#how he's so desperate to get back home to her
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To Lean On You | Spencer Reid
Pairing: Spencer Reid x fam!reader
Content Warning: post prison!Spencer, mentions of addiction, prison talk (typical for the prison arc), gun use, mentions of death, suggestive themes, idiots in love, angst, so much angst.
Word Count: 8.6K
Summary: You and Spencer wasted years, truths hidden, feelings uncertain, and a fear of the unrequited. It took ten weeks, isolated, silent, and broken, for the realization to strike. There was no life, if you didn’t have each other.
A/N: It’s finally here! Wow, writing this was a wild ride, honestly. Over a month of writing, blood, sweat, and tears poured over it (there were in fact some tears). This is also the first thing I’ve written in 3 years and I'm very happy to finally be out of my slump. It's probably the angstiest thing I've written ever, and at the same time, I feel like it's not the greatest, but deep down, I still love it, haha. Let me know if I've missed any warnings. And, enjoy and any feedback is appreciated. <3
Here are some of the songs I listened to while writing this if you want to get into the mood:
Hearts by Jessie Ware
The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived by Taylor Swift
Lost Without You by Freya Ridings
In This Shirt by The Irresponssibles
79 days, 3 hours, and 27 minutes - that’s how long it’s been since he got arrested in Mexico.
70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes since you saw him being pulled out of the courtroom after he was deemed a flight risk and denied bail. 70 days, 6 hours, and 13 minutes have passed since you last saw him.
65 days, 7 hours, and 11 minutes, since he was transferred to Millburn Correctional Facility, and this whole nightmare, had started.
Per Penelope’s carefully crafted schedule, every team member has made numerous trips to visit Spencer - every member except you. You’d only made one trip out, and that had been 3 days after he’d been transferred.
March 4th, 2017
It’s been 8 days since you saw him led in cuffs out of that courtroom, where Penelope had broken down in Luke’s arms, everyone too shocked to make a sound. He’d looked back, his eyes meeting yours briefly, and it had been as if you’d almost seen your reflection in the mirror, every emotion had run between you both in a matter of seconds.
Shock, you’d almost been sure they would grant bail, and you’d be able to take him home. Almost.
Fear, for his future and his well-being. Fear of the uncertain.
Desperation, the desire to run to him and take him into your arms, finally, and to not let go.
Except you’d held his gaze for as long as you could before you’d looked down and turned your head to save him from seeing you break down in tears. You’d made a hasty escape after that, not sparing any of your teammates a glance, and walked out of the courthouse, stopping by a tree outside. The urge to curl up into a ball and hide, pretending none of this had happened, was strong, and then a hand wrapped around your shoulder. You had turned around, only to see Rossi and one of his sad little smiles, the ones you rarely saw.
“It’s going to be okay,” he’d said, squeezing your shoulder. ”The kid is strong.”
You’d sniffled, trying to hide the tears in your voice. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I am," you’d whispered in despair.
You were better than you had been 8 days ago, calmer. Although still heartbroken, you were looking forward to seeing him, seeing with your eyes that he was okay. Garcia had seen him, 2 days ago, before you’d been sent out on a case.
“He looks good. I mean, as good as that big genius brain of his can look in prison. His eyes were sad though, really, really sad.” She’d paused as if to assure herself it would be alright, “I’m sure he’s looking forward to seeing you, sweetness.” She’d squeezed your hand, but her statement hadn’t rung true.
Your hands were shaking, you weren’t sure what from. The anticipation you’d felt? The nerves? Or the words you had a hard time coming to terms with.
“I’m sorry, but your name isn’t on Spencer Reid’s approved visitor list,” the guard at the checkpoint had said after rechecking the list.
“There has to be a mistake, I made an appointment,” you insisted, feeling yourself unravel. It wasn’t possible, you knew for a fact you were on that list, Emily had made sure of that.
“Look, lady. There are only 10 names on that list, and yours is not one of them. Now, you need to move, because there are people here waiting to see their loved ones.” you’d hiccuped and turned around, walking to the lockers to unlock your gun, badge, and phone.
“I’m here to see a loved one.” You’d wanted to scream, but you knew it would have been futile. There wasn’t anything you could do at that moment.
You walked to your car, dialing Emily’s number, “This is Prentiss.”
For a second, only your breathing could be heard over the sound of the wind, and then a tiny sniffle. You wiped at your eyes and nose, and then spoke up, barely, “Why am I not on Spencer’s approved visitor list?”
“What do you mean? Every member of this team is on the list. So is his lawyer and Diana, even Derek,” you could hear the surprise in her voice, yet you couldn’t keep calm any longer.
"They refused to let me see him! I made the appointment, Emily, and I came, hoping I’d finally see him hear his voice, and ask him-” Your voice broke mid-sentence, and after taking a deep breath, you continued, “Ask him if he was okay, and I was denied because out of the 10 names on that list, it seems mine’s not one of them.” You finished defeated, barely above a whisper.
All was silent for the moment, save for what you could hear was Penelope’s voice on the other end of the line, quietly asking what was going on, “Let me call Fiona and the warden, and I’ll see what happened. Meanwhile, I need you back here, because we just got a case.” Her voice wasn’t leaving anything up for discussion. Still, you couldn’t go, not until you saw him.
“Emily-” she cut you off.
“It’s not a discussion. I’ll resolve this, but I need you here and your head in the game. Am I clear?” Her voice was stern, but maybe that’s exactly what you needed. Maybe.
“Yeah, clear. I’m on my way back.” You took a deep breath and started the car and the journey back to Quantico, but your mind stayed right there, on the bars that kept you away from the one thing you held dearest.
As it turns out, there was nothing the warden or Fiona could do. Even Emily Prentiss, Unit Chief of the BAU, couldn't “resolve” the situation. Days, weeks, and months passed, and for 70 days you couldn’t see him, isolated out, not even knowing why.
“-to be in the courthouse in one.” You snapped out of your thoughts, only catching the end of the sentence, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. You were tired, and it had little to do with the fact that you had been up all night, going over all the evidence with the team and tracing Lindsey Vaughan’s steps to a T in an attempt to exonerate Spencer and finally bring him home.
You were exhausted, both physically and mentally. You’d been up for more than 24 hours now, but then you hadn’t been sleeping all that well to begin with. Every single night was spent wondering how Spencer was doing, and every time you closed your eyes, you saw him in that cell in Mexico.
His eyes were red, high out of his mind, barely coherent, dirty, and injured - a far cry from the person you were used to seeing every single day - energetic, passionate, and brilliant. After 12 years, if there was one image you wished to erase from your memory, it was this one. Not all the blood you’ve seen spilled, every victim, be it men, women, or even children, all the horrors of the job, but this. Maybe it made you a bad person, but there was nothing worse than seeing the one person you held dearest at their lowest and not being able to do anything to stop it.
Every waking hour that you weren’t on the job was spent wondering how he was doing and if he was okay. If he was healthy, unharmed, and safe, or as safe as an FBI agent could be in prison. But most of all, the one thing that had kept you up at night, slowly destroying your sanity and making you question everything, had been the one question you couldn’t seem to get an answer to.
“Why doesn’t he want to see me?”
You’d asked everyone and had waited with battered breath for an answer, a clarification on the matter, and it never came. As shocked as you had been at the notion that you wouldn’t be seeing Spencer for an indefinite amount of time, your team had been even more shocked. They knew the kind of relationship you and Spencer had, how close you’d become over the years, and how much you relied on each other.
You’d asked every team member, you’d asked yourself, you’d even asked Spencer in a few of the letters you wrote to him, and then there had come a point where you just stopped.
You were torturing yourself more than enough, day after day, and every single night, asking yourself a question you wouldn’t get an answer to. Not as long as he was locked up in that hellhole and you were out here, trying to keep together the pieces of something, that was on the verge of breaking.
You felt a hand taking hold of yours, and for a second, you tensed up. Pulled out of your thoughts, you looked up and were met with chocolate brown eyes, full of worry - Emily’s eyes.
You glanced around the room, only to realize it was empty, save for the two of you. You hadn’t felt when the others had left, that’s how deep in thought you had been.
“Where did you go? I’ve been calling your name for a while now,” she spoke gently, squeezing your hand. If you were honest, that’s the first time she asked you anything about the situation. You’d spent weeks suffering in silence and trying to pretend that you weren’t slowly dying on the inside.
You briefly thought about lying, it wouldn’t be the first lie you’d told since Spencer had been incarcerated, but you didn’t have it in you to hide anymore.
And so, for the first time since Spencer’s hearing, you told the truth.
“Nothing makes sense anymore, Em,” it left you in a whisper, “I’m barely holding it together. I feel like I’m drowning sometimes, and just when I breach the surface, I’m pulled back in. My mind, it’s...I question everything, all the time. My mornings start with thoughts about him, and my nights end with tears over him, over this entire…this nightmare. I keep waiting for my alarm to go off, to wake up and realize that this has been a plot of my imagination, some cruel joke my mind has conjured, designed to show me... "Your eyes welled with tears, prepared to admit something you should have long ago. Emily gave your hand another squeeze, prompting you to continue, and so you did, admitting it for the first time aloud.
“Designed to show me that I can’t live a life that doesn’t have Spencer in it.” You wiped at your eyes, willing your tears at bay. When you dared to look up, you were met with the eyes of the only other person besides Spencer who has been a constant rock in your life for the last 11 years. What you saw in her eyes then wasn’t surprise like you’d thought, but relief. It took you a moment to fully read her, but it was like a switch had gone off when you finally did.
“But you’re not surprised to hear this, are you?” you smiled sadly, a light laugh leaving you.
“I wouldn’t be a good friend if I didn’t have my suspicions, and I’d be an even worse profiler,” she smiled at you, “Plus, there are some feelings that you just can’t hide,” you blinked, and then you blinked again. You hadn’t come right out and said it, and yet she knew, she somehow knew.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” you tried to backtrack, but you knew it was a losing battle. Emily knew you well enough to smell your bullshit from miles.
“That’s exactly how you meant it, and don’t even try to deny it. I see it every damn day. It’s how you leave the room whenever you hear someone talk about visiting Spencer. You don’t want to hear how he’s doing because you wouldn’t believe it, not unless you see him with your own eyes. But you can’t, so you’ve resigned yourself to the torture of not knowing instead of giving yourself the smallest amount of peace by asking. You’ve been suffering in silence for almost three months, too stubborn to say anything, thinking you were doing yourself a favor. And what for? You’re crying yourself to sleep every night and coming to work the next morning, pretending everything is fine when clearly it’s not. You think you’re fooling everyone, but the only person you’re tricking is yourself. And how’s that working out for you?” she had a point, and it’s not like you weren’t aware of that fact. You knew what you were doing wasn’t okay or healthy. You had the most stable support system imaginable to get you through the hardest parts. It was hard, though, especially when the person who was suffering the most was the person who’d taken your heart with him.
“Way to call me out, boss.” you were just about ready to end the conversation, you couldn’t take any more of this. You’d promised each other long ago that you wouldn’t profile each other but you had a feeling that was exactly what Emily was doing right now. Maybe not on purpose, and with every good intention imaginable, but you didn’t want that. You didn’t want one of your best friends to try to understand you based on behavioral analysis right after you’d spilled your soul out to her.
“Just calling it the way I see it, someone has to,” she smiled, but then she shook her head a little before continuing. “What I want to know is why you didn’t say something earlier. You know I would have been there to listen, and so would have the team.” Damn, Emily Prentiss.
You didn’t have to think hard about it, you’ve been ruminating over everything for days. You were trying not to, but whenever your mind wasn’t focused on a case or the many drinking nights spent in Penelope’s purple adobe, that was where your mind would take you.
“Out of fear, I think,” you started, unsure for a second, still nervous to admit it. It wasn’t exactly what she was asking, but it was a start, “I was afraid, and I still am. I’ve been baiting myself into thinking it was just some sort of fondness, a little stronger than that which you feel towards a friend, and far lesser than what it actually is. I thought that if I didn’t say anything, I could go on lying to myself, and nothing would have to change, we wouldn’t have to change. Because words hold meaning, and an admission like that holds weight. What would I have done if it was just me who felt like this? I would have ruined the one thing we’ve both cherished for over a decade.” It felt good to finally say all of this out loud instead of holding it inward. But then again, Emily always knew when you'd had enough.
She’d told you time and time again the same thing Hotch had asked of her when she returned to duty after faking her death: “Let me know when you are having a bad day.”. Honestly, you’d held off long enough, and so had she. It was a whole miracle she hadn’t pressed you about your behavior earlier.
“That’s not what I was asking,” you said, shaking your head with a smile to let her know that you weren’t done speaking.
“Everyone was suffering as a result of what happened in Mexico, what I was feeling wasn’t any different, Emily.” You were flippant about it, you always have been. You preferred isolating yourself and hiding everything instead of seeking a shoulder to bear the weight of what you felt.
“Our sadness came from the fact that our friend was framed. And yours? That’s different.”
“It isn’t,” she scoffed, getting up. Now you really felt like you were about to get scolded like a child.
“Yes, it is. God, you and Spencer are the same. It’s like I’m looking at his doppelganger without the whole… IQ of 187. You share some of the worst qualities a person can have,” you laughed at that, “You are both changeophobes-” you cut her off
“Metathesiophobia, fear of change.” She only raised her hand at you, as if to say, “See, you even sound like him,” which made you laugh even more.
“You close yourselves off after a sad or traumatic experience, silently hoping you’d be able to get through the worst of it on your own. Most of the time, it’s evident that’s not the case. You only ask for help when you’ve reached rock bottom or have no other choice, but you’ve had a choice from the get-go. Your stubbornness even stems from the same anxieties, it’s infuriating,” she seemed to calm down then, in defeat maybe, or she hadn’t been mad, to begin with, she sat down again.
“My point is, it shouldn’t have taken you learning that he might be coming home today to tell me all of this. I’ve known for a long time that there was something far more than platonic friendship on your end. You shouldn’t have tortured yourself since his trial to try to put the puzzle pieces together. You aren’t late, you have all the time in the world to say what you feel and what you want, and rejection shouldn’t be a factor, believe me. You need to make peace with that fear because Spencer is coming home today. And whether you are ready or not, you both need to have a serious conversation.” You appreciated her determination about Spencer being released, but then again, you had more than circumstantial evidence to support the fact that he was innocent. But, as always, Emily was right. He was coming home today, and after months of not seeing each other, there were a lot of things you needed to say.
“I know. Thank you, Emily, for everything,” you whispered, squeezing her tight.
Spencer’s POV
The first breath of fresh air after being on the inside for months felt far more overwhelming than he thought it would be. Being in charge of your being and your responses and emotions felt almost unnatural like the feeling of it didn’t belong to him. The sound of the wind and the traffic, people’s voices, and even the simple act of getting comfortable in the leather seats of the jet overwhelmed any ability to concentrate and think straight.
In itself, it was strange. The prison was loud, the prison commissary at breakfast, lunch, and dinner was a cacophony of prisoners talking, cells being opened, and guards barking orders. The yard was loud too, although, in the middle of nowhere, nature could still be heard - the sounds of trees and the lone birds, if he had to guess a mix of Mourning Dove and Field Sparrow. Their songs were soothing most of the time, a welcome distraction from the usual noises around him.
Without the atmosphere he’d gotten used to and subjected to all of those sounds and people whose presence he found comforting before, he now felt almost out of place. He wanted to feel at peace, he wanted to feel free, and although he technically was, his mind was more trapped than he’d actually been in that 2 by 2 cell in cellblock C.
He kept replaying some of the hardest moments from his time in, every threat, every punch he’d gotten, and the phantom feel of the fists connecting. Luis’ blood on his hands, the smell of bleach incorporated with the drugs, the tip of the sharpened toothbrush embedding into his thigh. All he’d done to survive, harm, and more harm, only to make it out alive.
He barely recognized himself. He’d deliberately ignored looking at himself in the small plastic mirror in his cell, for fear of seeing what he’d had to become. Gone was the Spencer who’d use his brain to get out of situations, whose obliviousness more often than not helped to balance his intellect with the socially acceptable. Gone was the bubbly personality of a kid excited to share a plethora of facts with his friends.
In his place sat a man, tormented by the reality of the hatred felt towards him. The reality of being a pawn in a game whose complexity could have been his downfall. A man whose genius, as much of a blessing, could sometimes be a curse. A man who had felt too much and was made to experience far more loss than his quaint heart was able to take. In the end, he kept losing, be it his father, by no choice of his own. His mentor, at the hands of a killer’s insanity. His friends and loved ones, hoping for a better life or his freedom, made to rot in a place he didn’t deserve to be in.
Some would doubt that he had anything at all left to lose. All in all, how much more could the scrawny twelve-year-old child prodigy, left to survive in a public high school, take?
His mind had been plagued by that question for years. He’d thought about that more than he’d like to admit. After every loss, there’d been a split moment where he’d asked himself what was next. What would be the next thing life would take from him? And every time, he’d had to wonder if, next time, life wouldn’t reach for the one thing he couldn’t allow to be taken from him. The one thing that, were he to lose, he’d never recover. He had hoped, sometimes prayed, that after everything he’d seen, everything he’d lived through, this would be the one thing that’d be spared.
Locked in that cage, he’d tried even harder to ensure that there wouldn’t be another loss in his life - not anymore. Be it good or bad, he’d done everything. For 70 days, he’d had to assure himself he was doing what he thought was right, and what he wasn’t saying, he’d be forgiven for. He’d had to dodge questions and see the disappointment in his friend’s eyes, and when that wasn’t enough of a burden to bring all of his anxieties to the surface, he’d resigned himself to reading the words of the person he was doing all of this for - you.
He’d reread every letter to the point where the edges of the papers were worn out, even though he’d known the contents by heart on the first read. He tortured himself by looking at your handwriting, analyzing the slanting of the words and the pressure of the pen. The little stains on the paper, he didn’t have to be a genius to know, were your tears. It broke his heart, to know he was causing you this much pain. He didn’t need to be there to see it, he felt it through your words.
He often questioned if it was worth it, if he was protecting you, or himself, or maybe even what you were or weren’t.
Even now, the weight of your words sat heavily on his mind, and right by his heart, in the pocket of his jacket, he felt the weight of the 9 letters you wrote.
As he looked over from the little window of the jet, he couldn’t help but wonder if, in his desire to shield you from everything, he hadn’t gone too far. Ultimately, was he going to be forgiven, or be forced to pick up the pieces of the reality broken by his own doing?
“Don’t do that.” JJ’s gentle voice startled him from the overwhelming nature of his thoughts. She’d spent the last 30 minutes since they boarded silently observing him, waiting for him to pick up a conversation. But he’d decided to stay num.
In every twitch of his fingers, in his desire to get comfortable but being unable to, she could see that he was restless. If she had to guess, his mind was much the same.
“Do what?”
She gave him a look, one, had he not known her long enough, he might have been offended by. Clearly, she was offended herself, watching him play the clueless card.
“Spence, I don’t need to profile you to know that your mind’s running a thousand miles a minute, contemplating your decisions, and I don’t think you should. You did what you thought was right, and no one blames you for that, not for Mexico, and not for what you did after,” she spoke evenly, gathering even Penelope and Alvez’s attention from where they sat. He looked over, receiving a smile and a nod from both before focusing on JJ again.
Rationally, he knew she was right about everything. He didn’t need to run himself ragged with everything he could have done differently, or search for the perfect way to explain, or overall, the perfect outcome of his own decisions. He knew there wasn’t one, there was no perfect way to say what he needed to, no perfect words to pick so he could fix this and erase the pain he knew he’d caused.
Perfection wasn’t something you could strive to achieve, because there’s no such thing as perfection. The term was diverse, everyone had a different perspective on what that might look like. If for JJ, perfection was the family that waited for her at home every time she returned from a case, for Spencer, perfection was vastly different.
For him, perfection was the rich aroma of coffee that could cause someone’s insulin to spike because of the amount of sugar in it. The softness of a book page between his fingers, or the familiarity of a book he’d read before but needed to revisit.
Perfection was the sound of your laugh whenever he was the one to prompt the sound. The way your eyes lit up every time you listened to him babble on. Perfection was the time he got to spend with you every day, every hour, and every minute that he could remember with almost scary accuracy.
He could sit and wonder what the perfect way to go about this was, but there simply wasn’t one, there was only the truth. And as painful, hopeful, or even a little dumb as it was, that was the best he could give.
And maybe that’s what his mind should focus on instead, the truth, in its simplest form, at its core the truth he’d hidden for months, and then the truth he’d hidden for years.
He had wondered long enough if he’d made the right choice. He spent plenty of time focusing on the shame he’d felt, prompted by the disappointment he’d seen in his friends’ eyes whenever they brought up your name. How he’d sit, silent, or give an answer so short and angry, it’d add even more shame to the one he already felt.
Beyond his time in prison, where he spent most of his time questioning his decisions, he spent years before that questioning himself as a person. His place on the team, his intelligence, even his failings. His inability to form relationships where he’d be seen as more than Dr. Reid, or the skinny kid, pretty boy, or a genius. A relationship that’d make him feel like simply Spencer, without the added adjectives, that sometimes made him feel like a circus clown.
Only when he’d been locked up, had he started to realize that he’d finally built a relationship with someone with whom he could be himself. The most basic, boring, and peaceful version of himself, and slowly, all had started falling into place.
How content he felt whenever he was around you, the desire to tell you every good or bad news he received. How when you asked about his mother, it warmed his heart, or how worried he felt when you acted stupid in the field. How out of control he’d felt when you’d gone missing last year. Or even, at the time, the unexplained jealousy he’d felt seeing you talk with another man.
Morgan had asked, once, twice, a lot, if maybe he didn’t have a crush, but he’d denied it, every time. And every time he’d question himself, he'd dismiss the idea just as quickly.
Yet, upon being forced away from you, the pieces had started mending into one.
Every realization he’d had was like a new broken piece being glued to the overall mosaic. And every new piece added built everything he felt about you. And it was a lot, and it was overwhelming, and so, so right, it sometimes felt wrong. Because he was inside a prison of his own doing, and you were out there, made to wait for him, for an explanation, for the truth.
And he’d vowed to himself that the moment he was out, he’d put everything on the table, no matter how much he’d fucked up or how much he’d hurt you. He’d sit there, and he’d let it out, and if necessary, he’d even beg for your forgiveness.
Because there wasn’t a moment in this life, he wanted to live through, without you there with him.
Your POV
You pulled the trigger, your eyes focused, and your hands steady. Three consecutive shots were fired, each one hitting its intended target. Three more followed, and then as many as it took to empty the magazine.
You put down the gun and took a deep breath, steadying your heartbeat, trying to rid yourself of the deep-seated anxiety you felt. An odd sense of calm overtook you whenever you found yourself at the shooting range. Maybe it was the everpresent scent of gunpowder or the quiet only disturbed by the firing of a gun. Or even the possibility of escaping your rising thoughts, the desire to run or scream, sometimes both.
There was a sense of solitude there that almost made it easier to breathe. The repetitive motion and the weight of the gun in your hands felt like second nature.
Front sight, trigger press, follow through, just like Hotch had taught you all those years ago. As long as you held that gun, your mind was quiet, and you focused on something other than the worry you felt.
It made sense you found yourself there shortly after Emily had shared the long-awaited good news - Spencer was finally free, and JJ, Penelope, and Luke were on route back with him. For a short moment, you’d felt the weight being lifted from your chest, and then it dropped again, now tripled.
Suddenly, your earlier conversation with Emily had gotten as real as the target before you. Even with the sense of peace, you’d felt after, your thoughts on the matter clear, you still felt a sense of dread at the idea of seeing him.
As if he wasn’t your best friend, the man who’d long ago won your affection and captured your heart, but rather a stranger who held your future in his hands. And he might as well be, because whatever the truth to the questions you wanted answered was, one thing was for sure.
It’d either make or break you both.
You picked up a new magazine, and loaded the gun, aiming at the target before releasing the safety. Before you fired again, you released a breath, and with it, all the feelings within you - fear, uncertainty, yearning, and the sense of madness, which, although mild, was persistent.
You fired once, twice, your aim impeccable, and then, out of nowhere, you missed.
The hair at the back of your neck rose, your heart rate quickened, and the feeling of another’s presence in the room was unmistakable. It took you just a second to put the pieces together, the intrusion felt like anything but that.
Instead, for a brief moment, the person brought with them a familiar feeling of calm. In the next instance, though, reality came crashing like a tidal wave, and you knew you’d run out of time.
Your hands shook as you put down the gun. You could feel him watching you, probably standing next to the door, as if he couldn’t will himself to move closer. The anxiety was palpable in the air, although you couldn’t really say if it was yours or his, most likely, it was a mix of both.
You went to reach for your protection but hesitated. Once you took it off, there’d no longer be an excuse for you to ignore him, you’d finally have to meet the reality he’d so carefully crafted for you.
Even though you felt like you could barely breathe, the desire to finally lay your eyes on him won out.
Without missing another beat, you took off your earplugs and then your eye protection. You could faintly hear the sound of shoes squicking against the floor. He could never stay still when he was nervous.
You picked up on the sound of your own breathing too, the beating of your heart was almost erratic. You were waiting, what for, you weren’t sure.
He was waiting too, for you to turn around, to lay his eyes on you. Like a sadist, waiting to see the pain he’d caused, or a masochist, wishing for his own in turn.
70 days of slowly killing you both.
When you finally dared to turn around, it took you a moment to fully take him in. He looked like the Spencer you knew, yet there was something different about him too. Dressed in his usual suit and tie outfit, he didn’t look comfortable. His posture was rigid, almost defensive. It wasn’t a conscious decision, that much you were sure of.
His hair was longer, pushed back, curling at the ends, and he’d lost some weight. Not much, but enough to make an impression after all this time. He looked pensive, like the weight of the world sat on his shoulders, but maybe it was just the weight of the consequences he had to face.
Your eyes ran over every inch of him multiple times, intentionally avoiding his gaze for as long as possible. Seconds and minutes passed, and you weren’t really sure how much exactly.
Spencer knew, though, of course, he did. If his fear of meeting you eye to eye was as great as yours was, you knew he was counting until the torture of the act itself was over.
89 seconds he’d counted, although now with you there, they felt longer than the days without you did.
When you eventually met his gaze, you felt a part of your heart chip on the inside. What people said about the eyes being a portal to one's soul couldn’t have been more right in that moment. Spencer, a man who excelled at hiding his emotions when he really wanted to, had let them out as clear as day for you to see.
His eyes sparkled with so much sadness and guilt that it threatened to take you apart even before he had the chance to talk. Something softened within you at that moment, but in the next instance, it was like someone else took over.
One moment you wanted to cry for him or with him, and the next you felt like your whole being needed to be let out.
“Is that…is that all you can offer me right now? More of your silence? Don’t you think I’ve had enough of that?” The questions, a few of many to follow, had a bite to them.
His face fell a little, taken aback by your tone. He fidgeted with his fingers, unsure what to say, or where to start. How could he answer your question? He pictured a scenario where his words flew freely, where he gave you an explanation worthy of forgiveness and a confession, so earnest that it ended with you in his arms.
Try as he might, the words didn’t come to him, just a barely audible accusation.
“That’s not fair.”
You scoffed, as if in outrage. A madness, one born out of so much heartbreak, took over, it was blinding. If someone had asked you to explain yourself, you’d say that wasn’t you. You’d never be so forward, almost cruel, to him, but at that moment, being mad sounded so much better than being vulnerable. Like a shield, you weren’t ready to let go of yet.
“How exactly is this not fair, Spencer? It’s the truth!” you yelled, and you felt free, finally letting it all out. “You want to know what isn’t fair, though? The way you isolated me OUT of your life! For three months, I’ve had to stand on the sidelines and beg for scraps, just to know you were okay. Every pitiful look I’d get from the people I consider family felt like another stab to the heart. That’s what’s not fair!” You were screaming so loud. It was a good thing the range was soundproof, otherwise, the whole of the BAU would have been deep in your business by now.
If he looked surprised by the accusation, he didn’t really show it. His posture took a turn, though. The rigidity disappeared, and in turn, it opened, as if the need to comfort you overpowered the uncertainty or the mask he’d had to hold while imprisoned.
You didn’t want his comfort, not right now. Maybe later, when all was said and done, you’d get to have a normal conversation without the frustrations of the past. At that moment, you just wanted everything out of your system. You wanted the questions, the answers, and the truth.
His silence continued as he started closing the distance between you. You wanted to move, to create more distance, but there was nowhere to go. You were squeezed between the range, and him. Whatever else was left than to continue begging for clarity.
“It’s not fair being sent away the first time I came to see you. To learn you didn’t want to see me! Each time it was my turn to visit you, do you want to know where I was? I sat outside that fucking prison, wishing for a glimpse of the person who’s been my rock for 12 years! Holding back tears, thinking you didn’t…you didn’t care like I did. Is this what I really deserve after 12 years by your side?” You almost slipped, you almost told him, and maybe you should have, it might have prompted him to talk or to say something. But no, he stayed silent. Step after step, he limped, his cheek twitched, and his brows furrowed, but like a coward, he remained quiet.
He was meters away from you, three more steps, and he’d completely close the distance, and meet you face to face.
“Say something, Spencer, damn it!” Your throat burned from the strain, and he advanced even more. “Anything,” you finished in a whisper, and all of a sudden, all the fight left you, and your eyes watered and your vision went blurry.
He was just a step away then, and when you looked into his eyes, you couldn’t help but see how they shined.
He reached forward, one hand taking hold of your arm while the other went to hold your waist, but you shook your head. “No, Spencer, please,” you whispered. You didn’t want to find yourself in his arms, because that would be the last of your composure, gone. You’d surrender to the feel of him like you even had a choice not to.
He didn’t stop, not until you were snug into his arms, one of his hands at the back of your neck, holding your head tenderly, but the arm around your waist held onto you as if he was scared you’d slip away from him.
Once in his arms, you finally let go, breaking down into pieces, hoping he’d be able to hold them all from crumbling to the ground.
“Hey, shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” He kept repeating, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your pulse point. All the while, you could only stand, your arms at your sides, as if paralyzed.
Being in his arms felt like being home somehow. It felt so right after having been deprived of the feeling for so long. It felt like there was nothing wrong, and nothing could go wrong at that moment.
Even though you hadn't initially wanted his comfort, somewhere deep inside, you craved his tender touch. You craved the feel of his body near and the faint scent that was so uniquely him - a mix of coffee, fall, and old paper, books. You realized then that you craved the sound of his voice too, another part of him you’d been deprived of.
The voice of the always rambling boy that never failed to bring a smile to your face, even when you couldn’t understand him sometimes.
And the more he whispered, his voice broken and shaky, the harder you cried. You’d thought nothing could match the heartbreak of his actions or the anger of his silence, but the reality of being held against him brought the realization that your suffering mirrored his own.
If you’d been dying on the inside for months, he’d been on the other side of the link holding you tethered to each other, dying just as much.
And you couldn’t hold yourself back any longer after that. You buried your head in the crook of his neck, and your arms finally circled his waist underneath his suit jacket, fisting the back of his shirt as if it were your one lifeline.
You felt him exhale when you finally returned his touch, most likely in relief, before he dropped a light kiss on your head.
You cried for the relief of having him back and close. For unspoken truths and time wasted, years of figuring out feelings clear as day. For all the anger, for all of his silence, for all you felt for him.
He cried for all the pain he’d caused you and for all the time he’d wasted being alone instead of being with you. He cried for himself, he cried for you, and he cried, overwhelmed by his feelings for you.
You clung to one another, crying, and minutes were passing and neither of you cared. Not when you had each other.
After a while, when both your tears dried out and your cries quieted, but you still felt the need to hold each other close, you dared to murmur a broken “Why?” hoping he’d hear, hoping he’d understand.
It didn’t take him long to mumble a reply, no longer silent.
“All the words in the world available, and I wish I could explain.” it came out just as quietly, both of you scared to break the little bubble you’d found yourselves in.
You pulled back from him, wanting to look into his eyes, red-rimmed and still sparkling when you felt yourself begging again.
“Then try, please, because I’d rather know, and not understand, than not know at all.” And it was the truth. He could speak in riddles if he wanted, but you needed to know why he’d made that choice.
You looked at him expectantly before he pushed a piece of hair back, and his hand once again settled at the back of your head, gently cupping it.
“I wanted you safe from a world you didn’t belong in,” he admitted on an exhale, like a lifelong secret he’d gotten tired of holding onto.
You looked at him in wonder, and it was on the tip of your tongue to tell him he didn’t belong in that world either, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, he shook his head.
“I was ashamed when I had you removed from the visitor’s list. I didn’t want you to see me like that, like a criminal,” he started, pulling you into his arms, not wanting to admit it to you eye to eye, out of fear of being right. Of course, he was wrong, but that didn’t stop him from wondering.
“The first time JJ visited me, they leered at her like they were being fed fresh meat, taking her in, committing her to memory. A cage full of animals. I knew then that I didn’t want that for you, and any guilt I had at keeping you away disappeared that day. It hurt me, knowing I was failing you and whatever trust you had in me,” he whispered, wishing to keep the reality of his thoughts and his feelings in a little bubble as if you only existed in it.
“I’m not the same person I was before, I couldn’t be him, even if it meant losing a part of myself in the process. I couldn’t really be a decent human being without bearing the consequences. Everything I saw, everything I did, and everything that was done to me, I don’t think I’d ever fully be the person I was before. And that too, I’m thankful I spared you from seeing.” It would explain his rigidity, a defense mechanism he’d had to get used to.
And while everything he’d said thus far was true the biggest truth, he’d had yet to say. He had yet to really explain why he’d done what he’d done in the first place. He was stalling, still afraid, but the longer he held you, the longer he felt your heart beating in time with his, the more sure he became.
To hell with the consequences, to hell with whatever happened after, he was right here in the now, alive, breathing, his arms around you, finally at peace.
He pulled back, took your face into his hands, and finally whispered.
“Most of all, though, I knew I loved you enough to risk us if it meant keeping you safe.” It left him in a rush, a confession waiting to be let out for months. A feeling he’d had for years, and a moment where he could finally be open about it.
“What…?” you licked your lips, shocked that you might not have heard him correctly. ”What does us mean?” This part of the conversation felt like you were daydreaming about it, it just didn’t feel real.
“It means whatever you want it to be. Whatever you want us to be.” All of a sudden, it was that simple.
“So, you love me?” You had a hard time taking it all in, yet your heart fluttered in pure happiness. “And you…you want us?”
"Yes.” Even before you were done speaking, he was already answering. He was desperate to finally admit he was absolutely smitten by you.
Months of figuring out your feelings, years of hiding them, a conversation to finally prompt a confession out of you, and all this time it was reciprocated. You could have cried, happiness like no other coursing through you, pure bliss.
You wanted back into his arms, you wanted to kiss him so badly that your blood was burning from the need to feel him like you'd never been able to before. And yet, you knew there was something else you needed to do before you could finally do it.
“Spence, you don’t push away the people you love, no matter the cost. You rely on their love to help aid you when you’re at your lowest.” You gave his sides a light squeeze before you looked back into his eyes, only to see them hopeful and uncertain at the same time.
He looked hopeful, for the possibility that you might actually love him back, but uncertain because it felt like you might be pushing him away this time.
“I can’t go through this again. Having to watch you wither away, in prison, at home, or by your own thoughts, I won’t be able to handle being pushed away again,” whispers, cries, pleas, memories full of heartbreak intertwined with present confessions full of joy.
His eyes watered then, his lips trembling. Any sign of hope was gone, and in its’ place stood the realization of a man who’d maybe gone a little too far. He’d pushed you away, and now, it was your time to be the one sticking and twisting the knife deep, breaking his heart in the process.
If someone were to ask him at that moment what his biggest regret was, he’d say this. This was his biggest regret, his own choices.
A tear escaped him, and you reached up, wiping it away gently before you spoke again.
“If..if this is going to go anywhere, you need to rely on me. You need to believe that I can handle anything and everything, just as long as you are by my side. All those years of being pushed away - your addiction, Maeve and Gideon’s deaths, your mom’s diagnosis, Cat Adams - you weren’t alone then, you aren’t alone now, and you won’t be alone in the future. You’ll always have me by your side, you’ll always have my support. Most of all, you’ll have my love, but when things get hard, I need you to lean on me, and trust that I can help you because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together.” You finished on an exhale, full-on crying now. You could barely see him, but from the little you could, you saw tears streaming down his face, and a smile that grew wide, happy.
Those words, he knew them word for word. For 13 days, he’d repeat them, no longer needing to see them written down, he had them engraved in his brain. Your letters he could recite, but your final one he’d remember as long as he lived.
“I promise to lean on you and trust that you’d help me because together we can pull through everything, anything is possible as long as we are together,” he whispered back, his eyes searching yours for just a moment before he pulled you in, and finally, his lips met yours.
He kissed you, tentative at first, testing the waters. He wanted to take his time, commit your lips to memory, gentle, and plump, exactly how he’d imagined they’d feel. The more he kissed you, the more he couldn’t stop. Passion, urgency, desire - his kisses turned desperate like he wanted to swallow you whole and never let you go.
He bit your lip gently, asking for access, before his tongue intertwined with yours and he pulled you flush against him, closing any gap left between you. Chest, hips, there wasn’t an inch where you weren’t touching.
It felt so familiar, even though you hadn’t kissed before. So right, like no one's kisses had felt before. As if your whole lives, kissing each other was the missing piece in a complicated puzzle, waiting to be put together. Coming together as one, it felt magnetic, a feeling of euphoria, pure ecstasy, no one else mattered, no other feeling mattered at that moment, other than your hands on each other and your lips locked together.
Time was passing by, and you didn’t care. Years of missed opportunities, hidden feelings, and long-awaited realizations all led to this moment. Starved for each other, a kiss full of fervor and even the taste of tears was present. Unimaginable, but very real.
When you finally pulled apart, he wiped your tears, and you wiped his in turn, before he gathered you back in the comfort of his arms, laying a kiss on the side of your head.
And between the four walls around you, nestled in each other’s arms, the place where no one could touch you, in a shared breath you both whispered.
“I love you.”
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#spencer reid angst#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid x you#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid self insert#criminal minds angst#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds
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They Think I'm Pregnant - A.H
a/n: i feel like this is kind of shitty but alas here we are!
masterlist
pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader
summary: the team thinks you're pregnant and you decide to have a little fun with it
warnings: reader is not preggers promise!, honestly the team gossiping is so lol, suggestive content per usual
wc: 1.3k
"I mean she has been kind of moody lately."
The gasp that rose in your surprise was quickly smothered as you pressed yourself against the wall, pushing into it as if that would make you invisible somehow.
"Well, interestingly enough, there has been considerable growth in her chest area. It's due to elevated levels of estrogen and progesterone, which I've noticed with her." Spencer stopped abruptly, the sound of Morgan's muffled laughter in the background. "I'm not saying I make a habit of such observations. Okay, um, don't tell Hotch I said that."
Casting a skeptical eye down your shirt, your frown deepened. Sure, your boobs had grown, but that was a testament to a little happy relationship weight, not the fodder of their theories.
"Nice one, kid," came Rossi's voice, and you could almost see the smirk on his face.
"Oh my gosh, guys, this is like, the best news ever! A mini-agent in the making! Can you imagine how cute she's going to be? I'm going to get her the cutest outfits!"
"Garcia, how do you know it's going to be a girl? Did the baby send you a text?"
The baby? Was rational thought absent among them? It must be. You crossed your arms defensively.
