#a smart person would have made a photograph before eating all of them and just wait to post the photo when the internet connection is back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

talesoferyngalen · 1 year ago

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A Soft Place to Fall

Vamp!Tim, my submission for the 2023 Batfam Big Bang. Enjoy!

tw: a sort-of eating disorder, blood

...

Gotham after sundown was unforgiving. Even the wind was bitter-cold and dangerous, at least this time of year. Tim was used to it by now, though.

He laid low against the roof he'd found, peering through the lens of his camera. He had a good view of Batman and Robin, several buildings over, as they breezed past on their nightly patrol. They moved quickly, and within moments they were too far to be seen clearly. Tim had a few good pictures, but he would never settle for a few.

In a world like his, where parents left their child to fend for himself in the most dangerous city in the country, Batman and Robin were a light in the darkness. Tim had followed them out of curiosity, at first. Barely more than nine years old, following along at street level with stars in his eyes and a banged-up digital camera that held nothing but some rough shots of Pokémon cards and a sunset.

It was still curiosity the next couple of times, and maybe some amount of sheer awe. He got a few shaky pictures. None of them were really recognizable as the city's defenders to anyone but him.

It grew into a coping mechanism, a grab for comfort, a way to challenge himself—and an obsession.

Nearly four years down the line, and Tim was good. Not as good as his heroes, not as good as Batman and Robin, but still fairly skilled, in his opinion. It wasn't like a normal civilian could keep up with the heroes across the city's rooftops, or remain unnoticed, or find good places for clear shots of them in action. They certainly wouldn't be able to do it while hauling all of his camera equipment. It wasn't anywhere near a professional set-up, but it wasn't light, either.

When the pair of them were far enough away, Tim sprang out of his hiding spot and gave chase. The well-beaten tennis shoes he wore barely made a sound on the roof. Certainly not any sound that could be heard over the rumble of traffic on the street below. When the roof ended, Tim sprang to the next one with well-practiced ease, landing in a crouch before taking off again.

Another reason he was still doing this after so long was how alive he felt, flying across the city in the dead of night.

He didn’t have a grapple like Batman and Robin, which eventually forced him to leave the rooftops and follow them from the street. They were going into the upper city tonight, which was a notable deviation from their typical patterns. Today they should’ve spent the majority of the night in the lower city. Something had to be going on if they were beelining in the complete opposite direction.

Tim wove through crowds on the sidewalks, only ducking into alleys he knew were safe. He could no longer see Batman or Robins on the rooftops, but if they were headed into the upper city, he knew the most direct path there. He was confident he would find them again. He usually could. Once you knew Batman’s patterns, he was surprisingly easy to predict.

The next time he saw Batman’s cape whipping around a corner, it was by the gates of an old, upper-class cemetery. Tim paused at the gates, peering up at the wrought iron sign above them. The words were too hard to read in the dark, and he was unable to make out anything other than a vowel or two.

A horrible screeching sound came from somewhere within the maze of graves and mausoleums. Tim froze, eyes snapping away from the sign. The sound came again, accompanied by the typical noises of a fight.

A smart person would turn and leave, and maybe tip off the police that something was happening. Tim started to do just that when he became vividly aware of the camera around his neck, its weight resting against his chest. He chewed on his lip as he looked between the cemetery and the road. It would be smart to leave, but…he would probably actually kill someone for the chance to photograph Batman fighting in a cemetery. It was just too perfect.

Without further hesitation, he slipped through the gates.

There weren’t many lights in the cemetery. The majority of them were installed on specific mausoleums, and were a mish-mash of warm and cool light, in different designs and strengths. He steered clear of them, weaving through the old graves in as much darkness as he could find. There was a reason he hadn’t been caught by Batman yet.

It wasn’t long before he found the fight. A collection of damaged gravestones surrounded Batman and some sort of creature that raced around him at alarming speeds. The creature lunged at Batman, who kicked it away with brutal strength and stepped backwards to put space between them. He threw a pair of batarangs with one motion. At least one of them struck its mark, judging by the creature’s pained shrieks.

Batman had a hand to his ear, talking to someone on comms. Tim crept as close as he dared, eyes wide at he nervously glanced at the creature every now and then. It was preoccupied with stalking Batman, thankfully. It was a human-like creature, but the proportions were all off, and its back bowed painfully, allowing it to lope on all fours.

“Dealing with a vampire,” Tim managed to catch Batman saying. “Be advised—” His next words were drowned out by a roar from the creature—a real vampire.

It flew through the air, arms outstretched and jaw gaping as it flung itself at Batman. Before it could find any kind of purpose, Batman grabbed it by one arm, spun hard, and threw it…straight towards Tim.

Tim had less than a second to move. He scrambled from one headstone to the next, staying low to the ground and out of sight without getting close enough to be involved in the fight. He brought the camera up and snapped a handful of pictures, ignoring how fast his heart beat in his chest. The click of the shutter was unexpectedly loud, and Tim nearly dropped the camera as the vampire's gaze snapped to him—hungry.

There were no words. Its baleful, dimly glowing eyes locked onto him, and its thin mouth warped into an ugly snarl. Tim could hear his own heart pounding in his ears like a war drum, and felt the rhythm in his teeth.

The split second before the attack stretched into a small eternity.

Tim clearly saw each little movement leading up to the vampire's lunge: the way it shifted its weight onto its hands, getting its feet under it one at a time, Batman just a bit too far away to help. Had he even noticed someone else was there yet? It didn’t seem like it. Where was Robin? Why had Tim followed them into the cemetery?!

Pure, unadulterated fear, unlike anything Tim had felt in years, struck him like lightning. He dropped his camera, turning to run with a scream on his lips. The vampire sprang, leaping like an animal, with sharp, unnatural movements.

There was a yell behind him, but in his panic he couldn’t make heads or tails of what was said. Were there words? Or was it just anger and fear that refused to stay bottled up?

A heavy weight—so heavy, unnaturally heavy—slammed into him, and Tim hit the ground, face-down. Pain shot through him—ribs, shoulders, head, from no particular source he could discern. Dirt got in his eyes, in his mouth, graveyard dirt that he spat out, the taste of decay on his tongue. He tried to lift his head, tried to get his arms under him, but couldn’t. The weight on top of him refused to move, and in fact pressed down harder. Tim felt more than heard several small pops and snaps under his skin.

His heart beat faster and faster still. He felt as though he were being strangled. Was he? Was the vampire keeping him from breathing? His world narrowed down to nothing but that moment, the pain that radiated through him, the metallic taste of fear on his tongue and, somehow, a small part of him that wished he could’ve done better…

No. No, this couldn't be how he went. Not at two-something in the morning, in a poorly kept cemetery, with the only witnesses being his killer and his hero. Not pinned to the ground by a monster, nothing more than another civilian caught in the crossfire. Another death for Batman to feel he could’ve prevented, more baggage for his hero to lug around. What he needed was a plan—any plan at all, anything other than just dying.

The vampire was too heavy to throw off, at least for a twelve year old who'd focused more on agility than strength. So, instead of fighting more, Tim let himself go limp, paying close attention to the points of contact the vampire had on him. A hand on his shoulder, one knee on his back, another on his legs. The second hand must've been braced on the ground. There was so much pressure on each one. So heavy. Painful.

As soon as the vampire moved enough, Tim could try to slip out of its grasp. He just had to stay calm. Stay focused.

Cold, clammy breath gusted across his neck, and his resolve was put to the test. It was a sickly feeling, somehow worse than just cold air. It was the feeling of standing in a dirty room, breathing air he knew wasn’t clean. It was moist, if just barely, and Tim felt it on his skin. It didn’t smell…bad. Not good, but not outright bad. Like old coins in a musty cup, gathering residue from who-knows-what.

Just a little longer. If it thought he was dead, knocked out, or just not invested in the fight, it would go back to fighting Batman. That was what you were supposed to do with animal attacks, right? He just had to stay still. Just a little longer. Just a little—

Pain.

Tim screamed, uncaring for the graveyard dirt his face was still pressed into. He tried to thrash, tried to fight back, to escape, but the weight on his back was still too much, the absolute pain in his neck nearly too much to think through.

Had he even been hurt before? He’d thought he was already in agony, but clearly the creature had just been toying with him.

All at once, the monster’s weight was ripped from his back. Even as Tim was flooded with sheer relief at the lack of weight pressing down on him, the pain in his neck flared—badly. The mud his face was pressed into was beginning to feel thinner. Thinner and warmer, and it smelled strange, almost like the monster’s breath.

His breath stuttered as he realized the red in his vision was real. The dark mud was taking on a red tint. Red pooled under his face, clinging to it, spreading outwards. Agony lanced through his neck again—the wound on his neck, because he was in a puddle of blood. His own blood, most likely. Blood didn’t come without a wound, and it hurt. The vampire—thing—whatever it was, had been positioned correctly for a...bite. It had bitten him.

Another stab of pain hit. His stomach turned unpleasantly, threatening to spill the meager dinner he'd eaten before taking off into the city.

Tim's heart pounded in his ears, drowning all else out as he heaved himself up to his elbows. Even though the night was cold, the mud that seeped through his hoodie's sleeves was sickly warm. He tried not to look, but the red was so alarmingly bright that it drew his eye regardless.

There was so much.

He'd seen blood before, even large quantities of blood—he was from Gotham, and his favorite hobby was shadowing/photographing/stalking the city's vigilantes, of course he'd seen blood—but it had never been his. It was always a nameless, faceless enemy; his heroes, who he knew could take it; or some poor bystander he didn't have to look too closely at. Tim himself? He'd never drawn much more blood than scraping his knees when he misjudged a jump, or when he sliced a finger trying to cook. It was always manageable, and it always stopped soon after he got hurt.

This time, the bleeding wasn't stopping. He stared in shock and muted horror as red continued to drip from his undoubtedly mangled neck. It hit his hoodie instead of the ground, only just visible against the dark gray fabric. It never stopped. It wasn't slowing.

He wasn't Robin. He wasn't Batman. He was just…Tim. There was no way that Tim could lose that much blood. It just kept coming. He needed help. He needed help.

His heart still pounded in his ears, the sound feeling as though it was pressing in on his brain, becoming more unbearable with each passing second. His own breathing was too loud, quick, and raspy, and he couldn't get it back under control. There were other sounds beyond that, though. He couldn't pinpoint any direction or source, absolute chaos unfolding around him. He couldn't tell where Batman was, or how he fared in the fight, by sound alone, not like this.

So, he pushed off the ground and knelt in the rapidly cooling mud. His head spun, and his neck throbbed—was it better or worse that the pain was subsiding?—but he stayed up. The fight became easier to track, if only slightly. Two dark shapes flitted between the headstones and mausoleums, each trying to gain the upper hand. One moved like an animal, frequently dropping to all fours in unnatural contortions, far too quickly for the larger shadow to easily corner them. It didn't help that the smaller shadow seemed capable of clearing impossibly high jumps, fairly flying up and over the mausoleum it had been chased up to.

The larger shadow—Batman, it had to be—followed with impressive speed and agility. Several times, he managed to seemingly predict where the monster would go and dropped down in front of it, close enough to swing a fist at it. The grappling gun never went off, that Tim could see. He was just that good.

Tim needed help. He needed to call out for help. Bruce—Batman was busy, though. He in no way had the upper hand in this fight. Tim didn't want to be the reason Batman died. So, he stayed quiet. It would probably all be over soon enough. No one ever stood a chance against Batman, with or without Robin.

Where was Robin?

The two of them ran in dizzying circles, and after a moment Tim closed his eyes. It was hard to focus with the way everything spun. His head hurt…or was that still just his neck? Had the bleeding ever stopped? Judging by the warm, tacky feeling spreading across the shoulder of his hoodie, no. Maybe it had slowed. The wet patch on his shoulder was nowhere near the size of the puddle he'd made.

The sounds of the fight were fading. Were they moving farther away? Was it nearly over? Tim tried to open his eyes, but they remained firmly shut. His heart sped up, fear spiking in his veins as, no matter how hard he willed himself, his eyes still wouldn't open.

The sound of his own heartbeat was getting fainter, as well. A wretched sound that may have been his own cry felt as though it was filtered through water, distorted and indistinct.

Hands grabbed his shoulders, and Tim tried to yank away. It was the vampire again. It was back. It would finish him off, and there was nothing he could do, blind and weak as he was. The pain had nearly gone, now. He didn't want it back. In no world did he want to feel that pain again. He didn't want it to be the last thing he felt.

He didn't want to die. Not like this. He would take anything but this.

He wouldn't even make it to the holidays this year, to see whether his parents lived up to their promise to come home. He wouldn't get to print out the really cool picture of Robin he'd snapped tonight. He'd never race across the rooftops, playing his own private game, ever again.

The hands on his shoulders didn't become any more gentle, but they moved down his arms, gripping him tightly and shaking him a little. Tim still couldn't open his eyes, couldn't make himself move, couldn't get up and run like he so badly wanted to. Was it playing with him? Did it want him to suffer even more?

There was yelling, very close to Tim's ears. It wasn't any sound the vampire had made the entire encounter, but it wasn't Batman's growling voice, either. It was higher pitched, frantic. Familiar, just like Batman's voice was.

Robin was here. Robin had him.

Tim let himself tip forward into the vigilante's arms, and fell into oblivion.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The instant he woke up, Tim expected pain.

The stress of the fight—well, the attack, more accurately—was still present. For a brief moment, he wasn’t certain he’d left the graveyard at all. He stiffened, expecting the chaotic noise and the pain to return…but there was none.

There wasn't silence, not by any means, but the sounds he could hear were a far cry from a fight. There was the gentle hum of electricity all around him, interspersed with quiet, electronic beeping at a steady rhythm. A tapping noise…someone on a keyboard? There was a bit of an echo, too. Not much, but it was there.

How had he gotten from the graveyard to here? Where was here? Who—?

Well. Who was a bit obvious, wasn't it? There had only been two people present when he was attacked. He highly doubted that the heroes had left him for some unlucky bystander to find, which meant they'd gotten him to safety.

The beeping made more sense, then. He was in a hospital and hooked up to something. The absence of pain made more sense considering that, as well. A hospital would've given him painkillers, like morphine or something. Right?

In any case, he was awake now, so…

Tim lifted a fist to rub at his eyes, and there was a new sound: a loud, insistent tone, drowning out the beeping from whatever machines Tim was hooked to. The tapping ceased, and Tim had the uncomfortable feeling he was being watched.

Did he need to be uncomfortable? Batman and Robin obviously rescued him. They wouldn't have left him somewhere unsafe.

With that determination made, Tim forced himself to relax, ignoring the alarm that continued to flash on and off. He pried his eyes open, blinking sluggishly against the dry, gummy feeling of them. He must've been out for a while, then. The only times his eyes felt like that were when he'd been asleep too long, or when he was very thirsty.

Now that he thought about it, he was thirsty. Hadn't they hooked him up to an IV, if he was out for so long? Or did IVs not help with a dry mouth and throat? He'd read about some medical stuff, once, but he didn't think that had been included. Or maybe it was, and he was just too out of it to remember.

Once his vision cleared, Tim found himself staring at a sterile white ceiling. Not that unexpected, since he was clearly in a medical setting. It didn't look quite right, though. It wasn't the segmented, paneled ceiling he'd expect to see in a hospital. In fact, it looked very smooth and solid, like the ceiling in his bedroom. Maybe Batman had put him in a fancy hospital that put a lot of weight on appearances?

There was no change for several seconds. The droning of whatever alarm he'd set off ended abruptly, though the steady beeping of the monitors remained. There were no approaching footsteps or chatter, and the tapping of the keyboard didn't resume. So, Tim slowly, carefully sat up, mindful of whatever stitches he might have.

He stopped when he was halfway sitting up, frozen as he leaned back on his elbows. He wasn't facing a solid wall. He was facing a row of floor-to-ceiling windows, and they didn't have a view of a garden, or a parking lot, or even just a hallway in the hospital.

Currently, they provided a view of Batman, standing tall, still, and silent just on the other side. Watching him.

"Uh..." Tim hurriedly sat the rest of the way up. "Mister—"

His voice scratched in his throat, and he had to stop and cough, trying to clear the uncomfortable itch.

"Mr. Batman...sir?" Tim was anxious, so what? He may have followed Batman and Robin for years, but that was different than actually talking to his heroes. "Where am I? What...?"

Batman just watched him. After a long moment, he tilted his head just slightly. "How do you feel?"

Tim's brow furrowed. How did he feel? For starters, he was very confused. He wasn't in a hospital. There was no one anywhere near him except for Batman, and even he was on the other side of a wall. Tim had a sneaking suspicion he was in the BatCave, which was both exciting and concerning.

Physically? He had no pain. His neck felt great, like he'd never been hurt. The aches and sharp pains that had covered every inch of his body were nowhere to be seen, which was a relief. Maybe the monster hadn't done as much damage as he’d thought.

"I'm fine...sir," Tim replied. "Nothing hurts, but I'm...very confused, and I feel like I need water."

Batman hummed thoughtfully—critically, if Tim was reading him right. Like he did when he was considering a difficult problem, or information he thought was untruthful.

He thought Tim was lying.

Maybe Tim wasn't here because he needed help.

"You're thirsty?" Batman probed. Tim shrugged, trying not to show how his mind was running in frantic circles.

"I…yes, I am."

“You’ve been on a saline IV since you arrived. Hydration shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Maybe there’s something wrong with it?” Tim looked at his arm, peering at the IV needle like he knew what he was looking at. “I…my throat is really dry, and I really need water.”

Acknowledging his thirst wasn’t exactly helping. The more he thought about it, and the more he talked, the more his throat ached. He grimaced, putting a hand to his throat.

Batman turned and walked away, only to return a moment later with a glass of water. He gestured for Tim to stay put, and then opened a small panel in the window to place the glass on a small shelf just inside. Once he'd closed the panel and stepped back, he indicated that Tim should take it.

Tim looked dubiously at the IV needle still stuck in his arm, but Batman spoke before Tim had a chance to ask what to do.

"The IV stand can be moved. Get up carefully, and bring it with you."

Tim did, determinedly ignoring the strange pinch of the needle in his arm. It was a bit awkward dragging the IV stand with him, but he made it to the wall. By then, he was desperate for a drink. It was a level of thirst he only knew from long runs, or waking up at two in the morning and blindly grasping for a water bottle. He grabbed the glass and drained it, gulping down the blessedly cool water.

It ended too soon. The water was gone well before he felt any kind of relief, and he found himself holding the cup upside-down, hoping for even one more drop to roll out of it. Of course, there was nothing, so he reluctantly placed it back on the shelf.

"Could I have some more? Please?" Tim's voice rasped again, and he coughed into his sleeve. Batman remained impassive, aside from a slight tightening around the corners of his mouth.

"Did it help?"

"...No."

Batman hummed yet again, and carefully removed the cup. He kept an eye on Tim the whole time, as though expecting...something. An attack? Why? Tim just wanted more water, and answers. In that order. And he was twelve.

Batman procured something else—not another cup, but a plastic bag. The deep red color of it had Tim thoughtlessly lifting a hand to his neck—not where the ache of thirst was, but where he'd been injured. He'd watched that same color spread over the ground as he felt himself growing weaker.

Instead of inflammation and stitches, smooth skin met his touch.

Batman slid the blood bag through the panel, placing it on the shelf with an unsettling plop. Tim stared at it as the blood sloshed inside. His stomach turned…but it only halfway felt like nausea.

The panel slid closed again. "Try this."

"What?" Tim looked between Batman and the bag. "You…you want me to drink that?"

Batman didn't respond beyond inclining his head. Tim should've felt sick. He wanted to feel sick. So why didn't he?

He thought of the vampire in the graveyard. Did Batman think they were working together, somehow? But it had attacked him, Batman and Robin had saved him—

It had attacked him.

He'd been bitten.

Tim couldn't take his eyes off of the blood bag.

It was a valid concern, right? He'd been bitten by a vampire. No matter how outlandish it sounded, they needed to be sure. Batman rarely did anything without covering all of his bases. They were testing right now, and Tim needed to do his part to help.

He slowly picked up the bag, examining it. The nozzle on the top looked like he might be able to open it and drink a little. Just a little. He wasn't going to gulp down the entire bag, just enough to see what his reaction to it was. It would all be fine. He didn't feel all that different, aside from the magically-healed injuries. Who knew, it might've even been some kind of Bat-tech that patched him up.

Nothing on the bag could be easily opened. The nozzle he'd been eyeing looked to be made for an IV. Tim looked up at Batman, questioning. The man was watching him closely, observing every move he made.

"Try biting it."

Biting it? He was really convinced Tim was…not human, anymore. Aside from how disgusting that sounded, there would be no way to only take a little of the blood. Still, if there was no other way forward…

Tim brought the bag up to his mouth, carefully setting his teeth against the thick plastic. Would he even be able to bite through it? Would Batman accept that as a test result? After a moment's hesitation, he bit down. The plastic split under his teeth like the skin of a grape, and cold blood flooded his mouth.

Tim wanted to puke. He wanted to spit it out and scrub his mouth until no trace of the taste remained. The feel of it on his tongue was thick and slimy, and the taste…

He wanted to cry, because it wasn't bad.

It wasn't good, either. It was metallic and chemical, with a pungent smell that filled his nose and nearly made his eyes water. It felt like something that shouldn't be drunk, and Tim couldn't make himself swallow it. It rested in his mouth, disgusting and enticing all at once. His teeth stayed clamped down on the blood bag - this whole situation was bad enough, he didn't want to spill blood all over one of Batman's containment cells. That would just be rude.

Still, there was a part of him that wanted the blood. It felt like a separate entity from himself, caged into a far-off corner of his mind but fighting to emerge. There was no intelligence in it—just pure, animalistic want.

It wanted the blood. Tim wanted it gone. Feeling that urge rise within himself felt like watching a monster emerge from his closet at night. It was horrifying, chilling, disgusting, and it shouldn't be there.

"Do you want to drink it?" Batman's voice sounded far away, though Tim could see that he hadn't moved. He also sounded…concerned? This wasn't going the way he thought it would, was it?

No, Tim thought, but he nodded shakily without thinking. Past the awful smell and the taste of chemicals, there was something in the blood that he wanted, badly.

"If you want to, then you can," Batman assured him. He shouldn't be saying that. He was a hero, and Tim was desperately denying the monster in his head. "It's alright."

Tim trembled, warring between spitting the blood out or admitting that, with every passing second, he was that much more willing to drink it. A steady drip, drip, drip met his ears, and without looking he knew exactly what it was. A cold trickle of blood had escaped his mouth and dripped off of his chin, splattering against the sterile concrete floor. Bright red against pristine white-gray. It might stain.

Tim closed his eyes, tried not to breathe through his nose, and drank.

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Timothy Drake was dead.

Tim stared dully at the laptop screen as Bruce angled it towards him. He was in the Batsuit again, as he'd been during each of their interactions. He spent so long sitting in the Cave with Tim. There had to be other things he needed to do. Some part of his life was surely suffering because of Tim, whether it was Wayne Enterprises or Batman. He was skipping meetings, or he was skipping patrols, all because Tim had been stupid enough to be somewhere he shouldn't have been.

And now this. Two men in smart suits on a blue backdrop, sitting behind a tall desk. A story on the evening news about a string of killings two weeks ago—only two weeks—and how poor little Timothy Drake had been the final victim before Batman stopped the killer. The massive fire that had been sparked during their fight, and how the boy's body had been devoured by it. There'd been no way to retrieve anything more than ashes for his parents to bury. Such a tragedy.

"You can't go back," Batman said quietly. "I'm sorry. It had to be done, but I can help you, if you want."

The news station showed a picture of Tim with his parents—their Christmas card from the year before, one of the rare occasions all three of them were together for pictures. The image changed, and now it was a video of his parents. The news anchor's voice droned over his mother's crying, dripping in sugary-sweet sympathy.

"Services will be held this Friday, at-"

Tim didn't respond, staying as silent as he'd been since the blood bag. He'd drained it, and the burn in his throat had instantly alleviated. He'd dutifully drank from other bags when pressed, but never before then. No matter how bad his throat burned, or how often he found himself wishing for the taste on his tongue, he wouldn't drink before he was told. Never more than one bag at a time, and always quickly and neatly, keeping the blood from dripping all over the floor.

He was a monster. There was no way around that. He was a dead body walking around on its own. He had new urges that horrified him on the deepest level, but he refused to give in to them. He was a monster, but he wouldn't be a monster. He needed to drink blood, and therefore needed to drink the blood bags that would otherwise possibly save lives, but he wouldn't be a glutton about it. He'd never bite a person if he got the chance, either. He could be good, and maybe Batman would just keep him here instead of giving him to Arkham, or burning him like he'd burned the other vampire.

Tim had been unsure about that last option, when he first thought about it. Batman didn't kill. But, the more he thought about it, he was already dead. If Batman did decide to...end him, it would just be a restoration of the natural order. A cremation more than a killing.

It wasn't reassuring. Tim knew he was dead, and that it wasn't right for him to continue existing, but he didn't want to die.

"Tim."

Tim's head snapped up, meeting Batman's gaze. The man was standing beside his usual chair, and Tim hated the soft sympathy on his face. It was just like the news anchor's—performative, and likely there just because he was a kid. Oh, look at the poor dead child. What a waste.

Batman didn't speak often when he came to sit by the cell. There were a few questions, sure—answered either with a nod, a shake of the head, or not at all—but otherwise he just watched Tim with that sad look on his face. It got worse when Tim fed.

Tim didn't blame him. The man put his life on the line for kids every day. It was only natural that seeing a kid turned into an unnatural abomination disturbed him.

"I'm sorry."

Tim stopped breathing, staring at him with wide eyes. This was it. He'd reached the end of Batman's hospitality, he'd misstepped somehow, and now he was being moved, or…

Tim fought against the urge to gulp. However bad this was, he wasn't about to make it worse.

Arkham or…death. Another death, technically. Or, if he was extremely lucky, he'd be moved to the Watchtower. It was definitely secure enough to hold him, and while the rest of the Justice League wasn't as cool as Batman, he'd still enjoy getting to see them.

Batman took a deep breath, as though steadying himself. Tim watched him closely, keyed-up and anxious. "I'm sorry that I wasn't fast enough to protect you. If I'd been faster—more aware of my surroundings—you would still be human. You wouldn't have to live with the knowledge that you can never go back to how things were. But I promise, Tim, that I won't fail again."

Tim nodded, slowly. At least Batman would make sure Tim couldn't hurt anyone. That was a good enough tradeoff, in his mind, for spending the rest of his existence locked up. If he ever gave in to the monster in his head and tried to hurt people, Batman would stop him before he ruined anyone else's life.

"I'm going to open the door now, Tim."

Tim nodded, staying obediently still despite his own misgivings. In the two weeks he'd been here, he'd seen Batman, Robin, and Agent A fairly regularly, but they'd never entered the cell with him. There was always a wall between them, a failsafe in case he snapped and tried to harm them. Now, as Batman punched in the code to the door, Tim had no idea what to expect from himself. He could control himself around blood bags, but what about a human? What about another person who was still living and breathing?

The door slid open with a quiet whoosh of air, and Tim took a small, experimental sniff. It wasn't subtle, not by the way Batman went rigid halfway into the room, wary eyes locked onto him and his stance ready.

Tim did gulp this time.

People smelled so, so much better than bagged blood. Now that they were in the same room, Tim could hear Batman's heart, thudding away in his chest, and the rush of blood through his veins. Paired with the scent of it, Tim was hard-pressed not to gravitate towards him, his thirst flaring up worse than ever before. At the same time, he wanted to run away, far enough away that he wouldn't be a danger anymore.

He did neither. He forced himself to stay still, pushing the smell and sound out of his mind. Batman inched closer, waiting for any other reaction. When none was forthcoming, he carefully laid a hand on Tim's back.

