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wh6res · 3 years

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three's a crowd | nomin

synopsis. picking favorites is impossible when you like neither of them.

warning. read at your own risk. abuse, bullying, poly relationship, yandere themes, manipulation, nonconsensual touching, noncon, degradation, smut threesome oop

disclaimer. i do not condone whatever tf i wrote in this nor does it reflect my beliefs or values or morals and such. it is all pure fiction and i also dont think jaemin or jeno would act like this in real life.

note. this was meant to be a new year's gift lmao i obviously got a lil carried away 👀 anyway a late happy new year to you all! we survived 2020, let's start living in 2021, yeah? lmao if covid lets us grr mwah!

the relationship you had with the two of them was a weird one, bordering on taboo, but it wasn't as if you willfully chose to be who they wanted you to be and it took jaemin's unwanted pining and jeno's intimidating demeanor for you to fall right into their arms.

it was a joint effort on their part, you couldn't've possibly stood a chance.

"this many?" the cashier asked. "are you sure?"

stepping back and studying the whole situation, you figured you only had your addiction to caffeine and procrastination to blame. it was a chain reaction you didn't even know will lead up to your inevitable doom.

if you hadn't been slacking off during your first semester of junior year college, you wouldn't be forced to overwork yourself trying to catch up to the looming deadlines, but to be able to 'work yourself to the bone' you need your boost of energy… and that was when you met one of them.

"uhm," you scratch the back of your head sheepishly as you eye the six glass bottles of iced coffee. sure, it looks bad and you kinda appreciate the look of concern the cashier throws your way but it was none of his business.

"yes. now could you, like, you know… hurry up? i'm in a little bit of a time crunch right now."

screw it. although you hardly snap like that with other people on a daily basis, it'll be a whole different conversation if you were under a significant amount of stress and today, unfortunately, is one of those days.

now can he just fucking stop asking questions and give you your six bottles of death drink to keep your fucking brain going so you can pass an eight-page essay tomorrow? thank you very much!

the guy snickered, the beeping sound of a barcode being read sounding a thousand times more annoying than it usually sounds as he keeps his hand busy by punching your items out.

you fail to notice how he studies you through the gaps of his lashes, finding you interesting rather than threatening as you stood before him with your messy hair and oversized hoodie.

"haven't seen you around university grounds 'till today," he tries striking another conversation with you. "you new? i'm jaemin."

this was your first mistake, you shouldn't have been so… downright rude when you met him. if you were granted the miracle of meeting him a 2nd time, you would've acted more nice, throwing yourself at his feet even to blend in with the rest of his fangirls you didn't even know about at the time. you would've done anything to make sure he never gives you a second glance, to never pique his interest.

jaemin is the pep squad captain. flying over colored blue mats and doing tumblings in the air with no ounce of fear. he was the best in his team, that much was evident when your friend dragged you into watching a pep rally practice. his landings were clean, balanced, and executed to the best he can at all times.

no wonder he was popular, his talent is outstanding and his looks are a bonus. his killer combo of a smile and wink after pulling off a tough flip is enough to send them squealing in their seats.

he spotted you that day and since then, he snuck the quickest glances at the bench during practices. recognizing you as the coffee girl he met during his convenience store shift. jaemin tries not to let his disappointment show too much when he doesn't see you, but of course, a pair of cold calculating eyes could see right through him.

"i saw that," his boyfriend said, hand darting forward to hold jaemin's gym bag for him. "you kept looking at the crowd. do you want to see her that much?"

"but she reminds me so much of you, jeno!" he retorts, pouting at the slight grumpy tone the other boy used. "i can't help it. she doesn't seem to give a fuck around me so she's quite interesting. maybe she can even be a great addition to our relationship!"

"well," jeno replies after a beat of silence, plastering a small smirk on his face before slinging an arm around jaemin's shoulder.

"convince me?"

you don't like jaemin's attention. not in the slightest. and it seems that was enough reason for the reign of terror his little fanclub has subjected you too.

it wasn't the petty elementary forms of bullying like pulling at your hair or calling you names. they pale in comparison to the other things they do to you—beating you up, messing with your homework, "accidentally" dumping their food trays on you.

and you weren't stupid.

you knew exactly who was behind it, knew how jaemin spectates the whole thing from afar so that he can swoop in at the end to play your knight in shining armor.

"oh, you poor thing. do you need help?"

the first time you accepted his "help" you ended up in a supply closet near the gym during your free period, cornered and weak as your cries for help drowns under the squeaking of shoes and the booming sounds of rubber balls hitting the floor.

if it weren't for jeno appearing out of thin air and prying the boy off of you, you would've been painted blue and red from the death grip he had on your wrist, neck, and waist.

you can still remember feeling the soreness of your scalp from when he pulled your hair too hard. remembered feeling his teeth gnawing at your lips as if he wanted to tear them off.

that time hadn't been the first time you saw jeno. you've shared a few classes with him and it strikes you how polar opposites they are with one another.

while jaemin likes to bask in his professor and classmates' recognition by confidently reciting his answers, jeno would rather keep to himself. liked sitting at the last row, near the window, so he'd be the first to go once the professor ends their lecture. while jaemin loved the attention of his fangirls, jeno preferred solitude. while jaemin is impulsive and wild, jeno liked to think things through.

it was within these reasons that you decided to do what you did. but your judgement of character has never been more wrong.

you approached jeno one day in the library, tried to make yourself appear as stoic and confident as possible. but your constant slouching and averting eyes was a dead giveaway.

you came to talk to him about what jaemin has been doing, hoping there's one person left in this entire school that isn't under the cheer captain's trance. the one reasonable person that has already saved you once and (hopefully) is willing enough to save you again. the only one that probably has a certain level of control over jaemin, if the supply closet incident is anything to go by.

but you've overestimated lee jeno.

"you should've just given jaemin what he wanted."

"but—but aren't you two lovers? isn't it bothering you?"

you try baiting him, only for an uncomfortable shiver to start crawling down your spine when he chuckled humorlessly, pushing his school materials to the side while pinning you with an unreadable stare.

how can a person make someone feel so small just by a gaze alone? it was nothing like you've felt with jaemin. this is way worse.

"the only thing that's bothering me is why you're not ours yet."

you feel cold fingers creeping their way under your shirt, going higher and higher until it brushes against your bra. and when your eyes meet, the look on his face was unmistakable—what are you going to do about it, huh?

you stood up in lightning speed, the chair you've been sitting on scraping loudly against the floor.

you've never ran out as fast as you did.

and jeno swears it'll be the last.

you tried everything in your power to ignore them for the next following weeks but it soon became useless when the two boys took it upon themselves to give you your space.

although judging by the pinpricks you feel on your back, and the constant weight of a stare you feel on your shoulders, you knew they weren't done with you yet. far from it. and for some reason, you just knew they wanted to lull you into a false sense of security first before striking again.

and while they continued to ogle at you from afar like a hawk circling its prey in a desert, you took it upon yourself to return the favor. not because you were the slightest bit interested in those creeps but maybe, just maybe, if you look hard enough you'll find a way out, a weakness.

but what you realized made your insides churn in great discomfort—although it may seem that jeno holds the reins in the relationship since his reserved nature fits the role, it's actually the other way around.

jaemin might appear too self-centered, too focused on himself to give a fuck about his surroundings but in actuality, he has quite a knack for reading people. even more so than jeno. and it was scary how he used it to his advantage, and paired up with his devoted fangirls? it was hell on earth.

you found it alarming how the two seem to magically appear wherever you are.

although you weren't in the least bit surprised. for some reason, you can't take your eyes away when jaemin's devotees flock around him (and jeno) in a circle.

it almost reminds you of a shoal of piranhas, waiting for their meal to drop into the water before ripping it to shreds with their teeth. only their "meal" isn't actual flesh but the carefully crafted words jaemin says that drive them into a sick frenzy.

one that has them doing everything in their power to satisfy him like the loyal dogs they are.

so this was how he got them to bully you?

"oh, that? don't worry! yangyang just ran into me during cheer rehearsal. no biggie. my cheek stung a little bit, though…" is what he said but really he's telling them "scruff him up a bit for me, why don't ya?"

"of course, i can't be the best all the time. haechan is just too good, maybe even better than me…" is what he said but really he's telling them "can you remind him where his place should be?"

all the while jeno did nothing to hold him back.

no matter how wrong jaemin is, how much of an asshole he is, jeno will stick by his side through and through. so as much as jaemin is a puppeteer that gets a kick for controlling people, jeno is as much at fault for looking the other way.

because in jeno's perspective, why the fuck would he do shit when he can just get off from the entertainment that comes with jaemin's sweet little mind games?

we lost :(

you had been busy sorting through paperwork for one of your professors in the faculty when your friend texted you the results of the intercollegiate cheer dance competition. a frown paints your face, heart feeling heavy at the bad news.

in all honesty, you still supported the pep squad—you just hated the captain and his boyfriend. they've been practicing non-stop for this and prior to the weeks of the competition, jeno looked a lot more tense and jaemin less smiley than usual. you swore you even saw the latter snap at one of his fangirls.

not to mention, they paid less attention to you, too, and it was the best three weeks of your life.

tension starts rising in your shoulders, fingers absentmindedly running through the edge of the papers you had been sorting until you became immersed with your thoughts.

jaemin must be in the worst mood yet.

and jeno too, probably. if anything, that guy gets triggered the most when something bad happens to jaemin or when he catches snippets of people talking shit about his oh so "perfect" boyfriend.

jeno is a lot scarier when jaemin is in one of his mood swings, you noticed. he steps up in the relationship to offer comfort to the other boy and for outsiders? it isn't a great experience to go through—being on the receiving end of jeno's ice cold stare is a position you don't want to find yourself in after that time in the library.

he is still as much a threat to your peaceful life like his lover.

you snap out of it when the blinding headlights of a vehicle seep through the closed blinds. you hear the gentle hum of an engine switching off as the headlights vanished as quick as they had appeared. that must be the cheer squad's bus.

as you look around the empty faculty room, something in your gut tells you to ditch file sorting duty for professor kim tonight and fucking get the hell out of campus grounds as quick as you can.

after haphazardly throwing the unsorted papers back into the cabinet, you groan aloud when the keys to the office drop out of your skirt’s pocket.

the indoor gym where the cheering squad practices is right across the hallway. you sure as hell don't want to bump into jaemin. or jeno, too, if he had decided to ride along the cheer squad's bus on the way home.

you kept looking for the keys underneath the cubicles, cursing aloud when you heard the telltale squeaks of shoes rubbing against linoleum. you almost hit your head against a table when you quickly got back up your feet, darting forward to shut the lights for the faculty room.

they can't know you're here. alone. and if it meant sitting in the dark for a few hours 'till they leave, meant going back home a little later than usual is what you have to do then so be it.

you try not to react so violently when the door you're leaning on jolts when someone from outside slams their back against it.

"it's not like we didn't do our best, right guys? i don't have regrets. it might sound fucking cheesy and although i'm sad myself, atleast we did what we can."

it's jaemin. his voice clear as day.

you try peaking, craning your neck up from your place on the floor. only to see the back of his head leaning against the glass section of the door. someone else joins in on the conversation, followed by coach park himself, and you slowly tune out whatever they're saying as you stealthily start scanning the faculty room.

you curse under your breath. is there no other exit other than this door? jesus christ! even classrooms in this university had two doors—

"what are you doing here?"

the switch flickers on, basking the once dark room with light. only when you hear an echo of your name being called, did you snap out of it and quickly picked yourself up from the floor.

"i said, what are you doing here?"

their coach asks, drilling the question as he looks at you skeptically with his arms crossed. you try not to look at the people behind him.

particularly, not at his cheer captain standing on his right.

particularly, not at jeno, who stands out like a sore thumb with his blue hair, a protective arm snaked around jaemin’s shoulders.

this isn't your lucky day, too, you guess.

"i was…" you cursed yourself for stuttering. "i was, uhm, i was file sorting for prof—professor kim, sir."

coach park looked like he didn't believe you as he narrowed his eyes in scrutiny. your nerves are going haywire and you can feel the sharp pins of their stare with how close they are.

you kept juggling your weight with the balls of your feet, hands fisting and unfisting behind your back. you want to leave. you have to leave.

"file sorting… in the dark?" he asked incredulously.

fuck this.

"uhm, you can ask professor kim himself tomorrow, coach. for now, uh, i'll be going now. i'm sorry you guys lost…"

originally, the exit is on the right side, at the end of the hallway. but no, you are not going to pass by those two while on your way out so you ducked behind a random student standing on the coach's left instead and practically ran away from the scene.

everyone had been too busy. too busy looking at your retreating form to even notice jaemin and jeno exchanging glances, too busy to notice the latter untangling himself from their captain to slip away unnoticed, his hurried steps filled with a burning purpose.

you didn't know why you ran, but you did. your shoes practically booming against the floor as you sped away through darkened hallways. you're sweating profusely, heart hammering in your chest. you can worry about professor kim tomorrow but right now you just had to—

"why are you in such a rush, pet?"

crashing into jeno felt like crashing into a wall. if it hadn't been for his arm quickly wrapping around your waist, then you would've landed on your butt before him.

with the small distance between the two of you, jeno could see as clear as day through your eyes.

jaemin was right.

it was addicting to stare into them.

especially when he can see every single one of your thoughts flying through your pretty little head. but hey, it wasn't their fault you were so easy to read.

jeno barely conceals the wicked smirk on his lips when your hands come up to his chest, trying to push him away but to no avail.

he can see your eyes shifting from shock, to confusion, until it finally settles on fear—to which it's slowly becoming a favorite emotion of his to see on your face.

"you know, jaemin is in a really shitty mood right now. and we were wondering, maybe you can cheer us up?"

no. this can't be happening.

"jeno, please." your dilated eyes and disheveled hair made his blood run south. "let me go. you don't want me. you don't need a third party in your relationship."

you yelp when he lets you go, literally shoving you against a wall—which you found out is actually a door, as it swings open as soon as your body crashes against it.

with jeno looming unforgivingly before you in his full height, the tears stung extra hard but you won't let them fall.

if he wanted to bask in the image of your weakness then it'll be something you'll deprive from him for as long as you can.

"i don't need a stupid bitch like you to tell me what i feel." he scoffs. "don't fucking kid yourself, you little whore—i don't want you. i'm not jaemin."

the echo of the classroom door shutting closed surged through you like a wake up call.

this is really happening.

you've always led a decent life, had done nothing too questionable and you've always thought maybe life will spare you if you lived quietly enough. but the feel of jeno's freezing hands crawling against your skin felt like life itself had spat at you in the eye and left you to rot in a ditch.

"i've always liked how you wore skirts," he comments. playing with the ruffled hem of the soft fabric as he purposely grazed his knuckles against your supple thighs. "gives me easy access, don't you agree?"

you scream when he flips your skirt up to reveal the innocent pink of your cotton panties. it was as if a switch had flipped inside of you and the will to fight started coursing through your veins.

"stop! jeno! i don't want this!"

his brows furrow, grunting as he struggles to push the waistline of your skirt up higher with how much you're thrashing underneath him. you buck your hips, tried curling in on yourself, anything to prolong what he wants to do to you.

with your legs trapped underneath his, you blindly reach forward, relying on your upper body instead to push and scratch whatever your palms and nails reached.

you continue screaming like a banshee until he shoved two fingers into your wet cavern.

"stop fighting me," he sounded strained, as if he's holding himself back. you feel him fisting the fabric of your skirt and you fear he's simply going to rip it apart.

you tried responding to him, only the sound had been muffled, gurgled by the flat of his fingers pushing down against your tongue mercilessly. when you reach forward to push him away, your hands land on the apple of his cheeks, nails digging through skin.

until it slips and—

you lie rigid when red scratch marks in the size of your fingernails slowly appear on jeno's skin, his head turned to the side as he paused. your actions slowly start sinking in to him as he shuts his eyes and bit his lip 'till it looked like it was about to bleed.

oh no.

"jeno—"

the slap he planted on your cheek left your ears ringing. all those hard earned muscles of his put to good use—if the tears hadn't fallen for the last few minutes, then it definitely started falling now.

the hit had been so strong, a few of your hair flew astray, the buzzing feeling of your skin tempting you to reach a hand up to soothe your abused cheek.

until jeno let out a low growl and your hand immediately drops limp against your body, afraid of whatever else he can do to you other than a slap.

"that's more like it," he whispers under his breath. you let out the tiniest of whimpers when his hand darts forward to fist your hair. "do you know what happens to bad girls? they fucking get busted up. do you understand me?"

his patience is nonexistent.

jeno slams your head against the floor when you don't answer because you thought his question had been rhetorical. it felt like your skull had been split in two as you wail in pain.

"are you fucking deaf—i asked you a fucking question!"

the hand that cups your jaw is painful as he squeezed your cheek with his blunt nails. your hand shoots up to wrap around his wrist, silently pleading for him to let up as you sobbed out loud. you started nodding as best as you can despite his firm grip on your face.

your reply was nothing short of pathetic. with lips forcefully pursed and the steady stream of your tears and snot rolling down your face, your response is gargled and hardly incoherent and jeno seemed to thoroughly enjoy your anguish if the condescending curl on his lips is anything to go by.

"look at you," he whispers, his face coming close to yours as he holds you down. there was something in the way jeno stared so intently that it made your skin crawl.

