight to see right through your peculiarity, even if he was briefly taken aback at it’s sudden effervescing. Truthfully, he should’ve picked up on it days ago: at your fierce denial and subtle panic over Hunter’s harmless offer of a massage after you had worked out a particularly stubborn knot kinking his lower back—a simple requite of mutuality, or so he thought. At the time, the Sergeant found himself shrouded in enigma over your reaction; seriously, who—other than him who barely tolerates it—doesn’t enjoy massages? It now made perfect sense. He fought the urge to self-deprecate over his ignorance.

“I’m suffocating, Hunter.” You choke, and the cadence of your voice is like a knife twisting into his heart; he gleans vicarious pain from your own.

Clarity suddenly lights up the Sergeant’s features, and you’re briefly hyper-fixated with the way the inky but slightly faded outline of his shadowy tattoo fluctuates in natural contortion with his many facial expressions. Just behind his eyes he beholds his brothers—

‘I’m suffocating, ori’vod’...

Hunter remembers...

Of the exact way he presses against Tech in order to smother his vod’ika’s fleeting bouts of anxiousness—the pressure nearly breaking the kid’s goggles on more than one occasion, and the way he compresses Crosshair’s shoulders in squeezing out the pent up anger to placate amidst the sniper’s wavering, and the position of which Hunter managed to encompass his brawny brother in a comforting embrace whenever the big guy experienced despondency—that is until Wrecker quickly outgrew his ori’vod and began flaunting his own prowess of overpowering hugs.

The difference between the scenarios was minimal. Hunter knew exactly what to do. Like second-nature to him, his nurturing instincts fully kicked in and determination spread through every fiber of his being, quashing the previous buzz of his own nerves.

Hunter didn’t know how well he could alleviate your emotional pain, but there was something he could do for the neurological aspect, and hopefully, one could ease the other...

Hunter ambles up to you and in one swift motion, secures the length of his arms around your upper back, noting the delineate contour of toned muscles and shoulder blades poking into his forearms that now drape across before his hands encircle and come to firmly rest on each shoulder. Firmness. Pressure—for your state, this depiction is key. He determinedly pulls you to him, unrelenting in a tight grip. The position of the crown of your head settled neatly under his chin, and stray hair peppered his textured features with tickling kisses as Hunter dips his head to softly press his lips to your roots.

I wish that I could bring you back to me...

With your face suddenly buried in the man’s chest, you come to distinctly acknowledge two immediate sensations. One; the man is warm. Not the muggy, stuffy warmth of Tatooine that is unpleasantly abrasive and dry; but a soft warmth that permeates, stoking memories of baked goods within the cushion of a heated oven warmly enveloping you each time it’s doors open, and seeking to melt the hardened encasing that is your tense muscles. It eases you towards a serenity. You have a ways to go before you can make out the sign in the distance, but Hunter himself is one step forward along the path.

Two; he smells amazing. A faint smoky sultry, an obscurely mesquite scent, slightly tangy and reminiscent of raw timber that is both luxurious and intoxicating; a sweet smell you’d classify as anything but cloying. Like he bathes with suds of fresh mountain air and luscious forests. It’s soothing, and your mind immediately associates the tangibility with a daydream and mercifully blesses you with the glimpse; of your husband having just entered your cozy homestead from a day of hard but fruitful labor in his intricate works of carpentry within the serene seclusion of temperate countryside enveloping your favorite planet—

Handle with care... say you’ll be there...

“Whatcha thinkin’ about, cyare—is this okay?” Hunter momentarily shifts and the rich baritone of the Sergeant’s voice resounding through his broad chest reels you back while he briefly tenses at your pending answer.

It was okay—your head was still swimming in an infinitely deep ocean of thoughts, but the way his hand slips from it’s position on your shoulder to cradle the back of your head before curling around the soft locks equates to the physical manifestation of a life preserver cast to your drowning form.

Your muffled confirmation and sheepish thanks warmly enveloped Hunter, as did your hands shifting to wrap around his broad frame in reciprocation. His grip tightened, and he patiently waits for you.

Hold.... Hold on... Hold on to me, ‘cause I’m a little unsteady...

Hunter refrains from trailing to stroke further along your back; the sneaking suspicion that the sensation might further tip off your nerves. So he remained stationary, and deciphered the way you seemingly favored a firm, weighted grasp and a grounding touch over ghosting fingertips and light, feathery textures. He could relate to that.

But Hunter couldn’t stop the hum of contentment that escaped his lips at your fingers having absentmindedly wandered up to twirl at his ebony tresses. He, personally, loved your soft, well-placed strokes full of deliberation and meaning, and only you were allowed to grace him with them.

Hunter could feel your heart hammering against the veil of his blacks, and his ears hearkened to the rhythm of your burdened breaths. He shifted his weight and began to gently sway with you, unsure of the words to say.

“I should’ve told you earlier,” your conscience suddenly prods.

A snort fills the air. “Oh, I would’ve figured it out soon enough. I’m kinda smart like that,” Hunter cringes at his corny sense of humor, but he swore the faintest of chortles rumbled beneath him.

He grants a final squeeze to your shoulders, careful to avoid the sensitive areas along your arms, before pulling back to address your face. Trouble and distress still graced you, and Hunter laced his fingers with your own. He thumbed at the worn flesh encasing your defined knuckles, a relic indicative of steadfast manual labor. You slowly exhaled at the touch; pressure along the palms and backside of your hands was soothing to you. You often wrung them to keep preoccupied when there was no warmth to solidify the muscle, fingertips drummed erratic tempos along your thighs whenever the mood struck, and loud cracking of the stiff joints in transient tics was a regularly becoming thing.

Take me by the hand, take me somewhere new...

Hunter tugged lightly in ushering you to the cot, firmly planting himself on the worn, creaking edge before his gaze met yours in awaiting approval. If he blinked, he would’ve missed the barely perceptible nod of your head in confirmation. Hunter leaned back on his full weight in gesturing you with him, and your form followed suit as you found yourself abruptly layered directly atop the rugged plains of his chest. The quirk of his lips told you he didn’t mind being used as a body pillow. Hunter’s arms suddenly turned up empty to rest above his head.

“I want you to be comfortable. No brushing. Just tell me where to put my hands.” He clarified, and appreciation bubbled in your chest. You contemplated for a moment.

“Just... hold me close.” You began to guide his hands to the exact position. “Please.”

His limbs obeyed by wrapping snugly as a hand found rest at the small of your back, and the other nestled itself slightly higher up the expanse, fingers splayed. Hunter solidified the closed space, and not even a muted ray of light could pass between the two forms.

You found solace within the cage of well-endowed muscle, slowly suppressing your nerves on each side and physically shielding you from the works of mental oppression. But his touch left you hyperaware; from an overtly suffocating insecurity towards every part of your body now lingering against his own, to the precise and tranquil thrum of his heartbeat in contrast with your racing one. Your stimuli sparks again in response to the stress.

“Y/N.” Hunter cuts through your tension, his voice laced with concern—you cannot calm yourself down, and you’re certain your mind absolutely loathes you. “Everything will be alright, I promise—don’t tense up, baby. Relax against me.” You angle your head so that one side of your face plants to his chest; you wish to better hear his sturdy heartbeat. You suddenly remember your own. It’s still beating. Resounding; indicative of purpose. Your breaths; symbolizing life.

Just keep breathing... my air...

“That’s it. Just breathe.” Hunter encourages. He reaches up to press against your temple in stroking at the hairline. Unbound locks cascaded around each other, a mixture of two colors softly tangled on either sides of the furniture. You lost count of your numbered breaths in the midst of solitude when a question unveils from your thoughts.

“How do you do it?” Your words trump the stagnant silence, a desperate inquiry that peaks through the fibers. You tilt your chin to better regard the man.

Confusion tugs at the corner of Hunter’s lips. “Do, what?”

“Anything...” you unload, and there’s a crackle to your voice. “The stress, the sensory... how do you manage? What’s your anchor in this wretched, kriffing life?”

A smile creeps up Hunter’s features, and his deep, reflective pools burn through you. “I’m looking at my anchor. And she helps me manage just fine.”

Your eyes blow protuberant and you manage to stare at him, dumbfounded. “What?”

“Honey, you are it.” His satisfied smirk grows wider, digging into his cheeks.

Something twitches at the corners of your lip and pulls into an upward curve; the feeling is tight, foreign. Your cheek muscles are unsure of how to compensate for the expression. You can’t remember the last time a smile has naturally graced your features. Now, it’s genuine. It’s... nice, and the hot rivulets currently streaming down your face are in a unanimous agreement.

Hunter moves to cup your face and thumb below your eyes, and his lips kiss the salt away. You grab hold of his forearms and shut your eyes.

“You want to know how I manage?” He croons in determination, “When my visual is overstimulated, I close my eyes and focus on the features of your face ingrained in my memory. When certain auditory has me weak at the knees, I remember the lull of your voice, comforting. When my nerves are on fire and I want nothing more than to be physically desensitized, it’s your soft touch that acts as a blanket, covering, making it easier for me. You make it better. Me better. Life better.” Hunter finishes his declaration in lovingly swiping at your face once more, expunging your pain. Words make a prompt exit along with it.

Your lips find purchase at the stubble along his jaw, in response. You love being able to fully make out the intricacy of his irises, now that you’re lovingly gazing into them. When you exit your captivated trance—his eyes are beautiful—you vaguely note with a twinge of pride that the encounter was indefinitely your longest standing record for maintaining eye contact. Another gentle smile fills your features. You remove your weight from him.

“Take this off?” You shyly tug at the collar of his blacks, seeking his consent, respectful of his own sensory receptors and their boundaries.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Hunter sits to quickly shed the upper article of clothing. He pulls you on top once again, and you are relishing in his bare skin. Your fingers map out a path of their own volition along the various textures and scars dotting the pectoral flesh.

“You never told me what you were thinking about earlier,” Hunter nonchalantly called you out. Your brows furrow in confusion. “There was something different on your face when I first held you. Just a flicker. But you looked... happy. Content, even.” Hunter smirked. “Hope you’re not planning to keep all that happiness to yourself.”

You certainly weren’t planning to. You recalled the picturesque and beckoned it forth... there was your sign of serenity. Just the shape of it, but solid, and clear. Hopeful, and promising, just on the horizon. It made your chest flutter, and ebbed away at the heartache. You realized Hunter’s brow arched in anticipation.

“How would you feel about working in carpentry?” A chuckle. Hunter was thoroughly humored, and surprisal was briefly evident on his features.

“So I can build you and I a house? To fill a bunch of babies with? Gladly.” He chased the daydream alongside you, and it was your turn to borrow the surprise; your mouth hung agape as heat crept through the apples of your cheeks. Hunter’s laugh boomed as a hand fit under your chin to close your parted lips. He wished to use his own to do the trick, but, another time.

“I’m with you.”

[percywinchester27]

@caughtaghostsomehow​ I’m just going to put it all underneath the keep reading, picking things from all of those reblogs cause why not!

Part 27: 

I understand why Max trusts Sam so much... Even after he initially failed him, he still kept his promise later on and he's been keeping it since.

The scene when Sam finds Max in the cell... Oh man.. I was angry at first, just like Sam but then my heart broke for this little boy. Sam and him needed each other. I think they may be soulmates.. The universe destined them to help each other out.

Yep. The reason why Sam is just so insanely careful about Max is because he how what it feels like to almost lose him. And the prison scene changed a lot since it was conceived. But I knew I wanted Max to start out as a physical kid and then grow out of it. He and Sam really were destined.

I'm so glad we got to see how Jody found out about the whole situation and I just love her more after finding out that she helped with the adoption (by the way, I love how thorough your research is 🧡).

I knew Dean would never give up on his brother but it just made me really emotional when he kept calling and Sam finally picked up and the first words out of Dean's mouth were "are you alright?". It got to me for some reason...

I thought it was logical to go to her for a lot of reasons- cause she is a legal writings professor, a close friend AND has experience with adoption as a single parent in the very same state. 

Awww... all the Dean parts get me. ALL of them. Especially here because they are so far and in-between in this story.

But Sam wanted his wife to trust him the same way. Unconditionally. He wanted her to trust him with fixing their life, dealing with their loss and grief and wanted her to trust him with rebuilding their life from before the accident.

This is you using my braincells by the way. Cause later on, someone points this EXACT same thing to the reader

I know I've said this before but it just keeps coming back to this in my head, she knew things couldn't be fixed because as much as she probably trusted Sam with her life, she understands that some things just aren't in anyone's control... And Sam wanted her to believe he could mend the wounds all by himself... It's sad and frustrating but I can't wait for them to have this conversation

I know you’ve read part 30 already and you know they touch on this very very briefly but they don’t really resolve this. It gets addressed specifically eventually. His ‘i could fix us’ vs. her ‘I knew you couldn’t.’ Does such for them though.

Chapter 28

Why do I have a bad feeling about that party?

Because. Same. Braincells. Lol.

I really wanted for someone to say that and Sam certainly needed to hear it and I'm so glad it was Chase who opened his eyes about this. He's absolutely right too, let the woman speak for her damn self instead of assuming how she feels.

Chase was me! Yelling at all these characters for not fucking listening to me haha... remember how I told you that people were suspicious of Chase? Yeah, after this chapter, everyone’s kinda adopted him. 

My emotions have been all over the place lately anyway but reading how Sam needed to compose himself before speaking about his son's death... I swear I don't have tears in my eyes while typing this- that was hard to read.

I'm glad Max knows... I don't know how much of it he understands but he's a clever boy, I'm sure he has at least a little bit better of an idea why this situation is so delicate.

Awww I’m so sorry I made you cry :/ But, well... Sam doesn’t grieve his son’s death the way the reader does. He’s always been more stoic. Besides, he had to deal with two griefs back then not just one... but I am sure it still hurts too much. 

I’ve left it to everyone’s imagination how much Max understands. He knows the concept of death for sure.... but his birth father had orgies at his house. We can all only hope that Max is completely shielded from that since he was using to hiding in closets when there were strangers in the house.

I was surprised by his question too but Sam's response was so... Loving. My heart can't take this.. He's such a great father...

Yep. I mean how else could he have reassured Max? His no lying policy is a great way to raise a child tbh. My sister does that with my nephew. That’s how I know.

Chapter 29

I really like Maddie, she's a genuinely sweet person, I love how helpful she tries to be and that she honestly wants her friend to be happy. I wonder what exactly went wrong during that party for her to look so dejected...

Maddie is nice. I was hellbent on making all of Sam’s canon Exes nice in this series. Cause I’ve had enough of reading the evil ex and current gf pitted against each other trope (Though I’ve never written it myself. Maybe I should and see for myself why it is so alluring lol.) I don’t know, maybe it was little a double prank thingy? Throw the reader in the water and be as mean to Madison as you can?

I really fucking hope that Brad gets what he deserves and that is to be kicked in the balls. Ever fucking heard the word boundary? Consent? I hate people like him with a burning passion and that whole situation infuriated and scared me in equal measure.

Yeah. That asshole needs to go down! His endgame has changed more than anyone elses in the story lol.

The fact that all of it came back to her the instant she hit the water made me sob. She wanted to protect her baby but there was no one there... I just- oh fuck.

Kay that part was HARD to write. All of it. Poor reader!

Was Sam the one to pull her out? If so then I don't even want to think about what would happen if he wasn't there, if they haven't made plans...

The way she started crying for their baby when she found her breath again made me cry even more... I don't know why I feel such a strong connection to this story and characters but I don't want them to ever feel pain like that again. It's heartbreaking 💔

Yeah that was Sam... I mean the pool was visible and all that. I mean of course you know. You read the next chapter. Why am I being a dumbass :/ 

Something had to trigger her trauma. It wasn’t going to come out on its own and And Sam loves her too much to force her to grieve. He barely held it together when she did grieve so well...

PS.: I'm really sorry you experienced drowning, it's a horrible thing to go through. I don't do pools- or really, any body of water, either. There's just something about the idea of drowning that unsettles me more than I can express.

Yeahh... God bless that lifeguard. Seriously. He’s the only one who noticed that I wasn’t coming up. It was night time and the pool was pretty dark so. I am so sorry that you don’t like pools, either. It’s terrifying.

Chapter 30

Firstly, Ria, you’re TOO GOOD to me, seriously! The fact that I could have you speechless is about the biggest complement you could’ve given me.

If you can call it that and at first when she asked him about the ring, I was surprised but my heart just sunk. I don't think either of them were in the right, I don't think they were both wrong either... I don't believe I'm good enough with problem solving to know what advice I'd give them but I do know that I have never experienced a feeling more cathartic than this one when reading. Twenty nine chapters leading to this moment... All the questions and pining and heartbreak. .. And sure, there's so much more they could say and there's so much more you talk about and figure out but as of right now... This is the beginning of the rest of their lives.

