#which would defeat the whole purpose of me getting a tattoo

[mxltifxnd0m]

i’m having the feminine urge to do something drastic with my appearance :))

[intoloopin-archive]

A CHAPTER: THE SHARP AND THE BLUNT (PART 1/2).

tw(s): panic attack. dubious consent (haruki is very weird and forward about initiating sex!). alcohol abuse & alcoholism. semi-smut? (there is making out). miscommunication (a warning because I personally think it's constant and frustrating). insinuation and direct discussions of sexual trauma, abuse by a past partner, abuse of workplace power and stalking. internalized homophobia (in part one, a hint). If I missed anything, please tell me! starring: Lee Hanjae. Fukunaga Haruki. featuring: Dylan Hwang / Hwang Chihoon. Their fellow LOOPiN members (old OT10, no Gyujin, a lot of Beomseok). Delilah Franco. Oh Sunyoung. Choi Sangwon. Blonde Bob Piss Girl (a serious character).

timeline: quick flashback to 2018 | early to the end of mid 2022.

word count: 13,405 words. author's notes: welcome everyone to hanruki fuckery part 1 a.k.a the most frustrating and life draining four months in Hanjae's whole entire life a.k.a big sadness, the piece split into two. this one is over 23K long, and was originally intended to be read in one go but! It Got Too Big. The conclusion will be coming out later this week! prepare for a Haruki all in par with the one in the prologue, which falls in between this mess on the timeline. this is a work of a whole month, but it's also a work of two years: a whole central plot, planned and done. title's from this song! give it a listen once you get trought the bigger picture, maybe, for catharsis purposes. stay safe! remember you deserve to be safe, always!

November 12, 2018.

Hanjae had vowed not to cry anymore when he got this job – in the same vehement way he had promised at twelve that he would no longer make a sound if he wailed after school, face buried under piles and piles of unfinished homework, to medium success, just the right amount of it to call it success.

He could still tear up once in a while, if things got though, and that was it; a clause added after his first exhausting week as a trainee. The number escalated to once every two business days after he was shoved to debut on LOOPiN, out of all the upcoming boy groups there were.

There was a story taunting the New Wave Music corridors back then. Someone did something unspeakable to someone else, and it caused an expulsion, followed by the immediate need for a new rapper, a new dancer. And there was Hanjae; a BBC trainee for three months, far removed from the Boy Of The Week gossip, who couldn’t exactly sing but had great enunciation, and had been dancing before he was even walking…

He cried now, openly, defeated. It had been an awful day for LOOPiN 2on1.

Their short lived promotions had played out like a sunset: a big golden start – so much press, so much momentum, so many views on the ‘Baby Don’t Stop’ dance practice video, where he and Haruki were using plain shirts and even plainer jeans – quickly diluting into the darkest of times – the controversies, LOOPiN first ones, and exclusively about them.

A resurrected Facebook photo of Hanjae on his graduation with a bandage around his hand, matched with the lingering traces of his poorly removed tattoo there painted him as a school delinquent; Haruki’s drop out stories reintroduced him as the big drunken failure of KArts’s international program.

They were going to stop going to music shows, the company had decided that day, and Sangwon told them on the drive back that they had just done their last one. They had gone up on stage as a duo for the last last time.

With a strong sniff, Hanjae unburied his face from in between his knees and looked at his hand, at the faint shape of a badly drawn rose on his skin. His dad had been adamant about getting it out the moment he took a look at it, still involved in protective plastic. He used the little money off his college safe to arrange a laser session that Hanjae skipped. A year later, Hanjae managed to schedule another one with the partial sponsor of MBN, the company he was stuck on before BBC. He had to do it in a shady place, at a bigger cost: bad skin scarring.

His mom had been relieved to see it fade even more nonetheless, up until the black tattoo turned into something that almost looked like a peculiar and old scar, if you didn’t give it a second glance; and no one was ever giving Hanjae a second glance.

“Let that be a lesson,” she told him, nose turned up and away from him. “Don’t jump head on into things again, Lee Hanjae. That’s no way to live. Watch yourself, watch your company. You’re not a kid anymore. Do you have no goals? Do you want nothing for yourself? Are you that selfish? Can’t you think, for once, about something that isn’t–”

Haruki was the one who found him, sitting on the floor, small and tense against the laundry machine, waiting for everyone’s clothes to be cleaned – the member’s, Sangwon’s, the cleaning auntie's aprons she had forgotten on top of the dinner table last week. Cleaning was always his scapegoat way of attending to something, even if very small.

Maybe if the company decided to drop him, he thought, Hanjae could still be around as the dorm’s janitor.

“So you’re not from Seoul,” Haruki said, leaning against the door frame with an air of mischief around him, something light on his step despite it all.

It was a statement, not an ask, because he knew this. It was one of the few trivia points they had exchanged during pauses on music shows or water breaks in between choreography practice – ‘What’s your age? What’s your blood type? How many siblings? Oh, none? You’re so lucky, Hanjae, so lucky. All siblings are demons. You aren’t missing a thing.’

Hanjae didn’t even startle; Haruki often popped up at places like that, picking up conversations from days, weeks ago like they were merely put on pause.

Without uttering a word and barely looking up, he still nodded his head no.

Haruki nodded back, a pacifying smile showing up on his face, said, “Cool. Great. How about I show you a place?”

‘The place’, he informed Hanjae, was not all that nice, or clean, and he really shouldn’t wear nice shoes or nice clothes tonight, but at least it wasn’t far, at least they had permission.

“Who’s permission?” Hanjae asked, taking the pile of clothes to the dryer, smoothing wrinkles off them just for something to do.

Haruki waved manager Choi’s front keys in his hand, and Sangwon’s horrendous keychains clanked against each other: a green pine tree and a colorful ball. “The one that matters. What do you say, uh? You’re in? Can I count you in?”

He could count Hanjae in.

[...]

They stopped by a convenience store on the way, some couple of blocks down the dorm, and by then night had already conquered all of Seoul. Inside, the middle aged lady behind the counter rushed to give Haruki a hug, a paper bag and a discount.

“He’s a street cat I found,” she leaned in to explain when she caught Hanjae anxiously looking at him going straight to the back of the store, near the freezers, near the alcohol, with the ease of someone who could do so with his eyes shut. “He’s a good foreign friend.”

“I’m not!” Haruki shouted back, but he was grinning. “Are you not watching the news?”

The noona playfully rolled her eyes, joked back, “What news? You’re not on the news!”

She hushed Hanjae to go catch up with him with an enerved wave, told him to take a look around. “It’s on the house,” she winked. “You’re both so skinny, and you must be working hard, so just take something tasty and leave quickly.”

Trailing a couple feet behind Haruki on the aisle, Hanjae picked up a package of noodles and a modest four-set of Terra cans to accompany his endless Heineken bottles, light green on light green. While Hanjae bagged everything with caution, Haruki slipped a red won note on the balcony when the owner stopped paying attention to them, and off they went again.

Haruki made them walk ten more minutes to the left, and the left, the left again, coming to an abrupt stop in front of an abandoned lot, pure dirt and weeds, the sort that seemed to have turned into an open dump for the neighborhood. It looked no different or less disgusting than the million of others around less central Jungnang; it didn’t look like it could be a spot.

Yet Haruki kept braving straight through the grass without stopping, guiding Hanjae behind him to only step where he was stepping, to keep his eyes glued to the floor and watch out for broken glass. He settled when they were deep into the lot, mere feet away from a big hill. There was a clean view of an uneven street if you looked down, he said, filled with houses that were almost all pretty. Hanjae chose to just trust Haruki’s word on that; he couldn’t dare to come close enough to the drop to peek and see.

Haruki standed the bag of drinks for him to hold, and Hanjae had to do so with both hands. From a spot behind them, he pushed two retriable chairs out of a bulk set against a moldy tree, the metal in them corrupted by rust on the edges, and set them up, sat down, tapped at the other seat with his foot in invitation.

Hanjae took a long and anxious moment to comply. Under him, the chair dangled sideways even if he stayed very, very still.

With the convenience bag back in his domain, Haruki cracked three beers open, and handed Hanjae one, kept the other two: one in each hand, a Heineken and a Terra.

“Never had this one. I heard they’re the same thing,” he said, taking a sip from each and frowning, analyzing them. Hanjae stayed quiet.

He had only drank with his dad and uncles one time, at last year’s Chuseok, and hadn’t been much of a fan of anything. Still, he took a sip of beer.

Haruki at least had grace enough to let him swallow and contain a grimace before asking, with a strange edge to it, “So are you? A bully. A problem child. Part of a gang.”

“No,” Hanjae said, too quickly, too eager. He cleared his throat. “I’m really not, hyung, no.”

“How did it get there, then?” Haruki's look was razor sharp on Hanjae’s once tattooed hand, hard enough to make him freeze. “And why did you remove it? Just to be a trainee?”

Hanjae opened his mouth, but only to take a shaky breath in, swallow a bit more of bitter alcohol. In front of his fleeting eyes, Haruki eased just as quickly as he had hardened.

“Hanjae, we’re teammates now,” he told him. “I showed you my good spot. You can’t give me one word sentences anymore. You can’t lie.”

Hanjae considered this, and considered him from the corner of his eyes. Haruki was the LOOPiN member that Hanjae had come to know best, mostly because they didn’t have a choice, but still, he made an effort, he talked to him; he didn’t let Hanjae fall adrift. And he could have easily turned into an island: from the moment he had been transferred to New Wave, he had been an outsider, a last minute solution to a problem no one would explain to him – who left? Why? Was he worse than them? Was he better?

“You’re better,” Haruki had said, when Hanjae brought it up, late at night while they had dinner alone, in the practice room, sweating and panting – a week until their debut happened. He was the only one who had bothered to tell him so. He sounded like he meant it, too. Hanjae remembers catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror over his shoulder, hair bright brown and unfamiliar, thinking even for a fleeting moment: I’m doing enough.

It was fair for him to be the first to know – the first for Hanjae to disappoint.

“I got it removed before,” he heard himself say. It was a secret, so it came out like one: whispered, slow. “Before I wanted to train. I got it with friends– my dance crew friends. It was our logo, or at least, it was going to be, one day. But I… I did a bad thing, and it stopped making sense. It didn’t fit. I didn’t fit, so. It had to go.”

The vagueness did nothing but pique Haruki’s interest. He seated more properly, then less properly; ended up putting his feet on the seat of the chair, slouching with his head supported on his knee, the exact body language of, ‘Tell me, tell me, tell me.’

“My friend– my best friend, from childhood, our team captain. He used to have a girlfriend. A girl from our class, a dancer too, someone he had been in love with forever. Later she became part of the group, and we got close, we turned into friends, and then not. Not quite that. They broke up and one hour later we got together, on the same day. We got caught. It was a mess. Everyone thought it was a shitty thing to do, that it was cheating, cheating on everyone. But I just wanted her to be my girlfriend, back then– Back then, I wanted a girlfriend more than I wanted anything...”

Hanjae felt it coming, again: the desire to recoil a bit more on himself in shame. How pathetic he had been, then; how miserable, how sad, how lonely.

He took a timid peek to the side, ready to see an irk of dismay on Haruki’s face, some justified disgust, and was surprised to not see any of that. Haruki had grown passionate and invested in the whole story, something new in his eyes, a third bottle halfway drained in his hand.

He moved his chin up, as if saying, ‘Go on’, but Hanjae couldn’t. He drained the rest of the beer.

Haruki clicked his tongue like that wouldn’t do. He shoved his chair a few inches closer so he could grab at Hanjae's arm and said, all at once, “We can not– Hanjae, look, listen, we can not be blamed for all the things, the crazy things we do when love…!” He didn't finish the sentence, just amended it into another one: “You were a teenager, you both were, and very, very brave. Very brave to tell her and date her and keep dating her even if. They were just– bad friends. Just bad friends.”

They weren’t bad friends, Hanjae knew; they weren’t the ones in the wrong. But it hurted to say it out loud, to admit what he knew was still true: how easily he burned bridges for attention, for affection, so he never did. He just knew – looked at his reflection on surfaces and knew.

He rolled and rolled the tap of the Terra until it fell off, into the can. “Did you really quit college, hyung?” Was what he asked the wind.

Haruki shifted on his seat; Hanjae could only tell because of the way it creaked. “More like college quit me,” he said, with a sad huff of air that might have been a laugh, and dropped Hanjae’s arm, drank from his bottle too.

Sadness fell over them like a veil from then on. The Terras ended and Haruki didn’t mind sharing all the other stuff he had, and the longer it went on the less shy Hanjae felt about asking. At some point Haruki said, “I guess we really fucked up, uh – with 2on1,” and Hanjae, whipping a foam mustache off his face, “Minwoo’s not talking to me,” and Haruki, almost falling over with laugher, “Oh, my, I bet not! Ha. I bet not…”, and turned reticent, fell quiet.

His eyes, Hanjae had noticed, kept darting to a spot ahead in between conversation, beyond the drop of the hill, dazed. He violently shook his head sideways everytime he caught himself drifting too far away, and ran a hand over his face, rubbing at it in a way that made Hanjae look at him in worry.

Haruki found it hilarious each time. “What is it,” he eventually said, slower than normal, harder to understand, “With you, your face?”

He got up from his chair, a sudden move that sent it falling to the floor, a loud squeak, and walked even closer.

In front of Hanjae, right in front of him, he leaned forward until he got both his hands on his face, and said, pushing the corners of his mouth up, “The mood is so– Bad! So bad! Smile! Big smile! C’mon, give me a big smile!”

There had been dirt on Haruki’s hand, and Hanjae could vaguely taste it, with how close to his lips he was pressing. He still wore his inner braces back then; he kept cutting his tongue on the same spot, never healing, never telling, and he could feel the inside of his cheeks pressing onto that sharp place, about to be pierced through.

For a moment, they stayed quiet, looking at each other head on. Hanjae was not smiling. His heart had picked up a quick pace inside his chest, was drumming – Haruki was so close, and he was so beautiful, a true magazine type beauty, all symmetry, and Hanjae knew this, but not with this much conviction, not with so much emotion.

“Ah, you know what? I like you. I decided. I do like you, now…” Haruki said, and then he grinned, bringing his face even nearer. He took a breath and Hanjae felt it on his own nose, and didn’t know what to do about it; his mind, for a moment, went static. “Nothing will happen to you, friend. I promise it. ‘Will not let it.”

Hanjae’s held breath was a painful thing to let out of his chest. “Was something– Was something going to…?”

Haruki huffed a laugh and gave his cheeks two playful taps, said, with a new found determination, “Handsome guy. Do not get sad. I will fix this for you,” and let Hanjae’s face go.

He straightened his back up and swayed slightly to the side, running a hand over his hair, fixing his bangs back into place. Haruki told him, “Late. No booze. Night over”, and extended that same hand for Hanjae to take – Hanjae who still felt like his face had gone numb, blood rushing to it.

He took the hand, and they made their way back to the dorm that way, hanging close; Like magnets, Hanjae remembers thinking, idly, and then not idly at all. Haruki’s hands were leaving behind a pressure everywhere they touched, a heat that Hanjae couldn’t shake off – he just couldn’t shake it off.

Later, when Hanjae layed in bed, sheet drawn over his entire body, he could still feel it. When he woke up the morning after, nauseated but still in the group, still safe, he could still feel it.

If he closes his eyes now, right now, he can still feel it – the sad sort of burn of a premonition misread.

January 13, 2022.

Los Angeles is sunny in a way Haegon would love to see and pretend to hate – a saddening thought Hanjae had since they landed, and that comes back to haunt him while he looks at the city passing by on the van’s window, sidewalks all golden.

Haegon’s not a loud person in his eyes, but his absence is a loud thing, pouring the life out of everyone, mostly because of the way it had been forced on them.

It had been a horrifying way to open the year: having to come forward right on the first day of 2022 to the press, headlining Haegon’s mugging and the accident, his follow up hiatus and excuse out of their ‘We Do’ promotions in the USA. And then there was having to deal with Haegon in private, angry and disappointed, not wanting to take his pain medicine, shoving his room’s door in everyone's faces, dismissing every checkup attempt with an annoyed, “It’s just a minor concussion, what the Hell! I’m not fucking dying! Get the fuck off me, I’m fine, get off, just fuck off already to the States without me! Go on! Just– just leave me already!”

They’re driving out of some media company studio around the center of Los Angeles, where they filmed two twenty minute videos in a roll, more embarrassing games than actual interviews, and Hanjae has already spent all of his ability to mend English words together.

It could have been more fun, one of their staff said, but they had to pass on the puppy interview format because of Taesong’s allergies, and Jiahang’s been dead set on pretending to be sad about it during the entire ride back to the hotel; crocodile tears and all.

Hanjae has to deal with him from the last seat on the far opposite side of the van, resting his fried blonde head against his shoulder, sighing loudly, because Dylan is also not here to amuse him – he took a bus home to Santa Monica and will stay home until they leave in two days time.

Hanjae doesn’t like provoking Taesong, doesn’t like to spoil Jiahang, but that means very little in the grand escape of the group, that goes about poking fun of Taeng like it’s a sport, that’s stuck in a position where they really can’t say no to J.J, who owns company shares; he shoots the meek figure of Taesong an apologetic look as Jiahang’s act carries on, trying to tell him: ‘I’m not a part of this, I just don’t know how to stop it.’

Thankfully, the hotel isn’t that far away, and it’s a quick torture – up until things takes a turn for the worse.

As they park and start to step out, Beomseok’s long arm blocks the door before he and Jiahang can put a single leg outside of the car.

“Stop,” he tells J.J, harsh enough to make Hanjae stumble a step back. Beomseok points a finger right at Jiahang’s face, and inch from touching his nose, says, “Stop being a fucking problem. Stop.”

It makes Jiahang livid, turns his ears bright red. He takes long stomps to the elevator, and Hanjae has to jog to keep up with him – Jiahang really has the longest legs Hanjae has ever seen on a person.

“He’s got such a stick up his ass!” He keeps on saying, barging into the room they’re both sharing with Dylan and Zhiming – angrily tossing his bag into his ‘cheap dollar store bed with the cheap dollar store sheets’ that made him go into a very similar rant last night. “He thinks he’s the only one who cares about Gon, the only one who can bother. He’s so wrong. I’m fucking worried too! I’m calling him too! I miss him! I’m more of a friend to him than that weirdo is. He’s so weird. He thinks he owns Haegon and everyone and everything, just because he’s older, just because he trained for like, one billion years! Like it’s my fault Starship thought he was too ugly to join NO.MERCY!”

“You were being annoying, Jiahang,” O.z deadpans from the corner he’s tucked in, without looking up from his manhwa.

Jiahang grunts louder. “Yeah, that was the point. Taesong knows I’m just joking around! Everyone knows!”

Zhiming lowers the comic from his face, flipping a page. His eyes have deep dark circles behind his thick glasses, marks that never go away. “Unnecessary.”

Jiahang rolls his eyes, putting his hair up on an ugly bun. He turns his back to Zhiming’s bed and mouths at Hanjae, mocking, ‘Unnecessary’.

Hanjae shrugs at him, and that annoys J.J too. He angrily puts on a movie on the tiny TV, gets a hold of his bed’s pillow and wraps himself around it, mumbling something under his breath still. The tags on the streaming app read comedy, musical. He chews on a poor nail while humming along the first song, and Hanjae tries to humor him with a tiny, “Is that Ariana Grande sunbaenim?”

It doesn’t work. Jiahang shoves his face into his pillow and says, miserable and muffled, “I can’t do this anymore. I can’t hang around with you, you’re so lame. I miss Dylan so much.”

“He invited you to go with him,” Hanjae says, helplessly. “You said you didn’t want to.”

“Of course I didn’t want to! I would have to sleep on the floor. In a bag, on the floor. And I don’t think his grandma would like me – I don’t think anyone in his family would like me,” he turns his face around, off the pillow. Hanjae can hear clearly when he says, “He needs time alone with them. For the anxieties.”

“The anxieties?” Hanjae asks him, very slowly.

Jiahang presses his mouth shut tight, straights himself up again. He undoes his ponytail, tosses his long, long hair from one side to the other, behind his ears.

He takes a quick look at Zhiming, and Hanjae does too, and they go by uncaught; O.z’s got his big headphones in now, eyes glued to his comic book.

Jiahang is still careful to whisper, “The rest of you don’t get what it's like, when you’re away from your home every day, when you know all the people you’re going to see aren’t all the ones you know – when you got family that’s like, old, and you know that time’s passing. You’re losing days with them. It gets scary, after a while. Dylan’s grandad will be 82 this year, hyung – that’s a terrifying number, that’s a maybe. That’s the anxiety. Mine, his– Zhiming’s, too. Foreign member anxiety.”

Hanjae nods, sharp. Jiahang makes a face at him, brighter – smiles, says like a tease, “Not Haruki’s, though. Haruki doesn’t miss Japan at all, if that’s what you’re wondering. He’s not anxious about that.”

Hanjae blinks. Opens his mouth, closes it, blinks again. “I wasn’t going to ask–” 

“Sure thing. Suuuuure,” J.J says slyly, and goes back to watching TV, and Hanjae does too. Gulps, keeps looking at the movie, tries to pay attention.

Jiahang put on korean subtitles for him, yet he keeps talking – explaining everything. It’s a nice enough movie, he says. Good songs, nice enough movie.

They’re reaching the end of it, seeing every main character gather in a protest around town, when Haruki barges into their room.

“Are any of you not gonna rot inside this hotel?” He asks, loudly, quickly. “Is anyone going to do anything? Catch some sun?”

“Hanjae’s supposed to be going out,” Zhiming tells him. He’s also watching the movie now, has Jiahang by his side, explaining to him what he missed.

“Oh?” Haruki says, and looks around the room, eyes a little clouded, until they land on Hanjae. He smiles, and it stretches across his face quick and big, like he’s actually glad to see him, like the effect is instantaneous. Hanjae can’t for the life of him look at it head on. “Perfect. That’s just perfect, I’m going with you, Hanhan, just wait for me to get changed!”

“Okay,” Hanjae says, and hops off the bed too quickly, sits back down. “I– Waiting.”

Immediately after Haruki leaves Jiahang gives him a long look over Zhiming’s shoulder, and Hanjae pretends not to see it.

“You’re too easy,” he says, with a disapproving nod of his head, and Hanjae pretends he doesn’t hear it, pretends it doesn’t sting.

It’s humiliating, being reminded that people know – that they look at him and know, and he’s reminded of it constantly.

“Hanjae’s sad, sad bisexual awakening,” was how Jiahang put it, sing-a-song in the studio, while making this very single they’re promoting now. “Worse, worse than Minwoo’s– Is that a verse? Can we put that on a song, on the album?”

Minwoo said, for the two of them, “Fuck you.”

And there that one time, the one he remembers clearly, when Seo CEO said he wanted to sit down to watch them practicing ‘Love Me Right’ before the big release, and Taesong pushed Hanjae aside, told him, “Hanjae, you– if you need to check the choreo, please look at the instruction video. Don’t look at Haruki like that, there’s no need to look like you–”

There had to be a separation, he realized; he had to get it under control.

So Hanjae made friends with the people Haruki seemed to not stand, which sometimes meant everyone, but mostly meant J.J and Beomseok – two extremes of very opposite lines. He’s built a line of separation, wrapped himself up in Haruki repellent, and he tries to live by it.

It’s a frail line, a shitty line, and it comes crashing down all the time, with the little moments; single minutes where things feel kind between them, different. A bottle of water and a perfectly folded towel passed to him backstage, a group conversation where Haruki eventually says, like clockwork, “And you, Hanjae? What do you think?”; no one else says that. There’s this lingering nearness coming from him, like there's always something Haruki wants to say or do but can’t, something he wants to check.

It makes Hanjae wonder – makes him come back to that one friendly night, hang on to it. The way Haruki had been so near, his exact tone of voice when he said that he liked him, considered him a friend, thought he was handsome, was going to fix whatever was wrong.

[...]

“So what are we doing?” Haruki asks when they step onto the sidewalk.

“Just filming my Loop Log,” Hanjae responds. “Deadline’s tonight.”

“Shit, that,” Haruki groans, taking his cap off to push hair out of his eyes, putting it on again. “I forgot all about that. ‘Haven’t filmed mine either. ‘Think I lost my camera.”

“I can help you look,” Hanjae offers. “When we get home.”

“Well, thank you,” Haruki says, and steps closer, slides an arm over Hanjae’s shoulder, tells him, “For now, I guess we’ll just have to stick tight. LOOPiN 2on1, reunited in L.A…!”

At Hanjae’s timid request, Chihoon made him a list of what he should get to ‘live his best tourist life’, what the fans might want to see him try: pancakes, bacon and eggs, ice cream, anything in the menu that looks like it could have come off a cartoon, any ‘house specials’.

They go into the nearest place listed with the camera on hand, and have to explain with their Frankenstein English that they want to make a vlog, can they make a vlog? They can, a waiter says, but only in a specific area; they get taken there.

Hanjae orders the house special, and it's a crazy looking Banana Split. Haruki settles for waffles, and they decide to start filming when the food arrives.

Any chance of small talk between them goes fully stall when Hanjae asks, right at their waiter steps away, as the opening topic: “Have you talked to Haegon?”

Haruki’s dangling hand on the table stills. He smiles weird, notices it looks weird, drops it: “Ah, no. No…” and goes silent, makes Hanjae go silent too.

The food comes, they start filming. Hanjae’s meticulously trying to extract a tiny piece of strawberry from a block of ice cream, all while only looking through the camera’s lens, when Haruki’s phone jumps to life, ringing.

He takes it out of his pocket, places it screen flat on the table without looking at the receiver once, mutes it with one hand, adds a mountain of maple syrup to his food with the other.

“Not important,” Haruki reassures Hanjae when he catches him looking at the buzzing phone, an inch away from falling off the edge. He forks the food and stands his hand across the table, says, with his Idol voice, “Wanna try?”

It’s good sweet food, all of it. The camera goes back and forth between them, hand to hand. Haruki makes him pretend they’re shooting a commercial, at some point, makes him do a different pose with every bite, and Hanjae tries to not lose control of his face with all the wooing, all the praise.

It’s fanservice, and Haruki’s good at it. It makes for good content. Everything: good.

Outside, bill paid, they take shelter from the sun and check the recording; thirty raw minutes of footage.

“Hanjae,” Haruki says, looking up after skimming the video, solemn. Hanjae leans a bit forward, eyes a little wide.“The Log will turn out very boring if this is all we do.”

It is, indeed, not the best vlog Hanjae’s ever made. Not that he’s ever been any good at them, or at anything on the media side of the job outside of music covers or choreography making. He’s seen the views on his solo variety content, Sangwon walked him through them all last month, said: nothing special.

They barely talked in 30 minutes – Hanjae didn't initiate a single conversation with him.

Quickly, Haruki’s eyes narrow as he scans the area around them, and Hanjae tries to keep up. He looks for a long moment at the barracks of food, at a man selling balloons, and finally lands far ahead, on a group of kids running on the sand. The leading one trips on air and falls face first on the ground, immediately wails, and they let out matching startled, horrified laughs.