"i think you're prettiest when ruined like this."

with his nose touching yours, he felt too close, bordering on intimate as you felt his hand creep back up your thighs, trailing up with feather-like touches that made goosebumps appear on your skin.

you tried wiggling your legs underneath him but one sharp look from jeno is enough to make you stop.

the hand holding your face moves. coming down from gripping your face to encircling his hand around your neck.

"do you like it when i touch you? freaky bitch."

his hands trail further up, up, up until you felt him slotting a finger underneath your panties.

jeno didn't like how frozen you were underneath him as he pulls at the hem before letting go. the elastic snapping back against your skin.

the action evokes a strong feeling through the young male, promising to have you writhing and screaming and begging because by the end of all this, you'll be so needy and frustrated that you will have no choice but to give in to what your body wanted.

"jeno, didn't i tell you to play nice?"

someone stands by the door, the minimal light from the hallway creating a silhouette with his form but you knew who he was. that deep voice, with the same annoying flippant tone, is a dead giveaway.

you didn't know why you even hoped in the beginning. as if there'll be someone who can save you from these two.

you thought the flash of hurt in your eyes was quick to disappear but jeno noticed it quicker.

in a span of seconds, he pulled you up from your position from the ground and tugged you towards his lap. you haven't even gotten the time to settle on your new position when he already smashed his lips against yours.

it was messy. too much saliva. too much teeth. no tenderness to it at all.

the fabric of his jeans felt rough, not to mention the ice cold belt buckle made you severely uncomfortable as it seeps through the thin fabric of your skirt.

when you attempt to hover over his lap, jeno grunts as he snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you back down without your lips breaking away from each other. you didn't know why he let out a whine, but you understood the moment you fully sat down on his lap and you felt a tent on his jeans hitting your clothed entrance perfectly.

in a normal circumstance, you would've found everything hot and might've actually gotten off from it but not when it's him who’s doing this to you and you didn’t consent to any of this.

you start squirming again. palms lying flat against jeno's chest as you attempt to push him away and jaemin sees this as the opportune moment to slot himself behind you, caging you in between them.

“i want my turn,” he hisses and without an ounce of hesitation, jeno stops to do what he's told.

jaemin doesn't waste any second to grab your face, awkwardly craning your neck up to meet his lips in the same feverish kiss.

while jeno had been all teeth and aggression, practically forcing you to open your mouth and kiss him back, jaemin on the other hand is more soft, more romantic, you daresay. he seemed to like taking his sweet time by clutching your face, kissing you like he actually meant it.

he pulls away slightly, resting his forehead against yours as he murmurs something incoherent under his breath and then he's kissing you again.

you think you heard something along the lines of, "finally."

you've been too distracted by jaemin to notice jeno's nimble fingers quickly fumbling with the buttons of your blouse. it was only when you feel the sensation of his tongue laving against the swell of your breast did you turn away from jaemin, jerking backward in surprise.

"no—!"

your scream is cut off by a hand cupping your mouth. jaemin pulls your back towards his chest, molding your body against his as jeno licked and suckled all he wanted, thankful to have the other boy there to not worry about restraining you and keeping you quiet while he has his fun.

"ah, ah, ah," jaemin teases, going hard over the pleading and teary look you sent his way. it looked pathetic, he wasn't going to lie, but it doesn't mean he didn't love it. "just keep still and appreciate jeno's efforts to take care of you, alright baby?"

you don't like how he talked as if this was all a mutual thing, how he talked slowly like you were some toddler who didn't understand anything.

it's cruel how jaemin giggled and basked in your vulnerable state as he kept his eyes pinned on you while undoing the zipper of your skirt. your muffled cries of his name only serving to egg him on.

the way he stared was similar to jeno, too intently and intrusive, like he wants to burn your image of despair in the back of his head.

you whined involuntarily when jeno got bored of all the licking and thus decided to start biting and nipping at your chest instead. he was hypnotised by how responsive you were, how every little bite and nibble made you shudder.

it was a shame that jaemin had to cover your mouth. he didn't get to hear your pretty mewls but it wasn't as if he'd let the night end without hearing them loud and clear.

jaemin is fast in undressing you, feeling slightly betrayed by how quick your skirt and blouse fell under his hands.

you know what he wants, what he's going to do, and the tears fall harder when you can't dodge away from him. forced to endure and accept whatever they give you.

"you act like you don't like it but look how fucking wet you are," you bit your lip hard when jaemin starts circling the pads of his fingers against your clit, fascinated by how more juices streamed down your thighs.

"jeno, do you see this? fuck."

you can only blink in defeat, staring off to the side as you force down any noise bubbling up your throat, forcing yourself to think of anything else other than what's happening right now.

you try not to think about how they managed to tear all of your clothes off while they're left completely dressed. tried not to think about the fingers lazily drawing up and down your slit to collect your essence.

if they're doing this as a way to further humiliate you, it's working.

"slut," jeno mocked, a wicked curl on his lips when he wraps his fingers around your throat. the moment he dives down to claim your lips again is the same time jaemin pushes two fingers inside you.

"look at how wet you are because of me," jaemin whispers hot against your ear and you feel a sick churn in your stomach when you feel his smile against your skin.

he purposely drives his fingers in and out quicker, settjng a brutal pace, wanting you to hear the lewd squelching sounds. "hear that? do you hear that, darling? that's because of me—"

"don't go talking big now, jaem," jeno retorts, pulling away from your lips to start nibbling on the back of your ear. "i was here first. did you see how she fucking reacted when i sucked on her tits?"

you're quick to catch how jeno particularly loved degrading you. but how he talks about you as if you're literally not in front of him naked made you hit a new all-time low.

you felt… filthy.

his hands find purchase on your butt—only because jaemin has already claimed the front. for now.

you close your eyes tight when he painfully squeezes the flesh of your ass. you swear, his blunt nails will paint your skin black and blue.

"i'm the favorite!"

as someone who's part of a varsity team, you already knew a competitive nature runs through jaemin's veins. but never had you thought jeno would share the same sentiment. once again they prove that they're cut from the same cloth.

all of a sudden it wasn't all about claiming you as theirs anymore rather it was all about who can make you moan the loudest, who can make you cum the most, who can make you feel the dirtiest you can be.

you're absolutely terrified for the hours to come.

thankfully, they have yet to ask for your verbal opinion or validation. they let your body do all the talking—every repressed shudder and sharp gasp is enough.

but it's game over once they pop the million dollar question.

"who do you like best?"

you don't want to find out the consequences if you actually answered their question because you didn't know what could be worse.

jaemin's manipulation or jeno's aggression?

but it was all normal. trial and error is inevitable in order to build and mold you into the ideal lover for the both of them.

because adding someone new to the mix has never been easy—after all, three's a crowd.

#nct imagines #yandere nct #yandere kpop #nct smut #nct scenarios #yandere jaemin #yandere jeno #jaemin imagines #jeno imagines #jaemin scenarios #jeno scenarios #jaemin smut #jeno smut

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etherrreal · 3 years

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“resentment”

Pairing: oikawa x fem!reader Genre: angst Summary: you used to love oikawa’s determination, his drive, his willingness to give his all and sacrifice everything to get the things he wants. now those are the same things that make you resent him. WC: 6,700 Warnings: lots of angst, explicit language, reader’s kinda petty but so is oikawa, relationship isn’t toxic or anything but it could def be better A/N: shoutout to @shadowkunoichi for this request! your ask gave me enough serotonin to last for the rest of the week <3 it’s also important to note that the moment i saw oikawa’s smug ass face on screen my brain and heart immediately went “this the one” so here’s some pain ft. my favorite setter -Dawn

The first few times Oikawa cancels your dates for extended volleyball practice, you tell yourself it doesn’t bother you. You’re disappointed, of course –you barely see him enough as it is, despite living together for three months, despite dating for a total of eight– but it’s not the end of the world. It’s just another compromise you have to make, and it probably won’t be the last.

That’s what relationships are about, anyway, you remind yourself firmly, whenever the silence of your too-big for one person apartment starts to get to you. Compromise.

You’re no stranger to compromise, either. You can’t be, not when you’re dating a pro-athlete. You know better than anyone how talented Oikawa is, how admired. He’s worked so hard, and you’re so proud of him. You may not know much about sports, but you do know that your boyfriend has an amazing career ahead of him.

And while the selfish part of you would like to keep him all to yourself, you also know it won’t always be possible, and you tell yourself you’re okay with that. You love Oikawa, and you support every single one of his dreams, even if doing so means you have to eat dinner on your own sometimes.

It won’t always be this way, you tell yourself. It’s just for now. And it definitely doesn’t mean he loves you any less.

That’s what you tell yourself.

It helps that he’s always sorry about it. You hear it in his voice whenever he calls you to tell you he won’t be home until late, see it in the guilty way his eyes search for yours through the screen when he FaceTimes you to let you know you shouldn’t wait up for him. He’s even more torn up about it than you are most of the time, blowing your phone up with apologetic voice notes and text messages with too many emojis.

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: babe 😔😔

[you]:: yes baby?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😔😔😔😔

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 😩😩😭😭

[you]:: oh boy

[you]:: you’re not gonna be home in time for dinner, are you?

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i don’t think so 😩😔 we have that game coming up so we’ll be practicing all night

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m so sorry baby ☹️☹️ but i’ll have to miss dinner again 😭😭

[you]:: it’s fine, i’ll just find someone else to share my chicken with

[you]:: speaking of, u have ushiwaka’s #? i wanna see something

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: STOPPPP 😭😭 i’m sorry!!!

[you]:: allegedly

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: stop 😭😭 i mean it!! i love you pls don’t hate me 😩☹️

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i’m really sorry babe ☹️☹️

[you]:: if ur apology doesn’t include dollar signs then i don’t wanna hear it

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: check ur email

[you]:: ??

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: 👀😇

You check your email, and sure enough, there’s a gift card there to your favorite clothing store, along with a note that reads “financial compensation for putting up with me <3 also if u ever share chicken with ushiwaka i’ll cry and then die so pls don’t.” It makes you laugh so hard you forget about being upset with him in the first place.

[you]:: i was joking!! u didn’t actually have to send me anything u weirdo

[pretty (annoying) boy 💙 ]:: i know 😇😏😘

And when he does make it home that night with an apology on his lips, a bouquet of flowers, and a promise that he’ll make it up to you, it’s hard to do anything else besides forgive him. Because you know that no matter how crazy both of your schedules are, no matter how lonely you might feel without him at your side, he loves you more than anything, and you love him as much in return. And for a while, that’s enough.

Until it isn’t.

You’re thankful to have successfully made it through your first year of grad school with just a caffeine addiction and minor bags under your eyes, but not having to attend your classes or meet with your professors over the break means you’re at the apartment a lot more. You still have your job, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore Oikawa’s absence.

It’s not just dates he’s missing anymore. It’s family events, outings with your friends, getaway trips the two of you planned weeks in advance.

You know it’s not his fault. He has things he wants to accomplish, goals he set for himself long before he met you. The Olympics are coming up, and he needs to be ready. You can’t blame him for staying late to get in some extra practice, or for having to attend events with his teammates and his fans instead of you.

You can’t blame him for any of it, at least not without feeling selfish and unsupportive, and somehow that just makes it worse.

It takes you longer than you’d like to admit to build up the courage to talk to him about it. You almost don’t want to bring it up at all, but after weeks of missed dates and apology bouquets, of waking up without him and going to sleep before he gets home, you crumble. You don’t think you can keep grinning and bearing it anymore, not without starting to resent him.

You confront him while he’s sitting at the kitchen island in the middle of your shared apartment. It’s rare he doesn’t have a game on the weekend, even rarer he gets to spend the afternoon with you. It almost makes you reconsider –will this ruin your time together?– but you hold fast. You know that if you don’t bring it up now, then you probably never will, and you’re not sure you can take that much more silent heartache.

Oikawa, for his part, does well to listen as you speak. He watches you intently, pretty brown eyes soft and searching, as you tell him about how neglected you’re feeling, how lonely.

You know he’s not doing it on purpose. You know he’s meant every single one of his apologies, and that this is what you signed up for when you agreed to be in a relationship with him. And you love how driven he is, how determined he is to succeed.

You just...you miss him. That’s what it boils down to in the end: how much you miss him. You miss him now more than that time he left to spend a month back home in Japan while you stayed in Argentina, despite the fact that you’re in the same country this time, despite the fact that you share the same apartment. It shouldn’t be possible, but it’s true.

“I know your career is important, and I would never try to get in the way of that,” you tell him, quietly, tiredly. There’s an exhausted air around you he’s never seen before, the kind of whispered sadness that breaks his heart. “But sometimes, Tooru...sometimes it feels like I’m dating a ghost. And I’m not mad at you, or angry, I’m just...lonely.”

You finally look at him, and the emotion in his eyes startles you. He’s actually tearing up –“you’re such a crybaby,” you like to tease him when his eyes water during sad movies, but you always comfort him anyway– and it’s enough to make your eyes fill with tears, too. He looks so sad, so broken, like knowing he’s hurt you –even if it’s been completely unintentional– hurts him too.

He’s quick to stand and walk over to you, wrapping his arms around you tightly. You return the embrace, resting your head against his chest while one of his hands moves to cradle the back of your head.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers into your hair, and you can tell by the way his voice shakes that he means it. “I know things have been crazy lately, but that’s no excuse for leaving you here alone. I never want you to feel like you’re anything besides the most important person in my life. I love you so much, and I promise I’m going to fix this. Things will get better, I swear.”

And in that moment, you believe him. You trust him, after all, and you know he doesn’t make promises he can’t keep. So you let him mumble reassurances into your hair, let him kiss your breath away and shower you in the affection you’ve been missing for far too long.

It’s so easy to get lost in it, lost in him. Too easy.

He’s always been like that; charismatic and witty, magnetic and charming. It doesn’t help that he’s totally gorgeous, too. You knew, from the moment you met him, that if you ever let yourself fall in love with him, you’d be in trouble. It’s why you never took any of his advances seriously, at least not in the beginning.

But he was able to chip at your resolve with every teasing smile and playful wink, every reverent touch and whispered words meant just for you. He let you get to know him; the real him, not that flippant and perfect pretty boy facade he presents to the rest of the world, and so of course you fell for him, because how could you not?

Oikawa is stubborn and prideful, exhausting and even sometimes petty, but he makes you feel like you’re the strongest person he knows. He looks at you like you’re the only one he’ll ever want to see. He makes you laugh and keeps you on your toes, and you know right away –before you moved in together, before you told him you loved him– that you will never love anyone the way you love him, because no one else will ever be able to compare.

That’s why it’s so easy for you to believe him now. Because you know he loves you and that you love him, and the two of you are determined to make this relationship work. So when he promises that things will change, that he’ll be more present from here on out, you believe him.

It’s the first promise he’s ever made to you that he doesn’t keep.

For every event Oikawa does bother to make it to, he misses two more. Your parents, who adore him, wonder why they never see him anymore. Your friends start to ask if you even still have a boyfriend. You find yourself asking the very same thing.

You stop inviting him to events at your university and lunches with your friends. You don’t want to set yourself up for disappointment anymore, and you figure it’s easier to just save yourself from the inevitable. The apology gifts he gives you start to feel hollow, empty, just like your apartment. You stop opening them, letting them pile up in the corner of your living room. Eventually, he stops giving them to you.

You’re not sure if you’re thankful for that, or if it upsets you even more.

The Olympics get closer each day. Oikawa’s practices become more intense and even longer than they already were. There are so many things he needs to do now: games to play, meet and greets to attend. Sometimes if he’s out too late he just doesn’t come home at all. The team sets him up at a hotel, and he stays there for the night instead.

It gets harder to catch his scent on his pillow where it lays beside you in bed, untouched and forgotten. It should hurt you more, but it doesn’t.

There’s an event being held back in Japan, promising a night of drinking and dancing and schmoozing. All the investors and international players and coaches will be there, and you promised a while back to be Oikawa’s plus one.

The vindictive part of you wants to cancel on him, just so he knows how it feels, but you decide you can put your pettiness aside for a few nights if it means free booze and food and a comfortable stay at some ridiculously fancy hotel. You wonder if that’ll be enough to fill the hole he’s made in your heart.

Besides, you want to remind him that you’re the kind of person who keeps your word, even if he’s not.

The flight is long and exhausting. So is finding your hotel and forcing yourself to get dressed, but you get through it. Oikawa looks unfairly stunning in his suit, but you try not to notice. He arrives at the party with you on his arm, wearing a silky gown that matches his tie and jewelry that glitters whenever it catches the light.

You’ve barely talked to each other the whole way here, but at the party, amongst his teammates, old rivals, and friends, you’re the perfect couple. You smile, laugh, and dance exactly when you’re supposed to. You play your role so well that no one notices how numb you are, not even Oikawa, even though he’s supposed to know you better than anyone else.

Maybe that’s why you find yourself at the open bar. Oikawa’s off mingling with god knows who, swamped by dozens of people who are always seeking his favor, trapped in his orbit. They praise his hard work, his tenacity, his determination. Once upon a time, you would’ve done the same.

But things are different between you now. What used to be Oikawa’s endearing stubbornness is now an outright refusal to meet you halfway. His determination to be the best has become an inability to compromise; his passion has become obsession. It’s strange to think how all the things that used to make you love him now just make you resent him.