"Come on. I've been informed," a small smile pulled at Batman's mouth, "that a containment cell is unsuitable for you."

Arkham, Watchtower, or death. The options spun around Tim's mind as he obediently walked with Batman. None of them sounded particularly good, though he would definitely prefer the Watchtower. After that…he wasn't sure what he hated more, the possibility of death, or the thought of being lumped in with the Rogues in Arkham.

As soon as they were clear of the cell, Tim's jaw dropped.

He'd known he was in the BatCave, but he'd been certain he was tucked away in a corner or a hallway. Instead, he found himself suddenly in the middle of it. A stone's throw away, close enough to monitor the cell but far enough to not be seen by prisoners, was a computer. The BatComputer, with dozens of monitors, several sets of keyboards, and tech hooked up to it that Tim couldn't even begin to identify. There was a wall of gear and uniforms—Nightwing had a suit here, and it made Tim incredibly happy to know that the first Robin was patching up his differences with Batman—and a large parking area that currently held only the Batmobile.

There were also trophies scattered around that Tim recognized from his—ahem—slight obsession with Batman and Robin, and their various cases. And if it weren't for his current situation, he would happily spend the rest of his life down here.

He wasn't expecting to be led in the opposite direction of the Batmobile, and up a winding staircase.

At the top of the stairs, Batman pushed open a door, and they stepped out into a completely normal study.

What?

Did he…was Tim in Wayne Manor?! In what way did bringing Tim into the Manor help with transferring him to a new prison? Surely they weren't going to load him into a civilian car and drive him to Arkham, and they definitely weren't going to do that for the Watchtower, so—

Tim ran straight into Batman's back when the man stopped walking. They were a little ways down the hall from the study—from the BatCave—and Tim still didn't have the slightest clue what they were doing.

Batman made a small huffing sound—a laugh? Was he laughing?—and carefully opened the door they'd stopped in front of. He gestured for Tim to enter, and he did. Just because he didn't know what was happening didn't mean he was going to refuse to listen.

"This is yours, for the foreseeable future. I apologize for keeping you in the Cave for so long. It was an oversight on my part, but Agent A reminded me that a cell isn't the most comfortable environment for a young boy."

It was a bedroom. A twin bed was pushed against one wall with a dresser at the foot of it. A small desk occupied the opposite wall, a desktop computer plugged in and sitting on it. On top of the bed—

"My stuff!" Tim cried, voice cracking from disuse as he darted towards the camera equipment neatly placed on top of the duvet. Perhaps a little too fast. The bed, which had previously been at least ten feet away, was suddenly smacking into his shins and sending him catapulting into the wall. He hit the plaster with a solid thump before bouncing backwards and landing on the floor.

"Tim!"

Batman started to rush forward, but Tim was already back on his feet. Really, he had the suspicion that should've hurt, but it didn't and all his stuff that he'd thought was lost forever was right here. "I'm alright! I'm alright, Mr. Wayne, thank you so much, thank y—"

Tim's brain caught up to his mouth a second too late. Batman still stood in the doorway, suit and all, face impassive as usual but he clearly wasn't happy. Tim grimaced. "I, uh. I can explain?"

Batman sighed, entering the room and sitting on the bed. "Please do."

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Needless to say, Tim wasn't transferred to a new prison.

Living with the Waynes was as much an adjustment as becoming a vampire. That was to say, it was confusing, occasionally unpleasant, and he didn’t know if he could’ve even prepared himself for the sudden transition.

At least they were kinder to him than his new…condition.

Tim slowly drifted awake on his second day in the Manor. His ability to sleep had come as a surprise to him. He’d been under the impression that dead things couldn’t sleep, but he was more than happy to be proven wrong. Sleep was a welcome reprieve from…everything.

Tim stayed in bed for a long time—or what was probably a long time. He had no interest in tracking time anymore, nor was there any need. It wasn’t like he had school or anything. What he did have was a mild sting in his throat and a hollow feeling in his stomach. So, eventually, he rolled out of bed.

The first thing he did was draw open the curtains. The dark was comforting and all, and he had the feeling he could see better in it than a human, but he missed the sun. It didn’t even hurt that bad. In fact, he’d call it an itch at worst as he leaned up against the window. He spent a good hour like that, ignoring the uncomfortable crawling across his skin, simply admiring the midday sky. Then, he finally forced himself to get ready for the day.

A shower in the ensuite bathroom. Hair cleaned, body scrubbed, though he never went outside to get dirty and didn't seem to produce oil on his skin anymore. A too-large hoodie, borrowed from Robin himself, that he shrugged on with no undershirt. He never got cold, but there were dark veins spider-webbing across his extremities that he preferred to hide. They were unsightly, and he didn't want any more pity than he already got. Socks and shoes (even though he wouldn't be leaving the Manor), hair combed, and a last cursory glance at his near-spotless room.

When Tim was satisfied he was presentable, and his room was suitably clean, he slipped into the hallway. He closed the door a little louder than necessary—his footsteps still sounded the same to him, but he'd accidentally spooked Bruce and Alfred a few times, so he'd started taking precautions to make sure they knew when he was around. It really wasn't much trouble to walk a little heavier, or clear his throat when he could hear someone nearby. No one jumped whenever he suddenly spoke up, so it was worth it.

As always, he heard Alfred's footsteps a few seconds before the butler rounded the corner. Tim fixed a polite smile on his face, and gave a little wave in greeting. Alfred smiled back, softly.

Wayne Manor was vastly different from his parents' home. Having other people around was a novelty, but Tim thought he could maybe get used to it. As stiff-lipped as he could be, Alfred was never unwelcoming to Tim, and seemed to get warmer by the day.

Without a word, the two of them started towards the kitchen. The first day he'd spent in the Manor, Tim hadn't known he was allowed to leave his room for food, let alone anything else. Bruce had been quick to correct that assumption, and in fact gave Tim three set meal times a day to keep his thirst in check. By lunch, Tim had gotten hopelessly lost on his way to eat.

He hadn't asked Bruce or Alfred for help, but Alfred had been there at dinner to guide him through the winding halls. Since he'd shown up for breakfast, too, it seemed it would continue until Tim could find his own way.

Surely there were more important things for Alfred to do, but Tim wasn't certain his input would be welcome, so he simply trailed after him in silence.

Tim's stomach still turned unpleasantly when a blood bag was produced from the fridge. His eyes stayed locked on the dark, sickly red color, no matter how much he wanted to look away and ignore that it even existed.

Every time he fed, and especially since he'd been moved into Wayne Manor, Tim wondered if it was worth it.

It couldn't be pleasant to have him around. He wasn't human anymore. He may look the same from a distance, but when he looked in the mirror he was just slightly off. His eyes were still blue, but his sclera were darker than they should be, if only by a few shades. His skin ranged between a faint pink flush immediately after eating, and paper-white when he became hungry. Both shades were fine on the surface, but became more unsettling the longer he looked.

He'd read about the uncanny valley effect in school about a month ago. He remembered it every time he looked in the mirror, and every time Bruce or Alfred's gaze lingered on him just slightly too long.

He ate blood. Nothing but blood. No matter how much he longed for normal, human food when he smelled Alfred's cooking, he was only offered blood. Alfred had offered to try cooking the blood into things, but Tim vehemently turned him down. It was already bad enough that he had to feed blood to Tim, he shouldn't have to cook it. He shouldn't have to linger on what it was any longer than he had to. Every meal Tim had was a life that could've been saved if he wasn't like this.

Tim also never left the Manor. He wasn't sure about how permanent that arrangement would be, but he couldn't imagine Batman ever wanting to turn a monster loose. It was better if Tim stayed where Bruce could keep an eye on him. However, no one wanted a child constantly underfoot. Especially not a child who might never grow up.

It wasn't fair, not to Alfred, Bruce, or to Jason. Not even to Tim, who choked back a gag as he bit into the blood bag and drained it as quickly as possible.

He held the empty bag for a moment, just looking at it. There were wrinkles in the plastic that still held little lines of dark red. For some reason, it made him feel even more sick than the full bag did. Maybe it was that he had something in his stomach, now.

Alfred gently, carefully took the bag from his hands, and Tim also hated its absence.

The pit his thoughts had fallen into was so deep, apparently, that he missed Dick coming into the kitchen until he was too close. Entirely too close.

Bruce, Jason, and Alfred had been more or less constantly around Tim since he’d been turned. Bruce attributed Tim’s self control to that fact. Exposure to their scents—to the sounds of their hearts, their behavior, all of it—had helped desensitize him, helped him rein in his thirst, allegedly.

Bruce said Tim’s struggles with his thirst, and with wanting to drain his heroes, were because he was just new to being a vampire. Bruce wasn’t Tim. He didn’t feel what Tim did. Sometimes Tim felt like there was a monster under his skin that didn’t acknowledge humanity, and the slightest lapse in control would set it loose.

The door opened around the same time a new scent hit Tim’s nose. The unfamiliar footsteps, the unknown heartbeat, a voice he didn’t know. The cold, bitter taste of the bagged blood still lingered on his tongue and sloshed sickeningly in his stomach, and he wasn’t thirsty in the slightest, but the prospect of warm, fresh blood made him feel like he hadn’t eaten in days.

In that moment, it didn’t matter that this was a living, breathing person. Tim lunged from his seat and flew across the room. They were taller than him, but that was fixable. He leapt into the air, aiming to latch onto their torso with access to their neck.

Instead, he was abruptly redirected, crashing through at least one chair and skidding across the floor. Noise surrounded him—raised voices and heartbeats that seemed to grow louder, and louder, and louder, and he needed to eat—

“-im!” Someone shook him firmly by his shoulders. Tim snarled, and that sound broke through the haze over his mind. That animalistic sound, broken and jagged, that ripped out of his throat, a sound no human would be able to make.

He was half-crouched on the kitchen floor. The first thing he saw was Bruce. He had Tim by the shoulders, held out at arms length as he knelt to be on his level. His expression was hard—his Batman face.

Tim was breathing too fast. He was still so, so thirsty, as if he’d just burned through everything he’d drunk. He gulped, making an effort to calm himself down. He didn’t need Batman angry at him. He could be nice. He could behave.

His gaze drifted off to the side and he inadvertently met Dick’s eyes.

The man was in a ready stance, more Nightwing than Dick, much like Bruce was currently more Batman. His face was calm, if tense, and his heart beat wildly in his chest. His hair was slightly messy. Tim didn’t know if he’d caused that or not.

He did, however, very much cause the long scratches on Dick’s arm that steadily dripped blood onto the floor. Tim’s eyes locked onto the steadily growing puddle of red, and he inexplicably smelled graveyard dirt.

“Tim? Can you hear me?” Bruce asked. Tim nodded shakily, unable to look away from the blood on the floor. Drip, drip, drip. “Okay. Look at me, Tim.”

Drip, drip.

“Come on, Tim. I need you to look at me.”

He’d almost—scratch that, he had—he’d hurt Nightwing. The first Robin, and he’d attacked him like he was nothing more than an animal. Tim felt sick.

Though it was in the background now, he could still feel the phantom urge to spring back at Dick. He shuddered and tore his eyes away from the blood. He was better than…that. He had to be. He would make himself better.

Bruce’s face was unreadable. Tim shook again, and Bruce’s grip tightened slightly. “Tim?”

“Yes…” Tim’s voice came out weak and wobbly. He coughed, clearing his throat. “Yes, sir. I’m…I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Tim.” Bruce was still watching him closely, like he was searching, trying to piece Tim together like a puzzle. “Are you okay?”

“I…” No. Absolutely not. How could he be okay? He’d just proved that there was something wrong with him on the deepest level. He’d just eaten, and then someone walked in, and he attacked them without a thought! He tried to eat one of his heroes! How could he be okay?! “I’m so sorry, Di - Rob - Mr. Grayson, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“Dick will be fine. Are you okay?” Bruce repeated, more insistently.

How did he know Dick would be fine? He hadn’t even looked at him, and he needed to. Batman needed Robin, even if Dick wasn’t Robin anymore. Maybe the sooner Bruce was sure Tim wasn’t about to snap again, the sooner Dick could get his arm looked at. “Yes sir. I…I’m fine. I’m sorry. It was a mistake.”

“Okay. Alright.” Bruce nodded, seeming relieved. He released Tim’s shoulders and gave him a small, tense smile. “We need to talk later, but I’m going to go help Dick clean his arm first, alright?”

Finally. “Yes, sir,” Tim said more confidently.

“Go back to your room, for now. Alfred?”

“I will clean up the kitchen,” Alfred replied. “Though I believe I may need a biohazard disposal bag from downstairs.”

They started discussing what exactly they were each going to do. Dick remained wary, keeping half an eye on Tim, but otherwise relaxed. Tim silently slipped out of the kitchen, hurrying back to his room. He knew very well that adults didn’t tend to want him around once there was no more use for him. Especially not when he’d just monumentally screwed up.

His door clicked closed behind him—not locked, he checked twice—and he sat on the edge of his bed to wait.

The sun slowly crept down towards the horizon as Tim waited. He watched the slowly changing light and colors in his room, quietly mourning his old life. When he’d first been turned, he’d entertained the thought that he could just go back to his old life. It wasn’t like his parents paid particularly close attention to him. They probably wouldn’t have noticed if he stopped eating, or if he looked slightly different. He could’ve still gone to school and kept his Bat-watching hobby.

Then there had been the “death” announcement, and those dreams were mercilessly crushed. His new life would be whatever Batman was willing to give him, and he was so lucky that he hadn’t simply been thrown into a cell and forgotten about.

And what did Tim do in return? He forced them to stock blood bags and attacked the man’s oldest son. Such a shining example of a charity case.

He scowled at the wall. He’d always thought that people who kept pet tigers were insane, thinking a predator like that wouldn’t turn on him. What was so different about Bruce keeping him?

The only thing that separated him from a predatory animal was his conscious thought. He’d just entirely lost control and attacked without hesitation. What could he do differently? Could he even be trusted to think for himself?

The full, sickly feeling from the blood bag had vanished so quickly in the face of an unfamiliar scent. Drinking more wouldn’t help him.

An idea began to take form in his mind.

Bruce had said that being used to their scents was what helped him control himself. Would that logic expand to anything else about his vampirism? Could he use exposure to train himself to ignore his thirst altogether? It would certainly be more feasible than training himself to each individual person’s scent for days, or weeks, before meeting them. He couldn’t imagine the burden that would put on everyone else.

They wouldn’t let him just stop feeding, though. Bruce and Alfred had both been very adamant about him needing to have a blood bag three times a day at set mealtimes, to try and keep his thirst under control. The problem was that that wasn’t working.

He could faintly hear tiny paws running across the yard outside his window. The Manor grounds did have a lot of wildlife. He had zero interest in eating a squirrel, but maybe it would be believable enough…

The instant the door opened, Tim immediately spoke. “Can I try and hunt? Not people, just…animals. It might help? I think?”

Bruce blinked a bit, clearly caught off-guard, but then he smiled slightly. He looked almost proud. “I was going to suggest something similar. There’s a chance that you need more enrichment to fully control your instincts.”

“That’s great!” Tim perked up. He hadn’t even thought of that. He had been extremely restricted ever since being turned, and regular exercise would be a good addition to his plan. “Can I start tonight?”

“Of course,” Bruce replied. “Just don’t leave the grounds, and come back after thirty minutes. Dick also wanted to talk to you.”

Nope. “I’m…not really comfortable with that, Mr. Wayne. I don’t want to risk hurting him again.”

Bruce looked as though he wanted to argue, but didn’t. Instead, he nodded. “I’ll let him know. Another day, maybe? When you’ve had time to get used to his scent.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I could try.” Tim didn’t think he’d ever recover from attacking Dick, but he’d have to get over himself at some point. He was going to get better, starting now

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim hadn’t fed in a month and a half.

The thirst was background noise by this point. It was always there, but if he didn’t focus on it, then it didn’t affect him. Talking with Bruce in his study, helping Alfred with chores, even running around with Jason and occasionally Dick, none of it caused his thirst to become unmanageable like it had been that first day. Their scents were unavoidable, and they smelled more like food than people to him, but aside from once or twice, he never even felt tempted to get a taste. That once or twice had also been very early in his self-prescribed training, which he certainly counted as a win.

His appearance had also changed drastically in that month. His irises remained the same color, but the sclera of his eyes darkened to a dark, ashy gray, and his pupils almost seemed to glow yellow at times. The dark veins on his body were even more pronounced, like drawn-on lines rather than something below his skin, which almost seemed translucent. Deep bags surrounded his eyes, and his face had gotten noticeably thinner. His canine teeth had also grown longer, jutting uncomfortably into his gums and catching on his lips at times. Bruce assumed it was a natural progression of Tim’s vampirism. Tim believed that for most of the changes, but a couple might have come from the lack of blood.

The control over his thirst wasn’t the only benefit he’d gained, either.

While occupying himself running around the grounds—not hunting anything didn’t mean he couldn’t exercise by chasing the animals—Tim noticed himself getting faster and faster. His senses were sharper, he even seemed to be stronger, and sometimes he could leap so high in the air it felt like flying.

Beyond that, he’d even managed to turn himself entirely invisible one day. That had triggered several hours of testing in the Batcave, but Tim enjoyed it. He got to see the Cave again—as a guest, not a prisoner—and he got to spend time with everyone in costume. It was a complete win, in his book.

The only downside was that he’d noticed his temper getting shorter, which was why he’d added daily meditations into his routine. It was manageable—it would have to be, because he was finally in control.

Everyone was so much happier around him now, too. They weren’t wary, and they didn’t watch him half as closely as when he’d first been brought out of the Cave. More importantly, they no longer kept blood bags in the kitchen for his use, and Alfred didn’t need to worry about feeding him. He just walked Tim to the door sometimes, and then welcomed him back in after he “hunted.”

Things were finally looking up, which was why Tim was confused when Jason let himself into Tim’s room, shutting the door behind him, and leaned back against it.

“Uh…hi?” Tim offered from where he’d been sitting at his desk, looking through the newest pictures of the manor grounds on his camera. They weren’t Bat pictures, but they were still surprisingly fun to take, especially with Tim’s newfound ability to reach odd perspectives.

“You’re not eating,” Jason said flatly.

Tim blinked. Okay, that threw a wrench in things. He definitely wouldn’t get to continue training himself if everyone knew that he wasn’t feeding. “Yes I am,” he replied, forcing a smile onto his face. “I go hunting three times a day. Squirrels aren’t the greatest, but they beat blood bags.”

“Okay, so we’re doing this,” Jason huffed. “We have cameras in the woods, you know. I’ve been watching them for the past week, because whatever this is” — he waved a hand in Tim’s direction — “isn’t healthy. Like, at all. Something’s obviously wrong. You look…dead.”

Tim frowned. “I am dead.”

Jason ignored him, plowing on. “And I was thinking about what could’ve happened, because you stayed pretty steady in the Cave, and for the first, like, week you were in the manor, absolutely nothing changed, except for how you chose to eat. And coincidentally, that change happened pretty much immediately after you lost control and attacked Dick.”

Jason pushed off from the door, pacing from wall to wall in Tim’s room. Tim stayed at his desk, feeling a bit like a deer caught in headlights as he watched Jason pace. It was abundantly clear that Jason was more Robin right now, and Tim didn’t know why he’d given this so much thought. Tim wasn’t hurting anyone, and his control was improving. There shouldn’t have been a reason for anyone to look further than that.

“And I thought, ‘Hey, maybe he’s having a bad reaction to the animal blood!’ or that you weren’t catching enough, or animal blood just doesn’t work for vampires. I started looking at different sources I could go to, research I could do to try and help you, and the logical first step was seeing what you were eating, and how much.”

This was just insane. Tim shook his head. “Nothing’s wrong, Ja—”

“You aren’t fucking eating,” Jason seethed. “You know, that thing you definitely need to do, whether you’re a human or a vampire? Every day, three times a day, you go outside and don’t even try to catch anything. You run around a lot, you take a lot of pictures, you even just sit there staring into space, but you don’t eat. I kept watching, every day, because I wanted to be wrong, okay? But I wasn’t.”

Jason stopped pacing, staring beseechingly at Tim. “Why? How can I help you?”

“I—you don’t need to. Nothing’s wrong, nothing needs fixing, and I don’t need help,” Tim replied. “I’m not a danger to anyone right now, and I’m not being a burden. This is how I’m dealing with all…this, okay?” He gestured to his face. He knew it looked ghastly, with the darkened sclera, and the webs of dark veins that had crept up onto his cheeks and forehead.

“But this isn’t a healthy way to do that!” Jason was angry…sort of? He was certainly upset. He was frowning fiercely, red coloring his face, and his heartbeat was a bit faster than usual. When Tim breathed in, Jason’s scent was also slightly off, a bit sour and decidedly unpleasant. It was also stronger than usual.

“Are you alright?” Tim asked, quickly standing up.

“Am I—am I?!” Jason grabbed Tim by his shoulders. “What the hell, Tim?!”

“You smell weird!” Tim defended himself, trying to worm out of Jason’s grasp. “Are you sick? What’s wrong?”

“There are so many things wrong here, but none of them are with me. Again—you are starving yourself. That’s a problem! Let’s start with that!”

“I’m not starving. I think I’m probably incapable of starving, actually. I’ve been documenting everything, and I’m fine!”

Jason was growing redder and redder. The strange scent got stronger. “You—what the hell? Tim, you need to eat. We’re going to go to the kitchen—scratch that, there isn’t any blood there. We’re going to go to the Cave and dip into the medical supplies, okay?”

“No!” Tim absolutely was not going to drink the blood that they kept for emergency transfusions when someone was injured. He couldn’t think of anything he was less willing to do. Not only would it have that disgusting, chemical taste, but it could be a potential death sentence for any one of them.

“Then let’s go catch a squirrel for real! Or a bird, a mouse, or we could go to the mainland and get you a deer or something! This isn’t negotiable.”

“How many times do I have to say that nothing is wrong?” Tim demanded. “I’m fine! I feel fine! I’ve lost a little bit of weight, but I’m stronger, I can do more, I haven’t attacked anyone—”

Abruptly, Jason’s scent blocked out everything else in the room, and Tim reeled back from the arm suddenly held up to his face. Little scars were strewn across Jason’s skin, from cuts and scrapes, to some small, old-looking burns. Jason was nearly glaring at Tim.

“What are you doing?” Tim yelped.

“Trying to help you! Just—if you won’t hunt, and you won’t eat blood bags, you still need something, so,” Jason stepped closer, still holding up his arm. “I’ll be fine, B said he’s actually pretty sure that vampires aren’t able to turn people when they’re young, and we have a med-bay less than a minute away, so there’s no risk.”

Tim turned his head away. “I’m not going to bite you! Just stop! I’m fine!”

“Just try, and we’ll see what happens,” Jason insisted. “I’m fine with it! I really am. I just want to help you.”

“I don’t want you to,” Tim finally snapped. “Just stop, okay? If there start to be issues, I’ll tell Bruce myself, but right now, there aren’t.”

Jason scoffed, but dropped his arm. “Fine. How about a compromise, then?”

Tim stayed silent, but gestured for Jason to go on.

“I want to get my own data,” Jason said. “So, you spend an hour with me every day, and I’ll make observations. If not eating is really not affecting you, I’ll support you. If it’s hurting you, I go to Bruce. Okay?”

That…didn’t sound all that bad. More data would always be welcome, absolutely, and Tim would get to hang out with Robin. Not that they hadn’t spent time together before now, but it was less intentional hanging out, and more “in the same room at the same time.”

“Alright,” Tim said. “Deal. And we don’t tell Bruce unless you see something I don’t.”

“Awesome, so, let’s start today. Wanna show me what’s on that camera roll, there?”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

True to his word, Jason didn’t tell Bruce. However, he did tell Alfred.

All of a sudden, Alfred was always walking with him to go outside at mealtimes, making pointed comments like, “I’ve had squirrel before. It’s surprisingly palatable, even to humans,” or, “There’s an unfortunate number of birds on the grounds lately, and they’re making cleaning a nightmare. Perhaps you could help with that?”

Tim did help with that, but probably not like Alfred expected. He spent close to an hour scaring off birds and cleaning up the worst of the mess they left. He’d thought he was sneaky about it, but when he came back to the manor there was an amused expression on Alfred’s face. Tim quietly made it a habit to chase off the birds.

There had also been exactly two times that Tim had woken up to a blood bag inexplicably in his room. The first time it had been on his bedside table. The second, on his desk. Both went untouched, and there were no further attempts. Alfred still made it a point to offer “supplements to his diet” every other day, though Tim never accepted. As bad as he felt for doing it, and how guilty it made him to see the well-hidden disappointment on Alfred’s face each time, he refused to give in.

Four months into his self-imposed training, Jason and Alfred hauled him down to the Batcave for tests while Bruce was out of the house.

Tim sat patiently in the med-bay, intently watching Jason run and fetch things when Alfred asked. The both of them stayed focused on the samples they’d taken from him. Drawing blood hadn’t worked very well, only yielding an awful-smelling sludge that clogged the needle. Instead, they’d been able to pull a few hairs, and shave a bit of a fingernail off, to supplement the sludge, which was interesting on its own. Apparently, when they’d drawn blood from him while he was unconscious, shortly before he woke up, they’d actually gotten blood, though it was very diluted with some kind of clear substance.

Tim frowned, watching Alfred peer into a microscope. They’d also made the discovery that, while his hair and nails had originally continued growing, they had halted around the time Tim stopped feeding. In response, Tim had pointed out that, in some myths, purported hair or nail growth on a vampire was actually misrepresented dehydration of a corpse. As the body decomposed, there was the brief illusion of growth, and Tim firmly believed that that was why his nails stayed the same length. Jason had looked disturbed, while Alfred voiced his dissent.

“Despite appearances, you are not a corpse, Master Timothy.”

“Well, vampires aren’t exactly alive, are they?”

“You have a heartbeat and a very keen, active mind. As far as I am aware, both are typical hallmarks of life.”

And he did have a heartbeat. It was very slow, with a resting heart-rate of only seventeen beats per minute, but it was present. According to records on the Batcomputer, when he’d first been turned, it had started out incredibly high, in the neighborhood of two-hundred beats per minute, and then gradually slowed until he woke up, and it bottomed out at an average of forty-two beats per minute. That was certainly news to Tim, but now he sat on the med-bay cot holding his wrist, feeling the slow thump, thump, thump under his skin.

His heart had to be moving something through his veins, presumably the sludge Alfred had collected, but they didn’t know for sure what it was. Apparently, Batman’s databases didn’t have a whole lot of in-depth information about typical vampire health. Tim was glad to be able to help out with developing it.

After a while, Alfred put aside the samples and approached Tim again.

“Do you need more?” Tim asked. “You could probably take a bit of skin if you need to, or a biopsy. Those are useful for research, right?”

Alfred chuckled, though there were slight worry-lines on his forehead. “There will be no need for any of that. Certainly not a biopsy. No, we just need to measure and weigh you. You’re a growing boy, after all.”

“No, I’m not?” Tim tilted his head, confused. “I mean, everything else stopped growing. Why should my height be any different?”

Tim hopped off the cot and followed Alfred to a scale along the wall, regardless. Even though he knew the answer to whether he was still growing, it would be helpful to have more thorough information for Batman to use.

“B doesn’t have much on vampires, but he does know they still age,” Jason explained. “At first it was just myths, and then he actually started talking to people outside of Gotham, and, wouldn’t you know it, there was some truth behind the myths. It seems to stop when they’ve been turned for a certain amount of time, or at the very least slows dramatically, but a vamp as young as you should still be growing.”

“I really don’t think I am, though,” Tim replied, standing as straight as he could on the scale for Alfred to measure his height. Irritation tickled at the back of his mind. Did they really have to question him at every turn? “I mean, I’ve been keeping track of everything I can. I really haven’t grown, unless I’ve been doing it wrong.”

