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suspiciouslackofclowns · 8 months

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Maybe instead of getting better after Starcourt, instead of healing and mending that which has been broken, Billy just gets worse.

There’s no more playful grins behind cigarettes or keg stands held in good fun. No more speeding down empty backroads or engines revving in parking lots. He gets quiet, and that’s the scary part.

Because as soon as someone presses him to talk, he gets mean.

He outright says no when he’s asked to keep an eye on Max, because there are no repercussions anymore — his wounds from the “fire” haven’t healed just yet, and if he shows up in the hospital with new bruises over freshly cracked ribs, the doctors will suspect something.

So the most he gets is a glare from Neil and a stern do it or else.

And Billy, a believer of malicious compliance, picks himself up a walkie-talkie. Does whatever the fuck he wants while the thing sits on his dresser.

If any voices come through, he shuts it off, or at the very least tunes it to a channel that only he and Max use.

She knows better than to use it.

Things between them aren’t any less tense than before, but it’s different now. Now he knows.

So the playing field is even.

He doesn’t meddle in Max’s business, who she hangs around, and Max doesn’t burden him with asking for rides and things alike. Not that he could really do much with his car sitting in the junkyard — Harrington has taken over the task of chauffeur anyway.

Harrington, who apparently also picked himself up a walkie-talkie.

And who somehow managed to learn about Billy and Max’s private channel.

“Hargrove? You there?”

The voice is staticky over the radio, but not out of range. After the brief moment of shock passes, Billy rolls his eyes at the thought of Harrington parked down the block, sitting behind the wheel of his Beamer listening intently for a response.

Rather than reach over to his nightstand, Billy rolls over to face the wall.

His sheets have become more of a nest as of late. Gathered around him in piles because he prefers the chill on his skin to sweating beneath scratchy blankets.

He hasn’t changed the bedding in weeks. Hasn’t opened the blinds or really even left his room at all this summer — the pool has likely already filled his position. Not that he’d be going back any sooner than a year or two from now.

If he ever feels comfortable taking his shirt off again.

“Billy? Look, I know you’re there, man. Max said that this was the channel to reach you on, and—“

Billy snatches the walkie-talkie and holds the button down.

“Go fuck yourself. Over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then static pours through. Likely the air conditioning in Harrington’s car.

“Touchy,” he tuts. Exhales a heavy sigh and blows a raspberry. “Don’t always have to be such a dick, y’know.”

“Being a dick isn’t something all of us have to try at, rich boy, so put your shit in gear and get off my block.”

There’s another brief pause.

“How’d you know I was in your neighborhood?”

“Walkies don’t work out-of-range, fuckhead.”

“Damn, okay,” Harrington huffs. “Sue me for wondering how you were doing.”

Wondering how I’m doing?

“Wondering how I’m doing?” Billy repeats.

He stares up at the ceiling, brows pinched together.

“Yeah? Y’know, like checking up on you?”

“Why?”

For months, Billy has done nothing but rot in his bed. Too sore to move, too short-fused to bother talking about it.

Too guilty to open any of the get-well-soon cards that he’s received.

Among the poorly-addressed ones with crayon scribbles from his former swimming students, he recalls one almost equally as poorly-addressed dawning the signature Steve Harrington at the bottom.

It was the only envelope he’d bothered to open. Practically had to rip it up with his teeth because of the lack of dexterity in his fingers, though, he never worked up the nerve to dial the number scrawled at the bottom.

Harrington scoffs over the channel.

“It’s like you’ve died or something, man. It’s worrying.”

Disregarding the flush spreading across his cheeks, Billy rolls his eyes and spreads out more atop his comforter.

“If you’re so worried, why didn’t you just ask Max?”

“If she answered my questions, do you think I’d be on this channel right now?”

Billy presses his lips into a line.

He knows he hasn’t been the best brother. Quite the opposite, actually.

But it still aches to learn that Max apparently refuses to so much as talk about him. Makes his limbs sink deeper into the mattress like gravity has doubled down on him.

Makes him want to shut his walkie off and never turn it back on.

“Well, you’re a few months too late on your check-up, Harrington,” Billy rasps. He squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head at the sound of his own voice coming out so wet and pathetic. “Walking corpse at this point.”

A beat of silence persists. Then the static comes through again.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“I have a therapist that already doesn’t help, thank you.”

“Well, if you change your mind…” Harrington trails off. He holds the talk button down for a long beat, absently tapping his fingers against the door panel in his car. Then, he sighs. “Is it okay if I use this channel again?”

Billy’s vision blurs and he sniffles. Thankful that it can’t be heard by anyone but himself.

“Yeah,” he says, and his voice shakes with it.

And that’s how Billy’s radio goes from being dead silent to constantly filling his room with chatter.

It helps and it hinders all at once.

Billy smiles for what feels like the first time in over a year, and laughs, even. But each time Harrington tells a little joke or giggles over the channel, Billy’s heart starts to ache more deeply.

It opens up old wounds.

He feels like Neil knows, somehow, when they’re both in the kitchen together. Accompanied by nothing but silence.

Neil asks if he can babysit for the weekend, and Billy drops the mug that was in his hand with a shaky wrist, fearing an entirely different question that doesn’t even get asked.

When Neil would normally berate him, he simply watches the way that Billy flexes his fingers. The way that he makes a weak fist, unable to straighten his fingers completely once he relaxes them, and his brows pinch in mild worry.

“Still havin’ trouble?” Neil asks.

His voice is gentle enough that Billy’s eyes well with tears as he nods. Bites his lip to keep it from wobbling.

Neil pulls him into a hug and Billy sobs into his shoulder. Not because of the pain or disability, but because he thinks he’s let a hint of love creep back into his life after all this time.

Which should be a good thing.

For once, Billy agrees to watching Max, if only because he doesn’t have the energy to snark back right now. Neil pats his shoulder and gives it a squeeze. Asks if he’s sure, like it’d be no issue at all for him and Susan to cancel their weekend plans.

Billy can’t help that he huffs a laugh. Can’t help that it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

Why be accommodating now, after a lifetime of neglect and maltreatment? He shakes his head to himself, and his expression must give his thoughts away.

Neil digs his thumb hard into his shoulder, earning a stifled whimper and another influx of tears.

Billy cleans up the broken mug and wipes the liquid away from the floor by himself, knelt on his achy knees while he’s watched like a hawk from the doorway. Like he might shove the glass under the counter if he’s left unsupervised for even a second.

Over the weekend while their folks are away, Billy takes Max out to pick up a couple of movies and get a few snacks with Susan’s car.

Since he so scarcely leaves the house, he turns a few heads when people recognize him.

None so much as Harrington, who gawks at him from behind the fucking desk at Family Video. Billy glares hard at Max when she smirks at him before disappearing to the horror section.

The brunet is a bit more rugged than Billy recalls. Has a stronger jawline and more hair. Lots more hair.

It makes Billy feel especially pathetic, draped in a t-shirt that used to fit his figure well, but now swallows him more than anything.

That heavy feeling droops his shoulders down. He shoves his hands into his pockets and looks away nonchalantly when Harrington abandons his station, leaving Buckley behind the counter floundering at the register.

“Look who’s out ‘n about,” Harrington chuckles. He has no issue reaching out and setting his hands on Billy’s biceps, moving close as if to inspect him. “Have I always been this much taller than you?”

Billy flushes red and straightens his posture. Brings himself back up to eye-level, which spurs a dull pain in his spine. He must not do well in terms of hiding it, because the brunet’s brows furrow.

“Do you wanna sit down?”

Rather than respond right away, Billy huffs and waves Harrington off of him. Shoots Max another glare when he spies her watching the exchange from behind a shelf.

“All I fuckin’ do is sit,” Billy grumbles. “If I knew I was gonna get a pity parade I would’a just sent the shitbird in.”

Harrington nods to himself. Takes half a step back and smiles.

“Alright with standing, then. Got it.” He tilts his head to the side. Eyes never leaving Billy for even a second. “Your hair’s grown out a lot.”

His gaze is a fond one. Like they aren’t in public right now. Like Billy is his damn girlfriend on prom night, and he’s seeing the gown for the first time.

Billy shrugs. Absently toys with one of the curls that dangles over his collar bone.

That weird pit is back in his stomach. The one that leaves him crying in the dark when Harrington signs off after hours of chatting about everything and nothing at once.

Billy wonders where he parks his car when they talk for that long. If he’s right outside or in the deep quiet of the woods, where the stars can really be seen and the train shakes the ground.

He’d rather Steve just climb through his window.

“I like it,” Steve adds. Nudges Billy’s elbow with his own. “It’s a soft look. Fits you really well.”

“Are you this nice to all the girls that come in here, or just the ones you wanna pork?” Billy teases.

Steve laughs, and it sounds so much better in person. Billy wants nothing more than to bottle it up and keep it forever.

Before the brunet can come back with a snide little joke of his own, Max meanders up to them. Holds up a few tapes for Billy to approve. Without really looking them over, he hands her the cash, and they all move back to the register together.

Steve rings them up. Max pays. Everything is so much slower than it should be going, like he’s trying to prolong the encounter as much as he can.

Billy understands the feeling.

When Steve slides Max the receipt, he’s less smiley. Billy turns to face the door, but doesn’t miss the way that Max nabs a pen and scrawls something on the slip of paper before sliding it back towards Steve.

Billy decides not to pry. Fears that if he asks, he’ll find that it’s some secret nerd shit that he can’t be privy to.

Fears that the heavy feeling will bear down on him again.

He doesn’t have to ask, turns out. The phone rings later that night, and Billy’s blood pressure spikes when Steve’s voice pours over the line.

“You should come out more often,” he says easily. “Really need some sun.”

Billy just tsks. They wind up sitting on the line for a little under half an hour. Billy wishes it lasted longer.

But he’d rather not explain the minutes away when his father shows him the phone bill.

Just before they hang up, after giggling at each other nearly the entire time, Billy barks out, “Don’t call here again.”

Then he hangs up.

Steve, naturally, gets on the radio not a few seconds later. Giggles and says, “Okay, dick. You can call me from now on.”

They stay up for practically the rest of the night talking.

Billy stares up at the ceiling and wonders how long this little thing between them will last.

He starts to question it more when Steve actually, by some miracle, convinces him to come out a handful of times.

The brunet is really touchy. Always has an arm around Billy’s shoulders or a hand on his back, and constantly bumps their knees together when they’re sitting down. Billy feels stupid for wanting more.

Why, he doesn’t know, because he’s fairly certain that he could ask for anything at this point.

Steve never calls again and that’s okay.

Billy prefers hearing whispers over the radio anyway.

It’s one evening in particular that Max is out of the house for the night, away at the Chief’s place for a sleepover, that the pit in Billy’s stomach turns into a black hole.

Steve has been ranting about his manager for the last half hour, only stopping to mention how a movie cover reminded him of Billy. How he couldn’t even wait to get home before he turned his radio on and pressed to talk to him.

The black hole consumes Billy before he can catch the words leaving his mouth.

“Do you like me?” he hears himself ask.

His voice gets choked up, and the second he lifts his finger off of the button, he rolls over and screams into his pillow. Quiet enough that Neil and Susan won’t hear, but hard enough to let a fraction of the tension out.

“Obviously,” Steve says. “Why else would I be friends with you?”

Billy presses his face harder into the pillow.

He can feel the pressure building behind his eyes. Feel the blistering heat of fresh tears and the throb in his temples as he huffs a strangled sigh into the pillow. Before he can even decide between turning the walkie off or fabricating a response, static pours through.

“Jesus Christ, Steve, he means do you have feelings for him,” Max groans.

There’s a beat of silence.

“What? Rea—“

“What the fuck are you doing on this channel?” Billy interrupts.

He can feel the veins in his neck straining from how hard he’s clenching his jaw. Can practically see red when giggles pour through the radio.

A red hot flush of shame paints Billy’s face when he realizes that Eleven is listening in too.

“What are you still doing on this channel? If you didn’t want us to eavesdrop, you should’ve switched forever ago.”

“How long have you been listening to us talk?” There’s a beat of silence. Billy huffs. “Max. How long?”

“How long have you and Steve been talking?” Max asks.

Her rhetorical question is accompanied by giggles that are cut off when she lifts her finger from the button.

There’s nothing but silence for a moment. Then two.

Billy’s vision blurs as he sets his walkie down on his nightstand. The cold fingers of embarrassment wrap around him and drag him down, lower than he’s ever been drug before.

He’s ruined everything.

His sister not only hates him, but she knows about him now, and the only guy he’s ever let himself truly like is going to want nothing more to do with him after this.

Not for the first time since Starcourt, he wishes that monster had killed him.

“Billy?” Steve asks gently. When there’s no response, he sighs. “Look, we can figure out the channel thing some other time, but… was she right? Is that what you were trying to ask me?”

Silence. Then, giggles.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure I’m right,” Max teases.

“Radio silence,” Steve snaps. “Now.”

His tone is stern. Brotherly in a way that should be surprising, but isn’t, really.

“Signing off…” Max says dejectedly.

Astonishingly, the channel falls silent. Billy sniffles as he reaches over to paw at his nightstand, curling his fingers weakly around the radio.

He doesn’t press the button. Tries to swallow his silent sobs in a failed attempt to compose himself first.

“Billy?” Steve coos, voice much softer now. “If you don’t wanna talk over the radio, that’s fine, but—“

“Yes,” Billy rasps.

A beat of silence.

“Yes?”

“She was right.”

Billy winces at how broken his voice sounds. A whistle pours through the radio.

“Oh, man,” Steve chuckles, and Billy’s heart sinks. “The boy of my dreams wants to know if I have feelings for him? Are you dense?”

There’s a crisp millisecond of confusion before Billy presses the button.

“What?”

“Of course I like you, dude.”

Billy inhales like he just resurfaced for air for the first time in years.

“Why?” he breathes.

“You’re funny, smart, surprisingly sweet, and pretty easy on the eyes. Just for starters.”