But the liquor here is free and flowing so you knock it back like water, and it’s almost enough to make you forget your heartbreak, your anger. Almost.

All the drinking eventually sends you to the bathroom. You touch up your makeup as best as you can and wash your hands with one of the several different soap options, exiting the bathroom noticeably drunker than you were when you went in.

You’re off-balance enough that when you run into what feels like a brick wall but is actually just a tall, broad-shouldered man, you stumble and nearly fall over. He reacts quicker than you do, catching your elbow and steadying you back on your feet.

He asks you if you’re all right and you reassure him that you are. You swear you’ve seen his face before, but you’re too tipsy right now to bother to remember where.

“I appreciate the help,” you say sincerely, patting his shoulder. “But I promise I’m okay. Thank you again, really.”

He gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you, and he’s proven right approximately five seconds later, when you turn on your heel to leave and nearly fall over again. Once more, he’s there to catch you.

You try to convince him that you’re okay; you’re just a little bit tipsy from all the champagne earlier, but he guides you to one of the stupid velvet couches in the hallway and makes you sit down. He tells you to stay there and wait for him, and you want to protest but he’s already gone before you can make any real sort of argument.

When he returns, it’s with a bottle of water, which you sheepishly accept. He stays with you as you drink it, and your vision and stomach start to settle. You thank him again for all his help. He tells you it’s no big deal, and when he introduces himself as Ushijima Wakatoshi, you laugh so hard you almost spit water all over yourself.

Ushijima raises an eyebrow at you. “Is there something about my name that amuses you?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” It takes more effort than it should, but you’re thankfully able to force yourself to stop laughing. Talk about ironic encounters. “It’s just– I’ve heard of you before.”

“Are you a fan of volleyball?”

You resist the urge to snort, sending him an amused smile instead. “Something like that.”

The two of you chat for a little while, and it’s a surprisingly pleasant conversation. You quite like his company, and you appreciate how he’s willing to keep an eye on you solely out of the kindness of his heart, just to make sure you’re really okay. It’s hardly necessary anymore –the water’s doing a great job at sobering you up– but it’s a nice distraction from the reason you started drinking in the first place.

Or it was, until you start to hear that very same reason calling your name from somewhere down the hall. His voice gets closer and closer, and you shut your eyes, bracing yourself.

“What the hell?”

You open your eyes and suddenly Oikawa is in front of you, eyebrows drawn together and lips pulled into a deep frown. You can only imagine what you look like to him right now, low-eyed and tipsy and sitting on a couch next to his oldest rival.

You can already see the anger in his eyes, the suspicion. He’s jealous, and it’s absolutely ridiculous because he has no right to be. Not after ignoring you for so long. Not after reminding you over and over again that when it comes down to it, you’ll always be second place to his career.

You haven’t been flirting with Ushijima, but now you wonder if maybe you should have. There’s a bitter part of you that wants to hurt Oikawa as much as he’s hurt you, even if it’s only for a moment.

Ushijima seems completely oblivious to the situation, which you’re sure just infuriates your boyfriend even more. He’s described to you in great detail how one of the things he finds most frustrating about Ushijima is how completely and utterly unbothered he is by everything.

“Oikawa,” the man closest to you greets, standing up. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ushiwaka.” The smile your boyfriend directs to his old rival is tight-lipped and void of any of its usual warmth. Oikawa’s gaze settles on you next, eyes narrowing even further. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Come on, let’s go.”

“I’m sorry.” Your voice is plain, dull, as you tilt your head at him mockingly. “Do I know you?”

“Stop being cute.” The way he practically snaps it makes it clear he doesn’t think you’re being cute at all. In fact, he actually looks pretty pissed, and you almost smile at the realization. As petty as he can be, it’s clear you’re better at this than he is. “It’s getting late. It’s time for us to leave.”

Ushijima’s gaze slides over to you. “Do you know him?”

But you’re not looking at him. You’re looking straight at Oikawa, at the tenseness of his shoulders, the way he’s on the verge of fuming. Apparently, just the idea of you being alone with his oldest rival is more concerning to him than the fact that you’ve barely spent any time with each other in the past two months. It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth.

“Of course.” You stand, closing the short distance between yourself and Oikawa. “He’s my boyfriend. My loving, devoted, perfect boyfriend.”

You place the hand that’s not holding your water bottle against his chest, perching on your toes to deliver a sweet kiss to his cheek. When you pull away, the stain of your lipstick remains, and you wonder if he can feel the resentment in it.

“I just forget sometimes, is all. You know, since we never see each other.”

You don’t bother to examine the look on his face. You can’t find it in yourself to care anymore. You turn to Ushijima instead, offering a tired but genuine smile.

“Thank you again for your help, Ushijima. It was a pleasure to officially meet you. Have a good night.”

You turn on your heel and walk away, down the hall and past several magnificent paintings, past any apology you would normally be ready to offer. It’s petty and deliberate, the kind of reaction you didn’t think you were capable of before this, but it’s all you have left. Oikawa doesn’t care, hasn’t cared for a while actually, so neither will you.

You don’t know what he says to Ushijima or if he even says anything at all, but you do hear his footsteps when he runs after you. They slow as he gets closer, but you don’t stop walking, don’t turn back to look.

“Are you fucking kidding me? What– what the fuck was all that back there, huh?”

You stop. Slowly, you turn to look at him, but you don’t say anything. You just stand there, watching, waiting, feeling absolutely nothing as you do.

“‘It’s a pleasure to meet you.’” It’s a poor imitation of your voice, but the intention is there. “So what, I don’t spend enough time with you and suddenly it’s okay for you to flirt with someone else?”

You laugh without humor. “That’s what you’re stuck on? The fact that I had a conversation with him and not the part where I said we never see each other? You truly have a gift, Tooru.”

The frown on his face deepens, but the anger in his eyes softens a little, replaced by a hint of guilt. There’s regret there, too, over not keeping the promise he made to you. You would be more moved by it if you weren’t so completely infuriated right now.

He closes his eyes, letting out a sigh. “I’m not going to have this argument with you. Not here.”

“Where should we have it then, hm? In the lobby? At the hotel? We’re damn sure not having it when we get home, because you’re never fucking there!”

You don’t mean to scream at him, but that’s what comes out. You’re not sure which one of you is more surprised by it. Oikawa stares at you, wide-eyed and stunned, as if you’ve just slapped him, and you stare back, breathing hard. You’re so focused on each other you don’t even notice you have an audience until you hear a new, familiar voice speak.

“Hey.” Iwaizumi steps between you, concerned and cautious.

He’s the only one here, thank god, but his appearance reminds you that this is definitely not the time or the place for any of this. You shouldn’t care who overhears you, but as angry as you are, you’re not selfish enough to air out your relationship’s problems in front of all of Oikawa’s friends and colleagues. You still love him, after all, even if it’s hurting you to do so.

Iwaizumi casts a wary glance between you and his best friend, almost like he’s preparing himself to play the unwilling referee in what seems to be an inevitable fight. Any other time, you might’ve laughed at the look on his face, but not now. “Everything okay, you two?”

It’s not. It hasn’t been for a while, and right now Oikawa’s looking at you like he’s finally realizing that too.

The car ride back to the hotel is eerily silent. You and Oikawa share no words, no fleeting glances; you don’t even sit close enough to touch each other, not even accidentally. The ride up to your floor is spent in a similar fashion, a cold distance settling between you that’s never been there before.

Or maybe it’s been there for a while, and it took you screaming at him in the middle of a party for the two of you to notice it.

Miraculously, you make it into your room in one piece. The two of you remove your coats and shoes in that same suffocating silence. You make it to the bedroom without exchanging a single word, and he takes a seat on the bed while you sit in front of the vanity and begin removing your jewelry.

Another long stretch of silence later, and then he’s meeting your eyes in the mirror to ask, “Can we talk?”

You consider telling him to go fuck himself instead, but somehow you bite down the urge.

“About what?” You take off your necklace, a pretty golden chain with your birthstone on it that he got you for your birthday. “About how I wasn’t flirting with Ushijima? Because I wasn’t, if that’s what you’re still so torn up about.”

“I know you weren’t,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. It’s a bit longer than you remember; that’s how long it’s been since you’ve really gotten the chance to look at him. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“I do. You were jealous.” Your earrings are the next to go, another gift from him. He’s scattered himself into so many pieces across your life; you’re not sure how you’ll ever be free of him, or if you’ll ever want to be. “But you had no reason to be. I would never do that to you.”

“I know.” He looks down, fidgets with his fingers, meets your gaze again through the mirror. His tie is loosened around his neck, making him look disheveled in just the way you like. “I’m sorry.”

“Great.” Your tone is short, clipped, as you finally remove the last of your jewelry. “Is that all?”

“Please don’t do that. I’m trying to have a conversation with you here, so that we can fix this. I mean, don’t you want to talk about everything, especially after tonight?”

“I’ve already said everything I needed to say, Tooru.” You break your gaze from the mirror, turning to glance over your shoulder at him instead. “You know exactly what the problem is, just like I know you won’t do a single thing to change it. You can’t, because my feelings –our entire relationship– all of that stuff’s always going to come second to the things you want.”

The frown from earlier is back now, this time paired with a hard look, like he can’t believe you’re questioning his commitment, even though he’s given you dozens of reasons to do so. “That’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” You rise to your feet, a dry, humorless laugh escaping your throat as you do. “Tell that to the countless dates you’ve missed. Tell that to the bed you hardly sleep in anymore, to all the times I’ve fallen asleep without you and then woken up only to realize you still weren’t there.”

The words feel heavy and bitter on your tongue, your anger growing the more you think about everything you’ve endured over the past few months, all the different ways he’s managed to disappoint you.

“There’s nothing untrue about it, Tooru. You just don’t care about me the way I care about you.”

“Are you seriously going to stand there and tell me I don’t care about you?” he demands. “Of course I care. I love you, dammit. How could you ever think I don’t?”

“How couldn’t I? God, have you seriously not heard a single thing I’ve said this entire time? I’m practically in this relationship by myself, and you’re doing absolutely nothing to change that!”

“You think I like having to leave you on your own so much? You think it doesn’t break my heart seeing the look on your face every time I have to tell you I can’t make it to all the things I want to be there for?” He’s on his feet now, hand jabbing at his chest, like if he could rip out his heart and show you the scars there, he would. “Because it does, okay? It makes me fucking miserable, but what else am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to be there, Tooru!” You don’t know when you started crying, but you are. You’re yelling too, hands shaking, voice raw. “You’re supposed to be there when I need you, not make stupid promises you can’t keep! And even if you can’t be there all the time, you’re at least supposed to try!”

“I am trying! I’ve been trying this whole time, and you know that!” He sounds as exasperated and raw as you do, waving his arms around, red-faced and distressed. “You knew what my goals were before we started dating. I never hid them from you. You knew exactly what I wanted, you knew how hard I would have to work, how hard it would be for us, and you agreed to be with me anyway! You promised me you wouldn’t let it come between us!”

“Well, that was before I knew how fucking impossible it would be!”

There’s nothing productive being exchanged between the two of you anymore. You’re just screaming at each other. You call him obsessed and self-absorbed; he calls you needy and demanding. He tells you to grow up and stop asking for so much, and you tell him he’s chasing a pointless dream.

You’re not trying to compromise with each other, or trying to make the other see your point of view. You both just want to hurt each other, and you do.

You’re crying by the end of it; so is he, but you both refuse to admit defeat. It’s one of the many things you have in common: your stubbornness. You’re out of breath and hurting and there’s a small part of you that just wants him to hold you, but at the same time, you can’t stand the sight of him anymore.

You storm out of the room before he gets the chance to, looking back to catch him throwing his hands in the air in exasperation. You throw yourself onto the couch and opt to sleep there for the night, because you know that if you don’t, you’ll probably end up strangling each other.

Oikawa, for once, is wise enough not to follow you, but there’s a quiet voice inside your heart that wishes he did.

You wake up the next morning with a stuffy nose and a migraine. The price of crying yourself to sleep, you suppose. Your appetite is gone but you know that if you don’t eat anything soon the pain behind your skull will only get worse, so you force yourself to stand from the couch.

You step on something hard, eyes widening at the indignant noise of protest it lets out in response. You lose your footing almost immediately, toppling over onto the carpet. It’s everything you can do to throw out your hands and avoid smacking your forehead against the coffee table.

“What the fuck, Tooru?” You scowl when you realize it’s not a random object you’ve tripped over, but rather your own boyfriend, who for some inconceivable reason is laying on the floor beside the couch. “It’s bad enough we spent last night fighting– now you’re trying to kill me, too?”

“I could say the same thing to you!” Oikawa exclaims, returning your scowl with equal exasperation. He’s rubbing at his chest, a pout tugging at his lips as he groans. “You just stepped on my chest. I could have died.”

“Oh, bite me, drama queen.” You roll your eyes, preparing to stand up again, but then you notice the dark circles on his usually flawless skin, the messiness of his hair, and the fact that he’s still wearing his suit from last night, though the tie is gone and the first few buttons of his shirt are loosened. “...did you actually sleep out here? On the floor? Why didn’t you just sleep on the bed like a normal person?”

“I couldn’t.” He pouts even more, and when you nudge his leg with your foot, he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “It didn’t feel right without you. It never does. But it felt even worse after last night.”

It melts your heart, you admit. Just a little. But it’s not enough to make you forgive him or to forget your argument, and right now he’s looking at you like he knows that too.

Still, you feel the urge to remind him, “I’m still pissed at you.”

“I know. I’m really sorry. Not just for what I said last night, but for everything I’ve done before that. I never should’ve made you feel like you’re asking for too much, because you’re not, it’s just…” He takes a shaky breath, leans his head back against the couch from where he sits beside you on the floor. “...it’s hard.”

He turns his body slightly so he’s facing you fully. He starts to reach out a hand towards you, almost like he wants to cup your cheek, but he seems to think better of it and lets his hand drop down between you. You almost smile.

His eyes are hesitant as they meet yours, apologetic. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you, either.” You fiddle with the straps of your gown where they’ve slid down your arm. You were so exhausted and upset after your fight with him that you didn’t bother to change out of it. “...do you really think I’m needy and demanding?”

“Of course not,” he answers easily. “Do you really think I’m chasing a pointless dream?”

“Definitely not. Your dream isn't pointless, Tooru, it’s amazing, and it’s one I know you can reach.” Your hands brush where they rest between you. He tenses slightly, like he’s not sure you’ll want to touch him after everything, but you slide your fingers through his and watch as he lets out a quiet sigh of relief. “I was just angry.”

“Me too.” He squeezes your hand, and you let him pull you a bit closer to him, let him press a kiss to the back of your palm. “I don’t want to fight with you. And I definitely don’t want to disappoint you anymore.”

“I don’t want to blame you or resent you anymore, either.” You inch closer and he lets you rest your head against his shoulder, resting his own against yours in return. A clock ticks on the wall behind you. For the first time in a while, it feels like the two of you are back in sync. “So what are we gonna do about it?”

It’s the million-dollar question, it seems. And it’s the one that, after weeks of heartache, of missing each other and blaming each other at the same time, he finally has the answer to.

When you return to Argentina together, everything changes. Oikawa’s determination goes back to being something you love, now that he’s putting it towards making sure the two of you get to spend time together. He’s at the apartment more; does his best to get to dinner on time, to attend outings with your family and friends, and to meet you halfway at fancy restaurants and magnificent museums and shower you with his undivided attention.

It’s not perfect. He’s still busy, so he can’t be with you all the time, but the effort is there. You see it now more than ever, and it’s all you’ve wanted.

It doesn’t last.

You spend three blissful months together, both of you putting in an equal amount of effort to make it work, to understand each other and support each other, even when it seems impossible. But Oikawa’s schedule becomes more and more unyielding as time goes on, and it’s not long before the cycle of absence starts all over again.

If you had to really pinpoint the beginning of the end, you’d say it’s the night of your presentation. The research project you’ve spent countless hours working on has finally been completed, and tonight you’re going to share it with the public; this thing you’ve struggled with since you entered grad school, this thing you’ve put your blood, sweat, and tears into, both metaphorically and literally.

It goes incredibly well, as your professors and mentors reassured you it would. Your classmates, friends, and parents are all there, and they get to watch and glow with pride as the room erupts into applause once you finish your presentation, knocking the whole thing out of the park just like they knew you would.

The only one who isn’t there is Oikawa, despite you telling him about this ages ago, despite it being written on the calendar hanging on your fridge. You know he texted you with some excuse, but you don’t bother to check which one it was this time.

It should hurt more. It should make you want to shout and scream, to sob and cry, but it doesn’t. The anger you felt before, the fury and heartbreak; it’s not there anymore. It’s gone. You’re not sad or upset or disappointed. You just don’t feel anything at all.

Your friends offer to take you out for the night to celebrate, but you politely decline. Instead, you make your way to the apartment you share with Oikawa, finding it emptier than it’s ever been before.

Months ago, you might’ve cried. Now you do nothing, say nothing, feel nothing. It’s just numb.

By the time Oikawa does make it home, you’re already packed. You’re sitting at the table, waiting, still as a statue. He greets you in a flurry of brown hair and frantic movement, an apology you don’t care to listen to fast on his lips. He whirls by you so quickly he doesn’t even notice your bags stacked next to you.

