#the rare instance I remembered everyone's scars

[fatherentropy]

I heard it's maid day

[tired-teacher-blog]

Stolen moments

Characters : Shigaraki/ Fem reader

Genre and Warnings : NSFW/ 18+/ Implied sexual intercourse/ Fluff/ Angst/ Drabble

Summary : It's a rare occasion, in which you spend the night cuddled up in bed with your beloved.

Notes : Happy birthday to my sweet @fictionfordays I hope you enjoy it babe 🩷

Please do not read if you're a minor

Masterlist|Second Masterlist

_ "You're crushing me I hope you know," your playful whisper is uttered through a soft smile that's been adorning your features for minutes now.

Heaving chests and a sheen of sweat mixing together as you hold your man flush to your glowing skin, caressing the dry patches of his pale complexion as you speak, "but don't you dare move an inch."

_ "Right." is all he's able to mutter through his labored breathing, too afraid of completely letting his guard down around you, you've already seen sides of him that no one else has.

This, what you're doing right now, what you've insisted on doing is simply ridiculous. He is a villain for heaven's sake, the symbol of fear and nation's nightmare incarnated, so why? Why would he agree to spend the night cuddled up in bed with you instead of going back to his own room like he always does after concluding your nightly activities?

_ "You're so warm." you beam cheerfully, trailing soft kisses along his scarred skin as one of your hands travel up and lace itself through the disheveled locks falling around his face and neck.

Utterly ridiculous.. what would his mates think of him if they happen to find out about this?

_ "Right." and it seems to be the only word he's capable of articulating.

You gently cradle his cheeks, looking into his face for a moment, eyes filled with nothing but love for the man trapping you under his weight, and it's the same warm gaze of adoration that you've always shown him, "I love you Tenko."

Tenko.. his given name, the one you choose to call him when you're tucked away from everyone else, when he's deeply sheathed into your heat in the same way he is every single night.

He's never thought the name would possibly sound so sweet until he declared it one day in the heat of the moment, right when he was on the verge of spilling his seeds deep into your warmth, whining and demanding you use it from that moment onward.

To this day he still remembers the look of surprise taking over your flushed face when you heard it, to this day he still recalls the way you chanted it like a mantra while squeezing around him and milking every last drop he offered.

_ "Uh.. yeah, me too.. I love you too.." the symbol of fear huh? Hardly.

You giggle sweetly hearing his stammered confession, only for a satisfied sigh to follow suit when he decides to nuzzle your neck in what can only be described as a desperate attempt to hide his bashfulness.

His softening shaft slides out of your wetness, unintentionally rubbing against you one last time, and bringing a sudden gasp out of the both of you.

_ "I wish we could do this everyday Tenko." your voice turns glum as you express your regret.

The intimacy you're craving, the quiet moments where only you and him exist, holding your lover casually without the fear of what comes next.. you've always wished for such trivial instances that should come easy with every relationship.

But you are not in a typical relationship, nor are you with a typical man.. you're aware of it, and so is he, therefore if sneaking around for the sake of these rare stolen moments is the only way you could be together, then so be it.

_ "I wish it was easier." he gets it, knows it's unfair to you, sees it in the devastated look you give him every single night after kissing you goodbye and leaving you behind, but there is nothing for you or him to ever do besides holding on to these treasured moments, rare as they might be.

_ "Kiss me Tenko." you're on the verge of crying as you plead, but miraculously hold back your tears as tonight is supposed to be special, memorable.

Propping himself up on his forearms, he gazes into your misty eyes for a moment before sealing you with a tender kiss, his chapped lips molding perfectly with your soft ones.

You're melting against each other, eager hands roaming eager bodies for your fingers to settle around his neck while his own dig into your supple flesh and hug your waist closely.

You have always mesmerized him, with your beauty, your heart and sincerity. You have always believed in him and followed in his footsteps, giving him your all, body and soul.

You have never feared him, not even when he embraced you for the very first time after months of only careful touches exchanged, his quirk had kept you apart for far too long, and even then you refused to let him go.

_ "I don't want this night to end." you whimper between soft kisses, your warm lips gliding slowly in a rhythmic dance with his own, and your fingers move to pull on his hair as he nibbles on your lower one.

He's over the moon, has been ever since the day he gained full control over his quirk. Not only because his new found ability is carrying him closer to achieving his dream of bringing down this phony -so called- hero society, but also and more than anything, because he is now able to freely be with you like he's always dreamed.

You were his first, and he secretly vowed to make you his last. He still recalls -to this day- the yearning desire ruling his entire being the first time you took his hands in yours and guided them to your awaiting naked flesh.

He still recalls that night with a mixture of bliss and timidity, when you took the lead and taught him everything he needed, learning each other's preferences together as you went, and sharing shy gazes and nervous smiles as you made love for the very first time.

_ "Happy birthday beautiful, I promise to love and to keep you safe for as long as I live." he is no longer bashful, wording his oath confidently.

Tomura Shigaraki.. terrorist, mass murderer and the symbol of fear, is the one your heart has unregretfully chosen because to you, he is more than those labels, to you, he is a man starved for affection and acceptance, and only with you did he find what he's been missing.

_ "I love you Tenko, and I always will."

The symbol of fear.. perhaps he is to the world, but he certainly isn't to you.

[gnometa233]

"Why is everyone all up in arms about incest and pedophilia being glorified in media and not violence and blood and gore???" THEY FUCKING ARE!!!! It's just not here on tumblr and is in the mainstream. Do yall not remember in the early 2000's when there was a legitimate thought that violence in video games causes kids to become violent?? Because I sure do! Do yall not remember the outcry of mom's when it came to violent movies with guns, especially right after columbine/sandy hook? I damn well remember the latter!

And even then, it's not that more violence = more likely to commit violent crimes. It's that more violence = a desensitization to violent crime. And hell, the news and the media played way more of a part in desensitizing kids to violence and dare I say, encouraging it! You could also make an argument that killing, while bad, can be justifiable in certain instances of stopping fascism or self defense*. When is the romanticization incest and pedophilia justifiable?

Especially nowadays, violence is rarely glorified and a saught out solution in media. It's always a last resort, or something that scars the characters, or what have you. There's an uptick in mainstream pacifist characters and explorations of PTSD and characters who don't wish to cause harm.

There is plenty of shows and movies and comics that explore these "taboo" topics with care, but the average fanfiction writer, in my experience, just cares about getting their sick kicks. Stop pretending you aren't

*there is a discussion to be had about how mainstream video games portray violence against certain marginalized groups, most predominantly people of color. I am not a person of color, and there are incredibly well thought out takes on this topic.

[stiffyck]

hello hello! this is the third time ive tried to make this coherent so. it might not be that but oh well

i imagine that, after scar gets help for his trauma, he starts to realise just how touch starved hes been this whole time because like. he was on his own for years, of course hes gonna want a hug

but, he has been on his own for years, and so he isnt quite sure how to ask for a hug. of course, he knows that he can just say it but. what if they think its weird? he hopes that someone will just hug him without him having to ask, but everyone is being annoyingly considerate and doesn’t want to make him upset by doing something he might not want (he’s not actually annoyed, he loves them all to bits but if they would stop being so nice for ten seconds-)

however! whilst most of the hermits have the general fact of scar’s trauma at the forefront of their minds, as they were the ones to help him, a couple new arrivals don’t always remember

so, of course, when you make a village like boatem with: - everyone so close together, you swing a cat (or boatem inc. company horse) and you’re bound to hit someone - two siblings who seem to be physically attached to someone at any given moment, and are not as familiar with scar’s trauma as the rest of them -two people who are very happy to have said siblings attached to them -and scar himself, who is frankly hoping he is attached to at some point

you’re bound to have an instance like this

scar hums to himself as he bonemeals the ground outside his swaggon. he wonders how it would go if he started to search for more rare flowers—he’s sure the only orange flower can’t be the tulip. maybe he could find some kind of orange poppy, or- ooh! maybe he could find some tiger lilies! although they are poisonous to cats, so-

“hi scar!”

scar yelps, dropping his pile of bonemeal on the floor. the dandelion he drops it on swells massively in size.

before he has time to register this, a heavy weight lands on his back, arms wrapping around his shoulders and legs around his waist. scar freezes. it’s grian. grian is on him. grian is..

grian is hugging him.

slightly embarrassingly, scar starts to tear up. grian seems to notice, and immediately his grip slackens.

“oh- shit, scar, i’m so sorry-“ he jumps off, and makes to step backwards. “I should have thought-“

“could-“ scar turns quickly, he doesn’t want grian to leave. “um. could you do that again?”

grian blinks. “are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you don’t want to.”

“no, no that’s- that’s not it.” scar steps towards him, nervous. “I, um. I just haven’t had a hug in a while.” he admits, smiling sheepishly. “I wasn’t sure how to ask.”

“oh, scar.” grian’s mouth splits into a relieved grin. “do you want me to hug you?”

“yes please.” scar says.

what scar learns: grian gives good hugs. he pulls scar in and holds him tight and close, and scar feels so warm and happy and safe. he presses his face into grian’s sweater, grinning like an idiot, wishing he’d asked sooner, because this is possibly the best thing he’s ever felt.

“g,”

“yeah.”

“there’s an issue.”

“are you okay?” grian tries to pull away but scar keeps him close, and he laughs.

“i’m not gonna be able to work on the swaggon.” scar says. “‘cause I just wanna do this forever.”

scar gets hugs he deserves it

CRYING WAILING THIS IS SO GOOD OH MY GOD SO FUCKING CUTE IM GONNA PASS AWAY SCAR GOT HIS HUG

[jaskiersvalley]

This is GENUINE SERIOUS BUSINESS ANON HATE so you better take it seriously you Letho cosplayer bot you! You're just a moist sock and deserve all this hate for being way too funny and smart!!

Ooooh! Some 'serious' anon hate going on here XD This has been sat in my inbox for far too long because I was having too much fun laughing at everyone else's 'hate' and their responses then promptly forgot I hadn't replied. But long enough has passed now that I look foolish now rather than just super late to the party. I can live with that. And, as always, an ask gets a ficlet in reply. But an ask like this? It gets "rewarded" with dubious morals, questionable medical knowledge and some bittersweetness.

Choose a Different Path

Whatever it was that Tissaia had done to Cahir, it had left some permanent marks. At first it hadn't been obvious, the fainting spells and funny turns chalked up to being on the run, to sleepless nights, to not having enough to eat, to having lived through horrors beyond most people's imagination. It wasn't until Geralt took his ragtag group to Kaer Morhen that it became apparent more was at play than trauma and lack of physical care.

At first they thought things were getting better. The instances where Cahir's movements slowed to sluggish and clumsy before sinking to the ground unresponsive were fewer. He hadn't passed out at all in Kaer Morhen, even seemed to be able to smile again.

Eskel had a lot to do with the smiles. For reasons he wasn't going to question, Cahir had taken quite the shine to him. And Eskel was never going to reject affection, not even when Geralt glared at him while Cahir was slumped against his shoulder and softly snoring away. In a way Eskel found Geralt's near enough fatherly attitude endearing. He'd seen the way Cahir and Ciri bickered, teased and generally terrorised each other. But while Ciri was more like a niece, childish in her youth, Cahir had lost that attitude years ago. Not to mention that Cahir was the one who initiated the start of whatever it was between them.

Of course it wasn't all sunshine and rainbows. Eskel had more than once watched as Cahir, for seemingly no reason, stumbled or slumped over, eyes glazed and unresponsive to touch. Each time he came back, he was upset, confused and sometimes defensive to the point of lashing out. Yet after a while he began reaching for Eskel for comfort, mumbled "what's happened" and "where am I" were tearfully asked into Eskel's chest. It was rare for Cahir to remember what had happened in the run up to such an episode, mind completely blank, not even the odd whisper of memory to help clue them in to the cause.

As quickly as they had fallen in love, found solace and comfort in each other, things were just as quick to falter. Cracks were appearing, Cahir was much more inclined to stay by the fire while Eske itched to be out of the keep. They clashed over whether the cold made old injuries hurt more, just because Eskel had more scars didn't mean his opinion on winters not actually making things worse had more weight to it than Cahir's experiences. Meanwhile, Eskel grew fearful of losing Cahir who was only a fragile human after all. They were doomed from the moment they met, Eskel had come to realise. If he didn't die first on the Path, Cahir was sure to succumb to old age eventually.

Arguments became more frequent and, with that, Cahir's dizzy spells increased too. It didn't take a genius to work out that stress was what set him off yet Eskel was powerless to protect him from it. Especially as he seemed to be the source of so much of it. He loved Cahir, he really did, but he didn't know what more he could do to prove it.

In the end he didn't have to. They were in their shared room but Cahir was pacing, throwing his belongings into a pile on the bed, not that there was much in the way of that.

"I can't do this," he seethed. "I'm not some child to coddle, not some pet to pamper. I love you but you're suffocating!"

Conflict had never been Eskel's strength. His bulk and general appearance meant that he looked imposing enough that few people picked fights with him and the few that did usually used their fists instead of words. Most considered him too much of a brute to be a worthy opponent in verbal sparring.

"But you're so young. And fragile!"

Whirling around, Cahir looked downright murderous. "Looks, as you well know, can be deceiving. I don't make decisions for you. And you don't make them for me."

"I don't though."

"You do!" Cahir yelled in frustration. "No training because it is cold. Should have a bit more food because I look like I needed it even though I said I was full. You put more wood on the fire because it was colder than what humans tend to like. And that was all just this morning!"

"I did it all for you!" Voice raising, Eskel ran a hand through his hair, ready to tear it out. "I love you and I want the best for you."

Suddenly Cahir deflated as he looked at Eskel with sad eyes. "Do you though? Or do you love and want the best for what you want me to be?"

"You! It's always been for you and your needs." Tone shifting, Eskel felt the argument slide into something beyond annoyance.

Sadness tinged the air as Cahir shook his head. "I can't do this. Sorry." Before Eskel could ask what he meant, Cahir held a hand up to silence him. "I'll move my things into a separate room. This is your home, don't feel you have to skulk around and avoid me. I won't make life difficult, I promise."

"This is it?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted."

Just like that, Cahir walked out of the room. Eskel watched his back, rigid like that of a soldier going into battle. Except there was no battle, Cahir wasn't a soldier anymore. Lost and at a loss for what to do, Eskel followed a minute later. He couldn't be there when Cahir moved all his things, left Eskel's room how it had been before the winter.

Noises from the Great Hall drew him in. Desperate for a distraction, Eskel shuffled in, shoulders hunched. Lambert was kneeling on the ground, yelling at Geralt to get something soft while Ciri stared wide eyed. Cradled in Lambert's hands was Cahir's head, his body rigid as another of his spells wracked through him. It was worse than they had seen before but Geralt didn't seem overly worried. He trotted back with a folded throw.

"He hasn't had one like this in a while," he commented idly.

Uncertain whether he was allowed next to Cahir, Eskel kept his distance. He watched as Cahir was rolled onto his side as his muscles relaxed. Eyes which had been rolling slowly blinked and tried to focus, only tears were quick to blur his vision as Cahir came to. It broke Eskel's heart.

"Esk?" Cahir's voice was a wobbly croak as he blindly reached out.

Resolve to keep his distance breaking, Eskel sank to his knees next to Cahir and cradled him against his chest. After everything, Cahir still called for him.

The usual, teary question of "what happened?" was met with broad strokes across Cahir's back and the reassuring rumble of "you took a funny turn. You're okay now." Eskel couldn't help himself. "What do you remember?"

A head shake and a sad whine was the first response. "I don't- I don't know. We went to bed. But we're not there now. Where am I?"

Distressed sobs were buried into Eskel's soft shirt. His mind was spinning. Cahir didn't remember that morning. Didn't remember the final couple of straws that broke their relationship. Didn't remember breaking up with Eskel. If Eskel was a better man, he would have been honest. But he was only human, he saw a second chance at happiness. And this time he could probably get it right. As long as Cahir never found out, never remembered that morning.

"You're safe in Kaer Morhen. Vesemir is bringing you a warm, watered down cider. While you drink that I'll go make sure our bed is setup, okay?"

Slowly, Cahir untangled himself from Eskel's shirt. Wiping at his eyes, he nodded and accepted the drink Vesemir was holding out for him. Standing, Eskel didn't run but he hurried back to his room. Their room. Swiping everything off the bed, he made it look like they were in the middle of having a tidy, adding his own clothe to the pile with Cahir's. Bed ready, he raced back to the Great Hall where Cahir was bundled in the throw, empty tankard on the ground next to him.

"Come on, I'll get you back to bed, okay? Then we'll see how you're doing after a nap, yeah?"

Meekly, Cahir nodded and allowed himself to be picked up, feeling so much like a weak kitten in Eskel's arms.

"Thank you," hu murmured, eyes closed.

"No," Eskel replied. "Thank you."

[tiniest-hands-in-all-the-land]

Oh my I just realised from religiously looking at your Ronaldo-in-dress art (The art is too gorgeous not too look back on every day mind you-) that he has back scars, something I've noticed a lot of artists include. Is that a confirmed thing? If so when and why 👀? I've always been curious about that

Waaaa thank you!! A fellow connoisseur of the finer things in life, I see 🧐❤

To answer your question, the back scars are from a canon event in the manga! It happens in a 2-part chapter: chapters 81 and 82 (where the injury actually happens). The mini-arc is about Satetsu's backstory back when he was a delinquent and had a disdain for vampire hunters. But then he meets widdle baby hunter Ronaldo and they end up unofficially fighting off a giant inferior vampire together. The scars are from an attack Ronaldo sustained when the vampire first appeared and lunged to attack Satetsu, but Rona pushed him out of the way and took the hit for him ;w;

I'll be honest, I can't really remember if the scars themselves are canon or not. Considering it's one of the very rare instances of blood and injury in the series, I feel like they should be lol. And I feel like I remember reading some tidbit of information somewhere about how Rona does have the scars, but they're the kind that are only visible when his skin is heated (so like if he just came out of the shower or smth), but I don't know where i found that, or if it's canon info or not. But given Bonnoki's tendency to come up with silly reasonings for inconsistencies/details being different between chapters, i wouldn't be surprised if that explanation was canon?

Idk they might be canon or it might be like an Aizawa-elbow-scar situation where everyone in the fandom just agrees it's there despite canon saying otherwise f;aoeifna

[just-here-for-the-art-shit]

Some physical character things to use for writing that I haven't often seen mentioned:

These are just things I could think of and remember, there's definitely more, probably will update this, and feel free to add in replies or reblogs, the more the better 😁

Phantom Limb Pain: Still being able to feel pain in a missing limb.

Scars: Similar to PLP, scars may randomly itch, or even hurt a bit, years and years later. Also - any injury that breaks or damages the skin will leave a scar, though they may not be visibly noticeable if they are small. Scars will usually grow with you as well. Bruises leave scars under the skin, may almost feel like lumps if they were bad enough.

Teeth spots: Very rare for it to be a non-dental problem, but some people can have brown or white spots on their teeth, just from a strange mineralization when the tooth developed.

Eye Freckles: Can happen on Iris or Sclera (or even internally) usually harmless.

Detached and attached earlobes: Most of us know about this, but I rarely see uses of it in writing.

Preauricular pits: Not terribly uncommon, a small hole develops in front of the upper ear lobe. It is essentially a left over sinus tract from evolution.

Hair variation: This is often a subtle thing, but can occur in patches - some hairs will grow both in different colors, and in different "shapes". For instance, people with natural highlights, or hair that is both straight in some spots, wavy, coily, and/or curly. And no, the "carpet" doesn't have to match the "drapes" to be natural. People can also have eyebrows that are a different color than their head hair. And just as people can have bald patches on their head, they can have them on their body too.

Keratosis Pilaris: Red bumps, usually on the arms and legs, that look like acne, but are really due to extra keratin being produced by the follicle.

