#same for David. though his ears do get red when his hair is being pulled

[ingravinoveritas]

iamjusthereforthecomments replied to your post "Can't stop noticing how red Michael's ears are...”

David's ears are equally red. I google it. It really is a sign of arousal, that or embarrassments, I choose arousal!

yourgothicredrose reblogged your post "Can't stop noticing how red Michael's ears are...”

Glad I'm not the only one that noticed the ears.

So much going on in this scene with Michael and David's body language, between the red ears and the dilated pupils...

There's been a lot of talk about acting choices and doing something for the character vs. the actor's own personal desire. But what I think keeps getting overlooked is that Michael himself said that everything from the last four years--everything that's happened with him and David since the first season, including enduring a global pandemic and being in Staged--plays into what we see on screen. It would seem beyond belief, then, that Michael could stand across from someone who generates as much emotion in him as David does and not feel as though he's reacting to David as much as Crowley.

And if that is the case--if real life is bleeding into the characters as much as Michael is saying it is--then it would make all the sense in the world for their bodies to react to each other. For those involuntary physical responses to be something that happens when Michael and David are around each other, that they bring out of each other, and not just when they are acting. I am just glad other people are seeing it, too...

[lemonadebug]

Dadvid Oneshot - Father’s Day

You know those cringe-worthy gifts that always appear during and around father’s day? Mugs that day ‘#1 Dad’, and tee-shirts with god-awful puns on them? Max had always found them stupidly funny- and maybe it was because if he’d given them to his father, he’d be laughed at. He knows that it’d never be actually used, or even touched - maybe never even looked at again after that moment. Besides, they were a money-grabber- if his father ever really wanted something for Father's day he'd make him a shitty card with computer paper and washable Crayola markers, rather than buy a price-jaked mug just because it was rewarding something that shouldn't have to be rewarded.

So, he’d never bothered to buy one, nonetheless, look at them when he goes shopping. Though, this time was different. He’d been living with David for a while, and he lost a bet to Gwen. “You, sir, are going to pick something out for David that he will like and appreciate!” she scolds as they walk down the aisles of the supermarket.

There were a lot of things out catering toward fathers, and to be honest, Max had never really thought to look at them- but he knew that they’d show up annually. Toolboxes, mugs, beard-shaving kits, aprons that completely were against the idea of men actually cooking.. oh boy. 

“I don’t see the appeal of me doing this,” Max grumbles, looking at the shelves lined with items. “He’s not my... Dad, Gwen.” “You lost the bet,” she scoffs, “You are sticking to your word!” Max groans loudly, picking up a mug that had something about being the ‘World’s Best’ father on it. “This,” he grumbles, rolling his eyes. He’d put no thought into it at all, but the isle was nauseating, and the lights in the store were becoming too bright to just stand-in. 

“He’ll love it, Max,” Gwen’s voice softens, her eyes lighting up at the poor tween-age boy. He just glares back, “I wonder if he’ll notice that there are millions of mugs just like it, and ever poor excuse of a father will be getting one.” “... I’m sure he won't, pick a card, and let’s go pay,” 

- ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆-

Max sighs deeply, signing the card that he picked up for David. The outside of the card was awfully childish, and the inside had a stupid pun about dinosaurs. It had nothing to do with Father’s Day, and Gwen was actually sure it was a birthday card, but it was the only one that Max actually showed interest in and after all, it’s the thought that counts, right? Right.

 “What’d you write inside it?” Gwen asks with a laugh, staring at the boy in front of her, who slams his pen down on the table. “Dear David, you smell, you suck, you’re dumb, good luck with life, Love-” he clears his throat, “SINCERELY, Max,” he corrects himself, making Gwen laugh loudly. “Right, I’m sure he’ll love it," she responds with mild sarcasm, but she knew that even if that's really what Max wrote, David would love it all the same. Because then it would've obviously came from Max, to be fair. 

Max shrugs, he could care less- or so he says. As much as he hates Father’s day, he couldn’t help but admit that yes, David was the closest thing to a stable father figure that he’d had in his life.. and yes, he was incredibly thankful for him. He huffs, shaking out his hair and grabbing the mug, wrapping it in tissue paper and shoving it in the gift bag, along with the card.

Gwen would not let him lick the card’s envelope shut.

- ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆-

“Gwen is making me give this to you,” Max announces Father’s day morning at the breakfast table, putting the bag on the table. David turns around quickly, his eyes somewhat wide. “What for?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at Max. Max grumbles under his breath and crosses his arms over his chest. “What was that, Max? I cannot hear you!” David says, a smile creeping upon his face. He knew exactly what it was, I mean, it did say ‘Happy Father’s Day across the bag. "It's for Father's Day you fucking jackass!" Max shouts, shoving the bag forward. "Gwen made me buy it for you." "That was very thoughtful of her," David grins, picking up the bag. "I love gifts! She knows that!" David reaches inside pulling out the card. 

He opens the envelope, reading the inside. "Dear David, thanks for always being there for me, it means a lot. You're the best David I could've asked for, Love, Max," he reads out loud. Max's face was flushed with embarrassment, his ears turning red with anger. "Why'd you read it out loud, asshole!?" he shouts, his arms going around himself tighter. "We're the only ones here, Max, besides- it was super sweet, kiddo!" David argues with a grin. Max shakes his head, opening his mouth to argue again, but decides it's not worth it. 

David reaches for the gift, pulling out the cheesy mug. The mug that they made millions of, claiming that they were all given to the best. The mug that plenty of dads got every Father's Day, some even getting more than once in their fatherly experience. Max stares down at the table, refusing to watch David remove the tissue paper from the mug, revealing the 'World's Best Dad' vinyl text on it. David gasps, setting it down against the table. He doesn't say a word, looking at Max, then the mug, and then Max again. "... World's Best Dad," he murmurs out loud, a wide grin on his face. "Don't think too much into it, jackass," Max grumbles. "Gwen made me do it," he repeats, heavy emphasis on 'made'. "It's still so... Kid!" David's eyes well up with tears and he moves over to the grumpy child. 

Max protests as he's wrapped into a loving embrace. "Get off me, David," he grumbles, trying to fight out of his arms. "Thank you, Son!" David grins, looking toward Max for protest. He found none. 

I mean, David was kind of right, Max hated to admit. He'd gotten lucky. He had two experiences with 'Father' figures, and really, David was the best of the options. He was really Max's World's Best Dad. He was Max's Best Dad, even if he wasn't his dad. He was his David.

[hhjs]

forget me not.

♡ based on — "During times of war. I want to say: I only love you, And I cling you, Like the peel clings to a pomegranate, Like the tear clings to the eye, Like the knife clings to the wound." and the song nightlife by daydream masi.

♡ summary  —   Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

wherein, putting your heart on the line for the sake of doing favours isn’t a frequent component in your schedule. But what happens when this favour is asked for by the boy you may or may not have fancied for far too long?

 You accept it. 

 For a very embarrassing reason, really, which is — you think Hwang Hyunjin needs you.

♡ pairing— hwang hyunjin x reader

♡ word count— 8.8k whoopsies

♡ genre and alternate universe — angst, fluff + hanahaki au.

♡ author's note— this was supposed to be a drabble and then i sort of lost my fucking mind ehe...also this is easily the worst thing i have ever written im so sorry aaa but this is a lil present from my end hahaha

♡ warnings— suggestive content, vomiting, mention of blood. allusions to depression and heartbreak.

Amongst other things, you're extremely bad at saying 'no'. You don't mean the word per se...but the underlying connotation of this very monosyllable which may come at the expense of letting another person down.

It's sort of stupid, you understand, your friends have constantly voiced their worries for your extremely complacent nature more often than you'd think actually. But it all goes over your head. See — old habits really do die hard.

When you're eight, this very defect takes you to dreadful saxophone lessons your mum spoke so highly of. When you're 15, it gets you called to the principal's office for flashing Jeongin trigonometric functions in Mister Choi's pop quiz, when you're older, things are definitely no different.

The passenger seat is occupied, Hyunjin's holding a tangled muffler to his suede jacket clad chest. At 21, he's become someone you used to know. A friend of a friend, Felix's to be very specific. But the man in question, who was supposed to be his ride, passes off this duty for kegstands and you just happen to be the designated driver for the night, shuffling Jisung beside Changbin and Chan, who claims to be 'sober' even though he's half asleep.

Hyunjin is uncharacteristically quiet.

There's a polite smile on rendered your way as your eyes meet. A small curvature along his plump bottom lip, tighter around the edges. Still this simple formality is so beautiful that you feel something inside you come alive.

When Jisung starts snoring, you flip on the radio and Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here comes on.

Your fingers feel numb when they come to tap out a rhythm to the track. It's nice. Tingling guitar riffs swelling, David Gilmour's gruffy voice pours in from faulty speakers. The more the song progresses, the more you find yourself attempting to think about anything that will distract you from the boy beside you, in the flesh no less.

So late at night, the main road is eerily silent. Cobblestones reflecting the sound of tires thumping against its layout, streetlights blinking at you from their drooping heads. Across the street, a baker is tucking away leftover bread and buskers are packing up their beat up guitars, a man in his late 50's pulling his blanket to his nose as he rests a head full of gray hair on the cold pavement.

You glance at Hyunjin from the corner of your eye and find that his staggering smile has completely disappeared. Now there's a distant glaze in his eyes. It's like he's here, in this moment, with you, but at the same time, he's somewhere else.

Under the impression you've done something wrong, you immediately begin to panic. But the thing is, you don't actually know if you should ask. Would it constitute as crossing a line if you had anyway?

Hyunjin covers his mouth with a sleeve, muffled retching building beyond fabric.

The reasonable assumption is obvious. It's not abnormal to be nauseous when you've got one too many drinks in you. He motions for you to pull over, incoherent sentences practically melding together, words forming and dissipating between choking fits.

You scramble to dig out a bottle of mineral water you habitually deposit in the glove compartment, offering him the tissue first. Ears perking up in satisfaction when a garbled thanks escapes his parted lips. But then... something weird happens.

As your eyes flicker to unintentionally glance at the contents discarded on the pitch grey sidewalk, you freeze in your seat.

You were never a big believer of superstition, not someone who buys into myths only meant for the fiction genre. Sure, you can be gullible sometimes...but what's happening falls no way under the realistic category.

The lethal Hanahaki disease, only inherited by some unlucky descendants, every moment in your head prior to this one, was something that's obviously non existent.

Yet... there's so much blood, too much blood attesting to your blatant ignorance. The petals are of a white rose, smudging together in swirls of grotesque crimson in mimicry of a sheen of red sticking to the inner corners of his lips. It has happened before, you can tell, from just how unsurprised he looks.

Hyunjin's stare flits to commit every detail of your to memory, in what only seems a quick study of gauging your forthcoming reaction, though even before you can produce a coherent thought, he says,

"You can't tell anyone." His voice drops a few octaves as though he's afraid your snoring friends in the back might've noticed. "Please."

Hyunjin's face softens by the slightest, contrary to his firm demand, there lies a desperation you couldn't overlook.

In retrospect, what you're about to tell is ultimately a promise that'd come back to bite you in due time. However, see now, you're extremely bad at saying no. Somehow you're even worse when it comes to Hyunjin. So you blink, turn the radio off and say,

"Okay."

—

The pool is preheated. For that you're most thankful.

Frankly, you couldn't imagine what it'd be like being pushed into a chilly body of water mid winter. Not that it's pleasant otherwise, you can't swim.

Well at 15, you hadn't quite learned to. The other kids have scurried inside to hog freshly baked Snowman biscuits Seungmin's mum is renowned for.

Then and you think you'll never quite forget it, Hyunjin's wearing an orange power ranger t shirt, it's darker now that it's wet, his glasses are marked with uneven splatters. His face scrunches up at the sudden splash of wetness engulfing his body. He wasn't planning to get in the water.

"Hold on tight." He says, wounding your arms around his neck, your calves tighter to his sides to support your shivering body. Back then Hyunjin's hair was black, cropped short and swept to the side, he smells like fabric softener and skittles. A water donut is discarded in the middle of the pool.

Everybody you know and don't know, from the birth of superheroes stuck in comic books to valiant protagonists behind fuzzy television screens, has this inherent desire to be saved. From the world, from themselves. No, no, it doesn't have to be a grand gesture, swooping them off of their feet from the grasp of surly men in dark alleys, sometimes it's really just simple. Sometimes people save you in the most ordinary way there is.

The weight of your form on his bright pink water donut while he stood on his toes to merely rest his elbows so the item wouldn't flip, a small act, certified this very claim, had not the nimble touch of his cold fingers, brushing away wet hair from your face, to anxiously ask if you're okay met the purpose. He talks to you like the sound of his voice has the power to injure you.

You nod slowly. Like this, it feels like you're going to be.

Hyunjin pouts, looking perfectly unconvinced. He paddles the pair of you to steel stairs spiraling into the pool, so he can stand without just his nose peeking out of the water, he looks at you once again, a wrinkle between his dark, arched eyebrows and says solemnly, "Jisung's such an idiot sometimes, isn’t he?"

But isn't he your friend? You want to ask. Something stops you though —his tone tells you you aren't the only one to fall victim to Jisung's practical jokes. Not that they were offensive or anything. Han Jisung, the same person who twiddles his thumbs when he wants the last chicken nugget and cries every time you watch Howl's Moving Castle together, genuinely doesn't mean any harm. It's just that...when he's comfortable with people, who aren't many, he tends to do a lot of dumb things. Dumb, endearing things that Minho will kill him for someday.

"A little bit," You mumble under your breath. Heat rising to your face at the possibility of Hyunjin being concerned for you. He sounds almost angry. "Thanks by the way."

It's rather pitiful to remember. Because with time, Hyunjin's world becomes so big that your interaction stands to be too insignificant to not forget. Before you know it, he's the shooting guard of your school's basketball team, just a handsome face who dates better girls, makes better friends. It's superficial and a little sad.

No, no, a little sad is an understatement actually.

To see someone you understood intimately, a boy who always described details too much just to stray from the main story, a boy with too many emotions bubbling to an awfully animated surface; someone who was passionate, sensitive and so nauseatingly big hearted...change into a man who is indubitably untouchable...is tragic. At least.

Yet funnily enough — you can't quite imagine a world without Hwang Hyunjin. His ringing laughter rippling through loud ambiences, his distant humming of Christmas carols whilst he absently skimmed through spines of children's novels and his eyes glimmering in adoration whenever he spoke of something he loved — Without him, you imagine, there would be a massive deficiency in your world, in the world. Like if birthday cakes came with the biggest slice carved out.

Hyunjin grins, a big sort of candid grin that turns his eyes into upturned crescents. His previous temperament long forgotten. Suddenly, this utterly atrocious happening seems to not be so bad. Suddenly you don't mind that Jisung is an idiot sometimes.

"Of course."

—

Hyunjin is not perfect. Hyunjin is no prince charming.

People don't know this. They don't understand this.

He ends up paying for dinner when he's out with a big crowd even though they were supposed to split the bill, he ends up crying when he gets angry and he is an abysmal liar, in every sense of the phrase. Hardly ever succeeding to hide his emotions when he should. When he was a kid his parents reminded him that it's a good thing to be unapologetically himself, that being honest is a good thing.

But as your eyes meet from across an ocean of people quagmired by crunchy leaves, sticky remnants of rain and his ex girlfriend who he now claims to be okay with being friends with, on her toes to poke his cheek whilst Chan's arm wraps around her waist, the soft white roses ornamented on a bow she loves wearing all the time, he thinks it's far from an agreeable trait to have.

Actually whilst you balance a newspaper under your arm and bring your coffee to your lips, it's like you're looking through him, past his skin, his flesh, something secret inscribed on his bones, embedded into his soul. You know everything, you know everything, you know everything.

The thought itself... surprisingly enough, doesn't appal him.

Hyunjin raises his palm in the air, feeling the autumn prickling against his skin. He waves at you.

—

Working at a library can be taxing. But it sure has its perks.

You can just about turn the place upside down and put it all back together without getting in trouble. Albeit another reason, besides your profession could be that Minho owns the place. Frankly, he may or may not have been the only cause behind your employment. It's hard to tell now that your co-workers really do recognise you've a knack for arranging things.

But to you, your job is very personal. A precious thing which relieves you from various worldly tensions. Velvety spines under your roughened fingertips, the burst of minted pages hitting your face every time you walk in, your love for reading, for a world of stories is so immense that you think you wouldn't have traded it even if your life depended on it.

For a disease that's not very well known, it's ironic how an entire section of mythology is dedicated to it. Past closing hours, amongst many novels mounted on your desk, you fixate on the one that made most sense. There's a few things you've picked up in common from all of them though — the hanahaki disease is extremely rare, it doesn't affect all those who suffer from the qualms of unrequited love.

Possible remedy according to findings entail

growths can be surgically removed, if the patient consents to eradication of memories of their loved ones.

Clanking of keys alerts incoming and you pause your tapping pen to look up.

"Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

Minho leans against the doorframe, he's half yawning, half talking and fully concerned for you.

"Yeah, looks like I'm gonna be a while." Your monotonous tone provides that you are not paying a lot of attention. You blurt without looking up. "Are you leaving?"

"No, still haven't finished archiving for that Pfizer project...But I'm going to get a bite to eat..." His inky eyes remain on you as his tone falters, "You want anything?"

"I'm fine. Thanks."

"Wow you're like...really uh invested." He tilts his head in thought, "You seeing someone again?"

You know Minho long enough to know he has a teasing side to him, from diaper days to play dates ending in pillow fights because he kept offering you his last Pringle just to pop it into his stupid smirking mouth — but you have no idea where he's going with this.

So you look up, finally. Furrowing your brows.

"No. What does that have to do with anything?"

He shrugs, "I haven't seen you concentrate so hard since you dumped Jeongin."

Your right eye twitches. Because you know exactly what he's referring to, and simultaneously, for the sake of your well-being, you much prefer being in denial. "What?"

"C'mon. Remember how you always ended up doing his homework?" He reminds you. "It's like when you like someone, you go out of your way to do charitable stuff for them. But...this? Too much. Even for you."

You ignore Minho's comment. To the world, Hwang Hyunjin's place in your life is not significant. After all this is the most natural undulation in the vicissitudes of life — for someone who once was your friend to eventually drift apart, to become a has been. It's too hard to explain why you care. After all this time.

"I was just being nice." You narrow your eyes, unimpressed. "Clearly this concept is lost on some people."

"Sure you are, bud. If being 'nice' is synonymous with whipped." Of course, there's a smug grin gracing his pouted lips that tempts you to fling something at him. Not that you can though. Seeing as Minho breaks out into a full fledged sprint, his singsongy voice a thinning echo bouncing off of shelves and windows and doors.

Still somehow his footsteps manage to travel through walls, permeating into your office with such great amplitude that you could be bamboozled into thinking he hasn't left at all. Or maybe you've stopped paying attention, your eyes zoom in on any other helpful detail you can put to use in wrapping your head around what you have witnessed firsthand.

At the same time, you can't really ignore how hungry you're feeling just from the mention of a bite to eat. So when Minho's shadow forms again on the page you've been 'reading' for the last few seconds you sense a gigantic wave of relief washing over you.

"You know what I changed my—" slamming the book shut, you blink against scanty provision of light, with raise your head and a bleary vision, recognise him in an instant. Except...it isn't Minho. "mind..."

The only source of brightness is a small emerald lamp perched on the corner of your desk, light green catches onto one of the ornamented corners and speckles of golden caress his supple skin gently. You hadn't realised how cold it might've been outside until you see how heavily dressed Hyunjin was, a long overcoat worn over woollen sweater, a Santa hat and muffler pulled to his chin. It's no one other than your boss himself who has given him directions to your office, you know this, Hyunjin has never been inside before.

So when he marvels absently, you sense yourself feeling a little self conscious about not cleaning up. All around you, a comforter and love seat pushed against the window, cigarette butts discarded in ashtray and then...the books strewn before you tell him you practically live here.

For some reason, Hyunjin only seems to loosen up at the spectacle.

"Hi." He says finally.

"Hi..." you arrange the reading materials quickly to one side so you can rest your elbows. A small (successful) attempt made to hide your research. "Something up?" You say, but what you really mean is, what are you doing here?!

Did he suspect you were going to tell on him? Right that's it, that must be it, you tell yourself, believing, knowing, of all the years Hwang Hyunjin has known of you he has never been one to care about your whereabouts.

"I just...um," He starts, forwarding his mitten clad hands. It's the back of a crumpled coffee cup on which straight handwriting reads a bucket list...of sorts. You immediately understand that his coming is an act of impulse. Urgency of living every moment like it's slipping through it's fingers, that he just needed to tell the only person who knows, be it by accident.

Hyunjin clears his throat. "I wanna do all this before I die."

In lieu of giving an instant response, baffled, you gawp at him. Despite knowing, hearing Hyunjin say it out loud somehow makes everything...too real.

It's as though someone's reached inside your throat, pulled your heart out and crushed it with their bare hands. Hyunjin, the boy who smelled like fabric softener and skittles and wore power ranger shirts, the boy with the fantastic smile and cold fingers, is dying. You won't let him. You can't let him.

You thumb along the numbers scribbled in hasty penmanship, look up and blink rapidly, "Okay," you say, a small whisper, barely there words. "That's okay."

Even with the hat covering tips of ears, you could tell the same faint blush coating his cheeks had rushed to that particular area. His eyes drift off to the sight of pens discarded inside a wooden holder because he can feel your gaze on him. "and I...I need your help."

"Alright."

Hyunjin's eyes widen to a great degree, he sits straighter, as if he hadn't expected you to comply so quickly.

And honestly? Neither had you.

It's quiet. Awkward.

"You know it's not like I haven't thought about dying. I just figured I'd get to grow old first, settle down, have kids and all that," A wry laugh escapes his parted lips. "Everything's happening too fast."

You hesitate, thinking he's making a mistake. Frankly he shouldn't feel obligated to give you an explanation.

"You...you don't have to tell me."

"No—I mean...can I?" He gives you a sheepish look, disliking his own whimsical tone, somehow endearing still. You find yourself wondering how long he had to keep his burdens to himself, not just pertaining to his illness, but everything. His dreams, his hopes, his fears. Anything which requires a certain amount of depth. And you almost ask him, the question sitting at the tip of your tongue, yet the realisation rather simple, stops you. Maybe you've mistranslated 21 year old Hyunjin all along — moulding himself into someone who's convenient around people who only liked him for who he appeared to be, maybe even with all that popularity, parties and glamour, he's just...lonely.

You push your reading glasses into your hair, press your knuckles under your chin and hum in consent.

He shifts in his seat, "Have you ever... been in love?"

You release an amused huff. Let your eyes linger on him for a long minute.

"Once."

Hyunjin half expects you to laugh. Poke fun at him for his melodramatic backstory. That's the sole reason why he doesn't tell his friends (funny, for people he considers close, they seem to know not much about him or care to know, that is. ). But you... you look at him with something in your eyes that tells him the rubbish reasons he posited makes all the sense in the world. Hyunjin's unsure of the tingle in his gut, why it's happening. But he thinks, just for a second, it feels a little like hope.

—

 Midnight rendezvous.

As someone who has lived a fairly extraordinary life, Hwang Hyunjin's bucket list is bafflingly ordinary. He's more of a finding joy in small things kind of a person, punctilious at best.

Things change. People notice. They hesitate, whisper about you and last night while you were out on last minute cheap wine run, the grocerer, a girl who looks around sixteen asks you if you're dating Hyunjin. Underneath the thinly veiled curiousity, there's something like anger dripping from her words.

You furrow your eyebrows in simple insinuation that it's weird for a stranger to take interest in your life. Maybe it was written on your face, the fact that you're a dying man's beck and call is for reasons far more complicated than it looks.

You go to his parties. Greet him as a friend would and not just for the sake of maintaining formalities. He comes to the library more times than he does, waits for you to get off work so you can check something off the list at least. People notice. People understand. Hyunjin's different around you. He's bright, talkative when he forgets to contain himself. You sense your heart swelling with pride just at the understanding that he can be himself around you.

You drive to the beach, sit in your trunk and drink straight out of the bottle.

Hyunjin laughs a little. Suspends his feet in the air. With time, he's gotten paler, exhausted. "Rough day?"

You hum.

"Very. Our children's collection is usually low in stock around the weekends."

Hyunjin crosses his arms over his chest. Curious.

"And?"

"And if I say I got yelled at by a toddler would you believe me?"

Hyunjin feigns contemplation, even with the realisation that his body is becoming less and less cooperative, he manages to remain perfectly cheerful.

"I can actually," he grins, "At that age, I was a real pain in the ass."

"Were?"

Your smile is just a slight curl against the bottle's mouth as he grumbles under his breath about your 'insensitive' remark.

You think of your life after Hyunjin, think of his absence like a gaping hole you'll never be able to fill out. It makes you sick to your stomach.

—

Bake something from scratch.

Hyunjin's face twists in apparent thought, eyebrows rising. A pink tongue poked against his cheek, whilst he chews carefully, trying really hard not to flash an accidental reaction whilst you clasp your butter and oat flour soiled hands together, some of the batter on your cheek, neck to anticipate his answer like your will to live depends on it.

You ask yourself how it got to this. Why you didn't care that you were awake so early on a Sunday morning with flour powdering every kitchen appliance in sight in spite of being awfully restrictive about who you let into your kitchen. But it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter because it's nice like this.

Hyunjin has his hair pulled away from his bare face, a mole under his eye, a small birthmark on the back of his ear.

When you first met, you thought he was a kind of handsome that couldn't be real. Something formidable about it. Only destined to exist behind fuzzy television screens and flashy magazines.

But in retrospect, you realise, that that's not true at all. 

If you look close enough, if you really pay attention, there's a softness underneath, something goofy, something warm, the sharp jut of his nose circling into a soft button, his eyes are big, black and his mouth jutted out into a natural pout, he looks innocent, like he doesn't quite realise the extent of his charms.

"It's..." His soft voice pulls you out of your reverie, and you look up to find his eyes glimmering jovially. Every time it surprises you, the lack of regret in them and the abundance of nonchalance. You wonder what it means to love someone like that, to love someone to the point of martyrdom. It shouldn't be like this. "perfect,"

"This is like, the only batch we didn't burn, right?"

You snort, "Yeah." Fully turn to him, "You know what they say, fifth time's the charm."

Hyunjin's laugh, you think, is so contagious that it makes it an imperative to smile in return. In shaky compartments the sound comes, like being 8, laying wide-eyed in a paddling pool and staring up at a crayon blue sky, raindrop rippling beyond all that noiseless water. His eyes curve to upturned crescents, an unconscious hand covering up the seams of his lips whilst he shakes his head. You don't even notice when he starts speaking again.

"Huh?"

"I said you got a little...something..."

You almost lose a fraction of your sanity when his nimble fingers come to wrap around your wrist while you hold onto the spatula employed into the whole snickerdoodle batter mixing business, a liberated hand coming up to gently wipe your cheek. It means everything to you. And nothing to him.

Later, when you're alone at night, really alone, you put your palm to your chest and feel the unsteady beat of your heart. A warning, a reminder. I can't. I can't. I can't.

—

You hold Hyunjin's hair up. His hands resting on the cold toilet seat, he's whimpering and bleeding. It happens every time he sees Haseul, or something which reminds him of her. Like the song.

This time she's drunk. And it's because she impulsively rises to her toes and presses a tender kiss to Chan's lips.

Hyunjin's just a feet away, across students and solo cups and streaks of neon falling irregularly through his line of sight.

He can never confess, not to her. The last thing Hyunjin wants is for her to feel bad for him. To say she feels the same as an act of service. He tells you. You understand. Somehow... you always understand.

They met in college, Hyunjin and she. And Chan was an upperclassman who seemed to be good at...well everything. At first, he couldn't figure out why it never occured to him before, the fact they were getting together maybe before, after or during the length of their relationship.

Though the answer is simple.

Hyunjin thinks the pillar to good relationships is trust. Call him a sappy romantic or whatever but he had seen true love manifest from it through generations before him and his parents and their parents. To think a different fate was woven for him...used to be unimaginable.

How ironic is that?

Hyunjin presses his cheek against your chest because he doesn't want you to look at him when he cries.

Then for the first time....he tells you he's scared. He's scared of what will happen to him. Of what is happening to him.

He's falling apart.

You cradle him, press him closer to your body like you're trying to put him together. People can't fix each other. Not really. But sometimes... they're worth the try.

"Hey...hey...it's alright," You shush him, run your fingers through his hair. Your voice almost breaking, faltering. Still this, this you mean it with every fibre of your being. "It's okay to be scared."

—

Self bleach hair.

It's Christmas and you're late for a late night dinner he's putting together. (As reluctant as he was about getting along with Hyunjin, he seems all too eager to make invite him whenever a get together takes effect.)

His apartment smells like floor cleaner. There's a queen sized bed pushed against an electric blue wall, a Fleetwood Mac poster taped to his door, small reading desk where Canon EOS New Kiss rests, polaroids of things checked off the list littered all its wooden surface.

You pick up the only photo he hasn't labelled, it reminds you that your friendship isn't just based off a pursuit. This is natural. Pizza box discarded between you two, on your roof top. It's a little too dark, you're holding a cigarette between your fingers, you're laughing and Hyunjin looks like he's going to complain the minute he's done taking the picture. (And he does.)

You smile, pressing your fingers against it like the touch could transport you to a simpler time.

"Ready to go?"

Hyunjin rakes a tentative hand through his newly dyed hair, grey (a suitable colour he says.). You can tell he's put a lot of effort into cleaning up, his usual hoodies and sweats alternated with a red satin shirt tucked into dark dress pants and a coat of the same colour.  Hyunjin is beautiful. Perhaps even more like this. In fact, the extent of this quality is so Goliath-like that it obliges dolled up attendees to marvel up in awe.  While you fully agree with their unsaid ponderings, you really do, you find yourself missing a less sophisticated version of him. 

"Yeah, but first..." you fish out a wrapped squarish material from the depths of your pocket. Hyunjin's eyes widen, two bunny-like teeth showing for the extent of his grin.

"You got me a present!" He all but rips it out of your hand, shaking the material eagerly. He’s a Christmas person, a supreme holiday enthusiast if you will. The sheer excitement in him projects itself in every physical aspect possible. Slight jumping on the balls of his feet. "It's a cassette...?"

You speak too much, nervous he doesn't like it. "It’s a Christmas mix. I thought...since you like carols. I know it's a little old school, I'm sorry if that’s not what you were hoping for—"

Hyunjin pulls you into a big hug, wrapping his entire body it feels like; his arms around your waist, he squeezes you tighter against him, "Thank you." He whispers into your hair, it's not just about the cassette, you can tell. 

There's a small light bulb dangling from his ceiling, he hasn't fixed it since the first time you pointed it out. You can tell with your eyes closed, you've begun to know more intimately than your own home. It's safe here. A place that deludes you into thinking that he's not running out of time, that even in his absence in the world, whenever you should walk into this room, it would be an imperative to find Hyunjin lazying about in its confines. Familiarity can be quite tricky, can't it?

His gratitude is not unknown to you. It's in the guilty smile that threatens to show every now and then, it's in this and it's in that. In many ways, it is not something you're a stranger to.

And yet the words manage to tears your heart at the seams. Just a little.

—

 Make a snow angel.

From above, he imagines, he may appear to look like a chunk of cookie dough in an ice cream pint.

The snow is not as comfortable as it appears, its frigid temperature seeps into Hyunjin's clothes (and what feels like his internal organs, if that's even possible). He waves his hands and legs inward, outward.

Your head tilts towards him. Face twisted in annoyance. "You're getting on my wing!" You say. "Have you no respect for personal space?!"

