#the way i would unlock the lock combination in between classes and how cold the metal was

[thebirdandhersong]

genuinely shocked that I'm not actually 17 anymore

[omnivorousshipper]

Request Friday: Omni!!!!! I have the best plot bunny for you to raise. What if Shaw was in a bad situation on a mission, he’s been run ragged lately, mission after mission and finally finds himself in a hopeless (even for him to escape) spot— but suddenly Brixton Lore pops up and saves the day.

Brixton, who after he escaped Eteon’s control went AWOL and they haven’t been able to find a trace of since, even with the combined tracking abilities of Hobbs and Shaw.

Only now it turns out that Lore has been shadowing Deckard, taking out baddies on his missions and saving his life and protecting his six just like when they were partners.

Now that he’s been forced to reveal himself to them, Deckard is determined to get to the bottom of it. How could he possibly trust Brixton again... but with a new big bad after him, can he really afford NOT to trust him?

With how twisted up Brixton was about Deckard in H&S, now that he’s free of Eteon’s brainwashing/control, his only mission is figuring out how he can convince his former partner that he wants back what they had before. Whatever it takes, he’s going to make it happen!

Omg, this such an awesome request friend!! I absolutely love this!!

Deckard would be an idiot and run himself into the ground! And Brixton, oh man, he would be so lost in Deckard, but not know how to reconnect with him. Especially having tried to kill him several times

Also, you brought this upon yourself friend...

~~~

Panting, Deckard clawed at the dirty, concrete floor. Using the last of his strength, he pulled himself towards the wall, forced to drag his body behind him

Finally, his hand met the wall and with great difficulty, Deckard was able to pull his body up into a sitting position. As he did so, a low whimper escaped his lips

Everything hurt

He could feel the large knife wound in his thigh throbbing and slowly gushing out blood. On top of that, he knew his ankle was twisted horribly

He wouldn't be walking anywhere any time soon

Grunting softly, Deckard wrapped his right arm around his ribs and let his other arm hang awkwardly. He didn't have enough strength left to shove his shoulder back into place

Blinking blood out of his eyes, Deckard could feel his body shutting down

His vision was filled with black spots. Whether that was because he had lost too much blood, or had gone without sleep for 40 hours, he didn't know

All Deckard knew was that he was trapped

And didn't know who had ordered his capture

None of the goons who had taken him were any Cipher would hire, and the hideout was nothing like any Eteon base he had found

No, there was a new player out there trying to get to him

Had gotten him, actually

Screwing his eyes closed, Deckard willed the pain to recede and allow him to sleep

Even if he shouldn't. He had no idea if he'd ever wake again

But he was just so tired

Ever since MI6 had invited him back, he had taken every mission he could get his hands on. He wanted to prove himself. Wanted MI6 to know that he wouldn't betray them

Never again

At the beginning, he would be given a mission every other week, but as he kept finishing them in record time and successfully, they gave him more. It started to be every week, and then he would be given a new mission as soon as he finished his first

Deckard didn't question it

He only wanted to be useful

Leaning even more on the wall, Deckard let his head rest against the cool cement. A few minutes of sleep wouldn't hurt

He had no idea how long he was asleep, only that a large banging noise had him jerking awake

Swiveling his head around, Deckard immediately regretted that action. His head felt like it was full of cotton and a thousand construction workers using jackhammers

Shifting his body, pain raced through every nerve ending and made him whine

He already missed the sweet embrace of sleep

Squinting, Deckard saw that the door to the cell he had been shoved into was wide open. And a dark figure was standing inside the doorway

"Who...?" Deckard tried to call out, but his voice was only a wheeze of air

"You're going to be ok now, Deck." A smooth voice whispered and it seemed to bounce off the walls

Something about the voice had Deckard's body relaxing. It was as if hearing the voice let Deckard know he was safe

Blinking his eyes rapidly, Deckard could feel them falling shut

Struggling to stay awake, he watched the figure come closer and crouch down in front of him. The low light made it difficult for Deckard to see the person, but he would know him anywhere

"Brix." Deckard gasped as he felt the icey grip of unconsciousness take a hold of him

The last thing be could remember was Brixton's arms wrapping around him

---

The next time Deckard woke up, the pain seemed dulled compared to how it was

He could feel soft material under him, along with a firm mattress and several blankets piled on top of him

Just like he liked it

Opening his eyes slowly, Deckard was on his side facing a plain wall. In front of him were his hands bound by the wrist by heavy manacles

Peering closely at then, Deckard knew he wouldn't be able to unlock them with ease. They looked like they required a passcode to unlock

But Deckard couldn't have cared less in that moment

He was simply too tired

After a few more minutes of laying in the comfort bed, Deckard eventually levered himself up. Luckily his hands weren't tied to anything. Sitting up, Deckard was met with an equally plain room

Only the bed, bedside table, and lamp resided in the room

Looking out the single window, Deckard could see undescript fields. No other land marks to help him identify where he was

Still staring out the window, Deckard stiffened when the door creaked open

Muscles coiled and ready to pounce, Deckard waited for the person to enter the room

And was greeted by Brixton Lore

"You're awake." He said simply

Deckard didn't say anything

Brixton kept his face void of all emotion as he stepped further into the room. Deckard felt his hackles rise when the door closed with a click

They were locked in

"Where are we?" Deckard demanded, not keeping his hands off Brixton. The other man was carrying a tray that had a glass of water and a bowl on top of it

"Somewhere safe."

Deckard glared

"Why aren't we at some Eteon base?"

"Because I don't work with them anymore." Brixton said, voice clipped and as cold as a glacier

Deckard narrowed his eyes at that

Before he could open his mouth to ask another question, Brixton sat down on the bed next to him. Snapping his mouth closed, Deckard tried to scoot away, but there was no where to go

He was stuck between Brixton and the wall

Clenching his fists, Deckard raised his chin and stared Brixton down. Who, in turn, simply stared back with no emotion

"Here."

Suddenly, the tray was being shoved onto his lap and Deckard was forced to steady it with his bound hands. Looking down, he saw that the bowl was filled with plain porridge

In that instant, Deckard realized just how hungry he was

But immediately knew he wouldn't be able to eat without embarrassing himself. Not with his hands bound. Glaring up at Brixton, Deckard raised his hands to show his conundrum

"No way in hell." Brixton shook his head and Deckard swore he saw a spark of mischief in deep in eyes. "Even with how busted up and weak you are, I know how much damage you can do with your hands."

Deckard glared even harder

"Wanker."

"Maybe." Brixton shrugged

Deckard was half tempted to shove the whole tray away from him in an act of rebellion, but he was starving. Instead, he carefully picked up the glass and took small sips

He didn't need to make himself sick after all

Putting down the class, he sneered at the way Brixton was staring so intensely at him

"Got a fucking problem?" Deckard snapped

"I don't remember you ever being this stupid." Brixton said, meeting his eyes

Deckard was sure he looked like a puffed up cat as he snarled at Brixton

"I'm not the one who got caught up in a bloody cult!"

Brixton's face didn't change at all

"No, but you're the dumbass who's running himself into the ground with suicide missions." He said bluntly

"I am not!"

"Then why did I find your arse half dead in the middle of nowhere?"

"How the bloody hell did you find me?" Deckard growled. "How did you know where I was?"

Brixton's neutral mask finally cracked as a flicker of guilt flashed across his face

"How'd you find me, Brixton?" Deckard asked again, voice no longer filled with anger, but with curiosity and a bit if caution

After a few long moments of silence, Brixton sighed

"Because I was following you."

Deckard's blood ran cold

"How long?"

"A few weeks now."

Weeks

Deckard had been followed for weeks and he never once noticed

"Why?" He asked instead, ignoring the way fear clawed at his belly. Who else could have been following him?

Brixton looked away from him

"Why!" Deckard shouted

His shout seemed to be swallowed up by the tension in the room and made everything eerily quiet

"Brix..."

Brixton still wouldn't meet his eyes

"I had to be near you, Deck." He finally said, voice barely above a whisper

"By stalking me?" He hissed

"Would you have let me near you otherwise?" Brixton snapped, finally showing emotion

Deckard's lips thinned

"No."

Brixton nodded

"I wanted to make sure you were alright, especially when you started taking more and more mission like an imbecile."

Deckard bared his teeth at him

"I was doing my job!"

"You were trying to get yourself killed!"

"Why do you care what I do?"

"Because I still love you!" Brixton shouted over him

Deckard felt his heart stop

"What?"

Brixton stood swiftly and started to pace in front of him

"You heard me! After all these bloody years, I'm still in love with you!" Brixton exclaimed and waved his arms in emphasis. "Even after we tried to kill each other, I still want to see you and make sure you stay alive."

"You didn't seem like that when you were working for Eteon." Deckard said lowly

"Because that wasn't me!" Brixton yelled

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Deckard narrowed his eyes as the fight seemed to leave Brixton and left the man standing in the middle of the room

His shoulders were stiff as his hands hung limp at his sides. It seemed as if he had aged ten years with that question. With sad eyes, he met Deckard's eyes

"They got in my head, Deck. It wasn't really me thinking, acting, or existing. It was them. I could only watch as my body did what they wanted."

Deckard stared at Brixton with wide eyes

He couldn't believe what he had just heard

He wanted to ask a million questions, but they all seemed stuck on the tip of his tongue. He didn't know where to even start. Still staring, Deckard could only watch as Brixton slowly walked back to the bed and sat down heavily

"I know you don't believe me, but I want to make it up to you, Deck." Brixton looked at him pleadingly. "I want to make up for all the time we've missed out on."

Deckard still couldn't find a way to respond. Opening his mouth, mind running at a mile a minute, he was suddenly interrupted

By his stomach growling

Blushing, Deckard looked away at the amused look on Brixton's face

"Here, let's get some food in you. It's not as good as anything you can make, but it'll be filling."

Deckard watched as Brixton picked up the bowl and spoon, and narrowed his eyes dangerously

"You are not bloody feeding me."

Brixton smirked

"I'm not unlocking the cuffs."

"Go to hell."

"If you want me to leave..." Brixton made to stand, taking the bowl with him

"Wait!" Grinding his teeth, Deckard nodded. "Fine."

Brixton's smirk grew as he scooped up a spoonful and brought it to Deckard's lips

Glaring, Deckard accepted it

~~~

I hope you enjoyed friend!

[harrysgoldrush]

chapter 2: styles v vegan contract

masterlist

tag list

part 1

Y/N Y/LN.

In her final year of law school and already planning on getting her LLM in Environmental Law and Politics. A true force to be reckoned with. Tom had told him that much the moment he closed the office door behind him.

Tom’s office was one of the bigger advisor’s offices on campus, with his desk pushed up against the left wall furthest from the door with two mismatched embroidered chairs that he had stolen from the Tisch School of Arts last year. A giant bookcase covered the whole back wall with books sitting on top of each neatly organized row. The right side of his office was occupied by a worn leather couch that had only fit through the narrow door by some miracle. There was a coffee table with some of the school���s different magazines and newspapers and a small black fridge that always had sodas and Tom’s leftovers.

Harry could imagine her taking naps on that sofa, falling asleep as she plotted her next protest, asking Tom for advice while he answered emails. She wouldn’t even knock, she’d make a beeline to the fridge to grab water. Except she hated those bottles. What did she do instead? Maybe she would finish Tom’s salad for him, his wife always brought him one for lunch and he only ever ate the “exciting” parts before he tucked it away in that fridge.

“Harry, she’s in two of your classes this semester,” Tom had laughed, setting his reading glasses down on his desk as he sat back down. “Your Public and Private Governance Seminar and International Trade and Investment Law and Policy Seminar. Those are small classes, I’m surprised you two haven’t met before.”

Sinking in his chair, he held his back closely as he defended, “We have met before. Last week at Sloan Energy.” 

“Ah,” Tom hummed, clearly entertained at Harry’s reaction. Scooting his chair closer, he closed his laptop so he could look directly at him. “She’s been leading that protest for a while now, I think it will be six weeks this Friday.”

“Is there any way to stop her?”

“From protesting for Green Energy? No.” Taking a deep breath, he rubbed at his neck and added hesitantly, “I suppose you could always talk to her? She’s reasonable enough, she just switched advisors this semester because she wanted to make Mark’s workload lighter; he’s semi-retired now.”

Tom went on to check in with Harry about his internship and how his classes were going so far but Harry could hardly focus, feeling himself drift towards the question of the hour: how could he convince her to move the protest?

From the short interaction he had had with Y/N and Tom’s high praise, he was beginning to think that he was Sloan Energy’s last hope. Why else would they turn to him, an intern, when they had a whole team of more than qualified lawyers? And why had Tom thrown him to the wolves, knowing that another student was leading a whole movement against the company?

Before he could ask, Tom was standing up and shaking his hand. “You’ll have to keep me updated on Sloan Energy and the protests. I’m eager to hear what happens.”

“Yeah, Tom I will. And thanks again for telling me about the internship.”

Tom was quiet for a minute, his smile frozen and his eyes narrowing before he nodded. “Of course, Harry. Jeff Azoff is an old student of mine. When he reached out about looking to hire students, I immediately thought of you. Pays a lot more than that paralegal you’ve been working for since your first year here.”

As Harry was leaving the office, he was surprised to see a new blue bin right next to Tom’s trash can. A single plastic salad bowl sat in it, still dripping water as if it had just been rinsed clean. 

“Is this new?”

“It was a gift, actually. Just got it last week.”

The first thing Harry did after his meeting was text Sarah and Mitch, asking what they knew of Y/N Y/LN. Walking briskly down the hallway, Harry’s searches on Instagram and Facebook proved to be a waste of time. Twitter was useless, with only a few pictures of protests with faces blurred and no mention of her. As he waited for the elevator, Harry opened a new note on his phone and began to type down everything he knew.

Studies Environmental Law

No social media.

Protests when not in class

In my governance and policy seminars

Meeting tonight????

Throughout his Financial Regulation seminar, Harry could hardly focus as their guest speaker outlined the history of finance regulation in the US, wondering how he had never noticed her in his classes. In the sea of sleek and professionally dressed law students, she was like a rainbow colored rocky shore. The only thing standing between him and a guaranteed job after graduation was a strangely dressed classmate.

As soon as they were dismissed, Harry unlocked his phone, relieved to see that Mitch knew her pretty well, having dated her old roommate last year. 

She was always really weird about showers. Her and Katie got into this huge fight at the end of the year because Katie had bought a Keurig and I guess that’s bad for the environment. When Y/N got mad about it, Katie locked herself in the bathroom and ran the shower for an hour. By the time she came out of the shower, Y/N had moved out.

Definitely weird.

Sarah had had class with her before and seemed annoyed at Mitch’s response.

It’s called being environmentally friendly, Rowland. Y/N has been practicing zero-waste since high school. She’s not weird, she’s thoughtful. My first year when I was dehydrated, she took me to the hospital and went to all of my classes for me to take notes. If I wouldn’t be risking arrest and my degree, I’d be protesting with her. She’s a better person than both of you combined. If she wasn’t so busy, she’d be top of our year easily. Why are you asking about her, Harry?

Ignoring her question, Harry put his phone away and kept walking, though he wasn’t entirely sure where to go. He hadn’t been able to convince Tom to give him her schedule although he could probably ask Jeff. And what was that meeting later tonight? Was it with Sloan Energy? Was that why they weren’t expected at the office today?

He wasn’t complaining, in fact he was beyond thankful to have a night to catch up with his studies and term papers, knowing he wouldn’t be getting much sleep either way.

Deciding to get a coffee to keep him warm while he plotted, Harry ducked into the Starbucks across the street and stood in line, making awkward eye contact at an old professor of his who was sitting with a much younger woman. Looking away quickly, his eyes landed on a basket with a sign that said ‘Reusable Cups $3.99’. 

Suddenly, he felt inspired.

Pulling his phone out again, he quickly typed into his search engine ‘is coffee or tea better for earth?’ with a surprising yet logical result. Grabbing two of the reusable coffee cups, Harry smiled widely at the barista.

“Um, just one coffee black. And whatever your healthiest hot tea is.”

Soon, Harry was walking briskly towards Sloan Energy, hoping Y/N wasn’t at her meeting yet. He had only seen her a few hours ago with her bright colors and worn fabrics but as he got closer to the building, it felt like it had been years since he heard her familiar voice, thanking the small gathering around her through her red and white megaphone. The hot drinks in his hand had managed to only spill minimally on the frantic trip across The Village, surviving the packed subway and crowds of tourists.

She was easier to spot now that he knew where to look. The crowd was smaller than it had been the day before, with a few slowly easing out of the group to get somewhere warmer. As Harry made his way to her, he was glad he didn’t have his internship today; he blended in much better with his dark jeans and black zip tie shirt with NYU School of Law embroidered on the chest.

He waited as she informed the group of tomorrow’s meeting times before approaching. It was just them now. Y/N didn’t seem too surprised to see him as she lowered her megaphone and walked towards him, one eyebrow raised as she took in the two white reusable cups in his gloved hands.

“What is this?”

“Green tea,” Holding it out to her, he pulled it back just as quickly and examined the two cups before holding out the other one. “This one’s green tea. Thought you might be cold.”

“No, I meant why are you bringing me a drink?” When he didn’t respond, she asked with a cautious smile, “Did you poison it or something?”

Shaking his head, Harry glanced towards the main doors of Sloan Energy as she took the drink from him, taking a sip before humming. “It's good. Thanks. Harry, right?”

“Yeah. Harry Styles.”

Looping her free hand through the wrist strap of the horn, she wrapped her bare hands around the warm mug as she looked up at him. “Well can I help you, Harry Styles? Or do you just like to watch?”

“Do you want to maybe grab a drink?” He asked, feeling colder with every second he stood under her cautious gaze.

“Besides the one you just gave me?” Smiling, she glanced at the watch on her wrist that looked more like a piece of wood before she cleared her throat and took another sip of her tea. “I have a meeting in an hour so I probably shouldn’t be drinking yet.”

Harry could feel his shoulders droop unintentionally and watched as her eyes widen before she added quickly, “But I’m starving. Have you eaten today?”

She had taken them to a vegan place only a few minutes away, leading them to a table without hesitation, leading Harry to believe she had probably been here a few times before. He was beginning to notice how attentive Y/N was, from the corner of his eye he could see her casually observing him as he read the menu above the counter.

 “Hope you don’t mind vegan, I always come here when I’m in the area.” She suddenly apologized as she dug through her backpack, taking out a much smaller back with her name sewn into it. “Their fries are really good, they’re air fried. The salads are pretty good too.” 

They were quiet, with her eating her guacamole burger as he used the bamboo utensils she had handed him once he sat down with his salad. 

“Don’t worry, they’re clean.” She had explained when he gave her a curious look. They’re safer than actual utensils, they last long. Better for the earth than those plastic things they give out here. Don’t even get me started on the metal stuff.”

The bag she had pulled out of her backpack had turned out to be a pouch with handkerchiefs, bamboo straws and bamboo utensils. The clinking he had heard earlier in her bag turned out to be mason jars.

“So, you just bring those with you everywhere?”

“Pretty much. I’m just doing my part to lower our carbon footprint. I bring my own containers and utensils mostly. Some places around here are getting better. Chloe, the manager, uses plates that are made of recycled materials and then recycles them again when they’re used.”

Nodding, Harry stabbed at his salad thoughtfully. “So why are you protesting Sloan? No offense, but don’t you have better things to do? Like study?”

“Why do you intern there? Aren’t there less morally corrupt businesses you could work for?”