Skin color in regards to blood volume: There is a misconception that you cannot tell if a person with dark skin is pale - that is 99% of the time false. A patient can be "pale", not meaning white. Lighter skin may appear more blue, and darker skin will look grayer/colder hue. Tan skin may actually go completely gray. Mouth, Lips, palms, and fingernail beds will also go pale and lose their pink. Everyone can blush too, it is just much harder to see on those with darker skin. Everyone can also get freckles.

Birthmarks and freckles: Birthmarks can be all manner of shapes, skin tones, and sizes. I believe most people know about melanoma, but that can be born with, or usually develops overtime and with age. Some people may be born with very large moles that continue to grow with age. Any race can have freckles. Most people will have around 30-40 moles or freckles on their bodies as they reach adulthood. Some are born with hundreds. Some have freckles on their face or in places where the sun is more concentrated. Some people's freckles fade and return with the seasons. Sometimes people with facial freckles may grow out of them (me). And while all moles have the potential to become cancerous at any stage in your life, they can also just develop non-cancerous deformities. I've got a mole that stretches like a sickle. Completely fine. And, apparently, for random reasons - they will quite literally fall off. They just decide "nah, bye" and may scab over and fall off. It's very rare but I watched it happen. But it will likely leave a scar, because moles are as deep into the skin as much as they come out of the skin. Freckles and moles can develop anywhere you have skin. Anywhere. Anywhere.

[maniac-reboggles]

Okay... So about the name thing... So from what I've heard of the show and how they're going about Harvey's character, it sounds likely that they're going with some form of his backstory that's inspired by the story, Eye of the Beholder. The 'blackouts' that Harvey is apparently going to experience are likely going to be him switching who's at the front with his 'darker alter ego.'

So something about Harvey Dent: In many of the modern iterations of his character, he's plural. He tends to have Dissociative Identity Disorder (previously referred to as "Multiple Personality Disorder." Also commonly referred to as having a "split personality") or something similar. He's in essence two (on the rare occasion more) people that live in the same body together. If the writers of the show have done their homework and are gong to be making a well-written iteration of the character, Harvey Dent should have been plural since he was a kid with this 'dark alter ego' being there for just about as long as he can remember. He just suppressed this other person sharing this body with him so much that no one else could tell he was there.

Generally speaking, Harvey could be considered the 'host' of their system, or the original inhabitant of the body, and his 'dark alter ego'... Well... He hasn't really ever been given a consistent name... As Batman fans, we generally tend to refer to him as 'Two-Face' (which is also the name of their combined criminal identity) but some will refer to him as 'Big Bad Harv' (from Batman: the Animated Series). I tend to call him 'Harvey's Associate' (from Batman: the Audio Adventures) because that's the only actual way other than 'Two-Face' or 'Harvey' that I've seen him refer to himself by. So actually, I am a little deliberate in still calling him Harvey even after his scarring. Basically, 'Harvey Dent' is their legal identity and what you can refer to the body by. Harvey Dent's 'good side' is named 'Harvey.' 'Two-Face' is Harvey Dent's criminal moniker. Harvey Dent's 'bad side' doesn't really have his own name, but people generally refer to him as 'Two-Face.' Both Harvey and his Associate will respond if you call either or both of them 'Harvey' or 'Two-Face.' Characters in-universe use these names interchangeably. Is this confusing? Yes! :D But DC hasn't made it easy on us and shows no signs of making it any easier on us any time soon! :D (Many many years ago, they tried to give the Associate an actual name... But that story sucked so everyone decided to ignore it!)

So there's your very long explanation on the naming thing! As for the rest, when he's written well, Harvey still tends to be present even after Two-Face becomes a thing. They can often be seen co-fronting. Basically, they interchangeably have control over the body and will even interrupt one another or argue with each other while talking. Even when Harvey's Associate is in full control of the body, Harvey is often still aware of what's going on around them, and can be seen making comments on whatever Two-Face is doing, even if he isn't actually able to take control of the body at the moment and can't physically say anything. In these instances, the Associate can hear him and sass back at Harvey if he wants. Vice versa if control over the body is reversed.

And yeah... In the comics, they have had shown several times that Harvey can get better! But sadly, none have yet to really commit on this idea... Sometimes he even gets his face fixed, and he goes back to living his life as Harvey Dent and not Two-Face... But sadly, something always comes up and he ends up destroying his face again... Also a lot of the time, the writers think that Harvey 'getting better' is him fixing his face, and getting rid of his associate. But I STRONGLY disagree with that! I think that for him to truly get better, he should keep his scars and learn how to peacefully co-exist with his associate! His plurality shouldn't be what makes him a villain! His associate shouldn't just be evil (which is often how he's portrayed)! Ultimately alls that his associate should want is to protect Harvey! But he's become angry and violent for being suppressed for so long and unable to live, locked in the darkness for so long. For him to get better, Harvey needs his associate's help, and together they can work through their trauma and get to a place where they no longer feel controlled by their compulsions! But sadly, this is an idea that only the most recent pieces of Batman media involving Harvey have touched upon. And by most recent, I mean that very literally. As in the current arc going on in Detective Comics and Batman: the Audio Adventures!

In any case, I hope that you don't mind how much I've rambled on here. I don't plan on watching Gotham Knights, but if there are any questions or anything about the show that you're curious about or want me to comment on, I'd be more than happy to do so to the best of my ability! I'm perfectly alright with you Misha stans being in our Two-Face space, and am just very much hoping that this ends up being a good iteration of the character!

Looking at the Harvey Dent tag recently has been an... Interesting experience given that I've never watched Supernatural and know next to nothing about Misha Collins. But I've been having fun looking at the mishaposting and reading through the tags. After all, they're still posts about Harvey, which is good, and if people are happy and excited over seeing my guy, that that's exciting for me too! Even if it is because of the actor that plays him and not for the character himself.

But while I'm here... Dear Misha stans. I see your concerns of Harvey turning into a villain and how you guys keep saying that you can't imagine actually seeing Harvey as actually being evil because of your adoration for Misha. Well, I just want to say that you don't have anything to worry about. When Harvey Dent is written well, he's barely even a villain. Even after he becomes Two-Face, when he's written well, he really is a character that you like and want to see get better. He remains Bruce's best friend even after committing crimes and Bruce is always trying to help him because he's still likable and is more a victim of his circumstances than anything else. Harvey as a villain doesn't tend to particularly enjoy doing crimes a lot of the time. He does crimes to protect himself, because he feels that he needs to do them to survive, and above everything else, he does crimes because he has a compulsory NEED to. Often, he would like to stop doing them and get better. He doesn't like that he has to do it. But he HAS to do it because of the nature of his compulsions. He can't help himself. When he's written well, Harvey Dent is barely a villain and remains sympathetic to the audience. He's still capable of doing good, but he needs permission to do so from the coin. When he's written well, you should want Harvey to get help and to heal above everything else.

Harvey Dent is supposed to be a good man trying his best to do right by this city that he loves. He rises quickly, and people look up to him, hoping that he can save the people of this city from the darkness that consumes it. Which makes it all the more tragic when he eventually fails and succumbs to the darkness just like everyone else in Gotham.

So I suppose that you could say that Harvey is something of... A fallen angel...? (HAH! I know next to nothing about Supernatural.)

[wanderingchocolateeclair]

Neon Souls - Soulbonds

Okidoki, this is the last info post before I get to the main plot, I swear /lh

Soulbonds!! Yes, they're the same as Soulmates, but I just like to use a different term that was made up in-universe.

(But also bc I didn't actually mean for this to be a soulmate au at first and didn't really connect the whole soulbond thing to being soulmates until someone pointed it out lol)

(But I am not complaining kjdfghd-)

Anyway, so, a large majority of people are born with "defects" (remember that though these people are still people, they are treated like robots and non-human junk)

These defects can range from missing or faulty senses, emotions, feelings, or even limbs and organs being missing or faulty.

While certain defects will be fixed medically-missing limbs/organs usually-with some requiring "fixing" by AFO, some of these just cannot be fixed medically.

These defects will be fixed when a person meets and establishes their soulbond.

A very rare portion of people are born "perfect" with no defects whatsoever, and this usually means that they do not have a soulbond, though that does not at all mean they are incapable of being with someone!!

Usually, these "perfect" folk are immediately chosen by AFO for Special Experimentation, to try and perfect the formula even further and turn them into pawns for his schemes.

It is either that or he decides to "Gift" them to the Skyracing commission to take care of. (Hawks....was one of these Gifts)

A bond can between more than two people, and yes, this could end with someone looking like a walking rainbow.

A bond also does not have to be romantic, platonic soulbonds are very common (and QPRs <3333)

Everyone has their own soul colour, yes?

And each Soulbond has its own colour.

This colour will be different to the people's individual colours, and usually will be either a mix of the colours or a separate colour linking them both.

(Like how edgejeanist are red and blue respectively, but their bond colour is purple)

This colour is very important.

If you remember from my other post, injuries received on a marking will show up as the person-who-did-it's colour.

If the mark/injury/scar is received from an established soulbond, it will be the bond colour instead!

This can also affect the way an injury bleeds, as the blood can appear a mix of the injured person's colour and the soulbond colour.

A Soulbond is established through a moment of heightened emotion and physical contact between some of their markings.

This can be something like a sweet emotional confession, heartbreak, anger between two fighting rivals, or......another form of...intimate.....action-

The place where they were touching markings will now show their new bond colour after this moment and will last for about a day or two. This is how they can tell a bond has been established.

Now, whenever their soulbond makes contact with one of their markings, a mark will be left in their bond colour.

This coloured mark can last from a minute up to a day or so, depending on the intensity of the touch.

(This means like, a brush of the hand will not last as long as a slap across the face- or- the contact from a heavily intimate moment.)

Fixed Defects Will Become The Colour Of Their Soulmates Markings.

So for instance, I'll use Jeanist and Edgeshot as examples:

They both have one defective eye that shows up grey and awful looking- as soon as they are bonded, Jeanist's eye turns red and gathers a normal appearance, and Edge's turns blue!

Things like missing senses will show up as internal markings, and feelings will connect to the eyes and heart.

If a soulbond dies/gets turned into a soulless, the place that was their colour will turn to a grey version of their bond colour.

A painful reminder.

There is a Bond Percentage, that determines how perfectly the two souls fit together and how in sync they are, etc.

A low % does not mean that they aren't fit for each other, or that they are a bad coupling- It just means that their souls/defects/everything doesn't line up perfectly and that's perfectly normal :)

The average % is about 65% to 70%.

A "100% True Bond", as it is called, is so rare there have only ever been a few Bonds known with it, and it is often brushed off as not real or impossibly high standards-

(A 100% True Bond is a bond that means that they are literal other halves to each other, complete each other and are so in sync that they can actually utilise special abilities unique to their bond! -> no one knows that yet though)

(A very high bond can also tap into certain special abilities, but just not to the extent of a 100% True Bond)

(can you guess which two little gays just so happen to have a 100% true bond???)

All for One doesn't care for soulbonds and brushes it off as a trivial little thing that came with the formula and couldn't ever really do any harm or affect anything.

He openly mentions this.

He does not know that a very strong Soulbond is what's going to be the end of him....

Okay, so here's this!!! I may have missed some stuff, I do apologise if I have-

Feel free to send in any asks if you want me to elaborate on any of this!!

[commander-diomika]

[Image ID: Screenshot of a tumblr reply from user @weareallfromearth ​​ saying “Holy shit I would V much like to know what you’d do with ZolfWilde.” End ID]

This was in response to me tag rambling that if Alex “I don’t Actually Have That Much Experience in Courtship” Newall and Ben “I just Realised I’m Too Straight For This” Meredith don’t know what to do with Zolf/Wilde, they should hand the ship over to me. 

*rubs my gay little hands together.*

I initially characterized them offhandedly as Enemies-to-Lovers but that’s not quite it, is it? On reflection I would say it’s more of an Opposites Attract situation.

Oscar Wilde, as re-imagined in the RQG universe, is a homme fatale; a dangerous, attractive man, skilled in encouraging people to underestimate him, wearing different masks, never quite being able to trust or be trusted by anyone.

There is NO personal/professional line for Wilde. He lives his work, and his work is subterfuge and interpersonal manipulation. (whether or not he started this way in his field as a journalist, or was forced to become this way by the changes in his world, is another post.) He is a person who either cares very deeply what people think of him, or is has decided that manipulating what people think of him is the way to get what he wants, and from the outside it makes no difference.

Zolf Smith does not care what people think of him. He isn’t even skilled at being kind and empathetic to people he cares about; he has no time for emotional manipulation or genuine charm. He doesn’t even have a fantastic grasp on his OWN feelings, let alone other people’s. He’s grounded, disinterested in frippery or appearances. Which is why Zolf and Wilde started out so deeply at odds with one another.

Despite the differences in the interpersonal approaches, they have plenty of common ground.

They are both deeply dedicated to a cause. They care about their work to the exclusion of all else. They are both pragmatists who have their own internal moral code, and are willing to bend or break other people’s rules in order to get the job done. They are fundamentally good people. Despite their rocky beginnings, they can respect each other because of these things.

And they might have maintained their mutually disdainful, begrudgingly respectful working relationship and that could have been the sum total... Except then the world fell apart. The Meritocratic organisation was initially compromised, then disintegrated. The blue vein plague isolated everyone and made it even harder to trust supposed allies. The Cult of Hades was on everyone’s ass making their life difficult, the other PCs disappeared off the face of the planet. Zolf and Wilde ended up in a situation where they had no one else they could trust.

Familiarity breeds contempt, but maybe if the contempt is already there, it builds Something Else. Wilde was stripped of his magic in a way that made it much harder for him to keep people at a distance and (pardon the pun) project the illusion of the debonair playboy. Zolf would have had the chance to see through Wilde’s masks, and get a better understanding of what parts of Wilde were a calculated tactic, and what was his genuine self.

Whatever betrayal transpired that gave Wilde his scar and hardened him, Zolf was privy to. He was either there and saw it happen, or he was close enough in the aftermath to see Wilde properly vulnerable for the first time in their friendship. Hell, maybe Zolf was the one who rescued him and patched him up. That was a chance for Zolf to realise that this insufferable man is a friend who he cares about deeply. At this point, he’s cared for awhile, but has been too wrapped up with his own spiritual difficulties to have space to admit that to himself.

And Wilde, oh Wilde, he’s desperate to be seen and known and loved, but he’s never allowed himself. He’s never felt SAFE to. He doesn’t let people get close, treats every conversation as a battle to be won. His safety and his power lies in being admired, but never loved. So even as trust and fondness for Zolf blossoms within him, he won’t for a second allow himself to hope that the fondness is reciprocated

With all that out of the way, this is my version of events.  

Wilde is a slut (affectionate), and Zolf is gray-ace, so if there’s any bridging of that gap in terms of physical intimacy, it has to be from Zolf’s side. Giving canon a tender massage into place, that first instance of Zolf grabbing Wilde by the collar changes. (This happens on the Vengeance after Zolf has taught Wilde to steer the ship). Zolf drags Wilde down to say “I’m glad to see you perked up.” That moment now involves a whiskery kiss on Wilde’s cheek, and the man would be absolutely FLOORED by it.

I’m talking slow-mo glittering lights as Zolf stomps off blushing, unsure what just came over him; Wilde touches his cheek in bewilderment for a stretched moment before realising he’s completely agog, and he let go of the wheel for a dangerous length of time. Every interaction, every moment they’ve spent together over the last two years is flashing before Wilde’s eyes and a new context is being applied rapid fire. I’m talking the italacised oh kind of moment.

(on top of Zolf being witness to The Betrayal, throw some other moments of almost-intimacy into said flashbacks. I’m talking late nights, Zolf doing his gruff-yet-kind caretaker thing, cooking for Wilde, maybe sharing quiet and rare downtime with Zolf reading a Campbell novel on a couch in Wilde’s office)

Wilde is realising, “Oh this is allowed, oh this is reciprocated, this is possible.”

And of course they don’t talk about it, because what’s a slowburn if they immediately go and TALK about their feelings? No, the kiss goes completely unremarked upon, and Wilde continues to needle and tease and get under Zolf’s skin, except now with an added warmth in his eyes because he finally gets it. He finally understands that Zolf cares, that Zolf loves him, he’s just not the kind of dwarf that knows how to express it.

And Zolf, frustrated by feelings he can’t express but is beginning to understand, can hear the undertone of “haha, you looooove me,” shining through Wilde’s deliberate antagonism. They continue their time on the Vengeance just a little easier and closer to one another.

And we continue on to the death/resurrection arc, and Wilde’s spirit pushes for Zolf to open up about his feelings, because if not when he’s literally past death’s door, then when? When Zolf finally manages his “I need you,” it’s like a dam has broken for both of them. The second collar-grab and “We’ll go on a holiday or somethin’,” is now followed by a full kiss on the lips, not particularly erotic but passionate, (it’s the epitome of kissing someone to shut them up) and Wilde makes a surprised and delighted squeak that he would be glad he can’t quite remember when he returns to land of the living.

Once returned, Wilde might not remember everything that his spirit said or did, but he remembers the kiss. The comfort and ease that the two of them share in 179 (Eat Drink and Be Merry) is there, only instead of the two characters still being in a place of questioning their feelings for one another, it’s been answered.

Whether or not this relationship is sexual in nature is kind of up to you and what kind of fan works you like to read/write. I think there are wonderful scenes to be written an explored in many directions.

Wilde allowing himself to enjoy sex for intimacy and closeness instead of using it as a tool/ Zolf not being one for sex but Wilde’s never slept more soundly than when he’s being held in Zolf’s arms/ Zolf realising that the unfamiliar feeling he’s been struggling to express is the desire to rail Wilde til he cries/ Wilde realising that if his partner doesn’t want it from him, he’s actually quite content without sex/ The two of them being mean, antagonistic bastards to each other while fucking but Make It Kink (of the trusting and RACK kind). There really isn’t a single bad interpretation.  

So really, I’m not doing anything different with them other than reading between the lines, giving canon a little nudge, and sticking the landing. This isn’t to disparage the concept of queer platonic partners. (I’ve got one!) or to talk shit about Ben or Alex (I DO respect their craft).

It’s just to say I find these two characters , and everything they’ve been through, PAINFULLY romantic, tropey, and delightful. I’m looking forward both to how Ben and Alex play the QPP, the fanworks I’m gonna read and hopefully write, and the inevitable tragedy that you KNOW Alex is gearing up for.

[imasimpforshanks]

Hello! For the Alphabet Request, could I get the angst Alphabet with Sanji or the fluff alphabet with Zoro, thank you so much! :)

Angst Alphabet - Sanji

a/n: thank you for requesting! I chose the angst alphabet but I kinda regret it now because omg ANGST IS SO HARD IT HURTS TO THINK ABOUT!!! but anywaysssss I hope you enjoy <3

A-Accident (would they blame themselves if you died in an accident?)

Easiest answer ever. Yes. Sanji would take all the blame upon himself regardless of it really was his fault or not. Even if he wasn’t present at the time of the accident, he’d still blame himself and say it was his fault for not being there for you or being prepared for anything. He’d never forgive himself.

B-Break up (How would they break up with you?)

It’s impossible to even imagine this man breaking up with you, ever. Seriously. He’s so passionate, and once he’s in love, he’s in love. There is no going back. BUT, I suppose, on the outrageously slim chance that he did break up with you, he would do it in the kindest way. You wouldn’t even realize you’ve been broken up with.

C-Crying (how would they make you cry?)

If he were to make you cry, it would be entirely accidental. In fact, even then I can only picture Sanji making you cry tears of happiness. If he were to be the cause of your tears (one’s that aren’t tears of joy) he would beat himself up. He can’t stand seeing those he loves cry or upset in any manner.

D-Death (how would they react to your death?)