"Okay, maybe we should pump the breaks everyone. Why do we even think she's pregnant in the first place?"
JJ—your voice of reason. You could kiss the ground she walked on.
"I'm just putting two and two together. She walked out, and there was a pregnancy test in the trash that wasn't there before."
Your eyebrows drew down, and the increasing shuffle from the room prompted you to make a beeline for Hotch's office before anyone saw you snooping. But in your defense, Emily snooped first.
The moment the door clicked shut, you lunged for the blinds, bypassing any attempt at a greeting with Aaron. The blinds clattered shut, so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash.
"Honey, what are you—?"
His words hung unfinished as you whirled around, pressing your pointer finger to your lips as if he were a kindergartner about to walk down the hall.
"They think I'm pregnant!" you hissed indignantly, jabbing a finger toward the door as if it were a portal to the rumor mill itself.
His face drained of color as his eyes darted from your face, down to your stomach, and finally rested on your tits. "Are you?"
You slapped his shoulder. "No!"
"Then why do they think that?"
You recounted every piece of evidence they had collected, giving special attention to Spencer's bodily hypothesis as a subtle form of retaliation.
"He said what?"
You laughed, draping your arms around his neck as you made yourself at home on his lap. He leaned back in his chair, arranging you so your legs were stretched out across his lap.
"Focus," you said desperately. "They think I'm pregnant."
"Sweetheart," he chuckled, his hands finding their way to your waist. "Does it really matter what they're assuming?"
Your lower lip jutted out, fingers threading through your hair as you mulled it over.
"You're a genius." Your arms were around him in an instant once again, leaving a big, messy kiss on his cheek as you hopped down from his lap and strode towards the door.
Who cares if that's what they think?
So, you devoted your day to your greatest talent: stirring the pot. If they were set on believing you were pregnant, why should you interfere? Better yet, why not enjoy their theories and have some fun along the way?
You pulled every trick in the book.
In the morning, you bolted from the briefing room with a hand clamped over your mouth, you later reappeared, ginger ale and crackers in tow--which you knew JJ would understand. No one said a word.
In the afternoon, you turned up your nose when Emily offered you coffee, which in turn caused her eyes to bulge out of her head, but still she said nothing.
In the evening, you staged a sudden craving for the strangest of snacks, convincing Spencer of your dire need for pickles dipped in peanut butter. You sent him on a wild goose chase for it, and he did it, no questions asked.
All of these, as some would say--childish antics, lead to a big pile of nothing because no one was brave enough to just ask you.
So now that you were all gathered around Rossi's living room, with the day's efforts in vain, you were forced to drastic measures.
The wine glass was mere inches from your lips when the whole lot of them were up in arms--a blabbering, spiraling mess.
Garcia, her mouth a perfect 'o' of scandalized red, was quick to wrestle it from your grasp, hoisting it just beyond reach as Morgan promptly confiscated it, placing it atop the tallest bookshelf, as if you were a child meddling with contraband.
"What are you thinking?"
"Are you crazy?"
"What are you doing?"
"Hotch, do you see this?"
Their words bombarded you all at once, a rapid-fire of overlapping sentences that was impossible to decipher. A giggle escaped you, hand instinctively rising to your lips. Sure, you had braced for a reaction, but this was beyond anything you had imagined.
You played dumb, your head canting to one side as your brows contracted. "What?"
You basked in Aaron's exasperated eye roll, his hands coming together as if in prayer while he let you revel in the moment. He was a good man.
"What do you mean what? I love you so much, but you have to be out of your mind," Garcia probed, her hands clutching on to her necklace as she looked side to side at the others.
You opened your mouth, ready to provoke her further, but Spencer beat you to it.
"Given the potential impact on blood volume and plasma osmolality, it's really not advised to drink alcohol, considering your condition," he said, fidgeting with his tie while nodding to your belly.
"What condition?"
"Oh, come on! We found your pregnancy test in the trash today!" This time it was Emily speaking, her hands on her hips as she gave you a knowing glance. She quickly muffled her exclamation. "Hold on, you've told Hotch, right? If not, I'm prepared to get on my hands and knees and beg for your forgiveness if necessary."
"You all are ridiculous!" you declared, rising from the couch and moving toward your abandoned wine. Aaron was quicker, offering the glass to you. "I'm not pregnant, and if you nosy nellies had bothered to ask rather than speculate, you'd know that.”
You took a large gulp of your wine. For emphasis. Your colleagues' mouth hung agape, all but Rossi, who smirked and toasted to the absurdity with his whiskey.
"You heard us?"
"Reid, let's just say, I'd appreciate if you would reserve those observational talents for the case files, not on my girlfriend's anatomy," Hotch suggested, the warmth of his hand seeping through the fabric at your back as he casually sipped his scotch.
You watched Reid's complexion turn a spectrum of pink hues, his apology barely above a whisper as laughter bubbled around us.
"Wait so then whose pregnancy test did I find?" Emily's words caused a collective breath to catch, glances shifting suspiciously around the room.
JJ's hand shot up, laughing as Garcia barreled into her side, arms wrapping around her before she could even get the admittance out. The room buzzed with congratulatory cheers, everyone sharing hugs and kisses as JJ told the story.
Aaron chose that instant to lift his hand to his neck, his lips meeting yours in a kiss so gentle it turned your insides to jelly. He eased back, his breath mingling with yours as he mumbled, "you know, the idea of you pregnant...it's not something I'm opposed to."
You let out a soft giggle, nestling your head against his chest, the steady beat of his heart bleeding into your ear. Your gaze drifted to your friends, toasting with raised glasses--minus JJ--with laughter and chatter filling the air.
"Is that so? Cravings, mood, boobs and all?"
You felt the rumble of his chuckle through his chest, the sensation tingling against your cheek. "All of it."
Rising onto your toes, you reached up to cradle his ear, lips grazing lightly against it. "How about we head home and practice? And then if you put a ring on it, I’ll consider it.”
That was the first time you had Irish goodbye-d a party.
#aaron hotchner x reader#aaron hotchner x fem reader#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotcher fic#criminal minds#criminal minds fluff
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How did it end?
Summary: A flashback to the night that changed your lives forever.
Pairing: past Joel Miller x fem. reader
Wordcount: 2.4k
Rating: T
Warnings: angst (so much angst), flashbacks, some really hurtful words, cursing, crying, pregnancy tests, Joel being a dick, Calvin being the best supportive brother
A/N: somehow I feel in my mind like this should have been worse, but I am sure you all do not feel like that at all so I'm sorry lol
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part three of invisible string
Even before the outbreak you dealt with your anxiety or with big life decisions the same way.
You were stress cleaning.
After walking out from Joel you made your way into the town centre, picking up your kids and then got back home where your brother Calvin was already trying to cook something but you mutually made the decision that you were gonna cook while he bathed the kids.
You both did not want him to burn the house down.
He wanted to ask you how it went, having run into Maria on his way home from the Patrol meeting, who had told her that you had been at the clinic to see Joel.
But this wasn’t the time or the place.
It ended up being a nice evening all things considered.
You had dinner, played some boardgames, read a good night stories to your kids and watched them sleep in their little beds until the nervous energy in your body left you walking back downstairs.
Once the house got quiet after the kids and you brother were asleep (he had an early morning with his first big day on Patrol the next day) you were alone with your thoughts.
And your thoughts were loud, and demanded to be heard.
So you went into the kitchen, took a look at all the cleaning supplies that were still stocked under the kitchen sink and got to work.
You started with the top of the kitchen cabinets, standing on the counter as you scrubbed what felt like centuries of dust off of them until you were satisfied and moved to inside the cabinets.
What a picture it would be if one of your new neighbours caught the crazy lady next door deep cleaning the kitchen at 2 am during the literal apocalypse.
Cleaning usually had the power to make the thoughts inside your head shut up.
But as you emptied the cabinets so you could clean them inside, your mind drifted to the last time you had tried to deal with whatever was going on in your life by extensively deep cleaning every surface around you.
The Outbreak might have been an excuse for many people to let things like cleaning the place where they lived become unimportant.
Which deep down it was of course.
Why have a clean kitchen when just down the street, behind the fences and walls the so called new government had pulled up, there were people and what once were people dying or fighting (or eating) each other?
But you always lived by the mindset of clean home, clean mind.
And what you desperately needed right now was a clean mind.
Two ten year old positive pregnancy tests you took this morning after feeling off for the last couple of weeks and missing you period were enough reason to freak out.
But you couldn’t freak out.
Joel would do that for you, you were sure.
That was, if he ever decided to come home to you again after being on a run with Tess for the last four days.
He hadn’t even told you or kissed you goodbye this time.
You had woken up to a note on the kitchen table telling you that he’d be gone on a run with Tess and he didn’t know how long.
Something about your husband had changed in the last few months.
It changed ever since Tommy left and Tess was his only influence outside of you. Not that you had much influence on anything he did nowadays.
It wasn’t like he was the most attentive men to begin with.
But you fell for him.
You fell for the complicated, traumatised and closed off man who to this day was the most handsome man you had ever met.
And deep down you knew he fell for you, mumbling his confessions of love into your skin when he thought you were asleep.
It was the way he looked at you.
The way he brought home a new book to read whenever he went out of the QZ.
The way he made you forget about the fucked up word outside of the walls you made your home whenever he gave you his full attention.
He wouldn’t have put a ring on your finger years earlier as you laid in his arms, asking you to be his until the day you both died, if he did not love you, would he?
You loved him, you loved him even when he seemed to make it his personal goal to make you hate him.
He used to be home every night in the beginning.
He used to love to spend time with you and you with him. Staying up just talking for hours if he wasn’t making love to you.
Because even when he was fucking you, it felt different. More… intense. More passionate.
He used to smile at you.
By now you couldn’t remember the last time he smiled at you now.
And by the time you had practically polished the whole shitty apartment you and Joel lived in it was dark outside and he still wasn’t home.
In hopes he would be home and it would lift his mood you had made dinner that now sat cold on the stove.
It was after 11pm and you were tired, having been in the bathroom brushing your teeth when you heard the door unlock and open.
A nervous flutter in your stomach made the dinner you had earlier almost come up but you took a deep breath, looking at yourself in the small mirror over the sink.
You were wearing one of Joel’s old worn flannels, his familiar scent in your nose.
What was the worst that could happen?
It was not like you could just turn back time?
You were pregnant and he just would have to deal with it.
Right?
You would never forget the way his eyes hardened once you said the words
„I am pregnant.“
He had been in a relatively good mood when you joined him in the small kitchen, having already taken his shoes and coat off, his hair damp from the rain outside.
It made you reconsider telling him for a tiny moment, wanting to just enjoy this with him. But maybe he would not react like you thought he would? Maybe he would be happy?
You wanted to ask a million question about how it went but you were too nervous, having instead kissed his cheek with a whispered „I miss you“ and then offered to warm up some food for him.
He had put his hand on your waist, his fingers brushing over your stomach as he went into the bathroom, his lips against your temple telling you that he would just take a quick shower.
It was after he ate, the table cleaned that you told him.
Sitting across from him at the tiny shitty table you had, your hands flat on the surface, the silence after you told him the news sickening.
His whole face had changed, expression hard, by the time he opened his mouth to speak.
„Is it mine?“ He asked and you just blinked at him, speechless, your head falling back as if he had slapped you, before you answered.
„What do you mean? Who else would it be? We’re married,“ you said and he scoffed.
„Doesn’t mean you don’t open your legs for anyone else while I’m gone,“ he sneered and you flinched at the accusation and the tone he used.
Sucking your bottom lip in you looked at your hands, still on the table, nodding your head slowly.
„Good to know what you think of me after all these years,“ you whispered, still trying to process his words.
„What did you think would happen? That I’ll be happy? Newsflash darlin’, this isn’t one of your dumb romance novels you keep reading,“ he said, before he brought his fist down on the table, making you jump. He got up from where he was sitting, walking over to the cabinet that held all the liquor he scavenged, opening the one bottle of original Jack Daniel’s and taking a long sip.
„You gonna get rid of it,“ he said and you looked at him.
„Excuse me?“ You asked.
„Don’t want no kids of mine in this fucked up world. And especially not with you,“ he said and you felt slapped again. One blow after the next coming from him. You crossed your arms in front of your stomach protectively.
You had imagined his reaction would be bad, but this wasn’t bad. This was destroying you.
„So that’s it, you don’t want a kid, and I have to just comply?“
„That’s exactly how it is, sweetheart,“ he grinned darkly at you, shaking his head and leaning against the wall and you desperately tried to find the tiniest part of the person you had fallen in love with as you looked at him.
But there was nothing left.
Maybe you just had been too blind to see it until now.
„I thought you loved me,“ you whispered, tears in your eyes.
„How can someone love you? You thought because I put a ring on your finger everything would be okay? We’d be a happy little family and live in this shitty apartment in this shitty QZ while the world around us is fucking dying? How did you think this would go?“ He asked.
„You made it sound like I planned this. Do you think I like this? Do you think I like being pregnant by a man who even though treated me like the fucking dirt beneath his shoes for the last months, was still the man I thought I would spend the rest of my life with?“
„Then get rid of it and we can get back to it,“ he said and you scoffed.
„You really think things are gonna get back to how they were after you said all that?“ You asked.
He shrugged.
„Where would you go? You have no family. No friends. All you have is me,“ he said.
„And you’re so different? Who do you have? Tommy left because…“
„Do not talk about my brother,“ he threatened and glared at you.
You shook your head, taking a deep breath.
He was drunk.
This was not going anywhere.
This would never go anywhere.
„Things are not going to go back. I can find someone better than you on every corner,“ he said and you could not stop the sob that shook your body and you were pretty sure you could hear your heart breaking.
„I don’t love you. I never did,“ he said and the tears you had tried to hold in finally fell.
„Get rid of this, before I take care of it,“ he said, and a chill ran down your spine at his tone.
„And then get the fuck out of my life.“
You were in the last touches of finishing cleaning the kitchen when you heard footsteps coming down the stairs.
You hadn’t even noticed the tears until Calvin pulled against his chest, his hand running soothingly up and down your back.
„You wanna talk about it?“ He asked and you shook your head.
„Not yet. Not ever if I’m honest,“ you mumbled and he chuckled.
„Need to talk to him though,“ you said and leaned back, turning around to turn on the stove to heat up some water and make some tea for the both of you. Looking at the clock hanging on the wall you noticed that it was just before 5 am.
„Don’t need to do anything,“ he said and opened the fridge, getting the lunch he had prepared the day before for his day out and grabbing some stuff to make himself a sandwich.
„I can’t ignore him forever. As much as I would like to. He’s…. He’s here and he won’t go anywhere. Neither will we. So we have to…. Co-exist somehow.“
You both get to your tasks before you both sat down at the table, you with two mugs of tea, one for him, him with two sandwiches, one which he pushed towards you.
„You still love him,“ your brother said after a while and you sighed, looking up at him.
„Yeah. But it doesn’t matter. I don’t think I’l ever be able to forgive him for everything that happened,“ you smiled sadly.
„Well,“ your brother said before he got up and put his plate in the sink.
„Then you should talk to him and tell him that so you can both move on with your lives.“
You followed him towards the front of the house where he put his shoes on and checked if he had everything in his little backpack for this first patrol.
„What if he wants to be in their lives?“ You asked, nodding upstairs to where both your children were still sleeping.
„Do you think he wants to? He made himself pretty clear from what you’ve told me,“ Calvin said.
„I don’t know. It’s been a long time and he seemed…. He seemed really sorry? I just….“ You took a deep breath, shaking your head.
„Nope. I am not gonna spend any more time thinking about Joel Miller. I’m gonna go upstairs and take a two hour nap and then I’m gonna go and explore our new home while my children are learning stuff in an actual school,“ you said.
„There you go!“ Calvin grinned.
„Be safe today!“ You said, grinning back and hugged him quickly.
„You too,“ he smiled, before he opened the door, your face falling as you saw Joel stand on the porch, his hand held up in a fist as if he was about to knock.
„I’m here to pick you up for patrol? Tommy’s gotta stay home today,“ Joel said as he looked between you and your brother.
„Well that is gonna be fun,“ Calvin said, winking at you, before he stepped out and pulled the door shut behind him, giving Joel no chance to try to say anything more if he wanted to.
You watched them through the window next to the door as they walked down the porch and then down the street until they were out of sight.
Letting your shoulders fall while you exhaled with a sigh you shook your head before you made your way upstairs.
This was gonna be a long day.
#my fic#Joel Miller x fem. reader#Joel Miller#Pedro Pascal#fanfiction#fanfic#fan fiction#tlou#tlou fanfiction#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal characters
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cant stop thinking about what u said about oliver MOUNTING a cute shy girl in doggy and making her cry.. that’s so evil of u to say omg he’s so wicked. need him to keep going until we’re full on delirious in prone bone and he’s sliding his forearm under the hipbones/tummy to hold us up actually. i dont wanna be his gf i wanna be his plaything! !
its cause he can't help himself rip
he has a passing thought about playing nice when you can barely look him in the face at the bar. you know he's an asshole already, but he tries not to mess around too much with virgins since he's into things that are a little much for first or second times. but it's kind of refreshing that you can barely see straight when he flirts with you. he's laying it on thick and your little nervous glances and awkward laughs are doing something bad for his boner
(i think he really likes... awkwardness in this instance. when you try to be responsive and fall flat on your face in the attempt. maybe he's more into the jock/nerd bullshit than he thought.)
its easy to take you home. you're not as drunk as you should be but oliver lets you pretend. he's really not planning on being a bully. he's just gonna get his dick wet and give you an orgasm you can't forget as a parting gift in boring, lovemaking missionary. that's what your type likes, he thought.
oh but you don't moan like a virgin do you? you make out and shiver when he's got a hand on your neck and he just this feeling about you. he pushes it a little. kisses you much more roughly, more teeth and tongue than lip and you keep hiccuping and getting desperate. he makes sure to test the waters of how much he can push you
and you let him go far 'cause you get kinda slutty when you're tipsy and fast. it makes him smile the most scumbag sleazy smile you've ever seen in your life. he gets to business a lot faster after that.
he really did plan on lovemaking missionary roleplay. like play pretend husband wife. but you take dick like a fucking champ when he's rough about it. its fucking sexy to him when he realizes you really weren't planning on it at all. there's no attempt at trying to get laid in your outfit or clothes and you're wearing those cotton panties that come in a pack.
ohh this kinda thing doesn't happen to you often for sure. but you take his dick so fucking good he almost doesn't believe it. mounting you in doggy, fucking you hard enough that headboard is slamming into the walls. you're panting and sweaty and can't get enough of cumming on his cock like the prettiest plaything he's ever seen. never thought he'd be so fond of a pitchy, broken whine like that. your cunt gets so sloppy and wet whenever he bullies you, gets tight around his dick like you'll cry if he pulls out.maybe he'll test that out too.
he knows he's a sleazebag when you start reaching from behind and pushing him away because you're overstimulated and he pins your hands behind your back and fucks you anyway. tucks his hands under just to keep you right where he needs you, so his tip can hit the spot that makes your vision white out.
he should probably not listen to that fucked out little plea you keep doing to cum in you. he doubts your head is on straight.
but you know? oliver is nothing if not a pleaser. of course he'll cum in that tight fucking cunt since you want it so bad. whatever you want, baby. anything for you
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At Peace in Your Fire (Pt. 1)
Summary: Y/n Archeron is an adaptable person. As long as there is a warm fire to breathe life into her soul, she can find strength. Even after all they've been through.
Pairing: Future Eris x Archeron!Reader
Word Count: 1,400
Notes: This is my first fic ever and it is hardly proof read haha I have a lot of ideas for this story, so it will have a few parts ! There is no Eris in this chapter, but he is coming ! What do you think the reader's gift from the Cauldron will be ? Please give me lots of feedback and I hope you enjoy ! Also if anyone has a better title suggestion I'm open to them !
Credits: @enchanthings created the beautiful text divider ! And @reveriesources made the gorgeous 'comment and reblog" banner at the bottom !! Thank you both !
Y/n Archeron has always been an adaptable person. When their father lost their fortune, when their mother died, and when they were forced to move into that shitty little cabin with only one bedroom, she had remained positive. Her and her twin sister, Feyre, learned to hunt together, forage for berries, and steal bread from the baker down the road. Y/n prided herself on being fast enough to never get caught, but if there was ever a close call, Feyre was standing by with a distraction- usually a rodent she would release to run into the house and cause chaos.
If ever the family couldn't find her, she could always be found by a fire. It made her an asset to the family, to be able to always start a fire and cook whatever meat her and Feyre caught, but it also made her “secret” hideouts pretty pathetic. As a child, when she was sick or sad, she would be by a fire. It was the only thing that seemed to sooth her. When she was happy after a good day of hunting and gathering or an afternoon of flirting with the baker’s son to get free bread, she would want to have a fire to celebrate. She would dance around its edges well into the night, even if there was no music to be heard.
That desperate need for warmth and comfort almost had her knees buckling as she and her sisters were ripped from their home in the middle of the night, blindfolded, gagged, and dragged to a land they had only heard of.
When the blindfolds and gags were removed, y/n looked around the large room, to her older sisters, Nesta and Elain, and finally they fell on her twin. Feyre looked to scared and helpless. Y/n had never seen that look on her face. Feyre was so brave and the last time they’d seen her she was so determined and fierce. What the hell happened?
Feyre was nervous about being in the mortal lands with Rhys, Azriel, and Cassian. She hadn’t seen her sisters since before she went under the mountain and becoming Fae. She hadn’t seen her twin since she was dragged to Prythian by Tamlin. Nesta told her that Y/n has been going out to search for her, only stopping at home for a few days at a time to make sure Nesta and Elaine had food to eat. Y/n was out on on one of her searches the last time Feyre was here, and she desperately hoped she would be home this time. She needed to see her twin. Not only to have someone on her team against Nesta, but because she relationship with y/n was the most important one in her life, and she needed to tell y/n everything that’s happened.
Making it through what she thought was going to be the most awkward part, the introductions at the door, Feyre and her friends found themselves in an even more uncomfortable position. Sitting at the table silently, Nesta staring daggers at them, and waiting for y/n to get home.
“She might not show up today. You know how she likes to take her time on her hunting trips. She could be out all night and getting back home in this weather would be a stretch. Travelling isn’t as easy for us humans as it is for your kind.” Nesta stated coldly, refusing to look at Rhys, Azriel and Cassian, the two Illyrians standing cramped in the corner, trying to make their wings as small as possible. “We might as well start without her. Tell us what you’re doing here so you can leave. Y/n can get caught up later.”
Rhys opens his mouth to pick a fight when the front door slams open.
“Nesta I’m back! You won’t believe the size of the deer I got! Can you help me clear the table so I can drag it in here?” At the sound of y/n’s voice, Feyre lets out a sob. “Nes?” The sound of footsteps fill the hall as y/n rounds the corner into the dining room. Her eyes scan the room, making eye contact with Nesta before clocking the three strange males in the corner, and then finally at her twin. Y/n fell to her knees.
Feyre is up in an instant, running to her sister and holding her tight. Y/n holds her just as fiercely as sobs wrack both their bodies. Either Feyre doesn’t notice the blood covering y/n from the deer sitting outside, or she simply doesn’t care. When breathing is once again possible, y/n cups her sisters face in her hands and just stares at her for a long moment. Feyre holds her breath as y/n takes in the delicately pointed ears and the elongated canines. “Fey…you look so beautiful.” Her hands fall from her face as she suddenly realizes what’s happening. “Are you okay? Why are you here? How are you here?” The questions start to become frantic as y/n also realizes that none of the males in front of her are the one who took her away. The one who Nesta had told her Feyre was in love with and going to save. She studies them a second longer and takes note of the dark hair, the violet eyes, and then the wings of the other two males. Wait- wings!? Y/n’s eyes dart between them and then settle on Feyre.
“Y/n, this is Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court. His Spymaster, Azriel, and his general, Cassian.” The three males gave Y/n a small smile and a wave as she and Feyre rise to their feet.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Y/n looks just at Rhys then as she says, “Am I to assume that you are the reason my sister is glowing? Not that she wasn’t always stunning, but there’s something about you Faeries…”
Rhys smirks at Feyre as she rolls her eyes, but looks back to Y/n when he says, “I’m afraid so. But she is just as much to blame. Had to be the hero.” His eyes soften with the last part, almost something sad but proud flashed in his eyes before it was replaced by a self-assured, arrogant mask.
“Thank you.” Y/n says with all the sincerity she can conjure in that gaze, as tear once again form in her eyes, and she tugs her sister into another tight embrace. “I want every. Single. Detail of your story, sister.”
Now obviously being kidnaped was less than ideal, but again, Y/n is adaptable. She scanned her surroundings and tried to make sense of what lay before her. In the middle of the grand room, what looked to be in a palace, was a massive cauldron. Standing around the cauldron, on clearly opposing sides of the room, were Feyre, Rhys, and his Inner Circle as they called themselves, and on the other side stood who she predicted to be Tamlin and Lucien. Feyre had told Y/n the whole story. From falling in love with Tamlin, to going Under the Mountain. About Amarantha, the bargain with Rhys, Tamlin locking her away, Lucien standing by doing nothing, and their almost wedding.
With y/n and her older sisters standing at the front of the room, nearest to the cauldron, it was easy to piece the puzzle together. In a whirlwind, y/n fought back with Nesta to keep the Hybern soldiers from putting sweet, innocent Elain into the cauldron. Holding their breaths, they waited until a barely conscious Elain was tipped out of the dark waters. Feyre and the Inner Circle were in various forms of gravely injured, or being held down by the King of Hybern’s magic.
The next to be forced in was Nesta, but trust that she put up the fight of her life, along with y/n. It was of no use, and before she could be fully forced under, that wicked finger pointed right at the King. A gesture so full of wrath, the King had the decency to pale just slightly. When Nesta was dumped from the cauldron, she crawled straight to Elain and wouldn’t let anyone else touch her.
There was no one left to fight for y/n. She was so cold and she felt so helpless as she trashed in the soldiers hold that as soon as her feet touched the warm water of the cauldron, she let the water engulf her. Distantly she could hear Lucien calling out to Elain, but y/n wasn’t sure why. She couldn’t seem to care as she let the warm water embrace her and take over all her senses.
Taglist: @abysshaven @stained-glass-eyes0708
#acotar#a court of thorns and roses#eris x y/n#autumn court#lucien vanserra#eris vandaddy#feyre archeron#nesta archeron#elain archeron#eris vanserra#eris acotar#eris x reader
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Can we just stop for a second and think about Charles attending his own funeral?
I can’t stop picturing him—still not used to being dead—playing a sickening version of hide and seek, just him and his fears. He’s still a kid, hidden in a dark corner, watching his mother cry over a coffin that will soon be six feet deep. Rotting.
He is the uninvited guest, observing his mother from the shadows. He doesn’t find a trace of the silent tears in her eyes—the ones he had seen a thousand times before—but there’s desperation instead. A violent tremble shakes her shoulders, her sobs are stealing the air from her lungs. There’s pain running down her cheeks, the sort of torturing agony that can only be driven by guilt, and loss, and grief.
He sees people around, unknown voices trying to calm her down. He sees blurred faces, question marks, beating hearts but blind eyes. They don’t know anything about her, and they will never know anything about him.
He wants to get closer, but he doesn’t know how. He wants to never see her again. He wants to scream; he wants to tell her that he would have never chosen to leave her if he had been granted the choice. He wants her to look at him; he wants her to hold him as she’s holding onto that inert wooden box.
But she never will.
Just one more time, he looks at her intently.
“It’s gonna be okay, sweetheart.”
Just one more time, he takes one step closer.
“I promise…”
Just one more—
“I’m so sorry for your loss, Mr. Rowland.”
It's cold again. He retreats to the shadows and looks ahead. There's no one, not a single person, who shows less kindness than his own father.
He stays three steps away from his mother, with a hardened expression that never changes. They may think he's stoic, but Charles knows better; he is looking at him—at the lifeless body that once was him—with so much contained rage. It looks like home, the unwelcoming preamble to another beating, and Charles believes he is selfish for feeling relieved, for finding solace in his own death.
There is no one around to judge him for it, yet he still worries so much; he's safe, but somehow, he's still crying on the floor inside his mind, and the bruises keep blooming, and the pain feels so real.
"Charles?"
How can he explain that he wants to be alive, but he doesn't want his life back? It's just a plight he would rather avoid because he fears that if he keeps thinking about it, the water would come back, and this time, he wouldn't be able to find a way out. He would be trapped forever, fighting senselessly against the freezing cold, suffocating within the walls of his own nightmare.
Alone.
"Are you alright?"
He doesn't want to stay and haunt this place; he doesn't want to be remembered like this. He would rather pray for his mother to let him go, and for the violence to let go of her.
"Would you prefer me to wait for you outside?"
He doesn't want to feel fragile, he doesn't want to be useless, he doesn't want to be angry. He would rather bury his own aching body along with all his losses, but he would remember his father's eyes, just in case.
For now, he needs to pull himself together because there's someone looking for him—hide and seek, but it's not scary anymore—maybe he will have to leave his hideout soon, but is it losing when you want to be found?
"No,"
Cold colors seem warmer when the light comes in.
Don't leave me.
"I'll go with you."
#this was supposed to be short#charles rowland#charles dead boy detectives#edwin paine#edwin payne#chedwin#paineland#payneland#painland#dead boy detectives#dead boy detective netflix#dead boy detective agency#dead boy detectives agency#the dead boy detectives#dbda#dbda fanfic#dc universe#dcu
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omg heyyy, I’d love to read something of how they would react if Juliette, mat and Quinn are out on a date night, and then when they’re out they get swarmed by paps and they’re kind of taking up their personal space and Juliette starts getting anxious??🤍
ᥫ᭡ Lights, camera, acción!
﹕─┈ pairings ( Mat barzal x Leclerc f1 driver oc! x Quinn Hughes )
°. — details ( g; angsty. w; angst, the paps being fucking creeps. Mentions of the paps trying to see under Julie’s dress. wc; 2.2k )
au masterlist - everything for the AU is under #🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc
˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( hi lovely , tysm for sending in a request !! This is like the first fic I’ve really written for this au so I had so much fun !! So sorry it took so long to get out !! Hope you all enjoy it , and please let me know what you guys think !! )
˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( also !! I know this is a bit unrealistic because of the privacy laws and restrictions on professional photography in Monaco . . . but let’s just pretend those don’t exist for the sake of this fic please )
“We watched that last time” Quinn complained as he set down his glass of wine on the fine white tablecloth. The linen was so soft, softer than some blankets that he's slept on in the hotels he's stayed at, but he didn't expect anything less from the very nice restaurant Juliette had taken them too.
He licked his lips, cleaning them of any remnants of the red wine that he knew wouldn't be able to pronounce correctly. What he did know was that his girlfriend sounded incredibly hot pronouncing it and he knew Mat felt the same way with how he bit his lip and adjusted in his seat, turning his attention towards the beautiful view of the sunset covered sky that they got from sitting on the patio.
“So? Then we can watch the second one” Mat was quick to come up with a solution to their ongoing problem of picking a movie for tonight. Mat wanted to watch The Hangover again, Quinn didn't, and Julie was not going to get between them on this topic again.
“What do you think sweetheart?” Mat turned his playful glare away from Quinn and to Juliette who had her elbow on the table, her chin in her palm as she watched the two playfully argue with a fond smile on her red lips, her own glass of wine long forgotten.
“I think” Juliette leaned closer to the two as she spoke slowly, the chill air of Monaco giving her bare arms and legs goosebumps. She watched as both of their gazes fell to her cleavage, lingering on the necklace with their initials decorating her neck. She could tell by the way both of their breaths hitched that they thought she was going to turn there night towards a different direction. Julie gave them a teasing smirk as she continued “That I'm going to pick the movie tonight”
“So, what you're saying is that we're watching twilight again?” Quinn teased with a smile as he leaned back in his chair, just itching to slip out of his whitebutton up shirt that Mat had picked out for him. Julie had a habit of watching the same group of movies depending on the time of the year and how she felt. And she was really feeling Edward Cullen as of late.
“I'll even let you guys pick which one!” Julie giggled as she reached for her glass, taking a large sip of the expensive wine. Mat and Quinn could definitely tell that the wine was starting to get to her, she was far more giggly than usual. And with how she kept on nudging her stiletto foot against their leg, touchy as well. Two Telltale signs that she was tipsy.
Mat and Quinn got lost in their own thoughts as they looked at their girlfriend who sat across from them, their thoughts very similar. Julie looked so ethereal under the fairy lights that hung across the patio, her smile and the look in her eyes were driving them crazy. They both desperately wanted to go home . . . or at least make it to the car.
Quinn cleared his throat and turned the conversation into a different direction, he could see the look in Mat’s eyes, and they still had to wait for their desert to arrive, and mat wasn't one with patience. Julie slowly sipped on her wine as she listened to her boys talk, tilting her head to look out at the night sky with watchful eyes, just taking in the sweet moment of being with her lovers, in her home city.
The sweet moment was ruined when she felt a cold chill run down her back, and it was like the calm air around them totally shifted into a tense and uncomfortable feeling. She felt like she was being watched. She looked back to Quinn and Mat who were smiling all lovey to each other, neither of them seems to have the same feeling she did.
She sat up straight in her chair and quickly looked around the empty patio when she heard the subtle sound of a clicking. That anxiousness and fear started creeping up in her bones at the thought of them being watched, please not again. She cut off their conversation with her anxious tone “Did you hear that?”
Mat and Quinn were quick to halt their conversation when they heard the desperation in her voice, a look of worry coming across both of their faces. Quinn was the first one to speak up while Mat reached across the table to rest his hand on Julie's trembling hand that rested on the table, caressing her soft skin with his thumb “No, what did you hear?”
“I could have sworn I heard a camera click” Julie frowned as she looked behind her one more time, all she could see was the building next door and a little bit of the busy street. She couldn't see anything from the ground level. Quinn also looked around and he couldn't see much from where they sat “Maybe you misheard?
Click!
The throuples heads all snapped towards the sound, Mat moved his hands from Quinn's thigh and Julie's hand and stood up from his chair and walked past the empty table next them to see over the protective railing. His eyes widen when he sees a man standing next to a light post on the street, a big black camera in his hands, pointed right at them. Mat clenched his fists as he hissed in anger “What the fuck”
“Come on we're leaving” Quinn sighed as he stood up from his chair, holding his hand out to help Julie up. Julie was quick to get up and hold onto Quinn's arm, the world slightly spinning from her getting up so fast while being tipsy. Mat flips the man off before turning around and making his way back to the table, pulling his wallet out and leaving several bills on the table, not caring if he overpaid, it would be a nice tip.
He followed them off the balcony and through the restaurant to the back exit that led to where her car was parked. Julie leaned against Quinn's side as he led them towards the door, mat was practically seething as he walked behind them, he hated how insensitive people were, it was disgusting how the paparazzi's treated Julie.
Mat rested his hand on Quinn's lower back as he moved in front of them to open the door for them, he was angry, but he still made sure to smile at them both as they walked out of the door. Quinn could see the anger in mat’s eyes, and he could see the anxiety in Julie’s, he hated how such a good date night turned sour because some people were such fucking creeps.
Quinn wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled closer to him, his body warmth protecting her from the chill breeze of Monte Carlo. Mat quickened his steps so he could walk on the other side of Julie, his shoulders were tense as he kept on looking around them, hoping that his gut was wrong and that there weren't more paparazzi.
They were quiet as they walked to the small car park, but the silence was quickly gone as they turned the corner to the car park. Julie let out a gasp of surprise and stepped back in shock at the loud shouts and flashes from the pictures being taken. Quinn was quick to gently pull Julie behind him, hiding her from the paparazzi that stood next to their car waiting for them.
“Juliette! Juliette smile!” The paparazzi all screamed their names, shouting out questions and demands. The three of them knew better and kept their mouths closed, not giving them any attention that they desired. Julie winced and closed her eyes; every loud click and shouts made her flinch and move closer to Quinn who was leading her towards the car.
Mat quickly pulled out the keys and unlocked the car for them to quickly get in, standing behind them protectively as the paparazzi's moved closer to them, they were surrounded, and mat was doing everything to hold back and not shove them away. Julie squeezed her eyes shut and trusted Quinn to lead her, her heart felt like it was going to shoot out of her chest. The flashing lights and the shouting made quick work to give her a headache, the wine in her bloodstream not helping.
Quinn quickly opened the backseat door and helped Julie in the car while Mat got in the driver's seat. Quinn quickly stood behind her as she got in when he noticed one of the paparazzi crouching down, hoping to see up her dress. Quinn sent him a heated glare before getting in the backseat with her and closing the door. Mat quickly locked the doors and started the car.
Julie slumped in the middle seat, leaning her head back with her eyes still closed as she tried to calm down. Quinn moved closer to her and softly brushed her hair out of her face, leaning down to place a soft kiss on her forehead as he whispered “It's okay honey, they can't get to us in here. Your safe”
“Those fucking creeps, there lucky i didn't run them over” Mat hissed angrily with a scoff as he pulled out of the parking lot and into the streets. Quinn kisses Julie's forehead again as she cuddles into his side, Quinn says Mat's name in a calm town, wanting him to calm down before he gets too worked up.
Mat lets out a heavy breath telling himself to calm down, he quickly looks in the rearview mirror and frowns when he sees the upset look on Julie's face, Quinn was playing with her trembling fingers, knowing that it would help calm her down. Mat asks softly, "Sweetheart, are you okay?”
“I’m sorry that I ruined our date night” Julie murmured sadly, so quietly that Mat almost didn't hear her from the front seat, Ignoring her boyfriend's question. Juliette had terrible luck with the paparazzi, they never left her alone, to the point where she’s had to move twice from the fear of her being watched at her home. A fear that made her anxiety even worse.
Mat’s heart broke at how dejected she sounded, and he wished he could just give her a big hug and kiss all her sadness away; he would make sure to do so when they got home. It hurt both of their hearts to hear those words coming out of her mouth, especially when it's definitely not her fault. Quinn frowned and continued to play with her hands and hair “it's not your fault angel, please don't say that”
“Yeah, it's those assholes' faults, besides we have a whole lot of night left” Mat was quick to reassure her, they hated seeing her upset and sad. Mat made eye contact with Julie through the rearview mirror when she lifted her head from Quinn's chest. Mat sent her a flirtatious wink “And i know a lot of ways we can enjoy out night”
A small chuckle leaves Julie’s lips at Mat’s flirting, he never failed to make her smile. Both of them smiled at the sound of her laughter, happy to have cheered her up. Quinn pressed a quick kiss to her temple before saying sweetly “There’s that pretty smile we missed so much”
Julie felt her heart flutter as she tilted her head to look up at Quinn, he looked so handsome. He had some stubble from not shaving this morning, his longer hair was a little messy, and God that smile on his lips. Quinn looks down at her with a teasing smirk before glancing at mat “Awe look Shes blushing too”
“Where did your dirty little mind go sweetheart?” Mat teased as he leaned back in the driver's seat, his right hand falling in his lap as he drove with one hand. He glanced at her through the rearview mirror as he continues to speak “I was talking about us cuddling on the couch watching twilight and eating some sweets”
Quinn laughs along with Mat when Juliette lets out a loud groan at their teasing. She playfully pushed Quinn away, but he just grabbed her hands and pulled her closer, she was practically in his lap now. Quinn gently cupped her chin and pulled her into a soft kiss. Julie hummed and closed her eyes, her hand coming up to cup his jaw as the kiss got heated. Julie could taste the wine on his tongue, and she wanted more.