Haruki jogs until he’s in front of him, and turns to walk backwards, closer to where the sidewalk gives into the beach.

“You wanna do that?” He arches a perfect eyebrow. “Run around on the beach with me. Like we’re in a movie.”

Hanjae steps on a stone, lands his other feet on the ground wrong. “I– No.”

“No? Well, I’m doing it! It’s what the vlog’s missing! Trust me, if we do this, it’ll fix everything,” he says, and before Hanjae can even think of what to reply, turns around and starts running on the sand, straight ahead.

Haruki’s already bent over near the ocean when Hanjae catches up with him, folding his jeans until they stop at his knees, barefoot. He insists: “Let’s go, let’s do it, you’re already here, it’s going to be fun, the fans will like it, let’s do it, let’s do it!”

With a resigned sigh, Hanjae unties his sneakers.

Haruki approaches a family nearby and asks for a beach chair, gets a yes. They place the camera cautiously on it, set it with a big zoom ahead. Haruki leaves his phone there, too, with a careless toss, and Hanjae can hear it announcing another call as he steps away, trailing exactly behind him – footprint over footprint, back near the ocean and then on the ocean.

“I thought– Hyung, I thought we were going to just walk,” Hanjae says, stopping. The salt water is a chill foam around his foot.

“Yeah,” Haruki flashes him a smile over his shoulder. He’s about to be knees deep, is taking his Hawaiian shirt off, Hanjae realizes now, with a flush. “We’re walking. Into the water.”

Hanjae catches the shirt when he throws it over his shoulder, looks at it, up at him. He takes a step closer. “Manager Choi’s– Haruki, he’s going to complain!”

“Fuck him!” Haruki tells him with a laugh. He says, with meaning: “Fuck him, fuck New Wave, let them complain, I’m going for a dive and no one can stop me!”

And then he dives, swims, disappears under the water for a long moment. Hanjae stays planted where he is, at a loss of words. When Haruki reemerges, pushing a curtain off black hair off his eyes, and walks back splashing water at him. By the time they’re side by side again, it looks like Hanjae took a dive, too.

“Are you…” He starts to say, eyeing Haruki worryingly, but then the family from before calls back to them, says they’re leaving, they need the chair back, and Haruki claps him on the shoulder, smiles widely, races him to reach them.

“Look,” Haruki says when they’re checking the footage, back on the sidewalk, showing Hanjae a clip: the two of them, a little blurry, walking. “We even got your good smile.”

“My good smile?” Hanjae echoes.

“Not to imply you have a bad one, because you don’t have a bad one,” Haruki says, and bumps their shoulders together. He has just put his shirt back on, is wearing it unbuttoned. “You just have one that’s relaxed, easy. A rare one.”

“Hm,” Hanjae responds, looking away, rolling a rock under his feet.

The walk back to the hotel is calm, windy. The sky’s cotton candy pink and it all looks like a movie, Hanjae thinks. He looks down, and their hands are loose, hanging close, like it would be in a movie.

The end credits roll when they get in the hotel’s lobby, and find Sangwon there – just right there. He catches sight of them immediately, like an alert dog; a quick jump off his seat, a stall near.

He seems to consider them like an equation, frowning: he takes in their wet hair, the wet clothes, the leftover traces of sand, solves it, fumes.

“Do you have any idea,” he says, and he’s struggling to look at the two of them, to not just gawk at Haruki – to not bare his teeth to Haruki only. “Any idea, you two, of how irresponsible this whole stunt was? You’re out on a foreign land. You know no one – no one. When I– The company, if the company calls, you pick your phone. It’s how it works. Pick your phone, immediately.”

Hanjae checks his own phone, a quick glance: no calls.

“Choi-nim,” he says, not looking directly at him, because he lost the ability over the years. Sangwon’s gaze now makes him incredibly anxious. He takes the camera out of where its hanging around his neck, stands it. “I notified– On the calendar, I added– We were just filming–”

“No need to explain, Hanjae,” Haruki interrupts, and puts a hand on Hanjae’s shoulder, steps in front of him, puts himself between him and Sangwon. “Go up. You did nothing wrong. It’s okay. Hyung’s going to solve this with the manager.” He turns straight to Choi-nim and bows, so pristine, so polite: “I take full responsibility for today. It was all me. I’m really sorry if I caused you stress.”

Sangwon considers him for a long moment, taking in the bend of his elbows, like he’s trying to measure his sincerity – there’s almost none of it, Hanjae can tell. He sighs, and then he adjusts his shirt, picks at the cufflinks of his uniform, breaths – his nostrils taking over his entire face.

“You’re dismissed,” Sangwon tells Hanjae, icely, with a corner of the eye glance.

“Sir, I–”

“Dismissed.”

“Go on,” Haruki encourages him, giving Hanjae’s shoulder a firm tap. And then he runs a hand over Hanjae’s hair, messes it up until his wet bangs are glued to his forehead, which he’s never done before; not with him, not with anyone, as far as Hanjae’s aware.

Hesitantly, Hanjae steps away, goes to take the elevator. He keeps looking at them over his shoulder, watching them trail away with growing uneasiness. Haruki keeps looking back at him until he can’t: Sangwon gets the door of the hotel open, shoves him by the shoulder out.

Up in his hotel room, Hanjae showers for a long time. There’s sand on a spot on his elbow where Haruki gave him a tap, and it takes him a while to notice.

He comes off the shower and goes straight to laying down. Zhiming, who had been awake when he came in, is also in his bed now, fully still.

He turns over once, and then again, goes back on his side. “Zhiming hyung?” Hanjae whispers. “You’re awake?”

When Zhiming finally responds, it’s with a minimal grunt, a tiny quick of his socked foot. “What.”

“Do you,” Hanjae chews on the words, “Do you think I have a good smile?”

A pause, a loud sigh. “You’re an Idol. You should hope so.”

“Okay. Okay, so what about– What about me do you think, what looks bad?”

Slowly, very slowly, Zhiming raises his upper body on his elbows. His air is a mess, recently dyed from gray to black too quickly. Without his glasses, he’s forced to squint at Hanjae, even this close, with their beds separated by a very narrow space.

“What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Hanjae takes in a sharp breath, and nods – puts a hand over his eyes, nods again. Stupid, so stupid.

“Nothing,” He says. “Nothing, just– Forget it. I’m sorry, just– Sorry.”

Zhiming goes back to laying down with a loud ‘oof’. He says, a crude whisper, “Don’t go out alone with him if it’ll make you come back like that.”

And with that Hanjae decides he must sleep, immediately, and end this day already.

It was just a day, he tells himself, rubbing at the scarred spot on his hand; a flower in eternal bloom, once. Just one good day. Drop it, forget it, erase it.

February 15, 2022.

“C’mon, you guys, c’moooon! On a scale of one to ten–”

“Na Seungsoo,” Minwoo’s voice rings out like a warning; an elastic pulled far above its limit, about to snap back into place, hard. “Shut your goddamn mouth.”

“She’s right there,” Haegon adds, equally as ultraged. “Are you dumb? Do you want to die?”

“Light up, you two. We’re just talking hypotheticals. I’m not actually gonna fuck our mananger,” Seungsoo says, crossing his arms, raising his chin high – his posture the embodiment of a practical joke about to take action. “That would be desperate and unprofessional, and I am none of these things.”

“You’re extremely unprofessional,” Jiahang laughs at him, a little mean – all his laughs have something a little mean about them, Hanjae can’t help but notice, when Seungsoo’s involved. “And extremely desperate. You just fucked our sound assistant. We no longer have a sound assistant, because you fucked her.”

“So did Jimin!”

“A fluke,” Zhiming defends himself. “Not happening again.”

“It’s never a fluke with you, Seungsoo. You’re such a man whore. A man whore for staff. Even Sangwon could have pulled you when he was around if he had a pair of tits,” Haegon notes, and Seungsoo gasps, mutters, scandalized, ‘You bastard!’, raises a fist up as if he’s going to hit him, and everyone’s laughing. Hanjae contributes with a grimace. “You’re that gross, you’re really that disgusting, all it would take–”

Behind them, Dylan begins to violently choke on a bite out of his granola bar, hard enough for the whole photo studio to freeze.

Taesong stands up immediately to check on him, and so does Jungwha, their three day old manager, Choi Sangwon’s definitive substitute and the topic of Seungsoo’s most recent infatuation: she rushes forward to aid alongside an assistant, a cup of water materialized out of thin air on her hand, like a trained lifeguard.

It’s too early for any of them to get a good read on her, but Hanjae has working eyes, so he will admit Junghwa is good looking in a mature sort of way, a bit above the ‘K-Pop staff adequate’. She’s not far from Seungsoo’s type, given the fact that he pretty much doesn’t have one. Hanjae has seen him flirt with Seo CEO’s third ex-wife, the second ex-wife, all of Minwoo’s half sisters and, in a disastrous attempt, Dylan’s mom. ("She's just so young, Chihoon! I thought she was your cousin!"

"I don't have a single cousin and you know that! You went for my mom, you animal, the least you can do is own it!")

“Holy shit, Chihoon,” Seungsoo says, tapping him on the back with one hand, fanning him with the other. “You’re alright?”

“My bad– False alarm, guys, my bad–!”, Dylan mutters, still coughing, watery eyes quick in their attempt to scan the room for something, someone.

Hanjae follows their frantic trail until they land on the quiet figure of Haruki by the coffee machine, his back to them, shoulders rigid and on display – wearing the same suit outfit Hanjae has been put on, his in a shade more close to purple than blue.

It fits Haruki splendidly, as must things do.

“Alright, boys, hey, boys!” Jungwha calls out when Dylan’s lungs go back to normal, clapping her hands one loud time. “Break’s over! It’s the real deal, now! So let’s try to have a good day at work today! Fighting!”

They’re set to scatter in trios and duos, the old unit formations, except for Haegon, who’s still on hiatus, still has stitches all over the crown of his head. He only made it because Haruki insisted, and he’s always insisting, lately: “How can we do well without our cheerleader,” he told Haegon in the morning, “Our cute, adorable cheerleader, my very favorite little brother–!”

“Hi,” Hanjae mutters, tapping Haruki gently in the shoulder. Haruki jumps, catching his breath, and Hanjae drops his hand, shoves it behind his own back. “Ah, sorry, if I– I was just going to say we should–”

But Haruki is turning and splinting in front of him before all the words are out, growing out of earshot, out of hold, entering a hallway on the left.

Hanjae, embarrassed, follows.

They’re supposed to go to room 4, but Haruki walks right past it. Hanjae calls back to him from the door, says, “Hyung, that’s not the–”, and then his voice falters, dies out.

Haruki’s already quick pace has grown even quicker, and he’s now running towards the door at the end of the corridor, the one with a red sign written ‘TERRACE’ over it – really running, to the point his body almost slams against the metal when he stops. The door handle makes a loud noise as he tries to push it open, can’t make it, tries again, harder – manages to step out with a strong shove. Hanjae goes after him, frowning, worried.

Outside, the terrace is a gray space, almost the same tone as the sky – rain’s a strong promise on the horizon, a reasonable fear.

Haruki’s standing right at the center. He tries to take in a big and loud gulp of air, can’t, makes a choking sound, lets out a hiss. Hanjae can feel the acute panic coming off him like electricity, gluing itself to his very own skin. He reminds himself to breathe.

Haruki stands an arm out and that’s the distance between them, that’s the nearest he’ll let Hanjae get.

“What’s– What’s happening, what’s wrong, what–?”

“Just,” he’s trembling bad. “Leave, I need– Leave.”

“Now?” Hanjae asks, and he’s making himself bite down on the trail of: ‘But the shoot’, ‘But the gig’, ‘But the job’ so hard, he’s actually got his teeth sinking on his lip.

Haruki nods, sharp and final, and Hanjae feels himself nodding back, frenetic. “Okay, stay– stay here, okay, you’ll leave– we’re leaving, just stay here.”

Hanjae walks back into the building with his head very low, tries to not walk too quickly to bring attention to himself, feels like he’s falling; feels like the whole world is looking at him. He holds his breath while sneaking back into the room they’re using as a closet, picks his and Haruki’s things like a thief: pushing everything into their bags without folding, eyes anxiously looking behind his back, flinching at every outside noise coming through the door.

Haruki’s phone is the last thing he grabs. He only becomes aware of it because it starts ringing. He looks at the screen, a quick run of his eyes. The contact name reads: ‘Don’t Answer Don’t Answer Don’t Answer.’

On the roof, Haruki’s sitting on the floor, resting his forehead against the wall. The back half of an air conditioner hangs close to him, and the leftover water pools near his feet, turning the hem of his pants dark.

They put on the yellow raincoats, plastic hood all the way up, and make a clumsy escape out the studio; Hanjae babbles something at the receptionist about there being equipment in the van, and the woman gives them a distracted ‘go ahead’ nod, an empty courtesy smile.

They walk without a plan, enter on the first bus that stops close: Haruki on the lead, completely reticent, Hanjae only following. There’s still a trail of glitter going down his neck, shiny with sweat, red from stress, Hanjae notices when they sit down. He’s still crying, still whipping at his runny nose with the expensive fabric of his shirt.

Hanjae looks down at his own clothes, the suit vest with no shirt under, a design piece New Wave doesn’t own – he’s wearing eyeliner, a strong smokey eye. They look expensive, and to an outsider, probably peculiar, weird. They don’t even have masks on…

Maybe, Hanjae hopes, trying to hold on to any trail of optimism possible, they could pass as very dedicated cover dancers, maybe–

The sound of Hanjae’s phone ringing makes them both jump in their seats. Haruki comes out of his state of anxious inertia to put a hand on his knee, pressing on it to get his attention. He says, through his teeth, “Do not– Hanjae, do not.”

Hanjae lets the phone ring out. He looks at the receiver: Uhm Junghwa (Manager).

Haruki’s peeking at it too. “Off,” he says, and it’s off.

It’s raining when they step out of the bus. They get maybe five feet down the sidewalk when a phone rings again – this time, Haruki’s. He comes to a sudden halt, and Hanjae bumps into his back and gets a close view of how, in an act of blind rage, he throws it hard on the floor.

“Fuck!” Haruki says, and steps on it once, twice, cracks the screen then the whole device in half. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Hanjae looks at him, wide eyed, mouth hanging open, and watches him pace around, a tense moment, until he loses all steam, goes sit by the closest wall.

Haruki stays for a long time there, one hand gripping the fence, the other pressing over his face, being rained on. Cautiously, Hanjae slides his raincoat off, squats down, close to him, and stands it over both their heads. Rain drips directly into his shoulder, makes a cold path down his neck.

“I hope your–,” a hiccup, a sniff, a faint and unconvincing attempt from Haruki of laughing them both off, “your fantasy’s still– still up.”

“My…?”

“Can you not,” Haruki says, a hiss, “Not look.”

Hanjae complies, doesn’t look. Behind them, a car runs close to the sidewalk, splashes a wave of rainwater on their backs.

“Sasaeng?” Hanjae tries, “Is it a sasaeng, or…”

Haruki lets out a bitter snort. “Imja,” he says, and it makes more sense that he means ‘owner’ rather than ‘marriage partner’; Hanjae can’t hear anything else, can’t connect anything else to something he knows and decode it.

His throat has gone dry, sandy. He clears it, and still, his voice comes off clipped. “Your…? Ah. Ah, I didn’t know– Didn’t know you have someone you were–”

“You know him,” Haruki says. “For years. You– you’ve known him. He gave you your job– Made your job happen.”

It takes a long moment for it to click, for the shape of manager Choi to come to Hanjae’s mind. Haruki’s looking at him like he’s expecting Hanjae to do something horrible: mouth set for a fight, eyes so red they look like they’ve been painted over.

“Hyung,” Hanjae breathes. His voice is an even quieter thing, afraid. “Do you mean– Are you being serious?”

“Am I! Am I serious?!”

He’s up again, quick – Hanjae loses his equilibrium and falls back on the street. Haruki doesn’t wait for him to get up to resume stomping.

It takes two street turns for Hanjae to understand they’re detouring from the dorms.

They sit on another bus stop bench, hop on another bus. A quiet and tense drive, this one. Haruki’s no longer crying, just grinding his teeth.

They go to the front gates of a tiny building, their final destination, and Haruki tells the security guard an apartment number, wais to be buzzed in. He does soon, and Hanjae, yet to be told to leave, goes up with him on the stairs.

Delilah gets the door he bangs on, and Hanjae’s stuck blinking at the sight of her, who shouldn’t still be in Korea. Haruki barges into her place like a hurricane: shoes still on, pushing her a little back, closer to the wall.

They both stare at the spot he occupied on the corridor a second ago, a held breath.

She recovers much quicker than he does. Deh tucks a long lock of her caramel hair behind her ear, greets him with an awkward, “Hanjae, hi. Hi...”, and Hanjae gets overwhelmed by too many things at once; how glad he is to see her, the shame of how they had parted. Her sad face when she told everyone she couldn’t stand to work with them anymore.

“You’re back.”

“I am! I am back!” Deh says. “How could I not! Europe’s too gray for me. The food’s too bad, and...” She sucks air through her teeth, takes an anxious look behind her, back inside. “... And all that.”

Hanjae shakes his head, agrees – agrees to all that even though he has no idea what all that is. There’s a pool of spit on his mouth, and he has to concentrate on gulping it down, has to try more than once.

“Hanjae, baby, look– I’ll send him on his way later. Maybe tonight. Or tomorrow morning. Just…” She trials off. “Please don’t tell the others we met, okay? I don’t want Seungsoo looking for me or asking around. I don’t want to see him again, ever.”

Fair, Hanjae thinks. After everything, fair.

Deh flashes him a final grim before closing the door, still awkward, and it doesn’t last. She drops it for a split second, fully drops it, looks instead concerned, anxious.

Hanjae waits a moment, then moves before he knows it. He presses his ear against the shut door, closes his eyes and hopes to catch anything. A creek of wood. A vacuum cleaner being turned off. The sound of someone channel surfing. Deh saying what might be, “Haruki, what do you want me to do? I can’t know, love. I can’t know if you don’t tell me.”

Another sound drowns everything, nearer. Someone from the apartment on the left starts to unlock their door, it’s about to walk out, and it leaves Hanjae panicking, it makes him jog all the way out of the building, nonstop.

He makes the inverse way back home, alone. His own phone is a hot thing in his back pocket. When he gets to the dorm, Chihoon is the first person he bumps into, planted right beside the shoe rack. Hanjae’s seen him in this set of clothes, short shorts and a knockoff Pokemon shirt, more than he’s seen his own dad’s face these last few years.

Dylan grabs at Hanjae when he notices it’s him, pushes him back out quickly. He puts a finger in front of his mouth – quiet.

“I’ve given you some cover,” he whispers. They’re circling the house, Hanjae realizes, going to the backyard. “Said you were not feeling well. It won’t fly with Minwoo or Taesong, so think of something. And you're not gonna get paid this month, because of the clothes. Neither of you will.” He looks around, eyes sharp in a way Hanjae didn’t think they could be. “Where is he?”

“Deh’s,” Hanjae blurts out, and remembers he promised not to speak of her, grows meek.

He’s tired, deep in the bones tired, from all the walking, all the running. The socks inside his sneakers are still wet, his fingers have gone cold.

“Good,” Dylan says, remarkably unsurprised. “That’s good enough.”

There’s a moment of silence between them. In Hanjae’s head, a pinned image every time he blinks: Haruki’s eyes, red like a bruise.

“Chihoon hyung, I think– I think there’s something wrong with–”

Dylan’s grip on his arm is steady, but no longer comforting when he says, “Hanjae, listen, yes. Yes. Something’s wrong. Too many things–” He shakes his head, clicks his tongue once, and again. “No need for you to worry about it, because there’s nothing you can really do, okay? It’s been too long, now. The time for anyone to really do anything, over.”

He looks like he doesn’t want to be saying it, like all those words taste bitter, bad.

“So just keep being nice,” Dylan concludes, and his voice breaks at the end. “Be nice with him right now, alright? And patient, and normal, just like always, and…”

Dylan doesn’t say what else. He looks down, and Hanjae follows. Near their feet, a trail of black nicotine ash and tiny bits of paper; someone’s worry, someone’s wait.Kind, maybe, Hanjae concludes on his own. Maybe kind was what he was going to say.

March 12th & a Bit Of 13th, 2022.

Sunyoung immediately strikes Hanjae as someone who’s never held a small house party before, and it’s a bit painful to see her try.

She greets them at the door, a little overdressed: Chanel earrings, Chanel bag. “Is that everyone?”, she asks, craning her neck to peek behind them, and when they mumble ‘yes’ she visibly withers.

Taesong steps in front of them to give her a gift – a flower vase so yellow Zhiming had to look away from it, rubbing at his eyes.

She stares at it for a minute, frowns hard, then composes herself, says, “Ah! Thank you so much, oppa! This is so– Yeah, thanks! But you didn’t have to! Gon, baby! I said they didn’t have to!”

“I told you they don’t listen to me,” Haegon mutters. There’s a dark cloud over his face and Sunyoung seems to not mind it. She squeezes his arm when he passes her by, smiles at him prettily. 

She checks the corridor one more time, and for a moment Hanjae thinks she looks sad; that she looks angry.

The party is a housewarming party for the brand new double storey apartment in Nine One Hannam she’s sharing with her BombShell leader Yoorim, who strongly opposed herself to throwing anything. Hanjae catches a glimpse of her looking displeased and bothered behind the kitchen aisle, and bows his head a little – she rolls her eyes, turns her back on him, disappears behind a small group of people.

Beomseok refused to come, decided to take the afternoon to go grocery shopping, the night to visit family he can’t take Haegon to see; the side that calls him a parasite. It had been a clear jab, right at Haegon’s face. Even Minwoo thought it was insensitive, and his response to the invite had been nothing but a disgusted face that spelled out ‘no’.

Hanjae watches him move through the living room, greeting some people. Haegon’s been here yesterday, and the day before that, and if Hanjae’s not cautious, he’ll stay over despite their early shooting tomorrow.

“That old man put you on babysitting duty, eh, Hanhan?” Seungsoo leans in to whisper to him, somehow with a drink in hand – white wine. The smell of his cologne is already stuck to the collar of Hanjae’s bottom up by osmosis.

“He’s just concerned. It makes sense to be concerned.”

On their first day back from L.A, Haegon had announced over dinner that he now had a girlfriend: they met last week, and had been dating for three days. The situation had driven Beomseok crazy. Haegon asked if him if wanted to meet her every day for two weeks straight, and he said: no. He eventually got around to meet her and said with even more conviction: no, break up, now.

It’s an age gap, even if very small, but she’s about five years his industry senior, he told Hanjae. And Sunyoung’s from YG Entertainment, the face of too many brands. She’s going to eat him alive, spit him out, leave him heartbroken and Beomseok is going to have to deal with it, and he doesn’t want to have to deal with it.

“She can just like him. People can just like him,” Taesong tried to intervene, high pitched, and Beomseok cutted him off right away, said, “No. No, there’s something– Be serious, Taesong. No.”

The front door dings again, and it takes a long minute for Haegon to untangle his arms from Sunyoung’s waist and let her go get it. Hanjae watches her walk across the house, a firm walk of a supermodel, of someone important, and gets embarrassed with how bad he is at this, how obvious.

Another glimpse her way, and the person with their two feet planted on the ‘welcome home’ carpet is Haruki. He also said he wouldn’t come but gave no excuse, yet: here, dressed nicely. He’s got the same convenience store from years ago under one arm, the one from a memory.

They talk, talk, talk, and he still won’t leave the entrance. Haruki makes her laugh, the most genuine thing Hanjae’s seen Sunyoung do all night. He sees her look at him, look around, then lean closer again: point upstairs and give Haruki a thumbs up as he finally makes his way in, into the stairs and out of sight.

Sunyoung’s back on the couch, to Haegon, and Hanjae makes himself look. They’re fine, they appear very fine, holding hands, he doesn’t have to watch them all night, there’s no need to watch them at all, and–

Hanjae goes up the stairs, which he knows it’s technically off limits. He tries to not let his eyes wander to the photos on the walls, the books on the shelves tucked next to an award behind protective glass, a big shiny plaque framed above it.

There’s only one door with light peeking through, right at the end of the corridor. He taps at it three times, and waits. Another three taps, slightly stronger.

“Occupied,” a voice says from the inside – a tone he knows. “All night.”

Hanjae can’t think of what to say: can’t think of anything at all, for a second. He gives the door another hopeful tap, waits more, and he lets out a sigh of relief when it creeks open. He goes in, closes it quietly behind him, and looks down.

The room’s a bathroom, straight out of a home decoration magazine, all black and white. Haruki seems to be setting up an improv bar on the floor, in the big space between the bathtub and the sink. There’s a bottle of something Hanjae can’t read, blue and half empty, tucked in between his legs like a treasure.

“Ah, you,” he waves at Hanjae’s vague direction, not looking up. “Hello, you. I’m just– Don’t mind the mess. Someone made me something once. ‘Trying to put it together.”

Hanjae hums. He can’t make his hand ease its grip on the doorknob.

It’s been weeks since they abandoned the shoot, and since then Haruki’s been avoiding him constantly. Looks at him from across rooms and seems pained, constantly, and Hanjae hasn’t had the heart to come near.

“What is happening?” Haruki asks, suddenly, and tries to land a smile. He blinks a lot and then not enough looking up at Hanjae. “Down. Down there.”

“Nothing much.”

“How is he?”

“Haegon?” Hanjae asks, and Haruki nods at him loosely, mouths the name without making a sound: ‘Haegon’. “He– Uh, he seems alright.”

“Great couple, yes or no? For our maknae, is she great?”

“I– I don’t know.”

Disappointment flashes vividly through Haruki’s face, and it lands on a sad shagrin. “You don’t know,” he says, to himself, and goes back to emptying his bag with a slouch to his shoulders.

‘Be normal’, Dylan had said that day, his only instructions: ‘Be nice.’

Hanjae lets go of the door and goes to sit in front of him, legs crossed like his are. “What’s it supposed to taste like? The drink.”

There’s no humor in Haruki when he says, “Acid.”

He offers a thermo bottle to Hanjae filled with the failed replica. Hanjae takes a tiny sip and can’t swallow it, feels like his tongue is on fire, and it makes Haruki huff a laugh. “More disgusting than that.”

He makes more combinations that demand more tasting, and Hanjae at times struggles, at times doesn’t – Haruki empties a Soju bottle and refills it with Somaek, calls it ‘Hanjae’s palette cleanser’. He also makes Hanjae go downstairs to grab things they don’t have: more cups, ice and fruit juice, if Sunyoung has any, which she does – too many options.

Hanjae comes back from the trip and sets all his findings at Haruki’s feet, then feels weird about it, exposed about it, and pushes some of it closer to himself.

The bottle opener, they notice a minute later, has disappeared. Hanjae thinks he took it with him to the kitchen and abandoned it on the counter. Worry not, Haruki says; worry not!, because he knows how to open them with his front teeth. It’s a hidden skill, a secret talent.

