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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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na-yiii · 4 years

Text

Manager-nim (Kim Taehyung x OC) 1/2

Pairing: Manager! Kim Taehyung x Actress! Named Female OC

Summary: Actress Kan Hayan has been part of the acting world as long as she can remember. Just when she thought her world was about to collapse, she gets introduced to her new manager, Kim Taehyung.

There was something off about him.

Rating: M

Word Count: 12K

Warnings: Non Con (r*pe). Yandere. Smut. Stalking. Sasaeng Behavior. Smut. Abuse. Obsessive Behavior. Gaslighting. Swearing. Eating Disorder. Puking. Pubic Hair. Weight-Shaming. Masturbation (male). Manipulation. Fingering (female receiving). Oral (female receiving). Blood.

Part two: click here to read

A/N: Hey everybody, this is my first yandere story. While writing this story, different ideas kept coming up. This resulted in making a few changes in the warnings. Read the warnings carefully before reading this story.

A special shout out to @deepdarkdelights for encouraging me to write this story and giving useful feedback.

Let me know what you think of the story.

“Hold it. Hold it. Hold it…and let go,” a young man dressed in black said while the arms of a twenty-eight-year-old woman shakenly gave up. As a result, her upper body dropped on the rubber yoga mat. She could feel her core muscles burning. “Good job,” the charming young man said while reaching his hand out to the woman. “I hate it when you force me to do planks, Jungkook” the woman complained while putting her hand in the man’s hand. “Hey, I am just following the workout program,” Jungkook chuckled and watched how the woman pushed her bangs to the side.

Drops of sweat were visible on her forehead, some even slid down her face and eventually landed on the rubber yoga mat. It stunned the twenty-seven-year-old man how a woman could look so beautiful after an intense work-out routine. “You did well today, Hayan,” the doe-eyed man said while he turned around and grabbed a bottle of cold water. “Do you have to be on set tomorrow?” Jungkook asked as he offered the bottle of water to Hayan. With a smile on her face, Hayan accepted the bottle of water and took a few sips. When the cold liquid moistified her dry throat, the young actress felt euphoric. Instead of answering verbally, Hayan decided to take a few more sips while nodding. Jungkook chuckled when he was satisfied with the silent answer.

Once the bottle was empty, Hayan grabbed her towel and wiped away the sweat on her forehead. “Are you done for today?” Hayan questioned while she ran her thin fingers through her thick black hair. She slightly cringed when her hand touched the sweat on her head. “Unfortunately not, I have two more sessions. One with Yoona and afterwards another one with Jihyun,” Jungkook said while taking off his black cap. Gently he ruffled his long dark brown hair. “They are fun, so you won’t be bored,” Hayan said as she collected her stuff. “True but I just want to go home, eat some spicy ramen and play Overwatch,” Jungkook told the actress. The thought of ramen almost made his mouth water. Hayan chuckled. “Lately I have heard so much about Overwatch,” the celebrity informed her trainer while her mind reminded her the last time she saw an Overwatch ad. “Yeah it recently had a new update with new features,” Jungkook told her while he looked at her. “I see. Anyway, thank you for today,” the twenty-eight-year-old thanked the black-dressed trainer as she threw her towel over her shoulder. “It was my pleasure, Kan Hayan” Jungkook said and smiled at her. Hayan giggled when Jungkook said her full name with his thick Busan accent. “Have a nice evening, Jeon Jungkook,” Hayan playfully imitated his accent. Even though her imitation was impressively spot-on, it made Jungkook laugh. Hearing the actress speak in an unusual manner was always funny to him.

Quietly Kan Hayan walked through the hallways of the sports center. Usually, she would take a quick shower to get rid of the sweat but today the actress was in a good mood so she decided to deal with perspiration a bit longer while she walked to the nearest elevator. During her walk to the elevator, the young actress encountered a few fellow celebrities. Politely she greeted them. She respectfully bowed to her seniors and initiated a short conversation with her juniors. Even though Hayan has been living in the famous and luxurious apartment complex, Jinju Haneul, for a year now she still gets surprised when she sees a fellow celebrity.

Jinju Haneul is a high-quality residential compound that reflects the characteristics of wealth to the maximum extent. From the inside the floors were made from marble, walls were decorated with expensive paintings, crystal chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling and at every corner there was a statue of an influential figure. Even the stairs looked expensive. The apartments had a marvelous view over the Han River. There was a forest nearby where the residents could go to for a peaceful walk without getting bothered by the average folk, curious fans, or nosy reporters. The large building included a gym, an art gallery, daycare center for the celebrities’ children, a movie theatre, and a shopping mall. It was the perfect place if you were part of the group of people who made one million dollars annually.

Hayan looked at her Chanel watch and saw it was almost 9 PM, which means her mother will soon wake up from her nap. Hayan’s mother had some odd habits but since she is her mother Hayan just dealt with it without showing any complaints. Currently, Hayan was not in the mood to deal with her mother. The young performer was not sure whether her mother would be in a good mood or not. So Hayan decided to go to the park to get some fresh air and enjoy the peace while it lasted. With her arms crossed over her chest, the black-haired actress made her way to the nearby forest.

It was a quiet evening. The weather was on the warmer side while a gentle breeze occasionally caressed Hayan’s cheek. There were not many celebrities in the forest, which something Hayan did not mind. Occasionally, she crossed paths with a celebrity mother and her child but other than that Hayan enjoyed the solitude and silence. After walking around for some time, Hayan sat down on a wooden bench. She looked up at the night sky hoping to see some stars but unfortunately, there were no stars to spot.

While Hayan sat on the bench and enjoyed the warm weather, her mind started to wander. With eyes focused on the gravel, her brain reminded the actress of her child actor days. The days when she used to feel uneasy being surrounded by adults. The times her classmates used to bully and ostracize her after Hayan made an appearance in a commercial for a new type of ramen, which was also the same commercial that kicked off her acting career. Some days, the young actress wondered if it was a fair trade to exchange her salad years for her current fame. From time to time, Hayan wondered what her life would have looked like if she had never caught the attention of legendary movie director, Bae Jae-Hwan. Would people have looked at her differently if she had never played in the famous drama, Why Roses Are Never Green? Would she be dancing and drinking in a random club in Itaewon with her friends from college, instead of being trapped in this exhausting lifestyle?

As Hayan slowly delved deeper in her thoughts, she did not notice a dark figure arise from the bushes. Suddenly Hayan felt uneasy, it felt like someone was watching her. The sound of a snapping branch woke her up from her thoughts and brought her back to planet earth. The young superstar looked to the left and saw a silhouette. The silhouette belonged to a man. It was a tall man with broad shoulders. It looked like the man was holding a bag in his hand. Something that caught Hayan’s attention was the man’s bright red hair.

“Can I help you?” Hayan asked hoping that the voice of the stranger might reveal his identity. But alas she did not get any response from the mysterious man. The performer was not sure whether she should call the security or not. The silhouette just stood there. Hayan could feel his gaze burning on her skin. Suddenly the red-haired man started to move and walked towards Hayan. Anxiously, the film star stood up and walked in the opposite direction. She cursed herself when she realized she did not have her phone with her. When the footsteps came closer, Hayan’s heart started to beat faster while her brain tried to come up with an escape plan.

A scream came out of Hayan’s mouth when she felt a warm hand on her shoulder. “Hey, are you all right?” a familiar male voice asked her. The female celebrity opened her eyes and looked at the concerned face of Lee Min Ho. “I saw you walking and you looked quite distressed. Is everything okay?” the famous actor asked Hayan while she looked around. There was no sign of the red-haired man. No footprints, no objects that possibly belonged to the man, just nothing. It seemed like what just occurred never happened. “Yeah, I am fine,” Hayan told to Minho and gave him a reassuring smile. Lee Min Ho’s presence made Hayan feel safe again. If the red-haired man decided to show up again, at least now she does not have to face him alone. “Did you spot a reporter?” Minho asked while he looked around, trying to find something or someone what might have caused Hayan to feel anxious. But alas, there were no signs of disturbances.

When Minho offered Hayan to walk her to her apartment, she gladly accepted the kind offer. The two superstars walked next to each other while talking about their latest projects. Once the two former co-stars stood in front of Hayan’s apartment, they wished each other goodnight before parting ways. Hayan’s worries and nervousness melted away when she closed her door behind her. She felt save in her golden cage.

The ticking sound on a keyboard was the only sound that could be heard in the dimly lit room. The source of the light came from a small green desk lamp that was placed on a wooden table.

A middle-aged woman stared intently at the laptop screen. Suddenly she stopped typing and looked up. “Come in,” the woman said and watched how the brown door got pushed open. Her son entered the room.

“Good day, son. What can I do for you?“ the middle-aged woman asked while she looked at her teenage child. “Mother can you do something for me?“ her son asked when he sat on a chair in front of her.

“What is it, dear?“ the woman asked curiously. The young boy grabbed a picture and placed it on the wooden table. It was a picture of a familiar face. A face that the woman has seen multiple times on her television screen.

“Can you make sure she gets accepted?“

It has been now a week since the incident with the red-haired man. The past week, Hayan did not go back to the park. Which was something she was unhappy about, the park was something the actress loved about Jinju Haneul. It was a place where she always went to when she needed to escape her chaotic life or avoid her mother’s outbursts. But Hayan feared that she might encounter the mysterious man again. She could not stop wondering what would have happened if Minho had not been there. Would the stranger have asked her for an autograph and then left quietly? Or would the stranger have disregarded her boundaries and attacked her? There were so many things he could have done to her. The day after the incident, Hayan reported the event to the security team hoping they would quickly capture the intruder and bring back the peace. Unfortunately, it was not her first time being confronted by a confused stranger. The young actress has had her fair share of getting bothered by obsessed fans.

Hayan has been dealing with sasaengs ever since she had her first big break at the age of nine when she starred in a movie alongside with veteran actor Chun Ho-Jin. She still remembers the day when a confused woman showed up at her school and attempted to kidnap her, luckily her father was there to protect Hayan. The incident impacted the nine-year-old girl immensely. So much so that she had to go to a therapist to learn to cope with it. One of the worst incidents she experienced was when she was nineteen. A male fan gave her a plushie during a fan meeting. Initially, the gesture seemed so innocent. The plushie looked so cute that Hayan decided to keep it but the kind gesture was just a cover-up. At the end of the day, she discovered there was a camera inside the plushie. That experience made her sick to her stomach. Causing her to suffer from insomnia for almost two years.

A deep sigh escaped from Hayan’s lips as she folded a pink handwritten fan letter and put it back in its envelope. It was a quiet afternoon in Seoul. Hayan finished early today, which was something she was happy about. She had been on set since 5 am. With little sleep and barely any food in her system, she had to film scenes that were physically exhausting and intense due to all the running and fighting. Hayan put the pink envelope in a box and grabbed another fan letter she received today from her fans, who were waiting for her outside the movie set.

Gently she opened the envelope and pulled the letter out of it. The moment Hayan opened the letter, a metallic and slightly sweet smell entered her nose. When the letter was fully unfolded, a bunch of short black hairs fell out of the letter and landed on Hayan’s hands. A few hairs fell from her hands and landed on her pink silk Burberry dress. Surprised Hayan looked at it but quickly her stomach turned. The black things were pubic hair. Shocked the young actress grabbed a tissue and wiped the black pubic hair off her hands and dress. She felt so dirty knowing that someone else’s pubic hair touched her. Hayan looked at the letter.

Do not talk to Lee Minho, princess. You are mine!!

The words were written in red. Horrified the performer stared at the letter while she tried to remember if she had seen a red-haired man today. No matter how hard Hayan tried but she just simply could not recall a moment when she had encountered the mysterious man. The metallic smell interrupted Hayan’s train of thoughts. A wave of nausea hit her when she realized the letter was written in blood.

Hurriedly, Hayan threw the letter in the nearest trash bin. Without thinking too much, Hayan grabbed the remaining fan letters and threw them in the trash bin. Her skin was crawling while her stomach tried its best to keep her lunch inside.

“Hayan!”

A feminine voice echoed through her luxurious apartment. Hayan recognized the voice, it was her mother’s voice. Hayan took a few deep breaths in order to calm herself. The superstar looked at the trash bin. I will call the maid after this, she thought to herself while she stood up and made her way to her mother.

“Yes, mother?” Hayan asked when she stood in front of her mother. Without saying anything, Hayan’s mother grabbed the young actress by her arm and dragged her to the bathroom. “Take off your clothes!” the middle-aged woman commanded while pushing the superstar closer to the scale. “What?” Hayan asked confused while she tried to understand the situation. “Take it off!!” her mother yelled while looking angrily at her daughter. Afraid and confusticated, Hayan took off her clothes. When she stood naked in front of her mother, she felt uncomfortable. Shivers ran down her spine. Hayan was not sure whether it was because of the chilly bathroom or her mother’s coldness. “Stand on the scale,” Hayan’s mother ordered and watched how her twenty-eight-year-old daughter moved closer to the scale.

Hayan’s mother sighed disappointedly when she saw the number that was shown on the scale. The silence between mother and daughter was killing Hayan. Moments like this she wished there were a script so she could give the appropriate reactions to her mother. Suddenly Hayan’s left cheek started to burn while a handprint became visible on her cheek. Her mother hit her. “How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t want you to weight above that bloody number?!” the middle-aged woman yelled while she grabbed her daughter’s long black hair and roughly moved Hayan’s face to the scale’s direction, showing her the evidence of something her mother deemed as a sin.

“I am sorry,” Hayan said while tears started to escape from her eyes. After having seen her mother’s ugly side, Hayan was taught it was better to show no reaction. For her safety, it was better to endure her mother’s temper tantrums. But currently, Hayan could not help but let her emotions take over her. She had barely any chance to recover from that terrible fan letter. “Do you want to be seen as a whale?” Hayan’s mother questioned while tightening her grip. When Hayan did not respond, the middle-aged woman got furious. Aggressively, she dragged her daughter to the sink. “Spit the food out that you had earlier!” Hayan’s mother commanded. Hayan stood there while staring at the sink, not knowing how fulfill her mother’s wish. When Hayan’s mother lost her patience, she raised her hand and hit her daughter once again. “SPIT IT OUT NOW!” Hayan’s mother shouted while digging her long nails into Hayan’s skin causing it to bleed. Terrified Hayan attempted to force herself to puke but her body refused to cooperate. Suddenly her mind reminded her of the nasty letter she received a while ago. The blood and pubic hair flashed in front of her eyes while her nose was reminded of the nasty smell.

A satisfied smile appeared on the middle-aged woman while she watched her daughter vomit above the white marble sink. Shocked Hayan looked at the food in the sink while her brain tried to process everything that just had transpired. Gently Hayan’s mother cupped the young actress’ face and looked into Hayan’s red teary eyes. “You did well, darling,” she praised her daughter knowing that if her child continued this curse, she would be desired by the public again.

The silence was the only thing present in the house till a quiet moan disturbed the peace. A brown-haired man sat on a large chair as he stroked his hard length with his right hand. He closed his eyes and pictured the beautiful woman in front of him.

He gently pushed the woman on his bed and looked at her. She was so beautiful. Her innocent face made him almost feel guilty for doing this to her but her curves and her hardened nipples, which were poking through her dress, made him want to sin. He wanted to ruin her innocence and stain her with his filth. Hastily he ripped the green silk dress off her body. Gently his hands traveled over her soft skin while he buried his face in her neck and inhaled her sweet scent. “Please” she whined in his ear. Making him hornier.

“Fuck…” the man moaned while he opened his eyes. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and trickled down his face. Eventually landing on his naked chest. His eyes landed on a photo frame, prompting him to move his hand faster while he tightened his grip. “Aw baby,” he cried out when he reached his climax. He quickly moved closer to the photo frame and shot thick ropes of cum. The cum decorated the photo frame.

The man leaned back on the chair while he took a few breaths to come back from his high. He lowered his eyes and licked his lips while he stared at the picture of Kan Hayan, which was now covered in his cum.

“I love you,”

“Here we are,” Min Yoongi said when he parked the black van in the parking lot. Slowly he turned around and looked at Hayan. The superstar took off her AirPods and looked at her manager. The young actress’ eyes were red, it looked as if she had cried. “Are you all right?” Yoongi asked while looking concerned at Hayan. Lately, she has not been herself. Usually, Hayan would always have dinner with her co-stars to celebrate a successful shooting day but recently she turned down every invitation and went straight to home after she was done filming her parts. “Are you still upset about what happened at the park?” Manager Min questioned as he moved his hand to his bag and grabbed a small bottle. “Yeah, the security said they haven’t found him yet,” Hayan said softly. “That probably means that the guy gave up and found a new hobby. Here this will make the red lines in your eyes disappear,” Yoongi told to the young actress while he handed her the small bottle. The dark-haired man got out of the car to grab some stuff from the trunk. Hayan put a few drops of the solution in her eyes and blinked a few times while her stomach begged her to eat something.

After politely greeting everyone on the set, the superstar made her way to her dressing room to memorize her lines. She was seated on a comfortable chair. A cup of green tea was placed on the table next to her while her makeup artist, Remi, grabbed a bottle of foundation. “Why is your skin so swollen lately?” Remi asked while she looked at Hayan’s puffy cheeks. “Did the agency change your diet?” Remi asked while she squirted some foundation on the back of her hand before grabbing a foundation brush. “Yeah, can you be quiet for now? I am trying to memorize my lines,” Hayan said without looking at Remi. The way how Hayan spoke it was clear that she was annoyed. Hayan did not want to be reminded of her wrongdoings. “All right,” Remi said while she gently applied the foundation on her face.

The entire day, Hayan was on set. Today she had to film so many scenes with her co-star, Kim Seokjin. The two got along well. He was kind and cracked a few dad jokes to make Hayan feel comfortable before they had to shoot their steamy make-out scenes. Hayan and Seokjin are familiar with each other. Before getting cast for this movie, the two good-looking stars were the face of a skincare brand and last June they were on the cover of Vogue Korea. Due to their frequent collaborations, the public was convinced that the two stars were romantically involved with each other, despite both of their agencies had denied the rumor.

Currently, it was almost 11 pm and all cast members were preparing to shoot the final scene for the day. Kan Hayan was resting in her dressing room. She was enjoying the quietness until it got interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in,” Hayan said while she opened her eyes and watched her manager enter the room. “Hey, Jisoo wants to talk to you,” Yoongi said while he tried to hide his nervousness. “Kim Jisoo?” Hayan asked while raising her eyebrow. Yoongi nodded and left the room before Hayan could ask any more questions. Hayan did not understand why her other co-star wanted to talk to her. Ever since a reporter wrote an absurd article about Hayan and the nation’s favorite contemporary dancer, Park Jimin, there has been some tension between two movie stars. Hayan had multiple times explained to Jisoo why she was at Jimin’s house and that there was no romance between the two despite all the speculations. Maybe Jisoo had finally realized that her rudeness towards Hayan was unjustified and now she wants to apologize for it.

While walking to Jisoo’s dressing room, Hayan had a strange feeling. Her senses told her to turn around and go back but for some reason. Gently Hayan knocked on the door when she stood in front of Jisoo’s dressing room. “Enter,” Jisoo said from the other side of the door. When Hayan entered the dressing room, she got greeted by Jisoo and another woman. It took a moment before it dawned on Hayan who the other person was, it was Jisoo’s younger sister Jennie. Kim Jennie was a famous rapper and singer Korea, she was loved for her beauty and often praised for her singing and rapping skills. Hayan did not understand why Jisoo’s younger sister was present on the set. Suddenly Jisoo stood up from the bright pink couch and walked towards Hayan. “Have fun, Jen,” Jisoo said while she bumped her shoulder against Hayan’s. With a smirk on her face, the pretty actress left her dressing room. Hayan turned back to Jennie and watched how she stood up from the couch. She did not like the atmosphere in the room, it felt hostile and unsafe. Hayan wanted to turn around and leave the room.

“I heard you were spending time with Jimin,” Jennie said while she looked at Hayan. “Uhm I am sorry but what is going on?” Hayan asked while watching how Jennie came closer to her. “You don’t get it, sweetie? It’s because you’re just too dumb.” Jennie responded. Hayan was caught off guard with Jennie’s unkind remark. Before Hayan had the chance to respond, Jennie grabbed Hayan’s shirt and pulled her closer. “You think you are so precious, don’t you?” the rapper said while she watched how the actress looked shocked at her. “I need to g-” Hayan did not get the chance to finish her sentence, a painful slap landed on Hayan’s cheek. “You are always going from one man to the other. Don’t you think that your reckless behavior is hurting some people?” Jennie questioned. Tears streamed over Hayan’s cheeks as she tried to come up with a plan to escape.

With a smirk on her face, Jennie watched in silence how the talented actress seemed so small and weak. On screens, she portrayed herself as a tough woman but Hayan had a hard time defending herself. Suddenly the silence between the two celebrities got interrupted by the director yelling everyone to come on the set so they can shoot the final scene. Hayan looked at Jennie and started to wonder if this was the right moment to scream for help. “See you later, sister” Jennie suddenly said while she grabbed her black leather jacket and left the distraught actress behind. Not wanting to upset the director, Hayan quickly got up and wiped her tears away. With trembling legs, she made her way to the set.

“All right let’s quickly do the water scene…Action!” the movie director said as he sat back behind a screen and watched how the actors portrayed their characters. When it was time for Hayan’s character to make an appearance, the distressed actress remained in her position. Countless questions and thoughts floated through her brain while her stomach desperately looked for food in her system to keep her going. Suddenly a warm landed on Hayan’s shoulder. A scream escaped from her lips while her heart was racing. “Are you all right?” Jisoo asked while a devilish smile appeared on her angelic face.

Suddenly all the noises slowly got muted while the bright studio lamps became blinding. Hayan felt her body becoming weaker. Her heartbeat became irregular while her body tried to keep itself warm. Her brain was sending so many signals but none of them got received. Jisoo stood there and watched how her co-star fell on the ground while trying to stay conscious. Jisoo sat next to her and wiped her tears away.

“Don’t worry Hayan, he will take good care of you,”

The smell of carbolic acid and flowers made their way into Hayan’s nose when she opened her eyes and blinked a few times. The brightness in the room almost made the young actress believe she was in heaven but those thoughts quickly came to an end when she realized she was in a hospital room. She looked around the room and noticed a bunch of flowers, stuffed toys and baskets filled with food were placed on a table close to her bed. The quietness in the room got interrupted when a deep groan echoed through the room. Hayan startled when the sound entered her ears. Suddenly she realized one of her hands was warmer than the other one, she looked down and saw a large hand holding her right hand. She traced her eyes from the hand to a wrist afterwards following to an arm and eventually landing on the face of a man.

Who is this? Hayan asked herself while she stared at the sleeping man. He had thick dark eyebrows. His eyes were closed but they were big. His eyelashes were long, thick, and curled. His nose was slightly larger while his lips were pink with a layer of lip balm. His hair was dark blond and slicked back. His outfit looked quite formal. A white blouse hugged his body while a green gilet added some color. The green-tie matched his gilet. The guy was breathtakingly handsome.

Hayan stared at him. There was something familiar about him.

Suddenly the silence in the room got interrupted by the sound of a door getting pushed open. Hayan quickly pulled her hand out of the tight grip, causing the unknown man to groan and open his eyes. “You’re finally awake,” the charming man said while he smiled. His voice was a lot deeper than Hayan expected to be. The way he spoke it was similar to Yoongi’s. He was, just like Yoongi, from the south. His smile was unique, it did not have the sideways half-moon shape like everyone else. His smile resembled a square. The unknown man trapped Hayan’s hand in his large hand while looking at her with his dark piercing eyes. Hayan tried to look away but no matter how hard she tried, she just could not look away.

“Good morning Ms. Kan,” a feminine voice interrupted the somewhat staring contest between the two adults. Hayan wanted to pull her hand out of the grip once again but this time the man tightened his grip, making it impossible for her to escape his grasp. “I am doctor Yang. I hope you had a good sleep,” Dr. Yang said while she stepped closer to her. “Wha- what happened?” Hayan asked with confusion written all over her face. “You fainted on the set” the handsome mysterious man informed the young actress. “Who are you?” Hayan asked while roughly pulling her hand out his grip. Even though her hand was pressed against her chest, she could still feel his warmth on her hand.

“How impolite of me. I am Kim Taehyung, your new manager,” the dark-blond-haired man said while bowing to her. “New ma- Where’s Yoongi?” Hayan asked while looking around the room, hoping to see something that proved that Yoongi had been in the room. “He is fired,” Taehyung revealed to Hayan. “Why?” Hayan asked while looking disbelieved at Taehyung. “Because he failed to take care of you,” Hayan’s new manager said to her. “What do you mean? He took good care of me,” the young actress defended her former manager. “He failed to recognize you were suffering from an eating disorder,” Dr. Yang weighed in.

Hearing those words coming from a professional silenced the actress. It was something she was fully aware of yet she refused to admit it. “Aside from that you were also overworked and exhausted,” Dr. Yang added while Hayan was hesitating whether she should accept the revelation or not. “I know this is quite the shock but see it as a wake-up call. Being underweight will have serious repercussions on your health,” the doctor told to the actress. Hayan slowly nodded and looked at the doctor. “I will send the results along with the right recovery plan to Mr. Jung so that you can convalesce,” he said and gave the performer a hopeful smile.

“Hayan wake up,” a baritone voiced as whispered into Hayan’s ear as a warm hand gently landed on her hand. The black-haired actress opened her eyes and looked at her new manager who smiled at her with his famous boxy smile. “The plane has landed,” Taehyung informed her while he unbuckled his belt. Hayan copied his action and grabbed her red Burberry bag. Like a shadow the performer followed her manager and exited the plane. Hayan’s body was wide awake while her mind was still at sleep. Prior getting get stuck in a plane with her manager, she was on set for ten hours straight. Just as usually she gave it her all knowing that she will be able to catch up on sleep the coming two weeks.

While Taehyung was busy texting with Kim Namjoon, the CEO of RM Entertainment. The dark-blond-haired man informed his boss about their safe arrival in Toronto and the current wellbeing of Hayan. The actress’ head rested against the car window while she looked out of the window. The streets of Toronto look much more peaceful, Hayan thought to herself as watched how people walked through the streets. After a peaceful thirty-minute car ride, the two adults arrived safely at Shangri-La Hotel.

“So what do think?” Taehyung asked as he put the suitcases in a corner and looked at Hayan, who was standing in front a large window. “The suite is marvelous,” the actress said while enjoying the beautiful city view. “That’s great to hear,” her new manager said when he stood next to her. “Why don’t you take a shower while I order some food,” Taehyung suggested as he secretly admired the performer’s beauty. Even with dark circles under her eyes and chapped lips, she still looked breathtakingly beautiful. Hayan nodded and made her way to the bathroom.

The white marble bathroom reminded her a lot of her home back in Seoul. Hayan filled the bathtub with warm water and add a few drops of lavender as she undressed herself. Without wasting too much time, she stepped into the bathtub and unwind when the lavender scent entered her nose. Being in a foreign country without any work commitments felt weird to the young actress. Knowing that her schedule for the coming two weeks will be empty, made her feel weird. Hayan has been working as an actress as long as she can remember. When was even the last time she properly relaxed? While the warm water relaxed her sore muscles, Hayan looked out of the window and enjoyed the city view. Once the water had turned cold, Hayan got up and dried her wet body with a soft towel.

When the actress entered the bedroom, she quickly put a white blouse that provided gave her enough comfort to move around easily while a tight blue pair of jeans hugged her legs snugly. Just when Hayan wanted to blow dry her long black hair, something caught her attention. An orange velvet blanket was placed on her bed. Without any explanations or much thought, anger and disgust took over her body. “Taehyung!” Hayan called as she stared at the velvet blanket. “Yes?” Taehyung asked when he entered the bedroom and looked at the actress. “Get that hideous thing out of this room,” Hayan said as she pointed at the velvet blanket. “Uhm alright…?” Taehyung said and he walked to the bed. “Do you want me to get a new velvet blanket?” manager Kim asked as he grabbed the orange velvet blanket. “I hate velvet, you can use it but keep that thing away from me,” Hayan said angrily. She did not understand why the woven tufted fabric always made her feel disgusted but it for some reason. Every time Hayan saw something that was made from velvet, it did not only make her feel sick on the inside but it also made her skin crawl.

The first three days in Toronto was peaceful. Hayan was the entire time in the luxurious bedroom and spending her time reading the books she always wanted to read or sleeping. On the fourth day was about the end the same way as it did the previous three nights till a sudden knock on the door broke the silence in Hayan’s bedroom. “Come in,” the actress said as she looked up and saw her new manager enter the room. “Hey, are you hungry?” Taehyung asked when he sat on the bed. Hayan shook her head and looked back at her book. For a moment there was an awkward silent between the two adults. Even though they have known each other for a month now, but there is was always a strange feeling Hayan felt when she was around her new manager. “You know, food is not your enemy,” Taehyung said to Hayan. Surprised she looked up at Taehyung. “I know you are feeling a lot pressure from the company and the public to look psychically appealing but does not mean you should sacrifice your health,” the dark-blond-haired man said as he looked at Hayan’s collarbones. “I am fi-,” Hayan did not get the chance to finish her sentence because Taehyung quickly interrupted her by saying: “Hayan, please take a proper care of yourself. Look what your refusal of eating food did to you,” It were words the actress did not wanted to hear. She did not want to be reminded with the fact that something was wrong with her. “Don’t let your mother take control of what’s yours,” Taehyung as he carefully put his hand hers. Confused the young performer looked at her manager. How did he know something she had never mentioned?

Before Hayan could let Taehyung’s word sink in, she found herself sitting in the living room with her manager. Various types Chinese food was placed in front of her. The food smelled so delicious while everything looked so delectable. “Here try this,” Taehyung as he picked up four-leafed shaped wrapper with his wooden chopsticks. “What is it?” she asked while the smell entered her nose. “It’s called Cream Cheese Rangoon,” the dark-blond-haired man said and held it close to Hayan’s lips. “I am not hungry,” the twenty-eight-year-old woman said as she moved back to create more distance between herself and the delicious smelling food. Just at that moment Hayan’s stomach cried out for food. Taehyung chuckled. “I think your stomach thinks otherwise,” the twenty-nine-year-old said as he moved closer to her. “Please just one bite, if you don’t like it then you can go back to the bedroom and I will leave you alone,” Taehyung pleaded as he looked at her with puppy eyes. Hayan looked into his dark eyes. They were beautiful yet mysterious. His eyes shape, his eyebrows, the tiny mole on his lower eyelid. It all seems to familiar. Why does it feel like Hayan had experienced this before?

“Have we met each other before?” Hayan asked while her brain dug deep to find a memory. The question caught Taehyung off as he moved back and looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “That’s very unlikely, Ms. Kan,” The man said as he looked away. The actress shook her head, she must have mistaken this moment with a scene she had played in a movie or drama. “Can I try some of the chicken?” Hayan asked. “Yeah sure, please dig in,” Taehyung said while he brough the plate of chicken closer to the female performer. When the honey sesame chicken touched Hayan’s taste buds, she felt overjoyed. The piece of chicken luscious. “Not bad,” Hayan said and looked at her manager. “Not bad? The chicken is succulent and well-seasoned,” Taehyung spoke with his mouth full of food. The actress could not help but to chuckle.

As the two adults ate while watching a Canadian tv-show. From the corner of her eye, Hayan kept an eye on her manager. Suddenly a tune echoed caught Taehyung’s attention. “An email from Namjoon?” Hayan asked as she picked up some noodles with her chopsticks and ate it. “No, a notification from my game,” Taehyung said while he put down his chopsticks and started to play a game. “Game? What kind of game?” the black-haired woman asked as she moved closer to him to get a glimpse of the game. Taehyung chuckled. Her curious face is so cute, he thought to himself as he pushes his laptop closer to her. “It’s a first-person shooting game,” he explained as he showed her how he shot someone in the game. “Do you want to try?” Taehyung asked out of the blue. “I have never played games like this before,” Hayan said as a hint of pink shade appeared on her cheeks. Oh, Hayan your cuteness is killing me, Taehyung thought to himself as he stared at her. “Well there’s a first for everything,” the tall man said and put his laptop on the actress’ lap. He quickly explained which buttons needed to be pressed. Once he was done, he grabbed his plate and continued to eat while he watched Hayan play the game.

After losing for the fifth time, Hayan pushed the laptop away. “You play,” she said as her lips formed a pout. Please Hayan do not do that, it reminds me of when… his thoughts got interrupted when Hayan poked his cheek. “Hey, pay attention, you almost got shot,” Hayan said. Her brief yet gentle touch gave him goosebumps.

While Taehyung was playing the game, the actress sat next to him and watched him play. Hayan looked at Taehyung and studied his features. From his eye-catching facial characteristics to the texture of his skin.

Why does he look so familiar?

Rays of sun found pierced though the small opening between the white curtains and illuminated the luxurious hotel bedroom. Hayan was sleeping peacefully. Her head rested on a red satin pillow while a thick blanket kept her body warm. Suddenly the tranquility came to an end when a warm hand gently caressed her cheek.

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” a deep voice whispered. Hayan was too deep in her sleep to give a response. Taehyung chuckled and laid next to her on the bed. Adoringly he watched her sleep. In his eyes she looked like an angel. If he could, he would watch her sleep all day long. The dark-blond-haired man moved closer to the actress and gently placed a kiss on her cheek. The kiss was too light and gentle to be noticed. “I've missed you since you left me …Are you still mad at me?” Taehyung talked into her small ear. A smile appeared on the man’s face when the woman groaned when a sunbeam found its way to land on the actress’ face. She rubbed her eyes while moving her away to avoid the sun ray. Taehyung quickly got off the bed when Hayan opened her eyes and looked at him.

“Good morning,” she said with her morning voice. It sounded like music in his ears. “Good morning, did you sleep well?” he asked as he walked to the window and opened the curtains. “Yeah,” Hayan said as she kicked her blankets away. While Taehyung was ordering breakfast by calling the room service, Hayan took a quick shower. Once dry, the actress grabbed a green satin dress with a floral print. To complete her outfit, she put pink diamond earrings in her ear. When she was satisfied with the way she looked, the actress made her way to the living room.

“You kept those earrings from high school? How sweet,” Taehyung asked as a grin appeared on his face. “High school? How do you know that?” Hayan asked while she tried to remember when she ever told him about the earrings. “Yeah, don’t you remember? You told me about them when we were in the car on our way for your Harper's Bazaar shoot,” Taehyung told as he walked to her and stood in front of her. The actress raised her eyebrow. “I did?” Hayan asked while her mind replayed the memory of that day in her head. The only thing she can remember from that car ride was that it was quiet and awkward. “Yeah,” Taehyung as he chuckled. “You must have forgotten about it since you were so tired that day,” the dark-blond-haired man said as he gently wrapped a loose strand of black hair around his finger. Confusion was written all over Hayan’s face. She can clearly remember that day but she cannot recall the moment she mentioned the earring let alone talked about her high school days. “Don’t worry too much about it, the memory will come back again at some point,” Taehyung said while he carefully put the strand of hair behind her ear and looked at the pink diamond earring.

After having eaten breakfast, the two adults agreed to go to Art Gallery of Ontario. They walked next to each other while looking at the beautiful paintings. “Hayan look,” Taehyung called the actress as he stood next to a painting and imitated to comical facial expression of the woman on the painting. Hayan looked at him and laughed.