If his heart was thumping fast before, it’s going light-speed now. All he can do for a few beats is focus on controlling his breathing.

“You don’t like me,” he murmurs. “Trust me, Steve, I’m fucked up.”

“You aren’t the only one who’s a little fucked up.” Steve hums a laugh to himself. “And I do like you. You’re not gonna be changing my mind about it anytime soon.”

“What if I told you to go fuck yourself?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t always have to be such a dick.”

A tiny hint of a smile creeps its way onto Billy’s face when he hears Steve chuckle.

His eyes are dry. The pool of dread in his belly has begun to drain, and he feels the slightest bit hopeful.

“If you’re so sure, then I guess picking me up for dinner and a movie sometime won’t be difficult for you, will it?”

Steve sighs fondly at the notion.

“Are you asking me out?”

“Are you accepting?”

There’s a brief pause. Billy’s unable to keep from smiling giddily to himself.

“Depends,” Steve lilts. “Gonna open your window?”

There’s a light tap on the glass. Billy pushes himself up and draws the blinds, revealing a grinning brunet standing about a foot below, holding his walkie-talkie.

Billy tosses his on the bed before he opens the window and leans his elbows against the ledge.

“Is this the part where you ask me to let down my hair?” he teases.

Steve chuckles, but furrows his brows as he steps closer to the house.

“Were you crying?”

Taken aback by the question, Billy wipes his eyes with the heel of his palm. Shrugs nonchalantly, which doesn’t seem to be the answer that Steve was looking for.

“I was expecting things to go a bit differently,” Billy admits.

Steve frowns, and the expression doesn’t look right on him. He reaches up. Settles his hand on Billy’s forearm, smoothing his thumb back and forth against his skin until Billy shifts to dangle his arm out the window.

The pads of Steve’s fingers are soft where he holds Billy’s hand, clasped and suspended in the air together.

Billy really does feel like Rapunzel for a moment.

“I can be a little thick-skulled sometimes,” Steve says softly. “You’re always talking about yourself like you’re some unsalvageable disaster, so when you asked me if I liked you, my mind instantly went there. I wanted to make you sure you knew for certain that I do.”

He gives a little half smile. Billy squeezes his hand gently. Hopes that Steve doesn’t notice how weak his grip is.

“It’s not like I really gave you any context clues.”

“True. You didn’t.”

“I am a bit of a disaster, though. Feels like I’m only good at messing things up sometimes,” Billy sighs. “Max already hates me, and when I thought for a second that you might too, everything felt so lost.”

Steve makes a face.

“I would never, and I’d like to point out that Max doesn’t either.”

Billy blinks. Huffs amusedly, and as always, it comes out sounding closer to a scoff.

“Pretty sure she does. You’ve said yourself that she wouldn’t even talk when you asked about me.”

After thinking on it for a brief moment, Steve laughs.

“Yeah, man, ‘cause she bites the head off of anyone who asks about you. Definitely told me to mind my fucking business more than once.”

Again, Billy just blinks.

He never considered that maybe it was a protective thing and not a shame thing. The revelation has a surprising amount of weight lifting off of his shoulders.

“Definitely sounds like her,” he says.

They share a chuckle. Billy flattens his other forearm against the windowsill and rests his chin against it.

“Thanks for trying to lift me up earlier?” he muses. “Didn’t really work in the moment, but still.”

Steve softly swings their hands from side to side and sighs.

“I can tell. Your eyes are all puffy.”

“Should’a seen me the other night.”

The brunet cocks his head to the side in mild confusion.

“What happened the other night?” he asks. “Didn’t mention anything while we were talking.”

“It was, ah… after we signed off for the night. It’s no big deal, really. I cry after most of our talks.”

Billy looks away. Steve squeezes his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Billy rasps.

His eyes prick with tears again and Steve steps closer. Drops his walkie-talkie in the grass and reaches up with his free hand to cup Billy’s cheek.

“Oh, you’re just a big crybaby, huh?” he coos. Billy chuckles sadly and leans into his touch. “If I’d known, I would’ve snuck over here sooner.”

“My old man checks in on me sometimes, so it’s probably better that you stay in your car.”

“Well, do you have a curfew? I’d love to steal you away every now and again and kiss your cute, stuffy nose.”

Billy sniffles, and chuckles again. Wipes his eyes with his free hand and shrugs.

“Haven’t really had anywhere to go ‘till now,” he says.

Steve nods.

“You eaten yet?”

A smile cracks across Billy’s face. Steve mirrors the expression.

“You buying?”

“I’ll spend my entire paycheck on burgers and fries if it gets you outta this fuckin’ room. I swear sometimes it’s like pulling teeth.”

They share a chuckle, and Billy sits up. Flushes red when Steve presses a kiss to his knuckles.

“Gimme a sec.”

Again, Steve nods. He’s slow to release the blond when he pulls away, and Billy can’t help that he’s grinning like an idiot as he opens the door and pads out of his room.

He finds Neil and Susan in the living room watching tv. Makes up some lie about a few friends having a kickback. Even goes as far as to apologize for the short notice.

His folks share a look. Susan spreads a big smile and sets her hand on Billy’s bicep.

“No worries, sweetheart. Go ahead,” she says. “Have fun, alright?”

“Will you be coming back tonight?” Neil asks.

Billy stays quiet for a moment. Then two, just processing, and eventually shakes his head.

“It’ll probably be too late,” he says, and clears his throat. “I have somewhere else lined up, though.”

He winces at his own words, regret beading on his skin like a cold sheen of sweat.

Neil nods. Turns his attention back to the tv.

“Just stay outta trouble.”

And that’s it.

Nothing more is said, but Billy still stands there like he’s waiting for something else to happen.

When nothing does, he nods curtly and pads back down the hallway to his room, deciding not to press his luck by letting them think too hard on it. Once he has the door shut behind him, he’s immediately leaning out the window again.

Steve has his walkie back in his hands, rocking back and forth patiently on the balls of his feet while he waits. He smiles when he notices that the blond has reappeared.

“What’d they say?”

“Go get your car, I’ll be ready by the time you pull up.”

Billy leans back. Grabs the window and shuts it just as Steve nods enthusiastically. Turns on his heel and jogs off of the lawn and back towards the street.

Giddy, warm feelings pool and buzz in Billy’s stomach as he digs through his drawers for jeans that he hasn’t worn in forever. Already has a date-worthy outfit in mind as he unfolds a pair.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when static pours through the radio still sitting idly on his bed.

“Update?” Max asks.

Billy rolls his eyes. Moves to grab it when another voice comes through.

“We’re goin’ steady,” Steve informs, out of breath.

“Yes!” Max shouts.

Then, a third voice comes through.

“Finally! Jesus,” Dustin huffs.

There’s a beat of silence, followed by Steve panting when he presses the talk button.

“How many of you dickheads are on this channel?”

“Just two?” Mike says. “Technically, since we’re only using two walkie’s.”

There’s laughter over the radio, and Billy rolls his eyes. Can’t really find it in himself to be mad right now with all of the butterflies swirling in his tummy.

“You’re all banned from the front seat of my car,” Steve huffs. “And the wedding, when it happens.”

“No! I wanted to be the flower girl!” Eleven whines.

“I was gonna walk you down the aisle,” Dustin adds.

“Good luck finding another officiant, then, I guess,” Lucas says with a scoff.

More laughter is had. Max and Mike chime in with various jokes about ring-bearers and bridesmaids, but they’re cut off when Steve presses to talk again.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I highly recommend switching channels.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?” Max muses.

Billy can practically hear the smirk in Steve’s voice when he speaks next.

“‘Cause I’m gonna start using this one for sex stuff, and it’s gonna get real weird real fast, so be warned.”

Multiple groans and sounds of disgust pour through the radio.

“Yuck,” Max says. “Switching channels.”

“Ditto,” Dustin adds.

Then silence. True silence.

Billy grabs his walkie.

“We really gonna have phone sex over the radio?” he muses.

Steve laughs. The subtle rumble of the engine is audible from the street as his car pulls up to the curb.

“Not if you hurry up and get your ass out here already.”

The blond bites his lip. Can’t believe for the life of him how light he feels. How, for once, he feels better for having survived car wrecks and slimy monsters in the dark.

Feels like letting someone new into his life won’t cause him grief this time around.

“On my way, pretty boy.”

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #max mayfield #billy & max #the party stranger things #disabled billy hargrove #fluff and angst #tw abuse #internalized homophobia #it’s important to me that Neil is shown being more than a two dimensional mma fighter when it comes to his relationship w Billy #so I wrote him a little differently based on my own personal experiences with abusive parents #also mainly wrote this to show that Billy deserves love and compassion even if he doesn’t start making steps towards bettering himself #because healing begins with support!!#ficlet #my writing #unedited #billy antis dni

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kiwanopie · 1 year

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What would happen if we did try to leave kiyoomi like would he go haywire and turn into a madman or even a yandere (ps I love your work it makes me swing my legs back and forth while I twirl my finger in my hair 🤭)

Men as proud as him rarely grovel - they rarely beg. But when they do it’s overgrown by denial and a special kind of disgrace.

Talking to you like this makes him want to bite his tongue off. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’ll let you leave me.”

You close your eyes as he steps to block your path to the door. Neatly packed bags weigh down the sleeves of your coat and even through grief are you still emboldened by the soft lights. Eyes cottoned by tears, still doey as they stare emptily forward. Nothing he’s said or done has invoked so much as a word from you since he’d returned home. Just a figure wisping away before his eyes, falling out of his hands before he can reason himself how to catch you.

But a man like him is used to threats and strong-arming to get his way. And though Kiyoomi doesn’t touch you, his tone is enough to make you wish he would. “You’re making a mistake. I mean it, ______. You walk out of this door and I don’t what I’ll do-“

“Move, Kiyoomi.” But you’re a contest to him. Just that nearly evokes a flinch.

Kiyoomi’s jaw tenses as you finally look up at him. And you know him well enough to know that his demeanor is a falsehood. It’s a show. A mask - not even well enough to hide that his eyes have already gone glassy. Neat scowl barely changed on his face but his fingers creak against the door frame.

He’s holding on by a thread. “You’re not leaving me.”

He steps forward as you try to step past him.

“You can’t keep me here, Kiyoomi. I don’t-“ Your voice cracks and so does his restraint. “I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“I don’t care.” Which he doesn’t mean. Really, the thought of you not loving him anymore makes him so nauseous his mouth kind of waters. He’s living out his worst nightmare right now, if you can believe it.

“You made a promise when you married me. You won’t leave me and I don’t leave you-“

Another side step. You let out a frustrated breath when he doesn’t let you push past. “You are my wife. Mine. Every breath you take is for me and you the same. That’s just how it is.”

“Get. Out. Of my way, Kiyoomi.”

“No. You need to think about this-“

“Get-“ You drop one of your bags just to push him out of your way. Nails somewhat digging into his button up but the force of the push slightly teeters him on his heel. You’re just as strong if not stronger through your resentment. Just as angry as he is if not angrier. But you’re not as ruthless as him, that’s for damn sure. And you find that out the hard way when you finally push the wrong button.

“Get out of my way, Sakusa!”

You’re pulled forward by the wrist.

It isn’t a hard enough grip to bruise but it’s stern, it’s promising something much worse should you start to pull away. - You meet his eyes and he’s wrathful. You’ve never seen him look at you like this before.

His voice is vexed, ireful and seething. “You really must be stupid if you think you’re leaving here scot-free. Do you know who I am? You think I don’t have the names of your family, your friends, any asshole dumb enough to think they matter? You really think I’m gonna let you leave here - start some worthless life with some one-off nobody? - Do you think you’re allowed to be happy without me?”

“I will kill - Look at me,” He inches you forward. “I will slaughter any and every one I have to just to make sure that I am the center of your life. Your husband. And if you think that any life, any relationship you have outside of me isn’t borrowed, then let me remind you right now,”

“You are my wife and I am your husband. Anything outside of that - is concessionary.”

You stumble as he releases you from his grasp.

Kiyoomi steps past you as you stand static still, already snatching up your bags while you look off in horror.

“Now,” He says over his shoulder. “Let me put these away for you.”

#crime lord!sakusa kiyoomi #lmao yeah he’s still a bad guy #does this count as yandere?#i think so #yandere sakusa #crime au!kiyioomi #crime au #sakusa kiyoomi #haikyuu x reader #hq sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu scenarios

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wannab-urs · 1 month

Text

The King Has Lost His Crown

Pairing: ex!Dieter Bravo x gn!Reader

Summary: Dieter shows up on your doorstep

Tags: dieter being a pathetic loser, drug mention, angst WC: 703

A/N: This is my entry for @freelancearsonist's ABBA Drabble Challenge. I could have gone smutty with this, but I went angsty instead. I may still write the smut version later idk.

Dieter Bravo Masterlist | Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You sit down on your couch with a glass of wine, settling in for a nice evening of watching mindless TV. Your phone starts buzzing – Dieter Bravo is calling you. You’ve removed his contact, but you couldn’t ever bring yourself to block the number you know by heart. You hit the red Fuck You button and toss your phone to the side.

Throughout an entire episode of some shitty reality show, your phone lights up with texts. You finally pick it up to read them:

Please answer the phone

Its Dieter

I miss u

Can u call me pls?

Baby

Baby ]:

Just as you’re about to tell him to fuck off, your doorbell rings. You check the ring camera and see that he’s standing on your fucking porch. You hope LA suddenly has a cold snap and he freezes to death out there. Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh. But he could stand to lose a toe or two.

He rings the doorbell again – starts just continuously pressing the button until the sound drives you so crazy you have to open the door. And he’s standing there looking like an abandoned puppy in his brown fuzzy coat and a pair of basketball shorts that are too long. You used to find his disheveled appearance endearing, but now it just adds to how pathetic he seems.

“You have 10 seconds to explain where you found the audacity to show up at my house, Bravo.”

He winces at your icy tone, brow furrowing over those pretty brown eyes. He tugs a few strands of his hair, making it stick up even more.

“Baby, just let me in and I’ll explain everything.”