So, I think what she meant to ask was why did he just not give up on her, but she was tired and spontaneous and the ring question just tumbled out instead. I tried so hard for all their conversations to sound spontaneous and not rehearsed you know? Where they ended up touching on every aspect of the past? Cause that wouldn’t happen. It just wouldn’t. 

And THANK YOU for saying that. I swear to God, this chapter wouldn’t have made that impact if it hadn’t had a backing of 29 chapters. It would have royally fallen flat. Everyone was invested in the story by now and I was counting on it.

I didn't like how Sam got angry at first because I put myself in her shoes but the truth is, someone needed to get angry about something. One of them had to feel some type of overwhelming emotion to get here and it just so happened that it started with pain and landed on anger.

This is and SPN finale type of dilemma though. Like for the writers, they had to Kill of Dean first cause only Sam had the slight ability to move on. Sam way, I didn’t think the reader would have ever gotten angry first. She is so burdened by her own guilt (undeserved tbh) but she wouldn’t just lash out first. Sam had been angry at the start of the series and absolutely livid in their time apart. I just thought it would be easier for him to get mad first. Not defending his choices or whatever, just why I chose to make that decision as a writer. I would have been plenty mad a reader, too.

But the way they got angry wasn't a bad thing, their anger was based in how much they care about each other. Like the anger I would feel when one of my dogs ran just a little too far from me and a car was coming - took like fifteen fucking years off my ife istg. But I wasn't angry and screaming at them to make them feel bad, I was angry because I was so fucking scared that they would get hurt. The anger wasn't based in resentment, it was based in love. It's the same here and you can see it.

Jesus, I’m so sorry that happened with one of your dogs. Seriously. That sounds scary AF. I’m glad your dogs are okay.

Their anger isn’t destructive. It just isn’t. That much I’m pretty sure of. They’ve dealt with so much shit, and truly love each too much to actually hurt one another with words at this point. And it’s a good 10 chapters of journey where they deal with one issue after another to effing solve it like adults and not teenagers in throes of passion. I was like, nope! Not doing the passionate way. These two don’t get to be smart enough to get into Stanford and then be dumb like that and scream and yell and be jealous or irrational. It added a few chapters, but if I can be patient, so can be everyone else :P

The story she told about the cactus was not only a brilliant way to show her mindset and how people saw her over the years but also so fucking heartbreaking. On one hand you have this coworker who saw her and thought, "that person needs something low maintenance if they can care for something at all" and on the other - you've got this woman who tries her best to nurture this plant and help it grow and it ends up dying anyway.

That cactus one is inspired by real life event. And it seriously broke my heart to go through. Hoping each day that the last pod might live through :/ Like you said her co-worker wasn’t being mean, but it sucks that the cactus died anyway :(

Girl, you made my morning today. I woke up to your love and I just... you had me speechless. That chapter took a lot out of our branicells and I rewrote it so many times just to get it right for it to be respectful, vulnerable and cathartic at the same time. 

But may I ask you, WHY YOU WERE UP TILL 5:30 in the morning to read it? I have a timestamp thingy going for me, okay? I knew what time it was over there! And you gave yourself a migraine crying? OMG! I am so so sorry :/ Gosh. If I knew, you were going to binge it straight, I’d have warned you!

Seriously, Ria! Thank you seems like a small phrase. I will tell you this, I love you! So much!

[amusedyan]

I'm loving your blog. So listen, I'd die for some Ouran content. Maybe a Kyoya falling for a guest at some Ootori party, she was brought along by some wealthy friend of hers and is not into the wealthy elite at all, something that bothers but intrigues Kyoya. I'd love to see him try to woo her, become protective of her, because she lives such a dangerous regular commoners life without body guards. Then try to save her from that life. How would he react to her misbehaving or being generally 1/2

Unhappy with the situation he’s put her in? Whether it’s him micromanaging every aspect of her life or him having actually locked her up in some corner of the Ootori manor? Personally, I always saw Kyoya as someone who enjoyed old-fashioned punishments. Like a spanking over the knee. But it’s totally up to you. I love where you took that Bakugo fic, so I trust you to take this where ever. Honestly, I’d just be so grateful if you had any Ouran content to offer. Again, love your work so far 2/2

Yay my first Ouran request! Thanks so much nonnie for requesting this, I love Kyoya- his deadpan humor and general attitude just give me so many ideas and make him such a great character! And those same traits make him terrifying as a yandere!

Bitter

You hated fancy parties.

You picked at your collar and tried not to look like you were bored out of your mind as all the rich people mingled and laughed discussed business over food and drinks more expensive than your family’s monthly grocery bill. 

It was funny. You could write off your friend’s eccentric behavior, but in a group of rich people? Well, the bitterness crept back in and left a sour tang in your mouth. 

You glanced down at your flute of champagne. It would be, what, your third? Reluctantly you returned it- you were a guest, getting blackout drunk was not on your shortlist of ‘great ideas for parties full of rich people’. So you just mingled politely, staying close to your friend.

“Mr. Ootori!” She declared happily, waving over a dark haired man with a calm smile and glasses. There’s half a moment of hesitation on his part before he approaches- you can’t blame him; a brief word with your friend turns into half an hour with her.

“Glad you could make it,” he offered dutifully, and oh that was interesting- he had that same look in his eyes you did- like he couldn’t stand his own kind. It had to be some kind of joke.

You found yourself smiling for the first time that night, and caught the way his eyes flashed at you for the briefest of seconds before it was gone.

Maybe you’d imagined it.

“I see you’ve made use of the plus one on your invitation.” He remarked, and your friend laughed and introduced you.

Ootori nodded and looked back at you with a raised eyebrow, “I don’t believe I’ve heard of you.” His tone was just detached enough that you couldn’t be sure if it was a joke or an insult.

“You wouldn’t- I’m not pedigreed.” You wished you could take a drink as a mic drop. Instead you just had to content yourself with your friend’s horrified look.

But Ootori just looked amused.

“Man people prefer mutts to purebreds,” he said in that same level tone.

As a person who’d had several mutts growing up, you could confirm that they were better. Less health problems. 

He asked what your job was and you mentioned the field, notwanting to stray into talk about work. Work was work, and frankly here wasn’tthe place to talk about it. Thankfully Ootori accepted it and didn’t push,instead managing to draw you into aconversation that didn’t make you want to beat your own head in. It was nice.

Finally, he had to excuse himself and see to his otherduties as host, but before he left he caught your hand and brought it up to pressa gentle kiss there. It stopped you short, as did the small smile playing onhis lips.

“Until we meet again,” he promised cryptically, before goingoff to join his people.

Your friend was gawking at you.

You decided maybe one more glass of champagne wouldn’t hurtyou.

Two weeks after the Ootori party Kyoya Ootori himself walkedinto your favorite coffee shop, saw you and invited himself to sit at yourtable after taking his order. The man was far out of his element but didn’tseem in the least bit uncomfortable, exuding a calm confidence and sense ofcontrol that made clear why he was so good at his job.

(And yeah, you had gone the creepy route and looked him upon the internet, rather than just asking your friend; they might have gone toschool together once upon a time but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t misreadyour questions as interest and let him know about it on a lark.

Despite being the youngest Kyoya had managed to earn hisplace as heir of Ootori conglomerate. He was ruthless in business but one hellof philanthropist, setting up multiple scholarship programs for elite schoolsthat lower income students wouldn’t have access to, on top of the dozens ofother charities that the company donated to on the regular. And that was whatyou could track down in maybe 45 minutes)

“Pretty far from your side of town,” you observed, addinganother packet of sugar to your coffee.

“I had business in the area and needed a coffee.” You hummed and watched him watch you.

He was quiet for a minute and you took the time to drink your coffee. His was pure black, you’d heard him order it.

“You remind me of a friend I had.” He said suddenly, and you stayed quiet, although you were a little confused because he didn’t seem like the type to have friends. “She wasn’t impressed by money either.”

“Smart of her.”

He chuckled a little bit, no more than a huff. 

“I’d like to take you out for dinner sometime.” Now that actually made you look at him properly. He hadn’t taken his eyes off you yet.

“Because I’m not interested in money?”

“Because I find your conversation relaxing and I’d like to think you feel the same way.”

It was a bit weird; you’d had maybe 20 minutes total of talking with this man. Technically those twenty minutes were enjoyable. Kyoya was blunt and composed and intelligent; you could appreciate that in a man.

“Alright.” You agreed, surprising yourself.

Kyoya’s smile unfolded into something a little more open. You wondered how often people saw this one.

You exchanged numbers and the promise of detail exchange later; you had to get back to work soon, and even though he didn’t say he needed to leave you were sure that he needed to get back too.

There were flowers on your desk at work the next day.

The bouquet was gorgeous; lavender roses and baby’s breath- you didn’t even know that lavender roses this nice were in season.

The card on the vase (a very nice, very expensive looking vase) confirmed your suspicions.

I saw these and thought of you.

                                          -Ootori Kyoya

And you smiled because it was really thoughtful.

But…how did he know where you worked?

Ootori: Did you receive the flowers?

Me: Yes I did! They’re beautiful, thanks!

Me: How did you know where I worked?

Ootori: You told me at the party, remember?

Me: Ah, sorry, I must have forgotten!

Me: Thanks again, Ootori.

Ootori: Call me Kyoya, please.

You work out a good night for the both of you to go out. It took some shuffling on your part, but at least Kyoya seemed willing to work with you.

He meant what he said at least- he was serious about dinner.

And it was dinner at a really nice restaurant; one that had a really long wait list ordinarily and didn’t have a price on the menu.

Well, you get to break out your formal clothes again, and it was nice to watch the way Kyoya’s expression changed when you entered the dining area. The softening of his mask maybe. 

“You look nice.” Was all he said about it, though, even as he stood up to pull out your chair for you.

“Thanks, so do you.” And he did. Kyoya could have worn anything and pulled it off, probably.

The server came by moments later with wine and glasses. That was nice at least, but again…

“You ordered for me?” You asked, smiling. He nodded.

“I thought it more convenient.” 

Pushy, but whatever, he meant well.

Except…

The pushing didn’t stop.

It started with the wine, yeah, but it just got worse.

Kyoya didn’t understand how to not overstep his bounds, and he always looked amused when you started to point out that looking up your girlfriend’s home address was still creepy, even when the intent was to send you flowers. And he sent you a lot of flowers.

But no, Kyoya, having several bodyguards walk you home from work didn’t make you feel safe, especially when they weren’t allowed to talk to you.

And he just…he didn’t get it.

You wanted to break up with him, but the problem was Kyoya, when he wasn’t disrespecting your boundaries at least, was charming, intelligent, and honestly you liked him a lot. You just figured it was one of those things you would work out with him, or maybe it was new relationship jitters.

When Kyoya tried to give you a watch more expensive than your apartment, you finally, firmly, put your foot down.

“It’s too expensive,” you argued firmly.

“I already bought it.”

“Then return it, because I can’t possibly accept it.” It made you uncomfortable, how willing he was to drop so much money on you so fast.

“I can’t return it, it was personalized.” He said, frowning. And…okay, touching, but still…

You turned it over in your hand and blinked at the elegant writing

For my darling

“That’s…really sweet, Kyoya.”

He hugged you gently, awkwardly. You got the feeling he wasn’t used to initiating, but that was fine.

“I just want you to have the best.”

“I know.”

(Your first time with Kyoya is…wonderful. He worships you and breaks you apart gently and puts you back together with his touch. The whole time he looks at you like he’s having a religious experience, doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t close his eyes.

For a minute you could have sworn he was crying)

Kyoya started inviting you to parties and events with him three months into your relationship.

The idle speculation and blank smiles from your time as a normal guest were gone, replaced with biting comments and passive aggression. It sucks, but it gave you an excuse to stay with Kyoya, and he didn’t seem to mind. 

It was nice though, watching that dark look flash in his eyes when someone made a comment.

But he kept your hand in his and doted on you in his own way all evening.

You split away from him, briefly, to use the bathroom and check how you looked in the mirror. Not a hair was out of place and you didn’t look a thing like yourself.

On your way back, not 10 feet from your boyfriend, a guest flush with bourbon and bolstered by his friends inquired “how much the Ootori runt paid for you” because he’d “pay double”. You flushed with rage, but before you could get a word out Kyoya was the one to appear and drag you out of his sight.

“I could have handled it, Kyoya.” You promised, but he shook his head.He didn’t stop, handing over the tickets to get your coats. “The party isn’t over yet, don’t you still have business-”

“They don’t deserve to look at you,” he snarled, and it was with a vehemence you never would have expected from him, it startled you so bad.

“Kyoya-”

“No. We’re going home and they’re never going to see you again.”

Oh.

You took your coat, quiet, letting Kyoya guide you to his car and opened it for you, sliding into the backseat with you.

“Are you ashamed of me?” You asked quietly, watching him roll up the tinted divider between you and the driver.

Are you going to leave me? Went unasked. That fear just…it crippled you. He wouldn’t, would he? Just because his associates didn’t like you?

“Never.” He promised firmly, pulling you into his lap. You hesitated but moved to assist, curling up against him. “I would never be ashamed of you. You’re mine.” And those words were so cold, despite the warm look in his eyes.

“But you said-”

“They’ll never set eyes on you again because they don’t deserve to look at you. I’m going to take you home and you’re going to stay there where I can keep you safe and away from their filthy eyes. Alright, darling?”

His lips were on your neck, his whisper made your bones warm. But you shook your head no.

“Kyoya, it’s fine, people are going to be rude-”

“They don’t have a right to be that way to you, not when you’re mine.”

You laughed a little, trying to diffuse the tension, squirming, trying to get off his lap. Kyoya’s arms were iron around you though, holding you tight, so tight you couldn’t breathe.

“Let go of me, Kyoya,”

“No, we’re going home and I’m going to show you how much you’re worth.”

“As romantic as that sounds, I really have to get back to my place-”

Kyoya’s grip on your jaw was punishing, his nails digging in and bruising you for for sure. 

“Shut up.”

“Kyoya-”

He kissed you harsh, it was biting and angry and you were sure that you tasted blood.

“You are mine. I’ve let you wander long enough, so be quiet and be good and everything will be fine. If you don’t then I will have to hurt you, do you understand?” When you didn’t answer right away he shook you. 

“Understand?”

[miraclejune]

HERO’S SOUP: Chapter 12

Artist

“Give me my helmet, Seungmin.” the sound of the motorcycle engine slowly deteriorates under the wind. Seungmin was being stubborn again and Chan was not in the mood for any of it. "If I do, will you not follow them like some sort of serial killer?"

Chan clicked his tongue in annoyance. He wasn't having any of this. "Stop wasting my time and give me my damn helmet." his fangs bared as he glared at the witch. Raw anger shot through Chan's veins. Seungmin looked calm but on the inside, he was definitely terrified by the being in front of him. "You know how I fucking hate when someone messes with you guys." he growled breathlessly. Seungmin swallows the lump on his throat. Can’t this person ever think of himself first? Geez.

"As dumb and chaotic as our friends can get, believe me, we know." Seungmin gave his most sincere look, he was being honest. 

With a sigh of defeat, Chan turned the key and pulled it out of the keyhole of his bike. "Fine."

“You really need to control your anger sometimes.”

Seungmin smiled from ear to ear making Chan all soft and fluffy inside his dead body. He can’t stay mad at any of the boys. "Let's go home. Jeongin's coming over." Seungmin almost snorted as he saw Chan's cheeks dimpled. Caught off guard, the vampire cleared his throat and proceeded back in the shop. Seungmin tailed him. "Alright, cool." he stopped and turned to his heel. As soon as he made eye contact with Seungmin, who wore a smug look on his face, Chan turned away and tried to find a distraction on the counter. "I'll clean up here, um you go ahead."

"Chan, there's literally nothing there." it was late before he realized it. The counter was as clean and smooth as a baby's bottom. He hadn't meant to do it, he could tell by the look of mild shock on his face and the way his arms floundered. Again, if he was capable of blushing he would be a very vivid shade of red by now.

His ears perked up as he heard a chuckle. That slowly turns into a loud cackle. Seungmin was laughing at him. He faced him, but the witch was already on the floor. He was literally rolling on the floor fucking laughing like a lunatic. In normal circumstances, he would've whooped his sorry ass or yell at him but instead, Chan smiled.

Seungmin was not really a 'warm' person. When they first met, Chan didn’t like the deadpan look on the witch’s face. But as soon as Seungmin entered the room, he started bowing at everyone who greeted him, he's always full of respect. Chan always thought that a person who lowers his head for others will one day reach the highest peak of their life. And that’s when he knew he could trust his life with the witch.

However, there is one bad thing about him. Seungmin was always too serious. Too focused on his career or his goals. The only time he had some good fun was when he visits the vampire and annoys the living hell out of him.

Chan wished he would be more chill. That the witch should do something he likes. Not bury himself under a mountain of thick spell books in his apartment. His wish sorta came true. And he was thankful for it, he may not express it as well as the others but he cherishes Seungmin the most.