“Shit, baby, I’m so sorry! I know I’m late, but I’m here now and I promise I won’t be going anywhere for the next few–…”

It takes him a few moments, a couple of double-takes, but finally, he registers the silence around him, the sight of you at the table, surrounded by your things. For once, he has no idea what to say; you see it in the way he looks at you, the way he freezes, wide-eyed and almost afraid.

“My research presentation was today,” you start. “It went great. They’re going to publish it in a journal.”

You watch his face crumple right before your eyes, watch the way his shoulders slump. He looks more defeated now than during any of his previous losses, and so, so incredibly guilty.

“But I thought it wasn’t until–...but it was, wasn’t it? Oh, god. I– I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

“I know you are.”

You stand up. The smile you send him is tired and a little sad, but it’s not bitter, at least not anymore. You’re past that now. You’d like to think you both are.

“I’m so proud of you, Tooru. You work harder than anybody I’ve ever known. I just know you’re going to reach every single one of your dreams.”

You mean it, too. Oikawa has an incredible future ahead of him. You’ve always known that. Once upon a time, you believed you might be a part of it, but not anymore.

“...but I also know that I can’t be with you when you do. I can’t– I won’t be second place for the rest of my life.”

He’s incredibly stubborn, and this time is no different. He tries to change your mind, tries to convince you to stay, but it’s far too little and far too late. Too much has happened between you two, and you just don’t have it in you to be disappointed anymore.

You love him. You do. You always will, and you tell him so, too. But just because you love someone, you remind him softly, doesn’t mean you’re meant to be with them. You love him enough to let him go, and you’re hoping he loves you the same.

“But you promised you’d stay,” he whispers, more heartbroken than you’ve ever seen him over all of this, over you. “You promised we’d figure it out. And now...now you’re just giving up on us?”

You place your keys on the table. The clock in your– no, his kitchen ticks along. It matches the slow, broken beating of your heart. He’s run out of time, and you’ve run out of chances.

“That’s just it, Tooru. I have nothing left to give you.”

This time when you leave, you don’t look back.

Written by: Dawn

#oikawa x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #oikawa imagines #haikyuu imagines #oikawa x y/n #oikawa x you #haikyu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq x reader #our writing #oikawa angst #oikawa tooru angst #dawn writes

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void-galaxy-shenanigans · 3 years

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Infodump/Long Post: Caffeine, Sugar, Dopamine, & ADHD

Hi. I’m Nico. I don’t usually infodump on here but Aiden did before & fellow neurodivergent people seemed to enjoy seeing nd centered content, & people gave him a lot of attention, so…

Here goes I guess. I hope y’all like it.

It’s gonna be a bit long but I found it fascinating so—

So first important thing is, this is based on research studies I found & theories I know, as well as my own observations, & may not be absolutely perfect because of that. But for the purpose of sharing information I’m going to tell you the theories & findings & build from there. Just bear in mind these aren’t set in stone & knowledge could change in the future - this is based on recent/current findings & understanding.

((& I don't want any arguing about the theories, the existence of ADHD, the addictive nature of caffeine/sugar (that's not the central topic here), or the way I formatted this in replies/reblogs please))

——

So many of you may know that ADHDers are affected differently by caffeine (coffee) than non-ADHDers (& neurotypicals). It’s actually been so consistent that I can tell if someone is ADHD or not based on their reaction to coffee - even before they’re diagnosed. It’s generally accepted that stimulants affect ADHDers differently. Coffee/caffeine usually puts ADHDers to sleep, or makes them drowsy, or makes them very focused, & it’s sometimes baffling as an ADHDer that some people can drink coffee to feel energized & jittery (it feels like a lie sometimes). That’s not to say that people who aren’t put to sleep by caffeine can’t have ADHD, but it’s very common to be put to sleep/calmed down by coffee.

Based on my personal experience with coffee, I’ve had a 20 ounce black coffee put me to sleep for four hours. I also, just yesterday, had a 20oz sugared latte & ended up hyperfocusing on this (topic of infodump), rewriting an intro template we made around a year ago, & writing stories (a special interest of mine) for around 6-8 hours total.

Now I think I might know why.

So I suspected the other day that maybe it had something to do with dopamine, & I did some research on how caffeine affects the brain. But because I also know sugared coffee (e.g. syrup-flavoured lattes, which is what I prefer) seem to have a different affect (especially depending on how much sugar you use), I looked into how sugar affects the brain too.

——

This is gonna use a few technical terms so I’ll explain them first for anyone who doesn’t know—

Adrenaline/Epinephrine: “A hormone your body can release (especially when you’re under stress) that increases blood circulation rate (quickens heart beat, strengthens force of heart’s contractions), breathing speed, & carbohydrate metabolism, & prepares your muscles to be used. It’s part of the human ‘fight or flight’ response to fear, panic, or perceived threat. An adrenaline rush can feel like anxiousness, nervousness, or pure excitement as your body & mind prepare for an event.”

Adrenaline Simplified - It gives you heightened energy, excitement, strength, & alertness, & a lot of it will make you jittery, anxious, or panicky.

Serotonin: A neurotransmitter compound which constricts the blood vessels and acts as a neurotransmitter. It’s responsible for influencing/stabilizing mood, feelings of well-being & happiness, cognition, reward, learning, memory, & numerous physiological processes (nausea & vasoconstriction (narrowing (constriction) of blood vessels by small muscles in their walls to slow blood flow)).

Serotonin Simplified - reduces depression, regulates anxiety, heals wounds, stimulates nausea, maintains bone health, helps with sleeping, eating, & digesting, & regulates happiness, well-being, & mood stability; it’s a soother & a happy chemical. A lot of it will make you extremely energetic & jittery.

Dopamine: “A neurotransmitter compound. When dopamine is released in large amounts, it creates feelings of pleasure (happiness, achievement) & reward, which motivates you to repeat specific behaviours; low levels of dopamine are linked to reduced motivation & decreased enthusiasm for things that would excite most people. It controls mental & emotional responses but also motor (physical) reactions. Known for being the “happy hormone”; responsible for the experience of happiness. The anticipation of most types of rewards typically increases the level of dopamine in the brain (anticipatory pleasure), & then you get a larger dose later when you get the reward.”

Dopamine Simplified - It’s your happiness/pleasure response to achievements, rewards, praise, etc. It functions as both motivation & reward, & when it’s functioning properly it’s what keeps you focused on tasks until they’re done.

Residual Dopamine: Dopamine that’s “floating” around in your brain, ready to be deployed as needed to motivate you & help you get through less fun tasks.

Temporary Dopamine: Dopamine that you get as a reward from things like beating a level in a video game, winning the lottery, etc. (accomplishments); is released after an accomplishment or event is over.

Note that typically, these chemicals (dopamine, serotonin, & adrenaline) are supposed to be balanced, & they’re supposed to be generally not very difficult to get. In mentally ill or some neurodivergent brains, however, these chemicals are imbalanced.

——

Now that the technical stuff is out of the way -

Caffeine lowers your serotonin levels, majorly increases dopamine, & releases adrenaline.

Sugar raises all three - serotonin, dopamine, AND adrenaline.

So sugared coffee will raise serotonin, dopamine, & adrenaline levels.

So how does that make them affect ADHDers differently?

——

This part is based on something called Low Arousal Theory (& no that’s not sexual).

Basically, the theory states that what makes an ADHDer appear inattentive or hyperactive has to do with dopamine in the brain - both how much we have & how easy it is to get it.

ADHDers, according to this theory, have lower residual dopamine. This causes an imbalance between dopamine and other neurotransmitter compounds/hormones.

Because of this, then, ADHDers have to rely on temporary hits of dopamine, both to focus & to boost their mood. There are often less ways we can get enough dopamine, since our brain doesn’t pre-produce enough & we thus need more dopamine total to be able to focus. So we end up hyperfocusing on anything that automatically gives large doses of dopamine - which usually ends up being things like TV shows (binge watching), video games (blackout hyperfocus where you play for hours & lose time), & social media (like, scroll, comment, scroll, lots of feedback/reward).

——

(Note in this case sugared coffee can mean coffee with sugar cubes/physical sugar added, coffee with sugary creamer added, coffee with milk added coffee with sugar syrup added, coffee with flavoured sugar syrup added, & coffee with any combination of those added (because those will all add at least a little sugar); & black coffee means coffee/espresso with not even milk added)

So if black coffee raises your dopamine levels, that means, for non-ADHDers, that it makes them energized, jittery, anxious, motivated and alert. Sugared coffee has a more significant/amplified, but similar, affect & this often shows up as shakiness & inattentiveness.

Non-ADHDers will get an artificial imbalance & a whole lot of dopamine, adrenaline, &/or serotonin. Since they already have enough dopamine naturally, this spike causes hyperactive/inattentiveness.

For ADHDers, however, their dopamine levels are low, so black coffee will cause an artificial imbalance but will leave the ADHDer with enough dopamine (higher levels of dopamine) to be motivated to do tasks & focus, & this usually causes focused drowsiness in small doses. Large doses (usually 20+ ounces of black coffee) will put the ADHD brain to sleep.

Sugared coffee though, for an ADHD brain, will cause an artificial balance with higher levels of dopamine, so this usually creates either blackout hyperfocus (medium dose of sugar + medium (16-20oz) coffee), calm focus (large coffee (20-32oz) + some sugar), or amplified hyperactivity (small coffee (8-16oz) + a lot of sugar or large coffee (20-32oz) + a lot of sugar; jittery, jumpiness, running around).

((Note the oz are an estimate & will vary depending on your personal tolerance for caffeine & sugar))

Essentially, sugared coffee could have a similar affect to prescription meds for ADHDers who don’t trust meds, get bad side effects from meds, or aren’t allowed meds? (I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it or say anyone should ditch their meds to try it, especially since coffee can be addictive, but I found it fascinating either way (since it explained (potentially) why black coffee could put me & other ADHDers to sleep).)

It also means being put to sleep by coffee, or suddenly able to Do The Thing™ because of coffee, is ADHD culture. (/lighthearted)

~Nico

#adhd #infodump #low arousal theory #LAT #coffee #caffeine #sugar #adrenaline #dopamine #serotonin #epinephrine #psychology #actually adhd #adhd adult #adhd post #undiagnosed adhd #adhd culture

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kyovtani · 3 years

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the ✨vibes✨ i get from the stans:

— karasuno edition —

aoba johsai | nekoma/fukurodani | inarizaki | others (itachiyama, date tech etc.)

Hi, everyone!! After doing a few of these I decided to put it into a whole ass post so here are the vibes I get from each stan <33 These are my personal opinions and are based on stans ive met and talked to/interacted with so they might not be the most accurate to some of you !! Hope you guys enjoy them; all the love. zade

(a/n: i decided to split them bc otherwise it would have gotten too long !!)

⊹ Ukai Keishin: either dark dark and or pastel aesthetic, movie nights and sloppy make out sessions, heavy daddy issues!! have had a crush on one of their male (history) teachers, carry the burden of commitment issues AND fear of rejection in their chests, wanna be called a whore by one (1) person but start crying when someone raises their voice at them

⊹ Sawamura Daichi: soft soft soft !! still cry bc of S2 E16, big brains, calming aesthetics, bratty or crybaby subs who only want to have their guts rearranged, either constantly horny or sad :( crave validation and have the heaviest praise kink hihi <3 deffo some parental issues too (kinda both but daddy leaning)

⊹ Sugawara Kōshi: warm personalities, give you a feeling of home whenever they talk to you!! praise and corruption kinks <33 iced lattes and late night convos; a thing for pretty boys with pretty hands !! choking kink and body image issues <33 kin him because they’ve been replaced by someone before and feel his pain when giving his setter spot to kags, would lit fight the world for him

⊹ Azumane Asahi: smiley babes; sweet personalities, keyboard smashes and lots of sories and pink emojis <3 intense fear of failure and being a disappointment, people pleaser in desperate need for reasons to do certain things, mommy and trust issues, either horny 24/7 or not horny at ALL

⊹ Ryūnoske Tanaka: used to read a shit ton of bad boy fics in hs, listen to music like The Neighborhood or The 1975, deffo had a 5SOS phase at some point, the happy ones in their friend group but actually the most depressed, constant feeling of not being enough and needing to prove themselves to others, want him to be more appreciated and probably have a thing for saeko too <33 bondage and pet play, in need of a service dom, praise kink (giving and receiving), toxic household </3

⊹ Chikara Ennoshita: soft aesthetics, love making playlists, heavy parental issues (esp. daddy), service subs, scared of authority, crybabies :( flowers, washi tapes, aesthetically pleasing journals and problem with hyperfixation <33 daddy kinks, degradation, mean doms!! get off on the fact that he’s a physical therapist bye

⊹ Yū Nishinoya: can’t sit still, perfectionists, thing for the pretty boys, he was their fave from the beginning and throughout four seasons that hasn’t changed, probably just as horny as he is, hopeless romantics, roses and sunflowers, pastel colors and lots of hair dye <33 mental breakdowns at 3am, cut their own hair at least once during quarantine and had the blonde front pieces for a long time </3 mommy kinks, switchiest switches, parental issues and probably with their siblings too, fear of being loved and loving someone else bc of their trust issues

⊹ Shoyo Hinata: watch the show for the actual protagonist, soft natures, mother-like personalities, love hard, forget even harder; really really hard on themselves, perfectionist, always try their hardest, crave validation and praise, want to be the best at everything, lowkey know it alls with good intentions, parental issues and coffee dates, caffeine addicts with pretty handwritings; daydreamers!! deffo had a 1D phase ain HS <3 sweet scented candles, vanilla sex with lots of love confessions and praise or hard dom enthusiast with heavy degradation kinks, or both

⊹ Tobio Kageyama: chains and flowers, dyed front pieces and a thing for the quiet boys, socially anxious, heavy fear of failure; soft pastel colors with daddy issues and praise kinks or all black everything, mommy issues and dominant personalities, no in between; exhibtionism, had a rebellious phase as a teenager, struggle to show emotions and empathy, but theyre trying <33 impreg and lactation kinks !!

⊹ Kei Tsukishima: either love or hate him; have a thing for the meanies with glasses, soft natures, motherly auras, caring personalities !! heavy heavy daddy issues, either want him to praise or degrade the shit out of them, deffo into choking or bondage, used to hate watching porn but are now running porn blogs, LGBTQ+ community, iced americanos, energy drinks, museum dates !! bratty babies or subby subs, but no matter what they are they wanna see him in a maid dress

⊹ Tadashi Yamaguchi: soft babies !! chains and chokers, part of the lgbtq+ community, kinky sweethearts with hand kinks !! lots of jewelry and dyed hair, pink emojis and hearts everywhere, round glasses, journals, some kind of content creators <3 parental issues, fear of rejection and failure, social anxiety, sweet sweet sweet introverts, teacher’s favorite !! spit kink, degradation and praise, role- and petplay !!

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#hq!!#haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu reactions #haikyuu x reader #kyovtani

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unholyobsessions · 4 years

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Welcome to my dorm

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Warnings: eight year age difference. Mentions of kidnapping

Description: the FBI question you about your friend’s disappearance and you can’t help feeling for a certain doctor. (Inspired by scene above)

Part 2 -- Part 3 -- Part 4 There was heavy knocking on your door. You rolled over, burying your face deeper in the pillow. “Y/n l/n this is the FBI open up!” You let out a groan followed by a dry laugh. “Real funny Danny now let me sleep,” you yelled loud enough for who you assumed was your friend Danny to hear. The knocking continued, pissing you off. You let out a huff reaching over to your nightstand to put on your glasses and climbed out of your bed. “Damn it Daniel seriously if you don’t knock it off I swe-“ you opened the door and the words died in your throat.