Mat bit his lip to hold in his groan at the sight of the making out in the back of the car, having to stop himself from pressing hard on the gas to get home faster. Julie slowly pulled away from the kiss and sat back in her seat in the middle, crossing her arms over her chest with an embarrassed pout “I hate you both”
“No, you don’t” Mat smiled as he pulled into the street that led to the apartment building where Julie's penthouse was located. Julie scooted forward in her seat, leaning forward between the driver and passengers' seat to place a quick kiss on his before falling back in her seat with a surprised squeal when mat suddenly drove over a bump, Quinn had grabbed her, and his look of worry turns into a smile at the giggle she let out.
“No, no i don't”
˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( this is so poorly written omg I’m gonna sob 💔 )
°. — taglist ( @lovings4turn @toasttt11 @cixrosie @ru-kru @alwaysclassyeagle @theopenlocker @lavisenri @callsignwidow @willowpains @winterbarnesblog @yoontwin )
©️WINTFLEUR
#🍂 ͡ ꒱ Juliette Leclerc#⋆ ˚｡⋆୨🤎୧˚ Juliette’s lovers#💌julietteleclerc!#mathew barzal x oc#mat barzal x oc#mathew barzal imagine#mat barzal imagine#matthew barzal#mat barzal#new york islanders#quinn hughes x oc#quinn hughes#quinn hughes imagine#vancouver canucks#mat barzal fic#mat barzal fluff#quinn hughes fluff#nhl x oc#nhl blurb#leclerc sister fic#f1 female driver#female f1 driver#mat barzal x reader#mathew barzal x reader#quinn hughes x reader
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tale as old as time - jonathan crane x reader
masterlist
notes: based off of this post by @kpopgirlbtssvt! sorry its taken me so long, ive been lacking a little motivation recently lol.
summary: your dad works for the gotham police department, and he has been looking into jonathan's experiments on his patients. in a panic, jonathan decides to kidnap you and use you as blackmail against your dad so that he stops looking into the corruption of arkham. though you're awfully scared at first, you discover that maybe being held "hostage" in a big, beautiful mansion with a man who slowly becomes enamoured with you isn't as bad as you'd originally thought.
word count: 4.7k
warnings: kidnapping, fear-toxin, kissing, swearing, i dont know if this classifies as stockholm syndrome but yeah maybe that too, and fluff
you flipped the sign over so that it read "closed" and tidied up around the bookstore. it was a quiet day today, business was a little slow but that was alright - you only worked here part time, anyway.
you worked at a cozy, little bookstore right in the heart of gotham. it was owned by an older man, and you worked three days a week there while you completed your college courses. most shifts, you would be the one closing since the store wasn't open very late anyways. the latest it would be open was seven.
ever since you were a little girl, you'd had an obsession with all things books and literature. you loved reading more than anything, and you couldn't count how many books you owned if you tried. the shelves in your apartment were lined with different pieces of literature, and you found yourself passing time by reading most days - that is, if you didn't have homework, of course.
as you were closing up, you texted your friend that you were heading home for the night as you stared at the clock.
6:58 PM.
you sighed, locking the door behind you as you locked up for the night. you'd be back tomorrow morning, but you didn't mind. like i said, all things books and reading were right up your alley. you were a total bookworm. after locking up and walking down the street back to your apartment, you noticed that the streets of gotham were awfully empty tonight. you barely saw anyone walking while you were on your way home, and you made note to rush back to your apartment tonight.
before you could get to your apartment, a figure stopped you. as you were passing through an eerie alleyway (which you always considered to be a shortcut), a white cloud of gas invaded your senses. you started to cough like crazy, and you felt your throat tightening up. your vision began to blur, and you started to hear voices and whispers from all different directions. in a panic, you tried to run but with disturbed vision and clouded senses - you didn't get very far before you were on the ground.
before you could even register what was happening around you, a pair of hands reached out to grab you. suddenly, your felt yourself being thrown into a vehicle of some sort before blacking out. it all happened so quickly.
"where is she?" you heard what appeared to be your dads voice yelling over the phone, "what did you do to her? answer me!"
as you opened your eyes to see what was going on, you felt a sharp, sudden onset of pain in your head. with a small groan, you reach up and rubbed your temple in hopes to ease the pain. as your eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, you noticed you were in a room of some sort. it was rather luxurious, as there was expensive looking art pieces hanging on the walls along with velvety drapes hanging from the windows.
you looked down to realize you were laying on a plush, king sized bed that had fluffy pillows littered out behind you, as well as a cozy, fuzzy duvet to keep you warm. suddenly, you remembered how you got here - you were kidnapped.
panic surged through your veins as you started to freak out. desperate to find some sort of explanation, you get out of the bed and draw open the curtains to see where you were. as you looked outside, it was nightfall. the moonlight was illuminating the room you stood in, and after attempting to open the window - you noticed it was locked. you continued to keep trying, but it wouldn't budge. of course it wouldn't. what kind of kidnapper would be dumb enough to leave the windows unlocked?
in a state of pure panic, you run towards the door and fumble with the handle, but it was locked like the windows. looking around the room, you tried to find any other exits, but it appeared that the only two ways to escape were either the door or the window. both of which were locked shut. you closed your eyes for a moment, feeling tears start to pool in them. after wiping the tears off your cheeks, you sigh and get back into the comfy looking bed.
if you were being kidnapped, why was your kidnapper holding you hostage in such a nice place? from what you knew, when most people got kidnapped or held hostage, they were taken to a confined, dirty, eerie place where they were usually being held at either gun point or at knife point. neither of which were currently happening to you. instead, you were locked in what looked to be a big room in an even bigger mansion in god knows where.
"let her go!" you heard your dads voice again, and it was coming from outside of the door.
"dad?" you call out with panic in your voice.
"was that her?" your dads voice said, "where's my daughter, crane?"
suddenly, the door to the bedroom made a click sound, and someone walked in before closing the door behind them. you peered over to see a tall man standing in the room with you. he was wearing a suit with glasses, and he had a phone in his hands. as soon as you saw him, you started to tremble.
"i told you," the man spoke into his phone, "i have her here. i'll continue to keep her here for as long as you keep investigating arkham asylum."
"let her go, please," your dad begged over the phone, "just let her go and i'll stop looking into it."
"i'm afraid i can't do that," the man spoke once more, "you've gotten your officers to snoop around arkham one too many times for my liking." after that, he hung up on your father.
your dad was the director general of the gotham city police department, which meant he oversaw everything in the jurisdiction of gotham when it came to police and law enforcement. he'd been looking into the corruption of arkham asylum for months now, waiting for jonathan to slip up - but he never did. he knew the game your father was playing at.
jonathan knew that the GCPD was onto him, so he made sure to keep all illegal activities under wraps and very discreet. he was aware that your dad, along with a bunch of officers and detectives, were looking into him and watching his every move. jonathan was certain he needed to take action before they started looking into his work and discovered something he didn't want them to see.
that's where you came in. you were the director generals daughter, and everyone knew that. your dad loved you dearly, and he would always talk about you and how proud he was of your achievements whenever he could. this information lead jonathan to cultivate a plan to make sure your dad and his men would never look into arkham again.
he decided to kidnap you, essentially. he knew that you were the light of your fathers life, and if he held you hostage and used you for ransom, surely your dad would stop looking into him as long as it meant he got his daughter back.
so, that's what jonathan decided to do. he'd been stalking you for weeks, learning everything about you. from what time you left the house to what your favourite coffee order was. he knew everything.
last night, him and his men put his plan into motion. he waited for you in the alleyway you always took home as a shortcut, and he dosed you with a very mild form of his toxin. it would temporarily cause your vision to become disturbed and some possible auditory hallucinations, but you wouldn't succumb to your worst fears like you would with a concentrated dose.
after you were out of it from the toxin, him and his men loaded you up into a white van, speeding off into the night as they headed to jonathans hideout. it was over an hour away from gotham, but jonathan was willing to make the sacrifice if it meant having you in an undetectable place. so be it if he had to drive over an hour back to arkham every time he had to work - that didn't matter to him.
"please," you whimpered as you cowered away to the farthest corner of the bed, "d-dont hurt me."
jonathan looked at you in silence, his icy blue eyes reminding you of the glaciers in the antarctic. 'i'm not going to hurt you," he sighed, looking at you in your fragile state, "...you don't have to be afraid."
you looked up at your kidnapper, and he seemed to be telling the truth. he didn't come closer to you and stayed a good distance away - plus, if he really wanted to hurt you, he wouldn't keep you in such good conditions.
"you kidnapped me." you whispered.
yes, he did. he knew that, obviously, but he didn't intend on actually harming you. again, if he really wanted to hurt you, he would've used the concentrated version of his fear toxin on you by now. the more he learned about you from stalking you, the less inclined he felt to harm you.
sure, he may of hated your father and wanted him dead, but you weren't your father. you were someone else, your own person - you were entirely different. you didn't go around snooping in other peoples businesses, you kept to yourself. jonathan found it a little endearing that you worked at a bookstore of all places while making your way through college. as a fellow bookworm and academic, he almost felt like he could see a part of himself in you.
you were kind to everyone you met; that was one of the first things he had noticed about you. your politeness was unmatched, and he liked that about you. he liked that you were a gentle soul, someone who never had any bad intentions. that was when he decided that even though he was technically going to hold you "hostage," he wasn't going to hurt you. if anything, he felt an overwhelming need to take care of you. to dote on you, even.
"but i'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, "i told you. although, your dad has been...causing quite the commotion at arkham with his investigations."
"what does that have to do with me?" you whimpered.
"not much," he informs you, "however, i know you are of great importance to your father. since he decided to start to look into arkham, a lot of my plans have been...deterred. that's where you come in - if he wants to take something important away from me, i will, of course, do the same."
"so you kidnapped me to get revenge on my father?" you quipped quietly.
"it seems that way, yes." he says curtly, as his magnetic blue eyes bore into yours.
"will you let me go?" you asked.
"i'm afraid not, my dear," he says softly, "though i wish i could, it would be foolish of me. you would go running to the police, and then where would we be?"
"wait - are you trying to keep me here forever?" you asked in a panic-filled voice.
"for now, yes. unless your father agrees to keep me off gotham pd's radar as well as wipe all his investigative files regarding arkham asylum, you will have to remain here."
silently in your head, you begged your father to do so. you didn't want to be stuck here forever. tears pricked the corners of your eyes, and the mystery man looked at you sympathetically.
"there is no need to cry, my dear." he says in a hush tone, finally making his way over to the bed where you were quivering.
you back up as soon as he steps any closer to the bed, and he freezes. you started to full on sob into the pillows, dramatically throwing yourself onto the bed whilst crying softly. he almost chuckled at the act, but he kept his composure as he sat on the edge of the bed. he reached a hand out to pet your hair as you cried, and this time, you didn't even pull away.
"it'll be alright," he cooed softly, "you'll come to like your life here. at least, i hope you will."
you look up from the pillows, dragging the duvet cover over you as you continue to sniffle. "i don't even know who you are." you inform him.
"jonathan crane." he says softly, continuing his attempts to comfort you. "i'm so very sorry that it all had to be this way," he whispered, still petting your hair as your tears started to slowly stop, "i'm sorry that you had to pay for your fathers mistakes."
though his words seemed menacing, his tone was ever so gentle. he didn't yell at you, force your hand, or try to do anything that would imply he wanted to hurt you. for a moment, you almost forgot that you had just been kidnapped and made to be a hostage for blackmail.
jonathan got up, sighing as you watched him from your plush, king sized bed. you were still shaken up, and he decided it would be best to give you a little bit of space - especially if you were to suddenly react or get volatile with him. he wouldn't want to scare you any more than he already did, even though he really did not want to nor did he intend to.
"the door will be unlocked," he said softly, "i will be working downstairs in my office. if i am not here and instead working at arkham, the staff around the house will be more than happy to take care of you."
with that, he closed the door gently, leaving you in the dimly lit, luxurious bedroom all alone. staff? what did he mean by that? like, butlers and maids? you assumed so, as jonathan must have had a good amount of cash stacked up from his criminal activities. as much as you wanted to leave and escape, a part of you felt too tired to do so - plus, if you were being honest; this place was way nicer than your apartment.
with a sigh, you felt yourself grow weary from the exhausting events of the day. with heavy eyes, you slowly started to drift off into sleep as the soft, fuzzy duvet covers wrapped around you to keep you warm while you slept.
you awoke some time later, though you weren't entirely sure when. you looked over to the large window, and the sun was beaming down into the room, illuminating it cheerfully. you rubbed your eyes and did a little stretch before getting out of bed. you were still in your clothes from yesterday, which weren't the most comfortable.
with a huff, you attempt at opening the door - and it was unlocked. pushing the door open, you peer your head into the corridor, which was long and full of different doors leading to different rooms. the walls were decorated beautifully, and the whole home looked expensive. you wandered into the halls, eventually coming to a spiral staircase. you know, like those fancy ones in those expensive homes.
"you're awake." a voice from behind you said, making you jump. "sorry, i didn't mean to startle you."
turning around, you see jonathan standing there in another suit. "yeah," you mumble, "i...wanna take a shower and change into comfy clothes."
you felt awkward saying this to your...kidnapper, but it seemed he didn't have an issue with it. he gave you a nod along with a small smile.
"of course, i assumed you'd want that," he spoke softly, "i had all your belongings brought from your apartment back here. however, if there is anything else you would like, please let me know."
"why are you being so nice to me?" you ask suddenly, genuinely curious as to why you were being treated so kindly.
jonathan didn't know how to answer this - he didn't want to flat out tell you that he thought you were absolutely beautiful and that your personality matched the way you looked. he thought it'd be a little strange to do so. as diabolical as the man was, he had grown to have a little soft spot for you after watching you for so long. he couldn't bring himself to hurt you even if he tried.
"because as much as i hate your father, you haven't done anything to me." he told you.
"my dad said you've...killed countless people. why aren't you doing that to me?" you ask, getting braver.
"you aren't useful if you are dead," he says coldly, his demeanour changing, "what kind of leverage would i have over your father if i killed you?"
"fair point," you reply, "but-"
"would you rather i keep you chained and starved in a cold, eerie basement of some sort?" he asked sharply, and you could see that he was starting to get defensive.
"never mind, sorry." you say quietly, looking at the ground.
jonathan sighs, taking his glasses off as he pinches the bridge of his nose. "i apologize, i've had quite the morning," he offers an apology, "there's a bathroom down the hall to your left. everything you'd need is in there."
you look up at him, getting captivated in his icy eyes for just a moment before nodding. not offering a response, you make your way down the hall and just as he said, there was a bathroom to your left. stepping inside and closing the door behind you, you take a moment to collect yourself. eventually, you turn the knob of the shower on. the shower was huge, the whole bathroom was - you were living in luxury.
after you showered, you dried your hair and threw on your favourite pyjamas that were left on the counter of the bathroom for you. after you got ready, you hesitantly made your way downstairs as you were quite hungry. shyly, you approach the kitchen after getting lost in the many halls of the huge mansion, and you see jonathan standing there with a cup of coffee in his hands. as soon as he notices you, his eyes seemingly light up at your presence.
"i'm sure you're hungry," he says softly, "what would you like to eat for breakfast?"
"um," you say hesitantly, unsure as to what to say back to him, "i don't- i'm not sure."
"i assure you that my chef can cook whatever you desire." he tells you, sipping on his coffee.
his chef? how much money did this man have? you pushed your questions to the side, and told him what you wanted to have for breakfast. jonathan had his chef cook your preferred meal for breakfast, and after you ate, he came back into the kitchen to check up on you.
"feeling better?" he asked softly, leaning against the counter as you sat on a barstool in the kitchen.
"i-i guess." you stammer out.
you were feeling a little better than yesterday. it seemed that your captor truly had no intentions of hurting you, though the reason behind that was seemingly still a mystery.
"i'm glad," he says softly, "i have a large library located in my office, if you'd like to look around and read something. i know you...have an interest in literature."
"oh," you say quietly, "okay."
"i have quite of bit of work to get done today, so i wouldn't mind some company. you can read while i work." he informs you, and honestly - you didn't hate the sound of that.
though he was a deranged criminal, he didn't seem half bad. he was a gentleman and he had manners, plus he'd shown you a remarkable amount of kindness and freedom. well, as much as he could for a hostage, that is. even just twenty-four hours in though, you were starting to feel less like a kidnapping victim and more like...well, not that.
"come, my dear," he says softly, reaching his hand out to which you hesitantly placed yours in, "this way."
the two of you walked together hand in hand to his office. he pushed the doors open, and your eyes lit up at the sight in front of you. inside of his office, there were walls lined with rows and rows of books. all sorts of literature, ranging from science-fiction, to fantasy, to autobiographies. it was every bookworms dream.
"i will be working on some paperwork," he informs you, letting go of your hand to go sit at his desk, "but, please. read anything you want, i have quite the collection."
"i can see that," you say in awe, "can i just sit on the couch over there?"
"of course, my dear," he says, "there's a fuzzy blanket on the edge there, too, if you get cold."
you glance over at the couch once more, and yes, there was a cozy little blanket draped over the edge of it. happily, you skim through the books for a good while before picking one you thought would be a good read. plopping down on the couch, you wrap yourself up in the blanket before getting lost in the book you'd chosen. for a moment, you had forgotten why you were here in the first place.
jonathan watched you as his heart raced, a faint blush covering his cheeks. your personality was adorable, and so were you. you looked so cute happily skimming through the books, and even cuter with your nose buried in the pages as you wrapped yourself in a fuzzy blanket. he couldn't help but smile to himself as he stole glances at you in the midst of doing his work.
over the next few months, you and jonathan developed a routine. you'd keep him company while reading in his office, and he would work quietly at his desk. it was rather comforting, as the two of you had grown closer from it. everyday you started to feel more and more at ease with him, and slowly, you started to become less and less afraid of him, too.
jonathan liked it this way. so did you. if he was working at arkham, you'd find yourself missing him, and when he returned, you'd greet him with excitement. his way of living was something you could get used to - it was luxurious. you were waited on hand and foot in this big home of his, and he would always take care of you the best he could, as well as keeping you safe.
today, jonathan had come home from a particularly long and tiring shift at arkham. he was exhausted, and all he wanted to do was go lay in bed and rot away, if he was being totally honest. it had been a tedious day of dealing with screaming patients and volatile criminals that he'd deemed insane.
"jon!" he heard your voice call out for him as soon as he opened the front door, "are you home?"
"i'm home!" he called back, watching as you rushed down the stairs to come see him.
over time, you found yourself not wanting to leave anymore. jonathan trusted you, as he'd leave the doors unlocked (even the front door and your windows), because he knew you wouldn't leave. gotham city was terrifying, and it was filled with hardened criminals and awful people. it was much safer in his home instead of out in gotham, where anything could happen to you at anytime.
soon, you started to see him in a different light. though you knew now that he was the scarecrow, you couldn't quite see him as the dangerous monster everybody painted him out to be. he'd always dote on you, speak to you so gently, treat you with such kindness, and give you everything you asked for. not to mention, he was undeniably attractive. you tried to push those thoughts aside, but they just kept coming back.
"i missed you." you said quietly, giving him a small smile as you started to blush profusely.
"i missed you too, angel." he said back, opening his arms for you to run into.
happily, you ran into his arms as he gave the top of your head a chaste kiss. he wrapped his arms around you with a heavy sigh, and you look up at him with an innocent expression on your face.
"hard day at work?" you ask, to which he nods.
"very," he says, "i'm going to be upstairs if you need me, okay?"
"can i come with you?" you asked hopefully.
"of course you can." he says, taking your hand in his as he walked you upstairs with him.
as soon as he got to his bedroom, he threw his briefcase onto his bed with an agitated huff. he loosened up his tie and you crawled onto his bed, watching his every move in fascination. he threw his suit jacket off onto the edge of the bed before coming down to lay down beside you, scrolling through his phone lazily.
hesitantly, you made your way over to him. there was obvious tension between the both of you, as you would always sit close to each other but never cuddled up to one another. there would be times where you would greet him with a hug as he got home, looking up at him lovingly, but you'd never actually kiss. both of you were too hesitant to make the first move out of sheer nervousness, and given the circumstances you were in, neither of you were sure what it would mean for the two of you.
quietly, you found your way into his arms, resting your head on his chest. his one arm instinctively came to wrap around you, while he scrolled on his phone with the other. as you lay there, you could hear his heart beating much faster now, and yours started to beat much faster, too. neither of you said a word, and you felt your own eyes become heavy after a few minutes.
"are you sleepy?" he mumbled tiredly, putting his phone away and looking down at you with adoration in his eyes.
"a little." you confess, smiling at him softly.
jonathan was quiet for a couple seconds. he started down at you with those pretty blue eyes of his, and took in your every detail. he looked at you softly, taking note of your gorgeous features. with a sigh, he cracked a small smile.
"you're so pretty." he finally says, reaching one hand out to brush a strand of hair away from your face. "i don't ever want to let you go."
your heart palpitated in your chest at his words, and you felt your cheeks heat up. "i don't want to ever leave." you confess breathlessly.
"then don't." he says quietly, before kissing you softly as you lay there in his arms, wrapped up in pure bliss.
truthfully - your dad had stopped looking into jonathan months ago in hopes to get you back from him. he pleaded jonathan to give you over as he thought something may have happened to you, but at this point, you'd already gotten attached. you called your dad to let him know that you were okay and totally unharmed, but that you no longer wanted to return home.
as messed up as it was, life seemed to be better here with jonathan. it was safer. you got everything you asked for, and you had jonathan to keep you company. your father gave you a mouthful about how jonathan was a dangerous, cynical man who never had any good intentions, but you weren't too convinced. sure, he was a cold-hearted, borderline psychopathic doctor who was slowly poisoning gotham city with his fear toxin, but he wasn't like that with you. in fact, you theorized that he truly hated everyone but you.
he was so gentle with you, so kind and so loving. he would always make sure you got everything you wanted, and he even helped you with your studies. he would have someone drive you to and from gotham u so that you could finish your degree and attend your lectures. even though the opportunity to flee presented itself on numerous occasions; you always found your way back into jonathans arms at the end of the day.
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unexpected bloom {joel miller x reader}
Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader
Summary: A single flower and a chance encounter brings color to your life.
Word Count: 965
Warnings: none really, fleeting sexual content, allusions to adult content, kissing, fluff, pre-outbreak / no outbreak au
A/N: this was done to try and shake some writer's block, as a part of the 'flora and fauna' writing challenge by @morallyinept
ao3 link || navigation || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi
A single flower.
That’s how it all started.
And you thanked every lucky star in the universe as you felt the heat of the body you now curled around as you slowly woke from your slumber. The broad back your front was pressed to was bare, skin on skin in the most intimate of ways that turned from barely conscious and sensual to wide awake and desperate.
Grunts fall from the man’s full lips as he presses his hands to the backs of your thighs, his hips moving against yours in a steady rhythm. Your own fingers tangled almost painfully with his as they hold you in the position he’s found you like the best. The one that punches the most wonton and guttural sounds from deep in your chest as he brings you to the shattering crest of pleasure over and over again. His curls may be graying, his hands weathered and callous, his back aching and sore. But he always seemed to find his youth when you smiled at him over the rim of your mug or trailed a hand over his broad shoulders.
He had certainly found his youth when you had approached him in front of your workplace to compliment the flowers he had been contracted to plant all along the buildings entrance. Enough so that he hadn’t even thought of how completely sappy and unfounded his plucking of a single one to deliver to your desk with a handwritten note had been until well after he had done it. The nervous panic setting in once he was back in the safety of his home and the deed had been mentioned by a tittering Sarah as she recounted her first day as an intern in the very same building.
Of how she had giggled and fawned over the move he had made without much thought beyond how you had to be prettier than all the flowers he had been dealing with. He felt embarrassment flood him, his fork suddenly clinking between his teeth and his ears tipped pink as he watched his daughter rave about how romantic and sweet it had been for someone to do that. How no one seems to care about stuff like that anymore and all she gets are text messages she doesn’t even know how to respond to their so dry and unoriginal. He puts aside his embarrassment to tell her that if she doesn’t want to, she doesn’t have to engage. That she deserves only the best because she is the best. His whole world in the most perfect package right across the table from him.
She pauses, her own ears tinging as she smiles brightly before teasing him for being such a dad.
But he takes it in stride, because that seems to be his whole purpose in life. To be her dad, to be the one person she could rely on for anything and everything. But that since she had graduated from her university program and moved from their home into a dorm to get the full experience and now an apartment with her friend Ellie while they worked internships, he didn’t get much of a chance to be that.
His newfound purpose was to be your boyfriend.
Something he took just as much pride in because you were perfect too.
He had taken you another single flower the following day after Sarah’s gushing of how lucky you were and how excited you had been to find the first on your desk. How your eyes kept falling on the gift he had left throughout the day. One each day until your schedules had aligned and he could take you out on a proper date. The once single flowers had turned into bouquets, his once written words became spoken affections. You had smiled so gorgeously and laughed so genuinely that he had fallen even deeper in his feelings for you. The ones you returned with bashful and then teasing words. Wit sharp and endearing as time ticked by.
Something you reminisced on as he laid beside you now, both panting for air. Skin sticky with sweat and hands idly wandering over each other.
“What’re you thinkin’ about?” He rumbles, seeing the way your gaze is both focused and faint. Not wanting him to worry, you press a kiss to his damp temple, rolling over to lay half over him. His arms come to rest on your lower back, anchoring you to him.
“Thinkin’ about flowers,” You grin, teeth catching the sunlight peeking through the thick curtains. Resting your chin atop folded hands over his chest.
“We need to plant some for the season, before it’s too hot.” He touches the tip of his nose to yours, causing your face to wrinkle as you scrunch against the tickle of his moustache across your lips.
“Let’s get peonies.”
“Anythin’ for you, you know that.”
“I think…I think I want those for my bouquet too.” Your eyes trail from his handsome face to the ring that sits on your finger. Warm from your skin, from his.
“Yeah?” His eyes soften as he watches you admire the jewelry. He had been so nervous when he begun to plan his proposal, the whole thing thrown out the window one morning when you had peered at him through the open window of his truck as he dropped you off at work. The words had burst from his chest in one solid breath, shocking you both. Another step with you that felt so natural he had done it without thinking. But it paid off, because here you were with him still.
And to think, he had almost turned down the job for worry of embarrassing his daughter at her first job.
“Yeah.” You pressed the single word to his lips.
#dev writes#fic: unexpected bloom#tlou#tlou fanfiction#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller fanfic#joel miller smut#joel miller fic#joel miller one shot#fluff#sweet and short
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partners in crime – j. changmin
after a series of unpredictable events, you and ji changmin, the foster kid with a shady reputation, become partners in crime. in a world where every choice has a consequence, you two must decide how far you're willing to go as you balance on the edge of danger with the promise of a better life.
pairing: ji changmin x fem! reader
genre: criminals au. coming of age, slice of life. angst, hurt/comfort. thief! changmin. partners in crime au (duh). slight high school au. inspired by a real case of robbery in a jewelry store here lmao. also loosely inspired by the kdrama extracurricular!
wc: 33k (33.689)
warnings: mentions of alcoholism and juvenile behavior, swearing, changmin's character is a little inconsistent at first. changmin is a foster child, dysfunctional families, financial issues, yn's father is absent. mentions of minors going on dates with older men, a man trying to take advantage of the reader, a physical fight (with the use of a knife), fake gun, robbery and that should be it...?
playlist || teaser || ao3
a/n: i had worked on this fic since december and only finished it at the beginning of may i am so glad it's finally out TT thank you SO much to my best friend @csenke for beta reading this, your comments were what made me feel more secure about this fic to actually post it. i know it's a lot of work and i appreciate you<3 i always wanted to write a fic like this and it's finally here, i hope yall like it hihi
taglist: @songchan @luumiinaa
One of the police officers drags you up from the chair by your shoulder, urging you to move outside of the room. The one that’s been sitting opposite of you smiles sadly at you– something akin to sympathy, but not enough to really get through and hit your core– while the other one opens the door and shoves you down to sit at the plastic chair outside of the office. His movements are more stern and strong, tone of voice more stingy when he talks to you– it’s not hard to differentiate which one of them has kids at home, which one knows the tired eyes of a teenager more.
“Wait here until your mother picks you up,” the officer says, a stone cold look making you shiver.
“She doesn’t know that I’m here. You called her and she didn’t pick up, so–”
“I don’t care, young lady. Either your mother comes to pick you up, or you stay here forever, for all I care,” he mutters, sending you another one of his sharp looks before he turns around and disappears back into the room you came from, shutting the door behind him with a loud thud.
Figure jumping at the sudden noise, you settle deeper into the uncomfortable chair. Christmas will come earlier than your mother, and that’s a lot to say, since it’s March– and it seems that nobody really cares if you stay here forever. It’s not surprising, actually. Not at all. You don’t know what you were thinking anyway, but hey– desperate times call for desperate measures, and you had no other way of going around the situation. You don’t regret trying. You just regret getting caught.
Head resting against the hard wall, intending to rest your eyes closed and maybe take a nap before a miracle happens and your mother somehow starts caring and appears on the doorstep of the police, your orbs are met with another pair sitting opposite of you, silently watching the previous exchange. The intensity of his gaze almost makes you jump in surprise again, only relaxing when you recognise the owner of the dark chocolate irises and visibly shudder, embarrassment creeping up your neck.
It’s not every day you meet a guy from your school at a police station. Well, it’s not every day you end up at the police station, but being caught by someone who is aware of your existence makes this whole encounter even more uncomfortable.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Ji Changmin chirps, something akin to an amused smirk appearing on his face. His composure is light. He seems to be comfortable with the situation– well, as much as you can read from his blood-smeared face– and you start to wonder how and why your silent classmate from English class would end up at the police station, with a cut on his lip, a bruise on his upper jaw and scraped knuckles on full display, as he rests his intertwined hands in his lap.
“Could say the same about you,” you shrug, biting back at him.
“Oh please,” he snickers, shaking his head in disbelief, “I’m a regular here.”
The sentence catches you off guard. It’s not every day you meet a guy from school at a police station, but considering his words, it seems like you would meet him here every day, only if you were dragged here by rough hands of a police officer as often as he has.
“Oh,” you gasp, not really knowing how to react to such a confession, “good… to know…?” you mumble, nodding to prove your point.
You expect the conversation to die down– you don’t really know what to talk about with someone you barely know at the most unusual place you could imagine for a conversation. Ji Changmin is one of the classmates you’ve never talked to before, but would say hi to when passing them by on the street. He seems polite and easy-going enough to not feel uncomfortable with when left alone in a closed space together, but aloof enough to not have many friends himself. You barely know anything about him– apart from his marks in the one class you share, since you are often chosen to be the one to hand out graded tests at the beginning of English– and you don’t expect things to change just because you met him in unfortunate circumstances.
At least you know this won’t get out in any way. Not like you have any reputation to withhold in the first place– you’d just hate to have the reputation of someone being chased around by the police. Trying hard to find the light in the things, you thank all higher forces that out of everyone, the one classmate that could witness all of this is the guy with seemingly no friends to tell.
Changmin seems to have different plans, though. For someone that isn’t interested in making bonds with people, he seems to be interested in casual talk with you.
Well, if you could call this casual.
“Yeah,” he shrugs, “they always let the kid from the foster house get away with it. They blame it on the trauma, or something, make me sign some papers and then someone comes to pick me up and the cycle repeats itself over and over again.”
The information catches you off guard. Truth be told, you didn’t know that about Changmin– you doubt anyone from school really knows, except for the teachers, and the sudden confession makes you hesitant. You don’t really know why he’s telling you this. If you were in his position, you’re sure you wouldn’t. It seems like everyone has a different measure for what’s appropriate to tell someone you barely know, though, and Changmin seems to enjoy the weird intimacy of the quiet police station enough to dump this information on you.
“Oh…” you say, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Not wanting him to think you’re distressed with the information, disturbed, even, you try hard to think of a conversation topic to discuss with him. “What… what did you do this time, then?” you ask, mentally slapping yourself for being so awkward.
“Tried to pickpocket someone on the street,” he says, chuckling to himself. His eyes move to his bruised hands, shrugging. “Seems like I picked a bad victim. See, he had this fancy watch, so I saw him as a jackpot, but then he swung at me and… here I go,” he says, laughing as if it was a funny story.
He must be a regular here. He is too comfortable with being arrested to not be.
“That’s… unfortunate,” you hum, watching as the boy in front of you shrugs, eyes curious as they land on yours.
“It is… I could buy so much with that money,” he sighs, shaking his head, “what about you, though? How did you end up here?”
“Oh, uhm…” you gasp, scratching the back of your neck, suddenly a little shameful to admit it once you’re asked, “I… I tried to steal something and I was caught by the store owner, so he called the police on me…” you tightly smile, hoping to seem nonchalant.
“Shoplifting?” Changmin chuckles. “What did you want to steal? Designer clothes, or something?” he snickers, obviously mocking you. And it’s valid– you are a teenage girl, after all. You seem to have everything you need in your life, but that’s only because you don’t let anyone even suspect that there is something wrong. To an outsider's eye, they might think there is nothing more you could need to be happy if not designer clothes or jewelry. It’s what most teenage girls get caught stealing– you guess he’s not wrong for making such a guess.
Still, you feel a bit hurt at seeming so vain. Locking eyes with the boy, you shrug. If he’s going to share every small detail of his life with you in the comfort of the walls of the police station, you guess you can unveil at least something to him, desperate to make him feel ashamed for assuming.
“No, actually,” you say, the tone of voice suddenly calm and collected, “I was stealing groceries.”
And it finally seems to down on him– because if you try to steal something, it means you’re lacking it, right? Why would you steal something you can easily buy?
That’s right– you wouldn’t.
Changmin’s eyes soften with the realization, his mouth opening to say something– anything– before he’s cut off by the door to one of the offices opening, the kinder one of the policemen approaching you with a solemn look in his eye, leaning towards you to talk quietly into your ear.
“You can go home now, okay? We’ll let you off with a warning this time,” he says, smiling at you.
“But my mother–”
“Just go.”
You guess the object you’re stealing makes a difference in the way you’re treated at the police station. Also, you guess it’s good that people still have sympathy.
Usually, you hate the sad looks from people that are aware. This time, you leave the police station comforted, happy to know that you still have a future without a criminal record.
You’ll have to be more careful next time.
Eyes catching the glimmer of the silver chain in between your fingers, you press your skin into the metal and drag your nail over the stones in the pedant. You watch over the glass vitrines situated all around the store, various different shades of gold and silver staring back at you, almost laughing to your face with the prize tags slapped onto them, showing prices worth more than your groceries for the month.
Contemplating your next decision, looking behind your shoulder to catch the security camera watching you, you think over your next steps. Angling your body so that it’s shielding what you’re doing with your hands, you gently take out the drawer that you’ve taken the silver chain out of, pretending to put the jewelry back where you got it from.
Your movements are careful, calculated. You’ve rethought this plan over and over again, birthed in your mind the moment you saw the sign ‘hiring’ on the glass door of the fancy jewelry store in the town center– made adjustments to it, tweaked it around and tried your hardest to make a good impression on your boss so she wouldn’t suspect anything– but now that you’re actually in front of the important part, the one that’s supposed to help you the most in your hunt for money, you can’t really bring yourself to do it.
Who knows. Maybe you could just keep the job– you don’t make much, though, considering you only work part-time. With the way your shifts are scheduled and the amount of time you have to put into working, you don’t really see the jewelry store as a good source of income– you are barely home and have time for anything.
And it’s not the kind of money you need. Not at all.
Sighing to yourself, you shake your head to clear it off all thoughts– it’s time to do it. You can be sneaky. You can be uncaught. You just have to put your head to it.
Fingers shaking, you move the chain towards the front pocket of your jeans, ready to hide it in there and then sell it in the pawn shop a few weeks later to not raise much suspicion– when the sound of the front door opening brings you out of your thoughts, making you jump in surprise. Eyes snapping to the customer entering the store, you get ready to sport the kindest, warmest smile you can– to seem innocent and not at all suspicious. However, the grin stops growing mid-way as you recognise the appearance of the customer, smile freezing and turning into a concerned frown.
This is not how you’d expect a customer of a fancy jewelry store to look.
The person is dressed in black, skinny jeans adorning their thighs, the hood of their jacket pulled over their head and a mask covering the bottom half of their face. Before you get a chance to dwell on it any further, they take out a gun– and they point it to your face.
There’s a moment in time where you feel like everything freezes. A moment in time where you just stare the gun into its eyes and wait for the person to shoot you, a moment in time where you can’t even think. Your brain clears, the only thought present at the tip of your tongue being– this is not how I imagined to go.
Your hands start shaking as you put them above your head, pupils dilating in terror. You guess this is something you should’ve expected when taking the job in an expensive jewelry store, but even though you’re aware a situation like this could exist in your timeline, you don’t really expect it. It’s like that with all bad things in life– you keep telling yourself that there’s no way something like that would happen to a person like you.
There’s no way your father would leave. There’s no way your mother’s world would crumble. There’s no way you’ll be left in charge of everything. There’s no way you’ll have to be the one to steal groceries because you can’t afford to buy food to put into your sister’s mouth.
There’s no way a man would pull out a gun on you in the middle of your shift.
And yet, it happened. Everything.
In a moment of absolute terror, though, it feels like the world starts spinning again and the force clutching your chest relaxes a little when you stare into the man’s eyes.
Strange, isn’t it?
There’s a sense of familiarity in his gaze. Something mirroring a weird kind of surprise, a weird kind of recognition. A million different thoughts flow through your brain, eyes scanning his figure– the skin of his hands as he grips the gun that you now recognise to be one of the kinds you use when you play airsoft, not a real one– the lean posture of his figure, but most importantly, the spark in his dark orbs that somehow invites you to do everything he tells you to. Not because he’d kill you if you don’t– but because somehow, you know this might be of gain for you.
Trying hard to play out your previous panic, riding off the erratic heartbeat in your chest, you walk over to the cash register and open the drawer. Eyes meeting with the intruder, you precisely take out the bills stacked in the register, throwing them on the counter in a careless, yet seemingly nervous manner.
“The jewelry,” he mumbles, pointing towards the vitrines with his chin, waiting for you to obey his words.
It doesn’t take you much to take out the drawers full of silver and gold, letting the man take whatever he pleases, his bag filled with expensive chains and rings, all while he keeps the gun on you to get the full effect.
You could be given an Oscar for how good your acting performance was in this very moment.
Your eyes lock in another meaningful gaze, one that suggests that all cards are on the table now and you share a secret you will never be able to shake off, before he disappears out of the store into the dark. Acting stunned for the camera, you only reach for the phone when you’re certain he’s far enough to not be caught, dialing 911 and telling the line all about the robbery.
Ji Changmin chose the bad jewelry store to rob.
Or maybe, he chose the best one he could.
You find him sitting on one of the tables with built-in benches at the corner of the school yard, alone and seemingly lost in thought. His eyes are dark, deep as the ocean, the black bangs falling into his eyes only helping more with pushing his mysterious appearance. The tie around his neck is a little loose, since Changmin was never the believer of wearing your school uniform properly, and when you approach him, he barely notices your presence.
Clearing your throat, you finally catch his attention. The male stares up at you, raising his eyebrows in question, as if to ask you what you want from him. And it’s valid– as you’ve never been the one to talk to him first, since he was the self-believed outcast in the school (and self-preserved too, since he never really made any attempts at connecting with others) – but you think that after your recent encounter, you reaching out to him is not something that shall surprise the boy. More so, he should’ve expected it.
