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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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Why c!Dream should (and probably will be) redeemed

Hi! I’m bad with intros. You’ve read the title, so, let’s start with the definitions.

In this essay, we are considering the popularized definition of “redemption” instead of the classical one, which is, as per the Oxford Dictionary, “the act of saving or state of being saved from the power of evil; the act of redeeming.” That’s not however the way the word is used in fandom and media.

/dsmp /rp

The definition of redemption I’ll be working with in this essay is not forgiveness by the people who c!Dream has hurt, nor is it removing himself entirely from his past actions, but moreso the decision to change for the better and abandon destructive mindsets for himself and others.

A “redemption” in a narrative sense would be circumstances and a character arc that would allow that kind of healing and betterment.

I’d like to start this off by the fact that being “irredeemable”, in this sense, also doesn’t exist; redemption is a thing of conditions and choice, not of being allowed by someone else. You can’t gatekeep healing from people who seek it, just to be clear, and that even goes for people who have done terrible things.

Since I understand there is a lot of concern for c!Dream’s past actions, here is a post from people who are much more fit than me to speak on the matter, about the way in which they see a possible c!Dream redemption arc.

Another disclaimer, I am not going to be considering c!Dream only from the perspective of c!Tommy in this essay. c!Dream appears in other people’s perspectives and he himself has his own, unseen perspective. As a character, he is an individual person in his own right rather than just the antagonist of c!Tommy’s story, and so I do not have much concern for their narratives intertwining too much should this writing choice occur.

I’d also like to note that redemption is, in this sense, always a positive thing for everyone involved - someone who’s been prone to doing bad things in the past deciding not to do them anymore and try to change, or just simply heal enough to consider it, isn’t going to have a long-term negative effect in any of the characters, but rather the other way around. Healing is an unlimited resource, and the victims do not have to heal first for the person who hurt them to consider being better.

Here’s a well-written thread on Twitter that elaborates a bit to finish off this point, and let’s move on to actually talking about redemption in the context of the Dream SMP, and c!Dream specifically.

Why a c!Dream redemption arc is not only a good writing choice, but in this case the only good writing choice;

c!Dream, as we all know, has been subject to mental and physical abuse to the point of straight up torture by both c!Sam and c!Quackity (to different extents). He has been in indescribable amounts of suffering for the past 74 days at the time this essay will be published. That is six and something times the duration of the entire exile arc in canon.

Whatever the interpretation of his words in prison is, what is undeniable is first of all the fact his mental stability is absolutely crushed at this point, second that no human being could possibly ever deserve to undergo this, and third, his stay in the prison is showing off his humanity and making him out to be sympathetic.

Now, consider this; how would it feel if c!Tommy died at the end of the exile arc? Empty, there would be no catharsis to such an end, especially because of all of the hurt he’d gone through. Objectively, a bad writing choice.

Let’s compare, narratively of course, this situation to the prison arc. Even though I would never say one of them is “better” or “worse” than the other, since both are terrible and undeserved, c!Dream’s current state checks off all of the boxes that would make his death unsatisfying in the storyline; even if people want him gone, there would still be the dissatisfaction at the current build-up and why they even did it in the first place (it really wasn’t necessary to anyone else’s story to make him out as a victim, and yet they did) if they were planning to kill him off anyways. And since the prison arc is naturally meant to induce sympathy, even from an angst perspective it would simply not make sense within the themes and writing of the plot.

So, c!Dream can’t die, and he also can’t stay in the prison forever - the build-up must lead to something, which is logically a breakout. Great… what now?

Well, the Dream SMP prides itself in accurate representation of trauma and mental instability, specifically cc!Tommy and cc!Dream who have pulled it off incredibly during the exile arc.

Now, undoubtedly, after the prison, c!Dream is going to be just terribly traumatized- considering the writers’ past creative decisions, would it make sense for him to play the role of a dangerous, heartless villain in other people’s stories, while completely ignoring the logical fallout of what he’s been through?

In my mind, no. The most possible result is that cc!Dream is going to rightfully portray someone who’s been hurt so much he is broken, scared and tortured into submissions over months of agony and slowly stripping away of his agency, his dignity, his humanity. And that is… not going to be pretty, nor is he going to be in any way the same as before.

After everything, I’d be surprised if he can properly look at shears without shaking. That’s not villain behaviour, that’s the behaviour of someone who needs help.

Which leads me to another point, which is relatability. Believe me or not, there are people out there who heavily relate to c!Dream because they have been through things that allow them to see themselves in the character - abandonment, mental illness, etc. - or who have had destructive mindsets they have struggled to let go of in the past.

To them, as well as to the viewer, redeeming c!Dream could actually be a very good example, showcasing that anyone who has done bad things or has been hurt in the past can learn that it is possible to be better, to move on, to not be stuck in a loop but to actively seek help and then use that support to find the path to healing.

Making c!Dream a better person, who in a way, wins over his past, over his trauma, over the hurt he’s caused, and manages to actually get better… is inspiring, in a sense. It shows that you can abandon unhealthy mindsets, you can find a support group of people who care about you, you can make your life better simply by deciding to be better and then sticking to that, no matter how difficult the process.

This is why I believe that redeeming c!Dream would not be bad writing, but quite the opposite, and that the prison arc is an obvious set-up. Alright, but how does that work with the character? How could someone so widely hated mentally improve in such a seemingly violent and terrible environment? Would it even make sense within the context of c!Dream’s character so far? Well,

Why c!Dream has the capacity for healing and the Dream SMP the ability to provide it;

First of all, let’s remind ourselves that through c!Dream’s entire spiral he wasn’t ever directly given a chance to change. He was regarded as someone to defeat in order to accomplish a happy ending, or as someone who needed to be removed in order to achieve power on the SMP. Ever since the 16th, which is when the corruption of the character is the most obvious, there have been no attempts to reach out or to help him. I do not blame the characters for this - I am simply pointing out that since it has never happened before, we do not know how he would respond, and that, after everything he’s been through, any bit of kindness or compassion towards him will be a new concept he will have to learn to deal with somehow.

This point is especially driven home by the fact that both c!Quackity and c!Sam would often tell him he is a monster who deserves nothing but to suffer, and that what he’s going through is never going to amount to all the hurt he’s caused - basically removing any possibility for ever getting better (because by this logic, he doesn’t deserve support, and he doesn’t deserve to get better) from his line of sight.

He also hasn’t had a support system since shortly after the 16th, when his friends left him over c!George’s dethronement and made no effort to mend their relationship afterwards. c!Dream isn’t used to having allies and people on his side, but to being hated; again, wouldn’t that mean positive reinforcement could very well be all he needs to make the choice?

His bad mindsets - attachments are weakness, ends always justify the means, people will consider you a bad person no matter what you do - have been continuously proven right by his environment, even in prison. Any kind of subversion, plus an explanation as to why they are wrong, could be of great help to c!Dream.

Just another disclaimer; I do not believe c!Dream would change thanks to the treatment in prison, but rather despite it. His mental stability is non-existent at that point, and in order to get better he needs genuine emotional support from the people around him as well as to heal before he can redeem himself.

Alright, but… c!Dream has hurt a lot of people. Who would be fit to help him?

Let’s start off with the worst option and why it’s impossible the writers would even attempt this; c!Tommy.

c!Tommy has no responsibility to help or ever forgive c!Dream - not to say he could. The two, as it is, would drag each other down instead of helping in any capacity, and only make matters worse. The two of them shouldn’t even interact in the best case scenario - the best thing for both of them would be if they got enough healing and support individually that they could live around each other and not get their trauma or toxic habits triggered when interacting for whatever purpose of the plot.

So, if not c!Tommy (and c!Tubbo neither by extension), who could redeem c!Dream?

Well, he can’t do it on his own for sure. Being in nature with animals is nice, but further isolation from other people would merely help with the prison trauma, not with the state of his tendencies when interacting with others. He, once again, needs positive reinforcement from other people for him to heal properly.

There are two main options for this in my mind, and then there’s a few individuals he could also find comfort in, including people from both groups or those unaligned.

1) Kinoko Kingdom

From the people of this new country, c!Dream has never negatively interacted with c!Karl before, he has never hurt c!George and he hasn’t directly harmed c!Sapnap. Although the relationship with his old friend group could be difficult to rekindle, none of them have grudges against him that are too personal, and they have been canonically close friends since the beginning of the SMP, so it would be very much possible to rebuild burnt bridges. They’d be familiar, and with the addition of c!Karl they could be a good source of comfort for c!Dream after he either breaks out or is released from prison - just gotta convince c!Sapnap not to kill him first.

2) The Syndicate

From the Syndicate, c!Dream has never directly interacted with c!Nikki, and from what I know of her character she never seemed to be very affected by his actions - even doing his work for him when he was planning to burn down the L’Mantree. c!Techno is an ally who doesn’t have anything against him, and as for c!Ranboo, here is why I believe c!Dream being in the Syndicate could be positively influential on his character arc as well;

c!Ranboo and c!Philza have had a conversation about change, during which c!Ranboo made it clear he thinks everyone can change except for c!Dream; who, in his mind, is “too deep down the rabbit hole”. c!Philza replied that he thinks anyone can change if given enough time.

… you see what I’m getting at?

c!Dream has been implied to be an ally to c!Ranboo’s enderwalk state (or the state when he has access to his full memory), and hence would most likely not behave negatively towards him at all. While it might make it more difficult for c!Ranboo to deal with his own issues, it might also give him more motivation to get to the bottom of it as well, especially since he now has access to the person who, presumably, started this all. While this is going on, c!Dream would show himself in a much different light than c!Ranboo sees himin, which could lead to confusion, realization of the flaws in his own logic, and hence, positive character development.

Here’s a great post about why c!Techno as a character could be a great asset in c!Dream’s healing process & redemption, and why there is not much need to worry about him not knowing or finding out about c!Dream’s actions.

Of Kinoko Kingdom and the Syndicate, as far as I know, neither c!Tommy nor c!Tubbo have ever been directly involved with these groups, nor are they planning to.

Another important point to make is that, while c!Tommy needs to be kept away from c!Dream in order to heal properly, the same goes for c!Quackity and c!Sam in c!Dream’s case. While c!Quackity has high chances to interact with either Kinoko Kingdom or the Syndicate in the future, there’s an even higher chance, in that situation, that c!Dream would be offered protection, which is also important; there is no healing from trauma without the knowledge of safety, to some degree.

So, this was an essay as to why I think c!Dream’s recovery and redemption (one needs to come before the other, naturally) is not only extremely possible but also could be pulled off well and have a positive impact on both the characters, and the audience.

#dreblr #dream smp #c!dream #c!dream sympathetic #c!quackity neg #c!sam neg #dsmp analysis #tw torture #tw abuse #long post #i really should start writing longer essays #i need more material #anyways #hope y'all liked this #just joining the debate #:]

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seijorhi · 4 years

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If you have the time and feel like it, I'd love to read anything from you about Shigaraki/Reader. (Or maybe Shinsou??)The first thing that came to my mind was something involving chikan but anything that you can come up with is totally good with me as well!!!! Love your writing!!!

This is like months late I am so sorry, bby!! But I hope it’s okay? 🥺

Shigaraki Tomura x Female Reader

TW chikan, non-con, nsfw

Dirty

Staring isn’t a crime.

It’s the mantra you kept repeating to yourself as more and more passengers slowly filed in. There is nothing wrong. You’re being paranoid.

Staring isn’t a crime, but you’d feel a whole hell of a lot more comfortable if the pair of red eyes boring into you from across the train carriage weren’t accompanied by a creepy, wide grin.

You tell yourself that you’re imagining things, that you’ve read one too many shoujo mangas, because the silvery haired stranger in his ratty oversized hoodie just happens to be facing your general direction, so of course it feels like he’s staring. It doesn’t stop you from trying to tug down the hem of your skirt.

Except when the tiny hairs on the back of your neck stand on end and you decide to bite the bullet and scamper across to the other side of the carriage under the guise of getting off, the stranger follows.

He’s only staring. You’ve heard about men who like to scare girls on public transport, how they… get off on it. But the stranger seems content just to watch. There’s a Nintendo switch sticking out of his hoodie pocket, but in the fifteen minutes you’ve been riding together, he hasn’t made a move to touch it - while everybody else on the carriage is either sleeping, reading or absorbed in their phones, the stranger’s attention is fixed entirely on you.

He’s enjoying it, you think - your discomfort. The way you shift and try to subtly curl in on yourself, hiding behind other passengers, how your eyes keep darting up to see if he’s still watching (he is) before shifting your attention back to the phone in your hands. Should you text somebody? Your best friend, maybe? And say what exactly, ‘help, there’s a creepy looking guy staring at me on the train, please come get me?’

There were at least twenty other people on the carriage with you, and not one of them has noticed the silver haired man staring at you - or if they have, they’ve promptly dismissed it as nothing to concern themselves with. You’re working yourself up over nothing - he’s only doing it trying to get a reaction out of you.

You don’t want to cause a fuss over nothing.

Breathing deeply, you decide to simply not give him the satisfaction, turning your back on him to face out the window by the doors instead. You still have another twenty minutes left of the ride until you reach your stop, with any luck he’ll lose interest soon enough.

At the next station, the doors slide open and a swarm of commuters flood into the carriage. You’re bumped and brushed past, jostled about as more and more passengers try to fit onboard - it’s uncomfortable, but for once you find yourself grateful for the teeming crowds. With enough people squished between you and the pale, hoodie-clad stranger, you comfort yourself with the knowledge that he’s probably lost sight of you (or at least the parts of you he’s interested in leering at) and allow yourself to breathe and just relax-

Until a sudden jolt of the carriage sends you reeling into the chest of the commuter behind you.

On instinct you turn your head to glance over your shoulder, apologies ready on the tip of your tongue, only for them to turn to ash in your mouth as you meet bloodshot vermillion eyes and a wide, unsettling grin.

“Whoops,” he chuckles, the sound dry and rasping, like nails raking down a chalkboard. “Better be careful, now. Don’t wanna hurt yourself.”

Your breath catches and you still, but there’s no room for you to move as pale, spindly fingers creep across your waist, sliding down the pleated fabric of your skirt. A tiny whimper, lost almost immediately to the droning hum of the carriage as it jolts along the tracks, escapes as rough fingertips graze the top of your thigh, dragging your skirt upwards in search of another prize. You feel the chest pressed against your back rumble with another laugh, dry, chapped, lips dragging possessively against the curve of your neck, and a deep, shuddering inhale.

(Is he sniffing your hair?!)

“You might wanna hold onto something, princess,” the stranger jeers. Goosebumps prickle at your skin, a deep, unsettling pit growing in your stomach. This isn’t staring - this isn’t harmless anymore.

He’s got you caged between his body and the doors, one arm shot out over your shoulder to brace himself, the other creeping up towards your panties with agonising slowness. There’s nowhere to go, but for the life of you, you don’t know why you can’t seem to make a sound. Your legs are quaking, heart thumping unsteadily as long digits probe at your panty covered sex, dragging teasingly against the outline of your slit. All it would take is a shout, a yell, and somebody would intervene - packed train or not - but despite the icy fear seeping into your veins, the rising panic as your pretty lace panties are yanked to the side, your cries are caught in your throat.

Your cheeks burn with humiliation as long digits roughly slither between your plush pussy lips. You’re not wet - how could you be? - but that doesn’t seem to bother the man violating you, not as those same fingers greedily tease at your hole for a split second before they plunge inside of you, his thumb rubbing at your crude circles around your clit like it’s a joystick. You wonder if anyone has noticed the hitch in your breath, the soft, whimpering whine that you can’t quite hold back as he fucks you on his fingers, stretching you out. Facing out the window, there’s nobody to see the tears that spill down your cheeks, the way your features contorts in pain - and something else - as his fingertips press and drag along your warm, tight cunny walls.

There’s no rhythm or technique as he roughly mashes his palm against your sex, but suddenly it’s not so much an effort to speak out as it is to smother your own noises - the thought of somebody catching you like this, seeing him finger fuck you in on a crowded, public train in the middle of the day making you want to curl up and disappear entirely.

His fingers are stuffed deep inside of your pussy, fucking you in earnest, it doesn’t matter if you were willing or not, you let him get this far without so much as a peep. Who’s going to believe that you didn’t want this, weren’t silently begging for it - that with every flick of his wrist this stranger is raping you in broad daylight in the middle of a crowded train?

You bite down on your bottom lip, hands clenching into pathetic fists at your side as the man behind you moans and grunts in your ear. There’s something hard and warm pressed against your ass - it takes you a moment to realise that it’s his cock, and his hips are rutting eagerly against your backside.

His panting breath tickles at your neck, “Gettin’ all nice ‘n wet, such a good little slut. You -hah- you enjoying this, princess?”

Revulsion rises like a wave, crashing through you, but you can’t deny the building slick you feel easing his passage - your cunt is all but drooling around his fingers. You can’t bear to look around to see if any of the other passengers have noticed, if they can hear the lewd sounds of him fingering you like a man possessed.

Your forehead falls against the cool, glass window, your eyes squeezing shut as more tears fall. It doesn’t make a difference, you can’t disappear into your mind and pretend that this isn’t happening, he’s making sure of it. His hips are grinding faster against the swell of your ass, his fingers picking up their pace in response. It’s like he wants you to cum with him, and when a third finger slips inside of you, crooks and slams against that sweet spot that has you gasping, you know that it’s not far off.

“Tomura,” he pants desperately into your ear as he ruts up against you like a beast in heat, “Fuck! My n-name is Tomura.”

You don’t know why he’s telling you. Does he think you’ll cry it out as his thumb swipes messily at your clit and your tight cunny walls unwittingly squeeze down on his fingers? Or does he just want you to know the name of the stranger about to make you cum in a train full of strangers.

You don’t have time to ponder the question, not as his teeth sink into the tender skin of your neck to muffle his growls and his fingers speed up, that tight coil of heat in your core pulling taut and snapping as unwanted pleasure explodes like fireworks, overwhelming your system as you convulse and shudder around him.

Your vision goes white, a strangled sound somewhere between a sob and a moan leaves your lips.

Tomura snarls, riding out his own orgasm, warm cum spurting into his jeans as he all but collapses against you. For a moment, you two stay like that, his sweaty, larger frame draped over yours, his chest heaving, hand still caught up beneath your skirt.

In the wake of your climax, shame and humiliation rear their ugly heads. You came, you enjoyed it, your own violation. No amount of reassurance that it’s just your body's natural reaction to stimuli can stop the rising disgust that surges through you so violently it threatens to choke you. You feel dirty - filthy and used - especially with Tomura’s face nuzzled in your neck, his tongue laving at your flushed skin, the blood welling from his overzealous bite.

His hand slides out of your underwear, using your skirt to wipe off the syrupy wetness that clings to his digits. You stomach churns in response as the train pulls up alongside the station platform, passengers once again jostling as they prepare to disembark. Even now you can’t force yourself to move, can’t shove him away like you so desperately want to.

You’re pathetic.

He sighs contentedly, chapped lips curling into a smirk as the voice over the p.a announces the incoming stop. If Tomura notices the tears that wet your cheeks, your shoulders shaking with quiet sobs, he doesn't pass comment, choosing instead to press a sickeningly sweet kiss to your temple as the train slows down to a halt.

“That was real fun, Y/N,” he coos gleefully. “We should do it again some time.”

And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd of exiting passengers, and your trembling legs finally give out.

#yandere bnha #yandere Shigaraki #yandere Shigaraki x reader #yandere Shigaraki Tomura #yandere Shigaraki Tomura x reader #yandere my hero academia #tw public sex #tw non con #tw chikan

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writemyaceattorneys · 3 years

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*kicks in your door Sherlock Holmes style* Greetings, fellow simp! I have arrived here today to make a request. Can I get some general yandere headcanons for everyone's favo(u)rite Victorian bastard, Barok van Zieks? Thanks, love!

I sure can, dear friend!! I know how much you simp for this bastard so I am more than happy to supply for you. Do be warned, these actually got pretty long so I do apologise for that.

Spoilers: Dai Gyakuten Saiban (The Great Ace Attorney)

TW: Kidnapping, Obsession, Possessive Behaviour, Blackmailing, Outdated Attitudes

🍷Barok van Zieks🍷

🍷 Barok van Zieks is a man who comes across as being very cool, calm and collected with a really big sense of dignity for the most part. That being said, he is a major drama queen and loves to be as theatrical as he can. This definitely plays a major factor in how he’d act as a yandere.

🍷 Barok had always been an incredibly lonely man, especially after the death of his brother and rumours of a curse that followed him. Something deep inside of him craved the warmth that love could provide to his troubled soul.

🍷 However he happens to first meet S/O, it would roughly play out in the same way: S/O would brush off their meeting as a one off and move on with their life while Barok seems to be unable to get this mysterious person off of the mind and so he begins to take actions to just….make sure that they are safe.