Two very attractive men were standing in front of you holding FBI badges up. You saw them eye you up and down which prompted you to look down at yourself. You felt heat rush to your face as you took in the loose booty shorts and bralette you were wearing. Both men put their badges away and stood awkwardly at the door. You snapped out of your embarrassed daze and cleared your throat. “I am not wearing the appropriate clothes for this. Come in.” You stepped out of the way and headed to your closet to grab a random sweatshirt, pulling it over your head. Once you were no longer exposed you turned to face the agents that were now letting their gazes wonder around your dorm room. You found yourself thanking past you for taking the time to clean it two days ago. When they realized that you were now fully dressed the dark skinned man spoke. “We are sorry to bother you this early, I’m Agent Derek Morgan and this is Dr. Spencer Reid and we need to ask you some questions.” The man who you now identified as Agent Morgan gestured to the tall curly haired man next to him. You smiled gently at both of them before pointing to the two chairs by the desk. “Questions regarding what, Agents?” You asked them as they sat down. “The disappearance of Haley Bowen. She went to school here.” This time it was Dr. Reid that spoke. Your eyes widened, you knew her. “Oh my God okay.” You took a deep breath, your brain not really knowing how to react. “Umm do you guys want coffee? I can’t really function without caffeine in the morning so I’m just going to make a pot.” You changed the subject quickly. Your friend was missing and the agents needed your help. You cannot break down. “No thank you.” Agent Morgan answered at the same time as Dr. Reid said, “Yes please.” You sent him a smile and started preparing the coffee. Morgan gave Reid a look and he shrugged as if to say ‘hey, coffee is coffee.’ “How do you take your coffee? Personally I take mine with too much sugar and too much creamer because I don’t really enjoy the taste of coffee but I’m still kind of addicted to it. Which my friends say makes me insane but I actually think it’s pretty normal. The taste is too bitter, reminds me of dark chocolate,” you stopped yourself. “Sorry I’m rambling I tend to do that in uncomfortable situations.” You looked at Dr. Reid expectantly and it took him a second to realize that you were waiting for his answer. “Oh uh three teaspoons.” He gave a small nod at the sugar in your hand. You smiled widely at him, seemingly glad that you were not the only one to enjoy overly sweet coffee. She’s cute, Spencer found himself thinking. After stirring sugar into both cups you walked over to the agents and handed one of the cups to Dr. Reid. Seeing as there were no more available chairs, you hopped on your desk and sat criss cross facing them. “So why are you asking me about Haley?” You took a long sip of your coffee. “She was last seen at the bar you work at.” Agent Morgan spoke but you couldn’t seem to take your eyes off Dr. Reid. He’s cute, you thought. “So she disappeared on Saturday?” You let out a sigh. “You remember seeing her?” This time Reid spoke making direct eye contact with you. You nodded. “She was a regular so we became friends over time. She comes in every weekend to blow off steam. She’s double majoring so she has a lot on her plate. She sits at the bar. Same place every time so I’m always her bartender.” Both Agents nodded at the information given, internally relieved that this interview could result in a lead in the case. “Did you notice anything different about her that night? Anybody that tried to approach her or payed more attention to her?” Dr. Reid asked you. “Well she seemed nervous. She talks to me a lot, rants about her professors and stuff like that. She didn’t talk much on Saturday and she seemed restless. Fidgeting in her seat and playing with the rings on her fingers. I just assumed she was meeting a guy and that’s why she was nervous. I pay attention to her, she gets drunk often and all of the workers like to make sure that nobody too drunk walks home alone or leaves with someone they are uncomfortable with. Whenever she was uncomfortable with a guy trying to make a move on her she played with her rings. That’s when I knew to intervene.” You took a deep breath and a gulp of your coffee, burning your tongue in the process. You felt tears pooling in your eyes and you did your best to blink them away. “Did you see a guy approach her that night?” Again it was Dr. Reid who asked the question, his voice softer this time. You hesitated before answering trying your hardest to remember. “There was this one guy,” you paused, letting your mind wander back to Saturday night. “He wasn’t drunk like most people there. He talked to her while he waited for me to serve him his drink. He got a coke which was strange for someone who was clearly sober to order. I recognized his face but couldn’t place a name. I turned around to serve another group and when I turned back the guy was walking away and Haley was asking for her check. She wasn’t drunk, barely tipsy so I didn’t insist on calling her a cab. Damn it why didn’t I call her a cab?” You couldn’t stop the tears anymore. This was your fault, you should have made sure she got home safely, you should have called her at least. She was your friend and now she could be dead and it will be your fault. Sobs racked your body, your half empty coffee cup slipping from your fingers and shattering on the floor, the sound only making you cry harder. Morgan instinctively reached for your hand the words of comfort ready to be spoken. He was stopped when Reid leaned toward you and grabbed your hand away from your face. He gave it a small tug to make you look at him. He didn’t know what came over him at that moment. He didn’t shake hands and didn’t really touch people but all he knew was that he wanted you to stop crying and he never wanted to see you sad again. “Hey it’s not your fault.” His voice was soft but firm. “There was no way for you to know what would happen and you had no way to stop it. What you told us right now is extremely helpful and will help us bring Haley back home. Okay?” You gave a small nod of your head trying to calm yourself down. “It’s okay just breath with me.” Dr. Reid took a deep breath and you mimicked him continuing until your breathing was back to normal and only a few stray tears were running down your cheeks. “Thank you.” You sniffled and smiled shyly at him. “Would you mind coming down to the station later and giving a description of the man you saw with Haley to a sketch artist?” Dr. Reid looked you in the eyes, his deep look telling you that although it was phrased as a question it was really the only choice you had. “Yeah that’s okay.” You wanted to reach up and rub at your runny nose but you noticed that he was still holding your hand. He felt the slight movement and realized as well. The both of you blushed and averted eye contact while Agent Morgan looked at the two of you with an amused expression. Both Agents stood up signaling that they were prepared to leave. You lead them to the door and they both thanked you for your time. Before you closed the door Dr. Reid handed you his card telling you to call him if you remember anything else that might seem important. You nodded at him, not trusting your voice. You gave him a wide smile which contrasted with your red teary eyes but he still felt the breath being knocked out of him. After the door closed Morgan looked at Reid. “What was that?” Spencer played dumb and started down the dormitory hallway. “What was what?” He pushed the door to the stairs open and looked back at Morgan. “What do you mean ‘what was what’ you were totally into that girl.” Morgan grinned at him and Spencer felt his cheeks heat up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Spencer started down the stairs, making a point to ignore Morgan’s laughter. • • • A few hours later you had taken a shower and put your contacts on. You put on a light face of make up and decided that this time when you met the agents you would be fully clothed so you put on a pair of jeans and a white tank top with a loose button up over it. You slipped on a pair of converse and headed to the police station. You walked up to the front desk and smiled lightly at the woman sitting behind it. “Hi I’m looking for Dr. Reid he told me I was coming in for a sketch.” The woman nodded and gestured someone over. You waited patiently as the two had a conversation and eventually Dr. Reid came into view. You smiled at him and it grew when he gave you a grin back. He guided you through the police station with a hand placed firmly on your back his hand pressing harder when one of the men in the holding cell wolf whistled at you. He brought you to a room where a sketch artist was sitting there waiting. “Here you go.” He mumbled under his breath. “Thank you.” You sat down as Reid left the room. You talked to the sketch artist for about 45 minutes trying to give as much detail as possible. You looked at your watch and noticed your afternoon shift at the bar was starting soon. You quickly thanked the artist and made a quick exit in hopes of not being late. You speed walked all the way to the bar and got there just in time to see the morning bartender ready to leave his shift. He sent you a tight lipped smile as you settled yourself behind the bar. The place was empty except for the man sitting at the bar who looked to be nursing a glass of whiskey. A few minutes later you heard the door ring signaling someone coming in. “Be right with you,” you called as you refilled the man’s glass. He was mumbling something about a cheating girlfriend which made you wince slightly. People dealing with heartbreak at a bar never ended well. You turned around to greet the costumer who had just taken a seat at the bar. Your eyes widened in surprise when you saw Dr. Reid sitting there with a sheepish smile on his beautiful face. “Dr. Reid what can I do for you?” He looked down for a second before making eye contact. He’s nervous, you thought. “I just needed to clear my head for a bit and I wanted to take a look at the scene and try to get a sense of what happened that night.” You nodded your head before giving him your signature smile. “Well can I get you something? I’m not going to offer anything alcoholic since you are still on the job but I do make a mean Arnold palmer.” You sent him a subtle wink, reaching under the bar for a glass. He snorted before accepting your offer. Setting the prepared drink in front of him, you spared a glance at the sulking man to find him slumped in his seat with light snores leaving his mouth. Damn, you thought, this is going to be a slow shift. You turned your attention back to the Dr. who was looking at you with a quirked brow having noticed the frown on your face. You quickly explained how you hated afternoon shifts because they usually consisted of you being bored out of your mind dealing with day drinkers. He struck up conversation to “relieve some of your boredom” as he so kindly put it. Conversation flowed extremely easy between the two of you, talking about anything and everything. From his experience in college to what your favorite song was at the moment. “I have a question,” he spoke after taking a bite of the french fries you had brought out at some point during the conversation. “I may have an answer. Ask away doc.” He smiled lightly at the nickname. “You’re a senior right?” You nodded your head, wondering where this was going. “So why do you still live in the dorms?” You let out a small laugh. “It’s part of my scholarship. I get free housing and I am also an RA.” He took a sip of his drink and mulled over the information. “Now it’s my turn. How old are you?” You told yourself it was an innocent question, that you held no ulterior motives other than curiosity. His eyebrows rose before he set his glass down. “I’m twenty-nine. You’re twenty-one right?” “Yeah.” Eight years, you thought, not that big of a difference. You internally scolded yourself. You couldn’t be thinking that. He was here doing an investigation on your missing friend. He wasn’t thinking about picking up some random college girl who still lived in the school dormitories.

Similarly, Spencer was having an internal battle about his feelings. He wanted to believe that what he was feeling was simple protectiveness over a witness, although it was pretty clear that you were not in any sort of danger.

“So where do you live?” You asked in order to fill the silence that had taken place. “I live about and hour and a half away in D.C.” He felt the need to add the fact that he didn’t live far away from your current location. “I’ve never been.” You said. He almost chocked on his drink. “You’ve never been to D.C.? But it’s so close!” Again with the proximity, could you be any more obvious? Spencer scolded himself. “I know I know but I work most weekends and when I’m not working I’m studying so it is kind of hard to get free time.” I’ll take you. That is what he wanted to say. He had to stop before he made a fool out of himself. He didn’t know why he was feeling this way. Sure he has been attracted to plenty of girls before but you were different. You didn’t stop his ramblings about statistics and random facts that he had in his brain. You listened to him and sometimes even asked to him to elaborate more on a certain subject. You also tended to ramble like when he asked about your family, you went on a tangent about how your mom was your best friend and your younger sister had a dream of being a dancer. Or when he asked about your major and you went on to explain all the research you were doing. You were so passionate about everything you talked about. He smiled at the happiness in your eyes. They were still bloodshot from your breakdown this morning but they held so much happiness and hope that he couldn’t help but feel the same. He was about to reply when his phone rang and he realized he had been talking to you for over an hour. More than halfway to D.C., he thought. He answered it and heard Morgan’s voice telling him to head back to the station as they had found the name of the man who talked to Haley that night. “I uh- I have to go.” He gestured behind him to the door but he couldn’t bring himself to stand up yet. You nodded your head, slightly disappointed that he had to leave. You reached into your pocket and pulled out the card he gave you this morning, writing down your number on the back. “Call me if you find her. Please. Dead or alive I don’t care I just don’t want to find out from the news.” You handed him the card and he looked down at it. “Don’t you need my number if you need to call me? If you have more information that is.” He questioned. “Oh I already put it on my phone. Is that weird?” He looked at you with something that you couldn’t put your finger on. “No, not weird. Kind of cute actually.” He smiled down at you, having already stood up from the bar chair. You blushed and looked away from him. Your blush gave him a sudden surge of confidence. “Can I call you? Even if it isn’t about Haley. Can I just call you?” You smiled brightly at him. “Yes Dr. Reid you can call me.” “Spencer,” he said. You gave him a confused look. “Call me Spencer.” He took a step back heading to the door. “Spencer.” You tested the name on your lips, the smile never leaving your face. He grinned at you and walked out the door. • • • The next day you received a call from Spencer after your lecture. You smiled down at your phone before answering. “Spencer to what do I owe the pleasure?” “Hey y/n we found Haley.” Your heart stopped, the voice in your head praying for it to be good news. “She’s alive and being taken to the hospital.” A long breath left your lips as tears stung your eyes. She’s alive. She’s alive. Without thinking you hung up the phone and hurried to find a cab that could take you to the hospital. You payed the man quickly and took off after he pulled up to the curb. You saw Spencer with Agent Morgan and a woman you haven’t seen before but you assumed she was a part of their team. “She’s okay? Please tell me she’s going to be okay.” You started speaking as soon as you were within hearing distance of Spencer. As he soon as he saw you his eyes softened. “She’s in the ICU right now. They are setting her up and her mom is on the way.” He looked down at you and his heart broke at the tears that were making their way down your cheeks. “Oh thank god. Who was it? Was it the guy I-“ your voice broke before you could finish but Spencer understood what you wanted to ask. “Yeah it was. If it wasn’t for you remembering him it would have taken us a lot longer to find her. You saved her y/n okay?” He reassured you because he knew what you were thinking. It was written across your face. You could have stopped him. “You had no way of knowing. Don’t blame yourself.” He placed his hands on your shoulders as you nodded your head weakly. You leaned your head on his chest needing some sort of comfort from what you were feeling. He didn’t push you away. In fact he pulled you closer and let you cry, staining his shirt. Morgan and Prentiss gave each other a bewildered look because Spencer Reid did not hug. Much less strangers who were witnesses on a case. A doctor came into view and cleared his throat. “Haley Bowen,” he called out. You pulled away from Spencer and walked toward the doctor. “Yes?” He gave you a smile which you took to be good news. “She’s going to be fine. She has a concussion, bruised ribs and sprained wrists from being bound but I have no doubt that she will make a full recovery and be out of here in the next few days.” You let out a sigh of relief. “Can I see her?” The doctor shook his head. “Right now it is family only and I’ve been told her mother is not far but after she gets moved out of the ICU tomorrow you can come visit her at any time.” The doctor finished and walked away. You turned back to the three agents who were now looking at you. You felt awkward in their gaze so you locked eyes with Spencer. “Thank you Spencer really. I should go I have a class in about 40 minutes but hey don’t be a stranger.” You pointed an accusing finger at him and he let out a laugh. “Spencer?” Prentiss and Morgan mouthed to each other. “I won’t I swear. I’ll call you later?” He ignored the questioning looks his coworkers were sure to be giving him. “I’d like that. Maybe you can show me around D.C. sometime.” He smiled as he remembered their conversation yesterday. “Definitely.” You blushed, something that you found yourself doing a lot around him. “Bye Spencer.” “See you later y/n.” He watched you disappear from view before turning back to Morgan and Prentiss. “Okay what the hell was that?” Prentiss spoke up first. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He smiled innocently at both of them before walking away in search of coffee, ignoring his friend’s calls from behind him. He wondered if you would mind him calling you earlier than expected.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid blurb #cm #criminal minds #emily prentiss #derek morgan #mgg blurb #mgg #mgg x reader #spencer reid x y/n #reader insert

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littleoldrachel · 3 years

Text

"how much did you drink?"

for the utterly wonderful @gumnut-logic who asked for how much did you drink? with virgil and scott from this prompt list. tysm my lovely 💚💚💚💚 this ran away from me a bit and i am Not Sure but i hope you still enjoy!

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu! but beware i am slooooow]

Scott slinks through the sliding doors, relishing the cooling sweat on his skin as the sky begins its raspberry ripple across the tropical island. His dawn runs are the only time he gets to really be - he loves his family with everything he has and more, but that half hour with just the consistent crunch of earth beneath his feet is his own perfect sanctuary.

And goodness knows he needs it after the past couple of days.

A flash of Alan’s terrified face as the grapple line gave way and he’d plunged -

Scott screws up his face, crumpling the image like one of Virgil’s discarded “rubbish” (read: brilliant, if rough around the edges) sketches.

Speaking of which, it’s time for Scott to do the rounds and check in on his sleeping brothers.

There’s Alan, sprawled haphazardly across the floor of his bedroom - the only sign of his near-death encounter in the careful bandaging around his forearm (“I can too still game like this, Scott, I’m not balancing the controller on my wrists??”). Gordon too, is starfished on his duvet, but beginning to stir as fractured sunlight dances across his room.

Virgil, however - most unusually - is not burritoed in blankets, which sets Scott’s choir of alarm bells ringing. He hesitates, then sighs, patching through to Thunderbird Five even as he makes his way to Virgil’s studio (also empty).

“John?” he asks quietly, because John works on an unpredictable sleep schedule that gives Scott more stress than he cares to admit, but he would like John to be sleeping right now.

“John is sleeping, Commander. May I be of service?” EOS’ voice is more than a little grating in comparison to the bird song that floats through Virgil’s open windows. Scott resists the urge to grit his teeth - he is trying, okay?

“EOS. Hi.” He rubs his chin, eyes catching on the top sketch of Virgil’s messy pile: Thunderbird One streaking across a stormy sky mid-lightning strike. “Can you tell me where Virgil is?”

“Virgil is in the hangars, where he has been for the last thirteen and a half hours,” EOS says primly.

Scott’s head snaps up, even though there’s nobody there to stare at. “What? Did he fall asleep down there?”

“No, Commander, he is very much awake.” There’s something in her tone that riles him up, a pre-rehearsed nature to it, but he deliberately sets it aside for Future Scott. He’s given a curt thanks to EOS before he’s even registered that he’s striding down to the hangars, concern driving him with a speed usually reserved for rescues.

He hears Virgil before he sees him, a loud swear and a clatter of tools as he’s rounding the corner into the workshop.

Virgil is kneeling over a workbench, picking glumly through the jumble of parts skidding across the surface. Dark brows knitted tight, skin pale beneath fluorescent white lights, a graveyard of abandoned mechanisms, drained mugs, and scraps of graph paper all around him.

"Virgil."

It comes out a little sharper than intended, slicing through the silent workshop and causing Virgil to start violently.

"Scott! What are you doing here?"

"I came to ask you the same thing?"

"I'm…" Virgil gestures vaguely at the chaotic work surface. "Fixing."

"Have you had any sleep?

Virgil frowns. "I'm fine, it's not that late yet."

Scott stares, concern steadily rising. Virgil is known for losing track of time when absorbed in a task, but only usually with his art, and only for this period of time when he's upset, working something through, or...

Only then does Scott take in the way Virgil's hands tremble around the pieces of metal in his fingers, the jittering beat of his leg like helicopter wings, and slight dampness of the unstyled waves of hair across his forehead. He blinks at Scott, squinting a little in that way that Scott knows means a killer headache is brewing.