“They’re one of the most successful energy companies on the East Coast--” He began but her sharp laugh was back, cutting him off quickly.

“And one of the most environmentally harmful energy companies in the US. It’s 2019, who uses coal anymore?”

“It’s not that harmful to the environment, it’s a natural resource.” He was glad he had paid attention to his Oil and Gas seminar last week. He only hoped she hadn’t. “Mining and burning the coal doesn’t harm the surrounding earth.”

“Uh, ever heard of global warming? They’re burning fossil fuels that are destroying the atmosphere. It’s not just cows.” She had been paying attention. Finishing off her sandwich, she took her final sip of her tea and looked at him expectantly. 

“What?”

“Just say that they’re paying you a shit ton of money to intern. You don’t need to defend them to me, I’m not going to change my opinion until they change their system.”

Sighing, Harry nodded, not knowing what else to say.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re here then?” 

He set down her bamboo fork, a sign of defeat. He hadn’t prepared as much as he should have.

“I need you to move your protest.”

“Because?”

“If I get you to move your protest from their front doors, they’ll give me an actual job on their legal team once I pass the bar.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t expected that, her voice laced with pity and uncertainty.

“Yeah.”

After an excruciatingly long pause, she nodded. “Okay.”

“What?” Harry was more than surprised as he watched her shrug and wipe at her hands with the dark red cloth she had laid over her lap when she had started eating.

“I’ll do it.”

“But?”

“I have conditions. Obviously. Do you have any paper?”

He shook his head and watched her begin to dig through her backpack. “What? Are you drawing up a contract or something?”

“Yep,” Pulling out a pen and an old flyer for one of the first protests with the words ‘recycled paper’ stamped on it, Harry watched as she began to write messily on the black back side of it. It was bright yellow and her pen ink was a dark blue, her handwriting long and looped which he found fitting. “Today’s the twenty-fifth right?”

When he hummed in agreement, she continued. “Okay. This contract is between Y/N Y/LN and Harry Styles. Y/N Y/LN has agreed to move her protest permanently from outside of Sloan Energy on the understanding that Harry Styles will educate himself on eco-friendly behavior and practices zero-waste to the best of his ability. Styles must also make an effort to change Sloan Energy from inside, beginning with recycling bins within the building. Once he is hired, Styles is expected to push for green energy. How does that sound?”

 “That sounds like I’m doing a lot more than you.”

“Do you want them to hire you or not? I’m doing you multiple favors here, Styles.”

“Can I read it over and get back to you?”

She nodded before quickly scribbling something at the bottom of the contract. After she slid it across the table, he realized it was her number.

“So we can meet outside of my protesting hours should you Don’t think your bosses would be too happy to see you fraternizing with the enemy.” She was smiling now, one full of mischief that made him feel like she was letting him in on a big secret. Harry couldn’t help but smile back, not quite sure what he might be agreeing on.

As she packed up, Harry was tempted to ask her where she was headed, but she beat him to it; it was like she could read his mind. “Don’t follow me this time, okay? Twice in one day should be enough for you, my own apartment is lucky to see me once.”

He didn’t see a point in disagreeing with the girl as she left the small café. Looking around, it was as if all of the charm of the room had vanished with her, the pink walls now looking faded, the table sticky, the chair uncomfortable cold. 

By the time he got home, it had only gotten colder. His roommate, Ed, was an aspiring musician who had decided tonight was the perfect night to hold a private concert in the shower, his only audience being the last of their cold water. Shivering, Harry simply changed into warmer clothes and sat at his desk, putting on an old rock station before he got to work.

Jeff had asked him yesterday to begin looking into Energy Law and he had a paper due in two days that he had yet to start. Choosing to begin on the latter, Harry got to work, cranking out three pages before he remembered the folded up flyer in his coat pocket. Deciding now was as good as ever to stretch his legs, he walked back to the living room to grab it from the coat rack, his eyes tracing over her handwriting that reminded him of  kindergarten teacher. 

Adding her number, he typed out a short text and paused for a moment. If he texted her, that was it. He’d be agreeing to do whatever it is she laid out in this contract of theirs. Still, if he wanted the job, he knew he had to at least try.

hey, it’s harry. how was that secret meeting of urs?

Returning to his desk, Harry was surprised when his phone pinged. He didn’t take her for a quick responder. His smile fell when he saw it was a text from Jeff. He never texts, he was an email addict. He had a template for almost anything.

What the hell did you do, Styles? Y/N Y/LN just left the office. Moving the protest to washington square.

Before he could respond, his phone pinged again, her contact name flashing at the top of the screen.

have you decided when you want to meet to sign the contract? :)

tags: @berrynarrybanana​ @brwnskin-bunnyteeth​ @harry-is-my-medicine​ @detroitkiwis​ @theresthingsthatwellneverknow @fromyourstrulyh​ @cassiopeiaskies​ @ggaayyyong @mortumnoctis

[7-wonders]

Wilted Roses Smell Just as Sweet

So I don’t know if this will be a prologue for an actual story, or if it’s just backstory, but this is that Beauty and the Beast AU I was talking about last week. Let me know what you think!

The butterfly effect, commonly found in pop culture, is the idea that the smallest action can result in bigger changes later in time. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings leading to a tornado is a popular example, and many people believe that the butterfly theory and karma go hand in hand. Although scientists and mathematicians have attempted to quantify the results of the butterfly effect, that directly contradicts the chaos theory from which the butterfly effect stems.

For the entirety of his life, Duncan Shepherd has found no reason to believe in any sort of cosmic effect. When you live a privileged life, there’s really no reason to believe that what you do will result in a different outcome. He already has everything, and has for his whole life, so it does no good to imagine what it would be like to have nothing. In retrospect, he should have paid more attention in the Intro to Psych class that he was forced to take to fulfill a general education requirement in college. Hindsight, however, is 20/20.

One simple fact had caused Duncan to decide that he needed a break. One simple fact had prompted Duncan to steal away to one of the family’s many homes, a large country home in the woods of the Appalachian Mountains. One simple fact had frozen Duncan’s heart into a block of ice, although one could make the argument that he held no warmth long before he learned that he was adopted.

The words still stung to think about. Adopted. Not truly a Shepherd. Being adopted is, in and of itself, not a bad thing. The way that Duncan’s “family” treated the adoption, illegally obtaining a child and erasing any trace of his true parentage, made it seem as though it was something dirty. 

After learning the truth, Duncan’s world had completely tilted on its axis. Unsure of what to do next, the only thing he was sure of was that he couldn’t bear to be around Annette or Bill for a while. He needed to get out of the poisonous city that was Washington, D.C. and clear his head. Luckily, the Shepherds own a multitude of houses in a variety of locations for him to choose from. Deciding that the seclusion of a forest was what would be most conducive to his recovery, Duncan chose to hide out in one of the family’s larger homes. Nestled within the Pennsylvanian Appalachian Mountains, the sheer size and splendor made it more of a chateau than a house. It was the perfect location to get away for awhile.

And so, the heir to the burgeoning Shepherd dynasty holed himself away in the hopes that a good month of sleeping, drinking, barking orders at the staff, and solitude would do him some good. Annette didn’t have much of a choice but to let him go; if she lost her son, she lost any chance she had at securing power for years to come. 

Small actions resulting in bigger changes further down the line. The decision not to tell Duncan he was adopted led to the explosive revelation by the President in an attempt to wound the family. The confrontation between mother and son, uncle and nephew, brother and sister, was followed by Duncan’s need for space.

Three weeks had passed since Duncan shut himself away from the world. His odd vacation was coming to an end, and while he couldn’t say that he was eager to return to his family, he did miss the hustle of the political center of the nation. For now, though, he was enjoying every last moment of calm that he could.

It was a surprisingly stormy evening, the wind blowing the trees that surrounded the house in every direction as rain fell upon the property in sheets and lightning cracked through the sky. Duncan had remained in his study for the evening, the fire providing much-needed warmth to the chilly room as he read. If there was one positive stemming from the fallout, it was that he had read more books than he had in years. He had finished Wuthering Heights yesterday, and was already halfway through Frankenstein when a knock at the door disrupted his concentration. Duncan had every intention of letting the evening staff answer the call of whomever had arrived, if only they weren’t strangely absent.

Three separate times, the visitor knocks on the door, and three separate times, Duncan waits for the door to open. By the fourth time, he huffs in resignation and decides that he’ll have to answer the door himself. What’s the point of having staff if they’re not going to do their jobs?, Duncan thinks as he unlocks the door and opens it harshly.

“This is private property, and I will--” Duncan trails off as he tries to take in what he’s seeing. An old woman stands in front of him, a soaked cloak covering her hunched form. Stringy white hair peeks out from the hood, and she smiles at him with a grin that’s missing a few teeth.

“I’m so sorry to bother you this evening,” she says hoarsely, “but I’m lost, and the storm’s getting too bad to walk in. I was wondering if I could use your phone and remain here until I can be collected? It’s cold out, and it’s so easy for a woman of my age to catch pneumonia in these conditions.”

Duncan sneers, put off by the way this elderly woman believes she can just get whatever she wants. Sensing this, she reaches into her cloak and roots around in an attempt to find something.

“I don’t have any money for you, but I do have this.” She produces a red rose in full bloom, looking as if it was just cut from a bush and not at all like it’s been held in the grasp of a sodden woman for hours now.

“You expect me to let a stranger into my house to use my phone and remain here for what could be hours, and in exchange for what? A stupid rose?”

The woman looks taken aback. “I promise you, only the finest roses are cultivated in my garden. Your kindness would surely be rewarded down the line.”

“There’s a ranger station about a mile south of here. They’ll have a phone that you can use, and hopefully some towels. I’m afraid I can’t help you.”

The grin that she has been wearing morphs into a scowl. “You would deny an old woman shelter solely due to your whims?”

Duncan rolls his eyes, fed up with this interaction. “I already told you that you’re on private property, and now you’re beginning to test my patience. You’ll find what you need with the forest rangers, but I can’t help you. Goodnight.”

He goes to close the door, mind already wandering to thoughts of where he left off in his book, when a blinding strike of lightning has him throwing his arm over his eyes as he staggers back from the door. The wind whips the heavy wood open like it’s little more than a fragile screen door, the cold chilling Duncan to his very bones. Blinking his eyes to clear the spots that have gathered from the sudden brightness, he’s more than surprised to see that the old woman is gone, replaced by the figure of a glowing, ethereal woman.

There have always been stories of the magic that resides within the wilderness of the Appalachian Mountains, but Duncan had always taken them with a hefty grain of salt. After all, there’s no way that magic is real. It’s a fairy tale, a bedtime story told to children to ward off nightmares. Staring at what used to be an elderly woman, however, there’s no other answer to what she could be than an enchantress. 

“Less eager to turn me away now, aren’t you?” Her red lips are twisted in a cruel smirk, the wind forcing Duncan to his knees in front of her.

“I’m sorry, I--I didn’t know…”

“What, you didn’t know that I was actually beautiful? If I would have shown up at your door in this form, you would have let me use your phone without any sort of hesitation.” It’s not a question: she’s seen into his very soul, and knows just as well as he how he would have reacted if it had been the beautiful young woman who knocked on his door.

“No, it’s just--”

“Silence,” she commands. “I have seen what lies in your heart. It’s cold and dark, with no love to be found. You carry such beauty on the outside, but it does not extend inwards. Your dutiful staff is treated as if they’re invisible, so what difference will it make if they are? If you want to act like a beast, Duncan Shepherd, then a beast you shall be.”

Pain rips through Duncan’s body, leaving him helpless to question how she knows his name or what she means.

“Until you can learn to love, and be loved in return, you shall outwardly display the beastliness that lies within your heart. And this rose, which you so quickly spurned, shall serve as a reminder of this curse. It will continue to bloom until your thirty fifth birthday. If you are unable to break the curse by then, you will die when the last petal falls off of the rose.”

Another bright crack of lightning has Duncan falling backwards. It’s as if there’s a tornado whipping through his home, and combined with the overwhelming pain he’s feeling, he can’t tell which way is up or down. The wind reaches a fever pitch along with his pain, and Duncan passes out before he can even attempt to fight back.

The light burns through his eyelids when Duncan finally regains consciousness. He’s sprawled on the floor in the entryway, but when he tries to remember how he ended up here, his memory is fuzzy. He must have had a bit too much to drink last night, and he’s certainly paying for it now. Staggering to his feet, the only thing on Duncan’s mind is getting some water to soothe his burning throat. After that order of business is taken care of, he’ll worry about getting one of the maids to close the blinds.

It’s when he runs a hand through his hair that Duncan begins to get the impression that something’s wrong. Is it possible for hair to grow so much in one night? His locks must fall to at least his chin now, when last night they were so neatly kept. Trailing down to his face, he feels more facial hair than the artful stubble he normally sported.

His heart begins to race when he once again inspects his hair, finding hard protrusions on top of his head that end in points. Racing to find a mirror, Duncan gasps when he looks at his shaking hands. Impossibly, they look sizes bigger, and his nails are fucking claws. The ornate mirror hung on the wall of the hallway reveals a truth that Duncan was certain had been a dream.

His hair and beard is wild and unkempt, almost reminding Duncan of fur. Jet black horns jut out of the top of his head, their points shining in the light of the hallway. When Duncan opens his mouth to let out an exclamation of fear and call for help, he instead screams at the sight of fangs in his mouth.

[perscinnamon]

BONSAI!

    1. Everett

Sometimes, it's a simple answer found in your own home.

1999; a year of restless anticipation and empty grocery stores, a considerable population of gym rats and game shows and the bitter smell of black coffee through the suburbs of Everett, Washington.

The world was coming to an end as we knew it according to David Eddy and McGraw-Hill which, to Mark, seemed fucking ridiculous. But, what did he know? He was too busy trying to keep his joint together, bits of weed falling between his shaking fingers. He had woken up at exactly six-thirty for the past month and a half so he could clamber his way to the upstairs bathroom, the only one in his house with a window, to smoke before school. He knew his parents slept in unless it was Sunday. He also knew that they didn't know the difference between the smell of incense and the smell of weed.

When he was finally able to assemble his joint, sticking his tongue out a bit to lick both sides and stick them together, he sighed in relief.

He grabbed his lighter off of the counter and put the toilet seat down, climbing up on top of it to unlock the window and push it open.

Mark leaned each elbow on either side of the windowsill, lighting his joint and taking a deep inhale. He watched the cloud of smoke as it left his mouth.

He liked this feeling; the cold fall breeze nipping at his skin as his heart fluttered in his chest and his head felt light, the high settling in quickly.

The sun was just starting to rise. Of course, Mark couldn't actually see this since he was facing the West, but he watched with sleep in his eyes as the sky slowly lit up, cascading the neighboring houses in a blurry coat of morning sun.

Yeah, he liked this. He liked this a lot.

That is, until the sharp sound of a car horn in his driveway jolted him from his weed-induced reverie.

"Ah— Ow, what the fuck..." Mark groaned in pain, holding his head where he had hit it on the top of the windowsill.

He leaned over as far as he could, looking past his roof to find exactly who he'd expected.

Johnathan Suh, a lanky 22-year-old sitting in a bright red 1987 Corvette Convertible was grinning smugly up at Mark, his long arm swung over the passenger-side headrest. Mark had known Johnathan for as long as he could remember, the Suh family were regulars at their church.

"What do you want?" Mark croaked from his bathroom window, joint still in his right hand.

"What do you think? I'm driving you to school!" Johnathan yelled back, not bothering to consider the fact that it was 6AM in a sleeping neighborhood.

"Why?" Mark said, taking a hit from his joint.

"Because your parents don't trust you after last weekend. They trust me, so hurry or I'm leaving." Johnny said with an impatient hand gesture.

Mark exhaled dramatically, flicking the stub of his joint off the roof and hopping down from the toilet seat. He glanced at his reflection in the bathroom mirror and ran a hand through his messy hair, his cross pendant flashing around his neck as it caught the dim bathroom lights.

He was clad in a pair of navy blue boxers that hung at his hip bones as he made his way to his room, pushing the door open and reaching for his dresser drawer. He managed to throw on a pair of black trousers and his wool uniform sweater, a pair of mismatched socks on both feet as he took two steps at a time down the carpeted stairs. He grabbed the pair of P.F. Flyer's he kept by the welcome mat and his black Jansport backpack, making sure not to slam the door behind him as he padded to Johnathan's car.

"Took you long enough." Johnathan said, wearing that same grin he always seemed to have plastered on his face. Mark shook his head with a soundless chuckle, hopping over the passenger door and throwing his bag in the backseat.

"Buckle up, kiddo. I don't want another ticket under my belt. I got pulled over last week because one of my taillights were out. One!" Johnathan exclaimed with frustration, still grinning, as he pulled out of Mark's driveway and cruised down the street.

"I mean... That's still illegal." Mark said, his voice still relatively hoarse with sleep as he pulled on his shoes.

Johnathan's car was definitely a hand-me-down, given to him by his uncle with a rearview mirror missing and three flat tires. He managed to clean it up decently enough but it never seemed to be the kind of car he could see Johnny in. Mark could see him in some 1970s Shaggin' Wagon. Or an Achieva.

"Yeah, but, like, the car is ol— Wait, you're one to talk about legality!" Johnny said as he slowed at a stop sign, throwing a quick peace sign up at the Nissan Quest passing us.

"It was one time, Johnny." Mark said with a frown. Here we go again...

Johnathan had been grilling Mark incessantly for his recent drunken fiasco the previous Saturday since their parents spoke about it at church Sunday morning.

"Dude, yeah, two days ago. How did you even manage to get ahold of a bottle of wine near a Jewish holiday? They buy that shit up every Shabbat." Johnny said with a chuckle, pulling on to 41st St. past the cemetery.

"I got it from Paul's. I managed to get out of there before he opened up a can on Jacob's brother. That's why I was driving so fast, I wasn't even that drunk!" Mark explained hastily, looking out at the passing headstones. Some were in the shapes of crosses or angels or hearts. It would suck to be buried in Everett, Mark thought as they drove by in a blur.

"If you pull some shit like that you're in for it, Markie-boy. Your dad doesn't play around. I'm actually surprised he didn't ground you." Johnny said calmly, turning right on to Rucker Ave, past the Safeway Fuel Station.

Mark shrugged, bored of the conversation topic as he rested his chin in his palm. He hated when Johnny ruined his high like this, especially when he talked about his dad.

He loved Johnny like a brother and for a Tacotime employee that carved wood into spoons and smoked Nutmeg in his free time, he was a pretty cool guy.

He could also be totally overbearing.

As they pulled into the roundabout at the front of Mark's school, he faced Johnny with ruffled hair and a pink nose.

"Could you pick up a gram or two for me later? I'm gonna be at Hyuck's."

Johnny hesitated for a moment, rubbing his forehead with a sigh.

"Fine, now get out of my car." Johnny said with a playful shove to Mark's shoulder.

Mark grinned winningly before getting out and grabbing his backpack, turning around to say one last thing.

"Pick me up at two."

"Three."

"Two-thirty?"

"Whatever, go to class."

Mark chuckled, walking towards the school with his untied P.F Flyer's, his laces swinging around his feet angrily as he shoved both hands in the pockets of his trousers.

He didn't mind this place. For a stuffy private catholic school covered in brick and vine, it wasn't too bad.

It was the kids that were the worst.

He liked a few of the student's at St. Pius School. He liked his friends and, although he didn't talk to the girls too much, he definitely liked looking at them.