Haruki asks him to hold a bottle close to his face so he can prove it, and Hanjae does so, but it’s a frail grip, not good. Haruki puts a hand over his to make it steadier, makes it worse. Another hand, a shove closer until their knees are touching. Hanjae adds his free hand into the pile, the lonely hand, and Haruki looks straight at him – looks like he’s saying, ‘Bet?’

It takes a second, really. A pop and the lid comes off in the company of an enormous foam eruption. Haruki gets both his hands away, does a smiley flourish: ‘ta-da!’

“But you shook it! Too much, you–!’ He laughs, and can’t stop laughing. Hanjae’s still holding the bottle and tries to hand it to him, but Haruki shakes his head ‘no’. “For you. It is for you.”

It’s bland beer, he takes notice when he drinks it, but somehow it tastes sweeter.

From the corner of his eyes he catches a glimpse of metal in a corner, and it’s Haruki’s new phone, exiled.

Hanjae is surprised to hear himself ask him, “Are the calls– the calls still coming? The ones from–”

“Always,” Haruki responds, eerily nonchalant. “Always will.”

“It’s not over, then? You still–”

“It is. It is over. It is over the way it can be over.”

“What wouldhe,” Hanjae closes his eyes, reiterates, “If it’s over, what would he still want with you?”

“What do you think,” Haruki asks, staring fixedly at the alcohol going from one bottle to the other. A bit of it it’s running straight to the floor. “What do you think people want with me?”

It’s said– weird. Something in his uncaring tone makes a lump of sadness form in Hanjae’s throat.

“Hyung, you know that, if you everneed to talk to anyone about anything. Me and the guys, we all– We all listen. We would listen.”

“Anything?” Haruki pretends to be impressed. “Big. That is big.”

“Seriously. I’m being serious.”

Haruki looks up at him. Even more alcohol spills to the floor.

“Okay. Okay, anything. Anything…” he hums, dropping the bottles, mimicking being in thought with an obnoxious pout. His mouth is now a purple dot, and his eyes a shiny brown daze...

Hanjae often catches himself wondering if he just knows. If he looks into a mirror and just knows that he’s beautiful in a way that looks hand drawn, that looks meticulously planned: a subject of equal envy and admiration. If Sangwon ever told him that, and if so, how many times, had it come close to enough, had he used the right words to say it, did Haruki believe him when he said it, or if he didn’t – what did it make him feel? What exactly did he make him feel?

Hanjae always thought he was so mean, so bitter. He can’t remember ever hearing him say anything nice to anyone about anything.

Hanjae’s staring, he’s realized, and his eyes hurt. He makes them look down to where Haruki’s got a firm hold around the slim of a bottleneck, tapping a weird rhythm into it, impossible to decipher. He has long fingers with hard skin on them, which isn’t something you would expect. He used to paint, used to do calligraphy; used to go to a prestigious arts academy during high school, all boys.

Hanjae’s still starring, and he’s too close to drunk to properly command himself to stop. He hears Haruki huffs an unheard laugh, suddenly, short and maybe frustrated, maybe not that, and Hanjae’s head snaps up to his face to meet it.

He’s being stared at, too – is being analyzed, too.

“I thought of something. Something I want to say, a thing,” Haruki announces. The grin on his face suddenly looks very, very sharp, like there’s something tugging the corners of his mouth up. “I will whisper to you. On your ear. ‘Gimme your ear and I will tell.”

And with that he comes forward, a sudden and ungracious movement, and doesn’t stop when they’re front to front, an inch apart. He climbs Hanjae up – actually climbs him up, his legs around the middle of his body, cageing him in.

Haruki grims again and it’s lazily, in slow motion. He puts a hand on Hanjae’s chin, tips it high, says, “Not your ear.”

He turns his head to the side. His nose rovers near Hanjae’s head, and Hanjae tries to escape it in reflex, but they’re all too slow, drowned in alcohol.

Into his ear, lips touching skin, Haruki says, “I know you like me. For a very long time. Since that one time. Ever since we went out, we got drunk, that one time.”

“Sorry,” Hanjae mutters, hushed.

“‘Sorry’,” Haruki laughs again, like that’s the funniest word there is, like it’s the meanest. It rings so loud, it has an echo. “Now you sorry?”

Hanjae sinks more into the floor, almost laying down, and Haruki follows, saying, “Are you going away? This close? I am this close, and you going away?”

They’re kissing before Hanjae fully processes how, and it’s a weird kiss at a weird angle; Haruki won’t bend his body all the way down, and Hanjae has to keep craning his neck to meet him midway, his elbows pressing against the tiles, hurting.

He feels a hand slide up his shirt almost immediately, and Hanjae understands, with drunken horror, that he’s being undressed – quickly.

“Ah, wait–” He says, and then can’t get out anything else: Haruki shoved a thumb inside his mouth, in between his teeth, as he goes for the spot where Hanjae’s shoulder and neck meet.

“You smell like home here,” he says, a goosebump. He buries his face there, opens his mouth above it, bites and sucks hard enough to make Hanjae jump  – for him to know it’ll leave a pinkish mark, evidence–

It’s exactly then and there that someone bursts in through the door, says a curse loudly, startles the two of them slightly apart, knocks the air out of their lungs.

“Close your eyes! I need to pee right now, right now, close your eyes!”

It’s a tall woman, this one – Hanjae sees her quick rush to the toilet and closes his eyes tight shut.

“If any of you try to act funny and take a single peek, I’ll fucking castrate you both– Hey! Hey, you, back on the floor, don’t come near, I’m fucking serious, I’ll kill you, you fucking–!”

The door clicks shut, and it takes Hanjae a moment to take in the lack of heat above and around him, to correlate the two: Haruki’s gone, walked out, left him.

From the side, he hears an instrident, “Can you at least cover your fucking boner, dude?!”

Hanjae rolls to his side, facing the opposite wall to where the toilet is; he pushes his knuckles into his shut eyes, for good measure. He waits for the girl to finish peeing, and tries not to have an anxiety attack or a heart attack or a nerve attack about everything that happened in the last ten minutes: Haruki on top of him, Haruki no longer on top of him, having to hear a stranger peeing.

“I’m done,” she announces, and he turns back to the same position as before.

There’s little dots of light in his vision, dancing. The girl’s using the sink now, and she has a blonde bob, so blonde and so short. It follows the shape of her mouth and up, even shorter at the back.

“Not a word from you, ever,” she warns, drying her hands on her skirt, pushing it down more, back in place. She gives him a pointed glare that makes Hanjae look down at the state he’s in, at his busted open shirt, a single button in the middle holding it all together. “Not a word from me. Now get the fuck out, please. People need to use the bathroom.”

And she gets going too, without closing the door all the way. The hum of the party downstairs carries over.

Hanjae inhales, looking at the bright ceiling light. His fingers have gone pruney where they were holding him.

[…]

Eventually Hanjae has to get out of the suite, and do a walk of shame back to the housewarming party. He takes down with him all the glass and cups he can manage, not a lot of them, goes straight to the kitchen sink, and begins to wash them, it’s done with them, goes for all of Sunyoung and Yoorim’s dishes.

Around him, the kitchen has emptied out – on the front the living room, mostly emptied out, too, except for little clicks. He spots J.J right in the center of the one installed in the couch, gesticulating enthusiastically, telling someone some story until they make eye contact. He stops, excuses himself, rushes near.

Up close, Jiahang looks at him, up and down, bug eyed, and Hanjae understands he didn’t do a good job of piecing himself back together.

He got a glimpse of his face in the mirror before walking out: lips glossy, bangs far apart and sticking up, somehow, not all the buttons of his shirt tucked in the right cases.

“Hanjae, oh my God. Dylan, Dylan, look!” He calls out, and Hanjae sees Chihoon appear on his left, face slightly dazed. “Oh my God, Dylan! Hanjae!”

“You fucking animal!” Seungsoo, coming out of nowhere, slaps him on the chest hard. “Who? Who who who who?”

They’re all too close, too soon, and Hanjae can’t look anyone in the eyes for too long– he just can’t.

He catches a glimpse of Blonde Bob Piss Girl in a corner, looking bored, on her phone, and stares at her for a moment too long. Everyone follows, looks at her too, and his bandmates erupt into enthusiastic ‘Eeeeeeh!’s. Someone, proprably Seungsoo still, raises his soupy arm up so he can be given high fives, and Hanjae doesn’t know what to do – to let the lie linger or to kill it. What can he even say? What can he say if not that–

Hanjae finds himself grabbing Dylan’s sleeve and tugging at it, leaving behind a damp. He feels like a little kid that broke something, suddenly – overwhelmingly so. “Where ‘d Haruki go?”

“Dude, I didn’t see him. You sure?” Chihoon asks, and Hanjae’s not; he’s not sure.

“Whaaaaat? Haruki came? Haruki’s here?”

“Great. Another one to hunt down. We’re never gonna leave this fucking place in time,” Jiahang whines. “Yoorim noona’s going to delete my number.”

Hanjae asks all of them at once, “We’re leaving?”

“Yeah, you didn’t hear? Sunyoung and Haegon ditched,” Seungsoo says, and Hanjae’s stomach drops. “It’s her house and they ditched, disappeared, poof! Yoorim’s pissed, told everyone to leave. And Taeng’s freaking out! Someone broke his little vase, someone spilled something on him. I think he’s gonna snap. We need to get that freak home.”

“Shit.”

“Yes, Hanjae,” Seungsoo laughs. “Old man was right, after all… Shit.”

[...]

They do a small search around the apartment, the balcony, and conclude: no Haruki anywhere, so they group everyone they have to leave, go wait to be picked up on the sidewalk in front of the Nine One Hannam gates.

“You just dreamed him up, Hanhan! Wouldn’t be the first time,” Seungsoo jokes. It’s a bad joke. O.z shoves him in the chest hard about it, tells him, “Quiet.”

Hanjae looks straight ahead, not at them. In front of him J.J keeps bouncing on the wheel of his feet, saying, ‘I’m going in the front, I’m passenger seat, forget it, it’s me me me me,’ even though no one’s putting up a fight about it.

Minwoo pulls up soon enough on the curve in one of the two black company vans, and downs the window just to give them all an open scowl, then a frown. “I’m only seeing seven of you.”

J.J circles the car to get to the front door, struggles a little to get it open. “Hyung, you’re not gonna believe.”

“I don’t wanna hear it, Jiahang.”

“Shut up, you do. You really really really really do. You were–,” and then he becomes aware of the slouched figure of Hanjae trailing behind him, turns and frowns. “What did I just say!”

“No, I’m…” Hanjae looks at Minwoo looking at him, one eyebrow raised, says, “Sorry.”

Minwoo pinches at his nose, hard. “Just get in the goddamn car, Hanjae, Jesus Christ.”

Hanjae thinks, out of everyone who has a driver’s license, Minwoo drives the shittiest. He needs glasses, he never wears them, he grumbles curses at every slow driver and every rush driver and every driver, in general.

On the way home, he stops the van only once, by popular demand. Taesong steps out to vomit, and spends the rest of the ride jittery about it, cracking his knuckles even when they make no sound.

“We’re so fucked,” Chihoon says when they park inside the dorm’s garage, rubbing his eyes. “It’s 3AM. We’re so fucked.”

While everyone rushes to their rooms to piece pajamas together and form a long row to shower, Hanjae’s elbow to elbow with Dylan, going up the stairs to the second floor as quietly as they can.

He and Haruki have, by far, the best room in the whole house: spacious, with a nice window. It used to be Haruki and Sangwon’s up until he got fired – some excuse about rooming with the manager to learn Korean quicker, about making sure Haruki wouldn’t sneak beer into his room. It makes Hanjae sick now, seeing it, standing so close to it.

Dylan tries the handle once, and the door doesn’t budge, only makes a stubborn click – locked.

Hanjae dries his hand on his jeans, still wet, somehow, asks him, “Is he– He’s in there? Or…?”

Chihoon rests his head against the mahogany and sort of sighs, sort of laughs. “Yeah, definitely home. He’s the only one with the key to lock me out. Classic. Just classic.”

“Get my bed,” Hanjae says – implores. “Use mine, you can– mine, I’ll couch.”

“You’ll couch?” Chihoon looks at him with the trembling smile of someone who’s about to laugh. It falls off his face quickly when he takes in the guilt Hanjae knows he’s wearing openly on his face.

“Hyung, I–” It’s out of his mouth before Hanjae even knows it. “Tonight, something – Something has happened, and I think, think I should– say.”

Dylan’s giving him an analytical once over, and he stops at his moving hands, on his marked neck, looks at the door again – locked. 

“Hanjae,” he says his name like it’s an insult, and for a moment Hanjae feels like it really is – his name, an insult.

He crumbles. “I’m sorry, so, so sorry, we just– I didn’t mean to– It was just, just a kiss, I think, and I– I–”

“You kissed him?! ‘You think’? What does that mean? What do you mean ‘you think’?!”

Hanjae looks around and then down, behind him. “Dylan…” he manages, airy, and doesn’t know what he wants the rest of the phrase to be, where he’s trying to take it.

Chihoon’s mouth hangs open, a painful disbelief, and then slowly shuts.

“You know what,” he says harshly, but not angrily – he sounds more disappointed than anything, more tired than anything. “I don’t want to know. Not now. I’ll know, just– Not now. But fucking Hell, Hanjae, you. You just had to, didn’t you? You saw an opportunity and you just had to.”

Hanjae’s breath catches. Dylan is a figure in his eyes, growing blurry.

“I’m taking your bed,” he announces. ”Eveytime he kicks me out from this day on, I’m sleeping on your bed.”

He storms off, his bare feet on the floor a sound until it isn’t anymore.

Hanjae knocks on the door, a small tap. Nothing.

He thinks of saying it again: sorry. But no one’s around to hear it, no one’s around to accept it. There’s no point.

[semper-legens]

36. Redeemed, by PC and Kristin Cast

Owned: No, library Page count: 310 My summary: It's the final showdown. Zoey is sitting in a lockup, accused of murder. Neferet is on the loose, ready to complete her ascension to godhood. The forces of Light and Darkness hang in the balance. But can Zoey and her friends stop Neferet's plans? Or is this the end of the House of Night? My rating: 1/5 My commentary:

It's over! It's done! The evil is defeated! The House of Night has not broken me, and I return the conquering hero! Okay, okay, there are other House of Night books, but they're novellas and a spinoff series, so for my purposes they don't count. Because if I had to read any more of this, I think I would actually go insane. Anyway, it's over, and surprise surprise, I have proved my initial thesis by discovering that they were, in fact, just as bad as I remembered them, if not worse. I'm glad to be putting this series behind me, and I'm especially glad to not have to order these books through work and probably be judged by my coworkers for my choices. So. Finale. Let's do this.

Zoey, as our protagonist, should come first. The last book left us on a cliffhanger where she was being arrested for lashing out with her Seer Stone and killing two men. She's horrified by that - and I thought it was trite and came outta nowhere. The other thing, however, is that it was so obviously going to be overturned. The Old Magic was using Zoey, the Seer Stone did it and not her, and the two guys were creeps anyway. Well, I wasn't wrong, but it was even worse than that! Neferet actually killed them, and confesses as such readily to the police. Zoey doesn't need to be racked with guilt, and the whole thing blows over in a handful of chapters. It's laughable how quickly this gets brushed under the rug. The character arc is meant to be that Zoey grows up into a true High Priestess - that she chooses Light, learns compassion, and ultimately becomes a fair and true leader. The problem, as ever with this series, is twofold. The first is that nothing Zoey ever does has been wrong. Like in this instance; her actually killing those men unjustifiably (or semi-justifiably) would have shown an actual character flaw, but she's exonerated in seconds. If anything, it's used as proof that she's too critical of herself, too good. Her instincts are always right, and she never fails to make the right decision when she listens to them. There's no tension, no growth.

But second is the fact that she doesn't do anything! Most of the ways things are resolved in these books are to do some vague magic, listen to a prophecy, or channel Nyx. This one's in the former category, Zoey needs to cast her circle and channel magic and cast spells (why the fuck are these books not about witches!) in order to save the day, but magic's never been something she's had to work at. It's always come easy to her. All she needs to do is follow her instincts, and she can do magic that other characters will exclaim has never been done before by a fledgeling. She doesn't struggle, she doesn't have to work at anything, she doesn't gain skills. She just stands there and says some prayer rhymes and then the problem is solved. There's no tension, because there's no work being put in. Zoey can just do everything she needs to as soon as she realises that she needs to do it. Oh, and she fully goes through the Change at the end. Which is functionally meaningless, because she already had way fancier tattoos than any adult vampire. It's basically an afterthought.

And then there's the Cherokee thing. Zoey has Cherokee descent, and it's revealed that that's why she was chosen and gifted in the manner that she was. She needs an ancient connection to the land alongside being one of Nyx's chosen vampires in order to channel old magic and become a powerful priestess. Except…the setting of this book is Oklahoma, a place the Cherokee didn't live until they were forcibly evicted from their home in Georgia in the 1830s. Hardly an ancient connection to the land. And furthermore, this is the only way in which Zoey's Cherokee lineage affects her character. What's her opinion on Cherokee customs and legends? We don't know, because the only context in which she will discuss them is her grandmother - it's less respect for a culture and way of life and more love for a single person. The only things Zoey does that reflect her heritage is occasionally smudging as part of her magic practice. She is described the same as the white characters. It feels less an integrated part of her background as a character and more just some 'exotic' flavour that Cast put in to make Zoey more special. And, of course, there's a lot to unpack in the automatic assumption that having Native blook inherently makes one more connected to the land in a magical sense while being largely divorced from any actual Cherokee beliefs and practice, and in fact only bringing up Zoey's Cherokee heritage when she can use it to solve a problem. I may not know much about Cherokee practice, but I'm willing to bet that Cast didn't either.

Also, there's weird worldbuilding stuff going on here. First, linked to the above point, is Zoey the only person with Native heritage to ever be Marked? It's not mentioned that there are any other Native vampires - we see a few black people who are vampires, but no other Native people. How is this possible, demographically? The vampire population is said to be quite small, but it's incredibly vague as to what that means. Secondarily, the humans are weirdly accepting of the fact that magic is real, the vampire goddess is real, and beings like Rephaim and Kalona exist. Sure, they do live in a world where vampires are an accepted part of life, but at the same time the average human is consistently depicted as being largely ignorant of anything to do with vampire culture and history. Many are seen as being dismissive to vampire powers. But here, they're just like 'yep that sounds correct don't let me stop you', and it's jarring.

And there's an overwhelming flavour of copaganda to some of it. After being released, Zoey and co work closely with the police, who are presented as being reasonable and helpful - their leader, Marx, even having the same gut-instinct sixth sense that the main characters share. Zoey's little prison stay is largely forgotten except as a quirky side-note. That, plus the fact that Damien's new reporter boyfriend is from Fox, leads me to strongly suspect some conservative leanings on the part of the Casts. Let's be real, a real-life police department would be literally useless in this situation - and yet, their presence on Zoey's side seems to be legitimising her goodness, as though having the police behind you automatically means you're right. Ugh.

Okay, time to talk Neferet. Or rather, Lynette. See, most of Neferet's part of the story is taken up by her new minion Lynette, an events organiser who pledges herself to Neferet out of self-preservation after Neferet starts possessing and/or murdering people. She has never shown up before, and in a series with this many characters, it's kind of egregious how much time is spent with her rather than literally anyone else. What happened to Neferet's connection with the red fledgelings, where did that go? Anyway, Neferet continues to be femme-fatale evil in a way that is wholly uninteresting. She's flirtatious and sexual, she murders people all the time for no real good reason, and her plans are shaky at best. How exactly she thinks that anything she's doing will make her a goddess is a little weak. And she's one-note the whole way through. Flirty villain, control freak, murder murder murder…her takedown is less satisfying than inevitable, and thoroughly uninteresting at that.

As I've alluded to before, the fact that there were so many plot threads and so many characters established in the earlier books leads to a situation where nothing but the main plot is resolved effectively. Shaylin and Nicole are dating in the background, pointlessly. Aphrodite remembers she has issues from her upbringing for one chapter, wherein those issues are resolved seamlessly. Minor characters like Lenobia are just sort of there. Ex-boyfriend and sidelined character Erik gets like two chapters where he's said to be less of a douche and gets pair-the-spares'd with Shaunee, with uncomfortable remarks made about how she's a black girl dating a white guy. Prophet/poet Kremisha shows up for essentially a cameo. Nobody seems to remember all their dead friends - given how short a timescale this is, they surely deserve more than a token mention? Kalona gets to die heroically and pointlessly. Rephaim…still turns into a bird sometimes. Some of the threads, like the evil red fledgelings or the conflict with humans and specifically the church, are dropped outright. It really feels like Cast didn't have a plan going into this and was just making things up as she went, which doesn't lead to a satisfying narrative overall.

So, that was House of Night. It was bad! It was beyond bad! How this shit ever got published is honestly beyond me. But it's done, it's conquered, and I am never looking back. So long, terrible vampire books. You are exorcised from my life now.

Next, something mercifully different. Villains!

[alethiometry]

rating roasting all the ubisoft store assasin's creed odyssey armor sets

note: i am commentating based entirely on personal preference (i prefer a scruffy, salt-of-the-earth, scrappy mercenary look) and own very few of these pieces so i can't speak to their stats. so my ratings are based off of looks alone.

tl;dr most of them are flops and all of them are wastes of money. fuck microtransactions. but some of them are at least kind of pretty, or worth grinding orichalcum to unlock the transmog option.

myrmidon set: 4/10. dislike the massive shoulder pieces and the gold lining. the bracers are alright though and the belt is decent (although it does look a little plain/similar to in-game lootable belts).

ikaros set: 3/10. the helmet is tacky and so are the red lightning bolts. the chest piece looks alright but doesn't seem like it would mix&match well with anything else in the game. the fabric pattern is cool but again hard to coordinate a good look with imo.

lawgiver armor: 7/10. i like blue armors and the wold pelt is a badass detail. i'm personally not a fan of the single-sheet-of-metal look of the chestplate or the massive assassins logo slapped onto the bracers. but otherwise it's a good-looking set.

helios set: 3/10. chestplate and bracers are too busy. the circlet would look cool except i hate the hair/eyes changing color and the halo effect, it takes me completely out of the game. i would rank the set as a whole much lower if not for the waistband, which looks very pretty.

sacred oracle armor: 6/10. cool hood, cool tattoos. i like the sweatpants. i don't like that there is zero boob support for kassandra. also docking some points because i personally prefer to play with a hidden helmet, which kind of defeats the purpose of this set imo; the hood ties everything together.

mighty herakles set: 5/10. hate the helmet and bracers, love the chestpiece, the belt is alright. the tattoos you get with the chestpiece also look ok.

sphinx mane: 6/10. overall it's a very cool-looking set, but i don't like the facepaint, and there's so many feathers covering the whole thing that it again looks difficult to mix and match so you're kind of stuck with the whole set.

abstergo suit: 2/10. if i wanted to look like like i would not be playing assassin's creed. but the eagle bearer's ass does look great in those pants, so i'm awarding one point per asscheek.

shark armor: 5/10. as much as i love sharks and everything to do with sharks, i have to admit that this is a very mid-looking set. my main issue is that there's just too much going on. a lot of the pieces look cool individually, i.e. the shark jaw collar protector, the netting, the seaweed/algae. but overall it just kind of looks messy. cool intention/vision, lackluster execution.

wild boar armor: 1/10. looks like something that an intern would have designed for an ac valhalla enemy.

athena's blessing: 4/10. LOOK I GET THAT THIS IS A POPULAR SET, I JUST PERSONALLY FUCKING HATE IT. i'll give it points for a very well-executed aesthetic, it's very pretty, the pleated texture of the fabric is nice without doing too much, and it's just overall very regal and goddess-like. but it just doesn't look like something the eagle bearer would wear, and again i know that kass doesn't have huge tits to begin with but the complete lack of boob support annoys me to no end. i would rank this lower if it wasn't so well-executed. it just feels so out of place.

celestial suit: 0/10. i fucking hate everything about this set.

armor of dionysos: 7/10. at the risk of sounding like a huge hypocrite based on my rating of athena's blessing... i love this set. i love the gold filigree, i love the leopard pelt, i love the purple!!! unfortunately it once again feels out of place, and the fact that this is i believe the only purple armor set in the game makes it impossible to coordinate with other pieces. but damn it looks so good.

odysseus armor: 9/10. i'm docking a single point because the shawl covers odysseus' head on the chestpiece and i think that is a laughably egregious oversight on the part of the design team and it bothers me a lot. but other than that... beautiful, stunning, gorgeous, breathtaking, brilliant. i love all the chestpieces in the game that have a little shawl draped around them, and i love that this one differentiates itself with the blue and white stripes. it pairs nicely with the white trim on the waistband piece, but would also look nice with some of the lootable in-game belts. (as i write this i am actively contemplating spending real-world money on this armor set; the only thing stopping me is that i am currently in the middle of doing a playthrough in full mercenary gear in order to record consistent cutscenes.)

hades' champion: 1/10. the only reason i'm not giving this a 0 is because i don't hate it as much as i hate the celestial suit.

nemean lion pelt: 6/10. too much white, but otherwise a good-looking set. again, i like that the individual pieces look like they would mix and match well with the gear pieces you can loot in-game. maybe a little too chainmail-y on the chest piece though.

pegasos armor: 2/10. too much white again, too medieval fantasy paladin-y for a game that takes place in a non-medieval setting where paladins don't exist. also the horse and wings look pasted-on. overall just kind of lazy.

spartan renegade armor: 8/10. hate the chains and the massive cheesy-looking lambda belt buckle. love everything else. excellent ancient greece sports bra aesthetic. luckily the sports bra matches nicely with other gear pieces from the game so i can enjoy it without the stupid chains. the chest piece is one of the few armor sets i own because i obsessively checked oikos of the olympians for it every weekly inventory refresh for a longer stretch of time than i care to admit.

armor of kronos: 5/10. idk what it is about this set but i just don't like it very much. i think maybe the palette is just a bit boring; i get that it's leather armor but there's so little going on visually that i just don't see why anyone would opt for this armor. it's very forgettable.

aegean pirate: 7/10. this is what i wish the shark armor looked like (except with the shark jaw collarpiece added). unfortunately the helmet is ugly as sin. i get what they're going for with the kraken aesthetic but it just looks silly. also the bracers are ugly. and considering it's only a blue-tier armor the stats are probably bad and definitely not worth spending money on.

herald of dusk: 3/10. if the kronos set has too little going on visually, this one is just the opposite: there's way too much going on here. there's some nice detail in the armor, but i just don't understand what they were trying to achieve with it overall. the top half of the hood (with the stripes) looks nice, but the bottom half is giving chainmail. overall it's just very.... weird. and again, as a blue-tier armor set it's a waste of money.