“Tell me something about this one,” Hayan asked when the man and woman stood in front of a painting of a woman. “This is called Portrait of a Lady with a Lap Dog and it is painted by the famous Dutch painter, Rembrandt van Rijn. Many people speculate that the woman in the painting is his daughter-in-law,” Taehyung lectured the actress about the painting. The way how the tall spoke about the painting felt like déjà vu to her. “You told me this before,” Hayan suddenly said as she tried to remember when Taehyung had ever told her about the painting. “Oh? When?” Taehyung asked as he looked confused at her. “A long time ago,” she said when she looked at him. Was the meeting in the hospital really our first encounterment? Hayan asked herself. “Silly how can I have told this long time ago when we have only known each other for a month?” Taehyung asked while he moved closer to her. “You are right. Sorry,” Hayan said as she shook her head. “Are you sure you had a good sleep?” the charming man asked while looking concerned at the actress.

“Yeah I did. I am sorry, I am not used to not working for this long,” the female performer expressed. That must be why I am having those weird thoughts, she told herself. “Hey, try to relax a bit,” Taehyung said as he put his large on her shoulder.

On the evening before their departure, the adults were in the living room. Keeping each other entertained with strong liquor and jazz music. The living room had an aura of serenity.

“You’re lying,” Hayan said as she grabbed her glass of strong liquor and took a sip. The strong drink burned her throat. Drinking was something she rarely did but being in the present of Taehyung she felt safe. “Aw that’s sad, you deserve better,” the actress told to the dark-blond-haired man, who just told a sad story about his high school crush who rejected him. “What about you? Have you ever had a crush on someone in high school?” Taehyung while he moved closer to the coffee table and refilled his glass. “Uhm this might sound stupid but I can’t barely remember anything from high school. During my teenage years, I was so busy with acting. I had hardly any time to make friends and live like a normal teenager,” Hayan told her as she tried to dig up some memories from her high school days but everything was just one vague time for her. “Do you regret it? You know having to miss out on the chance to live like a normal teen?” Taehyung asked with full interest. “I am not sure if regret is the correct term to describe it…I guess we all have to sacrifice something for happiness,” Hayan said and took another sip of her drink. “Wise words for a cute girl,” Taehyung said. The two adults looked at each other and laughed.

While the alcohol slowly started to take over her mind, Hayan started to feel tired. Her vision became blurry while her head began to spin. The actress watched how Taehyung’s lips moved but none of his words entered her ears. Suddenly she felt a warm hand massaging her shoulder. “Are you alright?” the deep-voiced man asked as he moved closer to her and his hands roamed over her body. His touch felt safe and gentle. A soft moan escapes from her lips when she felt the thin strap of her top slide off her shoulder. Before Hayan could comprehend what was going on, she found herself straddled on Taehyung’s lap.

“Shall I tell you a secret?” the man asked as he grabbed the hem of her top and slowly lifted it up. “Mmm?” was the only response Hayan could give. “You have always been my favorite actress. You are more beautiful than Shin Hye or Hyun Joo and definitely far more talented than Ji Eun or Tae Hee,” Taehyung told her as he threw her top somewhere in the room. His jaw dropped when he looked at her topless body. He wrapped his arms around her and gently pressed kisses on her collar bones and in her neck. Mindlessly Hayan combed her finger through his thick hair. When Taehyung found her sensitive spot in her neck, she grabbed a handful of hair.

A moan escaped from her lips when Taehyung gently bit her sensitive spot. “I knew I had to have you when you played in Little Soah,” the dark-blond-haired said while he placed his hands under her thighs and stood up from the couch with the actress in his arms. Without thinking clearly, Hayan pulled him closer towards her and kissed him deeply.

Once the two adults were in Hayan’s bedroom, Taehyung gently put her on the bed and hastily he took off his clothes. While Hayan was in and out of consciousness, Taehyung crawled towards her and kissed her again.

High-pitched moans and deep grunts filled the luxurious hotel room while the moon shone its rays of light into the room when a soft breeze gently pushed the white curtains to the side.

With eyes filled with lust, the twenty-nine-year-old man watched how Hayan bit her lip when Taehyung slowly pushed his long fingers deep into her pussy. The way how her walls stretched around his fingers gave him goosebumps. Her warmth and wetness were enough to make him cum right then and there, but he pushed his urges to the side and focused on the naked actress underneath him.

As a teenager, Taehyung used to fantasize about how it would feel to be inside his favourite actress. So many nights he spent wondering about what she would taste like. Every time Taehyung watched porn, all he could think about was what it would feel like to try out those positions with her. Would she enjoy riding him or did she prefer to get it from behind? But now that he finally has her in his hands, Taehyung was looking forward to turning his fantasies into reality.

Hayan let out a scream when she felt something wet touching her clit. She raised her head and looked down to see what caused her to feel this sudden tingling between her legs. Her cheeks reddened when she was met with the sight of Taehyung’s face between her legs. Just when Hayan parted her red lips to say something, Taehyung trapped her clit between his lips and started sucking. The moans that came from her lips sounded like music in Taehyung’s ears.

The young actress bit her lower lip while she tried to hold in her moan but failed to do so. A whiny moan echoed in the room while Taehyung curled his fingers. The way how Hayan frowned gave away that she was so close to climaxing. Taehyung smirked and decided to give her an extra push to reach her climax. While his long fingers went deeper in her, his tongue flicked her clit. His tongue movements were fast and hard while his fingers quickened its pace.

Hayan curled her toes and let out another high-pitched moan when she hit her climax. Amused and prideful, Taehyung watched how Hayan drowned in pleasure. She looked so beautiful when she came. Taehyung slowed down his pace and helped Hayan ride out her climax.

Hayan closed her eyes while she slowly came back from her high. Taehyung licked his fingers, she tasted so sweet. His fantasies are nothing compared to reality. Once his fingers were clean he moved closer to her and pressed gentle kisses on her cheek while his arm snaked around her waist and held her tightly. Being skin-to-skin was enough for him to become horny again. He wanted his dick in her mouth. He wanted to decorate her walls with his cum. But seeing how his favourite actress was slowly drifting into sleep, he suppressed his desires.

Now that we are finally together, we have all the time in world to get to know each other better, Taehyung thought to himself while he gently grabbed her chin with his thumb and index finger. Slowly he turned her head towards him. Their faces were close to each other that their noses were touching. Tenderly Taehyung pressed his lips against hers.

“Don’t worry Hayanie, manager Kim will take care of you.”

The tantalizing aroma of cooking onions and garlic in a pan wafted in Taehyung’s kitchen while he carefully moved the two ingredients around in the pan.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” a gentle voiced asked him. He looked over his shoulder and saw his favorite actress standing in his kitchen. “I am very sure. Don’t worry about it,” Taehyung said as he brought his attention back to the pan and added the cut vegetables into the hot pan. “Alright, if you need anything then let me know,” Hayan said as she walked back to the living room.

When she sat on the couch, the actress looked around. The living room had a cozy vibe. The colors warm toned made her feel comfortable while a few expensive looking paintings caught her attention. Even though it was her first time being at Taehyung’s place, somewhat the place felt familiar to her. As if she had been here before. She was not sure why she had that feeling. Maybe it was because the living room was organized like the typical rich people way.

“Dinner is ready,” Taehyung said from the kitchen. Hayan put a book down and stood up from the couch. “It smells amazing,” the actress said when she sat at the dining table and looked at the food on her plate. “Thanks, hopefully it tastes as good as it smells,” the tall man said as he sat next to her. “Is life fun when you are twenty-nine-year-old?” Hayan asked when she picked some noodles with her chopsticks. “It’s so fun, you will have the best time of your life,” Taehyung said sarcastically. The man’s response made the actress laugh. “29 really sounds old,” the female performer teased while she looked at the dark-blond-haired man. “At least you won’t be turning thirty later in the year,” Taehyung said and looked at Hayan. The woman laughed: “Well in that case, I will make sure 29 will be my best year,”.

When the two adults finished their meals, they decided to do the dishes together. “I cannot wait to see your reaction when you get your birthday gift,” Taehyung said teasingly. All day long, the man had been reminding the actress that he had a special gift for her without dropping any hints. Hayan sighed annoyed. “If you are not going to say what it is, then don’t mention it,” she said while she dried the wet plate with a kitchen towel. “Why? Is someone getting excited about it?” Taehyung asked as he splashed some of the water to her. “Hey!” Hayan giggled and threw the wet kitchen towel to the tall man. “I am done doing the dishes,” she said while stepping away from him. The man chuckled at her cute action. After all these you are still the same cute girl, he thought to himself.

“Alright close your eyes,” Taehyung said as he held a box behind him. Hayan gave him a suspicious look but still followed his instruction. Carefully Taehyung put the box in front of the actress and carefully took out the creature. “Open your eyes,” the deep-voiced man said as he held the creature in front of her. When Hayan opened her eyes, she was greeted by the sight of a tiny Pomeranian. Her big eyes got bigger as she stared surprised at the tiny dog. “Happy birthday Hayan,” Taehyung said as he carefully placed the puppy on her lap. Attentively Hayan lifted the little black fluffy dog and look at it. “It’s a boy,” Taehyung informed the actress as he watched her observe the puppy.

“Taehyung, I am speechless. I don’t know what to say,” the actress confessed while she put the puppy in her arms and hugged it. “Luckily, you told me that you liked Pomeranians otherwise I had no idea which breed I had to choose,” Taehyung told her. “Have we ever talked about dogs?” Hayan asked confused as she put the puppy down, giving it some space to walk around. “Yeah,” was Taehyung response. You told it to me a while ago, he thought to himself as he watched her play with the dog. “Do you have a name for him?” Hayan’s manager asked when the black puppy ran towards to the man and jumped on his lap. “Maybe Yeontan?” Hayan said while looking at the dog. “What a cute name,” Taehyung said.

The adults played with Yeontan while they talked about random topics. Hayan did not know how to express her happiness. She looked Taehyung, who was playing with Yeontan, and felt a strange feeling in her stomach. Hayan had no idea who to describe the feeling but it felt pleasant. Is this what they mean with butterflies in your stomach? The actress questioned herself. Whatever you called this feeling, Hayan would not mind feeling that sensation in her stomach again.

“Oh no,” Hayan said as she watched Yeontan pee on the ground. “Tannie,” Taehyung sighed while walking towards the tiny dog. Yeontan knew he was in trouble so began to tremble, wondering what his owner would do. “It alright, puppies do that all the time,” Hayan said while she carefully picked up the dog and planted a few kisses on his head. “Here, hold him while I go grab a cloth,” the actress said while she gently pushes Yeontan in Taehyung’s arms. Before Taehyung could respond, Hayan had already turned around and left the room.

The black-haired woman walked through the halls of Taehyung’s mansion, trying to find the nearest bathroom. The young performer halted her tracks when a bright blue door caught her attention. That must be the bathroom, Hayan thought to herself. Carefully she pressed down the door handle and pushed the door open. When the actress was inside the room, she started to get shivers. It was not a bathroom but a bedroom. The room was big but neat. The walls were burgundy while the furniture was dark brown. The golden decorations made the room look expensive. There was a strange vibe in the room. Goose bump appeared on her arms as she slowly walked further into the room. The room felt familiar to her, she swore that she had been here before. While the twenty-nine-year-old woman walked closer to the bed, her mind dug deeper into her brain. When Hayan stood in front of the bed, she looked at the red velvet blanket. With trembling fingers, she reached out for the blanket. When her cold fingers touched the soft fabric, her mind unlocked a memory.

“I remember,” Hayan whispered to herself.

“Let’s talk here,” a nineteen-year-old boy said as he pushed the blue door open and looked at the eighteen-year-old girl. The way how she fiddled the hem of her skirt with her thin fingers it was clear that she was nervous. “Taehyung I already said what I had to say at school,” Hayan said as she looked into the big eyes of the boy. “It won’t take too long. Please listen to what I have to say,” Taehyung pleaded while he pouted like a puppy. Her mind told her to reject his invitation and to return to Jisoo but her heart convinced her to give Taehyung a chance. So she nodded and entered the spare bedroom.

When Taehyung closed to bedroom door behind him, he took off his blazer and moved closer to the girl. “I want to apologize for my rude remarks,” the boy said as he ran his long fingers through his thick long hair. Hayan did not like the atmosphere in the room, it felt unsafe. “Apology accepted. I also want to apologize for hurting you by rejecting your confession but I really cannot accept it,” the young starlet said without realizing that her words triggered the boy’s anger. Taehyung’s hands turned into a fist while his mind reminded him of the humiliating event that happened a few days ago. “It’s alright, but can I ask you something?” Taehyung asked as he swallowed his anger away. Hayan nodded as Taehyung reminded himself to calm down. “Would you want to give it a try after you are done shooting the drama?” the long black-haired boy asked. There was a silence between the adolescents.

Kan Hayan loved Kim Taehyung. There was no denying in that. He caught her attention the moment she entered the classroom for the first time three years ago. It was not a surprise why all the girls in school had a crush on him. He was an Adonis. She could stare at him for hours doing nothing and still she would feel fulfilled. She liked his personality. Unlike other rich teenagers, he was kind and well-mannered. A real gentleman stuck in a teenager’s body. When the rumor of Taehyung having a crush on Hayan made its way around school and eventually reached the actress, she did not believe it. How could to the eldest son of the Kim family fall for a young girl who aspired to be an actress?

Hayan’s heart told her to accept his confession but her brain quickly interfered and reminded the young starlet that she cannot be in a relationship. She needed to focus on her acting career. “I am sorry Taehyung but currently I want to focus on my acting career,” Hayan told the tall boy. His long black hair covered his eyes. The girl was not able to see the anger and disappointment in the boy’s eyes. “You like Hoseok, don’t you?” Taehyung asked angrily while the memory of Hayan and Hoseok in the park flashed in front of him. “No, there’s nothing between us,” Hayan explained. The anger in black-haired boy’s voice scared the eighteen-year-old girl.

Suddenly Taehyung grabbed Hayan by her arms and pushed her on the bed. Roughly she landed on the red velvet blanket. The tall boy jumped on her and grabbed her wrists. “Taehyung!” Hayan shouted as he pinned her wrists above her head. The black-haired boy held her down with one hand while his other hand aggressively ripped her shirt open. The view of her bra made his mouth water. He waited for so long to have her underneath him. A scream escaped from the girl’s mouth while she tried to break free from his tight grip. Growing tired of her struggle, Taehyung untied his Gucci scarf and tied her wrists to the bed.

Just when Hayan opened her mouth to scream for help, Taehyung bend down and placed his lips on hers. Her lips were soft, just like how he imagined. Hayan immediately closed her lips, refusing to let Taehyung enter her mouth. Like python, Taehyung’s long fingers wrapped around her neck and slowly his grip got tighter. His lips moved from her lips to her ear. “Did you really think I would not notice how you giggled at Hoseok’s jokes?” Taehyung’s hot air caressed Hayan’s ear while she tried to kick him off her. “Taehyung please stop,” Hayan sobbed as tears escaped from her eyes. Aggressively Taehyung placed his lips on hers and forced his tongue into her mouth. He moaned in her when his tongue meets hers. The way how Hayan’s tongue tried to push Taehyung’s tongue out of her mouth, turned Taehyung on. He tightened his grip around her neck as he kissed her deeper. Hayan attempted to kick him as she tried to catch her breath.

By the time Taehyung was done kissing her, Hayan had become tired from all the struggling and lack of oxygen. With a smirk on his face, Taehyung tore her bra. “Baby,” he groaned as he looked at her breasts. They were perfect. They were perfectly round and perky. Taehyung could not wait anymore, he let go of her neck and grabbed her breasts. They fitted perfectly in his hands. He roughly fondled it while he trapped a pink nipple from the other breast in his mouth. He sucked it, licked it, bit it. When he was done with it, he moved back and smiled proudly how the once pink nipple is red now.

“HELP!” Hayan screamed at the top of her lungs, hoping that someone would hear it. “Baby I need you to be quiet,” Taehyung said as he sat on her hips. “I beg you, please stop. If you let me go, I will stay away from you. I promise I will never tell this to anyone,” Hayan sobbed as tears ran down her cheeks. Her body started to tremble out of fear. The idea of what Taehyung wanted to do to her scared her. “I want you to be with me. I want you to be mine, Hayanie,” Taehyung said as he hands traveled down her body and stopped when his long fingers came in contact with her skirt. The way how her nickname rolled off his tongue made her nauseous. Another scream came out of her mouth when the black-haired boy pulled her skirt down. “Shut up!” Taehyung said as he looked at her and spat at her. The spit landed on her cheek. The idea of how her tear got mixed with his spit, made Taehyung hard. Without wasting too much time, the tall boy grabbed a pillow and placed it on the starlet’s face.

Taehyung licked his lips as he pulled down her underwear. The view of her pussy made him salivate. He planted gentle kisses on her stomach as he roughly pushed her legs apart. Taehyung collected some spit and spat it on her clit. Gently he rubbed it as he watched how his spit dripped down from her clit. He licked her clit. Suck it. Bit it. Slapped it. Pinched it. While Taehyung was playing with her clit, Hayan was trying her best to fill her lungs with air. When the eighteen-year-old heard Taehyung unzipping his pants, she started to panic.

Taehyung positioned himself between her legs. “I love you so much,” Taehyung said as he pushed himself into her cunt. The pain halted Hayan’s struggle. It felt like the world had stopped turning and everything became muted. The black-haired boy pulled himself back just to slam back inside the scared girl. While the sound of smacking of skin-on-skin echoed through the room, Hayan’s brain send multiple signals. It wanted Hayan to scream louder, to tug her wrists harder to break free, to raise her knees to kick him off. But none of the signals got received, her body was frozen.

The way how her walls clenched around his length made Taehyung moan. He drowned in a wave of pleasure when he pushed himself deeper, he could feel his length rubbing against her cervix. Feeling him hit her cervix hurt Hayan but her body showed no reaction. Taehyung removed the pillow from Hayan and kissed her roughly on the lips. His thrusts were fast and deep while his tongue gently and carefully explored her mouth. Ecstasy rushed through him as he felt his climax coming closer and closer. Taehyung’s grabbed her hips tightly as he slammed harder.

He felt euphoric when he covered her walls with cum. He looked through his bangs and watched how Hayan closed her eyes. Gently he kisses her tears away as he slowed his movements.

Once Hayan was untied, her body unfroze. She was in a lot of pain while Taehyung’s touch still lingered on her skin. She felt dirty, ashamed, and weak. So many thoughts went through her mind but it was impossible to get them in control. When the boy grabbed his shirt, Hayan got up and quickly collected her stuff. Taehyung sat on the bed and watched how Hayan limped hastily out of the room. “I will wait for you,” he quickly said to her.

“Mom!” the eighteen-year-old shouted as she slammed the door behind her. “Mom!!” Hayan sobbed as she walked to the living room. Every step she took, a wave of pain went through her body. “Hayan,” her mother said concerned as she looked at her distraught daughter. She looked like a mess. Her once neatly bun was not nothing but a mess, her shirt had a few rips. Her body was trembling uncontrollably while blood dripped down her thighs.

“What happened?” Hayan’s mother asked as she walked closer to her daughter and grabbed her cold hands. “Ta- Tae-…Taehyung di-did thi-this.ss..” the young starlet pushed those words out of her mouth with the little bit of strength she had. “Ca- call th-the po- pol- ice,” Hayan said while she held her mother’s hands tightly. She feared if she let go of her mother’s hands then she might breakdown. There was a silence between the mother and daughter. Hayan wondered why her mother did not give any reaction. Slowly her mother shook her head.

“No…We can’t,” Hayan’s mother said as she pulled her hands back. The movement was so simple yet it was strong enough to shatter the eighteen-year-old’s fragile heart. “Wh- Why?” Hayan asked when she looked at her mother’s face. All the concerns her mother had on her face was now vanished. There was no emotion. “Hayan, I know this hard but you will get through it,” her mother spoke as the sun set behind her. The young girl noticed that her mother had no halo. “All you have to do is to never think about it,” Hayan’s mother said she slowly approached her daughter. Terrified, Hayan took a few steps back. When she felt the wall against her back, she felt trapped. “Bu- but he hu- hurt m- me,” the starlet said. Hayan’s mother cupped her face with her hands. “If you continue to focus on acting and don’t ever think about it. Then you will be fine. Trust me,” her mother told her. Hayan was not sure whether her mother tried to convince her daughter that this is the best method or herself.

With a trembling hand, Hayan grabbed the red velvet blanket and lifted it up. The sight of dried blood on the bed sheets made her stomach turn. The memory kept replying in her head over and over again while tears escaped from her eyes. Is this real? Is this why she had a hard time remembering her high school years?

“Hayan…” a deep male voice interrupted the silence in the room. Slowly she looked over her shoulder and looked at the man who took her innocence. “Why?” the actress asked as she turned around and looked at him. “Because I love you. I have always loved you,” Taehyung said matter-of-factly while he stepped closer to her. “The first time I saw you on the tv screen, I knew I had to have you. We belong together, Hayanie,” everything was overwhelming for the actress. She had so many questions to ask, so many curse words she wanted to throw at the man.

Hayan looked up and suddenly noticed something. A few strands of Taehyung’s hair were red. The same kind of red that the stranger from the park had. “How did you get passed through the security?” the actress asked as her mind replayed the scene. A smirk appeared on the man’s face. “It’s crazy how many possibilities someone can have when your sisters are celebrities,” Taehyung asked.

When everything fell into place, Hayan dropped on her knees. “You planned all of this, didn’t you?” the actress sobbed. “You should be happy with the fact I gave you ten years to recover from that night,” Taehyung said with pride. “I was hurting too, darling. Do you know how much it hurts to stay away from you for ten whole years?” the tall man asked when he kneeled in front of her and wiped her tears away. Angrily Hayan slapped his hand away.

Just when Hayan stood up and got ready to run away from her nightmare, Taehyung quickly grabbed her by the arms and threw her on the bed. “Don’t make me mad, baby,” the man warned the woman while he grabbed a handkerchief. “Get away from me!” Hayan cried out loud while she tried to push him away. Taehyung got tired of her struggles. A painful slap landed on Hayan’s cheek. The sudden action halted her fight. “If you had accepted my love back then. You would not be here right now,” Taehyung said with anger in voice. While the man grabbed a bottle and wetted the handkerchief, the memories of the painful rejected replayed in his mind. It made him mad. “You are insane!” Hayan yelled as she tried to hit him, hoping it would him distract him enough for her to escape from his hold. “Oh baby, you have no idea how many boundaries I am willing to break just for you,” Taehyung told her and put the wet cloth on her face.

“You might be the doll but I am the puppeteer,” Taehyung whispered in her ear and pressed the chloroform-soaked cloth harder on her face while Hayan fought to stay awake.

Epilogue:

“And for our final news,” a short-haired news anchor said while she moved a piece of paper to the left and instantaneously glanced at the last page. In matter of seconds she absorbed the information about the new topic.

“Actress Kan Hayan has announced her retirement this morning,” the female news anchor announced as she looked into the camera. “The sudden news has the nation not only shocked but also confused as earlier this week there were rumors that Kan Hayan might be starring in Bong Joon Ho’s newest movie,”

“The news was announced on the actress’ Instagram. It said the following:

‘Hello, this Kan Hayan.

I am writing this as my final greeting to you all.

At a tender age of five years, I started my acting career and ever since then I have been in front of cameras more than anyone can imagine. During the course of my career, I have met amazing people and worked with numerous talented directors. It was truly a one-of-a-kind experience and I will never forget it.

I truly want to thank everyone for the interest and love you have shown me, it was because of you I was able to turn my dreams into a long successful career.

I wish everyone a healthy and happy life. I love you.’”

“Three month ago, the actress revealed that she will be taking a break from acting to recharge. Her announcement of her break came to a surprise to her fans but nonetheless they accepted her decision. Kan Hayan has been acting since the age of five and during her career she has played numerous famous movies and dramas. Her management agency, RM Entertainment, revealed that they were unaware of the announcement but they respect her decision. ”

“There have been some rumors flying around about the actress possibly dating someone but nothing is confirmed,”

Kim Taehyung yawned and turned off the television. He looked down and was greeted with the beautiful scene of Hayan sleeping on his chest. “I am looking forward to the days of us,” Taehyung whispered as his hand moved down.

“I will take care of you,” he said and planted a gentle kiss on her head while his hand caressed Hayan’s baby bump.

448 notes · View notes

elles-writing · 3 years

Text

Flowers for a girl

A/N: This still comes back sometimes, so I thought why not to write it down, though I don't exactly remember some parts of it for some reason (is it ptsd? idk), but in Middle-Earth AU, Kili is little younger (12-13 in human years, in TH he'd be like 16-17 i guess. Reader is 10-11 years old) and it happens before TH events. It's something different than I usually write, because it's based off on my personal experiences, so...yeah.

I wanted to write it down mainly for myself, to accept my past. If this is happening to you, please seek for help!! Better be safe than sorry. If you'd needed to, my ask box and messages are open, if you need to talk.

Warnings/triggers: description of emotional and physical bullying, body shaming, very low self esteem of reader, hints of swearing, eating disorder thoughts, mention of catcalling

If any of these is triggering you, please don't read this story!! Even if there is fluff, there are still these.

"Look at that fatty," one of the boys laughed into her direction. Y/n felt tears swelling in her eyes.

Don't cry, don't cry.

"How much do you weight? I bet as much as a pig!"

"You are so ugly and fat!" The other one said and pushed her. Y/n tried to do anything, but she was too scared.

"No, give it back, that's mine!" She said, when the boys took her sketchbook.

"Look at those drawings, they're like so bad," one of them pointed at them.

"Give it to me back!" She tried to grab him, but he put his arm up.

Don't cry, please, don't cry, not now...

"Ah, then come and get it!" He runned away, and Elle tried to catch him, but he was quicker.

"Ha! You out of breath already, you ugly fat pig? C'mon, come for it!" Him and other boys laughed. Y/N tried to catch his shirt, but he was running and jumping around.

"Look at how she jumps, look at her! It's like pudding!" They laughed. Y/N felt tears to come up into her eyes.

Don't cry, not now, you can't...

"Look, she's gonna cry!" You looked away, blinking furiously.

You can't cry in front of them.

"Leave her alone!" A voice came from behind the boys. They all looked back at him.

Y/N couldn't see him, she was shorter than them, and they were around her in a circle.

"Or what?" Said one.

"Look, the fatty got a boyfriend, eww!" One of the boys, and Y/N wanted to hide somewhere. She felt scared, shameful, and embarrassed.

Who would have ever loved her?

"Look, she's not speaking," they pushed her and Elle let out a surprised gasp as she fell to the ground.

"I'm saying it again, leave her alone," the other boy said. She looked around, and noticed him looking at her. She blushed, and looked away. He was handsome.

She knew she will hear about it later.

"Or what? What are you?"

"I'm Kili, from the line of Durin, and I would suggest you to get out, if you don't want me to kill you," he growled out, and Y/N felt fear rising in her. Would he hurt her?

Kili pointed the tip of one of his daggers to the main boy's throat, who then quickly took his friends and went away. They even threw her her sketchbook back.

"Did they hurt you?" Kili asked, then looked down at her for the first time.

She refused to look at him at first, but then she did. She was scared, and reminded Kili of a bunny.

She could be around ten years old. She was a human, he guessed, based on her ears.

"No, I'm...I'm okay," Y/N whispered and looked away.

"Thank you," she muttered.

"What happened? Why did they followed you?" Y/N looked down in her lap.

"I was drawing and reading here. I think they seen me, and went after me...it's been my safe place," You whispered.

"I can stay with you, in case they would come back," Kili offered before he thought of it. At this point, he was sitting down next to her.

"I-I don't know. They would laugh at both of us..." she said quietly, fearing of a wave of laugh. Kili furrowed his brows.

"How long has this been happening to you?"

"For over a year..." you said.

"I'm Y/n," she said a little awkwardly.

"I'm Kili," Kili introduced himself, remembering how his mother taught him to introduce himself.

"So that's decided, I'm staying with you," he said, and muttered some curses in Khuzdul, as he thought about the group.

"H-here, take my coat. It's getting cold," he said. She smiled nervously.

"Don't worry, I won't let them hurt you anymore," He offered her a smile, and she decided to take his offer, though she hoped he won't comment on her warming up face, or her body. She liked him, he was not just handsome, but actually kind to her.

It has never happened to her ever before, with a guy, who was a stranger...

The coat was big on her (that was a huge relief) and she cuddled into it.

"So, what are we going to do now?"

"Well, I-" Y/N didn't finished her sentence, because the first drop fell on her head, and other quickly started following. She gasped and quickly put her belongings to her bag. As she finished, it was raining heavily now. Her hair was soaking wet, sticking to her head.

Now he will see how I'm ugly, and laugh at me and call me names, and- she wanted to cry. Kili noticed her expression.

"So they did hurt you? Where is it?" Y/n shook her head, as they walked in the heavy rain.

"N-no, I just...I hope the sketchbook didn't got wet," she decided for the safer version.

"But you got wet. Where do you live?"

"Well...around twenty minutes of walk," Y/N said, so if anything, he wouldn't try to find her, though she was kind. But just to be safe.

"I'll take you home with me, it's not that far," Kili offered, and you quickly turned to him. He was kind, but her parents warned her about going somewhere with strangers.

"I-I think it's okay, thank you for your offer,"

"You are going to get wet to bone if you keep walking," Kili said and Y/N looked at him, but quickly looked away. The rain sticked Kili's hair and clothes to his body, and she blushed.

He surely has a girlfriend, don't be stupid, she snapped at herself.

He would never want to be with you, you are a child, and he is older. And he is super kind and handsome.

"Alright, then...I will go with you," you said unsurely. She thought she would think of something, if anything would go wrong. Plus, he was a prince. Y/N doubted he would do anything like this, if he was a prince.

"Amad, I'm home!" Kili said as he closed the door behind him. Y/N curiously looked around. It was a nice small house, with the smell of bread hanging in the air.

"Come with me," Kili said, and as Y/N was about to make a step, she noticed the puddle, and how she was soaked.

Before Y/N knew it, she was sitting in clean dry clothes, borrowed from Kili, wrapped in sweater and a blanket, sipping on warm tea.

"Kili, who is this?" Dis asked her son quietly. Kili looked at the human girl.

"Well, some boys called her names, so I went there, and then started raining, so I told her to come with me, because she told me she lives futher away, and she was soaking wet already..." Dis nodded, though she eyed her son, if he wasn't hiding anything.

"Where do you live, dearie?" Dis asked the little girl, who shyly looked around.

"I live near that small forest, my family owns multiple fields, and we work there," she admitted to the woman, who introduced herself as Dis.

"Would you like to have anything else to eat?" She offered her. Y/N shook her head. She didn't wanted to embarrass herself, and look like all she could do was to eat.

"No, thank you for your offer," she smiled, and carefully sipped on her tea.

The rain stopped, and Dis went with the girl where she lived, to explain what happened, and make sure she was safe.

Kili didn't seen the girl for next couple days, but when he was on the hunt in the forests, he overheard a conversation.

"He was cute, brown eyes and he was kind to me," Smile stretched across his lips, as he recognized that voice. He wasn't considered as too attractive among his kin, but hearing this made his heart warm up.

"Blue eyes are prettier, aren't they?" a voice of another girl said. Y/N was quiet.

"Well, they just are. Brown eyes aren't that pretty," the girl said.

"Don't you think so?" She turned to Y/N.

"W-well, um, depends on a person, I think?" The other girl got up.

"They are prettier." Kili could clearly see how Y/N looked down, and she seemed to feel sad.

He walked away, with thoughts of Y/N in his head, when he suddenly overheard some voices in the distance.

"Do you think we will find the pig today?"

"Probably. Her and her ugly drawings."

"It's not just her drawings who is ugly," the boys laughed.

"Do you remember her? 'Don't do that,' and then she went and started swearing back at us,"

"We are going to get her back, don't worry. She's slow runner, what about if we would take her things and made her run around? She would lose some weight at least."

"Great idea," other boys said. Kili felt his blood boiling.

How dare they to talk about her this way?

As the boys walked along, Kili prepared to scare them a little, but then he overheard another things.

"The guy who protected her, he has horrible taste in girls."

"Yeah, what a jerk. And those eyes the small fat pig made on him," one of them widely opened his eyes and wildly started blinking. The other boys were laughing.

Kili gripped his bow. He didn't knew the girl too much, but nobody deserved to be treated this way.

His arrows found their target quickly. The boys stopped, and looked around. Kili noticed they were really afraid, and smirked to himself.

When he came back home with two rabbits, he decided to go look around again. The sun was still not setting, so he still had some time.

His thoughts took him far away, and he didn't noticed he stepped on something, that felt like a pencil. He looked down, and realized it was a few pencils, hidden in grass, and when he looked around, he noticed sketchbook, hidden in old willow. If he wouldn't know what to look for, or didn't had as swift eyes, he wouldn't ever notice it.

He took the sketchbook out. It was familiar, and though he felt a little guilty, his curiousity was stronger.

He noticed a few sketches of trees, flowers and attempts of drawing people. They all were made with precision. They were not as realistic, but that certainly didn't mean they were not nice. It was drawn by someone, who was still learning, but truly excited about it.

Kili put it back carefully, and got back home.

It's been a few weeks, when he met the girl again. He came home with Fili from sword training, and his eyes widened when he noticed Dis with Y/N, chatting in the kitchen.

"Hi," she greeted them shyly.

"We have first strawberries, so I thought I would bring some for you," she shyly looked at Kili.

"Stop it," you muttered. Kili rose his brow.

"Oh, what is it?" He looked her into face, and noticed her shy smile, while he was grinning.

"You made me obsessed with these strawberry cakes your grandma bakes, can I have another one?" He made puppy eyes. Y/N sighed.

"Fine. But don't distract me, okay?" Y/N handed him the sweet pastry, and Kili winked at her.

"You're the best," He kissed her cheek quicker, than he thought of it. They both deeply blushed.

"Um, thank you, I suppose," Y/N muttered, and looked back into her sketchbook.

Meantime, when Kili chewed on his cake, Fili came back from his and Kili's room, and started reading a book. He started laughing, and Kili quickly took a look what was his brother laughing about.

"C'me read this, Y/N, this is so funny!" He said, but his smile froze, as he noticed her ashamed expression.

"What happened, Bunnie?" He used the nickname he gave her, because she loved bunnies. Y/N sighed.

"Well, um...it's embarrassing," she whispered.

"Neither of us will laugh at you, I promise," Fili said, and the girl looked at both of them. She took a deep breath.

"Icannotread," she muttered, and quickly looked away.

"You can't...read?" Y/N nodded shamefuly.

"It's, um...the school is too far for me to go alone there, so, um...yeah." The brothers shared a look, which Y/N took in different meaning. She felt tears in her eyes, but Fili was quick enough to notice.

"No, we won't laugh at you, Y/N!" He said and pulled the girl into a bear hug. Kili quickly joined.

"Yeah, Bunnie, don't worry. We would never laugh at you," Y/N relaxed in the hug.

"Thank you," she muttered, and hugged them back.

They spend rest of the day by teaching her how to read, and write. Soon after, Y/N started studying with the brothers.