As he made his way up the front steps, he caught sight of a Bully Piston bike racing by him. He watched it screech to a halt in front of the bike-racks.

"Hey, Hyuck!" Mark called from the top of the stairs.

Hyuck turned around as he was locking up his bike, a grin on his face as he flashed a peace sign, rushing up to Mark and shoulder-checking him.

Mark stumbled back with a laugh and shoved Hyuck with his elbow as they made their way through the double-doors.

"How've you been, bud? Heard you knocked over the Bailey's mailbox last weekend."

Mark grunted, rolling his eyes.

"Can people stop bringing that up? It's been, like, almost a week."

"I haven't been here to press you about it. Also it's Monday." Hyuck said nonchalantly, stretching his arms over his head as he nodded to a giggling group of girls to their right.

"Where've you been, anyways?"

"Out."

"Out where?" Mark asked again as they approached his locker. He rotated the lock carefully, silently mouthing his combination numbers.

"My dad's." Hyuck said, leaning his shoulder up against the locker next to Mark's.

Mark frowned. He knew about Hyuck's situation with his parent's recent divorce but didn't know it would resort to him being taken away for an entire weekend.

"That's dumb."

"I know." Hyuck said, ruffling his dark curls with his hand as he watched the students around them waste time before they had to head to morning mass.

"I'm coming to your place later, right?" Mark asked, glancing at Hyuck before putting a binder in his backpack and slamming his locker door shut.

"Yeah. I might have a few people over Friday if you wanna stop by to pregame." Hyuck said, yawning.

"Maybe. I'll see how my dad's feeling."

"Kate might be there."

"Oh- Okay." Mark said after a minute, not really knowing how to reply to this statement. Kate was a pretty blonde that sat on the other side of his Psych classroom in third period.

"Don't be weird about it, Mark. I'm trying to get you laid." Hyuck said with a low chuckle, playfully bumping Mark with his arm.

Mark rolled his eyes.

"Thats all you think about, Hyuck."

The bell rang.

Hyuck shrugged.

"I like to have fun, can't blame me."

**

Morning mass was always a slow process, all the students gathering into Ardolf Hall at an irritatingly slow pace. The stress of having to find his friends in the pews before looking like a loner was too nerve-racking for Mark. That's why he avoided it.

He had ditched Hyuck to go to the bathroom and separated himself from the usual crowd of people that we're headed towards the double doors of the school chapel five minutes ago, heading down the empty hallway with his head down, staring at the floor pattern and stepping from one green tile to the next.

The boy's bathroom was always pretty gross, in every sense of the word, but there wasn't anywhere else to get away.

Mark walked in, scrunching his nose at the smell as he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, eyes red, lips chapped, face pale. He sighed in frustration at his appearance before dragging his eyes down, towards the stall directly behind the mirror.

Mark shrieked and jumped back, scaring the girl sitting on the toilet behind him who let out an almost identical yell.

"What the hell?!"

"Damnit." The girl said as she stared at the coke on the floor that she had previously been forming into a neat white line on top of her Economics textbook.

They stayed like that for a bit, the girl sitting on the closed toilet seat with a textbook on her lap and her coke dusting the tiled floor, Mark leaning up against the sink with wide eyes.

"Wh— What are you—"

Heavy footsteps drew closer outside the bathroom door.

"Sh." The girl said, holding her hand to her mouth cautiously.

They came closer, a hand reaching for the bathroom door and swinging it open.

The girl peeked past the stall door and her shoulders relaxed, lunging towards the boy that had just entered the room and hitting his shoulder.

"Christ, Duffy! You almost gave me a heart-attack." The girl said with furrowed eyebrows.

"Not my fault you're so damn jumpy all the time."

Mark stood there awkwardly, his cheeks bright red.

"Since when are you buds with Mark." The guy, Duffy, said to her, gesturing his head towards Mark with a raised eyebrow.

Mark scratched the back of his neck, pushing off of the sink he had been leaning against.

"I'm not. He walked in and scared me shitless." She said, glancing back at him.

"I'm just gonna go. Sorry." Mark said, inching past the couple slowly.

"Hold on. What are you doing over here, anyways?" Duffy said, a look of suspicion on his face. The girl stood behind him, arms crossed.

Reid "Duffy" Durbin was a notorious presence at St. Pius. He was a self-proclaimed DJ and if he wasn't hosting a party he would show up anyways, always with a baggie full of pills nobody bothered identifying as they scarfed them down. He sported a bristly excuse for a go-tee and a patchy buzzcut. He and Mark didn't really run in the same crowd, although Duffy and Hyuck were pretty tight.

Mark didn't really have an excusable answer so he just shrugged.

"Just getting some air..."

"Not much air to get in here." The girl said with a chuckle.

Duffy groaned in annoyance, "Okay, I hate to be an ass, but... Mark, can you leave? I'm trying to run a business here." He said this as he held up a baggie of what Mark assumed was more coke.

The girl crossed her arms anxiously.

"Um, yeah... Okay. Sorry." Mark said with hesitation, reaching for the door handle and pulling it open.

**

His strange interaction that morning had killed his high and left him drowsy for the remainder of the day, forcing him to watch the clocks at the front of his classrooms as the hand spun clockwise in repetitive circles.

Mark thought about the run in with Duffy and coke-head girl all day, half humiliation and half curiosity. Since when does Duffy sell coke? He had always been just a friendly neighborhood weed plug.

It was weird, but Mark didn't think much of it as he waited by the bike-racks while Hyuck unlocked his bike.

"Isn't Johnathan picking you up?"

"Yeah, but not until two-thirty. I'll probably wait in the library until he gets here."

"You can just hitch a ride with me, you know." Hyuck said as he walked his bike down the sidewalk, Mark following beside him.

"Yeah, but he's bringing bud."

Hyuck made a face that indicated that he understood Mark's rationale.

"Fair enough," Hyuck mounted his bike, "see you at my place, then!"

Mark nodded and waved, watching Hyuck race off, dodging a mini van pulling into the roundabout. It honked at him and he gave it the finger.

Mark snorted at the exchange and turned back towards the school, kicking a half-eaten apple core lying on the sidewalk.

He kept his head down the entire way to the library, kicking acorn tops and stones, stepping over the cracks in the sidewalk instinctively.

Step on a crack, break your mother's back.

**

Mark made his way into the library, the smell of dust and paper overwhelming. There were a few people sitting at the wooden tables in the middle of the room, books or lined paper spread out in front of them. A few people sat at the computer desks at the back as the librarian piled books on a rolling medal cart.

He took a seat on the floor in a back aisle near the history books where nobody ever bothered going. He stretched his legs out and unzipped his backpack, pulling out the book he had been reading for his English class. The Crucible.

The only thing he could hear in the room was the occasional sound of the printer going off or someone coughing.

A kid stepped over him to reach for an obnoxiously heavy Civil War book, a thick History packet in his hand as he eyed Mark and walked off, scuffed Nike's shuffling against the dirty carpet.

Mark had been reading for almost fifteen minutes, his tailbone already aching, when he heard the doors to the library slam shut. He jumped and looked up and around, only seeing the aisles of books that surrounded him.

His eyes, wide as ever, scanned the area as he got up with a grunt, creeping away from the history books and towards the middle of the room, the hair on his arms standing up.

As he approached the middle of the library, he realized he was alone. Not one person reading a book at the wooden tables, nobody typing away at the clunky old computers in the back desks, not even the librarian with her dusty medal cart stacked with books.

"Hello?"

He stood there as his voice's muffled echo filled the room.

And suddenly, it was dark.

[doctor-spencer-ried]

Just a Crush V

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Hanahaki Disease AU

Summary: Tensions build and snap. Emily is a good friend.

Warning: Short graphic description of sickness

Masterlist ~ Part 5 (Word count: 1843)

