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rosy-cheekx · 3 years ago

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Alone Again, Naturally

Three times Martin should have called for help.

(I twisted my ankle on Sunday and was bummed bc I missed my partner so…this happened…oops.)

Martin’s phone was missing, though he was pretty sure he knew where it was. That thing, that wormy, writhing mass of a woman had it. Destroyed it. His only chance of rescue from this nightmare. Replaying the image of dropping the phone, abandoning it as he ran, would do him no good. His coworkers hadn’t noticed he was missing, or if they had noticed, they hadn’t stopped by. And they shouldn't, of course, it would only put them in danger. But still, it stung a bit, to know that he’d been gone for what, three days now? and no one cared.

He could become a statement from this, Martin realized, his death narrated in Jon’s smooth, clipped voice, and then they would finally learn what happened to that large, oafish researcher who was transferred to the archives with them and disappeared overnight.

Martin sighed through his nose noisily, as if he could expel the dark thoughts with the sound. “Christ, Blackwood. Getting awful morbid there.” Talking to himself had become a staple of his isolation. For one, it drowned out the ever-present knocking on the door and the squelching rustle of the worms. He honestly wasn’t sure whether the sounds were still real or if they had become such a constant that his brain just filled them in anyways.

His voice was the only other sound available to him with his computer not working and his phone gone. His clock radio had played static on every channel, and he had been grateful for the white noise at first. But the longer Martin left the radio on, the sound began to morph from the hissing of dead air to a choir, indecipherable and haunting. There were no words and yet he could understand the message: come home to us. We need you, we miss you, let us show you how much we love you. With us, you’ll never feel lonely again, we promise. Martin had come to, hand on the doorknob to his flat, radio in hand. After that, he had removed all the batteries from anything that could make noise. Since then, he could only trust his own voice; everything else was a trap.

The can opener, unfortunately, had been electric too. He had been so proud of his purchase, a real attempt at adult cooking. (He never seemed to use the manual ones and could never get the grip right.) With the power out, assumedly caused by Prentiss, he had to get creative when it came to “making dinner.” For Martin, this meant sawing open a tin can with a serrated knife, eating it with a fork, and praying no metal shavings were lurking in each mouthful. Tonight’s feast: another can of tinned green beans and the last can of pineapple. He didn’t even like green beans, why had he ever bought these?

Martin gritted himself against the awful sound of metal on metal as he cut into a tin of beans, hissing sharply through his teeth and letting his mind wander. Maybe he could strain the beans? Let them dry? It would probably be better than the wet and soggy mush he was bound to find. Maybe he could put some crackers on them for a crunch? Pretend it’s a bad soup? As he was finishing his indelicate surgery, Martin tipped the can into the sink a little, hoping to strain the bean juice and improve the meal even a little. As he removed the last of the lid, he saw it.

There, in the sink, wiggling its way out of the drain. Another worm. Martin shrieked and jumped back, dropping the can in the sink with a clatter. He grabbed a roll of paper towels and began to stuff them down the sink, plugging up the drain as best he could. For extra measure, he plugged the faucet as well, suddenly terrified of accidentally swallowing one in a glass of water. Once the adrenaline rush had passed, Martin felt it: a stinging in his palm. They must have jumped at him, must have bitten him. It would be over soon, he knew it. He would be like Prentiss, a mass of tiny bodies. He braced himself to feel something, but nothing changed. Martin frowned, chewing on his lip in confusion, and hazarded a glance down to his hand. There was no worm in his palm, nothing wriggling and biting deep into his muscle, just a slice along the flesh of his thumb, dripping blood from where he must have cut himself on the tin can.

Sheepishly, Martin rolled his eyes at his defeatism. Did it hurt like hell? Yes. But he wasn’t going to become a worm monster. Not today. Grabbing a few more sheets of paper towel, Martin hissed in pain as he pressed them to his wound, making his way shakily to the paltry first-aid kit he kept in his bathroom. He was clumsy in his wound care, only able to use one hand to open the kit and the individually wrapped plasters, while the other pooled blood in his palm uselessly. The antiseptic had stung like hell and the plaster was off-center, but eventually, the job was done. Martin had managed.

“See?” He asked himself softly. “All better. We didn’t want the green beans anyways.” Martin was alone, but he would be fine. He could take care of himself.

——

Martin’s phone had become less and less useful since his time in the Archives. Sasha and Tim had been distant in the end, their group texts dwindling into occasional messages regarding whether not someone had contacted so-and-so regarding their statement. He and Jon had called and texted quite a bit, before the Unknowing, when Jon had been in China, America, and wherever else Gertrude’s breadcrumbs had led him. But since the explosion, their messages lay at a standstill, a “good luck! come home safe :)” still waiting to be sent to “Jonathan Sims--Boss.” He used to call his mother every week, but the outgoing calls had dwindled as she returned less and less of them, until he received an apologetic voicemail from Steady Waters Care Home a few months ago.

Now, the only messages he received were his work emails and an occasional text from Peter with a request or two regarding The Magnus Institute. Not even spam calls reached him anymore. That was all fine by Martin. He was busy running the institute; he didn’t have time for social calls, even if he wanted any, which he didn’t. Martin had taken to leaving his phone in his work office, knowing he wouldn’t need it outside the building anyways. It was becoming something like a desktop mouse to him in its versatility.

It was a Thursday, and it was late--Martin’s watch read 11:09. Thursdays were Martin’s days to deliver paperwork to the archives. He could only ever do it at night when he was sure Jon had either gone home (or was asleep at his desk at the very least). Peter Lukas had been working Martin to the bone with all the paperwork he would hand off with a wave of his hand and an “I’ll be back next week Martin. Please don’t call me,” and this week’s stack of statement requests, financial approvals, and quarterly reviews would fall to Martin instead. Who knew running a front for feeding an all-seeing eldritch deity would require so many business expenses?

Martin. Martin knew. He had reviewed and approved each and every one.

It was the week after Halloween, so the list of those eager to give a statement was longer than usual. Hellweek, Tim used to call it, a grin on his face as Jon would frown and shake his head. The stack of folders Martin carried in his arms eclipsed his eyesight as he carefully made his way down the hall, the Lonely silencing his footsteps and the shuffle of his clothing. The elevator was broken this week, thanks to a visit from one of the Fairchilds. Martin clumsily opened the door to the stairwell, turning to the side slightly to see the steps that descended into the basement he knew so well. Cautiously, he began his way down the stairs, arms clutching the stack of paperwork and binders tight to his chest. The basement was eerily silent; even Martin’s muted steps echoed in his ears.

The door to the Archives creaked slightly, and Martin realized his mistake: he hadn’t propped the door. The thin streak of light that painted his way down the steps thinned and faded in time with the slow squeak of the door. The click of the latch sealed his fate: Martin was in the dark. He didn’t mind the dark, in principle, though his new awareness of the Fears heightened his concern considerably. He stepped down slowly, feeling for the steps with his foot as he went.

Halfway down the stairs, Martin heard a soft flutter as a few papers shifted in his stack. He hoisted the pile and tried to readjust it as he stepped once more. The combination of the changes in the balance of the papers and his weight combined were too much for his brain to process at once and he overcompensated on his step, putting his weight down a little too early. Martin felt the rush of adrenaline as he tried to catch himself, hands clutching uselessly at the paperwork in his hands as if it could save him and he felt himself tumble to the ground. Falling sideways, he hit his shoulder hard on the steps, momentum carrying him down the remaining steps to the floor. The loose papers not held in binders and folders scattered in what Martin was sure was every direction.

Martin was frozen on the floor, pain pulsing through his shoulder. He sat up tentatively, patting himself down as he set down what remained of his stack of folders. He wasn’t bleeding, but his ears were ringing and his arm hurt like hell. Listening carefully for the sound of anyone reacting to his presence, he rotated his shoulders carefully, wincing as throbbing radiated up his arm. He must have dislocated it. Patting his legs down, Martin found his phone in his pocket. He must have forgotten to put it on the charger. He...he could call someone, should call someone. His shoulder was dislocated.

He could call Jon.

He pulled up his text messages, the cursor blinking back at him, blinding in the dark. Jon was surely awake, he knew that man’s sleep schedule was worse than his.

good luck! come home safe :)

safe :)

safe.

“Shit.”

He couldn’t call Jon. It would undo everything he and Peter were trying to build up. It was all for Jon anyways, to keep him safe, to keep them all safe. No. He had to do this alone. It was best that way.

Martin sat himself up carefully. He had taken enough first aid courses (rather, he had watched them for free on the internet) to know how to set it back in place and he knew it would not be pleasant. He drew his right knee up, and clumsily unknotted his tie, using it to secure his arm to his knee. Martin closed his eyes tight and leaned away from his knee, rotating his shoulder as he stretched away, wincing in anticipation until he felt the wet pop of his arm slotting back into place. Sparks shot through his vision, his only grounding point in the dark, and he huffed out a cross between a moan and a curse.

He carefully made a fist with his re-set hand, tensing the muscles in his arm. Determining it to be good enough, Martin felt his way to his feet and grabbed the wall to steady himself. He knew there was a light switch somewhere--ah.

The light clicked on and he winced at the sudden change, letting his eyes adjust behind the safety of his lashes. When he opened his eyes again, he surveyed the mess of his paperwork, gathering it methodically. It took him another half hour, back against Tim’s old desk, to resort his files before setting them in the file basket he had installed on the door to the Archivist’s office, the rest going on the desk of Jon himself. He would see them all in the morning. At least Jon was home, resting.

When Martin emerged from the Archives, he glanced down at his watch, wondering if it was too late to hail a cab. He frowned at his watch; the face was cracked, the hands stuck at 11:11. He must have cracked it in his fall. “Make a wish,” Martin mumbled to himself, rolling his eyes. He was pretty sure his wishes were out of reach, hopeless. As long as he would be safe after all this, Martin could sacrifice a few wishes.

——

Martin was on a walk. He had been doing that a lot, since his and Jon’s escape to Scotland. There was something comforting about the long stretches of rolling hills and rocky cliffsides, utterly devoid of menacing fear entities or bosses hellbent on destroying the world. Jon would come with him sometimes, especially in the early days when leaving each other’s presence was challenging to say the least, but Martin sometimes just needed the space. He loved Jon, he knew he did, and Jon did too, but sometimes the presence of another would build up and stifle him, an unbearable heat radiating off of Jon until Martin had to just go for a bit.

It was raining today, a bassy rhythm beating down on Martin’s umbrella as he walked a familiar cliffside path. He could see a rocky beach below him, waves made of roiling ink, more black than blue. The rain was comforting to him, distinguishing this ocean spread before him from the ocean of the Lonely and drowning out any thoughts that passed through Martin’s head. He stepped around a patch especially muddy gravel, glancing down and seeing a ghost of a reflection staring back at him.

Martin had been in a cold place today, withdrawn from the rest of the world. He had felt the fog blossoming over his mind and had known he needed to go for a bit, center himself, remind himself he was real. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither would his sense of self again, though he was making progress. Jon understood that sentiment, perhaps better than anyone else in the world, and had kissed him softly at the doorway, squeezing his hand in an unspoken promise. Martin tensed his own hand in a fist, still feeling the heat of Jon’s calloused palm under his, reveling in the idea that someone loved him the way Jon did, that someone loved him the way Jon did and that Martin loved Jon back. Martin felt his body solidifying under the rain, felt the wind buffet against him rather than pass through him.

Martin was thinking about going home when it happened.

Home, or Daisy’s safehouse, was a humble affair: reinforced windows, minimalist, a few guns hidden in the floorboards, lots of fresh fruits and vegetables from the village down the hill. It had been easy to reassign this place in Martin’s mind as home. He hadn’t felt at home since...well, definitely not since Prentiss. Maybe not before either.

The rain was letting up, and the brolly was forgotten in favor of letting the rain drop down into his hair, sopping his curls and plastering them to his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so content to be in the rain. Things weren’t good, but they were the best they’d been in a while.

The next thing Martin knew he was on the ground, ankle twisted and both shins scraped, blood and dirt mingling on his legs. He tried to stand up and cried out as his ankle immediately gave way, the hope of putting weight on it dashed on the rocks of the beach far below him.

Martin Blackwood crawled to a tree, leaning his back against it, not minding the dirt that was sure to collect on his back and rump. He winced and massaged his ankle, already feeling it begin to swell under his fingertips. With his free hand, a silver scar shining between his forefinger and thumb, he reached for his phone from his jacket pocket, hands shaking as he clumsily dialed the only number in his list of favorites.

“Martin?” Jon’s voice was warm through the tinny speakers. “I hope you’re well.” It was carefully not a question, though Martin caught the notes of careful concern.

“Tch-” Martin sucked air through his teeth. “I fell, Jon. I twisted my ankle, I think? Can’t-ah-can’t walk.”

“Oh. Martin, dear,” Jon’s voice was softer, and Martin could practically see his love’s fingers, itching to do, to fix. “Do you need me to—I can come get you, if you like. I haven’t…I haven't looked. But I can, if you want me to.”

Martin smiled despite himself, hearing Jon’s cautious phrasing. “Please, yes. I’m pretty sure I’m near a picnic park, if you want to drive there and get me? Not sure this is a drivable trail.”

“Did you pass anyone?”

“…no?”

A pause. Martin heard static crackling through the phone. “No one will be there. I Know where you are, Martin. I’ll be there soon.”

Ten minutes and enough ice packs to ease the pain of a full rugby team later, Martin was laying in the back of Jon’s small car, heat blasting on him to dry his now-soaked clothing. There were perks to having an all-knowing partner, it turned out.