🍷 Having connections to the Metropolitan Police would definitely come in useful for Barok, he would be able to ask a couple of bobbies that worked on the beat that S/O lived under to just keep a careful eye on S/O to make sure that nothing happened to them.

🍷 In the meantime, he’d pen anonymous letters to S/O. These letters would start out quite formally and over time they’d slowly become more and more concerning. Where at first he would write about how he admires their beauty and kindness to people, as he slowly became more and more obsessed with the idea of keeping them safe, he would talk about how he was keeping a watchful eye on them and that they should be careful who they associate with.

‘My darling, you can’t understand the amount of danger you are in while you freely associate yourself with so many strangers. You would never know what their true intentions are, but don’t fret for I have your best interests in mind. Soon I will save you from the peril that you are in.’

🍷 Not too long after that letter, S/O would be reported missing by their neighbours. This news would naturally get back to Barok, with the two officers who were responsible for their safety cowering in their boots at the idea of the disciplinary action that they are going to receive. Fortunately for those officers, Barok seems to be quite forgiving of this major blunder and just tells the Metropolitan Police to investigate as normal and let him know when they get results.

🍷 What the police don’t need to know is that Barok knows exactly where S/O is. I mean, how could he not after going to all of that effort to have their home broken into by those brutish criminals who then proceeded to take them and deliver them straight to him.

🍷 When caring for S/O, Barok is very much a no-nonsense individual. S/O might lash out against him all they wish but unless they say something that really gets under his skin, they probably won’t be able to get too much of a reaction out of him.

🍷 He sees himself as the only person who can properly look after his S/O and so if S/O were to make a bid for escape he would see it as his duty to find them and bring them back home where they’ll be safe. He’d see S/O’s escape attempts as some kind of cat-and-mouse game, where his sweet little darling thinks that they are smart enough to outrun him. He’d be quick to hunt them down, the estate on which he lives is vast and filled with forests that he knows off the back of his hand so it would only be a matter of time before he finds them.

🍷 In terms of punishments, I think he’d shout at his darling and be quite degrading. He sees himself as superior after all, as was a common opinion of many members of the nobility and gentry at the time. He’d also threaten S/O’s loved ones because he has the power to do some real damage (whether that be through fixing them up for a crime or hiring someone to give them a scare. If he was particularly enraged he might find himself getting through a few more of his hallowed chalices by throwing them at the walls, if he has to scare his darling into just doing what he says for their own good then he will do so.

🍷 If it got to the point where he felt as though he had to have someone disposed of, he’d probably do it himself. I mean, the man carries a sword and he knows how to use it. No one would ever know, or even suspect that he was somehow involved, especially after he kindly offers to pull some of his own resources into finding out who’s responsible for the rise in murder cases.

🍷 If, over time, S/O became quite loving towards Barok, he would be so overwhelmed with positive emotion and he’d become quite doting. He’d hold their hands and give them small kisses on the top of the head and if S/O were to kiss the scars on his face he’d absolutely melt. At the end of the day, as I said before he just wants someone who will give him love and make him feel like he deserves it.

#letters to mod #barok van zieks #yandere ace attorney x reader #yandere ace attorney #tw yandere #headcanon #x reader #ace attorney x reader #barok van zieks x reader #/reader #yandere barok van zieks #yandere barok van zieks x reader #turnaboutyandere's request

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yoonjinkooked · 3 years

Text

CHEMISTRY | JHS (3)

PART 3 - ONE KISS

(pls ignore my old URL, i’m too lazy to change it now RIP)

DRABBLE SERIES, TONS OF SHORT LITTLE CHAPTERS.

SERIES MASTERLIST Pairing: Hoseok / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: FWB, university AU, smut (a bit of a slowburn)

Warnings: cursing, alcohol, hot Hoseok who knows what he wants, kissing (is that a warning), the deal is almost made, JK has a bad music taste (not really tho)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: After a few years of being immune to Jung Hoseok’s charms, you suddenly fall into them, head first. All it takes is one night, too much alcohol and a lot of balls.

A/N: This has been sitting in my drafts since OCTOBER and i finally edited it today because I can’t f-ing get Jung Hoseok out of my head. Sigh. Let me know what you think! I’m balancing this story with others and I hope I’ll have an update for you soon!

As the days passed one by one you knew that the luxury of avoiding Hoseok is going to escape your grasp soon. Frankly, it’s a miracle you’ve been able to avoid him as long as you have and with Yoongi’s birthday this weekend, you know your lucky streak will break soon.

You didn’t expect it to break before that, not really. But here you were, minding your own business, studying on campus in a makeshift picnic setting and taking in the first proper rays of sunshine of the year, when he popped up from the tree behind you, very clearly cornering you.

And scaring the living daylights out of you too, as you end up clutching your chest and cursing at him while he laughed his ass off at the sight of you freaked out. “You nearly killed me, you idiot. Was it worth it?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” he laughs as he plops down on the grass next to you, completely casual, as if nothing between you has changed. To be fair, perhaps it hasn’t, in his eyes. “Let’s be honest here Y/N, I had to ambush you. You’ve been avoiding me for days,” he emphasises and although you wish you could call him out for being overly dramatic, you couldn’t. Leave it to Jung Hoseok to not beat around the bush and call you out directly.

“It wasn’t that bad,” you mumble, not even bothering to try and deny. That makes him laugh, a sound that sounds so misplaced in your current setting. It feels wrong to openly discuss the awkwardness that has formed between you while he is literally laughing at it.

“You ran out of the cafeteria the other day so fast, Namjoon is still calling you Speedy Gonzales,” he jokes, laughing harder when you curse that traitor under your breath. At least he is joking around with you. You wish he would ignore it altogether, but it could be worse.

“I’m sorry,” you let out a groan, consciously avoiding making direct eye contact with him. “You know I can get awkward like this. It’s not your fault, it’s… all me.”

“Y/N, come on,” he leans closer to you and nudges your shoulder with his. “It’s me you’re talking to. There’s not a single reason to avoid me. We are both consensual adults who wanted to make out at a party. It’s as simple as that.”

This time, you turn and give him a good look, unsurprised to find a content smile on his face. He is bright and positive just like he always is, to the point of it being both annoying and overbearing at times. He has always been a great friend but there were times when his positivity and energy were too much for a grumpy ol’ potato of a person that you are 24/7. Now, however, you are glad for it. Unlike you, he obviously wasn’t beating himself too much about what had happened between you.

“So, what you’re saying is that you’re not feeling awkward and I shouldn’t either?” you ask.

“Exactly,” he shrugs. “You are… one hell of a kisser,” his eyes widen in a way that makes it seem like he is shocked by how good of a kisser you are.

“Hoseok, please,” you hiss at him, not even caring if he was telling you the truth or lying to spare your confidence. You are embarrassed and he knows it well.

“I mean it!” he laughs, amused by your sudden shyness – it’s a side of you your friends are not used to seeing, simply because you don’t normally do shit you’re ashamed of, at least not when they are directly involved. And if you do, more often than not, you own up to your bullshit. You’ve had your fair share of moments that would normally be counted as humiliating, only to brush them off casually and move on with your life. Not this one, though.

“You need to stop,” you laugh awkwardly, hoping that this conversation will simply end. “I was drunk, I came onto you way too strong and I am pretty sure I used way too much tongue.”

“If you think that I didn’t find it hot how confident you were that night, I’m afraid you don’t know me well,” he bites back. You are instantly shocked, not imagining him taking the conversation in that direction and also shocked by the nature of his admission too - Hoseok always struck you as more of a hunter than prey. You didn’t exactly keep track of his hook-ups but you were fairly sure that he was the one who initiated them more often than not. “And for the record, it was the perfect amount of tongue.”

Oh good lord. If you knew he would say the things he is saying, you would have tried desperately to avoid him for… well, the rest of your life, really.

“Please stop before I dig a hole for myself, right here, right now.”

“Why are you acting so shy about this Y/N?” he is laughing, once again nudging you with your shoulder, which only makes it more obvious to you how close you are sitting next to each other. Before, you wouldn’t bat an eye. Now, it’s driving you mad. “You know me, I don’t bite. Not unless you want me to, that is,” he adds cheekily.

“Oh, I noticed, my neck had a lovely little souvenir,” you reply before you could realize what you were even saying. There’s no way he’ll let it go now and the worst part is, you don’t even want him to. You’re saying that you do but in reality, you yourself are finding ways to deepen the conversation. This whole thing is crazy and… wrong! “Why are you making it sound like you want to do it again?” you whine, wishing he would just be up for forgetting about it.

“Well… I wouldn’t be opposed to it.”

You turn your head towards him so fast, you strain your neck and wince in pain, reaching at it with your hand. “Are you okay?” he asks, wide-eyed and worried, as he watches you rub your neck and grimace in pain.

“Am I okay? Are you okay?” you counter, completely floored by the words that left his mouth seconds ago. You have avoided him because you’re an awkward idiot, not because you thought that he’d be up for a re-run. “Did you just suggest what I think you suggested?”

“To be fair, I didn’t suggest it, I simply said that I wouldn’t be opposed to it,” he shrugs.

“Hoseok,” you glare at him, making him laugh. Even now, he laughs.

“I mean… why not?” he shrugs casually and all you can do is stare and blink dumbly at him, reminding yourself that you’re supposed to breathe, too. “If that party showed us anything, it’s that we definitely have chemistry that… goes beyond friendship. I’m not looking for anything serious and as far as I know, you aren’t either,” he continues and after a few seconds of silence, you realize that he’s waiting for some sort of a response from you. Unsure of what to say, you simply nod your head - after all, it is true. You are not looking for a relationship, not after the last two ended in tears and you drowned in vodka and chocolate ice cream. “Why not… take advantage of the opportunity?”

“I’m gonna need you to elaborate on what that opportunity is,” you’re not sure why you are even asking him that, when you know damn well what he is implying. You suppose that it would settle the last remains of doubt if you were to hear him say it more directly.

“Two single, and if I may add, incredibly good looking, friends who want, or in our case, don’t want the same things,” he cocks his head to the side, a small smile on his face. He looks way too cute for someone who is suggesting you sex with no added obligations. If you are not terribly mistaken and he has something else entirely on his mind. “Why not take advantage of the situation? And the chemistry - holy hell Y/N, you know we have it.”

He’s… absolutely right. Despite being drunk, you can clearly remember how… feverish you felt that night. You just wanted to keep kissing him, annoyed when you had to part for one second to simply breathe. If you had one more drink in you or if there had been fewer people around you, you’re not sure if the night would end with the two of you fully clothed. You have amazing chemistry as friends and you felt the sexual side of it that night. It would be stupid to deny it when you know well how rare it is to simply click with someone in the manner that the two of you had clicked that night.

“We do… but we’re also friends. And you know how shitty deals like these can end,” you point out the obvious. There are millions of books and movies about how ‘friends with benefits’ is a horrible, terrible idea because there’s an incredibly high chance of it ending in tears. “One of us could end up taking that chemistry to the next level and catch feelings. I’m not good in chemistry – I’m an art history major for a reason,” you joke, relieved when it actually makes him chuckle.

“That’s a good point. But we’re also really good friends, Y/N. We know each other well and we talk. If it would become too much for one of us, we could simply… talk. And I’m not suggesting anything… specific. I’m not here saying we should hook up until one of us decides they want to move on,” he tells you.

“Dude, you’re confusing as fuck,” you sigh, laughing along with him. “What are you suggesting then?”

“I’m just saying,” he grunts as he stands up, pausing to wipe down his jeans, while you make a conscious effort of not looking down because... thighs. “The next time you’re drunk, horny or bored, or even all of the above, you know where to find me.”

He looks down at you, the smile gracing his face slowly turning into the tiniest of smirks, before he gives you a wink. And with that, he simply turns around and walks away, leaving you with your mouth open, looking like a complete idiot while you try to figure out what the fuck just happened.

Nah, you know damn well what just happened. You have enough dating and flirting escapades behind you to recognize the look of someone who’d be happy to fuck you. The particular someone being Jung Hoseok is what is leaving you absolutely shocked and at a loss for words. As honored as you are and as much as the offer is… incredibly tempting, this is not something you can decide on the spot.

No, because you’re a dumbass. Of course you can’t decide this on the spot but you could decide in a matter of seconds that you want to stick your tongue down his throat and let him grab your ass while you grind on him as if your life depended on it. You weren’t expecting this turn of events and unsurprisingly, you have no idea what you should do about it. It’s tempting, in all the wrong ways, but it is also making alarm bells in your head go off. It could easily end in tears - the real question is, would it be worth it?

It took three full songs for you to start wondering if you have stepped through a time machine when you’ve entered Seokjin’s house. How Jungkook managed to convince Yoongi to let him DJ at his birthday party was a mystery that you at first ignored, but by the time he played that one Nicole Scherzinger and 50 Cent song, you’ve decided to investigate. “How much did you pay him to let you DJ?” you laugh at your friend, who looks up at you and grins, dancing in place with his trusty neon green Beats around his neck.

“Come here baby, hey be my baby, hey be my baby,” he sings at you, making you roll your eyes.

“Fuck Jungkook, please don’t drop out of school, you need that degree more than you know,” you say as you offer a comforting pat on his back.

“For your information, the theme of the party is ‘guilty pleasure’,” he announces with a proud smile. “And Nicole just so happens to be mine.”

“You and me both,” you admit with a huff, turning around to scan the room in the search of Jin - you’ve been looking for him for the past couple of minutes, with no luck. “Did you see Seokjin? He went to make me a drink with the gin from his expensive stash, but it’s been like… half an hour?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook nods, pointing behind you. “He’s right there with Hobi.”

Those were the only words you needed to hear in order to know what you must do next – hide. You did not bother checking, you did not look back – you simply dropped down to the ground and plopped your ass right next to Jungkook’s feet. “Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” your friend laughs, looking down at you in disbelief. “Are you still hiding from Hobi?”

“No, I’m sitting here because the view of your thighs is nice,” you roll your eyes. “Of course I’m hiding from Hobi! I’m not mentally prepared to deal with him right now. Although, you do have weirdly muscular thighs,” you add absentmindedly - what is it with them and thighs? First Hoseok, now him - do they only do leg days when they hit the gym?

“Stop,” Jungkook laughs down at you. “Are you seriously planning on running from him forever?”

“Not forever,” you shrug casually. “Until the end of the year, maybe.”

“I mean, I can’t stop you… but you do realize that if he finds you here, it’s going to look like you were giving me a blowjob or something?” he pointed out, eliciting another casual shrug from you.

“Good. He’ll think I’m busy and leave me alone,” you offer Jungkook an angelic smile. He knows better than to push you – when you want to, you can be stubborn as all hell and sadly, Jungkook’s has plenty of experience with being on the receiving end of said stubbornness.

You know what he’s thinking – you can tell from the way he shakes his head and decides to ignore your presence by his feet while he focuses his attention to that god-awful playlist of his – you know exactly what he’s thinking and he has a point. You’re pathetic. A coward. An idiot.

You have shamelessly lied to yourself earlier tonight, as you were getting ready for the party. You’ve told yourself, repeatedly, that you are ready to face Jung Hoseok, despite not knowing what your answer is to his suggestion from a few days ago. You have convinced yourself that you were ready to face him. Seeing as you're hiding behind a damn desk, just meters away from him, it’s pretty obvious that you are not.

He hasn’t left your head in days, to the point of even appearing in your dreams, even if he was just on the sidelines. For years, you have been blind to all the gifts Jung Hoseok has to give, and now they’re slapping you in the face all day long.

You want him, that much you’re ready to admit. Definitely to yourself, perhaps even to him. But are you willing to put an entire friendship on the line and go through with that desire? That’s not a question you know the answer to. For the time being, you will just… keep on hiding behind the makeshift DJ booth, until Jungkook informs you that the coast is clear.

“We’re drinking that whiskey tomorrow, got it?” Yoongi asks, referring to the birthday gift you’ve given him earlier, which he had to hide in one of Seokjin’s spare bedrooms, given that the house is full of people who’d drink anything that’d fall into their hands. “You and me, tomorrow night, drinking back at my place. Let’s make it fancy. Wear a beret or something.”

“Why would I wear a beret while drinking whiskey?” you laugh in confusion. “What’s the correlation?”

“Both are fancy,” Yoongi shrugs and after a few seconds, so do you. If he wants to drink expensive whiskey whilst wearing a beret, that’s what you’re going to do. Having a drink or two with Yoongi, in almost complete silence, has become sort of a tradition for the two of you. Compared to the rest of your friend group, you and Yoongi are the quieter, less social ones. How you wound up in a circle of friends that include permanent hyper bunny Jungkook and Mr. Loudest-Laugh-Ever Jin was beyond you.

“Can I join?” you hear Joon’s booming voice. He approaches the two of you, throwing a hand around your shoulder. Glaring, you grab a hold of his hand and move it away from you, watching as Yoongi laughs in confusion at your open hostility towards Namjoon.

“Not you,” you point a finger at him accusingly. “I’m still pissed at you. You haven’t gotten to your redemption ark yet.”

“What did you do now?” Yoongi sighs, looking at Namjoon as if you were not in the middle of the conversation with him.

“I teased her about hiding from Hobi,” Namjoon announces with a shit eating grin. “Guess Speedy Gonzales here doesn’t like to hear the truth.”

“Oh, I’m absolutely avoiding Hoseok,” you admit shamelessly – it’s become obvious now, why would you bother to deny? “I just don’t want to talk about it and you can be one pushy bitch when you really want to.”

“You’re both idiots,” Yoongi shakes his head, sighing. “I truly wonder why I’m friends with you?”

“Well, I buy you good whiskey. Dunno what’s his excuse,” you offer Namjoon one last glare. Deciding you’ve had enough of his judgment and teasing for one night, you beeline towards one of your two safety nets – Sana. As good of a cover Jungkook was, you didn’t want to cockblock the poor boy all night, and he has been talking with some freshman for the last couple of songs. Sana, being practically your only female friend in existence would definitely be more willing to help you out, but by the time you’re halfway towards her, you notice that she is talking to a senior she’s had a crush on pretty much since you’ve met her.

Brilliant. You can either find a new cover or be a cockblocking friend. Whatever you decide to do, you need a drink first. Settling for cheap gin this time around, you venture into the kitchen, ready to get wasted and cursing under your breath at Jungkook’s horrible taste in music, as you are forced to listen to Ginuwine’s ‘Pony’ at full blast.

One more drink and it’ll be socially acceptable for you to leave the party. You’ve stuck around for long enough, even managing to enjoy yourself a little bit. Not enough though, not compared to the tension that you’ve been feeling in your gut even before you got here.

“Hi.”

If you were holding your drink, you would have dropped it. Even the sound of his voice is enough to make a shiver run down your spine. Closing your eyes for a moment and taking a deep breath, you muster enough strength to turn around and face him.

Nope, that wasn’t enough strength. You needed more. You needed more to face Jung Hoseok, in ripped skin tight jeans, a black shirt with a v neck, messy hair and a smirk on his face, casually leaning on the wall next to the kitchen door. You could have taken an hour to collect yourself and prepare for your pending doom, and it would not be enough to prepare you for the Hoseok you were facing now. Especially when he is smirking at you, looking at you like he knows exactly what thoughts are roaming around your head. Add to that the horrible soundtrack courtesy of Jungkook, and you are overcome with a sudden wish to die, right here, right now.

“You’ve been avoiding me again,” he points out the obvious.

“And you’re cornering me again,” you argue back, hoping that he didn’t notice you gulping, literally gulping.

“I’m not cornering you,” he chuckles. Your eyes go wide when he stands up straight, no longer leaning on the wall. Slowly, he starts walking towards you and you walk backwards right into the table, no longer having room for an escape. He stops in front of you but he’s too close, too close for comfort, to the point of you being able to see a single freckle on his nose, despite having a decent amount of alcohol in your system already.

“Oh no,” you suddenly move to the right, towards the door, towards your escape. “Stay away from me, Satan!”

“Satan?” he laughs in disbelief.

“Yeah, Satan,” you confirm without a second thought, looking at him up and down. “Did you look into the mirror before you left your house? You’re sex on legs, Hoseok. So yeah. Satan.”

“For someone who’s about to run for the exit, the words you’re saying are making me think you don’t really want to do that,” he laughs, although he doesn’t step any closer to you. As ready as you were to call him Satan just seconds ago, you see his true good self shining through. He’s chasing you, very obviously so, but he is not pushing you too far and you know that he’ll recognize if he actually should step away. He doesn’t want to literally make you run in the opposite direction and the space he leaves between you is confirmation of that.

“You think I don’t want to run?” you ask and immediately he nods. “Maybe. You’re here. You’re hot. For some reason I can’t fathom, you want something with me. That’s inviting, yet very scary at the same time.”

