#the things I do to beat my emetophobia

[horohoros]

I need to offset the anxiety of ordering something I didn't prepare myself, so I decided to order 3 Crumbl cookies, and I'll just write a dumb little review once I get them

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 ꒱ 김동현

summary : you had just woken up from a bad dream, but your boyfriend was there to comfort you in your time of need

genre : angst, hurt-comfort, fluff, leehan x gn!reader tws : angst, mentions of neglect, alluded ptsd, mentions of emotional abuse, emetophobia, suicidal ideations/death, depression, alluded panic/anxiety disoders, language author notes : this has nothing to do with personal experiences, i swear (i need a leehan in my life) word count : 1.1k

“hey,” you felt a gentle stir, delicate hands rolling you over to be pressed against his warmth—when all you felt was cold and empty.

you blinked away the sleep, your eyes stinging slightly. “are you okay?” he asked, thumbs coming up to brush under your upper cheeks. “you were crying.”

you were foggy—not knowing the difference between reality and the inside of your brain—still half asleep. you’d never felt more neglected within your own head. the dreams you had, had caused actual tears to flow from your eyes. and the worst part, it wasn’t even a scene you could scratch off as being untrue… because it’s happened to you. it was your history that replayed throughout the night.

memories of your parents being hurtful. memories of them not caring about your feelings. memories of them being emotionally abusive, and dismissing to your tears. memories that caused you to resent them. memories that kept you from feeling normal. memories you’d rather forget.

you thought you’d gotten over it…

and, maybe at one time, you had. but regression was a natural thing you couldn’t escape. you can’t always have good days (or dreams, for that matter).

sometimes they caused you to get into your own headspace, and when triggered, panic. you weren’t a stranger to falling victim to thoughts you were molded to have, but they never hurt any less. and, you guess, time isn’t always a healer, like people say it is.

you sniffled, finding solace in what you knew was true; what was right in front of you. leehan. the boyfriend who vowed to take care of you in your time of need. the kind soul who didn’t get scared and run away when he saw you hyperventilating on the bathroom floor. the man who stepped into your life and shut the door behind him. the rock who kept you grounded when you felt light headed. the arms that kept you comforted when you felt unwanted. the love that never left you, even when you’d argue. the stars that he took from the sky, and put into your eyes, to remind you of how bright you are to him. the words that reminded you that you deserved someone as perfect as him, when you remembered being told that you were never good enough.

he was everything you needed, and everything you (at one point) wished you could be.

“i’m okay," you repeated comforting words he’d told you before. "it was just a dream.” yet, your heart hurt, and your stomach turned, and you couldn’t help thinking about them still, though you tried not to.

you tried to will your faucet to turn off, you tried everything to get the tears to stop falling. but, what was comforting, was knowing that his smooth fingers were always there to wipe them away… for however long it took.

“yeah?” he asked, lips coming down over your face, kissing various parts; under each eye, your nose and forehead, until lastly your lips. “it might’ve been just a dream, but i can see that it hurts.” he whispered. “what was it about?”

“i-i,” he stayed silent, ready to listen while letting you take your time. he pulled your head into the crook between his shoulder and neck, putting you to rest. his arms caged you against his body, chest to chest; pressure to stop you from panicking. he could feel your beating heart as you tried to speak—as he tried to comfort you the way you started to gradually let him. “it was them.”

you alluded the reason, but he needed no further context. he knew. he always knows.

he once stayed up all night researching and reading people’s stories on depression and panic disorders; he could tell you all about the chemical imbalances and what synapsis misfire in the brain now. he once stayed up all night watching you sleep, jumping at any sudden (or-not-so) movements; he could recount every time your breath hitched, and eyebrows came together that night. he once stayed up all night to understand something he’s never experienced—to better understand you.

your tears started to run faster, and at one point he had almost gotten emotional too. he hated to see you hurt, because he knew how special you really were. he hated to see you try and undo the coding your parents had programmed you with as you grew up. but, despite that, he knew he’d always be the one to hold you tight, and remind you that you didn’t have to contort yourself to fit into his world—you were his world.

the good, bad, and exceptionally ugly.

he loved you as the snot coated your bottom lip. he loved you as you drooled in your sleep. he loved you when you swayed with the music in your headphones, doing miscellaneous tasks. he loved you when you’d smile so wide it made your cheeks hurt. he loved you when you’d wretch over the toilet, your hair in his hands. he loved you when you were curled up on the shower floor, crying your eyes out. he loved you when you’d talk about nothing, and everything, all at once. and, he wished he could take away every bad memory, replace them, and make you feel like you deserved to be on this planet.

nonetheless, he’d spend his whole life reminding you—of that, he was more than sure.

his heart beat for you; you were his twin flame that burned blindingly bright. you were his red string and olive theory. you were his other half. you were his soulmate that he was lucky the stars aligned for.

he was lucky to have you, and he’ll be damned if you ever thought anything else.

he’d never let you be alone again. he’d never let you stand at the edge of the cliff by yourself. he’d never let you jump. he’d never let anything take you away from him—and if it ever came down to it, he’d proudly hold your hand and topple over the edge with you.

it was you and him until the end of time, and then whatever came after that.

“don’t ever forget,” he mumbled, pulling you closer to him. he’d let you cry into his shoulder the entire night, until your eyes were red and puffy, until you finally had enough. no matter how many of his shirts you soaked through with tears and snot. no matter how much it broke his heart, because he knows deep-down it heals yours just a little bit more. “i love you.”

and, he’d never stop saying it. even after you two were buried in a stone garden together, cold and rotten. a pile of nothingness. he’d still love you like it was the first time; blood, teeth, bones and all.

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[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 9 Act 1, Scene 1

Summary: Time passes, but the memories remain. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 6.7k Warnings: **THIS CONTAINS SERIES SPOILERS** angst, language, mentions of alcohol, brief mention of vomiting (tw for anyone with emetophobia), slight duel pov A/N: Well... the imposter syndrome has hit me HARD. I'm extremely discouraged by this chapter, but i hope its a decent enough follow-up to what y'all read last :/ bear with me, the last two chapters will MORE than make up for it. i promise.

Masterlist | Ko-fi

Time didn’t exist anymore. 

You woke up. You went to work. You came home.

Over and over, the cycle went, and the days passed with no significance. You didn’t eat much, your appetite dwindling just as much as your motivation. It started to show in the way your clothes hung on your body and how your face thinned out. If you cared, you would go to the store and actually buy food, but the possibility of running into Joel kept you away. 

Joel.

Two weeks had passed since parent-teacher conferences—two weeks since you had hidden the book far away. You considered re-writing your lesson plans for next year; you never wanted to teach Romeo and Juliet again. You weren’t strong enough to analyze a story you had shared so intimately with someone you now considered a stranger because that’s what Joel was now: a stranger. A stranger you could still pick out in a crowd of a million people, a stranger whose lips were still imprinted on your skin even after countless hours spent in the shower. 

He was a stranger, and you hated him.

You were perched on the couch with a glass of wine—as most nights went now—when your cell phone buzzed on the coffee table. You didn’t reach for it initially; it was most likely your mom. She had tried calling a handful of times since you had hung up on her weeks ago. You never once called back, but you listened to the voicemails when you were drunk enough. Your dad had been discharged last week and started physical therapy for his hip. Stella and her boyfriend were moving in together somewhere in downtown Boston. And Beth…your mom never once uttered her name. She knew better than to do that. 

But the continuous buzzing of your phone began to irritate you, and you reached for it with an exasperated sigh. An unknown number flashed on the screen, igniting a sudden burst of anxiety inside your chest. Setting your glass down, you inhaled and answered the phone.

“Hello?” You cautioned.

Your name filtered through the receiver, a voice you weren’t expecting to hear.

“Bennett?” 

“Yeah, it’s me,” he sighed. 

“I didn’t think you’d reach out,” you said. “I tried to see you in the hospital, but Natalie…” You let your voice drift off. 

“I know. She’s not big on the idea of talking to you at all.”

“I’m so sorry again, Bennett. Joel shouldn’t have done that. I really don’t understand why it got to that point. I—.”

“I deserved it,” he said, cutting you off mid-sentence. 

You shook your head, your fingers knotting through the tangles in your hair.

“No, Bennett. No, you didn’t. He could have killed you,” you argued.

“He’s a man of his word, I’ll give him that,” he laughed. 

It was odd to hear Bennett talk so casually about this as if Joel hadn’t pummeled him into the ground. He should be mad, so why wasn’t he?

“Should I be waiting for a call from your lawyer soon?” You asked wearily. 

“If I wanted to come after you or Joel legally, I would be the one to do it. But that’s not happening,” he sighed. “It's too messy of a situation, and I really don’t want to go through the hassle. Natalie says otherwise, but she doesn’t really understand the situation.”

“The situation,” you echoed. “Joel told me his side of things after they took you to the hospital.  I still don’t remember anything, Bennett. Even if I did, I wouldn’t have been able to reach you. You left. You disappeared completely and broke my heart.”

There was a beat of silence. You took the opportunity to down the last of your wine, the beginnings of a light buzz coursing through your veins. Don't get angry, you told yourself. You didn’t feel much of anything anymore, but anger was never too far out of reach. Sitting with that emotion and festering in it was easy if you let yourself. Bennett deserved your anger just as much as the rest of them, but you needed answers more than you needed to feel anything.

“There’s a lot to explain,” he finally said. “I’m not sure if you even want to see me again, but I can drive up to Austin this weekend and tell you everything. Or at least everything from my side.”

Seeing Bennett again would unfurl so many unchecked emotions: heartbreak, betrayal, grief. But it would be something you needed. Joel wasn’t the one you were with those two years following the accident; he wasn’t the one you had walked down the aisle expecting to see. Bennett had been with you through it all. You wanted to hear it from his mouth. You wanted an apology and an explanation.

“Okay,” you exhaled. “We can do that. Will Natalie have an issue with it?”

“Natalie won’t know.”

“You’re going to lie to your wife?” You laughed bitterly at his admission. He was still the same person through and through. 

“She’s fine,” he huffed through the phone. “She doesn’t understand any of this anyway.”

“Whatever you say, Bennett. We can meet at a coffee shop this weekend. Don’t abandon me again. I deserve an explanation.”

“I won’t.”

The guilt in his voice was thick, and you relished knowing he was suffering. Everyone, not just you, deserved to suffer for what they did. 

You quickly ended the call with Bennett and returned to the silence surrounding you. Knowing you’d see him in just a few days was unsettling and uncomfortable. The lingering grief he had left still hollowed out your heart. No amount of apologies would fill it, but it could sew up the remaining holes. 

What couldn’t be filled was the gaping hole Joel had left within your heart. Secrets wrapped in scar tissue and carnage that could never be fully healed, and it still infuriated you that your love for him still festered inside. It buried itself deep under the confines of your numbness, but sometimes, when you lay awake at night, you could still feel it. You ached for him in growing unbearable ways, but you had to continue with your life. 

You hadn't prepared yourself to see Bennett the first go around, and you had since thrown out the shirt still stained with his blood. Now, you were standing amid a pile of clothes strewn around your feet, your hair still wet and wrapped in a towel, and a face that screamed insomnia. You looked beyond amends.

After another hour of procrastination and a ticking timeline, you threw on the most basic T-shirt and jeans and left your hair a wet mess.

It was only Bennett.

It wasn’t serious.

Nothing was these days. 

You pulled into a spot in front of a cafe a little ways into town, your car sitting idle as you stared at the storefront. You could faintly make out Bennett’s silhouette sitting in the window, yet your body wouldn’t move. You were feet from all the answers, but the anxiety bubbling inside you made you immobile. Did you actually want this? Was it better to be blissfully unaware? 

Would the answers hurt you more than help you?

Before the constant questions led you to flee, you opened your door and decided to face the truth. Walking into the cafe, your eyes connected with Bennett, and your heart sank. Even from a distance, the scarring on his face was horrible: a thick, red, jagged line stretching down his temple and ending at his cheekbone. Another raised scar creased his left eyebrow, dragging down the arch over his eye. 

Joel did this. 

Inhaling, you met him at the table, sliding into the chair without a word. Bennett’s lips curled into a smug smile, one you still hated, and his eyes glazed over your body. 

“You look like shit,” he stated. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. 

He shrugged, leaning back comfortably in his chair. Your eyes flicked down to the ring on his finger, the gold shimmering through the sunlight hitting the windows. 

“She really has no idea you’re here?” You questioned, nodding your head towards his hand. 

Bennett glanced down at his wedding band, his fingers twisting around the metal mindlessly. 

“No, she doesn’t. She thinks I’m out of town on business.”

“And where’s home for you now?” You asked. “I never really found out since you up and left without a trace.” You tried to swallow the bitterness coating over your words. 

“I live in Houston now. I found a firm seeking out a junior partner and settled down in the city,” he explained. “Trust me, I didn’t want to leave my life here, but it was the only option.”

You studied him momentarily, watching any signs in his body language that would frame him as a liar. But you found nothing to fault. 

“What do you mean it was the only option?”

Bennett leaned forward, intertwining his hands together.

“What exactly did Joel fill you in on?” Bennett asked, cocking an eyebrow.

You shifted in your seat. Bennett’s words hit a nerve inside you, one that was buried deep within the numbness and itching to revive itself on a spark of anger. Was there more Joel had kept from you? How much more heartbreak could you take before you completely withered away?

“He said you and I broke up after we moved to Austin,” you started. “That’s when I met him, and we started dating. I don’t know specifics or much more, but Joel said that when I woke up in the hospital, I asked for you, and that’s when my parents decided to reach out to you and cover up my memory.”

“He left out… a lot,” he emphasized.

“Oh.” 

“So, where do you want me to start then?” 

You chewed on your lip, glancing outside as the cars drove down the main road. If you had told yourself two years ago you’d be sitting in front of your ex-fiance learning about a life you never knew existed… you’d laugh. You’d laugh and tell yourself you’d gone crazy. 

“From the beginning,” you sighed. 

Bennett leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head. His eye twitched, the tight scar scrunching the skin around it. You averted your eyes, dropping your gaze to your hands as they fidgeted in your lap. 

“Obviously, you remember us moving to Austin,” he started. “It was probably a month or two after that when we started arguing a lot. You were always mad at me for working too much. You complained all the time that I wasn’t present or whatever.” You deadpanned him when he said those words; it was the same as the arguments you remembered during the engagement. Bennett shrugged off your glare and continued. “Anyway, you finally got fed up with everything and called it quits. You moved in with your teacher friend, whatever her name is… I don’t remember.”

“Maria,” you grumbled. “Her name is Maria.”

“Right, yeah.” Bennett quirked a grin as if he knew the buttons he was pushing. “So, you moved in with Maria and must’ve met Joel shortly after that. We didn’t keep in touch during those two years, but I missed you—a lot.”

Now, it was your turn to hit him with a rueful grin. He was so full of shit, just like you remembered. 

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” you scoffed. 

“Believe whatever you want, but I did miss you. Even with all our fights, I loved you,” he admitted. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, so after a while, I decided to reach out. I asked if we could go to dinner and talk, you know, work things out. I didn’t expect you to agree to it, but you did. And you know what happened? You laughed. You laughed at everything I said. You told me you were finally happy and in love and that you’d never consider the chance of getting back together. You sure do know how to hurt a man's pride.”

“You probably deserved it,” you said, shrinking back into your chair. 

“Yeah, probably,” Bennett exhaled. “Doesn’t matter now, though. Anyway, after dinner, you left, and that’s when the accident happened. I had no idea until your parents called me to the hospital and explained it all to me. Looking back now, I can see how incredibly fucked up it all was, but I wanted a second chance. Joel wasn’t happy with the plan at all. As a matter of fact, he punched the shit out of me right when I walked into the room.”

“What?” You balked. 

Bennett laughed dismissively, running a hand over his jaw. You tracked his moments, imagining what Joel must have looked like when he saw Bennett that night. An unwelcomed pang of guilt swarmed inside your chest, not for Bennett, but for Joel. You still hated him, but you couldn’t image the pain he had felt knowing he was losing you. The guilt subsided as you reminded yourself he had a choice to step in, but he allowed it all to happen anyway. He was an accomplice to your parent’s plans. He didn’t fight for you, and that realization stung. 

“You alright?” he asked, tilting his head to study you. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you faltered. “Just—just keep going.”

“Okay,” he cautioned. “I agreed to go along with your parent's plan. I knew it was fucked up, and I knew it would bite everyone in the ass one day, but I did it because I loved you. I wanted a do-over with you, and it felt like the perfect opportunity.”

You nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. If this conversation had happened weeks ago, you would have reacted differently, but there was no anger left to exhaust. You couldn’t be angry at Bennett, at least not for this. You were still allowed to resent him for what he did during the engagement and for leaving you at the altar, but this? This wasn’t something he did; he went along with everything because he loved you…supposedly. That was still arguable. 

“So, you got your perfect opportunity and decided to fuck it up.” 

Bennett inhaled sharply, drawing his lips into a thin line. There he was, the asshole you remembered. He didn’t like when you called him on his shit, and that’s exactly what you were doing. 

“I tried to make it work,” he argued. “I mean, I tried the best I could. I didn’t want to lose you again. So, yeah, I might’ve tried to prevent the chances of you getting your memories back, but it was because I loved you. Then I just got sick of trying. I got sick of you always asking questions and me having to lie. It was exhausting. And then you started saying Joel’s name in your sleep, and I just—.”

“Wait,” you interjected, holding up your hand. “I—I said his name in my sleep?”

Bennett laughed, running a hand over his face. There was a shift in his demeanor, a mixture of anger and sadness. 

“Why do you think I slept on the couch most nights? I couldn’t fucking stand it,” he grumbled. 

“Bennett, I didn’t fucking know I was doing that!” You shouted. A few people turned their heads at the rise in your voice, but you didn’t care. The anger was awakening inside you again, pounding to get out of the cage you had locked it in. 

“Yeah, I know,” Bennett said, rolling his eyes. “I still hated it. I hated knowing that even when you slept, you still loved him. I was never going to be the person to make you happy.”

Tears stung your waterline, and you swiped them away before they could fall. 

“That’s why you left.” It wasn’t a question. It was a realization. 

“I called Joel the night before the wedding,” he confessed, cringing at the admission. “I told him how I felt, and he told me to leave. Well, he didn’t tell me… It was more like he threatened me. He told me that if I didn’t, he’d find me. We both agreed to stay out of your life, and I think you can piece together the rest.”

You sat before him, speechless. You knew it all along; you were the reason Bennett was unhappy. Instinctively, you always knew it. But hearing it aloud? That was a pain you weren’t ready for. Everything was your fault, from beginning to end. Bennett couldn’t love you, Joel couldn’t fight for you.

Why were you so unloveable? 

None of this was your fault, yet everything pointed directly back at you. 

You had nothing left to say to Bennett, so you shoved away from the table and fumbled for your purse. He said your name cautiously, grabbing your wrist before you could turn away. You tried to free yourself from his hold, but he squeezed tighter. 

“Stop!” You snapped. 

“I’m sorry, okay?” Bennett pleaded. “I really am, whether you believe it or not. I fucked up a lot, and I regret the way I left. It wasn’t fair to you.”

“This apology would have meant a lot more two years ago, Bennett,” you cried, still trying to free yourself. 

“I know it would have, but I’m doing it now. Alright? I’m sorry for everything I put you through, and I know none of this has been easy for you—.”

“You don’t know shit,” you seethed. 

You finally wrangled yourself out of his grip, rubbing your wrist to alleviate the pain from his touch. Bennett stared at you, agonized. You had walked in here hoping for an apology and got it. But it wasn’t enough. What was the point in all of this if nothing healed the pain inside you? 

You stumbled out of the cafe with blurry eyes, the cage bars inside you breaking piece by piece. It was only minutes before the anger fully consumed you, and you needed to leave before you let it wreak havoc on everything around you. You needed silence. You needed solitude. You needed a hole to crawl into. 

Before you could open your car door, Bennett called out your name and tore you away from the swirling thoughts inside your mind. You tried to ignore him, but he was relentless. Whipping around to face him, you came face first with his chest as he pulled you into an embrace. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tightening his arms around your ridged body. “Hate me all you want, but don’t hate Joel. I can have my own grievances with him, but he loves you more than I ever could.”

You slumped into his chest, letting the anger overwhelm you to the point of complete defeat. Crying in Bennett’s arms was the last place you ever expected to be in, but here you were, sobbing into your ex-fiance’s chest. He held you through each wave of emotions, remaining solid and silent. 

“Hey,” Bennett whispered, pulling away. “Obviously, I don’t know shit about what’s going on with you, but it’s going to be okay. It’ll take time, but you’re going to be alright. I hope you get those memories back one day. I really do. You deserve to remember the things you lost, and I’m sorry for ever getting in the way of that.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled, wiping away the tears streaming down your face. 

Bennett gave you a soft smile and said his goodbyes. You watched him as he retreated to his car, waiting for him to drive away. As you turned toward your car again, you glanced up at the hardware store across the street, meeting the eyes of someone familiar. Someone you didn’t expect to see. 

Joel’s brother, Tommy. 

The resentful glare in his eye was deadly, and you couldn’t hide from it. He saw you with Bennett. He would tell Joel, even without knowing what had just transpired. For a brief moment, you wanted to rush over and explain everything to him, but you stopped yourself. It didn’t matter what he told Joel—at least, that’s what you told yourself. You could only shy away from Tommy’s scrutinizing stare and duck into your car. 

You had been gone too long from your numbness, and you missed it. It was time to bury yourself in your sadness once again and continue trying to unlove Joel Miller. 

**

Joel dumped his tools on the dining table with an exasperated sigh. He immediately reached for the fridge, grabbing a beer and popping it open in one fluid motion. As he leaned against the counter with the bottle at his lips, Joel heard the garage door slam shut. Peering around the corner, he tracked Tommy’s movements as he walked into the kitchen. 

“What crawled up your ass?” Joel grumbled. 

Tommy shrugged off his button-up and tossed it over a dining chair. He ran a hand through his greasy black curls before glancing at Joel. Joel shifted uncomfortably, trying to make sense of Tommy’s demeanor. 

“Seriously, Tommy,” Joel huffed. “Spit it the fuck out.”

“I saw her downtown,” Tommy finally said. “She was with that ex-fiance. The one you almost killed.”

Joel swore he felt his heart stop beating. Tommy must have seen wrong; it wasn’t you. It couldn’t have been you. You wouldn’t seek out Bennett, not after everything. You weren’t even seeking Joel out, even after two weeks of earth-shattering silence. 

“Are y’sure it was her?” Joel asked through clenched teeth. 

Tommy nodded, his eyes drawn to the floor. 

“Yeah, it was her. Not sure what was goin’ on between them, but I saw them huggin’ and all that outside of a lil’ cafe,” Tommy explained. 

“Probably doesn’t mean nothin’,” Joel shrugged, trying to let denial take over.

If he could deny it, then none of this was real. You weren’t with Bennett again—that wouldn’t happen. You wouldn’t do that. Bennett wouldn’t do that. Maybe Joel should have killed him. It would have torn you apart, but at least Joel could sleep at night knowing Bennett would never be in your life again. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, pulling him from his vengeful thoughts. 

“It doesn’t matter!” Joel yelled, slamming his beer bottle onto the counter.

The glass rattled between his fingers, and a slow trickle of liquid began seeping out of the crack he created. Joel glanced down at it, unbothered. 

“She’s not comin’ back, man,” Tommy sighed. “Y’gotta start movin’ on.”

“Go fuck yourself, Tommy,” Joel snapped.

He shoved off the counter and began to retreat down the hall, but not quick enough for Tommy. Tommy sidestepped in front of him, arms folded and a scowl twisting his lips. Joel knew Tommy hated everything about this situation, but he wasn’t the one experiencing the pain. He was just a bystander in all of this; he didn’t lay awake every night tossing over your words inside his head. 

I will never forgive you for this. 

Joel wasn’t losing you. He already lost you. 

“Listen, Joel. I know this is hard on you, but y’gotta face the truth. She’s gone, man. I know you tried your best to get her back, but it’s just not gonna happen. She deserves to make her own decisions for her life.”

“I know,” Joel sighed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love her, still.”

Tommy’s brown eyes softened as he looked at Joel, his head dipping in agreement. 

“No one said y’had to stop lovin’ her,” Tommy offered. 

“I don’t think I ever will,” Joel said. 

Joel didn’t sleep much that night. Tossing between the sheets, Joel couldn’t steer away the thoughts of you in another man's arms—let alone Bennett’s. When Joel had seen you at parent-teacher conferences, he wanted to fall to his knees and beg for your forgiveness. He knew you had taken the news rough, but seeing you so physically distraught was another type of pain he hadn’t been prepared for. You were a hollow shell of the woman he loved; your voice held so much bitterness when you spoke to him. Your eyes didn’t look at him with love…it was his own personal Hell. Parting ways with you like that nearly killed him, but not knowing what was going on in your life killed him more. Joel had spent two years in limbo after your accident, always wondering what life would be like if he had you back. And then he had it. He had three beautiful months with you, albeit they were spent wearing rose-colored glasses, but he had you again. 

In the blink of an eye, in one messy series of events, he lost you.

He lost you, and he knew you’d never come back. 

**

~Six months later~

You thought time would heal the wounds left inside your chest, but you were wrong. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and nothing felt better. You stopped talking to your family altogether, and the phone calls stopped coming after some time. Beth never tried to reconcile with you, nor did you try to fight for answers. Having your heart broken by Joel and Bennett was one thing, but having it broken by your sister was a different kind of pain. It was visceral. It was a betrayal so brutal you still had yet to recover. Thinking of the things she had said to you in Boston only left you with debilitating headaches; her words festered deeper than anyone else’s. 

The truth is that you are a fucking idiot. And on top of that, you’re a coward.

You weren’t the coward; Beth was. She chose to hold onto those secrets for the last few years and weaponize them against you. You weren’t the idiot; you were the victim. You were the victim in all of this, yet everyone wanted to pin the aftermath on you. 

You were a mad woman, haunting an empty house with no one to confide in. You cut off all friendships with other teachers, especially Maria. You became a hands-off teacher, only going as far as in-class readings, quizzes, and occasional tests when necessary. The students adapted to the shift in your mood, and while you lived with the guilt of becoming that teacher, it was the only way you could survive the work days. The less effort you put into things, the less risk you had for disappointment or frustration. 

Sarah avoided you at all costs during class. She no longer participated in class discussions—which were far and few—but kept her head low and her grades satisfactory. Sometimes, you’d catch her watching you during class, her hazel eyes swimming with concern. You couldn’t stomach looking at her for more than a few seconds. You weren’t sure if she ever reported back to Joel about you, and honestly, you didn’t care. Well, maybe sometimes you did. It didn’t happen often, but there were fleeting moments of unwelcome flashbacks to your time with Joel months ago. Flashes of his hands on your body, his crooked smile, his deep voice. They wove through your mind at the worst moments, and everything hurt again. 