Alfred hummed, the exact same sound he’d been making over Tim’s test results for the past hour. “No, Master Timothy, you are, unfortunately, correct. You haven’t grown at all since you were bitten.”

“See?” Tim hopped off the scale, feeling vindicated. “And I’m still completely fine, and I’m in control of myself. Nothing to worry about.”

“I would say there actually is,” Alfred replied, “but nothing is immediately wrong. I would like to request that we run these tests more often, for a more accurate assessment of your day-to-day health and the effect of your…fasting. It would be helpful if you would agree to eat again to gather counter-data, but I understand that your stance on the matter is quite firm.”

“I’m not going to feed for a little while longer,” Tim agreed. “I just want to avoid it a little while longer. I feel great, really, I do.”

Well, great might’ve been stretching it. Sometimes his thirst felt like a hand around his throat, or a constant buzz in his skull. It gave him a headache sometimes, like when he didn’t drink enough water as a human, but different. Blood wasn’t water, Tim wasn’t human anymore, and a lack of blood wasn’t going to kill him.

It was obvious that Jason and Alfred thought otherwise, though. A part of Tim just wanted to snap at them to shut up already, and that he’d handle it himself. He firmly stomped down on those thoughts, but a shadow of the feeling still remained. It was infuriating that they didn’t trust him with his own health. They didn’t even know him until a few months ago.

Still, they were Gotham’s heroes. He kept having to remind himself of that. They only wanted to help. He just wished they would back off a little.

“Would twice a month work? For tests, I mean,” Tim offered.

“Perhaps,” Alfred replied. “I would feel more comfortable were they weekly, however.”

Tim frowned, feeling his irritation rising again. “Twice a month sounds like enough to me. You just said that I’m fine.”

Alfred frowned. “I did not, Master Timothy. In fact, it was you who has repeatedly said that. I, myself, am fairly concerned.”

“You said nothing was immediate,” Tim countered. "I don't see why I should have to do weekly tests if there's nothing immediate."

A bit more venom than he'd intended seeped into his tone, and Alfred stepped away slightly, his eyes turning sharper and warier.

There was a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Tim crushed it down. He was a little irritated. So what? That didn’t mean that he had to take it out on Alfred and Jason. “I’m sorry,” he said instead. “I’m just not comfortable with weekly tests. We could always increase how often, if something starts to go wrong, but I just don’t see a reason for that right now.”

Alfred nodded slowly. “Very well, then. Twice a month. If you show a continued decline or your growth doesn’t resume, we will have to involve Master Bruce”

Tim nodded, not entirely happy, but willing to accept Alfred’s verdict. He personally thought there wasn’t a decline at all, and definitely no reason to alert Bruce, who would definitely make him resume feeding, but that was just something he’d have to prove to Alfred. To Alfred and Jason, he amended, as Jason was hovering behind Alfred, worriedly.

“It’ll be fine,” Tim tried to assure them. “Really, there’s nothing wrong.”

Alfred nodded, almost absent-mindedly. “If you’re certain, Master Timothy.”

“Tim,” Tim corrected.

“Apologies,” Alfred replied. “If you’re certain, Master Tim.”

Jason gave the two of them a strange look, glancing back and forth as though he were missing something. After a moment, he seemed to shrug it off. “Okay. Yeah. So, Tim, still wanna play scrabble?”

Tim nodded eagerly, his irritation vanishing. “Yeah, sure!”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three months later, Alfred still declared Tim’s test results unsatisfactory. He started pressuring Tim anew to resume feeding, and Jason joined in.

Not feeding was helping, though. Tim had never felt more in control, or more sure of himself. The longer he went, the more certain he was that he could do this indefinitely.

Eventually, Alfred and Jason’s complaints became infrequent, then practically non-existent. Whenever it was brought up, they always easily listened to Tim’s side of things, even if their conversations ended abruptly.

Tim happily continued his existence, ignoring the anger and gnawing pain that sometimes threatened to tear him apart.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Tim had first blinked awake in the Batcave’s containment cell, Bruce might’ve been willing to admit he was developing a problem. He’d ignored Dick’s jokes and not-so-joking barbs after taking in Jason, rationalizing that he’d just seen a child in need of help, and helped them.

However, now he had a black-haired, blue-eyed vampire child living under his roof, whom he’d taken in without a single thought spared to any alternatives. Twice was a coincidence, but three times was a pattern.

And Tim was brilliant, as well. Bruce had been slightly stunned by the boy, starting with the fact that he knew their identities. Following that little revelation, Bruce had done some light breaking and entering at Drake Manor. Tim’s parents were still unaware of Batman’s identity, but a loose floorboard in Tim’s room held hundreds of printed-out photos of Batman and Robin—both Robins. Little dates were scrawled on the backs of them that, when combined with the camera he’d found on Tim initially, painted a very clear picture of where they’d come from.

Still, Bruce held himself at a distance. It was obvious that Tim was still uncomfortable, and seemed to prefer isolation to any kind of company. On top of that, the boy still had two living parents. Not only that, he had two living parents who believed him dead and were grieving him, and Tim was left to grieve them in turn, in an unfamiliar place, with instincts he didn’t fully understand yet.

Bruce would admit that he, perhaps, spent too much time researching, digging for any information at all that could help Tim adjust to his new life, and equip them all to be a good support system for him. He felt guilty over it, but was usually able to brush it off. Tim also had Alfred and Jason to look after him and keep him company. Bruce had to do his part to make sure Tim was provided for, first, and then he could spend more time with him.

Alfred and Jason could only be there for Tim if they were healthy and uncompromised, however. Bruce still hadn’t decided if Jason—whom he’d found sitting against his bedroom door, holding his head in both hands—was sick or under the effects of some kind of attack.

“Jaylad,” he said gently, squatting down next to Jason. Jason didn’t budge an inch, but he made a small sound of recognition. “Is everything alright?”

“Tim is fine,” Jason replied immediately. He twitched and shook his head a little, groaning as he pressed further into his hands. “I…sorry, B. I don’t feel great.”

Bruce frowned. “It’s okay, Jay. We all get our wires crossed sometimes. Is something happening with Tim?”

“Tim is fine.”

Bruce was absolutely certain that Tim was not fine.

“Could you tell me where he is?” Bruce asked.

“Tim is—” Jason shook his head, cutting himself off. “His room. Should be. Outside if not.”

“Okay. Alright, Jaylad. Why don’t you go lay down and see if sleeping helps?”

Without a word, Jason stood and walked off down the hallway, his steps weaving slightly. Bruce made a mental note to check on him after seeing what was wrong with Tim.

Tim’s room was, very conveniently, right next to Jason’s, so that wouldn’t be an issue. Bruce made sure that Jason made it into his own room and onto the bed before knocking on Tim’s door.

“Tim? Can we talk?”

Several seconds passed with no answer. Bruce knocked again. “Tim, I’m coming in.”

When he cracked the door open, Bruce was met with complete darkness. He knew the layout of the room—a bed on one wall, a desk on the other, and a window opposite the door—but could barely make out the outlines of the furniture against the dark. The room smelled like fresh linens—predictable, as Alfred was meticulous—but there was an undercurrent of something rotten.

“Tim?”

“Get out.”

Tim’s voice came from within the room, somewhere in the vicinity of the desk. Bruce stepped back, starting to pull the door closed, when he caught himself. He didn’t want to leave. He wanted to talk to Tim, because something was wrong. “I can’t do that. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“No. I’m fine. Get out.”

Again, Bruce caught himself moving without his conscious decision. He had a feeling he knew what had happened to Jason. He set his shoulders and stepped fully into the room. The hall light cast an illuminated square in the room, with Bruce’s shadow in the middle, but he still couldn’t see Tim.

“Can I turn on the light, Tim?”

“No,” Tim snapped. He was definitely beside his desk.

“Can you tell me why?”

“It hurts my eyes. Leave it off.”

“Alright. Do you want me to close the door?” There was no response, so Bruce closed the door behind himself, leaving them both shrouded in darkness. He blinked rapidly, willing his eyes to adjust. “I’m going to sit over here, and we can talk, okay?”

“I don’t want to talk. Get out.”

Bruce’s steps wavered on his way to sit on Tim’s bed. For a moment, he was fully convinced he needed to be anywhere but that room. He reminded himself of Jason’s behavior in the hallway, and Tim’s gentle, if sad, manner after he was turned, and forced himself to walk until he could feel the mattress against his legs. He gingerly sat down and offered a reassuring smile to the darkness.

“It wasn’t a request, Tim. This is important.” Bruce patted the spot next to him. “Could you please come here?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I’d feel better if you did.” It wasn’t a lie. Not only did Bruce want Tim close to make sure nothing was physically wrong, it would reassure him greatly to know exactly where he was. Bruce was, admittedly, a little tense at the moment. “Please? Jason was feeling sick, and I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m fine,” Tim said immediately. Then, more hesitantly, “Jason’s sick?”

“He’s resting right now. He mentioned you,” Bruce said slowly.

“He said he wouldn’t!” Tim suddenly yelled. “Just…I keep telling them I’m fine, I don’t need to feed, and this is all ridiculous. All the tests, and the conversations they think I don’t hear, and how they’re always pushing me to give up! I’m fine!”

The words rattled around in Bruce’s head dizzyingly, putting him off balance with what was definitely some sort of ability Tim had manifested. The anger, the hurt, and fear of…something.

Bruce closed his eyes, putting his thoughts back in order. One thing stuck out to him. “Tim. Are you not eating?”

“No!” The desperation in Tim’s voice tugged at Bruce’s heart, urging him to find wherever he was in the room and hold him tight until everything was better. He couldn’t be sure whether that was his own mind or a reaction to Tim’s powers. “I don’t need to! I get thirsty, but I can control myself better like this, and…and I don’t have to drink blood bags that someone else could use. It just makes sense!”

“Could you explain it to me?” Bruce asked. “That was a lot, Tim. I want to understand.”

The room was silent for a long time. Then, slowly, with a creak of springs, Tim sat next to Bruce.

“...You do?”

Bruce latched onto the opening. “Yes, Tim. I’m a little confused. Could you tell me why you’re not eating?”

“I—it…I’m not safe when I eat,” Tim started, voice shaking. “I hurt Dick just after I fed, and the blood bags weren’t good, anyway, and if I eat them, I’m taking them away from someone who needs them more. I don’t want to do that. I’m not doing that.”

“That’s alright, Tim. It’s alright,” Bruce reassured him. “That’s very selfless of you. But why did you decide to stop eating altogether?”

“You said that me being used to scents helped me control myself,” Tim said matter-of-factly. “I thought that exposure could help me with my thirst, too. So, I tried it, and it worked. It wasn’t that big of a deal, and I didn’t like the blood bags anyway, so I kept doing it.”

“What about hunting?” Bruce asked. “The day there was the incident with Dick, you said you wanted to try and hunt instead. You started going outside at mealtimes.”

“I didn’t hunt,” Tim confessed. “That was just a cover, so you wouldn’t find out before I had proof that it helped.”

Bruce dropped his head into his hands. “I wish you’d have come to me with that idea first, Tim. You’re saying you haven’t eaten in months?”

“No,” Tim said. “I haven’t needed to. I can control it.”

“It sounds to me like you’d be able to control yourself without starvation.” Bruce spoke carefully, very aware he was treading on eggshells from Tim’s earlier outburst, and treasuring the trust he’d earned. A plan began to form in his mind. “What if I helped you go back to eating? I’ll help you be careful, so no one gets hurt. No blood bags.”

“...you think that would work?”

“I’m absolutely certain,” Bruce replied confidently. “Do you trust me?”

“You’re Batman,” Tim said softly. “Yeah.”

“Alright. So, if you trust me, you’ll trust that it’s alright to do what I say? Follow my plan?”

Tim hesitated slightly, but still quietly voiced his agreement.

Bruce rolled back his sleeve to his elbow and held his arm out. “We’ll figure out something better, but for now you can drink from me. It’s alright, it won’t hurt me.” That was a blatant lie. Bruce was very aware of how much being bitten hurt, by a human or not. However, being able to help Tim far, far outweighed that pain.

“It won’t?” Tim asked dubiously.

“Nope,” Bruce lied. “I’ve gotten so used to being hit that I barely feel it anymore, and I’ve got a lot of blood. You won’t be able to take enough to hurt me.”

Breath ghosted across Bruce’s arm in the darkness. If he hadn’t already braced himself, he would’ve flinched. “You’re sure…?”

“Absolute-ly,” Bruce gritted his teeth against the sudden pain. Tim must’ve been thirstier than he presented, because the instant Bruce had given him the green flag, he’d dug in. Bruce took a moment to breathe through the pain, slowly and evenly in and out, to avoid clueing Tim into his distress. When he’d grown more used to the sharp pain in his forearm, he raised his free arm and settled a hand on Tim’s head. His hair felt like it was in bad condition, oily and unkempt.

“Try to drink slowly,” Bruce advised. “We don’t want you to throw up.”

Tim made a noise of agreement without pulling away, and the pain in Bruce’s arm lessened as Tim stopped pulling blood from him as quickly.

“There you go. Do you want me to stop you, or can you stop yourself?” Bruce didn’t know why he expected a response. If Tim lifted his head to talk, he’d remove his teeth from the wound and might not be able to latch back on without biting again. Nevertheless, he got a response.

“I can stop myself—oh no…”

Bruce turned his head, tensing as the second bite came and he felt blood running freely down his arm, trickling onto the duvet. Alfred was going to kill him.

Still…maybe he was insane, but it was nice to be able to sort-of hold Tim, regardless of the blood-drinking aspect. It was awkward, with Tim drinking from the arm closest to him and Bruce needing to reach across to pet his hair, but that just made him think of nights with his boys when someone was in a cast and they would take a night off patrol to watch a movie together. It was a fiercely familial feeling, love and protectiveness rolled up into one.

Could he adopt someone who was legally dead? He’d have to look into that, or some kind of alternative, if Tim agreed.

After a couple of minutes, Bruce felt himself becoming lightheaded and tapped Tim on the shoulder. “Chum, time to stop.”

Tim pulled away from Bruce’s arm and scooted away slightly. “Did I take too much? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

“No, I’m still okay,” Bruce reassured him. His arm throbbed in time with his heartbeat, still sharply painful. He could always go down to the Cave and bandage it after putting Tim to bed. “We’ll look at some other ways to feed you tomorrow, okay? We can’t do this every day.”

Preferably, Tim would get attached to a method of feeding that didn’t involve biting Bruce and taking a considerable chunk of his blood. Today he was fairly certain it would be alright, but on patrol days he couldn’t afford to be recovering from feeding Tim.

“I’m going to go get Alfred and see about getting you a new duvet. Blood isn’t coming out of that easily, trust me.” Bruce stood up, steeling himself to avoid wobbling. The room spun dangerously around him, but he thankfully stayed upright. He crossed to the door and when he opened it, turned back to see Tim in the light from the hallway.

There was definitely something wrong with Bruce when he saw an undead thirteen-year-old with blood smeared across his face and felt nothing but protective love.

He smiled and gently closed the door.

“Master Bruce, what have you done to your arm?”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tim placed his mask over his face, patting it to make sure it laid flat and flush to his skin. He double and triple-checked his costume and gear, running through his mental checklist. Cape properly attached, check. Boots secure, check. Grappling hook, batarangs, bo staff, check, check, check. Emergency vitamins…not check.

“Hey,” he called, “Has anyone—?”

“Got ‘em right here, baby bird,” Dick said, tossing the packet of pills at Tim. “I noticed you left them at the computer, again.”

“Thanks, Dick.” Tim tucked the pills into his belt. They were an invention of his and Bruce’s, mostly vitamin D and iron, which would allow Tim to stave off his thirst for a few hours in bad situations. A lifesaver, really. “So, you’re actually joining us today?”

“Thought I might as well,” Dick agreed, stretching his arms above his head. “Since B’s down for the count and all.”

“We could definitely use the help,” Tim said. “We’ve got a lot of big names on the loose, and they’re all being quiet. I don’t trust them in the slightest.”

“Yeah, hell of a time for B to break his leg,” Jason chimed in from near their vehicles. The Batmobile was, sadly, firmly off limits to all of them, following an incident a couple years ago, but they each still had their bikes. “Falcone’s gone to ground, Croc’s back in the sewers, Penguin’s being Penguin, and that’s not even the end of it. Joker also decided to make his first appearance since me and Tim kicked his ass in Ethiopia, and I can’t wait to show him this.” Jason tapped a finger on his helmet, the staple of the new costume he’d made for himself after he and Tim narrowly escaped one of the Joker’s traps overseas. “Cass is still abroad, but Steph’s going to meet us out there, so we might actually get something done tonight.”

“Here’s hoping,” Tim muttered, slinging a leg over his bike.

“Hey, you can’t drive without a license, Timmers.”

“I’m dead,” Tim said drolly, starting up the bike. “I can’t get a license, but I’m still not riding with you, Mr. Road Rage.”

Tim sped out of the Cave as Jason yelled, “Corpses shouldn’t drive, either!”

53 notes · View notes

joe9cool · 2 years ago

Text

Collide-Justin Herbert-26

A/N: I do not know or associate The Chargers or anyone affiliated with them. This is fanfiction. Also you do not have permission to copy or post my work anywhere else. Thank you

Abu Dhabi was an interesting place.

Sara met her team on the plane and they began the long flight. Everything had been cleared by security and their visa's were approved. That was the nice thing about having a manager and assistant.

When they arrived. It was early morning, and while normally they would have time to settle in, Sara was rushed to the set where she had an introduction to everyone. (She hugged Timothee hard) then the director came and asked her if she had any questions about the script. He wanted her to go over a bit with Austin Butler. She had to laugh when he came to her trailer to introduce himself to her and Erika, as her best friend was trying hard to keep her cool.

They went over their lines before they were called to do some testing photos for promotion. The movie's pr team wanted them to give the appearance of a family friendly set. As Sara and Austin spoke, Timothee joined them, as the set photographer took photos for them to post on their social media.

Then it was a dress rehearsal to make sure Sara's costumes fit. Since she was going to be playing a princess, her outfits ranged from simple and elegant, as well as regal and extravagant. Some minor alterations had to be fixed as Sara's training for the fashion show made her body more toned.

In between fittings, Sara was flipping back and forth between the script and trying to figure out when the game vs the Broncos would be on. It was going to be difficult, but Sara was determined to make it work. She remembered to message Justin that she landed, however it was probably late in Los Angeles, so he wouldn't see it until she was probably asleep.

This was going to be a test of their relationship.

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Message from anon: Did you see this post? From deumoxi instagram

Blind item: big time Hollywood actress from steel city is involved with an NFL quarterback in California. Wonder how her business focused family is taking this?

I think Sara Wozniak is seeing Justin, or at least there is/was something going on. They both follow each other, have the same group of friends.

Answer: Jeez anon, we've talked about it. It's a follow, all evidence we've seen has linked him to Taylor. As a matter of fact Taylor just posted she's rooting for the Chargers.

Anon: oh my god let it go. He's not seeing Sara, she isn't his type. She's obnoxious and fame seeking.

Answer: I can see her not being his type, but I don't get the fame seeking? She stays pretty lowkey compared to another ex of his.

Anon: the fact that everyone treats this as another girl. She's SARA WOZNIAK, Oscar nominated, funny, smart woman. She has tons of friends, is a social butterfly. She does tons of charity work. She is wayyyy out of his league. She doesn't want a homebody, twenty four year old fuckboy. Her ex is Harry Styles, talk about a downgrade if she was with Justin.

Answer: . That's all I'm going to say.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sara was exhausted.

It was 1:40am and she was in her hotel room watching the game. She got back from another long day of filming. They were doing the difficult scenes first. So it was physically and mentally tough on her. She got back to her trailer at 11pm, closed her eyes for an hour, and then got up to eat a snack and turn on the game on her phone.

She still wanted to support the guys, even though in her personal opinion it was stupid to play the starters when they really had nothing to play for. Justin didn't like hearing that, but it's true.

So far seeing Mike carted off and Joey limping, Sara shook her head. She liked Staley, but she could understand the fans frustration with him. Joe had no problem expressing his anger while she was texting him. She was fighting off sleep, even though she would regret it when her alarm went off in a few hours.

The game was now tied and she was upset that Justin was still playing. Why would you risk getting your star quarterback injured? It was probably Justin’s doing as well, the man was committed to football and didn't want to go off the field for nothing, even during injury.

Even millions or miles away she wanted to kill her boyfriend.

She dozed off somewhere during halftime. Her alarm woke her up and the knock of the door signaling the driver was there to take her to the set. In a hurry, she got up and jumped in the shower. Running around, she managed to get to the set on time for hair and makeup. Her phone was dead, so she handed it to Erika to charge.

Unfortunately her tiredness interfered with her work. It was an off day for her and the director expressed frustration with certain faces she made, a couple times she found herself fighting off yawns, which Unfortunately were caught. At one point Alex pulled her aside. "You need to get it together, you don't need any distractions. I don't know why you were up late, but you might need to go back on sleeping pills.

She was right, as much as she loved Justin, he was probably focused on his career,and she needed to be focused on hers. During a quick break, she quickly downed a black coffee and took a caffeine pill, her heart was racing and sure it was stupid and dangerous but she needed this.

It worked though, as the drug kicked in she found herself filming her scenes with ease, and the production team improved. During lunch Austin approached her. "Hey good job, don't worry about it earlier. Timothee got bitched out twice because he kept forgetting the desert scene." She laughed "yeah that sounds like him. I'm fine I just stayed up late, the time different just got to me."

Austin smiled. "The good news is that we are ahead of schedule. So maybe we get to go home a little earlier than expected."

She laughed again. "Yeah but I'll be back in LA with the fashion show at the end of the month, and then in February I will be in Paris doing press work." Austin nodded in understanding. "Our job never ends." They laughed, soon Timothee joining them for some more set pictures.

Once Sara got back to the trailer she was ready to drop. Erika handed her phone back and she opened all of Justin's messages. It was the usual talking about the game, he updated her on Mike and Joey's status. She replied back, even though he would be sleeping, that she missed him and loved him, and that he made her proud despite the loss. Surprisingly he messaged her back that he loved and missed her and promised he'd give her updates on Bosa and Williams. She smiled as Erika rolled her eyes in a teasing matter.

—---------------------------------------------------------

Taylor stared at the screenshot of the deumoxi post. There was only one quarterback that popped up in her head. There was no way The Sara Wozniak was seeing Justin. Granted, she was at Chargers games, but her good friend had a private suite and was a season ticket holder. Plus what about the blonde's he had been spotted with. No offense, but girls like Sara wouldn't be okay with a guy playing the field.

Maybe she was putting too much thought into it. There was Jimmy G, who had the hearts of millions of women. He was close in age to Sara, and more her type. So that would make more sense. It has to, Jimmy would fit the persona of a Hollywood starlets boyfriend. He would be on her arm at the red carpet events, not Justin. Justin would never date someone who had that level of fame. That's right, it made more sense that Sara was seeing Jimmy.

However as Taylor sat in her office, she had a feeling that she was wrong. She grabbed her phone and clicked on Sara's follow list. There was Justin, but not the 49ers quarterback. She did notice that there was Kenny Pickett, Joe Burrow, and some others in her following. She went on Justin's profile and saw that he was following Sara as well as the rest of the shows cast.

That doesn't mean they are dating though, they share mutual friends. She is at games, they probably haven't spoken to each other. Sara only knows him as the Quarterback. Taylor thought

Still, if Sara found him attractive she could easily get any man. But Justin wasn't any man.

"Taylor, any new reports?" Taylor broke her trance and looked up at her co-worker, who was staring at her in confusion. She laughed. "I'm sorry, I spaced out."

"Are you okay?" She nodded. "I'm just tired." He nodded, she continued. "So far nothing yet."

He walked away and she took a sip of coffee. "Focus Taylor." She whispered.

There was no way Justin and Sara were a thing. She is everything he is against.

She didn't feel confident in the reasoning

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"How is Abu Dhabi?" Justin had her on speaker as he was getting ready to head to the facilities. Despite the 12 hour time difference they still manage to squeeze in phone calls in between the texts messages and photos they would send. Of course, Sara's photos were alot more interesting than his. The scenery was gorgeous. She made him swear to secrecy that he wouldn't release any set photos she snuck of her in her outfits, he rolled his eyes at that, which he knew she knew. "It's gorgeous, but warm, you know I hate that." He laughed, his girlfriend never failing to vocalize her taste for hot weather.

"I know you do, trust me, it's not fun practicing outside when camp starts." She hummed. "I'm sorry you have a shortened schedule this week. I don't think it's fair."

"Yeah, but that's what the league wants, and we just have to adapt, but I'm confident in the team." From all the way across the world Sara rolled her eyes. "I see you're in media mode already." He laughed as he got in his car. He sent a message to his manager to make sure to check on Nova, although she would probably be busy in her tower. As if his girlfriend knew the Bengal was on his mind. "How's Nova been?"

"She's been good, she misses you though. But she's been getting plenty of exercise on the wheel. Although I had to put it downstairs so I don't hear it at three am." He muttered and she laughed. "Well I was reading up on the breed and they are high energy cats. They are close to a dog you know." He smiled. "I know, I think that's why I subconsciously chose that breed."

"Oh you need a dog!" Justin groaned. She had been pestering about a dog since she became obsessed with Dylan. "Why don't you get a dog." He told her. She sighed. "I mean, I thought about it, especially during the pandemic. But I think with this upcoming schedule I have to put it off til next year."

"I don't think a dog will really ever fit in my lifestyle with the schedule and games."

Sara tried not to let her mind wander to the future, maybe one day they could own a dog together. "I love Golden retrievers." She admitted. Justin laughed "I like labs, good, hardworking dogs you can take fishing."

"Well they have retriever in them, so they are good helper dogs." After a pause she laughed. "I was on a dog's 101 YouTube page." Justin laughed. "You and your YouTube rabbit holes." He would always glance at her screen and find her watching the most random things. Sometimes he found himself telling her to connect it to the television so they could watch together.

The rest of the phone call she explained other deep dives she went on, before she was called to set. "I'll call you tonight." He smiled. "Promise?" She laughed. "Promise. I love you."

"I love you too, have a good day on set."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"So wait what happened?" Justin was laughing as Sara retold the story. Timothee apparently blurted out the wrong line, and the director didn't notice until he and others pointed it out.

He was getting ready for bed while she was on break. The time difference seemed to work out well so far. It had only been a week, but Justin was counting down the days when she would be back in Los Angeles. The fashion show was Sunday the 5th of February, and her plane was landing on the 27th, however she would be in rehearsal and the Amazon cameras would be following the process of the fashion show before going live. Sara did find a couple times where she could break away to see him, but it would have to be at her place. Which was fine, but Erika would be there as well.

"Can you bring Nova over?" Justin rolled his eyes. "You're only coming home to see my cat?" She laughed. "And what about it?" "Get your own cat."

"Wait a minute, first we discussed a dog, now a cat? Are we making an animal shelter?" The comment had an innuendo behind it. She didn't mean to, but she was curious about what he would say. "I mean, we both love animals." It made her smile. "I think I want a Bengal like Nova."

He snorted. "Good luck, they are a pain in the ass to train." He looked over at the cat on his pillow and scratched her head. "Isn't that right?" Sara laughed.

He decided to switch topics. So are you ready for the fashion show?" She sighed. "I'm nervous. It's live, and if I make any mistakes there's no redo. Plus I'm walking with models! Justin, actual supermodels like Bella, and AnnSophie, and Gigi."

"But there are some others. Kelce's ex is supposed to be there." He paused. "I looked up the list."

"Yeah he's supposed to be there too, so I don't know if he's an ex or what. A couple of other football players are going since one of the programs is teams. " there was a pause and justin had to ask "Is anyone else for you going?" He knew her family was out of the question. She sighed on the other end. "Alisha is going, as well as Samira, but that's for me and AnnSophie, she has her parents cause Lexi is with George for that week. So to answer your questions, no I don't have anyone."