“And do you want something with me?” he asks, no longer smirking.

“Honestly? Yes and no,” you answer, cursing yourself in your mind – alcohol always makes you talk more than you should. But in this case, maybe that’s exactly what you need - just a little bit of honesty. “I’m attracted to you, you’re an amazing kisser and we’re both single. Why not? And the answer to that question is simple - we’re friends. There’s… way too much at risk here, Hobi.”

“We’re better than that,” he shakes his head immediately. “We’re not stupid, horny teenagers. We know each other well. We’d be mature enough to stay friendly, or at the very least cordial, no matter what happens.”

Both of you do have a reputation of remaining friendly with your exes. Except for your last one, but that’s a story you don’t wish to revisit, especially not tonight. Broken hearts mend with time, people grow, find others and life goes on. If you set the terms the way you both want them, in theory, it truly doesn’t have to end in tears.

“What exactly are you offering me? And miss me with that ‘whatever you want’ bullshit you offered me the other day,” you interrupt him, chuckling when he closes his mouth dumbly, obviously having been ready to say just that. “Do you want to make out? Do you want to fuck me? Once or on a regular basis? To kill time until someone better comes along or in the hopes of it becoming more? I can’t make a decision if you don’t tell me exactly what you want, Hoseok,” you tell him. You were honest with him and now, it’s his turn.

“I want you.”

“Effective, but not effective enough,” you mumble, ignoring the stirring in your stomach that started as he said those words with… earnesty, with meaning. Hearing that you are wanted is always a good fluff up for an ego, but to hear it said like that, dead seriously, by someone you find incredibly attractive? It’s so good, it’s borderline painful.

“I’ll take what you give,” he shrugs casually. “What do you want?” he throws the question back at you. Shameless is what he is.

“A husband, two kids, two dogs and a house with a white picket fence?” you joke.

“Y/N,” he glares playfully at you, laughing. “You might want that down the road but do you really want that now?”

“God no,” you snort in response.

“So what do you want now?” he asks again. “It can be a one-time thing. It can be regular. As you said, we can kill time until someone better comes along,” he rolls his eyes at the phrase, obviously not liking the sound of it. “It doesn’t have to be sex, for all I care. We can just fool around at parties. Or we can pretend like none of this ever happened and just continue being just friends,” he shrugs.

“When you say it like that I wonder if you even want anything from me,” you laugh.

“Y/N, I have barely been able to stop thinking about kissing you ever since that night,” he deadpans, looking straight at you, not a trace of teasing or joking on his face. “Which was pretty horrible, seeing as you’ve been avoiding me and I had a molecular biology paper to finish. I do want you, probably more than you realize or want to accept. And I’m taking whatever it is that you offer. If I had my pick, we’d be friends that… occasionally become more than that.”

“So, to put it in simple terms, you want a friends with benefits thing with me?” you ask.

“Yes. But if you don’t want that, I’ll respect it and stick to it. You’re my friend, Y/N,” he smiles at you and it’s almost calming to be on the receiving end of his genuine smile and not that evil smirk that does things to you. “I’m not losing that friendship if I want to fuck and you don’t. So… whatever you want to do, that’s the way it’s going to be.”

Here you are again, faced with an opportunity that you know will likely end badly for you, perhaps even both of you at once. And again you wonder, if all the possible negatives are worth it - worth of finally succumbing to this sudden and overwhelming desire you feel for Hoseok. Turning his offer into reality… is it worth it?

“I need to think about it,” you close your eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I’m not thinking straight right now. I’m not wasted, I’m just… hazed. Horny. However you want to call it. And I don’t trust my judgment around you right now. If we go through with this, I need to have a clear head when making the final decision.”

“Take all the time you need,” when you open your eyes, he’s smiling at you still. “I do have two tiny requests, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Please stop hiding from me. It’s weird and I think you’re scaring Jungkook,” he grimaces.

“You saw that?!”

“Of course I did,” he laughs. “It was cute.”

“Stop!” you order him.

“Okay, okay, I’m stopping,” he lifts his hands up as if he’s surrendering. “I’m pretending you didn’t duck and hide when you heard I was around,” he laughs. The fucker knows how embarrassing it is for you and he’s enjoying every second of it.

“What’s the second request?” you ask, desperately wanting to change the topic.

“Would you let me kiss you again?” he asks.

“Hoseok…” both your words and eyes are warning, as it’s going directly against what you want right now - a clear head. Kissing him would muddle it all, you know it. Not to mention how easier it would be to take things a notch further, given that you both know now that you want more.

“Just one kiss,” he elaborates. “It’s not gonna turn into a kitchen make out session or something more. And if you don’t want it, it’s not happening. We’ll never do something you don’t want, Y/N. You know me, I’m not like that.”

You do know him and you clearly remember him refusing you at first because he thought you might have had too much to drink and were acting out. You didn’t, you were well aware of what you were doing. Yes, you had no idea why you were doing it but your actions were not a drunken side-effect. Not then and not now. And damn it, you really want to kiss him again.

“One kiss,” you lift your hand in warning, but that was enough for him. He takes a few steps and closes the distance between you – was he being deliberately slow or were you imagining things, you’re not sure. All you know is, it lasted enough for your heart to start going into overdrive even before your lips met his.

It’s just a kiss, but at the same time, it isn’t. He’s not grinding against you, he’s not groping you, he’s not taking it anywhere it shouldn’t go. His hands are in place on your waist, gentler than you remember them being the last time. He’s respectful and careful, in every way except with the actual kiss. Before you even get to mentally prepare yourself for it, he parts your lips with his and tongue meets yours.

You’re the one who moves. You’re the one who threatens to take this further than it should go, as you put your hands around his neck and run your fingers through his hair, pressing your body just a bit closer to his.

It’s his fault. His kiss made you do it. He’s way too good of a kisser for his own good.

Thankfully, the one who initiated it is also the one who pulls away. Breathless and with eyes on your lips, Hobi moves away, letting your hands drop out of his hair as he keeps a safe distance.

“One kiss,” he repeats your earlier words. “Until you tell me you want more.”

Yeah, it meddled with your mind. Despite telling him you need more time to think about it, you know it’s already settled in your mind. You’ll definitely be coming back for more.

#hoseok series #hoseok fic #hoseok smut #hoseok fwb #hoseok x reader #hoseok x y/n #btswritingcafe #bangtanarmynet #btshoneyhive #thebtswritersclub

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peterthepark · 5 years

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Forget Me Nots

Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: You’ve loved him for so long, enduring endless days of pining and whirlwinds of pain in your heart. It’s tearing you apart how he doesn’t recognize that you’ve been there for him this whole time. Maybe you should stick to loving from afar.

Warnings: so much angst, fluff, cursing, sadness???

There are an abundance of flowers that symbolize something - red roses often represented romance and passion, while lilies were of devotion and innocence, and sunflowers symbolized adoration and loyalty.

Behind every flower is a story. Forget Me Nots were your favorite.

There’s an abyss that spirals within your heart as you think of him. His smile. His laugh. For years, you used to feel giddy about him, the perfect guy who happened to be your best friend. But now, you simply feel a resigned longing for Steve Harrington. Yet, one thing never changed from all those passing years - loving him from afar.

Without a doubt, your feelings and emotions for Steve have multiplied with time. They’d come to halt dangerously whenever he had a new girlfriend or a crush. At some point, you convinced yourself that you were going to tell him about how you felt. And as expected, it never occurred. Unfortunately.

You’re watering the plants at the florist shop owned by your parents. It’s a small, quaint corner store with a constant flow of customers and passerby’s. There’s been days where you hated working there - for example, Valentine’s Day was approaching. There would be copious amounts of people, flocking to you for help as they would try to find flowers and bouquets for their significant other. Only for them to break up a month later.

The miniature bell by the door rings as someone steps inside. You hands work hastily as you trim the leaves of a few house plants, your mind occupied on other things. But when you feel familiar arms squeeze around your waist, you jump, causing you to nick your finger with the gardening shears.

“Steve!” You yelp, cursing as you hold onto your wound.

“Woah! Woah! Dude, you’re bleeding. Did I do that?” Steve scrambles to your side, inspecting the cut with instant worry. You sigh at him, heading to the backroom to take care of the injury. “I’m sorry, Y/N. Shit. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Steve lingers by the doorframe, hands delved deep in his front pockets as he watches you run your finger underneath the tap. His head hangs low with guilt.

“It’s fine, you dork.” You meet his eyes, smile faltering for a second. He searches around for the first aid kit, shushing your protests before you groan at him.

The way your finger bled could not compare to the pain of how Steve made your heart bleed everyday. Nothing was new for you, except that he was taking responsibility for this one.

“Let me do it. Band-aids are hard.” He remarks, holding your hand tenderly in his. You screw your eyes shut as you feel that familiar pulse in your body as his skin touches yours. He’s warm and soft. Your hands are cold.

“Thanks.” You chuckle forcibly, looking over the crooked placing of the band-aid and finally noticing Steve’s dorky sailor uniform. “Anyways, what are you doing all the way out here?” You question, resting your hands on your hips. “Uh, I thought your shift at StarCourt doesn’t end till later?”

“No, yeah. I’m actually on break. I wanted to stop by and see if you were interested in grabbing some lunch with me?” He bounces on the heels of his shoes before running his hand through his messy hair. His eyes hold a glint of concern, his lip pulled between his teeth as he raises a brow at you.

“Of course, Steve. I’ll join in a few, just - just gotta wrap up shop.” You take off your apron, hanging the cheap material on the doorknob as you and Steve make your way towards the main room of the shop.

Part of you had wanted to deny his offer. But you could never find it in yourself to say no to him, especially if there was food involved. You flip over the sign on the shop’s front door, clocking out as you head outside.

You hiss as coffee burns at your tongue, prickling your tastebuds with an awful burning sensation. Steve starts to laugh at you, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth as he tries to keep all his food in. The quiet and cozy ambience of the café is interrupted when you and Steve are sent into a humorous coughing fit, doubling over onto the sticky table as you animatedly laugh at each other.

The interaction sends a floodgate of memories through your mind, hitting you with unwanted nostalgia. The emptiness in your heart returns instantaneously, and the grin on your face dwindles to a stoical line.

“So, what are your plans for Valentine’s Day?” He breathes out, letting a soft chuckle escape from his lips as he pushes his empty plate aside. He drums his fingers against his forearms.

“Hm... nothing. No plans,” You shrug, swirling the spoon that sits in your coffee. You found yourself feeling sad that Steve would even think of asking that question. He knew your love life wasn’t exactly active as his, so what was the point? You clear your throat, glancing up at him with hope. “You?”

“Uh, I may have - I may have scored a date with Jennifer Jones.” He smirks, gesturing happily with his hands.

And your heart drops. Suddenly, the room is cold and you can no longer feel the warmth radiating from your coffee. Jennifer Jones? Who was that? You had no idea who she was. Steve usually - and to your dismay - shared the details about his romantic experiences. How did you not know who Jennifer was?

“Y/N?” Steve studies your reaction, but all he sees is a face void of emotion.

Wake up. He doesn’t feel the same. Not in that way.

“Oh! That’s - that’s good.” You let the spoon clink against the mug before running your bandaged finger against the outline of your lips. You exhale, “Jennifer... I’ve never heard of her.”

“Yeah, I, uh, wanted to be sure that I actually liked her before telling you about it. I hear your advice in the back of my head every time I find someone remotely interesting.” He gazes out the window of the emptying café. His foot accidentally brushes against yours under the table, and you mirror Steve to gaze outside. “She works at Orange Julius. Really nice girl.”

“I’m sure of it. She must be pretty.” Steve agrees with a nod, taking a sip from his milkshake. Strawberry. His favorite. “And the date...” You turn back to him, trying not to alarm him with your sudden silence. “What are you planning on doing with her?”

Steve rambles about taking her to a drive-in by the city. But that was your drive-in. Only you and Steve went there. You knew you had no right to be jealous, but you couldn’t help but feel... neglected. It was valid to feel like this, right? But then, Steve mentions something else that tugs and snaps at your heartstrings.

“Do you think you’d be able to save me a bunch of Forget-Me-Nots? I know it’s your favorite flower, but I love the story behind it. I think it’d be perfect. I really wanna make that night special for Jen. Roses just seem outdated.” You can only nod, promising him with your pinky finger that you’d keep some in the back room for him. Steve then takes note of how you play with the hair tie around your wrist, and how you’ve been looking at the table instead of him. He reaches his hand across the table subtly, grazing it against your palm. “Hey, are you okay?”

The phrase is enough to send you falling into your heart’s abyss.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

Your head is pounding as you hold everything back, pressing your tongue against the roof of your mouth to stop yourself.

“M’fine. I’m just tired. My parents have been on my ass lately about school and the - the business.” You’re wishing that Steve can’t see the pain and tears in your eyes, but by his expression, you know that he knows something is wrong.

“We can talk, okay? Let me help you.”

Steve takes you back to his house, ushering you into his bedroom. Your chest feels tight and your airway is constricted. He hasn’t seen you like this much, but it sends him into a immediate effort to help you. As he locks the bedroom door, you bury yourself under his covers.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?” Steve asks. The other half of bed dips as he sits beside you. You’re still hidden in the covers, finding comfort in the darkness and the rustling of the cotton sheets that smelled too much like him.

“Can I ask you a question instead?” You murmur, voice muffled from being underneath layers of blankets. Steve hums, crossing his ankles over each other as he waits for you. “Have you ever felt like - like nothing is right? Like everything that could go wrong for you has gone absolutely wrong in your life?” You poke your head out, furrowing your brows.

He nods slowly, processing your question, “Yeah, sometimes.”

“Okay, well. I feel like that a lot.”

Steve is quiet. And you would have thought that he left the room if your head wasn’t beneath the covers anymore. But he’s silent - it scares you a little.

“Actually, yeah...” He starts, catching sight of the band-aid on your finger. “I’ve experienced that. Sucks real ass. Is there anything else?” Steve grunts as he lays down, parallel to your body as his head rests by the foot of the bed.

Yeah, I’m fucking in love with you.

“Not really, it’s all family and business shit and well, you already know everything about that.” You chuckle sadly, glancing back at him with an unsure expression.

“Well, see, I can tell you one thing. One right thing in your life that I know of. Actually two things. You’re very lucky, Y/N.” Steve admires the picture of you and him across the room, a framed film photo that was taken on a road trip. He lifts his head from the bed, locking eyes with you. “Okay, so. One, you have me as a friend. That’s some good fucking luck right there. I’m not wrong, am I?”

“No,” You shake your head with a delighted smile. “I am so lucky for you, Steve Harrington.”

“Right? I agree. And two, you don’t need to wear a stupid sailor uniform for work. I mean, c’mon. This shit is inhumane.” He makes a face of disgust as he pulls at the collar of his shirt. “You shouldn’t have to feel that way, yeah? And if you do feel like that ever again, call me. I’ll remind you of all the right things, not the wrong.” His tone is calm with a hint of sharpness.

Steve does care about you - a lot.

But not in the way you wished he would.

He extends his arms out, grinning as you crawled into his grasp.

It feels safe. It feels familiar.

You rest your cheek against his chest as he puts his chin on top of your head, his big hands splayed out over your back. Your hair falls like a veil against his neck, tickling him so he has to brush it away.

If only you could stay like this forever.

It’s the dreaded day. The day with never-ending color palettes of red, pink, and white. The day with too many hearts and too many teddy bears and too many damn customers buying flowers.

Valentine’s Day.

Fuck you.

You survey the shop, making note of how many flowers have been sold in the first couple hours from opening.

You look up as the door opens, smiling as Robin slips into the shop.

“Hey, dude.” She says raspily, hands in the pockets of her jeans as she makes her way to the counter. You recognize the pitiful smile in her features: the way her eyes are downturned, crows feet peeking from the corners.

“Hey, you.” You reply with a nod, fixing things by the register.

“Did Steve tell you?” Robin questions, head slightly tilting as she steps behind the counter to stand with you.

“Who the hell is Jennifer Jones?”

And so you and Robin sit down in the armchairs by the corner of the shop - you, occasionally getting up to help out a customer. She tells you all about this Jennifer Jones girl with narrowed eyes and wide hand gestures. You can only reply in short phrases as Robin goes onto rambling.

“She’s definitely not as pretty as you, Y/N. Like not even close. I don’t even know where Steve met her.”

“Yeah, me either. Barely tells me anything anymore.” You scoff, eyes blinking at the ceiling as you slide down into the chair. “He drives me crazy, Robin. I don’t know if it’s healthy.”

“As long as you don’t lose yourself along the way.”

Maybe you have. You’re unsure. But you don’t tell Robin that, because you feel some semblance of yourself in your body. Despite the numbness in your brain, and the potholes in your heart, you’re somewhere in there.

Just lost. Not yet found. Not gone. But lost.

“I guess maybe - maybe I should move on. You know? I’m tired of - of waiting for something to happen.” You pinch the bridge of your nose, leaning forward in your chair. “I can’t even tell him how I feel. What’s the point? And he’s my best friend, so like - how can I live with him rejecting me?”

“But how will you ever know if he does feel the same way? Y/N...” She pauses. You wait as she fishes something from the back pocket of her jeans. And your heart swells as she places it on the coffee table in front of you. It’s the bracelet that Steve had gifted you on your seventeenth birthday: a thin, silver chain, with your initials engraved into a small charm. You had been looking for it for weeks, afraid that it would be forever missing. You take it into your palms with a featherweight touch, fearful that it would break despite how strong the material was. “You left it at my house.”

Robin studies the smile on your face. She notices the peaceful rise and fall of your chest, the child-like and innocent glistening in your eyes as you lock the bracelet into place. “I think you should tell him, Y/N.” You open your mouth, interrupted as Robin continues quickly. “If he does reject you, so what? At least you tried! He’s an absolute dingus if he does, by the way. But I have this - this thought that he feels the same. It’s like he hasn’t realized it yet, but it’s there.” She places her hand over her heart, words sincere and sweet.

Maybe Steve was lost, too. Not yet found. Not gone. Just lost.

The abyss in your heart doesn’t feel as deep and dark anymore. So, you look up at Robin, eyes brimming with fulfilled tears.

“Thank you.” You stand up to wrap your arms around her, pulling her close. She pats your wrist, eyelashes fluttering against her freckled cheeks.

“And if anything, you could always date me.” She jokes, playfully pushing your hand away as you go to help another customer.

Her advice did give you some peace of mind.

But honestly? The fear and the doubts, and the overwhelming emotions hadn’t really downsized at all.

Your heart still aches for Steve Harrington.

You feel it most at night, laying in your bed. When you’re wide awake, mind buzzing with thoughts: thinking of him.

You feel it more when you wake up from a dream. But the dream is one of those kinds, where everything feels realistic and authentic. Nothing could feel better than that.

Yet you feel it even more when you realize that dream, was simply just a dream - nothing more - and Steve never loved you like that in reality.

Nothing felt lonelier than the profound hole that dwelled in your chest.

Your own imagination can kill you, sometimes.

“Harrington!” Robin hoots as your charming friend walks into the shop. You blush when you recognize that he’s wearing the windbreaker you had given him for Christmas - red and white and all ‘Valentinesy.’

“Buckley! Y/L/N!” He grins, fist-bumping Robin before he makes his way over to you. You rest your forearms on the counter, leaning over the register to meet his gaze. That’s when you notice he has something behind his back, and he whips it out quickly when he realizes you’ve seen it. “For you, pretty girl.”

Roses.

But weren’t roses outdated?

Despite the lingering memory of Steve mentioning something about no longer liking roses, you take the small bouquet with a cheerful smile, thanking Steve as you place them in the empty vase behind you. “They’re gorgeous. So sweet, Steve Harrington.”

Maybe he wasn’t going on that date tonight.

“Yeah, I wanted to get you a little something before I stopped by.” He glances around, over your shoulder and into the back room. He lowers his voice, brows raised. “Did you save me the flowers?”

Oh. That’s what he wanted.

That’s why he came.

Not for you.

But for Jennifer.

“Uh, yeah.” You lock eyes with Robin, who waves goodbye to you supportively. “They’re in the back. C’mon, lemme show you.” Steve follows you, grinning widely like a child on Christmas. He’s humming a song under his breath, and you’re glad that he’s happy. But at your expense. “You better be glad that I was able to save these for you.” You pass him the handmade bouquet, filled with the vibrant, gorgeous blue of Forget-Me-Nots. “They’re not in season anymore.”

He pulls you into a side-hug, one hand clutching the root of the bouquet while the other touched your back. “Thank you. Thank you.” You step away, crossing your arms against your chest as you shush him. “I’m serious. I’m happy you did this for me. And I know that it must’ve been a hassle for you, so let me make it up to you. Tomorrow? I’ll take you to that cool garden tourist place thingy that just opened up.”

“For sure. I can’t wait.”