A/N: In this story, the disease can develop very quickly for the sake of time and plot. Also, my knowledge of behavioral analysis is limited to this show and my Forensic class, so there may be holes and incorrect analysis.

~~~

You rush back to the hotel, not even noticing how late it has gotten, with the flower tucked safely away in a plastic bag in your purse. The team needs to hear about this. Maybe you’ll finally be able to catch this guy.

Confusion stops you when you rush into the hotel and see your team all pacing in the lobby. Your eyes gravitate immediately to Spencer who seems the most agitated of the group. He’s running his hands through his hair, face a mix of conflicting emotions.

“What’s going on?” You ask hesitantly, but everyone hears you.

Spencer’s head snaps to you so quickly that you worry he might hurt himself. Almost immediately he is right in front of you, hands wrapping around your shoulders and holding you in a deadly grip, like you might disappear.

“Where have you been?”

You peer up at him with wide eyes, worried by the sharp edge in his voice and the wild look in his eyes.

“I, I went for a, for a walk,” you answer tentatively, trying to pull away from him.

He’s not acting normal and it’s scaring you. Sure, Spencer gets worried about you sometimes, but he’s never been like this. He almost looks angry. Why?

“Why?” He presses.

“Spencer,” Emily tries to cut in.

He blatantly ignores her, “You shouldn’t be out on a walk when your sick like this. It’s too dangerous!”

“But I found somethi-“

“Something could have happened to you.”

You finally break away from his grip and wrap your arms around yourself to disguise the tremor that runs through you. A frown tugs at your lips because of his interrupting, condescending words.

“Like what, huh?” You snap back at him defensively, voice shaking, “I’m a grown woman, Spencer, I can do what I want.” Your chest aches.

He scowls at you, “We’re chasing a serial killer who’s rapidly devolving. He could have abducted or killed you.”

“That’s against his M.O. and you know it.”

“Spencer.” It’s Hotch this time, and he actually gets a reaction from the young doctor.

“She put herself in danger! She can’t work this case Hotch, she’s not in the right state of mind.”

Anger boils up in your chest. How dare he? How dare he treat you like an impotent child? Who is he to say whether or not you're in the right state of mind to be working this case? It’s because of you that there’s new evidence, a new lead! The emotions bubble up into your stinging throat.

“Stop treating me like a child,” you seethe, drawing the attention of everyone back to you. “You have no right to be acting this way.”

“I wouldn’t be acting this way if you hadn’t acted like a imcompetent, defiant juvenile,” Spencer huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

The tension in the room is palpable. You could cut it with a knife. Everyone in the lobby has their eyes on the two of you. Strangers are staring. Spencer is glaring at you. The team is shocked into silence.

You suck in a deep breath, planning on telling him off, but the only thing that comes out is a broken, inhuman sound like a guttural cough and sob combined, that you try to quiet with you hand. Tears build up in your eyes and you take a step back.

An immediate shift is noticeable on Spencer’s face. Regret and worry replace his irritation.

He reaches towards you, mouth open like he’s about to apologize, but you don’t stay to listen. You shove him out of the way as you book it to the stairs. You don’t even hear the shouts from behind you, concern from Emily and anger from Morgan.

You lungs ache as you take the stairs two at a time, already at a loss of breath from the gagging coughs and sobs that erupt from your chest. Tears blur your vision.

How could he say something like that? How could gentle, intelligent Spencer say something so stupid and hurtful? You’ve only ever been kind to him. You go out of your way to nice to him! And he turns around to treat you like this?!

You can barely still your hands long enough to unlock your room, missing the key hole a few times before finally shoving it in and twisting.

Your legs barely carry you as you stumble into the room, not even bothering to turn on the lights.

It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to think. Everything is consumed by the pain blossoming in your chest and throat.

The tiles are cold under your knees as you collapse in the bathroom next to the toilet. Your entire body curls into itself as you retch violently. Your knuckles turn white to match the porcelain gripped under your fingers. You can’t breathe, like your throat is blocked. The bitter taste of iron and bile invades your mouth, burns your throat. You gag on it, stomach convulsing again even though there is nothing left.

“(Y/n)?!”

You gulp down air, feeling light headed and shaky as you pull away from the toilet, blood dripping from your lips. Your eyes drift to the side where you see a blurry figure coming closer.

“(Y/n), are you okay?” The voice is distinctly female.

“Emily,” you wheeze, more tears dripping down your chin as you reach out to her.

She crouches beside you, arms wrapping around your trembling frame. You clutch at the back of her shirt, sobs now being the only thing wracking your body since there’s nothing left to cough up.

“Why would he, why would, why would he say those things?” You ask between sobs and hiccups.

She hushes you and rubs your back. It takes a few minutes for you to calm down fully. Your breath comes in little gasps and your still shaking, but you pull away from her to wipe at your eyes.

“(Y/n)...”

You look up to her questioningly, only to see that her wide-eyed stare is locked on the toilet. Your gaze followers hers and you see why she looks so unnerved. Bloody roses and petals are scattered everywhere along with copious amounts of blood. Your pale face falls blank at the sight.

“You have-“

“Hanahaki disease. Yah, I know.” The words are hollow and raspy. “It’s progressing pretty fast too.”

Emily’s eyes snap to you, her mouth agape.

“This could-“

“Kill me?”

Your eyes meet, and you can’t help but shrug. The overwhelming emotions seem to have drained out of you, leaving you feeling exhausted. Why should you care anymore, anyways? Now you know how Spencer feels, so there’s no point in even trying anymore.

“Can you help me to my bed?”

She nods, too shocked to say anything. You flush the toilet before she leads you out to the bedroom. You’ll have to clean the rim later, but at least most of it’s gone now.

Emily finally speaks up when she eases you down onto the mattress. “How long have you known?”

“Just a few days. Since the latest crime scene.”

“And it’s already this bad?”

“It’s different for everyone. I read of one case where someone developed full flowers within hours.”

You push yourself towards the headboard, resting your head against the cool wood.

“Its Spencer, isn’t it?”

You laugh, but it’s dry and humorless. “You mean the guy who just criticized and belittled me in front of everyone down there? Yup.”

She’s quiet, which you don’t mind. Everything aches now and you really just want to sleep for once. The thought of doing anything else right now seems impossible. You allow your eyes to close, taking a deep breath. It’s easier to breathe now.

“What are you going to do?”

The words are soft, scared. Why is she scared? You’re the one who’s dying.

“Hm?”

“What are you going to do, (y/n)? We can’t let you die!”

“What do you suppose I do?” You ask her, opening an eye to a slit so you can see her.

“Isn’t there a surgery or something?”

Your eyes snap open at that and you wheeze out, “No, that’s not an option.”

“Why?” She looks at you in confusion.

You struggle to sit upright, breathing becoming unstable again, “You don’t understand Em! Do you know the side effects of that surgery?! It takes away your emotions! I’d never be able to feel this, to feel love, again! I’d rather be in pain every day than to suffer like that! I’d rather die!”

“Okay, okay! Please calm down!” She pushes you back against the pillow, eyebrows drawn up in worry and fear.

You purse your lips. She doesn’t deserve to see this part of you. She’s trying to help, trying to find a solution. You’ve already looked, and you know there’s only two. The surgery or the reciprocation  of your love, neither of which are going to happen. You know that for sure after what just happened downstairs.

“Sorry Em.”

“It’s okay,” She accepts the apology readily. “We need to tell the others, hold on, let me call Hotch.”

Just as she’s about to stand and pull out her phone, you reach out and grab her arm.

“Don’t.”

“But (y/n)!”

“He can’t know,” you whisper, looking at her pleadingly.

“But Hotch and Morgan-“

“Them either. I’ll get pulled off the team, Em.”

“(Y/n), your sick, like actually sick. You need medical help.”

“There’s no other cure. Just please, let me finish this case. I need to catch this son of a gun.”

She’s silent for many moments, and you fear she might tell them anyways. You know you’re asking a lot of her, but you need to do this. She has to understand that.

“if you push yourself too hard, I will tell them.”

“Okay, I promise, I’ll take it slow,” you easily agree..

She nods, seemingly content with the answer. You think for a moment that she’s about to leave, but instead she shuffles closer to sit beside you.

“You know, as soon as you left, Morgan started ripping Reid a new one.”

“Really?” You giggle tiredly at the image of Morgan shouting at Spencer. “Serves him right.”

Emily laughs along with you, and you relax even further against the pillows. It's nice to know she’s going to treat you the same way she always has. You were a little worried you had scared her off with the sickness and attitude. You really didn’t mean to snap at her.

“Thank you, Emily.”

She raises an eyebrow, as if my words are a surprise to her.

“You’ve done and are doing a lot to help me. I really appreciate it. You’re a good friend.” You speak earnestly, turning your body to face her. “A better friend than I deserve after snapping like that.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m an FBI agent, I have thick skin,” she sends you a joking wink, “I’m going to stick by you through this. Anything you need, I’m here for you.”

“Thank you,” You repeat softly, smiling.

Part 6

[lipstickcchateau]

Wolf-King

Loosely based on the Pathcode video for Xiumin, written for Minseok’s birthday. Happy Birthday, my king. Thank you for being a ray of sunshine when I need it most.

A drop of water ran down a pipe bolted to the side of a building. It took it’s time, following the rusted, well-worn path made by many others before. The dark, early-morning skies threatened snow but the streets were still bare with the empty promises of late November. Cars maneuvered through the city at all hours, the never-ending buzz of life pumping through the veins of Berlin. Streetlamps hung in intervals overhead, casting a dim yellow light that hung in the air like it had frozen there in the winter chill.

It was 5:07 AM when Min stumbled up to the door of his apartment building, worn backpack slung over his shoulders, skateboard tucked in close to his side. Headphones were tightly covering his ears and keeping the cold out, pumping out whatever random song his phone had put on shuffle, with a huge fuzzy aviator hat pulled down low on his forehead. He twirled his keys around his finger twice before fumbling to find the one that would open the door before him. He unlocked the door and pulled it open, the metal hinges creaking in protest as he stepped through the back entrance into the dingy hallway of the worn-down building.

Graffiti littered the walls and doors, poorly written curses, inside jokes and gibberish winding up and down the stairways. The owners of the building had long since left the decor to the whims of the delinquents who lived there, and the hallways always smelled like fresh spray paint and cigarettes. Min had never minded much. It reminded him of a time when he had cared more. Or less. He never knew which.

As soon as he was in the door he pulled off his hat and felt like he could breathe again. The cold had always left him feeling claustrophobic in layer upon layer of clothing. Warmer weather would still be a while away, with something like three months of winter looming ahead.

The cold that lingered in the unheated hall touched the sides of his head where the hair was shaved down close to the scalp, but he ignored the sensation and instead swiped his finger over the side of his headphones, turning up the music and letting the bass pound through his whole body.  

He began to climb the steps ahead of him, grasping the cold railing and concentrating on placing one foot at a time on the next step. The drinks he had consumed after his night shift at the restaurant had made the walk home take a little longer than normal, and made the stairs just a little more difficult to manage. They did, however, quiet the demons in his head and that was worth the loss of coordination, for however long it lasted.

He didn’t hear the other man coming down the stairs, didn’t see him with his eyes trained on his own feet, so when he bumped into someone, Min was shaken out of his stupor for a moment. He looked at the man, who pushed Min away from him, annoyance clear on his face. Min shifted one side of his headphones off his ear, expecting a confrontation that never came. The man continued on down the stairs without a word and Min moved his headphones back into place and kept climbing, feeling like he was scaling a mountain. His apartment was on the top floor, and the old building didn’t have an elevator.

After what felt like ages he reached his apartment. The door swung open easily; he had forgotten to lock it once again. Probably not the wisest choice, but the living space was mostly bare, with only a few possessions scattered about. Nothing he owned was worth stealing to anyone looking to make some quick cash.

He leaned his skateboard against the wall next to the door, then plodded into the living room and swung his backpack onto the couch. It landed with a quiet thud. Min’s almond eyes rested momentarily on the standing lamp that now lay on the ground, evidence of the last time he’d come home a little drunk and his aim had been less than perfect.

Min sidestepped the plethora of books that were scattered on the floor all around the couch, covering the worn old rug that definitely looked better when it couldn’t be seen. He sat back heavily, releasing his headphones from his ears and sliding them down around his neck instead. The tinny sound of his music still escaped them, but he couldn’t be bothered to turn it off. He just let it buzz in his ears like mosquitos in mid-July.

He hated how messy the room was, his fingers itching to clean up, but his legs and head wouldn’t cooperate. The alcohol had made his thinking a bit fuzzy, and his legs ached with exhaustion from his long, late night shift. He had to be up and functional again by nine o’clock.

University had been difficult to keep up with lately, much to his displeasure. It was why he was in Berlin, but between rent and tuition, scholarships weren’t nearly enough to cover the cost. So he went to his classes during the day and his job at night, and he slept usually about three hours before getting up and doing it all over again. It had worn him down and left him feeling like just a fraction of his old self, Thirteen Percent Min rather than the full hundred. One Hundred Percent Min needed eight hours of sleep minimum, a full three meals a day and a lot less alcohol, a combination he hadn’t had in quite some time.

Despite what his hands wanted, cleaning was the last thing the rest of his body was interested in. It revolted against its own extremities, keeping itself pinned firmly to the couch cushions. The upside to having almost nothing, Min mused as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, was that there was rarely much to clean. Things just got a bit strewn about most of the time. He could live with the mess for one more day, although, to be honest, that’s what he told himself every time he came home from work.

To direct his mind elsewhere, he leaned forward and switched on the television, flipping the channel to some over-the-top German drama. The volume was down to mute, but the man on screen was obviously angry and his mouth was moving, quickly and dramatically. Min didn’t have to turn up the volume to be able to hear the man yelling in his head. He heard enough of it at work that it was like a recording; he could just flip a switch and listen. Almost every night someone shouted at him while they were angry and drunk, their words rough and chopped up with booze. Usually he hadn’t done anything, he was just nearby and couldn’t react poorly without losing his job, which he desperately needed. He was a convenient target for their pent-up aggression. The German language was still a struggle for him, but he knew all the curse words off by heart.

An empty highball glass sat alone on a small, low table to the right of the couch. Min leaned forward and picked it up, turning it in his hand and debating whether he had the energy to stand and get himself some water. It would help the slow throbbing in his left temple, but the dingy kitchen with it’s half-baked fluorescent lighting would likely have the opposite effect and cause his budding headache to fully bloom.

Min eased himself back, settling his head against the couch once again, glass still in hand, as his eyes drifted shut. The flickering light of the television always put him to sleep. The sky was still dark outside, graciously allowing him a couple hours of rest until the cold November light started pouring in through the wall to wall windows behind him, reminding him it was time to start the cycle all over again. The insides of his eyelids danced with the blue light from the screen and his head rolled back, his neck loose and his lips parting slightly as his breathing deepened and slowed.

Right when Min was about to slip off into sleep, he heard a quiet static buzz. He opened his eyes slowly, a little disoriented and heard the sound repeat itself, just a little bit longer this time.

It was coming from the television, an old boxy thing that barely worked half the time and looked like it had travelled forward from the eighties to sit, unimpressed with this future world, in his barren apartment. Min pulled himself forward, suddenly and inexplicably very awake, and looked hard at the television.

Through the buzz and the static, there were images, mostly crisscrossing lines in black and white, but the one he could pick out clearly was the head of a wolf. It was snarling, lips pulled back over sharp and pointed teeth. It stayed there, point blank in the center of the screen, while erroneous lines and words flickered in and out around it, the centerpiece of a bizarrely set table.  

Min stood slowly and walked over to the screen, his feet dragging on the rug and catching on the books scattered about, but he barely noticed. He crouched in front of the television and reached out a hand, slowly and carefully. As his hand got closer, he felt the hum and energy radiating from the old CRT set, the kind of static tension he couldn’t feel anymore in newer electronics. It was part of the reason he kept this old television around for so long, even though it barely worked. The quiet hum made it seem...alive.

When Min got closer, he noticed not only the head of the wolf on the screen, but the word ‘Edinburgh’ as well. It felt like the images were trying to hypnotize him, he could feel the way the patterns writhed and shifted in the back of his mind, like they were being projected onto the inside of his skull. His hand hovered just centimeters away, fingertips alive with energy, but something held him back from reaching out that bare distance and connecting with the glass. He felt like something big could happen, and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. Stand back up, go to his room, collapse into his lumpy old mattress, stick with the status quo. Or make the move, reach out, change the cycle.

For a long minute he crouched there, his legs tense, as he contemplated what to do while the images before him beckoned and pleaded with him. He closed his eyes, trying to block them out, but they were still there, on the insides of his eyelids, proving that he couldn’t escape them no matter how hard he tried.

Finally he opened his eyes again. He had hesitated for long enough. The entire past year had been a hesitation, the moment between an inhale and an exhale, and he was sick of it. Thirteen Percent Min, suspended in a gravity-less void, not moving forward or backward, just stuck in one place. Running on the treadmill and going nowhere.

He reached out, easily closing the miniscule distance between his fingers and the glass that sat just inches from his face.

It was the lightest of touches, but he felt the connection instantly, a wicked buzz rocketing through his veins, electrifying his blood and making all the little hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He kept his fingers glued to the television screen, even as his vision went black and he felt himself falling in every direction at once.

Min wasn’t in his apartment anymore. A huge full moon hung in the sky above him, dripping with the light it reflected back from the sun. The stars were bigger than he had ever seen them, like cut diamonds falling from the sky. Every one of his senses was heightened and he noticed every detail, from the crisp scent of pine trees in the cool wind to the sound of a river rushing nearby, the rumble and roar of it filling his mind and body.

He turned his head, realizing that he was in a forest, surrounded by trees on all sides, with no light but that of the moon and stars. Despite that, he could see everything clearly, including the thick, wild wood that stretched out before him. He took a few steps, feeling the crunch of pine needles and leaf mulch beneath his bare feet, before he noticed that he was walking on four legs. Glancing down, he saw paws covered in warm black fur instead of human feet.

The thought passed briefly through Min’s mind that he should be afraid. He was standing in a forest in the middle of nowhere, ripped out of his Berlin apartment by some unknown force, with paws instead of feet and an incredible sense of smell. Carried on the wind were the scents of a hundred living things that rustled through the underbrush and in the treetops above him. Voles and owls, crickets and deer, all contributing to the feeling of life that pulsated through the surrounding wilderness. If he was honest with himself, he had never felt more alive than he did in this very moment, and that was why he couldn’t bring himself to be afraid.

He picked up his feet, moving from a walk into a trot, getting used to the feeling of moving four legs. He slipped lithely through the trees, branches whipping past his face as he picked up speed, comfortably switching into a run. The moon seemed to encourage him as he sprinted, stretching his lupine legs to their full length.

Min ran as fast as he could, his entire mind and being chasing the feeling of life that had evaded him for so long. The trees surrounding him slowly blurred into one long corridor that he raced through with abandon, for once not caring where he ended up. He ran until he broke through the trees into a clearing full of wildflowers, their scent cloying in his nostrils and making his head spin with pleasure as he panted, catching his breath.

Stopping in the middle of the clearing, he laid down amidst the flowers, extending his front legs out before him, tongue hanging out to the side as he breathed heavily. Light from the moon glistened off the dew that perched upon the flower petals all around him. It would only last until morning, when the sun would rise and it would evaporate like it had never been there in the first place. Nothing more than a dream.

Suddenly, Min remembered that this too must be a dream. He raised his head to the sky, observing the moon as it gazed back at him, prodding him to act. It felt like the moon was encouraging him to stop standing on the sidelines of his own life. Min took a deep breath, filling the lungs that both did and did not belong to him with air, then howled as loudly as he could, the sound exploding from deep within his chest. Closing his eyes, he let out all the anger, frustration, and sadness that had built up inside of him over the last year. His emotions flowed out through that howl like a flood, shooting up into the sky to join the stars.

When Min finally opened his eyes again, he was standing on the sidewalk bordering a road, a lone streetlamp casting light on the uneven cobblestones beneath his feet. Human feet once again, wearing shiny black dress shoes instead of the worn-through sneakers that had been on his feet back in the apartment. These looked like they had cost at least a couple nights worth of tips at the restaurant, entirely more than he could ever afford.

Running his hands up his body, Min felt the intricate weave of a luxurious Italian suit beneath his finger tips. It was probably worth more than the whole apartment building in Berlin. He tugged gently on the collar of the white silk dress shirt he was wearing, rubbing the fabric between his thumb and forefinger. It fit him like a glove, snug or loose in all the right places. It made him feel like a billionaire.

He looked around and saw that he was standing on top of a hill. The cobbles on which his feet were planted continued down in front of him, a railing to his left keeping those who walked on the sidewalk from falling down the steep embankment that bordered the footpath. At the bottom of the hill and to the left stretched out a night market, the far edge of it marked by a ferris wheel. It was a ghost town in the early morning hours while the sky was still dark, the tents and the tables bare, the wind whistling softly through the empty corridors.

