#oh well I’m sorry the answer you got ended up being the leftovers of what little I could remember from my first attempt //bricked

[stormdragon23]

Shadows of a Mother is finally updated

After like. Half a year. Sorry

Full chapter below:

“Oh, you bought fried chicken?” Jin-Ah asked excitedly after seeing her mom enter the apartment with the familiar restaurant bag. “Did something good happen? You always say that it’s not healthy to eat fried food.”

Kyung-Hye smiled as she closed the door and took off her shoes. “Well, it’s been a while since we’ve had it, and you’ve been working hard in school.”

As Kyung-Hye was getting older and wasn’t that physically strong, she kept an eye on her health, though she didn’t have to do so as much anymore. She stayed fit from the System due to the daily quests that forced her to exercise. The quest reward from the double dungeon that made her “immune to any abnormalities in her status” was also helpful in preventing her from getting ill or suffering from anything that would harm her body.

After concluding that the reward made her immune to poisonous substances, Kyung-Hye ingested the Kasaka’s venom gland she had, and it neutralized the side effect the venom would have had on her muscles. 

“How have your classes been lately? Are you having any trouble?” Kyung-Hye asked as they began to eat.

Kyung-Hye couldn’t afford tutoring for Jin-Ah like most students in her class, but Jin-Ah started working harder in school to become a doctor ever since her brother fell under Eternal Sleep. While her kids had moments of bickering as siblings, they genuinely cared about each other, and it hurt Kyung-Hye to see how Jin-Ah looked at her brother when they visited him at the hospital.

“School’s been good,” Jin-Ah answered as she took a bite of chicken. “But Song-Yi is still considering becoming a hunter instead of finishing school. She even skipped class the other day to get a license.”

“Is she?” Kyung-Hye asked, concerned.

“Yeah, but she’s always changing her mind, so she’ll probably get over it soon.”

She knew her daughter had been friends with Han Song-Yi since they were children and had been very close. While Kyung-Hye didn’t know what kind of situation Song-Yi was in, she hoped this decision was simply Song-Yi being young and rebellious rather than a need to get some money. 

The thought of someone her daughter’s age having to find a way to make a living was distressing as she would never want to see her children have to do such a thing, and it was her responsibility as a parent to make sure that didn’t happen.

I would hate for Jin-Ah or Jin-Woo to risk their lives to make money, like the people in the double dungeon. Or the hunters in that last raid-

Kyung-Hye thought back to how her previous raid had ended. Leaving those people behind in the gate... 

“I’m going to rest for a bit, okay?” Kyung-Hye told Jin-Ah as she stood up.

Jin-Ah gave an affirmative hum as she swallowed a mouthful of food. “Are you going to eat some more chicken?”

Kyung-Hye shook her head. “No, but if you could put away the leftovers, that would be great.”

Jin-Ah nodded, and Kyung-Hye smiled before heading to her room.

As Kyung-Hye went inside the bedroom and closed the door, she took a deep breath before she lay on her bed and covered her eyes with her arm, still processing what had happened inside the gate again.

Although Kyung-Hye felt like she had no choice if she wanted to make out alive with Jin-Ho at the time and tried to go for what seemed like the safest solution, she couldn’t help but be reminded of nine years ago. 

Her husband had been a firefighter before the gates appeared. Kyung-Hye saw how Il-Hwan helped efficiently put out the fire at the college she attended and how much he cared about everyone being safe. 

They got together soon after that and had many happy moments together. After getting married, their kids only added to the joy they had in their lives. 

Her son was only fifteen when he came home to tell her that Il-Hwan disappeared inside a gate.

She felt like the world was crashing down around her hearing those words, but then she saw her children standing before her. Her eldest had tears in his eyes, already knowing his father would not be returning, while her youngest didn’t quite understand what was happening yet.

Kyung-Hye couldn’t let herself get lost in her feelings now. Not when her children needed her more than ever before.

Pulling her son and daughter close to her and hugging them tightly, she was determined to do everything possible for them to grow up safe and healthy. 

She worked as many jobs as she could get, from working as a custodian to working at various stores, putting as much energy into supporting her children. She woke up long before the sun rose to prepare for a long day of work and typically wouldn’t be able to come home until dinnertime. 

Kyung-Hye spent long hours of work, saving enough money for her kids to go to college and to provide them with everything they needed as she wanted them to live comfortable lives without worrying about money constantly.

She did have a degree of her own, but she had been a stay-at-home mom for so long, and it was difficult for her to find a job as she was older and less experienced than most people were looking for. So the only jobs she would get were ones that younger people wouldn’t usually choose.

Of course, she still had to look after herself and had just enough rest and food to keep going. After all, she needed to care for herself for her children’s sake. 

Until her son succumbed to Eternal Sleep.

Her income, at the time, as meager as it was, was sufficiently supporting the three of them. However, it was no longer enough to pay her son’s hospital bills.

Kyung-Hye had some savings that were enough to pay the initial bills, but she had to find a better job soon. The only money she had left was their college funds, which she could not use, especially when she noticed how hard Jin-Ah was studying to become a doctor after Jin-Woo was hospitalized.

Luckily, however, she discovered she had suddenly awakened one day.

It didn’t matter that she barely had any magic power and was only slightly stronger than a typical person. Any bit of power would be enough for her to be a hunter and earn far more money than any other job she could get. 

Plus, by working for the Hunters Association, Kyung-Hye could get medical aid for the cost of Jin-Woo’s life support. It had been four years since her son had succumbed to Eternal Slumber, but she knew her son would eventually wake up. It was only a matter of time. Until then, she would do anything to keep her children safe. She would do the same even if her husband were still around.

Remembering her family made her think of the Lizards in the last raid she went on. She didn’t even know what kind of families the other hunters had. Were they also parents like her and felt they had no choice but to do this to provide for them? Or did some of them feel like they had no choice but to follow what Hwang Dong-Suk told them to do out of fear they would be the next one to die?

Regardless, that didn’t mean they could tear other families apart. Not just to Kyung-Hye herself who still had a teenage daughter and a son under Eternal Slumber but also to Jin-Ho who was still a very young person with a bright future. While she hated thinking of how the hunters’ families had lost a loved one, she did what she had to in that situation. It might be selfish of her to think so, but she had to stay alive to look after her children. She made it this far and couldn’t give up now.

Thinking of the raid in this way reminded her of the times Il-Hwan couldn’t save someone in time during the various emergencies he had dealt with. While Il-Hwan put on an act in front of their kids and pretended he had a typical day at work, Kyung-Hye knew from how his jaw was clenched and how his reactions were ever so slightly delayed as if he was thinking deeply about something.

It would only be after they finished having dinner and their kids were asleep that Kyung-Hye would ask what happened. Sometimes, Il-hwan would tell her about the people he couldn’t save. Other times, he would simply hug her tightly and stay silent. 

The only thing Kyung-Hye could do to console him was to give him comforting words and to hold him, her arms barely being able to wrap around his large physique. Il-Hwan had always done everything he could to save as many people as possible and how despite his efforts, there would be situations that made it impossible to save everyone. Kyung-Hye knew well that her husband would do whatever it took to get people to safety, even if it meant risking his life.

After all, his selflessness was the reason she fell in love with him. It was also why Il-Hwan wasn’t with her right now.

Releasing a sigh, Kyung-Hye tried not to dwell on her husband’s absence and looked at her stats. There wasn’t anything she could do about Il-Hwan being gone, so she could only focus on becoming stronger to take care of her children until he returned.

HP 2830

MP 580

Strength: 43 Health: 43

Agility: 43 Intelligence: 43

Sense: 43

Available Ability Points: 2

She didn’t get much of a chance to look at it before as whenever she had enough points, she simply allocated the points in a way to keep all of them balanced. Even if she were to think about it some more, she would have done the same. She still wished there was some kind of instruction manual that came with the System instead of guessing and checking what everything meant.

Just as she was considering how to distribute the remaining points, Jin-Ah knocked on her door before opening it.

“Mom? Someone named Yoo Jin-Ho is calling for you.” “Yoo Jin-Ho?”

“Mrs. Park! Over here!”

Kyung-Hye turned to look at the sound of her voice and smiled when she saw the familiar young man with short brown hair.

“It’s good to see you again, Jin-Ho,” Kyung-Hye said as she sat down. “I wasn’t expecting to meet again so soon. Ah, thank you again for the essence stones you gave me.”

“You saved me last time, so I was really grateful for your help!” Jin-Ho responded.

“It was no trouble. We were both trying to get out of there. Was there another reason you wanted to see me?” the older woman asked. 

While it was nice to see Jin-Ho, thanking her couldn’t be the only reason why he wanted to meet with her again. She didn’t mind the young man having his reasons for wanting to see her, but she wasn’t keen on helping this young man as he got into dangerous situations.

Kyung-Hye watched as the young man braced himself before stating why he called her.

“Well, I want to make a private strike squad.”

Kyung-Hye expected as much. She had hoped he had changed his mind after their last raid, but it looked like he hadn’t. However, Jin-Ho seemed more optimistic than naive given how determined he looked, so she knew Jin-Ho was at least aware of the risks.

“Is there a reason you want to make a strike squad? I’m sure you know how dangerous hunting can get after our last raid together.”

“Uh, well,” the young hunter briefly looked away before steeling himself again before looking back at her. 

“I just need your help in 19 more raids!”

Kyung-Hye raised an eyebrow. She found it strange he needed such a specific number of raids. Kyung-Hye wasn’t fully aware of everything related to hunters, but she had picked up enough to understand what all hunters knew. 

If the last raid is included, that would be 20 total.

She remembered seeing a requirement for clearing a certain amount of gates, but that was only if-

Her eyes widened as she realized what he wanted to do.

“Do you want to become a guild master?”

Jin-Ho smiled widely once he saw that Kyung-Hye quickly figured out his plan.

“Yes, I do!”

Kyung-Hye frowned at the thought. 

“Is there any specific reason you want to form a guild?” the older woman asked cautiously. 

It was rather unusual for such a young man to want to do something so ambitious at his age.

So Jin-Ho explained how his father, Yoo Myung-Hwan, wanted to create his own guild and how Jin-Ho wanted to convince his father to let him be in charge of the guild instead of his brother.

While Kyung-Hye did want to help Jin-Ho, she was curious if there was another reason Jin-Ho wished to become a Guild Master so badly when he was this young. But she didn’t want to pry into his business, so she accepted his reasoning and asked another question. 

“How much will I get in return?” Kyung-Hye asked. While she didn’t want to demand an unreasonable sum, the amount she gets for helping him should still be enough to provide for her family. Otherwise, it would be better for her to continue raiding as usual. There was also the matter of her being prevented from leveling up, but that wasn’t as important to her for now.

Jin-Ho beamed as he took out an envelope and handed it to Kyung-Hye, who opened it and read its contents.

“It’s nice that you wanted to come exercise with me today,” Kyung-Hye commented as she did some warm-up stretches alongside her daughter.

“Well, it’s not good to just sit and study all day,” Jin-Ah reasoned. “Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve had free time together.”

Kyung-Hye smiled and fondly rubbed her daughter’s head before they began their run.

As she ran beside Jin-Ah, Kyung-Hye thought about her recent conversation with Jin-Ho again.

Thirty billion won. That was the amount that Jin-Ho had offered. I could easily pay Jin-Ah to attend college without worrying about hunting monsters. 

However, if I stopped going on raids, I wouldn’t be able to make my powers stronger. What would happen to the System in that case?

Kyung-Hye looked at her daughter as she kept a steady pace with her. While Kyung-Hye could easily run faster, these small moments she could spend with Jin-Ah were precious to her. Her daughter, as well as the rest of her family, was all she lived for.

There is also the possibility of a dungeon break happening near them, like how one had happened close to where she fought in the instant dungeon. Not to mention the possibility of something like the S-Rank gate on Jeju Island happening again. 

She had told Jin-Ho that she would need some time to make a decision and that she would give him an answer within the week, but there were so many factors to consider.

“Is something wrong, mom?” Jin-Ah asked, making Kyung-Hye come out of her thoughts.

“Ah, it’s nothing,” Kyung-Hye replied, not wanting to worry her daughter. “Is Song-Yi still wanting to be a hunter?”

“Oh, yeah. I wanted to study with her the other day, but she didn’t want to. She says it’s boring and that she wouldn’t need to know this stuff if she decided to become a hunter.”

Kyung-Hye frowned. It wasn’t good for someone who hadn’t even graduated high school yet to want to become a hunter, especially one of such a low rank like herself who simply wanted to do it without realizing how dangerous it was. Even if she did want or have to become a hunter, her education was still important in case being a hunter didn’t work out for her later.

“Maybe you could invite her over some time? I’d like to hear why she wants to be one,” Kyung-Hye asked. 

She also hoped to convince her daughter’s friend that she shouldn’t become a hunter. It wouldn’t be easy, given how Kyung-Hye knew how stubborn teenagers could be from personal experience.

Jin-Ah nodded. “Yeah, I can ask her later!”

Focusing on their run again, Kyung-Hye realized she had already run more than the quest required as she looked at the status window. However, the system continued to track how many kilometers she was running even though she had already reached the necessary amount.

That’s strange. Why does it continue counting past 10?

Kyung-Hye was puzzled at the sight but decided to see how far it would go. 

After noticing that the System stopped counting the number of kilometers she ran after it reached twice the required number, Kyung-Hye did the same for the other exercises. As soon as she had finished double what she needed to complete, she got rewarded for completing a Hidden Quest.

Another dungeon key?

Examining the details of the key, Kyung-Hye saw that the difficulty level was S which meant the dungeon it unlocked would likely be of the same level, based on the last key she got. 

While she could enter the gate since she still had the teleportation stone from last time, she had no idea what would be inside the gate. Kyung-Hye knew she was nowhere close to being as strong as an S-Rank, estimating herself to be approximately a B-Rank given what had happened in the most recent dungeon. Also, going in only to see what was inside and back out of it seemed like a waste of the teleportation stone if she needed it even more later.

After contemplating her choices, Kyung-Hye decided to save the key for when she got stronger. There wasn’t a time limit, so there was no need for her to rush into danger now.

Until Jin-Ho gets back to me, I should find another raid to go on.

[likecastle]

ST Femslash Week - smut

A little smut (sort of) for @strangerthingsfemslashweek​!

Content note for adult activities and also no small amount of embarrassment.

Rose gasped as her skirt was rucked up around her hips, the sudden rush of air a shock to her flushed skin. Her knees feel open, her body already eager for more.

Ruth wasted no time in dragging Rose��s stockings and underwear down her thighs, blunt fingernails scraping the sensitive flesh and leaving pink marks behind. She liked Rose like this, reckless and rough, ravenous for her.

With firm hands, Ruth spread Rose’s legs, exposing the wet heat of her to the open air. Rose couldn’t stop her hips from jumping. “Please,” she moaned, not sure what, exactly, she was asking for, only that she wanted Ruth see what she’d done to her, how desperate she was—

At the sound of Nancy’s key in the lock, Robin freezes. Her hands are gripping the manuscript so tightly the edges are crumpled. There’s no way Nancy won’t realize someone’s disturbed her papers, no matter how carefully she puts them away.

“Robin, I’m home!” Nancy calls. “I brought leftover cold cuts!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Robin blurts out, before common sense can stop her.

“What?” She can hear Nancy taking off her coat, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door.

There’s still time for her to put the manuscript away, Robin tells herself. Nancy will still figure out she found it eventually, but she can at least save herself from being caught red-handed. If only she could release her grip on the papers. If only she could get her legs to move.

“Robin? Where are you?” She listens as Nancy steps from the living room to the kitchen, that familiar brisk tread. She can picture Nancy, still in her blazer, her hair mussed from the wind, poking her head into to Robin’s bedroom, frowning when she can’t find her. Then she doesn’t have to picture it, because Nancy is standing in the doorway of her own room, eyebrows drawn together.

“What’s the matter?” When Nancy notices what’s in Robin’s hands, shock cracks her worried expression wide open. “Is that—?”

“I’m so sorry,” Robin says, all in a rush. She feels the blush break over her everywhere all at once, as if she hadn’t already been warmed by what she’d been reading. “I really, truly didn’t mean to come in here and start snooping around. I was looking for extra staples and then it was just sitting there in the drawer and—um—we can forget it ever happened? I swear I’ll never mention it again.”

“Robin—”

“Or—or I can look into how to induce retrograde amnesia. It can’t be that hard, right? Or, well, I guess that’s not fair, because even if I forgot, you’d still be burdened with the memory of this painfully awkward conversation. Maybe we can both—”

“Robin!”

“. . . Yes?”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

Instead of relief, Robin felt herself go even more tense with confusion. “I . . . don’t?”

“If anything,” Nancy continues, “I should be apologizing to you.”

Now Robin realizes that Nancy is blushing, too. “Why? It’s none of my business what you do with your creative energy. I’ll admit the subject matter was kind of a surprise, but it’s not like I can judge. I mean, I’m pretty much your target market, you know? Like, I would absolutely read this if it was published somewhere. Is it published somewhere? Oh my god, is that where you got the money to buy that fancy new coffee maker? I thought you were taking on some extra freelancing gigs! Oh my god. Have you been writing pornography to pay for our high-end kitchen appliances?”

“It’s not pornography!” Nancy snaps. “It’s—it’s—literary erotica! There are themes!”

Robin blinks at her, and then they both burst in laughter. It’s such a relief that they both wind up slumped on the bed.

“Call it whatever you want, it’s hot,” Robin says at last.

“Really?” Nancy asks, sounding almost shy. “You think so?”

“Uh, yeah, Nance. Sorry if it’s weird to hear me say it, but the answer is definitely yes.”

“It’s not weird,” Nancy says after a while.

“No?”

“I thought . . .” Nancy gives her an almost pained look. “Not that I was hoping you’d find out this way, but . . . I mean . . .” When Robin doesn’t seem to catch her drift, Nancy sighs. “Really? Rose and Ruth?”

“Oh,” Robin says, and blushes all over again.

[cavefilllingcorporation]

Jake's Reaction to the Anti-Project Plan

Jake worked hard on the banana sundae that was ordered. This was the last order he had to make before his lunch break. Suddenly, as he was just finishing the whipping cream on the piece, he heard a lot of commotion and frustration from the front end of the kitchen, right next to where the conveyor belt was. Before he could figure out what was going on, he heard an announcement play over the kitchen speakers.

“Attention employees. We are sorry to say that the conveyor belt has broken down. Please hold as we get our engineers to fix the situation. Thank you and have a wonderful day.”

Jake was frustrated. It was very rare when this happened, this was his first time even, but he had heard that when this did happen, all of the orders waited until it was fixed. This usually didn’t take more than thirty minutes, he knew that even now a crew was rushing towards the cafeteria to fix the problem immediately, but it could mean that food could get cold and whatnot. Most of the time, they just reheated the food, and if it wasn’t able to be reheated, the food was remade, and the cold meal was saved as leftovers for one of the cafeteria staff. The staff always got leftovers from the cafeteria to ensure nothing went to waste, and it was a major benefit of working in it. Unfortunately for Jake, his banana sundae wouldn’t be able to outwait the repair time, and he was sure nobody was willing to take a banana ice cream sludge back home to eat.

He then found a head chef heading in his direction, so he called his attention and asked:

“Hey. I got a banana sundae that can’t wait. What should I do?”

The head chef started to answer:

“Just put it in the freez… oh, you already added the cherries. Hmm… Well… hang on, banana sundae, right?”

Jake nodded.

“Right, I think I know who ordered it.”

He then pointed towards the cafeteria, which was separated by the kitchen only a wall with a massive glass window. This was meant to show transparency regarding people’s orders and such. He then specifically pointed towards the middle of the cafeteria, towards a table with only one person sitting on it.

“See that table in the middle of the room? That’s who ordered the sundae. Go ahead and deliver it to him yourself.”

Jake started to speak up, but the head chef interrupted him.

“Don’t worry, there are other chefs doing the same thing. You won’t stand out. Besides, it’s your break time already. Enjoy!”

Jake then moved out, carrying the sundae out. He then walked over to the man. The man appeared to be middle aged, with a small beard, and seemed to enjoy himself. He also noticed the empty plate that he had on his table. Clearly, he was going to enjoy his dessert. Jake then said as he put the sundae down at the table.

“Enjoy your dessert sir. Sorry for the inconvenience.”

The man then responded.

“Oh, none at all! I should be apologizing for making you deliver it!”

Before Jake could leave, he then realized something and asked.

“Actually, I haven’t seen you much around here before…”

The man then answered the question before the statement could be formatted into one.

“Oh, that makes sense. I’m Tom, and usually work in the MazeRun world.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was here to visit my family during this Anti-Project Plan.”

Jake then decided to pull up a chair and sit across from the man, utilizing his break to have a conversation.

“Oh… that’s wonderful.” Jake said with a pause. “Where are they now?”

“Oh, the kids are in school right now, and my wife is working on a massive dinner for tonight. It’s my last day here before I head back. My world is getting some new sand technology and I have to be there to oversee its installation. Then yet again, with the export ban being lifted somewhat, it was about time that I headed back anyways. I had the impression that my sudden vacation would last a bit longer, but oh well.”

Jake reeled from this information. He couldn’t imagine living in that scenario. Surely there must be something about this living situation he was missing. Before he could think about this, the man then asked Jake a question.

“So, how the Anti-Project Plan treating you?”

Jake, deciding to put away the questions in his head, decided to answer that question.

“Oh, well, it’s been something alright. A lot more people showed up. I’d imagine they’re like you, taking breaks, visiting relatives, and enjoying the luxuries of the Space Cave. For the most part though, things haven’t changed much. I’ve had a bit more work recently, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I guess the plan hadn’t really changed much for the Space Caves.”

“I see. I supposed people working on the Space Caves wouldn’t be affected by the exports that much. Other than perhaps the banking system.”

Jake then thought about asking him about another topic, or even just exiting the conversation, but Tom’s family situation was eating him from the back of his mind, and he had no idea when he would meet the man again. He had to ask.

“So… back to your family… how does it work, working so far from home?”

“Oh… well, it’s pretty simple actually. I work from MazeRun, and the funds that I don’t spend for food and whatnot goes to my wife to provide for our family.”

“I’d imagine that working almost full time is able to provide more than enough funds to provide for many families.”

“Yes. We have a pretty high-end apartment because of that. Very spacious, perfect for the kids. And the wife. She prefers the finer things in life, such as the robotic cleaners. As well as that piano we got. I think one of them will develop into a musician.”

Jake’s eyes grew wide upon hearing that. That kind of space, those cleaners, and to get a piano on a whim… Tom’s family didn’t just get a high-end apartment. They were living in some of the most luxurious apartments available. Jake now somewhat understood Tom’s position, but he had one more question.

“Does it not bother you to be apart from your family for so long?”

“Well, I do make sure to spend my vacations here when I am here, and I always talk to them with a video call each evening. Besides I enjoy my work, and I consider my coworkers just as much of a family. This setup works out for everyone.”

Jake didn’t think so. He couldn’t imagine a living situation like that, being away from his family so long. What would happen to his children, growing up without a father figure always near them? Video calls weren’t good substitutes for real interaction. If he was in Tom’s place, he would settle for more modest living conditions in exchange for more time with his family. You could still get some great apartments by working not as much as Tom was. Worse, Jake realized, Tom might not have been alone in this insane practice. Was it a cultural thing? Or did Tom love his work more than his family?

Jake then realized that the ice cream was starting to melt, and he realized that he was taking too much of Tom’s time. He then thanked Tom for the conversation and left. As he walked over to the kitchens to pull out his own meal to enjoy during the rest of his break, he realized that he shouldn’t worry too much about other people’s lives. Could it ruin family relationships and whatnot. Sure. But that wasn’t his responsibility to solve. He was a chef, and that meant feeding everybody, no matter their work-life balance. Besides, being a chef also meant that his own work-life balance was out of whack. He just didn’t have a family to balance it out with, not yet anyways.

[cowboybarzy]

Comforting

mat barzal x reader

word count: 1.9k

note: posting this from the airplane. I won’t be on here much until the end of august but as always feel free to send in any requests :)

tw: talks of anxiety. ik it looks different for everyone, this is based on my experience, but I’m not very good at expressing my feelings lol

You were having a bad day. That was clear from the moment you woke up and as the day went on it progressively got worse. You just had those days sometimes were your anxiety just got too overwhelming and you couldn't exactly pin down where it came from. But it got to you and the added stress of your final few weeks of school was becoming too much. So except for school you stayed at home all day, mostly in bed watching a show. Then you saw that Mat texted you a while ago and while it took a lot of energy to respond, you did because you didn't want to leave him hanging.

14:13 Mat: are you coming tonight?

17:34 You: sorry I'm not feeling well :( good luck though!!

17:46 Mat: oh no, I'm sorry. what's wrong?

Because you knew he had to turn his phone off soon, you didn't respond. You felt bad about it, but for some reason couldn't bring yourself to.

You and Mat had been seeing each other for a few weeks now. You hadn't specifically talked about being in a relationship, but as far as you knew, you were exclusively seeing each other. That's also why he didn't know about your struggles with anxiety yet. It's not a subject you took lightly and shared with anyone. Plus you were worried about how he'd react to it, so you decided to put it off.

After barely eating your leftovers from yesterday, you decided to watch Mat's hockey game online. He had given you his login information so you could watch it for free. The game was intense and distracted you from your worries. After the game you went back to your TV show to keep the intrusive thoughts away.

A little while later your phone rang. It was Mat. And while that brought a small smile to your face, you didn't pick up. Again there was something inside you telling not to do it. But when he called again five minutes later, the bad feeling you got for ignoring him overpowered your anxiety.

"Hello?"

"Hey! Are you alright? You never answered my text," he said obviously concerned.

"Yes. I'm just not feeling well, sorry."

"Are you sick? Can I do something?"

"No, just feeling off. It's ok." He paused.

"Did I do something?"

"No! I promise, just a bad day. Don't worry."

"Do you want me to come over? I can be there in half an hour."

"No, it's ok. I'm actually kind of tired so I'm going to go to sleep now." A lump started to form in your throat. You just wanted this day to be over and avoid everyone, but you hated how much you were pushing him away.

"(Y/n). You can talk to me. Tell me what's bothering you. I'm here for you."

"It's fine. I'm ok, I swear. It's just-," but you couldn't finish the sentence because you were on the verge of crying. "I gotta go."

"Are you crying? No! (Y/n), wait. Talk to me please. I don't like the idea of you being alone like that." You couldn't answer right away, still fighting the tears. "Actually, let me come over so we can talk in person. Better than over the phone. Or I'll pick you up and we go back to my place if you want."

"Can we just talk tomorrow?"

"Ok, I'm going to ask one more time. Please let me come over? If the answer is still no, I'll respect it and we'll talk tomorrow. Even though I hate it because I want to be there for you. Please let me be there for you." You were silent, but the battle going on in your head certainly wasn't. You didn't want him to see you like this, but from the few times you had cuddled you knew how good he could make you feel. "I'll even stop and get ice cream on my way."

A small laugh escaped you. "Okay."

"Just saying yes for the ice cream, eh?"

"Yes."

"That's fine by me. I'll bring you ice cream anytime you want. Ok, I'll be there in like half an hour."

You hung up and couldn't believe how he made you go from almost breaking down to smiling in less than a minute. Your heart tightened at the thought of how persistent he was and how no matter how much you pushed him away he wouldn't let you.

And true to his word, 30 minutes after hanging up, he texted that he arrived. You fixed your hair, but couldn't really do much about your puffy face so you just let it go. You rang the buzzer to let him into the building and a few minutes later he knocked on the door. Before opening it, you took a deep breath to calm your rapidly beating heart.

"Hey." Mat stood there in sweatpants and long sleeve, his hair messy and a big smile on his face. Then he held up the bag that was in his hands. "This is gonna melt."

Wordless, you led him to your bedroom. Your bed was still unmade from you lying in it all day and your room was messier than usual, but Mat didn't seem to mind. "Spoons?"

You nodded and quickly went to the kitchen to grab two spoons. When you returned, Mat had taken off his shoes and made himself comfortable in your bed. He grinned when he saw you stopped in the doorframe, then nodded his head, indicating you to join him. You did and gladly accept the tub of ice cream he pulled from the bag. He didn't hesitate to put his arm around you and pull you closer to him. You breathed in his scent that had an almost immediate calming effect. You were definitely falling hard for him.

"Were you watching something?," he asked after a few minutes of you eating in silence. He nodded to your laptop on the edge of the bed that had now gone into sleep mode.

"New girl. It's my comfort show. I always watch it when I have a bad day."

"You want to tell me about that? It's ok if you don't, I don't want to push you. But you can. I just want you to know that." You smiled gratefully up at him, but didn't proceed to say anything. He got that and stretched over you to pull your laptop into his lap. "Let's watch it then. I don't think I've seen anything past season one."

"What?! That's a crime. It's such a good show." You typed in your password for him, so he could pull up Netflix.

"What's your favorite episode?"

"There are way too many to chose from. But some that come to mind are when Cece and Schmidt get engaged. Or the spider hunt one. That one is just so funny."

"Let's watch that one then."

"Are you sure? You don't want to start from the beginning?" He shook his head and you didn't feel like you could convince him otherwise so you just pulled it up.

"So what you need to know, is that Nick and Jess used to date. They're meant to be, but broke up for a while. And Jess and Cece are best friends. Schmidt, who is Nick's best friends is in love with Cece but at the moment has a different girlfriend who is kind of toxic." You pressed play, but then paused again. "Oh and Nick owns a bar and Cece works at that bar. That's it."

The episode started playing and a few minutes later you were done eating your ice cream. There was still some left, while Mat on the other hand was already done with his. You stared at him I'm disbelief. "What?", he said licking his spoon clean. You chuckled in response and got up to throw his tub away and to put yours in the freezer. You climbed back into bed into his waiting arms. You melted right into him, resting your head against his chest. You already felt a lot calmer and more relaxed than before he got there, which made you snuggle even more against him.

When the classic miscommunication scene came on, you couldn't help but laugh even though you had seen it a million times already. You were nervous for some reason to see Mat's reaction, but when you looked up at him you saw that he enjoyed it too. "There's that smile," he said quietly and brushed his fingers over your cheek. You blushed, but held his gaze. He really had the most beautiful eyes.

"Oh, congrats on the win tonight, by the way."

"You watched?" He seemed a little surprised, but pride glistened in his eyes.

"Of course I did. That pass to Parise was amazing." You both smiled recalling the two-on-one breakaway goal that led to the 2:1 Isles win.

"Thank you. Yeah, that was awesome. He's a great partner." You talked a little bit more about the game, before resuming the show.