“Come on, you crazy fucker. Let’s get going.”

-

“I still can’t understand why we can’t use your magic transportation thingy.”

“Don’t you have a spell like that?”

“I do but it requires a shit ton of energy.”

“So, my ‘magic transportation thingy’ doesn’t?”

“Chan, you’re a vampire. You’re an immortal idiot that can only be killed with a wooden stake.”

“That doesn’t make me have an infinite amount of energy, and just so you know, it’s a wooden stake through your heart. Name one person who doesn’t die from that, I’m gonna suck my own dick.”

“That’s gay.”

“I’m only gay for myself.”

“Narcissistic nincompoop.”

“Right back at ya.”

Seungmin rolled his eyes and went past Chan who opened the door. He had only taken a few steps away from the entrance when Chan grabbed him by his wrist, alarming him. “There’s something wrong.” An eerie feeling creeped on Seungmin’s spine as he looked back at the vampire. “Oh wait, nevermind.” Chan shrugged and went on his merry way to the living room. Although puzzled by the vampire’s actions he followed suit. 

Now that he was well aware of his surroundings, it was quite rowdier than usual. Seungmin snickered, ‘He can tell what’s wrong with just a little change on what he’s used to, what a creep.’ 

“I heard that.” he looked up and saw Chan eyeing him from his shoulder. Seungmin giggled. He walked to the living room, sat beside Felix and threw his arms around him. The fox involuntarily leans it to the touch. Chan sighed, putting his hands on his waist. Seungmin being all chummy with the others baffled him at first.

The witch wasn’t the type of person who liked skinship, he lacked friends for that aspect too. But, oddly enough, Seungmin grew more and more comfortable with all the touching. It scared the bejesus out of Chan when Seungmin hugged him. 

He looks up and smiles at the sight before plopping down the beanie bag.

“So, what’s chaos about?” Seungmin asks. Changbin appears from the kitchen, a cooler on hand. “We’re having a barbeque.” Jisung pops up from behind him, cheeks filled with what seems to be food. He goes to the living room while Changbin saunters to the backyard.

“Weyf wahs dah oksacion.”

“Seungmin, chew or talk. Just pick one.” He rolls his eyes at Hyunjin and takes another bite off the corndog offered by Jisung. “Jisung looks like a squirrel when he eats.” 

“Felix, I don’t think that’s what Seungmin said.”

“Aren’t you looking at him? Jisung is a squirrel.”

Minho and Felix bickered at a distance. “I said, what’s the occasion?” he vanishes into thin air after repeating his question, baffling the people around him. Chan shakes his head “You guys either need to get used to Seungmin vanishing mid-sentence or Seungmin should just stop doing it.” He stands up and walks to the backyard, abruptly followed by Minho who was running away from Jisung because he stole the wolf’s corndog.

Chan's statement was agreeable but that didn’t answer their question.

“He went to get Jeongin!” Chan shouted informing the others. “Ah.” 

After a short while, Seungmin reappears in the kitchen, Jeongin emerges from behind him. “Jeongin!” Before Hyunjin can even think of throwing himself at the boy, Woojin pulls him by his shirt. “Let’s go!” The rest of them laughed as the alpha literally dragged the poor wolf towards the backyard. 

“Why is there a tent?”

The said tent shifted and Chan appeared from the entrance, his clothes were disheveled and his hair was a mess. Jeongin gasped, while the rest of the boys laughed. “Can someone please fucking help me-” 2 sets of hands attached themselves to Chan's upper body. “No, oh god please no.” 

“Chantopher, get back in here~ we’re not done yet!”

“Yes, we have a lot of cuddling to do! You're ice cold! You need more cuddling!”

“CUDDLE SOMEONE ELSE AND I'M A FUCKING VAMPIRE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE COLD FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!”

Chan vanished again. Seungmin laughed so hard he had tears in his eyes. Hyunjin can’t even breathe. 

“But, Chan is weirdly warm.” Jeongin thought.

The rest of them agree. “Well, he can change the temperature of his body. He usually does that when around normal humans, or when some of us feel chilly. Oh, and when he just drank fresh blood.” Jeongin looks at Woojin cutting up the meat on the grill. The alpha’s face was calm and filled with content. It warmed him up. 

While Jisung, Chan and Changbin are ‘busy’ inside the tent, the rest of them settle down. Woojin was in charge of the cooking. No way in hell would they let the younger ones cook. The last time they did, Changbin almost set the living room on fire. Heaven knows how the fire ended up there instead.

Jeongin was denied any help and decided to sit down on the grass.

“Wait.”

He stumbled on his butt, pouting up to Minho who offered him a hand. “What? I can’t sit on the ground too?” Minho chuckled and swiftly pulled him up. He unfolds the blanket from his other hand. “Oh.” The boy eventually helped him by flattening the blanket on the grass. Right after he softened the edges, he was tackled. “Changbin!” 

He vaguely saw a very scruffy Chan pop out of the tent before Changbin and Jisung enveloped him.

“It’s your turn!” Jeongin whined from underneath, he was not struggling or whatsoever. The guys weren’t putting on a lot of weight on him. What scared him was the figures looming above them.

“Oh god, please no pilling!”

-

“It’s weird.”

Felix puts a pile of meat on Jeongin’s plate looking at the boy in confusion, “What’s weird?” the fox asked. 

Jeongin pauses and looks around. “How human-like you guys act?”

Felix smiled. “Well, we weren’t like this at first.” Jeongin stares at the fox’s freckled face, waiting for him to continue. Felix sighs and sits down beside him, crossing his legs, their knees touching.

“At first, we didn’t know how to act. Especially Minho, who wasn’t used to close contact with humans that much.” his eyes shift to Chan's position. “After we met Chan, he taught us how humans live every day. Even to the smallest detail.” Felix looks down and chuckles. “Minho and I were really sloppy in the first few months. There were multiple occasions where we almost got caught. Chan was always there to pull our ears out of trouble. Oh, and humans can't really process all the magical stuff so that helps too.” the fox let out a deep chuckle. 

“Still, no one told me what the occasion was?” Seungmin was right. No one answered his question. “Because you disappeared, you dumbass.” the witch shrugged and eyed them for the answer.

Woojin puts down the tongs with a soft clang. “He asked what the occasion is, Changbin.” all eyes settled onto the wolf, while Changbin’s wary eyes found his alpha’s. The corners of the alpha’s lips were lifted into a soft smile. Changbin scratched his head.

“Well, I kinda found a place for my tattoo shop.”

A lot of cheers and shocked reactions emerged from the crowd. “When are you gonna tell us about this geez!” Ha can’t wrap his head around it. Changbin let out an awkward laugh. “Also, the renovations are done. I just need to install the equipment so I need your help.”

“WHAT?”

“Dude, are you serious?”

“It’s been THAT long!!!!”

“I’m actually offended right now.”

Changbin clings to Jeongin, “B-but! I did ask you guys for your help!”

“Unbelievable.”

“Aren’t we friends at all?”

Changbin cowered onto Jeongin’s arms, the boy chuckled and cooed at the bullied wolf.

“My gosh, Changbin.” even Woojin was in it.

“I’M SORRY OKAY!!!!!”

[notalone91]

All’s Well That Ends Well (To End Up With You)

Richie Tozier x Eddie Kasbrak (It: Chapter 2)

Richie and Eddie face their fears and, this time, Pennywise really doesn’t have anything to do with it.

tw: canon character death, momentary suicide contemplation, R for language.

a/n: Who let me have a new movie to be obsessed with?  Fun Fact: I’ve had a lowkey crush on Bill Hader for a long time (like since EARLY in the SNL years...) and it sort of ebbs and flows and... uh... right now it’s HIGH FUCKING TIDE.  You know what that means!  Time to make the pretty man’s character cry!!!

"Next time, we pick regular scary," Richie yelled as they ran down the tunnels toward the cavernous space where the rest of the Losers were still- hopefully- fighting Pennywise.

Eddie gasped for breath, wishing for a moment that he hadn't just set his inhaler on fire. "Next time?!" he squawked, shoving him lightly, not wanting to even entertain the thought of having to do this again. In his mind, maybe, in twenty-seven more years, he'd be able to shake off the guilt of what had just happened upstairs. Sure, he was afraid. That's all well and good. Most of the time, fear keeps you on your toes. Fear gets moles checked. Fear's tire pressure is checked regularly and the spare is in perfect condition. Fear turns the NFC setting off before walking away from the register. Fear becomes a risk analyst because what else does it do. Fear is safe and ready and aware. Until you're battling a monster for whom fear is a teenage boy in a microwave snack commercial. Then, fear is a liability. It's a weapon you've forged but never get to wield.  Fear is what gets you killed.  "There had better not be a fucking next time.  If there's a next time, we're all dead."

"Stop saying that, man," Richie said, tugging his still skittish friend into a small branch-off from their path. He struggled to pull his arm away and get back to the rest of their group but was fairly easily restrained. If there was one thing that his newfound memories had instilled in Richie, it was that their best shot at this shithead was together. "You weren't-"

"I was! I was going to let you die!" As he said them, the impact of his words hit Eddie like a ton of bricks. The shock and hurt on Richie's face was payment in kind. He folded his arms and took a step back, looking at the ground. "I froze. It had you and I couldn't..." He trailed off. His memory hadn't come back as clearly as the others yet. He wasn't sure what a lot of what was coming back to him meant. Soft touches, shared glances, hushed whispers mixed with the normal smacks and eye rolls and jokes about his mother. The only thing that was clear about it was the knot that developed in his stomach whenever he looked at Richie. There was something there. And not the bonds of escaping death. He certainly didn't get this feeling when he looked at Bill or Bev. This was different. Watching it set its sights on Richie, he felt himself completely detach from reality.  "I couldn't..."

Richie absentmindedly dug his fingers into his elbow.  “What, Eds? You were scared! This whole thing is nuts!”  He turned and started to pace, adjusting his glasses every time they began to slip.  “I am pretty sure if we hadn't all done this before, we'd have shit our pants and got the fuck out of dodge. You were stabbed in the face, for fuck's sake.”  His movements began to calm and he stared at him, gauze covering the too-fresh wound on his cheek.

“Yeah. And then what?”  Eddie spat, staring at his feet and cradling himself tighter.  “I'd be the guy who watched the only person he's ever loved get torn apart by some fucking spider version of...”  Just like in the movies, he could almost hear the record scratch to a stop and the glass shatter.  He had not meant to say that.  He was married.  His life was in New York and Richie’s was in L.A. and what difference did it make if he’d loved him when he was twelve?  His heart raced, betraying his panic, but all he could manage was a whispered  “Fuck.”

The tunnel grew eerily silent.  The two men stared at each other, willing the other to speak.  Richie couldn’t believe it.  

Over the years, he’d grown used to being alone.  Sometime since returning to Derry, he’d realized he’d been leaving room for Eddie to come back into his life.  He’d always look for someone’s reaction to his jokes, even alone.  Part of why he never wrote his own material was because no one on his team got them.  His assistants tried.  They really tried.  Time, now, made it all so clear.  He’d spent the last twenty-seven years trying to replace him.  Even moments before, his fears had manifested themselves as a closet.  How typical.  An aging queer literally terrified of a fucking closet.  Nothing had changed.  He’d let himself repress that whole aspect of himself because what difference did it make, truly, if Eddie wasn’t by his side?

He blinked back a few tears, finally finding his voice, breathless though it may have been.  “You loved me?”  

Eddie spluttered a few times but he couldn’t make himself clarify what he’d said.  Truthfully, it hadn’t required any clarification.  It was out there in the open and he’d said it and, terrified though he was he couldn’t find it in himself to regret it.  If only it hadn’t been while standing ankle-deep in grey water and feet away from a physical manifestation of their deepest, darkest fears.  He simply snapped his mouth shut and silently pleaded for him to drop it.

“Eds?” Richie asked again, taking a step closer to him.  He reached his hand out and rested it gently on Eddie’s arm. 

As though scalded, he retracted his arm and turned away, shouting, “We don't have time for this!”  He could feel the flush of his cheeks and praised whatever God was looking over this godless place for the light not quite reaching them.

Having exactly none of his aversions this time, Richie chased after him.  “God damn it, Eddie! We could both die down here and if it's my last chance to hear you say it, I want to hear it!”  He clasped his hands around Eddie’s arms and shook him lightly.  “Just fucking say it!”  Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, beginning to fall freely.  “I need to hear you say it!” he begged.

Eddie shrugged him off and backed away, the familiar fear rising up in his throat.  “Hear what? 36 hours ago, neither of us remembered who the other was!”

“Fuck! Do I have to say it first?” Richie conceded, backing himself against the wall for support.  “I love you.”  His words were more of a shout than he’d have liked.  They echoed around the cave, trying to make up for lost time.  The power of his voice shocked them both a little.  Richie wrapped his arms around his middle and stared at his feet, unable to look him in the eye.  “I've loved you since we were kids.  I've loved you since before I was old enough to actually know what that meant. Jesus,” he sighed, resting his head against the wall, “for the past 27 years, there's been this stupid void that I could never fill.”  He finally managed to bring his eyes to Eddie.  He took a step toward him and reached out to swat his arm.  “It was you, fucker.”  He gave a bittersweet smile and shook his head, almost unable to believe how long it had taken him.  “You and your stupid hypochondria and your answers for everything and your neverending...”  When his eyes met Eddie’s, he startled himself.  Eddie’s expression didn’t come across as pleased or anything even remotely positive.  All Richie could see was fear and immediately, he began berating himself for even mentioning it.  He sucked in his lips and threw his hands up in defeat.  “You know what? Forget it. We all will soon enough anyway.”

A pressure built in his chest as he watched the moment begin to slip away, and this time, it wasn’t an asthma attack.  “No!” Eddie whimpered, moving toward him and catching his hands, pulling him in closer.  “I won't forget.”  He brought the taller man’s hands to rest around his neck and cupped his jaw, realizing for the first time how much lighter his eyes had gotten over the years.  “Not this time,” he assured, leaning up to bridge the gap between them with a deep kiss that should have happened years earlier.  

Richie nearly fell backward at the sudden force.  He let his hands weave into his neatly coiffed hair and disheveled it in a way he’d wanted to for ages.  He’d forgotten so much but now... Now, he was sure he’d remember this forever, not that he planned on having to.  There’d be time.  So much time.  But for the time being, this would have to wait.  When he reopened his eyes and took him in, he realized something off.  “Were you on your tippy-toes, Eds?” he asked, laughing gently.

With an abrupt sigh, Eddie rolled his eyes and gave him a light shove.  “Oh, shut up,” he laughed, pulling him in again by the edges of his shirt and kissed him once more.  He smiled against his lips, despite himself, and muttered “Asshole.”

“I mean, it's cute,” Richie said, straightening up and letting his hands fall to the small of his back, “you have to reach for your prize.”  He puffed out his shoulders dramatically like he was some sort of amalgamation of Prince Charming and Superman all wrapped into one.

“Fuck you,” he said, pushing off of him and starting to, with newfound confidence, walk back to where the rest of the Losers were fighting a much more tactile set of fears.  “And don’t call me ‘Eds,’“ he called over his shoulder.

Richie let his gaze linger on Eddie a little longer than he’d ever done so intentionally, willing his memory to cling to every last inch of him.  Then, he started walking slowly behind him.  His stomach formed a tight knot as his mind settled on what they were about to do.

Before they reached the mouth of the tunnel, Eddie paused for a moment, letting Richie pass him.  “Hey, wait,” he called.  Despite the chill coursing over him, he realized there was something he hadn’t really said.

“What?” Richie asked, turning back to face him.

Eddie reached his hand for him and laced their fingers together, marveling at how right it felt.  “I love you, too.”  He smiled up at Richie and wrapped his free arm up around his neck, breathing him in.  Richie pressed his cheek against the top of his head.  Neither wanted to admit the overwhelming dread they were holding in.  At least dread wasn’t fear.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Richie heard a voice in the back of his mind.  It was Eddie, when they were young.  They were standing in the middle of the road in front of the house at 29 Neibolt Street two weeks before Georgie disappeared.  Bill had insisted on a hybrid game of Truth or Dare and Ding Dong Ditch, bored of their normal antics.  Stanley had already had his turn, having to ditch from the charred house on Harris Avenue.  He sat leaning against the handlebars of his bike and watched smugly as Eddie made his way up the path.  He got about halfway to the door and froze, staring at an upstairs window.  “This is fucking insane! I'm not staying here another minute.”  He turned around and hopped back on his bike, sending a booming “Fuck you guys!” over his shoulder.

“Hey, Eddie, wait up!” Richie called to him and sped off in pursuit, laughing a little at his friend.  After all, it was just a house.  

It was just a house.