Later that evening, Martin was tucked into the couch, his head pleasantly nestled in cushions and his feet in Jon’s lap, who was carefully massaging his feet and ankles, probing for any long-term injuries with his Eyes. A mug of tea grasped between his hands, Martin sighed softly and felt warmth flood his face. He hadn’t been alone this time. He wouldn’t be alone ever again.

#the magnus archives #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #jonmartin #jmart #magnuspod #jon sims #fanfic to a tea #I twisted my ankle a few days ago and was sad my partner couldn’t comfort me #so this blossomed #enjoy!#hurt comfort #TMA fanfic #the magnus archives fanfic

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lucyintheskywithxanax · 4 years ago

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Get Me To Church, I’ve Done So Many Bad Things It Hurts

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: you guys, idk what this is. I only know it’s not what I initially planned. Title is from Sinéad O’Connor’s song “Take Me To Church”, which hijacked this story’s initial plot. It reminds me of Wilhemina, and it’s a very good song <3

Word count: ~ 5 400

Your brain no longer was a brain but fucking mush. Mush that stunk and made one want to throw up at first sight. You had not been able to get a good night’s sleep since you had been sent to Outpost 3 a few months ago. You were running on a few hours of rest snatched here and there and on the disgusting, weird food cubes. At this point, when someone talked to you, you would gap at them until your brain suddenly gave a start and registered their words. Your body felt twice its weight. It was hard to concentrate, hard to think.

Days went by looking exactly alike. You would get out of bed, meet the others, try to have a talk, listen to the same song over and over again. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Stare at a book maybe, open it, stare at a page, fail to understand a single sentence. You would wait for time to pass. Complain with Coco or Andre or that guy whose name you couldn’t remember even though you had been living together for months now. One day, Coco and you decided to exercise by running up and down a staircase, but you didn’t last more than five minutes before you dropped on the floor, panting. You didn’t try again. You lacked the motivation.

Sit at the table, eat your cube. “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”. Go to bed. You were going crazy. You could no longer tell what was real and what was a figment of your imagination.

In truth, there was one thing at least you knew was real. The butterflies in your stomach every time Venable – freaking Venable, of all people – so much as walked into the room you were in.

It was terrible. Why her, why you, you did not know. The only thing you knew was that you were falling hard for her, for that sadistic, mean, scary woman.

In typical mush-brain fashion, you couldn’t string two sentences together when she would ask you a question and her dark eyes would bore into you. You would laugh stupidly or give one-word answers. You would trip over your own feet when you passed her in a corridor.

So, really, it wasn’t a surprise when you realized that she hated you even more than she seemed to hate the others. For starters, she never looked at you. When she did, her eyes were as cold as the North Pole. Icy winds and all that. And when she talked to you, her voice was always so condescending, so sarcastic, as if she knew you were the most idiotic idiot at the Outpost. She probably wondered every minute of every day why you had been chosen to survive. It was a mystery to you, too.

But then – but this was part of your imagination. It must be. There was no rational explanation. For the wistful look on her face you had caught a glimpse of, once, when you had turned and shot her a glance. She had been staring at you. Or for the faint blush that had risen to her cheeks when you had accidentally – accidentally? – brushed past her, way too close to her, on your hurried way to the bathroom. Or for that one time, that blissful, ethereal time – but that had been a dream, it must have been, you had passed out from exhaustion and dreamed – when she, coming out of her room, and you of yours, had paused with her hand on the doorknob, and raised her head, met your eyes, and smiled. Not her mocking, cruel smile. But a fond, almost shy smile. A genuine smile, reflected in her eyes. This you were sure you had dreamed. Were you?

You were falling for her. Love, intimacy, would make things more tolerable. You craved a strong, true connection with someone, and part of you was convinced you could have it with her.

In the past few evenings Venable had made a habit of joining you in the music room as you whiled the time away before bed. She wouldn’t say anything, merely sit and read a book. The first time she had done it, you and the others had exchanged half surprised, half worried looks. What was she doing? Studying you? Deciding which one of you she would cook for dinner? You didn’t know. Her presence had made you all uncomfortable at first, but now you were used to it. You ignored her, just as she ignored you.

She always, always sat facing you.

And you couldn’t help but steal glances at her. Marvel at the beauty and neatness of her. Your eyes would travel down her body and the butterflies in your stomach would go wild and your head fill with want. For. Her.

Her eyes never met yours, not even once.

One evening as you sat brooding and she sat reading facing you, and the others chatted about some boring things, and the music, the music went “Calling occupants of interplanetary, most extraordinary craft”, you abruptly jumped on your feet to stretch your upper body. The sudden movement surprised Venable, who looked up at you. You met her eyes and gave her a goofy smile. She scowled.

“In your mind you have capacities,” you heard yourself sing to the music.

“But do you, Y/N?” Venable sneered.

That shut you up. You straightened up and glared at her. “Do you have, like, a problem with me?” you asked in an annoyed voice.

“Do you mean apart from your obvious lack of brain cells?”

“Why are you always so mean?” you heard yourself whine.

“Oh, boo hoo,” Venable cooed. “Poor you. Look at you, standing among the few who have been allowed to survive the Apocalypse. Do you really think I should feel sorry for you?”

You considered that. “No,” you grumbled.

“No, Ms Venable.”

You didn’t know what came over you then. Probably it was a mix of exhaustion, anger, frustration and want. Your hands clenched into fists. In what was both the bravest and stupidest moment of your life, you retorted, “Bite me.”

Someone in the room gasped, and then chuckled. Venable’s eyes went wide with shock. Heat flooded your cheeks.

You were dead meat, you knew that. So really you couldn’t make things worse by adding: “I’m sorry. I meant, bite me, Ms Venable.”

Impressive. You were a genius. Gosh, you needed sleep.

You couldn’t meet Venable’s eyes. Instead you stared at Andre, who was gawping at you. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Coco give you a thumbs-up. You smiled shyly at her.

“Right,” you said. “Um. Goodnight.”

You hurried out of the room before someone could call you back. Your heart was beating too fast in your chest, but you couldn’t really understand why. You needed sleep.

You closed the door of your bedroom behind you and collapsed on your bed.

You couldn’t sleep.

It was always the same: you were exhausted all day, but the minute your head touched your pillow, your brain roared back into life. Someone in your head turned the light on. You were wide awake.

You groaned and turned on the bed. You didn’t have the slightest idea what time it was or how long you had lain under the sheet. It could have been ten minutes, it could have been a century. You turned again, forced yourself to close your eyes.

Bite me, Ms Venable. Damn it, you were such a fool when you were exhausted! You had survived the bloody Apocalypse and now you were about to die for something so, so stupid. Venable was probably plotting your death right now. She would order you out of the Outpost and condemn you to a horrible death among the repugnant creatures that haunted the nuclear winter outside. In your current state, you wouldn’t last a day. You’d trip over something and break your neck or get stabbed by the first hungry person you’d meet.

Fear clenched your stomach. You didn’t want to die. You didn’t feel like giving up on life yet. Even if the world as you had known it was gone, even if there was almost no hope of a bright, safe future. God, you wanted to live.

You sprang out of bed before you knew what you were doing and ran to the door. Locked it. Looked around the room for things to build a barricade with. The chair would do, and if you could move that huge chest of drawers –

You heard footsteps coming down the corridor towards you. And something else, unmistakable. The sound of a cane.

Shit. Your whole body froze with fear. Then your hand automatically reached for a decorative statuette close-by, that had sharp angles and that you could use as a weapon if need be. The footsteps grew louder and came to a halt at your door.

You waited, heart hammering in your chest. Venable must have a spare key, of course she must. You stared at the doorknob, expecting it to move, expecting the door to open, on Venable standing tall and threatening and radiating off anger and satisfaction. How so very beautiful she would look.

Nothing happened.

What was she doing? You couldn’t hear anything but the mad pounding of your heart. Had you imagined her footsteps? The sound of her cane? But you had been so sure –

One of your hands came up to press against the door. Fingers splayed out, palm pressing against the cold, hard surface. To try and feel her through the wood.

You waited. Your heartbeat was drumming against the wood. And it was slowing down, and your eyes were fluttering closed, for she was here – just behind the door, and you could almost see her, her eyes on the doorknob, the spare key in her hand, her lips slightly parted. It was as if your soul had connected with hers and now they were softly singing to each other.

There was a sound like a sigh. Before you knew it you had unlocked the door and opened it.

Venable stood in front of you with her left hand in the air, a few inches further to the left than yours had been. She met your eyes in surprise as her fingers curled up. She lowered her hand, and schooled her features.

You decided your safest option was to play it cool.

“I thought I heard a noise,” you said, assuming a casual expression.

“I was on my way to bed,” Venable answered. A pause. “I saw your light was on through the gap under your door.”

She didn’t sound particularly mad or threatening. Relief flooded your chest. Maybe she didn’t mean to kill you, after all. Maybe you’d been over-reacting.

Her eyes fell on the statuette you were still holding.

“What’s this?” she asked very slowly. Her eyes met yours again. They were dark, her eyes. The darkest eyes you had ever seen.

“What’s this?” she repeated, louder. You started.

“Oh, uh.” You raised the statuette to your chest and shrugged. Play it cool. “I don’t know why I’m holding this.” You tried to laugh. It came out nervous and foolish. “Must have been sleepwalking or something.”

Venable’s gaze was boring into you, piercing your skin, piercing your veins, piercing your bones. You felt too hot suddenly. You laughed again. Then it finally dawned on you.

“My light isn’t on,” you said.

You always kept one candle burning when you slept, but its light was very faint. There was no way Venable could have seen it from the lit corridor.

Her face didn’t change. “It’s not?” she said in a toneless voice.

You shook your head. “I’m afraid not.”

She straightened her shoulders, raised her chin. Her grip on her cane tightened just so.

“Were you planning on attacking someone with this?” she asked, nodding at the statuette.

“I’ve no idea what you mean,” you answered, holding her gaze.

“I cannot think of any other use you could have for it.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Has someone threatened you?”

You scoffed. Gave her a look as if to say the joke wasn’t good. She narrowed her eyes uncomprehendingly.

“Um, let’s see.” You folded your arms as you pretended to think. The statuette dug in your chest. “Maybe I’ve gone just a little bit too far with someone who’s quite obsessed with hierarchy.”

A small, incredulous laugh escaped her.

“You thought I was going to –“She didn’t finish her sentence, her laugh lingering on her lips as the incredulity reached her eyes.

“Well,” you retorted, leaning your hip against the doorframe, “you did have those two Greys shot the other day for making love.” You raised your eyebrows at her. “For breaking one of your rules. So excuse me if I’m not feeling particularly safe right now.”

The smile vanished from her face. She closed her mouth, stared at you. Your eyes shifted to her lips. Back up to her eyes. You licked your lips.

“I wouldn’t have you killed merely for being stupid,” she said after a short moment.

How were her cheekbones so sharp? Her eyes so dark? You swore whomever had made her was the most talented artist and the cruelest asshole in the whole goddamn universe. How many years it must have taken, how much sweat, how many skills, how much patience and love, to make her.

You cleared your throat. What had she just said? Called you stupid. Wouldn’t have you killed. Something like that. You couldn’t remember.

“My light wasn’t on,” you said mechanically, “so why did you stop at my door?”

If the question surprised or unsettled her, she didn’t show it.

“I thought it was on,” she answered without missing a beat. She paused. “You thought I was going to have you killed?”

“Um, maybe.”

Her eyes fell on the statuette again. When they met yours, you swore you saw something like sadness deep into the black. She blinked, and the sadness disappeared.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “You should go to bed.”

You realized you didn’t want her to go. What if you invited her to come in? What if you told her about your insomnia, and asked her to help you while the night away? Merely have a talk with her. Merely sit by her side, and watch her, and share secrets with her. Show her you weren’t as stupid as she must think you were. You could light dozens of candles and watch the light dance on her face. Have her relax, make her laugh. And maybe if things went well, at the break of dawn you could lay your head on her lap, and certainly then sleep would find you.

You assumed a nonchalant expression. “Well then, goodnight to you,” you said with a smile that hurt your mouth.

She nodded, turned and walked off.

You listened to her footsteps fade away. You let out a long, shaky breath, and closed your door.

For a very long time you stayed with your back against the door, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. The sadness you had seen in Venable’s eyes haunted you. You tried to think of something else. What you would do tomorrow. Boring. That summer holiday you had spent in Spain with your best-friend. Venable’s hair in the flickering light of the candles. Venable’s face. Venable’s eyes. How you absolutely adored the fact that she could stand up to anyone. Venable’s eyes. The sadness in her eyes.

You groaned. You had half a mind to bang your head on the door to knock yourself out and finally get some sleep. Perhaps you could go to Venable’s room and apologise. Tell her you hadn’t meant to question her authority. You’d like to see her again.

It was a stupid idea. Lack of sleep made you so, so stupid. She would be angry, would order you out, slam her door in your face, maybe hit you with her cane. You shouldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You tip-toed down the corridor till you reached her door. It was slightly ajar, which surprised you. Heart beating fast, you opened it just enough to peek into the room.

Venable was sitting on the floor by the dark fireplace, her head bent, her hands joined on her lap. What was she doing on the floor? Surely the position couldn’t be good for her back. Then you noticed that her lips were moving, forming silent words, as if she were praying. Her eyes were closed.

The flickering light from the candles threw shadows on her face. Patches of black and red and orange vacillating and oscillating. Touching her face, fleeing to the walls. You watched her in silence, at a loss for what to do or what to think. You heard her sniffle, saw her raise a hand to wipe her cheek.