The same dazzling moon shone above him as it had moments before in the forest. Min turned to look at it and saw that it now took up a large portion of the sky, like it was close enough to crash into the earth. The silhouette of a castle at the top of the hill was superimposed in front of the moon, miniscule in comparison to it’s shining presence. It created a spectacular effect, like when the earth just began to cover the moon during a lunar eclipse. Min had never seen anything like it before in his life.

Behind him was the castle and before him was the night market, and Min couldn’t make up his mind as to which way he should go. He stood for a moment, contemplating, a heavy feeling inside his head telling him that, yet again, this was an important moment. That this choice would have a greater and longer-lasting impact than it seemed at first glance. That feeling pressed against the back of his skull and the inside of his eyeballs and he knew he had no hope of ignoring it.

The seconds ticked by; he could hear the hands of a clock moving, like something in his mind was keeping time as well as pushing him towards a decision. Min took a deep breath, ran a hand over his slicked-back hair and turned on the heel of his fancy dress shoe, beginning up the hill towards the castle. The pressure in his head released almost instantly and he exhaled in relief.

He reached the castle quicker than he imagined he would. Even though the climb had been steep, he wasn’t out of breath. In fact, he felt as though cool, clean water had been splashed on his face. He was refreshed.

The castle was perched upon a massive rock, overlooking the city from the perfect vantage point, like a sentry protecting their charge. Its presence over the surrounding buildings was domineering and Min couldn’t help but be in awe of it.

He stepped up to the massive wooden doors, uncertain of what he would find when he crossed the threshold into the stone fortress. Everything felt so real even though he knew, yet again, that this was some kind of a dream. The cool highland air caressed his face, the carved wood of the doors was rough beneath his finger tips, and the crown that encircled his head rested heavier than he imagined it would.

With the sudden realization, his hand flew up, lightly touching the ornate diadem that had materialized out of thin air. He stood still for a moment, taking in the feeling of the beautiful woolen suit and the weighty golden crown. He felt like a king. Perhaps in this world that was what he was supposed to be. He sensed that he would know as soon as he pushed open the doors to the castle.

This time, he didn’t hesitate for one second. The thought didn’t even cross his mind. He leaned his shoulder against the massive door, expecting it to be heavy, but it moved with ease at the lightest touch. He stepped back, then placed one hand on each door tentatively and pushed.

The gates opened smoothly and soundlessly inward, allowing the light within to escape. It bloomed across his face, and no matter how hard Min tried to peer through it, he saw nothing but that immeasurable brightness, growing by the second. The peals of laughter, like bells trilling, exploded from within the castle, the sounds of a party that he just couldn’t see.

The light continued to grow until Min had to squeeze his eyes closed so that he wouldn’t be blinded. He took a few deep breaths, nervous and excited all at once.

When he exhaled for the third time, everything went dark, from top to bottom like a curtain dropping over a stage. A quiet buzz filled Min’s ears and he felt the rough weave of a cheap rug beneath him. He opened his eyes slowly, taking in the familiar cracked and water-stained ceiling that he had stared up at night after long lonely night.

Morning sunlight was just beginning to filter through the thin glass windows that covered the wall behind the sofa. The source of the buzzing was the television, still on but now only playing static. Min pushed himself into a seated position, legs stretched out before him, once again clad in old cargo shorts, crew socks and ripped sneakers. He stared hard at the screen but saw nothing other than the squiggling black and white lines that popped up when he switched to any station but channel three.

Min lifted a hand to his head, rubbing his forehead. He missed the weight of the crown he had worn. He wasn’t sure if he had fallen asleep or lost consciousness. Was his entire experience a dream or had he been hallucinating because of the alcohol he’d consumed earlier? Or, and this was by far the scariest and most invigorating option, had it been real?

He stood slowly, placing a hand on the television set to steady himself, still feeling that electric buzz the electronics emitted. He walked over to the windows and leaned his hands against the sill, looking out over a city that was just beginning to wake, although of course, Berlin never truly slept.

Despite the chilly November air, Min unlatched one of the windows and pushed it open, the sounds of the city flooding in with the morning breeze. He closed his eyes, taking in the life that ebbed and flowed like a river around him.

For the first time in a long time, he felt that same life pulsating through him, propelling him forward, pushing him to act and react. To be human again.

He needed to return to being One Hundred Percent Min, he knew that without a doubt. If his dreams or hallucinations had brought to his mind one thing, it was that he could no longer sit on the sidelines and watch his own life go by as a mere spectator. He wanted to participate. He wanted to win. He needed the freedom to run like a wolf, as well as the courage and confidence to wear the crown. To be the king.

And starting today, that was exactly what he would do.

[raefill]

I uploaded a new chapter of my todobaku yesterday~ Please check it out if that’s your thing!

You know where to find me

The disposition of a hero is independent by necessity. Being able to stand on your own, without support, as a pillar for others, is what being a hero is all about. He would never insult Bakugou by coddling him, and Bakugou holds the same respect for Todoroki. They both always have been and always will be self-reliant. Which... leaves them at an impasse.

The air between them holds a different kind of feeling, but other than that, very little has changed. It’s been almost three weeks since Todoroki let Bakugou pin him to his futon and blow his mind. Long enough that Todoroki’s cheeks no longer get hot at the thought of it. The intensity of their scenting and the quiet of the night all mixed into something that lowered their inhibitions. Significantly. He doesn’t regret a second of it, even craves it again, but the thought of initiating it is... nerve-wracking.

He’d woken up in Bakugou’s arms to find the blond watching him, eyes still half lidded and heavy with sleep. It should’ve been unsettling, especially with Bakugou’s face so carefully blank. Instead, he had felt an odd sense of safety.

Bakugou had not hung around for long after that. While Todoroki’s weekend was set to be jammed with studying and a few sparring practices in the afternoons, Bakugou was spending the two days on an internship in the city. A patrol schedule means keeping odd hours, which is why Bakugou had left Todoroki’s bed at just gone five in the morning.

Although not without nosing into the gland underneath Todoroki’s jaw first, giving it a few approving, long, hard, licks. To receive that kind of affection in a non-sexual situation, well, he can only compare it to the feeling of taking the first sip of a warm drink on a cold day. The warmth that emanates from somewhere deep in your core, with a promise of more heat with every sip.

It’d been hard to resist.

But Bakugou had to leave and Todoroki had fallen back asleep, leaving the entire incident feeling like a hazy dream. Bakugou had been so busy that they hadn’t seen each other again until class on Tuesday, because Todoroki took Monday out for his own internship.

Since then they had gone almost entirely back to normal. Although Bakugou would sit closer to him as they ate their breakfast, picking things from Todoroki’s plate with his chopsticks when he thought Todoroki wasn’t looking, eyes glinting with mischief. In class, Bakugou would occasionally drift over to his desk and drop a small snack into Todoroki’s hands. But the biggest change was in their occasional study sessions. Todoroki made his way to Bakugou’s room to go over their calculus homework after an intense shift on his internship with Endeavor. He’d been half asleep after ten minutes and found himself being bundled into Bakugou’s bed.

A half hour nap later he was woken with the promise of a cup of tea and a swift brush of Bakugou’s fingers through his hair. He'd been quieter than usual, eyes locked onto Todoroki instead of their homework. He wasn’t sure what it was that magnetised Bakugou that day but he keeps catching glimpses of it since. Whenever Bakugou is about to get up to bring him a snack, whenever Bakugou is plotting how to get a rise out of Todoroki at breakfast, whenever they’re sparring in class...

Todoroki ponders all of this from underneath Bakugou’s sheets. He’s embarrassed to admit that he snuck in here for a nap surrounded by Bakugou’s scent. But it had been Bakugou who had left the key to his balcony door on Todoroki’s desk. He’s certain he’s welcome.

It feels a little odd, nonetheless, to be surrounded by Bakugou and his life without Bakugou also being present.

Maybe he’d stayed a little longer than necessary and completed an assignment at Bakugou’s desk after he’d woken up... and then gotten back into bed. It’s not like anyone will ever know. Bakugou isn’t due back from his patrol for another couple of hours, so even he won’t find out. Anyway, it's Sunday, he's allowed to take it easy. On that note, Todoroki rolls over in the bright light of the midday sun and shoves his face into the pillow.

His body registers the remnant of pheromones in the same way it does Bakugou’s body. Pleasant tingles run their way down his spine, effectively turning him into goo. It stirs something in his core that, as much as he’s tempted, he thinks might be a step too far. But that doesn’t stop him from stretching out, languid and happy as a cat plopped on top of a heat pad.

The hazy relaxation and his assumption that Bakugou won’t be back for some time are the reason he remains unbothered at the sound of the elevator’s arrival on this floor. Then the door is unlocked, flung open, and slammed shut with a resounding bang in such quick succession he's not fast enough to respond.

He shoots up, shock throwing him for a loop as he sees Bakugou launch his bag across the room.

Only when it’s clattered violently against the wall does Bakugou notice Todoroki is clutching his sheets like a startled damsel. Todoroki sees the realisation of it, the violent rage etched lines in Bakugou's scowl easing into little more than a surprised frown. They stare at each other like that for what feels like a lifetime, but then whatever is bothering Bakugou hits him again.

He drops into a crouch, squeezing his eyes closed and fisting his hands into his hair so tightly that Todoroki involuntarily launches himself out of bed.

He kneels in front of Bakugou, closing his fingers around his wrists and stroking encouragingly at his glands with his thumbs. Bakugou is shaking, violently enough that he can feel it against his palms.

Todoroki isn’t stupid. For Bakugou to be home so early, to be so riled up, means something went wrong on his patrol.

“Come on,” he murmurs, “don’t hurt yourself.”

When Bakugou doesn’t let up his grip, Todoroki sets to work uncurling his fingers one by one. It takes longer than he expects, having to rub and massage Bakugou’s knuckles until he decides to cooperate.

Bakugou’s skin is rough, unsurprising given his quirk. They’re also broad, with thick fingers and sturdy knuckles. Todoroki takes his time to observe them as he brings them into his lap, Bakugou giving in and dropping onto his ass with a thud. He thinks that Bakugou will probably be arthritic when he’s older if all of the stress fractures from creating massive explosions are already starting to show their effect in the slightly crooked nature of his joints.

Although, his nails are neatly trimmed, clean of dirt, and he can tell that his skin has seen some hand cream in the past few days. It warms something in him to think of Bakugou taking meticulous care of his greatest tool and weapon.

“What’re you smiling about?” Bakugou asks, voice low and anger seemingly evaporated. He’s looking at Todoroki with that magnetism again, studying every corner of his expression with the same focus he’s seen Bakugou use on equations.

Todoroki can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, even though he knows he probably should be right now. Not only was he just rolling around in Bakugou’s scent but now he’s mooning over Bakugou’s hands while he has some kind of emotional crisis. He swallows back his apprehension.

“Do you moisturise?”

Bakugou snatches his hands back with a huff.

Todoroki wonders if he’s annoyed him, but Bakugou gets up and picks his bag up off the floor, settling it in its rightful place. When Bakugou starts stripping out of his shirt Todoroki perches on the end of Bakugou’s bed and tries to avert his eyes.

Really, he thinks its key that he made the effort not to look, even if he failed. In his defence, it’s very difficult not to look when your mate has replaced his shirt for a tank top and his pants with- well- nothing. Todoroki fiddles with a string that’s come loose of his long, plaid, pajama pants, combined with a simple white tshirt, thats been stretched out in all the wrong places. He feels a little out of his depth.

Especially when Bakugou is so effortlessly sexy, even in plain clothes. Whether because the clothes are tight or Bakugou just fills them out perfectly. It makes Todoroki feel frumpy, somehow.

Which ticks him off because never once in his life has he cared what he looked like in his clothes before this very moment. Of course, Bakugou manages to break him out of that train of thought as he strides over in his very tight, grey, boxers. Todoroki has never been so mesmerised by the movement of a bulge before and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear the haze and wait for the swooping sensation in his stomach to pass.

It’s only when Bakugou throws his sheets back that Todoroki realises he must have been riling up a scent storm in there. Bakugou’s nostrils flare, entire body going so still he could be mistaken for one of those erotic Greek statues.

“What were you-” Bakugou grinds out, although he doesn’t lift his eyes from the bed. Todoroki feels as though he might break out into a cold sweat.

“Sleeping,” he murmurs, feeling his own cheeks warm. Bakugou turns his head to look at him then. There’s a look on his face that asks “you were napping at just gone lunchtime?” He shrugs, sheepish. Bakugou just rolls his eyes, finally relaxing and clambering into bed. He holds the covers up again, raising an eyebrow at Todoroki, who hasn’t moved from his position at the end of the bed.

“Well?” Bakugou snaps. Todoroki makes sure to punch his calf through the covers before he gets up to join Bakugou beneath them. Bakugou only grunts, letting the sheets fall over Todoroki as he lays his head on the pillow, facing Bakugou. “You really did a number on my bed,” Bakugou observes, nose twitching in a way that Todoroki immediately labels as cute.

“Sorry,” Todoroki lies - convincingly.

“It’s okay,” Bakugou’s hand twitches where it rests on the bed between them. Todoroki reaches out, tangling their fingers together. Bakugou’s eyes soften then, watching their joined hands in favour of meeting Todoroki’s gaze. Which Todoroki doesn’t dispute because he thinks it might be easier for Bakugou, like this.

“Are you?” he asks. Bakugou doesn’t flinch, or tense, or otherwise recoil defensively from the question; which has Todoroki riding high at an inconvenient moment again . Instead, he blinks slowly at their joined hands, mouth twisting.

“Yeah,” he says. Todoroki waits. That twist in Bakugou’s mouth signalling he’s got something to say. He can almost see the cogs turning inside Bakugou’s head as he works out how to verbalise his thoughts, and it takes a long time. Long enough that Todoroki has wandered down a completely different train of thought by the time Bakugou speaks. “There was no appropriately equipped hero on scene, the building was about to come down with so much as a nudge,” Bakugou explains, hesitating as though he's tasting the words before he says them. “I couldn’t use my quirk and we ran into a villain while I was evacuating civilians,” Bakugou’s hand goes tight around Todoroki’s. “He had a gun,” Bakugou barely breathes the words.

Todoroki’s blood runs cold.

Guns are so incredibly rare in the area, not just because of gun control, but because most villains have such a massive ego surrounding the power of their quirk that they think they would never need one. “I couldn’t do anything except try to talk him down, which obviously didn’t fucking work,” Bakugou scoffs. Todoroki rubs his thumb into Bakugou’s skin, trying to soothe but hopeless in the face of the magnitude of what Bakugou likely perceived as weakness. “Best Jeanist turned up so- it was fine,” but it almost wasn’t , is what Todoroki hears.

“I’m glad you’re not hurt,” is what he settles on saying. Bakugou looks up at him then, eyes as alive as the smirk taking over his face.

“Nah, just gotta go pitch some ideas to Hatsume,” he boasts. Bakugou is so clever, Todoroki is sure he really does have some ideas for a last resort defensive device to attach to his hero costume. It fills Todoroki with something like excitement, to know that clever Bakugou has chosen him to be his for the foreseeable future. “What’s got you smiling now?” Bakugou teases, poking Todoroki in the ribs with his free hand. Todoroki delivers a swift kick to Bakugou’s shin. “Oi,” Bakugou splutters, “what is it with you destroying my legs today?”

“You’re clever,” Todoroki voices his thought.

“I know you’re dumb as a brick but my brain is in my head, not my legs,” Bakugou’s sentence wobbles as Todoroki dives on top of him in a mock attack. “If you’re trying to sabotage me-”

“Shut up,” Todoroki laughs, pinning Bakugou to the bed with a forearm across his chest. But Bakugou just looks up at him with that magnetised look, again. “Look who’s the half-ass today,” Todoroki quips and then pinches Bakugou’s inner arm, “fight me, big bad alpha.”

“You asked for it,” Bakugou threatens, attempting to roll them over. But Todoroki puts up a strong resistance. They end up on their sides again, scrabbling at each other like children and letting out short bursts of laughter between fake grunts and growls.

“Okay, truce, truce!” Todoroki yells when Bakugou pulls up the edge of his shirt and blows a raspberry into Todoroki’s hip. Bakugou scoffs but relents, uncurling from where he had to duck down to reach Todoroki’s stomach. They would be facing each other if Bakugou bothered to shuffle back up the bed, but Todoroki has a suspicion they’re both enjoying that Bakugou is at a height where Todoroki can run his fingers through his hair.

That, and he’s got a leg slung over Bakugou’s waist.

Bakugou’s hand is tucked into the back of Todoroki’s knee, holding it there even though their play fight is over. It alights something in Todoroki that’s been simmering in him all morning, that he’s beginning to associate with Bakugou’s presence instead of heated moments alone.

So he welcomes it when Bakugou cups his palm around his thigh, stroking up the length of it right up to the crease where thigh becomes ass. At Bakugou’s pause, Todoroki looks down, finding Bakugou looking back at him with a quirked eyebrow.

He lifts his hand to answer Bakugou’s question, stroking the sharp line of his jaw with his fingers and tracing the seam of Bakugou’s lips with his thumb. It’s intimate, and Bakugou doesn’t take it passively, parting his lips and laving at the pad of Todoroki’s thumb.

Arousal lingers between them, both of them hyper-aware of the scent. Bakugou’s is much more prominent in the air than last time, it has Todoroki’s nose twitching. His brain stutters, body slowing to almost a complete stop as he prioritises working out what those pheromones mean. But Bakugou has a knack for distracting him. With his body already responding just to the scent of him, it’s easy for Bakugou to rile him up just by sucking lewdly on his thumb and letting that hand wander to palm at Todoroki’s ass cheek and squeeze.

Dazed, Todoroki lets out an approving little moan before he can realise how ridiculous it sounds. Bakugou’s scent spikes. Todoroki gets a little dizzier.

It’s then that he realises what is happening. To be so easily affected by pheromones that have made no contact with any of his scent glands means Bakugou is coming on towards his first rut. Something bottoms out in Todoroki’s stomach.

They’re going to spend that rut together, that’s part of what being mates means. He’s so affected by Bakugou just like this nevermind when he’s leaking rut pheromones all over the place and horny as a dog. And he’s going to want to- Todoroki stops himself. He buries his, now tomato red, face in the pillow and tries not to imagine Bakugou being- being- inside him- as his fingers now wander closer to his crotch. Bakugou gives Todoroki’s thumb one last suck before pulling away.

“You okay?” Bakugou asks, voice low. Todoroki nods into the pillow. He breathes deep through his mouth so as not to be knocked out with pheromones again, attempting to regulate himself a little and ease the full body blush he can feel hot on his skin. Bakugou’s hand drifts again, fingers hooking into the waistband of his pants and tugging. “Can I take these off?” Todoroki takes his time, emerging from his hiding spot in the pillow when he feels ready.

“Yeah,” he rasps, wondering when his throat closed up. The fabric slips down his thighs between Bakugou’s fingers easily, although it gets a little tangled at his knees. He kicks them off, pushing them away under the covers until they fall out over the edge of the bed. By the time he’s done, Bakugou’s head has appeared on the pillow next to him, eyes studying him again.

Todoroki pushes their bodies together, Bakugou slipping his leg between his and pressing his thigh up against his sex, only the thin cotton of Todoroki’s shorts standing between them. His head swims.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Bakugou frowns, “you’re kind of out of it.” Todoroki scoffs at the gall of it.

“You’re the one leaking rutfuck pheromones everywhere,” the words slur a little. He knows he’s beyond dazed. He doesn’t feel like risking standing up with the way the world is spinning while he’s laid down. Bakugou’s frown gets deeper, worry creeping into his expression.

“It’s not coming for another few weeks yet,” he explains. Todoroki is as lost as Bakugou on this one. He’s got no idea why he’s so drunk on Bakugou’s scent, not that he dislikes it. “Maybe I should go see Recovery Girl,” Bakugou thinks aloud. Todoroki agrees but makes no motion to show it. This wouldn’t be the first time someone just so happened to have strong pheromones, or someone just so happened to be more susceptible, but it never hurts to check.

“We both have to go see her,” Todoroki says instead. He’ll need some shots before he can actually go through any rut cycle with Bakugou and they still haven’t registered each other as mates in a medical capacity.

“We can go later this afternoon,” Bakugou says. Todoroki expects Bakugou to go right back to being handsy. But Bakugou takes his chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting Todoroki’s head back to study his face better. “Your brain turned mulch, huh?”

“Oi,” Todoroki frowns at him. Despite knowing he’s a mess he can’t seem to snap himself out of it, especially with Bakugou distracting him. Worse, he must look just as out of it as he feels. But Bakugou smiles at him, one of those rare little curves that make Todoroki’s tummy flip. Suddenly he doesn’t care anymore, too busy staring dumbstruck at Bakugou to worry about his own expression.

Bakugou nuzzles at his cheek, leaving fleeting kisses across his jaw. Maybe Bakugou isn’t so good with words, Todoroki notices, but he’s somehow mastered affectionate body language. It’s so ridiculously sweet and un-Bakugou that when he finally brings their lips together Todoroki feels like he could cry, emotion swelling and spilling over in a swift rush. He’s never considered himself overly emotional, he hasn’t truly cried in years, and yet somehow Bakugou manages to drag it out of him. Which seems to be a theme, Bakugou pushing him right to the edge and then barreling both of them through whatever wall they’re facing. For better or worse.

And now, all of Todoroki’s hesitation, the space between them, everything has crumbled in the face of Bakugou’s will.

So he kisses him back with fervour. Todoroki making sure he’s the one to push, for once, even while overwhelmed by the purest form of affection in the book. He slides his tongue across Bakugou’s lower lip, relishing in the little hitch in his breathing before taking the chance to nip the same spot, opening his eyes to see the crease between Bakugou’s brows deepen. He takes the opportunity to roll his hips, grinding himself onto Bakugou’s thigh and groaning when Bakugou grips his hip hard enough to bruise.

Bakugou opens his eyes again, pupils dilated and grinning.

“Filthy little thing, don’t stop now.”