[cartierbin]

𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬. 🎸

pairing ✮ — rockstar!minho x fem!reader

genre ✮ — in which you thought you were made for the rockstar lifestyle that minho came with. you find out how wrong you were soon enough.

genre tags ✮ — erotica, angst + minho fucking you in his motel bathroom at 3am

notes ✮ — back and attempting to write more. love u guys <3

word count ✮ — 1.5k

“don’t try to act like i’m not here! because you know i’ll wait”.

there was shuffling and muffles on the other end before you could hear the lock being undone and the door swinging open. lee minho was standing shirtless with a towel wrapped around his waist in the doorway. he shifted the toothpick in his mouth, muscles tensing with tattoos covering his neck, arms and chest. fuck. he was gorgeous.

“what the fuck do you want? and why are you knocking so hard it’s 3am”. you peered past him to see a girl covering her naked body up frantically with motel sheets. if smoke could blow out of your ears they would in a heartbeat.

“oh please! you know why i’m knocking i’m sick and tired of you! this is your son and you’re so wrapped up in fame and sex you can’t even spend time with him without fucking women every chance you get!”.

minho reaches for his phone and shoots a short text. you didn’t know who he was texting and you damn sure didn’t care to know, you were just trying to get your point across.

“what are you doing do you hear me fucking talking to you?!”.

minho closes the distance between you both with a clenched jaw. “you keep it down. do you hear me? you’re being too fuckin loud”.

“no fuck you! i hope all of your little fans are around actually because i’d love for them to hear that their favorite rockstar is a horrible fucking father”.

minho’s manager, harper headed towards you both, taking sunjae by the hand. sunjae knew harper well because most of the time while minho was on tour harper would be the one caring for him. so he definitely wasn’t a stranger. but this defeated your whole purpose.

“no what are you doing?!”.

“i told him to come get him because you’re acting crazy right now. do you realize that?”. minho pulls you into the room by your arm, snapping his fingers at the other girl for her to leave. she curses while grabbing her clothes and stepping out the room half naked. as soon as the door was shut minho pushed you up against it. 

“you can’t communicate like a fuckin adult? huh? you gotta come to my motel room and raise all hell right?”.

“shut the fuck up. if i didn’t come here you would’ve never contacted me back. let’s just make things clear. you think you’re too good to be a dad?”.

minho scoffs and turns away, grabbing a cigarette out of the box and sparks it. you watched him in all his glory, hating the way you were still attracted to him. he carried the same solemn look in his eyes when he gazed at you through the smoke. the look that swept you off your feet four years ago. the look that always made you weak. you turn your nose up in disgust, back still settled against the battered door.

“every day i ask myself why the fuck was i so dumb with you. why the fuck did i think that some famous rockstar was actually going to treat me like a princess and be a father to my child?”.

minho blows another chain of smoke.

“nothing is ever good enough for you. don’t you count your blessings? you’re fucking rich. i’m working my ass off to provide for you and sunjae. yet i get hit with this bullshit every other month”.

“fucking please save that shit for the other women you’ve had kids with because it’s not going to work on me. you’re not working to provide for us. you’re just working. doing what the fuck you want to do and sending us money”.

“and you’re complaining?”.

“i don’t want your money. you think a mini mansion, expensive cars and clothes can make up for lost time but it doesn’t. sunjae needs you”.

“ i told you when the tour is over im going to take him”.

“and when is the tour going to be over?! huh?“.

minho smirks and takes another pull of his cigarette.

“what’s so fucking funny?!”. you say, this time approaching him face to face. he gazes down at you.

“little girl, take your ass in that bathroom”. his breath reeked of nicotine and his eyes set low.

“for what?”.

he tosses the cigarette box on the bed and pushes you into the bathroom, immediately bending you over the counter. he slams the bathroom door shut and locks it.

“take these off and put your leg up”. he spoke with the cigarette dangling from his lips, ashes fluttering to the floor. your heart races uncontrollably and it felt like everything was happening way too fast.

minho took the liberty of doing everything himself, refusing to wait any longer. before you knew it he was pushing himself deep inside you, gripping your neck so that you could see yourself in the gigantic mirror in front of you.

“look at this pussy. you were waiting to get fucked weren’t you?”. you hissed while his strokes gradually built speed.

he uses his other hand to clutch the back of your tank top for more leverage, rolling himself into you. you were going to bitch, tell him to get off of you but you just couldn’t. minho knew just how to fuck you. strokes were just how you liked it. you whimpered in his grip.

“fuckk minho”.

he picks up his pace with your skin slapping together in the process. a plethora of moans left your lips, bouncing directly off of the bathroom walls.

“i missed you baby. i missed this pussy”.

you felt your body continually thrust against the edge of the counter while he fucked your breath away. your mind was hazy, only filled with how good he was fucking you and how much you couldn’t live without him. each time he entered you again an immense amount of pleasure shot through you. you started to gasp for air, clutching anything around the sink that you could find.

“ohmm my godd”. you groan loudly, knowing whoever was in the next room over would file a complaint in no time. “spread them”. he demanded, his waistline growing sticky and wet from your juices. you did as you were told, feeling him spit a large thick line right atop of your folds. he slams a heavy hand on your ass.

“fuck baby”.

you felt his cock pulsing inside you while he fucked you like it would be his last time doing it. he pushed you down harder onto the counter and you felt your leg cramping from its upwards position. you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to take him.

he smacks your thigh and holds your leg up himself, determined to have you just like he wanted you.

“talking all that shit. but you still can’t last huh?”.

you felt tears welling in your eyes at the intense sensation swarming your body. you started to whine desperately. “pplease fuckin slow ddown”.

“you’re just a little fuckin fleshlight. aren’t you? let me hear you say it”.

he continues roughly rocking his hips into you knowing full well that you could barely speak.

“yes! fuck”.

“look at yourself”. he pulls your head up by your hair forcing you to look at the nightmare of your own reflection, makeup smeared and hair tousled up into one big fuzz. minho edges his lips along your neck, softly kissing and sucking all over it. the wet slapping sounds the two of you were making grew harsher. if you hadn’t been losing your mind before you were definitely losing it now.

“you gonna let me breed you sweetheart? hm?”.

you nodded your thoughtless little head, another drawn out groan flooding the air.

“i’m gonna fucking ccumm”. in less than two minutes you were creaming all over minho, body spasming while he fucked you until he came himself. and yes, all of it was in you.

his sweaty chest heaves while he flips his wet hair out of his face, letting your body relax on the counter. your body began to ache. he sits on the toilet and drags you down with him. you sit back on your knees and pushed the tip in your mouth, lazily licking and sucking all over it. minho took a long gaze at the ceiling before looking back down at your swollen lips and needy eyes.

“shit, right there baby”. he groans, taking another pull while you bob your head around his thick throbbing length. you use a hand to go over the places that your mouth couldn’t cover. the wet sounds of spit was like candy to minho’s ears. you pop it out if your mouth tapping it on your tongue once or twice before taking it whole again.

“you’re so fuckin pretty like this”: he complimented making your heart flutter. that was another thing about minho. he knew just what to say to get you to finish him off. you continued sucking until he was ready to cum again.

whilst wiping your lips he goes into the other room to spark his cigarette back up.

“don’t you ever come to me acting crazy like that again”.

[luciusgerard]

Okay, so, here's everything I've heard about the Eddie Munson/Kas theory:

First of all, if you don't know who Kas is, basically he's a character from Dungeons & Dragons who's half-human, half-vampire, and there's a theory that Eddie will essentially become Kas in season five of Stranger Things.

Quick warning: Spoilers for season four of Stranger Things. Also this is a long post, so hold onto your butts, brochachos.

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'Kay, so we all know that Eddie dies at the end of season four. Yes, I cried too, don't worry. But, thankfully, there's a theory that he could come back, and I personally think it makes a LOT of sense. Here's everything I've heard about it. If you have anything to add, or you actually know things about D&D unlike yours truly and would like to correct my information, please let me know.

First of all, let's look at how Eddie actually kicks the bucket. He's eaten by bats. Kas is also eaten by bats, later becoming a vampire. Eddie also has a tattoo on his arm that depicts a swarm of bats, and while I doubt Eddie would become a vampire in the literal sense (this isn't Riverdale), bats are obviously directly related to vampires. What are vampires? They're undead creatures.

One of the weapons Kas is known for using is his shield, which has spikes in it. As we all know, Eddie also uses a makeshift "shield" with spikes, AKA a garbage can lid with nails hammered through it. Still serves the same purpose.

Let's look at how exactly they'd explain how Eddie is miraculously alive. In D&D, Kas is basically Vecna's right-hand man, but he later turns on Vecna and defeats him. Our Stranger Things version of Vecna has the same powers as El, and we saw El bring Max (or her body, at the very least) back to life. If El can do this, so can Vecna, meaning he could revive Eddie. As far as we, the audience, know due to the two-day jump soon after his death, Eddie's body is still in the Upside Down, and thanks to Will we know that Vecna is still alive, though in pain. The question now is, what motive would Vecna have for reviving Eddie? Well, not only do we know Vecna is able to bring people back to life, but he is also able to control people's minds, as we saw with Billy and Heather in season three, which brings me to my next point.

If Vecna were to revive Eddie and take control of his mind, perhaps to get close to the kids in Hawkins as a spy of sorts or for another reason entirely, this would essentially make Eddie Vecna's puppet. How is this relevant, I hear you asking. Well, see, random person on the internet, if you were not already aware (which you probably were, but anyway), the song Eddie plays on top of the trailer to distract the demobats is Metallica's "Master of Puppets." Not only this, but one of Eddie's many glorious tattoos is literally a puppet. The writers could make him a servant of Vecna, a human puppet, completely under Vecna's control, until he's snapped back to reality with the power of friendship or something and defeats Vecna once and for all.

Or not for all, but I'll get to that in a minute.

We all remember this wonderful scene:

Look a little closer: the cassette in his hand is Iron Maiden. Iron Maiden has a mascot. What is that mascot? Some kind of weird undead creature thing. What is the name of this strange being? Eddie. I'm not kidding, its name is literally Eddie. Google it if you don't believe me.

Now, as for what I said about Eddie defeating Vecna once and for all not actually being once and for all. Let's all take a moment and think back to the very first episode of season four, shall we? Specifically, the Hellfire Club meeting, in which Erica plays in her brother's place. You all know the scene I'm talking about, now let's think about it.

First of all, from what I remember, this is the only scene in the whole show where Kas is mentioned by name, when it is revealed that Vecna is actually not dead like they thought he was and Mike shouts, "Vecna was killed by Kas!"

"So it was thought, my friends, so it was thought," Eddie replies, shaking his head. "But Vecna lives."

Okay. So Vecna was killed by Kas. Vecna is now back, apparently not dead. I assure you this is not just D&D lore unrelated to the point of this post, because trust me, dear reader, there is more to this scene worth mentioning.

The club has chosen to fight. Now, almost everyone has been defeated, except for Dustin and Erica. The two living players now face a choice: Do they surrender, or do they fight? They choose to fight, with Dustin putting things ever so eloquently: "Screw it. Let's kill this son of a bitch."

Now, in order to defeat Vecna, a 20 must be rolled. Dustin rolls first. Not only does he not roll a 20, but the number that he rolls is 11. Where have we heard that before, hmm?

Now Erica rolls. She rolls a 20 and delivers a critical hit, killing Vecna, while her benchwarming brother over in the gym simultaneously scores a winning buzzer-beater in his basketball tournament. It's a victory for the nerds and the jocks, who would'a thunk it?

Now, here's the idea:

They thought Vecna was dead, having been killed by Nancy, Steve, and Robin and falling from the Upside Down version of Creel House. But here he is, clearly living. Eleven is the last hope for defeating him. She's so close to taking Vecna down once and for all, putting him and everyone else out of their misery. But Vecna is too strong, and overpowers her, and she fails.

Here's Eddie, unwillingly loyal to the beast who indirectly caused his death. He's an undead puppet, his brain under Vecna's control. But something snaps. Like Vecna himself says: "He thought about something that made him sad, but also angry." We already know full well that Eddie has many memories like that, as most people do. That's where Vecna and El find their power, and whether Eddie has powers or not, that could be a source of his strength as well, to bring Vecna down and put an end to everyone's suffering.

Also, there is one more small detail which could point to Eddie not actually being dead. There is a song that the Stranger Things fandom knows as the "fake death" song, as it is used both when Will is presumed dead in season one and when Hopper nearly dies in season three. This song is "Heroes" by David Bowie. However, the song that plays when Eddie dies (I can't remember the title and I can't find it online) is also the song used at the end of season one when El "dies." Coincidence? I think not.

By the way, before you reuse the argument that the Duffers said that Eddie is "one-hundred percent dead" in an interview, might I remind you that there was once a time when both Martin Brenner and Jim Hopper were "one-hundred percent dead" as well? As they are clearly not, my point still stands. Also, it wouldn't make sense for the Duffer Brothers to say, "Well, actually, Eddie's alive," because what sense is there in spoiling what would be a major plot twist in season five before you've even started writing it? They've also said Eddie's death will play an important role in the fifth season, and I doubt they'd be saying that if all the characters did was sit around and think about all the times they had together. Which, for most of the characters, was no time. Plus, Eddie can't be dead—this man hasn't had a chance to meet Will, Argyle, or Suzie yet, and you know he'd love them.

But, hey, we won't know until season five, so until then, all we can really do is wait impatiently and hope for the best.

Anyway, if you actually read this far, you might as well follow me. If you want to, that is, but no pressure. Also, remember to sign this petition to hopefully convince the Duffers to bring Eddie back if you also think our boy was wrongly killed and deserves an epic return.

[yatsurinamikaze]

You surprise him with his jersey number tattoo on your back

Haikyuu boys x Reader

(Something like this!)

Atsumu-

You’re both casually making out on the couch, he’s on top of you sucking on your neck passionately, his warm fingers are trailing up beneath your sweatshirt,

Holding your waist, he flips you on your stomach and tugs your hair gently, planting soft kisses behind your left ear, moving down to your neck nibbling on your flesh.

He pulls the sweatshirt’s shoulders so the neck is stretched and exposing your shoulder blades,

He trails wet kisses behind your shoulders and puts his hands on the hem of your sweatshirt tugging it upwards,

You straighten out your hand a little to give him access to remove it

He’s trailing more soft kisses down your back when-

“What the hell is that!?” He reacts sitting up immediately, the sweatshirt which you were hoping would be seductively removed, haphazardly removed to reveal your back, showing a small “13” written in plain black block numbers.

You turn around slowly, a blush forming on your cheeks, “Uh, I thought I’d surprise you. Um, do you like it?”

Atsumu shifts to the edge of the bed, running his hand through his hair, “How could ya get this done without telling me?”

You start fidgeting with the sweatshirt that’s kept between the both of you and mumble, “Well, kinda defeats the whole purpose of a surprise..?” You bite your cheek and look away.

“I thought you’d like it.”

Atsumu shakes his head and gets up, “I need some air, okay?” and steps out of your apartment. You wear your sweatshirt and bring your knees close to your chest, tears forming in your eyes.

After being ghosted for the night, you find him at your doorstep early in the morning, “Hey.”

You raise your eyebrows, “What do you want?” Your hand still on the doorknob.

“I- I shouldn’t have left like that.” His words stumble as he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Yeah, no shitting.” You roll your eyes and are about to close the door on him when he pushes the door wide open and steps into the apartment.

“I freaked out, okay?”

You huff, “Yeah? I didn’t know tattoos scared the shit out of you.”

“No, no!” He shakes his head, “Not like that!” He takes a long step in front of you, “I just, I freaked out because this is...this is permanent yn.”

You take a little step backwards, “So you’re saying even after 3 years of being in a relationship together… you-you’re still not sure about us?” You look down, tears forming in your eyes. You pull the sleeves of your sweatshirt and mumble, “Because for me, you’re it Miya Atsumu. I- I don’t know how I-“

You’re cut-off as he takes another step to get closer to you, taking your hands in his- which you try to squirm out of when he tightens his hold on you, tethering you to him- “No yn. You don’t even know how wildly my heart beats for you. I freaked out because I thought..I thought you’d one day see me for who I am. And-“He sniffles as his eyes and nose start watering up, “And then you’ll leave and every time you’ll see this tattoo, you’ll hate me even more.”

You get on you tippy-toes and hold his face in your hands, peppering soft kisses on them you speak, “My heart beats wildly for you too Tsum. Im not going anywhere, unless you’d want me to.”

He puts his hands on your waist, holding you close to him. He chuckles through his tears, “Oh no. You’re my property now anyway. Have got the print to prove it.”

You chuckle with him hitting his chest lightly.

Writing scenarios for the first time! Feedback is welcomed! Thanks!

[anotheranimestan]

Steamy Nights

Shouta Aizawa steaminess + suggestive language

Please note that y/n is obviously of age in this one

wc: 2.4k

Tell me why I got 🦋 when writing this loll. This man is fineee

Stretched out on Aizawa’s couch, you were waiting for him to get home after another long day of teaching. A little while ago he’d given you a key to his place, which was a big surprise since he values his privacy so much. Since you hadn’t been able to see him for a few days, you figured tonight would be the perfect time to use it. Work was really taxing on him lately and you knew he was stressed. Probably over stressed. To make the most of the night, you decided to set the atmosphere.

The apartment already had Shouta’s personality all over it. Lots of dark furniture and wood. Absolutely no harsh lighting, just a few dim lamps. His walls were scattered with some paintings he’d bought on your art show dates together. Old books and blankets everywhere. His sweet cat usually curled up in her corner.

He had a drawer full of scented candles. Your favorite was the cinnamon one but he claims it’s too sweet for him. Although you highly doubted he’d even notice the difference, he just holds random stubborn opinions sometimes without any good reason behind it. Just wanting things to complain about. Most people found his pessimistic grumpy attitude unattractive but...he’s just moody. An exterior shell. Inside was was soft and sweet.

You’d just finished lighting a few of the cinnamon candles and putting on some of his favorite music in the background when you heard the door click open.

He’s always so light on his feet. Sometimes if you weren’t paying close attention he’d come in and scare the life out of you on accident.

You rounded the corner, excited to see him.

“Hey Eraserhead.”

You always called him by is pro name when he’s in his hero costume. People usually assumed it was out of respect or privacy but he knew the real reason. You were teasing him. You disliked his hero name and his hero outfit. Recalling the day Present Mic convinced him to use it, you’d pestered him relentlessly to put more effort into it. Insisting he’d regret it one day. He said he didn’t care...but now look at him.

“Please y/n, when are you going to stop calling me that?” He said rubbing his eyes. He was low energy as usual.

“After you change it.”

“I can’t change it.”

“Exactly.” You whispered smugly.

He sighed. No matter how many times you had this conversation you would always win. Rightfully but he wouldn’t admit it.

You drifted over to greet him properly. Brushing the hair out of his eyes and placing a sweet lingering kiss on his cheek.

And as for his boring, baggy costume...you understood it’s purpose. He wore it to stand out less, aiding in his fight style. But it was still a pain since you couldn’t properly hug him in it. The capture weapon was always in your face and you could hardly feel his body through the layers.

His modest attire duped most people. Making his tastefully well built body underneath a best kept secret. Which you supposed was an upside. Only you (and Present Mic for some reason) had ever really gotten to see him shirtless.

“I’m going to change.” He said kissing your forehead. He knew exactly what you were thinking.

He reemerged from his room a few minutes later. Wearing a droopy black shirt and sweatpants that were loose around his hips. You could see the dipped lines of his V. Just north was his lightly defined six pack. And just south was unfortunately concealed under black briefs and his untied waistband...

He caught you staring.

Feeling red and exposed you quickly redirected your attention to something else. “So are you hungry babe? I could make something?”

He declined.

“Okay...what about grading assignments. Do you want help to make it go faster?”

Declined again. Apparently he worked straight through lunch to finish that already.

You were beginning to feel useless. You’re supposed to be making him de-stress but it’s like he was so self-sufficient there was no room for you.

You sat next to him on the couch, his arm wrapped around you. You brushed some hair behind his ear. His long dark hair was always messy from his constant naps. Plus, you constantly running your fingers in it doesn’t help that situation. He was quiet. Massaging his temples. You could see the tension on his face. It made your heart twinge with pain. Just then you noticed his ear fully. He had at least six piercings on this one but he wasn’t wearing any of his earrings. Usually he’d put them on when he wasn’t at work but he didn’t tonight. And you knew exactly why.

“Babe. I have an idea.”

“And what’s that?” He played along.

He would take them out when he secretly wanted one of your amazing head massages. You always focus on his ears and temples just like he liked so he’d left out his earrings hoping you’d get the hint. This man could never just ask for something in his life. Luckily you could read him like a book.

“Come on.” You purred. Pulling him with both hands off the couch. He complied wearily.

Aizawa didn’t spend much of the money he made from pro hero work on lavish things. The only times he splurged was to buy you nice gifts. However, you did convince him to purchase one nice thing for himself. You knew he wanted it anyways but was just too stubborn to actually buy it.

A jacuzzi tub. He loves hot baths after a day of dealing with his “problem children” students. It was the only thing that could get his muscles to relax. And the moisture from the steam felt nice on his eyes.

Making sure to bring a candle and the speaker with, you lured him into the bathroom.

“Want to take a bath with me?” You asked sweetly.

“I wouldn’t mind that.” A tiny smile spread on his lips. You were too irresistible to deny.

“Okay you run it and I’ll go get the wine.” You sang excitedly. “But don’t make it so hot. You almost burnt my skin off last time.”

“It felt normal to me.” He said casually.

“Yea because you’re a psychopath.” You quipped before springing to the kitchen.

You guys had two types of favorite wine. One was for your long deep discussions about art and literature. Or when asks for your advice on dealing with his students because he knows he’d just lose his temper and expel them without your ideas. And the other, the pricier and far more potent one, was saved for special moments. Just like these. You poured your glass full, of course, but you filled his to the tippy top. Not only did he need it, but Lord knows tipsy Aizawa was sexy.

When you returned, he was crouched over testing the water temperature. His face gently lit from the soft glow of the candle in the dark room.

“I made sure to cool it off. No psychopaths here.” He teased trying to sound bored. But his voice was noticeably happier than when he’d arrived.

You instructed him to take a few sips of wine, desperate to get that show rolling.

“I know what you’re doing.” He said with an amused little smile. He swapped the cups in your hands so you now claimed the full one.

“Good. So then you should know exactly how to play along.” You said as you switched the glasses back with a wink.

He sighed in defeat. But that rare smile was still adorning his cheeks. He took a few y/n-approved size drinks.

His hair was falling into his eyes again. You set your glass down on the tub edge and pulled him into you. He wrapped his arms around your waist while you pushed his hair back and secured it in a clip.

“I didn’t know you were coming tonight.” He said softly.

“I know. Now that I have a key I wanted to come bother you a bit.”

His eyebrow raised at the word bother.

You panicked slightly. Hoping he wasn’t actually bothered that you’d come uninvited.

“That does sound like you.” He said as he kissed your nose. “I hope you do it more often.”

Your heart spasmed.

“Really? You do?” Your insecurities ears’ perked up.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” He said in his deep sleepy voice.

A happy little smile broke its way through. You could only shrug in response.

You slipped your hands under his shirt and pulled it up slowly. Dragging your knuckles along the dips and bumps of his abs as you went. Gently you pulled it over his head. He helped by raising his arms which just made the rest of his muscles flex. Your heart started beating a little faster. No matter how many times you saw him he always made you flustered.

Your eyes were glued on him. His tattoos were now completely visible. Another best kept secret. They trailed around his shoulder, back and half his chest. You placed some honeyed kisses on his collar bones as you pulled down his sweatpants and briefs to leave him fully undressed. He was mouthwatering type sexy. The candlelight was highlighting all his high points in the best possible way. The music was perfectly complimenting your emotions and the sleepy eyes staring at you so lovingly were severely compromising your thought process. There were a lot of things you wanted to do with him suddenly but you focused your eyes on the goal here. A relaxing, hot bath.

Bath bath bath.

Reluctantly containing yourself you pried his hands off your waist and nudged him towards the water.

“Okay okay, go on.”

“You’re coming too right?” He said as he grazed your bottom lip with his thumb.

You nodded, butterflies erupting in your tummy.

He laid down in the water and took some more large swigs of wine. His glass was half empty before you’d even taken your first sip. He watched you undress with intent in his eyes, soaking in every curve and dip of you as well. He reached an arm out to you once you’d fully unclothed. He wanted his hands on you immediately.

But you had a goal here. Bath. Massage. Focus.

You slipped in behind him so that he laid between your legs. His broad shoulders nearly covered your whole body when he leaned back against you.

The tub was huge. Easily fit you both and could probably add another person.

“And now for my favorite part.” You announced as you switched the tub on its low setting. The rumbling under the water sending tiny vibrating waves around the whole tub.

Definitely worth spending his money.

Your hands rubbed every inch of him you could reach. His abs, the thick muscular sides of his waist, his biceps. You alternated between hugging his neck whispering cute things in his ear and massaging him.

Of course he was practically falling asleep as you spent time on his ears and temples. His head was heavy against your chest. It was so cute. You loved when he fell asleep on you.

But you knew he was keeping himself awake. He was rubbing your legs and the backs of your thighs. Squeezing and kneading them gently. Placing kisses on your arms and hands whenever he got the chance.

After about 20 minutes and one refresh of hot water, both your glasses were empty. He’d drank most of it since he’d downed the last few sips of yours too.

Wanting to see his handsome face again you shifted and positioned yourself to sit on his lap, thighs wrapped snuggly around his waist. After making sure you were fully comfortable, he leaned back against the tub and closed his eyes. He pulled you close and trailed circles with his fingertips up and down your back under the warm water. He loved the weight of you on him. You both exhaled a deep stress relieving breath.

The steam was working its magic, the rumbling of the jets felt so good massaging your legs. And his heart beat, you could feel it through his chest. It was slow and steady. Making you drowsy off him.

He noticed you were lost in thought, stroking his hair and tracing your fingers along the lines of his tattoo. He took advantage of this time to soak in all your features, watching you under drooping lashes. The flush of your cheeks, the delicate arrangement of your beauty marks. The far off expression on your face, he knew it well. He loved observing you when you were like this. You were beautiful.

“Relaxed yet?” You purred. Starting to tease him with soft kisses.

“Almost there.” He replied before catching you to deepen the kiss. Your soft skin and body heat was melting him away. He wanted more. Using both hands he pressed your back into it.

He savored your lips for a long while, becoming more and more passionate as the seconds ticked by and the wine hit his bloodstream.

You felt him shifting underneath you. Squirming slightly from the pressure that was building up. More butterflies. His hands clamped down around your hips.

“Okay your plan worked.” He smiled into your kiss. Eyes still closed.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re referring to.”

He tapped his finger against the empty wine glasses.

You started sucking on the sensitive spot under his ear. You knew tipsy Shouta always got turned on by that.

His arms both constricted tightly around your waist. His hips were pressing up into you now with impatience.

“Let’s go to my room.” He concluded. You giggled, causing your lips to vibrate against his sweet spot. You heard the soft moan from deep in his throat.

He stood up keeping you wrapped tightly around him, carrying you with ease.

