#and despite not having listening to his cover since the allegations. i still hear him say 'we love these cowboy chords boys' at the start.

[sergeantjessi]

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[juniorgman187]

Fighting Fire With Fire (Reid Fic)

Summary: Reader must lower her pride after a date goes wrong and the only one who can rescue her is her mortal enemy - Spencer Reid.

A/N: This was a beast of a fic to write. It’s been in my WIP since September, and I managed to go from 11 pages to 22 pages in three days. It is now my longest fic thus far. I am insanely fucking proud of it and I hope it does well. Category: Angst Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: allusions to ‘catfishing,’ allusions to abduction, dub-con to taking provocative photos, alcohol, mentions of bruises, jealousy, carrying hug which implies weight of Reader (lmk if I missed anything) Word Count: 11.7k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

I tried to play nice; I really did, but there was no getting through to him. Everyday started and ended with us fighting fire with fire.

Maybe the reason the two of you butt heads so often is because of how similar you are.

That’s what the team would say when Spencer and I got into one of our daily (sometimes hourly) arguments. 

They constantly encouraged us to get to know each other so that we’d finally see the likeness, and until recently, I wasn’t opposed to the idea. I was willing to do whatever it took to get him to like me. However, as previously mentioned, my willingness quickly dissipated in light of recent events. 

Voluntarily spending more time than necessary with him would be a recipe for disaster no doubt. 

Somehow, in a matter of a month, Reid decided that he simply did not enjoy my presence, which was the nice way of putting it. 

To be more crass, he loathed me to no end.

Initially, I was operating under the assumption that he wasn’t fond of change, and with me joining the BAU, the change was too much too fast for him, but after four weeks, his attitude toward me never deviated. Yet again, I made another excuse for him, arguing to myself that people are allowed to not like me. I could respect that, but where he lost my respect was how he made a conscious effort to remind me of how much he despised me. Even when I was at my nicest, he still treated me like a scelerate. 

If there was a prize for gaining a mortal enemy in the shortest amount of time, I guess I already won that without even trying. He hated me with a burning passion, for reasons unbeknownst to me, despite the fact that all I’d ever try to do was be his friend. 

For far too long, I kept denying the part of me that knew making peace with him outside of work wouldn’t go well and it’d simply go down in history as another failed attempt of mine to form a bond with him, so it was at this point that I decided to face the facts. 

He didn’t make it easy for me, either. It was hard having to be kind to someone that was only ever out to get me. 

He would constantly correct me but only after I said something incorrectly, just so he could prove me wrong. 

“If each police officer patrols a street, we’ll be able to cover the entire comfort zone.”

“Actually, we’d need three more officers if we want to cover the entire comfort zone. There’s still 2.347 miles that are unaccounted for.”

I never understood why he couldn’t just say his piece before me so that I didn’t look like an idiot, but I suppose that was the point. 

And he had this infuriating, unwarranted habit of judging my taste in cinema and literature. Anytime I told Emily or Derek about a movie I saw or told Rossi about a book I read, he felt compelled to share his antagonistic opinions as if I asked for them in the first place. Sometimes even spoiling the endings for me!

“Rossi, I just started reading Doctor Sleep!” I was so eager to tell Rossi that, so much so that I’d become blind to one dark cloud’s own eagerness to ruin the fun. 

“The hotel burns to the ground, but the ghosts don’t die with it.” 

He said it with such monotony and nonchalance, not even bothering to look up from his own book to watch my reaction to his menacing act. He just didn’t care!

The list of reasons not to like him truly did go on and on, so it was almost insulting how people would compare the two of us. 

They’d bring up the congruence in intelligence, the same affinity for reading, and closeness in age, but it only made me madder. The last person I wanted to resemble was Reid, except today, I gained another glaring similarity to him.

“Look at you two. Did you plan your outfits or something?” Emily playfully pointed out after I walked into the conference room. 

I eyed the doctor sipping at his cup of coffee who swiveled around in his chair to see what everyone else was seeing. Just from a short glance, I spotted his navy blue button-up with white polka dots that was nearly identical to the color and print of my dress.

“Well, looks like one of us has to go home and change.” His lips grew into a mischievous smirk behind the rim of his mug. 

Was that a joke? Did Spencer Reid make jokes now?

“Ha ha. Very funny.” I facetiously remarked, taking the only open seat at the table which was next to the jokester himself. 

“I’m kidding. You look really nice today.” He alleged without a hint of irony. He was complimenting me now, too? It was so unfamiliar that it felt like uncharted territory, possibly even a trap.

“Why? Because I’m dressed like you?” I wasn’t going to fall for his words now, maybe the version of me who would do anything to gain his approval would have. She would’ve smiled and said ‘thank you,’ but this me was going to challenge him if that was the last thing I ever did. “Bit of a narcissist are we, Dr. Reid?” 

“Mmm maybe,” He wagered, tilting his head from side to side as if to contemplate the possibility. “Or maybe I just really think you look nice.” 

Without even thinking, my heart skipped a beat. I was utterly repulsed by how I let his words have any effect over me. I couldn’t believe that he’d actually managed to fluster me with mediocre flattery. 

It felt like years that I had to sit next to Reid at the round table before Hotch dismissed the team for the flight.

30 minutes later, and we were on the jet. I’d taken one of the seats at the table opposite Derek and Emily, with Spencer beside me. 

Little things like this I could handle, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before he started bothering me. Morgan was listening to music and Emily was turned around in her seat, facing the back to talk to Rossi. Reid was playing himself in chess, and it took all of my self-control to not be a total asshole and knock the board and its pieces over and into the aisle. Luckily, I had a good enough distraction. 

Grant: can you ft tonight?

Me: we’ll see. i might have to work overtime. 

For the months that I had been talking to Grant, I was deliberately ambiguous about my job because I wasn’t exactly keen on telling him that I worked for the FBI and that I might not be able to FaceTime him since I was in the process of investigating a series of homicides. That’d surely scare him away and I was never one to flaunt my government job anyway.

Grant: you look stunning today

Me: you haven’t even seen me today 

Grant: don’t need to. 

Grant: you’ll always be stunning to me. 

“Who keeps texting you?” 

I looked up from my screen to see Reid fixated on his game but still engaged in my business. 

“No one,” I harshly replied, making a conscious decision to turn my phone on vibrate so he wouldn’t hear the chime of my text notifications.  

With one nimble side glance, Reid eyed my screen. I nudged him away with extra force.

“Nosy much?!” 

This stunned him. He wasn’t used to my coldness, he probably expected me to smile in a chagrined manner and not confront it - as I would have done - but now I was fighting back, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he liked it. 

I knew he could read fast, but how he managed to look at my phone so quickly it was like he never even moved his eyes - I didn’t know. Somehow, though, he managed to capture Grant’s entire username, and I didn’t doubt that he caught my entire conversation with him, too.

“Who’s Grant?” The name rolled off his tongue like he was insulted to even be saying it. 

“No one.” 

He didn’t respond soon after I said this, which I misinterpreted as a little victory for me since I almost believed he was going to drop the subject, but in true Spencer Know It All Reid fashion, he just kept going. 

“‘You look stunning today B-T-W. You haven’t even seen me today. Don’t need to. You’ll always be stunning to me.’ Doesn’t really sound like a ‘no one’ to me.” His recitation of my entire PRIVATE conversation with Grant embarrassed me. 

Did I forget to add his eidetic memory and speed-reading ability to the list of reasons not to like him?

“Shut up!” I nudged him, this time using much more force than the last. I was becoming more and more inclined to push over his ridiculous chess game so that he’d finally take me seriously. 

“Oh, really clever by the way. Vaguely insinuating that you ‘might not be able to call him because you’re working overtime’ just so you don’t have to disclose the true nature of your job.” Spencer’s sarcasm was thick.

“Are you just jealous because the only date you’ve been on was a fake one with a serial killer and not even your actual girlfriend while she was alive?” My reference to Cat and Maeve caught the attention of the entire jet. 

Each member mentally rolled their eyes thinking ‘Here we go again.’ And if that wasn’t their reaction, they were certainly cringing at the fight that was ensuing. 

Things had been suspiciously good between the two of us today so it was about time we argued. We were due for our daily quarrel.

“Oh, that’s right! The only girls who like you are victims in our cases.” Now this comment was referring to Lila and Austin. (I had Penelope to thank for filling me in on all of Reid’s ‘entanglements’ after I was first reassigned).

“Really? You wanna go there?” He sassed back, diverting his attention away fully from his chess game now. “Do you know how many people get ‘catfished’ when using online dating websites? Or the statistics on how many people are raped, assaulted, or murdered by said ‘catfish’?” 

“I’m not stupid, Reid. He and I have been talking for months. We’ve been on calls and Facetime before, too. We’ve just never met in person. Sound familiar?” 

“What Maeve and I had is not at all comparable to what you and this ‘guy’ have. And just because you’ve seen his face before doesn’t mean he’s not a serial killer or operating under an alias.” 

I had to scoff. Who was he to label our relationship valid or not?

“What’s it to you anyway? We all know you’d be ecstatic if this guy turned out to be a serial killer or catfish. You’d get to rub it in my face and say ‘I told you so.’” 

This touched a nerve. He hated it when I attacked his nice-guy facade. 

“Is it so hard to believe I’m actually concerned for your wellbeing?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Fine. If you think I don’t care about you, then don’t come crying to me when you realize he’s not the guy you think he is.”

“Oh, trust me, I won’t! It’s not like you’d be able to protect me anyway, Pretty Boy.” I sneered, using Morgan’s nickname for him as an insult got to him, and I could see it in the way his jaw clenched and his nostrils flared. 

Hotch had to interject now. “Alright, (y/l/n), Reid, that’s enough. We need to focus on what’s actually important.” 

I settled back down in my seat, facing forward and avoiding eye contact with Reid. 

“Have fun on your date,” He muttered under his breath. “Hope you survive it.”

Bastard.

For the rest of the case, I was on edge. Deliberately avoiding him was a much harder task than one might think. I had to wait at least ten minutes for my coffee, so I wouldn’t be at the machine when he was there, and if I had to guess, he probably took longer just to make me wait in agitation. I had to awkwardly squeeze into a new spot beside Rossi and Hotch when we were delivering the profile. I had to ask not to travel in the same SUV as him. 

And this exhausting routine went on for days. In fact, I’d managed to almost go the entire case without interacting with him. That was until Hotch sent us both in the field to apprehend the unsub. 

“Are you sure?” I asked with clear reluctance. 

“Are you questioning me?” Hotch replied sternly. 

“No, sir.” 

I was already on thin ice being the new recruit, so I knew better than to question any of Hotch’s orders. And as miserable as working with Reid was, I figured he’d at least ease up on the hostility when we needed to be professional. Evidently though, even in the field, he wasn’t willing to work together with me. 

It was a quick decision, not careless in the least, however. The unsub had locked himself in his warehouse and refused to leave unless we were brave enough to drag him out of there ourselves. The ultimatum he gave specified that only one of us could do it and we both agreed that I should go in, seeing as he’d underestimate my strength as a woman, and I’d have the upperhand when I inevitably apprehended him. 

However, he also explicitly told us that I couldn’t come in with a gun - it had to be an even playing field. 

“You are not going in without a gun,”  Reid ordered. 

“We don’t have time to argue about this - I have a spare on me, okay? There are three hostages in there, two of which are children.” Without giving him a chance to respond, I handed him my gun and holster.

Had I let him waste a single second more of my time, we wouldn’t have been able to save the three hostages and successfully arrest the unsub. I saw this as a victory and I was almost willing to celebrate it with him, but it wasn’t long before he let our enmity tear us apart again. 

When we got back to the precinct, I went to the locker room to change, then suddenly, Hotch came in. 

“I’ve been informed that you went in unarmed against a fellow agent’s orders. This matter will be discussed in my office when we get back. I should warn you, (y/n), you do not want to make this mistake again.” Hotch left me with those foreboding words, and I knew, I knew immediately that Reid was to blame for this.

If I took a look in the mirror of my locker, I wouldn’t have been surprised if I saw that my face was turning a bright shade of red. I was fuming - bursting at the seams from the anger building within me that was desperately fighting to escape. I could imagine myself as a cartoon character with steam blowing out either of my ears. I was about to go on a rampage, and no one - absolutely no one - could stop me. 

The last straw was hearing him come in. This was my opportunity to unleash what was already boiling. 

“What the hell, Reid? ‘(y/n) went in unarmed.’ Seriously?!” I undid the velcro on my vest so hastily out of my blind rage that the spiky side of the velcro strip nearly sliced my finger. “Are you trying to get me fired?” 

“If that’s what it takes to make you realize how stupid of a choice that was, then yes, I do.” He was so calm and collected in his inflection that it angered me all the more. 

“What are you even talking about? What ‘stupid choice’? You knew I had a second gun on me. And even if I didn’t carry it, I still would’ve had my vest on. I wasn’t going in unarmed or unprotected, so why would you tell Hotch that?” 

“In the time it would take you to assess the danger, react, and then reach for the gun at your ankle, the unsub would’ve been able to shoot you twice - if not more. That’s going in unprepared, which is going in unarmed.”

I scoffed in disbelief that he was actually reprimanding me. “Are you kidding? This is all based on a technicality? Did your eidetic memory somehow forget about what happened with Maeve? Because my memory didn’t. I know for a fact that you went into that warehouse without a vest or a weapon. And unlike you, I had a spare and my vest. AND I actually apprehended the unsub. Did you stop Diane?”  

This crossed a line and I knew it, but it was too late to take it back, and clearly, it was much too late to repair any relationship I had with him. We were far beyond the point of no return. 

He was so mad that he didn’t even answer me. The only response I could gauge was from his body language, which by the looks of it, all the signs of anger were plain on his face. He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind. Even his nostrils flared so primitively. His eyes narrowed down at me with a glare that said, ‘I’m the predator and you’re the prey.’

“Yeah, exactly.” I spat when he stayed silent. 

I turned around, starting towards the exit, but I was too furious to stop there, so I spun around and unleashed the remainder of my wrath that had been dying to come out. 

“Look, I get it. I’m the new kid around here, and it sucks when someone new comes in and changes up the team dynamic, but any mistake I make, or any mistake Hotch thinks I make, could send me packing. You’ve been working in this unit for years, and even if Hotch questions your choices, he won’t reassign you. He won’t even threaten it. He’s willing to overlook your mistakes because he knows that what you have to contribute to the team is too vital to let go, but I haven’t even had my chance to show him what I have to offer. So when I do make a mistake, there is nothing for me to fall back on, nothing to redeem me, and no safety net, but you? You have years of experience on your back to break your fall. So don’t you dare act like you’re doing me a favor by reporting my ‘mistake’ to Hotch. You might be costing me my dream job, and if you think that makes us friends - think again.” 

I stormed out of the locker room seeing red. 

This war was far from over. 

_ _ _

“You’re clenching your fists again,” Emily said under her breath. I was grateful that she said it in a hushed tone, otherwise she might’ve revealed my lingering anger to the whole jet, which wouldn’t have been good. 

I immediately unclenched them, opening up my hands to reveal small, dark C shaped imprints on my palms from where my nails had dug into them. 

I should’ve expected that she would’ve learned at least one of my tells by now. I did have many after all. Cheek biting, fist-clenching, leg bouncing. 

“Something bothering you?” She probed quietly. 

She set her book down to give her undivided attention to this conversation. That was enough to tell me that an excuse like, ‘Nothing, I’m fine,’ would not suffice. She wouldn’t be satisfied until I told her the truth, which I surely did not want to tell. So I settled for a half-truth.

“Hotch wants to talk when we get back.” 

From my peripherals, I saw her knit her brows together in confusion. “Is . . . is that it?”

“Mhm.” I lied. 

“But that’s not enough to warrant the fist clenching. Cheek biting - sure - you do it when you’re anxious, but not fist-clenching. You only do that when you’re angry about something.” 

“Oh, so you have figured out all my tells,” I smirked.

“Pfft, I figured them all out the first week you got here, but I won’t tell you the rest, otherwise you might try and hide them from me,” She joked. 

I shook my head playfully. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m just worked up about something - it’s nothing you need to worry about though.” Habitually, my eyes looked right up in his direction. I caught a glimpse of him sprawled against the couch, sleeping. He was lucky I wasn’t ranting about the little stunt he pulled earlier to Emily. He should be thankful that I was even trying to protect his reputation to her at all. 

“I get it if you don’t want to talk about it, but it does help. Take it from me, someone who really only trusts myself, you shouldn’t hide what you feel.” 

What you feel. 

I clung onto those words. 

What was I really feeling? 

Was I upset that instead of receiving praise for the arrest I made, I was scolded like a child? Was I angry that Hotch believed what Reid had to say about my “problematic behavior” instead of believing in me? 

Or did I feel betrayed that despite my best efforts to build a bridge, Reid was tearing it apart brick by brick? Burning it to pieces with the fire of his rage?

“Thanks.” I bleakly said to Emily. I would’ve told her the truth, but it didn’t feel necessary at that moment. If anything, it just would’ve reflected badly on me. 

Truthfully, she was the closest thing I had to a friend in the BAU, and if I wanted a permanent spot here, I needed to make more of them - and fast. 

“Hey, (y/n), we’re all going down to O’Keefs tonight to celebrate. You wanna join us?” Morgan asked, walking up the aisle and crouching down beside my seat to talk to me. 

“Oh, I wish I could, but I have to talk with Hotch when we get back,” I explained, smiling politely. 

“We can postpone the meeting till first thing Monday morning. I need to go home and be with Jack, anyway,” Hotch added. 

I didn’t realize he could hear me from where he was sitting, which made me all the more nervous that he might’ve overheard the entire conversation between me and Emily earlier. 

“Looks like I’m free,” I looked back at Morgan. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Anything for you, sweet cheeks.” He winked. 

Judging from the lightness of the atmosphere, everyone, except maybe Hotch and Rossi, would be celebrating at O’Keefs - including Spencer. 

I think I might’ve actually preferred to be scolded by Hotch tonight, instead of being silently glared at by Spencer, but it was already too late to revoke my confirmation of presence. 

Because, if Hotch could hear me from where he was sitting, then Spencer could, too. 

He already heard I was coming, and there was no way I was backing down.

_ _ _ 

In spite of the fact that I could barely hear myself think over the loud chatter and blasting music, I could still feel the rage radiating off of Spencer. You would think with how long his nap was on the jet, he wouldn’t be so cranky, but I guess he just couldn’t sleep off his disdain for me after our minor altercation. 

I wondered if the team could see it, too. The way he was burning a hole into me with his fiery stare. The tension was palpable, as it has always been, but remember - I’m not the one who wanted it that way. 

He started this. I was only making the feeling mutual. 

“So what about you, (y/n)? Are you seeing anyone?” 

I tried to hide my growing smirk behind the rim of my beer, but I knew I couldn’t hide much from them. Of course, right across from me, Spencer was glaring at me expectantly, waiting for the answer he already knew. 

“Oooh, look at her - she’s blushing! Spill.” Penelope ordered, beating her palm on the table so enthusiastically it shook all the drinks on it.  

“Well, there’s this one guy I’ve been seeing for a while,” The second I started speaking, I noticed Spencer rolling his eyes. I figured his apprehension was the only response of its kind that I would receive, but I was very mistaken. 

“How did you two meet?” Penelope giddily asked, nearly jumping up and down in her seat. 

“A dating app, actually.” 

The table went completely silent, and I immediately felt my stomach drop. It was as if I’d just said something very wrong. With just a quick glance in front of me, Spencer was basking in this. 

What a dick.

Emily hesitated to ask. “...Have you two met in person before?” 

Now it was my turn to hesitate to speak. “No, not yet.” 

I took another sip of my drink even though I wasn’t thirsty. I just wanted to hide any part of my face I could to shield myself from the five sets of eyes burning holes into me now, rather than just the one. Trying to make matters better, I spoke all too quickly, nearly sputtering on my beer. “I’m completely safe, though. Nothing sketchy’s going on, I promise.” 

“Of course,” JJ agreed. “We totally trust you,” neglecting to attach the cliche, ‘It’s him we don’t trust.’ But if she had, it would’ve spoken everyone’s bubble thoughts right about now. 

“Just be careful, mama.” Derek’s response felt the most sincere, and I honestly believed he was happy for me, but it didn’t change how much their judgement initially stung. 

For the rest of the night, I didn’t talk. No one noticed. 

Except maybe the last person I wanted to notice. 

I quietly slipped away somewhere in the night when the conversation was at its highest precisely so they wouldn’t question where I was going or if I was okay. If they had asked, the truthful answer to the former would’ve been ‘just outside to get some air’ and the latter ‘no.’

The cool breeze drifted through the door like rising fog and for the briefest moment in time, I felt suspended in the space around me - I’d finally caught my breath. That feeling wouldn’t last long, though. 

I’d intentionally gone outside to compose myself until I came back a person who wasn’t on the verge of tears, but apparently, trying to pull myself only resulted in my falling apart. A ball of yarn unraveling is the closest comparison I can draw to what I must’ve looked like, crying quietly on the street.

“I figured I’d find you here.” 

It was the mere sound of someone’s voice that shocked me, but it was the person whose voice it was that led to the frustration that followed. 

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be inside talking to the team of people who also agree with you about Grant?” 

He was too much of a nuisance to warrant exchanging eye contact with so I simply stared forward as I spoke and wiped the tears away that were still pooling on my lower lash line. I hoped he hadn’t actually seen me crying, but from what I could tell, he was probably standing there long before he said something. And if he was truly looking at me as deeply as it felt like right now, then he’d have noticed my bloodshot eyes, flushed cheeks, and unending sniffling. 

“Is that why you disappeared back there? Because you’re upset they didn’t exactly like the idea of your relationship?” The pain in the ass really tried, he really tried to get me to look at him by facing me and making these gestures with his hands that should’ve gotten my attention, but instead, I stayed put leaning against the wall, keeping my line of sight straight ahead. 

“(Y/n), they weren’t insulting you or judging you -”

“Then why did it feel like it?” For the first time since he’d joined me, I’d looked at him. I didn’t even mean to and I had every intention of denying him that privilege for the entire duration of our conversation, but as soon as I asked him my question, we locked eyes, and I saw it written all over his face. 

He felt sorry for me. 

Now, he could clearly make out how distraught I was from this unobstructed view of my face that was kindled by the dim, flickering yellow glow of the streetlight beside us. And he kept staring, looking into my eyes to read me just as easily and just as quickly as he read a book. 

“All we want is for you to be safe,” His voice crackled momentarily, and it actually touched some part of me for how genuine it sounded. “We weren’t trying to judge you or to insult you, and I’m sorry if it felt that way, but if we want your safety, and you tell us about something that could be potentially harmful, then of course we’re going to be apprehensive about it. That’s how people that care about you should react.”

“So are you saying that I don’t care about myself because I’m engaging in something risky?” Isn’t that the most ironic statement of this year? The definition of our job was risky, and even if this wasn’t the safest relationship on the planet, it was nothing like what we put ourselves through everyday being in the field. 

“No, that’s not what I’m saying -”

“So what are you saying?” I dared. He shook his head and sighed like he was about to give up, but I needed an answer. “No, please, do continue. Finish what you were gonna say. Since you apparently know everything, 187. Please go ahead - tell me what you think I should do.” 

Tell me what you really came out here to say, I ordered him with my eyes.

“I think I respect you more than you respect yourself, and that’s really saying something. Because if you actually liked yourself as much as I do, then you would realize that subjecting yourself to this nonsensicality of a long-distance relationship is not only dangerous - but insulting to your worth, too. You deserve more than that, (y/n).” He couldn’t have been clearer when he murmured a low and firm, “Much more.” 

The world was spinning on its axis too fast for me to process anything he said before snapping back at him. “So what exactly is it you want me to do?”

With utmost clarity in both annunciation and intention, he told me, “Break up with him.” 

Not a shadow of a doubt in his words. 

Then, like the phantom of the opera himself, he vanished back into the bar, but even if he had stayed, I wouldn’t have had anything to say to him. I was simply rendered speechless.

Circling back to my previous argument, I questioned once more why was it any of his business anyway? I was allowed to do as I pleased and I most certainly did not have to listen to him. And I didn’t. 

But I should’ve. 

_ _ _ 

My Monday morning meeting with Hotch wasn’t nearly as fire and brimstone as I thought it would be. It did however feel like the equivalent to an “I’m disappointed in you” parent speech. In some ways, I related to the average teen who was grounded. Except instead of my phone being taken away, it was my freedom. From now on, I could only follow executive orders that had been given to me. At least for the time being. 

It was clear that, deep down, some part of Hotch knew what I’d done was the right call, but he couldn’t give me any favors. Not until they were deserved on my end. 

Walking onto the jet after our meeting, however, felt more juvenile than the punishment itself. I was a kid again, re-entering my classroom after using the restroom, only to have all eyes on me as I came through the door.

As per usual, the only empty chair was next to Reid. There’d been too many instances of this happening to think it was just a coincidence. At this point, I had to assume it was by design. Whose design however? That I didn’t know.

“Hello, trouble,” He sang when I took my seat. 

I could only assume that this new nickname was based on what took place in Hotch’s office - thanks to him, need I remind you - but I didn’t care to know the origin because that would require talking to him, and for several reasons, that was the last thing I wanted to do. The first of which was what happened less than three days ago. An event we both hadn’t mentioned yet, and I hoped we never would. 

I took every preventative measure in the book. I changed seats with JJ. I moved to the couch. I even started reading in the little hallway between the kitchenette and bathroom of the jet to avoid sitting beside him, but against all my best efforts, he always found a way to bug me. When there’s a will, there’s a way. After exhausting any real reason he had to talk to me, he had to get creative. 

“You’ve been on that same page for four minutes and twenty-seven seconds.” I heard him say when he walked up to the kitchen to reach for the pot of coffee. Almost expecting I’d ask him what he meant, he added the explanation casually. “It never takes you more than three minutes and twelve seconds to move onto the next page. So either you’re not understanding the material or you’re not actually reading.”

It was utterly hilarious of him to imply that either of those things were definitely the answer. “What if I’m just taking my time reading this page, genius? Ever thought of that?” 

His eyes turned into slits as he leaned in closer to examine me. “You’re blinking rate just increased, too.”

“Stop!” I screeched childishly, pushing him away by his shoulders in an attempt to get him off my back, but he was far from off my back. No, he was right against it. More specifically, his hand was on the small of it. 

Leaning in so close that his lips were practically pressing on the shell of my ear, he whispered, “Come find me when you’re ready to tell me the truth.”

He didn’t need to know his words or actions had any sort of effect on me, so I kept the most stoic facial expression on, and I didn’t say a single thing back. He turned back around to leave with the hand on my back being the last thing to go. His lingering touch caused a shiver to run down my spine while paradoxically burning my body from the friction. 

I was disgusted with myself for having let him elicit any sort of reaction from me, even if he wasn’t aware of it. 

“Yeah ... well, d-don’t expect that to be anytime soon,” was my poor attempt at a retort to shut him up.

“Whatever you say, trouble.” 

_  _ _ 

Personal space can be a wonderful thing. Much less so when it’s invaded, however. 

After what felt like the longest flight ever, all I wanted was to take a shower and go to bed. My wishes were granted when I was able to wash off the stress and exhaustion and slip into a blush pink satin pajama set Grant sent me that I’d been meaning to wear. The plunging neck of the tank top was lined with lace and adorned with the tiniest little bow at the center. To match the shirt, the hem of the shorts were lined with lace that trailed up the small triangular slits on the side of the shorts, where at the vertex of them was the same little bow detail. For such a pure and innocent color as baby pink, you’d think it’d be somewhat less revealing. The longer I started at myself in the mirror while wearing it, the more aware I’d become of the intentions behind why Grant had sent it. 

How cute, I thought, rolling my eyes.

Gifts should always be appreciated, if for no other reason than the effort put into it, but this just felt slimy. There was obviously no valiant romantic intent behind the negligee, which spoiled the delight of receiving something out of the blue from him. What’s worse was that I wasn’t even sure how to thank him for something like this. 

Me: thank you for the pajamas. they’re so cute!

Lying was easier over text message, in case you were wondering what the perks of a long distance relationship were. 

Grant: good, I’m glad you like them. are you wearing them right now? 

But sometimes, when you should lie, you don’t. And you regret it later on - take it from me. 

Me: yeah, they’re super comfy

Grant: great! i wanna see them on! take a pic 

As if to compensate for the indisputable hatred I had for this lingerie and what it stood for in our relationship, I did the only thing I could think that would make him think I really liked them. That I felt good in them. 

I took pictures - not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill, Yelp review pictures, though - provocative ones. 

In the same breath I went to take them, though, Spencer’s words rang through my head. 

You deserve more than that. Much more. 

Shaking off the thought of Spencer, I decided against what the little voice in my head that sounded too similar to his would’ve said. 