There was something so fragile about the scene in front of you. To see this woman who was always so proud, and so strong, and so dominating, murmuring silent words to herself on the floor in the dead of night. Or maybe those words weren’t for herself. Maybe they were addressed to someone else, whoever would listen, whoever would take the time to stop and lend an ear. Was she asking for strength? For mercy? Salvation? Her back was leaning slightly forward just like the backs of worshippers you had seen in churches.

Her lips stopped moving for a moment. She opened her eyes to stare unseeingly at the wall in front of her. You saw her bite her lower lip, saw her take a shaky breath. The silent murmuring started again.

You scratched your arm nervously. You knew you should leave, and erase from your mind this private moment you had no right to witness. Part of you felt like a thief. But your legs seemed to be frozen. You could not move them.

So you watched her. At one point she coughed softly, and the next two words came out loud enough for you to hear them: “Let me...”

Was she praying? You didn’t think she was a religious person. Why should she be? She had helped bring on the Apocalypse and had not received so much as a word of complaint from God. You squinted at her in the dim light, your body instinctively leaning towards her, your hands coming up to grip at the doorframe. Your heart was pushing against your ribs as if it wished to burst free from your chest and wrap around her.

Venable paused, sighed, went on murmuring. Once again her words reached you. “…soothe and let it save me so she can think it acceptable to love me.”

Your clammy palm slipped on the doorframe, unbalancing you. You gasped in a breath. Venable’s head jerked to the side. Her eyes locked with yours.

You could have screamed. Surprise then anger then fear flashed across Venable’s face as you took a step back, your mouth opening and closing like a fish as you tried to find something to say but couldn’t come up with anything. For a moment there was only silence, and you and she holding each other’s gaze.

Venable’s face closed up. She stood up, supporting herself on her cane, so calm, so composed. It was impressive, the tight grip she kept on her emotions. Always so perfectly in control of herself.

“What are you doing here?” she asked in a firm voice.

“I –“you stuttered, “I – I’m sorry, I just – I, uh, saw your light was on.”

That was a risky answer, and you knew it. But today had been crazy, and any minute now Venable would unleash her wrath and it would destroy you. You had nothing left to lose. So you held her gaze, her inscrutable, unreadable gaze, admiring even now the flickers of candlelight that danced across the black.

“I couldn’t sleep,” you heard yourself say, your voice coming from far, far away. “I’ve not been able to sleep for quite a while. So I roam the corridors to try and distract myself, and I saw your light was on.” A pause. “What were you doing?”

Venable’s expression didn’t change. She took her time to answer, and you waited, waited for the inevitable anger, the inevitable punishment. You felt too distanced from yourself to be afraid.

“That is none of your business,” Venable said eventually. She turned away from you. “Go back to your room.”

That brought you back to yourself. Your soul crashed back into your body.

“Is that all?” you blurted out. “Go back to my room? Aren’t you going to, like,…” You didn’t finish your sentence, but she must have understood, because she turned to face you and shot you a somewhat outraged look.

“You seem so very certain I mean to hurt you,” she said sharply.

“Er, well.” You folded your arms on your chest and looked up at the ceiling, pretending to think. “In the last few hours I disrespected you and burst into your privacy. And, no offence, but you don’t strike me as a kitten kind of person.”

“Kitten?” she repeated.

“Yeah, you know.” You brought a nervous hand up to scratch your head. “Fluffy and cute, cuddly and helpless.”

She stared at you as if you were stupid. “Kittens scratch you for no reason.”

“Yeah, but...”You shook your head at yourself.”Never mind, don’t mind me. I’m too exhausted to think straight.”

Long seconds passed. None of you moved. You both held your ground, staring at each other. Waiting.

Your mouth opened again. “I don’t know whether I should run away from you or towards you.”

She didn’t react. Didn’t answer. She kept staring at you.

“I can’t sleep,” you repeated. “May I stay here and sleep with you?”

Her expression did shatter at that. She blinked in surprise, then in consternation.

“Uh, I mean, not like that,” you stammered. “I mean sleep as in actually sleep. Uh, get some shuteye.”

Venable let out another one of her small, incredulous laughs. “No, you may not,” she answered sharply.

“Right, of course. Stupid me.” You tried to laugh, ended up choking on your own spit.”Sorry. Uh, forget about all this.” You quickly turned to go.

“You need to get a grip on yourself,” came Venable’s voice. You stopped.

“Gosh, I know,” you breathed.”I’m sorry.” You waited. No reply came, so you started to walk away.

“I may have a few sleeping pills, if you think they can help,” Venable called after you.

You turned on your heel and rushed back into her room. “Yes, please, I’d be very grateful. Thank you.”

Venable nodded, walked into the ensuite bathroom. You heard the sound of a drawer opening, some fumbling, and then she was back into the room holding a small pill box.

She dropped one pill in your extended hand. “Try this tonight. I can give you more tomorrow if it works.”

“Thank you,” you breathed. Your fingers curled around the pill as her eyes bore into yours. You almost reached out to touch her cheek. Almost.

But then your breath hitched. For that was it, wasn’t it? Her punishment. Her revenge. You glanced down at the pill in your hand. Poison. It had to be.

You glanced back up at her, and your thoughts must have shown on your face, for her eyes momentarily glazed over with the same sadness as before.

“This is hydroxyzine,” she snapped.

“Right,” you mumbled. “Thanks.”

“Do you think some of my rules are too harsh?” she asked suddenly.

You blinked at her. “Well, I mean…” You paused a second, considering. You chose honesty.” Most of them are useful, I’ll give you that. But, Ms Venable, the copulation rule? People being shot for, what, loving each other? Finding comfort in each other?” You took one step towards her, growing irritated. “Those two Greys didn’t deserve death. They did nothing wrong. And what’s so bad about copulation, anyway? What’s so wrong with affection? Intimacy?”

You paused, waiting for her answer. Her eyes were very big and shining in the candlelight. They were different, now. It was that sadness again. She looked almost sad.

“Tell me, what’s wrong with this?” You reached out and laid the pad of your index on her right wrist. She tensed up, her hand tightening around the knob of her cane. Her eyes grew bigger still.

You swallowed, refusing to lower your gaze, as you slowly ran your finger down her hand, circled one of her knuckles, moved to the next. You could feel her shaking under your touch, her skin soft and hot.

“This never hurt anyone,” you said softly. Her brow tightened, just so. She made as if to withdraw her hand from your touch. Your finger stuttered, your eyes questioning hers. Well, maybe affection had hurt her. Undoubtedly it had. You could read it in her eyes.

You removed your hand, but she captured it in hers and brought it up close to her mouth.

“We cannot possibly take the risk of having to deal with a herd of babies, can we, Y/N?” she said very slowly. Her breath grazed your knuckles and sent a shiver down your spine. Her grip on your hand was strong.

“We can’t, Wilhemina,” you heard yourself say.

Wilhemina. How did you remember her Christian name? She had told it to you exactly once, on the day of your arrival at the Outpost. Months ago. And it wasn’t a very common name.

“But then again, Wilhemina,” you went on, “you and I would never have this problem.”

Venable brought your hand up to her mouth, her gaze burning into yours, and sank her teeth into your skin.

“Ow!” you yapped. “What the…”

She tightened her grip on your hand to hold it back. A smirk crept up her lips.

“Bite me,” she said, her mouth hot and damp against your skin. “That’s what you said. So, here.” She did let go of your hand, then. You held it protectively to your chest, smoothing it over your shirt. “Happy to oblige.” She turned away from you.

You watched her in consternation as she bent over her bed, apparently rearranging the pillows. Her teeth had left a row of white marks on your hand. A moment passed, until she straightened up and met your eyes.

“Well, goodnight,” she said, almost teasingly. And with that she sent you off.

“You’re still alive,” Coco said in surprise the morning after.

“You’re very observant,” you mumbled, slumping onto the chair next to her. You still felt a bit woolly because of the hydroxyzine. But at least you had slept.

“You’ve been observing our Earth”, sang the female voice from the radio.

“This song will drive me crazy,” you groaned. “Can’t we turn it off?”

“And we’d like to make a contact with you,” the voice retorted.

You straightened your shoulders as Venable walked into the room. Her gaze immediately fell on you. You held it, not sure what to think of the night before, her helping you, her biting you for God’s sake – mechanically you massaged the back of your hand where her teeth had sunk. And those words you had overhead. They had been addressed to someone else, but you couldn’t help but hope she had been talking about you.

You thought you saw something in her eyes, eagerness perhaps, as she walked towards you. She stopped in front of you and tapped her cane on the floor.

“Good-morning,” she said. You gave her a smile in answer, then lowered your eyes to study your nails. You could feel her gaze on your face.

“How did you sleep?” she went on in a casual voice that sounded just a tiny bit strained, as if she were uncomfortable or nervous.

You squinted at her, fighting back an amused smile. “I slept well, thank you.”

You were vaguely aware of the hush that had fallen upon the room. There was more to it, too, some sort of tension, expectant and apprehensive, a holding of one’s breath as one waits for something the nature of which one isn’t really certain of.

“We’ve been observing your Earth, and one night we’ll make a contact with you,” the robotic, distorted alien voice burst out.

“Good,” Venable answered. “I am glad to hear that.”

A pause. The pause stretched.

“Maybe now some of my brain cells will finally kick back into life, “you prompted.

Venable blinked. “We can only hope so,” she answered after a while.

The smile you had been holding back danced across your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Coco shoot you a perplexed look, saw her contort her face as if to ask, “what the hell is happening?”

Venable’s cane tapped on the floor. “Everyone, please,” she called, “I have an announcement to make. Some good news for you all.”

Excited whispers filled the room. You straightened in your seat. Venable waited until she had everyone’s attention, and then spoke with pride in her voice. “To renew with tradition and entertain you, we will now have board games nights. Whist, backgammon, chess.”

Was she… actually trying to be nice? Giving you all something to look forward to? A bit of fun, to help pass the time? You almost gawked at her.

She’s trying, a voice whispered in your head. What was it she had said? Make it acceptable to love her. You were vaguely aware of the tears that sprang to your eyes.

“Excuse me,” Coco blurted out, “I thought you’d said ‘good news’, not ‘you’re now officially living in a shitty Jane Austen novel’.”

Venable glared at her. You caught just a flash of pain in her eyes.

“I think it’s a good idea,” you retorted before Venable had time to. “It’ll keep our minds distracted.”

“I don’t even know what whist and backgammon are,” said Andre. “And I’ve never played chess.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Venable sneered. “It will be the perfect opportunity to inject some knowledge into your vacuous brain.”

“Not as vacuous as that,” Andre retorted angrily, “seeing as you filled it with my boyfriend’s own brain.”

You had never seen Andre stand up to Venable before. Like the others, he had been too scared of her to dare contradict her. But now his voice was openly belligerent, his eyes shooting daggers at her, and his hands gripped the arms of his chair as if he were contemplating standing up. Something had changed, and it didn’t take you long to realize you were the cause. Or rather, Venable’s behavior to you. You had been insolent to her, and she had not punished you. She had not even verbally abused you.

“What will it take,” Venable enunciated, “for you to finally understand me when I say that I did not feed you Stu?”

“Then where is he?” Andre growled, jumping to his feet, “And what was in the fucking stew?”

“Alright, okay, calm down,” you spoke, rising too, and holding out a hand in front of Andre. “I’ll teach you chess, okay? I know chess, I can teach you. Just, relax, man. Gosh.”

Andre glared at you. You raised your eyebrows at him. For a minute he stayed still, hands clenched into fists, and then he let out a breath and moved back to his chair.

Coco threw her hands up in the air. “Board games nights it is,” she said sarcastically.

You turned to Venable. She was studying you, her expression strange, as if she could not quite decide between anger and gratefulness.

“Miss Y/L/N,” she said, her eyes locked with yours, “I do not need your help when it comes to dealing with idiots.”

You took your time to answer, to think of the right words to say. A smile crept up your lips again, and this time you let it.

And you knew everyone in the room would be able to hear you. But you didn’t care. Blame it on the hydroxyzine. Blame it on the freaking interplanetary and most extraordinary occupants. The world had ended. You were exhausted. And you were falling for her.

When you spoke, your voice was a singsong, as insolent as it had been the evening before. “Why, fuck me, Ms Venable. I know that.”

#ahs #ahs imagines #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable #wilhemina venable x reader #fics

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wonderlustlucas · 4 years ago

Text

jack pot ; part 1 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, seo changbin x female reader for like 2 minutes ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), slight smut ⇢ warnings drug use!!! & lots of it (marijuana), grinding, implied smut ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n yo!!! disclaimer: this initially was going to just be a long one shot but i decided to split it up into 3 parts, so just to let u all know part 1 & 2 does not have a ton of hyunjin interaction, they’re more character/plot building. part 3 is when things will get spicy ♥︎ i hope u enjoy! if u rb make sure to let me know what u thought in the tags mwah also i finally switched from ___ to yn are u guys proud of me :)

prelude.

Sometimes you really, truly, honestly think you could go right ahead and kill Han Jisung.

You say it all the time. Sometimes it’s a simple, “I will literally kill you,” or when you are feeling extra spicy, “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” He, of course, laughs it off like you aren’t vibrating with the urge to kick his kneecaps in. You seriously have lost count of all the times he has brought you to the brink of insanity.

And honestly, you have watched enough murder documentaries on Netflix that you probably could do it, but, you know, spending the rest of your life in prison does not sound that appealing. Plus, there’s the ever-troubling detail that Han Jisung is the closest thing you have to a best friend. So, it sort of goes against your basic human morals to backstab—literally—the most important human in your life.