He relives the moment he’d frotted himself to orgasm on Bakugou’s thigh over his juice box at lunch the next day. Everything about Bakugou had been effortless, including the way he’d riled Todoroki up into something undoubtedly slutty without breaking a sweat. Recovery Girl had taken blood and hormone samples from the both of them and cleared them of any abnormalities.

Todoroki just has very sensitive scent receptors, apparently.

Although, he’s convinced it’s something to do with the way Bakugou looked wearing only a tank top and underwear. Which is frustrating. Todoroki has never considered himself sexy, nor ever really tried to be. But for Bakugou to be able to keep such a cool head while Todoroki went so glassy-eyed that he was hauled off to the nurse later that day is embarrassing.

He wants to have that sort of affect on Bakugou too.

Todoroki studies Midoriya, who is scribbling notes in a brand new notebook and muttering to himself. Midoriya, who has been mated to Kirishima for a few months now and seems to have a very positive relationship with him. Todoroki squints.

“Izuku,” he says, trying to pull his attention away from those notes. Today, it seems, Midoriya is easily distracted because he finishes the sentence he’s writing and flips his notebook closed.

“Yes?” Todoroki looks into those earnest eyes and glittering smile, studying him carefully. Yes, Kirishima trips over himself whenever Midoriya blinks those big eyes at him. Not that Bakugou will ever be so obviously smitten by anyone. Ever. But his lack of charm may have something to do with it. Maybe that’s the key difference between Todoroki and Midoriya. Todoroki just isn’t cute. Just not very omegan overall, really. For all he knows, that could be the problem. He’s struck by the irony that all his time spent acting like he’s not an omega is backfiring now.

But he’s not ready to give in that easily. Surely there are things he can do to get around his lack of charm. He looks around them, noticing that, as long as they don’t raise their voices, no one should overhear them from over here at their table.

“Do you ever do anything special for Kirishima?” he asks, careful to keep his voice even. Midoriya blinks at him as though this question isn’t awkward as all hell. He fiddles with his pen a little, obviously mulling it over. Although he’s dreading the answer, Todoroki appreciates he has a friend like Midoriya, who will always do his best to advise.

“Well, sometimes I make dinner for the both of us. It’s nice to just spend time together…” and off he goes, rambling out the rest of his thoughts. Not the kind of answer Todoroki wanted, really. He and Bakugou already have their, now oddly romantic, breakfasts down to a fine art. Todoroki sees the misunderstanding clearly but lets Midoriya talk for a minute anyway, allowing him some room to ramble happily before he destroys this innocent conversation. “... uhm, and sometimes when we go to the park together I bring cut up grapes for the ducks, he likes feeding them-”

“I meant sexually,” Todoroki deadpans. Midoriya’s jaw drops. He can practically hear the crickets chirping. Seeing that he's not getting anywhere with that, he tries again. “For example, do you ever- wear anything different?” At that Midoriya closes his mouth, audibly gulping. Just as Todoroki expected, Midoriya thinks about the question, battling through the embarrassment like a true friend.

Although, he is very pink.

“Well, I- I’ve never worn one of those- uhm- sexy costume things,” Midoriya stutters, “but I try to wear nice clothes and, uh, underwear,” he finishes, still glowing. The embarrassment seemingly killing off his long-winded nature.

“What constitutes nice clothes?” Todoroki questions, leaning in as Midoriya’s voice gets smaller.

“I wear those- uh- omega pyjamas, you know, with the really tiny pink shorts,” he admits. Todoroki knows what he’s referring to, they’re often lacy and floral, sometimes not even opaque. “But that’s really a personal preference, you don’t have to wear those just to look nice,” he continues. Todoroki tries to picture what he would look like in pink lace and draws a blank, but he stashes it away in his memory as a last resort.

“I’m not sure I’d suit it,” he thinks aloud. Midoriya hums his agreement.

“You’d look a lot better in white,” he mumbles. Todoroki’s ears burn. He’d never considered what colours might suit him, even when Fuyumi had told him off for wearing colours that clash with his red hair. That might be useful.

“Anything else?” He asks, that he's beginning to feel hopeless showing through if Midoriya's sympathetic smile is anything to go by.

“I don’t know, Shouto-kun, it’s hard to say when it’s not for a specific situation.” Midoriya shrugs.

“Alright-” Todoroki begins.

“Oh no, you’re actually going to tell me,” Midoriya shoves his face into his hands.

“I have a mate now,” Midoriya’s head springs up, eyes wide. “He’s very- aesthetically pleasing and I feel like, since I’m not very physically appealing as an ome- ah, you know- that I should probably wear something nicer than my winter pyjamas.” When Midoriya doesn’t move, or even blink, for a slightly worrying amount of time, Todoroki waves his hand before Midoriya’s face.

The next thing he knows his wrist is caught in Midoriya’s hand and he’s sniffing at Todoroki’s scent gland.

He drops his wrist like it’s burned him.

Which, for a second, Todoroki thinks he has. Until he realises that’s the wrong side of his quirk. Midoriya leans back in his chair, tipping over the back and rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Kacchan,” Midoriya breathes. Which only makes Todoroki wonder how close Bakugou and Midoriya really are for Midoriya to be able to recognise Bakugou’s scent on someone else. “You’re asking me what to wear to mate Kacchan,” he elaborates, seemingly to himself. Or at least that’s what Todoroki hopes because he has no appropriate answer.

“If it’s too uncomfortable I could ask Iida what he thinks would be appro-” Midoriya snaps forward again, eyes blazing with new determination.

“You can’t ask an alpha, they’re all tasteless in the end. I won’t let you look like a cheap hooker!” He declares, stabbing a finger in the air at Todoroki’s face. Despite his reaction, and embarrassment, Todoroki finds himself smiling at Midoriya’s determination to elevate Todoroki in all areas of his life. Including his sex life, apparently.

He only hopes he can return the favour. Preferably in some other aspect of Midoriya’s life though.

“What do you suggest?” He prompts, taking another sip of his juice. Midoriya grins, eyes dark, flipping his notebook open again and brandishing his pen like a weapon.

“I’ll write this all down for you and by the time we’re done, you’ll be dynamite.”

Very well aligned with Bakugou's tastes. Todoroki nods his assent.

[sheismental]

totally platonic  — tom holland & shawn mendes series.  |CHAPTER ONE|

college au

pairing: college!tom x fem!reader x college!shawn

summary: being a freshman in college is difficult as it is, now can you imagine adding two boys in the mix?

DISCLAIMER: I do not know anything about college so bear with me for some stuff okay? if you guys see something i did wrong pls tell me because i really don’t know much about colleges in the u.s.

—

CHAPTER ONE: THE ROOMATE

It was havoc, all around campus newcomers were running around with confused look on their faces - she could tell they were new comers just by the look on their faces and the way their hands fiddled with the strap of their backpack. Fresh out of high school no doubt. 

 She was no different, eyes focused on the paper sheet in front of her — her dorm room information, the one given to her by the college’s administration, was now slightly crumpled up. No doubt she was confused and nervous, and that wasn't a good combination on your moving day. 

 "Honey are you sure you know where you're going?." Her mother asks, holding some boxes on her hands. (y/n) sighs in frustration.

 "I think so? It says it's the art major building, second floor near the school's football field." Her eyes searching for the building, her figure moves forwards with her mother trailing right behind her. The air is light with expectation and freedom, and slight sadness from the parents dropping off their kids into this new independent life.

 After a few more minutes of walking around confused and asking for directions to a couple of seniors, you arrive to the dorms — specifically to your dorm room. The hallways were crowded with Freshmans, bidding their farewells to their partners and saying their hello's to their roommates. 

 "There are more boxes on the car, i'll leave this here and bring them." Her mother comments, patting her back and she nod as she reaches for the doorknob.

 The door opens suddenly, startling her as a figure appears in front of her. "Oh." She mumbles, raising her gaze to the tall man standing in front of her.

 He was just as shocked, his topaz eyes widen as his chocolate curls fall down his forehead messily. 

"I thought this was my dorm-." She starts, she didn't recall the secretary telling you that her roommate was going to be a boy.

 The guy scratches the back of his neck, smiling sheepishly. He was almost as tall as the doorframe, wearing a grey sweatshirt and black skinny jeans — all rosy cheeks and pink lips. "I think it is – You are (y/n) (l/n), aren't you?." His voice is sweet and slightly deep, she nods slowly.

 "Yeah but I thought I was going to be paired with a girl..." she trails off,  her feet rocking back and forth awkwardly.

 "Oh yes, but I think she decided to stay at her own place and not the dorm rooms — The office told me that they had an available room so I took it. Is that uncomfortable to you?."  He asks softly, truly concerned at her reaction. 

 "Uh, no - I guess." She stammers, finally looking up at the guy and smiling. "I'm (y/n) but you already knew that." She greets, reaching for his hand to shake and he chuckles softly. 

 "I'm Shawn." He shakes her hand with his own, covering completely hers as he does. He smiles, showing her his perfect pearly white teeth. "Oh maybe you should come in -." He realizes, moving aside as she kneels taking one of the boxes and walking inside.

 The room was medium sized, two beds placed on either side of the walls with a window in between them. Light cream colored walls fill your vision – Shawn apparently had a taste for music, since his side of the room had posters of some guitars and music notes. 

 "So you are here to study music?." She asks slowly, walking to your side and placing the box on her bed — The room was still missing her personality. 

 "Yeah." He replies with a grin, staring at the wall. "Did the posters gave me away?." He jokes.

 "They did and the guitar besides your bed did too." She says with a comfortable smile. "I'm here to study Drama." She comments and Shawn sends her a lopsided smile.

 "That's great." He was attractive to say the least, he was buffed – She could tell even when he was wearing a sweatshirt, but that wasn't what made him so gaze worthy. The kind smile and equally kind brown eyes made him look innocently attractive. There's a moment of silence and then he clears his throat as he fiddles with his bedsheets.

 "Are you hungry? Maybe we can grab a bit-." 

 "Oh Honey i'm sorry it took me so long, it's such a long way from here to the car — and there's still a lot of boxes." Her mother walks in babbling, in her arms there were two boxes filled with (y/n)'s stuff. She stops on her tracks as she takes notice of the guy on the room.

 "No problem, mom. I'll help you out with the other boxes." She replies and gestures Shawn. "This is Shawn, my new roommate." She tells her with a smile as Shawn reaches over, shaking her mom's hand. 

 "Hi, nice to meet you." He says with a bright smile, her mom sends him her own kind smile.

 "Nice to meet you, Shawn." She greets before placing the boxes on her bed. 

Shawn stands there awkwardly. "Uh I will give you guys a minute." He says before walking out the door, she chuckles – No doubt he was dorky. 

 Her mother wiggles her eyebrows at her and (y/n) rolls her eyes. "You never told me you were staying with a boooy." Her mother teases. 

 "That's because I didn't knooow." She replies in the same teasing tone. "Besides you totally just interrupted a moment." She says playfully and her mother chuckles.

 "You'll have plenty of time to get a 'moment'." She air quotes. "Just use protection-."

 "Mom!." (y/n) scolds and they both chuckle. Their laughters die down slowly, leaving them with a strange aftertaste. 

 "I will miss you." Her mom mumbles, her hand softly tucking a piece of hair behind (y/n)'s ear. 

 "I'll go visit all the time, you know laundry and all that jazz." She says slowly, looking down at her bed, a lump forming on her throat as she spoke. 

Her mother smiles proudly, wrinkles forming on the curves of her lips - She was a kind woman, with heart of gold and an inmense love for (y/n), her only daughter. 

“Your father would be proud of you.” She mumbles and that is enough to make (y/n)’s eyes water, a sad smile framing her lips before wrapping her arms around her mother’s neck and hugging her close. Her mother tears up, of joy or nostalgia, maybe a mix of both as she kisses the top of her head. “C’mon, Honey - Let’s bring the other boxes and I’ll take you out for lunch, alright?.”

She smiles softly, pulling away from her mother and they walk side by side through campus.

—

The morning rolls in fast, leaving her with the dim colors of dusk as she walks through campus - Now alone, thinking about her mother made her nostalgic but she was over the moon at the simple thought of registration day. She was ectastic at the fact that in a couple of days she would start classes at the college of her dreams - Art plastered in every corner of campus, just like she had imagined. Happiness over filled her, knowing that staying up late and working her ass off in High School had paid off.

The cold breeze hits her skin softly - Thankful of her warm hoodie, the way to her dorm room had been fast as thoughts roamed through her mind. 

She unlocks the door, soft music plays inside - And the scene unfolds before her, Shawn is sitting on the edge of his bed with his guitar on his hands - Strumming delicately. His head shots up at her, he smiles immediately.

“Hey.” He greets, his eyes once again stuck on his guitar. 

“Hi.” She greets back. “God I need to unpack.” She groans, looking at the amount of unpacked boxes placed on her bed - Shawn clicks his tongue.

“Do you need any help?.” He offers, and she looks at him - shaking her head. “I’m not doing anything, anyway.” He insists - Standing up, his tall frame walking toward her. “Besides we can talk, get to know each other a little better.”

“Fine.” She smiles softly, handing him one of the boxes. “Thanks, by the way.”

“No problem.” He smiles with tight lips. Maybe this whole roommate thing isn’t so bad, she thinks.

The colors of dusk shine through the curtainless window as both of them talk about each other, and night seems to come a little bit too fast for their liking. 

“So you’re Canadian?.” She repeats softly, sitting criss crossed on her - now with a decent bedcover - bed as Shawn sits on that same position in front of her. A blanket is sprawled out on her lap, covering her from the cold air. 

He nods with a big smile, needless to say, he was enjoying talking to her - The way she would listen to him and reply with witty comments.

“Yes I am. Did the bagged milk on the mini fridge give it away?.” He jokes and she looks at him with surprise.

“You brought bagged milk? Ohmygod you’re so Canadian!.” She shouts playfully and they both chuckle. “What exactly brought you to Boston, Shawn?.” She asks softly.

“I don’t know - I guess I liked the Music program, and the fact that I wanted to move out of home. Boston is different from Canada but not that much, you know? I can live with this kind of weather.” He replies wholeheartedly and she nods understandingly. “Anyway, what drove you to study here?.”

“I’ve always lived in Boston, and ever since I was little I have always passed by this college - Saying how much I wanted to study here to become an actress, it always seemed so far away though. Like an unreachable dream, but here I am.” She replies happily. “I’m very happy to be here.”

Shawn locks eyes with her, he smiles lightheartedly as his brown eyes sparkle with interest.  “Me too, roommate.” He breathes out and she feels her stomach churn at his sparkling eyes. 

“Do you want to hear a song I’ve been working on?.” He asks eagerly and she nods. He stands up, walking over to his guitar case and delicately taking it out before returning to his spot in front of (y/n).

She leans in closer as Shawn starts to strum. His eyes focused on the strings as he starts to move his head to the soft melody coming out of the guitar.

“Maybe I had too many drinks but that's just what I needed, I hope that you don't think that what I'm saying sounds conceited. When I look across the room and you're staring right back at me, like somebody told the joke and we're the only ones laughin'.” His melodic voice fills the four walls, her lips part in astonishment - The softness of his voice makes a chill go down her spine, the rythym of the song was so slow and enchanting.

“Don't know why I tried, 'cause ain't nobody like you Familiar disappointment, every single time I do And every single night my arms are not around you My mind's still wrapped around you”

It left her breathless as Shawn suddenly stops strumming, raising his gaze at her as he smiles sheepishly.

“That’s all I’ve got so far.” He confesses as her mouth opens slightly. “Is it total garbage?.” “What? No! It’s beautiful, seriously - You really can sing!.” She blurts out stunned as he tips his head back while he chuckles. “And the lyrics - woah.” She says speechless. 

“Well thanks, so I should keep working on it?.”

“Totally.” She reassures and he chuckles once again.

“Wanna know a fun fact?.” He says and she furrows her eyebrows before nodding. “I hadn’t sang to anyone in a while, besides my family i mean.” He confesses, he looks down at his guitar as he speaks.

“I’m flattered and shocked.” She replies, a strange feeling on her chest. “And you have an amazing voice.” 

“Thank you.” Shawn replies with all honesty. “Anyway-.” He stands up from her bed. “I shouldn’t be keeping you up so late.” He apologizes, placing the guitar back into its case. 

But she really didn’t mind, she had enjoyed their talk even if that was all that they had been doing - And she was glad he had turned out to be her roommate. But she yawns and she realizes that it was half past eleven, so she can only agree with his statement. 

After changing into her pajamas - Thankful that she had brought her warm pajamas with her - She tucked herself into bed.

“Goodnight, (y/n).” Shawn mumbles half asleep.

“Goodnight, Shawn.”

—

a/n: should i do part two? (tom will appear in chapter two)

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@hurricaneofcolors​ @rayesimp​   @just-my-weirdness-and-i  

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[cyclopticblast]

Road to Recovery, Pt 4

His family and friends wouldn’t leave him by the wayside. Scott wished they would. He didn’t know why. He was terrified that this would all turn out to be fake, but days of this had soothed him to a degree. He still found it hard to trust without knowing which way was up or down. And there was no way to orient himself without some degree of trust. A leap of faith. He didn’t know how to ask for help. But then there were all of these people around him just trying to get in, if he would let them.

Many of them hadn’t even left his bedside empty, all seemingly trading off times to visit. They’d done that when he’d been in the hospital too. His friends had classes, of course. So did his teachers. But even when he had a moment away from them, there were the doctors and Alex and Angel and Amadeus. He was finally breathing a moment by himself when in came another familiar voice, though softer than he was accustomed to hearing it, just a slight hint of teasing.  

“Hey Dad.”

Scott made a face at that. It still felt weird acknowledging that. It was one thing to think of his family in nebulous terms. Just one big mess of a family. It was another thing to be referred to as someone’s dad, particularly someone older than him. He finally just sighed in exasperation before laying back against his pillows.

“Alright, well what am I supposed to call you?” Professor Grey raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms across her chest. Most of the time he couldn’t see it. Every once in a while, there was something so familiar, that determined set of the face he saw so often on Jean. His own impatient folded arms. It was surreal. One more thing that felt dizzying among the mass of them in his head right now. Scott made another uncertain face, really concentrating on being able to say it, but he still felt just so locked up. One more failure. He tapped out his own name on the phone screen.

“How are you? Today?” It always felt awkward between them. Maybe it was that they hadn’t talked about this. Maybe it was just them. Maybe it was everything. He flipped his hand back and forth in front of his chest. So-so.

“How long are you planning on laying here in bed?” She asked again, finding some grit that just about no one had confronted him with. They were all treating him like he’d fracture at the slightest glance. It surprised him. Behind his sunglasses, he just blinked in surprise, jaw hanging open slightly before he shrugged.

“Well what’s the issue?” That...he didn’t know how to communicate. There were no simple word combinations or gestures he could make to get that across. Groaning, Scott covered his face for a moment before punching the bed beneath him, hands balled up in frustrated fists. Finally with a grimace, he knocked his fist against his forehead and gestured to the room around them. He watched Rachel analyze what he’d told her, eyebrows furrowed.

“What’s going on in there?” Rachel seemed impatient, but also frustrated. Helpless. What could any of them do against this? “I could look. Let me help.” After a moment’s thought, she reached out towards his forehead, and his hand shot up to grab her wrist. No closer. Not that she’d need the physical contact, but no. “Scott. I can’t help if you won’t let me. I’m not going to push beyond where you let me go. But either you’re going to lay down and give up, or you’ve got to make an effort. I’ve never known you to give up.”

He held up a hand for just a moment, breathing heavily. There was a vice on his chest that squeezed tight every time he tried to talk, and at the idea of letting someone in his head again? He could barely pull a breath in. But then was that giving up? He couldn’t deal with the rush of emotions. Guilt. Helplessness. Fear. Self-disgust. Weakness. [Angel?] He finally typed on the phone. He expected exactly the reaction he got. He was pretty sure no one got his sudden affinity for Angel. He wasn’t even sure that he understood his sudden affinity for Angel. “Off school grounds right now. Are we going to do this?”

Squinting his eyes shut, Scott nodded, finally letting go of Professor Grey’s wrist, closing his eyes so he didn’t have to see.

--When he did see again, things were different. Watch out here I come, you spin- The warning seemed to repeat over and over again over a speaker system embedded in the ceiling. It made his chest feel right. The numbered doors lining the hallways slammed shut, though several of them slammed back open again, doorjams or knobs busted. Some hadn’t been open to begin with. “Hmm.” Rachel noted at his side, startling him. He’d forgotten. The music cut off abruptly. Right. Rachel came here. Rachel wanted to help.This wasn’t an invasion, he’d said it was okay. Okay. “So that’s?”

“Alarm system.” Scott responded. The words still didn’t come to easy, but in here they did at least come.

“No, not what I meant. I hear that in our classes frequently Scott. It’s all red.” Scott just nodded, because of course it was all red

Down the hall, the lights on the wall seemed to be dimming and the occasional bulb was burnt out. The further it went, the darker it got. Scott instead turned around. A lobby with mismatched furniture, the doors wide open, letting in the elements. It felt cold. He hated the cold. But instead Rachel led the way behind the front desk. Computers lay smashed on the tile floor, and he could feel the crunch of the glass of broken old CRT monitors underneath his sneakers. They wouldn’t be much help. But there was an old fashioned entry book spread out on the desk. As Professor Grey thumbed through it, Scott just peered at the pegboard up on the wall behind her. So many keys missing.

“There are missing pages.” She noted behind him, searching the drawers. Some of the pages were there. Some of the keys too. Some were not. “Seems as good a place as any to start.”

“Misdirection.” Scott noted in return, an eyebrow lifted.

“It’s possible.”

Rachel finally stepped away from the desk, passing Scott the book. He held it tight to his chest, nodding his head at the keyboard. “Missing keys. Taken rooms?”

“I think you may be taking the room metaphor too seriously. They’re your memories. There shouldn’t be anyone in here.” The shouldn’t left him cold, and Professor Grey didn’t exactly look at ease. “But if the keys are missing, that’s a clue.”

“Or trap.” Scott noted, hugging himself slightly.

“Going in knowing it’s a trap, at least you’re ready.” She prodded before shaking her head. “Nevermind. We can deal with that later. That’s an issue, but a down the line issue, not a Scott isn’t talking issue. Show me.”

Scott didn’t want to show her. But he did have an idea of where to start. So many entries were missing, but he did find a few entries under Summers, Alex. “1034” He was content to let Rachel lead the way. The longer this went on, the less he wanted to be here. This wasn’t a safe place. It’d been a mistake to do this.