"Feeling better?", he asked when the next episode ended.

You nodded. "Thank you."

"Any time. I meant it. Don't feel like this would burden me or anything. I'm always here if you need me." He pressed his lips against you temple and squeezed you tight. After a bit of silence you finally spoke.

"I have pretty bad anxiety sometimes. I usually have it under control most days, but on some days it all just gets too much and I shit down. I physically can't do anything and I couldn't even tell you what exactly I'm anxious about, which makes it so much worse. I just get too overwhelmed and give up. I do go to therapy, which helps. But on these off days, I don't know, I'm immobile and just want to be alone."

"Ok. I understand. I'm sorry that you go through this." He kissed your temple again. "But I want you to know you don't have to be alone."

"Thank you." You both smiled and this time he sank his lips to yours. It wasn't until they touched that you realized how much you were craving him. His lips were soft against yours and so was his tongue, that slid into your mouth with ease. And that's all it stayed as, but your heart was about ready to explode with happiness. You hadn't really found anything that could make you feel better from your anxiety, except for maybe New Girl, but even that didn't always help. But there he was. Brown-haired hockey boy everyone told you to stay away from. Sitting in your bed in your tiny apartment, bringing you ice cream, watching your favorite show, kissing you senseless.

You didn't speak much for the rest of the night. At some point you fell into a deep sleep in his arms. You couldn't remember the last time you slept this good, especially after a day like the one before. When you woke up, you were alone. A little disappointed you sat up to look for you phone, but found a piece of paper next to you instead.

Had to go to practice. Call me when you wake up.

Thank you for letting me in.

x Mat

Grinning widely, you sank back onto your mattress and all you could think about was how much you loved him. Yes. Over night it must have just clicked. You were in love with Mat.

[huenjin]

and they were roommates.

summary — who would have thought that a very naked sight of your best friend and a torn shower curtain in the rainiest of weathers could start romance? or in which you start falling for your childhood best friend, lee minho, unaware that he’s always been in love with you.

pairing — lee minho x reader, ft. binsung.

genre — fluff, smut, crack | roommates!au, bff2l!au

rating — 18+

word count — 11k words.

note — smut warnings under the cut, ofc! i suck at making summary adagafga!! but but but, i promise this story is adorable, okay, minus all that smut, my lame humor and those bit of rushed parts? this took forever and i'm so sorry for all that had to wait, especially the one who requested this uwuwu. 

smut warnings — a lot of kissing, a lot of swearing, mentions of naked exposure, fingering, cunnilingus, riding/reader on top, penetration, unprotected sex (wrap it before you snap it), choking. there isn't a loooot of smut either, ah! so enjoy the fluff ride.

"You idiot," you scream, loud enough for your neighbours to hear. You pull out the keys that hang outside in the key hole and pull open the door. "How could you leave the keys outside, Minho?"

"I mean, what if someone stole it?" You throw your keys and Minho's into the small box on a ledge by the door. Removing your shoes, you put on the pair of your house shoes by the side and walk further into the apartment. "Or what if someone broke in? You could get killed, you dumb hoe! Or worse, our new television could get stolen."

You hear no response and just the loud sound of shower running in the bathroom hits the walls of your shared apartment. You walk to your room, passing by the common bathroom, after throwing your bag on the sofa. You talk on the way, yelling in hopes that he would hear.

"Did you walk back in the rain? There's no other reason as to why I did not see you after college. Jisung was searching for you too, Minho."

You change into a pair of shorts and black camisole, pulling your hair up and knotting it, all while your ears pick up the small humming from the bathroom. You shake your head at the fact that since it's Lee Minho in the shower, he is probably going to take his own time to come out. After all, he is the reason why your water bill is so high. 

"Yah, Lee Minho!" You walk outside and hit the door with your fists to bring at least a little of his attention towards you. "Do you want the leftovers or should I get food delivered?"

"Delivery!" he screams back, hearing the shower sounds lower and you yell back in response, "Okay," and walk back to the living room, falling back and plopping down on the comfortable rexine covered sofa. 

Your phone rings in the next minute and you are pulling it from your pocket quickly all because you are bored out of your mind. It is also because your stupid best friend from the god forbidden age of five to till this date, takes forever to get out from the shower.

It's Jisung. Not that you would have a doubt even if you had picked up without looking at the name on the screen — your friend circle is that small. It has just been you, Minho and Jisung majorly for almost three fourth of your life, the other one fourth of it with you having your parents as your best friends. Jisung had always been the annoying kid in the playground that pushed you off the swing because he wanted to play and Minho had always been the knight in shining armour in your local playground, the defender of all things right as he saved you from Jisung's frustrating taunts. 

And then your mother — oh dear, she is the reason why you are still stuck with Minho's rich arse (mostly because she thought too that this is the finest her very antisocial daughter would ever find in a man) — decides that since Lee Minho was so kind to save her poor damsel-like daughter, he might as well do it forever. Fast forward to present day, and you are still cleaning up after him. 

"Did Minho reach home?" Jisung asks as soon as you answer the call. You roll your eyes and shift your position to one that allows you to stretch your leg against the length of the sofa.

"Oh, hi, Y/N," you fake your tone, mocking Jisung's ignorance. "Did you reach home safely? Did you get caught in the rain? Oh no!" And then quickly changing it back to normalcy, "Yes, Jisung. I reached home safely. The rain did get heavy as I walked back home but nothing to worry. Did you reach home safely?"

Jisung is laughing loudly on the other end. "Sorry, Y/N," he makes a weird kissing sound and you pull your phone away from your ear. "I presume Minho's safe at home, else you would be the one to crash my phone with the endless calls in worry of his safety. Ha!"

"He got caught in the rain," you sigh. "I hope he's okay though. I would have mentioned how he was, had he just come out of that goddamn bathroom but no! It almost seems like he is rebuilding the whole bathroom." Jisung laughs so loud that you have to pull the phone away from your ear again. 

"Dude, dude, dude," Jisung calls out for you through the line.

"Yeah?" 

"You and Minho are totally like my parents fighting." 

"Do you want to get punched in your face, Han Jisung?" You sit up straight, folding your leg across each other and bending forward, your elbow digging into your thigh as your hand supports your head. 

"And my boyfriend would punch yours if you punched mine," he huffs and you know he is talking about Seo Changbin. At a good five feet and six inches, the shorter male befriended Jisung and then wooed him over in grade eleven with some weird shining universe experiment for a science project and the Han Jisung you had always known, fell for the gesture immediately. They began dating a week after, making Changbin the only other human being you willingly chose to become closer to.

"Like Minho would let that," you click your tongue and Jisung laughs again, mumbling, "How have you guys not slept with each other yet? You guys are roommates."

"I'll kill you, Han Jisung."

"Like you would." The minute Jisung taunts back, you hear a loud noise of something crashing down and the sound is from the bathroom. You jump upwards, quickly hanging up without even telling Jisung that you were leaving as you drop your phone and rush towards the bathroom, taking huge steps to reach before the door in less than a few seconds.

You slam your fist against the door, over and over again, yelling, "Yah," to draw his attention before asking, "Minho, are you okay? I'm coming in," and you pull open the door to the common bathroom. A decision you wish you had not chosen but one you had to take for his safety.

Before a very surprised you lay a very, very naked Lee Minho, groaning with his back against the cold white tiles of the bathroom, neck lifting his head above to instinctively avoid hitting the floor. His hand holds a huge piece of the shower curtain that he must have tried holding onto before falling and as the colour drains from your face, lips wide apart, staring at your naked best friend in shock who is staring back at you, it dawns upon you quickly.

You immediately slap your hand over your eyes and scream as loud as you could possibly, "Fuck, fuck. I just saw your schlong, oh my god!"

"Are you not going to look at me at all now that you saw my dick?"

Minho rolls his eyes at you as a soft groan leaves his lip while he tries to make himself more comfortable on his bed. This time, he is fully clothed, black shirt over his torso and navy blue shorts. You are sitting on a small chair by his side, Chinese herbal medicinal mix in a white ceramic bowl, a tub filled with warm water and a towel and long white bandages on the table by the bed. The Chinese herbal medicinal mix was something your mother specifically ordered you to prepare for the boy before you.

You hand him a cup of warm water first which he takes and is about to swallow it down when you look at the wooden bedpost behind him and mumble, "But I saw your womb raider." Minho chokes on the water before coughing and you quickly pat his back which leads him to cry softly in pain and you are left apologising over and over again for being reckless.

He places the cup on the table and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he narrows his eyes at you and questions, "Womb raider? What the fuck?"

"You know, your schlong," you look away, heat rising up to your cheek. "I saw your schlong, a womb raider."

"I can't believe you call a dick that," he groans, rolling his eyes as if he has completely given up on you, "After having your womb raided enough by many womb raiders."

You look away, taking the ceramic bowl in your hand and mumbling, "None of them were long and thick enough to be called a womb raider though."

"Did you say anything, Y/N?" 

"Nothing," you yell and glare at him, cheeks still hot with the image still vivid in your head. "You can't look disappointed in me," you frown at him, "I should be disappointed. You tore the shower curtain."

"It was a mistake!" Minho gasps and tries to sit up but quickly ditches the plan when he feels the spin surge through him. You place the bowl back on the table and push yourself forward to help Minho sit up, your arms wrapped around his waist, your chest against his as you slowly pull him up. Minho explains himself, "If I didn't hold onto that, I would have gotten injured worse. I'm almost perfect now. It's just the slight—" You press your palm against his back and he seethes in pain.

"Slight pain, indeed," you scoff and finally let him rest against the bedpost. "This should do the magic though." You lift the ceramic bowl again and wave it before him, shoving the weird smelling green substance right in front of his nose. "My mother totally said it would work. She also said that you would have to be on the bed resting the whole day."

"You'll be my maid the whole day," Minho lights up, face instantly shining and you sigh, "Do I have an option? After this day though, we are going to buy shower curtains and you are going to pay for it because you tore it." You accuse him and he clicks his tongue.

"Fine."

"Remove your shirt now," you order and he looks at you, a teasing glint glistening in his eyes and he smiles, moving slightly closer.

"Why? Are you going to call my abs washboard now? That you could do laundry on them?" He purses his lips and leans forward and you push him back, his aching back hitting the bedpost again and Minho is crying with pain on the soft impact, albeit this time, you worry if it is fake. "Y/N," he cries, clamping down against his lower teeth hard, "Can you go easy on me?"

"Then stop teasing me!"

"Fine!" He huffs and looks away, "Help me out of this shirt now."

"What? Why? You put the shirt on fine. Can't you remove it on your own?" You question him, the ceramic bowl securely on your lap. Minho stares at you for the longest time ever and you stare back.

Has his eyes always been this tender? Has his skin always been this soft? Was Lee Minho always this charming and pretty to look at?

This is all because you saw his stupidly good dick, argh!

Minho finally answers, "It's harder to remove a shirt than to wear it." You shake your head and your eyes narrow to crinkled slits as you watch your best friend for a second more before placing the crucible back on the table and bending yourself forward to hold tightly the ends of his black shirt. You lift the black material up and remove it from his torso, exposing his abdomen and chest to the warm breeze in the air. 

He stares at you and you stare at him back, only till you take the white ceramic bowl again and hopefully the last time and you raise an eyebrow at him, mocking him, "Aren't you going to give me the classic Wattpad naked white male line?"

"What line?" 

He looks confused and you laugh, holding the bowl tightly, "You know, the—" You try to lower the pitch of your voice and to sound as cocky as possible, smirking, "Like what you see, baby girl?"

Minho laughs with you till he calms himself down a little, tilts his head and in the most guttural voice you have ever heard your best friend ever go, he repeats, "Like what you see, my baby girl?"

Your heart should not have sped up. Your fingers should not have tightened against the cold white crucible. You should not have pressed your thighs against each other. You should not have had your throat dried up at his very words. But it did and you are staring at Lee Minho in an angle you had never seen him. 

When did that stupid five year old boy who thought he could save the whole world grow up into this man?

"Uh, Y/N," Minho waves his hand in front of you, trying to bring your attention back. "Are you going to apply the medicine or? I mean, it's cold."

"Oh yeah," you stutter. "Yeah, yeah, I was about to. Can you turn back so that I can apply it on your back?"

"Yeah," he nods and pressing his hands into the mattress, he shifts himself, turning a one hundred and eight degrees away from you so that his back is facing yours. "This okay?"

"Yeah," you agree. You bend your arm forward to take the cloth soaked in warm water and you press it against his back. Minho bites his tongue in pain, eyes watering before he can't take it anymore and he turns back to face you. 

"Minho?"

"Can I do that thing you allowed me to do whenever I was in pain and you had to take care of me?" He asks, unsure, "Am I allowed?"

You nod, softly, smiling warmly at the man before you and you lift the chair up slightly. Minho quickly wraps his arms around your waist, his face buried into your soft chest as he edges closer to you. You place the warm cloth again on his broad back and Minho does what he has always done to combat pain.

He bites into your flesh softly, hard enough to trigger something weird within you at this age but soft enough to not cause any pain. 

Your eyes widen and your thighs tighten a bit but Minho is unaware to all this as he snuggles into your warmth, head fuzzy with the pain that throbs through his entire back. After a few minutes, you place the cloth back on the table and hold the crucible tightly. You dig your forefinger and middle finger into the green mix before applying it on his back, soft circles to calm him down and Minho lets go of your flesh, although he still continues to snuggle into you, his thick arms tightening around your frame.

"You're comfortable to hug," he mumbles as you apply the medicine all over his back, his face occasionally pressing against your breast and you gulp, reminding yourself that this is your best friend, that this is the kid you've seen in all his embarrassments. 

"Of course, I am," you laugh. "It doesn't pain that much, does it?"

"Not anymore."

"Good," and you apply another layer over the existing one. "Because if you say anything else to my mother, I swear to God, Lee Minho, I will—"

You don't complete. Minho laughs — soft, precious laughter that fills the air and engages your ears. He tilts his head to look up at you from his lower angle. You look down only to come in direct vision of his bright, glistening eyes that hold the stars behind them and his oh-so-flawless skin that you are envious of. Your heart beat escalates and you are about one hundred percent sure that Minho is aware. After all, he did have his ear against your chest in this position. 

"Fine, fine," his voice is airy and you could listen to it the whole day. "I'll tell your mother that her daughter took care of me perfectly, alright?"

"Perfect," you smile. "Now sit up straight. I need to bandage you up, just in case." Minho begrudgingly pulls back, a soft whimper leaving his lips before he huffs, folding his arms and sitting straight, looking you in the eyes and you gulp. 

"I'll be fine in a day, Y/N," Minho whines and you shake your head, mumbling, "Just in case." You turn your body to grab hold of the white roll of bandage before you beckon for him to come a little closer as you wrap the bandage over his torso, covering the medicinal herbs sticking to his body now. 

"You, in fact," you chuckle as you tighten the bandage and Minho seethes in pain at having his muscles pressed. You rub his hair affectionately before continuing, "You, Lee Minho, should be ready enough to cash out money for the shower curtain."

"Fine, fine, fine," Minho huffs only to break out into a smile as he looks at you. "We'll go as soon as I don't think I'll die if I stand up and straighten my back, okay?"

"Perfect," you laugh and pull yourself away from your best friend, clipping the bandage in the exact manner. You help him lie back against the soft mattress. You pick up the crucible and the tub of water as you stand up. 

"Y/N," Minho calls out for you and you turn, your head gliding against the joint and your eyebrows rising up in question.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks," he smiles, eyes closed and face so soft that you do want to hold it.

"For what?"

"For taking care of me, doofus. What would I have done had you not been there? You are my knight in shining armour now."

You laugh but your heart is furiously beating against your chest, thrumming against it so loudly that you can hear the beats. Your cheeks flush with heat and you look away, mumbling, "It's nothing," and walk away. You close the door quickly and fall against the vast wooden door finally, away from his presence and you hold the bowls close to you.

Fuck. When did your heart start beating this hard for the same man that you once knew as the stupid five year old with elephant print trunks? When did your heart start thrumming so loudly against your chest for your only best friend?

Either ways, you are doomed. Inevitably.

Jisung: baby, i think it's about time Changbin: for what? Jisung: you know, how we always said those two should probably fuck Changbin: yeah? Jisung: the sexual tension is too high. can we get it over with already and have them date already? Changbin: you've been trying this forever and you failed. Jisung: don't remind me. you're my boyfriend, support me. Changbin: fine! go, sungie!! i love you either way though.

It is exactly three days after the I-exposed-my-cock incident that Lee Minho agrees to go with you to buy the shower curtains. 

"Can't we just buy it online?" He had whined, arms folding against each other as he scrolled through his phone. You stand by the sofa, head shaking in disappointment as you reason back, frustrated, "The material," and you hit his arm. Minho winces. "The material is important. I won't compromise on that. Plus, you promised that you would come with me to buy something that you tore. Isn't that only fair?"

Minho does so. After bargaining with him for one tub full of mint chocolate ice cream that you will never understand why he loves so much. 

That is exactly how you find yourself here in this shop, shopping cart in your hand and Minho by your side.

"We are only buying the shower curtain," you tell him, staring at the half full shopping cart. "So I don't understand why we need all these."

Minho smiles sheepishly at you. He then points at the two tubs of ice cream and says, "One for you, and one for me. I even chose your favorite flavor!" He continues to point at each article and tell why he needs them very articulately and you stand there in surprise before breaking his speech.

"Fine, fine!" You push the cart ahead. "Now let's just go and get what we came here for." Minho follows you, his one hand on the shopping cart handle to keep pace with you. The two of you stop right in front of the array of curtains in different colours, some on display and some packaged and you smile, whispering under your breath, "Tada." Minho looks at you softly, at the small voice of joy that escapes your lips and he just watches you light up in fascination at something as simple as shower curtains.

Fuck, he loves your domesticity.

"Let's take this," Minho announces as he stretches his arms out to hold onto a pretty blue shower curtain. You hold it in between your fingers feeling the texture before announcing, "No."

"But why?" Minho whines, following your footsteps as you hold onto another shower curtain. 

"Because it's polythene," you frown at your best friend. Minho looks at you, confused, his eyebrows furrowing as they look at you like you have grown another pair of hands and legs.

"And so?"

"You could tear it again!"

"It happened once," he sighs, frustrated. "Once. It's not like I'm waiting to fall in the shower, tear the curtain and have you see my dick all the time, babe."

Your cheeks flush at his announcement and the tag he calls you by, your eyes looking away from his pretty face for a split second. Minho shakes his hand, taking a step forward to check a few other shower curtains out when the two of you hear a very familiar voice from behind, in the most professional manner ever.

"Sir, the one you chose is perfect. It is very durable and doesn't stain on contact with water—"

"Han Jisung?" Minho turns, the words of shock leaving his mouth almost instantly. You turn impulsively, eyes wide.

"What the fuck are you guys doing here?"

"Hey," you narrow your eyes at the other male. "I could file a report for bad customer service about now, Sungie."

He folds his arms and looks at the two of you suspiciously, "What are you guys doing here?" He raises an eyebrow at you, scoffing at you, "Like you would."

"What does it look like we're doing here, Sungie?" You bite back jokingly and Jisung laughs, gaze shifting between the two of you.

"I don't know," he runs a hand through his hair before folding his arms again, his fluorescent yellow uniform crumbling with the shift in his arms. "Is this some sort of a new way to date?"

"We aren't—" You quickly start when Minho pulls a curtain forward and breaks your sentence before you can complete as he asks Jisung, "This isn't polythene, is it?"

"Are you stupid?" Jisung frowns before he laughs. "That's clearly polythene. Minho, dude, you're a chemical engineering student. You have got to be kidding me if you can't identify polythene."

Minho doesn't pay heed to Jisung's words. You, on the other hand, stare at your best friend who walks away from you to examine more shower curtains. Did Lee Minho really ask Jisung, a literature student, whether that was polythene — What in the world?

"Y/N? Earth to Y/N?" Jisung snaps your attention back to the present. "Are you going to buy shower curtains today?"

"Yeah?"

"But your shower curtains were fine the last time I came home." You understand Jisung's surprise because the last time he did come home was five days back and the shower curtain was in a perfect condition. "What happened?"

You stretch your arms and point at Minho. The very culprit rolls his eyes before raising his eyebrows and sighing, voicing in the most dramatic voice you have ever heard Minho take, "Yes, Y/N. Yes, Ji. It's me. I tore the shower curtain because I fell in the shower."

"Ouch," Jisung acknowledges Minho's injury before walking past the two of you and taking a shower curtain. "Here's one. You might like this, Y/N."

"It's not PVC, Sungie."

Jisung wants to hit your head, terribly. Perhaps it's your adamance that is the reason as to why your friendship is this tight and strong but in moments like these, he likes Minho more. Minho stands by the side, arms folded and back resting against the wall as he trusts your judgement.

"Are you not going to tell her anything?"

"She handles all this at home. Give her what she wants, Ji," he laughs, fiddling with a few more shower curtains by his side. Jisung shakes his head in disappointment before mumbling, a soft frustrated groan leaving his lips as he throws his head back, "Definitely a married couple," and takes a few polyvinyl chloride made shower curtains. 

"Here," he presses his lips. "Don't blame me if the designs aren't that great. You don't get that many good designs in PVC. People go for polythene because it's more available."

"PVC doesn't tear and it's easy to clean!"

"Seconding this as a chemical engineering student," Minho chirps in from behind. You and Jisung turn to look at the man who is on his phone currently and shake your head lightly. "What?"

"He remembers his major now!" Jisung clicks his tongue. "All say, praise the Lord."

"I'm agnostic." You frown.

"More reasons for you to say it easily!"

You find a plain one in the ones he showed you and you take it. Jisung smiles finally, mumbling, "You're a frustrating customer."

"Nah," you scoff. Minho pushes himself off the wall as soon as he sees you done with the selection. "I just know what I want exactly. You, on the other hand, sweetheart," you poke his chest and Jisung chuckles. "You're a pathetic salesperson."

"Of course," he laughs the insult away. "I'm a literature student. I should be working in a publishing company as a part timer."

Minho takes the shower curtain from your hand and puts it in the cart by the side. He comes back, throwing his arm over Jisung's shoulder and frowns, "Apparently publishing companies care a lot more about who your parents are than your resume."

"It's just that publishing company," the other male looks down. "I'll try applying for another one soon."

"Do you want to grab a drink at our place tonight?"

"Can I?"

"Sure," Minho agrees. He drops his arm from Jisung's shoulder and holds the cart handle back, pushing it forward slightly. You take big strides to stand by Minho's side, also holding the handle slightly. Jisung raises his eyebrows at the two of you and with a smile that you don't think twice about, Jisung laughs.

"I'm coming over tonight."

"Sure," you throw your thumbs up at him, stretching your arm. Minho smiles softly at you, his eyes lingering a little longer at your happy figure and he feels his heart beat a little quicker at your sight. Your hair strands framing your face so beautifully, eyes shining the minute you find the exact thing you've had in your mind and your lips curving upwards in joy. 

Lee Minho finds the calmness that spring brings him every year in him all over again with you by his side.

"Bring the soju. Beer is on us!"

Jisung: binnie, binnie!! Changbin: yes, baby? Jisung: i think i have a plan. Changbin: let them be, babe. Jisung: we let them be all these years! they pinned after each other without even knowing and we had to see that painfully! Changbin: i guess you make a valid point there Jisung: is it going to rain today? Changbin: it's been raining for the last few days, sungie. it could. just because i study geography as my minor doesn't mean i can forecast weather. hey! Jisung: fine~ i'm going to get them to confess tonight 👀 Changbin: don't mess up. istg Jisung: trust me 🥺 Changbin: i do. more than ever ❤️

Jisung reaches your doorstep at sharp nine. With two bottles of soju in his hands, you see the stains of the droplets of rain falling onto his shoulder. 

It is drizzling for now and you worry if it is to rain heavily in a few minutes as the forecast mentioned. You hate the thunder. You hate how the weather changes drastically and worsens to a point that it frightens you and makes you anxious. It's a phobia you have managed to hide from everyone for fears of being treated weaker.

Jisung makes himself at home. He always has. He places the soju bottles on the kitchen countertop and Minho smiles to himself as he walks towards the point where Jisung has happily seated himself. Minho and you are on the other end of the counter while Jisung sits on the adjustable chair, swirling in it before stopping and facing you, Minho and the bottles of soju before him.

"Did it finally hit him?"

"I think?" You whisper back.

"I'm right here!" Jisung yells and you smile. Minho pulls the chair from under the counter and sits himself opposite the other male, pressing his lips together and trying to not laugh. He opens the bottle of soju after shaking it and hitting it against his elbow for a while. It clinks open, the metal hitting the glass before falling onto the table and you watch the two, as Minho pours a drink for Jisung.

He downs it in one go, letting out a loud sigh before stretching his arms and demanding a second one.

"Go easy, Sungie. You have the whole night."

"I don't," he huffs. "Now, please."

Minho pours it again before looking at you and you shake your head to indicate that you wouldn't mind a few. You grab hold of one of the empty cups on the counter before stretching your arm too. Minho laughs – a soft chuckle, so airy and light that you find yourself holding your breath for a small second there – and he pours you your drink. 

You twirl your drink, watching the liquid glide against the surface of the cup. Your best friend gets up and walks a little into the kitchen to open the fridge and grab a box of leftovers of fried chicken that you bought a few days ago. He pulls open the microwave to heat it and as he waits, he turns to look back at Jisung and asks him finally.

"Do you want me to drop a word to my uncle?"

"About?"

"He heads the Cheongsam Publication," Minho reveelas, pulling out the chicken from the microwave. He places it before the two of you and almost like you and Jisung were zoomed in, in an American sitcom, both of you gasp dramatically.

"Am I really your best friend?" Jisung yells and you narrow your eyes at Minho. Faking tears in his eyes, he persists in questioning,  "Do I not matter to you, Minho?"

"Why are you rooming with me when you could possibly afford a whole room on your own?"

"Yes, Jisung," Minho sighs and sits back on his chair. You bend forward, arms folded against the table as you stare at your best friend in betrayal. "Also, Y/N, don't you love having me around?"

He laughs and rests his head on your shoulder suddenly, causing you to stiffen them in response. Your eyes drift to the left, trying to not make it overtly obvious that Minho's sudden reaction has taken you by surprise. Your eyes land forward on Jisung who looks at you as if he knew this all along, as if he wanted exactly this. The man has a goddamn smirk plastered on his face.

Jisung downs two more shots and you look at him with a raised eyebrow, mumbling, "Slow the fuck down. No one's chasing you."

"Yeah, my goddamn plan," he mumbles before coughing and taking another. Minho sits up straight, finally lifting his head from your shoulder. He stretches his arm to pat Jisung's shoulder in comfort.

"I'll drop a word."

"Now, don't you dare go and say that you want to earn it and all that bullshit," you sigh. "It's the fucking Republic Of Korea. Nepotism is the norm."

"Not planning on saying that," Jisung glares at you. Clearly, Jisung is slightly tipsy, having been the only person to keep drinking. You and Minho opt to just watch over Jisung for the night. Your best friend puckers his lips in Minho's direction and blowing kisses, he says, "I love you, Minho."

"Changbin wouldn't like you saying that to another man though," you scoff and Jisung flips you the middle finger before downing one more and standing up. The thunder rattles the three of you exactly then and you grip the table, face turning pale instantly. Minho's attention darts to you quickly in concern.

"You okay?" You hum in response, unconvincingly though to Minho whose gaze lingers on you in worry for just a while more. That is, till Jisung rips it away by dramatically placing the back of his hand on his forehead and playing the damsel in distress as he gasps so loudly, staring at the big window.

"It's raining heavily," he sighs and you shudder, afraid of another thunderstorm as you grip tightly on the side of the table.

"So?" Minho asks, both eyebrows raised at the man before him, looking at the two of you with doe eyes.

"I'm staying over, thanks," he rushes and runs to your bedroom, quickly shutting the door and latching it and you and Minho stare at each other. As soon as the realisation of what could happen dawns over you, you rush to your closed bedroom, fists banging against the wooden door.

"Yah, Han Jisung," you turn to look at Minho who watches you in amusement. "Open the fucking door."

"No. I don't want to go back home in the rain. You and Minho can share the bed. I am never opening the door. Good night."

"What the fuck? Yah, Sungie, stop acting like a child. Open the door now." You hear no response. "Sungie? Answer me. Open the door please." Minho walks over to you, and tries knocking too, in vain however because Jisung has no plans to open the door.

You look at Minho, the man slightly towering you as he stands by your side and you gasp. You had to share the bed with the same man you just realised you could, perhaps, have developed feelings for?

"Fuck."

Jisung: it finally seems to be working, binnie! luck's on my side this time. Changbin: oh baby. just please don't be disappointed if it doesn't work out this time either. Jisung: i won't be because it's definitely going to work out. eeeee! i'm so excited! 

Another thunderstorm ripples through the air.

Your heart beats quicker in anxiety, eyes squeezing shut as you grip tightly on the pillow, a light whimper leaving your lips. You feel the mattress shuffling underneath you and in the next minute, your ears are covered by Minho's hands. You stiffen as he edges closer to you, his chin resting on your shoulder as his palm pressed against your pinna, covering your ear completely to protect you from the loud sounds of the thunder.

"Minho, what—"

His hand on your right ear slightly shifts to the side as he bends forward to whisper into your ear, to amplify the sounds enough as a way to distract you.

"You never ever told me you were scared of thunderstorms."

Lee Minho is way too close to you to think straight. You feel his body pressed against your back, heat radiating from him to you through your oversized hoodie. His breath is harsh against your skin as he leans close to whisper into your ear. And all this in an attempt to forget the thunderstorm.

So far, it's working like magic. 

Your voice is almost small when you inform him, "We never happened to be in the same place during one," and Minho swears to God, he could lose it completely. All the self control to not confess and take you there is so ready to be shoved out of the window that all he can do is try and focus on worrying about your fears.

"I'll protect you," he mumbles so softly that you turn around to look at him. His eyes are bright in the soft lights in his room and as he lies by your side, so close that you can hear his heart that beats faster and his breath that is shallow, your lips part and you watch him.

You are fully justified for falling in love with this man. 

A man that tells you he'd protect you from your fears, god alone knows how, but the fact that they don't seem like empty words. A man that you know like the back of your hand and the same man that seems to have protected you all throughout your life, even if you have done the same. It was inevitable. Falling for Lee Minho is inevitable.

And that's why you kiss him. Because you're in love with him so badly that all you can zero in is him, him, him.

Your lips press against his, so softly for a split second. As if you are unsure. As if you know you could be ruining years of friendship over something the two of you could consider a mistake. 