Hyunjin narrows his eyes jovially. And people tell him he's the one with a penchant for theatrics. He leans closer in rebuttal, waving his leg around your design with more purpose.  You give up. Sit on your knees, fumble with the snow. He’s still in the same position. Smug as ever...

"This is what happens when you disrespect your elders." He fake-warns. "Oka—"

What he doesn't anticipate, however, is the snowball you launch on his stupid grinning face. Now it's your turn to laugh. You clutch your stomach and point at him whilst he glares at you having barely managed to blow the snow off of his mouth.

"Oh, you're gonna get it now!"

You let out an animalistic screech, Hyunjin’s already trapped you under his weight, his thighs wound around your waist, hamstringing your plan to escape, now you're merely squirming. His fingers come down to attack your sides, digging into the flesh so mercilessly to the point you’re not sure if you’re laughing or crying. It's like there's a wildfire inside your lungs.

For a moment you forget, you let yourself forget what's to come.

“Alright, alright I’m sorry!” you press your palms against his chest in an attempt to push him off, Hyunjin has a dumb smile on his face that seems to give the impression of a hanger  stuck inside his mouth. But... there's something behind his entertainment as the sound of his laugh dies down, chest heaving with exercise. His smile drops.

You can count each lash, each freckle and line on his face. The dark in his eyes. The pink of his lips. Your sweater's ridden to your ribs. And the warmth of his fingers shifting against your bare skin hits you with an earthshattering force.

Hyunjin kisses you. For a fleeting second, you freeze. Rigid with shock. Then it passes as soon as it comes.

 You let out a noise of content,indubitably grateful that your neighbours forgot to put on their porch light for the night.  See it’s like this, the act of kissing is not as special as is the person himself, you muse, you can kiss anyone, you can touch and be touched by anyone. But none of that truly compares to this. Not when they aren't him.

You’d be lying if you said you never thought about it. Just like you’ve thought about a lot of things. But just the realisation that the boy you’ve harboured in your heart for more complicated reasons than you disclose, to yourself even, touches you with so, so much care...it’s tearing you apart. 

It’s too good to be real.

You suddenly push him away. The tugging and pulling at your heart too much to handle. For the fact remains — Hyunjin doesn't love you. He doesn't even like you. You never expected him to. Actually, you've never felt what you feel with that condition in mind either.

See when the feeling of having everything you could ever want is cradled between your palms...it ought to be hard to let go. (Maybe he’s just doing this because he feels bad for you, the little voice in your head says. You listen.)

Hyunjin speaks up first.

“I love Haseul.”  he tells you, but it sounds more like he’s telling himself. “That’s why...that’s why, all this...I love her.” Not you.

You swallow, “I know.” Your hands come up to dust your pants. Hyunjin’s still on his knees, as if the answer to his conflicts are deposited under all the snow. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay. I shouldn’t have, I shouldn’t have done—”

Now you hear it, the hint of pity in his voice. You don’t mean to sound as bitter as you do. Seeing as you’re usually very good at keeping calm , breaking that very reputed front frustrates you even more.

“Look just forget about it, okay? We don’t have to talk about this.”

Hyunjin looks like he didn’t expect this side of you to exist. At least, you think, at least it got him to stop talking.

—

Learn to skate.

"If I fall, I'm taking you with me."

"You say it like I have a choice."

Hyunjin shoots you a warning glare even though you can't see. His choppy skidding steps supported by the vice grip he has on your arms. You haven't skated since you were in highschool. But when you're pretty good at it still, the smooth blade of your beaten skates gliding through ice with much dexterity, it's like floating, freeing, the wind hitting your faces, snow catching in your lashes. It's peaceful, you try not to think about the warmth of Hyunjin's arm circling around body, the vague rhythm of his heartbeat against your back. His laboured breaths on your neck. It's torturous. But spending so much time with him has taught you to hide your feelings better.

The park welcomes a large crowd around holiday season, children with toothless grins, tugging onto their mum's coats, small chin resting onto a parents' head, teenagers moving in together in school uniforms. It's the happiest time of the year. When you move past an elderly couple, they smile and tell you make a wonderful couple.

You're just about to make a correction. This puts you in an awkward position... doesn't it?

But then Hyunjin grins toothily and says, Thank you, like it's the most amusing thing in the world. You ignore the wrenching inside your chest.

Hyunjin leans forward, his plump lips brushing against your ear. "Where did you learn to skate so well?!" There's something like excitement in his kiddish laugh aside from admiration. It's not much of a question as it is an exclamation.

"I am pretty good, aren't I?"

He laughs, doesn't let you go. "Yes, yes...really good."

Out of breath, you slow down, move your feet steadily, careful not to lose balance.

"Oh my God! It is you!"

You raise your head, blink against flakes hindering your vision. Jeongin's voice used to be thinner before. As far as you remember. Now it has a weight to it.

You let out a nervous laugh.

"And it's you..."

Jeongin's eyes travel to the arms around your waist, to the stiffened figure behind you and you immediately liberate yourself. Moving to let Hyunjin use your arm as purchase, you don't fail to notice the pinch in his forehead, a frown on his mouth.

"This is my friend Hyunjin. Hyunjin, this is Jeongin—"

"We used to go out." Jeongin smiles, forwarding his hand, which is returned with an unenthused shake and a demure reply. Hyunjin never speaks to anyone this way, not even people he claims to hate.

The former male looks to you again, "I was, uh... wondering if you'd like to go out for a cup of coffee sometime."

Things between you and him ended amicably at the event of his departure for further studies, which deprives you of awkward tension which is expected when exes meet.

Besides, a cup of coffee never hurt anyone.

Right?

Without thinking, you nod slowly, "Yeah that sounds good,"

"Text me anytime."

"Sure."

 “I'll be out of your hair then," he beams. "It was very nice meeting you too, Hyunjin."

"Right."

Hyunjin, you realise, has released your arm. He leans on barricades fencing along the skating area, smiling briefly. You know it’s wrong...yet you sense that you almost need him to be upset.

Then he tilts his head back towards you, "He seems like a really nice guy," he whispers, genuinely meaning every word. Your heart sinks. "I see the appeal." Underneath the lurid glare of fairy lights brandished overhead, Hyunjin's ash hair glints like it's threaded out of silver. You wonder what he's thinking.

—

 Watch every Disney movie ever made.

You never end up texting Jeongin back. Just stalling for when you're ready, you tell yourself. Even though that's not true at all.

"This brings back so many memories. My parents used to belt out A Whole New World with me, like every time we watched Aladdin."

Hyunjin wipes his face with the back of his hand, technically you’re not very sure what he’s saying exactly because he’s mumbling into a paper napkin you've  passed over for the umpteenth time. You find yourself picturing a small but happy family of three, of Hyunjin in Scooby Doo pajamas and gap between his teeth. (Contrary to your previous convictions, he hasn't changed all at much, save for the teeth bit. ) It's cute.

He looks to you expectantly. Can't be the only one telling embarrassing stories.

You shrug, "I had a thing for Simba. Let's just say my mum and dad were nice enough to indulge me."

Hyunjin reaches for the remote and pauses the ending credits of Lady and the Tramp. He turns to you fully now, gives you a judgemental stare. "Simba...?" He says, "Like the...lion?"

"What? It's normal to crush on fictional characters, okay?!"

"Okay,sure," Hyunjin snorts, putting a pillow between you and him so you can't kill him. "furry."

A part of you is tempted, obviously. But the much bigger part is more invested in how he looks happier, healthier. You want to think that means something.

—

Hyunjin invites you over for movie night. It's getting colder and you keep poking him with your cold feet. There's an extra set of blankets in his cupboard, he informs you, he isn't sharing his with you — and that's when you see it.

The deflated pink donut folded to the side, his and yours sharpie inscribed initials on one side. 

"Found it yet?"

You don't even notice when he comes to stand behind you. So the question effectively makes you jump out of your skin. Hyunjin has a bowl of popcorn pressed to his chest, there's a pink hair band holding his hair away from his forehead. For the lack of a answer he takes it on himself to find the source of your silence. As if you've been caught red handed.

You think this is where he'll ask you to leave, that or he'll least scold you or something. You prepare for the worst.

Hyunjin just smiles, it's a big smile that succeeds in bringing out the small dimple indented on the side of his cheek. You've never noticed before. It's kinda weird. Because when it comes to him, your attention hardly ever falters.

"You probably don't remember. That’s from Seungmin's 15th birthday,"

You want to scoff under your breath. All this time you had told yourself that you were the only one to be affected by your estranged friendship growing up. Now...the same logic colours you every bit of ridiculous. 

You blink away, swallowing. Voice solemn.

"I remember." Hyunjin's gaze is heavy on your shoulders. An emotion you can't quite put a finger on crosses his delicate features. It's something between surprise and relief... something else too. You don’t understand it. 

—

It's disconcerting that he can’t remember the last time he got sick. Not the usual discomfort inside his chest, not the blood, not the thorns or petals. Hyunjin's just gotten so used to it, you know? What if he gets his hopes up for no good reason? What if it just comes back?

There's no possible explanation, he explains over a hasty 3 A.M message he had to leave on your answering machine because he's freaking out.

Then Haseul texts Hyunjin, tells him she misses him. Everything's adding up. Everything's falling into place. This is what he wanted, isn't it? She loves him, she finally loves him back. That must be it. He doesn't know what to say. 

But he tells you, and when he does, it sounds a lot like an apology.

— 

Kiss underneath a mistletoe. 

“Chan and I broke up.” She says it like it’s something he should be happy about. So when he remains quiet, it only prompts her to speak more, fill up the big mighty silences. 

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Look Jinnie, I know I made a mistake, but...can’t you give a second chance? Just this once?”

Hyunjin has thought about this particular moment a lot. Kissing her instead of producing a response, pulling her off of her feet and mumbling of course, of course, of course. Back then, there were little doubts in his head pertaining to her, back then he believed that she was the only one for him. The love of his life at the wrong time, in the wrong place.

Now...something doesn’t feel right. 

The thing about wounds, sometimes, of the heart in particular, is when they close up, it’s hard to make head or tails of the kind of person you become in their wake. Hard to adjust. Like when he suddenly shot up 7 inches in ninth grade, a late bloomer at that, and the weight of his new sneakers felt..odd.

He glances at her and also understands what it’s like to be lonely, the constant need to compensate for it by grasping at the last straw. He used to be in her shoes too. This isn’t any different.  Albeit, he isn’t exactly taken by her presence. Just that he doesn’t know if what he’s doing is right. He looks over your table a few feet away from where he’s standing. Having gone out to take a call. You notice his absence and then from your seat, do your best to locate him. (he thinks of kissing you on a bed of snow, thinks of the sizzle of your skates against ice, thinks of his list on a coffee cup and his pink water donut and it’s okay to be scared. Why did it have to be you of all people, through everything? It’s not really a work of coincidence. Not at all actually.

  Maybe he just wanted it to be you.)

When your eyes do lock...seeing him with his hands in his pockets, her standing beyond the barrier as she tries to say something, you smile, even if it’s a little sad. Hyunjin thinks to the conversation some nights before. Thinks of you reminding him that there's nothing to lose at this point, that he should do what his heart tells him. That it’ll be alright, if he just takes a leap of faith. Hyunjin smiles back. Through the glassy exterior and mini water fountains running down its slanted form. The realisation is not as dramatic as he thought. It’s just late.

 He tears off the false mistletoe decoration glued along the periphery of an arch.

And like always.

He takes your advice.

— 

Cohorts of guests pour into the colossal hotel, heads turning in quiet admiration for bejeweled arches breaking out against buttery white architecture, the roof is impossibly naked, translucent glass baring a starlit sky to your watchful eyes. Showing little mercy to a frail chute held over your head,costumed characters wade through oceans of gossamer, twinkling silver and swaying movements to slow jazz. You prop a heeled foot up on the bar platform, which strangely resembles a pedestal, in a futile attempt to catch your breath, with clammy digits settled atop the risky surface of a marbled counter. A soft voice speaks over the ambience, uttering your name with much care. You lift your head. And there he is.

Jisung is scouring through the Spotify playlist you’ve put together for New Year’s Eve. He’s complaining about the lack of Beyoncé while your friends go around the buffet table. When he calls you, you’re sipping your drink, laughing at something Changbin is saying, his eyes brighten just at the sound of your laugh.  Hyunjin isn’t surprised to see his friend taking a liking of you even though he hardly knows you. That’s just the effect you have on people.

Excusing yourself, you allow him to walk you to a less densely populated area where a stone pillar faces expensive paintings of nameless painters. With the effect of alcohol settling in and your inhibitions effectively lowered, your steps sway a little. You lean against the massive build rising from tiled floor. “So what’s up?” you murmur, the lump in your throat thickening just at the thought of him speaking the good news into existence. “I take it went well?”

 Hyunjin doesn't answer. He looks distracted for a bit. Then in an instant he snaps out of his daze. “What did you mean when you said ‘once’?”

Your brows come together in inquiry.

“What?”

"When I asked you if you have ever been in love, you said ‘once’." He persists, his fingers come up to your shoulder, grazing slightly as if they’re trying to carve out words against the skin. "You weren’t talking about Jeongin.”

He knows. He’s always known. Hyunjin can’t believe he’s been so stupid.

“Took you long enough.” You let out a sardonic laugh.“Well, it doesn’t matter now, does it?”

"It matters to me..." Hyunjin sounds offended, you gather, but he manages to quell his temper for the sake of coaxing your confession. Is he purposely embarrassing you?  "I don’t think...I love Haseul anymore...I didn’t realise...I haven’t for a long time."  

A big chandelier beams over withering plants pushed against the ceiling, in this poor supply of light, you can tell exactly how he looks, eyes glimmering adoringly, you've spent something-teen years of your life wondering what it's supposed to mean. And it still manages to confuse you.

"Why are you telling me this?" you ask, albeit you already know.  Because funnily enough, before he got his braces removed and dyed his hair a scandalous blonde, before bucket lists and heartbreak, he was just the boy who told you he liked your stupid reindeer sweater even though it had officially made you the 7th grade laughing stock. You remember being fifteen and in love with Hyunjin. And you've never actually stopped. You need to hear it to believe it.

It drives you crazy. The way Hyunjin brushes his fingers against your cheek, shifting strands away from your eyes. But you can't help it, you've always wanted this. You lean into the caress, peering up at him as his large hand cups your jaw, thumb traversing from your tilted chin to your glossy lips like he's trying to smooth out all the creases. His voice is small, a whisper.

"Because I need you to know I think I’m falling in love with you.” he says. His palm opens and there’s a plastic mistletoe nestled between his fingers. You’re smiling and sniffling whilst his forehead comes to press against yours. Hyunjin grins. “And there’s still one last item on my list.”

“Are you seriously asking me to land one on you now?”

“Oh hell yeah.”

— 

"Move."

You press your fingers against the slick, sweaty skin.

In rebuttal, Hyunjin grumbles under his breath. Only half awake, half aware that he was mumbling in his sleep. His naked chest seems to be, if it’s even possible, glued to your bare front as he sprawls out like a starfish over your body, using his gangly arms to accommodate the strange position.

Though and you know he knows it too — it’s anything but uncomfortable.

See by now, you aren't exactly a stranger to Hyunjin's sleeping habits. Or really, any habits of his.

All the windows are cracked open, moonlight percolating through a thin sheet of curtains in rendering evidence that it’s still night time. You can make out the faint sound of  honking in the distance, a few stray dogs here and there, probably producing strings of complaints about the blatantly unbearable heat.

The strong stench of sweat and an aftermath of what happened before is a quick reminder of where you are, what you’re doing and that your arm’s going cold for a lack of circulation under his weight. Beads of sweat collected against his skin and trickle down the side of your face, the crook of your neck, which only prompts you to apply more force to the pads of your index and pointer — albeit it did nothing to move him, "Gross." You groan. "You're sweating like a pig!"

This comment, of all the things you've tried to get him to sleep on his side, succeeds in making Hyunjin raise his head, his grey hair matted down, a few rogue strands pushed out to fall over the unamused look in his eyes.

In an unprecedented minute of absolute clarity, something inside your stomach started to churn at the shocking sight. You’re impossibly, absolutely and nauseatingly in love with Hwang Hyunjin and the funny thing is, you don’t have to think twice to know he is too.

"Gross?" Hyunjin lowers his face to brush his pouted lips along your jaw, grinning when you let out a shaky but involuntary breath and as if he is looking to make a point with his digits traversing from your bare stomach, just along the hem of your underwear,   "After all that?"

"I hate you." You say — but more like, stutter. The sound of his giggles eliciting a strange sensation in you, reverberating against your chest, knocking against his ribs and your skin, like it’s trying to reach out to you, like your bodies insist on melding into one.

"I don’t think you’re being honest, baby." He laughs, squeezing your side, coming up to plant a warm palm to your butt to repeat the action, which in turn, drew a mewl from you. “Because you looove me.” Hyunjin smirks, his finger thumbing along your throat to your chin. You think this is what all those great poets meant in endless litanies of lovers torn apart by time and war woven together in a simple caress, like a longing, like a secret. Guarded from prying eyes, greedy hands, and you keep it, you keep it. For him. With him.

[quokkacore]

can you dig it? (m) [kim doyoung & kim jungwoo]

summary: post concert highs can be a real bummer, and tonight, after a particularly intense performance, your boyfriends help you come down.

pairing: kim doyoung x kim jungwoo x fem!reader

genre: poly!au, 70s!au, band!au, smut, fluff

warnings: drug usage (weed specifically), mentions of other substances (lsd and cocaine), shotgunning, established poly relationship, soft dom jungwoo, mentioned switch jungwoo, hard dom doyoung, sub reader, high sex, sex on a water bed!!, unprotected sex, spit kink, they're all so sweaty help, mxm, degradation kink, praise kink, orgasm denial, overstimulation, minor possessiveness

song recs: don’t stop - fleetwood mac // unlock it (feat. kim petras & jay park) - charli xcx // love her madly - the doors // ziggy stardust - david bowie // rhiannon - fleetwood mac // eclipse - kim lip (loona) // flick of the wrist - queen

word count: 5.4k

a/n: this is for my best friend, who i love with all my heart,bc last month we were talking abt the dowoo photoshoot and she said smth about high sex with dowoo. happy birthday queen <3 thank u for listening to me complain abt writing all the time :’)

masterlist

Friday, July 22rd, 1977

The concert hall smelled like cocaine and sweat, you noted to yourself as the three of you joined hands to bow. Cheers from the crowd bounced off of the walls as you bid them your final goodbye, wishing them a good night and telling them to drive safe. Still, their chanting persisted. "Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel! Seoul Motel!" 

You wondered vaguely if this was what it was like to be a young god.

The curtain lowered, and the three of you were ushered offstage, to take some pictures and then head back to the hotel, to try and get some rest before you were off to Philadelphia, some five or so hours from where you were now: Boston. 

Truthfully, everything passed in a blur. It was almost always like this after these concerts. The thrill and euphoria of performing made it difficult to focus on things. That might have also been because Jungwoo had passed you a joint before the concert. You couldn't be completely sure.

Your tambourine and guitar seemingly disappeared, but you knew it would show up tomorrow for soundcheck when you got to the Philadelphia venue, right along with Jungwoo's bass guitar and Doyoung's drum kit.

What you did know was that here, in the car back to the hotel that your manager was driving, lecturing you and Jungwoo about the importance of being sober when talking to reporters, Doyoung had a hand on your thigh, and that was all you could focus on. 

Doyoung was high too. You knew this because ten minutes before you were needed on stage he pulled you forward by the hips and told you to take a few hits from the hand rolled joint and blow the smoke into his mouth. Of course, he wasn't as high as you and Jungwoo were, and he knew how to hide it better. But if you were to get close enough you'd notice the redness rimming his eyes, the dilation of his pupils.

The three of you were something, that was for sure. You had been, probably ever since Jungwoo joined the band, some eight years ago, in the fall of '69. You only really defined what you were once you got your first big hit thanks to some disc jockey in LA playing a song you had written, Calabasas, on the radio back in '73. 

The song had blown up, and suddenly the three of you were whisked into a whirlwind of celebrities, drugs, paparazzi and producers who thought the three of you were born yesterday. Yes, you were college kids that ran on booze and weed, but you weren’t complete morons. That was when the three of you sat down to properly discuss boundaries, what slid and what didn’t.

You and your boys decided that night that weren’t down with the idea of everyone knowing. Too many prying eyes. The public didn’t really know, because the press would have a damn field day. 

Other than that, it was a pretty open secret. In the industry, who was going around with who didn’t really matter—a lot of them were too off their face to even care. You realized that a few years back when David Bowie walked in on you watching Jungwoo and Doyoung get it on in a bathroom at some afterparty in New York City, and closed the door muttering something about how strong the edibles were.

 So, what your manager said fell on deaf ears. Too much weed, too much adrenaline, too much energy for someone who needed to head back onto the road in a few hours.

 When you finally got back to the hotel, Jungwoo grabbed your hand in the elevator on the way up to your rooms, which were right next to each other. "You said that your bed was really big… can we come up?"

You nodded, leaning against his arm. Doyoung hummed affectionately at the sight, noting how tired you both were. 

"You two are about five seconds from passing out," Doyoung mumbled, and you waved your hand in denial. 

"Are not," you protested like a child.

"Y/N, don't be a chump. I'm pretty sure if Woo weren't next to you, you'd have fallen over."

You didn't have the energy to counter, and as the elevator slid open, you were the first one to march out, ready to just take a cold shower and die for the next few hours. 

Realistically, you knew that wasn't what would happen. What would happen was that you would shower, get into bed and then toss and turn for another hour or so. Only then would the adrenaline truly wear off. The weed didn't help, making you feel sleepy. 

You unlocked the door, and Doyoung and Jungwoo gawked at the sight—and size—of your bed. It could probably fit all three of you easily. 

Since only one room would spark rumors, the manager usually booked two: one for Doyoung and Jungwoo and one for you. Your room always went unused. Usually, you would have to push Doyoung's and Jungwoo's beds together to make enough room, leaving an awkward and uncomfortable dip for the person in the middle. Whoever got the middle was handed the terrible double edged sword: cuddles galore, but a sore back in the morning. 

Immediately Jungwoo jumped onto the bed, gasping and immediately laughed gleefully as the bed sloshed underneath him. 

"A water bed!?" He exclaimed, splaying out his limbs. "Oh, far out. You really lucked out, dollface." 

He kicked off his shoes and curled up in the middle, eyes fluttering shut. You followed, sitting at the side as you peeled off your white leather go-go boots. Throwing yourself down next to him, you sighed at the sensation of waves beneath you, and nodded. "Oh, this is ace," You murmured, "Feels great."

Peeling one eye open as Jungwoo wrapped his arm around you, your gaze landed on Doyoung, who was still leaning against the wall. You beckoned him over with a hand. "C'mere, princey." 

He made sure that the air conditioner was working before sitting down on the other side of Jungwoo, for which you were grateful. The still drying sweat on the back of your neck and on your chest started to cool instantly. You and Jungwoo giggled as Doyoung’s weight sent waves rippling beneath you.

"So, are you guys gonna sleep or what?" Doyoung asked, kicking his shoes off as well and peeling off his denim jacket. His eyes were still wide open and he didn't look tired at all. "I'm probably staying up a little later, I have some ideas for some lyrics I want to get down—"

"I would love to sleep. But I can't," Jungwoo declared before glancing knowingly at the both of you, "and neither can either of you." 

You hummed in agreement. "Hmm, you're not wrong. Too much energy left."

You turned to bury your face into his chest. His forest green short-sleeved button up was only buttoned up halfway, easily revealing his collarbones. He smelled like pot, sweat, and designer cologne. His chest rumbled as he continued to speak. 

"What about you, bunny boy? You can't tell me you don't still feel it."

"The weed or the concert jitters?" Doyoung's voice was raspy, cautious. He had a feeling he knew where this conversation was going. Once you and Jungwoo ganged up on him, it wouldn't take long to wear him down.

"Both," You and Jungwoo said in unison. You laughed at the sound. Doyoung chuckled as well, and you cracked your eyes open, despite how cozy you felt with Jungwoo stroking the skin of your nape.

"Well, the jitters are still there. That's why I'm staying up. As for the weed… well, yeah. I still feel it."

Jungwoo sighed. "How's the weed hitting you, though?"

"Honestly?" Doyoung's eyes met yours, and you felt something simmer in your chest. He huffed, deciding to take a bite of the apple, and leaned towards the both of you. 

"The weed, plus watching you two perform… Safe to say I'm pretty fuckin' horny right now."

You bit your lip, giving him a sleepy grin. "Oh, Woo, we turned him on." The teasing tone wasn't missed despite the sleepiness in your tone. 

"And what about it?" Doyoung asked, leaning back on his hands. "You can't say that watching Jungwoo do the thing doesn't get you going."

"I have a thing?" 

"We all have a thing, Woo. Princey's over there is at the end of Mr. Jones' Motorcycle. You know, when he finishes the solo? He always throws his head back, because there's sweat and hair in his eyes. You can see his neck and shit..."

Jungwoo blinked. "Shit, that is his thing… What's mine?"

You raised an eyebrow at Doyoung. "His is the thing where he gets so into it that he throws his head back and plays, and still manages to get every bass note right, right?" 

Doyoung nodded with a satisfied hum. "Gets you going, right?"

You brought a hand up to Jungwoo's chest, slowly sliding it down his stomach. Your voice lowered to a raspy murmur, and Jungwoo's hand tightened around your waist. "Damn right it does." 

"And plus, you both have told me that watching me put together the drum kit is hot."

"'Cause it is!" Again you laughed as Jungwoo said the same thing you did. 

"Jungwoo." Doyoung's voice sounded thicker. "You can't tell me that Y/N isn't an absolute vixen on stage." 

"You're right," The younger man answered, voice gruff. His hand slid down, gripping your butt and giving it a light squeeze, before directing his words at you. "Oh! Y/N, your thing is when—you know how every time you play the transition from Calabasas to Saturn’s Rings you sway your hips and flip your hair back and forth? Sometimes you’ll look at me or at Doyoung while you do, and you looked at me tonight. You're a little tease up there, dollface."

Your breath hitched at their words. “Oh, yeah?” You goaded, cuddling further into Jungwoo’s chest. You let a coy smile grace your face as your eyes fluttered shut. “What do you want me to do about it?”

“Don’t be a brat,” Doyoung growled.

“No, Doie,” Jungwoo hummed. He suddenly sounded a lot more awake. “...What would you have her do about it?”

Your eyes fluttered open, swallowing despite the sudden dryness in your throat. Doyoung's pupils were still blown wide, but you were pretty sure it wasn't because of the weed. He licked his lips. "Princess, get on your knees." 

Jungwoo prompted you up, pulling you up to stand at the side of the bed. Doyoung circled around the bed, before standing next to Jungwoo. Your gaze fluttered between your two boyfriends, one looking stern, the other looking like he was having the time of his life. 

Quietly, you lowered yourself to kneel on the plush carpet, fingers gripping the silver fabric of your dress' skirt to hike it up, so that you wouldn't kneel on it. Your hands itched to reach for them but you knew you needed to ask for permission. "Can I touch you?" 

Doyoung smiled, reaching for his belt. "There's our good girl," He said. Your mouth was already watering embarrassingly as you helped him undo his belt, pulling him out of his boxers. He was already half hard, and as you lifted your hand to spit in it, someone grabbed you gently by the rest. Jungwoo leaned over, turning your hand to reveal your palm to him. His eyes seemed to burn into yours as he let his spit fall into the palm of your hand. You felt your legs close, thighs trying to rub together at the sight. 

"Go on," Jungwoo murmured, using a hand on your jaw to move your head. Your eyes fell on Doyoung's cock again, slowly getting harder and harder. Your hand wrapped around it, stroking slowly as you met his smoldering gaze. You stroked him until he was rock hard in your grip, and his breathing turned heavy. Again, you swallowed, and Doyoung noticed this time. 

“What is it, princess? You want it in your mouth?”

“Yes, please,” You whispered, eyes wide. He chuckled breathily, head tipping back as you ran your thumb over the slit. His eyes met Jungwoo’s, who was palming himself through his pants.  

“What do you think, baby?” He asked him.

“Don’t be mean, Doyoung,” Jungwoo said softly. “Look at her, she’s desperate. Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

You whined, nodding. The pair chuckled. Jungwoo grinned at the state you were already in. “Go ahead, dollface. Give it a kiss.”

Before Doyoung could say anything else, you took his dick into your mouth, and let out a soft moan at how heavy he felt, hot and pulsing. He let out a guttural groan of your name, a hand burying itself in your hair. His other hand gripped Jungwoo’s shirt, pulling him forward to meet in a tongue-filled kiss. 

Slowly, Doyoung’s hips started rocking back and forth, grinding into your mouth. Your hands stroked what you couldn’t fit, as well as his balls. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to relax so as to not gag on his length. But when he sped up, it became too much to avoid. 

A tap on your shoulder, and Doyoung let you off of his cock. You turned your head to look up at a very flushed Jungwoo, who had pulled his dick out of his pants as well. The words, “Me too?” tumbled out of his swollen lips. And with that gentle, breathy tone, who were you to disobey?

You wrapped your lips around Jungwoo, who hissed at the sudden heat of your mouth. From there, something primal inside of you took control, wanting nothing more than to please—you took turns sucking them off and stroking them, the muffled sounds of their moaning spurring you on.

It was always like this—during sex, Doyoung was the meaner one, manhandling you and throwing degrading words in your face that made your stomach curl in sick pleasure. He was the one who could put you in your place when you became too bratty to handle. Jungwoo was gentler, but he was all too content to watch Doyoung toss you around. He would always swoop in after Doyoung took you apart, and piece you back together. He’d tell you how good you were, how good you made the both of them feel, and while he definitely didn’t treat you like fragile porcelain, he definitely didn’t leave as many bruises as Doyoung did. 

And then, when they were both done, they’d shower you in kisses, and whisper in your ear how grateful they were to love you, and say some philosophical thing about eternal love and the cosmos that you’d always be too fucked out to comprehend, but that made your heart do a backflip regardless. 

“Shit,” Jungwoo groaned, pulling away from Doyoung’s lips. “Y/N, I’m gonna cum.” 

You pulled off of Doyoung to look up at Jungwoo. “In my—in my mouth, please, Woo.”

He nodded, licking his lips as his hands fisted themselves in your hair, gripping but not pulling as he allowed you to touch him the way you wanted. His hands gathered the loose strands into a makeshift ponytail, using it to guide your mouth up and down his hot cock. His hips bucked into your willing mouth, the sound of his hissing and his moaning getting louder and louder, until… 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, Y/N… Y/N!" He groaned, as he came into your mouth. His head tipped back, which gave Doyoung access to his neck, pressing sloppy kisses to the skin. This sight was worth the bitter taste that coated your tongue: one of your lovers in ecstasy while the other anchored him to the ground. 

He left his dick in your mouth for a moment, before pulling out with a shaky breath. Doyoung pulled away, letting him breathe. As Jungwoo caught his breath, Doyoung pulled you up, and he sat on the bed, bringing you down with him to straddle his lap. 

You turned your head to face Jungwoo, who smiled at you, coming closer to the both of you. One of his hands patted the top of your head. "That was wicked," He said. 

Doyoung smiled softly, and gripped your chin to get you to face him. His sweet grin didn't disappear as his grip forced your mouth open. He groaned at the sight of your tongue coated in Jungwoo's semen. 

"Gorgeous," He mumbled, eyes trained on your lips as it began to spill out. 

"Kiss her," Jungwoo told him, "You know you want to."

So he did, his tongue almost immediately slipping past your lips to get a taste of Jungwoo for himself, swallowing it down greedily. Your hands came up to unbutton his black dress shirt, and his hands pushed up the skirt of your dress to get you to rock your hips against his. You gasped against his mouth at the feeling of only your soaked panties separating him and you, before pushing the shirt off of him. 