“Changmin,” you hum, as if to tell him that he should be the one to talk to you first, the one to bring up the matter. If you really think about it, he should apologize. If not for making you lose your job (which was mostly your fault, because you didn’t make the attempt to call the police on the thief fast enough), then for the emotional damage and very obvious trauma his little play could’ve cost you, had you not recognised him and the fake gun aimed towards your forehead.
“Y/N,” he smiles, the tug of his lips almost looking ironical. He looks like the Cheshire cat, mischief almost reeking of him as he pats the place next to him on the table, legs resting on top of the bench crossed, showing his casualty. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says, and with that, you know he sees right through you.
He knows damn well why you came. Hell, it would be weird if he didn’t. He also knew that you’d come crawling to him first, almost taking advantage of the fact that he has the upper hand on you with knowing the information you confided him with at the police station. No person that steals groceries is a millionaire, after all. Only someone who desperately needs the money goes ahead and steals something so trivial.
Maybe it's a bit of an asshole move from Changmin, if you really think about it. You let him get away with it, and now, he’s pretending like you owe him one, not the other way around.
“What do I owe the pleasure to?” he asks, tone of voice laced with irony. He is almost a little too lighthearted for someone who robbed a jewelry store just three days prior, and it suddenly makes you wonder if he’s done this before. How often does a boy like him just run around town and steals things from big corporations? You’re all for the eat the rich agenda– it’s just a little weird to think about how skilled Ji Changmin looked in the act. How calm he was. As if he’s done stuff like this before. As if he was an expert.
Was this his hobby? A way to pass time?
“Cut it out, Changmin,” you grunt, tugging the edge of your skirt down as you sit on the table next to him, covering your thighs, “you know why I’m here.”
“I’m afraid I have no idea,” he hums, pursing his lips and acting out a perfectly staged face of surprise. If you could punch him in the face right now, you’d do it. You didn’t notice the boy to be so smug back at the police station– maybe it was your own distress shielding your judgment.
“Come on,” you roll your eyes, sighing. “I didn’t let you off just to have you laugh in my face about it. Where’s my cut?” you ask, feeling a little impatient at this point.
“Your cut?” he asks, chuckling. “I wasn’t aware you were the one doing the dirty job, you know. All you did was let me off because you were scared–”
“Of your airsoft gun? Mhm, you are so correct,” you cut him off, noticing his face spread into one of irritation. A crease appears in the middle of his eyebrows at your reaction, his jaw hardening when he sees the annoyance in your eyes. You don’t know what he was thinking– that you’re just gonna leave him off with all the money? He couldn’t be that stupid, could he?
“Look, it was me who did the work, so I don’t understand why you would think that you get a cut,” he shrugs, crossing his arms at his chest.
“You do understand that I can just walk up to the police station and tell them that it was you?” you say, suddenly turning stone cold and serious. You thought yours and Changmin's little secret could do you something good– now it seems that you were wrong. “They wouldn’t bat an eye before sending you to jail, I bet. They have hoards of evidence of your past criminal behavior, but I don’t think they could overlook this one–”
“Now, don’t get all threatening on me, sweetheart,” he grunts, kissing his teeth. “There’s no reason to get all defensive–”
“Oh really!” you exclaim, catching the male off guard as you stand up from your seat, suddenly too heated to be in his presence. “I do believe that I have all the right to get defensive, though! You know damn well I didn’t do this so you can run with the money and spend it on fuckall! Because guess what, Changmin– I did this to get something out of it. Not everyone gets to go around and do stupid shit for fun, so you best believe that when I basically became an accomplice to your crime, it wasn’t just for shits and giggles.”
The male opens his mouth to reply to you, but before he gets a chance to do so, you continue, running your hand through your hair. “And if you think that I steal groceries for fun, then you’re terribly wrong. So if you don’t let me take the part of money I rightfully deserve by basically dropping the hundred dollars worth of jewelry right into your grabby hands so I can survive for the next few days, you best believe I will do something about it.”
There’s a moment of silence between the two of you, the only thing heard around being the chirping of the birds and the sound of the wind hitting your eardrums. Your hair gets in your face from the strength of the breeze, the fabric of your school uniform’s skirt ruffling against your thighs. It’s like the world stopped, something behind Changmin’s eyes changing at seeing your obvious distress. You’re really starting to think this was all a game for the boy. Something to pass the time– something to occupy his bored mind with.
He doesn’t reply to you even after a few seconds, though, which makes you even more mad. The anger is tinted with disappointment and fury as you turn around and shuffle your feet through the school yard, accompanied by the sound of the school bell in the distance announcing your next period. You’re ready to leave the boy there, already thinking of all ways you could go around telling the authorities without ratting yourself out in the process too.
Suddenly, something comes into contact with your wrist, pulling you back. Your legs stumble a bit, but you manage to stand your ground and throw daggers with your eyes at Changmin still holding you in your place. “Let me go–”
“Look–”
“I have class, Changmin,” you grunt, attempting to take your hand out of his grasp, but failing. His hold is firm. Unpainful, but strong. It makes you annoyed.
“Will you listen to me for just a second? Gosh,” he rolls his eyes, dropping your hand as if it was poisoned, shaking his head at your antics. You stare at him with raised eyebrows, waiting for what he has to say after having the opportunity to speak before, but ignoring it altogether and leaving you with the cold shoulder. Did he change his mind in that split second you showed him your back? Did he realize you were serious with your threats?
“Of course I’m gonna give you the cut,” he grunts, scoffing. “What do you think I am? I was just keeping it for some leverage.”
The question sounds a bit ironical out of his mouth, since he spent the last couple of minutes trying to convince you that you have no part in his little robbery and that you have no right for the money he gained from it. The other half of his statement makes you intrigued, though. Not in a good way– just in a way that makes you wonder what the fuck he was talking about.
“Leverage?” you ask, squinting at him in question.
“Well,” he starts, staring at the sky for a split second, as if collecting his thoughts into coherent sentences. Scrambling for something in the back pocket of his pants, he takes out an envelope seemingly filled with cash he’s gained, offering it to you, but retracting his hand as soon as you start reaching for it. “Let’s say I have a bit of a plan for us two. A plan to make even more than this,” he says, pointing towards the envelope.
Squinting at the male, you scoff. As if you would ever agree to something so reckless. If this interaction with Ji Changmin taught you anything, it’s that the boy is not to be trusted. You can’t read him. You can’t tell when he’s joking or when he’s serious, you can’t tell if he’s going to save you or throw you under the bus the moment he has a chance to. And if his plan is anything similar to the ways he’s shown himself to you before, you’re fairly certain that you want nothing to do with his endeavors.
“Yeah, no, thank you,” you say, snatching the envelope from his hand and turning on your heel, ready to leave before he changes his mind again and takes what’s rightfully yours out of your grasp, like the thief he seemingly is.
“Think it over, Y/N. You said you need the money,” he calls after you, not making a move from his previous spot in the corner of the yard. His words sting you a bit, but you guess he’s not wrong– no matter how embarrassed or ashamed you feel of the situation. The outside of the school is completely empty now, everyone back to their classrooms waiting for the lectures to start, letting his words resonate in the stranded field. “I think we could make a very good team.”
Not looking back, you walk through the grass, taking a look at the amount in the envelope. You don’t know the exact ratio he split the money into, since you don’t really know how much he earned after selling everything at the pawn shop, but it’s more than you expected.
More than you would’ve made with your initial plan.
Still– you want nothing to do with Ji Changmin. This only happened once, and you’ll make sure it never happens again. Associating yourself with someone like him will do you more bad than good in the future, and that’s something you really can’t afford right now.
No matter how hard he tries to persuade you, you two will never be a part of the same plan.
Lunch breaks are almost always spent alone lately. Or at least that’s how it’s been in the last few months, the last few years. It’s not like you don’t have any friends or acquaintances to spend them with– you’re not that antisocial– it’s just a lot easier to mask the fact that you have no food to put into your mouth when nobody pays attention to whether you eat or not.
The last amount of money you could afford to spend was pressed into the palm of your younger sister when you walked her to school today. There was no way for you to buy something at the canteen, and the last groceries that were edible were eaten last night. There was no way you could satisfy your hunger during the lunch break today, and to spare being embarrassed by the fact that you are barely holding your life together (since you’re 17 and taking care of everything), you decide to spend the few minutes in between classes in the school yard, sitting in the grass at the far corner of the school property.
Your eyes are pressed into your notebook, scribbling away as you try to pass time and ignore the pain in your stomach, chewing on the inside of your cheek in a bad attempt at focusing onto something else. When the sketch of the tree to your right turns out badly the third time in a row, you sigh and scribble all over the little drawing, wanting to see no more of it, wanting it to disappear. The very moment the tip of your pen lifts off the paper, something falls into your lap, the sound of a plastic bag rustling in the wind making you jolt in surprise.
Taking the item into your hand, you notice the sandwich wrapped in a tissue paper staring back at you, as if you wished it to existence and it fell into your lap from the sky with the sheer impact of your thinking. After more consideration, though, you look around and find a raven haired boy looking down at you, an indifferent look adorning his face.
“Changmin,” you hum, acknowledging his presence.
“Y/N,” he nods, taking a seat next to you on the grass, completely uninvited. His invasion of your personal space makes you sigh, but his gesture makes you even more frustrated. Pointing towards the sandwich he threw into your lap, you ask.
“What is this?”
“A sandwich,” he shrugs, “I bought extra, we can share.”
A heartbeat passes of you and him having a staring contest, something inside of you turning bitter at the otherwise nice gesture. Is he making fun of you? Or does he pity you?
You hate both alternatives– you almost can’t decide which one you despise more.
“Look, Changmin,” you scoff, shaking your head in disbelief, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re trying to do right now, but I am not your charity case. Just because you know I’m too poor to buy my own lunch, it doesn’t mean you can humiliate me and do it for me,” you grunt, throwing the sandwich back into his grip. He catches it with no trouble, fast reflexes working on full time.
“I didn’t get it to humiliate you,” he says, rolling his eyes at your antics. It seems to be hard for you to accept actions of service from people– and Changmin somehow understands. He’s been through it with people around him his whole life. They show him any kind of kindness or pity for the fact that his parents decided he wasn’t good enough to keep and threw him into the adoption system, and Changmin feels himself crawling out of his skin. He doesn’t need pity. He hates the considerate looks.
But after years of living that way, he learned to use those instances for his advantage. There’s no excuse as useful to getting him out of trouble as “I’m sorry, I live in a foster home.”
“Yeah? Then why did you?”
Changmin sighs, closing his eyes and paying more thought to how he’s going to reply to you. Speaking with you feels like working with a wild animal– any bad step could shoo you away, or make you attack. He doesn’t want either of those options. Actually, he wants something completely else. “It’s a bribe, really,” he shrugs, watching you and waiting for your reaction.
“A bribe?” you scoff, your chuckle almost sounding amused. “I already told you I want nothing to do with your plan, so you can take your stupid sandwich and fuck off.”
“I’m persistent when I want to be,” he just replies, watching you with an unmoving expression.
Ignoring his antics– as if to test how persistent he really can be– you point your eyes back towards your notebook, scribbling random lines and shapes into the thin paper. There’s only so much silence he can bear before he realizes you won’t pay him a minute of your time, you think, but the more you scribble away and the more the birds around you chirp and the distant voices of kids enjoying their lunch break preserve, the less confident you are in your assumption. Ji Changmin is a strange individual.
“Look, we don’t have to lie to ourselves now, Y/L/N. You know shit about me that could get me to jail, and I know shit about you that you don’t just show to everyone. Involuntarily, but I know that stuff,” he starts, tone of voice almost careful, almost a little caring as he speaks. “You and I both know you need money. And me? Well… I could use some cash too,” he hums.
When he doesn’t get a reply, he continues with his little speech. “You need money and I have a plan on how I’m gonna get it for you. For us. But it will only work if us two do it together. It’s a foolproof plan, but I need you on-board,” he says, clasping his hands together. Glancing up from your paper, you watch him with examining eyes.
He repays you with eye contact, as if speaking to you through his orbs. There’s a hint of understatement in the air, an aura of a connection you don’t quite comprehend yet, but suddenly, the presence of him in your personal space feels less invading and more… alleviating. Like you’re not judged, like you’re not pitied.
Your stomach churns and Changmin chuckles, offering the sandwich back to you. There’s a moment in which you contemplate your next decision, knowing that if you take the food from him, it’s your own way of sealing the deal. You have no idea what his plan is, you’re completely unaware of what you’re getting yourself into– for all you know and predict, it’s not going to be the most legal thing under the sun– but the more you think about it, the more you come to the conclusion that with the way your life is going right now, maybe you don’t have that much to lose.
“So? What do you say?” he asks, eyes lighting up when he notices your lack of resistance. “Will you at least hear me out?”
The wind makes his raven bangs move, revealing his forehead. He looks like he has a thousand tricks up his sleeve, hundreds of ways to get his way, no matter what he wants. He looks as sly as a fox, messy exterior with his tie loose around his neck, dress shirt a little wrinkly around the collar. Ji Changmin looks like he’s bad news. Like he can never bring you any good.
You should stay away.
Still, you take the sandwich into your grasp, hand fishing for the food in the green plastic bag. Biting down into the seemingly homemade lunch, you avert your gaze into the sun.
“What is it, then?”
“So.. what do you do for work?” you ask, twirling a strand of hair around your finger as you sit facing the man you don’t even remember the name of, a plate of fancy food in front of you almost untouched even though you’ve been starving for multiple days now. Truth is, you don’t really know which fork and which size of spoon to use when having those meals, since you’ve never been to such an expensive-looking place before– and even though you think your current date doesn’t really mind, you don’t feel like adding public humiliation to the list of your worries.
“Oh, I do real estate, honey,” the man replies, smiling at you with something sly in his eyes. Everything about the male sitting currently in front of you irks you a bit. The very obvious power imbalance in between the two of you, the age difference, the different social class… The fact that he only sees you as a young girl to spoil and get to do something more for him– no matter the fact that you’re underage. Judging by the way he kept getting into your personal bubble the moment you arrived at the restaurant, you’d even say he was enjoying the fact.
You were told to act gullible and stupid. Men like him like that, apparently, and so, despite your best judgment and everything you know about life, you do just that. “And what is that?” you ask, eyes big and curious, putting on your most innocent face.
“Buying land and then turning them over, renting places, all kind of stuff,” he nods, “a lot of money gets around in this sphere, sweetie,” he adds another sugary nickname to the mix, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up all alert, disgust slowly creeping up your neck, but thankfully never reaching your mouth.
“So you’re a landlord?” you ask him, the last remains of your personality shining through as you bat your eyelashes at him, trying hard not to focus on the chest hair peeking out of his opened dress shirt. It’s quite difficult to do when the golden chain around his neck blinds you with every movement, the surface illuminating in the beams of the sunlight.
God. You should’ve chosen a more attractive male to trick, at least.
The male laughs in shock, not really anticipating such a title. Maybe he’s offended, but still, he doesn’t let it show as he looks you over– mainly your cleavage and the girly way you managed to style your hair today– before he sighs, as if disappointed, yet happy to show you that you were wrong. “Not really, no. I’m a real estate investor, actually.”
Gasping, showing that you now completely understand what he’s trying to explain to you– that he’s basically a landlord, but hates being called that because it isn’t such a fancy title– you take another sip of the champagne in your glass. You’ve never drank before, and quite frankly, you hate the taste of alcohol on your tongue, you despise it with everything in you. If it was your choice, you would’ve ordered orange juice, or something– it seems that the man in front of you would hate nothing more than if you sat in front of him without a tall glass in between your fingers, and so you satisfy his sly looks and leave a lipstick stain on the rim of the champagne flute.
The breeze plays with your hair, sun kissing your exposed shoulders as you bathe in its light. You wore your prettiest sundress today– the one that you only grew into this year after inheriting it from your older cousin– and while you did feel pretty when you looked at yourself in the mirror, you’re not really satisfied with what you’re currently doing. Nothing makes you hate yourself more than working for money like this. Nothing makes you loathe your reflection in the mirror more than hanging out with old rich guys for monetary gain– no matter how beautiful you feel with the dress you got from your cousin three Christmases ago and the sandals you’ve owned since 15 and had thankfully not yet grown out of.
There’s one advantage to sitting outside of the fancy restaurant, though– and that is the fact that your plan is going smoothly. The man’s bag is on the chair next to him, just like Changmin predicted, and although it took you some time convincing him to sit at the table on the edge of the veranda, you’ve done your part in entertaining the male, making sure he’s as distracted as he can be.
Eyes averting to the right, seeing your accomplice with the hood of his black hoodie over his head, a mask over the lower part of his face, you lock gazes in what seems to be some silent kind of communication. One wouldn’t notice him if he hadn’t tried hard enough, but Changmin’s been standing on the other side of the road for as long as you’ve been sitting in the restaurant, keeping an eye on you. He’s dressed all in black, looking all mysterious, but not eye-catching enough for anyone to be suspicious of his presence.
Raising your eyebrows at him only in the slightest manner, making sure your date doesn’t notice you nonverbally communicating with the teenager on the other side of the street, you get your reply from Changming almost immediately, a nod of his head sent your way to start your little plan.
Ready, yet a little stressed of executing it, you clear your throat and focus all your attention back on the male in front of you again. He’s currently talking to you about something you have yet to grasp, not really interested in the first place– but doubting you’d know what he’s talking about anyway. After hearing a part of his little speech, you conclude that he is mansplaining something to you, and although the fact would make you infuriated with any other male in your presence, you think this is a perfect opportunity to dibble more into your little school girl play. (As if it was a play in the first place.)
Nodding at him, showing that you’re listening, you put on your best doe eyes as you reach over the table and enclose your palm around his. You haven’t watched enough movies about this to know how to flirt with a man, but you think it comes to you naturally as you part your lips the slightest, biting on your lower lip in a sensual manner. It’s inappropriate, not at all something you should be doing at your age with a man at least twice your age, but you can’t help it– if you need the plan to run smoothly, you need all his attention on you and you only.
And it works. It does, you conclude as the man runs his thumbs over your hands and gently pats your leg with his under the table, feeding into your actions. His eyes are focused on your lips and you suddenly pray for Changmin to work quicker– fast enough for the man to not find an opportunity to kiss you, at least. Your brows furrow the tiniest bit, on purpose, of course– to look more dumb, to look more in love and enchanted with the male in front of you– when you notice a figure in black passing the two of you, their hand slipping easily into the opened contraction of the male’s bag.
Changmin works fast. It seems easy to him, you can see it in your peripheral– there’s no wonder that he’s done this countless times before. You wonder why he likes this kind of adrenaline. You wonder how he even taught himself– how he even came to the conclusion that he should try something like this in the first place. Either way, you must admit that it’s kind of admirable. Kind of cool.
You see Changmin taking out something from the man’s bag, and just as silently and unsuspiciously he came, he also disappears. You let the man play with your fingers for a bit more until you’re sure that your partner is a safe distance away from the restaurant on the other side of the street again, before you lock eyes with him, being let off with a victorious crinkle of his eyes.
“Will you excuse me?” you hum, tone of voice laced in sweetness, puckering your lips as you cut the male off, something about an annual turnover hanging in the air as you don’t let him finish. “I have to use the toilet,” you say, already breaking contact with him.
Unsuspecting, the male only nods at you, letting you off. You can almost feel his eyes watching every move of your ass as you walk back to the building. As your feet enter the interior of the fancy place, you don’t even aim for the bathroom– Changmin checked it before you arrived to the restaurant, chewing on his lower lip in distress as he announced to you that there’s no windows in the stalls– and so you take yourself straight to the other side of the room, taking the other exit out. “Look, it’s even easier, Changmin. I’ll just walk out the other way,” you reassured him, concluding the last step of your little plan.
Feet shuffling through the red velvety rug, you pay no attention to the waiters watching you as you walk through the big dining hall, escaping through the other door without looking back. Ji Changmin is standing on the other side of the street, taking off his initial place as soon as he saw you safely inside of the restaurant, waiting for you to rejoin him and celebrate the end of your successfully finished mission.
Running towards him, a smile breaks onto your face. Changmin stays in his place, not going as far as reaching you midway.
“Did you get it?” you ask, raising your brows at the male.
Wordlessly, the boy shows you a leather wallet, taking it from the right pocket of his zip-up. A gasp escapes your throat at the realization of just how easy this was– just how fast you gained a stack of cash you can use to survive another week. Sure, you still feel a bit weak in your knees, you still feel like your blood pressure is a bit high, but the thought of the green notes soon secured in your hand makes it all worth it.
“Let’s get out of here before he notices,” Changmin says, tugging down his face mask and reaching for your elbow, dragging you to the opposite direction, away from the restaurant.
Somewhere along the way, you start to run. There’s a sense of childlike wonder in you. A sense of excitement you shouldn’t feel from stealing money from someone unsuspecting. Sure, you could argue that the rich person in the restaurant doesn’t need the money like you do– he has enough of it to not even notice its absence– but it was still morally wrong.
It was still a crime. But hey– you’re only 17 with a seemingly big weight on your shoulders. So if getting the money you need in an illegal way takes some of the pressure off your back, you think you’re not so wrong for being excited about the success of your little plan.
Changmin catches up to you, his face mirroring a weird mix of annoyance and disbelief. He understands, though. The adrenaline of your first act of successful crime is a moment one doesn’t forget. “Wasn’t that hard now, was it?” he asks.
And when you lock your eyes with him again, a foolish laugh escapes your lips. Maybe he was right. Maybe this was the way to go around things.
Maybe it was good to accept his offer. Something about the inkling in his eyes tells you that he won’t betray you.
Standing in the middle of the aisle, your eyes soaring from the pack of gummy worms you wanted to buy for your little sister and the chocolate bar you’ve been wanting to eat the whole week, you roll the coins in the palm of your hand around, as if counting them over and over again is going to make more money magically appear in your possession. Ji Changmin (who for some reason decided that by being your partner in all things illegal, he has to be glued to your hip at all times when he has nothing interesting to do), standing next to you, sighs at your composure and clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth.
“Y/N, Y/N…” he hums in disapproval, almost sounding disgusted at the fact that the logical thing hasn’t appeared in your brain yet, “I see you need a bit of a lesson in shoplifting, yeah?” he whispers into your ear, his breath hitting the side of your face and making you jolt away from him.
“What?” you whisper-shout, punching him in the shoulder. “Don’t be ridiculous. What we do is already enough. I’ll just pick one,” you say, rolling your eyes at the fact that your new friend always somehow finds a way to make everything an illegal act. It really must be his hobby at this point, no?
“Whatever you say, sweetie,” he shrugs, but the more he watches you move your eyes from the gummy worms towards the chocolate bar, noticing the sparks behind your eyes every time you eye the rich cocoa treat wrapped in red plastic and the fondness behind your gaze when you eye the sour worms, the more he’s convinced that you’re going to go with his previous proposition. Once the temptation is there, it’s hard to resist it.
And he’s right. A mere second later, you eye him with pleading eyes– as if to silently say ‘okay, you win. Now teach me how to do this thing,’, and that has the boy chuckling at your antics.
“Okay, newbie,” he nods, patting your back. “First thing first, the number one rule of shoplifting is: always choose a gas station. Check! Why? Frankly, the people working here are underpaid university students that could care less about the company they work for, so as long as you’re not too obvious with it, nobody is going to run after you.”
Nodding, showing that you’re following, you wait for the actual tutorial. “Step two,” he says, voice loud enough only for you to hear in the empty store, “look casual. Walk around a bit. Pretend you’re contemplating your choice of treats– check. Wow, Y/L/N, it seems to me that you are a born natural!”
Rolling your eyes at his useless comment, you sigh. Changmin seems to get the hint that you want to know how to actually shoplift, and not how to prepare to do the thing, and so with his next tip, he is a bit more specific, which you welcome with open arms. “Okay, okay. So, now you wanna look for the cameras. Try to look for any blind spots,” he says, casually glancing around the store.
You follow his motions, trying hard to stay as unsuspicious as you can, and before you can say anything or try to find the blind spots he was talking about, the serpent-like boy tugs you by your forearm into another corridor. Your hands are now covered by the regals, only the tips of your scalps visible under the security camera, and before you know it, Changmin ushers another order into your ear.
“Now, take the more expensive thing and put it into your pocket,” he says. That has you pointing a sharp gaze to him, question marks accompanied by exclamation points striking into his skull, which has the boy utter out a quick explanation to your very confused state. “Trust me. Putting it into your bag is way more suspicious,” he hums, looking around the gas station and pointing his gaze towards the energy drink stand in front of you, acting as if he was contemplating on buying one for himself.
Hesitantly glancing behind your shoulder, finding the coast clear, you chew on the inside of your cheek before you swiftly put the pack of gummy worms into your pocket. Clearing your throat to signal to the boy that you’re done with the task at hand, he turns his head to you and raises his brows, smiling. “Are you ready to pay, finally?” he asks, his voice now a little louder. You think it’s to not cause any more suspicion, since the two of you have been murmuring amongst each other for the past few minutes.
Humming, feeling a buzzing in your fingertips, heart quickening– you’re really doing this– you nod and let your friend lead you to the counter. You’ve tried shoplifting before, of course, but the last time you did so, you were dragged by your hair to the police station, so you think you have all the right to feel the tiniest bit paranoid when trying for the second time. There is stress settling to your shoulders when you awkwardly shuffle to the counter and put the chocolate bar in front of the cashier, but when you notice the fact that Changmin was right and the clark was barely paying attention to the store at all– there was Candy crush turned on their phone behind the POS machine– the nerves seem to fall off a bit.
“Cash or card?” the girl behind the counter asks– she is chewing on a gum and her neon pink hair is falling into her eyes. She seems a few years older than you, but she seems to be still in college. There are dark circles under her eyes– she seems tired. Not letting yourself to shield your next actions with the usual waterfall of empathy, you clear your throat and try to speak up with the most casual voice.
“Cash,” you peep, taking the hurdle of coins back from your pocket– the one that doesn’t currently hold a pack of gummy worms– and quickly count the sum of money you need, putting it onto the counter.
“You need a receipt?” the cashier asks, completely uninterested in her job. You can tell she has this situation rehearsed– she must have been working here for a while.
“No, thank you,” you nod, taking the chocolate bar into your grasp and spinning on your heel, following Changmin on his way outside of the gas station. Before the door closes behind you, the boy heaves out a cheerful ‘Goodbye!’ which has you mirroring his actions, yet your walking still speeds up with the weight of wanting to be outside and done as soon as possible.
You never know. What if she noticed and a policeman will come and catch you at the last minute for stealing those gummy worms? You can’t afford getting a criminal record– this won’t land you any job in the future.
As soon as your figure moves outside of the building and you’re sure you’re not being followed by anyone and there’s no police cars parked in front of the gas station, you feel the weight of the situation finally leave your physical form, your breathing finally becoming more normal. Changmin glances at you over his shoulder, a grin spreading over his features, patting your shoulder like a proud father.
“See? Wasn’t so hard now, was it?” he asks, having you roll your eyes at him.
“I’m sorry, man,” you snicker, “I still have some PTSD from that one time…”
“It takes a few tries to perfect the art, I get it,” he says, nodding as if to admit your struggle. It’s hard to believe Changmin has ever failed at anything he tried before– in all situations you’ve encountered with him, he seemed completely capable and knowing. It’s as if he’s been doing this his whole life– and for all you know, he might as well have been.
“Well, not everyone takes joy in doing illegal activities like you clearly do,” you sigh, having the boy look at you with furrowed brows.
Unknowingly, you lead the boy towards your house. He doesn’t seem to mind walking with you, and although you did just commit a crime, you’re happy with the comfort of not having any committed against you– a girl in her school uniform walking home in the evening is an easy target for all men who’d love to take advantage of you and fulfill their dark fantasies. It’s funny to admit that you feel safer with Ji Changmin walking you home, but it’s also a natural cause of the fact that you two have been working together on fake dates with rich men for a few weeks now. (So far, you’ve gone on three. They all worked and went by the plan. You suddenly question why you didn’t say yes to this plan earlier.)
“Living in the foster home makes you fight other people over everything, Y/N-ie. Over food, old donated board games, treats, clothing, parents…” he chuckles at that, a bitter tone coating his words, “my point is… If you don’t take what you want forcefully, it will be taken out of your grasp one way or another. And if that piece of candy is stolen from you by an older kid at the foster home, you’re gonna have to find a way to get yourself one as well,” he explains.
You feel a little embarrassed for assuming. Changmin doesn’t reveal much about himself to you. Neither do you. For this reason, you’d describe your relationship with the raven-haired boy like something similar to being coworkers. You don’t tell each other about your personal lives, you don’t talk about your issues or intentions. All you know is that the both of you need money, so you’re willing to work together to get it.
The sudden confession hangs an uncomfortable air of vulnerability over the two of you. It’s strange– hearing him chuckle so bitterly about his situation, seeing the shift behind his eyes when he realizes what he just said. You don’t really know what to say back to him– do you console him? Do you try to play it off, ignore what he’s just said? Before you have any chance to take action, though, the boy clears his throat and does damage control on his own. (Which is probably for the best. You wouldn’t want to overstep any boundary– so you’ll act according to his.)
“But after a while, it became kind of fun, yeah,” he laughs, shrugging. “I like the adrenaline rush.”
“You’re a freak.”
“A freak with useful tactics,” he points a finger-gun at you and winks, making you roll your eyes at his misplaced pride, but laugh along with him nonetheless.
It’s good to make fun of your situation sometimes. Didn’t someone say humor is one of the most useful coping mechanisms? Or maybe a sign of unhealthy coping mechanisms? Well, one way or another– you have to cope with it some way anyways. A little joke never hurt anyone.
“Half of that is mine, by the way,” he points towards your favorite chocolate bar in your grasp. “I earned it by helping you get it,” he says, content face beaming at you in mischief.
His features are a little sharper under the yellow lampposts, his dark hair falling into his eyes making shadows appear under his eyes. He looks like a cunning fox– much like always– but you think you’re growing used to the charm. “What?” you huff, face scrunched up in frustration. “I bought this, actually, so–”
“So you’re telling me you would’ve chosen the chocolate bar, had I not opened your eyes to the wonders of shoplifting?”
“What does that even have to do with anything–”
“Exactly what I thought,” he nods, taking the chocolate bar out of your grasp and tearing it open, not even sparing you a chance to defend yourself, “if I wasn’t there, you’d buy the gummy worms, so the fact that you bought this is my work and I deserve a half of your treat, thank you very much.”
“How can you even be so sure–”
“Y/N?” a thin voice calls for you, making you stop the little petty argument you’ve been having with your crime partner and look around, noticing both facts of the reality at once– one: you’ve reached your street, and two: your little sister is watching you from the doorway of your house, big eyes worried and hair tousled.
She’s still wearing the clothes she wore when you sent her off to school in the morning, and by the way she keeps chewing on the inside of her cheek, you know that she hasn’t eaten. She always does that when she’s hungry and doesn’t want you to know. A pit opens up in your stomach at seeing your sibling in such a state, and although it’s not as uncommon as you’d like to say it is, you know you have to put up your big sister act.
“Aerin-ie? Has mum not come home yet?” you ask, watching as the little girl walks out of the house and through the pathway of your house, standing only a few meters away from you.
“No,” she shakes her head. You’re not surprised by the answer. Maybe, you’re not even disappointed anymore. You learned not to have any expectations when it comes to your mother.
Sighing, you nod, chewing on your lower lip. “Go inside, we’ll eat something together and then you’re going to sleep, you have school tomorrow, okay?” you hum, tone of voice compassionate and gentle, the way you always talk to your sister ever since the issues started. There is no room for quarrel between siblings when you’re too busy making sure your little sister is eating well and going to school. There’s no room for sibling fights when you’re more of a motherly figure now.
“Okay,” she nods, but doesn’t move from her spot in the middle of the yard.
“Well? Go–”
“Is that your boyfriend?” Aerin asks, pointing towards Changmin. You momentarily forgot that he was still here, so when you finally take in his silently standing figure, it almost makes you jump. Waving your hands around in panic, not wanting your young, gullible sister to get any ideas, you eagerly try to take her out of her lapse of judgment.
“God, no. No, no, that’s–”
“Hi! I’m Changmin!” the boy suddenly waves, smiling at your little sister. “I go to school with your sister.”
Aerin watches the boy with big eyes, as if scared. You understand her– Changmin doesn’t seem as the most approachable of people (although his smile does feel unusually warm and contagious right in this moment)– and she didn’t have much experience with male figures in her life to feel secure with any new men entering her life. Not that Changmin will be entering her life anyway– but you get the gist of it.
“You do?” she hesitantly asks.
“I do. Tell her to study more, because if she keeps it up this way, she’s going to have to go back to school with you and retake all the lessons for smaller kids,” Changmin hums, poking fun at you.
“Hey!” you thunder, kicking the boy into his shin in a weak attempt of defending yourself. “That’s not true!”
Hearing your sister laugh at your misery– an action you never thought would warm your heart up so much– you lock your eyes with Changmin only for a split second, and in that, you come to some sort of mutual understanding. You talk without words– you learned something about me today, I learned something about you today. Your secret is safe with me.
He doesn’t know the full truth of it all– quite as much as you don’t know about his life, but somehow, this evening brought you two a little closer. You moved from being coworkers to now being coworkers who know more backstory about each other’s lives, and you don’t really find yourself hating it.
“Y/N got something for you,” Changmin muses, pointing a finger to your pocket.
Somehow, he has it all figured out.
“Oh, right!” you gasp, taking the gummy worms out of your jacket and offering them to your little sister. Her eyes light up instantly, that kind of joy you only feel when you are 12 and presented with your favorite treat, and you get a solemn feeling on your insides comforting you– you’re doing all you can. She’s smiling. She’s still mostly unknowing.
“I heard they’re your favorite,” Changmin keeps talking to your sister. It’s a surprising sight– how welcoming he suddenly seems.
“They are! Y/N, can I have some?”
“After you eat dinner,” you nod, seeing the little girl furrowing her brows and opening her mouth to protest, a sense of blissful normality shielding you all from reality.
“But–”
“After dinner, Aerin. Now let’s go inside so you can sleep,” you hum, walking over to your sister, “you get fussy in the morning when you don’t get enough sleep.”
Something about your hand on her shoulder has the little creature moving closer towards your house, the two of you walking alongside each other through the pathway. Looking behind, you wave at Changmin. He offers you a gentle smile– one you haven’t seen on him before. It moves something within you.
He doesn’t know much, but somehow, he understands.
Before you close the door behind you, you mouth him a silent ‘Thank you’. The boy salutes you before he disappears into the dark.
“Do you want some lemonade or something?” you hum as you enter your house, tugging uncomfortably at the hem of your short skirt, throwing the knock-off purse Changmin got you from the donation bins at the foster home into the corner of the entrance hall. It’s midday, you are supposed to be at school and having your lunch break, but instead, you’re tiredly slugging home with your classmate tailing your back, done with yet another date.
“I’m good,” Changmin shrugs, “I’ll just have some water.”
“Amazing choice,” you nod, pointing towards the tap in your cluttered kitchen, “didn’t feel like making you a fucking lemonade anyway,” you sigh, watching as the boy helps himself to a glass of tap water and you get yourself a taste of the old coffee your mother must have made herself in the morning before leaving, furrowing your brows at the bitter taste.
After you’re done chasing down the thirst that’s accumulated in your throat, you walk upstairs into your room, followed around by the boy. There was a silent agreement between the two of you to let him stay over at least until the acceptable time to come back into foster home was– if he came before school ended, he’d get in trouble. (You wonder why he’s afraid of this and not the fact that he was dragged from the police station multiple times, but you choose to not question him anymore.)
It’s strange to have him in your house. It doesn’t make you uncomfortable, per se– you just wonder how much your living conditions say about you. It’s very clear that you don’t live with your father. He left shortly after your little sister was born and you haven’t seen him since– you wish you could say you don’t mind, because you never really had a good relationship with him anyway, but the truth is, maybe he was the whole reason for the downfall of your quality of life. The mess all around the house suggests that nobody has time or energy to clean it. You try your hardest to keep it relatively clean on most days, but it gets significantly harder when you also try to bring food home into the house.
If Changmin makes anything out of the state of your living, he doesn’t mention it.
Settling into the mattress of your bed, totally uninvited, he squints at your ceiling. You, on the other hand, turn towards your wardrobe and take out some comfy clothes– the preppy mini skirt you were dressed in before you left to meet up with another rich old guy was starting to get on your nerves. Turning your back to Changmin, you slip your blouse over your head and put on a big T-shirt, one of the clothes you got at the Dollar store when you grew out of your last pajamas, and after you dress yourself in comfortable sweatpants, you walk up to the boy with an outstretched hand.
A mutual understanding falls over you as he puts the leather wallet into your hand. Opening it, you flick through several credit cards, squinting at the owner’s ID– by the birth year on the card, you calculate that he was even older than he told you he was– before you count up the money and cut it in half, throwing the rest into Changmin’s lap.
The more often you do this, the more you wonder how it keeps working. It’s surprising to see just how many wealthy men are carrying cash around and being reckless with their belongings. Changmin almost never has any trouble with stealing their wallets– either when they’re not looking, or when the man foolishly leaves to the bathroom and leaves his bag behind on the chair. It’s like they’re inviting you to do it, at this point.
The more often you do this, the more you start hating yourself, though. There’s only so much objectifying you willingly submit yourself to before it makes you want to crawl out of your skin. If there was a better way to do things, you would.
Sighing, you open your sock drawer and sit cross-legged on the floor. Taking out the sock balls and unraveling the items of clothing onto your thigh, putting bills into them and rolling them back into neat balls, throwing them back into their designated place very un-Marie Condo style, you hear Changmin ask a question after minutes of watching you in silence.
“What do you need all this money for, by the way?” he asks. “Except for keeping your sister alive, of course.”
The question has you halting your movements, looking up at the male with a blank look. You two never discuss deep things– you two never talk about your lives and the reasoning behind your actions. You just do things and don’t think of consequences– you just get as much money as you can without telling the other one what you need it for.
Locking your eyes with him, you shrug. There’s a hint of understatement behind his orbs that shows you that maybe you can trust him. Maybe him knowing isn’t that bad– what could he possibly do with the information? You two know about each other’s crimes far too much to betray each other, you think.
“I… my family… we have debts,” you say, nodding to yourself. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you chuckle before speaking up again. “My dad left shortly after my sister was born and then we couldn’t really afford paying for the house anymore. My mum refused to move, though, so she got another loan to cover the previous one, but it’s…” you drift off, remembering the day you found out the harsh truth only a few months ago.
You hear your mother’s sobs as you walk into the house after your classes, making your heart drop to your stomach. It’s not every day you hear your mother cry, since she tries hard to pretend everything is okay even though it’s not– and the empty bottles of alcohol waiting by the trash can every day are the clear sign of both that and her not really handling it well. This feels different, though. The crying doesn’t sound like someone pitying themselves once again– the crying sounds like someone in such a deep despair, hopeless and lost.
Socked feet shuffling through the house as you take your shoes off at the door, you find your mother crouching above the kitchen table, a glass in her hand. There’s a sheet of paper staring back at her from the void, the scene almost appearing in front of you in grayscale. You didn’t expect your life to change so much in such a simple afternoon. You didn’t expect to grow up with a click of a finger.