Methodically, the Commander of International Rescue surveys the room, searching for the source of the issue. His eyes land on the culprit: a coffee-stained jug, completely drained save the dregs of coffee grounds plastering the sides of the container.

It’s a big jug.

Scott swears.

“Virg. How much did you drink?”

Virgil’s eyes dart all over, not resting for a second on Scott’s face. “I - I don’t know. I just had some whenever I got tired and now I’m-” He wrings his hands, sending metal parts spilling from his palms.

“But why? What the hell were you thinking?” Scott’s tone is chiding, too harsh, and he makes a deliberate effort to reign in the reprimand that’s rearing up inside him.

“I just... “ Virgil swallows, meeting his eyes for a moment, looking away at the disappointment there. “I just needed to understand what happened to the grapple lines. To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

Oh, Virg.

Scott softens, Commander melting back into Protective Big Brother because he gets it. God knows he gets it. He steps towards Virgil, wraps a hand around his elbow, feels it shake beneath his touch.

But why like this, Virgil?

“For thirteen hours?”

Virgil blinks and the genuine surprise in his eyes is enough that Scott accepts that this wasn’t a deliberate act of self-destruction and that loosens the anxious knot in his chest a little.

“I didn’t mean -”

“I know.”

Virgil ducks. “I just needed to find out -”

“I know.”

Virgil bites his lip, and Scott knows the image of their littlest brother’s panicked face is stuck on repeat in his mind. Scott closes his eyes, allows the video to roll in his own head, and the pain that rips through his chest has him tugging Virgil into his arms for a hug. Big as he is, Virgil is never one to say no to a hug, and he folds himself into Scott’s chest with a sigh. Scott can still feel the tension thrumming through Virgil’s body, and he instinctively tightens his grip.

Trust Virgil to hurt himself with his bean-juice addiction. Frankly, they’re lucky this hasn’t happened before with the amount of the stuff he pours into his body.

“I know I’m not having a heart attack, but -”

“You know I love it when you begin a sentence like that -”

Virgil tries to laugh but it comes out a little shaky. "Shut it, you." He rests his head on Scott's shoulder. "My heart is going so fast it hurts. Feels like a goddamn panic attack."

“What the hell have you done to yourself?”

“Mild caffeine overdose,” Virgil’s voice comes out muffled. “Sorry.”

“Mild. Caffeine. Overdose.”

Virgil laughs again, a little surer this time and pulls back from the hug. “I’ll be okay. Just gonna feel horrible for a bit, I think.”

“You think. Let’s see if Grandma agrees.”

“No! Let her have her time away - this is - it’s stupid. I’m fine.”

Scott gives him a Look, but Virgil glowers right back.

Scott loves him, but Jesus, does he wish he could trust Virgil to be honest with him about his health.

“Don’t make me set you up in the infirmary. You know I’m not bluffing.”

The glare intensifies. “I’m fine, Scott.”

Scott resists the urge to roll his eyes with a truly Herculean effort. “I want to do a scan, just to be sure.” “Scott -”

He plays the trump card (regrets playing it at the look on Virgil’s face, but needs must). “I could have lost Allie too, Virg. Don’t make this harder than it is.”

Virgil sags. He taps his watch. “EOS?”

“Yes, Virgil?”

“Please can you pull up my vitals for my dear big brother to fret over?”

“Of course, Virgil. Though I don’t understand why you want Scott to fret, he seems grumpy en-”

“Thank you, EOS.”

A holograph flickers into view, and Scott scans them, relaxing slightly at the lack of danger. Virgil’s heart rate is too high, as expected, and he’s dehydrated and exhausted, but otherwise, he really does seem okay. Still, Scott knows how dangerous dehydration and exhaustion can be, and more to the point, so does Virgil.

“You’re a stubborn idiot, you know that, right?”

“I learned from the best.” Virgil’s smile is teasing, but he’s okay, and Scott releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure, Scooter, whatever you say.” Scott glares. “Right. You’re grounded for at least a day -” To his credit, Virgil only looks a little crestfallen. “- And you’re going to rest.”

Scott can practically see the cogs turning in his brother’s mind as he seeks a loophole or way to escape, but for now, he’s going to ignore it. Another problem for Future Scott, poor guy …

“Let’s go. Up to the lounge, now.”

“I should clear up -”

“Nuh-uh. Lounge. Now.”

Virgil lets out a loud sigh, and with much griping about leaving the workshop messy for Brains, leads the way up to the lounge. Scott follows closely, eyeing how Virgil’s feet drag with exhaustion even as his fingers tap away with restless energy.

Scott deposits him on one of the couches, tosses a throw over him, and resists the urge to tuck him in, but only because -

“I’m not sick, Scott. I’m okay! This isn’t necessary,” Virgil calls after him. Scott returns seconds later, a glass full of water.

“Drink all of this. And then have these.” Scott drops two electrolyte tabs beside Virgil. “Now excuse me, but I’m going to consult a qualified medical opinion before I believe you.”

“I am a qualified medical opinion -”

“- Who hasn’t overdosed on caffeine this morning.”

Virgil scowls. “I’m never going to live this down, am I?”

*****

Scott returns with Gordon, whose concerned professionalism quickly morphs into a shit-eating grin when it becomes apparent that actually, Virgil - for all his brilliance and talent - is an idiot.

But he’s surprisingly gentle when he fetches Virgil another glass of water and suitably soothing as they take a calm stroll around the flatter paths of the island to help Virgil burn some restless energy. The waft of pancakes draws them back into the lounge where Scott has stacked up thick, fluffy pancakes that melt on their tongues and warm them inside out.

By now, Virgil is visibly less shaky, and Gordon’s concern has dissipated to the extent that he blatantly steals three pancakes off Virgil’s plate. To be fair, Virgil probably doesn’t need six pancakes, but still. It’s the principle of the matter.

Scott - bless his heart - has also queued up the latest series of the ocean documentary that Gordon and Virgil gush over, but that Scott himself finds mind-numbing. The three of them squash together on one sofa, chomping pancakes and squabbling over blankets as the sun rises on another beautiful day.

Alan strolls in, nose first and still half-asleep. “Pancakes?” he says hopefully.

He catches sight of Virgil and seems to shake himself awake immediately. “Virgil? What the hell are you doing up?”

“Language,” Scott says thickly, the effect lessened by the mouthful of pancake and chocolate spread inside it.

“What the heck,” Alan waves a dismissive hand. “It’s barely ten, Virg?”

“Tell him what you’ve gone and done,” Scott says, because damn straight is he going to hold onto this one the next time Virgil’s yelling at him for taking a stupid risk. Well, at least I can drink coffee without poisoning myself, Virgil can just hear it now. .

“I drank too much coffee,” Virgil tells the ceiling.

“Sorry, V,” Gordon says, his smile wicked. “Allie didn’t quite catch that.”

Virgil sighs. “I overdosed on caffeine,” he says loudly.

“That’s a thing?!” Alan splutters. And then he bursts out laughing and Virgil wants to glare because he’s exhausted and his head is throbbing and there’s an anxious wriggle in his chest that keeps poking at his limbs.

But he also thought for one terrible moment yesterday that he wouldn’t get to hear that laugh again. The relief is infectious.

It never takes much to set Gordon off, but cracking Scott is a true victory, because for a second, the lines around his eyes crinkle with something other than stress.

Alan sets himself up with pancakes (far too smug that he’s allowed the chocolate spread on his where Virgil was only allowed syrup), and plonks himself down on Virgil’s right, bandaged arm and all. Whilst Gordon and Alan quarrel over species of tropical fish, Scott looks over at Virgil, raising his eyebrows. Are you okay? it says.

Virgil smiles and nods.

Inevitably, Scott and Gordon are called away on a rescue, just as Alan has grown tired of the nature documentary and is demanding something more exciting. Virgil consents to the first movie Alan picks out, because he’s too busy watching Gordon fly his beloved ‘Bird away with an expert hand.

God, he’s so tired. His limbs are heavy and aching from the tension of holding them in place all night and his head pounds in beat with his too-fast heart..

He’s utterly exhausted. If only his mind could get the memo. Instead it careens between thought processes: the grapple lines, his failed calculations, the disaster zone he’s left the workshop in -

It doesn’t matter though.

Because Alan’s alive and that’s all that matters.

Alan, whose gentle hand snakes through Virgil’s hair in a tender, soothing way that plucks at the knot of anxiety in Virgil’s chest, whose ministrations are a blessed, momentary pain relief for his sore head.

*****

It’s dark when he wakes, though he doesn’t remember his overwrought brain finally giving into sleep. His limbs no longer feel like they’re spasming out of control and his head aches with a more manageable pain, but he’s still drained. On the floor next to him, Alan is snoring at the centre of a nest of blankets - at least two of which Virgil is sure were wrapped around himself before...

He raises his head to look for his water glass, and nearly jumps out of his skin at the sight of his oldest brother standing in the shadows, watching. He’s still in his uniform, which suggests Thunderbird One just docked - presumably her engines through the open patio doors are what woke him.

“What the fuck, Scott?” he hisses.

“Sorry,” Scott says, though he doesn’t sound particularly apologetic. He moves into the light, and repositions Alan so that he can rescue one of the blankets for Virgil once more. “Go back to sleep.”

“Did the rescue go okay?” Virgil asks instead, relieved at Scott’s easy nod - and relatively clean, dry appearance.

“Gordon’s heading back now, all good. And no issues with grapples today, thank God.” Scott’s voice is low but Virgil still flinches from it.

“I’m going to find out what happened, Scott, I swear -”

“I know you will.” Scott’s voice is so firm, so strong that it momentarily steals Virgil’s breath how much faith Scott has in him. "I know you’ll figure it out, Virg. But you don’t have to do it on your own. You and Brains will work on it and find a solution, John’s going to identify the person responsible, and EOS will make sure they can never do it again. But it’ll be when you haven't overdosed on caffeine. Do you understand?”

It’s the kindest of reprimands. The same kind of pleading why won’t you just take care of yourself tone that Virgil finds himself using more and more on Scott these days, but with so much understanding and love, Virgil finds himself blinking back tears.

He can only nod and Scott steps back. “I’m going to go shower. Get some rest, Virgil.”

Scott turns to leave and Virgil forces himself to muster up his barely replenished energy reserves. He snags Scott’s sleeve, “Scott - thank you.”

Scott smiles a smile that’s just them, soft and trusting and concerned. “God knows you’ve looked after me through far worse hangovers than this. But don’t you dare do this again, Virg. I mean it. Don’t make me confiscate all the coffee on the island, because you know I’ll do it if I have to.”

“I know you will.”

Scott runs a hand through Virgil’s messy waves fondly, letting his hand rest at the nape of his neck where the headache pain is regrouping. “Sleep, Virg.”

And he does.

#thunderbirds are go #littleoldrachel writes #virgil tracy #scott tracy #earth and sky

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artxyra · 4 years

Text

Healing Gotham | Part 1

Prologue

Tim was having an off day. At first he had thought it was due to him surviving off of weeks’ worth of caffeine, but that was not it—not it at all. When Tim had first arrived at Wayne Enterprise, all of its employees were having a rush. Paperwork was thrown around, gather, shredded within seconds of each other. The young co-CEO couldn’t find it in him to care enough until it was lunchtime. An older employee was going around collecting NDA’s from all the new employees—like that wasn’t an everyday experience. Tim had half the brain capacity to contact Bruce for information, and yet he doesn’t do it.

Then Tim returns to the manor, cars from his extended siblings, and family members parked within the gates. Once again, this was not an unusual sight for the coffee addict. Well, it wasn’t an unusual sight until he stepped into the manor.

On one of the couches sat Steph, Cass, and Damian all looking to the people on the other side of the room. Kate stands leaning against the window waiting for the shoe to drop. Tim didn’t know where to sit. He only had two options: sit beside the mess of his older brothers or sit where there was the least amount of space next to his other siblings.

Finally taking in his environment, he notices something scary. Jason and Dick weren’t in their usual moods aka brooding and dramatic but on the verge of a massive mental breakdown. Jason was clutching his hair staring down at his lap repeating the words, “She’s going to kill me” as if it was the end of the world. Dick was mimicking the words with “Not if she kills me first, I’m too young to die”. This was such a shock, that Tim had to take a long sip of coffee to make sure it was true, and even then he had to pinch himself as a reminder that he was awake.

“Master Tim, the amount of caffeine you are consuming is terrible. Perhaps taking a rest would help.” Alfred offers with little room to negotiate, but Tim swears he is fine to which the family butler did not believe. “Uh-huh…” Taking the thermos out of Tim’s hand, the young co-CEO is left with nothing.

“You’re seeing this too, right? Tim asks his siblings that weren’t in the Wayne family as long as the older two. Steph is simply recording the nature of their situation—probably blackmail material for her and Barbara. Cass simply examines her older siblings wondering what has gotten into their heads. She was sure that Bruce was internally panicking based on his fingers tapping against his suit jacket and constant inching to the couch. Looking beside her, it was obvious that Damian hates being out of the loop and was moments away from exploding. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to sit beside Damian for this family meeting.

“What has gotten you three so worked up?” Kate asks from the safety of her position. Watching the three break down may be fun and all, but she had a life to live also outside of her cousin’s BS.

“Master Bruce now would be the best time to explain our situation,” Alfred suggests coming back into the room with a tray of teacups and a pot of tea. The butler knows the family is going to need it after dropping a bomb like this to the newest Waynes.

As much as Alfred was right, Bruce knew he couldn’t keep this hidden. He can already tell that Damian was seconds away from stabbing Dick or Jason for being in such an off-putting mood. Tim would be forever confused until he gets a good rest, Cass may like having someone other then him to talk to, and Steph—well Steph will just be Steph.

Bruce was so deep in thought that he didn’t acknowledge the peak of Jason’s and Dick’s mental break down.

“She’s going to kill me…I would rather face the Joker than be on the receiving end of her anger.” Jason finally speaks something than the mantra he has been chanting for the past hour.

“Here’s how she’ll do it, kill Bruce, then me, and then you. Alfred’s safe because it’s Alfred.” Dick adds pointing to each person he has mentioned, furthering the family’s confusion. Kate, on the other hand, received the message loud and clear and end up bursting into laughter.

“Good to know you find humor in our incoming deaths, Katie,” Dick says pouting with arms crossed against his chest.

“What is Kane laughing about, Father?” Damian asks with a dangerous intent beneath his words.

“In just a couple of days, the Manor Wayne is welcoming an old visitor…my sister… your aunt.” Bruce finally speaks with a heavy sigh. It was if he was preparing for the mental battle this family is about to go through.

“Sister?” “Aunt?” “What?” Various amounts of reactions echo across the room. Every one of his children that had no clue about the oldest Wayne’s sister was just given a wake-up call.

“Yes, I have a sister. She’s my younger sister, and she’ll be staying at the Manor until she finds herself her own place, and this is if she decides to move to Gotham permanently.” Bruce then adds.

“You mean she’s staying here?” Damian cries out, he already hates the fact that most his siblings typically stay in and out of the manor, but to have a new resident just screams trouble.

“Yes, which also means we all need to keep our nightly activities on the down-low. Marin Etta has no idea that I am Batman or that Dick and Jason were Robin, and I like to keep it that way. This means Jason, no bringing anything related to the Gotham Underground, Dick you do what you’ve always done. The rest you better be on your best behavior.”

“Well this is the best news; I haven’t seen Mars since the wedding and that was five years ago.” Kate pushes herself off the wall and goes to hug Bruce. “Call me when she arrives, it will be nice to have a girls’ trip or something.”

“Katie…” Bruce sighs but the look on his cousin’s face says otherwise and it was best to leave this alone. “I will.”

Once Kate was out of the room, Damian loudly growls. “I don’t like this.”

“For once I agree with the Demon Spawn,” Tim says, though in Tim’s mind he wasn’t sure what was happening. His brain acknowledges Kate leaving but the moments before seem like a dazed.

“Tim, you okay?” Steph asks as the person in question sway. “Better yet when was the last time you slept?” She receives no answer from the in and out of the conscious male.

“Why are we just now hearing about this so-called sister.” Damian questions as if he was the only person sane in the household—which he’s not. It’s not like he’s trying to gain as much information about this aunt of his so that he could look her up and do a background check. That is totally what he will be doing.

Bruce, seeming to ignore Damian’s underlying intent, sighs and reply with, “She and I had a fall out when Jason died, and we barely speak. This is the first time in a while that she’ll be back.”

“Sounds like a you problem.” Cass murmurs under her breath evading all the glances her way. It’ll be nice to have seen someone other than her adopted family, but at the same time just how will this new person fit into their family.

“Better yet why do Grayson and Todd know about her while the rest of us don’t?” Damian asks gesturing to his other siblings. “You have no photos of the woman, so why must I believe that you have a sister.” From this Bruce could feel a migraine coming in the longer this goes on.

“Look, Little D, Mari is like a sister or a mother figure to Jason and I. There are reasons outside of this room as to why she is so well hidden. You know that room that Bruce forbids anyone from going into?” Dick replies instead of Bruce. Both he and Jason need to wrap up this conversation to prep for their incoming deaths by Mari. He was definitely sure that Bruce was about to do the same and Mari-proof the manor’s access to the Batcave.

“Na’am,” Damian says begrudgingly.