"You are distracting me," Y/N muttered, as Kili was kicking his legs back and forth. It was summer - over four months after they met. Y/N sat up on the tree, and Kili was sitting down on branch a little lower.

"How can be that possible?" He looked at her innocently. Y/N blushed, when she seen his big brown eyes in sunlight. They were in shades of melted gold and caramel.

"The tree is shaking, and I want to enjoy reading this book without distractions."

"I'm not a distraction!" Kili pouted.

"You are," Y/N offered him a smile, and got back to her book. Kili pouted a little more.

"Will you read it to me, then?" Y/N looked at him, and dramatically sighed.

"Fine. But let's sit down on the ground," Kili got down, and then he carefully placed his hands around her waist, Y/N placed her hands on his shoulders for support, and he put her down.

Y/N sat down, her back leaning against the tree, and Kili placed his head on her lap. Y/N smoothed her skirt and placed her book next to her, so she could read it, while playing with Kili's hair.

Y/N was the only one allowed to touch Kili's hair, aside from Kili's family. She never understood why dwarves were such touchy about their hair, but again, she was the same way, so she fully respected it.

Kili fell asleep after a while, on the sound of her voice.

"You the last cake I said was mine!" Y/N growled out and Kili laughed, but he quickly stopped laughing.

After the months of spending time together, running around the fields and archery lessons, she got much stronger, so her punches had strength and would hurt. Kili and Fili would never hit or fight with a girl, and though Y/N became like another part of the family, only tickle fights were allowed with her.

"You-you Kili!" Y/N was more upset than angry, and Kili started laughing again, as he was jumping around and trying to get away from her punches.

"Stop, Bunnie," and tickled her.

"N-NO-T T-HAT P-PLAC-E, K-KI-LI!" Kili grinned.

"Awn, who is ticklish?"

"I ha-te you!" Y/N slid her hand across the back of his neck, and Kili let out a squeal.

"N-NOO!" You giggled as you started tickling him.

"Gotcha," You sticked out your tongue on him, and quickly runned away to hide, before he would get you back.

You runned, but didn't noticed when you bumped into someone.

"Aah, long time no see," a voice said, and you shivered.

"You squeled on us, huh? Is that everything you can do? You loser," the boy said. Y/N kept quiet, with her head down.

"Oh, look guys, she's going to cry! What are you gonna do? Run to your mommy, or your friends? Go on, you tettle-tale." Elle felt tears in her eyes, and quickly looked up.

"I'm not a tettle-tell, I-"

"That's what you say, and then you will go and tell your mommy about 'the big boys are bullying you'," they laughed. Elle wished she could hide somewhere, and try to cry. She wasn't able to cry, even when she was alone, as she learned to hide her tears.

Whoosh

And then a yelp from the boys.

Y/N looked up and noticed the arrow in one of the surrounding trees. It was Kili's arrow.

"You told someone to spy?! You will pay for this later," one of the boys said, and then another two arrows pierced through the air. The boys quickly walked away, leaving her alone.

Kili runned out from behind the trees, and pulled her close to his chest. He started saying something angrily in Khuzdul, and Y/N was sure those were swear words.

"Shh, it's okay, I'm here," Kili whispered, when he finished his quick session of swear words. Y/N shook in his embrace.

"Let's go home," he said. They picked up his arrows, and went home.

Kili made Y/N tea and gave her his favourite sweater, which also happened to be her favourite as well.

When Y/N went to sleep, Kili checked her every few minutes. He felt guilty. He should've protected her better, stay with her.

He carefully sat to the edge of the bed, and slid his thumb softly over her cheek.

"I will make sure they get what they deserve," he muttered and softly caressed her cheek.

"Sure, I will go with Bella and Alia, you don't need to worry about me, I will be safe," Elle gave Kili a smile. Her two friends from her neighbourhood, with who she enjoyed to spend time too.

"I just don't want you to get hurt," he shrugged, and sharpened his dagger. Y/N started on brushing her hair.

"The boys won't do anything, if they meet us in a group. Plus Fili gave me that sharp dagger for my fourteenth birthday, I always keep in my shoe."

Kili looked at his friend, focused on brushing out the knots in her hair. Y/N grew up and changed the way she reacted to what other people told her. But that wasn't just what changed.

She grew up into a young woman. She was beautiful, and some girls were jealous of her because of it, but luckily, Y/N had great friends.

"You home, sleeping beauty?"

"Oh, of course I am!" Kili grinned as he heard Bella's voice.

"No, you are snoring beauty."

"That's Fili!"

"That's both of you," Y/N rolled her eyes, but chuckled. She and Kili said their goodbyes to each other, and her friends she knew for three and two years, turned to her.

"So, how was your date?" Y/N blushed.

"He gave me flowers for my birthday, so what? That's what friends do." Y/N turned to Alia to change the topic.

"How about you and girls?" The blonde rolled her eyes.

"Some of them are arrogant, but other than that it's good. But I have you, so I don't care," she grinned and hugged her friends around their shoulders.

"So, what do you-" Bella started, when a group of boys passed them. They whistled, and started talking about them. Y/N's cheeks blushed, as she overheard them.

"Don't listen to those idiots, they still share one brain cell," Bella and Y/N said at once, and they all laughed, though Y/N didn't felt any happiness. Her instinct to run and hide from these boys was still there.

And then we arrived to the market. I still looked around if they were not there, but luckily not, Y/N wrote down the sentence, and put the notebook aside. She felt happy they didn't recognized her, but it still stressed her out. She looked over to the bow and quier with arrows Kili gifted her, when she had thirteenth birthday.

"Trouble with sleeping?" Kili's raspy voice appeared behind her.

"Yeah," Y/N sighed out, and pat on the bed next to her.

"C'me here, snoring beauty," Kili chuckled at that nickname.

"Ugh, again?" You nodded with a grin.

As you laid in safety of Kili's arms (and him being soundly asleep), your mind turned into a specific direction. Would Kili like you? Not just as a friend, but...more?

You'd fall asleep like this, if you had bad dreams. Kili fell asleep first, and softly snored, but he looked cute while doing so. You shook your head, and decided to listen to his breath, and soon, you fell asleep yourself.

The memories of the times you used to be bullied by those boys came back. You didn't felt confident at all, and mostly sad. You couldn't fall asleep at night, and you often found yourself looking over your body. Fat pig, that's how they called her. Was she still...like this? Would she ever be pretty enough?

It's been a while, since she cried before sleep, and then fell asleep afterwards.

The brothers noticed something was going on, when their friend seemed to be bothered by something. So, they decided to do thing they always did, which was making flowercrowns together.

"You're messing it up, Fili," you giggled, when the blonde prince's flowercrown fell apart.

For fifth time in twenty minutes.

"Well, I'll go get some fresh flowers, over here," he pointed to the carpet of daisies in the golden light of setting sun.

"Guess who," Said smooth voice next to your ear, when his hands covered your face.

"Hmm, is that you, Ki?"

"Who else."

Kili sat in front of you, and placed a flowercrown on your head. You both stood up, and he twirled you around.

"I've got you something else," he whispered.

"Flowers," you looked happily over the small fresh bouquet of wild flowers, and felt warmth spreading in you. You looked into his chocolate eyes.

"Kili, thank you so much, it's...it's beautiful,"

"Not nearly as beautiful as you," he looked deeply into your eyes.

"Flowers for a girl," he said, with a slightly pink-tinted cheeks.

"Now finally braid her hair," the lion prince's voice interrupted the romantic scene.

#kili #the hobbit #fili #kili x reader #fili x reader #fanfiction #the hobbit fanfiction #x reader #reader insert

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hotchley · 4 years

Note

Hello I am craving some Hotchniss angst😩👍

Haha same... only head is empty and I’m technically in school.

Erm whenever I want Hotchniss angst I go and read He’s Not Taking His Medicine by @whump-town because... HEART BREAKING! Also I have written one (1) Hotchniss thing in my life and it wasn’t even that brilliant it was just... an introspective (?) piece.... SO HAVE SOME HEADCANONS INSTEAD! I low-key hate all of these

tw: child abuse, prescribed medication, depression, disordered eating, character death right at the end

Hotch is terrible at accepting love so most of the time, when Emily tries to do something nice or sweet for him he’s on edge and wondering when the other shoe is going to drop

Sometimes Emily gets incredibly angry with Hotch because they are both human and their relationship is not perfect but every time they argue, Hotch just shuts down and acts like he’s fine and he gives in because he’s scared of her leaving, just like everybody else

There are days where Hotch struggles to take his medication and not even Emily’s gentle coaxing can convince him to take every single pill and she tries to be patient with him but it’s difficult because she just wants him to be okay and doesn’t understand why he’s so self destructive

There are days where he can’t be the father that Jack needs because he cannot get out of bed and he hates himself for that because surely he should be better than that and Emily doesn’t know what to say because at the end of the day, she is not Jack’s parent and he is not her responsibility

Sometimes it’s impossible to get him to eat and on those days, all she wants to do is snap at him and tell him to get a grip because she isn’t sure how much longer either of them can go on for

If Hotch has a nightmare, he won’t tell Emily what happened because he’s scared of judgment and no matter how many times she says she won’t, he never believes her

There are days where he is so terrified of becoming his father that he locks himself in the bedroom with trembling hands and Emily has to be the one to sit and comfort Jack because Aaron cannot stand the sight of his son

For months- maybe even years- after Foyet’s attack, Aaron will not Emily change the bandages or clean him up or see him without a shirt on and she knows it’s not her place to push him, but it still hurts because she just wants him to know that he is loved

When he has a nightmare, he tends to kick and flail his arms around. He does not know, but he once kicked Emily in the stomach. It did not bruise and she knows it was an accident- hell, how many times has she shared a bed with someone and elbowed them- but she does not tell him because she knows it will destroy him

Aaron proposes to Emily after the whole Ian Doyle thing partly because he loves her and partly because he’s afraid of losing her without her realising just how much he loves her

She’s not the same person she was before and if she burns, she will not bring him down with her, so she says that she can’t and it leaves him heartbroken and angry- but he’s not angry at her, he’s angry at himself because once again, he’s not enough

There was one time- only one time but he remembers it perfectly- where she flinched because of him. They were in an interrogation. He was playing bad cop and as his hand hit the table, she flinched. He never forgave himself. In fairness, neither did she because it wasn’t her that pulled him out of the freezing shower, still fully-clothed. It was Reid.

They’re both terrible at saying I Love You. Emily is slightly better and can say it more easily, but Hotch never believes her and there are days where he wonders why on earth he can’t just say it

During the biggest argument they ever had- neither really knows what happened- Emily said that the only reason they were together was because he couldn’t have Haley. She didn’t mean it. She never meant it. She was angry and being cruel and hurting but that didn’t matter the damage was done. Things weren’t the same after that.

He always feels guilty that a part of him still loves Haley because when he loved Haley he only loved her. Emily keeps trying to tell him it’s okay because that woman was the love of his life, the mother of his child and is no longer alive but he never feels like he is enough

Hotch already had his doubts that he was good enough for Emily. And then they told the team. Everyone was giving him the: “If you hurt her” speech and they meant it to be funny, but he just assumed that they meant he was going to ruin her the way he ruined everything he touched

After her death- which he couldn’t be told was fake because it was now public knowledge they were partners so that duty fell to JJ and Rossi because I say so- he sprayed her perfume everywhere and tried to remember if he had said I Love You the last time he saw her alive (he hadn’t)

Alternatively, after her death- which he was aware was fake- he didn’t change a single thing about their apartment, nor did he move anything around because he would get her home no matter what. The only time he allowed himself to cry was when he picked up an old sweater of his that she always wore and it didn’t smell like her

Oh and my personal favourite that I’ve never written: they go long-distance when she moves to London because she still loves him but she can’t be part of the BAU anymore. When she gets a phone call from Dave, she rejects it because she’s busy and mildly irritated at something that Hotch said. Penny texts her saying she needs to come immediately and it’s the shortest thing she’s ever said so Emily books a ticket. It’s too late when she gets there. Hotch is gone and he kept asking for Em and the team kept saying she was coming even though they weren’t completely sure because they thought he would hold on but he couldn’t. And he’s always been cold, but she touches his body and it’s unnatural. His headstone says loving father and husband. Not because of her, but because of Haley

#criminal minds #hotchniss #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #tw character death #tw disordered eating #tw medication #tw child abuse #tw depression

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jazy3 · 4 years

Text

Thoughts on Grey’s Anatomy: 17X7

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

They did it! I can’t believe it! They actually killed DeLuca off! I’m so happy right now! As long time readers will know I have never been a Andrew DeLuca fan and I speculated back in the summer that they might be planning to write his character off after it was revealed that the planned finale for Season 16 included an explosion that was supposed to claim the life of one of the characters. I speculated that DeLuca was the most likely candidate with Tom and Jackson being the most likely runners up because I felt that they had gone as far as they could with DeLuca’s character and there wasn’t much left for him to do on the show.

Add that to the fact that the actor who plays DeLuca said a bunch of stuff to the press last year where he spoiled some pretty major plot points and stated that he knew things about where the show was going when he hadn’t even read a single script for the season yet and I was pretty sure his days were numbered. That being said, the show had teased us a bunch of times about firing, killing, or writing off the character during seasons 15 and 16 and they never went through with it so a big part of me was skeptical that they ever would.

But it turns out I was right! His days were numbered and they wound up killing him off in the Mid-Season Premiere! I’m still in shock. It hasn’t really sunk in yet to be honest. This episode honestly made me wish we’d gotten to see the remaining episodes and finale of Season 16 as planned. Based on what we know it looks like the plan was for Richard, Bailey, Meredith, and Carina to stage an intervention, DeLuca was to go away and get treatment and return to the hospital only to die tragically in an explosion.

Season 17 would have opened with the characters finding out about that and mourning his death and I think it would have been interesting to see Meredith navigate that as in the Finale Hayes asked her out and she said yes. It seems likely that if the COVID-19 Pandemic had not hit when it did and shut down production and altered filming for this season we would have seen Meredith and Hayes go out for a drink and start dating.

Seeing Meredith navigate the loss of her ex-boyfriend who she was no longer close to while in the beginning stages of her relationship with Hayes would have been very interesting and I’m sorry we didn’t get to see that. I’m also sorry that due to safety restrictions Meredith and Hayes haven’t had much screen time this season, but it looks like that’s about to change as I’ll get into a bit later.

Back to the episode at hand. I never liked DeLuca as a character and I hated him with Meredith so I’m glad that they killed him off and that we never have to deal with that nonsense again. I’m glad that they caught the human trafficker Opal and took those people down. I was never super invested in that storyline so I’m glad they wrapped that up. I feel so bad for Carina though. She’s a great character and is wonderfully acted by Stefania Spampinato.

My heart broke for her in this episode because while I won’t miss her brother I know that she will and will be absolutely gutted when she finds out that he’s died especially after she worked so hard to get him help and treatment for his Bipolar Disorder. I’m glad she has Maya there to support her.

LOL at Bailey sleeping through the whole damn episode! What did I miss indeed! That poor woman slept through DeLuca getting stabbed, almost dying, not dying, having surgery twice, and then actually dying as well as the other shenanigans going on at the hospital. I loved that she was asleep at Meredith’s bedside especially after they spent a good chunk of Season 16 fighting.

I also feel really bad for Richard in that he’s obviously grateful that DeLuca helped save his life and wanted to help and when Owen turned him down because it wasn’t a good idea for him to scrub in Richard lurked in the background in the OR gallery the whole time to make sure that everything was okay. Plus he can’t talk to Meredith about it right now because she’s in a coma which must be so difficult for him. The extra stress also puts his sobriety at risk and that worries me.

I got to be honest I am struggling to understand Teddy’s point of view this season. She’s being really awful! She’s being cruel to Tom. She was cruel to Owen. I don't know what Teddy expected to have happen. Both Cristina and Amelia walked away from their marriages to Owen and moved on with their lives in large part because they realized Owen was in love with Teddy and always would be.

And then she finally gets what she’s wanted all these years and the minute she realizes Amelia’s baby might be Owen’s and not Link’s she runs back to Tom and has a several months long affair with him and then drops him like a hot potato as soon as she realizes that the baby is Link’s and after Owen finds out about the affair she refuses to talk to Tom for months and then comes crawling back to him and wants to be his friend after Owen makes it clear he wants nothing to do with her. WTF?

I feel bad for Tom. I really like his character. He’s super interesting and complex and he deserves better than someone who treats him like that. Tom is a good man at heart and he treated Teddy like gold and in return she’s done nothing but break his heart and stomp all over him when he’s already down. He deserves someone better. I’ve never been an Owen fan, but honestly Teddy is behaving so horribly I’m on his side on this one.

They had some great scenes in the OR together, but Teddy clearly read too much into it. Every time he gives her a crumb she’s convinced he’s forgiven her and wants to give her a second chance and that’s not it at all. Owen has been clear. He doesn’t forgive her and he doesn’t want to get back together with her. All he wants is to co-parent peacefully and work together as colleagues because he values her skills as a surgeon. That’s it.

It was cute to see Teddy Face Timing with Leo. I’m glad they are finding safe ways to incorporate the kids into the story. Speaking of which, the scene where Amelia and Maggie tell Zola that her Mom has been placed on a vent and she might not come off it was heartbreaking. That kid has grown into her own as an actress and really holds her own in that scene.

Her line about how she didn’t want them to tell Bailey or Ellis yet because they’re too young to understand broke me heart. Zola’s only a few years older than them but she’s old enough to understand the impact of what’s happening in a way that they can’t. And she remembers how hard it was when Derek died. When Cristina left. When Alex left. She doesn’t want to put her siblings though the same thing especially when Alex’s departure is still so fresh for them and they never got a chance to really know their Dad. The fact that Zola can recognize that at such a young age is raw and heart breaking.

We saw Winston and Maggie reconnect this episode which would have been super hot and enjoyable if Meredith hadn’t just been put on a ventilator! The scene where Jackson showed up looking for Maggie was too funny! I loved the scenes with Jackson, Link, and Winston in the backyard having beers! Winston has a great sense of humour and seems to be a calming presence. I like the idea of those three being friends.

Link’s face when he realized that Winston doesn’t know that Maggie and Jackson used to date and are also step-siblings. I’ll be interested to see Winston’s reaction when that comes out. I loved Link’s rant about how worried he was about Meredith and what her declining health and potential death was doing and would do to Amelia. Did anyone else catch that he called Amelia his wife? I’m calling it. They’re foreshadowing an Amelink wedding!

I liked hearing Jackson talk about how Meredith is family and they’re all worried and Winston’s comments about how all they can do is just keeping moving physically and metaphorically. I’m also loving Amelia and Maggie’s wardrobes this season. Their sweaters in this episode were gorgeous! Hats off to the wardrobe department! They’re looking good!

I loved seeing Jo and Hayes work together again because I love their friendship, but to be honest I was expecting more of the friendly teasing and banter of last season where she egged him on about Meredith and they traded barbs. Their scenes in this episode were a lot more intense and agitated. She totally played him with that line about Meredith.

He kept saying no to taking Luna to see her Mom and so Jo made it personal for him. If Meredith asked to see her kids Hayes would never say no and he would move heaven and earth for her. By making that connection Jo got him to agree to her plan. I also love that the reason he kept saying no in the beginning was because of what happened to Meredith.

She went from laughing and joking to being put on a vent and he doesn’t want to run the risk with any other patient and it’s obviously eating him up inside. He misses her. He cares about her and he’s clearly terrified about the possibility of her not waking up. That being said, Jo’s line where she compared Alex leaving her for Izzie because he found out he had kids he didn’t know he had and sending her a heartfelt letter to Hayes spending years watching his wife and the mother of his two boys die of cancer was way out of line. Super not okay. I really think that Jo is going to adopt that baby. I think that’s why they are setting up her interest in OBGYN.

In other news, Nico is still a terrible boyfriend to Levi. I honestly don’t know why Levi puts up with him. Levi really shone in this episode I think. He felt responsible for what happened, but instead of bungling things and making things worse like he might have done in the past he got out of his own way and asked Dr. Khan who was a vascular surgeon in Pakistan prior to immigrating to the U.S. to take his place.

I feel like this episode implies that the Beach is limbo now as I don’t know how else DeLuca could have ended up there as he wasn’t someone who was close to Meredith the way that Derek, George, Richard, and Bailey are. Not sure how I feel about that as I was kind of liking the is it a COVID dream is it the afterlife ambiguity.

Onto next week’s promo! I’m not excited that they appear to be setting up an episode in which the other characters mourn DeLuca’s passing as none of the other characters apart from Carina were really that close to him. They spent the last two seasons establishing that everyone hated his guts, considered him a nuisance, and only put up with him because they had to. So to me the other characters mourning him doesn’t feel authentic or real. It just feels forced.

There are several things I am excited about though. Seeing Maggie’s reaction to his death I think will be interesting. She was visibly upset and ran to his side when Alex beat him up in Season 13 and mourning the loss of your ex-boyfriend who you were no longer close to while being in a committed relationship with someone new I think is an interesting dynamic. She’s kinda standing in for Meredith here because she’s on a vent.

I’d like to see Catherine support Richard and make up for her horrible behaviour last season. And the best thing of all: Hayes!!! In the promo trailer we see Hayes sitting at Meredith’s bedside talking to her about how she needs to fight and how they all need her to fight. Bring it on! It’s about damn time! And Derek’s back and he’s … fishing? I’m excited to see what happens there and if they actually get to talk and have a real conversation this time. It has also been announced that Sarah Drew will be returning for a cameo as Dr. April Kepner this season so I’m excited for that!

Until next time!

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wellimaginethat · 4 years

Text

Control: Part One

Pairing: Connor Rhodes x (female) Reader

Word Count: 1459

Author’s Note: So this request kinda hit home because I battled an eating disorder my entire teenage life and the first two years of my twenties, and still has ‘relapses’ of unhealthy behavior every once in a while, so this is very much based on my own personal experiences but also some research that I’ve done. The request also gave me the option of writing it for either Connor Rhodes or Crockett Marcel, and I had a hard time choosing between the two because I love them both, so I flipped a coin. I might end up writing a version for Crockett if anyone wants me to

Trigger Warning(s): READER HAS AN EATING DISORDER PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU!!!

Disclaimer: I don’t owe nor am I affiliated with any of the Chicago shows, I just like to play with the characters

Summary: Connor finds out that his girlfriend has an eating disorder and tries to talk to her about it, but she won’t let him.

Y/N = Your Name

I AM AWARE THIS MIGHT NOT BE CORRECT FOR EVERYONE BUT THIS IS BASED OFF OF MY PERSONAL EXPERIENCE

You couldn’t remember when it started or how. What had been the tipping point.

All you know is that it made you feel in control, it made you feel good when you could keep your weight level or even drop some weight. However, no matter what the scale told you, every time you looked in the mirror you just didn’t see yourself as being thin enough.

And it didn’t matter what the people around you told you. You kept doing what you were doing.

You had the signs, but you hid them and played them off. You were so good at hiding this by now that no one noticed, not even your boyfriend.

At least he hadn’t, yet.

He was mad at himself for not noticing the signs. It seemed so obvious after it had been pointed out to him, and after it was finally pointed out, it felt like it had been screaming at him the entire time. He was a doctor for crying out loud, he should have noticed.

How did he not notice the times you would skip entire meals? Or how you’d excuse yourself to the bathroom right after eating?

Connor couldn’t stop thinking about it. You had been dating for six months and he hadn’t noticed once. It never even crossed his mind that you could have an eating disorder. You seemed fine.

It plagued his mind as he drove home, he pulled his phone out and called you.

“Hey babe.” You greeted him cheerfully.

“Hey.” Connor’s voice immediately tipped you off that something was wrong.

“What’s up?” You asked softly. “Is something wrong?”

Connor hesitated for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Yes, there is. Can you come over?”

That made you worry. “Um, yeah. I can, are you home now?”

“I’m on my way there right now.” Connor told you.

“Alright, yeah. I’ll be right there.” You told him, the worry evident in your voice. “I’ll see you in a few.”

“Thank you, drive safe.” He told you before hanging up the phone and going to his apartment. He spent the time he waited for you thinking about how to brooch the subject. He couldn’t just flat out ask you, that would get him nowhere.

When you got to his apartment, you hesitated before knocking on the door. Usually, you’d just walk in if you knew he was expecting you, because he had told you that you could months ago, but today was different. You didn’t know what was bothering him and you were worried he was going to break up with you.

Connor pulled the door open and gave you an odd look. “You could’ve just come in, it wasn’t locked.”

You stepped inside. “I didn’t know.” You saw him frown so you clarified. “I didn’t know if you were upset with me or not.”

Connor shook his head and gave you a small smile that did little to reassure you. “No, not at all.”

“But you’re upset.” You said quietly.

“Not with you.” Connor told you softly.

You nodded slowly, looking at him. “Then what’s wrong?”

He shut the door behind you. “Let’s sit.” He motioned towards the living room.

You paused, a new fear overcoming you. “Are you...are you breaking up with me?” You asked quickly, your heart breaking as you tried not to start crying then and there at the idea.

“No.” Connor answered you just as quickly as you had asked the question, shaking his head.

You relaxed a little and nodded slowly. “Then what’s this about?”

Connor hesitated. “Let’s sit down and we can talk about it.” He walked to the couch and took a seat and waited for you to sit.

You slowly walked over and took a seat beside him, looking at him and waiting for a moment. “Connor...is everything okay?”

He didn’t answer you right away, he just looked at you. “Can I ask you something?” He asked calmly, and it made you worry.

You nodded slowly. “Of course.” You answered him softly. “Anything.”

“Dr. Charles pointed out that you share the signs of someone with an eating disorder.” Connor started out calmly.

“What’s your question?” You asked slowly, quietly, trying to pretend like you weren’t getting anxious just from the possibility that Connor might suspect something wasn’t right with your eating habits.

“Do you?” He asked, finally looking at you. You could see it in his eyes that he was worried about you, which you hated. You didn’t want to worry him.

You scoffed and shook your head, trying to play it off like it was a crazy idea. “Of course not.” You told him, looking at him but your eyes not meeting his. You could see it on his face that he didn’t believe you. The way his lips set in a firm line and any hope he had that it wasn’t true vanishing, his eyes filling with worry.

“I can help you.” Connor told you, he was pleading and insistent.

“I don’t know what you think I need help with exactly, I’m fine.” You told him with a shrug of your shoulders, trying to remedy the situation before it got out of hand. “I just told you that I don’t. Plus you’ve seen me eat, Connor. Do I really seem like someone that’s starving herself?”

“Charles didn’t say anorexia.” Connor told you in a quiet voice, eyes watching you as you fidgeted. He was upset with himself because he didn’t notice the signs. He didn’t notice how you always had a blanket over you when you were on the couch, no matter what temperature it was in the apartment. He never noticed the calluses on your knuckles. Or how that, coupled with the fact that you complained about having a sore throat, could mean something more. He blamed himself for not noticing soon.

You frowned deeply, seeing that he was looking at your hands now. “So what? He thinks I’m making myself puke?” You asked, starting to get upset.

“You have the signs.” Connor spoke calmly, trying to keep the situation calm.

You stood up, huffing. “What signs exactly? Huh? Because I’m sure they can be explained.”

You were starting to feel nervous and like you were being backed into a corner, you wrapped your arms around your midsection in an attempt to calm yourself as you took a few steps away from the couch.

“I can help you.” Connor told you again, standing up as well.

You spun around to face him. “I don’t need help, Connor, I’m fine.” You emphasized the word fine. But were you really?

Connor took a step towards you, reaching out, it almost seemed like he was trying to tame a wild animal. Did you seem that upset? “You’re not fine, Y/N. You need help and I can help you.”

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t need help because there’s nothing wrong with me!” You shouted at him.

Connor took a deep breath to calm himself and stared at you with a firm expression. “Y/N.” He spoke calmly, and for some reason it made your skin crawl and a fire start in your chest.

“Don’t.” You said in a warning tone, you wore a serious expression and Connor could tell you were angry.

“Just talk to me.” Connor spoke softly, trying to defuse the situation before it got any more out of hand. “I just want to help you.”

“For the last time, I don’t need your help! I have this under control!” Your voice was somewhere between a yell and a scream, and it broke a few times when you hit the highs.

He brought his hands up slightly, almost in surrender, but it just kept reminding you of how someone approaches a wild animal, or a dangerous person. Did he think you were dangerous? “Y/N, please.” He said softly, seeing the pain behind the anger. “I’m not judging you, I just want to help.”

You shook your head ferociously, turning on your heel and heading towards the door.

“Where are you going?” Connor asked, following you and reaching out to grab your wrist to stop you.

“Away from you.” You told him, pulling free from his grasp.

“Y/N, please.” He repeated, and when you looked at him, you wish you hadn’t because it broke you to see that you were hurting him. “Don’t go.”

“Why should I stay here when you won’t believe me?” You asked angrily, turning and pulling the door open and walking out, slamming it shut behind you.

You took the stairs, feeling like you needed to keep moving. So that’s what you did, first the stairs, then out the door to the city, then you just kept walking on the sidewalk.

PART TWO COMING SOON

#connor rhodes x reader #connor rhodes imagine #connor rhodes imagines #chicago med imagines #chicago med imagine #tw eating disorder

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shirtlesssammy · 4 years

Text

15x16: Drag Me Away (From You)

Then:

Castiel confesses a bombshell to Dean

Now:

We pick up right where we left off. Dean and Cas are about to share mutual I love yous and ---. A man checks into a motel late at night. The man is nervous entering the room, but reassures himself that he “can do this.” He sets up shop, and by “shop”, I mean he starts hitting the bottle.

Travis gets a text from Caitlin asking him why he would go “back to that place.” The creepy ring he grasps as he tells himself it was never real tells me it was VERY REAL. Get out of there, Travis!

Alas, it’s very real and he’s murdered by Closet Ghost Boy.

Sam and Dean are on the case!

Oh wait, I guess they knew the guy back in the halcyon days of their youth and they’re actually heading to his funeral. Sam recaps recent events, including Cas bailing on the fam. Then he asks if Dean and him are fighting again.

AND IT SENDS ME. #SamKnows

Dean denies knowing anything (AHEM. I sense DRAMA by the end of this episode --I’d normally say this would be left for the end of the season, but we’re really at the end of the season and the END OF THE SHOW...what’s with all the manufactured drama??) Dean then gets a text from Cas asking if he’s told Sam.

That’s a negative.

*Flashback Alert*

January 1993

Dean’s about 14 or 15 and Sam is 10. They’re dropped off by John to chill at a motel while he heads out on a hunt. Sam’s hiding something under his coat, and with a little prodding from Dean, it’s revealed to be a college guide.

#NerdAlert

Also, angst alert, I guess. This sets up the rift between brothers. Sam wants a normal life, Dean’s happy being a good little soldier. (Hmmm, something tells me neither of them will be in The Life when this is all said and done…)

Sam laments his life but unpacks his bag anyway.

Dean, meanwhile, heads to the vending machine to grab dinner. A young girl and her younger brother catch him stealing and introduce themselves as the mysterious Caitlin and Travis. And the young Travis is the DEAD KID.

They exchange life stories and Caitlin insults Dean’s Precious.

Present Day Sam and Dean meet up with Caitlin again.

(Mid recap mind-melt: THERE ARE FIVE EPISODES LEFT! What are we doing here????)

She tells them that the funeral was last week, but she needed them to help her. “I think she’s back.”

*Flashback Alert*

Travis was her first “victim”. He attempts to get a candy bar from the vending machine, and her gnarly hand attacks him instead. Travis DOES NOT deal well with it.

The group gathers in the motel room and Travis is upset that no one else saw the old lady in the candy machine. Dean tells Caitlin and Travis that monsters are real. Dean asks if weird things are happening in the town.

Apparently kids go missing in this town.

And in the present day, Dean tells Caitlin that he killed the thing that preys on children, so Travis had to have killed himself.

Team Youth start their investigation.

They think they’ve got things figured out, and Dean is IN CHARGE...or a dumbass even at 14. He heads out alone to fix things. Caitlin follows. (Insert Lucille Bluth gif: Good for her!)

Sam and Travis stay behind to play Boggle. #nerdalert

But seriously, now they’re setting up the idea that SAM might die at the end? No.

Dean and Caitlin continue their explorations, and Caitlin takes their endeavors less than seriously. GIRL. They find a nest, and something Dean freaks out about and pushes Caitlin to leave the area.

Sam and Travis start to spell out very grim Boggle results, when the game shakes and the room goes dark. The hag appears in a tangle of gnarled hair and dirty robes and heads straight for them. Dean and Caitlin burst in just in time! Dean chops off her fingers and gives her a bit of a stabbin’ and the witch evaporates into dust. Her ring is left behind on the floor.

Grown up Dean paces through the motel and encounters a ghostly version of his younger self. Young!Dean mocks him, tells him he failed, and hands him a knife. “You know what you have to do.” Dean sinks to his knees, the knife poised to slice into his heart.

When Sam interrupts him, Dean discovers that he’s been hallucinating everything - even the knife.

Later at the bar, Dean confesses to Sam and Caitlin that he saw the monster’s nest when he was hunting her as a kid. It was full of dead kids around their age. Sam’s horrified and asks why Dean never told him. Sweet bby Sammy, you know why! Though he tried to forget, the experience cursed him with nightmares for a long time. “We were both just kids,” Sam says to Dean’s BIGGEST GUILTY FACE MY GOD. “We used to keep a lot of secrets from each other!” Sam assures him. But that’s toooootally not the case now!

At the adjoining cafe, Dean orders dinner to go when Billie appears. “Working a case? NOW?” she asks. (Mmmmmm yes Billie lay it on us!) She’s fresh from the last of the alternate universes, having just watched it burn alive. (Guys, it was probably squirrel-verse but Boris saved Team Free Squirrel 2.0 for us!) Billie warns Dean that Chuck’s only days away. Amara’s on board and Jack’s ready so...let’s go Team Free Destruction! Dean asks her how she convinced Jack to turn himself into a bomb. Billie flips that right back on Dean. She told Jack that destroying Chuck and Amara (and incidentally, himself) was the only way to earn Dean’s forgiveness. And just...YEESH EVERYBODY.

Anyway, Billie’s not in Chuck’s book again until the very end, so she bids Dean a broody farewell. “This is on you, Dean.” No presssuuuuure! “I don’t like loose ends. I don’t like disorder,” she scolds. She orders Dean to come clean to Sam about Jack.

At the motel, Sam and Caitlin research monsters. She wonders whether he wants a normal life. GURL there ain’t no normal in Winchester-land. Sam stumbles across an article on Baba Yaga. She wears a ring which contains her heart, and is the source of her power. Caitlin recognizes the ring as belonging to her brother. Her mom had given it to Travis from the lost and found years ago. She heads outside to her car to find it.

In her trunk sits a box of Travis’s belongings. She can’t find the ring and is soon confronted by her dead brother holding the ring and grinning maniacally.

Dean returns with dinner, only to find Sam ready to hunt Baba Yaga and find the now-missing Caitlin. Because the attacks have all been at the motel, they prowl from wing to wing. Dean heads to room 214.

He walks inside, and I am momentarily agog at the wonders of these perhaps final motel rooms of the series. I love that the floor tiles in the rooms echo the Patchwork logo from the prior episode and that the quilt square design itself emulates tradition and family. And all the eyes in the wallpaper!