It was just a house that led to the center of Derry’s sewer system.  It was just a house that was possessed by an evil shape-shifting clown.  It was just a house where they kept having ridiculous near-death experiences.  It was just a house where Pennywise had nearly taken Richie with the deadlights just moments prior.  It was just a house where Eddie had mustered up his courage and freed him from the grasp of it.  It was just a house where the fucking clown had impaled Eddie, spraying his blood all over Richie.

“Richie,” Eddie groaned, falling onto his side with a thud.

Clamoring to be next to him, not even noticing the amount of blood that had been spilled onto him, he started trying to put pressure on the gaping wound in the center of his chest.  “Ed!”  He scooted closer, taking the man in his arms, shaking, trying desperately not to make things worse.

A shaky breath carried out his name.  “Richie...”  His hands searched to grasp onto his shirt.  He clung to Richie, as though it would keep him.  

Tears fell quickly from Richie’s stunned eyes.  “Eds, it’s okay.  I’m here.  I’ve got you,” he said.  He appraised the wound for a moment and looked up at his friends for a moment, pleading for one of them to say it wasn’t that bad; that everything would be fine.  “You’re alright.  We’re gonna get you out of here.”  He stared at the pooling blood under his hands and ignored it.

That was the key, wasn’t it?  If he believed that Eddie would be okay, he would be.  If he ignored it, it was simply a trick.  It was one of Pennywise’s mind games.  It was nothing.  They’d get him out of here.  They had to.

“I got him, Richie.  I- I got him,” he stammered, as a drop of blood began to form at the corner of his mouth.  

Richie smiled, trying his best not to let his expression show even a trace of the panic that was building in his chest.  There was nothing any of them could do for him, at least not down here.  “You did, Eds.  You got him good.”  

Every breath Eddie took seemed to be more shallow and more pained than the last.  They had to get him out of here.  Richie placed his hand on Eddie’s cheek fondly, forcing him to stay focused on him with an encouraging nod.  “Now, let’s get you moving.”  

Eddie groaned with effort but couldn’t do much to get himself off the ground.  Richie slid himself under his arm and moved to act as a crutch.  “Bill, help me out here.”  Their friend stared at them, unmoved, paralyzed by the shock of how everything had unfolded.  He held a little tighter to a sobbing Bev but didn’t so much as acknowledge that he was being called for.  Richie shook his head and looked up at the next person.  “Ben?”  No response but a pitiful shake of his head.  Richie couldn’t understand why no one would help him.  He shot a pleading stare at Mike who steeled his jaw and pawed at his eyes.  He turned back to him and let his hands linger a little too long, a little too gently.  “Alright, Eds, on the count of three,” he said and leaned down to let him grip tightly around his neck.

“Don’t call me Eds, fuckface,” he whispered.  Richie gave a soft laugh and dug his hands into the back of Eddie’s shirt.  

Eddie knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going to make it out of this cave, but he wouldn’t let Richie think he was giving up.  In reality, he just wanted him to hold him until he was gone.  He supposed he would take what he could.  He wrapped his arms around him in as much of a hug as he could.  Eddie pressed his face into Richie’s neck and took a deep breath.  He nodded and made a soft noise that Richie took to mean “I’m ready.”

Richie took a deep breath and said, as confidently as he could, “Alright.  One... Two...”

From behind him, a shrill voice teased along “One... Two...”

Pennywise.  It was still alive.  He could vaguely hear his friends screaming as the clown sprung to life “Shit," he hissed, trying desperately to wrench him from the ground so they could make their getaway.

“Shit is right, Richie," the old clown sing-songed. "You want all your little friends to find out what you’re hiding?" He twitched his fingers toward the pair and then continued to extend until they were nearly touching Richie.  He stumbled back, maneuvering Eddie just out of the clown’s reach and scrambled in front of him.  "What’s that behind your back?  The boyfriend you’ll never get to have?”

Regaining his focus on the moment, Richie stood and chased the elongated fingers to the hand to which they belonged.  “Listen here you fucking pile of antique used colostomy bags,” he yelled, “there is nothing you can say to me that will make me think you’re anything but an intergalactic crybaby!”  As he landed the last word of the sentence, the clown began to take the form of a giant baby.  

As the group’s insults grew, the being shrunk and they realized the power of their words.  The smaller they could make him, the more likely it was that they’d win.  They believed they could and they did.  When they’d finally turned the little shit into the tiniest thing they could, Eddie and Bill reached in together and tore out his shriveled, still-beating heart.  One by one, the Losers hands joined together and they crushed the core of It’s being until finally, they’d won.  

Richie turned back to face Eddie and tell him they’d done it; that Pennywise was gone forever.  It hadn’t all been for nothing.  He went to call out his name, but the word stuck in his throat at the sight of his vacant, unfocused stare and still chest.  Richie ran the few steps to his side and slammed to his knees, putting pressure on the wound that had stopped bleeding.  He grasped desperately at Eddie’s shirt, his face, his hair, he shook him a little, trying to rouse him.  Even as Bev kneeled behind him, trying to make him see reason, his hearing swirled to nothing.  All he could focus on was the pattern of his own breathing, his own heartbeat, and the search for any sign of that on Eddie.  Tears made his vision swim.  Once more, he thought to himself that they should have split right away.

Just like that, he was in The Derry Townhouse with Eddie, safe and fleeing to anywhere that Pennywise wasn’t.  Richie peeked his head out of his room into the hallway and let his voice carry across into his friend’s room.  “You got everything?” he asked.  Ever since Mike had made his reasons for bringing them all back to this place they hadn’t even remembered existed until the day before, the group had been in panic mode.  They were all scrambling to head back to the lives they’d made for themselves in Anywhere But Derry.  For whatever reason, he and Eddie had clung to one another, even then.  They were remembering being close.  There was tension between them.  Something unspoken, maybe even when they were kids.  

“I think so,” Eddie called back to him amidst the whir of zippers and the thudding of luggage.  

“Alright,” he called, heading down the stairs with his duffel and laptop slung over his shoulders, spinning the keys to his rental car in his hand.  “Autobots, roll out!”

Eddie took one last lap of his room to make sure he had everything.  He patted down his pockets and made a mental check.  “Keys?  No keys, took a cab, leaving with Richie,” a curious smile tugged at his mouth as he said the name.  He paused, stricken by the reaction but he didn’t take the time to analyze that.  “Wallet, phone, inhaler, bags...”  He took a deep breath and gathered his belongings.  For just the slightest of moments, he stopped and acknowledged the rushing of his blood away from his stomach accompanied by a spike of adrenaline.  Butterflies.  His fight or flight mode was on high and that was the only reason for it.  There was nothing else that could possibly be making him panic.  Unless he was, as he suspected, sensitive to gluten and it wasn’t nerves but too much Chinese food.

“Rápido, Eduardo. Ándale, ándale!” Richie called, knocking on the downstairs wall and pulling him from his mental quicksand.

Forcing himself from the memory, Richie broke into sobs, burying his face into Eddie’s chest.  As the rest of his friends fought to pull him to his feet, he begged to take him with them; not to leave him down in the sewers in the dark.  As soon as he thought he’d convinced them, the chamber began to shudder and crumble.  Richie found himself glued to the spot.  He couldn’t leave him.  He couldn’t.  They were supposed to leave together.  He’d just admitted that he loved him.  After all these years, he was supposed to have a chance to finally see... no.  No, if this was where Eddie was going to stay, this was where Richie was going to stay, too.  And he would have, too, if the other four hadn’t banded together to force him to move.  They ran along the tunnels and up out of the cistern into the house on Neibolt and through the doors just in time for the entire building to collapse in on itself, vanishing into the ground and sealing Eddie in with the source of generations of suffering.  As the house began to cave, so, too, did Richie’s will to go on.  He lunged to go back in but was restrained by Ben and Mike until his body gave way.  He strained and scratched and kicked until he couldn’t find the strength to do it anymore.  He dropped to the ground and screamed Eddie’s name until his throat was raw.  It was no use.  He was gone.  It was over.  

Eventually, the Losers managed to get themselves together enough to walk to the quarry and clean themselves off.  As the group waded in the cool water, Richie focused on the blood all over him- had it really been so much?  How could he have thought, even for a moment, that a person could survive all of that?  As he focused on his glasses, he turned to make a snide remark about the germs to Eddie and realized, once more, that the blood was his.  He wouldn’t be able to hear the quip.  The survivors merged in on each other, clinging together for strength.  

A few days later, Richie made one more stop on the way out of Derry.  He put the mustang in park and eased out onto the little covered bridge over the creek in the woods.  He strode along the barricade, looking at years of graffitied carvings, each a testament to a love that had encountered Derry’s unique brand of torture.  He wondered how many of the couples were still together; if any of them had been torn apart by Pennywise.  

Finally, he stopped and gave a bittersweet smile as he saw what he was looking for.  A jagged R + E.  Small, vague, but there nevertheless.  27 years later and his innocent pining had left an impact.  Of course, it had.  Love always leaves an impact, whether you’re 12 or pushing 40.  

“I was gonna let you die!” echoed Eddie’s voice in Richie’s head for the millionth time since the tunnels.  It had become almost a taunt.

“You should have,” Richie whispered, lowering to his knees and resting his head on the railing.  “You should have let me die. We all still fucking remember and you're not here.”  The memories weren’t fading.  Last time, as soon as they’d gotten out, things got fuzzy.  By the time they made their blood pact, he could hardly remember the specifics of what had happened.  This time, though... This time, he could still remember every moment.  Every single one.  Specifically, though, the warmth of Eddie’s kiss and the blank stare he wore in death haunted his every thought since.  “If you were gonna die, you should have let me die, too, he said.

Richie took his old pocket knife out of his pocket and flipped it open, considering it for a moment.   He tested the tip against his hand and watched as blood beaded at the tip.  It would be so easy, he thought, to just drag the blade against his wrists and throw himself into the water.  Then, he could be with Eddie again.  Closing his eyes, he blinked out a few hot tears, then covered his face in his hands.  As much as he didn’t want to live life in a world where Eddie wasn’t, he could just imagine the look on his face if, after everything they’d gone through, he appeared in the afterlife having put himself there.  He wiped the tears from his eyes and refocused on what he’d come all the way out here to do.

Retracing the letters, he deepened the markings, ensuring that, on some level, they’d be able to stay together for posterity.  The set of freshly carved initials in weathered old wood was not a fair proxy for the love they’d never had the chance to share, but at least it was out there as proof that, no matter what happened from that moment forward, that Richie Tozier loved Eddie Kaspbrak.  

[ladynuwanda]

A Ride on the Other Side (Sub!Duncan ShepherdXDom!Female Reader)

A/N: (Thank you @alexcornerblog for trusting me again with your request, Babe! <3) Bored Dom!Duncan wants to try something new, and luckily he has his Bestie to teach him “the ways of the Force”.

Warnings: Smut. DomXSub play. Unprotected sex (as the Spice Girls would say, “be a little bit wiser, baby, put it on”). And, since I wrote this, get ready to watch some feelings being felt! ;)

Word Count: 4,5 K.

I had been friends with Duncan Shepherd for most of my adult life. We met at College, I noticed he was one of the brightest students in class, a real teacher’s favourite, and decided to get close to him. That’s how my competitive thinking works: keep your friends close and your enemies closer. If I wanted to be the best, I’d better join the best... instead of fighting them. There was nothing even remotely romantic about our relationship. Except for that one stupid night, in freshman year. But once we got the sexual tension out of the way, with disastrous results for everyone involved, we were free to be good friends.

After graduation we moved to DC together. Duncan had always felt a burning passion for politics, I was just in love with the city. We both got our internships during the same Summer, him at the Capitol, me at the Smithsonian. And all these years we’ve lived in Washington made us develop a few weekly rituals. One of my favourites was going to his apartment in the morning when we both had the day off. I’d take fresh brewed coffee with me, and some pastry for Duncan’s sugar cravings. We’d have breakfast together and then he’d let me enjoy the view from the balcony of his penthouse while I read a book. He was pleased to share the comforts his family’s money could buy with a friend, and I was glad to keep him company.

“‘Morning, Shepherd!”, the more hungover he looked the more I’d use an annoying sing-song tone to greet him.

“Really, tho? Are you sure it’s already morning?”, I had grown desensitised to Duncan’s attractiveness over the years, his baby-blue eyes and light scruff felt simply mundane to me.

“It’s almost afternoon, to be honest...”, I let myself in, while he sleepily rubbed his eyes, “they were out of cherry danish, so I got you cheese, I hope that’s ok.”

“Cheese is fine... please, come on in.”, that was his attempt at sarcasm, I was already halfway into the kitchen.

“For the love of God, drink your coffee, you’re grumpier than usual this morning... and that’s saying a lot!”

I’d never have to worry about walking in on him with company. He’d rarely take his hookups to his place, he preferred expansive hotels. That way he could show off his wealth, estabilishing dominance, but also “avoid giving off a false sense of intimacy”, as he said. “So who’s your date this morning? Fitzgerald? Yeats? Or are you back to your goth phase with that Poe compilation?”, he seemed instantly more alive after his first sip of coffee, he was almost smiling. “Shakespeare. I felt like revisiting Hamlet... sometimes you just gotta give your first love a second chance.”, I smiled showing him my old leather-bound copy of Tragedies by Shakespeare.

“But I’m expecting an e-mail from work... do you mind if I use your computer? I thought my phone was charging last night but it wasn’t, it’s dead as a doorknob...”, I was already walking towards his home office, without waiting for a reply.

“Sure...”, he mumbled while taking a cheese danish from the paper-bag I’d brought, “good morning, you beauty!”. “I’m gonna pretend I’m not offended that you’re greeting your breakfast with a lot more enthusiasm than you greeted me...”, I shouted towards the kitchen, while I was sitting on his desk and pulling the laptop open.

The computer was already on, it was just closed, and that was unusual for someone as highly organised as Duncan. “You forgot to turn it off last night, are you ok...”, I was saying when I heart a loud “OH SHIT” from the kitchen. I looked at the screen and “oh shit”, indeed. There was a cheap-looking porn video playing in full volume. I’ve always thought Duncan was a man of more refined tastes, but that was not the weirdest thing about it. The leather-clad couple onscreen was already going to town but it was the girl, wearing a stereotypical dominatrix outfit and a harness, that was thrusting mercilessly into a guy on all fours, with a ball gag in his mouth.

Duncan shot into the room, now fully awake. His eyes were wide and his mouth agape, looking more terrified than I’d ever seen him. He hastily shut the laptop again, not daring to look at me. I just sat there with a blank expression, looking at my old friend, waiting for an explanation. “I’m gonna lend you a chord, you can charge your phone and check your e-mails... ok?”, with the most awkward little grin he left the room, blushing bright-red. I followed him, still unable to speak.

The thing is, Duncan had always been a proud Dom. It was part of who he was, being an influential man, from a prominent family. He had a reputation. The girls who threw themselves at his feet were already expecting that from him. He had things done his way in absolutely every aspect of his life. Always. I think he actually got off on that power. It seemed impossible that the famous Duncan Shepherd would be fantasising about being pegged by a girl in what could only be described as a dominatrix costume. And we were both very similar in our tastes that way, and we’ve always respected each other too much to try and change one another. That was also part of what made us incompatible in the bedroom, and kept our friendship safe from any unwanted sexual tension all these years.

“Duncan, what... why... are you ok?”

“Can we just... never talk about it again, please?”

“Yes.”, I lowered my eyes in second-hand embarrassment.

“I’m just... I’m so tired!”, he ran his hands over his own face, and sat heavily down on the couch.

“Of what? Not having your ass split in half?”, I chuckled, he didn’t, “come on, Duncan... it’s me! You know I won’t judge... I just wanna understand.”, I sat on the couch by his side, and I though about putting a hand to his shoulder, but decided against it. For some reason it felt inappropriate to touch him now.

“It’s just... it’s always the same, y’know... all those girls, always willing to lick my boots on command, all of them so eager to please...”

“Poor you, Duncan! It must be a nightmare...”, he narrowed his eyes at me, “I’m sorry, go on.”

“You really are a pain in my ass, you know...”, he sighed deeply before continuing, “I’m just sick of standing up to other people’s expectations... I wanted to know what it’s like. The other side. To be free to just... enjoy the moment. Does that make sense?”, his clear blue eyes fell on me, full of honesty, in a way I knew he wouldn’t with anyone else.

“It does make sense. I just... I don’t understand why you wouldn’t talk to me about it, instead of resorting to cheap internet porn. That’s so tacky, Duncan...”

“You’ve always made it perfectly clear that you found me the most unappealing man on Earth... I saw no reason to.”

“I never said you’re unappealing... I said you can’t handle me.”

“Oh, I can handle you.”, he smirked trying to regain the upper hand.

“Oh, really, Mr. Three Minutes? I don’t think you can...”

“It was just that one time! I was very young... and I was drunk.”

“Finishing early was not the problem... but did you have to go and fall asleep right afterwards?”

“I was tired! It was exam week!”