Denial would be the first emotion he expresses. It’s not possible, right? You can’t be dead. You’re not dead… because if you really were dead, it means he’s lost the light of his life. He’d be practically inconsolable for a very long time. Nothing would be able to bring back his usual liveliness. Cooking loses its appeal – I mean there’s no point if you won’t be the one enjoying his food. The Straw Hats are unable to do anything to bring back some of that fire. They get so desperate that Zoro even intentionally tries to cause a ruckus, but Sanji doesn’t react at all.

E-Emotion (what is one emotion they would try to hide the most and how would they do it?)

His insecurities are the one thing he would never dear show to others. Not only would it result in endless remarks from Zoro, but, he doesn’t want to have to deal with the pitiful comments – ‘you’re not useless’, ‘you are wanted and needed here’, ‘we all love you’. Sure, he understands people are just trying to help and be reassuring but it just makes him feel worse. So, instead Sanji deals with this the only way he knows how: bottling it all up and putting on a façade.

F-Fight (do you two ever fight? How big are the fights? What do you fight about? Etc.)

Fighting with you is something he hates doing. He never allows anything to get to that point. Sanji can’t risk losing you over a fight (no matter how big or small). Instead, he will apologize immediately, completely agreeing with everything you are saying. However, if it’s something he feels really strongly about (i.e your safety) he will sit you down and communicate calmly.

G-Guilt (what is the biggest thing they feel guilty about?)

The events of Whole Cake Island continue to eat him up. He knows he did it for the sake of the crew and the safety of the Baratie, but Sanji can’t seem to forget the way he disrespected his captain and hurt the people he loved the most (and the one’s that loved him too). The part that really makes him messes with him is that fact that Luffy forgave him instantly. To be honest, he wasn’t expecting Luffy to stay mad or hold a grudge, because well… that’s just not what he does. Even so, Sanji’s conscience is constantly telling him that he doesn’t deserve to be on the future pirate kings crew despite apologizing and being forgiven.

H-Heartbreak (what would cause them pain in the relationship? How would they deal during a break-up?)

Being away from you for long periods of time is one of the biggest causes of pain in the relationship for Sanji. He misses you like crazy and often finds himself distracted while thinking of you.

During the early stages of a break-up Sanji is likely to be a bit more reserved, choosing to keep to himself a little more. His usual enthusiasm lacks a little bit of oomph. Sometimes, late at night, when everyone else is asleep, he makes his way to the kitchen where he sits in the dark, cigarette in hand and quietly cries to himself.

I-Injured (how would they react if you are badly injured?)

He would be FURIOUS. Not at you of course. At whoever the hell thought it was okay to hurt the love of his life. He would be in god mode and rampage to find the son of a bitch that would ever dear to lay a hand on his partner.

J-Jealousy (what do they do if they are jealous?)

Death glares are a staple in the Sanji jealousy inventory. He’ll glare at anyone who seems to be taking too much of your attention. He also becomes a lot more clingy, using any and every excuse possible to be near you at all times. It can become a bit much at times, so if you tell him to reign it in a little, he’ll try his best.

There is one person that he refuses to let you spend any time with. Unsurprisingly, that is Zoro. He gets extremely jealous if you pay even the most minimal amount of attention to Zoro mumbling lots of “Stupid mosshead, why the hell are you spending time with him anyway?”

K-Kill (would they kill for revenge?)

Something deep inside me wants to say yes. But, he is far too kind-hearted to take away someone’s life. It is a possibility though, if the other person was to kill his s/o, or anyone else on the crew. However, for the most part, Sanji would just beat the person/people black and blue until they can’t walk, talk, or eat anymore. Basically, he won’t kill them, but they would wish they were dead after he’s finished with them.

L-Loss (what is their greatest loss?)

When he was a child, he lost his mother. She was the only person in his family that truly loved and cared for him (okay his sister did too, to an extent). His mother believed in his dreams and passions. She treated Sanji like a true human being. Losing her was devasting and made him feel more alone than he had ever felt before.

M-Mistake (what is the worst mistake they ever made with you?)

It’s very rare for Sanji to ever make any kind of mistake with you. He remembers every date, anniversary, achievement and milestone regardless of its importance. He doesn’t speak rudely to you, lash out at you or direct any sort of violence towards you.

So, the worst thing he’s probably done is accuse you of liking Zoro more than you liked him, because you would train and workout with him. It wasn’t that it was a serious or harsh accusation, it was just that this was a conversation the two of you have had time and time again.

N-Nightmares (how often do they have them? What are they about? How do they deal with it?

Sanji occasionally finds himself waking up in a sweat, breathing heavily. He doesn’t have nightmares too often, but when he does, they are horrifyingly vivid. It’s as if he is a starving boy again fighting for his life. OR it’s as if he’s that lonely good-for-nothing screw up of a child, locked away in a cell. It’s frightening just how realistic these nightmares feel and to bring himself back to reality all he does is find you. He needs to hold you, look at you, smell your scent, hear your quiet snores… anything. You are his safe place, a sign that everything is alright.

O-Outrage (how and why would they get mad at you?)

He wouldn’t get mad at you. It’s extremely unlikely (though not impossible). The only possible instances that could happen is if you were to disrespect his passion and talent for food. But lets be real… why on earth would you even do that in the first place.

P-Past (what has happened in your relationship that changed the way you saw each other?)

Whole Cake Island was a real game changer. So much was revealed about Sanji that he never wanted anyone to know. He was terrified you would think differently of him knowing that he was a ‘failure’ (note: you didn’t think of him differently at all). However, the part that really put a strain on your relationship was how you thought he had betrayed not only yourself, but the crew too. It really was a whole rollercoaster of emotions, but in the end the two of you were able to work through it, coming out stronger.

Q-Quality (what is their most dangerous/toxic quality?)

This man is quick to anger. Even though his reactions are usually harmless, what’s to stop him from one day completely just blowing up and doing, or saying, something to hurt those he cares about.

R-Rejection (how would they react to you rejecting their confession (or the other way around))

Of course, he would be upset if you rejected his confession, because a beautiful individual has just turned him down, but honestly, he’d just continue treating you as he always. has

S-Scars (battle or self-inflicted)

There are definitely no scars - battle-related or self-inflicted - on his body (that we know of). However, mental scars are a different story. He has plenty of those from his childhood, as do a large proportion of one piece characters.

T-Trust (have they ever broken your trust?)

Never in his life would Sanji do something to break your trust. The closest it came was the incident on Zou and Whole Cake Island, it certainly looked as if he had betrayed you and broken your trust entirely, only for you to find out it was the complete opposite.

Many people think Sanji is the type of individual to cheat in a relationship. While I can see where they are coming from with this opinion, I strongly disagree. This may be an unpopular opinion, I’m not too sure, but, Sanji would never be disloyal in a relationship. Treating women properly is such a big part of his personality to the point where it is practically embedded into his muscle memory – he acts on instinct. So of course there will be times where he’s paying a little extra attention to some lady but there is no ulterior meaning to his actions – its simply his firm belief that all women deserve to be treated and doted on as the queens they are. Additionally, during the Dressrosa arc Sanji truly believed he was in a ‘relationship’ with Viola and as soon as he knew that he was trying his absolute hardest to pay attention to Viola and only Viola. His mind did wonder off to Nami and Robin but he would scold himself for that (and feel free to correct me on this if im remembering incorrectly – it’s honestly quite possible that I’ve made this up entirely LMAO it’s been a while since I’ve read and watched the dressrosa arc).

So, let me sum up again: No. Sanji has never done anything that has broken your trust.

(my apologies I really went off for a second there I’m SO sorry).

U-Urge (how badly do they want to see you after you guys separated?)

Oh boy, he’s practically incapable of going five minutes without seeing you. He misses you so much it’s crazy. Your presence is so soothing for him, so he gets really antsy and anxious in your absence.

V-Vicious (what do they do when they lash out on you?)

I seriously can’t see him lashing out at you at all. He would never physically lash out at you but, there may possibly be potential for him to say something harsh in the heat of the moment. It literally wouldn’t even be because of anything you’d done in particular. It’d just be a build-up of things and then you happen to be the closest person and the next person to say something, and it tips him over the edge, so he snaps. He apologizes as soon as the words leave his mouth.

W-Weak (what makes them feel weak how do they try to avoid it?)

Sanji hates, and I mean hates being unable to help those that he cares about. It’s one of the few things that makes him feel weak. He has a kind heart and is always wanting to protect those he loves, so he does everything in his power to be ready to move in an instant. He remains aware of his surroundings, and is always on guard so that he can defend and strike when the situation calls for it.

X-X-ray (what do they hate and show it most obviously?)

The most obvious object of Sanji’s hatred is Zoro, however, I wouldn’t say it’s hatred. It’s a classic rivalry that is thankfully not rooted in any true ill will.

One other thing Sanji has absolutely no tolerance for is the inappropriate or rude treatment towards women, and food. On many occasions Sanji has actually physically and verbally fought others over their treatment of women and food.

Y-Yearn (what is one thing that they want but can’t have?)

I know this is meant to be serious and super angsty but, my mind automatically went to the clear-clear devil fruit LMAO. Its canon that the clear-clear fruit is something Sanji wants but can’t have because it’s currently in use by another person. (to make up for this not angsty idea I’ll do another one).

Growing up all Sanji ever wanted was a family that loves him and treats him kindly. Sure, he had his mother (before she passed away), and to an extent he had his sister, but he never truly experienced a loving family growing up. However, the moment he met Zeff & the Baratie gang and then the Straw Hat Pirates he learnt something important: Family isn’t always blood.

Z-Zero (what do they do/say in your dying moments?)

He tears up. A lot. He’s so conflicted between wanting to spend your final moments with you but also not being able to handle that pain. Ultimately, he decides to endure, holding your hand tightly and whispering everything he’s ever wanted to say - all his dreams about your future together and how he saw that playing out etc.

[literaila]

the agony of sanity: chapter one.

“the ghost of goosebumps”

spencer x reader 

summary: in every instance, there must be a choice. control or pain? stay or leave? help or let them go? 

warnings: fluff, angst, criminal mind stuff, s12 spoilers, italics represent a memory, slight emily x reader 

a/n: okay. here it is. first chapter of many to come. i hope you enjoy it. 

*

It wasn't something she needed to think about anymore. 

It wasn't a scar that she needed to open up. That wound was old, forgotten in the chaos of the years she had spent building herself up. It had disappeared as she got busier and busier. 

She didn't think of it anymore.

She could walk around feeling completely normal. Feeling like she could do anything. She could walk around and see couples and not have to wonder if that was how they used to look. She could walk around with a smile on her face, she could appreciate the finer things in life. 

She didn't use to be able to. She felt like everything was crumbling under her, crashing down until she went with it, until she was covered in a pile of rubble, until she was buried under the weight of the things she didn't need to think about anymore. 

She didn't think about it anymore. Didn't want to, didn't need to. 

She’d moved on. She was changed. 

She no longer stayed up late at night, no longer had those dreams. The ones that didn't really feel like sleep. The ones where she would sweat until her cold house felt like a sauna and no longer a place of rest. Those dreams that made her get up out of bed, get up out of her head until she couldn't see those pictures that flashed through her head anymore. 

She didn't have those types of dreams anymore. 

She went to work every day, smiled at everyone, laughed at all the right times. She didn't have to play pretend or close herself off. She was a completely different person, one that was in control of everything she did. Everything she felt. 

She didn't need to think about him. She didn't need to wonder how he was doing. In fact, she didn't wonder. She never thought of him. He was erased in her memory, a blank spot where something used to be. 

So, she never thought about it anymore. 

She went on with her day, lived her life as well as she could. She reminded herself that she only had a limited amount of days. She reminded herself that even if it seemed like a lifetime, it would be over eventually, and she should appreciate it as long as it lasted. After all, the days were counting down. 

She didn't need to waste time thinking about him, about anything related to the life she used to live, anymore. She didn't have that kind of time. 

She rarely thought of it. She never did. She was in control. 

Until that phone call. 

*

Sun rested against her skin. A song playing in her head. 

It was one she heard on the radio earlier, something that caught her ear as soon as she’d turned the volume up. She didn't know the name. Just the tune, just the part that kept replaying in her head. 

It seemed appropriate, to have a song like this one- popular and upbeat -stuck in her head while she sat fresh in the sun, absorbing all the warmth she could get. It was appropriate that she was hitting replay on the one thing she could control that day. 

Spencer was behind her, his chest a warm blanket against her back. 

She was pretty sure that he was smiling. She felt like he was. He didn't have any reason not to be, there was no reason why there would be that frown she’d seen so many times on his face there. No reason to be upset on a day like this. On a day where the sun was shining, the wind was cooling off the burns that they had already developed on their cheeks. No reason to be upset when everything was perfect. 

With a song like this stuck in your head. 

“Cold?” He wondered. 

She laughed as his breath tickled her ear, the wind blowing between the two of them. 

She shook her head, comforted by his hand running up and down her thigh. While she laid in the sun. 

“It's warm. Why would I be cold?” She whispered back, her voice taken by the wind. The two of them sighing into the relieving cool that came with the wind. 

Spencer kissed her temple, moved back so that she could lean against him. 

“You’ve got goosebumps,” he said, moving his hand so that it was running over the bumps that lathered her arms. 

She shook her head again, following his motion with her eyes, now sure of the smile on his face. 

“I’m not cold.” 

Spencer hummed out an unfamiliar sound to her ears, so unlike him on any other day. 

“Are you experiencing a strong emotion?” he asked, rubbing circles on her forearm, his fingertips only taking part in the goosebumps that continued to stay stuck to her skin. 

She laughed, smiling up at the sun, appreciating the wind that was lifting the sweat from her neck. It was windy today. 

“Shock?” Spencer continued his question, using the hand that wasn't on her arm to play with the strap of her tank top. “Fear?” 

“What?” she whispered back, her mind almost completely captured by his fingertips brushing against her skin. 

It was like he was painting a picture like she was his canvas. Like he was using her to make art. Like they were making it together.

“Strong emotions can cause the small muscles on your arm near the hair follicle to contract,” he said as if it was obvious, like she should have known already. “So if you’re not cold… is it shock? Fear?” 

Something about the way he was talking, about the way he was painting with his fingertips, something about the wind. It was all a harmony to the melody in her head. 

“Nope,” she popped, laughing when she could feel him stop his motions. 

“Anxiety?” he asked, leaning down to kiss the top of her head. 

A breathless noise came out of her mouth, her head shaking once again. 

“Inspiration?” 

She laughed as he kissed lower down her neck. “Inspiration?” she implored with disbelief. 

“Yeah,” Spencer whispered, continuing to kiss down her neck. His hand still firm on her arm, his other on her shoulder. 

“No, not inspiration,” she replied, tilting her neck so that he would continue. 

He stopped for a brief moment, and even though she couldn't see it, she knew that he was looking at her with curious eyes. 

“Sexu-” before he could finish his sentence, she was turning around, moving his hands from her body. Stopping him before he could continue. 

She laughed at his face. Her goosebumps gone. 

And then, she kissed his nose. And got up. Out of his reach. 

She cackled at the look on his face. 

Running towards the sun. 

*

“Emily?” she croaked, her voice stumbling out of sleep. 

She looked over to the clock by her bedside table, the three little numbers flashing as she looked around. It was still dark outside. It was too cold in her apartment.

“Do you know what time it is?” She asked when there was no response, lifting her phone from her ear to check and see if Emily was still on the line. To make sure that it wasn't just a mistake. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” 

Y/N used one of her hands to rub her eyes, curious at the way Emily’s voice sounded. It sounded like she was sighing. Like she was really tired. Y/N couldn't remember what time it was in Virginia. 

“Do you need something?” she asked, trying to wring out the sleep from her body as she stood out of bed. Her room was a mess, clothes from the previous night lathered across the floor. She stepped around them in hopes to get to her kitchen. So that she could get some coffee. 

Emily never called at night, but the occasional times she did, it was usually to ask a question. Or because she needed a friend. Y/N wasn't expecting to go back to bed any time soon, even if it was only four in the morning. It was late enough to get up anyway, wasn't it? 

“Y/N,” Emily spoke for the second time, her voice more desperate. Serious. 

Y/N’s eyebrows creased, she wished she could see the other girl so that she could fully gage her emotions. So that she knew what was going on. She could tell that this wasn't going to be one of their fun chats, Emily wasn't calling just to catch up. 

“What's wrong Em?” she wondered, genuine worry slipping out. 

“Spencer’s in prison.” 

The words took her by surprise. They were sudden and unexpected. Y/N took a moment for her eyes to widen. Let herself hear the unfamiliar name, one she hadn't heard from anyone in years. It felt strange to listen to someone else speak it. She felt her heart clutter, moving against her ribs more forcibly than it had before. 

She paused, the silence on the phone apparent to both of them. 

And then, she took a deep breath, told herself not to ask, not to say the words. Not to think about it. She rolled her eyes. Let her emotions roll through her body. 

“What did he do?” she said, not masking the borderline irritation in her voice. 

“Y/N!” Emily sighed, and Y/N could practically see her friend rubbing a hand over her eyes. Though she wasn't going to act like she didn't mean it. “He didn't do anything.” Emily’s voice was harsher now, forceful. Like she was scolding Y/N. 

“Emily, you hear that someones in prison and try not to ask what they did!” She defended herself, moving around her kitchen with her phone pressed against her cheek and shoulder as she got a pot of coffee started. It was far too earlier for her to be kind, and far too early for this information. “And whatever's going on with Reid, I hope it works out, I really do Emily, but why are you calling me again?” 

The name felt strange in her mouth. Like it was something she’d never tried before. She was smart enough to make her voice sound sincere, to not let her annoyance at Emily slip out. 

“I need you, Y/N,” Emily whispered, her voice small and pleading. And suddenly it all made sense to Y/N. 

And- 

No. 

Y/N wasn't doing this. Not today. 

Emily knew what she was going to say, she knew what the response would be. That's why she was using that voice. That desperate voice. Emily already knew her answer. 

“No, Emily,” Y/N said, shaking her head fast and hard, blinking rapidly as she tried to come up with a better response. She couldn't go back, and she definitely couldn't help Emily with this. She wasn't going to. 

“No listen Y/N, this is Spencer, Spencer who’s being charged with murder. And I know how you feel about him, but I’m asking you to forget about your feelings, and think about the man that is going to die in prison alone.” 

She didn't utter a word, wincing at the thought of Spencer in prison. Hating Emily for bringing this up. 

“Emily…” 

“I’m asking you for a favor Y/N. You and I both know that you’re the best person, one of the only people I know that can help with this. I can handle all of the travel fee’s, all of the vacation time. I can even get someone to cover for you at work! I can get everything else solved.” Emily paused, quieter as she continued, “I just need you to come and help.” 

It scared Y/N, to think about going back to the place she had vowed to never return. It scared her to open old wounds again. To hear the fear in Emily’s voice, Emily who was so much stronger than anyone Y/N had ever met.

She walked around her small apartment, and didn't notice the sun rising from her window. Her brain was trying to wrap around all of the things Emily had just said. Trying to make a decision that wouldn't hurt either of them.  

How could she even help with this, how would she stand helping him with this when she forbid herself from ever thinking about him? How could she even make a difference? 

“Y/N?” Emily whispered, the silence drawn out for too long. Her voice was worried, and although Emily seemed confident in her speech, Y/N knew that her friend was worried it wouldn't be enough to convince her. 

“I’m here.” She said, her voice breaking as she paused her walking. She sighed, running a hand over her face as she debated with herself. “I’m here.” she repeated. 

She could go, break little pieces of the person she had recreated off, and help Spencer. Help Emily, save all of them from the pain she knew would come if anything bad happened. Help them in some way that she didn't understand. 

Or she could stay, she could stick with going to work every day, with being the boss and in control of everything. She could stay in control of her emotions, of her thoughts, of her memories. And she could break Emily’s heart. She could be selfish. 

“Are you going to come?” 

Control or pain? 

Which was more important? 

Which to choose? 

“Y/N?” Emily asked again, clearly impatient. And Y/N understood it, she was worried. Y/N rationalized that if the cards were flipped, she would feel the same. She understood her friend's pain. 