The school year had finally ended, and your days were filled with endless bouts of nothing. You exhausted everything: plucking weeds in your front yard, rearranging your kitchen cabinets (for the seventh time), building a new bookshelf…You found anything you could to keep yourself busy and the wandering thoughts at bay. 

The Texas heat was becoming unbearable, so you opted to spend the weekend indoors, siphoning through your closet. Heaps of clothes cluttered the ground around you as you tore apart each shelf, miscellaneous keepsakes piled in the corner. It wasn’t until you were elbow-deep in the crevices of your closet that you found the book. 

Romeo and Juliet.

The flimsy spine and dog-eared pages taunted you. You sat motionless with your hands hovering over the book, torn between flipping through the pages and setting it on fire. Minutes passed, though they felt like hours, and you remained paralyzed, stuck in limbo between the past and present. You’d tell yourself it was a moment of weakness, but you grabbed the book and let your hands move through the pages. 

“Under love’s heavy burden do I sink.

And, to sink in it, should you burden love;

Too great oppression for a tender thing.

Is love a tender thing? it is too rough,

Too rude, too boisterous, and it pricks like thorn.

If love be rough with you, be rough

with love;

Prick love for pricking, and you beat love down.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. Staring at the margins of the pages, scribbled with your words and thoughts, you blinked back tears. You thought you were strong enough for this. Tossing the book halfway across the bathroom, you succumbed to the tears that pooled in your eyes. Laying on the messy floor, you wrapped your arms around your shins and stared at the book as it taunted you from across the room. Your eyes caught onto something peeking out of the pages, and you slowly tilted your head. 

That wasn’t…

No. 

You couldn’t pull yourself to your feet, so you decided to crawl to where the book lay. As you got closer, you started to make out the grainy features of Joel plastered onto a Polaroid. With shaking fingers, you lifted it into the light, your eyes growing wide. Basked in the hue of sunset sat Joel, his broad torso dressed in a white shirt, with the biggest smile plastered on his face captured in a moment of laughter. Something sparked inside your chest as you stared at it longer, your eyes memorizing every softened feature of Joel’s face. He still had that patchy beard you were so familiar with, the sparse spots along his jaw no different than they were now. Creases around his closed eyes proved that his laughter in the photo had been genuine. 

You missed his smile. 

Shaking away those tender thoughts, you tried to pull yourself to your feet, only to have your ankle caught in a strap of a dress, sending you crashing to the floor. Your arms tried to brace for impact, but you didn’t catch yourself in time. Your body smacked against the corner of your shower door, your head taking most of the impact. 

And everything went dark. 

“Sarah, you’re a mess!” You laughed. 

Her curls were caked with mud, and half her clothes were soaked. You, Joel, and Sarah had decided to drive into the small town outside the campground for dinner, and of course, you got caught in the rain. As you all made a beeline for the diner, Sarah tripped into a huge puddle between cars, splattering rainwater and mud all over herself. Joel couldn’t contain his laughter, and neither could you. 

Joel took a seat on the beach outside the diner, trying to catch his breath from laughing, but every time he glanced up at Sarah’s messy face, he lost it all over again. You scrambled through your backpack to find your Polaroid camera, snapping a quick picture. 

“Hey!” Joel laughed, grabbing you by the waist and dragging you down to the bench. 

“What?” You asked innocently. “It was the perfect opportunity! Plus, you look extra handsome right now.”

“Handsome, huh?” He smirked, peeking you on the cheek. 

You shook the Polaroid as it developed, presenting him with the proof. He was handsome. So fucking handsome. Joel reached for the camera in your hands, turning it quickly on you. You stuck out your tongue, trying to hold back another fit of laughter. 

“Perfect,” he grinned before turning toward Sarah. 

“Alright, kiddo. Smile!”

“Dad, stop!” Sarah wined. 

But Joel was too fast, the camera shutter going off right in time to capture Sarah’s big pout. 

Each of you had a Polaroid now, picture proof of a happy family. 

Pinpricks of pain stabbed into each side of your head as you finally roused from your sleep. You squinted through the harsh light of the bathroom, letting your eyes readjust to your surroundings. Everything was foggy, but you remembered. 

Oh God, you remembered everything. 

The nausea was quick to hit you, and you scrambled to the toilet. You weren’t sure if the fall was to blame for the sudden disruption to your body or the memories slamming back into place, but you were helplessly stuck with your head over the toilet. Flash after flash, like the shutter of your camera, everything fell back into place. 

“Oof! I’m so sorry!” You said, rubbing your nose.

You had turned the corner too quickly and smashed right into the solid chest of a student’s father. 

“S’all my fault, miss.” 

The voice alone sent shivers up your spine, but they multiplied as you gazed up into a pair of deep brown eyes. You lost all the words in your vocabulary as you took in the sight of the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was too rugged and masculine to call ‘cute’; handsome fit him so much better. With dark scruff covering his jaw and creases around his eyes, whoever this man was…he was stunning. You were captivated.

“I really should have looked before I turned the corner,” you rambled. 

“Don’t go apologizin’,” he said, offering you a kind smile. “I coulda got outta the way.”

“Do you make a habit of taking up an obscene amount of space?” You joked. 

“Depends on the hall,” he countered, extending his hand. “Joel Miller.”

You told him your name, then shook your head. 

“I should probably keep it professional. You can call me Miss Smith.”

“Nah, don’t need all the formalities here. Your name is just fine.”

“Is your daughter enrolled here?” You asked. It was hard to maintain the color creeping into your cheeks. 

“That she is,” he said proudly. “Goin’ into third grade this year. She’s a real good kid.”

“I bet she is. I’m only student teaching while I finish my Master’s program, but I’ll be taking on a position with middle school students next year. Maybe she’ll be my student one day.”

“I reckon she’d be pretty lucky,” he offered. 

“Yeah?” Now, you were definitely blushing. 

“Yeah,” Joel smiled. “Somethin’ ‘bout you makes me think you’ll be one of the best teachers in the school.”

“That’s a bold statement, given the fact you hardly just met me.”

“I wouldn’t hate it if I got to know you more.”

Your eyes shifted down the hallway, watching for any teachers that might be coming. You weren’t sure what the policy was for flirting with a student’s parent, but it was hard to stop when he was so enticing. 

“I don’t think I’d hate it, either.”

Another wave of nausea hit you, and you groaned. The room was spinning, your body ached from falling, and countless memories continued to pile up inside your mind. 

You were overwhelmed. 

Those two years of nothing became everything in the span of minutes. 

Dragon Tales was playing softly in the background as you curled your body around Joel’s. His hand was tracing circles around your shoulder as you both “watched” the TV. Something electric pulsed between your bodies, an unavoidable shift that had continued to unfurl over the last several months. You didn’t know how to verbalize your emotions—at least, not without knowing if he felt the same. 

“Joel,” you whispered.

His eyes were already on you when you finally glanced up. It was written all over his face. It was the proof you needed; he felt the same. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“I really like you,” you confessed. “Okay, well, maybe I really, really like you.”

“Maybe I really, really like you, too.”

You peeled yourself from his warm body, turning to face him completely. 

“I’m gonna say something,” you warned. “Please don’t freak out. It’s okay if you don't—.”

Joel’s lips were pressed against yours before you could finish the sentence. You melted into his touch, your hands coming up to tangle in the messy curls at the nape of his neck. He held you firm to his mouth, his tongue dragging over your bottom lip. 

“I love you, baby,” he mumbled. “So much.”

You reeled him in for another frenzied kiss, all your efforts to contain your smile going down the drain. Oh, God. He loved you. 

“I love you, Joel.”

You sagged onto the bathroom floor. The throbbing in your head was growing stronger and stronger with each memory. You wanted to tear your brain from your skull and flush it down the toilet, but that wouldn’t help anything. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? All your memories were coming back, and yet, you desperately wished they would fade away again. 

You loved Joel. 

It was a fact you already knew, but remembering the exact moment you admitted…. You were going to be sick all over again. 

“Y’look so pretty in my t-shirt, baby,” Joel hummed.

He lay up against the headboard of the bed while you paced the room. You gripped the binding of your copy of Romeo and Juliet, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. It was hard to focus when his bare chest was on display, the spattering of dark chest hair swirling down his torso and disappearing under the waistband of his boxers.

Focus. 

“Don’t distract me!” You pleaded. “Okay, you know how I was talking about how Romeo is just head over heels for Juliet? Get this: they kiss right away in the first act! He’s so bold with how he speaks to her, and then he just kisses her. And Juliet’s response is basically telling Romeo that all of his sin is on her lips now.”

“And what happens next, baby?” Joel asked, quirking a smile. 

“Romeo says, ‘Give me my sin again’, and then they kiss… again!” 

“Ain’t he just a romantic,” Joel chuckled. “Now, can y’get your sinful ass in bed?”

“What? This one?” You teased, flipping up the hem of his shirt. 

Joel’s eyes dropped to your backside as you exposed your naked body, and he nearly went flying across the foot of the bed to grab you. You shrieked with laughter as he tugged you onto the comforter, flipping you onto your back. 

“C’mere, baby,” he growled.

His lips trailed down your neck, sucking marks into the skin just below your collarbone. You let out a small whimper and helped guide the t-shirt off your body. Somewhere along the way, your book had dropped to the ground, but you didn’t care. You’d much rather give into the sin of Joel’s lips on your body. 

It felt like an eternity had passed when your stomach finally settled. You managed to drag yourself from the floor, staggering your way into the bedroom. The migraine behind your eyes had still yet to subside, so you threw yourself into bed and buried your body under the comforter and pillows. You had everything back—everything you wanted—but why wasn’t it enough? 

The images of Joel swam through the pressurized ache inside your mind; his smile refracted in the blinding light of a constant camera shutter. Snapshots of the past dissolved from the darkness, fragmented puzzle pieces slowly molding into place. 

Another flash, another memory. 

A frustrated scream erupted from your mouth, muffled into the pillows surrounding you. Every thought started and ended with Joel. Joel. Joel. Joel. Was this how it felt to go crazy? 

It was clear that sleep was evading you; it ran from the thought of Joel quicker than you could. Pulling yourself from the bed, you emerged into the bathroom once again and began rifling through the piles of clothes. 

What the hell were you supposed to wear to see someone who was no longer a stranger?

[vangelini]

🌙 Boyfriend For The Night (Finale) | Spencer Reid x Reader

Part 1, Part 2

Summary: Your first date with Doctor Spencer Reid didn’t go as planned; but when has anything ever? In your disappointment, he makes it up to you…

Tags: Cavity-inducing fluff, Bau! Reader, Fem! Reader, idiots in love…

Warnings: ‼️emetophobia warning‼️ (reader gets sick in first half)

Words: 2.2k~

|

“Just breathe, okay?” Spencer soothed your back, one hand holding your hair away from your face.

“How was I supposed to know that dish had shellfish in it?” You retched into the toilet, hands on either the side of the bowl.

“They didn’t even label it for allergens,” Spencer scoffed, a little annoyed at the restaurant you two were just at. “How did they pass their health code inspection?”

You groaned. “That’s awfully-” *burp* “Shellfish of them-” You threw up once more. Spencer smirked at your joke, but kept rubbing your back gently.

This wasn’t how you expected your first date with Doctor Spencer Reid to look. It was supposed to be a romantic dinner, or a coffee shop rendezvous, not you hunched over a gas station toilet with your hair pulled back. The cold tile pushed against your knees, heels long discarded to the side of the small handicap stall. Spencer’s hand soothed up and down your back gently, as he continuously mumbled small ‘it’s okay’s and ‘just breathe’s as you continued to heave into the toilet.

“Shellfish allergies are the most common allergies among adults, and among the most common for children, I don’t see how they can get away with not labeling it on the menu,” Spencer sighed, adjusting himself on the cold tile.

“Maybe-” *burp* “Maybe I just missed it,” your voice echoed in the porcelain.

“That’s not possible, I have an eidetic memory,” Spencer’s lip curled up. “The ingredients listed in your salad were romaine lettuce, cherry tomatoes, quinoa, beets, chickpeas, and ginger dressing,” he pressed his lips together. “Not even a mention of a protein.”

“It’s so cute when you remember stuff like that-” another gag. Spencer laughed, readjusting his grip on your hair. “You can appreciate me all you want when your diaphragm and abdominal muscles stop contracting,” his hand smoothed down your sweater gently, hair tickling your neck a little.

“The more you kno-ow-” *gag*… This might take a while.

—

Spencer held open the bathroom door, his arm looming over you as you walked into the fluorescent lights. He looked at you with a mix of pity and concern. His lips were pressed together, one end quirked up in a worried smile.

“I’m going to get you a ginger ale and some crackers,” Spencer put his hands in his pockets, leaning back and forth on his feet.

“Spence, you don’t need to do that-“

“It’s what my mom used to get me when i was sick,” he smiled. “And now you’re on an empty stomach,” he shrugged, moving a piece of long hair behind his ear.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sentiment, and he grabbed your hand gently. “And some mints, too,” you smiled, dropping his hand, high heel shoes swaying in your other. “I plan on kissing you later, and I don’t want to taste like shrimp salad.”

Spencer was slack-jawed, face reddening a little.

He followed you across the gas station, grabbing a bottle of ginger ale and some saltine crackers. Needless to say, he was mesmerized by you. Sure, you were fatigued, wrapped in a sweater that smelled like fish and toilet, petechiae speckled across your under eyes, but to him, the casual state you were in, the sway of your hips as he watched you saunter down the linoleum aisles was the most attractive thing he had ever seen.

Though, he wasn’t hard on the eyes either, the way his casual striped shirt was rolled just over his forearms, revealing the veins that crawled their way up his skin. And it was hard to ignore how his hips moved in the new brown pants you noticed, or the way he flexed his jaw when you got close enough to him.

“Four dollars for crackers is a little insane,” your hands swayed back and forth, a couple lights illuminating your walk back to Spencer’s Volvo Amazon.

“Spence, you’re the one who insisted on name-brand,” you giggled, stomach still a little upturned. “I told you, generic is just as good and half the price.”

He pulled his keys from his pocket, clicking the doors open.

“Inflation is actually up one percent from last year,” his loafers scraped on the ground. He was really pretty like this, face illuminated by the cool night sky and a couple of Texaco street lights. “It was caused by a combination of poor judgement of lenders, giving out mortgages to subprime borrowers, financial deregulation, and the housing market collapse,” he chuckled to himself. “It’s uh, quite fascinating, other than the fact that crackers now cost four dollars,” he motioned to the bag in his hand. “And name-brand saltines DO taste better,” he pulled open the door to the passenger’s seat, motioning for you to enter. You couldn’t help but giggle a little at his insistence on chivalry.

His car reflected his personality to the nth degree— it was clean, well maintained, and smelled fresh. A small yankee candle air freshener that JJ got him dangled from the rearview mirror. It was scented like Christmas cookies, which, knowing Spencer, made sense. He climbed into the driver’s side, placing the bag of groceries on your lap, twisting the keys in the ignition.

You discarded your shoes beneath you, trying to ignore the nausea still bubbling up in your abdomen. Looking at Spencer’s nonchalant visage as he browsed radio channels seemed to do the trick. He turned it to the jazz station, likely his regular taste in music.

You tried sorting through the bag, pulling out the soda and crackers, but you felt a little pang of something in your chest. Maybe it was anxiety, or typical first date jitters. But, whatever it was, Spencer noticed.

“Is something wrong?” He reached over the console, placing a hand on your knee. You suddenly felt hyper-aware of how your cardigan smelled like vomit, shrugging it off, annoyed.

“I’m okay…” You tossed it into the back seat, throwing a couple mints in your mouth. You mulled them over between your tongue and teeth, trying not to make eye contact with the man beside you, partially knowing that it would only make you feel guiltier.

“Research published indicates that nearly 60% of people downplay their stress or emotional pain when talking to friends or family, often responding with ‘I’m fine’ despite experiencing significant distress,” his lip tinged up into a smile. “And you just assaulted your sweater.” He somehow always found a way to make you smile. You craned your neck up to him, his loose curls framing his face. You sighed.

“I just…” The ginger ale cracked open with a gurgle in your hands. “I kinda feel like I ruined our first date, a little…” You took a long sip of the drink.

“Try to sip on that,” Spencer’s hand moved from your knee up to the bottle, pulling it away from your lips. “After vomiting, the stomach lining is often irritated and sensitive. Sipping fluids slowly is less likely to trigger further nausea and vomiting compared to drinking large amounts at once,” his big, brown eyes were tinged with a little concern, but you complied. “And there’s no way you could have ruined this date,” he smirked.

“I just didn’t imagine it going like this, y’know?” You returned his small smile. “I thought we would… go to a nice restaurant, or a café, one that properly labels their allergens, might I add!” He smiled at that, hand moving to steady your wagging finger. “Then we would… go back to your place, watch a movie, or read books, or something…” You tapped your fingers on the bottle that was slowly collecting condensation. “Then we would kiss goodnight, and I wouldn’t taste or smell like vomit,” You scoffed, motioning to the sweater in the back seat. “It could have been perfect,” you looked up at him, expecting him to be upset, or concerned, somewhat, but he just smiled.

“Honestly…” he looked out the window thoughtfully. “This is kind of exactly how I imagined it going…”

“How?!” You hit him playfully on the arm.

“I mean, not you getting sick, which was the restaurant’s fault, by the way-” He smiled. “It’s just that, ever since the first day you walked into the BAU, I could tell that there was something different about everything you did.”

You thought back to the day he was referring to. The first time you laid eyes on Doctor Spencer Reid, part of you already knew you would become quick friends. He had a copy of The Metamorphosis in original German tucked under his arm, a book mark already two thirds the way through the pages. When you inquired about it, his eyes lit up a little, sparks flying immediately. You two spent the next hour talking about classic literature, favorite stories, earning your patented matching nickname from Morgan: Pretty Girl. The rest was history, for the most part.

“Nothing we ever did together was perfect, y’know?” He went on. “Like when we accidentally fell into that lake apprehending the unsub…” You laughed, the memory flashing in your head, the image of the two of you covered in duckweed, soaked head to toe coming to life in your brain. “Or when that book shelf got pushed on top of you in the university library while questioning a suspect…”

“Or when the mother of that victim tried to get us to join the circus,” you started to smile, laughing with Spencer. His smile twinkled in the moonlight, making you swoon a little.

“See?” He tilted his head, chestnut curls accentuating his jawline and smile. “Naturally, following that trend, our first date wouldn’t go as planned either,” he reached over the console, putting a hand reassuringly on your thigh. “You didn’t ‘ruin’ anything…” His train of thought tickled you a little, his reasoning going straight to statistics.

You picked at the box of saltines, sighing a little.

“You still feel bad,” he put it plainly, hand rubbing small shapes into the skin of your thigh.

“How’d you figure that, Boy Genius?” You smirked, popping a cracker into your mouth. “I know I didn’t…” you swallowed. “Ruin it, per se,” a shrug lifted your shoulders slightly. “I just feel like it could have been more romantic than… well, how it is right now…” you looked down at your lap, a bag of groceries on top of your now-wrinkled skirt.

Spencer smiled sympathetically, gears turning in that genius brain of his.

“What can I do to make tonight perfect, then?” He tilted his head down to look you in the eyes. You smiled. The radio lulled softly, a shallow tune buzzing out…

‘Who loves you, ask yourself a question…” Billie Holiday churned gently from the radio, mellow tune making you smile a little. Of course this is Spencer’s taste in music, what else?

‘Who loves you sweetheart, and tell me…”

An idea pricked itself into your brain, and you looked up at Spencer, his eyes dark, drunk on you.

“Dance with me…” Your voice came out barely a whisper, smile plastering your lips. He laughed a little, nervous, maybe.

“I-I can’t really dance-“

“It isn’t hard… Just…” you shrugged. “Dance with me.” Before he could respond, your car door was open, walking around to the driver’s side. The door tugged open, Spencer clearly amused and flustered, at the same time. “I-“ he sighed. “You can’t take no for an answer, huh?” You shook you head vigorously, smiling. He laughed, reaching to turn up the radio, stepping out of the car. He pulled a sweater from the backseat of his car, one that didn’t smell odd, wrapping it haphazardly around your shoulders. The cold concrete glazed over your feet, heels still shed in the car’s floorboard. His hands rested awkwardly around your shoulders.

“I’ve uh, never danced before…”

“There’s no skill involved in slow dancing…” you smiled. “I say that, of course, only having been to one prom with an actual date,” your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer, as his hands migrated to your hips, locking you in.

‘Who needs you, needs you every minute? Who fell for you from the start?…’

The car’s radio pushed out a gentle melody, filling the empty parking lot. Somehow, in the dinginess of the situation, the street lights felt like stars, and the lot a stage. Spencer’s eyes twinkled down at you, warmth radiating from underneath his patterned dress shirt. You two swayed under the moonlight, for some time, his large hands moving up and down your hips gently, eyes fixated on your face.

“Does this fix it?” He asked.

“Hm?”

“The date,” he reached a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Does this make it just as romantic as you dreamed it?” You smiled, head leaning into his hand. Looking around a little, you thought. This was the beginning of a relationship with THE Spencer Reid, the man you had been ‘down-bad’ for (Morgan’s words, not yours) since the day you first met. You were giddy. And, by the look on his face, he was too.

“…It does,” a smile creeped up your cheeks, which made him return the gesture. You sighed. “Our first real date…”

He laughed.

“Yeah, I think we’ve got the fake one beat,” he reminisced, mind wandering to your outing with the team about a week ago.

“So,” his voice came out shakily, cracking a little. He cleared his throat, making you giggle a little. “Is it uh… safe to say I’m you boyfriend?” He smiled wide, moving his forehead down to touch yours. The closeness made you grin. “Because that’s what I told my mom.”

You laughed. “Yes, Spence,” you looked up into his big, brown eyes, reflections of yourself staring back.

“Not just for the night, this time?”

A warm, genuine grin bloomed up your face.

“Not just for the night.”

(INFINITE THANKS TO EVERYONE WHO PUSHED ME TO KEEP WRITING MORE PARTS 💕💕 YOU’RE ALL ENCOURAGED TO REQUEST MORE)

P.S…. If you ever want anything else in written in this universe, just request your prompt with “BFTN! Reader”‼️

[sluttywonwoo]

instead of you [part nineteen] || l.mh

pairing: [best friend’s brother] lee minho x college!reader ft. han jisung

summary: you didn’t expect to spend your summer pretending to be your best friend’s girlfriend- then again, you didn’t expect to fall for your best friend’s brother, either. 

warnings: swearing, reader has emetophobia, mentions of sex (mdni)

word count: 4.7k

a/n: revamped my tom holland series from my main blog ( @wazzupmrstark ) to try and motivate myself to finish it!!

series masterlist | early access to the next chapter on ko-fi

“Why not?”

“You’re asking me why I can’t admit to wanting to kiss you?”

“Who said I wanted to kiss you?”

He was backtracking, trying to dig himself out of a hole that he’d already buried himself in. He cocked an eyebrow at you, somehow still arrogant in the midst of vulnerability. You called his bluff.

“I’m not stupid.”

He leaned away from you, a fraction of an inch. “I never said you were.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “Don’t act like you were testing me, like you had Jisung’s best interest in mind.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that for an actor you’re surprisingly transparent. No one leans that close to a person’s face for no reason. You were going to kiss me and now you’re trying to play it off like you were just testing me to see if I’d cheat on my boyfriend,” you paused for a beat, wondering if you could turn it around on him. “Because I was testing you, and you failed. Horribly.”

Minho blinked. “You’re fucking with me.”

“Does it look like I’m fucking with you?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “I can’t tell.”

“Guess you’ll never know.”

“Guess so…” he trailed off, settling back into his own seat.

The moment was gone, dissipated along with the breath you’d been holding. It was like the tight line of tension running between you, inexplicably tying you to each other, had been given an inch of slack. It was still there, buried under layers and layers of repression and guilt, but subdued.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that it was likely a bit of both.

Suddenly the bus lurched around a corner, sending you flying into Minho in an cruel, ironic twist of fate. Your head landed in his lap. As if that wasn’t bad enough, a speed bump caused your head to bounce up and come down back onto his thighs, face planting into his crotch again. You didn’t even want to think about what it looked like to the people across from you. This was not how you envisioned his dick pressing into your cheek would go.

Minho winced, helping you sit up. There was a tiny dark spot on his jeans, damp from where your open mouth had left an imprint on the fabric.

Mortified didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

“Are you ok?” Minho asked, seeming totally unphased by the series of events that had just taken place. He was holding your shoulders like you’d run if he let go. He did a quick scan of your body, looking for marks as if you’d been hit by a car and not simply tossed into another human being.

“Fine, just absolutely humiliated,” you sighed, rubbing your cheek.

“Don’t be.”

“Well too late, I already am. And, uh, sorry about… that.”

Minho followed your gaze to the wet patch on his jeans. “Oh, don’t worry about it. It happens.”

“Does it though?”

He shrugged. “Seemed like the right thing to say.”

You slumped down in your seat, pinching the bridge of your nose. Minho brought his hands to his lap and turned to look out the window.

“Are you okay?” you heard yourself ask just moments later. “I mean,” your eyes flicked down to where his hands were resting on his lap. You thought he might have been holding himself in pain, but then you realized-

“Fine,” he answered through gritted teeth, and that was the end of the conversation.

The next stop was Mt. Fuji’s 5th station, another lookout- this time on the mountain, that provided an even better view. You felt a little dumb for taking all of those pictures at the first stop but then remembered what Jisung had said about sending him lots of photos and relaxed a little.

This stop also served as the lunch break. Meals were provided to guests that had added the option on their tickets. The Hans had elected not to spring for the included meal, leaving you and Minho to fend for yourselves. They invited you to join them at a noodle shop inside the station, but you declined, opting to use the time to explore and find something on your own.

More time alone, you thought to yourself. Great idea. The day wasn’t even half over and you’d already had a close call. Too close of a call. Was it really that hard to control yourself around your best friend’s brother? What was wrong with you? Maybe it’d be easier if he wasn’t such a fucking tease. Regardless, you needed to have a little more self-restraint.

The break period was only about an hour long and then you’d be driving to the next stop so you had to be quick.

You walked with Minho through the narrow passageways, nearly breaking into a jog to keep up with him. There were only three or four restaurants in the surrounding area, narrowing your selection down by a lot.

“Looks like our choices are kind of similar,” Minho said as he scanned the menu on the wall of the third restaurant you’d stopped in front of.

“Here seems as good of a place as any.”

It was relatively busy inside, but you and Minho were able to find a little corner table out of the way. You figured these places must make a fortune, seeing as there was so little competition and dozens of buses full of hungry tourists came through each day.

The exterior of the building was painted black, as were the walls inside to absorb heat. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on either side of the dining room, showing off the breathtaking view of the mountain range in the near distance.

“What sounds good to you?” Minho asked, leaning over the table to see your menu even though he had one right in front of him.

“Seems like everyone’s ordering soup,” you mumbled and nodded to the tables closest to you to prove your point. “I guess that does sound kind of good, especially because it’s so cold up here.”

“We could order a couple different kinds and share?” he suggested.

“Yeah, okay,” you agreed nervously.