“You’re always tired, grandpa! Were you too young, or too old... you gotta pick one!”

We just laughed it off, as we usually did. That’s how this conversation always ended, it was our way of not letting that incident get in the way of our relationship. And it also worked to ease the tension from what had just happened. We were ok, again. The awkwardness was gone.

“Anyway... that’s not something I wanted to discuss with the only girl who will never let me forget how completely unsatisfied she was the one time she shared my bed.”

“Or you could use this opportunity to clean your reputation...”

“What?”

“What?”

“Are you serious?”

“I could be.”

“My best friend is willing to... dom... me?”

It was just too cute, the way he called me his best friend! Duncan could be so precious when he thought no one was paying attention...

“Why not? We’ve known each other forever... We trust each other. You’re decent looking, if I squint my eyes and forget you’re a Republican. If you don’t find me completely repulsive, this could work!”

“I don’t find you repulsive at all.”, and at that, the bastard unleashed the full power of his gaze on me. And I realised that it wasn’t that I was desensitised to his charms, he’d simply stopped trying to seduce me. Until that moment.

“Ok.”, I took a deep breath, steadying myself, “how about I come back here tonight, and give you a tour on ‘the other side’, as you called it?”

“You would do that?”

“It doesn’t have to be such a big deal... we could just play a little, get you a taste of it... we don’t even need go as far as undressing, if it feels too awkward! I think I’ll survive without seeing those cute little buttocks... again.”

“Sounds like a plan...”, he nodded thoughtfully, a familiar crease between his eyebrows, the one he had when he was already thinking about a thousand future scenarios for something.

I got up from the couch, surprising even myself, “ok, so I’m gonna take off, now... I’ll come back later?”, he just nodded and I did the last thing I thought I would do when I entered his apartment this morning. I leaned over, running my fingers through his soft curls, still a little disheveled from sleep, and kissed him full on the mouth. His soft lips parted a little in surprise, and I pushed my tongue between them, massaging his. I tightened my grip on his hair, our tongues still pressing flat against each other, and heard a soft moan vibrating on his throat. I ended the kiss nibbling gently on his lower lip, and flashed him my brightest smile, “see you tonight, Big D.”

It was just so Duncan how he made a project out of it. If he was going to be a Sub for one night, then he was going to be the best Sub in the entire history of Subs. He spent most of the afternoon texting me, asking questions about the proper attire, music, lighting... he asked me if champagne was ok, or did I prefer something stronger. I felt tempted to reply “black Earl Grey tea”, just to mess with him. On his latest text he was asking if I thought scented candles were better than unscented ones. I texted him back saying he should buy the ones that melt at a bearable temperature. He could just go to the candle shop and bother someone else, I was beginning to feel a little nervous with all those texts, and that was not part of the plan.

I arrived at the building precisely at the arranged time. I wore a trench-coat over my black dress, and thigh-high black stockings under it. If he was into the stereotype, and judging by the video he’d been watching he was, I didn’t want to disappoint him from the get go. He opened the door and I wondered how I could’ve ever thought I was immune to this man. There was no other word to describe him, he looked perfect. The hair, the clothes, the expansive fragrance emanating from his body in just the right amount. And the gorgeous smile he greeted me with was just the cherry on top!

“You look very nice... the trench-coat was a nice touch!”, he took my hand after shutting the door and gave it a gentle kiss, his eyes fixed on mine. After a second of intense eye-contact, that felt like it lasted for at least a couple of weeks, he started leading me towards his bedroom by the hand he had never let go of. Duncan’s bedroom: the Final Frontier. I was about to boldly go where no girl has gone before. The room looked carefully arranged to be seductively comfortable. His attention to detail was truly remarkable. The candles, the cloud-soft bed linen, the fire crackling pleasantly in the fireplace, my favourite flowers everywhere and a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. The butterflies in my stomach told me that maybe I should have chosen the “something stronger” option of beverage, after all.

He poured champagne in two crystal flutes as I left my handbag on an arm chair and began unbuttoning my trench-coat. “What’s in the bag?”, the deliberately cool tone he used suggested that he might have been feeling just a tad more nervous than he wanted me to know. “Stuff. You know. Things.”, I gave him a half-smile raising an eyebrow.

“A mysterious handbag... You’re like a naughty Mary Poppins!”, it was his time to look at me with an eyebrow raised.

“Whatever flies your kite... so to speak.”, I took the flute he offered me and was already about to down its content when I realised he wanted to make a toast.

“To the bonds of friendship... and new boundaries.”, he smirked lightly.

“To not limiting yourself.”, I added clinking the glasses.

I emptied the flute a little faster than what would be considered elegant for a young lady, and handed it back to him for a refill, “Safe word?” I asked taking the full flute back. He pondered the question for a moment, his face lighting up when he found an answer “Kite.”, he gave me a most devilish grin, before he began to drain his second flute of champagne as well.

“Should I call you by any particular name?”

“Sure. Call me Madam President.”

“What???”

“I’m kidding, Duncan, relax... Ma’am usually does it.”

Setting both empty flutes aside, I approached him. I pressed me whole body against his, and grabbing a fistful of his hair I kissed him again, I used my teeth this time and I sucked hard on his full lips, until they were red and slightly swollen. “Shoes and socks off. And be a darling and remove that overpriced shirt you’re wearing, dear.” I took my time walking around him, my fingertips barely brushing his naked chest and back. His skin was so smooth and slightly tanned. I stood behind him and left a wet kiss in the middle of his back, my fingers ghosting the length of his arms, and he shivered in a very satisfying way “Your belt.”

I tied the belt he handed me around his wrists, behind his back, and went to stand in front of him again. I slowly removed my lacy black panties and placed them inside his front pocket with a wink, then I took a candle in one hand and the bottle of champagne in the other. I blew the candle out slowly, watching the flame reflected in his eyes wavering and being extinguished “I hope for your own good that you got the right kind of candle”, and I let some of the wax drop on Duncan’s naked chest. He hissed and I poured some of the icy cold champagne over the wax, and licked the droplets of the cool drink off his nipples, suckling and biting ever so gently on the sensitive skin. Looking up I saw him biting onto his lower lip to try and muffle a moan. “Do you like it?”, he merely nodded in response, “you better start using your words, Shepherd.”, I dropped some more wax, on his shoulder this time, and poured a little more champagne over it, stopping the liquid from dripping down his arm with my tongue. “Yes, Ma’am. I like it.”

“So you like a little pain, hm? I always thought that was a healthy mindset...”, I picked a riding crop from inside my bag and, without a warning, his the back of Duncan’s thighs hard with it. He gasped loudly in shock. “Now, don’t be such a baby, that can’t possibly have hurt that bad. Not with your pants on.”, I hit him again, “Tell me: Did I hurt you?” - “No, Ma’am.”, I used the leather tip of the crop under his chin to make him look at me “Do you want me to?”. He looked in my eyes like he was seeing me for the first time, his cheeks flushed a delicate shade of pink “I do. I wouldn’t want anyone else to.”, the way his eyes widened told me he wasn’t expecting this answer any more than I was.

I undid his pants and let them fall to his ankles “Step out of them and bend over the edge of the bed.”, I was sure the skin on the back of his thighs was stinging pretty bad, now, every blow of the crop was marking him in a vivid red. But Duncan took it like a soldier, barely whimpering at all. I was surprised to see that he was actually bucking his hips against the bed, trying to get whatever friction he could, between the hits. “Shepherd, are you really humping the bed? Like a dog?”, I did my best not to laugh at his embarrassed expression, “Maybe. Would that be... wrong?”, I had to actually bite on my own tongue to keep myself from laughing. “Kneel on the floor, Shepherd... Away from the bed!”

I kicked my stylettos off and went on my knees in front of him, running my fingernails over his inner thighs while kissing his neck. I deliberately avoided touching the hard bulge in his boxer briefs for now, and felt him softly nuzzling the curve of my neck, dragging his nose over my jawline, his lips desperately searching for mine, his chest heaving more with every breath. “Please”, he whimpered in my ear. “‘Please’, what?”, I pulled back to look at him. “Please... touch me. Ma’am.”, his voice was just a breathy whisper.

“Oh, I don’t think so.”, I got up from my knees and sat on the bed right in front of him slowly removing my stockings, my parted legs giving him the front row view as a touched myself, instead of him. He exhaled shakily, incapable of shutting his plump lips again, a feverish look in his eyes as he watched my fingers working. I took one finger from my core to his lips and he obediently sucked it clean. With one hand in his hair, I pulled his face towards one of my thighs. He left a trail of wet kisses as he went, the grazing of his stubble on my inner thighs almost enough to send me over the edge, before his lips connected to the wetness between my legs.

So Duncan Shepherd could eat pussy, after all. Who’d have thought? And he wasn’t bad at it, either! Lapping up my juices like a starved puppy, eagerly pushing his tongue between my folds... if he felt like hitting my cervix with his tongue, I wasn’t going to be the one to tell him he couldn’t. By all means, young man, try! But I had to use one of my feet against his chest to gently push him away, pulling on his hair to make him look at me “Will you stop dry-humping my leg like a mongrel, Shepherd?”, he just nodded his parted lips deliciously pink and wet, and I allowed him to go back to work.

With his soft lips closing around my clit, suckling hard, and his tongue giving hungry licks to the sensitive bundle, it wasn’t long before I was rocking my hips against his face, my entire body shaking in a toe-curling orgasm. I came back from my high to find a very satisfied-looking Duncan smirking at me from between my thighs “And you thought I couldn’t handle you”, he wiggled his eyebrows. I didn’t know if I wanted to slap his face or kiss him. So I did both.

Tasting myself on his lips and tongue, I helped him get rid of his boxer briefs, running my hands on his round butt-cheeks, letting my fingers slip between them and teasing his entrance. He jumped and broke the kiss, his eyes round “Whoa!! What the hell?!”, his voice an octave higher than usual “Are you serious?!”, he was staring at me in startled disbelief. “Duncan, I’m a Dom, not a rapist... I won’t force anything upon you.”

I made us both stand up and removed the belt from his wrists. I held him from behind, pressing my body on his back, running my hands over his chest and belly, feeling the muscles of his abdomen flex at my touch, while he ran his own hands over his bruised wrists. “I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to. But I am here to help you experiment things you would never allow yourself to try, otherwise... those who have experienced prostatic orgasm say it’s a most extremely intense sensation. It’s a powerful source of pleasure you know nothing about.”, I ran one hand over a soft butt-cheek again “Aren’t you... curious, Duncan?”, I asked in a whisper against his ear, letting my lips touch his earlobe, one finger brushing the crease on the curve where his butt met his thigh.

He turned around to face me very slowly. His eyes burning on mine. He simply let out a sigh and cupped my face in his hands, kissing me slow and deeply “Yes.”, he whispered against my lips. I could not believe this was actually happening. I was in a dazed dream-like state as I walked to my bag and picked up the strap-on, feeling slightly light-headed as I adjusted the harness around my hips. Duncan poured more champagne in the flutes and we drained three of them without a word. I pointed towards the bed with a tilt of my head and he laid himself on his stomach, obediently.

I applied a generous amount of lube to my rubber appendix and joined him on the bed. I couldn’t help saying “Now... let’s pop that cherry, shall we?” and giving him a light slap to his ass, to try and ease the tension that was building up inside me as well. Unsuccessfully, it only made me more nervous and I’m pretty sure it didn’t have a calming effect on him, either. I lifted his hips slightly towards me, and pushed the piece of rubber into him, as slow and gently as I could. He moaned very softly, but the knuckles of the hands that grabbed the sheets were already white. I pulled out a little and pushed back in a few times, before I felt his hips trembling under my hands and heard a louder moan escaping his lips, and I knew I was finally hitting that sweet spot inside him. Duncan turned his head around a little to look at me, a fire I had never seen before - not even on election night 2016 - burning in his eyes. With that piercing blue gaze staring into my soul, I heard his voice in a raspy tone that was completely new to me “Harder.”

I turned Duncan around to make him lie on his back, and lifted his hips, so I could keep fucking into him from between his legs, facing him. I wanted to look at him. I wanted to see his pleasure building up. To see the surprise in his eyes at the new sensation, the way he was biting onto the back of his hand to muffle his moans. I thrust hard and steady, watching the mighty Duncan Shepherd coming undone beneath me. Writhing his entire body in ecstasy, his eyes shut tight, his full lips curling up when an animalistic groan escaped him during his climax.

I pulled out and threw the strap away, laying myself by his side and kissing his lips, one gentle hand caressing his face. He looked completely fucked out and that was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen. His hair was sticking a little to his sweaty forehead, his cheeks were adorably flushed. His eyes were glowing on mine and an awed grin was dancing on his lips. “That was amazing!!”, his voice came out a little louder than usual between sharp gasps, and I kissed him again. “You know, it doesn’t have to be over, yet...”, I ran my fingertips over his cock, still impossibly hard after his dry orgasm.

The look of surprised wonder on his face when I straddled his hips was just priceless! I pulled the little black dress out above my head and eased myself on him, letting Duncan fill me up for the first time since that one night, all those years ago, and I wondered what had taken us so long to get there. He sat up, one hand firm on the small of my back, the other entangled in my hair and looked into my eyes, for what felt like a very long time, before whispering “Finally”, one corner of his mouth going up. I felt tears stinging my eyes at the intense feeling that was held in that single word, and I heard myself whispering “Welcome home, Duncan” back at him.

He thrust his hips up, eyes still on mine, and buried his face on my breasts while I bounced on his lap, and I cupped his face in my hands and kissed his lips while I rocked my own hips against his. I felt myself clenching around him at the same time his throbbing cock released his warm load inside me. I could have screamed from pleasure, and I’m pretty sure I did. And so did Duncan. We held each other in our arms for a long time after I felt him go soft inside me. We just wouldn’t dare to move, we were too comfortable like that: Finally where we belonged. Running our fingertips over each others backs, giving each other soft kisses on shoulders, necks and lips. Just listening to our own breathing growing steadier in unison, and the gentle crackle of the fire.

I fell asleep in Duncan Shepherd’s warm embrace, something I would have said was absolutely impossible, if someone had asked me twelve hours before. We’d have to go out to get coffee and danishes together the next morning. But if this was to become our new weekly ritual, I thought I could live with that.

Taglist: @1-800-bitchcraft @antichristinq @are-you-lilith-or-eve @babydollcake @bbyduncan @ccodyfern @cocosfern @hellxblade @langdonsdemon @langdonsinferno @langdonsoceaneyes @lathraios @mega-combusken @michael-langdon-appreciation @sojournmichael @queencocoakimmie

[feelingsdusk-writes]

Fides

I was going to wait a bit more for this one, but since it's my birthday, y'all get an unbirthday present today... or birthday present, if you're a 26th of April baby like me lol.

Also, in case you're wondering, for now I'll only be posting this here and my AO3 will come later.

Cheers!

---

Chapter 2

They don’t trust each other.

The fairies are wary of Stiles and Stiles is wary of them. It’s understandable, though, in both cases. Although the fairies have been watching Stiles since they came, they’ve only seen him when he stays in his room, which means that about seventy percent of that time he has been asleep. And now they find themselves dependent on him, which means that a complete stranger holds the security of their livelihood, and isn’t that a terrifying thought? And for his part, Stiles knows them even less and he knows they’ve already seen him naked and asleep. Some would think that the second is nothing compared to the first, but it’s not. He’d take being naked and awake in the presence of a possible hostile over vulnerable and unconscious every day. Not that he thinks of them as hostiles, but desperate people can do a lot of things they’d normally be against doing to survive.

In short, they’re at an impasse.

"Um," he starts awkwardly. "Apart from dishes and glasses, what else do you need?" He's not trying to butter them up. If anything it should be other way around. But someone has to take the first step and Stiles figures that the survivors of a massacre aren't going to be the ones to do it. "I still have fabrics if you need clothes too?"

"That- That would be- Yes, please, if it's not too much trouble," a girl answers. Stiles doesn't know her name yet and she hasn't volunteered it.

"I can make blankets and easy stuff," he admits sheepishly, "but if you want anything more complicated... I think I can make dresses and all that, but don't expect them to be too, you know, high quality."

"Oh, that's- We will manage, thank you," she replies, trying avoid pulling at her threadbare clothes self-consciously.

"But you can have the fabrics and make something else yourself if you want? I have a lot."

"That would be wonderful!" she answers, clearly brightening.

God, he's such a softie, dammit.

So Stiles makes more cutlery and the like with the remaining polymer clay and they drop some pearls of wisdom about what being a spark entails. He sews some fabrics to use as blankets so that they don’t have to share and they talk about some other creatures that Stiles thought a fantasy but aren’t. He sews some clothes rudimentarily because they still don’t have needles and they share a little bit more about the supernatural world. Then, he shapes some wood into tiny itsy bitsy needles and cuts the fabrics as they ask him to, and they explain about fairy society specifically.

And that’s that.