He half-heartedly patted you both down with a towel, his hand not losing contact with your ass for a second.

Before he could whisk you out of the bathroom you grabbed the speaker and candle again.

The scent wafted into the air around you.

“Mm that smells good.” He said distracted for only a moment before his lips gravitated to your body again.

“Oh really. So you do like it.” You said with the smuggest tone. “You’ll never guess what scent it is Shouta.”

He didn’t reply. Too distracted with kissing your shoulders.

“Cinnamon.” You said with as much sass and emphasis as you could muster.

He paused. Caught. How did you always get him like this?

He pulled back rolling his eyes with a smile. Nose to nose now, you pressed him further with a smirk.

He cocked an eyebrow at you. Looking directly in your eyes he said, “Mhm. Keep this same energy when I take you in there.”

And just like that he’d knocked down your resolve and your whole body started fluttering.

He carried you into his bed and you two “relaxed” for the rest of the night.

~~

😳 the way I want to be y/n.

[agustdakasuga]

Between The Bloodshed | Chapter 12

Genre: Mafia!AU, Angst, Romance, Fluff

Pairing: OT7 x Reader

Characters: Doctor!Reader, Gangster!Namjoon, Gangster!Seokjin, Gangster!Yoongi, Gangster!Hoseok, Gangster!Jimin, Gangster!Taehyung, Gangster!Jungkook

Summary: Being a freelance doctor, this was just supposed to be any other job, helping a private client and taking care of him through his recovery. But you were not expecting to get caught in something so much darker that would change your life entirely.

You’re starting to realise that being around the boys and getting closer to them is harder than you thought. Whether you can mentally take it or not is going to be a challenge. 

Warning: This story is fictional and has nothing to do with real life events or the actual members of BTS. It may contain depictions of violence, blood shed/ gore and mentions of abuse. Please read at your own discretion.

Chapter warning(s): Anxiety attack, reader has a nightmare, 

“What now-” You lifted your head when you saw someone enter your room. The boy didn’t say anything as he climbed into your bed, pulling you close to him to fall back asleep. You blinked in confusion as you heard soft snores coming from the boy.

“Jungkook. Stop coming in here to escape your brothers.” You said, slightly muffled against the material of his shirt.

“Shhh.” Was all he said, snuggling closer to you. As much as you hated to admit it, the boys were slowly getting closer to you as each day passes. Their company was tolerable.

“Koo, you know this is the first place Namjoon will come find you.” You patted his shoulder. 

“Hmm... Koo... I like that nickname.” Jungkook peeked one eye open. 

“You’re such a baby.” You scoffed. Jungkook didn’t reply, quickly falling back asleep. You let out a sigh of defeat, running your fingers through his long, black hair. 

*KNOCK KNOCK*

“Yes, Namjoon?” You called out, chuckling. Jungkook didn’t move, having fallen into a deep sleep already. The door slowly crept open and Namjoon poked his head in. Seeing the sleeping boy in your arms, he gave a flat look with a sigh. Jungkook was the youngest but he was the heaviest and the bulkiest out of all the 7 boys, which makes his muscle bunny name very fitting. 

“Wanna try?” You asked. 

“You need to change your locks.” Namjoon crossed his arms. 

“Isn’t the first lesson of mafia school how to pick locks? Changing locks wouldn’t be so effective then.” You raised your eyebrows, moving positions so Jungkook laid in your lap instead. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him willingly get close to someone before though. That’s quite a feat.” Namjoon chuckled. 

“He’s not going to wake up soon. Maybe try later?” You suggested. 

“We’re supposed to have a meeting. He knows this because he was the one that chose this date 2 weeks ago.” Namjoon shook his head. You just shrugged with a smile. 

“You spoil him too much. But I’ll be back to get him later.” Namjoon waved before exiting the room. You slid back down, letting Jungkook rest against your chest instead. You were quite particular about the boys having physical contact with you but now, you felt like you needed someone with you. 

“It’s too early for this...” You closed your eyes, falling back asleep, considering you can’t escape Jungkook’s grip. 

[DREAM]

Your eyes widened as you felt something press against the back of your neck, the cold metal against the warmth of your skin on your neck. Your hand clutched the object that was forced into your hand.

“Do it.” The voice whispered in your ear.

“I can’t.” Your whole body trembled as you cried out. The cocking on the gun behind you made you yelp like a helpless puppy. It pushed you to press the barrel of your gun deeper against the skin. Through your tear-filled eyes, you looked up to meet his eyes. 

“It’s okay.” The male before you smiled. 

“It’s either you die or him.” The person behind was there yet again. You gasped, tears running down your face. 

BANG!

“No!” You screamed, sitting up. Cold sweat covered your forehead and you lifted your shaky hands. There was a ringing in your ears and your vision couldn’t focus. You couldn’t even hear the door open.

“(y/n)!” Someone called out to you but it sounded so distant. Even when Jungkook pulled your trembling figure into his embrace, you were frozen. 

“(y/n), calm down. You’re having an anxiety attack. It’s okay, you’re okay. Please.” Jungkook squeezed you even tighter, your cheek pressed against his chest, wetting his shirt with your tears. What was happening? You felt like you lost control of your own body. Jungkook called out to his brothers for help, who came rushing in. 

“(y/n). Can you hear me? You’re safe, nothing happened. It was just a nightmare.” Jin cupped your cheeks. 

“A... A n-night-m-mare. I-It was too r-real.” You choked.

“But you’re here, we’re all here. Safe and unharmed.” Jungkook said. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. You knew only you could pull yourself out of this headspace. 

“Let’s give her some breathing room.” Jimin said, making everyone take a step back. You didn’t even notice to looks of worry the boys had. 

“I’ll stay here with her, hyungs.” Jungkook turned to the others. 

“Call us if anything else happens.” Jin ruffled the maknae’s hair. He nodded, watching his 6 brothers leave. You let out a deep breath, your hands have finally stopped shaking. Jungkook wrapped an arm around you, letting you rest your forehead on his shoulder. 

“I hope whatever happened in that nightmare stays there.” You whispered. Jungkook hummed. 

“We won’t ever let anything happen to you.” He comforted. 

“I need to calm down.” You mumbled. Jungkook proceeded to draw you closer to him, his tattooed arm loosely around you. Instead of pushing him away, you leaned into his secure embrace. 

“I’ll be here.” He began to hum a soft tune to calm you down, waiting for you patiently to catch your breath. Mentally, you scolded yourself for being so vulnerable in front of the boys. You haven’t had an anxiety attack in years. 

“Can I have a few moments alone?” You croaked. 

“Of course.” Jungkook let you go, leaving you in the room. The first thing you did was go into the toilet, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet. You stared at your reflection, hair sticking to your face with sweat and your eyes all red and bloodshot. Closing your eyes, you took a few deep breaths to try and get yourself in the right mind again. 

“You’re better than this.” You told your reflection. After washing your face, you walked out of the room.

“Iced coffee, please.” You ordered. The maid served your usual order. Instead of going into the dining room, you went out onto the second floor balcony, taking a seat on the same bench as that night when you spoke to Taehyung. 

“You’re here.” Someone said. 

“Yeah...” You sighed. 

“You okay?” He placed a hand on your back. You turned to look at him, letting out a bitter laugh. 

“No.” You replied, taking a sip of your coffee. There were many thoughts racing through your mind. You sighed, closing your eyes to just calm your mind for a few seconds. 

“You’re finally being honest that you’re not okay, huh?” Hoseok chuckled, leaning back against the seat. He didn’t say anything after that, staring out into the back garden silently. 

“My emotions are all over the place. I never get anxiety attacks like that.” You rubbed your face with your hands. 

“What do you mean?” 

“I grew up learning all about the human psyche. My parents brought me up in an environment that doesn’t let me experience things like that. That’s not me, Hoseok. Anxiety attacks and nightmares? I killed someone with cyanide! No hesitation.” You said in frustration. 

“You’re human, (y/n). Certain things just can’t be prevented. Even if you grew up trying to prevent it. And that was an instinctive thing, you didn’t purposely kill him.” Hoseok sighed. 

“The fact that I thought I needed to even carry cyanide with me.” You shivered, remembering how the man dropped dead like that. 

“We were all like that the first time. Things are rough in our world, it’s either kill or be killed.” Hoseok shrugged.

“I’m just at a lost right now.” 

“That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. The boys and I were talking about going on a vacation. We would like you to join us actually. It would be good to relax and unwind.” Hoseok informed. 

“A trip? Don’t you guys have work?” You asked. 

“We don’t have any urgent stuff, that’s all been taken care of. Our men will handle all the minor stuff for us. Besides, we usually go on vacation around this time of year, anyway. We have a private beach property in Florida, where we plan to go.” He said. You thought about it. Maybe it would be good to go away for a while and get your mind off things. 

“When do we leave?” You gave a small smile. 

“That’s the spirit! We leave in 3 days. We’re going to have so much fun.” Hoseok patted your head.

“You guys already booked everything without asking me. What if I didn’t want to go?” You laughed. 

“Well, then we would have made you come with us under work obligation. You know we would always get what we want.” Hoseok grinned. You shook your head, rolling your eyes. Speaking to Hoseok always made you smile. 

“Thanks for the laugh. I needed it.” You said. 

“You’re not alone in this, (y/n). We’re all here.” Hoseok kissed your forehead before retreating back into the house. 

“You looks horrible.” Yoongi commented as you walked in. 

“Thanks, Yoonie.” You groaned, slapping your forehead. Taehyung walked in, his white t shirt and grey hoodie stained a crimson red. He was dragging a wooden bat behind him, leaving a blood trail. He looked up at you and Yoongi with hooded eyes, almost empty. 

“Go.” Yoongi nodded up the stairs. Taehyung dropped the bat with a loud sound, trudging up the stairs. 

“I think you scared the little one this morning.” Yoongi said, turning back to you. 

“Well, I think I’m slowly losing it.” 

“I told you to think through it seriously before telling Namjoon you would stay. Now look.” Yoongi surprised you by reaching up to stroke your cheek with his thumb. All you could do was sigh. 

“I can do it.” You told him. 

“I know you can.” He hummed. Namjoon entered and Yoongi pulled away to look at him. With a nod from Namjoon, Yoongi straightened up and walked out to follow the leader. You went to your office to grab your first aid kit, waiting for Taehyung to come in. As expected, he stood by the door, an apprehensive look on his face as you waved for him to enter. 

“Come, sit.” You patted the space. He sat on the medical table as you wheeled yourself closer. 

“Let’s clean these up first.” You soaked a cotton ball in disinfectant, cleaning the blister wounds on his hands then moving to his face, applying ointment to his bruises and cuts. 

“Owww...” He wrinkled his nose, hissing when you touched the cut over his eyebrow. You lightened up on the pressure, applying a bandaid over it. 

“Anywhere else?” 

“My ribs.” Taehyung lifted his shirt, showing the blooming bruise that was forming there. You nodded, pressing over it lightly to feel for a break. Taehyung squeezed his eyes, looking away as he bit his lip. 

“It doesn’t feel broken but it is very inflamed. I’ll ice it then wrap it with tape. Lay down.” You pulled away. You left the room to grab some ice from the freezer in the kitchen, filling the bag. When you entered the room, Taehyung was still sitting up. 

“Tae-” He suddenly wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. You smiled softly, running your fingers through his hair. 

“It’s okay.” You comforted. He took a few shaky breaths. 

“Come, let me ice your ribs.” You spoke softly, like a mother talking to her son. Taehyung laid down and you softly pressed the ice to the bruise over his ribs. He let out little grunts of pain. 

“Are you feeling better?” Taehyung asked. 

“An anxiety attack won’t kill me. Give me a little it more credit than that.” You chuckled. Taehyung also had a small smile. 

“Is it the guilt?” 

“Well, it’s the first time someone died in my hands, intentionally. It takes a while to get used to.” You shrugged, trying to play it cool. Taehyung grabbed your other hand in his. 

“I know, I’ve been doing it for years and I still can’t get used to it. Please don’t get used to it, (y/n). Leave the guilt and... killing to us. ” Taehyung whispered sadly. You ran your fingers through his hair. Of course, you were not going to start going on a rampage and killing people. You were still here, only as a doctor to the boys. 

“It was all in self defence, Tae. You know that. I’m still here, only as a doctor to heal your injuries. I won’t leave.” You told him. 

“I just don’t want to see you going through that again.” Taehyung said. You felt your heart grow warm as Taehyung said that. After you iced his ribs, you dried the area and wrapped his chest. 

“Take it easy, these few days.” You advised. 

“I will.” He nodded. Giving you once last glance, Taehyung left your office. You cleared up the area and went to sit down at your desk. 

“Can I do my session now? Namjoon called for a meeting later.” Yoongi came in. You nodded, closing your book and standing up. Yoongi was doing a mix of shockwave therapy and normal rehab exercises for his shoulder now. 

“Let’s start.” You began to do his exercises with him. Yoongi was healing well and the pain he felt was more or less gone but he still wasn’t allowed to start really ‘working’ yet. You didn’t even allow him to drive. You moved his arm slowly, looking for signs of pain. 

“How we feeling?” You asked. 

“Just the usual stiffness.” He scrunched his nose slightly. You nodded your head, pulling away for a few seconds to note it down. 

“There’s a lot of improvement from last time.” You flipped through your notepad. Yoongi nodded his head as you stepped back to guide him through his stretching exercises. 

“And we’re done. Get a sip of this and lay down.” You handed him a bottle of cold water. Meanwhile, you grabbed the shockwave machine. Yoongi removed his shirt, laying down on the bed comfortably. 

“I’m out of painkillers.” Yoongi said as you put the stickers on his shoulder that connected to the machine. 

“I see. How are you sleeping?” 

“I don’t wake up because of the pain anymore.” He informed.

“Alright, I’ll give you a milder painkiller to take when necessary. If it doesn’t work for those bad flares, come see me and I’ll give you something stronger.” You told him and he nodded. 

“Hoseok told me about the Florida trip?” You cleared your throat, sitting on the wheely stool. 

“Yeah. We hope to clear the important work before the trip. It’s been a little hectic so it was a sudden decision to take a short break somewhere. I voted for our lodge is Switzerland but the younger ones like to do water sports on our private beach.” Yoongi sighed. 

“Well, where ever we can escape work, I’ll go. I’ll use the break to reset my brain.” You chuckled.

“The others will be excited to hear that you’re going as well.” He mumbled. 

“What about you?” 

“What about me?” He frowned. 

“Are you happy I’m going?” You raised your eyebrows. Yoongi cast you a glance, knowing what you’re trying to get out of him but you just shot him an innocent look. 

“What kind of question is that? Whether I’m happy or not shouldn’t matter to you or affect your decision.” He scoffed but you saw the tips of his ears start to blush a light red. You stifled a laugh, wheeling yourself over to your medicine cabinet to pack the painkillers for Yoongi into a pill ox. The machine beeped, signalling the end. 

“You’re done for today. Ice it if it’s sore. Same as always.” You smiled, handing him his pillbox. Yoongi nodded and left your office. 

“Of course I’m glad you’re going.” He whispered after closing your door. With a shake of his head, he walked to his room to prepare for the meeting tonight with the others. 

“We’re here!” Jungkook burst in with Kookie at his feet. Kookie hopped in, once again getting familiar with your office. 

“Hello, Kookie.” You bent down to stroke the bunny’s head. 

“Just Kookie?” 

“Hello to you too, Jungkook.” You complied, reaching up to pat his head like how you did with Kookie. 

“No, not Jungkook.” He shook his head. 

“Fine. Hello to you too, Koo.” You called him his new nickname. Jungkook threw his head back in laughter. You picked Kookie up, sitting back down on your chair and setting him in your lap comfortably. 

“Don’t you have things to do Koo? I heard about the big meeting tonight.” You raised an eyebrow at the maknae, who was just spinning around on your stool. 

“Nah, I already know what we’re doing. It’s just announcing that we’re going on vacation and handing over who’s going to be in charge of the businesses and such. Nothing too serious. I’m practically there just to... be there?” He tilted his head with a shrug.  

“Whatever it is, I’ll be enjoying my evening alone, relaxing. Oh, well at least just me and Kookie.” You giggled. 

“Lucky.” Jungkook pouted. 

The boys were getting ready to leave the house, all dressed in their suits, including Yoongi. You leaned against the back of the couch, waiting for your delivery food. 

“Sending us off?” Jimin grinned. 

“Nope.” You shook your head. The butler came in, carrying bags of food. You smiled, clapping your hands excitedly before receiving them. 

“What’s that?” Jin’s eyes widened. 

“Fried chicken, tteokbokki, other kinds of delicious food. I already told you that I’ll be feasting on my own.” You showed your food proudly. The boys let out groans at your teasing. Of course, they’d rather stay home and feast, not have to wear stuffy suits and go to some boring meeting. Jungkook pouted, crossing his arms. 

“I hate you.” 

“Have fun now.” You popped a fry into your mouth and walked towards the glass door to eat at the gazebo. 

“Hey, Koo?” You called out to the pouting boy. Jungkook’s eyes lit up, as if expecting that you would offer him a bite of your food before they had to leave for their meeting. 

“Pass me a beer from the bar?” You requested. His face fell, trudging over to grab a bottle of beer and opening it before handing it to you. 

“Here.” He grumbled. 

“Thanks.” You saluted and waddled out into the garden, enjoying the breeze of the evening. 

“Save some food for me!” Taehyung yelled out. 

“No promises.” You replied before digging in. Of course, you would save some for them when they came back. Imagine their faces when they saw the fried chicken, tteokbokki and other dishes on the living room table. 

~~

Ko-fi link

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[softyoongiionly]

BlackHeart Bakery

Who says Halloween can’t be romantic?

Pairing: Emo! Jungkook x Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: fluff

A/N: HI OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS LATE. I love you, I hope you like it. I’m sorry it isn’t longer but, I still can’t wait for you to read it.

-you never imagined that the quirky lil bakery down the street from your university would change your life  

-But it did

-“Omg shut up, you’re so dumb.”

-“Rawr xD”

-“Did you just say rawr xD out loud??? That totally defeats the purpose of its existence...”

-“Don’t cite the deep magic to me witch, I was there when it was written.”

-“And now you’re quoting the chronicles of narnia- alright just go back to sleep you big dummy...”

-“Mmm but you married a big dummy so what does that say about you”

-“Jungkook don't spoil it oh my god!”

-“Like they don’t know what’s coming already- spoiler alert losers! I get the girl.”

-“I hate you...”

-“Mm yeah- I love it when you talk dirty to me baby. The last time you said that- we ended up fuc-“

-“Ok! That’s enough! Our story begins...”

-Jungkook’s bakery was quite famous around your city

-If people didn’t come for the gaudy Halloween decorations  

-They came for the music  

-Exclusively pop punk, if you’re wondering

-It was like 2009 everyday  

-Which was comforting, considering the world has gotten a little

-Tricky

-Since then

-But anyways

-If they didn’t come for the music or the decorations

-They came for the AMAZING espresso  

-And the spooky themed treats

-But if you’re being honest

-You think the main thing that keeps them coming back

-Is Jungkook  

-If his sweeping black hair didn’t get you

-Or the adorable cheeky twinkle in his eyes

-It was the tattoos and the piercings  

-He looked like he walked right off of a black veil brides music video set  

-He was hot

-This was obvious

-But he didn’t seem to think so

-You had come to the conclusion that he was oblivious  

-he shoved his feet into his big black doc martens every morning  

-Slipped on his beaded bracelets and studded chokers

-Pulled his fall out boy t-shirt over his

-Massive

-Tattooed

-Biceps

-And just thought hm

-I’m pretty average I guess (lol)

-That’s a direct quote from him btw

-Men truly are hopeless

-Jungkook opened the bakery two years ago

-He had mentioned to you that he had saved up money from his 3 part time jobs to put a down payment on the building  

-Which was wedged between a sex shop

-And a thrift store

-And honestly his bakery

-Blackheart Bakery, if you’re being specific  

-Fits right in

-Jungkook refuses to hire new staff

-“They won’t do it right.” He whined to you one day

-“One time I tried to hire this guy and he put the sugared googly eyes on the cookie skeletons ALL WRONG”

-“How do you put googly eyes on wrong?” You had giggled

-“you just do- i- See? This is exactly why I can’t hire anyone...”

-You had started chewing on the end of your pencil in the midst of your laughter

-It was an unconscious habit

-And it makes Jungkook shift uncomfortably, his hands moving off of the top of your table

-“Don’t do that...” he had muttered, smirking to himself as he walked back behind the counter  

-he did that a lot

-He’d mutter something  

-Mildly flirtatious under his breath and then  

-Just walk away

-It was quite confusing

-But honestly you had a feeling he was just a filrty person  

-You certainly weren’t the only girl he smirked at

-Not that you pay attention

-Ok  

-Maybe you do  

-Kinda  

-Pay attention  

-but it’s not your fault!!!!  

-You just  

-Can’t help but feel a little jealous

-You kiiiiiinda have a little thing for him

-Ok

-Maybe it’s a big thing  

-Maybe it’s a massive

-Gigantic

-Towering  

-Crush  

-But look at him!!!

-You simply couldn’t be blamed

-It was his fault  

-Yep

-That’s what you’re going with

-It was Jungkook

-And his tight t shirts

-His ripped jeans

-His dangly earrings

-His tattoos

-His big

-Stupid boots

-Ugh ok

-Focus  

-You have work to do

-The whole reason you began coming to Jungkook's cafe was so you -could find a consistent place to study for your exams

-You were in school to become a teacher :)  

-And teachers have to study very very hard  

-Educating the youth is no easy feat  

-Jungkook had asked what you were studying during the first week you arrived at his spooky house of baked goods

-“Oh I’m an education major”

-“Ahh so you’re getting an education about...education.” He concludes

-“I love it.”

-“So meta.”

-“Are they educating you on the disparities between impoverished children and wealthier children?”

-His wide eyes were brimming with genuine curiosity  

-You kind of got a kick out of how candid he was about such heavy conversation topics

-“Not as much as they should be but, I’m actually writing a paper on a similar topic right now...”

-This caused a brilliant grin to come over his face

-It was almost blinding really

-And it made your heartbeat all wonky  

-“Of course you are. You look smart like that...”

-He had backed away from your table then, seemingly satisfied

-Had you passed the vibe check?

-“I’ll leave you to your paper.” He nodded to your laptop but as he walked away, he pivoted back towards you on and the heel of his combat boot, “welcome to Blackheart Bakery by the way, let me know if I can get you anything.”

-Another brilliant smile is sent your way  

-“Thank you.” You had smiled back, sending a tiny wave his way

-Which in turn, made HIS heartbeat all wonky  

-You’re cute

-Like really cute

-And despite how often it may seem like his eyes are elsewhere

-They are ALWAYS on you

-Every chance he gets he is glancing your way

-Smirking to himself at how endearing you are

-Brow furrowed

-Lips pouted in concentration  

-Completely oblivious to his gaze

-He has to remind himself to look away  

-He doesn’t want to be a creep

-“Creepy men deserved to get kicked in the teeth...”

-He’s said this to you before when another patron had made you uncomfortable

-Jungkook kicked him out immediately  

-“If you don’t leave, I’ll have no choice but to kick you in the teeth. One, because I can’t compromise my personal philosophy and two because you’re making my favorite customer uncomfortable.”

-Oh look there goes your heartbeat again

-WONKY

-The guy leaves in an angry rush, flipping Jungkook off in the process

-Saying something about leaving a bad Yelp review  

-He doesn’t care tho

-He definitely doesn’t want to be a creep

-You’re just so  

-Pretty

-Ugh

-He rolls his eyes at himself behind the espresso bar

-The latte in front of him neglected  

-In need of a bit of foam

-“Focus Jeon, she’s just a chick...”

No wait

-“She’s just a woman. A woman who I respect, like I respect all women...”

-He’s been watching a lot of feminist theory on YouTube

-He likes staying educated  

-And also fuck the patriarchy

-The man waiting for his drink has arched a brow at this point, wondering if his barista has lost his mind

-“Uhhh medium...” he checks the cup for his awful hand writing, “ghostly toasted marshmallow latte!”

-“Thanks.” The guy mutters, throwing a judging look Jungkook's way  

-He gives him a lazy salute as the guy struts away with a briefcase in tow

-“Thaaanks.” Jungkook mocks him, his face scrunching up in annoyance  

-Stupid man

-With his stupid briefcase  

-As Jungkook is pulling out a batch of cream cheese frosting stuffed pumpkin muffins  

-Or as Jungkook calls them

-PUNK-in Muffins

-Movement at the counter catches his eye

-is that

-”oh shit...” He grunts, hastily wiping his hands on his apron and rushing over to the counter

-normally he would meander

-stroll

-or even slump to greet any new guests at this hour

-and by this hour

-he means 45 minutes before closing

-Jungkook’s bakery is open til midnight on weeknights

-9pm on Sundays

-and 3am on Saturdays (for the culture of course, gotta keep it spooky)

-tonight happens to be a Friday night and the person awaiting his assistance is

-you

-”You’re still here?” He gawks, the black polish on his nails glimmering as he punches in a few keys on the register

-You offer him a tired and slightly amused smile, “No. Y/N died around 4:30, you’re speaking to her ghost. Please leave your message after the tone.”

-Jungkook cracks a smile, his palms resting on flat on the counter, “Do ghosts check their voicemails?”

-“Oh of course not but, I will be checking yours because you have access to caffeine.”

-Jungkook laughs

-no...he giggles  

-and it’s fucking cute

-but you digress

-“I feel like I should cut you off...this is your 4th latte; I’m pretty sure you’re 80% caffeine at this point...”

-“Noooo, don’t do that.” You whine slumping against the counter, “I just need to finish this one page...”

-He quirks a brow as he scribbles something on your cup, unimpressed with your statement, “You said that three hours ago. I’ll make you another one but I’m not putting an extra shot in.”

-Your face turns up in protest but he click his tongue against his teeth , shaking a manicured finger at you

-“Ah ah- nope. I don’t want to hear it. You either take that or I’m making you a hot chocolate and shutting the buildings power off.”

-With a dramatic sigh, you concede

-“Ugh fine. Here-” You go to hand him your debit card but he shakes his head

-“Put that away.”

-You want to protest but given the fact that he’s made the rules thus far during this interaction, you doubt you’d be able to stop him.

-A smile appears on your face then, appreciative of his generosity

-“Thank you.”

-He merely grins, waving you off before rolling up the sleeves of his black Blink 182 shirt

-as soon as his tattoos are out

-all the moisture leaves your mouth

-you try your hardest not to stare at him

-expertly, he eases the espresso shots into the milk, tongue poking between his lips in concentration

-and you

-being sleep-deprived

-and a little loopy

-decide to  

-flirt????????

-if you could even call it that

-which you could but you shouldn’t

-“For the record, when I finally dig my way out of this of mountain of death I’m stuck in, I will definitely take you up on that hot chocolate...”

-Jungkook’s brow quirks at the tone of your voice, his hands suddenly itching with nerves

-was that

-was that flirty?