“That’s Mari’s room and will forever be her wing until she no longer needs it.” Dick finishes off his statement, which clearly did not do anything for the youngest Wayne. He then turns to Jason who was in less of a panic but in more of a defensive planning stage. “C’mon Jaybird, we have lots of pre-death planning before Sunshine returns to the Gotham.”

“Once again, I rather die by the Joker than by her, B-man you owe us so much for this,” Jason states before walking out the living room with Dick following behind.

Bruce sighs heavily and returns to his remaining children, well those that are still awake. Tim had passed out and will most likely be for the time being.

“Father…”

“Not now Damian. I will answer the rest of your questions later. I have a sister-proofing mission to handle.” With that Bruce takes his leave.

“This family can never be normal could it?” Steph wonders as she picks up Tim and places him over her shoulder.

“I agree with you on that. Need a hand?” Cass responds looking at the failing form of Steph’s body as she lugs Tim over to the entranceway.

“Nope, I’m fine,” Steph replies before she and Tim disappear into the shadows of the manor.

“I still think this is a bad idea,” Damian states crossing his arms and taking his leave also.

Cass stares at the leaving figure of her younger brother and shakes her head. She knows that Damian would not leave this alone until he hits rock bottom. Let that be her mysterious aunt herself or Bruce making his word-final.

A couple days later at the Gotham City Airport, a woman with a concave bob hairstyle stands outside the pickup area with her three suitcases next to her. Bing. She looks down to see the name Alfred popping up against the screen.

“Yes Alfred, I’m here… I’m still at the airport. No, you don’t need to give me a—” She pauses allowing the Wayne family butler to reply. “Alright, I’ll see you in a few.” With that, she ends the conversation and places the phone in her back pocket.

This person is nonother than Marin Etta Martha Wayne or as the people in Paris, France calls her Marinette Martha Dupain-Cheng Couffaine.

Part 2 >>

Tag List: *View my Tagging System guidelines for how to to be properly tagged or removed.

Specific Tag List: @nach0ava | @moonlightstar64 | @pirats-pizzacanninibles | @elmokingkong |

#maribat #ml x dc #sibling brucinette #mlb x dc #ml crossover #dc crossover #fic: Healing Gotham

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loverboytrashmouth · 3 years

Text

Of Macchiatos and Nicknames (part 2)

pairing; Reddie

word count; 2.3k

summary; Eddie keeps dragging Bill to the coffee shop for his now daily chats with a certain barista. Bill didn’t think he could get tired of drinking coffee. Meanwhile, Richie’s coworker is tired of him being even more clumsy with coffee than usual.

a/n; heyoooo here’s part two of my reddie coffee shop meet cute :) here’s part one if you missed it. and you can read this on ao3 here if you’d like! enjoy !!

This was the sixth - seventh, maybe? Who’s counting - day in a row where Eddie found himself sitting across from Bill at his new favorite study spot. The only thing that differed from their first homework session spent at the campus cafe was Eddie’s seat of choice. The second day Eddie had asked Bill to switch seats with him, making up some excuse about his chair being unsteady. Of course, Bill knew Eddie just wanted a better view of the guy messily making coffees behind the counter, but he kept this knowledge to himself.

And, of course, Bill knew why, despite Eddie’s hatred of customer service interactions, the shorter boy would insist on ordering their coffees for them every visit. Or why, on day four, Eddie started waiting for their drinks by the counter instead of setting up his study area while they were being made. And Bill knew why Eddie would constantly get distracted while he attempted to go over calculus equations with him, only to get a small “hm?” in response, as if Eddie had just come back down to Earth after a long journey on Planet Trashmouth.

Bill was happy his friend had found someone that caused the same look in his eyes that Bill would get himself when looking at his boyfriend, Mike. And at first, Bill was happy to keep his teasing to himself (for the most part).

But on day six (seven?), Bill wasn’t running on a good night’s rest, and the caffeine wasn’t helping.

“If you don’t s-s-stop with this school girl crush sh-shit and finally ask the guy out, I’m gonna s-stop acting as your excuse to c-come here everyday,” Bill snapped when another one of his questions was met with Eddie snapping back into reality, barely hearing what he had said. Eddie’s cheeks turned the shade of pink Bill had gotten too familiar seeing them being, before giving his friend apologetic eyes.

“I know, I’m sorry I keep getting distracted,” Eddie raised his arm to scratch the back of his neck in embarrassment, guilt beginning to cloud his features at the realization that he was being completely rude to his friend. Bill softened at this, putting on his signature comforting smile.

“It’s f-fine, really. I just think it’s time for you guys to cut the flirting and actually do s-something, that’s all,” Bill said warmly, assuring his friend he wasn’t upset with him. “Plus, I never thought I’d get t-tired of drinking coffee. And I don’t th-think I’m at that point yet, but oh, am I getting there.” Eddie chuckled, taking another glance over at Richie, who was currently taking another student’s order. The smaller boy sighed.

“I’ve never done this shit before, though! I thought he’d ask me by now. Shit, maybe even for my number at least,” Eddie mumbled the last part, sitting back in his chair and folding his arms, feeling defeated. Richie seemed to be bold enough that Eddie figured he would only have to show up to the coffee shop once, maybe twice more and boom, he’d have a date before the week ended. But with the way things were going for him, he’d be surprised if he didn’t develop a caffeine addiction before learning how it would feel for him to plant a kiss on those slightly chapped lips he couldn’t stop thinking about. Bill’s smile grew warmer, if that were even possible.

“D-Do you want help?” Eddie frowned dramatically and nodded.

Richie flirted with everyone and anyone that would let him do so. It was all just playful banter to him. It wasn’t that big of a deal. Until that fanny pack wearing, freckle ridden boy had walked in during his daily afternoon shift at the campus cafe. With him it meant something, something Richie could feel in his bones, that spread across his skin in goosebumps and blushes.

Beverly had noticed as well, that Richie was very clearly falling for this particular student. She was his best friend and knew him almost better than he knew himself, so of course she noticed.

Her tell-tale sign, though, was Richie’s lack of coordination within the past week or so. He was already a pretty clumsy guy, but he was at least able to kind of get his shit together during work. But Bev noticed the shred of coordination he’d possess once he had his apron on had gone out the window when Eddie began showing up more and more.

So she wasn’t all that surprised when she heard the familiar clanking of the metal milk steamer hitting the tiled floor, Richie mumbling a slightly aggressive “shit” under his breath. The redhead huffed out a sigh, turning to her best friend with an annoyed glare. Richie gave her a toothy grin in response.

“My bad, Bevster. Won’t happen again, scout’s honor.”

“You’ve said that every time you’ve dropped something for the past six days,” Beverly retorted, shaking her head as she turned for some paper towels to hand over.

“Seven,” Richie corrected. He grabbed the paper towels from his friend’s hand, taking one last glance over his shoulder at Eddie, giving him a wink, before getting on his knees to clean up his spill. He smiled proudly to himself, knowing he definitely just made Eddie flustered once again. Beverly crouched down so she was eye level with Richie, her chin resting on her knee.

“Just ask the boy out already, Tozier,” she half whispered, giving him the look she always gives him, the one that tells him he’s being a pain but she loves him anyways. Richie looked up from his cleaning before responding, catching a glimpse of said look.

“All in good time, Ms. Marsh. I’m just buttering him up,” he replied, nudging Beverly with his elbow. Suddenly, his smile twitched, letting out a soft chuckle. “I really want him to say yes,” he continued quietly, beginning to fidget with the paper towel in his hands, avoiding his friend’s gaze.

Beverly let out a breathy chuckle beside him, patting him on the top of his beanie where she would usually ruffle his curls like she’d always do when giving Richie her sisterly advice. “Dumbass, do you not see the way he blushes whenever you even look at him? Not to mention I’ve never seen him here before last week when you guys met, and now he’s here, like, everyday. It doesn’t take a fuckin’ rocket scientist to see a lovestruck little gay boy when he’s dead in front of you.” Richie laughed and shook his head, adjusting his glasses with the same nervous tick he’s had since adolescence.

“If you’re sure, little red. I’ll… I’ll work on not pussying out,” he said with his crooked smile. His smile turned devious before adding, “Maybe I can work on getting his pussy out, if you know what I me-” He was cut off with an elbow to his knee, making him wobble due to his brief loss of balance.

“Beep beep, Richie. God, you’re the worst,” Bev snapped with no heat behind her words. She got up, dusting off her knees, letting the trashmouth clean up his trash.

Now it was day nine (day nine for sure, Eddie recounted all of their encounters in his head one night when he couldn’t sleep, so he knew, nine days). Eddie had decided against dragging Bill with him to the coffee shop this time around, mostly due to his guilt for helplessly ignoring his friend every time he was in Richie’s presence. He felt like such a lovesick teenager, like he should be laying in bed on his stomach, feet swaying in the air while he wrote in his diary about his crush on the campus barista.

Eddie was sat in the familiar spot facing the counter at the table he and Bill usually favored, laptop open, but not doing any actual work. Instead his eyes trailed above the screen, watching Richie wipe down the counter after, no doubt, spilling something again. Eddie had wondered if he was always so clumsy, or if that was reserved for when he was around. He smiled at the idea of Richie getting so nervous around him that he couldn’t help but spill a coffee or two. Or ten.

Glancing down briefly to check the time displayed on the upper right hand of his screen, Eddie noticed he had a mere couple of minutes before he knew Richie was set to clock out for the day. In the nearly week and a half he had been spending at the cafe, Eddie observed the barista would run out the moment his apron was off his lanky figure on the weekdays, presumably to make it to a class. On weekends, however, he’d fall back a bit, making himself a coffee and chatting with his red-haired coworker, all while giving the shorter boy those small glances that made the latter’s chest flutter. Day nine was a Saturday, leaving Eddie all the time he needed after Richie’s shift to build up enough courage to approach him.

Fortunately enough for Eddie, he ended up not being the one walking over to the other boy.

“Ya here all by your lonesome today, boy,” Richie asked in a ridiculous southern accent, his hands grabbing onto his belt and doing his best cowboy saunter. His apron was off and replaced with a ridiculously patterned button up sitting open over his black tee, his curls free from the beanie that he’d wear during his shifts. Eddie chuckled as he shook his head at the antics.

“Yeah, Bill, he… had a… thing,” he answered lamely, mentally slapping himself, which he found himself doing a lot around Richie. Eddie had recently picked up a habit of speaking before his brain could fully process what he was about to say. It was as if he felt as though he constantly needed to be talking, no matter what he said, as long as it would keep Richie’s attention on him.

Little did Eddie know, Richie couldn’t keep his attention off him even if he tried.

Richie slid into the chair across from Eddie, his eyes never leaving the latter’s face, the ever present smirk plastered on his chapped lips. “Well, I don’t see what ‘thing’ could be more important than hanging out with a cutie like you, Eds. What kinda boyfriend is this Bill guy anyhow?” Richie’s smirk faded slightly at the last sentence, giving Eddie an expectant look. Eddie’s eyes widened before sputtering out an obnoxiously loud laugh.

“You- You think I’m wi- with Bill,” the smaller boy managed to get out, his eyes crinkled and his arm snaking around his stomach when he felt a pain in his abdomen from laughter. Richie let out a chuckle across from him, and Eddie opened his eyes in time to see the barista raise his hands in defense.

“Hey, spaghetti man, I’m just making sure you’re on the menu,” Richie responded with his usual flirty grin and eyebrow wiggle. Eddie’s laughter slowed and he felt his face heat up, as it always does around Richie. Despite this, the shorter boy scoffed at the nickname usage, again, as he always did.

“And what makes you think all these ridiculous nicknames are gonna get you anywhere?”

“It’s all part of my plan. Woo you with my charms and incredible nicknaming abilities. Don’t lie, I know you like ‘em,” Richie teased, and of course, he was right. Eddie’s attempts to deflect the nicknames with a disgruntled noise or eyeroll constantly failed at the hands of the rosey color that would appear on his cheeks shortly after. Eddie elected to ignore the comment rather than deny it.

“Well, no, I’m not dating Bill. He’s my best friend. He’s already got a boyfriend, plus he’s not really my type anyways,” Eddie shrugged with a small smirk on his lips. Richie perked up at this, straightening his posture and resting his elbow on the back of his seat, legs crossed, eyebrows raised at the shorter boy.

“Oh, I see. And what would you say tickles your fancy, dear old Edward,” Richie questioned in his old British woman voice, one of his personal favorites. He’d never forget his friends’ reactions when he first used that one in high school; he had even earned a chuckle from Stan. When he received a breathy giggle from the boy across from him now, he knew this Voice was an oldie but a goodie.

“Hmm,” Eddie started, putting on his best thinking face. Richie couldn’t help the fond look that crept onto his features while he watched Eddie rub his chin and purse his lips, fully not believing anyone could be so cute cute cute so effortlessly. “I like guys that are tall, pretty lanky. Long hair. Bonus if they can make me laugh.” Eddie had avoided Richie’s gaze throughout his description, his eyes not landing back on the taller boy until he was done talking and already had his bottom lip nervously between his teeth. He was met with a giddy smile on Richie’s part, causing Eddie to release his lip and break into a smile of his own.

“What a coincidence. I’m into tiny, feisty dudes that wear fanny packs.” Richie’s smile grew wider as he spoke, meanwhile Eddie’s simmered into a pout and his eyebrows furrowed.

“Don’t call me tiny, asswipe,” he retorted as he playfully kicked at Richie’s black converse beneath the table. “That’s a nickname I won’t tolerate.”

“Hardly a nickname, Eddie baby. Just a descriptor,” Richie replied, kicking him back lightly with a laugh. “It’s true, and it’s what makes ya so darn cute!” He punctuated his comment by reaching over the table to pinch Eddie’s cheek, receiving a slap of the hand from the other boy.

The two continued their flirty banter and playful bickering until they heard the clattering of the metal that closed up the coffee counter, and saw the sun disappear behind the campus buildings and be replaced with nightfall. When Eddie walked back to his dorm that night, he had a new contact in his phone, a warm spot on his cheek where Richie had briefly pressed his lips to, and a fluttering feeling in his heart he couldn’t shake even if he wanted to.

#my writing #reddie #richie tozier #eddie kaspbrak #reddie fic #reddie fanfic #it #it chapter one #it chapter two #it 2017 #it 2019

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sehnsuchts-trunken · 2 years

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Hi!! I was wondering if I could get a ship for the hobbit and/or lord of the rings pls? I’m a 5’3 straight girl with short red hair and pale, lmao I could’ve been in twilight. I’m a Gryffindor. I’m a total caffeine addict and a city gal:) I’m also a theatre kid but like,,,I’m rlly quiet surprisingly. Like I’ll talk when I’m with one other person but in a group I’m like “empty brain can’t work mouth.” But anywayss I also love long nature walks bc they are so calming. I’m also a very nervous person with anything lol, despite being a theatre kid?? I’m a paradox lol. Thank you so so much for this love💕

it's the last day to request for secret santa everyone!!! go ahead and give your friends a little present <33

seventh christmas matchup this year! if you want one yourself, check my christmas special!!

please note that i only do hobbit matchups hun! don’t be confused when you read your result, it may be inaccurate for lotr... or not, idk, i’d watch the films if i had any time left to do so, but sadly i do not

I ship you with...

Legolas Greenleaf!

- Legolas is as wary of gatherings as you are, despite being a prince who has to attend them every time while you only come along when you’re forced to, which is rarely enough not to drive you crazy. You don’t like a lot of people in one room staring at you when you open your mouth, and he seems very inclined to agree. But he’s learnt to live with it, and you have to admit that he’s just naturally good at it. The same way he seems to be naturally good at everything. Archery, horseback riding, sword fighting... the list goes on, and that’s just the physical activities. He’s got a ready mind, clever and cunning and ambitious. Though there is one thing he’s never beaten you at. And you like to boast about it, no matter how insignificant it might look in comparison to his combat skills.

- You’re a great actress. Whenever there’s a play in Mirkwood - and there is often - you’re either on the stage, or in the first row. You sing and you dance and you act as if your life depends on it, talent flowing through your veins that is hard to miss. Rarely have you met an elf that could keep up with you, and throughout the kingdom you’re well known for your roles. Though no matter how often you’re offered an occupation elsewhere, even if it is just for few weeks, you decline, again and again. Not only is the king fond of you and would object to letting you go, but also does the prince live here, and you do not wish to leave him as you know he cannot come with.

- Legolas has never understood your love for coffee. He’s still not sure just where you got it from anyways, but he’s well aware that it at least has something to do with the wizard Gandalf and your two year-long stay at Rivendell. You’d gone there in young years, having known the prince from birth on, and come back so different he’d barely been able to recognise you. He does not necessarily find coffee to be a bad thing, but he’s certainly not happy with the way you now need one before you can talk to him in the mornings. And noons. And afternoons. And evenings.