Justin paused. In a split decision he blurted out. "I could maybe go hangout with Kelce and some other guys if I'm not still in the playoffs."

He couldn't see, but Sara's jaw dropped. Him attending a public event? Where people might speculate if they even look at each other? "Justin, I'd love it if you came! I can make sure you come in through the back way and we don't even have to attend the after party." Justin smiled. "I don't want you to miss it because of me. I know you love the people performing." She laughed. "Justin, I can see them anytime. Come on, it will be fun, we can sneak away" He smiled.

"I'd love that."

—-----------------------------------------------------------

"Erika, do you have midol by any chance?" Sara was groaning in her set chair waiting for the director to call for her scene. She had woken up this morning to her monthly gift. She was always early or on time, except that one time in October where she was two days late, she almost had Erika run to the rite aid only for it to come the next day. She hadn't told Justin because he had been on the road, plus it worked out so there was no reason to alarm him.

Erika came running into the room. "I got something wayyyy better she squealed!" Sara looked over confused. "A doctor to rip my uterus out?"

"Oh my god sis, have you not checked your messages? Oh wait only if it's from Justin." Before Sara could bite back Erika kept with the point. "Your agent called! Anna Wintour wants you to be on the Cover of June Vogue!" Sara got up faster than usual and screamed, catching the attention of those around her. "No fucking way" Erika nodded and the best friends tightly hugged. "I'm so proud of you Sara, I know how much you wanted this." It was true, while she had been on the covers of international vogue, this was a big deal. It was Vogue magazine, something she dreamed of when she was in college, her first acting gig, when things took off and people began noticing her. She pulled back and Erika was still smiling. "That's not all!"

Sara was confused. What else could there be?" As on cue her phone rang and she pulled it out of her friends hand to see it was the producers of her show. She answered it and put it on speaker. "You're on speaker"

"Oh good I did the time conversion correctly." She laughed, Finn was one of the main producers, a man in his fifties who had been pitching shows for a while with no luck until now. "You could have just Googled it." He laughed. "That isn't a challenge."

"Is there something important about the show?" Finn laughed. "Why I'm calling to inform you and the rest of the cast that the nominations just dropped for the SAGs and guess what baby! We are nominated! And you Missy, is nominated for Best Actress in a Dramedy!"

Sara screamed again. After discussing the details of the awards which her team was working on as well as a schedule to make a dress. (Designers were already reaching out about making a dress) her castmates all called her as well. She just got a message

I'm proud of you baby- Justin

She teared up. I miss you, I love you.

She couldn't wait til the 27th

"So I hear you are a fellow SAG nominee," she looked up and saw Austin smiling at her. She nodded, "yes and congratulations to you too Mr. Presley." He laughed, he had been down since the death of Elvis' daughter, who he just attended the Golden Globes with. It was nice to see him smiling again.

Before anything else could be said they were called back to set.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So far the twelve hour difference was working out as well as one could hope.

Sara was up at 5am waiting for the game to start. She sent her usual 'good luck' message to Justin then Patrick was messaging her.

It was such a good game so far. She managed to get to halftime before she had to get to set. They were flying through the scenes and they were ahead of schedule. Of course, anything can happen, but right now it was looking good.

As Erika and Sara arrived on set she was glued to her phone. So much so that Timothee kept trying to get her attention "hey!" Sara looked up and Erika snickered. "She's absorbed in her boyfriend's football game"

Sara's eyes widened as Timothee smiled. "Get out. Sara you're seeing someone?" Before she could respond he laughed. "I knew it! Those guys' clothes in your closet when we were getting ready for Virgil's party."

"So who is he?" Timothee came around to look at the screen." Sara pulled away, looking around to see if anyone was near she whispered "He is the quarterback."

"The what?" He whispered back. She rolled her eyes. He didnt know shit about football. "Just don't say anything. Unlike a big mouth." She glared at Erika who was sheepish. "I'm sorry! I can't keep up with who knows or not."

Sara shook her head. She was getting nervous. The Jags were catching up and this Lawrence dude was better than the first half. Unfortunately, she had to put the phone down to head into hair and makeup.

Deuxmoxi instagram

Word on the Dune 2 set is that an A list actress who signed on for the sequel has a new boyfriend she is trying to keep on the DL. He is athletic.

Taylor Biscotti on twitter.

The hair is flowing between Justin and Trevor on this Saturday night game! Who you got?

Twitteruser1 @/TaylorBiscotti your guy obviously

Twitteruser2 @/taylorbiscotti wish you were there to cheer him on. —---------------------------------------------------------------

Sara was going to be sick

How the fuck did this team blow a lead, she checked the score on a break and it was down to the wire.

She held her breath while looking at the Google updates. It was 3 seconds. Do or fucking die.

The kick was good.

The Chargers were out. The Jags came back.

Sara wanted to cry. She didn't know what to do. She knew Justin was nowhere near his phone and he wouldn't be for a while.

She just kept it short

When you need me I'm here, I love you and I'm proud of you no matter what.

Warning, the drama will kick off next chapter. I don’t think you guys are going to like me much once the next chapter drops.

#Justin Herbert #NFL #Justin Herbert imagine #NFL imagine #Alexa writes collide

63 notes · View notes

yoonpobs · 4 years ago

Text

bad boy good thing vii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 4, 627

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Despite being friends with three (well, now four) people on the football team—you didn’t fancy attending football games at all. It was highly unlike the usual scene you were comfortable with. It was loud, rowdy and people didn’t understand the concept of personal space when they’d shove and push others aside just to get a better glimpse of the players on the field.

Yet, you attended every single one of the football games—and you were a familiar enough face that the coach smiles at you when you hover outside the changing rooms; a simple request from the captain himself.

You’re a little shocked at yourself at the fact that you had no idea who Namjoon was prior to his introduction. He was the captain of the current football team, which apparently, throughout your college’s history—brought the most wins ever. And, he was also well-known that lecturers applauded him for his impeccable work-to-life balance.

Somehow, the divulgence of your own thoughts makes you frown. Because perhaps you were truly anti-social. You weren’t even acquainted with common school affairs in spite of being apart of the student council.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

You don’t dwell too much on your thoughts because you’re unable to, not when the door slams open and bodies of college men pour out with large shouts and their padded shoulders—looking very much prepared for their game.

The anxiety settles into the pit of your stomach when you realise you stick out like a sore thumb. The jeans and white top you were wearing was quite a typical outfit to wear to a game, with the addition of ironically—a baseball jacket. But when you were definitely smaller than the footballers; it was hard not to feel out of place.

Especially when they look you over before continuing out to the field. While you attended games before, you were never asked to meet in the changing rooms. Jimin and Taehyung knew well enough not to ask you, and Jungkook … well. You were always his dirty little secret, weren’t you?

And you see Jungkook first, grinning like a madman when another footballer brings him into a headlock and hollers something you assume is their hype-cheer.

It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Things were meant to have been settled, but the tight feeling in your chest when you look at him only reminds you that some things were hard to erase.

Before you can look away, Jungkook spots you—and he pushes the arms of his teammate off ever so slightly before turning to him and muttering a few words before he’s stalking towards you.

Your eyes widen, definitely not expecting him to pay you any mind.

“You’re here?” He furrows his brows.

You clear your throat, and you realise navigating a conversation with him after what’s transpired is much harder than you expected it to be. The fact that he was so casual about it when he left you with a kiss on your forehead makes you even more conflicted.

“I am.” You mumble. “I told you, remember?”

Jungkook blinks as if he remembers something, and his expression hardens ever so slightly before he’s schooling his features.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I knew that. Just didn’t know you’d be … here.”

Here was probably referring to standing outside the changing rooms, and you can’t help but flush at the declaration.

“Um, yeah. Namjoon—” Before you can finish your sentence, you see the captain heading towards you with a large grin; looking over Jungkook for a brief moment.

“You’re here!” His words are exactly the same as Jungkook’s, but it evokes a different set of emotions in your chest.

You smile as sincerely as you can, which is proven difficult when you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you.

“I am.” And you repeat the same thing you said to Jungkook. It feels odd, but you push the feelings aside. “Good luck, you.”

You offer a small punch to his shoulder, an awkward attempt at supporting him and you almost apologise but Namjoon smiles even wider.

His hand reaches out to your hair, gently patting it as he looks at you fondly. You don’t think anyone’s ever treated you so … tenderly before, not upfront and after one meeting at least. And you’re definitely flustered.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here.” His dimples are on full show when he looks down at you with a kind gaze.

You clear your throat and look away, hoping the dim lights didn’t amplify the blush on your cheeks.

“Of course. We have that exhibition next to look forward to if all else goes South.” You grin cheekily up at him, words still soft.

You hope that your joke doesn’t rub him the wrong way, and it doesn’t because he snorts in response. All while Jungkook is silent.

“That’s a win itself, isn’t it?” He says smoothly, and your eyes widen at his blatant—or at least you think—flirting.

And before you can splutter a response, Jungkook is nudging Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder, the movement slightly rougher with his shoulder pads in place.

“We gotta go, Cap,” Jungkook says stiffly.

Namjoon doesn’t realise the hostility in his tone, but you do. And you frown ever so slightly, but you cover it up when Namjoon looks over at you with an apologetic expression.

“I’ll see you after the game?” He asks, eyes lighting up.

Your lips tilt upwards and you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon jogs off first, not before grabbing his protective gear as Jungkook lingers ever so slightly, stuttering in his feet as you have the vision of his back towards you.

You’re about to head towards the bleachers, a spot that Namjoon purposefully reserved for you with help of his coach; but Jungkook turns around and his face is hesitant.

“Will you …” He swallows as you raise an eyebrow at his uncertainty. “Will you cheer for me?”

The question is odd, especially when you know that he’s aware that you were here for Namjoon. Usually, that would imply that you were rooting for him. But, you’ve never been able to say no to Jungkook. Not even when you want him to feel the same hurt you’ve felt.

“What friends are for, right?” You mumble, eyes darting to the ground for a second until you look back up at him again.

What you don’t say is that friends don’t do the things we did, or that there was no manual to teach you how to navigate the throes of your relationship after everything that’s happened. Nor do you tell Jungkook that you’re always cheering him on, but you can’t do it outwardly. Not tonight. Not for a while, too.

Jungkook’s face falls obscurely, but he forces a tight smile before grabbing his protective gear too.

“I’ll look for you,” Jungkook says.

Then he’s off, with a squeeze to your shoulder that leaves your heart feeling a lot heavier.

You ended up sitting next to the school photographer, who you now know as Yena. Prior to this, you’ve heard the student reporter club have a few intense individuals apart of them—word you heard from Yoongi, the President himself—and he was already as intimidating as one could get. But there was Yena, who essentially made people cower in fear when they’d make eye contact with her.

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she asks when you slide into your seat. Her tone isn’t condescending, neither was it purposely made to make you feel uncomfortable. Rather, she asked it in a rather bored tone—as if there were better things she could be doing.

“Um.” You squeak.

Yena rolls her eyes, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your head off despite my grotesque appearance. Ever heard of a conversation starter?”

You blink.

“You’re very pretty.” You say softly.

Yena narrows her eyes at you for what seems like forever as you clear your throat. Then, she snorts before patting you on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean objectively ugly, sweetheart.”

The tilt of her lips make your ears flush and you never found yourself downright intimidated by someone, but there was something about her that made you want to listen to her.

“O-Oh.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too nice, _____. Has anyone ever told you that?” She emphasises her point with a tilt of her head.

“N-Not really …” You mumble.

She sighs as she kicks her feet on top of the railings in front of her while her eyes follow the line of footballers that pour onto the field, already moving towards a group huddle.

Her camera is already in her hands when she snaps the shot like second nature, before plopping back into her seat.

“Well, you are. People are gonna eat you alive, you know?” She says pointedly.

You fiddle with your fingers before you find the courage to look at her.

“How did you know who I was?” You wonder out loud with furrowed brows.

Yena scoffs before turning to look at you with a blank expression. And it’s the worst part in you that makes you think that you’ve said something wrong.

“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpans. “Girl who made honours three years in a row? First female student council president? Lecturers pet? Curve-setter? The list goes on, really.”

You flush as you turn your head away.

“I didn’t mean …” You mutter.

She waves you off. “You don’t have to sound so guilty about it. You’re smart and you’re capable. Own it.” She shrugs.

You blink up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time; she properly looks at you and your surprised expression.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

When a whistle blows, the game has somehow started and you have half the mind to begin cheering like the rest of the crowd. But the awkward part of you remains rooted in position.

“So.” Yena leans in with a grin on her face. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

It’s … odd. Purely because you’ve never spoken to her before and you’ve briefly heard about her in passing when you communicate with Yoongi on pastoral affairs. And for someone to speak to you so freely and casually, like you’ve been friends for years—feels nice.

And it’s probably also because you didn’t have any girl friends that you could really trust. People on campus were … they were mean and they usually wanted something from you, whether it was to get to one of your friends or get insights on events so they’d get a boost on their reputation.

“Earth to _____?” She drawls.

You snap your head towards her and your ears turn red once again.

“There’s isn’t … any guy.” You confess.

Yena snorts as if she doesn’t believe you.

“Really now?” Her grin approaches a smile when she rests her chin on her palm. “You know not just anyone sits here, right?”

You shrug. “What about you? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She blinks, then leans back before kicking one leg across her other.

“Photographer pros. Or cons. Especially if you consider watching disgusting men sweat and chase after balls is something to be grateful for.” She rolls her eyes.

You laugh when she complains, and it’s likely the first time you’ve relaxed your shoulders around her.

“That does sound kind of gross.”

She nods her head as if to say right, before offering you a cheeky grin.

Then, her eyes zero onto the field, then back to your face—and eventually back to the field before she hops off her seat once again; waving her camera to signal you that she was going to carry out her duties.

You think Yena’s cool. A little intense, and kind of scary—but a nice person nevertheless. Maybe you were a blind optimist that saw the good in everyone, but there was something about her that you really liked. The kind of person you wish you could become.

The cheers get immensely louder, especially when you note that Jungkook’s scored a goal—his beaming expression displayed on the big screen while you hear girls and guys alike cheering his name.

It’s times like this where you’re reminded of how different you were from him. While he received praise and approval from the masses and was born to be loved by them. You were quite the opposite; the cheerer and the supporter but never quite the one receiving it.

His eyes skim the crowd, and you can see from the screen that his brows furrow ever so slightly. But he’s quick to return to his groove, fist-bumping a teammate along the way.

You sigh because even when you weren’t intentionally looking for him it’s like your heart only wants you to see what’s familiar. And funnily enough, the hurt is familiar too.

In the middle of it all, you try your best to smile—and throw in a small whoop on your own, hoping to blend in but be present enough to be heard.

Yena returns only when it’s half-time, her own body covered in sweat while she huffs, slapping a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“God. You’d think they’d slow down after fifteen minutes but nooo. They have to go flex on their fragile masculinities because they think growling and ripping off their shirts is peak alpha male character.” Yena mutters and it’s the first thing you hear from her.

You offer her a sympathetic smile before digging into your bag and pulling out a handkerchief, one that you always carry around.

“Here.” You smile at her toothily.

Yena eyes the fabric sceptically before looking at your face and back to the handkerchief.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, jutting out your hand once more to emphasise your point.

“Ah. I can see why Namjoon nabbed you up.” Yena coos, ruffling your hair as your eyes widen.

“H-How—?”

“How did I know? Well besides the fact that my job is to literally stick with the team and capture moments and make them look pretty—I’m nosey.” Yena shrugs and your face pales. “Oh, and I saw you guys at the changing room too.”

If she saw … that meant—

“Thought you were with the meathead Jeon for a moment.” Yena snorts.

Your eyes dart down to your lap, and Yena picks up on your silence immediately. But unlike the conventional person; despite her curiousity, she respected your privacy more. So she doesn’t, she just offers you a smile and a nudge to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Yena assures, sighing as the voices of the footballers fill your area as they come up for refreshment. “He’s nice.” You weren’t sure who she was referring to so you just nod.

“Yena—pass me a bottle!” A boy calls, and you half expect her to do so, but instead, she delivers him one better—a middle finger.

“Get it your self you dickwad!” Yena calls back.

Your eyes widen when you turn your head to look at her, completely unbothered when the footballer shoots daggers at her nonchalant figure.

“Men. Think you always owe them something.” She scoffs.

You find yourself unconsciously nodding your head, and once again Yena recognises the gesture but doesn’t mention anything.

Instead, she turns towards you and levels you with a wide grin of her own.

“You’re cool. We should hang out.”

The declaration makes your eyes widen even more and you realise how much you’ve fumbled and made yourself look … stiff the entire time you were attempting to converse with Yena. But she seemed to be unbothered, and the thought makes you excited.

“We should?” You parrot with a squeak.

She nods and you’re still finding it hard to process the fact that she’d brought that up out of the blue.

You weren’t bad company. But you were … you.

“You’re like Ms Bona Fide.” Yena tuts. “People these days are either out to please or to receive.”

You furrow your brows.

“And I’m … not?” You say softly.

“You’re present.” Yena shrugs and throws you an easy-going smile.

God. She was so cool.

Namjoon scores the final goal.

You expect him to call the hangout off because, well, he’d closed the game and he was the captain. It was only normal that he’d want to celebrate.

So when Yena nudges your shoulders while your head is bent and focused on your mobile device, you slowly looked up with furrowed brows to see her cocking her head to the side with a knowing grin on her face.

And you see Namjoon, out of his gear and in a plain t-shirt and sweats while he waves at you.

You can’t help but gape at him.

“I see you’ve surrendered to good company instead of a zoo.” Yena greets Namjoon first with a snort.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you gauge that they’re at least well-acquainted. Acquainted enough that Namjoon subtly tries to flick her off, but you catch the gesture as soon as it comes.

“Promises are promises.” Namjoon shrugs as if he wasn’t aware that you were still gaping at him. Mouth open like a fish out of the water.

“Well—be nice, captain.” Yena whistles, throwing her camera into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder before she turns to look at you, a gentle nudge with her shoulder to yours as she levels you with an intentional look in her eyes.

“Don’t start any fights, Yena.” Namjoon gently chides, but his tone is joking.

Yena waves him off, then waves at you one last time, leaning down to whisper something into your ear that has you flushing.

“Tell me how it goes when we hang out.”

And she leaves you with a keen sense of excitement on the prospect of a new friend like her to look forward to hanging out with.

Namjoon looks over at you, and gently reaches for the tote bag you’ve slung over your shoulder as he tugs it off you with a soft pull.

“Let me.” His smile is all teeth and dimpled grins when you reluctantly let him take your bag from you.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyes attempting to look at him but his gaze is so focused on yours that you find it difficult to make eye contact.

“We’ve got an exhibition to go to, don’t we?”

You nod your head enthusiastically as he chuckles, allowing you to lead the way as you find a little prep in your steps. It was nice. Having a friend like Namjoon.

“Captain’s not coming?” Yugyeom groans, ruffling his hair with a towel as the rest of the footballers filter out of the changing room.

Jimin snorts in response. “No. He’s got a date.” The emphasis on the word date is obvious in the immature sense, evoking wide eyes as responses.

“He bailed on us for some pussy?!” Yugyeom cries.

Jungkook has to clench his fists by his side when he hears how his teammate casually referred to you as just some pussy. You weren’t just … that.

“Watch your tone,” Jimin growls, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin was more of the confrontational type and didn’t allow shit like this to slide easily. Especially when it came to you. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

Yugyeom’s eyes widened before gawking at the blonde boy.

“You mean Namjoon is going on a date with _____?” The rest of the footballers murmur in response, possibly out of confusion. “How did they—doesn’t she not … date?”

Jimin sighs, already ready with a response on the tip of his tongue but Jeonghan, the keeper interjects.

“Wait, I was under the impression that she and Jeon were a thing?”

At the mention of his name tangled with yours, Jungkook, who has been relatively silent throughout, freezes as his hands stop rummaging through his duffel bag while he tries to ignore the inquisitive stares he’s receiving from his teammates.

“W-What?” Jungkook stutters caught off guard.

Yugyeom narrows his eyes at the boy, while Jimin silently observes with an unreadable expression.

“Now that you mention it …” He trails off, head tilting upwards as if he was deep in thought. “I did always see the two of them alone with each other.”

Jungkook clears his throat as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

“We’re friends,” Jungkook says stiffly and he hopes it’s believable, despite his hoarse voice. “Friends hang out.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Or she’s a two-timer.”

This time, Jungkook can’t keep his face neutral.

“Talk about her like that one more time and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He growls to the other boy, whose eyes widen in response.

“I was kidding—” He raises his hands in defense but Jungkook is shoving the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag before hauling it over his shoulder and storming out of the room, ears burning in both frustration and anger.

“You don’t joke about this type of shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath right as he leaves the rest of the members brewing with confused expressions as they look at one another with concerned expressions.

Namjoon, as expected, is a museum enthusiast. That much you could assess when he was excitedly chirping about how much he appreciated all types of art, abstract, modern and contemporary and vintage—you name it and he could likely give you a break down of the nuances behind styles and techniques.

He is also great company. Namjoon is a comfortable line between involved and chivalrous, never pushing farther than what you were able to offer but engaging you in insightful discussions that you found yourself being intrigued by.

While you expected more … forward gestures, Namjoon is respectful and you’re surprised but not really. He was mannered encompassed into human form.

So, when the security guard informs you that the exhibition was over and that the two were the last guests in the hall—the two of you reluctantly had to bring your night to an end.

“That was fun,” Namjoon says once the two of you exit the hall, just two figures in the night who have thousands of words to say about the masterpieces you’ve witnessed.

“Honestly, I was already looking forward to it but seeing the pieces the art students curated in person was just another type of euphoria.” You confess.

Namjoon nods in agreement. “I totally agree. You can just tell that they’ve really dedicated all their free time to the work they’ve displayed.”

“Art is beautiful, isn’t it?” You mumble, eyes looking back to the museum as you grin up at Namjoon who’s already looking at you.

“Yeah.” He breathes, and the way he’s looking at you under the dim moonlight makes you irrevocably flustered. “Beautiful.”

You clear your throat as you shift on your heels, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn’t too apparent. The night was still wondrous, and you feel a type of comfort in Namjoon that you haven’t felt in a very long time. But there’s still a lingering thought in the substandard part of your mind that reminds you of doe-eyes and a bunny smile.

“Thank you for your time, Namjoon.” You say shy, fiddling with your thumbs.

When you find the courage to look at his face, he’s already beaming at you.

“No. Thank you.” He reassures. “I know you’re super busy so for you to find time out of your schedule to hang with a virtual stranger really means a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen, but then your face neutralises as you flush.

“I’m not that busy …” You mumble.

Namjoon chuckles. He doesn’t even snort or offer a sarcastic remark in response. He just acknowledges it with a kind smile and doesn’t comment further.

He’s different from what you’re used to. A challenge. A burst of rebellion that loved to roll remarks off his tongue.

You don’t want to think of him just yet.

“Regardless. You’re here. And I’m grateful.”

You nod your head lamely, clutching your bag into your chest (after relentlessly whining to Namjoon to allow you to hold it yourself when you felt a little useless).

“I should—I should head back.” You cock your thumb towards the direction of your apartment.

Immediately, Namjoon steps forward and is ready to head the same way you are.

“Let me walk you back.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“I’m not asking this time, ______.” He frowns.

You snap your lips shut. Though you did feel a little bad, it was late and the rational part of you knew that it was best if Namjoon walked you home.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Before you can begin walking, he tugs you by the elbow so gently, but firm enough for you to nearly stumble into his chest.

And he’s so tall, so you’re peering up at him with wide eyes as you gauge his nervous expression.

“I-I’m sorry if this is a little forward but—” Namjoon clears his throat. “W-Well I think—I really think you’re nice. And great. Like—good company, you know? So I’d r-really—I’d enjoy—”

You blink at him as he attempts to find his words.

“Namjoon.” You whisper gently, tugging the hem of his shirt.

At your gesture, his mind blanks but he remembers that you’re still looking up at him with a confused gaze.

“Okay. Fuck.” He whines as a giggle escapes your throat when he peers at you with an exasperated expression. “I’m not usually this much of a mess. You just make me nervous.”

“O-Oh.” You breathe, “I do?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know if it was obvious but I’m kind of into you.” He says softly, rubbing his hand over his neck.

You don’t expect it, not at all. So you can only muster gawking at him at his sudden confession.

“And you don’t need to—you don’t need to say anything about it. We can pretend like I didn’t just confess to you. We can just be friends.” He rambles, eyes wide. “I just wanted to let you know … yeah. So I really hope we can still continue to hang out even though you might think I’m a creep and I really didn’t offer to walk you home because I had intentions. Really just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You continue looking at Namjoon with wide eyes. Because you’ve never been on this end before. The one receiving the confession. You’ve never really given a confession either, and you try to suppress the bitter memories of the confession you tried to give Jungkook that wasn’t verbal but with your presence.

With you giving up certain parts of yourself for him so he could see you.

“Please say something.” Namjoon chuckles nervously.

“I—…” You choke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can pretend like I didn’t just say that.” He winces.

You shake your head. “No. No. It’s fine, Namjoon. Really.” You reassure him gently. “I really appreciate it … I just didn’t … expect it.” You finish lamely.

“You’re a very interesting person,” Namjoon tells you, lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

Interesting? You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone call you interesting before. Not outright, at least.

“I’m really not.” You say sadly.

Namjoon furrows his brows but doesn’t reach out to you further, his hands still remaining limp by his sides.

“Hey.” His voice calls out. “You are. You’re definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life.”

You blink.

“T-Thank you.”

He waves you off, gesturing towards where you gestured towards earlier.

“Shall we?”

And somehow, Namjoon has a way of making everything feel easy. Like a temporary space for you to feel safe, to feel wanted.

So why doesn’t your heart flutter?

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achillieus · 4 years ago

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, infidelity, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, this part is full of angst and built up tension,

part: 3/6

(other parts) (masterlist)

Being Sebastian Stan is not a simple thing. Some days it makes him feel like he is only a porcelain face on screen. Nothing more than photographs and rumors. He had once told an interviewer he was scared people would never know the real Sebastian. What he meant was that he was worried he’d wake up one day and the real him would be vanished.

The world would have eaten him alive.

Walking you home, in empty streets in a small country makes it all easier. His mind is clear of dazzling thoughts and his heart is not racing up. He can smile and no one will be there to take a picture of him.

Somehow that makes him smile more.

And when he does, it feels like Christmas. And you are certain there will come a day where you’ll be so close to oblivion and unable to remember what mint tastes like or what your favorite color is, but you’ll still have the turned up corners of his mouth painted in your head.

He stops walking. You look at him confused. He’s fidgeting with his fingers.

“Back at the party,” he takes a long breath as if trying to slow down his heartbeat, “You were talking with that tall guy.”

He sounds terrified. You don’t understand why. He thinks it’s better that way.

“Yeah I was.” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice.

“Do you know him well?” You realize you have stopped in front of a pharmacy, the halogen light above you, turning your skin a sick green color.

“I know he’s an actor.” You take a step, finding the courage to walk away from him. “He’s kinda famous here.”

You can hear him move close behind you.

“Do you want me to ask Argyris if he’s single?”

There’s mockery in his voice. It makes you feel intoxicated. It’s your turn to stop walking. Your gaze falls on his face and Sebastian can feel his eyes sting but he keeps them open; wide and pale blue.

Almost green, under this light.

“No.”

“Oh don’t be sh-“

“No, I mean it. I would never date a famous guy.”

“Why?” A hasted breath escapes his trembling lips. And for a moment you think of kissing him right there; in the middle of the street, but you never do.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

That’s what you want to yell back at him, but then you remember;

The evening Sebastian fell asleep in your couch, he was more than a famous guy. He was clutching on your pillow like a kid and he was humming to himself like your father used to.