“No. Explain here.”

Dieter sighs, world weary, long and drawn out. You go to close the door on him, but he shoves a croc covered foot into the crack before you can get it closed.

“Wait!”

You open the door enough to see him, but not enough to let him push his way inside the house.

“What happened with your new girl, Dieter?”

“She wasn’t you.”

For a second you almost believe him. Almost. But liars never change.

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What actually happened?”

“What do you think happened?” He mutters, rolling his eyes.

“I think you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants, as usual, and she got fed up.”

“Yeah? Well. Maybe you’re right,” his tone shifts to something like shame, his face turning red. “Are you gonna let me in?”

“Oh absolutely not. You really think you can show up here after getting dumped for cheating on the girl you cheated on me with? Do you think I’m stupid?”

“No,” his brow furrows even deeper. “Of course not. I just thought–”

“It must be so hard for you. All the drugs and pretty people you could ever desire and all you ever do is fuck it up. You’re a disaster. A fucking disgrace. I bet your mamá is real fuckin proud of you. Get out of my face, Dieter. Get off my porch. Go fuck someone else’s life up.”

You slam the door in his face and start crying immediately. The tears come faster than you can wipe them from your face, leaving tracks down your cheeks.

You loved him, you really did. Maybe you still do. But you can’t put yourself through that bullshit again.

–-

Dieter slumps down on the doorstep, not quite ready to accept defeat. He thinks you’ll come out soon, offer him a cup of tea and a snack, maybe cuddle with him on the couch.

His life is a mess, but the one good thing he’s ever had was you. He lost you and it was completely his fault. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever get over you. He needs to win you back, prove he can be a good person, a good partner.

He leans back against the door, prepping for an uncomfortable night – sober and stuck outside. He falls asleep eventually and wakes with the sunrise. You never came out to get him. Didn’t even offer him a blanket. You are well and truly done with him, and he only has himself to blame.

#abba drabble challenge #freelancearsonist #Dieter Bravo #Dieter Bravo fics #Dieter Bravo fanfiction #Dieter Bravo x reader #Dieter Bravo x you #The Bubble fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction

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lovelyhan · 1 year

Text

— again and again (a teaser) ⟢

pairing: mingyu x reader

summary: your mother calls one day, asking if you’re bringing mingyu along for chuseok this year. in your panic, you end up giving her an affirmative—never mind the fact that you and mingyu have stopped seeing each other over half a year ago.

word count: 1.7k words

tags: exes, fake dating, pining, idol!gyu, vet!reader, mild angst, fluff, smut (in later scenes; the teaser is completely sfw)

warnings: some medical jargon, mentions of shots (for pets)

notes: omg this is so long for a teaser, but it's fine LMAO i'll be away this weekend, so i thought i'd treat you guys to a little something i'm currently working on ^__^ i hope you like it!

When you hear the telltale ring as the call connects to its intended recipient, you wonder why you even considered this idea in the first place. Not to mention, you’re getting a nasty case of phone call anxiety—one that you haven’t felt in god knows how long. Maybe it’s because of the identity of the person you’re calling that your nerves are all over the place.

In fact, you’re not sure if he’s even going to answer. There are a million and a half reasons why famous superstar Kim Mingyu won’t be able to pick up your call. He could be shooting for a music video or some fashion magazine. He could be in the middle of an interview. Or he could be out spending time with his members like tends to these days if his recent Instagram posts are anything to go by.

But you try anyway because your mother sounded so hopeful in the phone call you just hung up on five minutes ago (The rice wine he got for us last Christmas was splendid! He’ll bring some again for Chuseok, won’t he?), that you just didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.

So, because you can’t take back the pretty white lies you uttered (Uh, of course he will. Gyu told me he missed everyone back at home, too. Especially Namja), you’re attempting to rope Mingyu into the charade even if the odds are against you.

The first call doesn’t go through. Neither does the second.

By your third try, you’re about to accept the fact that you’re going to have to make some due corrections to what you told your mother until you hear a groggy, “Hello?” on the other line.

You nearly fall off your seat at the throaty sound of Mingyu’s voice, but you’d rather not get weird looks from your receptionist, so you breathe in as deeply (and quietly) as you can before mustering a smile that he won’t even be able to see.

“Hey, Mingyu, it’s me,” you begin, a bit proud of how your voice didn’t even falter. “It’s been a while. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

He doesn’t respond for a while, and the prolonged silence makes you bite the inside of your cheek. Did the call fall through? Did he not hear what you said? But just when you’re about to repeat the words—

“Kind of,” Mingyu grumbles, and you try not to think about how sexy his morning voice sounds despite it being two in the afternoon. “We finished taping a variety show today and I figured I’d get some sleep. It’s midnight right now.”

Well that’s news to you.

“Oh. You’re not in Korea?”

“Nah. We’re in New York for some brand collaborations,” he says, and you hear some rustling in the background, followed by a yawn. “Though I doubt you’ve been keeping tabs on us.”

Okay, he doesn’t have to call you out like that.

Sure, you still catch posts from Mingyu, as well as the other twelve members of SEVENTEEN from time to time, but…after breaking up with him (on good terms, promise!), you thought it’s best if you didn’t see too much of them anymore. The block and mute buttons are your best friends, and while you didn’t use them on the members directly, gossip outlets were your regular targets.

So to speak, it’s been a peaceful six months since your break up with Mingyu.

Until now.

“Do you need something?” he asks, and you realize you didn’t respond to what he said last. “Whatever it is, I might not be able to help you out right away. We’re holed up here until next month.”

Well…that’s all the confirmation you needed.

“I see,” you sigh, trying not to sound too disappointed. “It’s— It’s okay.”

“So you do need something,” Mingyu points out, voice much clearer now than it was two minutes ago. Like he was more awake. “What is it?”

“Nothing you should worry about, Gyu,” you reassure before making a face, not realizing how easily the old nickname just slipped out. “I’m sorry for waking you up. You should go back to—”

The sound of him whining at the other end sends another rush of vertigo through your entire being. “Come on, I’m awake anyways right? You know how hard it is for me to fall asleep again.”

“If I’d known we weren’t in the same continent, I wouldn’t have called altogether,” you say before quaintly adding, “Shit. This counts as an international call, doesn’t it?”

There’s someone else in the room with him, you think—a quiet drawl of Mingyu-hyung, what time is it? You immediately recognize it as Seungkwan.

“Five minutes from midnight,” Mingyu says, and Seungkwan asks another question that you aren’t able to catch. “Who am I talking to? Bookkeu and Bobpul’s worst enemy.”

“Hey!” You scowl at him. “They never even whined when you and Seungkwan brought them to me for their shots!”

“Noona? Why are you calling this guy?” Seungkwan says a bit more loudly for you to hear. “Didn’t you dump him already? Good choice, by the way.”

This time it’s Mingyu’s turn to utter out a semi-offended, “Hey! Mind your own business, Seungkwan-ah.”

A few minutes of bickering with his dongsaeng later, you figure that Mingyu must’ve gone outside of their hotel room for some privacy. You can vaguely hear the sound of the wind blowing on his end before he heaves a deep sigh.

“Sorry about that.” He coughs awkwardly. “Anyway, if you’re not going to tell me about what you needed help with, how are you? Is the clinic doing well? Did your receptionist finally ditch her shitty boyfriend? Does that one guy with a husky still hit on you?”

You’re a little overwhelmed by the sudden influx of questions. Last you checked, you haven’t spoken to Mingyu since you greeted him on his birthday over a quick text message. But then again, your ex does have a talent for completely ignoring the time that exists in between interactions. Mingyu’s always been amicable for conversation, idol or not, boyfriend or not.

The mere thought that he hasn’t changed at all makes your heart ache in more ways than one.

You manage a quiet laugh. “I’m fine. The clinic’s fine. Chae has a new boyfriend now. He even helps us sort out new products on the shelves sometimes.”

At the mention of her name, your receptionist whips her head in your direction, one brow raised. You shake your head with a smile, gesturing that this is nothing she should even be remotely concerned about.

It’s just Mingyu after all.

“Okay, how about the guy who—”

“I turned him down when he asked me out for lunch last week.”

He whistles. “Ouch. And he’s been trying to get with you all this time.”

“I don’t usually date my clients, you know.”

“Yeah? I must be special then.”

Then comes the silence—so thick, you can cut through it with a knife.

“Uh, so I have a patient coming in an hour for a castration procedure,” you tell him a bit awkwardly. “Gotta prepare everything before the owner arrives.”

Mingyu sighs, and you can almost imagine him pouting. “You’re really not gonna tell me? I can still help you with whatever you need even when I’m out here. Unless it requires me to, you know, physically be there.”

You chuckle. “That’s the thing, Gyu. You can’t help me because I need you to actually be here.”

“Oh. Why? What for?”

You inhale sharp breath through your nose, closing your eyes as your face warms with embarrassment. Chae is definitely looking at you funnily from her station now, but you tell yourself not to give it too much thought.

“Mom asked if I was bringing you with me for Chuseok,” you admit. “I haven’t been home since Christmas, so… They kind of have no idea that we aren’t together anymore.”

Mingyu falls silent for a while yet again, and you realize that your anxiousness spikes whenever he isn’t talking like there’s no tomorrow. You wonder if he’s figured out what you’re trying to insinuate and is silently berating you for the lapse in judgment. But when Mingyu bursts out laughing on the other end, you suddenly don't mind being on the receiving end of his silence after all.

“No way,” he gasps between chuckles. “You were going to ask me to pretend to be your boyfriend over the holidays, weren’t you?! One of the fans wrote a story about the exact same thing once, except it’s between me and Wonwoo-hyung. It was in English though, but Vernon translated it pretty well.”

…Kim Mingyu admitting to reading fanfiction about himself and Wonwoo aside, you groan. “What am I supposed to do? My family loves you. I’d rather not dampen the Chuseok spirit by saying their favorite son has unfortunately made his unannounced exit half a year ago.”

“So you’re willing to pretend we’re still together just to keep them happy?”

“Well, yeah. It’s not like you’re an ex I should be ashamed of, Gyu.”

“Because I’m an idol that millions are vying for?”

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because out of all my exes, you’re the only one that Namja actually likes. That’s pretty much the highest honor you can receive in your entire life.”

Your heart does a little flip when Mingyu barks out another light-hearted laugh. You tell yourself that you’re only reacting that way because…it has been a while since you talked to him. That, and Mingyu was always so smiley whenever you brought up your ten year-old retriever.

“Point taken,” he says. “I’d totally be down to help you out, but…yeah.”

“I knew you would be,” you reply, a sad smile ghosting your features. “That’s why I called.”

Silence settles over the line once again, but it’s, by no means, awkward. It’s more…sentimental. Like two old friends reminiscing about the good memories you shared.

Huh. You’re friends with Mingyu…

“Anyway, thanks for catching up with me, Mingyu,” you tell him before you end up saying something you’re not supposed to. “I’ll get going now. Good night.”

“Hey—”

You end the call before he can have the chance to make you falter.

end notes: like the teaser so far? leave a reply if you haven't filled out my taglist form yet and would like to be tagged once the full story is up!

edit: the full fic is up here!

#seventeen fanfic #seventeen smut #svt fanfic #svt smut #kim mingyu #seventeen mingyu #mingyu #mingyu x reader #seventeen x reader #lovelyhan

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crowleysgirl67 · 5 months

Text

Unexpected

Author: @crowleysgirl67

Word Count: 3250

Parings/Characters: BAU Team, Reader x Hotch, Alexandra (OFC), Jack Hotchner,

Warnings: Show warnings, nondescript case, idk

A/N: Song is Older by isabel larosa the sped up version.

A woman jogging alone on a forest jogging path in the early morning mist. She trips on what she assumes is a tree root. After hitting the ground she rolls onto her side to see what she has tripped over. A scream echoes through the forest as the woman sees she has tripped over a body barely off the jogging path. The feet of the dead woman sticking out on the path just enough to trip the jogger.

***

“Locals have asked for our help with this case.” JJ said handing Spencer his paper file as the rest of you use the tablets to look at information. “Three young women ranging from eighteen to twenty-four have been murdered in the last six months. All have had their vocal cords cut from their bodies.”

“The latest victim Kendra Montgomery was found early yesterday morning by a jogger.” Garcia adds.

“Two of the three girls were white while the other was of Asian descent. So that kinda rules out a preferential reason. Or at least race isn’t a determining factor of how the victims are picked.” you state looking through the pictures.

“We can deliberate on the plane. Wheels up in twenty.” Hotch stands up.

Everyone disperses to grab their bags, leaving you and Hotch as the last ones to leave the room. Your heels click on the floor as you go around putting chairs back into place. You could feel him watching you as you did. Hotch and you had met about a year and a half earlier and had a one-night stand. Which was highly unusual for him but enough alcohol and loneliness can influence anyone. You hadn’t spoken to him since, until you transferred into his unit. He was shocked, but you both agreed to be professional.

“See you on the plane.” you said softly. He nodded in response and left to presumably go call his son.

“The time between his kills is getting shorter. Kills victim one, Andrea Kemp, six months ago. Then victim two, Mei Vuong, last month. Less than a full month between Mei and Kendra.” Emily points out.

“Doesn’t seem like he’s concerned with forensics. Plenty of fibers and things found with the bodies.” you say, looking over the forensic reports.

“No hits in any database so he’s not offended before or hasn’t been caught offending.” Reid muses.

“Let’s interview the families. Reid go over the girls records to see if you find anything. Dave, Morgan start with the crime scene and then go see Andreas' family. Prentiss, JJ take Meis' family. (Y/N) with me we’ll see the most recent victim, Kendras family.” Hotch divvies out what needs to be done.

***

“How sure are we that Nathan Benson is going to strike again so soon?” you ask

“He’s devolving. He needs to.” Reid replies

“So why are we waiting for him to take an innocent person? Why not give him what he wants?” you question.

“He already knows Prentiss and I are FBI.” JJ says.

“He doesn’t know me. I was never in the bar or did any interviews with him. I can go in, get his attention.”