-should he flirt back?

-“My hot chocolate is legendary. You won’t be disappointed.” His lips display a small grin as he places the lid atop your finished latte, “Also mountain of death is a great name and I WILL be stealing it.”

-You giggle

-again

-“and I WILL be suing you for copyright.”

-He laughs now, wiping up the bit of milk he spilled

-the sinewy muscles in his forearm tensing and untensing

“Good luck getting me to show up to court.”

-and that’s kinda how it was between you and Jungkook

-for like six months

-it was a little bit flirty but never anything to push either over you over the edge.

-and speaking of being on edge

-recently, you had gone from vacationing in your timeshare on the edge

-to signing a 35 year mortgage contract  

-4 bedrooms

-2.5 bathrooms

-of pure

-unrelenting

-stress

-you could feel it in the middle of your back

-shoving itself up between your shoulder blades

-your body seemed to ache with it

-the worst part being

-it was Halloween

-You should be out with your friends, having fun

-wearing itchy costumes and drinking sugary drinks

-but instead, your headed towards the bakery to work

-Jungkook was behind the counter, smiling happily at a family dressed like the cast of scooby doo

-from what you could see he was wearing a skeleton onesie

-his jet black hair tousled perfectly above his head

-he looked adorable

-(and hot)

-He notices you instantly, his face turning up in surprise

-you offer up a small wave and head over to your table

-you know he’s going to say something about you being there but

-you don’t really have much of a choice

-this work has to be done

-it takes him a second to spot you but when he does

-he seems to perk up

-his smile brightening as he looks back towards his customer

-as you’re setting everything up, you feel a presence (not the spooky kind) at the end of your table

-it’s Jungkook and he has your regular order in one hand, along with something wrapped in skeleton-patterned parchment paper

-“I know, I know.” You acknowledge before he’s even able to chide you for being here

-He smirks “What are you doing studying on the holiest day of the year??”

-You giggle

-“The holiest day of the year huh?”

-“Of course. Halloween is the one night a year that the homies can dress like total -sluts and no one can say anything about it.”

-This makes you giggle again

-“And you went with slutty skeleton huh? I love it- it’s like as naked as you can possibly get.”

-He chuckles, gesturing to his costume

-His floppy black hair getting in his face

-“Damn right baby.”

-The way he grins tells you the pet name is a joke

-But the deepening of his voice gets to you anyway

-“Thank you for this. I promise I’ll get out of your hair early tonight.”

-“The only thing I’m worried about getting out of my hair is this white spray paint. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”

-He’s put a streak of white spray paint in his raven locks

-Why? You’re not certain

-Does it look good on him, like everything else does?

-Absolutely

-Its been a few hours since your night of studying began

-Jungkook’s dropped off two free lattes since you’ve arrived  

-As well as a slice of his ‘I write cinnamon not tragedies’ bread

-Which was equally hilarious and delicious

-You caught him glancing over at your table a few times but you didn’t think anything of it

-He’s probably just checking to make sure that no one needs your table

-His bakery is packed most nights but Halloween is a special night at Blackheart Bakery

-He has a trick or treat counter set up with free (homemade) candy

-A photo op complete with a fake haunted house backdrop

-A Halloween playlist

-And a bunch of discounts on his signature lattes and food

-you watch him amongst the chaos

-He is completely unfazed

-He seems elated at the amount of customers he has

-he grins and laughs at something a man dressed like Thor says at his counter

-he seems entirely in his element

-you realize that the denial tactics you’ve been trying out haven’t been working

-because this floppy haired, tattooed, slutty skeleton/baker kind of has a hold on your heart

-you’ve been friends for a long time now

-he always makes sure you’re taken care of

-he always asks if you’re ok

-he always gives you this little grin

-it feels like a secret sometimes

-but maybe it’s been his way of letting you know where he stands

-he’s been bringing you lattes and pastries for months now

-he never charges you full-price

-he always reminds you not to work too hard

-he

-fuck

-he likes you doesn’t he?

-you look back over at the counter to see him bending over and handing a skeleton cookie to a little girl dressed like Captain Marvel

-he laughs at something she says

-his eyes focused entirely on her and whatever she seems to be proclaiming to him  

-your heart goes wonky again

-alright

-enough is enough

-you’re doing this  

-Jungkook’s done so much of the work thus far

-it’s time for you to seal the deal

-and if he rejects you, well…

-you can just crawl into a hole and never come out again

-easy peasy

-You can feel his eyes on you as you get up to take your place in line

-luckily there isn’t anyone else behind you

-rejection with an audience would certainly be worse

-Jungkook has his witty comment ready for you as you approach the register

-“I know for a fact you haven’t finished your third latte and I’m not making you another one until-“

-“I’m not here for another latte.” You laugh, trying to ignore the thrashing of your heartbeat

-“No? Well, are you finally going to try my Welcome to the Blackened Chicken Parade Burger then? I’ve been asking you for like three weeks…”

-god he’s fucking cute

-“I’m here to ask you out.”

-Jungkook swears he feels his heart stop

-“You’re here to…”

-He repeats the first part of your response as his he didn’t hear you

-his black fingernails anxiously tapping against the countertop

-“I’m here to ask you out- on a date.”

-Jungkooks face seems to go through various stages of confusion before a shy smirk presents itself on his pretty mouth

-“Me? You’re asking me-“ He places a hand on his chest, “-out on a date?”

-“Yes!” You laugh, slapping the counter a bit too hard, your nerves getting the best of you, “Are you down?”

-He shakes his head but his answer contradicts his movements

-“So down, beyond down. There is no one on Earth who is more DOWN than I am. Yes. My answer is yes. 50000% yes.”

-you can’t help the smile on your lips

-“great. So are you free next Friday then?”

-He grins with his teeth this time, nodding emphatically  

-“Consider the shop closed.”

-and so it was

-you returned to your table moments later  

-feeling on top of the world

-you did it

-you asked Jungkook out

-and he said yes

-and now you

-NOW YOU HAVE A DATE WITH JUNGKOOK

-LOOK AT YOU GO

-TAKING CHARGE

-you try your best to engage with your studies but with Jungkook on your mind

-its really hard

-roughly two hours later, things at the bakery have finally started to slow down

-“Hey uh- Y/N?”

-Jungkook's voice that pulls you out of your studying trance

-he’s standing at the entrance of his back room, waving you over with his hand

-and who are you to deny him?

-you make your way over there, annoyed at the instant increase in your heartrate

-he stands awkwardly to the side and gestures to the boxes on the metal rack

-“I just remembered that I’ve never given you a tour of the place. I give all my regulars a tour of the stockroom and my office and uh-”

-he cuts himself off and clumsily cups your cheek

-he pulls you into a kiss

-a really good kiss

-his lips are so warm

-he smells like cinnamon

-you could literally die happy

-The ridiculous nature of his first attempt to kiss you, makes you giggle into his mouth

-you feel him smile, his hands smushing your cheeks together as he pulls away

-“Ok I lied. There is no tour. I’ve just been watching you focus on your computer for the last two hours and you’re just really fucking cute and-”

-this time, it’s you who cuts him off

-“You better give me an actual tour next time. How else am I going to steal your secret recipes?”

-he scoffs in mock offense

-“Ah ha! So that’s the only reason you asked me out huh? Should I be calling you Plankton instead of Y/N? Ew no wait- that would make me Mr. Krabs and he’s a dirty capitalist...”

-You laugh, “Oooh good point. Guess you’ll just have to be Karen, my computer wife.”

-This makes him laugh now and the sound warms your soul

-“I could live with that- I like your last name better anyways.”

-with another kiss, your adventure with the emo baker of your dreams begins

-It may have been Halloween but it sure felt like Christmas to you

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith//spencer reid - chapter 9

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her new friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid. (Baby Spence)

pairing: Fem!OC x Spencer

word count: 4.1k

content warnings: tattooing/tattoo aftercare, mostly fluffy!

A/N: hi! it's been a while since i updated this series, but i love it too much to leave it behind and i'm also always going to be obsessed with sub!spence. anyway, all my tattoos are stick and pokes atm so if some of the tattoo stuff if a little off, i'm sorry!

masterlist

it's really a matter of principle that keeps me bound to the promise. if I were a weaker woman, I would back down from the chair, would have shaken my head and told JJ that no, actually, I will not be getting something permanently inked on my body purely for the fulfillment of a bet.

but with most of the team around me and a couple flutes of champagne flowing through my veins, I give in. it's going to be small, even though I'm not going to see it until it's done. Penelope and Morgan being in charge of the design scares me, though. I start to get nervous that I'm going to end up with a unicorn tramp stamp.

"where are you gonna get it?" Garcia nudges my shoulder once we get inside the tattoo parlor. her eyes are traveling over all the intense artwork, which I can already tell is very much not her style. the walls are covered in intricate prints from past customers.

I think to myself for a moment. if I'm being completely honest, there's one place I've been meaning to get a tattoo, but never have. it's easy to hide, which is good. as long as the design they choose isn't horrifically embarrassing, I'll do it.

"I'm thinking..." I pull the waistband of my jeans down a little until it's right below my hip bone. "there."

"sexy." she says suggestively. I laugh.

"depending on what you guys have decided to give me, yeah." I angle for a hint, but Penny isn't caving.

"are you ready?" Morgan asks, having returned from the front desk area, where he's been talking to the artist. I take a deep breath, peer around at the rest of the team. we look like an odd bunch in here, an assortment of ages all gathered in a dark tattoo parlor.

Spencer's watching me with a concerned expression and I realize that I've been staring around for a decent amount of time. he doesn't say anything, although I've noticed that he's got a certain face he makes right before he does-- and he's making it.

"Clea, are you sure you wanna do this? you don't have to." JJ touches my shoulder suddenly. I realize that they think I'm genuinely worried and I let out a laugh.

"yeah, I'm fine," I turn to Morgan. "lead the way, handsome."

the tattoo artist has me lie down while he preps all his tools, snaps on his gloves. everyone sees me on my stomach and Emily gasps.

"are you getting a tramp stamp?"

"what? no," I giggle. "I'm gonna get it here." I show them the spot I just showed Penelope, and Spencer raises his eyebrows. Prentiss whispers something in Morgan's ear and the suave agent smirks.

"you're gonna like this." Penny grins. I glance at the tattoo artist to see how he reacts to that statement, but he's got a good poker face, unfortunately.

"are you being serious or are am I gonna hate all of you?" I ask.

"maybe a bit of both?" Spencer says in a slightly higher pitch, looking pleased to be in on the joke. I stare at him in disbelief.

"he knows what I'm getting, too?" I point disdainfully. Morgan laughs at the attitude.

"I told him on the way here."

I shake my head slowly and turn my attention to the boy genius, who is hiding a proud smile. there's a boyish quality to it that makes me feel a little better. I have to pull the side of my pants down as I turn on my side for the artist, and a peek of my black underwear makes Prentiss let out a whistling noise. my cheeks turn pink.

"shut up."

"are you ready?" the tattoo guy asks me. it's only then that I notice we're close to actually getting this done. I have no idea what's going on my body-- but there's no time like the present, right?

"sure."

it's the buzzing of the machine when he finally touches the needle to my skin that surprises me more than the pain itself. I feel myself resist the urge to move away, but I'm still enough for him to keep working.

"how's it feel?" Emily asks.

"like getting a tattoo." I wince. Penelope softens, looking between her coworkers guiltily.

"oh no," she complains, then comes over to me and grabs my hand in hers. "is this better?"

I squeeze tightly at the stinging sensation across my thigh, but she doesn't pull away at all.

"yeah." I smile. everyone is watching me intently, so much so that it puts me off a bit. "can we talk about something, maybe? it doesn't help when you're all staring."

"sure," JJ grins. "so..."

the pressure to start a conversation kills any potential for one, and then Spencer clears his throat. "anybody wanna see a cool magic trick?"

I snort and the rest of the team lets out a chuckle as the genius pulls a deck of cards out of his pants pocket. Morgan pats his shoulder. "I hope it works this time."

"it worked last time!" Reid protests, but his cheeks have taken on a slightly rosy hue. I watch him shuffle the mysterious deck and do some fancy tricks that I've never seen before, the corner of his mouth quirking with a sudden air of confidence.

Penelope is still holding my hand, and I can feel the metal of her sparkly rings pressing against my fingers. I choose to focus on the theatrical movements that Spencer is definitely using on purpose instead of the strange, sharp pain.

he fans out the cards and shows them to me, smiling. "pick a card, any card."

"hmm..." I tap my chin thoughtfully and stare at the bright red designs covering the back. I wonder if it's a rigged deck, or if he actually knows tricks. he doesn't seem like the type of person to be into magic. but then again, Spencer is full of surprises. I grab a random one in the middle, pluck it out and memorize it. a red six of spades.

"alright, then..." he grins and slams the deck back into one neat pile, then does some weird shuffling move again and shows the fanned-out deck to Morgan this time. "your turn."

Morgan's gaze flickers between the cards and Reid's face, which is trying to suppress a smile. the dimple on the right side of his cheek twitches once. when Derek taps a card near the end, Spencer nods and does the same thing that he did when I picked one.

except this time, as soon as he's got the whole deck together, he taps them a bit too hard and they go flying. fifty-two-pick-up style, Queens and Kings and Jokers tumbling to the linoleum floor in a defeated descent. my eyes widen and second-hand embarrassment rolls in, followed by the team's stunned silence.

I even feel the tattoo artist falter a bit in his work.

"oh." Spencer says. JJ puts her hand on his shoulder.

"Spence, it's fine."

"no, no, it's not-- I practiced this, like, fifty times last night--" his face is bright red as he drops to his knees. Penelope glances once at you and you return her stare with a pitying expression. Emily goes to help him, then Morgan and JJ.

"let me just..." he gathers up the remaining cards that they hand him, putting them back together into the pile again. I watch as he goes through them, somehow counting at lightning speed before frowning. "we're missing one."

everyone looks around, but it's obvious that there aren't any more stray cards lying about. I feel bad for him, not only because it didn't work but because he practiced it so much. I've been wondering what he does on the weekends-- magic tricks never even crossed my mind.

then Spencer's face lights up.

he comes over to me and gestures to my side, right by the spot where the tattoo artist is working. "may I?"

"uh--" I glance down at where he's pointing, the small patch of bare stomach. "sure?"

his fingertips graze beneath my tummy, between my skin and the smooth leather of the tattoo table, and snatch a card out from under me. it's barely a touch, but my breath hitches in my throat. my fingers tighten just slightly around Penelope's.

he holds up a red six of spades. the enormous grin on his face gives him away. "this wouldn't happen to be your card, would it?"

I gasp and nod, amazement on my face before it's wiped away by the sharp pain of the needle. Spencer displays the red six of spades to the whole team, then basks in their surprised applause.

Emily's smiling in disbelief. "you really had us going for a second."

"wait, wait--" I poke his leg and Spencer turns to me. "how did you do that?"

there's no way he could have hidden it there without me knowing; if he had slipped a card beneath my bare skin, surely I would have felt it. but the magic man just shrugs and shakes his head at me.

"a good magician never shares their secrets, Clea."

this time, the blush spreads over my cheeks. he's cocky right now, and I'd be lying if I said I'm not enjoying it. he's in his element, I realize, even if it is an unexpected one. and as he puts the cards into his back pocket, the group erupts with questions.

he's done magic before in front of them, but they seem to be awestruck by his performance this time. admittedly, I think the whole klutz act really added a nice dramatic element to it.

I'm mostly quiet for the rest of the tattooing process, although everyone else is chattering about the trick and how well the ink is going to turn out. I'm still wracking my brain for ideas of what they chose, but I honestly don't know. I've been banned from peeking.

maybe this was a mistake-- I've only recently joined this team, and already allowed them to decide what's going to be on my body forever. at least it's small. and maybe I'll actually like it; who knows?

when the artist lets out a satisfied sigh and turns the needle off, however, I find myself twisting around and staring frantically at the new design.

"oh my god."

it's a tiny airplane, with two dotted loopty-loops behind it. just small enough to be adorable.

"what do you think?" Garcia asks, eyeing it herself. they all gather around to admire the new design that sits on the outside of my upper thigh. I giggle.

"I love it."

"don't sound so relieved." Emily laughs. I can't help the bubbly excitement in my stomach.

"sorry, I just didn't know what to expect."

Spencer is staring at the ink when he turns to the tattoo artist. "how long until you think it'll be healed?"

the guy stands up to get treatment stuff for it. "I'd say about two weeks, but it varies from person to person." he leaves to grab cling film.

"I thought for sure you'd be the one to know that." I smirk at the genius. he shoves his hands in his pockets, makes sure the artist is out of earshot, and then looks back at you.

"I do know." he scoffs.

"uh huh." I laugh.

"actually, for the record," he lowers his voice. "I'd recommend at least three weeks instead of two. the last thing you want is infected flesh."

"yum, Spencer. thanks for that image." I smile with wide eyes and he shrugs.

...

it's quiet when I shut the door of my apartment shut behind me. I've got a bag full of supplies with me to clean the new art, and I'm feeling lethargic after getting lunch with the team. because Rossi wasn't around to foot the bill, I made the mistake of offering to pay.

we've got the day off after the most recent slew of cases, so I've determined to spend the rest of my day well. I could curl up with a nice documentary, or I could scrub my kitchen and do a little tidying up around here. god knows the film of dust on my bookshelves needs to be wiped away.

oh my god.

am I boring? maybe. possibly.

I shake the thought from my head and bring my things into the kitchen to organize. after spending a few hours cleaning up, I go out grocery shopping, then come home to sit down with a book. my errands take up so much time, I don't even notice the DC sunlight sinking beneath the harsh lines of the city, drenching my apartment in a silky darkness poked through with lit lamps.

it's already 9pm and I kind of want to hang out with someone, but I doubt any of the team wants to spend any more time with me than they did before lunch. or they might have plans with their families.

well, I know one person who definitely doesn't have plans.

I pull out my phone and hit Spencer's contact before I can talk myself out of it, knowing full well that it's not a big deal but still becoming a little nervous. it rings three times before he picks up.

"hello?"

"hey, Spencer."

"Clea. what's-- what's up?" he sounds more confused than anything. probably because I just saw him about an hour ago.

"I know it's late, but do you wanna come over? I'm bored and I feel like you know more about tattoo cleaning than I do." it's a weak excuse.

"why would I know more about tattoo cleaning--"

"you know damn well why, Reid," I laugh. "don't fish for compliments."

there's a slight laugh on the other end of the line before he replies. "I'll be over soon."

I wait patiently, preparing two mugs of coffee in the meantime. I'm sure we'll both want the caffeine, because I have no urge to turn in early tonight. my stomach twists a bit when he calls to tell me he's here, and I go to let him in. I'm not nervous.

except I actually am a little bit nervous when I open the door and there's Spencer with a shy smile and a coat that's a bit too big for him. it hangs off his narrow frame, and I realize that it must have just started raining. his hair is wet and there are dark spots on his clothes where the water has seeped through.

"get inside, my god." I move aside so he can come into the apartment and warm up. he walks in, looks around at my walls. I realize that he's never been here before. "welcome to my humble abode, Dr. Reid."

"it's nice." he compliments without much emotion. I lock the door and turn just in time to see his hand shaking at his side.

"thanks. let me take your coat." I glance out the window, where I now notice the rain pelting the glass.

Spencer shrugs off his jacket and hesitantly lets me hang it on the hook by the door before turning to him with my hands on my hips. "so, how are you?"

"I'm good," he smiles a little and runs a hand through his hair. "I actually read an article on the way here about those psychedelic mushrooms we were discussing the other day."

"is that, like, our thing, now?" I joke and gesture to the couch, where two mugs of hot coffee rest on coasters. he sits down gingerly on the cushions, sitting at the very opposite end of the couch from me.

"I can send it to you, if you'd like." he smiles.

"please do. I've been hoping for some titillating reading, recently." I hand him the mug and he stop before taking a sip.

"how many sugars did you put in this?"

"relax, genius, I'm not out to get you--" I catch his eye. "yet."

he giggles and takes a sip, then another. the smile tugging at my lips is too obvious for my liking; I'm just glad that I got the amount of sugar correct. it would have been funny to ambush him with a sweetness attack, although I think making him come here in the rain was punishment enough.

"have you ever had oat milk?" he asks out of the blue. I frown.

"yeah, why?"

"just wondering. I'm lactose intolerant and was considering trying it."

"you're lactose intolerant?"

"mhmm." he nods enthusiastically.

"I watched you eat three yogurt cups in a row yesterday." I chuckle at the memory of it. he eats so much and remains as skinny as a telephone pole.

"I love dairy." he shrugs it off. I pull my legs up beneath me on the couch and give him a serious expression.

"well, personally, I think oat milk tastes horrendous and it makes me want to vomit, but you should try it."

"noted."

we start to talk about various nondairy alternatives for coffee and it ends up being a surprisingly fun conversation. talking to Spencer has its own charm-- it's not just a conversation, it's a fully immersive experience. from his ambitious vocabulary to the unconscious gestures he makes, all of it keeps me hooked.

I rest my cheek on my palm, elbow leaning against the back of the couch while I nod along to him talking about almond farming. he's got a disdainful expression on his face as he brings up its environmental consequences, punctuating every few sentences with another sip of his coffee.

the rain is still pouring outside. thunder occasionally rolls over the sky and shakes the windows in their panes. my eyes flit from his face to the view when a flash of lightning catches my attention.

"--sorry, we should clean your tattoo." he seems to catch himself mid-thought, realizing that he came here to help me and not just rant about the business of almonds. I smile.

"no worries. this stuff is interesting to me, too."

"there's this documentary out now about it, too, that I've been meaning to watch."

"really?"

"yeah!" his face lights up. "if you want, we can--" he clears his throat. "we can watch it together."

he blushes as he says it, and I can tell that he's worried about how his intentions will come off. he can't take it back, so he runs the pad of his index over his middle finger and fidgets in a subtle way.

"that sounds like fun." I don't want him to feel weird. we've only hung out a few times, and I'm sort of looking forward to it.

"great," he straightens and adjusts his shirt, which has gotten slightly rumpled from his curling up on the couch. his tie is crooked, too. "where are the cleaning supplies?"

"in the kitchen."

"perfect, we should be doing it in there anyway." he stands, pushes a bit of his hair behind his ear while he waits for me to follow-- and I do, albeit with a wince from my tender side. it doesn't hurt as much as I expected.

he follows me into the minuscule kitchen and doesn't hesitate to start going through the things the artist gave me to take home. there's some foam wash and special moisturizer for it, not a lot. it's small enough that the care will be minimal, which is reassuring.

it's only when Spencer's washing his hands that I realize I'll need to unbutton my pants again in order to reach the tattoo. which means this is about to get at least slightly awkward for the both of us.

he turns around just in time to see me unzipping my jeans and his eyes widen.

"how else do you expect to clean it?" I laugh, and he gulps, visibly. his Adam's apple bobs in his throat and he nods in understanding.

"y-yeah, of course." his eyes are everywhere but on me. suddenly, my kitchen walls are incredibly interesting.

I shove down the waistband of my pants until they're just below my upper thigh, then I sit up on the counter and clear my throat. "I can cover some of myself if that makes you more comfortable."

"no, no, that's okay--" he speaks too quickly, then recognizes his mistake. "it's okay. this shouldn't take very long, anyway."

without another word, I shrug and watch him delicately peel away the film. his fingertips are back to barely touching my skin, just like when he pulled that card out from beneath me, and I stop breathing for a moment.

there's also a gel-like substance under the covering, which he tells me is just standard petroleum jelly. Spencer moves with a near surgical (and altogether unnecessary) precision. his eyes are glued to my skin as if forcing them not to stray to my now exposed panties. it doesn't feel sexual at all because it's not, thankfully.

when he uses the foam wash and begins to rub it into my skin, he frowns with concern and looks up at me. "is this okay? you can do it yourself if--"

"it's fine, Reid," I answer too quickly this time. heat rushes to my cheeks. "I honestly thought this was going to be a more complicated process than it really is."

"it's pretty simple, especially for something this small." he shrugs. "obviously, you don't want to get it infected, so I'd just think of it as treating a cut."

silence in our respective positions at the moment makes me nervous, so I change the subject.

"magic tricks, huh?" if anything, I need to distract myself from the way his hand is rubbing over my skin in a totally nonsexual and platonic way.

he relaxes a little, lifting his gaze to mine with a somewhat pleased countenance. "yeah, I love magic."

it's like peeling back a corner of wallpaper and seeing a shade of red beneath; not a lot, but enough to pique my curiosity. "a man of science?"

Spencer shakes his head at the air of faux sophistication I pour into it. "the world needs some wonder."

he says it in an offhand way, although I feel the weight of it from the way he runs a damp paper towel over the last of the cleansing foam. his touch presses into me and his eyes are lowered in a slightly distant way.

"how long have you been into it?" I fight the urge to ask a million questions at once.

"since I was a kid," he jerks back to attention. the grin on his face tells you just how special this is to him. "I used to buy all the books and practice for my mom constantly."

"did you ever do the trick with the never-ending string of handkerchiefs?" I recall one of the only classic moves I know. Reid laughs.

"that one's easy."

"what about the coin behind the ear?" I throw out another one.

Spencer straightens, doesn't even bother to set down the paper towel, before reaching up behind my ear and pulling away with a shiny quarter set between his thumb and forefinger. "you mean this one?"

there it is again, that confidence I saw in the tattoo parlor. he's standing just close enough for me to notice, and I grin as I snatch the metal out of his hand and set it on the counter beside me. "thanks."

"no problem." he laughs.

"you should do that more often."

"the coin trick? I'd go broke." he jokes. I laugh at the rare appearance of Spencer's playful side, hoping to get a bit more of it before we have to go back to being serious at work.

"magic in general, I mean. I think it would brighten up the office a bit."

he thinks about it for a moment, washing his hands again. the sound of the faucet reminds me to put my lotion on my leg. I get to it while he thinks of what to say.

"yeah, maybe you're right."

"I still find it funny that you're into that kind of stuff." I say honestly. of all the things for him to nerd out about, this feels almost comically unexpected. but Reid only gives me a shy smile before replying.

"it always made my mom laugh when I was a kid."

"is she also good at it?"

"tricks? no," he chuckles. there's a washcloth between his long, slender fingers that he's been using to dry them for the past two minutes. at this point, I think he's doing it to keep from fidgeting. "she says it's an old fashioned thing, and that only made me wanna do it more."

"well," I cap the bottle and set it down on the counter, pull my jeans up and lean against the counter with a smile. "I like old fashioned."

Spencer gives a friendly smile. "me too."

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[medusinestories]

Onwards to the episode in which we get to see Flint and Silver each having a very bad day (as well as two literal dicks that nobody had asked to see).