But he really makes you crazy. Why you agreed to share an apartment with him in the first place is a mystery, but the fact that you leased it again for junior year is what really makes you lose sleep at night. Because, while he may be your best friend, Jisung is the epitome of a little shit. If such a compound word was in the dictionary, it simply would say ‘Han Jisung.’ Somehow, though, it makes you love him even more. Maybe it’s true that ‘opposites attract,’ or, perhaps, maybe it’s because no matter how much embarrassment and general self-loathing he may have caused you in the past, it has benefitted you in the end.

For example, his constant teasing about your lack of friends eventually led to you befriending a group of girls you always admired from afar. His snarky comments concerning your nonexistent social life finally got to you and now you can proudly wear the title of one of the best beer pong players in your class. His presence in general has taught you to stand up for yourself and what you believe in, whether it’s against him, your parents, a toxic friend, hell, even a professor. Proving people wrong, especially Jisung, is your favorite pastime.

Sometimes, though, it’s not that easy.

There’s one area in your life where you have accepted defeat. One area in your life where Jisung has his most fun. One area, or, perhaps one person, where you simply cannot step beyond your comfort zone.

Hwang Hyunjin is your Achilles tendon and Jisung is the arrow. There are times, along with all the times you’ve considered strangling Jisung in his sleep, where you have sat and actually prayed to the gods to send someone else. Someone not nearly as perfect as Hyunjin and someone not nearly as unattainable. Alas, these prayers, hook-ups, Tinder dates, anything to get him off your mind has proved futile; because here you are three years later, stuck with this stupid, absolutely infuriating crush on the only boy who has ever owned your heart because you outright gave it to him.

one.

You are beginning to think the two bubbly junior girls who led the campus tour you attended last year lied about the dining hall.

Correction: they one hundred percent lied.

Because even though the newly renovated food court looks nice—unscratched linoleum floors, shiny marble countertops and all sorts of seating to choose from—there must be something fishy going on with the cooks. Literally. Just last week, an upperclassman had a breakdown when she forked into her tuna (why anyone would want college seafood is another story) to find a worm right there in the middle of it. You have found little shards of glass in the yogurt and bugs even at You-Cook, but that’s all a part of the college experience, right?

“Are you sure there’s no spiders or anything? Did you check?” Beside you, Maddie watches with furrowed brows as you spoon a hefty serving of scrambled eggs onto your plate. Chuckling, you move down to grab a few sausages and a chocolate chip muffin before they are gone for the rest of the day; Lord knows, you are only a month in and carbohydrates have quickly become your emotional support, just like everyone else. “Yes, I checked,” you assure her, hiding a laugh with your hand as she leans over to further scrutinize the eggs, “I didn’t see any arachnids.”

“Good,” she hums, satisfied with your answer, “can you grab a banana muffin for me? They’re usually at the bottom.”

Nodding, you turn back to the blessed muffin basket, pushing away blueberry, corn, double chocolate, all because Maddie has to be different and go for the macadamia nut banana.

“Are those the dinosaur socks they were selling on move-in day?” In front of you, someone asks, and your first instinct is to look down at your feet just to confirm. 8:30 calculus simply turns your brain to mush and remembering how you dressed for the day is near impossible. “Yes!” Laughing, you lift your leg to get a closer look at the cute green t-rexes on skates. “I was sold once I heard they were a dollar.”

Tearing your gaze away from said socks, you look up and suddenly feel as if you have bumped into an angel. Maybe there were spiders in the eggs, deadly poisonous spiders that crawled up the spoon while you weren’t paying attention and bit your hand and now you are dead and this is the angel leading you to the heavens. That, or this simply is the most beautiful human you have ever seen up close and your brain does not know how to process it. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you definitely have never been so starstruck in your life.

The boy in front of you says something but you don’t hear it, senses and thoughts momentarily Off™ as you gawk at him. Aside from the deep undereye bags you all have claimed the past few weeks, this stranger is as close to perfect as you can get. Sure, Seungmin and his roommates are pretty cute—but what the fuck?

Something tells you that you have been silently staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open for far too long when his brows raise in a mix of confusion and expectation. Shit. What did he say? Synapses suddenly shooting like fireworks in your brain, you desperately try to remember his reply but instead, all you had focused on was the plumpness of his lips as he spoke and not the words themselves.

Clearing your throat, you blink once, twice, hoping you were hallucinating the whole time and the boy in front of you is not Hercules incarnate.

Lucky for you or him, you can’t tell, but he is still as attractive as he was two seconds ago. “Sorry, what?” You blurt, loud, too loud, flinching at the sound of your own voice. Instead of recognizing that you are totally off your rocker, he smiles, a soft, toothy smile that has your muscles turning to goo.

“I said I bought them, too,” cutest-boy-in-the-universe repeats, looking down and you follow his gaze, “my roommates were making fun of me, so I’m glad I finally found someone who bought them.” Alas, as he tugs at the fabric of his jeans to slightly lift the cuff you see that he, too, wears the same socks. You think you’re in love.

“Well, your roommates clearly have no taste,” you deadpan, shakily meeting his eyes once he looks back up. He laughs softly, eyes scrunching at the action and you positively swoon until silence settles over you and he takes the opportunity to regard you, gaze sweeping down your frame and up again. You hold your breath because, 1) holy shit, you would get on your knees for him right now and 2) you suddenly wish you were wearing more than the ‘just-woke-up-to-get-pegged-by-calc’ fit.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he finally says and you release all the air trapped in your lungs. “YN,” you return, grasping his outreached hand and thanking the heavens it is as sweaty as yours. “Well, it was nice to meet you, YN,” Hyunjin proceeds, releasing your hand and offering a gentle smile.

“You too, Mr. Sock Man,” you grin, rocking on your heels and realizing with a pang of disappointment that your breakfast has probably gone cold. Well, that’s okay, because right now you are totally content standing here in the middle of the dining hall, silently staring at this Hyunjin with a stupid smile plastered on your face. And the best part? He apparently is just fine doing that, too.

“YN!” Somewhere behind you, Maddie calls your name and it thrusts you head-first back into reality. “Did you find a banana muffin? I can’t find— oh. Who’s this?” Appearing beside you, visibly shocked having found you in a staring contest with a very tall, very cute boy. “Oh, uh,” you huff out a laugh, scrambling to get yourself together, “Hyunjin, this is Maddie, my roommate. Maddie, this is Hyunjin. We have the same socks.”

Brows shooting up at the puzzling introduction, Maddie bites back a laugh and looks back and forth between you and Hyunjin. “Well, you don’t hear that every day,” smiling to hide her confusion, she offers him a small wave with her hand full of muffin packs, “nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin smiles in return, gaze quickly returning to you. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta get the waffles while they’re still warm. I’ll see you around.”

And before you know it, he’s off toward the other end of the breakfast counter.

“Um, what the fuck?” Maddie whispers excitedly as you make your way toward your usual table, elbow repeatedly jabbing into your side. “I have no idea what just happened. I think I’m dreaming,” you sigh blissfully, relieved to find that Jisung and Seungmin were able to claim your favorite booth. “No, definitely not dreaming. He’s totally into you. You have to hang out.”

“What?” You sputter, nearly tripping over your own two feet. Then, lowering your voice as you near the two boys, “I – no, he isn’t. How can you tell? That was like, the cutest guy I’ve ever talked to, and you think he’s into me?”

“Who’s the cutest guy ever?” Jisung pipes up, eyes lighting up and you curse him and his fucking bat hearing.

“No one,” you grumble, smiling softly at Seungmin when he gets up so you don’t have to sit on the end, leaving Maddie to sit next to the other one. “Is it me?” Jisung grins with a flutter of his eyelashes. He’s convinced the only reason you dislike him is because you’ve actually fallen in love with him, but that’s far from the truth. You don’t even dislike him—he’s just one of the first guys you’ve met who meets your sarcasm with as much ferocity, and that is a hard pill to swallow.

“In your dreams, Han,” you sneer, gracing him with a dramatic eye roll before tearing open the bag of your muffin. Comfortable conversation quickly falls into place as you eat, complaints about your classes, Seungmin trying to convince you to join them at the first party they will be attending while Jisung mocks you for wanting to stay home, Maddie asking where Felix is and Seungmin explaining that he got so high last night he ended up staying up past four playing Overwatch and is currently sleeping past all his classes.

Then, in the midst of guzzling your apple juice, Jisung leans out of his seat to call down the aisle. “Hwang! Come pull a chair over!”

Curiosity peaked, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crane your neck to see over Seungmin’s fat head for who this ‘Hwang’ could be until, like the universe is really trying to kill you, the Hyunjin you met not even ten minutes ago has reached your table. “Hey,” he grins brightly, dabbing up the two boys before he glances to you, mouth promptly falling open. Certain you mirror the same expression, you struggle to find your words as Jisung and Seungmin look between you in shared confusion. “First we share socks, now it’s these dumpheads?”

Ignoring the way they scowl, Hyunjin giggles shamelessly and grabs a chair from an adjacent table to sit at the head of your booth. “It would seem that way.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. You guys know each other?” Jisung scoffs in disbelief, pointedly looking at you as if you’ve gone and disproved everything he pegged of you. “We just met,” Hyunjin replies with a shy smile, sparing you a quick glance before cutting into his waffle. Jisung looks to you and you offer an affirmative nod.

“And how are you guys friends?” Maddie asks, sensing your panic. “He’s Changbin and Minho’s roommate,” Seungmin answers.

You choke on a mouthful of juice.

“Christ, you good?” Seungmin snickers, offering a few slaps to your back. With a muffled yes, you look to Hyunjin with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell them I said they have no taste.”

He laughs, arching a brow at you. “No way. They’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Oh, Christ,” faking a cry, you bury your face into your palms, “so much for making friends.”

“It’s okay, YN,” Jisung soothes with faux sympathy, “no one wants to be your friend anyway.”

Scoffing, the table quickly falls silent when you look up with rage in your eyes. “I bet when someone asks your parents about you, they change the subject,” you spit, shooting daggers at him before stabbing your fork into an innocent chunk of egg. To your utmost surprise but total delight, the other three burst into a fit of laughter, leaving you smirking smugly and Jisung sulking.

“Anyway,” Maddie promptly changes the subject back to her chemistry professor who has started every class playing Britney Spears. Tucked away in your corner finishing the last of your sausage and stifling the urge to get up for more, it isn’t until Hyunjin begins to speak do you realize that you have been quietly watching him the entire time. You would blame the soft morning sunshine shining through the windows and illuminating the right side of his face for making him look so ethereal, but you know that isn’t the case; from short, messy black hair, silver hoop earrings, thick, defined brows, the soft curves of his nose and the pouty fullness of his lips, you are totally, completely mesmerized.

And then, the sole of a sneaker is slammed right into your shin. “OW!” You yelp, loud, and for a moment you forget the pain in favor of the embarrassment that comes with the number of heads that turn to look at you. “Sorry. Bit my tongue,” you lie, earning an unconvinced look from Maddie. “Go on,” you nod toward Hyunjin to continue whatever he was saying before directing a furious glare to Jisung, who fails to hide his triumphant smirk as he enthusiastically types on his phone.

Just as you have bent down to rub at your throbbing leg, your phone vibrates twice against the table.

han jisung [now] stop staring, ur lucky hwang is as dense as a rock or he would have left a long time ago bc of you

han jisung [now] so THAT’S the ‘cutest guy ever’ huh? so ur straight after all

Squeezing your hands into fists, you prepare to fire back a reply that will have him crying. But he has different plans.

“Oh, Hyunjin, did YN tell you she’s a dancer, too?” He exaggerates your previous mention of dancing and has the audacity to wink at you. Thanks, Mr. Match Maker.

“Really?” Hyunjin gasps excitedly, eyes lighting up and totally missing the flabbergasted what? that sputters from your lips.

“I – well, no,” you hiss, scowling at Jisung, “I used to do ballet when I was younger but that’s it. Why, though? Do you dance?”

“He’s here on a scholarship,” Seungmin explains, “and minors in creative writing.”

“Oh,” you squeak, glancing to Hyunjin who is all but smiling like a cherub, completely oblivious, “that’s amazing. You must have a crazy schedule.” Chewing the last of his waffle, he hums in agreement. “Yeah, it gets really stressful at times. But it’s worth it,” Hyunjin chuckles. Then fucking winks.

Unable to hold his gaze, you whip your head back around in a panic and reach for the mere sip left of your juice. “Speaking of crazy schedules,” he hums, slapping both Jisung and Seungmin on the shoulders, “I must head out. This was fun. I may start crashing the party more now.” Rising from his seat, Hyunjin swings his bag over a shoulder and grins brightly. Realizing it would be rude to not say goodbye, you force yourself to look back to him and offer a feeble wave.

“And YN, don’t bite your tongue when you eat, yeah?”

You’re going to pass out.

two.

Felix likes to think of you as his corrupted child when it comes to smoking weed.

A few weeks before you would all be returning home for winter break, he came knocking on your door with a proposition. “No one wants to smoke with me. Do you want to?”

This, for sure, was not what you were expecting on a cold Tuesday night in December. Despite the general curiosity and always wanting to ‘try it’ simply to feel like a teenager breaking the rules, you told him you never smoked before. “I know,” he said with a smile, “that’s why I’m asking.”

So, you agreed. Reaching for your hand, Felix snuck you out the window and led you halfway across campus to the junior parking lot, giving you ample opportunities to back out when he felt how badly you were shaking. “Whose car is this?” You laughed in disbelief when he unlocked a beaten-up Nissan near the outskirts of the lot.