“Have you done undercover before?” Morgan asks.

“Guys I get I’m new and you're skeptical but I got this.” you pulled out a bag and touched up your makeup, putting on some bright red lipstick. You took your hair out of the ponytail and messed it up to give it a stressed sex look. Tugging your skirt up to mid thigh, you set your badge and gun down. “There’s an alley about a block away. I can walk by that, it’s the perfect place for him to want to kill. One of you can hide out there.” you said as you un tucked your blouse and tied it up exposing your midriff. You popped a button at the top exposing more cleavage. “Who hasn’t had interactions with him beside me?”

“I haven’t and neither has Hotch.” Morgan answers.

“Ok. Give it five and one of you can follow me in. And for heaven's sake if it’s you Hotch lose the ‘I’m an agent look’ yeah? Just a regular guy in a bar.” you hopped out the back of the surveillance van.

Morgan stifled a snicker, “We’ll see you in five.”

You gave a thumbs up and sauntered on in. You walked up to the bar and leaned over whispering in the bartender's ear to give you coke on the rocks, before surveying the establishment. You spotted Nathan back by the door to the kitchen. You made yourself comfy on the stool closest to him before striking up a conversation.

“I hear you have a nice karaoke thing going on here.” you smiled as you accepted the drink from the bartender. “Is that like a local thing? Or can out of towners join.” you purr, sipping your drink and batting your lashes at him.

“Anyone can join.” he smiled charmingly. “You like to sing?”

“Been doing it since I was little. How’s the selection?”

“Why don’t I show you?” he pushed away from the wall and showed you the music available.

You debated music as you flirted with him before finally choosing a song.

You went up to the mic as the music began, “Think I need someone older. Just a little bit colder. Takes the weight off your shoulders. Think I need someone older.”

You made eye contact with Hotch as he walked in. “Baby, am I your little secret? 18, I'm old enough to keep it.”

You finished the song, avoiding looking at Hotch again. He’d shed his suit coat and tie and had his sleeve rolled up to his elbows. Looking at him again would just prove to be a distraction.

‘Focus (Y/N). Now is not the time to be thinking about your baby daddy boss.’ you thought as you shifted your thoughts back to the task at hand.

You pretended to be more and more intoxicated as the night wore on before ‘stumbling’ out of the bar and headed in the direction of the alley. You teetered about as you walked, to keep up the appearance of being intoxicated. When you got to the alley you stopped and bent down putting your hands on your thighs, appearing as if you were about to vomit.

Nathan grabbed you then and dragged you into the alley. He brandished a knife and got a swipe in before you kicked him back and Morgan jumped from the shadows gun drawn.

“Drop it Nathan. It’s over.” he ordered as Hotch rounded the corner with the others.

“(Y/N) are you alright?” Hotch glanced at you holding your bloodied arm.

“Tis’ but a flesh wound. I’ll be fine.” you waved him off as you walked out of the alley. Your arm was the least of your concerns. You leaked through your padding and you didn’t need the embarrassment nor questions about your now wet shirt. It’d been a few hours since you’d been able to slip away to pump and you really should have done it sooner, but with everything going on it’d slipped your mind.

You made it back to the cars and grabbed your bag. Hopefully you could manage to cover up at least until you could get a moment to fix the issue.

“(Y/N).” JJs soft voice and hand on your shoulder startled you. You hadn’t heard her approach as you grabbed a sweater from your bag.

“Geez JJ.” you pulled the sweater to your chest.

“How old is your baby?” she asks, getting straight to the point.

Well so much for getting away unseen. “She’s six months old.” you replied softly to avoid being overheard.

“Do what ya gotta. I’ll cover for you.” she smiled softly but you knew she’d be asking you about it more later.

“Thank you, I just need ten minutes.” you climbed in the back of the SVU. JJ shut the door and stood outside it waiting.

“Where’s (Y/N)? The medics are here. I want her to get checked out.” Hotch asked, approaching the car.

“She’ll be out in a minute. She’s changing her shirt.” JJ answered.

Luckily you were just finished pumping. You put everything away quickly and tossed on the clean sweater leaving your hurt arm exposed for easy access, and climbed out of the car. You gave JJs shoulder a gentle squeeze in thanks.

Hotch escorted you over to the medics. “You’re lucky it wasn't worse.”

“I know. But it’s not like I did this alone. You guys were backing me up.” you winced at the alcohol put on the wound to clean it as the medic patched you up. A couple of steri strips and a bandage was all it took. “See? I didn’t even need stitches.”

“Still.” he narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like it.” he said so softly you almost missed it.

“Aaron..” you trailed off as Rossi came over.

“Good job kid. How ya feeling?” he asked

“Stings a little but I’m alright.” you tuck your newly bandaged arm into the sleeve of your sweater.

Everyone went back to the hotel to gather things and meet on the plane. JJ met you by your room with her bag.

“Why didn’t you tell us you had a kid?” she asked, following you in as you started packing.

“It’s in my file.” you shrug.

“Only Hotch and Rossi can read those.”

“Oh well that’s good to know.” you finish packing.

“What's her name?”

“Alexandra.” you smiled softly and showed JJ some pictures on your phone.

“She’s adorable.” JJ smiles.

“Thanks. She’s getting so big.”

“If you don’t mind me asking; where’s her dad?”

“He doesn’t know about her. She was a result of a drunken night.” you followed her out of the room.

“Oh. Well if you have a name we could always help you find him.” She offered.

“That’s sweet of you to offer but I’ll tell him.”

“You know who he is?” she asked, surprised.

“I’ve seen him again recently.”

“Seen who?” Reid asks as you meet most of the others in the lobby.

‘Well, might as well drop this bombshell’ you thought as you didn’t see Hotch. “My daughters father.”

“You have a kid?” Morgan asked.

“Why is that surprising to everyone?” you chuckle “Do I not look old enough for a kid or somethin?”

“Just you don’t talk about having a kid.” Emily pipes in.

“Hotch doesn’t talk about his kid much either.” you point out.

“That’s different, at least we know about Jack. You’ve never mentioned your kid before.”

“Touche.” you concede to her point.

“So tell us about her.” Morgan encouraged.

“Alexandra is six months old. Full head of black curls.” you smiled and pulled her pictures up to show the rest of them. You let them pass your phone around to look at her pictures.

“Wow you weren’t kidding about that head of hair.” Morgan chuckled.

“Look at those big beautiful brown eyes.” Emily gushed.

You smiled, it was cute watching them fawn over her pictures.

“What’s going on over here?” Rossi asked as he approached, with Hotch.

“(Y/N) is showing off pictures of her daughter, Alexandra.” Emily passed him the phone.

You avoided looking back, you could feel Aarons stare burning a hole in the back of your head.

“Cute kid.” Rossi chuckled while showing Hotch. “How old?”

“She's six months old.” you replied, finally turning to face them. You watched Hotch take the phone for a better look. He was keeping a neutral face but you could tell he was calculating her age and factoring in your encounter. The phone shrilled in his hand and he gave it back.

“Pardon me.” you took it and answered walking a few paces off.

The others chatted amongst themselves, but Dave looked between the two of you. “You wanna tell me what that’s about?” he asked softly, careful to not be heard by the others.

“I’ll tell you later.” Hotch replied.

Hotch cornered you by your car after arriving back in DC. “We need to talk.”

“Great, get in the car. You can talk while I drive.” you tossed your bag in the back seat of your car. “Alex has a fever and I need to get home.”

His brow furrowed, “Fine. But I’m driving. Give me your keys.”

At this point you were too tired and stressed to argue so you tossed him your keys. He helped you into the passenger side before climbing in himself. “Directions?”

You gave him the way to your house and sat back waiting for his barrage of questions.

“Is she mine?” he asked after several minutes in silence.

“Yes. You were the first person I’ve slept with in awhile. I didn’t sleep with anyone after either so she’s definitely yours. We can get a DNA test if you want.”

He glanced over, “I believe you.”

Nothing else was said as he pulled into your drive. Danika, your nanny, was waiting on the porch with a screaming Alex. You hopped out of the car before he had it in park and jogged up the steps.

“Danika, how long has she been screaming like this?” you took Alex from her.

“About ten minutes Miss. Her fever is down to 99.3 from the 100.5 it was earlier. I gave her a dose of tylenol about 4 hours ago. I was gonna give her another but I wanted to wait for you.” she replied.

“Ok. Thank you. I've got it from here. I’ll see you in the morning.” you rocked Alex. “It’s ok baby. Mamas here.” you soothed her and took her inside Hotch on your heels.

“May I?” he asked.

“Of course She’s your daughter too.” You passed her to him and went to get her some medicine. When you got back she wasn’t screaming. She had stopped and gone down to a small fuss. “I’ve got her meds.” you held them up.

He looked up, “See? Mamas got the feel good stuff. You’re ok.”

You tried to ignore the feeling running through you at him calling you mama, and walked over. “Do you want to give it to her?”

“Sure.” he smiled and took the meds from you. He gave her the meds as you watched him with her. He was so soft and gentle, it was a sweet surprise. Complete contrast to his usual behavior.

“What’s her full name?” he asks as he rocks her.

“Alexandra Haley Hotchner. I did remember your name.” you said softly.

He swallowed and looked back down at Alex. “Why did you choose Haley as her middle name?”

“A feeling I guess. I can’t really describe it. The name just kept floating around in my head for weeks.”

“Hailey was my wifes name. Jack's mother.” he said softly.

“I’m sorry Aaron. She’s young enough, we can always change it if it hurts too much.”

“No. No, it's perfect.” he smiled as she held his finger.

“I guess it was meant to be then.” you smiled softly.

He stayed up with you talking about Alex. How you were going to coparent. How to explain this to everyone and how to introduce Jack to Alex. It was really late by the time you finished.

“Do you want to spend the night? It’s late and we took my car here.”

“That’d be great. Thank you. I’ll let Jess know I’ll be home later.”

You showed him to the guest room before taking Alex and putting her in her nursery. You checked her temperature, which thankfully had gone down again. After making sure the baby monitor was on you left the room. You checked on Aaron one more time before going to bed.

It took a few weeks but you eventually introduced Jack to Alex. You’d be meeting Aaron at his house so it would be comfortable for Jack.

“Does this mean you’re gonna get married?” Jack asked Hotch as he waited by the window.

“Uh.. no bud. (Y/N) and I aren’t going to get married.” he answered. He wasn’t about to explain the complicatedness of this whole situation to a child. Jack was too young to understand.

“They’re here!” Jack shouts excitedly.

“Alright. Remember your sister is still a baby and so you need to be gentle and not so loud ok?”

“I know dad.” Jack hops down from the couch by the window.

He chuckled as he opened the door to greet you. “Hey (Y/N) come on in.”

“Hey.” you smiled and stepped inside.

“(Y/N) this is Jack. Jack this is (Y/N).”

You passed Alex to Hotch and knelt down to greet Jack. “Hi Jack.” you held out your hand.

Jack glanced up at his dad, who gave him a slight nod. He shook your hand, “Hi.”

“You’ve got a good handshake there bud. Did your dad teach you?”

Jack nods enthusiastically and you smile. “Are you ready to meet Alex?”

“Yes!”

“Well go on then.” you nod to Aaron who's gone and sat on the couch with her.

He ran over and stood in front of them. You smiled watching Aaron introduce them. Alex cooed and squirmed in his arms as Jack giggled.

Over the next few weeks you spent a lot of time with Aaron and Jack letting them get to spend time with Alex.

“(Y/N)?” Jack looked up at you from the floor where he was playing by Alex.

“Yeah bud?” you looked up from your book.

“If Alex is my sister, does that make you my new mommy?”

“Come here bud.” you put your book down and picked him up and set him on the couch. “Your mommy will always be your mommy. Just like I will always be Alex’s mommy. I am not here to replace her. I’m not your new mommy but I would like to be your friend.”

“Do you want to be my mommy? You can marry daddy.” he looked up at you.

“Oh sweetheart.” your heart ached for him. “Your daddy and I aren’t getting married. We aren’t even dating.”

“Do you want to date my daddy?”

“I like your dad very much. Sometimes adult stuff is complicated. You don’t need to worry about those things, ok?”

“Ok.” he nodded and hopped back off the couch to continue playing.

You racked a hand through your hair, and turned when you heard a sound. Aaron was leaning in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. You got up and went over to him.

“Are you alright?”

He ignored the question, “So you really like me huh?”

“You heard that? Yes I like you.” you answered. “We wouldn't have a baby if I didn't like you.”

He’d been in the middle of a sip when you said that and choked a little on his drink. You covered your mouth to stifle your giggle. He had a little coffee dribble so you took the baby rag from your shoulder and dabbed the corner of his mouth to clean it up.

“I need to put this down.” he rasped and went to the kitchen, you followed, still snickering. He set the cup down and gripped the edge of the counter to compose himself.

“What do we do now?” you asked.

He took a breath and turned to face you, “I’d like to give us a try. Jack likes you, I like you. You like me. So (Y/N) would you go on a date with me?”

You smiled, “I’d love too. We skipped that the last time.”

#aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds reader insert #criminal minds #hotch x reader

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starsstuddedsky · 1 year

Text

Chapter 7 - The Cataclysm

reader x jihoon

Chapter 6 | masterlist | Chapter 8

summary: when you're caught in a simple lie, the best solution? dig in and stick to your guns until everything inevitably goes wrong and everyone gets hurt

or, a serial dater and a pessimist fake a relationship in the vain hope that nothing will go wrong

genre: fluff, angst, non-idol au, lawyer au, coworkers to lovers??? friends to lovers???? fake dating!!!!!

warnings: alcohol, food, cursing, lmk if i missed any!

wc: 5.8k

a/n: we're getting so close to the end!!!

taglist: open! send an ask or comment!

Jihoon is used to being late, at least for social functions. He’s only been late for work twice, both times out of his control, only ever missed one lecture during university because he got food poisoning. But with his friends, he’s expected to be late. If Jihoon says he’s coming at 7, everyone knows he won’t show up until 8.