“What happened?” you ask, carefully approaching the wounded animal of your mother. You learned quickly after she picked up drinking that you need to handle the fragile woman with care. A bad word and she could break– an incorrectly crafted sentence and she could turn into a volcano, erupting with screams and swearing, cursing you out.
No answer reaches your ears, though, so your only resolve is to take the paper into your hands and read it over. And now, you’re no expert in legal things and contracts, but it doesn’t take a lot of knowledge to recognise a loan contract. It’s a company you don’t know, though– one of the not famous ones, one of the fishy ones that give you the money quickly– and before you even get a chance to read over the fine print at the bottom of the page, you already know you’re in deep, deep trouble.
The knowledge of trouble only intensifies when you come home to strange men escaping your house one day. There are no groceries in the fridge for a few days after, making it vastly clear to you that your mother simply couldn’t afford to get food for her kids to eat.
It only takes one crying fit and an argument with your mother to find out the harsh reality– your mother fell for a loan that is too difficult to handle, one that makes you pay back fast and with big amounts monthly. She already had a warning.
If she is late with her payment again, you lose everything.
“It’s… it’s difficult to pay it back,” you conclude, watching as Changmin only nods in understatement. The air around you is suddenly too heavy, but you figure the whole truth won’t hurt anyone. Maybe the weight on your shoulders would feel lighter if you finally tell someone– however selfish the sentiment feels. “If we don’t pay it back within the next few months, we will lose our house. My mother fell for a loan shark,” you say.
“All the years of her telling us to not fall for scams, and then she does this,” you mumble, trying to make fun of the situation.
“Y/N, that’s–”
“I was also thinking of leaving one day,” you add as you cut him off, not letting him psychoanalyze you or make you feel like he pities you. “I was thinking of getting enough money to settle all of this and then just… move out. Disappear. I need to get away from this house before it suffocates me,” you bitterly laugh, seeing the boy shift his eyes from the ceiling back at you, pressing his lips into a tight line.
“I get you,” leaves his mouth after a heartbeat of silence. Never in your life have you feared being judged as much as in this moment. It’s strange to face your biggest fear– being vulnerable with someone, opening up to them about everything you’re going through– and find that it wasn’t at all as difficult. It’s strange to face your biggest fear and realize that maybe, you had nothing to be scared of in the first place.
It’s strange to hear that you’re understood. That somebody gets just how hard it is to breathe every day, walking through the house you grew up in, but which is now haunted. If it was anybody else, you’d try to argue with them. How could they understand? How could they possibly know what is going on inside of your head on a daily basis? How could they get the extent of how far you have to go every day just to survive and keep your sister out of the mess, totally unknowing?
Ji Changmin may not know everything about you, he may not be in the same situation, but still; he knows how you feel. Coming from a background like that, you don’t get to keep a lot of freedom either.
“It’s… it’s a work in progress. I don’t really have a plan either, I just… I just know I need to save up enough to sort things out, move out and leave everything behind. I can’t… I can’t keep doing this forever, y’know,” you shrug, snickering to yourself.
Changmin hums in understatement, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He looks so out of place in the middle of your white sheets, dressed in his all black attire. The contrast of his clothes and the brightness of your laundry cuts through all major parts of your life as well– where there’s anxiety, there’s also Changmin’s ability to turn everything into a joke. Where there’s mess and confusion, there’s Changmin’s calculated plans and thought-out strategies. Where there’s loneliness, there’s also Ji Changmin’s sheer presence next to you during the lunch break. It’s strange, just how quickly you found comfort in the serpent-like boy. It’s unfamiliar. The novelty of it all both scares you and comforts you all at once.
The boy is silent for a while before he speaks up, processing the information. As if knowing that there’s nothing he could really say to make you feel better about the situation– or fearing that anything he could utter out would make it worse– he entrusts you with a secret of his own.
“If I don’t get adopted before I turn 18– which, let’s be real, with my history and everything, won’t happen– I age out of the system and I’m all on my own,” he says, shrugging, “I’ll need money to get on my own feet. To leave, too. Fuck, I need to leave that house and this town. I need to start over somewhere where they won’t know every single thing that happened to me in the past.”
You hadn’t realized just how much your plans align when you first nodded to this agreement. You think it adds a sense of reliability now. Both working towards the same plan, knowing that if you fail, the other’s fate is at stake as well.
Before this, you didn’t know just how serious it was for Changmin– you didn’t know if he needed the money on reckless spending, on buying drinks and cigarettes to chase down his boredom, or if there was a greater sense of ironical responsibility behind it all. Knowing that there’s so much on the table, so much of both of your future’s that are at risk if you don’t try your hardest to make your lives better– because no one else in the whole world will help you, it seems– brings a greater sense of alliance hang in the air between the two of you.
Shared secrets, plans, view of life. Shared responsibilities, burdens, desperation. That bonds two people like nothing else does.
“You can count on me, Y/N,” Changmin hums, tone of voice barely louder than a whisper. Your eyes don’t meet in the confidentiality of it all, but your heart still squeezes on itself. “I’ll get us out of this town even if it’s the last thing I do.”
The low murmur of the school cafeteria lands into your ears as you stand in the line for food, Changmin’s tall figure in front of you turning to face you, an annoyed sigh heaving out of his throat. “Now I remember why I never fucking go to this place.”
“Oh, right,” you nod, shrugging to yourself as if to show your absolute fury with the fact that you’ve been standing in the line for more than 10 minutes now, a third of your lunch break already passing by like a flash, “it was never because I was too broke. The line was always the problem.”
The male in front of you snickers at your ironic remark. You’re convinced you could count the amount of times you’ve been to the school cafeteria to buy lunch on the fingers of one hand. Most of the time, you take whatever remains of food you can find at home with you. Lunch money is reserved for your little sister only– and even that is on special occasions. Usually, you try to buy her the cheapest things you can find at the store downtown– the retailed bread that’s too old to sell at original price now, but still fresh enough to eat– but when you figure you have enough money in the week to spend, you give her enough to buy lunch at school. For you, buying your own warm lunch at school feels like a holiday. You’ve lived through more Christmases than cafeteria lunches, you think.
“Starting to doubt if it’s even worth it anyway,” Changmin fusses, folding his hands at his chest. You don’t think you’ve ever met a more impatient person than him. If things take too long, he gives up on them– like the line in the grocery store the other day. You made the mistake of inviting him to buy groceries with you, but when he realized the self-checkout lines were too long, he just carried your groceries out without paying, grinning at your shocked face the moment you unsuspectedly got out of the store. ‘It’s okay to steal from big corporations,’ he justified. ‘They won’t feel the loss.’
“Changmin, this is my first time buying lunch this year,” you sigh, “have some patience. Of course it’s worth it– it’s a celebration of our hard work.”
“Does this feel satisfactory?” he doubts, pointing a thumb behind him to show the line in front of you two– which, just by the way, moved a ton, meaning it’s gonna be your turn soon.
“Not yet,” you admit, chuckling to yourself, “but the feeling will come once I bite into the soggy, half-cold pizza. Trust,” you point a finger to him and poke him in his stomach, that has, just by the way, growled in hunger three times since you’ve taken your place in the line for food.
“Of course you chose to get lunch on pizza day…”
“What do you have me for?” you scoff. “I have some culture.”
“Says the person who hasn’t seen Train to Busan before. Girl, you’re the farthest thing from cultured, trust me.”
“You call Train to Busan our national treasure?” you ask, blinking at the boy in pure confusion. You don’t trust a man like Ji Changmin to be the film critic of modern age, to be fair, but you think even this opinion is quite far-stretched.
Changmin furrows his brows at you, clicking his tongue. “You’re only saying that because you haven’t seen the movie.”
“Well, I haven’t been given the opportunity to watch it, so I don’t see how that’s my problem.”
The line finally moves and lets you two get your lunch. The lady behind the counter looks even less pleasant than you remember her– with more gray hair and a more tired expression on her face– and the food isn’t much either even by looking at it. Still, you feel a sense of satisfaction run through your veins when you look at the sad-looking plate. You earned this pizza. This soggy, bad, a little shoe sole-looking pizza. You put a lot of effort into buying this plate, and although it doesn’t necessarily represent the determination, at least it represents the morality of your earned money– and you know what, at the end of the day, you think that’s fair.
Walking away to one of the empty tables in the cafeteria, carrying your tray in both of your hands and following Changmin’s lead, you feel your stomach churn at the image of the pizza on your plate. It sure doesn’t look great, but it looks edible– you still consider it to be a reward.
However, before you get a chance to sit down and bite into the meal, your side suddenly comes in contact with something firm, yet soft, the impact of the hit making you stumble and fall over to the hard linoleum. The tray of food you’ve had in your hands is knocked out of your grasp, falling to the ground with a loud noise, and the force in which you hit the floor makes your butt sting in pain. The moment comes by like a blur, and before you even get a chance to register what happened, a train of apologies lands into your ears.
“Oh my god, Y/N, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to–” a boy a little shorter than Changmin (that’s just standing by your side, looking a little taken-aback, but still uninterested in the commotion, not at all trying to help you out), stutters out. You recognise him to be your classmate Eric Sohn– one of the people you’ve never really spoken to before, because you had no reason to do so. He is a loud extrovert, a people person, a bundle of never ending energy. He’s charismatic, but not someone you would find yourself hanging out with (not that you really hang out with anyone other than the criminal by your side anyway)– and a little inkling in your brain tells you that one of the reasons for this fact is Eric’s high social status.
“Are you okay?” he asks, offering you his hand to bring you back up to your feet.
Wincing in pain as you take his grasp and get back into a standing position, you wonder if he was running– there was no way the sheer force of him walking would send you to the ground. Once you take a closer look at the boy, you notice his blushing cheeks and an incredibly guilty look on his face, notifying you of the fact that you haven’t replied to him yet, still too shocked by the events. “I’m okay, yeah,” you nod, eyes shifting to the plate on the ground. It didn’t break, but your pizza slice is very visibly on the ground– and no matter how desperate you are for food right now, you consider it too contaminated to be eaten.
“I am so sorry, Y/N, I wasn’t looking where I was going– oh god, your uniform is all dirty,” he points to your white button-down, now stained with the last remains of the soup that was seemingly in one of the plates your classmate was carrying.
“It’s… it’s okay–”
“I’ll pay for you to get it dry cleaned!” he stammers, eyes wide and bangs falling into his eyes, the boyish, panicked aura around him making you feel kind of bad for him. Which is strange– you are the one in pain and without lunch now. Not him.
“No, really, it’s okay, Eric… It was an accident–”
“And your lunch is ruined! God,” he grunts, scrambling to pick up all the dishes from the floor, cleaning up the mess. “I’ll get you a new one. Just… wait here, I’ll be right back!” the boy assures you, running off with the trays and plates, aiming for the area designated for discarding them.
Like in a trance, you take a seat at the table, following Changmin. Scratching the back of your neck, you sigh and aimlessly stare at your companion, watching as he eats his pizza. Casually speaking the fact into existence, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, the male decides to make you choke at his words.
“You should get on that, Y/N,” he notes, snickering.
“Huh?”
“You know what I mean. Man’s rich as fuck, Y/N,” he says as he swallows down the bite, shrugging. “He’d fit perfectly into your little plan,” Changmin schemes, pointing a finger at your face.
“Stop being ridiculous,” you grunt, “why would I do that? He doesn’t even like me, so–”
“Oh, as if,” Changmin rolls his eyes, speaking with his mouth full, “he looked at you as if you were Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. He clearly has a crush on you. And, respectfully, any man would want to get with someone like you– why do you think our plan is working so well? You’re hot enough, that’s why,” he shrugs, making you blink at the male in surprise.
Hot enough? Did Ji Changmin just call you hot? You’d rather not focus on that part of the exchange.
“Shut up, Changmin,” you sigh, “besides, I’m not doing that to him.”
“Why not? I thought our motto was ‘eat the rich’, no?”
“Yeah,” you grunt, nodding to the boy, tone of voice ironic, showing him just how stupid he sounds right in this moment, “but it’s ‘eat the icky old rich men’, not ‘eat unsuspecting, innocent rich’, Changmin. Got it?”
“You’re missing out on–”
“I said no,” you cut him off, pointing a finger right in the middle of his forehead. Something about your authoritative tone gets the point across, making the boy sigh.
“Jeez, okay, if you really say so…”
Opening your mouth to continue on with the sentiment, you’re quickly cut off by Eric’s voice coming from beside you, the boy suddenly appearing at your table. “Here,” he says, a bashful look on his face as he puts the tray in front of you, two slices of pizza and a box of orange juice settled on the red plastic dish, “I’m really sorry again! And…” he starts, scratching the back of his neck, “and here is my number, so if you want me to… uh… pay for the cleaning of that, or whatever, just… let me know, okay?” he smiles awkwardly, pointing to a piece of paper settled under the juice box, having you blink up at him in surprise.
Before you get a chance to protest, Eric pays you two his goodbyes and rushes out of the cafeteria, cheeks red and an expression a little alarmed. You’re not an expert in body language, but the more you think about it, the clearer it gets.
Ji Changmin is right. Eric Sohn does clearly have a crush on you.
If that even means anything…
The house is silent. Your naked feet clad through your room as you open your drawer, fingers reaching for the soft fabric of your socks. It’s gotten a bit chilly, so you automatically go and try to warm yourself up with one of your thick garments. Fingers unraveling the sock ball, prepared to find dollar bills inside– already knowing you’ll take a part of it and give it to your sister in the morning so she can get some lunch at school– a momentarily shock washes over you when you find the sock ball empty.
Confused, you furrow your brows and check the insides of the socks. You remember very clearly that you put some of your money into this specific pair just a few days ago.
Or maybe you didn’t… You’ve been tired the last few days. You could be remembering it wrong. Maybe this particular sock ball didn’t have money in it in the first place.
Still, you reach for another sock ball, hands a little shaky as you look through it. When you notice the lack of bills inside, your heart starts hammering against your chest, sweat appearing on your forehead. Searching through another one and another one and another one, you find all sock balls empty. There is no money where you hid it. It���s all gone.
Thousands of won gone. Vanished. Nowhere to be found.
Where could they go? Who could’ve taken them?
In the few seconds that pass before the fact that all of your money is nowhere to be seen fully settles into your brain, your feet react on themselves and drag you out of the comfort of your room, making you jog downstairs. Reaching the living room, finding your mother laying on the sofa with a bottle of rum next to her on the ground, you feel the amount of patience you’ve had with her slowly overflowing, frustration taking its deserved place in your body as you scream at her sleeping figure.
“Did you take my money?” you yell, watching as your mother slowly opens her eyes at you and blinks in confusion, the alcohol haze around her stinking and making you sick to your stomach. The woman looks at you with zero ounces of sympathy behind her eyes, no words escaping from between her lips as she continues to wordlessly stare at you.
“Mum! Did you take my money?” you scream, clenching your hands into a fist, chewing on your bottom lip in frustration.
“I needed the money,” she says, a groggy voice cutting through the silent house.
Running your hand through your hair, an amused chuckle leaves your throat. “Did you use it all? Is it all gone?”
“I needed it,” she only adds, turning on her side and proceeding to ignore you, which makes fury hammer against your chest with more force than ever before.
“You needed the money. You needed it,” you laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “For what, mum? You needed the money to give to Aerin so she could have lunch? You needed the money to buy groceries? To pay for the bills when a man comes to our house and tells me we haven’t paid enough for our electricity bill? You needed the money for all of that, right?” you chuckle, frustration making you kick your foot against the side of the couch.
“Or did you need the money to buy alcohol, mum? Is that what you needed it for? Is that more important?” you bite, watching as your mother looks at you with stern eyes, the words finally entering her bubble and getting to her heart.
“Don’t speak to me like that. I am your mother.”
“You’re only my mother when you want to scold me!” you yell back, your words resonating through the silence. “Why won’t you be my mother when I need to feed my sister? When I need to take care of the house? Why aren’t you my mother when I need you?!” you scream, a sob involuntarily dragging out of your throat as you finally verbalize the words you’ve been biting back since this whole situation arised.
“I brought you to this life. I raised you!” she screams back, merciless words stabbing you in the back like daggers coming for your heart. “So when I say I needed the money, I have every right to take it!”
“Do you?!” you argue. “Do you. Did you earn that money, mum? Because the last time I checked, you got fired and the only person trying to keep this family afloat is me!” you scream, watching as your mother sits up in her place, a tired sigh escaping her throat.
“Don’t you dare yell at me!” she gestures with her hand.
“Well, then don’t take what’s not yours! Because now, I’ll have to work my ass of to get all of that back, because you won’t try to get your fucking life together–”
“Don’t swear at me,” your mother drags out, tone of voice stone cold and serious. It sends chills down your spine, a teardrop trail down your cheekbone and towards your jaw. You have a staring contest with your mother, one in which you question just how much impact your argument has on her– if she recognises the fury and anger and translates it as grief, just like your insides have been doing for so long now.
Behind her glossy eyes, there’s not much for you to read, though. You lost that ability a long time ago. It’s one of the things you mourn the most.
“Y/N?” you hear a small voice call from behind you. It has you snap your head around and watch your sister shrinking away in the doorway behind you, holding on to the wall. Aerin’s eyes are glossy and scared, shaking from you to your mother, her little face morphed in anxiety as she chews on her bottom lip in nerves.
That has your fury dissolving– at least on the outside. You can’t afford to fail at protecting your sister from everything. Wiping your own tears harshly, you clear your throat and move to her hunched-over body, placing a comforting palm on her back, leading her upstairs to her bedroom.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” you hum groggily, sniffling on your way to the top of the stairs, “it’s okay. Me and mum just didn’t… we had a bit of an argument, but it’s nothing to worry about.”
As you cover up your sister with the duvet on her bed, she looks at you with watery eyes, a little voice shaking as she inquires. “We don’t have money?”
“Of course we do, dummy,” you snicker, shaking your head. “We do. Don’t you worry, Aerin-ie. I’ll take care of everything, yeah? Get those worries out of your head.”
“But you said–”
“Let the adults deal with this, yeah? It’s gonna be fine.”
“But you’re not even an adult yet,” Aerin furrows her brows, restless eyes not closing as she tries to wrap her head around the situation. No child ever should worry about things like this. And she’s right– you’re not an adult yet either, but as the older one of you, you think it’s your responsibility to take care of things. Just because you can’t afford to not worry about your situation doesn’t mean you will let your sister down and drag her with you.
“That’s right,” you sniffle, laughing airly as you rub her upper arm through the fabric of the duvet, “so that means I can still share a bed with you, yeah?” you force a smile to your lips, watching as your sister nods and scoots over in her place, letting you hug her from the side and snuggle into the warmth of her sheets.
“Everything will be alright,” you whisper into her ear, trying hard to provide her head with some distraction.
It’s kind of ironic, if you really think about it. Both of your parents failed you, but you were only truly hit with the reality of your mother’s betrayal. Who is your father if not the first man to ever disappoint you, right? You came to peace with the fact a few weeks after he left for good– you thought you didn’t need him. You could be good without him.
It seems like your mother needed him more than anything, though. Sometimes, you wish she chose her children instead.
Holding your little sister to your chest, you decide to do everything to protect her. You’d do anything it takes if it means she won’t have to worry about her future. If that’s your responsibility, then so be it– you are more than willing to carry it.
“I don’t think this looks right,” you mumble as you stare at your reflection in the mirror, furrowed eyebrows on full display as the girl staring back at you doesn’t look half similar to how she usually appears.
You’re wearing a skirt you bought from your savings last month– wanting to treat yourself to something nice– and a cropped shirt that shoves a trace of your skin in the midriff. You’re wearing your old shoes that admittedly throw off the whole look a little– but you don’t have anything else to wear, so that’s what you’re going with. The outfit wouldn’t be the strangest thing about your appearance today– although you’re not the one to wear skirts casually, with the only exception being your school uniform.
The thing that is throwing you off the most about your apparel is the coat of makeup on your face. You and Changmin walked into a drugstore after your classes were over, trying your hardest to make you look the most enchanting you can. You did your makeup with the testers, going through three different lipstick choices before your companion was satisfied, and only when you finally escaped the fluorescent lights of the store and looked at yourself in the daylight is when you realize just how different your face looks to its usual.
“It does,” Changmin shakes his head, standing up from his place on your bed and walking over to your figure, prompting a finger below your chin to angle your head a little, staring at you from up close. His eyes glaze over your skin, making your throat dry out from being so closely examined. “You look different, but it doesn’t look bad.”
“It doesn’t look good either,” you sigh, escaping his gaze and turning around in your place, watching yourself in the mirror once again. The male leans against the desk behind him, communicating from your behind.
A sigh escapes Changmin’s throat at your words, rolling his eyes. “Be serious for once. You look good.”
“My face is all cakey,” you frown.
“You only notice when you see it from up close,” Changmin says, “and I don’t think Eric’s gonna look at you from up close. He’d shit his pants.”
“You’re not helping.”
“That’s because you won’t let me help,” he grunts. “No matter how many times I tell you that you look good won’t change the fact that you won’t admit it to yourself.”
“I don’t look like myself.”
“You do!” he runs his hands through his hair, shaking his head in frustration. “You always look pretty, it’s just… today you look like you put more effort into your appearance,” Changmin huffs, his voice growing a little more quiet at the end of the sentence. Your eyes meet with his in the full-length mirror, watching as the tips of the boy’s ears tint a pink hue, the warmth spreading to his cheeks at the compliment that just so casually slipped through his lips. “Which– which is good, because you wanna look like you put effort into a date with a rich boy, y’know?” he adds, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
His words comfort you a bit. Trying hard not to meet his gaze in the mirror– because you suddenly feel a bit bashful under his gaze– you nod to yourself and focus on the hem of your skirt for the thousandth time, making sure it fits right against your skin. “How does one act on a date? I’ve never been on one.”
“You go on dates every week,” Changmin snickers.
“I meant real dates. The dates you have with people your age,” you roll your eyes, watching as the boy cheeses and shrugs to himself.
“Well,” he starts, “he already likes you. Like, a lot. So making him fall for you won’t be a problem, because I’m quite certain it already happened.”
His words have you feeling a little bad for Eric Sohn. He’s just an unsuspecting teenager that just so happens to be born into a rich family. He likes you– quite obviously so– and you’re going to break all the trust he has in you and use him for your own personal gain. It’s not morally good to do anything like this. You should be ashamed of yourself.
But then again, you think of all the paths you have to take just to survive. You lost a lot of money, and you need to get it back again– and you need to do it fast.
There’s no time for you to feel bad for Eric. You have to think of your sister first.
“I think you just have to pretend you like him back. Like… listen to him when he talks about boring stuff. Smile a lot– he’ll go crazy over your smile. Don’t be too touchy on the first date, or else it would come off as you being too eager, but if you manage to get a casual touch in without being too clingy, that’s bonus points,” Changmin hums, listing off all advice he can think of.
“Just be yourself, honestly. You have the guy wrapped around your finger anyway,” Changmin shrugs. “Let him pay for everything. Abuse the power you hold, Y/L/N.”
Nodding to yourself, you take a mental note of everything Changmin told you. “I don’t think it’s really fair to him, still.”
“Well, when was ever life fair to you?” he asks, tone of voice suddenly more sincere, more tender than the usual way he speaks to you. It has your eyes meeting again in the mirror, an unspoken understatement making you feel a tinge of bittersweetness in your insides, your gaze communicating the words you can’t quite materialize into existence.
The eye contact is broken as the male stands up from his place and pokes your exposed midriff with his finger, laughing at seeing you squirm before he dives into your bed sheets once again, a muffled yell sent your way from the cushion of your pillow.
“Go get him, tiger!”
“Why don’t we finish this at my place?” the man– you think his name was Baekho– asks you with a suggestive smile on his face after he pays for your dinner.
This man was particularly hard to get to. He seemed smarter than the others– keeping his belongings close to himself, paying more attention to his surroundings. You and Changmin didn’t manage to go along with your initial plan, which made you tense on the inside as it was– his suggestion only made your heart drum harder against your ribcage, the self-preservation instinct within you telling you to run.
“I am actually not really feeling well, so I’ll head home,” you nod, a stern smile fighting its place onto your lips.
“Don’t be silly,” the male opposes, shaking his head at you like you would at a child when it does something wrong and you can’t believe a human like that will someday grow into a fully functioning adult, “the night is still young, baby.”
Standing up from your place, following his motions, you turn your head sharply around and send a look full of worry to your companion. Changmin raises his eyebrows at you in question, but for the sake of your secrecy, you don’t pay him much of an answer in fear of where an explicit call for help would lead you.
“Thank you so much for the dinner, really,” you try to seem welcoming, you try to play it off and put up a nonchalant facade, smiling at the man that towers over you, “but I really should get going.”
“Let me give you a ride home, then,” he insists, glazing your elbow with his hand, making you shudder at the action, acid hunting your tongue.
“That won’t be necessary, I don’t live far–”
“Oh, don’t be stupid. Let me show you my car,” the male grunts, harshly gripping your elbow and dragging you away from the restaurant.
One of the biggest mistakes you made today was the fact that you chose to meet with this man in the evening. Most of the dates you go on happen in the afternoon, providing you with more sense of safety– you should’ve known that this gathering would end differently to all the other ones you’ve been to. You get dragged away into one of the poorly-lit alleys, no cars in sight, and you swear you can feel the imprint of his hand burning on your skin.
“Please, let me go so I can–”
“So you think you can just go on a date with someone like me, bribe me to buy you dinner, and then leave me nothing in return? That’s not how it works around here, sweetheart,” the male grits through his teeth, dragging you along the alley despite you trying to wrestle your way out of his grip.
He’s stronger than you, and he’s taking that into advantage. The danger in your chest hammers stronger than any time before, alerting you of the fact that if a miracle doesn’t happen, you’re going to either die tonight, or be marked by the events of this date forever. Oh, what a foolish idea it was to go along with this. You should’ve known this was bound to end in a disaster from how well it’s been going since the start.
Trying to kick around in the male’s grip, huffing and screaming out– but knowing nobody’s going to hear you in the buzz of the nightlife– you gulp on nothing and try to use all your adrenaline for getting yourself out of the situation.
“Stop squirming, you know it’s not going to help you–”
The male suddenly grunts, a wince of pain flashing through his eyes.
A miracle happens. Ji Changmin with his mask pulled up and his cap down low shielding his face appears in your point of vision, a bloody knife in his hand. When your shaky pupils look around, taking in your surroundings, you notice the man crouching down and holding his leg, growling like a wounded animal.
Too shocked to do anything yourself, you let Changmin drag you behind him with his arm, shielding you from the man. You faintly notice him launching after your companion, but before he has a chance to fight with him, Changmin puts the knife up, threatening the male. You haven’t seen him fight anyone before– only heard of the quarrels he’s gotten into in the foster home or on the streets– but something about his swift movements and the kicks aimed at your attacker makes you feel a little safer, a tinge of relief flowing through your veins. He looks like he knows what he’s doing. He seems to have the situation at least partially under his control.
“Run!” you hear Changmin yell at you, only paying you attention for a spare second as he looks at you over his shoulder.
You do as you’re told, but still keep looking back at your savior, watching as he kicks the man into his crotch area and slices the knife against the skin of his upper hand before he stabs him again, the pained groans echoing against the walls of the alleyway. There’s something terrifying about Changmin’s skills, leaving you wondering where he learned all of this– but before you get a chance to ponder on the origins of his self-defense skills any further, you hear his voice calling for the male.
“Don’t follow us, or this will end up worse,” he growls, still threatening the male with the pocket knife. “Try to go after us and I’ll tell the police you’re a pedophile– she’s only 17. You heard me?”
When the male doesn’t give him a reply, Changmin lets out a satisfied snicker. “That’s what I thought.”
Changmin runs up to you and drags you by your hand, tugging you out of the alleyway. The bloody knife is quickly hidden in his pocket as you charge through the streets, making sure you’re as far away from the man as possible. You stumble a little over your feet, making Changmin hold onto your hand a little stronger, dragging you behind a corner of a 24/7 bistro on the end of the street two blocks away, hiding you from the sight of the main road by the shade behind the building.
“Shit, are you okay?” he asks, looking you over with examining eyes. His shaky fingers take ahold of your chin, turning your face around to see any possible damage, letting go only when he’s sure there are no bruises on your cheeks, gripping your shoulders instead, breathing heavily. “Fuck. I’m so sorry,” he sighs out, his composure faltering a little, the contrast between him from a few minutes ago to now so big it leaves you weak in your knees.
“I’m okay,” you nod, barely registering the shakiness of your own voice.
The words have him tugging you close to him, arms wrapping around your body. He holds you as if he’s making sure you’re still there, all intact and alive, a hand sneaking into your hair petting it in an affectionate act you’ve never received from the male in the months you’ve spent working with him. “I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault,” you choke out. The previous sense of danger slowly evaporates out of you, heart relaxing, your brain getting the signal that you’re finally safe and sound. Closing your eyes for a minute, you allow yourself to mold against his figure, foolishly adjusting to the way his grip around you brings you a sense of newly found serenity and calm.
“Kinda is. We’re never doing this again,” he says, and if you tune in with his body hard enough, you feel a slight tremble of his arms.
“It’s fine, we can–”
“No,” he sighs, “there’s other ways. Safer ones.”
And it’s kind of strange– the way Ji Changmin demonstrates that your safety matters to him more than the money gain you’ve been both chasing after for the past few months. The things you two do to get by are never morally right and never the safest options, but when he lets go of you and holds his face in his hands before giving you a head pat, you know what he means: he’ll rather take the harder way than to leave you so vulnerable ever again.
Your shoes get discarded at the doorstep and your feet are quickly put into the guest slippers that reminds you too much of the ones you see in fancy hotels on the TV– the white, thin footwear you wear only to be polite, since they do nothing to keep your feet comfortable or warm, your heels thudding against the floor with as much force they would’ve if you wore only your socks. Eric takes off your coat and hangs it in the hall, like the true gentleman he was raised to be, and leads you into the house.
The ceilings are high, walls are various shades of white and cream, floors either mirror-like marble or expensive, hard wood. The whole house looks like it was taken out of a furniture catalog or made for one, everything fitting together in a simple, yet polished beauty. The decorations are simple and sleek, but they still make the whole place look put together. The floors are clean, not a speck of dust on either of the bookshelves you pass when the boy leads you into the common area, not a single mug misplaced or a dish forgotten in the sink. The air is fresh in the spacious rooms, yet it’s still quite overbearing, not letting you breathe.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asks, almost a little nervously.
“Just water is fine, thank you,” you smile, agreeing. Your throat is suddenly dry, almost begging for the cold liquid to splash down and hydrate it a bit before you completely choke out.
Eric nods, leaving you alone in the living room. The big plasma TV seems to be framed against the wall, like an artwork in the gallery, and although it still gets a look full of awe out of you, you find the sentiment a bit ridiculous to look at. You feel like you’re in the Truman show– everyone’s watching your reactions through the camera, laughing at the fact that this is the first time you’ve set your foot into a place filled with so many expensive things, making you scared to even move in fears of breaking something more than your yearly rent. You must look like a deer in the headlights, clueless and shocked at the state of your surroundings, and it suddenly makes you self conscious as you decide to walk around the room and focus on what you’re here for– the plan.
Eyes scanning the contents of vitrines, the crystal glasses and expensive wine bottles, you try hard to mentally calculate the worth of everything in the house– you find yourself failing, though, since you can’t even tell just how much each thing costs, too far out of your league to even assume the price tag. There’s a particular display of jewelry you recognise from back when you worked in the store, scoffing when you add up the prices of the chains you once sold to an old man wanting a gift for his wife’s birthday– something about the number of digits making you feel just the tiniest bit infuriated.
How come some people have so much, yet you have so little? What makes them deserve it and makes you work tirelessly to afford a living? Why can they afford vacations in Greece and Dubai, yet you keep gluing together the last remains of your money to buy groceries for your sister?
It’s ridiculous. It’s frustrating.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you move towards a wall filled with pictures– each framed in a white or silver frame so they fit together like a jigsaw puzzle for your eyes, aesthetically pleasing each guest that’s ever crossed the threshold of the house– gazing at the memories captured on the photos.
You recognise the little boy on all of them to be Eric. There’s a girl, a few years older than him, but undoubtedly his sister, with her arm around his shoulders, a silly smile plastered on both of their faces so similar the resemblance is uncanny. There are a few pictures with all 4 of them on the wall as well, sun shining into their eyes as they all squint into the camera, posing in front of various monuments. A few of the mementos are from the beaches of Europe, some are from the hiking trails of Asia, and the one with Eric’s hair longer and in little curls, very obviously one of the most recent ones with how much he resembles the boy currently in the kitchen fetching you with a glass of water, standing on a surfboard, was taken in the waves of the american west coast. You remember him saying something about having family there, so it’s not unusual for him to visit often.
A knife laced with the green poison of jealousy cuts you somewhere into your abdomen. It’s not only the expensive luxuries he gets to experience that make you long for a life like his– it’s also the carelessness, the joy. It’s the care you see in his parents’ eyes on the pictures, the obvious love shared in the photographs– they’re taken not to boost their privilege, but to remember their happiest moments. You wish you had something like that. A functional family. One that cares for each other. One that doesn’t put obstacles under each other’s feet.
“Here you go,” Eric’s voice wakes you up from the slumber, making you jolt and take the glass of water he’s offering to you into your grasp, taking a sip.
“Thanks,” you nod, smiling.
Watching Eric from under your eyelashes, you notice his eyes glazing the frames you’ve been focusing on before. Licking his lips, the boy speaks up with a voice laced with genuine absurdity, pointing towards the wall.
“You must think this is just ridiculous,” he notes, scratching the back of his neck. Eric Sohn isn't stupid– although he grew up in luxury, he can still recognise the imbalance of resources the two of you have. You don’t know why he is being self-conscious about it, though.
“Not really,” you note, shrugging, “it’s just… quite unbelievable, to be fair.”
“Yeah,” he snickers, “we don’t really go on many vacations anymore, to be honest. We used to go on many when I was a kid,” he says, making you recognise the fact that most of the pictures did indeed look older– back from when Eric was younger.
You never really went on vacations when you were little. There was always something that got into the way– your parents either had a fight just in the middle of the summer, or you simply didn’t have enough money to travel anywhere, since you were surviving from paycheck to paycheck. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you start to wonder about the difference it makes to miss something you once used to have, and the desire for something you never got to experience. Which one is worse? Or are they not really comparable at all?
“My dad started working much more, so he doesn’t really have time. My sister got married, so she has her own family to worry about,” he shrugs, trying hard to play it casual– somewhere in the depth of his dark orbs, though, you notice that he’s battling away the fact that it upsets him. “I was really close with my sister,” he chuckles, pointing towards one of the picture frames where she’s putting up a peace sign behind his head, photobombing their own picture together, “I miss her sometimes.”
The role of the older sister is perhaps the one you try your hardest to keep. Will your little sister miss you the same way Eric does now with his own sibling? Will it hurt her less or more? Will she resent you? You can’t imagine a world in which your sister hates you– do you choose to protect her always, or do you take a step forward so you can breathe too?
“Does she visit you at all?” you ask.
“Yeah,” he hums. “It’s just not the same. That’s alright, though,” he shrugs, pressing his lips together into a tight line, “little Eric had a very happy family, at least. Can’t complain about that.”
And when you lock eyes with him, the sympathy oozing into the spacious, silent, almost lonely-looking place, you recognize the reality of it all– that no matter how fortunate you are in life, no matter how much money you have, there will always be struggles. Life always has its way of finding your weak spots and hitting where it hurts, strangling you and leaving you breathless in the battle of it all. You either don’t go on vacations at all, or you once did and now you can’t– either way, it hurts to think of what ifs and to remind yourself of all that once was and is now wasted.
For the first time since you met Eric Sohn, you start to see him as human. You start to see him as someone with his own life, his own emotions, his own struggles.
Maybe Changmin was wrong to tell you to get closer with the male. Now, having the insight to his thoughts, having the image of his once so idyllic life that’s now so far away, lonely, makes it harder for you to think of what you’re supposed to do when the time comes– mercilessly, completely selfishly.
You’re not so sure you can proceed with the plan anymore.
You miscalculated your abilities.
“Do you really need to write it all down?” you squint at your companion, feeling at least a little comical when you watch him scribble down a list onto a lined sheet of paper, blue ink twinkling in the sun.
“Yeah,” he nods, totally focused on the task at hand. “So we don’t miss out on any important information. Everything’s useful.”
A sigh leaves your mouth at that, making you shaking your head in disbelief. Changmin is currently laying on his stomach in the grass, not a picnic blanket in sight– just his bare shirt against the ground– and as you sit cross legged against the tree in the very corner of the park, enjoying the breeze playing with your hair, you start to wonder just how innocent and carefree you must look to the rest of the people. Just two friends enjoying their weekend in the park. Nothing else. No shady business going on– you promise!
“So you said there was a bunch of jewelry?” Changmin asks, tapping the glitter pen against his chin. You don’t really know where he came across one, but you don’t dare to ask. You know he was eyeing one of the fancy glitter gel pens in the dollar store when you last went to buy a notebook for class with him after school, so you guess you know the source of his newest shiny toy. He’s like a crow, you think. Both with the love for anything that glimmers and the love for stealing.
“Yeah,” you hum, “like at every rich person’s house,” you shrug, not really knowing what his deal was.
“Okay, good. Visible? Unprotected?”
“Are you asking if it was locked like in a jewelry store?” you snicker, rolling your eyes at him. “Because if so, the answer is no, Changmin. Who in their right mind has their personal belongings locked in their own home? Right. No one.”
“Just making sure. I don’t know how it works with rich people, I’ve never been one of those,” Changmin hums, not paying your sarcastic remarks much mind. “But this is good, it works in our favor. What other valuables have you laid your eyes upon during your visit?”
You try to think back to the day you went over to the Sohn’s mansion. You didn’t really see the majority of the house– since Eric didn’t give you a full tour and you didn’t really think it was appropriate to ask for one– so all you know about the stuff he has at home is from the living room, the entry hall and his bedroom.
“A game console of some kind? I don’t know, dude…”
“A PS5?”
“God, I dunno,” you mumble, furrowing your brows at the boy. “Do I look like an expert?”
“Right,” he sighs, licking his lips. “Well, we can only assume. Next?”
His glitter pen scribbles the words ‘PS5 (?)’ into the notepad right below the words ‘expensive jewelry’, making you chuckle. You really don’t know what he’s trying to achieve over here– well, the main goal is clear, you’d say– you just don’t really know why he has to have a complete list. It’s not like you’re going to rob his house of everything. You don’t have the capacity to do all that.
“Well, I don’t know. I doubt you want me to carry out his plasma TV or something, so I think this is all I can really give you right now,” you mumble, shrugging. “As if this whole thing isn’t totally immoral in the first place.”
“Y/N, sweetie, I told you to forget about morals long ago.”
“Not everyone is morally gray by default, Changminnie. It takes a while to recalibrate,” you say, rolling your eyes at his phlegmatism. If only you could live your life with Ji Changmin’s mindset. You bet handling a lot of things would be much easier.
Eyes searching through the trees and the greenery, you take a mental note of your sister’s whereabouts. You’re glad you were finally able to take her out of the house. Her friends invited her out, and although it’s only in the neighborhood, you’re much happier with keeping an eye on her, just in case. You’re much more concerned with safety of your little sister ever since you came in contact with breaking the law– you realized just how many people with bad intentions are on the planet, and although you’re not one of the people engaging in child trafficking, something about tasting danger on your tongue makes you feel more cautious when it comes to Aerin’s safety.