She would feel the same. 

“Yes.” She whispered, taking a deep breath in. “Yes.” 

Pain. Pain was more important. 

“I’ll start packing now.” her brain froze, struck by the decision, by the situation she had just put herself in. “Tell me everything.” 

*

“Emily,” she breathed out as soon as the woman appeared in her eyesight. 

Seeing her was a huge relief, a breath of fresh air. Since Y/N had landed in Virginia she’d had a strange feeling in her stomach, one that resembled nostalgia, and another that was most definitely nausea. 

It was strange to be back in a place that she had once called home. Strange that she was alone from the first step she took in the state. It was a terrible feeling to bed back here. To be back in such a familiar place. 

But, even if she was frustrated with Emily for making her do this, for calling in her favor in such a harsh way, it was still good to see her friend. 

They’d known each other for years, their initial introduction starting when they were both agents at the BAU. Back then, they weren't the closest of friends. Of course, they had no issue with each other, but both of them had always found it hard to become best friends with someone you caught serial killers with. 

But, as soon as Y/N couldn't stay in Quantico any longer, as soon as she needed to get away, she’d called Emily. And she’d asked for her help. 

They’d worked together at Interpol for several years until Emily moved back to Virginia, taking over the BAU team, and Y/N became the boss of their team. 

And they’d become best friends here, each other's support. They spent days off in each other's apartments, drinking wine and laughing at romantic comedies that they both secretly loved but hated. They slept in the same bed, trying to rid the other of nightmares. It was a close relationship they’d developed, one that they swore they would lose when Emily moved. 

When they got to each other, Y/N and Emily shared a brief hug, and a laugh no matter the circumstances, and then they were walking up to Emily’s office. It was dark outside, her plane arriving in the middle of the night. Emily said that she could meet the team the next day when they were awake, trying to lighten the mood. 

It didn't work. 

Y/N wished they could’ve been meeting together for better reasons. 

“Okay,” she said as soon as she sat in front of Emily, files thrown across her desk, clear distress on every piece of paper. “I need to know what advantages we have in his case. I want to get a clear view of what I can and can't use,” she announced as she sat down, ignoring her body's pleading for rest. If she was going to help Emily, she was going to start as soon as she could. 

Starting sooner meant leaving sooner. 

Emily went flipped through some papers, nodding along with Y/N as she searched for something. 

“Here’s all the evidence we have from the crime scene, Spencer’s statement should be in there.” the stack of paper was smaller than Y/N had expected, and she felt herself worried just looking at it. 

Emily had briefed Y/N on the case over the phone while she was packing. Y/N knew all the basics. Spencer had been in Mexico, trying to find something for his mother, and was framed for murder. Emily was very sure that it was an act of an unsub they had been hunting down, Mr. Scratch, who seemed to have it out for all of them. 

The two of them read through the papers, despite Emily being already familiar with everything in them. They sat in silence for multiple minutes, neither of them having anything interesting to bring up, nothing either of them could say when all the clear answers were thrown out in front of them. 

And those answers were that there was nothing. The crime scene pointed at Spencer. Everything in the evidence seemed to match up with Spencer. Whoever had framed him had clearly thought it out. 

Y/N sighed, rubbing her eyes and looking up at Emily, who looked exhausted frankly. Y/N empathized with her. Understanding more than she wanted to.

“Did Reid have a drug screen?” 

Emily nodded, handing her another file. “He did, but by the time they took it all of the drugs had metabolized in his system.” 

“Shit,” Y/N whispered, scanning the screening, confirming what Emily had said. “And you checked the scene for any evidence of drug residue?” 

“There was nothing found. Mr. Scratch has a pattern of intoxicating his victims using the vents, but there was nothing there.” 

Y/N dropped the file she was holding in her lap, looking at Emily who shared her expression. There was no evidence helping either of them. 

Y/N blew out a breath and then looked out the window. “Em, I’m going to be honest, it doesn't look good.” 

“I know,” Emily rubbed at her eyes. “That's why I called you.” 

Y/N looked back over to Emily, who winked at her then gave her a teasing smile. It was the first time the both of them had laughed that day. 

“Okay,” Y/N kept the smile on her face, brushed some hair from her eyes. “Here's what I think..” she started, taking a deep breath. “the only advantage Reid has here is the fact that he can't remember anything. This could clue into his intoxication, and also provides an inconsistency with the evidence. If he can't remember anything then there's still a missing piece.” 

Emily nodded, her eyes hopeful. 

“When can I meet with his lawyer?” Y/N asked, changing her train of thought.  

Emily looked confused, “I thought you were going to step in for his lawyer?” 

Y/N laughed, for a brief moment thinking Emily was joking. When she looked up from her laugh back at Emily she could see that she was wrong. “Oh you’re serious…” she paused, thinking. “Well, in Virginia you have to get your license recertified every year, and we don't have time for me to do that.” 

Emily looked down, checking her watch. 

“I can help his lawyer though.” Y/N finished, looking curiously at Emily. “What’re you doing?” she asked, noticing how distracted her friend got in the middle of her sentence. 

“It's very late, you probably haven't slept since getting on your flight. We should get some rest. Continue this in the morning.” Emily announced, standing up from her desk. This was a sudden topic change. It seemed like Emily was trying to push Y/N out of the office. She nodded, confused. 

Y/N followed, grabbing her bag. She walked with Emily out the door, not missing the slouch in her friend's posture, nor the silence that followed the two of them. She wondered if Emily was done hoping in anything coming of this, if what she said had decreased any hope Emly had. She told herself that she was probably just tired. 

But still, she had to say something. 

“Emily, it's going to be fine,” Y/N reassured, stopping by the door. And Emily nodded, but the silent question of ‘how?’ didn't escape either of their minds. 

Emily looked doubtful, but she still smiled at Y/N. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow Y/N.” she said finally, walking back to her office and leaving Y/N all alone, with that feeling.

*

“Hey Spence?” she called through the house, struggling to put her boots on as she got ready. 

There was no reply from the other room, where Spencer laid in bed, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up. It was dark all around their house, all of the lights turned off even when it was so dark outside. 

Spencer had been getting these headaches, ones that he said made everything look brighter. Ones that seemed to kill him from the inside out. In an effort to support him, Y/N had started getting used to walking around her house in the dark. She wasn't sure it was working. She wasn't sure if her efforts were making any difference. 

“You okay, love?” she called again, quieter now that she was closer to their room. 

She had a case to get to, one that would probably take longer than a couple of days. Hotch had demanded that Spencer stay home as long as he was still feeling sick. He didn't want Spencer out on the field with the possibility that a headache could hit him and he could get hurt. 

In all honesty, Y/N was relieved. Spencer did not seem up to leaving, and she wasn't sure how much help he would be even if he was there. Recently, he’d been more and more irritated with everyone, his emotions being thrown at all of them. It was starting to get intense, starting to worry Y/N, and she didn't want to have to think about it at work too. She didn't want to have to worry while there was a serial killer on the loose. 

Maybe that was wrong. 

Spencer didn't respond even when she walked into the room, he stayed under the covers, his body leaning away from her, his back facing their door. “Spence?” she whispered, walking closer to check and see if he was sleeping. 

Sleep might be good. Maybe he would feel better with some sleep. 

But when she heard a grunt from under the covers she sighed. She couldn't imagine how much pain he was in, and she had no idea how she could help. He’d been to the doctors, been prescribed pain medication that he would never take. There was nothing else either of them could do. 

“I’m leaving soon, is there anything you need before I go?” she whispered, sitting on her side of the bed, waiting for him to look at her. 

When Spencer peeked out from under the covers, his eyes were red and his hair was a mess. She wasn't sure how long it had been since he’d left bed, didn't know how much longer he could stand to stay in bed all day. 

“Coffee?” she asked, hoping to get a smile out of him when he didn't respond. 

But Spencer shook his head, not in the mood for jokes. He wasn't in the mood for anything. He didn't know why he couldn't get to sleep. 

Y/N sighed, watching him crawl back under the covers. 

“Okay,” she said standing up. There wasn't anything she could do anyway. “I’ll be home soon love, be careful.” she hoped that her words had made him feel comforted, that she was saying the right thing. 

When there was no response she walked towards the door. A frown developing on her face. 

This pain in her chest hit her. She wanted to see him smile at her again, she wanted him to kiss her goodbye. She wished he was going with her. 

But, he couldn't, he was sick and there was nothing that was helping. There was nothing she could do. 

Hopefully, he’d feel better as soon as she was home. Hopefully, he would be standing in the kitchen, drinking coffee and reading a book he’d read a million times before. Hopefully, he would smile at her again, cause goosebumps on her skin like he loved to do. 

Maybe he’d be better when she got home. 

She held onto that. 

*

She was going to have to think of it. 

It didn’t matter if it opened up that wound, split her scars in half, and ripped her heart from the cage of her ribs. She was going to have to think of it, that was clear. 

She hadn’t seen Spencer in four years, hadn’t mentioned his name aloud to anyone but herself. She removed him from her memory, burned all the pictures she had of the two of them, and limited any communication that could’ve been possible with him. She didn't want to see him four years ago, and she didn't want to see him now. 

She’d made her wishes perfectly clear with their shared friends, she didn't want to know how he was doing, she didn't want to know anything about him. She just wanted to move on, wanted to let herself heal so that she could go to better things. 

There were always better things to think about. 

But this thing between the two of them, this silence that they’d both kept up for years, it was clear that it was going to have to come to an end. 

She couldn't just stay away from him anymore, she wasn't thousands of miles away on a different continent. She wasn't the boss here in Virginia, she was just Y/N. The same girl that had left years ago. The same girl that could never control her emotions. 

She was going to have to think of it. 

No matter the consequences it had on her body, on her mind, on the emotions she had so carefully boarded up. She was going to have to relive this pain, she was going to have to move on from it. Move on as she should’ve years ago. 

She was terrified. Because, yes, she’d spent all these years alone. She had months to make peace, months to reinvent herself so that she wouldn't have to feel this small again. She’d had so much time to do something, anything that would change her from the person that she had been four years ago in Virginia. 

But she hadn't. She’d only closed off that part of her life. Stopped thinking about it. 

And she was going to have to face the consequences of that. 

Because she was there, at the prison, and she was getting signed in. 

It wasn't her first time at a prison. When she still worked with the bureau, she used to get sent in to interview serial killers once a month. She was always the person they sent to handle a particularly difficult subject. She was always the best at getting information out of people that didn't want to speak. It was part of the reason she had stuck with the FBI for so long, because they valued her and her skills. 

So no, she wasn't nervous to be walking into prison again. Even four years later she was familiar with all the procedures that it took to get her in. She was used to the grey walls still, the distant feeling that everyone seemed to get when walking in. 

It was visiting day, and she’d asked Emily if she could go and speak to Spencer first, before anyone else could tell him that she was there. They needed to make amends, and fast, because Y/N didn't know how long she could work on the case with these pent up feelings still stuck in her head, in her chest. 

She wasn't sure how Emily had gotten her past all of the restrictions for visitors, but she appreciated it. 

She was terrified. Not to be around murders, or other criminals, but to be around him again. After so long. 

Because now was the time, now she had to actually think about it. 

And she wasn't allowed to let it tear her apart. She wasn't allowed to run away this time. 

She’d profiled all of the guards there, the skills coming easy to her, as she waited for the inmates to be let into the visiting room. All of the men that worked in this prison seemed nonchalant, as most guards were. They didn't care much. She did notice though, the looks she got for being here. 

It was unusual for someone of her status to be in a prison. 

It was unusual for someone to be allowed in under the circumstances that Spencer was under. 

And, of course, government agents didn't usually get a warm welcome in prisons. 

It had been ten minutes since she sat down, waiting for him to show up, and she was starting to get restless. She was tired of this overwhelming anxiety building in her brain, and the longer she had to wait, the worse it would get. 

It was just Spencer. She had to remind herself of that. No matter how bad they had ended things, no matter how long it had been since they talked, it was only Spencer. Spencer, the man who could barely hurt a fly. 

He wasn't intimidating in the slightest. 

She had to remember that. 

For a brief moment, she wondered how he was doing, what prison was turning out to be like for him. If he wasn't intimidating to her, he certainly wouldn't be intimidating to the inmates. 

She winced when she thought of all the things that could happen to him. She turned off her brain, banning herself from thinking like that. 

She wasn't here to worry about him. She was here to help. To save her friends from that pain. 

She took a deep breath in, holding it for four seconds, exhaling for eight. Grounding herself like she was used to. Deep breath in, deep breath out. 

But she was interrupted by the loud beep of the door. By the men starting to walk into the room. 

One after one they walked in, most of them with a glare in their eyes, none of them had made direct eye contact with her, but even if they had, she didn't think she would have noticed. 

Because after twelve more seconds of waiting, and multiple men walking in a line, she saw him. 

And, this was the first time. It had been four years, and even though he hadn't changed much, her brain couldn't help but classify him as different in her head. Because he was, he looked different, looked changed from the last man she had known him as. 

Goosebumps, slithered their way up her arms, pouncing on her like she was their prey. She shivered as she looked at him. 

And she didn't like the look in his eyes when he saw her. 

She knew that he wasn't expecting her, that he would never have expected her to come back, especially not for him, especially not now. After four years, why would he ever expect her to be there, why would she ever come back. 

She wasn't supposed to be there, she wasn't even on his visitor's list. So how was she there, why was she there. 

He was shocked, and Y/N felt terrified when she saw him pause, when she saw his eyes glance back like he was going to run away from her, like he couldn't deal with her being there. But, he had held up the line, and she saw the inmate behind him push him. Too hard. 

She forgot for a moment that he was in prison. 

Spencer picked up his speed, continued walking toward her even with that look in his eyes. That one that let her know that this conversation wasn't going to be all that pleasant. 

And she barely recognized him. Barely recognized herself. Barely recognized the voice coming out of her mouth when he sat down in front of her with shocked eyes. 

She wondered if he had goosebumps. 

“Hey, Spence,” 

* 

chapter two

[since0202]

Taking Time—Fifteen

You don't own me..

I wouldn’t say I’m a naturally angry person. Anger is an easy emotion and in a flash it can ruin things. But there were definitely instances where my need to be angry superseded everything else. The first instance I know of was when Mallory Sestille stole Becks’ Barbie coloring book in the first grade and denied it. She called me a liar in front of everyone when I confronted her and said I was just jealous that she had something I did not. At recess, when I tried to steal it back from her, a tussle ensued and it ended with Mallory’s face square in the mud to my satisfaction. But once the anger ebbed, I always felt empty. Which was somehow worse. Mallory Sestille never messed with Becks again though.

March had passed by without further incident, mostly due to the fact that Maya was rarely able to leave Paul’s sight. She spent most of her days with him and when she wasn’t with him, she was at her parents house or school.

He didn’t trust Jeremy to be around her anymore but Maya had talked him off a ledge when she said it was kind of impossible for her to avoid him at school considering he and Becks were still very much a thing.

Toward the end of March, he had to take a trip to Seattle for work and nearly demanded that she come with him. But Maya pushed back, citing school and upcoming finals. Not to mention, she still hadn’t heard back from Columbia or Princeton and was starting to worry.

“You said I was safest on the rez, right?” Maya said one night before he was scheduled to leave for a few days. They were at Sam and Emily’s for a pack dinner. Sam and Emily were on the porch and Maya had her legs draped over Paul’s lap on the porch swing.

“Yeah, but—” he started.

“Then I’ll stay on the rez.” Maya said firmly. Paul made a noise of frustration and stood up, lifting her legs off of him. He stomped down the beach toward the rest of the pack and Maya let out a long sigh.

“He’ll ease up, just give him time,” Emily said softly, “He still carries a lot of guilt about that night and it’s hard for them when an imprint gets hurt.”

Maya knew this. She could feel it on him whenever he nearly crushed her in a hug. Her arm was healing well, with only a pink line fading into a light scar. The bruises on her neck had faded too and she was almost whole, minus the near constant nightmares.

Maya still couldn’t fully remember what had happened the night that she had gotten hurt, but more and more, she had the nagging suspicion that Keye and Becks had seen more than they were willing to share. Each time she tried to bring it up to them over a study session or lunch, they’d casually change the subject. Secrets drove Maya crazy, but if they weren’t willing to offer additional information, she stayed stuck in the fog of her own lacking memory.

The tension between her and Paul was steadily rising as well. His constant need to watch over her threw them together more often than not. She was staying over at his house regularly, much to her mother’s delight and her father’s uneasy complicity. Maya felt simultaneously overwhelmed with joy at getting to be so close to Paul and at the same time completely suffocated. She knew the former was the work of the imprint and she tried to not let herself recline in it too long, but it was impossible when she was always with him.

He’d even started coming over to her house for dinner once a week to get to know her parents more and spread out on her bed while she did homework. It was kind of sweet watching him move through her room for the first time. His broad frame looked so out of place amongst her delicate, soft room. But Maya couldn’t help but feel entirely tread on.

Once April had arrived and spring break was upon her, she thought Paul would start to ease up. They were well past the incident, he was taking trips to Seattle again with regularity, and they were finding an easy rhythm.

On one unseasonably warm April day, Maya set up on the back deck at Paul’s in her red bikini to sunbathe. It was still almost too cold to do it, but Maya was determined to soak in some extra sun. Not to mention, she needed some persuasive aid to get him to agree to what she was going to ask him. After about 20 minutes, he came out through the back door and stalled instantly when he saw her laid out, nearly naked.

“What are you doing?” his eyes were glued to her body in the small red bikini.

“Getting a pre-tan for the SoCal trip.” Maya said, readjusting her sunglasses and not moving to look at him. He stayed by the door, not wanting to get closer. Paul had never seen her this undressed before—that had been her plan though. Take him off guard and then swoop in for the kill.

“What SoCal trip?” He asked. Maya tensed a little at this, steeling herself.

“We’re all heading down to SoCal for a few days. I shouldn’t be gone longer than a week.” She breezed past the brunt of it. Maya knew it was risky to tell rather than ask with him, but she was determined to get him to loosen his grip on her a little and confidence was key.

“What?” He sounded genuinely confused.

“The senior trip...everyone goes to blow off steam and swim in water that isn’t freezing.” Maya responded easily. Here it comes.

“No.” Paul said simply moving toward his workshop now.

“No?” Maya yanked her sunglasses up and leaned up to turn and look at him.

“You’re not going to that.” He pulled open his workshop doors.

“What why!?” Maya jumped to her feet now and Paul’s eyes immediately shot over to her, raking over her body.

“Because it’s a huge drive with a bunch of reckless kids, no way. Plus—” he gestured to her body and she looked down at her swimsuit.

“Plus what?!” she said annoyed.

“You? On a beach like that? No way.” The jealousy was clear in his voice and Maya glared at him.

“Well, thank you for your concern, but I’m still going.” Maya put her hands on her hips and heard that growl rumble in his throat. Paul wasn’t great with acts of defiance but to be fair, Maya was more reckless when it came to Paul than she had been throughout her entire life. Maybe it was just the need to rebel against the imprint, but the tighter he held onto her, the more Maya wanted to fight back. But like a slingshot, she’d always rocket back toward him, the imprint pull almost too much for her, and she’d settle in his arms for a bit before trying again. Right now, she was straining against the straps of the slingshot and Paul was tense.

“No you’re not.” he said with a firm tone, his eyes commanding and clear, locked with hers.

“You’re not my keeper. You can’t tell me where I can and cannot go.” Maya snapped before she realized what she’d said. Paul was simmering under the surface, his eyes burned with the truth of the statement. He desperately wanted to keep her, Maya knew that.

“You’re my imprint. And I’m not letting you out of my sight, especially not after what just happened.” Maya flinched at this.

“Then let Collin go with me!” Her voice was rising now.

“Because Collin is the beacon of responsibility?” he scoffed, dismissively. Maya was going red in the face now with anger.