You might as well share soup with your best friend’s brother that you almost kissed just an hour prior. Yeah, makes perfect sense.

Minho ordered for both of you when the server noticed you were ready. You watched him effortlessly make conversation with the waiter, cracking jokes like he’d known the man his entire life, and it made you think of Jisung. Jisung who always ordered for you, Jisung who counted the dishes he ordered on his fingers to keep track of them, Jisung who made friends in every situation he found himself in.

“What?” Minho asked, yanking you from your thoughts.

You hadn’t even realized you’d been staring.

“Nothing, sorry.”

“You okay? You didn’t hit your head earlier, did you?”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, rolling your eyes. “Thanks for ordering for me.”

“Oh, you’re welcome. I noticed Jisung always orders for you so I just assumed you might’ve had some anxiety when it comes to that.”

“I do, yeah.” you admitted. “But it’s just something he’s always done for me, even before we started dating.”

The word dating seemed to snap Minho back to reality and he leaned away from you, straightening his posture and seeming to take great interest in the napkin in front of him.

“That’s sweet,” he muttered, sounding completely unconvinced.

“He can be when he wants to be. Shocking, I know.”

After lunch you took a walk around the lookout together, pointing out different signs with Japanese characters and trying to guess what they meant. Minho had paid for both of your meals, unsurprisingly, and you hadn’t even put up a fight. You already knew he wouldn’t let you pay for your own if you tried, slapping his card down on top of the bill before the server had even left the table.

You were listening to Minho talk about why he thought a sign by the bus stop said ‘no baseballs’ when you felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. Minho had given it to you on the bus so you could listen to music on the ride up the mountain and you just hadn’t remembered to give it back to keep in his bag.

It was a text from Jisung. Minho stopped talking as soon as he noticed you weren’t paying attention to him anymore.

How is everything? Haven’t heard from you all morning! Send a pic of you and Minho when you can :)

“Ji wants us to send a picture.”

“Of what?”

“Of us.”

“Us? Like, both of us?” Minho asked, looking as confused as you felt.

You shrugged. “I guess he wants to make sure we haven’t killed each other yet.”

He nodded in understanding. “Proof of life photo, got it.”

“Where should we-” you paused, looking around for the best place to snap a selfie.

“Well we should get the mountains in the background, right?”

“Yeah, good idea. Let’s go over there.” You pointed in the direction of a cluster of benches gathered at the ledge of the mountain where people were taking pictures with their families.

The section was fenced off to prevent guests from falling off the face of the cliff, but that wasn’t stopping kids from climbing the railings or couples sitting on top of them. You settled for simply leaning against it, not trusting yourself enough to balance your weight on top of it.

“Here, you have longer arms,” you said, offering your phone to Minho.

He took it without argument and extended his arm so that both of you were in the frame. You’d forgotten that he was a practiced expert at taking selfies. You wondered how many phone cameras he knew how to use just from snapping pictures with fans at every event he attended.

You weren’t sure how close to stand to him, or what to do with your hands. You leaned towards him, not touching, and smiled awkwardly. You weren’t doing anything wrong at that very moment, so why did you feel so guilty? Minho snapped a couple photos and was about to hand the phone back when you were interrupted.

“Do you want me to take a photo of you?” a woman with a thick German accent asked. “You know, couple? I take photo for you, and you take photo of me with my family?”

You were about to politely decline, correct her, and just offer to take the picture of her family, but Minho was already handing the phone over. You were going to kill him.

Minho slung his arm around your shoulders like it was the most normal thing in the world and you forced yourself to wrap yours around his waist, resting your head on his chest as you bit the inside of your cheek. You could hear his heartbeat if you listened closely. It was steady, rhythmic. Not at all panicked or rushed like you were sure your own was. You faked a smile and waited until the camera stopped clicking before letting yourself breathe again.

Minho thanked the woman and traded places with her, taking a few pictures of her with her family while you paced anxiously in the background. You checked the time on your phone, wondering if it was time to go yet when you realized you still needed to text Jisung back.

You scrolled through your gallery, selecting all the pictures the nice lady had taken of you and Minho. Your finger hovered over the delete button, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to press it. You hit cancel, sighing in defeat.

You opened your messages again and stared at the blinking cursor. You flipped through the options on your camera roll, unsure of what to do. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t send one of the pictures the woman had taken to Jisung. He probably wouldn’t even question it, the pose was normal enough for friends, but then again what if he did? You couldn’t risk it.

You chose one of the selfies Minho had taken and hit send, promptly locking your phone as soon as you saw it was delivered.

“We have to get back on the bus.”

You looked at the time on your phone and then back at Minho, squinting in confusion. “We still have a couple minutes before we’re supposed to leave.”

“No, that woman’s son started talking about K-pop when I was taking their picture.” You glanced over your shoulder and saw the family huddled together, all indiscreetly staring at you and Minho.

“Don’t look!” he hissed. “Come on.”

He tugged you by the arm until your feet caught up with you and you were able to walk in step with him.

“They recognized you?”

“The little boy did. I don’t know if the others believed him.” You were tempted to look back, but you knew you’d probably be yelled at again. As if Minho could read your thoughts, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. “Keep your head down.”

“I don’t get it, doesn’t this happen to you all the time?” you asked. “What’s the big deal?”

“It doesn’t happen to me all the time, and when it does it’s usually not a big deal,” he explained as he ushered you up the steps of the coach. You shuffled your way to your seats, nodding in acknowledgment at his parents as you passed them. You got to the row first so you took the window seat. It was easier than having to shuffle around. “I don’t mind taking pictures with fans or signing things for them most of the time. It can get annoying, but I try to remember that I’m incredibly lucky to be in the position I’m in in the first place. And I’m just like them when it comes to football players and golfers, anyway.” You chuckled. “I’m serious! I stumble over my words when I meet them, and my hands are shaky when I ask them for an autograph- I’m a fucking mess. But we already had one close call this week with someone seeing you alone with me. Twice is asking for it.”

“Asking for what?”

“Rumors, articles, blog posts- I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I don’t think that little boy is going to start any rumors about us,” you said.

“You don’t understand.” Minho was serious, something you weren’t used to seeing from him. “It’s not that simple. Someone from that family posts a picture on Instagram, they tag me and they see you standing next to me. My fans… can be really invested in my personal life. And they’ll want to know who you are because they think we might be dating. That’s why I told you to keep your head down so they wouldn’t be able to see your face.”

“But guys and girls can be friends,” you reasoned.

“It’s the internet, y/n. No one cares. I’m seen alone with a woman and suddenly everyone wants to know everything about her from her high school GPA to who her mother voted for in the last presidential election.”

Oh. Ok, maybe Minho was right and this was a bit serious. Your social media wasn’t the worst there was out there, but it certainly wasn’t the cleanest per se… you had a whole story highlight dedicated to you and Jisung competing to see who could down a shot the fastest. Yeah, you were those people at parties. And even though you lost most of the time, you could already imagine the things people would say about it.

“I didn’t realize you were so popular,” was all you could say.

Minho chuckled bitterly. “I try not to advertise it.”

“I can see why.”

“It’d be hell for you to be associated with me.”

“I kind of already am,” you pointed out. Minho gave you a blank look as if he didn’t know what you meant. “Through your brother.”

“Right, Jisung.” Minho sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I don’t know what he’d do to me if you got tangled up in all this bullshit.”

“You’re always saying shit like that. Jisung is pretty harmless, you know.”

Minho shook his head in disagreement. “You only think that because you’re wearing rose-colored glasses when it comes to him.”

“That’s not true!”

“Oh, come on, yes it is.”

“We were friends for years before we started dating! I haven’t always seen him romantically.”

“Still, you haven’t known him as long as I have.”

“Well you have on… whatever the opposite of rose-colored glasses when it comes to him because you’re related to him!” you argued. “He can barely hold me on top of him- don’t ask how I know that.” Minho pursed his lips, suppressing a smirk. He’d clearly been about to ask. “I’m just saying I think you could take him.”

“I’m flattered, but I think you’re forgetting how protective he can be,” he protested. “Has he never gotten jealous?” Minho pressed, his body rocking slightly as the bus began to move. He stabilized himself against the seat in front of him, looking at you expectantly. “He’s never been possessive of you?”

You bit your bottom lip, trying to decipher whether or not this was a test. Did Minho suspect anything? Was he just being nosy or did he think there was something you were lying about. Was he trying to get dirt on his brother, prove to you that he’s not a good boyfriend? You weren’t sure what to think. You scrambled for something, running through your memories as you tried to piece together a story with fragments of half-truths.

“There were a couple of times…” you admitted, trying to even your breathing to sound more natural. “Like this one time, we were at a bar and this guy was trying to buy me a drink while he was in the bathroom and when he came back he just kinda came up to us and wrapped an arm around my waist and the dude fucked off.”

What had actually happened, was a guy tried to buy you a drink while Jisung was in the bathroom and you agreed, asking him to buy one for your friend Ji too. You let the dude assume it was short for Jisoo or whatever and entertained him while the bartender mixed the cocktails. As soon as you saw Jisung emerge from the bathroom you took both the drinks and ditched the man the second his back was turned. You presented your best friend with one of the drinks and toasted the man who bought them for you, clinking your glasses together in celebration. After you downed them, Jisung pulled you onto the dance floor with him, telling you to follow his lead. He made sure the stranger was watching and then kissed you hard right in front of him. You took it a step further, slipping your tongue into your best friend’s mouth and cupping his face between your hands. When you came up for air the man was walking out the door with a scowl on his face.

“Another time before we started dating he dropped me off on a date with another person, and wouldn’t even let me walk into the restaurant when he saw the guy through the window.”

That was true, but the real reason he didn’t let you go into the restaurant was because he knew the guy from one of his classes and had overheard him talking about how bi girls are freakier in bed which is why he actively sought them out.

“So I guess you’re right, he’s always been protective of me, even when we were just friends. But I don’t think he’d hurt anyone. He might say something brutal, but he wouldn’t swing at you unless he’s defending himself.”

“Well, I don’t want to take any chances.”

You thought Minho would be satisfied with your answers, but you couldn’t tell from the expression on his face.

You sat in silence for the rest of the bus ride to the next stop. There was that tension again. You curled into yourself, bringing your knees to your chest and pressing yourself against the window as you pulled your phone out of your pocket to text Jisung back.

J: dorks ;) looks like you’re having fun. love you!

Y: it’s ok i guess… would be better if you were here

J: that’s because everything’s better when i’m there

Y: nvm i take it back

J: rude

Y: how are you feeling??

J: just ok :/ mum sent lix and i some soup, but i couldn’t keep it down

J: sorry, i shouldn’t have said that part

Y: it’s ok

J: no it’s not- i know how you feel about that stuff

Y: ji, i promise it’s fine.

J: if you say so…

Y: i do

Y: btw… minho was asking if you’re ever get jealous

J: why

Y: idk it was weird- i told him about that time at the club near campus

You hoped he remembered which time you were talking about. You flirted with a lot of people for free booze.

J: i remember that night

Oh, so he did remember. Or he was bluffing just in case Minho was reading over your shoulder. You checked discreetly, sneaking a glance over at his brother. But Minho was scrolling through Twitter, completely in his own world.

J: did you tell him about what i did to you when we left >:)

Y: he’s not reading these, dumbass. you don’t have to do all that

J: i was referring to spilling my slushie down the front of your dress idk what you’re talking about

Y: i can’t stand you

“Hey, y/n.” You jumped at the sound of Minho’s voice, clutching your phone to your chest protectively. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just, we’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the bus had stopped, but passengers were already getting off, eager to see the mountain from yet another view. Minho slid out of the row and stepped back to let you off in front of him.

“Where are your parents?” you wondered aloud as you passed their empty row.

“Guess they ditched us again,” Minho sighed. “Really loving this family trip. Not that hanging out with you isn’t cool and all,” he amended.

“It’s fine, I get it,” you assured him. “Except I’m going to take it very personally and give you the silent treatment for the rest of the day.”

He shook his head but laughed. You followed the rest of the tourists in your group who were getting into a fast-moving line and joined them at the end. You and Minho had been the last two on the bus so there wasn’t anyone else behind you.

You weren’t even sure what you were in line for, hell, you didn’t even know where you were, but men in beige coveralls were ushering the queue forward impatiently. They gave directions mostly through hand signals, pointing, thumbs up, thumbs down, probably so guests from all around the world could easily understand them.

Before you could even understand what was happening you were enclosed in a cable car that was ascending God knows how high with Minho and one other couple. They looked to be in their seventies, and were speaking Vietnamese to each other, completely oblivious to the seven stages of grief you were going through on the other side of the car.

“Minho” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured back. He looked quite pale himself, but you knew it likely had more to do with being concerned about you than anything else. He hurriedly glanced around the tiny cabin as if there might be something in there that could help you.

“Minho,” you repeated, this time with more urgency.

“I-I” he paused, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know this was part of the tour. I didn’t mean for- if I had known I would’ve suggested we stay back.”

“I feel sick,” you mumbled.

“Let’s sit down.”

Minho tried to cross the car over to you, but his movement caused the gondola to shake. You barely managed to muffle a scream of terror with your fist. The car swung violently on the wire and you suddenly wondered how up to code these cable cars were. When was the last time they had been inspected? How old were they in the first place?

If you looked closely you could see rust corroding some of the bolts and paint chipping from the benches. It took everything in you not to collapse to the floor and assume fetal position.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Minho apologized. “I’m going to move again, okay?”

“No, please don’t!” you begged.

“I have to! I have to move to get over to you. It’ll just be one more time, I promise.”

You nodded, even though you were dreading it and screwed your eyes shut, bracing yourself for the rocking. The jolt was bigger than you expected and for a moment you thought the cable had snapped and you were plummeting towards the ground, but when you opened your eyes you were still moving steadily upward and Minho was by your side.

“Why did you jump!” you cried. “We could’ve died!”

God bless him for his patience. He wasn’t even phased by your accusations, instead he just took you by the hands and eased you onto the bench behind you, sitting next to you a moment later.

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you groaned, wiping your sweaty palms on your hands.

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“That’s not true, I yelled at you.”

“I’ve had worse, trust me.”

He was trying to make you laugh, but you were still terrified out of your mind. Your whole body was trembling and your stomach was twisting with nausea. You were trying not to look down, but the whole cabin was made of glass. It was impossible not to look, and closing your eyes only made you feel sicker.

“Want to hold my hand like last time?” Minho offered.

You were quick to accept, grabbing his hand as soon as it was outstretched.

“I’m sorry my palms are clammy.”

“Mine are too, it’s okay,” he assured you, even though they were completely dry.

You squeezed his hand hard, just like you had on the rollercoaster. But it wasn’t making you feel any better.

“Minho, I’m scared.”

“I know, y/n. It’s okay though. You’re safe with me. I’ve got you, I promise. I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”

“How can you say that?” you whined, eyes darting around to all of the windows. “You can’t control whether or not we fall out of the sky!”

You suddenly felt horribly guilty for the other couple trapped in the cable car with you. They were probably just trying to enjoy their vacation and there you were having a mental breakdown thousands of feet in the air with nowhere for them to escape to.

Minho laughed despite himself and used his free hand to grab your face, turning your attention to him.

“Hey, look at me, okay? Don’t look out the windows. Just focus on me.”

“Okay,” you gulped.

You focused on his face. On the way his soft features hardened around the edges. His sharp jawline and perfect nose, easing into the light blush of his cheeks and warm, brown eyes. The dichotomy was striking, and the late afternoon sun that was shining in through the dirty glass made him look angelic. The way the light cast a golden halo around his curls was enough to draw anyone and you found yourself leaning closer and closer to his face.

You were the one to kiss him this time, but he more than reciprocated. The moment your lips touched he was tangling a hand in your hair, groaning softly against your mouth. His lips were just as warm and soft as you remembered, but the kiss was a million times more damning. You were both completely sober, even if you’d been consumed by terror moments earlier. You knew what you were doing. You both did. And you had the first time, but now there was no excuse.

You pulled away a moment later. “I-I’m sorry. I just had to see…”

Minho brought a hand up to your face and you flinched, but all he did was run a thumb across your cheek, collecting a stray tear on his fingertip. You hadn’t even noticed you’d started crying, and whether it was from fear or guilt you couldn’t be sure.

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[rollfordexterity]

wrote a statement fic in transcript format that takes place in The Entwined Archives, a tma au that myself and the wonderful @simcardiac-arrested came up with! the characters featured are their ocs and can be found on the askblog @dj-wayback. this au obviously is not canon compliant to the original askblog (and no, it's not really canon compliant to tma either, but there are a few minor spoilers). big spoilers for cream's askblog though. fic is under the cut, trigger warnings are listed below

List of content warnings: abuse, graphic animal abuse, animal experimentation, dehumanisation, unethical science, overworking and burnout, hallucinations, dissociation, migraines, shock (medical), burning, descriptions of death by immolation, toxic workplace environment, canon-typical Buried and Desolation content, slightly implied cannibalism (kinda), emetophobia, suffocation, gore, blood, memory loss

Stress Testing

INT. NEEDLESS SEPARATION’S SMALL FLAT - NIGHT, RAINING (TAPE RECORDER)

NEEDLESS SEPARATION

(slightly frantic, almost whispered) …Is this working? Good. I need to - I just - I have to record this somehow. I need to be sure of this. There’s something wrong, it’s all missing, I am all missing, and if I do not say this now it might go missing too. I don’t know what happened but it’s all gone.

[BEAT. THEY TAKE A MOMENT TO COMPOSE THEMSELF.]

I… my apologies. These are not the ramblings of a drunkard or a child with an overactive imagination, I swear it. My memory of these events is lacking, I will admit, but I know that something happened, even if I cannot prove it. I was perfectly healthy before, I would not just hallucinate this, no matter what the doctors may believe.

I should start at the beginning. This started… up to six months ago, I believe. Possibly longer. My sense of time is quite distorted now. At the time, I was fresh out of school, having just completed my Masters in Theoretical Physics. It was a competitive field, but I did eventually manage to find a position as a research assistant with the company Transcendent Life Labs. The job description was a little vague, but I applied anyway, and after an unexpectedly short interview process I was hired. It was mostly the standard interview fare, about work ethic and prioritisation, strengths and weaknesses, et cetera, but there were a number of more personal questions. Asking about my social life, my hobbies, that sort of thing. It did strike me as a little odd, but some workplaces do have a more casual atmosphere.

The supervisor I was assigned to was an accomplished scientist named Finite Waves. My position as their assistant meant that I worked directly with them at an isolated research facility for some time. There was barely anything for miles around and no roads, so I had to stay at the facility in a small room. I had few personal effects, but I did not mind so much given that I did not spend much time there anyway. As we were located quite far out, the lab’s surroundings were surprisingly untouched by people and I faintly recall thinking it was quite beautiful. The other researchers were generally affable, though I rarely interacted with them. Admittedly, the cafeteria food was... lacking, and usually a little burnt, but it was altogether not an unpleasant environment at first.

Finite Waves’ research was about critical phenomena in natural sciences. Critical points are a concept originally from thermodynamics: the point at which a liquid and a vapour can coexist. If you increase the pressure, the equilibrium is broken and the vapour will condense to a liquid. A simple comparison might be that friction can build up at a tectonic fault until it has to give, resulting in earthquakes. There is an idea in criticality that the brain might operate in a similar way in order to make itself more sensitive to certain inputs and stimuli, but prevents itself from completely reaching the critical point. Finite Waves wanted to study how the brain might be pushed past that critical point, how a complete and irreversible change might be induced.

Admittedly, this was not my area of expertise: I am a specialist in quantum mechanics and when I accepted the job offer I had assumed I would be assigned to a department where they were actually doing that. I certainly wasn’t expecting neuroscience. Then again, I do not recall my interviewer actually asking what I had studied. Nor can I remember, well, anything else about them. At the time, I simply accepted that I was lucky to have found a job, and that I should treat this as a learning experience. So in the weeks before my employment was due to begin, I read everything I could find on the subject. I was quite tired by the end, but I concluded that I had a reasonable base of knowledge and if I was missing something I could find out more later.

It turned out to be gruelling, tedious work, but I have always been an efficient researcher and in the beginning I even completed some tasks with time to spare. I used to carry a small sketchbook with me, an old, battered thing I’d used so much that one half of the cover was practically hanging off it, so once my work was finished I would take a break and spend some time drawing. At the time, I reasoned that this was perfectly acceptable — there was no work left, so it would not matter if I was doing this during my lab hours. It helped to alleviate some of the stress of the job, in any case. Finite Waves walked in while I was drawing once, and although he did not reprimand me for it, the look of disapproval he gave me was enough that I was sure to keep the sketchbook in my desk when I was not using it and I became more wary about listening for their footsteps when I was on a break.

However, as the… weeks? Months? As I said, I cannot remember how long I was there — as time passed, Finite Waves increased my workload, and I found that I had far less time for breaks. I started staying in the labs after hours, writing report after report. I was also assigned various tests to run, but they were exceedingly strange. Essentially, I was performing materials testing, looking for the aforementioned critical point at which various items were supposed to “change”. The methodology was somewhat unique, however.

To begin with, I could not understand why I was being given materials like the toys and shelters from the animal specimens’ pens, and it seemed like a waste since the tests I was being asked to run usually damaged or destroyed them. It always felt like I was killing them when that happened, though I could not explain why. They were just objects. Half of the equipment I was using looked like it would be better suited to an abattoir and the other half involved using natural materials to test factors like environmental degradation. On one memorable occasion, I had a small tub of swirling molten golden fluid that completely dissolved the chewed wicker toy I was testing. Finite Waves was in high spirits that day.

It was also unclear what results I was meant to be looking for — I am certain there was a reason for it, but perhaps I have forgotten it.

Finite Waves seemed quite certain about it though. I wondered if the methodology had been approved by an ethics board, especially given the… ah, conditions of the animals. While I was not testing anything on them directly, their health often worsened significantly with the removal of such items and they were not kept together despite being a social species. Many did not even have bedding in their cages. Their keeping and observation was not part of my responsibilities; Finite Waves observed them instead and I believe he was running some other tests that I was not involved in, but I know the creatures were pushed completely to the edge of stability. I certainly noticed symptoms such as fur loss, lack of appetite and sudden bouts of aggression on the few occasions that I had to enter the containment room.

As the project wore on, Finite Waves seemed more on edge, and I will admit his behaviour was disconcerting. Sometimes I would see him performing a dissection on one of those unfortunate specimens after hours, usually a rabbit. He always seemed… slow. Methodical and drawn out, in the way that one might savour a delicious meal. I never saw him smile, but I got the sense that he relished it nonetheless. No one else seemed particularly perturbed by this, so I chose to ignore it for the time being. You meet plenty of eccentrics in this field after all, and while it was a little sickening at times I could hardly ask him about it. Not when I felt as if when he looked at me, he was simply performing another dissection.

The work was exhausting. I did question it at times; what I was doing had moved far beyond the scope of the simple theoretical physics research I had expected, and likely had little to do with proper neuroscience as well. Finite Waves tended to keep me too busy to think about it much, though. I have never been one to shy away from work, but it was far more than I had ever had to do, even during my degree. Soon, I began losing track of time. I would begin a report at two, and come to my senses well into the night with no idea how long I had been sitting there and a splitting migraine that felt as if my head would melt from the pain. More than once, I forgot what day it was, and simply kept going through the motions in a fugue state with black spots at the edges of my vision. Other times, I would bury myself in work with feverish dedication, only to finally finish a report and instantly be overcome with a wave of burning pain. On the rare occasion that I ventured to the cafeteria, I found that everything I ate was bitter and chalky, more ash than food. Curiously, there never seemed to be anyone in there. I assumed it was simply that my hours were odd, and I could hardly focus on the minutiae like that. My mouth was always dry and I could barely stand. The few nights I spent in bed were sleepless, as I spent the entire time curled up with a fan activated to try and cool my searing skin and head. Working could usually distract me from it, though, or at least I felt that it was better to be in pain and doing something rather than sitting around in agony and accomplishing nothing, so I resorted to staying hunched over stacks of meaningless paperwork. My sketchbook went all but forgotten in the drawer of my desk.

I do not know how long this continued. The calendars in the facility blurred into the background until eventually they were gone altogether. Clocks seemed to melt when I looked at them, although this was likely because of the exhaustion impairing my vision and the blistering sensation behind my eyes. My senses constantly rebelled against me; every light was near-blinding, every footstep sounded like a scream. I went days without seeing anyone except for Finite Waves. Longer, maybe. It often felt as if the facility was entirely empty.

Eventually, this came to a head. The irony that I recall this part fairly well is not lost on me. It was one of the few brief moments of clarity I had. I think I could tell that something was off that night.

It was long past dark, so myself and Finite Waves were the only ones still in the main facility. For once, he had requested that I be present for one of his experiments. Although I’m sure I had worked there for some considerable time, it was highly unusual that I was there for any of his testing when it came to the animals themselves. When I entered the laboratory, I immediately noticed the bizarre setup. There was a rabbit with a couple of nodes attached to its head locked in a cage on the central table, frantically trying to dig. It looked at me for a moment, wide-eyed and piercing. Like it knew me. It was so emaciated I barely recognised it as an animal at first, all shivering skin and bones and eyes.

I wanted to run. I should have run. But Finite Waves stared at me and I felt rooted to the spot.

As I approached the table, the rabbit began digging again. Just digging. It scrabbled at the surface of the table as if it could claw its way through the steel, its mangled paws covered in oozing scabs and sores that had clearly been reopened. How long had it been digging? With a growing feeling of pressure behind my eyes and a little sick to my stomach, I watched as Finite Waves activated what looked like an elaborate heating element on the desk, emitting an oppressive warmth which worsened my now-pulsing headache. The pressure was starting to feel crushing — and then I looked back to the rabbit. It kept digging, no longer just frantic but frenzied. The steel table was heating up, causing its paws to blister and bleed, but it just wouldn’t stop digging. Finite Waves seemed indifferent to its struggle, motioning for me to start writing down whatever result he seemed to be getting from this torture. I complied.

I wrote it all down. I noted how the welts on the rabbit’s skin began to tear and ooze dark liquid that evaporated the second it hit the table, how the melting flesh pulled back to reveal a ribcage cracking under the strain of the quickly-mounting pressure that now descended over the room, how it heaved on the bloodstained soil that spilled from its mouth, how it just kept digging -

[THEY BREAK OFF WITH A GASP, TAKING A MOMENT TO SHAKE THE INCREASINGLY FRANTIC TONE.]

- how, when it finally collapsed with a horrible shriek, golden flowers bloomed from the grave that it dug itself and burst into flame from the scorching heat.

The lab was still. The heat and pressure did not abate, but for a second I hoped that it was over. It seemed so fragile, lying there on the table, still blistering and bleeding. The stench of burnt flesh and fur was overwhelming, and the intense heat emanating from the carcass only made my head feel like it was going to split open. I tried to speak, to scream, maybe, but no sound passed my lips. When I glanced towards Finite Waves, though, they looked furious. Trying to keep my composure, I turned back to face them properly, but I am sure they saw through it. The way they looked at me… it was like I was the one lying burned and broken on the steel slab.