He moved to lie you down on the bed. As he pulled away from you, you caught his tongue slipping out to lick at a dribble of Jungwoo's cum on his lips. To make matters even worse, the bed was rolling beneath you, making your head spin. 

Jungwoo pulled his shirt off before he sat down behind you. Meanwhile, Doyoung moved down your body, parting your legs. He prompted you to sit up, resting your back against his chest. He pressed a kiss to your earlobe as Doyoung peeled your underwear off of you, biting his lip at the sight of your drooling pussy. 

"You're absolutely drenched, princess. And all from sucking our cocks, huh?"

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut as Jungwoo's lips began kissing along your jaw. When you didn't say anything, Jungwoo pinched your sides gently. "Use your words, doll," He whispered. From behind you, his eyes met Doyoung's. "You're gonna keep being our good little girl, right?"

"Y-yes, Jungwoo." Your hand lifted itself to press against his cheek, a silent plea for more kisses. He smiled against your skin. 

"Atta girl," He praised, "On your best behavior for us tonight, huh?" 

"The little slut's just being good because she wants to get fucked, Woo. Don't get it twisted." 

"Please, Doie," You pleaded at the mention of being fucked, "Need it."

The older man chuckled lowly, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. 

"Told you."

His tongue pressed itself against your hole, and you immediately cried out. You would have immediately started grinding against Doyoung's face if it weren't for Jungwoo's hands on your hips, holding you down and keeping it still. 

"I don't think you wanna do that," He murmured. His hands travelled underneath your skirt, gripping the silvery blue gossamer as he tried to lift it up. You did your best to keep your squirming at a minimum as you tried to help him get you out of it. Finally, the bell sleeves were pulled off, and you were left naked as the day you were born.

Jungwoo’s hands moved to your breasts, playing with them as he watched you whimper at the sensation of Doyoung’s mouth working at your folds. When he slipped his tongue inside, you keened, head falling against Jungwoo’s shoulder. 

“You’re so pretty like this,” He whispered. 

Your chest heaved, squirming up and down as he began to tug and pinch your nipples, calloused fingertips making you cry out.

Doyoung’s free hand gripped your thigh, and his fingers on the other hand slipped inside when he pulled his tongue out. Immediately, he plunged in two fingers, curling his fingers as he attempted to search for that one special spot.

"Ngh, Doie, faster, pleasepleaseplease." Your legs were trembling slightly now. 

"So fucking slutty," Doyoung mumbled, chuckling wickedly, "And all I had to do was stick my fingers inside." 

He complied with no protest, and the sensation of Doyoung stroking your walls and Jungwoo continuously pawing at your breasts caused a string of moans to come pouring out of your mouth. Jungwoo had been sucking a bruise into your clavicle, but leaned up to press his lips against yours. 

"Don't want anyone hearing what's meant for Doie and I," He said, lips brushing yours. 

The idea made you even needier, the double entendre making your head spin. Jungwoo didn't want anyone to hear you because if they did, rumors would spread. And on top of that? He didn't want anyone to hear. You were theirs. They were yours. This was a sacred ritual between bodies meant to be witnessed by only the three of you.

Your head felt like you were floating, even though your limbs felt like they were sinking into the watery mattress. A coil began to tighten in your stomach, and your soft whines, muffled by Jungwoo's plush lips, increased in pitch. 

They both knew what this meant, because a second later, Doyoung removed his fingers from your core, and Jungwoo pulled away, his hands moving from your breasts to rest on Doyoung's atop your hips. You were left reeling and breathing heavily, that familiar sensation floating away.

When you looked down at Doyoung, you swallowed at the sight of his lips, chin and fingers, all glistening with your wetness.

He lifted himself up off the mattress, and proceeded to sandwich your chest in between his own chest and Jungwoo’s back. He gripped his dick, rubbing it against your folds, which were now even more soaked than before.

"Tell me how much you want it, princess." He pressed his forehead against yours, hissing when the tip caught your clit. You let out a desperate whine, clinging to his broad shoulders. 

"Do—Doyoung, please fuck me," You begged, reeling at the sensation. He was so close, all he had to do was slide in. But he refused.

"Not good enough," He insisted.

"Doyoung, don't be mean," Jungwoo said, but he seemed to be more amused by your desperation than anything.

"No, I wanna hear how much she needs us."

You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths, trying to gather your words. Jungwoo's hands stroked your sides, trying to calm you down. "You doing alright, doll? You wanna take a breather?"

"We can always stop." Doyoung's voice had turned stable, secure, safe. He started pulling away, until you grabbed him by the forearm and shook your head. You opened your eyes, seeing concern in his eyes

“No,” You mumbled, “Jus’ want some water. Think there’s some in the minibar. ‘M really hot.”

Doyoung nodded, getting up and striding over to the small refrigerator on the other side of the room. He pulled out a water bottle, and popped open the cap before passing it to you. Jungwoo had taken to fanning your face lightly with his hand. You took several long swigs of water, before setting it on the nightstand.

“I’m fine,” You promised. “Can we please keep going? I can take it.”

Doyoung pressed a kiss to your temple. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Yeah,” You said with a nod. 

“Doyoung,” Jungwoo murmured, “Be careful.”

“I know, baby." He lowered his eyes to study your face. "I won’t go that hard on you, Y/N.”

You nodded, even though deep down you wanted to protest. You knew that this was probably the best route to take. You could already feel the high—from the weed and the concert—wearing off. You knew that if Doyoung were too rough you’d probably crash on the way down instead of float.

So, Jungwoo brushed some stray hair out of your sweaty face, and Doyoung grabbed your legs gently, wrapping them around his hips. Slowly, Doyoung eased in, and you sighed in satisfaction of finally being filled. He bit into your shoulder, taking deep heaving breaths as he let you get used to the sensation. Jungwoo took turns pressing kisses to the top of your head and the top of Doyoung’s head. 

“I love you both so much,” He whispered, “I’m so grateful the universe brought us together.” 

Doyoung looked up at him, pressing a kiss to his lips. “My baby,” He murmured against Jungwoo’s lips. He then turned to you and did the same, “My princess.”

You smiled at their words, but the need in your core was becoming unbearable. "Doie, Woo, I love you both so much," You murmured, "But Doyoung, if you don't move I'll pin you down and do it myself."

"And you were doing so well," Doyoung groaned with a laugh, before beginning to thrust his hips. It was a slow, torturous glide, and the way it caused the bed to rock left you dizzy in the best possible way. Doyoung was panting into your ear like some sort of beast, and you were whining softly with every cant of his hips.

"You must feel so good right now, huh, doll?" 

"Jung—woo," You moaned, clawing at his bicep.

"I know, dolly, I know." He sounded sympathetic enough, but the way he was grinding his dick against your ass suggested otherwise. "Bunny boy is just so good with those hips of his, hm?"

"H-he is!" You cried, "Feel so full, ah, Doyoung!" 

Doyoung's eyes met yours, and his hips picked up their pace, until your eyes rolled up into your head. Your head thrashed side to side, leaning against Jungwoo's shoulder. His mouth lowered once again to kiss at your neck, and your hand wrapped itself against his nape, while the other gripped Doyoung's shoulders.

Jungwoo's hands slithered down to where you and Doyoung were connected, and started rubbing at your clit. You shrieked, chest arching. Doyoung hissed. "Shit, do that again," He bit out, "Fuck, princess you just got so tight."

"D-Doie, harder!" 

Doyoung looked up at Jungwoo, the two having an unspoken conversation. A second later, Jungwoo gave a cautious nod. Doyoung smiled, before he adjusted his legs. Then…

Then. He began pounding into you at a breakneck pace. Your legs tightened around him, wanting him even deeper than before. 

"You love this, don't you? Our pretty little slut." His voice was tighter now, panting with exertion. You nodded. 

"Yes, yes! I'm your slut!" 

Doyoung grinned, before locking lips with you. His tongue dipped into your mouth, before letting you do the same to him. You could tell he was starting to feel something—he always kissed you or Jungwoo as a way of telling you he wouldn't last much longer. 

Truthfully, you could feel it coming too—your body felt like it was on fire, and your hips couldn't stop squirming. Whether it was towards Jungwoo's calloused fingers on your clit, Doyoung's cock, or away from both, you couldn't tell. Your moans were getting shriller too.

You clenched down on his length again, and he grit his teeth, grunting as his pace turned sloppy.

"C-c'mon, princey," You pleaded, "Give it to me, give it…"

"Shit, yes…" His head lolled onto your shoulder. "Gonna stuff you so full, princess, you'll be dripping—"

"Please! Oh, please—"

The two of you fell apart almost at the same time, your orgasm triggering Doyoung's a second later. Your mouth fell open, legs trembling and heart pounding as waves crashed over and under you.

When you came down, Doyoung rolled off of you, turning onto his side to watch you and Jungwoo. Jungwoo, who ceased the movements of his hands and slowly laid you down. Your head landed against the pillows, and you let your eyes shut as you caught your breath. 

"Can I take care of you one last time, doll?" You heard Jungwoo say. Your eyes opened blearily, and you reached a hand out towards him, legs parting of their own accord.

Both of your lovers groaned at the sight of your pussy, Doyoung's cum brimming from your folds. 

"Absolute perfection," Jungwoo murmured, crawling between your legs. He gripped his dick with one hand, the other swiping through your folds, and you immediately whined at the sensitivity there, teetering the fine line between pleasure and pain.

"Please," You whimpered, "Woo, I want it."

"You're insatiable." He sounded so affectionate, so in love. You watched as his eyes studied his index and middle fingers, covered in a mix of Doyoung's cum and yours, before dipping them into his mouth to lick them clean. You sighed, a dopey smile gracing your features. He lowered himself down to brush noses with you, dark eyes blown wide, wide awake despite the dark circles underneath.

"Guess I'll just have to do something about that."

He slid in as if he was coming home, immediately setting a solid pace that had you seeing stars, arms wrapping around his shoulders to lock hands at his nape. The sensitivity left you pliant in his arms, and Jungwoo didn't hesitate in cradling you in his arms.

"So good for us, Y/N. Always Doie and I's sweet girl." 

You nodded, tears brimming at your eyes at the heaviness in your chest, the pulsing in your core. His hair was falling into his eyes, and you lifted your hands to his face, doing your best to brush it away. Your hands cupped his cheeks, heavy eyes burning into his. Your hips were rutting against his desperately now, wanting nothing more than to feel that high with him.

Jungwoo pressed a brief kiss to your neck, feeling something simmer in his gut embarrassingly fast. 

Doyoung placed his head next to yours, gently lifting Jungwoo's head to kiss him, hand brushing the other man's ass. When he pulled away, he kissed you as well, and Jungwoo's mouth pressed itself to one of your nipples. You keened against Doyoung's mouth, hips losing all semblance of grace.

Here, you were needy, animalistic, running on instincts, and your boys were drinking it up like water from a desert oasis. 

Doyoung pulled away, a thin trail of spit connecting his lips to yours. His hands cradled your head.

"Can you feel it yet, princess?"

Your eyebrows furrowed, silent moans falling from your lips. "Ah, yeah, Doie… s-so close…"

"Me too," Jungwoo groaned between your breasts, "So wet, Y/N…"

"That's from all the cum she's filled with, right, princess?"

You nodded. "Mm—ngh! Stuffed me so good, Doie." 

"Yeah? You gonna let Jungwoo fill you up even more? Gonna keep it all inside, right?"

Your stomach did a backflip, and you felt your toes curl. "Yes, yes, yes, yes, I want it—"

"I'll give it to you, doll," Jungwoo growled, "It's all—fuck—all yours. S-same way this is all for us, right?"

Those words were what caused you to finally fall over the edge. Your high was so intense that you could have sworn that your ears popped—clawing at Jungwoo’s shoulders, your eyes squeezed shut. Only one side ended up scratched, since you always kept your right hand nails short to properly play guitar. You sobbed against Doyoung’s lips, and he eagerly swallowed up your cries, shushing you gently as you came back down.

You didn't feel Jungwoo come inside, but you felt it immediately afterwards—the satisfying stickiness, the warmth in your stomach. 

You looked at Jungwoo, pressing a soft kiss to his sweaty forehead before prompting him to move off. He wrapped his arm around you, pulling you towards him as his little spoon, peppering kisses to your cheek and whispering how good you were. The two of you looked at Doyoung. You reached out, making grabby hands at him. His eyes were drooping, and he was blinking blearily as if he were trying to fight off sleep.

Still, he got up and pulled his pack of cigarettes out of his shirt pocket, as well as his lighter. As he sat back down on the bed, the waves sent you and Jungwoo further and further into the recesses of slumber. As consciousness left you, you caught Doyoung looking down at the two of you as if you were the most precious beings he'd ever encountered. His tone was low and grumbly, but there was a glint of smug satisfaction in his eye.

"I hope you two are happy. I can't remember those goddamn lyrics anymore." 

[going-dead]

Lightning Scars and Listening Ears

Phic phight prompt by @datawyrms : Danny Phantom's jumpsuit is hiding a secret he'd rather not reveal to anyone. (feel free to be metaphorical if you want.) l

Team Human: @currentlylurking​

Most citizens of Amity Park often forgot that Phantom wasn’t human. Sure he would fly through the skies, turn invisible, and shoot ectoplasm at the ghosts who would attack the city on a daily basis, but the way he acted when not saving the city always seemed so alive. That’s where the problem lied though. The ghost kid wasn’t alive, a fact that Amity Park never actually thought much about.

Phantom was playing around with some kids in the park when it all happened. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the boy play with the younger citizens of the city, under their parents supervision most of the time. Seeing him give them piggyback rides and playing tag was actually a common sight when there were no ghosts to fight. Phantom had six different kids hanging off of his arms and legs, apparently trying to tackle him and get him to fall down. The group of parents laughed at the sight as the teenage hero fell to the ground admitting his defeat in a dramatic flourish. “Ahh you got me! Foul villains, you will regret this!” He laughed as he lunged at the closest kid and launched a tickle attack. Childish squeels rang out as the uncaptured children ran trying to avoid being tickled. The little girl in his arms was finally released from her attacker when she turned on Phantom and started to tickle him back. His laughter attracted the other kids who scattered and they joined the counter attack.

“I yield I yield!” He flailed his arms as a dozen little hands tickled any spot they could reach. The kids slowly let up their assault leaving the teen gasping for breath.

One of the children, the girl who started the attack on Phantom, pulled on his arm. “Mr. Phantom? What’s that did you get a owie?” She asked pointing to his neck where part of his jumpsuit wrinkled down revealing a few red raised streaks maring his skin.

Phantom froze eyes jumping over to the adults just a few feet over who had stopped their conversation to try to see what the young girl was asking about. He quickly pulled the collar of his suit back into place. He gave the girl and the other kids surrounding him a pained smile. “Yeah I did get an owie. Don’t worry though I’m fine, doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Suddenly blue frost escaped his lips, the adults sitting nearby never saw him more relieved to have a ghost show up than in that moment. He gave quick goodbyes to the kids before shooting off to find the day's threat to the city.

All the adults gathered waved over their respective kids. While they trusted Phantom to get rid of the threat it was always smart to stay inside during a ghost attack. A loud boom sounded in the direction where Phantom flew off, shaking the ground. They all gave each other uncertain looks. “My house is closest we can take shelter there.” One of the men said leading everyone away.

After a block of running the group was almost to shelter when the ghost fight moved over their heads. The adults grabbed onto the children doing their best to shield them from the flying debris. They held the kids against their chests as they watched the sky in horror. They didn’t recognize the attacking ghost, but it was certainly doing a number on Phantom. The rest of the battle lasted at most a minute when Phantom managed to suck up the ghost into his thermos before he seemed to wobble in the sky and falling to the ground creating a small crater where he landed.

The man who was leading the group passed off the kid he was holding to the man next to him. “David what are you-?”

“Brian just hold her.” He ran over to the fallen teen and picked him up in a fireman's carry and rushed the rest of the way to his house.

Once he arrived he kicked open the door and placed the teen onto the couch in his living room. He looked down trying to assess the situation. Phantom’s jumpsuit was torn in numerous places exposing spots of his arms, neck, and chest that had splatterings of green ectoplasm across the exposed flesh. He started taking the rest of the jumpsuit off of the teen wanting to make sure there were no hidden injuries underneath. Behind him he could hear his husband and the other parents come through the door. “Get me a wet rag and some warm water!” He yelled behind him.

Once he was handed the items he started working on cleaning up the cuts and wiping off the ectoplasm. He silently thanked any higher being out there that he took a first aid class a few years back. The wounds actually seemed less severe than what David initially thought, that or the kid had some seriously advanced healing. One of the parents led the kids upstairs while the rest of them crowded around David and Phantom.

Once Phantom was as patched up as he could be David finally sat back and actually took a full look at the boy. His breath caught in his throat as he examined the body infront of him. In the end all he could get out was.“Oh my god. He’s- he’s dead.”

“What the hell do you mean? Of course he’s not, I can clearly see him breathing right now.” One of the parents protested.

David shook his head. “No.” He went to run his hands down his face before spotting the blood- no the ectoplasm covering them and settled for grabbing onto his husband for support. “No, I mean he’s a ghost.”

“Well yeah he’s a ghost it’s not like that’s news now is it?” Brian said running his hand up and down his husband's back.

“You guys don’t get it.” David pulled back. “Think! Look!” He ran his hand through his hair, staining it green. “Look at him.” He pointed at the teen’s unconscious body. There were lightning shaped scars running all over the boy’s body, from the base of his neck trailing all the way down to his ankles. Those weren’t the only scars marring his body though, small scars were scattered all over his body, there was a rather large one on his abdomen in the same spot where he was hit the other week fighting off a ghost who was attacking the high school. The gathered adults looked back at Phantom’s face. As he slept he almost looked like a normal teenager, there were small bags under his eyes, his closed eyes hid the toxic green color, and the glow surrounding him was almost nonexistent.

Three things seemed to dawn on the parents all at once.

1: Phantom at some point had died

2: He died young, at most he was just out of middle school when it happened.

3: From the looks of it he didn’t die in his sleep but painfully. They all silently hoped that at least it wasn’t drawn out.

As they all looked at each other they couldn’t help but think of their own children who were just upstairs. Did Phantom have a family? Did his parents miss their little boy? Do they know that Phantom was their son? Even worse, the boy had a jumpsuit on when he died, was his parents the cause of his premature death?

Of course if Phantom was conscious, didn’t have to worry about the whole identity thing, and could read their minds the boy would quickly put their minds to rest responding; yes, no he sees them daily, god no, and sorta it really was more of a case of teenage stupidity than his parents fault though.

Two of those issues though were quickly resolved as two white rings shocked the group out of their grief for a boy they hardly knew. The rings traveled across the boy’s body replacing bare skin with street clothes and white hair with black. Everyone looked at Phantom(?) confused, the boy in front of them was very unghost-like and the scratch on his face that was previously bleeding green now had a red where the scab was forming.

“What the fu- wait isn’t that the Fenton kid, Danny I think?” David asked looking back at the other parents who were in the same amount of shock that he was. Actually he was positive it was him, his older sister Jazz used to babysit their daughter and he would sometimes come along. If someone was going to respond they were cut off as the boy in front of them started to stir and open his eyes. He sat up almost falling off the couch in his panic, thankfully David was quick enough to catch him. “Woah there Danny, be careful you took a pretty bad beating out there. Hell I’m surprised you’re already awake to be honest kid.”

Danny gave him a thankful smile as he steadied himself. He froze once he caught a glimpse of his hair, his eyes shot down to his clothes. He looked back up and noticed the group of adults in front of him. “Now before you jump to any conclusions there’s a very reasonable explanation for this, or there will be just give me a few minutes.” “Wait so does this mean you’re not dead?” Brian asked.

“Brian you can’t just ask that! What if it’s a sensitive subject?” David scolded his husband then looked over at Danny. “Sorry about him.”

Danny looked over to the men who for some reason had hope in their eyes. “What? It’s fine. I mean I guess no- well yes- no- sorta- it’s complicated.”

As Danny looked at the numerous questioning eyes he sighed. It’s not like he could convince them that it was a trick of the light or something. And he did owe them since they patched him up better than he would have been able to at home in his bedroom. But before he could start he turned to David. “I’ll tell you guys everything but first um… is that my ectoplasm in your hair and on your hands? Because if so you probably should wash that off, prolonged exposure isn’t harmful per say but you could start to glow or something if you don’t wash it off soon.”

David looked down to his hands, apparently just now remembering he was still covered in the boy’s ectoplasm and rushed to the bathroom to wash it off. He’d worry about why the sight of his own blood- ectoplasm didn’t phase Danny at all later.

Once David returned, now free of ectoplasm, Danny sat down and started from the beginning. At one point in the story he must have started to cry because he was handed a tissue box, which he accepted with a thanks. By the end he wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes, one of the adults had to go into the kitchen to compose themselves. Danny didn’t really understand why though, sure he sort of half died, but he didn’t see why it would affect any of them. “Hey! It’s fine, I’m fine it’s not a big deal! I mean it’s not like it only happened to me. Vlad went through it too like 20 years ago.” Danny seized up after he said that. “Don’t tell him you know about him though! Me not telling anyone about him is the only reason he’s not trying to fully kill me when we fight. That and he has a weird obsession with my mom and me.”

David paused at that. “So you’re telling us that not only did you go through a highly traumatic situation at a young age, but the only adult that even knows about it has tried to kill you multiple times?”

“I mean I guess but Jazz, my sister, knows about it too and she’s older than me and my friends.”

“Danny she’s also still a kid, an older one sure, but she is not an adult. Even if you didn’t go to your parents, was there no one else you could have talked to about it with? A therapist maybe?” David asked.

Danny laughed. “Ah no, Jazz tried having me go to the school therapist but she turned out to be a ghost who wanted to try to cause as much pain as possible. She even almost killed Jazz in front of the whole school.”

“Dear god.” David sighed. “All right, we will all keep your secret on one condition.”  Danny cringed and looked down at his lap, of course there was a catch. He just hoped it wasn’t anything too bad like letting them run a bunch of experiments on him whenever they wanted to. His ghost injuries were bad enough to hide from others, he didn’t need to have to explain away needle marks or something. “You’ll see Brian once a week for therapy sessions. He’s a licensed psychiatrist.”

“Wait what?” Danny looked up confused.

“Oh don’t worry I won’t charge you of course since we are forcing you to do this, and obviously you can choose the day of the week. I usually don't work fridays or the weekends but if those are the only days that work I’m sure we can rearrange some of our family time to make room for you.” Brian smiled. “Now it’s getting pretty late isn’t it? I’m sure it’s about time everyone here starts to head home now hmm? Of course if you aren’t feeling well enough Danny I can call your parent’s up and just let them know you’ll be staying here. I’ll just tell them you were injured in a ghost fight, not exactly lying now is it?”

“Um no I’m fine enough to walk home thank you though.” Danny said. Everyone started saying their goodbyes and calling the children down to get them ready to leave. Danny was the last one left, he was almost out the door when he was stopped by David handing him a piece of paper.

“Here are our numbers, I also wrote down where Brian’s office is, you can set up your appointment over text. As well as our address, you can stop by or call us for any reason Danny and I mean it okay, any.”

Danny looked down at the paper and pocketed it with a nod. As he left he felt almost lighter for some reason. Maybe having adults who knew and didn’t want to kill him but actually wanted to help him wasn’t so bad after all.

[reidgraygubler]

short skirt, high heels (spencer reid/reader)

Title: short skirt, high heels, 

Anon requested: Hi! May i please have a Spencer one shot? y/n has been part of the team for a while, she’s confident, fun and always wearing professional but slightly sexy workwear. Spencer is caught staring at y/n legs while she’s wearing a skirt. Her and Spence have a flirty friendship that leads to more?

Couple: spencer reid/fem reader

Category: spicy fluff

Content Warning: comments about sex, sex jokes, swearing, low-key sub!spencer, low-key dom!reader, mentions of drinking (but no actual drinking) 

Word Count: 2,371

Summary: Spencer has had a crush on reader since she basically started working for the BAU. It doesn’t help that reader dresses to leave a little to the imagination and is constantly flirting with him.

A/N: this is my first time writing dom(-ish)!reader… let alone sub(-ish)!spencer… so pretty please bare with me with this one… i mean, i think i did a dom(-ish)!reader... but yeah! thank you everyone for the love and support! check out my masterlist!

{***}{***}{***}

I don’t know why I wear such revealing clothing to work. It’s modest and professional, I just have to put that out there. But, it is on the sexier side of clothing. I suppose I do it because I like it, it makes me feel more confident. And you need a certain level of confidence to have a job at the FBI’s prestigious Behavioural Analysis Unit. 

The way people's eyes followed me felt great. I loved it. But it was always one person who caught my attention, or I caught their attention I should say. It was always the same person, and will forever be the same person. Spencer Reid’s eyes have been on me since day one, not that I’m complaining. 

I could picture it clearly how his eyes followed me from the elevator all the way to Hotchner’s office. And how red his face was when Derek called him out about. It was honestly my favorite thing in the world. I kinda felt bad about the teasing he got. But, he shouldn’t have been staring in the first place. It was my first day! I didn’t know him… Let alone did he know me.

A pile of files was sitting in one arm, while my free hand held a small briefcase. The elevator was a scratchy silvery color, and the lights from above reflected off every surface. 

My hair was pulled back in a high and curly ponytail. A tight, navy blue, pencil skirt clung to my legs, and a modest, yet very low, red blouse hung from my shoulders. I typically try to do subtle makeup for professional days, but I always look like some sort of supermodel at the end of the day. 

The doors to the elevator doors dinged open, showing me, behind a floor to ceiling window, the open offices of the BAU. Aaron Hotchner would be the man I was looking for, but their offices were so open, people were walking around, bustling because of their copious amounts of work. Can’t wait for that to be my life.

I tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear as I entered the main office area. A few people were sitting and standing around one person’s desk. They were all laughing and talking to each other as the people around them worked their asses off. Their boss just lets them do this?

I furrowed my eyebrows as I walked into the office area some more. People were still rushing past me, not talking to me. I know for a fact I don’t look familiar to anyone here, and I look lost to everyone. A little help would be nice.

“Could you tell me…” I started to talk but didn’t get to finish my thought when the person just continued walking. I let out an annoyed sigh and went to stop someone else, but fail when they glared at me and kept walking. 

“Uh, Aaron Hotchner’s office?” I failed again. I threw my head back and let out a deep sigh. I didn’t realize just how busy it was today. If I had known it was so busy, I wouldn’t have come in today.

“Excuse me,” I stepped right in front of someone else and they stopped to look at me. 

“I’m sorry, I gotta go. Time-sensitive thing,” they pointed at their watch before pushing past me. I bit my lower lip and shook my head again.

“Can anyone please tell me where Aaron Hotchner’s office is?!” I only half-shouted. I still gotta maintain some level of professionalism. I was just getting fed up with everyone ignoring me. Everyone around me stopped their movement and looked at me. 

The group of people at the desk all stared at me with wide eyes before pointing towards the other side of the room. I looked at everyone before looking at where they were pointing. A man wearing a black suit and a businessman haircut was standing on a small catwalk, looking at everyone in the office area. Although, he was mostly looking at me. I widened my eyes and looked down at the ground with wide eyes before walking over to him.

“Hi, you must be Aaron Hotchner,” I looked up at him before introducing myself. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene,” I looked back out in front of us. Everyone was back at their work, even the people at the desk. All except for one person.

A man, who was with the group around the desk, was staring at me. Not near me or at Aaron, but right at me. It was just obvious that he was staring at me. His eyes carefully lingering on my legs, or arms, or my chest for the briefest second. But never long enough on my face. Although when he did look at my face, I smiled and winked. His face grew three shades red. 

“No, no, don’t worry. I understand the hustle and bustle of this place,” Aaron laughed before turning to look at me, “Let’s step inside my office.”

So, that’s where I was work-wise. Working on the team with the BAU, with the man who stared at me and became a tomato the second I winked at him. Ah, good ole’ Spencer Reid. That boy doesn’t even know he’s infatuated with me… But I do.

I’ve had my fair share of flirts with him, and scandalous comments made about the two of us. Or, the jokes and teasing made by others. Although, our friendship always had some sort of flirtiness to it, even if he didn’t notice he was flirting with me. There was still something there. I smiled at the thought of him being so oblivious and clueless. 

Derek giving him pointers or tips was my favorite. The help was nice, honestly. But, it was the execution. It was a little sad when Derek left to be with Hank and Savannah, leaving poor Spencer to fend for himself. Of course, Rossi tried but no really let Spencer listen. 

I could hear his voice now when he told Derek and David that he didn’t need tips or pointers, because ‘He doesn’t have a crush on her.’ They never really gave up on that though.

“Seems like you’ve caught someone’s attention,” Emily muttered as she looked down at the desk. I glanced over my shoulder and noted that the eyes one Spencer Reid were wandering up and down my lower half and backside. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t dressing for a guy. I mean, I dress mostly for myself. But the unwanted, yet wanted, attention from one guy was excellent.

“And he says he doesn’t have a crush on me,” I looked back at Emily with a smile. She laughed as she looked at the paperwork I was signing. “Do you think he even knows he’s staring?” I spoke as I placed the pen down on the desktop.

“I don’t think he knows he likes you,” she replied, finally shuffling the papers together in a neat pile. I scoffed and shook my head. “C’mon, you know Reid. He’s got the innocence of a 1st grader when it comes to relationships and romance,” she laughed as she stood up straight.

“True, this is true,” I returned the laughter as I stood up so I was no longer leaning over my desk. “All done with paperwork?” I asked, smiling at Emily.

“For now, I hope,” she laughed as she picked up the papers. “Good luck with you know who,” she spoke in a sing-y song tone before slipping away to her office. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled when I saw that Spencer was still staring at me.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I winked once he looked up at my face. And I swear, his face changed several different shades of red as he looked at me. He went from looking normal to looking like Roma Tomato. I didn’t feel bad about my joke either. It wasn’t the first time I’d caught him staring at me. “Or just close your eyes and use your robot brain to take a picture,” I smirked at him.  

“I… I wasn’t staring,” Spencer muttered as he pulled his eyes from my body to look at his own paperwork. I slowly walked away from my desk and over towards him. I leaned over so I was the same height as him. But, that also gave him a great look at my cleavage. I smirked when he struggled to not stare at my chest.

“Sure you weren’t,” I placed my hand to his cheek and smiled. For a moment he leaned more into my touch, but instantly jerked away from my hand, “It’s okay, you weren’t staring at me. I get it.” I smiled and cocked my head, “I know how I look. I’d stare too if I was you,” I pulled my hand away from his face before sitting down in his lap. Spencer held his hands up so he wasn’t touching me at all. I had to force myself not to pout. I’d be okay if he touched me in any way, innocent, not innocent… Doesn’t matter. 

“What are you doing!? There are people here! Watching!” He exclaimed once I was settled on his legs. I smiled and nodded.

“I know, I know,” I whispered as I wrapped my arms around his neck, “But, the next time I catch you staring at my ass, I’m gonna do a lot worse than sitting on your lap, Reid,” I smiled and blinked at him. He stared at me and nodded slowly, like even though he understood the words I was saying, he knew he wasn’t going to follow through with them.

It was impressive how his face got even redder. But it was crazy. I kinda liked it too. 

“Do you understand?” I whispered as I looked at him. He nodded. I smiled again before I stood up. “I’d understand if you look again, I won’t be upset. In fact, I’ll encourage it, Spence,” ” I kept smiling at him as I walked away from him. 

I returned to my desk and gathered my things before I left the office for the day. As I looked over my shoulder, Spencer was definitely staring at me, and he knew I definitely caught him. So, I smiled before winking and waving as the elevator doors shut.

{***}{***}{***}

“O’Keefes anyone?” Luke asked as we stepped off the elevator. I rolled my shoulders and looked at him with a somewhat flirtatious smile. He returned the smile and winked.