To add to the illusion, I situated myself within the hotel sheets and used the front camera to capture my chest that was very much on display in this top. In the middle of rolling around the bed, trying to find the angles that wouldn’t show my face of dejection, the door opened. 

Instantaneously, I clawed at the sheets until they wrapped around me like a towel. I was ashamed to admit they provided more coverage than these ‘pajamas’ did.

My shriek of shock must’ve sounded familiar to the stranger intruding on me because no sooner did I scream than they questioned, “(Y/n)? What are you doing here?”

Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me. 

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing in here?” I grumbled, struggling to maintain a tight enough grip on the sheets that would keep them from falling and unveiling a sight I desperately did not want him to see. 

“I asked you first.” 

Boy, if you only knew how badly I wanted to slap that smirk right off his face. “This is my hotel room obviously. Your turn.” 

Returning just the same tone, inflection, and vocals, he imitated me. “This is my hotel room obviously.” Like one of those magic tricks he’d show Henry or Jack, he miraculously flashed a room key between his index and middle finger that wasn’t there before. 

“No, that’s impossible.”

“I opened the door, didn’t I?” That damn smirk was still there when he asked this. Maybe, just maybe, if it hadn’t been so condescending, I would’ve thought his sarcasm was ... attractive. Disgusting, I know. 

“Well, if you actually plan on staying here, then you’re sleeping on the floor or the couch, got it?”

My question went unanswered until I turned around to follow where he’d traveled in the time that I spent pondering how this happened. Now perched at the window, sitting on the arm of the chair in a way that chairs weren’t meant to be sat on, he continued to stare silently at me. 

“What? What is it?” I urged. 

“What’s going on with the …” He made a side to side sweeping motion with his key card. “Bed sheets?” 

Consciously, I shimmied the fabric further up my body. Seeing as there was virtually no way to escape an honest answer, I confessed. “If you must know ... I’m wearing p-pajamas.” My own body was rejecting the shameful admission causing the word to stumble out of my mouth. 

He didn’t need to know any more than that to gather what kind of garments they were. He already figured it out.

“Did Grant give them to you?”

I almost rolled my eyes at the implication. “What makes you say that?” 

“Because I know you,” He punctuated every word perfectly. “And I know that you wear big shirts and sweatpants to bed because you don’t see the point of spending money on clothes that are only made for you to sleep in - especially if they’re clothes that make you uncomfortable like these ones clearly do.” 

Although, I greatly despised the fact that there was even a little bit of a chance that I might’ve agreed with him, I still defended Grant. “It was a thoughtful gesture.”

“Thoughtful, right,” He scoffed. “And which head was he thinking with?” 

I was baffled he had the gall to say such an innuendo. “Spencer!”

How dare he? So what if Grant bought me something provocative because he was physically attracted to me? At least someone was. 

Despite the ferocity plain on his face, he chose not to pursue this conversation. Visibly biting back on words he knew would hurt me, Spencer managed to sound remarkably genuine when he promised me, “I won’t look if you don’t want me to.” 

I want you to, was my very first thought. Oh, God, that’s so fucked up, was my second. 

He underlined his sincerity by turning fully around until he was facing the window. “But we should probably put the sheets back on the bed if you plan on sleeping on it.”

He was so patient as he waited for me to remove the cloth from my body. It almost made me feel guilty. He didn’t grumble or gripe, nor did he pressure me to do it at all. So by rights, there should’ve been no reason for me to take so long to let the barrier fall - he wasn’t looking at me. But I was just so goddamn embarrassed. 

This wasn’t me, and even he knew that. 

“You can turn around now,” I mumbled quietly once my safety net of a bedsheet had abandoned me. My arms were crossed over my chest and my thighs were pressed so tightly against each other as if to limit the surface area that Spencer could scrutinize. 

That never came. 

He did look, I could tell that much. But it wasn’t a look I’d ever seen before. It wasn’t rage or annoyance or pity. It was a look of lust. 

A look that made me positively weak in the knees. A look far more sensual than even my racy garments. 

“I’ll just sleep in Morgan’s room tonight, okay?” He offered once he finally broke out of his incapacitation. Grabbing the two opposite corners of the sheets that I was holding, it was a team effort as we arranged the covers where they belonged. It was probably the longest period of time we’d ever worked together without fighting or talking at all for that matter..

Not a single word was exchanged between us while Spencer gathered his things to leave for Derek’s. The room started to feel dangerously empty in the stillness. 

When he slipped past me to make his way out, I caught his upper arm, successfully pulling him back around.

I could’ve been sweet, I should’ve. But that wasn’t our thing. So I settled for what came naturally to us and what would set off the least amount of red flags - I didn’t play nice. “As long as you promise not to hog the entire bed with your behemoth body, we can sleep together -” Catching the words as soon as they came out and what they could’ve implied, I began backtracking. “Sleep in the same bed. Sleep as in rest. Not sleep as in … anything else.” 

Then, in one of those rare moments- he laughed. He actually laughed. Like a real, hearty, sudden laugh. “I know what you meant, (y/n).” 

I’ll never forget the smile that followed the world’s greatest laugh either. 

Oh, God, I’m so fucked up. 

_ _ _

Spencer’s POV

Domesticated animals are smarter than we give them credit for. Studies have shown that pets can actually sense time; They know when it’s time for their owner to leave for the day and when they’ll be coming home, too. 

Animals aren’t dumb - and neither was I. 

Like a dog sniffing out their owner’s imminent absence in the home, I could tell (y/n) was leaving the hotel room for the night. If her current state wasn’t convincing enough, then her behavior throughout the entire day supported that theory just as well. 

Whether it was her phone, the clock on the wall, or her watch, she was evidently keeping a close eye on the time. She did it so often, though, that you would think she would just use simple deductions to figure out what time it was by estimating the time it was when she last checked, but nope. She rarely let more than a minute go by without monitoring the clock.

My suspicions didn’t end there. What’s more suggestive was the anxious fidgeting. She had her tells of anxiety - everyone does - but this was a level of stress I’d never seen her exhibit before, not even in the field. 

She kept cracking her knuckles, even when she’d exhausting all the popping noises she could from them. Her leg-bobbing was another big tell, too. I tend to sit on tables rather than in the chairs at said table, allowing me to feel the earthquake occurring on the precinct floor. Her leg was bouncing up and down so vigorously it was practically shaking the room. 

I would’ve asked her what she was so impatient about, but I feared I already knew the answer.

Grant.

And if I never heard that name roll off her tongue again, it would be too soon. 

That didn’t mean I couldn’t ask where she was going, though.

Pretending to read Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, I barely let my eyes venture far off the page when I loudly asked from the window seat, “So where are you going tonight, trouble?” 

The faintest sound of a chuckle erupted in the bathroom, most likely from the nickname I hadn’t let die yet. 

“Nunya,” was her ever-so mature answer. 

I didn’t want to give her the chance to say ‘nunya business’ like I knew she would, so I quickly interjected with a monotone, “How clever of you.” If she wanted to be a child about this, then so be it. 

“Let’s see. You brought your good heels out of your suitcase, which you only wear on special occasions. And you put on a different perfume than the one you usually use, so I’m assuming it’s new. ... If I didn’t know any better, trouble, I’d say you’re going on a date.” 

She peeked her head out of the bathroom doorway to say, “You’re creepy, you know that?” 

Seeing the small portion of her face that was embellished with a smile would’ve been enough if only I knew what dress she was hiding in behind that wall. I had yet to see that part of her ensemble, but if I had to guess, it would break my heart. 

“Just saying,” I casually lied while clearing my throat. 

“Well,” I heard her begin from within the bathroom. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Grant is meeting me tonight.” 

Kill me now.

“I thought Grant lived in D.C.” Not that that would change much if he was already here. 

“Yes, he does, but he’s driving all the way here to meet me. Seeee,” She drew out the word. “Would a serial killer do that?” 

I refrained from giving the obvious answer: Yes. 

“Well, I hope you don’t plan on bringing him back here. Otherwise, that’d be terribly awkward, don’t you think?” My allusion to the possibility that Grant would come back here to find me in her bed was borne from the intentions that were a complete contradiction to the words I’d just spoken. It, in fact, wouldn’t be terribly awkward. No, it would be fun. For me at least. 

I would have loved to have seen the look on his face, and the worry on hers as she tried to explain who I was and why I had any right to be in (y/n)’s gravity. 

The room went silent again while I stayed on the same page of my book and, unbeknownst to her, waited for her to enter the room. How long she was taking was starting to worry me, though. 

“Need any help in there?” I called out.

“Nope,” She said through a strained voice that proved she was indeed struggling with something. 

“Really?” I asked once more to give her another opportunity to lower her colossal pride. “Cause it sounds like you need help.” 

“Nope. I’m good.” Liar. 

I knew her too well. I counted down to the exact second when she finally scrambled to ask, “Can you help me zip up my dress?”

“Yyyup.” I’d already resigned to the fact that I would have to help her, bouncing happily off the bed when she finally admitted it and letting myself lose the page I was on as I tossed the book haphazardly behind me. 

I was forced to join her in the bathroom for it was already hard for her to humble herself enough to ask me for help, so she certainly couldn’t be expected to lower her pride again and walk out to a place more convenient for me. 

The first thing I noticed was that it was a space clearly not made for two. It was so cramped that I ended up right against her in order to fit. The second thing I noticed was how she made no movements to distance herself. She was so close to me that I could actually see the little hairs on the back of her neck standing up from where my breath ghosted on the area. The sterile smell of hotel bathrooms had been replaced by the flowery, aromatic scent of her new perfume, and my heart broke all over again. 

Using the back of my fingers, I cast a barely-there caress on her neck to stroke her hair out of the way to clear the path of the zipper. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood up again. 

She liked that.

“So do I get to know where you’re going?” I reached for the zipper on the small of her back. “For safety purposes, of course.” 

“Aww, you looking out for me, Dr. Reid?” She teased in a seductive tone while gathering her hair into a makeshift ponytail that for the shortest second recorded in time might’ve reminded me of a constantly recurring intrusive image. 

“Always, trouble.” 

The zipper fastened with absolutely no resistance all the way to the top. My eyes flashed to the mirror to catch her expression, which told me everything I needed to know. 

What a pretty little liar. She didn’t actually need my help. 

Comprehending that the realization dawned on me, she gave me what she knew would shut me up. “We’re going to The Rooftop at Lamont’s.” 

How effortlessly she slipped past me without a thank you or a glance in my direction served as a rude awakening.

“Well, you should take an umbrella with you. It looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight.” This was my small way of coming to terms with the reality of the situation. 

“Eh,” She waved my suggestion off with a dismissive hand. “We’ll be fine. Oh, and don’t even think about stalking me!” She warned before exiting the room.

In the blink of an eye, she was gone - my peace of mind having left with her. 

_ _ _ 

The amount of sleep you need varies for each person and is affected by several factors. However, for most adults, 7–9 hours per night is the ideal amount. And I was slowly reducing that optimal quantity, hour by hour, until there was none left. 

I would continue to sacrifice my sleep so long as I was awake for her return. If she’d asked why I was still up, I would lie. Though I wouldn’t look half so pretty as she did when she lied. 

Losing rest seemed like such a small price to pay to make sure I was fully alert in the event that an emergency happened, even if I would suffer the consequences in the morning. But hey - that’s what caffeine is for, isn’t it? To re-energize oneself after staying up to guarantee one’s enemy’s safety. 

Yeah, I’m sure that’s exactly why Kaldi invented coffee in 750 A.D. 

Besides the thunderstorm, my mind also made great company for situations like these. Granted, the visions it would project kept me up for a reason - they were all so awful. 

There was simply no projected reality where things would turn out alright. 

If she had the time of her life on her date, she would come back to throw it in my face that I’d been wrong, and her admiration for Grant would have deepened. 

Or if he stood her up, she’d be devastated, but instead of letting me console her, she’d push me away as easily as she always did.

In a more neutral instance, perhaps she would admit it wasn’t as great meeting him as she thought it would be and the relationship would fade out for innocent reasons. Even if that seemed like the most favorable circumstance, she would eventually grow to resent me for planting the seed of doubt in her head in the first place.

But nothing- nothing I could have imagined would be as treacherous as what actually happened.

At exactly 1:09 a.m, my phone started to ring. I can’t explain to you what it was, but I just knew - it was her calling, and it wasn’t even her number.

“(Y/n)? Is everything okay?” 

If she said something beforehand, I couldn’t hear her because the storm was too loud and her voice was too quiet. “Did I wake you up?” 

I reassured her with a tone I didn’t even recognize. “No, no. I was awake. Why? What’s up?” The line went quiet again, forcing me to prompt her to speak in order to find out if she was still there on the call. “(Y/n)?”

“Spencer ...” She choked out a hoarse sob. “I need you. I need you to come get me, please.” 

My eyes clenched shut at the dreadful sound of her sorrow, and I jolted into action. After scrambling to gather the keys to her car that she’d left behind, I fled the room faster than ever before. 

“I’m on my way, (y/n). Stay right there. You’re at The Rooftop at Lamont’s right?” 

The poor thing took the longest pause in history, either from shame or disorientation. “He threw me in the back of his car and drove me all the way to D.C. I …” Her breath caught on her dry throat again. “I, um, I managed to escape and now I’ve barricaded myself in a payphone booth. I haven’t called the police yet. You were the first person I thought to call. I just, I just needed to hear your voice.”

My knuckles turned an unfamiliar shade of white when I gripped the steering wheel, picturing her caged up in a rectangular box, dialing my number instead of 911 just so she could hear my voice.

“Everything is gonna be okay. I promise you. My ETA is 1:28. That’s in 19 minutes. Are you okay being there for that long or do you want to find somewhere safer?”

I could no longer distinguish the difference between talking to her right now and talking to a victim in distress. I was speaking with the same tone and inflection but feeling a sharp pain in my chest that wasn’t there before. 

“I can stay here. Just ... don’t hang up, okay?” The fact that the possibility of me abandoning her over the phone even crossed her mind was more than enough to get me to drive well over the speed limit. 

The list of traffic infractions only grew from there because honestly? Screw my safety or anyone else’s. Her’s was the only one that mattered. She was the priority. 

She was my priority. 

Throughout the entire call, I kept repeating, “You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be okay.” Frankly, it was something we both needed to hear. 

It was both the fastest and slowest 19 minutes of my life. Time no longer felt real when I finally found the payphone booth that boxed in my troublesome girl. No sooner did I drive up to the sidewalk than I ran out of the car to sprint the short distance to free her from her coop.

“(Y/n)!” I shouted, swinging the door open and throwing caution to the wind in the process. Immediately, she dropped the phone, not even bothering to replace it onto its receiver. 

The pouring rain had stripped her of her dignity. Mascara ran down her face in pigmented streams of black. Her curled hair was dampened into strings. But worse of all, it hadn’t washed away the darkening bruises on her skin.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” She cried as she ran into my open arms. 

Her body collided with mine in such a gentle manner that I had to wonder how that was possible at all or if it was a figment of my imagination. Was our collision actually that gentle or did it seem that way because of how good it felt to have her arms and legs latch around my entire torso, crossing and connecting somewhere in between?

With one arm under her thighs to hold her up, I pulled her impossibly closer to me by cradling the back of her head with the other hand. 

Her small hands found their way into my hair, a new sensation I tried not to indulge in so as not to let my attention stray away from the little life I was holding in my arms. 

She was so cold. 

Shivering from my warm embrace, her teeth chattered as she whispered, “I’m so sorry, Spencer. You were right I should’ve listened -”

“Shh, it’s okay, (y/n),” I said with the hopes that I could make the pounding heart that was thumping against my shoulder settle down until it reached her standard heart rate of 67 beats per minute. 

After a second of just holding her wordlessly, she spoke again. 

“I don’t wanna fight.” She surrendered so easily to me that I could hardly believe this was her at all. 

“I don’t wanna fight with you either.” 

That was entirely true. Fighting with her was the last thing on my mind. The first was getting her into my car. 

It was easier that I imagined it would be, but then again, it’s easy to do things when you’re motivated in this way. 

Before I loosened my hold on her to shut the passenger door, she squeezed me a little tighter, as if to be absolutely certain this was real and not some cruel dream.

“Thank you,” She hummed into the crook of my neck. From where her shoulder was digging into my throat, I couldn’t exactly respond verbally, so I settled for rubbing my hand up and down her back comfortingly. 

“Let’s take you home,” I basically said to myself seeing as it was too quiet to be discernible. 

“No,” She shook her head rapidly. “Take me to your apartment.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to go back to the hotel right now. I need to be somewhere I feel safe.”

My apartment is closer than the hotel, I reasoned, pretending it was the logic of it that made my heart swell and not the statement I would fixate on for the entire duration of the ride there. 

I need to be somewhere I feel safe. 

And that’s wherever I’m with you.

_ _ _ 

Reader’s POV

Porcelain wall tiles gleamed back at me, mocking my wretched misery. They were much prettier than me, but then again, anything else would be prettier than me right about now.

I certainly wasn’t the belle of the ball in my bare naked state. The fact that I was sitting in a pool of my own washed off dried blood didn’t help either.

I would’ve looked away from the bright white walls, but where else were I to look? Into the pair of eyes that I was deliberately avoiding? The ones that were staring a hole through me right now? No. I couldn’t bear to meet those eyes. So I kept looking forward at the mean walls - those mean, mocking walls.

“Is the water warm enough?” He asked, dipping a finger into the bathwater to test it himself. 

I watched as his hand snuck into the tub and swirled around some water, causing soap bubbles to revitalize. 

For a reason I didn’t know nor could remember at this given moment, Spencer drove me to his apartment. That memory of why I was here was fuzzy, but the rest following my arrival was more vivid. Perhaps because it was all unfolding right now.

“I think I should go,” I murmured. The bathwater had gone cold, and the silence was too deafening. If I didn’t leave now, then I would be trapped forever. 

I leaned forward with my knees still pressed to my chest to protect my modesty while I tugged on the silver drain plug of the tub to release the suction.

“You can’t go home. You’ll be alone again, and who will be there to help you that time?” 

“I don’t need anybody’s help.” I responded curtly. 

“Then why did you call me tonight?”

“Why did you answer?” 

He was stunned by how I didn’t miss a beat with my question, stunned enough to purse his lips in contempt. “Should I have declined your call then? Said ‘no’ instead and let you fend for yourself? You know what - my bad, (y/n). I sincerely apologize that I care about you.” 

I scoffed at his factiousness. “No, what you should’ve done is whatever the hell you wanted to do. But clearly, since you said ‘yes’ and came to my rescue like I’m some victim in a case - you wanted to be there. I could chalk that up to you having a hero complex, but I think it’s time for you to admit you just wanted to see me at my worst so you could throw it in my face like you’re doing right now.”

He clenched his jaw in fury, muttering under his breath, “I should’ve left you in that booth.” 

This crossed a line, but I was just as ready to cross it, too. 

“But I bet you liked saving me. Seeing me as a damsel in distress that you could white knight. You like that, Spence? Does my weakness settle your deep rooted fear of inadequacy in strength?”

Shouldn’t have done that. 

For a second there, I was sincerely scared of the response I might’ve just elicited, so I shot up from the tub and grabbed the towel on the rack, quickly wrapping myself in it and avoiding Spencer’s gaze the entire way out of the bathroom.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Judging from the loudness of his voice, he was right on my heels, following me close behind. 

“You’re smart. Figure it out.” 

“God, why do you have to be such a pain in the ass? I don’t want to leave you like this.” It never failed to amaze me how he could both show disdain and concern for me in the matter of a sentence. 

“Well, you’re not leaving me like this - I’m leaving you like this.” My clever remark angered him more.

Seemingly from out of nowhere, Spencer called out from the end of his hallway, “What are you so scared of?” 

Reaching the end of my rapidly fraying rope, I spun around to throw my arms out to my side in just the same defensive manner as he did. “Nothing! Maybe I just don’t wanna be stuck in the apartment of the man who hates me! Can you blame me?” 

He ran a hasty hand through his hair, pulling at the strands out of pure irritation. “Why do you keep saying I hate you? How can any of what I’ve done for you tonight suggest that?”

He’d chosen his words carefully and for that, he was smart. His inclusivity of the word ‘tonight’ meant I could only reference his actions from the past few hours, which wouldn’t help my case, as opposed to the months and months that he’d given me the cold shoulder, which would have helped my case. But again, he was smart - he had me in a deadlock. I couldn’t accept defeat, but what could I possibly argue against his point? 

My body literally shook from the power of the deep groan that tore through my chest. “God, what do you want from me, Spencer?” I wanted nothing more than to be far, far away from him, but my body was resisting all those urges. Lunging forward, I pointed the sternest index finger at him, staring the most unforgiving glare into his soul. “Tell me - tell me what you want! Because when I was nice to you, you-you treated me like shit. And then when I stopped being nice to you, you still treated me like shit. So what -” I had to laugh to alleviate the sheer rage I was feeling. “What the fuck do you want from me? Because it’s like no matter what I do, it’s just not good enough for you!”

His eyebrows had furrowed and his eyes softened. He didn’t look angry whatsoever. No, he looked hurt. 

“Not good enough for me?” He leaned down to my level to look right into my eyes. “You are everything … everything to me.”

With one last breath, I cried out in anguish, “Then why? Why do you hate me so much?” 

He gulped back the lump in his throat - the last barrier that kept him from telling the truth. 

“I ... I never hated you. I just need to be in control of my thoughts and feelings at all times, otherwise, I feel-I feel like I’m going crazy. Like I’m on the verge of a psychotic break that I’m genetically predisposed to have. But when you came around - I lost all my control. You were inhabiting my dreams, you were stealing my sleep, occupying more and more space in my brain until there was no more room left to take. God, I think about you all the time, and I literally cannot physically stop it. I have no control anymore,” and somehow him saying that sounded something like an ‘I love you.’ 

“The only thing I could control was how I treated you. I thought being awful to you would get you to despise me enough to make me despise you, too, and while it was easier to be angry at you, it was so much worse having you hate me.”

“I never hated you, Spencer.” Never. 

“You should have,” He rasped. “I know I don’t deserve you, but I wish to spend every day proving that I want you. Oh, I want you so bad,” He sharply inhaled through gritted teeth, and I unconsciously laughed in return. His pain wasn’t funny in the least. What was amusing was knowing that he had the same excruciating longing for me that I had for him. 

“I don’t want control anymore if it means I can’t have you.”

He leaned in so carefully that I almost didn't register the movement at all. Our hearts were pounding to the same synchronized beat. We were the shore and the tide one in the same. Our breaths would draw in and out, in and out, as he held my face so gently. We were still the shore and the tide, but more than anything we were drowning in the ocean of ourselves. The rising waters of his admiration threatened to flood every empty nook and cranny of the room until it swallowed me whole. All I could feel was him, everywhere, filling absolutely everything. 

“Wow ... I finally got you speechless,” The cocky bastard hummed happily, letting his words vibrate on the smallest part of my lip.

“Oh, shut up,” I declared through a smirk I needed to fight off before finally closing that nearly imperceptible gap between us. 

All the forces in the world couldn’t tear us apart after we connected. They were no match for the force Spencer’s hands had as they pulled me impossibly closer. The pressure might’ve even been unbearable had it not been for the velvety pair of lips giving me back all the oxygen it stole from my lungs just seconds ago. They were so soft, like freshly washed sheets, like biting into cotton candy, like floating for the first time, feeling utterly weightless in water. It’s sweet, it’s so effortlessly sweet. 

Not nearly as sweet as the words that followed our parting. 

“Not enough for me?” He repeated, recalling my previous claim. “You’ve had me since the day you walked in, trouble.” 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

fingers crossed this fic doesn’t flop!

complete taglist: @muffin-cup @s1utformgg @no-alarms-no-surprises-silence @jemimah-b99 @justanothetfangirl @kylab @rainsong01 @calm-and-doctor @inkstainedwritergirl @rexorangecouny @ashwarren32 @carooliina @fortheloveofcriminalminds @watermelongubler  @obsessedmaggiemay @k-k0129 @aperrywilliams @eevee0722 @spencersmagic @spencerreid-mgg @half-blood-dork @goldeng1rl8 @just-a-bunch-of-fandoms @random-human-person @masumiyetimziyanoldu @dreamer-writer-fangirl @kalamitykait @jinxy175 @apolloroid 

tag not working: @gloriousmuffinempathstudent 

[freckledbeom]

Umm 👉👈 jinyoung of got7 angsty fight leading up to make up sex oop - you don't have to of course, anyways take care hope your well x

thank you beloved, im well. sorry for taking a bit long these classes kicking my ass! hope this is what you wanted <33

fight with jinyoung / makeup sex

warnings; 19+ content, suggestive scenes

“so what now?” you questioned, almost scared to hear his response. “or do you do not care? once again.”

jinyoung sucked in a sharp breath. this was already your second quarrel this week over his alleged disregard for your feelings. this time, he stood you up after promising dinner. given his profession, you weren’t hysteric about the act of being stood up, but rather, what was done afterwards.

jinyoung would usually call say when he wouldn’t be able to make it, this time without. as if he wanted to pile things on, he came to your apartment without a word of what happened, not even bothering to apologize.

this struck you hard.

since the day you’d fallen for jinyoung, he never hesitated to put you on a pedastool and treat you with the utmost respect. even in front of the members, his love for you was on display.

but now, it was hard to see yourself come first to him, or even second. you felt like an afterthought.

“i do care. you should know that out of anyone.” jinyoung leaned against the counter, deciding to keep his distance.

“do you really or is that what you want me to hear? i know how this works.” you shot back, swallowing the lump forming in your throat. “if you cared i wouldn’t feel like this.”

jinyoung scrunched his nose. “so what do i do from there? you never let me know how you’re feeling, what could i even do?”

“i don’t know maybe act like you give a fuck for once? you treat me like im annoying, like im a problem.” you retorted, surprised at yourself for swearing at him.

“well if you feel like you’re the problem maybe you are.”

as short as that statement was, it hit you like a block of cement.

“oh?” you step back a lttile. nodding your head, you grabbed your small tote that was neatly packed by the door. “alright then.”

before he could even correct his mistake, you were hauling out of the door letting free with any tears that decided to come down.

two days later

two days felt like a week and you had found the need to pick up a hobby in an effort to clear your mind of jinyoung. you didn’t know for sure that this was a breakup. your friends had already tried to assure you that the separation should have been enough to solidify any lingering thoughts about your relationship status.

but still, you couldn’t wipe him from your brain. how he used to gently rub the back of your head, thumb grazing over your ear when you spoke. how he used to take all of you in his arms when you cried. it felt like a bucket of bricks had been thrown at you when you realized how all of this simply just stopped one day.

tears welling up, you pulled your knees to your lap, cradling them.

you sat in front of an empty canvas on the floor. it was a sorrowful attempt at painting, you’d only gotten a small sketch started. an outstretched hand stared back at you, lacking any color or life.

two knocks at the door.

that was all it took for you to suck up the stray tears that had fell from your eyes.

making your way to the door, you stilled anxious for what was waiting for you behind the door.

"y/n? you're here right?" jinyoung called out from the other side. you felt a heavy knock against the tight door, which you presumed to be his head.

“love, let’s talk.” the desperation in his throat gave life to his words and soon it was enough for you to turn the knob.

opening the door felt heavier than the space you’d given each other and your emotions flooded over until your eyes welled again. plump breast heaving up and down, you sniffed away the salty tears before they took control.

tilting your head, you stared back at the man you’d fallen in love with. although his his hair was slightly disheveled, you could only guess that was from his head hitting the door. jinyoung had looked the same as he did any day, this time a bouquet of sunflowers to show.

what would you say to him? what would he think of you now? your appearance certainly wasn’t the one he had given gentle ‘i love you’s to every night. your button up top was covered in paint, jeans to match; this was definitely not the best time.

“y/n, can i come in?” jinyoung rocked on his heels back and forth while you scanned his physique.

nodding, you turned in the opposite direction motioning him to follow you.

you hastily gathered your painting materials. you could feel jinyoung’s eyes on the back of your head, sharp enough to read your thoughts.

dusting off what remained on your lap, you took a seat far enough from jinyoung to calm your nerves but close enough to read his facial expressions.