“Kim Woojin. The junior?” He replied once you settled in the passenger seat next to him. “Oh.” You blinked, confused. “He lets you smoke in his car?”

“He gets me weed, too,” Felix giggled, reaching into the pockets of his sweatshirt and coming out with two tightly wrapped blunts, each about two inches long, “I’ll turn the heat on a little so we don’t freeze but we have to keep the windows open. I’m not going to have you hotbox for your first time.” You had no idea what that meant, but you agreed nonetheless.

With a brief lesson on what to do that truly made no sense until you tried it for yourself, Felix lit the blunt, took a few small hits to get it started, and then passed it to you. Holding it gingerly between your thumb and index finger, you brought the unlit end to your lips and sucked as he instructed ‘like a straw,’ breathing it into your lungs and ignoring the faint taste of smoke. Unsure of when to stop, it wasn’t until your throat felt as if it was on fire did you realize just how much you had inhaled.

“Shit,” you wheezed, coughing and choking and watching with wide eyes at the amount of cloudy white smoke that left your mouth and nostrils. Passing it back to Felix, you scrambled for the cold water bottle he brought along, downing half of it in one go to soothe the burn. “Good?” He asked, blowing out the window and turning back to you with eyes full of concern.

“Yeah,” you huffed, “give me a few, though.”

Humming in agreement, Felix connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and began playing what he calls his ‘getting high playlist,’ and before long, you fell in love with the feeling.

When break was over, you were dying to try it again. Felix was more than happy to be of service.

For all of March, it turned into a daily thing.

Now, you try to smoke only once a week for the sake of not dying, or something.

australian felix kjellberg❤️ [now] come hang at 201?

When the text notification pops up in the corner of your laptop screen amid your YouTube binge, your bones jitter with a mix of dread and excitement.

Dread, because that’s Hyunjin’s room. Excitement, because that’s Hyunjin’s room.

Maddie must hear your sigh. “What’s wrong?” She asks from her cozied position in bed, hand deep in a bag of popcorn.

“It’s Felix,” you start, “but he said to go to Hyunjin’s room.”

She blinks, unfazed. “And? I don’t see the problem here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” you count on your fingers, “first, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin sober. Second, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin high. Third, I am very touchy when high. Fourth, Hyunjin is always touchy.”

Maddie scoffs. “That’s a pretty lame argument, YN,” she laughs, “isn’t that what you want to happen?”

“Well,” she’s got a point, “yes, but it still makes me nervous. He makes me nervous.” Closing your laptop, you shimmy out of bed and debate changing out of your cotton shorts and tee shirt. Nah. You’ll probably end up going back to Felix’s and sleeping there. You put a sports bra and deodorant on and call it a day.

Maddie finds this hilarious. “You know what should make you nervous? The fact that you’re usually the only girl getting high with, what? Six guys? You know they all want to fuck you.”

“I try not to think about that, actually,” cringing, you try to erase Felix’s voice when he’s high as a kite or Changbin’s arms from your mind, “and you don’t know that. Sometimes Ryujin and Lia are there. Or, you know, you could always come. You don’t have to smoke, just come hang out. I know you want to give Minho a fat smooch.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I love you, and I appreciate the invite, but I don’t feel like babysitting a bunch of stoners, even if Minho is there.”

Laughing, all you can offer her is a shrug. “I don’t blame you,” grabbing your phone, wallet, and charger, you make your way over to her and bend over to press a goodnight kiss to her forehead, “if you need me, don’t. I’ll probably be dead.”

“Oh Lord,” Maddie cackles, watching you struggle to open the window, “don’t die. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’ll try,” you grin, military saluting once you’ve managed to flop over the ledge. With one last wave, you close the window behind you and thank admissions for giving you a room on the first floor.

[9:34 PM] YN: omw now, gather your forces to help me in :)

Nights in 201 are always interesting. First, their room is on the second floor, so climbing through the window is an experience. Things would be a hell of a lot easier if you could just walk in and out of residence halls as you please, but with the officer at the front desk documenting who comes in and who goes out, there would be a knock at the door at midnight asking you to leave. Second: as Maddie said, 201 means the whole squad is showing up. And when the whole squad shows up, you’re bound to feel a mix of anxiety and desire deep within your bones no matter how hard set you are on Mr. Hwang. And third: you know you’re in for one fucked up night.

[9:42 PM] YN: hereee

Standing awkwardly behind their building, you try and calm the nerves that always come when you know you will be with Hyunjin. Considering how close the two of you have become over the past few months, one would think you would have gotten a grip on those pesky feelings.

Yet again, it’s kind of hard to do that when he looks and acts like that all the time.

When the window slides open, you are expecting Changbin to hang halfway out for you to grab on to with the rest of them holding onto his legs. Instead, a tall, metal ladder of sorts is pushed out until it lands with a thud! at your feet, granting you a perfect staircase into the room.

Well, you certainly don’t see that every day.

Blinking in confusion, you do not know whether to focus on the crowd of boys waving at you from above or this abomination of a stepstool that was practically thrown out a window for you. Accepting the chain of events as just another fever dream of an experience in 201, you shake your head and begin to ascend on shaky legs, graciously taking Jisung’s hand and clinging to both him and Seungmin as they help you into the room. “Thanks,” you huff, giving them both a hug in return to their chivalry. And they dare say it’s dead!

Behind you, Changbin and Hyunjin lift the ladder-stepstool mutation back into the room and it isn’t until they have folded it into a more compact piece and set it against the wall do you speak up.

“Did you… buy a ladder?”

“Yes!” Minho bellows, thrilled by your successful entrance. “Isn’t it great?” After pulling back from a hug, he keeps his hands on your shoulders just to shake you like a bobble-head.

“Yes,” you grunt once he’s released you, head swimming, “a lot easier than hauling both me and Changbin through the window, right?” Looking to said boy, you can’t help but melt into his side when he pulls you close. “No worries,” Changbin beams, rubbing your arm, “at least we have some funny memories now.” When he moves to flop onto his bed, you realize with a shudder that you are alone with Hyunjin.

Well, technically not alone since they are all right there, but alone in the sense that they are not paying attention to you nor him.

“Hey, YN. I missed you,” he singsongs, engulfing you in one of his monster bear hugs. Disregarding the heart palpitations they may cause, Hyunjin’s hugs are truly the best and you wish you would initiate them more if it didn’t seem like such a big deal in that smooth brain of yours. “I missed you, too,” you mutter into his chest, squeezing your arms around him as if to engrave this feeling into your mind forever. “We saw each other, like, five hours ago,” he reminds you, finally pulling back and taking your will to live with him. God, he has no idea.

“And? You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me suicidal,” you lie because, in reality, he actually does. Just in a different way. “Aw,” he coos, large hand squeezing your side and you think you could orgasm on command, “good thing we have tonight, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, finally remembering to breathe when he steps away to sit beside Seungmin on his bed. Suddenly, you are feeling incredibly grateful no one is next to Changbin because, well, 1) he is closer to Felix and 2), you need a distraction.

“Hello, Felix,” you greet the boy sunk deep in a bean bag chair, busy grinding leaves and packing them into the bowl of a bong. “How are you this fine evening, YN?” He asks once you have settled beside Changbin, brows knitting together when the older boy drapes his arm around your waist.

“Good. Tired, though. How ‘bout you?”

“You didn’t have to come if you’re tired! We all know you work your ass off, no one’s gonna judge if you chose to stay home and sleep,” Felix expresses, giving you a look that screams ‘mom.’

“No! I’m not that tired,” you assure him, reaching for his hand and squeezing for extra effect, “you know I wouldn’t miss this. You’ve made me a pothead.”

With a proud smile, he returns to his designated job and begins working on the second, smaller bong. “So,” stretching to set your things on the desk beside Changbin’s bed, you turn to him with a knowing smile, “how’s the album coming?”

“Great!” He beams, eyes lighting up at the topic. “Jisung is a great addition. Did I tell you we started meeting with someone else, too?”

“No, who?”

“He’s a sophomore, Bang Chan?” Somewhere behind you, Felix passes a bong to Jisung for the first hit. “Bang Chan? Holy shit, Binnie,” repeatedly punching his arm to express your excitement, “that’s amazing! I didn’t know he was into music production. Not that I’ve ever talked to him, but.”

“No, I get you,” he hums, giving your side a firm squeeze, “he’s really awesome making beats. I hope we’re successful.” Then, reaching past you, he takes the second bong and a lighter from Felix. When he resituates himself, he’s considerably closer than before. You don’t mind.

“Ladies first?” Changbin offers with a crooked grin, handing them to you. Then, on second thought, he holds onto the lighter to do the honors. “Sure. Thanks,” you laugh, glancing across the room to find everyone arguing over which color to set the lights to as they wait for their high. Bringing the tube to your lips, you offer a miniscule nod to him and then he is setting flame to the bowl. Sucking strong enough to generate bubbles, you unplug the bowl once he stops and breathe in as much as your lungs can handle in one go. Then, once you have exhaled, you quickly finish what’s left in the tube before passing it to Changbin with a pleased smile.

“That was a lot,” he points out once you have handed the bong back to him. “Hey, you’re the one who kept lighting it for thirty seconds. Mother would be proud,” you joke, reciprocating the same service and lighting the bowl until he glares at you beneath his bangs.

The best part about being high is the fact that you are constantly laughing. Things won’t even be that funny, but once someone starts laughing—you’re done for. You laugh so hard it hurts, and then once it’s all over, you realize it wasn’t funny at all. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a squirrel?” Minho asks Jisung at some point. You absolutely loose it. It quite possibly is the funniest thing you have ever heard.

Pouting, Squirrel Boy leaves Minho alone on his bed to come crash beside you. “How are you, my tender oozing blossom?”

Squinting at him past the way your eyes burn, you make grabby hands and pull him close to wrap your arms around his teeny waist. Changbin grumbles in protest, but he’s too transfixed on the light’s soft in and out fade of different colors to say anything else. “Please, don’t ever call me that again,” you mumble into Jisung’s mop of brown hair.

“What?” He gasps, tilting to look up at you with puppy eyes. “You didn’t like it?”

“Nope,” smiling lazily, you rest your head atop his, “I love you, but I’m not ready for pet names yet.” His face morphs from a frown to one lit with excitement. “Holy shit, did you just say you love me? Do my eyes deceive me?”

“That would be your ‘ears,’ but yes,” you hum, brain simply not capable of denying it the way your sober self would. “More than Changbin?” Jisung whispers.

“Yes, but don’t tell him,” you return quietly, biting back a laugh.

“More than Hyunjin?” He counters. At this, you look up to find said boy sat with his legs to his chest across the room. Next to Seungmin, he looks like a giant; but a happy, pouty giant that keeps talking about how much he could go for a winter melon tea right now.

“Never.”

One and a half (half because it was just the rest of Minho’s terribly big hit that left tears streaming down his cheeks) and an unfinished game of Cards Against Humanity later, you find yourself in a blissful headspace. The song playing quietly through Felix’s speaker makes it feel like you are bouncing down stairs and then going up again, and the lights are oh so pretty, pink fading to red, yellow to green, blue to purple and so on. Things are fuzzy but crystal clear at the same time, the popcorn you’ve been shoveling into your mouth tastes heavenly, and your body feels like it is engulfed in a warm, comforting hug.

Or, that could just be Changbin.

Somewhere in between trying to get more comfortable and him yanking you to stay next to him when you attempted to get up and hug Seungmin for something sweet he said, you now find yourself on your back with a clinging Changbin on your side. You are so comfortable, but also insanely hot, and as you begin to slowly come down from your high as the hours tick by, you begin to realize it’s for another reason.

What started as an innocent hand on your side turned into his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns against your shirt, which then turned into his hand slipping beneath to splay against the warmth of your skin. Growing increasingly needy as the minutes go by, you turn to look at everyone around you. Jisung, who found himself returning to Minho, appears to be passed out with him on the far end of the room. Seungmin, curled up on the floor with a pillow and a heap of blankets. Felix, who finished off the rest of his weed, scrolls aimlessly on his phone still at the peak of his high.

And Hyunjin, who you assume has been fast asleep on his bed for a while now if the arm flung over his face tells you anything. For a moment, you feel sick with sadness. So close, but so far he lies, always a step out of reach. But you can’t deny how Changbin makes you feel—for right now, at least. And it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity with someone else because the one you want is unattainable.

Right?

Changbin must sense the way your breathing increases, must feel the way your body reacts to the slightest of touches, yet he takes his time. He is soft in the way his hand travels up your arm, rough fingertips grazing over your collarbones before smoothing down over your chest and abdomen. It isn’t until you are about to burst at the seams does he give your ass a strong squeeze and urge your leg over his hips.

“Changbin,” you sigh, biting your lip to keep from whimpering when he begins pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat. “Please touch me.”

He only makes a sound of agreement, savoring the way you squirm and grip onto his arm for dear life. When he offers an experimental roll of his hips to grind against you, you practically go feral. The last time you were touched in such a way was at a party in the beginning of the semester Jisung and co. physically forced you to go to, and Changbin has barely even touched you and it’s already better than the rushed sex you had that night.

“Wait,” he huffs, pausing his ministrations no matter how difficult it is to do so, “we can’t.”

“What?” You hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, “why?”

“Because you’re high, and I’m high, and I’m not going to do anything unless you really want me to,” Changbin explains, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips when you frown in response. “But I do want you to,” you huff, chasing his mouth for another, “I trust you one hundred percent.”

“Are you sure, YN?” What about Hyunjin? is what he really means and you know he’s right. You should have never told Felix.