For Motel Room Science:

Ahem. Anyway. Dean heads inside, only to be instantly trapped behind the slamming door. Suddenly, he’s not in the motel room anymore. He’s back in the cannery, prowling its quiet spaces. He finds the site of the nest and flips back the tarp, only to reveal young Sam’s face lying there. Rattled, he tries to leave. Travis confronts him, but of course it’s not him. Baba Yaga tells him that she’s hungry for delicious people, and starts to throttle Dean.

Sam hears the struggle and heads in, stabbing the witch. Stabbing is distraction enough that Dean can yank the ring off her finger and smash it with the butt of his gun.

Later, Caitlin bids Dean farewell. He confesses to always being afraid and she smiles. “The old you never would have admitted that. What do they say about getting older? You tell the truth more because lies...they don’t make anything better.” Okay, first of all, literally nobody says that. Second, thank you for this theme acorn - I shall settle on my haunches to eat it! Nom nom nom.

Flashback to Dean and Caitlin parting ways as children. Dean hands her a phone number to call if she ever encounters trouble. So...typical kid stuff.

Young Sam asks if anyone ever found the missing kids. Baby Dean lies to his face and tells him that they were never found. John pulls up in the Impala and honks to beckon them out. The boys head out, a team for the moment.

As adults driving in the Impala of Feelings, Sam tries to call Cas. Dean orders him to hang up because he’s got a confession - I mean, update - to make. Billie visited him and told him that it was time to fight Chuck. “And there’s something else,” Dean adds. Jack’s going to die from the encounter and he’s ready and willing to sacrifice himself. Furthermore, Dean tells Sam that he learned this a while ago from Cas before he left.

Sam’s outraged that Dean would keep this from him. “I knew you couldn’t handle it,” Dean shouts at him. “You raise these ethical questions.” (I perk up.) He tries to justify it, but Sam shouts him down in turn.

They drive into the fade-to-black in brooding silence.

Brooding Quotes Lay Fragile Eggs:

I thought your imaginary friend told you it was bad to steal

Don’t you want a partner?

Hunting usually means going to gross places

Shoved it down the ol’ memory hole!

Not to make light of the death star galactic genocide, but what else is new?

I’ve seen this movie before

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn spoilers #spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #spn 15x16 #drag me away (from you)#supernatural season 15

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arigatouiris · 4 years

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hushed feelings // kuroo tetsuroo x reader

Author’s Note: Alright, normally I’d write something flirty for my favorite boi Tetsu but I’ve been feeling down lately and I really craved for some Soulmate AU so here we have it. Hope ya’ll like this~

Word count: 4376

Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuroo x Depressed! Reader [Soulmate AU]

Warnings: depressive themes, angst, mentions of drugs, abusive households, wow this is dark (fluffy end?)

Ever since Kuroo Tetsuro could remember walking, he had been certain that he had no soulmate.

It wasn’t because he didn’t believe in them, or because he didn’t like the idea of them, Kuroo never really held any malice toward the idea or principle of soulmates—it’s just that unlike the rest of the population, he just couldn’t feel them.

It is said that soulmates can feel each other’s deepest feelings—especially when it got extreme. For instance, extreme joy or sorrow, or anger or jealousy, could be instantly recognized by the other—and it is only when the soulmates touch skin-to-skin for the first time does this ‘stop’ or in other words, sync together. It was perhaps the universe’s way of saying ‘you’re not alone’ or a mockery from the universe saying, ‘you’re not alone, but you’re never going to find them’.

However, for Kuroo, things were different. People usually start feeling their better half’s emotions by the time they’re 10 or 11 years old. Sometimes, it can take up to when a person reaches 15 or 16. Kuroo was currently 17 years old. And not once in his entire life did he feel someone else’s emotions. He wondered if the person had some kind of mental disorder where they can’t process or feel extreme emotions; he wondered if the other person could feel his own emotions—feelings of joy or anger, because he was certain that he had moments when he couldn’t contain himself.

On most days, Kuroo felt absolutely alone—wondering if he was one of the several sad folk that’s born without a soulmate, because he was just meant to dig through the earth by himself.

However, he wasn’t the sort to feel unhappy over something like this. At least, not externally. He’d notice when Yaku would walk into the gym feeling rather obliviously happy or when Kenma just felt lower than usual—and he’d think of how each of these people have someone waiting for them, to meet one day. On most days, he just felt anger—over everything, wondering if this entire soulmate fiasco was unfair; not allowing people to meet whoever they wanted, fall in love with no strings attached. The complications of the universe angered him, but the helplessness made it worse.

Walking into practice one evening, he noticed his team huddled over the corner—around something. There were a bunch of girls and a crying Yamamoto, standing in the distance. Kuroo blinked before walking over there, curious as to what had occurred.

He saw you, laying there, unconscious.

“What—” Kuroo’s face contorted into that of extreme panic, then turning to Yamamoto, he waited, “—happened?

“I swear! I didn’t see her! It was as if she wasn’t even there! I would never spike on a girl on purpose!”

That much is true, Kuroo thought before looking at you, peacefully out of it, before sighing and picking you up. As captain, and even if this had never happened before, he had to take you to the nurse. What were you doing in the gym all alone? And why hadn’t anyone noticed you?

Shooting Kenma a look, the dyed haired boy nodded once before ushering Yamamoto out of the way. Kuroo now focused entirely on you, and rushed to the nurse. You were breathing (and you looked like you were asleep, strange as it was). Kuroo reached the nurse’s office rather quickly, since it was after school hours. Upon taking a mere glance at you, the nurse cringed before slapping her own forehead.

Kuroo blinked.

“Does she come here often?” He asked, smirking.

“You won’t believe it,” the nurse pointed to the lone bed and Kuroo followed, “It’s like she lives here.”

Kuroo chuckled before noticing you slowly waking up, wanting to sit this down and ask what you were doing in the gym in the first place. Apart from giving Yamamoto a scare for his life, Kuroo thought, unaware of the smirk sitting on his face.

“The face you’re making is creepy, senpai.”

Kuroo blinked before noticing you, staring at him, practically emotionlessly. Smirking, Kuroo leaned forward before blinking at you, filtering the questions in his head.

“What were you doing in the gym, kouhai-chan? Yamamoto’s never going to live down hitting you with the ball—”

“I followed a cat, is all.”

It was strange, Kuroo thought, of how casual your words were. It was as if you made no effort to communicate, your eyes were fixed at him and he was sure that he had your attention, but it wasn’t in any other way apart from when you’re reading a book or crossing the road. Kuroo noticed the lack of movement on your eyebrows, of how... emotionless you presented yourself as. It was honestly...

...really creepy.

“Uh,” He had to get back to practice. “I’ll make sure that the cat is fine.”

“I’m sorry for disrupting practice,” Kuroo paused before looking at you again, “I might not look it, but I mean it.”

You were right, you did not look like you meant it. But you were looking straight into his eyes that he couldn’t look away and his heart was screaming that you meant what you said. Shooting you a grin, Kuroo raised a thumb up to you, to which you merely just blinked—and walked out of the room.

A second later, he felt it; Kuroo paused, his eyes widening a tad bit slowly and his pace slowed accordingly. A sadness that crept into his system, almost as if it was too shy to come to him entirely. It was the sort of sadness that you knew you were going to feel eventually, but chose not to be entirely ready for its arrival. It felt as if he was out of breath at that second, feeling for the first time what his soulmate was feeling, a sadness that was scared to let him know that they were there. A hand shot to his chest, where the emotions felt concentrated most, and he stood there, confused the whole time.

“What the...”

Why now after so many years? And why did it feel like it wasn’t the first time? Why did Kuroo feel like he had felt what this person was feeling for years, but had not recognized it? Why did it feel so familiar yet alien?

You walked out of the nurse’s room and saw him there, frozen. You bit your lower lip before rushing out, trying to suppress whatever it was that you were feeling at least until you got home.

“I felt my soulmate’s emotions for the first time today!” Kuroo said, grinning hopelessly before noticing Yaku roll his eyes.

“Oh! I thought you didn’t have a soulmate?” Lev asked, genuinely surprised.

“Shut it.” Kuroo snapped, grimly.

“What were they feeling?” Kenma was the one to ask, knocking Kuroo out of his stupor.

“It was the weirdest sort of sadness I’ve ever felt in my life. As if she saw a dress she couldn’t buy and was crying for it from outside the window.”

“That actually sounds cute.” Yaku mused, blinking.

Scoffing, the scheming captain had had enough of the soulmate talk—he was certain that if he started to feel them now, then it was only about time before he got to actually feel more of what they were feeling; continuing with practice, the entire team couldn’t even tell if Kuroo was distracted, yet he was. All he could think about was how familiar it felt to have felt this person’s emotions for the first time. It was unnatural.

While leaving, Kenma and Kuroo waved goodbye to the rest of the team. Kuroo suggested they go get something to eat first, but Kenma had other things to do—which made the taller male roll his eyes at the mere thought.

“Ah,” Kuroo said, his hand flying to where his heart was located, “There it is again, Kenma.”

“There what is?”

“That weird sadness,” Kuroo mused, “It’s like she’s calling out to me! I mean, after all these years of not feeling anything, I’ve been feeling latently sad all evening today. Maybe she just wants a hug.”

“You don’t know who this person is, Kuroo. Give it a break.”

Kuroo wanted to scoff at his friend but paused when he actually felt the feeling intensify. He felt nauseous suddenly, and the intense need to cry—scream, if it would help. It was as if someone was stepping on his heart and all he wanted to do was cry—he could only wonder what his soulmate was actually feeling at that second. Shaking his heart, he attempted to cover it up for there was nothing he could do but ponder over what could have caused this sudden burst of sadness, yet, there was a part of him that began to think of why now—and not before?

A moment later, Kuroo noticed you a bit ahead, and decided to speak to you to take his mind off the growing ache in his chest. Kenma wanted no part of Kuroo’s plan, so he stuck to playing his game as Kuroo rushed over and approached you. Running over to you, (who was considerably shorter when compared to his giant stature), Kuroo tapped your shoulder and had you turn around only to have his breath stuck in his throat as tears poured out of your eyes like dew drops off a fresh leaf.

“S-Senpai?”

He paused, feeling the pain in his chest grow. Kuroo knew that he could tell with one glance, one look, one simple instant. It was your eyes. Despite the tears streaming down your face, they were still dark-rimmed, haunted, and sad. Most of all though, they were familiar. The fact that you had been a stranger up until that point changed nothing at all. He'd spent summers and winters picturing those same eyes—happy, angry, scared, lost, confused—staring back at him. He would have known them anywhere.

“It’s you.”

You quickly wiped your tears away and tried to bolt out of there, but Kuroo grabbed your wrist and halted you to the ground. Kenma noticed what was happening a few feet ahead but paused in his steps, seeing the stern look on his friend’s face. The girl beside him was crying, and something told him that it had a lot to do with how Kuroo had been feeling all evening.

“I know it’s you—”

“Let go of me, you don’t know what you’re—”

“Hey,”

He didn’t know why he was pleading. He had felt her existence just that day, it felt too unreal to even fight for. But, seeing her cry turned his insides around. There was something strange going on, and he really, really wanted to know what it was.

“Why does this... Why does this feel—”

“I don’t want any part of this, senpai. I don’t—”

Kuroo raised his eyebrows, “Wait, you don’t want a soulmate?”

You looked up at the black haired male before frowning, “No. No, I don’t want a soulmate. I’ve never wanted a soulmate! That’s why I’ve been taking these suppressants to—”

Your eyes widened and you slapped your mouth shut. Kuroo’s grip on your arm loosened.

“Did you... Did you know it was me?”

You sniffed before looking away from him. Nodding once, you hoped to all hell that he would drop it.

“How long?”

“Why does it matter—”

“For how long have you known, kouhai-chan?”

You’ve never heard him speak so callously before, but he had lost the amount of patience he had within him.

You could now feel his anger. The void in his chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed him the right to his hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt—no one, except you—who was giving it to him. You felt another burst of sorrow hit the back of your throat, but you were sure as hell not going to lose it in front of him.

“I...” You were afraid of doing a great many things but, “I knew since a few days.”

What you were most afraid of was lying. And here you had told the biggest lie that could potentially destroy something before it even began. With that, Kuroo let go of your hand and walked away, you were unsure if he was ignoring you or if he was hurt, but you could feel what he was feeling—and it wasn’t pleasant. You wanted to stop him and explain, but you knew that there was no point to it. Biting your lower lip, you walked home, uninterrupted.

“What did she say?” Kenma asked, staring at his friend’s face.

Kuroo wasn’t sullen, he was angry. And Kenma noticed it right away. Kuroo’s anger wasn’t loud, it was quiet, seething and potentially could destroy his mental health more than any other emotion. Kuroo’s anger was liquid fire, soothing to look at yet scorching hot.

“It’s nothing.”

Kenma knew it wasn’t nothing, but there was no way he’d get his friend to talk about it right away. This was the sort of thing that would take time, yet he wondered what you had done that could have driven him to the edge like this.

When you reached home, there was no one there. No one would be, your parents were always out—it was unusual if they were home. Your elder brother was in college in the States, and here you were—alone, paranoid and heartbroken. Your mother had been entirely against the idea of soulmates, calling it primitive and restricting, and while you could see her point, it was always a matter of personal interest for you. You always wondered who your soulmate was, you always wondered what it would be like to meet your significant other, someone you could reach so emotionally.

Your mother had not met her soulmate. Your parents were not soulmates to begin with, yet there you were. A ‘happy’ family, or so you’d like to call it. Your mother had been giving you suppressants ever since you were young, so as to avoid letting your soulmate feel whatever it was that you were feeling; however, like the doctor had warned, the pills had an adverse effect on your mental wellbeing. On most days, you felt absolutely nothing. On most days, you realized that you had to carry this feeling around, pocketing it with you because normal life went on—regardless of how broken you felt. The pills were slowly eating away your mind yet because you couldn’t say a word in edgewise with your mother, you strove along, like a puppet, doing as she demands because it was the same case with your brother but he luckily got away.

At heart, you have always been a coper; or that’s what you called yourself secretly. You've mostly been able to walk around with your wounds safely hidden, and you've always stored up your deep depressive episodes for the weeks off when there was time to have an abbreviated version of a complete breakdown. But in the end, you'd be able to get up and on with it, could always do what little must be done to scratch by.

It was not until a few months ago did things start to change.

You’d always feel what your soulmate was feeling. Episodes of absolute elation and frustration sometimes—this person had their shit together. You felt it for the first time when you were 9 years old, a foreboding sorrow that you could relate to losing a parent or a pet; you wondered if this person lost someone special to them at such a young age, or if they were young at all—you’d never know. After that, you mostly felt hesitance and the need to feel happy again directed from them; you slowly felt this person begin to heal, and feel joy, learn how to deal with their own emotions and you wondered if they ever thought of the possibility of you somewhere.

You kept your soulmate’s emotions to yourself because they were special to you. Despite what your mother said, despite what you were asked to believe, your heart yearned for someone to hold you, tell you that it was okay, to give you space to be yourself—yet, nowadays, it felt like you were asking for too much.

A few months ago, you saw Kuroo Tetsuroo for the first time. He was laughing at his friend in the corridor and the joy you felt was in sync with his—there was no doubt about it. He was your soulmate.

You didn’t want to be a stalker, yet you couldn’t avoid trying to see what he was doing, trying to learn what he was like, what his hobbies were—and when you discovered that he was the captain of the Volleyball team in your school, also the best friend of one of your classmates, you were even more curious.

You wondered if he ever felt your absence; and if he could ever feel your yearning, he wondered if it could mean anything.

That day, you were at the gym not because you followed a cat. It was simply because you wanted to see him. It was no crush, you weren’t that type of schoolgirl, you merely wanted to see what he played like—having been afraid all along to witness him in action. However, you weren’t noticed by anyone and perhaps that wasn’t a good thing at all since the ball hit you in the back of your head and sent you to the ground.

That was how you met your soulmate. And singlehandedly destroyed any prospect of being with him or learning more about him.

As days passed, you felt Kuroo’s rage and confusion—the simple minded betrayal that anyone would feel after an episode like that had occurred. You wouldn’t stop taking the supplements, and your heart was too scared to take a risk to go against what your mother had ordered you to do. Yet, feeling his emotions day in and day were was starting to exhaust you, and the growing guilt left you breathless everyday.

You turned to the side in the corridor, bumping into someone. You always hid when trying to take the supplements, but this was unexpected. In front of you was your classmate, Kenma, who was also Kuroo’s best friend. Your eyes widened and you knew he saw the pills in your hand.

“Are those supplements?”

You were quiet, hands shaking, unable to say a word.

“Why are you doing that?”

I can’t not, you thought, but you knew you couldn’t say.

“You’re hurting him.”

Tears filled your eyes, and you nodded because you knew. You knew how much you were hurting him, you didn’t need someone to come and tell you to your face that what you were doing was wrong.

“I know...” You said, whispering. Kenma blinked.

“I know I’m hurting him, but I can’t not do this.”

“What do you mean? Of course you can. Just...” Kenma placed a hand at the back of his neck, “Just pretend that you’re taking them if someone’s making you.”

The thought of lying to your mother did cross your mind, but you weren’t sure. You were scared that she would catch you, you were scared that she would find out and punish you. You were technically scared of all the hypotheticals because the idea scared you to your very core.

“You can’t be scared all the time,” His voice was soft, like a lullaby, “If you really want this, you should take it.”

You gasped, but biting your lip and clutching the box of pills harder. You looked at Kenma once and nodded, before walking away briskly. As you passed the dry waste bin, you threw the box of pills inside and headed to class.

Kuroo woke up with tears in his eyes.

His eyes then widened before he wiped them away, scrunching his eyebrows as he tried to think of whether he had a nightmare. He instantly thought of you, because there was no other explanation. Did she forget to take her pills? He thought, but his heart was wrenching at the thought of what you were feeling right then.

Is this why you were taking the pills? Because if you didn’t, all you felt was sadness.

He headed to school with Kenma, quiet the entire way. It was very much unlike him, Kuroo wasn’t used to being so out of character. The feeling of heaviness grew in his chest, but he felt bits and of other emotions as well. Panic, anxiety, and fear—what the hell was going on with your mind?

“Oi, Kenma,” Kuroo called out just as they reached school. “Is she in your class?”

Kenma nodded. “Name’s (l/n) (y/n).”

What the hell are you feeling? Kuroo almost blacked out with how heavy your emotions were.

“Is it too much?”

Kuroo didn’t know how to answer that question. He stayed quiet, only intended to meet with you during lunch, force you to talk—because this was driving him insane. He only wondered how the hell you were living all these years, by yourself, bottling all of this deep-rooted heaviness inside. He felt angry for not being called in on this, because even if he wasn’t sure if he could have helped, Kuroo was angry because he was not given a chance.

During lunch, he noticed you walk out of class but he didn’t give you a second to explain as he guided you up to the roof. There were others there, but Kuroo always knew to find a spot that no one else could see.

You stared at him with wide eyes and he felt the growing anxiety bottle in your chest. He sighed.

“(l/n)-chan,” He said, rubbing the back of his neck, “What’s going on? You didn’t take those—”

“I stopped.”

He blinked, “How come?”

“I... I'm living under water, senpai. Everything seems slow and far away. I know there's a world up there, a sunlit quick world where time runs like dry sand through an hourglass, but down here, where I am, air and sound and time and feeling are thick and dense,”

He didn’t understand you. You then showed him the pills and continued,

“My parents are not soulmates. My mother started giving me these pills ever since I felt the first emotion from your end. Ever since I knew you were there, living and breathing and existing. I... If it weren’t for your friend, I...”

“That’s why I barely felt anything from you. You were... Damn, that’s...” He didn’t know what to say.

Leaning down to your stature, Kuroo’s face was inches away from yours. You were staring at him with wide eyes, as you watched him smirk slowly, or maybe that was how he smiled—whatever it was, it was making you feel warm inside.

“Let’s try to get better, then, yeah?”

“What?”

He hummed before leaning back and standing straight again, “From the looks of it, you’re feeling this way because you’ve lived your whole life unable to feel at all. Come to a few of my games, my team’s gonna show you an array of colorful emotions. Pick whatever you want.”

You didn’t know if he was joking, “Kuroo-senpai—”

“I’m not joking, (l/n)-chan. Yeah, I get that we’re soulmates, but I want to get to know you. And to do that, we need to take this away—” He pressed your nose and chuckled, “—and get to know me while we do this.”

“I... I don’t—”

“And someday, we’ll be what we have to be. It’s sad about your parents, but if they’re happy, then it’s great. I won’t say what your mother did was right or wrong, but you have to decide what you want to do.”

You took a deep breath.

“Kuroo-san,” He looked at you, earnestly, yet there was a hint of mischief in those eyes, “Someday, we’ll run into each other again, I know it. Maybe I’ll be older and smarter and just plain better. If that happens, that’s when I’ll deserve you. But now, at this moment, you can’t hook your boat to mine, because I’m liable to sink us both.”

Kuroo gave you a soft smile before nodding. Inching forward, he kissed you squarely on the forehead and ruffled your hair.

“Remember, I’ll feel what you feel, (l/n)-chan!”

You smiled softly to yourself.

Kuroo woke up that morning, feeling nothing but pure satisfaction. A smile streaked across his lips when he thought of you—having been years since he had seen you, and noticed how well you were doing. He appreciated your strong desire to not keep in touch, and that left him wondering what you were doing and if you were still in Tokyo. Yawning, Kuroo stepped out of his house, fully intending to take out the trash that one Sunday morning.

Kuroo had texted him saying he had plans—he had met his soulmate last winter, and apparently the two of them were going to some gaming thing.

Kuroo was happy, generally speaking. Sure, he missed the touch of a person on odd days, unable to find it in him to see anyone romantically, knowing you existed. He didn’t blame you—he wished well for you, wanting to give the universe a chance to scheme something this time around. As he was putting the trash in the bin, scratching the back of his bed head, Kuroo felt a sudden jolt of... what was this feeling? The feeling you get when you’re in a rollercoaster?

Is she in a theme park somewhere? He thought before turning around, and freezing.

There you were, standing in front of him, in the cold winter air of Tokyo, wrapped up in a thousand sweaters. Your face was a tad bit red, and your smile was a tad bit long. Kuroo felt warmth wash over his features. Not a word. No word.

“Kuroo-senpai—”

He rushed toward you, feeling nothing but joy. Wrapping his arms around you, Kuroo breathed into your scent. Your hair tickled his chin and he felt your hands crawl to his back.

“I don’t normally hug strangers,” Kuroo teased, “But I’ll make an exception for you.”

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

He chuckled. “I barely felt the time go by—”

“I felt your longing for me, please don’t lie, senpai.”

He definitely couldn’t wait to get to know you.

#kuroo tetsuroo #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuroo x reader #reader insert #haikyuu!!#nekoma #nekoma x reader #kenma koizume #tetsuro kuro #kuroo fluff #kuroo tetsuro headcanons #kuroo tetsurou #kuroo tetsuro imagine #haikyuu x reader #yamamoto taketora #yaku

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theladyofdeath · 4 years

Text

Alone in the Ashes {12}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click > Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Isn’t it uncomfortable being in that weird awkward angsty fluff phase of the story

Comment to tell me what you think, or to be tagged! x

“Angry people are not always wise.” ― Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Rhysand walked through the front door of their apartment, Feyre right behind.

“Get in bed,” she said, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll get you something to eat.”

Rhysand didn’t have the energy to protest. Instead, he slumped through the hall until he reached his bedroom and slowly lowered himself onto his mattress.

Every movement brought a stabbing pain, dominantly in his ribs. In his shoes and all, wearing everything he had been taken to the hospital in the night before, Rhysand laid back against his pillows.

He could hear Feyre poking about in the kitchen. She hadn’t been the same after what she had confessed the night before. Now he’s using you to prove that even though I left him...he can still control me. It’s all my fault. No matter how much he tried to convince her otherwise, she wouldn’t budge.

She came into his room a minute later with a sandwich and a glass of water. She saw him lying pathetically on his bed, dressed in his filthy clothes, and smiled softly.

He loved that smile.

“Maybe you should get yourself cleaned up,” she said, setting the plate on his nightstand. “After you eat, so you can take your pain meds.”

“I don’t need them,” Rhysand said, grabbing his sandwich off the plate and taking a bite, still laying down.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “Stubborn ass. They’ll help.”

Shaking his head, Rhysand said, “I’m fine, really.”

“I could hear you cringing while you laid down from all the way in the kitchen,” Feyre shot back.

Rhysand said nothing.

He took another bite of his sandwich.

“Listen to your woman,” Feyre said, stalking out of his bedroom and into the bathroom. He could hear the water running, filling up the tub, as he finished off his pb&j. When Feyre came back, Rhysand was drifting into sleep. “No, no. Bathe first. You stink and you’ve got blood everywhere.”

With a groan, Rhysand sat up and lifted his shirt over his head. Feyre must’ve seen the pain in his expression, no matter how much he tried to ignore it, because she was sitting on his bed, helping him take off his shoes, then his socks. Rhysand stood and unbuttoned his jeans as he walked toward the bathroom.

“You going to give me a sponge bath, Nurse Feyre?” he asked.

Feyre laughed from behind him. “Maybe. I even put bubbles in it for you.”

Rhysand grinned. “Now you’re just spoiling me.”

Kicking off his jeans, Rhysand slid into the bath, down into the steaming, bubbly water. He sighed, leaning back.

Feyre sat next to the bath as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Come in with me,” he muttered.

“You’re in no condition for that,” Feyre mumbled, but he could tell she was smiling.

Rhysand opened one eye and looked at her. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

With a look that said he was full of shit, Feyre slid off her dirty clothes and stepped into the tub. She sat on his lap, cautiously straddling his waist. Her fingers, softly and slowly, slid down his chest. With his eyes closed, and his hands resting on her ass, Feyre took a cloth and soaked it in soap and warm water before bringing it to his face. She dabbed above his split lip, erasing the dried blood, then moved to his neck, around his scratch, where Eris had pressed the blade into his skin. Once free of blood, she ran the cloth over his chest, his arms, his abdomen, being extra cautious around his broken ribs.

“Lower,” Rhysand begged, and Feyre’s body shook above him.

“You said you’d be good,” she laughed, quietly, dropping the rag in the water.

Rhysand sighed. “I lied.”

She was shaking her head when he opened his eyes. Beautiful, with her hair hanging around her shoulders, her lips parted, eyes watching her own slender fingers draw circles against Rhysand’s chest.

“I love you,” he breathed.

Feyre’s head shook, slowly, gray-blue eyes growing weary. “You love me too much.”

“Not possible,” he said, taking her hands from his chest and interlacing his fingers in hers. “I am so in love with you, Feyre.”

She smiled, but her eyes welled up with tears. “Rhys-”

“I love you,” he repeated, holding onto her hands. “I love you.”

A tear slid down her cheek. “I love you, too.”

With a heavy heart, he wiped that tear away, unable to say anything more. He knew she felt guilty, and he also knew that no matter what he said or did, she would continue to feel guilty. It was who she was. She couldn’t help it.

He pulled her into him, even though she protested, at first. Eventually, she reluctantly obeyed, but the moment her head was lying on his shoulder, her hand lying on his chest, she melted into him.

They laid like that for a long while, and they had remained silent for so long that Rhysand didn’t realize that Feyre had fallen asleep until the water started to get cold. He shook her body, gently, and when her eyes opened, he suggested, “Bed?”

She nodded, pulled the plug, and got out. He followed, and she wrapped a towel around his waist before drying herself off and following him back to his room, where they laid together, naked, beneath the sheets, clinging to one another as they fell asleep.

~~~~~

Azriel woke up to the early morning sun peeking in through his blinds. He stayed perfectly still, though, because Elain was sound asleep, cheek resting against his chest.

But he really had to piss.

Slowly, he thought to himself, as he pulled himself out from under her. He let her down, almost as smoothly as he had hoped, but either way, she stayed asleep as Azriel scooted off the edge of his bed and tip-toed quietly to the door. He begged it not to creak as he opened it, slipped out, and shut it with a soft click behind him.

In the hallway, he finally let out a breath as he closed himself inside of the bathroom. In the mirror, his hair was a mess, his eyes still blurred, trying to wake up.

While relieving himself, a loud knock came on the door, making him jump.

“I HAVE TO PEEEEEEE!”

Azriel snorted. “Almost done, Mila.”

“Hurry up!” she cried. “Uuuuuuuuuugh.”

He opened the door and was met with a tiny human, eyes narrowed, hands on her hips, auburn hair in absolute chaos.

She pushed her uncle out of the way and hurried to the toilet. Azriel cracked the door, giving her privacy.

“Hungry?” he asked, through the crack.

“Yes,” she said, sighing. “I want pancakes.”

“Of course,” Azriel muttered, heading back down the hallway, toward the kitchen, where Mor was sitting at the table, sipping on a cup of coffee.

Her brows rose. “My back is killing me. There’s a reason I sleep on the couch. Which, I noticed this morning, my dear Azriel, is empty.”

Azriel gave her a look before opening the pantry and pulling out a box of pancake mix.

“Not to pry,” Mor went on, “but when I went to sleep last night, I had offered the couch to Elain, where I know, for a fact, she fell asleep.”

Azriel didn’t give into her interrogation. “Talk to Rhys this morning?”

“Yes,” Mor sighed, “he called on his way home from the hospital a little while ago. He claims he’s perfectly fine.”

“Of course he does,” Azriel murmured, making a note to call Feyre later to see how he’s really doing.

“Are you really going to make me ask if Elain is in your bed?” Mor asked, setting down her mug, forcibly, on the table.

Silently, Azriel opened the cabinet and pulled out a bowl. “I would never.”

“Azriel,” she begged.

Azriel laughed. “You can’t stand not knowing shit, can you?”

When he looked over his shoulder, it was written all over her face: no, she couldn’t.

Shaking his head, Azriel turned back around and found a measuring cup. “Yes, she’s in my bed. No, nothing...happened.”

Mor was instantly on her feet. “You hesitated. You definitely hesitated.”

She threw open the fridge, grabbed the milk, and met him at the counter.

“I hesitate a lot,” Azriel said, opening the box of pancake mix. “People typically don’t read into it.”

“I’m not people,” Mor said, opening the milk and measuring it out before pouring it into the bowl. “I’m your best friend.”

Azriel glanced at her through his side eye before shaking his head. “I don’t know. We kissed, and we…..cuddled, and it was nice.”

Mor’s smile widened. “Azriel just said cuddle. How sweet.”

Azriel jabbed her in the ribs with his elbow before pouring the mix into the bowl.

Looking his direction, Mor’s smile softened. “Jokes aside, I do think it’s sweet. I like Elain. She’s kind and gentle. The complete opposite of you, and opposites attract.”

Azriel lifted a brow as he pulled out a whisk and pointed it at Mor. “Are you saying that I’m not gentle?”

Mor cackled. “Have you met you? Gentler than Cassian, maybe, but that’s not saying much. No, Az, my love, you are not what I consider to be gentle. Unless it’s with Mila, but everyone’s gentle with that little princess.”

“Speaking of,” Azriel mumbled, hearing her run down the hall.

Mila came around the corner, bouncing up and down. “Pancakes! And chocolate milk, please.”

“Ah, getting sugared up first thing in the morning,” Azriel laughed, and caught his niece as she jumped into his arms. She climbed onto his back and held him around his neck. “I suppose since it’s Saturday, it’s okay.”

“Yay!” she yelled, right into his ear.

Azriel mixed what was in the bowl together as Mila jumped from Azriel’s back into Mor’s arms, who carried her to the couch to watch cartoons, just as Azriel’s bedroom door opened.

As Elain came around the corner, her cheeks were pink.

Even having just awoken, Azriel was blown away by her beauty.

“Hi,” she said, quietly.

“Hi,” Azriel replied, biting down on his lip to suppress his smile. “You like pancakes?”

Elain hesitated. “Everyone likes pancakes.”

“Well, you’re in luck, then, because I make phenomenal pancakes….that come from a box.”

Elain laughed, and Azriel noticed Mor peeking over her shoulder at the two of them.

Mila, just now realizing there was another person in the room, jumped up on the couch. “Lain!”

Elain smiled, brightly. “Good morning.”

“Why are you here?” she asked, still excited, but slightly confused.

A soft laugh tumbled out of Elain as she hesitated. “I...couldn’t wait until later to come see you, so I came a little early.”

“Yay!” Mila yelled, sitting back down beside Mor. “Come on, Lain, we’re watching Looney Tunes.”

“Looney Tunes still comes on?” Azriel muttered.

“Of course,” Mor called, as Elain joined the girls on the couch. “It’s a classic, Saturday mornings wouldn’t be the same without it.”

Shaking his head, every woman in the house abandoning him, Azriel made pancakes.

And then the four of them sat down at the table and ate, together, laughing over the sugary breakfast of pancakes with syrup and whipped cream, and chocolate milk.

Azriel kept catching Elain’s eyes, and all he could think about was the sweet taste of her lips the night before, and how he couldn’t wait to taste them, again.

~~~~~

The deep blue waters of the Sidra were sparkling as Cassian ran along it in the early morning heat, Bryaxis beside him on his leash, tongue hanging out as he jogged alongside his master.

He didn’t sleep at all, between what happened to Rhys and how he left things with Nesta.

Rhysand could take care of himself, Cassian knew that, but he couldn’t stop his anger. He knew it was a problem, that anger, knew it had often gotten him in trouble in the past, but it was stuck, simmering in the pit of his stomach, making his mind wander and, agonizingly enough, be alert at all times.

As for Nesta, he walked her up to her apartment after Azriel had dropped them off in the middle of the night. They walked in silence until they stood in the space between their doors. Hours before, they were fucking in his office, but before they parted, they just stared at each other awkwardly before saying goodnight.

Maybe it was because they were exhausted.

Or, maybe it was because she regretted it.

Or, even worse, maybe he was overthinking it, which was always a possibility.

He almost texted her before he left for his run, but he decided against it, assuming he would run into her at some point during the day.

Hoping to take his mind off everything, he leashed Bryaxis up and took to the riverwalk. It didn’t work, it only made him a little more tired and way more sweaty.

By the time they reached the little park along the river, in front of the heart of the city, Cassian was exhausted. He must have run at least four miles without even realizing it, although the moment he started to slow down, he was definitely feeling it.

He walked a little bit before sitting in the grass with Bryaxis and stretching out his long legs.

“Good boy, Ax,” he mumbled, as the golden retriever laid down next to him.

And then Cassian caught him, bright red hair, tall frame, jogging toward him.

Eris Vanserra.

Cassian’s blood turned cold.

He was instantly rising to his feet, whistling for Bryaxis to follow. He did, the good boy he was. Cassian stormed in Eris’ direction, and by the time Eris saw him coming, it was too late for him to turn around. Cassian dropped Bryaxis’ leash, demanding he sit as he came upon Eris and tackled him against the sidewalk. Their skin scraped, blood instantly drawn.

Eris’ eyes blazed as his back hit the pavement. “What the fuck, Nazari?”

But Cassian had his hand against Eris’ throat as he pinned him to the ground. “Stay away from my family.”