“so i assume you came here for a reason other than lounging on my couch?” your eyes dulled a little, waiting for a response.

even though your tone reeked of anger, he chuckled, almost as if he was happy you spoke to him that way. “im here because you’re still my girlfriend. and i-”

“you love me? we haven’t spoken in two days. what would you call that?”

jinyoung parted his lips slightly, giving you a stressed look that you hadn’t seen since early when you had started dating. “i didn’t come here to argue with you, i really wanna talk you. if you want me to leave ill go, but at least listen to me. please.”

he had a a way with words. maybe it was the way he spoke. the way he was just loud enough for you to hear and gentle enough to coax you into forgetting why you were ever mad in the first place.

and while the cold silence gave little room for speech, you could feel yourself growing needier for jinyoung. as if his heat could make the shattered halves of you feel whole again.

it was more than the way he looked at you, only a few inches taller. his perversion over your mind left you wondering if it was the way he’d grab you in moments like this, kissing you ever so softly.

breathing into him, you reached for jinyoung’s face, letting your body crumble into his arms. whereever you could put your arms, you were taking hold of.

walking backwards, your backside met the rigid wall. you let a moan fall into your throat while your tongues glided against eachother.

jinyoung’s hands were big, big enough to keep a hand teasing your waist and a hand guiding your chin. he pressed himself against your middle, earning a small moan in return.

pulling back to breathe, jinyoung took in all of you, examining features he hadn’t seen in what felt like years.

before he could dive back in, you put both palms on his chest.

“not here.” you stifled out, grabbing him and making your way into your bedroom.

jinyoung didn’t delay one bit, shifting his weight on yours, pressed against the mattress. with the way he rubbed himself on you, you were sure that if he kept going you could reach an orgasm just like that.

instead he pulled away, snatching your bottoms off rather hastily. your middle was throbbing, begging for any kind of physical touch.

despite this, you still flinched when jinyoung entered you. he had you on the edge of the bed, teasing you with his member.

slowly, he would push all the way into you, just to back completely out. this was madness, this pace he was at. not a word was spoken between the two of you except for sharp curses and shallow moans.

gripping his arms, you leaned your head back in pure bliss. before you could even look back at him, jinyoung sped his pace up, skin slapping as a mixture to the collection of sounds.

his movements coerced an even deeper moan, curling from the back of your throat.

“feels good baby?” jinyoung questioned. you nodded obidiently, your orgasm creeping close.

sucking in a sharp breath, you bit down on your bottom lip. “jinyoung, baby, im gonna come.”

“come then.”

those two words were enough for you to completely fall apart all over him.

feeling your inner sqeeze around him, jinyoung couldn’t hold out for much longer. with one hand around your throat, he used the other to pull out and paint your torso with his fluid.

your bodies were still hot and shivering when he leaned down to kiss you. this time, neither of you wanted to pull away.

thumbing the semen that lie on your belly, jinyoung stared down at you.

“why cant i let you go?”

[cheri-translates]

Hello! Just wanted to say thank you for all the translation of MLQC content (especially Gavin). I fell into a deep hole of MLQC by binging your translation. Just wondering what’s your perspective or analysis on the dynamic/relationship between S2 Gavin and mc. Are they friends just working together but obviously there’s something between them? Since S2 where they’re more mature and on the same wavelength

Hello Anon~ May you enjoy your stay in the deep and cosy hole of MLQC ヽ(・∀・)ﾉ 

🍒 S2 spoilers under the cut 🍒

Short answer: As of Ch 17, I’d describe their relationship as old friends who have complete trust in each other, and will protect each other with their lives. Also, Gavin has a crush on her.

-

Long answer:

1. Old Friends and Gavin’s crush

It’s strongly hinted that Gavin has feelings for MC, both as a teenager and as an adult! 

While MC gets flustered by him (e.g. shooting game in Ch 9) and cares deeply for him, I’d say that the crush is more one-sided on Gavin’s part.

Papergames wouldn’t want to step on any toes by making it seem as though MC is inclined towards a particular love interest unless it’s in a split chapter or a date!

In Throbbing Date, baby Gavin secretly bought her strawberry milk and said he'd protect her 🥺 THIS BOY DEFINITELY HAD A CRUSH AS A TEENAGER.

Despite how the writers tried to mislead us multiple times from the karmas that adult Gavin and MC are adversaries given their respective organisations, it’s crystal clear that Gavin doesn’t view her as one. Amongst other things, he:

gave her a ginkgo bracelet in Ch 1

was open to letting her listen in on his call in Ch 2

asked her for assistance in an interrogation in Ch 9

said he’d always protect her in Ch 9

unconsciously drifted to her house at one of his lowest points in Ch 11

gave MC his oxygen concentrator in Ch 16

was only vulnerable around her in Ch 16

The question here is whether he’s treating her simply an old friend or if he likes her romantically. 

I’ve done an analysis on their early dynamics here which describes how Gavin has a soft spot for MC even when he appears guarded. When we see their banter in [R&S - Reunited Yesterday], he seems to treat her more like an old friend. 

But we later on, it’s evident that Gavin’s feelings do extend beyond mere friendship.

In Chapter 2, Gavin prohibited Tang Chao from making physical contact with MC.

In STF Filming Project, Gavin was visibly jealous when MC mentioned “a very kind person” i.e. S1 Gavin.

In Chapter 9, Gavin went into blush mode just because they shared his jacket underneath the rain.

In Chapter 11, MC asked why Gavin chose her to work with him in such a dangerous operation. Gavin hinted that it was because the people keeping an eye on him knew how important she is to him:

Gavin: Cough. Under these circumstances, the person I’d want to involve least in this matter… Without a doubt, that person would definitely be you.

-

2. Complete trust in each other

Gavin’s trust in MC can be seen in most of the bullet points stated above. 

As for MC’s trust in Gavin, she:

was relieved that Gavin was handling the investigation of Kiro’s incident in Ch 2

was not fearful at all when they were surrounded by flames in Ch 2

expressed how much she trusted him in the rain in Ch 11

let herself fall off a rooftop, knowing he’d catch her in time at the end of Ch 11

-

3. They protect each other

There are so many instances of them protecting each other in Season 2!

Notable Instance 1: Throbbing Date

I let out a faint sigh, slanting my umbrella towards the kitten next to me.

And then:

A shadow suddenly cloaks me from above. When I lift my head in shock, a large and warm school jacket covers me, including my head.

This scene is especially significant if we contrast this with the way they met in S1. Back then, MC covered the kitten with a handkerchief. 

Just as an umbrella is more durable than a handkerchief, MC is more courageous in S2 as compared to S1. Even so, Gavin still steps in anyway, protecting her with whatever he has to offer.

-

Notable Instance 2: Chapter 9

But the jacket doesn’t seem to be large enough, and isn’t sufficient for two people to walk while standing side by side. After a moment of thinking, I stagger slightly, standing in front of Gavin.

Here, Gavin’s jacket isn’t enough to cover the both of them. 

Symbolically speaking, Gavin’s methods of protecting MC aren’t always enough for the both of them. In S1, he lost control of his Evol and he had no choice but to leave her side for a period of time. 

While S2 Gavin cleared MC’s name from false allegations multiple times, he didn’t even know that MC was involved in the Hunter Game till in later chapters.

So what does MC do? She stands in front of him, which is a protective stance. She works on being stronger herself, and strong enough to protect him.

As we see in later instances, they do protect each other.

-

Notable Instance 3: Chapter 9

Gavin: When it rains, you should keep the umbrella for yourself.

Here, Gavin is discouraging MC from getting involved in dangerous situations. As far as possible, she should protect herself first. Let’s compare this with Chapter 11.

-

Notable Instance 4: Chapter 11

I walk over slowly, lifting the transparent umbrella over our heads. Rainwater patters against the surface of the umbrella, becoming the only sound in this silence.

And later on:

Gavin takes the umbrella in my hand, his eyes carrying with them resoluteness and certainty.

Gavin’s a Commander who has been through field training under intense conditions. He doesn’t need an umbrella. Furthermore, the rain had already drenched him to the bone. 

In such a sorry state, there was absolutely no need for him to accept MC’s umbrella. Yet, he did.

Symbolically speaking, the acceptance of MC’s umbrella represents his acceptance of her protection. This was likely the moment when he decided to involve her in his investigations of the New Years Eve Incident.

-

The remaining two notable instances are self-explanatory:

Notable Instance 5: Shooting Stars Date

Gavin: Don’t worry. Since I agreed to let you come along, I have sufficient certainty that I can protect you. You won’t face any accidents.

MC: ...

Before I can say anything, the controlled “meteorites” plummet straight to the ground. I seem to hear the piercing sounds caused by the intense friction.

Gavin: Give me your hand.

Gavin offers me his hand. I stare into the depths of his eyes, neither anxiousness nor worry in my heart. There’s a courage from simply standing beside him.

MC: Okay. In that case, I’ll bind my safety to Captain Gavin. I won’t let you come to any harm either.

-

Notable Instance 6: The oxygen incident in Chapter 16

Just before the final wisp of oxygen leaves my chest, I halt my breathing, feeling for the portable oxygen concentrator I carried along with me.

…at the very least, Gavin has to leave this place safely.

In the dark waters, I try my best to feel for the corners of Gavin’s mouth, stuffing the portable oxygen concentrator into it.

All of a sudden, I feel the corners of my mouth being pried open by something icy cold.

MC: Mmph?!

I take a breath instinctively, but don’t get choked.

When I open my eyes, Gavin’s frantic expression crashes into my line of sight. The tips of his fingers press against my lips, and he seems to be confirming if I’m biting on the object in my mouth properly.

In the dim light, I see that the portable oxygen concentrators in our hands are on each others’ mouths.

[cbk1000]

So, re: the Josh Duggar (fuck him to infinity and beyond) stuff: I don’t know if anyone else is following his arrest, but he had a bond hearing last week, and someone who was able to attend the hearing (via Zoom, of course) did a really great write-up of the details on Reddit and provided a lot of helpful links, so I was following that thread. The hearing of course went into more detail regarding his alleged crimes, and I’ll put that under a cut. Note that I’m not going into graphic detail, for one because it’s not necessary to do so to talk about how serious this is, and for two because I don’t know it. Based on the way people were tiptoeing around actual descriptions of the images he possessed, I knew that was a google rabbit hole even I couldn’t go down. I sincerely urge you not to google it; many people described reading the Wikipedia article about a notorious piece of child sexual abuse material that was on his computer and feeling nauseated, despite the fact that the article didn’t go into super explicit detail. Don’t do it for morbid curiosity; even I’M not that self-punishing.

He had an internet accountability program on his computer called Covenant Eyes which is a sort of family internet filter that monitors activity to keep your kids (or husband in this case) from seeing anything inappropriate. I would assume this was on Josh’s computer because if I remember correctly, either before or around the time of the Ashley Madison scandal, there was some Jesus kerfuffle over him viewing porn. A sex worker also came forward to say that he assaulted her during a paid sexual encounter, so I’m sure the family had Good Christian concerns about how his proclivities were tarnishing their reputation. (Not concerns about their daughters literally getting molested, of course; but that was their fault for being girls.) This was a personal work laptop that I’m sure their kids didn’t have access to, so this was probably specifically meant to monitor him. 

He also had disc partitioning software on his computer, which enables you to run multiple operating systems at once. There are plenty of legit reasons to do this; you can use it for gaming or IT purposes, and I’m sure plenty of other things as well. In addition to this, however, he had a dark web browser, so any defense he tries to mount that argues these got on his computer accidentally while he was viewing regular porn isn’t going to fly; he very clearly went looking for this, and took steps to cover his tracks. Partitioning or accessing the dark web apparently do not require someone to have super advanced computer skills, but they DO require some research; neither is something that accidentally happens by clicking on the wrong link.  

Investigators found over 200 images (and one video) of child sexual abuse media that were downloaded and deleted in just one day. Offenders often have loads and loads of images, so the speculation is that there are probably many more, but these are the images they have an airtight case for, i.e. they can prove absolutely that Josh himself was the one who downloaded and accessed these images, since digital crimes can be a bit trickier to prove since a lawyer can argue that a client’s computer may have been used, but it was not the client themselves engaging in the illegal activity. He also might have been extraordinarily unlucky and got caught his first time doing this, or (and what I unfortunately suspect), he’s been doing it for a while, deleting/moving the images elsewhere, and some activity caught the eyes of the Feds somehow or possibly someone turned him in. (There is some speculation that one of his brothers reported him; one of them worked at the same car lot that was raided, and reportedly came home very shaken one day not long before the raid. He also was very quiet on social media and didn’t defend Josh, nor comment on the raid, which some people are speculating is due to the fact that he’s involved in the investigation. This is, again, speculation, and I don’t know how accurate or likely any of it is.) It’s also possible that, due to the nature of some of the material he downloaded, which is apparently a piece of child sexual assault media notorious for being the worst of the worst, he was flagged by Feds monitoring that particular piece of media, and got caught that way.

I listen and watch quite a bit of true crime media, and I had never heard of this before, but apparently the video he downloaded was part of a series that was once considered an urban legend, because it was so over-the-top vile. People realized it was real when the man who produced it was arrested. I’m going to caution you again here: do NOT google this. I’ve seen lots of posters on reddit reporting that they felt sick just from reading fairly non-specific descriptions of what the video contains. It involved a 11-year-old, an 18-month-old, and a third child whose age I can’t recall. (And I’m not going to go looking for it, because in reading up on this case I started stumbling across people being a little free with their descriptions of the images, without any warning, so I’ve taken a break from looking at that to avoid running across knowledge I don’t want to have.)

One of the investigators who testified said it was one of the top five worst of the worst cases that he’s seen, and these investigators work lots of theses type of cases. The film mentioned above involves actual torture of the children involved; the 11-year-old was murdered. It’s a little unclear how much media he had relating to this film, but he had a two minute video clip which I believe was from the film; I don’t know if there were any still images. Regardless, as bad as ‘normal’ child sexual assault media is, he was in possession of some incredibly violent material against children that had seasoned special agents remarking on the severity of it. 

He’s a dangerous sexual predator; this is beyond even pedophilia--this seems to be straight up sadism. 

[dramaqueeenamby]

Waves: The Read

A/N: I am a shady bitch, and I regret nothing.  Also, if ya’ll remember, Mercedes is Summer’s publicist/manager. I mentioned that in a few waves, so don’t get confused, friends!

Warnings: None. 

Word Count: 2K

Masterlist

TAGS: @notacamelthatsmywife​ @babe-im-bi​ @liquorlaughslove​ @letsshamelessqueen-m​ @missyperle​ @valkryienymph​ @tashawar​ @mani-lifes​ @missdforever​ @hello-therree​ @toni9​ @queenshikongo3​

"How many solos has my sister had?"

The room grew quiet, all eyes on the speaker. They’d just finished a number, or rather, Finn and Rachel had just finished a number. The rest of the students served more as props than singers. Ad-libs only constituted so much.

Mr. Schue’s smile dimmed. Slightly. "W—what?"

Alexus shrugged, motioning around the room. "Or any of the kids whose names aren’t Flipper or Rachel?"

"It’s Finn."

"I don’t care," she dismissed, eyes still on the instructor. "I’ve been here a whole week, and not once have I seen someone other than Cher and Sonny score solos."

Mr. Schue scoffed, crossing his arms. "Now, hold on a second, I treat all my students fairly. Any student is allowed to audition for a solo—"

"And how many who have auditioned actually received one, other than your prized pupils?"

Mercedes stood up. "Alexus—"

"No." Alexus lifted her hand and looked over at her sister. "This isn’t right, and you’re too kind and understanding to say anything, so I will."

"You’re out of line, Alexus."

She laughed, looking back at him. "Out of line? I’m not one of your little students, and you’re not going to shut me down like you do them. I’m going to say what I want and need to say, and then I’ll leave, but you’re going to catch this read, first."

"And, cut!"

Summer broke from character and offered Matthew a fake smile before turning away and catching Amber’s gaze. They shared an unspoken exchange, one that caused Amber to laugh after Summer rolled her eyes.

Summer didn’t know why she was so weary about accepting this role. Only 10% of it was acting, the rest was her actually reading the problematic cast members, which was all but a handful. But, to fulfill her petty side and get paid?

It was a double win.

Summer noticed Ryan was speaking with Lea, which ignited another eye roll. She was the guest star, not that Barbara Streisand wannabe. Still, Summer counted her blessings, because she could only take Ryan in small doses. He wasn’t as bad as his prized actress, but it was the fact that he allowed her to treat everyone like shit that made her think less of him.

Perhaps she was spoiled in the sense that every other director she’d had the privilege of working for would never tolerate such behavior. She had to accept that Hollywood was a game, and the rules changed constantly.

"Someone was having fun," Mercedes, Summer’s assistant chimed, coming to walk beside her.

Summer feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Mercedes smirked. "Yeah, right. You weren’t acting. You were giving them all a piece of your mind."

Summer retained her smile as they reached her trailer, Summer opening the door so Mercedes could enter first. "Are you trying to insinuate that I was using my job to tell these people how I really feel?"

"I surely was."

As soon as the door closed, Summer confessed. "You know me so well."

The two laughed. "Girl, you know Lea is probably complaining to Ryan right now."

Summer sucked her teeth. "You know she is." Walking over to the kitchenette area, she turned on the Keruig and opened the drawer to select a pod. Her hand ghosted between the caramel and the dark magic, before she settled for caramel. "That black bitch—"

Mercedes snickered. "You sound just like her."

Summer frowned as she insert the pod and selected 8oz. "God, you’re right. I have to have to get out of here."

Smiling, Mercedes swiped down to refresh her emails. "Hey, look at it this way, you keep up this level of performance, and you’re a shoe-in for that Primetime Emmy.

The idea of adding another award to her resume was more than enough to keep Summer focused and dedicated. As a dark skinned black woman, she had to work ten times harder just to remain 20 steps behind. Anything she could do to push herself, she cherished.

Summer added creamer and sugar to her coffee, blowing before taking a sip. "After this, I need a quick break."

Mercedes hummed. "Umm, about that—"

"No."

"Summer—"

"No, Cedes, I’ve been working back to back since I scored 4AM, I think I’ve earned a little vacation time."

"I don’t disagree." Mercedes raised her hands in surrender.

"Thank you," Summer nodded, taking another sip of her coffee.

"But—"

"Here you go."

"I’m just saying, I’m hearing rumors about a potential role that’s gonna start casting in a couple of months."

Summer rolled her eyes and brought the mug to her mouth. "And?"

"And." Mercedes also rolled her eyes. "It’d be perfect for you."

"Mmmhmm."

"Summer," Mercedes lowered her voice. "It’s Storm."

Summer narrowed her eyes. "Storm?" Mercedes nodded. "You don’t mean—"

"X-Men Storm? I surely do."

Summer gasped and covered her mouth. "Bitch!"

"I know!" Mercedes giggled, shushing her client. "So do you see why I want you to keep your options open?"

Summer downed the remainder of her coffee and washed her mug in the sink all the while still stuck on the information she’d been told. "Do you really think I could be Storm?"

"Summer, please, you won an Oscar for your first Hollywood role. You’re a shoe-in."

"What about Shipp?"

"Shipp can skip her ass off somewhere."

The two women laughed when a knock on the trailer door prompted Summer to walk over, opening and smiling when she saw Amber. "Hey girl, come on in."

"I wish." Amber rolled her eyes. "Lea’s ready to start filming again. I mean, Ryan is ready to start filming again."

"You’ve got to be kidding me." Summer checked the watch on her wrist. "It hasn’t even been twenty minutes."

Amber sighed. "You know the saying. She says jump. We say—"

"Trip, bitch."

Amber laughed, as Summer looked back at Mercedes, pointing a finger. "This conversation isn’t over."

Mercedes winked at Summer, the two actresses sauntering back onto set.

Summer wondered if Lea had been listening outside her trailer, because it seemed as if Ms. Michele was purposely antagonizing Summer. Any scenes they had together, Lea would abruptly call cut and give Summer "pointers," all the while Ryan sat in his chair and said nothing.

Summer, forever the professional, managed to keep her composure, but there was only so much she could take.

Finally, when it came time for Summer to film her final scene, she saw an opportunity.

"Alright, and action!"

"I just want you to know that despite your distasteful behavior toward me, I hold no animosity and hope that one day you can release your unwarranted rage, and we can be cordial once I’m on Broadway."

Alexus turned to Rachel and tilted her head, crossing her arms. "I don’t like you. Never have, never will."

Rachel’s smile faltered. "Well, I-I’m sorry you feel that way, but--."

"Let me explain something to you, Berry. This is Lima, Ohio. The biggest thing we have going for us here is Breadstix, a restaurant chain that’s been on it’s last leg since that lawsuit filed by the kid who got two breadsticks stuck up her nostrils."

"I’m much better now."

Alexus ignored Britany and continued. "So, I’ll give you this, this small town notoriety and fame, because I know and you know, that once you actually make it out into the real world, reality is going to slap you so hard, you won’t need to have a nose job."

"Alexus—"

"Your stardom is limited to this pathetic town and its almost entirely pathetic population. And don’t get me wrong, you’re very good at manipulating and controlling individuals, because you can. For now. But, let’s be real, your voice isn’t anything I haven’t heard coming from street singers in NYC. Face it, you don’t have the talent nor the looks to make it into this big star you think you’re going to be. NYADA?" Alexus laughed. "Maybe you’ll make it, I doubt it, and even if you do, once you realize how utterly mediocre your narcissistic ass truly is compared to real talent, you’ll come crying back to Lima and spend the rest of your life working nights at Breadstix while watching reruns of Funny Girl on a goodwill VHS player." A beat. "Now, how’s that for raining on your parade?"

"And, cut!"

——

PRESENT TIME

"Christopher, stop!" Summer laughed as Chris came from behind and lifted her up against his solid frame. "I’m trying to do my makeup."

"You don’t need it," he murmured into her neck. "It’s going to end up all over the pillows anyw—"

"Sir!"

"Autumn."

"Would you please leave me alone?" Summer managed to wiggle herself free from her husband, flipping him off when he slapped her ass. "I am a human being."

"Allegedly."

"Alleged—lemme stop before I end up going to jail." She leaned over and examined her skin, feeling for the tackiness to see if her primer had settled. "This is why I can never do my makeup right. If it’s not him, it’s the twins."

We wanna see the babies!

I don’t get it. Why is she always so mean to him???

^^^^You must be new around here…

What makeup do you use?

Summer caught the last comment and grabbed her foundation and concealer, flashing them on the camera. "You know I have to support my girl, Ri. It’s Fenty Beauty all day everyday over here, ya’ll."

More comments came rolling in, Summer partially paying attention while she tried to do her makeup. Chris was taking her out on a date, the first they’d been on since the birth of the twins.

Summer was actually excited. She was in much need of alone time with her husband.

She grabbed the Snap shadow and blending brush when she noticed majority of the comments kept mentioning Lea Michele.

She didn’t even attempt to hide her distaste. "Why are ya’ll asking me about that girl? Did something happen?" Different stories were coming in prompting Summer to do her own research. "Baby, can I see your phone?"

Without hesitation, Christopher jogged into the bathroom, grabbing onto Summer’s hips while she typed Lea’s name into google.

Five minutes into reading, Summer slammed his phone onto the counter.

"Finally!"

"You’re paying for that," Chris muttered, grabbing his phone, thankful that it wasn’t cracked.

"Sorry, baby." She leaned up and kissed his cheek before looking into her phone. "Ya’ll, okay, most of you should remember I played Mercedes sister, Alexus, on Glee, right?" A wave of "yes" rolled in. "So, I’ve worked with the bitch, and I am not exaggerating when I say bitch. That heifer is literally the worst person I have ever had the displeasure of working with."

Summer pushed Christopher out the bathroom, in case her adding onto the Lea Michele drag train somehow ended up bad. "Now, I’d heard she was a nightmare, but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt."

"But, literally the first time I walked onto set and introduced myself to her, she looked me up and down, turned up her nose, and walked away." Summer clapped and covered her mouth. "It took everything in me not to call her ass out, but it was my first day, and I didn’t want to cause a scene."

"Obviously, I was a recurring star on the show so I would make appearances throughout the series, and each time I was there, she treated me, and everyone around her, like trash."

"Okay, but here’s the real tea, you know that read Alexus gave Rachel in season 3? That wasn’t in the script." Summer laughed at the comments. Her fans were freaking out. "My line ended when I told her I didn’t like her or something, but it was my last day of filming, and I’d literally had enough of her."

Even more comments came rolling in of laughing, frog, and tea emojis. Summer sucked her teeth and placed her hand on her hip. "Ya’ll, her white ass thought she was gone’ be a thirty something Maria from West Side Story on broadway." A beat. "Somebody had to let her know!"

[professional-bts-simp]

Birthday Debacle

Choi Yeonjun x Reader

Summary: One of the happiest days can turn into the worst one really fast.

Genre: Angst, some fluff at the ned

Warnings: Sad times, overthinking, implications of sex, Yeonjun being a dummy, but also kinda cute

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun peeked over the horizon on this extraordinary day, well extraordinary for you at least, it was finally your birthday and you couldn't wait to spend it with the people you love. Squirming around in bed you felt an incredible amount of heat behind you, turning your body towards the source of the heat you smiled at the other body that was lying beside you. He was peacefully sleeping, his face covered in yellow locks. You reached out your hand towards them, your fingers playing with his soft locks until he stirred in his sleep, opening his pretty brown eyes.

He gave you a bright smile, despite it being morning. You learned that your boyfriend wasn't really a morning person and you can't say you were one either, your eyes couldn't help but glance down at his teeth, you once joked that his teeth are so white they might blind you and he hasn't let it go ever since. Now he's even a little shit about it, teasing you by smiling and saying "You better put sunglasses on".

Now if you were wondering why today was so extraordinary and special it's because it was your birthday, your boyfriend hasn't said anything about it neither has he hinted he had something planned, but you knew he would. He wouldn't forget something so important.

You felt goosebumps arise on your skin as Yeonjun traced the outline of your body with his soft fingertips, a little shiver ran through your body as his fingers danced over your hip making you momentarily ticklish. He stopped his fingers and flattened his hand on your bare thigh giving it a little squeeze. 

"Last night was fun." Yeonjun's morning voice was deep and kind of gruff, yet you loved it nonetheless, if not more than his usual but you might just be biased. There was a teasing manner to his voice, an implication of last night's activities between you two.

"It really was," you smiled while kissing the tip of his nose. Moving closer to Yeonjun you put your head against his bare chest, listening peacefully to his heartbeat and focusing on his breathing as it elevated your head ever so slightly. Nothing was more perfect than this, lying in bed with your boyfriend, cuddling and snuggling together.

"I should get up to go shower." You mumble against the smooth skin of his neck, nose brushing against it as you took a deep breath of his scent. He always smelled so good, no matter if he was back from practise or if he washed himself, Yeonjun just had this specific smell that could calm you down even in the most stressful days. His chest moved up and down as he laughed, pressing a quick kiss against your forehead Yeonjun whispered, "Then get up and go shower babygirl."

You mumbled something incoherent but Yeonjun guessed you said "too lazy". He thought you were the cutest person to ever walk the earth no matter how many times Huening Kai protested that he was the cutest. Yeonjun loved you so much, and he showed it to you every day. By waking you up in the morning so you can go to your classes, sending goodnight and good morning texts, cooking for you, taking care of you when you're sick, you could name a million things he does for you and you are grateful for each and every one of them.

You opened your eyes again as you felt your bangs move from your forehead, "Let's get up babygirl." Was the thing Yeonjun said before throwing the blankets off your bodies and standing up. In his birthday suit. Butt-naked. 

Averting your eyes from Yeonjun's naked glorious body, you felt your face heat up, no matter how long you've been together, no matter how intimate you two get you'll always get flustered whenever he compliments you or flirts with you or when you think of him in an intimate way or any other way. He's a flirt and he knows it.

Picking up the T-Shirt, which he wore last night, from the floor you put it on so you weren't walking around in your birthday suit like your crackhead boyfriend. Walking towards the bathroom, looking like a double dead zombie, you try opening the door only to see it was locked. Knocking on it you heard Yeonjun's voice from the inside, "Yeeeeees?" You giggled at his silliness, "Honey are you going to be long? I need to shower."

"Yes I'm going to shower."

"But I said I'd do it first." You pointed a finger at your chest despite him not being able to see you, you heard feet shuffling and the door unlocking. Yeonjun's head popped out, his teeth biting his plump lips and his marker yellow hair over his eyes. "Well I got here first." He gave you a smirk to which you crossed your arms over your chest giving him a stern one back. Yeonjun's smirk only got wider as he moved closer whispering, "We could shower together."

Your face burst into flames immediately, your confident stance crumbling under his hungry gaze as your eyes downcast to the floor. Of course you weren't opposed to the idea of it, but what if you slipped and fell? Or got shampoo in your eyes? Or got water in your nose? Or-

"Baby?" Yeonjun's voice pulled you from your overthinking, snapping your eyes from the floor back to his which still held the same desire and lust but mixed with worry at your quiet state. Not trusting your own voice you nod weakly, his big hand engulfing yours as he led you to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Closing your laptop you rub your eyes to relieve them of the light you have been staring at for a few hours now, school was completely kicking your ass, but you wouldn't trade it for anything. Glancing at your phone for the one hundredth and one time in the past few hours, you frown at it again. No texts from Yeonjun. No calls. No nothing. You felt tears sprung against your eyes but you managed to contain them, just like how you were doing every time you checked. 