Trying to ignore the wetness of your underwear, you turn to lie on your back. “Whatever. Never mind,” you mumble, and when you glance back to him, you can’t help the way your heart soars with him still pressed closely to your side, blinking tiredly at you. But like he said, it’s not Hyunjin. “Just get some sleep, Binnie. Forget it happened,” smiling past the tears that threaten to spill, you ruffle his hair and press a softer kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin whispers, returning the affection with a kiss to your shoulder. In minutes, he is snoring softly beside you.

You can’t fall asleep to save your life.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you grit your teeth once you realize it’s almost four and you definitely have been staring at the ceiling for more than an hour. For starters, you are freezing now; unlike these passed out hooligans, you are showing a lot more skin and not being under the blankets is not doing you well. And secondly, it’s hard to fall asleep when your thoughts are flying miles a minute.

Is this how it’s going to be, then? Whenever you see someone, will the little guy on your shoulder whisper in your ear that it’s not Hyunjin? Or will people deem you off limits because they know of your infatuation? People who know, at least—Changbin is the first, apparently.

Just need to get comfy, you decide, trying to ignore such thoughts and turning to lie on your stomach. Bless Felix for leaving the lights on, too—you may be coming down from your high, but the vibe is simply immaculate. Tucking a hand under your cheek and following the ropes of light on the ceiling and up the walls, you find this to be enough to calm your nerves. Enough to make your eyelids heavy. Finally.

Someone lets out a monster train snore. Seungmin, you think, biting your lip to keep from laughing. Or, it could be Hyunjin. The thought is so amusing you can’t help but squint at the boy across from you to better see his outline, hoping he will do it again just to confirm.

No, not Hyunjin.

Because he’s facing you, eyes open, a soft smile plastered on his face. Well, fuck.

No reason to panic, you console yourself, returning a gentle smile in the assumption he can even see you. And you stay like that for a while, simply watching one another for an infinite amount of time. It’s not much, but it means something, you think, lost in the way the contours and highlights of his face change with each color the lights fade to. Just as you remember the whole point of getting on your stomach was to fall asleep, Hyunjin moves. Reaching for his phone, you watch in confusion as he brings it close to his face and starts typing.

hwang hyunjin👁👄👁 [now] Come sleep w me?

You almost throw up in your mouth. You must be dreaming. Surely.

Blinking against the harsh light of your phone, you cannot help your smile as you reread the text.

[4:02 am] YN: wont that b a little sus for bin

[4:02 am] hwang hyunjin👁👄👁: If anyone asks just say he kept kicking u or something

You don’t need to be told twice. Now that he has turned onto his side facing the other direction, Changbin does not stir once you slowly move to sit up and stand, nor when you reach for the quilt crumbled at the foot of the bed to pull over him. It’s not much, but hopefully it will keep him from waking in a few hours freezing to death. Then, as you tiptoe your way over to Hyunjin’s bed, avoiding Felix now that he’s sprawled half way off the bean bag, you cannot tell if you are still shivering from the cold or if the fact you are going to be sleepingwith Hyunjin in one, tiny single bed is finally clicking in your brain. Like Maddie said, this is something you want, right?

As you draw closer, Hyunjin shifts to make room and lifts the covers for you to quietly slip beneath. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up to your chin and trying to ignore the feeling of being so close to him. “Of course. You looked real cold over there,” he smiles tiredly. Then, his arm cautiously curls around you to rest by your head, fingers swiping stray hairs away from your face.

“I was,” you admit. Eyes level to his lips, you strain to look him in the eyes to resist the temptation now that he’s pulled you so close. “Changbin fell asleep and I felt bad waking him.”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply. He seems momentarily lost in thought, brows slightly furrowed as he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Do you like him?” He finally asks, voice shaky with hesitation.

“What?” You sputter, shocked at such a presumption. Yet again…

“No, no I don’t. I mean—as a friend, yes, but, you know,” you trail off, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately wish you were not having this conversation right now. “He was touching you, though. And it looked like you liked it,” Hyunjin whispers, thumb swiping against your cheekbone.

“I mean, well yeah, I did. But I’m not close enough to like him like that. It’s just a physical attraction,” realizing you are discussing what went down with Changbin to Hyunjin, you suddenly pull back and lean up on an elbow to get a better look at him, heat now spreading up your limbs like fire. “Were you watching us, Hwang?”

“Yes,” he admits, “it’s kind of hard not to.” Your heart stops beating.

“I – what?” You manage once you have remembered how to breathe. “I didn’t know you were awake, we wouldn’t have… what do you mean, ‘it’s kind of hard not to?’”

“You know what I mean, YN,” Hyunjin mutters, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you to lie down with him again, this time, your chest pressed to his. “I like looking at you. You’re very pretty.”

You definitely must still be high, because you are seriously having a hard time wrapping your mind around Hyunjin calling you pretty, as well as being so close, and somewhere deep in your mind wonders if he knows. If he knows how your heart is on the line here. Knows that with him moving closer, you are taking a huge risk.

When Hyunjin kisses you, you forget that this could be the worst mistake you’ve made in a long time. Wrapped around his fingers, you pray this is his way of saying he feels the same.

“YN!” You wake to Seungmin gently shaking your shoulder. “YN, wake up. Your phone has been vibrating for twenty minutes now. It’s Maddie.”

The wave of panic washing over you dispels the grogginess you feel from suddenly being yanked from sleep, as well as the recognition of where you are and who you’re with. Frantic, you sit up and nod in thanks to him before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God you answered,” Maddie cries, voice choked, “I’m sorry, I know you’re still out, but I just threw up and I feel so terrible and when I get up I feel so nauseous. Can you come home?”

“Shit, Maddie, don’t apologize,” you whisper, rushing to grab your things as Seungmin unfolds The Ladder as quietly as possible, “I’m leaving now. Don’t move, you don’t want it to get worse. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpers before hanging up.

“Thank you, Minnie,” pressing a kiss to his cheek, you begin to climb down. “Is everything okay?” He asks, watching as you go with a worried frown. “Yes, it’s fine. Just a little emergency, don’t worry,” praying no one is out and about watching as you climb from the back of their building, you rush back to help Maddie as fast as you can.

You stay back in your dorm with Maddie for the rest of the weekend, fetching her water and ginger ale and food she can handle, helping her to the restroom, and binging all sorts of shows and movies with her. Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho visit Sunday evening, joining you for a few hours to watch Pokémon. You think it’s just because Minho knew it would be a good opportunity to snuggle with Maddie.

You can’t help but feel disappointed when Hyunjin isn’t with them. You refrained from telling Maddie what happened in 201, too caught up wanting to make sure she was alright, and by now you are starting to feel as if it wasn’t even real. Maybe you made the whole night up in your marijuana-infused brain. And snuggled up with Jisung, you can’t help but wish it was this annoying shit you were falling in love with.

On Monday morning, Hyunjin doesn’t show up for breakfast. On Tuesday, you find out he has been hanging out with a girl he met at his favorite boba joint and apparently won’t shut up about. First, you run back to your dorm to cry to Maddie, having to explain all of Friday night to her. When she leaves for her lab, you call Felix for an emergency smoke session. When Maddie texts that she is going to be out late working on a project, you call Changbin to tell him that you really do want him to.

Like you said, it’s just a physical attraction, right?

⇢ part 2

546 notes · View notes

vennysbottom · 4 years ago

Text

I don’t need it

Wilhemina Venable x FemReader

Words: 2,8K

warning: eating disorders, angst i guess

A/N: I have no idea what this is but I needed to get out of my head. Please, please don’t read this if you think it could trigger you.

*Also, I read something similar on here but couldn’t find it, so if you know, pls tell me so that I could give them credit.

It wasn't enough. The truth was, it was never enough. No number ever seemed right anymore. Each morning you were afraid to weigh yourself, knowing it determined how your day was going to go. For the past few months, the only thing on your mind was weight loss and how you looked. You couldn't focus on anything else, you found it hard to be your positive self and most importantly, you were losing yourself.

You were losing yourself again.

You were not sure how many times this has already happened, but you knew what was going on. There was no reason to try to prevent it though, you felt like you needed to lose a few pounds anyway and saw no harm in doing it this way. Or more accurately, you chose not to see it.

“Y/N baby, I'm leaving” your girlfriend's voice coming from downstairs brought you back to reality. Not realising how long you've been analysing your body in the bathroom; you ran to the front door.

“Still in your pyjamas?” she said while giving you a half-smile. Wilhemina herself was looking as professional as ever, given that it was just 7 AM. She had her hair up, makeup on, and was wearing one of those purple fits that you loved on her. Each morning she amazed you by how good she looked. You leaned in to give her a goodbye-kiss which she gladly returned.

“Have a good day. Love you” you said while getting a hold of her one free hand. She gave it a light squeeze before saying “I made you coffee. I love you too.” And just like that, she was out of the door and you were alone.

You stood at the doorway for a couple of seconds, deciding what to do today. You had a few online classes that day but they only took up half of the day, leaving the whole afternoon to yourself.

You went into the kitchen to get your coffee, trying to be as quick as possible. You didn't like being there anymore, it made you feel anxious and guilty. Although, for the majority of your relationship with Mina it has been nothing but nice; you loved cooking dinners for her every day to make her relax and talk about what kind of day the both of you had had, you loved having slow Sunday mornings there. But none of that hasn't happened for quite a while now. Avoiding meals equalled constant lying; on the weekend you’d sleep in since your energy levels were constantly low, and most days you’d lie to get out of eating dinner. You would say that you had to study for a test, had an assignment due or simply that you had already eaten by the time Wilhemina got home.

All of these thoughts were flooding your mind from just standing in the room. You quickly grabbed the cup and left to go into your home office.

Your classes began at 8 and by the time noon arrived you were done for the day. You couldn’t focus on anything your lecturers were saying, which wasn’t uncommon, but this time it wasn’t just the fact that you were exhausted that kept you from paying attention. You kept thinking about how your relationship was slowly starting to fail. You and Mina were in love, but the truth is, your lies were undermining the trust between you two. Until your relapse, you had never lied to her and that’s why she knew that she could always count on you. But she started noticing how distant you were getting and how little time you wanted to spend with her; it hurt her, but she decided to just play along and pretend like everything was fine.

You were aware of all of this. You knew you needed to fix this but sadly enough, you didn’t know how to do that. There was no way you’d be willing to eat - the fear was too overwhelming for you. That’s why you decided to do the next best thing - a quick fix.

The first thing you came up with was a visit at work. There was a high risk of catching your girlfriend taking out her frustrations on one of her poor employees, but the only thing on your mind at that moment was making Wilhemina feel loved. You were mad at yourself for neglecting her because you knew that she deserved way better than that.

You got dressed and made your way to Kineros Robotics, stopping along the way at her favourite coffee shop. You had worked at the company a few years prior, so you knew most of the people by name and knew the place perfectly.

“Hey Jenny!” you greeted your former co-worker with a smile once you’ve made your way up to the front desk. “Y/N! What are you doing here?” she said while looking away from her computer. “Oh, I’m looking for a woman and thought she might be here. You may have seen her actually; long red hair, very kind, the same height as me… Does that ring any bells?”

“Was she wearing purple by any chance?” she asked jokingly.

“You know what? It is possible! How’d you know?” you answered and gave her a toothy smile.

“Try her office Y/N/N. But just a warning: she screamed at me today for letting in a delivery-guy, so she’s probably not in the best mood,” she said while pointing you in the direction.

You knew this was your fault; she does get snappier at work when she's worried about something. So, not only are you two miserable but others get screamed at more frequently. Maybe a quick fix wouldn’t be enough this time, but it was the best you could do for now.

You arrived at Mina’s office to find it empty so you hesitantly made your way down to the guys’ office. It didn’t take long for you to hear muffled voices, one of which belonged to the woman you were looking for, and you could tell that she was upset about something. Upon entering the room, you saw her; she had her back towards you and was supporting herself by the cane in her right hand. Just this image alone was enough to make your heart race. Jeff and Mutt were bending down to sniff what seemed like their daily dose of cocaine. There were also two girls sitting on a table near them, probably just random hookers the guys hired for the day.

“No, no, no, that’s not what I said. What I meant was, that you should watch your temper more” Mutt said loudly before turning around to start typing on his keyboard.

You saw Wilhemina tighten her grip on her cane, “Excuse me?” she said in a cold tone, clearly getting ready to argue.

Jeff stood up after attempting to clean the powder from his nose, “Come on babe. You know you could be nicer to the employees”.

“Shut up Jeff,” you said sternly, making all the heads turn in your direction. “You’re paying her to do all the work around here that you are too lazy to do yourselves, not to be nice to people.” You could see the surprise on Wilhemina's face, but it didn't take her long to regain her composure and protectively reach for your hand once you've reached her side.

Jeff smiled at you and said “Y/N! Long-time no see. Have you finally changed your mind?”

You haven’t seen the two idiots for a couple of months, almost making you forget how gross they were. You took a step forward and stated “I wouldn’t touch your slimy dick with a two-feet pole,” which made both of them laugh slightly. “I'm here to put you in your place since you obviously still need to be reminded,” you continued giving them a cocky smirk. You knew they would not budge, but it was a nostalgic way of entertainment.

“Wow, you don’t have to be so rude baby,” he said pretending to be offended, “Seems to me like Ms.Venable has a bad influence on you.”

Oh, it was on. You were ready to shoot another remark but were stopped by your girlfriend’s hand giving you a squeeze and lightly pulling you back.