They started to march around the room, rifling through desks — looking for something to salvage the experiment, I assumed, although I did not know what. I stayed in the middle of the room watching them. I am not certain what I was expecting to happen, but something deep within me wanted to bolt. Except for the sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor and the quiet crackle of the still-burning corpse, it was agonisingly quiet. Finally, they brandished a small, tattered book from a drawer. It took me far too long to realise what precisely they were holding, but before I could register the dread of seeing them clutching my sketchbook, it was far too late to do anything about it. They stalked back to the central table, and I could only stare in horror and confusion as they set it alight.

It felt like time itself was melting. I was stuck in that moment for ages, watching years of progress go up in flames. As he held my sketchbook in the fire, I saw the pages begin to bubble and blister — I barely understood it at the time, but I am now certain that the dark liquid that dripped from it was blood. I think I heard screaming. Perhaps it was mine, or the book itself. Watching the flames lick the sides of my sketchbook as the pages curled and writhed like tearing skin, I felt the ache behind my eyes become sharper, stabbing until it was scorching, incinerating every neuron and synapse and leaving nothing in its wake.

I cannot possibly convey the pain I felt with mere words. There are dozens of articles online on what happens to you when you burn, reporting every gory detail with morbid fascination, basking in the horror of how the capillaries burst, how the fat melts and how the muscles contract. I read every single one I could find. None of them felt like what happened to me. None of them could grasp how it feels for your brain to cook inside your skull.

I passed out, I think. When I came to, I was lying on the floor. A person whose name I regrettably no longer remember had put me into a safer position — I had gone into shock, apparently. They had been trying to call an ambulance. As it turns out, it is quite difficult for emergency services to reach a lab in the middle of nowhere. I don’t believe they were a coworker of mine; the Hawaiian shirt was hardly appropriate lab attire, but I am grateful for their presence nonetheless. Even if I did initially mistake them for Finite Waves in my confusion. Eventually, an Air Ambulance arrived and I was taken to hospital. My case completely baffled the doctors, as I was uninjured and they could not identify why I went into shock. Eventually, they concluded that I must have been severely dehydrated and gone into hypovolemic shock as a result, that I had just hallucinated all of… that.

I had to stay in hospital for several weeks to recover, but I did return to the research facility to collect my things and resign. Finite Waves was completely absent, and according to sign-in records, had not come in on the day of this incident, nor any day after that. No one recognised my description of the person who called the ambulance either. Aside from my own testimony, there was little to suggest anything had actually happened, save for the charred remains of my sketchbook unceremoniously tossed in a waste paper basket, covered in some dark, dried substance that seemed to have leaked from between the mutilated pages. I tried not to think about it too much.

I cannot shake the feeling that I should have felt more grief in that moment. I had spent a great deal of time perfecting my art, learning how to express rather than merely copy what I saw. And yet it was as if I had never seen it before in my life. I could remember nothing about the drawings within, or how I had done them. My sketchbook was unrecognisable, and all I felt was… empty. As if the very concept of art had burned to ash within me, and taken a part of me with it.

I left rather quickly after that.

Getting back on my feet has been challenging. A number of my possessions seem to be missing, including my phone and laptop, and it is not as if I have any connections at the moment. Even my emergency contact was missing, apparently. I have only vague memories of faceless people who were… perhaps my friends and family. There seems to be very little chance that I might get another job in scientific research — having to leave your last job after having a breakdown and claiming you were violently assaulted by a senior member of staff will do that to a CV.

I did have a stroke of luck, though. Recently, I left my flat to visit a nearby café, and while I was there I ran into a person named Cognitive Dissonance, who seemed to recognise me from… when I was an undergraduate, I think she said? The encounter as a whole was somewhat overwhelming, and I couldn’t remember her at all besides a faint echo of endearment, but the broad strokes seemed to be that we had done some kind of art workshop together and been fairly close. When I mentioned that I was out of work, she suggested I join her at a research job for some kind of paranormal investigations organisation. Fitting, really. I do not think I really have anything to lose at this point, and working for ghosthunters is better than becoming homeless. I was lucky my lease was still going, and my sick leave plus the astounding overtime I was apparently owed paid most of my various debts.

[BEAT. THEY SEEM TO SNAP OUT OF THEIR STORY.]

Ah, I… think that is all of it. My interview for the new job is tomorrow. With any luck, it won’t be such a disaster, and I will have something to do again. These days are getting unbearable with nothing to do except lay down with another wretched headache.

[TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF.]

INT. NEEDLESS SEPARATION’S SMALL FLAT - NIGHT, DRY (TAPE RECORDER)

[TAPE RECORDER CLICKS BACK ON.]

NEEDLESS SEPARATION

…I was unsure if I still had this. Wayback’s investigation into Finite Waves reminded me of it. Evidently, my younger self was right to record it: some of these details did disappear from my mind. I had forgotten about the flowers, for example. Hardly makes for a credible statement, but we are far past that point by now.

It is unusual to hear myself talk about Cognitive Dissonance, though. Although we did maintain a good relationship, I never recovered any memories of them and we did not spend much time together. There was so much work to do, of course. They did not remember a great deal of me either then, and now they certainly do not.

It has been several years since my incident now. I have not heard anything further from Transcendent Life Labs, nor Finite Waves. For the most part, I did put it out of my mind. Though I do occasionally wonder if I might have been able to do something. Perhaps if I had hidden my sketchbook better, or left it in my room… No. It is of little relevance.

[THEY COUGH, TRYING TO CHANGE THE TOPIC.]

In some ways, the work I do now is not so different to what I did back then; my job is still to explain and predict strange occurrences. I am just as efficient and hardworking as I ever was — more, even. It is not as if I have anything else to do on the job now. Without any distractions, I get far more done. More recently, I have endeavoured to make sense of these beings that we call Entities. My colleagues believe them inscrutable, but I cannot accept such a lacklustre answer. If these beings must feed, then it stands to reason that they are to some extent living, and can therefore be observed. Categorised. Understood.

It is then perhaps bitterly ironic that for all my tireless research, all those sleepless nights I have dedicated to unpicking the patterns that emerge from supernatural phenomena, I am yet to find a clear answer as to what happened to me, or why. I don't... perhaps it was just another form of test. Perhaps I will never understand at all. And my headaches are getting worse.

…I know something is wrong. My skin is cracked and peeling, and I cannot rid my mouth of the taste of ash. Weaving Tales attempted to send me home last week with a temperature, of all things. Hah.

[A CLIPPED, HUMOURLESS LAUGH.]

But it is of no concern. While these conditions are admittedly unpleasant, they are livable. Sometimes you have to deal with things you dislike to get any work done, after all. I cannot stop now.

[TAPE RECORDER CLICKS OFF.]

[xyilous]

A Little Too Much To Drink

had the idea to write another optimus fic, this was the only thing that came to mind that i could really get behind

basically gn reader gets drunk and flirts with boss bot

any continuity, probably fits more with bayverse, romantic reader

cw for alcohol, drinking, maybe anger issues LOL, emetophobia (mention), suggestive, im down bad

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Nothing like a good trip to the bar to finish off a stressful week. Between entitled customers and your boss with her head shoved way too far up her own ass, you wanted, no needed, something to take the edge off. At this point you could explode from sheer annoyance alone, ready and willing to pop anyone in the mouth who dares to tell you to do something else. A few shots ended up multiplying after the initial alcohol ruined your mental clarity, now you’re picking up you’re phone in hopes of being able to get someone to drive you home. Considering it was closing time for a bar, not many are available. However, there’s a certain contact that you’re sure will be willing to come to your rescue at 2am.

Through a couple strange encounters and an unexpected introduction to a small group of cybernetic aliens, known as the autobots, you came to know their leader. He was a respectable mech, one that always stood for what he believed in and always made sure to cary out his duties, even if that means he receives a jumbled slur of words kindly asking him for a ride. Though Optimus wasn’t super keen on human habits and traditions, he knew that there was a substance that affected its drinker the same way high grade did back on Cybertron, by the warping of your voice he knew you got a bit more than you bargained for. After assuring him you were safe, just not suitable to drive home or wanting to get into a car with a stranger, he let you know he got your coordinates and would be at your location as soon as possible.

It took him no time (or maybe it did, your sense of time was swirled just like the weird concoction in your stomach) to show up, the rumble of the Prime’s powerful engine growled outside before abruptly shutting off, moments later his holoform made its way through the doors. By the looks of it he made sure to use a more casual outfit to help blend in, while Optimus glanced around you made the best of those few seconds, watching as his shirt and jeans hugged his body. Perhaps it was the liquor in your system, maybe it was his fault for using such an attractive body. You swung your arm high above your head to flag him down, your hand drunkenly flopping in the air. He caught sight of your goofy face and made his way over towards you, narrowly avoiding other patrons and their drinks. Optimus wormed his way up beside you and let you lean against his chest, hearing you giggle and ramble about something he couldn’t exactly make out.

“Nice to see you as well, but unfortunately I didn’t quite catch that,” That deep voice of his made an appearance, proving to only worsen the warm feeling in you cheeks.

“I said, ‘who gave you the right to stroll in looking so perfect’,” Your head rolled back to allow you to see the face that made your heart skip a beat, watching as his eyes widened and his cheeks flushed. He looked unsure of what to say, instead choosing to haul you up with a hand around your waist. Stumbling quite a bit, you curled yourself into his hip to try and keep steady the best you could, only for your knees to fail you.

“Won’t you be a doll and pack me out, hm? Be my knight in shining armor?” The grin on your cheeks widened a bit as you looked up at his shy expression before feeling his arms tuck under your back and knees, quite literally sweeping you off your unstable feet. You let out a surprised squeak at the movement, your state made it feel a lot more intense than it was and your hand clung to his shirt to ground yourself. Optimus waited a moment for you to adjust before he maneuvered his way out of the pub and to his alt mode. He sat you in the passenger seat comfortably, ensured you were buckled in safely, before disappearing into his cab and returning with a blanket you left in there a couple weeks ago. It enveloped you in its warmth, by the heat radiating off it one could assume he made sure to warm it up beforehand, what an angel.

The makeshift human mode fizzled out of existence as you laid your head against his window. It was peacefully quiet as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway. At some point your brain reared it’s head again, insisting that you make your move.

“Hey, Optimus,” You started, getting a small rev of his engine to let you know he’s listening, “Are you a magnet? ‘Cause I’m feelin’ attracted to you.” The bot remained quiet as a dopey snicker came out of your mouth, your hand was tracing the small details and seams on the door you rested against. He never said anything about it, continuing to drive smoothly down the road.

“You know, if I was a car, I'd need some coolant, because you've got my engine overheating.” Regardless of how ridiculous you sounded, your foggy brain betrayed you by filling your veins with confidence, not allowing you to hear how cheesy your little attempts at flirting are. Optimus stayed silent, simply letting you to get it out of your system.

“Mm, you’re so pretty, you know that..?” The music that’s been playing in the background suddenly became staticky and broken before evening back out, by the sounds of it you took the poor mech off guard. Another giggle slipped out of your lips before you moved and kissed the part of the door your cheek rested against.

“‘Nd so strong too, such a strong bot,” you sighed a bit, clearly just rambling off the top of your head, “You take such good care of me and the others, always making sure to treat me right.” Pressing another small kiss to his door, you sat there for a moment to reel yourself back in.

“…I believe that you had a little too much to drink.” That lovely voice of his echoed out of the speakers and entered your ears, only encouraging you to push further.

“Alcohol doesn’t change how someone feels, sweetheart. Just makes ‘em a little more open, no harm in that.” Your little petname for him slipped out without you even noticing, with your intoxication it wasn’t exactly easy to keep your mouth shut, instead opting to try and play with the leader.

“Personally, I feel that your little nickname is a result of what you drank tonight.” Raising up and pivoting in your seat, you leaned your head against your hand.

“What about a different one then? How’s Doll sound? Maybe Sunshine? Oo, what if i call you Darling, would you like that one better?” Anyone would be able to hear the teasing in your voice, be able to tell that you were doing your best to do the cybertronian equivalent of getting someone hot under the collar. It was silent for a moment, enough to make you worry you went too far, before Optimus broke the silence.

“…Feel free to use what you feel fit, it is your call.” By the way there was a hint of embarrassment in his voice, you chose to pet at the passenger seat you rested in, consoling him by muttering soft praises. You weren’t even sure if he could hear you, but that didn’t matter now. Maybe it’s because you were drunk at 2 in the morning, but you swore you could feel the truck shudder.

“Why are you so embarrassed, honey? For a Prime you’re not too fond of being sweet talked, hm? It’s a shame really, such a pretty thing like you deserves all the attention.” In the midst of your thirsty rambling you were unaware that he pulled into your driveway, only realizing at the sudden halting caused by his brakes. Sluggishly looking up, you stared for a moment before clambering out of his alt mode.

“Won’t my dear knight allow me to see his handsome face, give me something good to dream about.” Without a moments notice the gears that made up his body twisted and folded in on themselves as he kneeled in his bipedal form, scooping you up into his massive metal palm. Optimus held you close to his chassis as his free servo gently pulled the window to your room open, allowing you to slip inside. As you slipped into your home, you leaned over a pressed another kiss to his digit, not even sure if he could feel such a small sensation. You moved into a house that stood by itself after you met the autobots, wanting them to feel like they didn’t have to hide like they would if you lived somewhere less reserved. Sometimes it could be helpful, like now, where you drunk so much that you can barely stand. When you turned around you were able to see that Optimus, the usually brave and steely leader of the autobot alliance, was acting timid, unable to meet your eyes. Behind his helm you could see puffs of grey dancing their way out of his smokestacks and filling the air, whether they were cooling him off or something else was a mystery to you.

“What’s got you so shy, love? Did I overdo it??” That cocky attitude of yours was quickly overridden by anxiety, you were petrified of the thought of making the boss bot uncomfortable, but you barely had time to finish your question before his optics jumped to you and he interjected.

“You did absolutely nothing wrong, I am just… rather unaccustomed to your… phrases, if you will.” As he spoke he got shy again, the smoke his frame was producing increasing.

“Oh? Allow me to help you get more comfortable then,” A large smirk dug itself across your features as you leaned onto your hands and held yourself up in your window frame, “You know, if I could reach you, I’d kiss all over that big metal face of yours. For a robot you’re quite the looker.” When his expression went from shy to shocked your grin widened, watching as he once again averted his eyes but placed his hand out for you to take your place back on. You used one of his fingers as a stabilizer as the soles of your shoes kept somewhat kept you in place, opting to sit down so you don’t fall 2 stories. This isn’t your first time, but it is your first time with too much alcohol for your little human body to handle.

Optimus, slightly nervously, raised you to meet his faceplates, keeping you at a level that you had room to explore a little bit but not stray anywhere unwanted. It’s your turn to get shy but your drunken confidence won, carefully you pressed your lips to his ‘cheek’, something small just to see his reaction. Those big blue optics of his danced over your much smaller face, cascading you in a bright blue light. A couple more smooches adorned his metal features before a small whirr made its way out of the bot’s frame, signaling that his cooling fans kicked on. The sound made you hum out of curiosity, taking a break from bombarding him with kisses to ask him what that was.

“When cybertronians feel too heated, our bodies will naturally trigger a set of internal fans to keep us at a normal temperature.” It was such a change of pace to see someone so confident turn so bashful, but it was cute nonetheless.

“Heated you say? Do I grind your gears that much, love?” You pulled back with that smirk still glued to your own cheeks, watching as he slightly nodded his head.

“Perhaps you do.” While the words came out of his mouth you made a move by kissing the robot equivalent of his lips, successfully making the bot sputter as he tried to find the words.

“You’re adorable, Optimus.” By now his smokestacks and fans were working overtime to fix his flustered form while you sat kneeled on his palm laughing. After his embarrassment subsided he let out a chuckle of his own, finding himself amused (granted not as much as your slap happy self) at his predicament. Before you could continue your face deadpanned for a moment, before a few dreadful words came out of your mouth.

“I’m gonna puke.”

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[spacesapphi]

"Moving Forward, Spiraling Downward Chapter 9- Two Sides of the Same Coin"

WOOHOO another long chapter! This was a beast to write and draw for but very fun :) I've been itching to write about our favorite Joja coworkers being friends, and figured they needed to find something to connect over. Their dynamic and friendship is quite underrated imo

CWs for this chapter include mild emetophobia, talks of mental health issues and addiction, and mentions of war

Summary: Months after moving back in, Shane finds himself struggling to connect with just about everyone in town. Having changed so much makes him feel far too different to connect anymore, and it's the loneliest feeling he's known. He'd soon come to find that there's someone in town who understands him, someone he'd never expect.

AO3 Version Here

Tumblr version below the cut!

The Stardrop Saloon was loud, expectedly so for a Friday evening. The jukebox was blasting, folks convening to dine and drink, some spending their night in the rec room. Everyone was being social and cheery, making the best of their evening. Everyone except Shane, that is. He’d claimed the stool sitting between the bar counter and the fireplace, and most nights one could find him moping there, a tankard in hand. Tonight was no exception. Seven drinks in, his head was spinning, thoughts jumbling together into mush. He still felt like shit, there was no doubt, but alcohol at least let him quiet his mind for a moment. It hushed the voices in his head that spat out the most terrible of affronts, beating him while he was already down. 

He sat holding his head in one hand, swaying woozily as he stared down into his now empty tankard. He could see a warped reflection of himself in the glass, cringing as he stared at himself, taking in every detail of his sour expression. Emily flounced over, looking cheerful as ever, resting her hands on the counter in front of her friend, “Can I get you anything else?”

“Yeah…. ‘nother one…” he mumbled, passing the glass over to her with a limp arm. Emily carefully pushed it off to the side and gave him a knowing look, “You wanna try ordering some food? Another one doesn’t sound like a great idea,”

“C’mon Em, it’s my money, lemme get somethin’..”

“And you’re my friend, and I don’t think you need another,” Emily sighed, “You’ve been here every night this week, Shane. Maybe you should go home,”

“If I order some pizza will you drop it?” he grumbled, not particularly enjoying this lecture, “I already hear ‘nuff of this from my aunt,”

Emily nodded, turning to the food counter to get him a plate, “She’s just looking out for you, you know,”

“I know that,” Shane huffed, “But I’m not a child anymore, I can make my own decisions,”

Emily didn’t have anything to say in response, but the two of them silently understood what would’ve come next. Yes, Shane was in charge of his own decisions, but look where they landed him now. As much as he hated the lectures and scoldings from loved ones, he could never deny that they were right. It had been a few months now since he returned to town, the bitter air of Winter rolling in already. Everyone, especially Shane, had hoped to see him get better now that he was back, but that wasn’t exactly the case. There were good days, yes. But for every good day there seemed to be twice as many bad ones. Whenever something went well, Shane was waiting for the other shoe to drop, for things to go to shit again. And they always seemed to for him. As much as he didn’t want to be, he was more miserable than ever. Maybe his mindset was causing it, maybe he was cursed. Shane desperately wanted the cause of his problems to be anything but himself.

Perhaps the cheerful environment of town had something to do with it. Looking around the saloon, Shane could see groups of people laughing and enjoying themselves, going on about their days with little to worry about. Turning his gaze to Emily, he could see her chatting with some tall redheaded man who looked like he jumped straight from the cover of those strange Fabio romance novels he’d seen on his aunt's bookshelf. Emily looked happy, so full of life and vibrance. Not much had changed from when she was younger. She had always been a happy person, someone that brightened up every room she walked into. Shane was once that kind of person, a long, long time ago. But not anymore. He didn’t think he could ever be that person again, either. 

This entire town, its people, even through all the changes over the years it was still all the same. Still the quirky little village hidden in the mountains that had a happy bunch of folks living in it. He felt so out of place amongst them, like a leftover puzzle piece that had no place in the final picture. As much as he yearned to, he couldn’t connect with them the way he wanted to anymore. Emily was nice enough, she always was, but she didn’t understand what he’d been through. Shane felt like he’d lived a thousand lifetimes over the past five years, slogging through every torturous day only barely being able to keep his head above water, only doing so for Jas’ sake. It was an awful circumstance, one he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. And though he was surrounded by so many loved ones now, more than ever, he never felt more alone in his life.

The chatter and laughter amongst the patrons made him want to scream. He wanted to throw down his glass, yell and wail about how awful life had been, pulling everyone down with him. It was selfish, he knew, but it just wasn’t fair. Watching so many people have such happy and fulfilling lives while he struggled made him feel so much worse about himself. Why were they allowed to succeed when he wasn’t? Why could they follow their dreams when he had to drop everything? It almost felt like they were mocking him, taking a jab at his life and state. He was a magnet for misery, and it repelled him from all the happiest folks in the room. 

Speak of the devil, doth he appear. Perhaps the happiest person Shane had met in his life had just walked into the saloon, his two best friends in tow. He averted his gaze, hoping if he didn’t see Sam, then Sam wouldn’t see him. It was nothing against the guy… well, maybe it was. Shane, the jaded and standoffish man he was, often grew weary of Sam at work. The guy always seemed to try and strike up a conversation with him, about literally anything that would pop into his mind. Shane just wanted to shut off his brain while he worked, stock shelves, go to the saloon, and then home, no interruptions. He wasn’t interested in conversation or becoming friends with anyone he worked with. He’d just give the occasional nod or grunt of acknowledgement as Sam chatted away, and eventually he’d get the hint and go back to mopping the aisles.

Sam did notice him, but decided to back off for tonight. Every time he saw Shane he seemed to look tired and grumpy, but tonight it seemed worse. He looked like he’d snap at anyone who dared look in his direction, and Sam wasn’t going to be the one to face that. He simply left him alone, striding right into the rec room with Abigail and Sebastian to play pool. 

The three of them were loud, at least to Shane they were. They were younger, and it was to be expected, but when you were drunk and had a throbbing headache, it wasn’t exactly fun to listen to. He tried to focus on the music, or anything else in the main room of the saloon, but his mind kept going back to the trio in that backroom. He couldn’t make out every word they said, picking up bits and pieces about music and some new video game one of them was obsessing over. But mostly, he heard Sam. Shane still couldn’t understand the kid. No one could be that happy, no matter how good their life was… or at least how good he assumed it to be. He didn’t know much about him outside of work, only seeing him speak with his mom and brother in passing, occasionally watching him attempt a kickflip outside his house, or taking his brother to school and the playground. Nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary though, at least in his opinion. Maybe that’s what happened when you had a genuinely good life, no worries that completely engulfed every waking moment of your life. Damn, was he jealous.

Peeking his head back just for a moment, he watched the three of them lounging back there, chattering away as they played probably the worst game of pool he’d ever seen. They were awful at it to be sure, but obviously were having too much fun to mind. They looked so carefree, so happy. They reminded him so much of-

He refused to entertain the thought. It was the last thing he needed right now. But now that it was in his mind, it wouldn’t leave. Everytime he heard their voices, all he could hear was him and his friends, the way they used to joke and speak to each other. He covered his ears with his hands,digging his nails so hard into the side of his head he was sure he’d break skin. He could only take it for a few moments longer before sliding off his stool, stumbling towards the entrance in desperation to get away from it. His drinks hadn’t been paid for, but he knew Emily would just add it to his ever-growing tab, one he had no clue how to pay off. Each footstep towards the door felt like it took herculean effort and concentration. He always felt so much heavier when he was drunk, like he was about to topple over at any given moment. It was an annoying feeling, especially when he had a decently long walk ahead of him. He didn’t like being drunk, it was frustrating and a pain. But it sure as hell beat the soul crushing guilt and depression that haunted every moment of his life. 

After much time, and a stop to throw up, he finally made it home, grumbling as the bright lights of Marnie’s foyer pierced his eyes. Mumbling a curse under his breath, he turned towards the kitchen, lumbering woozily towards his bedroom door. Marnie was standing at the kitchen counter, long rubber gloves on her arms as she scrubbed away at some dinner dishes. She heard Shane approaching, scrunching up her nose as the thick scent of booze radiated off of him. 

“You’re home late. Again.” She stated ever so matter-of-factly, a twinge of annoyance in her tone. Shane shrugged disinterestedly, “Yeah. I know,” he looked to the table, seeing a little coloring page and a tin of crayons sitting on its edge, “Where’s Jas?”

“Bed. Hours ago.” Marnie huffed, pursing her lips in frustration, “Third time this week I had to take care of that, Shane,”

“I know… I’m sorry,” a wave of shame hit him, the guilt piercing his heart, “I’ll be home earlier tomorrow, I promise.”

“Just like you promised today?”

“Aendi…”

“I don’t think you should go at all,” Marnie pulled the gloves from her hands, turning to face him, “How much money have you spent there this week?”

“I don’t have to-”

“How. Much.”

“I don’t know, like…” Shane did the mental math, cringing at the amount inwardly, “Probably 9,000g, not that much,”

“You know you’re in debt, you can’t be spending money so wastefully… Not to mention the health aspect,” Marnie sighed, trying her hardest to not be too harsh on him. She knew this was a struggle for him. As much as she didn’t like this, he didn’t either. It was still so hard to watch, so hard to sit on the sidelines and watch his physical and mental health decline by the day, “Shane I just want you to be healthy,”

“I’m fine,” Shane grumbled, averting his gaze. He knew she was giving him a disappointed look, and he didn’t want to see it, “I can handle myself,”

“It’s not fair to Jas either,” Marnie scolded, “She waited all night for you to come home and read a story to her. You need to be prioritizing h-”

“I am prioritizing her,” Shane snapped, “I work my ass off every day to afford what she wants and needs. I am so exhausted at the end of the day, the saloon is the one thing I do for myself. I make sure she has what she needs, I make sure she's happy, you know that, aendi!”

“Do you, Shane?”

“What’re you implying?” Shane spat, a defensive anger welling up in him and displaying on his face. Marnie stood her ground, giving him a quite similar look.

“If that were true, I wouldn't watch Jas sit by the door and wait for you to get home until she can't keep her eyes open any longer, would I? I wouldn't have to hear her ask where you are every night. I wouldn't see her cry when she thinks no one is looking,” she huffed, giving him a stern look, “Shane, that little girl is not happy… and neither are you.”

“.... Does she really do that?”

“You would know if you were home more.” Marnie scolded, “I know you need space and time for yourself, but this is getting out of hand and you know it. All of this, going to the saloon until midnight, coming home wasted… It's selfish.”

The weight of embarrassment and shame weighed down on Shane's chest, making him feel like he couldn't breathe. Just like always, Marnie was right. He'd been slipping from the moment he moved back in, and it was becoming more and more noticeable. All that talk about this being a fresh start was for nothing. He took a good step forward, and immediately fell ten steps back. Marnie noticed him on the verge of tears, immediately softening her tone and words. 

“She needs you, Shane,” Marnie sighed, “You need to work on making connections here, getting your problems under control so you can be there for her. There’s programs for it, you know. Pam suggested one that she’s gone to in the pa-”

“Oh yeah, because that worked out so well for her,” Shane hissed out with a sarcastic lilt in his voice. Marnie gave him a warning look in response. 