You kiss him and suddenly it's the only thing that matters to you right now. Him, him, him. Your lips are slow and soft against him. It is almost as if you are reminding yourself that there has been nothing more morbidly right than this. To fall in love with your best friend. Minho's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss and with Minho so stiff by your side, you panic, and ramble. "I'm sorry. I should have thought it could be unrequited. I like you and I should have asked—”

Minho crashes his lips on yours, so quickly that it takes your breath away and cuts your sentence in half, but you don't care. He pulls you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your pink ones. You let out a small gasp as you deepen the kiss, running your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you. It is just you and him in this small room. Just you and him in focus. You can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute. That it has always been beating for you.

Minho presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth, tongue chasing after yours. Minho kisses you like he has finally achieved the greatest thing ever and he never wants to let it go. Minho kisses like he loves you and you feel it. You feel every ounce of it.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. Playing with the ends of his roots, you suck on his lower lips before he pulls away and finally tells you, "I've always been in love with you, Y/N. Always."

Kissing you again, his thumb digs into the skin by your jaw as he delves deeper, as if he never wants to let you go. The air in the room heats up when your hand moves under his shirt, feeling his muscles under your skin and you moan against his lips. Minho lets go of your lips only to kiss the side of it and then your cheeks and then your jugular before he is littering kisses all over your neck. You moan explicitly, gripping on him and slightly grinding on his thigh. You feel your core heating up, arousal sticking to your panties and all you can think is,

“I want you.”

Minho swears to God that he has always loved confident women but when you shattered right before him and built your confidence right back up — that is the hottest thing he swears he has seen. That, and the fact that you had always been hot before his eyes.

“Really?” Minho lifts himself up and hovers on top of you.

“Really,” you decide to respond before you cup his face and pull his face closer to yours. You don't pull him in for a kiss just yet. Your eyes zero on him, trying to cancel out the loud thunderstorms in the background and just focus on the man before you that you love, that you've been in love unknowingly for a while. 

You just hold his face and learn. You try to remember every single detail of his face that you never focussed on before.

You realise over again that his eyes are your favourite thing. They are black as charcoal and yet still shimmer as if stars are trapped and enclosed beneath them. And when he narrows them to look at you with a daze, your heart throbs and you gulp. They make your heart hurt whenever they fix on you.

You know his skin is soft as you touch. As creamy and velvety as they are, you can't stop touching him. 

His mouth is a pretty shade of coral, plump and pouty and honestly so kissable it hurts to look at it for more than a few seconds. You wonder how you haven't driven yourself to kiss him yet. All these years.

Everything about his face is soft and delicate, that is till he turns a little to the side and angles it perfectly, his head backward and you can clearly see the sharpness of his jawline; the distinct manly cut that makes your mouth dry and your heart beat faster. 

“You are perfect,” you gulp, your eyes back on him and Minho smiles widely. His warm breath caresses your face and his forehead is pressed against yours immediately.

“You know what else is perfect, baby?”

“No,” your voice is airy, even though you already know what he is going to say. You know it and yet the thought causes your heart to skip a bit, and flutter a lot in your chest.

“You and everything you have to offer. You are not average. You are one of the most perfect women I've seen in my whole life, Y/N,” he says. As soon as the words spill from his mouth, your lips are on his, claiming his mouth, the same ones that whispered into your ear that there is nothing to be afraid when he's right there by your side.

He gasps loudly as your hands leave his face and move to his hair to pull him down towards you — you need him so close to you. Your fingers get lost in his thick locks as you tug on them, forcing him to bend a lot forward and gladly welcome the intrusion of your tongue.

His lips are as soft as feathers and they feel like what you think heaven feels like. The warmth you experience is so much more than the tingle of first kisses and those innocent butterflies have nothing on the wanting void of a pit in your nether regions and the slick in between your thighs. 

His hands slide down from your hips to reach behind your back and pull you upwards, only to tightly clasp around the curve of your bottom cheeks.

“Minho,” you groan against his lips after he pulls away from you. His lips are red and swollen, slick and shining with your saliva and so incredibly inviting you all over again and you fear that you may never want to stop kissing him for as long as you are breathing. You fear getting too addicted to this human – more than you already are – to a point where you need to be attached to him by the hip, to never let go of him.

Minho's lips move from your swollen lips to the curve of your jaw, down to the curved edges of your neck, sucking and kissing every exposed skin. 

His hand moves from your clothed arse to under your hoodie, hand pressed against your back as he pulls you closer and forwards, until your chests are pressed against one another. His mouth is everywhere and god, you feel infinite and powerful.

His lips hover on yours. He smiles widely and you think it's cute. He inches his chin forward, flicking your nose a little with his own, a shy smile on his lips as he silently asks the permission to claim your lips anew; all over again.

You nod your head to signal yes. You hold your breath and your eyes flutter shut, awaiting him and his warmth.

Minho's kiss is slow and delicate at first. It is drawn out in a way that makes you want more, so much more, that you want to pull him in and suck the life out of him and yet, at the same time, it is precious and laced with not only the passion of the moment but also the tenderness of a first time together.

It makes your insides twitch and your heart lunge and it fogs up all of your thoughts to the point you feel yourself drowning in the sensation of his lips, pressed tightly on your own. 

Your heart is beating quicker than ever in your chest, against your ribs, and you pull him even closer, so tight your chests have no choice but to heave against each other with every single breath you take. You don’t want to let him go, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

Minho is something you desperately want to hold onto in your life. He knows your secrets, your everything. He knows what you like and how you like it. He seems to know everything and the thought of letting him go aches your heart and constraints your throat with a sob you wouldn't dare to let out. You want him to be completely yours.

And these thoughts turn you desperate. They force you to make the kiss deeper, to lick his lips and bite them down, to gulp down every sigh and whimper that comes out of him and make them your own. To make him yours.

Your eyes flutter shut, taking in the way his mouth moves over yours, arching further into him. You groan into his mouth and his grip on your back tightens instantly.

“I want you so much, Minho,” you whimper against him after your lips part from his. You lick your lips and gaze at him with your partially closed eyes. “So fucking much.”

“Then, have me. Take me,” Minho purrs against your exposed skin. In a minute, he pulls the oversized hoodie over you, leaving you in just your undergarments as he discards it to the side. His mouth moves over the skin above your breasts and his hand traces the bra you are wearing. He gazes at it and mumbles before latching his mouth back on your skin, “You are so fucking beautiful. Always have been.”

You gleam in pride and your body arches at the contact of his mouth on your skin. Your hands are on the side of his face as you pull him away.

“Can I?”

“Have me? Yes. Completely,” he smiles. He wonders if you are confident. That's all that he hopes when you look at him so unsure and so doubtingly. 

You wet your lips again quickly, your breath coming out in hot puffs of air. Your hands immediately rush to his top, roughly pushing it above. Minho helps you out and pulls it completely away. You are blinded by the passion burning inside of you, your hands eager to explore and touch every expanse of his glowing skin. You want to touch, feel, have a complete experience. You want Minho to remind you of everything you are missing out on.

Your lips attack his neck in a hurry, all rough and passionate on his tender, soft skin, blooming red roses that turn purple against it. You repeat your actions till he’s softly moaning out your name, almost purring them out that you feel yourself becoming slicker. His hands on your back pull you closer and into him so that you won’t stop tainting his flesh and slowly, his soul, in the best ways possible.

Minho whines and sighs and grunts for you. He doesn't hold himself back as his lips leave appreciation for who you are. He closes his eyes as he parts his lips to whimper out your name with every new thing you find that excites him and it drives you absolutely insane. 

You know you should not but you can’t stop wondering how he would sound like as you fuck him hard, rock on his cock to milk his orgasm, make him beg not to stop. You desperately want to break him and draw all these nice sounds out of him, but you know it would most probably be the other way round. Minho allows you to take control occasionally but you know he wants the lead. He wants to be the one to break you apart and pull you back together. 

He pulls back from you, his hands leaving your back and resting on either of your sides. Minho's dark hair brushes over his crescent lidded eyes and nearly shields the hungry, desperate gaze of them. His hand plays with the strap of your panties as his gaze flickers between affection and lust. He cocks his head to the side before asking, “You do want this, right?”

You nod, hoping it would be enough and that he would resume.

“I need to hear you say it out loud, baby,” he firmly says and you gulp.

“Yes, yes. Minho, fuck, I want this. I need this,” you whine, your eyes glassy, as you grip his forearm to lift yourself up and grate and move against the evident bulge on his jeans. 

Minho merely needs that verbal confirmation. He pulls away your panties, resting on your hips and you groan. Still hovering above you and his hands over your pubic mound, his fingers trail lower and you tug at your lower lip in anticipation. Easily, he finds your clit, and begins to rub in slow, languid, lazy motion, up and down, waiting for the moan he so loves to hear from you to spill from your mouth. He grins when he hears those little whimpers and you feel your legs lose mobility from the pleasure he brings you with just a flick of his finger. 

Your back slightly arches off the soft mattress upon the bed when his finger leaves your clit to draw a line up your wet slit, collecting as much of your arousal as he can before slipping his glistening fingers out to admire them in the light. Your cheeks taint pink in embarrassment.

“Fuck,” Minho moans, taking his coated finger into his mouth to suck your juices from it. His eyes flutter shut as if he’s tasting the sweetest aphrodisiac ever known and your lips part at this sight. Lee Minho looks irresistible and you want him, completely.

“God,” he groans. Minho slides himself down your body until he’s in level with your pussy. His eyes gazed at it in sheer adoration and your hand slapped against your mouth. He takes two fingers to spread your lips apart for a better view. “You’re dripping, baby girl.”

You wail as he drags a finger up and down your slit, playfully teasing your fold, making you whine his name out loud. The way you plead for him, beg for him, grind down on his teasing fingers, all set a fire inside you. This has been what you had been craving for so long. The ability of this man to cloud your thoughts and set your body on fire makes you yearn for him even more.

“Minho,” you cry out, whimpering underneath him. “Fingers. I need you. Please, Minho.”

You gasp, your voice airy, when the tip of his finger tentatively slips into you while your fingers dig at his shoulders between your thighs. “Minho, I want you. I just really want you. I need to feel you. Please.”

He drags his finger out of you before you clutch onto him, feeling the need to be overwhelmed. He presses his thumb on your clit and a whimper leaves your mouth. 

“Minho.” And he slides his digit in again almost as if on cue. He pumps his finger in and out of you as his thumb harshly rubs circles on your clit. Your hand leaves your mouth and grabs your hair as the other digs further into his shoulder. 

His mouth leaves hot air against the skin covering your acetabulum and you shudder. His lips graze from there till your thigh before biting on them, sucking them deliriously and leaving you as a whimpering mess.

“Minho, fuck!” You scream, your fingers grabbing your hair to hold control of your body. 

“That's it, baby,” he says against the skin of your thighs. “How I've wanted those beautiful lips to scream out my name from when I've felt them.”

Minho adds another finger and your eyes are screwed shut as he curls them within you and you gasp at the feeling of being widened. You are elated and you feel your arousal leaking down your thighs. He rubs your inside and your clitoris faster and you push your hips towards him, moving with his pace. Minho is also leaving beautiful purple marks in a trail on your thigh and you gape in awe.

You find it all too much. Your emotions are all over the place and your hormones rise up. The movement of his fingers inside you and around your clit, his lips attacking your erogenous spots, kissing, biting and licking short stripes on them. It finally gets to you and you scream his name out in pleasure. Your first orgasm comes crashing down upon you, blinding you. You release all over his fingers and Minho helps you ride out your high as he drags his finger repeatedly but this time, slower than what had been. 

Your head lifts up and hits the pillow slightly as it tilts away. Minho moves upwards, hovering over your face and smiles. You smile back. You are so happy and you do not know how to put it into words.

“Minho?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks?”

“For what?” He looks at you quizzically. 

“That was my first orgasm in months now that wasn't brought about by my own fingers,” you smile wearily and Minho leans forwards and kisses your forehead.

"Should have come to me," he laughs.

"Didn't know if I'd be ruining our friendship."

"Pfft," he scoffs, before kissing you again, his lips gliding against yours and piecing in as if they were always meant to be against yours. "I've been in love with you forever."

"Took me a while to know my own feelings," you mumbles. “Also,” you continue, hoping he listens to your request. “Can I . . . ride you?”

Minho is stunned. There are so many things about you that stuns him and maybe it's the way you try to take control that make you look so much hotter before his eyes. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you plead. “If that is not a bother to you.”

“Why would it? Your wish is my command, but only for this night. Next time, my love, we do this my way,” he teases and winks and your core throbs at his words.

Minho pulls himself away from your body, pulling his shirt over his head and his denim down and away. As he flings his clothes aside and relaxes against the mattress, his cock springs free against his stomach, leaking with milky precum. You sit up beside the space Minho has taken over and watch him and his cock deliriously and lustfully.

You sit up, crawling over to straddle his lap, nervousness setting into your stomach. You’re really doing this. You gulp and swallow the saliva as you look at Minho, whose gaze gives you comfort and confidence. The muscles in your arm stiffens as you grip his shoulder for stability and Minho notices.

“It’s okay,” he reassures you, sensing your reluctance and worry. He pushes back the stray hair falling over your eyes. “You're doing wonderful, babygirl. You are finally all mine. What a pretty girl and all to myself now."

You nod, biting down on your lower lip, and tugging at it harshly, cheeks heating up at his words, arousal gushing out as you look down before aligning with his cock. You want this. You needed this release.

As your folds, dripping with thick, sticky arousal, brush the tip of his hardened cock, you feel a shudder run down your spine. You instinctively allow yourself to lower further, taking the rest of him in you swiftly with the help of your arousal. Sinking down around his dick and feeling him fully wrapped around your clutching walls has you moaning out his name, gasping and panting for air, “Fuck, Minho.”

You rock your hips into him, trying this as you picture it to be, already finding yourself tightening and clenching around his thick length. He fills you up so nicely, stuffing you perfectly full and you salivate. Your lips parts and you find your hips moving on their own accord.

As much as Minho wants to give you complete power over this, it isn't like him and he wishes he could be better. Minho takes your hips in his hands, taking control of your movements to raise you up, leaving you empty and whining. You clench around nothing but air and your own walls, desperate to sink back down. “Minho,” you whine, your lower lip puckers forwards and you feel sad.

As his hand grip around your hips to get a better hold, he slams you back down on his cock, hard, causing you to scream. “Minho, ah!”

He continuously guides you in a rhythmic movement, throwing his head back into his pillows and groaning. You are glad he is helping you out because you know you could not have done it on your own after having just ridden out your high.

The sheen of sweat glistening on his chest catches your eye as he pants. The way his eyes clenched shut and his mouth hangs open with pleasure only makes you move faster around his cock. The sight before you makes you want to see him fucked out further. You want him to crumble under you because of you. 

You ride him, bouncing on his dick and clenching when you feel yourself reaching your climax for the second time that night. Minho’s finger moves down and slips between your sweat soaked bodies to rub your clit, pushing you even further over the edge. Minho knows how to make a woman putty in his hands and you are a living witness of this.

“Are you going to come?” He asks, breathlessly, his voice airy and light, almost floating away. He pulls his head forward to kiss your collarbones, sucking harsh bruises against your skin, continuing further down the existing purple bruises.

“Y-Yes,” you sigh, lacing your fingers through his hair and tugging on the dark strands. “Mhm, fuck, you feel so good, Minho.” You lean forward and the motion causes Minho to whine. You quickly catch it as your lips fall on his. His lips enclose yours and he kisses you slowly and passionately as you move on his cock, lazily.

Words, unfiltered and raw, spill out from your mouth after your lips leave his as you feel the high that is creeping up slowly within you. “Minho, fuck. Oh fuck, you feel so good.”

“Then, come.”

Minho moans against your neck as he feels you, his finger rubbing your clit, “Babygirl, oh fuck. Come all over my cock.”

Minho’s other hand that is not occupied leaves your hip and moves upwards to find their place on your neck. His fingers gently wrap themselves around your neck and his eyes flicker a mischief that makes you wetter than you already are. He presses his fingers against your neck with pressure and you choke. Your mouth opens wide and your tongue falls out slightly resting on your lower lip. Your eyes roll back and your walls clench around Minho’s cock tightly.

Minho learns that your dirty liking for choking is incredibly hot. Seeing you like this is what he knows would get him to come when you are not around. Your fucked out expression as you gasp for air makes Minho plunge into you harder and you choke harder.

A final flick of his finger over your sensitive button and a bit more pressure over your neck are all it takes for your body to flood with pleasure and ecstasy. Your legs tighten around Minho's waist, curling in as you ride out your high for as long as possible, still moving your hips against him. His fingers let go of your neck and you breath loudly, taking in huge gulps of air.

Not long after your undoing, he comes inside you, coating your walls with his seed as you feel his length pulsate within you.

Once your body falls limp against his chest, equally fucked out and panting for air, you feel him going soft inside you. He lifts you up, slowly slipping out of you and gently laying you by his side. His fingers rub small circles on your hips after pulling you closer into him. 

“Hey,” you say and smile. 

Minho kisses your forehead and then, the peak of your nose, and finally, kisses your lips, softly. It isn't lustful or anything. Just plain passion seeping from him to you. You feel his admiration and an emotion you fear to mistake for love. He pulls away and smiles, “Hey, beautiful.”

He comes closer and licks the side of your neck, where he had wrapped his fingers out. The one fantasy that you are so in love with. He peppers soft kisses around it and mumbles an apology. 

“No,” you quickly stop him. “That was everything. I— I really like you." Pausing, the thought crashes your head, post your high and you mumble, "Fuck, I fell in love with my best friend." 

You nuzzle into his chest after he pulls back, your arms wrapping around his body as you calm yourself. Minho chuckles into your ear, "Yes, yes. You clearly did. What do we do now?"

"Take responsibility." You mumble as you slowly find yourself feeling sleepy. Your eyes are slowly drooping and your voice lowers in tone, words drifting away almost, “You better take responsibility for my feelings and take care of me.”

“It'd truly be my honour,” Minho mumbles, lifting you slowly to push his one arm beneath your neck. He uses the other hand to push your hair away from your face. Kissing your forehead, lips lingering for a while, he smiles to himself, laughing slightly as he asks you, "Was the schlong good?”

You laugh softly, snuggling into his chest, fist against it as you try to fall asleep, thunderstorms long forgotten. Kissing his chest, you giggle, "Best ever schlong I have ever had, baby. All mine to keep now."

Jisung: can you pick me up? Changbin: this late? Jisung: i just wanted them to confess. not fuck like bunnies. useless fact i learnt today: they are both loud in bed. Changbin: i'm laughing off the bed literally!!! also!!! Jisung: yeah? Changbin: and they were roommates! Jisung: god, they were roommates. 🙄❤️

[angsty-omi]

you get jealous of their manager

suna rintarou; sakusa kiyoomi

angst to fluff, hurt/comfort.

suna rintarou

when rin told you about the new manager, you didn’t expect her to be blonde, curvy, and absolutely gorgeous. honestly, just looking at her made you insecure. the way all the boys gawked at her everytime she walked by. you didn’t care about the boys though, you only cared about a boy, your boyfriend rin. she’s with him longer than he’s with you. practices take up most of his day, so you only saw him once he got to your shared apartment where he was too tired to do anything that exterted energy. to be fair, you were fine just staying in, but imagining him with her during practices made you uncomfortable.

it was even worse when he’d go out to dinner with the team and her. you couldn’t remember the last time he’d even ask you on a date. you hated the way he stopped trying once you started dating. starting to reach the AMs when you called him.

“y/n?” his slurred tone showed that he was drunk.

“suna? where are you? it’s almost 12 am.” you scolded. how could you not? he’s drunk and with a girl that you were very envious of.

“first of all, can you chill? i literally told you that i’d be out with the boys, i don’t understand why you’re getting so upset,”

“upset? you’re literally out with a girl who’s very attarctive” you frustrated.

“oh i see what this is now, you’re jealous and you don’t trust me.”

“it’s not a matter of trust, it’s just i fe-feel uncomfortable and i oh i don’t know wanted to talk about it?” you started to raise your voice. the attempt to set a boundary has failed, and rather was replaced with you being the enemy.

“she’s my friend y/n, get over it because you’ll be seeing a lot more of her,” rin hissed.

“i’m not telling you who you can be friends with or not, but you have to understand where i’m coming from” you murmured.

“just leave me alone, i can be friends with whoever i want, and the last thing i’m going to do is let a bitch dictate that.” suna argued loudly.

it was followed up by silence, with a girl voice cutting in, “rin-rin let’s do this song together!” in a high pitch squeal caught the mic.

“oh so you’re rin rin now huh? i can’t be surprised considering how much time you spend with her!”

“well maybe i like hanging out with her. did you ever think of that y/n? it’s nice to have someone who wouldn’t nag or bitch about me, she doesn’t pry for me to open up,” he attempted to justify his actions.

“okay fine then, if she’s soooo perfect than just date her” words just started spilling out of your brain, and it was too late to take it back.

“maybe i will!” he roared. after he sunk in what he was saying, he followed up with “w-wait i didn’t mea-” trying to save his relationship.

“do whatever you want suna, whether you’re with her or not it’s not my problem anymore, i’m done.” you ended the call, tears freely flowing down your face.

you couldn’t sleep that night. pathetically, you’d hope that suna would at least give you a call back, or any sign that he still cared for you. but he didn’t, and you assumed that was your answer. you would reevaluate the relationship after a good nights sleep on the couch. you couldn’t sleep on the bed due to suna’s lingering scent.

when 4am rolled around, the door opened as quietly as possible. suna assumed that you were asleep in bed, and was prepared to join you. when he walked in the bedroom and saw the bed still made, he panicked. did you really leave? were you actually done with the relationship? he checked everywhere, the bathroom, kitchen, the basement, and not the most obvious place ever. he dialed your phone, and heard loud ringing from the living room. he slapped his forehead in stupidity and made his way over to you. his heart broke at the sight. the way you tried to fit your body with the throw blanket, unaware that you were shivering at the cold. your face was also pale, with dried tears on them. you looked so broken and so drained. immediately, suna carried you off the couch bridal style, and tucked you into the soft king sized bed. he then, moved onto his side and slid under the sheets. it’s only when he grabs your waist is when he feels safe enough to sleep.

five hours later, you awake with dried tears still in your eyes. you wiped them with your arm, and felt weight around your waist. once your eyes were cleared, it was suna. you let yourself comfort in his warmth for just a bit more, knowing that there’s a huge argument to come.

“suna we can’t just not talk about this,” you whispered into his ear, knowing he was awake. he hid in the crook of your neck, “i’m sorry. i’m so so sorry, please take me back.”

“i can’t just accept your apology blindly, we have to set boundaries or else we’ll never move forward.” you sighed while tracing circles on his bare chest.

“i’ll never even look at her again,” his face deadpanned. your laugh vibrated against his chest, “that’s not needed, it’s not really her fault anyways. how about, we spend more time on dates and devote days for each other?”

“anything, princess.”

sakusa kiyoomi

sakusa hated physical touch, the spread of germs with a single handshake grossed him out. that’s why he built a cold exterior to prevent many from getting close. however, when he met you, you happened to be the exception and you took pride in the fact that he was only comfortable with you. he’ll never admit it to you though, and claims he only ‘endures’ your hugs. although, you knew your limit, you would never show affection in front of people. if there’s one thing sakusa hates, it’s PDA.

so you couldn’t really blame the new cute manager for flirting with him, because it seemed like he was single. listen, you trusted sakusa with your whole heart, but you just wanted to see how he would react with a girl flirting with him.

you hid behind the door, eavesdropping behind the door.

“sakusa-senpai, can you please help me up?” the cute manger whined.

“can you not get up yourself?” sakusa groaned.

“no i think i twisted something,” as a girl, you knew exactly what she was doing and her execution was poor. you rolled your eyes, assuming sakusa too would know what she was doing.

but he didn’t.

“thank you, sakusa-senpai!” she squealed, and then what you can assume, she hugged him. because then it caught him by suprise, and they both fell together, with her on top of him. you didn’t hear him scolding her, rather he was laughing. he was happy with her presence when he wouldn’t even physically show it with you. you decided to just walk in and stop this.

amidst of their laughter, both heads looked up at you. “sakusa, don’t you have to get home soon?” with an eyebrow raised.

“uh actually sakusa-senpai it’s getting dark, mind if you could walk me home?” she babbled.

“fine, y/n you can walk yourself right?” he said casually, while packing up his things.

“y-yeah i guess” you stammered.

on your walk home, you were reevaluating what just happened. no longer did you feel special anymore. your brain started to overthink itself, why did they look better as a couple? and why was he so relaxed around her? was i just not the right person? has he found his true love? all these scenarios made you start to tear up. you were in love with the germaphobic man, for god sakes.

when you got the shared apartment, you immediately took a shower, knowing that sakusa was going to nag you anyways when you got home.

then, you started on dinner and chopping up some vegetables when you heard the door open. he nodded at you, acknowledging your presence and was waiting for the hug you gave him everytime he came home. but you didn’t, and he awkwardly just stood there for good minute or two. to your suprise, he was the first one to make the move. he wrapped his arms behind you and resting his head on your neck. immediately, you shrugged him off.

he furrowed his eyebrows, “is there something wrong?”

“i don’t know, is there something wrong?” you repeated his question.

“i wouldn’t know, that’s why i asked.” he bellowed.

you put the knife down and faced him, “you know i love the double standard of how i have to shower before i get to touch you, but that whore gets to touch you whenever,” you ranted.

“our new manager? you can’t be serious. we fell, it was an accident.”

“maybe you thought it was, but i know what she was doing because i, too am a girl. if you guys just ‘fell’ why did it take so long for you to get back up? why’d you let her touch you for so long?” you questioned.

“i wasn’t thinking about it, not everything i do in life is rotated around germs-”

“except when it’s with me” your voice cracked. “right? it’s when it’s with me, that must be it. that’s why you never show any affection, but it’s okay for you because you’ve gotten tons from me and her!” you raved.

he tried to wrap his around you, but you moved out the way.

“don’t touch me with that whore’s filth,” you muttered, turning off the burner and stomped to your shared bedroom, slamming the door. your insecurities were roaring on the inside. sakusa chose to sleep on the couch, thinking you needed space. but, that was the least thing you wanted. you wanted him to beg, or to at least apologize.

over the following days, you didn’t wait for him outside of practice. in fact, the only time he saw you was in the morning before classes and at night when you left leftovers for him in the kitchen. after the argument, he pushed everyone away, especially with the new manager. he only wanted one person’s touch, yours. and to achieve that, he had to put in some effort. that night when he got home, he went straight to the shower. you assumed it was just a normal silent treatment day, so you went to bed scrolling.

you felt the weight on the other side of the bed. knowing who it was, you continued to aimlessly scroll on tiktok. sakusa abruptly grabbed your waist and coddled you, drowning you in pecks all around your face.

“mh.. sakus.. sa.. mh..” continuously getting cut off with his cute pecks on your lips. you decided to let go of the whole manager situation, and let yourself to just be happy. you wrapped your arms around his neck and put him even closer to you. he then pulled away and you dramatically groaned.

putting his face close to yours, “i love you y/n l/n.” before continuing.

a/n: if you like this series please request some characters you’d like to see!

[notkageyamasprincess]

21:58 | kozume kenma x reader

characters: kozume kenma x gn!reader

genre/warnings: fluff

words: 1.1k

Kenma gets jealous when you get attention from other guys while you’re gaming. It’s not uncommon that you’ll come across someone who’s a little too eager to help you beat bosses, or they’ll gift you rare items, or send you resources at the slightest mention that you’re running low. When that happens, Kenma shuts himself in his room and distracts himself with another game. Usually, that does the trick to make him feel better, but this time, he found himself getting more and more irritated.

+++++

“...aaand done. If you ever need help again, you know where to find me.”

“Thanks so much! It would have taken me forever to finish this stage on my own.”

“Anything for you, sweetheart. Hey, has anyone ever told you that you have a really pretty voice?”

You giggle. “That’s sweet, but I thought I told you that I was taken already.”

“Nothing wrong with giving a compliment.”

You catch a glimpse of your boyfriend when he comes out to get some water and you notice the sour expression on his face.

“Hold on, I’m going to mute myself for a sec.”

You turn off your mic and spin your chair towards Kenma.

“Hey babe, is something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” he responds curtly, setting down his glass a little harder than he intended.

You raise an eyebrow. “Doesn’t sound like nothing. It’s okay, you can tell me.”

“You sure sounded like you were having fun.”

“Oh, someone came to help me with a part of the game that I was having trouble with.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Bet he was real happy to flirt with you while he was at it.”

A smile slowly crept onto your face as you got the hint. “Baby. Are you being jealous?”

“Jealous? Of who? A loser who thinks he has a chance with you?”

As those words were leaving his mouth, he remembers—all over again—the smug tone of the guy fawning over you all day. His jaw ticks and he strides toward you from his spot in the kitchen.

“Why the hell would you ask someone else for help when you have me right here? I can easily beat whatever you’re struggling with, I’ll pay for the skins you want, and I can buy anything else you need in the game,” he huffed. “I’m your boyfriend, so I don’t understand why you rely on other men instead of coming to me.”

You were amused. Kenma rarely ever had outbursts like this, and you thought it was adorable how much he cared. Truthfully, you were enjoying this quite a bit. You really tried hard to stifle your laughter, but he hears it anyway.

A muscle in his face twitches. “____, are you seriously finding this funny?”

“No, no! I mean, maybe a little bit. Look, you always seemed so busy with work, so I didn’t want to tire you out even more with unimportant things.”

“Anything related to you is important to me,” he sighs. “____, do I not make that clear enough?”

Your cheeks redden from his unexpectedly candid behaviour. He surprises you by pulling you into an embrace, but you quickly relax, gently stroking his back to calm him. He breathes deeply as you release the leftover tension from his body.

“You do, Kenma. I know it even if you don’t say so. I just want you to get more rest,” you soothed.

You kiss him on the cheek when he lets you go, and his eyes softened.

“I’ll make time for you even if I’m busy.”

He checks his watch. “Actually, I have time right now. Move over, I’ll play the next round with you.”

“You have an account? I didn’t think you played.”

“I used to, but I maxed out my account and got bored. Needed something more challenging.” He shrugged—as if it was a casual thing to say. Not that you expected any less from your pro-gamer boyfriend.

He settles into the chair beside yours and turns on his computer.

He puts on his headphones and smirks. “Tell him that Kodzuken will be joining the next game.”

“Right,” you respond, sitting back down. “Hey, I’m back, I was talking to my boyfriend.”