Is that all your friendship was anymore?

A returning of favors? Oweing one another? Paying what was due? Bullshit.

“Anyways,” You start, rubbing your palms together. “Are you excited?”

“For the date? Hell, yeah.” He bobs his head, leaning against one of the metal racks with shoes crossed. “Like c’mon, how long has it been since I’ve been on one of those? Hope I can keep her interested long enough.”

You wouldn’t need to talk and I’d still be interested in you.

“You’ll be fine, Steve.” You reach over his shoulder, fixing one of the potted plants. “You’re a charmer. I’m sure you’ve already got her wrapped around your finger.” You wink teasingly, placing your hands lightly on the sides of his neck.

You’ve got me wrapped around your finger.

Steve kisses the side of your head, a gesture that you had always been accustomed to throughout your friendship. “Thanks for being there. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

I’ll always be there for you, Harrington.

“Yeah! Call me! I wanna know how the date goes,” You chuckle, a hint of sadness lingers in your eyes, but Steve doesn’t notice. He bids you farewell with another embrace, squeezing you tightly.

Maybe he could hear finally your heart crying out to him.

Briefly, you shift forward to go after Steve, hand barely raising from resting on your thigh. But you don’t go after him. It wouldn’t be right.

How do you kill a feeling?

Steve was just your best friend. That’s all that it was. It must be better this way.

Once the day ends, you drive home.

The gloom loitering around the sky and greying clouds adds onto your sadness. You feel lonely. You are lonely. What do you call that numbing pain in your chest when you’re in too deep for someone? Was there even a word to describe that?

Your parents’ house is quiet - left home alone from being on a business trip.

Hell, maybe even your own parents were forgetting about you.

You’re sitting in the living room, surfing through channels aimlessly on the television. Valentine’s Day has never felt any worse. You’re cozied up on your couch, blankets wrapped around your body as the fireplace crackles softly in the background. You snack on a tub of ice cream, smacking your lips at the taste of chocolate.

It still tasted bitter.

You’re watching one of those old romance movies from the 60s, eyes blinking widely as you bite onto your spoon.

You feel tears well up in your vision as the two actors on screen kiss, lips pushing together passionately as their hands roam each other’s bodies. You sniffle, pulling the spoon out of your mouth, dumping it into the empty container in your lap.

You’re a sobbing mess by the time the movie ends; your head hurts and your body feels overwhelmed with unforeseen exhaustion.

You close your eyes.

Darkness.

You jump from the couch when you hear a loud, persistent knock at the front door. Rain pours heavily outside as it nears midnight. You groan, shutting off all the lights to go sleep upstairs.

But the knocking at the door doesn’t stop. The windows shake with fear as wind begins to pick up strength. You carefully step down the staircase, cautious as you unlock the front door.

“Steve?” You breathe out.

It’s like the oxygen has left your lungs as soon as you look over the state of your best friend.

His jacket is drenched, thick hair sticking to his face as he squints through the night. Shivering from the frigid weather, his lips turn to a disconcerting shade of blue.

He’s crying.

You can clearly see shades of red blooming around his eyes through the pouring rain. He struggles to stay upright, and you usher him inside immediately. He can barely get any words out, breathing heavily.

“Steve, what... oh, my gosh.” You wrap yourself around him, pulling him under your arm as you take him to sit by the fireplace. You’re peeling his jacket off of his arms, flinging the wet material aside before you re-light the fire. No words are exchanged between the two of you, mostly a few gasps and concerned gazes from your end. You’re tugging Steve’s shirt off of his body, throwing it into the pile of his other ruined clothes. You take the blanket from the couch, dabbing at his cold skin and wrapping it around him. You pull him into your lap when you sit down, unsure of where to start. “What happened?” You run your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp as you let your other hand rub at his forearm. “Steve? Are you okay?”

He lets out a strangled sob, bringing a hand up to hide his face. Steve trembles against your body, burying his nose onto your warm thigh.

The rain patters harshly against the house - and now you know why.

The angels were crying with him.

“Shh... it’s okay. I’m here.” You soothe him, fingers dancing across his spine. You lean down to plant a kiss onto the freckle on his bare shoulder, closing your eyes. “Let it out, Steve. Let it all go.”

You feel for him.

A teardrop rolls down your cheek, melting into Steve’s skin. He’s clawing at your shirt as he moves to sit up higher, trying to bring himself as close to you as possible. You don’t say anything as he embraces you with a bone-crushing touch, tightening around your ribs.

“She didn’t like me.” He cries through a small, hoarse voice.

“Oh, Steve.”

His hair is dripping wet, drops dampening your shirt. It’s messy. You’ve never seen anything like this - not from Steve, anyways.

Snot pools around his nose, sticking to the ends of your hair along with his saliva. His nails dig deeply into your sides, holding onto you for dear life. Your lips lightly press against his forehead, lingering there as you wait patiently for him to continue.

You start to feel his body warm up from the heat of the fireplace. He no longer trembles as much, but his hands still remain clenched tightly around the fabric of your shirt. You can feel the soreness in your legs from how heavy he is, but you push through - enduring it for Steve.

“She, uh,” Steve looks at you. His cheeks are stained with tears. A sight that breaks your heart. “She called me stupid. And - and she said I wasn’t funny, and I wasn’t even that cute to begin with.” You push the hair away from his eyes. “She said that she went to high school with us... and that this - that whole date was just a way for her to get back at me. I don’t remember what I did, Y/N. How can I not remember what I did?”

Steve sobs again, hyperventilating into your chest. “Breathe. It’s alright.” You coo, resting your forehead against his. “Steve, that was high school. We all were - were different people back then. Whatever happened with Jennifer during that time should’ve been forgiven.”

“I was an asshole, Y/N.”

“Yeah, then.” You huff, still embracing him. You raise your brows, the fire illuminates your face as you continue to speak. “At some point, we have to let go of the past, I guess. People can be unforgiving, Steve. And if Jennifer is one of those people, then forget about her, you know? There’s always room to change or make mistakes.” You try your best to console him. “You’re different now, Steve. She shouldn’t be messing with you like that. No one should.”

He stares blankly at your lips, before his brown eyes flicker up to meet yours.

“What if nobody really likes me?”

The question strikes a dark place in your heart. And you have to glance away to keep tears in.

“Y/N, what if - what if I’m destined to be alone and nobody will ever love me as much as I love them?” Silent tears roll down his face as he loosens his grip on you. “What if you don’t even like me?”

“Don’t you dare say that.”

“Y/N, why the fuck do you still like me? I’m - I’m horrible.”

If only he knew.

“Steve, you’re my favorite, favorite thing.” You shake your head at him, bewildered that he would think like that. “You make me feel so safe. And complete. You’re my best friend. I couldn’t live in a universe without you.”

He starts with a scoff, and you’re terrified of what he says next. “But I want - I need someone who will love me, eventually. Someone who can give as much as I do.”

Ouch.

You remain quiet. How can you help Steve when you feel the same? Only, the feelings were directed towards him?

Steve wipes his nose, pulling away from you. He chuckles. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You chuckle too, but sadly. “I like the idea. I believe there’s someone for everyone. Someone who’ll love you despite anything.”

It’s me. I’m that someone.

“Do you think we all have soulmates? A person for each of us?”

“I do. I really do.” You turn your head away from him, staring into the crackling fire.

“Maybe some of us don’t get a soulmate. Kinda like - like natural selection.” He shrugs, fingers picking at the thread of your carpet. “Maybe some of us don’t get to - to, I don’t know, experience being loved.”

“But sometimes it’s not about being loved by someone else.”

A soft, barely visible smile lingers on Steve’s face.

“Hey, I’ve never asked you this. Not in a while, at least.” You hum in reply. “Do you like anyone?”

“Right now?” He nods. You let out a small exhale through your nostrils, scoffing. “Yeah. I like this - this guy a lot.”

“Does he like you back?”

Steve doesn’t ask who it is.

Maybe he knew.

“I don’t think he does, Steve.” You caress your own jaw, finding comfort within yourself. You feel Steve’s eyes on you, and you suddenly feel extremely vulnerable as you decide to look back at him. “I’ve never asked him if he does. I don’t - I don’t wanna ruin what I have with him. I think that... I’d rather suffer myself than... than lose him, you know?”

“You should tell him.” You close your eyes, turning away from him with a sad frown. “Listen. Anyone would be lucky to have you, Y/N.”

“Steve...” Your eyes are pleading, scouring his face in hopes that he’d realize. “Steve.” His eyes begin to widen when he hears the shattering crack in your voice. You don’t fail to notice how he moves his hand slightly away from you.

He knows that look anywhere. It’s the look that Robin gave him when she admitted her feelings for Tammy Thompson. It’s the look you give someone when you say something a little too scary and painful.

“No...” He laughs. You start to cry, clutching your hands to your chest as you scoot further away from him. His face falls when he watches your drops of tears plummet to the ground. “Me?”

His voice is almost condescending.

“I-I... Steve, I-“

“Y/N. We’re - I can’t do this.” He stands, nearly losing his balance. You don’t follow him, leaning against the couch as you bring your knees to your chest.

“This is what I was afraid of. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” You ram your fists to the sides of your head. Your cries are distressed, echoing throughout the house.

The abyss in your heart has enveloped you. You feel sucked in, screaming for help as you’re dragged into the darkness.

Heartbreak.

Was it too late to un-love someone?

Steve paces around the living room, hands on his hips as his red eyes dart around the room.

“I get it, if you don’t feel the same way. We’re supposed to be best friends.”

“Y/N, I don’t - I don’t-“

“I know.” You whisper huskily, leaning into the couch. You don’t look at him.

“I think I should go.” He says shakily. He pinches at the skin in between his eyebrows, stuttering over his words as he puts on his shirt and jacket, still soaked from the rain. “Thank you. For the, uh... for the help.” You don’t reply. Steve sees the broken shell of his best friend. And yet, he’s too shocked and selfish to fix her. “I’m... I’ll see you around, Y/L/N.”

“Okay.”

And he leaves. Not once looking back at you or to ask if you would be alright. You lay there, head resting on the couch cushions as the fire hums a heart-wrenching ballad. You can’t breathe.

You walk with wobbly legs up the stairs, taking deep, uneven breaths as you open your bedroom door.

Your room feels wrong. And your bones shift in your skin as you throw the covers off of your bed, angrily stripping them away from your mattress and letting them parachute onto the floor.

You are the abyss.

It no longer resides in your heart.

But inside and around you, floating through your veins.

Your eyes are grey with color as the answering machine beeps with another useless message.

‘Hey, Y/N. It’s Robin. I haven’t seen you in like a month, how are you? Uhm, I wanted to call and see if you were doing okay. Yeah. So, if - when you aren’t busy, call me back. Please? Thanks. Love you.’

Beep.

‘Y/N! This is Dustin. Dustin Henderson. Steve’s friend. Yeah, okay, hi. Ow!’ You hear a rustle on the other end of the line. ‘Anyways, we - I was wondering if you wanted to come to the movies sometime with me and Robin... and uh, Steve. Hope to hear from you. Kay. Bye. Dude, you need-‘

Beep.

‘Y/N. Hey, it’s Steve Harrington. It’s Steve. Yeah, uh... call me? I-I... just call me back when you’re free. Right. Take care. Miss you.’

The answering machine no longer blinks red.

You feel exhausted. Moreover, you look exhausted. Your face is pale, aching to see sunlight. Your nose is runny from a cold, throat starched for water. You haven’t been to your job in weeks, halting the business temporarily until your parents were to come home.

It worries Steve when he tries to drop by the florist shop, finding it empty and pitch black inside. He can see the roses that he gave you on Valentine’s Day, wilting in its porcelain vase. He tugs against the glass door, sighing when he finds it locked. Obviously, he could hear you say. He reads the handwritten note on the window:

‘Closed. Flowers are not available for sale. Come back another time.’

Steve knew you had to be at home - hurt and healing

He runs into Robin as he walks hastily to your house, and he sees the angry stare that his friend sends him from the end of the sidewalk.

“What the hell are you doing here, dingus?” She snaps, pressing her finger into his sternum.

“I fucked up, Robin. Big time.” He glances at your bedroom window, hoping that you were in there somewhere. “I wanted to apologize to her.”

“Not right now. Go away.” She brushes past him, hitting his shoulder with her own.

He really has fucked up.

Robin sighs in pity when she glances back at her friend, relaxing when she sees the genuine defeat on Steve’s face. “You can’t just waltz in there and apologize. She’s hurting, Steve.”

“I know. I feel horrible.”

“She’s in love with you.” Robin admits. She feels a bit bad for saying it to him, when you should really be saying it - but she’d do anything to save you from feeling any more pain. “I’ve seen her through her best... her worst days - and yet it all comes down to you. Oh, Steve did this for me. Steve did that.” She mocks, tilting her head from side to side as her lips twitch upwards. “She’s your best friend. And she loves you more than anything. What more could you possibly want than that?”

Steve chews on his bottom lip anxiously, hands feeling around in the pockets of his jacket.

“She isn’t expecting you to love her back, Harrington. If that’s what scares you.” Robin places a friendly hand on his shoulder. “She just needs to know that you’ll stay. No matter what. And if you do have feelings for her...” She dips her head down, meeting eyes with him. “Then don’t be afraid to tell her. It’s only Y/N.” She turns on her heels, stepping up onto the porch to ring the doorbell. “You should probably go. Figure yourself out first before trying to help her right now.”

He knows she’s right. With slumped shoulders, he drags his feet off of your lawn. He glances back instantly when he hears the quiet hymn of your voice, and sees your face before you shut the door behind Robin. He tries to wave weakly.

But you don’t look at him.

Not this time.

Another two weeks pass by before Steve catches sight of the fluorescent lights in your shop. And he sees a familiar figure working the register.

Without hesitation, Steve swerves onto the emergency lane, tires screeching as he pulls to an illegal stop. He nearly gets run over by a speeding car, but the adrenaline is too much for him to care about anything else right now. He sprints past the road, bumping into a few strangers as he swings open the shop’s door.

“Y/N.” He pants out. His hair is wind-swept, brown curls falling against his face. “Hi.”

You look up from the register, knocking over a cup of pens when you recognize the handsome face. “Steve.”

He rushes over to help you, attempting to pick up the fallen supplies. But you’re quick with your movements, scooping all the pens back into their designated cup by the counter before Steve can help you. He then sees the dirty handprints on your unwashed green apron, realizing that you had only just gotten back from your break.

“Hi, again. It’s, uh, it’s me.” He scratches the back of his neck nervously, adjusting the collar of his shirt when he feels it fit too tightly around his neck. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, so he crosses his arms against his chest, trying to seem as casual as possible. You’re giving him a weird look, but he can just make out the anxiousness in your pupils. “I wanted to... say sorry. I panicked that night. When-when...”

“When I told you how I felt.” You finish, running your hands up and down your jeans.

You both are lumps of awkwardness, unsure of where to look and what to do with your bodies. You mimic Steve, holding your arms against your ribs as you lean onto a table.

Steve’s just glad you’re actually talking to him after all those weeks. It seems like he’s just met you again: the awkward fidgeting, the ramblings, the way his hands shook after speaking to you - it felt exactly like the day you met.

He remembers it all too vividly.

“Is that all?” You ask, putting your hair up and away from your view. Steve doesn’t hear forgiveness in your tone. He should’ve known it wouldn’t have been that easy, that fast.

“No,” He says. He taps at his bottom lip, before wagging a finger at you. “You don’t happen to have more Forget-Me-Nots, do you?”

Steve visibly cringes when he hears the dramatic scoff you give him. “Yeah. I do. They’re in the back. Why?”

“No reason.”

“Did Jennifer make amends with you?” You question uneasily, stepping into the other room to grab the flowers for him.

“No, not her. They’re for something else.” He shrugs as a matter-of-factly. “Here. I’ll pay for them?”

“Take them. It’s fine. I don’t have a use for them anymore, anyways.”

But they‘re your favorites.

Unless they aren’t anymore?

“Of course. Uh, I’ll - I’ll catch up with you soon.” He looks down at the precious potted flowers, holding them delicately with his two hands.

He makes a beeline for the exit, before he hears you call out to him reluctantly.

“And Steve?” He turns, eyes blinking with interest in what you have to say. “Take care.” He grins. “Of the flowers.”

Okay, damn. So much for forgiveness.

“I always do.” He shrugs with one shoulder, flashing a lopsided smile. He hesitates to open the door for a second, but he does, running across the busy road with the pot of Forget-Me-Nots.

He’s going to make it up to you.

March.

It’s a cold morning in March when Steve finally gets himself together. He sits on the ledge of his bedroom window, eyes trained on the well-cared for pot of Forget-Me-Nots placed in front of him. They bloom gorgeously; seemingly, they are the only pop of color that remains in Steve’s messy room. He smiles, eyes crinkling with peaceful nostalgia when he glances down at the wrinkled piece of paper in his hands. He reads over the words, whispering them to himself as he tries to get them right.

It’s the longest he’s ever gone without seeing you. His feelings, as usual, are a jumbled mess of emotions. But he knows, that with due time, if he were to love you - more than a best friend - then it surely would be destined to happen.

He looks back into his room and away from the window. The wall across his bed is plastered with pictures, the majority of them are of you and him together. From the beginning of middle school, to freshman year in high school, to junior prom, to graduation - you’ve been there for him through everything. Every milestone, every heartbreak, every achievement and every breaking point.

Steve can’t help but ask himself if he’s been there for you through thick and thin as well. He wonders: has he been looking down all the wrong roads this entire time? Was he not giving as much as he took from you?

Holding onto the worn piece of paper, he folds and stuffs it in the back pocket of his jeans before he takes the pot of flowers carefully into his grasp.

Steve drives in his car, beating every stoplight and doing almost every illegal thing a driver could do. He sighs in relief when he sees that your curtains are drawn, along with your open bedroom window.

Classic move.

He parks his car recklessly on your lawn, definitely ruining the freshly watered grass with his muddy tires. Memorized like the palm of his hand, he climbs up your roof, being cautious not to step on the loose tiles that led to your window whilst balancing the Forget-Me-Nots under his arm. He’s out of breath when he finally gets up. He sees you through your window, nose buried in a book - unaware of his abrupt arrival. Steve crouches, tapping on the glass with his fist.

Your head snaps up. Glancing around your room, you sigh as you stand up. Steve helps you raise the window lift, grinning boyishly when it stays upright. There’s a glow in his eyes that you can’t place. Steve knows that you won’t let him in, so he takes a seat on the flat surface of your roof, placing the pot of Forget-Me-Nots on the window stool that separates the two of you.

“What are you doing here?” You ask. Steve recognizes the bump in your voice - the genuine curiosity, free of malicious intent. “You can’t be here, Steve. My parents... they-”

“I won’t waste your time. But I do need you to hear me out. You can’t say anything, alright?”

“Steve, what-” You shake your head in confusion, but Steve shushes you, motioning you to sit down as well. And you do. The flowers block part of Steve’s face, but you don’t care to move it - wanting to hear what he has to say.

“I’m gonna read you something that I found in my room.” You lean forward, placing your chin in the palm of your hand with sincere regard. “It’s a note. From you to me. In eight grade.”

A year after we first met.

Your face softens. Because you know exactly what this note contains. Steve clears his throat as he takes out the note from his pocket, smoothing down the rips and the wrinkles. The ink is smudged, messy and hurried but there is something genuine laced within those words.

‘Dear Steve,

You are truly one of the dumbest people I’ve met. So dumb, that you can’t realize that I literally have the biggest crush on you in the world. I like you. More than I like chocolate ice cream and more than I like move night. I could spend forever with you - that is until you make me just as insane as you. I’d donate my own braincells for you. I think I might love you. What even is love? You are too cool to be my friend. Too cool to be my partner in crime. And definitely too cool to be my Anyways, I’m writing this because I have too many feelings right now. Maybe it’s just hormones. Maybe it’s one of those things. But just know, that I’ll be here for you - no matter what - despite the teasing, or the dorky jokes, or the number of bad movies you always make me watch. I’m here. And I love you.

(Like a friend, of course)

Your best friend, Y/N.

By the time Steve has finished reading, his eyes are watery. He chuckles at himself, glancing at the paper one last time before he folds it neatly back into place. “I found it in my backpack.” He briefly waves it in the air. “I... you must’ve mixed my backpack up with yours because-”

“Because we had matching backpacks.” You smile sentimentally. “And everyone thought we were - were complete nerds for matching.”

“Yeah, they did.” He passes the letter to you, but his hands envelop yours when you attempt to take it. His fingers draw shapes on your skin, and he pulls your hands closer to him. “Letters are meant to be read, Y/N. And not only that, letters are meant to be answered.” He pauses, “And years later, I finally have an answer to that letter.”

“If this is you feeling - feeling pitiful towards me, for what I said...”