“I would choose my next words carefully if I were you; you’re on very thin ice,” Mina said while staring at Jeff. She would normally avoid confrontation with them but her possessive side got the best of her in that moment. Softening her expression, she turned to face you, “Would you wait for me in my office? I need to sort some things out.”

You nodded and turned on your heel to leave. Hearing Jeff shout at you “The offer still stands!” made you turn once more and say truthfully “Hope your brain turns into mush soon, asshole.”

Once you were out of the door and far enough that nobody thought you could hear them anymore Mutt started the conversation, “Damn Ms.Venable, are you even feeding her?” which made a look of confusion appear on Wilhemina's face. “Now, what’s that supposed to mean?” she asked with a hint of offence, trying to find an answer in the face of one of them. Since Jeff was the one who knew you the longest, he decided to explain, “Oh don’t tell me you haven’t noticed anything,” still seeing the puzzled look on his secretary’s face, he went on, “For fuck’s sake, don’t you live together? You must have noticed the weight loss, plus Y/N is never very subtle about this.”

That’s when it clicked and Wilhemina finally understood what Jeff was implying, “She's never subtle? This has happened before?”

She waited impatiently for an answer, hoping that all of this was just a sick joke; the other two exchanged a look of mutual understanding and Mutt finally said: “You should talk to her.”

You paced around the office trying to figure out what to do and how to fix this situation. You knew that Mina was hurt and probably even disappointed; you knew her instinct would be to build her walls up again and you were terrified she wouldn’t let you fully in again. Once you heard the sounds of her cane getting closer, you knew there was no preparing for this.

She entered the room with a somewhat disapproving expression on her face, which she successfully hid when you shot her a warm smile, waiting for her to sit in the chair while you leant on her table. Sitting down, she looked at the cup you were nervously playing with and narrowed her eyes at you. “I thought you might need cheering up today, so I got you your favourite,” you said while placing the coffee on her desk. And you could swear, at that exact moment, you saw love light up her eyes, and the slight smile she offered you gave you butterflies, just like the first time you saw her smile like that. The silence between you that followed made you play with your fingers anxiously but after a while, it was broken by Wilhemina's soft voice, “Well thank you. I appreciate it.”

“But that's not the only reason I stopped by. I've finished all my work for the week…” you traced off preparing yourself to say the latter part, which you'd much rather avoid, “So I thought that I could cook dinner for us tonight because I haven’t done that for a while now. And I wanted to ask you if there was anything you’d like.” At that point your heart was beating so fast you were sure she could hear it.

She could see how uncomfortable you were but wasn’t able to pinpoint the reason for your behaviour; she didn’t know whether it was due to your relationship hitting a rough patch or because Jeff and Mutt might have been right. Either way, she knew she’d find out tonight; playing it cool she kissed you on the cheek and told you that it was completely up to you.

Cooking the food was fine, calming even, but once it was done you realised that you actually had to eat it which caused you to panic. You tried to calm down but your eating disorder made that almost impossible. You sat at the table for what seemed like hours trying to come up with an excuse, eventually deciding to just drink wine and lie if you were to be questioned.

You were disturbed from your state by the door opening and your girlfriend coming into view. She locked eyes with you instantly. You could tell that she was exhausted, that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary after all, but there was more tonight. Wilhemina hasn’t been able to concentrate on anything else than you for the rest of the afternoon. She analysed the situation, her potential steps and their outcomes for the whole ride home. What scared her the most was the fact that in both scenarios, she was running a risk of losing you.

You were both tense, expecting the other one to start a fight and unable to relax, so you only made small talk. You sat at the table with your glass of wine, playing with the food on your plate while watching Mina observe you closely. Then the tension got too much and she barked out, “Aren't you going to eat?” in a tone so cold, it reminded you of the times you worked for her. She held eye contact with you, almost daring you to lie to her. Almost daring you to start a fight that would break her heart. You quickly answered, saying that you ate right before she came so you were pretty full. Keeping your eyes on her face, you saw her expression change - she went from being irritated to being seemingly sad in a matter of seconds.

“Do you still love me?”

Once the question left her lips, there was no taking it back and it physically hurt you that she had to ask. It hurt to know that Wilhemina felt so abandoned by you, she actually thought you were going to leave her; and judging by the look in her eyes, she was ready for you to say “no”. Wasting no time, you answered, “Of course. Of course, I still love you, Mina.” hoping to sound genuine enough for her to believe you. You watched her closely, waiting for her reaction, but to your surprise, her feelings were shoved back down just as quickly as they surfaced.

She straightened her posture before stating, “Well, in that case, we need to talk.” You felt yourself freeze, knowing exactly what was about to go down.

“Have you been eating?” she asked, not letting you drift your eyes away from hers. You knew she’d catch on eventually and call you out, but you had hoped you had a little more time. With a confused expression on your face, you said, “What do you mean?”.

Wrong answer. Wilhemina was tired of your bullshit and you trying to hide it from her. Her face seemingly hardened as she explained, “I haven’t seen you have a meal in weeks. You’re always making excuses, saying you’re too busy to sit down with me. The two idiots even implied this isn’t the first time this has happened.”

You knew there was no point in pretending anymore, so not caring about the consequences anymore, you snapped, “Oh, so it took Jeff and Mutt telling you everything for you to notice? Good to know.” You got up to leave but the sudden sound of Mina’s cane hitting the floor made you stop in your tracks. “Sit your ass down,” she ordered through gritted teeth. Seeing how mad she was getting and how her knuckles whitened, you thought it was better to obey. Although Wilhemina liked establishing dominance, she very rarely raised her voice at you. But this was different, she was pissed that you refused to take care of yourself and she knew she had to be strict.

“Y/N, eat. Now,” she demanded in a stern tone. You were sitting down, fork in one hand and anxiously pulling the skin on your leg with the other. After a few minutes of silence, she reached for your hand under the table and with a pleading look in her eyes, she said softly, “Baby… please, try. For me.”

You couldn’t stand seeing her like this, so you hesitantly started to eat. You hated it, and the feeling of food in your stomach made you sick. Wilhemina rubbed slow circles on your hand in an attempt to calm you down. Despite her effort, tears started to fall down your cheeks about halfway through the meal, but you still managed to finish everything.

Seeing the plate finally empty caused you to sob uncontrollably. Mina approached you quickly and put her arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug. In between sobs, you whispered, “I hate you so much right now.” In response, she said, “Shhh, I know. I know,” while stroking your hair.

“You did good, little one.”

#sarah paulson x reader #wilhemina venable x reader #ahs imagine #ahs fanfiction #ahs apocalypse #wilhemina venable #ms venable #sarah paulson imagine

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dapandapod · 4 years ago

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Flowers and bad ideas

Prompt by the one and only @dont-tempt-me-frodo when words ran dry and ideas ran away. Thank you for letting me borrow the braincell! Many words were worded and I hope it is readable and did your idea justice!

On Ao3 here!

The skies are clear and blue above them. Lazy white clouds drift over them, the summer heat making any attempt at movement slow and drowsy. Despite this, Geralt has decided they need to be on their way. Despite this, Geralt has donned his leather and his armor. Despite this he keeps a brisk pace on the dirt road, every now and then reminding Roach to keep going with a nudge of his heels.

Walking next to and slightly behind them walks a bard, completely bored out of his mind and in so much misery because of the gods damned heat. It’s the kind of heat that gives the air above the road a floaty quality. Don’t ask Jaskier for better words to describe it right now please, his brain is boiling inside his skull.

In a desperate attempt to distract himself from the slow cooking of his most prized body part (wait, scratch that, second most prized body part!) he looks around. Maybe there are some greens he can use to decorate his brain when it is ready to be served. A wild pepper mayhaps? A handful of berries? A decorative flower might suit? Jaskier fans himself with his hands, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. It makes no difference whatsoever, no respite to be found. His tunic sticks to his back under all the layers of what is deemed proper, summer or no. Jaskier will never understand what keeps Geralt going, and how he is still alive clad in all that leather.

Not that he complains, mind you, that behind wrapped in leather like a gift is a sight to behold no matter the weather conditions, but he would never be able to walk around like that himself.

The road leads them from between the rolling hills and up on a small height. Roach doesn’t stop, the soft sound of her hooves hitting the gravel making a steady rhythm to organize his thoughts around. But finally something distracts Jaskier and his boiling brain.

On the soft slope of the hill they are standing on a wide field stretches out. The high grass is speckled with colours, like tiny stars growing out of the ground. It is beautiful.

Jaskier has to stop and just take it all in. To just take a moment, take a breath and take it in. He might stand there a bit too long, because the rhythm of hooves stops and Geralt turns to look at him. Jaskier snaps himself out of it, and he means to catch up with them, he really does. But his eyes keep straying to the field of flowers and he finds himself drawn to it.

So Jaskier gives in. He knows it’s a bad idea, his nose always starts dripping and his eyes get swollen and itchy. But Jaskier loves bad ideas. That’s how all his masterpieces are written after all. So he puts his lute down carefully on the road, pushes his sweaty hair from his face and throws himself into the field with a squeal.

He runs straight out into it, down the slope with his arms outstretched. The grass reaches up to his knees and tangles with his legs and he goes down, falling into it willingly. “Jaskier!” comes from behind him and he can hear Geralt dismount. Jaskier pays the witcher no mind, propping himself up on his elbows like a kid and bends the nearest flower to his nose. If he is going to spend the rest of the day sniffling he might as well make it worth it. The smell is sweet and he can feel a smile stretch across his lips. “Jaskier!” Geralt calls out again, hurrying up behind him and pulling him up to a sitting position. As predicted, Jaskiers eyes are already itching and his nose is starting to do its thing.

Still smiling, still with Geralt's hands on his shoulders, Jaskier looks at this wonderful man, kneeling with him in a field of growing stars. It’s a very nice feeling.

“Yes, my dear witcher?” He says, not understanding at all why Geralt looks so worried.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Geralt asks, frowning slightly at Jaskiers loopy expression.

“It is very warm, but yes.” Geralt's eyes widen in alarm when Jaskier turns his head and sneezes loudly. “And these flowers are trying to kill me, but other than that I am perfectly fine.”

Jaskier regrets his choice of words immediately as Geralt janks him up and drags him over to Roach.

“I knew it.” Geralt mumbles as he starts digging in his saddle bags. “I knew something was wrong.” “What? No? Nothing is wrong, I should just not have smelled those flowers is all.” This doesn’t help at all and Geralt searches even more frantically in the bags.

“Poisonous. They are poisonous, nobody just falls down from running in the grass. Fuck where are they?!”

“They were poisonous?! Meliteles tits Geralt, why didn’t you stop me?! Am I going to die?!” The heat is suddenly overbearing, his sniffles and sweating worrying, heart racing towards his doom. “I don’t know Jaskier but your eyes are swelling up and you are sweating and that is not normal.” Geralt says through gritted teeth and wait, hang on. It finally clicks for Jaskier.

“Oh Geralt.” He chuckles, a hand on the witchers arm to turn him. “Im fine!” He says again, trying to smile comfortingly. But his eyes itch so much so he reaches up a hand to rub it, and his nose refuses to stay dry. Geralt just gives him an incredulous look. “It’s true, it’s just the allergies.” As if to prove his point, another sneeze forces his way out and his eyes tears up from the force of it. “See? Not dying.” He says, voice strained as he wipes away snot and tears and sweat. Geralt is entirely unconvinced.

“I promise you, I am not dying. Not from this anyway. And you can’t tell me sweating is not normal when it feels like we are walking on the inside of a fire elemental's arse crack. But prettier.” Seriously, how is Geralt stil standing up in this heat with leather and armor? His brain must be boiled into mush too, because Geralt reaches up and places his hand on Jaskiers cheek. His thumb traces the thin skin under Jaskiers itching eyes and there, Jaskiers brain checked out entirely. “Promise?” Geralt says, and it is completely unfair. Jaskier would promise anything if those callused fingers touched his skin.

“Yes. It’s only allergies.” He assures him again, but he is not so sure anymore. He is definitely feeling a little faint. But to prove it, he takes Geralt's other hand and places it over his speeding heart, as if that would clear things up. The boiled brain has checked out and thus the reasoning is somewhat flawed. Geralt's fingers splay over his heart, Jaskiers hand circling around his wrist to keep him in place. The witcher's eyes are trained on his chest, a new rhythm taking the place of roaches hooves. An uneven, desperate and lovesick rhythm, but not a dying one. Not this time. Then their eyes meet again, and Jaskier pulls in a breath through his open mouth (his nose is too busy being allergic).

Then Geralt chuckles and all gods above Jaskier want to kiss him.

“You’re a mess” Geralt smirks and lets his hands fall to his sides. Jaskier has to stand there for a moment, once again taking it all in with all the limitations a boiled and absent brain brings. He is indeed a mess, inside and out. A third sneeze explode from him, snot flying, eyes reluctant to open again.

Geralt strolls back up the hill and picks up Jaskiers lute, putting it on his back after strapping his swords to the saddle. “Up.” Is all Geralt says and motions for Jaskier to climb up Roachs back. Jaskier is sceptical. That never went well before.

“Why?” he asks, eyes squinting and darting between the two. “I'm not dying?”

“So may be, but we will never get to the next town in time for the contract if you are insisting on falling into a field of flowers every few minutes.” And sure, Geralt has a point. He climbs up with some assistance and then takes out his handkerchief to wipe his nose.

“Still not dying.” He complains.

“I remain unconvinced.” Geralt smirks up at him and grabs Roachs reins and leads them onwards. They start making their way onwards, Jaskier only being allowed to sit there. No more bad decisions for Jaskier today, for surely the next thing he would do is fling himself into his witchers arms.

Which, hey, is not a bad idea at all!