Black Sails VII (s1 ep07)

- We open on Pastor Lambrick's sweaty face as he intensely rehearses the Easter sermon and he’s obviously eaten up by what he did with Miranda. His sermon, unsurprisingly, focuses on sin, keeping sin hidden, and the hell that awaits the sinner. Which leads us nicely onto Flint, who’s distracted (by his own sin? by thoughts of Miranda? both?) during a meeting with Eleanor. Eleanor is pissed that Miranda let Richard Guthrie send a message to the Andromache and then waltz into town to close up his business; Flint tries to take the heat off Miranda, once again protecting her (at this point, he may not know the contents of the letter).

- During this meeting, Flint is startled when Silver first speaks up to say that the mob in the street was bad - clearly Silver is a sort of intruder in this meeting. But Eleanor, after Silver reminds her by unsubtly clearing his throat, tells Flint that he’s not to harm Silver because he was instrumental in setting up the Consortium. Silver looks so pleased with himself in these scenes, and Flint quite defeated when he tells Silver to follow him back to their camp. I love it.

- To parallel Flint/Miranda’s Sulky Sex scene from ep4, we have Anne/Rackham’s frustrating/disconnected sex scene. It shows us a few things about them mainly that Anne wants to keep a lot of control over what happens, hence Rackham being tied up (though of course this might also be his kink), her wearing a shirt that covers up most of her body, and the reverse cowgirl position that means that she’s both in control of what happens and completely avoids eye contact. The position reminds us of the Flint/Miranda scene, where Miranda was also on top, but their scene involved more eye contact (yes glaring counts, he’s still intensely focused on Miranda), gentle touching (on Miranda’s side) and her being naked and open to him. Another parallel is that both Flint and Rackham aren’t in the right frame of mind for sex, Flint being angry and Rackham lost in a sea of worries (and probably also somewhat angry/disappointed at Anne for forcing him into the plot to kill their crewmates). The difference between Flint and Rackham is that while Flint doesn’t seem to have any trouble performing, Rackham is miles away and doesn’t even notice that he’s lost his erection - again. Anne is frustrated by this, and apparently knows him well enough that she offers to put something up his arse, but he’s clearly not in the mood, and she leaves in a huff, abandoning him all tied up as a sort of revenge for his performance problems. Whatever the problem is between them isn’t put into words (because Anne can’t yet, for starters), unlike the one between Flint and Miranda. The intimacy between Rackham and Anne, so often described as close partners, seems much more distant to me than the one shown between Flint and Miranda. I’m not sure whether it’s because of anyone’s sexual orientation, or just the fact that they’re fucking but they’ve never discussed the big important things, such as Anne’s identity/feelings/etc.

- In this episode, Dufresne gains a lot of power: with a freshly (and badly) shaved head and a new tattoo, he’s been promoted to Quartermaster on the Walrus in Billy’s place. And very quickly he has a problem to deal with: Randall revealing that Silver stole the page. Gates had actually already told this to Dufresne, as is revealed at the end of the episode, which might explain why Dufresne is relatively calm during the whole conversation, while DeGroot wants Silver and Flint hanged and Howell is surprisingly ruthless: he brings up the idea that it may be better to kill off Randall in order to get to the treasure, if they can’t make sure he’ll keep quiet about Silver being the thief. Dufresne is actually quite kind towards Silver in the scene where he puts Silver’s memory to the test - a test that could result in his death if he fails it and that Silver constantly grumbles against (I love his grumbling!). Basically, at this point Dufresne remains quite a sympathetic character, which will change a lot as the show goes on, especially after Jannes Eiselen had to leave the show (such a sad story, RIP Jannes).

- In the meantime, the Flint and Gates relationship is crumbling. It's sad to see, especially since they're shown sharing chuckles as they talk about Dufresne's appointment in the beginning of the episode. But then Gates brings up the subject of Miranda and demands explanations about the letter Billy found. We're not shown exactly what Flint answers, but it's clear that he's actually trying his best to give him an explanation without incriminating Miranda too badly. The sad thing is that Flint is actually telling the truth: he actually wasn't involved in any betrayal of his crew and and can only guess at Miranda's motivations. But the fact that he's lied time and again in previous situations, including on the Maria Aleyne where he claimed Lord Alfred drew a weapon on him (and Gates secretly verified that this was a lie), and used men as pawns to advance his and Miranda's plans, is now catching up to him. Flint seems truly hurt when Gates accuses him of using the men for his own purposes, and turns spiteful, telling Gates that he should have been "a better father" to Billy and helped him "understand the world he was living in" (suggesting that such a forthright character as Billy can't really survive in a world of pirates who are all ready to stab each other in the back). After that slap in the face, Gates says he's exhausted from Flint and threatens to take it to the crew. Somehow, this pushes Flint to bare all: he tells Gates about his plan to keep a part of the treasure and use it to build up Nassau, depicting himself as a sort of saviour, doing it for the men's good: they'd rather be rich men in a safe place than dead thieves hanging from a noose. Gates sees this as delusions of grandeur, and tells him that while he'll see the Urca plot through, after that they're done. I actually think he sees Flint’s point, since he doesn’t just throw him to the crew, but won’t admit that out loud. The whole of this scene hurts bad, because you can tell that Flint is desperate and sad to be losing his closest ally and friend, and that Gates is hurting from the loss of Billy and exhausted from the toxic relationship he has with Flint, where he's played enabler to his manipulations for years.

- While Flint and Gates’ alliance is breaking, Silver has to forge one with Randall or die. Randall finds out in the beginning of the episode that he’s been voted out of the crew. This is apparently due to DeGroot’s fears that Randall could be a fire hazard, which the crew took disproportionately to heart. Randall is furious with Silver, who smugly tells him that in these situations, a setback often comes with a new or unexpected opportunity. He’s right, but at this point he doesn’t know that he is the opportunity Randall’s going to latch on. Randall reveals that Silver is a thief, and Silver denies it, saying that Randall is both a halfwit and was in a haze of opium when he heard what he thought he heard; he even tries to convince Randall that he was mistaken (this, my friends, is gaslighting). However, by revealing that Silver was the thief, Randall sets a chain of events into motion which could either end with his death (if Howell has his way, since Randall is an inconvenient witness) or Silver’s (if DeGroot tips the balance, not trusting Silver to remember the coordinates and not wanting to sacrifice Randall for nothing). Silver figures out that these are the outcomes, and tries to talk sense into Randall by making a deal with him: he’ll care for Randall and make sure he can stay on the ship. But it’s only when Silver finally admits that he is the thief and that Randall was right, that Randall accepts the deal. Later, Silver realises that Randall might have orchestrated the whole thing: he’s now got Silver to serve him, doesn’t have to take any risks on the ship, and gets to remain with the crew. Silver wonders if Randall is a genius rather than a halfwit (a word thrown about a lot to describe him). And it seems quite obvious, considering what happened, that Randall still has strong survival skills (an amputee with impaired cognitive skills doesn’t stand a chance of survival outside a crew and he must be aware of it), that he still has a good memory and an ability to pick out useful information and that he’s aware enough of what’s going on to be upset by the crew’s rejection and Silver’s attempt to gaslight him. I think it’s important to recognise that Randall is more than a comic relief or a grotesque character: he’s a disabled man who's lost parts of his cognitive ability and is struggling to survive.

- This episode focuses on Vane facing his past. He seeks out the island where he grew up and its master, Albinus. I’d forgotten or never really registered that Albinus was a pirate and that the men who work for him were mostly his crew - and likely slaves (or children, hence Vane?) that he managed to capture/press into service. He’s retired from pirating and set up a system where his men cut down trees for timber all day, without wages. It’s not clear exactly how he holds so much power over these men, although it seems that everyone is terrified of him. He’s extremely strong physically, seems shrewd, speaks rather well, and his tattoos suggest that maybe he’s involved in some kind of ritual (truly religious or just for show?) which would make him all the more scary to superstitious people. Vane is clearly still frightened: he barely makes eye contact and practically stutters when he first tries to make the deal with Albinus, which is that he’ll take some of Albinus’ men as crew and send Albinus part of their earnings as tribute. It says a lot about Albinus that Vane, after years of having run away, is still so scares that he’s willing to pay him a tribute. But he changes his mind as he stares at a boy bearing the same brand as he does: he tries to persuade the men that Nassau is a pace of pleasures rather than hard labour, and confronts Albinus. The fight is brutal and ends with Vane buried naked, just after Albinus tells him that he’s proud of him. But of course Vane wouldn’t be Vane if he didn’t rise from the dead at the last minute and kill Albinus, goaded on by his inner Eleanor voice.

- In the meantime, Mr Scott returns to Eleanor, apologising for what he did, telling her he betrayed her out of love. However he also reminds her of his slave status: technically, he belongs to her. The argument upsets her, and he quite cleverly uses this moment to ask her to free the slaves who were on the Andromache. And it works: by the end of the episode, she’s made arrangements for the men to work on ships and has bought the women’s freedom and found them jobs in her tavern. But Mr Scott has still decided to leave Eleanor to join Hornigold’s crew, to refrain from meddling with Eleanor’s affairs, since he disagrees with her so strongly re: the Urca. Hornigold approached him earlier in the episode, and the introduction to that scene is quite interesting: Hornigold says to Mr Scott “I’ll need to know your secret” and Mr Scott looks startled and frightened. It seems that he’s startled because he’d been giving food to the slaves, but in light of S3, it could be a much greater secret that’s being referred to. Mr Scott is relieved when he realises that Hornigold is simply talking about tolerating Eleanor, who he clearly can’t stand.

- Flint’s bad day continues, of course, with the big confrontation he has with Miranda. He’s furious about the letter (of which he now knows the contents thanks to Gates), telling her that it could have got him killed, or destroyed the plans they’d made and asking her whether she was trying to embarrass him. This sounds so weirdly petty, and yet it also sounds exactly like the kind of argument that would come up in a bickering couple. Miranda answers that she was trying to help him out of that life, because she wants to move on. This is where Miranda utters the famous “there is no life here, there is no joy here, there is no love here”. I noticed that, covered by Flint yelling at her, and distorted because her voice has gone very shrill, Miranda says another line, which sounds like “you used to love, then”. If that really is what she says, it’s extra-extra-extra heartbreaking to hear (if someone wants to check it for me, it’s around 35:40). It’s obvious that Flint and Miranda’s views on life are very different, and I can’t help but think back to the fact that, as a carpenter’s son from the country, Flint has had to struggle all his life to become who he is. So when he says that you can’t get a life without having a war, and Miranda tells him he’s wrong, she’s speaking entirely from the point of view of her privilege. She’s never needed to fight as hard as he has to be happy, because she got extremely lucky in marrying Thomas. And when she says that Thomas would agree with her, I’m certain she’s right. But life has never been like that for Flint, and there’s no way he’ll ever entirely agree with their point of view. Rewatching this scene is tough, btw, because they both have great points, they’re both hurting so much, and there’s so much to take in between the body language, the facial expressions, the tones of voice and the actual words that it’s a whole whirlwind. And it feels very, very real.

- It’s absolutely hilarious to see Rackham get robbed by the whores taking advantage of his lack of knowledge (and research). He should absolutely have done a better job and has no clue how to run a brothel. He’s lucky Max takes things in hand after having heard from Idelle that the girls were taking advantage.

- Then we have the beautiful Drunk Flint scene. Eleanor notices him feeling very sorry for himself after Gates has pretty much broken up with him and he’s still reeling from fighting with by Miranda. I think Flint feels very misunderstood here. He thought that he was doing something good, to save Nassau and avenge Thomas, and doesn’t understand why they can’t see it, why they only see the terrible methods he uses to reach his goals. So he’s full of doubt, clearly wondering if he’s the villain of the story, and puts the question to Eleanor: is their plan worth it? Eleanor is the only person who still believes in him, which leads us to the only scene that I would ever call straight-baiting. Flint hovers near Eleanor, breathing heavily, and a variety of emotions play over her face during this moment of tension, as she seems to think this is leading to a kiss. It does, he gives her a chaste little forehead kiss and leaves. All the elements are in place to make your average viewer start shipping these two. I actually find it hilarious that the ship barely exists in the fandom (though I wasn’t there in the beginning of the fandom and I guess the viewership changed a lot between S1 and S4).

- The scene with Flint and Gates glaring at each other from their respective ships and Parson’s Farewell playing in the background... epic! We know this is the beginning of a big struggle between them, especially since we find out that Gates has pretty much decided that he’ll hand Flint over to the crew once they get the money. But nnnnggh that scene! The ships leaving on their hunt! Awesome and heartbreaking!

[bloodxbat]

(Part 2) The girl Mafia George x Fem! Y/N Series

Warnings: Swearing! (message if I missed any)

Word Count: 2K

Summary: George Weasley is a renowned Mafia boss who took over from his Father Arthur once he retired, to carry on the Triple W mafia legacy. The only mafia known to be able to keep the Death Eaters (their rival mafia) at bay. However there is one item that they stole from the Triple W’s which George is determined to get back…his mothers necklace, the family heirloom. Y/N Greyback has been forced to comply with the Death Eaters wishes as her family are high up members. What happens when George and Y/N meet? And what happens when they fall in love?

Series Masterlist

George couldn’t get the mystery girl from last night out of his head. Was it truly his mother’s necklace that he saw lying on her neck? It couldn’t have been, one of his men would have seen her enter Diagon if it was, either that or they would have already caught her roaming the streets. He didn’t recall seeing a dark mark tattoo on her left forearm, so she couldn’t have been a part of Riddle’s crew. Unless of course, they had gotten smarter and realised that them all having the same tattoo was a big give away. George couldn’t focus, he was sat in the Leaky cauldron, attempting to each his breakfast but continuing to get lost in thought. 

Soon, George felt his pocket buzz, indicating that he had gotten a message on the phones that him, Fred and Ron had all gotten in order to keep in touch. He flipped it open seeing a text from both of his brothers, the usual update saying that ‘No one has yet been caught or seen trying to leave or enter Diagon’. The members stationed all round the boarder of the town were doing an excellent job, George had full trust in them that they had all been keeping an extremely close eye out for any suspicious or unusual behaviour. 

George had well forgotten about his breakfast an morning coffee, trying to figure out any more ways he can ensure that Diagon was free from any Death Eater bastards. Being a mafia boss didn’t come naturally to George, so it was at times like these he struggled most, his mind racing with unreliable memories of the girl from last night and the necklace she was wearing. Hitting the table in frustration, George places his head in his hands and sighed. 

He wasn’t one to confront a lady, but when it came to his mother’s necklace, he really had no choice, he had to find out where she was staying, who she was, and if she was in fact a Death Eater. 

-

Y/N woke up the next day satisfied with what she had managed to achieve last night. She didn’t know much of George Weasley’s appearance other than the fact that he was tall and ginger. Which suited exactly the description of the man she had bumped into last night. Another thing she hadn’t expected was for him to be so handsome. 

In all honesty Y/N felt it was cruel what she had been sent to do. She hated knowing that she would essentially be leading George to his death. Y/N has never agreed with the rulings that Riddle made, she felt that what he was preaching for was extremely prejudice, he wanted to get rid of every poor family so that “the rich could thrive”, Y/N’s heart deep down was set on truly helping those who weren’t as well off as the others. 

Thoughts of going behind her family’s back and instead helping George take away all power from Riddle had become extremely prominent in her mind. She knew what she had to do, she had to find George Weasley again, whilst under cover so that the Death Eaters that are currently staying within Diagon don’t report back that they had seen her with George Weasley, the very man they’re trying to kill. 

Her mind was set, she was going to purposely seek out George Weasley tonight and tell him everything her family and the rest of the Death eaters wish to do to him, and Triple W. Along with their plans to get rid of all poor people in England. 

-

George had long since given up on his breakfast, and was now making his way back to the old fashioned bar in which Triple W held all of their meetings. As he walked through the building in which the HQ as it were, was located, he could hear a slight murmuring of voices coming from the bar room. Them most likely being the voices of other Triple W members catching up like they normally would, before a meeting began. 

George walked into the smoke filled room, heading straight to the back where his seat sat in the centre, almost as if it were a throne looking for a king. He stood in front of his chair, clearing his throat as he looked round the room gaining the attention of the men and women before him. 

“As many of you may know, we have had our first night with members scattered round the boarders of this town, and so far there has been no sign of anyone attempting to leave or exit Diagon”

Triple W members began to whisper their frustrations at the lack of Death Eaters being caught.

“Now I know this may seem bad news for right now as we haven’t caught any of those bastards quite yet, BUT, we also need to look on the bright side of things. This also may well mean that we are also, so far safe from any spies getting information of our whereabouts. This meeting is only a short one tonight boys…and ladies, so unless anyone has anymore questions or information they wish to put forward, you are all welcome to go back home, or stay and enjoy a drink” 

George stepped away from where he was standing and went over to his brothers. 

“So really no further info or suspicions for any Death Eaters, coming in or out, isn’t that suspicious I mean surely they would have sent someone by now” Ron says clearly not convinced that no information has been passed down.

“I was thinking that too y’know” Fred added

“Look, I agree, I surely think that if they were really serious about taking us down they would’ve sent a spy, but they haven’t. There is no doubt in my mind that they are dead set on killing each and every one of us, so this could be their tactic. Let us believe that no one is coming, therefore they wait until we eventually let out guards down, so they have easy access and a higher chance of getting to us” 

“You’re not gonna let that happen though Georgie, surely” Fred said

“No of course not, all I’m saying is that this could be their plan, we’re not going to give up to easily just because we get bored due to there being no action, alright so just sit tight because we could be like this for months”

Fred and Ron’s faces both changed into realisation that that could indeed be true. 

“Now, I’m gonna head back to the leaky cauldron to relax, keep me posted if any of the guys near you see anything”

With that, George walked out the room, into the streets and made his way back to the Leaky Cauldron, smiling at locals as they passed. Once at the pub he sat down right in the corner, only ordering a glass of water, picking up the local newspaper, ignoring once again the thoughts of who the mystery girl truly was that he had bumped into last night. 

He felt a tad bit guilty for not telling Fred or Ron about how he had briefly spoken to a woman, about his age, wearing a necklace that looked suspiciously like the one that was stolen from their mother years ago. Before they were born. 

George didn’t know much about the exact origins of his mothers necklace. The basic story he knew was that, his family used to be extremely poor, living off of pennies, barely getting by. Having 5 children at the time wouldn’t have helped either, more mouths to feed, less money to do so. That was until his Father got a massive promotion and therefore a raise in wage at his job. As a treat his Father bought his Mother a beautiful, diamond necklace to remember and symbolise that no matter how much they were struggling, that they were always going to find a way to get past it. Thus it became the most price possession to the Weasley family, becoming their heirloom. You can only imagine the hurt that George’s mother felt when she came back to their house one evening, to find the windows smashed and her necklace gone. 

George was too young at the time to understand fully, the impact that the loss of that necklace had on his mother and father, and what it meant to them. But as he grew, and his father created Triple W in order to track down the people who stole it. 

-

Y/N had gotten dressed, in a smart but casual outfit. She didn’t have any desire to be immediately spotted today so she had taken off the diamond necklace and placed it in her bag. She decided that she would try and seek out George today, as she wasn’t expected to have a meeting with another under cover Death Eater until tomorrow, to update them on her progress. 

Y/N had decided to make her way down stairs to the pub area of the Leaky Cauldron. As she made her way down the stairs she couldn’t help but notice a fiery red colour sitting in the corner, in her peripheral vision. 

She turned her head only to see the one and only George Weasley, sat with a glass of what looked like water, his head stuck in the local newspaper ‘the Daily Prophet’. Even though he had the paper up at eye level and was scanning it back and forth, his furrowed eyebrows and blank expression told her that he wasn’t really reading the newspaper, and that something else was on his mind. 

Y/N reckoned it must have something to do with the people she has been forced to work for her whole life. She tentatively began to walk toward the ginger man. She could feel her heartbeat quicken, what is his reaction going to be when she tells him that she actually works for the people he is dedicating his life to defeating and that she is actually in possession of his mother’s extremely expensive and extremely valuable diamond necklace. Her hearing began to focus only on the beating noise of her heart and the noise of her shoes hitting the ground with every step as she walked closer and closer to George’s table. 

She could feel the tension rising as if he already knew she was there and who she was. She had caught herself momentarily holding her breath, making her feel light headed and even more anxious at the confrontation she was about to engage in. To say she was scared of George was an understatement, she knew nothing about George or his character. For all she knew he could freak out and kidnap her away to wherever they had their meetings, and torture her for answers. At least, that’s what Riddle would do if the roles were reversed. The only thing that was helping motivate her feet to move closer and closer towards him, was the tiny speck of hope, that he was different to the people she had grown up around. 

Her feet came to a halt after what felt like forever, she looked at the man in front of her with a some what calm expression. Y/N cleared her throat gaining the attention of George, who put his newspaper down on the table in front of him, meeting her eyes with his dark hazel coloured ones. Y/N smiled weakly at her before speaking. 

“H-hi”

“Hello, you’re that lady that I bumped into last night aren’t you? I’m awfully sorry about that by the way, I hope I didn’t hurt you” he replied, she could hear the genuine concern for her safety which put her mind more at ease, maybe he was nice, maybe he wasn’t the type of mafia boss to torture people. 

“Yeah I am, and I’m the one who should be sorry I wasn’t looking where I was going” 

“No need it’s all good, what can I do for you?” He smiled

Y/N gulped down any nerves she felt, in order to stop her voice from trembling, she was terrified, not only of George’s possible reaction, but also of Riddle and any other Death Eaters that might see her with him, betraying him. 

“We need to talk” 

Taglist: @amourtentiaa​ @love-peachh​ @pens-and-roses​ @rosietoesy​ @comfortwriting​ @famdomhideout​ @dracofknmalfoy​ @pandaxnienke​ @georgeweasleysbabe​ @le-weasley-simp​ @skarlettmikaelson​ @gaycatlord-stuff​ @midgardianweasley​ @writing-wh0re (MESSAGE/ASK IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED)

[narrators-journal]

Return to sender

CW: I’m bad at writing pregnancy stuff,

first part: here

previous part: here

Before you knew it, you'd been on your own for almost four months. God, it's been so long. You thought with a bit of fear as you drove home from the store in the swiftly waning light of evening, glancing at the passengers seat where bags of all of the supplies you had looked up for having a home birth. Which wasn't going to be fun, but going to a hospital meant paperwork and being kept in one place for an unknown amount of time, easily trackable, not to mention the hospital birth records would be perfectly accessible to the Zoldycks, meaning they could track down your baby. So, you were just going to bite the bullet and do it yourself. On the bright side, I have about 2 months to prepare and learn, so things will go great. You told yourself, sending a quick prayer to any god listening that you didn't face any complications, because you'd only gone to one doctor's appointment for the baby, and while it didn't show any bad omens for the birth, that had been ages ago, so you weren't really sure of how healthy your baby currently was. Though, some of that anxiety was more-so from the small changes you'd begun to notice in these last few weeks. It wasn't anything major, mostly cramping, more backpain, and exhaustion, but good ol' google had told you these may be signs of pregnancy. Hence the evening trip to the store for all of the things you lacked at home for a home birth. You hoped you were just being overly cautious, but you couldn't be too sure. Despite that though, you did your best to stay positive and just went about collecting your shopping as carefully as you could and waddling up to your nasty little apartment. You were pretty happy at the bottom of the stairs, on edge, as always when the place you lived had so many sketchy people that their aura seemed as engrained in the carpet as the mystery stains on your bedroom floor, but your mood instantly fell when you got to the top of the stairs. You stood there, heart racing, (e/c) eyes wide and frantically searching for any reason as to why you were suddenly so nervous. After all, you'd worked through this level of anxiety in your first month there, you should have a better handle on it than this, but then it clicked. It's too quiet. You realized, putting a hand on the banister to steady yourself as the dread hit you. Your apartment building was still bustling with noise, from neighbors having sex loudly, to someone's kids getting into a shrieking match, those noises were pretty mundane to you now, but something still felt too calm. Like that moment in movies right before the murderer attacks. Calm down, everything's fine. You told yourself, taking a deep breath or two to try and wait for the wave of paranoia to ebb. One of the neighbors probably just has some sort of guest over. Or maybe some strong nen user passed by, I'm sure it has a reasonable explanation. You continued to reassure yourself, but the feeling didn't pass. Some voice inside of you just kept screaming about something being way too off, maybe it was your survival instincts, maybe it was simply your paranoia acting up, either way you decided to trust your gut. So, you compromised with yourself. You gathered your bags and unlocked your apartment to place them in, ensuring they'd be safe when you returned tomorrow, than you made your way back down to the foyer as swiftly as you could manage while heavily pregnant.

         "Are you alright, miss?" A man suddenly asked, making you yelp, but when you looked over, it was just some dark haired man with a cross-shaped tattoo of sorts on his forehead sitting at the guard's seat. You'd never seen him before, but you tried your best to not be impolite. At worst, he was some sort of spy for Illumi, but if he wasn't and he was just one of the many sketchy guards that worked for the apartment building, you still didn't want to offend him. So, you laughed a bit, clasping your hands over your stomach to hide how badly you were shaking,         "Yeah, I'm fine. I just realized I'd forgotten something in my car, don't want it stolen." you said in a shakey but kind voice, which made the man snort a bit,        "Would you like me to go out there for it? I promise not to steal anything," he offered, his grey eyes sparkling with mischief while he was oddly amused by his own words, but you shook your head, brushing any stray strands of (h/l), (h/c) hair from your face as you spoke,         "No thank you, but I a-appreciate your offer." with that, you made a beeline for the door, swiftly stepping outside and taking a deep breath of the fresh spring air. All at once, your anxiety began to wane, which you were immensely thankful for. Slowly, you let out a breath and waddled over to your car, ignoring the pinching cramping sensation that had plagued you for about a week now and just deciding to sit outside in your car for a while and maybe sleep there for the night since the upstairs of your building felt so weird. However, when you got to the vehicle, you pulled at the handle and nothing happened. When you tried a second time, the same thing happened, the door didn't budge. To make thing worse, you couldn't seem to find your keys when you checked your pockets.          "Of course, it'd be just my luck that I'd lose my damned keys and lock myself out of my car." you muttered, leaning against the car and resting your head against the window, trying your best to think up a second alternative to going back inside when you heard it. The single voice you wanted to never hear again,        "I must admit, you're a lot more resilient than I first thought." Illumi hummed, and before you could even think to react, he trapped you against the car, slamming his hands into the window so hard you heard it begin to crack. You shrieked and pressed your back against the car, less scared of getting cut on the glass than you were of Illumi, but instead of getting killed with his aura, or manhandled into some unmarked van, or hell, even being yelled at like you'd expected, you simply felt him brush a stray tear you didn't realize you'd shed from your (s/c) cheek, and when he did speak, he was as calm and unreadable as ever,          "You had me highly worried these past few months," he said, pushing himself off of your car and looking you over, keeping one of his hands on you in some fashion the whole time, just in case you tried to bolt or fight him off, but you never did, you'd frozen in a mix of terror, defeat, and a dizzying sense of warped relief that nearly made you nauseous. "Now, you're coming home and we are going to have a nice, calm, talk about your mistake and how you can fix it." he said, grabbing you by the wrist to lead you away. However, when his words finally sunk in, you were filled with another sense of frantic determination, refusing to move as best you could while your (e/c) eyes welled with tears again, though that was more from the pain of Illumi tightening his grip on your poor captive wrist when you resisted.           "No!" It came out a lot more forceful than you expected, "No! I don't want to go back a-and subject any child to whatever torture created you!" Finally, it was your words that earned a pause, and when you looked up to his face you saw a mixture of hurt, annoyance, and a shred of understanding flit across his doll-like facial feature ever so slightly.          "(y/n), you need to calm down. You're growing hysterical and you're going to hurt yourself trying to fight me. Just relax and come home." He ordered, but you shook your head and continued to resist as best you could, which thankfully worked since the assassin didn't want to purposely hurt you         "No! Just let me go, please! K-kill me if you must, but I don't want to go back!" you cried, and in a frantic attempt to get away, you pulled at your wrist as hard as you could, and by sheer luck, actually slipped through Illumi's grip. Sadly, your luck was spent with that last trick, so your attempts to get into the apartment building and maybe get help from the guard were quickly thwarted. Some part of you thought that maybe you could get away from Illumi Zoldyck again, but failed to realize he was a lot faster than you, even if you weren't about-to-burst pregnant. In a hope-crushing flash, he'd grabbed you again, wrapping his arms around your torso to yank you back against him and holding you there with one arm while his free hand captured your wrists to stop you from frantically flailing.             "(y/n), if you do not calm down right now, I will get the doctor to use sedatives on you." he warned, his voice low and dripping with foreboding, which, if you had any fight left in you, washed it away like he had the first day of your escape. However, you'd gone still for another reason.              "I-Illumi, let me go," you squeaked, your heart pounding so hard you didn't think you'd be able to hear his reply,              "Absolutely not." He then tried to lift you up a bit so he could move you, but you wriggled              "No! P-please listen, Illumi!" You plead, "I-I think my water just broke!"