“You need to watch how you talk about her,” she scolded, “She’s just as worried about you, you know. Asked about you everyday when you were gone,”

“How many times are you going to bring that up?” Shane groaned, exasperation in his voice, “There’s nothin’ I can do to change what happened, and you makin’ me feel like shit about it doesn’t help. I messed up! I know that! But there’s nothin’ I can do!”

The two stayed silent for a moment, refusing to look each other in the eye. Their conversations had slowly been getting more and more strained over the past few months. Marnie had watched a steady decline with him, one that she could do little to help with. Shane resisted help at every turn, far too proud to seek out any external source to get his issues under control. He insisted that he could do it on his own, that he didn’t need anyone meddling in his affairs to get better. She tried to trust him, to believe him. It wasn’t like she could force him to do anything, after all. But watching her boy deteriorate into someone she hardly recognized, watching him close himself off from family and friends, it made her so, so worried. 

“I just want you to be okay. I want this family to be okay,” Marnie’s voice grew softer, much more understanding, “This path you’re on kills… I'm watching you throw your life away, and I just…” she exhaled deeply, closing her eyes, “Schatz, I am too old to raise another child. I need you to take better care of yourself, for everyone’s sake… especially for Jas. You need to be better than this,”

“.... I don't think I know how to be better.” Shane whispered, his tone utterly defeated. He wanted to get defensive again, to tell her to back off and let him handle things. But even in his drunken stupor, he could understand that she was right. This path was dangerous, he was selfish, he did need to be better than this. But he couldn’t admit it. He was still far too proud. Whatever. He was handling this, he knew how to get himself out of this… right? He was trying at least. All these conversations did was remind him of how much he was failing, making him feel even worse about himself, which led him to drown it in drink even further. He knew it wasn’t Marnie's intent, she was just trying to show she cared. But he couldn’t handle it, not like this. 

“You know everything I say is out of love…” Marnie whispered, “I don't want to make you feel guilty, I just want you to do better. I want you to be happy,”

Shane grabbed his door handle tight, staring blankly ahead as he pulled away from her, “Goodnight,” was all he managed to whisper, closing the door behind him. 

Turning on the light in the corner, he felt his heart sink. The room Marnie had so nicely set up for him was now a disaster. Dirty clothes and dishes covered the surfaces, an unpleasant smell starting to form in the air from their presence. Trash littered the floor as well, the crunching of paper and plastic beneath his feet. The hardwood floors were hardly even visible under the mess anymore. Everyday he promised himself he’d fix it, that he’d get it under control. He’d always start, evident by the half filled trash bags in the corner and overflowing hamper at the side. But without fail, he’d get so incredibly overwhelmed every single time that he couldn’t continue. Just looking at it now made him feel so defeated, so ashamed. He had no idea how it kept getting like this. It made him so embarrassed, especially when Marnie and Jas would take a peek inside and see just how bad it was. He wanted to be better than this.

Slinking off his work hoodie and polo, he let them fall to the floor, adding onto the ever-growing pile of laundry that he needed to work on. He kicked his shoes across the floor, hearing them hit the wall with a quiet ‘thump’. Sinking into bed after today felt like heaven, even with how lumpy and uneven the mattress was. His arms felt ready to pop from their sockets, eight hours straight of lugging heavy boxes and overdrinking had completely wiped him out. His bad knee throbbed in pain, a constant reminder of what he’d lost. Staring up at the ceiling, the one spot in this room not affected by the throes of his depressive state, he just thought. For some reason, his drinking tonight couldn’t get his mind to quiet down as much as it usually did. Maybe he was building a higher tolerance, growing used to the amount of drink he forced into his system every night. 

He thought about Jas and Marnie, how much he had to be letting them down with his behavior. No one in this house was happy and he found himself consistently being the common denominator of that problem. His aunt and goddaughter deserved better than the fuck-up he was. What Marnie said rang in his head. The thought of Jas waiting for him, crying to herself, it made him so angry. He just wanted to throttle himself, scream in his own face and ask what the hell he was doing. He thought about how disconnected he was from Emily now. She was living her own life, a happy one that didn’t need him or his baggage in it, and it killed him inside. It was his own fault, both the crumbling of their past relationship and their friendship. He wasn’t the best boyfriend back in the day, not yet mature enough to handle a relationship. And now, his lack of communication was putting their friendship in jeopardy. Shane felt like he ruined everything he touched.

And surprisingly, his thoughts kept going back to Sam and his little group of friends. There was something about the three of them that made him feel so jealous, their joy being something he envied for himself. But, they also brought some odd sense of comfort. Something about them, something about being around them reminded him of his college days with Jason and Amelia. He couldn’t exactly place it yet, or understand why he felt such a connection, especially with Sam. Sam was a particularly frustrating person in his eyes. He was tolerable of him at work, but never really went out of his way to talk to him. The kid was just so… different from him. Shane was always the pessimist these days, a miserable, lonely man that had a hard time finding joy in anything anymore. Sam couldn’t be any more different. But even still, for whatever reason, he felt some kind of connection to him. As if they perhaps were more kindred than he initially knew. What a silly thought.

As he lay there, ruminating over the pit he found himself in once again, he cried. With each passing day he felt more and more like a failure. He didn't want to be like this. No one wanted to be like this. Why couldn't he just move on? Why couldn't he pick up the pieces and get his life together? Marnie was able to do it, why couldn't he? He compared himself to her all the time, constantly seeing himself falling short where she succeeded. Watching how easily she handled their family's problems made him feel like the weakest link in the chain, an absolute embarrassment to their family name. The thoughts tortured his mind as he lay there, thoughts buzzing around and forcing him awake. Eventually the pure exhaustion he felt dragged him into a deep sleep, one that was bleak and dreamless. Restless too, he would find. 

He woke up feeling somehow much more exhausted than usual, the hangover absolutely brutal. He felt ready to vomit, his head pounding with pain as if it would explode. Oh well. It was Saturday. He could sleep in, try to sleep off the feeling. He was just about to close his eyes again, drift back off to sleep, when he heard a familiar tip-tap on his window. 

It was raining. Fuck. 

Morris for some reason insisted he come in on rainy weekends, and he dreaded them terribly. He didn’t mind the overtime pay, but actually working the hours was brutal for him. With an annoyed grumble he slid out of bed, searching around for a clean-ish uniform among the piles of laundry on the floor. Getting dressed as quick as he could, he ran out the door, hoping to get to work before it was too late. 

The rain chilled him to the bone, even with a hoodie on to protect him from the weather. With how cold the air had grown, he felt like an icicle by the time he reached the store, comforted by the comparably warm air inside. He checked the time, seeing he had just barely made it before his shift. Morris was sure to still find some issues in that. He was always upset over something.

The ache in Shane’s shoulders grew steadily as his shift went on. It wasn’t like he’d never done a stocking job before, he had plenty of experience there, but being the only stocker on staff made it a challenge. Working for Joja was a challenge in general. After a few months on the job he soon came to find that the cheery disposition Morris held was indeed covering up the cold corporate bastard he really was. He expected Shane and everyone else in this store to work like damn robots, keeping up at paces that seemed impossible. He was getting the hang of it though, slowly but surely. 

He was finishing up stocking the very last palette of some grotesque crime against food and humanity as a whole, white mushroom soda, listening to the commotion behind him. Sam was entering the same aisle, mopping the floor… rather, he was supposed to be mopping the floor. The man was practically dancing across the aisle, using his mop like it was some microphone or prop as he silently mouthed along to whatever was playing in those giant headphones of his, very obviously not noticing Shane was in the same aisle and watching. Shane could only hear bits and pieces of what was playing through those bulky headphones, but it sounded good. Very good, actually. 

“What are you listening to?” he finally asked, raising his voice to ensure Sam could hear. Sam stopped in his tracks, pulling his headphones away from one ear. He looked mildly surprised, curious that Shane was the one to actually start a conversation with him. Typically it would be Sam trying to get Shane to speak, an effort that could be as hard as pulling teeth with how standoffish the man was. 

“What’d you say?”

“I asked what you were listening to,” Shane repeated in a flat tone, “I could hear it from over here,”

A pink tint appeared on Sam’s face, embarrassment setting in. He could be self conscious about his music, and the thought that it was that audible, and that he had an audience… oh it made him feel so nervous. Sam pulled his walkman from his pocket, fumbling with the volume dial to turn it down, “I-I didn’t know you could hear that… sorry, dude…”

“Why are you sorry, it was good,” Shane admitted, shrugging nonchalantly, ‘I liked it,”

“You… you did?” Sam was shocked to say the least. He wasn’t sure that Shane enjoyed much of anything in the first place, but he liked his music? 

“Yeah, it’s pretty good. Listened to a lot of stuff like that in college, heh…” Shane mused. He put the last can on the shelf, lifting himself off the ground with a grunt. He tried to look at the label on the cassette sitting in the walkman, “What band is it?”

“Mine, actually.. Well, my friends and I’s band,” Sam admitted. 

“No kidding?” Shane raised a brow, “What do you play?”

“Bass, I do the singing too,” Sam reluctantly pulled the cassette from the player, holding it out to Shane, “Do you.. Want to listen to it? I have a bunch more back home,”

Shane stared at the cassette, looking at the little sharpie label on the front, “Goblin Destroyer, huh?”

“It’s silly, isn’t it?” Sam asked, looking embarrassed once again. Shane shrugged, taking the cassette in his hands, “Nah. Sounds badass, actually,”

“You mean it?”

“I don’t have a reason to lie to you,” Shane scoffed. He slipped the tape in his pocket, “I’ll listen to it tonight, thanks,”

Sam gripped the handle of the mop tighter, still feeling his chest squeeze tight. He didn’t know why he could get this self-conscious about it. Music, playing in the band, it made him feel alive. Why did being open about it make him so embarrassed? Maybe in this case it was just that it was Shane. He seemed to be the standoffish, judgemental type, and Sam certainly didn’t take him as someone who’d enjoy that kind of music. But maybe this was a good thing, a step in the right direction finally. He finally  found something the two had in common! 

“Boys!” Morris’ snippy voice rang out through the empty aisle. He stood at the other end, hands on his hips as he looked to them in annoyance, “It’s 5. You can get going now,”

“Oh thank fuck” Shane thought to himself.

He and Sam hurriedly got their things together to leave, the pair anxious to get out of the bleak store and get on with their day. Shane was pleasantly surprised to find the rain had let up, the sky showing off its sunset hues. Sam found a sense of joy in it too, smiling upwards towards the sky as the two of them made their way on the path towards home. 

“Isn’t it awesome?” Sam mused.

“What?” 

“All of this,” Sam motioned towards the skyline, the sunset creeping over the mountaintops, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Hard to stay sad when there’s so many little things to be grateful for,”

Shane squinted at the sky, rolling his eyes just a bit, “It’s… a sunset. It happens everyday, Sam,”

“Yeah, but each one is unique! It’s all in the little things, man,” Sam smiled, “There’s beauty everywhere! Like the little flowers on the cliff there, the reeds in the river… You just gotta know where to look for it,”

“That’s… deep,” Shane raised his brows in mild surprise, “Didn’t know you were so introspective,”

“You never asked!”

As they passed over the bridge the pair went their separate ways, Sam waving goodbye as he ran off towards his home. Shane took a sharp left, approaching the Stardrop Saloon for the seventh time that week. He took a step up the creaking staircase, putting a hand on the doorknob. Something stopped him from twisting it open though. It was like his body was locked, preventing him from taking another step forward. His mind raced, a prominent frustrated expression on his face. 

“You promised aendi you’d be home earlier…” he thought to himself, “Have some fucking self control, get yourself together,”

His aunt's words from the night before came to mind, the images of Jas waiting for him at the front door burned into the front of his mind. He could just imagine her little face looking so, so sad, hearing her soft crying echo in his mind. The guilt made him feel unable to breathe. He needed to do better. He needed to be a better guardian, a better role model. Pushing responsibility to Marnie wasn’t fair for anyone in their house, and he knew it well. Begrudgingly, he removed his hand from the saloon’s door, turning to walk back home. 

Jas once again stood in the foyer, her little purple eyes trained on the door. She’d been like this every night this week, intent on waiting for Shane to come home right after work. Marnie was setting the table for dinner, taking a nervous look at the clock. It was already 6:00. She feared Jas would once again be getting her hopes up for nothing, just like every other night this week. She felt so much pity, so much anger. Seeing her get her hopes up like this, watching her reluctantly leave her spot as the night grew on, seeing how quiet she got when she realized Shane wasn’t coming home yet… It killed her. 

On one hand, Marnie was glad that Shane was finally relying on her for help. On the other, he was starting to rely far too much on her. It was noticeable to everyone in the house, and she was growing weary of it. It also made Marnie realize that she didn’t know how to help him. She thought she did, she thought her experience in raising him would help when it came to giving him advice on how to navigate his situation. But it didn’t. Every attempt she made fell flat at best, drove him away at worst. She thought about staging some sort of intervention, maybe getting the new town doctor to sit down with him and discuss treatment plans, but she couldn’t force him. She knew she couldn’t. But she also couldn’t stand seeing her grand-niece look so dejected night after night. Marnie prayed that Shane kept his promise, that he would walk through that door any minute. 

Almost as if on cue, the front door swung open, Jas’ excited shrieks ringing out as she ran to her godfather, “You’re home!” she squealed, jumping into his arms, “I missed you!”

“Missed you too, chickadee,” Shane smiled, hugging her tight, “You have a good day?”

“Yeah! Me n’ Vincent played in the rain and I caught bugs!” Jas giggled, “I got one in a little cage, aendi said she’s a roly-poly!”

The girl broke out into a ramble about bug facts she read about in the books Penny gave her for classes, telling Shane all about the crazy things she learned about them. Jas was like a sponge for knowledge, taking every little fun fact and quip she learned and storing it away in her little mind. She genuinely loved learning, but she loved sharing that knowledge even more. Shane listened intently as she rambled, a tiny smile on his face. He looked up towards the kitchen as she talked, seeing Marnie stand there with a soft look on her face. She looked relieved, proud even. It seemed he had taken their conversation to heart. Deep down both of them knew that this wouldn’t be permanent, that he would slip up again at some point, but for now, they chose to bask in this moment. It was a good one, and they didn’t want anything coming in it’s way. 

The night went on with little issue. Shane, with his mind clear, was able to participate much more in family activities. He talked more at dinner, played all the little games Jas requested, helped Marnie with cleanup. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a start. It was a good day, and as fleeting as this would be, he was glad for it. 

Soon enough it was time for bed, and Jas was incredibly excited. She waited patiently, dressed up in her favorite pajamas with a storybook in hand. Shane was busy brushing her hair back, helping her slip on her little yellow bonnet, tying it in a bow in the back. 

“Can you read the book now?” she asked, a slight impatience in her voice. She’d been waiting for a story all week, and she was incredibly excited for it. Jas refused to let even Marnie read to her, insisting that she wanted it to be Shane the entire week. Shane took the little book from her hands, finding it to be one about all kinds of fables and fairy stories. Penny had lent it to her after seeing her gain such an interest in those sorts of tales. He sat next to her bed, letting her get comfy under the covers before he began to read. Little stories about forest fairies and Junimos, little creatures who took care of nature and the world around them filled the book. Jas listened on in wonder to the fables, imagining herself running into one of these creatures herself someday, making friends with them just like the characters in the book did. Shane had a great storytelling voice that kept her invested in each and every fable, making each word feel real and true. 

“Uncle Shane?”

“Yeah, Jassy?”

“Are those stories real?”

Shane closed the book, setting it on the nightstand and giving her a smile, “Well, what do you think?”

Jas thought for a moment before nodding, “Yeah! I think so!”

“Then there you go,” Shane mused, reaching up to pull the drawstring on her lamp, “Time to sleep though, it’s a school night,”

“Okay… goodnight!” Jas yawned, resting her head back on her pillow. She watched as Shane got up and walked towards the door before she shot up again, “Uncle Shane!”

“What’s wrong?”

“Thank you for comin’ home early,” Jas smiled, “I like it when you read stories, you do funny voices,” 

“You’re welcome, kiddo,”

“Can you come home early tomorrow? Please?”

“... I’ll try,” Shane muttered, “G’night, Jassy,”

Shane made his way to his room, avoiding turning on his light so he wouldn’t see the mess yet again. He was far too tired today to have that on his mind again, or to get out of his work clothes. He unceremoniously flopped down onto his bed, wincing as he felt something sharp dig into his leg. Reaching into his pocket he found the cassette Sam had gifted him, remembering he promised to give it a listen. He lazily reached over to his nightstand, fumbling his hand around to search for his own old walkman. Slipping in the tape and sliding on a janky pair of headphones, he turned on the old player. The same tunes Sam had been dancing to earlier today began to blast in his ears.

 It was just as good as Shane had thought before, if not even better. Damn, this kid was talented. His friends too. He could hear a genuine passion for the craft in the vocals and instruments, able to tell that the three of them were having the time of their lives recording these tracks. He couldn’t understand why Sam was so self conscious about him hearing it earlier. Shane eventually let himself be pulled into sleep, leaving the headphones on and letting the tape play through the night. Tonight, he found he slept just a bit better as he listened on. 

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

The morning was quiet as Sundays always were. Shane and Jas had left to go spend the day outdoors, Marnie sitting at the front counter of the shop. It had been dreadfully slow today, and she found herself feeling bored to near death. Suddenly, the door to the ranch swung open, making her jump just a bit in surprise. A very happy looking Sam walked into the foyer, stepping up to the counter and resting his elbows on the edge, “Mornin’ ma’am!”

“Same to you!” Marnie mused, “Ms. Yoder is just fine though, ma’am is a bit… formal,”

“Sorry ma’- Ms. Yoder,” Sam corrected himself, getting a content smile from Marnie, “Oh that’s alright… Anything I can help you with?”

“Yeah, we need more eggs,” Sam shrugged sheepishly, “I kinda dropped a few while we were making breakfast and we’re almost out,”

“Let me go get some for you, I’ll be right back!” 

Sam waited patiently at the counter while Marnie entered her coop, drumming his fingertips on the ledge. He took a look around the foyer, scanning over all the little decorations and photos hanging on its walls. Cute little pieces of art, signs with words in a language he didn’t understand, and a barrage of family photos from the past few decades, chronicling the life of his coworker and his family. His eyes landed on a more recent photo, one that caught his interest. Shane stood in the middle, wearing a band tee and varsity jacket. His hair was long and styled in a mullet, not much unlike Sams. He looked happy, his face not yet scarred from the throes of age and stress. Two people stood at his side, smiling alongside him as they posed for the camera. The one on the left looked a lot like Jas, and the one on the right looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing on the planet. They looked so happy, so full of life. He thought the pair standing with Shane must be Jas’ parents, and wondered where they were now, wondered what happened that made Shane look the way he did today.

Marnie entered the house again, holding a small basket full of eggs, “Here you go! Your mother can return this at aerobics this week,” she turned her focus to where Sam was looking, smiling when she saw the photo. She’d taken that many years ago on their first day of sophomore year in college, a day she remembered well, “They look so happy, don’t they?”

“Yeah!” Sam agreed, “Who are those two?”

“Jas’ parents! They were good friends with my boy years back,”

“Huh…” Sam furrowed his brow, “I thought Shane was Jas’ uncle, isn’t he?”

Marnie shook her head, pulling the frame from the wall to give Sam a closer look, “Oh no, Shane doesn’t have any siblings… It’s more of an honorary thing, Jas is his goddaughter,” she explained. Her face softened into a melancholic look, “These two were just friends, very close ones. The sweetest things too, rest their souls,”

“Are they-?”

“They’ve passed, yes,” Marnie sighed, “I’m not sure how much he’s comfortable with me telling you, but… Jas was just a baby when it happened, Shane adopted her to honor their wishes. It’s been hard for all of us, but I am proud of him. Takes a lot of strength to step into that role when you’re young,”

“Yeah.. it does,” Sam felt something shift in his mind. So much about Shane suddenly made much more sense to him. The attitude, the anger, the frustration, all emotions that Sam knew all too well. Shane just didn’t mask it as well as Sam did, coped in much different ways. Was that why he was at the saloon so much? He knew that must be such a weight to carry, stepping into a fatherly role for a child you shouldn’t have to be parenting, for one reason or another. He used to feel sympathy for the man, but now there was a sense of empathy in its place.

He reminisced to one of the times his father had left for deployment years ago. He was sixteen, Vincent merely a baby. It was such an emotional day, tensions high and a quiet anger in the house. Sam didn’t understand why Kent had to go again, why he was leaving them yet again after so many promises that he wouldn’t. That day, his father made him promise to take care of his mother and brother if anything were to happen to him. Those words were burned into his head, even when he was well into adulthood. The thought of something happening to his father, this act of being “man of the house” becoming a permanent title, the thought made him sick.This entire experience felt so isolating, especially now that Kent was deployed again, no return date in sight. He loved his friends, but he knew they couldn’t understand that kind of pressure. They could sympathize, sure, but he never had someone he knew who could truly empathize with this. Not until now.

“Are you okay?” Marnie questioned, trying to get Sam's attention, “I think I lost you there…”

“Oh! Don’t worry, I’m okay Ms. Yoder,” Sam assured, giving her a shrug. He took the basket from her hands, fumbling for some cash in his pocket, “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh put your money away, this one is on the house,”

“... You sure?” 

Marnie nodded, giving him a smile, “Just make sure I get that basket back and we have nothing to worry about. Tell your mother hello for me, won’t you?”

“I will, promise!” 

With that Sam waved goodbye, heading back home with the basket in hand. He couldn’t get that picture out of his head the entire time he walked back. Shane had been such a mystery to him the past few months. Seeing how he acted compared to his much more cheerful family was confusing to say the least, but now, he thought he finally understood. As gruff and standoffish as that man was, Sam could finally see another side of him, one that was kind, happy even. Maybe he could try a bit harder to be his friend, then maybe he could see that side of him in person. 

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

That next Monday at work, Shane kept catching Sam giving him odd looks through his shift, ones that unnerved him. Sam usually looked fairly content, finding enjoyment in his work, trying to drag Shane into conversations. But today, there was a weird sort of heaviness in the air. He looked almost sad, staying quiet much of the day, and that’s not the Sam he knew. When they went on their lunch break, the silence was almost deafening. It made him so uncomfortable, so weirded out. Shane finally broke, desperate to know what was wrong.

“The hell’s your problem, Samson?”

“Huh?” 

“You’ve been looking at me like someone just died. What’s up with you today?”

Sam pulled off his headphones, setting them on the breakroom table with a soft *clack*, “Just thinkin, I guess,”

“Bullshit. What’s wrong?” Shane demanded, “You’re weirdin’ me out,”

“I went to your aunt's shop for eggs yesterday. I saw this photo on the wall and-”

Shane cut him off with a loud, frustrated groan. He knew exactly where Sam was going with this. It wasn’t the first time Marnie had been so open about this situation, and sure wouldn’t be the last. He clasped a hand to his face, dragging it down dramatically, “Shit… I hate when she just tells people about that, I-” he exhaled deeply, shaking his head, “Sorry, I don’t know why she did that… The entire town doesn’t need to know my sob story,”

“I-I just wanted to say I-”

“Stop,” Shane grumbled, holding up a hand, “I don’t want to hear about how sorry you are for my loss. I’ve heard it so many damn times that it doesn’t mean anythin’ to me anymore,”

“It’s not that!” Sam assured, “I wanted to say that I get it. That’s gotta be rough,”

“You get it?” Shane repeated, raising a brow in skeptical curiosity, “What do you mean you ‘get it’?”

Here went nothing. Sam folded his hands, looking down at the blank table before him, “My dad, he’s in the service. Been in and out as long as I can remember. It’s always been hard, especially for mom. And when Vince was born it got harder,” he shrugged nervously as he continued on, “I’ve basically had to step up and fill that role for my brother while he’s gone… I don’t want to be his dad, though. I shouldn’t have to be. I’m his brother… I know it’s not the same, but I think I get what you’re feeling… It’s unfair, it’s frustrating, and-”

“Makes you feel like you’re alone? Like no one understands you?” Shane cut in, giving Sam a much more empathetic expression. Sam nodded silently, still looking down. 

The part of Shane that felt jealousy and aggravation towards Sam melted away in almost an instant. He could’ve never known that someone like Sam was hiding that under all the sunshine. Sam was so well adjusted, in a much better spot than he was, and he was even younger than Shane when that responsibility was thrust upon him. It made his heart hurt for him, it made him want to help him, even though he didn’t know how. Shane didn’t even know how to help himself, for crying out loud.

“How do you do it?”

"Huh?"

"How do you stay so...." Shane motioned in the air, "How are you always so damn happy, then? You deal with all that and you just… how aren't you miserable all the time?”

“I’m not always happy,” Sam admitted, “Sometimes you gotta put on a brave face, act happy when you’re not. I don’t want Vince to know the truth of how scary this all is. He shouldn’t have to think about war, or the possibility that dad isn’t coming home….”

“But it’s hard to be the one who has to keep it together all the time, huh?” Shane asked, his tone surprisingly understanding and soft. That signature bitterness was nowhere to be found. 

“Yeah…” Sam agreed, “I pretend everything is okay, I act like someone I’m not. It sucks. I just want to be myself,”

“That’s no way to cope, kid… I know I’m in no spot to criticize, or give advice, but-” Shane took a pause, trying to think about his next words carefully, “Maybe talk to people. Your friends, your mom. Don’t put yourself through this alone, don’t try to prove to people that you can keep it together. I tried that, look where it got me,” he motioned to himself, grimacing at the sight.

Sam shrugged, “I don’t know if I can… People already think I’m super immature… even stupid. I don’t want to make them think I can’t handle myself,”

“Speakin’ from experience, you need to. Don’t make the same mistakes I did,” Shane chuckled bitterly, clenching a hand tight, “You don’t wanna end up this way, some miserable loser that just sucks the life out of everything he touches.”

He looked back to Sam, but for just a moment, didn't see his coworker sitting there. In his place sat that terrified 25 year old from all those years ago. He looked so clueless and afraid of what the future held for him. There was an naivety in his eyes, the pit he would fall into not yet in front of him. He saw himself, and Yoba he did not want Sam to end up like he did.

Part of him felt guilty for assuming Sam had some perfect life. Shane knew well about the war going on with the Gotoro Empire, how brutal things were. Every day you could open the news to see some kind of new tragedy, one that just shattered your soul. He couldn't imagine having a loved one participating in it, what that must feel like. It must be terrifying. But even still, even through all of it, Sam kept that happy face. He took care of Vincent, even when he shouldn't have to. And somehow, he was still a kind person, void of that bitterness and rage that Shane let consume him whole. Sam coped with kindness and positivity, Shane coped with vices. Sam was a source of light to everyone in his life, and Shane was a deep, dark pit that dragged people down. They were two sides of the same coin, men in similar situations that couldn’t handle it any differently from the other. Though it was something Shane never believed he would think in his entire life, he wished he could be more like Sam.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re stupid,” Shane admitted, “Immature?... Maybe. But you’re young, you’re allowed to be immature,”

“And I don’t think you’re a loser,” Sam gave him a weak smile, “I think you’re just hurting, you need a friend,”

“Maybe I have one now,” Shane mused. Sam gave him a look of surprise, not expecting that in the slightest. He wanted Shane to be a friend, sure, but with how things had been going, he never thought it would come to be. He smiled, sitting up straight for the first time that night. Talking about all this, especially with someone who had even a shred of understanding of this situation, it made it feel like some weight was off his shoulders. He still felt like he was bearing the world on his back, and he doubted that feeling would go away until his father was home for good. But he felt just a bit lighter, and for that he was grateful. 