“Fine, then Jeremy.” She knew this wouldn’t fly, but she said it anyway, even if just to get a rise out of him now that there wasn’t any winning.

Paul shook his head “Not a chance, Maya. End of discussion.” Maya let out a frustrated groan and turned back to lay on the deck. There was no reasoning when he was like this. “Go inside and put some clothes on.” He grumbled more to himself.

Maya ignored him and Paul blasted music from his workshop as he started working.

“What do you mean he said no?!” Keye said from her bed as she flipped through her College Algebra textbook. Maya was across from her sitting in the fluffy white egg chair by the window, scribbling notes for her Economics class.

“Just what I said, I thought the bikini would distract him enough to agree to anything,” Maya said with a little laugh and then her face fell serious, “But he didn’t budge. He’s still on the ‘Not after what happened’ excuse.”

“Well, just come anyway,” Keye said casually.

“Oh, yeah, like that won’t spectacularly backfire. A raging Paul in SoCal scooping me up embarrassingly from the beach in front of literally everyone?” Maya cringed with embarrassment at the thought. He would do it too.

“My, this is fucking weird. What is he going to do when you go to college? Barricade the door?” Keye said angrily. Maya tensed at this and didn’t meet her eyes for a second. Paul and her hadn’t touched the topic of college since the car conversation. “Hello?” Keye waved at her from the bed. “Seriously My, he needs to loosen up.”

“You’re telling me,” Maya gulped. “But he’s still just so wound up after what happened.” Maya broached carefully. Keye was suddenly very interested in her textbook. “It was pretty intense, right?”

“Paul has a right to be worried, but he can’t keep you locked away forever,” Keye slipped. Maya looked at her strangely.

“He has a right to be worried? Before you were like: ‘Maya knock him back a few pegs.’ And now he has a right?” she probed. Keye’s eyes were darting around the page of her textbook but she clearly wasn’t reading it, just buying herself some time.

“You’re an easy target as an imprint. And Sam’s little protection group basically begs for danger at all times so… It makes sense that Paul’s all over you at the moment. You had a close call,” she replied cryptically.

“Keye, we were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It wasn’t like a targeted attack or anything nefarious. That club was divey as hell.”

Keye shrugged and Maya knew the conversation was already over, but she didn’t want to give up so easily.

“What are you not telling me?” she asked her bluntly. Maya had yet to take this approach with her friends. She thought they would eventually talk to her about it once they were over the shock of Maya’s injuries, but they never did. Instead they eluded her at every step. Keye’s eyes shot up to hers, worried.

“What do you mean?” her voice was small. Keye’s voice was never small. Maya pounced.

“You know what I mean, Keye. You and Becks..Jeremy. You guys aren’t telling me something about what happened that night. I’m sick of being kept in the dark. So fess up. What the fuck happened?” Maya was burning now. Her phone buzzed next to her, probably Paul, but she ignored it.

“I have no idea what you’re—” Keye started slowly.

“Oh fuck OFF! You do! Just tell me.” she replied angrily. Keye was at a loss, her mouth hanging open in uncertainty at what to say next.

“Keye?” Keye’s mom called from down the stairs as Maya stared at her angrily. Keye gave her an exasperated look and then hopped up from her bed, yanking open her bedroom door and leaving. Maya’s phone buzzed again.

Paul: I’m picking you up from Keye’s at 8:30.

P: Have you eaten yet?

Maya thought about not responding, but her resolve quickly waned.

Later that night, with Paul’s arms wrapped around her waist and his lips on her shoulder drifting in and out of sleep, she whispered:

“Paul, I’m gonna go on the senior SoCal trip.” Paul’s hand drifted across her stomach and he didn’t say anything for a while.

“My, please.” he said quietly. His lips grazed her exposed shoulder and gave her goosebumps.

“I want to go,” she pleaded. His grip tightened around her waist and she waited.

“Let me think about it,” he murmured. Maya sighed and dug her head into the pillow, straining away from him, but his tight grip on her held her body in place against him.

Maya played it cool for the next couple of weeks leading up to spring break. Paul still hadn’t made a decision and she was resolved to think that he was definitely not going to let her go willingly. But Keye was still pressuring her to go and Maya reassured her that she was absolutely going to make it no matter what.

The last week before school let out for Spring Break, Maya was perched on Paul’s couch with her Spanish book in her lap. Paul was on a phone call outside on the back deck and her eyes darted over to his frame in the moonlight every so often. She was building up the courage to ask him one last time if she could go, but her mind was made up. The plan was to leave Saturday morning and drive through the day and night to their destination to maximize their four days.

When Paul hung up and came inside he walked toward her on the couch.

“Sorry,” he said sitting down next to her. “Last minute changes to this project bound for expo.”

“That’s okay,” Maya said sweetly, glancing up at him and returning to practice verbs in her Spanish textbook. Paul started texting on his phone and after about five minutes of comfortable silence, Maya took a deep breath and looked up at him. “Paul?”

“Yes, Maya,” he said without looking at her right away.

“Have you thought about it?” she said tentatively, tapping her pencil on her textbook.

“Have I thought about what?” he said slowly, looking at her somewhat confused. Maya deflated and in an almost whine she said,

“The SoCal trip. We’re leaving this Saturday so…” she trailed off. Paul ran a hand down his face and gave a groan.

“My, we talked about this.” He said, shaking his head.

“No, you said you’d think about it and I said I was going.” Maya confirmed, sitting up straighter. He set her with a stare and Maya slumped just a little under his gaze.

“It’s not a good idea. I don’t feel comfortable letting you go that far for that long without—”

“But Collin will be there! And Jeremy!” Maya complained. Paul opened his mouth to retort but she continued, “I know you don’t like Jeremy after whatever you think happened but it wasn’t his fault. And anyways, I’d be safe with or without them there.”

“I don’t trust anyone else to keep an eye on you right now Maya. That’s just the way it is.” She stared at him for a while and he looked at her seriously again when he said, “The answer is no. It’s not safe.” Maya’s face fell and she felt the anger rising up in her now.

She was never a particularly angry person, but something in the way Paul pushed her made her quick to anger sometimes. And without any good way to get it out, it normally ended up spilling out in some sort of tantrum that she always ended up regretting. But this time, she felt Paul was being totally unreasonable.

“This is bullshit,” she slapped her book shut and got up off the couch, striding over to the kitchen table and shoving it in her backpack.

“Maya,” Paul tried to placate from the couch.

“No!” Maya said, the anger coming out now, “Paul this is fucking ridiculous. You can’t keep me here like this. I want to go with my friends, so I’m going to go.” She was walking toward the back door now with her backpack slung on her back as she pulled on her shoes.

“Maya,” Paul warned as he got up now. “Stop. You know why I can’t let you go. It’s too much right now. I’m not saying you can’t go anywhere ever, but this trip is too much of a risk and I can’t go with you to keep you safe.”

“Tough! I can handle myself,” her hand was on the door now and Paul was beside her grabbing her arm.

“Don’t act like this.” There was anger laced in his voice now. “You’re staying here tonight, remember?”

“You’re the one who’s causing this reaction, Paul. You’re being unreasonable and I don’t want to stay with you when you’re like this, so let go of me.”

“You can stay upstairs and I’ll sleep on the couch.” He said firmly not letting go of her arm.

“Let. Go. Of. Me. Paul,” Maya said through gritted teeth.

“It’s late, you’re not walking home in the dark. Stay here and be mad at me.” He said, his grip loosening a little on her arm at her request but not completely.

“Paul, let me the fuck go,” Maya’s voice was rising now. She saw a flicker of anger pass across his eyes that softened into something else—pain?

“I’ll let you go when you take off your bag and shoes and come sit down. You’re not leaving tonight.” He said with an edge of finality.

“I want to leave, let me fucking leave!” Maya pulled against his grasp and he grunted in frustration as he leaned down to pick her up and throw him over his shoulder. “PAUL PUT ME DOWN. YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE!” she yelled. He didn’t seem fazed by it and walked her toward the stairs.

“Not until you calm down.” he said, trying to control the anger in his voice.

“PAUL I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T PUT ME DOWN I’M GOING TO SCREAM BLOODY FUCKING MURDER.” Maya was struggling against him now.

“My Stop!” he said as he let her down. She yanked out of his grip, all fire in her eyes now. She was furious. The suffocating feeling that had been building in her since she and Paul started seeing each other more boiled over. She had to get out of this house so she could breathe and find herself again.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” she seethed, taking a step back from him.

“Maya what the fuck is going on? This isn’t that big of a deal, I don’t get it. You’re acting like a baby!” Paul shot back at her, a little too aggressively. Maya stood her ground.

“You do this all the fucking time Paul. I shouldn’t have to ask your permission to do anything, imprint or not!” She yelled back. Paul rolled his eyes and tried to take a step toward her. “Stop! Please. Fuck.” Maya yelled. He paused. “This isn’t working. This is just confusing you and confusing me. What are we even doing?!” Maya was out of breath all of the sudden.

Paul was taken aback and the sadness in his eyes was apparent.

“What do you mean?” he breathed, incredulous.

“You know what I mean.” Maya spat. Did he flinch? “This isn’t a relationship. This isn’t anything. We are not together. We play pretend and you get some sick control over me. I’m tired of it. It’s not me. I didn’t choose to be an imprint, so you don’t get to control me because you think you’re protecting me.”

“Maya, I need you to help me here. I can’t let you leave—”

“Yeah, I got that!” she yelled over him. “But Paul, what happens when I leave for college? What happens when I’m halfway across the country? Are you just going to lock me in your house and call it good?”

Paul’s chest was rising and falling with heavy breaths now. The shaking was back but his eyes were still that same worried sad look as before.

“Maya, don’t—”

“No! This is not something we can avoid. I am leaving. You get that right? Come the fall, I’m out of here. Off the reservation. Away from all of this. Away from you! And you have to fucking figure that out because I’m not staying. Not for anyone Paul.” She yelled, her eyes wild. Paul was focusing on quieting the tremors wracking his body. Maya took her chance and walked hurriedly toward the back door, scooping up her discarded backpack, slamming the door behind her.

Paul didn’t chase her as she made her way down the darkened path toward the beach, but she heard a definitive crash sound from his house. Maya didn’t look back. Her heart hammered in her chest and when she got far enough down the beach that she couldn’t see his house anymore, she collapsed onto the wet sand in shuddering tears.

The rest of the week was spent in radio silence between the two of them. Maya felt broken and more than once she had to control herself when her body begged her to walk to Paul’s house.

Jeremy kept giving her sidelong glances at the lunch table, but she ignored them, trying to stay chipper and bright. The excitement for the SoCal trip had evaporated once she left Paul’s house, but she put on a wide smile anytime Keye and Becks brought up their planned outfits or excursions for the trip.

That Saturday morning, Maya finished packing her oversized duffel bag with bikinis, cut off jean shorts, cute tops and her toiletries. She checked her phone for the tenth time that morning but still, there was nothing. Keye had sent her a text letting her know they’d be there to pick her up by 9.

Around 8:55, she walked down the stairs and hugged her mom and dad goodbye before stepping out onto the porch to wait for Keye. When she looked up though, a familiar figure stood with his hands in his pockets, pain etched clearly on his face.

Maya’s whole body tensed and she clenched her fists as if ready for a fight. Despite the hesitation and rush of anger she felt, seeing him for the first time in almost a week made her heart flutter and instantly fill her with relief.

She sighed and looked down as she descended the steps walking toward him, staying a few feet away from him to give herself space.

“Going somewhere?” He asked quietly.

“What are you doing here?” Maya said, her voice already exhausted.

“I haven’t heard from you all week. I was trying to give you space..but I’m not very good at space.” His eyes were glued to her.

“Yeah, you mentioned that.” Maya crossed her arms. “Keye’s on her way to come and get me.”

“I know. That’s why I’m going to ask you to get in the car.” He motioned toward the car.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re unbelievable you know?!” Maya scoffed. “Paul, I’m going on this trip with my friends and you can’t stop me because of some weird claim you have on me.”

“I’m not going to make you stay here. Just get in the car. Please,” his eyes were sincere and he waited for her, popping open the passenger door.

“Paul,” Maya groaned.

“Maya. Please. Trust me.” He pleaded. Paul tentatively extended his hand toward her and Maya felt that same feeling of resolve break in her. But she couldn’t discount that he seemed to be trying. She sighed and reached out for his hand. He pulled her closer and took the duffel bag off her shoulder as she hopped into the passenger seat.

“Where are we going?” She asked when he jumped up into the driver's seat.

“You’ll see,” he said. A nervous excitement pulsed through Maya as she turned and looked at Paul with curiosity.

Next > >

[hinaaspanda]

scrawny | pjs

Pairing: Bad Boy! Jisung x Chilhood Besfriend! Reader 

Warnings: swearing, underage drinking, a lot of beating people up, **TW: minor instance of sexual battery, stops really early on**

Genre: Angst, some hints of fluff? 

Word Count: 10,805 whoops

It was expected that guilt etched itself into your heart. You were the reason Park Jisung was so beaten up, after all. You always were. 

inspired by the song Scrawny by the Wallows!

a/n; I apologize if the contents of this fic personally harm you in anyway; I really never meant to hurt anyone, I just wanted to write a more mature-themed fic. 

08 . 07 . 12

“You can’t beat me! I’m older and stronger than you, Sungie!” The high pitched voice of your prideful older brother irked your ears as you timidly picked on the weeds below your crouched knees. His hollers, coupled with laughs from his twin always ruined the calmness the breeze brought you. Your eyes glance towards the poor boy on the receiving end of the torture, none other than the boy next door, Park Jisung. You huffed out a sympathetic sigh. No matter how annoying your brothers get, that poor kid just a few feet away from you always had it worse.

Donghyuck, your first older brother, started at the neighbourhood weakling first. His fist hurled towards Jisung’s lower waist before the second member of this cursed partnership, Jeno, trapped the poor kid’s skull in a headlock. Jisungs figure plummeted into the grass, his small fists punching the air as he failed to fight back. Donghyuck belts out another one of his ear shattering howls before turning to your once peaceful frame. 

“Y/N! LOOK! WE BEAT JISUNG AGAIN!” 

Your hands find themselves tugging at the grass a little harder than you wanted to, the green residue staining your palms once you finally let go. You were almost at your limit with Donghyuck and Jeno, the two buttheads you had to call family. You had enough of it all. You stomp towards your brothers as rays of irritation emitted from you. 

“You two are so annoying sometimes! Can’t you just stay put and be quiet for ONCE?” you pleaded, your demanding voice throwing everyone at the park off, especially your two brothers. After all, you were always quiet, always patient with them. They watched fearfully as you gestured towards the poor Jisung lying limp on the grass, bloody bruises and scars covering up his once innocent skin. The air froze still as everyone on the playground waited for your next words. “And please stop hurting Jisung already! He’s younger than you, it’s not fair!”

Jisung winced at your words. He knew you'd say that he wasn’t strong enough. He rubs the fresh scab on his knee, his eyes concentrating on the drops of blood dripping down from it, in the hopes of distracting himself from his own confusing feelings. He knew he was weak, more than anyone else on this playground. But hearing it from you hurt just a little bit more.

The air between the four of you grew silent, the only thing making any noise was the wrestling leaves caught in the spring breeze. In any other occasion, you would have taken your time to relish this moment, but now you had your dumb, older brothers to take care of. You scan their seemingly scared figures before Donghyuck once again lets out an aggravating chuckle. 

“You can’t talk to us like that!!” Donghyuck suddenly gave you a stern look, slightly shaking his head in disappointment, as Jeno stepped beside him. “You better watch your mouth, y/n. We’re older than you, remember?”

Fear shot down your spine. What were you thinking? You’d practically be dead meat once your mom finds out you yelled at them! You sealed your eyes as you braced for impact, impact of your brothers lecturing fists breaking your frame. Impact that, also, never seemed to actually occur. Slowly your eyes opened, revealing something jaw dropping. 

Jisung’s back faced you, his stance showing an essence of power his 10 year old figure never showed before. His hands, already bruised and crumpled into fists, lowered themselves to his side as your older brothers both took their turn laying defeated on the beat up grass. Groaning in pain, Donghyuck cuddled his newly injured torso, while Jeno soothed his side with the back of his palm. 

“Don’t talk to y/n like that, Donghyuck.” Jisung boomed, his eyes never leaving the sight of the two conquered 12 year olds still drowning in pain. 

 Later that night, you watched as all three boys sunk into an endless night of lectures about not getting into fights, a night you were luckily allowed to skip. Your mind runs back to that earth shattering scene, your brothers lying below the neighborhood weakling, his stance more powerful than those of superheros. You watched Jisung trot home from your bedroom window

Maybe Park Jisung isn’t so weak after all.

...

05 . 16 . 15

“Zhong Chenle, If you make us late to class ONE MORE TIME I swear I will hurt you.” You threaten your new neighbour on the phone. You rubbed your temples with the nimble pads of your fingers, knowing full well Chenle hasn’t even brushed his teeth yet. 

“Hold on! I’m almost ready, just give me like five more minutes!” 

“You said that ten minutes ago!” 

“I mean it this time! I swear!” 

“Just hurry up, ok?” You pleaded before cutting the call. As you hastily shoved your phone into your jacket pocket, a disheveled Chenle emerged from his front door, the piece of toast hanging from his lips reminiscent of those anime girls Donghyuck always drooled over. 

You could still remember the day Chenle came into your life, taking over the vacant house beside yours. His bubbly, cheerful demeanour taking over your entire summer with all these trips to the basketball court and raids at the neighbourhood convenience store. In your eyes, he was the perfect addition to your neighbourhood friend group, which at that point in your life, only consisted of you and the neighborhood scrawny boy, Park Jisung. Well, that’s what you thought at least. 

As the days diverted from bright and sunny, to cold and frigid, and as the three of you grew more overwhelmed with middle school, Jisung grew more and more distant. As for the reason? Well, you wanted to know more than anyone, but that puzzle was harder to crack than any of your grade 7 homework. These days, it was so rare to see his face, you almost forgot he shared a class with you, or still resided six steps beside your house. 

“When do you think Jisung’s gonna hang out with us again?” Chenle’s abrupt voice awoke you from your sorrowful slumber. Your head sinks down, your eyes watching your feet on the subway floor. “I don’t know, Chenle.”  

 Your ears couldn’t help but drown out your teacher’s voice as they taught today’s lesson. You had other things to worry about, anyways. Like what you were going to eat today, or how your hair looked tied up like how it is now. But more importantly, what was going through his mind from across the classroom. It wasn’t long before the bell finally rang, signaling the student’s freedom. Your exhausted eyes watched as the herd of teenagers crowded the exit, leaving three figures inside and all alone; you, Chenle, and Jisung. 

From the corner of your eye, you watch Chenle slumps his bag over his shoulders as he, with overflowing panic, shuffled towards the brooding teenager, who looked like he was just staring at you a minute ago. Off to the side, you prayed for Chenle’s success. Or more accurately, his safety. 

“H-hey Jisung, do you wanna, uh, walk home with us?” 

Jisung pondered for a little bit, then continued.

“...us?”

“Yeah, me and y/n.” Chenle raised a palm in your direction while Jisung’s eyes followed almost instantly. All while you tried your best to hide the fact you were watching all of this go down. 

You sensed a shift in Jisungs mood just then, going from simply tired and wanting to head home already, to… anger? Why would he be angry?

“No thanks, you guys can go ahead”

Jisung shot up from his desks, various chairs and classroom furniture shivering in fear. Jisung winced at those words. The same sting he felt all those years ago at the playground with Donghyuck and Jeno, ripped through his chest. But it wasn’t like he was being called weak, or that he needed to prove his worth. No, it was simply that you were with someone else. Not with him.  “But we all live on the same street.”

“I’m fine, Chenle”

“Come on, man-”

Suddenly, Jisung whipped around, facing the innocent transfer student. He shot him one last glare before sending his figure to the ground with his fist, faster than the bullet train that provided you a ride to school this morning. Chenle let out a howl of pain as you bounced out of your seat, coming to his aid. Jisung watches as you hold Chenle’s body close, closer than he would’ve liked, before sending you a glare as well. 