The same thoughts kept entering your mind. 

Did he forget your birthday? 

The ache in your chest only seemed to worsen the more you thought about it. Deciding to ignore and forget the loneliness you felt and take some action against it you call Soobin. Yeonjun said he'd be hanging out with his members, so they should know where he is for so long. 

After three rings Soobin picked up.

"Yeeeees," his cheery voice cut through the phone making you momentarily smile. 

"Hi Soobin, it's me." You heard him chuckle with an obvious 'duh'. 

"What's up?" There was shuffling on the other end as you guessed he moved from one place to another.

"Well I wanted to ask what you boys are up to."

Soobin went into explanation about how Taehyun and Kai are playing games while Beomgyu and him were getting ready to watch a movie. Your eyebrows were pulled into confusion, "And Yeonjun?"

"What about Yeonjun?"

"Well what is he doing?" There was silence on the other side for a few seconds, you could picture Soobin held the same confused face you and moments ago. "Yeonjun isn't here. He told us he'd be hanging with you today."

Now this was going from weird to suspicious. Why would Yeonjun tell you one thing and tell his members the other? You weren't one to accuse of cheating so that was way down your list, but it was very strange. "OH!" Soobin yelled into the phone loudly causing you to move it from your ear, "Happy birthday by the way." You heard a chorus of 'happy birthday' from the other boys which made you muster on a sad smile.

"Thanks Soobin, so far you're the first one to say that." And with that you hung up.

You flung yourself across the bed, arm covering your eyes as you let the stream of tears, you've been holding in all day, to finally fall down. 

Only one question was floating in your head.

Does he even care?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It has been five hours since you called Soobin and fourteen hours since you saw Yeonjun. A quick glance at the clock showed you it was now exactly a minute past 10 p.m.

Throughout the day you once again received no messages, no calls from your alleged boyfriend, you were very much doubting every word he told you about how he'll always be here for you, always take care of you, always make you feel better, but at this moment he was the reason for all your sadness.

The faint sound of door opening and closing speed up your heart rate. You suddenly felt nervous and fidgety. You didn't know if it was nerves from finally seeing him or nervous from knowing you'll have to confront him. Hearing the footsteps coming closer to the bedroom increased the sudden anxiety in your body. Yeonjun's handsome face emerged from the other side which made you smile slightly. 

Okay now focus, you're here to chew his ass out, not fawn over how pretty he is, no matter how fucking beautiful he was. You told yourself as you straightened your back and moved to sit criss-cross on the bed, eyes trained on him. 

Yeonjun's eyes widened as he saw you sitting on the bed, "Um, uh baby hi, I thought you'd be sleeping." You hate to admit it, but he looked somewhat guilty and all those insecurities and horrible thoughts you'd been pushing down came crashing down on you all in one.

"You know I don't sleep at this time." Your voice was distant and cold as Yeonjun picked up upon it and his face fell for a moment at your harsh tone, for a moment you felt guilty, but only a moment. This was your special day, it was your birthday and you couldn't even get a measly 'happy birthday' text from him.

Getting up from the bed you take a few steps towards him, "Where were you?" 

He cleared his throat before going over to the chair you threw all your stuff at and putting on the T-Shirt he slept in, "I told you, I was with the guys."

You scoffed. "That's a fucking lie. I called Soobin and he told me you didn't even come by them."

If you had to describe Yeonjun's expression it truly would be deer caught in headlights. He seemed stumped for an answer to your exposure of him and his lies, he cleared his throat, looking you directly in the eyes as he said, “You’re right. I wasn’t with the guys.” You felt another batch of tears coming up so you turned away from him and put your hand over your mouth to muffle your cries. You didn’t know what to think now, should you give him a chance to explain? Should you throw him out? Break up with him?

“If you weren’t with them where were you?” You had to stop yourself from asking who he was with.

“I was out, in a bar.”

“Why?”

Yeonjun sighed, you could hear his footsteps as he moved closer to you, “I wanted to be alone. The company has been putting a lot of pressure on us, we have been working harder and getting stressed more often. I just wanted a day away, a day only for myself.”

“Do you know which day today is?” Your voice was only but a whisper, you were scared to know the answer he will give to your question.

“Yeah it’s Friday, May 15th.”

Yeonjun suddenly got very quiet, the cogs in his brain turning slowly. “May 15th, oh my god it’s May 15th, your birthday.” With no warning he slammed his chest into your back momentarily knocking you off balance, arms squeezing you tightly, his face pressed into your hair.

“I’m so stupid, baby, oh God I’m stupid,” he turned you around and began attacking your face in kisses, giving one big final kiss to your lips, “fuck baby I’m an idiot!” He kissed you again and again, hoping and begging you to forgive him for being such a forgetful asshole. Yeonjun's face was swarming in tears, seemingly unable to stop falling as he cradled your face in his hands, rubbing your cheeks with his thumbs.  

"You are stupid and you are an idiot," you gave a laugh, "but you're my stupid idiot."

His face and eyes lightened up, now hopeful, "So you forgive me?"

You slowly grabbed his warm hands to hold in your own smaller ones, "I will admit I am still pretty mad, you did forget it after all." You gave him a sad look, a one which he reciprocated. 

Suddenly it seemed like something struck him, his expression growing happier by the second. Yeonjun gave you a quick peck on the lips and dashed straight for the living room. There was rummaging heard from inside of it for some seconds then he walked out, holding his hands behind his back. He stood in front of you, a small smile playing on his very handsome face. Yeonjun bit his lips nervously, glancing at the ground before making direct eye contact with you.

"Princess, I know I forgot your birthday and I feel terrible for it, but I love you so fucking much and I promise to be your personal butler for a week and that is only half of my apology gift. The other half is," he brought his hands in front of him, small black box in hand, "this." As Yeonjun said that he opened the box, a beautiful shiny silver ring stood in the middle of it.

Covering your face with your hands you laugh as tears of joy start falling from your eyes. You uncover your face to gaze upon the ring and your boyfriend, feeling an incredible amount of joy and love seeping out your heart.

"I've bought this a month before your birthday and planned on giving it to you, but like a dumbass I forgot." He chuckled.

"Now this isn't an engagement ring, but it is a promise ring," Yeonjun took it out of the box and he held it between his slender fingers, turning it around for you to see all of it, "and I promise to be the best boyfriend for you, to take care of you and to love you unconditionally every second of every day." He kissed the ring and slowly taking your hand he slid it on your finger. Upon closer look you could see the words 'I love you' engraved onto it.

You threw your arms around his neck, burying your face in his shoulder, Yeonjun immediately hugging you back as you sobbed out, "I love you too." And with that you forgave him.

[mitsuaziel]

Rain (Barbatos x Reader)

Female! Reader

Slight angst but with a happy ending

In the human realm there you stood, under the heavy rain that wets your figure, soaking your entire being with its polluted water but you couldn't care less about how you'll get sick afterwards. No. You stare into nothingness, the heavy rain greatly limiting your field of vision to maybe one to two meters and even so, objects are extremely blurry.

The reason why you're under the rain is because you're heartbroken. It's stupid, yes, you know but he was your fiance of three years so it's heart shattering and as if your life line is plugged out when you caught him in action with another woman, balls deep into her as her moans fill the room, clearly having a good time. The reason for his cheating is because you didn't want to have sexual intercourse with him but being the religious person you are, you stated that you didn't want to have sex until after marriage but it seems that he couldn't wrap his mind around the idea.

'He only wants you for your body', your best friend said, attempting to comfort you but it didn't do much as your mind wanders to that specific moment in your life.

'He's the one missing out! It just means that he wasn't your soulmate. God has other plans for you', then why did He has to make it so painful to you?

'Fuck that guy! I hope he gets condemned to Hell', you wish too but you try to get yourself out of that mind set since it's quite the sin to wish someone that.

All these allegations are true, yet here you are, under the rain thinking negatively about yourself. Weren't you pretty enough? Wasn't your company enough for him? Satisfying enough for him? You let out a shaky breath and close your eyes, the rain getting heavier if that's possible. You really want to disappear off the surface of the Earth but you didn't. Again, it's a great sin if you did it.

So, you resorted to just being sad and crying out your sadness all alone. It was... Comforting, to say the very least and with the rain, it's easy to cover up your tears and voice.

"ARGH!" You screamed out loud. You could barely make out your own voice. Perfect.

So you screamed again and again and again until you ran out of energy. If you can't hurt or kill yourself, you might as well tire yourself and just go to sleep. But even so, you figured that you might have nightmares regarding what happened to you just yesterday so you might as well completely drain your energy until you can't move.

With one last scream of frustration and anger, you drop to your knees and let tears flow down your face. God, you just wanted to kill yourself but you can't. Sometimes you wish you weren't that religious but it's these times that you're also glad.

How long have you been under the rain? Half an hour? An hour? More than that? You don't know nor do you care at this point. You certainly couldn't care less about your health as well. You just want to hide under the rain so when you thought the rain stopped, you were confused. It's still raining yet why aren't you under it? Then, you look up.

An umbrella.

"Wha?" You breathe out under your breath as you look at the person holding the umbrella.

Due to the darkness, you can't really see his features but you can tell that he's wearing a suit and has gloves on. His expression though empty as ever, his eyebrows are furrowed as if to mimic confusion. He holds out a hand for you to grab and for a moment, flashbacks of your ex-boyfriend doing the same fills your vision and you shake your head.

The man assumes that you didn't want help and retracts his hand. You stand up but wobbled a bit due to you kneeling for so long, causing you to accidentally grab the man's arm. He was as still as a statue, seemingly unbothered by the fact that you just threw yourself towards him. You mutter an apology even though he won't hear it and didn't bother to squeeze water out your hair or clothes.

"Are you okay, miss?" He asks.

You nod and look away, slightly embarrassed of your appearance at the moment. "Yeah, I'm fine. I'll be going now."

"Wait."

You turn to him. "Do you need something, sir?"

Lightning strikes, lighting up the darkness and you only manage to see his features clearly for a few seconds. Beautiful emerald eyes, green hair gradienting to a teal down his bangs on the left side of his face and no expression at all yet it seems to compliment his handsome features. For a moment, you forgot to breathe. How can a man this beautiful exist?

"You just seem sad and I know that I'm just a stranger, a nobody to you but I do have some time to spare before I go back to serve my master." He states.

You were suspicious. The world is a dangerous place and if a handsome man like Ted Bundy can turn out to be a manipulative murderer, then surely, the man in front of you can do the same.

When no answer is heard from you, he sighs and puts a hand over his heart before bowing down to you, much to your surprise. "I am Barbatos, the butler to my master, Lord Diavolo."

"I... I see." You weren't expecting a butler to be by your side.

"You now know my name, my occupation and my master. Surely, this is enough information for you." The butler, you now know as Barbatos, said.

"Oh, uh, yeah." You awkwardly fidget around. He's just too formal with you that makes it uncomfortable for you.

"So, may I know what is the cause of your sadness? Why are you just kneeling under the heavy rain? Are you not scared of what might happen to you if you were to stay too long out here?" He shoots you question after question.

You wanted to tell him but you're scared of the thought of him ridiculing you. Your fiance's friends did, is he any different?

Barbatos sighs once again and mumbles something before saying, "I do not wish to make you uncomfortable. I do apologize if I do happen to make you feel that way. All I want to do is lend an ear. It is not too wrong of me to do so, is it now?"

You look at the more interesting ground. "Why do you even want to listen to my problems anyway? A butler like you shouldn't help me. You must have other jobs to do and even if I tell you, it's not like you're gonna use that information."

"Maybe, maybe not. But I just want to help."

Damn, he's persistent, you thought. It's not like you're ungrateful, it's more like preventing other people from meddling into your own problems that you can handle by yourself. You didn't need or want someone else's help. You can figure everything out yourself.

And yet...

"Kill me."

The butler was surprised. "Excuse me, but could you repeat what you just said?"

"Ah..." You shake your head. What were you thinking? "I'm sorry. I'll leave."

Just as you turn away, a hand grabs your arm. "Wait."

You wait for him to talk.

"I know I have no place to say this, and it's ironic that I'm the one who's saying this, but don't do it. Life may be hard for you but surely, there must be people who love you. I don't know what happened and really, I have no say in this, if you're thinking about suicide, shouldn't you do something you love? Be with the people you love instead of suffering all alone and eventually hurting other people?"

You look back at him with tears welling up in your eyes. "This is a stupid reason and all, but I just... Can't. The person I love betrayed me. He... He promised."

Barbatos lets go of your hand. "Then, that just means he's a liar, a toxic person in your life. Is it not a relief that you found out instead of being blinded by his lies?"

You wanted to talk back but you bite back your tongue. It is true. Better now then never. You think for a while before forcing a smile on your face. "I suppose so. Thanks for... Talking, I guess. I really appreciate it."

A small smile curl his lips, enhancing his already handsome face. "You're welcome."

*****

Barbatos finally went back to Lord Diavolo's castle after buying all the necessary items from the human realm.

"Barbatos! There you are! Where have you been? It took longer than usual. Did it run out of stock or something?" Lord Diavolo asks as he goes through his endless pile of paperwork.

The butler bows down to his master as a form of apology. "I am sorry, My Lord. No, it's not because of that."

"Then, what took you so long?"

Memories of the rainy scene plays in his head but he answered differently despite knowing that Lord Diavolo can tell between a truth and a lie. "There was a fuss over a mistake I did, My Lord. Wouldn't this new generation call that a 'Karen'?"

Though he knows, Lord Diavolo was more interested in the name the humans gave for someone with such an attitude. "A Karen, huh? Call Levi here! I need to know what that means!"

The day continues on like normal but Barbatos kept on wondering why the devils did he help such a helpless human who's willing to kill themself just because of a broken heart? He doesn't understand his own actions and frankly, he doesn't wish to know why either. He's a demon, a duke, an earl, he shouldn't care so why did he help that one human?

Ahh, of course.

"Welcome to Devildom!"

"Barbatos?"

He bows down to the new exchange student and smiles at you. "Welcome, MC."

"You were a fucking demon?!" You were surprised rather than scared.

"Were?" Lucifer asks but is ignored when both you and Barbatos wouldn't answer him.

How have the Fates destined the both of you to meet again.

[daebakinc]

A number of you asked for a sequel to my Warrior AU Hyunwoo drabble and I finally got the inspiration to write it. I hope it doesn’t disappoint.

The very air of the secluded garden seems to hold its breath. No birds sing. Even the spring that feeds the pond by your feet is silent in your ears as you wait for Hyunwoo’s answer.

The hwarang captain stands in front of you, a respectful distance away. His expression hadn’t changed despite you just confessing you love him.

In your eyes though, Hyunwoo has changed so much. It’s only been a few months since your arrival at the Silla royal court. At the king’s order, because of the kidnapping attempt on the road. Hyunwoo had become your shadow. He was one step behind you every where you went except your bedroom. Even then, he was just beyond the doors. 

At first, he had remained your stoic rescuer, resisting your attempts at conversation. But, whether through your charm or persistence, his silence crumbled. He was so much easier to talk to than the courtiers whose words you could never trust as real or false. Hyunwoo always spoke plainly and truthfully. That’s how you came to know Hyunwoo the person.

Then, Hyunwoo the person became Hyunwoo the man. The man who lifted you to reach the ripe plum. The man who quietly advised you on court customs so you didn’t make a fool of yourself or your nation. The man who spoke to you as an equal rather than a pawn.

You should have known your heart was slipping away from you until it was no longer yours. But it took a reminder of your imminent departure from the court to remember this meant leaving Hyunwoo too.

That was what prompted you to arrange to be alone, without maid or servant, with Hyunwoo in this private garden.

Your earlier bravery is quickly fading with every second. You feel your heart crack, then split with the most acute pain you’ve ever felt in your life.

Hyunwoo’s silence is answer enough. 

Tears burning with humiliation and hurt sting your eyes. Hyunwoo can’t see. You whirl around, biting down hard on your lip to keep your choked breaths quiet.

“My lady, ... please... don’t cry.” Hyunwoo’s boots crush the gravel as he finally moves closer. His hand brushes your shoulder, hesitant, before it lightly settles there. His voice low and desperate, he says, “That’s one thing I don’t know what do about.”

“Why?” you ask, refusing to turn. “Why can’t you answer me? Do you not feel the same way?”

“I can’t.”

“Is there someone else?”

“No.”

Then he simply doesn’t love you. That thought rips through your already shredded heart. You can’t stand it.

You jerk your shoulder from Hyunwoo’s grip and run. Hyunwoo is quicker.

He grasps your forearm and pulls you back so you spin into his chest. You immediately push at him, but Hyunwoo’s arms hold you in place.

“I cannot not love you,” he confesses quietly.

Shocked, you try to look at his face, but he moves a hand to keep your face where it is. Does that mean Hyunwoo does love you? Beneath your ear, Hyunwoo’s heart thuds in a rapid beat. Hope you don’t dare trust cautiously blossoms in your chest.

And his next words shatter it again.

“But I can’t dare to.” Hyunwoo’s voice wavers, as if the words are being forced from his mouth. “Our stations are too different. Your father and my king would never approve. You deserve--”

“I want you!” you cry out, lifting your face. 

In his eyes, the same anguish engulfs his soul. It gives you little comfort. But it does give you a small, second burst of courage. You reach up, cupping his face in your palms. Thoughts racing and heart aching with every flurried beat, you whisper, “If I can’t have you, can I have this at least?”

Without words, he understands. And he grants your wish.

His lips are hot when they swoop down to meet yours. They engulf your senses, drowning you as you take and take and take. You would drink in every ounce of love, every promise of happiness Fate was stealing away from you. Hyunwoo’s arms press you against him more fully as he kisses away the tears that stream down your face.

This is what you could have had. You could have had this every day for the rest of your life if you hadn’t been born as you and Hyunwoo as himself. You could have...

With a pained cry, you break away from Hyunwoo, trying to run away from the inescapable pain housed in your heart.

This time, Hyunwoo doesn’t stop you.

You run blind through the palace until you trip, managing to catch yourself on a wooden column supporting an open-air hallway. Sliding to the ground, you cover your face with your hands. Your eyes are dry, emptied of tears. Your breath still comes in hollow gasps as your heartache tries to find some relief.

Footsteps come from either end of the hallway above your head. Reality gives you a sharp smack. You can’t be seen like this. People will ask questions, questions you won’t want to answer. Gathering your skirts, you hide beneath the hall’s wooden floors, putting your sleeves over your mouth to muffle your breathing.

The footsteps stop just above you.

“This is His Majesty’s tea?” a man’s voice asks.

A woman’s voice, trembling with nerves, replies, “You’re sure the poison can’t be traced back to us?”

“I’m sure. I bought it from a Japanese merchant while in disguise. The king has many enemies thanks to his father. It could’ve been anyone. Bring it here.”

Japanese poison? For the king? You listen carefully. Porcelain clinks, followed by the sound of liquid being poured into another.

“It will be absolutely tasteless,” the man says, “but the king will be dead within seconds. Go, I’ll wait for your signal that our clan’s murder is avenged.”

You wait until you hear both people leave. Your heart pounds for an entirely different reason than before. Someone is plotting to assassinate the king and it’s happening soon. You need to find Hyunwoo.

Bundling your skirts in a very unladylike fashion, you sprint back the way you had come. As you run around a corner, you slide right into another hwarang.

Kihyun catches you and himself, looking you up and down in concern. “My lady, what’s wrong?”

“Hyunwoo...” you pant, clutching Kihyun’s arms to steady yourself. “The king...”

“What about the king?” Hyunwoo’s voice comes from behind you.

You spin around. “Hyunwoo... the king... poison...”

“Poison?” Hyunwoo glances at Kihyun over your shoulder before stepping closer to you. “What about the king?”

Regaining more of your breath, you say, “Someone poisoned the king’s tea. A man and a woman whose clan was killed by the king or his father, I don’t know. But they just put the poison in the tea.”

Hyunwoo shares another look with the other hwarang as they both say, “The audience hall.”

The captain grabs your hand and starts running the way you had come, shouting a order back at Kihyun. “Surround the hall. Don’t let anyone in or out.”

It feels like your feet are barely touching the floor as you and Hyunwoo fly through the palace. Guards at the closed doors of the royal audience hall shout and bare their weapons at the sight of Hyunwoo charging towards them. They freeze, bewildered when they recognize him.

“Captain Son, what-”

He ignores them, bowling past them, up the stairs, and through the doors that bang with a fearsome sound against the walls.

Tens of shocked and fearful faces turn towards you both. Your father bolts from his seat.

The king, hand outstretched towards a tray at his side, looks down at the two of you. His face shows no disturbance and his voice is calm as he asks, “Captain, what is the meaning of this?”

Hyunwoo falls to his knees in a deep bow, bringing you with him. “Your Majesty, the daughter of the ambassador has vital information for you.”

“She does?” You risk a glance up to see the king look to your father, who shakes his head. “What information does she have that is so important as to interrupt my council?”

Hyunwoo squeezes your hand, prompting you to speak. Your mouth suddenly dry, you have to swallow a few times. “An assassination plot, Your Majesty.”

There’s an instant flurry of outraged shouts amid the courtiers, but a clap from the king silences them. His voice is now deadly cold. “An assassination plot? That is a serious allegation, my lady. How did you learn of it?”

“I overheard it just awhile ago, Your Majesty. A man brought the poison as revenge and the woman had your tea. Your tea is poisoned.”

“Bring the servant who brought the king his tea!” someone yells.

Hyunwoo squeezes your hand again in reassurance, but your heart still beats heavily with dread. The murmurs continue until a few minutes later when two guards drag a woman into the room and toss her in front of the king. All falls silent.

She is deathly pale as she curls into herself, forehead pressed to the floor. “Your Majesty, please, I haven’t done anything.”

The king deliberately pours a cup of tea, steam rising from the porcelain. Taking it, he descends from his throne and stops just before the shaking woman. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No!”

“Someone overheard a plot to poison me. They say the poison was put in my tea.”

“I don’t know anything about that!”

“Then,” the king bends down, holding out the cup, “you won’t mind tasting this for me, will you?”

The woman lifts her head, meeting the king’s eyes. She looks to the cup, then back at the king. The king pushes it towards her lips, but she smacks it away, the cup shattering to pieces.

With a wail, she throws herself to the floor again, fingers reaching for the king’s feet. “Please, Your Majesty, have mercy! I didn’t want to do it, I swear! I--”

“Guards!” the king barks. Pointing at the woman as they enter, he says, “Remove this from my sight and interrogate her. Find out who helped her.”

The guards haul the now screaming woman from the room. An uneasy quiet settles as the courtiers wait for the king’s next move.

You hurriedly cast your eyes to the floor as the king approaches you and Hyunwoo. Will he somehow blame you as well?

To your surprise, the king extends a hand to you. He smiles and nods, encouraging you to take it so you can stand.

“I dislike owing debts,” he says loudly, speaking to the room as much as you. “But I owe you one now for your service.”

“Your Majesty, saving your royal self is honor enough for my daughter,” your father interjects. He starts to say more, but the king holds up a hand to stop him.

“A king’s word is his honor and his oath. The lady will have her reward.” The king smiles. “Tell me what reward you wish. I reserve only my crown and my kingdom.”

Overwhelmed, you look to your father. He only gives you a fleeting smile. Never refuse a royal, he has always told you.

But what reward could you possibly ask for when your mind is blank?

Your eyes fall to Hyunwoo. He’s watching carefully, his face its usual mask of  detachment. Suddenly, you know.

Bowing your head and curtsying low, you say, “I know what I wish for, Your Majesty.”

“Name it.”

Willing your hand not to shake, you point at Hyunwoo. “Him, Your Majesty. Captain Son Hyunwoo.”

“Captain Son?” the king repeats, looking at the hwarang.

Confusion has made its way onto Hyunwoo’s face.

“You wish to retain him as a bodyguard when you return?” the king asks.

“Not as a bodyguard, Your Majesty. I want him to be my...” Your words fail you, your entire face heated. 

The king suddenly laughs, the laughter of the courtiers soon joining him even though many still look confused. 

He makes his way back to his throne, where he collapses, still laughing. “A woman asking for the hand of a man,” he says with a chuckle. To your father, he says, “I didn’t know the women of your land were so direct. It’s refreshing, ambassador.”

“In truth, I was unaware myself,” you father answers. The look he gives you is thoughtful, not scornful as you had feared.

“I don’t know if my council has ever seen such excitement,” the king remarks. “Well, what do you have to say, Captain Son?”

Hyunwoo stands. “Your Majesty?”

“Are you agreeable?”

“I swore to obey your every order, Your Majesty.” 

The king scoffs. “That isn’t an answer. Do you accept the lady’s proposal of marriage?”

He turns his head to you. You smile tentatively, unsure of its welcome. Slowly, his mouth curves in an answering smile. Your heart stutters, then restarts with relief and the giddiness one feels only when your wildest dreams come true.

Hyunwoo holds out his hand. His fingers immediately curl around yours when you take it. Although he is answering the king, Hyunwoo has eyes only for you as he says, “I do.”

[sommniac]

breaking down "life sucks” by ha:tfelt

Life Sucks by Ha:tfelt (real name: Park Yeeun, nickname: Yenny) is an underrated masterpiece. I loved Pluhmm but this song is the one that really drew me in. One thing that I adore is how the music video pairs with the song to create a vivid image of Yenny’s mindset during this period of suffering.

To kick everything off, I need to explain what the general song is about. Life Sucks is Yenny speaking out about her father who abandoned her family when she was a child and wormed his way back into her life for money once she got famous. She cut him off repeatedly, but felt guilty because he was still her family so she would always let him back in. Then he was caught soliciting fake donations from the church he was the pastor of and using her name and fame to gain his victims’ trust. He claimed she was an accomplice in all of this, even though she was entirely innocent. Although her public comments were minimal, she was emotionally distraught and later admitted to being depressed and suicidal during this period and its aftermath. Luckily, she found the strength to pull herself out of the darkness and released this song dedicated to the pain she’d undergone at her father’s hands.

——————————————————————————————-

Note: All of the analysis below is my own interpretation and should not necessarily be regarded as fact.

Trigger Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, self hatred, and homicidal thoughts

Yenny begins the music video on the floor, in a room covered in plastic, cloth draping, and newspaper articles. Curled into an almost fetal position, she rocks back and forth with blood dripping from her hands and dress, pooling beneath her. At her feet are a broken mirror displaying the fragments of a warped reflection and a knife, close enough to grab. Scattered through the room are red shoes, matching the blood splattered against the walls.

The room itself likely represents her own head, covered in reminders of her father and herself and everything the media has collected about their (alleged) wrongdoings. Everything is sterile and white except for the darkness of her blood and hair which pierce through the cleanliness of it all. The color and size of the chamber and somewhat reminiscent of a padded cell, implying that she is trapped in her own mind where no one can ever hear or see her suffering in silence. She slowly lifts her head up to directly face the camera, blood smeared across her face in an acknowledgement of the eyes on her.

For the first time in my 29 years Daddy sent me a letter Never knew how wack his handwriting was I guess I should've known better

This part is depicting Yenny reconnecting with her father for the first time since her parents’ divorce. Although its meaning seems relatively simple on a surface level, there’s an interesting note about how she didn’t know “how wack his handwriting was,” implying that in her whole 29 years of living, she had never once seen his handwriting. It really goes to show how estranged they were from one another.

In the music video, her back is to the articles, all talking about what’ll happen to her and her eyes are blindfolded, insinuating she was naive and blind to what was going to happen in the near future.

That's why mine is so ugly too That's why mine is so ugly too For the first time in my 29 years Daddy wrote me a letter

These lines are far more tragic. As you’ll come to see, a recurring theme throughout the song will be Yenny noting her similarities to her father in a defeated sort of way and that is visible here as well where she repeats “that’s why mine [handwriting] is so ugly too.” She’s acknowledging that he and her are closer than she would like and this little mention here devolves into deeper, more scathing self hatred later on. 

How's your mom? How's your sis? I really miss ya But you better not come here I'm sorry, but don't you worry 'Cause I'm prayin' for your health and future

Like the snake he is, Yenny’s father returns to her life in a trojan horse constructed of pleasantries and false pretenses. He pretends he just wants to reconnect with his daughter, claiming that he “really miss”es her and is “sorry” but, as we see in the next verse, he only wants something from her, namely money. He doesn’t actually care about her as he claims to.

In the video, Yenny sits on a bed, dragging the knife from the first scene across the mattress before lifting it up to survey. Perhaps too obviously, it appears she’s looking at the knife that will metaphorically stab her in the back, examining his claims with hindsight she couldn’t access before.