She is currently laughing at something with her friends before she runs off, seemingly playing tag. The park is big enough for the girls to roam around without getting on the road, and it’s good for her to get some physical activity in. Shifting your attention back to Changmin, noticing him doodling shapes in the corners of his notebook, your mind settles back into conversation with him.
“Or maybe you’re just starting to like your boyfriend a little too much,” Changmin scoffs, making you furrow your brows in confusion.
“I don’t think me not feeling 100% happy with planning to rob someone I know is the cause of me suddenly being in love with my fake boyfriend,” you note, “that’s just, y’know. Being a human being with basic empathy.”
“Fake boyfriend?” Changmin repeats, completely disregarding the rest of your sentence.
“Well, it’s not exactly real, is it?” you laugh, a hint of discomfort on your tongue. “Makes me feel kinda bad, but–”
“So you’re dating?”
Blinking once, then twice at the boy in front of you, you scratch the back of your neck in nerves. “Is that not what you wanted me to do?”
“No, it is, it’s just… is it, y’know, official?”
“Define official.”
“Does he call you his girlfriend?”
Plucking a stem of grass from the ground, twirling it around in your fingers– because looking into Changmin’s eyes is suddenly too unbearable in this situation– you shrug. “Sometimes.”
“Ah,” the male nods, an unreadable expression sitting at his face. “So it’s pretty official, then.”
Not really giving him an answer to this argument– both because you’re suddenly a bit embarrassed, cheeks burning and ears ringing (even though you really don’t know what made you have this reaction, since you have no romantic feelings to your current significant other) and because you don’t really know what to say– you only chew on the inside of your cheek, examining the greenery in between your pointer and your thumb.
“Have you two kissed already?” Changmin asks, quite confidentially, making you kick him in the side of his thigh.
“God,” you sigh out, shaking your head. “No!”
The male in front of you clicks his tongue, a grin spreading over his features. There’s a boyish sparkle behind his eye, his expression not understandable to you, making your insides squeeze in a weird tinge of anxiety. “What?” you ask, but get no reply– just a soft laugh coming out of his throat, battling its way to your heartstrings.
“Nothing.”
“Changmin! What’s so funny?” you ask, hiding your cheeks into the palms of your hands. “It’s just– I don’t wanna do it if I don’t like him like that, y’know? It’s not as embarrassing as you make it to be–”
“Not for you, that is.”
“Changmin!”
“What?” he asks, the dimple on his cheek at full display when he faces you, clearly amused at your reaction. “Look, it’s just that if it was me–”
“Changminnie! Changminnie!” a high-pitched, female voice cuts your friend off, making both of you turn your heads towards the source currently running to you at full speed, laughter escaping your little sister’s throat.
“I bet you can’t catch me!” Aerin says, touching your friend by his shoulder to tag him into the game before she runs off, the rest of her friends looking behind their backs and watching as he scrambles up from his lying position, a smile of a beaming sun plastered onto his face.
You never learn what Changmin wanted to tell you that day. You don’t ask later– you forget, not really deeming the information as that important. The memory you have of the afternoon spent in the park is mostly the image of your friend running after your sister, the laughter of the little girl resonating through your brain like a distant taste of childhood you wish to visit.
Ji Changmin is a fast runner, but he makes sure to play according to the girls’ pace. His voice is cheerful as he taunts them, calling after them in the spacious park, and when he looks back over his shoulder at you, eyes locking, your heart is left soaring in your chest before an invisible hand pierces through your lungs and takes the muscle into its hold, as if to offer it to him.
You wish to make your sister’s laugh last forever. You hope to make her joy prominent in the memories of her childhood. You pray she never turns bitter.
And when one of the girls starts chasing after Changmin, her legs half as long as the boy’s, pace slower and muscles more tired, you watch the boy theatrically trip and fall to the ground, shielding his fall with his outstretched arms. The girls laugh as he loses the game, getting tagged, and after the male almost comically slowly gathers back up to his feet again, a thought flashes through your brain– how amazing life would be if it was just you three in it– just you, Aerin and Changmin, spending your afternoons together, free of any trouble.
How happy life would be if every afternoon went like this. How good life would be if you spent days together just like this, like family.
For the first time since your decision, you start to doubt your life plan. How can you leave a fantasy like this behind?
How could you ever leave your little sister alone?
“It’s happening soon, right?” Changmin asks, the two of you sitting next to each other on the bus stop. Changmin sometimes takes the bus back to the foster home after class when neither of you have plans, but due to your poor time management skills and awfully slow pace of packing your things up, it just so happened that the poor boy missed the earlier bus– which you tried to repay him for with offering him both your chocolate milk and your time as you stayed with him on the bus stop and waited for the nearest bus to the other side of the town with him.
“Hm?” you ask, a little confused at first. Then, it dawns on you. “Ah. Yeah, I guess.”
Changmin’s voice is soft, almost careful when he talks about the topic. You don’t often discuss your plan out loud together. It happens once a fortnight– after sealing the deal in the school yard that day, there always was a feeling of mutual understanding hanging over the two of you that said that even though it’s the reality you’re striding towards, you don’t really mention it out loud. As if not to jinx it.
Or maybe, the both of you just don’t really want to discuss something so difficult. It’s easier to prepare for it when you pretend it’s easy. When you don’t open up about just how scared the both of you clearly are.
“Are you… are you ready?” he asks, making you look at him with confused eyes, a hearty chuckle escaping your throat.
“As ready as I’ll ever be– which actually, just for the record, means no,” you say, watching as your companion hums and nods to himself, head clearly full of thoughts he’s a little afraid to say out loud.
You don’t blame him. Not at all, actually. Your own mind is full of conflicting thoughts and feelings, a battle of morality and selfish desire making a pit open in your stomach every time you think of the next step of your little plan. A part of you desperately needs to leave, to settle things once and for all, but another part of you is still hesitant. Maybe there’s another way. Maybe you could do something about it. Maybe you could try contacting your father again– one more call left to be sent into the voicemail really won’t hurt you right now.
You’ve been thinking a lot of similar things lately. Questioning the nature of your plan. Wondering if you’ll succeed, if it’s all worth it.
You don’t really talk about it, though. Not until now. You don’t know what gets you so weak and fragile.
“What if… what if there’s another way?” you ask, watching as the boy’s head spins to face you, eyes glossy as they stare back to yours.
“Hm?” he seems confused. “What do you mean?”
A little sigh escapes your throat at that, your head turning so you face the road again. Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you shrug. “I was just… I was just thinking, like… what if there’s a way for me to do all of this without leaving? Y’know, I could just…” you trail off, not really finishing your sentence. Truth is, you don’t really know where you were going with that statement either. Maybe you just said it out loud in hopes that Changmin would finish it and figure it out for you, offer you a different perspective, make a new plan– a plan where neither of you leave, a plan where neither of you have to cut ties with everything you know back home.
That’s a foolish thought, though. “What? Get 20 million won in a month a different way? A legal one? You’re gonna get another loan, or something?” Changmin chuckles, not really taking you seriously. Or maybe he is– you just feel a bit childish for having such unrealistic views.
“I don’t know,” you say, jaw clenching. “Maybe I could get another job, and start going on those dates again, and–”
“Yeah, no,” Changmin cuts you off, a huff escaping his lungs. “I know it’s hard, Y/N, but this is all you can do. This is the last resolution, or else you’re gonna lose your house, your mum will be homeless, and you two with Aerin will either end up with your dad– which is unlikely, from what you’ve told me– or at the foster home. If you’re lucky, maybe they’ll put you both to the same one–”
Something about his words feels like daggers are thrown into your skin. Like poison is on his tongue and you’re getting burned with each honest sentence that is uttered out your way. The truth hurts, it makes you feel like he’s only adding salt to an open wound, and it’s not fair of you to react that way– you’re certainly aware– but you can’t help it. The world is toppling over onto you, the weight is all on your shoulders, and you feel totally, utterly helpless. You feel overwhelmed. You feel tired.
“Okay, I get it,” you cut him off, shaking your head in a dismissive way and rolling your eyes at the boy. “It’s just that I don’t really like the thought of doing illegal stuff just to survive, y’know? It’s not exactly easy to steal and do all of this shit, and then leave. I know it must seem fun to you, since–”
“Fun?” Changmin cuts you off. A heartbeat of silence passes by between the two of you, and suddenly, you know you’ve crossed the line. You and Changmin can tell each other many things, but this time, you sound a lot like the people judging him on the street. You sound a lot like the police officers always letting him off without punishment– he’s a kid from the foster home. He does this stuff for attention, doesn’t he? For fun. For satisfaction. He doesn’t know any better– that’s how he was raised. Right?
“Fun,” he repeats. “You think I’m doing this for fun, huh?” he chuckles. You notice his knee bumping up and down in the periphery of your vision, a nervous action just begging to tick you off. “That’s not exactly something I expected you to say, but okay–”
“Well, that���s how we fucking ended up here in the first place, didn’t we?”
“I’ve been doing this for you!” he spits, voice rising and making you flinch. “For you, and for me. For our fucking futures,” he says. You refuse to look at him even when he stands up from his place on the bench, situating his figure in front of your body still hunched up on the hard wood. “I’ve been doing this for the both of us, because we deserve a better life than this, Y/N.”
“A better future?” you laugh, bitterness dripping off your tongue. “In hiding. On a run.”
“Do you prefer being homeless? Being thrown into the foster home for a few days before you age out of the system and your little sister is left there with the other kids? Kids like me?” he says mercilessly, only adding gas to the fire.
“You know that’s not what I meant–”
“Oh, trust me, Y/N, I know,” he says, irony slipping through his words. “You’re just saying this because you’re scared. Because you feel selfish–”
“And isn’t it true, Changmin? Isn’t selfish what we both are?” you say, your eyes finally meeting with the boy’s. His hair is disheveled as if he’s been running his hands through it in frustration, eyebrows furrowed and a displeased expression is sitting at his features. On most days, Ji Changmin looks like a cunning fox– full of mischief, full of secrets. Now, though, it’s like you see right through him. Somewhere along the way, you feel like you’re the one that started building up a wall in the middle of this argument. “How could I ever just leave my sister there? You could never understand–”
“I can’t, huh?” he says, nothing close to the gentle softness in his voice now, all disappearing from when he spoke to you just a few minutes ago. His voice is harsh, hoarse, even, something behind his eyes shifting in the middle of the fight. “Why? Because I don’t have siblings? Because I have nothing to lose?”
“You wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” you let out, but even as you’re saying it, you feel immediately disgusted with yourself. How could you ever say this to his face?
Changmin looks like he was slapped in his face. You swear he winces at your words, bottom lip trapped between his lips as he stares you down. The corners of your eyes start burning like there’s been acid poured into your sockets, hands trembling in the reality of your words. The boy in front of you nods to himself, harshly breathing in.
“I wouldn’t know how leaving someone behind feels,” he repeats, nodding to himself. “Yeah. You’re right. Because I don’t have anyone,” he admits. “I don’t have siblings like you do. I never met my parents, because they never gave a shit about me enough to keep me in their lives in the first place. Nobody fucking cares at the foster home, because I can’t seem to make meaningful connections with anyone. And you know what, yeah. It’s just so easy for me, because there’s no one here who would give a single flying fuck if I leave, because they don’t even really care if I’m alive or dead.”
“Changmin–”
“Just say it, Y/N. Say nobody cares,” he says, eyes stone cold, an avalanche taking place in your lungs. It’s hard to breathe and your eyes are hazy, fists crawling in themselves as you relish in the catastrophe you’ve caused.
“That’s not what I–”
“And you know what? Maybe you’re right, Y/N. I have nothing to lose, I am not leaving anyone behind, I wouldn’t know how it feels. Call me selfish, for all you like. Call me selfish for wanting something for myself, for wanting to leave this town and start over somewhere new. I don’t care. I’m doing this for myself,” he says, the noise of an approaching car landing in your ears through the sound of his words. “But don’t you fucking dare give up on your future just because you feel guilty. Don’t you dare call yourself selfish when you’re doing everything you can to keep the rest of your family afloat. Don’t call yourself selfish when you’re paying back a loan that isn’t yours and taking care of your sister’s future by doing all of this alone, yeah?”
A hot trail of liquid falls down your cheek as you hear the bus approaching the stop. Taking a shaky breath in, you open your mouth to say something– anything– but no words come out.
“And I know it’s hard for you. I know you’re tired, I know you’re exhausted and I know you’re scared and god do I wish I could make this easier for you, but Y/N, don’t you ever say it’s fun or easy for me, when I’ve been putting everything on line trying to help you. To help us.”
The bus door opens. Like a child that’s being scolded, you refuse to meet his eye. There’s shame flowing through your veins, embarrassment creeping up your neck. It feels like you betrayed him. Like you cut right where it hurts, tried to use everything you had on him against him, hitting all his weak spots– all because you were suddenly too prideful to admit to yourself that you’re scared and wallowing in guilt. It’s hard to bear the weight alone. You wish you could make Changmin feel guilty.
That’s something he won’t understand. It doesn’t make it easier for him, though. He was right– you could never do any of this differently. You could also never do any of this alone.
“And if you still think it’s selfish, then, well,” you hear him sigh, “I think it’s okay to be selfish sometimes. I think it’s fair of you to be selfish right now,” he says, the words both feeling like a hug and a punch to your sternum, leaving you cut open in the empty road.
“I’ll see you on Monday.”
The bus drives off, the boy’s figure peeling itself off your proximity, entering the other side of the town. You sit at the bus stop for a long while after, aggressively wiping your tears away with the back of your palm, embarrassed to cause such a scene. You never meant to fight with him. You never meant to act like a toddler, playing the victim in a situation that you sadly cannot change, in a situation you unfortunately cannot solve in any better way.
Ji Changmin is the only person you can lean on in this situation. You feel bad for using him as your punching bag. You’re deeply flawed to take it out on him.
In the silence of the street, the thought hits you with full force, making your knees weak and your throat dry up like the desert, a dagger straight through your heart as you realize you’re the only person Changmin would be leaving behind.
And after everything you two went through together, he would never do such a thing. Ji Changmin will hold on to you like a lifeline, because you’re everything he’s got– everything he keeps fighting for. He could give up on everything, had you not been on board.
He could never give up on you, though.
Warm sunlight peeks through the windows as you sit in silence side by side, neither of you daring to say anything, as if you were scared to break the atmosphere hanging over the calm library. You and Changmin haven’t talked to each other much the whole day, something in the air remaining tense and strained after your previous argument on Friday, but you still tagged along with him when he asked you if you wanted to do homework with him in the library. This is the first time you see your companion doing any school work at all, so you figure you don’t want to pass out on the revolutionary moment– and also, you still feel kind of bad about your latest interaction. You take the fact that he invited you to spend more time with him as a good sign, though.
Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you decide to break the bubble and move a little in your place, reaching for something inside of your bag. Changmin promptly ignores your movements, but when a carton of banana milk appears in his vision, he pays you a glance.
You’re too prideful to say sorry with words. You don’t want to mention it and go back to the topic you were discussing, much preferring to let things be the way they were before you had an emotional outburst at the bus stop. While you can’t say you aren’t glad that the words are now out in the open, the two of you are more vulnerable in front of each other than ever, you really don’t think you can handle another argument. Some things are better left unsaid. Ignored. There was mutual understanding over you two anyway– there was no use saying those things out loud.
And when you move the banana milk closer to Changmin’s elbow resting on the table with a push of your pointer finger across the dark-wooden desk, you see his eyes softening. He understands, taking the drink into his hand and tearing the plastic off the straw, sucking in the beverage. Ji Changmin accepted your offering, and somehow, you feel like there was some weight lifted off your shoulders, a force unsqueezing your heart.
“You’re not working on your homework?” he asks, voice hushed in the silent library.
“No,” you shake your head, deciding to lean over the desk and rest your weight on your folded arms, prepping yourself into a comfortable napping position. “I’ll just borrow your notebook before class and copy it.”
“Is this you finally admitting that I’m smarter than you?” he teases, shaking his head at your prompt laziness.
“If that helps you sleep at night,” you shrug.
Changmin snickers at your reply, eyes hovering over you for a few seconds as you get comfortable next to him. He takes another sip of the banana milk before he offers the drink to you, the straw hovering over your lips. Like a baby being fed through a sippy cup, you open your mouth and let him slot the straw between your lips, sucking the liquid in and relishing in the sweetness of the beverage.
You shoot him a smile when the carton is back in its place on the desk, his eyes promptly moving to the monitor in front of him. You don’t really know what he’s working on in the first place, the hoard of assignments mixing up in your brain, but you refuse to let your mind wander over equations or foreign languages now. It’s Monday afternoon, and even though it’s only the first day of the week, you feel like you deserve to rest.
Changmin types something on the keyboard of the library computer, eyebrows furrowing as he focuses on the contents of the screen. You find yourself glued to his motions, watching him from the side, studying the way his expressions change in milliseconds, irises dialing by the second. When he focuses a little too hard on the information his eyes are scanning on the device, he traps his bottom lip in between his teeth, tugging on it. He also has a habit of licking his lips every few seconds, leaving a wet trail glossing over his mouth, making you feel foolish at the examination of that part of his face. Hair is falling into his forehead, black locks messily trimmed and mostly unstyled, oftentimes leaving you eager to brush your hand through the raven strands to tame them into place.
His features have grown familiar to you over the months. He has the face of someone you’ll remember even in a few years. He looks like someone you’d take pictures of in photo booths and tape the strips up in your room. You don’t have any pictures like this, though, and your room isn’t worthy enough of being made prettier with such a photo strip. Maybe in the future, you think. When I live somewhere else.
His voice wakes you up from the slumber, your heart hammering at the interruption. Changmin speaks to you casually, the monotone hum of his voice making you listen attentively to what he has to say.
“Where do we eventually want to settle?” he asks, making you raise your brows at him in question.
“What part of the homework is that?” you joke, watching as the boy’s cheeks tint pink, a dismissive wave of his hand shutting up your teasing.
“I’m already done with that,” he clears his throat, “I’m just… doing research.”
“Research,” you repeat, nodding to yourself. You nuzzle your nose into your hoodie sleeve, thinking for a while as you contemplate your decision. You never really thought of where you’d go. ‘Away’ was always your destination– never specified. You just knew you’d have to leave one day, eventually.
“Busan, maybe?” you hum, laughing to yourself. “I dunno. I always wanted to go to Japan, but I don’t think our funds will reach as far.”
“I don’t really think the language barrier would be ideal either,” he agrees, nodding to himself. “Busan sounds nice.”
“Doesn’t it?” you grin, locking your gaze with his only for a few seconds before he looks back to the computer.
“We could get a little flat somewhere in the middle of the city when we save up enough, eventually,” he says, tone of voice sweet and gentle. There’s something about planning your future with Changmin that leaves you feeling particularly vulnerable and fragile. Not in a bad way, just in a strange type of way. In a way that makes your insides ache and heart tremble. You never thought you’d plan your future with someone.
Ji Changmin never planned his future either. Somehow, he assumed there was nothing good waiting for him after aging out of the system.
The intimacy folded over you two like a blanket makes you panic. “We’re moving in together?” you tease, watching as the boy’s face heats up more, a hesitant shrug of his shoulders acted out to seem casual.
“I think it’s more convenient that way,” he hums, trying to stay logical. “We can split the rent and groceries, and one of us can cook while the other one cleans…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck. “We are leaving together, so I assumed…”
A dumb smile battles its way onto your lips. “I was just joking,” you assure him, watching as he shies away from your gaze. It’s not an usual reaction from him. Ji Changmin doesn’t really get bashful– at least not with you. You try not to question it for the sake of your own comfort.
Forcing your eyes off his face, you watch as he types something on the keyboard again, attention glued to his digits. Dark bruises paint his knuckles, scratches glazing the backs of his fists. Eyebrows furrowing, you act on instinct as you reach out your hand, stopping him from typing as you take his palm into yours. “Did you get into a fight again?” you ask, thumb absent-mindledly tracing the outlines of the scars.
“Maybe,” he admits light-heartedly, lips pressed into a thin line when your warm hand locks with his, the tender touch of the pads of your thumbs against the open wounds making him shiver. If asked, the boy would blame it on the breeze coming through the window. It’s getting late and the air is colder. That has to be it.
“No getting in fights after this is all over,” you say as you let go. “Wouldn’t want our landlord to kick us out for delinquency.”
Changmin laughs, the absurdity of the situation and your foolish dreams downing on both of you at once. Unaware that even though you were both forced to grow up much faster than other kids your age, you were still childish at heart– as if chasing the time of your life that was forcefully taken out of your hands– older, but still needing to live through that stage, you fold back over the table and force your eyes closed, scoffing at the sentiments.
“Don’t you worry, Y/N,” he laughs, “we’re starting clean. Hell, I’ll even give back to society. We can start volunteering, if it makes you sleep better at night.”
The joke makes you chuckle, warming your heart. It’s nice to think about the future with someone. It’s good to feel like your dreams might be tangible. The future is in your hands, and you will do everything you can to make it worth it.
It’s good to have someone you can lean on.
“Can I help you with that?” Aerin asks you from behind, startling you in the small kitchen space. Turning towards her, you offer her a smile and shake your head, watching as your little sister takes her stance next to your figure, observing your cooking.
When it comes to cooking, you wouldn’t call yourself a professional. A lot of the times, what you end up with isn’t as delicious as you expected it to turn out when you started making it, but at the end of the day, it’s food anyway and you eat it– because throwing it out would be a waste of money and resources, and you have to eat something. There are a few foods that are easy enough that you perfected them, though– and those are ramen, an egg omelet, fried rice, and lastly, the pre-made foods you get at the grocery store that you either just boil or heat up in the microwave.
“No, it’s okay,” you say as you work on one of your master dishes– the one that satisfies everyone, including your little sister: ramen. You can never go wrong with ramen, you think.
“But I wanna learn to cook as well,” your sister insists, crossing her arms on her chest, “I’m not a child anymore, and I have to learn how to look after myself.”
A dry chuckle escapes your throat, shaking your head in disbelief at her mature words. In your eyes, she’s just a child, though– a kid that’s not to be trusted with knives and boiling water, a little girl that isn’t as careful with the utensils as she should be, which can undoubtedly end up with her getting hurt.
“That’s what I’m here for,” you smile, throwing your little sister a caring look. “You just focus on studying and I’ll be there to cook for you so your little stomach is never empty,” you say as you slice the spring onion to add into the noodles boiling on the stove.
Aerin seems to be disappointed with your answer. Her cheeks grow twice as big as they usually are as she pouts, a frown overtaking her features. You take it as your sign to engage your little sister more in the grown-up activities, sighing to yourself as you realize just how fast your little sister has grown. Even though you try to shield her from all the troubles of the adult world, you can’t really prevent her from maturing faster than the other kids her age. Hell, she’s not blind– as much as you’d like her to be. She knows what’s going on. She might not be able to grasp it fully, might not be able to understand everything with her childish brain, but she knows– to a certain level, that is.
Nodding to yourself, you try to put up a smiling face. “Okay, then,” you say, “I’m making ramen.”
Your sister seems to be intrigued with your sudden tutorial, eyes growing big and focused. Something grows impossibly soft and fond in you, watching her scanning the surroundings, trying to find any task to help you out with.
“You can just open the pack and put the noodles in the water to boil, if you want to do it the easy way,” you start, “but if you want to make it more delicious, like I do, you can add some other ingredients in with it.”
“What do you add?” Aerin asks.
“Spring onion,” you hum, pointing to the vegetables you’d been cutting when she approached you, “soy sauce,” you point towards the black bottle on the counter, waiting to be opened and added into the dish cooking on the stove, “and lastly, I crack in an egg.”
“That doesn’t seem hard,” Aerin says, earning herself an amused chuckle out of you.
“It’s not,” you admit, “I’m not a professional chef, or anything, so I keep it simple.”
“Can I do it, then?” she asks, looking at you with big, hopeful eyes. You can’t possibly turn those eyes down. A passing thought emerges in you that she needs this– she needs someone to teach her even the smallest things. She needs you to teach her how to cook ramen, because you know how hard it is when you have no one to show you, when you have to figure out everything on your own.
Nodding, you step aside and put the black bottle of soy sauce into her hand. “You can pour in a little bit. Not too much, though, or else it will be too salty.”
“How much?” she asks, furrowing her brows.
“I’ll tell you when to stop,” you smile, watching as her smaller hand opens the lid of the bottle, positioning the glass above the pot. Black liquid soon drips down, tinting the broth a dark brown color, the spices mixing in and making the ramen instantly twice as delicious as if you’d just thrown it on the stove with the spices that come in the packaging.
“That’s fine,” you say, halting your sister in adding more and over-seasoning your lunch.
“Now the egg?”
“Yeah,” you nod, watched by the focused eyes of your little sister. You take the small sphere you’ve prepared onto the kitchen counter before you started cooking, offering it to Aerin. “Have you ever cracked an egg before?” you ask.
“No.”
“Okay,” you laugh, “so this is your first time. Don’t worry, nobody gets it right the first time. Just crack it on the counter and then open the shell. Be careful not to spill it everywhere, though,” you instruct, watching as your little sister moves with much uncertainty, small hands shaking with the delicate ingredient in her grasp.
The touch of the shell with the counter is almost delicate the first time, as if she was afraid the egg was going to spill everywhere and make a mess on the kitchen counter, but the second time, she’s a little more confident, cracking the egg on the corner. Pure concentration is shown on your sister’s face as she moves the ingredient above the pot, her little fingers having trouble with opening the shell and dropping the egg in. She struggles, nails digging into the light tan, putting in more force than necessary and breaking the shell even further, having the yolk spill all over her fingers, dropping to the pan with a crash.
Aerin gasps in surprise at her own actions, a frown instantly overtaking her features as she notices that the shell fell in, disappointment so evidently running through her veins.
“It’s okay,” you say, petting her arm, “as I said, nobody gets it right the first time. Throw the shell into the bin and wash your hands, I’ll finish this,” you smile, trying to transfer all your feelings of pride into her.
She is growing up right in front of your eyes. It’s a feeling only older siblings can understand– seeing someone transform from a baby to an elementary-school kid, being there for every step of their journey. You’ve known her her whole life. It’s a bond that you never want to break.
But there’s that bugging voice in your mind that keeps telling you to enjoy this, enjoy it while it lasts, enjoy it while you can, because soon, you’ll be gone and you won’t see her take the next steps, you won’t see her grow up. A chill runs down your spine at that, an unsettling feeling making you feel heavy, making you trap your bottom lip between your teeth and gnaw on it in a poor attempt to ground yourself.
Crouching over the boiling pot, you take out a spoon and fish for the cracked shell in the noodles, not really being in favor of getting an upset appendix. Your eyes get hazy, stinging at the corners– maybe you could blame it on the steam.
“You did well, Aerin. You’ll be a better cook than me in no time,” you praise her.
“I have to learn,” she agrees, the sound of the tap turning on as she washes her hands flowing into your ears with her next sentiment. “You won’t be here forever to do everything for me, after all.”
With your back turned to her, pretending to still dig around the noodles for the egg shells you already got out a few seconds ago, you hum. You catch yourself mid-sniffle, quickly wiping your cheek with the back of your hand, turning off the stove– maybe you could blame it on the spring onion. Cutting it always makes you tear up. It’s just the fumes getting in your eyes.
You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. The day that happens is maybe sooner than she’d expect– you can’t tell her, though. You can’t prepare her for your departure.
By bringing this up, though, it’s almost like in the corner of her soul, she knew. It’s almost like she had it all figured out, it’s like she saw right through you. It’s like her own way of telling you not to worry– she’ll be a big girl and take care of herself. She’ll be strong, even when you’re gone.
You won’t be there forever to do everything for your little sister. You really, desperately wish you would, though.
Carisoprodol, sold under the brand name Soma among others, is indicated for the relief of discomfort associated with acute, painful musculoskeletal conditions in adults. Carisoprodol is a white, crystalline powder, having a mild, characteristic odor and a bitter taste. It is slightly soluble in water; freely soluble in alcohol, chloroform, and acetone; and its solubility is practically independent of pH. SOMA should only be used for short periods (up to two or three weeks) because adequate evidence of effectiveness for more prolonged use has not been established.
“What if it kills him?” you ask, chewing on your bottom lip.
“It won’t,” Changmin says, placing his hand over yours, the package of pills resting in your open palm. “Trust me.”
The recommended dose of SOMA is 250 mg to 350 mg three times a day and at bedtime. The recommended maximum duration of SOMA use is up to two or three weeks.
“Where did you even get this?” your eyebrows furrow as you listen to him instruct you on the ways of using it. Your stomach is already burning with acid at the thought of what you’re going to do. It’s what you’re dreading, but it’s also what needs to be done.
“Our caretaker back at the foster home takes them,” he says, shrugging. “So I just borrowed some.”
SOMA has sedative properties and may impair the mental and/or physical abilities required for the performance of potentially hazardous tasks such as driving a motor vehicle or operating machinery. There have been post-marketing reports of motor vehicle accidents associated with the use of SOMA. In some patients, however, and/or early in therapy, carisoprodol can have the full spectrum of sedative side effects and can impair the patient's ability to operate a firearm, motor vehicles, and other machinery of various types, especially when taken with medications containing alcohol, in which case an alternative medication would be considered. The intensity of the side effects of carisoprodol tends to lessen as therapy continues, as is the case with many other drugs. Other side effects include: dizziness, clumsiness, headache, fast heart rate, upset stomach, vomiting and skin rash.
“Just give him two of these. He should be out within an hour.”
A chill runs down your spine. This is nothing close to the occasional stealing at the grocery store or the lying you used to do to get money out of old men that are predatory towards a girl knowing she’s underage. This is twice as morally wrong and twice as dangerous for everyone involved. If you had to draw a line at what you can excuse yourself, you think all of this is far over it.
“If this goes wrong, I’m ratting you out and we’re both going to jail. You hear me?” you say, eyes bearing into Changmin’s.
“That’s the plan, baby,” he grins. “If you go down, I go as well.”
The usual dose of 350 mg is unlikely to engender prominent side effects other than somnolence, and mild to significant euphoria or dysphoria, but the euphoria is generally short-lived due to the fast metabolism of carisoprodol into meprobamate and other metabolites.
You watch the boy from up close, his eyes now blown out and big, blonde hair falling into his forehead in a messy manner– yet he doesn’t find it in him to drag his palm across the strands and push them out of his vision. You’re laying in the bed with him, side by side, staring into each other’s eyes. You watch as the drug slowly takes over him, as the boy in front of you slowly starts slipping into a more and more sleepy state, completely unaware of the fact that you dropped two white, round pills into his drink when he went to the toilet.
Your conscience starts stinging more and more with the passing time. Eric Sohn looks at you like you hung the stars onto the sky, like you made the whole world with just your two hands– and this is what you’re repaying him with. This is what you decided to do, this is what path you chose to take.
Millions of excuses flash through your alert brain. Maybe it’s just your mind trying to rationalize everything, trying to make you feel better about the mess you’re just now going to create– either way, it’s helping only a little bit with the rapid beating of your heart.
You keep telling yourself that it doesn’t matter. That Eric would never understand the life you’re living, that he wouldn’t even want to date you, had he known just how much money your family owes. You keep telling yourself that it’s okay, because he has a lot of money, and it’s not like you’re stealing it all– you’re just stealing the valuables he showed you. And maybe it’s his fault for trusting you. After all, he was the one willingly taking you back to his house when his parents weren’t around. This is his lesson– he should start being less gullible and vulnerable. He should stop hanging out with people like you.
You and him, you don’t belong together. Eric Sohn is supposed to stand by the side of another rich heir, showing her off to his parents. He’s supposed to be proudly going around the town with his newest girlfriend, not hiding with her in the shadows, knowing, sensing that she’s flawed and not like him– not like others.
He’s going to wake up and find out who you are– the reality, not just what you’ve been pretending to be all this time– and he’s going to be disappointed, sure, but he’s going to move on to better things. Because what you’re taking from him is just a fraction of his wealth, just a small part of what he has. He won’t even feel the loss.
But for you, you’re taking everything you can– everything you need.
It’s not like any of this– your relationship– was ever real. You two haven’t even kissed yet. You hang out with him and hold his hand, you listen to him while he talks to you with sparkles in his eyes, but there’s no depth. Surely, he must feel it. Surely, he must know there’s something wrong.
“I love you, Y/N,” he suddenly says, tone of voice hushed, almost not audible in the silence of his room. The sentence is like a knife to your heart, a dagger stabbing you in your back. Something inside of you crumbles, your stomach burning with guilt, hands shaking as you pretend you didn’t hear him. If you ignore it, maybe it’s like it never happened.
It’s the effect of the drug. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. It’s not real– how could it be? He doesn't know you. He doesn’t know who you really are and what you’re about to do. He can’t love you.
Fingers playing with the loose threads of the blanket thrown over the two of you, your eyes avert from his, big and honest, still like water. It takes everything in you not to stay here with him, wait until he’s back from the sedation, and apologize. It takes everything in you not to back out. Every time the weight of your actions becomes too unbearable, the weight of responsibility and your family’s well-being drops onto the other side of the scale, though, and you’re back to square one– this is what you need to do.
“You don’t have to say it back,” he says to you despite not meeting your eye, “you… I know…” he trails off, but doesn’t finish the sentence, as if changing his mind. A dry chuckle leaves his throat at that, words sweet like honey lacing your throat, choking you up with the thickness of them, the richness of his unreturned care. “I just wanted you to know.”
You’re a terrible, terrible human being. The force of your teeth against the side of your cheek suddenly gives out, making you taste iron on your tongue. Promptly ignoring everything he says, focusing on calming down your breathing and the erratic beating of your heart, you wonder if he knows. If he’s aware you’re just playing with him– if he knows you never cared for him in a way he does for you.
Because if he knows, it’s like he’s allowing you to break him. Isn’t that what love is, though? Being vulnerable, offering someone your whole heart, and expecting them to take care of it? Love is cruel in that way. It can take away all of you. It can consume you.
And would he still love you if he knew what you were going to do to him? Is his love unconditional? You chuckle at that. He doesn’t know anything about love.
A while passes, the two of you laying in silence. When you finally battle away the fear and look up at him, you find him asleep. His eyes are closed and his breathing is steady, and when you touch his arm– testing to see if he will wake– you find him unresponsive. This is your cue.
Standing up from his bed and straightening the wrinkles on your clothes, you take a deep breath in and out to calm yourself down. Your hands grasp the backpack you brought with yourself– the bag that was supposed to be filled with clothes so you could sleep over, yet that is now empty, just waiting to be filled– and you walk out of Eric’s room, feet dragging you towards all the empty rooms in the corridor.
The first part of the plan is now in action.
Walking into the master bedroom, dashing to the walk-in closet, you take all the jewelry you can find. The mental calculations of the worth of the chains and golden earrings in your bag are adding up slowly, the digits growing and making a sense of satisfaction flow through your veins. Maybe something rubbed off on you from hanging out around Changmin so much– you get the thrill now. You get the adrenaline. It’s like working for something you want, something you need, and although you know there are other ways, they’re not as fast and effective. The thing is, you need the money now.
Fastly getting through room by room, taking everything valuable you can see with the idea of turning it into profit in a pawn shop somewhere along the way, when everything is settled and you’re on the run, starting your life somewhere new, you find that it gets easier to operate. It’s like you’re working on auto-pilot, the full weight of your actions slowly slipping through your consciousness. You’re only an actor in your life right now, looking at yourself from a third person view– like you’re playing a video game.
Detached from everything, hands now more steady and breathing almost normal, you take the jewelry from the living room as well. A dry chuckle leaves your throat as you eye Eric’s wallet thrown lazily on the shelf by the front door. You never leave your money out in the open and unhidden at home– don’t you know that? Haven’t you learned about the dangers of that yet, Eric Sohn? Oh, what a blissfully unaware life you lead.
Opening it, taking the bank notes into your fingers and folding them into your pocket, you stop as you put your shoes back on at the front door. Looking around the big, empty space, not really allowing yourself to dwell on your actions just yet, you take your phone out of your pocket and before you completely turn the device off, block Eric’s number.
The doorknob is cold in your hands as you open the front door, walking out. It’s like you’re leaving who you once were and who you could’ve been in that big house behind you– it’s like you’re saying goodbye to the life you once led and anxiously awaiting the new one waiting for you behind the corner.
Getting sentimental won’t help you in this situation, though. Being emotional and afraid won’t drag your family out of the depths of loan sharks’ teeth.
And so you walk off the property, mind set on the meeting point you agreed on with Changmin. It’s now or never.
The first part of the plan has been completed. You have something to fall back on when you discard all the money into the loan shark’s hands. Eric Sohn’s wealth is now your safety net.
You meet up with your partner in crime at the corner of the neighborhood. Your backpack gets hidden in the bushes, away from the eyes of everyone, on the route you’re going to take when completing your second part of the plan. The next couple of steps are completed on autopilot.
Flashes of Changmin’s face. A ski mask pulled over his head, a hood pulled over your hair, disposable mask covering your nose. He throws one of his spare black hoodies over your body, leaving you to put your arms through the sleeves and zip the clothing up, the two of you masked to the point of not being recognised even to the eyes of people that know you.
You two make a silent entry to the empty road leading towards the town square. Not much conversation is shared between the two of you because of the adrenaline running through your veins. The stride in your step is consistent and fast-paced, the timing of your plan set to a tight schedule. When you cross the corner, nearing your target, the two of you put on sunglasses and keep your head low. Your heartbeat is so fast you can hear it in your ears, your body responding to the stress with the help of your sympathetic nervous system– breathing growing fast and hands a little sweaty.
Your mind is repeating ‘It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay, It’s gonna be okay’, a silent plea that constantly gets overthrown by the rational side of your brain. Is it too late to back out now? You don’t know– but at the same time, you recognise that you don’t particularly want to. You’re just scared– you know it. You recognise it.
And it’s okay to do things afraid. It means you have the courage to do them– it means you have what it takes to change the situation you’re in.
Your eyes lock with Changmin’s, his face mostly hidden in a shadow. You can’t really read his expression– it’s dark and his features are covered– but it seems like you two operate on the same frequencies. One nod is all it takes– the world stops for a second before Changmin turns on his heel and moves towards the jewelry store you once worked at, a heavy rock he prepared close to the sidewalk thrown through the door giving you an easy entry to the property.
The alarm goes off instantly. That means you only have about 10 to 15 minutes before the police come and you’re busted.
You have to act quick. Changmin climbs into the store like he owns the place. You have the background information from working there that could very well get you caught quickly, if the police are smart enough to connect the dots in the investigation. The plan you and Changmin have is efficient, fast and smart. You thought about everything– you can’t make a single mistake. The way you move and operate is calculated and thought-out. There’s no way you’re giving yourself to the hands of the police tonight.
While you run to the back and rummage through the manager’s room, looking for the key to the cash register– you know where it’s usually kept, since you closed with her many times before and watched her do all the tasks with innocent eyes, not yet knowing that you’re going to end up using this information for your good one day. When you find it– on the top of the shelf, almost invisible if you hadn’t known that’s where to look for it– you move to the safe in the corner of the room. The sequence of numbers is easy to remember– or at least for you. Your father used to tell you that you’re good with numbers. You’ve grown to hate every quality of yours he ever complimented, but you must admit it’s coming in clutch right now.