So why does it bother him that he’s late tonight? He even warned you that it would be another half an hour when Seokmin came crying to his office about some mistake he made on the Calvin’s case. It’s not a very good first impression on your friends, even if it holds up to your characterization of him (according to you).

So as soon as he gets out of the office, he rushes over, leaving his car in your apartment's garage and walking two blocks to the party. He knocks on the townhouse door, a pretty shade of green, not so bright that it stands out, dark and subtle. Just as he raises his hand to knock again, the door swings open and Jihoon realizes his mistake.

“Welcome!” The door is opened by a man (a grown man) wearing a skin tight suit and cat ears. He clearly has already drunk too much, swaying on his feet. It takes him a full thirty seconds to realize he doesn’t know Jihoon, walking away with a frown leaving the door open.

It’s a costume party. It’s Halloween, of course it’s a costume party, but Jihoon is standing on the doorstep still wearing a plain blue button down and slacks and looking like a complete idiot. And before he can even think of a backup plan someone is shouting his name.

“Jihoon!” Soonyoung shouts. He’s wearing a tiger print sheet wrapped around him, more or less covering the important bits, but clearly meant to show off his well-defined muscles. Jihoon would bet anything he disappears to do push-ups every twenty minutes just to keep his biceps popping.

Soonyoung, friends since high school, won the talent show in high school with a dance cover of Beyoncé’s Crazy in Love and nearly killed you falling off the podium, which Jihoon figures is a pretty accurate description of both you and Soonyoung. Has been dressing up as a tiger for Halloween for over ten years now.

“Soonyoung,” he says, allowing the other man to drag him inside.

“What are you supposed to be?” Soonyoung asks, words slurring just a tiny bit.

“A person with a job,” Jihoon grumbles. “What are you?”

“Zeus, obviously,” Soonyoung says. He glances at the tiger print wrapped around the other man. Jihoon doesn’t see any Greek god in particular. Or any Greek. Or any God. Mostly he just sees tigers.

“Dude, you’re ripped.” Soonyoung latches onto Jihoon, wrapping his free hand around his shoulder. It travels to his arms, squeezing his biceps, triceps, back up to his back and touching everything he can. “Where do you work out? Do you need a gym buddy? Can I be your gym buddy?”

“How much have you had to drink?” Jihoon asks, pushing Soonyoung back an arm’s distance away.

“Two shots? And this.” He holds up a bottle of some mixed drink.

“Yeah, Soonyoung is a bit of a lightweight,” a new voice says. Jihoon turns and it takes all of his willpower not to jump. The man that approaches (and rescues Jihoon from Soonyoung’s clingy grip) wears a scarily accurate Edward Scissorhands costume, complete with hair he isn’t entirely sure is a wig and sharp-looking blades of metal attached to his fingers.

Jeonghan, soccer player that you befriended in college. In your own words, “thinks he’s more arrogant than he is,” “highly judgemental,” and “simultaneously the worst person you’ve ever met and your most beloved friend in the world.”

“Yoon Jeonghan,” he says. “I’d shake your hand, but…” He waves the knives. “And you are the infamous Lee Jihoon. Soonyoung, shake the man’s hand for me.”

He practically jumps at the opportunity, except the bottle is in his right hand and he almost spills it on himself. His hand is warm and sweaty and it’s a terrible handshake.

“Good strong grip,” Soonyoung says, giggling.

“Thanks?”

“Yeah, He’s going to be gone in about two hours,” Jeonghan says. “But he’ll be fine. I’m much more interested in you.”

You warned him about Jeonghan but it’s a different experience to be analyzed by him in person. Especially when he’s clad in leather and wearing blades for hands.

“No costume? Wait, let me guess.” Jeonghan pauses, raising his eyebrows. “Too busy?”

“I came straight from the office,” Jihoon says. He hates how it sounds like an excuse. He showed up, didn’t he? Why isn’t that enough?

“Costumes are overrated,” Jeonghan says.

Jihoon raises his eyebrows, glancing at Jeonghan’s costume again.

“There’s a competition,” Jeonghan says. “Not here,” he adds quickly. “I would not put in this much effort for these losers. They clearly don’t require that.”

Jihoon can’t argue with that. Most of the people scattered around the couches and up the stairs are wearing half assed costumes, many of which are meant to show as much skin as possible. It reminds him of the college parties he never went to, except everyone here is an adult.

“Where’s yn?” Jihoon asks, since it’s really the only thing he’s sure Jeonghan won’t judge him for. It should hopefully win him points.

“Upstairs, drinking with some old college friends. They probably gave up waiting for someone that never shows up.”

“Sorry about that,” Jihoon mutters.

“I’m just kidding!” Jeonghan says with a grin. It’s a little scary with his outfit. “I don’t think yn actually thought you’d come to be honest.” It’s clear he doesn’t just mean you had no faith in him.

“I guess I did that to myself,” he says. “I’d apologize to Soonyoung for the anniversary incident, but I don’t think he’ll remember.”

Soonyoung giggles, finishing his drink. “I won’t!” He pushes off Jeonghan, wandering away.

“Should we be worried about him?” Jihoon asks, frowning at his unsteady walk.

“You-no, me-eh,” Jeonghan says. “He’s been worse.” He tries to fold his arms but the scissors on his hands knock against everything. “So what did you do for the anniversary?”

Jihoon thinks he can hear an actual warning bell going off, but you’ve trained him for this. He’s prepared. “Nothing that special. Yn just came over and we cooked together and just spent time together.”

“How boring,” Jeonghan says. “You at least got them a gift, right?”

“Of course,” Jihoon says. “An amazing one. Well, something yn likes. It’s actually not that amazing but yn liked it.”

“That’s the important part,” Jeonghan says. “Do I get to know what it is?”

“Nope,” Jihoon says, even though he knows you already told him. He just doesn’t want to talk about the painstaking task of harassing the office manager until you finally got a working printer. It doesn’t sound particularly romantic, plus you were the one that actually did it. He feels a little guilty claiming the credit for it, especially since you managed to get him a chair specifically made for athletic office workers.

“Well, I have evaluated and assessed and you are okay,” Jeonghan says. “For now.”

“Should I be more offended by the ‘okay’ or the ‘for now’?” Jihoon asks.

“The ‘okay’ was a compliment,” Jeonghan says. “You don’t know how rarely I give them out, especially to yn’s boyfriends. Honestly the only thing that’s saving you is what yn said about you. And the fact that you’re a real, living person. I wasn’t entirely convinced until tonight. But you are exactly what yn said you’re like.”

“And the ‘for now’?”

Jeonghan shrugs. “This is the first time I’ve ever met you, so… for now. I already said I liked you well enough so don’t push it.”

“Thank you?” Jihoon says.

“You’re welcome.” Jeonghan throws an arm over his shoulder, blades rattling over his arm. Jihoon still isn’t sure if they’re fake or not.

“Look who I found!” Soonyoung shouts. He pushes another body across the room to where Jihoon and Jeonghan stand. Thankfully his costume is less extreme and Jihoon can recognize him.

Vernon. Friends since college, a linguistics major with a passion for film. Apparently watched Everything Everywhere All At Once recently because he has sausages for fingers. Fake sausages, taped loosely and falling off.

Jihoon is pretty sure you wanted to introduce your friends to him yourself, but it’s too late now. Soonyoung pushes from behind, except his hands are full with a drink in each. Vernon allows himself to be pushed until he’s in front of Jihoon.

“Hey, you’re Jihoon,” he says.

“You’re Vernon.”

“Soonyoung, shake the man’s hand for Vernon,” Jeonghan says.

“Oh that’s not—” Vernon begins.

“Too late!” Soonyoung says, shaking his hand, a bottle separating the hands. He lets go, leaving the drink in Jihoon’s hand. “That’s for you! Neither of these two idiots chose costumes that allow them to use their hands.”

“Thanks,” Jihoon says. Normally he only drinks the expensive alcohol that Seungkwan gets as gifts or beer but tonight he can make an exception. For you. Besides, the drink is overly sweet and fizzy, but it’s not bad, and the more he drinks from it, the better it tastes.

“You’re not going to question me?” Jihoon asks Vernon.

“Nah, that’s Jeonghan’s thing,” he says. “I’m a vibe guy. Checking vibes.”

“You’re strange,” Jihoon says.

“Thank you,” Vernon says, resting a hand full of sausage-fingers on Jihoon’s shoulder.

“You’re welcome,” Jihoon says, doing his best not to frown at the strange sensation of fake fingers on his shoulder.

“How long before you have to run off and put out a fire?” Jeonghan asks.

“You’re a firefighter?” Soonyoung asks, eyes wide.

“It’s a metaphor, dude,” Vernon says. “Though I bet he could carry you pretty easily.”

“Right! Because he’s strong!” Soonyoung leans closer, moving to look at Jihoon’s shoulders again. Then, apparently he gets distracted, because he sniffs at Vernon’s fingers, then opens his mouth.

“Soonyoung they're fake!” Vernon says, yanking his hand away and accidentally shoving Jihoon forward. Instead of biting into Vernon’s (fake) sausage fingers, Soonyoung’s mouth falls onto Jihoon’s shoulder, teeth and all.

“Soonyoung!” Jeonghan shouts, grabbing the other man.

“Yuck,” Soonyoung says. “You taste like laundry detergent and sweat.”

“How do you know what laundry detergent tastes like?” Vernon asks.

“Don’t ask,” Jeonghan says, rolling his eyes. “Four shot Soonyoung is not allowed anywhere near cleaning supplies. Or kitchens.”

“I’m going to go find yn,” Jihoon says, taking another sip of his drink. He doesn’t think he’s had much, but it’s nearly empty. Strange. He can feel it when he walks to the stairs, vaguely aware of Jeonghan, Soonyoung, and Vernon following him. A slight buzz that makes his ears feel warm and steps light. He pushes past a Woody and Buzz Lightyear making out on the stairs, which take way more focus than usual to ascend.

The second floor has more space than the first, a wide room with sofas and a floor that would be empty if it weren’t for all the people sitting on it. He sees you immediately, sitting between someone wearing a half-deflated dinosaur costume and Howl from Howl’s Moving Castle. You’re laughing, because it’s you, and he thinks he can listen to you laugh for the rest of his life. And then you see him.

“Jihoon!” You jump up with a ridiculous grin. Jihoon remembers what Jeonghan said. You never expected him to show up. He thinks it might be true with how happy you look now. You almost tackle him in a hug.

“Why is there a wet mark on your shoulder?” You ask into his chest.

“Your friends are weird.”

You laugh again, squeezing him tight. “I’m sorry.”

“They’re fun though,” he says. “I like them.”

“Now you’re the one being weird,” you say. You let go of him, studying him. He watches as your eyes narrow in on the drink in his hand. “Oh my god, are you drunk?”

“It’s one drink, I’m not that much of a lightweight,” Jihoon says.

Clearly you’ve had more than one drink because you laugh yet again. You haven’t stopped smiling since he appeared, and Jihoon kind of hopes you never stop.

“You weren’t too mean, were you?” You say, turning to face Jeonghan. Your hand slips into Jihoon’s.

“”You won’t believe me if I say no,” he says.

“That’s because you never liked any of my boyfriends,” you say. “But now that you’ve met Jihoon, you have to admit it. He’s different.”

“He is definitely not your type,” Vernon says. Jihoon decides not to think too much about that.

You spin around to face Jihoon again, dropping his hand. “Guess what I am?” You ask, more than a little giggly. You raise your arms to show your full black outfit, complete little black wings that dangle. You spin in a circle and there’s a little black tail that follows you, bouncing gently. He has absolutely no idea what you are supposed to be but you’re smiling at him looking absolutely giddy and he decides any guess is better than nothing.

“The endangered solenodon?”

“Not endangered anymore! But still venomous,” you say. “And no! They aren’t even black. I’m Toothless, obviously.” You wave your wings.

“That was my second guess,” Jihoon says. “Who’s Toothless?”

“Toothless? How to Train A Dragon?”

“Never seen it,” Jihoon says.

“This is a travesty. A crime. You could be sued for this. I’m writing a lawsuit in my head.”

Jihoon wraps an arm around you, pulling you back to his side. “If I watch it with you, will you promise not to sue me?”

“Hm.” You eye him. “I won’t sue you for How to Train A Dragon. I won’t agree to anything else.”

“Are there more lawsuits being planned up in your head?” He asks, poking your head gently. It’s been a while since he’s let himself just relax but it seems to come naturally when he’s with you.

“Just you wait,” you say. “You have no idea what you’ve started by dating me.”

“No, I do not,” Jihoon says, barely more than a whisper. You don’t hear him.

You flap your wings rather pitifully. “I like my costume.”

“I’m very sorry to be the one to tell you this, but you are not winning any costume contests tonight,” Jihoon says. He can’t help but laugh when you pout.

“As long as no one else calls me a bat,” you say. Jihoon laughs and hugs you again.

“You’d be a really cute bat, though,” he says. The drink must have really kicked in but Jihoon can’t find it in himself to care.

“Are you done being disgusting?” Jeonghan says. He’s moved past both of you to the floor, joining Dinosaur dude and Howl and a few other people on the floor.

“It’s not disgusting! It’s true love!” Soonyoung cries. “Yn deserves it!”

“Okay, buddy,” Vernon says, saving everyone from a shower by grabbing the cup from Soonyoung’s hand. “Let’s maybe chill out.”

“I will not!” Soonyoung says. He sprawls onto the floor, limbs flying everywhere. There’s a scramble to move anything in his path. “Love is more important than anything! I will not be silenced!”

“No one is silencing you,” you say. You pull Jihoon down beside you, crossing your legs on the floor. Jihoon sits back against the couch and you lean into him, your shoulder pressing into his chest so that you’re mostly covering him. Soonyoung wiggles on the floor like a worm until his head is in your lap.

“You’re upside down,” he says.

You shake your head, turning to Jihoon. “You see what I deal with? Fooling them is like taking candy from a baby.”