Oh dear, sweetheart Things have gone a little south My girl, need your help Could you bail me out

This is where we see his true intentions. The attempts at rebuilding the father-daughter relationship that he so selfishly destroyed were, all along, just efforts to coerce her into giving him her hard won money. The word choice of “bail me out” is especially apt considering what he needed that money for.

The video depicts her singing from behind a piece of plastic that’s obscuring her face for the first line of the verse, representing how her vision still was not clear. It is only when he begged her to bail him out that she stepped out from behind the distortion and finally understood his true intentions.

Life sucks for everybody (No need to cry, no no no) Life sucks for everybody (Act like no child, no no no) I'm just survivin' everyday Right at the edge of losing my mind Life sucks for everybody Just let me find peace of mind

The lyrics for the chorus are pretty plain in their meaning. It’s an explicit expression of vitriol toward the world and her father. At first, Yenny’s words seem almost comforting, telling the listener that life sucks and they don’t need to cry because she understands them. But then she sings “act like no child” and it becomes clear she’s speaking to herself with a sort of spite, ordering herself not to cry. And it’s really really sad to hear. It’s voices in her head whispering to her to not cry like a child. That’s why she’s “right at the edge of losing [her] mind” and why she’s begging the voices to “just let [her] find peace of mind.”

The newspaper articles around her are the physical manifestations of these voices, surrounding her and caging her in accusations and hatred. There are flashes of her with the knife and the blindfold before entering into the chorus and each of them mean different things. The first shot is a look to the future where Yenny is more closely scrutinizing the knife now that she knows what it’ll do to her. The second shot is set in the past, where she is boxed in by the fabric and plastic on either side of her and her blindfold is still on, blinding her to the lie her father has trapped her in. The rest of the chorus is dedicated to shots of her singing in the room, nothing extraordinary to point out.

If only I could go back and tell myself "Don't you trust him, he already hurt you" When you cried on your knees Showing some regrets Wish I could've known better

People don't change so easily, nah People can't change that easily If only you meant all you told me that night But, guess I'd better blame myself

Here, she’s speaking from the future, cursing her naive past self for being so foolish as to believe her father, considering their history. She wishes she hadn’t been so eager to assume that he’d changed from the man he was when he left her family.

The video shows her shining a flashlight around the walls, looking for something beyond the articles that surround her.

Even though she clearly wasn’t at fault for having hope that her father wasn’t as awful as he really was, she unfairly blames herself for everything for being oblivious to the future. This furthers the themes of self hatred first introduced during the verse about how her father’s handwriting was as ugly as hers. Especially self hatred regarding her relationship with her father, blood or otherwise.

This part of the video is, perhaps, my favorite. She rips away newspaper articles talking about her present connection with her father to open a window into the past. A crayon drawing, clearly done by a child, appears beneath the controversy to expose a house beside the image of a bloody, hanged man that, supposedly, represents her father. The cadaver is separate from the house, implying her father and the concept of home are two different, individual ideas. Depicted visually in a single shot is Yenny’s current and past relationships with her father, both equally twisted and tragic.

How's your night? How's your sleep? Have you ever woken up by your conscience? Well I'm sorry, I've got no worries All I have are wrath and disgust

Here, Yenny is speaking directly to her father, asking him all the questions she never got to after he betrayed her. She’s sarcastically asking him how he’s been, wondering how he can sleep at night despite being such an awful person. She assures him that she isn’t worried about him, she’s just wrathful and disgusted. Her hatred toward her father is overwhelmingly clear here. She really does despise him for all he is.

To be honest, I don’t know what this scene of the music video means. She’s sitting on the bed, ripping apart red high heel shoes which would insinuate the red shoes have some meaning but I don’t have any definite ideas, just some theories. The first is the red shoes represent home like in the Wizard of Oz and she’s ripping them apart because home doesn’t exist anymore since he destroyed it. Another theory I have is the red shoes represent danger as the color red is often associated with that. It implies she’s ripping the danger out of her life. However, I’m not so sure how much of a stretch these ideas are and so I’ll refrain from saying anything conclusively.

One time, you said "Must obey or be cursed" You were right, I am cursed Running your blood in my vein

Yenny repeats a phrase her father employed to scare her when she was younger: “must obey or be cursed.” And she affirms that she was cursed, but not for disobedience. It was from her biological relation to him. The very blood running through her veins taints her existence. Her hatred of her father and her self hatred connect spectacularly here as she once again proves that a large reason she despises herself lies with her father and the DNA and features and blood they share. She loathes him to the point she also abhors anything related to him, including herself.

In the video, she speaks the first couple of lines facing away from the camera, talking to someone unseen, imitating her father. She then slowly turns to stare directly into the camera, singing straight to him to tell him that he’s wrong, yet right at the same time. During the last line, her hand creeps up her neck, strangling herself in a physical representation of how the idea of her father’s blood running through her veins makes her feel.

Life sucks for everybody (No need to cry, no no no) Life sucks for everybody (Act like no child, no no no) I'm just survivin' everyday Right at the edge of losing my mind Life sucks for everybody Just let me find peace of mind

The lyrics and meaning have not changed from the last chorus so I’ll jump right into the video because there is a significant difference in how this part is visualized in comparison to the rest of the song. Yenny has managed to be composed up to this point, looking at everything almost apathetically, stood up straight, not betraying any emotions. This is the point where that careful facade absolutely shatters. She collapses to the floor, the camera shaky and blurry as she claws at the floor and her head. By the end of the chorus, she’s back to her carefully constructed self but the time where she completely shattered is not forgotten. It’s a quick glimpse behind the mask of the perfect Kpop star into the head of a broken girl who is perpetually “right at the edge of losing [her] mind,” on the precipice of deciding that maybe the effort it takes to continue “survivin’ everyday” and soldiering through the pain just isn’t worth it.

I might pull the trigger, you know I might do it for good, you know I might pull the trigger, for both of us I might do it for all, you'll see

I might pull the trigger I might do it for good, you know Pull the trigger Do it for all

The lyrics here are chilling, especially in their repetition. She’s talking like a martyr, claiming that “pull[ing] the trigger” would be good “for all.” The “all” in question isn’t specified. Is it just for the “both of [them]”? Is it for the victims? Is it for humanity in general? She isn’t clear but perhaps that was the point. Yenny sings about how she wants to kill herself and her father with a certain oxymoronic apathetic vigor. She just sounds so confident in her words, that she’ll do it and everything will be better afterwards.

At this point, the music video reconnects with the beginning. As Yenny sings to the camera, blood flows from the ceiling, covering her face and dress and hair in red. She tries wipe it from her face but only succeeds in smearing it. Her expression is wholly apathetic, matching the nonchalance with which she speaks the lyrics. The state she is in at this point is the exact same as the one from the beginning of the video, creating a sort of loop. This likely represents how she was stuck in an endless cycle in her head, a time loop of guilt and loathing and death. For years, her mind was a broken record of her father’s crimes and her relation to him.

——————————————————————————————-

Life Sucks is a painfully sad song of self-condemnation and mental suffering. For listeners, solace can only be found in the knowledge all of this happened in the past. For the most part. This is the type of event someone can never truly recover from and, as much as I would like to believe the contrary, I doubt Yenny is the exception. She’s a bright soul who deserves infinitely more than the life she’s endured and I’m glad she’s found the strength to move on that many others can’t. For now, we can only support her and her music. Her latest album “1719″ is a masterful body of work that reflects her mindset over the past few years. I would highly recommend it, especially Pluhmm, Sky Gray, and Cigar. Her latest release is La Luna and the music video, while having highly, highly dubious scenes, is visually beautiful.

[countryshitposts]

I Won’t Cry For You

Germany suffers alone.

Trigger Warnings: emotional, mental, and physical abuse, child abuse, vomiting, eating disorders, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt

"Frankreich please, I swear I really didn't hear it!" Germany reasons with his wife, his soft voice with reason has turned to a hysterical and almost-wail, but instead of convincing the woman in front of him it only gives him an uncomfortable glance and a shift of position, but her gaze becomes stern and firm, making Germany squirm a little.

"Allemagne, you were the only one left here in the office", France says in her 'mature and adult' voice; Italy would always try mimick it to make Germany feel better but now he wants to throw something - preferably soft - at her to distract her and run from this confrontation. "Surely you know what happened to why the safe is open and our money just vanished into thin air?"

Germany sputters a little; he tries to think of a good excuse to try and put himself in an innocent light - like he is - and stop Frankreich from tearing him apart piece by piece.

(He remembers all the eyes on him as he and his twin sister was revealed in this large crowd of cheering Germans, cheering for Reich and complimenting his 'children' and how East will hold his hand tighter when they are regarded as his. Ost had almost spoken out of a party, to answer a woman Third Reich, that cruel man, was not their father but West arrives in no time and ushers her into her bedroom to calm her down.

He wonders how she is doing behind the wall, seeing dozens of houses and buildings runny and downed. He stares at them for a moment, before moving on.)

"What, Allemagne, have nothing to say?" He hears her snicker and he shivers, remembering the cold room in the middle of the night with a gun on his fingers and Third Reich's laughs echoing in this closed room with absolutely no lights whatsoever. "I was right, and still am; you and your father are nothing but spineless cowards, only trying to stir trouble away from you but it doesn't and it comes back to bite you in the ass. Useless."

Germany's eyes widen, but he only keeps his eyes on the floor, lips trembling, tears threatening to spill out and screaming when they're not unleashed with a torrent, polished black shoes scratching the smooth and shiny floors with the light showing his thin, pathetic self.

(He hates the way his appearance was like- how it was all thin and delicate with no skin whatsoever and he'd try to change it but in the end he gets more and more hurt.)

But he cannot deny it; Frankreich is right of him. She is right, he is useless, he is nothing but another miserable soul in earth that was put there just to be another life form that sucks the air out of earth and waste it for his own gain. It is what Reich says; a spectre of useless things being thrown to the pages of the books being burned in the town square while others revel.

When France leaves, the tears in his eyes drop like rain; in tiny, unnoticeable small drops like a drizzle, before becoming more numerous and backing sheer amount of size as it becomes a waterfall in his face.

-

West silently walks his way into the building, ignoring the thrums of people he passes and they ignore him too, an invisible spec of light to behold. He opens the door to the office, and, much contradictory to the silent spell he is creating. He sits besides Italy, who was talking to Greece and not paying the slightest bit attention to him. Then again, he has always been invisible until he speaks, and that it when everyone would yelp and remember and regard that he was, in fact, there.

He opens his documents to observe the requirements of the day, pen full of ink as he starts to scribble the daily memoirs for the day. He tunes out for a little, not listening to the dramatics of everyone, the little hand waves everyone would do every so often but he does not pay attention to the slightest bit of movement or word.

That is, until, France ruins this moment of serenity.

"Allemagne was the only person in the building when the alleged crime scene happened", France says, and West's handwriting turns ugly for a bit before going back to its default style, his hands still shaking. "So, technically, that makes him our number one suspect."

He stops writing, as he feels everyone's eyes upon him, and he looks down at the ground, hating the confrontation happening, remembering the audience's eyes on he and Ost as Reich parades them in town, looking proud and almighty.

(Reich had beckoned him to sit with he and his allies, once. Reich asks West many a question to the point he could not keep up with all of them and stumbles on his words; Reich had called him an underdeveloped child and sends him on his way, but the pang was still there.

It always is.)

"Frankreich, listen to me-"

"You can't just fabricate another alibi, West; sooner or later you're going to lie yourself into a corner and be done with it."

"Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber-", he falters; he questions to why he is speaking in German, despite the fact that everyone here despises him and one time France had hit him when he spoke in his tongue. He reasons it is due to his nervousness and anxiety, his whole body shaking but he tries not to show it.

(It was a complete reverse to what went on in Reich's household.)

The beads of sweat were basically hugging his skin, making it all warmer as he fans himself with his suit, silently asking how it had grown warmer in the course of minutes.

France laughs. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue le crètin?"

His heart stops; he remembers the insults that Reich had hurled in his way, remembering the hands and raising of fists and the cold and dark room in which he and that tyrant were always locked in as he tries not to spill any tears and minimise the shaking of his body, blonde hair covering his eyes.

He stands up, feeling his stomach plead to him for them to release the half-digested remains he had eaten in breakfast; scrapes of food he had found on his cupboards as he struggles. Germany throws a hard look at France, and, without waiting for her reaction to this, immediately runs out of the door, nausea in his veins.

He runs, his feet still light and nimble on the floors, making small squeaking sounds but wad not loud enough to alert anyone of a nearby person. He had practiced his light feet from sneaking out to meet Ost in her room, to taking food from Reich's plates and then for just not frightening or making anyone aware of his presence at all. His mouth was burning, bile covering his tongue like the millions of souls that Reich had murdered reaching out to him in his dreams.

(He had dreamt of them many times in the past, their screams of fury and horror, their protests and screams to make him confess that it was his fault, oh his fault. It is his fault that he had caused their deaths, and he tries to fight back and say he cannot do anything but they let out horrible and gruesome noises until he is on the floor, sobbing, covering his ears and confessing that yes, yes, he murdered them all.)

Germany opens the door to the bathroom, immediately running to the first stall - almost tripping - and hunches his back over the toilets, making retching sounds as his throat burns, bile creeping up his throat and seeing the remains of his breakfast in the toilet makes him vomit even more. He sobs a little, trying to compose himself, shaking even more after he unleashed a torrent of his remains. He shakes, as he stands, wiping the edges of his mouth with the back of his wrist, before looking at himself in the mirror.

He makes notes of his now messy blonde hair, sad green eyes showing how much he had cried this day, the messed up suit. Germany exits the bathroom, looking at the direction of the office where he had ran off to and the exit. He turns on his heel.

He has no motivation to go back to the meeting.

-

Germany desires for a drink, but he abstains from that thought; he cannot return to a meeting by simply being drunk, no, he would make an ass of himself even more, and will be the subject of ill-willed jokes for months. He would pass bars that offer the best of beers, but he shakes his head from that thought- he had also realised that he left his wallet in the coat rack at the front of the building, and he swears silently at the loss of it.

(At least he won't go wasting his fortune on little drinks, that is a plus.)

He finds a park bench he can sit in, looking absolutely miserable, not minding the others' staring and the looks they give of him, of him displaying the vibe of an employee who was fired from his job.

Germany would usually stare off into space if he cannot get the slightest bit of the revelries of being drunk- the way his eyes will dilate, his mind bring him into a different world just as bad as this one, and his limbs going slack as if he had fallen asleep in all of this. The voices in his mind would make him imagine gruesome thoughts, and he lets them control him like a puppet with strings, since that is what he is, right? Nothing more, nothing less. At least he would not deal with the consequences of a hangover in the morning, head pounding and stumbling as he makes his way downstairs and visit the pharmacy store to buy painkillers.

The guilt inside of him is easy to be played with, and he lets everyone take advantage to the softest of pleas to the most direct of them all.

He does not fight back as he gives them what he wants.

He stands from the bench, feeling himself drained from thinking of these thoughts. He throws a glance to the people at the park; elderly men and women feeding the ducks, young couples having their first dates in underneath the trees while the children are playing and their parents are setting up the picnic table in a relaxed manner.

Sometimes Germany wishes he can be as relaxed as them; not these contorted limbs that had always been aching and hurting and making him want to cut them off one by one until he is limbless.

Feeling utterly sick to his stomach, he leaves the park to go look for a way to calm himself down of the insult.

He breaths in- t'was just an insult; he has no right to get angry or sad or offended by it.

It just brings back some horrible memories.

But horrible memories are meant to be sidelined to make way for happier and joyous memories.

(It is bold enough to assume he even has one.)

And horrible memories shouldn't be brought up on the dinner table; that's just going to make everyone hate you more instead of pitying your sorry face.

So he keeps them bottled up; only using them as a leverage to get some exquisite excuses from his mind and sometimes his line of work, whenever it gets stressful for him to even function.

(He'd have days like these- days where he is plagued by the ultimate failure and outcome of his mind that he cannot even begin to process the fact that he has a life other than being sad and lonely and being mad for the fact that his father up and abandon them to snap and become the most evil man he has ever witnessed.)

West kicks a rather empty can back to where it had come from, an abandoned and moldy alley with no light coming from there. He stares at it for a little; how he had unknowingly kicked a priced vase from its foundation and how Reich had heard that shatter and immediately fumed once he sees West's frail figure trying to pick up the broken pieces of the vase but ends up cutting himself, pricking his fingers and drawing in an amount of blood. He had remembered the insults and words thrown onto his face as he tries not to cry, but he does and Reich even grows more furious, his hand raised to hit him.

But it never did, instead he was laughing and making fun of the way West's body quivers in fear and tells him he's only joking; no need to overreact.

But West knows that he will never hesitate to hit him even in his most simplest of mistakes.

He now desires for a smoke, but he has neither the cigarettes nor lighter to even light one- he swears once again, now really regretting not bringing his wallet with him. He wants to get blackout drunk by now.

He passes by a fine-dining restaurant, with everyone seeming like they are having a good time with their friends and family, and he pauses his feet, looking through the glass like it is an ideal dream- unreachable, yet it can exist if he can just try. He remembers his father, feeding he and Ost with the scrapes of food he finds in the streets, and he feels content with even the single particle enter his stomach. Then it is replaced by a memory of Reich giving him only a meal a day; if West ever dared step out of his boundaries he will never be given a meal that day and will be left to starve.

(West had objected to this the first few times, of course.

"Papa would let me eat despite the fact I broke a frame!", he had said in front of Reich, who was smoking a cigar, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"The only frame you'd be breaking is yours- except for the fact, it is already broken." Reich laughs at his joke as West's eyes immediately go downward.)

He jolts at the sudden memory in his mind - stop giving him painful memories you useless sack of membrane - stepping backwards and landing onto somebody's arms, and he looks up to find a concerned man and woman - perhaps husband and wife - looking down at him.

"Are you alright, young man?", the man holding him asks, and West steels himself and gets up from where he was being aided from; he did not need to be babied, that perspective of his life had come to a close once his father had turned.

(Germany must confess, but he wanted to be held, nurtured, cared for and loved in someone's arms once again, back to the times someone actually loved him before two people had the complete and utter gall to take them away and place him in a different surrounding where his sister hates him and everyone is against him.)

"I'm fine", Germany replies to the man, stepping back a little, "just a little... dazed."

"It's just... you've been walking 'round the place with quite a solemn look, like something has been on your mind."

Germany shakes his head and smiles, knowing full well it is plastic. "Really, I am fine- I just have a lot of things in my mind right now."

The man nods, "All right, off we go then. I do hope that you sort out whatever issues you are dealing with right now." With that, the couple walks off; leaving Germany in his thoughts once again and completely solemn.

He wonders if there are any vacant high-scaled buildings he can break in in the middle of the night.

-

Germany wakes up screaming after a nightmare. He gets up from the bed, unconsciously throwing his nightly glass of water to the walls, its shattered wails of glass desecrating his night - or day, he has lost time really - and screams even more when he remembers the horrible sounds of shattered glass to the screams of his people running rampant to Ost telling him they both need to jump out the window to escape the wrath of the enemies. West throws his sheets upon himself, utterly shaking from head-to-toe, trying to make himself relax, all his joints swollen and throat in pain after the high screams from his nightmare.

(He doesn't remember his dream; all he knows was that at first everything was white and then it faded to a crimson red of the blood his alleged victims had owned and the blue-stains signifying his tears.)

West gets up from his bed and unwraps himself from his blankets, looking around cautiously like the ghost of the past has been left behind to haunt him forever. Yet the ghost of the past is him; he is a living memory of what Reich had done, and he will be the one to blame for the next century or so.

(Sometimes he'd jump back from a reflection of him- scared at how he looks so much like his father to the point it is rather jarring.)

West was not fond of handling steak or kitchen knives at three in the morning, with his skin full of thin lines are tingling underneath his long sleeves, thirsting for the sharp metal to bury deep into his skin but he denies them with all his might despite the fact he eyes it- eyes the way it shines underneath the kitchen's ceiling light, calling him, tempting him to come have a taste of what the knife can do.

He sighs a little before ultimately giving up at making himself a snack at three, knowing full well he could not trust himself with a knife. Or any sharp object in general.

He decides not to eat anything at all, remembering the way he vomited out contents of his stomach at a single mention of the awful and horrible things Reich had done. Of course, has not eaten anything since yesterday, preferring having an empty stomach retching over the toilet trying to spill its contents into the bowl than a full one- his appetite would immediately become lost.

So Germany blankly opens the television and spends the rest of his free time before going back to his work place of pure torture. Not like he'd find a good movie or show to watch; he sincerely thinks that real life was much more entertaining than a measly motion picture with scripted words and actions and romance to top it all off.

(The way he sees it, he feels as if the romance of all the complicated movies and series he has seen are rushed; a handsome, dashing man and a damsel in distress falling in love, kissing passionately at the very end to show all that they are a couple, they are together, and everyone will be happy of their love. All the while, Germany would clench at his fists hard and crush the utter soul of what he is holding.

He had love. He had love a long time ago, before it came crashing down like tidal waves pinning him down to the deep blue sea and forever rendering him without his sister and father to guide him endlessly.)

He lets himself melt into the suffocating couch, sighing a little from how soft it feels on his back, contradictory to the fact that he can still feel the bruises Reich had caused on it, still throbbing with pain every time he presses them onto a hard surface. (Which is why his chairs on every meeting is stacked with pillows; he knows he cannot have his back mangled from both work and a painful past.)

He then stiffens when he hears a gunshot- then it starts to multiply a lot in his ears, amplifying it to the sounds of many a soldier screaming and ordering in German, then a shot towards he himself, a scared and trembling boy who tries his damnedest to lift the heavy armed weapon on his arms as he, with quivering feet, try catching up with the older men who were completely ignoring him to save their own asses.

"Bitte... lass mich alles vergessen." He silently prays to no one in particular; he has never had believed in a single faith after his childhood came crashing down to reveal the outside world in the most sickening and twisting of ways, twisting his mind until he cannot make up what is real and what is not anymore. "Bitte... bitte..."

His nerves start to rack as all of his senses were now on fire, trying to claw their way into his skull and he grits his teeth, opening and then closing his eyes again when he sees that everything around him is as dark as the death of the night, no stars nor light was there to guide him. He tries to stand, but his legs had turned as soft as jelly, and he stumbles with a hard thud- but it doesn't hurt him, only giving him a slight amplifying when his heart starts to beat, faster and racing like they were trying to catch up with his nerves settling into him. He tries to feel his hands, but they were numb, like they were settled deep into a blockade of ice where they stayed for an hour or two before completely being submerged frozen. His chest was heaving, pounding outwards like there was a beast inside him waiting to be let out so they can murder him. He can feel the wetness of his cheeks, though, and opens his mouth to let out a muffled sob but nothing comes out (if something did come out he'd choke it back down).

He tries to calm himself down - which was now a daily occurrence - because he knows no one will acknowledge him, no one will care that he's having panic attacks in three in the morning and trying to control himself from taking the knife and giving himself a variety of cuts and bruises along his skin.

No one will care.

And that's a fact he has to live with.

-

"You have the nerve to show your face here again?" Germany's green eyes slither towards the towering figure that was Frankreich, always high and mighty, always proud, and always antagonizing him no matter what he has to do. His eyes go back to the documents he was writing.

"I work here, Frankreich", he says softly but can still be heard by everyone in the room, "please leave me be."

He hears the woman laugh, her laugh just as warm and thick with honey as her voice. "Ah, so the la mauviette learns how to talk back to his higher-ups, hm?"

He ignores her, despite the fact he knows she doesn't have an inclination towards being ignored, loving the attention, loving the spotlight that may sometimes be meant to others.

(One time he sees Italy and France arguing about something he cannot hear, except for the fact that France was complaining about how she 'didn't have enough screen time' and Italy looking genuinely apologetic.)

"Rèponds-moi- I do not want to be ignored."

The sounds of scribbling paper fills the room, the entire office becoming eerily quiet for Germany's taste, and he wonders if France did have a specific touch on the building to let everyone know that drama was happening.

"RÈPONDS-MOI, SALE ALLEMAND!" Her shriek, which is an octave higher than her voice, makes West's handwriting sloppier as he jumps from his seat with his hair a mess from the jolt. His shaken eyes turn back to France, jaw locked, eyes murderous and bloodshot, her fingers on his desk.

(No, this did not bring him bad memories of Reich, absolutely not.)

"Ah, so I can get your attention from shouting", France says, a tiny smirk dancing across her face, a malicious intent in her eyes. "What? Scared I'll come to your room and murder you in cold blood?"

I am not afraid of murder, Germany wants to say but bites his tongue, knowing he'd provoke France even further than he did before.

"You are", she says with a small chuckle as she retracts her fingers from his table slowly, like she was going to raise it and scratch his face with her nails. "I think I know what else will frighten you."

She raises her hand, clenched to a fist, and Germany gasps; all of a sudden the warm air around the room has been shattered, replaced by the familiar chill he has always felt whenever he was around, whenever his shadow lurks in the darkness, watching, eyeing him and whenever he shows up in his delusions that are called dreams in his slumber. And he remembers those tainted red eyes of madness, showing no remorse as he strikes East after she had misbehaved his order, and then him, cowering in fear underneath the staircases but he receives a blow, horrible and it repeats and repeats, the blows becoming more and more painful as pain blossoms into his body while he apologizes, knowing full well Reich would never listen.

"ES TUT MIR LEID!" He did not know when he had stumbled into the ground, out of his chair, into the cold and hard floors, sweating, chest heaving and breath quickening, seeing the shadow of the ruthless dictator he had come to despise all his life, and not France. "Vergib mir! Bitte! Hit me but not her!" He starts to choke and sob, a river of tears running down his cheeks, gritting his teeth.

(Was he aware that he was foolishly breaking his own walls in front of people who dislike him? Perhaps, or he is hallucinating he was in his room once again talking to a shadow of that man.)

He screams when he feels someone's hand on his shoulder, and scrambles back like a rat against all human touches and wanting to get away from them. "GET AWAY! DU BIST NICHT VATER! Ich will meinen Vater! WO IST ER!" His eyes sesrch frantically at the sea of faces, trying to decipher who was the kind and caring father that had raised him over the years with his kind smile and lively attitude, and breaks down into sobs, crawling into a fetal position when he cannot find him.

(France hears Allemagne repeat Weimar and Ost's names, crying his heart out as he puts his face into his hands, his fingers digging into his skin. All the while, she did not know what had triggered this, and she looks at her fist with a confused look.)

The whole room is now full of nerve-racking sobs, when the man in front of them reverts back to a young boy that wants his family back.

-

Austria hears impatient knocks on his door, and he sighs, sitting up from where he was sitting and pinching the bridge of his nose, silently deciding whether to abandon his music composition briefly or answer the door. He decides to come downstairs, in his bathrobe and hurries down towards the door, where in which the troublesome knocks were resonating.

"Darf ich Ihnen helfen?", he asks calmly, until he fully registers who was at his doorstep-

France looks at him awkwardly, feet shifting from left to right and hands on her back. "Puis-je te demander quelque chose?"

France takes a sip of her cup of tea which Austria had brewed, placing it on the tray on the small coffee table as she puts her hands on her lap daintily.

(Austria knows that her dainty and fragile features mask the she-wolf of a woman that she is; that her innocent looks and pure smiles can mean something else and everyone who has fallen under her spell has suffered a terrible fate, a poisonous apple.)

"Third Reich", Austria spits his name out of his mouth, like a forbidden curse. "You are aware of the fact Weimar turned into him, correct?"

France rolls her eyes, "Of course I know. I wasn't born yesterday you know."

"Well, you see, the twins are quite attached to their father; something you can never relate to." He flicks his finger, a tiny snap as his eyes carefully flickers to a portrait of Liechtenstein. "When they realized their father was replaced by a terrible and god-awful man, oh, were they devastated."

"Well, from the way Allemagne was crying of his father today I can see it." France mentally slaps herself after she lets the remark slip out of her mouth, and now Austria was glaring at her, holding his cup of tea.

He sighs, "Well, I cannot critique you; I made no help to both of them, with the delusion of still being in power." He sighs a little, guilt lingering in his voice as he fixes his glasses. "Why do you need my help again?"

France's leg starts to bounce, "Because, Austria, I want to know why Allemagne overreacted to me almost hitting him yesterday."

Austria's eyes give off another slight irritation, as if not wanting to talk about how everything all went wrong yesterday.

(He was, of course, there, obviously- he had just gotten back from the coffee room only to see West on the floors with everyone standing like a deer in the headlights and France nowhere to be seen. He and Schweiz had to soothe Germany out of his fetal position and support him while walking. The nerve-wracking sobs remind Austria of Confederation and he was close to sobbing as well.)

"If you were such a 'smart' woman as you put it", Austria puts finger quotations on the word 'smart', much to France's dismay, "then you would know how much harshness Reich treated those twins of Weimar."