“Yeah okay, your ‘boyfriend’. Come on, we both know you made that up.”

“What? No, he’s gonna join us.”

“Alright, what’s his username then? I’ll let him into the room.”

“It’s Kodzuken.”

You hear him chuckle after a pause. “You mean, as in the CEO and streamer? Sure, whatever you say, sweetheart.” But his laughter starts to subside after a few clicks. “Uhm, that’s weird, there’s actually a player with that name requesting. It’s gotta be a fake right?”

Kenma cleared his throat. “Not at all, I’m very much real. Thanks for keeping ____ entertained when I wasn’t here.”

“Holy shit, this guy has the same voice! No fucking way, are you actually Kodzuken? Dude, I’m a huge fan, you have no ide-”

“I appreciate it, but ____ and I have something to do after, so let’s make this quick.”

“Yeah man, of course!”

You turned to him with a quizzical expression. “I didn’t know that we had plans.”

“Trust me, you’ll see in a bit.”

+++++

A couple minutes into the game, you hear an indignant shout coming from the other guy. A banner message briefly appeared at the top of your screen: XxKTOxX has been eliminated by Kodzuken!

“Mate, you just shot right at me! The fuck was that?”

“Sorry, man. Game glitched,” he lied. “But it’s fine, we’ll manage without you somehow. ____’s in good hands.”

A quick glance told you that your boyfriend’s lips were quirked up slightly at the edges. “Kenma, you did that on purpose, didn’t you?” you whisper. You thought that he had already gotten over his jealousy, but it clearly seems like you were wrong.

He drops his smile and puts on a poker-face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Also, this dude sucks at this game.”

His eyes glint mischievously as he prepares for what he says next.

“Ah that’s right, before I forget, you asked if anyone had ever said that ____ had a pretty voice, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t mean any-”

“I don’t think you got a response though. I told ____ that last night in bed, and I’ll probably be doing the same in like, thirty minutes or so, depending on how far along we get. By the way, just in case you were wondering, ____’s voice sounds the prettiest moaning my name. Too bad you’ll never be able to hear it.” Your new friend coughs violently as Kenma finishes. “Did that answer your question?”

The line causes the boy to sputter, and you gasp while smacking your boyfriend’s arm.

“What? You can’t wait? Thirty minutes a bit too long for you? Guess we’ll just have to end the game early, then.”

a/n: well, well, well, look who decided to write something! wrote half of this before realizing that i didn’t use any pronouns so i might as well make this gender-neutral and more inclusive. i usually write f!reader but if anyone wants gn!reader you are always free to request a piece <3

[mxlti-fand0m-imaginess]

Ouija Board // Tate Langdon

request: none

prompts: none

warnings: use of a ouija board, murder, crying, scaring people

a/n: i just used random names for the friends, so sorry if that’s your name :)

“Come on y/n, don’t chicken out on us now!” Liz said, dragging you towards the house.

“It’ll be fun! I promise,” Dylan said, grabbing a large rock to break the doorknob.

You were stood in front of the infamous Murder House. And stupidly, you let your friends talk you into coming here and using a ouija board. You never really believed in ghosts or anything like that, but you were still scared nonetheless.

“There are easier ways to get in you know,” Liz said, rolling her eyes as Dylan smashed the rock against the doorknob, knocking it to the floor.

“Yeah but this is more fun.”

“Should we really be doing this? We could get in trouble for breaking in. I don’t think I could survive jail.”

“Oh my god y/n, we’ll be fine. And Dylan knows what he’s doing. Besides, don’t you wanna talk to ghosts?”

“Nope, not really.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun.”

“Ok, I got the door open!”

The two of you looked towards the door where Dylan was. The door was now open, and he had already walked inside. You felt your stomach drop, wanting nothing more than to get out of there. But Liz had other plans. She grabbed your arm and began to drag you inside.

With a sigh, you gave up on fighting and figured you might as well try to have fun. When you vented the house, an overwhelming smell of mold filled your senses. It was disgusting. There was sheets over the furniture, and leftover belongings scattered everywhere.

“That’s weird, there isn’t any dust here,” Dylan said as he swiped his finger along the mantle.

“Maybe there’s a maid ghost who has to spend eternity cleaning. That sounds like an awful afterlife,” Liz replied, laughing softly.

“Can we just get this over with already? I’m getting bad vibes from this place,” you said, feeling as if someone’s eyes were trained on you.

“That’s kinda the point. This is supposedly the most haunted building in the world. So many people have been brutally murdered. I would give anything to live here.”

“Dylan, you are really fucked up,” Liz said while laughing.

You rolled your eyes at your best friends, and followed them deeper into the house, until you arrived in front of a door.

“Here it is, the basement. I’ve read online, that most of the ghosts like to stay down there.”

“Let’s go!” Liz squealed, pushing the door open and speeding down the stairs.

Dylan followed her, leaving you alone at the top of the stairs. You sighed and started to walk down the steps. The. you heard a noise from behind you. You quickly turned around to see that the door was shut.

You brushed it off, thinking you must’ve bumped it, and continued down the stairs to find Dylan and Liz setting the ouija board up. You sat down beside them and tried to calm yourself, knowing it would all be over soon.

“Ok, place your fingers on the cup, and then we can talk to the ghosts.”

You and Liz did what Dylan said, placing your fingers on top of the glass placed in the middle of the bored.

“Is there anyone there?” Dylan asked.

Nothing happened for a second, but then the cup started to move. It dragged itself over to the ‘yes’ and then stopped.

“Oh my god,” you murmured, starting to feel fear come over you.

“What’s your name?” Liz asked the ghost.

The cup moved again, and began to spell out a name.

H-A-Y-D-E-N

“Y/n, ask them something!” Liz said smiling excitedly.

“Is there anything you want to tell us?” you asked, not really sure that you wanted an answer.

R-U-N

The lights in the basement flickered off leaving you guys in the darkness.

“I’m pretty sure that’s our cue to leave,” you said, beginning to stand up.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” Liz said.

The three of you got up and ran towards the straits, trying to get out of the basement. Liz and Dylan made it out, but the door slammed in front of you before you could follow.

You pulled on the door knob but it wouldn’t budge. You started to pound on the door, screaming for Liz and Dylan, but they were too far away to here you.

“They can’t hear you. They already left,” a voice behind you said.

You turned around and stared into the darkness.

“Who are you?” you asked, feeling your voice quiver.

“Wow, you forgot me already? Ouch. I’m Hayden, remember? I told you to run, but I guess you didn’t wanna listen.”

You didn’t get the chance to say anything, before you felt yourself being shoved down the stairs. You tumbled down them, before landing on the concrete floor of the basement.

You carefully tried to pull yourself up, but you were immediately pushed back down again. The lights turned on and you screamed at what you saw before you. A monster like creature hovered above you, and the next thing you saw was black.

~

You slowly opened your eyes and sat up, feeling your conscious come back to you. You looked around, panicking, trying to remember where you were. Then it all came back to you. The basement. Murder House. Liz and Dylan. They left you.

You wanted to be angry, but you didn’t have the time. Right now, you just had to get out of here. You wanted to go home and be safe in your room. You took off running, heading up the stairs and out of the basement.

You ran toward the front door, pushing it open and heading towards the street. But then, you were back in the house. You ran out again, only to end up back inside once more. You tried over, and over to leave, but you couldn’t. You kept ending up back inside the house.

You gave up. You let your weight fall against a wall behind you, and slid down it, curling into a. ball sobbing. We’re you going crazy? What was happening to you? Why couldn’t you leave? Why can’t you remember anything after entering the basement?

Then you felt a presence beside you. A teenage boy, with wavy blond hair and dark brown eyes. He was beautiful. You might’ve been feeling butterflies, if not for the overwhelming sense of panic that currently filled you.

“Hey, I’m Tate,” he said smiling softly.

“Y/n,” you replied hesitantly.

“So, I bet you’re pretty confused right now.”

“How’d you know?”

“Well, I saw you running around, trying to leave.”

“Why can’t I?”

He fell silent for a moment, and locked away.

“Uhm, you’re dead.”

Your eyes widened and you immediately stood up and backed away from him.

“What? I’m not dead! My friends and I came here to talk to ghosts and now they’re gone and I can’t leave. But I’m not dead! That’s crazy!”

“Y/n, I saw you die. I moved your body,” he paused for a second before continuing,” Do you wanna see it?”

“Wait so let me get this straight. You just watched me get murdered and did nothing about it, you moved my body, and now you wanna show it to me? You’re crazy! None of this makes sense! I’m not dead! I can’t be dead! I think I would remember dying!”

“You can’t. No one can. I don’t remember my own death. I’ve only heard what people told me.”

“Oh really? You’re dead too? Fine, then tell me? How did you die?”

He went silent once more.

“I don’t wanna tell you.”

“See, I knew it! You’re lying.”

“I’m not lying, it’s just-, if I tell you, you’re going to be scared of me.”

You laughed once more, not believing a word that he was saying.

“I doubt that. If you really are dead, just tell me!”

“Fine! I was shot by the cops.”

Then it hit you. Shot by the cops. You remembered hearing about that when Dylan went on one of his rants about the house. Wait, Tate as in Tate Langdon? The guy who shot up your high school in the 90s?

“Do you believe me know?” he asked softly.

“Oh my god. You were that guy who shot up my high school like thirty years ago right? Wait, so you are telling the truth. But I, I can’t be dead. There’s so much I still wanted to do. I’ve never even fallen in love, I’ll never have a future. I’ll never get to do anything with my life.”

You started to sob again, realization washing over you. He wasn’t lying. You were dead. You were really dead. You felt a pair of arms wrap around you, and you looked up to find Tate hugging you.

Slowly you wrapped your arms around him, desperately searching for comfort. But that said comfort was soon gone when someone else started to speak.

“Aw, am I interrupting something?”

That voice. You’ve heard it before. Part of it came back to you. It was her. She pushed you down the stairs. You pulled away from Tate and glared at the girl.

“You! You killed me!” you yelled at her.

“No, no, no. I didn’t kill you. I just helped that creature down there do it.”

“Why? Why would you do that?”

“It was getting boring. I wanted someone new around here.”

“Go away Hayden,” Tate said, glaring at her.

“Ugh fine,” she said before disappearing.

“Well, I guess I’ll show you around?”

a few months later

It’s been a few months since you’ve died, and you’ve already adjusted to your new life. Things weren’t so bad. You were kinda friends with Violet, and you and Tate have been dating for a while.

Being dead didn’t really bother you anymore. You’ve started to see the bright side of it. No more getting sick. You didn’t have to take your finals. And you never had to see your so called “friends” who left you here to die.

At least that’s what you thought. You and Tate were sitting together in the basement when the door opened. You didn’t think much of it, until you heard a familiar voice.

“How do you even know she’s here?”

You gasped. It was Liz. And Dylan was walking right behind her. They were back. You were so angry at them for leaving you. They left you behind to die.

The two of them sat down next to you and Tate, setting up their ouija board. You looked at Tate and smirked. You were going to have fun with this.

“Is anyone there?” Dylan asked.

You walked over to them and pushed the cup to yes.

“Who are you?” Liz said, seeming a little more nervous than she was the last time she was here.

You moved the glass to spell out your name, laughing when you saw how scared the looked.

“Y/n, we’re so sorry! We thought you were behind us! And when we finally got outside, the door wouldn’t open,” Dylan said.

You moved the cup once more.

Y-O-U-L-E-F-T-M-E

“Y/n we’re sorry! No one believed us when we went to get help. Your parents thought you ran away. We tried! We really did!” Liz pleaded.

Y-O-U-D-I-D-N-T-E-V-E-N-C-O-M-E-B-A-C-K

“We were too scared. We’re so sorry. Y/n, please.”

You and Tate laughed at their pleas. You weren’t going to forgive them. You couldn’t. Not after what they did to you.

“Go mess with the lights!” you asked Tate.

He nodded and ran over to the light switch, flicking it on and off.

“Dylan, maybe we should get out of here!”

L-E-A-V-I-N-G-S-O-S-O-O-N-?

“No we’re not! Liz, come on we have to talk to her.”

“I don’t know Dylan, they seem angry.”

You decided to let them hear you. You kept yourself hidden, but let your voice be heard.

“Angry? Why would I be angry? It’s not like the only people I’ve ever trusted forced me to come when I said I didn’t want to and them left me to die. Oh wait? That did happen.”

When you finished speaking, Tate left the lights off. The door opened at the top of the stairs, and Dylan and Liz ran. They left the board and left the basement, heading for the open front door. Before they could get out, Tate slammed it shut. They both screamed.

“Aw, you’re leaving already?” you asked, before laughing.

Then you let them see you. You appeared in front of the door, and you made your wounds visible too.

They gasped when they saw you. Covered in scratches and dripping blood. Clothes torn to shreds. Bruises littering you.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry,” Liz said stepping closer to you.

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I’m sorry,” Dylan said to you.

You didn’t say anything you only glared at them. Then Tate appeared beside you.

“You two should leave before you’re not able to anymore.”

Then you and Tate disappeared and opened the door, allowing them to run out, before slamming it shut once more.

As soon as they were gone, you both burst out laughing. Sure you’ve scared people who’ve tried to buy the house before, but this was the best reaction you’ve ever gotten. They were terrified.

“So do you finally feel like you got your revenge?” Tate asked, smiling brightly at you.

“Yeah, thanks for helping me,” you said, pulling him into a tight hug.

“You don’t have to thank me. I’d do anything for you.”

~

Taglist: @ahsxual @darlingkitt @1800-fuckbitchesgetmoney @horrorgirlx @jamespotterslover

[deexchanel]

Vacation

Word Count:

Pairing: Avengers x BlackFem!Reader

Warning: Swearing, A tipsy reader, Fluff maybe?

Summary: the avengers finally have a break off from avenging the world. The first place they go for vacation? Maui Hawaii.

A/N: You guys liking my content means a lot💜💜. when writing one-shots why don't people put oufits? i wanna see wtf i be wearing since im y/n!😂 I got some long faux locs in my hairrr sooo ykk i had to put it in here🙂

Y/N stood in the kitchen pouring coconut rum into a drink that she found a recipe for on google. It was called a mermaid cocktail and it looked like something she could get away with, without any of her family members saying something. "I'm so ready to drink this, it looks so good." She mumbled stirring the rum mixture.

She is 23 years old but the team still treats her like a little kid. As of right now, everyone was taking a nap from their huge lunch. All those missions they work was eventually stressing them out so Y/N took it upon herself to plan a vacation for them. She rented out a huge beach house for them. Best idea everr!!

Seeing the smiles on their face made her feel so content with her main priorities being happy. "What are you making?" Loki's voice said from behind her. Y/N gave him a big toothy grin. "Oh, nothingggg!"

"You're up to no good, I know you are." Loki raised an eyebrow at her turquoise-looking drink. "I'm not going to even ask." He sat down at the island, shaking his head. Y/N could feel something was off with him. She put the pitcher in the refrigerator, then sat beside him in the chair.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm thinking Y/N."

"About? We're on vacation Loki, we can think when we're back at the tower doing boring missions." Y/N stared at his jet black hair, having the urge to run her fingers through it.

"No, you can't touch my hair." Loki knew exactly what she was thinking. Y/N pout her bottom lip, squinting her eyes. "That's not what I was going to do. Anyway, what are you thinking about?"

"I feel out of place. I just know they are still mad with me from the events of New York." Loki buries his face in his hands. "I want to go back to Asgard, I know they'll rather want me there than here."

Y/N removed his hands."What makes you think that Loki? If none of wanted you here then I wouldn't have told you about this trip. " She giggled making him let a small smile creep on his face. "You're right where you belong and if anyone isn't happy about you being here then just know that Thor and I are ecstatic to have you here. I'm glad you came, means a lot to me."

"Means a lot to know that you want me here Y/N." Loki's small smile went to a big one. Y/N slowly moved her hand to his hair. He watched her slow movement in amusement "No Y/N." She huff playfully giving up.

"Fine, I'll try another time but I'm happy that I made you smile. You're way easier than Bucky's serious ass. Now that's out the way, it's hot girl summer so no sadness from no oneee!!" Y/N exaggerated getting out of the chair going back over to the refrigerator. She pulled out that now cold pitcher, chugging down the concoction.

"Did I hear Y/N say something about a hot girl summer?" Steve rubbed his eyes while he walked downstairs. Y/N rubbed her mouth from the leftover drink on her lips. Steve furrowed his eyebrows at the now half-empty pitcher. "What's that?"

"Nothing! Don't even stick your nose in it." Y/N put the pitcher back. Steve looked at Loki who just shrugged his shoulders with confusion still written on his face. Y/N placed a rushed kiss on their cheek so they wouldn't smell the amount of alcohol she just consumed. "I'm going to get ready so we can go to the beach. Steve wake everyone up for me please so we can leave in the next 30 minutes."

"Okay Y/N," Steve replied ready to question her but she was already up the stairs. 20 minutes later Y/N had music blasting from the speakers while she ready. From that consumption of alcohol, it kicked in about 10 minutes after she got ready. She was only tipsy, maybe. Y/N couldn't focus because she kept giggling at everything.

"Damn why is everything so funny!" Y/N said getting mad at herself. Her long black faux locs flowed down her back after she struggled to place them in a high ponytail. Meaning she broke 3 hair ties and gave the hell up.

"Y/N we're waiting on you!" Tony yelled up the stairs but Y/N waved him off. She grabbed her purse, pausing the music. Tripping over her feet a bit, she made her way downstairs. Bucky caught a glimpse and instantly spoke up.

"Oh hell no Y/N. Go change."

She waved him off too, purposely ignoring him. "I'm readyyyy". Tony crossed his arms over his chest.

"Yeah, I'm going to have to agree with Barnes. Y/N that isn't a swimsuit, that's two pieces of cloths."

Thor smiled, "I like it Y/N and since I like it, we can leave." He picked up a beach chair but everyone yelled no in protest except Natasha. Thor rolled his eyes sitting the chair down. Loki moved her hair aside, closing the white and blue shirt that she wore.

"Now you need a hair thingy to keep it close."Y/N smacked his hand away lightly, going over to the kitchen to find some chips. "Y/N why aren't you saying anything?" Bucky followed still upset about her outfit.

"Her outfit is fine guys. Let's go because you guys are over exaggerating." Natasha placed her shades on her face. "I got your back Y/N!"

"It's not fine, she's showing too much," Steve said being overprotective. Still not phased, Y/N nodded her head from the kitchen. " That's why you my bitch, thank you!" Everyone was shocked by her choice of words. Bucky grabbed her waist.

"Y/N are you drunk?"

Y/N giggled,"A lady never drinks, she sipssss." She dragged out the s, kissing his nose. Bucky pressed his lips together, getting his answer.

"Guys she's drunk!"

Groans went around the room. Steve was in realization,"Ohhh so that was what she was drinking when I came downstairs earlier."

------

"And it's hard to keep my cool

When other bitches tryna get with my dude and

When other chickens tryna get in my coop

'Cause you're a one in a million

There ain't no man like you"

Y/N belt out the lyrics to Streets for the 13th time while Bucky held her in his arms while they were in the ocean. They had been at the beach for 30 minutes, and a biker went by playing that song in her speakers. Y/N haven't let go of the song since.

"Y/N if you sing the same lyrics one more time, I swear I'm going to drop you." Bucky scolded while she gripped his shoulder tighter. Y/N placed her head on his chest, the sun was getting rid of her drunkness. She was tired since she didn't take a nap like everyone else plus Bucky's heartbeat and the sound of the oceans was calming her down. "Sorry! It's stuck in my mind."

Steve, Tony, Loki, and Thor played on the beach with water guns. Natasha laid in the sun, getting a tan. Per Y/N's request, Bucky was in the water holding Y/N close. She was surprised that he even agreed to it.

"Bucky?"

"Yes Y/N?"

"I'm tired."

"I figured, let's get you out the water." Bucky turned around to walk back to the shore. Y/N just snuggled more to his chest. "Bucky?"

Bucky’s voice held slight annoyance, thinking she was playing."What is it Y/N?"

"I'm glad you came on this trip, I know this past year had been so hard on you and I thought this trip would help ease your mind. Plus I got to know you better, that’s a bonus.”

“Yeah at first, I didn’t want to come but I couldn’t turn down seeing you in a bikini.” Bucky laughed making Y/N laugh as well hitting his chest lightly. “Bucky!”

“What? I’m being honest. I just rather for only my eyes to see.”

“You’re such a flirt.”

“You going to have to get used to it. But for real though, this trip made me not think about things that's been haunting my mind. Coming on here was the best idea.”

“I’m glad I could help with that.” She tapped his shoulder for him to stop. He placed Y/N on her feet. “I’ve come up with the best plan though.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, “What’s the plan?”

——

Y/N made herself sink underwater. Bucky waited a couple seconds before putting on his best acting voice. “Guys! Guys! Y/N she’s drowning!” Natasha stood at the shore, looking out at the water in concern. The team wasted no time running in the water.

“What?!?”

“What happened??!?”

“Oh god, Y/N?!”

“Shit!”

Steve was Y/N's victim, he hunched over in her area of the water. Bucky pulled at the ends of his hair keeping the act going. “She was doing alright until I couldn’t hear her anymore.” Y/N lurched up grabbing Steve by the neck, pulling him in the water.

Bucky's face of distress turned into humor. “Steve she got you good!” Both Y/N and Steve appeared out of the water. Y/N was laughing so hard she was clutching her stomach. Loki found it amusing while Tony, Steve, and Thor didn’t.

“That was a good one Y/N.”

“Don’t listen to Loki Y/N. You had us worried!”Thor huffed and Steve nodded his head in agreement.

“Yeah! I thought something really happened to you.”

“I’m sorry guys.” Y/N snorted trying to contain her laughter. “It’s not my fault, it’s Bucky. He came up with the idea. You guys should’ve seen Steve’s face when I came out of the water.”

Steve mocked her laugh, “Ha Ha Ha. It’s not funny.” Bucky held his hand in defense trying not to laugh as well. “It’s not mine! This was all her idea.”

“Capsicle is right, it’s not funny. Don’t scare me like that again.” Tony scolded her, he held out his arms. “Now come give me a hug so I can feel better.” Y/N gave him a hug, that humorous smile not leaving her face. When she tried to pull away, Tony held a grip. She realized.

“TONY!”

He laughed leaning forward and they both fell in the water. Soon it turned into a big splashing war between everyone, they were having so much fun.

————————-

At 7:28 p.m. both Y/N and Bucky walked back to the beach for dinner. The restaurant they chose for tonight’s dinner was there. Since Y/N is over the planning for the vacation and Bucky is attached to her hip, they were at dinner first.

“I know the wait is going to be minute so sit down while I talk to the hostess.” She reassured him. Bucky looked at her kind of worried because he wasn’t comfortable with crowds yet. She squeezed his hand, “You’re okay.”

Bucky nodded his head reluctantly. Y/N walked off to make sure this restaurant gave them a private table away from the crowd, preferably on the beach. After about 10 minutes of talking, something just told her to turn around. It was some woman that looked around Y/N’s age steadily talking to Bucky even though he looked so uncomfortable.

“Hold on one sec.” Y/N held a finger-walking away, not even waiting on the hostess's response. Y/N quiet appearance kinda scared them both. “Excuse me. Hi!”

The woman looked at Y/N with attitude. “Um, why are you speaking to me?”

Y/N took a deep breath to calm down. “ I’m speaking to you because you’re talking to my boyfriend and you obviously see him uncomfortable.” It was for the sake of the moment. Bucky and Y/N aren’t together, just a few flirts here and there. But since Y/N knew this bitch couldn’t take a hint she said, boyfriend.

“You might have him confused for”

Y/N cut her off, “No I don’t have him confused for no one. That’s my boyfriend so get your desperate ass out of his face before I embarrass you in front of everyone. We don’t want that do we? Now walk away miss.”

The woman turned her nose up walking away without saying another word. Once she was out of sight, Bucky visibly relaxed. “Thank you so much Y/N. She wouldn’t stop talking and my a-anxiety was getting bad because I didn’t know her and...” He shook his leg. Y/N sat beside him giving him a hug.

“Hey hey calm down, it’s okay now. I could see she made you uncomfortable. I wasn’t going to stand there and let her continue to do that.”

“Thank you Y/N.”

“Anything for you Bucky.” Y/N kissed his forehead then she stood up, holding out her hand. “Now let’s go get this table because I did cut the hostess off coming to help you.”

Bucky laughed grabbing her hand. As they walked back over to the stand, realization hit Bucky. He smirked.

“So I’m your boyfriend now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully, “No Bucky, it was in the heat of the moment.”

“What if I was to ask you out?”

“In your dreams Bucky.”

————

This took longer to write then what it supposed to be.

Hope you guys like it 🥰, I was trying to include a Loki moment because I’m starting to like him more.

Stay slutty my friendsss!

[dollslayer]

Botanical Interest - Thorns

Soft!Mob!Steve Rogers x reader

Summary: After dating the notable mobster Steve Rogers for a couple months you think you’ve got him figured out. An altercation in an alley leaves you questioning whether or not that’s true. 

W/C: 1995

Warnings: Violence, angst, fluff, swearing

A/N: Holy smokes! I am completely overwhelmed by the love that the first part to this story has received. Obviously, I couldn’t help myself so I wrote a part 2 also as an entry for @stargazingfangirl18 ‘s 5k soft dark challenge! Using the Mob!Au and the dialogue prompt “Oh, Honey, you weren’t supposed to see that”.

If you want you can check out part one here and my other mob fic here! Cheers!

Botanical Interest Masterlist I Main Masterlist

______________________________ 6pm was fast approaching as you began to close up shop for the day. Steve was here to pick you up for dinner and much to your embarrassment walked in on you having a very difficult conversation argument with a very difficult customer over pricing and promotion. Having run your small business on your own for years you knew how to hold your own but you completely froze when you saw Steve enter the shop out of the corner of your eye. 

“I- listen Mr. Andersen, I appreciate all the business that your venues have given me but I can’t afford a raise in advertising prices right now. I’ve been reliable and trustworthy and I’ve always treated your venues with respect. I’ve never been an issue for you, please don’t raise the rate. Wedding season is coming up and I need the exposure.” 

You tried to bargain with him quietly, hoping the music overhead would prevent Steve from hearing but it was a low volume and a small shop. You’ve only been dating for a couple months. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him, especially not at work. 

Mr. Andersen exhaled sharply. You could tell he was annoyed at you for the pushback. “Look, I’m sorry but we can’t be making exceptions every time a business owner comes groveling.” 

Tears stung your eyes, you really did generate a lot of business through Andersen’s venues. They listed you as one of their recommended vendors to their clients, it’s been huge for you. Knowing that Steve was there made this even worse. “If I’d have known you were going to cry like this I would’ve just done it over email I mean really-”

“That’s enough.” Steve cut him off before he could humiliate you any further. He sent a quick text and shoved his phone back in his pocket before pulling himself to his gull height and squaring his shoulders. “You’ve done enough, now get out.”

A scoff from Andersen and a harsh glare directed towards you and he was on his way out of the building. Steve’s phone vibrated but he didn’t check it. Instead he walked over to you and extended his arm to rub your back. 

“Are you okay? That guy was a total fucking prick to you, you don’t deserve that.” Steve consoled you. He seemed calmer than you expected for having just witnessed something like that. You’ve seen him agitated but never upset. Maybe he was restraining himself for you but it didn’t matter, you appreciate him being there for you. 

“I’m fine, I just need to finish closing up shop and we can get to dinner. Just give me a minute” you said as you began to sweep up. 

“Alright, sweetheart. I’m double parked so I’m gonna go to the car and try to find a space.” You nodded as hummed along to the music. 

____________________________

As Steve left the shop he pulled his phone out and checked his text from Thor ‘we got him’. When Steve heard that man talk to you like that he knew you didn’t want him to threaten Andersen and make the situation worse. You were already on the verge of tears so he decided to ask one of his men to hold Andersen out back where he could have a few words with him. 

Stepping around the corner into the alley behind your shop he took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. He needed to be quick so you wouldn’t find out. He didn’t want to upset you further, he just wanted this guy to know that you can’t treat his girl like that. And maybe he could be talked into giving her the advertising for free.

“So you think you can talk to my girl like that huh?” He questioned. Andersen looked like Thor had already punched him once in the process of restraining him. Thor’s hold on Andersen’s arms tightened. 

Andersen was scared, but not scared enough to Steve’s liking. Before Andersen had the opportunity to answer Steve cocked his fist back and launched it directly to Andersen’s jaw. “Shit! I’m sorry, I didn’t know. We’re expanding and we need the money so I have to raise-”

Before the excuse could be finished Steve hit him again. “Stop! Please!” Andersen begged.

Steve chuckled. “No I don’t think I will. I can’t just let people go every time they grovel to me. They’d never learn.” Another punch landed. 

“You’re not gonna raise your prices for her. In fact, you’re gonna call her up in a couple days and apologize by offering her advertising free of charge for all of your venues. Do you understand?” Steve asked coolly. 

Andersen coughed up some blood. “I- I can offer her half price but I can’t just waive the cost like that!”

“Not good enough.” Steve punched him even harder, Andersen was nearly knocked out. Steve thought about the tears that slipped from his girl’s eye and couldn’t stop himself. He struck Andersen one more time with a growl and his head hung limp between his shoulders. Just then he heard the sound of shattering glass behind him and froze, hand still in a fist. 

_____________________________________

Finally done with most of your tasks all you had to do was take out the garbage and empty the vase of leftover stems from bouquets into the dumpster. You opened the back door just in time to see Steve land a brutal punch to Mr. Andersen’s cheekbone. Mr. Andersen’s head fell and it was clear he had been knocked out cold. 

You hadn’t even realized you’d dropped the vase until you felt the shards fall around your feet. You couldn’t look away when Steve looked up at you with wild eyes, you’d never seen him so angry. You felt the way you did the day you met him. Nervous and frozen in place.

His face instantly fell and through his heavy breathing said “Oh, honey, you weren’t supposed to see that.” He was trying to relax his features as he approached you but you could only take steps back and into the shop like a scared animal being cornered. 

Your heart was hammering in your chest and you couldn’t tell if you were more angry or scared. You held your hands out in front of you and stammered “I’d better.. I need to lock up shop I’ll um, I’ll go”. “Sweetheart wait!” Too late. You shut the back door and locked it behind you. 

You went to your back office and sat down, not even sure where to go from here with this. You two had talked about his work a bit, it wasn’t like it could be avoided forever, you just didn’t think he’d bring it into yours. You weren’t scared of Steve doing something like that to you, you were scared of that look in his eyes. His capability of doing something like that with little thought.