Getting any kind of cooperation out of them is like pulling teeth and Stiles is pretty frustrated by now. Don’t get him wrong, he gets it, he really does. Besides what they told him when he found them, they haven’t talked about what happened to their colony and the circumstances that brought them to his terrarium, but he doesn’t have to be a genius to know that the whole thing has marked them, that they are traumatized by what happened. Putting himself in their shoes, Stiles knows he would be as distrustful and closed off as they are.

Knowing or understanding that doesn’t make it any less frustrating, though.

Because everything he has found on the Internet is pure bullshit. Because supposedly he has a lot of power at his fingertips and he can’t try it. Because there’s a whole new fascinating world that he’s taken a peek at and then it has closed on him. But above all, because there are hostiles in that world that are capable of destroying a whole fairy colony, bypassing all the security measures (magical or not) that he’s sure they had, and he can’t prepare in case they come at him searching for the survivors.

And he hates that so, so much.

But he isn’t sure about how to proceed in this situation because he feels that whatever the outcome of his approach is, it’s going to be bad. His approach right now is working to some degree, but if the threat is real, it’s nowhere near enough to be of any use, because if they attacked today, he’d be useless. If he kicks them out (and mind you, that’s not a possibility, he’s not that cold-hearted), not only is there no guarantee that the hostiles won’t show up anyway, but he’ll lose the only connection and source of knowledge of the supernatural that he has. Now, if he explains to them why he wants the knowledge, he may spook them into leaving, getting the same results as if he kicked them out. Then again, it could convince them to talk to Stiles, but, being honest, he doesn’t like the odds at all, because in that aspect they’re like Stiles, whom doesn’t like to be dependent on anyone and normally doesn’t ask for help unless there’s no other way.

So yeah, it’s a stalemate alright, because they don’t trust each other and none of them want to make the first step (help with utensils and clothes non withstanding). So it’s been nearly a month since Stiles found the fairies in his terrarium and they haven’t moved a single step further from just cordial interactions. And all those have been initiated by Stiles…

… which is why he’s so surprised when he finds six of them waiting for him just as he opens the door of the house, coming home late after Track practice. Up until now he hasn’t even seen them leave his room and they choose to do that on the one out of the five total times a year that his dad comes to pick him up.

The word flail doesn’t even begin to describe what he does when he notices them and he realizes that his dad is only a couple of steps behind. He recovers quickly and gestures frantically in the direction of his room, only breathing normally when they disappear upstairs, his dad being none the wiser.

“So,” his dad starts just as Stiles starts climbing the stairs to get to his room as fast as he can without being suspicious. “I had an interesting conversation today.”

Stiles knows that tone of voice. Although it’s not outwardly noticeable, he instantly checks mentally what he may have done and gotten caught for. He’s been too busy trying to subtly convince the fairies to talk to him and after his retaliation of last month the twins haven’t dared to mess with him, so nothing comes to mind. Still, in these cases the best defense is silence and a poker face, so he only turns to look at his dad with a neutral expression, like he always does in all of their conversations lately.

His dad’s serious expression turns severe. “Come here and sit,” he orders and it takes all Stiles’ willpower to keep his stance as he approaches the chair his dad has just pointed at. “Last chance to come clean, son,” the man warns as he also takes a seat.

Stiles suddenly adds two and two. When he finished practice today, on his way to the changing rooms, he saw his dad’s patrol car already parked from the hall window, but he never actually saw his dad inside or near it. He was actually waiting by Stiles’ locked bike by the time he finished showering and everything, about fifteen minutes later. It doesn’t take much to deduce, seeing the current situation, that it probably means that he was in a meeting with his teacher or with the principal. Maybe even both. Which means he was probably summoned.

Which means he probably (most likely) wouldn’t have come to pick him up if he hadn’t been called.

There are lots of probably’s in his guesswork but Stiles has good instincts and he’s rarely wrong about these kinds of things. The ratio up to date is that one out fifty he’s wrong, so he feels justified when anger starts to bubble under the surface. Especially so when he goes over the small talk his dad had been trying to make on the way back home and he finds lots of hinting that he had taken as a joke or he had just plain missed.

“Are you sure this is the way you wanna go, son?” his dad insists, expression even more pinched, as if he’s exhausted.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he answers firmly. And for the life of him, he doesn’t. If his dad had asked this same exact question about a month ago, he would have had about three different answers for it just at the top of his head: hacking into a senior’s PC to plant a virus because he had nearly pushed Stiles down the stairs as a joke; anonymously tipping the police into finding the steroids that same senior’s best friend still kept in his locker because he hadn’t distributed them yet; and turning on the megaphone just as the math teacher was making out with the vice principal (both of them are (maybe now were is the correct word to use?) married) just because he felt like it and because Mr. Jones’ wife is a sweetheart and Stiles really likes her, and, most importantly, he heard them talking about having a baby, and that’s… nope. He isn’t even counting what he did to the twins because he just had to lead Mr. Andrews in the right direction and the rest came by itself. But all this happened nearly a month ago, which leaves him at a total loss about what his father is talking about.

“Stiles,” his dad warns, “this is not a joke.”

“What do you want me to say?” he finally snaps, his anger at the whole situation mounting. It adds to the worry he feels about the fairies, because if they sought him out and risked being found out, whatever their problem is, it must be serious. And he’s stuck here with his father without knowing what hell is happening, both with his dad and with the fairies. He sure isn’t a happy camper right now. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about!”

His dad then tries that stern no nonsense look that used to make him crack and had him confessing in no time when he was little, and Stiles tries to reign in his temper. It’s difficult because apart from the worry and the anger, his resentment is starting to build up again, no matter how much he tries to quell it (because this is his dad and he still loves him no matter what). And the hurt, oh, the hurt. It stings so bad that this is the most time they’ve spent together these last three months and it’s because his dad has made time in his busy schedule to scold him and probably punish him. Stiles won a track competition three weeks ago and the most he got was a phone call that evening and a celebratory brownie in a paper bag waiting for him the next morning on the kitchen table. In his more uncharitable moments, Stiles thinks that it was Anderson who reminded his father about the competition.

His dad sighs and then proceeds to pull out two carefully folded papers to place them in front of Stiles. They are exams. Specifically, one of them is the copy of the Science exam he took this Monday and the other is Mathew Collins’ exam. Also known as twin number one to Stiles. The answers are, if not completely, nearly the same. Stiles instantly sees where all this is going. He doesn’t know how they managed it and he doesn’t care. Stiles is going to counter back so brutally that the mere thought of going against him is going to make both twins piss themselves in fear. At the very least.

Internally, he’s seething. Externally, he’s so cool that he might as well be ice. His voice is level when he speaks. “Are you accusing me of cheating?”

“How else would you call this, Stiles?”

“How about him copying me? I don’t know, seeing that my grades are always among the best of my class?”

“Stiles, don’t make things worse,” his dad interrupts him, anger and disappointment seeping into his voice, and Stiles clenches his jaw. “I asked Mr. Andrews and he said that the kid was a little ahead of you and he would have caught him if he turned continuously to copy from you to this extent. The only answer is that you copied from him then, and I want to know why would you do this when you normally have good grades on your own.”

“I haven’t cheated.”

“Stiles…”

“I haven’t cheated,” he cuts in, deeply offended and hurt by his dad’s refusal to believe him. He picks up his bag and takes out his Science textbook, throwing it angrily to the kitchen table. “Ask me anything.”

“Stiles, you’re just making things worse for…”

“Anything,” he cuts in again. “I know the whole damn book, not just what we’ve seen so far. Ask away.”

His dad’s phone interrupts the silent battle of wills that proceeds Stiles’ affirmation. When the man comes back from where he had gone to ensure his privacy, so does his disappointed look. Stiles wants to rage but before he can get a word out, his dad raises a hand, stopping him.

“This matter is not closed. We’ll talk again tomorrow after school. I talked to Mr. Andrews and agreed that you’ll go an hour early tomorrow and you’ll retake the exam. You should be happy I convinced him to leave this out of your record because this was a first incident. Take the chance and study.”

“I don’t need to because I didn’t cheat!”

The sheriff sighs long-suffering as he goes to the entrance. “Study, Stiles. We’ll talk about your punishment tomorrow.”

“I didn’t cheat, dad!” Stiles shouts frustrated just as the door closes behind his dad.

He’s going to make them regret ever crossing Stiles. They want war? Okay, war is what they’re going to get. And he’ll take no prisoners. Stiles takes a deep breath because he's so angry he's shaking. But first, the fairies.

“We’re alone,” he says through gritted teeth as he opens the door of his room, and almost all the fairies leave the terrarium instantly, coming to meet him.

“They’re gone!” Eglantine cries as soon as she’s nearly in his face, making him recoil startled. Lorelle comes near, placing a calming hand on her shoulder and the woman tries to compose herself. Aelfdene joins them, throwing a grim look at him that makes clear how little he likes having to come to him for help. Stiles instantly tenses because if both Lorelle and Aelfdene, the only remaining elders, seek him out, it means that the matter is really serious and they have exhausted any other means at their disposal.

“Odette and Ehaldun have disappeared,” Lorelle informs him, her throaty voice dark.

Stiles blanches. Odette is the kid that interrogated him that very first day about where had all the hair gone. She comes almost every day to look at his textbooks while he does his homework but never talks to him because her mother (Eglantine) told him to not to talk to strangers (or non fairies for that matter). When she’s curious about something she asks her brother in a raised voice so that Stiles hears it too, hoping that he’ll explain without having to break the rules of not talking to him. Stiles finds it funny but Ehaldun doesn’t. But she’s his little sister and it’s his job to protect her even though she kicked that cockroach when he was afraid the other day, and… And at that the little boy cut himself, noticing he was talking to Stiles when his mother had told him not to. Stiles still snorts when he remembers that. They’re both funny.

And now they’re missing and Stiles doesn’t understand how, because he left the windows and doors closed this morning before leaving, just like they asked him to. Moreover, his dad left before him and according to the fairies he hasn’t been back throughout the day, so the doors and windows remained like he left them. And he doubts the kids left the room by themselves. Oren says that it took three of them to open the door to his room to search for them and that they only did it just in case there’s any little hole that leads to the rest of the house that they don’t know about.

Stiles doesn’t bother asking them stupid questions like if they they’re sure. Of course they are, they wouldn’t have come to him if they could solve this themselves. Which means that they have already searched the whole house for them multiple times already and found nothing. So either they’re asleep, unconscious, or not in the house. And Stiles is completely sure about that, because he also knows that if they were in the room (or in the house, for that matter) they would have come out already and not let their mother suffer this way.

”When and where was the last time you saw them?” he asks instead.

Some saw them by the waterfall, others in the big house where he keeps his picture… Depending on the person, it changes, but it’s Aelfwine’s answer the one that catches his attention. ”Before you left, I think, because they were over your bag.”

”My school bag?”

When he nods, he frowns. After a second of consideration, he turns to go back downstairs to pick it up from where he left it at the kitchen. It’s a long shot but it doesn’t hurt to check it out. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise him if he found out that Odette had tried to peek inside and that Ehaldun had followed her just to not leave her alone. If that’s what happened, they’ve probably spent the whole day in his bag.

He brings it up to his room and, when he calls for them and they don’t answer, he starts to empty it just in case. When he finishes doing that, he even turns it around to shake it. Nothing.

Eglantine shakes trying to control herself and Stiles winces in sympathy, not knowing what else he can do. It just doesn’t make sense. Eglantine says that they barely know any magic because they’re still too young. And they are, because in human years Odette is five years old, and Ehaldun is just a year older.

“Maybe,” Stiles bites his lips, “they went outside.”

“They know not to!” Eglantine cries out, hugging herself to control her shaking hands.

“I know,” Stiles says, voice soft, “but we don’t lose anything just checking the backyard just in case.”

“Time, that’s what we lose,” she bites out. “Time. And they may already be…”

“No,” a man Stiles doesn’t know the name of cuts in. “Don’t even think that.”

“But…” Sobs start to make her whole body shake and the man and another woman hug her tightly.

“I’m gonna check outside,” Stiles says pained and Aelfdene nods.

Aelfwine and his partner, Beriadan, join him in the search but keep themselves in the pocket of his hoodie to avoid being seen. They check the whole yard, both in the back and in the front of the house and nothing. It doesn’t take them more than ten minutes because there’s only grass and one lonely tree.

He goes back to his room and he almost winces when the desperate hope in Eglantine’s face vanishes at his shake of the head.

“Don’t you have any tracking magic?” he asks awkwardly after a moment of silence. “Because the only option here… is…” He stops himself to think. What are the odds of that happening? What if they did get inside the bag but didn’t stay in when it stopped moving? He always bikes his way to the school like a madman because he normally leaves the house late and he has to sprint there… Which means that they could be at his school. He shudders. If he’s right and they are there, unless they stayed put and didn’t move from any of the five different classrooms he had class in today, they could be anywhere in that enormous building.

“What? What option?” Eglantine asks desperate.

“If they got into my bag, maybe they’re at my school,” Stiles finishes, pursing his lips. “It’s a long shot, but it’s not like we have other options.”

“I’m coming with you,” she says, echoed by many others.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. If I get caught, they’ll ask me to empty my pockets. At most I can bring one of you with me, just in case the kids don’t answer to me because I’m not a fairy or whatever, but even that is a bad idea.”

“I’ll go. They’re my children. I’ll go.”

“Eglantine,” Lorelle starts firmly, only to be cut off by her.

“They’re my children.”

“Ok,” Stiles says coming forward to stand2 right in front of her. “But I want your word that you’ll stay put and do what I say. If I have to run the hell out of there to not get caught…”

“I won’t give up,” she states stubbornly.

“And I’m not telling you to. I’m telling you that I don’t want to have to search for you too when I enter back in from a different window because you didn’t stay in my pocket like I told you to. And think about this, if I get caught I can’t search anymore and you won’t know how to get back here even if you finally find them.”

Stiles can see her taking a deep breath, trying to steel her nerves. Was his own mom like this? Fragile yet diamond hard at the same time? If she hadn’t gotten sick and was alive right now, would she have believed Stiles? Would have his dad? He shakes his head chasing the thought away and goes to his closet to change his clothes into darker colored ones.

It occurs to him that now is not the best time to break into the school with his father so angry. Part of him is screaming that if he gets caught it will solidify and somehow prove right the idea that he cheated on his exam, which makes this whole venture stupid and foolhardy. Another part of him, the one that’s bitter and furious and hurt, thinks that if he’s going to get punished anyway, it’s better if he gives his dad a real reason to do it.

“I’ll do what you say, I give you my word,” Eglantine says finally, cutting his train of thought and he nods in response.

He picks up his phone, putting it on silent (he’s not getting caught for something as stupid as his phone ringing when he’s hiding) and then makes an inviting gesture pointing to the hood. When she looks hesitant, he explains.

“It’s better if you hide inside the hood on the trip to the school. I may hurt you if you go in my pocket while I’m biking there. Besides, if I get caught they may not think to check in the hood. Or at least at first, which will give you time to slip into a sleeve or something like that while they check my pockets.“ As she flies to get into the hood, he takes out his secondary phone (the avenger, he calls it, because it’s the one he normally uses to get revenge because, well, his dad’s the sheriff and he’s not stupid, and since he took it from a bully that was too ashamed to admit that a scrawny little kid taught him a lesson, if someone ever manages to trace it, it will lead them straight to him, not Stiles, which is definitely a plus) from a box inside a drawer and shows it to the rest of the fairies. “Here,” he says as he turns it on. “If the kids come back before we do or if you hear my dad coming, text me. If we find them, I’ll text you too. I’ll show you how. It’s easy.”

He takes five minutes to explain to them how to unlock the phone and how to send and read texts. He leaves three drafts (Dad is home, Kids came back and Danger) to make it easier for them. Just in case he shows them how the calls work too, but advises them to just call him if it’s an emergency or they may get caught. When he’s sure they get it, he hides the phone inside the biggest ewok house, where his mom’s picture still is. Before going to get his bike, he leaves the window almost unlocked so that the fairies can finish opening it with just a push, in case he needs to come in through it.

It’s going to be a long night, that’s for sure.

It’s very dark and pretty chilly when he exits the house. He takes the shortest route he can take to school. It’s not the safest but he has to sacrifice that in favor of saving time. Taking this route means that he won’t be spotted by patrol cars either, so that’s definitely a plus. When he’s a block over before reaching the school, he stops and hides the bike. He doesn’t lock it, just in case he needs to beat a hasty retreat. It’s a risk, because the bike may not be there when he comes back but it’s a risk he’s willing to take.

”Ok, plan of attack,” he murmurs as he creeps sneakily to the school. “There are two buildings of three floors each connected by a large hallway on the second floor. We’ll go around both of them until we find an unlocked window. Whichever is the building that we enter, we check it floor by floor before going to the other building. The problem here is that we can cross paths with them without even noticing… Do you have any way to mark each floor so that the kids will know we’re searching for them and can come to us?”