France leans uncomfortably into her chair, looking at the steam rising from her cup of tea like it was a phantom offering her something else in the cup, a woman giving her a thousand knowledge in one life time. She sighs, "Look, I know me and the others were at fault for his demise-"

"It's not entirely your fault too", Austria cuts in, "it is partially also Weimar's for accepting the ghost in his head telling him of promises so he can take what was his."

"Alright, back to the topic", France swivels, "I've noticed something peculiar about Germany. About the way he's always really silent that when he speaks everyone just jumps because they're unaware he was in the same room as them; the way he jumps when someone makes a loud noise; the way he asks people if this seat or place is taken despite the fact that he actually is seated there; and just yesterday, when I tried to hit him he just spent half an hour on the floors, grovelling, until you helped him up."

Austria thinks for a moment, lips pursed as if contemplating how this situation had gone to a topsy-turvy. "Have you ever considered that this net behavior of West can stem from years of hurt and pain?"

France blinks, "I thought he was just anxious and shy-"

"You thought wrong, Frankreich", Austria says, glowering a little. "You'll always assume even the most basic of things. I've seen West being hit and belittled by Reich, while that disgusting man had enjoyed his pain and misery." His face shows more regret once again. "But what do I know? I turned a blind eye on them all. The next thing I knew Reich was dead in his office, West is in the Allies' custody, and East is now with the Soviet Union."

France sighs a little, "Listen, I've done something horrible to Allemagne, that I can tell; and I want to... help him."

Austria scoffs, gripping the handle of his cup hard. "Help? I think you've done your part on helping the poor boy. You think hitting him will make you feel satisfied at the fact you made a boy grovel at your feet? That is not helping; you are doing the same thing Reich did."

"And what did Reich do?"

The man in front of her chuckles, like he has seen a hilarious move right in front of him. "Isn't it obvious? He hits, starves, and misuses the twins to the point they are broken beyond belief."

"I... I didn't know that bastard would do that to his own children!" France tries to find some evidence so she can prove herself justifiable of why she had tried to hit West in the first place. Her mind gives her a conscience instead of a reliable excuse though- she wanted to hit West to see how much his mind will topple over and break him like the fragile glass in abandoned buildings and even in her own home in which she drunkenly throws all of her glasses of wine into the walls.

Österreich glares at her with a magnitude of a thousand suns looking to strike her down. "Now you know, and now... I do not know. If you would've given the boy a chance, then he would not be scarred by days past. He would not wallow in guilt on what has become in his life and how he should make it up to every single one of you. I can only be here for him for a short while before he goes back to his home in a pitying manner, before he goed nd play with that razor blade-"

France's heart stops for a second as she jolts up from where she was sitting. "Wait... Allemagne hurts himself?"

The sadness in Austria's eyes increase as he looks back at the cup in his hands. "He does; I tried so much to get him out of those manners but he would not listen- he keeps telling me he will kill himself when the timing is right, when the sea meets the sky."

France feels more and more feelings of guilt churn inside of her; who is she to mock the German family when even she was just as terrible as they are? And she remembers the awful things she has told about West and his sister and father, even right in front of him or in earshot like she has no care for his feelings and treating him as a person even lower than she.

She stands, "Thank you for the small talk, Austria, but now I have to go."

He gives her a small wave of farewell as she closes the door behind her, cup of tea already cold.

-

The air at the roof of the building was quite cold and chilly- like the cold floors that Reich would press West upon or the even harsher winters in which he is thrown outside after pushing Reich's buttons too much so now he has to sleep in front of the door he has been kicked out of, with thin clothes and freezing to death as he tries to plead with Reich to take him home.

(He'd cry and weep as he shakes with the shattering snowflakes as the tears on his face freeze up as his body becomes frozen and he crawls into a sitting position to conceal the warmth that still resonates within him.

Reich would only open the door when he is unconscious and would take him in like the loving father figure he is, wrapping him up in blankets and hiring the best doctors to help heal him. When West came to, he would shout at Reich but he'd simply laugh and say he has saved his life from the hazardous cold of the winter season.)

He takes the burnt out cigarette that has been stuck on his mouth for long as he drops it to the ground and steps on it as he grows closer, tantalizingly closer to the edge. The wind becomes colder and stronger, screaming at him to back away unless he deserves the terrible fate he's always did and steps on the edge to see what lies beyond the top of the very building.

West's eyes scan the neighbouring buildings, full of blinkering yellow lights that show people going on about their mundane but impacting lives, at how, in introspection, these lives are not worthwhile in the history books and that only the people living their lives fully know what has happened; not even their closest relatives will know of their deepest secrets and dreams and fears, only the speck of imagination that came out of their mouth is the only knowledge their closest companions will absorb of. He looks down at the speeding cars, wondering if he falls down from this great height and be flattened by the ashphalt road, will the cars zooming in such a high or moderate speed stop when they see some large thing fall from the sky in heaven's grace? Or would they simply ignore and accidentally run over his mangled corpse?

His polished dark shoe is camouflaged with the dark sky, as he taps to create a small cadence before his untimely - but expected - death. He takes a deep breath - his last - closing his eyes and to calm his beating heart, which was protruding from his chest and wishing to escape.

Not to worry, he tells his beating heart, you will be free after I fall off this building.

West takes a cautionary step outside the edge of the building, his shoe touching thin air, trying to see if it can carry him away from oblivion, away from its taste, trying hard to seduce him into the dark side, lips tainted with past lovers. He exhales, letting out all his stress, trauma, hate and sadness that has been plaguing him like a sickness in all the years after Reich had been created (his father was a fool).

So he leans- leans into the very edge, waiting for his inevitable death to sweep him into the afterlife, where he belongs.

A hand holding on his wrist stops him, and now he is frozen on the edge, like the sculptures of a fountain he has seen numerous times before. And then he is pulled back, pulled back to the bittersweet tastes of imminent death, his eyes looking back down to the ground waiting patiently for him, trying to comprehend that a body would not drop to their hard bed that easily.

Instead of fighting, he feels numb; like the only safe way to close the curtains of his life is down. He cannot feel his hands, like he had just inhaled another fresh bag of cocaine and spread it all over his systems like a fresh batch of flour had just rubbed off into him. West then feels himself coming to his senses, as he is brought back to the world of living he hated and will always hate and into warm arms that scoops him up like a swan.

"Allemagne, can you hear me?" The voice was sweet, pure but with the touch of concern in it, like she cares, oh she cares at how far West has fallen down. Her hands finds West's cheeks, warm with tears he did not know had appeared on his face during his time being saved by the light that has always hated him ever since he was born. "S'il te plait dis quelque chose, Allemagne."

West stares up at the night sky, stars blinking and twinkling all above him like they will shower him with gifts, gifts that will never make sense in a lifetime. His eyes search the skies, to find the constellations moving to form his sister, his dear sister that had pushed him away when they had reunified, smiling down at him just like in the old days, when spring felt warm in his hands as it devours the icy winters, touching the frozen wasteland that had become second nature. The constellations move again to form his father, his dear and loving father he had loved from the beginning to the end of his life, anger suddenly dissipating when he remembers the real reason why he became desperate, clutching at short straws before succumbing to the deepest and darkest desires of his mind, working like a needle for him to grapple at and sew his own life story.

(He reminisces about the small but comfortable apartment they had once lived; he was always never alone, he was always never sad nor angry, especially when it was with their father and Ost, so happy and so peaceful, until like a picture they were torn apart by the great grand scheme of things.)

And he sees her, burning like a supernova under the stars, the sun expanding and expanding and expanding until it wholly occupies the space where all life exists, her troubled face looking down at him with such intensity that he could not bear look at her eyes of hurt, knowing he's disappointed her, over and over again.

Frankreich's hands feel like the sun underneath his tear-covered cheeks, ultimately caressing him and then taking him by her arms, like they were the best of friends, the worst of enemies, dying in battle. "Je suis vraiment désolé." There she goes again, cradling him like a small and vulnerable infant unready for the world to take them out, but he enjoys it, he enjoys her embrace, he enjoys everything about this feeling, as if he had not felt it in a long time.

So he stays.

-

Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber- i'm sorry France but

Bitte ... lass mich alles vergessen- please, let me forget everything

Rèponds-moi- answer me

Vergib me- forgive me

Du bist nicht vater- you are not my father

Ich will meinen vater, wo ist er- i want my father, where is he

Darf ich Ihnen helfen?- may i help you

puis-je te demander quelque chose- can i ask you something

S'il te plait dis quelque chose- please say something

Je suis vraiment désolé- i'm so sorry

[hymn2000]

Ideal Confusion - MCU AU Fanfic - C9

(Title subject to change)

Story summary: Giving into the constant pressure from the press, Tony decides to put a rest to the rumours that Peter is his biological son - once and for all.

Previous Chapter(s): 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Part of my Frostiron and Spiderson series.

Warnings/themes: family, family stuff, adoption, DNA test(s), pressure, peer pressure, social issues, mentions of alcoholism, mental health problems, potentially some minor medical inaccuracies, mentions of corporal punishment, hurt/comfort, sex talk, sex education talk

You can also find me on AO3

Chapter 9 - Lemons And Weeds

-

Tony wasn’t happy; that much was clear. One look at his parents, and one second of hearing their frantic whispers and hisses and hushed tones, was enough to tell Peter it would be a good idea to stay out of the way, just for a little while.

Turning the kettle on seemed like the best way to drown out his thoughts - whatever they were. He couldn’t quite comprehend his own mind right now. Part of him knew that blood shouldn’t make a difference - it never had before - but it felt like there was no way it couldn’t make a difference now. He was... Tony Stark was...

He was Tony Stark’s son.

Biologically. 

Genetically. 

By blood.

And there was no denying it...

A day that should have brought closure had instead made things less clear than ever. Suddenly there was so much else Peter needed to know. He couldn’t remember his parents very much at all, but as far as he’d been told, they’d been happily married. Was that a lie? Had Richard and Mary’s marriage been in enough trouble for Mary to cheat? Or had it just been the temptation of a charming celebrity? Was she drunk? Was Tony drunk? How had it happened? How had they met? Had Richard known about it? Had anyone other than Mary known about it? Had Tony known all this time that he’d slept with Peter’s mother, but just never mentioned it? Had he forgotten, or just intentionally covered it up? Or perhaps he didn’t realise who Peter was - after all, by the time he’d come into his life, he was just living with May. Besides, Tony was so firmly of the opinion that there was no way Peter could be his. In fact, that’s what everyone thought. Everyone that mattered, anyway.

Did Mary even know? She must have still been sleeping with Richard, otherwise the pregnancy itself would have been a suspicious right from the start. Maybe she never considered it a viable option. Or refused to consider it. Maybe the timings were a little funny. Maybe... Well, Peter didn’t know. If she had suspected, surely she would have done something about it?

But wait. Tony and Peter had had various sex conversations in the past, and Tony had always been very pro contraception, and said he’d never had a one night stand, or a short lived relationship, without proper protection, and that he always carried condoms and put them on himself to be sure. Mary had to have been a one night stand, otherwise the link would’ve been realised far sooner. And even if not, if they’d used contraception, how could anything like this ever happen? It never would have occurred to either party that a potentially drunken night of celebrity-on-civilian fun could result in... Well, another life.

But...

The alleged father cannot be excluded as the biological father of the tested child... the probability of paternity is 99.99999999% ...the alleged father IS the biological father of the tested child.

It was all there in black and white. It is practically proven that Mr. Anthony Stark is the biological father of the child Peter Parker-Stark.

Peter Parker-Stark.

Parker-Stark...

Wait...

He wasn’t. That wasn’t who he was. Mary had been a Parker by marriage - it had been Richard who was a Parker by birth. He was uncle Ben’s brother. Another Parker by birth, of course. And then of course May; Parker by marriage... Different ways of getting the name, of course, but both valid...

But if Richard had suspected Peter wasn’t his, surely he never would have been allowed to take the name? Unless he knew or suspected it and wanted to conceal it. But as far as Peter knew, men didn’t generally act like a child that might not be there’s, was. In fact, (with facts now emerging), he had no right to the Parker name now either. He wasn’t a Parker. Circumstantially, he’d ended up being with the Parker’s for most of his life, but now, well, where did his claim lie? Who was he, if not a Parker; if not the person he’d grown up thinking he was? He didn’t know. He didn’t... Yes he did. He knew he was. Undeniably, and whether he liked it or not.

He was a Stark.

But even that opened up the floor to more questions. Aside from his life and experiences with the people in this household, and a few articles online, he didn’t really know what being a Stark meant, exactly. Aside from the obvious bits. But even as an adopted son, he didn’t know much about the generations before his father. Tony rarely mentioned his parents, much less talked properly about them, and as far as Peter could tell, he’d never known any of his grandparents, and he didn’t seem to have any extended family. It hadn’t especially bothered him before, but now it felt horribly like he'd been lied to.

In fact, right now, his entire life felt like a lie. There was so much that could have been, should have been - and there was so much that needed to be answered for. There was only one person he could think of that could potentially answer his questions about Richard and Mary.

But she’d been dead for years.

-

Loki calmly took a hand away from his mouth.

“Don’t you think you’re being just a little bit over-dramatic?”

“Absolutely not!” Tony shouted. “And who are you calling over-dramatic?! You’re one of the most dramatic people I’ve ever met”

“As much as I’m enjoying your little pantomime, I do find the weeping and wailing just a little bit over the top, if you don’t mind me saying so”

“Loki, I think you’re deliberately overlooking the emotional impact of this!” Tony took a deep breath, and scoffed. “Well, I couldn’t expect you to understand”

Loki startled a little at that insensitive remark.

“Tactful as always, my darling” Loki said, retaining a lofty air. “Of course I couldn’t. Here I am, looking at my husband, who was so firmly by my side through our failed fertility plans and the sudden realisation that three-person was off the table, my husband who worked through to understanding, and scrapped the idea of even traditional IVF, and settled with me back into a normal life with our adopted son. And I’m looking at that man who so clearly found peace in never making a child from their own self, just like me - and I’m seeing that despite it all, you’d made one already. Just an outsider looking in, my darling. The gravity and shock of the situation completely escapes me”

Tony looked at him for a moment, puzzling out what he was saying, and then turned his head away.

“This is ridiculous!” he growled. “I need a drink!”

-

Tony stormed into the kitchen.

“Oi, what do you think you’re doing? Are you stealing my coffee?!”

Peter startled at the sudden shout, and he shook his head.

“No; I’m just moving it so I can get my tea”

“Oh sure, you really expect me to believe that?” Tony marched over, snatching the coffee from the boy, putting it back in the cupboard, and slamming the cupboard door. “You know you’re not allowed my coffee. N-”

“But I wasn’t taking it!” Peter protested. “I was just-”

“Don’t interrupt me! Now go to your room!”

“What?! Why?!”

“Because I said so! Now do as you’re told!”

“No! That’s not fair! Don’t you think we need to talk and stuff? I wanna ask you-”

“Why can’t you ever just do as you’re damn well told?!” Tony snapped. “Go to your room!”

“But I haven’t done anything wrong! And we need to talk about-”

“The only thing we need to talk about is your constant defiance and bad behaviour! You’ve been spoilt, that’s your problem”

Peter looked at him, outraged. “Well, whose fault is that, then?!” 

“How dare you?” Tony said, dangerously quiet. “Is that what you think? That it’s my fault? Well, do you want to know what I think?”

Peter took a step back. “...What?”

"Tony” Loki said, watching the scene unfold from the doorway. “I think you need to start counting”

Tony looked at him, scowling. “What are you talking about?!”

“I think you know” Loki said, coming over. “Peter, darling, why don’t you go to your room for a little bit? I need to talk to dad”

“But I need to talk! I’ve got a whole bunch of stuff I need to ask, and-”

“Sweetheart. Sweetheart, I know” Loki said gently. “Just give us a few minutes. We’ll talk later”

Peter looked between his parents, settling on Tony.

“I guess this means we’re not going down to the pool again today then”

Tony raised a hand and smacked him across the face.

“TONY!” Loki snapped, grabbing him and moving him firmly backwards. “What are you playing at?! Peter, sweetheart, go to your room. Daddy and I need to have a chat”

Peter was so shocked that he couldn’t move. 

“Didn’t you hear?! Go to your room, you little-”

“Tony! Shut up!” Loki said. He turned to Peter, taking him by the shoulders and kissing him firmly. “Are you alright? Listen, go to your room, and I’ll come and check on you in a few minutes”

Loki ushered Peter out into the corridor and closed the kitchen door firmly behind him. He paused, and then spun round, glaring at Tony.

“What the hell are you playing at?”

“What am I playing at?! He was being rude! Oh what, so I’m not allowed to have discipline in my house anymore?”

“No, Tony! No, he wasn’t being rude! He was disappointed! And he’s upset”

“What's he got to be upset about?” Tony said scornfully.

“Oh, don’t be so wilfully ignorance! It’s no wonder he’s upset and confused and worried, just like you are. How dare you treat him like that?”

“It was just a little tap!”

“No, it wasn’t, and we both know it. For goodness sake, Anthony! Neither of us have laid a hand on him since before he was turned into a toddler!”

“So?!”

“SO, you can’t just jump back by lashing out at him! I thought we’d phased physical punishment out, albeit under extra-ordinary circumstances, but even if we hadn’t, what’s the one thing we agreed on?”

“Aw Loki, give it a rest. Give me a break, ok? I’ve had-”

“Some difficult news; I know” Loki interrupted. “But we had agreed never to slap his face, remember? So how DARE-”

“For gods sake, Loki, what do you expect me to do?! That kid-”

“Your SON”

“I KNOW!” Tony shouted. “How the fuck am I supposed to get my head around this?! How the FUCK has this happened?”

“I think you know how it happened! Stop screaming at me. You can’t take it out on me, and you certainly can’t take it out on that poor little kid”

“I’m not!”

“You are! I heard your whole argument about a bloody jar of coffee, and obviously I saw what you did, and I heard every threatening word and tone too. You can’t take out your annoyance or frustration or confusion or whatever it is you’re feeling about being Peter’s natural father, out on him, who, for the record, firstly, did not choose to be, or ask to be born, and secondly, would not even exist if it weren’t for you”

There was a brief, heavy silence, and then Tony started crying. He turned and put the kettle on.

“Tony? Darling, I-”

“Leave me alone! I just want to have a coffee in peace for once in my life!”

Loki stopped in his tracks. He sighed silently, lowered his hand, and nodded. 

“I’ll give you some space. Just... Just don’t do anything stupid”

“...Ditto”

Loki looked at him. “Do you remember how you acted when Peter was turned into a toddler?”

Tony tensed. “What are you saying?”

Loki pressed his lips together and shook his head, and left without another word.

-

Loki carefully detached Peter from his elephant and wound his arms round him. Peter flopped against Loki, resting his cheek against his chest, still crying weakly. 

“Alright, sweetheart. It’s ok” Loki said gently. “I’ve got you”

“I didn’t even do anything wrong...”

“I know, darling. Dad’s just tense and volatile right now” 

Peter started crying properly again. 

“Oh, sweetheart! Don’t cry!”

“I’m so confused!” Peter cried. “How can he be my dad?! I don’t get it, I don’t believe it, and I don’t know why he hit me!”

“Alright, alright, breathe, sweetheart” Loki lifted Peter onto the nearest chair and knelt in front of him, taking his hands in his. “He shouldn’t have raised his hand to you like that, there’s no doubt about that. But I’m afraid there’s also no doubt that he... Well, that he’s... Well...”

“Everything I thought I knew about my life is a lie!”

“That’s not necessarily true, chick”

“It is! I thought I had a normal start, but I didn’t! I thought I was Richard Parker’s son, but I’m NOT! And if I wasn’t his son, then I wasn’t ever really Ben Parker’s nephew, which means I wasn’t really May’s nephew, which means-”

“Peter, stop it” Loki said. “Y-”

“The only one I was really related to was Mary! So the rest of them were never really my family!”

Loki looked at him carefully. “Am I not really your family, then?”

“Wh-what? What do you mean?!” Peter started sobbing. “You’re my daddy!”

“Honey, we’ve been through this, and I thought we’d both come to the understanding that blood wasn’t the most important thing. Certainly no one I see as family is blood related. In fact, the only blood relative I ever met, I’m certain didn’t really know who I was, and anyway, that person is... dead”

“You killed him, right?”

“Enough about that” Loki said hurriedly. “My point is, you’re my son, and I’m your father, regardless of blood. And... species? So... Well, I never knew them, but if you always saw Richard and Ben as your family, then that’s what they are, even if they’re dead now, and even if you’re from different bloodlines. And there’s no denying May was your family, and still is, even though... Sweetheart, she never would have been a blood relative even if you were Richard’s. She married into the Parker family, didn’t she? You were related to all of them through marriage if nothing else... Your parents were married, weren’t they?”

Peter nodded. “...I feel like I’ve been lied to”

“I know” Loki squeezed his hands. “I understand what it feels like”

“Dad really didn’t know, did he?”

Loki shook his head slightly. 

“Do you... Do you think my mother knew?”

“I don’t know” Loki said. “I’d imagine she had an inkling that you might not be her husbands. Women seem to have a sense about that kind of thing. But women on this world don’t generally talk openly about people they slept with when in a relationship with someone else”

“Do you think this means that I’ve got a brother or sister somewhere? Like, another kid dad doesn’t know about?”

“I highly doubt that, chick”

“I wish there was a way to know for sure”

“Well” Loki said. “I can think of one way, but it’s not one I’d use...”

Peter blinked hard. “What is it?”

“...Do you remember uncle Thor telling you about Heimdall?” 

“Asgard’s gatekeeper? That guy that can see and hear pretty much everything in the universe?”

Loki nodded. “He also has an exceptionally vast memory. Call it a database”

“You think he’d know?”

“Yes”

“Can you ask him?”

“I haven’t been to Asgard in years, darling. Not since long before I met you for the first time. I’m not going back now” Loki said. “I understand why you’re asking, but believe me when I say I believe your father, and know he’s telling the truth when he said he always used protection. I’m sure you know that none of it is 100% effective. Lots of female contraceptive devices are more than 99% effective with perfect use, although obviously they don’t really apply here” Loki cleared his throat. “As we’ve been through before, a male condom is 98% effective with perfect use. 2% is a slim margin, so you- well, your mother falling pregnant was, well, an anomaly” 

“So you’re saying I shouldn’t’ve been born?”

“I’m not saying that at all!” Loki said, shocked. 

He stood up and pulled Peter to his feet, guiding him over to the bed where they could sit together comfortably.

“That wasn’t what I was saying” Loki said, putting an arm round Peter and resting back against the headboard. “What I was saying was that it was a rare and strange thing for your mother to fall pregnant after having protected sex during a one night stand. Your conception wasn’t planned but your birth was, otherwise it never would have happened”

“What would you have done? If you’d slept with a celebrity and gotten pregnant, but you were married and like, maybe couldn’t tell anyone, if you thought it was theirs? Would you keep it?”

“Oh Peter, I don’t know” Loki sighed. “Let’s not turn this already strange conversation into an abstract one”

“Sorry...I know we’ve all talked about it before, but... that’s definitely what he always used?”

“Sweetheart, your father slept with a lot of women back in the day, arguably an unhealthy amount of them. He’d’ve been a hotbed for STI’s if he hadn’t used condoms, and he very well could have made himself ill and put himself out of action if he hadn’t been careful. I think that much is apparent... Sorry, I know talking about your parents sex life isn’t exactly comfortable”

“It’s ok. I knew a lot of that stuff before I even met him. He was always known as a Playboy, right?”

“Mm. Your father might have - well, did - play around a lot, but he was always safe about it, too. I suppose he had to be. Sweetheart, I firmly believe you’re the only one. The chances of there being another are too slim”

“The chances of me being his were non-existent before today”

Loki sighed. “Oh sweetheart, I wish I knew exactly what to say to you... I can ask Thor to talk to Heimdall if it would put your mind at rest”

Peter didn’t say anything, but he nodded. Loki gave him a squeeze.

“Is there anything else you want to say?” he asked gently.

“Are you still into all that freaky bedroom stuff?”

Loki couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and Peter glared at him.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! Sorry. It’s just the way you said it! It came out so abruptly and with such confidence!” Loki shook his head. “I know what you’re referring to, and since you’re asking and we’re all about honesty today, I’m ok sharing that the answer is no; we haven’t been for a long time now”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I suppose we just phased out of it; moved on from it. Perhaps we just prefer being soft. Your father and I, our relationship is in a good place and we’re happy together. I think that’s the bit you need most concern yourself with, and not the inner workings of our intimate lives”

Peter went quiet for a few moments, thinking back to what had happened in Dr Manning’s office.

“...You didn’t look surprised”

“Hm?”

“When you saw the... When you saw the results. You didn’t look too surprised”

“No... But that doesn’t mean I didn’t feel surprised”

“Doesn’t it almost feel like the papers knew something we didn’t?”

“I don’t think so. How could they? Everyone knows they’re just trying their luck and making up news stories. It’s just that they happened upon a coincidence. I can see where you’re coming from, though”

“I wish I could ask my mother about it”

Loki hugged Peter properly. 

“I really wish I could talk to May about it...”

Loki sighed and rested his cheek against Peter’s head. “Oh sweetheart...”

“I think I wanna go away for a while”

“You’re not going anywhere” Loki said, hugging him tight. “You’re my little boy and you’re staying right here, where you belong”

Peter pulled away from him, much to Loki’s surprise.

“Tiny? What is it?”

Peter looked down at his hands. “What if I don’t belong here anymore?”

“What? What do you mean?”

“What if dad doesn’t want me anymore?”

“Peter, h-”

“He was so weird with me... He wouldn’t look at me after the doctors, and then I got into trouble for no reason in the kitchen, and he was being all threatening, and then-”

“I know, I know. Slow down, chick” Loki said. “Darling, I know it was scary, but he was just being unreasonable because he’s scared. He needs time to get his head around this too. Things should settle soon enough”

“And if they don’t?”

“They will. Now, we’ve survived a lot, our little household. We’ll survive this little wobble too. Let the dust settle before you try to talk to him in depth though, ok?”

“But I’ve got so much I need to talk about”

“I know... Well, you’ll just have to talk to me or your elephant for the time being”

Peter took a deep breath, and sighed. “I don’t know what to do”

Loki rested a hand on Peter’s thigh. “Maybe a little sleep would be a good idea”

He went to get up, but Peter grabbed his hand. 

“Don’t go”

Loki hesitated, and relented. “Alright, chick. I’ll stay with you”

“Wait, dad?”

“Yes?”

“Do you... have any condoms?”

“Uhhh!” Loki tried hard not to laugh. “Why?”

“Well, Midtown didn’t really do sex ed, and it’s all kinda medical instead of practical what little we’ve had at St Hendricks...”

“I see. I thought Tony-... I guess not. Alright, well, if we must” Loki sighed. “I’ll just be a minute”

Peter sat up properly when Loki got back.

“Your schools really should have taught you this stuff” Loki said, handing him the pack. “It’s so basic”

“Well, technically we’re underage, so...”

“When has that ever stopped anyone?” Loki said, raising an eyebrow and sitting down beside him. “The school system in this country is one of the worst in Midgard. Dreadful, you wouldn’t believe how many young people I’ve had to teach how to put on a condom. And then they wonder why teenage pregnancy is such a dilemma”

Peter looked shocked for a moment, but then remembered where Loki worked. Contraception talk wasn’t really outside of his realm of expertise, he supposed...

“I kind of know how they work, but I’ve not, like, practised. I’ve never even opened one of these before” he said, raising the pack to his mouth.

“Hey, hey, what are you doing?!” Loki grabbed his wrist. “Never open them with your teeth! It puts you at huge risk of damaging it”

“Oh, right” Peter said. Blushing, he opening it sensibly. “Ew, it feels weird. Like, almost wet”

“Well, you’ll find that they’re slightly lubricated, and many have spermicides on them too. Hence the moisture”

“Oh. Is this bit supposed to be there?”

“Not all prophylactics have a teat. You just give it a little pinch to get the air out once you’ve put it on the tip, before you roll it down. Make sure you have it the right way otherwise it’ll just roll straight back up again. You’ll need to start again with a new one if you put one on the wrong way”

“I think I remember being told that”

Peter listened to Loki explaining use and precautions to him, and he paid attention, but then he became hyper aware of the stereo - and the first few bars of The Blackpool Belle starting to play. Loki and Peter made eye contact, and burst out laughing.

“How apt!”

Peter giggled. “Yeah, isn’t there a bit about pulling the curtains down and ‘going to town’ on the train?”

“You shouldn’t be picking that sort of stuff up at your age!”

“I love how you say that after giving me a condom tutorial”

Loki laughed. “You’re a weird little kid, Tiny”

“There’s just one thing I don’t get” Peter said.

“And what’s that?”