“It’s not. This is how I really feel. I’m doing this because... because I’m not lost. Not anymore.” He tightens his hold. “Y/N. You are truly one of the most unique, smartest and loving people I’ve met.” He chuckles, feeling his throat tighten at his words. “I never - I was selfish for never realizing how much you care for me. Not just as a best friend, but more. And yeah, it took me forever to - to realize that, but I was scared. Part of me has always had a crush on you. And what you told me on Valentine’s just - it shocked me. Because I was never looking for love in the right places. Love was in front of me, all along. She was sitting in the passenger seat of my car, watching terrible movies at the drive-ins, and wearing matching backpacks with me. I didn’t see it because I was too busy trying to see you as my best friend, rather than - rather than a soulmate. I’ve always loved you, Y/N. We grew up together. And you helped make me who I am.”

You can only look at Steve with doting yet astonished eyes.

The abyss in your heart...

It was finally releasing you.

“Steve, you-”

He holds a hand up, clicking his tongue. “I’m not done.” You nod for him to continue you, placing your other hand over his. “I remember the story behind Forget-Me-Nots. How it’s always had a special place in your heart.” He lets go of your hands, reaching for the flowers instead. He examines it, before he looks up to you with a grin. “A man saw beautiful blue flowers growing on this - this weird plant. And so, he jumped into water to get the blue flowers for his love. Although the current was strong, the man crossed the river safely and got the flowers. But on his way back, he was taken away in the water. Yet before he disappeared, he threw the bouquet of forget-me-nots to his love. She wore these flowers on her hair until the day she died and never forgot about him.” He takes a deep breath, before handing the flowers to you. “Every time I looked at these flowers, I-I thought of you. And I kept them alive. Isn’t that crazy? They’re still alive.”

Your lips pull into a shy smile as you duck your head to smell the flowers. “You’re unforgettable, Y/N.” He reaches over, caressing your cheek. You sigh into his touch, letting your eyes flutter shut against your skin. “I want you to remember that I’ve always loved you. It just took me a little while because well... I’m an idiot.”

“You are!” You laugh, giggling into his hand. He leans into your room, pressing an innocent kiss to the top of your head. His lips stay there, and he smiles into your hair. “Steve?”

“Y/N?”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Let’s stay like this forever. I wanna remember this. I want you to remember this.”

“I would never forget it, Steve.”

Unforgettable.

1K notes · View notes

hotchslut · 4 years

Text

believe it’s the fright

spencer reid/reader (strangers to enemies to lovers)

summary: y/n gets drunk and finds a new way to get under spencer’s skin. (part 2 of series. part 1 linked above.)

As the team gathered at the round table, (y/n) made a point of pulling up next to Hotch. The two had spent a lot of time together around the office in the past week and she had actually grown quite fond of him. He was patient with her and never made her feel inferior for asking questions, even the stupid ones. Everyone was always calling him uptight, remarking how he didn’t have a sense of humor, but (y/n) knew better. Although she had yet to make him break, she knew he was just being professional, and he never seemed to mind when (y/n) got a little goofy with him.

“Good morning, Hotchy,” (y/n) singsonged, grabbing his iPad from in front of him to get a good look at the crime scene photos before Garcia explained the case.

Spencer was sat across from her, twiddling that fucking pen between his fingers. “(y/n), it’s 6 in the morning, do you need to be so loud?” he whined, reaching for a sip of his coffee.

Even after last week's long case, she had never seen Spencer look so tired. He was almost always early to work, and not once had he made a complaint about it being too early. Sure today they had been called in a little earlier than usual, but Spencer just didn’t strike her as a night owl. “Late night, Spencer?” She prodded, reaching to kick him under the table but she couldn’t quite reach.

“Why do you care about how I spend my nights, (y/n),” he groaned, palming his tired eye.

“Who was she?” (y/n) leaned forward, grinning from ear to ear, trying to read any hint Spencer gave her.

Before he had the chance to reply, Garcia flew into the room and addressed the team, “Alright, my friends, I am so sorry, but this one is a bit of a downer.”

Without saying a word, Hotch took his iPad back from (y/n), but positioned it so she was able to look over at the screen. Luckily, this case was happening right at home in Virginia, so the team wouldn’t be completely abandoning her for the next couple of days.

Everyone contributed to the debriefing of what exactly they’d be looking for. Even (y/n) had an idea or two. They were shot down quite fast, but it still felt nice to be involved. Once everyone was on the same page, Hotch began assigning everyone to their tasks. “JJ and Morgan, I’ll have you down with the M.E., Rossi I want you to head down to the first crime scene. Reid, you and I will go interview the suspect who’s in police custody. Being here in Virginia means I’ll have you shadow me throughout the case, (y/n).” Everyone nodded in agreement and started to head on their separate ways.

While (y/n) was ecstatic to actually have the opportunity to learn some more practical skills, she was a little peeved that it was going to be with Spencer. To her, it would’ve made more sense to send him to the medical examiner or to the crime scene; What was this high-pitched skinny kid going to do to interrogate a potential murderer? She levelled with herself, believing that no matter what happened, she could probably get a good laugh out of the whole thing.

(y/n) was nervous as she entered the police station. She had never stepped foot in one, despite the fact she probably deserved to a few times. It made her a little uneasy to know that the highlight she was wearing had been shoplifted from Sephora just a couple months prior, so she just took a moment to thank God she had never been caught.

“What are you thinking about?” Spencer asked, as they walked side by side, trailing slightly behind Hotch.

The question took her off guard. She despised when people asked what she was thinking about. If she wanted them to know, she would’ve simply said it out loud. Besides, most of the time she wasn’t even thinking anything at all. There wasn’t always a whole lot going on up there. “This is my first time in a cop shop,” she explained, taking in the room.

“That’s surprising,” he quipped.

After introducing (y/n) to the sheriff, he led the pair into the interrogation room.

“This is just like the movies,” (y/n) remarked, spinning around to look at each gray wall before heading to the one way mirror. Inside sat a man, probably larger than Hotch and Spencer combined.

“This isn’t supposed to be fun,” Spencer judged when he saw the look of amusement in (y/n)’s eyes.

After observing the suspect a moment longer, she turned to the profiler and barked, “So why did you choose to do it for a living then?”

“To help people,” Spencer replied, holding eye contact. He shrugged while speaking with a sincerity in his eyes that (y/n) didn’t feel would be appropriate to challenge.

Accepting her defeat, she turned back to the suspect while Hotch joined on the other side of her. The three stood for a moment trying to read the man. “He doesn’t look nervous,” (y/n) profiled, though she wasn’t sure exactly what that would mean.

“Not yet,” Spencer replied, walking towards the door with Hotch following close behind.

When he saw the agents walk in, the man grinned. It left (y/n) with a gross feeling inside. She always had good intuition when it came to people, and she knew just by looking at him that he was certainly guilty of something. Unfortunately, she didn’t have anything to actually back that up, as someone's vibes wouldn’t exactly hold up in court.

She watched intently as Hotch and Spencer worked through their interrogation, taking mental notes of how they executed their approach. The team had previously profiled their unsub as a narcissist psychopath who viewed the women he had killed as surrogates, though they were struggling with identifying who exactly they were surrogates for. In (y/n)’s fairly unprofessional opinion, it didn’t seem the boys were getting too far. While she absolutely felt herself learning some valuable tools she was hoping to get the chance to apply later, she also found herself having fun watching unknowingly timid Spencer act tough towards this monster of a man. After about an hour of back and forth, Hotch and Spencer accepted their temporary loss and stood up to walk back into the room (y/n) was standing in.

“Am I wrong in assuming you didn’t get too much out of that?” (y/n) tried to sympathize.

Hotch remained silent, trying to replay in his head everything he had heard. Spencer’s brows were furrowed as he looked down quizzically. His jaw hung open as his tongue ran across his lips. (y/n) could tell he was thinking hard as his facial movements and expressions seemed to be a subconscious effort. “Actually, yes,” he finally spoke. He looked up, looking at Hotch then (y/n), trying to come up with the right wording. “Yes, you’re wrong,” he swallowed before bringing his hands up to continue his monologue. Sometimes (y/n) thought the way he spoke with his hands was going to give her whiplash, but she also knew that was just her being dramatic. “He mentioned before that he was raised to respect women and would therefore never do something like this, but when we asked further about his family he retorted that that was personal and not relevant to the case. This was the only time he mentioned someone other than himself,” Spencer explained rather quickly.

“That’s sus,” (y/n) replied in an attempt to help Spencer feel validated in the direction he was going. Instead, he just glared at her, implying she had overstepped and he wasn’t finished talking.

“This guy is proving to be a textbook narcissist. We need to have Garcia dig up anything she can on his family,” Spencer paused, making sure he truly believed what he was about to say before continuing, “I think the women are surrogates for his mother.”

Hotch nodded, gesturing for Spencer to continue. “See what Garcia can pull up before making any assumptions with him,” he explained. It was clear Hotch trusted any of Spencer’s instincts, but he still wanted all approaches to be tackled thoroughly.

Spencer dug into his pocket and rapidly pulled out his phone and dialed for Garcia. “Hello, my pretty little brainiac, please tell me you’re giving me something to do,” she pleaded through the speaker phone. (y/n) took note that apparently “pretty little brainiac” was acceptable but “Spence” was crossing a line. In her opinion, the former seemed a little more demeaning.

Garcia worked quickly, giving Spencer all the information he needed and then some. “I need to talk to him again,” he told Hotch, without hinting at what it was exactly he needed to talk about.

Hotch gave him the go ahead while himself and (y/n) took their positions at the window. When Spencer reapproached the suspect, he didn’t speak until he slammed both his hands down on the desk separating them, leaning far enough in that he could’ve hardly breathed out a whisper and it would have sufficed. Instead, he yelled directly at the man.

“What the fuck is he doing?” (y/n) posed, trying not to laugh.

Hotch patiently explained the tactic and why it was going to work on this specific individual. (y/n) understood, but she couldn’t help but feel it would’ve been more effective had it been Hotch doing the screaming. Nothing about Spencer was scary. Sure he could be a little snappy, but when it came to being threatening, (y/n) got more scared walking past a group of teenagers than hearing Spencer attempt to forcefully bellow accusations.

--------

In the police station conference room, Spencer stood staring at the bulletin board, tracing his fingers across a map. Hotch was playing and replaying certain sections of the recording from Spencer’s interrogation while (y/n) sat at the desk across from him, impatiently tapping her foot. She had finished the small amount of paperwork that was ready to be processed and was fading fast from her early rise.

“Soooo,” she breathed out. She was not only tired, but she was starting to go stir crazy in this tiny room. Hotch looked up at her while Spencer continued tracing his finger between crime scenes. “What are you going to do? Don’t you have to either make an arrest or let him go by 24 hours?”

Hotch decided to turn this into a teaching moment, which (y/n) was not at the brain capacity to handle. “What do you think we should do?” he quizzed.

“Let him go,” she said point blank. “Dude’s weird as hell but you don’t have any evidence. Also, you have his contact information, it’s not like you can’t change your mind later.”

“That’s not exactly the most tactful approach,” Spencer judged, not bothering to turn around to face her.

Hotch had to agree with both of them. “It might not be tactful, but she’s right. We don’t have any evidence. I think we need to rethink our profile.”

Spencer tried to hide his disappointment - The team wasn’t usually wrong, and it was never fun to have to start over when they had worked so hard. “The profile’s not wrong,” he fought. He knew that for sure, and while the man they were holding definitely fit the description they were looking for, he couldn’t argue that they could at the very least have the wrong guy.

“Hotch, do you mind if I go grab a coffee?” she asked, knowing she was going to pass out right on the table if she didn’t fuel herself soon. “Like, not the break room coffee,” she clarified.

Needing a pick-me-up himself, Hotch handed (y/n) a $20 and instructed her to bring him back one, as well.

Spencer finally spun around, his ears perking up at the idea of coffee, like a dog whose owner had just called for a walk. (y/n) looked over to him, and it was no surprise he was also flashing her some unintentional puppy dog eyes while he whined, “Me too, please.”

“But, Spencie, I don’t know your order,” she whined back. She took a risk with the nickname, and while he didn’t look happy, it didn’t earn her the same outburst that “Spence” did.

“Spencer, you can go with her, I’m going to go release our suspect,” Hotch instructed.

Spencer and (y/n) walked down the street by the police station. Neither of them were sure exactly where they were going, but assumed they’d pass by a coffee shop quite quickly. As they walked on the path, Spencer tried bringing up his hand to speak, accidentally brushing (y/n)’s. “Are you trying to hold my hand, Spencer?” she joked before he had the chance to speak. Spencer grew flustered and annoyed at the accusation.

“No-”

(y/n) laughed, loving how riled up she could get Spencer over practically nothing. “Don’t be shy,” she taunted, reaching out and grabbing his hand.

He quickly and rather aggressively pulled his hand away. “I don’t like touching.”

“I don’t have cooties.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” He looked down at her and smiled. It wasn’t a nice smile, however, it was one of those tight and thin-lipped smiles. The kind that showed her that he was proud of himself for his bitchy remark.

She laughed again, showing him she wasn’t actually offended. Pissing off Spencer was fun and hearing the often well-spoken and put together doctor stoop to her level was the highest form of entertainment for her. Her intention was never to create a hostile work environment, and she definitely didn’t want Spencer to hate her, despite how much she disliked him. Nothing she had said had been a lie. She found him to be incredibly annoying and everytime she thought he was growing on her, he would go off on one of his statistics tangents that made her want to rip her ears off. Although, being around Spencer wasn’t necessarily the worst thing in the world, but it wasn’t because she liked him. It was because she loved making his day a little worse by annoying the hell out of him. She knew that probably made her a bad person, but she couldn’t control it. He made it so easy. She figured as long as it didn’t escalate to them going home at the end of the day crying and that they were able to remain at least kind of professional around each other, there was really no harm in having a little fun.

--------

Spencer was right. She hated to admit it, but it was something she was going to have to get used to. The case closed in just under 2 and a half days and the whole crew had just finished handing their reports in to Hotch. It turned out the man they had been holding had, in fact, been a psychopath, but when the true unsub claimed another victim as Hotch was releasing him, it was evident he was not the man they were looking for.

(y/n) was the last one to hand in her work and saw everyone packing up as he headed down the stairs to the bullpen. “I am exhausted,” she practically yelled on her way over to her desk. She didn’t know how the rest of the team did it, she was hardly involved and the case had taken a significant toll on her energy levels. “I love almost all of you, but I cannot wait to not talk to anyone until tomorrow.”

“Almost all of us?” JJ pestered.

“Spencer’s got some work to do,” (y/n) explained, looking over at the boy who refused to give her more than an eyeroll in response. If he was being honest, he was getting pretty sick of always being the butt of her jokes. He wondered if it would kill her to just leave him alone for 5 minutes. He didn’t care that they didn’t get along, he knew he wasn’t going to get along with every person he met, but there was no reason for her to have made that comment.

“Well, I’ve got some bad news for you, (y/n),” Garcia chimed in from her position sitting on top of Derek’s desk.

(y/n) threw herself into her chair dramatically. “Not another case already,” she groaned, looking up at her.

“No, no, don’t worry,” she soothed her with a chuckle, “Rossi’s buying everyone drinks at O’Keefe’s AND since you’re new to the family, you haven’t had a night out with us, so you have to come.”

(y/n) had never heard of O’Keefe’s, but if there were going to be drinks she didn’t have to pay for, she was without a doubt going to be there. A new burst of energy rang through her body, as she quickly stood up and threw her purse over her shoulder. “So what are we doing here?” she asked.

The whole group celebrated as they began walking towards the elevators and towards the bar. They hadn’t had a night out in what felt like forever, so each of them were determined to make the most of it.

“May I suggest,” (y/n) spoke loudly with a sly grin, “a round of shots since it’s, like, my first night out with the gang?”

Everyone was seated around a fairly small table that they had to pull extra chairs up to. (y/n) was squeezed between Spencer and JJ so tightly that her legs were touching both of them. She didn’t think anything of it, in fact she hardly noticed. That’s what happens when 7 people fit around a table for 5. Spencer on the other hand, grew incredibly uncomfortable.

“A round of shots it is,” Rossi exclaimed, waving a waitress over. “Seven shots, please,” he asked once she arrived.

“Six,” Spencer spoke softly.

(y/n) turned her whole body to face him and in doing so, unintentionally placed his leg ever so slightly between her thighs. “You’re getting one, what the fuck?”

He tried not to squirm at his discomfort. “I don’t drink.”

“Like, ever?” (y/n) laughed, only slightly judging him. She knew people had completely valid reasons for not drinking, and under normal circumstances she would never pry or pressure, but nothing regarding Spencer was ever a normal circumstance.

“Not really, no,” he shrugged. Noticing that wasn’t good enough for her, he continued, “Every so often on special occasions.”

“Is this not a special occasion?” she asked, turning her body back to receive her shot. She noticed everyone had one, one had even been slid across to land in front of Spencer.

He laughed at her, too quietly to hear, but anyone could see it. It was one of those moments where he had to rethink where it was he stood with her. Every single thing she said was enough to make him want to scream in resentment, but she was so fucking charming about it all. “Because it’s your first night out with us?”

“Because it’s my first night out with you!”

“Not good enough,” he said, sliding his shot away from him again.

JJ peeked over (y/n) to get a good look at Spencer. “C’mon, Spence, are you going to do it or not? We’re ready to go!”

Suddenly (y/n)’s whole demeanor changed. Being seated with a group of profilers, she didn’t want anyone to notice, so she tried her best to smile along, but she was mad. She was infuriated. Though, she didn’t know why. Why could JJ call him “Spence” when she couldn’t? It wasn’t just that she couldn’t, it was that he got mean when she did. She wasn’t sure why this was affecting her so much. She realized JJ and Spencer had been friends for years before she had even entered the picture, but something about it still stung. Frustrated with herself for allowing herself to even care, she decided it was time to drink. And hard. “It’s fine, I’ll take yours for you,” she spoke, reaching across him to grab the shot, refusing to look at him.

As the night carried on, (y/n) could feel herself getting a little too drunk, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t just because of Spencer, either. She was feeling genuinely happy as she conversed and joked around with the rest of the team. She hadn’t known them very long, but they were so welcoming and friendly, she felt perfectly at ease.

Everyone else seemed to be feeling the effects, too. Rossi and Hotch had left about an hour prior, but not after loosening up a bit themselves, which was fun for (y/n) to see, considering how they usually were at work. Derek was at the pool table trying to pick up girls when JJ looked to Penelope and invited her up to the bar to get another drink, leaving (y/n) and Spencer still seated.

“Hey,” (y/n) began, naturally putting her hand on Spencer’s thigh to address him, “Let’s go play darts.”

Spencer obliged, but mostly because he didn’t want to just sit there at the table trying to converse with an intoxicated girl who he didn’t necessarily enjoy the company of even when she was sober. Maybe he did need a drink to get through this night.

“I’m really good at this,” she slurred, throwing the first dart. She was right, she almost got a bullseye first try. Luckily, Spencer wasn’t bad himself. At least this meant it would be a fun challenge for both of them.

They mostly played in silence, which (y/n) never found awkward, but Spencer grew anxious. “So, you got Hotch tonight,” he remarked.

“What do you mean?” She scrunched her nose up, completely unsure of what it was he was referring to. Trying to rack her brain for what it was, she stumbled slightly, grabbing onto Spencer’s shoulder for support, just in case. “Sorry, sorry, you don’t like touching,” she apologized, immediately letting go. Usually she wouldn’t apologize for making him feel bad, but she understood where anxiety around touching could stem from and didn’t want to cross any non-verbal lines.

“It’s okay, just don’t think so hard, you’re going to hurt yourself,” he spewed. He knew she was just holding on for support, so he wasn’t exactly mad about it. An apology for all the leg touching might go a long way though.

Any trace of a smile on (y/n)’s face disappeared. The last thing she wanted to hear in that moment was a dig at her intelligence. Suddenly she wasn’t feeling as bad about getting handsy.

“I just meant you cracked him tonight,” he explained. When she didn’t reply he could feel himself burning up a little, hoping he hadn’t completely missed the mark. “That’s what you’ve been trying to do isn’t it? Make him laugh?”

Suddenly (y/n) forgot about being offended. The alcohol was definitely screwing around with her emotions. “Yeah, how’d you know? But, like, tonight doesn’t count. I’m wasted, he was drunk… It doesn’t count. I’m going to make him crack in the office,” she delivered almost like a dramatic monologue.

Spencer laughed. He would love to see that. The pair continued with their game as Derek walked over to join them.

“Nooo!” (y/n) yelled as she saw him approaching. “You struck out?” she asked, part sympathetically and part sarcastically, placing a hand on his arm.

Spencer noticed the gesture and thought about how now that Derek was here and she was self-described “wasted’, she was just going to start putting her hands all over him. He just hoped that meant he was safe.