Shane had thought that he was some ill-fitting, unneeded piece of the puzzle that made up Pelican town. It was a lonely feeling, one that consumed his mind, made his bitterness grow like a strangling vine in his soul. But maybe he wasn’t as ill-fitting as he thought. Maybe he just hadn’t found his place yet. He certainly wouldn’t today, or tomorrow, or even anytime soon. But having another person, someone outside of family, who understood him made him feel like it was possible. That feeling of dread and fear hadn’t yet gone away. He doubted it every would, honestly. But at least he wasn’t alone in it.

Maybe he could take a page from Sam’s book, though. Maybe he just needed to look at things from a different perspective, try more to see the better things in life. He looked up towards the window in the breakroom, watching as the sunset colors began to roll in over the mountain tops, signaling the end of the day. The flowers along the cliff overlooking town swayed in the wind, the sound of the river carrying over to where he sat.

It was beautiful.

[hoedamn-eron]

baby, please - part 6

You meet up with Santi, again, about your news, and it goes much better than last time. Also, your friends are the best people you know.

Warnings: Mentions of being sick, so emetophobia warning. Abortion mentions (I am personally pro-choice). An awful lot of dialogue. Reader refers to her friends as 'guys' and Courtney refers to her as 'dude' at one point, and 'girl'. Swearing. I'm from the UK so I'm not 100% sure what happens in America regarding doctor/midwife appointments, but from what I've researched, it looks a little similar, so I'm going to try and be as accurate as I can moving forward. This hasn't been my favourite chapter so far, it's mostly been just a filler. Slightly proofread. Word count: 2,833 F!Reader, no use of Y/N.

Part 5 ● Series Masterlist ● Part 7

These are your texts. These are your friend's texts. Initials will be at the start of each text in the GC.

You both agreed to meet back at the coffee shop after work. You made the effort to finish at a regular time, that your clients could wait until after the weekend. Nothing huge was coming up for a while, so you had the time to relax, just a bit.

Which reminded you, you needed to organise something with your friends. You haven’t contributed to the group chat for nearly a week, and they’d been texting you separately to see if you were okay, and you’d been overly short with them.

You walked through the door of the coffee shop, looking around before your eyes land on Santi sat in a corner, looking at something on his phone. You take a moment to just check him out.

You’ve said it once, and you’ll say it again (probably forever), he was still so good-looking. Even with the nervous energy he had, he still made your heart skip a beat. He looked like he hadn’t shaved for a few days, his beard matching his mixture of black and salt and pepper curls. He was dressed in a simple t-shirt, and jeans. You didn’t understand how someone who could dress so simply could still look so well put together.

Taking a deep breath, you make your way over to him. He looks up from his phone, his eyes widened as you approached the table. You gave him as small smile as you approached.

“Hey, thanks for meeting me,” Santi greeted you, standing from his seat and motioning to the empty seat opposite him.

“Thanks for reaching out,” you said, sitting down and placing your bag by your feet. He nervously sat back down, wiping his palms on his well-fitted jeans, a cappuccino and an iced latte already in front of him. You melted at the fact that, despite how badly your last meeting ended, he still remembered what drink you had in front of you.

“How are you doing today, are you doing all right?”

You huff out a small laugh. “Well, I threw up about ten times today, I think it might be a new record for me. I’m bloated and constantly hungry…” you bite your lip as you saw him avert his gaze awkwardly, his hands still rubbing against his jeans. You sighed. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to rant. I’m fine.”

Santi nodded. “I’m sorry again about how I reacted on Sunday.”

You shake your head at him. “Really, you don’t have to say you’re sorry – “

“I said some not very nice things and it’s been playing over and over in my head, and it wasn’t right.”

You hesitated for a moment before you nodded. “What you said was kind of uncalled for. But I get it. I just threw this bombshell on you.”

“It doesn’t excuse it. I’d take it back if I could. Or never say it at all, because that’s not what I think of you.”

You nod at him before picking up the iced latte. “You’re forgiven. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

Santi nodded, his hands finally stilling on his thighs. “Okay. Yeah.”

You take a sip of your coffee. It was a little stronger for what you would order usually, but you appreciated the effort. You take a deep breath and swallow nervously. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I think we need to figure out how we're going to handle this.”

Santi’s shoulders relaxed, and he gave a subtle sigh of relief at you bringing up the elephant in the room. “Yeah, I agree. Have you made any decisions yet?”

You shake your head. “No. Well…I've been doing some research, and I’m leaning towards keeping it. I did look into terminating. But I’m not sure yet.”

Santi gave a single nod. “Okay.” he rubbed the back of his head. “Uh, what role do I play in this? Do you want me to be involved, or what?”

“That's entirely up to you. I don't want to force you into anything you're not comfortable with.”

Santiago went quiet, reaching over for his coffee and taking a sip. You both sat there in silence for a few moments, just drinking your coffees as you take in your situation.

You didn’t want to push him. You really appreciated that he reached out to you to talk to you about this, to get his input. If he wanted to be child free, then you could come up with some sort of agreement, where he wasn’t involved and wouldn’t have to pay child support. He could sign away his parental rights before the baby even arrived.

Or you could terminate, like you had looked into.

You shake the thought from your head. You have your first appointment with your doctor next week, you could explore your options then.

“Have you told anyone you’re pregnant yet?”

You were surprised by the question, merely because you weren’t expecting that to be his next one. You shake your head. “No. Have you?”

“No.” Santi placed his now empty coffee mug on the table. “You’re one hundred percent sure you are?”

You nod. “I took four tests, and they were all positive. I have a doctor’s appointment on Wednesday to confirm, but it’s more of a formality thing. And to get me on the books.”

“Yeah. Okay. Right.” Santi frowns at you. “Do you want me to come with you?”

Your breath hitches at the question as you suddenly felt exposed…stunned, and honestly, you felt a slight lump in your throat. You swallow nervously as you avert your gaze for a moment before you look back up at him. You didn’t think to ask. You assumed he wouldn’t want to go. But, really…you didn’t want to go alone. “If you wanted. You don’t have to decide now. But I would appreciate it if you could be there for emotional support.”

Santiago nodded. “I can do that, I’ll be there.”

“I appreciate that. And we can talk about a DNA test to confirm the paternity, if that’s something you want to do.”

Santi was already shaking his head. “No, I believe you. I don’t…we don’t have to do the paternity test.”

Your breath hitches slightly, tears finally filling your eyes. “Okay. Thank you.” You place your half-drunk coffee on the table before you lean forward. “I know this isn't what either of us planned, but I'm glad we're able to have an open and honest conversation about it.”

“I never thought I would be in the position,” Santi said. “Someone telling me that I’m gonna be a dad.”

“Never pictured yourself settling down?” you asked, sniffing as you wiped at your eyes. You pick up your drink again, finding you needed something to do with your hands, and take a large gulp.

“No. Not with work, or my lifestyle,” Santi replied. “Was never in the cards for me.”

You nod, understanding. “I get it. With my dating life, I didn’t think it would happen with me either.” You both settle into an awkward silence. You finish your drink and place it down on the table before clearing your throat. “So, the doctor’s appointment is after work, at five-thirty, do you want me to text you the address?”

“I can come and get you after work, if you want,” Santi replied.

You weren’t expecting that. “Oh, really, it’s okay. It’s a little out of your way – “

“I don’t mind.”

“I’ll be taking my car to work anyway, so…”

After a few moments, Santiago nodded. “Okay then. I’ll just meet you there.”

You gave him a small smile before grabbing your bag and standing, digging through it for your purse as Santiago quickly after you. “How much do I owe for coffee?”

Santi waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I – “

“I’m sure you paid for mine on Sunday when I stormed out.”

You gave him a look before continuing to dig through your bag. “I insist, Santi.”

“Really, don’t worry about it. I got you pregnant, so the least I can do is get your coffee.”

You look at him, seeing him raise his eyebrow at you and give you a pointed, unamused look. You sigh before closing your bag, giving him a small smirk. “Fine.”

He walks you out and down the block to your car, making small talk about work and how well the launch went, since you mentioned it on your date.

“It went great. I threw up during the big speech. Emily followed me to the bathroom.”

Santi groaned. “She doesn’t know, does she?”

You shake your head. “She hasn’t said anything to me, but I think she knows something is going on.”

“I wouldn’t hear the end of it,” muttered Santi, causing you to giggle as you reach your car.

You turned to Santi, giving him a smile. “Thanks again for…this. I really didn’t know what I was going to do.” You unlock your car before opening the door. You turn to look at him. “See you on Wednesday?”

“See you on Wednesday.”

You don’t hug. You don’t kiss. You don’t even shake hands. You just stare at each other for a moment before you climb into your car, giving him a small wave as you start it and back out of the space, driving away. You watch him for a moment in your rearview mirror, seeing him standing, watching you drive for a few seconds before he turns and walks away.

You let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. Why was that so awkward? The guy had seen you naked, had sex with you, and got you pregnant. Surely you were past the awkward stage in your not-relationship? You shake your head, clearing your thoughts. It was probably awkward because you were pregnant with his child. You barely knew each other.

Maybe he just needed a few more days for it to sink in. He hadn’t been around you much, after all, since you announced you were carrying his child.

You arrive back to your apartment, biting your lip as you stare at your phone screen, contemplating telling him you got home okay. Was that a bit forward? He might need just a bit of space after your meeting. You decide against texting him.

You get yourself out of your work clothes and into your comfiest pyjamas, slipping your feet into the fluffiest socks you own. You made your way into your kitchen, intending to heat up some leftovers, not really feeling like cooking much tonight. You turn on your oven, waiting for it to heat up.

You meander out of the kitchen, grabbing your phone from its place still in your bag, seeing that your group chat has been a little active since you left work to meet up with Santi. It wasn’t anything important, just your friends talking about their days. Gabrielle was dealing with two kids with chicken pox, and Beth’s newest client was being a nightmare and difficult. Courtney had offered her usual down to Earth responses, both in support of her friends.

You smiled. You wondered what they would say when they found out you were pregnant.

You. The perpetually single friend.

You type out a quick text, telling them exactly what was happening before you delete it all, and rewrite it. You stood there for a full ten minutes, contemplating letting them know what’s been going on over text. You should tell them in person. These were your girls, your family. They deserved better.

Sorry I have been MIA ladies. Been going through some stuff.

You sigh as you send the message in the group chat. It was simple and kept to the point.

It wasn’t long until you got a response.

B: Jesus, finally. Thought you’d died. You okay?

G: Do you need anything? I can come by tomorrow and drop some stuff off for you.

C: Glad you’re okay.

I’m okay, thanks guys. Is everyone free next weekend? We could have lunch somewhere.

G: I’ll see if I can get a sitter. Matthew is away with his brother for their cousin’s bachelor party.

B: I am free. I have something to ask you guys about the wedding.

G: Bridesmaids!?

B: You’ll just have to wait and see.

C: I’m free after 1pm. Got a work thing.

B: On a Saturday?

C: Rude, not all of us are our own boss.

B: Shut up.

Great, I can book a late lunch on Saturday. 2pm good for everyone? I’ll take a look at what’s available if not.

G: I’ve heard Bella Cucina is good, not sure if they’re open for lunches though.

They’re not, just the evenings. That’s where I went for my date with Santiago.

C: Lol.

You sent a not-very-ladylike emoji to Courtney before telling them you’ll send them lunch details when you can. You snort at Courtney’s not-so-ladylike reply back with a similar emoji before she sent you a message privately.

So, what’s going on? Did you take a pregnancy test?

You bit your lip. You appreciated that she asked you separately from the group chat, but you also wanted everyone to know what you were going through in person. It wasn’t like you didn’t trust her, Courtney wouldn’t breathe a word of it, but you just weren’t sure what was going to happen in the next few weeks. But you know that if you don’t say something now, Courtney will be suspicious. You could lie, but it would seem silly to.

You just had to bite the bullet. With Courtney anyway.

I did.

You immediately put your phone down, the panic rising in your throat. You did it. You were ‘publicly’ acknowledging your pregnancy to someone to wasn’t Santiago. You busied yourself with your almost forgotten leftovers, putting them in the oven and setting a timer. You went to your bathroom, took off the day’s make up, and placed on a face mask. You set up your couch, where you planned to plant yourself and watch Netflix all night, ignoring your phones constant chimes of Courtney’s messages.

You pottered around a bit more, closing your curtains, putting away your clothes, and cleaning up a few dishes you had left out that morning. You removed the face mask and moisturised your skin before finally going back to your phone.

And? Are you pregnant?

Come on, you can’t just throw that on me and disappear.

Seriously. Are you pregnant or not!?

I know you’re doing this on purpose, you haven’t just put your phone down and got distracted by something else!

You’re not subtle.

Girl, if you don’t answer your phone!!!!!

When she sent you your full name in capital letters, you thought it best to reply.

I’m pregnant.

Holy shit. How are you feeling?

Life has been a little upside down. I’ve been dealing with it.

Does Santiago know?

Yeah, it’s why I’ve been MIA. It’s been a challenge.

Fuck, dude, are you okay?

It’s fine. Well, it will be fine. I have an appointment on Wednesday with my OB, Santi will be there. So he says. I won’t blame him if he changes his mind, it’s not exactly an ideal situation.

Are you keeping it?

You hesitated, because you didn’t know how to answer that. You obviously took too long to answer because Courtney rang your phone. You took a few seconds to answer it. “I don’t know if I’m going to keep it.”

“Is it because of Santiago?”

“Well, partly. It’s his foetus too.” You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “And other factors. Obviously. Money. My living situation. Work. It’s all just…overwhelming.”

“You know we won’t judge you for what you choose to do, right?” Courtney said. “Is that what lunch is about next week? You don’t have to say anything to the others if you decide not to keep it, don’t feel pressured to let the others know.”

You try to hold back tears, sucking in your lips and biting down on them before you take a shaky breath. “I know.”

“We’ll be here for you, whatever you need. Do you need me there on Wednesday?”

“No, really, I’ll be okay.”

“Okay…you know Andy is a cop, right, he knows how to hide a body where no-one will find it if Santiago fucks you over.”

You let out a watery laugh, wiping at your eyes. “I know. But Santi’s a good guy.”

“The offer is there.”

Your timer goes off in your ear, causing you to flinch. You turn it off, before finally telling Courtney that you had to go, you were about to have dinner. You told her you would tell her all about the week you’d had another time, and that you would keep her updated on anything regarding the baby, and/or Santiago. She told you that she would always be available for you. You both hang up.

In that moment, you knew you’d be okay. You’d be fine. No matter what happens with the baby and Santi, at least you had your friends. And that was all you needed.

Tagged - @khonsulockley

[primamchorus]

Ever Beating Heart

Insecurities and frustrations arise as Ros stands before the grave of his departed mother. The burden of being the only true Heart left in service to the Crown weighs down upon his shoulders, threatening to crush him. For what is his purpose when he has no one to properly teach and nurture his ability into being a proper Heart of the King?

Warnings: Grief, Loss of Family, Minor Emetophobia (nothing graphic; goes more into the vivid depictions of the feeling of nausea)

Word Count: 1,930

FFXV: Reimagined Table of Contents

<- Previous • Next ->

Before a marble tombstone stood a boy no older than thirteen years. In his hands, he held a bouquet of dead and wilted flowers, limp and brown. He had already laid down a fresh bouquet consisting of white peonies, daffodils, and carnations. Upon the tombstone read the name Aurae Viridis.

The boy stared for a time at the tombstone. He pursed his lips, bringing his free hand up to move some loose strands of brown hair from his vision. It was not often he found himself in the royal cemetery on his own. The boy had originally been there to change the flowers on his own rather than leaving it to the groundskeepers. Though he lingered, staring hard into the white marble. More and more his feet felt reluctant to leave.

“Hey… Mom…” the boy finally spoke. His lips parted momentarily. Closing his mouth, he looked down at the wilted flowers in his hands, trying to think of anything to say, or get off his chest. His mind was filled with all kinds of things that could have been said to alleviate the weight he felt accumulate within.

A sigh left him.

“Dad's been well…” the boy finally started. “He's been helping me stay on track, you know? Just…sometimes it's hard. I feel really weak compared to everyone else.”

The boy had no initial intention of staying there, he really did not. Though the more words started to come out, he found himself crouching down and then sitting on his knees. He placed the wilted flowers aside, freeing his hands.

“I know I shouldn't compare myself to them. Dad and Uncle are always telling me that I shouldn't compare myself to them,” the boy said, scoffing as he looked down at the grass. “You'd probably say that healing magic is just as important or powerful. Or something…”

The boy hesitated.

“I don't know anymore…”

Looking down at his lap, the boy frowned.

“... I don't remember what you sound like anymore. But I see you…on the walls at home. I'm glad I can remember what you look like, I just…wish I could hear you, too.” Adjusting, the boy brought his legs out so that he was sitting cross legged on the grass. He then looked at one of his hands, opening and closing it a couple times.

“It's not like I can heal this kind of pain…” the boy continued. “I can't heal the ache in my chest when I think about you. I tried. It sucks that I can't. But…”

The boy shook his head, placing his hand back into his lap. Turning his gaze back toward the tombstone, he took in a breath and sighed.

“Maybe it's good I can't heal that pain?” His statement ended with a question. He was uncertain that it was a justified thing to say. Though he gathered himself and continued: “it kind of reminds me that I'm learning all of this and doing what I can to break the limitations of what we know is possible so that none of us have to lose anyone else… I don't want to lose anyone else.”

Silence soon blanketed the royal cemetery after the boy said that. Only the rustling of the trees as the gentle winds passed made any sound. He sat in it for a while, letting his words stew. All he could do was reflect upon them, thinking on what his own words meant to him -- how they shaped his resolve. Was there a better way to word how he felt and why he pushed himself?

Leaning back, the boy planted the palms of his hands behind him. He then turned his gaze skyward, his eyes trailing along the Wall’s shimmer before it looked past that into the cerulean expanse of the sky above. It was cloudless. A nice day by the common standard.

“... Sometimes I wonder…” the boy softly said. “If I was where I am now in my training back then… Could I have saved you?”

Silence again.

“... Probably not…” he concluded.

Huffing in annoyance, the boy pushed himself back up into a standing position, grabbing the wilted bouquet as he did. He lingered, still feeling rooted to the spot. For a brief moment, he wanted to crush the wilted bouquet out of frustration. At least it was already dead.

But he thought better of it. He frowned as he looked at the browned flowers. There was nothing about them that could have been salvaged. No amount of magic could have allowed him to raise them back and be lush and verdant.

Not that he knew of…

An amused scoff escaped him.

“... What the hell is the point of our family name being ‘Viridis,’ then?” the boy laughed wryly. He furrowed his brow, his smile just as wry as his laughter.

‘To hell with it…’ the boy thought to himself. His gaze was locked on the withered bouquet. Mana flowed through him, the hair on the back of his neck and arms raising as he felt the warm, soothing power wash over him. His hands tingled as he focused his abilities. It was a gentle feeling overall.

The stress of using so much mana, however, was felt. The boy felt his head grow light and hot, a sheen of sweat breaking out. A slow building nausea built up from the pits of his stomach to the base of his throat. Despite the warmth and soothing sensation within his hands, everything else about pushing himself to break boundaries was sickening.

He had to push himself. He had to.

He had to.

He had to.

He had to.

With the focus and stream of mana with his goal clear in his mind, the boy soon fell back to his knees. He gasped, his lungs feeling as if they had the wind stolen from them. His vision dimmed as his head swam through that dizzying feeling of swimming through noxious fumes. Falling forward, the boy dropped the wilted flowers as he caught himself by the palms of now clammy hands against the grass below.

The boy's stomach flipped and flopped, a gross and uncomfortable feeling turning over and over within him. He wanted to retch. His mouth watered as if he was about to.

Frustration took hold, and tears stung his eyes.

“... Goddammit…” the boy cursed, a sob leaving him before he swallowed to try and quell that nauseating feeling. It was futile. The sensation of feeling weak and nauseous remained.

Slowly, his vision cleared. The boy looked down at the wilted bouquet, desperately looking for something. Anything.

Brown. It was still brown.

“Shit!” the boy cried. He pounded a fist against the grass, tears flowing freely from his eyes. Succumbing to this weakness, he keeled over and curled up on the grass, bringing his hands to his eyes. Pitifully, he sobbed into his palms, breath stuttering as he breathed, “I-I hate being so goddamn weak…”

Hearing himself served to make the feeling worse. Hearing it…hearing himself solidified how absolutely pathetic he sounded. It made him feel unfit for serving at the Prince’s side. Made him unfit to even share the same blood as him as his cousin.

“Why do I have to be related to the Prince..?” The boy just allowed his frustrations to aerate. “How can I even compare to Noctis? He's destined to wield the magic of Kings. What does he even need me for!?”

For long, long minutes, the boy laid there. He wallowed in his pain -- both physical and mental. Tears dried on his face, their streaks feeling somewhat taut against his skin. When the nausea finally became tolerable, the boy pushed himself up into a sitting position. He was in a fugue as he collected himself.

The boy hardly registered the disturbance of the grass nearby until the sight of a skirt from a green dress came into view. Looking up, the boy saw another one of the girls who also lived on the royal grounds. She was someone from another one of the noble houses.

Green dress aside, the girl looked as if she had come back from an event. Her black, wavy bob hair had been pulled back with a hairband, and she had presentable jewelry around her neck and at her ears. The only thing that was out of place was how she was largely barefoot in the grass, her white hose bearing some fresh grass stains.

“... Lyra?” the boy managed, lifting a hand and rubbing his eyes. He tried not to sniffle, but it was hard to hide such an obvious sound.

“You okay, Ros? I heard something going on out here and decided to come out,” Lyra replied. There was concern in her expression. “You look awful.”

“Yeah, thanks… Tell me something I don't know,” Ros said, an irritated sigh soon leaving him. He then shook his head. “I'm…sorry, Ly. I'm not okay. But…I don't want to talk about it. Not now.”

‘Not when I've been bitching about it all for the last hour or so to my dead Mom's gravestone…’ Ros thought bitterly to himself.

“You know that as Ears, I'll get the information eventually, right?” Lyra said, her voice carrying a tease to it. It was clear she was attempting to lighten the mood in some capacity.

If only it worked.

Ros only managed a slight glare up at Lyra at that. As far as he knew, she already heard all of his complaining and self-deprecating remarks before she made her presence known. The Ears were known for their spying and reconnaissance efforts, after all. Hell, she could have been present for the entire duration of his visit.

Just another example of a new generation of the royal Houses excelling at their specialties.

Lyra, however, ignored the expression shot at her and smoothed her dress before sitting next to Ros. She looked at the marble tombstone, her expression falling only slightly. She looked more pensive than anything. She then reached forward and grabbed the browned bouquet in front of her.

“... I was going to take that with me to throw out,” Ros slowly said, bringing his knees up and resting his chin upon them. He still bore a look of frustration, his brow knitted and jaw set.

“... I've never seen flowers wilt like this…” Lyra commented.

Ros looked over, confused. How exactly were flowers supposed to wilt?

Holding the bouquet up, Lyra pointed out the petals. There was an interesting pattern of small white spots amidst the brown. These small spots were silky patches of reinvigorated plant life. Seeing that made Ros stare at it in dumbfounded wonder.

Though the spots were small, the fact that they existed at all made him look at the discovery, mouth agape.

“I wonder what made them wilt like this,” Lyra went on to say as she pulled the petal gently to get a better look. Her expression said more than enough to the fact that she was genuinely confused.

For a moment, a welling of pride rose within Ros’ chest. He was about to mention how his magic could perhaps be pushed into bringing back life into what was once dead. However, he stopped himself. Perhaps it would simply be better to keep that to himself. There was no telling what the others would think or say. Besides…it was not as if he was anywhere close to being able to actually provide the same, legendary power as something so much as a down feather of a fabled phoenix.

“... No idea,” Ros finally replied. “I don’t think I ever really took the time to notice.”

[bacon-sandwich-of-dionysus]

Bloodhound. (A Ghost x AFAB!Reader fic)

Act One, Chapter Nine: In the Eye of the Storm

Hey guys! I'm back! Yay!

So, so sorry for the super long delay- med school has been extremely busy and on top of that, the Christmas hols have been busy as well. I had family functions, Christmas itself, and my birthday on New Year's Eve ( :3 ). I will also admit that I did briefly lose motivation for this fic, writer's block is a curse, and it was a little bit of slug to get started writing again, but I'm very happy with this chapter and I hope you are all too.

Nevertheless, here's Chapter 9- a.k.a the penultimate chapter of Act One! Yay! I'm so excited for Chapter 10! I don't want to spoil much, but let's just say we'll be getting our first glimpse of an Arcadian Son in his wolven form! 🐺

Feedback is welcome! Let's drum up some hype for Act One's finale!

Warnings: Strong language, threats of violence, emetophobia warning, violence, gore, mild body horror and animal death (I will say this happens under the final asterisk of the chapter almost at the very end and it is a bit nasty)

P.S: Fun fact- half of this came to me in a dream! Seriously, it did!

Her resolve was breaking, crumbling away like sand through her fingers. She was faltering, stumbling over a root as she dragged her body to continue on. Valeria looked behind to see she had lost sight of the base. Slowly, she returned her gaze to what was in front of her: the vague path back to their camp.

She had cast that awful mask aside, leaving it to be found at the edge of the base, where the back of that dilapidated building met the woods, hoping you’d find it and that it’d light a fire under your arse.

A life taken was, in her eyes, better than a life doomed. At least, with murder, there came some form of closure. Some form of a definitive… end.

How long until it would set in? Until he’d unravel and consume them all?

Consume you?

She prayed that the anger she had seen in your face, as she had grabbed a fistful of your hair, bringing your bloodied visage to look upon hers, meant you had it in you to fix this. There was a good chance you’d reject Ghost and flee the moment you discovered his newfound nature. And… you’d be right in doing that- you know, to kill him before he’d get into their hands. Valeria hoped you’d stab him with a silver stake in his sleep or do her the kindness of making him scream. Oooh. Something inside her giggled with sadistic joy at the thought of an Arcadian Son screaming in agony at the hands of a lamia. What a triumph that would be! An arrogant man with strength he didn’t deserve nor need, squirming about at the feet of a trafficked child. Valeria hungered for that, and she had found a substitute in reigning supreme over the Las Almas Cartel but, now that she thought about it, it wasn’t the same. It was play. It was her living in a fantasy, rehearsing all the things she wanted to say and do to her overseer. There were many people that sat at the back of her mind, giving voice to her innermost doubts and fears, whom she wanted to see burn by her hands, and he was one of them. That heartless fucker who managed to worm his way into her very being, one who she’d still want to see in awe of her, to feel a swell of pride as she’d slit his throat.