Eris pushed back, not the scrawny kid he’d been in high school, anymore. He rolled Cassian over into the grass, his fist hitting Cassian in the jaw. Cassian spat up at him, saliva and blood tainting Eris’ light tanktop.

To Eris’ surprise, Cassian grinned. Little did Eris know that Cassian thrived on confrontation, thrived on steady competition, thrived on the idea of giving Eris what he gave to Rhys.

They tumbled around in the grass, fists flying, ignoring the cries and glares they got from the few early morning riders that were around.

“Fuck you, Nazari,” Eris spat, elbowing Cassian in the jaw.

Cassian was quick though. He’d been in enough fights throughout his lifetime to make split decisions amidst the chaos. All the anger he had been feeling flooded him, ignited him. He pinned Eris to the ground, pinning him down with his knees as he landed a blow to his eye, another to his cheek, another, another, another, until someone was pulling him off- two someones.

Eris laid in the grass, hands covering his bloodied face.

“Stay away,” Cassian warned again, spitting in the grass. He shook the joggers, who had pulled him away, off of him and whistled for Bryaxis.

The pup came running.

Eris was on his feet, blood flowing from his nose. “You just made a huge mistake.”

“Fuck off, Vanserra,” he spat, taking Bryaxis’ leash.

The runners who had pulled Cassian off of Eris were standing between them now, but Cassian stayed, staring Eris down until his message was clear.

Stay away from my family.

Eris shook his head and turned away, walking back the way he had come.

Cassian waited until he was further down the walk until he turned around, too, heading back toward his apartment.

Bryaxis whined, looking up at Cassian.

“I’m okay,” Cassian reassured him, patting him on the head as they walked, along the Sidra.

By the time they reached the apartment complex, Cassian was about to fall over. Blood trickled down to the collar of his t-shirt.

He stomped up the concrete stairs, Bryaxis at his heels, worrying about his dad.

When Cassian reached the second floor landing, Nesta had just stepped out of her door.

She took one look at Cassian and cursed. “What the hell happened to you?”

Cassian shook his head, but Nesta stepped in front of him, blocking him from going into his apartment.

Reluctantly, Cassian stopped.

“I asked you a question,” Nesta hissed.

Cassian met her gaze. “Ran into Eris Vanserra.”

Nesta stilled, then took him by the elbow and pulled him into her apartment.

“Sit,” she demanded.

Cassian didn’t see a point in fighting it.

He sat on her couch, Bryaxis lying at his feet.

She stomped into the kitchen and soaked a rag with cool water before meeting him on the couch. She sat beside him and pulled his chin toward her. Gently, Nesta wiped the blood from his face.

“He got you good,” she muttered.

“He looks worse,” Cassian muttered back.

“Not that point,” she said, adding more pressure as she wiped the blood from his lip.

Cassian hissed.

Nesta didn’t care.

“Be still,” she ordered.

“Then be gentle,” he snapped.

Nesta rolled her eyes as she continued to clean him up. Once she wiped him off, she pulled out some ointment and rubbed it on the parts of him that were split open.

“Violence often makes things worse, you know,” Nesta said, screwing the top back on the tube of the ointment.

Cassian grunted, watching her walk back into the kitchen to wash her hands. “Going to scold me?”

“No,” Nesta said, drying off her hands, “but I’ll tell you it was stupid, because even you know it was.”

He did, he was grateful that no cops were around, but he couldn’t help it, not after what Eris and Tamlin had done.

“They can’t just get away with doing bad shit,” Cassian mumbled.

Nesta sat on the couch next to him, dressed in her running clothes. He assumed he caught her just before she left, herself, for the walk along the Sidra.

Nesta didn’t disagree, but she said, “Just don’t do anything stupid.” Then, she added, “Again.”

Cassian looked at her, leaning his head back against the couch. “Holy shit. Nesta Archeron cares about me.”

Nesta stilled. “No, I don’t.”

But Cassian was grinning. “Yes, you do.”

With narrowed eyes, she jabbed him beneath his eye, where a blue bruise was forming.

“Ow,” he laughed, pushing her back.

Even Nesta couldn’t help but smile as he crawled on top of her and pinned her down.

“Mean,” he muttered, and her eyes lit up. “Cruel.”

“I was going to go for a run,” she said, but her legs wrapped around his waist.

“It can wait,” he said, voice muffled against the warm skin of her neck.