“People always go on about them tearing. But if it’s so easy to tear them, why can I do this?” he asked, and stretched the sheath over his hand and up his arm. “There’s a lot of stretch in this! Plus, this also defeats that excuse of them being too small, right?”

“Well, not exactly” Loki said, still laughing a little. “They’re pretty hardy, but sharp things - like your teeth or jewellery or anything like that - can tear them, and even a pinprick in a condom voids its use. Also expired condoms are weaker and tear more easily, and if you use oil-based lube it can weaken it and make it more likely to tear. Now take that off your arm!”

Peter did as he was told. “Don’t you think they’re a bit weird looking?”

“Not really. As for your other question, their stretch doesn’t mean they’re one size fits all, although they are fairly universal. You can fit two litres of fluid in one of those if you want to. Jo Jo showed me”

“Ew”

“It was for a class in clinic” Loki said. “They can be uncomfortable if they’re too tight, and more likely to slip off if they’re too loose. You can get them in a range of sizes, so no one can pull the excuse of them not fitting. And, if anyone tries to pull the allergy card, it’s not that common for people to be allergic to them, so be suspicious. Most condoms nowadays are latex free anyway, and you can get hypoallergenic ones too”

“Oh, I get it” Peter said. “Why do they make flavoured ones, though?”

“For oral sex, I suppose” Loki said. “Sweetie, this is all curiosity talk, right? You’re not... planning something?”

“What? No, I’m not planning anything! I was just kinda curious. No one’s ever gone through this with me properly before”

“Oh good” Loki said. “...So you and the bunnies definitely aren’t..?”

“No! Yuck, give me a break, daddy. I don’t think I’m even friends with that lot anymore, so even if I did want to - which I don’t - it’s not gonna happen. And anyway, to be honest, I’m not really... Well, I’m not really into sex and stuff” he paused, and swallowed. “I’m not like my dad”

Loki sighed and put an arm round his shoulders, pulling him close. 

“I think now might be a good time for that little sleep” he said.

Peter nodded. “Yeah, I guess so. You’ll still stay with me, right?”

Loki kissed him on the temple. “Of course I will”

“Do you think dad will be ready to talk to me when I wake up?”

“Maybe” Loki said. 

Peter wasn’t exactly reassured, but he tried to keep Tony out of his mind. He lay down on his side, his back to Loki. Loki lay down beside him, staring up at the ceiling, and they listened to the stereo, knowing Tony would be listening to the same song wherever he was in the house. And they hoped he’d feel the same about it as they did.

*

[smkkbert]

Time for a story - Déjà vu

Looking at herself in the mirror, Felicity scrunched up her nose slightly. She grabbed her powder compact once more and added another layer of it to the soft skin under her eyes. No matter how hard she tried, the dark shadows under her eyes just didn’t want to go away though.

Scrunching up her nose, Felicity eventually shrugged her shoulders and left the bathroom. Nothing would save her from looking like a zombie today. Since she didn’t have any important appointments today, it wasn’t worth the effort anyway. She could as well just spare the time and go to work as it was.

With a sigh, Felicity switched off the light in the bathroom and stepped into the bedroom. While she was slipping into her pumps, she watched the morning show that were currently airing on TV.

Felicity frowned slightly, realizing how weird it felt to have a quiet morning like this in the middle of the week. Usually, she and Oliver followed a busy routine to make sure the kids were at school in time and they arrived at work in time too. As stressful as those mornings could be, Felicity couldn’t deny that she actually loved spending her mornings like that.

Given that Felicity had worked until late into the night yesterday, Oliver had told her to just sleep in. He had taken care of the kids this morning. He had woken them up and made sure they had all gotten dressed. He had had breakfast for them and had dropped William, Emmy and Tommy at school on his way to City Hall. Meanwhile, Raisa had taken Millie and Addie with her for some grocery shopping.

With five kids, their mornings had to be well-planned. Since barely anything ever went the way they planned, they had experience with finding alternate plans.

Felicity grabbed her coat and her purse from the bed. She took the remote to switch off the TV, but just when she turned towards it, the monitor went black. It only lasted a moment before the anchor woman of Starling’s local news channel appeared on the screen.

“We interrupt our usual program for breaking news,” she said with serious voice, casting a nervous glance towards something or someone behind the camera. “The Starling City Police Department is investigating a shooting at City Hall as several shots being fired inside the building have been reported only a couple of minutes ago. So far, the police were not able to give a statement to confirm this, but sources inside of City Hall say that at least six people died and more than twenty were injured. Our reporter Annabelle Sawyer is currently at the crime scene to tell us if there are any more news. Annabelle, what more can you tell us?”

A young woman appeared on the screen. Felicity saw her lips moving, but she couldn’t hear her speak. There was a jarring sound in her ear like a tinnitus that wanted to protect her from whatever the reporter wanted to add to the topic.

Felicity felt like she was frozen into place, unable to escape the memory. Her heart was racing in her chest, and she had to remind herself to keep breathing. Otherwise, the air would have just stayed stuck in her throat. Her thoughts were spinning, snippets of memories flashing in front of her eyes for split seconds before they disappeared again.

This couldn’t be true. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

It’s only been a couple of months, not even a year, since she had stood downstairs in the living room with almost the exact same words in her ear. Just like now, she had felt paralyzed back then, unable to process that breaking news.

“We interrupt our usual program for breaking news. The Starling City Police Department is investigating a shooting at City Hall as two shots being fired in front of the building have been reported thirty minutes ago.”

That was how the reporter had started back when something like this had happened the last time, and it had already felt like a punch to her stomach. Although Oliver had been in the middle of dozens of shootings in his life and she hadn’t even known whether he had been in the middle of that shooting, there had already been a creeping feeling rising inside of her.

“The crime scene was corded off and protected with visual covers to avoid photographic images or video recording of the police’s work. One person died. While the police did not yet give an opinion, an eye witness claims that the shots have been fired from a black car that arrived in front of City Hall when Mayor Oliver Queen and Deputy Mayor John Diggle left the building. The shooter escaped after the shooting. I-“

By the time the reporter had stopped to listen to some more information she had received over her earpiece, Felicity hadn’t been able to breathe anymore. She didn’t know if she believed in the concept of soulmates, at least when it came to some supernatural connection between two people, but she had just sensed that something had been wrong with Oliver.

“We have just learned from a source within the police, the fatal victim of the shooting is Mayor Oliver Queen who’s been in office for only nine weeks so far.”

Felicity had no idea how she had managed not to pass out in that moment. All of her worst fears had seemed to come true in that moment. Losing Oliver and being left alone to tell the kids that their daddy had died had been and still was the worst Felicity could imagine.

There had been more. The reporter had gone on and on with more details about Oliver’s alleged death, and every single one had seemed to make the chart house of her happiness fall apart even more. At the end, there had been nothing left but an effing emptiness.

It had felt like a nightmare she had been unable to escape. She had been frozen in that moment, forced to listen to the echoing of those news in her head again and again. She had no idea how long it had taken her to finally move again. She had gotten into her car and driven to City Hall where she had seen the confirmation of this in John’s eyes.

From the moment she had heard that Oliver was dead, everything was blurred. She remembered being at City Hall and breaking down. She remembered waking back up in bed. She remembered being in the morgue and seeing Oliver’s dead body. The sight had just knocked her out again. She hadn’t been able to process seeing him like that.

She had somehow managed to go through the first time after, forcing herself to keep living on despite the emptiness she had felt inside of her. She had known that, as little as she wanted to live on without Oliver, she had to live on for their children. They had lost their father, so they couldn’t lose their mother too.

For at least a dozen times, she had wondered how she was going to tell her kids that their daddy was dead. The kids had still been so young. The only one who could have understood the concept of death at that time had been Emmy. She had even sensed that something was wrong and that alone had been so bad that Felicity was sure she wouldn’t have stood through telling her that Oliver really was dead. Comforting William, who had heard about his father’s alleged death, had been bad enough already.

As the sound in her ear slowly faded, Felicity came back to reality and there was just a single thought left inside of her. She could not live through that again. She wouldn’t survive taking all that pain again.

It took Felicity another moment before she started moving. Dropping her coat and her purse to the floor, she almost ran down the hallway towards the stairs. Her tight skirt didn’t allow her to make the wide steps she wanted to take, but not even the high heels of her shoes could keep her from taking those short steps as quickly as possible.

She had just reached the middle of the stairs when the front door downstairs unlocked, making her stop abruptly. Oliver stepped inside, pushing the door shut behind him. He took only three steps, looking around, until he found her. He stopped, looking just as breathless as Felicity felt. Their eyes met, locking onto each other intensely.

There was a moment of quiet while they were both just staring at each other. The quiet was deceptive though as the turmoil they were both going through was visible in their faces. Their eyes gave away the fear that was still nagging at them as well as the relief at seeing each other standing right there in each other’s reach was showing too.

Felicity didn’t know what had been gone on inside of Oliver during the shooting or in the time before he had arrived here. All she knew was that she hadn’t needed anything more tan seeing that he was alive and well. It didn’t erase the bitter taste in her mouth or took away the tight feeling around her chest, but it at least filled a little bit of the void that had threatened to build in her heart to cover the soul-crushing pain that she wouldn’t have been able to take.

“You saw?”

Oliver sounded as breathless as he looked. The expression in his eyes only grew more intense. Worry mixed into the many emotions that had been visible there already.

Felicity was still unable to speak, so she just nodded her head. It was all she could do, and it already felt like it cost all the energy she had left.

“I came here as quickly as I could,” Oliver told her honestly. Regret was audible in his voice. “I am fine. Everyone is fine. Nobody got hurt. It’s a miracle, but-“

It was all Felicity needed to hear. She continued running down the stairs while Oliver was hurrying towards the foot of them at the same time. They met there, and Felicity simply through herself at Oliver. Her arms wrapped around the back of his neck, while Oliver’s arms wrapped around her waist. Her feet were dangling several inches over the ground. Her face hid against the side of his neck. Her body pressed against his.

Before Felicity knew it, a sob was falling from her lips and tears were running down her cheeks. She had been through moments of thinking she had lost Oliver so many times that one could argue that she should be used to it by now. The truth was that Felicity would never get used to it though. Not ever.

“I am okay,” Oliver whispered immediately, knowing that she needed to here. “It’s okay. I am here. I am okay.”

He whispered the words over and over again. Usually, it was all Felicity needed to know to eventually calm down. When she was waking up from nightmares that had pulled her back into those dark hours, she had spent in the belief that Oliver was really dead, Oliver had always whispered those words to her until she had been back with him. Just like she had whispered those words to him for years when nightmares had tormented him.

Felicity’s longing for Oliver increased. She felt the warmth of his body against hers and the warmth of his breath inside of her mouth. Still, she needed more.

“Oliver,” she whispered his name against his lips like a pleading while her hands were already taking a path from his shoulders over his chest. “I need you.”

Oliver hummed into the kiss in response, nodding his head slightly. His arms tightened around her waist when he took the first steps forward, leading her back towards the stairs. They both tumbled upstairs with her bodies pressed against each other and their lips locked into a heated kiss.

They had just reached the head of the stairs when Felicity felt like she couldn’t wait any longer. Every second she didn’t feel all of Oliver gave time and room for the void of grief to spread inside of her. Grabbing the lapels of his coat tightly, Felicity turned them around. Oliver almost stumbled over his own feet. With a low grunt, he came to sit at the topmost step.

His eyes showed surprise but also desire. He didn’t have to tell her how much he needed her too for Felicity to know.

She climbed onto his lap quickly. She framed his face and kissed him eagerly, stroking her tongue into his mouth and clawing her hands into the short hair at the back of his neck. Oliver’s hands pushed the hem of her tight skirt up her legs at the same time, allowing her to move even closer to him. She did so immediately, moving and rubbing against him.

Heat spread all over her skin the moment she felt the hardness of his already erect cock against her clothed center. The outline of his thick cock felt so good between her legs. The familiarity of the sensation alone turned her on beyond belief. She could feel the wetness pooling between her legs already. Her core pulsated, longing to feel him inside of her. The anticipation of what was about to come made her want him only more.

Felicity didn’t waste any time. She slid back on his lap a little bit, making Oliver groan out. His hands grabbed her hips, about to pull her back against him to get back the friction. When her hands went right down to his belt, he stroked his hands further up her body, leaving goosebumps all above her skin.

With quick movements, Felicity unbuckled Oliver’s belt. After she had unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, she grabbed his cock and moved her fingers up and down around him.

“God, Felicity.”

The words fell from Oliver’s lips in a strangled moan. His fingers dug deeper into her hips, and he thrusted up into her hand. Felicity broke the kiss to look into Oliver’s eyes. His pupils were dilated so much that his iris was barely visible anymore.

Neither of them needed to say the words for them to know that they needed each other now. Oliver just lowered his warm hand down from her hip between her legs. He pushed her panties aside and swiped his finger down between her wet folds. A moan escaped Felicity, and Oliver swallowed it with his lips.

As good as Oliver’s fingers already felt as they moved back and forth between her clit and her opening, Felicity knew it would feel even better if his hard and hot cock was sliding in and out of her in a quick rhythm.

Oliver seemed to sense her thoughts because he pushed her panties aside with on hand. With the other hand, he pushed her fingers away from his cock to take hold of him himself and guide him to her entrance. With one hard thrust that made them both moan out loud, he buried himself deep inside of her wet heat.

He really was here with her. Alive and well.

The realization hit her with a force that surprised her. Tears were welling in her eyes once more and a sob rose in her throat. Oliver swallowed it before it could really fall from her lips. He stole a heated kiss from her, turning the sob into a long moan.

They both started moving at the same time. Oliver thrust up just when Felicity lifted herself a little bit of his lap. It only took them three heartbeats to find a shared rhythm. After all the years together, their bodies and souls were just so in synch that it never took them long to find out how they harmonized the best.

Their movements were quick and hard. Oliver’s thrusts were strong when he met Felicity’s down-thrusts with a thrust up. While Felicity’s fingers were clawed into the sensitive skin at the back of his neck, Oliver’s hands were guiding the movements of her hips, making it even easier for her to hold up with his erratic rhythm.

Sex had always been an important way for them to communicate. It was a way for them to tell each other how much they loved each other. It was a way for them to tell each other how much they desired each other. Most importantly though, it was a way for them to tell each other how much they needed each other.

That was what this was right now. They were telling each other how much they needed each other without saying a single word because not a single word was necessary right now. The heated kiss and the desperate movements were enough for them to know.

This was no making love. This was a lot rawer. They were both vulnerable, and they shared their vulnerability with each other because it was all they could do. It was all they needed.

Their orgasms didn’t take long. With the quick movements that had just been chasing towards the relief from the first moment on, the pleasure increased quickly. It barely took a couple of thrusts until Felicity could feel the tingling in the tip of her toes. A moment later, the pleasure was already spreading through her body until it reached every single cell of her. It wasn’t a mind-blowing orgasm, but it was exactly what she needed.

It only took Oliver another two thrusts before he came too. His hips stuttered and he released into her with a dark grunt. His fingers dug into her hips even a little bit more and his teeth bit into Felicity’s bottom lip. It left a sharp sting on her skin that made her hiss, but Oliver swiped his tongue above it and took the pain away already.

They continued moving lazily for a moment. As the lack of breath made it too hard to keep kissing, they broke the kiss. Oliver rested his head on the top of her chest, and Felicity wrapped her arms around Oliver’s head, cradling it against her heart. With a deep sigh, Felicity closed her eyes and lowered her nose into his hair, breathing him in.

They stayed liked that for a long moment, enjoying the fact that they were wrapped around each other like this. Felicity could feel Oliver’s heart beating against her chest, and it made the realization that they really were here together sink in slowly.

“I am sorry you had to go through this.”

“It’s not your fault,” Felicity whispered.

Oliver moved his head against her chest a little, letting his stubble scratch against her sensitive skin in the way she loved so much. Felicity tightened her arm around his head and brushed a kiss into his hair.

When Oliver leaned his head back, she saw the underlying sadness or whatever to call it in his eyes. She put her hands to his cheek, stroking her fingertips through his stubble until that darkness faded, at least a little. With a sigh, Oliver closed his eyes and leaned his face into her touch.

Felicity watched him, looking at his face closely. Right in this moment, Oliver looked exhausted, almost like he was feeling a hundred years older than he really was.

“I have to go now.”

Regret was audible in his voice. He didn’t want to say those words. He didn’t want to leave now when they hadn’t even gotten a chance to talk to each other. They were still at the very beginning of processing this setback.

They both knew that he had to go though. Oliver had left City Hall in the middle of this chaos because he had needed her to know that he was alive and well. Now it was time to make sure that everything at City Hall was being taken care of and the city would not drown in fear.

He had been his priority, but he couldn’t ignore the city for too long.

“I know,” Felicity whispered, leaning her forehead against his. “Just one second more.”

Oliver nodded his head. Felicity could feel his breath ghosting over her face. His tongue darted out to wet the seam between his lips, and it touched Felicity’s moment briefly. Wrapping his arms around her waist, moved his hands up and down her back. His touch was soft and yet strong enough to knead out the tensions that had built the moment she had heard the news.

Slowly, Oliver nodded his head once more and whispered, “Just one second more.”

→ → → → →

“How did you deal with that?”

The ghost of a smile flashed over Felicity’s face. In all the movies, the usual question a therapist would ask was how the traumatic event had made them feel. She didn’t know if the writers of those movies just had no idea how therapy was really working or if Dr. Rosario was just different. Either way, she was glad that their therapist didn’t ask a stupid question like that.

Oliver squeezed Felicity’s fingers. His thumb rubbed over the back of her hand.

“After I checked that everyone was alright,” Oliver explained, “I left City Hall and went home to make sure that Felicity knew I was alright. I knew she needed to see me, and I needed to see her too.”

“I was actually about to leave the house just when Oliver arrived,” Felicity explained. “I needed to know that he was alright.”

There was a moment of silence as Oliver and Felicity exchanged a brief glance. They came to the silent consent that they would keep what had happened then for themselves.

“I couldn’t stay long,” Oliver continued quickly. “I left City Hall in the middle of the crisis because I needed to see Felicity, but I know I had to go back. We agreed to talk later that day.”

“I skipped work and waited for Oliver at home.” Felicity shot him a brief smile. “We talked and held each other at night and agreed to come here this morning to talk to you.”

Dr. Rosario nodded slowly, taking some notes on her tablet. She smiled at them over the edge of her glasses, her eyes quiet.

“What exactly did you talk about to each other that night?”

Felicity took in a deep breath, thinking back to that night. She and Oliver had lain in bed arm in arm and spoken with whispered voices like that made everything less true or at least less terrible.

“I told Oliver how scared I was,” Felicity explained. “Seeing that news just reminded me of what happened that last time. It was like a déjà-vu, the worst kind of déjà-vu there could be. It was a terrible situation back then, but we have still been kind of lucky at the end because Oliver wasn’t dead. Living through it was horrible, but we did get a happy ending. I am scared we will run out of luck one time. How many times can one person escape death after all?”

Dr. Rosario nodded, but she didn’t say anything. She just stayed silent and gave Felicity some time to figure out if she wanted to say something more. After a while, when she probably realized that Felicity didn’t have anything more to say for now, she turned to Oliver and waited for him to add what he had been telling Felicity that night.

“I was scared too.” Oliver took in a deep breath as the confession didn’t get over his lips easily, especially not with someone else than Felicity listening. Felicity squeezed his hand, encouraging to go on and tell their therapist what he had told her that night. “I have been on the verge of death a lot of times, and I didn’t always fear it. Since my family has become what it has become, it’s different though. I don’t want to miss out on watching my kids grow up. I don’t want them to lose a parent that early. Losing my parents almost broke me, and I have been so much older than they are now. That is what I am scared of. Losing my family too soon.”

Oliver turned his head to look at Felicity. She met his eyes and shot him a comforting smile. As long as they both lived, their family would stay together. Death was indeed the only thing that could possibly tear them apart.

“You made progress since you started therapy,” Dr. Rosario said and sounded satisfied. “You made really great progress since you started therapy.”

“Did we?”

Dr. Rosario didn’t seem to miss the doubting sound in Oliver’s voice. She put her tablet away and leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Her eyes were still very gentle as she looked at them.

“When you two started therapy a few months ago, neither of you would have been able to admit being scared so easily,” Dr. Rosario told them. “You would have kept your feelings for yourself, thinking it was best to protect each other rather than be honest about your feelings. This is a huge step forward.”

Felicity and Oliver looked at each other. Their eyes both smiled though it wasn’t showing on their lips. They knew Dr. Rosario was right. They still had a long way ahead of them, but they had come a long way already too. As little as it felt like that sometimes, they really had made a lot of progress.

They were on a good way. They always had been, but now even more so.

It was a good feeling.

@fannaz @promiseyoullbepatientwithme @bytemegeekette @felicity-said-just-in-case @phanseptiic @orangeisorange @mspotatohead14 @whentheheavenfades @emmaamelia95 @smoakingskye @seaolicity @ourwritinginvein @1022bridgetp @felicityqueenforever @leagueofolicity17 @yryssss @myhauntedblacksoul @muslimsmoak @sherlock44 @sinceriouslybea @arrowsalways @olivyflavescentdeer @olicitys-castle @ofnothingcharming @vaelisamaza @smoakedandcharmed @alexisa1206 @mysaudadespt2 @florence-bubbles @addictiontelly @queens-of-arrows @memcjo @hysterical-for-joshifer @oswinelevenforever @olicitylovemaking @bandanab310 @mymusiclove101 @lynslogic @scarletqueen23 @olicityshipper19 @alex-wesley @arrows-4ever @unabashedlynerdypatrol @louehmysoul @ligiapimenta @chattyyana @charlie-leau @coal000 @samcrowleys @ishippolivia @julianegomesqueen @malafle @miriam1779 @charlinert @melaux @ontheolicityship @myshipperlife @wrightainsley @lexi9515 @ladygreenwood @multi-fandom-crazy-fangirl @morinamel @mje-thomas @kebarry @canadianheartgirl @nannett2307 @almondblossomme @paarti12 @kathrynelizabeth89 @imdfabulous @cutearrowgirl @mrt2501 @mecha1330 @arsipaci14 @mzminx @salasvia @brandis91 @cainc3 @morganmiguess @pr0fessi0nal-fangurl @iamisalima @nessafra @jonhdiggle @niki-is-amazing @universed-posts @hopeful-warrior @senoritaswiftie @bellemmie @green-arrows-of-karamel @iheartarrow @olicityovereverything @oliverfel4 @navyaarsha @fandoms-breathe-life @simone4mcswarek @olicity-in-the-heart @fullychippedcreation @geemarie @everything-but-normal-cat @myarroworld @tjmartinez @pleasantfanandstudent @itsmagnoliagirl @j69confessional2 @scentedcolorpirate @icanica74 @javinancupil @tjmartinez98 @certainmentalityface @tatianadamaceno @ryelew @wildwillowzepplin @missafairy @letsplaymurde-r @lipizette @positivepiper @nuttymilkshakehologram @laksagirl @turnupthemusicandscream @pumpernickle93 @onceuponanolicity @1106angel @jaspertown @fadinglands @morganashimi83 @mochababychristy @omglovechrissie @mariejr88-blog @thetaufactor @onceuponanolicity @speakandseethetruth @bri206 @aglasgo @thats0klaroline @geemarie @pineprincess @nerdgirljen @peterpanslostgirl666 @eternal-olicity14 @allyouhadtodowas-stay-stay-stay @lovelycssefan @tsseract @flowerandsunshine @dcnmarvelgamergeek @blondeeoneexox @monetsmark @soaring-cities @bb-olicity @mashamarty @rulerofsilence @erika-amber @felicity087 @i-claim-only-emily @pattid1 @westallenandolicityshipper @babyolicityandwestallen @nothingmorethanmyotps @kayleenyc @tonto16 @olicityfluv @olicitea1990 @olicity5ever @haahaaa2408 @pattid1 @faegal04

(If you want to be tagged or untagged, just let me know. :))

[onisionisacanceronthisearth]

Greg vs Alleged Classmate Part 6: Abuse

So this is the final part of the video starts with a secret child of Greg but mostly involved Greg talking about his relationship with Lainey. This was a tough one to get through and I’m sorry if it isn’t my most coherent one. I didn’t edit this one that much and Greg rambled a lot but I couldn’t go back and re-read most of my work. I’m sorry

It’s not creepy to mention kids Greg, holy shit

Ok, so this needs to be said. If I say my aunt has 5 kids, that isn’t talking about the kids, it’s talking about the aunt. If I say my aunt’s kids are all in school, that’s talking about the kids but it’s vague and just mildly descriptive. If I say ���my aunt’s eldest female child whose name is Sansa Stark married Tyrion Lannister at age 14″, THAT is getting creepy in terms of how much I’m talking about the child who probably should remain more anonymous than that. We got that? Good, Greg still doesn’t so he wastes my time talking about how creepy it is to say he has a secret kid for the kid’s sake despite nothing actually being told about the kid and then skips the video. He misses a lot, and hilariously, it wasn’t even about the kid still

What Greg missed in the full minute he skips

It’s second-hand information again but M trusts the source

Lainey doesn’t know

He’s gone from small annoyances which have now blown up into very large, unmanaged problems since high school. These issues now define him as a person

“I don’t have any chemistry with Lainey???”

Nope, you didn’t then and you don’t now

Apparently, he defines chemistry with kissing on camera. His proof of chemistry is that with Skye they never kissed on camera but with Lainey he does. Also he again forgets this interview is old because he says how they both kiss in her videos. Also is claiming M said him and Skye were passionate which isn’t the case, just that Greg flip-flopped a lot and abused her then left her out to dry.

Yay, another gay joke. Even dressed as a boy, kissing Lainey, if anything, proves how little you love them because you show no passion in the kiss, push her away, belittle her in your videos, shit on her, scare her, etc. Your videos prove you don’t love her. It is heartbreaking even if you don’t like Lainey.

Also, years don’t count when it’s abusive, it just shows how long you’ve groomed and manipulated her Greg. Also, THIS INTERVIEW IS 3 YEARS OLD

And now I’d say Lainey does know you, she’s just so stuck on you. I don’t need to know the victim to hate the abuser, I don’t have to know the victim to feel sympathy for them. I don’t need to know Skye, I don’t need to know Shiloh, I don’t need to know Adrienne, I don’t need to know Billie, I don’t need to know Lainey, I don’t need to know Sarah, I don’t need to know Maya, I don’t need to know Madison. They’re all women you’ve used and abused. The last three you did so through Lainey

Billie blame

If we want to see Lainey be abused by someone we should watch “My Side of the Story” by Lainey. But the main shitty person there isn’t Greg apparently, it’s Billie for how she responded to what they did to her and putting all the blame on her when at most it was half. With Greg pulling all the strings

And Greg is claiming she basically told Lainey to kill herself using vague imagery using a hateful and direct way because he needs to make sure we can’t turn around and showcase the many times Greg has told someone to kill themselves.

So Billie is the horrible, violent, abusive person while Greg stood by his spouse, If by “stand by” he means standing in front of his pregnant spouse and signing his two kids to her because he’s leaving her for Billie then yes, he did “stand by” her. The only reason he’s “still here” is because Billie didn’t take him back

Holy manipulation of a situation Batman!

Also, this interview is pre-Billie so this argument makes even less sense

ALSO, he very specifically describes abuse as violent. I want him to try and refute his actual abuse which is much quieter than that. Especially abuse they’re talking about which is pre-Billie, but I’m glad to know anytime he thinks of a time he was shitty, he at least thinks of the time he cheated on Lainey and told her to deal with it then told her he was leaving and didn’t give to shits about her, their son, and their unborn child while also thinking he wasn’t that bad

I don’t want to listen to this: skips the good stuff and makes out like M is creepy for thinking of Greg’s child-filled audience

He skips:

M predicting what Greg was going to do if he ever responded (pretend it’s all a lie)

His millions of audience members will believe him. Thankfully, no. This video has 20k views and only 300 good comments (with some bad ones he hasn’t deleted yet). Likes/dislikes turned off

“You know this is just a grand version of what he would do back in high school. As opposed to saying “I have problems, I did some messed up things” ; he’ll say “I don't have problems, I don’t do messed up things. None of this is true“ --> sounds about right

“Watching him so easily be all right with making himself a role model to hundreds of thousands of children out there, teenagers are frankly still children“ ----> Greg skips here and hears “thousands of children” before going “yuck” and skipping, building a retoric that M is a creepy pedo as per usual

“Some of these kids, my son and my daughter, are going to be the same age as these kids that watch him right now one day.. and it breaks my heart that a lot of these kids are gonna sit there and think ‘that is how I should be in life. I should be someone that judges other people, whom I don’t know, for things that aren’t any of my business.’“ ---> I wish Greg had responded to this

“How could I have changed since high school?” also “Cycle of abuse? What’s that?”