There was no key for 1034, but when they got here, it didn’t matter. 1034 was unlocked, but empty. A suite with seemingly new furniture, though a heavy smell of bleach hung in the air. He shook slightly but followed Professor Grey into the room as she looked around, counting the number of doors (six) before opening one. 

He stood much lower to the ground, arms hanging limply at his sides. Alex hung out the Blanding’s car window, looking back at him as the car began to bump along the gravel driveway, kicking up dust in its wake. “Bye Scott! I’m going to write you and visit soon! I promise!”  A great big smile sat on his face like he was just heading off on some temporary adventure, and he wouldn’t be gone forever. Nate had hung back towards the tree, leaning against it, with his usual shrewd expression locked on his face as he watched and waited for the goodbyes to conclude. That wasn’t a huge surprise. Nate watched a lot. He wasn’t exactly very popular. Scott may have been his only close friend here, even if he didn’t particularly like him. That may have had something to do with the fact that Nate was a jerk. He laid a hand on Scott’s shoulder, and Scott turne-

Rachel shut the door, rubbing at her temples for a moment before turning to the next door, seemingly not seeing the issue. Scott had to admit that this was just a memory. He hoped that the other doors might explain. 

Scott hadn’t been here all that long. Of course, as far as he knew, he hadn’t been anywhere all that long. The things he remembered and the things he didn’t didn’t make a lot of sense. He knew his name was Scott Summers. He knew how to read and write and do arithmetic. He could speak Spanish. He knew a lot about planes, and worked to supplement that knowledge all of the time. None of that came to him with much difficulty. What he didn’t know was who Scott Summers was, how he’d come to be here, how he knew all of these things. What he did know was that you didn’t just walk to the Administrator of the facility, he had important things to do. What he didn’t know was why he was ignoring that fact, here sitting in a chair across the desk from Mr. Milbury, eyes down, sneakers twisting on the wood floor beneath him as he expressed his concerns, and then waiting for the response.

“You were told, I thought, on arrival that you were found alone in the wilderness, suffering from a head injury.” Sometimes alone didn’t make sense.

“But how did the hospital know my name? And what about...about...the other boy?” Scott inquired, hoping to find some of the clues.

“Scott Summers is the name you told your rescuers. I’ve told you so many times, there was no record of any other boy. That’s really all of the information we have on file. No even a record of how you wound up there.” No clues. No answers. But Scott thought maybe a fire of some kind. When he slept, he dreamt of fire, of holding tight to something or someone, of fallin-

Another door.

Sometimes plans went awry. He’d always had a gift for planning things out. But that didn’t account for random twists of fate. Didn’t account for Quicksilver speeding by, knocking him off balance.Scott grabbed on to stop himself from falling, and was quickly jerked along for a short ride. He felt the painful pop of his right shoulder before quickly letting go, tumbling to a stop, though he shot off a blast as he fell, making sure Quicksilver ate the dust as well. It didn’t connect. Didn’t account for the sudden strain on Jean’s part as Havok awoke, long honed psychic resistance by the Professor countering Jean’s not inconsiderable skill.One failure blasting her backwards. He felt the burn of pain through their link, and then nothing as she slammed into debris created in the fight. Didn’t account for Hank’s faltering spell, limited magical skills struggling to hold it in place long enough for everyone to catch up, especially now that Scott was nearly back where they started. He couldn’t hold it, and they both knew it.

Iceman was the backup for Jean. He watched him throw up his best defense. He made the name of the X-Men proud with that wall of ice. But Ice versus plasma? There was only one way that was going to go. And so fell Iceman like the rest. Scott’s attempt to blast his brother from across the battlefield a moment too late. Angel weaving in and out through attacks. The Professor had put so much effort into training up Warren’s evasive skills. But there was only so much he could evade. The wrong attack from another of Bastion’s Sentinels at the wrong time. Bloodstorm still out of it. Warren’s wings cut out, and the two of them spiralled down to the grou-

Rachel attempted to slam the last door shut like she had the first two, but it resisted her. Something was happening. The world pulsed red and painful and there was screaming. Scott wasn’t sure to which of them it belonged. There was a loud banging sound. He didn’t know if it was his head against the wall or the door slamming shut. He panted for breath, before finally forcing his eyes back open.--

The world was entirely too bright. It felt like daggers in his brain, but at least it was the world. At least it was the infirmary again and not whatever that had been. He didn’t know how Professor Grey wound up on the floor, but he offered her an ignored hand up.

As she dusted herself off, Rachel guardedly looked him over. “That’s not what happened, Scott. But I think I have a picture now.”

He tried to answer again. It hadn’t been easy in his mind, but he’d at least been able. Instead he could feel his heart race with fear at the concept of trying to give voice to his words, finally settling to just type them out again. [Not all true. None true? Unknown. Alex, not just him. Places and people and things all.]

Professor Grey just rubbed at her forehead, still regarding him with great caution. That meant something. He had a few ideas, but he didn’t like them. “We’ll talk later.” And then she was gone.

[sodoyouknowbts]

Jin x Reader - By Your Side

Summary: Jin is somewhat arrogant, overly confident and a tease. All the things you find infuriating in a man and he also happens to be your housemate. It’s a wonder how you two can live together without killing each other…but it’s not like you’re anything more than friends. Right?

Genre: Housemates au, love/hate relationship

Pairing: Seokjin x Reader (ft Jimin, Namjoon, Yoongi)

Author: Pilot

Chapters: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | RaMin

Chapter One

Jin cocks his head to the side, closing his eyes to aid his concentration. He hears it again, the distinct and purposeful knocks on the opposite side of the front door that echo down the hallway and through the house. He sighs, puts his laptop and the report he had been writing aside and gets up off his bed. You had somehow managed to lock yourself out of the house. Again.

Jin strides to the front door and unlocks it, pulling it open for you. 

“Keys?” he questions, looking you up and down.

“Forgot them.” You shrug. You shift past him, ignoring the fact that again, he’s topless and head to the kitchen, placing the bag of take out on the marble counter top.

Jin closes the door, pressing it a little deeper into the frame with one hand as he turns the lock with the other. It was an old door and an even older house that came with little upkeep and even more nuances. Jin follows you into the kitchen.

You had left the house earlier that day, locking the door behind you. You had realised it as soon as you had gotten past the post box but couldn’t be bothered turning back, figuring Jin would be home the rest of the day anyway.

“You have to stop doing that. What if I’m not home next time?” He leans against the corner of the wall by the hallway casually, folding his arms across his bare chest, an expression on his face that you can only understand to be mild annoyance. 

The last thing you wanted was a lecture from your housemate. 

You roll your eyes and focus on unpacking the takeaway containers of food. You scrunch up the plastic bag that had held the containers and move to the laundry, adding it to the much bigger bag of plastic bags that sat between the washing machine and the door to the backyard.

“You’re always around when I need you, Jin. Besides, I’m sure I’d cope even if you’re not here.” Your voice carries from the laundry and grows louder as you head back to the kitchen. “As much as you’d be shocked to hear this, the world doesn’t revolve around you.”

Jin shoots you a look, retorting with “You’re right. It’s actually the universe.”

You don’t hear him, instead attempting to withstand the scalding temperature of the takeaway container as you carry it with you to the dining room table. It slips out of your fingers and lands on the table with a plonk. Admittedly, you could have done that a little more gracefully. 

You grab a tissue to dab up the oil that has splattered onto the surface of the table. You spread your fingers underneath the thin edges of the container once more and move it onto yesterday’s newspaper, using the paper as a placemat.

You kick out a chair and go to sit down and in the same movement reach over to pull one of your books over to you thats stacked neatly in the middle of the table.

Jin reaches out to prevent you from leaning all the way over the table as you’re about to get hot oil and soy sauce from the noodles all over the sleeve of your top. He’s a little late and the damage is done. Unaware, you hum to yourself as you go to sit, getting comfortable and folding a leg underneath your body.

He watches you for a moment more while you happily pick at your noodles and flip through your book. He sighs again and heads back to his bedroom. He couldn’t understand you sometimes. He’s glad, he guesses, that today you’re not wearing one of his hoodies. Jin had already lost a number of hoodies to you, stained from droplets of food in odd places.

“Are you going out tonight?” he calls from his room.

“Mmm?” you responded, mouth full of noodles. You take your time to chew and swallow. “Maybe.” you reply, flicking the pages of your book. “Are you?”

“I’ll be back late, I might not come back alone though.”

You knew what that meant. It meant Jin was intending to bring a woman home. You pause and contemplate your plans for the night. Maybe you’d go out and see your boyfriend instead.

It had been half a year since you had moved in together. You couldn't forget how you had first met Kim Seokjin.

It had been the first day of second semester of your second year. You were aimlessly flipping through one of your course books and scanning the contents page, hoping that at least some of the material you’d have to take as a core unit was going to be interesting.

The doors to the lecture theatre swung open with a bang which was immediately followed by a somewhat low and hushed “sorry!”. You had veered your head around to see what idiot had come in twenty minutes late. Surely if they were going to be that late, they’d have had enough brains to skip the next forty minutes and just watch the lecture online.

A tall stranger stood by the large doors to the lecture theatre. He was wearing a red cap, a two-toned bright blue windcheater and red sweat pants. An odd combination of clothes that surely shouldn’t have worked on anyone but on him, they did. If anything, the colours complemented each other.

Of course by then most, if not all but one, of the seats at the long and wooden benches in the lecture hall had already been taken up. You groaned inwardly and watched as the stranger’s eyes scanned the room and settled on the spare seat next to you. As he tried to move between the occupied seats, he accidentally smacked you over the back of your head with his backpack that hung carelessly over his shoulder.

You had shifted around, holding your head, glaring at him. His eyes had widened and he had put his hands out in front of him, apologising. A few murmurs circulated the lecture hall at the interruption and he quickly took a seat next to you.

He proceeded to rummage through his bag and pulled out a notebook, tearing a piece of paper out swiftly, the sound of which seemed to echo throughout the lecture hall and you had glanced at him, irritated again. Your irritation mellowed as you saw his neck and ears grow red in embarrassment although his facial expression remained stoic. He carefully scribbled sorry onto a note and slid it along the bench to you. You glanced at it and crinkled it in your hands.

You spent the rest of the lecture stealing sidewards glances at him. He had been staring straight ahead, unconsciously holding a pen up to his slightly parted lips as he concentrated on the lecturer. His black hair poked out from under his red cap and his fringe would just tickle his eyes when he looked down to write in his notebook. He was handsome.

After the lecture you had been quick to leave, cramming your books and belongings into your tote bag. You slung it over your shoulder and headed to the campus cafe where you had reluctantly agreed to meet your friend Jimin after class. Jimin had wanted to introduce you to one of his mates.

You were in the middle of recounting how this random guy had basically accosted you in the lecture hall when a voice interrupted you from behind.

“I already apologised. There’s no need to continue making a fuss over an accident.” The voice said cooly. 

You turned around and looked up. You brought your hand to your face to block out the sun. You stared at him for a second before deciding that you must have been hallucinating. He stepped forward, blocking the rest of the light that harshly interfered with your vision.

“Are you stalking me?” you had blurted, not thinking.

Jimin cackled behind you and he kicked a seat open for the stranger to sit down.

“Y/N, this is Seokjin, but we call him Jin.”

Jin frowned at you, annoyance flickering on his face as he took a seat next to Jimin. 

You yourself, had met Jimin during first semester after having to complete a group project together. You knew Jimin was living with a few other university friends but you had never met any of them before and had only heard a few names in conversation. Jin was one of them.

“Do I look like the kind of guy that would stalk women?” he asks, annoyed, his mouth twisted unhappily downwards. “I’m sure you don’t meant to come across as self-absorbed, after all there’s a thing called coincidence.”

His return comment caught you off guard. You honestly hadn’t meant it like that and he had taken it to another snarky and petty level. Visibly annoyed, you had sunk back into the cold and cushion-less seat, tongue pressing the inside of your cheek.

“My turn to apologise. Sorry.” You had said tensely.

“It’s fine.” he stated cooly, leaning back in the seat, examining you. He’d already made himself seem like a complete asshole to you, twice and in less then an hour no less. He hadn’t intended to come off so cold but you had thrown him with the way you had scrunched up his apology note.

Jin stuck his hands in the pockets of that blue windcheater and crossed one leg over the other lazily. Something about the action got to you. If anyone was self-absorbed, it was this guy. Annoyed to spend your lunch break with someone who oozed too much self confidence, you had excused yourself and gotten up to leave.

“Hey, where are you going?” Jimin asked, grabbing onto the sleeve of your cardigan.

“I have some things I need to do.” you had lied. Jimin stood up and gave you a hug goodbye, whispering into your ear as he did.

“He’s a little hard to get to know at first, but he’s a good guy.”

“I’m sure he is.” you had responded, unconvinced.

“You’ll get to know him soon enough.” Jimin offered.

You weren’t sure about that being the case but had decided not to say anything further to Jimin, instead throwing up your arm to wave farewell to Jin, an over-the-top smile on your face.

You should have expected it. Jimin had asked you out for dinner and sure enough you had found yourself standing at the entrance of the Chinese restaurant with Jin and Jimin. Jin didn’t appear like he wanted to be there at all.

“Jin was hungry and wanted Chinese. All good?” Jimin asked. 

“Yeah, it’s fine.” You had responded, even if though it wasn’t. The waitress read off a number from a stub of raffle tickets and Jimin exclaimed, sticking his arm out in the crowd.

“23?!” He grabbed at your jumper pulling you through the threshold, “That’s us!”

You had stumbled behind him and Jimin had pulled you sharply and let go, instead clasping his hands together in excitement as the smell of prawn dumplings reached his nose. At the sudden release, you had tripped on the slight step upward and found yourself losing your balance. Jin reached out, steadying you, one hand under your forearm and the other on your back.

“Careful.” he had said and proceeded to shove his hands in his pockets.

You had cleared your throat and attempted to regain your confidence, striding somewhat more surely toward the table for three than you had felt. The contact had made your heart skip a beat.

Seven plates of dumplings and two shared bowls of dandan noodles later, you found yourself giggling at Jin’s terrible jokes. They were so bad that they were good. Jin didn’t seem as up himself as you had previously thought.

Two bottles of wine later and Jimin was asleep on the table, snoring softly, his hair getting dangerously close to tainting itself red from the chilli oil he was next to. Jin had slowly and carefully moved the small bowl of chilli oil out of the way and poured you another glass. It turns out that you both liked eating out, visiting new cafes and had a penchant for rom-coms.

Then it was past eleven and the three of you were being kicked out of the restaurant. Jin had linked Jimin over his arms and Jimin had swayed back and forth, babbling utter nonsense. 

You were pleasantly surprised. You hadn’t giggled so much in so long and your cheeks and sides had begun to hurt - especially after Jin had basically emptied the free mints offered at the counter in the front pocket of his hoodie in what was the most obvious manner ever and then he proceeded to hand them out to passers by on the street, like the Oprah of free mints. You wondered how you even got home that night.

First meetings and first bad impressions aside, you found yourself spending more time with ‘My name is Seokjin but call me Jin’.

When you had come across the listing for the house you knew it was perfect and that it was the opportunity you had been looking for to begin the next phase of your life. It was just the right distance from university, right near a direct bus route and close enough to the city that it was only a fifteen minute drive. You had been wanting to live closer to the city anyway, especially given you had decided to apply for a number of jobs located in the city come the end of your degree.

Two bedrooms, one bathroom. A large kitchen that opened up to a shared lounge and dining area, that kind of perfect. You had been looking for somewhere to stay and had made a personal goal to move out, especially as your home was getting too small and crowded. You had long grown out of your small bedroom that only fit a single bed.

You had mentioned it to your friends, holding the printed piece of paper with the listing in front of you in the crowded cafe. You passed it around, urging one of them to move in with you. You had also put up an expression of interest on the university website.

“I’ll move in with you.” Jin had piped up after a little consideration.

“What?”

Jin shrugged, examining the print out. “Yeah. My job in town starts in the summer and I’m sick of living with three other guys. They never clean up after themselves.” he laughs and Jimin pulls a face. Yoongi had scoffed in response and put his feet on the table, crossing them at the ankles.

“Does this mean I have to do it if you move out?” He grumbles. “Namjoon and Jimin are so lazy.”

“Namjoon’s been overseas for half a year.” Jimin responded, correcting him.

“Oh, so then all of that mess is just you then?” Yoongi directed at Jimin, who rolled his eyes.

“I’m out.” Your friend Rae had responded through gritted teeth as she pulled her hair into a pony tail. She took the hair tie from her mouth and looped it around her black hair.

You huffed and looked Jin up and down. You guessed he’d be okay. After all, you got along reasonably well and had known each other for a solid year, just enough to know he was responsible around the house the boys shared and that he was an amazing cook. You had picked at your fingernails while considering the proposition. It would be better to move in with someone you tolerated, you decided, rather than take the risk with a complete stranger.

“Fine, if no one else comes back to me within the week, we’ll move in together. I really need to move out. No take backs.” You bargained. 

“No take backs.” Jin had replied, a smile playing at his lips.

“The two of you together…” Jimin had exclaimed, pointing at the both of you while laughing. “That’s trouble waiting to happen!”

“You barely stand each other without arguing about something as it is.” Yoongi said, agreeing with Jimin.

“See, even Yoongi agrees with me!”

“Shut up Jimin!” You had quipped, slapping him. “We don’t hate each other.” You folded your arms over your chest defensively.

Jimin rubbed his arm where you had hit him.

“Yeah but it’s not like you love each other either.” Jimin had replied mischievously.

//

You stumble home, drunk. Your bag swings violently around your body as you try your hardest to slide the key into the front door. You mutter to yourself and squint your eyes. You weren’t about to let this damn door get the better of you, like your boyfriend had. When you had gone out earlier that night, you hadn’t anticipated that you would have run into your boyfriend snuggling up against another woman. 

Jin had hinted he was bringing a woman home tonight, which for you, meant you could either stay home and blast your music loudly to prevent yourself having to hear a string of sexual noises that would flow from Jin’s bedroom to yours, or go out with your laptop and continue editing the book you were reading for work. Of course you had decided on the latter. 

So when you spotted your boyfriend of two months sharing food with another woman, his head against the crook of her neck and pattering kisses along her collarbone in public, you were upset but not surprised. You seemed to have a bad track record with guys, almost expecting this sort of stuff to happen. Jin was always telling you that it’s because they weren’t mature enough to handle your strong nature. However it didn’t make it hurt any less.

You collected your things, hands shaking as you paid for the lemon tea you had bought and quickly consumed. The tea had burnt your throat and the sensation reminded you that you would benefit from something a little stronger. That’s how you, alone and upset, shot down two and a half bottles of soju on the steps outside of the convenience store before calling it a night. 

Finally, after about a minute of fumbling at the keyhole, you’re successful and the door opens with a click. You lean against the wall of the hallway and bring a leg up to pull off a sneaker. You swap legs and yank the other shoe off and it drops to the floor with a heavy clonk. 

You run your hands along the wall and follow it through to the kitchen. The lights were off and you were using your familiarity with the house to help you navigate, which meant squat given you were so inebriated. You could hear muffled moaning sounds coming from Jin’s bedroom. Your hand rests on the doorknob to what you presume is your room. You struggle with it a little and then swings it open. 

Jin looks up at the sudden interruption. You can’t see much, only the outline of a woman on top of him, lit only by the soft moonlight streaming through the open curtains in his bedroom. 

“Y/N what the f-” 

“Jin?” you frown, going to rub your eyes. This wasn’t your bedroom. You don’t register the awkwardness of the situation and before you can stop yourself the words tumble from your mouth. “I saw him. He was cheating on me.”

“What?” Jin sits up and almost causes the girl straddling him to fall backwards on the bed. He quickly gestures for her to get off him. Jin swings his legs over the side of the bed, his back to you, scrambling in the dark to find his boxers, which he pulls on quickly as he stands. You can hear the elastic snapping against his hips.

“You need to go.” he says to the girl who is now pulling a blanket up over herself to cover her nakedness. He makes his way from the centre of the room, around the bed and places his strong hands on your shoulders, quickly spins you around and pushes you out of the doorway of his bedroom. You stumble, your legs tangling up on each other as he tries to seat you on the couch.

He flicks on the light switch on the wall and you squint your eyes at the sudden brightness. He goes to the kitchen and gets out a glass, filling it with cold water from the fridge. Jin brings it over to you and forces you to take a sip. He turns his head slightly, listening and wondering how long it’s going to take for the girl to get dressed and leave. It hadn’t taken more than thirty seconds for him to undress her in the first place.

Jin looks back at you and you’ve slid down onto the rug in the lounge room, legs tucked underneath you as you grasp the cold glass in your hands. 

“What happened?“ 

“I don’t know…” you start, your voice a little wobbly. Maybe you were getting your period soon, maybe that’s why your emotions were so volatile tonight. Jin nods slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. 

Finally the girl emerges from Jin’s bedroom, her coat bundled up in front of her. He stands and quickly ushers her to the front door. She lingers against his body, a hand brushing his cheek. He takes her wrist and pulls her to the front door, opening it and gesturing at her to exit. As she takes her leave she turns around to face him. He’s about to close the door when she opens her mouth to speak.