“I had no idea you had such malicious intentions,” Jihoon says. He wonders if having a second drink is the best idea, but a bottle is being placed in his hand and the first one tasted so good, so he just figures he’ll do what he wants tonight and deal with the consequences later.

“Who’s down for some truth or dare?” Someone he doesn’t know asks.

“Yes!” Soonyoung says, jumping out of your lap. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“Yes, as long as no one dares Soonyoung to jump out of any windows,” Jeonghan says.

“Has that happened?” Jihoon asks you softly.

“Yeah, he broke both his legs and wanted to do it again because ‘it was wrong the first time,’” you say.

“Yn? Jihoon?” Vernon says.

“We are grown adults with real jobs,” Jihoon whispers in your ear. “This is a game for teenagers.”

“You’ve never played Truth or Dare, have you?” You say, turning to face him. His face gives him away without a word.

“We’re in!” You announce.

The circle starts halfway across, three people away. Ironman is dared to chug her drink, then a fairy talks about her worst sexual experience (Jihoon can feel his cheeks burning the more details she adds). The person next to him (wearing a clown mask and regular clothes in a poor man’s imitation of the joker) chooses truth too, and Vernon asks him to honestly say whether he relates to the joker or not.

“Heath Ledger of Joaquin Phoenix?” Joker asks.

“Joaquin Phoenix,” Vernon says.

“I mean, we’re all a little bit like the Joker,” Joker says. “Especially us guys that get overlooked.” He glances around the room, pausing at the men in the circle. “Right?”

“Nope,” Vernon says.

“I have never felt like that,” Dinosaur says.

“What are we talking about?” Jihoon says in a fake whisper.

“It’s a movie,” you fake whisper back. “Don’t worry about it. But also don’t sit too close to that guy.”

“Hey!” Joker says. He glares at you so Jihoon sits up a little straighter, letting his arm rest on top of yours.

“Your turn!” Jeonghan says, apparently blind to reading the room. “Jihoon, truth or dare?”

“This is so dumb,” Jihoon grumbles. He has only one choice, though. ‘Truth’ runs too many risks of questions he can’t answer, so he says, “Dare.”

“Great!” Jeonghan says. “I dare you to kiss yn.”

“Seriously?” Jihoon says. You sit up, no longing lounging on his chest.

“Don’t mess around, Jeonghan,” you say. You wiggle your eyebrows and seem to be trying to communicate with your eyes, but Jeonghan seems to be blind yet again.

“I’d never joke! It’s just a kiss,” he says. “He’s getting off easy, honestly.”

“It’s true,” Soonyoung says. “I once jumped out of a window.”

“You enjoyed that,” Vernon says.

You turn to face Jihoon. Your smile is gone. “You don’t have to do this,” you say softly.

“It’s fine.” Jihoon shrugs. “If you’re good, I’m good.” It’s not the most romantic words he could have said, but they do the trick because you close your mouth and lean a little closer to him, resting your hand on his chest. He’s been this close to you so many times, but it never fails to make his heart race.

“This okay?” You breathe.

“Of course,” he somehow manages to say. You stay there for a moment, eyes flickering between his eyes and his lips and Jihoon wonders if he should do something. Thankfully, you close your eyes and lean even closer and then your lips are on his.

There are two types of kisses in the world, not that Jihoon has ever experienced either of them. Still, he has learned (from an embarrassing amount of anime and his own friends’ conservative retellings) that they exist.

#1 is an awkward thing, a short, chaste peck on the lips that hardly counts as a kiss, or maybe an attempt at something more that ends with teeth gnashing against each other and tongues ‘battling for dominance’ that leaves both parties changed for the worse.

#2 is deep, soul changing, dizzying, breathtaking, a million more verbs that he can’t think of, leaving both parties so senseless they can’t remember their own names, only the heat of the moment.

Jihoon thinks that these are bullshit, because this kiss is neither of them.

Your lips are soft against his, and he finds it easy to gently press them apart, to pull you even closer to him. This is definitely not a chaste kiss (not when there’s this much tongue involved) but he doesn’t feel his soul change. Only his lips because when he finally pulls away (memory fully intact), he realizes that this was, technically, his first kiss.

So maybe you did change him, fundamentally, but he figures A) you’ve already stolen his first kiss and B) your lips are warm and soft, so he comes to the conclusion that C) he might as well just kiss you again and deal with the consequences later. He might have kissed you all night, until the taste of your last drink (a hard lemonade?) washed away and all that is left is you. Unfortunately, when he finally pulls away to breathe after the second kiss, he can hear the whoops (and groans) from the circle and the illusion is gone.

Fact #15: you are a good kisser.

Reality hits him, but luckily he’s just tipsy enough to push it away, pretending that the redness in his face is from the alcohol instead of embarrassment. You hide behind your hands, leaning into his embrace when Jihoon pulls you into his chest.

“Too much?” He asks in what he hopes is a whisper.

You shake your head. Before you can say anything else, Soonyoung slaps your leg.

“Come on,” he says. “Truth or dare.”

“Truth,” you say, still hiding behind your hands.

“How long did you have feelings for Jihoon before you did anything?” Vernon asks.

You peek from behind your hands, shooting a glare at Vernon before turning to Jihoon. “It’s hard to say.”

“Boo,” Soonyoung says. “Something spicy or you have to take a shot.”

“Nothing spicy to say,” you say quickly. “But I guess technically it all started this one night, just after graduation. College graduation, I mean.” You meet his eyes. “I still remember thinking ‘he’s going to be a really great man one day.’ And I was right.”

Jihoon is positive that everyone in the room knows the redness in his face is not from the alcohol but he doesn’t really care. All he can see is you looking at him, and he wonders why he’s never seen you before, why you’ve been by his side for his whole life but never here, like this.

And then he remembers that you aren’t, not really.

“They have to take a shot for that, right?” Soonyoung says.

“Yeah that was boring,” Jeonghan says.

“Not fair!” You say. “I told the truth!”

“Should have lied, I guess,” Vernon says with a shrug. He pours the shot and hands it over. You frown at it but knock it back, hiding your face back into Jihoon’s chest as soon as the shot glass is out of your hands. The game continues but Jihoon can only see you.

“That was disgusting,” you say.

“Tequila?”

“Vodka,” you say. He wonders if he’d be able to taste it if he kisses you. The rational part of him thinks both of you don’t need to suffer the flavor but he can’t stop imagining it.

“Let’s go find some snacks,” you whisper. You glare at Jeonghan and Vernon. “This game isn’t very much fun anymore.”

“Come on,” he says, jumping up and holding out his hands for you. You take them and pull yourself up, linking your arms and leaning on him the entire way down the stairs instead of using the railing. Jihoon isn’t going to complain anytime soon, even when you reach the last step and continue to lean on him.

In the kitchen, he finds a bowl of chips that you proceed to snatch off the table and hoard like a dragon with gold, except this gold is high in sodium and perfect for drunk munchies. Jihoon leans against the counter beside you, occasionally offering you a sip of water, content to stay like this as long as you want.

A few minutes later, Jeonghan appears.

“Ugh, I thought you two ran away to make out in a bathroom or something,” Jeonghan says. He tries to push some stray hair out of his face but ends up smacking himself in the face with the scissor fingers. Jihoon can’t tell if he’s disappointed or relieved that his prediction was wrong.

“Gross,” you say. “And also none of your business.”

“Whatever,” he says. “I’m leaving to go destroy the competition at Chanyeol’s party. Vernon’s watching him, but I think Soonyoung took another shot, so keep him away from the kitchen.” He glances at Jihoon. “It was nice to meet you.”

“Bye Jeonghan,” you say in a sing-song voice. Jihoon doesn’t think the chips have done much to sober you up. He nods at Jeonghan, who salutes and disappears around the corner.

“He didn’t try to steal my chips,” you say. “Suspicious.”

“Does he normally?”

“Trust no one,” you say, hugging the bowl. “My chips.”

“Do you think he’s going to win?”

“I hope so, he didn’t win last year and was really pissy. Or maybe it was because my ex boyfriend showed up and was saying all of this weird stuff and saying that I sleep around and accusing me of cheating.” You pause then cock your head at Jihoon. “Potato chip?”

He doesn’t want a chip but he opens his mouth anyways and lets you feed him. It’s too salty and falls apart immediately but he smiles at you anyways. Jihoon wonders how anyone could ever say anything cruel about you.

“You don’t deserve that,” Jihoon says. “I doubt I’m the first person to tell you this, but you aren’t… that.”

“Yeah I know,” you say softly. “But thank you.”

“Hey, you never asked what my costume is,” he says because it’s been quiet too long and he hates the sad look in your eyes.

“That’s because it’s obvious,” you say. “You’re a boring lawyer who’s secretly really funny and nice but hides it behind layers of sarcasm and mean jokes. And a good friend.” You set down the bowl of potato chips.

Jihoon tries to ignore the way his heart flips at the compliments. Is it too cheesy to say that you see through all of his bluff and bluster and see the real him?

“Hang on.” You set down the bowl and lean close, eyes narrowing. You’re so close he can see the imperfections on your skin, each individual eyelash. Your breath mixes with his, the strong scent of vodka making his lip curl, but he doesn’t pull away, lost in studying the details of your face. His worst mistake is pausing at your lips. He can see the lipstick, see where it’s faded as the night progressed. He remembers how they felt pressed against his, and can’t help but blush when he realizes the lipstick probably smudged because of him.

All he has to do is lean forward, just a little, and your lips would be against his again. Would you pull away? Or would you kiss him again, even though no one is watching?

You raise your hand, resting it on his cheek, your bottom lip protruding as you focus.

“Stay still,” you mutter, brushing your thumb just beneath his eye. Your touch is gentle, though rather forceful. He doesn’t think it’s on purpose, especially not after you raise your thumb and grin at him.

“Make a wish!” You say. Your left hand falls on his shoulder to keep yourself steady. Jihoon’s hand falls automatically to your waist, trying to make sure you don’t topple him over. You brandish your thumb at him again. “Come on, make a wish!”

“On your thumb?”

“The eyelash, dummy,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Hurry, before it falls off my finger.”

Jihoon doesn’t believe in superstitions. He never thought much about broken mirrors, and found black cats to be quite friendly. He’s never seen a shooting star, but he had serious doubts about a piece of space rock burning in the atmosphere’s ability to make a wish come true.

If the cosmic power of a falling meteor isn’t enough to will his words into existence he knows there’s no logical reason to believe that blowing an eyelash will somehow succeed. But you’re waiting for him with that silly smile, the one that makes him forget to be logical and just do whatever it takes to keep you smiling.

“What should I wish for?” He asks, speaking softly so that he doesn’t accidentally blow it away.

“You can’t let me choose!” You cry. “Then it won’t come true!” You purse your lips together. “But you should wish for something that makes you happy. You should be happy.”

I am happy, he thinks, but he doesn’t think drunk-you will believe him if he says it. He doesn’t think sober-you would believe him. But he is. Right now, in this moment, half-hugging you while you wait for him, the bright kitchen lights making everything shine.

He is happy, when he’s with you, he realizes. Not just tonight, but any time you’re with him and his friends, or when you go on fake dates with him, or when you have lunch together at work. He is happy even when he thinks about you, remembering something funny you said, or when he sees something dumb (usually something Mingyu did), and immediately thinks about telling you.

It’s you that makes him happy.

Is that love?

You’re still looking up at him, eyes wide and expectant, smile fading the longer it takes him. The pounding in his heart is familiar by now, but he wonders for the first time why his heart beats so hard when you’re near. It used to be nerves, but he’s gotten used to your presence, and has begun to even anticipate it.

Webster’s dictionary defines love (the verb) as “to hold dear” (alternatively “to feel a lover’s passion, devotion, or tenderness for,” “to like or desire actively,” and “to thrive in” but Jihoon thinks the first definition is the most accurate). He looked it up a few weeks ago on a whim but the definition stuck with him. “To hold dear.” But what does that mean? It’s a subjective definition that doesn’t make sense to Jihoon.

Fact 1: he thinks about you all the time. Fact 2: he’s nervous around you. Fact 3: he wants to kiss you, even when no one is around. And fact 4: when he tries to imagine wishing for his happiness, all he can think about is you.

So, it’s love.

Jihoon still has no idea what to wish for, but he blows the eyelash off your finger because it’s been way too long. He tries not to be reluctant when he lets go of your waist, settling for your shoulder pressed against his. He can tell you want to ask what he wished for. You keep peeking at him and wiggling your lips.

Love. He never thought he could feel like this. It crept up on him before he realized it, drowning him without giving himself the chance to gasp for air. He’s in completely over his head but still, he smiles at you and feels his heart skip a beat every time you smile back.

So Jihoon thinks what the hell. He follows you around because it’s the only thing he knows how to do, to the living room where a group of people he doesn’t recognize, smiling at jokes he doesn’t fully understand, then laughing when you whisper an explanation to him. He could do this for the rest of his life.

At some point, he’s shoved beside you on the couch, arm around your shoulders, being told to smile.

“Say cheese or something!” There’s a flash and Jihoon is blinded for a second. When the light fades away and his vision is restored, he turns to you and his smile doesn’t feel forced anymore.

He’s vaguely aware of the door opening, a shouted hello. He’s too busy staring at you and studying the details of your face to pay attention to whoever might be coming. Until he hears his name.

“Jihoon?” Joshua repeats. Jihoon jumps, whipping around.

Joshua stands in the middle of the room, frozen staring at Jihoon. He looks ridiculous, wearing a white lab coat and scrubs, a scalpel in his off hand. Soonyoung is at his side, somehow not drunk enough to miss the tension between Jihoon and Joshua, frowning between both of them.

Jihoon can see it all slipping away. Even though your hand is still in his, he can already feel that you’re gone. That’s when he remembers the obvious truth: you were never there to begin with. He was an idiot to ever think he could have it. Any of it. This is what Jihoon’s life is, the illusion of truth that never lasts.