“I’m always down to go to O’Keefes with you, Lukey Poo,” I cooed as I pinched his cheek. A groan came from the back of the group, causing me to turn and look. A smile grew on my lips when my eyes landed on Spencer, who had rolled his eyes and looked away from Luke and I. “You comin’ with us, Pretty Boy? First-round on me?” I smiled at him.

“I’m definitely in if you’re buying drinks,” Jennifer looked at me before stepping ahead of Luke and I. I smiled at her before looking back at Spencer.

“Pretty please,” I half begged as I pouted my lower lip and gave my best puppy dog eyes. Spencer looked back at me, a pointed stare in his eye. I gave him my best puppy dog eyes and playful pout as I looked at him. “You don’t even have to drink. You can just sit there and be quiet,” I spoke before abruptly stopping in my tracks. And just as I turned around, Spencer walked right into me. In order to keep me from toppling over, he grabbed both my arms to keep me upright. His hands were touching the exposed skin on my arms, causing me to smile. This would be the first time he was touching me, off of a case. Working on a case is a whole different story. Pulling me out of the way of an unsub is different than firmly placing his hands on my arms to steady me from falling.

“You need to be more careful… I won’t always be there to catch you when you fall,” he spoke low just so I could hear him. I smiled as I looked up at him.

“But, I’d love it if you were there,” I lifted a hand to place on his chest. Just as he opened his mouth, someone appeared beside us. I smiled as I looked over at the person.

“Will you two just get a room already?” Emily looked between Spencer and I before leaving us alone. I looked back up at Spencer with a new, confident, and flirtatious smile. He looked clueless as always. Of course, he didn’t know what Emily meant by that.

“Whaddya say we go find a broom closet and show up to O’Keefes a little later than the others,” I carefully wrapped my arms around his neck. Even in my highest heels, Spencer was still a good few inches taller than me. So, I stood on my toes to try to get closer to his personal space and lean closer to his face. “I know where some great broom closets are to get… funky in,” I whispered as I leaned closer to him. We were a good few inches away from each other, and it was taking everything in me to not press my lips to his.  

“I… I, uh... Uh,” Spencer started, but clearly couldn’t find the words to say anything. I smiled before lifting a finger to his lips.

“Just a nod or a shake of your head will be okay…  And, if you say no, I won’t be upset. I’ll stop and I won’t bring it up again… Now, Doctor Reid,” I whispered as I pulled my finger away from his lips. “Do you want to go find a broom closet and have some fun in there?” I asked again. Spencer stared at me with wide eyes before rapidly nodding. I put my arms back around his neck before pressing my lips to his. Spencer placed his hands firmly on my waist.

And after 8 years of working here, I’m finally getting what I want. 

taglist: @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto

[hercleverboy]

butterflies

spencer reid x reader

summary ↠ the reader is wrongly accused of murder. spencer doesn’t believe she’s innocent.

category ↠ angst

warnings/includes ↠ wrongful conviction, imprisonment.

word count ↠ 4.3k

“But he, that dares not grasp the thorn, should never crave the rose.” — Anne Brontë

Have you ever heard of the butterfly effect?

They say that a tiny butterfly flapping its wings today can result in a devastating hurricane weeks from now. Every decision we make leads us to an array of new paths that we wouldn’t have had we chosen the other option. Every choice we make opens a hundred new doors up for you, but closes a hundred doors behind you.

Y/N liked to think that her meeting Spencer Reid was meant to be.

How else could she explain that her making the last minute decision to stop for coffee on the way to work led to her meeting the most important person in her life? If she’d decided to head straight to work like she was meant to, she may never have met the pretty genius with eyes like honey. 

Y/N wasn’t a big believer. Not in miracles, not in a higher power. But she did believe in the universe, that she was meant to meet Spencer and they were meant to be in one another’s lives.

They were the best of friends. Of course, as every love story goes, Y/N always craved more. She wanted to wake up to Spencer on Sunday mornings, she wanted to have cute dinner dates and autumn walks through the park hand in hand. She would stay up late wondering if their relationship would work, with him being gone a lot of the time. While the two had very different jobs, Y/N being the head of a publishing company, she was always understanding of his schedule. In all honesty, her love wasn’t unrequited. Spencer had wanted the same thing, but he too feared rejection from his best friend. 

As humans, we tend not to admit our feelings to those we like through fear of rejection. Its pure human instinct, to protect ourselves from harm. For that reason, Y/N never told Spencer how she felt. She figured that it confessing her feelings wasn’t worth the risk of losing him from her life altogether, so she said nothing. 

That would prove to be her first mistake. 

Loud banging on her front door awoke her from her sleep with a jolt. She squinted her eyes open, letting them adjust to the darkness as she woke. Her ears picked up on the sound of voices coming from behind her front door, the loud calls rattling through her tiny apartment. She strained her ears to hear what they were saying, still half asleep. 

“Y/N Y/L/N? This is the FBI, open up.” 

At first she thought it was some kind of joke. She knew Spencer worked for the BAU, and figured this was likely some sort of prank. Not that Spencer was ever one for practical jokes, but he always managed to surprise her. She pulled herself up from the bed with a groan, grabbing the cardigan she’d tossed on the floor to cover herself, as she was only in the top and shorts she wore to bed. Just as she had begun to walk towards the front door, in bust down in front of her, a loud yelp leaving her in response. The first two faces she sees she recognises. Derek Morgan and David Rossi, Spencer’s co-workers. She’d met them once or twice before and got along with them all well. 

She was about to ask what was going on when she noticed that the two men had guns pointed at her. She locked eyes with Derek, as the fear and realisation that this definitely wasn’t a prank set in. She felt frozen to the spot, her breathing picking up and tears welling in her eyes.

“What- What’s happening?” She mumbled out. She couldn’t comprehend what was happening. The FBI had stormed her apartment, and now they pointing weapons at her - as if she was dangerous. 

Derek and Rossi shared a look, before Derek put his gun back in the holster. “Are you going to come willingly? Or do we have to do this the hard way?” He asked, and Y/N noticed how he spoke so calmly. It made her feel sick. Why was he speaking to her like she was an unsub, a criminal, like she would hurt them given the chance. 

When Y/N didn’t speak or move, paralysed by confusion and fear, he moved toward her, and she could hear the clinking of metal as he reached for her hands, pinning them behind her back and cuffing her tightly. “Y/N Y/L/N. We’re arresting you under suspicion of murder. You do not have to say anything-” 

It was as if up until that point things had been moving in slow motion for Y/N, and then all of a sudden everything went back to full speed. She attempted to turn to face Derek as he led her out of the building. She was shaking her head profusely. “I didn’t- I didn’t do anything just please-”. Her thoughts were so jumbled that she struggled to string together a coherent sentence. 

Derek didn’t speak, remaining stoic with his expression as they walked through the doors of the apartment building. Outside were numerous police cars, the blue and red lights flashing. The dirty looks that officers were giving her as she was pulled towards the police car made her feel incredibly nauseous. She wanted to scream, to beg and plead. 

‘Please! Please, I’m not a criminal- I’m not capable of murder, please. It wasn’t me!’

Everything was happening so quickly. 

Derek opened up the car door, pushing her to sit in the seat. she looked at him with pleading eyes as her breathing picked up, panic setting in. “Derek, Derek please. I didn’t do anything. Get Spencer, he’ll- he’ll tell you it wasn’t me.” 

Derek looked almost torn as he looked back at the begging girl, who seemed so genuine and kind that he almost couldn’t believe she was guilty. They’d met a few times when Spencer had invited Y/N along to the BAU’s nights out, and he was actually quite fond of her.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. But Reid’s the one who told us to bring you in.” He sighed, before slamming shut the door. The look of defeat on Y/N’s face was heartbreaking. She felt her chest start to restrict as sobs began to rip through her, her whole body shaking as she cried. 

*

She’d been sat in the interrogation room for what felt like hours but she knew in reality it had likely only been a matter of minutes. They’d sent Derek in to interrogate her first, but he hadn’t been able to get much from her. She insisted she was home on the days the murders happened, but had no one that could prove her alibi. She stared dead ahead at the wall before her, her face drained of colour and hands shaking from where they were now cuffed in front of her. She still couldn’t think, couldn’t wrap her brain around everything. She felt so numb, the words Derek had said swimming around in her head like a mantra. 

“Reid’s the one who told us to bring you in.”

Her eyes drifted to the two way mirror on the wall, where she knew that the team - Spencer - were watching her. 

On the opposite side of the mirror, Derek, JJ and Spencer stood. Spencer was watching her behaviour intently, profiling her. 

“Do you think she did it?” JJ asked quietly.

“Well she fits the profile to a T. Reid said she was asking about the investigation, and we profiled that the unsub would try to inject themselves into the investigation. It fits. Not to mention that she doesn’t have a solid alibi for the three nights the murders took place on.” 

“Yes but that’s all pretty circumstantial. Its either that hair we found at the scene comes back from the lab as a match or we get a confession out of her.” 

Spencer just stared ahead, looking at the woman who sat, looking so small on the uncomfortable metal chair.

He hadn’t wanted to believe it at first. 

But Derek was right, Y/N fit the profile perfectly. She didn’t have anyone that could prove that she’d been at home like she claimed she was on the nights of the murders, and she had asked about the investigation, more so than she usually would, more than a friend just asking if he was okay.

He still couldn’t believe it, though. As he watched his best friend he felt a horrible ache move through his chest. Was she really capable of such things? No, she couldn’t be- but the profile wasn’t wrong, and all the evidence they had so far pointed to her.

It made him angry. Was their friendship just a ploy? Did she use him so she could get away with murder?

His thoughts were interrupted by the comforting hand JJ put on his shoulder, “Spence, one of us can do this instead. You don’t have to do this.”

He shook his head. “Yes I do. She trusts me, she’ll co-operate with me. I can get a confession.” He mumbled, shoving JJ’s hand from his shoulder as he opened the door, stepping into the interrogation room. 

Y/N’s dull and defeated eyes brightened as Spencer walked in, a small amount of relief filling her.

“Spencer! Oh thank god, please can you get me out of these.” She whimpered, struggling against the restraints that made her wrists ache. 

He ignored her request, moving towards the table before her. He slammed the case file down on the table with much more force than necessary, a small yelp leaving her lips. He opened up the case file and Y/N frowned. 

“What are you doing?” She whispered as he began to lay out photos before her on the table. She dared to look at the photos before her, a gasp leaving her lips. They were horrific shots of the crime scenes, blood splattered on walls and the bodies of three different men laid in a pool of their blood, numerous stab wounds covering their abdomens. She looked away, not wanting to see the horror anymore.

“What, you don’t want to look at your masterpiece anymore?” Spencer mused, and she met his eyes, her mouth dropping open in shock.

“You don’t- you don’t seriously think I did this?” She whispered, but Spencer’s act didn’t waver. He clenched his jaw- He was angry.

“I know you did. That is why you were so interested in all the details of the case, isn’t it?” His tone was so cold, it broke Y/N’s heart.

“No. I asked you about the case because you’re my best friend, because I care about you. You wanted to get something of your chest so I asked you to confide in me, that was all. You’re wrong.” Y/N’s tone was pleading, and perhaps If Spencer wasn’t so angry he would’ve seen the truth in her words.

“Is that why we became friends in the first place? Was that the plan all along, Y/N? To plant yourself in my life, become one of the only people I cared about, only to use me for my job? So you could kill in cold blood and wouldn’t get caught? What, did you think I’d protect you?” He spat, breaking his earlier promise to Hotch that he would keep a cool head if they let him interrogate her. 

“Protect me? Spencer I didn’t do this! Look at me! Please tell me you don’t honestly believe I did this. That I am capable of such horrific things. Please-“ She begged, tears falling from her eyes as her voice cracked with her pleading. She was sure she sounded pathetic, but what was she meant to say? He seemed so sure, so adamant that it was her, what could she possibly say to prove her innocence. 

“It all comes down to your father, right? I know how badly he mistreated you growing up. You just wanted to get your revenge, you believe you’re owed justice for what he did to you. But since you couldn’t get to him, you killed substitutes instead. It’s okay, understand.” His voice was still venomous, but he’d over laced the poison in his words with a sickeningly sweet tone, that which he used when he was negotiating unsubs.

That hurt her. She’d confided in Spencer about her awful childhood and how she suffered abuse at the hands of her father before she left home as a teenager. She hadn’t seen him in years, and she didn’t want to. “Why are you bringing up my father? I confided in you about him, you’re the only one who knows about my childhood but that doesn’t mean I did these things. Please.” She whimpered, and her shoulders sagged, crying. Spencer just shook his head.

“Tears won’t get you anywhere.” He scoffed, and Y/N couldn’t believe the ferocity behind his words. 

He truly believed she was capable of this?

The door opened before Y/N could respond and JJ came in, leaning down and whispering in Spencer’s ear before leaving again. His gaze turned back to Y/N.

“They found a strand of hair at the crime scene. The ran it through the lab and got a match.”

“Great. Now you know I’m innocent can you let me out of these?” She asked, holding up her cuffed hands to him. When he made no move towards her she frowned. 

“Y/N the DNA from the hair strand matches you. That’s enough evidence to charge you with the murders of Charles Woods, Tyler Burner and Adam Wright.”

Y/N felt like the world was collapsing around her. She choked on a sob, her hands trembling. “What? No, Spencer please, please I didn’t- oh my god, I didn’t do this-“ She continued to cry, her head dropping down onto the cold metal table as she sobbed, disbelief filling her. Spencer watched, feeling tears prick his own eyes. In the back of his head the thought came. 

If she’d done this, why would she be reacting this way? 

He tried not to, but ended up profiling her body language. It wasn’t the actions of someone who’s committed three brutal murders, that was for sure. Another thought came along that diminished the previous one.

She’s manipulative, Spencer. She’s putting on a show.

An officer came into the room, pulling Y/N up roughly from her seat and escorting her out. She didn’t make any attempt to fight back, the defeated feeling filling her as silent tears cascaded down her cheeks. She didn’t sob anymore. She felt so emotionally drained that all she could do was stare blankly ahead as the tears fells. 

*

Spencer didn’t come to her trial. She’d looked for him in the court, hoping that perhaps he’d at least come to support her, to tell her that he was wrong, that he’d fight to get her out of this mess. 

But he never showed. As if her heart wasn’t shattered already, in broke even more. 

She was given life imprisonment, which was twenty-five years without the possibility of parole. She would spend her life in prison for crimes she didn’t commit. 

She was sent to a Woman’s Correctional Facility, and was placed in the Category A section, as she was seen as a ‘high-risk’ inmate. She spent a lot of her days in her cell, only being allowed out for a few hours a day. When she first arrived, it was hell. She was threatened and hurt within the hallowing walls of the prison, and she finally understood even a fragment of what Spencer had gone through when he was convicted for a crime he didn’t commit. 

Huh, ironic. 

Except Spencer had a team working day and night to prove his innocence. 

No one was coming to save Y/N. 

She never had any visitors. Her mother was too ashamed that herdaughter was a convicted serial killer to come and visit, she didn’t hear from her father at all, and Spencer was the only real friend she ever had. 

 After her first month of imprisonment, she’d reached acceptance. Acceptance in the fact that she’d likely never see anything outside the prison courtyard again, that she’d never marry and have children or achieve her dream job. Some days she felt at peace, others she was filled with an unimaginable anger. She was angry at the world. She’d believed in the divine universe, but how was it fair that she wasted away in a cell whilst the real offender got away with it? How was that justice? 

She was angry with the world. But she was livid with Spencer. 

Her supposed best friend, someone she would’ve died for, the man she loved. He’d left her alone, he’d abandoned her, at a time where she’d never needed him more he turned his head away. 

Two months into her sentence, she got her first visitor. She’d been surprised when the guard had come to collect her from her cell,  telling her she had someone waiting for her in one of the private rooms, where inmates usually met with their lawyers to discuss appeals etc. The door buzzed as it unlocked, the guard opening up the door in front of her. Much to her surprise, the guard then reached down to uncuff her hands. She was told to wait, and so she took a seat on one of the chairs, her hands tracing the red marks the cuffs had left on her wrists. 

The door opened minutes later, and Y/N could hear male voices mumbling to one another before someone entered the room, swiftly closing the door behind them. 

Hotch. 

He took a seat opposite her, as she stared at him wide-eyed. “Agent Hotchner? What are you- Why are you here?” She asked quietly, her voice croaky and low. She didn’t speak much these days, as she had such little interaction with others that there was no need to. 

“Miss Y/L/N-“ He began but Y/N stopped him by speaking.

“Could you call me Y/N? Everyone here calls me by my last name, its kind of dehumanizing. I would like to feel like a human for once, please.” 

Hotch gave her a sad look before nodding. “Alright. Y/N. I’m here to apologise on behalf of the Bureau and my team. Two months ago we were assigned the case, to which we came to the conclusion that you were our unsub.” He pulled out a folder from his briefcase, placing it down on the table before her. “We were wrong.”

Y/N stared at the folder before her as Hotch reached out to open it. From it he pulled an evidence bag containing a single piece of paper. He cleared his throat as he slid the bag across the table so she could read the note for herself. 

“Two weeks ago we were sent this letter. It came directly to the BAU, addressed to Agent Reid.”

 “Agent Reid.

You’ve got the wrong woman.

But how funny it was to watch you turn so easily on the woman you love.

Until next time.”

“Since receiving this letter, the Bureau launched an investigation into where it came from and who sent it. We had to be sure of its authenticity before we made any other moves. Our investigation led us to a woman named Felicity Brooks.” Hotch placed another file before her. It was Felicity Brooks’ file, with information about her life and a picture of her attached. 

“I don’t recognise her.” Y/N murmured, and Hotch sighed. 

“I didn’t suppose you would. You met her once a few years ago when your publishing company rejected the draft of her book. It sent her into a frenzy of sorts, and this was the only way she could gain retribution.” Hotch explained.  “She confessed to all three murders, and admitted to planting the strand of your hair at the crime scene. We’re so incredibly sorry for our part in your conviction. You will receive compensation for the trouble. You’re now a free woman, Y/N.” Hotch gave something that almost resembled a smile, before standing up and grabbing the files, putting them back in his briefcase. “I’ve arranged for a car to take you home, it’ll be waiting outside.” Then he turned swiftly, but she called his name, causing him to stop and turn to face her. 

“Thank you.” She whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, with a genuine smile that she hadn’t worn in months. He just nodded at her before leaving. A guard came into the room, whisking Y/N away to begin the process of leaving the hell that she’d called home for two months. 

*

She’d been home for three days. 

Turned out that her mother had just cared enough to keep up with Y/N’s rent payments so she’d have somewhere to live when she got out. She’d tried reaching out to her to apologise for not supporting her, once her mother found out she was innocent but Y/N wasn’t interested in her apologies. 

She’d used the compensation to replace the door they’d broken down, and she’d heard separately from all of the BAU members, who all apologised profusely for their part in her conviction. All of them apart from Spencer. 

She’d thanked the team for apologising, but ultimately had forgiven them. They had every reason to believe it was her. While part of her was still angry, she knew they were just doing their jobs. 

After all, it was Spencer who had hurt her, who she needed to believe her. He was her best friend, he shoud’ve known that no matter the evidence, Y/N was not capable of murder. He should’ve seen what was going on, considering the same thing had happened to him not a year earlier. 

Three loud knocks sounded through her apartment, and she frowned. She wasn’t expecting company. When she opened the door, the last person she expected to see one the other side was Spencer. 

He was looking down at the floor, but when she opened up the door his eyes lifted up meet hers. His eyes seemed to fill with relief that she’d actually answered the door. 

“Hi, um, how are you?” He stammered, and Y/N just raised her eyebrows as if to say really?

It was a stupid question. Spencer had been in prison, he knew how horrible it was and he knew what it was like to be wrongfully accused but he’d subjected her to the same and he’d never felt so guilty before in his life.

“I’m fine. Did you need something?” She asked, crossing her arms expectantly. 

“Y/N I am so sorry.” He whispered, his lip quivering. 

She sighed, shaking her head. “I appreciate you saying that. Are we done?” She moved to shut the door but he stopped it with his foot.  

She groaned, pulling back the door again. “Spence-”

“Please just- let me in. We need to talk, please?” His voice was pleading, and Y/N saw the tears pooling in his eyes and relented, stepping away to let him into her apartment. 

He thanked her and closed the door behind them, following her into her living room. She sat on the sofa and waited for him to speak as he stood before her, shuffling nervously on his feet. 

“You don’t know how guilty I feel about what happened. You know I went to prison, it wasn’t long before we met. And it fucked me up, Y/N. I barely made it out alive. And now I subjected you to the same hell because I trusted a profile with circumstantial evidence more than I trusted you and I am so sorry.” He was on the verge of tears, and Y/N sighed, tears collecting in her own eyes.

“I just needed you to believe me. I was your best friend. I trusted you more than anything else in the world and you- you thought I was capable of murder?” She cried, standing up from the sofa to exaggerate her point. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking Y/N please-“ He tried but she cut him off. 

“No, Spencer! You meant everything to me, do you understand that? The once time I needed you the most, you turned your back on me!”

“It wasn’t like that-”

“Then what was it like, huh?” 

Silence fell on the two. They both stared at one another, hoping the other would say something that could fix everything. That they’d somehow string together a sentence that would make everything okay again. Y/N visibly slumped, her shoulder dropping from the defensive stance as she turned away from him, not able to look at his red teary eyes anymore. 

“I loved you, you know.” She sniffed, and it made his breath hitch.

Silence. And then-

“You what?”

“I was in love with you. I had been for months at that point. You broke my heart, Spencer.” She murmured, still turned away from him. 

I was in love with you. 

Past tense. 

“Was?” Spencer whimpered out, and by the defeated tone in his voice Y/N turned around, meeting his eyes again. 

“I’m not the same person you knew two months ago, Spencer.” She whispered, and he recognised the fear she held in her eyes. She was afraid of herself, of the person prison had made her. He recognised it as the seem look he’d held in his own eyes for months after he was released. 

“That’s okay. I love you, Y/N. I will grow to love the person you are now even more. Just please, forgive me-” He stepped towards her, a reassuring tone in his voice. 

Y/N screwed her eyes shut. “It’s going to take time- I can’t just forget what happened I-” Her voice cracked and he nodded. 

“I’d wait forever for you.” 

She gave a sad smile, and he gave one back. 

She wondered if in some alternate universe she’d never met Spencer Reid. She wondered if her life was better there, more fulfilled. 

But she liked to think that even in all the infinite universes and alternate realities, she got to live a life with Spencer Reid in every one. That they were just so incredibly meant to be that no amount of different choices could stop them from meeting, from falling in love. 

She supposed that made them soulmates, or something of the like. 

The thought made her smile. 

[thegirlwhorunswithwinchesters]

Nothing Like You

Summary: Sam’s usually not the pining kind. He’s put his feelings for you aside some time ago. A chance encounter brings everything back, but this time things are different and Sam is done pretending.

Created for: @princessmisery666​ ‘s Daily Mix Challenge

Prompt: ‘Nothing Like This’ by Blonde and Craig David

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Warnings: Sam is smitten, bad humor on my part

Word count: 1.5K

A/N: Stacey, you absolutely wonderful darling of an angel, thank you for being you. As promised, here’s my entry for your challenge. Hope you like it <3

Beta: @slytherkins​ (So are you, btw. Wonderful. Amazing. A gift.)

|| JJ’s Masterlist || Tip me <3

(gif)

Sam hadn’t seen you since that hunt in Mississippi. The one where he almost kissed you. Dean had ripped him a new one when they were back in Baby, on their way home to the bunker. He had seen the look in Sam’s eyes whenever they were focused on you and Dean knew his little brother well enough to recognize what it had meant. It was the first time in a while they had met a new pair of hunters they worked well with. Seeing as they always had a new fight ahead of them, it would be nice to be able to continue calling the couple their allies. However, as Dean had told Sam that night in the car, staying on good terms with their new acquaintances wouldn’t be an option anymore if the guy caught Sam drooling over his girlfriend.

It hadn’t been like Sam at all to fall for someone so fast and so hard. Out of him and his brother, he was usually better at keeping things professional whenever needed. And with you already being in a relationship, this had definitely been the case. Yet, there was something about you, something about the way you made him feel, that had convinced him the two of you were meant to be more than just friends. But that was then, and despite his silent hoping, you hadn’t crossed paths since.

Until he found himself back in Mississippi and back in your presence. Sam wasn’t quite sure what it was about the southern state and running into you, but he wasn’t complaining.

A haunting at a mansion had brought you both to the same city. You’d both shown up to the crime scene where the victim was lying in a pool of her own blood - not exactly the kind of setting in which Sam had hoped he would see you again.

The victim left behind a distraught husband and two children, who had all said they’d noticed some cold spots but hadn’t seen anything strange. The family’s staff hadn’t been able to help you out either. Though, they did mention something that was of interest to the two faux FBI-agents: one of the staff members had unexpectedly quit earlier that day.

After having asked around a bit, they found out the best way to get a hold of their possible witness was to visit him at the nightclub he frequented on the weekends. 

“We should probably make sure we blend in a little more before we head into a place like that,” you had suggested while heading back to your respective cars. 

“I’d do anything you say,” Sam had kept to himself while he watched you drive off to your motel.

Another thing he hadn’t mentioned was the lack of backup you had shown up with. For just a second, he had allowed himself to think maybe you weren’t with Rowan anymore. But he knew there were plenty of reasons why the other hunter hadn’t joined you on this simple hunt. After all, Dean hadn’t come with Sam on this one either, simply because he had been called elsewhere. The same could just as easily have been true for your boyfriend.

Inside the club, it was even louder than Sam had expected when the two of you entered. Music was blasting from every direction and people were talking loudly while moving along on the dancefloor to the beat. Sam had changed out of his fed suit and into some worn out jeans and a gray shirt. He hadn’t exactly been sure what you had meant by ‘blending in’ to a place like this, since this kind of scene had never been his thing.

Luckily, you hadn’t gone all out, either. Unluckily, you didn’t have to do much to drive Sam crazy. Your pantsuit had been traded in for a playful light blue dress that hung loosely around your frame, reaching just above your knees. Your hair was down for a change, only a few strands being pinned up and secured at the back of your head. With your line of work, you always had your hair tied where it couldn’t get in the way. Sam had never seen your locks catch in the wind like they’d done outside before they entered the nightclub. He’d been unaware he had been staring until you put a hand on his shoulder and asked him if he was ready to head inside.

How he’d made it inside and onto the dancefloor with you, he couldn’t quite remember. But somehow he had ended up in front of you, surrounded by a bunch of people moving in ways that might’ve even made Dean blush.

“Sam,” you called over the music. “Sam, hey!” Your hand was waving in front of his face and eventually he managed to focus his eyes back on yours. “You’re all stiff!” you said, laughing.

Sam’s eyes grew wide with panic and his head shot down so fast it should’ve given him whiplash. His face burned red as he looked down at his crotch but nothing seemed to be going on down there. In front of him, your laughing became louder.

Your hand reached for his chin to push his head back up and make him look at you. “I meant your dancing,” you said, clearly trying to suppress another fit of laughter. “Loosen up a bit, we’re trying to look like we’re supposed to be here, remember?”

Sam’s cheeks burned an even brighter red as he felt your hand fall from his face and move to his arm, sliding all the way down until you could wrap your hand around his. You grabbed his other hand as well, and when Sam realized you were trying to pull his body into motion, he did his best to attempt something that might have been viewed by some people as dancing. If those people were squinting, from a couple miles away, and it was completely dark.

You laughed again and Sam almost wanted to just keep embarrassing himself so he could keep hearing that wonderful sound. No doubt people around you were watching him struggle, too. But all he could focus on was you, that was all that mattered to him in that moment.

Undoubtedly realizing your attempts weren’t doing much so far, you changed tactics by placing your hands on his waist and moving closer to him. You beckoned him to lean in and Sam dipped his head so he could hear you better.

“Try to relax,” you instructed him with that sweet voice of yours. “Just follow my lead.”

With that, your body started moving and Sam wouldn’t have been able to resist moving along with you if he had wanted to. Which he definitely, one hundred percent, did not.

Your bodies moved in sync, perfectly fitting against each other as the music blasted on in the background. Everything around you faded away until it was just him and you. Sam let you guide him effortlessly and tried to loosen up like you told him.

He couldn’t keep his eyes off you. You made him feel a certain way, a way he hadn’t experienced before. It was killing him not to act on it. The way you were moving against him wasn’t helping much, either.

“Where’d you learn to move like…” Sam’s voice trailed off as he looked at you, his eyes darkening, “...this.”

You grinned at him, causing his heart to be flung right out of his chest. “We all have our ways to blow off steam,” you explained, moving your lips closer to his ear so you wouldn’t have to speak as loud. “I used to go out like this a lot when I first started hunting.”

“With your boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend.” You barely missed a beat.

The simple word could have just been plain information, a life-update to a friend who hadn’t caught up yet. But there was this look in your eyes that told Sam you meant something different by telling him.

After all this wondering, and thinking ‘what if’, Sam wasn’t sure if he should act so fast. Then he saw you raise an eyebrow, and your bottom lip was sucked between your teeth as you looked straight into his eyes.

All the doubt that had forced him to hold back was thrown out the window in a single motion. He finally let go and his large hands grabbed your ass to pull you even closer against him. Your hands moved to his neck and in an instant, your lips were on his. He kissed you hungrily, music drowning out even further into the background. All Sam could hear was the pounding in his ears and the sweet sounds you made when his teeth tugged at your bottom lip.

Let me know if you want to be added to any of my taglists!

Team Game Face (Everything tags) @princessmisery666​ || @lyarr24​ || @mishkatelwarriorgoddess​

Team Bitch Face (Sam tags) [empty. poor sammy]

[datsrightbby]

Marko + David (TLB) x Fem!Reader

Insatiable Habits

Warnings: NSFW/Smut, cursing, voyeurism, threesome

It had started off as subtle teasing at first, the kinda stuff that made you blush. Like, a gloved hand skimming your thigh and creating shapes across the exposed skin, or a lingering kiss on your neck, and the occasional whisper in your ear that had you burning crimson red and burying your face into the crook of his neck. It was the minute his palm went that bit higher on your thigh, the minute his thumb ghosted over your clothed crotch, did you start feeling flustered to the point of rubbing your legs together in need of friction. 

Not often did you and the boys stay back at the cave the whole night, but tonight was one of those rare occurrences when all of you were content staying in. David took full opportunity, of course, and kept you on his lap. The night had just begun to seep into early hours of the morning, which reminded you -

"Don't you guys need...food?" It's not as though you were ignorant to the fact of what they were, it was more so you'd refused to fully wrap your head around the idea that the four guys you met, one now your boyfriend and mate, were violent in any way. Though if you could avoid talking about it, or thinking about it for that matter, then you'd be okay. 

"Dude, I’m starving -" 

" - Yeah we should leave before the sun starts coming up." Marko remarked, putting down his sketch book and standing up to tug his discarded jacket on. You went to move off David, but his hand on your hip kept you in place on top of him, the subtle gesture telling you that he planned on staying with you. The boys gave you both a once over as they headed toward the stairs, smirks decorating their features at the sight. 

"Guess David's passing up tonight for some other kinda food." Paul hollered and Dwayne sent you a wink, which internally made you roll your eyes, but you grinned back at them anyway. Marko had hestitantly headed towards the steps after them, albeit a few strides behind -

"Marko!" There was a pause as Marko's attention turned back around to David, eyes skimming across your figure before focusing intently on the man who's lap you resided. 