Oh, God, what does this mean for the shop? Mr. Andersen will have you blacklisted. He’ll tell every wedding planner in Brooklyn. Now your heart was hammering for a whole other set of reasons. Too busy spiraling as you thought about it all you didn’t hear the bell of the front door ring. 

A knock on your open office door pulled you out of it and you looked up to find Steve. He wore what looked like a truly regretful expression on his face. You fought the urge to yell at him. You’re an adult, you’re going to talk about this like adults. Let him say his piece. 

He had straightened up, his hands were clean and his jacket was back on. He gave a heavy sigh. “Sweetheart, I don’t even know where to begin. I’m sorry you had to see that side of me, but I want you to know I would never ever do anything like that to you or anyone close to you. I only want what’s best for you.”

“And that’s punching one of my main sources of income?” You snapped. You appreciated the apology but you were getting too worked up in anger thinking about the future of the shop.

He was a little miffed at the outburst and became defensive. “That man disrespected you, disrespected your work. No one talks like that to my girl. That’s how we settle things in my world!” 

“Well you’re not in your mob world right now you’re in mine! And things don’t get handled like that! Do you have any idea the toll that could take on my business? He’s gonna have me blacklisted by the end of the day if he wakes up.” The last words came out a bit broken as you felt more tears build. You were more worried about the business than anything. 

Steve walked around the desk to console you just like he had not twenty minutes ago. He gently put a hand on your forearm. “You’re right. It’s not my world, it wasn’t my call to make and I had no right to react like that. I didn’t even think about that. The way he was talking to you, I just.. I got so mad. You work so hard and you don’t deserve that. Sometimes I forget there’s more than one way to handle things.”

Okay, that went better than expected. This is what made Steve so interesting to you. Steve was funny and sweet and charming as hell, but beyond all that there was this tender heart. He was dangerous but he was also fiercely loyal. He was more than a mobster and he was better than the brute force he used. It’s why you were able to accept that part of him, because it wasn’t his entire life, it didn’t consume him.

“Thank you for saying that,” You said quietly. You looked up to him and could tell that he really did feel bad. “I accept your apology and I appreciate it. But you have to make things right with Mr. Andersen. I’ll pay the new rate but you have to apologize before it’s too late.”

_________________________

Steve was beginning to harbor resentment towards himself for fucking this up for you. Andersen just made him see red, he has such a hard time shutting that part of himself down. You work so hard and care so much there’s just no way he could let that stand. He just hoped to work through it and move on. He really didn’t wanna screw it up.

Steve was much more at ease knowing you accepted his apology. “I won’t like it but I can do that. It’s only fair. Can I make it up to you over dinner? We’ll make a quick stop to the hospital to set things straight with Andersen.” When you shut the door in his face in the alley he had Thor take him to the hospital. He’d call another town car to get home. 

He’ll apologize to Andersen and pay the hospital bill, but you’re not paying the increased rate. No way. Steve will pay him off enough that he won’t be telling anyone about the altercation, either. Win-win in his eyes.

You leaned your head against his shoulder in slight exhaustion and nodded. “Can we forget the reservation? I really want breakfast food right now.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Of course sweetheart, you wanna get takeout and go back to mine?” He felt you nod. “Yes, please”. 

“Let me just order a car and we’ll be on our way. I’m sorry again, sweetheart, I promise I’m gonna make it right even if that guy’s a douche.” You laughed a little bit and wiped the few tears that stayed in your eyes.

“So.... your girl, huh? Is that like some mob slang term I don’t know about? Are we official?”

A smile graced his lips. “I’d like to be, if you would.” 

You smiled back at him. “I might be persuaded with waffles.” 

[after-witch]

Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Title: Hook Line and Sinker [Yandere Ransom Drysdale x Reader]

Synopsis: You’ve broken up with Ransom Drysdale, and you mean it this time. But the freedom that comes with the breakup leads to a series of unexpected coincidences that leave you wondering: was it worth the price?

Word Count: 8955

notes: yandere, mentions of physical abuse, financial abuse, comfort sweaters

Nothing lasts forever. Not even relationships--and certainly not love. What might start off as an intense, passionate relationship can (and did, in your case) eventually fizzle; things that you were willing to overlook when you were absolutely besotted would wear down with time, and eventually they became too much to ignore.

That’s what you tell yourself, what you remind yourself, in the moment after you tell him:

“It’s over, Ransom. We’re done. I’m leaving.”

It couldn’t last forever. Not with his inability to stay sober, not with his tendency to cheat on you with meaningless flings that somehow hurt more than any steamy single-minded affair. Not with his flare-ups of controlling tendencies that left you in tears on the bathroom floor as he asked you to please stop dressing like a slut in front of his family, is that too hard to ask?

You’d asked him to change. He swore he would; he never did. You forgave him, more than once, more times than you could count. But enough was enough. Maybe he thought you were too weak to leave him, especially three years into your relationship, when your lives were becoming so integrated, pushing you towards a potential permanent future. It was a future that left you feeling numb and anxious. Stuck in a marriage with someone who wanted to stay with you but treated you horribly, all the same. And that wasn’t even getting into the family dynamics that left your head spinning.

He stares at you now, and his mouth opens just a little bit in what you know is going to be a barrage of questions, insults, maybe even threats spurred on by your words. But instead he closes his mouth and shakes his head, letting out a soft, bitter chuckle.

“Well, damn. This sucks.” You can see the indent of his tongue in his cheek before he clicks and shrugs. “Guess that’s it then. Need help packing your shit or what?”

His response is so blasé that you’re genuinely shocked and, you must admit, a little hurt. He didn’t even ask for a second chance or beg you to stay or argue with you about your terrible timing because our-vacation-to-Hawaii-is-coming-up. So it’s your turn to look surprised, and you shake your head.

“No, I… already took care of it. It’s at a storage locker.” You didn’t have family left, and your close friends had pulled away from you one by one once you stayed with Ransom time and time again--so you’d had to pay movers to help you pack and transport everything to storage over the weekend, while Ransom was away and you were free to make a clean breakup.

He nods, sticks his hand inside his jacket pockets. He’s looking around the room, avoiding direct eye contact in a clear show of his discomfort. It’s weird seeing Ransom like this--the normally self-assured, cocky Ransom, looking for any excuse not to look at you.

“So… see ya around?” His tone is sincere, if still confused. The idea of you leaving must have really never crossed his mind. The look on his face when he finally faces you again appears genuinely puzzled.

He sticks out his hand and it feels almost comical for things to end this way, particularly considering the nights you’d spent imagining some big blow up, some big fight with Ransom screaming and you firing off the many reasons why it had to end no matter what he said.

But it didn’t go the way you expected at all. It was calm. Easy. A clean break-up.

So you shake his hand and grab your purse and the small roller-suitcase and give a half-hearted wave as you walk out the door; the taxi you’d hired to pick you up is waiting, car running, meter going. You would be staying at a hotel for two weeks, which would hopefully be enough time to find a semi-decent apartment; your credit score had improved so much since Ransom added you to his cards, to a shared checking account, and it wouldn’t be too difficult to get approved.

A new life, one where you could focus on yourself for once, was just around the corner.

**

"I'm sorry, miss, but it's definitely not the reader. The card is declined."

You've had this nightmare before. No, you've lived this nightmare before--years ago when your credit was shit and you ran up your cards and had to face the music in a publicly humiliating display with the longest checkout line you'd ever seen behind you. Only that was years ago, in a little grocery store, and since getting together with Ransom you never had to worry about problems like this. You never had to worry about the shame of not having enough, not being enough.

But this? This was happening now. In an upscale hotel. With your nice purse (a Christmas present) and designer clothes (casual, comfortable) and your cheeks flushed undeniably warm.

The hotel clerk has a tight, sympathetic smile on her face. A coworker who walks behind her glances at you, judging, and you just know he's going to head into some break room and tell everyone but yet another piece of discarded army candy with a declined credit card. You wish you'd kept your sunglasses on.

"Did it, um, say why? I don't--" you plaster a smile on your face, hating the way this all feels familiar, like a part of your past coming back to haunt you. "I don't understand, the card is good."

The clerk's smile flickers, just a bit.

"It says there's a fraud alert on this card. Perhaps you'd better call the company. Or would you like me to call them?"

Fucking. Ransom.

"Oh, oh no, don’t worry about it. I’ll call them myself. I'm so sorry about this." You turn away from the clerk as quickly as possible and step away from the counter, away from the person waiting behind you who will surely have no trouble with their card, away from the clerks giving you a passive side-eye. You lean against a cool cement pillar in the lobby and you know what you have to do.

You have to call Ransom.

You haven't deleted his number yet--you'd planned on calling him today or tomorrow to figure out how to split up your shared finances--so it's easy enough to find the number. It's not so easy to tap his contact, but you have to, so you force yourself to do it and stare at his photo as the call rings. And rings. And rings. “Hello?” Your breath catches but in an instant, when the message continues, you feel stupid. It’s his voicemail. Fuck.

You text him, instead. Emergency. Call right away. And of course: He leaves you on read. Fuck.

You call him again. And again. He picks up on the sixth call, but your heart is racing too hard and sweat is beading down your forehead and it takes you a moment to confirm that the "Hello?" wasn't part of the voicemail message this time. Fuck.

"Um. Hey," you say, keeping your voice as un-royally-pissed-off as possible, because if he did put in a fraud alert then you don't want to risk any additional asshole moves. "So there's something wrong with the card? The one that ends in 8921? The hotel said there was a fraud alert and--"

"Did you really think I'm going to keep paying for your shit if we're over?"

His voice is quick, biting--exactly what you'd expected from him earlier. Somehow it stings even harsher over the phone, where you feel more helpless, unable to avoid his words.

"I thought..." you wet your lips, trying to maintain your cool. "Look, my name is on them, so I thought send you my part of the payments until I can get cards in my own name."

He chuckles, low and short. "Yeah? What, you want to create a payment schedule or something?"

You fight back the annoyance in your tone. You hate having to be the bigger person, but your finances--your life--is on the line. "Yeah, actually, that'd be perfect. It wouldn't be for long. You know I'll pay them on time, I'm not looking to screw you over."

"You're going too pay me on time? For all the stuff you've bought, the stuff I’ve bought for you, this hotel room and god knows what else? How are you going to afford all that?"

He knows you recently earned a promotion at your work. He knows this, because you were so excited about it, and his half-assed congratulations over lukewarm leftovers left you feeling bitter and sad and useless. So you can't help it when bitterness seeps into your voice with your answer. "You know I just got a promotion."

"Did you?" It's said in such a casual tone that it gives you pause, but a moment later he simply hangs up on you.

Fucking. Ransom.

You shove your phone back into your purse, and the clerks at the counter are staring at you. Sweat has trickled down your back and your shirt sticks to your skin ever-so-slightly as you pull away from the pillar and approach the counter, awkward smile and cheeks hot.

"There is an issue with the card, they're working on it, so I’ll just call for a new reservation when it's fixed. I'm so sorry for the mix up!" Your voice is so peppy and high-pitched and fake and you feel like you’re back at your old job, feet aching with falling apart shoes, forced to deal with people returning old toasters laden with crumbs, calming they’d “just bought it the day before and it didn’t work.”

"Of course," the clerk says, and you know this is hotel clerk code for "You're a shitty liar."

You roll your suitcase out of the lobby with tears in your eyes and you shove your sunglasses on as soon as you've cleared the building. You feel exhausted, drained--so you use what little energy you have left to start googling for cheap motels.

**

The room smells musty. You pin the plastic sheet you’d snagged at a dollar store over the comforter and pray it will be enough to protect you from whatever is on the likely unwashed fabric. The TV is broken, there’s no WIFi, and there’s a few suspicious stains on the floor that make you wonder if this hotel has ever been featured in a porno, true crime show, or both.

But it’s all you could afford with the cash in your wallet. You only had enough cash on hand for 2 nights at a ragtag hotel that offers nightly and hourly rates. You didn’t dare use your debit card or any credit cards with Ransom’s name or information on them.

You just need some sleep. A good night’s sleep to feel renewed and ready to tackle retaking your life, bit by bit. In the morning, you need to go to the bank and withdraw your money from the joint bank account. Then you can reopen an account in your name, get a new debit card, and apply for a few credit cards afterwards.

Sure, it would have been nicer to do this without Ransom being an asshole. But deep down, you suspected he wouldn’t let you have a clean, lets-still-be-friends type of break. Not after all the times he’d pressured you into staying, manipulating you with words and gifts and promises, promises. Promises that were worth shit. 

The sheet crinkles underneath you as you scroll through your messages. You’d texted a few formerly close friends about the breakup earlier, hoping that they’d maybe want to reconnect. So far, you’d been left on read, blocked, and received only one response: “New number, who is this?”

So much for that. Not that you can blame them. There are only so many times they can rush over for a late night intervention in which you tell them every horrible thing Ransom does (he’s controlling, he doesn’t want me to meet with friends without permission, he tells me what I can and can’t wear, he cheats, he lies, he pushed me--)--before they get tired of you returning to him, again and again and again.

The only one who’d been texting you recently--okay, for the past year--had been Ransom. Mostly dick pics. And demands for you to send him something back, which you always did after a while, because you didn’t want to deal annoyed texts or voice messages accusing you of clearly cheating on him or hating him because why else wouldn’t you be willing to send him so much as a sexy selfie to your boyfriend? 

But in between those, there were conversations. Sometimes sweet ones, sometimes thoughtful ones that always made you remember why you fell hard for him in the first place. Late night conversations from when he was off on trips. You try not to wonder if he was fucking someone on each of these trips, if while you were sending him a late night ramble about a TV show and he was humoring you with jokes and quips, he was actually snuggled up with someone else. Laying in bed, naked, laughing at your dumb ass waiting at home.

The not-so-sweet conversations were ones that you had screenshotted and sent to your friends more than once, before they pulled themselves away. Texts asking where you were. Asking who you ate lunch with, and whether or not you were fucking them. Asking why your new office was connected to a certain co-worker’s, and how many blowjobs you had to give to get said new office because you didn’t tell him about the new office until after you were moved in, so you were clearly hiding him. Asking you to send him outfit pics so he could approve them or make you change if they were too slutty or not slutty enough or if you were only clearly wearing that halter dress to try to get with the bartender.

Yet your mind had always returned to the nice Ransom, the Ransom who made you laugh and squeezed you hard when had a shitty day of work and let you bury your face in his sweater as you snuggled on the couch. Maybe that’s why it took so long to leave.  You were waiting for him to stop being Ransom and start being the fantasy of Ransom you’d conjured in your head.

Your eyes feel heavy so you plug in your phone, turn the sound off, and lay down on the uncomfortable plastic sheet that crinkled over the pillows. It feels strange to lay on a lumpy mattress covered in plastic, after years of custom-made beds and memory foam pillows and all the other luxuries that Ransom was able to provide.

You try not to think about it too much. While you won’t exactly be indulging in all the luxuries you had with Ransom, but your job pays you well, and you won’t ever have to go back to living hand-to-mouth like you did before. You won’t have to worry about late bills and debt collectors and landlords who come late at night and demand inspections while you’re in your pajamas.

You have work in the morning. You have to get to the bank in the morning. Your thoughts are still buzzing with anxiety as you fall into an uneasy slumber.

**

“I’m sorry, but the account has been closed.”

You feel years of customer service training cracking underneath your skin. You can’t freak out. If you freak out, they won’t feel inclined to go the extra mile. You know this, from firsthand experience.

So you take a shaky breath. “Um, this just--it isn’t possible. It’s a joint account. I’m on the account. There was money in there, you can check--”

“I’m sorry, but the funds were transferred and account has been closed by the other account holder. There’s nothing I can do. I suggest contacting the other party in the account.”

You swallow and nod and walk away, this time having been smart enough to keep your sunglasses on to hide your humiliated expression. Why didn’t you insist on having your own account? Ransom said it was better to keep it joint, so you could just buy stuff whenever you wanted. You’d agreed because it was so generous, something you’d never thought possible at the time, when you were used to having to pay overdraft fees and cringing whenever you checked your balance.

Your fingers tremble as you bring up his contact on your phone. You tap. No answer.

You don’t have time to call him two, three, ten times--you have to get to work. So you steady your nerves. You breathe in, you breathe out. You get in your car and plug your phone in and decide to contact your lawyer. Fuck--your lawyer was Ransom's lawyer. But the anxiety eases when you remember that you’d paid him a retainer fee months ago, and Ransom couldn’t do anything about that. You could at least get a basic consult out of the retainer.

The call ringing sounds muffled through your car’s speaker but it isn’t long before someone answers, and you’re transferred to the lawyer Ransom insisted you have--gotta have a lawyer when you have money, babe--and that you hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hi,” you say, voice artificially bright, “this is--”

You don’t get a chance to finish.

“I know who this is.” The lawyer sounds tired, and his tone is curt and clipped. “I’m sorry. I’m no longer able to provide you with any legal counsel.”

You almost miss a red light and regret calling the office while you were driving.

“Is this about the debit card? Because I paid the retainer months ago--”

“The retainer has been refunded into the connected checking account.”

Your voice looses its artificial cheeriness and you stumble over your words in frustration. “That’s--it’s--it was a joint account, which is why I called, Ransom drained it and took everything. Isn’t there something we can do, because that was my money too and--”

“I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel.”

You want to cry. You hate crying, as an adult. It makes you feel weak. Especially on the phone.

“I don’t understand. Why was the retainer refunded? Did--did someone call you?”

He clears his throat into the phone. “I am no longer able to provide you with legal counsel. Goodbye.”

He hangs up. Your hands shake.

You pull into the parking lot of your work and park the car and as soon as you do, you hunch yourself over the steering wheel and simply shake in frustration.

You have no bank account. Ransom drained it. You have no credit cards. Ransom blocked them. You couldn’t even talk to a lawyer, because--shock--Ransom made sure you couldn’t. Everything was in Ransom’s name. He insisted on adding you to his accounts, closing out your own paltry ones; insisted that he pay off your credit card debt, and making you close those, too, instead adding you to his cards. It was all to help you out, he said, at the time.

Wasn’t it? He was shockingly not judgmental about the state of your finances, and while you’d put up some protest, you didn’t exactly argue with him when he suggested wiping your debts clean and getting your credit back up. And considering that he wasn’t immune to needing a bail-out now and then (late night calls to his grandfather, snarky comments at his parent’s dinner table, come to mind) maybe he could sympathize with being in over your head. Even if your issues were rooted in poverty and shitty jobs and his were rooted in a total lack of financial discipline and, as you’d later found out, a drug addiction.

Still. He helped you before. He would help you now, once he realized how serious it was. For now he was just--reacting like an asshole, acting childish and ridiculous. He was an asshole. You know this. You’ve known this. You need to call him and meet with him and make him realize how ridiculous he’s being, and he’ll sigh and snark but he’ll agree to stop acting like such an ass.

But first you have to work. Life goes on. Even without Ransom--even with Ransom, screwing you over out of pettiness.

The air conditioning in the lobby is on blast, and the familiar smell of clean furniture and floor cleaner from the late-night cleaning crew is surprisingly comforting. Here, you can forget about Ransom--forget about the cards and the lawyer and the fact that your life has been upended in mere hours. If only until your lunch break, at least.

Anthony is working the front desk and you give him a a soft, if strained smile. There’s something in the smile that he gives you in return that reminds you of the hotel clerk. Sympathetic and judgmental.

Ah. You probably look like--well, less than your best, you realize. You did pack some toiletries in your suitcase but the water in the motel had streaks of brown and you didn’t shower, opting instead to rinse your face with what was left of a water bottle you’d bought earlier and layering on more deodorant to make up for the lack of a proper scrub. You probably looked a bit tired, haggard, not unlike some of the employees who got stuck with big clients the night before their paperwork was due.

Still. Nothing that freshening up in your private bathroom--thank god for the new office--can’t help. So you hit the button on the elevator and take deep breaths as you ride up, intent on working as productively as possible. The doors open and you navigate the familiar maze of open-plan desks for the lower-tier workers, desks surrounded by half-walls that always kept you staring straight ahead, lest you accidentally glance over and see a co-worker picking their nose.

Yet as you weave in-and-out of the familiar rows, heading towards the back of the room where the real offices, the ones with full walls and doors and privacy glass lay, you can’t help but feel that something is… off. 

No one calls out to greet you, though that can be easily attributed to the jealousy over your promotion. You’d been working there for far less than most of the lower level workers--Ransom got you the job, with his connections and a hefty revision of your resume and, you assume, some personal phone calls--and you’d already been promoted to senior management. That wasn’t technically Ransom’s work, though. That was all your own effort, your own blood, sweat, tears and intense devotion to each project that came your way. Sure, the connections he helped you make, the dinner parties, all that helped--but if it weren’t for your skills, the connections wouldn’t have made a difference. Right? 

Still, whatever bitterness existed in the people hunch in open-air cubicles, the receptionists always greeted you. But today they caught your eye then awkwardly glanced down, or pretended to be looking for something in their drawers. It was odd. Did you look that bad? That out of sorts?

You shake off the heavy feeling in your stomach and for once, you shut the door to your office instead of keeping it open for passers-by or people needing approval for this-and-that. It feels good to lean against the solid wood door and take a breath, a deep one, invigorating and calming.

A quick trip to the bathroom has you staring at yourself from all angles. You don’t look that bad, you reason. Just tired. But who wouldn’t be, sleeping on a plastic sheet in the shittiest motel in the area? You take a quick sniff under your arms but even that reveals nothing much but a faint hint of sweat and powdery deodorant.

There’s a firm knock at your office door and you glance at the mirror for a final once over before opening it up. It’s your boss. Did you have a meeting? You try to do a mental scan of something you’ve missed, but nothing comes to mind.

“Hi,” you say, wavering with uncertainty at the threshold. Should you invite him in? “What can I do for you? We didn’t have a meeting, did we?” You let yourself chuckle, dry and quick. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit scattered this morning.”

Your boss doesn’t return your chuckle, which immediately raises the hairs on the back of your neck. Something was wrong. Shit--you were working on a major project for a seriously important client. The type of client that could genuinely make or break a company, if you got on their bad side. You press your lips together and make a silent vow to keep it serious.

“I’d like to keep this conversation private.” His tone is low and serious and you invite him in without a second thought, shutting the thick door behind you, trying to ignore the way everyone was shooting glances as it closed. Fuck, fuck, fuck, your thoughts race--no wonder everyone was giving you the stink eye. Something was wrong with the client, and you were the one making primary contact with them.

Your boss takes a seat on the leather sofa pushed up against the wall and you immediately set yourself down behind your desk.

He sighs. Short. Frustrated. Annoyed.

“We have to let you go.”

The words don’t register.

“Go where?”

It’s only after you say it that you realize what he said, what it meant, and you feel like a colossal moron in every respect.

“It’s not working out,” he continues, staring at your desk and not at your face. “Since you’ve only been in this position for a month, you don’t quality for senior severance. The best we can do is to pay you what you’ve earned this week.”

Your mouth is so dry that you don’t know if you can talk. Your hand fumbles on your desk for a water bottle you’d left overnight, and that’s when you see it--the photo frame. You keep a photo of yourself and Ransom, cuddled together for a selfie, on your desk. The photo was lying on your desk, frameless, ripped in half--leaving only your vacantly smiling face staring up at you.

Ransom was here.

“Did he put you up to this?” You whisper. “Did Ransom tell you to fire me?”

You know he won’t answer. But you stare at him so fervently that he can’t help but look up at you, and you see it all in his eyes, in the subtle, embarrassed expression of his face.

You can imagine Ransom strolling in--maybe he called first--and settling in for a private audience with your boss in his office. He’d probably pull the chair up to the desk and put his feet on it, just to be an ass. Then he’d bring up… you. And why you had to be let go. Did he give a reason, did he tell your boss why a respected employee who he once secured a position for, who shot up the ranks through intense effort and work, needed to be fired? Did he even need to give a reason?

“This is absolute bullshit,” you say, finally, voice dry and hoarse and bitter. You want to say you’ll be contacting a lawyer. That this won’t stand. But you know--and he knows--that there’s nothing you can do.

Your boss stands, slow, and sighs again. “I’m sorry it had to end this way. Pack up your things as quickly as possible.”

He leaves, and you keep your eyes trained on the ripped photograph to avoid seeing the expressions of the people in the doorway before your boss mercifully shuts the door.

It takes all of your effort not to cry.

You don’t have much effort left.

**

Your things consisted of a handful of personal items, little touches you’d brought in to make your office feel more like “you.” A nice picture print. A pastel afghan to drape over the couch. A stapler with a floral design. You have the strong urge to dump them in a trash can, but that’s quickly quelled by the realization that you can’t afford to buy new things, or any things, at this point.

You don’t care if wearing your sunglasses as you power walk to the elevators makes you look stupid. You know someone, somewhere in this office is filming you and probably captioning it with something stupid to post to their Reels or TikTok, and it just makes you leave faster. A few people murmur comments your way, sympathetic in tone, but you’re not really listening. None of their platitudes matter, because Ransom was here, in your workplace, in your office, and he stole the thing you were most proud of from under your feet.

To his credit, when you reach the bottom floor, Anthony practically fumbles out from behind his desk and holds the door open for you. He mouths a “Sorry” and he probably is, but he’s probably used to dealing with rich assholes like Ransom who get what they want, when they want it; even when what they want is to fire a good employee on demand for very personal reasons.

The sun is beating down hard, even for the morning, and the stress of your situation makes you blast the air conditioning as soon as you get in the car. God, the car--how are you going to afford the payments? You wish you could call your mom. You wish your friends--are they even your friends, anymore?--would call you back.

You grab your phone from your purse and stare at the black screen. Maybe you should call the friend who didn’t block you. She would answer, if you called, because she knew you didn’t make calls unless it was serious. She might not rush to your side, but maybe she can offer you a place to stay, a couch, some advice. A kind word would do, right now, with how much anxiety and frustration has been packed into the last 12 hours.

But when you unlock your screen, your gut sinks. Five missed calls. From the storage company. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

You tap their number and bring the phone to your ear and pretend that your hands aren’t shaking.

The man who answers is the same one you talked to on the phone before, when setting up your move. “Hello, Move’nSecure Storage Company. This is Steve speaking. How many I help you?”

“Hi Steve!” You hate how chipper you sound. “I actually just got a few missed calls from you guys, I’m sorry, I was in the office and--”

“Oh.” His voice is surprisingly flat, suddenly flat, losing its customer service inflection in an instant before picking it back up. “Yes. We’ve been trying to reach you. For confirmation, the storage locker your purchased is A443, correct?”

You fumble in your purse for the receipt and confirm the little numbers printed neatly on the paper. “Yes, A443. Is everything okay?”

“No, it’s not.” You’re grateful that you didn’t have much for breakfast because you know it would be clawing its way back up at this point. “The card you gave us for the storage fee was declined.”

The debit card. You’d paid in cash for the move, and paid for 1 month of storage with the card. The card that was now useless, connected to an empty and closed bank account.

“Is there another card you can give us?”

“No, but...” You say, because no, there is not. There is not a card. There is not a job. There is nothing. “But if you could just hold my stuff, I’ll be there in less than a hour to get it.”

“We don’t hold items,” Steve tells you, a rehearsed banality to his tone. “Your items are currently outside the unit.”

You instinctively want to yell at Steve but, fuck fuck fuck, you’ve been there, behind the counter, dealing with people who couldn’t pay for shit and then had the nerve to get upset with you. “All of it?” You ask, your voice cracking slightly.

“Yes.”

You hang up, and toss your phone onto the passenger seat. The quicker you get there, the less chance that something will get broken or stolen or who knows what else.

The trip to the storage unit seems to take forever, and when you arrive you don’t even take a second to lock your car doors. Instead you sprint inside, startling Steve--looking at his phone, then at you, then at the sign plastered up on the wall leading to the storage locker floors. He points. Row A, separated into 100s, 200s, 300s, and--your number--400s.

You don’t remember if you say ‘thank you,’ because you’re speed-walking down the hallway and following the signs and it isn’t long before you see it: a storage locker with tons of stuff piled up, dumped, outside the now-empty unit where it was supposed to be safe and sound. Waiting for you to get an apartment and pick it back up and rearrange it into your new life, your new “you.”

The problem is immediate: You can’t fit all this in your car. You don’t know anyone who could take the stuff for you. You mind reels for options and the only thing you can come up with is ferrying your belongings to and from the hotel. You can pay for a few more days once you cash your partial paycheck. After that… you don’t know.

Pawn your things? Yeah. That might work. You can get enough cash by pawning most of your stuff, the good stuff. Enough money to get you into a shitty apartment with leaks and a bad landlord. Then you can a job that barely pays rent and you’ll be right back where you started, before you met Ransom. Before you thought leaking ceilings and $20 paychecks after taxes were a thing of the past.

You ignore the humiliation that makes your stomach curl as you take your things out to the car, handful by handful. Steve doesn’t bother holding the door open for you. You mention that you’re going to be back on your way out, and he offers a non-committal hum.

At least when you get to the hotel, the owner sees you fumbling with boxes and offers to help you out. It takes less time with two hands to get everything in the room, and once it’s locked up you head back out to the storage units.

You keep your sunglasses on for the second trip into the storage unit, even though you don’t know Steve or care what he thinks. He doesn’t look up when you walk in and it’s just as well, since you’re only heading back to the A-400s and don’t need his non-existent help.

But the sight that greets you when you round the corner to your unpaid-for storage locker makes your blood run cold.

Your stuff is gone. All of it.

You rush back to the desk, where Steve does look up, startled by your urgency.

“My stuff,” you spit out, “My stuff is gone! Someone took it!”

Steve shrugs. “Sorry.” He points to a sign behind him: “We are not responsible for the loss of items inside or outside storage lockers.”

“Are you fucking kidding?” You can’t the anger in your voice this time. “You just watched someone walk off with my stuff and didn’t say anything?”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “If it was that important, you shouldn’t have left it here. Or you should have given us another card.”

You feel like throwing your hands up but you just clench your fist and storm out the door, huffing as you reach your car. The anger melts into the sense of loss, the realization that you only have a few meager items that you’d managed to collect; you picked the lightest stuff, first. And in retrospect it was things that didn’t matter much at all. Clothes. Hair supplies. Makeup. You should have grabbed the box with your USB sticks, your memory cards, your photo albums; your personal mementos and sentimental shit. Instead you grabbed the box with your shampoo.

At least the clothes might get something in a pawnshop. The makeup, too, on Facebook or Depop or Instagram. But it wouldn’t be enough to put you up in an apartment. You’ll have to live in your car. Until they repossess it for lack of payment.