Every Arcadian Son was the same. Every single one. They all did nothing but hurt, exploit, and terrorise. Throwing around their gifts without a care in the world and making sure everyone was constantly feeling their anguish, their pain.

But what about mine?! What about my pain?!

She trudged on, doing her best to halt the tears pooling in her eyes. In an ill attempt to self-soothe, Valeria found her arms slowly snaking around her, her body pulling her into an embrace. It stung as the cartel queen felt a tear trickle from her eye, rolling down her nose, clinging to the end. Then another, and another, and another once more. Valeria wanted to beat someone half to death. She wanted to feel powerful again, toying with people. She had thought that all these years she had spent on herself, spoiling herself rotten with an underground empire and plenty of men to crush beneath her boot, she had grown. And yet, here she was, a sobbing, snivelling mess, nothing more than a weak, little girl.

Little girl.

“You wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for me.”

Little girl.

“I will always be with you.”

Little girl.

“You will always be scared of men like me. You will always be scared of men.”

The way those words had been uttered to her, all those years ago, with no anger, no emotion behind them, uttered like cold, hard facts. As if she was made to be a certain way. As if she couldn’t escape her nature. As if she was destined to be a caricature, an idea of a person. It was as if everything Valeria had ever done had meant nothing, because all this she had created, had accumulated, had achieved, was merely boiled down to a response to him. Essentially, Valeria realised that she was and would always be nothing more than his lamia.

A quivering breath escaped her, and she became still. Glossy brown eyes stared into the middle distance.

She could have said no, died in defiance.

And yet, she obeyed.

How far was she from camp?

“Valeria?”

Quick as a whip, she snapped back to reality and saw Graves, directly in front of her, standing amidst the shrubbery. His posture indicated he was concerned, slightly leaning forward, one unsure foot put in front of the other, hands hovering in place, shaking with slight trepidation. To him, she didn’t look well. Something about her indicated she wasn’t entirely here and as for her slightly unkempt armour and bloodstained face, Phillip feared she wouldn’t be able to give a decent report.

Still¸ he sighed, no harm in tryin’.

“Valeria?”

“You disgrace the army.”

Every single fucking man she had ever met had, in some form or the other, left a nasty mark on her. Every. Single. Fucking. One.

As she watched Phillip approach her, with a patronising dose of caution, her lip curled.

“I want the missiles. I want the target. And I want Hassan. And you’ve got ten seconds or I’m going to show you the difference between military and me.”

Phillip Graves was feeling sorry for himself now, but she knew it was only a matter of time before he’d be back to his usual self, or perhaps even worse.

“Valeria?”

“What?!” she snapped.

“Have you delivered the package to the target and…”

She could tell he was looking her up and down.

“… Did the renegade do that to you?”

Valeria wasn’t fooled by his softened voice. She took a disgusted step back as he took one towards her.

“What do you think?” Valeria sighed, making to brush past him and collect her things at camp so she could leave this promptly.

He grabbed her, hard, by the wrists. She looked at him like he wasn’t even human, her eyes wide, mouth slightly agape, a face depicting someone who was taken aback by not a man, but an animal.

“I need a full report of what happened,” he spoke to her like she was a mere child.

She looked at him, trying to find his eyes behind that blank visor. Although there really wasn’t much of a height difference between them, she felt as though he was consuming her whole field of vision. Angry tears should have told him enough, but it was evident that he wanted to hear it from her lips.

“Let me go.”

“I need a report.”

“Let me go.”

“You can have your tantrum afterwards, Garza. I need a report. You do realise that this is technically a mission-”

She pulled away, trying to break free of his grip, but to no avail. Over his shoulder, she could see the tantalising shape of camp. Valeria wriggled, demanding to be released. Phillip’s grip only tightened.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

Stop.

STOP!

Valeria kicked him, screamed at him and, in a moment of brief freedom, before he’d trap her in his embrace once more, she hit his armoured chest. Again, and again and again. All that came out of her were shrieks and curses that sounded as though they had been trapped in her gullet for centuries. She punched and punched his chest, fighting to break free from his grip as he reestablished control. Graves supposed he’d let her have her moment for a few seconds, however, he soon grew tired of her hysteria.

“Valeria… Valeria, will you just… Val-”

He sighed.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP AND GIVE ME THE GODDAMN REPORT!” he roared.

Then, Phillip fell silent, as if surprised by his own voice. He sounded a lot worse than he did when she last spoke to him, merely hours ago.

Valeria glowered at him but did as he said, regaining composure. She was breathless, panting as her whole body rose and fell in time with her stifled gasps for air. Her hands were raised in front of her, held in place by his, almost framing her face.

“The renegade was there. They saw me. And as for the target… Riley’s received the package.”

He eyed the woman, seeing if he could smell any lies on her. However, it seemed she was telling the truth. Phillip let go of her hands and watched them drop to her sides.

“Clean yourself up and go log it on the lexicon-thingy. I received a call from them not too long after you left. They said they want to hear it from you.”

She pushed past him, wiping away the salty water on her lips with the back of her hand.

Dawn would be approaching and with it, heaps of planning for the final stage. They hadn’t been here for long, but to Phillip, he felt as though he had aged aeons. A sliver of him had just made its absence finally known, having spent the past few days teasing him with its liminal existence. Absentmindedly, he rested a hand on his chest, picking at the crevices of his armour as he stared off into the middle distance. He wasn’t the same. He’d hit rock bottom and now had to get on with things despite it all because he didn’t have anything else to do but that. Never had a man truly encapsulated the word ‘undead’. Phillip Graves in a sense had died in Las Almas, in that tank, at the hands of John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, but he hadn’t been reborn or redeemed in any way. The man was a soulless continuation of the previous iteration. Although he knew the inescapable reality of his situation, he couldn’t fathom it: particularly the fact that he was alive. This didn’t feel like being alive, though. He was simply… going through the motions. There was no agency here. Well, that wasn’t entirely true, he did have some agency which led him to the decision he had been procrastinating on making.

The matter of the girls.

***

“What?!” 72’s voice cracked; her indignation just barely being contained. “What do you mean we can’t go?!”

Phillip winced a little, trying to find the correct footwork needed to get around the girl and get on with his life. Much to his chagrin, though, the young lamia firmly put herself in front of him, blocking his path with her feet squarely placed hip-width apart and her arms crossed. She had an aggravating scowl on her face as she looked up at him.

“Kid…”

“Kid?” she scoffed.

“72,” he sighed, pausing for a brief moment to collect his thoughts, “you and 23 need to stay put. For your own safety. You know, I’m doing this for your own good.”

“We’re supposed to be working,” she growled, “We’re supposed to be on a job.”

Phillip noticed the way her brows lowered, eyes narrowing, it brought about a sense of familiarity to him, like he’d seen that expression elsewhere but couldn’t quite place it.

Him.

Suddenly, he was aware that he was pulling the same face under his helmet.

“You’re going to be doing me a lot of favours by staying back here. So, stay.”

“But-”

“That’s an order, 72!”

She was taken aback by his raised voice, her lip trembling a little as her mind couldn’t make up whether she should be scared or continue to be angry. Graves rose to his full height no longer bringing himself down to meet her eyes, thinking that had done the trick.

He gently moved her out the way and walked past, feeling an odd sense of pride that he’d managed to avoid a teenage girl’s wrath successfully.

“What are you so afraid of?”

Phillip stopped dead in his tracks.

“Are you scared you’re going to hurt us?” 72 taunted, “I know that you were the one responsible for 23’s injury after we extracted the drug lord.”

He couldn’t… He couldn’t even bring himself to look at whatever smug grin she was probably pulling, knowing full well that it would send him over the edge. The last thing he needed right now was an excuse to lose it, especially when she was in the line of fire.

“You…” He could hear his voice had become gravelly once more, like it had done so when he’d yelled at Valeria. “… You, young lady, are skating on some mighty thin ice.”

“I don’t even need to read your mind to know you’re full of guilt.”

“72-”

“We’re here for you! We’re your lamias! You can’t just leave us here, they’ll find out we weren’t working properly, and they’ll do something about it!” she cried, throwing her arms out and vaguely upward.

He turned to face her.

“I’m supposed to be dead. I was supposed to be in a shallow grave in the middle of nowhere, not atoning for my fucking sins but here I am yet on another mission… with two children that I now have to make sure don’t get fucking killed because...”

“Because?”

“I’ve killed so many people. I’ve been a damn good contractor. But I draw the line here. I draw the line at children.”

“We’re not just children.”

“No, 72, you are and you’re in my care. I tell you what to do and you do as I say. That’s the fuckin’ deal. Got it?”

Her lips were pulled into a thin line.

“Got it?!”

She hung her head low.

“Yes, sir,” 72 said, resignedly.

He nodded to himself.

“Go into your tent and stay there until I come get you for food or whatever. If you need anything, you call me, and I’ll let you out.”

Tail between her legs, she sulkily walked back to her flimsy shelter. He watched her unzip the flap and crawl in, hearing the shrill sound of the zipper being angrily pulled along the teeth. Phillip found himself lingering a little longer, watching her silhouette greet 23’s in the warm glow of the hanging torch he’d managed to fish out of their bags for them when they first set up shop here.

Though it stung, Graves knew it had been the right thing to do. They weren’t built for the battlefield, and he’d got a glimpse of that when Valeria had been taken.

23…

His mind was still foggy on what exactly happened with her. As much as he wanted to ask, he feared it would either confirm his suspicions or leave him with only more questions. And so, Phillip had opted to wallow in his apprehension, hoping that once he’d finished this mission and hopefully be rid of them, he could either forget about his guilt or drown it in a fuck ton of alcohol like he used to.

Taken a heavy hit? Simply rock up to the nearest bar in the area and drink and drink and drink.

Having awful flashbacks to Al-Mazrah? Sip some tequila, then sip some more tequila… then keep sipping until you’ve somehow arrived at the next day with only faint recollection of how exactly you got here.

Phillip wondered if he could even get drunk anymore thanks to his newfound condition. Perhaps that’s why the rest of the Arcadian Sons seemed so… excessive, the senseless violence and enforcing of power kept them from acknowledging the tragedies that were their own existences. Maybe he should get with the programme.

No…

It felt wrong.

Then again, he’d most likely done just as bad before. Still, his previous transgressions never made him feel like this, even thinking about spilling blood made his stomach both churn and burn with hungry excitement. It would be giving into something, something that was steeped in sin.

He needed to get this job done and hope the Foundation would give him another one so he would have no time to be alone with his thoughts.

***

You took another pump of soap and rubbed it into your hands before bringing them under the tap once again. Warm water washed over you as you picked at your nails, trying to get the last bits of brown, dried blood which were stubbornly sitting in the crevices of your fingers. Eventually, you looked back up to see the red smeared across the lower half of your face, coming to almost a point, where the source was: your nose.

Damn it.

The blood was beginning to dry, becoming a nasty crust over your skin. You couldn’t help but stare at yourself- bloodied, bruising with tearstains to boot.

You thought about the lamia once more. She had been hanging about in your head for some time now, her face briefly gracing your mind’s eye with her presence. You wondered who exactly she was, not from an identity perspective but rather, you were curious about her intentions. It was just… why?! Why was she there? Why did she help you? Why help and still work for the Foundation? Why show such solidarity, tell you about the Arcadian Sons in the forest, undeniably a few kilometres away, and yet, still, presumably, enter to confirm your location?

Or was this all a ruse? No… it couldn’t be!

It wasn’t like you were going to wait around to find out, you were going to pack your shit and leave first thing in tomorrow morning. You swore to yourself that come dawn tomorrow, you were out of here.

You just hoped that the Arcadian Sons weren’t planning anything tonight.

They couldn’t be that fast, could they?

They could. They very much could.

Damn it.

You sighed, watching your reflection frown. All you really had going for you at the moment was the hope that some god above would take pity on your plight and have the Arcadian Sons miss their window of opportunity.

A long sigh escaped you as you rested some of your weight on the sink.

Ghost’s bout of nausea hadn’t been helping the overall atmosphere in the base either. He’d hogged the bathroom pretty much all morning, vomiting loudly. Soap had been lingering outside for pretty much all of it, occasionally knocking on the door to ask the man if he needed the medic… to which Ghost would reply with, “No. Gaz is keeping ‘em occupied anyway. Besides, I think I just ate-” and then he’d get cut off by puking back into the toilet bowl.

You were curious about what exactly was wrong with him but hadn’t had an opportunity to even catch a quick glimpse of his state, with Kate and Price immediately pulling you aside to ask about the events that had transpired last night the moment you were out of the medical room. Alejandro and Rudy had also interrogated you in the office with the others earlier but that resulted in them having more questions. Then, a massive argument had broken out between Alejandro and 141, with Rudy doing his best but being an unsuccessful mediator. Everything came to an end though when Ghost had sat back down after getting a word in, only to suddenly rise from his seat and make a break for the bathroom. Everyone heard his retches down the corridor, and you wouldn’t be lying if you admitted that the sounds had made you feel a little nauseous yourself.

Bewildered was the word you thought best described the base at the moment.

A pit was slowly growing in your stomach. You were dreading what nightfall would bring. They were coming for you and there are only so many times you can escape the Foundation’s clutches before luck runs out.

You were glad you had packed your silver-plated knives and stake, feeling the sweet relief of reassurance as you grabbed your toothbrush, eager to finally have a moment to yourself to freshen up.

***

The clues at the bottom of her crossword were slowly blurring into one inky blob on the page. A pen, slightly shaking with mild anger, hovered over the third row spanning across the answer area. Usually, 72 would make light work of this, but today, she seemed preoccupied.

23 looked at her with caution from across the tent as she fiddled with the new compression bandaged Phillip had quickly slipped onto her slowly healing knee. The swelling had gone down a little, but it still looked sore. She watched, with increasing anxiety, as 72 grew more and more tense. Eventually, she caved and lashed out with a loud growl, throwing her pen to the side.

“You okay?” 23 asked with trepidation.

“Can you believe he’s making us stay here? Instead of, you know, letting us do our jobs?”

23 shrugged, turning to pick up her camcorder and searching for the switch as 72 continued her rant.

“Like, the Red Room clearly thinks we’re ready or we wouldn’t have been deployed, you know? His report is what’s gonna get us out of the Red Room and actually into a definitive pack. That we’ll stay in…”

She drew her knees to her chest, hugging the newspaper.

“… Instead of being passed from one packmaster to another.”

23 shrugged.

“Maybe he’s right,” the girl suggested, flicking through her footage.

72 grumbled.

“We’re going to end up paying for this. We always do,” she mumbled into the paper, “He thinks he’s doing the right thing but as soon as he mentions on the final report that we did nothing-”

“How do you even know he’s gonna say that?” 23 looked up at her with an exasperated expression, only emphasised by the blue glow from the device’s screen highlighting her features.

“Because he has to?!” 72 sat upright. “They’ll ask.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Why are you sticking up for him?!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! You’re on his side!”

If 23 had pearls, she’d be clutching them in response to such a false and heinous accusation.

“72, I’m not taking anyone’s side. We both know that he’s nice so he’s not going to do anything to get us in trouble, okay?”

“He’s the reason your knee’s fucked up.”

72 pointed at the bandaging on the girl’s leg. 23 cast her gaze downwards and to the side, covering the dressing with her hands.

“Are you scared of him? Is that what it is?” 72 asked, before bringing her hand to her forehead. “Oh my God! You’re scared! You’re doing as your told for once because you’re scared of him!”

“I’m not scared of him! Besides, it was my fault my knee’s screwed up, I was the one that tripped… It’s just-”

“Just what? Scared the big bad wolf is gonna eat ya?”

23 glared daggers at her.

“No, I’m not scared. I’m just being reasonable. Maybe, he has a point. Maybe, we should stay here.”

72 leaned back, her eyes narrowing.

“If I left and followed them to the base, would you let me do it alone?”

Silence fell upon them briefly, only the sounds of awkward rustling filled the tent.

“Well?” 72 asked impatiently.

“I mean…” 23 trailed off, scratching her upper arm idly as she thought.

“Yes or no!”

“Fine!” the girl groaned, throwing her head back.

***

Kate’s fingers were interlocked, her hands tightly wrapped around one another, in a ball, resting on her head as she looked at the ground. Y/N was in their prime. They knew. She, on the other hand, clearly was losing touch and at an alarming rate.

Price sat across from her, a steaming cup of tea sitting atop a small table was the only barrier between the two. He let out a sigh, the air whistling a little as it left his nose. His hands were comfortably placed on his lower abdomen, a contrast to his right leg, which jigged up and down, giving away his brewing anxiety. The captain was growing to resent this silence, waiting and wanting Kate to fill it because he couldn’t, he had no words.

The tense quiet was what was left of Alejandro’s panicked anger and Rudy’s unsuccessful attempts to quell it. He had shouted, paced, accused and demanded that Y/N needed to leave. Kate had stated that she could only let Y/N go once the contact had confirmed it was safe, and as much as she hoped you’d agree, you took Alejandro’s side.

You would leave come tomorrow’s sunrise and just hope that by the time you’d reach the border, the people Kate had been talking to would be there to greet you… like the angels at the Pearly Gates.

Marks of Alejandro’s outburst were everywhere in this room: the door only now just ceasing its swinging from when he’d stormed off, the slam of his fist still ringing in Kate’s ears, the scattered papers and the empty dossier precariously hanging off the table’s edge.

Price’s brown eyes looked over to the old electric fan atop one of the filing cabinets, feeling himself become engrossed in its soothing blanket of white noise as it whirred away, fighting to do its job.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taken on Y/N.”

Quickly, he turned back to Kate.

“What?”

“We already have enough shit going on. Y/N… I didn’t need to add them to the list of our problems,” she muttered, shaking her head, “Did you hear what Ghost said? And how Alejandro responded?! I could’ve sworn I saw it n his eyes for a second that he was ready to kick us out.”

“No… No!” he implored, scooting his chair, trying to close at least some of the distance, “You did the right thing.”

She looked at him, her blue eyes intense, darting, doing their best not to give away her bubbling emotions.

“It’s difficult to see that right now. We’re here because Alejandro is allowing us to be here, he’s already jumping a lot of hoops for us.”

“And you’re doing the same for Y/N. We don’t leave each other. Where would they be right now if you hadn’t found them?” Price asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Dead,” Kate stated, plain as day, “Or worse.”

Price’s eyes creased and his mutton chops rose as he gave her a small, reassuring smile.

“Exactly. And besides, neither of you have screwed us over. They said it themself, the soldiers after them won’t come for us if we keep out of their way.”

“Usually, John.”

He nodded, being a little too nonchalant for Kate’s liking, as he took his cup of tea to his lips.

Then, it clicked.

“Wait, John, I know that look-”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he muttered with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I think you do.”

Price shook his head.

“John!”

“Kate!”

She sighed, leaning back.

“I’ll go to try and appease Alejandro by telling him we’ll all- well, I’ll who’s feeling up to it- take night watch tonight, save him and his men the trouble, you know. Then, if those lads show up to take your friend, we’ll be ready and stand firmly in their way. Then, Y/N will have a clear path of escape… theoretically.”

“John,” Kate chuckled weakly, “I appreciate the offer, as I’m sure Y/N would, but these are no ordinary soldiers.”

“Neither are we.”

“No, you don’t understand. What I mean is-”

“Kate, I suggest you think about heading to the barracks soon to rest up, we’ve got a long night ahead of us,” he said bluntly, rising from his seat.

With a shaking head and tight lips, she conceded. Laswell supposed it didn’t really change her plan, which was hoping that whatever pack of Arcadian Sons were out there would decide tomorrow night would be their time of attack. However, at the same time, she didn’t want to put her friends in harm’s way. And yet, having people available to raise the alarm would be beneficial, should they rock up tonight. They didn’t know what she knew though, and… well, Kate decided she’d take up Price’s advice to retire for the rest of the day to reflect on how she should prepare them, should the wolves turn up at their door.

Captain Price wandered towards the window, trying to peak through the fogged-up pane to see if there was anything interesting happening in the wilderness just outside the base. Suddenly, he yelped, staggering back, as a small bird landed just outside. Its wings hit the glass harshly as it steadied itself, before looking in to observe the strange giant beholding it.

“What kind of bird do you think that is, Kate? Looks like some sort of blue magpie to me,” Price mumbled.

Then, he straightened up and gave it a proper salute.

“Hello, Mr Magpie. How’s your wife?” he asked, giving a quiet but hearty laugh as he heard Kate snicker at one of his many British eccentricities.

“What?” Price pretended to take offence, turning around.

“I always forget you do that with birds!”

“Just magpies,” he corrected, “And they’re gorgeous little things so what does it matter!”

Kate shook her head, smiling.

Price gave a playful glare and turned back around, only to see that his small, winged friend had gone.

***

“How are you shaping up, Si?” Soap asked as he squatted down by Ghost’s bedside.

“Feel like I’ve been hit by a bus,” Riley replied, voice muffled by the pillow he was speaking into, “I’m dying.”

“I don’t think you’re dying, mate.”

“I am.”

Soap rolled his eyes. Ghostie may have had a reputation for being a stone-cold killer, and a very intimidating one at that, but MacTavish had found, as he’d gotten to know him, that the lieutenant also had a subtle flare for the dramatic.

“I don’t think you are,” Soap laughed quietly, removing the lid of a hot cup of tea he had retrieved from the mess hall.

“You can’t say anything, you’re not a medical professional.”

“Well,” Soap retorted, placing the lid gently on the ground, “the medic checked up on you a few mins ago and also said you’re not dying. I don’t think yer condition has changed much from then. I think you probably just ate something that didn’t agree with ya.”

“Fair enough,” Ghost said with a groan, his voice finally becoming clear as he turned his head to face Soap instead of the pillow.

He noticed the tea in Soap’s hand.

“That for me?”

MacTavish briefly looked down at what he was holding, and then back up at his friend.

“Oh aye,” the sergeant chuckled as he handed it over, “I made it black though, I’m worried the milk might set you off again.”

“Thanks, Johnny,” Ghost sighed, pulling his mask up to take a sip.

Soap sat himself down on the floor, fiddling with his hands as he watched Ghost drink up.

“You sound better,” MacTavish remarked.

“Really?” Riley asked between swigs of tea, “I feel worse.”

“Ah, that’s because it’s coming out,” Soap happily informed, “So, layering a fuck ton of blankets on top of you and making you sweat is working!”

“You’ve been pestering the medic all morning, haven’t you?”

“Maybe.” Soap shrugged.

“Ugh, Johnny. I told you not to bother her. She’s supposed to be helpin’ Gaz.”

Soap was about to say something, then paused, reevaluated, and tried again.

“I’m sorry,” The Scot folded his arms. “One minute you’re acting like you’re on your deathbed and the next, you’re telling me that I can’t be seeking out medical advice on your behalf?”

Ghost scoffed, giving him a playful punch in the arm. Only it wasn’t as light as it was playful. Soap took it well, not quite getting knocked over, but, once the shock had worn off, he couldn’t help but nurse his shoulder.

“Oh shit!” Ghost hurriedly pulled off the covers, practically leaping out of bed. “Sorry, Soap, I didn’t- Fuck!”

As he had tried to remedy the situation, the poor man had spilt his tea all over the floor.

“It’s fine, Si.” Soap brushed him off, rising to his feet. “I see you’ve not quite lost your strength. That’s good, I guess. I’ll go get some tissues.”

“No, I’ll go. I made the mess.”

As much as Soap wanted to protest, it’d be no use. He could see Simon’s mind was already made up.

“Sure.”

Soap conceded, giving way for Ghost as he grabbed his balaclava and rushed out.

***

As he was making his way there, he couldn’t help but feel this sense of unease. He was pretty certain it was what remained of Alejandro’s outburst. Though it was shocking, Ghost could understand where he was coming from; Riley himself had initial reservations about Y/N’s presence here. However, those reservations quickly died once Ghost had seen them and their desperation. He understood that kind of fear. Y/N was vulnerable right now, and needed time to rebuild their strength, hence why Ghost had vehemently protested against Alejandro’s demands to do away with Y/N.

That had led to a stern reprimand from Price and a very surprised look from Soap… and then of course, Ghost had to worsen everything by being this stupidly ill.

Simon actually had no clue what was wrong with him. It was like it had happened overnight; just suddenly, the poor bastard had come down with a pounding headache, high fever, nausea and these weird cramps in his lower abdomen and legs.

Just as he was thinking about them, another wave of pain hit him. Ghost took a moment for himself, resting a hand and his forehead on the wall, trying to find some relief in long, steady breaths.

“Are you alright?” a timid voice asked from behind him.

He turned around ad saw you, toiletries in hand, looking up at him with a worried expression.

“Yeah,” Ghost replied, “What, uh, what about you? Are you okay? You recoverin’?”

You nodded.

“That lamia got a few good hits on me, but I’m in one piece and alive, so that’s good.”

You both chuckled as you casted your gaze off to the side.

“I just… feel bad, though,” you confessed, drawing your belonging close to your chest, “Alejandro seemed so scared, like I was bringing some curse to this place.”

Ghost sighed.

“He’s been through a lot recently. That-”

“Lamia.”

“-lamia,” Ghost continued, “and her break-in probably was the last straw for him.”

“I see…”

Ghost watched as your eyes shifted, a ponderous look emerging on your face as you seemed to process this new take on prior events. He felt a small smile creep onto his face, under his mask, as you fell into deep thought, clearly having really taken in what he had said. The man would’ve let you fully enter a meditative state if it weren’t for the small splodge of dried toothpaste he noticed on the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, Y/N.” His rumbling voice snapped you right out of your trance. “You’ve got a little something on your mouth.”

“Where?” you asked, brows furrowing.

Your hand began to hover at various places around your face as a non-verbal game of ‘hot-n-cold’ ensued, with you trying to gauge whether you were near the right spot or not from Ghost’s expressions… which of course was incredibly difficult, because most of Ghost’s face was concealed.

Eventually, Ghost couldn’t take it anymore.

“Here, let me.”

Before you could even give or deny permission, he reached forward, swiping the blob away with his thumb. His touched weighed heavy on you, the sensation lingering as he drew his hand away. A shudder, confusingly hot, spread through you.

It… it was nice to feel the hand of another just touch you. It felt affectionate, and the way it felt menial, simple… you wanted him to do it again.

You couldn’t help but smile giddily.

“Thank you,” you said as you tried to locate exactly where his hand had been, “I’ll be around in the barracks, so if you need me to get you anything, just let me know.”

“Sure, Y/N.”

With that, he watched you hurry off. Then, he turned around and continued on his quest to find some tissues.

As Ghost continued down the corridor, he finally found himself at the fire exit. He stopped in his tracks, looking around for clues as to how he’d gotten here. The mess hall was back where he came…

He was quick to realise his error: you. When he saw you off, he went down the wrong way, taking him to the fire exit, and beyond that, the woods the base sat at the edge of.  Ghost was about to take his leave and retrace his steps when he heard something. A rustle, then a call.