And he smiled as he fell asleep.

There is no argument left in you. He’s just a boy.

“I’m scared.” Your words slowly suffocate him. He feels the weight of your heart pulling him down.

He nods.

The next two days pass in a blur. You can hear him laugh with people as they walk up the stairs to Argyris’ flat. You’re not used to him not stopping at your door. It makes your cheeks red and your eyes filled with salty tears.

You haven’t realized until now, but you’ve become dependent on his presence.

So when you open your eyes at 4am with your phone buzzing with an Instagram message, you bite your cheeks.

Are you awake?

You stare at the screen to make sure you read it all correct, until it turns black and then lights up once again.

Why are you scared?

You don’t have to be scared with me.

I’m trying. You want to answer. Help me. You want to answer. Please.

You put your phone away until the words turn blurry.

He’s back at your door the following night. He’s wearing a white tank top and his rings. He must have just finished shooting.

You keep staring at each other, both tongue-tied with the words you’ll never say. He looks worried and desperate. You look tired and desperate. Taylor Swift is playing in the background.

“No more AC/DC?” He laughs and your eyes smile.

“Do you want to talk?” He asks.

You shake your head like you’re at war with yourself.

“Do you want to just stay here?” Your voice is too silent but it’s almost deafening him.

Sebastian thinks that he wants tons of things. He wants to hold you. And he wants to touch you. Everywhere. And he wants to know why there’s sorrow surrounding you. And he wants to take it all away.

And he wants you.

But he knows that he can’t tell you that. These words are too heavy for you to carry on your shoulders. At least for now.

“I’ll stay.” He says with a breath.

You give him an almost smile and all you can feel is gratitude.

You lay in your bed together. You’ve slept with other guys in that bed before. And it’s been nude and sloppy and brutal. But this is different. This is intimacy in its purest form. You’re both fully clothed but you both feel naked. And so close. So close.

All Sebastian can hear is the sound of your breathing and every bone inside him is breaking. He is afraid he’s turning paralyzed.

And then you move your body and bring your forehead next to his. Sebastian inhales deeply. You smell of faded vanilla body cream.

You look at him and you know then you can get used to that. You bury your fingers in the hem of his shirt. You want him to come closer. He knows.

“I’ll stay love,” his voice is steady and sincere “Anytime.”

He calls you love because there’s nothing else to call you. He calls you love because you both need him too.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Sebastian thinks you’re always too sensible. It’s something you keep between the hollows of your body. “But it’s okay.”

His hand is in your hair. It soothes you.

“What happened? What broke you?” he whispers.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how everything started. It's hard to remember but there is one image in the back of your eyes that crawls through your skin and makes you shiver. You try to ignore it.

“I don’t know.” He turns his gaze at you but you look at the cold ceiling. It’s so much easier this way.

He doesn’t answer. He just draws circles in the back of your palm and places his lips against the scalp of your head. And while you’ve never been much of a science person, you’re certain this is how a nuclear attack emerges.

When the sun rises and you wake up, he’s not there. Earth moves slowly as the cold sheets press against your skin.

It’s early, there is a soft breeze coming in from your open window. A man is bickering with this wife across the street.

You can hear her call him a liar.

I’ll stay love.

You can hear him yell his apologies.

Anytime.

Why do people lie? Why do we lie?

You don’t try to search for him. You take a shower and drink some chocolate milk. You pay attention to the silence in the room. You almost forget your heart is still beating.

You bump into Argyris’ girlfriend while taking out the garbage. You like her a lot. She’s strong and pretty and smart. You wonder sometimes, how exactly that feels.

You pray she doesn’t mention him. It doesn’t work.

“He must be flying right now.” Suddenly you feel as if there is something rotten inside your chest. It makes you want to graze your skin and throw away everything that's inside.

You look at her slightly confused.

“He’s flying to Toronto; he has to attend a festival there.” She smiles. You’ve noticed she always smiles.

You just nod and step out of the building. Her voice stops you.

“He’s coming back in some days.”

“I don’t care.” Now she laughs.

“There’s no need to lie.” You take a sharp breath. “He cares too.”

You want to believe her words but they seem like choke chains.

You throw your garbage away.

You keep your rotten chest.

Sebastian sits back at his seat and orders a hundred and one drinks. The airplane is chasing the sun. He’s chasing his thoughts. Neither will ever catch up.

He used to like travelling. Airports, suitcases and foreign hotel rooms made him feel free. Now they make him feel the opposite.

The material on his seat is rugged. He wants to go back to your soft sheets. He can’t.

And then he imagines a place and a time where he could just kiss you without any possible consequences. He imagines a place where you could rest your bodies together for a long time without worries weighing you down. He imagines a place where he gets what he wants. A place where that thing between you two is more than enough.

The sun blinds him. He closes the small window and then his eyes.

Being Sebastian Stan is not a simple thing.

Some days he can’t take it.

You’re sitting on the floor and it’s almost 9 in the morning. You’ve calculated the time difference and it’s 2 in the morning where he is. That sounds wrong. Almost scary.

He left three days ago but he’s everywhere. There are photos of him wearing stupid floral shirts and posing in a sophisticated way. And there’s Nicole Kidman next to him.

God. I’ve become infatuated with a man who plays in movies with Nicole Kidman and Robert Downey Jr.

That’s what you think and you know you’re doomed.

You expect him to send you a message or a picture at first, but he doesn’t. You wonder if your time together was only a blurry puzzle of disconnected memories that somehow fits in his past.

He’ll simply forget all of it.

You try not to think about him but then you meet Argyris in the lobby and you have to bite the inside of your mouth so his name doesn’t jump out from your lips.

You go to bed early that day. You hold onto your pillow and you count the hours that separate you.

(13 hours with a plane)

(25 days with a boat)

You count and you fall asleep.

And you fall in love.

It’s not uncommon to rain in Toronto. But today rain feels heavier on Sebastian’s skin. He remembers the day he met you; it was hot and the sun made the window glass look like it was about to melt. That memory is the cause of his shivering.

Once upon a time he was in love. He was in love with a girl who had ethereal written all over her body. He was in love with a girl who was destined for divinity.

But those were the old days; they are dead and gone now. Your skin glistening under the Athenian sun changed it all.

It’s not easy to feel this way. The sky understands so it opens up and pours down on his dark hair. He presses his eyes closed with his fingers. And he tries to imagine a version of himself that doesn’t think about you that often.

He can’t.

Not even when he has a deity as his girlfriend.

The next time you see him, his hair is a little longer and much messier than you remember. And you have to devour all the sense that’s left inside you as not to touch it with your bare hand.

He has a cigarette in his fingers and a dark jacket thrown around his shoulders and everyone’s asking him about the festival. You just sit on the corner of your neighbor’s flat and listen to laughter and glasses clicking against each other. And you smile.

Smile; because he’s here.

And then he notices you and you’re pretty sure his eyes linger on your face a little longer than it's normal for humans. And his gaze is so brilliantly blank and loony that you don’t know how to respond. And then he starts to cough. And he never looks at you for the rest of the night.

You want to believe it’s better this way.

But it makes you so angry; you want to clench your teeth hard.

It goes like this; you don’t exchange any words for the next two days and it feels like your lips will start to bleed.

And you don’t know but his head feels like battlefield.

“When do you know you can’t stop it?” He asks Argyris. He feels ashamed.

“When you don’t want to stop it.”

He grabs the beer can and drinks his confusion away. He hopes alcohol will send his thoughts to sleep but instead it sends him to your door.

He rests his head against the wooden material. He can hear water running down and he can hear you humming a song.

And the foreign words make no sense to him but somehow they sound like lyrical poetry.

He waits for the water to stop and then he knocks.

Your hair is wet and sticks to your blue shirt. Your eyes grow wide when you see him standing there.

“I thought you’d never come at my door again.”

He looks at the floor.

“I shouldn’t.”

He sounds defeated; defeated by his own self. And you can smell the flammable liquid on his breath. And you can see that he has his nails pressed against his palm. You take his hand in yours and he closes his eyes. You caress the little cuts with your fingers. There are no scars but the skin is still red and painted with fear. You understand and it makes you feel dirty and obscene.

You look thoughtful for a moment and then you decide you can’t go on like this. It will split your souls.

“How’s Canada?” His eyes fill with surprise and he laughs. It gives you pride.

“Never been?”

He takes a step inside your place and his eyes fall on the empty bottle of pills at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t say a word about it.

You love him for that.

“I’ve never been anywhere.” Your cheeks are flushed with a soft raspberry color.

Sebastian realizes then that he wants to show you the entire world. Every corner of it. He wants to hold your hand as you walk beneath the Corsican stars. And he wants to memorize the Northern lights with you by his side. And he wants to see you laugh as he falls off his surf board in New Zealand. And he wants every cliché thing there is to do.

His heart stretches at the thought of it.

“Canada is beautiful in its own way.” He looks out of your window.

You wonder if he’s trying to find some more constellations in the sky, but then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’ve been there a lot of times.”

Of course you have, you think.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ears. It’s still damp and cold.

“Have you been to a lot of places?” He smiles and nods.

And then you can sense it; the sharp feeling of heartbreak crawling under your skin. You try to ignore it.

“I used to be grateful I travel all the time.”

You place your hand on his chest. The beating makes you calm.

“You’re not grateful anymore?”

He rubs his palm over his face.

“I am,” he inhales “But sometimes I just want to stay where I am.”

Yeah, I know.

He leaves an hour later, still drunk.

Still in love.

On Sunday, he takes you out for dinner. You tell him you don’t like dates. He promises it’s not a date.

You know you’re both lying.

He orders some red wine and he drinks as he watches you eat. It all feels natural to him. Somewhere at the back of his head though, there’s still some rationality left, that makes him think, this can’t be wrong, when it feels so natural.

He doesn’t drink any more.

You’re playing with the maraschino cherry on your dessert when his phone rings and your world comes crashing down.

You don’t intend to but you see the caller ID.

Love.

He had called you love one night.

He feels too guilty to look at you so he grabs the device and gets out of the place.

You want to throw the ice cream on the floor.

And then you want to hit the wall; with your head. But you can’t. So you just bite down at the cherry and wait for him to come back.

And when he does, things are different.

He doesn’t to try to make jokes and you don’t laugh. His eyes are everywhere but on you and your hand stays away from his.

You tell him you’re done with dessert so you can leave.

He has never felt more relieved.

Your pace is fast, but he catches up. You can’t outrun him.

His breath quickens as he comes closer. It’s almost innocent and childlike, the look he gives you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers and it makes you laugh. You laugh and you shake your head and it’s not enough.

“Why?” He can taste the bitterness all over you. “This wasn’t date. So why are you sorry?”

You keep walking and his breath keeps echoing in your ears. You find the entrance of your building.

You’ve seen the place a hundred times but only now you notice how old it looks. It makes you disgusted. It makes you want to vomit.

It starts with him saying he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

And then you rest your body at the soiled wall, trying to remind yourself you’ve had your heart broken before. And your eyes are not dry anymore. And you can taste salt in your lips. And he comes closer and he holds you.

You swear you see tears in his cheeks too, but he’s too fast to wipe them away.

“Have you ever done anything only to regret it a second later?”

You’re not certain which one of you asks but you can hear your bones breaking as you throw your head around and he arches his back.

His hands touch the dried tears on your face and it stings like sewing needles. And his lips touch yours. And for a brief moment you feel like you’re stealing from life.

And he can taste all of you; raw.

And it feels like fists that punch him.

And when you pull away you both have already regretted everything.

“Now you have something to be sorry for.”

You wonder if perhaps a broken dignity is better than a broken heart.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #monday the movie #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #letyoudown

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mycrofts-gunbrella · 4 years ago

Text

Caring is the Greatest Advantage- Mycroft Holmes x Reader (Part Five)

Word Count- 3921

Morning had come around a lot quicker than you had hoped it would, the sunlight peeking through the curtains and birds singing outside making drifting back off an impossible task. Though you felt well rested, you simply just didn't want to move anywhere any time soon. Last night had begun with Mycroft shyly placing his hand on your hip as your back pressed close to his chest, but this morning had ended with Mycroft on his back and you with your head resting between his chest and shoulder, hand crossing over with fingers hooked over the pyjama's pocket. You'd never expected to be the type to wake up earlier than Mycroft Holmes, particularly not two days on the bounce, but you wouldn't complain. He looked so peaceful as he slept, the sunlight turning his auburn hair far more ginger, his freckles on his nose matching. You slowly reached one arm backwards, blindly feeling around for your phone on the bedside table and reading through your messages. You grinned seeing a text from Greg and had to fight the small laugh that threatened to escape you.

'Hey, just thought I'd check in on you both and see how you're getting on. I hate to feel pushy but we do really need to start that paperwork, today ideally. Figured I'd pop round later if it's alright- I need a sodding nap first though. Spent the majority of last night receiving phone calls about mysterious activity around St James', load of dodgy cars sending people away, loads of papers.. don't suppose you saw any of that down your way did you, makes life easier?"

Your fingers typed a response- 'Uhh..guilty as charged.. Myc was in jeans and a Who top, daren't be seen by the public..I'll get him to fix it when he's up x'- a grin playing on your face. Yeah okay you felt a little bad, but Greg had dealt with worse. After pressing send, you scrolled further through your notifications, spotting one from John. Nothing major, just checking in and inviting you both over for late lunch, mentioning briefly how it'll do Sherlock some good seeing his brother, even if he doesn't believe it himself- evidently also receiving a message from Greg as he also explained how it would make Lestrade have to do one less visit for paperwork if you popped over a little earlier. Before you could type an answer, you felt Mycroft shift beneath you, stretching out the arm that wasn't trapped beneath your body.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty." You teased, turning your head and placing a small kiss on the Holmes' chin. Mycroft blinked, rubbing his eyes and offering you a 'good morning' in response as he eyed up you typing on your phone.

"Needed to be whisked away to catch a criminal mastermind already?" He asked, sitting up a little as you moved to give him a little more space, his arm still loosely tucked behind your back, though his torso now free.

"Your deductions in the morning are lacking.. though close. Mastermind, but not criminal. John and Sherlock have invited us to late lunch, Greg's popping over to start the first part of paperwork handling, only the basic stuff this time round, so figured it would make it easier on him only having to go to one home before we left." Mycroft breathed deeply, fingers raising to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I think I'd have rathered the criminal." He spoke, already mentally planning the afternoon, the conversations he would likely have, the way Sherlock would behave. What if he still hadn't forgiven him? It was surprising enough that you had let him off so easily, but Sherlock was different. Sherlock was a Holmes, and someone of whom already had feudal tendencies with Mycroft, it was bound to end terribly. As though you had read his mind, you moved your hand to take his from his face as you noticed his fingertips whitening as he pinched harder.

"Hey, it'll be fine. He doesn't blame you, he's been far too silent for that to be the case. From the way John sounded, it actually seemed more like he was worried about you, though you know he'd never admit that." Mycroft hummed in response, not being able to find the right words to say before reaching over and grabbing his own mobile. "World ending yet?"

"Not yet. Though with any luck, quarrels could happen before lunch." He mused, one side of his mouth raising slightly in a playful smirk.

"Mycroft you can't wish for conflicts amongst empires to get out of a meal with your brother."

"Can't I?" He raised a brow.

"Anthea wouldn't allow it anyway. We're on strict instruction to not go into work for the next couple of weeks, nations be damned. Lunch sounds far more appealing too." You slid yourself out of bed and grabbed one of the bags from Anthea that you brought upstairs last night, taking a handful of clothing items and tucking them under your arm.

"But it isn't lunch, is it? It's LATE Lunch, settled approximately around 3pm, too late for lunch, too early for dinner. It's impractical by any means; you starve yourself at real lunch so you do not ruin your appetite, and then by dinner time you're hungry once again. And if you eat at both of those times as well as the late lunch, your feeding schedules become on par with a bloody Hobbit." You rolled your eyes and headed to the bathroom. "Though you may be more accustomed to such choices given the height similarity between yourself and Mr Brandybuck."

"Cheeky sod, not all of us have glorious Holmesian legs. I'm sure you'll survive a few hours.. Oh, you also owe Greg an apology." You chuckled, opening the message back up and tossing your phone in the general direction of Mycroft's lap before going to get dressed. After reading the message, you heard Mycroft let out a laugh from the other room, the rare kind that you knew made the sides of his eyes crease and his head tip back slightly in amusement; you were sorry you missed it.

Leaving the bathroom, you couldn't help but notice the silk pyjama clad man standing mindlessly in front of his open wardrobe, glancing over each individual item of clothing. Wandering behind him, you moved up on your tiptoes and peered over his shoulder at the rows of suits. You were still dressed relatively comfortably in a pair of skinny jeans and a t-shirt, which you felt was appropriate for the later meal that would likely be somewhere like Angelo's- but you equally knew that Mycroft's idea of 'comfort' lay within his three pieces, pocket squares and oxfords.

"Don't panic, I'm not going to begrudge you of your precious suits today. You deserve it after actually going through with my wardrobe choice for you.. I didn't actually expect you to do it." You laughed, squeezing his shoulder fondly. "We slept in late again, there's barely any morning left." You commented, glancing over at the clock that read 10:53am. "Can I tempt you in Elevenses, Mr Baggins?" You grinned, your Lord of the Rings reference not being missed by Mycroft. He cast you a playful glare, fighting the urge to childishly poke his two fingers up at you. "What? Not judging my bedside manner this time?"

"It is useless to meet revenge with revenge; it solves nothing." He quoted Frodo without hesitation, bastard probably already planned that you'd quip back with something smart and already armed himself with Shire related comebacks. You, in contrast to Mycroft, did have the tendencies to become childish and did opt for the two fingered response, an adoring smile unnaturally paired.

Not many people got to know of Mycroft's little nerdy side, and you took pride in being one of the few that did, though you took more pride in him for being able to easily reel off the quotes. Though he had told you before that The Lord of the Rings trilogy had been his favourite of everything you made him watch, then when he read the books? You wouldn't hear from him for hours at a time while he binge read through them for the tenth time round, and of course you had noticed the varying editions of the three books on his bookshelf in his personal office, rather than lining the shelves in his small library room. If anything, it just made him more endearing.

Though it was nothing compared with his love of Doctor Who. Bless his heart, you had taken him to watch David Tennant's Richard II a few years ago for his birthday and he was insistent on waiting behind after the performance to catch David leaving and got him to sign his special edition box set of his DW seasons. He even had a photo taken with him, his expression being easily comparable to the likes of a child who just got a puppy for Christmas- and, much to his dismay, the photograph had had a prime place on your desk at NSY since the event.

You made your way downstairs, calling out something about making omelettes and leaving Mycroft alone to get ready. His fingers skimmed across the expensive fabrics, tugging out an olive green suit and red tie and pocket square to match. The smell of the food you were preparing began to fill his nose, making his stomach growl as he rushed to the bathroom to get dressed. After removing his pyjama top, Mycroft caught a glance of himself in the mirror, prodding at the pudge of his stomach that settled just over his pyjama bottoms, before sucking in flat and looking again. Maybe he should forego the omelette and just wait until later.. another growl.. okay maybe just a little, just so he didn't raise suspicion. He sighed, stomach relaxing back to its natural state before finishing his morning routine, tugging his trousers up a little higher than usual to tuck away the offending belly fat.

Mycroft had always suffered with his weight, he knew that. He also knew of his past, how he would skip meals, or spend hours upon hours on his treadmill, or the time he was under Doctor Chinnery for just shy of three years following his habits of completing his meals with his fingers down the back of his throat over the toilet just after his job promotions exceeded and he found himself in much higher rankings- public appearance being far more important than any personal preference. Though his eating disorder had improved, the years of therapy didn't miraculously improve his self-confidence. It was one of the many reasons he preferred inviting others for dinners, or at the very least having his days to himself when he knew he would be going out later in the evening. Spontaneous meals out like the one he would be attending in a few hours, or having somebody at home with him while he waited for said meals threw him off balance completely- his usual routine of fasting beforehand as to not appear rude or raise suspicions when he ate in public being disturbed significantly. You knew of his past, deduced it, actually, and had been nothing but supportive, trying your best to convince him for years that he was perfectly healthy and encouraging him to eat better, to actually consume meals. He was thankful, of course he was, but it didn't help his insecurities around you, no matter how welcoming you had been or however many compliments you gave him. His body was covered in stretch marks and areas of loose skin from his weight loss over the years, his chest hair, though scarce, was a coppery ginger and his body was covered in so many freckles he looked like an explosion at a dot to dot factory. It led him to remember the other reason why he had never previously attempted to pursue a relationship with you; if he was disgusted and horrified at the appearance of his nude body then what on earth would you think when that time eventually came around? He daren't even try to imagine your face. You'd worked with Sherlock long enough to have seen him wander around naked and Mycroft had to admit that his brother at least had a body worth parading about in the nude, then there was Gregory who, despite not having an exactly chiseled body, still had the rugged good looks and toned chest- a physique that clearly represented the physical aspects of his occupation- there was no doubt you'd compare him to them and he would come up short every time.

"Myc? You gonna be long? Yours is going to be freezing!" Your voice had knocked him out of his thoughts and he quickly shrugged on the rest of his clothes, straightening his tie in the mirror and plastering on a small smile as he headed downstairs and into the kitchen.

"Apologies.. the cufflinks failed in succession to cooperate at first." You had eyed him suspiciously, knowing that Mycroft had worn enough suits in his lifetime that he could probably find a way to put one on to completion in 5 minutes in the dark with oven mitts on.

"I know I've been so against the suits, but I have to admit that you look incredible.. I think that one's my new favourite." You commented casually, placing a quick kiss to his temple as he sat at the table. "That colour is lovely." He quirked a brow.

"New favourite? You've had old ones?"

"Obviously." Imitating Sherlock. "Charcoal pinstripe with that light blue shirt- brings your eyes out wonderfully... and your bum." You winked, positively enjoying the pink that dusted the man's cheeks, and the way he would open his mouth to speak and then close it before any words came out. In his defence, he was really not used to receiving such compliments. And in your defence, you weren't particularly used to giving them, not like that anyway. You'd blame Greg, he was a terrible influence and an incredible flirt- using his charm to at the very least try and make you laugh when you had shitty days.

You lay his plate in front of him, a coffee to its side, before beginning to tuck into your own meal. You had learned early on that if you didn't wait until Mycroft was able to eat then he likely wouldn't eat at all. While drinking his coffee fairly happily, you hadn't missed that the vast majority of Mycroft's breakfast was still on the plate, cut in smaller pieces and rearranged to appear as though he had eaten more than he truly had. Frowning, you didn't press- knowing better than to point out his behaviour and just being thankful he had eaten anything at all (about a third of the omelette and half a slice of toast if your judgements were correct) but had elected to keep an eye on him. You finished your own food in silence before crossing the cutlery over on your plate and beginning to speak.

"I figured if we left now we could have a bit of time for you to go through the first set of paperwork, Greg should be getting there in the next 10 minutes or so, and then by the time we finish and have a cup of tea it'll be time to go out." You suggested, taking Mycroft's plate to clear away after he had sent a nod to show he was finished. He made a small groan at the need to go at all, but soon acquiesced, sent a text for a car and stood to go to the front door. Tugging on a hoodie, you opened the door and took a step back, the wind shooting in your face and making you scowl. Mycroft made an amused sound and offered you the scarf of his that you had worn last night. Rather than taking the garment, you stood and waited for him to wrap it the same expert way that he had the night before. "I also text Greg to run by my flat and grab my coat so I'll be able to stop stealing your expensive scarves soon.. though this one feels so lovely I may text him again to leave it on the tube." You laughed, stepping back outside once again and walking with Mycroft to the end of the road where a car was waiting. Mycroft had wanted to respond, to make a comment about how he didn't mind letting you wear his things, how he actually quite liked it. But he stayed silent, offering a small smile instead and a soft hand at the small of your back. Mycroft opened the door for you, climbing in after and settling against the plush seats of the lavish car.

As the car began to move you tensed a little, a thought popping into your head.

"Myc.. does Sherlock know yet? About us? I might have hinted at it a little when I spoke to Lestrade earlier but I didn't press.. I just.. I didn't know if you were telling people." You asked awkwardly. Christ it made it sound like you were in some forbidden relationship. Mycroft's jaw clenched a little.

"I wasn't aware it was secret knowledge, if that's what you are asking Y/N. In response to your question, no. I haven't spoken to Sherlock at all since.." He trailed. "And I am not the sort of man to walk into a room and actively announce that kind of thing. But you should know that he will likely deduce it the moment we walk through the door being as you are wearing my clothing, your hair smells like my shampoo and your skin still has traces of the scent of my soap. So if you didn't want anybody to know, then I strongly suggest we rearrange our plans for this afternoon." Who was he kidding? Of course you didn't want people to know that you were actually together now- you would look ridiculous being such a pretty young woman with a man like Mycroft in tow. You opened your mouth to speak but he cut you off. "If you are going to say you could argue the soaps then it would simply be futile, he knows I have your regular brand at your disposal; he'd know you used mine in the form of... sentiment." The last word felt wrong on his tongue now, knowing you had hoped to keep your.. relationship.. behind closed doors. Mycroft Holmes was a very private man, but he'd be lying if he said he didn't want knowledge of your relationship to be at least semi-public, having felt a little giddy when you'd chosen to cross that line with him.

"What? No, I wasn't going to talk about the sodding shampoo." You grinned, reaching a hand over to place on his knee. "Jesus Myc, I asked because I didn't know if YOU were comfortable with people knowing. I'm pretty sure everyone inside that flat knew I fancied you the last few years, I'd proudly walk in and show that my pining eventually paid off. I just know you have appearances to keep up and I didn't want to ruin that, or embarrass you in front of Sherlock." For what seemed like the millionth time in the last few days, your words surprised Mycroft. He felt his jaw loosen and he took a breath, moving only to briefly place his hand over yours for a small squeeze and moving back again. You didn't expect him to say much, he was Mycroft Holmes, not Romeo Montague, but the small smile you sent back his way let him know that you understood his thoughts. The drive to Baker Street was only 10 or so minutes from Mycroft's home so you soon arrived in no time at all, the slick black car smoothly pulling up outside number 221.

"I can only hope my dear brother deduces our relationship correctly and doesn't make a vast attempt to embarrass me in front of his peers.. again." Mycroft knocked on the door, his words casting you back to a Christmas you had all shared a couple years ago.

It was a small gathering, consisting of the pair of you, the Baker Street boys, Greg and Mrs Hudson, and a few weeks beforehand, after multiple arguments of whether or not presents should be shared, Mrs Hudson had come up with the wonderful (terrible) idea of secret Santa which, incase you wasn't aware, isn't a fun game when played with two Holmes' that knew everybody's present and Secret Santa before the packages were opened. You had pulled Mrs Hudson and couldn't have been more thrilled, neither could she when she opened her new tea set- a simple floral design decorated its sides, but she was thankful no matter the pattern, the last teapot having been found at the hands of Sherlock housing human eyes. Conveniently enough, Mycroft had pulled your name and elected to subtly buy you a personalised travel mug for work. After you had opened it, Sherlock had scoffed, muttering something along the lines of "Mycroft isn't that shit at buying presents. He bought you a necklace at first but felt too embarrassed to give it to you in such a public setting and panic bought that cup." Continuing on about how Mycroft had put a lot of thought into your original gift and how it was unusual and how it "obviously" meant he favoured you and was attracted to you. Mycroft had left shortly after that, not making eye contact with any of the silent people in the room and climbed into the back of his car, but you had followed suit and clambered in after him- easing the tension by ignoring Sherlock's allegations and giving him the envelope that you had in your pocket. You had told him you had bought him something special anyway, even though he wasn't who you were supposed to buy for, because you cared for and appreciated him- he had opened the envelope slowly and his eyes widened, that rare smile appearing on his face when he was presented with the Richard II tickets. After your exchange Mycroft had given you the necklace anyway, spouting derogatives about his brother's deductions as he did so. It was a small silver chain necklace with a sparkling silver pendant that, upon closer inspection, you had noticed was a police badge.