You don’t have your bank account, your credit cards, your job, a place to stay, or your personal possessions. And soon, you won’t have your car.

You have no friends. No boyfriend. No family.

All you have $20 left in your wallet and well, fuck it. You grab some McDonalds on the way home because, fuck it, and eat all the fries before you make it to the motel. The thought of eating in your dirty room makes your stomach turn and you decide to eat everything else you bought, the burger and the shake and the chicken nuggets too, tossing the wrappers on the floor. It feels like deja vu--getting cheap fast food to make you feel full, tossing trash on the floor of the passenger seat, all bringing back the way you used to when you’d grab something from the dollar menu on your way to work at the call center.

You almost wish you could stay at this hotel, brown water and all. The owner is decently nice. He smiles at you when you enter and doesn’t bring up that you didn’t come back with more boxes, like you said you would.  

You’re surprised at how grateful you feel for the dingy hotel room now that you won’t be able to stay here more than another day. Now that the alternative is sleeping in your car, then sleeping on the street, if you were lucky.

Your phone feels heavy when you set it on the table and stare at the home screen. Another photo of you and Ransom stares back up at you. You haven’t had time to change it up yet. He’s grinning. You’re smiling. It’s a good photo. You try to place it in your memory, try to remember what beach that was, but your trips blur together and you can’t.

Should you call him? If it was just the cards, just him being petty over credit and finances, it was one thing. You could try to placate him with returning gifts, just asking him to give you what you put in from your own paychecks. But making you lose your job? It was too far, too fucking far. And there was no going back from that. Fuck, someone was probably moving into your office as you sat in this dimly lit room mourning the loss of your entire life.

For a brief, very fleeting moment, you consider calling Harlan. You weren’t exceptionally close, but he seemed to like you well enough. He’d even asked you once, puling you aside at a tension-filled family party, if Ransom treated you right, told you to tell him if he ever got to be too much. Harlan felt like Ransom’s keeper--in more ways than one. You could never tell Harlan about the shouts or the occasional bruises from when Ransom really, really lost his temper--it’s not like you could prove them, anyway, as Ransom made sure to keep you away from his family when he lost control like that. No need for excuses about running into doors when he made sure you looked your best at family functions.

But the thought of breaking the uneasy stasis that Ransom had with the most significant member of his family made you want to vomit. There would be no coming back from that, and you knew better than to cross any line involving the great Harlan Thrombey.

You could call your friend--ex-friend? The one who didn’t block you or forget your number. You should. No, you will. Because what else do you have to lose.

But before you can bring up her number, you get a text--Ransom. It’s a photo and your curiosity gets the better of you as you click the notification.

“What the fuck?”

He’s sent you a photo of his car, trunk open. It’s filled with boxes, odds-and-ends. It’s filled with your stuff.

You text him: What??

He texts back: Hey. I’m in front of the hotel. Come out? Bring your suitcase. :P

It’s your stuff. It’s his car. He’s here. All reason is thrown aside as you grab your suitcase and purse and rush down the hallway, ignoring the owner’s confused response from behind his desk as you push open the front doors and look around the parking lot.

His car is parked to the side, not in front of the hotel’s glass double doors. He’s standing outside his car, leaning against it. He takes off his sunglasses and tucks them in his pocket when he sees you approaching, face confused and fuming all at once.

“What the fuck, Ransom, what the fuck is your problem--”

“Hey, hey,” he says, hands up in defense, “You’re not even going to thank me for picking up your stuff?”

You feel suddenly, impossibly rooted to the spot.

“What do you--what? You took my stuff?”

He shrugs. “C’mon, did you really think I’d just leave your stuff in some shitty storage unit? Someone would’ve taken it if I didn’t get there first.”

You swallow. “Why?” You ask, because Ransom never does anything for no reason. Or so you’ve learned.

His expression loses a bit of its cocky casualness. He tilts his head a bit, looking at you as if you’ve asked a particularly offensive question.

“Why do you think?”

To lord it over you? To make you think your stuff was gone and make you worried, sick, crazy?

“I don’t know,” is what you settle for in the end. “I really, really don’t. You--” You lick your lips, and try to calm down, calm the pitter-patter of your heart, and think before you speak. “You’ve done some pretty messed up stuff today. My job?” The last question comes out soft and pained, and you know your eyes are starting to tear up.

“Hey.” His voice is soft and placating and it makes your stomach flip as he approaches you, standing there on the sidewalk with your purse and suitcase. “Hey, c’mon. Don’t cry on me.”

You know this Ransom. The Ransom that holds you and pets your hair and offers to get Thai food delivered even though he doesn’t like it just to make you happy.

He puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk it away. “Don’t.” That Ransom is a fantasy. Or an incomplete version, the version that pretends he doesn’t lie and cheat and hurt you in more ways than one. “Don’t you fucking dare, especially not after what you pulled today. My job? My job, Ransom? You’re a--a fucking asshole.”

He puts his hands up again, defensive, and takes a step back. But he doesn’t return to his car, and stays just a few steps in front of you.

“Look. Call me an asshole. Sure, fine, I can admit that. But do you know what else I am?”

He waits a beat, waits for you to look at him, before he continues. “I’m a realist. I like facts. And the fact is? You aren’t much without me. No job, no credit cards, no bank account. Without me, you’re just some broke chick scrambling to get an apartment in the shittiest part of town, working a dead-end job that don’t pay shit. With me though…. “

He leaves the words unfinished, but you know what he means. Flashes of your life, cocktails and smart business outfits and dinners at restaurants you didn’t even dream about attending before you met him. Phone calls with shakers in the industry and social media requests from people you’d never dream you’d meet. Connections that meant something, a career path, dinner parties with people who could offer tangible benefits to your career and your life.

It wasn’t that he spoiled you. He wasn’t a sugar daddy. You weren’t getting gifts for blowjobs. It was that his presence in your life boosted you, socially, financially, mentally, physically, in every which way possible.

His presence got you a job that you loved, which meant you weren’t burnt out when you came home, which meant that you had the time and energy to spend hours catching up on books or redecorating the house or watching movies. Good money meant you could order in whenever you felt like it, meant you didn’t have to worry if you burned dinner because you could just buy new steaks or order-in or go out, last minute, and still get a great table. It meant you had all the clothes you wanted, stylish and personally tailored; it meant you had easy access to a gym and exercise equipment and an indoor pool to keep you healthy. It meant you had a life that provided comfort in every way possible.

Being with Ransom Drysdale was like… like a little shot of privilege directly into your arm.

Privilege that he took away just as easily as he gave it. Just as easily as you took it. Just as easily as you took it and eagerly ignored the dark side underneath. Or maybe you didn’t ignore it. Maybe you liked it, maybe it reminded you of who you were underneath the designer clothes and expensive dinners.

Maybe you wanted to fix him, like he fixed you? He wasn’t totally bad, after all, he did make sure no one took your belongings. Maybe it was your presence that gave him the idea for that touch of sympathy, maybe with Ransom change was slow and muddled, not picture-perfect sweeping changes like the kind in movies.

“So?” Ransom’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “Are you going to come home or,” he waves his hands around dismissively, at the hotel, at you.

You feel very, very less-than right now. You look awful, your hair mussy and your makeup mostly melted off with sweat and sun. You probably smell more than you normally do, thanks to the lack of a shower. Your muscles, sore from the motel bed, ache for the large spa bathtub that Ransom had installed in the master bathroom just for you, stocked with bubbles and salts and overpriced bath bombs that were $10 a pop.

But your muscles had hurt before, when he pushed you against the dresser.

You have nothing, and no one. Except Ransom. Ransom who didn’t judge you when you instinctively saved plastic bottles and boxes, but merely nudged you towards recycling and took you out to splurge on a reusable water bottle and proper storage containers the next day. Ransom who asked you what sort of job you wanted, really wanted, and made it happen for you. Ransom who shrugged and wiped away your credit card debt without making you feel like shit.

Ransom who didn’t let you leave the house if your wrists were sporting fingerprint shaped bruises. Ransom who argued with you about talking to men, even men at work. Ransom who held you tight at night and said he never wanted to let you go, and wouldn’t you just make a fine-ass addition his crazy family. Ransom who took care of you, now that you had no one else.

“What do you want me to do?” The words feel slow, sluggish. Like they wanted to stick to the roof of your mouth and it took everything in you to get them out.

His voice turns low and serious as he stares at you with an characteristic expression. “Well, the first thing is to get down on your knees…”

You feel your eyes practically bugging out.

“What the fuck, Ransom?”

He laughs. He always did have a nice laugh.

“I’m just messing with you, Jesus. Take a chi-I-il pill. Just grab your purse and come sit your sweet ass in the front seat. Let’s go get some burgers, I’m starving.”

Your legs feel like jelly when you take that first step, and the sound of your roller suitcase as you pull it along seems louder than ever. Ransom pops the truck and you just manage to fit it inside with the handle closed, jamming it in between some boxes at an odd angle. The handle of the passenger side is familiar, warm from the sun.

You open the door and practically shove yourself into the seat, closing the door as fast as possible. You can’t do more than glance at him as humiliation and anxiety and just the smallest bit of relief washes over you. It’s been less than 24 hours since you broke up, and here you are--again.

He’s staring at you quietly, his expression difficult to place. He looks relieved. He looks annoyed. He looks like he wants to kiss you. He looks like he wants to slap you. Maybe he wants to do it all at once and can’t decide which to pick.

Instead, he puts his hand on your thigh. Gives it a squeeze. Hard, bordering on painful.  He’s staring straight ahead, at the worn-out sign on the hotel’s front door, one hand gripping the flesh of your thigh. He looks good in profile. “Don’t ever try to pull something like that again. I mean it. I really mean it.”

You turn, glance out the window, familiar tears at the edge of your eyes.

“I won’t,” you whisper, dreaming of the tub and bubbles and how good a warm soak will feel on your back, on your thighs, on your soul.

“Good girl,” he says, patting your thigh firmly. He plucks his sunglasses out of pocket and puts them on in a smooth motion. The car starts smoothly, its fine-tuned and expensive engine a familiar sound, and your hands feel robotic as you pull the seatbelt over your chest and click it tight.

“Let’s get dinner and get home. You have some unpacking to do.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 22 - Red Right Hand [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood, nightmares.

Word Count: 4000

Summary: Anyone can be a suspect.

When you woke up, the first thing you realized before even opening your eyes was that you weren’t in your bed.

Your bed was softer than this, the sheets were silk and the pillows were fluffier-

Spencer.

You were sleeping in Spencer’s bed, and in all honesty, both he and you were terrible at this break up thing.

You rubbed your eyes and sat up in bed, trying pull yourself together and get rid of the haze of the sleep. Judging by the state of the bed, it was very obvious that Spencer hadn’t slept there and the clattering of plates coming from the kitchen let you know that he was already awake. You yawned, stretching out and kicked off the covers before you quickly made the bed and stepped back to see if it looked good.

Well, it looked acceptable at least.

You shrugged to yourself and stepped out of the room to approach where the noises were coming from, then leaned sideways on the door frame, a smile warming your face when Spencer turned his head to look at you.

“Morning.”

“Hi there,” you said, your voice still raspy because of sleep, “What are you making?”

“Um- I realized I just had coffee and not much of anything else,” Spencer said, “Unless you like leftover Chinese.”

“My favorite breakfast.”

“So grilled cheese sandwich?”

“Oh man, you don’t want to share your leftover Chinese?” you curled your lips, “I guess grilled cheese sandwich could be breakfast too.”

He chuckled and put the sandwiches on the plates, so you grabbed them and went to the living room to sit on the couch, Spencer following you with two cups of coffee.

“Jesus Spencer, you didn’t have to sleep here,” you motioned at the blanket, “You’re taller than the couch.”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind.”

You shifted your weight and picked at the toast before nibbling on the piece,

“How did you sleep?” he asked and you chewed on your bite.

“Like a rock,” you said, “I got like four hours, do you know what that is? A miracle.”

He thought for a moment before he walked to the table to pull open a drawer as you grabbed your cigarette package,

“Do you mind if I smoke here?”

“I do actually.”

You looked down at the package in your hand, then put it back into your purse as he walked back to the couch, clearing his throat.

“So I was thinking,” he said, “The um-the next time it gets too much for you, even though I’m on a case away from the city, if you ever need to get away from your place…” he reached out and put what looked to be a spare key to his apartment on the coffee table and you stared at it for a couple of seconds, your heart skipping a beat.

“Professor,” you managed to say when you pulled yourself together and tried to ignore the spark of hope, “I say this with the best intentions, but we really do suck at this whole break up thing.”

“We’re not so bad-“

“We’re literally the worst ex couple I’ve ever seen. You take your key back from your exes, not give them one.”

“But it’s not like that,” he said quickly, “It’s so that you can drop by when I’m not here if you want to.”

You were melting, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

“Spencer…” you tried to stop the smile warming your face and pursed your lips, “I can’t.”

He pulled his brows together, his soft gaze on you almost confused, “Why not?”

You heaved a sigh and reached out to wrap your fingers over the back of his hand, the spark of electricity shooting through your whole system. Your body didn’t care about the break up as much as your mind did, that was clear. Even now, even after everything, even if you knew it was wrong, the only thing you absolutely craved for was to be closer to him, however you could be.

“Trust me,” you said, “The only thing it’ll do is to give me hope, and I can’t have that. Besides, who knows? Yet another friend of Luke’s might disagree with this decision if you ever end up not talking about your ex during the first date.”

He let out a small chuckle, “That’s not happening, you know it as much as I do.”

You scrunched up your nose, “My point about being terrible exes,” you started, but before you could say anything else, your phone started vibrating. You looked around and grabbed it, then took it to your ear.

“Hello?”

“Finally!” Mina’s voice reached you, “Why can’t anyone reach you? Mom called you like a hundred times.”

“I was busy.”

“Doing what? Your assistant said you didn’t show up yet.”

“What happened?” you asked back and she heaved a sigh.

“Mom wanted me to ask if you want them to send you a car for tonight.”

“Why would I-“ you started and then it dawned on you and you threw your head back, “Charity auction.”

“The one that we told you like a month ago, and your assistant already put it in your schedule. You know, the whole point of having that is checking it sometimes right?”

“I wanted to erase it from my mind, probably that’s why,” you grumbled.

“Well you’re coming. I’ll actually kill you if you bail on me, we’re all going to be there.”

You rolled your eyes, “Okay, whenever we go somewhere like this, mom socializes, you and Kenz hook up in the bathroom, I’m the only one who doesn’t have fun in these things! I’m allowed to-“

“I’m literally running to a meeting on stilettos so I don’t have time to feel sorry for you but I’ll put it in my schedule if you want,” she said, “Unlike you, I check mine. No car then?”

“I’ll drive there myself.”

“Suit yourself. Cry beforehand if you’re going to be in this mood for the whole night, will you? You don’t look good with smudged makeup.”

“Fuck you Mina.”

“Love you too brat!” she sang and hung up, and you huffed out a breath.

“Charity auction?” Spencer asked, “Rossi was talking about that too.”

Your head shot up, “Wait, you will be there?” you asked, the grumpiness leaving you instantly and he shrugged his shoulders.

“A part of the team will. We don’t know yet.”

“I hope they pick you to be there.”

He tilted his head, “Why?”

You bit inside your cheek, still trying to fight the urge to be closer to him before you took a deep breath.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “Maybe I wouldn’t hate tonight that much if you were there.”

                                                 ***

Having breakfast with Spencer was a perfect way to start the day, that was for sure, but you couldn’t say the same for the rest of the day. Much like Mina, you spent the whole day running from meeting to meeting, and by the time you got home to get ready for the night, you were already way too tired.

But as you found out, a good night’s sleep made wonders, so even if you were tired, you weren’t as drowsy as before.

Special thanks to Spencer, for that one.

You did your make up and your hair before getting into the gown and you looked in the mirror, smoothing over the fabric. You turned around to see whether the long skirt looked good at all the angles but then your phone started vibrating on the bed and you grabbed it to answer it.

“Hi Linc,” you put him on speaker as you opened the drawer to pick a necklace, “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to check whether you’re going to pretend you’re sick to get out of it,” he said and you chuckled.

“Good idea, I’ll use it the next time,” you clasped the necklace behind your neck and fixed your hair, “And no. Unfortunately I’ll be there.”

“Come on Y/N, we’ll have fun.”

“I don’t think so.”

“We’ll have alcohol, you like alcohol.”

“That’s the only way I can stand these things,” you murmured, “How about you? Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind about coming?”

“Are you kidding? Watching you sulk is like a hobby of mine at this point, I made my peace with it.”

“I don’t sulk!”

“Yeah you do,” he chuckled, “I’ll see you there okay?”

“Yeah yeah, see you,” you murmured and hung up, then grabbed your coat and left your apartment. You got into your car, turned the music on, and started driving.

It took you almost an hour to get there because of the traffic. You handed your keys to the valet, thanked him and started climbing the marble stairs but as soon as you looked down at your phone you felt someone crashing into you.

“Ugh!” the woman let out a furious breath but still kept talking on the phone, “I said I don’t want them blue, I want them green! What are you, an idiot? I don’t have time for this…”

“Apology not accepted asshole,” you murmured to yourself and kept climbing the stairs.

“Good evening ma’am.”

“Good evening,” you smiled at the man by the door and stepped inside to walk through the huge foyer until you reached the hall. You looked around as soon as you reached the table surrounded by empty chairs and stopped one of the waitresses.

“Excuse me,” you smiled at her, “Hi, is this the table number one?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Thank you,” you said and heaved a sigh as she walked away, “How am I the first one here God damn it?”

You checked the time on your phone before making your way out of the hall and went outside again so that you could smoke a cigarette or two until everyone got there. There was no way you would sit there alone, you already didn’t like this evening and that would make it even worse. You leaned back to one of the pillars, lighting a cigarette and exhaling the smoke up into the dark sky, watching the people entering and leaving the building.

You heaved a sigh after minutes passed and you lit your third cigarette, sending Mina yet another text in all caps but then you heard someone clear their throat so you looked up from your phone and your heart started pacing in your chest, a wide smile pulling at your lips before you could stop it.

“Professor,” you managed to say and Spencer ran a hand through his hair as if he wanted to make sure it looked good, “Well this is a nice surprise. Came to save the damsel in distress?”

He pulled his brows together, “I doubt you fall under that category.”

You scrunched up your nose, “You have a point. I’m probably the big bad wolf in a dress.”

“I mean it’s a pretty dress,” he murmured before stealing a look at you, “You look great. As usual.”

You could feel the happiness filling your system and you giggled.

“Thanks,” you said, “So do you. But hey, that’s not a surprise. The only reason why the FBI is keeping you around is your looks, not your smarts, we all know that.”

That seemed to make him chuckle and you gasped, then reached out to hold his scarf over your dress.

“Spencer look, we match!”

“Look at that, we do-“ he smiled but before he could say anything, you saw Lincoln climbing the stairs. You waved at him and he took a look at you two with a slight frown on his face, then made his way to you.

“Jesus, took you long enough.”

“I know, I had this last minute phone call about work….” he shook his head, “Dr. Reid. You seem to be everywhere nowadays.”

“Seems that way,” Spencer stated curtly and Lincoln turned to you.

“Why are you outside?”

“Because no one at our table showed up yet,” you said, “And you know I hate sitting alone.”

“Ah well, I’m here now so if you want-“

“I think I’ll smoke some more, thanks though,” you told him and a small smile curled Spencer’s lips before he raised his brows, looking at Lincoln who checked his watch.

“It’ll start soon though, just so you know,” he said, “See you inside.”

With that, he walked away from you into the building and Spencer turned to you.

“That was subtle.”

“He’ll be fine,” you said and threw your hands up when you caught the sight of Mina getting closer, “Did you like die or something? Where’s Kenz?”

“On her way, there was something with the babysitter, my meeting took forever!” she said, “I drove here straight from work, is mom going to kill me?”

“No one is here yet.”

“Probably because of the accident.”

You frowned, “What accident?”

“I think there’s some kind of an accident, the traffic is insane,�� she eyed Spencer up and down, “Oh great, cute sad giraffe is here too.”

“Mina!” you hissed and Spencer shot you a look as if he was desperately asking for your help, but Mina waved a hand.

“I’ll be inside,” she said and walked inside while you shifted your weight.

“…Cute sad giraffe?” Spencer asked and you rubbed the back of your neck.

“Please ignore her,” you said, “I apologize on her behalf.”

Spencer stared at you, then scoffed a laugh, “Does she hate me or…?”

“She doesn’t hate you as a person, she just hates all my boyfriends as a princip- ex. Ex boyfriends.” You quickly corrected yourself, “She hates my ex boyfriends as a principle.”

“Why?”

“It’s a sister thing. I threatened one of her ex-girlfriends once, so this is what I get.”

“You threatened-“ Spencer started but you waved at Nolan who was climbing the stairs and he frowned at you and Spencer, then approached you.

“Well hello there,” he greeted you two before turning to Spencer, “I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Nolan, this is Spencer Reid,” you introduced them, “Spencer, Nolan. He’s the love of my mom’s life for some reason.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Nolan said and clicked his tongue “You’re the infamous Dr. Reid then. I’ve heard about you.”

“Nolan,” you murmured warningly but he ignored you.

“Has Y/N mentioned the head of FBI is a good friend of mine?”

“Um- no she hasn’t—”

“Well I’d keep that in mind just in case you happen to make yet another mist—“

“Thank you Nolan!” you said very loudly, “Mina is inside, you could join her if you want- also, have you seen my mother?”

“I came here straight from my house but I sent her a car, she was on her way,” Nolan said as someone by the door called out his name and he heaved a sigh, “Business doesn’t wait, excuse me.”

“Did he just…?” Spencer asked as Nolan got inside and you shook your head fervently.

“No he didn’t.”

“That sounded like a threat.”

“Ignore him as well,” you said, “It’s just uh… You know. Rich people. They have no manners.”

He tilted his head, confused, and you waved at Kenzie who climbed the stairs at full speed and waved at you back, then pressed a hand over her chest at the sight of Spencer and winked at you before rushing inside as well.

“Anyway,” you tried to change the topic, “So I owe you breakfast then. Do you want it before or after my next emotional breakdown?”

He smiled softly, “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Oh you have no idea how much I do,” you murmured, “Do you want to get Honey Cinnamon French toast the next time? It’s full of sugar, you’d like that. Considering your coffee choices.”

His jaw dropped, “It’s not that bad!”

“I took one sip of your coffee one day while we were dating and thought I’d get into sugar coma.”

“That’s not how it works.”

“Don’t you have statistics about how it’s bad for you?”

He nodded at the cigarette between your fingers, “Do you want to hear the statistics for that too?”

“You’re on thin ice, professor,” you pointed at him, making him laugh but then both of you turned your heads when you heard your name being called. Your mother looked between you, then smiled and stepped closer.

“Dr. Reid, it’s lovely to see you again,” she said politely, “Y/N honey, why are you outside?”

“Waiting for you,” you stubbed the cigarette, “I was the first to get here.”

“I know, the driver kept going into different roads because-“

“Accident. Yeah, Mina told me.”

“Let’s go inside, it’s about to start,” she said and you looked up at him.

“So I should-“

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I should probably find Luke. It was nice to see you again, Ms Knight.”

“You too Spencer,” she said and linked her arm through yours as you walked inside, “Anything I should know about?”

“We’re just talking, mom.”

She arched a brow, “I don’t know who you got this obliviousness from, but not me,” she said and you turned to look at her.

“Hm?”

“You’d have to be blind not to see the way he looks at you.”

You blinked a couple of times, “The way he looks at me?” you repeated as you approached the table and you took your seat beside Lincoln.

“Had your smoke?” he shot you a look and you rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t.”

“No really, are you guys sure you broke up? Like, did anyone let him know?”

Kenzie whispered something into Mina’s ear and she smiled, sipping her champagne.

“I’m a better person than you are, so it’s no wonder I have a better friendship with my exes than you do, Linc.”

“Is that what we call batting your eyelashes at your ex nowadays?” he asked and you made a face at him.

“You’re hilarious- should I buy something?” you wondered out loud, “Where’s the catalogue?”

Nolan handed you the tablet and you swiped on the screen.

“Are you buying something?”

“One or two,” Nolan said, “Your mother liked that vase on the page sixteen.”

“I will bid you for that,” your mother joked, making him smile and press a kiss on her cheek, and you downed your champagne before motioning for another.

“How’s your girlfriend?” you murmured to Lincoln and he shrugged his shoulders.

“She’s fine,” he whispered as the auctioneer started talking about the first item, “We had a small argument earlier, but…”

“About what? Did she finally see your real personality?”

“I’m sorry, I’m not taking relationship advice from a girl who’s obviously not over her ex even though she was the one who dumped him-“

“Hey, I’m trying to offer you my infinite wisdom you dickhead,” you whispered, making him chuckle.

“I’ve been working a lot these days, but I have to close this new deal,” he said, “She doesn’t seem to understand that.”

“Why don’t you pay her a visit?”

“Did you miss the part where I said I was working a lot?”

“Lincoln,” you heaved a sigh, “Honestly. If you love this girl, you need to show her that.”

“After I close this deal-“

“No, before you close your deal,” you insisted, “You don’t want to be one of those people who picked wealth over love.”

Lincoln raised his brows, “I guess we know what your pick is.”

“I take all my advice back, I hope your girlfriend dumps you,” you sipped the champagne, making him laugh.

“Come on, I’m just messing with you,” he said, “Do you want me to buy you an extra ugly vase so that you can forgive me?”

“I can buy my extra ugly vases myself, thank you,” you sulked, “Do you know what my problem is?”

“Hm?”

“I’m surrounded by love,” you nodded at Kenzie and Mina who seemed to be in their own worlds and your mother and Nolan who held hands over the table, listening to the auctioneer, “It’s like being surrounded by booze when you’re trying to go sober.”

“Hey if it makes you feel any better, my relationship is in shambles too.”

“It will stop being in shambles the moment you stop being a stubborn ass,” you murmured, still holding the fragile glass in your hand but as soon as you took another sip, your mother raised her brows, looking at someone over your shoulder, Mina narrowed her eyes and you felt someone’s presence behind you. The lovely scent filling your nostrils said it was Spencer, and your suspicion was proven when you heard a low whisper in your ear.

“Come with me.”

The champagne you were drinking went down the wrong tube and you started coughing before you stared up at him, convinced that you had just imagined that, considering it wasn’t the first time you were hearing that only in a different context.

“I’m sorry?” you managed to stammer and he frowned at your reaction, then nodded at the door.

“Outside?” he said and it dawned on you,

“Right, outside,” you murmured as you tried to pull yourself together and pushed your chair back.

“Y/N?” Mina said warningly but you shook your head.

“It’s fine, I’ll be right back,” you said as you stood up and felt Spencer’s hand on your lower back as he guided you out of the hall, his skin on yours sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. As soon as you stepped out of the hall he turned to you, his eyes searching yours frantically.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low voice and you pulled your brows together, trying to understand what he was talking about.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be okay?” you asked “I’m having the time of my life trying to pick between an ugly vase and an ugly painting. Seen anything you like yet? It’s for charity.”

“No, Y/N-“ he nibbled on his lip and you stared at him for a moment before your breath got caught in your throat and your hand shot up to hold his arm.

“Another murder?” you whispered, “God, did someone die? That’s why you’re being like this?”

“We just found her a block away.”

“Do I- do I know who it is?” you asked numbly and he pulled out his cellphone to show you the picture and you gasped, covering your mouth as soon as you saw the screen.

It was that woman who had bumped into you just at the beginning of the night, the one who had walked away without apologizing.

“I just…” you swallowed the lump in your throat, “I think I saw her tonight. But it- she- she was just alive, I don’t-“

“The marks show that it just happened. Very recently.”

You could feel the room spinning around you but you tried to pull yourself together.

“But I don’t-“

“Y/N,” he said your name, clearly this time, “I was talking to you probably around the time it was happening, but you mentioned you were the first one to get here right?”

You nodded slowly, “Yeah, the traffic. Well, that and the meetings and the babysitter- how is that relevant?”

Spencer fell into silence, taking a deep breath and you looked up at him.

“What?” you asked again and he stole a look at the hall.

“Obviously there’s no evidence to show this yet and I might be wrong, but do you want to know what I think?” he asked and you nodded again.

“Yes?”

“I think you were sitting with the copycat killer just now.”

You blinked dumbly, your brows furrowed in thought and slowly, very slowly that ice in your veins made its way through your system, a tingling spreading from the base of your neck up to your head. You could feel the panic crashing down on you before you turned your head to look at the your table, Mina and Kenzie watching you, Lincoln playing with his phone and your mother and Nolan having a quiet conversation. Spencer’s words echoed in your head, drowning out every single noise coming from the hall.

I think you were sitting with the copycat killer just now.

“Oh,” you breathed out, closing your eyes, “Fuck.”