“Stay away from y/n” He huffed before trekking away from the scene of his own crime. You follow closely behind, the zipper of your bag opening wider as you drag it along.

“Jisung!” You cry, your eyes scanning the halls for your neighbor, your neighbor that was always full of surprises. You finally find him slowly making his way towards the school doors before he stops, turning around to face you.

You never really noticed how much he grew over these few years. Now, his figure was taller, much taller than yours ever could be, easily towering over your small frame. His shoulders were broader, he looked meaner. This wasn’t your scrawny neighbourhood friend any more. 

“What?” He muttered, his face noticeably softer now that Chenle was out of his sight. His fingers gripped the strap of his bag as he stared you down, watching you fumble with your own words. He would rather die than admit it, but you looked cute, all nervous like that.

“Why’d you hit Chenle?”

“I-” Now he was the stuttering mess. “I don’t know”

He paused, his suddenly guilty eyes meeting yours. “I didn’t like him being with you.” 

You could almost laugh in disbelief. Was he being serious? Your head cocks to the side while your arms cross into themselves. “Jisung, please”

Jisung held his head down, knowing full well of how lame he was right now. Your eyes however, tried finding his again. Reassurance etched in each of your pupils as you lightly nudged his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry Jisung, I’m not gonna leave you.” 

His frame brightened up instantaneously as you watched him practically jump for joy at your words. So after all those years, Jisung was still a big softie, huh? 

“Now, go apologize to Chenle and let’s all go home together, ok?” You spun around, back to the classroom. Jisung swiftly trailed behind you. Of course he didn’t think twice about his apology. Sure, his pride was at stake, but for you? Park Jisung would do anything. 

...

04 . 10 . 17

“Get off me, you freak!” The pinned down middle schooler scowled under the grasp of Jisung’s bloodied knuckles. He gasped for air as Jisung clamped his hands down in a chokehold. Jisung tired his best to shoot him a mean glare through his bruised and blackened eye. 

“Don’t you dare touch y/n like that, got it?” He growled, his eyes never leaving the sight of the suffering student. Jisung watched as he desperately pried himself away from Jisung’s grasp. He deserved this, though. That moron had zero right grazing his against your thigh. Especially not on his watch. 

“It was an accident!” The student dizzily coughed out, his neck still trapped between Jisungs strong palms. “I won’t do it again, alright? Just let me go already!!” 

Like the parting of the red sea, Jisung’s palms subsided from the student’s neck, finally setting him free. The student collapsed to the ground, hissing in pain before sending Jisung a dirty look. The various students that once crowded around the scene rushed away to the sounds of an irritated teacher, leaving an awestruck Chenle, a damaged Jisung, and your guilt ridden self behind in the third year hallway. It was expected that guilt etched itself into your heart. You were the reason Park Jisung was always so beaten up, after all. You always were. 

Your sorrowful frame couldn’t muster up the courage to spit out a cohesive sentence before the P.A. system blasted through your ears. The next words that deadpan, robotic voice would utter were terribly easy to predict. 

“Park Jisung to the principal’s office, please. Park Jisung to the principal’s office. Thank you.” 

“Ow! That stings!” Jisung seethed, his hands, newly patched the moment you retired home for the night, digging into your teddy bear’s flesh as you applied the medicine to his wounded cheekbone. You scoffed beside him, picking up more medicine with the q-tip in your hand. “Well, it wouldn’t have to sting if you didn’t beat up that kid in the first place!” 

“He touched you weirdly!” He groaned in pain as you plopped another layer of that ice cold medicine he hated. 

“It was an accident! And he apologized before you choked him to near-death!” You shot back, your grip on the q-tip growing tighter. A sensation you noticed only happened whenever emotions overflowed in your heart. The pads of your fingertips gently spread a bandaid over his callous skin as the air in your bedroom grew tense. Your chest pushed out a heaving sigh. “I’m sorry, y/n.”

“I can take care of myself, Jisung.” You glanced down, cleaning up the mess from your first-aid kit. “So please, stop hurting yourself for me. I hate seeing you all beat up like this, Sungie.” 

Sungie. Sungie. It sent butterflies to his stomach. That simple childish nickname, pulling him back to that playground. The start of his fighting career. He didn’t care if that was some random nickname from Donghyuck. It sounded better when you said it. Much, much better. 

Jisung awoke from his daze as he felt a pair of lips softly graze his newly mended cheek. His head whipped fast to face you, but barely catching up to the record breaking speed of his ears turning pink. With his cheeks soon following after. His eyes, wider than any body of ocean found on this planet, flusteredly stared you down with only one question in mind. What. Was. That.

You held your clumsy eye contact as you leaned away from your rushed, but sweet, kiss. “Please?” You barely let out in a whisper. Jisung let out a soft grin, his hand hesitantly brushing yours. 

“Alright.” 

You once again watched Jisung trek the four steps to his front door before freefalling onto your bed, a full on, red-cheeked, flustered mess. Lee y/n, what the hell is wrong with you. 

...

07 . 23 . 17

The ice cream melting at such a rapid pace underneath the scolding summer heat was the least of your and Chenle’s concerns. Not with the moving truck parked outside the house of your childhood neighbor and friend?, Park Jisung. After sending flabbergasted looks to each other, the two of you bolted to the front door, disregarding any need of cleaning up after yourselves.

You couldn’t keep still as Chenle banged his fist on the door. Was he moving out? You thought back to this summer. The countless nights the three of you would relish in each other’s company, whether it would be just resting on one of your beds, scrolling through your phones, or at the playground, taking turns on the ancient swings. You smiled to yourself, remembering how Jisung would never swing himself, opting to just push you instead. Would you ever see him again? Your heart cracked open just a little bit at that last thought. The possibility of him leaving you? It hurt more than any punch or chokehold could. 

Suddenly, the tired figure of Jaemin, Jisung’s level-headed older brother, emerged. His irritated expression contrasting his welcoming gestures as he allowed the two of you inside without saying a word. And while you had nothing against Jaemin, you really wanted to see Jisung. That boy had some explaining to do.

“Boarding school!? Overseas!?” You and Chenle collectively yelp in surprise, the lemonade Jaemin generously provided you quivering in response. 

“Yeah, our parents thought it was a good way to calm him down, get rid of that fighting habit he got over the years.” Jaemin informed. “He left yesterday, didn’t he tell you?” 

Your lip bled as you bit into its flesh. No, he didn’t tell you. But you had a strong gut feeling you were the very reason for that hiatus he was taking from your life. You couldn’t help but lock yourself in your bedroom for the rest of the night, against poor Chenle’s wishes. All of it, everything was your fault. Park Jisung wasn’t the weakling, now. You were. 

...

03 . 18 . 19

The azure sky looked almost haunted at night. Chills raged through your spine as you, and an exhausted Chenle, shuffled your way home. Your plastic bag of trophies, commemorating another shop raid, hung loosely from your fingertips. Your figure gravitated towards the worn out playground bench as Chenle let out another ear piercing yawn. You were glad he didn’t retire to his own home just yet, though. You enjoyed his company. 

“God! My brother’s stuff was such a pain to lug around!” Chenle screeched, soothing his lower back with his palm as you opened one of the few soft drinks you earned from the convenience shop. “Why’d he have’ta move out for college now?” 

“It’s not like he had a choice, you know.” you fought. “School does start back up tomorrow.” 

“Don’t start with that now, y/n.” Chenle enveloped his forehead in his hands in a petrified manner, as you tried your best to stifle your laughter away. “uGH! SCHOOL’S SUCH A PAIN!!” 

You took another sip of your ice cold drink, the can so frozen, it felt hot against your skin. You, however, didn’t really hate the idea of highschool starting up again. You weren’t some measly, small first year anymore. You actually had friends now. But of course, it was a good distraction from the 2 year childhood-neighbour-sized hole in your heart. 

“You’re still thinking about him, huh?” Chenle leaned on the opposing side of the wooden park bench, taking a monstrous bite of the chocolate bar he threw aside his 2 dollars for. You sent him a stare, one conveying an emotion even you couldn’t pinpoint. “You already know what I’m gonna say, Chenle.” 

Chenle let out a light scoff before softly tapping the exposed skin of your forehead with his knuckles. You squirm, interrupting the calmness that was sipping your drink. You hated that out of all the habits Chenle could have developed, flicking your forehead was one of them. “Don’t worry! All you need to do is distract yourself, and I bet you’ll find one once school starts!”

You tilted your head up to the stars, your eyes shifting to the left as they gazed upon a familiar set of navy window curtains. While Chenle’s harmless habit did nudge you a bit, your own habit of missing Park Jisung, was more detrimental to you than any weak forehead flick could be. 

...

“We have a new student today…” The monotonous voice of your newly appointed teacher for the year already blew your ears dry with boredom as your eyes dug through every corner and crevice of this bland classroom for a way to keep you awake. But you deserved some slack to be cut in your favour. It was 9 am in the morning, you would rather be anywhere else but here at the moment. Your eyes were about to roll back in pure exhaustion as your teacher gestured towards the classroom door.

As if on cue, a towering figure sauntered in, woahs and gasps bouncing on the beige walls. You could feel Chenle’s stupefied look burning through the nape of your neck, but you were too trapped in your shock to give him a reciprocating stare. Not with him right in the center of your view. 

His uniform wasn’t remotely set on his frame correctly. The paper-like school blouse, which was supposed to be fully buttoned, was opened up, exposing a black graphic t-shirt splattered with text you never considered to be school-appropriate. In place of the faded-plaid, beige trousers that coupled with your uniform, tight black jeans hugged his legs, the gaping rips showcasing old and newer bruises and scars. A small chain hugged his left hip as your teacher once again gestured to the center 

“Everyone, please welcome, Park Jisung!” 

You knew you were just scanning and processing his appearance like two seconds ago. But finally having that name rip through your ears, you could almost explode from the overwhelmness. 

God, can I just pass away now?

...

“Y/n, I won’t ever leave you again.” Jisung’s husky voice brushed through your ears softly, as he cradled your frame, your faces just centimeters apart. His eyes, with all the stars in the sky trapped inside, gave you a look of sincerity you haven’t properly felt in such a long time. He scooped your hair behind your ear before letting out another heart fluttering whisper. 

“Be with me, y/n. Let’s run away together, hm?” 

“Y/n? Y/N!” The dolphin-esque hollers of Zhong Chenle, combined with the faded ruckus of your school’s cafeteria, jolted you awake from your fantasy as cheap bronze tinted soft drink catapulted itself into the innocence of your white school uniform. Snorts and giggles filled the chests of your friends, especially Chenle’s, as he skipped away to get you a paper towel. 

“You seem so out of it.” The voice of a concerned Sungchan your一classmate and resident caretaker一notices, handing you the towel Chenle oh so urgently retrieved. 

“When am I ever in it?” you scowled as you began destroying the fabric with the white cloth. It earned a sweet chuckle as Sungchan discreetly slid the bottle of pop away from your grasp, avoiding another image-wrecking incident. He shined a refreshing grin in your direction as Chenle bounced back onto the lunch table. 

“She was probably just bein’ emo about Jisung again, leave her be, Sungchan.” Chenle leaned in to inspect your once again dazed figure, the clicks of his judging tongue just pissing you off a little more than it usually did. “Weren’t you, y/n?”

Of course you were, you always were.

“Park Jisung? The new kid? He was an asshole to her, she's allowed to be mad, right?” The other new addition to this weird clique (and your saving grace), Shotaro, chimed in.

Chenle let out another snort, his knowing eyes now glaring at yours. “You would think so, Sho, you would think so.” 

“Okay. But he still outright ignored her, right? That’s still a pretty bad move” Shotaro rebutted. Chenle’s eyes went from devious to anxious in a heartbeat as the air around you grew silent. 

Yes, Park Jisung一your friend and neighbour for almost all of your life, did indeed ignore you after two whole years of little to no contact. And yes, you were bitter about it. Hell, it broke your heart, smashed it into pieces better than any one of his anger filled punches could. The way his eyes never fully reached yours, his cold, irritated expression. His back turned away from you, this time in an effort to hurt you. 

Although, he shouldn’t have this effect on you. For two years, you were deprived of his dangerous yet heartwarming company. You were left alone, ignored via text, forgotten. You could handle this. You watched as he shuffled past your table silently, earning gasps from the audience of students as the delinquent character he recently shifted into. You could handle leaving Jisung. Right?

“I know what could get your mind off that asshole!” Sungchan suddenly chirped beside you, earning the eyes of a curious Shotaro and a confused Chenle. You however, tuned in as fast as humanly possible, praying for any decent distraction you could get. 

“Let’s go on a date.” 

Jisung couldn’t pry his eyes off your figure, glistening under the afternoon sun that peeked through the cafeteria windows. Your attention, laid on anything else but him as you chatted away with your new friends. He stabbed the stale food with the flimsy plastic fork as he watched you, from the other side of the room, let out your signature laugh; a window-wiper sounding chuckle that you always shielded with your hand. He hated that hand part, though, your smile was too pretty to hide.

Despite your upbeat demeanour, he knew you. Confused at his lack of connection, the barren text threads on your phone. He knew you were probably furious at him right now, for not even sparing her a glance throughout class. And despite how much he just wishes to just stomp on over to you, pick up your precious frame, and kiss you right then, he couldn’t. 

He scans his morning old text threads, finding any way to distract himself from the fanservice playing in his thoughts. He clicks the most recent thread, a thread that only made him regret his decision to pick up his phone ever. 

Jaem Bro [8:46am]: have fun at school :)

Jaem Bro [8:46am]: remember what mom said, too. don’t talk to y/n 

Jaem Bro [8:47am]: she’ll only bring back your bad habits

Jisung scowls as he shoves his phone away. 

Piss off, Jaemin. 

...

“I had fun today.” Sungchan hummed as he practically skipped beside you that Saturday night. His towering figure shielded you from the glaring light of the street lamp as you softly hummed a response. “Yeah, I had fun too.”

Of course you weren’t lying. All in all, you truly did have a good time on your date. Sungchan kept his promise, all while enjoying kittens at a cat cafe, demolishing your self esteem at the arcade, and even feeding you food you never thought a 17 year old could afford. For the whole day, it felt like that Jisung-shaped hole in your heart was filled, simply retiring into an afterthought. And that would be true, if you hadn’t passed by an all too familiar bedroom as you walked home that night. 

It was an all too familiar feeling, the clenching of your heart as you gazed upon those curtains. His bed, which was also in view, sending you memories of patching that clumsy boy up almost every day. It all washed back to you. Sungchan suddenly nudged your side, waking you up from your cursed thought train. But after seeing what he saw, all you could do was yearn to return back to your dreamland.

To say that Jisung’s eyes simply widened at the sight of you, grinning sweetly at another guy, would be a definite understatement. He came so close to dropping his newly opened soda can as a series of texts shifted into his mind 

Don’t talk to y/n, she’ll only bring back your bad habits.

Jisung clenches his jaw watching you giggle at that asshole’s (presumably bad) joke. Maybe Jaemin was right. Maybe he shouldn’t talk to you anymore. You clearly didn’t need him now. 

“Jisung?” You yelped, stunned. Jisung watched you slowly inch back closer to that beanpole. He felt his limbs being pulled back into his fighting habits, jealousy burning through his lips. His hands, still off to his sides, balling up into fists. Someone was gonna get hurt tonight.

“Were you guys on a date?” 

“We-”

“Yeah, we were'' Sungchan cut in, his arm shielding you from Park Jisung’s wrath. “Got a problem with that, buddy?”

Steam puffed from Jisung’s ears as he stalked towards Sungchan. “You got some nerve talking to me like that, buddy” Jisung hissed. He was at his limit. He gave Sungchan one last nasty look. Target: Acquired. Except, with the last two years of zero practice under his belt, his aim wasn’t exactly good. It was horrible, actually.

It all happened too fast for you, one second you were safely guarded by Sungchan’s shoulder. The next? Lying limp at the mercy of Jisung’s hatred-filled fist. His knuckles jabbing deep into the crevice of your cheekbone. Deep down, you knew it was probably just an accident. But your heart didn’t listen to you. It never did.

“Ji-” You could barely muster through your own tears. You wanted to scream from the pain. But not just the physical pain. 

Jisung stood frozen before your defeated figure. Shit. What the hell was wrong with him. All he wanted was to knock out that asshole for a little bit.

“I-” Jisung stammered

“Forget it, Jisung. Quit being an asshole and leave me alone!” You spat out those last few words a little louder than you intended to as you wobbled up, storming away. Away from him, away from Sungchan and your own home. You didn’t care how far you’d go. You didn't care about the sudden rainfall pouring on you. Your mind just told you one thing and one thing only. Run

I hate you so much, Park Jisung.

Jisung waited for the sky to dress into its daily midnight attire before finally ducking into the comfort of his own home. He was overwhelmed, to say the least. Pissed, definitely, with that Sungchan asshole just existing around you. Tired, for staying out till 1 in the morning again. But mostly guilt, for being the very reason your eyes weren’t completely dry that night. He knew he was gonna regress into his fighting habits soon enough, but never like this. His eyes glazed over his screen clicking on a familiar contact.

“You WHAT?” Chenle shocked what was left of Jisung’s poor eardrum as he gawked in full astonishment. Jisung couldn’t see Chenle’s face, but he knew for a fact it was scrunching up in confusion. Jisung watched the still streetlight from his bedroom window, guilt still welling up in him.  “Man, what am I gonna do?” 

“Oh, I don’t know? Apologize?”

“How am I gonna do it? She’s not gonna wanna talk to me after this! I’m screwed!” Chenle grew silent on the other line, his brain striking an idea harder than the sudden rain pour.  “That’s it! Sung, what’s y/n’s favorite thing to buy at the shop? The one down our street?” 

Jisung’s eyebrows furrowed. “...She likes their ramen a lot, but what’s that got to do with any of this?”

“Meet me at the shop tomorrow morning. I know how to fix this.”

...

“SUNGIEEE!” Donghyuck shrieked, throwing Jisung off of his caution-filled thought process as the front door blew wide open. Although, it wasn’t much of a thought process, but rather just the repeated question of What the hell am I doing here, and you, of course. But no matter, you were always running through his mind anyways. Donghyuck pulled Jisung into a tight, brotherly hug. “Where have ya been?? I missed you!” 

Jisung shined a bogus smile at his childhood bully. This better fucking work, Zhong Chenle. 

Jisungs legs drowned in a pool of hesitance as he shuffled into your home, his ears shielding the irritable rambles of Lee Donghyuck, one half of the annoying Lee Twins duo. He didn’t care if he hadn't seen Donghyuck’s face in over two years, the only thing he searched for was you.

“You’re here for y/n right? She got a cold from the rain last night, but I could probably let you in.” Donghyuck informed, as if he could read Jisung’s mind.

“You should hurry up and be our in-law soon, Sungie!” He nudged Jisung’s arm a few times, a mischievous grin suggesting that he either read into his mind a little too much, or that Jisung was just blatantly obvious about his feelings. He prayed that it wasn’t the latter. Another figure suddenly emerged from the kitchen, giving Donghyuck a nice, crisp slap on the nape of his neck. 

“Oi, quit bein’ such a creep, will you?” Lee Jeno, the other, more down-to-earth half of the Lee twins, defied. “He’s 17, dumbass.”

Donghyuck jokingly wailed in pain, a habit he's kept since childhood, apparently. Jeno turned his attention to Jisung, a sympathetic stare shining in his eyes. At least he turned out half-way decent. 

“Y/n’s upstairs if you need her, but uh-” Jeno scratches his head. “I don’t think she wants to see you, or anyone, really.”

“That’s fine,” Jisung’s eyes ducked to the bag of snacks hanging from his hand. “I’ll just drop these off and head out.” 