He looks at you one last time. The black fabric of your costume has gotten rather dusty from sitting on the floor and there’s white feathers stuck to your shoulder from being next to the “angel” in the picture. You’re better at hiding your surprise, still managing to smile, even as you lean against his shoulder and whisper, “And just like that I’m sober.”

“What are you doing here?” Joshua asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Jihoon says.

“Right, you’re dating yn,” Joshua says. “Why aren’t you wearing a costume?”

“Why are you dressed like a doctor when you dropped out of med school?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m obviously a coroner, I don’t have a stethoscope,” he says. ��Second of all, rude.”

Joshua takes the cushion on the other side of you, Soonyoung attempting to balance on the arm before giving up and laying on the floor.

“Like I said,” Soonyoung says. He knocks his leg against Jihoon. “Yn finally found a boyfriend that isn’t deadbeat.” Everything in Jihoon is screaming at him to run but he’s frozen in place while he listens to the end of everything.

Joshua laughs. “I don’t know about that, Jihoon did take forever to finally admit he has feelings.”

“Does it matter how it started?” Soonyoung asks, struggling to sit up. “It’s clear they are happy and in love now.”

“We are right here,” Jihoon says. Unsurprisingly, he’s ignored.

“You’re right,” Joshua says. “Still, we should throw a party for their first anniversary.”

“Yes!” Soonyoung cries. “Wait, but we’re already three months late.”

Jihoon glances at you and you squeeze his hand. He tries to think of something to say, anything to salvage this but looking into your eyes, he knows that it’s over. It’s beyond time for the truth.

“Joshua,” he says, “I have to tell you something.”

#seventeen x reader #woozi x reader #svt x reader #svt #seventeen #woozi #lee jihoon x reader #lee Jihoon #woozi angst #woozi fluff #lee jihoon angst #lee jihoon fluff #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen fic #as a matter of fact

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sleepy0s · 8 months

Text

Doll grian headcannons

- his eyes look like buttons but aren’t, if you tapped them they would just be solid blocks

- looking into his eyes there’s hints of purple and the Evo logo (he doesn’t let anyone look into his eyes long enough to réalisé * no one wants to look at them long enough)

- He has painted on freckles all over his body

- On his back is a seen in Evo logo (like a branding to show who’s doll he is)

- he has dark purple stitching all down the sides of his body and around his joints.

- he’s full of Stuffing!

- The hermits have tried constantly to understand how he sees even when someone covers his “eyes”

- He claims not to feel pain but he does, they made sure to include that sense when creating his body

- He can swap bodies! If he claims another ‘body’ no matter what size he can stay in control of it (not many hermits are aware of this)

- when controlling a body some traits are taken with such as: the purple hints and logo in his eyes, any stitching turns purple and the evo logo is imprinted onto the doll- but only when he’s possessing it.

- when swapping bodies he will just go limp due to the dolls not having supports

- if he’s possessing a doll and he falls from a large height he is thrown out and forced into his usual doll (can panic some hermits when Grian falls and then doesn’t wake up)

- There’s random stitches on his face from where he’s gotten ripped.

- (if you have respawns in your au) When respawning the only thing that happens is any wounds are stitched up but they don’t disappear- hence all the stitches on him.

- you know when you get like like string and pick at it till all the threads are fluffy? That’s his hair (sorry I’m rlly bad at explaining)

- It’s quite hard for him to express emotions in his main body due to no eyes

- Not many hermits know this, but he’s an excellent tailor! (Making bodies and clothes pays of)

- He’s very silent! Being made of stuffing means the loudest noise he can make without accessories is a quiet thump like dropping a teddy

- he makes himself woolen wings, (using copper rods for supports) so that he can fly! ( for all you avian grian lovers)

- Elytra’s are usually much to large for his dolls and the lack of bones means he gets thrown around in the air- which is why he makes himself wings

- he’s usually around 1 block tall but likes to walk around in larger dolls

- he has a room of dolls. That’s it.

- yes, Ariana griande exists- he’s very proud of her design

- the hermits have never seen him die from a wound, only from hits (such as the iron golem in S8)

- he tries not to die very often around hermits as if it’s a wound then stuffing goes everywhere

- If you are near his body whilst he’s respawning you may notice eyes

- He can in fact go ‘afk’ and just hover around but he needs to make sure his body is safe first.

#grian #doll grian #headcannons #grian au #hermitcraft #grian headcannons #sleepy0s

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brighttears · 1 year

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hi i hope you’re doing well!! i want to start off by saying that i’m loving the dusk series so far!! like always your writing is just so captivating. I’d like to send in a request, but first, what do you think joel’s love language is? i think it’s definitely physical touch and words of affirmation (or quality time). The request is maybe some scenarios(for lack of a better word) where we see the reader find out Joel’s love language and show joel love the way he likes. I thought it could be a cute drabble, please take any liberties you’d like, and if you end up writing this then thank you so much :)

I decided I’ll just do drabbles (just learned that word lol) for each (except for gifts) and put all my opinions and reasoning at the bottom because it's kind of a lot. Also oh my god “show joel love the way he likes” 😭😭😭 PLEEEASE

I feel like I don’t see a lot of this!! I LOVE VULNERABLE JOEL!!! LETTING HIMSELF BE LOVED WITHOUT ANYTHING IN RETURN!!! GOD DAMN I JUST WANT THE MAN TO BE ABLE TO RELAX!!!! Also thank you for the request and the praise I appreciate you so much ❣️❣️❣️❣️ (sorry this took so long, writer's block Took Me Out for a couple days)

no physical description, gender neutral, no use of y/n

Warnings: mentions of sex, pet names (baby, sweetheart, lovey dovey, honeydew (sickening i know))

Word count: 2k

ACTS OF SERVICE

Joel is known by what he does for others. At this point, it’s basically half of his identity. He’s a father, a protector, the one who will give you the shirt off of his back, take both watches so you can sleep, catch a bullet without blinking an eye. This is one of the things that attracted you to him in the first place, how he wears the love in his heart on his sleeve, even if he doesn't talk or touch much. When you started really seeing each other, you began learning his eyes and the words behind closed lips, and you found so much below the surface. To his core, Joel is a giver, that has always been the case, but he tries to never let on his needs, his wants. You have found it in his eyes, though, especially at the end of a long day.

Today is one of those days. Joel walked in with tense shoulders and tiredly drooping brows. He barely mumbled a ‘hey’, just plopped down on the couch next to you, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes.

“Hey honeydew,” you move to slide your hands around him and rest your cheek on his shoulder, “Long day, hm?”

“Mhm.” he replies, leaning into you, his hands still in his eyes. You stay quiet to see if he wants to talk about it, but he doesn’t, so you stand from the couch, wrapping a hand around his wrist to lightly tug him to his feet, and then lead him into the bedroom. He follows and lays down for you, eyes already closed. Silently, you undo his laces, pull his boots off, he lays still as you pull his pants. You undo the buttons of his flannel and pull off his undershirt, and then you tuck him into bed. You draw the blinds to keep out the afternoon sun and lay next to him on top of the blankets until his breathing slows to sleep. Then, as quietly as you can, you remove yourself and gather his dirty clothes to wash.

It took awhile for him to let you do this for him, and the first time he did, when you’d tucked the blankets around him, he cried. Some days he’ll give you a look that tells you to get in with him, and then turns his back for you to wrap yourself around him. He goes out like a light when you do that.

This is the only thing you’ve seen Joel willingly let someone do that is just for him, without him needing to do anything in return, just for what he really needs and wants. He has tried to crush the notion that he wants or needs anyone to do anything for him, shut down the craving to be taken care of, but you’ve weasled your way into it. Joel is the most giving person you’ve ever met and you’re just glad to be able to give something to him, even if it’s just clean clothes and a warm, comfy nap. Nothing is as gratifying as being able to hold Joel the way he wants to be held.

PHYSICAL TOUCH

The sun was shining in the forest the first time Joel slipped his hand into yours. The leaves were a bright light green, the path’s dirt almost gold in the sun. He didn’t say a word or look away from his boots on the ground. So, you didn’t say anything either, just held his hand, smiling wide, and kept walking.

He didn’t say anything the second time either, only barely glanced to you at his side, then looked back down to hide in his footsteps. That time, you started to swing your clasped hands a little, and you could tell he was smiling just as wide as you were.

At night, he started by just resting a leg over yours, only after you’d been laying for a while, eyes closed, without a word. You experimented by putting your hand in his open palm one night, just resting it there. The next night, he pulled you in. The night after that, you woke up to him wrapped around you like a monkey on its mothers back. And the next night, he held you like that but from the front, his slow deep sleeping breaths warms on your neck.

It felt wonderful. Not only because it was him, but because of the nature of it—it was for you to be holding him. You wouldn’t have known that that was something he wanted, he presents only as a holder, a big spoon, but really, he’s the baby. Just about every night after that, you’d come to him first and wrap him up so all he’d have to do is squeeze into the embrace (sometimes he makes a little hum as he does).

The sex changed after you started doing this, too. It’s more intimate, deeper, he’s loosened up and it’s become more fluid. He’s more vocal, too. The first few times like that he couldn't last more than half as long as he usually does, but he cums a lot harder and it’s just as hot to you as it must be for him. It’s just pure intimacy.

He started doing more outside of the covers at night, holding you from behind when you were standing for awhile sometimes, sneaking a kiss to your head here and there, and he likes to walk close enough to you that you bump and brush against each other as you go.

He does all of this without saying a word. There’s no need for him to, he’s telling you clearly through all of this touch that he trusts you completely and loves you deeply.

WORDS OF AFFIRMATION

The first time you said something to him, Joel paused, and when he looked back at you, asking, “Really?” his eyes were lit up. You caught on and kept slipping in praise here and there, watching him break out in big goofy grins.

Tonight you’ve seemed to have caught a bug of it, crowding him on the bed and showering him in it.

“I love you so much handsome man,” you peck his cheek as he turns it away, grinning pink and humming laughter, “You’re so good, you’re so special, lovey dovey, I’m so proud of you,” he giggles, eyes closed, “You’re my world.” Kiss his cheek, “baby I’m so glad I found you,” kiss, “you’re so strong and brave,” kiss kiss, he laughs, “you’re so funny, you’re my goofy guy,” he laughs harder and you can’t help but laugh with him. “I love seeing you happy.” You get yourself on top of him, folding your arms over his chest to see his plump, rosy face, still smiling ear to ear, eyes half lidded as he looks back at you. “My beautiful,” you peck his lips, “beautiful,” you peck and he starts laughing again, holding your waist lightly, “gorgeous,” kiss, “dreamy,” kiss, “handsome man.” kiss, “I love you.”

“I love you.” He coos. He blinks, thinking, and just looks at you for a while, smile fading but not leaving. Then, in the softest, most innocent tone you’ve ever heard from him, Joel says, “Thank you.”

QUALITY TIME

Joel seemed pretty cold when you first met him. He barely ever seemed anything other than annoyed at best. So, you assumed he hated you. When you found yourselves left alone somewhere, usually to keep watch for something or other, it was for a while completely silent. It wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable, but it made you sad. You didn’t know him and, yeah, he seemed like just a massive grump, but you’d watched him with people he was close to, and you wanted that kind of attention from him.

Maybe it wasn’t, but it felt like you found yourself alone with him often. You were ready to just stay quiet and not bother him while he waited out this time with you, set on your idea of what he thought of you, but then he started making small talk. At first, you, again, assumed he was doing it through gritted teeth, but then he started laughing with you, and then you were trading stories. Then you started seeking each other out to be alone together.

You started taking walks, but you’d get so caught up in conversation you’d have to stop, and found a spot on a large, fallen dead tree by the water. Skipping rocks, you'd talk about the past, he’d follow you around while you trailed away to pick flowers, then let you teach him how to make crowns with them.

The fallen tree by the water and flowers became your place of solace to go and be alone. Just you and him, him and you, with each other until the sunset, or he’d wake you up early so you could go watch it rise from there, side by side in silence.

You talked about anything and everything, sometimes nothing at all. Silent in the grass, you’d watch the clouds or the stars. It’s just nice to be around each other.

He told you so today, and it made you think of how he looked when you first met, the stone cold downcast eyes, hands ready on his rifle, hardly moving except to chew on his lip or grind his jaw. Today his eyes are soft, golden in the sunlight, an earnest, innocent smile playing at his lips, lax face showing off his cheeks, crows feet highlighting his contentment.

“You know, I thought you hated me the first few times we… hung out, as in, got stuck alone somewhere.” You admit.

“No, sweetheart,” Joel’s eyes twinkle and neither of you are able to twist away your smiles, “you just made me nervous.”

“Why’d I make you nervous?” You laugh.

“Well,” he looks down, still smiling, “I just wanted to find the right thing to say. Wanted to impress you I guess. Not anymore though,” he looks back up at you, “don’t feel any kinda nervous around you. I’m lookin’ for all the time alone with you I can get.”

“Well I’m glad we still have all day…” you tilt your head, “and tomorrow, and the next day, and the day after that. If you’ll have me.”

He shifts a little closer, “I’ll have nothing else.”

MY OPINOINS

Don't ask me questions unless you want a mini essay lol i’ve always been that bitch

Omg. I think about this while writing and it's an interesting thing to explore bc what is hidden under there? What was he like before? Very fun to play around with.

(Side note I have only seen the show, I have not played any of the games so that’s where I get all of my context from) They didn’t show a lot of pre outbreak Joel obvi, and I’m kind of nitpicking the shit out of it, but what Joel initiates with Sarah is quality time. Although there was also physical touch, and I saw a post about Joel and Sarah’s closeness when they’re watching the movie, where they so naturally move into each other, and I dig that, but I feel like the focal point was spending time together for his birthday.

Pause to say that I don’t think that gift giving is his love language because he gets the watch here and that's the only gift giving like ever, also the other gift was a movie to watch together, that’s why I didn’t write for it.