Nesta didn’t protest as her eyes fell shut.

~~~~~

Rhysand was fast asleep as Feyre scribbled a note and put it on his nightstand.

Running to the store. Be back soon. Stay in bed. Love you.

She hurried out of the apartment, careful to keep quiet, careful not to wake him.

As she got in her car and headed for the grocery store, Feyre decided to take the long way around. She stopped short at an apartment complex she was all too familiar with.

Before she could convince herself otherwise, Feyre hopped out of her car and walked up the stairs, down the landing, until she was standing in front of her old front door.

She pounded her first against the thick wood.

He opened it, a minute later, looking like he just woke up. His golden eyebrows rose. “Feyre?”

She shook her head, fists shaking at her sides as she looked at Tamlin. A thousand thoughts ran through her mind, but only one word came out, full of anger and hostility and judgment.

“Why?”

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

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #fanfic #fanfiction #tacmc #nessian #tacmc AITA #feysand #elriel #sjm

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keyboard-cowgirl · 3 years

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Host, Interrupted - beta request

hey so, I'd like to a find a beta reader for my westworld, dolores/reader, wlw fic. It's been a million years since I've had a beta, but I really want one for this massive project. Let's see... you definitely need to be familiar with all three seasons of the show and comfortable reading heavyTM shit. I don't need much (if any) help with the plot. I need error fixes. I'm real chill to work with and I will happily assist you with any project of yours in return. My story is FINISHED. It's 170k words and the first work in a two-part series. Just to give you an idea of what my writing level is and what the story is about, here's the summary. The first chapter and trigger warnings for the entire story are under the cut. (Yes, my fic title is a play on the movie Girl, Interrupted. Yes, that is very much on purpose)

Non-con, suicide, death, murder, violence, gore, holy shit gore, depression, PTSD, self-harm, eating disorder, alcohol abuse, the works, it’s dark guys but *points at source material* *points at self*

Part I: The Devil is in the Details

“Do you wake up as I do, having forgotten what it is that hurts or where, until you move? There is a second of consciousness that is clean again. A second that is you, without memory or experience, the animal warm and waking into a brand new world.” ― Jeanette Winterson

Chapter 1:

You have the whole train car to yourself. The magnet rail moves at amazing speeds with the kind of grace that feels like you aren’t going anywhere at all, but you are. You’re going to Westworld, the crowning achievement of the tech colossus: Delos Incorporated. The park put them on the map, quite literally after they bought an island in the South China Sea. Some 500 square miles of it is reserved for Westworld alone, the rest is divided between the other parks. You forget how big they are, but none of them are as large as Westworld. No matter how large it is and easy to get lost in, you aren’t going to up and forget why you’re here. You can’t. If you could, you’d have no reason to be on this monorail at all, relaxed into the pristine white seats, sighing at the darkened window.

Minutes pass, and your consciousness has gone somewhere you don’t have to think. A place where there’s no boredom and no worry. You snap to attention when the window lights up to show the interior of the train station. A melody of notes plays from the speaker above your chair. The voice is soft, feminine.

“Welcome to Westworld. Live without limits.”

When the doors slide open, you curl your toes and try to wake them from their fuzzy sleep. Your first steps are tired, unbalanced, and you cover your mouth to hide a yawn. As you walk off the monorail, you glance around the station. It’s just as bright as the train, and you pity the janitors for all the black scuffmarks they have to buff off the tile before you remember that the most tedious labor goes to the hosts.

The hosts – there are a dozen of them, evenly spaced out and waiting to help the guests. But there’s no one else coming off the train, just you. Dressed up and impossibly still, the hosts don’t even acknowledge you. It’s like they’re sleeping with their eyes open. They’re not here for you, but it’s weird that they’re here at all. You scour the area for a safe space when you find your welcoming committee near an escalator.

The two men stay put, but the woman gives you an excited wave.

“Harper!” Your name echoes through the station and you wish she hadn’t said it so loud. Still, you force a smile because this is a friend, and you are happy to see her. You’re happy. You’re happy…

“Hey, Elsie. How are you?” you ask as she crosses the floor to meet you. You barely have time to react before she wraps her arms around you. You can’t get your arms to hug her back, and you tell yourself it’s because she’s squeezing you too tight.

“I’m good, I’m good! How are you? I feel like it’s been so long- but it hasn’t. You lose track of time down here.”

Elsie is rambling, and you find it odd. Elsie isn’t the wordy type. She’s crass, direct, and extremely insightful, but this Elsie is stumbling over herself to make small talk. In a rare display of assuredness, you pat her on the shoulder.

“I’m alright,” you lie. “I didn’t think I’d see you today, but I’m glad you’re here.”

Elsie smiles bashfully, then turns as the others arrive. You recognize the pair she’s with – Bernard Lowe and Robert Ford. One is Elsie’s boss, the other is family.

Bernard adjusts where his glasses sit on his nose before he welcomes you. “Hello, Harper. I hope the ride wasn’t unpleasant.” You shrug. It was nice to be alone after your parents insisted on dropping you off. You can understand their concerns, but you’re not a child. Haven’t been one of those in a long time.

“I wish I could stay,” Robert suddenly interjects. Until this point, you’ve avoided looking at him. He’s an old man now, soon to face the trials of time that a mortal body can’t win. You wonder why he hasn’t died yet. A heart attack could do him in at any moment. Lucky bastard. “But there’s a project that requires my attention.” Go figure he’d leave at the first opportunity. He shouldn’t have come at all, but you let him speak. “I merely want to impart upon you how wonderful it is that you’re here, Harper. Don’t think of this place as a park or a game. It doesn’t have to be that. Westworld,” he raises his arms, displaying the pearly gates to the kingdom behind him, “can be whatever you need it to be. Here, you are awake in a dream.”

You manage a nod, and then his back is turned. His brown leather shoes clop across the floor as he disappears into a service exit between escalators. Seriously, why did he come at all if he was going to leave thirty seconds after seeing you? Maybe some things can’t be mended despite what your mom said.

You, Elsie, and Bernard stew in the silence left by one of the original founders of the park. Dr. Ford is an enigmatic man at the best of times. At the worst, he’s driven by a singular focus to achieve ever loftier goals. His ambition cost him his family once. Really, it’s a miracle you’re here at all, but other, more important people in your life have forgiven him.

“Come on,” Elsie finally says. “Let’s get you ready for your stay.”

As you weave between the sentinel hosts, the three of you leave the train station behind. Bernard takes the time to remind you the rules of the park. He doesn’t have to, you remember them.

“Now, the hosts can’t hurt you. In fact, they’ll do everything they can to keep you from true physical harm.” It isn’t the physical harm that concerns you about your stay here. “The guns are coded to differentiate between human and host. It’s going to hurt if you get shot-”

You clear your throat. “I remember, Mr. Lowe. The internship didn’t end that long ago.”

“Right, right,” he confirms. He plucks his glasses from his face and cleans his lenses as you guys walk into a large closet. Closet isn’t the right word. The place is more like a small storefront. Racks of clothes line the walls and accessories lay in display cases spread throughout. Everything is tailored to be exactly your size, but the collection isn’t fine-tuned to your taste. If it was, the vibrant, lowcut saloon style dresses wouldn’t be here. As you browse, aware Elsie is watching you choose, your mind travels back to the last time you were a part of Delos Destinations.

The internship…

The internship was a means to an end. Just this year, you worked with Behavior, you learned about host coding, and you met Elsie – who mentored you. For three months, you lived underground with the rest of the onsite staff. Everyday was a chore, but at the end of it your grandfather agreed to pay for your master’s degree. Now, you’re back three months later. You aren’t here to work, and you can’t leave until your stay is over.

You select a pair of grey breeches and find a muddy red, button up shirt to go with it. For shoes, you pick the comfiest looking boots you see. Most of your internship was spent in the workshops, but for the next few weeks you’ll be above ground, kicking around in the dust of the “Old West” as imagined by Delos. To hell with looks, you want to be comfortable. You imagine yourself not to care about your appearance, but you still pick out a belt with a holster that matches, and a leather jacket.

When you come upon a case full of guns, you hesitate. The selection of pistols is immaculate, like everything else you’ve seen so far. Everything is so damn clean, and it irks you. The more Delos tries to sell itself as perfect, the more you want to make a mess of everything. You lift the glass cover and grab a silver revolver. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, but it fits in your hand so well. That’s the thing about guns that’s always bothered you. You shouldn’t want to hurt people, and you don’t – for the most part – but every gun you’ve ever held feels like it was made for you.

Elsie and Bernard step out so you can change. When they return, Bernard is back on his tangent of explaining how this trip works. “Now, you’ll start in the center of the park. Sweetwater. Things are tamer there, but there will be plenty to see and do.”

The behavior tech raises her hand to cut Bernard off. “I got it from here, Bernard. I’ll make sure she’s good to go.” Bernard nods and wishes you well before he leaves. With that, Elsie takes a deep breath and adjusts your collar a little bit. “Finally, we’re alone.” You face warms, remembering your past with her. “I know how much you hate this place,” she states. “But I really hope you find some peace here, Harper. You’re gonna have the whole park basically to yourself, take advantage of it.”

You huff and take a step away from your friend. “The perks of being Ford’s granddaughter,” you muse.

Elsie folds her arms over her chest. “Yeah, and if our places were reversed, I’d be taking that old man for everything he’s got.”

You let that statement hang, untouched. “How is it I have the whole park to myself anyway?”

“Brass is going through their yearly audit, and they oh-so-graciously decided to give everyone a three-week vacation this time,” she mocks. “We’re running on a skeleton crew right now, but then the rest of us get to take our vacation whenever we want. I’m thinking Christmas or something else equally inconvenient for management. Maybe every Tuesday for the next 15 weeks. What do you think?”

“Hm, one week for Christmas and ten weeks of Tuesdays.”

Elsie laughs. “Oh, that’s devious, Harper. Love the way you think.”

She’s always been a bit of a flirt with you, but under all her jokes and bravado, you know there’s a brilliant but lonely woman beneath. Unfortunately for her, all you can be is a friend, and probably not even a good one at that. Like right now, how you’re not responding to her. What kind of friend just stands here in awkward silence like this? Where the hell is your mind today?

“I don’t know what all you’re going through,” Elsie muses a moment later, “but you’re not alone, okay? I made Bernard give me this assignment. He and Dr. Ford picked out a lot of the narratives and hosts you’ll come across, but they’re going to be too busy to watch you. I’ll be checking on you from time to time.”

Her sympathy doesn’t feel fake, and that almost hurts. This is the time to push a smile, but you can’t do it. “What hosts? What narratives?”

“I shouldn’t be telling you, but it’s gonna start with a bounty hunter. He’ll take you out to hunt down some bandits. From there, you’ll get the choice to side with the bandits and- and are you sure you want to know this? I feel like I’m spoiling the biggest Hollywood blockbuster of the century.”

You huff out a laugh. You don’t care about spoilers. “Stay away from the bounty hunters and bandits,” you list. “Got it. I’m just not interested in my grandfather’s games.”

Elsie straightens her blazer. “Yeah, but still try to enjoy some of it. Okay,” she tries to psyche you up. “You ready?”

“I hope you’re getting a bonus for this.”

Her hand rests on your back as she guides you forward. “The bonus is knowing I’m helping a friend.”

Your stomach drops. This definitely hurts.

You’re on another train. This time, the steel cage rocks beneath your feet and it’s not empty. Hosts are spread throughout the car, planted in their seats, or taking a drink at the bar. You don’t talk to them; you don’t even look at them. You know how real they seem, and despite what your grandfather has planned for you – you’re not interested in what Westworld can offer you. You’ve already got plans, big plans. You’re going to hole up in the nearest tavern and self-medicate until your three weeks are up. You don’t need Westworld to cure you of your ailments. Not that you aren’t sick, you just don’t think it can. Since a young age, the doctors said you had depression. Now that you’re older, 23, they’re not satisfied with the easiest explanation. Now you have another disease.

In a world surrounded by screens and pixels, the experts needed a new term for the bleak existence suffered by the modern man. They call it ‘Tech Fatigue’ but you’re pretty sure it was invented by the Delos marketing team. Medical professionals like to slap that diagnosis on anyone with a designer smart watch and dark rings under their eyes. Rich people – circling their second divorce and an equal number of midlife crises – seek out therapy inside one of the parks. Delos gives the doctors a fat kickback, and bam, the cycle is born. Tech companies like Delos make the problem, the solution, and profit off both. You don’t know that’s what’s happening, but it wouldn’t surprise you.

It’s ironic, really. In order to get away from a world of tech, internet, and social media, you’re taking the first train to the most manufactured place on the planet. In the mile of dirt below you, there’s a whole structure full of tablet-carrying technicians making sure the machines around you work flawlessly. Just because you can’t see the wires, doesn’t mean they don’t exist.

You wish you didn’t exist.

Suddenly, the train whistle screams. You’ve pulled up to the station in Sweetwater. As the locomotive comes to a halt, you get to your feet and grab your leather messenger bag. Nothing in that sack is yours. Except for the odd prescription, guests aren’t allowed to bring personal items into the park. You don’t have any medications because you quit all of those a while ago. Still, you need more than the clothes on your back.

You walk off the train between a flurry of host bodies. For the most part, none of them pay attention to you. They go about their loops, avoid you when you step into their path – all except for a man in a grey tweed frock. He tips his hat as he approaches you.

“Miss Harper? I’m Teddy Flood. Your grandfather paid me to keep an eye on you.”

So it begins. You look him up and down more carefully. He looks like he was plucked right off the cover of an old-timey, cringe-laden romance novel set in the Wild West with his chiseled features. But his eyes are kind, and you’re not sure how to ditch him yet so you play along as best you can.

“That’s me.”

“Can I take you somewhere? A hotel to find a room? I’ve got horses saddled for us if you-”

You hold up a hand. “Okay, I thought I could do this, but I can’t. Just… go away. Or whatever it is you do when you’re not with a guest.”

He tilts his head. “I’m afraid I can’t abide by that request, ma’am. I was paid to keep you safe, and I’m a man of my word.”

“Of course you are.” Your shoulders sag, weighed down by more than your luggage. “Fine, but we’re not doing any of your… narratives.” You should’ve asked Elsie for more details on what your grandfather and Bernard have planned for you so you could avoid it. During your internship, you worked in a different park. Park seven, the newest addition to six others. You don’t know the storylines of Westworld past what you know about old American history. Admittedly, it’s not much.

With a sigh, you press forward and walk right into another cowboy. The stranger grunts and turns, hand hovering over the pistol on his hip. Teddy steps between you two. When the guy sees that his assailant is a woman with someone to defend her, his hostility fades.

“Pardon me, ma’am.”

Though everyone so far has a very natural Southern drawl, the ‘ma’am’ thing is weird. You try to smile in acceptance of his apology, but you know your lips aren’t upturned. You used to be so much better at controlling your expression, your emotions, too. What happened to you?

Confrontation avoided, you continue into town. You almost ask Teddy where the hotel is, but as you become more aware of your surroundings, your question fades. The buildings on either of the dusty road aren’t chic. They aren’t glass and concrete monoliths reaching for the sky. In fact, most of them aren’t even two-stories tall despite the false facade that rises up from the roof like an ornate parapet. Here, everything is made of wood and clay. It’s painted in muted, earthy tones by hand, and it’s like stepping back in time. Horses of every color are hitched on posts outside, and now you kind of wonder where Teddy was going to take you on horseback. You’ve never ridden a horse before.

They’re not real horses, you remind yourself. Teddy isn’t a real man. And nothing in Sweetwater is natural, except maybe for the flies buzzing around a pile of horse dung. Surely, your grandfather isn’t crazy enough to have manufactured insects. Then again, the robotic horses are producing waste that truly, and disgustingly, smells like shit… so anything is possible.

You tell yourself that this whole experience is too much, and you’re going to find the nearest place you can have a drink before you have a panic attack. That place is the Mariposa Saloon. You push through the batwing doors, and Teddy catches them when they spring backwards as he follows you. You told yourself to be ready for the sensory overload you’d face inside, but you’re still slightly overwhelmed. Cigarette smoke wafts under your nose, people are muttering about their card game, glasses are clinking on the bar, and a piano is chiming away in the corner of the room without anyone sitting at the keys. It’s a lot. You can understand how some people would feel alive in a place like this, but it’s not for you.

Still, you push yourself to the bar. Bottles of tawny brown, gold, and clear liquor are calling you forward. You set your hands on the black counter, but the man with the twisted handlebar moustache is serving someone else first. You don’t know why you’re waiting. You’re the only person here who thinks for themselves. You can be as rude as you want to be, and no one would remember it once they were reset. You wait anyway, and one of the brothel girls see it as an opening to take a chance.

The woman’s dress is a deep ocean blue, cut so high you can see the tops of her thighs and the intricate stockings she wears to cover the rest of her legs. You hope she’s going for Teddy, but she stops beside you and grins.

“You’re new.” She reaches up and slowly caresses your face. Between the lace of her fingerless gloves and the warmth of her hand, you’re surprised at how real it feels. “Not much of a rind on you. I’ll give you a discount.”

Turning away from her hand, you clear your throat. “Thanks, but I’m just here for a drink.”

The young woman doesn’t seem too upset by your refusal. “What do you want to drink, darling?” She snaps her finger at the bartender. Throwing a towel over his shoulder, the man finally notices you.

You order a whiskey. When he asks you what kind, you fumble. Did they have different kinds of whiskey in the past? How are you supposed to know?

Teddy chuckles under his breath and answers for you. “Rye. None of that corn homebrew you try to pass off as liquor.”

The saloon girl looks past you and at your tall, handsome company. “Wise choice, Mr. Flood.”

He tips his hat, before glancing at you again. “Nothing but the best for my friend.”

You scowl. “Teddy, we aren’t friends. You don’t even know me.” This is too strange. The bartender sets out two small glasses and fills both halfway. You can’t pretend like this is normal when your normal is leaps and bounds different from the here and now. A drink at home meant serving yourself, and you poured your chilled, name brand whiskey to the top of your glass, then you drank it alone.

Teddy throws his shot back and swallows it all in one go. “I know you better than you think, and I’d like to get to you know more than that.”

You shudder. Oh god, did your grandfather put him for you to… For you two to… You can’t finish the thought. The idea of your grandfather interfering with your sex life is way more than you can handle. Before you even take your first sip, you smack your finger down on the counter – showing the bartender where he can put the whiskey when you demand it.

“Leave the bottle.”

The young woman beside you places a hand on your shoulder and you tense up as she whispers in your ear. “I’m here if you change your mind, beautiful. If I’m not your type, and neither is he, look around. Find something that strikes your fancy.”

You grab the neck of the bottle and pour another shot. Westworld is not for you, you’ve decided. It’s only three weeks you remind yourself. The hat you picked out is making your forehead itch, so you take it off and set it on the bar. Then you hear a loud pop. An older cowboy pushes through the batwing doors, a wash of red blooms across his vest as he stumbles into the saloon.

“They’re here,” he coughs out. “Hector… Escaton and his posse.”

More gunshots sound, and it’s like some miscreant lit firecrackers in the street. The saloon explodes with activity. Working girls scramble to hide behind tables. The bartender grabs a sawed-off shotgun. Teddy puts his hand on your shoulder and you jerk before he tells you to get somewhere safe or be prepared to use your weapon.

It’s only three weeks.

#westworld #dolores abernathy #beta request #beta reader #help me help me dear god help me i don't even know what to tag this with #don't judge my writing by the request. i'm nervous y'all. read the summary and the 1st chap #thaaaaat's what you can expect and i'm genuinely proud of it but it has mistakes :( and it makes me sad i can't catch them all #anywayyyy #if you like my stories and you haven't seen westworld yet what are you waiting for?#git #<3

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jpegjade · 4 years

Text

High Functioning - Spencer

Requests (2 mashed together bc i thought of an idea that covered both of them (and a little bit of my own anxiety)):

A. This one just came to me: reader has mild anxiety. She can function but it definitely gets to get sometimes. Her and Reid (bf) have a discussion around being each other's safe space and deciding to take time in the mornings/evenings to hold hands, breath deeply and recenter themselves. They follow through and feel more connected and at peace. Fluff it up!! Thank you for considering, xoxo!

B. Talk about CLOSE TO HOME:... reader is tired of the news and the complications of the world. Nothing is simple, everything is a process, and everyone is so emotional high strung. Spence reminds her that his love for her is simple and unconditional. He will always be there no matter what shit storm the world is going through.

Warnings: None, really. I don’t think I even swore in this one! Just talking about high functioning anxiety and Spencer talking a lot of stuff.

__________

You woke up with a start. You stretched your arm out to the other side of the bed, where Spencer usually slept and found it cold and empty. You snapped your head over, worried that you missed saying goodbye to him before work. You always said goodbye to him, sending him off with breakfast, coffee, and a kiss. You hopped out of bed, running to the door to see if his shoes were there.

“What’s wrong?” He said, making you jump. You turned around to see him sitting at the table, toast, and bacon sitting on a plate next to the morning newspaper.

“Oh.” You said, clutching your chest over your oversized shirt. The shirt wasn’t yours but it was the only thing you could find to throw on when you were leaving your room. “I thought you left.”

“I have an off day.” He said, gesturing to the seat next to him. You noticed another plate sitting on the table, two mini pancakes, bacon, syrup, and a couple fruits were arranged in a smiley face.

“Oh, okay.” You said, glancing at his newspaper. He usually sped through it when he was waiting for you to finish breakfast before work but now, there was no rush to actually go anywhere because your job was still working from home while everything in the world was happening.

He flipped the paper open and while you were eating your bacon, you were looking at the headline. Another day of nothing good. You thought about how you had started feeling constrained while you stayed home all the time. Spencer was the one who got to still travel and go to the bureau occasionally when they weren’t having Zoom calls, and he was the one to pick up groceries on his way home or on his way out. Sure, he said he envied you but how could anyone be jealous of someone who can’t go anywhere, can’t do anything, and only spends their time avoiding tv, avoiding the news, and avoiding social media? Before quarantine, you were addicted. Now? You could go days without checking Twitter, and you often did.

Your anxiety was manageable. According to doctors, you were high functioning. Most of the time, you were able to go on during the day with nerves but the good kind, the healthy kind. Today? Reading the headline splashed across the front of the newspaper, just glancing at the picture, your chest felt tighter. You tried to focus on your breathing, tried to calm down, and not let Spencer see you getting more anxious.

He closed the paper, folding it back into the rectangle where he could do the crossword puzzle. He was about to grab the pen on the counter when he noticed you breathing heavier than normal. He nudged your foot with his foot to draw your attention back to him.

“What’s wrong?” He looked very concerned. “At the rate you’re breathing, assuming you continue deteriorating at a steady pace, you will begin to hyperventilate. You know, the act of hyperventilating is really quite impressive in regards to anxiety because your brain’s automatic response to fear is to get more air but really, your carbon dioxide levels drop and your brain begins to swell. The fact that you weren’t doing anything but nibbling on bacon tells me that something triggered your thought process to respond abnormally. When your body responds this way, you have to think about what we talked about before. You’re safe here. There’s no imminent danger. You can relax, not because I said so, but because the fear of the situation seems a lot worse than it is. Statistically speaking, the chance of something happening in our home is very low compared to other environments, which is cause enough to say that you’re safe here.”

“Thank you.” You said, sheepishly grinning at him. You didn’t notice until he stopped talking that your breathing had returned to normal. You let out the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

That was your thing, the two of you. After you told him about your anxiety, he was very supportive and tried to understand more about how you processed your triggers and what he could do to help. He took notice of the fact that you calmed down when he talked, which was easy for him to do in general but harder when you were suffering because he worried. He was more of a silent type to worry about you.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“We can. On the couch?” You asked. Nodding, he put your plates away and met you on the couch. Immediately, you laid down, your head sat in his lap as you stared up at the ceiling. The oversized shirt bunched up around your stomach but you didn't mind because Spencer was just going to draw shapes on the exposed part of your lower stomach anyway. He likes drawing shapes because it gives his hands something to do. He always had to be doing something…

“Your anxiety has gotten harder for you to manage.” Spencer studied your face and as if you timed it perfectly, you felt the shapes.

“Yeah… How can you tell?” You chuckled sarcastically.

“Well, I’m a profiler. It’s my job to pay attention to every little thing there is about someone. I don’t get paid to profile you, though. I like to do that on my own.” Spencer didn’t get your sarcasm but that was a sweet statement so you didn’t point out that you were being sarcastic. You smiled and he smiled back at you.

“Yeah. It’s hard with everything going on. And I feel stuck in the apartment and it’s difficult to keep my head on straight when there’s nothing positive going on that anyone talks about. I can’t handle it sometimes, Spence.” You sighed.

“It doesn’t help that I still have to travel for cases, does it?” He said, slightly downtrodden.

“Yes. Baby, you caught Anthrax and I wasn’t there.” You said, reaching up to touch his face with your right hand. He just chuckled.

“You didn’t know me back then.” He said, remembering the terrifying moment. He was glad you didn’t know him back then because he would’ve been terrified to know he would be leaving you alone.

“Okay but Derek told me about it as if I was there and it’s just as traumatizing.” You said, dropping your hand to rest on your chest.

“I know it’s scary but…” He said, licking his lips. “You have to trust me and not your anxiety about the situation. We said we would be there for one another, right? You’re my safe place, your haven, your paradise, and you’re my home, my heart, my safe place. You have to trust me that we can get through whatever is going to happen together.” He said, his right hand coming up to stroke your cheek instead of drawing shapes. You kinda missed how warm his hand was on your stomach.

“Right, my safe place is right here.” You smiled at him.

“Are you still anxious?” He asked, his thumb still stroking your cheek. His hands were really soft, as always. You thought about how you still needed to ask what lotion he uses to keep his hands so soft. You knew he occasionally used cherry lip balm for his lips but his hands were another thing.

“Yeah, a little. Seeing the paper kind of messed with my head a little bit. I just need some good to balance the bad sometimes. I need reminders that not everything is so complicated and hard and…” You sighed to complete your sentence, sitting up.

Spencer stood up and walked away. You knew he wasn’t just walking out of the conversation, right? He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t…

He came back and brought you back to the moment. He sit down on the floor in front of you and stared at you until you sat next to him.

“I was waiting to do these but I bought your favorite face masks. You’ve already had a rough morning so I thought we could center ourselves. Through morning meditation and focusing on our mental well-being, we’re able to start off on track for a more...Enlightened path, if you will.” He started.

You just nodded along, watching his hands slowly unwrap the packaging of the masks. Sitting crossed-legged, you barely registered that he knew the exact brand that you used because the other ones you tried caused breakouts. Your mask was meant to help clear up your skin while his was just because he liked the sparkly face masks and it smelled nice. He handed you the open champagne sparkles face mask pack while he took the refreshing cucumber mask, dipping two fingers in and spreading it gently on your cheek. You did the same in return.

“Based on scientific studies conducted rather recently, there have been studies that have suggested that meditation and mindfulness have had positive effects on disorders such as anxiety and depression. Although you are high functioning with your anxiety, there’s still room for improvement in terms of when you feel backed into a corner, whether it’s related to external forces or otherwise.”

You felt so calm and relaxed that you almost forgot you were anxious earlier in the day, as recently as a few minutes ago. You loved listening to Spencer talk.

“So maybe, we should make this a daily thing. Spending some time with each other, even if we just wake up earlier and hold hands or shower together or just hang out talking about goals for the day and positive things we’ve noticed happening. We can be more mindful of our mindfulness and be more aware of how we exist, to a certain degree.” He finished your facemask and stared at you, studying your face.

You were just grinning.

“You’re the love of my life, you know that?” You said, completely relaxed.

“And you’re the love of all of my lives,” Spencer said, making a reference to a show the two of you watched where the main character kept dying and coming back to life, in love with the same woman. Because that’s how he felt about you.

__________

Tags:

@ancailinaerach

@winchestertardis

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds #oh my god im so lonely

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silverlightqueen · 4 years

Text

21 Things To Do This Summer PJM

y/n has a week left to live and 21 things she wanted to do this summer. Jimin vows to help her do them all before she dies and give her the summer of a lifetime.

jimin x reader - angst, fluff, comedy, non-idol!au

Part of BangtanHQ’s ‘Bangtan Boardwalk’ at the ‘Summertime Sadness’ booth!

Rating: Mature (heavy themes and strong language - read with caution)

Word Count: 16.9k+ (she’s a monster omg)

Warnings: death and illness, discussion of death and illness, jokes about death and illness, brain tumour, discussion of eating disorders, brief mention of murder and crime (y/n jokes that Jimin could be a murderer or a thief), explicit language throughout, I think that’s it but please let me know if you noticed that I missed anything

a/n: here’s the first part guys! if you enjoy it, make sure to check out the other fics in the Summertime Sadness booth, and the other booths on the Bangtan Boardwalk! a huge thank you to @silverlightprincess for proofreading this massive fic, I love you so damn much x

silverlightqueen masterlist

y/n’s Summer Bucket List

21 Things to Do This Summer

1) Make a new friend

2) Dye my hair

3) Go on a road trip

4) Do pavement chalk

5) Get everybody I talk to to sign a shirt

6) Have s’mores at a bonfire

7) Get drunk and skinny dip at the beach

8) Make a wish balloon

9) Go to a fairground

10) Have a picnic

11) Get a tattoo

12) Sleep under the stars

13) Cloud watch

14) Try camping for the first time

15) Have a water fight

16) Make homemade ice cream

17) Have a pyjama day

18) Send a message in a bottle

19) Watch fireworks

20) Go to a drive-in movie

21) Make a photo album of it all

‘Hey! Hey, excuse me! Hey, wait, you dropped something!’ I can hear someone shouting and, despite the tears running down my face, I roll my eyes, wondering why the idiot who dropped something doesn’t stop to get it. ‘Excuse me! Hey, wait!’ I hear, the voice getting closer, before I feel a tap on my shoulder, and I realise; I’m the idiot.

I turn around to see a boy. The first thing I notice is the piece of paper in his hand. The second thing I notice is that I already know him. ‘You dropped thi- oh, y/n! Hey! Long time, no see. Wait, whoa, are you crying?’ he asks, and I roll my eyes again as I frustratedly wipe away my tears. ‘No, Jimin, why? Does it look like I am?’ I spit out sarcastically. ‘Okay, I’m going to ignore how rude that was because you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m going to be a good person and return this to you,’ he says, holding out the piece of paper. When I realise what it is, I snatch it from him, tucking it safely into my bag and mentally chiding myself for nearly losing it.

‘Thank you. Sorry for being rude,’ I say before I turn away, continuing to head home. It’s only after a few seconds I realise he’s walking beside me, and I speed up, trying to get away from him. He speeds up too. I slow down. So does he. I stop in my tracks, turning to shoot him an annoyed look, and he merely grins back at me, blinding me with his annoyingly handsome smile.

‘What do you want, Jimin?’ I ask tiredly, deciding not to be rude after he returned my list to me. ‘Well, it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other, so I thought it’d be nice to catch up. And I also know you, and you’re clearly upset about something, and I’m not going to abandon somebody who I have history with if they’re crying. And, as well as being a very caring and empathetic person, I’m very curious, and so I have to find out why you’re upset,’ he says, and I frown, continuing to walk, even more annoyed when he continues to walk alongside me.

‘It’s none of your business, Jimin,’ I say sharply, hoping he’ll leave me alone. ‘Well, obviously. It’s your business. But the nature of being curious is wanting to know other people’s business,’ he says as though he’s speaking to a little child, and I shoot him another look. ‘You’re practically a stranger.’ ‘I am not! We had classes together through the whole of high school!’ ‘I’m not going to tell you my business,’ I say with a note of finality, hoping he’ll leave the subject. And leave me, for that matter.

‘Would you tell me if you knew me better?’ he asks thoughtfully, and I roll my eyes. ‘Probably, yes.’ ‘Okay. I’m a Libra, I hate spinach and 13 is my lucky number. Oh, and I dance,’ he says, and I literally want to bash my head against a wall. ‘That does not mean I know you better. It just means you overshare.’ ‘Well, you can’t say I’m practically a stranger. Maybe only half a stranger,’ he says, and I let out a humourless laugh at how persistent he is, and he grins, mistaking it for a real laugh.

‘God, what is it with you? What do I have to say to you to get you to leave me alone?’ I ask, stopping in the street and putting my hand on my hip. ‘If you tell me why you’re crying. Or, should I say, were? Because, if you haven’t already noticed, you’re no longer crying. Thanks to me,’ he grins, and I actually didn’t notice that I’m not crying anymore.

‘Well, your stupid ass has distracted me,’ I admit, and he laughs, the sound quite… endearing. ‘So? Tell me then. I think I deserve to know. Considering I cheered you up,’ he says, and I roll my eyes yet again. ‘I said that you distracted me. That is not the same as cheering me up. Listen, Jimin, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone. It’s nice to see you again, and I hope everything’s going well in your life, but it is not a good time for me right now. My patience is seriously wearing thin,’ I say, continuing to walk, but he still walks beside me, making me want to throttle him.

‘I think your patience was already thin. And I’m a good citizen, so I would never just let a pretty girl crying pass me by without asking what’s wrong. Especially if I already know her,’ he says lightly, and I roll my eyes. Is he seriously trying to flirt with me? ‘Jimin. Leave me alone,’ I say seriously, putting emphasis on every word as the anger begins to bubble up in my stomach. ‘Not until you tell me what’s wro-’ ‘I have a week left to live!’ I shout, losing my temper, and his face instantly transforms from teasing and light, to shocked and guilty as tears fill my eyes. That’ll teach him not to pry into other people’s business.

‘Oh. Oh, gosh. I’m sorry, y/n. I wouldn’t have asked if that’s what it was. I thought you were gonna say you’d broken up with your boyfriend or something. I’m so sorry,’ he says, sounding sincere, but I merely roll my eyes, turning and walking away, and hoping he’ll leave me alone now. ‘How’d you know?’ I hear him say from beside me, and I sigh aloud, having to physically restrain myself from hitting this boy with my bag.

‘What?’ ‘How’d you know you’ve only got a week left to live?’ ‘I went to the doctor a couple days ago, for chronic headaches. They did some scans, and then I got a call this morning to go to the hospital. They told me I have a brain tumour. Terminal. They said I’m lucky if I have another ten days,’ I say tiredly, a couple tears falling down my face which I wipe away hastily, and he takes a deep breath. ‘Wow. I’m really sorry. That’s… terrible. Is there no treatment?’ he asks, and I sigh again. ‘Yes, but they said it’s unlikely to cure it, it’ll only delay my inevitable death, and it’s… painful. I’d rather die sooner than later if later’s gonna hurt. Or it could get rid of the tumour, but it could ruin my future quality of life; I might not be able to speak the same, walk the same, even think the same. So I’ve refused treatment,’ I explain, not sure why I’m opening up to him, and he nods. ‘Reasonable. I’d do the same.’

We walk in silence for a few moments before Jimin starts speaking again. ‘So. Where are you going now?’ he asks, and I side-eye him. ‘Home.’ ‘To your boyfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one.’ ‘Girlfriend?’ ‘Don’t have one of those either.’ ‘Spouse?’ ‘I’m single.’ ‘Parents?’ ‘Don’t live with them.’ ‘Siblings?’ ‘Only child.’ ‘Friends.’ ‘Don’t have any.’ ‘What about all your friends from school?’ ‘I matured; they didn’t.’ ‘Oop. Roommates?’ ‘Nope.’

‘You live alone?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘I have a dog. If that counts,’ I say, and he grins. ‘Of course it counts. What breed?’ ‘A miniature husky. His name’s Coco, and he’s literally tiny,’ I say, a small smile coming onto my face at the thought of my baby, and he holds a hand to his heart. ‘That’s a cute name. My friend, Taehyung – you remember him, right? – he has a Pomeranian who’s tiny, called Yeontan. Tannie for short. Tan for even shorter,’ he says, and I smile despite myself.

‘That’s so adorable. Maybe Taehyung can have Coco. He’ll need a new owner,’ I say jokingly, and Jimin winces. ‘Don’t you feel like it’s too early to make jokes?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘It’s never too early. By the time it’s okay, I’ll be dead,’ I say bluntly, and he lets out a strangled laugh, as though he wants to hold it back but can’t.

I still feel a little shocked, but mainly numb. I went through the stages of dealing with bad news whilst I was still at the hospital. I started by denying it, and telling the doctor that something in the scan must be wrong. And then I got super angry that it hadn’t already been identified and screamed a little at her (it was my own fault, though – I’m the one that didn’t go to the doctor until it’d been months of me having headaches). Then I tried to bargain with the doctor, and ask if there were any treatments that don’t hurt or wouldn’t cause me irreversible damage, or if there was any chance I would survive any longer. And then I cried. A lot. And by a lot, I mean a lot. I got through a box and a half of tissues. I was at the hospital for three and a half hours, and spent two hours of that crying. And I was still crying when I left.

I guess I’m now in the acceptance stage. I didn’t know it was possible to move through the stages that quickly.

‘What was that paper you dropped? Your diagnosis?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘All my paperwork was in a folder, loads of it. I threw it in the recycling at the hospital.’ ‘Glad to see you’re looking after the planet for those of us that’ll still be here when you’re gone,’ Jimin says, almost tentatively, and I burst out laughing, covering my mouth. ‘That was funny,’ I admit, and he grins, relaxing. ‘I do try.’ ‘Yes, you’re very trying.’

‘Anyway. What was that paper then?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘Do you, like, make it your life’s mission to pry?’ ‘No, it comes naturally. A lot of girls receive it well, actually. They like it when someone good-looking seems interested in their life,’ he smirks, and I shoot him a disgusted look. ‘Big-headed much?’ ‘Just truthful.’ ‘Well, I’m not receiving it well. Clearly.’ ‘I guess you’re not like other girls then,’ he muses, and I shoot him another look. ‘Please don’t tell me you think that’s a compliment, because it isn’t,’ I say, and he laughs. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. Let me rephrase it. You’re not like the girls that I’m used to being around.’ ‘You’re probably used to being around girls just as pretty as you.’ ‘You think I’m pretty?’ ‘Shut up.’ ‘Well, you’re right. But it’s okay, because you’re not just as pretty as me. You’re prettier.

But anyway. Are you gonna tell me what that paper is?’ he asks again, skimming over the fact he’s now called me pretty for the second time, and I sigh, giving up. ‘It’s a summer bucket list. I saw this girl reading a book with the same name in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery the other day, and it inspired me to write one,’ I admit, and he grins. ‘That’s cute,’ he says, and I roll my eyes, looking away from him. ‘Well, I’m gonna die before I get to do any of them anyway,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Oh. Yeah. Forgot about that,’ he says, voice small, and I nod.

We continue walking, his shoulder a few inches from mine, and I distract myself from the slightly awkward silence by looking at our surroundings instead. It’s a lovely summer’s day today; warm and sunny with the most beautiful breeze. Families are out in force despite it being a weekday, little boys running around shirtless and barefoot, and little girls in cute summer outfits. Chill ‘vibey’ music floats through open car windows, couples share ice cream at the café we walk past, birds chirp in the trees that line the road. It’s such a beautiful day. I even shaved my legs and put on a cute floral playsuit. So much for sunbathing in the garden.

‘Hang on,’ Jimin says suddenly, stopping in his tracks. ‘What?’ ‘Who says you can’t tick off your bucket list?’ he asks, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘I’m going to die, Jimin,’ I say slowly, and he lets out a frustrated noise. ‘You have a week. That’s more than enough time for us to do it all,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Us? Who said anything about us?’ ‘I’ve taken it upon myself to help you tick off this bucket list.’ ‘And I’m taking it upon myself to refuse your help.’

‘Um, rude. Why?’ he asks with an amused glint in his eye, and my eyes widen even more. ‘Are you kidding? We barely know each other. The closest we ever were was when Nayeon and Jungkook dated and we all planned at their joint birthday party, and when we got paired together for that History project. That was years ago; I have no idea what kind of person you are now. You could be a murderer,’ I say, and he raises an eyebrow. ‘You’re going to die anyway,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘Okay, I’m allowed to joke about it; you are not. You could be a thief.’ ‘Again: you’re going to die anyway. But, I’m not a thief, so don’t worry. You’ll still have all of your belongings to put in your will.’ ‘Excuse me. Stop joking about my imminent death.’

‘Listen, I want to help you. Let me help you tick off your bucket list,’ he pleads, and I’m surprised at myself for actually considering it. I’m going to die anyway – I might as well spend my last few days having fun. Even if it is with an unbearably curious person from my past. ‘Please let me help you. I’ll consider my life a waste if you don’t,’ he says dramatically, dropping to the floor, making enough of a scene for people to look over at us. ‘Jimin, get up,’ I hiss, and he scrabbles at my shoes. ‘I’ll die if you don’t let me. Please, y/n, please let me,’ he wails, and I look around embarrassedly, feeling lots of stares on us.

‘If I say yes, will you stop making such an embarrassment of yourself?’ I hiss, and he looks up at me with wide eyes and a grin, nodding. ‘Then, yes. I’ll let you help me,’ I sigh, and he jumps up from the floor, a wide smile spreading across his lips. ‘Okay, let’s see what I’m working with,’ he says, and I look at him blankly. ‘Let me see the list,’ he prompts, and I pull the list out of my bag, handing it to him tiredly.

‘Okay, let’s see. ‘y/n’s Summer Bucket List’. Cute. ‘21 Things to Do This Summer’. Only 21 things? This’ll be easier than I thought,’ he says, before his eyes scan down the rest of the list. As he reads it, I look him up and down, inspecting him. He’s changed since school. A lot. He’s now around 5’8’’, with clear golden skin, chocolate brown eyes, plump pink lips and ink black hair swept back from his forehead (must be dyed because I remember his hair being a lot lighter than this). He’s dressed in a pair of grey shorts and a plain white t-shirt, a loose grey jacket over the top of it with pair of sunglasses at the back of his head. ‘Okay, well, you’ve already achieved number one. Making a new friend,’ he says, pointing at himself with a grin, and I roll my eyes exasperatedly. ‘I don’t know you well enough to call you a friend,’ I say, and he sighs.

‘That’s the best bit. You barely know me, and I barely know you. We can be whoever we want to be. All I know about you is the vague stuff from school, and I know that you had high hopes for this summer, but you’ve been diagnosed with a terminal illness. And you’ve only got a week left. And that you’re grumpy and get annoyed easily and are not receptive to strangers. And you’ve got a dog called Coco. All you know about me is the vague stuff from school, and that I’m a Libra, I hate spinach, my lucky number is 13, and that I dance.’ ‘And that you’re annoyingly curious and persistent and stubborn and think a lot of yourself.’ ‘Exactly! That’s literally nothing in the grand scheme of things.’

‘So you think we should lie to each other about what and who we are?’ ‘No, no, you’re misunderstanding. Haven’t you ever wanted to be like someone, but you’re too scared to, or you’re too stuck in your ways?’ he asks, voice soft, and I nod. ‘This is your chance. We barely know each other, and we have no more than a week together. You get to be whatever you want to be, y/n, and we’ll tick off everything on your list. We can be like those reckless teenagers from all those stupid films. What have you got to lose?’ he says gently, his eyes big and his words convincing.

‘We can’t do all this in a week,’ I say, and he sighs. ‘Can’t is not in my vocabulary. And neither are cannot, unable to, won’t, shouldn’t, wouldn’t, mustn’t-’ ‘Who in this century says mustn’t?’ ‘We can easily do all this in a week. Even less than a week,’ he says, and I raise a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Ambitious, but I don’t think so.’ ‘And that’s not in my vocabulary either. But… give me four days,’ he says, and my eyes widen. ‘Four days?’ ‘Easy. I could probably do it in three, but I’ll say an extra day just to be sure,’ he says confidently, and I roll my eyes.

‘Haven’t you, like… got a job? Or, like, studying? You can’t just devote four days – or more – to helping me tick off my bucket list,’ I say, and he rolls his eyes. ‘Why are you so sensible? Trust me, there’s nothing I have to do,’ he says, and I raise an eyebrow, not believing him for a second. ‘Fine,’ he sighs, ‘I work with my friend – Hoseok, remember him? – at his dance studio, but he’ll let me have some time off,’ he says, and I’m still slightly sceptical, but decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