“Don’t have too much fun, Sung-OW!” Donghyuck chirped, irking Jisung as he earned a slap on the shoulder from his twin. Thank god for Jeno.

Your aching head actually didn’t hurt that much, at least compared to the pain of your brooding heart. You watched a leaf fall to the ground from your bedroom window. The pain still piercing through your side, the guilt for leaving Sungchan behind at the playground, or the  confusing monstrosity of Park Jisung, it all overtook you. Your measly little brain couldn’t handle it. 

The creaking of the door wasn’t enough to spin you back to reality, but apparently, his cautious footsteps were. Your head snapped forward, your eyes meeting the view of his ripped jeans, and a plastic bag littered with snacks. Of course.

“Jisung?”

“H-hey”

You watched as Jisung stammered under his breath. He looked so nervous facing you, worlds more nervous than moment’s before one of his brawling sessions.

Jisung’s eyes kept rejecting yours as he fumbled with the plastic bag amidst his grasp. To be completely honest, Jisung was sure you wouldn’t even let him in, much less talk to him. Even if it was in such a cold manner. He shuffled towards her laying figure, his eyes still glued to the wall as he hands her the plastic bag. 

“I, uh一no, my mom wanted me to give you this.” Jisung stuttered.

You dig through the bag, the only thing trapped within it bound to give you diabetes. You scoff. “Your mom wants me to eat instant noodles?” 

Shit, right. That doesn’t make any sense. 

“Ahaha, yea” Jisung trailed off, backing away from you before proceeding to brutally stab his elbow onto your door handle. Who’s dumb idea was it to name it the funny bone, anyways? Nothing about it was funny. He lets out a soft hiss after finally turning away from you. Well, maybe Jisung himself was, he was a clown, afterall. 

“Wait.” You suddenly squeaked, making Jisungs' shoulders jerk up. Was she gonna-

“Come help me.” You handed him the cup noodles, wanting nothing but to laugh at his stupid, stupifyied face. You sniffled. “I can’t make noodles by myself like this, you  idiot.”

“Oh, right.” Park Jisung, you absolute clown. 

...

Out of all the situations you could get stuck in, the last one you expected was in your bedroom, trapped in an annoying cold whilst being fed instant noodles by your childhood neighbor, Park Jisung, three whole days after that incident. You watched as his plastic fork, etched in a tremble that had you thinking he was going to die that instant, hastily scooped the processed food before making its way to your mouth. 

However, and you would rather die than admit it, but you missed this warm sensation. You missed the company Jisung provided, the way he would grow soft just for you, moments after beating up some stupid kid. The countless bandages you used in his favour as you patched him up almost every night. You missed it all. And despite having him back in your street, he never really came back to your life. It was all different now. 

You watched him chuck the fork into the now empty noodle bowl, his next few actions sending you on the verge of cardiac arrest. 

With a tissue in hand, Jisung suddenly leaned in, his eyes still veering away from yours as he wiped off some stain on your cheeks. There could have also been no stain at all, and this was just a ruse to get you flustered. Park Jisung has gotten good at playing with your heart lately. His chest was just centimeters apart from yours, any closer and your thumping heart would be completely exposed, not that your vermillion cheeks weren’t a dead give away already. 

“A-am I too close?” Jisung barely whispered. Half of you wanted to say yes, while the other half wanted to pull him even closer. You couldn’t handle this anymore. 

“Why are you here, Jisung?” You suddenly blurted out as you grabbed a hold of his gentle wrist. “And I know it wasn’t for some stupid noodles.”

Jisung’s chest caved in as he let out a sigh. “I, uh wanted to say sorry.”

Your mind flashes back to that night, the image of his fierce, cold eyes still sending shivers down your spine. Jisung continues, his eyes finally holding yours hostage. Here goes nothing.

“I'm sorry for punching you, for making you run away like that.” His guilt ridden eyes scan your bed-ridden frame. “All of this, it’s all my fault.” His eyes collected the stars that hid beneath the afternoon sky. “If you wanna stop talking to me after this, I understand. I’m not good enough for you.” 

There goes your heart again, clenching at anything related to Park Jisung. You hated how he had that effect on you. Yet you also loved it. You let out a soft chuckle sending waves of hope to him. You could never really reject him, could you?

“You really are annoying, sometimes.” You gaze at him, a small grin lining your lips. “But, I don’t think I wanna stop talking to you just yet.” The way Jisung’s frame brightens up the same way it did all those years ago, didn’t fail to warm your heart. “I’ll forgive you, Park Jisung.” 

Without thinking, Jisung pulls you into a gentle hug. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, Jisung softly smiled. No matter how many times Jaemin could nag him, Jisung could never stay away from you. His life was finally back to normal.

“Oh! one more thing!” You murmured. He smiled at you sweetly, giving you the signal to continue. 

“Sungchan’s one of my good friend’s, so please, don’t try and beat him up? And maybe you could even hang out with Chenle and them at school! There’s some new guys there that I think you’d get along with great!” You suggested, your bright demeanour too strong for Jisung’s poor eyes. “Would you at least try? Promise?” 

Jisung shrugged. I mean it wouldn’t hurt. He sends you another soft smile. “Yeah, I promise.”

...

“That’s why you ask for help, dumbass!” Shotaro barked at Chenle, who was currently slumped on the lunch table, brooding about his not so stellar math grade.

“You, good sir, have NO right to talk.” Chenle proudly clapped back. “Mr. ‘35% in english’.” Chenle heaves out an over-exaggerated sigh. “If only y/n was here today, she is the smart one.” 

“Yeah, but it isn’t that hard being the smart one around you, Lele.” Jisung shielded Chenle’s incoming offended slap to the shoulder as he nibbled on the plastic straw drowning in his vending machine soft drink. It alarmed him how fast he mended with your friend group, even if it did just consist of that dolphin brat he’s known for years, and probably the sweetest guy he's ever come across, Shotaro. Then again, maybe he shouldn’t beat up every guy he comes across. 

Jisung glances around the table, where only three chairs were actually occupied. Doesn’t that Sungchan guy hang out here?

“Where’s Sungchan?” Jisung drew in the attention of his new friend. Shotaro’s fingers tapped the plastic table. “It’s weird, he only hangs out with us sometimes, whenever he feels like it, I guess.” Whenever y/n’s around, you mean, Jisung corrected in his head. 

“Or...” Chenle pitched in. “He didn’t wanna hang out with someone who was about to punch him.” Crap. He should probably apologize for that.

“Wait what?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it! Ahaha!” Jisung quickly cut off Shotaro, the fear of getting incredibly embarrassed riling through him. He hoisted the empty soda can in between his fingertips before standing up on his two feet. “I’ll, uh, get another one.” 

  Jisung couldn’t have felt more creepy than he did at that very moment, peeking through the heads of various students as he eyes Sungchan. His mind flashes a very cute image of you, smiling just as softly as you do both three days and two years ago. His breaths grew heavy. This was gonna be easy, just apologize to Sungchan and maybe become his friend, then y/n can really be happy. Jisung let out a deep sigh. For y/n. 

He hesitantly sauntered towards the beanpole currently reaching for his newly paid drink at the vending machine. From the looks of it, this Sungchan guy couldn’t hear Jisung’s calls, making him yell louder. He could feel the stares of the confused highschool students burn through him. God, how annoying can this asshole get?

“Here to finish what you started, Park?” Sungchan suddenly sneered, his eyes narrowing nonchalantly at the Park in question. His laid back posture screaming 'you don't wanna mess with me.'  Jisung raised an eyebrow, scanning Sungchan's current figure, which didn't match with his image from that night. Taken aback at the sudden mood shift, Jisung stuttered. “No, uh, I wanted to say sorry about that, actually.” 

“Save it” Sungchan spat. His eyes fully locked in with Jisung’s before ripping them away at the last second. He encased a white box in his hand before pivoting on his heel. “I'm going for a smoke.”

Jisung eyes go wide. Who the hell is this guy? Sungchan didn’t spare the poor boy a glance before slipping through the school's only emergency exit. Various phrases, all containing the word ‘asshole’, ran through Jisung’s mind as he followed Sungchan, trying his best to remind himself that this was all for you.

The outdoor air brushed lightly against Jisung’s skin, coating him in a refreshing hug. With the pearly blue sky above him, and the lush green trees shading his face, he would’ve relished in the afternoon breeze. He would’ve, if it weren’t for the cigarette smoke overtaking him, all coming from that damn beanpole. 

“What the hell do you want from me, Park” Sungchan hissed, a cloud escaping his lips before whipping around. “Are you here to make friends or some shit?” Jisung threw a hesitant nod at his direction. 

“Look, Sungchan. Let’s just try to get along. For y/n’s sake. That's all she wants.” Jisung extended a hand to Sungchan, only to earn another annoying ass chuckle. “Why would I wanna do something like that for y/n?”

“Don’t you like her or whatever?” 

“No, are you stupid?” 

Jisung’s eyebrows stitched together in confusion.  “Then why-”

“Isn’t it obvious, Park?” Sungchan, stenchy cigarette breath and all, leaned in. God, Jisung wanted to puke right in front of him. “She's hot. I want her.” 

Jisung pondered for a few minutes, and honestly? He wished he never put two and two together. He couldn’t help but hiss under his breath as his hands balled up into their iconic fists. The random dates? The nice guy image? It was all for that? This bastard wanted to take your innocence away. And this bastard had the audacity to hurl another snicker at Jisung. 

“You do know what I’m talking about, right?” Sungchan kissed his cigarette one last time before tossing it to the gravel, the poor paper feeling the wrath of his sneakers. “I wanna have sex-”

Jisung didn’t give him the chance to finish before crushing his gut between the school’s brick wall and his iron fist. Jisung leaned in, his eyes burning with a fury he hadn’t felt in nearly two years. “You’ll be dead before you get the chance to even touch her, got that?” 

Sungchan let out a mighty growl of pain, bending away as Jisung reconnected his fist to Sungchan’s right cheek. The beanpole flew to the ground, red blood spewing from his nose. Jisung scoffed, standing tall with not a single scratch on his skin. For a little while, at least. 

Suddenly, Sungchan flung himself back to his feet, his bruised fist upper-cutting Jisung’s jaw off its course before pinning him down to the stiff hard rock of the pavement. His hands pressed themselves onto each side of Jisung’s neck as the boy underneath gasped for air. Jisung’s fingers clamp onto Sunchan’s wrists, pulling for an escape as Sungchan spits out another irking laugh. “You’re not the only one who can put up a good fight, Park”

Jisung sounded off shallow breaths beneath Sungchan’s grasp. “Why would you...y/n…”

“I’m only human, Park. I got needs. And y/n? she was all depressed, just begging for the attention. It only made sense.” 

Jisung sent a knee through Sungchans chest, rolling on top of him before staining Sungchan with punches all over his skin. Jisung’s fingers tense up around Sungchan's shirt collar as brings him closer, hissing at his leftover cigarette breath. “That doesn’t give you any damn right to fuck her.”

“Why do you care so much? Last time I checked, you left her without saying a word! Looks to me like you're the last person who she would care about.” 

Those texts he left unopened abroad, the missed calls, the wanting stares you sent him on his first day back. It all washed back to Jisung like a typhoon. This bastard was right, he couldn’t protect you like this anymore, he didn’t have the right. He broke your heart over and over again. He was the last person you needed. But no. The bastard needed to be taught a lesson; don't ever mess with his girl. 

“Cause I love her, and I won't let you have her.” Jisung suddenly blurted out, praying that the redness on his cheeks was simply blood. Sungchan let out a heaving chuckle. “Oh? Even more of a reason, then!”

Jisung hissed one final time before trapping Sungchan between his legs, throwing heavy punches left and right, staining his shirt, his fists, Sungchan’s face, and the ground with blood. Like a bomb moments before its explosion, there was no stopping him, he was trapped by his own haze of violence. The only thing pulling him back to reality were Shotaro’s arms as he and Chenle guided the two bruised bodies to the nurse’s office. 

I’m sorry, y/n. I really am. 

...

The image of a bloodied Sungchan, alongside an equally bloodied Jisung, was the last thing you wanted to wake up to from your hefty slumber. Your phone practically levitated from all the buzzing. People you faintly knew, and even some you didn’t, all came to you in utter fear. God, and to think you were on a break.

Y/N!! Sungchan and Jisung were fighting in the parking lot!

Y/N!! You need to come over here asap!!!

You need to control your boys y/n, someone could get seriously injured!!

You couldn’t help but laugh at that last hasty message. It’s too late to worry about someone getting injured. Especially if it’s Park Jisung in question. You glance at probably the only contact that hasn’t, well, contacted you. Your finger, laced with anger, clicks the screen. Park Jisung, you’ve got some explaining to do. 

“You don’t understand!” Jisung’s mighty croak pounded through your phone speaker. However, your attention slowly began to drift away. It only made sense, that’s the fifth time he’s pulled that excuse in this call, alone. “That Sungchan guy is a complete asshole!!” 

“You say that about every damn guy I talk to, Jisung!” You nagged, your eyes practically rolling to the back of your head in disappointment. Some things just couldn’t change, could they?

“Y/n, I’m telling you!! He’s not as nice as you think he is!” You clenched your phone, agitation seeping through your teeth. Couldn’t he just listen to you for once? “He’s got bad motives, y/n, you don’t wanna hang around someone like him. There’s so many bad things he's hiding from you. The bastard smokes, fights regularly, too, and…”

You heaved out a deep sigh, your knuckles turning white from your angry grip on the bed sheet. First, he pulls the same damn excuses, and then he lies? You couldn’t take it anymore. 

“And what? Jisung? What other lies are you gonna tell me?” Silence cuts through your speaker, finally giving your irritated heart a chance to breathe before Jisung continues. 

“Wait...you think I’m lying about this?”

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re saying that a highschooler smokes! Jeez, if you didn’t like Sungchan you could’ve just said so!” 

“You know I wouldn't lie to you, y/n!” Your buzzing figure leans back into your castle of stuffed animals as your bellows gradually get louder with each passing argument. 

“I thought I knew, but you’re really making me second guess things. I’m tired of this, Jisung.” You finally hiss before ending the call, leaving Park Jisung suffocating in yet another guilt-filled haze. Just as you click away from the contact, a notification catches your eye, craving for any sort of distraction from your anger. 

Sungchanniee :) [6:37pm]: hey :)

Sungchanniee :) [6:37pm]: you wanna call?

...

"I’m not so sure about this, Sungchan.” You fumbled with your fingers in the passenger's seat of Sungchan's car.

“C’mon! It's a party! It’ll be fun! Think of it as like a way to pay you back, for making you worry so much before.” You think back to your phone call, where you mostly vented about Park Jisung, while all he said was ‘calm down’ like ten times. Maybe he was right. You glanced out the car window, the greyish skyline growing darker and darker with each hour. God, your parents are going to kill you for staying out so late. 

“Who is this YangYang guy, anyways?” 

“Oh YangYang? That dude’s the best at parties, you’re gonna love him!” Sungchan beamed. You huffed. Anything to get your mind away from your childhood neighbor.

The bass-boosted, trap noise someone had the audacity to call music shook you to your core the moment you entered the party house. You met familiar faces, sure, but none you wanted to talk to. How did anyone have fun like this? Heck, where did Sungchan go? Your now curious eyes glance back to the bar, shiny bronze liquids all dazzled up in their own glass bottles. Nothing like your neighbourhood child self had ever seen. You found yourself drifting closer. What kind of house party was this?

The liquor slid down your throat with an extra sting. Too many flavours, all clashing with each other in the wrong ways. And yet, you found yourself coming for more. You’re already halfway done your first cup of the night when a figure comes up from behind you. 

“Hey! I’m YangYang! Sungchan brought you, right?” He extended a hand out to you as you exchanged greetings. He carried your attention to the top of the stairs as you desperately tried to hear him over the music. “Uh-yeah, I’m y/n.”

“Just to let you know, we have a chill out room if you ever need a quiet place to stay.” YangYang informed, his smile radiating welcoming energy. “It’s up on the third floor, just to your left. Have fun!” 

You bid him farewell before you resumed staring intently at your drink, hoping no one else would spare you a glance. 

45 minutes and probably 2 drinks (though it really felt like 6) later, Your head starts banging with a sharp pain you never felt before, clenching at your brain. You hiss in pain, the bass pounding music only making you feel sick. You wobbly retreat up to that chill room YangYang mentioned. That would calm you down, right?

“Hey” The sudden yet comforting voice of Sungchan alarmed you as you creaked the door open. He was perched onto the bed, the light of the lamp setting his skin on fire. Your eyes couldn’t look at him for long, though, not with your heavy eyelids drooping. Sungchan scoots aside, patting a now vacant space on the guest bedroom, just for you. “You should rest, you look exhausted.” 

...

Chenle slammed the car door shut, shoving his car keys in his pocket as Shotaro followed swiftly. The evening breeze swayed the flaps of Chenle’ jacket as he shivered. “We’re at the party now, Sung.” He muttered to his phone.

“Alright.” Jisung could barely breathe as he perched his head on his damp pillow, not with the guilt still rushing through his body. His eyes, still red and swollen, watched the bright stars contrast from the midnight sky. It was the first time he's stayed in at night. Yet he was in no condition to go out. Sure, the stars shined bright tonight, but his star was forever gone. He’d lost you. 

“You just want us to check on her, right?” Chenle implored as Shotaro greeted the party, putting up his best ‘I actually want to be here!’ face. Jisung huffed softly through the other end. “Yeah.”

“Take care of y/n for me.”

...

Like a magnet, you flew onto the bed, positioning yourself for a good night’s rest. Sungchan swiftly laid beside you, a groan escaping his lips as he positioned himself too. You inhale, the air around you smelling faintly of…cigarettes? You brush it aside, this is a highschool house party, afterall.

Sungchan watched as your eyes struggled to stay open, his face merely inches away from your peaceful one. His heartbeat grew faster and faster, his heart racing as he pushed your hair behind your ear. A sly smirk lined his lips. 

He started off slow, peppering kisses all over your sleeping figure as he made sure you weren't fully awake. Softly, he pinned you down, the blades of your shoulders digging into the mattress as he got on top of you, fully encasing your frame in his. YangYang's a genius, letting him use the guest bedroom like this. Sungchan felt you tremble under him, wriggling around as you send whimper-like sounds in his direction. He grew hot, practically salivating. Park Jisung can finally piss off. 

"mmph, Jisung stop it" you uttered unconsciously, throwing Sungchan off his course. Anger ruling through him as he gripped the bedsheets, trying his best not to lash out on your peaceful figure. After all this time? You still thought about him? That asshole? His hand grabs a hold of the bare of your thigh. He was glad you only wore a skirt today. 

The touch of a cold palm shook you away from your drunken slumber, only to find Sungchan, pinned on top of you with rosy, flustered cheeks. He stared you down with the hunger of a lion, moments before devouring its next meal. Your eyes widen, the sudden realization of Sungchan's current doings striking you like a flash of lightning. 

Jisung was right, he was dangerous.

You pushed Sungchan's chest off of yours as you shot up from the bed, terror dripping from your eyes. His eyes still contained that hunger. A hunger that you were never going to solve. "Get off of me!" 

You raced through the door, not sparing him a chance to answer. While sliding down the stairs and slithering through the crowds of drunken teenagers, you barely noticed the tears welling up in your eyes. All of your trust, all of your faith, brutally destroyed right before your eyes. Who could you turn to now?? 

"Y/n? Where are you going?" Chenle, who arrived late to this horrid party, tugged on your sweater lightly to get your attention. You, however, only responded with a stronger pull away. 

"I'm going home, Chenle. I need to get out of here." You huffed breathlessly before escaping, not sparing him or Shotaro a glance. Chenle gave Shotaro a concerned stare before following your footsteps. 

Sure, you had the willpower to get as far away from that monster as possible, but your legs didn't. They were weak, wobbly, and the mercy of gravity's pull. Your running form grew sloppy as your arms dragged themselves through the air. You were so beat, that it didn't come to your surprise when your sight switched to black and a thump of hard pavement striking your head before you laid limp underneath the streetlight. 