#the witcher #bad ideas #dapanda writes #geraskier #prompt #words have been worded #save me from writersblock please #also thank you gandalf #love you #geralt x jaskier #allergies #jaskier is just a little in love #geralt of rivia #julian alfred pankratz #jaskier #geralt #flowers

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scienceoftheidiot · 4 years ago

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I guess it’s Christmas stuff/fluff 2/2 for my OCs ! This time a translation from a drabble prompt, “Guirlande” (which can be translated by either tinsel or fairy/christmas lights). I’ll post this on AO3 too, in my prompt collection.

You can find the french version here ;) and visit the blog to read my friend’s awesome stories !

“I need an explanation.”

Diane came back from the living room into the kitchen, where Desden was cooking a gratin. Nothing spectacular, but the whole flat smelled of the various vegetables and mushrooms he’d previously sautéed. Diane, who often managed to fail boiling pasta, just couldn’t fathom how Desden did it. Stupid gratins became absolutely heavenly when he was the one cooking them. Go figure.

She crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame, watching him place the gratin in the oven. Night had already fallen, and the kitchen was only lit by the light from the living room - a special kind of light.

Desden finally turned around, his face going from pink to green, then blue - in this light his eyes glowed almost white.

“An explanation for what ?”

“Why someone like you has fairy lights in his living room.”

“Ah.” A big grin lit up his face as he wiped his hands on a tea towel and carefully put it back in place. “Cause I like Christmas? And I like fairy lights.”

“I don’t really get it.”

Desden held out a hand - “wait” - then cleaned the table, methodically. Then he wiped his hands once more on the towel, put it back in place yet again, and walked past her, his hand brushing her shoulder.

He walked to the living room, then laid on the couch, hands behind his head, facing the shelves where the fairy lights were hanging, slightly askew - not the way she would have put them. But yet again…

Yellow, orange, pink, green, blue. And back to yellow, at a slow pace. It was slightly unpleasant to stay in such flashing without any other light source, but he had asked her to keep it this way if she could see enough.

She followed him and sat at the foot of the sofa. Desden was laying there, eyes wide open - not something that happened that often.

“I feel you’re… perplexed.”

“A little, yeah. Does it…” she hesitated. But she knew him well enough now that she knew she could ask. “Is it linked to what sight you have left ?”

She saw him nod, green for now.

“It’s not a very bright light,” he said, as it turned to blue again. “So, no headache. And I like the colours. I can’t really… name them or sometimes make the difference, but I like them.” He made a face, and gestured near his head. “Brain mush. But if there’s no other light, it’s nice. I like to watch them flash. It’s soothing.”

Diane didn’t say anything and looked at the fairy lights, trying to put herself in his shoes. She often had a hard time comprehending the extent of what he could see or not, and the easiest way was often to act as if he could see nothing. But she knew it wasn’t the case.

He started again with a smile. “It’s already weird for outsiders at Christmas, so I don’t get the lights out at any other time. So right now I gotta make the most of it.”

He shifted on the sofa, extending one arm. “Are you coming ?”

Tag list : @omg-okimhere @foxesandmagic @hughstheforcelou @heirsoflilith @ocappreciation @fyoriginalstories

Send me a message if you want to be added or taken off the tag list !

#writing #christmas #prompt #ocs #original characters #desden #diane

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siremasterlawrence · 4 years ago

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Fan project requested and co-written by pleasentreviewbystarfish

Ryan Alexander Taylor is a well-known, and coveted CEO of a popular online services company. The company has been doing very well, and received a lot of interest from investors. Ryan has been looking to further grow the company by buying a new startup specialized in virtual reality. Ryan travels to meet the management of the company to discuss a deal. Ryan’s car arrives a half hour earlier than scheduled - very precise, good, I like someone who knows how to conduct themselves appropriately, but soon, real soon, he will learn to appreciate my way.

Ryan exits his car observing the location in disgust – the building appears to look like a run-down office building which has not really been maintained. The area appears secluded, and somewhat vandalized. There are lots of graffiti on walls and there are no shops in the area. He says “What a dumpster area this is, I cannot even believe that I am here, this is no place to do business dealings. I am not impressed at all by this disaster area, and yet here I am, somewhat intrigued.” He enters the building and is welcome by a secretary, who brings him to the visitor room to wait while her boss arrives. She brings him a drink while he waits before leaving. Ryan drank the drink, not suspecting that the drink was spiked.

The door suddenly locks and the light goes off. Ryan is in the room alone, in the dark, with only his face being lit up with light. Suddenly a voice can be heard coming from the speakers:“Welcome Mr. Taylor! We are so pleased to have you with us today! It is a great honor for us to have you, and we are very excited at the range of opportunities for us to work with you, or should I say… to work on you”.

Another voice – this time somewhat familiar – says:“Oh, don’t worry, we will take this nice and slow, so that we can enjoy every minute of this. We also do want to make sure you get everything that we will be cramming down your brain.”

Before Ryan can figure out what happens, the light comes back on but some static noise can be heard, causing a buzzing sensation within Ryan. The room is fading away before Ryan’s eyes leaving only a white appearance boxing him in. Ryan begins to shout for help, trying to cover his ears but the buzzing goes on.

After a while the buzzing stops. Before Ryan can sigh in relief, a voice can be heard:“Before you leave us, I would really like you to meet the man who has paid a huge sum of money to acquire you as his new slave. I believe you have already met – Jake Templeton!”

Ryan is confused. “Jake Templeton? Wait, he is the employee that I fired last year for stealing company property and for trying to sell company information to our competitors? What do you think you are doing?”

“Hello Mr. Taylor, or should I say Ryan since you are no longer my boss. I am flattered that a busy man, like you, remembers my name, but you will soon learn to appreciate me for who I am! Can you blame me for trying to make some money? I came up with a concept of immersive virtual experience 3 years ago, and you canned it because the prototype development would cost $500,000, and you said it was not ‘cost-effective’! So yeah, I tried to sell my research to competitors, and you fired me! Now I will show you what my concept, properly funded, can do. Yes, I found someone willing to take a risk and invest the money to build it and found some nice practical applications to it!”

Some colors start to flash in the room and a buzzing sound can be heard.“Now I want you to listen to my voice.... feel yourself going deeper... listen to my voice... only I can make you feel this good... you like listening to my voice... imagine yourself on stairs...I want you to walk slowly down those stairs...as you take each step, you will get more relaxed and obey my voice...you want to obey my voice because it makes you feel so good...that’s it, continue going down the stairs...feel your body floating...there is no pain, only pleasure...relaxing...pleasure...my voice brings you that....relaxing...pleasure...

I would not worry about my words at the moment, focus on the sound of fire buzzing through the room, how it is in tune with the colors in the room. Notice the colorful change of sequences on all four walls. Your eyes are getting more and more tired, the drink you took when you came in took care of that. Just relax, your eyes can’t focus on anything else except the sound of my voice, your memories slowly draining away and disappearing, and the world before you is brand new”.

The lights continue flashing and the buzzing continues for another hour or so.A young man, in his late twenties, watches the events from the safety of his private laboratory as a camera was filming everything happening in the room.“Time to see the efforts of my fruit and labor!” He says flipping a switch on his console that makes a door suddenly appear in the solid white room where Ryan is. The door slides up to the ceiling as he walks into the room, in awe of his own genius.

“Now, I hate to toot my own horn, but ta-da! And bravo!” He claps at himself as he stands face to face with the former business titan. Ryan is standing motionless.The young man cups his chin turning side to inspect him. The drool is very apparent dripping all over his face. The young man says “Pathetic! Look at you now – once a Harvard Business graduate, now covered in your own drool.”

He lets go of Ryan’s face, pondering what else this man has accomplished in life. Ivy League education, successful business ventures, award-winning and well regarded in the business world, but now nothing but a statue. A toy, to be used. Coming back to his sense, he begins smacking the man in the face knowing there is no longer any response going to come. Ryan just stands still returning back to the position after his feet lose balance.

He proceeds to grope Ryan’s private parts and give him a spanking, but Ryan still stays motionless. He inserts his hand within Ryan’s shirt and begins to move his hand, brushing his hand across Ryan’s torso to get a good feeling and smiles as he is satisfied with touching Ryan.

The young man removes his hand as he hears someone approaching, then laughs in a mocking tone at the sight of a shadowy figure descending down the stair case. The young man says “It’s about time you arrive to pay and pick up the main man of your dreams.”

Jake appears and says “Well, despite everything that happened and me losing my job because of him, I do find he looks dreamy, so yeah, he is the man of my dreams”.The young guy says “Well, I am usually more into muscular and bodybuilders, but I do find him very handsome. I like the boyish looks. I was not expecting much but he is actually in good shape. An excellent choice for a slave. I would certainly do him. Would you mind sharing him with me?”

Jake laughs and agrees “Sure, you were very helpful so I can lend him to you for an afternoon. What do you want to do?”The young man says “well, the more I look at him, the more I find him hot… Would love fucking his straight ass.”Jake responds “Don’t we all” and proceeds to kiss Ryan passionately while Ryan still staying immobile.

Jake then hands the young man a white envelope with a generous payment. The young man says asks “so what will you do with him now?”

Jake responds “Ah, I have waited a long time for this moment! He will be my obedient slave and serve me, cook for me, clean my house, and when he is not serving me, maybe he can be my footstool or a nice statue in my bedroom. Let’s see? Basically, anything that is humiliating to a straight guy, so of course he is going to get fucked a lot.”

The young man then says “Sweet. Ok, just a reminder. This is still an experimental device and there are lots that we have not tested out yet. You should use the brainwave device on Mr. Taylor maybe once every 24 hours to ensure that he does not wake up or even begin to get back some memories. It is unlikely but you just never know.”

Jake chuckles, “Could be fun if he does wake up actually, realizing how much he has been used, and then bringing him down again just as he tries to escape.”The young man responds “Yeah but be careful” before walking away.

Jake proceeds to grab Ryan by the tie and places Ryan on a cart leaving him like a statue standing in normal position. He is then carted out to the car, Jake rummages through his pockets looking for his keys, and he opens his car trunk. He plops Ryan into it, locking Ryan in the car boot as he goes to the driver’s seat and begin driving off elsewhere.

“Enjoy the tunes, Mr. Taylor, or whoever is left inside that mushed up head of yours.” He taunts through the speakers one last time.He turns the dial on the radio activating the car trunk’s brainwashing station. The back of the trunk has speakers out blasting white noise, and Ryan is motionless the last of his iron will is gone. The noise produced is a quickly changing binaural sound which breaks Ryan’s mind and leaves it blank.

Once they arrived at the destination, Jake opens the car trunk and brings Ryan inside.Unaware of his location or even who he used to be, Ryan’s body lay on the wall, asleep. Jake presses a button on the oddly small remote the man gave him as he left the facility. The remote lights up, blaring a multitude of colors like a kaleidoscope of colors. He points it at Ryan’s head. A red beam is aimed directly at his head, the light then turns green, and a voice can be heard.

“Initiating, initiating, initiating, ... processing.” “Activation code please.” Jake then realizes that the voice is actually Ryan’s voice. Jake smiles, licking his lips. He answers “Ryan Taylor Is A Bot”, awaiting the acceptance, Ryan says “Accepted” and then Ryan’s eyes pop open.

“I am Ryan Taylor the Bot, human-cyborg slave and I am here to serve you. What is your name?”Jake laughs. “I’m Jake Templeton, but you can call me Jake.”Ryan’s expression never changed as he replied in a dull, empty tone: “Yes Master Jake, I am ready to serve you. Please put me through my paces,” responds Ryan.

“Who am I?” asks Jake“My Master,” replies Ryan.”And what are you?” asks Jake”I am your slave, Master,” came as a reply.“Yes, you are my slave. You exist to serve and obey me. I own you. Your mind and body are my property. You have no thoughts because you are a slave. Slaves are mindless. Slaves just obey. You are my slave. You obey me. You must obey your Master. Obeying and pleasing your Master is your only purpose. You love your Master. I am your Master and I own you.”

“Yes, Master Jake, I understand” came as a reply.“Tell me the truth of your purpose, slave,” he now ordered.Ryan responds “I live to obey and serve you, Master,” he began. “I am your sex-slave. My body belongs to you. I exist to pleasure you. Your pleasure is my only desire, my Master.”“You just can’t make this stuff up even if you tried… Very good, my slave, now kneel and lick my feet, slave.”

While Ryan is licking his feet, Jake was thinking what to do next. What should Ryan wear? Maybe continue wearing a suit as my butler? Or maybe wear nothing but a tight speedo? Or a jockstrap? Maybe make Ryan get some tattoos? That could work. Like the word ‘bot’ on his chest? Or ‘maybe ‘slave’? No, that would not look nice on Ryan. Maybe a tattoo on his arm instead? Like a tribal tattoo? Or Chinese characters on his arm, like "bad boy" in Chinese?

Suddenly Ryan’s phone starts to ring and Jake takes it from Ryan’s pocket.“Well, well, looks like your girlfriend is trying to phone you. She is no longer of concern to you. I will send her a text message later telling her you are breaking up with her and are no longer interested in her. Now, on the left of this room there is a table with three pre prepared paperwork. Sign each giving me everything you have, and then I will finish the process.”

“Yes, Master Jake, I understand” came as a reply.“From now on, Ryan, you will seek to please me at all times and exist only for me. You are a robot who will live like any pet would. My robot human dog hybrid.” Jake smiles as the drool is descending from Ryan’s mouth.Jake adds “Let’s go to my room now where you will strip for me and then I will fuck you”.

The end.

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