Chapter 23

[krabmeat]

☊⏃⋏ ⟟ ⏚⟒ ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏? ⏃⋏⊬⍙⏃⊬⌇ ⋏⍜⍙ ⏁⊑⏃⏁'⌇ ⏃⌰⌰ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍙⏃⊬. ☌⍜⎅ ⍀⟒⏃⎅⟒⍀ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⍀⟒⎐⟟⎐⟒⎅ ⎍⋏⟒⌖⌿⟒☊⏁⟒⎅⌰⊬ ⏚⊬ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔? ⟟⏁'⌇ ⌰⟟☍⟒ - ⏃ ⍀⟒⏃⌰⌰⊬ ⏚⏃⎅⏃⌇⌇ ⏃⋏⏁⏃☌⍜⋏⟟⌇⏁ ☌⍜⎅ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ☌⟒⏁⌇ ⌿⎍⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⍜⎍⏁ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ☊⏃⌰⌰⟟⋏☌ ⎅⍀⟒⏃⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ "⌇⏃⎐⟟⍜⎍⍀" (⏚⎍⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏃ ⋔⍜⍀⟒ ⌇⏃⏁⟟⍀⟟☊⏃⌰ ⍙⏃⊬ ⟟⋏⌇⏁⟒⏃⎅ ⍜⎎ ☌⟒⋏⎍⟟⋏⟒⌰⊬ ⌇⟒⟒⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒ ⋔⏃⌇☍⟒⎅ ⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⌇ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⊑⟒⍀⍜ ☊⏃⎍⌇⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⏃⌇⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬'⎐⟒ ⋔⍜⌇⏁ ⌰⟟☍⟒⌰⊬ ☊⏃⌰⌰⟒⎅ ⟒⎐⟒⍀⊬⍜⋏⟒ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒⋔ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ⋔⟟☌⊑⏁⊬ ⊑⟒⌰⌿⟒⍀ ⏁⍜ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌿⍜⟟⋏⏁ ⍙⊑⟒⍀⟒ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⟟⏁⌰⟒ ⎎⟒⟒⌰⌇ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏃⋏⎅ ⎍⋏⎅⟒⌇⟟⍀⏃⏚⌰⟒). ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⍀⍜⏃⋔⟒⎅ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌰⏃⋏⎅⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⊑⟒ ⌇⋔⌿, ⏚⍀⟟⋏☌⟟⋏☌ ⏁⟒⍀⍀⍜⍀ ⏃⋏⎅ ⊑⟒⌰⌰⎎⟟⍀⟒ ⏃☊⍀⍜⌇⌇ ⏁⊑⟒ ⍜⎐⟒⍀⍙⍜⍀⌰⎅, ⌰⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⏁⊑⟒⟟⍀ ☍⟒⌿⏁ ⟟⋏ ⍀⏃☌⟒ ⌇⏁⍀⍜⌰⌰ ⎎⍀⟒⟒. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⟒⋏⎅ ⎍⌿ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⏁⎍⋏⎅⍀⏃, ⏁⊑⟒ ⏚⎍⍀⋏⟟⋏☌ ⎎⌰⏃☍⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏃⌇⊑⟒⌇ ☌⟒⏁⏁⟟⋏☌ ⌰⍜⌇⏁ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ⊑⏃⍀⌇⊑ ⌿⟟⌰⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⌇⋏⍜⍙. ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⌇⏁⎍⋔⏚⌰⟒⎅ ⎍⌿⍜⋏ ⏁⊑⟒ ☊⍜⏁⏁⏃☌⟒⌇ ⍜⎎ ⏁⍙⍜ ⟟⋔⋔⍜⍀⏁⏃⌰ ☌⍜⎅⌇ ⏁⊑⏃⏁ ⏁⊑⟒⊬ ⋔⏃⊬ ⍜⍀ ⋔⏃⊬ ⋏⍜⏁ ⊑⏃⎐⟒ ⎍⌇⟒⎅ ⏁⍜ ☍⋏⍜⍙. ⍙⍜⋏⎅⟒⍀ ⍙⊑⏃⏁'⌰⌰ ⊑⏃⌿⌿⟒⋏? ⟟ ⍙⍜⎍⌰⎅ ⌰⟟☍⟒ ⏁⍜ ⌇⟒⟒ ⊬⍜⎍⍀ ⏁⏃☍⟒ ⟟⋏ ⏁⊑⟟⌇.

- ⟒⋏⎅⟒⍀⋔⏃⋏ ⏃⋏⍜⋏

𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜: philza, techno, Wilbur,(next few only mentioned)Mexican dream, schlatt, dream

𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚜: they/them

𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: fire, death, arson, betrayal mention, being used, reference to drugs, slight cursing

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚜: translation vvvvv

Can i be enderman anon? anyways now that's all out of the way. God reader getting revived unexpectedly by dream? it's like - a really badass antagonist god that gets pulled out of the underworld, calling dream their "saviour" (but in a more satirical way instead of genuinely seeing the masked man as their hero cause in the past they've most likely called everyone that helped them their mighty helper to the point where the title feels overused and undesirable). They roamed the lands of the smp, bringing terror and hellfire across the overworld, letting their kept in rage stroll free. They end up in the tundra, the burning flakes of ashes getting lost in the harsh piles of snow. They happened to have stumbled upon the cottages of two immortal gods that they may or may not have used to know. Wonder what'll happen? i would like to see your take in this.

 - enderman anon

AHHH IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I DONT KNOW IF YOULL EVEN READ THIS STILL BUT TY FOR THE REQUEST IT ISNT THE BEST QUALITY IM SORRY :[[[

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You almost don't recognize the sensation of grass against your calloused and rough hands. You were in the void playing solitaire with Schlatt and Mexican Dream, and the next thing you knew you were suddenly pulled harshly by the back of your collar, falling on your spine. The looming mask of Dream is what stood above you, but he looked different. Longer hair, smelly, wearing a stained lime green jumpsuit with ‘0001' sewn into it and covered in cuts, scars and bruises. But before you could even question why Dream was suddenly there, he stepped back into the void, the void slowly surrounding and consuming him the further he went backwards. His now bony hand is still tightly gripped onto the back of your shirt, so while struggling your body is also enveloped in darkness. All it took was one blink and there you were on a patch of grass, staring at the pale blue sky.

"Huh."

Was all that came out of your mouth. You were still shocked at the turn of events that just happened, but no longer grounded. A running river nearby stunned your senses. How long had you been dead? It felt like years, but when you look around at the familiar forest you died in, not much had changed except for a couple newly planted saplings here and there. The swirling ashes you remembered before you died had all settled and compressed into the soil.

The river showed a strange reflection of yourself- your features have clearly sunken into your skull and there's a streak of white hair coming from your scalp along with words in fancy gold letters on your arm reading,

"May thy woes and hurt of the past no longer eradicate the upwards of this lost souls future. Allow thine to be praised by Ender themselves and be granted another chance at mortality."

Scrubbing or picking at your arm did nothing, so onwards you went walking along the forest to what you remember being a bustling "community".

Each mound of dirt you saw only brought memories of your death, of the place and people who sought to treat you like you were disposable. And now that you’re alive, you hate that they technically ended up being right. Your death; alone in a forest. Running away from the unexpected attacker, ashamed and too prideful to die in the prying eyes of your enemies. It fills you with rage, all the lives taken by your hands and for what? You weren’t overreacting, you knew that for sure. And before you knew it, you stole some fresh flint and steel from a random chest and got to work. 

You had always wanted to touch the fires you set. The soothing feeling you got from watching wood burn to char and ashes satisfied you. And it made it all the more euphoric to know it was trees of your manipulator's land. Running across the land, with flames as far as you could see when you looked behind you. The heat swirled around your neck and went into your nose, but the feeling was muscle memory at that point. You were still riding your high when a voice reached out to you, luckily when you were finally calm.

"What- Y/n? Hold on, is that really you Y/n..?"

You spin on your heels to the familiar manipulative British voice of a person you haven't seen in a long time. 

"Wilbur?! Man, I haven't seen another person's face other than those two addicts in a while- you look different." 

His eyes much like yours are sunken deep into his skull, purple-pink bags under his eyes and dull skin. Wilburs shocked lips fade into an opened mouth smile when he walks up to you with his hands momentarily confused on what they should do. Eventually, his right hand settles on clasping your left shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

“Y/n it is so good to see you! You look quite different yourself, wouldn’t you think-? Oh, look! We’re matching!”

The grey streak in your hair seems to make another appearance when Wilbur briefly smacks it with his middle and pointer finger. 

“Ay, it’s nice to see you too Wil, but back up for a second alright? I've got something to ask you by the way…”

Wilburs head peaks in interest, urging you to go on.

“I’m guessing that little streak in your hair wasn’t a fashion choice- and if it was it’s a bit strange- but how’d you get it? You died when you blew up L’manburg! I mean c'mon, people don’t just, well…REVIVE!”

He starts to walk. You aren’t quite sure where, but stumbling along with Wilbur while his arm is draped lazily atop your shoulders seems to suffice. 

“Ahh Y/n, you’d be surprised. The most WONDERFUL thing happened, actually! Years and years in my hell of a train station; do you know who was at the subway door when it finally opened, Y/n? Dream!”

“Wh- Dream?!”

Appalled, you try to stop in your tracks but fail when wilburs arm is still pushing forward. His storytelling voice dies down to curiosity and excitement.

“Wait, did he save you too? He did, didn’t he? Oh, this is wonderful!”

Wilbur emits eagerism and you suddenly realize what you could do with his desperacy to be socially accepted. Putting on the most exaggerated and animated voice, you speak. 

“Oh my god yeah! Gosh, that Dream guy is my hero! Thanks to him, I get to have another chance at living again, and isn’t that just…swell.”

In all honesty you didn’t really try hard to sound sincere but by the look of Wilbur, it seemed to work just fine. 

“Right?! I’ve been meaning to visit him in the prison if you’d like to tag along with me the day I go? I’m sure he’d love to see you, since he revived you and all.”

Oh, you were sure Dream wanted to see you. He wants a boon- a trade. Why else would he revive two of the most historically significant people on the server if not to make some sort of deal with them? Sure, Wilbur is as gullible and carefree as ever but you at least still had scraps of mental stability and level-headedness that made you all the more a force to be reckoned with. Not to mention Wilbur doesn’t know that Dream killed you, but telling him that now would blow your act. You decide to keep your thoughts to yourself.

“Yeahh, sure! I’d love to go, just tell me when.”

And that’s the end of that conversation. The two of you walk to wherever Wilbur is going. It honestly surprised you how he couldn’t see through your apathy. From what you remembered, he was keen on being wise about people and their intentions but you guess years and years in hell do things to a person.

Somehow, you’re stuck in your mind for long enough that only now do you feel the sharp winter air making the hairs on your arms and legs stand straight up. 

“Wait, snow?”

The tundra was a drastic contrast to the void you were once in with schlatt and Mexican Dream. Instead of black as far as you could see, it was a blinding powdery white. 

‘Mexican Dream would’ve liked it here, probably would have tried to snort the snow like coke.’

You weren’t built for the snow, though. Hell- you didn’t even have a memory of anyone living in a tundra when you were alive! Why was Wilbur even in the tundra? You didn’t have the energy to ask, still feeling brittle and tired, back aching from laying on the dry dirt longer than expected earlier. 

“Yeah, just figured I’d show you around! Plus I already need to grab a couple things from an ender chest and this was the closest by. I’m a very busy man, after all.”

But why were there so many footprints in the snow? As far as you knew, Wilbur was the only one who lived out in the tundra- and he didn’t seem like the active type at all. There were strange shapes as well, large hooved footprints. However, all thinking comes to a halt at the same time Wilbur does.

“We’re here! You might see some familiar faces cause I live with people.”

Well, that answers the footsteps as well as the tall red-caped piglin hybrid giving leftover bones and raw meat to a polar bear.

“TECHNO! TECHNO, HEY!”

He tenses up for a second, you could tell he wanted to be left alone but that didn’t really bother Wilbur. But you recognize him. The name and the apparel- that guy is Technoblade. The same Technoblade who stood by your side while the two of you blew L’manburg up for the last time, and now the Technoblade who resides in a cottage shrouded in snow.

“Technoblade?!”

Hearing your voice being carried by the crisp winter air, he turns around immediately to see you and Wilbur a few feet away. Techno stood there dumbfounded, but he didn’t know why. He wasn’t particularly joyed or ecstatic to see you, but he was at the very least happy to see an old ally back. 

“Y/n? Oh my god, now we’ve got TWO of you? We don’t have room for another one, alright?”

For some it might be hard to see the meaning behind his words. Luckily you’ve talked to him enough to where you can tell he’s being playful.

“Don’t worry, I’ll just build directly on top of your house. Besides, who WOULDN'T want to be near me 24-7?”

“Me-“

“Oh f*ck off.”

You would’ve thought that that was Wilbur due to the similar accent, but there was something off. The slight gruffness and age, yet still succeeding in sounding mellow.

“Phil! How’s my favorite old bird doing?”

He gives you a face. Not a happy one like you expected, rather a face that says ‘really?’ Probably because of the old comment. The two of you briefly hug, Phil’s tattered wings stretching out slightly.

“I’m doing alright, are you okay? Here, would you like to come in? It’s pretty cold outside, you probably haven’t seen snow in a couple years.”

He wasn’t wrong after all. You were freezing your toes off and were itching for lemon tea. The kind Phil used to make when he, Technoblade and Dream discussed plans on destroying L’manburg. Ah, the good ol days…

“Of course! We’ve got a lot to talk about- you still have that old chess board?”

“Yes, but first you have some explaining to do about the fire over in that tree, Y/n. You just got back and you’re already burning down forests?!”

“Did someone say fire?”

Techno has an eager stride in his step once he also looks back to see the raging lights of orange and red in the nearby forest.

“Don’t worry Phil! It’s just- ahh, a controlled burn..?”

Your tone of voice is unsure when a black crow shoots down from the sky into the snow in front of you. It’s left wing is charred and has smoke dancing from the burn. Philza looks at you with a stern glare.

“Oh my f*cking god…that’s it! We’re all going inside now, you too Techno. I don’t want you and Y/n going on a rampage.”

[bokutoslittlebird]

I’m Sorry

Alpha!Ushijima x Beta!f!reader x Alpha!Oikawa

Warnings: THIS IS A SEQUEL to Regrets, intention of suicide, suicidal thoughts and actions [overdose, cutting, falling], mentions of self harm [overdose and cutting], angst, pregnancy, bonding mention, I did not look up Argentina resident rules

The rain was heavy today.

You felt as if it was the universe’s way of saying it was sorry for you. The ride back to school would be in the pouring rain that matched the gloominess of your heart, only to enter a campus where nobody wanted anything to do with you. His scent was all over you; despite being a Beta, you could feel it. You had been claimed and nobody would dare try and claim Ushijima Wakatoshi’s mate, despite the fact you’re not his mate.

Sobbing did little to ease the ache in your chest, eyes blotched from the constant tears and your nose sniffling as you tried to wipe away snot with your sleeves. Your sleeves, not his sleeves of a jacket you stole. Reading stories of how an Alpha would bestow their mate clothing would always warm your heart, but sitting on a dirty busstop with nobody but the rain beside you, your heart felt cold.

“What are you doing?” Someone asked. Your head snapped up to see a brunet looking down at you, his attire telling you he was dressed to run. Running? In pouring rain? What an idiot. He was gorgeous, though, hair collecting silver droplets that seemed to only accentuate his features. Your eyes trail down to the black collar adorning his neck, hidden beneath the white and blue jacket he wore. He quirked an eyebrow, giving off a small chuckle. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,”

“More like an idiot running in rain. What’s up with that?” You sniffle, rubbing at your raw nose and cursing the timing. An Alpha coming on a claimed Beta alone — words don’t need to be spoken for the other man to know why you’re crying. But instead of running off, he sits next to you. “You’re gonna get me wet, weirdo,”

“Well if I sit too close, I’d get snot on me, so maybe I’d be better keeping my distance, anyways,” he shoots back, barely batting an eye. You just scoff, rolling your eyes.

“Someone seems to have a problem with me. I don’t even know who you are, stranger,” you give off a grin, trying to keep up the light tone.

“Well, you’re wearing a Shiratorizawa jacket and you stink like Ushiwaka, so can you blame me for being a bit of an ass?” He says, grinning. Though you were keeping a light tone, his words quickly reminded you of the position you’re in. Gloomy day, pouring rain, busstop. Looking back to the ground, you sigh heavily.

“Well, at least it’s the most interaction I’ve had all day. Ushijima’s got a stick up his ass and no funny bone in his body, so I suppose if this is my last interaction, it’s better than him,” you off handedly say. The man beside you quirks his eyebrow once more, your words settling into his brain before he’s leaning closer to you. His shadow moves towards you, making you jump back. “What are you doing?”

“You’re pregnant,” he flat out says. Before you can shoot anything back, his eyes get sad as he pulls himself back some more. “You’re going to kill yourself because he abandoned you?”

“How-” you sputter, tears springing to your eyes once more, “how did you-”

“You know if he’s abandoned you, another Alpha can take claim, right? You’re not worthless,”

“Easy for you to say. I’m a Beta with an Alpha’s bond mark. An Alpha that doesn’t even want to talk to me. My family and friends have turned their backs on me because it’s my fault. I wouldn’t expect an Alpha to understand the other party’s feelings,” you say, wiping away the tears. Despite trying to appear strong, your eyes are wet and there’s snot running down your face. “No Alpha wants Ushijima Wakatoshi’s leftovers. Don’t make me laugh,”

“Well, a cute little Beta would look better with a genuine smile then tears in their eyes, wouldn’t you agree?” He smiles, rubbing your cheek, but you slap away his hand.

“Stop patronizing me. You sound like a creepy old man. Who even are you?”

“Oh, I didn’t think I had to introduce myself. I’m Oikawa Tōru,” he smiles once more, a genuine smile, as he holds out his hand. “And if there’s someone who hates Ushiwaka more than you, it’s me,”

“[Y/N]. You’re from Seijoh, right?” You shake his hand, although it’s brisk. His nod confirms your suspicions. The captain of the team that never beat Ushijima’s team, but always aimed for the top. Ushijima also mentioned how talented Seijoh’s setter was, but you never expected to be sitting on a busstop next to the man himself. “Well, you’ve gotten my life story and told me you hate Ushijima, so I guess it’s time for you to go back to running in the rain,”

“Nah, I can’t,” he shrugs, but you look at him confused, waiting for him to continue. Eventually, you ask him why. “Well, I can’t leave someone in need alone. If I leave, you’ll still kill yourself. You’re hurting and I can’t just abandon you. I’m not like other Alphas, you know.” You know his reference is to only Ushijima, but it warms your stomach nonetheless, seeing someone actually be there for you.

“I’m sorry you had to meet me then. If you hadn’t stopped, we’d both be blissfully unaware of each other’s presence,” you say, letting a sob wrack your body before covering it with a cough. “Guess I’m the weirdo getting sick,”

“Still thinking there’s no other option, huh?”

“Well what do you expect? You’re the only person who hasn’t told me to face my consequences on my own and turned your back on me. There really is no reason for me to stay here, especially if I have to raise a child without a support system. I’m still in high school, what the fuck,” you huff, running your hand through your hair, looking up at the sky, noticing how the rain has eased up and the sky is brighter. “I’ll be out when it comes, but the fact of the matter is I’ll graduate pregnant, who wants to go through that? I’m basically a cheap slut in everybody’s eyes. I just wanted to feel needed by someone I admire and this is what it results in? The more I think about it the more I want to down a bottle of painkillers and never wake up.”

“If nobody is sticking up for you, then maybe they’re not your real friends. Fair weather friends, only there for good tea and sunny days. If there’s nobody there for you, reach out for help,”

“I don’t want to be a burden,”

“People who will help you willingly won’t see it that way. Me sitting here with you isn’t burdening me, and I haven’t turned from you. I know we just met, but I want to help you. There’s a lot to live for and one setback doesn’t deserve to sever that line before you’ve even gotten to the good part. Good people exist, you just need to find them,”

“‘Find them’? I thought I had, so what’s the point in trying to find more, only to be disappointed?”

“[Y/N], was it? I’m right here, you know,” he puts a hand on his chest, a smile on his lips and shining in his eyes. “I’ve seen you at your lowest and I’m still here. Find someone like me,”

“That’s sweet, but I doubt there are multiple Oikawas running around in the rain,” you sigh, looking back up. It’s almost time for the bus, but you have a feeling that if he’s still here, then he won’t let you leave. “Are you gonna sit there until my opinion changes?”

“They don’t change that easily, trust me,” he chuckles, but it lacks the merry behind it. Glancing at him, his eyes are downcast as he runs a thumb over his knee. “But I don’t want to see someone die over one thing. There’s a lot to live for, a lot to strive for, that’s why I keep moving even after all my failures. If someone kills themselves for one thing, something I don’t see as a reason to end, I wonder if it was deeper than what it was on the surface. Was it a quick way to feel numb for a while? Was it an easy solution? Sometimes the easiest path isn’t the right one. Surviving an attempt makes you realize things can change, but what if you didn’t survive? If you regret putting the blade to your skin or stepping off the ledge seconds after you do it or seconds before death? You can’t change it once it’s in motion.”

“I never.. I never thought about it like that,” you mutter, your hands holding each other, fingers twiddling. A brief meeting with a handsome Alpha suddenly put things in perspective. A laugh breaks you from your trance, his mouth behind his hand.

“If I see an opportunity to help, I’ll be there, but the fact is I can’t change your mind. I would like to put things in perspective and give you options, but that’s all I can do. If the reason you’re planning to end it all is because you have no friends, I can help with that. I’ll be your friend when nobody else gives you a chance.”

You mull it over, thinking of your options. In the end, the worst that could happen is you end up back on the bench, in the rain, ready to match to your death. “You know, I was told that if it sounds too good to be true, then it probably is,” you mutter, but rifle through your jacket pockets for your phone. “Don’t make me regret second guessing myself, Oikawa Tōru. If you want to be my friend, I’ll take the hand extended to me,”

“Wonderful! And just in the nick of time, the bus is here,” he takes out his own phone, ready to swap numbers. As the bus pulls up to a stop, Oikawa waves at you as he pockets his phone, your contact information all piled inside. You really hope you don’t regret this decision, too.

In the few days that pass, you find yourself wondering how you could have possibly thought bad of Oikawa. He was sweet to you, introducing you to his friends (who knew about your predicament prior), with their promise they’d never turn their back. Iwaizumi was also an Alpha, but the other two were Betas. You did think it to be odd about how they seemed to willingly to help you, stay beside you, despite having no reason to. Their only reason was a promise to you. To Oikawa? Maybe, but you never asked him about it; if you did, he’d just shrug and give you a vague answer.

He promised to show you the light on a dark and gloomy evening, and he kept that promise. As your friends turned their backs on you, scoffing about how your decision will affect you for the rest of your life, Oikawa was there when you needed him the most. He was on standby all hours of the day and night, his phone always on and beside him. When your family turned you away, calling you out on your sudden friendship with another Alpha while carrying a child, they kicked you out and you had nowhere else to go, Oikawa was there. When you felt your world crumbling around you, feeling hopeless and desperate, picking up a secret stash of painkillers, Oikawa was there to talk to you. He didn’t actively take away the pills, but he sat on the other side of the door and talked to you, listened to you. Even his mom was there for you when your family and friends had left you, but Oikawa stood beside you through it all.

Then your world crumbled again.

“I’m planning on moving to Argentina,” he had said. You were looking into colleges to further your education when he had knocked on your door, his old sister’s room, sitting on the bed.

“You’re.. leaving?” You wanted to add to that sentence, but you didn’t want to seem clingy. He’s been with you for so much, you’re not entirely sure you can be independent without him.

“It’s been almost 6 months since you met me. I actually went on that run to decide if I wanted to study abroad in Argentina, but after meeting you, I decided to wait. I’ve been studying the language and keeping up with local volleyball communities, but my dream is over there,” he explains. You click your pen and set it down, ready to ask if you should leave his house, but he continues. “I wanted to know if you’d come with me.”

“Wh- What?”

“I’ve been putting in extra time so we can both move together, get a fresh start,” his face tints as he speaks, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “It seems a bit forward, now that I’m actually talking aloud about it. Sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckles, before clearing his throat.

“You want me.. to come with you?” You ask, unsure if you’re hearing correctly. He’s asking you to move to a new country with him, which is exciting! But, the baby.. “He is due soon, you know,”

“5 weeks, if I remember correctly,” he smiles, looking down at the large bump. You run a hand over it, solemnly nodding. “He’d be born in Argentina, our new home, if you come with me,”

“But Ushijima—”

“He’s abandoned you, officially. Your bond, it’s hardly noticeable anymore. The scent, I mean,” he corrects himself. “He’s basically just a sperm donor at this point,”

“This is.. very sudden, you know,”

“I know. And it’s also a very grand way of asking to court you, while also essentially marrying you, but I will say that if you choose to stay here, Iwa-chan will take care of you. He’s going to study in California for some amount of time, but that’s not for another few months. There is Mattsun and Makki, but I’m not too sure-”

“Okay, don’t stress yourself,” you giggle, getting him to stop. “I’ll go with you, but you gotta teach me the language,”

“I’ve been told I’m a great tutor, actually,”

“I believe it. Will the bond go away, or is it just the scent that’s gone?” He raises his brows at that.

“Ah, I guess you never took those classes. The bond is permanent, but another Alpha can lay claim on a mate that has been abandoned. I’d be honored to replace his bond with mine, but I’m sure you’ll need-”

“I’m ready,” you interrupt him. He sputters as he processes the words, but then smirks.

“Are you sure? I don’t plan on making mistakes, so you’ll be stuck with me, you know?”

“Tōru, I’ve been ready for a while now. Hope you don’t mind bonding me while I’m pregnant,” your hand once more rubs the large bump, settling on the top.

“It just means I’ll have to wait until it’s my turn to try,” he licks his lips, moving towards the door. The locking sound seals your fate, keeping others from interrupting your moment.

- Years Later

“Koichi, come back here!” you shout, weaving in between the crowds. Aiko is somehow still asleep on your shoulder as you chase your son through the crowd. He’s been dying to meet his favorite uncle for quite some time, so see as he’s the trainer for the Nationals team of Japan, Koichi ran once the match ended. A brief Q&A with the members of the team would happen exactly right after they left the stadium, which he knew because of his father’s position.

You finally come to a stop, grabbing Koichi’s collar as he struggles to get through the crowd. “I told you to not leave me, and what did you do? Uncle Iwa isn’t going to suddenly disappear. He’s been waiting for this day, too, you know?”

“But mama! I told him I’d be the first one!”

“That’s impossible. The paparazzi gets to him first, that’s how it works in Hollywood movies,” you joke, but you pick him up. You’re no professional athlete, but you do stay in shape to take care of two children. As soon as you pick him up, he’s shouting as he sees Iwaizumi, trying to talk to the reporters. He catches Koichi’s waving hand and decides to take a break, going towards where you are as the crowd parts.

“How is the Oikawa family doing? I see Koichi is energetic,” he laughs, taking the boy from your arms.

“Ugh, as always. Don’t know where he gets it from, it’s not like his sister is bursting with energy all day,” you gesture to the child sleeping, despite the loud crowd.

“Well, definitely Oikawa’s kid. He sleeps through anything and so does she, jeez,” he sighs, but you just laugh. A few members of his team come over, excited by the new people.

“Iwa-chan, what’s this? Wife? Your kids?? You have kids???” A man with white and black hair says, giving Koichi a high five.

“Uh, no. They’re actually Oikawa’s wife and kids. I’m the favorite uncle, of course,”

“I wanna be the uncle! ‘Samu is never gonna get married, I need to be an amazing uncle somehow,” a man with platinum blond hair says, but he’s quickly pushed aside as a familiar face comes into view.

A face you didn’t want to see.

“[Y/N], I didn’t expect to see you here,” Ushijima says, tone as flat as ever. Iwaizumi takes on a forced smile as yours drops, a frown etched on.

“Didn’t expect to see you here either. Actually, ever again,”

“Oh?” The owlish man says, eyebrows quirked up as his eyes glance between the two of you.

“I see you moved on. I’m glad to see that,”

“No thanks to you,” the venom in your voice has Koichi turning to him, looking at the larger man with large eyes. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see the resemblance. He’s got the same hair color and eyes as the man in front of you, taking hardly any features from you. Not to mention, Koichi is showing signs of presenting as an Alpha.

“Darling, that’s where you were!” Oikawa shouts from over the crowd, them parting so he can mingle with the group around you. “I was wondering where my personal cheerleaders went to,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your forehead. His eyes meet Ushijima’s and despite being unable to smell the tension, you can feel it. Reporters and guests alike back away as the overwhelming tension of two Alphas clash.

“Oikawa,” Ushijima says. Oikawa just tilts his head, looking over his opponent.

“I thought you’d look more defeated after I wiped the court with your ass, but I’m more disappointed in that. Emotionless as ever, aren’t you, Ushiwaka?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that,” he says, then looks to you. “I’ve been meaning to say something to you, [Y/N],”

“Trust me, I don’t want to hear it. You’re too late, Wakatoshi. You’re much too late,” you say, before nodding at Iwaizumi. “I’m leaving,”

Despite turning to leave, Oikawa taking Koichi away from his uncle and new “uncles”, despite being in the middle of a loud crowd, you can hear him. It’s quiet, almost as if he knows the words are weightless, holding nothing after years of his abandonment. Despite Oikawa’s bond pulsing, your heart still yearns for the other man, what he could have given you and what he did to you. Despite all this, you’ve fantasized about hearing those words, yet they do nothing.

“I’m sorry.”

Author’s Note: I’m sorry this took forever to publish but I hope it was worth the wait! I didn’t keep track of time while writing this, so if something seems wrong just ignore it. I might come back and fix it later but probably not lol ; Argentina residency rules and citizenship requirements were not consulted for this, seeing as it only took up like one sentence, but I might change it if I look more into it of course.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Honest and Truly

Summary: Spencer has his prom 10 years late, but none of that matters when it's with the girl of his dreams.

Word Count: 4.8 k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female (She/Her)-- Fluff

CW: Minimal vulgar language (PG-13)

Author's Note: This just might be my most favorite thing I've written in a very long time :) Also listen to the song I linked, it makes the title and the ending make more sense! thank you to @spookydrreid and @writhingintheroses for helping me a particular scene!!

Add yourself to my taglist! It makes it much easier for me :)

Honest and Truly

“A prom?” Spencer asks, realizing that the conversation had entered uncharted territory, a territory in which he had not a single clue how to navigate. Spencer, being a preteen in high school, never attended prom.

“Yes, Reid. A prom,” Penelope says, staring at him over the many monitors and stuffed cats that littered her desk, “It’s going to be so much fun!” she says, excitedly.

“That sounds like, uh, I’ll have plans that night,” Spencer tells Penelope, spinning around in the swivel chair as he eats his turkey and cheese sandwich. He usually enjoys their lunches together, but when Penelope gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her.

@s“Now I don’t believe that for a second, Reid. The only time that you have plans is when you’re with Y/N. And Y/N is going to be at this prom,” Garcia says, her pink glasses sliding down her nose. She winks at Reid, almost like she enjoys watching him squirm.

“How do you know that she’s going? Did she say she’s going?” Spencer asks, unable to conceal his eagerness that Y/N could be attending. Spencer might hate dancing and those fancy shoes that are too tight on his toes, but all that can be talked away if Y/N is there.

“Yes, she’s going because you’re asking her. That and I’m making everyone go,” Penelope says matter of factly.

Spencer opens his mouth, attempting to talk away Penelope’s suggestion. But Spencer Reid is a smart man and he knows better than trying to argue his way out with Penelope. Especially when it comes to Y/N. He might have an excellent poker face, but Spencer can’t hide his love for Y/N.

“I’m not going to ask her. You know she’ll think it’s because-” Spencer says, prepping for a long winded rant before the door of Penelope’s office swings open.

Y/N, with two coffees in hand, floats into the room like she’s walking on air. Or maybe it’s Spencer’s mind that’s floating when Y/N walks in. He can never tell. Whenever he’s near her, it’s like everything is sweeter, lighter and airier. Wordlessly, she passes the coffee to Spencer. Feeling her fingertips graze his reminds him of how pathetic he must be. He nods, telling her thanks, knowing that he’s unable to fully articulate just how grateful he is for the littlest things.