“No, actually,” he corrected her, “The ladies were just heading to the bathroom. I thought maybe boy genius here would like to join me when they come back.”

(y/n) grew ecstatic at the idea. “Baby boy gonna go get his flirt on?” she teased. She had seen the girls Derek was talking to and they were HOT. Way out of Spencer’s league, that’s for sure. Which, if (y/n) was being honest, might leave Spencer emotionally bruised after a night of trying to talk with them, but for her, it was going to be a hoot.

“I’m okay, thank you,” he told Derek, pursing his lips.

“Oh, come on! Don’t you want to impress them with some magic tricks?” Derek baited.

“40 year old virgin over here,” (y/n) told Derek, causing the both of them to snicker.

Spencer on the other hand, didn’t find it as funny. “I’m 33,” he reminded them.

“Still a virgin,” (y/n) mocked.

He wasn’t sure why this made him so upset. It’s not like his sexual life was any of his coworkers business. He couldn’t hide the fact he was slightly humiliated, however. “No, I’m not, thank you.” The way he spoke, hitting each consonant, would’ve been enough to make (y/n) ears bleed, had she not been currently inebriated.

Derek knew this, of course. Derek was probably the only person besides Spencer who was familiar with the ins and outs of Spencer’s kind of existent, but not exactly exciting sex life.

Seeing Spencer getting all worked up over the subject of sex was filling (y/n) with a kind of seratonin she hadn’t felt in quite a while. He said it himself, he was 33, so why did the subject get him so rattled? Just then, the girls exited the bathroom and walked back over to the pool table. “Spencer, if you don’t go try to fuck one of those girls then I will,” (y/n) said, eyes not drifting from the two girls.

“You don’t have to talk about them like that,” Spencer complained.

At this point, the alcohol had completely settled in, leaving (y/n) without a care in the world about what she did or said. “But they’re so hot. Look at them,” she pleaded, waving her hands to prompt Spencer to turn around.

He knew they were pretty, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for trying to pick someone up when he knew they were cooler than him and that it probably wouldn’t end well for him.

“Don’t you just want to take them home, rip their clothes off, and dominate the hell out of them,” (y/n) asked, finally turning back to face him. She could tell he was trying to suppress any emotions, which clearly meant it wasn’t working out well for him. Knowing she’d be able to get him completely riled up, she didn’t want to quit. “They’d probably sound so fucking good moaning underneath you while you took control. C’mon, Spencer, I’ve seen you take charge. I bet you want to slam them onto a table like you did with your hands in that interrogation room the other day.” She was lying through her teeth. There was no way Spencer had a dominant bone in his body. Sure, he faked it well enough on the job, at least sort of. In the bedroom though, she knew this boy had to be all missionary all the time.

Spencer was thoroughly embarrassed. Conversations revolving around sex were generally a no-go for him anyways, but hearing someone talk about him, did anything but turn him on. He was done and he wanted to go home. Besides, it was going on 1am and all of them had work the next day. “Let’s go home,” he finally said. He didn’t want (y/n) to see how uneasy this conversation was making him, so he decided to just drop it completely.

“You want to take me home?” (y/n) faked flattery.

“I’ll take that as my cue to go,” Derek said, leaving to join the girls by the pool table again. He knew they weren’t actually going home together, but he would’ve used anything as an excuse to get away.

“That’s not what I mean,” Spencer exhaled, feeling her getting under his skin worse than she had before. “I mean you’re embarrassingly drunk, it’s late, and we both have work in the morning.”

(y/n) didn’t want to leave. She was having fun, but she knew he was right. “Will you drive me home?”

“I don’t drive,” he told her. He was just going to leave it at that, but no matter how much he despised this girl, especially right now, he wasn’t just going to leave her drunk in the bar with no way of getting home.

“What, you want me to drive then?” she half joked but with a little too much anger in her tone.

Spencer was exasperated. She was impossible. “We’ll share a cab,” he tried to reason.

“No, I hate cabs.”

“What? Why do you hate cabs?” He started doing the thing where he overused his hands and spoke at an extremely high pitch. He was simply overwhelmed. “You want to take the subway with me?” he finally asked, thoroughly vanquished.

“I think that would be fun.”

He rolled his eyes and turned to walk towards the door. Shocked by how quickly he was moving, (y/n) rushed after him to catch up.

She had had fun that night. If anything, she was happy to have a new way to get at Spencer and couldn’t wait to get to work and grind his gears a little more the next day. As they walked silently to the station, Spencer occasionally held his arm out to make sure (y/n) was balanced. Even if she was doing fine, he got nervous. The events of the night kept replaying in his mind. It was one of those nights where he cursed his eidetic memory. Meanwhile, (y/n) couldn’t stop thinking about the irony of everyone calling Hotch the uptight one, when it was really Spencer who couldn’t seem to let loose. She was going to have to change that.

“Hey, Spencer,” (y/n) intruded on the silence as they stood waiting for the train.

“Mhm,” he replied, still relatively lost in his own thoughts.

“Do you know you’re hot?” she pondered.

That was enough to get Spencer out of his head and into the moment. “What do you mean?”

(y/n) groaned, “Do you know you’re hot? What the fuck don’t you understand?”

Spencer swallowed nervously and placed his hands in his pockets, thinking of what to say. Truthfully, he never really thought about it. It didn’t exactly matter. He definitely had days or weeks of feeling self conscious over his looks, but who didn’t? “You know,” he began, and if (y/n) wasn’t so far gone she would’ve picked up on his nervousness, “1 in 10 men actually think they’re hot.”

“So, do you?” she continued to pry. She looked up to him and while he could feel her trying to catch his gaze, he just kept looking ahead. “I would totally go home with you if it weren’t for your personality.”

“Thank you, (y/n), that’s great to hear - That it’s not my looks which are the problem, but my personality.” He was clearly offended, but she didn’t understand exactly why. She had spent the past two weeks telling him how annoying she thought he was.

“Don’t be such a little bitch about it,” she exclaimed, “I think you’re annoying but everyone else seems to love you.” While there may have been a sort of backhanded compliment in there somewhere, the way she spoke would suggest otherwise.

Neither of them spoke for the next few minutes until the subway arrived. When it finally did and the doors opened, (y/n) grabbed his hand to lead him on. She didn’t understand that they were having a fight. Spencer shook her off of him as he followed her, but for the rest of the ride to his stop, he couldn’t stop thinking about what would’ve happened if he had just let her hold his hand for those few moments.

#spencer reid #spencer reid/reader #spencer reid series #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic

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canyouhearthelight · 4 years

Text

The Miys, Ch. 67

In theory this was queued to post at 2pm EST today... so, 4.5 hours ago. I am SO SORRY it didn’t post on time!

I’m baaaaack!

The break after the holiday was very much needed, so thank you for your patience with no chapter last week. Taking the time helped me level-set a few things and get back to a good place with this.

Also! This chapter has been beta’d, once again, by the fabulous @satan-parisienne. What I would do without her is a mystery of the universe some days.

I’ve received some very curious and polite feedback about how out-of-character some of the main characters have behaved in this arc - I have the nicest readers, ever, I swear! - and I wanted to let everyone know that it’s actually intentional. I wanted to show them fraying at the edges a bit, showing various levels of cranky from feeling the effects. Something true-to-life, in my experience.

Trigger warnings: Mention of sorta-suicide in this chapter. About as much as that sentence, honestly.

As soon as Conor heard that our microscopic new friend was safe for the time being, he gave Maverick very stern instructions to make sure I lied down and did not try to sit back up once I had done so. While one of my partners gently but firmly ensured just that, the other started dragging an empty berth until it was pressed directly against my own. Rapidly, and with focused determination, he rigged the two together so they would not move apart – although, given the sheer weight of the berth, I was surprised he moved it in the first place.

Miys seemed to understand entirely what Conor was up to, as it very gently lifted me and placed me in the center of the combined platforms, carefully ensuring any tubes were tucked where they could not be pulled loose or crimped. Before I realized exactly what had happened, I was sandwiched between Conor and Maverick, their own transfusion ports reconnected.

Gently, I tried to loosen the arms both of them had thrown across my stomach. “I’m not trying to get up, I promise. But I need to breathe, you two.”

“Sleep,” Maverick mumbled in my right ear, the one that could still hear. “You promised lots sleep.”

“Else – “

Conor sat up slightly, leaning on his elbow so I could see his face and read his lips. “You’ve been debriefed. And you heard Xio as well as the rest of us: Else is sentient, so killing them is off the table. You promised.”

Picking my head up slightly, I dropped it as dramatically as possible and huffed. “You’re right. I did promise. I’m just worried.”

“Worried for a bacteria that could potentially kill you.”

Conor chuckled. “That’s her nature, mate. Forgiving as the moonlight, dancing on water, our Sophie.” Gently, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I bet you’ve already forgiven us, too.”

“You were scared – “

“So were you,” Maverick argued mournfully. “And we still stormed out of here.”

I tried to stifle the yawn that crept up on me, but judging by the looks I got, I was unsuccessful. “Can we table this until I wake up again? Or until this crisis is over, just before the next one.”

“No more crises,” he mumbled into my neck, burrowing as deep as a grown man possibly could.

“If only,” I sighed. “That would be nice. But a nap sounds nice, too.”

“Lots of sleep, you promised.”

I nodded. “I did.” Glancing at Conor, I nodded again. That seemed to satisfy him, because he dropped off his elbow, grabbed the knee Maverick had hooked over my hips, and proceeded to do his part to pin me to the bed.

“I’m gonna snore, you two,” I complained weakly.

“Least we know you’re asleep if you’re snoring.”

“As opposed to awake?”

“As opposed to dead if you three don’t shut up,” Tyche’s voice called from across the room. I was extremely grateful she couldn’t see past the shaggy head of black hair that was hiding my blush from her.

When I finally fell asleep, I dreamed vaguely. I could remember seeing the Ark again, this time in the best shape it had been in yet. Else spoke to me, but I could only recall that they sounded tired, frail. I’m worried about you, I remembered telling them. They already knew. They were worried about us, about humanity.

I woke, eventually, and I immediately recognized two distinct sensations. First, I was incredibly well-rested, more than I could say I had been since before the Food Festival. My body practically sizzled with unfamiliar energy and begged to move.

Second, I felt an overwhelming amount of dread. Something terrible was happening, but I couldn’t remember what it was. I sat bolt upright, belatedly realizing that I was no longer being cuddled to the bed. “Where is Grey?” I gasped, looking around wildly. “Xiomara, anyone. I need a member of the Council. Or Tyche.” In my panic, my eyes were entirely unseeing, and I jerked violently when I felt something touch my hand.

“Wisdom.” A familiar buzz brought me into focus. Miys had one liw on my hand, another on my shoulder. “You must calm yourself. No one is in any danger. Antoine is retrieving Xiomara as I speak to you.”

“Thank you,” I panted. Pulling my free hand to my chest in an attempt to calm my breathing, I bruised my sternum with the sheer amount of force I used. “What in the – “ Staring down, I felt my eyes start to hurt with the effort of opening even wider. “That hurt.”

Gingerly, I held my hand out, turning it back and forth, flexing my fingers, trying to figure out what was different. “Bones and ligaments, check,” I muttered to myself. “Five fingers, palm, wrist, check. Whopped up bruises, check…” Something caught my eye – or rather failed to – and I held up my arm further, looking at the crook of my elbow. Bruised. A glance at my other arm showed more mottling. Frantic, I carefully patted my body down as quickly as I could without hurting myself. A few more bruises made themselves known.

The bruises weren’t the alarming part… “Where are the transfusion ports?”

“They have been removed, Wisdom. You no longer need them.”

“Am I dying?”

A humming, clicking noise that I was pretty sure involved profanity followed. “You are not always dying, despite what Human Conor seems to believe.”

Human Conor. Someone was on Miys’s bad side. “Am I dying at this moment?”

“No, Wisdom. You are not. Your red blood cell and hemoglobin count are well within range for a Terran, and have been for quite some time – “

“How long?”

Wringing vomu were not a good sign. “I would prefer to let Antoine and Xiomara explain that.”

“How long, Noah!?”

The door hissed as my fellow Councilor breezed in, followed by a very concerned Antoine. “Oh, for about two days,” Xiomara answered airily.

“WHAT!?” I squawked elegantly.

She whirled around on me about the time Antoine came to check my vitals. “No one could wake you up, bonehead. So, before you get mad at us for drugging you, or not waking you, or some crap like that, we tried. You were barely not in a coma, woman. We didn’t drug you, and gods above and below know we tried our damnedest to wake you.”

I glanced at Antoine, who was nodding furiously. Mollified, I made a point to tone it down a notch. “So, I was asleep for two entire days?”

“More like four, sweetie,” she grinned unrepentantly. “You were ‘clinically exhausted’, which I didn’t even know was a thing…”

Her eyes widened comically as I waved her off. “Eyeah, it’s a thing. Feels like the flu. Nothing new.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but Antoine sent a Tyche-level cutting look at her. “I told you that it was in her file.”

“I thought you meant the current situation.”

“I TOLD you she has a history of this!”

Tears pricked my eyes as I turned to face him fully. “You didn’t let them give me medication to wake me up, did you?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed, his eyes kind and giving lie to the harshness of his comment. “Conor and Maverick were right about you needing sleep. I made sure to tell them as much so they would be as insufferable as possible about allowing you to sleep.”

“Sneaky motherfucker,” I whispered with a smile, earning myself a conspiratorial wink.

Xiomara rolled her eyes at our antics. “Anyway, you called us here for a reason…?”

Sitting up abruptly, I narrowly missed headbutting my favorite nurse on several worlds. “Something is wrong.” I waved off the inevitable request for clarity. “Not all of us being sick, or Else eating all the iron in sight. I talked to Else while I was asleep, and I don’t remember much, but they are weak. Frail is the word I remember saying. I know I told them I was worried for them, but when they responded, they said they were worried for us. They sounded like they were… dying, honestly…”

“No one has taken action against them,” Xiomara asserted. “Even Grey. Once you fell asleep, Grey was frustrated that we had to wait to negotiate with Else, but made no further attempts to eradicate them.”

”How sure are you?”

“Pretty sure, considering they have been holed up in their office since then, trying to determine logical alternatives such as relocation.”

That tracked. Grey was like logic made into an organic body, usually. “Then how am I getting better?”

Xiomara shrugged and looked to Antoine. He gave us each a regretful look and shook his head. “We do not know. It is not only you, but everyone on the Ark who is improving. We do not know why.”

My mind raced, feverishly looking for an answer. “Nixe. How is Nixe?” I demanded.

“Out of her life support tank, being transfused regularly. Noah is working to clone new lungs,” Xiomara reassured me.

“They didn’t want to hurt anyone,” I whispered, but Xio caught Antoine looking at me strangely. I spoke up. “Else didn’t want anyone to die. They didn’t want to hurt anyone, they said. They were sorry.” I gasped and tried to get out of my berth, but Antoine firmly pushed me back and shook his head. “Don’t you two see what Else is doing?” I repressed a groan as both of them only returned my question with confused looks. “Noah! Noah, you have to know what I’m referring to. If your use of resources hinders the life of another being, what do you do?”

“I place my bodies in hibernation until equilibrium is reached.”

“And when your race couldn’t place itself in hibernation, what did it do when resources were strained?” I hoped and prayed I got the answer I was expecting, but prepared myself for the instance I had to argue.

Fortune favors the bold, it turned out, and Noah told me exactly what I anticipated. “My kind would return our bodies to the soil, Wisdom.”

Xiomara looked frustrated, but Antoine gasped and covered his mouth. When she gave him a confused look, he actually groaned. “Killing themselves, Xiomara. They killed the extra bodies to maintain ecostasis. They aren’t individuals, so it isn’t really suicide, but they still killed the necessary amount of bodies to reduce resource demands.”

“Except Else isn’t as evolved as the Hujylsogox are,” I continued. “There is a possibility that, once they reach a certain point, they aren’t sentient anymore.”

“So, they can just grow more, right?”

I shook my head emphatically. “They may not be the same being anymore – Antoine! I’m fine! This is urgent! – If they drop below threshold and then essentially re-evolve, we have no guarantee that we are parleying with the same group. They could hate us for all we know, if that happens.”

Realization dawned on her face. “We have to do something.”

I nodded in grim confirmation. “I need an open channel to the Council, and I need it right fucking now. We have to figure out a solution that doesn’t result in giving PTSD to a bacteria that can easily kill us.”

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#the miys #humans are weird #science fiction #original writing #aliens #plague #tw: suicide #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #fiction #scifi

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adposto2 · 3 years

Text

WHERE is Gulberg Greens Islamabad.

Whom to trust whom not to?. Especially when it comes to investments, I think making decisions in this regard are harder than that lifetime effort made to earn that heavy amount. For instance me, who had been saving up for a decade now but took me more than three years to gain confidence enough to buy land. The money lying in the bank was only losing its worth . So, I knew I had to make a decision soon for my future security. Now the question rises whom to trust, rather how to? . Commercial Projects in Gulberg Islamabad

As we all know how fraud is common in this market. I can’t forget the first time I visited a real estate agent, the land that cost 15lac he was selling for 20 lac. And when I made a decision to buy it, it turned out to be a non-progressing land and probably have no worth howsoever. Now I knew this time is the right time to invest especially in the vicinity of Islamabad, my tension turned into frustration as I had never felt so helpless before. I was desperate for help YES… but was there anyone to guide me… unfortunately NO! One day while I was surfing Facebook, I came across Gulberg Islamabad’s post. The image was visually pleasing . Later ,when I dig down more to the content of their posts and website, the features seemed interesting too. Flat for sale in Gulberg islamabad

On top of all that, the name of Gulberg was quite promising itself. It suddenly clicked me to visit that place and visit their sales office rather than random property dealers. I entered Gulberg Greens and I was stunned by its beauty and grand look. I was overwhelmed by the hospitality of the Sales team that involved educated men and women as well. A lady helped me out with all the queries and procedure. For the first time I felt relieved to be in the right place and right away… yes right away I signed a cheque and booked an apartment in Gulberg Heights. The Roman architecture and amazing features and facilities that this place is offering was worth relying. So now I own my property and I surely believe that where there is a will there is a way! Commercial Plots in Gulberg Islamabad

My New Year Resolution

New Year Resolution: Enough of struggles… now it’s time to do more with my life! This is what I said to myself in the beginning of 2019 and changed my perspective about life. Life as we all know tests us in every way but it’s us who decide whether to become a victim of it or have control over it by learning from our mistakes and experiences… We can surely make it better by becoming stronger, by expecting less and giving more, by focusing on our dear ones rather than those who hurt us and most of us by analyzing what we want from life and how to get it! Of course it isn’t as easy as it sounds and not a work of day or two.

With time I realized that though we are always trying to comprehend everything around us, the most difficult thing to understand is what lies within us. Literally sometimes it takes years to figure out something as little as what is best for us and what isn’t. If I sound silly just try convincing yourself to do something against your will… My time for the last 4 years didn’t seem to be in my favor . But I simply accepted my fate till I couldn’t bear more, as not just my personal and professional life but also the lives attached to me were getting unbearably affected. I for once realized the cost of shattering my confidence and blaming myself.

No one was going to offer me solutions… I had to be my own master. I started off by taking care of myself, making my faith in Allah stronger . Also in any type of circumstance I didn’t let anything get me down. All this seemed impossible initially, but today I am where I am because of this. My relationships got better and I showed good progress at work. Along with work I started a new online business of mobile accessories in collaboration with my cosine. In just one year I have earned enough to make an investment. For 2020 I can proudly say that this year I will start a new better life at my favorite place in Islamabad, The Gulberg Islamabad.

I have already booked a plots in Gulberg Residencia and now I can’t wait to see my home being built where I will have everything I wish for, a place rather than a house will be my home. I will finally be able to make my family happy with this beautiful gift. As no doubt there is no place like Gulberg Islamabad.

Everyone wants to eat fresh fruits and vegetables. Don’t you???

In the serene and green Gulberg Residencia, is my beautiful home which means the world to me. And in that 7 marla home is my small lawn which is undoubtedly my favorite spot, my peace place. I can spend hours in my garden without getting bored since it makes me come alive from inside and I just love that feeling.

My mother, my favorite person is another person who loves this spot equally. Gardening is her hobby and more than me she the one who takes good care of this garden. My garden may be tiny, but its is filled with numerous colors of nature. Here you will see a huge and unique variety of flowers, fruits and vegetables. Roses are my all time fave. In addition to which we keep growing seasonal flowers and vegetables in the garden . Plots in Gulberg Green Islamabad.