You smiled fondly at the memory and instinctively placed your hand above your sternum, feeling the small piece of metal beneath your clothing that you hadn't taken off in two years. You turned to face the man beside you a little more, placing a hand on his shoulder and reaching up on your tiptoes to place a lingering kiss on his lips, moving back only when you heard the latch unlock in front of you, and noticing the ever so slight pink tinge to Mycroft's bottom lip from the lip balm you had put on earlier. "That should make it easier to get it right." You commented, fighting the small grin from your face as you noticed Mycroft standing in the same way, lips parted slightly from where your own had been moments ago, a matching pink dusting his cheekbones. The door opened revealing a smug looking Sherlock.

"Be careful Mycroft, you'll catch flies like that if you aren't cautious enough."

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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 4 years ago

Text

Though I Can't Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love For You

Summary: Spencer’s always been ambivalent about his birthday, but self proclaimed lover of birthday’s Y/N attempts to change that.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Warnings: Spencer’s kind of a sad bitch. Question: Why do I like writing sad Spencer?

Word Count: 2.5 K- ish

Author’s Note: prompts come from here this one is 4,8,25 from @shemarmooresfedora !! please go check out her blog on here and on Ao3!! Also, I’m stilling taking requests for numbers. I’ll update for which ones have been taken 💕

Though I Can’t Recall Your Face, I Still Got Love for You

Birthdays were always hard when all you had to do is go home to an empty house. No sounds of friends crowding the dining room table, no laughter from family members, no well wishes or pats on the back. All there is, is the stillness of silence and the emptiness of solitude. Spencer thought that he was used to it. He remembers the way the sun felt on his face the morning he woke up on his 18th birthday. His first thought wasn’t it’s my day, but it’s the day I put my mom away. The day Spencer became a man, was the first day he really wished he was a little boy again.

Ever since then, birthdays have always been a sore spot for Spencer. They just bring up sour tasting memories of his mother refusing to get out of bed or his father staying late at work to avoid coming home to a wife who doesn’t remember her own husband or a son who he can’t seem to understand. Birthdays, for Spencer, have always been just another day. Or at least, that’s what Spencer tells himself on the long ride up the elevator to the 6th floor of the BAU.

The bullpen is dark when Spencer walks out from the elevator. Paperwork and manila folders clutter the desks. Even Spencer’s workspace seems to reflect himself: frozen in time. He sits at his desk, a photograph of him and his mother placed at the right corner smiles up at him. A newer photograph, one of him and Y/N, sits right next to the one with his mom. There’s one with Derek and Penelope, one with him and Gideon at his Academy graduation, and one with him and JJ, who’s holding Henry. One of him and Luke at a bar, Penelope in the background drunk and singing.

Spencer loves photographs, but recently he’s been obsessed with them. Ever since his mother’s diagnosis, the fear that would ever forget the faces that find a home in his heart paralyzes him. These pictures may very well one day tell a much more older, much more grayer Spencer the story of his life. Today, in his mind, is another day closer to his fate.

His birthday means he’s another day closer to forgetting the way Y/N eyes sparkle when she drinks too much rose, or Henry’s laugh at Spencer’s magic tricks, or feeling when Derek calls him his brother. No one, not even Y/N, knows that Spencer has a drawer filled up of photographs he’s collected over the years. He can’t deal with forgetting the principles of electromagnetism, but forgetting his family? Spencer wouldn’t have anything left, but the smiling faces of familiar strangers, whose names are just out of reach.

Spencer rubs his eyes with the ball of his palm. He knows he’s not going to get work done. Spencer spins in his swivel chair and he’s nearly startled out of his quiet thoughts when his phone rings.

“Dr. Spencer Reid,” he says, swallowing his emotions as he shuts the drawer on the shiny faces.

“You really need to start checking your caller ID, Spence,” Y/N says, with a chuckle. Spencer can practically feel the way she’s smiling. For some reason, her teasing never made him feel bad.

“Well, what do I owe this pleasure?” Spencer asks. He drums his fingers on his desk, waiting for Y/N to respond.

“It seems like we have a missing person case,” Y/N starts, “6’2 male, brown hair, some say his eyes are green and some say they’re brown, so we’ll go with hazel, and he’s like ridiculously smart, but also kind of dumb for avoiding his girlfriend on his birthday,”

Spencer sighs as he launches himself into a long spin in his chair. He’s not surprised that Y/N is calling him; she’s always loved birthdays. She’s always been someone to someone. It’s taken some time to adjust to the fact that Spencer is Y/N’s someone.

“Are you coming to rescue me?” Spencer asks sheepishly. He leans back in his chair, watching the elevator. Y/N might think she’s slick, but Spencer’s sure he knows her better than he knows geographical profiling.

“Maybe, can you tell me how fast elevators can travel up to the 6th floor?”

Spencer opens his mouth, ready to fire statistics on top of statistics, but is silenced by Y/N’s arrival. Spencer tries to remain neutral, remain ambivalent about this day being something more than any other day, but Y/N makes it difficult.

As soon as her feet leave the elevator she launches herself at Spencer, not caring that he’s less than capable of catching anything. In a tangle of arms and legs, Y/N manages to sit herself on Spencer’s lap. His hand snakes around her waist; he holds her so tight that it’s almost like he’s afraid she’s going to get blown out like birthday candles on a cake.

“I can’t believe you thought you could sneak out and come to work, on your birthday of all days,” Y/N says quietly, she threads her fingers through Spencer’s hair. She likes how long it’s gotten and his curl pattern is almost fully restored to their original health from before he went to prison.

“How’d you find me?” Spencer asks, thinking that birthdays might not be so bad if they all involve Y/N sitting in his lap and trying to braid his hair.

“Do you seriously have to ask that? Only the Oracle of Quantico,” Y/N teases and Spencer rolls his eyes, thinking he should have known that Garcia would be the one to track his location for Y/N.

“It’s vaguely illegal for a federal agent to tap into those databases, especially for a civilian,” Spencer counters. Y/N, smiling at him, dips her head down to press light kisses on his eyebrows and down the bridge of his nose.

“So’s an ex-Army Ranger giving me his key card to sneak into the BAU,”

“Luke’s in on this too,” Spencer tries to sound upset, but his heart swells at the thought of Penelope, Luke, and Y/N all instigating for his birthday.

“Of course he is, I had to bring out the big guns for my Spencer’s birthday,” Y/N quips. Her fingers climb up Spencer’s sides, tickling him. She likes the kind of laugh that he lets out when she tickles him. It’s a laugh that’s unguarded and full of life. It’s a laugh that doesn’t hold anything back. It’s a laugh that relieves the pressure that festers deep inside him.

Y/N’s hands may make him laugh, but nothing makes him beam more than hearing Y/N call him “my Spencer”. She says it so simply, like my doesn’t even exist, like it’s an involuntary muscle being flexed. For Y/N, loving Spencer came as easy and effortless as breathing.

“You do love birthdays,” Spencer says, looking up at Y/N. He spins them around in his swivel chair, giggling as she lets out a gleeful squeal. Spencer grows dizzy, but he thinks he’s dizzier from Y/N’s love than from spinning in his chair.

“I love your birthday more than any other day, even my birthday,” Y/N says, getting up from Spencer’s lap to pick up the canvas grocery bags she brought with her.

“I was never one for birthdays,” Spencer says quietly. Y/N, more than anyone, knows Spencer’s challenging past. She knows his fears and she knows his dreams. She haunts his every waking moment; somehow a mercurial threat and a constant promise at the same time.

“I know, but I’m sure I’ll make you grow to love them,” Y/N says, “I wasn’t sure which flavor you wanted so I got all of them. Wawa has a surprisingly good selection of Turkey Hill,”

She takes out three gallon sized cartons of ice cream. One coffee with chocolate chips, one butter pecan, and one Moose Tracks. She hands Spencer a spoon and a napkin before sitting down on the floor and opening a carton of the ice cream.

“I do love dairy,” Spencer says, eyeing the ice cream, but considering the consequences of eating the creamy desert. Spencer shoves the statistics about the effects of dairy on a 40 year old with lactose intolerance down and takes his spot next to Y/N on the floor.

He goes to open his carton of ice cream, coffee with chocolate chips, but before he can dig his spoon into the tub, Y/N grabs his wrist.

“No! Spence, wait. Here, take these. And you need to light it,” she says, plopping a couple lactose pills in his hand and digging out a pack of candles and a lighter from her bag.

“Y/N are you out of your mind! We can’t light something in the BAU, god, Emily will kill me,” Spencer says nervously.

“Spence, do you really think Emily Prentiss is going to give me shit for lighting a candle for your birthday in the middle of the office. That woman lives on the edge,” Y/N waves him off and lights a single candle.

Spencer, staring at the lit candle, listens as Y/N sings “Happy Birthday” to him. Sitting criss cross on the floor of the BAU, he watches as the candle light illuminates Y/N’s face. She looks almost ghostly in the dark with the flickering light making her eyes glow. Y/N wishes the song and grasps his hand and squeezes hard.

“Make a wish, baby,” Y/N tells him. She really believes in wishes. Spencer wishes he could believe in wishes. He desperately wants to believe that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are somehow tying knots in the places where his string has been cut.

But more than anything, Spencer can’t bear to forget the face of the women across from. He can’t bear to one day not recognize the way her hand feels in his. He can’t accept the possibility of Y/N being anything less than the person he knows best in this world. Spencer doesn’t particularly care for the metaphor of the light going out. But his fears are put at bay when Y/N leans over and pecks his cheek. He can feel her grinning against his skin and like some virus contracted through touch, it’s contagious. Y/N breaks apart from Spencer and motions for him to eat some ice cream. They sit, shoulder to shoulder, against the front of Spencer’s desk eating their ice cream.

“Thank you, for making my birthday special. It’s been a hard year,” Spencer says, letting the tension in the air speak for itself, “my mom didn’t remember me the other day. I hate seeing her like that,”

“I know, sweetheart. You’ve been through so much. That’s why you need to tell me these things,” She says, setting down her ice cream. Y/N places her hands on Spencer’s shoulders, guiding him to place his back against her chest. His head rests in the crook of her neck. Spencer can feel her steady heart beat against his back. It’s a constant, patterned drum amidst the chaos of his mind.

“Can we take a picture, you know, just to remember this day,” Spencer asks, his voice laced with trepidation. He can feel Y/N nod, and move to grab her phone from her pocket.

Spencer sits up and scoots over to open the bottom drawer of his desk. He pulls out an old camera, one where you have to wait for the picture to appear on the print out. He likes the charm in older things, you really have to work for it. He likes the effort that you have to put into getting the picture made.

“Going old school, I see,” Y/N teases as she catches sight of Spencer’s old camera. He returns to his spot, snuggled against her back. Their legs stick out on the floor, his much longer than Y/N’s. Her arms snake around his torso, holding him tight. Spencer holds the camera out, facing them to capture their faces in some archaic selfie style.

The light flashes before Spencer’s eyes, and Y/N’s kiss on the top of his head burns a hole that instantly leaves him craving more. He’d let her draw any pattern she desires, as long as her kisses are the medium and he is her canvas.

“Can you tell me what you wished for?” Y/N asks, her voice low.

Spencer, looking off into the distance, makes a disgruntled noise. He can feel Y/N’s fingers crawl up his sides and her arms encasing his body. She’s shielding him from his demons, but little does she know that the most menacing foe is his mind.

“You’re really not supposed to, but considering you’re my wish I think you have the right to know,” Spencer offers, “I wished that I’ll never forget you. Never forget this life we made together,” He feels his chest constrict. Mentioning his fear makes it seem more palpable; more real.

“Spencer, have you felt that way for a long time?,”

Spencer takes a deep breath, letting the floodgates open.

“I’ve felt like this my whole life, Y/N. I’m terrified to forget you. To forget our children that I haven’t even met yet. Forget who I am. I’m terrified that I’m going to leave you behind in a murky past that I can never remember,” Spencer says. He chokes back the pain. He doesn’t want Y/N memories of him to be marred by fear and darkness.

“This is about your mom, right. Spencer, listen to me. I’ll love you even if that comes true. I don’t need you to recall my face to know you still got love for me. And you're not leaving me behind. I won’t allow that. I’m not leaving you behind, baby,” Y/N says, her voice the most soothing cure.

She’s a power mixture of biochemicals and neurotransmitters. She heals him at an epigenetic level and restores him piece by piece. Her medicine is love.

Or maybe her love is his medicine.

“I’ve never been this scared of losing something, because I never had someone to lose,” Spencer mumbles, he twists his head so his breath is warm against Y/N’s neck. Somehow in this twisted position, Spencer has never felt safer.

“You can’t lose something that can’t be lost, my Spencer. I’m not going anywhere,”

“I love you to the moon and to Saturn,” Spencer says kissing along Y/N’s collarbones.

Like the pictures in the drawer, Spencer tucks away the fears of the future. He swallows the threat of forgetting everything because the promise of love swallows him whole. He craves a future with Y/N with the possibility of forgetting who she is over the life he’d live if he left her behind.

She said it best, even if one day he can’t recall her face, he’ll still have love for her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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@willowrose99

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid x female reader #criminal minds #samuel de champagne problems 300 followers #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid comfort #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader comfort

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missmitchieg · 4 years ago

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Julie And The Phantoms: A (Unhelpful) Guide For The Newbies

Julie Molina:

- Played by: Superstar Madison Reyes, funniest human alive

- Nicknames: Underachiever, Jules, Star

- The Star

- Co-lead singer and pianist/keyboardist of Julie And The Phantoms

- Would stan Sunset Curve

- Fashion icon

- Wants to learn the fiddle

- Bisexual icon

- Stans Selena Quintanilla

- Lowkey stans her 'bully''s musical group

- Her type is white guitar boys and all girls

- An angel

- Needs a hug

- Human Wrecking Ball™

- Crescent moons

- TALENT

- A little bit in love with her bestie tbh

- Queen of setting and enforcing boundaries

- Great judge of character

- Accidentally fell in love with a handsome ghost, whoops!

- Always nice to literally everyone, even when she's beefing with them

- Loves purple, butterflies, flowers and glitter

- Daydreamer

- Saturn

- Songwriter & Poet

- Can. Not. Lie.

- 👐 Jazz Hands 👐

- Good at apologizing

- TALENT

- Doodles

- Space

- GIRL CAN DANCE

- Awkward but in a cute way

- Literally Magical

- Pretty sure she's a Siren/Witch Hybrid, I have Evidence

- TALENT

- Good lungs

- Loud voice

- CAN R U N

Rose Molina:

- Played by: Danube Hermosillo

- Julie's mom

- SIREN QUEEN

- Sunshine

- Fashion icon

- Loves music

- Loves dahlias

- Songwriter

- Stans Sunset Curve

- Has been in a couple bands, one of which was called Rose And The Petal Pushers

- Plays piano, probably also guitar

- Super nice

Ray Molina:

- Played by: Carlos Ponce

- Julie's dad

- One cool dude

- The Best Dad Ever

- A King and a Witch (trust me)

- Probably also bi tbh

- Photographer

- Supportive and loving

- Knows the words to Julie's songs

- Good at apologizing

- Films Julie And The Phantoms performances for their youtube channel

Carlos Molina:

- Played by: Sonny Bustamante

- Julie's little brother

- BEST LITTLE BROTHER

- Went into Protect Mode when Julie was scared of the ghost in the garage

- Helped a ghost chef cross over

- The Ghost Toaster

- Youtuber

- Plays baseball

- Likes rap music

- Stans Julie And The Phantoms

- Also films their performances

Flynn Taylor:

- Played by: Jadah Marie

- Nickname: Disappointment

- Julie's bestie, marketing team, manager and roadie

- Will not tolerate lying and secret keeping

- Crazy glue of best friends

- Also stans her 'bully''s musical group

- Is in love with her 'bully' and is Big Mad about it

- DEFINITELY a lesbian

- The coolest person ever

- Cat person

- Eat The Rich

- She/they

- Literally The Most Supportive Friend

- Also a fashion icon

- Made a promise with Julie they would form a band called Double Trouble when they were 6, made t shirts for said band, wasn't mad when Julie formed her own ghost band

- Came up with the name Julie And The Phantoms

- Rap Queen

- Gives me Destiny's Child stan vibes

- Knows who Julie likes before Julie knows

- A Very Literal Person

- Sass™

- Also films performances

Victoria:

- Played by: Alison Araya

- Julie's maternal aunt

- Also a fashion icon tbh

- Probably has a succulent named Pablo

- Terrified of demons

- Has seen enough horror movies to know that when shit's going down in a house, you leave the damn house

- Knows how to relieve you of demons

- Drops in with food so they don't eat leftovers every night

- Occasionally babysits Julie and Carlos

- Is on Julie's school mailing list

Luke Patterson:

- Played by: Charlie Gillespie

- Handsome Ghost Boy #1

- Julie's best friend, boyfriend and Soulmate

- Flirted with Julie's mom once, oops!

- Former lead singer of Sunset Curve

- Current co-lead singer and guitarist of Julie And The Phantoms

- HOO BOY DOES HE NEED A HUG

- His type is dark curly haired latinas and all boys

- Really, really, really likes roses

- No one knows how to describe his eye color

- BAD handwriting

- 👐 Jazz Hands 👐

- The Most Supportive Boyfriend

- If Julie doesn't like a thing, he doesn't like it, either

- Tied with Flynn for #1 Julie Molina Stan

- Would do anything for Julie Molina

- ANYTHING. FOR. JULIE.

- Ships Willex & Boggie

- Music is in. his. soul.

- Literally died for music

- D E T E R M I N A T I O N

- Kinda bad at apologizing at first but he gets better

- Does not give a damn about school

- Just really loves his parents

- Guitar Boy

- Preeeetty sure pretty boy is pan/ace

- Has chemistry with everyone he sings with

- Probably has ADHD

- Loves food

- Appreciates a good show

- Sleeves? Don't know him

- Cries a lot

Alex Mercer-Molina:

- Played by: Owen Joyner

- Handsome Ghost Boy #2

- Gay Little Drummer Boy

- Allergic to girls

- Formerly Sunset Curve drummer

- Currently Julie And The Phantoms drummer

- Julie's other bestie/older brother tbh

- Pink

- Garbage parents

- Needs a hug so bad

- Also literally died for music

- Ships Jukebox sooooo hard

- Fashion icon

- A N X I E T Y

- Thinks he's the smart one

- Whitney Houston and David Bowie stan

- Boy can SING

- Dancer

- Does not subscribe to Luke's 'if Julie doesn't like it, I don't like it' thing

- Sass™

Reggie Peters-Molina:

- Played by: Jeremy Shada

- Handsome Ghost Boy #3

- Julie's other other bestie/older brother

- Bisexual

- Also flirted with Julie's mom

- Formerly Sunset Curve bassist

- Currently Julie And The Phantoms bassist

- Parents hate each other, no one knows where they are now

- Doesn't handle yelling well

- In desperate need of a hug

- Protect Him

- Golden Retriever Puppy

- Red, black and white

- LOVE HIS VOICE

- Country Boy

- Shreds on a banjo

- Also literally died for music

- BEST BOY

- Jukebox & Willex Stan #2

- The Actual Smart One

- Is also The Cute One

- FUNNY

- His religion is leather jackets and flannels

- SWEETEST ANGEL BOY

- Loves Julie's dad

- Hypes up his friends a lot

- Just wants his friends to be happy

- BABIE

- Star Wars stan

- Hates Jar Jar Binks

- Gives me Disney fan vibes

- Had a massive crush on Trevor Wilson, known as Bobby at the time

#julie and the phantoms #julie molina #rose molina #ray molina #carlos molina #flynn #tia victoria #luke patterson #alex mercer #reggie peters #Unhelpful Guide To JATP

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clean-bands-dirty-stories · 4 years ago

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Snapshot ~ I.L.

A/n: 🥺 - that’s all I got for this one.

Request: “...Isaac lahey x male reader. The reader is a photographer and is super shy and sweet and Isaac likes him so the pack is pushing him to talk and ask him out.” By anon

MASTERLIST

“Oh won’t you smile for me?” His smile was wide and brilliant. Breathtaking. It made Isaac shift, awkward, feeling his body go stiff as his mind went blank.

God, Y/n would the death of him.

“Why?” He grumbled, trying to play uninterested like he always did. Easier that way, he reminded himself. No one could get close. He couldn’t be let down again, not after everything he-

“Because you’re pretty when you smile.”

Isaac jerked, then cleared his throat, feeling his face burn. “I’m a guy. Aren’t I supposed to be handsome?”

Y/n wore a coy smile. “Aren’t art pieces always described as pretty?” He shrugged and Isaac felt the need to bolt. But that would have looked suspicious, so he didn’t. “I don’t know why pretty is reserved for women when men can be art as well. It’s an adjective - describes anyone. Anything. Dictionary definition says nothing about boys not being able to be pretty.

God he was smart too. Kill me now.

It had been like this for three and a half weeks now. It had all started when Isaac and Y/n had met by accident. Isaac was overwhelmed by all the smells and sounds that were jumping out at him after a particularly rough morning that had followed an even rougher weekend with his dad. He’d come to school thinking that it would be his favorite day, like every Monday was, because it meant he could be away from home and focus on something more pleasant and also more important. But it had been too much, the time that had come before school. And he had carried that with him, every noise and touch and look and demanding question as teachers took pleasure in catching him off guard and making him look like an idiot.

So, for lunch, he’d gone out to the field and hidden under the bleachers to get some peace and quiet like he used to before he was a wolf. Before he was part of Derek’s pack. Before his life had gotten a little better and a lot more stressful. Or, that had been the plan anyway. When he got there, someone else was already curled in the soft grass, eyes close and body completely relaxed. The boy’s arms were stretched out ahead of him, fingers open and almost reaching for a camera that had been abandoned.

It seemed like the person had fallen asleep while looking at or taking pictures, or maybe just holding the camera with no purpose. Isaac had woken the person up and had been instantly stolen of all ability to speak or think or even breathe as the most beautiful eyes opened. The boy made the cutest expression Isaac had ever seen - part confused and part disappointed, but also part happy. There was a small smile mixed with foggy gazes and knitted eyebrows. The boy slowly looked at Isaac and spoke. “I’m sorry. Am I in your spot?”

His voice was so... scratchy. It was like sex.

Isaac swallowed. “No. No sorry.” He’d gone to leave but then the boy had sat up, insisting he stay, and they had begun talking after Isaac had hesitantly agreed. Ever since then, Isaac and Y/n had been very close. It was perfectly casual between them, and neither had any problem with talking about whatever, or just sitting in silence if either needed that.

They were quite similar. Both tending to be quiet and withdrawn if given the chance. Y/n saw right through Isaac’s little show of swagger and confidence, and tended to hug him if he tried too hard, as if knowing he was doing it to try and deflect how terrible he felt. They could be real with each other, no expectations. It was like nothing else Isaac had ever felt.

Then one day, things had shifted. Just a little. Small enough that Isaac hadn’t really noticed it for a while. He knew that slowly they started to look at each other longer, even when neither of them were talking. They drifted closer, leaning against each other or resting a head on the other person’s shoulder, or laying in a lap, or just really anything to be touching. Isaac had gotten into the habit of just continually resting his arm across the back of Y/n’s shoulders. They invaded each other’s space constantly. They memorized each other’s orders for all the different places they went to get food, and if one of them was without something to eat, there was no scene made if one of them stole a bit from the other. It was drastically different than how Isaac acted with anyone else and it wasn’t long before others had started to notice.

“You should ask him out,” Erica had hummed one day, looking at her nails.

“Who?” Isaac had asked, eyebrows coming together in confusion.

“Y/n,” Erica had responded like it was the most obvious thing ever.

Boyd nodded. “You two have something special, and neither of you are hiding it. Kind of refreshing to see actually.”

Derek had raised an eyebrow. “Who’s Y/n?”

Isaac had been glaring at Erica when the question had been asked, so when he looked over his face still had traces of annoyance, as did his voice. “My friend. I met him under the bleachers about a month ago. We’re just friends though.”

After that, even those from Scott’s pack had begun to play at hinting for Isaac to make moves on Y/n. While they were fighting and taunting each other, Stiles made a snide comment about “his boyfriend” to Isaac, and somehow Isaac knew immediately who he was talking about.

Even outside of fighting when Scott tried to convince Erica and Isaac to be more careful, he said something that got under Isaac’s skin. “What would Y/n think about all of this? Because if he had to pick sides, I don’t think he’d pick Derek’s.”

He’d been handling it all well, he thought. Through all of that he’d bee able to keep denying his feelings and push away anything close to daydreams... unless he was really out of it and super bored and wanted to go to some sort of happy place, where he would return to that first day under the bleachers, except... every time he went there, Y/n and Isaac always ended up kissing. Despite all of the others’ prodding and the weird thoughts he could never totally shake, he could convince himself he didn’t feel that way toward Y/n.

Then Y/n had started flirting with him.

And now they were here.

Isaac tried to keep that line between them and two boys in love clearly, but every time he did Y/n danced around him as he drew with chalk, crossing the line before he could finish. Or sometimes stepping right over it, grinning smugly, arms crossed over his chest in teasing playfulness. Isaac couldn’t friendzone Y/n if he tried, and Y/n wasn’t giving any room to even try.

“Hey there Handsome.” Isaac felt his face heat up as Y/n moved into his view. The other boy had an adoring expression on his face.

The thing was, Y/n was really never like this with anyone else. He was usually really shy and reserved. The two had been open from the start, allowing them to bypass anxiety and shyness pretty quickly. So Isaac couldn’t tell if this was a secret side to Y/n that he couldn’t get the confidence to use on anyone else, or if he was actually flirting because he was interested. It would be Isaac’s luck that Y/n though the flirting was platonic and fun and meaningless while Isaac was losing his whole shit every time it happened.

“Hey.” His voice cracked when he said it so he cleared his throat. “What’s up, Y/n?”

There seemed to be slight disappointment that colored Y/n’s eyes. “Nothing much. I was just thinking about you so I thought I’d pop over and say hello to my favorite curly haired high schooler.” He reached up, running a hand through Isaac’s hair.

God Isaac almost lost all of his cool right in the middle of the damn hallway. There was nothing he liked more than having his hair played with, and he had imagined the feeling of Y/n’s hands combing through the strands hundreds of times but none of it had prepared him for reality.

Suddenly his body was hot and his mind was foggy and the bell was ringing for class to start and Isaac had had enough. He looked around quickly for anything, and then grabbed Y/n’s hand when he saw a janitorial closet, puling them both inside and locking the door. He rounded on Y/n. “Isaac-?”

“Do you understand how incredible you are?” Isaac demanded. “I never fail when I need to get my shit under control. I learned a long time ago how to seem calm and collected when everything else inside is burning to the ground. I can do it with anyone and everyone else and then you come within five feet of me and I’m a mess. Jesus Y/n please tell me that you understand how much I want to kiss you at literally all times and how absolutely insane it’s driving me.”

For a second, Y/n was stunned. Then, slowly, the biggest grin Isaac had ever seen bloomed on and Y/n reached up, grabbing Isaac by the collar and pulling him into a heated kiss.

The rest, I suppose, is history.