"Stay." It wasn't a question, it was a demand, and Marko didn't seem to have much to say about the ordeal. You couldn't pinpoint why David had asked Marko to stay behind as it was implied, from both the endless teasing and staying behind, that the two of you were gonna do a little more than some heavy petting. David reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and lighter, lighting it in one attempt and taking a deep intake, exhaling toward the ceiling as to not get smoke all over you. 

Marko had resided back to the couch, while you and David shifted against each other, you placing little kisses on his jaw as he blew smoke toward the ceiling again. 

"Why did you ask Marko to stay behind?" You whispered lowly, hoping he couldn't hear. 

"I have an idea." It was all he said before dipping his fingers into the waistband of your underwear, your head fell back and you let out a low, breathy moan as he rubbed languid circles against you. The cigarette he lit hung loosely from his lips, ash falling onto his lap haphazardly. In the corner you heard Marko shift in place and you panicked, reminding yourself of his presence and trying to pry yourself away from David's fingers, which had now entered you and pumped in and out a few times. There was no reaction from Marko other than staring at the sight in front of him, though you were sure he wasn't expecting to see David’s fingers working sinfully against you when he looked up from his previous activity.

"Relax kitten, I know what I'm doing." You looked up at him in both shock and confusion, but didn't question his motives, he'd never done you any harm before and you trusted David. Perhaps, if you hadn't been so worked up from his endless teasing all night, things would be different under the same circumstance, but that was neither here nor there. Relaxing into his touch, opting to close your eyes and focus on the feelings rather then the wandering eyes, you allowed for the situation to continue.

"Let us hear you -" David's voice growled in your ear and you moaned explicitly, louder than you had expected.

"That's my girl." You whimpered and bucked your hips up into the palm of his hand, knowing he was smirking down at you right now. 

Your arousal laid thick in the air to the vampires, it was sweet and intoxicating, and Marko swallowed thickly at the scent of it. Just when you felt as though your high may have been approaching, David pulled out and sucked on his fingers, licking off any trace you'd left on them. Marko watched you intensely, eyes lingering on any exposed skin they could get too. You felt erotic and filthy, but in the best way possible. The way the two looked at you sent goosebumps flying across your skin, it was as though you were the prey and they were the wolves, every fleck of color in their eyes had turned to black in desire and need, and you knew where this was headed simply by how they stared at you. On somewhat shaky legs you stood from your spot on David's lap, he waved his hand in Marko’s direction as if to tell you to go over to him -

“Remember you’re still mine.” Nodding, you thumbed over his jaw before sauntering over to Marko, who'd watched your every step approach him. In a surge of confidence you placed your hand on his shoulder, laying him back against the couch, sitting on his crotch with your thighs either side of him. You grind against him slightly, noting that his cock was already hard as sin. Marko let you have your fun, looking over to David who only watched while smoking the remains of his smoke, with a nod from his leader he had all the knowledge he needed of the situation. This wasn’t planned, but Marko was aware David knew of his feelings for you and it seemed he was letting him indulge a little. Instantly he had spun you both over, thrusting against you, a moan skipping past your lips. You'd been teased all night, so feeling his erection right where you needed him most, well, it was heavenly almost. 

"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this." Marko teased your neck with kisses and nips, his eyes closed and he inhaled your scent; the way your hair smelled, the arousal between your legs, the perfume you wore, you were intoxicating and it's no wonder David could never keep his hands off you. Who could resist you?  

David had long stubbed out the rest of his cigarette as he watched the two of you toy with each other and tease, he watched as Marko whispered dirty things in your ear and how you replied with giggles, and he soon unzipped his fly and freed himself of the restraints his cock was behind, stroking himself at the sight of the two of you. This wasn't just because he knew you found Marko cute, or the fact that he knew Marko had been in love with you since he met you, no, this was David's fantasy too. 

It didn't seem long before Marko had ripped your clothing off of you, you'd responded with as much fervor. His hands roamed every inch of you in eagerness, he relished in the soft curves of your body and the way you shivered beneath him. It seemed too good to be true, having you here now was better than he had ever imagined. Marko kissed down your body, nipping here and there, which caused him to grin up at you every time you jumped. He stared at you for a moment, breath heavy and chest heaving, eyes pleading with you -

“Please let me have a taste?”

You weren’t sure if it was a question for you or David, but you’d instantly whined out a ‘yes’ and he wasted no time working against you. His tongue teased your clit in circular motions and you shook underneath his grip on your thighs, hips moving up against his mouth in need of more friction. The desperateness of the night took over you; David’s consistent teasing since you’d arrived, your forgotten orgasm from David’s fingers, and now Marko’s tongue wickedly lapping against you, you couldn’t help but huff out in neediness. Your head lolled to the side and noted David palming himself through his jeans, it appeared he was enjoying this just as much as you and Marko. A bite on your thigh had your attention back on the curly haired blonde in between your legs in an instant, he grinned and delved further into your wetness, giving you the relief you’d been craving.

“Use your fingers, she likes that.” Per David’s request Marko’s middle and index finger entered you and your head fell back against the couch, hands holding his head in place as his tongue roughly explored every inch of you. You couldn’t help the curse words that slipped, and the slap on your thigh because of it had you whimpering. 

“I - I think I’m gonna cum” Marko only sped up his ministrations, adding another finger inside you, stretching you out, he played with the spot that had you shaking the most until your body was overtook in blissful release. Never once did he stop, even as your hands attempted to tear him off of your spent body, he continued until he was sure the taste of you was burned into his memory. His body moved up you once again, claiming your mouths together in a sloppy kiss, the taste of your arousal still heavy on his tongue. His mouth moved from yours to you ear -

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard you’ll feel me inside you for a week.” he whispered so possessively it had you clenching around nothing and praying he’d live up to the promise. The sound that came out of you was borderline pornographic, though you were beyond modesty at this point. Marko lined himself up with your entrance, looking down at you for silent permission, you wrapped your legs around his waist and pulled him close, his cock slipping into you with ease and stretching you out deliciously. Between Marko’s moan and your choked sob, you knew you were gonna crave the feeling of him being inside you for weeks after,  he was inside you raw, and he took a moment in awe to rejoice the feeling of you, knowing it was probably the only time he'd ever get to have this experience, and he wasn't about to let this go to waste. He was going to fuck you so good you'd remember it forever, remember him forever. The pace he set was fast with deep, hard thrusts that had you clawing at the couch underneath you to keep you still. Your mouth hung open from the intense feeling of him pounding into you, your lips spewing out a mantra of curses and Marko's name. 

“Do I fuck you good baby?" You moaned louder at his words, trying to find the will in you to focus on anything other than his cock filling you to the brim with every movement of his hips. When you didn't answer him, he opted to slap your thigh, an echo wondering around the cave because of it. 

"Tell me."

"Y-yes - you feel amazing- ugh" 

Your head coaxed to the side, noticing David had now freed himself and was stroking his cock to the same pace Marko fucked you at. "Oh fuck -"

You didn't know who to look at; Marko fucking you into next week, or David getting off to the sight of you being fucked. It was overwhelmingly sexy having the two men desire you so greatly, being shared between them made you feel powerful. 

David watched your thighs flex around Marko’s torso, the way you threw your head back in pure pleasure, how Marko’s cock disappeared between your legs over and over again. He stood and sauntered over to the two of you, placing his cock at the tip of your mouth, asking for entrance into your, all too willing, mouth. You happily accepted and took as much of him as you could fit at once, though David soon had a hand on the back of your head and his hips thrusting his cock into your mouth. All you could do was relax and let him take you, forcing yourself to hold back chokes and spit as he fucked your throat with ease, all while Marko rammed his painfully hard cock into you, your thigh now over his shoulder and the new angle allowing him to be so deep inside you it hurt, in the most pleasurably painful way. It wasn’t long before you felt your second orgasm build up, the aftershocks of the last one still lingering and causing you to tremble against the two men ravishing you, tears spilled from your eyes as Marko fucked you through it. Soon your body was convulsing and shuddering underneath them, David’s cock still deep down your throat, and Marko’s deep inside you. You clung onto Marko’s shoulders for dear life, heat spreading throughout your entire body and turning you numb as you tried to adjust to the overwhelming sensations, both of them were close, from Marko’s messy pace to David’s twitching cock, you moaned around him to spur him along, while Marko chanted out in whines as his release approached -

“Don’t you dare cum inside her.” Marko did as he was told and pulled out quickly, spilling himself all over your stomach, David soon cumming down your throat and making you deep throat him as you swallowed every last drop, you grabbed his thigh and squeezed, a sign that you needed to stop and relax a minute, which he did immediately, tucking himself back into his pants and leaning down to your eye level. 

“Are you okay kitten?” You nodded, noting how your body ached from the rough actions it had endured. Marko placed a kiss on your cheek, wiping away a few stray tears. “You sure? I can get you anything you need.” You gave him a weak smile and stroked his cheek, trying to reassure him as best you could that you were, indeed, fine, but fucked out. 

The boys helped clean you up and take you over to the make shift nest David had built you a few months prior. Though, one question lingered in your mind. Where does your relationship go from here?

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Milkshake.”

You guys seem to be enjoying it, so here is some more fluff with Eris .

Hope you enjoy!

Eris sat on the couch in the living room; the TV was on, but she wasn’t really paying attention as her eyes kept drifting towards the front window which looked out on the front lawn and the street beyond that. Jim was sitting across the room for her and Martha was working on another clothing pattern for Eris. She had really latched onto the idea of making clothing that was comfortable for her, which Eris appreciated immensely though she wasn’t sure if she'd be confident in wearing them.

People would think she was weird.

She glanced out the window again, hoping to see a car pull up.

He said he would be here today sometime in the afternoon. She knew it was only 11, but she desperately wanted to see him again despite her nerves and her continual feeling of isolation. Why did she care about this man so much? Yes he had saved her life, yes he had provided half of her DNA, but no, he hadn’t chosen to have her, no she hadn’t grow up the normal way with him as a father figure, and no he still wasn’t really in her life.

He was a busy man.

He was important.

And what was she to get in the way of that? 

Nothing, that was the answer. He was big, important and successful, and she was a violation of his privacy.

These thoughts rolled around in her head as she sat on that couch. She knew the vast majority of them were irrational, made by her own mind to make herself feel inadequate, but she just couldn’t push the thoughts away. She wondered when she had turned into this person, someone who wondered about their adequacy and worried about their appearance. Once upon a time she remembered being powerful and terrifying to the people who had wronged her and her little family.

She remembered being confident in what she was doing.

Perhaps it was the loss of her goals and purpose that had driven her to this.

Once the others started getting adopted and brought into new families her work had grown less and less, and she became obsolete and lost in a universe that was vast and unknowable. The others were being taken care of, but no one had returned for her.

No one had seemed to consider that she was just like the others.

She had been created against her will and had never been given time to grow up.

With all the responsibility of other people’s thoughts in her head.

What was she doing?

It was only then that a sudden thought from Jim jogged her from her spiraling self doubt. With his human hearing, he could make out a car pulling into the driveway. She quickly got to her feet and turned to look at the window as the car stopped and the door opened.

Her heart jumped in her chest as Adam stepped out into the early morning sun. He was a little different than she remembered. He stood straighter and held his head higher. He still wore the eye patch she remembered and still had the same messy hair, but there was something about him that changed in the months since she had last seen him.

Behind him, a large blue shape exited the vehicle as well and stepped onto the pavement.

It was him, Sunny, the little doctor named krill, and Adam’s dog.

The dog’s mind was very very strange, driven by impulses and instincts as she snuffled around in the grass, but when she turned back to look at Adam, there was such an intense feeling of love and admiration, Eris had to pull away.

Adam rubbed the dog’s ears and walked up towards the house as the other two followed behind.

Martha got up to grab the door and Jim turned in his seat.

The door opened, and the group of them stepped inside, waffles, the dog, running in to greet Jim, who she had an unusual affinity for.

Martha hugged Adam tight, “So good to see you.” She pulled back hands to his arms, patting them with a frown on her face, “You’ve been working out.”

He smiled slightly, “Thank the Neo-Spartans for that.”

He reached over and shook his father’s hand, as his arms were busy with the pile of dog that had scooted her way halfway onto his lap, “Looking good.”

He nodded to Sunny who stood behind Adam, “I heard about your Sainthood. Congratulations. That’s a big accomplishment.”

Eris felt the pride radiating from Sunny as she lifted her head into the air, “Thank you Jim.”

Martha nodded, “You’ve come along way since we first met.” She gave sunny a hug too 

Martha’s thoughts, once cold towards Sunny had warmed up over the past year. A small part of her even began to see Sunny as another daughter, thought that was the fact about Martha Eris had come to notice. She tended to adopt any little lonely thing she happened to meet; even the little doctor who walked in last.

She smiled, “Dr. Krill I see you haven’t died of complications relating to stress yet.”

The Vrul’s antenna twitched a little and he hummed his amusement, “Not for all of your son’s trying.” Despite how calm the little creature seemed, Eris could see in his head as a myriad of emotions flew through him. He thought that this place was a complete death trap, and had to constantly remind himself that humans were more durable than they looked.

In a way she thought it was kind of cute that he would worry about his companions so much.

Then Adam’s eyes turned to her.

She tried not to listen in on his thoughts, really tried. She didn’t like to pry into people’s minds. A lot of people didn’t like that when they knew what she could do, but she couldn’t help as the flood of strange emotions came pouring from the man’s head. He was a little different than other humans, he had a lot going on in there, and his thoughts and Emotions hit him hard and fast.

What did she expect.

Anger

Bitterness 

Betrayal 

annoyance 

She was invading his privacy, injecting herself into a family she had never been invited into. WOuld he resent her for that? 

But instead she felt.

Excitement.

and...

Nervousness?

What did he have to be nervous about.

The man walked over, and to her surprise picked her up into a crushing hug lifting her feet completely off the floor. She marveled for a moment at how strong he was, forgetting that humans tended to be on the strong side, second only to drev. He set her down smiling, and she felt a jenuine well of happiness wash over her tinted slightly with guilt, though he did a good job at keeping that to the back of his mind.

“You know what, I think you’ve gotten taller.”

She smiled, “Or you’ve gotten shorter.”

He laughed, “That is a complete possibility.” She continued to smile as he patted his chest, “I am getting old after all.” He looked over towards Jim, “Aging like my old man.”

“Shut up.” Jim harumphed, “I can still kick your ass.”

Martha frowned, “Are you implying that I am old Adam.”

He turned to smile at her, “Not a day past 21 mother.”

Martha crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, “Someone is looking for brownie points.”

“That depends, did you make brownies?”

She rolled her eyes, “No, I did not make brownies.”

He frowned.

“But I did muffins.”

“Score.” He said flopping down on the couch next to Eris as Krill floated to sit in the chair next to Jim.

The two of them watched the game, Jim seeming to enjoy Krill grimacing at every play and screaming at the TV for letting the humans knock each other out. He especially seemed to enjoy the medical descriptions of all the horrible issues they were probably having from all of that running into each other.

“So, how are you liking earth.” Adam asked, draping one of his large arms over her shoulders. Eris was struck with how nice the gesture felt and looked up at him, his head tilted to the side.

She smiled slightly, “I like it, it’s so warm and bright, and you have good food.”

“You can eat human food huh?”

She smiled and nodded, “We haven’t tried everything yet, but I really like strawberry ice cream.”

He snorted, “Lord she developed David’s poor taste in cold flavored delectables.” 

For a moment she worried she had really upset him but was soon proven wrong when she could tell he was just teasing her, “So how are you a herbivore or a carnivore.”

Eris felt herself blanch a little bit. If her blood had been more visible through her marble Starborn skin, she might have gone pale.

“I uh…. I haven’t tried eating….. An animal yet.” She shivered at the thought. How could she? How could she eat something that used to be alive?

He smiled seeing the look on her face3, “Don’t worry, no one is going to force you too, though I dare say meat is good, your probably won’t regret trying it at least once.”

From across the room she could hear dr. Krill’s thoughts. He was more similar to a plant than he was to an animal, and the thought of consuming something that was living also baffled him, Though a part of him admired how “metal” It sounded. Eris frowned as she looked at the little doctor.

She had red the mind of Vrul before.

They had been strange to her, very alien in their processes, but Krill.

Well she might have thought he was just a very strange human had she not been able to see him.

The humanizing phenomenon perhaps>?

She couldn't be sure.

“So Eris, how about my offer from earlier, how would you like to go see where I grew up.”

She turned to look at Adam, who was staring at her expectantly. 

She shuffled her feet awkwardly, “I would like that.”

“I will show you all the great and wonderful places I got beaten up. It will be a grand time.” She looked inside to see that he was just joking again. He did have some bad memories associated with the town, though the vast majority of them were good. She could see and feel the vibrant joy of fireworks and colorful parades as they passed through his memory. She could see cold calm lakes and feel wind blowing through the forest.

She nodded.

Martha turned to look at Sunny, “I’d like to keep you and Krill behind tomorrow if you don’t mind.”

Sunny looked up from here she was staring intently at the TV yelling over Jim’s shoulder at the reff who, to her, had made a very poor call.

“Of course, what do you need us for?”

“Alternative clothing designs for aliens. I think there is a large untapped market, and I want to see what I can do with it.”’

Adam grinned across the room at sunny, “Ah, she has finally roped you into being one of her guinea pigs. Enjoy.”

“Adam was such a good little guinea pig, and looked so good in a dress.”

Adam snorted and waved a hand, “I rocked the regency period as I have said before and so I shall say again.”

Eris leaned her head against Adam’s side as she listened to the ongoing banter between the group of people.

She tried not to pry but couldn’t help soak up the memories that popped to the surface of his head. Warm sunlight through an open window, the sound of a sprinkler, and the yell of children’s voices in the distance.

For a moment she became jealous of it before hiding that away in the back of her head.

THere was no use resenting others for something that wouldn’t change.

She would make the best of what she had.

That night, Eris slept in the same room as Sunny, whose memories were remarkably less pleasant than Adam’s, while Adam got his old room back. He would have shared with Krill, though Krill didn’t sleep, and spent most of the night watching late night television, which he found both strange and haunting in ways he wasn’t so sure was good.

She drifted in and out.

She wasn’[t entirely sure if her sleeping patterns were normal. She needed to recharge like the humans did, but seemed to go into a trance rather than into real sleeping. She dreamed, but hose dreams were more hallucinations which appeared about the room around her. Occasionally, she learned that she was able to share the dreams of others, and so took a ride along with Adam as he was joyfully able to fly without the need for a jet or a jetpack.

The feeling was so vivid she jolted awake when it was all over, sure she was going to find herself hurtling through the air.

That morning they had muffins, which melted in her mouth and made her insides growl. They weren’t as vocal as human innards, but apparently the smell of the muffins woke something deep within her.

Sunny was presented with a bowl of dandelions Jim had picked from the backyard that morning.

He was a little nervous that it might seem rude or degrading, but Sunny definitely seemed to appreciate the gesture. Krill didn’t need anything other than a glass of water, though Martha opened the curtain on the back sliding door to let in the early morning sun.

It fell across both her and krill, and her body hummed with its energy.

Adam stood and turned to look at his father when breakfast was over, “Can I borrow the car keys.”

Jim looked over at him skeptically, “You… drive… I don’t know about that.”

Adam frowned, “Oh come on, I fly spaceships for a living.”

Jim snorted, “yet, somehow every time you get in a vehicle that has wheels on it, you turn into my granny with a led foot.”

“Promise I will be safe.”

Eris smiled,  his memories reminding him of all the jokes about being a bad driver .

Jim just rested his hand on his forehead and looked at Eris, “Lord knows I have never known a man with such poor command of motor vehicles. Ans you see if have seen this boy fly a jet in formation with seven other jets four feet apart and his hands are rock steady, but put him in a car, and he overcorrects into the ditch.”

Adam frowned, “That was my FIRST time driving.”

Jim finally relinquished the keys to him, “take the car, it’s an automatic. Everyone knows you shake her brains out if you tried to take the truck.”

Adam grumbled and took the keys, “Its the 41st century dad why do you even still need a stick shift.”

He crossed his arms, “If we are ever attacked by an EMP burst, that car is the only thing that is still going to be running, now get out of here.”

Eris followed Adam out the door, her little black cloak swishing behind her.. She hadn’t wanted to wear anything to obvious yet, so martha had grudgingly decided to at least make her something that looked better than her old ratty sweatshirt. It was a short cloak thing with a hood, and she thought it looked kind of nice,   though she kept the hood low over her face. Adam slid into the driver’s seat of the car and Eris got into the other seat clipping on her seatbelt as he turned and began backing out of the driveway.

They jolted a bit as he moved into first and he glanced over at her, “Don’t tell my dad.”

She smiled somewhat as he inched forward and then began to pick up speed. The look of concentration on his face, and the white knuckles of his hands almost made her laugh. She could see him flying in his memories.

But for a man who loved to fly, he sure hated to drive.

“I’ll show you around the two first, than we can get lunch and after that we will find places to get out of the car and take a look around. Does that sound good?”

She nodded, though she wouldn’t have argued with him if he wanted to ride in circles all day. It was nice being here with him. Since they had last met his thoughts had calmed down significantly.

In the back of the car, his dog waffles sneezed and then rested her chin on the console.

Eris looked sideways at her sensing that the animal was looking for attention. She reached out a nervous hand and stroked the dog’s ears. In the back seat her tail thumped against the upholstery, and she grumbled happily.

“And out your right side of the window is the local high school  or what I like to call the department of corrections against happiness. Eris winced, there was a lot of thought coming out of that building, and none of it very pleasant.

“Thank goodness I only went there for like a year.” he grinned, “I was flying planes after that.” He tapped his chin, “I can never decide if it counts as me dropping out of high school or graduating early, or transferring schools.” he shrugged and kept going, “That’s the middle school on the left, arguably just as bad as the high school but with younger people, and right next to that is the elementary school.”

“So many?”

He shrugged, “Yeah I have no idea why they do it this way, but that’s the way it has been done for a very long time.”

Eris had obviously never gone to school. She didn’t really need to.

She could know anything she wanted to know as long as someone else around her knew it. She could read and write and do math well enough. It was a little harder with muscle memory as that wasn’t something she could read. So, while she knew how to make most of the clothes that Martha could make, she might not be so good with a sewing machine.

“That’s the park. I used to like climbing up to the top of that tree in the middle, and down over there is the drive in movie theater. It’s one of the only ones left in this country, kind of more for nostalgia than anything..” he was able to lift his hand rom the steering wheel and point over at something else, “You have the grocery store over there and then that parking lot is where all the redneck kids used to go to get drunk.”

Eris leaned forward feeding off the memories those strange places gave him. He showed her little hidden spots down by the rivers where his brothers and him used to go swim. He showed her places of significance for the town, and even those locations where he had been sure he had seen an alien. The thought made her smile considering he had one in his car now.

Eventually he turned away and pulled into a small diner on the edge of the town.

He looked over at her, “Best place to eat in town, I know it doesn’t look like much, but trust me get yourself a milkshake at the very least.”

She nodded and nervously got out of the car with him, walking by his side as he made his way across the parking lot and to the little building. A bell dinged as they walked in,  and she found only a few people sitting inside this time of day. The two of them seated themselves at a booth and Eris looked around,

It wasn’t like the many other buildings Eris had seen. It was old with a checkered floor pattern, and red upholstered bar stools. All of it looked new enough and clean enough, though something about it just felt old.

There was a jukebox playing music in the corner, something that had been obsolete for almost two thousand years. No wonder Adam and Martha liked this place. Martha with her doctorate degree in the information age, and Adam with his obsession over turn of the century rock music.

They were greeted just then by a pleasant faced portly little woman with grey hair.

Hermemory was a vibrant one.

She had worked here for a very long time, a sweet southern bell moved up from the south and married to a man in town. She had worked at this diner for over three decades and seen everything that passed through. Adam remembered her as someone who had been a fixture of the town, and his memories were pleasant.

When he had been alone and hurting, he had come here just to be in a safe environment, and this woman had had pity on him and made him a milkshake for free before sitting and talking with him when her shift would allow.

He smiled up at her and she lit up in surprise.

“Why if it isn’t sweet little Adam!” She looked him up and down, “Not so little anymore, lord it was only yesterday you and your brothers were in here causing trouble.”

He smiled, “And you angela, looking as beautiful as the day I met you.:

She snorted and waved a hand, “Oh stop, I’m old and wrinkly.”

“Old, you don’t look a day over twenty five.”

She laughed again, “Your flattery won’t work here dear. I know you have a penthouse on the moon.”

He snapped his fingers, “Pity.”

She turned her head to look at Eris, “And who is your friend.”

He looked across the table, “I uh, this is Eris.” Eris hunkered down in her hood a bit, “She’s my…. Daughter?”

Angela looked skeptical, “Boy i’ve never seen you look at a woman sideways, so forgive me if I don’t believe you.”

Adam smiled a bit ruefully, “Well it’s complicated.

Eris slowly raised her eyes towards the woman’s curiosity and as soon as Angela saw her face she put a hand over her heart and held up a hand, “Lord have mercy!” Eris braced herself for the disparaging thoughts, but instead the woman sat down next to her, “Why dear, why don’t you take off that hood and show us your pretty face.” There we go, and look at that long gorgeous black hair. You know them fancy modeling places in the city might just eat you up.”

She turned to look at Adam, “Aliens? Really?”

“She was grown from my DNA, but…..” He paused mulling something over before deciding to speak.

“But I WAS dating a different alien for a while.”

Angela did not seem surprised.

“For a while? Something went wrong?”

“I screwed it up.” he sighed, “Still trying to see if I can get back in her good graces, but who knows.”

Angela just smiled and shook her head, “You were never going to be normal, Adam, but not that that’s a bad thin.: She stood and looked down at Eris, “What can I get for you.”

Eris cleared her throat and in a small voice, “A milkshake””

Adam nodded up at her, “Strawberry, that’s her favorite.”

She nodded, “And your usual?” 

“Yes please.”

She smiled at them and walked off with a pleasant wave. When she came back Eris learned he was right about their milkshakes. It was so good and filled her mouth with just enough flavor. He polished off a milkshake and a Hamburger, and Eris really had no idea where iit all went. He was a black hole when it came to food.

Angela gave him a hug on his way out, and even spared one for Eris before commenting on her hair again, which Eris would have blushed at if she could blush.

Afterwards he took her just a little out of town to the top of a tall hill. On this hill there was a tree and a tire swing with a picnic table. Clouds rolled lazily over the sun as he sat down in the grass and she sat next to him. She could hear dogs barking in the distance, and somewhere the elementary school was out for recess.

Adam closed his eyes and leaned back in the grass.

“Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my love for space that I forget just how much I love Earth.” He sighed and the two of them could smell freshly mowed grass and pine trees.

She lay back with him.

“I was thinking about maybe staying here with your parents for a while.”

“Your grandparents.” he corrected eyes still closed.

She felt her heart beat faster, “Yeah, if they’re ok with that.”

“I don’t see why not. Mom always liked having someone around to help her with her projects. She uses dad when she can and he suffers silently for her, but I think she'd enjoy your company.”

“You do?” Eris wondered 

“Well I don’t see how she couldn't. I enjoy your company.”

She felt a thrill through her insides.

He turned to look at her, “I AM sorry I can’t be…. more. “ his words didn’t say as much as his thoughts could, and it were those  that helped her understand what he really meant. He would offer to take her in any day of the week, but that would mean her being alone more often than not while he was away, and he didn’ want to do that to her. 

He thought she deserved better.

She wouldn’t argue with him about that, for she understood his reasoning and sentiment and tended to agree.

Both of them knew that his parents were a pretty great idea.