The feeling is indescribable when you see the buds blooming, vegetable growing and new leaves sprouting… its like a new beginning of joy, hope and success. Plants are not just growing stem, they have a life. I often talk to them, while I water them, i pour my love and and when i hoe the soil, i know this care I put in them will in return bring more freshness to my life. Usually my day starts in my garden. It is a positive way to begin a day with the peace of mind. I practice deep breathing for around 20 minutes and then look at all the plants that I have.

I love spending the evening hours in my garden if I have time. Best are the days when my friends come over for evening tea. We chat and enjoy the beauty that surrounds us. My pretty little garden is surely an integral part of my life. This place vanishes all the negativeness and makes me happy in seconds.

THE BIG REAL ESTATE QUESTION

Isn’t it hell of a confusion to decide which society is the best! These days too many new residence societies are emerging and everyone claims to be the best.

Other than few famous names such as Bahria Town and GULBERG, we can’t really rely on anyone… can we? So many fraud examples are there to scare us from making an investment. Also when it comes to business, we are either putting all our money in the drain or luck has knocked our door.

I wonder how many people get looted just because they trust the decent looking humans who convince them with their words. With the out of the world promises imagine how lifetime savings are blown away with just a signature. Though we can’t blindly trust any agent few things must be considered before making any decision.

They have been working in Real Estate for a quite a long time.

Check out the successful transactions and the feedbacks of their previous clients.

Their contact details, be it online or offline should always be available and so should be the responsive rate.

They should definitely be affiliated with a registered office or should be registered by themselves.

They should have in-depth information of the real estate industry.

Must supply your real estate needs as their utmost priority.

They should guide properly for your transaction

My Encounter with a Real Estate Agent

Today, thanks to the education and awareness, women believe there is nothing on earth they can’t do, well… try dealing with an ignorant person without him staring at you top to bottom, as if you are sitting naked just for his entertainment.

Seems relatable doesn’t it? That’s not it, my encounter with the goof I’m referring to kept getting more and more interesting. He was none other but a real estate agent. My colleague told me about good investment opportunities at societies near new airport so I took some time off to visit a real estate office for a better understanding.

I entered a small office with few people all in white kameez shalwar, which till this day I don’t get why they only where white… is it their dress code? Or do they try to portray decency through their look. Well if so it didn’t really work on me. Instead of gaining interest all I wanted was to get away from the creepy looks. I asked him straight about the rates and the best offers they had within the budget I had. And after this long question he asked … “Madam Ji, what would you like to have chai or thunda (cold drink)” ? Confused I simply said, “NO, I don’t have time, please come straight to the point”… “Madam, how can we let our guest go unserved? Please feel comfortable.

So I ended up with a glass of juice which turned out to be much needed to clear my throat. Every time I asked a questioned, his eyes became wider and he bent towards me more… I thought he was going to sit on the table on some point. Well long story short, I changed my mind, received a fake call and escaped. It was till few months back when I went to the sales office of Gulberg Islamabad where I realized that decent dealing is possible in this profession.

I went with my colleague expecting disaster but she came out satisfied with all her quires answered. Now I too have made up my mind to invest only in Gulberg Green Islamabad because it’s not just serene and green, it has the best offers according to your requirements.

Life at Gulberg Residencia

Indeed, it was one of the best decisions of my life… we can’t regret the fact that our environment has a great influence on us. In other words, if we can’t adjust in our surrounding, nothing else can make us happy, neither money nor luxury. On the other hand, peace of mind in this fast moving era is not that easy to find. Cities are getting more and more crowded and so when I was capable of making an investment, all I could think was… PEACE! My residence was living in central area of Rawalpindi.

The daily traffic block added extra half an hour to my office distance which was only 10 km away. And not just travelling, I was sick of the noises, pollution and altogether, I was unhappy with my lifestyle… even going for outing was not a fun thing for me. I know many people are happy the way they are but not me and I couldn’t help it. I had imagined a better life for my wife and my two kids who meant the world to me.

One day I crossed a newly emerging society, the Gulberg Islamabad and I felt the urge to visit it. Though the elegant entrance with wide roads and amazing farmhouses, I thought this place is only for the elite class. Out of curiosity I asked a shopkeeper who showed me the way to the Gulberg Customer Dealing office. Again I was impressed but hopeless for I knew my savings were not enough.

Gathering up my confidence, I told the Sales Executive guy Mr. Mohsin about my total saving. Of course his response surprised me with a proposal not just for a living opportunity, but it offered an exceptional lifestyle, beyond my expectations at Gulberg Green Residencia. Though I could only afford a 5 marla plot, it was more than enough for me and my family. I thought it was the best gift I could give to my family and so it was.

When I brought my wife my kids and my parents to show them my plot, my wife was in tears of happiness and my mother couldn’t be more proud of me. I can’t wait for the time when I will move in to spend my dream life with my family. At Gulberg Islamabad, live your DREAM with SERENE AND GREEN LIFESTYLE!

#gulberg #gulberg greens #gulberg Islamabad #islamabad gulberg #gulberg residencia #plots in gulberg greens islamabad

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louadorable126 · 3 years

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Demons(you).me: Chapter 8 - The Cult of Fortuna’s charity event (Part 2)

Artwork Commissioned from Aya/Itouyas on twitter! Please check her out! <3

>>Click here to read on Ao3!<<

Summary:

In a city controlled by the generally altered race of Demons, Lady’s life as a mercenary on the lower floor was never easy. Especially when she ran into Dante. A demon on the hunt for his missing brother.

———–

Fandom: Devil May Cry

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Characters: Vergil, Lady, Dante, Trish

———–

Chapter 8:

“Who are you?!

The doppelgänger of Eva raised an eyebrow in confusion at his hysteria. “One of your kind?” She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I’m on your side, so calm yourself."

Wait, she sees herself as a demon? Great, that totally didn’t soothe Dante’s fears! In fact the complete opposite. Only bringing forth more questions than answers in his already overworked mind.

“S-Sorry. I, uh didn’t expect to see another…” He gulped for the words. "Another one of us down here.” He said shakily, lowering his sword, yet still not letting go of it completely. Playing along seemed like the best option right now in Dante’s mind. Freaking out, as reasonable as it was, wasn’t going to get him anywhere with this.“Why are you here then?"

“I would think the reason is pretty obvious, given that they are currently sitting around us.” The doppelgänger gestured to the limp bodies of the leaders. “Dispatch sent me to deal with these lunatics, and so I have. Though, how very thoughtful of them to send me a backup just in case~ You’re a damn good fighter, and I like that in an assistant."

“Dispatch?” So the demonic military had been looking into taking out the Cult of Fortuna as well then? Eh, not too big of a surprise. It was always gonna be a matter of time. At least on the upside, they’d saved him a job by pulling their ‘disappearing’ act on them here and now. “Oh right, dispatch! Yeah, they didn’t tell me anything about you being here. So hence, uh… all that-”

“Its fine, all is forgiven.” She cut in briskly, waving him off. Clearly holding no resentment at least. “They were probably trying to protect my identity. It's hard to put up a decent front if you know who you can trust!”

“True” Dante responded, somewhat detached; weakly leaning back against the solid wall behind him. In truth, he barely processed her words, too unsettled by the tone of her voice, that gentle yet smug smile not too dissimilar to his own… it was all too uncanny.

Ugh, this is so weird! He whined to himself, rubbing the bridge of his nose tiredly. Why couldn’t she just be a clone of Lady? At least she’d have another pretty sister if that were the case! Maybe a little more murderous, but I could work with that-

A chorus of radio chatter spat its way out of the busted helmet. Easily startling the two of them, as they quickly turned their heads towards the sound. The thick static it emanated, made it far too hard to make out exactly what was being said. But if Dante had to guess just by how many voices were overlapping each other whenever it did get audible, the situation sounded quite hectic.

“Seems like security just found out about our little play session." Gloria commented, glancing over her shoulder towards the open door. The sound of a stampede of feet bashing against laminate sounding in the distance. She sighed, shaking her head. “And here I thought Agnus would be a slower runner.”

“Hang on, you didn’t kill all of them?!” Dante yelled in surprise. This wasn’t good at all. How the hell were they going to make good on their deal with Augustus if they hadn’t cut off all the hydra’s heads? (Maybe a bit too literally in the unfortunate case of the guy near to Dante.) God, Vergil was going to have his guts for this…

“I dealt with who I was ordered to deal with. We’ll leave it at that.” The woman in white said ominously, turning her back on him and heading towards the door.

“Right. Totally not the short and simple way of saying you fucked up!” Dante scoffed, unbelieving.

“Oh, I could’ve killed him if I wanted.” Gloria reassured him confidently. Throwing her gilded blade up into the air playfully and catching it again stylishly. “We need to get moving.”

She left the room. Leaving Dante to on hurry after her begrudgingly; his bold red half-cape billowing behind him.

Okay. Maybe we can still get away with this, even if the cult leaders aren’t all dead! Dante thought, trying to reassure himself. As long as the Cult of Fortuna doesn't reform under Agnus. Augustus will have no reason to think we screwed up. Yeah! All he wants is his family to be free. So like he need to know about the finer details of this mission anyway-

His stream of consciousness was abruptly cut off, when his foot came into contact with something solid and heavy, just as he passed through the doorway. The demon glanced down curiously, only to immediately regret the decision when he found the two guards who’d assailed him at the door, laying out cold on the floor. Looking distinctly very dead, if the large pools of blood around them was anything to go by.

That explains why you guys didn’t come charging in at the first sound of commotion. Damn. Dante mused, awkwardly stepping over the guard’s arm he’d come into contact with. Trying to avoid getting blood on his dark metallic feet, with picky, small steps.

“Are you coming?” Gloria’s impatient voice asked. Dante looked up, finding his mother’s doppelgänger standing there in the darkness with her arms crossed disapprovingly - still holding her sword in one hand. “The sight of a few dead bodies scaring you, recruit?”

“Hey, I’m not the summer intern lady! Show me some respect, alright?” Dante said, biting back with his usual wit. Confidently walking off ahead of her down the hall ahead of her. “What even gives you authority over me anyway?”

“Oh I’ve only spent the last six months infiltrating my way inside here. I’d think with that amount of effort, I should be in charge instead of the guy who rocks up at the last minute!”

“Hey, sometimes it’s only the last few minutes that count in the end anyway!” Dante responded cheekily, lifting his crimson sword up and resting it on his shoulders. An overly-dramatic, mournful sigh escaping him, as he pressed his hand on his forehead, like he was a tragic character on stage. “Though, not that my epic tea serving skills will ever be appreciated now."

“They were very nice, dear.” Gloria complimented calmly from his side. The blond woman had caught up with him once again. "Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Perhaps. Although your real name would be nice too.” Dante smirked.

He knew he was pushing it a bit here. If she was sent by the demonic military, it was likely she wasn’t allowed to reveal her true identity to anyone for the sake of keeping things nice and secure; names always meant loose ends, and that was never good for anything covert.

It was a rule that Dante knew better than most (He kinda broke it... pretty often. Had the higher-ups or his dad found out about his first meeting with Lady for example, he no doubt would’ve gotten one hell of a rocket up his ass for how many protocols he’d broken). So the chances that uptight ‘Gloria’ here was gonna spill the beans on…well anything about herself, let alone the similarities to his mother, was unlikely at best.

It seemed he wasn’t wrong, as Trish’s face turned hard at the suggestion. Looking dead ahead with the stern procession, pretending as though he wasn’t there. Leaving an uncomfortable silence (Not that you couldn’t really call it that though, with all the panicked yelling and commands to ’search the area’ echoing down from a few corridors back) to fall upon them.

But that wasn’t to say there was a glimmer of hope. Every now and then, her lips would twitch almost like she was on the verge of saying something before shutting herself down once again. Until finally, she anxiously glanced over her shoulder and spoke.

“Trish.”

Hot damn! He actually got something out of her! “Trish? Oh like Beatrice-“

“Just Trish.” She insisted firmly. Her fixing her green eyes over to the young man beside her, with an fearsome intensity only Vergil could match. "And your’s?”

Oh. He hadn’t thought that far ahead with this.

Should I tell her? Crap, that was a tough question. Sure in the here and now it would be fine. Perfectly reasonable too since she’d given her own. But, what happened when this mission was over? Trish would most likely have to report back on how this operation went down. Write up some boring essay that Dante normally left Vergil to handle. She’d surely mention he was involved as her ‘back-up’ or something. And that would be fine if she left it vague. There were plenty of grunts like him out there so he’d be pretty anonymous.

But…if he was named. It wouldn’t take long for some clever-clogs back at dispatch to realise he was here unauthorised. Questions would be asked most certainly, and Dante wasn’t sure how well he or Vergil could defend themselves once that started happening. What, being involved in an unauthorised capacity on an operation months in the making, if he went off what Trish said. From there, it could only unravel more and more. The two week absence, Vergil’s little murder tour of the cities’ databanks, Lady, Eva-

What if they already know about Eva? Stuck the sudden, horrifying thought. Trish thinks she’s a demon. What if they had- No! They can’t have done that!

“I’m risking a lot telling you that, you know?” Trish huffed angrily, brushing hair out of her face rather elegantly. “Going to return the favour or not?”

“Yeah yeah I am..” Dante brushed her off, his voice quivering slight. If.. if they had done what he thought they’d done. There was no point hiding anything anymore.

There was no point to anything.

“Its.. its Dante”

“Good name.” Trish praised, a faint smile tracing her lips.

“Heard it before then?” He pried, returning with his usual confidant edge. Yet, that couldn’t be anywhere further from the truth in reality. His stomach was a torrent of nervous energy, swishing and swirling in anticipation for what would come as her reply. Honestly not sure if it would be a blessing or a curse if she did recognise him.

“No. It's just an instinct. Nothing grander than that I’m afraid.” Trish professed a little bashful. “Although, rolls off the tongue rather nicely I suppose."

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” Dante said, smiling weakly. Perhaps there was something there after all…

All of a sudden, Trish reached an arm across Dante’s chest and pulled him so they were both pressed flat against the wall.

“Hey, what was that for-“

“Shut it.” Trish ordered sternly, voice low. Putting a finger to her lips, before gesturing with her eyes to the end of the corridor.

Dante followed their gaze. In the dull yellow light leaking from around the corner. Two shadows, large and twisted in a way that made their builds indistinguishable, traced their way across the floor. Thankfully it seemed they had already passed by, if Dante guessed from the direction the shadows were moving. Having missed the pair of demons completely by some stroke of luck.

“Think we’re safe. They’re leaving.” Dante whispered, moving to get up, only the flat edge of Trish’s golden blade to be pressed against his chest. Pinning down him in place, unmoving.

“Not so fast.” Trish advised sternly. Carefully observing the shadows’ movements as they danced across the floor. “They’re going to loop back round any minute now."

“Loop back round? Look, their probably just catering staff on the move. Unless they’ve dropped any napkins on the floor that I’ve missed here, they are going to be long gone any minute now-“

“And why exactly would catering staff move in groups of two?” Trish inquired. She had a point. Tonight had taught Dante enough to know he was barking up the wrong tree here. He’d been left to do stuff on his own, actively encouraged in fact. So yeah, for two people to be walking around together with no trolly did seem kinda strange to be honest. “They’re most likely guards on patrol no doubt. My men….the cults' guards have a protocol to move in groups of two. Means if one goes down the other can call for help. I know because I instituted it."

“Geez, thanks for making our lives harder I guess?” Dante joked.

“Oh I try my best~” Trish stated modestly. Removing her sword from his chest and lowering it back down to her side. “May as well make it up to you then, shouldn’t I Dante? I’ll only be a moment."

Sticking close to the wall, Trish swiftly began to make her way down the corridor. Disappearing around the corner moments later in one fluid, deadly movement.

Off she goes killing again. Dante sighed to himself, letting out air he didn’t even realise he was holding in. The relief that he was on his own again striking him in that moment. He was thankful for it. Any more stress, and his strained heart probably was gonna give out young. And let’s just say keeling over from a heart attack, wasn’t exactly on the demon's to-do list tonight.

The young man reclined his head back against the freezing wall. Maybe I should tell her to just keep to non-violent takedowns until we get out of here. Would’ve thought a trail of dead bodies is going to be pretty obvious to follow-

“What the-“ Cried a distinctly familiar, peppy voice. Followed by a surge of bright blue light streaking across the wall from around the corner. The crash of someone collapsing to the ground echoing down the corridor to Dante’s sensitive ears. Alerting him.

That can’t be good! Dante thought, imminently springing into action. Hurriedly sprinting down to check what was going on.

Only to be met at gunpoint by Lady when he rounded the corner.

———–

Click here to read more! :D

#devil may cry #dmc #devil may cry fanfiction #dante sprada #vergil sparda #dmc lady #dmc trish #dmc dante #dmc vergil

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ink-and-flame · 5 years

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Kinktober Day 2 : Kink Cafe - Part 1

Kinktober Day 2 Prompts: Collars (worn in public) || Forced servitude || Outdoor scenes Fandom: [None] Original Tags: Collars, public scene, servitude, Dom/sub play, femboys, Pairing:[Mentioned: Orc(m)/Elf(m), Minotaur(m)/Orc(f), Orc(m)/Human(f), Minotaur(m)/Human(f)] Races: Elves, Orcs, Minotaurs, and Humans

Running a kink event, especially one of this size, required a near exhausting amount of effort. The time it takes to set up, making sure everything was just right for the ongoing scene, involving the right people, it was all so much work. The work was worth it in the end when a large event like this came together.

The outdoor kink cafe had been in the works for months. First a location was chosen. As it had to be on private property since the event would be clothing optional and span a weekend. In the end they found renting a B&B during its off season provided them with the space and privacy needed. The inn was closed to the public for the weekend to ensure no outsiders stumbled upon something they were not prepared to see.

The rooms were rented to those participating in and organizing the event, while the overflow of participants stayed in the nearest hotels to the property. The outdoor space was set up to resemble a cafe. Complete with tables, chairs, umbrellas, and a serving station. It was important to create as immersive of an environment as possible for the guests.

As the event started the subs were outfitted with their server gear. Collars with tags providing basic information were fitted around their necks. This would give the guests the ability to quickly check which subs were available for public and private use, and which were just participating as servers and were to be left mostly untouched. Each server had a small apron with a pocket that barely covered their bodies, underneath they were nude. The only other adornments were jewelry to add decorative flair. As both male and female subs were acting as servers the outfit was left simple to accommodate a variety of shapes and sizes.

Soon the outdoor area was a bustle of activity with guests sitting at the tables or enjoying the lounge chairs while the servers brought them food and drink. A large minotaur was enjoying some treats while trying to coax a couple of servers into his lap insisting they needed to take a break. The busty orc that was serving him took him up on that offer as the human hurried to go get him another drink so that she could join in on the fun.

A beautiful elf with androgenous features carried a tray to a table where a couple of orcs and a minotaur sat. There was already a human server under the table servicing one of the orcs. As she was otherwise occupied Alinar realized that the table would require a new server temporarily. Some of the subs were assigned specific tables either at their own request or at the request of their owner. While others, like Alinar, roamed freely between tables assisting anyone that desired it.

Zar glanced over at his companion, who was clearly distracted by the lovely human under the table. “You plan on sharing her Khurg?” The darker skinned orc huffed at his companion and shook his head.

“Not any time soon, getcher own.” Khurg grunted as the woman who’s mouth he currently occupied decided to try and deep throat him. His attention returned to her rather quickly as the conversation at the table continued without him.

Zar laughed heartily as the new server approached. “Well aren’t you a pretty little thing.” Setting down the menu Zar looked the elf up and down. From this angle determining gender was impossible and the elf was so lovely Zar found himself not really caring. “How about you bring me and my friends something refreshing and perhaps I can tempt you to stay?” He smiled at Alinar. “Assuming you consent of course.”

Alinar bowed to the orc and then his companions. “I know just the thing that will quench your thirst and energize you.” Turning it was clear that Alinar was male, though he seemed far more female otherwise. His voice, his mannerisms, the jewelry he had chosen were all quite feminine, he just happened to not actually be female. The sway of his surprisingly curvy hips had the table staring as he moved to the serving station.

“Now that confuses my boner.” Zar admitted while his friends laughed. “Can it Briam, you have questionable taste as it is, you can’t judge.”

The minotaur raised his hands in supplication. “I never said I didn’t, I just took you to be straight with no options otherwise.”

“Yeah well, I have never seen an elf so pretty and not be a woman, so maybe I am not as straight as I thought.” Zar did not seem distressed by this discovery. His eyes lingering on Alinar as their drinks were made and a light platter of food prepared. “Hell that is why we came here, to experience something new.” He shrugged turning back to Briam.

“I think it is great you are willing to experiment. I am hoping to find a willing elf or human myself. My size tends to scare away the smaller individuals, but I find their delicate forms desirable to the point of distraction.” Briam paused as Alinar returned with their drinks and food.