#isaac lahey #teen wolf #male reader #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x male reader #isaac lahey imagine #teen wolf x reader #teen wolf imagine #teen wolf x male reader

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junicai · 4 years ago

Text

Relationship with WAYV

➣ KUN ☾ karia

if it wasn’t for dotae potentially coming to kill him, he would steal aria into wayv

he’s the cool dad?

they can’t spend a lot of time together because none of their schedules match up, but aria takes every third or so weekend out to come have dinner in the wayv dorms

she’s surprisingly close to the china line, and its a combination of ten dragging her to his dorm for an entire month and them just kinda adopting her when they realized she was a foreigner as well

yuta can fight them, she’s one of them now

he doesn’t like to baby her a lot, and she really appreciates the break from being the “maknae” so to speak

however does that stop him from giving her the forehead kithes? no

aria sad? forehead kith

aria mad? forehead kith

aria smad? forehead kith + kuddles (kun cuddles)

he has sent her a passive agressive text when he found out that she wasn’t eating enough again and had almost passed out

but he finished it with a heart so its ok

if she isn’t smiling at all times, someone will die

aria feels like she can trust him with a lot; that no matter what she tells him, he’ll never out her or make fun of her

kun actually took a two-week online course to learn how to make traditional japanese dishes when aria mentioned missing her parents

he originally was going to learn how to make irish dishes, but he changed his mind after seeing what they were

“im not giving my kids boiled cabbage and mashed potatoes what kind of post world war-”

wants to give her a chinese name but hasn’t yet because he hasn’t found the one that fits her right and he wants it to be perfect

aria teaches him japanese phrases in exchange for him teaching her a little bit of mandarin

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria saw kun’s back as she entered the practice room, the man standing with three other members in the centre of the floor before the choreographer came in to start their practice. coming up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, peeking her head around from where she was. “hi!” she smiled brightly.

“hi,” ten chuckled, showing her the camera that had just filmed all of that.

➣ TEN ☾ tenaria

Whipped(TM)

so so gone for her its upsetting actually

yangyang and aria share the position of his baby

except aria willingly accepts the title while yangyang would rather fling himself from a rooftop

ten’s instagram is half his cats, half miyazu aria

he posts her dancing practice on his story a lot, with a variety of captions ranging from “thats my baby ♡( ◡‿◡ )” to “yah that’s not right...(눈_눈)”

such an enabler for her bad ideas

aria wants to go shopping at 4am? ten agrees, now they’re sitting by han river eating ice cream

pls he’s gonna get her in so much trouble one day

when they walk together, ten likes to take her hand and put it in his pocket

its under the pretense of not wanting her to get lost

he just wants to hold her hand

yes he has lost her in a shopping mall, and NO it wasn’t his fault

ten always complains that they never have schedules together and he misses his baby

“we have superm-” “I NEVER SEE YOUUUU (ﾉಥ益ಥ)ﾉ”

if they’re in the same room ten is either watching her out of the corner of his eye, or is actually wrapped around her like a boa constrictor

hugs n kithes all around

only he is allowed make fun of her mistakes in dancing

anyone else gets deaded. he will fight for her honor how dare you insult his baby

sm give these ttwo a dancing duo video pls

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

the first and only time aria and ten had a duet was during their last concert on superm’s first world tour. during the second half of ten’s solo performance, aria emerged from the left side of the stage, coming to join him in the centre stage. no one had ever seen aria as serious as she was then, both herself and ten becoming completely different people in the moment. midway through, aria spun with her back to ten and leaped backwards into the air - eyes closed - completely trusting ten to be where she needed him to be to catch her.

➣ WINWIN ☾ winria

a love hate relationship at its finest

they don’t actually hate each other it’s just really funny to pretend that they do (especially because yuta complains that 2 of his favourite people aren’t getting along)

winwin is so savage towards aria but it’s ok she claps back twice as hard

at first, before czennies had seen enough of their dynamic they thought that they actually did hate each other

but that’s not true they just don’t know how to express, affection, without brutally insulting the other with a loving tone

they are, surprisingly, the most stable pairing in 127 - they have a dynamic and rarely stray from that, which is a good comfort for the fans

despite what they might say to each other, they don’t mean any of it - and winwin has been seen several times raising his eyebrows with a questioning look at aria to make sure she wasn’t taking any of his playful jabs to heart

oh god the flexibility

the entirety of nct is terrified of them

the day sm gives them a circus act is the day that kun and taeyong have a heart attack

quietly supportive of each other - catch aria “playing” with a water bottle and not getting up to get it when it conveniently rolls across the floor and into winwin’s leg

he makes sure to save some new chinese sweets whenever the wayv members get packages from their familes, and sneak it into aria’s room before the managers can catch her breaking her diet

not really physically affectionate with each other, which played into czennies idea that they didn’t like each other but aria cleared it up in a vlive

“winwinnie and I, well. we don’t hug a lot because i know he doesn’t like it as much as i might, so i try to show him i care with other things :)”

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

winwin and aria going in to each other on knowing brothers, to the point where the mc’s had their eyes popping out of their head and waved about to stop the segment before aria could start attacking winwin’s cooking methods-

nothing is off limits when it comes to them

➣ LUCAS ☾ arihei

besties

please they’re so cute together - tol child next to tini child she barely comes up to his chest :(

bear hugs

he just swamps her in his arms, and when he doesn’t feel like being bent over he picks her up

complains that she’s too heavy but then immediately after will throw her around like a softball

someone tell this man to be careful with her she’s not a barbie doll

singular braincell energy

don’t get it wrong, they’re both super smart

so it’s just - being smort together, but then nearly dying because neither of them remembered that you couldn’t eat raw cookie dough when there are eggs in it

she adores how he’s so confident in the things that he does - like convincing the entire nct fandom that he was fluent in english? king behaviour

so aria looks up to him (literally) but also because she wants to have that confidence some day

lucas says they’re not close and then aria pouts and he takes it all back

nczennies made a 14 minute compilation titled “lucas melting like a popsicle in australia for aria”

and literally what the title tells you, this man goes :(( when he sees her

lucas was actually the person to convince her to go ahead with the [redacted] proposal - and reminded her that it was too good an opportunity to pass up just because she felt like she was outgrowing the boys

he’s so proud of her

and she’s so proud of him

they’re so proud of each other and it makes nczennies want to cry because they never are seen together

sm stop separating the platonic soulmates first markhyuck and now arihei smh

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

during a photoshoot, aria was standing off to the side of the boys, dressed in white suit to contrast the boys’ black ones. the photographer was calling out to her to get her to move closer, but she couldn’t hear him from so far away, and so lucas (who was on the end) just walked over to her, gripped her by the biceps and lifted her vertically and to the left a little bit.

“luc-LUCAS?”

“you had to move :)”

➣ XIAOJUN ☾ arijun

honestly these two aren’t super close, just because their schedules never matched up until the NCT 2020 promotions

even when aria was dragged to the wayv dorms, xiaojun kept his distance from her because he didn’t want to make her uncomfortable

even so, when they were filming Make A Wish together, they seemed comfortable enough around each other

there was a mutual agreement to not try fill the silence with awkward small talk, so they sat in silence when left alone together

they’re both shy :( someone needs to get them to talk to each other :(

even so, aria was all supportive smiles and thumbs-up when she saw him getting nervous before their first public stage as the unit

he was a little intimidated of her at first, but also really curious about how she was holding her own against the other members

not only physically, but her vibes are tiny let the man be concerned ok

his first impression of aria was just: small quiet? she was sitting apart from the other boys in the practice room, and he almost wanted to go over and ask her if she was ok; before she was approached by donghyuck and her face broke into a bright smile

aria’s first impression of xiaojun was: eyebrows he was really handsome? at first, she thought he was in the wrong room, seeing as the SM modeling auditions were happening in the next room down

any arijun shippers are starved of content im so sorry guys

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

currently still up for debate between the fandom :(

➣ HENDERY ☾ aridery

ah these two

you might as well sign a waiver if you decide to do anything with them, because they can and will get you killed

kun can testify

ten’s the enabler but hendery is the do-er

super giggly around each other, for no reason at all

hendery could pick up and throw a basketball and suddenly aria’s on the floor in literal stitches

have a secret code

no seriously

they don’t text in words, they just send various reaction memes and a colourful variety of emojis to convey emotions and scenarios

it’s become quite a beautiful language actually

got some nice proverbs in there

they’re like, cousins but the ones you only see at family reunions but get so hype to see them

that energy

asides from the chaotic, murderous vibes they possess as a duo

hendery knows what it’s like to miss home, to miss your parents, etc etc

and so he tries to make aria feel as home as possible - especially with wayv, because they’re all foreigners who know how she feels

whenever he gets packages from his parents who have sent things over, he always makes sure to keep some of the small treats/sweets back for aria

1. because he knows she’ll appreciate the thought and she gives good hugs

2. because he knows she’s on a diet constantly and never allowed eat these things when she’s in the dorms with managers around

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

filming the Resonance “Wish” event, aria was put in a skimpy minimalistic mock-suit to differentiate from the others’ clothes. unfortunately, that left aria with a little too much shoulder and chest on display than she would like, and she was noticeably uncomfortable with her clothes, constantly pulling it up and even going so far as to just hold it with her hands.

hendery saw this, and knew he was finished filming his segment for the time being, so he pulled off his own jacket and tossed it over to aria, who caught it with a grateful smile. “thank you,” she mouthed to him, tugging the dark blue material over her shoulders.

➣ YANGYANG ☾ ariyang

aria. has 9 days of age on this boy and will never let him forget it

“respect your elders you brat” “9. DAYS.”

european pals

they feel so cultured when they get asked about europe, and then are kindly reminded by hendery that A. Germany started 2 world wars, and B. Ireland was just a British colony until 100 years ago.

they both hit him for that

aria teaching him curse words in irish and yangyang teaching her curse words in german? more likely than you’d think

they met before yangyang’s debut was announced, in a practice room that had let them accidentally overlap their practice times

instead of working it out between them, they actually just started to alternate their songs - and the other gave them some good, constructive criticism

most of the time

when they found out they were going to be in 90s Love together, they were so happy

it was going to be their first official schedule together

all the behind-the-scenes videos are just aria and yangyang being children and then ten coming over and cooing at them

they love ten, but they will trash talk the man behind his back

yangyang confessed to her that he sometimes feels nervous when speaking korean, like he’s going to make a big mistake

so she tries her best to teach and correct him where she can, and make him as comfortable as possible

if you look at any of the 90s Love promotions - aria is always beside yangyang

he bit her ear once

she doesn’t know why and he won’t tell her

but now when she makes fun of him, he threatens to do it again

FAN FAVOURITE MOMENT.

aria skating onto the rink during filming, and yangyang following her because she promised to teach him how to skate backwards.

“ok just, think like you’re leading with your heels. press your knees in, and push outwards, with you-no no that’s forwards. go backwards yangyang.”

“no no no thats a WALL YANGYANG STOP-”

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cedricslover · 4 years ago

Text

Troubled (final)

Pairing: Cedric Diggory x Fem! Reader

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5

Series summary: A very unfortunate situation happened and it resulted in very unfortunate events. You had everything, a good boyfriend that everyone dreamed of, best friends that you got in a twin pack, and a loving school. It was a calm before a storm and in your sixth year the storm came. You faced the consequences your deceased parents run from, you were only left with your only family, your little brother. What would you do in order to save him? The answer is, everything, even if it means joining a terrorist group of wizards, joining THE DEATH EATERS…

Chapter Summary: Death is inevitable

Note: there is no specific house:))) I would like to thank everyone that kept waiting and was patient enough, I started this series around March and now it is May. This is my very first series and I hope you all liked it! Again thank you so much❤❤

Warnings: angst, death, little bit of violence

Word Count: 4.2k

You stopped in front of a headstone. Your hair brushing your cheeks as the wind blew it. "Hey" you started talking, through the years the big lump in your throat slowly fades whenever you visit. "It must be nice there" you smiled and placed the flowers that you were holding down to the ground.

You breathed in the familiar smell of the field. The smell of the countryside was really different from London. Closing your eyes, memories of the past came flooding in.

[5 years ago]

"WHAT?" Phoebe, one of your roommates looked at you with shock, "what?" You chuckled as you ate a chocolate frog.

"What do you mean "what"? So we're just going to act like we didn't see Diggory in front of our dorm earlier" Alice rolls her eyes as she brushes her blond hair, "Oh yeah we got back together" you shrugged and sat on your bed.

"You really won't tell us what happened that broke the two of you?" Phoebe's voice became wary, she was trying not to say something bad. You shake your head and smile apologetically. "I'm sorry girls" you felt bad. You wanted to tell them of course, but even your best friends since first year don't even know. And surprisingly didn't even nag you about it.

"It's alright doll, we understand. Besides, Diggory is a great guy, you two are both smart enough to know what is right and wrong" Alice looks at you, there is always comfort in her eyes. Like she always knows what is going on even if you don't talk. She was the perfect example of the person that you can vent to and she will just listen.

"How about you girls, anything going on with your lives? Why is it always mine?" You laid down and stared at the ceiling. Silence filled the room. For about 10 minutes only the brushing of the tip of the quill to a parchment, breathing, and the noise from the common room are the only sounds you heard.

"Nothing much" you heard a bed squeaked, it was probably Phoebe's. "My life is the most boring one yet" Alice mutters and sighed, you can see her sitting on her bed. "I don't think so. Each of our lives have different stories. I don't think that's boring" you replied before you pulled your blanket and be completely eaten up by darkness.

Weeks have passed, it seemed to be doing great. Everything was falling back to pieces. After the school found out that you and Cedric got back together, George and the Beauxbaton girl also publicized their relationship, both of them explained that it really wasn't you in the photograph-which you completely didn't want them to do because you didn't owe anyone any explanation- but they still did.

Fred and Angelina seemed to be also doing great, well, especially how Fred is under Angelina.

Of course Barty Jr.-that's disguising as Professor Moody was always giving you 'the look'. Everytime and everywhere, even at class, even your classmates find it strange why Professor Moody always calls you, and then gets mad. They feel bad but you just let it all go, because you knew what his true colors are.

"Fred" she warns

"Frederick Gideon" with her scary tone

"Frederick Gideon Weasley" that's when you all know Fred was in trouble.

"Hello darling" you smiled and kissed Cedric's lips before you sat beside him at the library. You both have free time, especially him, tomorrow was the final task, he was trying to study spells that he might use.

"Hey" he stops reading and wraps his arms around your waist, "Tired" he murmurs while he buries his head on your neck. "You want to eat sumthin'?" You asked while playing with his fluffy hair, running your fingers through his scalp. "No" you can feel his breathing on your neck, it sends shivers down your spine.

After a while of complete silence, Cedric's breathing seemed to follow a pattern, that's when you knew he was asleep, in your arms.

You started humming a song that your mum used to sing you to sleep. You can't see his face, but felt it instead, his nose, his lips, his forehead, it felt peace. It felt like home.

And later on, you also found yourself getting sleepy, your eyelids drooping down. And before you give up on the warmth, your eyes found the book-or more like a magazine that Cedric was reading earlier, you didn't notice it earlier until now. You let out a smile before you closed your eyes.

'Real Estate Magazine, Countryside Edition'

You woke up early, dressed up early, showered early, and went to get breakfast early, and you didn't expect that a lot of students were up early too. Earlier than usual.

"Y/N!" You turned your head while you chewed a toast. It was the trio. "Hey" you greeted them as they sat in front of you. "You alright?" You looked at them while your forehead creased, "yeah" they all answered in unison, that caught them off guard.

"Harry's going to be fine don't worry" you shake your head and smile as you reach for another toast. "It's just that-" Harry stopped and his hand went to his forehead, where the scar is.

"His scar's been hurting ever since he woke up" Ron told you, his face was screaming with worry, just the same as Hermione.

"You should take a rest Harry. You still have til before dusk. I think that would be enough time to prepare and rest" you said, trying to cover the worry in your voice, and of course the fear.

You four continued to eat, the Great Hall was starting to get more crowded, noise, banners, cheers, they were all anticipating who will win the triwizard tournament. Although you should be joining this crowd, wearing shirts with the one they support, cheering, waving the banners at 8 am. You can't. You were filled with worry, Harry's scar was hurting, and it seemed strange that the Dark Lord wasn't doing anything the whole year.

And as you walked by Moody's office, it seemed like your suspicions were answered.

"I already handled it, Dark Lord. Yes, yes, but how about the girl?" You heard Moody, he was rather loud, obviously he used the opportunity as most of the students would be either outside or the Great Hall.

"She wouldn't be a nuisance, we have his brother. She will be extremely useful for the next few years. She has much more potential than her parents. Let her bloom Barty" a faint voice answered him, that was the reason Harry's scar was hurting since this morning. Mere communication can still cause it, you knew he couldn't possibly be physically here.

"What if Harry wouldn't be the one touching the cup?" Moody's voice was filled with excitement but at the same time, fear.

"I'll kill them. And you next. Better do your job Barty." The voice disappeared. Your eyes widened as you heard footsteps slowly approaching the door. You ran to the closest hiding spot and peeked.

"Better handle that girl then" Moody looked around before he drank again from his flask. "Polyjuice Potion" you whispered as you observed him.

He walked away, to the direction you came from, you waited until you made sure he was gone.

"Mad-Eye Moody!" You started banging the trunk where Moody was prisoned, your hands shaking as you got the key from one of the drawers.

"Moody!" You banged again, panting, your sweat started dripping. Your heart was beating fast, you have to do something. You sure don't know anything, but Moody surely does.

You finally opened the last layer of it and saw that he was there, peering back at you, he was thinner than the last time you saw him. And he lost a lot of hair too.

He seemed mad, of course, you were the only person inside the castle that knew the Professor Moody that was going around the school the whole year was an imposter, well aside from Cedric who was suspicious.

You started explaining to him, now this was the person that deserved your explanation, not the gossip people.

It took a while before he finally understood. He must be thirsty and hungry, but you didn't bring any food but only your wand. You looked for any container and luckily you saw a flask, it must have been a spare Polyjuice Potion, you threw the insides away.

"Aguamenti" you chanted and the flask started to be filled with clean water. You cleaned the mess you made and returned it from what it was when you entered before you slowly dropped the flask to Moody who was now drinking it like he hadn't drank any water for a whole week.

"I cannot hear clearly, but I heard Little Hangleton. You know that right?" You nodded at his question. "I don't know what and how, but they would try to bring the Dark Lord back. In power" he looks directly at your eyes, his gaze was piercing, he was expecting you to do something. And you will.

"I'll be back" the last words you said to him before you slowly closed the trunk, he nods slightly for a response, there was also something in his look, the same look you saw with your parents when they were about to die, the same look you saw with the people of the Order, it was a look of hope and pride.

"Hey hey" you stopped on your tracks and it snapped you back into reality, you didn't know what to do, "Y/N?" Cedric cupped your face, you looked at his eyes, his questioning eyes. "What's wrong, love?" He tucked strands of hair from your face to behind your ear. Your breathing started to calm down.

"They're moving Ced, I have to do something" you admitted, there was no point in keeping it a secret to him. His jaw dropped, he was now looking everywhere, trying to be cautious.

"What can I do to help?" He asks, you felt bad, and it seemed like he noticed it. "Don't feel bad, Y/N. You already carried too much burden, at least let me help you carry it" his mouth curves as he assures you. "It will all be okay" he whispers, still not letting go of your face.

You were still doubting, but he was persistent. "Protect Harry. Help me protect Harry, Ced" your eyes darted to him, both of you knew this was a life and death situation. This wasn't just those silly games you played before, you both only had one chance to save a life, and this was it.

"I will" he nods, there was more than just the tournament in his mind now. And that is to protect Harry. At all costs.

You observed Harry the whole time before the task, ofcourse, not being so obvious. You would join the three of them at some point, or drag Harry with you and the twins as they show the fireworks that they made and plan to light up when he wins or Cedric.

It was a win-win, Harry forgets that bloody scar while you keep an eye on him.

And now, it was Cedric's turn.

He kissed your forehead and gave you a little smile. "You did well. Let me take over" he said before he turned his back and let go of your hand. Amos waited for him and waved in your direction. The corners of your mouth turned up, trying to be nice to him, despite how you somehow despised because of how he always pressures his son, he always has to do this, reach this, be like this. It was not healthy.

You knew he was trying to be a good parent, but you wished he had taken lessons from your father before he died. Thankfully Mrs. Diggory was nice enough to appreciate Cedric's achievements, small or big.

"You alright?" Alice asked you as you sat at the bleachers. "Quite" you smiled at her and returned your gaze to the champions. You were with Alice now, well long story short, the twins were with their girlfriends, even Phoebe, and Alice invited you to join her so here you are now. You know Alice is beautiful, she is also great in academics, even she and Luna Lovegood could really pass as siblings, they have the same interest in things that were believed to be not there, and even their way of clothing were the same. But they both confirmed that they were not related. Still, you were still quite confused as to why she was not out there, having a partner.

"You know that guy?" She pointed to Gregory Goyle's older brother. "Yeah?" There were lines forming between your eyebrows. "He asked me out" she giggled and covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders started shaking, you also laughed. "What really?" You asked in disbelief, you tried your best not to laugh out loud.

You hated Goyle, he always bullies the ones that he believed was weaker, even Alice. He always made fun of Alice and how she always tries to get people's attention. Now look how the tables have turned.

"He asked me out with those cheesy pick up lines, doll. I tried my best not to laugh and just rejected him immediately" you were both still laughing. She stated some of the pick up lines that made you laugh so much but you still tried not to be loud so in the end, you choked on your own saliva while she stifled a laugh as she pats your back.

The laughter seemed to be a curse, bad luck, or just joy before a disaster. Because right after that you all saw a yellow light sparked to the sky, it was from someone in the maze.

You were the only one who was not confused, because as that yellow spark flashed, it was a message for you.

'He is safe. Cedric's with him'

Red sparks were seen earlier, it must have been a marker for the injured ones, but the Yellow ones, the audience and judges didn't know what it meant, only you.

You started praying to the higher ups, if they were ever there, listening to you. You prayed that they would be fine. Only a few scratches, but still good. After just a few minutes another yellow spark was seen, the people decided to shrug it off, but you, you were beyond happy and relieved. The second spark should mean that they got to the cup. They should be arriving any second now.

You anxiously waited for them, ten seconds, twenty, thirty, and then a minute and they weren't still here.

'Little Hangleton' 'Back in power' ‘Dark Lord’ 'Coming Back' 'Do your job' 'Kill'

Voices started to cloud in your mind, Moody, Barty Jr., Voldemort, memories, you patched up the information you got.

And without even thinking twice you disapparated, thankful that Dumbledore lifted the anti-disapparition charm because there were a lot of outsiders anticipating the third task.

You grunted as you stumbled, you hated how apparition makes your insides like they were being squeezed. It was convenient of course, but you didn't like it.

"Kill the spare" you heard, your vision was still dizzy, but you knew that voice. Your vision was blurry, the world was spinning and it felt like your intestines were spinning too. It was the after effect of apparating.

You stood up, still feeling nauseous, “NOOO!” you shouted as you ran, there were figures and you knew who they were. “Avada Kedavra!” it was definitely Pettigrew, no, not Cedric, not me, not Harry, don’t kill us, please, the words repeated in your mind. The few steps felt like a hundred, you wanted to stop time, and as you rushed towards the figures your vision was slowly being clear. And by the time you can entirely see clearly, you wished, you hoped, that someone blinded you, you wished that this was a dream, hallucination, but as you collapsed on your knees, as the rough ground kissed your legs, it was all real.

“Alice...” tears started to fall from your face as you looked at her face. Her reddish cheeks was now white, her lively eyes was now soulless, her warmth,

It’s gone, she’s gone.

“YOU!” You stood up, picking up your wand, Cedric stood beside you, “Free Harry” You commanded him, your nose was now flaring, glaring at the two figures in front of you, Peter Pettigrew carrying the weak Voldemort.

“Expulso!” you incant, in a snap, Voldemort was now dropped to the ground while Pettigrew was far away, “I’ve had enough of you. You and your values” you stared at Voldemort who was now crawling away, he was so weak, and this was the only time you could do it. The only time you could take revenge from all the lives he took.

“You’re so weak, and you should stay weak” You stepped on his thin legs, he screeched like a creature tortured, “You deserve, every, single, pain” now you stomped on his hand, you felt the bone touch the sole of your feet despite wearing shoes.

“Sectumsempra!” you cried at his pleading face, you thanked that potions book you saw in the classroom. You watched as so blood just came out from the child like figure in front of you, for a second you thought you were doing something beyond your morals, but you remembered, the images of people that this person-no- monster killed, the mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, and friends, he took away so many lives, he made the world like his playground, killing whoever he felt to kill, and that justified what you did. Regret was not even near.

“Incarcerous” Cedric’s voice echoed, the tense was back again, Pettigrew was still here, “We’ll take care of him” he told you, giving a second to glance at the lifeless Voldemort that was on the ground, curled, you nodded as an approval.

And like a vase dropped, or someone threw a big stone to your head, you remember Alice's bleeding body, her opened eyes but why? Why is there a ghost of a smile plastered on that doll-like face?

You slowly walked to her lying body, you never expected that this would happen, that she, she would do something like this. Did she just suddenly hold your arm as you disapparated? Is that why she splinched, her arms, even her legs were bleeding.

“Dumbass, did you even know where I was going.” you kneeled, reached for her face and removed the strands of hair that were blocking her face. “You’re so dumb. Who’s going to call me doll anymore” you blinked and a tear fell straight to her cheek, you blinked again, another tear fell, you blinked, again and again, and at the same time, tears fell on her pale face, you cried, wailed, even shouted while hugging her body.

She was there when you needed her, she was there to understand you. She was there when you cried, laughed, even if you were sick, she was there.

“Doll, come here.” Alice called you while you were packing your things, you were a mess, you just heard that your mother was ill, you have to go home. You sighed and let go of the clothes and walked towards her, she tapped the seat in front of the mirror.

“You know, you should always look tough in front of the people you have to protect. That’s what my parents told me before. The people that saved them from the Death Eaters, they were tough, I told you about that right?” she started brushing your hair, you examined your reflection, your eyebags were visible, you were also definitely thinner than usual, you felt drained.

“Before my ma died, she told me information about those who saved them. My ma and pa owe their life to them.” even if you didn’t look at her face, you know she was smiling. “She told me that when they were being saved, the woman was pregnant” you can feel the gentleness from her touch.

“And?” you asked, she was now tying your hair, “and she told me to protect that child, a token of gratitude for giving my ma and pa another tomorrow” she placed the flower accessories in your hair.

“Did you protect the child?” you turned to her and saw her eyes twinkled, “I still am doll” she replied to you before she handed your bag. Alice used magic to help you pack, you laughed and hugged her, “Thank you” your mouth curved into a smile. “Aww it’s nothing” she waves her hand and rolls her eyes, acting shy. “Shut up” you chuckle before you turn your back and step outside.

“You impulsive lady, how about that child you should protect. How can you protect them if you’re dead” You were still crying, thinking about all the memories you had with her, and how you would tell Phoebe, she would be heartbroken.

Was it really necessary? Are sacrifices really necessary? You just wanted to stop a war, a cycle, you wanted to follow the path your parents took, are deaths really necessary? In exchange for peace, a life should be taken. A meaningful life, someone's daughter, friend, and stranger.

[present]

“Y/N!” a woman’s voice called you, you turned your head and saw a woman, her hair was now just above her shoulder, brown curls jumping as she walked the hill. “Phoebe” you greeted and opened your arms, she sprinted and hugged you.

“Oop, be careful with the tummy” you grinned and touched your tummy, there was already a big bump, you were pregnant. “Hello there little one” she lowered herself and talked to your bump.

“It’s her death anniversary isn’t it” she straightened herself and was now staring at the headstone.

Alice Constance O’Brien

March 12, 1978 - June 24, 1995

“Hmm” you answered, peace and silence enveloped the both of you. “It was Alice all along.” sadness took over your face as you remembered what Alice has done for you.

Loving daughter and friend

A hero

“Ced that night when you saw me following the man. Why were you still roaming?” you asked Cedric as he sat at the library.