She could be happy here

[dcbutinamrev]

Lams, “i’d take our relationship back in a heartbeat," but John is dead and Alexander is talking to him. They can both be talking or just him, whatever, artistic freedom. :)

Sorry this is so late!!! I've been focusing my attention on Yrs Forever!! (As it is almost done) But your wish is my command! Modern au but with their historical apperances! I was gonna post this ficlet request on August 27 (cause...you know...) but like I also don't have the paitence to wait that long. So yeah. That's a thing-

~~~

Alexander Hamilton closes his eyes as soon as he steps into his apartment, hsi back pressed against the door and his jaw unusually tight. He breathes in slowly, holding his breath for a few seconds before slowly reopening his eyess. He hopes his boyfriend, his dear Laurens, would be before him but instead only to reveal before him an empty staircase. He groans miserbaly, and swallows the lump down his throat, grimacing as he does so--as though it had hurt him to do so.

It's been a month since he died. A whole entire month since his Jack left him, since he'd broken the promise he made to him. The promise he'd never leave him.

Hamilton shakes his head and climbs up the steps to his bedroom. He stares at the wooden door, his beautiful indigo-violet eyes ticking down towards the doorhandle. He smiles at the memory of when they had their first kiss, from at a party at Laurens's old friend's Tench Tilghman's place, Laurens counting Hamilton's freckles with a black sharpie, thinking he found Orion before leaning in to capture his lips. He remembers the first time they had sex, remembers clearly of Laurens slamming his back onto this very door, pinning him place as he kisses Hamilton roughly, quickly, heatedly, moving his lips down the side of Hamilton's neck, under his jaw.

Hamilton sighs long and slow before shaking his head at the memory, trying to learn to move on. But for some reason, he can't. He can't seem to let his John go.

Hamilton let's out another shaky breath before twisting the doorknob and gently pushing the door open. He hasn't stepped foot into this room for over a month, not after since Laurens's death. Always too frightened. But today, on August 27, the very same day in which he--Hamilton clears his throat, blinking his misty eyes. Well, anyways.

But today, he's feeling rather bold in doing so. Any other time, he'd be working down in the dining room table with his older foster brother, Lafayette, and parents around him--along with his friends, Richard Kidder Meade, Tench Tilghman, James McHenry, Robert Hanson Harrison, and David Humphreys of course. Or he'd be in one of the offices up here on the second floor, working in peace. Or hiding up in the attic, rummaging through old boxes of him and Laurens, watching old video tapes Laurens had made for each special moment. Hamilton stays where he stands currently in front of the entranceway, his eyes unfazed and misty. It feels like forever since he's been in this room.

Hamilton let's his bookbag slump onto the floor beside his door, taking a moment to let his new surroundings sink in. He sees his bed, the very same bed where he'd had Laurens beside him, beautiful sky eyes half-opened, honey blonde hair fallen loose and framing his angular face like a golden halo. Laurens's bare body exposed before him under the sheets. Hamilton encourages himself to take a leap forward and closes the door behind him.

It's quiet in his room. Dark and cold. He wraps his arms around his small, wasp-waisted frame as he shivers, the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand suddenly up. He feels like he's missing something.

And he is.

Hamilton swallows hard, his jaw clenched once more, as he moves around the room, letting his hand trace over the soft silk of his bedsheets before him, stopping where Laurens's foot would be. He stares at the sheets, linen white before ticking his eyes up to where the moutain of pillows lays before him and up to the wooden headboard. He can faintly see the ghostly outline of Laurens and himself sleeping together in this very bed. He presses his lips together and forces himself to look away, letting out a shuddering breath before finally having the courage to head toward his desk.

His hands rest on the back of the chair as he stares down. He ticks his eyes up to find a framed photograph of him and Laurens sharing a kiss, both of them smiling against the other's lips. Despite the ache he feels, the twisting of his stomach, he can feel the corners of his lips being quirked up.

He reaches for a framed photograph of his beautiful Laurens on the other side, just of him--a simple portrait, Hamilton's dashing soilder. He sighs as turns, the photorgaph still clutched in his hands, before he flops himself down on the edge of the bed, a few dark red curls fall loose and bounce on his forehead.

"Oh, Jack..." Hamilton whispers, his voice raw, choking. He lets his thumb trace over the side of Laurens's face, near his ear, over his hairline. "You know...I'd take our relationship back in a heartbeat."

A pause. Followed by endless silence. He sighs again before flopping down onto the bed, tilting his head to one shoulder as he eyes the portrait before him.

"I um...I um....How've you been? John?" he says to himself. He pauses, waits for a moment, before letting out a dry laugh, followed by a sniff. "College has been okay...rough obviously but okay. Gil had already gone back to France for his own college education and me stuck here in Manhattan and you? Who knows where you could be. But...I do hope...wherever you are...Jack...I...I do hope you now have peace."

Hamilton presses his lips together tightly once more, in hopes it would hold back the small whimper in which escapes him. He clenches his teeth as he narrows his eyes at Laurens before him, the small grin on his face, the twinkle in his sky-blue eyes--blue, a rich, vibrant blue, clear as the sky on a summer's day. He shakes his head, anger replacing the grief.

"You promised me..." he whispers sharply, his voice hissing like a snake, his chest heaving. "You...you....you promised me you wouldn't leave me...you said so yourself those very words." He swallows hard as he blinks his eyes fast, a tight scowl on his face. "You lying bastard!"

With a frustrated grunt, he tosses the framed photograph across the room, wincing as it smashes against the wall, watching it fall to the floor with a clatter, making himself jump back with surprise. Surprisingly, the glass doesn't shatter. Hamilton sniffs and wraps his arms around himself again, feeling himself shrink--feeling small, vulnerable, and weak. And he hates feeling weak and vulnerable.

"How could you?" he whimpers at the framed photograph now on the floor instead of his hands. "How could you, John? You know how I am when I get too attached to people. You knew what I would do, what I would feel if I had lost another person in my life. " He feels something wet trickle down his freckled cheeks. He ignores it. "You know of my past, a past which I would rather keep tucked away in a small closet inside the back of my head."

Silence.

"Please, John..." he whispers, licking his dry, chapped lips--dry from the lack of kisses. "Please...come back to me...I can't...not you too..."

Another pause.

"I know, I know I haven't fully accepted the fact that you're...you're gone...but..." Hamilton shakes his head as he collapses onto his knees, leaning forward and with one arm reaches out for the frame. "They told me you were sick. You were sick and you went out there anyways. You knew...didn't you?"

Nothing.

"What about the letter? The letter I sent you? I sent it around the fifteenth. Did you get it? Did you even read it? Did it get miscarried?"

Hamilton freezes in place, his face paling and his eye widen with realization. He stands shakily, his hands trembling as his mind whirls and his stomach spins, making him double over slightly and clutch his stomach with one arm as he leans against the edge of the bed.

"The 15th..." he whispers shakily, glancing back down at Laurens's portrait in his trembly hands. "The 15th...you...it takes about a couple days to a week for corrospondences to be delievered...you...you may not have even recieved it on the 27th..."

Hamilton feels himself queasy, his vision blurring as his head spins, a loud ringing in his ears.

"Oh God!" he wails, bringing a shaky hand up to his parted lips to hide the chocked sob. "John...Oh, John...please..."

He falls to his knees again, gently placing the portrait onto the bed. He blinks his eyes fast, his whole body trembling as he clasps his hands together and presses his forehead agaisnt his knuckles.

"John...please...if you can hear me...just please...show me..." He sucks in a shaky breath. "Show me the way...please...I...I miss you, my love...I...I can't even..." He squeezes his eyes tighter as more tears manage to escape. "I can't even...I love you...I love you...I just...I just want to kiss you..." He glances up from his knuckles and up at the ceiling. "I want to see you...I...I want to hear my name from your lips...see your smile...hear your laugh...I want...I want to kiss you, Jack. I mean as I say. I'd take our relationship back in a heartbeat. I...I...want to kiss you. Just one last time..."

Hamilton waits. He waits for a few minutes, for anything. But all he hears is silence.

He breaks, the glass inside him shatters. He screams, wails with desperation and anger before he folds his arms over each other and rests his forehead on top of them, still on his knees, sobbing as quietly as he can, sniffling occasionally, mumbling Laurens's name under his breath like a chant.

After a few minutes, he wails again, tears streaming freely like a waterfall down his red, puffy freckled cheeks and his bedroom door slams open at the sound of his pleading cry. He feels arms wrap around him, one arcross his chest and one around his back, the person's hand up to his dark russet curls. The person, who Hamilron happens to discover is Lafayette himself, pulls him close until his forehead is now pressed against his chest.

"Please..." Hamilton whimpers, clutching onto Lafayette's shirt.

Lafayette sighs heavily and presses a soft kiss to his temple before resting his cheek on top of his head, shushing him occasionally.

"I'm sorry..." Hamiton whispers. "I'm so sorry....I...What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong, mon petit frere," Lafayette assures him with a warm smile as he lifs Hamilton's chin up, brushing back a few loose curls.

Hamilton wipes his red, puffy cheeks frustratingly, embarrassed of himself. "There must have...I must have done something wrong, Gil...he deployed...he promised me he'd come home to me...that he wouldn't leave me..."

"Alex..." Lafayette whispers, his own heart cracking at the sight of Hamilton before him, who he loves more than anything.

"They said he was sick," Hamilton chokes, slowly glancing up at Lafayette. "Malaria, they said...Malaria..."

"Alexander..."

"Yet he went to battle anyways..." He chokes. "He knew...he knew..."

"Shh..." Lafayette whispers, helping Hamilton stand once more and guiding him towards the bed. "Sleep Alex. You need let yourself rest."

Hamilton shakes his head. "I can't sleep. It's a waste of time..." He shivers at the word. "There's other things...essays to be complete....exams..."

"Shh," Lafayette insists, forcing him to lie down on the bed. "You must rest, mon ami. Your body is telling you it does. You've overworked yourself again, didn't you?"

Hamilton lets himself collapse onto the pillow with a thump, covering his eyes with his hands.

"Get some rest, mon ami," Lafayette whispers, tucking a lose strand of red hair behind his ear as soon as he lowers his hand.

Hamilton nods and watches Lafayette walk towards his bedroom door. He's about to swing it open, when Hamilton stops him.

"Gil?" Hamilton calls, causing Lafayette to stop in his tracks.

He turns to Hamilton over his shoulder, an eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

Hamilton smiles in what Lafayette must think have been forever. "Thank you."

Lafayette chuckles, feeling the corners of his lips quirk up. "Of course, Alex. That's what brothers are for."

After the door clicks shut behind Lafayette, Hamilton lets his eyes shut and for the first time in many days-

He smiles in his sleep.

[scuttle-buttle]

Dann Sind Wir Helden

Niki Lauda (Rush 2013) x Catherine/Reader

WC: 756

Rated: G

Chapter Tags: a little angsty? existential, fluff, David Bowie greatness, Niki knows more than he lets on

A/N: David Bowie holds a special place in my heart, which inspired this fic. Very long story very short, I had extremely bad mental health issues when I was 15/16, I heard the song Heroes, and my life actually changed. I’m the kind of person that is extremely emotionally affected by music, and the song just overwhelmed me in the best way. I kept going because of it, 10 years later I even have a tattoo for it to remind me of my own strength. So this oneshot is really just self indulgent for me.

🌌

Your birthday fell on a Friday this year. Niki had requested that you came home promptly after work. You had no idea what he was planning, you weren’t really pressed on celebrating your birthday. Nevertheless he insisted you had somewhere to be.

Watching as he closed a small piece of luggage in the trunk of his black sedan, you eye him curiously. “Still not telling me?”

“You will see when we get there, liebe. Have patience.” Huffing, you got into the car. He was too good at keeping secrets.

The drive was pleasant enough. Niki left his hand on the inside of your thigh; your own rested atop his. The sun dipped low in the sky. Blues met pinks, oranges, and purples.

If you had to guess, you would have said it had been at least two hours since you left.

“Are we at least close to whatever secret location you are taking me to?” you ask, breaking the silence.

“Yes.” It’s all your husband is willing to give you.

The first notes of the song begin over the car radio. A soft guitar intro flows through the speakers; leaning forward you turn the dial to increase the volume. You hum to the tune before opening your mouth to sing along.

There’s a starman waiting in the sky, he’d like to come and meet us but he thinks he’d blow our minds.

There’s a starman waiting in the sky, he’s told us not to blow it ‘cause he knows it’s all worthwhile.

You let out a wistful sigh. “I would absolutely die to see him in concert someday. I don’t think I’ve gone to a concert since before we met. He’s on a world tour right now too.”

“Who is this?” Niki plays dumb. He knows exactly who it is. Just like he knows exactly which tour you are referring to. The very same tour he’s currently driving you to see.

You gasp in shock at his question. “It’s David Bowie! I play his records all the time! I made you listen to his latest just the other day, Niki. Maybe you should get your ears checked after being around those loud cars all day.”

“Ah. The English guy with the crazy outfits,” he nods. “My ears are fine, I just did not remember his name.”

“Well, you’d do right to remember from now on if you want this marriage to work,” you tell him in your hautiest voice, sticking your chin up at him.

Soon after Niki pulls into a jam-packed lot of cars. Teenagers and young adults roam around outside the giant building. There is an air of excitement in the atmosphere. As Niki parks you spot someone in the distance with neon orange hair and a red-blue lightning bolt painted across their face. Turning the other direction there is a teen in turquoise eyeshadow and a bright blue jacket. “Niki where-? Why is everyone dressed like Bowie?” What is going on? Did he…?

Your gaze returns to your husband next to you. In his hands are a pair of tickets. David Bowie tickets. I must look like a damned fish with my mouth hung open, you think.

“You mentioned it a month ago. We were sitting in the living room and you were playing the new record. The last song came on and you looked up from your book. You said ‘Niki. This is the song. This is the song you go hear him sing and it changes your life.’ I bought tickets the next day. A coincidence that it was your birthday.”

There are no words to express your shock and excitement. So you kiss him, your hands plastered to his cheeks.

🌌

You were right that day. Hearing Bowie sing the song awoke such emotion within you that there was nothing you could have done to stop it. His lyrics resonated throughout you, the music sending tingles along your spine and goose pimples over your flesh. Your entire being was alight.

I, I will be king.

You felt as though every single emotion had taken over all at once.

And you, you will be queen.

Every sorrow, every joy, every hope, every ounce of love overwhelming you.

Though nothing will drive them away.

You felt everything.

We can be heroes, just for one day.

The universe had collided within your soul, obliterating you in the process. Niki just rocked you gently, his arms wrapped around your middle as the tears slipped down your smiling face. You were limitless. Cosmic. You were heroes.

Tag list: @ay0nha @apparrio @livvyshmiv @fictionlandslanddreams @vinylrosess @typical-bistander @ntlmundy @mymagicsuitcase @anteroom-of-death @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lieutenantn @multiversemarielle @trashbin2 @whatawildone @metalbreakfast @laura-naruto-fan1998 @greeneyedblondie44 @godidontevenknowwhat @marchingicenotes7 @loliissmut

[welllpthisishappening]

Three Strikes [you're out]

It was his fault, really.

Wearing that jersey at Citi Field practically required Nina to hate the mass of muscle sitting in front of her on sight. Plus, he didn't know how to score a baseball game. So, honestly, it made sense. To hate him. Ardently, even. To push buttons, metaphorical or otherwise. A game within the game.

And, if, she found herself having fun, well, that was neither here nor there.

———

Rating: T, with sports and kissing because of who I am as a person Word Count: 9.1 K, also because of who I am as a person AN: I don’t know, guys. I got thoughts. I got feelings. The only way I know how deal with either of those things is to write about them with sports and kissing. Did I suggest that being a Mets fan was a bit like being Grisha? Perhaps! Perhaps, I did! If this is out of character just...don’t tell me.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll

———

The suggestion that an idea was capable of boiling a person’s blood, even in the most abstract and metaphorical sense, had always appealed to Nina. Not in a particularly violent way, of course. More in regards to the visual. 

Conjured up all sorts of possibilities. 

Little bubbles beneath her skin, searing emotion through her veins that inevitably led to tufts of smoke pouring out of her ears. Like one of those old cartoon characters, she could now only dimly remember. In moments like this, especially. When she wasn’t quite boiling, but certainly racing toward the vast and admittedly surprising precipice of abject hatred. Directed almost solely toward the mass of muscle who dared to wear a Chase Utley jersey to Citi Field on a Thursday in May. 

He needed a haircut, she thought. 

The muscle. Not Chase Utley. She couldn’t possibly care less about the state of Chase Utley’s hair. Unless he was choking on it, somewhere. Obviously. Then Nina cared very much. About Chase Utley. And this guy. With too-long strands that she was starting to believe fell almost artfully across the back of a vaguely golden-skinned neck, as if they existed solely to torment her. 

On a Thursday in May. 

Sitting there, with a seat digging into the middle of her spine and her frustration threatening the enamel on the back of her teeth, Nina was loath to admit, even to herself, that she couldn’t stop staring at him. Partially because of the hair. Which looked very—pushable, really. As far as her finger’s potential went. But mostly because of everything else. Watching the muscle was a bit like watching a statue at the Met, waiting with bated breath for it to actually surge to life because when she was that same kid who watched cartoons on weekend mornings, she rather strongly believed that the statues at the Met were wholly capable of smiling and turning and living. Artwork prone to the mystical and potentially magical.

She blamed Ben Stiller for that, honestly. 

Amy Adams to a slightly lesser degree. 

Robin Williams would suffer no criticism in this argument, naturally. 

The muscle shifted. 

Twitched just a hint in his seat. Altered the angle of his, frankly, impressively wide shoulders. Rolled his neck between them. The seat was too small. He was too big. That jersey must have been ancient. 

And, really, when it came down to it, Nina hated him most for the pencil. Tucked behind his right ear, it looked comically small whenever he pulled it between his fingers, scratching across a legitimate scorebook because in the thirty-seven minutes or so she’d spent observing this fascinating specimen of humanity, she’d noticed it was, in fact, a scorebook. 

Not a piece of paper.

Not a printout. 

Not even the one she was only vaguely confident they handed out in the rotunda downstairs. 

An actual scorebook. 

That he brought with him to Citi Field. 

She glanced down to make sure she had not actually burst into literal flames in section 205. Row F. Seat 27. No such luck. Weird. 

The pencil was back in his hand. One leg crossed the other, leaving his knee propped in the air, and there was just so much of the muscle that it was a rather small miracle of an exceptionally narrow field of science that it didn’t collide with anyone around him. Instead, it provided a built-in desk, that stupid scorebook propped up against jean-covered skin and even more muscles, pushing against fabric like they were personally offended by the concept of the blue-colored prison. 

Nina bit her lip. 

Tried to keep breathing. Because fires required oxygen, and there could be no boiling without fire and—

“‘Scuse me, ‘scuse me, ‘scuse me, just trying to—” Blood flooded Nina’s mouth, making it impossible for her to open that same mouth and let out the laugh already pushing against her lips. There were at least four little wrinkles pinched across the small expanse of Jesper’s nose, two boxes of popcorn clutched in either one of his hands and a soda between the slight bend of his elbow. He tiptoed his way around disgruntled fans, glaring at a few red jerseys for good measure. As if he actually wanted to be there. Nina kept biting her lip. “Just trying to get back to my seat,” Jesper finished, “won’t bother you again, rest of the game, absolutely, one-hundred percent guaranteed.”

Nina’s lips tilted up. 

Scrambling to her feet, she couldn’t quite balance on the edge of the seat that immediately swung back up. Something sticky stuck to the bottom of her shoe and eventually, she would find herself wondering why she didn’t simply move into Jesper’s seat. For a myriad of reasons, she assumed. 

Some of which might have mystical and potentially. 

Goddamn, Ben Stiller. 

“Accommodating sort of group, isn’t it?” Jesper mumbled, pushing past her and Nina had to applaud his dexterity. Not a kernel lost in the battle. 

“Should have waited ‘til the middle of the inning. This is just bad form on your part.” “And miss all—” He waved an imperious hand toward the field. “What am I missing, exactly?”

Opening her mouth, Nina was certain she’d come up with a reasonable explanation for the romantic nature of baseball, only she was a little busy. Keeping her head connected to the rest of her body. 

Snapping to the left, her breath caught. In that dramatic sort of way that always seemed like the perfect soundtrack to any great sporting moment. Eyes wide and fingers digging into her palm, hope mixed with the bubbles and the boils, and she barely noticed the awkward angle of her bent knees. Or just how close she was to—

Him. 

The muscle. 

She heard his pencil drop, she swore. 

Oh, Gods, but he had blue eyes. Sharp and staring right at her, Nina resisted the very real urge to let herself melt right there. In section 205. Row F. Seat 27. Well, in front of seat 27, technically. 

Pulling her knee back did not do that same knee any favors, muscles almost audibly objecting to the force of Nina’s split-second reaction, but then she forgot about the pain and the concept of depth perception. The yell tore itself out of her lungs, found its way to the rest of the noise circling the stadium, wrapping its way around people until the hope of that one, singular moment settled on the tips of her eyelashes and the backs of her heels and she wasn’t sure if she heard him at first. 

No one should be capable of possessing a voice quite so gruff, that’s why.

“Not going to make it.”

Glaring at the monstrous mass of muscle and questionably good hair wasn’t so much as a decision as something far closer to instinct, pulling her brows together and letting her tongue push at the bottom of her teeth, and he—

Looked. Right at her. And her tongue. 

Shoulders tensing, a hint of nervous energy appeared in those same ridiculously blue eyes, gone almost before Nina had a chance to realize it was there at all and she didn’t see the play. Heard it, though. The groans and the grunts, complete despair, and the first shreds of desolation drowning out the hope and pulling it from a grip that was always a little tenuous. 

No home run. No hit. Just a run-of-the-mill fly ball in center field. 

One side of the muscle’s mouth tugged up. 

“Told you.” “Oh, fuck off.”

Surprise, she thought, was a very good look on him. Most of them would be, she imagined. But right then, on a Thursday in May, with two outs in the bottom of the fourth, Nina relished the surprise. 

And sat back down. 

To be a Mets fan, was to believe in the impossible. 

The amazing, even. 

It was right there in the slogans. The advertising campaigns. On a variety of shirts, both legitimate and those sold at the bottom of the 7-train stairs. To accept the amazing, to wish for it, even, was part and parcel of the history of an organization that relished its underdog status. Thrived in its role, the second team in a city that toed the line between excess and restraint. 

Winning with this team was unexpected and unpredictable. Came without much pomp. Certainly no circumstance. Only a few trades that drew national eyes and back page headlines. More often than not, this was a team that discovered amazing when it simply should not exist. 

Misfits who created something wonderful. Who sparked something among people who, at least for nine innings, believed orange was a worthwhile color to wear. Who smiled at a mascot with a massive baseball for a head. And his wife, who sported some rather impressive eyelashes, actually. 

To be a Mets fan, was to understand heartache. 

To accept being the butt of jokes across decades. 

Every year, the knowing smiles came. Paying goddamn Bobby Bonilla. Cracks about pyramid schemes and owners who couldn’t find their way out of a money-based paper bag, team antics that occasionally drew those headlines, and players who fell in wayward ditches on their farms, ending their season before it ever really began. 

Winning didn’t come often, but it was loud when it did. The crack of a bat and a ball finding the back of a glove, shoulders slamming into the left-field wall with its massive M&Ms ad. Feedback from a microphone as David Wright thanked the Seven Line Army, in all their orange-clad glory, memories of that near-perfect October and what could have been imprinting themselves across a generation. 

To be a Mets fan, was to live and die with each pitch. Each hit. To hold your breath and wait for magic that lingered beneath skin and forced its way into bloodstreams. 

To be a Mets fan, was to hate anyone wearing a Chase Utley jersey. 

“Stew, stew, stewing, a rather hearty beef stew.” Nina narrowed her eyes. “What are you talking about?” “You are stewing,” Jesper said pointedly, as if it was an obvious affliction and they both hadn’t casually descended into madness caused by extra innings. Putting a runner on second was supposed to help avoid all of this. Runs were meant to be scored in extra innings. Nothing had happened yet. “Any more and that little divot between your eyebrows is never going to disappear. Then what will we do?” Answering would only acknowledge that the divot was more like a rather obvious ravine now, and the little half-moon circles left by her nails were going to be permanently etched into Nina’s palm. 

He was still keeping score. 

How he hadn’t run out of columns in his scorebook was beyond her, but Nina figured if the muscle was someone willing to purchase a scorebook, he probably made sure it was one that also included, like, fifteen innings on each page. 

If they made it to the fifteenth inning, she would cry. 

It would be embarrassing. 

Jesper probably wouldn’t come back for the rest of the series. If she cried, that was. And she needed him to come back for the rest of the series. Sitting anywhere else wasn’t all that appealing, even if it might have been warmer up there now. 

She wrapped her arms around herself. Better to stew with, that way. 

“Do games normally last this long?”

Nina shook her head. 

Jesper groaned. Loudly, complete with his head thrown back for extra emphasis and even clearer frustration and she didn’t think she imagined the way the muscle tensed. Staring at him was becoming something of a pastime in the middle of a more acceptable one. Light didn’t quite reflect from the hair she was starting to become just a hint obsessed with, but it certainly appeared determined to try, and his ability to hold so much tension in the region directly surrounding his jaw would have been impressive in any other circumstance. 

As it was, Nina was a little concerned about the state of the muscle’s back molars. 

It was why she didn’t react as quickly as she should have. Or so she would argue for the rest of time. 

Once she got the popcorn off her feet. 

A waterfall of butter-coasted kernels landed on her shoes, a few bouncing as she did, thrust out of her seat like a canon. Whatever bit of her heart that existed solely to document the ebbs and flows of the New York Mets success flew into her throat, where it immediately took up residence directly in the middle. Wide eyes immediately started to water, which brought her straight back to the entirely metaphorical cliff of her potential embarrassment and the muscle was leaning forward. 

With his own brand of emotion. 

No obvious tension, just that steady sort of hope born among the din of baseball-type sounds and, even more importantly, baseball-type feelings and Nina was mumbling. 

“Turn ‘em, turn ‘em, turn ‘em, two, two, two, two, get the—” Suggesting she screamed made it seem as if she weren’t in complete control of her faculties. And despite the potential of extra innings insanity, Nina was just as lucid as ever and just as capable of throwing her hands in the air, while also screaming. 

Undeniably so. 

As soon as the ball jumped over the outstretched glove at short, Francisco Lindor’s lanky and overpaid body stretched out across the infield grass. Curses flowed from Nina’s mouth, some of them sharp enough to make even Jesper choke on whatever bits of oxygen he was able to gulp down, and she didn’t stop. Kept screaming and shouting, increasingly mobile hands and dexterous shoulders, miming her own throw home because whoever was playing left field was not moving quickly enough for her. 

He didn’t make the throw. 

Not in time, at least. 

Dirt flew into the air as a leg stretched over home plate and the umpire’s arms were nearly as impressive as Nina’s. Marking the runner safe and giving the Phillies their first and only lead of the night. 

Frustration mingled with out-of-place despair, far too early in the series and the season to be feeling quite as desolate as Nina suddenly was and, really, she wasn’t sure why she looked. Something about magnets, or simple curiosity, but her eyes drifted and her head tilted and she felt her jaw drop as his stupid, little pencil scratched out E6 in his scorebook. 

“What the hell, man?”

He didn’t turn. Figured. Screaming was becoming her base setting, so Nina wasn’t entirely surprised that the muscle didn’t acknowledge it, but then she was moving and leaning and tapping on a shoulder that somehow seemed sturdier when she had kneed it several innings earlier. 

“That’s not an error.” Moving in slow motion only made sense if the man was, in fact, a piece of marble. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead, acting as little paths toward his eyes and they were still blue. Good, that was good. Bad, that was bad. 

Jesper wasn’t even trying to contain his laughter. 

“Excuse me?” “Not an error,” Nina repeated, careful to pause between each word for emphasis. The muscle didn’t flinch. Stared at her incredulously, though. “Did you not see that hop?” “I saw your multi-million dollar man throw his arm out without much regard to actually making a routine play. Is that what you’re talking about?” “How is that possibly an error?” He lifted a shoulder. She was boiling over. “Should have made the play.” “It was impossible!" “C’mon now,” he chuckled, and the good fought with the bad. A symphony of contradictions blaring between Nina’s ears. Neither of which were steaming, it seemed. “Nothing is impossible in baseball.” “That was!” “Might need to come up with a better argument.” “Home scorer is not going to give Francisco an error on that. He had to dive!” “Maybe he should have been in better position, to begin with.” “The shift was on.” “Well, the shift is ruining baseball, so—” Nina gagged. Let her tongue push between rows of teeth that she couldn’t believe were going to survive the rest of the night if the acid churning in her esophagus was any indication. He looked. Again. Whatever heat lapping at the base of her spine was only marginally distracting. “A baseball purist cannot possibly wear the jersey you are wearing.” “I wasn’t aware of the rules, but, please, go on.” “Fuck. Off.” “Getting less and less creative.” His eyes hadn’t moved. As if he was documenting each twitch of her lips for his own personal posterity. Nina found she didn’t mind the idea as much as she should. 

Jesper was going to crack a rib. 

“Chase Utley is an asshole who doesn’t know how to slide.” “Ok.” “An asshole!” “I heard you the first time,” he said, losing the war with his lips. Curled up, they cut across the serious mask his face had become in the world’s least serious conversation. It was nice that Jesper ended up crying before Nina, honestly. “And he wasn’t a Phil when he hurt your guy, so I don’t think that should count at all.” Nina did not know what noise she made. Wasn’t human. Hurt a little. “Did you just call him a Phil?” “Guys,” Jesper mumbled, but she couldn’t be bothered with something as menial as the bottom of the inning when the muscle in front of her kept doing that thing with his eyes and his hair and—

Reaching out, she managed to bypass his rather impressive reaction time, grabbing the pencil before he could stop her and the crack of it between her fingers was as loud as any grand slam this slightly ugly ballpark had ever witnessed. 

Not that Nina would ever admit she thought Citi Field was slightly to moderately ugly. 

It was the color scheme. Way too much green involved. 

She gave herself exactly seven seconds to relish the look of pure amazement on the muscle’s face. 

“Use a pen,” Nina sneered, “at least stand by your scoring convictions.” “Chase Utley is going to be in the Hall of Fame.” “As a Phil?” “World Series champion.”

His ability to emphasize words with meaningful pauses was far better than Nina’s. “It wasn’t an error.” “You’re paying that guy more than anyone in the world deserves to get paid, if he’s going to lay out for a liner, then he should be able to make the play, don’t you think?” Nina bit her lip. Boiled. Stewed. 

Ah, damn. 

Her silence was an answer in the middle of a sea made up of equally disheartened fans. Who all suddenly remembered how terrible they looked in orange. Always worse after a loss. 

The muscle nodded. Once. Exhaled. Through his nose. As if he’d won, and not just his team, and Nina didn’t offer to replace his pencil. 

On a Friday night in May, Nina genuinely believed that he wouldn’t come back. Hoped for it, even. And something else almost akin to the exact opposite. 

Both were very strange feelings to feel contained in one human, body. Draped, even as it was, in blue and orange and New York City’s less famous pinstripes. With PIAZZA splashed across her back, Nina felt as if she were obligated to sit a little straighter. As if slumping in her seat — by herself tonight because Genya was not at all interested in sitting in the stands and Zoya would have laughed at the suggestion, and Jesper had to get back to the Crow Club — would somehow tarnish the reputation of a name that didn’t belong to her. 

Didn’t it, though? Just a little. Wasn’t that how sports worked? Throwing yourself into the camaraderie with both feet and occasionally flailing arms, willing to sit in an uncomfortable seat that she’d have to mention to Nikolai at some point because these were starting to feel a bit like torture devices masquerading as plastic, and a piece of paper floated onto her lap. 

He’d folded the piece of paper. 

The muscle. Not Nikolai. Who was sitting in the owner’s box, in fact. Nina assumed those seats weren’t rising up in revolt against him. 

The muscle wasn’t wearing a jersey this time. A cup of what smelled like over-brewed coffee, though, was held tightly in his left hand, while the right clutched his scorebook as if it were made of gold. Nina’s tongue swiped her teeth. 