Greg states he’s confused because in high school he had to rely on his mom and now he controls others

People change, though you still act as if the government is going to act like your mom and not ever punish you for doing things wrong

People who experience abuse tend to inflict it on other. You admit your mom was abusive Greg, these two stages in your life link together quite well

My spouse is a psych major, how can she be abused?

Simple:

“good thing Greg doesn’t hit me”

“Oh, it’s different when he does it”

“but he wouldn’t be nice if he hated me”

“we have kids”

“he kisses me on camera” (Like Jaclyn)

“he came back to me after he left”

Also, not all psych degrees cover abuse and Lainey only has her bachelor's degree. Or at least as in-depth as Greg seems to think. It’s possible to miss things in your own life. That’s why therapists have their own therapists, that’s why doctors can’t prescribe things for themselves or family. Not to mention you’d already sunk your claws into your obsessed fan before she ever read a psych book. When you’re gaslit and abused, something as simple as logic or googling “am I in an abusive relationship” does not register to you as a red flag. The latter happened to me, I googled it at least once every six months, ticked all the red flags, then said no, doesn’t apply here. But it did, and it does the moment you had to google that phrase. Lainey went through the motions in a video, she came up with the same bullshit I did and elected to ignore the questions even she couldn’t pretend didn’t apply as many do. People who are abused don’t tend to know they’re abused until it’s too late. If we knew we’d have left long before being raped or beaten by our “loving” partners. As I’ve said before, fuck you Greg

“I paid for their school”

Irrelevant, but glad to know you hold it over her head. Also glad you decided to put in how much money it was in your statement.

Also, her father was paying her tuition and board, as well as giving her an allowance. All while she was secretly married to you. You simply wasted your own and his money. Yeah, her father had every right to threaten to pull her college fund, she wasn’t owed it, and it was a desperate attempt to get his essentially kidnapped daughter to come home from the adult man who had preyed on her and took her away as his own.

His argument here is, “deflection to her dad without context”, “look, I saved her”, and finally “I gave her her college education of 50k, this isn’t abuse because I gave her this massive gift that saved her life”. Wow, if that isn’t a nice abuse tactic...

“You guys aren’t psych majors, she is”

See the point of her being a psych major above plus the fact that experience helps identify it, almost all your former partners calling you abusive (“we get it, Greg, you like hurting young girls”), you filling all the checkboxes for abuse, outsider perspective, former friends calling you abusive, Social Fucking Repose identifying your abuse (I’d say he’s an expert in that field), and anyone who is a decent person can identify shit when they smell it

Also Lainey doesn’t have more psychology experience than all of us combined, she got a bachelor’s in psych degree online many years ago, never worked in the field or as a co-op student as far as I’m aware, never got her master’s, and her intention was to be a children’s social worker. She’s as qualified to talk about abuse as Kati Fuckface Morton is to talk about diagnosing and treating personality disorders as a marriage counsellor. Lainey should work for BetterHelp, at least she does have one degree

Concluding statements on abuse by Greg

And so we end with Greg attempting to gaslight the audience by calling us the crazy ones who are actually abusing Lainey by invalidating her feelings and the misunderstanding the cycle of abuse. Things Greg is gaslighting us as doing:

We’re acting like Lainey is stupid

That Lainey can’t think for herself

We’re belittling Lainey

We’re acting superior to Lainey

We’re attacking her intelligence and calling her nothing like a blob of goo on the pavement, essentially a vegetable

(See Lainey’s “Hater Listens to 21 Pilots” and see if this checks any of Greg’s behaviours on screen)

Greg now describes the cycle of abuse as the victim replicating their abusive dynamic. Sometimes it results in people running from one abusive relationship to another, other times it results in the victim never wanting to be a victim again and wanting power so they then become the next abuser. Greg himself calls himself the dom of his relationship, the “father figure” or “guider”. Also notes he pays for the bills in most relationships which is a typical sign of a power imbalance. We see two iterations with this with Greg, Greg being abused by his mom. She tried kicking him out before becoming an adult, yelled at him when he cried, beat him with a fire extinguisher, etc. Now Greg is the abuser, laughing at Lainey when she cries, makes her cry, talks down to her, uses her mercilessly, etc. And now Lainey uses children like Sarah the same way Greg uses and hurts her. Lainey also defends herself with these girls as her shield against Greg.

You kept your finances separate because you didn’t want a Skye situation, Lainey has a degree she cannot use to get a job, Lainey’s youtube was dependent on you and still mostly is. Lainey requires you for all emotional issues she has but yet you will wake up a guest in your house so she can deal with it instead of you.

Food for thought Greg, your mom abused you all your life, yet you always returned to her and tried keeping her happy until now. It’s almost as if you let your abuser get away with things

The video ends before the end of the interview, Greg never addresses the alleged death of two of his dogs

[dispensemiracles]

(( I was so moved by Satoshi Kon’s ‘Millennium Actress’ I decided to do a drabble from Nozomi’s perspective and in my own interpretation ))

“What is your name?”

“I am Nozomi Tojo.”

She lifted her vein riddled hand and waved it stiffly toward the camera, as if the air itself pushed her back. The bright smile of a wide eyed school girl shaved sixty years off her face. In an instant, it fell, and the wrinkles descended like vultures picking a carcass. She sat straight on her sunken couch, ever patient. Her hair could no longer drape her lap as a grey bob cut. The interviewer crudely passed his fingers through his hair. His nervous sweat smoothed the loose strands as he coolly flipped through his notepad with a trembling hand. His heart pounded in his throat. He looked up at her, 

His breath hitched. For a moment meeting her eyes, he caught a glimpse of a youth with odd purple hair, pale untouched skin, and a calm gaze. A woman of a lifetime ago. From a memory. Her chuckling carried the amusement of a mother. It jolted his nerves to the present. Again, the graceful old woman stuffed in a patterned robe and shawl emerged. 

“There’s no reason to feel shy. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable.”

“N-Not at all miss, it is an honor to speak with you! Thank you for agreeing to see us.”

He cleared his throat and recited his line by heart.

“Following your retirement and the disbandment of Muse, your group has continued to impact generations of idols since, despite several decades. What are your thoughts on such a persisting legacy?”

“At the time when we made music, it was always my wish to affect multitudes of strangers on a personal level. As long as I could accomplish the affection of the masses with my friends, anything felt possible.”

She put a hand on her chest, her smile was warm.

“It touches me deeply to have witnessed so many others follow our footsteps. Whether it was to imitate or for their own passions, I’m certain they felt the same joy we knew. The joy of working with one’s friends and making memories.”

The cameraman zoomed in and centered her to frame. The lens purred. Without hesitation, the interviewer continued. Her hands returned to crossing on her lap. 

“Have you ever considered a return to the stage in response to the requests of your fans?”

“I won’t deny a few passing fancies to relive the past. But I’ve since accepted it as just that, the past.”

As she spoke a spotlight shone on the stage of her conscious. From the shimmering surface of her lake of memories burst undefined figures. The roar of cheering nearly drowned the booming of catchy music behind them. One by one the blank figures were filled in by color, hair, and skin. They manifested the faces of friends long lost at the peak of their prime. The specters danced, parading their precise, graceful dips and turns. A dim yet familiar warmth swelled and blazed in her chest. For an instant youth returned to her veins by the buzzing of her blood. She closed her eyes, leaned back her head, and smiled. Wistfulness seeped into her words. 

“Oh but what a beautiful life it was.”

“Were there ever any tensions within the group?”

“Certainly, our beginning was rather rough. Much of the trouble came in rounding up members, and later I heard there’d been a spat in selecting a leader. We all know the end result now, but back then it was dire. There were even doubts about our ability to form Muse. I always had my faith, however. I suppose the only other difficulty was our decision to disband.”

“And what of the allegations of a relationship between yourself and group member Eli Ayase? Did they play a role in the disbandment?”

She stiffened. Her voice was firm. 

“No, never. It was our choice as Third Years to leave and pursue personal careers beyond high school. After that, the others followed out of refusal to continue without us.”

With jittery hands she reached toward her coffee table. A cup of steaming green tea sat on a porcelain saucer. As she picked it up, her grip loosened and her face widened in alarm. The interviewer rushed to push the cup toward her before it fell. He smiled in a neighborly way. She returned the gesture.

“Thank you.”

“Do you often manage alone?”

“Thankfully not, my dear daughter comes around often to keep company. Whenever it wouldn’t stress her, that is. She recently passed sixty this year. I could credit much of my contentment to her kindness. Occasionally she brings my granddaughters along too.”

“Truly she is a model for many! My sons have no time to visit in between work. It must be a great feeling to have sat grandchildren on your lap.”

“Those days are long gone. The girls are thirty nine now. They grew like bamboo shoots. Perhaps it was all the energy they were born with as twins.”

She took a sip and chuckled to herself.

“Elicchi and I would’ve certainly had our hands full if we’d raised twins.”

Tears slid down her face; she held the cup in her lap. Her shoulders quivered, and a droplet fell discreetly into her tea. She returned it to the table. With trembling hands she touched her cheek. The interviewer stiffened, his eyes widened. He leaned forward a little, at once curious but afraid. 

“Ms. Tojo are you alrigh-”

“I’m sorry, truly I am. Even saying her name these days makes something come over me.”

“Ms. Tojo, if you’d like we can stop filming for a moment, or even the day. There’s always tomorrow.”

“No...No, I...”

She wiped off her tears. A smile filled with joy and tinged by longing stretched on her lips. 

“I want to remember.”

She told him of her first training, of her first live bathed in sweat and applause. She spoke of Honoka’s proposal for an Idol Club, her rejection, her second attempt and her resolution. The passionate defiance in Honoka’s eyes still seared her brain with it’s heat, with the image of Niko’s reflection. She recited the lines to Maki’s song at her graduation and lit up recalling America afterwards. Her hands moved and gestured as if they were not a day older than seventeen. 

Her words painted a canvas as the film kept rolling. There came the laughter of joy at her first job, and despair dropping out of college. Slowly she reminisced the awkward shift when Eli finally shared her bed, their home. How it melted to tenderness and normalcy. In between came job training, her first house sold, her first break into company founding, the tears she cried when they traded the apartment for a mansion- the mortgage for cleared fees. 

The sunlight through the windows faded to sunset. A maidservant cleared the last empty tea cup from the table. She laid wrapped in a blanket on the couch; her eyes were closed peacefully in sleep. The interviewer gathered his stack of notebooks that spilled a life in full. He tucked them under an arm and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. Beside him, cameramen retrieved their equipment with efficiency. He bowed to the maid as she led them to the front door. 

Just as he stood at the room’s edge, he glanced toward Nozomi and smiled. It wasn’t long until the crew were herded outside. At the sound of the door closing she jolted awake. Her eyes found the returning maidservant who bowed kindly. They were both ancient enough to spin tales until the world ended. In this regard they silently saw one another as equal, no matter their past accolades. She put on no airs when she said,

“I think I’ll wander among the garden a while.”

“I shall do the dishes in the meantime.”

“You’re very kind.”

She watched her go before setting aside the cover and standing. There were still some things she’d manage herself. 

The dusk air was somewhat chill for mid July. She pulled her clothes tighter around herself. The path had grown winding with gentians, hydrangeas, azaleas, lilies, and the watchful sunflowers. Her feet strode along without wandering in a way only experience wrought. With her fingers she caressed the flower petals  like friends. The rich floral scent pouring around her formed a veil that stirred her memory. 

It carried her to the days her daughter played on the ground her feet tread. Like some specter returned to familiar haunts she could hear her laughter peel back the decades. Eli’s voice quickly followed innocently ‘Do you think these earrings match the lilies?’ ‘It reminds me of being a girl again.’ ‘Walking here always calms me.’

Tears pricked her eyes once more, a weight tugged at her heart. The echoes of her friends from years gone blended into a cacophony. 

‘Nozomi sure knows a lot.’ ‘You can be a headache, but...thank you.’ ‘One, two, three, four-pick up your feet Nozomi!’ ‘I love you.’ ‘We could only do this because of you-’

She covered her quivering mouth and caught the tears cascading down her face. She moved forward one step, then two. Reaching out an arm her fingers slid against the sunflowers. Her knees hit the paving stones. A stab of pain jolted up her legs. She rolled onto her side, her teeth clenched, her eyes squeezed shut. A dry laugh fell from her the way a door creaks as she saw the sky. Dusk began to set; the clouds swirled into each other. On her back sighed and listened, absorbing the stillness of encroaching night. The pain became a tingle.

It was then they came. The voices leapt from the winding halls of her memory into galloping specters once more. Their faces were conjured as immortal youths holding fast to their prime for the gift it was. The gift it had been and the gift it remained. They needed no introductions, for she knew their names easier than her own. A smile took hold of her.

“Hello.”

They waved and laughed without sound, examining her with wonder. Their feet never touched ground but hovered. In another life she’d have watched spellbound as if beholding that which shouldn’t be. Now she fought a snort to find it was indeed as expected. Her eyes darted around, counting. One, two, three, four-

Then she found her.

It hit like a truck barreling down muddy roads; the way an autumn air chilled the lungs. She had remembered with painful clarity Eli’s smile. She could recount it’s image, but it’s power commanded her name. Her words failed along with her thoughts. Eli pointed beyond Nozomi’s head toward the horizon she couldn’t see. She attempted it, however, and found her eyes stinging at the back of her head. Then, she saw the edge of Eli’s hand reaching for her. There was no hesitation when she took it. 

The others helped stand her up. Their touch was neither hot nor cold, not even warm. It was lighter than air, as inconspicuous as a whisper. What remained of the pain vanished. Soon she returned on her feet. She was led aimlessly along the path again without conversation. What remained of her tried and true rationale begged to pry. She silenced it as she absorbed the figures of her memory, pulled into a gale of joy she couldn’t articulate. 

Step by step she plod along until the group released her. They joined together in a parade that rose and made her crane her neck to follow. She watched them begin to line up and dance, Honoka at the lead. All broke into a routine of twisting limbs and graceful posing. Eli continued to watch her with an enamored fondness as if it were her single emotion. Her eyes grew puzzled, her breaths faster. The concert moved with purpose, quickening and lifting higher. 

Anxiety seized her chest, wiggling its vines around her pounding heart. Goosebumps rose up and down her limbs while her eyes widened. Without thinking she threw out her hand. 

“Wait! Wait no come back!”

She forced her stiff joints to move like cracking rust off worn gears. They were no different from dragging bleeding comrades to safety; crawling them away, if it came to that. Her legs and arms pumped even as her muscles wore to the bone. The first true sweat she’d worked in decades dripped down her face. She kept her head painfully up and found them no longer dancing. Now they smiled and sped beside her. Their bodies fluttered like falling petals, weightless. Some part of her intuition sensed this had been their goal. In the same instant, she decided it didn’t matter.

Her vision grew bleary and her fingers to strain. Her ears were dimly aware of her swelling heartbeat that bordered on dangerous. It didn’t matter, she thought, while the look of a desperate child darkened her. 

She lunged toward them.

Eli caught her before she fell. With a gentle tug she pulled her close; their noses touched. When she looked down to secure their grip, a gasp stole her breath. The skin of her hands was smooth, the gnarled veins vanished. A new weight draped over her shoulders and down her back. She glanced to the side to find the purple hair she hadn’t known since she was in her forties. Realization settled comfortably in her eyes, nestled in her grin. She squeezed Eli’s hand and at last felt warmth. 

“Sorry I kept you all waiting.”

They found her body nestled among the violets. The dew on the petals made her skin glisten and her smile youthful. When the maid had tapped her arm, it was still warm, and remained so even at the wake. Her expression had been eager, as if embarking on adventure. 

------

  Blossom, oh flower of rebirth

  Bloom, oh lotus   Echo for a thousand years   Resonate in every second

  The distant past  

  The distant present  

  Even tomorrow is here   The Golden days come all at once – if you, who have forgotten, awaken               Like a metaphor, it reflects the present of the stars that sail in parallel,                 With all of you recorded in this field where flowers bloom at random  

R.I.P. Satoshi Kon, thank you for a decade of movies and animation that resonated with the human spirit in all ways and forms 

[hvvpymin]

I might be talking to no one but you know when you were a kid and you saw someone do something amazing like juggle (or whatever you thought was amazing if you found juggling lame) and then you thought. “I wanna do that toooooo.”  Needless to say not every fascinated kid gets to juggle but here’s a fic anyway.

~

The chicken smelled amazing. Jungkook peeked up from his phone at the concealed boxes of chicken wings, contemplating for a couple of seconds before looking at the bathroom door. He checked the time then sat up from the couch to put his phone down on the coffee table. The past couple of minutes has been long enough a wait. In an instant, the silence of the hotel room was interrupted by the crinkling of the delivery paper bag and food boxes being opened. There was a loud snap of chopsticks and then Jungkook was grabbing his first piece of chicken. Jimin wouldn’t mind, he thought. At least now he knows the food tasted as amazing as it smelled.

It was when he was about to toss the remains of his second piece that Jungkook finally heard the bathroom door open. Jimin stepped out, phone in one limp hand and face lighting up upon noticing the food on the table.

“Smells great,” he said with an awed expression as he walked towards the couch adjacent to Jungkook.

“I got hungry,” Jungkook felt obligated to explain, albeit plainly, and wiped off some sauce from his lips. “It’s really good,” he added like it was a consolation as Jimin moved a pillow aside to sit. It would have been apparent enough just by looking at him chew through his words. He chewed like a toothless child trying to find his way around a mouthful of pasty food, cheeks puffed and lips jutted out. It might seem off for a guy standing 5’8” with lean arms and broad shoulders at first glance but it works and in the industry he’s in, it has turned out to be quite the charm.

Jimin didn’t spare the younger another glance as he grabbed himself a piece and started eating without saying anything else. The silence didn’t hit Jungkook right. He lowered his chopsticks and just looked at the other. Jimin wouldn’t mind, he knew, but he did think the older would be saying something about it. He rarely missed an opportunity to give the younger a jab, reveling on the fact that there’s one member in the group he can impose his seniority on. But now, nothing. The silence continued, only the sound of chewing left hanging in the air. Maybe they should have asked more members to join them. They did ask Jin, but sleep turned out more tempting than food for the oldest. Probably the result of an exclusive late night practice with Hoseok. Now Jungkook is left with Jimin. It’s not bad, the younger wouldn’t think so at all, but the older’s unusual silence made him wary. Somehow, in Jungkook’s mind Jimin has the assigned role of conversation starter that he’s not playing in that moment. This gave the younger an unfamiliar urge to take the role himself.

Maybe I should talk.

About what?

Oh right.

“How was talking with your mother?” he asked, gesturing towards the other with his head while his eyes stayed on the food, trying to play it off cool.

“Same as always,” Jimin said plainly. “She still fills me in with the local gossip.”

“Ahhh,” was the only thing Jungkook could say. This is out of his expertise. Jimin never told him anything sensitive or personal about anyone. It’s not something they tend to talk about and he can tell Jimin staying in the cold bathroom listening to gossip was just him indulging his mother. The idea of gossips is swept aside and Jungkook ponders if he should still attempt at a conversation or just let it die.

“You did great at the concert, Jungkook.” Jimin ended his dilemma. Jungkook looked up abruptly, too caught up in his own thoughts prior, but Jimin wasn’t looking at him, mechanically reaching out for another chicken instead. Jungkook felt like an idiot. Of course, they could have talked about the concert, having just successfully ended one with thousands of fans cheering instead of the pretty private conversation Jimin had with his mother.

“Ye-yes, you too,” the reply came automatically and the younger subtly watched Jimin for a reaction. “I saw Yoongi-hyung miss the beat for BS&T. He was fumbling like this for a moment,” he added, giggling and mimicking the alleged fumbling. He kept his eyes on the older who ended up giggling with him. Jungkook’s smile lingered.

“What a cute guy, Yoongi,” Jimin cheered. “Ahhh, but my voice cracked again,” he added while pointing his chicken at the other, keeping the lighthearted tone and adding a soft laugh at the end. And there it was. Jungkook rewound his thoughts. So much for trying.

The youngest quite liked Jimin’s laugh, whether it was for something ridiculous like Jungkook’s antics or Jin’s lame jokes, or for something cute like Yoongi putting his all in doing something strenuous, or for covering something up.

“It happens to everyone,” Jungkook offered, plain, albeit a little aggressively in a stiff attempt to hide the caring sentiment.

How could Jimin miss it though. 

“Whoa, is that the youngest trying to comfort me,” he cooed, with a hint of the same stiffness Jungkook had, trying to be teasing but inside a little disarmed by the display of concern. “Thank you,” and he smiled his famous eye smile at him.

“Yeah,” Jungkook just brushed his fringe aside and continued eating.

Jimin figured denying compliments would just be asking for more, especially when it’s intended to comfort. Sometimes the insecurity wins over and he denies anyway. But a lot of times he just accepts despite hating being complimented for something he thinks he’s not. Instead, he attends to the knowing side of him that denies the praise by talking about how great another member or person is. It’s still more complicated than just accepting but it only takes a couple of cheeky calls for praise to not be dubbed the sissy with the glaring insecurity after all. That’s what he tells himself at least.

This time though, Jimin indulges both Jungkook and himself the simplicity of ending it at ‘thank you’. The silence bled in again, food boxes rustling, chewing incessant. Conversation flows more naturally with more members, Jungkook was reminded. There being just two of them only made Jungkook more attentive to the other. As he stared at him, he caught the solemn mood in between the thick layers of Jimin’s physically drained demeanor and the mundane. It was like seeing a thin sheet that didn’t fit in and Jungkook felt like grabbing even just a sliver of it to yank the whole thing out.

“Hey, hyung,” he called for Jimin’s attention, which he got and responded to with an impish smile. “If you’re still feeling down…” he licked his lips, “…we can have one of our famous cuddle sessions and I can whisper and cuddle your worries goodbye.” Jungkook finished with a shameless eyebrow raise.

A pillow hit his head and landed behind the couch. The kid just flashed a wide grin, eyes scrunched, intent on Jimin’s change of mood.

“Ahhh, shut it,” Jimin hissed at him.

Jungkook let out a cheeky laugh.

“There was this guy from our old neighborhood who killed himself.”

And the laughter fell, Jungkook now just looking at Jimin, not knowing what to do. He’s been feeling quite clueless since Jimin joined him. He stared at the chunk of meat at the end of his chopsticks, glossy and vibrant. All he planned for was to eat chicken with someone.

“Was he someone you knew?” he felt obligated to ask. It was not a matter Jimin usually discusses with him.

“Yeah. Went to the same school. Sometimes ate together, sometimes went to the arcade together, sometimes joked around.”

“’m sorry, hyung.”

At that, Jimin let out a small laugh. Not out of mirth but more to say ‘it’s okay’, ‘it’s not what you think’, ‘I’m not expecting you to sympathize’. Jimin didn’t because, one, he wasn’t mourning and, two, he just really felt like talking about it despite knowing what he’s putting the younger through. He should be the one more pressed to apologize.

“Did you ever find someone you really liked when you were at school, Jungkookie?”

Jungkook was lost again. He thought of middle school and high school. Is his hyung talking about a girlfriend? Because if so, he’s had them. Jimin knows he’s had them. He already told him one time about his short-lived relationships when they still lived in their second dorm, when Jungkook was still baffled by the older’s strong advances. He remembered Jimin telling him in turn about his one-sided love and his girl group crush and it was then that he felt like he understood his hyung a little better, suddenly holding on to that small connection and letting it swell into camaraderie.

“He was that person for me,” Jimin continued. “We were like any other friends, common, but I really liked him. He was just so amazing to me; good at studies, sports, confident and open minded with anyone.”

Jungkook wondered if Jimin was talking about admiration.

“Anyway, it wasn’t just a high school thing, him being an achiever. Every time my mom asks how I was, somehow, I get filled in, I hear about him, how successful he’s become. Maybe because we were friends. I think my mom’s still holding on to the image of me when I was with them. The image they knew most, watched over.”

“My- my mom talks about my old friends too, sometimes when she calls,” Jungkook felt like telling the other. Probaby to try and normalize things. Bring the mood back to the casual atmosphere he’s hoped to have in the first place

“Yeah?” Jimin asked, courteous. “But you see like I said, I really liked this friend. So maybe I remembered a little more about him than other casual friends would.” Jimin closed his thumb and index finger together, shrugging his shoulders and scrunching his face into a smile in an attempt of nonchalance. Although, his eagerness to talk about it already suggests otherwise. “I can guarantee you. He really did get the career he’s always wanted.”

“How’d you know that?” Jungkook asked.

“Glad you asked, Jungkookie. You’re learning, that’s good.” Jimin replied, consumed by the narrative he wants to tell, but not missing the tendency to be endeared by the boy in front of him. “You know how, sometimes, you and your friends hang out, and then you get to the point when everyone else bails, having had their fill, so you happen to just be left with the one who happened to have the same capacity as you and still have quite a bit to spill.”

Jungkook just nodded once, knowing where the narrative is going.

“Yeah. One illicit drinking night, I was left mooning about things with him, both of us leaning on my friend’s bedroom wall, half lying down. I remember thanking my parents then for somehow giving me a better alcohol tolerance than my friends. Because then, I was there, conscious, the only one left to listen to his drunk but honest blabber. About all these goals he had.” Jimin smiled. “Also his insecurities.”

Jungkook found himself being caught up in Jimin’s narrative. Has he always been this easily swept up, he wondered. Or has it always been Jimin who gets to reel him in. “What did he tell you, hyung?”

Jimin giggled. “Shhhh. Not gonna sully a promise, Jungkookie. Even when they’re dead.” He smiled wide. “But because I like you so much, I’m gonna tell you a teeny bit.” Jimin reached out to ruffle Jungkook’s hair. “I pecked his cheek… and he pecked back.”

Jungkook’s round eyes widened for a moment, his mouth parted a little, enough to show his bunny teeth. Jimin half-heartedly laughed as he slapped the younger’s shoulder.

“His wife actually sent me an invitation to his funeral. Well, my mom got it.”

Jungkook snapped out of the older’s previous statement. “But will you be able to…?” he asked, their schedule in mind.

Jimin shrugged. “I’ve never met his wife, Jungkookie.” It was less a matter of time.

For a brief moment, Jungkook imagined middle school Jimin. And then he imagined him in a funeral with a sobbing wife, feeling out of place and a little uncomfortable. Okay, he just thought. He reached out for another chicken wing, then he paused. A detail or two from their conversation frolicked in his brain. Jimin spoke again.

“We’re doing great, right Guk?”

This, the younger felt eager to answer. “What do you mean, hyung? We just finished a concert with fans who barely, or don’t at all, understand Korean. We’ve been achieving things we’ve only wished for when we started,” Jungkook laid down his case, answer apparent.

“Hm. Yeah, what else can we ask for, huh?” Jimin replied. He propped his cheek on one palm, elbow on his lap, and just stared straight forward at one wall of the hotel room. Jungkook who was left out on the older’s right periphery gave him a glance and wondered if he was still a little solemn.

“Are you still thinking about your friend, Jimin-hyung?”

“Isn’t there anything else you hope to have Jungkook?”

“Of course there is.”

“How badly?”

“I’m working hard on it.”

“Oh, well if it’s something you can achieve with hard work, I’m sure you’ll get it.”

The kid just nodded.

Jimin grabbed a bottle of water. “I wish I can turn this into wine with hard work too.” His laugh echoed in the room again.

“No, but if you work hard to get some money, get up, and go to the liquor store, you can have your wine.” Jungkook blurted out. suddenly feeling like being a smart-ass.

Still, the older just smiled at Jungkook as if he knew something the younger didn’t. “Not when they tell me I’m only supposed to drink water, Jungkookie.”

In his head, Jungkook asked no one in particular why the older had to be so cryptic with him.

The rest of their time was spent chatting about the concert again.

“I’m heading back to my room,” Jimin finally said after a yawn.

“Oh, okay.”

“Anyway, thank you, Jungkookie. For indulging hyung.” Jimin smiled, not the stiff eyes smile he produces whenever someone mentions it. It’s his eye smile, the one Jungkook knows, the one he adores.

Jimin was already by the door but the smile reminded Jungkook of something that has been scratching inside his head since earlier.

“Why did you give him a peck hyung?”

Jimin turned to face the younger, looking surprised for a second before his face quickly settled into a small smile. “Like I said, I really liked him and it looked like he needed it.”

Wouldn’t a pat or even a rub on the back be enough for that? What happened to ‘Guys don’t kiss’? Jungkook’s face reflected the questions in his head but Jimin only gave him 3 long seconds of silence before he turned around again and left.

---

As Jungkook sat alone in his room hours later, he wondered if he should have kissed Jimin. The other boy’s answer echoed in his head. Jungkook doesn’t even know what he, himself, wants. His brain proceeded to recount the number of times Jimin laughed or smiled that night. He felt like he missed an important chance.