”I can place a communication rune that relays the message that only fairies can hear, but it takes time that we may not have,” she answers.

”And if you place it someplace where the sound carries? Because there’s a staircase that connects the three floors on each building…”

”That would work.”

”That’s the plan, then. Here’s to hoping that we don’t get caught,” he sighs as he walks briskly.

When he reaches the school, the first thing he does before he starts to circle it, is to check the parking lot for cars. There are two where he expected to be only one (the security guard’s), which means that he has to watch out for two or more people. Awesome.

(Not.)

He sighs but he starts circling the nearest of the two different buildings that constitute his school, hoping to find an unlocked window anyway. The first he finds is a bust, because when he climbs onto the windowsill he finds that the reason why the window is not locked is because it’s stuck. And Stiles may be small for his age, but there’s no way he can slip through that tiny space. Also, he’s not even going to try because if he got stuck it would be a disaster. And he can’t afford making a racket trying to open it either.

“Eglantine,” he murmurs and she appears over his shoulder almost instantly, “try to open the lock of the other window.”

She nods in response and flies into the room. She has toned down the glow of her wings all she could but he can still see her when she’s trying to open the lock. As it is, a firefly is way brighter than her right now, but he’s going to have to watch out for that. It could be worse, he thinks as he waits for her. When Eglantine returns defeated he’s not even surprised, because he knows from experience that those windows are pretty hard to unlock. Still, it was worth a try.

He continues going around the building until he finds another unlocked window. When he tries to widen the gap it emits a creak that has his heart nearly jumping out of his throat. He makes a sprint until he can hide under a bush and waits with bated breath and a thundering heart. Damn the stupid and old as dinosaurs building! Do they not grease the damn windows??? What the hell!

Ten minutes and no hellfire or damnation later, he dares to leave his refuge to creep around in search for an opened window that leaves a gap big enough for him to get through and doesn’t emit beyond the grave sounds while he’s doing so. And dammit, the list of prerequisites keeps growing, but if this keeps going like this that’s going to be the least of his worries because he’s going to die from a heart attack. And he hasn’t even entered the building yet.

(There’s a reason why he doesn’t like Silent Hill, dammit.)

He takes a deep breath and steels himself when he finds another unlocked window. Third time is a charm, indeed. It creaks a little when he pushes it to widen the gap, but he figures this is the best he’s going to get, so he bears with it and suffers through the nearly five minutes it takes him to open it enough to be able to get in. He waits in silence, trying to hear through the thundering of his heart if someone has noticed the noise and has come to investigate. When nothing happens, he climbs inside what looks like a small audiovisual room.

The room is locked, so he’s going to have to put his lockpicking skills to test. But the thing is that there are no windows besides the one he climbed through, which means that he can’t check if someone is coming. Which is bad, very, very bad.

“Eglantine,” he calls her again and points at a the slightly bigger gap between the door and the wall, just at the corner. “Do you think you can go through that?“

“If I squeeze I think I could…”

“Careful with the wings,” he warns her. “If you can’t I’ll think of another way, ok?”

Stiles is starting to respect her quite a bit. She’s terrified, he can tell, but not for herself, for her children. Even so, besides the completely understandable meltdown from before, she’s holding it together admirably.

She squeezes trough the gap, belly up so that her wings don’t get scratched by the door and then she disappears. He waits for a minute before he starts picking the lock and he waits another minute after he’s done. When nothing happens, he calls her softly so that she doesn’t get caught by the door if she’s attempting to cross back and then carefully opens the door. She flies up to hide in his hood again when he’s closing the door after him so that it doesn’t raise any suspicions.

Stiles crosses the hallway as noiselessly as he can. He has put on the softest sneakers that he has just for that, but he’s seriously considering taking them off and just keeping the socks on, because every single little noise sounds like a bang to his ears. Thinking logically, he knows that it’s not like that, that it’s just his own senses that are heightened. But if that happens to him, it surely happens to the guard too. He doubts for a moment but he decides to keep them on, just in case he has to run to escape.

They comb through the first floor, calling softly to Odette and Ehaldun inside each room and closet that they find. On the ones locked, Stiles either waits, hidden as well as he can, as Eglantine slips inside through a crack, or he picks the lock when she can’t. He waits with his heart in his throat while she places the rune on the second floor (we’re searching for you in this building, come to the second floor and don’t leave, it says according to Eglantine). The search is slow, tortuous and nerve-wracking, and the fact that they still haven’t seen hide nor hair of the security guard is driving them up a wall, but, floor after floor, they persevere.

It takes them an hour and a half to clear the first building and he has to wait again for her to change the message on the rune before they proceed to the second one. This one is actually where Stiles’ classrooms are, but since they were going to check the whole school anyway, it was better to have a method to it, to avoid having the children slip through a crack unnoticed. They go back to the second floor, nerves wracked by the long staircase, no matter that Eglantine looks out all ways before they brave each stretch.

Stiles bites his lip as he eyes the long hallway that connects both buildings. It’s pretty long and there’s just one small teachers' room right in the middle along two big doors to the outside and a lot of windows. To make matters worse, Stiles would bet his own life that the room is locked, which officially makes this a nightmare worse than all the staircases combined. And that’s without taking into account that they have to check that room too.

They decide that Eglantine is going to check that room to see if there’s a crack where she can slip through. If there is, she’ll look inside and then, if the kids aren’t there, she’ll go to the end of the hallway to signal to Stiles if the coast is clear. The can’t do it any other way, because as it is, with so many windows and doors along the hallway, Stiles is going to have to crawl his way to the end of it and also pray to any deity listening that no one is looking when he’s passing the doors.

He has a sudden desire to bang his head to a premature death when he sees her check the whole door and then fly lower and stick to the opposite wall to come back undetected. Fuck his life. He doesn’t need her to tell him that there’s no crack to slip through and, by the time she’s halfway, he’s crawling towards her, signaling that he wants her on the lookout at the end of the hallway. Eglantine gets it and turns around, flying as fast as she can.

He reaches the door, heart in his throat, and then nearly dies from terror when one of the tools slips through his fingers and nearly meets the floor. He grabs it just in time but his hands shake from adrenaline when he tries to open the lock, and it takes him almost five minutes to finally succeed. The door creaks ominously when he pushes it a bit and he wants to die. Eglantine starts to flutter and flying back up the hallway on the corner of his eyes and he calls to the kids urgently before closing the door half a minute later, wincing at another creak it emits as he does so. He pulls off his sneakers before sprinting down the hall, grabbing Eglantine as he passes her, and then hides inside the last audiovisual room he lockpicked into.

Heart thundering and trying to contain his harsh breath, he waits hidden behind the big furniture thingie that holds the oldest TV Stiles has ever seen. About a minute later, he sees the light of the guard’s flashlight coming from under the door. He nods to Eglantine as it starts to diminish and she goes to look to signal to Stiles when to leave the room. Meanwhile, Stiles tries to control his breathing, his hands clenching around his sneakers. This is nothing compared to track, he can take much more that this actually… but then again, in track there’s no security guard jumping at you like a zombie to eat your flesh… Ok, maybe he’s exaggerating a bit.

He puts on the sneakers again before she gives him the coast clear sign, and then starts crawling down the hallway. She places the rune again to warn her kids to not leave the building, to let them know they’re still looking for them and the rest is the same message as before.

They start clearing the second floor. Stiles is still wary because there were two damn cars in the parking lot and they’ve only encountered the security guard. To make matters worse, this building’s structure is much more complicated than the other because it doesn’t have the gym and the pool attached to it. It starts like a normal hallway, then it turns into a rectangle with both classrooms on the outside and at the center of it, and then it turns back into a normal hallway again. And if that’s not sufficiently terrifying, there are stairs both at the beginning and at the end of it.

They clear the first couple of rooms easily, but before they can go on they notice a light coming from one of the classrooms from inside the rectangle. They creep near to take a peek inside but before they can even try it, the one-sided conversation taking place inside reaches them. It doesn’t take him much to realize that it’s a phone call, because they never hear a second voice, and what they hear is inconspicuous enough, but something about it chills Stiles to the bone. Maybe it’s because he’s pretty on edge after all the night’s happenings, and that’s what's making him suspicious but he won't risk it.

He tiptoes to the opposite hallway inside the rectangle to take a peek from there without being noticed. It’s difficult to see through an entire classroom but he recognizes her, he’s seen that teacher around. If he recalls well, she’s new this year and teaches gym to a grade below him, but he can’t recall her name. As he guessed, she’s on the phone, but that's not what catches his attention. She has a box in front of her. It’s colorful and has more pink glitter than actual paint, that he can see. It looks like the art project of a first grader and he doesn’t know what a gym teacher could be doing with that, but again, that’s not what catches his attention the most. She keeps touching it as she talks about taking care of something, then she stops, stays silent for minute or so, and then she taps her fingers on it pretty harshly.

Stiles can recognize a scare tactic when he sees one.

And it’s obvious that Eglantine can too, because he barely manages to catch her before she bolts. He brings the struggling fairy up to his eye level and he mouthes that she gave her word. She stills and throws such a desperate look to Stiles that his heart almost breaks. He shakes his head because if she was a normal teacher, he would just let himself be caught, giving Eglantine enough time to rescue the kids. But with a person that talks so casually about killing children you can’t use a tactic like that, it will get you killed because it’s obvious she won’t care that he’s just a twelve-year-old. Especially since there are no witnesses.

Stiles rakes his mind for an idea but he doesn’t know what to do. They have to be sneaky about it and quick and they don’t have time to plan. Stiles hates it but they're going to have to wing it and do a classic, which means that they’re going to have to create a diversion and run for it. At least they’re lucky and the window is open. Even if it’s a second floor that’s better than nothing.

He steels himself for the umpteenth time and starts crawling to the other end of the hallway. They’re right in the middle of it when they hear the guard coming back from upstairs. When the man has gotten to the second floor, Stiles doesn’t know, but he curses under his breath, takes his sneakers off again and tries to hurry without making a single noise. Just as he sprints and reaches the stairs of the other end, the guard starts going to the lighted classroom.

Stiles eyes the teachers' room in front of him and nearly cheers when he sees that they’ve left the printer on. He runs downstairs, through the entire floor and upstairs again in record time. The guard is talking to that teacher, perfect. He then takes out his phone, accesses the printer and just lets it go until it either runs out of paper or ink, whichever happens first.

The guard jerks, surprised, and it’s no wonder, because even Stiles can hear the startled shout that comes from the teachers' room from where he is. He nearly cries with relief when the teacher follows the guard, and as they go, he starts tiptoeing towards the classroom. He hides for a moment, crouching in front of the classroom on the center. He peeks in as he hears the guard unlock the teachers' room and enter with an exclamation. For a moment he thinks that he hears more than two voices, but the moment she follows the guard in, he doesn’t care.

He sprints inside the classroom, looks inside the box to see if both children are there, then grabs the box itself and peeks outside to see if he can just run the hell out of here. She’s just exiting the teachers room and he jerks back. He goes to the window, gets out through it and prays that he doesn’t die, because this is nothing like climbing a tree.

There’s a gutter to the left and he just hopes that it can hold his weight. He opens the box, takes both children out to place them in his hood beside their mother and then throws the box and his sneakerd to the ground. He then grabs the gutter with his hands covered by the hoodie’s sleeves and lets himself slide down, holding for dear life because his socks make it so that he can’t control the fall. Everything is trembling by the time he touches the ground but he forces himself to grab the box too because he wasn’t thinking when he grabbed it and there’s no way he’s leaving something that has not only his fingerprints but the print of his whole hand, and then he keeps running.

Not even when he finally reaches his bike does he stop to put the sneakers back on. He just makes sure that Eglantine and the kids are still holding on before speeding the hell out of there.

Stiles doesn’t really stop until he’s back to his room. While the fairies rejoice, he just sits on his bed, trying to get his whole body to stop trembling from the fear and the adrenaline. And just as he’s getting the hang of it, his dad’s cruiser pulls into the drive again. He shoots into action, taking his clothes off as fast as he can, making them a ball and hiding them in his closet along with the glittery box. When he turns to search for his pajamas, he finds that the fairies are holding them out for him mid-air. He doesn’t even question it and just grabs them to put them on. He doesn’t even bother turning off the lights because his dad will have seen them on already and it would look more suspicious to turn them off. He’s going to get scolded for being up this late anyway, he’s not going to add another count for trying to cover it too. By the time his dad comes in, he’s in bed with a book in his hands and the fairies are nowhere in sight.

He ignores his dad pointedly until the man comes near the bed to let the Science textbook that Stiles left exactly where he threw it on the kitchen table hours ago, fall onto the sheets. Stiles doesn’t lift his eyes from the book, doesn’t look at him even when the sheriff takes the book from his hands and pointedly turns off the lights.

“I didn’t cheat,” Stiles says simply into the darkness and receives no answer.

(Kicking the textbook to the floor doesn’t make him feel any better.)

---

Gimme some love? 😘

⭐ Previous | Next ⭐

[harrys-kiwi]

I love you more than I ever thought I would be capable of loving another person. For the meantime, maybe that’s enough for the two of us.

In which (Y/N) realizes she doesn’t love Harry like she used to.

(Y/N) liked routines. She enjoyed waking up every day knowing that her day had a purpose, and that she was good at fulfilling it. She welcomed change; but not radically. She liked her life. She was content. She had a steady job doing what she liked, good friends that she enjoyed spending time with, and a loving boyfriend she couldn’t picture herself without.

She knew her boyfriend Harry very well. The two had been together for almost three years now; he was more or less embedded into her daily routine. They started their days together, parted for work, and came home again to reunite in the evenings; share some dinner and a glass of wine, and exchange their thoughts. She loved Harry.

It was clear to everyone how much the couple adored each other. Particularly, how much Harry loved his (Y/N). He went above and beyond; catering to her every need, always putting her above everything else. That’s not to say that (Y/N) didn’t do the same. Of course she did, it was her routine.

-

Harry was not as naïve and optimistic as everyone thought he was. He knew (Y/N) better than anyone else. He knew that she was a passionate woman; the way she expressed herself, her approach to things, and her determination to always persevere for the things she loved. He also knew that (Y/N) loved him. It was clear as day to him, from the way she touched him to the way she looked at him, she was in love.

But, something had changed in recent times.

As much as he knew that she loved her routine, he knew that she needed some aspects of her life to excite her. Their relationship was anything but boring, but caught up in their every day life he realised that she might begin to see their relationship as mundane. Or was he being insecure?

He just wanted her to be happy. And so he arranged a spa weekend for her and her best friend,  sending her along with something to help her relieve some tension from the stress at work.

-

“(Y/N), what’s it like to be in a steady relationship?” Her best friend asked her as they were getting mani-pedis.

(Y/N) thought about how she would answer that question. It was part of her everyday life, at this point; how would she distinguish it from any other part of it?

“I suppose you could say that, well, you grow accustomed to their face.”

“What?” Her best friend looked confused.

“He… almost makes the day begin. I’ve grown accustomed to the tune that he whistles night and noon, his smiles, his frowns, his ups, his downs, they’re like second nature to me now —“

“(Y/N), are you seriously quoting Rex Harrison right now?”

“Yes?”

“Oh god,” her best friend scoffed, “signs of a dying relationship: the best thing you have to say about it is that you’ve grown accustomed to your S/O’s face. Anyway, when you talk to him again tell him that I say thank you for this getaway. God knows we needed it.”

When was the last time she had talked to Harry?

-

She loved him. She loves him, she knows that. But something is wrong, and it had been wrong for a while now. She knew it was wrong to ignore that feeling, but she had buried it as the comfort of Harry being a part of her life now. She knew that the honeymoon phase ends at some point, but she didn’t know what comes after that. None of her previous relationships had gotten to that point. She accepted this as the natural continuation of her relationship.

But she realized that something was seriously wrong when she lost her appetite for the things she lusted after in the beginning of her relationship. She often forgot to text Harry back during the day, she found herself having more fun at work with her coworkers than at home some days, and honestly, when was the last time they had gone out for dinner? Perhaps the scariest thought was the realization that she didn’t miss it.

Was it beyond repair? No, no, of course not. (Y/N)’s heart broke at the thought of coming home and Harry not being there. She needed him, but perhaps what she needed the most from him was the reminder as to how their love was so strong in the first place.

-

“Harry, do you remember how much you wanted this House before you bought it?”

(Y/N) had cooked Harrys favorite dinner. She wore his favorite dress, and even did her hair the way he liked it. She didn’t know why she had tried so hard.

“Yea of course, it’s perfect for us, m’love,” he smiled at her tenderly. Her throat tightened.

“You wanted it so bad - I did too. Do you remember when you bought it? You were so happy, Harry.”

“Yea?” He looked up from his food, eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

“Well, after you bought it, it was amazing. It made you happy. And now… you just live in it.”