He watched. 

Documented. 

Kept track. 

“What the hell is this?” “Is that your favorite curse, you think?” “Why are you throwing paper airplanes at me?” Lifting shoulders appeared to be his default form of response. “Felt just quirky enough not to be overtly threatening.” “Because of the guns generally associated with fighter planes?” “What do you know about fighter planes?” Rolling her whole head did not get her a smile. Or even a hint of such a thing. It did get him a few grumblings of frustration from those whose view he was blocking. Because there was so goddamn much of him. Imposing, that was the word for it. Taking up space and settling into the seat with a near amazing amount of grace, practically folding in on himself, like he was made of smooth lines and crisp edges, capable of soaring through air in a way that belied that flimsy nature of paper airplanes, and there was that word again. 

“Always liked the ones that had painted teeth on them,” Nina said, somehow fully prepared for the huff of laughter that fell out of him. He pulled a pen out of his jacket pocket. 

To hand to her. 

“You would.” “What is that supposed to mean, exactly?” “It means,” he said, nodding at the pen when she kept gaping at it, “that in my limited experience with you, Ms. Met—”

“Thought we covered lack of creativity last night.” He ignored her. Eventually, it might be a good idea to learn his name. Where that might also be the worst idea in the history of the world. Maybe Nikolai could track him down. Like through ticket sales, or something. That seemed like a breach of power, though. 

“You do have a rather impressive set of teeth on you, yourself.” “Oh, that’s an insult.” “Should unfold the paper airplane.” Most of her wanted to crumple up the piece of the paper, toss it back in his face and then possibly stab him with his own pen. But Nina also didn’t know the muscle’s name, and cold-blooded murder on a Friday night in May required a certain sense of personalization that they hadn’t quite reached yet. So, there was no crumpling. Her fingers didn’t shake. Her heartbeat held steady in her chest. 

Unfolding the paper with his eyes on her, Nina did hold her breath. For eight straight seconds, approximately. Until it all rushed out of her, entirely amazed and perpetually annoyed because the paper airplane left creases between the boxes of what was very clearly her own personal scoresheet. 

With provided pen.

“This is a trick.” “That not being a question gives me pause,” he said, but it sounded like an admission. One tinged with regret. Presumably for Chase Utley’s tendency to be a complete and utter asshole. Prone to injuring Mets’ middle infielders. 

“Is it not?” He shook his head. And the pen in his hand. “Get to stand by the convictions of your scoring actions.” “Errors occur only on routine plays.” “Yuh-huh.” “You’re here by yourself.” “Also not a question.”

“Or an answer,” Nina pointed out.

“Where’d your friend go?” “What do you put in your coffee?” “Nothing,” he answered, “seriously, where’s the friend?” Something lingered on the edge of the question. Something Nina didn’t want to notice, but couldn’t possibly ignore. Not when it came with concave shoulders, curling toward her like they were preparing themselves to block wind and glares in equal measure. The second of which was really a more pressing problem at the moment.

“Had to work.” “As a stand-up comedian?” “Hardy har har,” Nina grumbled. Leaning back against the force of his ensuing smile was as natural as wearing a Mike Piazza jersey and searching for the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. What she was less prepared for was the ability of that same smile to twist its way between her ribs, lighting another new and imaginary fire and if her mouth dried just a bit, then that was neither here nor there.

Between her and the baseball gods, fickle as they were. 

“You don’t put anything in your coffee?” He shook his head. “Sugar makes me nauseous.” “God, what a depressing way to live life.” “Eh, there are things that make up for it.” “Chase Utley?” “I think you might be obsessed,” he said, dropping into his seat so as to avoid being pelted with cheese fries from Shake Shack. The guy three seats away looked real serious. “Going to write him a letter asking for a game of catch?” “You’re making pop culture references.” “Not a question, either.” “No, a stunned statement of fact.” She wanted that laugh on loop. Wanted it to play as the soundtrack for the rest of the night and the rest of the series and quite possibly the rest of her life, lingering softly in the background of everything she did for the rest of forever. 

Matching in perfect rhythm to the predisposed nature of her blood to boil. 

“Where are all your friends, then?” Nina asked, almost desperate to change the direction of the conversation and her internal dialogue. The blue evolved. Right there in his eyes. Darkened until it looked like the sky before a storm and that was ten-thousand times worse than any other drivel she’d come up with so far. 

Licking her lips was idiotic. Naturally, that’s what she did. 

“Not here,” he replied, “but I know the hitting coach.” Strictly speaking, that should not have been quite as awe-inducing as it was. Nina hadn’t paid for her tickets, after all. Had no intention of paying for tickets ever again, if she was being honest. So, really, seeing how caution swept the muscle’s face was kind of a dick move. 

On her part, specifically. 

“Should I be impressed?” Shoulder lift, right on cue. “I knew him in college. Was, uh—” “—Wait, did you play baseball?” Color didn’t rise on his cheeks. Not in any romantic way. Nothing about it was swepping, which was good because the Phillies had won the night before, meaning any sweeping would also guarantee Mets losses. It arrived in splotches. Bits of pink and nearly-red, tiny pinpricks of unregulated emotion that immediately affected the ability of Nina’s pulse to stay even. 

She grinned. 

Wide and honest, ignoring the strands of hair that fell in her eyes when she let her head fall. 

He didn’t look away. 

She’d think that was important, later. 

“You contain multitudes, Muscle.” “Insulting,” he grumbled. “Quite possibly the tallest man I’ve ever encountered in the flesh.” “That can’t possibly be true.” “You don’t look like a baseball player.” Back to the correct shade of blue. Just for a moment. Disappearing in the haze of a 90 mile per hour fastball. Right up the middle. But Nina had always been fairly good at tracking pitches, and she might not have been a former baseball player, but picking out the slider amongst a never-ending stream of heaters was like her personal superpower. 

“So I’ve heard.” “From scouts?” “Sometimes, yeah.”

“Of the professional variety?” “Every now and then.”

Letting out a low whistle, Nina’s spine relaxed. Tension that had taken root between her shoulder blades loosened, watching the face in front of her and the mask it was so obviously clinging to. Kept slipping, though. While staring directly at her. 

It was, she would argue, why she did what she did. Without mumbling. 

“You wanna sit?” “With you?” “Rude. You threw paper at me.” “It was a well-constructed airplane,” the muscle argued, “so you could also score the game. This was a nice thing I was doing.” “Past tense.” “Am doing,” he corrected. “Currently.”

“That mean you're going to sit?”

She counted. Seconds. Moments. Breaths. Dug her teeth into her lower lip. Against the side of her tongue. He nodded. 

And climbed over the seat. 

So, that was only going to marginally mess with her brain. 

“Alright then,” Nina said, doing her best to flatten her paper against the bend of her knee, “tell me everything about your baseball tale of woe.”

He didn’t. 

At least not at first. 

It took until the fourth inning for them to begrudgingly agree that mowing patterns in the outfield was an abstract art form that did not often get the credit it deserved, before deciding, in no uncertain terms, that the NL East boasted some of the better uniform options in all baseball, even if that was mostly because of the Marlins and—

His hand moved to his shoulder. 

The right one. More than once. Gently massaged the muscle there, a slight grimace that Nina only noticed because she was sitting squarely in the middle of objectification and she didn’t even know his name. Yet, she reminded herself. 

They’d get there. 

They didn’t. Not in that game, anyway. 

A Saturday afternoon in May didn’t present the same sort of chill that required scalding hot coffee with absolutely nothing else in it, but Nina was playing with hope and resting on her not-so-cautious expectations. Seeing how wide his eyes could get was extra. 

Sugar on top, if you will. 

They got very wide. Frozen, even. Stuck halfway down the row, still no jersey, just his dropped jaw and slumped, possibly injured shoulders, ignoring the jabs from nearby season ticket holders who were starting to believe this mountain of muscle existed solely to block their sight lines. 

Nina figured that’s what it was, at least. 

He smiled. 

That smile. Her smile. When she’d begun to claim it, she couldn’t begin to pinpoint, but it might have been six and two-thirds innings into last night’s game when his left arm had bumped her right, just enough warmth wafting off him to be noticeable. To leave goosebumps in his awake, too. 

“There’s no sugar in it,” she promised, “so you don’t have to worry for the state of your stomach.” “I didn’t once think you were trying to poison me.” “High praise.” “Deservedly so.” She flushed. Ducked her eyes. Tried not to chew her tongue in half, or allow the burning-hot blood racing through every single one of her extremities to burst its way out of her skin. That would be off-putting. And traumatic. 

“Here,” he added, tugging another folded piece of paper out of his back pocket, “for you.” “Are you printing these off in the hotel?” “Should be a private investigator, Ms. Met.” “Did your coach make you stay in Queens, Muscle?” The hand that landed on her waist — to move her, just to move her — was warm and blistering and those were two very different words with a pair of very different meanings and even more jarring consequences, and he sat down next to her. 

Huh. 

Huh. 

“Been taking the train in from Grand Central.” “Ugh, he’s making you stay over there? There’s no good food in that part of the city.” “Quiet, though.” Sticking her tongue out when she gagged continued to be one of Nina’s less impressive traits. “I blew my shoulder out my junior year of college.”

One of Nina’s knees buckled. Only one. The right one, actually. She refused to believe that was a sign. From baseball gods, or otherwise. “Hitting?” “Throwing. Probably because of the hitting, but the blowing out actually happened on what was considered by most in the know to be a pretty routine throw from left field. Hurt like hell.” “Yeah, I bet.” “I don’t remember a ton of what happened right after. Might have yelled? Quite possibly blacked out. Definitely heard something snap, which admittedly terrified me, but then there were a bunch of people talking and walking me down the tunnel and more lights and tests. The phrase never the same again was thrown around with alarming regularity.”

Cold. Nina was cold. Freezing beneath a mid-afternoon sun, one of those May days that tease of summer yet to come. They smell like cotton candy and potential, of a distinct lack of responsibility and SPF 70. 

She had sensitive skin. 

“Were you by yourself?” Asking questions she somehow already knew the answer to was equal parts cruel and unusual, particularly when asking it of a man whose name never got to back pages. Or her ears, it seemed. She swallowed whatever was sitting in the back of her mouth. 

“Brum was there,” he said, but it sounded like an excuse. A practiced line that had started to reek of insincerity. “My—well, my parents had been gone for a while. Same old sob story you always hear, y’know? Kid loses everything, finds salvation in the dogma of sports, gets pretty good at it, and then—” “—Loses it all again?” Nina finished. She thought she did. Whoever was talking didn’t sound like Nina. Sounded like someone who had painstakingly refolded her paper airplane the night before. To keep on the nightstand next to her bed. 

“Some of it, yeah. They wanted me to stick around. Stay on staff. Coach. But that was—” He clicked his tongue. Distant eyes stared past that goddamn M&Ms ad, and Nina didn’t think. Wasn’t that how the best athletes were, though? All instinct and lightning-fast reaction times. Responding to a situation before the rest of us mere mortals could even begin to fathom the circumstance. 

He didn’t push her hand off his. 

The coffee was going to go cold. 

“Very maudlin way of approaching things.” She chuckled. Tried not to cry, for entirely new reasons. “Impressive vocabulary for a jock.” “Keep workshop'ing your insults, Ms. Met.”

“Brum, he just got hired by the Phillies, right?” She knew that answer too. “Is this the first game you’ve been to?” His eyes slid to hers. In that same slow motion as before, and that couldn’t possibly have been less than seventy-two hours ago, but life had a tendency to be weird like that and good like that and, well, you can’t predict baseball, Suzyn.  

“Why the Mets?” It wasn’t the question she expected. Felt far too big and more than a little terrifying, jumping into the deep end of the pool from the highest diving board. But that same pool was always crystal clear, the sort of blue they wrote songs about. Summertime and the living was easy. That sort of thing. 

“Because there’s something wonderful in a team that defies every bit of sports conjecture. That breathes in the chaos and spits out something that, every now and then, is absolutely beautiful. That lets me be bigger than myself for nine innings and a minimum of one-hundred and sixty-two games. That takes all my shortcomings and accepts them because one time this team claimed there was a raccoon fighting with a rat in the dugout tunnel. Because they don’t play The Imperial March during lineup announcements.” Something, something—she needed better sunscreen. 

So as to not get burned by the force of his sun-like smile. 

“I think a raccoon could probably take a rat, don’t you think?” “I don’t know,” Nina wavered, “I own a fair amount of Staten Island Pizza Rat merch.” His hand flipped. Fingers curled around hers and held on with an ease that settled her acid and cooled her blood, finally finding that middle ground between frigid and fission. 

“Explain the single seating.” “I had a friend here on Thursday.” “And he had to go back to work. Where does he work?” “Bar in Jersey.” Curiosity flashed in the blue, but then it was gone and Nina must have imagined it, looking for more common ground and mutual understanding. Her fingers looked minuscule between his. 

“If I told you that I know the new owner of the Mets,” Nina started, “because I went to college with his girlfriend, and he’s been listening to me talk about this team for the better part of a decade now, so he decided to spend some of his inherited millions to buy it, and now that same girlfriend is sitting up there perpetually confused why I like to be out here, do you think you’d hate me on principle?” One blink. Two. Head tilt. Jaw clench. His lips popped when they opened. 

“No.” “No?” “No,” he echoed, “Nikolai Lantsov shouldn’t have spent so much money on your shortstop’s contract.” “Wasn’t an error.” Both shoulders lifted.

“Nina Zenik,” she said, a tardy greeting that should have happened well before the hand holding. The hand holding continued. 

“Matthias Helvar.” “Did you bring a pen?” He pulled another one out of his jacket pocket. 

They disagreed on no less than half a dozen calls. Impressive, since they didn’t actually start paying attention to their separate score sheets and books until early in the third inning after Nina had barely cleared the cheese sauce off the corner of her page. 

Introducing themselves made it feel as if they’d crested another level in whatever the proper term for this not-quite relationship was. 

Jabs weren’t nearly as sharp, but elbows brushed and noses scrunched. Makeshift disdain blurred against subtle infatuation, sunshine in his hair and pressing against the barrier of Nina’s consistently reapplied sunscreen. They talked. Laughed. Shouted and screamed, standing at different times. Much to the chagrin of everyone around them. 

She didn’t bother asking about the Chase Utley jersey. Knew that it was as much a part of Matthias’s fandom as the Piazza jersey was to hers. Connecting him to something that was only partially his, because no matter how much this sport might be capable of sweeping over them, of bringing them along with the current, there was a riptide always threatening just below the surface. Capable of drowning and filling lungs, leaving them both taking on water and hastily constructed metaphors. 

Plus, they both hated the Yankees. So, they talked about that. 

Talked about places in the city they liked to go, Nina’s knowledge of hole-in-the-wall restaurants leaving his eyes as wide as she’d hoped they could be, tiny pools she was more than willing to dive into. With perfect form. 

Laughter became the new normal for the pair of them, chancing glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. They always were. As if those magnets were real and forceful, leaving them both grinning like idiots whenever they were caught in the act. 

Once an inning, then. 

Matthias didn’t sing during the seventh-inning stretch, but Nina was loud enough for the pair of them. Especially when she was standing on her seat, a hand flat on the small of her back. 

“So you don’t fall,” Matthias explained, and the words immediately branded themselves on that corner of her brain where Nina kept good things. 

They shared a plastic helmet of swirl ice cream. With rainbow sprinkles. 

He called them jimmies. 

She made fun of him. 

And then—

It was over. 

No drama. No walk-off hits. No extra innings. Just a Mets win that didn’t require the bottom of the ninth. And she was happy with that, she was. Less so with the way her stomach dropped as soon as her knees bent and her chin lifted, barely tempered hope and the sort of want that did not require magnets to direct her gaze. 

Matthias loomed above her, casting shadows and the desire to finally push her fingers into his hair was nearly too much to ignore. Nina did. In favor of what came next because she knew what came next, and this was not that serious. Sitting on opposing lines of a flimsy at best baseball rivalry did not mean she couldn’t push up on her toes and catch the mouth of someone who no longer felt like a stranger. Until that same mouth inevitably opened and she got to do whatever she wanted with her tongue. 

Only—

One of the season tickets started grumbling, and the sea of fans pushed forward and the only way Nina stayed upright was because of the arm around her waist. Matthias’s nose ticked her skin along the back of her neck. 

“Told ya,” he mumbled, and if he saw the goosebumps, he didn’t mention them. 

That was nice. 

He was nice. 

She was—

A mess, at best. 

Mostly because there was no kissing. Almost like they were nervous of what would happen if they did. Of shattering this tremulous understanding and shaky alliance, but Matthias’s fingers squeezed Nina’s hip before he said, “See you tomorrow.”

She did not see him tomorrow. 

When tomorrow was tonight and now and Zoya and Genya kept doing circles around the room. 

Sunday Night Baseball on ESPN required a certain amount of protocol and it was the first broadcast with Nikolai in the owner’s box, which meant plenty of shots at the owner’s box, and Nina sat in her very plush, decidedly warm seat, with only minimal argument. 

There was champagne, so. That helped. 

Plus, she figured she’d— “Is it a guy?” Genya asked without preamble, propping her chin on her hand. “Is that why you don’t want to hang out?” Nina sighed. “You know me better than that.” “Sure, sure, sure, looked real cozy down there, though.” “Are you spying on me?” “Nah, Zoya was.” Frustration clawed at Nina’s consciousness. Surprise did not. This was par for the course and several other out-of-place sports cliches. 

Zoya finished her drink before adding, “I didn’t leave this suite all afternoon, yesterday, the security guards that Nikolai knows in that section though…” “That’s splitting hairs,” Nina argued. “And they were just doing their job,” Nikolai added, shouting in a way a multi-millionaire absolutely should not. Zoya rolled her eyes. 

“Whatever they were doing,” Nina said, “they didn’t need to be doing it. What if someone got robbed while they were watching me?” “You think people are getting robbed in broad daylight inside this stadium?” “Maybe!” “Were lots of Phillies fans here,” Genya pointed out. Laughter clung to her words, quiet snickers from the rest of the assorted peanut gallery. Before they noticed that Nina wasn’t lacking. Might have paled, if the matching expressions she was met with were any indication. “Oh,” Genya exhaled, “good looking Phillies fan, huh?” Nina grit her teeth. “He knows Brum.” “The bastard,” Nikolai sneered. 

“Most people don’t like him.” “Because he’s a bastard, yeah.” “How’d the Phillies fan know Brum?” Zoya asked, and it wasn’t like Nina wanted to tell them. Words poured out of her all the same, excitement carving its way into the conversation because even if she could rationalize the lack of kissing after a three-day conversation and occasional argument, none of her friends could understand how she didn’t get his number. 

Neither could she, quite frankly. 

“This is either disgustingly romantic,” Nikolai said, “or it’s exceedingly dumb. Of both of you.” Genya clicked her tongue. In agreement, Nina figured. “Second one, for sure. Do we have to go arrest him for something? Bring him up here, nervous and scared—” “Same sentiment,” Nina mumbled. “—Only for him to see you, awash in a sea of moonlight and outfield lights, and then you live happily ever after despite your baseball allegiances?” “He hates the Yankees too.” “Something, at least,” Zoya said, but it was missing the edge. The acid. The anger Nina had almost prepared herself for. “You going to go down there, or….”

Finishing the sentence was pointless when Nina was already standing, Nikolai’s laugh ringing in her ears as she did her best to push her finger straight through the elevator button. She bobbed on the balls of her feet, impatience skittering up her spine and there were too many buttons and too much laughter, but that was likely a good thing, and the security guards didn’t stop her. 

From running into the section. 

Only to find two sets of empty seats. His and hers. A weird, depressing, matching set. 

Nina waited. Stood at the top of the section stairs, waiting for a flash of familiar hair or those eyes that she probably hadn’t dreamed about the night before. Never came. The goosebumps did, for an entirely new and even more depressing reason. 

The security guard asked her to leave. Twenty-eight minutes after the last out. 

Matthias hadn’t been at the game. 

To be a Mets fan, was to wait. 

For wins. For David Wright’s body to heal. For that same rush that came in 2015, only this time, it also came up with a World Series championship attached to it. 

Nina wasn’t very good at waiting. 

Summer crept forward. As it was apt to do. Going back to the ballpark was second nature to Nina, but the Mets were on their West Coast swing, and spending a week and a half with Zoya and Genya touring the greater California coast wasn’t entirely appealing. So, she was in New Jersey. 

Leaning against the bar of the Crow Club, Nina watched the crowd. Most of them saturated with fruity alcohol, drinks that never came with those little umbrellas because the thought of such a thing would have set Kaz’s teeth on edge, but this was Atlantic City and that required a certain level of nonsense to be met consistently. 

Plus, Nina knew Inej liked those drinks. 

And that was that, for Kaz. As they say. 

Heads turned at tables while she watched, conversations that only occasionally acknowledged the baseball games on TVs hanging above them, others recounting beach exploits from that afternoon and plans for the rest of the evening, a steady din of noise and humanity that somehow made it easier for Nina to breathe. 

It smelled like salt when she did. 

“Looking awfully thoughtful,” Inej said, appearing out of nowhere to grin knowingly at Nina. “Give you a nickel for them.” “They’re not worth that much.” “What about one of those tokens from the casino down the boardwalk?” “Does Kaz know Jesper went to play there again?” “Absolutely.” “And?” “And what?” Inej parroted. “Who are you looking for, exactly?” “No one.” It was the wrong answer. A telling answer. An answer Nina didn’t realize she was capable of providing until the very moment those five letters in that specific order passed between lips in desperate need of ChapStick. And kissing. Gods, she couldn’t believe she hadn’t kissed him. 

“Our dear, darling Nina is pining,” Jesper explained. Drink in hand, the soft clink of casino tokens was as absurd as it was not, a mix of youth and age and responsibility and not. The perfect blend of summertime status. 

Nina took a sip of his drink before he could offer. She assumed he would offer. 

“For that,” Jesper hissed, “I’ll tell Inej the rest of the story.” He did. Spared no expense, really. Recounted scorebooks and shouting matches, although some dramatic license was taken at that point, drawing a small crowd that included a guy Nina had never met before, staring openly at Jesper like he’d hung the moon. She’d make fun of him for that. Maybe. After the story. Probably. 

Inej was a rapt audience, taking in details and occasionally letting her eyes flit toward Nina. Who never once disputed anything. There was nothing to dispute. The goddamn paper airplane was still sitting on her goddamn nightstand. 

“And you just never saw him again?” Inej asked. Nina shook her head. “That’s tragic. Not—maybe not grand scheme, world level, but tragic all the same.” “No kissing either,” Jesper added. 

Nina’s heart dropped. Shattered at her feet. Like one of those plates, you could shoot at in the arcade. “How do you know that?” “I didn’t, until right now. Simple assumption, though. Who could pine at your level if there’d been previous making out?” “Two different things,” Inej murmured. 

Jesper hummed in agreement. “And Nina wanted both. Fraternizing with the enemy.” “He hated the Yankees, too.” “So, what? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? My good-looking friend?” “He was good-looking, right?” That earned her another hum — and got Jesper a look of passing consternation from the guy at his side. Nina desperately needed to learn names in a more timely fashion. Determined to remedy at least one situation, she took a deep breath and immediately, very nearly died. 

It was very dramatic. 

Sweeping, even. 

Because the door opened and she knew the music didn’t stop and the Earth didn’t pause mid-rotation, but it felt like her center of balance had been inextricably altered and that wasn’t the bad thing it should have been when Matthias Helvar took his first step into the Crow Club. 

Not falling over really was a rather monumental miracle. 

If she decided to move, Nina did not remember it. Could not bother with something as menial as cognitive reasoning or the ability of the neurons in her brain to properly fire, not when she was twisting around tables and reminding herself of all the very important properties oxygen possessed. In regard to continued consciousness. 

He didn’t move. He waited. Watched. Documented her, it felt like. 

She wasn’t entirely opposed. 

Their shoes nearly brushed. 

“Huh,” Matthias breathed, slumping slightly to get into her eye line. Or just closer to her. The specifics didn’t matter. “I was right, then.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You said your friend worked at a bar in Jersey.” “This is a bar in Jersey.” “Yeah, we might be going in circles, actually.” “What are you doing here?” Nina was dimly aware of Jesper shouting something, but the buzz between her ears was far too loud and even the concept of pulling her gaze away from Matthias’s made her want to grit her teeth together until she ground them down completely. 

She licked her lips. 

He smiled. “After I got hurt,” Matthias explained, “I didn’t know what way was up. So, I went...up. Best as I could, really, up the Shore.” “Is that a joke?” “No, I thought your friend looked familiar. Was driving me nuts, honestly.” “How?” “Twenty questions, Ms. Met.” “Matthias!”

Her voice cracked. Her foot stomped. Air crackled and the world very likely did shift because the hands on Nina’s cheeks were warm and perfectly sized to pull her that much closer and she was legitimately proud of herself. For not stepping on his feet. He didn’t really give her the chance. 

Rocking against each other, there was a joke about tides and current to be made and Nina pushed them back, down or up, and direction didn’t matter and time didn’t matter. Sports allegiance was the least of her worries. Not when Matthias’s arm found her waist and there was something to be said for the stretch of his upper body. Capable, as it was, of lifting her up and he was ten-thousand times better at any tongue thing than she could have possibly imagined. 

Tracing her lips and twisting around her own, like he was taking a very personal and detailed inventory. One of his thumbs brushed against Nina’s cheeks, but she honestly couldn’t figure out which one. Everything was sensation and feeling, a bases-clearing double that kept the rally alive and the roar in the background wasn’t the crowd at Citi Field, but Inej perched on the edge of the bar and Jesper balanced on the rungs of a rickety stool, and they only broke apart to fall back together. 

Nina closed her eyes. 

Better to remember, that way. 

To let her breath catch whenever Matthias’s neck dipped again, the sort of angle that sonnets were written for, and epic romances documented. Right side up and cross dimensions and Nina’s eyelashes fluttered. Open, closed. Once, twice. 

He was still there. 

“You go down the Shore, everybody knows that,” Nina whispered, still somehow sounding like herself. Good, that was good. And only good, that time. 

“I think you’re getting paid by the disagreement.” “I liked shouting your name.” His eyes—

Sparkled, maybe. 

She didn’t even hate herself for thinking that. 

“Probably about as much as I enjoyed hearing it,” Matthias said, “and I’ve been here before. Spent that summer drinking at,” his head jerked toward the corner where Inej waved, “that corner. This was as far away from school and baseball and everything I thought was gone as I could find.” “Ah, the scorebook makes sense now.” “Does it just?” “You know baseball isn’t often predictable nor nearly that organized. That’s the appeal, so people claim.” “They do,” Matthias admitted, “but I—is that demon-looking guy still working here?” “Kaz owns this bar.” “Of course he does. You know everyone, don’t you Ms. Met?” “Impressive like that.” Humming wasn’t really her favorite of the audible, non-word responses, but Nina heard something different in that sound than she ever had before. Almost like hope and something worth waiting for, if only because the waiting found her first. 

She kissed the bottom of his chin. 

It was all she could reach. 

“I really wanted you to be here, Nina,” Matthias said, “and I’m sorry I wasn’t there Sunday. For that game, I—that wasn’t part of the plan, but...well, Brum had set up this whole interview with a college team in the middle of nowhere, thinking I’d be good with that and—” “You weren’t good with that?” His hair shook when his head did. “Not really, no.” “Did he kick you out of your hotel?”

“Smart too.” “Total package.” “Yeah,” Matthias said, a note of awe that made Nina’s skin prickle, “anyway, I’m pretty much in New York full-time now, but trying to find you there seemed impossible.” “So you figured you’d try a bar in the middle of Atlantic City?” “I leave a very strong impression,” Jesper yelled, practically jumping off the stool when Kaz glared. Inej’s smile was hypnotic. 

“Something like that,” Matthias agreed, “so this is the part where we actually give each other our phone numbers and then—” His arm tightened again, finding a bit of space that certainly hadn’t been there twelve seconds before. Just enough to make sure Nina heard him mumble I like you before he kissed her. Or she kissed him. 

Either or, really. 

They went to Yankee Stadium on Labor Day weekend. 

Nikolai pulled some strings to get them suite seats with complimentary well drinks and never-ending popcorn and both Matthias and Nina wore wholly out of place jerseys. Supporting neither of the teams on the field. Just each other, maybe. At least without much argument. They had better things to do, anyway. Fingers laced together, Nina shouted at the field and Matthias stared at anyone who dared glance in their direction and it was weird and wonderful and exactly what sports was supposed to be. 

Caring about something beyond reason, something bigger and better than any one person was alone. 

[reidgraygubler]

hot cocoa & cuddles (spencer reid/reader)

Title:  Hot Cocoa and Cuddles Request: no Pairing: Spencer Reid/Gender Neutral!Reader  Category: Fluff Content Warning: swearing (if any), mentions of murder/death, talk about the case Word Count: 4,199 Summary: Reader is freezing while they’re working on a case in Alaska. Spencer has some fun facts about body temperatures and conserving body heat  A/N: this is based on episode ‘Exit Wounds’ (ssn 5 ep. 21). nothing too bad, just fluff. i really liked writing this one, made me a softie™. anyways, enjoy!  check out my masterlist

{***}{***}{***}

I should have realized just how cold Alaska was going to be when we got on another plane to get to Franklin. Granted, Alaska is cold, and I should have known that before. But still… I’m happy I bought a blanket. And, I’m more than happy that I had the blanket over my lap on the plane. I’m guessing JJ was too, as she was cuddled beside me under my blanket.

“I’m never coming to Alaska again,” I muttered just loud enough for JJ to hear. She laughed and nodded, agreeing with my statement. The pilot of the plane told us all we were about to land and to brace for impact. God this was so much worse than the jet. At least on the jet, I can drink… Here I’m motion sick and miserable.  

Since JJ and I were the two smallest, next to Emily and Spencer, we were the first on… Making us the last off. But, let me tell you, I was more than excited to be off the stupid sea-plane and on still ground. It was a little embarrassing when I tumbled out of the plane and into JJ, who in turn tumbled into Spencer.

I was shocked by how cold it actually was. The coolness nipping at the back of my neck, the tip of my nose, and the ends of my ears. I’m sure my ears, nose, and cheeks were starting to turn red because of how cold it was. I’ve been cold since JJ mentioned coming to Alaska, and I just know I’ll never be warm again.

“Holy shit! It’s so freaking cold here!” I looked at the other members of the team. Spencer, who was standing closest to me, looked at me with an amused smile. I hugged my arms around my body to conserve some sort of heat, it was useless. “I’m freezing my tits off,” I spoke, mostly to myself. Emily looked over her shoulder at me with a sly smile, telling me she heard that. I winked at her, my smile being playful.

“Uh here,” Spencer spoke, pulling a hat from his pocket. I looked at it before picking up from his hands. “You tend to lose 7-10% of your body heat from your head.” He looked at me and smiled. I pulled the hat on to my head. 

“That… I guess that makes sense,” I shrugged, folding my arms back over my chest. Spencer looked down at me and smiled. “Thanks,” I smiled at him. He nodded, silently returning welcoming me. 

Hotch took the lead with the Deputy and Sheriff as he told everyone where to go. I was grateful when he told me to go with David and Spencer to the ME, where I’d be inside, semi-warm. Something about being in Alaska was telling me that I would never be warm again.  

“David, can you turn the heat up?” I leaned over the center console and looked at the person driving. David raised an eyebrow as he glanced over at me. “Please, I’m so cold,” I practically begged. He lifted his hand before turning the heat up. I smiled at him as I sat back in my seat. 

He pulled into a parking lot for what seemed to be an abandoned gas station but right next to it looked like a doctor’s office. I looked between the two men in front of me before unbuckling and following them out. 

“Doc Johnson,” a man spoke up from the porch of the doctor’s office. Spencer and I both looked towards his direction, watching as he stepped down towards us. 

I smiled and gave him my name. “And this is SSA David Rossi and Doctor Spencer Reid,” I smiled and gestured behind me to my colleagues. 

“Sheriff asked me to keep everyone on ice till you got here,” the doctor spoke as he led us towards a basement. I looked up at Spencer with a cocked eyebrow. “Still, I can't believe someone from Franklin Would be capable of this.” The doctor’s tone was filled with disdain. I could feel the darkness as we entered the basement. We all stopped right at the feet of the victims.

“What convinced you she was stabbed with the arrow Instead of shot?” I asked through a shudder. I couldn’t tell if it was from the bodies in front of us or if it was the freezing air. Probably a mix of both, to be honest. 

{***}{***}{***}