[detectivesofty]

like fine wine | j.h.

Summary: your first meeting with Jay’s team didn’t go down as you had it expected it to go.

Pairing: Jay Halstead x younger!Reader (this might get more parts (as in a series), if you guys like it)

Song I listened to while writing: Pump It by the Black Eyed Peas

Author’s Note: I legit have no clue how old Jay is (and believe me, I was doing some intense research) so let’s just say he’s in his early thirties (aka 31) for the sake of this fic, okay? Okay. Happy reading!

Warnings: cursing, unusual age gap (??)

Word Count: 2,2k

Requested: yessir

Anonymous asked: Can you write an imagine about the reader being quite a lot younger than jay and the reader overhearing the unit talking about her

“Okay, you can do this,” you muttered to yourself, nervously running a hand through your hair before you walked the rest of the way to Jay’s district, careful not to jostle the baked goods in your hand. The moment you stepped inside the building, you realized that you couldn’t have picked a worse day to visit him though. The station was packed with police officers, civilians and in the middle of the room was the infamous Sergeant Platt, whom you’ve heard a lot about. Intimidated, you approached the desk, smiling shyly at the older woman. 

“Hi, I am here for Jay Halstead, my name’s Y/N Y/L/N,” you said but Sergeant Platt barely looked at you as she rifled through a stack of papers.

“Detective Halstead is on a case right now, if you’re here to give a statement, I can redirect you to one of my officers. Officer Elliot!” she called but your eyes widened and you quickly shook your head. 

“Oh, no! No, no! I am not here to give a statement,” you quickly said, “Uh, I am Jay’s girlfriend?”

Sergeant Platt paused at that and for the first time she looked you in the face with raised eyebrows. “Oh! Oh. I see, I see.” She eyed you very distinctly, before she cleared her throat, putting the paper stack down. “I’ll check upstairs and see if he’s busy right now. Please just… Wait here?”

You nodded and Sergeant Platt came out of behind the desk and made her way upstairs slowly, while looking back at you several at times. With a sigh, you leaned against the desk, startling when you heard your name being called. 

“Y/N!”

“Kim, hey!”

Kim Burgess came up to you with a surprised smile, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s so good to see you! What are you doing here?”

“I know how important the team is to Jay and he always tells me he wants to introduce me, so I thought I’d come by and bring you some bribes,” you answered, bashfully showcasing the baked goods in your arms. “But I probably should have checked in beforehand, Sergeant Platt seemed really irritated at the intrusion.”

With laughter, Kim shook her head. “Nonsense! Don’t mind Platt, she’s always like that. And we always appreciate treats. Come on,” she said, inclining her head. “I’ll bring you up.”

Despite Kim’s reassurance, you felt incredibly nervous walking upstairs to the Intelligence unit. Kim pushed you forward gently, pushing you to introduce yourself, but the team seemed to be deep in a conversation, standing around a desk. Jay was nowhere to be found.

“Y/N Y/L/N, 22. English major at the University of Chicago, trying to live my best life?” a bearded man, sitting at a desk, read out. “I mean, Jay’s not on any of her socials, so there’s no proof of them dating.”

“Guys,” Kim said, trying to make them aware of your arrival, but they were far too deep.  Were they looking you up on the internet? This was going to be fun.

“Ha ha Sergeant. Good joke. There’s no way Jay has a girlfriend, least of all her. She is way out of his league. She even has a tattoo.”

“Oh my god.”

“Get it together, Ruzek,” a Latin woman snorted. “You’re still on probation with Kim.” 

So that must be Adam, Kim’s on-and-off, currently on, boyfriend.

Sergeant Platt put her hands at her waist, shaking her head. “I am telling you. She introduced herself as Jay’s girlfriend. Why would she lie about that?”

“Maybe she isn’t lying,” a dark skinned man said, shrugging his shoulders. “Jay has been quite secretive recently. Maybe he has a new girlfriend.”

“To be fair, if I were Jay and had a 22 year old girlfriend, I wouldn’t have told me either,” Adam said, leaning back in his chair. 

“Yeah because you’re an idiot.” A new voice popped up and Jay suddenly appeared next to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Guys, this is my girlfriend Y/N. Babe, this is Adam, Kevin, Hailey, Vanessa, Sergeant Platt and you already know Kim of course.”

“Hey guys,” you said, waving at them with a huge grin and Adam promptly toppled out of his chair, cursing. 

“Fuck.”

With a roll of her eyes, Sergeant Platt gave you a acknowledging nod before she went back downstairs. The rest of the team greeted you warm heartedly with hugs, immediately feasting on the food you’ve brought while Hailey held you at an arm’s length, nodding appreciatively at you. “I do not know how you pulled her Jay. She is way out of your league, I stand by my words.”

“Yeah Jay, where’d you guys meet? Was she one of the volunteers at your nursing home?” Adam cackled, which earned him a slap up the head by Kim. 

“Told you,” Vanessa mused and Adam only glared at her. 

With a laugh, you leaned into Jay. “We met at a coffee shop,” you said, keeping the story short on purpose, but your boyfriend immediately pounced on a chance to tell the story of how you met.

“She poured coffee down my lap!” he added and everyone laughed, while your cheeks tinged pink. 

“I didn’t pour coffee down your lap. I knocked a coffee cup into your lap, that’s different.”

Jay rolled his eyes fondly at you. “Semantics,” he said, before launching into the story.

Yawning, you read through the last page of an article and you dotted down some notes before you closed the tab of the article, stretching your arms. You’ve been at the coffee shop for a couple of hours now, trying to catch up with some work. For some reason, you worked the best in a coffee shop. At home, there were too many distractions and the library was just… Too quiet.

A coffee shop was the perfect balance of quiet and loud.

You opened up a new document, feeling ready to begin writing. Grabbing your coffee cup, you realized with a grimace that it was empty. Another coffee then. With your wallet in hand, you walked over to the counter, Clarissa already giving you a smile. 

“Another cappuccino?” 

“Yes please,” you chuckled. “And perhaps a blueberry muffin?” 

“Coming right up.”

“Thanks Clarissa,” you said with a smile, paying before you moved over to the bar stools to wait for your order. You allowed yourself to check out social media, looking up when Clarissa called your name. In a haste, you stuck your phone into your pocket, reaching over the counter to grab the plate, but in the hurry, your hand knocked over a coffee mug and the liquid spilled directly into the lap of a man next to you. The lap of a very gorgeous man. 

“Oh crap, I am so sorry,” you quickly apologized as the man jumped up, hissing as the coffee seeped into his jeans. 

“It’s fine,” he ground out but judged by the look on his face, it wasn’t fine at all. You grabbed a stack of napkins and started patting down the wet patches on his jeans in a panic, until two large hands wrapped around your wrists, stopping you. 

“Would you stop patting down my crotch?” he asked with a hint of a smile and your cheeks got even redder, which you thought was impossible. 

“I am so sorry,” you said, straightening back up when you saw the badge around his neck, your eyes widening. He was a cop. Oh god, he wasn’t going to arrest you for touching him inappropriately, was he?

“I am not going to arrest you.”

Fuck, did you just say that outloud?

“Yes,” he answered and you willed the ground to open up and swallow you whole. Meanwhile the cop looked amused and he let go of your hands, taking the remaining napkins to dry himself off. “You know,” he said. “I usually take women out for dinner before we go to second base, but I guess there’s a first for everything.”

You closed your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. “Please stop, this is already embarrassing enough for me.”

Tossing the used napkins in a nearby trash can, he gave you a smile. He was really hot. You just wished you hadn’t just made a fool out of yourself in front of him.

“I’m Jay. Halstead.”

“Y/N Y/L/N. Officer Halstead…?” You guessed but Jay shook his head with a laugh. 

“Detective actually.”

“Damn it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “That’s even worse. You’re probably a part of some fancy task force, too, aren’t you?”

“Have to disappoint you there, I am in Intelligence with the CPD,” he told you and you sighed.

“Perfect, you handle all the hardcore cases, right?”

Jay shrugged, tilting his head. “Eh, you could say that.”

“I am an idiot.”

“You’re not. Let me buy you a coffee?”

“Absolutely not!” you exclaimed, frowning deeply before you turned to Clarissa. “One cappuccino and one of whatever he was drinking please.”

“One cappuccino and one black coffee, got it.”

You gave Jay a look. ‘Black coffee, really?’ you mouthed and he just shrugged with a grin, handing Clarissa his card, which you nearly slapped away. 

“Clarissa, don’t you dare let him pay,” you told her and the both of you offered your cards to the barista. 

Clarissa luckily took your card and shrugged at Jay’s look of affront. “Sorry, seniority rules.”

Jay raised an eyebrow at that and took his defeat, turning to face you. “So how old are you?” he asked, somewhat curious but at the same time, really nonchalant. You were sure that Jay knew that you were younger than him. But you didn’t want to read too much into it. 

“22.”

You weren’t sure if you had imagined the flash of disappointment that crossed his face but he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression. 

“So not really seniority then?” he joked and you huffed in exasperation. Your conversation was cut short by Clarissa calling your name. 

“A cappuccino and a black coffee.”

Along with the two coffees, Clarissa handed you your long forgotten muffin with a conspiratorial grin, to which you rolled your eyes. You then stood in the middle of the coffee shop with Jay, coffee mug and muffin in hand. 

“So, you’re studying here, huh?” Jay asked, nodding towards your made-shift study space in the booth.

“Mhm,” you hummed, cracking a smile. “For some reason I can focus really well here.”

Jay smiled at you before rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, uh so… I gotta go. Lots of bad guys out there to catch.”

“I am sure there are,” you mused and he gave you one last smile before he turned to leave. You bit your lip and as he reached out to push the door open, you called out.

“Wait!” 

He turned back to look at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“How about that dinner?”

“That is hilarious,” Adam snorted and the rest of the unit laughed in agreement. You huffed, turning so you could hide your face in his arm. Every time Jay told that story, he got the same reaction.

“I hate it when you’re telling the story of how we met,” you mumbled and you felt the vibrations in his body when he chuckled.

“I know you do, but I love it.”

“You still haven’t told me why you’re slumming it with old Jay,” Vanessa said and you snorted out a laugh. 

“Are you kidding? Jay is hot, have you seen his arms?” You asked, wrapping your hands around his bicep. “Besides, everyone knows that men are like wine. You gotta give them time to mature.”

Now it was Jay’s turn to flush and the entire unit ooh-ed simultaneously. Kevin nodded with a grin. 

“Never let go of that one, Jay.”

The group was suddenly broken up when an older man came into the room. “What’s going on in here?” he asked with a husky voice. So this must be the infamous Sergeant Hank Voight. 

“Sarge, this is my girlfriend, Y/N,” Jay said and you smiled at Voight, holding out your hand. 

“Pleasure to meet you sir.”

Voight raised an eyebrow at you, shaking your hand gently. “Pleasure’s all mine. How old are you, kid?”

“22, sir.”

“I could be your dad.”

Jay scoffed, rolling his eyes and squeezed your hand. “You could be my dad, Sarge.”

“Fair enough,” Voight grunted with a laugh. “Alright we got a case.” He motioned for the rest of the team to follow him while Jay turned to you with a smile. 

“Thanks for coming. I know I always told you that I’d introduce you to the team but never did it. Figures you’d take it in your own hands, huh?” he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and you grinned at him, shrugging with your shoulders.

“Thought it couldn’t hurt.”

“‘course you did. Listen, I gotta go, but how about I’ll take you out for drinks tonight and we’ll hang out with the guys? Properly?”

“Sounds like a great plan,” you nodded and Jay grinned at you, kissing you softly. 

“Awesome. I’ll see you tonight then.”

“Can’t wait.”

🏷️list: @itsdesiree86​ // @anotherfan07​ // @its-laur-laur // @life-treatments​ // @rebel-without-care​ // @hylandsedits​

Bolded means I can’t tag you. Please message me so we can figure out the problem!

[achliegh]

Golden

Yeehaw Leo… it's all because this song came on one day (I don’t even really listen to country anymore so it really is fate). Leo is based off that song, each chapter is going to be based off a yeehaw song too.

Characters belong to @lumosinlove

Beta: @the-most-slyterin-hufflepuff & @punkkkboi

TW/CW: Smut, terrible yeehaw sayings and jokes, injuries, mentions of past death, minor character death, underage drinking, mentions of past arrests, cringe

Chapter Songs (listening in order is recommended):

Chapter 5:

Redneck Woman

Red Solo Cup

Eloise smiles as Leo continues to ramble on about these boys who have clearly stolen his heart. She sips her black coffee and sets it down on the counter she is leaning against. Walking over to her offspring, that is a total of two inches taller than her, she kisses his cheek causing him to stop mid sentence.

“Was I rambling too much?” The red appearing on his cheeks made her smile, ruffling his hair that is in need of his yearly head shave. He swats her hand away. “I know it's long but because someone told me how to keep my hair healthy.” Looks pointedly at her as she snorts. “I only cut my hair once a year and it's a full shave.” He sticks out his tongue.

“Who even raised you to be so disrespectful?” She dramatically puts her hand on her chest, then tightens the ties on her robe. Giving him a motherly smile she thanks him as he puts some toad in a hole on a plate for her. “I don’t have my hearing friend in to help me listen to you,” She makes a gesture like she is swooning with her hand on her forehead and her hand fanning herself. “ GuSh, about your hockey boys. But, it is very sweet.”

“I really like them Mama… I think you and Daddy would too.” He focuses on his toast as he takes a bite and brushes the crumbs onto the floor, much to Eloise’s annoyance. She knows this is a sign of him wanting to trust his emotions but doesn’t want to jinx himself.

“Come here, let's get all the motherly squishing done before Clay and… what was his name? Rex?” She pulls him into a tight hug and crushes him in her arms with her old lady strength. He relaxes completely into her and hugs back just as tight but making sure not to hurt her. He makes sure to have his head on her right shoulder so she can hear him.

“Reg, his name is Regulus but we call him Reg. I think you should try and adopt him like you did with Clay. Pseudo Mother is just your personality now that you are so old.” He squeaks and gets out of her death grip hug as she pokes his ribs. “RUDE!”

She is still cackling as Clayton bursts through the door announcing his entrance, running into the kitchen.

“I smell food!” He hops on the counter and begins earring Leo’s breakfast. She pats his knee with a happy yet defeated look on her face. She has told him so many times not to climb on the counters that cost more than some people's entire house. “Mm! Ma, meet Reg.” He gestures to a boy who looks like he feels entirely out of place, she was going to tell Clay off for talking with his mouth full but she has a new mission now.

Protect this kid.

After making a mess and eating, Clay and Leo go out to load the trailer and Horses up for the drive to Texas where the rest of their team already is. Eloise has started on the dishes and looks over to Reg and nods him over.

“You know how to rinse dishes?”

“No Ma’am.” She smiles at him and pushes the faucet to face the sink in front of him.

“No need to call me Ma’am, call me Eloise. Now, you just run the dish under the hot warmer and get all the suds off. Make sure I don't miss any food or spots because I am just a helpless old lady at the end of the day.” She gets a small smile to form at his lips as she shows him exactly how to rinse. An easy task, but one that he was never taught. That triggers something in her head that makes her think he was told he only has one purpose in life. No one only has a single purpose in life. “Who are your parents Reg?” She notices him tense at the question and immediately regrets asking.

“Orion and Walburga Black.” Simple and straightforward answer. He doesn’t want to talk about them. She nods and hums in acknowledgement. Passing the last few dishes in silence, she drains the sink and turns to look at him.

“So, what did Marigold and Bluebell tell you to convince you to come with them this summer?” She smiles at him as his whole demeanor changes. He smiles that same small smile but he visibly relaxes.

“First off, Marigold… Bluebell? What the fuck kinda names are those.” Eloise laughs in surprise. “Second, we watched tiktoks half drunk together for two hours while the rest of the team socialized.” She nods her head, that does sound like what those two would do. “And Third, I have been needing to get away from my brother and his boyfriend so they can boink in peace and not have to worry about me hearing.” He looks at her and his smile drops off his face. “Sorry, Leo told me you were laid back and I thought it would be alright to share this type of stuff with-”

“Reg I think you are a wonderful man who is going to keep those two pea-brains in line while on the road. Maybe loosen up a little yourself.” She smiles. “Is it alright if I give you physical affection? I tend to be a touchy person and not realize it.” He pauses for a moment and then nods, she pats his cheek and smiles as the other two walk back into the kitchen.

Reg is still a little stunned when Clay throws his arm around his shoulder and jostles him around.

After kisses and hugs goodbye Leo hops into the driver's seat, Clay in the passenger and Reg in the middle seat of the back. Reg has barely seen a truck in his life but this vehicle was fucking huge. Giant. Thicc some might say. The first few hours of driving was a podcast that Clay was in the middle of listening to when he picked up Reg. Once that ended Reg descended into music hell.

He has come to the conclusion that most country songs are about the three G’s.

Guns, God, Goodies (meaning like titties)

He was absolutely taken aback by how Leo was screaming, we can’t call it singing its terrible, these songs that are the complete opposite of him. Clayton at least liked goodies. There was one song that will probably stick with Reg his entire life. Redneck Woman by Gretchen Wilson.

Holy shit. When that song came on it was like Leo and Clay were having a contest of who could sing it the loudest. So, Reg decided that for his first check in with the team. Which Sirius was making him do because he is paranoid. Reg decided he would turn around in his seat and film a video of him painfully smiling and giving a thumbs up to the camera as Leo and Clay scream at each other.

“I’M A REDNECK WOMAN AIN’T NO HIGH PRICE GAL!”

Clay sees Reg recording and flips off the camera still singing. An hour later they pull up to this massive ranch style AirBnB with stables and all. It must have cost a fortune. Reg hops out of the truck and feels out of place, Yeehaws everywhere. Okay, there were like three of them and this giant man with long hair and a braided beard, covered in tattoos just reading a book on the front porch.

“That's our tattoo artist, he travels with us because he is the only person Leo and I trust to tattoo us. You’d like him, his name is Hagrid. But, no time to chit chat! We need to teach you some of the basics, we’ve got a rodeo in two nights. I am competing on Leroy and Peanut is just here for fun. How about we teach you how to care for them a bit?” Clay smiles at him and Reg remembers he is with people who want to be friends with him… for him. Not because of hockey or his family, not because his brother made them. Just for him. Reg went willingly with Clay to watch Leo as he led the horses one by one out into a pen for them to roam around in for a bit.

Clay went into more detail about how they care for them and what he thinks Reg can do. It was night already so they decided to go inside, Leo asked around to see what people were hungry for and made almost anything after someone had got groceries.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Reg was sitting across the island from Leo as he finished up the food, having watched him make the entire meal.

“Mama taught me how to cook when I was younger, it was the one thing I did that wouldn’t get me in trouble with the law.” He rolls his eyes at the thought of the sheriff and Reg decides not to press. “What do you want to do tomorrow while Clay practices?”

They got wasted. Mostly on jello shots, Leo taught Reg the trick: rim job, blow job, swallow. Leo had promised the boys he would call them, he didn’t want to do it drunk but he misses them like crazy. Drunk or not he was going to call them. So, there he is sitting on the balcony out of his bedroom waiting for them to answer. Finn picks up first, shirtless and sweating.

“Okay Finn, I love this” Gesturing in a circle at Finn who just smiles out of breath and wipes his face with a towel. “But I need you to calm down, because I’m a little tipsy and that means I’m very horny.” He smiles when Finn laughs.

“Well I’m glad to know that even on truth serum you find me attractive.” Finn sets his phone down but props it up on some books as he finishes his warm down stretches from his run he just came back from.

Then Logan picks up, in Leo’s T shirt he left for him last time. It was baggy on him and his hair was messed up from sleeping. The side of his face is a little red and there are lines from his pillow squished into his face. He sleepily smiles at the camera.

“Hi Leo.” Leo groans in response and leans his head back.

“You two are gonna be the death of me. Fucking Christ.” He signs and looks at Logan who is suddenly bright red but smiling back. “You’re beautiful Sweet Pea.”

“Really?” Logan looks at him with such big unbelieving eyes that it breaks Leo’s heart.

“Mhm you and Finn make my little heart do a pitter-patter every time I think of y’all.” Being drunk Leo’s accent is incredibly thick.

“You sound like a true southern man there, Le. How is Texas?” Finn is sitting on the ground criss cross with his hands resting on his knees. Logan has laid back down and snuggled up with his blanket on his side. “You’ve been there a day right?”

“Yes sir! I have been here for a full 27 hours now and I can say, it ain’t no Louisiana but it’ll do.” He shows off his chipped tooth and hears a trilling sound on his railing and looks over to see a mama opossum with her babies hanging on her back. He smiles and flips the camera. “Look at This Little Mama!” He reaches his hand out and she looks at it suspicious. Logan told Leo to stop and Finn said no, but he knows what he’s doing.

To their surprise, the mama just lets Leo pet her under her chin and Finn takes so many pictures. The opossum lets Leo pet her babies with his finger and he pats her head on last time before he goes inside to flop on his bed.

“So, We’ve been thinking” Leo lifts his phone to be above his face as he slowly starts dozing off. “We want to come out.” Leo’s eyes snap open and he drops the phone on his face, rolling over to his stomach he wiggles his nose as he processes what Finn just said.

“Wait, like all three of us or just your two?”

“Well, we thought we would leave that up to you…”

“I think to start, it would be safest for all of us, if you two came out together first. We can talk about me coming out when I’m done traveling this summer, okay?” They all smile at each other nervously and Finn notices a couple of watery sniffles from Logan, they were going to talk to Dumo and Sirius tomorrow. Maybe then they can talk more.

“Leo, do you want to move in… in the fall? Winter? I mean you don’t have too but I would like it and I bet Logan would too. We miss you.” Finn has his fingers crossed where the others can’t see.

Silence.

“I would love to, let me give you my Mama’s number. She will be so glad to get me out of the house the rest of the year.” He laughs a little, they fall into a comfortable silence and Leo drifts off, fully dressed in his boots and everything. Clutching his phone like he never has.

Finn knocks on the Dumias door the next day. Nervous about this talk they are going to have with the other French speaking people. Finn can’t speak French so he hopes they don’t start speaking it because he will just up and leave. Logan opens the door and Finn can’t help the soppy smile that crosses his face when he sees Logan in his sweatshirt. He wondered where it went. Logan and Him walk into the dinning room where Sirius and Dumo are talking about new plays they want to practice. They look up when they enter the room and stand across from them.

“Dumo, Sirius I need you to mind your fucking business.”

“What he means to say is why did you tell Leo that he hurt Logan?” Finn translated.

“I was the one that hurt Leo! Leo did nothing and you guys fucking made him doubt us even more!” Logan crossed his arms and Finn rested a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

“What? That's why you were so sad? Because of something you did… Logan, I know we sound like broken records at this point but please start talking to us.” Dumo looks at him with a slightly frustrated look in his eyes but also worry. It makes Logan’s skin crawl.

“I think you meant well with the shovel talk, but Logan was the one who broke things off with Leo before it even started. He told Leo we didn’t want him and all this other shit that was Logan being… scared.” Finn feels Logan take his hand and interlock their fingers. He looks at the smaller man and squeezes his hand as a way to say, I’m here.

Dumo and Sirius didn’t get another word in before Logan was dragging Finn out the door. Staying at his apartment for a few days. Lo already has some clothes there and… they had to film something special.

Rodeo the next day went well. The after party was even better.

They were in a large steel building with everyone, concrete floors covered in dirt with people swinging dancing their hearts out. Leo was drinking and Clay was drinking, they somehow managed to lose clay about twenty minutes ago. Reg was getting a facetime from Sirius and answered it so Sirius doesn’t worry, the music is so loud that he can barely hear him until a less background heavy song comes on and Leo is humming it while drinking out of his red solo cup.

“Reg where are you!?” Sirius was yelling because it was so loud and Remus was in the background trying not to laugh.

“I’m at an after party! Are you with the team?” Sirius nods and flips the camera to show everyone and Leo’s eye catches his boys.

“FINN! LOGAN!” He yells super loud so everyone turns to face sirius’ phone. “IF YOU WERE HERE RIGHT NOW I WOULD TOTALLY SUCK YOUR DICKS IN THE BATHROOM! AT THE SAM- CLAY!” Leo sees Clay in the ocean of people and scurries off before finishing his sentence. Reg looks back at his phone and shrugs. Finn and Logan are bright red and getting chirped to hell for sure but the music is so loud that he can’t hear them.

“I’ll call you when I get back to the BnB!” Sirius nods and hangs up. Wrestling two drunk idiots into an uber is fine but getting them out was like untangling headphones that you left in your pocket for three years.

Just legs everywhere.

Hands? Don’t know how to use them.

Braincell? Reg has it.

At some point Clayton started crying because a guy he thinks he has a crush on has a girlfriend and he isn’t Leo so he can’t convince two people to love him. Very dramatic. Leo thinks he lost his phone, even though he gave it to Reg at the beginning of the night, and he is worried someone will find it and steal his nudes for their own. Reg doesn’t even know how to respond to that.

Waking up the next morning. Leo has a mild headache, but nothing that will stop him from driving. It was going to be a good day. Especially when Leo got his phone back and saw a tiktok notification from Finn and Logan.

They came out last night.

Time to wreak havoc.