Setting the glasses in front of the men and the plate of fruit and pastries in the middle. Smiling at the minotaur Alinar gestured to the serving station where a rather short but plump human stood filling a trey. “She is quite adventurous if you can catch her eye. I could bring her over if you desire to meet her. Like myself she has no owner and has volunteered for any and all desired services.”

Briam turned to see the human walking a tray to a nearby table, her eyes were bright as she smiled and laughed with the guests. The apron doing very little to cover her generous curves. The bounce in her step, the curve of her hips, and that sweet smile were too much to resist. Briam nodded. “I would very much enjoy meeting her.” Alinar bowed, his long ears flicking delicately as he did, a mischievous smile on his face as her turned from the table and walked towards the other server.

Zar and Briam watched as a short conversation occurred between the two servers. “Are you going to stay here or take her up to your room?” Zar just had to ask. Considering the look on Briam’s face, it was clear the bull had not thought that far ahead. “Look around, you don’t have to if you want to try something different. Others are clearly enjoying being able to indulge in public, why shouldn’t we?”

Briam smiled at his companion. “You make a good point my friend. I see no reason to move. I like the fresh air, and we did just get our food and drink. It would be a shame to leave so soon.”

Alinar returned with the human in tow. “Gentlemen this is Dea, and she would be eager to assist any of you with whatever you need.” The elf pushed the cute plump human closer to the minotaur and watched with a gentle smile as she was pulled into his lap. He was clearly being careful with her, and Alinar was relieved to see that she would receive gentle treatment to start. Turning to the orc that had complimented him Alinar bowed. “Will you be requiring anything else of me?”

Zar looked thoughtful, considering his options. He had never been sexually attracted to another male before, however this elf was nothing like the men he spent most of his time with. Alinar was beautiful in the same ways he found women beautiful. The delicate features, the curve of his hips, the roundness of his bottom. They all gave Zar pause. In the end he decided that the attraction was strong enough that gender simply did not matter this time.

“Yes, I would like for you to join me, are you available?” Zar rubbed his thigh, indicating where he would like Alinar to sit should he agree.

“I am free, and as this table has drinks and food. You can enjoy the other offerings of the cafe now.” Seating himself in Zars lap and crossing one shapely leg over the other Alinar leaned into the muscular chest of the orc. “Everything is negotiable sir, I am eager to provide you with whatever your heart desires.”

Zar stiffened at first, then warmed to the feeling of the rather shapely ass in his lap. The elf was a treat, that was certain. He felt somehow more powerful, having another male act so eagerly submissive to him. Zar’s hand rested on Alinar’s thigh. “Let’s start slow, I want us both to enjoy this experience.”

[Authors Note: This one got away from me and I spent so much time on the premise that I didn’t get to the full on sex scenes. I plan to provide a part two later in the month with prompts that will fit these various couples. This one may end up with multiple parts, but as of now only the second part is being planned.]

#kinktober 2019 #orc boyfriend #femboy elf #size difference #monster stories #exophilia

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uncrownedwords · 4 years

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Trauma,

Let me paint a picture, a story in your mind. Trauma like a friend, has come to story time. With it , bring those flashbacks of the ones you'd rather hide . With it brings you forward all your petty lies behind the pride. A story left to tell for it's been hidden far to long;

Starting with a plane ride , and ending with one too. The day we picked you up the sky was just so blue. I thought this was a good thing,and boy I was so wrong for the trauma that consumed me --- would go on for far to long. You painted this pretty little picture of derangement in your head of how our life would be together as you stitched your thread together using my very soul, no noticed as you unraveling me at every point you could.

Compliant was I ever with the things put in my drinks you lied and told me , it was all just in my head as the flashes of me naked now fill my nights with dread. You claimed you where my master, you claimed you where a God, you claimed so many things you wanted without asking and reworded it as love . You forced my affection to feed your ego in this world of make belive. So scared was I, yet I stayed so hopeful that your promises of change where valid and authentic.

The moment you where angery the world stoped making sense, as your hands found my face over and over again. So bruised and so broken the ER was a home . So many lies that never unfolded as they saw the bruises you left scattered across my skin like a coloring book. Lies I told to save my life as you watched from the chair across the room . To busy would the cops have been , with what I was wearing to contrate on the purple way my skin tented after every time I disappointed you.

So mad where you with everyone's happiness that you took it out of me. Damaging my mind and my body in your pillaging drive to claim what was never yours.... Your name was their carved into my skin ... where you left it knife in hand. , where you left me on the bed in the dark alone, when you where done with your master plan . You gave me panic attacks and disguised it as love . As your fingers traced every mark in adoration of the ways in which you could unconsentually hurt me.

You stole every password, every shread of my identity, every inch of my existance hung on the balance of your every whim like the puppet I had become on a string waiting to be used whenever you saw fit to force my compliance. You reworded everything onto everyone else for the way you told us all the blue sky was purple in a hope to convince the world and yourself of the unfathomable horrors you claim to have blocked from your memory with the 7 plus other people you swore occupied your head. Still I belived you could change and such was the trauma , of every inch of my sanity slowly slipping away .

You took my peace of mind and the safty of home as you forced my phone into your hands and changed everything you could to block the outside world from me and me from the outside world. Because of you I'm scared to be in the dark for to long by myself, because of you I'm scared to go out at night or trust anyone at all , I guard my drinks closely , I watch what I eat and I try to hurry up in the shower so the water does not trap me in my own mind. Which attacks itself in constant fear of your return.

Somedays I dont pick up my phone at all because I can't bare one more alert, as you hack into things yet again. Screen shoting my words to send back to me in anger mophing me into a robotic version of myself only made to agree with you. So paranoid am I of technology as I block you on every form of media known to man yet you still find ways to torment me again and again. Because you tried to drown me in a tub and call it a baptism I'm scared to stay alone in the bathroom for to long. The sad thing is I know why I have these fears and still I see your face haunting me every second of the day . Because of you I am afraid of my own shadow and the thought of someone touching me alone is enough to drive me into panic.

Because of you I wake up screaming in the middle of the night and freak out enough to turn every light on in the house and hide under my bed. You duck taped my body and covered me in slurs as you dumped cold ice water all over me until I was drenched and still you didn't stop nothing was ever enough as you took pictures of me and sent them to your friends as you raped me and had no regret because of you I'm scared to have sex. Because of you I'm scared to even exist anymore. You took a chunk of my sanity the day you pushed me off the bed because I looked like a 'dead fish' after you assulted me.

The fear that never left my eyes as you shouted and screamed how stupid and worthless I was and how I would not amount to anything . The fear that never left my eyes when you punched me in the face and knocked me unconscious in a rage that two other people saw but yet you claimed you couldn't rememebr until they called you out on your bullshit. A fear to even use my bank because you forced me to give you the passwords and took all my money on the grounds I couldn't be trusted . Because you called and pretended to be me and closed my accounts .... there was never justification in your actions . In your financial, physical, emotional, mental , sexual or identity abuse because of you I have Trauma. There is no apology that can fix the mess you made as you tried to tell me you wished you could change, only to admit you where lieing in an effort to control me again. Which drove me insane.

You started drugs and forced every second of my 2019 to be as miserable as it could be , using our rent and car money to fuel your secondary needs as if the Meth you took was far more important then our need to survive. You hurt so many not just me but everyone else around us. Because of you I am afraid . Afriad to do the things I normally would have never been afraid to do . I'm scared to leave the house in fear of you being there again . You swore to me I would never be anyone elses as you created a fantasy I was forced to play along with for survival only to be thrown off guard as you knocked me unconscious and choked me so hard I turned blue . The cops and doctors never sided with you. All MY friends never sided with you. You ruined every inch of my sanity but yet you where insistent on taking more. This Trauma was never enough for you.

This is my voice, this is my statement from the nightmares, the terror filled dreams , the way I wake up screaming and crying and shaking like a leaf. Because the PTSD you caused is like a plague one of which spread to many different things as month after month my Stockholm got worse until I was so oblivious to your constant abuse. You caused me so much pain. Pain I couldn't handle as the doctors admited me for fear I may take my own life.... because of the trauma I endured. The trauma you spread over every part of our lives.

Anytime I was happy --- a road trip to a friends , three chances and at each turn you broke into my accounts... at each turn you dramatically lied to get your way for me to return. You threatened to kill anyone that stood in your way of getting to me. Yet still you saw no derangement in your illusions.

Trauma defined as a deeply distressing or disturbing experience. That is all you are now as my words flow off the pages that is all you are now an experince --- a bad one with some good points an experince a lesson --- I had to learn to become stronger yeah I'm scared but that wont change how far I've come . I wont be afraid of you anymore. I refuse to let it define me because you hurt me , you broke every inch of trust sure. My hope though is one thing you will never have... never take and never betray like you did so much else.

You were wrong once you are nothing like him, the man who hurt us so badly that we United in solidarity .... you became him in your own self involved Prophecy--- I refuse to accept the blame for your mistakes. I refuse to cover up your false truths and ignore the fact that you ... need help. Help I can not provide but this is over now , said and done they know your flaws everyone and though I didnt use a name people have heard my story of the days in which my fears cause me the most worry. Trauma is everywhere and that's okay right now. My wounds will heal both mental and physical, but you'll always be the one who hurt another human being.

The end.

#trauma #ptsd #aniexty #fear #survivor #struggles #words #lost #staying alive #broken words #tattered memories #flashbacks #mental health #stop stocking me

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mynamehan · 5 years

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Crush Culture - Peter Parker imagine

A/N: Totally got inspired by the AMAZING song called Crush culture by Conan Grey (check him tf out if ya haven’t).

warnings: none I think? minor swear words maybe. some angst but fluff mostly

word count: idk exactly but a bit on the longer side soz it’s worth it tho

paring: Peter Parker x Reader

summary: Your recent feelings towards Peter have been getting you down lately and when Valentine’s comes around, you feel yourself growing tired of it. Just as you plan on completely ditching your crush something unexpected happens.

Valentine’s Day.

A day most people viewed solemnly as a consumers trap. Even though you’d never actually had a proper valentine, you didn’t mind that other people did. Any day to celebrate kindness was a win in your eyes, and you had never had any problems with the slightly gimmicky day. At least, not until now.

Recently, feelings for the shy, sweet and kinda nerdy guy most people recognized as Peter Parker had surfaced, which put you in quite an unfortunate position. It didn’t take a genius to notice how he felt about a certain Liz Allen, seeing the way his dreamy gaze always seemed to lock on her in the hallway. For an observant person like you it was glass clear, he had fallen head over heels for her. As if that wasn’t enough, you being good friends with Michelle and being Ned’s childhood friend landed you some pretty juicy inside information on Parker’s more private thoughts.

Now, at Midtown High, Valentine’s Day wasn’t that big of a deal really, only a few decorations in hallways and the cafeteria were hung by members of the student council. A small contest involving guessing the right amount of Hershey’s Kisses in a large jar was an annual thing they arranged. To enter, you could either team up in two or go solo, and after carefully looking at the jar from all sorts of angles, you wrote down your name, class and guess. Last year, you and Michelle teamed up as a joke and ended up winning the entire jar of Hershey's, which you ended up sharing with Ned and Peter. This year though, you weren’t in the mood for sweets, really all you felt was bitterness.

I don’t care if I’m forever alone

I’m not falling for you

'Cause this baby is love-proof

You glanced over at Peter as he stood with Ned by his locker, nerding out over something and you pursed your lips in aggravation. Nope, you were not going to do this to yourself. Crushing on someone who isn’t interested in you is a bad move and also not a very healthy one.

“Hey loser, why ya looking so cranky?”

Michelle slammed herself into the locker next to yours, scrutinizing your facial expression. The bang she caused snapped you out of your stare but you continued furrowing your brows as you let your gaze fall on the darkness in your locker.

Crush culture makes me wanna spill my guts out

I know what you’re doing, tryna get me to pursue ya

Your eyes set on nothing in particular as Michelle gave you a light nudge in the side. “Dude, are you in a trance or som-“

“Michelle, I need you to distract me today.”

“What are you tal-“

“Just please.”

Cutting her off, you subtly let your gaze wander over to the two boys again, feeling your heart flutter as Peter let out a giggle over something Ned said. “Take me somewhere or tell me weird stories, you’re full of those.”

“Oookay, um, I plan on stylishly tearing apart some clothes after school to make them more grungy and I guess I could need someone to help me-“

You slammed your locker shut, keeping your gaze on the sweater wearing boy before abruptly turning on your heel and grabbing onto MJ’s arm. “Great. Let’s go talk about that.”

Oh no, don’t look in their eyes, 'cause that’s how they get you

After lunch and another two periods of trying to completely ignore the fact that all you could think about was Peter, the bell rang signalling the end of class. Scrambling your books, pens and papers into your arms, you got up and quickly started making your way out of the classroom. You didn’t get very far though until you felt a light tap on your shoulder to which you turned around sharply. As your gaze locked on a set of far too familiar brown eyes, you felt the air go out of you.

“Y-you dropped your, uh, your pen.”

Peter held up the blue pen with a shy smile on his lips.

“Hmm. Thanks.” You replied stiffly before turning to walk off but once again Peter stopped you.

“Hey, uh, Y/N. Are-are you okay? You seem kind of upset…”

Standing still in your spot, you closed your eyes and took a sharp breath. “I just, I’m not in the mood today, Peter.”

Your voice dripped with bitterness which made Peter frown slightly. “Well, are you sure, you seem-“

“I’m fine.” You snapped, not looking back the slightest as you hurried away.

And no I don’t want your sympathy, all this love is suffocating

Just let me be sad and lonely

Throwing your books into your locker, you held onto the blue pen just a few seconds longer before throwing it in with the rest. Sighing deeply, you let your head rest against the locker. Why couldn’t you get the stupid crush out of your head? Resting your temple against the metal, you frowned slightly, feeling a mixture of sadness and frustration.

Grabbing your calculus things and closing the locker you set off to go find MJ in the library where you had planned to meet up briefly before class. Passing by the doors to the cafeteria you couldn’t help but look at the table where Liz and another member of the student council were standing, managing the Hershey’s guessing contest. It was no wonder why Peter found her so attractive, hell, you were sure everybody did. Besides her looks, her all-around kindness and charisma were charming enough to win anyone over.

I don’t care what you’re saying, I don’t wanna participate in your game of manipulation

“Hey, Y/N! Wanna try for a kiss?” Liz’s preppy voice cut off your thoughts and you forced a smile. Walking up to her, you placed a strand of hair behind your ear, swallowing hard.

“Hey, Liz.” You greeted, taking a look at the nicely decorated table with the jar. “Wow, looks great this year. Have you been here all day?”

She nodded, giving you a beaming smile as she went on to talk about all the effort she and the others put into it. You couldn’t help but stare at the way her eyes lit up as she talked, which made you think of Peter’s eyes whenever he was excited.

“Are you gonna compete? Defend your title as the reigning queen of Hershey’s?” The both of you giggled at the nickname she gave you, and after a deep sigh, you bit your lip and took the piece of paper Liz held out for you.

Taking a close look at the jar of Hershey's you furrowed your brows as you tried to count them. Giving up after reaching 32 you shook your head lightly before scribbling down 68, adding a couple more thinking it couldn’t hurt. Handing back the pen and paper to Liz, she gave you a wink.

“Good luck, Y/N. Oh, and don’t forget that the winner is revealed at 3:30.” You nodded and said goodbye to her thinking to yourself that you’d probably be well on your way to MJ’s by then.

A sudden slam hit your body and almost made you lose your balance. A wave of rage boiled up in you and you swore to god that if the universe won’t stop putting you in situations like this, you’d lose all sense of hope. His warm eyes now had a worried and slightly scared look in them and you sighed heavily when you were once again face to face with them.

“Oh my-my god, Y/N, shit, I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t, I wasn’t watching where I was going a-and suddenly you were there-“

Shut your damn mouth, you’re talking too loud

“It’s fine.” You averted your eyes and tried to push past him, but he caught you by your arm.

“Hey, is everything okay with you Y/N..? You’ve been so off the entire day, actually a lot lately… Did I do something to upset you? Please t-tell me if I did something wrong because we all know I’m pretty clueless most of the time.”

“More like oblivious…” You muttered out, barely catching his attention.

“W-what?”

You shook your head softly, dismissing his question. He kept his confused puppy eyes on you and eventually you dared to gaze up at them. Big mistake.

“Y/N, you can talk to me, you know that. I-I know we maybe aren’t super tight friends. Y-yet! But, um, I’m totally here and up for, uh, for venting-“ He rambled on, worry lacing his stutters.

You shook your head slowly, gaining solid eye contact with him. “I don’t, I don’t know how-”

You sighed defeated, filling Peter with an unsettling feeling. His kind eyes bore into yours and you felt trapped in a corner. What the hell were you supposed to say? Confess? You opened and closed your mouth a couple times and pressed your eyes shut before giving him a sad smile. “I can’t.”

Merely talking to him pained you. How could such a minor thing like having a crush make you feel like absolute garbage? You scurried away to the library only to see Ned sitting with MJ, making small talk. Slamming your book down as you sat next to MJ, you let your head fall to the table.

“I am having a horrible day today. I feel like I’m being punished.” Your words were muffled by the book, but Ned’s sympathizing hand on your shoulder made you look up.

Resting your chin on your hand, you managed to sit up just as Peter made his way into the room, cheeks pink and eyes bright. “I thought it would only be us two.” You hissed to MJ, to which she shrugged.

And no one cares if you two made out

“Holy crap, guys, you won’t believe what just happened. I went up to Liz and we actually had a solid 5 minute conversation. She, a-and me!”

“That’s great, Peter!” Ned uttered excitedly. “Maybe you can ask her out later then?”

“I-I don’t know, may-maybe? I might talk to her as she reveals the Hershey’s winners. Tell her I’m really impressed with the set-up or something.”

You and MJ shared a slightly annoyed look before turning back to the boys. “Congrats, you actually had a conversation with a person. Color me impressed.” MJ muttered out in her normal manner.

Peter rolled his eyes before continuing to blabber on. You couldn’t help but feel sick hearing him talk so fondly of her and not you.

“I’m gonna go home actually, I’m not feeling good. Sorry MJ but we’ll have to reschedule. Uh, good luck with Liz and everything, Peter. See ya, Ned.” With that you said goodbye to the trio, leaving them all pretty confounded.

Making your way down the halls and to your locker as fast as you could, you practically ran to the nearest subway station. Locking your front door behind you, you went straight to your room, ignoring your dad’s confused question as to why you were home so early. He knew not to press you on the subject so he let you cool down for a while. Throwing yourself on your bed, you let out a whimper as you felt tears prick at your eyes as you lost track of time. Being too caught up in your thoughts and self-pity, you didn’t even hear the doorbell ring about 30 minutes later or the knock on your door. Suddenly a familiar figure creaked your door open and leaned against the frame. You caught glimpse of him in the corner of your eye and practically flew up into a sitting position.

“Peter? What are you doing here?” You asked in utter confusion, furrowing your brows together.

He bit his lip gently as he took a step forward, revealing what he carried in his arms. The jar of Hershey’s.

“Uh, we, both won. They called a tie.” His eyes flickered between you and the floor. His nervous stature almost made you feel nervous as well.

“Oh, um. Well, thanks for coming here to tell me that. That’s very sweet of you.” He shrugged as you pursed your lips shut in the slightly awkward silence.

“Yeah, no, no problem at all. I-I was going to ask you if you wanted to share them o-over a movie or some-something?” Peter’s eyes met yours and you shook your head lightly, thinking you misheard him.

“What?”

Peter’s cheeks instantly flushed, thinking you had rejected the offer. He scratched the back of his neck as he stuttered out a response. “W-we don’t have to, I-I just thoug-”

“No!” You exclaimed, a bit louder than you intended which took Peter by surprise as you got up on your feet. “No, of course Peter! I-I’d love that.”

Putting some hair behind your ear, Peter offered you a shy smile. “G-great! Um, I-I’m free whenever really.”

Your smile grew as you took a few steps closer to him, taking the jar as he held it out to you. “Honestly, I thought you’d be busy, you know, taking Liz out or something...”

I’m sick of the kissing cult

Peter raised his brows momentarily before shaking his head. “Nah, she made it pretty clear that she was off limits, actually.” You gave him a confused look as he continued. “After revealing the winner, I went up to her to accept the prize and as we were chatting, some dude came and kissed her, so...” He shrugged and broke your eye contact.

“Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry... Well at least you have me as a back up.” Bumping your elbow on his arm in a jokingly matter, he looked up at you smiling.

“You’re not a back-up plan, Y/N.”

At a temporary loss for words, you chuckled as your heart fluttered.

“I, uh, it would an honor to accompany the two-times reigning master actually. Celebrate our victory.” A hint of red creeped its way up Peter’s neck.

As a grin made its way to your lips, you took a small step closer, now seeing the small details of his beautiful brown eyes. “Can’t wait.”

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