I shuddered as I poured myself hot cocoa. My blanket, which I conveniently packed, was draped over my shoulders like a cape. I could hear Derek and Penelope’s giggles from behind me.

“Smart of you to bring a blanket,” Spencer’s voice came from beside me. I smiled and looked up at him. He was making himself a cup of coffee. 

“The second JJ said we were going to Alaska, I knew I had to get a blanket.” I looked at him and smiled, pulling the blanket around me more. “Still freezing to death though,” I shook my head in disbelief. The ceramic mug was nearly too hot to hold, but I was beyond freezing. It felt nice to not be outside anymore, instead inside. The fire felt good, but I was still cold. 

“You’ll warm up,” Spencer laughed as he poured what seemed like an entire thing of sugar in his cup. I raised my eyebrows and nodded.

“You have enough coffee with your sugar?” I asked, bringing my mug to my lips. 

“Not sure there’s ever enough,” he shrugged sipping his coffee. I shook my head and turned to sit. He followed behind me, sitting beside me on the couch. 

“Garcia, how's it coming with town records,” Hotch asked, looking between Penelope and his case file. I looked at her and fixed my blanket as she tapped away on her laptop.

“I've run everyone who's been printed through CODIS. Nothing's come up so far. I'm gonna pull an all-nighter, finish going through the town records. Should have background checks by sunrise,” she nodded, looking up at Hotch with a smile. I yawned as I looked down at my hot cocoa. Derek, who was standing behind me, ruffled my hair and laughed. 

“I’ll have to agree with, Honeybee, here. I’m exhausted,” Derek spoke, looking around the room. Everyone else in the room had the same look on their face. A mix of determination for solving the case and finding the unsub, and wanting to pass out from exhaustion. A feeling we’ve all felt before when a case like this goes awry.

“I’ve got four rooms set up for you upstairs,” Carol, the owner of the tavern, spoke as she looked between different agents. I dropped my shoulders, my blanket falling off my body, and looked down at my hot cocoa. It comforted me in a weird way and kept me warm, which I will be internally grateful for. 

“Uh, four?” Spencer spoke up, cocking his head to the side. The disappointment and confusion in his tone almost made me laugh. I bit my lips so I wouldn’t let the laugh or smile show.

“Sorry, that’s the best I can do. I mean,” Carol gestured around the room to the 6 FBI agents. 

“Your team is nearly double the size of my department,” the sheriff spoke up, his tone unnecessarily rude. I furrowed my eyebrows and glanced a Spencer. He was looking down at the coffee table, his lower lip bit back between his lips. I snickered lightly as I brought my mug to my lips. “Goodnight,” the sheriff added before leaving with the deputy. 

“Goodnight,” Hotch nodded towards the sheriff. “Looks like we’ll have to double up,” he added, looking up from the file on his lap. I smirked again and looked around the room. 

“I’m not sleepin’ with Reid,” Derek spoke from behind Spencer, Penelope and I. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled, shrugging. 

“Dibs,” Penelope spoke as she reached back and grabbed Derek’s arm. I laughed and looked at Spencer, who returned his gaze back to the coffee table. 

“I’ll bunk with you,” I whispered as I nudged his shoulder. Spencer blinked as he looked over at me. He smiled shyly and nodded. I turned and looked up at Derek. “It’s not that hard, Worker Bee, sharing a room with Reid,” I looked at him. Derek rolled his eyes and laughed.

“Why don’t we all go and get some rest. We’ll have an early morning,” Hotch stood up, closing his file. I looked down at my hot chocolate and pouted. I’d have to leave the only thing keeping me warm behind to go to bed. 

“You can probably bring that with,” Spencer whispered to me before standing up. I looked up at him and shrugged. I was just sad that it’d get cold sooner rather than later and I was in no mood to get cold. 

“Yeah, probably could,” I whispered, as I adjusted the blanket back over my shoulders as I stood. I pulled it tighter around my body and followed behind Spencer. Carol handed over the key to the room to me as Spencer grabbed our bags. I smiled at her and looked down at the bronze key with a dark blue room tag. 

“Lead the way,” I looked up at Spencer. He nodded before taking the stairs up and towards our bedroom. I fumbled with the room key in my free hand while we walked down the hall. I silently celebrated as I got the key in my hand. Spencer stopped just to the side of the door and allowed me to try and unlock the room.

“You alright?” Spencer asked as I shakily put the key in the lock. I glanced at him and nodded, feeling a shudder go through my body.

“I’ve just been cold since we got here and can’t seem to warm up. Nothing is working,” I pouted, unlocking the door, for real, and pushing it open. “I think I have 3 pairs of socks on. I’m on my third cup of hot chocolate. I’ve got my blanket, sweater, and jacket… And, I’m still freezing.” I pouted as I unlocked the door. 

“Did you know the human body will start losing body heat as low as 68 degrees Fahrenheit?” Spencer spoke as we entered our room. “And, since it’s been approximately 34 degrees since we got here,” he added as he carefully placed our bags on the ground, just beside the door. I dropped my shoulders, my blanket once again falling off my body, when I saw it was a single, full-sized bed sitting in the middle of the room. “The human body loses about 2% of its heat through air conduction. Although… water causes more heat loss from the body than air does, so heat can be lost from the body very quickly when placed in close water.” He continued to ramble as he grabbed my blanket from the floor. I looked over at him, more annoyed with the single bed than his info-dump. “So, just don’t go swimming or conveniently get pushed into a lake,”

“Spencer,” I kept my eyes on him as he held the blanket between the two of us. I pulled it from his hands and draped it over my arm and cocked my head to the side. 

“Was I… Was I rambling again?” he asked, keeping his voice low like he was embarrassed from the amount of information he just gave. I blinked at him slowly and nodded.

“Yes, but that’s not why I’m annoyed,” I spoke, mildly annoyed as I brought my mug to my lips. I turned back and looked at the bed. Spencer followed my eyes and looked at the bed. A small “Oh,” fell from his lips in realization of why I was frustrated. “Rochambeau for the bed?” I glanced at Spencer as he stepped into the room more. He looked at me as he grabbed both bags. 

“You can have it,” he smiled as he entered the room. I watched as he placed the two bags on the bed before digging into his. I let out a small sigh of relief and entered the room. I pressed the door shut and turned back to look at him. He had pulled out his pajamas and towels to shower.

“You sure?” I asked, watching as he went towards the bathroom. Spencer stopped in the door frame and turned to look at me. He smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, I’ll sleep on the floor. Don’t worry about it,” he readjusted the grip on his clothes. I nodded and turned to look at the bed. “I’m going to take a shower real quick.” He jerked his thumb behind him towards the bathroom. I looked back at him and smiled.

“Sounds good,” I nodded. He quietly entered the bathroom, pressing the door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the room. I placed my hot chocolate on the side table before turning back to my luggage bag. I fished for my own pajamas. I really didn’t want to take off my jacket, sweater, and rest of my already warmed clothes. But, I also didn’t want to sleep in jeans. 

All well. I’d rather be comfortable and get warmed again than be uncomfortable. So, I quickly changed into my pajamas before slipping between the covers. My teeth were chattering so hard I was worried I’d break them. 

45 minutes later, Spencer stepped out of the bathroom. He was shaking his hair through a towel as he walked towards the bed. I glanced at him with furrowed eyebrows. He looked back at me, cocking an eyebrow. 

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, putting his dirty clothes into his bag. I nodded and swallowed roughly. He smiled, mostly because he knew I was lying. My body was visibly shaking from how cold I was. “You sure?”

“It’s so cold,” I pouted, pulling the blankets tighter. Spencer laughed and looked down at me. I silently cursed myself for not bringing or buying a hot water bottle to keep warm. “I’d do anything to get warm again,” I pouted. Spencer laughed again.

“It’s proven that cuddling is the best way to share body heat,” he spoke, draping his towel over the bathroom door. I sat up and looked at him. “Cuddling naked with your significant other, or even a dog if you’re single,” Spencer started as he made his way back towards me. I glared at him as I pulled my knees to my chest. I watched as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Under a blanket will warm you up faster than a fleece sweater, or sleeping alone with multiple blankets. Apart from being energy-efficient, there may be other added benefits as well,” he finished his info-dump and looked at me. I dropped my shoulders as I stared at him. “What?” 

“I’m not sleeping with you, Spencer,” I pointedly stared at him. He opened his mouth to protest but failed to speak when I continued. “Naked or not. I’m not sleeping with you. I’d rather be cold.” I stated. I wasn’t entirely sure if it was a lie or not, and I think Spencer couldn't decipher my statement either. Sure, I’d do anything to warm up… But I think cuddling with Spencer is where I draw the line. 

“But you sai-”

“Yeah, I know what I said. But, I’m not cuddling with you,” I pulled the blanket back around me as I coiled into the fetal position on the bed. Spencer laughed at me, again for the third time. I glared at him as he stood up. 

“Suit yourself then. Enjoy being cold then,” he winked at me, causing me to roll my eyes. I watched, as best as I could, as he pulled the extra bedding from the closet to make a makeshift bed area on the ground beside the bed. “Did you turn the heater up?” He asked. Pfft, did I turn the heater up? What kind of idiot does he think I am?

“No,” I looked anywhere but him, pulling the blanket over my head. I let out a deep sigh as Spencer chuckled. “Listen! All I was thinking about was changing into my pajamas and getting under the covers! I didn’t think about the radiator! Because I was cold!” I half-shouted through the blankets. The bed dipped beside me, telling me Spencer was sitting down. I pouted before pulling my head out of the blankets. “Can I help you? I’m busy?” I glared at him.

“Really? What’s keeping you busy?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. I glared and looked down at my body, under the blankets. 

“I’m trying to re-warm myself because it’s damn cold out here!” I half-shouted as I pulled my knees to my chest. Spencer smiled at me before ruffling my hair. “Hey!” I glared at him again. 

“Well, I turned the heater up for you. Sleep tight,” he smiled as he shut the light off before laying down in his makeshift bed. I rolled my eyes as I tried to get more comfortable. Granted, it was useless because I was beyond cold. I was freezing. Sleep would never come and I would probably wake up still cold and in a bitter mood. I hate the cold. 

{***}{***}{***}

“Alright,” Spencer spoke to the dark room. I furrowed my eyebrows as I rolled to face where he was. I could just barely make out his silhouette in the dark-ish room. “I can’t sleep with the teeth chatter,” he spoke, turning the light on. I let out a groan of protest as the light hit my eyes, nearly blinding me. Great, now I’m mostly blind and cold! I pulled the blanket tighter around me and looked in Spencer’s direction. 

“What… What are you do-doing?” I spoke through chattering. Spencer looked at me as he picked up the pile of blankets on the ground.

“Well, assuming you’re still, as you put it earlier today, freezing your tits off, I’m going to change that,” he muttered, pulling the blanket off my body. I widened my eyes and let out a small yelp. The cold was instantly at me. Like needles poking at my exposed skin.

“Spencer!” I half-screeched as he laid down next to me. He was quick though, moving closer beside me as he pulled the covers back over us. “What… Are you mad!?” I turned to look at him, my eyes wide. He reached behind him to shut the light off before wrapping his arms around me. “This isn’t just some way to get in bed with me… Is it?” I asked, not entirely sure if this was real. But, of course, it was in fact real. Spencer Reid just pulled the covers off me and laid down in bed to keep me warm. “Seriously?” I stared at him with wide eyes.

“Seriously. Sharing body heat can keep a person warm,” he looked down at me. I stared at him, this moment entirely too intimate for two friends and co-workers. “I know I’m already warming up,” he shrugged, nuzzling his head into the pillow beneath him.

“Probably has something to do with not being on the floor anymore,” I pointed out, a small smile on my lips. Spencer laughed and nodded.

“Yeah, that probably has something to do with it,” he opened his eyes and looked back at me. He had a small smile on his lips, making me want to laugh. 

“We’ll see if your theory is true, Reid,” I looked up at him as I turned around, making it so my back was pressed to his chest. He was careful as he wrapped his arms around my middle, resting right under my chest. His legs suddenly got tangled and mixed up with mine. And, he rested his head right on top of mine. Part of me wanted to hold his hand, but another part was screaming at me and telling me that we should not be cuddling, no matter how warm I was getting. 

 I exhaled a deep breath, suddenly feeling safer and warmer than before we went to bed. Damn, he wasn’t wrong, I am getting warm. Of course, Spencer Reid isn’t wrong. Bastard is always right… About freaking everything. 

“Are you warming up?” Spencer asked, his voice low and filled with sleepy. I smiled softly and nodded. He hummed, clearly pleased with my answer. “Do you want me to go back to the floor?” his tone sounded pitiful. 

“No, no you’re fine, Spence,” I whispered, giving up and just grabbing his hand. He hummed again, happy that I’m holding his hand. “I think it’s because of the extra blankets though. Nothing else,” I laughed, taking note in the 4 blankets over our bodies. When should I start to worry about overheating and will that be possible? I sure hope not.

“That’s it? Nothing else?” Spencer mused. It was clear he was suppressing a laugh, which only made me laugh. I smiled and shook my head.

“I think that’s it,” I chuckled and nodded. Spencer let out a breath of air, which tickled the back of my neck. I laughed as I pulled the blanket tighter around me. “We should get some rest, Spencer. Early morning,” I pointed out and repeated with Hotch had said earlier in the day. 

“I like your thinking,” 

{***}{***}{***} 

“How’d you sleep?” Spencer asked as I tied up my shoes. I looked up and shrugged. He was fixing the bed, making it so it was nice when we got back. I’m happy he was awake a while before I was, making it not awkward for either of us to wake up in each other’s arms. He was ready for the day well before I was even awake. 

“I slept okay. Crick in my neck though. It’ll go away over time,” I stood up and grabbed my sweater and jacket. I walked back over to Spencer as he was smoothing out the final wrinkle. “But, it was some of the best sleep I’ve gotten in weeks,” I smiled at him. He glanced up at me, a small smile on his lips. 

“Did you get too warm? Or… Uh… Were you-” he started to ask but gave up because he was tripping over his words. I chuckled as I pulled my sweater on. 

“I was comfortable. Thanks for asking,” I shrugged my jacket on, “Only my toes were cold, but that’s an easier fix than the rest of my body,” I winked at him. I pulled the hat he gave me yesterday out of my pocket and pulled it on my head. 

“Yeah! I can complain about that!” Spencer exclaimed as he pulled his own jacket on. I rolled my eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Does that mean you want me in the bed again tonight?” he asked as we walked towards the door. “Or do you want me back on the floor?” He asked, his voice softer than before. I grabbed my small throw blanket and folded it back up, draping it over my arm.

“Only if you can keep me warm like you did last night,” I smiled as we both left our room. Spencer chuckled and nodded. 

“I’m sure I can make that happen,” he whispered as we headed towards the commons room. Everyone, other than Emily, was sitting around the room and drinking coffee. 

“What’s got you two all smiley?” Derek half-grumbled as we entered the room. I looked back at him and beamed. Spencer stepped away from me to make himself a coffee.

“Can you make me hot cocoa?” I looked away from Derek and towards Spencer. He smiled and nodded. “Just had a really good night of sleep. Slept like a log,” I looked back at Derek as I took a seat on the couch. I folded my blanket over my knee and waited for Spencer to come back.

“Oh, so Pretty Boy and you are a thing now?” Derek asked. I laughed and shook my head.

“No, he slept on the ground… Just like you,” I smirked at him. Spencer handed me a mug of hot chocolate and I was slightly warm again. “For the first half of the night,” I said the last half under my breath. Spencer glanced at me and shook his head. 

“I slept amazing last night. I don’t know about you,” Spencer looked across the room and towards his friend, “The temperature was just right. Not too hot, not too cold,” he added with a small smile. It was my turn to smile and shake my head. 

“Hold up, how did you get warm on the floor?” Derek asked, looking at Spencer with disbelief on his face. 

“I guess my radiator is better than yours,” he retorted as he sipped his coffee. I looked over at Spencer before sneaking a quick glance at Derek. 

“Clearly something happened between you two. When you guys are ready to tell the rest of the class, I’m sure we’ll be delighted to hear,” Derek stated as he crossed his arms over my chest.

Yeah, we’ll just let them think something happened. Because all that actually happened was two friends keeping each other warm. Nothing actually happened.

if you want to be a part of a taglist or have any comments about this one shot, let me know here

[notyourdayrdream]

Summer’s Almost Over (So Come Spend it with Me)

Day Eleven, Side A: Vigilant

read it here on AO3

A/N: this update will so much more sense if you’ve read day three of this collection, which was the word ‘ubiquitous’!

Diner in the Sky is closing.

Their bosses, a middle aged couple, told them in tears before the morning shift, how the whole mayor thing had died down and customers had tanked with it. They would shut down the last week of summer.

Being dramatic theatre kids, the New Directions and Blaine worked after hours to try and save the restaurant. Finn and Puck brought the football players and The Unholy Trinity brought the cheerleaders, and that night became a whole party. While it was fun, nobody had really bought anything. Blaine’s idea to perform turned out much better. He and the Warblers became a group of singing quartets, cooing to customers instead of a jukebox. Kurt thought it was fantastic, not just because he got to watch his boyfriend sing and dance around in a striped shirt and tight jeans all night. And oh, was it so sweet to mess up his gelled quiff during makeout sessions in the backseat of his car.

But it wasn’t enough. The Walken’s were grateful, but they had already sold, and with a heavy heart let all of their teenage employees go. Their last day was a week before their place would be cleared out and devoid of any fifties charm Kurt had grown to love.

But once again, being dramatic theatre kids, Rachel and Mercedes asked if they could use the restaurant one last time. And the Walken’s agreed.

“Oh my God!” Santana cried, clicking a few photos with her phone. “I will never get over you guys in those costumes.” Her arm is stretched around the red leather booth, not enough to draw suspicion to why it’s draped around Brittany. But Kurt notices.

Mercedes, Rachel, and Blaine do the Charlie's Angels pose, cracking up their friends, who’ve shoved themselves into three booths, back to back.

“Look, I’m gonna miss this dress, okay?” Mercedes says, pushing her way into a seat, squishing next to Nick. She has a plate of chili cheese fries in her hands, even though they agreed they wouldn’t actually work tonight. They all ended up doing it anyway. “It makes me feel like Tiana, a real Disney Princess.”

“Oh please, you sing like one already,” Blaine interjects, barely sitting on the end of the seat. His bowtie is crooked. Mercedes swats his arm, but Kurt can see her blush.

At first Kurt was a bit nervous about introducing Blaine to everyone. His dad and Carole were no big deal, Blaine has enough charm to sweet talk a lion into not eating him. No, he had been nervous for him to meet the New Directions. They were known to be judgy. Before they went out to a Movie in the Park night, Kurt ran down every moment of drama since the group’s founding. Offending one member would seriously hurt Blaine’s chances of being accepted. But, of course, he didn’t need it at all. He was a natural, jumping back and forth conversations before and after the movie, making everybody feel special. When he hit it off with Sam, Kurt and Mercedes were ecstatic at the thought of their boyfriends becoming best friends like them.

“I’m actually really sad this place is closing,” Rachel says, picking the bacon bits off her cobb salad. Kurt already knows she’s gonna give one of the cooks an earful about that. “Yeah it was a job, but it was so much fun!” Everyone else nods.

“What’s it going to be turned into, anway?” David asks, twisting around from his seat at the booth behind them.

Kurt rolls his eyes. “A laundromat,” he groans. In the middle of downtown. Whoever was doing the layout for Lima’s recreational district needed to be fired. “So now you can wash your dirty clothes with the stench of hot dogs wafting through the air!”

His friends crack up, and soon he’s laughing too. He loves that feeling, when your joke lands really well and everyone laughs with you. It’s the closest Kurt gets to a standing ovation everyday.

“I love you,” Blaine gets out through laughs, probably not even processing what he just said. But Kurt does, and his heart stops like a chipped record.

Yeah, Kurt’s known about Blaine loving him since that night in July, but he’s never said it. And in his eyes those are two different things. So as Kurt’s mind races to process what he just said (“does he really mean that? what if he just said it to be funny?”), Blaine stops laughing, his face white as a sheet.

He won’t meet Kurt’s eyes. “Um.” The room’s gone deathly quiet, save for the jukebox, constant in its crackling. “I’m gonna start cleaning up now. In the kitchen.” Blaine grabs the plate that Puck was still picking at and rushes into the kitchen. Kurt can’t decide if it’s more sweet or sad.

“Was that the first time he said it?” Tina asked from behind him. The whole diner seems to waits on his every word. Kurt doesn’t trust his voice, so he just nods. Every girl at the tables loses their collective minds, shrieking and telling stories all at the same time. Even though he can’t tell his heart to stop freaking out, he smiles to himself.

“I’ll be right back.” He stands up, knocking the table with his knees. His hands are clammy, when did that happen? Rachel and Wes push him forward when his feet feel planted. Eventually they back off and Kurt pushes through the double doors.

“Hey…” he starts, watching as his boyfriend vigilantly scrubs at a spotless looking bowl. “Are you okay? You kinda disappeared there.”

Blaine nods and keeps his eyes down. “Yep! I’m totally fine,” he grits his teeth in pretending to wipe off a dish. Kurt snorts despite himself, his boyfriend’s just a really awful actor.

“Stop laughing,” Blaine pouts. There’s dozens of reflections of him in the shiny silver pots and pans and refrigerators. “It’s not funny.” He flicks some soapy water at Kurt’s forehead, and it slides down his nose.

He watches the clump of soap run down his face and flop unceremoniously onto the floor. He’ll have to do his skincare routine twice. “Oh it is on.” Kurt comes closer and scoops up a handful of suds just to dump it onto Blaine’s hair.

Blaine gasps, wiping the rest off his head before it pops. He smirks and throws some more soap at Kurt’s chest. And so the war begins.

They attack each other like it’s a snowball fight, racing to grab armfuls of soap suds and throwing them, even if they float to the ground. They fling gray water back and forth at each other and run around the kitchen to dodge it. It’s absolutely gross and undignified, but Kurt finds that he could care less.

After they’ve soaked themselves and the floor, Blaine waives a towel in surrender. “Okay! Okay! You win!” he laughs. His face is slick with a mix of sweat at sink water, and his shirt clings to his chest.

Kurt grins and grabs a towel, linking up beside him to help dry. It’s still on his mind, the whole thing that happened outside, but he doesn’t press. They’re a unit, drying and stacking dishes together, humming a song Kurt can’t exactly recognize.

“I just wanted it to be special,” Blaine admits after a while. “I was gonna set up something really cute here one day, like a candlelit dinner, and get French food from that place across the street. Something big.”

Kurt sets his glass plate down and turns to see Blaine’s face. “As much as I love French food, you didn’t have to do something so grandiose.” He’s learned Blaine loves doing things big. When it was Lauren’s birthday, one of the chefs, he had the entire staff decorate the outside of the restaurant in a beach theme since she was from California. It was gorgeous, if not time consuming.

“But you deserve it,” Blaine replied, eyebrows knitting together. “You deserve the world, Kurt.” And the great goes back to washing dishes like he didn’t say the most romantic thing on the planet.

Kurt presses his against the stainless steel counter and kisses him when words fail. Blaine smells like soapy water and the familiarity of his pine scented cologne. Kurt kisses him softly, his favorite way to kiss (he never thought he’d have a favorite way to kiss, but life has just been full of surprises recently). Blaine absolutely falls apart like this, sighing into his mouth and pulling at the back of Kurt’s shirt.

And he hopes, absolutely prays to a god he doesn’t believe in, that a kiss can convey how he feels. How he’s felt since that night in the heat of July with Italian diners.

“I love you too.”

[krashayaarc]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 :

major row spoilers ahead

Light  glinted  off  the  gold  beads  that  traversed  the  length  of  Genya’s  kefta.  With  each  step,  the  fabric  shifted  around  her  body,  encasing  her  in  an  ethereal  warmth  that  went  hand  in  hand  with  the  rosy  tint  of  her  cheeks.  It  was  as  if  the  Sun  Saint  herself  had  doused  her  in  light.  

She  could  hear  the  rhythmic  click  of  her  heels  against  the  tiles  of  the  Grand  Palace  as  she  took  long  strides  to  meet  her  husband  at  the  top  of  the  winding  staircase.  A  grin  broke  across  her  lips,  and  she  quickly  found  her  place  in  the  crook  of  his  arm.  For  once,  she  could  thoroughly  admire  the  sharp  lines  and  soft  curves  of  his  features  without  his  hair  haphazardly  framing  his  face.  Coming  from  her,  it  hadn’t  taken  much  to  convince  him  to  cut  it.  She’s  surprised  at  the  pace  of  her  heart.  It  reminds  her  of  the  first  time  she  had  passed  by  the  boy  in  the  Fabrikator  workshop,  so  invested  in  his  work  that  he  barely  noticed  the  servant  with  such  vibrant  red  hair  flitting  around  him.  

She  remembers  fondly  the  way  he  had  looked  up  at  her  with  a  curious  lift  of  his  brow  when  she’d  dropped  an  Alchemi’s  vial  in  an  attempt  to  peer  over  at  what  they  were  concocting.  Their  eyes  had  met,  and  she’d  been  forced  to  look  away  because  a  silly  part  of  her  felt  like  he’d  see  right  through  into  the  machinery  of  her  thoughts.  A  typically  unbothered  Genya  had  ducked  her  head  in  embarrassment,  but  before  she  left  the  workshop  she  had  spared  herself  a  look  over  her  shoulder  just  in  time  to  catch  his  eyes  following  her.  Her  breath  caught  in  her  throat  then  the  same  way  it  did  on  the  day  of  her  wedding.  When  his  fingers  brushed  her  cheekbone  as  he  carefully  tucked  a  curl  back  into  place  behind  her  ear.        

“Thank  you,  my  love.”  The  words  come  easy  to  her  and  she  leans  into  his  frame  in  an  attempt  to  get  as  close  to  him  as  she  physically  can.  She  could  stand  at  his  side  for  an  eternity,  and  today  would  be  when  she  would  tell  the  world  just  that.  Looking  up  at  him  with  a  grin,  she  jests.  “What  would  I  do  without  you  and  your  eye  for  detail?  I  wouldn’t  be  nearly  as  put  together.”

“You’ve  never  not  been  put  together.”  His  tone  is  matter-of-fact,  as  it  always  is,  and  she  thinks  it’s  the  most  endearing  part  of  David.  Sometimes  Genya  wonders  if  he  knows  how  to  lie,  or  even  coat  his  words  in  anything  but  the  blatant  truth.  His  dark  eyes  bore  into  her  in  the  inquisitive  way  it  always  does.  He  always  seems  like  he’s  studying  her.  As  though  he  can’t  seem  to  figure  out  exactly  how  she’d  come  to  be,  and  it  was  the  one  thing  he  couldn’t  solve.  When  he  presses  a  kiss  to  her  forehead,  she  feels  the  weight  of  the  world  lift  from  her  heart  and  gives  his  arm  a  gentle  squeeze.

Though  the  two  had  exchanged  their  promises  just  before  she  headed  to  Ketterdam,  they  had  never  given  themselves  an  entire  day  to  bask  in  their  love.  After  the  civil  war,  and  the  remaining  fear  of  loss  looming  over  them,  Genya  had  been  anxious  to  leave  for  her  trip  without  him.  In  haste,  they  had  wed  without  any  of  the  glitz  and  glamour  that  she  had  dreamed  of  as  a  little  girl.  A  part  of  her  thought  they  would  never  get  a  chance  for  any  of  it,  and  had  made  peace  with  the  fact.  But  when  talk  of  a  wedding  arose,  despite  the  political  ploy  surrounding  it,  Genya  was  beyond  thrilled.  

A  guard  alerted  them  of  the  arrival  of  the  Shu,  which  also  signalled  the  start  of  the  ceremony.  She  trails  her  hand  down  to  grasp  David’s,  meeting  his  gaze  with  a  smile.  “I’ll  see  you  soon.”  A  small  grin  tugs  up  the  corner  of  his  lips  and  he  nods  firmly  once.  The  two  part  ways,  and  she  knows  it’s  only  minutes  before  they’re  to  reconvene  but  the  time  spent  tending  to  last  minute  touch  ups  feels  endless.  She’s  finally  at  ease  when  her  hand  slips  back  into  his  and  they  walk  down  the  aisle  to  meet  Vladim  at  the  end.  

The  world  narrows  down  to  just  the  two  of  them  as  they  exchange  their  vows,  and  her  heart  takes  flight  with  the  cheers  of  the  crowd  when  their  lips  lock.  David  was  never  one  for  public  displays  of  affection,  and  so  she  stands  near  him  as  his  pillar  of  support  when  their  guests  swarm  them  in  congratulations.  She  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  Queen  Makhi  as  they  passed  Nikolai.  She  looked  radiant  in  her  emerald  green  gown  despite  the  displeasure  on  her  features  from  the  sight  of  a  couple  whose  wedding  she  hadn’t  realized  she  would  be  attending.  Genya  didn’t  particularly  care,  she  would  have  the  bragging  rights  to  say  a  Queen  had  been  present  at  her  wedding  regardless  of  whether  she  had  come  with  that  intent.  

She  tells  Nikolai  just  that  when  she  has  a  second  to  breathe,  wine  glass  in  hand.  She’s  not  happy  that  her  husband  had  left  to  sprawl  a  note  to  himself,  but  she  knows  he’d  be  back  at  her  side  soon.

“It  makes  up  the  nose  of  a  rocket,  very  important  to  minimize  drag.”  He  had  hastily  attempted  to  explain  to  her  as  she  led  them  smoothly  around  the  dance  floor.  She  could  see  he  was  having  trouble  keeping  up  with  her  footwork  when  he  had  thoughts  about  missiles  on  his  mind.

“David,  love,  what  would  minimize  being  a  drag  would  be  less  war  talk,  more  wedding  talk.”

“You  can’t  be  drag.”  He  looked  at  her  as  if  she’d  lost  her  mind.  She  couldn’t  help  but  laugh  and  rest  her  cheek  on  his  shoulder  with  a  content  sigh.  Over  the  lilt  of  the  music,  she  heard  him  mutter.  “And  that  wouldn’t  minimize  drag  at  all.”

She  had  made  him  promise  that  he’d  hurry  back,  and  the  resolve  in  his  softened  tone  was  enough  to  convince  her  to  let  him  go.  The  time  without  him  was  gruelling,  but  she  made  up  for  it  with  drinks  and  laughs  amongst  their  company.  Her  gaze  turned  to  the  hallway  she  knew  he  would  be  coming  down  when  she  felt  the  first  strike.  

Bodies  fell  into  one  another  and  her  glass  shattered  beside  her  on  the  floor.  Her  head  spun  as  she  stood  back  up,  and  her  voice  was  that  of  a  member  of  the  Triumvirate.  “Out,  get  everyone  out,”  She  shouted  to  no  one  in  particular  as  the  walls  crumbled  behind  them.  When  they  had  all  escaped  out  to  safety,  Genya  kept  running.  With  kefta  bunched  up  in  her  fists,  she  cursed  the  train  that  caught  under  her  heels  as  she  sprinted  across  the  expanse  between  the  Grand  Palace  and  the  Little  Palace.  The  distance  seemed  to  grow  longer  with  each  passing  second,  her  eyes  staring  at  the  crumpled  end  of  the  Palace.  She  knew  the  building  like  the  back  of  her  hand,  knew  exactly  where  he  would  have  had  to  run  to  avoid  the  wreckage.  And  she  knew  exactly  how  little  time  he  would  have  had.  

The  thought  clenches  at  her  heart,  and  her  legs  tremble  under  her.  No.  David  was  smarter  than  all  of  them  combined,  he  would  know  what  to  do.  She  almost  runs  straight  into  the  rubble,  tears  streaming  down  her  cheeks  as  her  eye  frantically  searches  for  signs  of  life.  There’s  a  putrid  smell  in  the  air,  a  mix  of  smoke  and  chemicals  that  add  to  the  queasy  feeling  in  her  stomach.  She  can  barely  breathe,  and  doesn’t  notice  when  the  towering  body  of  Tolya  joins  her  as  they  attempt  to  pull  back  slabs  of  concrete.  

“He’s  somewhere  here,”  She’s  surprised  at  the  stability  of  her  tone,  the  conviction  she  refuses  to  let  go  of.  He  has  to  be  here.  Her  mind’s  racing  and  head  pounding.  If  she  were  David,  she  would  have  already  devised  the  most  efficient  way  of  searching  amongst  the  dirt  and  dust.  Instead,  she  pulls  and  pushes  until  her  fingers  are  scrubbed  raw  and  the  weight  in  the  pit  of  her  stomach  drags  her  down  to  her  knees.  With  every  body  that’s  pulled  up,  whether  alive  or  otherwise,  a  raw  pain  erupts  in  her  core.  Hope  and  grief  and  a  foreboding  feeling  all  mix  together  and  claw  at  her  from  inside  out.  She  doesn’t  realize  she’s  been  repeating  the  words  frantically  to  herself  until  the  strong  arms  of  Tolya  pry  her  away  to  let  the  Squallers  do  their  job.  

“He’s  somewhere  here,  Tolya,”  She  sees  her  reflection  in  his  distant  eyes.  The  picture  of  a  woman  with  hair  unravelled  and  wedding  dress  dirtied  with  soot.  She  sees  the  wild  look  in  her  own  eyes,  so  different  from  the  hopeless  one  that’s  befallen  Tolya’s  face.  “He’s  here,  he  has  to  be.”  She  repeats,  this  time  quieter  as  her  body  falls  slack  in  large  hands.  He  says  something  to  her  that  she  doesn’t  hear,  and  with  each  passing  second  the  world  grows  quieter.

She  no  longer  hears  the  shouts  and  grunts  of  the  Squallers  moving  the  rubble  in  a  desperate  attempt  to  save  anyone  they  can  find.  She  doesn’t  notice  the  way  they  keep  looking  over  their  shoulder  at  the  crumpled  girl  on  the  floor.  Her  eyes  train  in  on  where  she  knows  he  would  have  been.  Where  his  desk  had  stood,  and  his  papers  had  laid  spread  across  the  surface.  Where  he  had  left  his  pen  uncapped  when  she  had  pulled  him  back  to  bed  last  night.  Where  she  had  wrapped  her  arms  around  his  neck  in  a  gleeful  squeal  about  their  wedding.  Where  he  had  kissed  her  just  to  silence  her  racing  mind.

Genya  doesn’t  notice  the  shadows  lengthening  around  her  as  the  day  stretches  on  until  Nikolai  comes  to  her  side.  Her  name  barely  registers  in  her  ears.  “I  can’t  find  him,”  The  look  of  a  woman  lost  meets  his.  Her  vision  coming  in  and  out  of  focus,  she  reaches  out  to  anchor  herself  on  his  sleeve.  Her  voice  is  pleading,  begging  him  to  help  her  when  she  could  no  longer  help  herself.  “I  can’t  find  David.”