Your fingers work on the lock, the junctures of the metal unclasping under your touch. Your hands are still sweaty, but a little more steady now– you notice as you open the door to the safe and take out the rest of the money binded with rubber bands, throwing it into your backpack. You work fast, not really giving yourself an opportunity to mentally count and estimate the amount, but something in your bones is telling you that it should be enough.
Running back to the main store area after you’re done, not bothering to close the safe after yourself, you reach the register to get the last remains of cash from this store. The alarm is still going off, making your ears ring and your stomach churn with acid, but as you get the key in and forcefully take out the drawer, you feel a little calmer at the sight of the bills inside.
From the corner of your eye, you watch Changmin getting out jewelry from each shiny glass vitrine, smashing it with his gloved fist. Countless earrings, watches and necklaces get thrown messily into his bag, expensive metal rising your worth with every passing second.
When the cash is in your bag, you quickly pace around the store and try to help Changmin. As soon as your hand goes to smash the window, though, he takes you by the wrist and shields you from your attempts. Furrowing your brows, you meet eyes with him, wordlessly asking for an explanation. Does he not want your help? Does he want you to fully stick to the plan? But you’re done with your part– the best thing you can do at this moment is help him with his side, no?
Your question is quickly answered when the man keeps tugging on your hand, leading you out of the store. Your feet buckle the tiniest bit when you cross the threshold, but that’s when you hear it– the sirens.
You didn’t notice them over the sound of the alarm and the whooshing of your blood in your ears. You have to leave– they’re close.
Changmin takes the lead, his sneakers making a loud noise against the pavement. You run after him, your pulse quickening with each meter. They could be anywhere, you think. They could stop you right here, on the run. You have to be careful.
The paranoia gets the worst of you, making you constantly check over your shoulder. Pupils shaking, you scan your surroundings– there could be anyone watching you that could tell the police that they saw you on the run. There must be cameras everywhere. You can’t hide. They’re always watching. You’re going to get caught, and you’re going to be sent to juvie. You can’t help your family–
“Y/N,” you hear him call from in front of you, the anxious thoughts vanishing from your brain fast, like the strike of a lightning.
His sunglasses are off, your eyes meeting. Something inside of you comes to a calm, your heart leaping, squeezing on itself. His hand grabs yours, a force dragging you to his level on the pavement. He’s not letting you fall behind, his legs giving the pace as you follow him, left, right, left, right… You’re almost there. You’re almost done.
It gets to the point of the route where Changmin bends down and searches through the bush. Your backpack is quickly found, thrown over his shoulder. He’s carrying both now, one on his back and one on his front, leaving you leaping behind him with a smaller duffel bag on your shoulder. You carry a lot of money with yourself right now. You don’t think you’ve ever seen so much money in one place in your whole entire life.
And then you’re finally there– the police sirens are no longer audible, there are houses all around you and the only thing accompanying the silence are the lampposts and your heavy breathing. Bending over at his waist, Changmin finally lets go of your hand. His fingers grasp the ski mask on his head, tugging it off and letting him finally breathe in the oxygen freely, not restricted by the thick fabric.
Your heart starts to calm down as you take more air into your lungs. Wiping your sweaty hands onto the fabric of your jeans, you unzip the hoodie and fan yourself with your shirt, hating the way it’s sticking to your sweaty skin.
It’s calm. Quiet. Just like any other day. Tonight, it feels a bit strange.
Changmin looks up at you, hair messy sticking up everywhere, his sweaty forehead glistening a little in the moonlight. A heartbeat passes by of you two just staring into each other’s eyes before his lips turn into a lazy grin, the dimple on his cheek showing itself to you in its full glory. It’s a strange situation to smile in, but it still makes your heart leap and thunder, a similar expression taking over your face. Then, he laughs. Like it’s funny. Now, this is getting ridiculous.
Still, you can’t help but mirror him. He must be crazy. Surely, you’re both going insane.
Shaking his head, he straightens his back and takes a step forward to where you’re standing, offering his hand to you for a high-five. When you meet him in the middle, he locks his fingers with you, squeezing your palm with his. “Almost there.”
“Almost there,” you repeat, nodding.
Now, all it takes is to settle the loans and leave. Leave fast, that is.
You take both of the bags into your hands and slowly, quietly enter your house. Changmin doesn’t follow you– he’s on to the second to last part of your plan as you walk up the stairs to your room and lock the door behind you. Unzipping the bags and dropping the money onto the rug in the middle of the floor, your breathing heavy as you prepare to count, you crouch and let your eyes wander for a bit along the notes in the middle of your room.
You’re rich. Only for a moment, though. You try to salvage the feeling the best you can– the satisfaction doesn’t hit your brain, though. You can’t fake it. You can’t make yourself believe a lie.
Pulling yourself together, your fingers slip across the smooth surface of each bill, your brain working fast as you rustle with the cotton. The amount gets added up, the sum growing bigger and bigger, and after each ten thousand, you put a rubber band on the roll and drop it back into one of the bags.
You’re using your school bag to carry the money to settle your family’s debt. There’s something deeply ironic about the sentiment. It almost makes you chuckle.
The light pink backpack gets filled with expensive pieces of paper, each roll lifting the tiniest bit of weight off your shoulders. Only a few more and you have enough, you think– and although you hate to admit it, the remaining sum you see scattered across your floor is less than the amount you expected. It’s okay, though– you know how to live with nothing. You’ll survive. You’ll get through it.
After you’re done counting, you zip up the bag. Shaky hands reach for the last notes on the floor. You take out the envelope you hid under your pillow and put the money inside before you hesitantly drag out the piece of paper you’ve treasured inside, letting your eyes scan over the last words you’re leaving for your sister.
My sweet Aerin.
Don’t look for me. Don’t worry about me. You’re safe now and everything is going to be okay. Take care of mum while I’m gone and make sure to study well so you get into a good university and make your big sister very proud. There are some things you are too young to understand, but I’m sure you’ll get it when you’re older.
Please don’t hate me. I’m always thinking about you. We will meet again one day.
Love, Y/N. :)
P.S.: keep this money safe. Only use it when you really need it.
The corners of your eyes burn, making you blink away the tears. Although your heart wishes for one last hug, one last goodbye, you know you can’t grant yourself the benefit. If you held your sister for a second, you know you’d want to hold her forever– and that’s something you can’t do anymore. Not after what’s done. You can’t look back and keep holding on to something so selfishly– there’s no going back after what you’ve done. You’re a criminal now– a proper one, but you did it all for your family. You hope that one day, at least your sister might understand.
Wiping the stray tear that’s rolled down your cheek, you breathe in to calm your erratic thoughts. Putting the letter back in and sealing the envelope, all while simultaneously gathering all the bags, you walk into your sister’s room and leave the envelope under her pillow.
Her sleeping body is still shorter than yours, but she’s no longer so little. She’s grown so much over the years. The thought of not seeing her grow into an adult pains you, but it’s the price you have to pay for her comfort.
You close the door to her room quietly. You walk down the stairs of a house you can no longer call a home, foot stepping over the threshold of a place you’re never coming back to. You don’t allow yourself to look behind you. You don’t allow yourself to say a proper goodbye.
The jog towards the car parked in your driveway feels like a marathon– you’re slowly running out of breath. You didn’t train hard enough for the responsibilities you’ve taken on your shoulders. It’s like you’re jogging with a bag of rocks on your back.
Changmin opens the door to the passenger’s side for you. The bags are dropped onto the backseat. When he asks you if you’re ready, you don’t look into his eyes when you nod. There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach telling you that he’ll see right through your lie– but you can’t waste any more time than you already allowed yourself back in the house.
Changmin twists the car key in the ignition and starts the car. You drive away towards the other side of the city. Your baby pink school bag is dropped at the gate of the expensive-looking house of which you found the address of on one of the contracts somewhere in the middle of planning your escape. You drive away before anyone notices. Somehow, it feels like by leaving the bag there, you’re losing your youth with it. You can never take that backpack back to school with you.
But then again, you’re never going back to school. Somehow, you know you lost your youth before you had a physical reminder. Your shoulders hang heavy even without the weight.
The drive is silent. You try to distract yourself by watching the stars.
When you were little, you promised your sister that you would be by her side forever. She was only 6 when she came home from school crying, telling you that her friends all went out alone without her and talked badly about her behind her back. It took everything in you to not go out of your way to hunt down those little heathens and give them a piece of your mind back then, but you remember it as if it was yesterday, telling your sister that ‘It’s okay, because you will always have me,’ as her big eyes glistened with tears, ‘remember, I’m your best friend forever, okay?’.
You don’t really know if she remembers that day. It was ages ago and she made new friends just two weeks after this whole fiasco, forgetting all about it. It stuck in your brain like a sticker, though, the one that you try to peel off but the residue stays behind, tearing at all edges, getting beaten up and looking rather pathetic– just like your words resonating in your brain, bouncing off the walls of your mind.
You broke the only promise you ever meant.
“You did well,” you hear a voice cut through the silence, the buzzing of the engine not really lullying you to sleep anymore, “you did the best you could.”
Eyes darting to your companion on the driver’s side, you hear yourself let out a soft chuckle. Teeth catching the flesh in your mouth, biting on the inside of your cheek to battle with the tears begging to haze your eyes, you try to focus on his side profile, studying the slope of his nose and the hair falling into his eyes instead, burning this image into your memory. You do everything but think about the events of the night.
Still, you ask. “Do you think she hates me?”
“I don’t think she could ever hate you, Y/N,” he says, voice tender and sincere, trying his hardest to fight the battle with you, to hold you up when you’re falling.
“I think that one day, she will grow up and she will understand. She will get why you did what you did,” he hums, eyes still sternly glued to the road ahead of him, “she will understand that you did it for her.”
Swallowing hard, for you feel like there’s a lump in your throat, you nod and look back outside of the window. This is something you’re going to need more time to get through, but this is a start– this is something. You have someone that understands. You have someone who shares the burden.
“Thanks,” you whisper.
The lampposts blur behind the glass with the speed you’re going at, your surroundings unfamiliar and strange to you. You don’t really know where you are or where you’re heading to– you let Changmin handle that side of the planning, since you don't really care where you’re gonna end up– but the hills and forests cornering the right side of the landscape make you feel strangely at peace. You must be far, far away from Seoul right now. Maybe you’re heading north. You don’t really mind. Maybe you don’t really care.
“How did you even get this car, by the way?” you ask, turning your head back to the boy in the driver’s seat.
“Oh, this?” he snickers, shrugging. “I know a guy. We used to be friends when he lived at the foster home. He aged out of the system like three years ago, but he knows a guy who knows a guy, and he just so coincidentally had this old thing laying around, so I figured we could use it for some time,” he says, nodding to himself.
Shaking your head in disbelief, you wonder just how far connections can take you in the world. It’s not quite as easy as if you were born to a rich businessman, per se, but you’ll take the off-handed nepotism of the underground world, if it makes your life go smoother– just for the time being, at least.
“Do you even have a license?” you ask.
“No,” he shakes his head. “But nobody has to know that–”
“Changmin!” you exclaim, terror shaking with your body.
“You really thought I was allowed to drive a car when you got into the vehicle, Y/N? Come on, I’m a foster kid. Do you really think anyone paid for my license?” he laughs, eyes darting to your figure momentarily, forming moon crescents when he notices the look on your face. “My friend taught me how to drive, though! He got adopted a few months ago, a super rich family– can’t say I’m not jealous, but that’s a story for another time–” he hums casually, as if it’s not a big deal, “and they bought him a car. Anyways, we stayed in contact and he let me try it at this empty parking lot, you know, where the abandoned factory is? And–”
Watching him speak, arms flying around the air making him look like an animated character– going as far as comically noticing that the car is heading to the left by itself when the wheel is unoccupied, quickly taking ahold of it with both hands and trying to make it stay on the road– it’s like a weight is slowly being lifted off your shoulders. It all seems so ridiculous. Insane. Crazy.
A laugh battles out of your throat. Changmin’s eyes meet with yours, a big smile spreading across his face. A dimple appears on his cheek, his essence contagious.
Suddenly, you can do anything in the world. Nobody can stop you. You fought with your future. You changed the trajectory of your life. You helped your mother. You protected your sister.
What’s a few years in hiding?
A foolish thought passes by your brain. You don’t dwell on it much longer, but it’s a nice thing to reflect on when you’re alone in the hostel room late at night, hyper-aware of Changmin’s presence on the other side of the bed– because it’s more expensive to get a room with two beds and it doesn’t matter anyway. You will push it back into the corners of your mind, ignoring it until this moment happens. But it’s there– creeping around, waiting for you to pay attention to it– and it says that as long as you have Changmin, you’re sure you can get on with anything. You can get used to this.
“Aren’t you hungry? There’s some snacks in the compartment over there,” he says, pointing towards it. Magically, your stomach starts to churn– he must have said it into existence. It stinks a lot of black magic, if you really think about it. You knew you should’ve been more careful around him.
Still, your hand reaches for the compartment, opening it. There’s an opened pack of Lay’s chips, a bottle of soda, a wrapped sandwich, and a small chocolate bar, wrapped in red packaging, smiling at you brightly from the darkness of the car. It’s looking at you with big heart-eyes, your favorite flavor of them all– peanut butter covered with tasty milk chocolate, a heaven on Earth– and then reality hits you like a truck again, your eyes burning with the realization.
Fingers wrapping around the treat, you study the packaging for a while– as if you weren’t familiar with it already, having the chocolate bar on days where you really felt like you deserved it, on days where you really felt like you earned it.
When you look up, you see Changmin altering his point of view between the road and your face, a bashful smile playing with his features. “Bought it for you this time,” he notes, “as a new start.”
A sniffle. Your hands shake a little, your lungs betray you with the intake of oxygen.
“No, you’re not gonna cry on me now,” he panics, shaking his head, “no, no, no. Open the chocolate and eat it, you moron, we don’t have time to be sentimental–” he grunts, although his intentions are too clear even without words– the silent support still makes your weak heart squeeze on itself.
You laugh, unwrapping the chocolate and taking a bite. Somehow, you manage to let out:
“You remembered.”
“Of course,” he hums, “how could I forget, I mean, you had a whole hour-long dilemma about it back at the gas station–”
“Shut up, you’re ruining it,” you grunt, tearing a piece of the chocolate bar and holding it up in front of his lips, “I’ll share it with you this one time just to make you shut up,” you say, shaking your head.
The boy takes a hold of your wrist to steady it, taking the sweetness into his mouth. He stays silent for a bit as he chews on it, but his fingers still stay wrapped around your skin as he moves your hand away from his face, resting it on your thigh. Warmth covers the back of your palm as he rests his own on it, his digits intertwining with yours. When he squeezes your fist in tender reassurance, you feel your heart skip a beat.
Orange hues appear behind your window as you drive off the highway. The land is still sprouse with buildings, but you enjoy watching the sun slowly waltz onto the sky, greeting you into the new day. Watching the side of his face as he focuses on parking in front of a lone diner in the middle of nowhere, you finally get in tune with the fact that Ji Changmin’s everything you have right now– everyone you can lean on and fall back on.
Maybe it’s been that way for a while now, but it only downs on you when you’re essentially on the same level now, no illusions playing with your mind– nobody’s son and nobody’s daughter.
“Breakfast!” he exclaims as he turns the engine off, seemingly impressed with his parking skills. When you get out of the car and he marches up to you, putting a cap onto your head and tugging it low to cover your face, ‘just in case’, tugging you by your hand into the diner, you can’t help but wonder– if anyone unsuspecting saw you right now,
would you look like lovers, or partners in crime?
#deoboyznet#the boyz x reader#ji changmin x reader#changmin x reader#the boyz oneshot#the boyz drabbles#the boyz imagines#the boyz scenarios#the boyz fanfic#changmin drabble#changmin oneshot#changmin angst#changmin scenarios#changmin imagines#changmin fic#the boyz fic#the boyz angst
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content: 825 words. fluff, lil suggestive (mostly in another language), spanish speaking wolfwood, cowboy/vaquero wolfwood
Cowboy!Wolfwood who needs a farmhand for his ranch. He sees the desperation in your eyes as you peruse the shops in town, and offers you the position.
Cowboy!Wolfwood who is smooth in every way possible, all lingering gazes, hot, fleeting touches as he instructs and shows you how to fix the gate fencing in his cattle. The first time he brought you to his ranch miles away from town, he hopped off his horse and immediately helped you down as well, but instead of letting go of your hands, he gripped them tighter, turning them over this way and that, inspecting something you perhaps hadn’t seen. Your heart rate increases, a blush spreading along your body as he rubs his callused hands and fingers against the soft flesh of your own. “Que delicadas…” he muses, and drops your hands, sadly, the warmth of him whisked away with the biting wind.
Cowboy!Wolfwood dresses always in his signature suede sombrero, with a black and silver embroidered poncho constantly hiding the matching black underneath, the only difference being the brown leather chaps just running short from the bottom of his dirtied and muddy boots that stomp down the hallway early in the morning, rousing you from your sleep in your assigned bedroom. It’s an outfit that wouldn’t be flattering if it were on anyone else but Wolfwood.
Cowboy!Wolfwood and you slowly become used to each other’s company, working in fluidity to keep the ranch running like a well-oiled machine. You discover he has a joking side to him once the ice thaws between the two of you, cracking constant jokes at you with a toothpick lodged between his teeth–a habit he now has as he attempts to kick cigarettes since you mentioned you hate the smell.
As easygoing as he is, he takes his ranch responsibilities seriously. You watch as he rides his stallion, hands off from the reins as he twirls and lassos a stray calf, muscled thighs hugging his steed, hips following the rhythm of her trotting. Your eyes never leave his form, your body hot from watching his. A loud whistle cuts through your ogling.
“Mind opening the gate?” he shouts, chuckling at your stuttering. You quickly open it for him, watching as he guides the calf inside to join her herd. He stops in front of you, poking fun at your flustered state.
“I just think you ride Angelina so gracefully! I wish I could ride a horse as good as you.”
He laughs lowly and moves to leave through the gates, but not before you hear him mumble “tengo algo más que puedes montar…”
Cowboy!Wolfwood isn’t just a cowboy living on the outskirts of a town that welcomes him, but he also holds the duty of a priest, going into town for Sunday morning mass, shaking hands with everyone, exchanging easygoing smiles and inquiries into each and every person’s daily life. From your spot across the street, you would think he was a different man from the one who curses when he gets a splinter, but a glance down erases all doubt as you see the same dirty boots that traverse the ranch home’s hallways peeking out from his priestly garments.
“Not very Catholic of you to wear your boots with those robes you know. Why not wear the dress shoes you have shoved in the back of the hallway closet?”
He leans down from behind to whisper in your ear, rosary gracing your shoulder.
“It’s simply not how I work, mi cielo,” his answer comes quickly, quick enough that he’s conversing with a blonde churchgoer by the time you whip your head around.
Cowboy!Wolfwood’s lingering gazes no longer linger, the grazing touches turning into caresses even in the midst of your duties. Your bantering and joking only intensify as does your chemistry, but Wolfwood begins to throw in more flattering remarks about your work, and you. Mi alma. Corazón. Tesoro. His nicknames for you begin to flow and ebb seamlessly into your conversations, so smoothly said that you nearly miss them each time. But he never turns his loving words into actions. You begin to get impatient.
Cowboy!Wolfwood’s eyes widen, his toothpick falling from his lips.
“Come again?” he asks you.
“Si no me besas en el próximo momento, ya me voy de aquí. Wolfwood, please.”
He crosses the distance between you in half the time it would usually take him.
“How long have you known what I have been saying?” he begs you, the embarrassment evident on his tanned cheeks, the callused hands you have been dreaming of holding you like that first day coming up to caress your jaw.
“Desde el día que te conocí,” you say. Since I met you… I have loved you since the day I met you.
He brings his face down to you, soft and sun-chapped lips meeting yours, his sombrero tipping to fall to the dirt behind him.
a/n: pspsps @ayyydra and @aboveweirdest for all our screaming about cowboy wolfwood, i deliver some HCs xoxo
i tried to keep it gender neutral as possible but damn spanish is a very gender heavy language (that being said, there is many nicknames i wanted wolfwood to call you e.g. precioso/a (precious), hermoso/a (beautiful), querido/a (beloved) but the ones i wrote out are for everyone.
some translations:
“Que delicadas…” = "How delicate..."
"Tengo algo más que puedes montar…"= "I have something else you can ride..."
"Mi cielo. Mi alma. Corazón. Tesoro." = My heaven/sky/darling (idk it can mean many things). My soul. My heart. My treasure.
“Si no me besas en el próximo momento, ya me voy de aquí." = "If you don't kiss me in the next moment, I'm leaving this place."
"Desde el día que te conocí." = "Since the day I met you."
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#VAMOS MIS AMORES VAMOS!!#i just needed these thoughts out somewhere#vaquero!wolfwood i will always cherish you#this is reallyyy self indulgent but whatever#let wolfwood speak spanish dammit he would make anyone swoon#this is out to all my cowboy!wolfwood lovers#cowboy!ww#cowboy!wolfwood#trigun#trigun stampede#trigun x reader#trigun stampede x reader#tristamp#tristamp x reader#wolfwood x reader#nicholas d wolfwood#nicholas d wolfwood x reader#trigun x you#wolfwood x you#nicholas d wolfwood x you#bendycxmet writes
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Mi amor
I am working on Loving Husband pt 4 and something for Gaz. Just kinda hit a roadblock so I wrote something for Alejandro to get the gears working again
Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader
MDNI
In the tapestry of love, where threads of trust and affection intertwine, a sinister shadow had crept into your heart. Alejandro Vargas, the man you had cherished with all your being, was weaving a web of deceit that threatened to unravel the fabric of your relationship. Night after night, You would lie awake, your mind tormented by the tell-tale marks that adorned his neck. Hickeys and lipstick stains, like crimson whispers, betrayed his unfaithfulness. Yet, with each feeble excuse he offered, you clung to the desperate hope that it was all a misunderstanding.
The kisses you shared had lost their spark, replaced by a cold and distant formality. His embrace, once warm and comforting, now felt hollow and insincere. The touch that had once ignited a fire within you now left you feeling empty and unfulfilled. Driven by a gnawing suspicion, you confronted Alejandro, your voice trembling with both fear and anticipation. To you dismay, he dismissed your concerns with a nonchalant shrug, as if they were mere trifles. "It's nothing, mi amor" (my love) he insisted, his eyes meeting yours with a flicker of guilt.
Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed at him, the pain slicing through your chest like a sharp blade. How could he be so cruel, so blatant about his betrayal? Alejandro's words hung heavy in the air, a palpable tension settling between you two. A part of him wanted to reassure you, to ease the worry etched on your face, but another part of him revelled in the chaos he'd created.
He reached out, his fingers brushing against your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. He could feel you tremble under his touch, your body betraying you despite your best efforts to remain composed. Alejandro leaned closer, his lips just inches away from yours. You smelled sweet, like fresh strawberries, a stark contrast to the bitter taste of deception that lingered in his mouth. With a smirk playing on his lips, he pulled back, his gaze never leaving yours.
A lump formed in your throat as you fought back tears, your heart pounding against your rib cage like a trapped bird desperately seeking freedom. The hurt was overwhelming, the pain raw and intense. You wanted to scream, to lash out, to demand answers. But instead, you remained silent, your gaze locked onto his, searching for some semblance of truth in those dark, deceiving eyes.
Alejandro turned without another word and left the home you shared for the night. You didn't know if he was going back to her or if he was spending the night at base. Either way you didn't care anymore. You couldn't care. You couldn't do this.
As the door closed behind him, the echoes of your sobs reverberated throughout the house, piercing his heart like a thousand knives. Each wail was a reminder of the damage he had caused, the lives he had shattered. And yet, he found himself unable to turn back, to mend what he had broken.
His mind raced with thoughts, each one more tormenting than the last. He could see you, curled up on their bed, weeping uncontrollably, your body wracked with grief. He could hear you, pleading with him to explain, begging for an answer that he simply did not have. He made his way to the base, the familiar sounds and sights offering little comfort. As he sat alone in the darkness, he could almost see your face, your eyes filled with despair.
You spent the rest of the night alone, your body numb from the emotional turmoil. Your heart ached, the pain radiating outward until it consumed every inch of you. The world around you blurred, the colours fading into shades of grey, mirroring the emptiness that now resided within you. You curled up on the bed, the sheets still warm from his touch, a haunting reminder of his betrayal. You cried until there were no more tears, until your throat was raw and your eyes were swollen shut.
You weren't going to do this anymore, you weren't going to be his pretty little house wife that kept her mouth shut anymore. Without a second thought you began packing, you only pack the essentials as Alejandro could come back any second and convince you to stay with his sweet words and promises.
The morning light cast a harsh glare over the deserted streets, highlighting the dust particles suspended in the air. It was a new day, a new beginning, but for Alejandro, it brought with it a sense of dread and unease.
He had spent the remainder of the night wrestling with his conscience, the ghosts of his past mistakes haunting him relentlessly. He knew what he had done was wrong, that he had crossed a line he shouldn't have. But it was too late for regrets, too late for apologies.
As he made his way back to the house, he could sense your presence, could feel your anger and resentment emanating from the very walls. He stood outside, hesitating before finally mustering the courage to walk inside. But it was too late. You had already packed your bags, your decision final.
Two years. Two years since you walked away from him, from the life you both had built, from the love that had once felt like an anchor. You were a Sergeant now, a cog in the machine of Task Force 141. Your days were filled with the guttural roar of engines, the metallic tang of blood, and the constant hum of adrenaline.
Two years to Alejandro... It seemed like an eternity, a lifetime spent in regret and remorse. The pain was still fresh, the wound still raw, but time had dulled the sharp edges, making it bearable. He was successful, respected, feared even. But it all felt empty, hollow. There was a void in his heart, a space once occupied by love and affection, now filled with bitterness and resentment.
Did Alejandro miss you? Yes, he missed your smile, your laughter, your touch. But he also missed the fights, the make-ups, the sex, the simple routine of living together.
In the dim, amber-hued glow of the pub, the jubilant laughter of Task Force 141 echoed through the air. After a perilous and triumphant mission, Price had gathered the team for a well-deserved celebration and a good catch up with old friends from a past mission. One you weren't apart of.
As the door swung open, the chatter subsided momentarily. Your eyes scanned the crowded room, but your heart jumped to your throat when they landed on Alejandro. Dressed in his signature dark attire, his rugged features were as handsome as you remembered. Time seemed to stand still as your gaze locked with his.
Alejandro's breath hitched, a sudden tightness forming in his chest as his gaze collided with yours. Your presence was undeniable, your essence filling the room, clouding his senses. For a moment, he was transported back to their shared past, to the warmth of their shared moments.
He tried to shake off the feeling, to dismiss it as mere nostalgia, but it was too strong, too real. His heart pounded against his ribs, a wild rhythm that echoed the chaotic symphony of his conflicted emotions. He raised his hand, signalling for a drink. His fingers wrapped around the glass, the cold liquid doing nothing to quell the burning sensation in his gut.
You spent 2 years not thinking about Alejandro. The feelings you once felt you pushed away, stored them in a box and placed in the depth of your mind. But seeing him here. Right now. Brought them all back, the love, the hate, the longing for him. All came back just like that and you hated yourself for it.
You took a deep breath, pushed some strands of hair out of your face and put on a smile as you sat next with the rest of your team. Did they know? About you and Alejandro? About what he did?
His eyes remained fixed on you, watching as you settled among your companions. A part of him wanted to approach you. But another part, a smaller but louder voice, urged caution. He downed his drink in one go, the alcohol burning a path down his throat. It was a bitter taste, but it served its purpose - it numbed the ache in Alejandro's heart, if only for a fleeting moment. He ordered another drink, his gaze never leaving yours. This time, however, he wasn't sure if he was challenging fate or merely prolonging the inevitable.
"Aye, come on lass" Soap wiggled his eyebrows as he put his arm on the table. The whole team have been trying to get you to have an arm wrestle with Soap.
"No because the last time I did that the fucker nearly broke my arm." You laughed as you kept declining but they wouldn't give up.
"You won't be put on cleaning duties for a week!" Price negotiated. Giving you a deal you couldn't refuse. "Fine" You rolled your eyes with a smile as you hooked your hand with Soaps.
Alejandro's heart skipped a beat as he watched you laugh, your eyes sparkling with mischief. He found himself drawn to you, captivated by the sight of you. Despite everything, to Alejandro you were still beautiful, still irresistible. He watched as you declined the challenge, your refusal met with teasing remarks from the others. Seeing you relent, your resolve crumble under pressure, stirred something within him. Alejandro found himself rooting for you, silently willing you to win.
Your heart pounded in your chest as you gripped Soap's hand, the thrill of competition sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You could almost hear the whispers of encouragement from your teammates, their voices echoing in your ears like a chorus of support. Your muscles flexed, your biceps straining under the weight of Soap's formidable grip. A few beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes as you dug deep, pushing past the limits of your endurance.
"Joder. Mierda. Cabrón" (Fuck. Shit. Bastard) You mutter through gritted teeth. A small habit you picked up from Alejandro. A small habit that you do subconsciously.
His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the rhythmic clench and release of his fist. He watched intently as you struggled against Soap, his own competitive nature kicking in. A surge of pride welled up within him, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Your resilience, your determination, they reminded him of you, of who you used to be. You were fierce, unyielding, a force to be reckoned with. And yet, there was something endearing about it, something that tugged at his heartstrings.
"Vamos, mi amor," (Come on, my love) he murmured under his breath, urging her on despite himself.
With every ounce of strength left in you body, you push against Soap. Sweat drips down your face as you feel your arm shaking. Your knuckles turn white as you dig your nails into the flesh of Soap's hand. 'This is it... I can either give up or keep going...' You think to yourself as you take a deep breath before giving one final push. Your arm shakes violently but you hold on. You manage to push Soap's hand down first and you let out a victory roar.
The room erupted in cheers and applause, the noise drowning out the pounding of his heart in his ears. He watched, transfixed, as you raised your arms in triumph, your face flushed with exertion and victory. There was something about you, something raw and untamed, that drew him in. It was the same thing that had initially attracted him to you, the same spark that had ignited their relationship all those years ago.
A thought crossed his mind, a question that lingered in the depths of his consciousness: Was it possible to forgive and forget? Or would the past always haunt him, no matter how hard he tried to move forward?
"You owe me a drink MacTavish!" You ruffled Soaps hair as you sat back down. You glanced at Alejandro before quickly looking away. Time has been kind to him, god dammit he looks even sexier than when you first met him. Gaz, Ghost and Price noticed your glance and smirked at you. "I can introduce you?" Ghost offered but you quickly shut him down "I'm good." You grabbed your drink off Soap, "On that note I'm going for a smoke." You, rather quickly, made your way to the smoking area. Not giving Alejandro a second glance.
As soon as you stood up, he moved swiftly, intercepting you before you could make your escape. His large hand gently grasping your upper arm, halting your progress. You stopped dead in your tracks as you felt his firm grasp around your arm. Your heart rate spiked as you turned to look at him.
"Un momento, mi amor," (One moment, my love) he said softly, his voice barely audible over the din of the bar. There was a certain urgency in his tone, a plea hidden beneath the calm exterior. His eyes bore into yours, searching for some sign of recognition, of understanding. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of his racing thoughts.
"I need to talk to you," he continued, his voice steady now, determined.
"We have nothing to talk about" You whispered harshly. A million thoughts raced through your head "And I am not your love anymore." You pulled away from him, your words slicing through him like a knife. He watched as you walked away, his gaze trailing after your retreating figure. For a moment, he simply stood there, rooted to the spot. The sting of rejection was sharp, a bitter pill that he had trouble swallowing. "But we did have something," he muttered under his breath, his fingers tightening into a fist at his side.
He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. He couldn't afford to let his emotions get the best of him. Not now, not here. You lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply. The nicotine hit your system immediately and you closed your eyes letting the rush wash over you. "Mierda" (Shit) You cursed under your breath. He leaned against the wall, his arms folded across his chest. His eyes never leaving you, watching as you inhaled deeply, the tip of the cigarette glowing brightly in the dim light.
His mind wandered back to the past, to the days when they were together. The memories flooded back, vivid and clear. The laughter, the passion, the love they shared. But then reality struck, like a punch to the gut. You were different now, changed by war and time. And so was he. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do next. He approached you slowly, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. Each step echoing in the silence, the tension hanging heavy between them.
"You know, I still remember our first kiss," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He looked at you, his brown eyes holding an intensity that you haven't seen before. "It was at the beach. We went for a walk after our third date. You were wearing this tiny little dress, and your hair... it was loose, flowing around your shoulders." He paused, a soft smile gracing his lips. "And then you looked at me, with those beautiful eyes of yours. And everything else just disappeared."
Your eyes flickered to meet his. The intensity in his gaze made your stomach flutter and you quickly looked away. "¡Basta¡" (Stop it!) You spat. Your heart rate picked up as you remembered the first time you kissed him. How he tasted like tequila and desire. You threw the butt of the cigarette away and walked to the bathroom.
God damn him! Why does he have to be so fucking charming!
He watched her go, a frown creasing his forehead. Your reaction stung, but he wasn't deterred. If anything, it only spurred him on. 'I won't give up,' he thought, determination burning in his eyes. 'Not until she hears me out.' With newfound resolve, he strode towards the bathroom, his long strides eating up the distance between him and his goal.
You heard his footsteps approaching behind you and you quickened your pace. You knew if you didn't get away from him soon, you'd end up caving in and forgiving him for all his sins. You pushed open the door to the women's bathroom and stepped inside. You were alone, thank god. You sighed in relief and ran your hands through your hair. You needed a minute to collect yourself.
The door swung open with a force that echoed throughout the room, causing you to jump. You turned to see Alejandro standing there, his hands resting on his hips. His dark hair was dishevelled, strands falling onto his forehead.
"Mi amor" he began, his voice softer now, more pleading. "Please listen to me."
Alejandro took a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. The intensity in his gaze was almost palpable, a tangible thing that seemed to fill the small space between them.
"I made a mistake, okay? I fucked up. But I'm not asking you to forget about it. All I want is another chance. Just one more chance, mi amor." (my love)
Your heart hammered in your chest and you felt the familiar heat spreading across your cheeks. God damn him! "How dare you come in here!" You snapped, pointing towards the door. "Get out!" You turned your back to him and started rummaging through your bag. You needed to focus on something other than his presence. You grabbed your lipstick and started applying it, trying to ignore his presence.
He watched you, his gaze intense yet tender. He could sense your discomfort, the way your body stiffened whenever he got close. But he also saw the faint blush on your cheeks, the tell-tale sign of her attraction. He took a step back, his hands raised in surrender. "I just wanted to talk. That's all." He waited patiently, giving you the space you clearly needed. But his eyes never left your, his gaze unwavering.
You froze as you heard his voice. You could feel his eyes on you and it sent shivers down your spine. You finished applying your lipstick and placed the tube back into your bag. "We have nothing to talk about." You walked past him and left the bathroom, you needed to go home. You couldn't stay here. If you drink anymore you'll end up doing something stupid.
By doing you mean fucking.
And by stupid you mean Alejandro.
You walked to the table and grabbed your jacket, everyone looked at you weirdly but you said nothing. Without another glance you left the pub and went home. Watching you leave, Alejandro felt a pang of disappointment. He had hoped that tonight would be different, that maybe you would listen to him. But it seemed like you were determined to push him away.
As he watched you disappear into the night, he muttered under his breath,* "This isn't over." With renewed determination, he finished off his drink and headed to the hotel, vowing to find a way to win you back. You walked home feeling drained. You hated how easily Alejandro could make you feel things. You entered your apartment and locked the door behind you. You kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto your couch. You closed your eyes and tried to clear your mind.
But all you could think about was Alejandro.
About how his stubble used to scratch against your skin when he kissed you. About how his hands used to roam your body. About how he use to whisper sweet nothings in your ear. About how he used to make love to you.
Back at the hotel, Alejandro found himself unable to sleep. His mind kept replaying their last conversation, each word etched deeply within him. In the middle of the night, he decided to take action. He dressed quickly and headed out, destination - your apartment.
When he reached your place, he knocked softly on the door, hoping you would hear him over the pounding of his own heartbeat. You were woken abruptly to someone knocking on your door, you checked your phone to see it was 12 am. Who the fuck is knocking on your door at 12 am in the fucking morning?
"Alright I'm coming. I'm coming" You grumbled as you tumbled out of bed and walked to the front door. You opened the door and didn't registers Alejandro straight away. After a moment of you blinking to wake up you finally recognised him. You scowled "What the fuck are you doing. It's 12 in the morning"
His heart pounded in his chest as he stared at you through the crack in the door. You looked so beautiful, even at this hour. Your hair was tousled from sleep, some strands sticking to your face. Your eyes were heavy-lidded, your lips slightly parted. "I know it's late," he said quietly, trying to keep his voice steady. "But I need to talk to you." He paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "It's important. Please."
"No" You said firmly and went to shut the door in his face. Caught off guard by your firm rejection, he stumbled back a step as you attempted to shut the door in his face. But he was quicker, stronger than you expected. With a swift move, he pushed the door open, stepping into your apartment.
You stood there frozen as Alejandro stepped inside your apartment. Your heart raced with anger. "Típica de mierda" (Fucking typical) Of course Alejandro just barges into your apartment, he was never good when being told no. "You can't just come into my home because you're not getting what you want!"
He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. He knew he'd fucked up, but he was here now, and he wasn't leaving without talking to you. "I know I don't deserve it," Alejandro admitted, looking you directly in the eye. "But please. Just hear me out." He took another step closer, reaching out to gently touch your arm. Despite his assertiveness, there was an underlying vulnerability in his tone that was hard to ignore.
You flinched as he touched your arm, you pulled away and crossed your arms over your chest. You glared at him defiantly "We have nothing to talk about." His heart sank as you pulled away from him. He could see the defiance in your eyes, the wall you had built around yourself. But he wasn't giving up just yet.
"We do," he insisted, taking a step closer. "There's a lot we need to discuss." He reached out again, touching your arm once more. This time, he held on tighter, not letting you pull away. You felt your blood boil as he touched you again. You wanted to slap him across the face but you restrained yourself. You were angry but you also missed him, you missed the way he used to look at you, the way he used to hold you close. You loved him despite everything. "No they're isn't"
His eyes softened as he looked at you, seeing the conflict in your gaze. He knew he had hurt you, but Alejandro also knew that you still cared for him. "There is," he insisted, holding onto your arm tightly. "And I won't leave until we've talked." He moved closer, standing mere inches away from you. He could smell your scent, the one that always drove him wild. He leaned in closer, his lips almost brushing against yours.
Your heart started to race as he got closer to you. You felt your knees go weak as he leaned in to kiss you. You moved your head back, away from his lips. "We don't have anything to talk about" You repeated. His eyes flickered with frustration as you continued to deny him, but he refused to give up. He needed to talk to you, to explain himself. "Yes, we do," he insisted, pinning you against the wall with his body. He leaned in closer, pressing his body flush against yours. He could feel your heart racing against his chest, and it only made him more determined.
You squirmed as he pressed his body against yours. You hated how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to him again. You missed him more than you ever thought possible. "Let go of me Alejandro"
His grip tightened around your arm as you tried to push him away. He could feel your heart pounding beneath his chest, matching the rhythm of his own. "No," he murmured, leaning in closer. He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your neck. His lips traced along the skin of your collarbone, causing shivers to run down your spine.