“Baby, do you not like our house anymore?”

“No, Harry, that’s not the point,” (Y/N) chuckled nervously. “What I’m trying to get at is that you wanted this house really bad. Then you got it, and that made you really happy for a while. And now you don’t think about it like that anymore. Of course you still think it’s a nice house and you wouldn’t want to live in a different one, but it’s not the same anymore, you know?”

“Yes I suppose you’re right. What are you getting at?”

(Y/N) could feel tears welling up in her eyes. “I - nothing.” She got up from the table, rushing to get upstairs. How would she talk to Harry about this? A soft knock on the bathroom door shook her from her train of thought.

“Love, will you let me in?” Harry gently asked from the other side of the door. She nervously got up, unlocking the door and walking out to their shared bedroom, sitting herself down on their bed. She hugged her knees to her chest, looking down at the floor and trying to think of ways that would somehow make this conversation easier to have.

“Harry, I-“ she could feel herself getting choked up again, so she buried her face in her hands, trying to remain calm.

Harry grew evermore nervous. He knew that things hadn’t been right for some time now, but now that he was faced with this issue he didn’t know what to do. He was terrified of what she would say, terrified of losing her to something he overlooked because he assumed she would talk about it when she felt ready.

“(Y/N), love, you can tell me anything. You know that. And we can work through anything as well.”

“But what if we can’t, Harry?” She finally looked up, revealing her tear-stained face. “Things haven’t been right for a while now and you know it.”

“Then tell me what I have to do to fix it,” he whispered, sitting down next to her and taking her hands into his. She leaned into his shoulder, and he felt her tears seep through the fabric of his shirt. He reached one hand up to her head, running it through her hair and pulling her closer, whispering in her ear to tell him what’s bothering her. With a choked sob she pulled away and yelled,

“I don’t love you like I used to, Harry!” It was silent for a while, as the words she had just spoken settled into the air. Not being able to bear the look on his face, she stood up and turned her back to him.

“It’s just not the same anymore. I love you, my life would be so different without you, but I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing! I don’t know what to do anymore Harry, I don’t know how to make this all go away. I just want things to go back to the way they were but what if that’s just not possible anymore?” She turned around to face her boyfriend, meeting his now red eyes and watching as a tear slid down his face in a trail left behind by others.

“And it’s not even your fault, H.” She sobbed, “you’re such a perfect boyfriend.” She sank to her knees, holding them close to her body and cradling herself as she cried into her crossed arms.

Harry wiped his tears, and took a good look at the girl falling apart at the seams in front of him. Her desperate pleading for help to fix this relationship should have been heard a long time ago, but all he could do now was comfort the woman he loved and try to make her as happy as she used to be. With that, he stood up, picked up the weeping girl from the floor and lay her onto the bed.

“There will not come a day that I stop loving you, m’love. You saved me from everything I didn’t know I needed saving from. We don’t need a miracle to fix this, baby, being together is the miracle. I’m sorry that I wasn’t paying close enough attention or if you ever felt taken for granted. You are the most important thing in my life, and you come before everything else. We will fix this; as long as you love me we can do anything, withstand anything. I love you more than I ever thought I would be capable of loving another person. For the meantime, maybe that’s enough for the two of us.”

A/N: Requests are open!

[ihavealavalamp]

ALL OF THEM. NOW

1. A favorite character you have played. - YOU CAN NOT POSSIBLY THINK THAT I DONT LOVE ALL MY CHARACTERS EQUALLY I LOVE THEM ALL SO MUCH YOU CANT MAKE ME CHOOSE

2. Your favorite character that someone else has played. - r.....ruby...... and all your characters honestly.. also monty played by jaye in daga boys will always have a special place in my heart cause hes just a Ride of a character, chas played by nick is my fucking Friend, and i could keep going honestly i love everyones characters so much you dont understand

3. Your favorite side quest. - i think a lot about the werewolf shenanigans in aurum. i’ll never forget it. 

4. Your current campaign. - im in so many fuckign campaigns rn please god dont make me list them

5. Favorite NPC. - sheila.... all of huli’s friends in flying plague, literally every npc in best intentions (emphasis on astarielle and marlon who make me think a Lot), everyone in story of the stars, and Uhhhh cat does a Real good depiction of ellar in the murder HDSDHS

6. Favorite death (monster, player character, NPC, etc). - i wasnt even fuckin There but the death of elaris. i think abt that a lot. also poetry killing bear was Top Ten Anime Moments

7. Your favorite downtime activity. - depends on the character! most times i cant really think of much though hgfhgf

8. Your favorite fight/encounter. - the poetry vs bear duel was Iconic, and every encounter in best intentions is so fuckin Good cause milo makes some real terrifying monsters like jesus CHRIST.. also in daga boys when walter and the gang were escaping Lich Court. iconic.

9. Your favorite thing about D&D. - i like that it keeps me social and interacting with friends! i have problems with isolating myself but planning d&d stuff keeps me from doing that frequently Thank God.. also i love roleplaying and having a character that grows and interacts with others! i also really love some good ol combat.. i honestly love pretty much every aspect of d&d im very easy to please

10. Your favorite enemy and the enemy you hate the most. - i dont know if i have a favorite! i think lots are real good! but enemy i hate the most has gotta be those fuckin magical huge centipedes milo sent after us in best intentions. FUCK those things.

11. How often do you play and how often would you ideally like to play? - i play pretty frequently! im in a Lot of campaigns rn so im able to play things pretty much whenever i have the time to do so. 

12. Your in game inside jokes/memes/catchphrases and where they came from. - “you really pulled the nose on that one” is Iconic, it was from the first session of daga boys in which a trap activated by pulling the nose of a statue just. kept going off. like they kept pulling the nose Knowing it’d go off. and god i could write so many more but it would make this way too long GDHJDS

13. Introduce your current party. - im in so fucking many campaigns!!!!! but the last two i played i guess.... in best intentions dmed by milo we’ve got gwen the life domain cleric and delwyn the berserker barbarian played by simone and kiara! theyre two dwarf wives on their honeymoon and they got caught up in this ghfhgf,, and my character is silbryn! the fiend warlock we all know and love! and marlon, the dmpc who is generally cryptic and kinda terrifying sometimes but i love him anyways. and then in story of the stars, dmed by krissie! it’s a warrior cats campaign because we’re VALID and the party is orchidpaw played by cat who is aiming for being the leader but has a tenancy to be a bit loudspoken, and my character, songpaw, who is the medicine cat apprentice who tries to be mature but his short temper can get the best of him sometimes. and simone plays bo, a big ol mom cat! i love them.

14. Introduce any other parties you have played in or DM-ed. - TOO MANY I CAN NOT

15. Do you have snacks during game times? - when we’re playing online i dont bc i dont want to make Crunching Noises, but in irl sessions i just eat whatever’s there if anything is there. ya know. im so tired.

16. Do you play online or in person? Which do you prefer? - both! i prefer irl greatly though... im a very Expressive person and my characters are like 75% facial expressions and body language gfhfghgf

17. What are some house rules that your group has? - i can not actually think of any rn ghfghfg

18. Does your party keep any pets? - ya!! lots of familiars.. u know how it be

19. Do you or your party have any dice superstitions? - hfghf i know some people i play with do, but i personally do not!

20. How did you get into D&D? How long have you been playing? - my friends were playing it cause theyre a bunch of NERDS. and it’s been like two years now i think! i started near the end of highschool!

21. Have you ever regretted something your character has done? - CONSTANTLY MY CHARACTERS ARE SUCH DUMBASSES BUT I GOTTA BE IN CHARACTER!

22. What color was your first dragon? - first dragon we took down was a young green dragon in daga boys!

23. Do you use premade modules or original campaigns? - original campaigns, mostly! i do play in a curse of strahd and a ravnica campaign though!

24. How much planning/preparation do you do for a game? - I HAVE TO DO SO MUCH AS A DM otherwise i will Fall Apart. as for pcs, i jsut go in blind and do what my character would do in that moment HJDSKJD

For DMs

25. What have your players done that you never could have planned for? - mainly not acknowledge certain things that are important hgfhgf but other than that ive been lucky to have players that dont really do things that throw me off too much

26. What was your favorite scene to write and show your characters. - the marley scene in weltschmerz i am still SO HAPPY with that... also in underground orchestra when iris explored ellar’s house.... Classic.

27. Do you allow homebrew content? - yeah!! as long as the player runs it by me first then im usually good with pretty much anything as long as it isnt game breaking gfhgfh

28. How often do you use NPCs in a party? - very often i like to Talk and i usually have quite a few reoccurring npcs that either stick with the party or are consistent in their appearances gfhgf (velki in weltz, ellar in uo, ivory in harbingers)

29. Do you prefer RP heavy sessions or combat sessions? - I LIKE BOTH.... im a simple man

30. Are your players diplomatic or murder hobos? - i have good players in both my campaigns!! but i guess it depends!

For Players

31. What is your favorite class? Favorite race? - i LOVE ME SOME CHARISMA CASTERS.... warlocks, sorcerers, and bards are just Fun babey!!! and tieflings, aasimars, and aarakocra are Fun and friends

32. What role do you like to play the most? (Tank/healer/etc?) - im almost Always a caster ghfhgf... glass cannon babey

33. How do you write your backstory, or do you even write a backstory? - it always takes me a While to fully flesh out a backstory, but usually listening to music is what gives me ideas and inspiration for it!

34. Do you tend pick weapons/spells for being useful or for flavor? - flavor, usually! i try to pick things that would be in character for the one im playing!

35. How much roleplay do you like to do? - lots...... im a simple man

there you go, thanks ya fuckin heathen

[icameheretowinry]

Roy Mustang !

Casey you are blessing me with this ask!! I will take any opportunity to gush over my anime husband. (/▽＼*)｡o○♡ 

How I feel about this character:

Like Ed, Roy is one of my favorite characters of all time, within and outside the fma universe. In fact, I’d go as far as to put them on equal footing. (I said Ed was my favorite fma character in his ask, but I really can’t choose between them.) While a majority of fma characters are excellently written, Roy is uniquely spectacular in the complexity of his backstory, personality, and relationships with other characters. 

Save Wrath, Riza and Hohenheim, Roy’s origins are not only incredibly intriguing, but actually account for many of his unique skills and personality traits. Growing up under the guardianship of Madame Christmas and her network of spies, it’s easy to see where Roy picked up his effortless ploys of charisma, and the nuances of espionage, also likely an environment where he learned to grow up very fast. His aunt’s connections to Grumman, coupled with the cooperation of his adoptive sisters, not only convincingly fortified his false reputation as a womanizer, but put him in the prime position to receive any range of military intel higher ups would blab to a pretty face. In addition, while the nature of his alchemy is/was known to the Hawkeyes, Roy finds himself in the unique position of not only being its soul bearer, but its last, while painfully aware of the damage his power can inflict, and be exploited by others. Interestingly, while there is a lot of turmoil that separates the idealistic boy that spoke to Riza in front of her father’s grave, and the colonel we see during the Elric’s story, he still deeply cares about the state of the world he lives in and how he can change it. However, time has brought a portion of that sense of justice to the personal level, rendering Roy that much more determined, and that much more unstable. 

Despite the dark nuances of his past in Ishval, a distinct side of Roy remains remarkably childish and goofy. Forgoing professionalism, he often mirrors Ed’s belligerence in an attempt to enforce his authority, blatantly ignore checks to his own power (i.e. rain) to overcome a problem on his own or assert his own credibility as an alchemist (i.e. that thing where teens think they are invincible), and finds sheer entertainment in tasks he should probably be taking seriously (see above). I’m honestly not quite sure how to define this aspect of his personality. At times quite endearing, I can’t help but think it has something to do with his time spent in Ishval. Is it a coping mechanism? A portion of his teenage self that was sequestered and shut away? Or maybe I’m reading too much into it and he’s just a goof. However, I like to think he only whips it out around people he is truly comfortable with (the Elrics included). 

Also, let’s not forget that Roy is incredibly intelligent, and was the youngest state alchemist in history before Ed showed up. He was only 20, I believe, so I can understand his reading of Ed’s personality, and what he could do with his alchemy. He saw a version of himself in Ed, no doubt. He can create explosions large enough to destroy an entire building, yet precise enough to burn a single piece of paper or boil the fluid in Envy’s eyes, even when overcome by rage. Nothing about his alchemy is haphazard or uncalculated. He figures out he can carve a damn transmutation circle in his hand to continue fighting, and has enough medical knowledge to cauterize a serious wound. His skillfully plays within the lines of the Amestrian military, yet all with the intention to turn it around to his advantage. Even when things go wrong, he has his artfully cultivated support system of subordinates, friends, allies, and informants to catch him. Finally, not only is his alchemy more complex than that of any other state alchemists, Roy can perform is blind with little instruction. He’s a calculated strategist, excellent spy, and just plain brilliant. 

Finally, Roy is the perfect parallel to Ed. They are both idealistic young boys at some point. They’re both hopeful of a better future. They aren’t foils of each other, but exist beautifully together. Roy is Ed, more or less, 15 years older. They both have past sins to atone for, and unlike Father, they learn to embrace them, and become stronger individuals for the future benefit of the communities they surround themselves with. They’re equally serious, and at times, equally immature. Roy has the advantage of age, while Ed has the advantage of time. From what one has done wrong, the other has done right, and they respect and learn from each other. Roy is very protective of the Elric brothers, and encourages them along their quest. Ed, while he makes fun of Roy, looks up to him, and is one of the few to pull him to his sense from the pits of rage. Neither of them are perfect, but despite all the headbutting and jokes, these two are the ultimate allies, examples, and, just let me say, friends. 

And just as an indulgent side note, Roy is HELLA attractive. I can’t remember who made the post recently, but I sincerely agree with the point of how bafflingly handsome he is. His aesthetic is something I personally go for, so yeah, anime husband. *screams into the void* *the void agrees* 

All the people I ship romantically with this character:

Ummmmmmmmmm. If it isn’t possible to ship royai, I don’t need to exist in this world. Cancel my subscription! I more than ADORE these two. The subtly of their relationship is masterful, and every interaction is honed; built on years of experience, and is beautiful to watch. I adore Roy’s friendship with Maes (see below), but his relationship with Riza is next to none. They are so in sync that they terrify me. It is, honestly a relationship that transcends love. In short, while I don’t always see this in the real world, they are, imo, soulmates. They understand, respect, and love each other. It’s so effortless, the world doesn’t even need an explanation. There are people who get along. There are people who get each other, like Maes and Roy. And then there is the person whose existence fits seamlessly your own, just so. That’s Roy and Riza. 

My non-romantic OTP for this character:

This is the friendship that created the term bromance y’all. I LOVE these two. For two people that became friends over a piece of damn quiche, I will cry over the development of their relationship for the next 10,000 years. Roy and Maes are THE example of a perfect friendship. They support each other in their goals, joke around, know when to be serious, and just plain GET each other. The only other person who could possibly read that deep into Roy besides Riza, is Maes. They went through hell together in Ishval, and came out on the other side with a steadfast promise to fix the state of their country, and to see it ripped apart ENDED me. I have the distinct feeling that Roy looked up to Maes; seeing the future he had, and believing it could be real. He could fall in love, and have a family. He could be happy. Then, it was all torn away. His prophecy on the battlefield came true, and I bet Roy hated himself for it. I bet he despised himself. This is where the inspiration for my fic “Young” came from. (If you want to read, here’s the link.) If the man he cared for the most, the man who had done less wrong than he, not be happy, not be allowed to live, then why should he even consider the possible existence of a brighter future for himself? 

My unpopular opinion about this character:

I really wanted to see other emotions from Roy that straight rage regarding his response to Hughes’ death. We get the “today is a terrible day for rain” moment, but for a character as driven by his emotions as Roy, I really expected more outward displays of grief and despair from him over the death of his best friend. Vulnerable Roy is excellent to watch, and honestly, I’d love to see more of it. While both he and Ed are emotionally vulnerable over the course of the series, it’s shown more blatantly in Ed’s corner, even though he doesn’t cry. There are moments where he expresses genuine despair and helplessness, and they are uniquely powerful (see the scene within Gluttony as a prime example). I get that Roy is supposed to appear cold and collected, but the few times his emotions manifest in ways other than rage, are beyond excellent. He doesn’t need to cry, per se, but a few more varied expressions would be more than appreciated. 

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon:

If two (2) things happened, I would be forever happy. First, if Arakawa ever made royai canonically official. *swoons at the mere thought* Second, I need a Team Mustang spinoff series! I need all the office shenanigans, meetings to exchange intelligence gone wacky, initial assembly of the team, flashbacks to Roy’s childhood with Madame Christmas, all the inside jokes about Fuery being the smol son of the group, Havoc’s fail of a love life, Breda’s fear of dogs, and everyone secretly trying to get Roy and Riza together?!?!?! GIVE. IT. TO. ME. 

Send me a character, if you dare.