‘Why do you want to help me? Haven’t you got better things to do with your life?’ I ask him, voice small, and he smiles, seemingly endeared. ‘There’s something tragic about you, y/n. You went to the hospital alone to be told that you’re going to die. And you don’t live with anybody. And you have a list of things you wanted to do this summer, but won’t be able to do them without help. My help. Of all the places you dropped that paper, you dropped it in front of me. And of all the people that could’ve picked it up, it was me. We haven’t seen each other since we left school, and even though the odds of us seeing each other again were slim, look where we are. Fate works in mysterious ways, y/n. Let me help you. For old time’s sake,’ he says softly, and I feel that little voice in my head whisper, ‘why not?’

‘You know what? Let’s do it,’ I say, throwing caution to the wind, and feeling a little bit of excitement bloom in my chest. ‘Wait, really?’ he asks, surprise on his face but also… hope in his eyes. ‘Yeah. Let’s do it,’ I say with a small smile, the excitement in my chest flooding out into my veins. He jumps up and pumps the air, whooping and shouting in celebration, and I don’t even feel embarrassed of him, finding it quite endearing.

‘Okay, let’s get started. It’s 12.32, so we have until 12.32 on Sunday to tick the whole list off. Let me look at the list again. Um… well, number one’s done. And the last one, the photo album, we can buy a photo album now and take pictures as we go along to put in it,’ he says, thinking aloud, before he turns abruptly. I look around in alarm before rushing after him. ‘Where are we going?’ ‘There’s a supermarket just down the road that we can get a photo album from. Oh, and we can buy an instant camera too! Cuter pictures,’ he says, and I roll my eyes with a small smile on my face.

‘We should just scrap that one. It’s not like I’ll be able to look back at it, so what’s the point?’ I say, and he frowns at me. ‘Well, we could say that about all of this, but it’s about making your last few days exciting and fun and an experience of a lifetime. So don’t say ‘what’s the point’, because there is a point,’ he says firmly, and I keep my mouth shut, unable to stop a small smile from appearing on my face.

We enter the supermarket, the change in temperature making me shiver in my skimpy outfit, and Jimin looks over at me. ‘Oh, my God, my mum would kill me if she knew how ungentlemanly I was being right now,’ he says, taking his jacket off. ‘No, Jimin, it’s fine,’ I try to stop him, but he’s already handing it to me and taking my little backpack from my hand. ‘Let me. Have you ever been treated like a princess?’ he asks, and I shake my head shyly. ‘Then take the jacket and let me hold your bag. It’s the least you deserve,’ he says, and I smile to myself as I shrug on the jacket without further complaint, watching amusedly when he puts on the backpack.

He leads us towards the electronics, the back corner of the store, and makes a beeline for the camera section. ‘What’s your favourite colour?’ he asks, and I hesitate. ‘It’s hard to choose a favourite,’ I say quietly, and he rolls his eyes, an amused smile playing at his lips. ‘Okay. What’s your favourite colour out of these?’ he says, motioning to the instant cameras, and I think before answering, ‘that one. The pastel blue.’ ‘Ah, nice choice,’ he says, picking one of the boxes up and heading over towards where the photo albums are, and I follow after him. ‘This one’s perfect!’ he says, pointing at one the same colour as the camera, and I nod, Jimin picking it up with a grin.

‘Right, let’s just double-check this list and see if there’s anything else we need,’ he says, getting the list out of his pocket again. ‘Hmm, we could buy some chalk to do number 4. And we can buy a shirt and markers to do number 5,’ he says, thinking aloud again, walking ridiculously quickly to where the art and school supplies section where the chalk and markers will be, before rushing off towards the clothes section, having me running around behind him.

Once we’ve picked out a plain white button-up dress shirt, we head over to the counter, Jimin chatting amicably with the cashier as I hang behind, surprised and slightly envious of his ability to speak to strangers like they’re close friends. ‘Would you mind doing us a favour?’ Jimin asks, and the cashier nods instantly, scanning through the shirt. ‘Can you sign this shirt? Just, like, with your name and your… job, I guess. We, um, we’re doing a project,’ Jimin says with a grin at me, and the cashier nods again, looking a little confused as Jimin hands her a marker from the pack. She writes ‘Soojung –supermarket cashier’, before handing Jimin the marker back with a grin.

‘Have you got film for this camera?’ Soojung asks as she scans it through, and Jimin looks to me, both of us exchanging an embarrassed glance. ‘No, but it’d probably help,’ I say frankly, and Jimin nods with a laugh. ‘I’ll go and grab them for you,’ the cashier says, getting up and running off. ‘We could’ve gone and gotten it, she didn’t have to,’ I say, and Jimin grins. ‘Perks of being a nice person – people do things for you that they don’t have to,’ he says pointedly, and I scowl at him. ‘Was that a dig?’ I demand, and he grins even wider. ‘Not at all, my dear, y/n,’ he says, throwing an arm around my shoulders, and I roll my eyes in response, the cashier reappearing with a couple boxes of film.

‘Do you want just the one or…?’ ‘We’ll take both,’ Jimin replies, the cashier nodding, scanning them through. ‘Gonna make some summer memories?’ the cashier asks, and we exchange another glance, a small smile playing at Jimin’s lips when he replies, ‘something like that, yeah.’

‘Okay, let’s have another look at this list,’ Jimin says once we’re seated in the back corner of his favourite coffee shop, pulling the list out of his pocket and reading it through. ‘So you’ve already made a new friend. Me. We’ve got the chalk for number four, and a shirt and markers for number 5. I should sign the shirt, right?’ he says, and I nod, thinking this’ll be easier if I let him do what he wants, and he grins, writing ‘Park Jimin - y/n’s fabulously beautiful assistant and school friend’. I raise an eyebrow, and he raises one back, challenging me to say something, but I just shake my head with a small smile.

‘Let’s look at the rest of them. Number 2, dyeing your hair… I have a trillion boxes of dye at home, that’s easy. Number 3, go on a road trip… we can do that, and tick off the others as we do it. Number 4, pavement chalk, we can do with Taehyung on his and Namjoon’s driveway because Tae’s good at art and their driveway is huge. Number 5, get everyone to sign a shirt, won’t be difficult, we just have to remember. Number 6, have s’mores at a bonfire… let me think about that one. Number 7,’ he begins, before looking up at me with a smirk, and I roll my eyes, a little embarrassed.

‘Don’t laugh. It’s something that so many people have done, and I never have,’ I say defensively, his mouth falling open. ‘You’ve never gotten drunk?’ he asks jokingly, and I laugh despite myself. ‘No, idiot, I’ve never skinny-dipped, but I’m pretty sure I’ll only have the courage to do it if I’m drunk,’ I say, and he nods, looking at me thoughtfully. ‘You can leave me with that one too, I’ll think about it.

Number 8, make a wish balloon, that’s easy. Number 9, go to a fairground… that may be a bit more difficult, but I’ll get it done. Number 10, have a picnic, easy. Number 11, get a tattoo, ooh, that’s fun. I know the perfect place. Number 12, go to a drive-in movie… difficult, but I’ll find a way. Number 13, cloud watch, super easy. Number 14, try camping for the first time, that’s easy too. Number 15, water fight… that’s easy as well. Number 16, homemade ice cream, easy. Number 17, pyjama day, even easier. Number 18, send a message in a bottle… should be easy. Number 19, run through sprinklers… shouldn’t be too hard. I hope. Number 20, stargaze and fall asleep under the stars, should be easy enough. And Number 21 is well under way already,’ he says with a grin.

The photo album already has two pictures in it; one of Jimin and I smiling and squinting in the sunlight, and one of us with the cashier, who looks a little awkward, but it’s fine. Nothing will be more awkward than telling her we’re trying to tick off a summer bucket list within a few days because I’m going to die soon. I was right – Jimin has a serious habit of oversharing.

‘Hi, welcome to the Sweetbrew. I’m Yoongi, I’ll be your server. What can I get you?’ a barista says, sounding like he wants to die, his entire face hidden behind a menu. ‘Yoongi,’ Jimin says, snatching the menu to reveal a boy with porcelain skin, mint green hair and brown eyes. I recognise him as one of Jimin’s best friends from school – Min Yoongi.

He was always one of the quieter members of their friendship group. Not shy, but more calm and laidback – it was easy to seem like that when surrounded by his friends, every single one of them having been big and loud characters. But he was just like the rest of them in that he was definitely popular, and desirable too. Everyone saw him as this sensitive and kind boy, his passion for music reinforcing that even more, and there was always somebody that was crushing on him, his look unique and intriguing. And he’s only gotten better looking since school, more mature and manly, yet still with the soft and delicate features that he had back then.

‘Oh, Jimin. Hey,’ he says, sounding a little more lively, before he turns to look at me. ‘Ah, y/n, right? From school?’ he asks, and I’m surprised at how quick he recognises me. ‘I told the group chat about you. Sorry,’ Jimin says, and my eyes widen, Yoongi sitting in the spare seat at our table. ‘What? When?’ I ask, and he grins. ‘While you got distracted playing with that puppy outside the supermarket,’ he says, and I frown.

‘Did you tell them everything?’ ‘No. Well, nearly everything. I told them what we’re doing, but I didn’t say why. Obviously,’ he says, and I fix him with a glare. ‘Oh, it’s okay to tell a random shop worker, but not your best friends?’ I ask, Yoongi shooting him a look too. ‘Not cool, Park,’ Yoongi says, and Jimin scowls. ‘I already apologised for that. I have a serious problem with oversharing,’ he says, Yoongi and I exchanging a glance as we chorus, ‘we know.’

‘Why are you doing this? If you don’t mind me asking,’ Yoongi asks, curiosity in his eyes, and I sigh. ‘I’ve got a brain tumour, so I’ve got, like, a week left to live,’ I say bluntly, Yoongi’s mouth falling open. ‘Oh. Oh, God, I’m so sorry, y/n, that’s awful,’ he says, sounding a little awkward, but I wave him off. ‘It’s fine. I’ve already gone through the five stages, and am now sufficiently distracted from my impending demise by your stupid friend,’ I say, Jimin scowling.

‘Well, at least he can make up for being stupid by helping you tick off your list. Anyway, you guys want drinks or you just chilling?’ Yoongi asks, and Jimin looks to me to answer. ‘I could do with a drink.’ ‘What would you like, y/n?’ Yoongi asks, and I hesitate, not quite sure. ‘Um… I don’t know. Jimin, what do you have?’ I ask, but Jimin already looks like he’s cooking up a scheme. ‘What fruits do you like, y/n?’ he asks me, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘berries, pineapple, mango, kiwi, peach. I like everything.’

Yoongi and Jimin exchange a glance, talking without words, and Yoongi nods before disappearing into the back. ‘Anyway. We need to get Yoongi to sign your shirt before we leave, remember. And then… we can go to Tae and Joon’s to do pavement chalk. And we should be able to make the ice cream at Tae and Joon’s too. Then we can go and pick up stuff from our houses before we go on the road trip,’ he says, and I hold up a hand.

‘We’re gonna have to go to mine before we go to Taehyung and Namjoon’s, because I’ve left Coco with the neighbour. I told her I’d only be a couple hours and it’s already been… nearly four,’ I say, Jimin nodding, and I can practically see his mind working. ‘We can get Coco and take her to theirs, and she can play with Tan while we get on with ticking things off. And then we can take her on the road trip with us the next day,’ he says, and I nod, getting more and more excited with his ideas.

‘Are you gonna drop me home tonight and then pick me up in the morning?’ I ask, and he thinks. ‘How about… we sleep over at Tae and Joon’s? You can get all your stuff when we go now, and then we’ll be able to leave first thing in the morning,’ he suggests, but I’m sceptical. ‘Won’t they mind?’ I ask, and he shakes his head instantly. ‘They’re so chill about this kinda stuff. They really won’t mind. We all sleep over at their house all the time because it’s the biggest. There’s more than enough space,’ he says, obviously trying hard to convince me, and I nod. There’s no point worrying about intruding at their house when their best friend seems to be the most intruding person in history.

Jimin looks back down at the list, thinking hard, and I smile to myself. It’s sweet that he’s putting so much effort in to try and tick off this list, even though we barely know each other. The most we ever said to each other at school would’ve been ‘d’you have a spare pen?’ or ‘can you pass me the bottle opener?’

Yoongi reappears after a couple minutes with two plastic cups in his hands, the drinks within them vibrant pink and orange. ‘I call this one… ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’. I put in the syrups for all the fruits you named and a lot of sugar and ice,’ he says, putting them down with a flourish, my heart warming as I smile at him. ‘Thank you. It looks amazing,’ I say, taking a sip, my eyes widening as the flavours explode in my mouth. ‘And it tastes amazing too,’ Jimin says, having already taken a (large) gulp.

‘I’m not the best barista here for nothing. But, y/n, you gotta take the credit. It is named after you,’ Yoongi says, and I roll my eyes with a smile. ‘Get out of here. But, for real, it tastes great, Yoongi,’ I say, the boy giving me the cutest gummy smile, and then I notice Jimin fiddling around with the camera. ‘What are you trying to do?’ I ask, stifling a laugh, and he sighs defeatedly. ‘Take a picture of us with your drink,’ he says, and I hold back a smile, ‘get someone else to take it.’

He ropes in an innocent woman sat beside us with her friend, and she takes a while to focus the camera on us and get the three of us in frame, but when the photo develops, it’s pretty good. ‘Perfect. Right, let’s head back and get Coco,’ Jimin says, and I hold out a hand. ‘Wait. Yoongi, will you sign this shirt?’ I ask, and he looks a little confused. Nevertheless, he signs it as ‘Min Yoongi – creator of the iconic ‘y/n’s summer bucket list’ drink and y/n’s school friend’.

Jimin looks thoughtful as we rise from our seats, and I side-eye him. I’ve noticed that a little bit of panic appears in my chest when I see that look on his face. ‘Yoongi, you busy tonight?’ Jimin asks, and Yoongi shakes his head. ‘I’m never busy,’ he says, and I stifle a laugh. ‘When d’you get off work?’ ‘4.’ ‘Come ‘round to Tae and Joon’s. I got an idea,’ Jimin says cryptically, wiggling his eyebrows at me, and I give him a look.

‘Okay. See you guys later then,’ Yoongi says before turning to head into the back. ‘Wait. Don’t we need to pay?’ I ask, and Yoongi smiles at me, a little sadness behind the expression. ‘It’s on the house. I might even speak to the manager about getting this drink put on the menu,’ he says, and I smile at him, trying to ignore the tears in my eyes. ‘Good idea. Thanks, Yoongi. See you later,’ I say, Jimin bidding him goodbye as he disappears into the back. ‘Okay,’ Jimin turns to look at me with a grin, ‘let’s go get Coco.’

‘Oh, y/n. Oh, my angel, I’m so sorry,’ Mrs Choi says for the eleventh time, dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief, and I smile sadly. ‘It’s okay, Mrs Choi,’ I say, not sure what else to say, when Jimin appears at my elbow. ‘Everything’s in the car now, so whenever you’re ready,’ he says with a grin as he hands me the house keys, Mrs Choi looking him up and down. ‘Oh, Mrs Choi, this is Jimin… an old school friend. Jimin, this is Mrs Choi, my lovely neighbour who my dog likes more than me,’ I say, Mrs Choi laughing as Jimin shakes her hand, bowing his head politely.

‘Oh, don’t be silly, y/n, Coco adores you. He cries whenever you leave him with me,’ she says, and I raise an eyebrow. ‘And then cries when I come to pick him up,’ I point out, and she waves a hand dismissively. ‘It’s because I feed him so much,’ Mrs Choi says, and I laugh, Coco appearing in the doorway behind her. He comes bounding up to me, my heart filling as he rests his front paws on my leg, and I bend down to pick him up. ‘Hi, baby. You okay?’ I say, showering him in kisses, and ducking away when he tries to lick my face. I hate when he licks my makeup off.

‘That is the cutest dog ever,’ Jimin says, and I hold Coco out to him. He instantly takes him into his arms, and giggles when he licks the tip of his nose. Coco leaps out of his arms, and he panics, trying to catch him, but he does it all the time, bounding around the front garden. ‘Here,’ Mrs Choi says, handing Jimin the little tennis ball she keeps beside the door for when she plays with Coco. He instantly throws it and Coco bounds after it, running straight back to him with it in his mouth.

‘He’s handsome,’ Mrs Choi observes quietly so Jimin can’t hear, and I roll my eyes. ‘And doesn’t he know it?’ ‘Are you… and him…?’ ‘Oh, God, no. I… there’s a list of things I wanted to do this summer, and he’s helping me get through it all before I...’ I trail off, and she nods, blinking furiously, obviously trying not to cry. ‘That’s lovely of him. Make sure you take lots of pictures to show me,’ she says, and I grin. ‘We’ve already started a photo album. Actually. Hold on,’ I say, getting the camera out of my bag as Jimin bends down to pet Coco who jumps on him, the unexpectedness making him fall onto his back. I get a really cute picture of him lying down, laughing, with Coco on his chest, trying to lick his face.

‘Lovely. Well, I’ll let you get to it. But make sure you come to see me again before… well, when you get back from ticking off your list,’ she says, pulling me into a hug, and I screw my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to cry in front of her. She’s been like a mother figure to me since I moved out of my parents’ house, always coming over to check if I’m okay, bringing me food and inviting me around at least once a week, looking after Coco whenever I need her to. I’m heartbroken that I’m going to be leaving a hole in her life when I go.

‘I will. See you later, Mrs Choi,’ I say, pulling away from her, and we exchange a sad smile. ‘See you, y/n. Be careful, dear, and have fun,’ she says sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek, giving me one last long look before she disappears into her house. I don’t blame her; I’d be struggling to deal if I were in her position.

‘Okay. Let’s go,’ I call to Jimin who’s sat cross legged on the floor, Coco running towards him with the ball and dropping it beside him. Jimin’s standing when I reach them and he hands me the ball, Coco’s eyes never leaving it. ‘Do you want Coco to sit on my lap or do you mind him sitting in the back?’ I ask, as we walk towards his car, and he shrugs. ‘He can sit in the back, I don’t mind,’ he says, and I pull open the back door, putting the ball in there, and Coco leaps in without hesitation. I shut the door behind him before climbing into the passenger seat, Jimin already sat in the driver’s seat.

‘You ready?’ he says excitedly as he starts the engine, putting on the radio which is currently playing Justin Bieber. ‘Yep. Let’s do this,’ I say, sneaking one last look at Mrs Choi’s house. And then it hits me. This might be the last time I look at her house. I might die before I get to see her again.

My body goes cold all over, tears prickling in my eyes as my throat constricts painfully. It just repeats in my head again and again; ‘I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I’m going to die.’

Coco realises I’m upset before Jimin does, and he begins to whine from the backseat. ‘Is Coco okay?’ I hear Jimin’s voice distantly, and when I don’t reply, I hear him coo, ‘Coco? What’s the matter, boy?’ And then he looks over at me.

‘Oh,’ he breathes out, instantly pulling over. ‘y/n,’ he says gently, reaching out to take one of my hands, and the second his skin touches mine, I burst into tears. He shuffles as close as he can, the gearstick separating us, and he leans across the gap, pulling me into his arms. I sob into his shoulder, letting him hold me as the tears come in an endless flood, whispering the words ‘I’m going to die’ every few seconds.

Once I’ve calmed down (and feel ridiculously uncomfortable in the position we’re in), I gently push away from him, and he releases me, still holding one of my hands in his. ‘Sorry,’ I whisper, and he frowns. ‘Don’t apologise. You’re allowed to be upset. Like, you’re going to die, for God’s sake; you can cry about that. Cry as much as you want, you’re entitled to do so. Just… tell me when you’re upset so I don’t say something stupid,’ he says ruefully, a small laugh falling from my lips, and he grins.

‘It’s just… it’s not fair. There’s still so much I wanted to do with my life. I’ll never work in my dream job. There are so many beautiful places I’ll never get to see. Tokyo, Mexico, Portugal, Bali, Dubai, India, Australia, Brazil, Hawaii, The Caribbean, The Maldives, Greece, Morocco. So many things that everyone does that I’ll never get a chance to do. Fall in love, get married, have a family. I’ve never even been in a relationship,’ I say with a harsh laugh, and Jimin sighs.

‘You’re right, y/n. It’s not fair, it’s not fair at all. You deserve so much more, so much better. You’ve been robbed of the rest of your life. You’re allowed to be angry. I’m angry,’ he says so simply, and it feels as though his words just… make it all okay. It’s hard to explain, but they feel like a consolation. They make me feel like the way I’m feeling isn’t me just being irrational, or a spoiled brat, because I know that it could be worse. They make me feel like I’m justified in my thoughts and feelings. And that’s what I need right now.

‘Thank you,’ I say, sniffling a little, and he smiles at me. ‘You’re most welcome, y/n. Now. Are you ready to go to Tae and Joon’s or would you like to cry for a little longer?’ he says teasingly, and I laugh, shoving him gently. ‘Drive, you moron,’ I say, and he gasps as he starts up the car, a small grin playing at his lips as he says, ‘Moron? I’m about to give you the summer of a lifetime in four days. Do you think a moron could do that? No, of course they couldn’t.’

‘y/n! Oh, my God, girl, it’s so good to see you!’ Taehyung exclaims the second I open the car door, running over from the front door and throwing his arms around me. I was always a little closer to Taehyung than I was to Jimin, because we had quite a few classes together. I hug him back, my face practically smushed against his chest as he holds me in a bone-crushingly tight embrace.

‘Hey, Taehyung. How have you been?’ I ask as he releases me, his hands still on my shoulders. He holds me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, before an appreciative grin spreads across his face. I hold back from pointing out that he still has the same adorable boxy smile from high school. And then I register his bright blue hair, stifling a laugh at how eccentric he still is. ‘I’m good. You got hot, y/n!’ he exclaims, and I feel blood rushing to my face from embarrassment.

‘Thank you. But look at you! You’re so handsome, Tae,’ I grin, and he grins back with a little wink. Everything about him is just as appealing as back then. Tae was definitely a ladies’ man… and a men’s man too. He was loud and bubbly, his personality easily grabbing the attention of everyone in any room, and his laugh was crazy infectious. He was the perfect mix of cute and hot, and he’s only gotten hotter, with his manly features and strong build.

‘Thank you, babe. Come in, come in. Jimin, do you need a hand with the bags? No? Good,’ he says, not even waiting for an answer from Jimin before he drags me up towards the house, the other boy muttering behind us as I hear him pop the boot open.

The second I step over the threshold, a ball of fluff appears and begins yapping at me from behind Tae, and he bends down to pick it up. ‘y/n, this is my beloved son, Kim Yeontan, or Tannie for short,’ Taehyung says, introducing me to his little Pomeranian, who has now quietened down and is staring at me with a curious look in his eyes. ‘Hi, Tannie,’ I coo at the dog, reaching a hand out to stroke his head, and he lets me with a contented little growl low in his throat.

‘Ah, he likes you! He rarely likes strangers. Little coward,’ Taehyung says affectionately as I slip off my shoes, Jimin appearing in the doorway with my bag (a suitcase, actually – yes, I might be dying soon, but I wanna make sure I look good when I do, so I had to bring plenty of clothes) in one hand, and Coco in the other. And then the barking match starts.

Coco and Yeontan incessantly yowl and woof at each other, both of them scrabbling to get out of Jimin and Tae’s arms. And then Taehyung puts Tan down, and Tan instantly shuts up, hiding behind his dad’s legs. Jimin does the same, putting Coco down, and he tries to get Jimin to pick him up again. ‘They’re both cowards,’ I mutter with a smile as Taehyung leads us down the front hallway, Yeontan trotting along beside him as I follow behind, Coco hanging back with Jimin as he takes his shoes off and shuts the front door.

We enter the kitchen, and if it wasn’t clear from the outside of the house, it’s made clear now; this house is beautiful, and expensive. It’s roomy and spacious, modern and clean, with classy and tasteful furnishings. ‘I love your house, Tae. It’s so nice, and I love the way you’ve decorated,’ I say, and he beams at me, eyes nearly disappearing behind their lids. ‘Thank you, y/n. It was all me – Joon has no sense of decoration,’ he says, sounding genuinely touched, and Jimin raises an eyebrow at me as he walks in. ‘Look at you sucking up,’ he mutters with a grin, and Tae and I both shoot him dirty looks.

‘You want something to drink, y/n? Before we get started on the chalk?’ he asks, and I shake my head. ‘I’m okay, thank you,’ I reply, but he’s already distracted with the list that Jimin’s put in front of him on the marble island counter. ‘Ooh, so this is the list? Let’s have a look,’ he says before reading it intently. Once he’s done, his eyes flit up to me, before flitting back down to the page.

‘Don’t take offence to this, okay?’ he says, and I already brace myself for a mocking remark. ‘Some of this stuff is, like, basic teenager stuff. How have you not done all of this already?’ he asks softly, and I feel a little embarrassed. ‘I don’t know, I just… after high school, I drifted from the girls – I still talk to them every now and then, but it isn’t the same – and I didn’t really… make any new friends to do these kind of things with. I have my work friends, but the most I’ve ever done with them is a night out. And in high school, I guess I was… too cautious and too scared to join in on these kind of things. We went on a group trip to the beach – I was the only one that didn’t skinny dip. The end of school prank was dyeing our hair in the school toilets – I was the one of the only ones that didn’t dye mine. Everyone planned a camping trip together – I didn’t go. I was, and still am, a little… uptight, I guess? I wanted to change that this summer, but…’ I trail off, and Tae surprises me by nodding sadly.

‘Jimin told me on the phone while you were talking to your neighbour,’ he says, and I shoot Jimin a look. ‘I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have to keep telling people!’ he exclaims defensively, and I nod with a roll of my eyes, thinking his reasoning is fair enough. ‘I’m really sorry, y/n. There’s not much someone can say in these kind of situations, but I just want you to know that I’m so sorry, and that it’s so unfair,’ he says gently, and I smile sadly. ‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’

‘Now, anyway. Shall we get on with this list? I know Jimin said that we can start with chalk and ice cream, but…’ Tae says, voice a lot more cheerful as he sidles over to me, twisting a lock of my hair around his finger, ‘I think we should dye your hair first.’ ‘Dye it?’ I say, lifting a hand to pat my hair protectively, having not yet worked up the courage. ‘Yep. I have trillions of box dyes upstairs – you can choose any colour you like,’ he says, and I look over at Jimin who grins, nodding encouragingly.

A few minutes later, I’m sat on a stool in Tae’s lavish bathroom, a towel resting over my shoulders as I inspect the boxes laid out on the counter in front of me, Taehyung and Jimin stood behind me as Coco and Tan play in Tae’s bedroom (they seem to be the best of friends now). ‘I’m thinking I shouldn’t go too wild considering it’ll be my funeral in a little while and my parents will probably want an open casket,’ I say musingly, Taehyung choking on air as Jimin holds back a smile.

‘Good idea. Maybe… highlights or ombre rather than the whole head?’ Jimin suggests, and I nod, feeling a little more at ease at not having to take the full plunge. ‘Okay… what colour then?’ Taehyung asks, and I look at all the colours. ‘Um… I don’t know. It’s really difficult,’ I say a little timidly, both boys nodding reassuringly, trying to give me a little more confident. ‘You’re right, it is difficult. How about… two platinum blonde streaks at the front of your hair?’ Taehyung asks, and I nearly choke.

‘Blonde streaks… like an e-girl?’ I ask, and Tae laughs, nodding. ‘It’s on trend, and I think you’ll be able to pull it off really well,’ Tae says thoughtfully, and whilst I’m still not convinced, Jimin nods excitedly. ‘Yes, that’d look amazing! Go on, y/n, you should!’ Jimin urges, eyes locked with mine in the mirror, and I sigh before nodding with a small smile. ‘Why not? Go for it,’ I say, the two of them exchanging a grin.

Before I know it, the front sections of my hair have been bleached and foiled, and a timer has been set for 20 minutes. And Jimin is contemplating dyeing his own hair. ‘I mean, I’ve had black for so long, and I need a change, right? I’ve been wanting to go bright for a while. But do I go a natural bright, or a colourful bright?’ he muses, Tae fake yawning at him in the mirror, coaxing a giggle from me, but Jimin doesn’t notice, too busy inspecting the dye boxes.

‘If it helps, I liked it when you went blond at school. You look nice blond,’ I say, and he looks at me in the mirror with a thoughtful look in his eyes. ‘Bright blond, or platinum blond, or dirty blond?’ he asks, and I think for a moment before answering, ‘bright blond.’ ‘Okay, let’s go bright blond then,’ he says instantly, disappearing off to get a towel from Tae’s airing cupboard.

‘That was… interesting,’ Tae says with a smirk at me in the mirror, and I look back at him confusedly. ‘How so?’ ‘He never takes anyone’s advice when it comes to his hair dye. And he never decides that quick,’ he says, his smirk even wider, but Jimin reappears before I can reply. I try to shake off Tae’s words as Jimin looks for the right box dye.

‘Maybe I should dye my hair too,’ Tae says, looking at his blue locks in the mirror. ‘I like you with brown hair, Tae. I’d like it if you had brown hair at my funeral,’ I say, and his eyes widen slightly at the mention of it again. ‘Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. We should all have natural colours for the funeral, out of respect,’ Jimin says, and I frown. ‘No, I don’t mind if you guys had the craziest colours ever. I just think you look so… classically handsome with brown hair, Tae,’ I say, and he looks smug at my compliment. ‘Okay,’ he grins, reaching for a box dye, Jimin and I exchanging a look in the mirror as he says, ‘guess I’m going brown then.’

‘When did you go brown, Tae? And you blond, Jimin?’ a voice suddenly says, making all three of us jump. There’s a man stood on Taehyung’s front garden, and I remember him as Jung Hoseok from school. He was cute back then, but he’s handsome now with his golden skin and his silky brown hair. ‘About… 90 minutes ago,’ Taehyung says, currently drawing what looks like a heart but could also be an alien, and Hoseok nods as though it’s perfectly normal.

‘Hey, y/n. Your hair looks nice,’ Hoseok says, shooting a heart-shaped smile at me, and I smile back. I’m still not used to my hair being blonde when it falls into my face, but it does look nice – Tae and Jimin did a good job. ‘Hey, Hoseok. Thank you. Tae and Jimin did it.’ ‘Please, call me Hobi. Anyway, how are you?’ he says before wincing, obviously already aware of my situation. Jimin really can’t keep his mouth shut. ‘I’m okay. How are you?’ I ask, and he nods, replying, ‘I’m good. Excited to work on this list.’ ‘Well, get some chalk and get your ass down here to help us,’ Jimin says from where he’s sprawled out on the gravel, drawing a dog (or attempting to, anyway).

We’ve been working on the chalk for just over an hour, listening to music from Taehyung’s speaker that’s sat in the doorway (Coco and Tan have already knocked it over several times whilst they’ve been playing). Bright chalk covers nearly all of Taehyung and Namjoon’s driveway – except for where Tae and Jimin’s cars are – rainbows, flowers, hearts, clouds surrounding us (as well as a bunny, a pineapple, a unicorn, a slice of watermelon and Jimin’s dog).

‘It looks like you’re nearly done,’ Hoseok observes, and I nod, wiping my forehead clean of sweat. ‘Yeah, we are. This isn’t as fun as I thought it was going to be,’ I say frankly, the others all laughing. ‘The fun comes from taking pictures with the chalk,’ Taehyung says, and I get up instantly. ‘Okay, let’s just take pictures and then carry on with the list,’ I say, the three of them laughing again as Jimin and Taehyung get up from the floor.

Taehyung instantly goes into director mode, making me lie down in a gap in the chalk. Jimin stands over me, one foot on either side of my waist, taking pictures on both the camera and his phone whilst Taehyung directs him on how to take them and me on how to pose, Hobi using his phone torch to give us better lighting (it doesn’t make much of a difference, but he’s trying).

I start to feel a little embarrassed, wondering what we must look like to Tae’s neighbours, before I remember that life is short – mine especially – so I should make the most of it without worrying what people think of me. After a few minutes (and a few dozen pictures), I get into it a little more, and the boys all begin hyping me up, Jimin making a few flirty comments here and there.

And then Jimin joins me, Taehyung taking the camera and Hobi directing us (he’s even more… bossy than Taehyung, instructing us down to the simplest things – the positions of our fingers, the direction we look in, the angle of our heads. Everything.)

‘You guys are gonna make her regret asking for help,’ a voice comes from the driveway, all of us looking over to see Namjoon and Jungkook from school stood there, leaning against the Jimin’s car. ‘Watch the car!’ Jimin exclaims, both of them heading over. ‘Just for the record, I didn’t ask for help. Jimin forc- I mean, Jimin volunteered his help,’ I say, correcting myself when he shoots me a dirty look, the others laughing.

‘It’s good to see you guys again. Did you walk here?’ I ask, and Namjoon nods. ‘It’s good to see you too. Jungkook picked me up from work, and then we dropped his car off and walked here. We all live really close to each other. Jimin, Jungkook and Hobi live on the road up there, and Jin and Yoongi live on the road down that way,’ Namjoon points, and I nod, thinking how sweet it is that they all live so close together.

‘JK, the blue’s gonna have to go,’ Tae says to the baby of their group. He’s changed more than all of them; he still has his big eyes and his cute bunny teeth, but that’s where the similarities end. He’s so handsome, and his body is lean and tall. Not as tall as Namjoon, though; he always was tall, but he’s grown even more now, and he’s gorgeous, with his dimples and blond hair. It’s like only beautiful people are allowed in their friendship group.

‘What?’ Jungkook asks, confused, his eyes wide. ‘You need to dye your hair brown again,’ Tae says, Jungkook frowning. ‘Why? I’ve only been blue for a couple days. Don’t you like it?’ ‘It looks great, but we’re all going natural out of respect, for y/n’s funeral,’ Jimin says casually, Jungkook choking and Namjoon slapping his back with wide eyes. ‘Jimin. You can’t just drop it in like that,’ Hobi reprimands, but I wave it off. ‘It’s fine, I’d prefer if we just spoke about it normally. Anyway, you don’t have to go brown, Jungkook, it’s okay,’ I say, Jungkook nodding, still looking a little shell-shocked.

‘Can we get up now?’ I say to Hobi from where I’m lying on the floor, shoulder-to-shoulder with Jimin, and he shakes his head. ‘If you want to make a scrapbook, you can’t just have pictures of you and Jimin in it. You need to get pictures with all of us,’ he says simply, and I bite my tongue, knowing I’ll just have to suck it up. Twenty minutes later, I’ve taken several pictures with all of the boys, and it was a little fun, I guess. We’ll have run out of film by the end of the day at this rate.

But my head’s starting to hurt a little, and I know I can’t take anymore. ‘Can we stop now? I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ I say, sitting up, and they all look a little worried. ‘Is it from being under the sun for so long?’ Hobi asks, nervously, but Tae speaks before I can reply; ‘no, it’s probably the hair dye.’ Jimin looks at them both incredulously. ‘I think it’s the tumour in her brain,’ he says slowly, and I can’t help but share his exasperation at their stupid suggestions, the boys all falling into a shocked silence as Jimin looks to me with thinly-veiled amusement.

‘Yeah, I think you’re right, Jimin, it probably is,’ I say, holding back a laugh. ‘Do you want some painkillers?’ Tae asks weakly, and I smile, shaking my head. ‘I’m okay, thanks. I might just have a little lie-down, if that’s okay?’ I ask, Tae nodding straight away. ‘I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and you can have a shower, or a nap, if you want?’ Tae suggests as Hobi and Jimin help me up, my head dizzy and light, and I nod. ‘That sounds perfect.’

I blink in the slices of soft sunlight that fall between the blinds onto the bed, sitting up carefully. My head feels a lot better after that nap, which was the best nap of my life, by the way. Tae and Joon must be seriously rich, because this bed is the most comfortable bed I’ve ever slept in. And the room is super lavish, monochrome and clean, with a deep carpet and expensive looking furnishings. The bathroom was nice too, and I dragged out my shower a lot longer than usual, my skin smelling fresh with Tae and Namjoon’s expensive passionfruit body wash.

I slowly climb out of the bed, looking at myself in the floor to ceiling mirror on the wall opposite me. I still can’t get used to the hair, but it does look good. Tae has good taste, and he and Jimin put the dye in really well – the front sections of my hair are the perfect vibrant blonde. Tae put all these different haircare products in it after he washed out the dye, and it feels healthier than ever before. It’s obvious he’s dyed his hair plenty, because he’s clearly an expert. He could be a hairdresser if he wanted to.

I open my suitcase and get out a bralet to put on (my pyjamas are satin, and I’d rather not have my nipples visible through them in a room full of childhood friends I haven’t seen for years) and put it on beneath my black button-up pyjama shirt. I quickly splash some water over my face to wake myself up a little before I head downstairs, following the loud voices that lead me into the kitchen. Namjoon’s stood at the counter, making coffee, Jungkook, Jimin, Tae and Hobi sat around the breakfast bar with two new arrivals; Yoongi, and Seokjin. Seokjin literally hasn’t aged a day, and he’s somehow even more handsome than he was back then, with his plump lips and swept back dark hair.

‘Sleeping beauty awakes!’ Jimin exclaims when he sees me walk in, and I smile softly, still a little sleepy. His blond hair really does look good, the perfect summer colour, and Tae’s looks really good too – the dark brown locks make him look like a model. ‘y/n! They were right, you really are gorgeous!’ Jin exclaims, jumping up and pulling me into a hug, and I try to supress the embarrassment I’m feeling at them talking about me, and telling Jin I’m gorgeous. One thing I remember about Jin was that he never used to feel embarrassed, at anything. Sometimes he’d get a little shy, and his ears would go red, but he’d never hesitate to do something, even if it was embarrassing, if it would help to ease any awkwardness and make people feel comfortable.

His hugging me, despite us barely speaking when we went to school together and not having seen each other for years, is just what I need, and a perfect example of how kind Jin is.

‘Thanks, Jin, but look at you! You’re really handsome,’ I say honestly, feeling at ease after his hug, and he grins at me. ‘You didn’t call me handsome, y/n, but you called Tae and Jin handsome,’ Jimin pouts, and I roll my eyes at him. ‘She knows Tae and I are the best-looking, that’s why,’ Jin says, and Jimin scowls at him before looking back at me, still waiting for an answer. ‘Just because I didn’t say it out loud, doesn’t mean I didn’t think it,’ I say matter-of-factly, and he grins proudly. ‘What about the rest of us?’ Hobi asks, all of them flashing smiles at me, and I blink a few times. ‘You’re all handsome. Now stop smiling at me before I faint,’ I say, all of them laughing.

‘Coffee, y/n?’ Namjoon asks, but I shake my head. ‘I’m trying to cut down on my caffeine intake. Thanks, though,’ I say, and Jimin frowns. ‘y/n, it’s not like it matters,’ Jimin says, everyone wincing, and I laugh, nodding in agreement. ‘You’re right. I will have some, please, Namjoon,’ I say, everyone laughing again as Namjoon nods with a smile, getting another mug out for me. ‘Sit down, y/n,’ Tae says, patting the empty seat between him and Jungkook, and I sit in it, feeling a little self-conscious. I’m in my pyjamas, with no makeup and slight bedhead, and they’re all just… so handsome.

‘What do you guys do? For you all to be at home at… 5.38 on a Wednesday?’ I say, reading the time on the clock. I have all of the boys on social media, so I vaguely know some of what goes on in their lives, but not much. It’s hard to keep track of everyone from school. ‘Um, I own my own photography business. We do photography for weddings, parties, photo shoots, etc. and we’ve had some pretty high-profile clients, so we’re quite successful. And I do some art on the side, and some of my paintings have sold well, hence the fancy house. I get to work from home most of the time, because I mainly do editing – I’ve hired photographers, but I do a couple weddings here and there,’ Tae says, and I’m impressed, though not surprised. Tae always did have a talent for art, and he was the photographer for the school newspaper, so this career is perfect for him.

‘I own my own dance studio, and we only open on Monday and Tuesday 6-9, Thursday 3-6, and then Saturdays and Sundays,’ Hoseok says and, again, I’m not surprised; Hoseok always loved his dancing and he put more effort into dance than into his school work, but I guess it paid off.

‘I work for Hobi and Tae. I teach classes every day that it’s open, and then I do some photography work every couple weeks. And I do some shifts here and there at a tattoo shop,’ Jungkook says, and I think it’s really cute that he works for his friends, though I wonder if it sparks any arguments between them. I look at Jimin when Jungkook mentions the tattoo shop, and Jimin grins with a little nod, my stomach turning. Obviously, he was referring to where Jungkook works when he said he knew the perfect place for me to get a tattoo.

‘I do all the finances and admin and paperwork for Tae and Hobi, and I work for a small record label, producing and rapping,’ Namjoon says as he puts my coffee down in front of me, and I thank him with a smile, quite surprised to hear Namjoon’s career choice. To be fair, Namjoon excelled in all of his subjects, so he’d be good at whatever he chose to do.

‘I’m a part-time chef at this restaurant in the city, and I’m also studying to become an actor,’ Jin says, and I’m impressed. I didn’t know Jin was interested in cooking or in acting, but now that I look at him, he really does look like an actor, and I could imagine him as a chef too, with one of those big white hats.

‘I’m a barista, as you know, I teach a couple piano lessons a week, and I do some rapping and producing at the same company as Namjoon,’ Yoongi explains, and I remember how good he was at piano. He was chosen to play at one of these awards’ evenings we had at school, and we were all so impressed at how good he was. Rapping, though? I never knew he could rap.

Everyone looks at Jimin to answer, but he looks back blankly before saying, ‘I already told her my job.’ They all nod before looking back at me. ‘What do you do, y/n?’ Jin asks, and I roll my eyes. ‘I work part-time as an assistant at a law firm, and I’m studying to become a lawyer. Or I was anyway,’ I trail off, a little sad that I’ll never be able to do my dream job, and the boys all give me pitying looks. Except for Jimin, who says, ‘damn, y/n, you’re clever. Law student, huh?’ I nod with a smile, and he grins. ‘You could’ve got in on the family businesses, and done all the boring legal shit for us,’ Jimin says, and I grimace, internally endeared at him calling them the family businesses. ‘I’d have passed. Sorry,’ I say, the boys all laughing.

‘Okay, enough chit chat. Let’s carry on with your list,’ Jin says, picking it up from where it sits in the middle of the island, and I take a sip of my coffee. ‘Should I wash the chalk from your driveway?’ I ask Tae and Joon, and they both shake their heads. ‘I was about to, but Jin stopped me. He wants some pictures with you and the chalk,’ Tae says, and I let out a sigh, all them laughing. ‘We’ve literally spent all of our time on the chalk so far. Your four days are gonna fly by,’ I say to Jimin, who waves it off with an easy grin.

‘Stop trying to worry me. Four days is plenty. You go take some pictures with Jin, and Yoongi, while I set up the next thing for us to tick off,’ Jimin says, getting up and pulling me off my seat, pushing me towards the door. ‘Make sure you get plenty of good pictures,’ Jimin says to Tae with a mischievous glance at me, who nods, and I roll my eyes. ‘We’re gonna run out of film,’ I say, but Jimin shakes his head with a grin. ‘I went out whilst you were asleep and got some more supplies, including a few more boxes of film,’ he grins, and I let out a deep sigh as Tae and Jin drag me outside, Yoongi trailing behind, and Jimin waving at us from the doorway.

‘Done with your photoshoot?’ Jimin asks as we walk into the living room. ‘Yes, thank God,’ I say, throwing myself down onto the sofa. ‘Jin, you’re way too demanding. We were out there for forty-five minutes,’ Yoongi says, flopping down next to me, and Jin scowls at us from the doorway. ‘Tae wasn’t getting my angles!’ he exclaims, and Tae’s eyes widen. ‘You’re not blaming this on me. I own a photography business, so don’t accuse me of being a bad photographer,’ Tae says, Jin opening his mouth to speak, but Jimin interrupts; ‘don’t argue. y/n’s dying.’

They go silent, and I burst out laughing as Jimin grins at me. ‘You can’t drop that into every conversation, Jimin,’ I laugh, the others relaxing a little, and Jimin shrugs. ‘I can. Just watch. Anyway, before you get comfy, we need to go into the dining room,’ he says vaguely with a knowing grin, and I narrow my eyes at him. ‘I don’t want to, because of that look on your face,’ I say suspiciously, and he laughs. ‘Come on, y/n, we gotta tick the next thing off your list,’ Jimin says amusedly, holding a hand out to me, and I take it after a moment of hesitation, letting him pull me up. He doesn’t let go of my hand, dragging me behind him into the dining room, and it takes a little while for me to register what’s going on.

The table is set up with these different machines, and Jungkook sits at the table with an empty seat beside him, a lamp set up to cast a bright light onto the empty chair. And then I spot the little book on the table, sat beside a bunch of needles lined up on a small white sheet.

Jungkook’s about to give me a tattoo.

‘Oh, hell no,’ I say, turning around, but Jimin grabs me around the waist before I can walk away, picking me up and carrying me over to the door as I struggle around in his arms, the other boys watching amusedly. But Jimin’s freakishly strong, and my struggling doesn’t work. He puts me down in the empty chair, and I pout at him before looking around at the others. Tae, Jin and Yoongi are stood in one doorway, blocking it, and Namjoon and Hobi stand in the other, blocking that too. I literally cannot leave, and when I look down at the needles, my stomach turns.

‘Do you want to look through the book?’ Jungkook asks gently, and I sigh. ‘Not really,’ I say, all of them laughing as he hands me the book, and I flip through it. ‘Can you all stop looking at me? Or at least put on some music so I don’t feel so tense,’ I say, more laughter rippling around the room as Taehyung gets his phone out of his pocket and taps the screen a couple times, gentle RnB music floating out into the room from the ceiling. They must have a built-in sound system – their house really is boujee.

I scan the book and some of the designs are cute, but none of them really stand out to me. ‘Struggling to choose one?’ Jungkook asks quietly, the others having conversations between themselves, and I nod. He rolls up his sleeve, and shows me the various tattoos that cover his arm and hand. He has a flower, a skeleton hand, the word ‘Truth’, the woozy emoji, a purple heart, a little crown and some black stripes with various numbers and letters on his hand. ‘They all stand for different things. Like, for example, this is the tiger flower, which is my birth flower, and the letters all stand for the guys. So you could get some that are meaningful to you, or you could just get something that you think looks pretty. It’s up to you,’ he says, and I nod, thinking.

I decide on getting my birth flower, a little bolt of lightning and my parents’ initials. ‘Why don’t you get something summer related?’ Jimin suggests softly, and I think before nodding. ‘Like… the sun, or something?’ I ask, and he shrugs. ‘Whatever you want. You could get a picture or a quote, anything you want. It’s up to you, y/n. It’s your body,’ he says, and I nod, thinking about the first idea I had for a tattoo when I wrote that list. ‘How about ‘we’ll always have summer’… or is that silly?’ I ask, and Jungkook shakes his head straight away.

‘Of course it isn’t silly,’ he says, but Jimin looks at me thoughtfully. ‘Who’s we?’ he asks, and I sigh. ‘I don’t know. A general ‘we’, I guess? Like… as bleak as life gets, as boring, as sad, as hard as life is, there’s always the hope, the promise, the excitement of summer. So no matter what happens, we’ll always have summer,’ I explain, Jungkook’s eyes widening, and Jimin nodding at me with a small smile. ‘Wow, that’s so deep, y/n. You’re so clever,’ Jungkook says, and I laugh, waving it off.

‘Have you decided yet?’ Hobi asks, and I nod, feeling a little nervous. ‘I’m getting my birth flower, a bolt of lightning, my parents’ initials, and ‘we’ll always have summer’. What do you think?’ I ask, and Hobi smiles, looking impressed. ‘You’re getting four?’ he asks, and I laugh. ‘Might as well.’ ‘Where do you want them?’ Jungkook asks, and I hesitate. ‘Where does it hurt least?’ ‘Your ass,’ Jimin says with a grin, and I swat at him whilst the others all laugh. ‘The least painful is usually your back, the outside of your arms, the inside of your forearm and the outsides of your thighs. Hands aren’t too bad, and nor are shoulders,’ Jungkook explains.