“Y/N!” 

...

You convinced yourself you were peacefully floating away on a cloud, so imagine your disappointment when your eye’s flutter open to see your bedroom curtains, followed by your comforter which you drowned in. The sunshine shot your weak eyes as you shifted around, wondering how you ended up back home in the first place. What happened?

Jeno sat right beside your sleeping figure, lazily perched on your desk chair as his eyes abruptly ripped away from his phone screen and onto you. He sent you a heartwarming smile, his once tense expression relaxed at the sight of you, alive and well. You never seen Jeno smile like that before. It was nice

“How are you feeling?” He soothed, patting the back of your hair softly after scooting closer to you. You murmured a half-assed response, the shockwaves of a major headache starting. God, you were never going to drink again. “I’m alright, I think.”

Jeno huffed out a relieved chuckle, pulling the blanket over so it would cover more of your cold looking frame. He gave you another bonk to the head with his knuckles, something that helped your headache. Helped it hurt, at least. 

“That’s good. Well, you passed out last night, Chenle had to take you home. And don’t worry, I didn’t tell Mom and Dad about the party. You should watch out for Hyuck, though.” Your eyes widen at Jeno’s words, ‘party’ specifically shaking you to your core. The deafening music, the soul-irking booze, the unknown faces. You hated it. Jung Sungchan pinning you down on the guest bed, closing the distance between you without your approval. You hated it. Utterly disgusted by it. All your trust, your respect for him, thrown out the window. Your mind trails back to a certain phone call, your heart now drenched in guilt. 

“That Sungchan guy is a complete asshole!”

“He’s got bad motives, y/n.”

“You don’t wanna hang out with someone like him!”

Park Jisung. Your childhood neighbor. The one who was right all along, and the one you foolishly disregarded. You clenched the fabric of your shirt, your heart pulling on your weakened frame. How could you be so blind, and still have the heart to blame him? Park Jisung. Your protector, your knight. The one who truly held your heart. That last thought sent butterflies straight to your stomach. Of course, He always had that effect on you. You’ve just never believed yourself. Always brushed it aside. If Jisung could tell you the truth, so could you. You love him. You’re in love with Park Jisung. 

You scrambled out of your bed, your speedy figure scaring the living shit out of Jeno. “Woah, slow down! Where are you going?”

Your eyebrows wrinkle, etched in determination. “I need to find Jisung.”

“Can’t that wait? You need to rest!”

“I need to tell him the truth.” you murmured. “My heart can’t take it anymore, Jeno.” he sent you a knowing nod, stepping aside as you rushed out the door. 

Your brother did have a point, though. You shouldn’t be scrambling away like this, not with your knees about to buckle up from exhaustion. Your eyes, however, shot straight ahead, your pulse going through the roof. No more lying to yourself anymore. You race through the kitchen, not paying notice to a distraught looking Donghyuck, protecting his full cereal bowl from a fatal accident. 

The grass still felt damp from the week-old rainfall as it hugged your bare feet. You raced through the sidewalk, your chest heaving as the wind pushed against you. Where was he?

The creeks of the ancient swingset didn’t fail to irk the ears of Jisung and Chenle as they sat in a comfortable silence, with a few (but very opinionated) comments thrown in by Chenle to help lighten the mood. It was the only thing Chenle could think to do, with a guilt-ridden, messed up Park Jisung at his side. 

“I couldn’t protect her, Chenle.” He barely whispered, breath shaking. “I was too late.”

“You did everything you could, man. You can’t protect her all the time.” 

“I wasn’t even there when she needed me most!” Jisung shouted, his voice booming as he shot up from his swing. “If I can’t do something like that, how am I gonna…” He trailed off, his figure slumping back to his swing.  

“How are you gonna...what?” Chenle’s curious eyes scanned the brooding figure. His hands, fully enveloping his head, ruffling his hair in the process. If Chenle hadn’t leaned in right beside Jisung, he would’ve never caught his little一yet electrifying一confession. “...How am I gonna be her boyfriend?” 

“JISUNG!” The two teenagers jolted back into reality, the sounds shallow, exhausted breaths hurling their direction as their whip in unison. Your disheveled figure一complete in its oversized t-shirt, tousled hair, and lack of proper footwear一bolts towards them. Despite the energy surging away from you, you wouldn’t rest until you reached them. As you got closer, your eyes finally locked with Jisung’s, mirroring your guilt ridden expression as he towered over you.

“Jisung, I-” You began, not sure if your shaky breath was caused by the immense amount of cardio you just did, or your rapidly thumping heart about to explode in your chest. “I’m sorry for blaming everything on you, not listening to you about Sungchan, everything. I was being stupid and selfish and一” You cut yourself off, not daring to look up at the dumbfounded Park Jisung, ear’s more red than the red scrunchie on your wrist. 

“I-I need you in my life. You’re the one that keeps my life together, the one who kept me safe, ever since we were kids.”

Your eyes finally had the courage to look at him, your fingers wrinkling the hem of your shirt as you bite your lip in pure anxiety. Your heart was racing, was this what a heart attack felt like? 

“I’m in love with you, Jisung.” 

Jisung froze, his lips parted in utter shock. It all hit him too fast. His brain lagged behind as his hands, etched with a sense of impatience, roughly cups your cheeks, bringing them inches before his face. Eyelids fluttering shut, he molds his lips onto yours, his arms clasping around your waist in an effort to hold you close, so you never leave his life again. You reciprocate, your arms wrapping around his neck, trying your best to hide the butterflies stuck in your stomach. A sensation only Park Jisung could achieve. 

The two of you finally part lips from your breath-stealing kiss, your eyes never letting each other go as vermillion stains your cheeks. Jisung quietly stuttered out his reply. Don’t get Jisung wrong, he wasn’t hesitant to answer at all. In fact, you were pretty sure you already knew his. Jisung shined a heartwarming smile. 

“I love you too, y/n.” 

...

“Did you really need to punch that guy that hard? I think his nose started bleeding!” Shotaro yelped, still slightly out of breath the four of you running away from the shop security. 

“That asshole deserved it! He shouldn’t be flirting with my girlfriend in FRONT of me!” Jisung laid back on the playground bench, an arm hugging your waist from behind as you lazily perched next to him. 

“That asshole was the cashier, and your girlfriend was paying for our drinks, dumbass.” Chenle uttered with a deadpan look. He tossed another ice cold, convenience store drink. “Tell him, y/n!”

“Chenle’s right.” You responded automatically, softly smiling to the feeling of Jisung’s arms wrapping around you in a gentle embrace, his head hiding in the crook of your neck. This boy really softened you like putty. You glance back at him, your eyes holding the stars above. 

“Besides, I already have you, I don’t need anyone else.”

As you and Jisung both blissfully ignored the fake retching sounds emitting from a sarcastic Chenle, and the contrasting, supportive cheers coming from Shotaro, you sent Jisung a swift, sweet peck on the cheek. Turns out you could melt him like putty, too, judging by his embarrassed reaction. You didn’t need the questionable comments. You only needed him. Park Jisung. Your (scrawny) knight and shining armour. 

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[bellasweetwriting]

Emergency Contact

spencer reid x f.reader

(not my gif)

masterlist

plot: you were Spencer Reid’s first girlfriend back in Las Vegas when both of you were sixteen. He just finished college and was planning on entering the FBI academy while you didn’t know where to study. After two wonderful years, you break apart: you were leaving to college and he was leaving to DC. You never lost contact, making Spencer leaving you as his emergency contact even if it’s been 10 years

Request: no, it wasn't a request but they are open. please request something

A/N: I'm thinking of doing a part 2 of this so pls reply if you think I should !!

Warnings: young pregnancy, some bad language, hospital, injuries, flirty!spencer

Category: Angst

Word Count: 2,6k

"You should definitely cut your hair, yep, " you said to your long term boyfriend Spencer. It was 1999, Scar Tissue by Red Hot Chilli Peppers was playing on the background of the Las Vegas Bar. You were wearing an outfit with a cheap red plaid outfit you copied from Clueless. "Why do you put so much gel? Aren't you afraid that a bird falls and gets stuck there forever?"

"That's... impossible, " the 18-year-old genius corrected you, as always, making you roll your eyes. "Actually, according to the theory of..." he stopped himself as he saw your bored face. "Right, no science chat today. It's your day."

It wasn't your birthday, it was actually the day the college applications arrived. You had the letters placed in the counter and your smile couldn't be bigger: this was happening.

"So, what are our contestants?" Questioned Spencer Reid. "Harvard, Yale, Princeton, UCLA, University of Nevada, University of Virginia and, University of Washington. First, we will start with your safety schools and then leave for last Yale which is your dream college."

You were sweating as he opened the letters. Accepted, Accepted, Accepted... Rejected from UCLA.

"That's not good, Spencer, " you whispered, tensing your legs, afraid of the remaining three envelopes on the counter. "What if I don't get in?"

"You are going to get in, " he tried to comfort you as he held the Princeton envelope on his hand.

"Six percent of the thirty thousand applicants get into Yale." He remained silent. "C'mon... correct me! Tell me that my numbers are wrong!"

"You said no science talk." You hit him on the shoulder. "Ouch! Y/N! I don't know what to tell you! The only way of knowing is actually opening the letter. So... here I go."

You got accepted from Princeton, Rejected from Harvard... and accepted from Yale.

You jumped into Spencer's arms as you screamed your future college's name out loud on repeat. Yale! Yale! Yale! Yale!

The way you were jumping while he was trying to sit down made Spencer smile. Seeing you so excited, realizing... how in love he was with you.

That was the memory that came to Spencer's mind when he was shot in the shoulder. As he falls to the ground, your smile as you held the Yale acceptance letter, showing it off to every passing customer in the bar, was the image that shocked his brain. He remembered every detail of his life, yet still, that was the moment he decided to hold on.

Being in Las Vegas for a serial killer case was already messing with Spencer's head, and mostly he didn't expect being shot in the shoulder as he walked out of the bar where he and the team were hanging out just a second before.

As he was moved into the ambulance, he didn't focus on Morgan's words, or in the frustrating sound of the machine letting the paramedics know he still had a heartbeat.

He was thinking of your smile.

••••••

He hadn't talked to you in a while. Damn, he didn't even think of you when he stepped in Las Vegas. He was going to solve the case, say hi to his mom, and then go home.

Spencer sometimes called you, but you were busy most of the time. He would write you letters, rarely you responded. But he knew you still cared, you were occupied, he was too, however, he liked to talk to you. He used your letters as a ranting method, as his therapy. And you will read them after a long day at work while your six-year-old daughter told you about her day.

You would send him postcards once in a while, or photos of your daughter and you, wishing him luck in his work and filling that pink paper you bought with empty promises of a soon visit. You were busy, he was busy...

But as soon as you received that call... you stopped being busy.

••••••

"Wake up, Pretty Boy, " said Morgan while Reid slowly opened his eyes, staring at the white ceiling of the Sunrise Hospital and Medical Care of Las Vegas, Nevada. He immediately felt an inch of pain in his right shoulder, making him stay still. "Don't move, Reid."

"What happened?" He asked in a whisper, tiredly.

"The unsub shot you after you left the bar, a woman called 911 from your phone. When the ambulance showed we realized what was happening and left the bar, " explained Emily, confusing Spencer.

"I thought we caught the unsub."

"We were wrong."

"But he fit the profile, " murmured the doctor. "Shoot... where is my phone?"

"Here, " said JJ. "The woman also called your emergency contact."

The team was shocked to see how Reid's face suddenly expressed absolute terror. His pulse on the monitor started accelerating, and he started sweating, alerting the BAU.

"Hey, kid, what's wrong?" Asked Rossi while Emily gave Spencer water.

"Did she pick up?" Questioned the doctor. "Did my emergency contact pick up?"

"Yeah, she did. I think she's in her way, she wasn't in town, " answered Hotch. "Reid... care to explain."

But that wasn't necessary since everyone in the room listened to a yell a few feet away.

"Doctor Spencer Reid... No, I'm not looking for a doctor I'm looking for a patient who is a doctor! Okay, listen up, missy, tell me where is his room or I swear to God I'm going to stick those 'Get well soon' stickers up your butt..."

That triggered Spencer's flight or fight. He immediately sat down straight, trying not to move his shoulder a lot since it still hurt like hell, but he tried to dissimulate so you wouldn't worry.

"Okay, here's the deal. Follow my lead, all of you. Don't question anything I say and please, don't look straight into her eyes... she could kill you. And I'm not kidding."

"Who is this wo—?"

But JJ couldn't finish her question when you broke into the room holding a six-year-old girl in one arm and your purse on the other.

"Y/N, hey, " Spencer greeted you with a tiny smile. You look at him before looking around the room.

"You look like a responsible adult, " you said as you looked at Hotch. He stared at you with a confused face. "Hold her for me, " you demanded as you passed him the little girl to his arms. He reacted quickly as he held the kid, letting you walk towards Spencer.

You sat down on the hospital bed and hugged him. He startled for a second before hugging you back, slowly rubbing your back with his palm.

You smelled the same as you did ten years ago, how was that possible? He remembered your smell so clearly, just as if he had smelled it the day before.

"I was so scared, I thought you were going to die."

"In fact, a shot to the shoulder has a very high chance of causing arterial blood to spill into the lung, which would be fatal in most instances." You quickly broke apart, staring at him with a worried face as he realized his mistake. "But I'm fine! It's not my case! It doesn't even hurt that bad... I'm part of the 80%."

"That's good... that makes me not feel bad for yelling at you!" You stood up quickly as you stared at Spencer, starting to pass the preoccupied stage into the upset phase. "What were you thinking? Aren't you supposed to use an anti bullet vest? Aren't you supposed to be careful around this stuff, Spencer!? You used to trip while walking normally when you were sixteen years old, what on Earth were you thinking when you joined the academy? It's been what? Seven years since you are in the FBI? Aren't you supposed to know that you can get shot?"

    You were clearly upset. He knew. The moment his team told him that you were coming, he knew this would be your reaction.

    And he had an idea of how to contain you.

    "Did you cut your hair?" He asked, taking you and the rest of the team by surprise.

    "What?"

    "It used to be longer."

    "We haven't seen in each other in three years so I suppose it could be shorter... which that reminds me, shouldn't you change your emergency contact?"

    "Why would I do that?"

    "Spencer, it was cute when I was in high school for you to put me as your emergency contact, but you live in Virginia now and I live in San Francisco, why would you still have my number? To give me a heart attack or something?"

     "I'm an FBI agent, it's the first time someone calls my emergency contact in years. Look, Y/N, I'm okay. Can I say hi to Rory now?"

     You exhaled, turning around to grab Rory from Hotch's arms, sitting her on Spencer's bed, making it easy for him to hug her.

     "Hi Spencer, " said the girl and he smiled. "Did you know I learned how to read?"

     "That's awesome, pumpkin! I have so many books you would like—"

     "Don't give my six years old girl a physics book. Wait until she's nine at least, " Spencer smiled, hugging Rory. You took advantage of the moment to turn around and present yourself to the awaiting BAU team, who was just admiring the scene. "Hey, I'm Y/N, " you greeted them, "I'm an old friend."

     "She's my ex-girlfriend, " said the doctor, looking to his colleagues before looking at Rory again. "Hey, I gave you this shirt!"

     "She wears it every day, " you let him know, which made him smile. "Ok, so, uhm... I think you are in good hands here. Rory and I are dying for some soda since we arrived, so." You lifted Rory from Spencer's arms and smiled at everyone. "It was a pleasure to meet you all. We'll be back in a while. C'mon, honey."

     Both of you left the room, leaving the team with Spencer.

     A moment of silence passed until Morgan had the guts to ask.

     "Reid, is that girl yours?" Spencer opened his eyes widely before shaking his head.

     "No, no she's not. She got pregnant in college, some random guy that I don't even know the name of. Y/N and I broke up like at least ten years ago."

     "She is your first love, " said JJ and he nodded. "That's so cute."

     "I have to agree with her, though, " interrupted Hotch. "Why do you still have her as your emergency contact? That's irresponsible. You should put one of us or a family member at least."

     "I don't have family members, and she's been my emergency contact forever. The times that I've been harmed nobody has called her because I'm always with you. Besides, I want her to still be part of my life. I write every week, and I try to call, but when I do I always end up talking to Rory instead of her. She moved on from me so quickly, and I don't know, having her as the primordial number on my phone... It's silly."

     "No, it's not, Reid, " contradicted Emily as she sat down next to him. "It looks like she really loves you."

     "Absolutely."

     "No doubt."

     "Didn't you hear the way she screamed?"

     Reid smirked at his friends.

     "You know... my mom loves her." Spencer chuckled. "She always asks for her, and when I show her a picture of Y/N she gets all excited. She is one of those people that everyone loves for absolutely no explanation. Even now, after ten years, I can't find the reason why, from every guy who was drooling over her in high school, she picked me. I don't get it. She is way out of my league."

    "It's cute that you think that way, " said Emily.

    "I spent our entire relationship trying to figure out why she was with me when I didn't deserve a girl like her. She's amazing, you guys are going to love her."

•••••

    "Hey, Reid, " whispered Derek to him. Spencer slowly woke up, turning around to look at Derek, "she's still here."

     "What?" murmured the doctor before looking at the entrance of the bedroom, directing his eyes toward the couch in the waiting room, where you were peacefully napping with an edition of The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand in your hand. "Why is she still here? She should be on her way to San Francisco."

     "There's only one way of finding, come on."

     Morgan helped Spencer to get on the wheelchair and he pushed him towards the waiting room as he carried his IV. Derek parked him in front of you and slowly walked away.

     "Hey... Y/N, wake up, " he said slowly, touching your shoulder. "Y/N."

     You woke up unhurriedly, looking at him before smiling a little.

     "Hey you, " you whispered, "you look great."

     "Thanks, I was going for a James Dean hairstyle." You laughed. "Why are you still here? Don't you have work tomorrow?"

     "I asked for the day. I sent Rory with my mom to San Francisco three hours ago. I just... didn't want to leave you alone." He smirked. "How are you feeling?"

     "Good, actually." You exhaled in relief. "Hey, you better go to your hotel and change."

     "No, I'm good. I have my book and a toothbrush. If a hurricane happens, I would be the most prepared."

     "You have to know that you wouldn't, " he said, containing his urge to correct you. "I still can't believe you came."

     "Of course I came, what are you talking about?"

     "Well, you haven't talked recently to me, you don't reply to my letters like you used to, and, I don't know, you seem different."

     "Different in a good way?"

     "Just different." You nodded. "Thanks for being here. I know I don't show you that I'm grateful sometimes, but I am. I'm grateful that you are in my life."

"And I'm grateful that you are in mine. I have a box filled with your letters. Rory likes to read them sometimes. Since she learned how to read she's unstoppable, " you laughed and he joined you. "You really scared me."

"Sorry for that, Y/N." You softly shook your head, telling him not to worry about it. "On my way to the hospital, I kept replaying a memory of us in my head. The day you got into Yale." You nodded slowly, remembering. "Why did you break up with me?"

You chuckled softly, but he remained with a serious face, as it was indeed a serious question. A question that has been bothering him for ten years.

"Because I was leaving for college and you for the academy. It wasn't going to work, Spencer. We both belonged in different worlds, and it didn't seem like the right idea at the time."

"Forty percent of couples break apart dew of distance, " he murmured, "but sixty percent make it."

"I'm not a person of chances, Spencer, " you remembered him and he nodded.

"But we are older now, " he quickly said. "I shave more than one time a month nowadays." You contained your laugh.

"I have a daughter now, Spencer, don't know if you recall."

"Rory loves me, " he responded with a smile. "She's not a problem."

You looked at him for a few seconds in silence before exhaling deeply, grabbing his hand.

"Let's get you to your room, " you murmured as you stood up and pushed the chair towards the room.

How could you tell him that you wanted to be with him too?