So my automatic thought is that his love language is acts of service, but the more I’ve thought about it I want to say that that as a priority has been an add-on. Like he forgot to get the pancake mix when he was supposed to, the cake, he got home late—he broke these promises he made to Sarah, and now, I think the pressure on acts of service is one of the lasting effects of her death. I bet he feels guilt for those promises he broke that day, and now he doesn't want to ‘let her down again’; he couldn't save her (ALL THAT MAKES ME SCREAM AND CHEW THRU MY ARM BTW), and now he craves control over things like that, so he does everything he can to try to make up for it, to protect the ones he loves.

Joel doesn’t really talk much and he’s said he’s not very good at it. He delivers some killer fucking lines but they’re only big moments, so I think that one would be the hardest for him. Also, I can count on one hand the amount of physical contact he had at all, not all of them he even initiated. However, I DROOL over the idea of him re-discovering that he loves physical touch.

The one thing Joel always does is he is always there. Simply that it is his number one priority, and then he fits other stuff into it, like talking more and being more open, letting himself touch and be touched, etc. (although part of it is he literally has to be with Ellie all of the time, so that complicates it a little, but still)

So my big two are acts of service and quality time but I think his core love language is quality time.

Lol im sorry im just straight up disagreeing with you but for real for real, I think that’s one of the most beautiful things about all this, being able to take these things and run with it; we get to chew through all of this stuff and share all these different thoughts on it and it’s really cool to be on this platform and hear some thoughts that never would have occurred to me and that is so fucking exciting and fun to me. I think it is so cool to be able to take this art and explore more of it and just keep pumping life into it ykwim. So if you are reading this far thank u very cool 2 be here

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ghouhlish · 4 months

Text

Dead Plate Wednesday AU

(Taster.)

Chapter 1

Some explanations + the end of the first proper day. It’s on the shorter side.

Just some stuff to hype me for writing (I have a bit of block the last year and I also lost the password to my old acc…..)

Please excuse typos or misspelling!

CHARACTERS ARE OOC and tbh Enid is my fav Wednesday artist’s version.. kinda.

CHARACTERS ARE AGED UP! (Not for smut, just for plot. And you cannot pay me to write about school life in detail.)

Wednesday is Vince, obviously.

So that means Enid is Rody, working around the clock serving up the dishes Wednesday oversees are perfect.

She’s saving up for her loving boyfriend, Ajax! Sure he hasn’t showed for a while when he had promised, but he’s probably stoned, right?

They work at Jericho, it’s a restaurant like in the original, however they serve coffee with certain meals and they have special brewers in the kitchen.

Wednesday has ZERO taste, she drinks straight black coffee, she serves food bitter, sour, not particularly to Enid’s taste, but it’s not for her, until it is.

Enid packs away, she takes out the dirty plates, she passes her regards to the chefs, dishwashers, coffee makers, everyone.

She takes out the trash, she wipes down the tables, all with a wine bottle she’s gotten used to gripping tightly in her hand precent.

Wednesday watches her. Hawk eyes scorch the wolf’s oblivious brain. She’s checking for imperfections, quite simply. The dishes not being fully put away, a spec of dirt on the table.

Enid is different and she just doesn’t know why.. she needs to find out. She needs to know everything about herself and this waiter is just an anomaly in that confidence of self. She forms an idea.

Wednesday shows no sign of cracking the sick smile she wants to as she passes Enid a firmly wrapped plate.

“Enid.” The werewolf’s ears perk and she stiffly turns, bin bag in hand, thinking she’s at the very least in mild trouble for her shotty service. One table left and there was a critic, on her first day.. She swiftly walks over, small grimace on her face.

Wednesday holds out the plate. “Do you have somewhere to put this?” Enid’s head tilts. “It’s for you. Do you have anywhere to put it?”

Enid huffs, tension releasing. “Uhh..” she thinks for a second, finally putting down the wine. “No.”

Wednesday’s eyebrows raise, she’s waiting for something.

…

“Do you need a bag?”

“Yes, please” Enid flashes a crooked smile, eyes crinkling. The Raven pauses. She looks at both of Enid’s eyes, searching. Then the places the plate down and disappears into her office.

Enid holds the plate and looks at it. Ew. It looked fine, but it felt wrong. Certain things just feel wrong, like when you click a button but then you need to click it again so then it’s like it reset. This food cannot be reset.

She just looks down at it. She feels grateful, sure, but it just..

Wednesday holds out the bag and Enid almost jumps, just settling for blinking multiple times at the girl, then quickly putting the plate into the bag and taking it from her. Silent.

The ride home felt wrong. The bag swayed on the handle whenever the bike turned or whenever Enid’s knee hit off of the plate.

It was a normal bag, plain white. Like a bag you would get after going to a high end restaurant.

It was quickly shoved into the fridge, the bottom shelf, and forgot about.

She picks up the phone and begins, from heart, to dial up Ajax, tell him about her weird Co worker, how she gave her food and how off it felt, how much she misses him,

how it doesn’t matter how long they haven’t seen each other because they can make it through anything,

How much she’s saving up for him,

how she will take him somewhere nice,

How she will be nice..

The line cuts. Guess he’s stoned again.

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lovesosweeet · 6 months

Text

better left unsaid // cth

chapter seventeen

in which orion has leukemia, and calum doesn’t know.

calum hood x fem!oc

read other chapters

august 14, 2018 los angeles, california orion

Since our tense conversation — I can’t call it a fight, nor do I want to — Calum has texted me at least once every hour that he’s awake. It’s refreshing. He’s a much better partner and boyfriend than any of my previous relationships in all regards, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise that he’s actually following up on what he says.

My ex that I’d dated from the start of freshman year through a few months before I left for Spain was horrible about texting me. He’d always forget to text me good night, then didn’t bother to reply to my good mornings. We wouldn’t start texting until I’d text him again a few hours later. I would time that message by posting a Snapchat story and then waiting to see if he’d viewed it. It was toxic, and he never followed up on his promises that things would get better and he’d text me more.

It had always felt silly to get so hung up on something so seemingly small, but it kept being a recurring problem. He always promised that he would text me more and show me just how important I was, but the proof never showed up.

With Calum, the moment he knows I have a problem with something, he works to fix it. This is another instance of it. While it may only be two days after he promised he’d keep in better contact with me, he has upheld his promise impeccably.

Just more reasons to love him, and more reason to be racked with guilt from keeping a massive, literally life or death, secret from him.

Today is round three of chemotherapy, and since we both are going to the same place, Macy and I are going together. Her mom will drop us off and Emelia will pick us up. I’ve packed my fluffy blanket again, along with Uno and a phone charger. It’s yet again another day where I wear one of Calum’s left-behind sweatshirts with a pair of shorts that are hidden underneath the oversized top. With my worn-out but very comfortable Birkenstocks, I’m wearing fuzzy socks.

Macy knocks on my door to let me know she’s here, and I give Duke a peanut butter filled Kong to keep him busy while I’m gone. I swing open the door and find her standing there, wearing an outfit almost identical to mine, except her sweatshirt is likely her own, with UCSD in large, embroidered block letters across the chest.

“Good morning,” I tell her. I close the door behind myself and lock it.

“Damn, I really thought I might get an Orion latte this morning,” she pouts.

“Oh, shit, I can go back in and make you one? It’ll only take a few minutes.”

Macy shakes her head. “No, I’m fine. Maybe next time, though?”

I nod and we start walking toward the elevator. “Yeah, next time. How are you feeling today?”

Macy has just this week and next week left on this treatment cycle. Her team is pretty confident that this final round should hopefully send her back into remission and she can resume her coursework in the spring. After years of going in and out of treatment, Macy doesn’t want to get her hopes up, so she’s currently still planning on starting school again in the fall next year. That said, she’s felt pretty miserable for the past few weeks.

Her cancer — Hodgkin’s lymphoma — is currently just in stage one, caught early because she has regular visits to her oncologist over the years to monitor. While my treatment is supposed to be six weeks of chemo appointments, hers is only three weeks, but she has them twice a week.

“Like death, but, just means it’s working,” she says, pressing the button for the lobby. “You?”

“Same.”

We ride down to the lobby in silence, listening to the hum of the machinery that makes it move. There’s no elevator music, which I’m grateful for since I don’t know if I could listen to it every time I take the elevator. When the doors slide open, we find Ron behind the desk like normal, and he smiles when he sees us. I fight to smile back at him.

“Good morning!” He calls out.

Macy and I both raise a hand in a haphazard wave.

“Morning, Ron,” I manage to reply.

Macy’s mom is waiting for us in the car in the parking garage, and she’s on some kind of business call when we get in, so she doesn’t say anything to us as we buckle our seatbelts and she pulls out of the parking space. Macy and I are both just on our phones for the drive, since her mom’s call seems pretty important and I don’t want my voice to be echoing in the background.

I check my phone for the first time since I woke up and see that Ashton has texted me. It’s in the wee hours of the morning in Adelaide, which is where they should be now, so I’m going to guess that he’s out partying or just coming back to their hotel from it.

From: irwie will you be honest can you tell me how you’re really doing none of the bs where you pretend you’re fine i’m worried i can’t stop thinking about it i can’t sleep i know you and i know you’re pretending it’s all fine and you’re not miserable. please just give me a real update

After reading through, I decide he’s probably not drunk. I don’t think he is out either. I think he’s probably just laying in his bed and overthinking. Kay is probably sound asleep next to him. I triple check the time conversion, and it’s 3:42 am there. I wish that he was as blind to what I’m actually doing back in LA as Calum is.

To: irwie ash, please go to sleep i’ll be fine

Calum had texted me goodnight a few hours prior, too, complete with a selfie of him wearing a sweatshirt I bought him, but I wait to reply to him, since I don’t want the notification to wake him up. I’ll send a message in a few hours while Macy and I get our drips of poison.

Ashton replies almost immediately.

From: irwie orion, please it’s late, i just want to know the truth

To: irwie ash… it’s fine just go to sleep

From: irwie stop it. tell me the truth

To: irwie i’m not lying. it’s fine. it’s gonna be fine

From: irwie you keep saying that but i literally don’t believe you at all just give me an ounce of the truth please

To: irwie oh my god fine i’ve lost 10 pounds bc i’m so nauseous i can barely eat and my body feels like it’s covered in bruises but there are no bruises it just hurts and i’m so fucking tired there’s your update

There’s no activity from Ashton after I send that, and when I look up, we’re at the hospital. Macy’s mom is still on the phone, so we quietly open our doors. I get out of the car and I watch as her mom gives her arm a squeeze, and then Macy joins me. We walk inside and check in, and then we go our separate ways to get our vitals taken.

When we reconvene at the armchairs, Macy is waiting for me.

“My mom says she’s sorry she couldn’t talk in the car,” she mentions as I sit down.

Two employees come over with their carts to hook us up to the IVs. As usual, I close my eyes so I don’t have to watch it happen.

“No, it’s okay, I know she has work.”

I feel the coolness of the wipe on my arm, and I brace for the impact of the needle in my skin. With the pinch, I feel my phone vibrate on my lap.

“I told her you wouldn’t mind, but I just wanted you to know she did apologize.”

I nod, my eyes still shut. When I feel tape over the IV in my arm, I open my eyes again, giving the nurse who’d done it a smile. She tells us to let them know if we need anything before they disappear to tend to other patients.

“Tell her I said thank you for the ride,” I say. I pull my phone out again, seeing what the notification is. It’s Ashton, unsurprisingly.

From: irwie orion promise me you’ll ask for help if you really need it we can’t lose you

His third text is gut-wrenching enough to send me into an emotional spiral, but I do my best to hold myself together. I fight the urge to start crying in the middle of this room where I’m surrounded by people who are all fighting the same battle. It would feel like I’m belittling them. We’re all struggling through the same thing. Why would I be special enough to cry while everyone else is acting fine?

I take a deep breath before I reply.

To: irwie i’m fine. it’s fine.

From: irwie can you please stop lying

To: irwie everything remains as is until i can tell calum.

When he doesn’t reply instantly, I follow up again.

To: irwie please, please go to sleep.

From: irwie 👍

Now he’s mad at me, but hopefully he will at least go to sleep now.

Frustratedly, I lock my phone and push it into the kangaroo pocket on my sweatshirt.

“You good?” Macy asks from next to me.

I gulp, rubbing my eyes. I feel like crying, but this isn’t the time or place. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s just Ashton.”

“What do you mean?”

Macy knows that Ashton is the only one on the tour who knows about my leukemia, so I know she understands why there may be a problem there. I guess I didn’t really give much context, so her question is valid.

“So it’s like 3:30 am there and he’s texting me saying he can’t sleep and I need to tell him how I’m really doing.”

An unusual smile paints itself across her face. “And that bothers you?”

Bothering me isn’t exactly how I’d describe it. “I just want him to live his life.”

“Orion,” she starts. “Just because you’re stifling your emotions about this whole thing doesn’t mean he can.”

I’m not stifling my emotions. I’ve cried almost every day since Calum left. I feel like I’m drowning in everything that’s going on and it’s practically the only thing that I can think about. My little detour to feeling sad that Calum wasn’t communicating with me as much as I wanted him to was brief, and most of the time I’m just thinking about my literal impending doom.

“I’m not stifling my emotions.”

I don’t meet her eyes, but I know that she rolls them.

“Just because I’m not talking about them doesn’t mean I don’t have them,” I add.

“Can I be honest?” Macy asks.

“I’d prefer you always be honest, so yes.”

“I feel like you’re still in denial about all of this.”

When I don’t have something articulated to say straight away, she adds more.

“I don’t know if it’s truly all set in, and I think a lot of that stems from you not telling Calum.”

She’s probably right. I don’t feel like I can let myself really think everything through, because I know that once I do, I’m one step closer to calling Calum and messing everything up. I’ve worked too hard to protect Calum from my reality. I can’t just throw it all away because I get depressed about my lack of potential future. Even when I’m just home and all alone, I don’t let myself feel sad about the cancer. I just focus on being sad about being alone.

My life is ending, at a faster rate than most other people’s, but right now, I just feel like someone going through a long distance relationship while having the flu. I’m sick and I’m lonely but I don’t feel like I have really processed just how sick I actually am.