“Tonight was fun.” she begins slowly. Jin’s leaning against the door, slowly edging it closed. He gives a curt nod and smiles through the narrowing gap.

“Let’s do it again sometime?” She asks, hopeful. Jin eyes her up and down again. She was gorgeous - yes… and the sex had been decent… He makes a mental note to keep her in mind the next time he needs a quick fix. 

“Call me? She asks.

“Sure.” Jin responds politely and closes the door with finality. He ruffles his hair, sighing and patters back to you. You’re now slumped over the coffee table in the centre of the lounge, moving your fingers through a puddle of condensation that’s developed at the base of the the glass of water, drawing little hearts. In your other hand is your phone.

Jin takes a seat on the rug next to you and you blink at him, your eyelids heavy. You turn your attention back to your phone and your thumb is poised over your boyfriends contact card.

“So did you break up with him?”

You mumble a no and bring your phone back to your face.

“Maybe it was a mistake, maybe -” you try to bargain.

“Don’t lie to yourself. You know what you saw.”

You kick your legs, annoyed. He was right.

“Stop staring at it.”

“What, what now?!”

Jin rolls his eyes and turns his head up, looking at the ceiling. He brings his gaze down to you and slaps the phone from your hand and it drops onto the carpet with a thud.

“Hey what the heck! Why did you do that?!“ you whine. You pick it up. “Should I call him?”

“No? Why? Unless you’re calling him to break up with him.”

You ignore Jin’s piercing gaze and sigh. “I’ll text him that we’re over.”

“Good.”

He watches as you hesitate and second guess yourself. Sighing, he sticks a hand into the glass of water he had gotten you and flicks droplets of cold water on your face. You groan and bring your hand up to your cheek to wipe the water away.

“Hand it over. I’ll do it.” Jin holds out his hand. You stare at it and then look back at the phone. You reach your hand out and pass it to him. Jin clicks his tongue and pulls together a message. You squint your eyes, trying to read it.

“It’s over, scumbag.”

“Scumbag?”

“Asshole?” he questions, pressing the delete button and re-typing asshole.

“Better.” You mumble.

Jin presses send and you can hear the sound of the message disappearing into oblivion. Jin looks at you. You were really down tonight. You were slumped on the lounge room floor and bore no resemblance to the usual bubbly, bright and resolute girl he shared a home with, who wouldn’t be afraid to put him in his place. 

Maybe the dating game had slowly chipped away at your self confidence and self respect, Jin thought. Or maybe the guys that you went out with just weren’t able to cope with such a strong-willed woman like yourself. He smirks to himself, idiots, all of them.

“If you want me to, I’ll block and delete his number.” He warns.

You go to reach out for the phone back and he retracts his hand, keeping it out of your reach. 

“Tell me what you want me to do. I’ll give you ten seconds.” He begins to count down and you hit the floor with your hand in dispute.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five…”

“Press delete.”

He presses delete and it’s done.

Jin then takes the liberty to go through your phone, making sure that he’s also deleted the messages and has blocked the number. He realises that you had set your boyfriend as number one on speed dial. Annoyed, he changes your new ex to his number instead and holds your phone back out to you.

“I’m number one on your speed dial now. I’ll come for you whenever you need.” He says with earnest.

“Is this how you pick girls up?” you guip, laughing to yourself.

“What?” he scoffs. “Why would I give random girls my number? Are you crazy?”

“Don’t get mad if I call you by accident…” you say, slurring, pointing at him with an unsteady hand.

He gets up, pinching his boxers between his fingers and pulling them down slightly, re-adjusting them as they had crept up his legs.

“Do you mean it?” you ask Jin, looking at him through heavy lids.

“I do. I’ll be there for you.” He sighs and heads over to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. “Maybe just knock on my door first before barging in?”

You flush at the thought and hide your face in your hands. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” he takes a gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing up and down. He puts the glass on the counter. “She wasn’t really my style anyway.” He looks at you.

“Get up and go to sleep.” He says, moving over to you slumped on the rug. Jin extends his leg and pokes your shoulder with his foot. He sighs as he watches you pull yourself up and stumble to his bedroom.

“Wrong bedroom.” he utters. You freeze and turn back around, laughing goofily, your hair a mess. You smile sheepishly and head into your room, falling straight onto your bed.

To be continued.

[writtenbymatthew]

🎈 ♡ 🎩 🃏 ☔🌚 (You said to send a few so whoops)

Halloween with Jay

🎩 - our muses go costume shopping together 

“You didn’t say ‘no peaking’ so I thought I’d take my chances.” Matt said, holding the curtain of the dressing cubicle to the side. Only just far enough for him to eye Jay with a smug smile on his face but shielding her with his long posture from other curious eyes. Not that there were many customers out in the costume shop. Which surprised Matt a bit, considering it was Halloween but then again, who else went shopping this late for an event on a Tuesday afternoon? He surely didn’t mind anyway, as it gave Jay and him all the space they needed. “You really want me to turn around?” He gave her a little pout after being caught staring at her half-dressed body. Every line and curve were still in their familiar place and the only thing holding his hands back from lingering over her soft skin was the fact he already enjoyed their time out together without his hormones. He liked keeping it that way. “You look really good in that.” He complimented at last, never actually having complied to her request of turning around. She’d probably never really expected him to anyway. His words were true, however, he knew Jay looked as beautiful as ever in literally anything she wore. Including this little devil costume. A bright smile formed upon his lips, happy that he could make her happy. “Love, it’s called irony. And it’s still very matching!” Matt pointed out after getting a remark on his outfit. He’d traded his original satan suit for one of an angel. The fact it fit him well only added to its humour, he thought. “C'mon, just admit you like it. You’ll be able to tell everyone how I’ve fallen for you.”

🎈 - our muses go to a Halloween party together

“You look dead.” That was the response the bantering lad gave Jay as she twirled around for him, asking him how she looked. “What?! I mean, to be fair, that was what you were going for, wasn’t it?” Matt held up his hands in surrender though there was no innocence to be detected in his grin. Luckily, Jay saw the humour in it. One of the things he loved most about her, though to be fair he loved every piece of her to bits, was the fact they could joke around all the time. And there was no one he enjoyed teasing more than the girl making her way over to their front door. It often surprised him she wasn’t aware of how breathtakingly beautiful she struck as. But perhaps it had something to do with the fact he just called her dead. Which in his defense was true today, seeing as they’d went all out to dress up for the Halloween party they were attending. Usually he was in charge of picking out the best party spots but when Halloween came around, he crowned Jay as decision taker for the month. After all, she had a way of combining what was best for both of them, a skill he had yet to learn or at least re-acquaintance himself with after their time apart. “Can I have this dance?” There was a tap on the black haired girl’s shoulder and a drink that almost spilled over as she spun on her heels. Matt almost had to shout in her ear to get the words across the crowded room, booming with music and glowing lights. But when they reached her at last, their smiles appeared simultaneously and she nodded, probably thinking it was silly of him to ask. Offering his hand, they connected right in the middle. However, instead of starting to sway or do anything that came remotely close to being called ‘dancing’, he led her outside. Carefully and protectively so no one would crush what he held so preciously. Once the refreshing air hit them, he repositioned them and let the rest of the world fade away like the music had. “I love you so much.” He admitted, swaying with her to the rhythm of beating hearts and synched breathing.

🃏 - our muses to play a prank on someone else (throw toilet paper over their house, etc) 

“I’m glad you agreed with my genius plan.” Matt looked up from the lock he was picking. “Fine, fine, our genius plan.” He huffed slightly. “Alright, it was yours. But I’m helping, aren’t I?” The small click of success resonated after his words and the door swung open after his admission, drawn out by Jay’s scrutinizing gaze. Both of them were just joking, of course, and it felt incredibly good to fool around with her like this again. Only, he was persistent on not comparing it to before and calling it ‘the good old days’. Because this time around, Matt was adamant on not letting things go wrong. Making these the good days, so who would care about the old ones? “You’ve got the sticks? If you think about it, we’re just doing a good thing by recycling these.” Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out the empty rolls of toilet paper, out of which they’d cut two eyes, shaped differently every time. Jay shushed him, telling him they’d blew their cover if he kept making her laugh and of course she was right but he couldn’t help longing for that delightful sound. However, the scared squeals of chaos in a few more minutes would make a nice second, he decided at last. Breaking the red glow in the dark sticks and attaching them to the insides of the rolls went fast as they worked side by side, putting them up in the corners of the hallway as quiet as they could. The second part of the plan where they had to cut the power was a little trickier. Not necessarilly the breaking in part, they were pretty skilled in that but they had argued about doing it before the chaos or after, to create only more chaos. Eventually Matt had had to admit, it did sound better to turn the lights off after luring the students out of their rooms but they’d have to work fast if they didn’t want the rolls to be found first. “I’ll miss you.” A small pout placed playfully on his lips as they finished ‘decorating’ the place. Their ways had to part now as they’d cover a lot more rooms if they split up. Her eye-roll made him break out into a big smile and he leaned in to give her a long kiss. “In case I never see you again.” He whispered when he pulled back for air. She sent him on his way with a slap against the shoulder and he chuckled, starting his quest with three solemn knocks on every student’s door he could get to in time. The floors were creaking under their weight but it would only add to the effect. Right when he accidentally knocked over something, the first doors were being opened up by confused, sleepy students and he sprinted back to the electrical service panel, pulling down all levers as fast as he could. “I’m so proud of us.” He smiled a little out of breath, once reunited with Jay. The red glow sticks gave everything a nasty glow at 4:15 in the morning. With a sound mixed between a sigh and a laugh, he added, as they sneaked back out, “Next year, we’ll have to find a solution to the flashlights everyone has built into their phones though.” 

☔ - you get caught in the rain with my muse 

♡ - your muse cuddles up with my muse (for warmth, obviously)

His sneeze was the only thing to be heard over the loud clattering of rain. Followed by her coo. And a final sigh to top it all off. He was supposed to thank God for the small plastic roof provided above their heads but instead he’d rather cuss him out for not letting him find the damn appartment keys. “I could’ve sworn I put them in my pocket. But then again, I couldn’t even bring a bloody umbrella so who knows?” He muttered under his breath. Normally Matt wasn’t as affected by the weather, it was only natural to him since he grew up in England. Three sunny days and he knew they’d hit their yearly maximum. But it was cold this time of year and the clouds kept showering over not only him, but also her. And he hated to see her soaked to the bone, trying her best not to shiver when he looked cause it felt like his fault they’d left unprepared. What a bloody brilliant idea it had been to pick Jay up from class but park your car miles away, Matthew, seriously, he thought to himself. The little walk he’d had in mind had turned into a ‘Who’ll be first at the car’-race rather quickly when the rain had started pouring down on them. “Sorry. Come here.” He pulled her close, rubbing her hands together between his own, hoping it would provide him some warmth. Then he pulled his sweater’s sleeves as far as he could to cover hers as well and put them inside the front pocket of his sweater. Hopefully keeping them warm despite the wet fabric. “I promise you’ll get to take the first hot shower.” He offered as a way of an apology, the tips of their cold noses touching in an eskimo kiss now they were standing so close. Suddenly her eyes went wide and before he could even ask what was up, she pulled out her hand from his sweater, holding up the keys triumphantly. “If I wasn’t afraid I’d sneeze all over you, I could kiss you right now. Yes!” With a slight tremble and desperation in his hands, he unlocked the door and held out the door for her. By the time she’d gotten out of the shower, she returned to a turned on stove and a fort of blankets on their couch. “I’m cold.” Showing up from behind her with a childish pout and in only a fresh pair of boxers and a blanket, he spread his arms to welcome her under the soft fabric as well. Then he encompassed her, almost hugging her inside so they merged into one big, fluffy blanket with two heads poking out. Both their hair still dripping wet, though one colder than the other. “Okay, I did not think this through.” Laughter arose as they awkwardly shuffled like a big mass to the couch and plopped down there at last, enjoying each others warmth.

🌚 - you decorate the house for Halloween with my muse 

“Jay… Did you put goggly eyes on literally everything?!” Matt yelled in surprise as he walked out of the bathroom. With a proud smile, her head popped around the corner, her black hair falling down and framing her soft face as she mouthed the word ‘yes’. Well, maybe she’d said it out loud, but it was hard to hear over their loud music. With the remote, he turned it down a notch and walked over, cupping her face with his bloodstained hands. “Brilliant.” He pecked her nose. “I didn’t think you could surprise me anymore but you always end up doing so. When did you even buy these?” He laughed at the comical sight of the plastic eyes following him with every move. The whole house was set in an orange glow as night had set in and all the light bulbs had been changed. They always went all out for Halloween cause it was her favourite holiday and seeing her so happy, made it his favourite holiday as well. “Oh, look at that, you got a little something on your cheek, dear.” He chuckled as he let go of her. His hand prints a little smudged in red, stained her cheeks. Matt himself had busied himself with decorating the bathroom, the usual bugs drawn on the toilet paper; bloody handprints on the wall; lipstick on the mirror and a corpse in the tub. With all that, he’d forgotten to wash his hands and now he was smiling down at the messy consequences. “Do we put up our bug cut-outs in the lamps? Maybe add some more spider webs or are we done?” He rolled his eyes as she pointed out to him that with his lack of cleaning, there were already plenty of spider webs around the appartment. Pulling out a wipe, he reached for her cheeks and got the fake blood of. “Tsk, don’t say I don’t clean anything up anymore.” A tiny hint of wicked edged on his lips as he placed his dirty hands full on on Jay’s shirt before using the wipe on his own hands. “Oops. I think I’ll have to clean that up too.” Hinting, he reached for her shirt as he pulled her in for a kiss. But it didn’t last long and confused she asked him what was wrong. “They’re watching us.” His eyes were trained on the goggly eyes as he replied before they both ended up in a fit of giggles.

[sakurablossomstorm-blog]

59. "Did you enjoy yourself last night?," 77. "Why are you covered in mud?," 130. "The way you flirt is just shameful," 188. "I'm not leaving here without you," and/or 253. "You're so drunk." 😊

Here you go! I combined them all into one.

~~

“There she is,” Ben said as Sonia came trudging down the stairs. “I was beginning to wonder what happened to you guys.”

“Oh, you know, just super tired from the party,” Sonia mumbled, taking a seat at the breakfast bar and grabbing her Gryzzl tablet.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” Leslie asked, sitting opposite her daughter, a fresh cup of coffee in her hands.

“Uh…yeah it was good fun. Y’know, usual party stuff. Mmhmm, nothing happened out of the ordinary. Just dancing and responsible fun.” Sonia babbled.

Leslie raised an eyebrow and looked at Ben, who was mimicking her expression.

The thing about Sonia was that she was a terrible liar, a trait she inherited from both of her parents. Leslie and Ben were able to sniff out a lie in an instant, leaving Sonia unable to get away with anything.

And the fact that their three children went out to a party last night made them nervous.

“Is everything okay, Sonny?” Ben asked, standing by Leslie’s side.

Sonia frantically nodded. “Yep. Everything’s A-OK, coolio beans.”

Ben frowned and leaned down on the table. “Sonia, what are you hiding. What’s happened?”

Sonia looked down at her hands, desperately trying not to make eye contact with her parents.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Sonia,” Leslie said with a warning tone.

“Fine! Okay, alright you wormed it out of me!” Sonia snapped, blonde hair whipping around her face as she spoke. She let out a weary sigh and set her tablet back down on the table.

“I’ve been sent down as a distraction.”

“A distraction?” Leslie questioned. “From what?”

Sonia sighed. “Stephen got super drunk last night. He’s upstairs throwing up.”

Ben and Leslie exchanged horrified glances, and then Ben hurried up the stairs to check on their sons, while Leslie got up to Sonia’s side.

“Did you drink?” Leslie asked sternly.

“A little yeah,” her sixteen year old daughter responded. “But I didn’t want to get sloppy, neither did Wes… and we kind of dropped the ball on Stephen.”

Leslie sighed, placing a hand over her forehead. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. All three of her children were out drinking last night, and now one of them was throwing their guts up.

“Oh my god, Sonia. What were you thinking?” Leslie asked, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, opening it and practically forcing it down Sonia’s throat.

“Mm!! Mom stop!” Sonia choked, snatching the bottle from Leslie and putting it on the countertop. “I’m fine. I had like a couple vodkas. Stephen’s the one you should be worried about.”

“Your Dad has that covered. What we need are cold compresses and greasy food and water, so much water,” Leslie babbled to herself.

“Oh. And you are grounded. Don’t forget that.”

Sonia groaned and flopped over on the counter.

~~

“Boys. Open up,” Ben called, hammering on the locked bathroom door.

“No. I’m pooping!”

“Wesley!”

“Urgh fine,” Wesley groaned through the door, and Ben heard the door unlock, and he soon came face to face with an embarrassed Wesley.

“Hey, Dad. What’s up?” he asked, leaning against the door frame.

Ben looked past Wesley and saw his eldest son, slumped on the floor over the toilet seat, looking miserable.

“Good lord, Stephen,” Ben sighed. “What the hell did you do?”

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Stephen wailed and dry heaved into the toilet. “I thought it would be fun.”

“Yeah?” Ben snapped, folding his arms. “How much fun are you having right now?”

“None,” Stephen whimpered, hanging his head back into the toilet and spewing more of his guts out.

Ben groaned, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Great. What the hell were you thinking? All of you?”

“Someone at the party had a fake ID so hit up a load of stores and just got a load of alcohol. I was being careful, because you and Mom can sniff out alcohol like bloodhounds, but Stephen…” Wesley just gestured at Stephen, who was still sprawled out on the floor.

“Fantastic,” Ben hissed sarcastically. He got down onto the floor and rubbed Stephen’s back until he had finished. “You need water and to sleep this off.”

Stephen nodded pathetically, and with the help of Wesley, they dragged Stephen back into his room. Soon, a bottle of water was placed by his bedside, a bucket by his side.

As Ben and Wesley left Stephen in peace, he finally took in his son’s appearance. Wesley was covered from head to toe in mud.

“Wesley, why are you covered in mud?”

Wesley blushed and rubbed at his dirt covered cheeks. “It’s a long story. Can you just ground me and be over with it?”

Ben just sighed. “Fine. All of you are ground for a month-”

“A month?”

“For underage drinking without our consent,” Ben continued. “No Gryzzl gadgets, weekends you’ll spend helping us around the house, and certainly no parties.”

Wesley sighed as his father walked past him. The night before a regret that the Knope-Wyatt triplets would have all the way during the next painful month.

~~

8 hours earlier.

Wesley finished his drink and placed it on the side. He was fading in and out of a conversation, until Sonia caught his eye.

His sister was giggling eccentrically and stroking a boy’s arm. Wesley recognised it as George from his biology class, and Sonia was flirting with him.

Oh, he didn’t have the heart to tell her that he was gay. And they had made out before.

He looked at his watch and swallowed. Shit. They should have been home three hours ago. He really hoped that their parents had fallen asleep in front of the TV again, and they would be able to sneak back undetected.

Wesley quickly excused himself from his friends and went to retrieve his siblings. He crossed the room and tugged on Sonia’s arm.

“Soso, we have to go, it’s way past curfew,” Wesley hissed in her ear. Sonia’s eyes travelled to the clock in the darkened room, and gasped.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Where’s Stephen?” Sonia asked, then she remember George. “Oh George, I’m so sorry but we have to go. But don’t forget me, okay?”

“I can’t forget you,” George replied. “I mean we sit next to each other in History.”

Sonia threw her head back again and laughed loudly. “Oh, George! You’re so funny.”

“And you’re an embarrassment!” Wesley hissed at her, dragging her away. “Jesus, Sonia. The way you flirt is shameful.”

“Hey! I’ll have you know that he was digging me,” Sonia retaliated.

“He wasn’t. Because he’s very, very gay.”

“What?” Sonia cried out in shock. “No, he’s not! Are you sure? How do you know?”

“Because we’ve made out,” Wesley explained. “A lot.”

Sonia looked horrified. “Oh my god. My gaydar must be way off course. Why didn’t your stupid bi self stop me sooner?”

“I only just noticed,” Wesley said, trying to look over a crowd to find Stephen. “I can’t see him anywhere, can you?”

Sonia scanned the room and froze. She nervously tapped Wesley on the shoulder so that he turned around. “I found him.”

Sure enough, there was Stephen. Standing upside down and a funnel in his mouth, while their classmates poured beer into his mouth while cheering raucously. The beer was soon emptied, and Stephen was helped back onto his feet, yelling proudly at the top of his throat.

“Jesus Christ, Stephen!” Sonia cried out, hurrying over once Stephen had finished. “We weren’t supposed to get wasted tonight!”

“Soniaaaa,” Stephen slurred. “Whass going on big sis?”

Sonia rolled her eyes and staggered forward to support Stephen. “We have to go,” she told him, and beckoned at Wesley to help her.

“Wha? No we can’t go, we’re having fun!” Stephen cried out, earning another loud cry from his friends.

“Come on, Stephen!” Sonia snapped. “We’re going. And I’m not leaving here without you.”

Soon, they had managed to drag Stephen outside and into the fresh air. That’s when Stephen started rebelling and shrieking angrily about how he didn’t want to go home.

“Jesus, Stephen. You’re so drunk,” Wesley hissed, trying to keep a grip on his twin.

“And your fucking annoying! Get off me!” Stephen cried, managing to give Wesley a shove. Wesley tumbled backwards, right into a dirty puddle on the side of the road.

“You moron!” Sonia screeched, letting go of Stephen and helping Wesley up. “Can we just get you home without any more instances, please?”

Wesley grabbed hold of Stephen again, his clothes dripping with muddy water, and Sonia manned his other side. Soon, the triplets were walking home down the dark street, an inebriated Stephen between them.

“I’m sorry I pushed you, Wes,” Stephen choked out after a few minutes.

Wesley sighed. “I’m sorry you’re an ass.”

Stephen then promptly burst into tears, wrapping his arms around Wesley’s neck and kissing his cheek. “I love you, baby brother. I love you so much.”

Wesley sent Sonia a look of distress, but still patted his back. “Oh, buddy. Let it out, I guess?”

Sonia rolled her eyes. “Come on you two. Let’s get out of here.”

And the triplets trudged back down the road, hoping that their parents would be asleep by the time they got home.