After a lot of deliberation, we make the decision as a group of where I should have them; birth flower on my inner forearm, my parents’ initials on my right ring finger, the lightning bolt on the side of my ribcage/side-boob, and the quote on the back of my left shoulder. ‘How long will it take, Jungkook?’ I ask as Jungkook sets up all his equipment, the others arguing about what we should have for dinner. ‘Please, call me JK, or Kook, or whatever. And, it shouldn’t take longer than a few hours, because they’re all quite small. The quote will take the longest, and I can usually do quotes in an hour and a half, so I’d say… three hours, maybe three and a half?’ he says, and I feel dread at the thought of being in pain for that long. But it’s fine. I’ll be fine.

‘Are you still not done?’ Taehyung demands as he enters the room, Jungkook’s eyes still fixed on my finger as he sighs. ‘Relax, I’m doing the last one now. I’ll be done in a few minutes,’ he says, and Tae huffs. ‘You’re taking ages. We want to do the next thing on her list.’ ‘Don’t rush me, Tae. Tattooing is an art,’ Jungkook says calmly, Tae rolling his eyes from behind Jungkook’s back, and I hold back a laugh.

It actually wasn’t that painful, surprisingly. The worst thing was having to stay still for so long. He started with my birth flower, and it was fascinating to watch the ink appear on my skin, at first. The fascination soon wore off, and I was itching to move, but I knew I’d just ruin it if I did.

Then he moved onto the quote. I had to tie my hair up into a bun and sit backwards on a chair whilst he did it, and Jimin fed me some of the Chinese food they’d ordered, keeping me entertained with his stupid antics. Jin tried to feed Jungkook, but when he choked Jungkook with a chopstick, Jungkook decided he’d just eat afterwards.

And then he did my lightning bolt. I had to take off my top and unclasp my bra, holding it in place with my arm out of the way so Jungkook could get to my side-boob easily, and I told the boys that none of them could come in whilst he was doing that one, because the bra kept slipping. Jungkook was very professional though, and I can’t even imagine how many boobs he’s seen over his time working as a tattoo artist.

And now he’s doing my fingers. I’m used to the stinging pain now, and I’m very proud of myself for not crying. Tae shows me some funny videos on his phone whilst Jungkook carries on with the tattoo. ‘And… done!’ he exclaims, sitting back in his chair with a sigh. I look at my hand, pleased with how the tattoo looks. ‘Thank you, JK, it’s great.’ ‘No problem. Right… let me give you the aftercare speech,’ he says as he begins to put the weird jelly stuff and a bandage onto my finger. It’s weird how professional he is – I saw him passed out drunk at house parties more times than I can remember, and now he’s giving me tattoos and telling me how to look after them properly.

‘Don’t remove these bandages for 24 hours, and when you do, wash the tattoos, gently, with an unscented soap and water, and pat it dry afterwards. Put on some of this ointment twice a day, if you can, but you don’t need to put on another bandage. Wash them a few times a day, gently, with unscented soap and water, and always pat them dry, and then put on an unscented sensitive skin moisturiser. Obviously, you’re going to tick those things off your bucket list, and I’m sure a couple involve being in the water and sun. We usually advise against being in the water and sun, but obviously, you’re not going to do that, so just don’t be in the sun for too long, and put plasters over them when you go in the water, to try and stop them being infected. It’s not really that big of a deal if they do get infected because…’ ‘I’m dying anyway.’ ‘Yeah, that. So don’t worry about it too much, but just try your best to be careful with them. Oh, and don’t go into hot water, if you can help it. Have cool showers, and not for too long, either. I think that’s it, but if you have any questions, just get my number from Jimin and text or call me. Do you have any questions now?’

‘Only one; would you rather I transferred you the money, or do you want cash?’ ‘y/n, don’t be ridiculous. I’m not charging you,’ he says as though it’s obvious, and I frown. ‘Jungkook.’ ‘No, y/n, I’m not taking money from you.’ ‘Why not? I haven’t got anything else to spend it on, remember? And it’s taken you ages!’ ‘It doesn’t matter. I’m not accepting any money from you, and that’s it. I do free tattoos for the boys all the time – Jimin’s got several from me. Just see it as a gift from an old friend,’ he says simply, with a grin, and I can’t help the small smile on my face. ‘Thank you, JK,’ I say, and he grins even wider, his cute little bunny teeth on display. ‘No problem, y/n.’

‘Are you done now? Can we move on to the next thing?’ Tae says excitedly, Jungkook nodding with a laugh at his eagerness. ‘Come on, then,’ Tae says, grabbing my hand and pulling me up, dragging me out of the dining room. He leads me towards the back door, pushing it open and moving aside to let me out first, and I gasp when I see the garden. ‘I know it’s not that big but it’s the best I could do,’ Jimin says as I slip on the sliders that he puts down on the floor in front of me, stepping out onto the light wood decking.

Tae and Namjoon’s garden is beautiful – it’s obvious at least one of the two loves gardening. The decking has steps down onto the grass which is healthy and neat, a dark, rich green, and there are trees and flowers of all different colours lining the light wood fence that runs around the garden. Fairy lights are strung up around the fence, casting a warm yellow glow across the space and there’s a fire pit in the middle of the garden, a small fire inside it with a garden furniture set placed around it, four armchairs and two two-seaters.

‘Oh, my God, this is great! Did you already have a fire pit?’ I ask Tae who shakes his head. ‘Jimin went out to buy one earlier,’ he says, and I look to Jimin with a frown. ‘You shouldn’t have. Let me give you the money for it,’ I say, and he shakes his head before I even finish speaking. ‘I don’t think so. Come on,’ he says, holding out an arm to me, and I take it with a begrudging smile. He leads me down the decking steps, across the grass to the bonfire and he sits down in an armchair as I sit in the two-seater beside it, Tae and JK following behind, the leftovers of the Chinese food in Jungkook’s hands.

‘Where are the others?’ I ask, and Jimin looks a little sheepish. ‘I, um, went to get supplies when you were sleeping, right? Well, I bought the fire pit, but I forgot all the other stuff,’ he explains, rubbing the back of his neck embarrassedly, and I hold back a laugh. ‘What other stuff?’ I ask, just as Jin and Hobi appear through the back door. ‘The biscuits, the chocolate, the marshmallows, the roasting sticks. Everything else,’ Jin says exasperatedly, the two of them coming to join us.

‘Where are the other two?’ Tae asks as they take their seats, Jin taking a prawn cracker from Jungkook’s lap, the boy shooting him a dirty look. ‘Putting the stuff onto plates for us, because a couple of us are too messy and, apparently, we’ll drop melted marshmallows and chocolate onto the grass and ruin it,’ Hobi says with a roll of his eyes, and I have a feeling he’s quoting Namjoon. ‘Am I wrong, though? There’s still the patch of grass that’s discoloured after Jimin spilled beer on it!’ Namjoon exclaims, holding blankets in his arms, Yoongi following behind with a tray in his hands, paper plates atop the tray. ‘How many times do I have to apologise for ruining your grass before you forget?’ Jimin asks tiredly as Namjoon and Yoongi take their seats, and Namjoon gives him a hard look. ‘As many times as it takes for the grass to return to its proper colour,’ Namjoon says, and I can feel an argument brewing so I quickly change the subject.

‘Shall we get a picture?’ I ask, not realising that another argument is about to start, over who’s going to take the picture. ‘Oh, my God, we’ve been arguing for five minutes! Just let me take the picture!’ Yoongi exclaims (after five minutes of arguing), his annoyance only half-hearted, and I pout. ‘No, Yoongi, I want you in the picture. I want us all in the picture,’ I say, Jin sighing and grabbing his temples before sending Namjoon to ask their nice neighbour, Mr Lee. I feel bad for disturbing him at 9.09pm on a Wednesday, but they insist. It’s more than a little awkward when he starts asking questions and Jimin says with a grin, ‘we’re ticking off y/n’s summer bucket list because she’s got a brain tumour and she’s going to die in a week.’ It’s like he can’t take the pictures quick enough after that, practically sprinting out of the garden once he’s done.

Yoongi gives us all our plates, Jungkook balancing his on one knee whilst he eats his Chinese food, and I feel pretty stupid when all of them instantly know how to put their s’mores together. ‘Have you never had s’mores before?’ Jimin asks, and I shake my head sheepishly. ‘Here, let me show you. You gotta just put a marshmallow on a stick,’ he says, and I copy the way he spears it on the stick. ‘Then you hold it over the fire for a little while, until it goes a bit brown, and then turn it over the other way,’ he says, holding his stick over the fire, and I do the same, turning it the other way once it’s browned a little. ‘And then you get a piece of chocolate and put it on top of a biscuit. And then you put the marshmallow on top of that. And then you put a piece of chocolate on top of the marshmallow, and another biscuit on top of the chocolate. Then you take it off the stick and… you got your s’more!’ he says, holding his s’more up with a flourish. It looks a lot neater than mine, but I’m still proud of myself for managing to not set fire to anything. ‘Just wait a little for it to cool down. Kook learned that the hard way,’ Jimin says pointedly, the other boy pursing his lips embarrassedly as we all laugh.

The sky is still high and light with clouds, though the sun has disappeared over the horizon, the moon a pale white circle against the soft blue. The air is still warm, but not with the humidity of earlier today, a cool tinge to the breeze that glides across my skin. It’s the perfect summer evening, made even better by the light conversations we have and the alcohol that Taehyung brings out for us – Jimin, Yoongi and Jin drink their soju like it’s going out of fashion, Jungkook, Namjoon and Hobi nursing beers instead whilst Tae and I sip on our Malibu and coke (very little Malibu actually in it). The s’mores are amazing, the warm gooey marshmallow, rich melty chocolate and crunchy sweet biscuits a perfect combination – whoever came up with s’mores is an actual genius.

‘Do you want some more s’mores, y/n?’ Hobi asks once my plate is empty, and I groan, the boys all laughing. ‘I think I’ll explode if I have another. I’ve eaten more today than I have in the last week,’ I say, clutching my stomach. ‘I’ll have one, Hobi,’ Jungkook says with a cheeky grin, and Hobi shoots him a glare, no real venom in it. ‘Get yourself one.’ ‘You offered to y/n!’ ‘You’re not dying in a week,’ Hobi says, eyes instantly flitting to me to see if I mind, but I’m already bursting into laughter, my head falling onto Jin’s shoulder which is shaking from his laughter too.

‘Are we terrible for joking about death?’ Jungkook says once we’ve all calmed down, and I sigh. A cold breeze rushes past us, biting at my skin, and I shiver, pulling my blanket closer around me and shuffling forward in my seat so I sit closer to the bonfire. It’s gotten so much cooler so quickly, all of us wrapped up in blankets. ‘What can we do but joke about it? I think I’d cry if we didn’t,’ I say into the silence, the boys all just listening as I stare into the flickering flames, deeply inhaling the smoky scent in the air.

‘It still doesn’t feel real. How do you prepare yourself for death?’ I ask, voice a little shaky, and Jin puts a hand on my shoulder gently. ‘I wish we could tell you, y/n, and make it easier for you, but it will never be easy to see someone of your age die. Old people, who have lived their lives, they can prepare for death. I don’t think you can. And I’m sorry for that, I really am. We all are,’ he says softly, his kind words bringing a sad smile to my face. ‘Thank you. Thank you all, for doing all this today, and Namjoon and Taehyung, for opening your home to me,’ I say, all of them reflecting my sad smile back at me.

‘We’d have done it even if you weren’t dying, y/n. Please, don’t think we’re only doing this because you’re dying. We’ve all known each other since we were kids. And look at all you did for us. We’d have done all of this for you regardless of your health if you asked us to,’ Namjoon says, and I look at him in confusion, wondering what he means. ‘What did I do for all of you?’ ‘We were talking about this whilst you were asleep. Remember when I was riding my bike past your house, and I fell off it?’ Namjoon asks, the others laughing at the mention, and all of a sudden, a memory I didn’t even know I had appears in my mind.

We must’ve been around 7; I don’t remember what I was doing, but I saw Namjoon on the floor outside of my house through the window, clutching onto his knee with his bike beside him. I ran and got the plasters from where they were in one of the kitchen cupboards, and practically sprinted outside. I sat down on the floor beside Namjoon, and there were tears in his eyes, and his knee was bloody. Not knowing that you’re supposed to clean a cut and disinfect it, I’d just put a plaster on for him, and then my parents saw what was going on, and took Namjoon inside to properly clean the cut, me following them in with his bike in my arms, and then they phoned his mum to let her know what had happened. Our school was a tight knit community and all the parents were friends with each other – they all had each other’s phone numbers.

‘How do you remember that?’ I ask, smiling at the memory, and he grins. ‘It’s the first act of kindness I remember experiencing. And it might have been simple, but it taught me to be kind, and do things for people when I didn’t have to, because that’s what you did for me,’ he says, and then all of the boys share the stories of things I did for them over the years we went to school together.

For Jin, I’d lost one of his crayons and then I’d brought in a whole new pack for him. When his mum mentioned it to my parents and thanked them for buying Jin a new pack, they’d had been confused; they hadn’t bought a new set of crayons. I’d taken in one of my own sets for him without telling them. Jin brought it into school every day and shared it with me and only me, and wrote both of our names on the packaging so that everyone would know that they belonged to the both of us.

For Yoongi, I’d recorded his piano performance at the awards’ evening because I’d overheard his mum saying she’d forgotten her video camera at home and didn’t have a smart phone to record it on. I’d sent it to him that night, letting him know why I’d recorded it, and he’d thanked me before showing his mum. I never knew this at the time, but apparently she was so happy that she cried, and made Yoongi give me a present to thank me. I didn’t know that Yoongi was the one who put the thank you card in my locker with a necklace in it a couple weeks later – he’d been too shy to give it to me face to face (I’d been so confused, wondering who was thanking me and for what). I still wear the necklace sometimes – it’s a silver chain with a little butterfly pendant that rests between my collarbones.

For Hobi, I’d spotted a random bag in the school car park, and checked the belongings to see that it was Hobi’s – his wallet had been in there, along with a load of money and some dance clothes. I’d brought it in the next day and gave it to him, and he’d thanked me profusely. What I didn’t know at the time was that his mum had worked multiple jobs in order to fund his dancing, including buying him all that dance gear, and that he’d thought that someone would’ve stolen it all because they were worth a lot, as well as stealing his wallet. But instead, it’d been returned back to him, with everything still in there.

For Taehyung, I’d been the only one to say I liked his drawing, back when we were little kids. It was of a little alien cartoon character, with a heart shaped head (the same thing he’d been drawing in chalk on the driveway earlier), and everyone else laughed at him and called it silly and said it looked nothing like the real cartoon. But when I told him it was nice and that I thought it was really good, it made him want to draw it more, before he started drawing other things too, and his passion for art had been sparked, all because of a little compliment from me when we could barely write our names.

For Jungkook, I’d been helping clean Dahyun’s house after her house party, and I found him passed out in the upstairs bathroom. I got Dahyun to help me get him into my car, drove him home (I knew his address from a party he’d had once), used his house keys to get him in his house, helped him lie down on the sofa, forced him to drink some water and then left a note beside a full bottle of water to letting him know who’d dropped him off at home. And then I’d locked up after myself and posted the keys through the letterbox. His mum had phoned my parents the next day to thank me profusely, and brought over some cupcakes – they were amazing, by the way.

And for Jimin, maybe the most important of them all – I’d done my end-of-year presentation on eating disorders. We had to do the presentations for our language grade, to show that we could speak with fluency and precision and accuracy, and we were told to do it on an interesting topic so that we would be motivated to write an engaging presentation. Almost everyone else did theirs on superficial things, like their hobby or their favourite celebrity. Mine was one of the only serious ones. Everyone had praised mine – I always was good at language – and I got one of the highest two grades (Namjoon and I competed for the top of the class in every lesson we had together). But what I didn’t know was that, thanks to my presentation, Jimin realised he had an eating disorder. He was virtually starving himself, not eating for days at a time, whilst over exercising, because he hated the way his body looked. And because of the helplines and websites I put at the end of the presentation, he sought help, and spoke to his parents about it. He went to the doctor with his mother, and they put him on a diet plan to get him back to being healthy. I helped him to be healthy again.

My eyes are teary when Jimin finishes speaking. I’m so touched that he remembers, that they all remember the acts of kindness I did for them. And whilst Jimin’s was unintentional, it was still so important, and I’m proud of young me for deciding to do her presentation on a serious topic. I’m proud of her for being such a kind person all the time. This truly is karma – I did these nice things for them back then and they’re repaying that kindness back to me when I need it most. And then I realise why Jimin was so desperate to help me – he just wants to help me like I helped him.

‘So, really, y/n, don’t thank us. We owe you,’ Namjoon says, all of them nodding in agreement, and I beam at them, tears beginning to spill down my face. ‘Don’t cry, because you’ll make me cry!’ Jungkook shrieks, all of us laughing as Jin hands me a tissue, and I dab the tears away. ‘God, what’s wrong with me? I never cry this much usually,’ I say embarrassedly, and Jimin grins. ‘Don’t be embarrassed about crying. I think I’d have cried out all of the water in my body if I were you,’ Jimin says, coaxing a laugh from me. ‘Me, too,’ Jungkook says, sniffling a little, and we all burst into laughter when we see that his eyes are full of tears. ‘My God,’ Jin says, his lip curled up in mock disgust, ‘you really are a cry baby.’ ‘Can you blame me?’ Jungkook asks defensively, wiping his eyes, and Jin’s eyes widen. ‘Yes! You’re not the one dying!’ he exclaims, setting the rest of us off again, our laughter carrying in the cool summer air.

45 notes · View notes

massivedrickhead · 4 years

Note

Could you do a follow up to your Bechloe prompt the one where Chloe accidental reveals she used to have anorexia? Could you maybe do that Chloe has been sorta struggling for a couple of weeks- beca asks her if she’s okay and then they have a heart to heart about chloes anorexia or something?

Part 1

Read on AO3

Trigger warning: anorexia/eating disorders are discussed.

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“Chlo’?” Beca called through the apartment. “Are you home?”

She was tired after a long day at the studio, and was looking forward to spending the rest of her evening cuddled up with her girlfriend, eating pizza and watching trashy TV.

“Yeah,” Chloe called from the bathroom. A few seconds later, Chloe emerged, typing something into her phone.

“Oh are we just not flushing now?” Beca asked. “Are we at that stage in our relationship?”

“Shut up,” Chloe said, rolling her eyes but grinning. “I was in there to use the scales.”

“We have scales?”

“We do now, yes,” Chloe said, dropping down onto the sofa. “How was work?”

“Long,” Beca said. “And stressful. I’m starving, we didn’t get a chance to break for lunch. I’m running on coffee and a bagel I had for breakfast. Can we order pizza?”

“We should really stop spending so much money on takeout,” Chloe said.

“Please? From Tony’s? My treat?”

“I’m not really hungry,” Chloe said. “I ate when I got home.”

“Fine,” Beca moaned. She stood up and made her way to the kitchen. “But if we don’t have anything good in, I’m gonna order from Tony’s and eat the entire pizza myself. And then I’ll get sick and you’ll have to deal with it.”

“You could just order a smaller pizza,” Chloe said.

“Your logic has no place here, Beale,” Beca said, head in the freezer as she rummaged for food. “How was work?”

“Fine,” Chloe replied.

Beca paused, waiting to see if she was going to elaborate. Chloe always elaborated. Her day was never just good, or bad, or fine. There was always a story. Chloe could make even the most boring mundane day into a story that left Beca in stitches.

She shut the freezer and glanced around the kitchen. It was as clean as it had been when Beca left this morning, which lead her to believe Chloe hadn’t actually cooked anything.

Chloe was a firm believer that every dish, no matter what it had been used for, needed to “soak” before she could clean it. Which meant that Beca, who couldn’t stand dirty dishes in the sink, would end up washing them before they went to bed.

“What time did you get home?” Beca asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

“Like 5:30,” Chloe said.

Beca checked her watch, it was only 7 pm. Chloe usually waited for her to get home before making dinner or if she knew she’d be home late, she would save her something.

Beca left the kitchen and returned to the living room. Chloe was still looking at her phone, frowning.

“Find anything good?” Chloe asked.

“What did you make earlier?” Beca asked.

“Nothing,” Chloe said, glancing up from her phone. “I grabbed a sandwich from the deli on the way home.” Beca was still looking at her, as if trying to figure something out. “What?”

“Which deli?”

“The one on the corner.”

“Giordinos?”

“Beca, what are you doing?” Chloe asked.

“What are you doing? Why do we have scales now?”

Chloe shrugged. “I just wanted to know how much I weighed,” she said, trying not to meet Beca’s eyes.

“Chloe,” Beca said softly, sitting down beside her. “You told me you’d speak to me if things started getting bad again.”

“Things aren’t getting bad,” Chloe said, still not looking at her. “I literally just bought some bathroom scales, you don’t have to be so dramatic.”

“You told me a few weeks ago that you used to have an eating disorder. And now you’re… you’re lying about skipping meals and you’re worrying about your weight and-”

“-wondering, not worrying,” Chloe said cutting her off. “And what makes you think I’m lying?”

“Giordinos shuts at 3 pm on Thursdays,” Beca said. “So unless you left work early you didn’t get a sandwich for dinner. And the kitchen is clean so I know you didn’t cook. And now you can’t even look at me. Babe, I’m not gonna be mad or judgmental or anything, you know that right? I meant what I said the other week, no matter what you’re going through I’m here for you. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Chloe said, finally giving in and looking at Beca. She almost cried at the look of worry on Beca’s face.

“What’s going on, Chlo’? Did something happen?”

Chloe sighed. “You know that guy Derek I work with?”

“Tall guy with glasses? Kinda intense?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said. “He spoke to you for like 45 minutes about electronic keyboards when you said you worked for a record label.”

“Yeah, I remember him.”

“Well he has autism, so he can sometimes come across as a bit blunt without meaning to,” Chloe said. “He just… the other day he happened to mention that he thought I was gaining weight. And it kinda… It stuck with me. It’s been rattling around in there.”

“How long?”

“A week or so,” Chloe said. “I finally caved and bought some scales on my way home today and he was right, I have put weight on since I last weighed myself. It just made me feel bad.”

Beca sighed and reached out to tuck a strand of hair behind Chloe’s ear. “You know I think you’re beautiful, right?”

“Yeah,” Chloe said, smiling slightly. “But I still don’t feel good about myself. The thought of stuffing myself with pizza right now makes me feel sick. Like rewarding bad behaviour.”

“Bad behaviour? Putting on a little bit of weight isn’t bad behaviour, Chloe. It’s just part of being alive. You shouldn’t punish yourself for that,” Beca said. Chloe still looked unconvinced. “Look, if you don’t wanna eat unhealthy food, that’s okay, but you can’t just stop eating. We can start having healthier meals at home, I can get some recipes from Sheila or something, and we can cut back on takeout. We can eat more nutritional stuff, but no dieting. Healthy food, not less food, okay?”

Chloe rubbed at a spot on her forehead where a headache was forming. “Okay,” she said.

“How obsessive are you likely to be about weighing yourself?” Beca asked, leaning forward to kiss Chloe on the forehead.

“Pretty obsessive,” Chloe admitted.

“Okay, then I’m getting rid of the scales,” Beca said. “So, what do you want for dinner? I can make that curry thing you like?”

“It’s late,” Chloe said. “You can order pizza if you want.”

“And you’ll eat some?”

“Could you get me one of their salads?”

“They do salads?”

Chloe laughed and nodded, before she wrapped her arms around Beca, burying her face in the crook of her neck. “Thank you. I really love you a lot.”

“I really love you a lot too,” Beca said.

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thehoneybuzz · 3 years

Text

Chasing Baker

My Nana was my greatest adversary.

In an otherwise charmed life, Nana was an immovable force and the only legitimate challenger to my willpower. Not without the warmth one would expect from a grandmother, Nana could be sharp - like a sun-warmed pane of glass. Lesser hearts might have bent to me when I requested accommodation - but not Nana. Nana set a firm bedtime, insisted on efficient tooth brushing, and rather than negotiate with hair tangles, made short work of them in single, swift wrenches when brushing your hair. No nonsense. When you stayed with her - in one of two twin beds in a room made precisely for grandchildren - you often found yourself in bed with the lights out, with no real memory of having gotten there, swept away in the tide of your sheets. Nana was uncompromising, and no arena was more suited to our mutual stubbornness as the dinner table.

I grew up a notoriously picky eater. After a weekend at my Uncle Jerry's, my mom received a hardcover copy of "The Strong-Willed Child" from him as a gift. He had spanked me for not eating chicken nuggets. As evident by its title, the book was meant to coach my mother on parenting strategies for mitigating my innate obstinance. This would not be the only copy of the book my mother received. Though, I think she could have written one by the time I turned 4. I simply refused to eat the things I didn't like, and that was a long list.

A relative once applauded - clapped his hands together in joy- upon learning that I had graduated from having the crusts cut off my bread to full-blown sandwich eating. The peanut butter and honey sandwich was my signature dish and an absolute staple. I'd like to say I've grown out of it - and I've certainly grown having tried llama steak in Peru, lamb heart at the table of a Lebanese family, and Greenland shark in an Icelandic cafe - but it took me a long time to let go of my habits and permit myself to try, and it took some coaxing. My preferences ran deep.

My diet from ages six through eleven included Eggo waffles, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, an assortment of cereals, a handful of specific fruits and vegetables, and the occasional steak when mom thought my iron was low. My mom - on the advice of a pediatrician who told her that if she force-fed me, I'd develop an eating disorder - catered to this preference. Nana did not. They must have been seeing different pediatricians.

Nana took the clear your plate approach - The approach driven by reward and consequence. Finish your plate, cookies delivered. Fail to try, become hungry and hungrier still as dessert passes you by. I took to swallowing food whole, and my mom took to sending me with granola bars on visitations. She'd line the interior of my suitcase like we were smuggling drugs. I'll admit it was an unusual form of contraband, but the measure seemed necessary in a divorced child's duplicitous world. What my mom saw as nourishment, my Dad might see as undermined parenting strategy even under the best of circumstances - which they often weren't. I was hungry, so decided it best to keep things a secret and wrappers out of the trash.

Despite Nana's apparent best efforts, I avoided the eating disorder. Thanks to my mom, I avoided most foods until my early 20s. I don't know who was right. What I know for certain is that I was loved.

When I sat down with Nana after my trip to Mt. Baker, she clutched her heart as she said. "Ally - to think about you as this little girl - and that you would only eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches - to think of you climbing mountains…" she shakes her head, "… well I just can't believe it."

I started to laugh and asked her, "Want to know the best part?"

She nodded, smile in her eyes, full of that sunny warmth - playful and kaleidoscopic.

"I ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches up and down the side of that mountain, Nana," I told her, laughing, and then we laughed together. Growing up is fun, I thought, especially in moments like this.

Laughing with your grandmother is a gift you receive in exchange for time, and it is a beautiful gift indeed. Here is a woman who bathed you, clothed you, fed you - and by the time you're old enough to understand the magnitude of the life she held before all that, she is often gone. I'm lucky to have this time. Nana is 90 years old now, and my mother's mother passed at 74. I never got to have the conversations I wanted to have with my grandmother, who died. To ask her questions like, 'Who were you?' 'What lifetimes made up the love you gave so effortlessly away?'

There is something about mountain climbing that makes you consider those kinds of questions in real-time. There is something about mountain climbing that makes you feel as if you are in the process of 'becoming.' So when, at the parking lot of Grandy Creek Grocery, I met my fellow climbers and our guides - there was a feeling of anticipation and nervousness about who I'd be sharing that story with. Dropping me off, my mom described it like the first day of kindergarten. The first person I met was Sharon.

I had been worried about Sharon. Weeks before, on the pre-trip Zoom call, she stood out from the digital crowd as the most visibly senior person there. Sharon did not look old - she looked undoubtedly the oldest. I think this is an important distinction - particularly to Sharon. I remember thinking - "I hope she is not on my trip because I'm worried she will show me down." A very judgmental thought and the universe saw to its reckoning. Sharon surprised the hell out of me.

She paced the parking lot, and I jumped out of my rig to greet her. We quickly began commiserating. Baker would be her first mountain. I had Mount St. Helens under my belt, but it's not much in the way of experience. We talked about our training plan, recounting long drives to taller places. Sharon was from Wisconsin, and she had to drive 45 minutes to get to peaks at 3,000 - the same as me in Eastern Washington. We had a lot in common. Where I ran, she had been hiking with weight and jogging. Sharon wasn't afraid of hard work. On our drive to the trailhead, I learned that she had just lost 75 pounds last year. I learned later that when Sharon signed up for this climb, she hadn't told anyone in her family she was doing it. She was 62 years old and had never once traveled alone. What on earth possessed her to climb a mountain? I'd be afraid of that question, too.

Sharon eventually fessed up to her family and made the trip official. That's how we found ourselves on the side of a mountain together. I'm embarrassed to have been so fundamentally wrong - but my confession is not without meaning, and I learned an important lesson. Never underestimate a Sharon.

When Melissa, our guide, described Mt. Baker for the first time, she called it by its indigenous name, Komo Kulshan. She then gave us its epithet - "The Great White Watcher." Having now met Kulshan face to face, I can tell you that's precisely how he feels. The summit looms as you navigate through the trees. Stoic in the face of the wilderness that surrounds him. Ice cold, he waits. In the Lummi language, he's called 'white sentinel.' He is persistent, vigilant, and watching.

I focused my nervous energy on preparing to meet this mountain by learning what I could about him. I learned that Mt. Baker is 10,781 feet tall, an active volcano, and the second most glaciated mountain in the continental united states (Rainier's got it beat, and you don't count Alaska). It's a formidable mountain, known - as nearly all alpine environments are - for its quickly changing conditions and the perils of its geology. This all, somehow, frightened me less than the thought of meeting Melissa Arnot-Reid. Her legend loomed not in the Cascades - where only a single peak resides above the threshold of 14,000 feet by which the Rockies measure their formidable "fourteeners." Melissa's legend loomed as large as Everest, on who's summit she has been six times - the only American woman to summit without the use of supplemental oxygen and survive. 29,032 feet. Melissa was someone I wanted to learn from, and I was scared shitless of her by reputation.

Suffering a bit of social awkwardness around celebrities, I prepared to meet Melissa by seeking to learn nothing about her at all. The antithesis of my mountain strategy - I told myself our experience would be what it was when we met on the mountain. My job was to learn - to ask my questions courageously - and be vulnerable and bold in seeking truth. I spent a fair bit of time wondering if she might be an ass hole, too. The age-old adage, "don't meet your heroes," drifted in and out of my mind.

In the last 15 minutes of our drive to Grandy's, my mom started reading Melissa's Wikipedia page aloud to me as I navigated the road, undoing months of my concerted preparation. I let her continue, greedy for information. "It says she trains by depriving herself of things - that she'll go without food and water."

"Probably a good idea if you're ever going to be stuck on the side of a mountain without it," I told her. I braced myself for a response. In the past few months, my mother had a growing sensitivity around topics that might suggest I could die on the side of a mountain. Admitting, so blatantly, that mountain climbing was a dangerous sport left me vulnerable to excessive mothering accompanied by exclamations of "Don't you dare!" Instead, my mom sort of nodded and continued, "I'm surprised her baby came out healthy."

My brow furrowed. I hated my mother for saying it. I had avoided a lecture from the mother of the mountaineer but failed to account for the mother of the daughter aged-almost-thirty. My uterus is a topic of conversation around my mother's table. Apparently, so was Melissas. Not wanting to discuss either, I let my mother's comment go unchecked as she continued to list accomplishments. "This article says she's focused on business, not emotions. That she is an incredible problem-solver." Now her reports felt more like cheating - it felt like an unfair advantage to meet someone armed with publicly available information about them. When you Google "Allyson Tanzer," you won't find much about my disposition under pressure. I told my mom it was time to focus and turned up the music.

When we parked, and I went to introduce myself to Melissa, three things happened. As I introduced myself, she first quickly let me know that she would not be giving out hugs due to the pandemic. Then, taking my hand in a firm grip, Melissa detailed that she and our other guide, Adrienne, had critical guide business to discuss and would be with us in a moment. She reported being thrilled to be meeting us as she quickly dropped my hand. Within thirty seconds, I was apologizing profusely and backing my way into the grocery. What can I say - first time formally climbing mountains, and I wasn't sure of the protocol. I fiddled with a bag of Cheetohs and continued to hope that she wasn't just an ass hole.

I went to the bathroom for something to do and remembered what my mother said. Task-oriented. I figured Melissa probably didn't hate me, after all. Despite my earlier misgivings, I was grateful to know a bit about her character, regardless of how 'honestly' that information was obtained. Thanks, Mom.

Our climb began. We left Grandy's in a caravan and parked near 3000' at the winter routes trailhead. On the first day, you ascend to 6000' and establish camp. You carry about 40 pounds, walking 1 mile and about 1000 vertical feet per hour, stopping for 15-minute breaks in those intervals. Conditions are warm, which means you're doing something the mountaineers call "post-holing" - ramming deep holes (as if for a fence post) into the ground as you step through snow that's washed out underneath. It's slow-going and rigorous. An hour and a half in, Melissa reports that we're standing in the location where she usually takes the first break. Unseasonably warm weather with a heavy snow accumulation has made for an exciting start.

You walk along a canyon ridge formed by a retreating glacier. You realize that time here is not measured in the same cadence that it's known to you. Mountains measure time in millennium, not decades. The formations of rock are carved by years, not minutes. The ground holds a history you can't conceive of - an ancient history of rock and ice. You are constantly struck by feeling small both physically and in your very chronology. I spent the first day happily in awe.

At camp, you maintain - guides (and playfully designated junior guides), boil snow, establish a base, dig a toilet. You assess whether or not you need to poop in a bag and carry it down the mountain with you as you try - for the first time - a rehydrated meal claiming to be chili Mac and cheese. Melissa teaches us how to walk on rope over a glacier. I try to mimic her knots. She redefines your concept of efficiency - breathlessly describing a packing order that accounts for calorie intake, warmth requirements and weight distribution - Every contingency considered. When I win the Ice Ax Rodeo by landing my thrown ax in a particular configuration - all is right in the world. Melissa is a drill sergeant giving instruction. She outlines the next minute - next five minutes - next hour - next day.

Her matter-of-fact nature reminds me of something. When I gave my parents a ride in an airplane for the first time with me as the pilot in command, I provided them near the same briefing as we were parked on the ramp. It ended dramatically with, "And if anything should happen, you have to exit the aircraft first in the following fashion." At which point I launched myself from the plane. I wanted them to be prepared to fight their instincts to protect me. I’m the only pilot on board - and my job is to protect my passengers, no exceptions. They both described a sense of foreboding and peace at the demonstration. It’s precisely how I felt when Melissa explained how she would be rescuing herself from a crevasse. “If you fall, I get you out. If I fall, I get myself out, but I need your help as an anchor to do so.” She took the approach of coaching us in only what we needed for the next challenge. We would learn crevasse rescue on a need to know basis. At Grandy’s, she told us to expect 48 hours of endurance. At camp, we’re at hour 9. She painted a picture of the following day.

"We'll begin between 11, and 2 am. Expect switchbacks up the glacier, a series of flats, and gains over the next hour. In 3.5 miles, we'll gain an additional 2000 feet - meandering a path through the glacier's crevasses, and it will gradually become steeper over time. About 1.5 miles to the summit, we'll hit the Easton glacier culminating in the Roman Wall. Then, because God has a sense of humor, you have a long flat walk to the summit after the steepest portion. All said it will take us between 5-7 hours to the top."

Frankly, it was just about as simple as that.

My eyes opened at 11:50 pm to the sound of movement outside the tent. Melissa had coached us here, too. "You may not be sleeping," she told us as we readied for 'lights out.' Days from the summer solstice, the sun burned brightly above us at 7 pm. "Remember that you don't need sleep; you need rest. That's what you're getting here at camp. You're horizontal; your feet are out of your boots. Close your eyes, and know you're getting what you need." Felt like a lie, but sure enough, with two hours of sleep, I couldn't describe myself as tired.

I did, however, feel cold. Chilly night temperatures had crept into our tent, and dressing for the day was arduous. I knew to keep my clothes in my sleeping bag. It was a trick I learned from a friend made trekking in the Andes for dressing in the cold. I knew to shorten my trekking poles while climbing, thanks to my guide on that same trek. I'd be leaving my trekking poles behind today, though. Ice axes only. We divide into rope teams. The race begins, but there's no starting pistol - only wind.

Fifteen minutes into our climb and we're struggling to find the rhythm. I'm still shaking the bleariness of the cold. The rope between climbers takes on an interesting dynamic. While it connects you to your fellow climber, it also isolates you from them. You have to maintain a certain distance away from one another while maintaining the same pace. It's a dance with crampons on in glacial ice - a delicate dance indeed - and it's where climbing feels like a team sport. You're all in it together.

Voices rang out in sequence like a game of telephone - one of our team would need to climb down. We said short goodbyes and waited as Adrienne (guide) descended with climber to camp. We were lucky - we hadn’t been climbing long which meant Adrienne could climb down and back to rejoin her rope. Guide redundancy is a safety net when groups of climbers work together.

Darkness continued. We continued. As you persist, darkness seems to persist along with you. In the first hour, it grows heavy. Your world begins and ends at the light of your headlamp, and that's where you find it—your rhythm. Crampons crunching, breath steady, and the gentle swish of your layers create a sort of timpani, a medley of percussion sounds. Clink, brush, crunch, and clink, brush, crunch, as ax bites ice, the movement of your clothes, and the toe of your boot kicks crampon into snow propelling you forward. There isn't much to think about in this grinding meditation. You're grounded in tugs from ahead or behind you as you march, slowly up. You can count steps, miles, feet of elevation - whatever keeps you moving. Whatever keeps you going up.

Moments before sunrise, we would lose another on our team. I listened to Melissa coach her. "What we're headed to is going to be harder than what we've just done. If how you are feeling is taking away from your ability to focus on your next step - I can only tell you that it's not going to get easier from here." That's when I saw the decision on her face. Another round of goodbyes - this one a bit more somber. She had worked so hard.

The decision to descend is a difficult one, but it’s one of the most important you can make. There are steep consequences to being in over your head in a place so remote. The summit is a siren, beware. Melissa - aware of the remaining teams intention to summit - advised us to plug our ears as she told the descending climber the Sherpa belief that a mountain won't let you summit for the first time if it likes you. Mountains bring you back. Further, she coached, the decision to go down can lift an entire team's chance of success if you feel you're a liability. Recognizing yourself and your limitations truthfully is a mountain in itself. That's the summit this person made in her decision to descend.

Like a good Agatha Christie novel, our list of characters dwindled. We added layers and continued - five of the original eight. Melissa was right, again. After we lost the second climber, our ascent became a proper climb. From that point forward, if anyone decided to turn around - we would all have to. There was only one remaining guide, and she had to protect all her climbers, no exceptions - me in the cockpit all over again.

She didn't show it, but 62-year-old Sharon was genuinely frightened. She had realized the same thing I did. If she didn't make it - no one would. Sharon kept climbing. Remember when I was worried she would slow me down?

When the sun starts to rise, everything begins to feel possible again. I don't mean to say that things were hopeless, just that with the sun comes energy and a sense of renewal. Color returns to the landscape, and you can begin to be able to measure your progress concretely. The mountain casts a shadow across the earth, stretching miles. You can't believe that you are contained within that shadow, on the face of such a giant who stands so impossibly tall. Melissa stood there, and I took her picture.

She had turned out to be not an ass hole at all. Where I sought to be her student, she aspired to teach - at once brilliant and kind. Her stride - her sport - a work of art. The precise art of what she calls slow, uphill walking. Her shadow and the shadow of the mountain impressed upon me the power of legends.

As the Roman Wall came into view - I knew we had it. We short rope in and make one last push. If Mt. Baker is a joke from God, the ending of the Roman Wall is its punchline.

Atop the incline awaits a long, easy walk to a haystack peak some few hundred yards in the distance. I was bubbling with emotion as my heart rate settled and the view became clear. There wasn't much difference between where we stood and where we were going. We dropped our packs, unroped, and ran up the summit. I was in tears.

Melissa broke her no-hugs-in-the-pandemic rule and celebrated us each in turn. I snapped countless photos and spent each frozen moment smiling. I pulled Melissa and Sharon in close. I had felt something on my heart and only needed a moment's bravery to share it.

I started awkwardly.

"I'd like to say something to you and Sharon," I muttered, barely audible over the wind, as I tugged on Melissa's sleeve. I grabbed Sharon's arm and pulled her in too. I don't remember the exact thing I said or the exact way in which I said it. I remember pausing to make sure I got it right and wondering for a long time if I managed to do so.

I told them that I had come to the mountain expecting to be impressed by one person. Melissa promised an impressive education - on which she delivered. She is of that rare quality - the kind who’s presence improves you. I came to Baker with that expectation, I confessed, I expected Melissa. I paused before telling Sharon, her gloved hand in mine, “You?” I laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting. A 62-year-old woman….” I nodded back to Melissa, “And you, the mother of a 3-year-old…” I didn’t want to get this wrong. “You are two people who our society labels and confines. Yet, here you are - on top of a mountain. I have to tell you….” I was choked up in earnest here and struggled to continue.

"It matters.” I said. “What you do matters. It matters to have an example of what is possible. Both of you have provided that example to me and women like me. Thank you." I sobbed. "I am so grateful for it and grateful for you." Melissa smothered me in her jacket as she embraced me, once again, in a hug. Pandemic be damned. My tears froze. While I expected a "There's no crying in mountaineering" a la Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own (it was a climb of mostly women, after all) the admonishment never came.

Sharon grabbed hold of me next and we shared the alpine view. Before I knew it, we were the last two on the summit. The wind howled a steady cheer. Celebrations concluded, it was time to leave. I stayed for just a moment longer, watching Sharon as she left. They don't make anything more beautiful than a mountain, and it's a view worth savoring. I descended, joyfully, to my team.

I didn't bury Jake up there. In Ashes to Ashes, I told the story of taking my old farm dog's remains to the top of my first volcano. He's not so much a good luck charm as he is an omen of protection. I don't need luck as much as I need safety, and he serves his duty well. Jake stayed with me through our descent to camp. I needed a little protection coming down off the Roman Wall, I thought. I wanted him close until we were off the glacier. He lays now at the foot of my tent—a very good place for a very good dog.

There's a natural mindfulness to climbing. I often find myself living in the present step - not thinking about the route that lies below. You forget in moments that the trip up is accompanied by an equally long and perilous journey down. From the summit, your journey is far from over. Yet, time flies by even as you stop to admire the steam vents. The rainbow that surrounds the sun refracts joy and color the same.

You reach camp, celebrate, pack up. Miles and thousands of feet remain even from there. That's when you realize it's ending and when I realized I didn't want it to end.

We spent the next few miles getting to know each other in earnest, savoring time and mountain views, chatting in the way of long-form hikers - about the nature of things and through storytelling. Melissa regaled us with vulnerable truths and comedic parables. We laughed. I kept sipping at the wells of knowledge around me, drinking in the moments. Laughter distracted from hunger, from wet feet, and from the dull and dim realization that all good things must come to an end. We made our way to the bottom of the mountain. Just like that - we say goodbye.

Sharon drove me back to Grandy's. We chitter like school girls - adrenaline and nostalgia collide in our post-climb delirium. We talk about the future. I realize that we are good friends. I am humbled by just how wrong a person can be to believe something about someone for no good reason.

Mom picks me up, and with her embrace my adventure is over. I’ve come full circle - safe and sound, parked in the lot of Grandy Creek Grocery.

Melissa found us there and knocked on our window.

"Your daughter is really special. The MOST special,” my hero and friend told my mom. Mom beamed with a special pride reserved exclusively for mothers of strong-willed daughters. I had been misreading things - the adventure had only just begun.

There are eight years between Melissa and I. I’m not sure I’ll be chasing Everest in that time, but I know I won’t be finished. I’ve got thirty-three years to catch Sharon at 62. In the mountain blink of sixty-one years, I’ll be as old as my Nana and I hope at least half as wise. Good thing there are so many years - for there is so much left to climb.

#mountaineering #mountains #travel #adventure #adventurephotography #traveling #travelblogpost #mountainclimbing #mt baker

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