You gasped as he kissed your neck, your body betraying you. You moaned softly as he trailed kisses down your collarbone. "You're an asshole" He chuckled softly, his lips trailing up to meet yours. The taste of your mouth was intoxicating, filling him with desire. "And you're still the most infuriating woman I know," he murmured against your lips. "But I'm not going anywhere until we've talked." You wrapped your arms around his neck as he kissed you. You kissed him back passionately, missing the way his lips felt against yours. You hated how much you missed him, how much you still loved him.
Alejandro groaned into your mouth, deepening the kiss. His hands moved from your arms to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer against him. His tongue explored the depths of your mouth, tasting every inch of you. He could feel his arousal growing as you responded to his touch, your body melting against his own.
You kissed him back with more passion, your body betraying you. You moaned into his mouth as his tongue explored your mouth. You ran your fingers through his hair as he pick you up, with a low growl. He lifted you off your feet, wrapping your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the couch, setting you down gently before moving on top of you.
His lips found their way to your neck, nipping and kissing along the sensitive skin. His hands roamed over your body, tracing every curve and crevice. Alejandro's hands moved lower, slipping under your shirt to caress your stomach. He could feel your muscles tense under his touch, and he knew you were fighting your feelings for him.
"You still want me," he whispered against your ear, nipping lightly at the lobe. "Admit it." He ground his hips against yours, making sure you felt the hardness straining against his pants.
"I don't want you" You whispered as you bit your lip as his hands moved to unbutton your shirt, revealing your bare breasts. He gazed at them appreciatively before leaning down to take one of your nipples into his mouth. You hated how much you still wanted him, how much your body craved his touch.
"Liar" he murmured against your skin, sucking lightly on the hardened peak. He slid your shorts off, leaving you naked beneath him. His hand moved down between your thighs, rubbing teasing circles against your clit. "I can feel how much you want me," he whispered, leaning down to capture your lips in another searing kiss.
"I hate you" You mumbled against his lips as you reached for the hem of his shirt to take it off. He laughed softly, removing his shirt to reveal his muscular torso. His hand continued its exploration of your body, tracing down your thigh before returning to tease your clit.
"Don't pretend like you don't remember how good this feels," he murmured against your ear, nibbling lightly on the lobe. You arched your hips into his touch, moaning softly as he rubbed your clit. You closed your eyes, trying to focus on something else, anything else but the pleasure he was giving you "¡Cállate la boca!" (Shut your mouth)
He grinned, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Never" he breathed, before moving down your body. His lips trailed kisses down your stomach, stopping at your hips to nip playfully at the flesh there. His tongue flicked out to tease her clit, making you gasp and writhe beneath him. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he explored you with his tongue.
"Puto cabrón" (Fucking asshole) You gasped, your body arching off the couch. your fingers finding home his Alejandro's hair.
He chuckled against you, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure coursing through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every fold and crevice of your cunt.
"Oh cariño..." (Oh darling) he murmured, looking up at you. "You taste even better than I remembered." His fingers joined in the pleasuring, sliding into your wetness. He began to pump them in and out slowly, curling them to hit all the right spots inside you.
Your body trembled under his touch, your breath coming in short gasps. You tried to push him away, but instead found yourself pushing your hips towards his face. He chuckled, continuing his assault on your cunt. His tongue delved deeper, fucking you with slow thrusts while his fingers pumped in and out of your tight hole. "Does my la angelita like that?" (little angel) he asked, nipping lightly at your inner thigh.
You glared down at him, your cheeks flushed with desire and anger. Your nails dug into his scalp as your legs started to shake. You were so close, so fucking close. He continued to lick and suck at you, driving you closer and closer to the edge. His fingers curled inside you, hitting just the right spot to send shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
"Come for me, mi amor" he cooed, nuzzling his face into her folds. You couldn't hold back any longer, your body convulsing as an orgasm ripped through you. You cried out, your voice echoing through the room as wave after wave of pleasure washed over you.
Alejandro continued to lap at you, riding out your orgasm until you were left panting and spent beneath him. He finally pulled away, wiping his mouth on his forearm. "Still hate me?" He asked with a smirk, leaning down to give you a quick kiss on the lips. You panted heavily, your body still trembling from the intensity of your orgasm. You glared up at him, hating how much you enjoyed his touch, how much you craved his attention.
His dark eyes scanned your body, taking in your flushed state and tousled appearance. A wicked grin spread across his face as he leaned down to capture your lips in another passionate kiss. "I'm going to make you forget all about that hatred." He promised, trailing hot kisses down your neck.
You returned his kiss eagerly, despite yourself. You moaned softly as he kissed down your neck, shivering at the sensation of his stubble scratching against your sensitive skin. "Alejandro" you sighed, wrapping your arms around his neck and he picked you up and carried you to your bedroom. He laid you gently on the bed, his gaze roving over your body. He knelt beside you, his fingers ghosting along your thighs as he pushed them apart. You watched him intently, your heart pounding in your chest. You bit your lip nervously as he spread your legs, exposing you completely to his gaze.
"Alejandro" you whispered, reaching for him. But he evaded your grasp, choosing instead to lean down and run his tongue along your slit. He chuckled softly, his breath warm against your wet folds. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of your cunt.
"You're so delicious, mi amor" he murmured against you, before beginning to fuck you with his tongue. His hands held your hips down, keeping you in place as he drove you closer and closer to the edge once more.
"puto cabrón" (Fucking asshole) You whimpered and moaned, your body writhing beneath his touch. You clenched your fists in the sheets, desperately trying to hold onto some semblance of control. "No....no more." You tried to move away but his hold on your hips stopped you. "Alejandro please" You manage to choke out as you were becoming overstimulated "I....I can't."
Alejandro might not be able to make you forgive him but he will make you forget. For a while at least.
Ignoring your pleas, he continued to devour you. His tongue delved deeper, curling inside you to hit all the right spots. His hands gripped your hips tighter, preventing you from pulling away. "You can't what, mi amor? Can't come? Can't scream my name?" (my love) he teased, nipping lightly at your clit.
"No...I can't take anymore" You said between pants, your body shaking with need. You reached down to try and pull his head away from you, but he easily swatted your hand away. "Para por favor, Alejandro" (Please stop) you begged, tears pricking at your eyes.
He looked up at you, a devilish grin spreading across his face. His tongue slid lazily over your clit, giving it a light suck. "But mi amor," he murmured against you.
You whimpered, your body arching off the bed as another wave of pleasure rolled through you. You clenched your teeth together, trying to hold back the moan that threatened to escape. "Shut up!" You snapped, rolling your hips towards his face. Despite everything, you still wanted him, needed him. He chuckled softly, the vibrations sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit, teasing and flicking until you were squirming beneath him. "Admit it, mi amor," he murmured against you, "you love when I do this."
You gasped, your body tensing as another wave of pleasure crashed over you. You clenched your teeth together, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. "No" You choked out. It was a lie. Obviously it was a lie, you don't remember the last time someone focused on your pleasure....yes you do.
It was Alejandro.
He ignored your denial, continuing to lick and tease your clit. His hands moved to grip your ass, lifting your hips higher so he could get even better access to your pussy. "Say it," he demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Tell me how much you love this."
Your body was trembling now, your whole world narrowed down to the feel of his tongue on your clit. You couldn't think straight, couldn't form words. You grab a fistful of his hair and rolled your hips onto his face. He groaned into your pussy, the vibration causing your body to spasm. His hands tightened their grip on your ass, pulling you closer to his mouth.
Your nails dug into his scalp as you bucked your hips against his face. Your body was coiling tighter and tighter, the pressure building until you thought you'd explode. "Fuck! Alejandro!" You cried out, your body convulsing as an orgasm ripped through you. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over you, making your limbs shake and your vision blur.
He continued to lap at your clit, milking your orgasm for all it was worth. Only when you had finally gone limp beneath him did he slow his movements, licking delicately at your now-sensitized flesh. "That's it, mi amor," he mumbled against you, a note of satisfaction in his voice.
As your orgasm slowly faded, you lay there panting, your body feeling like jelly. You turned your head to look at Alejandro, your eyes filled with a mix of desire and resentment. "I hate you," you managed to choke out, even though your actions spoke otherwise. A wicked smile spread across his face as he pulled himself up your body, his cock pressing against your soaked cunt. He leaned down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, nibbling lightly.
"Oh? And why is that, mi amor?" He asked, his voice thick with lust.
"Because I still love you." You admitted, your voice was barely above a whisper.
You couldn't lie to yourself anymore, you thought you hated him. You believed it as well but seeing him tonight made you realise how much you missed him and how much you fucking love him despite everything he did. His brown eyes glowed with satisfaction as he heard your confession. He captured your lips in a deep kiss, his tongue exploring the warmth of your mouth. You kissed him back, your body responding to his touch despite everything.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you. "Make me forget," you whispered against his lips. You pulled away and gently grabbed his face "Por favor cariño" (Please darling) even if it was just for 1 night. You wanted him to make love to you again.
A soft smile graced his lips as he looked down at you, his brown eyes darkening with desire. "With pleasure, mi amor," he murmured against your lips before capturing them in a searing kiss. Alejandro moved over you, his cock rubbing against your entrance before he pushed himself inside you. He let out a low groan as he buried himself to the hilt inside you. You gasp as he pushes into you, your body stretching to accommodate his size. The sensation of being filled by him sends shivers down your spine.
He started moving slowly, taking his time as he thrust in and out of you. His hands roamed your body, caressing every inch of skin he could reach. "Ah... Alejandro..." You whimpered, your fingers digging into his shoulders. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper inside you.
You meet his thrusts, pushing back against him. The pace quickens, but you're not looking for release this time. You want something different, something more. You want him to show you how much he loves you. He groans at your words, he leans down to capture one of your nipples between his teeth, biting down lightly. "You're so tight, mi amor," he whispered against your skin. "I could stay like this forever." The room is filled with the sound of your moans and his groans as he makes love to you. There's no rush, no need to finish quickly. Just the two of you lost in each other.
You whimper softly as he bites down on your nipple, the slight pain sending sparks of pleasure through your body. You arch your back, pushing more of your breast into his mouth. "Alejandro..." You moan again, your fingers tightening in his hair. You pull him closer, wanting to feel his hot breath on your skin.
Your body moves rhythmically with his, meeting each thrust with one of your own. The sensation of being filled by him is overwhelming, but you crave it. You crave him. His thrusts become slower, more deliberate. He takes his time, savouring every moment of being inside you. His cock throbs within you, precum leaking from the tip.
"God," he groans, his voice thick with desire. "You feel amazing." He continues to move slowly, his cock sliding in and out of your soaking wet cunt. He reaches down to rub at your clit, adding another layer of pleasure to the already intense experience.
As you moved his hand from between your legs, you could feel his eyes on you, watching your every move. You rolled over so that you were now on top, straddling him. You placed your hands on his chest for support as you began to move your hips slowly, Alejandro let out a low groan as you began to bounce on his cock. You leaned forward, your hair falling in a curtain around their faces as you kissed him deeply. As you straddle him, his hands go to your hips, helping guide your movements. He lets out a low growl as you start bouncing on his cock. "Carajo, baby," (Fuck) he groans against your lips.
He thrusts up into you as you come down onto him, his cock sliding deep inside you. His hands move from your hips to squeeze at your ass cheeks. He pulls away from your lips and locks his eyes with yours as he watches you ride him, the sight of you bouncing on his cock driving him wild. You began panting heavily as you continue to ride him. Your breasts bounce with each movement, rubbing against his chest. You look down at him, your eyes meeting his brown ones.
"Fuck me, Alejandro," you moan, your voice husky with desire. You lean down and suck on his neck, marking him as your own once more.
His grip on your hips tightens as you continue to ride him. He thrusts up into you harder, matching your movements. "Cómo te deseo, mi amor," (How I desire you, my love) he groans, feeling your nails dig into his skin. "Te quiero tanto..." (I love you so much)
He flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His cock slides back inside you, filling you completely. "I'll fuck you until you can't walk straight," he promises, his voice a rough whisper. You gasp as he flips you onto your back, his body hovering over yours. His cock slides back inside you, filling you completely. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you.* "Sí. Sí. Por favor" (Yes. Yes. Please)
"Oh Dios, Alejandro," (Oh God) you moan, your body arching off the bed. You reach up and grab hold of his hair, pulling him down for a rough kiss. "Te quiero" (I love you)
He growls into the kiss, his thrusts becoming more desperate. He can't get enough of you, needing to be joined with you in every way possible. His hands roam all over your body, squeezing and groping. His mouth trails down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin.
"No te detengas... Por favor, no te detengas" (Don't stop... Please don't stop) You cry out as he thrusts into you, his cock hitting all the right spots. "Te he echado mucho de menos," (I've missed you so much) you writhe beneath him, your body wracked with pleasure.
You have forgotten your mother tongue as you start mumbling in Spanish. "Muéstrame cuánto me amas" (Show me how much you love me)
He grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic. He can feel his climax approaching, but he fights it, not wanting to finish just yet. "Te amo, mi amor," (I love you, my love) he pants, his voice hoarse. "Te amo más que a nada en este mundo." (I love you more than anything in this world) His pace slows slightly as he tries to regain control of himself. He looks down at you, his brown eyes filled with affection.
You gasp as he slows his thrusts, trying to regain control. You reach up and cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. "Entonces muéstrate, Alejandro," (Then show me) your voice is gentle but firm, leaving no room for argument. You want him to prove his love for you, to show you just how much he cares.
He nods, understanding what you're asking for. He leans down and captures your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth. His hands move from your hips to your ass, lifting your butt off the bed. He thrusts into you hard, his cock buried deep inside you. He breaks the kiss only to trail hot kisses down your neck, nipping and sucking at your skin.
Your breath hitches as he lifts your butt off the bed, his thrusts becoming harder and faster. You moan loudly, your body writhed beneath him. "Alejandro..." you whimper his name, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Dónde está tu control?" (Where is your control?) He's made love to you before, many times before but he's never fucked you like this before. You reach up and grab hold of his hair, pulling him down for another rough kiss while your hips grind against his. He growls into the kiss, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He can feel his climax approaching, but he doesn't want to finish just yet.
"Te necesito," (I need you) he groans against your lips. "Necesito más de ti." (I need more of you)
His words are punctuated by a particularly hard thrust, causing you to gasp in surprise. But instead of slowing down, he continues at the same pace, showing no signs of stopping. His cock burying itself deep within you. Your body tenses up, a wave of pleasure washing over you.
"Alejandro!" You cry out his name, your voice echoing throughout the room. "Estoy tan cerca..." (I'm so close) Your body starts to shake, the orgasm building up inside you. You can feel it bubbling under the surface, ready to explode any second now.
He feels you tense up beneath him, knows that you're close to reaching your peak. He quickens his pace, driving himself deeper into you. "Mejor que nunca, mi amor," (Better than ever, my love) he groans, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Te haré alcanzar el cielo y volverás por más." (I'll make sure you reach for the sky and you'll come back for more)
His thrusts become more powerful, his cock slamming into you over and over again. He watches as your face contorts in pleasure, loving the sight of you losing yourself to ecstasy. Your body shudders as an intense orgasm rips through you, causing your muscles to spasm. You cry out loudly, your voice filled with pure bliss.
"Alejandro!" You scream his name, your body shaking uncontrollably. "Dios mío!" (Oh God) The pleasure is overwhelming, making it difficult for you to think straight. All you can do is cling onto him tightly, riding out the waves of ecstasy coursing through your veins.
He grunts as he feels you clench around his cock, your body trembling beneath him. He can tell that you're experiencing an intense orgasm and it drives him wild. "¡Maldita sea!" (Damn it!) he curses, his thrusts becoming even more frenzied. "Quiero sentirte ahogada en tu propia placer." (I want to feel you drowning in your own pleasure) His hands grip your hips tightly as he pounds into you relentlessly. He can feel his own climax approaching rapidly, spurred on by the sight of you lost in ecstasy.
You're still recovering from your first orgasm when he plunges into you once more, filling you completely. The sensation sends a shockwave through your body, causing you to gasp in surprise. "Al!" You cry out again, your voice shaky and breathless.* "Por favor..." (Please)
Your body trembles beneath him, unable to withstand the intensity of his thrusts. But despite the discomfort, there's a part of you that craves for more - wants to experience everything that he has to offer. He grunts as he feels you tighten around his cock, your body quivering underneath him. He can tell that you're on the brink of another orgasm and it excites him.
"Mírame, mi amor," (Look at me, my love) he whispers huskily, leaning down to capture your gaze with his own. "Quiero que veas solo a mí cuando llegues al éxtasis." (I want you to see only me when you get to ecstasy) His thrusts become slower but deeper, ensuring that every inch of his length is buried inside you. He wants you to focus solely on him - to feel nothing but pleasure when you finally succumb to ecstasy.
You lock gazes with him, your grey eyes wide and filled with desire. His words echo in your mind, spurring you on towards the edge of another orgasm. "Alejandro" you whimper his name, your voice barely audible. "Soy tuya." (I'm yours)
Your body convulses beneath him once more as another wave of pleasure crashes over you. This time however, it's different - stronger than before. It feels like everything inside you is being squeezed tight, causing tears to well up in your eyes.
"I... I'm yours..." you manage to choke out between gasps for air.
He grunts in satisfaction as he feels you squeeze around his cock, your body convulsing beneath him. He can feel your orgasm rippling through you and it pushes him over the edge. "¡Sí! ¡Sí!" (Yes! Yes!) he roars triumphantly, thrusting one last time into your spasming cunt before he releases himself inside of you.
His body goes rigid above yours as he rides out his climax, filling you with warm seed. The feeling is incredible - like nothing else he's ever experienced before. "S-so good," You pant, you manage to remember how to speak English again, your voice barely audible as you struggle to catch your breath. "Fe-feels amazing..."
Your body continues to twitch and convulse long after both of you have reached climax. Every inch of you seems sensitive - every touch sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your veins.
He collapses onto you, his weight pressing down on top of you. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. "You're amazing," he murmurs into your ear, his voice hoarse from all the screaming and moaning.
His hand reaches up to stroke your cheek gently, wiping away a tear that had managed to escape earlier. He pulls back slightly so he could look at you better - taking in every detail of your flushed face and dishevelled appearance.
You let out a soft sigh as he strokes your cheek, the warmth of his touch sending pleasant shivers down your spine. Your body feels heavy and satisfied - every muscle exhausted yet fully content.
"I love you," You murmur quietly, closing your eyes as you bask in the afterglow of your orgasms.
A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, despite the fact that you're still panting heavily. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, enjoying this moment alone with him. He smiles softly at your confession, his thumb brushing gently against your cheekbone.
"I know, mi amor," he whispers, leaning down to press a tender kiss against your lips. "And I love you too." His hand moves from your face to trace lazy patterns along your collarbone. He can feel the rapid thump-thump of your heartbeat under his fingertips - a rhythmic reminder of what they've just shared together.
And just like that. Time became irrelevant, and the world faded into a distant hum. For you and Alejandro, all that mattered was the present, a timeless moment where love and connection reigned supreme.
#call of duty#cod mw2#cod mwii#call of duty mwii#alejandro vargas x female reader#alejandro cod#alejandro vargas#alejandro vargas x reader#alejandro vargas smut#colonel vargas#los vaqueros
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Just add Truth
Masterlist | Supernatural - Masterlist | Jensen Ackles | Navigation
In Another Universe - Masterlist
Jensen Ackles x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader
Friends to lovers, Enemies to lovers
Series sumarry: In a witch hunt that went horribly wrong, the reader goes to another universe, where her life is just an act, (and where the handsome green-eyed hunter she has a crush on doesn't hate her), desperate, she tries to return home, but does she really want to?
1. Teas & Potions ➝ 3. Poisons served for breakfast
Warning: Bad English.
A/N:I know it took me a while to post, I'm sorry about that... The good news is that my exams are over and I'm free... for now. I haven't proofread the chapter yet so I apologize for any mistakes! I have some surprises that are coming 🫣
A/N²:I'm still getting used to writing again, writer's block isn't easy. English ins't my fist language, bad English, sorry. If you have an idea and want me to add it to the story, send me a message with your idea and I will be happy to make it happen.😊 Constructive criticism and supportive messages are always welcome, it motivates me to keep writing.
My mind was completely silent, my body was paralyzed and I started to break out in a cold sweat.
"What?" – I laughed nervously as she closed the door and went into the living room, without maintaining eye contact with him. "I'm your y/n, is supernatural messing with you, jensen?" – I gathered my courage and looked at him, but not before remembering his name.
He laughed...
He was laughing...
Why was he laughing?
"I'm teasing you, sweetheart." – He was laughing. – "I'm going up, see you at dinner." – He headed upstairs and headed towards one of the guest bedrooms.
I let out the breath I was holding, and Eclipsa looked at me and meowed as if to say he knew.
I look at the couch where the laptop was, it was still open to the music tab, a reminder that this was the only thing that connected me to my true home.
What do I do, God?
...
A few minutes had passed when the fake Dean came down, he came over to where I was and sat next to me on the couch, I had ordered a pizza and put on some movie, where the fake y/n was the main one.
It was strange to "see" myself on TV, her acting was impeccable compared to mine when we had to disguise ourselves when hunting.
She is beautiful, no scars, perfect face, perfect body. Something I could never be. Something the my real Dean would like.
"Hey, what's wrong?" – The fake Dean said when he noticed a frown on my face.
"Nothing, why?" – I disguised
"Nothing, but you have that frown..." – He gestured with his hand.
I laughed and said nothing was wrong, he still seemed worried, something the real Dean wouldn't care about. That was the difference.
"How did you know?" – I sighed, saying something after a few minutes of internally fighting whether I should say it or not.
"Knew what?"
"You know..." – I said reluctantly. – "I know you know..."
He fell silent and sighed before speaking.
"Hm, I don't know if you remember, but when they came here, and stayed in our bodies, I went there, to your reality... and I recognize my real Y/N, and you also has this scar on the cheek." He seemed afraid. "hm... that's it..."
Oh.
I do not remember this.
"Oh, I see, I don't remember that..." – She said confused. "But why do boys remember?"
"I don't know." – He laughed nervously. "You should know."
I just smiled and went back to the movie, but my mind was racing, maybe they erased our memory? But why not theirs, and why didn't they delete mine again after they told me?
Hang on.
Scar on the cheek?
I touched my cheek and realized that it really was one, and I realized that not only did I come into this reality, but my body too?!
"I'm not going to tell anyone, if that's what I was thinking." – He looked at me again. – "Jared is the only one who knows besides us, but he will keep quiet."
"I wasn't worried about it..." – I laughed nervously.
...
It was very late, we were already in our respective rooms, and from what I heard, there would be no recordings at least for a while, so I would have some time to see how I could get back.
Jensen, from what I would have to get used to saying, is actually really cool, unlike Dean.
I need to stop comparing them...
But it doesn't work.
I wanted him to be like that.
He and I introduced ourselves and we can say that we would be great friends for a while.
He told me everything about here and about her and how I could pretend to be the Fake Y/N, it was weird I admit, but I needed to do it.
...
"Morning" – I said yawning when I entered the kitchen.
Jensen was already drinking his coffee, he just murmured good morning and continued drinking his coffee, he's not a morning person from what I saw.
I got a cup of coffee and sat opposite him at the counter, the silence was comfortable, he was still sleepy and I can't judge why I was too, we stayed up late watching movies and talking, the pizza had long been forgotten and was probably in the fridge.
I needed to start researching even more, and I remembered that on set there were the books I needed, even if they are fake, they can still be of great help, but since we entered a vacation period, there was no way for me to get them.
Maybe, just maybe I could enjoy a little bit of this world, and when we got back to recording, I could start researching.
"Sooo, I'm not going to start looking for a way to go back because I need the books that are on the film set..." – I looked at him hopefully before speaking. "What cool can we do today?"
He looked at me and smiled.
It's getting interesting in my opinion...
Support my coffee addiction
In Another Universe TagList:
@fanfic-n-tabulous
© morganaah/brightlilith ─ all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other platforms.
#dean winchester#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester fanfiction#dean winchester x you#supernatural dean#dean winchester fanfic#dean winchester x y/n#jensen ackles x reader#jensen ackles x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester fic#dean winchester fluff#dean winchester imagine#dean x reader#dean x you#jensen x reader#jensenedit#jensen ackles fanfic#jensen ackles#jensen ackles gifs#jensen ross ackles
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hi steppy! i’m one of the admins of the late povkellypiquet so here are the messages we got. sadly we don’t have access to the screenshots anymore because it was all through tiktok but this is what our source said.
"Jerome D'Ambrosio and Natalie got married in 2013 but prior to that she would travel a lot with Jerome on the f1 circuit. She would always say most of the wags were incredibly kind. She also said you had to be tolerant and have an amicable personality to be able to be with an f1 driver because although they are glorified they are have really intense personalities, they are often controlling and absolutely have to get their way. (not all of them but most are). At that time Kelly was absolutely a nobody, she was just known for her father and her need for attention so she ended up doing some blogging for formula E and that's where her true colors came out so everyone knew she was dying to be a wag and no one liked her, she would purposely try to befriend drivers and made her rounds... one of them being Jerome, Natalie's husband at the time. They weren't even married a year and she kept getting sent pictures that were taken on the track from the media of her with him talking super close and always together. She then found out they would go on shopping trips and he would stay extra days in whatever city to spend time with her. Besides her being promiscuous she's got a very arrogant unlikable personality. So that happened - her marriage ended."
"So Jerome and her stopped dating. To this day he denies it but she probably doesn't because she just wanted soooo badly to have the status of a wife or a drivers girlfriend. So at that time this girl who worked in formula E started dating her brother Nelson Piquer Jr. they were super in love- Kelly absolutely hated the girl because she actually had a job and is a super beautiful and nice person so Kelly made every effort to destroy their relationship which she did. Kelly would relentlessly bully Nelson's girlfriend and make up rumors. Kelly got her way and the girl and Nelson eventually broke up. Kelly is widely known for being home wrecker, a morbid narcissist and a spoiled, entitled brat. She had a super low key Brazilian surfer bf while she slept around with drivers trying to be relevant."
i asked my insider if they knew anything about the magical night between max and kelly, and this is what they said:
"This is how it went: max's gf was visiting him in Monaco for the weekend and, max, the Gt, Nelson's gf and Nelson all went out clubbing the second night and Kelly decided to join them. Then Kelly left the club with Max.... so Max abandoned his then girlfriend at the club and Kelly went back to his place to sleep with him. His gf ended up spending the night with Nelson and V and was devastated. Kelly absolutely knew she was in the club too and didn't care. So in summary: Kelly stole Max from his then girlfriend."
after that i asked them if this was dilara or another of max's exes, and this was their response:
"It was not Dilara it was a blonde from Amsterdam. Her name is Roos Van Der Aa. Million times more beautiful and nice than Kelly... Not sure what max was thinking"
in the name of the other admins we want to thank each and every one of you who supported the account. we know that some posts were harsh sometimes but most of them were showing kelly for how she really is. she got mad about that and had her friends message us and threaten us… i think she threatened us too. before we got taken down we got an anonymous tip saying she had reached out to jerome about this but he said he wasn’t going to defend her. we don’t know if this is true but it might be because she was really desperate to take the account down.
if we ever get more tea we will share it with you. if you have any questions for us we can answer them!
— ❤️🩹
I just hope you guys don’t get doxxed 😭
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I want go home: Fox TPOF
Content: Dark, adult themes, low mental health and reader's sanity, emotional dependence, Dead dove don't eat, FEM POV
━━━ Fox…..I want to go home
━━━ I know that, my dear, but you're already home, don't you realize?
Fox's fox tail wagged excitedly as he watched everything come crashing down for her, nothing got in and stayed in her little mind, it was so sweet to see you like this, it was so good to hear your screams.
In front of that camera he took her virginity and her dignity along the way and yet he wanted it again, again and again. He didn't want to stop the feeling of your pussy squeezing his cock as he slammed his hips against yours it became addictive like a drug he would love to inject into his veins every day to feel that damn Euphoria, he knew you never did drugs
This was the chance he loved, after dislocating your shoulder and making more marks he drugged you in innocence in an attempt to present you to everyone as his co-star could become more than one of his victims however….When you cut In his abdomen he couldn't feel that pleasure like in the rest of his victims, he felt lost and confused by it. He stopped you and didn't let you continue, he made you stop
Still, he wanted to make that dream come true. As he squeezed your throat as you could only despair and almost choke on drool as you cried and begged for family, friends or better…for him
He got tired of waiting, he got tired of being the savior of empathy, he broke the camera and put that hand squeezing your neck while he squeezed even more and you became more and more agitated.
━━━ STOP, PLEASE STOP!
Screaming for mercy, drool dripped from his lips as he smiled, he felt in power, he could feel their feelings reach his spine and send goosebumps all over his body, he threw his head back and moaned deeply when he felt his tears wet his fingers. his, his tail wagging excitedly as he felt his spine shiver and he went into that mode he loved
Destroy you
His body thrashed in despair as you looked and saw Fox's eyes begin to shine.
━━━ I'm going to tell you a little secret, my eyes start to shine when I get excited…..very excited
Fuck, you knew your existence turned him on, like mating season in the huge dark and cold forest, with snow covering everything, you were the prey and he was the hunter. And he loved it, he let go of your neck making you cough with relief when you could breathe but the sound of a zipper coming undone made your body freeze, you couldn't feel his hands but you could hear him moaning as he bit his lips, his hands removed his hard cock while he masturbated on top of you
He didn't care about her desperation and smiled even more exposing his sharp fangs, he felt… euphoric with this and he wasn't going to stop, placing his thumb opening her mouth he went up a little more and placed the tip of his member in her mouth. your mouth, your hands tried to push him away but it was no use
He lifted your head and forced his member more as he moaned he lowered his hand and started to touch you, introducing his fingers more as your body became excited wanting more and more your body betrayed you and you didn't want that, in the last minute On impulse he pushed his dick into the back of your throat as he made your body cum staining his fingers, his juice ran down your throat and he pinched your nose and took out his dick smearing your face
━━━ See? I can take care of you, and this is your home [name]. puff…hahahaha! Are you going to keep looking at me with that face? Come on, how about a warm bath?
Fox just laughed at your desperate and lost look, he stood up and realized that his dick was still semi-hard, damn you left him breathless. Taking you in his arms, he turned on the tap of the luxurious bathtub, letting the hot water relax your body, he got up and turned on the shower, letting the water completely wet you, he started taking off his own clothes while he was naked and got into the bathtub, closing the shower and rubbed himself against you, you felt his cock behind you. He wanted to eat you again until you lost your sanity and you wanted to go home
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NEW FIC ALERT???
Requested by @sleep-needer like 3 weeks ago, took me ages for no reason I do apologise-
Thank you to ml @lv3buzz for helping me with the last bit <33
Word count: 1.7k
Summary: Chases childhood and how he dealt with it.
Warnings: child abuse, neglect.
Say Goodbye to The Ones That we Love.
Only Chase knows why he has that scar on his head, and why he has so bad claustrophobia.
"Please! " He sobbed, trying to fight back his mother.
His mother, Jane, just kept ahold of him, her teeth gritting and eyes burning with fury. Chase kicked and screamed, desperately trying to get out of Jane's tight grasp. Yet, nothing worked, being a nine-year-old. Jane opened the door, threw the kid in and slammed the door behind him, locking it. Chase scrambled to the door, trying to turn the handle and pounding on the door frantically.
"Mummy!! Please! Let me out, " he begged.
It was no hope, it was never any hope, unfortunately. He briefly cleaned his tear stained face and sat curled up against the door. He brought his knees up to his chest, trying to even out his cut off breaths. He looked around the small, cramped office space. Until it hit him.
He was trapped.
Tears spewed from his eyes once again as his breathing drastically increased. His chest began to feel tight, as his heart rate fastened. With the shaking of his hands, he weakly brought them up to his ears and tucked his head in his knees. Everything was way too loud. He could hear the staggered steps of his mother, the beeping of the printer, it was all too much.
Suddenly, it was an hour later. He couldn't recall how long he'd been curled up, but his knees hurt now. He slowly let his legs slip in front of him as he looked around. Nothing had changed. His arms fell to his sides as the sound of his mother's snoring filled the blank noise. He almost sighed of relief, gradually getting up and browsing the books on his fathers bookshelf. He ran his finger over the spine of a couple dozen, carefully reading the titles. Soon, he picked a book. It was a nice colour of green, with a blue box in the middle with the words:
'Oxford Textbook of Medicine'
written on it. Chase was previously attracted to the colours, as he really liked the colour green. But, as he quickly flicked through the book, he saw fascinating diagrams of all sorts of anatomy. The labeling was extraordinary to him. He sat back down in his prior position and read through the pages, studying the pictures and skimming the words.
And that's when he decided he should be a doctor.
Every time he got locked into that room, he looked at one new book. He even managed to find a notebook and pen, jotting down little notes and scribbling rough diagrams. It gave him something to do, other than sit and wait helplessly for his mother to wake up or his father to come home unannounced. But once he'd read most of the books in the office (other than the ones on the top shelf), he became bored and fearful again. He dug around in his father's drawers, desperately trying to find maybe a hidden journal. Until, he found one. It was dusty, brown and quite battered. He picked it up and read the front of it.
'Melbournes rheumatology cases'
Although he couldn't read the second word, it seemed important as it was well hidden. He read the authors name, as he'd always been interested in people's names.
'Rowan Chase'
His mouth fell agape. Though he wasn't sure on the first name, he had heard his father being called 'Rohan' or something, and Chase was definitely their last names. He smiled giddily as he opened the book. But much to his surprise, there wasn't any diagrams. He frowned, skimming through the whole of the book to find a total of maybe 2 pictures. It was quite disappointing. Yet, he forced himself to read the book.
He yawned multiple times while reading, maybe that rheuma word wasn't for him. He closed the book with a grunt, pushing it aside and slumping against the door. He grabbed his pen and started to chew on it, he guesses it was something to do. So he gnawed on the pen. Until the plastic broke. He groaned, hurling the pen into the bookcase in frustration. He crossed his arms, pouting dramatically, until he heard a bloodcurdling scream from outside the door. That sounded like his mother.
He got up in a panic and pounded on the door.
"Mummy!!? What's wrong!! " He screamed.
Jane didn't reply, she just screeched again.
Chase scrambled to his feet and frantically looked at his fathers desk, scanning the well organised objects until he landed on the phone. Going through his memories, he remembered the emergency number. 000.
He hurriedly picked up the phone and dialed the number, impatiently waiting for the operator to answer.
"You have dialed Emergency Triple Zero, your call is being connected. "
He tapped his foot impatiently as he bit his lip. Jane continued to groan in the background. But finally, a Telstra Operator answered.
"Emergency. Police, fire or ambulance? "
"Am- ambulance, " Chase replied, his voice shaken and small.
The Telstra connected him with the ambulance line, them answering quickly to his call.
"Ambulance, what's your emergency? "
Chase gulped, "I- I don't know.. My mummy is screaming. "
"What's your name and age, sweetheart? "
"Robert, Robert Chase. I'm nine, " Chase muttered.
"Okay honey, and where are you? "
"My- my fathers office. "
"Well done sweetie, now can you stay on the line until the paramedics get here? "
"Mhm."
"Okay, good boy. Just keep talking to me okay? "
Chase kept talking to the nice operator until he heard a crash. He jumped, squeezing his eyes shut and placing his hand on his ear.
"Ma'am! Where is your son? "
A male American accent called, then Jane answered weakly. Just as Chase processed this, the door was opened in a strong force. Chase gasped, staring at open door and unfamiliar man in the doorway.
"Robert? " The man said softly, crouching in front of Chase.
Chase nodded, looking at the man with tears in his eyes.
"I'm Dr. House, your mum is okay. I need you to come with me. We'll keep you safe, " Dr. House explained, holding his hand out to let the little Chase grasp it.
He followed, trailing timidly behind the man. This Dr. House seemed quite nice. He had chestnut curls, piercing blue eyes and extremely chiseled facial features. He was clean shaven, but his hair was quite disheveled. Chase trusted him, though he was quite rude. Chase held tighter, suddenly feeling anxious. Once outside, Chase was loaded into an ambulance with House, getting strapped in and staring at the floor.
Lord this is gonna be a long night.
Chase sat, swinging his feet and sucking on a lollipop. He looked around at the foreign room, seeing a small kitchen, TV and some books. Books. His favourite. But, he had a lollipop so it was okay. Dr. House was sat next to him, grunting as he flicked through one of Chase's dads 'special daddy magazine's'.
"What's up with my mummy? " Chase suddenly asked, obnoxiously getting closer to House.
House scoffed, "natural process of having female anatomy. "
"Why? " Chase questioned, moving his sticky face closer to the man.
House pushed Chase down gently while rolling his eyes.
"Because your mum is female. "
"Why? "
"Because God wanted her to be. "
"Why? "
"Because God is a sexist bitch. "
"What's a bitch? "
"Female dog. "
"Why? "
"Shakespeare."
"What's that? "
House clenched his jaw and fist, ignoring the little Australian and going back to looking at the magazine. Chase gave up and continued looking around the quite bland room. There wasn't any colour or decorations, just a boring doctors staff room. He pouted, twirling the lollipop stick between his fingers as he'd finished the sweet.
The first time Chase realized he was taking care of his sister, was 3 months after she was born. After meeting Dr. House, after hearing his mother's screeching, after everything, he still didn't realize for 3 months that what he was doing wasn't normal. Only on his birthday did he realize.
"Mummy, why can't I have a party? I'm 10 now! " Chase exclaimed, trying to rock the crying baby and chasing after Jane.
"Shut up Robert! My god! " Jane shouted back.
She turned around sharply and kicked in the legs, causing him to yelp in pain and fall to his knees. He quickly held onto his baby sister, Bea, making sure she didn't fall. Jane speedily walked away to her room and slamming the door. Bea started to waile. Chase held her close and hushed her through his own crys, rocking her gently.
Now eleven-year-old Chase paced his kitchen, trying to think over the sound of the television. Jane drank heavily on the sofa, downing bottle after bottle of anything she could get her hands on. Chase audibly sighed, letting his gaze fall over to his hopeless mother. Bea slept restlessly in her cot, squirming because of the television noise. Chase noticed.
"Hey, ma, do you think you can maybe.. Turn the telly down a little? " Chase questioned scarcely, shuffling closer to the living room with hesitancy.
Jane abruptly turned around, letting her piercing blue eyes pierce through her son like a spear. Chase flinched as she brought her hand up, but she turned it down far much obnoxiously than necessary.
"That better for you, Robert? " She snarled, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
Chase nodded in fear and scurried back the kitchen, bringing his hand up to his heart and sighing of relief. Just as he thought he fixed it, the television started to blare again as Jane hiccuped. Chase rolled his eyes to himself as Bea started to whine. Chase picked her up and held her on his chest. He bounced on his heels up and down, rubbing his hands up her back and whispering phrases to her. He quickly snagged a bottle from the side, inspected it and offered it to her. she took it with her hands and popped the teat into her mouth and sucked. Chase leant against the counter, rocking her subtly. But as she realized the bottle wasn't warm, she hurled it across the room in a fit and wailed again.
"When will that godamn baby stop screaming?! " Jane shouted, now chucking a beer bottle at the two.
Chase ducked, holding on tightly to Bea as they barely missed the discarded object. Chase sank to the floor, now sobbing, trying to tend to Bea and the new cut on his head.
Only Chase knows why he has that scar on his head, and why he has so bad claustrophobia.
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