“Who are you not going to ask and to where, Spence?” Y/N says, leaning against the filing cabinets and sipping her coffee. Penelope, never one to be quiet, silently watches as Spencer and Y/N converse. Spencer looks up at her, feeling that light and airy feeling again. He brushes his hair that falls against his forehead nervously thinking of an answer.

“I- uh, I was thinking of asking my mother to come stay with me for a couple of weeks. You know, she hasn’t seen DC in a couple of years. And I do have some personal days banked,” Spencer says, telling Y/N a small white lie.

“She’s in Vegas, right?” Y/N asks, interested in what Spencer is saying, which is something that he’s still not used to. Spencer nods, smiling awkwardly.

“Yeah, she says that she likes the heat,” Spencer says, hating how formal and cold the conversation sounds. It’s normally flowing with easy and familiarity, but something is wedged between them. Penelope, long forgotten by the pair, types rapidly on her keyboard.

“You know, Spence. If you’re up for it maybe we can have lunch or meet at Elmwood Park. I’d love to meet the woman that made my favorite person,” she says, staring directly into Spencer’s eyes. Her stare is so intense that it’s like she’s looking into his soul. He thinks that if she looks deep enough she’ll see her own reflection because his soul belongs to her.

“I-I uh,” Spencer says, immediately thinking that he should actually invite his mother out for a visit, “I think that’s a good idea. She likes the sites and all,” he tells her nervously, trying to ease his beating heart.

He’s her favorite person.

Out of all the people in this city, this world. He’s her favorite person. Spencer, a lover of math, is tempted to figure out the odds of being his favorite person’s favorite person. He knows it’s slim. He knows it’s rare. It’s something magical and Spencer is terrified he’s going to ruin it. He’s terrified he’s going to fuck something up that’s not even his.

“It’s a date,” Y/N says, turning to Penelope, who’s still long forgotten, “Oh, Penny, you need to yell at Morgan for me. He ate my leftovers,” she tells Penelope, who feigns horror, “And now I don’t have lunch”

“How dare he!” Penelope says, her exaggerated response inciting chuckles, “he can get away with murder because he’s pretty,” she says, shaking her head.

He knows that she’s pretending to be disappointed, but he still doesn’t like to see it. Spencer unwraps the other half of his turkey and cheese sandwich and hands it to Y/N. She looks surprised, as if Spencer just handed her a million bucks.

“Spence, you don’t have to,” Y/N says, softly, handing back the half of the sandwich, “It’s your sandwich, I don’t want you to feel-”

“Eat it, Y/N,” Spencer says firmly, looking straight at Y/N, “You need to eat something. We both live off coffee as it is,” he says, hoping that Y/N will take the sandwich.

He’s looking straight at her and she’s looking straight at him. Spencer wonders if he looks deep enough he’ll reach her soul. He dares to think that if he can find her soul, he’ll stare at his face. He’s her favorite person after all, that’s got to count for something.

“Thanks, Spence,” Y/N says, smiling softly, “You make the best sandwiches,” she tells him, taking a bite of the sandwich as Garcia’s eyes flit from Spencer to Y/N. Back and forth, she watches the pair engage in the world’s best miscommunication.

“Y/N, did you hear? I’m throwing a prom!” Garcia says excitedly, hoping that Y/N’s reaction will be more enthusiastic than Spencer’s.

“A prom?” Y/N asks, unconvincingly, “God, I hated my prom. I got punched spilled all over my dress and my date tried to sneak alcohol into the banquet hall. It was a shitshow,” Y/N says, remembering the less than happy memories from high school.

“I didn’t go to prom. You know, between being a 12 year old and a dork,” Spencer says, self deprecatingly, “It’s not the ideal scenario, but I am familiar with the cultural significance of proms in American high school,” Spencer says, speaking to no one in particular, yet looking at Y/N directly.

“Maybe we’ll both get the prom night we deserve, Spence,” Y/N offers, tossing out her wax paper wrapper. She walks past him and it’s like the air is sweeter. He believes in science, but loves magic. Y/N is magic.

“Maybe,” Spencer says, refusing to make eye contact with Penelope, “you know, sorry to uh, cut this short. I have some paperwork to finish. Hotch’s been on me all day about it. So, uh, see you later,” he says, walking out of Penelope's office like a bat out of hell.

He tries to ignore the knowing stares from Penelope and Y/N’s confusion as he ducks out and walks into the bullpen. Spencer doesn’t have paperwork. He finished all his paperwork by 11:12 am. But what Spencer does have is a flight from Vegas to Quantico to book.

And prom shopping.

___

As it turns out, Spencer doesn’t know much about teenage American culture. Sure he’s seen 90s movies that Y/N forced him to watch. But it was quite difficult to pay attention when all he could feel was Y/N’s fingers brushing up against his in their shared bucket of popcorn or her head laying against his shoulder when she got tired.

He doesn’t know much of anything when it comes to romance. But he knows that he loves Y/N— and hopefully that’s enough. He still hasn’t asked her if she’d go with him. Honestly, he’s not too sure why he even has to ask her in the first place. She’s going to be there already, but Garcia and Morgan convinced him that it’s part of the so-called “Prom Experience”

“Spence,” Y/N says, she’s perched on the tall bar stool and rests her elbows on her kitchen island, “did you find a suit yet? I was thinking that we can go to that vintage store on Rock Ave. They have a surprisingly good size selection, and I think that this whole vintage thing fits your aesthetic really well,”

“My aesthetic?” Spencer questions, again lost at sea.

“You know, you’re like nerdy chic. Equal parts dorky and equal parts handsome,” she tells him. He feels his cheeks burn at her words.

Handsome

“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not,” Spencer says, eyeing Y/N over the rim of his hot coffee.

“It is,” Y/N says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Like him being handsome is just as obvious as him being dorky, “And get your wallet. We’re going to the vintage store,”

Spencer has a hate-love relationship with weekends. He loves spending time with Y/N where it was so easy to pretend that she loves him as he loves her. He hates the weekends for the same reason he loves them. Spencer knows that it’s all fake. It’s a façade of the truth.

“Spence! You’d look great in this,” Y/N suggests, holding up a gray sports coat, “I think it will match your eyes perfectly,”

“If you think so, Y/N,” Spencer says, nodding his head in agreement. She continues eyeing him as if she’s imagining what he’d look like in the jacket. He has to admit, it’s a very nice jacket.

“Come on, Spence. There’s a mirror over in the corner. Try it on for me,” she requests and not even a second later Spencer finds himself being dragged by the hand to try on the suit jacket.

Y/N holds the jacket open for him as he slips it on through his arms. He’s surprised to realize that it fits perfectly. He looks into the mirror, staring at his face and Y/N, who tugs and smooths the jacket. Spencer can’t look too much longer because if he does the lines between reality and fantasy will be difficult to distinguish. As much as he wants to stare into the mirror all day long, pretending that this is real, he much rather it actually be real. But wishing and dreaming only ends up with battle wounds and broken hearts.

“You look very handsome, Spencer. Very handsome,” Y/N says, staring into the mirror too now. But she’s not looking at the jacket, she’s looking at him. The beat of silence lasts longer than what’s comfortable, “Um, I think, I saw some pants that would look good on you, with this jacket, I mean,” she says, stumbling over her words. She’s not looking in the mirror any more, her gaze is noticeably away from Spencer and the mirror.

“Okay, uh, whatever you think, Y/N,” Spencer says, “I’m not even sure why I agreed to this thing. I don’t dance,” he says, regretting his choice to go to Penelope’s prom, but feeling guilty for maybe disappointing Y/N all in one breath.

“Did you ask her yet?” Y/N asks, holding up a pair of similarly gray colored pants. She must notice his confusion, “You know Austin, the woman you heroically saved. Does any of it ring a bell, Spence?” Y/N teases. Spencer feels his cheeks burn and his heart tighten, that happens a lot around Y/N.

“Oh Austin, uh no. She wasn’t interested in me, after all,” Spencer says, shifting his weight and staring at his converse, “I mean, I should have seen it coming. It’s transference, that’s like Psych 101,” he says, feeling strange. It was odd when Austin broke up with him, even if you can consider it breaking up. He felt a strange sense of relief when it happened, like a weight was lifted off his shoulders.

Y/N clicks her tongue in annoyance as she walks over to Spencer. Tugging slightly on the sleeves of the jacket she says, “well she’s not as smart as I thought she was. You have to be a complete fool to let someone like you go,” she says quietly. She’s standing too close, looking too beautiful, and seeming too perfect for Spencer to not be completely enamoured.

Then it breaks, like shattered glass. The rosey glasses are lifted, leaving only cheeks that sting with nervousness and hearts the yearn for something a little more tangible.

“Stop staring at me and go try it on,” Y/N says, handing him the pair of pants, “Oh and I’m going to look for a vest and a tie to match. This store is unbelievable,” she tells him, pushing him into the makeshift dressing room.

Spencer puts on the pants, which fit, despite being maybe an inch or two loose in the waist. He looks into the tall mirror, which is noticeably empty without Y/N standing with him. A floating hand, belonging to Y/N appears. She holds a burgundy tie and a dark brown vest, both of which are very Spencer. He smiles slightly, strangely happy that Y/N has picked something out that’s perfect for him.

“Tell me when you’re decent,” she says, her voice muffled by the curtain that separates them. He sticks his head out of the curtain, his eyes immediately finding Y/N’s.

“Ohh, Spence, you look amazing. Very handsome,” she says, her hands clasped around the tie, tugging just like she did with his suit jacket before, “What do you think?” she asks, looking at him curiously.

“It’s nice,” Spencer offers, approaching this like he does everything: cautiously, “I do like the texture,” he says, running his hands up and down the sleeves of the jacket.

“You look more than nice, Spence. I know I’ve said it like 30 times, but you look very handsome,” she says. Spencer hopes that she means it. He needs something to be real. Sometimes besides what he feels, because what he feels is the realest thing in the world.

“It’s nice to hear,” Spencer says, “you know from someone who’s not my mother,” he jokes, shrugging off the jacket and grabbing the hanger from Y/N.

“You deserve to hear it,” Y/N says so softly Spencer wonders if she’s saying it all. That beat of silence, followed by the awkwardness is back.

“So, uh, I saw a dress that I’m going to try on,” Y/N tells him, her gaze shifting everywhere but Spencer’s eyes.

“I’ll go pay for this,” Spencer says, walking back into the dressing room and the mirror that lies to his face.

___

Back in Y/N’s car, Spencer shifts in the passenger seat trying to find a way to sit comfortably while holding his suit jacket, pants and vest. Y/N hangs up her dress, that’s wrapped in a gown bag. She wouldn’t let Spencer see the dress, despite her practically picking out his entire outfit.

“So what’s next,” Spencer asks, as Y/N gets into the car. She smiles over at him sheepishly, leading Spencer to think she’s got another trick up her sleeve.

“I’ve got a confession, Spence. And please don’t hate me for it,” Y/N says, her voice coming out a little nervous as she eyes Spencer.

“I don’t think I could ever hate you, even if I tried. And I’m certain I’ll never have to,” he says softly, resting his hand over hers on the console. He rubs the back of her hand gently, thinking about just how easy things are with her. If he could only be a little braver, maybe then the mirror wouldn’t be so empty.

“Okay. I knew that things didn’t work out with you and Austin. I overheard you telling Derek,” Y/N confesses, “And I know that it makes me a horrible friend or whatever, but I’m sorry that I eavesdropped,”

“Oh, uh how much did you hear?” Spencer asks, suddenly quite nervous. He can feel his heart drop, waiting for the moment when Y/N laughs at the thought of her loving him. He knows that it’s not fair to her, but then again all is fair is love and war.

“Enough to know that you’re still hung up or or someone else. I left once my conscience got the better of me. Once a Girl Scout, always a Girl Scout,” she says, making the three finger salute that’s common in scouting, “I just wanted to hear it from you, you know you’re my favorite person and all,” she says, a frown forming.

“I think, uh,” Spencer says, “That I was just a little embarrassed. You know how Derek and Penelope and Emily and JJ can get. It’s basically just you and Hotch who aren’t jumping down my throat about being, you know, alone,” he says, chuckling awkwardly.

“They just want to help you, Spence. In their own ways, but I’m always on Team Spencer. You never got to worry about that,” Y/N offers, squeezing his hand.

He considers what she says, not responding verbally, but nodding his head. He hasn’t ever had someone on his “team”, so it’s strange. But a good kind of strange.

“Spence, you okay? I wanted to give you something. To be truthful, I’ve been thinking about how I was going to do this for awhile,”

“Ask me what?” he questions, wondering what she has in store. He watches as Y/N rummages in his bag, clearly looking for something. He’s thoroughly confused when she pulls out a TI-84.

“What on earth?” Spencer says, as she places the calculator in his hands. Her sly grin, beaming up at him only further proves his point: his heart just beats faster around her.

“Just shut and press the on button. You’d think that a genius would know how to work a calculator,” she comments, rolling her eyes playfully.

“You know, I never used these. I can just do it in my head faster,” Spencer says, winking at Y/N when she pushes him teasingly.

“God, Spencer just turn it on!” she demands, very apparently getting more and more impatient.

He turns the calculator on and is brought to a green screen that has a picture of a graph. Spencer raises his eyebrow, as if to ask Y/N for the next direction.

“Press the graph button,” she says, getting quieter as Spencer looks at her.

He presses the button that she said to, waiting for whatever is supposed to happen. Spencer watches as the screen draws four black lines running parallel to each other. A curved line is drawn on the first two black lines, forming the letters “P” and “R”. The screen continues to draw, making an oval that looks like an “O” and the last two parallel lines are joined together with a “v” shape, forming the letter “M”. He takes a second glance, reading the 4 letter word slowly.

P-R-O-M

“Well?” she asks, waiting for his answer.

He’s speechless. Spencer blinks. It’s like his brain has stopped working. It’s a prom, a stupid prom that’s 10 years too late. But it’s the girl of dreams that’s asking him. And that’s the stuff those rom-coms he couldn’t pay attention to are made of.

“I mean, of course. Of course, Y/N,” Spencer says, dropping the calculator into the cup holder and leaning in to hug Y/N.

His heart stops again. Falling into that tricky habit of either speeding up or stopping when she’s around. He thinks he’s ready to implode when she pecks his cheek. Her lips don’t linger, hardly touching his skin for it to be considered a kiss.

“I don’t think I’d want to go with anyone else,” she says, mumbling into his skin. She seals his fate with her lips against his skin. Never again will Spencer imagine what it’s like to have her lips against his skin. Even though it’s a fraction of the time he’d want, it’s tattooed in his mind.

“I’m not much of a dancer, by the way,” Spencer says, reluctantly letting go and sitting back into the passenger’s seat, “so don’t expect too much,” he jokes.

“Oh you better watch it, Doctor Reid. I’m getting you on the dance floor, even if you hate it,” Y/N says, smiling as she backs out of the parking spot and turns into the street.

Spencer looks out the window, thinking to himself that there’s probably nothing he can hate if he’s doing it with Y/N.

--

Spencer didn’t go to prom in high school. He didn’t do a lot of the traditional things that most former high schoolers reminisce about at his age. He didn’t go to football games or have a best friend to make lifelong memories with.

He didn’t have any of that, until now.

But it’s prom night, 10 years late. His hands are sweaty and his mouth feels dry. Spencer wasn’t this nervous for even his first day at the BAU all those years ago. He tries to fix the burgundy tie that Y/N picked out at the vintage store. It looks crooked and twisted. Nothing like when Y/N tied perfectly in the store for him. He supposes that he can wait till she comes to pick him up.

The mirror, again, is noticeably empty without Y/N standing beside him. He can get lost in there, thinking about her standing with him. He does, because it feels like seconds later when he hears a rapid knocking on his apartment door.

Standing on the other side of the door is Y/N. She wears a sage green dress that looks like it’s made of softest silk. He smiles at her, not sure if he can trust his words. Spencer doesn’t think he’ll be able to do much thinking when all he can focus on is the tiny straps that rest on her shoulders or how the sage green compliments her skin tone.

“You look, god. You’re beautiful,” Spencer says, partly under his breath partly aloud to Y/N, “so beautiful,” he says again, focusing on her eyes.

“And you’re looking very dashing in that suit, Spence,” she says, pushing her way in, “do you need help with your tie?” she asks, looking at the tie he holds in his hand.

“Yes, please,” he says sheepishly. He holds out the burgundy colored tie, but takes his hand back as an idea crosses his mind, “oh wait here, I’ll be right back,” Spencer says, walking quickly to his bedroom.

“Alright,” Y/N says sceptically, “Don’t ditch me, Reid!” she calls out from the living room.

Spencer returns, hiding the new tie behind his back. He places an olive green tie with dusty blue and pink flowers in her hands. He notices her smile grow, realizing that he’s picking a new tie for a reason.

“I might not know much about prom, but I think that we’re supposed to match. You know, since we’re going together,” he offers, “but I need help putting it on,” he says.

“We’re going to match!” Y/N says excitedly. As she unbuttons the first button on Spencer’s cream colored shirt he holds his breath. He can’t breathe when she’s this close. Her fingers are quick and nimble as they feed the tie around his neck and elegantly create a knot. If Spencer wasn’t already in love, he knows that watching her eyes twinkle and her tongue poke out as she concentrates would make him declare it then and there.

“So handsome,” she says, using that quiet voice that makes it seem like she’s talking to herself rather than him, “I can’t wait to dance with you,” she tells him tugging the tie.

“I’m not going to be good, Y/N. I’m going to be a fool,” Spencer says, lamenting already about what an idiot he’s going to look like in front of Y/N.

“That’s nonsense, Spence,” Y/N says, waving him away with a toss of her hand, “You’re going to be the best dancer there,” she tells him rubbing her hand up and down his arm, like she did at the store.

“Would you believe it, if I told you I never danced with anyone?” Spencer says, being the most honest and true he’s ever been.

“We can change that,” Y/N says, stepping towards Spencer and linking her hand in his. She squeezes, restarting and stopping his heart all in one go, “oh wait we need music,” she says, feeling around for where her phone usually is.

“I got it,” Spencer says, stepping away from Y/N. He walks over to the small record player in the corner of his living room. He doesn’t play it too often, the records he has were once his mother’s and they’re too painful to play most days. But Spencer’s sure that he can make every exception to all his rules for Y/N. Maybe he’ll get some happy memories out of it.

“Going old school I see,” Y/N says, teasingly as Spencer walks over grabbing both his hands in hers, “everything about you is very charming, Doctor Reid,” she says, softly swaying to the jazzy tunes of Sarah Vaughan.

“I’m not too sure about that,” Spencer says, following Y/N’s lead as she floats around his living room, carrying him everywhere she goes. She rests her head against his chest and Spencer swears that she’s going to get a concussion from how hard his heart beats.

They’re alone, no audience to witness the moment that Spencer wonders if he can dare to call intimate. It’s intimate to him because every moment with Y/N is intimate. Maybe if someone had told Spencer that dancing like this could bring pure paradise all the way from your fingertips to your eyelashes, maybe he would have done it sooner.

“You’re quite the romantic, Spencer,” Y/N says as the song comes to a close. The record player stops, but they don’t stop swaying, “And you told me you couldn’t dance,” she scoffs lightly, with her head still resting against his chest.

“Is that okay with you?” He asks, “me being romantic,”

“I don’t think that I’d want it any other way, Spencer,” Y/N says, removing her head from his chest and her hand from his. She cups his face, touching him lightly. Y/N holds him like he aches to be held. It’s gentle and tender, yet leaves him desiring more.

“Honest?” Spencer asks, daring to be brave.

“Truly,” she responds.

Spencer shifted slightly, so he can also hold her face in his hands. Y/N drops her hands though, wrapping them around Spencer’s waist to pull them closer together. Spencer’s phantom fingers are like that dance around that dance around Y/N’s skin.

It’s Y/N that initiates the kiss. She moves in slowly and tenuously, looking just as nervous as Spencer is. He’s shaky slightly, the anticipation getting to his head when all he can see is Y/N’s eyes looking into his and all he can think about is how soft her skin is. It’s all he’s ever wanted to think about. Her lips are soft and pillowy.

But it’s more than that.

Kissing her is everything to Spencer. It’s the breathy sighs she lets out as he moves his hands and rests them securely behind her neck. It’s the peachy scent of her perfume that’s so sweet and strong it should be overwhelming when all it is, is intoxicating. Kissing her is dizzying and terrifying, but wonderful and sweet. He can’t tell where his lips start and where her’s end, but it doesn’t matter.

He doesn’t open his eyes because he knows he’s facing the mirror. But unlike before, he doesn’t need a mirror to know what he’s looking at. He can look into his soul for that.

“Very romantic,” Y/N says, smiling through the quick kisses she plants on his jawline, “I always thought you’d be a romantic,” he tells him.

Spencer brushes his thumb over Y/N’s bottom lip. It’s puffy and bitten from his kisses, but he thinks that it would be a shame to not bite and kiss it some more. He smiles so hard he knows that he’ll wake up in the morning and his mouth will hurt. But that’s the least of his worries if Y/N’s there to kiss it better.

“Honest?” Spencer says, calling back to the song, that’s now their song.

“Truly,”

---

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[mywritingonlyfans]

i like the idea of thomas for the dad/christmas fic 🥺

heeey!!! thanks for comment on it again!!! once again, i'm sorry for not writing that one with the person 'we' mentioned first😅 hope u like it!

-> dad!thomas raggi x reader

prompt: in which, dad!thomas is bit late for xmas to see his little girl! bonus. he teaching his little girl how to play the guitar!

warnings: none, just the good stuff today!! oh, we actually talk more about the 'finals' holiday than xmas itself on here so i hope it doesnt be too awkward for people who don't celebrate it.

-------------------++++----------------

You closed the fairytale book, putting it in its place on the shelf, and then tidied the blanket to cover Alice better. One of her arms was on her new guitar, which Santa Claus had left for her at Thomas's mother’s house; and by Santa you meant Thomas. She was so happy at the moment that you couldn't wait to show him the video. 

 Despise this, the smile on her face hadn't lasted long, you didn't know if everyone could see that she looked sad or if it was something maternal that warned you about it. She was asleep, and even though you could tell she was heartbroken, her long eyelashes rested under the freckles of her chubby face; appearing to be all agitated - she had not cried, but you knew she had held back her tears while you put her to sleep. You didn't blame her, you missed him, too. 

 You hugged your torso, wanting to stay there with her, you didn't feel like going to sleep knowing that he wasn’t home for Christmas. When you looked at her again, with her sad little face, you suddenly felt bad for not thinking about letting her sleep with you; since she liked it when you let her stay in Thomas’s side of the bed when he wasn’t around.

“I love you, angel,” you whispered, brushing her hair away from her face and placing a kiss on the prominent freckles on her nose. She mumbled something you couldn't understand, and smiling silly at your girl, you took her purrs as your cue to make your way to the kicthen.

You hummed one of Thomas’s band songs to yourself after you checked that there was no messages or new call on it. He promised he would at least contact you, and as long as you are together he never was one to broke his promises; so what you could do was wait. 

 It was the first Christmas after you had Alice that he hadn't been able to come back home on time. And as much as you told him that you understood and that everything would be fine, which was true, you couldn't deny how much you missed him.

You kept the leftovers Alice had begged her grandmother to give her on the frigde, remembering how she had planned on eating it with Thomas when he got home. Glad pleased, you could imagine how happy he’d be that she thought about doing it for him. Just when your mind was ready to get lost in a scenario where Thomas would be home for the Holidays, the vibrations of your phone interrupted you.

“Hey, babe. Merry Christmas!” You said excitedly. It was him, he wouln’t forget of you. It was late at night and you had no idea what time it was for him, but still he called. 

“Merry Christmas, babe,” He said in a slurred, almost inaudible voice. He looked a bit sapped and busy.

“It's not a good time, right? I can call you later if you can’t speak right now or are feeling too tired,”

“Nah, it’s fine,” He assured, a bit breathless, getting clearer over the phone. “How was your day? How’s Alice? God, I missed you,”

“It was good,” you sighed, thinking about being cheeky and adding that it would have been better with him, yet you were afraid that it might make him feel worse. “Alice is fine too. She loved the guitar, you will love to see it. I filmed everything, she didn’t stop jumping with it in her arms, telling your parents how it was just like the one his dad have. She misses you so much, Thommy, and I think she’s learning how to deal with it.”

“She’s learning...” he repeated. “I wish she didn't need to learn to deal with me being away from her,”

“Don’t say that, I made a bad choice of words, you know she loves you and she loves even more the way you love her extra when you’re back. She understands, Thomas,”

“She’s 5 years old, Y/N,”

You let the silence fill the chasm between you. You felt how sad he was, he had been away for a long time because of the turns before, still he always managed to return for the special dates - just as he had promised when Alice was born - but this time, well, this time it wasn’t possible.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured and you visualized in your head his eyebrows furrowing as his hand ran agonizingly through his hair, just as he always do when he‘s feeling in low spirits. “You’re right. I should be focusing on the good things, soon I’ll be home, I’m gonna teach her to play the guitar, show her all my love and be the best dad in the world,”

You laughed at his abrupt change in mood mixed with a hint of himself. “I know you will, babe,”

“I’m gonna be the best boyfriend too,” he would give continuity to his words when a loud noise of something falling stopped him abruptly.

“What was it?” You asked. You made it clear that you were suspicious, and by his nervous laugh he knew that. After all, what would he say about the noise that seemed to have come from the room next to where you were? “Oh my god, Thomas, that can’t be you.”

He didn't even need to answer, the sound of your steps going on his way was enough for him to know that you knew he was there, making him curse himself for being so clumsy. And just like in a flash, you were in his arms. He dropped his bag on the floor, giving you al of his attention as he squeezed your shape to his body.

“You’re here,” you bured your face on his chest, letting the feeling of comfort fill your nostrils, and then soul. “You’re really here.” You added in a breathless sigh.

Relief taking over his body as you snuggled into his frame, he grinned, “I promised that I would try my best to be with you all the special dates, didn't I?” He asked, holding your face so he could look at you properly. “Are you crying?”

You nodded at his soft voice. “I’m sorry,”

He laughed, a nasal sound that you missed so much. “It’s ok, 5 months is a long time,” He said, tracing kisses across your face. “I promise I’m gonna love you extra now.”

——————-

It was already possible to see the sun rissing outside, yet you refused to close your eyes and lose any moment with Thomas.

You rested your head on the pillow, waiting for him and thinking of how lucky you were that he managed to catch a last minute flight to spend the New Year at home. He was scheduled to return only after the first day of the year, somehow things would have worked out better than expected and he managed to get back sooner.

“She looks like an angel sleeping so calmly.” He spoke, lying beside you under the covers.

“I thought you were going to wake her up, she'll go crazy when she sees you.”

“I know,” He smiled, proud of himself. He knew she was the definition of daddy’s little girl. “I will wait until she wakes up. I'm dying to fill her with kisses and hugs.”

Still with his charming teeth and cute dimples on display, he pulled you to his chest, trying to wrap you in the blanket next to him. “She loves you. She doesn't care about the time you spend away, as long as you come back to her.” You nuzzled into his neck, squeezing him tighter as you said that. It was likely that this would happen more often, letting Thomas blame himself for that wouldn’t do him any good.

He bobbed, kissing your forehead, enlacing you with the same intensity. “I know, babe,”

“How was turn?” You asked, looking at him, making sure that he was fine. He was thoughtful, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

He told you about his gigs around the globe and you were happy feeling his body soften on your arms. His voice almost lulled you to sleep, but you were sure you would never tire of hearing him talk about what he loves. You showed him the video of Alice receiving the guitar, seeing his eyes fill with water after she said that she‘d be just like her father made your chest almost explode with love. In the best possible way, of course.

“You can sleep if you want, babe.”

“No, I want to spend more time with you.”

“I’m here, I am not intending to go anywhere.” He patted your hair, rubbing his nose through your hairline, and the last thing you remembered was feeling his lips on your temple.

When you opened your eyes again, he was no longer there. You rubbed your eyes tight, trying to adjust to the light, wondering if there was any possibility that it might have been a dream, but then a sweet chuckle brought you back to reality.

Alice was standing in front of you, with the guitar resting awkwardly on her shoulders. Her eyes went from you to Thomas, as if asking him if everything was all right. You smirked lightly at her features that looked the same as Thomas's.

She started playing something, which looked incredibly bad, Thomas wrinkled his nose in an attempt not to laugh so as not to discourage her. He should have spent a lot of time helping her, and she looked like she was trying. Her lips was between her teeth as she concentrated to play her less than a minute of song was so cute that as much as you didn't understand a thing, you couldn’t help but feel proud of her.

“It’s Vent'anni,” Thomas mouthed, waving his hand in a way that would get your attention but not hers. “It’s Vent'anni.”

“Oh my god!” You opened your arms for her as she finished playing, watching you with her excited eyes. “It’s Vent'anni.”

She grinned from ear to ear, handing Thomas the guitar, and then jumping into your arms.

“Did you like this?” She asked happily, making ‘this’ sound like ‘dis’. “It’s not perfect but I’ll get better, right dad?”

“Yes, better than Damiano trying to play It!" Thomas confirmed, stroking her back as he approached you. “Good mornin’, love.” he kissed the top of your head.

“I love you,” you kissed his cheek, wishing he could feel how much you love him. “And I love you too, little one,” you mumbled, pinching Alice’s nose, which eyes was stuck on the two of you.

She laughed, her gaze still on you and Thomas. She looked like a completely different person from the night before.

“Dad said you look cute when you're tired.”

You knew that you looked tired, the day before wasn’t the best and you had barely slept. You bit the inside of your cheek, looking at Thomas who had a silly smile playing on his lips and felt your cheeks get hotter. The reason you still felt that way when he complimented you was a mystery, you liked it anyway.

“You are a gossip little thing,” Thomas joked, poking at her sides.

“No, I’m not.” She laughed, trying to run away from him flawlessly, letting him hug her as she recovered her breath.

“I love you too, both of you,” she pointed a finger at both of you. Thomas's smile was priceless, you could live in there forever. “but can we play more guitar now, please?”

You agreed and Thomas got up to sit upright, putting her between his legs. He looked at you, his face still radiant, you could easily imagine him talking about you with Alice - just like you did talk about him with her as well. He positioned her tiny hands on the guitar, guiding then with his own fingers. His gentle, patient voice teaching her things that both knew she would soon forget and he would have to repeat it all over again - and you knew Thomas would do it without a problem - was lovely to watch. Her head was resting on his chest and whenever she hit a note and heard Thomas praising her, she would turn to you and say "see mom, I did it.” And you swear that you couldn't be happier to have found the meaning of the word home in two of your favorite people in the world.