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt himself being drawn to the incessant cawing coming from around the corner, just outside. Slowly, making sure his steps were as quite as possible, Ghost crept across the threshold and onto the soil.

There, on the ledge of a window, was a small bird.

Ghost cocked his head to one side, uncertain as to why such an innocuous thing had grabbed his attention.

Then, for the first time, all day, Simon Riley felt hungry.

A warmth began build in his stomach, churnings threatening to surmount into a loud grumble. He didn’t want to give himself away to the poor thing, not when it was perfectly faced away from him, chittering away at whatever was on the other side of the glass.

Ghost’s eyes were focused, as his surroundings began to blur.

Hackles raised, he lowered himself a little, placing one foot carefully in front of the other. Under his mask, his mouth was filling with saliva, his tongue running over his teeth as he grew nearer and nearer. His jaw was tense, mouth almost trembling with anticipation.

Blood.

He could smell it on the bird, almost see it pumping throughout its body. The creature was filled with sweet, sweet red nectar.

Riley could barely contain himself, his hand ready to wrap around its neck and-

SNATCH!

SNAP!

CRUNCH!

It had been given a quick death, Ghost’s hands making short work of breaking its neck. Frenziedly, he pulled his mask up and stuffed as much as he could into his mouth, moaning in relief as he lapped up as much blood as he could take. Then, he stopped, examined the opening he had made for himself, and pulled apart its broken chest. The heart was easily squished into smithereens by his teeth, releasing more and more of what Ghost had desperately craved. Inebriated by the pleasure, he found himself losing balance, saving himself by planting a firm hand on the wall in front of him, just under the window, as he continued to tear and chew and lap up.

As he did so, he felt an ache emerge in his arms and legs, culminating in his extremities.

“Oh… fuck…” he mumbled between mouthfuls, digging his nails into the brickwork.

It grew, becoming more intense in his fingertips.

His muscles began to tighten, his hands locking in place, either around the bird or raking against the wall.

A distorted, inhuman groan escaped him, as claws pushed apart his nails, black and shining wet. It was in a staggered motion, in time with his fingers lengthening a little as his palm grew and thickened.

One would’ve thought this was it, that now the rest of his body would follow suit and twist and change, but instead, the painful adjustments made soon receded. In a mere minute, maybe even seconds, Simon Riley’s hands were back to looking human.

He dropped the poor bird’s corpse, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He paused, looking at the bloodstain now on his half-clenched fist. His stomach lurched, demanding to not let it go to waste. And so, Ghost licked up the red from his hand, before turning to the other one and cleaning up the mess.

“Oh God…” Mid-lick, Simon realised what he was doing. “Oh God… What the-”

He brought a hand to his mouth, wanting to gag, but nothing came of it.

What did he just do?

Did he just…

“Si! There you are! I thought you were taking too long to come back from the mess hall and Y/N said they saw you head this way.”

Quickly, he pulled the skull-print balaclava over his bloodied mouth, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his cargo pants and whipped around to face Soap.

“What’re you doing out here?” MacTavish chuckled as he jogged his way over.

“I… uh…”

Before Simon could formulate a satisfactory response, Soap caught sight of the eviscerated bird on the ground.

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus,” the Scot lamented, “A coyote probably got to it. Poor thing.”

He looked up to see Ghost was staring at it, his eyes unnervingly devoid of pity or any emotion for the matter.

“Simon?”

Soap smiled uneasily as he saw him snap back to the here and now.

“Sorry.” Ghost spoke with a slightly quivering voice. “Spaced out for a moment.”

The sergeant eyed him, and Ghost felt himself tense a little.

“Shall we head back inside?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, then. That cold’s clearly going to your brain.” Soap gestured for him to follow.

“Right!” Ghost chuckled.

Soap couldn’t shake the feeling something was off with the lieutenant, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on what it was, nor did he want to ask about it for fear that Riley might push back, and harshly. Ghost had never liked to feel interrogated; he had a tendency to lash out like a cornered animal would.

Besides, it was probably just that he was feeling poorly. Colds can make people a little delirious from time to time.

As they entered the base, Soap noticed there was a distinctive smell in the air. A vaguely metallic musk, which seemed to be hovering around Ghost.

“No offence, LT,” Soap nudged him. “But I think all that sweatin’ I made you do with blankets and everythin’ is starting to… make itself known.”

“Hmm?”

“With all due respect, Simon, you smell like a wet dog,” he said bluntly.

Ghost stopped and looked at Soap sceptically. Then, he raised his arm and took a whiff to see for himself.

“Shit, you’re right. I need a fuckin’ shower.”

It would give him a good excuse to get the last of the blood out anyway.

[lipringlrh]

food poisoning - lrh

summary: you have food poisoning and luke is more than happy to look after you

an: this is a dodgy little thing to get me back into writing. i’ve been really ill recently so i think that inspired it a little, it’s not the greatest but it’s also currently quarter to 4 in the morning when i’m writing this so i’m thriving

word count: ~1100

pairings: luke hemmings x genderneutral!reader

request: here

warnings: friends to implied-but-not-yet lovers, readers hair is long enough to grab at the back, sick, emetophobia, swear words (fuck, shit), pet names, gagging, blasphemy? (oh god no), shitty ending but could maybe have a part2?, crappy title

my masterlist

feedback + constructive criticism is appreciated, requests are open

…

“i think you gave me fucking food poisoning, lu,” you spoke as you gagged again, heaving into the toilet. You were beginning to cry - you hated being sick: you rarely got insanely drunk, were careful what you ate was made properly, and made sure to keep away from anyone who’d been recently sick, all to avoid the slightest chance of you throwing up.

Luke, your best friend, knew this, and, whilst hearing someone be sick wasn’t his favourite sound, he sat behind you, perched on the corner of the bath, holding your hair in a fist at the back of your head. He was rubbing careful motions into your shoulders - trying to ease you, even in the slightest. He was never a fan of taking care of people but would do it in a heartbeat for you. If you showed signs of even the slightest incapability of being able to do something, Luke was there, instantly, ready to look after you. “It hurts so bad, lu.”

He drew back at the sound of you gagging again, now noticing the tears in your eyes. “Oh, i know, angel, i know, i’m so sorry,” he paused, he was never the best at comforting people but wanted to try his best for you, “only a little longer and it might just go away.”

You turned your head slightly up towards him, finishing wiping your mouth with toilet roll, dropping it in the toilet. “I just want it to stop.” From this angle, his hand was slightly pulling on your hair, which made you realise he was actually there, watching you spill your guts into a toilet,

“Oh God, this is embarrassing- shit lu, I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t care, you’re sick, and you need me- kind of cute really.” He moved his hands onto your back, rubbing slow circles, “in sickness and in health, right?”

“Luke, we’re not married.” He smiled at you, moving to gather a bit of hair that’d fallen in your face. He laughed lightly before whispering, “maybe one day, no one knows,”

You were silent for a moment, making faces like you were about to speak, but you couldn’t find the words. You were about to comment until the man of the hour beat you to it, “and look at that, that’s a solid- what, 2 minutes of not throwing up? That’s definitely todays record. Do you feel any better, sweetheart, or notice any differences at all?”

You flushed the toilet, turning back to him, resting against the seat, “hurts a little less now, I don’t think I’m going to throw up again soon.” It wasn’t a lie - you knew you would throw up again, but not right now; you just needed sleep at the moment, and Luke.

He gently moved your head up from the seat, “oh sweetheart, don’t rest there, are you tired? If you don’t think you’ll throw up we can lie down, I’ll leave a bucket by the bed in case of emergencies.” He stopped a moment, making the decision for you, “okay, come on, love, let’s get you to bed. Let’s- let’s clean your teeth so you don’t feel all disgusting, let’s change your shirt- you can borrow mine, and we could maybe cuddle? I heard that always helps when you’re ill.”

You began getting up, leaning on him for support. Nothing felt better than being in his arms, except for the fact you didn’t want to make him feel like he’s stuck with a sick person. He watched your face, noticing the uneasiness, “or you could just sleep alone? Sorry, yeah, I bet alone sounds better-”

“Luke.”

“Mhm.”

“You can stay- please can you just hold me for bit?”

He nodded, smiling gently, tightening his arms around you, holding you up. He watched you as you brushed your teeth, not moving his arms from you, wanting you to know you’re in safe hands.

Once you finished, he gave you his shirt, turning around as you put it on, not wanting to cross boundaries. He basically carried you into bed, making sure you were okay with each move. He was so gentle with you, not wanting to hurt or harm you in any way. You felt the amount he truly cared radiating off of him, and hoped one day to be able to prove to him the same.

He led you into bed, pushing you over to sleep on your left side because apparently “that will keep the stomach acid down.” He never joined you, but before you could protest, he pressed his lips into your temple, whispering, telling you he’s getting you a drink and a bucket so to just keep your eyes closed.

Not long after, he came back. Your eyes were still closed and you felt as if you could pass out at any moment. You heard him place the bucket at your side of the bed, before feeling the bed dip and him moving in front of you.

“Whenever you can, drink, okay sweetheart? But only slow sips, you’re going to get dehydrated which won’t help at all.” You nodded into him, moulding your body into his side, your legs on top of him. Luke didn’t mind at all - he wanted you comfortable, and if that meant laying on top of him, then he really couldn’t complain.

Your head was pressed into the crook of his neck, trying to gain as much warmth as you could. His hands reached into your hair, slowly massaging your scalp, easing you into sleep.

You were so extremely grateful for the blonde man. No matter what, he was there for you in unimaginable ways. He had a strong hold on your heart - protecting it from anyone else yet holding it like water. He was so delicate, so careful, never letting any of you slip away from him, and it had you completely weak and infatuated with him.

He could tell you were falling asleep, he knew the signs after admiring your face for countless nights. His hand moved to your cheek, drenching you in affection, placing one last kiss on the crown of your head, causing you to press yourself into him that little bit further.

“Thank you, lu, love you.” And at that instant he felt full. In whatever sense you meant it, his heart swelled with euphoria. Even if you didn’t love him how he loved you, he felt it would be a pleasure to get his heart broken by you.

His gripped tightened once more as he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, “I love you too, angel, so much.”

____

feedback + constructive criticism is appreciated, requests are open

[strawberrylabs]

Ok hi, i was looking around my tumblr and came across your blog and thought your aesthetic was really cute and cool, and then i found you match ups and i kinda want one so if you dont mind, can i have a match up from you?

(If you choose too)

the fandoms i would prefer are genshin, tokyo revengers and jujistu kaisen

I’m Ghost, I am Aquarius born, ISTP personality, and I’m panromantic with a male lean, with any pronouns.

im 5’5, shoulder length blonde, pale ivory skin tone, Grunge aesthetic and Green/hazel eyes, I have been told by a few of my friends that I look like a middle age man who either only drinks coffee or whiskey.

I have trust issues, I tend to be stand off-ish to people and prefer to be alone in dark and quite places, though I am open and happy around people I feel like I can trust, I’m a bit chaotic and tend to get out of hand when it comes to things I am passionate about, and I like to have deep meaningful conversations with people.

I like most parts of nature, like flowers, bugs, animals, and the sounds, my favourite foods are anything veggie or fruit and sweets, I listen too Grunge, emo, rock, metal, and punk bands, I do a lot of art, i enjoy drawing plants and my ocs, In my free time I do art, I read, write, and watch anime, some of my favourites are Death parade, demon slayer, and skate the infinity, I play a lot of video games, like Resident evil(I love anything horror and gory), splatoon, and legend of Zelda:Breath of the wild.

I hate jerks, bullies, people that are clingy and/or loud, I dislike red meats, I have Emetophobia and Trypanophobia, and I hate going out to public places like stores and restaurants for long perriods of type.

Bye, and have a wonderful day/night

Hello! Sorry for the delay! Tumblr ate my original post</3

I hope you enjoy!

WARNINGS: potential spoilers for genshin, tokyo rev and jjk

I match Ghost with…

(Genshin)

Xiao!

The two of you definitely met on accident while you were being attacked or smt

Like you were in some flower field somewhere just chilling and suddenly some hilichurls appear from nowhere

Cue Xiao’s entrance

He beats them up and you kinda just look at each other for a bit, both of you too awkward to know what to say or do

“...It’s getting dark, you should stay at the nearby inn until morning.”

And then poof, he’s gone.

But you take his advice and go there anyway

Surprise surprise, you run into each other again

It begins to happen more and more frequently as you stay at Wangshu inn

You kind of just vibe together in silence until the two of you slowly warm up to each other

Over the course of a few months we don’t question why you stayed that long you and Xiao become friends

And then slowly, more than friends

By this point, Xiao has vowed to protect you with his life

Despite how quietly the relationship began, the two of you often go into deep discussions about whatever topic comes up.

More often than not you talk to him about your interests, or he’ll talk to you about his happy memories with the other yakshas

You like to take Xiao with you to the mountains every now and then

Getting there isn’t a problem with his teleportation

You point out the names of flowers, and maybe make him a flower crown

“Ghost, what is the point of these.. Flower crowns..”

“They look nice :)” 

“...Alright”

He still doesn’t understand, but he can’t say no to you<3

I match Ghost with…

(Tokyo Revengers)

Mitsuya!

You go to the same school

The textiles club went to the art students to ask if they could help design a project with them!

And that’s how you and Mitsuya met

The two of you would work on the project together at school most days

One day he asked if you wanted to go to his to do some more work (I know this sounds like a cliche hook up scenario, but I promise it’s not)

His sisters were a little scared of you at first

Especially when they heard Mitsuya joke about you being an old man

He had to assure them that you were in fact a friend from school

After a while his sister grew to adore you

Especially when you drew their favourite characters for them

Cue them asking Mitsuya if he’ll date you

“What? Don’t be silly, Ghost and I are… friends..”

… Yeah it was a little awkward after that

For a few days you two didn’t talk much 

Until eventually Mitsuya pulled you aside after school and admitted he liked you <3 

And that was the start of a very healthy relationship!

Mitsuya often tries to keep you out of anything related to Toman, but he won’t hide it from you

He believes that if this is going to work, he needs to be open about what he does

He’s so relieved when you say you don’t mind

He 100% makes the two of you something matching whilst incorporating your designs somewhere

He ends up making you a bracelet and himself a pendant

The main bead on your bracelet is the same as the charm on his pendant

One time the two of you were in the textiles club room after school alone (doing homework… obviously) and Takemichi walked in

He was shocked to say the least

Mitsuya made him promise not to tell anyone

..spoiler.. He caved and told Draken and Mikey when they threatened him about why he was acting strange

The next day it was Takemichi, Mikey and Draken who burst in

“Mitsuya! You didn’t tell us you have a partner! How come you didn’t tell me and ken?”

“Mitsuya you sly bastard, why’ve you been hiding them?”

“Takemitchy..”

Mitsuya sent Takemichi a very scary look..

Their jokes aside, Draken and Mikey understand why Mitsuya didn’t say, and they both promise to look out for you

Mitsuya breaths a little easier knowing they won’t tell

God only knows what he’d do if anything happened to you

I match Ghost with…

(Jujutsu Kaisen)

Inumaki!

This is going to incorporate my headcanon that Inumaki knows sign language, therefore anything in italics will symbolise what is being said in sign :) 

You were a grade-2 sorcerer from a different school and happened to be spending time at jujutsu high school as part of a mission you were sent on

Inumaki was assigned as your buddy of sorts for the first few days to help you get around 

.. no-one really knows why Inumaki was chosen considering his limited vocabulary

Regardless, luck happened to be on your side with sign language 

“Sooo.. what grade are you?”

“Mayo”

“...What does that mean?”

‘Semi grade-1’

“Got it”

After the first week Inumaki just decided to stick around

The two of got into some really fun conversations in the time he was your buddy

Mostly shit-talking and discussing the mission you’re on

Which speaking of, he insists he helps you

His friends are quick to point out how protective he’s become with you

Which leads to them teasing him

Which leads to him one day pulling you aside after class

“...Tuna.. bonito flakes..”

“We’ve been over this, I don’t know what that means yet”

‘Ghost..’

“Yeah?”

“Tuna.”

“Inumaki what-”

“Oh for god's sake- HE LIKES YOU!”

Neither of you noticed Maki and Panda watching you

And thus started your relationship!

You know how he was asking to help on your mission earlier?

Yeah you don’t get a choice anymore, he’s helping

And he is hella protective

He’s also your number one fan in everything you do

You wrote something? He’s trying to convince you to publish it

Drew something? He’s calling up the galleries rn

You beat a game or did something cool? He’s bragging to everyone

You definitely converted his music taste

“Cod roe?”

“What’s up?”

‘Love you’

“Love you too”

I hope you enjoyed!

-Strawberry🍓

Masterlist

Rules

[rot-room]

6-23-23

I feel like i am in a bad dream for the last 72 hrs. Im gonna share to document these trying times. Woke up so sick 2-3 nights ago (time does not exist rn). I thought it was usual anxiety/ssri symptoms but turned out to be much worse (food poisoning?) Was up all night on phone with mom. Next day i had shakes/chills/fever and body ache all over. Was too afraid to take my ssri for 2 days.

All of this is happening, and i was also following the news about the submarine, for some reason. Felt like a descent into insanity, me rotting in this room soaked in sweat and heart racing. Honestly, i have felt like that one scene in trainspotting:

Anxiety is unbearable because you start to fear the fear itself. The worst part of my illness aside from the crushing nausea and stomach distress was the fear that came with it. I have severe emetophobia. The worst part of my anxiety is that it never stops. I am constantly afraid. I am afraid of being afraid, i am afraid of losing control. It is a never-ending cycle. The last two nights i fell asleep with my mom on the line. Just to be safe. She yelled at me two days ago and i cried like a child. A sick child. Sobbing and shaking in pain and making it worse for myself and none of the 'grown ups' in my life being gentle with me while i feel like i wounded bird. i called the nurse hotline and she put me thru to a doctor. The nurse seemed like she thought i was dying. I did too, as i originally thought i had serotonin syndrome. The doctor was very nice, she told me i am Not dying, and i can keep taking my meds. I am grateful for the doctor on the phone for being gentle with me, as i was crying while we talked.

I have been playing a moth game to keep me distracted and i love it, nd i have become even more fascinated with caterpillars and moths

woke up last night at 3am having a panic attack. The worst part is, once i start having a panic attack i start to panic about how i am panicking.

My heart was beating so hard and i could anticipate the nausea and tingly face that would come with it but i knew if i kept this cycle up i will die. I can't even say for sure how much of my sickness was sickness and how much was a fear response. It all started to blend together into one big nightmare.

i thought for once, hey i will actually do something productive instead of crumbling apart like a million shards of broken short circuited machinery thats frantically thrashing and quivering and oozing toxic waste.

so i took some deep breaths. the 4-7-8 deep breaths. and miraculously within a few minutes my heart was slowing down. that really is the biggest culprit for me; the racing heart. It is the poisoned root that opens the pandoras box of symptoms. The nausea the shaking the salivating the tingling the hyperventilating. If i can slow the racing heart i can cut off those symptoms before they spiral out of control. And i stopped it. It was hard because i took gravol before and i was in a half-coma state. Trying to calm a panic attack while drowsy is very very scary. But i did it. And i had two other panic attacks today. And i stopped them myself. Now that i was so sick i feel like i stood in the gates of hell and the most comforting thing to tell myself when i am panicking is, "whats the worst that can happen?" Because the worst part of all of it, was the fear. The anxiety spiralling out of control. The sickness was horrible on its own but the fear only exacerbated it. I need to get a hold on it.

this battle with anxiety and panic disorder controls my life. sometimes more than other times. I dont keep many secrets and i am an open book, but nobody in my life except maybe my mother will ever know the extent to which my GAD and panic disorder and emetophobia(and presumably OCD) controls me. I am dying. I am dying at work i am dying when i am with my friends, when i am laughing i am dying when i am sleeping i am dying. Because of my fear and panic. I cannot do it anymore. I need to win. I can do it. I cannot spiral anymore. I am not alive i am surviving. I am more afraid and alert than a caveman hiding from predators millions of years ago. I feel everything constantly. All the pain all the fear i feel it all.

I have seen this photo more in the last three days than i have seen another human, eaten food, got out of bed,

When i look at this, i see a lovecraftian monster. I dont wanna talk about current events but sometimes things happen and i fixate on them when i am already in a dark place and this is one of them. Maybe its because i am so afraid right now, and i cant think of anything more terrifying than being in a tiny tube in the bottom of the ocean that implodes in on itself. The last three days i have been sick and i have not left my bed and i have not eaten and i have been scared to take my meds and i have gone back and forth from my bed and a cold shower. I have panicked so much. Such catastrophe, such fear. It lives inside of me. I dont know if i have anything poetic to say about the sub. I have just been morbidly obsessing over the situation and it felt like something i needed to mention in my memoir of the last fucked up three days. when i think of this transitional, dark time i will think of the sub, and vice versa. Rest in peace Suleman.

I watched Bound (1996) last night on the couch in the dark, it was on cable. I loved this movie so much. It felt like a light in the darkness. I hope one day i can have a girlfriend. I hope girls are real. That sure would be cool.

I hope i can get better. I really, really want to. If i do not stop being afraid i will die. I will die anyway but, the fear will kill me much too soon and very painfully. I cannot live like this forever. And i won't, because I am brave and i have lived to tell everything up until now. I will be okay. I will be okay. I will be okay. I love you, i forgive you, thank you.

[snuggest]

TW for description of anxiety attack, insomnia, emetophobia warning, thoughts of dying

Went over 24 hours with no sleep, found myself going through one triggering situation after the next (I got news of another family member dying, which makes it four this year), and by 3 PM yesterday I was having what felt like a non-stop anxiety attack until around 7 PM.

I'm not kidding when I say it's probably the worst I've ever felt physically and mentally in a long, long time. I think it's the worst anxiety attack I ever went through, I've had other bad ones before. But even the most intense panic I've experienced before this wasn't at THIS extreme of a level, and I still got taken in an ambulance to the hospital over it so they treated me there. This time I was basically on my own, my mom is confined to her bed so she can't take care of me, and my dad just... isn't involved. Idk why people say attacks pass after 30 minutes since that definitely wasn't the case this time. Just imagine, 4 hours straight of switching between the bathroom and your bedroom, feeling like you've ruined your life and there's no fixing it, going through every mistake in your head and the possible consequences that will result from it, all while your physical symptoms are going off the charts, your heart is racing out of control, you're on the floor feeling way too weak to pick yourself up, you haven't been able to keep down any food, medicine, or even water, and literally feeling like the only outcome of this is going to be hospitalization or literally just dying on the bathroom floor with your mom not knowing since she's unable to walk. It felt like my heart was going to just beat and beat til giving out, everything was spinning, every time I'd attempt to lay down in bed my nausea would drag me back to the bathroom, intrusive thoughts going full-speed, remembering scenes from my nightmares and having disturbing thoughts rise up to the forefront of my mind, being unable to cry or get any words out excepted pained whines like a kicked dog. Nothing, NOTHING was giving me relief. I was trying so hard but my head couldn't think straight, I tried to pray, but my mind felt like too much of a mess, all I could think of was how I was definitely going to die right then and there, which would at least give me peace, but I don't want to die yet, I really don't.

Throwing up wasn't giving me relief, drinking water would just make me throw up more, laying down just had me feeling uncomfortable, I felt so hot and like my skin and throat and my brain were on fire. I really can't describe properly how terrible it was and how hopeless it left me feeling. I did finally take a nausea medicine (I was still worried I might throw it up, but luckily it stayed down) and also something to sleep. For a while I kept thinking that for sure I would vomit again and that this would turn into like... more than just one night in a row of no sleep, constant vomiting, dizziness, headaches, shakiness, and feeling like I was going to die either at the hospital or at home. But the medicine helped and it stayed down and thankfully, I finally slept.

I'm just going through a tough time and every little thing adds to it. I'm glad I made it through last night which is one reason I'm posting this as a reminder to myself. I survived last night. I really don't want to endure something like this again but at least if I do I know it doesn't last forever. Maybe it doesn't go by as fast as 30 minutes but it does go by.

[that-one-raccoon]

Bit of a long post but here we go:

Human Food by seeingthestars

Hunter has issues with the human realm food and gets sick but Camila is there to help.

Oneshot, slight emetophobia warning (nothing too bad)

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A Light From the Future by KingoftheUzbeks

One night Manny Noceda meets two extremely strange women on the side of the road. He has no idea who they are. But they know him, and they know his daughter, Luz.

Oneshot

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For Want of a Friend by Sunny_Salamander

Sunny told the truth. Omori still wakes up in White Space.

He goes to look for Sunny, but finds someone else instead.

Oneshot; Owl House crossover with OMORI,

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recreate a place that's our own world by Muncaster

Sokka freezes, midway up from his seat. “Wait. I’m covering for Mai and Ty Lee?” Piandao’s voice breaks his focus from his memories. “Is that a problem?” “No, no, that’s not a problem,” Sokka replies, absent-mindedly. “But hey, Piandao, do you… do you know who my partner for this season will be?” Piandao frowns. “Zuko Sugita. He’s their usual partner. I thought you knew this?” He did. Fuck.

After a last-minute work reassignment requires Sokka to spend his summer in a cramped van with Zuko, he finds himself questioning whether or not he can survive it. He unexpectedly finds a tedious friendship in the other man, and as they navigate storm patterns together, Sokka becomes increasingly aware of the tender storm of emotions in his heart. AKA, the storm chasing AU no one asked for <3

Completed. Modern AU

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Blue by bealiciphers

Iroh insists they create a new life and identity in Ba Sing Se. Zuko wants nothing more than to bide his time until his next opportunity to return home, until he realizes ‘Lee’ can get away with things Zuko never could. Zuko dons the mantle of the Blue Spirit again only to lose his focus when the Avatar comes to the city. This time, however, his attention is drawn to the annoying Southern Tribe warrior.

Complete; (one of my personal favorites)

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if you would let me give you pinky promise kisses (then i wouldn't have to scream your name atop of every roof in the city of my heart) by mysticallilac

From the very first time Homura had seen her string of fate, she had known something was very, very wrong.

She wouldn't have guessed that that something included time travel, soul modification, deceptive contracts, identity distortion, dilapidating morality, reality warping, and a fuck lot of strawberries.

Complete, very sweet

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A gentle beating heart by msamantesdelfuego

A comment made by someone close to Perry made him realize the true nature of his life.

Completed. Yes this is a PnF fic

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the rhythm of your faint heartbeat by sybssite

Then again, Mizi would also never part with Sua, and now look at her.

A half-empty bottle of water is pressed into his hands. “You need to eat. Ivan too.”

Reminded of the man who nearly sacrificed his life for him, Till feels for his pulse for the nth time that hour.

Thump-thump-thump.

Still alive.

Mizi looks at him with something in her gaze. Till opens the bottle and takes a sip.

It tastes like pity. It tastes like understanding.

Oneshot

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I have more, but im not sure what you'd like, so here are some of my personal favorites, but lmk if you'd like more :D

My repressed trauma, anxiety, and seasonal depression have unionized against me. Send fics.