- Often, to get away from the king and the court or just for a day spent together, you’ll be out in the nature. You always enjoy the time with him out there, but your favourite are those days he takes off his bow and leaves his horse and you just go on walks, exploring the woods, dipping your feet into cold streams and climbing up trees. Then for once the world is quiet, and the nature surrounding you is breathtaking, overwhelmingly near and all around you and undisturbed. It’s rare, but sometimes you do not return when night falls. Instead you’re watching the sunset and then the stars, and you’re telling stories and laughing and simply being. It’s freedom, looking up at the universe spread out like that, cuddled up against his side and bathing in his warmth.

please excuse my non-existent knowledge of elven courting customs. i tried to google, but that only confused me and in the end i chucked what i’d learnt into the wind and went by instinct. i hope it didnt become too obvious that i favour other characters, i did my best to find some sweet things and backstory that i also had to research. to be clear, you’d make a great match, i just have zero grasp of his character because he existed for like ten minutes in these films and ive not yet found the time to watch lotr

#the hobbit matchups #hobbit matchups #matchups #for christmas #christmas matchups #christmas requests #christmas event #christmas #legolas #legolas greenleaf #legolas x reader #legolas greenleaf x reader #legolas matchup

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thesleepy1 · 3 years

Text

Tigers Die, Men Cry

A/N: I couldn’t sleep because this was bouncing around in my head the entire time. I just had to get it out before I forget it or get distracted. Must. Write. The. Angst. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Unbeta’d because of laziness.

-Says the brain tired idiot who finished the fic days after they crashed from exhaustion. I need more caffeine.

Pairings: Sebastian Moran x Jim Moriarty

Summary: Sebastian didn’t catch the flu. It's something much, much worse. God save the queen because her kingdom will burn by Moriarty’s hands.

Word count: 3,460

Please proceed with caution.

Warnings: death, grief, aggression, past abuse, mourning, fire, guns, foul language, addiction, smoking, more warnings unlist, more warnings to be added, suicidal thoughts, pass attempted suicide, failed suicide attempt,

Sebastian thought he merely caught the flu. Or at the very least a stomach bug. He had gone out for lunch only to return to his apartment running for the bathroom. The mess he made in there was enough to make morticians cry in their sleep. And to top it all off, he collapsed to the floor before he could even clean up the mess.

Jim almost burned down the building looking for him. He was unable to answer the phone for the second ring and Jim assumed the worst. The crazed man tore through his own home before rushing to Sebastian’s. When the phone went to voicemail once again that was when the gasoline was called in.

“ANSWER YOUR PHONE,” Jim had yelled through the halls, stomping in his new Oxfords before pulling the front door of its hinges. The place had been what Sebastian left it as, barely lived in. Yet there was no evidence of a struggle.

To this day, Sebastian didn’t know why Jim had entered his home. The criminal consultant was too prideful and spiteful to waste precious time ransacking his apartment for his body or some sign that he had left against his view. Maybe, Jim cared about him just a tad more than the rest. Sebastian was dying, he had the right to dream.

Jim had found him unconscious on the floor and instead of helping him to his feet, the man had just kicked his stomach in. The mess had been ignored once more. Sebastian didn’t respond, just subconsciously curled inward in a poor attempt to protect himself. “Get up, or else you’re FIRED!”

No response. Jim kept his cool. The apartment building had not been set on fire, just the first six floors soaked with lighter fluid. A phone call was made and Sebastian was sent to a hospital.

-----

It wasn’t all that bad in Sebastian’s opinion. He just saw it as a long vacation. One that Mortiarty rarely granted him. Sure, it was a pain being tied up to wires and machinery he didn’t have the slightest clue about, but it really wasn’t all that horrible.

There was a little brown teddy bear that Jim had begrudgingly got him from the downstairs gift shop. Sebastian had meant it as a joke, something to get Jim out of his hair so he could suffer alone for a moment. When Jim did return with the little guy with a green ribbon around his neck, Sebastian thought the world must have been ending. The criminal consultant with murder and bloodshed in his eyes tucked the bear next to Sebastian’s side and returned to is post. The fur was surprisingly soft against his stubble. And the ribbon was made from a cheap faux velvet that reminded him of those inner linings of overcoats.

Really, it wasn’t all pain and terror. He had Jim by his bedside.

“Good morning,” Sebastian greeted in a sore tone, his eyes shut but knowing that Jim was right next to him, sitting on his bed.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Jim replied in that sweet, caring, hiss of his.

“Did you try to get some sleep this time?” No reply. It was going to be one of these days. Moriarty had yet to rest since Sebastian had been admitted. They were unable to get one of the VIP, luxury rooms in case either Sherlock or Mycroft were monitoring the country’s hospitals. Jim had not been in a compromising mood, wanting the best of the best for whatever reason.

It was just a room.

The insane man had only conceded, if that was the right word, when Sebastian’s state had worsened. According to one of the nurses, Jim only relented when Sebastian weakly called out for help. Not that he remembered any of that. Calling out for help, especially for Moriarty’s assistance seemed uncharasteric of him. It must have been the poison talking.

Since then, Jim had barely left the room. Only if it were a life or death situation and even then he had people stationed in Sebastian’s room at all times. It was a little suffocating, but nice enough to have people who would actually engage in conversation with him.

“Did you have breakfast at the very least?” Sebastian tried again, prying his eyes open. Jim hadn’t stopped shaking either. He was almost always seen nowadays hunched over his phone, trembling where he sat. His fingers moving at light speed, his voice never softening. It was difficult to rest sometimes when there were random bursts of fury from the criminal consultant. But Moran had worked with the man long enough to ignore it as background noise.

“You know the easiest way to shut me up is to let me have a smoke.” Moriarty could change his motivation and intent at the drop of a hat. If he suddenly got bored playing sitting hen with Sebastian he could have him killed with a snap of his fingers. Pleading for a cigarette was not the dumbest thing Sebastian had done.

“I don’t like repeating myself. I told you to stop smoking,” Jim said in a warning, eyes never wavering from his phone screen.

“You also told me I’ll live and I doubt I’ll make it to next week,” he smirked, darkly. The teddy bear was proof that Jim knew the same. Though one of them had accepted the fact, the other was still delusional.

“The anti venom will be here soon. So shut up, or I’ll have you gagged,” Jim threatened, hand tightening over his phone.

“We both know that’s unrealistic,” Sebastian sighed. “It's unreasonable to think something that expensive will happen in a day. It takes time, boss.” Time that he did not have. He could barely feel his limbs as is. His legs had stopped responding yesterday and his hands were losing their nerves. He could just faintly feel the change of fabric between the blankets piled up on his body, but that was if he was trying. “This room is nice and all, but it would be nice if I could die at home.”

“I’ll kill their families if they don’t hurry up,” Jim snapped, body going still at the facts Sebastian had uttered. Because that was what they were, fact. A little vial of some anti venom wasn’t going to bring him back to life. “I’ll skin every SINGLE LAST ONE who did this to you!”

Sebastian let out a horse chuckle that shook his chest. Jim stopped his fluttering hands at that, straining to listen to what Sebastian had to say now. “I hope you have fun with that,” Moran’s lips tugged up into another smile. “Something to keep you occupied while you find a new sniper.”

“Because that was all I ever was to you, right?”

Jim stilled, ignoring Sebastian’s question.

“Do me a favor?” Sebastian tried a different approach. That peaked his interest enough for him to stop whatever he was doing on his phone. “Hold my hand? I don’t have much feeling left in it, I just want to know you’re there.” This was a long shot, but he’s done the impossible before. “I know physical contact isn’t your thing. But nine years without you can make anyone go insane.”

Not expecting anything to come of it, he sunk back into the comforter. Jim was very insistent that he at least had a soft and sturdy bed. The pillows were goosefeathers and the blankets were velvet. His bear with the green ribbon was very comfortable.

Jim did not face him, he set his hand over Sebastian’s. He squeezed his hand in a vice like grip, just enough so Sebastian could feel it. “I order you to stay.”

Moran sighed at that, rolling his tired eyes, “You know I don’t have any control over that.” He rested his chin on the bear. Before he dies, he should come up with a name for the little guy. It was the least he could do. “But I know damn well I don’t want to die here.”

“Where.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, not expecting Jim to fold so quickly. “Glasgow,” he replied with a cough.

-----

The car ride was wonderful. Sebastian suddenly missed his bed and mountain of blankets the moment he was maneuvered into the back seat. Instead of getting in the passenger seat, to everyone’s surprise, Jim sat next to Sebastian. His hand never left Moran’s.

“Stay awake,” Jim commanded, sternly, digging his blunt nails into Sebastian’s skin as if he could feel the pinpricks of pain.

“Don’t want to,” Sebastian articulated, laying his head back on the rest. He had left his bear friend back in the hospital, asking the nurse to keep an eye on the little guy for him. That bear could have come in use, a much better pillow than the cold window.

“If you don’t keep your eyes OPEN we’re going back to the hospital,” Jim yelled in his ear.

Sebastian opened one eye to glare at him. Jim looked worse than he did. His usually slicked back hair was sticking out evenly, his blazer had been discarded and his tie had been thrown onto the seat next to them. His stubble had grown out into an unkept beard, his dark eyes rimmed with red. Sebastian decided to have a little mercy on his boss. “Tell me a story.”

“I don’t do stories, Sebby,” Jim glared right back, urging the driver to hurry with a brief glance.

“Then tell me about your childhood.”

“You mean my lack thereof,” Jim made a clicking sound with his teeth. “What is there to say? That my parents loved me?” The two men burst into a fit of laughter that ended with Sebastian coughing until tears welled up in the corner of his eyes.

Jim stiffed next to him, a sign that the one thing that should not have an effect on him was making him act up. Emotion. Jim Moriarty was actually caring for someone. It terrified him and he did not scare easily. Jim had never been scared a day in his life. He watched Sebastian regain his composure, watching his every breath.

“Fair enough,” Sebastian gave one more moist cough, “Let’s go with something easier. Favorite color?”

Jim shook his head, “Too personal, Sebby. What next? The address?” He rested his head on Sebastian’s shoulder, sinking into the odd lukewarm warmth that lingered there. He could feel the rise and fall of Sebastian’s chest. “What do you want to know about it?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

“Red,” Jim answered instantly.

“Too quick,” Sebastian smiled. “Nobody likes red. People just say they like red because everyone says they like red.” His breath seemed to hitch when Sebastian closed his eyes for a second too long. “What’s your real favorite color?”

“Why are you so insistent about this?” Jim asked honestly, curious for once about what kind of cogs turn around in Sebastian’s head.

Moran made an odd motion with his neck and shoulders in a mock of a shrug. He stifled a groan under his breath but Moriarty saw through it like glass. “Curiosity. I like to know what you think of things.”

Deciding to indulge him, Jim continued, “Red is overrated anyways.” Sebastian nodded softly in agreement. “And blue is too common to be my favorite. There is blue everywhere. Quite an eye sore if you ask me.” On que, he glanced out the window, watching as they were moving farther and farther away from the large buildings and wholeheartedly dull city.

“Green is a good moderate.”

“It is, but yellow on the other hand is just HORRIBLE,” Jim groaned, causing the driver to flinch. “Normal people might say red is their favorite because of the herd, but yellow? Yellow is for attention. They just want that poor sense of individuality. Nothing likes yellow. Nobody likes yellow. They’re just attention hungry whores.”

“Mine is yellow then,” Sebastian smirked, his eyes dull with sleep.

“You slut,” Jim said in a hushed shout, intimate in nature but rightfully harsh. He shook Sebastian’s side to make him stay awake, but the sniper seemed to be currently contemplating rather or not to leap from the vehicle. “Stay awake,” Jim ordered, digging his nails into Sebastian’s neck and collar. “What other useless information do you want to know?!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?”

-----

Sebastian’s childhood home was nothing impressive. It was a one story building with a little overhang that would be overgrown in the spring. His father would make him climb up there, rain or shine and pull the vines off the roof. He had fallen more times than he liked to admit. And each time, there was no one to comfort him or coo at him for such an injury. The young boy was just expected to shake it off and get back to work.

Suffice to say, Sebastian did not have the fondest memories of the home. It had burned down three or so years after he had left for the military. Burned down by accident or by one of his mother’s jealous lovers was still a topic being departed to this day.

So when Moriarty had his driver pull up to the lane, Sebastian had expected a little plot of land ashen gray from the smoke and rumble, the edges overgrown with grass as tall as his knees. He did not expect to see the house as it was. No burn marks, no caved in walls. There were even well tended flowers growing in the path. The place looked like it had never seen a fire to begin with.

“What did you do?” Sebastian sighed in a gravel voice.

“You wanted to die here, fine. But I was not going to stand in a little field of despair,” Jim explained with flair, pushing Sebastian’s wheelchair into the living room. It was just as Sebastian had remembered. The greenish gray couch that he used to dig coins out of, the fireplace that was never used. Jim even managed to recreate the desk that his father had gifted to his mother before things went downhill.

“When did you even find time for all of this?” Sebastian asked with a choked cough that he used to hide the tears forming in the corner of his eyes.

“I make do,” Jim explained vaguely, setting the trained killer down in the middle of the room. He stepped out for a moment to return with a flower from the path. “This is what normal people do, isn’t it? Give flowers to people who don’t give a horse's ass what happens when they’re dead? Give me rat’s poison for all I care. I’m dead.” Setting the flower down on Sebastian's lap, he stepped back like he hadn’t just poured his heart out to his sniper. In the only way that Jim knew how, that is.

“I put flowers at your grave,” Sebastian said remorsefully, with what could have been called spite. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You also put a cartilage of bullets in with the boutique,” Jim rolled his eyes, taking a step around the room. Everything had a light sheen of gasoline and lighter fluid soaked into the fabric. The smell was not as bad as Jim had originally assumed. Sebastian didn't even seem to notice.

“Well, I didn’t think you would be happy if I blew my own brains out over your headstone.”

Jim was livid at this statement but hid it well. So well, that Sebastian thought his boss was mad that he didn’t go through with it. “Maybe I should’ve kept a bullet, eh?” he laughed sadly, trying to keep his hurt hidden. He could play if off as a joke if Jim inquired further.

Sebastian looked so small in his wheelchair. He was draped with a thick blanket over his lap to keep his legs warm, his upper half was swadded in two different coats as well as three different shirts. All did nothing to hide his sunken eyes or sharp edges. His hands no longer moved, they were so thin compared to what they used to be. Everything about the sniper was like a horribly altered mirror of his past.

The anti venom would not make it in time.

As the silence grew on, Sebastian wished he could shift in his seat. He felt so exposed being scrutinized by Moriarty like he was now. Despite being on the other side of the room, Jim never took his eyes off of Sebastian. It looked like he was waiting for an apology. For what, Sebastian didn’t have the faintest clue.

He coughed loudly enough to get out of his own head, “Maybe two or three just to have made sure? Seeing as you came back unscaved and all with just the one.” Even he could admit that was a poor jest. Taking a deep breath, he leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling. The same as it had been, minus the cobwebs and bullet holes. “As last words go, mine are not the worst I’ve heard.”

“What was?”

“Something stupid about not fearing pain. Don’t remember much about the bastard who said it, though.”

“And do you?” Jim asked softly that if they weren’t the only two people in the small room, Sebastian might have missed it.

“Do I, what?” he feigned ignorance, glancing at Jim from the corner of his eye.

“Fear pain?”

“Used to,” Sebastian said honestly, feeling his eyes grow heavy. “But after a while, I got used to it. It was what came afterwards that always scared me.”

“What could scare you?”

“Raging, crying, acceptance.” It was Sebastian’s turn to glare right back at Jim. “A pool of blood but no body. An empty casket. The stillness of life like nothing had changed when everything had.” Sebastian wasn’t yelling and that was what shook Moriarty the most. He spoke in such a calm, measured tone. Jim’s own words used against him. “Waiting for something to happen like an abandoned dog.”

Sebastian tilted his head in a mock shrug. “I’m expendable, you weren’t.” He finally looked down onto his lip, counting the petals of the flower. “I didn’t think you were coming back…and accepting that fact….”

“Well, I’m HERE NOW!” Jim said in a loud cheer, throwing his arms up into the air. He looked more bizarre than he usually did. The lack of blazer and tie made him appear insane beyond any sort of control. “So stay and watch me make the world, MINE.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but laugh out loud at the scene before him. All of it was just ridiculous. His inevitable death, the reconstruction of his childhood home, Jim’s hair without its slick, and his sudden joyful outburst. The consultant criminal knew exactly what to do to make his final moments better. Sebastian could not have asked for a better send off.

His laugh left his open maw and spilled into the space before him, taking up each and every corner it could get its hands on. It was deafening, like a roar that could shake the whole newly built building. Tears streamed down his face, collecting on his jaw and thick stubble from the pure hilarity. He was practically shaking with it.

Then nothing. Silence.

Sebastian’s head fell to the side and stayed there. His face was still contorted into a full on smile, but it was soft around the edges. Calm almost, finally content. Like his laugh had filled the room, the silence was suffocating. His whole body stilled like a statue. If Jim didn’t know any better, he could have passed off the sight of Sebastian’s corpse as the sniper merely sleeping.

But he knew. No matter how forcibly he screamed, no matter which puppet puppeteered, no matter what he did. That man’s eyes were not going to open and recognize him.

Jim didn’t fall to the floor. He was more civil than that. He walked the last few paces to Sebastian’s wheelchair and kneeled down. The sleeping man looked so tired the past few days. Sebastian deserved his rest, Jim could allow him this. Could allow himself to do this.

He rested his head on Sebastian’s lap, bringing his arms around to hug at his waist. Jim traced the exposed skin on Sebastian's stomach, running his cold hands over the scars. Some he put there himself, but most were from long before they knew each other. Moriarty had long removed the memories of the days without Sebastian from his mind.

And not? Now he could allow himself to cry. If only for a second, a hushed moment. Before the home will be set to flame, Jim let himself witness this aftermath.

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