“I haven’t told you yet? It was the Head Boy, well technically it was Alice actually, she told me that the head boy couldn’t find me so he asked her to tell me. My schedule changed that time” he muttered as he chewed a pumpkin pasty. Your eyebrows shot up and just shrugged. You owe Alice an acid pop at Hogsmeade.

“She was the one who told me about your situation. She must have known about the dark mark but never told us. She wanted to help you, but in the shadows.” Remus admitted as you talked to him about Alice’s death. He was shocked, the whole society members actually. They are now taking care of his subjects that were lurking around.

“Hello ladies!” George and Fred suddenly appeared, both of them wrapped their arms around each of your shoulders. “Fred. I prefer women, thank you” Phoebe removed Fred’s arm and even tried to dust it off, “Rude” Fred squinted his eyes at her while she just smirked and flipped her hair.

“Where’s your husband and brother?” George asked and also placed flowers at the ground. Now there were a lot of flowers for Alice. “You’re liking that aren’t you?” you talked to the headstone, you were all just silent. Even the loud twins fell in silence, they liked Alice, not romantically, they admired her, how she was unique, always had a voice, and how she stood up for herself.

“I love it doll” you heard a whisper as the breeze came by, you knew it was her, it had always been her. She was still there, watching.

“Oh Alice” Phoebe started crying, the twins tried to offer her a hug but she went to you instead, you sniggered as you saw their offended face.

They all felt her.

“Hey!” two voices called all of your attention and there it was, Cedric your husband, and your eight year old brother. Theodore hurried to the twins that immediately picked him up, he liked them. “We bought snacks.” Cedric raised a basket and spreaded out a cloth to the grass.

“Are you crying?” Cedric inspected Phoebe who still has her nose red from crying. “Yes. What about it” she rolled her eyes and got bread from the basket while Cedric was still arranging the cloth. “I’m just asking.” Cedric chuckled and shook his head.

You observed each and one of them, they all changed, with their own careers and life, of course they will change. Cedric was now working at the ministry, he did once think about being a professional quidditch player, but he felt like a work at the ministry would be better, and he liked it. The twins and their joke shop was still going, stronger as it was before, they’ve built quite the reputation, and Phoebe, she was now a Herbologist, she always had an interest in plants.

And you, you also built your career, with your dream job.

Are you seeing this Alice? I made it. We made it.

You carefully sat at the cloth and they all asked you what you would name the child inside of you. Your eyes gleamed, you always knew that if you had a chance to name your child it would be…

“Alice”

#cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory #cedric diggory imagines #cedric diggory smut #cedric fic #cedric diggory series #harry potter boys #hogwarts boys #weasley twins #triwizard tournament #triwizard champions #troubled #series

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ewritesthangs · 4 years ago

Text

3 weeks. Being engaged to your best friend is bliss. Today, you guys had your engagement photoshoot. It was going to be fall/Halloween/masquerade themed. Corpse, was going to wear a mask, to conceal his identity still. Only a few pictures were going to have him without one and those were for you guys only. You prepare for your photoshoot. Hair, makeup, the works. Corpse wanted you to feel as beautiful as you are to him. Corpse watches you as you do your own makeup. Deep red lips. Smokey eye. Natural base. You look up, mid smoking the eye, to see your fiance. He was watching you intently from the doorway, a look of pure love plastered upon his face.

"I love you, fiance.” You say with a large grin.

“I love you more.” He blows you a kiss before hopping into the shower. You continue on with your makeup, finishing up when Corpse comes out of the shower. A towel hanging upon his hips. You turn, a lipstick bullet in hand, mouth ajar from applying your lipstick.

“Hello handsome. You going my way?”

“Always.” He smirks before going to the closet and putting on a SUIT.

Dayum. He cleans up good. You think to yourself. You pull on your dress. “Babe? Can you zip me up?” Corpse nods and walks over to you. He slowly zips you up, kissing the exposed skin of your neck. You sigh contently, the feel of his lips bringing a certain peace over you. “Thank you Cor.”

“You’re more than welcome, my love. You look breathtakingly beautiful.” You blush and bite your lip. Corpse turns your head with his finger under your chin and he presses a sweet kiss upon your deep red lips. His lips didn’t turn red, for you had some great lipstick that was transfer proof.

“We’re gonna be late!” You gasp out and grab his hand.

“Baby we have 45 minutes.”

“I like to be early.”

“Yeah yeah yeah okay babe.” He shakes his head with a snicker. You guys head out, singing loudly in the car. You were the driver, so you kept your eyes on the road, hand intertwined with Corpses. Corpse put his mask on already, but let you take a photo with him before he did. For your own personal collection. You guys arrived at your destination, a cute little pumpkin farm. Your photographer was already there. You smirk at your fiance.

“See? Early bird gets the worm.”

“Yeah yeah yeah shut up.” His raspy voice said to you.

“Only one way to shut-” He kisses you, holding your chin with his pointer finger and thumb. “Hmmmmmmm.” You hum in response, content with getting kisses. At any point, especially to shut you up.

“Let’s get your smart ass over there. Before we have a makeout session in the car.” He smirks and winks. You can barely tell he winked, but his eye closed so you figured he did. You put your mask on and get out of the vehicle. He follows you, hand in hand. He was starting to shake a bit. You stop and take his other hand in your free one.

“Baby, nobody is here besides me and Kimmy. She knows your situation. She understands. It’s okay my love. I am right here. I love you.” You take your right hand and rub his cheek, in an attempt to comfort him. He leans into your touch, his nervousness subsiding.

“Thank you baby girl.” You just press a kiss to his supple lips.

“Hey guys!” Kimmy says, as she walks up to you guys. “Again for the tenth time, congratulations.” She smiles and hugs you both. “Ready to show off each other?”

“Hell. Yes.” Corpse says with a new found confidence. You guys begin. Doing a few of the more common photos with and without masks. You guys use the chalkboard to put ‘Save The Date 10/30/21’ on it. You guys were out of focus, the chalkboard in the foreground. Corpse looks at you lovingly, no mask on. You do the same, so the ambiance is felt within the picture. You guys finish up your photoshoot. The last photo of you guys kissing, the photo was up close to show off the ring. Your hand was upon Corpse’s cheek. That was going to be your favorite, you just knew it.

“I will edit these when I get home. They look so good!”

“Thank you so much Kimmy!” You hug her again before leaving with Corpse.

_______

A few hours later you get a sneak peak at your photos. Your favorite one being the one that Kim messaged you. You guys still had yet to announce your engagement.

“Hey babe? Can we announce the engagement with this photo?” You show him and his face lights up.

“Yes!” You post the photo. Captioned: ‘Save the date, 10/31/20'

Corpse posts his own post, of your hands together and your ring on display. Captioned: ‘She said yes!’

“To the rest of our lives, my love.” He holds up his drink of water and so did you. You guys clink glasses. To the rest of your lives, together.

________

The next day arrives, it is one of the days you'd always been looking forward to. Wedding dress shopping. With your mom and best friend. You were having a girls day while Corpse was getting the perfect suit. Your day starts out with brunch, for you and corpse overslept.

"My baby is getting married!"

"We always knew she would be getting married before me." Y/BFF/N said.

"Thats true. Since Cor and I got together. You guys said we'd go far." You point out to your mother.

"Yeah yeah but I wanted to at least have another year or so to plan!"

"Well Cor wanted to get married on Halloween. And I wanted a Saturday so we said why not this year." You shrug and order your favorite brunch item.

"Its gonna be magical."

"Do you still want that garden venue I sent you? You have to let them know by tomorrow if you're gonna reserve it." Your mother expresses.

"I know. I have to talk again with Corpse. He has been avoiding it." You sigh, exacerbated.

"Okay babes. Just please do it. That place is perfect."

"Yes momma."

"I can't wait to see you in dresses!" Your best friends face lights up at the thought.

"I'm so excited to go choose."

"I'm gonna cry i know it." Your mom chuckles and fans herself. "Already choking up now."

"Aw, mom." You hug her from the side and kiss her cheek. "I'll always be your little girl."

"Lets not cry!" Your best friend exclaims.

"Yes! Let's eat and then go shopping." You guys enjoy your meals and talk about life and wedding planning.

"I want a red velvet cake. Or carrot cake. But corpse is hesitant about the red velvet cause it could stain."

"Such a drama king."

"Oh you have no idea."

"Flowers?"

"Roses. All red and white. For love and wedding."

"Perfect!"

"Okay so you have the cake tasting tomorrow?"

"Yes mom."

"Sweet!"

"So thats most of the planning right?"

"Yes. Hhe has the honeymoon taken care of i guess." You shrug, unsure if he did or not.

"He probably does." Your best friend encouraged, hopeful.

"Are we ready to go shopping?"

"As ill ever be."

You guys go to a little boutique, one you've been eyeing for the duration of you being with Corpse. You looked around and picked out a few dresses to try on. They had your size, so you guys wanted to try them on as soon as possible. The first one was a flow dress. A little extravagant for you. You walked out and your best friend made a face.

"Not you. Its too out there."

"Yeah I like it but its not you baby." Your mom chimes in. You nod and go back in. Trying on a mermaid dress with lace on it. It was beautiful. You walk out and your mom is the first to say anything.

"Ooh thats a contender. I love that one."

"More your style babe." Your best friend smiles and makes you twirl in it.

"I love this one and the next one." You beams, so excited to be here trying on dresses. You go back and try on the third of five dresses you picked out. You walk out and it was everyone was silent, even the owner.

"Thats the one." Your mom whispers out, tears in her eyes. You turn and see yourself in the mirror. You choke up yourself, seeing the beauty that is you.

"Its perfect. Beyond perfect for you." The owner chimes in and you nod.

"I call it! I want this dress." You say, causing everyone to chuckle.

"Consider it bought baby girl."

"Mom i could have-"

"No, I want to pay for it." Your mom insists. You just nod, defeated and go back and change into your clothes. Youbring the dress out and hand it to the owner. She puts it in a bag and says sold to 'Y/N Y/L/N future H/L/N.' (his last name)

"Certain ring to it. Y/N H/L/N." You smile at the thought. Once paid for, you guys part ways. You head home, after getting bubble tea for you and Corpse. Once home, you walk into his recording room, knowing he was setting up.

"Babe, I got you some bubble tea. We also need to talk about the venue."

"Later babe. Thank you."

"No, bow i need to call tomorrow to reserve it if with gonna reserve it."

"Babe im gonna be going live soon."

"They can wait. This can't! Corpse please."

"Really babe? They made it so we can get married and you're saying that?"

"You sure you want to get married? You've been avoiding this subject."

"Of course I do!"

"Then act like it!"

"I'm scared okay!?"

"You're what?"

"Scared. What if you get there and say no? What if something goes horribly wrong?"

"Corpse. Babe, have faith. I will not, in any universe, say no. I love you more than anything in this world. If something goes wrong we have backup plans." He gets up and takes you into his embrace. He holds tightly, but not too tightly.

"I love you so damn much. Reserve it. Its beyond perfect for us."

You look up to him and peck his lips. "Thank you."

"I uh booked our flight today for our honeymoon."

"Its all getting real."

"It sure is. Holy shit."

Tag List: @liljennyx3

#corpse husband imagine #corpse husband

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thomaslightwood · 3 years ago

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Blackthorn Detective Agency - Part 2

Part 1 || Ao3 || Masterlist

This is the KitTy Sherlock AU! (Just changed its name with something more like a fic's title)

It’s set in 1930s, slow burn & will have a few parts!

Words: 3 024

Ty rubbed his fingertips on the frame. It was old, its angels were soft.

“Peru, 1890,” he read at the bottom of the photo. “This photograph is from more than 40 years ago.”

Which wasn’t unusual for a warlock - they lived for centuries. To keep photos from 40 years ago was logical. But why was this the only thing in this flat that was actually… personal?

“It's the only personal piece here,” Kit said. Ty almost smiled - they had the exact same thought. “Probably in the whole flat, except the Spanish books.”

“You have a point,” Ty agreed. Between the pages of that book were papers with conjugated verbs in Spanish. Someone had written them there and Ragnor had copied them. That’s why Ty knew this wasn’t Ragnor’s handwriting on the photo. “But this is not his-”

A sharp sound interrupted him. It was the front door. Someone was trying to break it. Not as good at it as Kit, Ty noticed.

They had no time to worry too much. Ty grabbed Kit by the hand, opened the wood door with the other that was still holding the frame and dragged them both inside.

Ty was conscious he overstepped in Kit's personal space but a moment later they heard how the stranger broke the lock and their steps as they came inside.

The room was small and extremely dark. Ty couldn't see anything and he didn't have the space to draw a rune on himself about it. And he actually didn't have his stele in him. The bigger problem - the room was unknown to them. He was worried if they moved too much they'd make noise and would be exposed.

He heard or rather felt how Kit's breath fastened. Was he claustrophobic? Was it a bad idea to bring them in this small room?

Ty heard the slow steps as they were wandering around the room. They were coming dangerously close to the bedroom.

This was probably inappropriate and Ty didn't know if it would help at all but he must try. He carefully raised a hand and hurried it in Kit's hair. He dragged him closer to Ty until Kit's head was in Ty's neck.

He squeezed a little and Kit pressed against Ty. They both hold into each other in the sea of darkness, trying not to lose balance.

Ty was hearing the stranger's step in the room. They murmured something angrily. Ty was barely breathing. If they heard him and Kit in the closet…

A loud shatter interrupted his thoughts. Ty recognized it was a man's voice by the angry murmur.

For a few more minutes he walked around the apartment, like he… he was searching for something. And he couldn't find it. Eventually the man breathed out heavily and opened the door, not bothering to shut it quietly after himself.

They waited a few more minutes, just to be safe. Then Ty carefully let go of Kit and opened the door. The sudden light hurt his eyes so he squinted for a while to get used to it.

The bed was untouched but Ty couldn't say the same about the living room. There were books on the floor, the table was inverted.

“He was searching for something,” Kit quietly said as he carefully grabbed a book from the floor. Was Ty imagining it or his face was a little flushed?

“Yes,” Ty agreed. He was still holding the frame with the photo. “But what? Could it possibly be this?” He handed the frame to Kit.

Kit took it and shrugged. “Maybe. But why is one old photo important?”

More questions. Even though they were in the very beginning and everything was unclear, Ty felt the thrill every new case evoked in him. The burning curiosity that tickled his insides, the thirst to know everything about the subject.

“I think we should go,” Kit said. He took the photo off the frame and put it in the pocket of his coat. “They may return or a neighbor heard the noise.”

Kit had a point, Ty thought but there was something that made him feel uneasy.

Kit was heading for the door but Ty slowed down before leaving the flat. He looked around once more. The books on the floor, the almost empty shelves and the open door to the bedroom. Ty grabbed one list with Spanish verbs and closed the door after himself.

After this they went to the train station. It was surprisingly hard to find the schedule for the trains from a few days ago.

The guy they talked with wasn't happy about it. Kit could see he just wanted to enjoy his lunch. And probably was tempted to call the security to throw them out.

But then Ty pulled out cash and the man was suddenly more friendly.

Ty didn't talk much nor did he look man in the eyes. Kit was feeling like he just wanted to get the information as fast as possible.

After the man was gone for a few minutes he returned with paper with what they asked for.

“Thank you very much,” Kit said as Ty put the list in the inside of his coat. “We appreciate your help.”

The man murmured something and sat heavily on his chair, finally able to eat.

“That was smart,” Ty said as they came out on the street, waiting to catch a taxi.

“What?” Kit asked.

“To ask for the people who worked on the train that day. I didn't think about it.”

“It's nothing, really. I was just thinking about what I can do to help yesterday.”

The truth was Kit just wanted to be useful. Part of him was afraid if Ty noticed Kit wasn't doing anything he would fire him. He probably wasn't as good as Sherlock but he could understand how a criminal thinks. What they may have missed.

“I assume you already know because you're good at what you do, but,” Kit said. “People are important. They witness, tell, see and do crimes. They... they are the driving machine. Evidence is important but a person is the key. So I just thought about what people we can talk with.”

There was something thoughtful in Ty's expression as he watched Kit's cheek. “I'm not quite sure I agree.”

Before Kit could answer, a taxi stopped in front of them.

As soon as Ty told the driver the direction, Kit said “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don't you agree with me?”

“Well,” Ty said and the thoughtful look returned on his face. “It's true a person is the subject that commits the crime. But people… they are not what they appear to be. They're often hard to understand and you can't be sure who they are. They lie. And have inaccurate memories and sometimes are too afraid to tell the truth and to help. What I'm trying to say is that they're too often an unreliable source. While evidence… it's unchangeable on its own. Oneself is true to the very end. It's up to you to interpret how it fits in the whole picture. If it's wrong, it's your mistake. You're the only one to blame. While a person's words… you can't control that. Or trust it enough to interpret it rightfully.“

Ty stopped for a second, looking outside the taxi's window.

“What I'm trying to say is that a person can mislead you. Evidence never does.”

Kit was silent. The taxi pulled over in front of a small cafe, nestled between two clothing shops. Taki's Diner .

Kit remembered this was the name of the place Katarina and Ragnor met.

“We are going to question the employees?”

“Not quite,” Ty said simply and headed towards the restaurant. Kit followed, curiously looking at the surroundings.

There weren't many people. It was still early and most of them seemed sleepy. There were Downworlders as well as mundanes. Kit spotted a warlock with fully orange eyes flirting with a pale girl, probably a vampire.

There was also a mundane man who was reading a newspaper and murmured something to himself.

Ty headed at one table on the back, a bit hidden from the rest. The tables around it were empty. From the radio quietly came a Louis Armstrong's song. Kit smiled at that. He loved jazz.

Ty and Kit sat on the table. Kit took off his coat and cap.

A faerie waitress appeared in front of them and smiled. She was a short blonde who had two many bracelets on her arms.

“Hello gentlemen,” she smiled at them. “Here are your menus - look at it, choose a meal and I'll come to take your order.”

“Thank you,” Kit smiled at her. She winked in return and headed towards another table.

He returned his eyes on Ty. He had taken off his coat. It was carefully placed on the third chair on the table. He was looking around the cafe, touching the corners of his menu.

“If we're not here to interview the staff,” Kit said. “What are we here for?”

“To watch,” Ty said simply. “Observe. Talk with the regular clients.”

Kit looked around again, looking for something else this time. A woman who Kit immediately recognized as faerie sat on a table, crossed her legs and took out a book from her bag.

The waitress returned after a few minutes.

“Are you ready?” She had a notebook and pencil in her hands.

Kit hesitated. He didn't want to spend too much money but nothing here was too expensive.

“Onion omelet for me.”

“Chipped potatoes please.”

She hurriedly wrote their orders down and smiled again. “Is that all?”

“Yes, thank you,” Ty said.

“Actually,” Kit said suddenly. Ty quickly looked at him but didn't say anything. He looked at the waitress pin with her name. “Nancy, right? My friend and I were wondering about something and it would be amazing if you can help us.”

“Of course,” she said and curiosity burned in her eyes. They were very blue.

“We thought a friend of ours arrived in the city a few days ago. He tends to like this place and we were wondering if he was here a few days ago perhaps?”

“What is he like?” she asked.

Kit took out the photo from Peru of Ragnor and his friends.

She took and Kit could see on her face she recognized someone in the photo. She nodded enthusiastically.

“I have seen two of these people! The man with the white hair. He was here around three days ago with the woman.”

“Can you tell us something… unusual you noticed about them?”

The waitress - Nancy - shrugged.

“The usual warlocks. They stayed for an hour or two and then left. At the end of my shift he returned though.”

“Really?” Kit said casually, like he was merely curious for a friend. “Was he alone?” Then he leaned forward a little and said more quietly with a playful smile. “We suspect he may hide a lover from us.”

The faerie chuckled. “I don't know sweetheart. When I was leaving he just sat on a table. I left before seeing anything. You can ask my friend Lizzy. She was the one who took his order.”

“Oh. When can we find her?” Kit asked.

“She starts at 11 p.m. Earlier if it's cloudy.”

She must be a vampire , Kit thought.

“Thank you so much,” Kit smiled at her one more time. “We deeply appreciate it.”

“You're welcome,” she chuckled again and left them alone.

Kit turned to Ty and caught him watching him.

“You see?”

Ty looked confused. “See what?”

“People are useful. You need witnesses.”

Unexpectedly, Ty smiled. It warmed up something in Kit's chest.

“I have never said I don't.”

“But you hinted at it.”

“I did not,” Ty said. Without taking his eyes off Kit he reached to his coat and pulled off his notebook. “I stated that people are often misleading.”

“But when I said people are important for a case, you said you're not sure you agree.”

“You also said a person is the key. With which I'm not sure I agree. I didn't say a person can't or isn't important.”

Kit exhaled. Damn , he thought. He is good.

“Good. You win. This time.”

Ty shook his head with a smile. He started to write something on the open notebook in front of him. Probably the information the faerie told them.

After a few minutes their meals arrived. Onion omelet and chipped potatoes. Ty barely looked at his food. At some point he finished writing and took the fork for the potatoes.

“So,” Kit said after swallowing a bite from the omelet. “If you're Sherlock Holmes then who am I?”

“What do you mean?” Ty glanced at him.

“Well,” Kit slowly cut out another bite from his food. “You and Livvy are a team. And you're Sherlock. I can't be a Sherlock with you. I'm not her. So I probably need another name.”

“Good point,” Ty said. He looked thoughtful while he chewed. “How do you wanna be called then?”

Kit was caught off guard a little. He expected Ty to dismiss it or leave it for later.

“I haven't thought about it,” Kit admitted and slowly moved an omelet piece from one side of the plate to the other.

“We can think about it later,” Ty said. “My sister can help us with that.”

“You mean Livvy?”

“No,” Ty said, looking around the restaurant. “My other sister, Dru.”

Kit blinked at him. “How many siblings do you have?”

“Three sisters and three brothers,” Ty said and took a potato piece in his mouth.

“Whoa,” Kit said, forgetting the food in front of him. “Big family.”

“Indeed.”

Kit wondered what it would be like to have so many relatives. So many brothers and sisters. People close to you, to thrust, to be sure they would have your back.

His father's voice rang in his head. And more people to run away with. Harder to get away. Harder to live with.

The food's taste in Kit's mouth turned into ash. He lost his appetite. Carefully left on the fork and the knife in the plate.

Ty didn't seem to notice Kit's inner thought for which he was glad.

“The woman,” Ty said quietly. “The one faerie that sat after we came. She's a regular.”

“How would you know?” unconsciously, Kit leaned forward to hear what Ty had to say.

“Nancy, the waitress, didn’t ask her for her order. She even didn’t give her a menu. She directly put a coffee and a muffin in front of her. And the woman called Nancy by name - they know each other.”

“Impressive,” Kit murmured inattentively. “So, you want to talk with her?”

“Well,” Ty shrugged. “A few minutes ago - yes. Now, when we know Ragnor was here at nighttime, at the end of Nancy’s shift, I’m not sure she’d be useful.”

Kit rose up. “Let's find out.”

After a few minutes in which Kit started a conversation with her about borrowing the salt, he returned to their table with a salt shaker. He signed, disappointed.

“Nothing,” Kit said. “She had no idea what I'm talking about. And thought I'm just flirting with her.”

“Were you?”

“What?” Kit blinked.

“Flirting with her,” Ty said, not taking his eyes off the notebook in front of him.

“Well,” Kit felt a little uncomfortable. “Yes, I kind of did. But it was just for the sake of the case. I'm not… interested in her that way.”

Ty glanced at Kit's face for a few seconds then returned to writing in his notebook. Kit didn't notice. He was suddenly anxious that Ty would think of him as a flirting careless man.

“Sometimes,” Kit started, carefully picking his words. “I flirt with people to get what I want. When I was in my early teens - to get away with something.”

Ty curiously gave him a glance.

“Did you have to do it often?”

“Well,” Kit said thoughtfully. “No, no that often. But I did it anyway. I… I think I liked to give strangers pieces of me that are… safe to give. And gender doesn't matter to me anyway.” Nothing too personal. Nothing long. Only a flirt, a few minutes of other people's time. The only kind of relationship Kit could afford.

“I can see why people like you,” Ty said, rolling the pen in his hands. “You're a rather charming man.”

Kit couldn't help but laugh.

Ty frowned.

“Did I say something out of place?”

Kit shook his head. “No, no. It's just that I don't think I'm charming. Or that people like me . ”

"Charm" was an abstract idea for him. He may pass for good looking but he didn't think of himself as "charming". Charm meant power. It attracted people to you. It made them like you.

Kit didn't make people like him. He let them make an idea for him in their heads and allowed them to believe it. This wasn't a charm. It was lying.

Ty arched an eyebrow.

“Well. I would say I like you,” then he returned his gaze back at his notebook, adding something to the already written text.

His words caught Kit completely off-guard. He was holding his fork and it just levitated in space.

Kit didn't know how to react. No one before had said something like that to him. He knew Ty probably said it to make him feel better. But something made him think Ty Blackthorn didn't say things he doesn't mean.

“Anyway,” Ty said and closed his notebook. “We're done here.”

“Really? What about questioning the waitress Lizzy?”

“We will return here after sunset for this,” Ty said. “But now we can do something more useful with our time.”

Kit felt dread in his stomach. He couldn't stay after dark. Or could he? Would his father notice? He always did.

Should he tell Ty? No, no, he was going to figure something out.

“What are we going to do now?” he asked, hoping Ty didn't notice anything strange.

He looked at the watch on his hand.

“We will meet my sister. Dru.”

To be continued...

#kit herondale #ty blackthorn #kitty #tda #tsc #twp #the dark artifices #the shadowhunter chronicles #the wicked powers #kit rook #dru blackthorn #tsc fanfiction #tsc fanfic #sherlock holmes #sherlock au #sav's writing #my post #tsccreatenet

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oftenderweapons · 4 years ago

Text

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon.

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!!

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Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile.

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them.

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly.

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning.

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious.

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place.

You tried not to let your heartbreak show.

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him."

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up.

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better.

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line.

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being.

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice.

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards.

You introduced yourself with a small bow.

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this.

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?"

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him.

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs.

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed.

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him.

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands.

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?"

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way."

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left.

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him.

The room sounded quiet.

You counted to three. Knocked.

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted.

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks.

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold.

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances.

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else.

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done.

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room.

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point.

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him.

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest.

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that.

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw.

"I still have my heels on." You replied.

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked.

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem.

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long.

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered.

You allowed him.

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly.

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball.

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle.

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes.

It was fried chicken.

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered.

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him.

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back.

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome.

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it."

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway.

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh.

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway.

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously.

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other.

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system.

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite.

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side.

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call.

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though.

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented.

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers."

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm.

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on.

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this.

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences.

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones.

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips.

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate.

"Joon."

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded.

He laced his hand with yours.

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly.

It felt like a slap, his full name.

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all.

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else.

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder.

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him.

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show.

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh.

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank.

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama.

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby."

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra.

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out.

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal.

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes.

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval.

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain.

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly.

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you.

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined.

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?"

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged.

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again.

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch.

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast.

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness.

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped.

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding.

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there.

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined.

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command.

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees.

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane.

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked.

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix.

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach.

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle.

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner.

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting.

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile.

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips.

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour.

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth.

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely.

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp.

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever.

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it.

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way.

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth.

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked.

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs.

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice.

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks.

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps.

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim.

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause.

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could.

"Why should I, uh?" He teased.

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain.

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking.

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him.

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused.

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you.

"Yes, daddy." You replied.

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him.

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy."

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles.

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress.

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream.

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy.

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes."

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him.

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod.

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?"

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle.

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?"

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly.

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?"

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up.

This would be the last time, he decided.

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did.

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured.

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?"

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded.

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place.

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?"

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him.

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead.

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling.

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined.

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times.

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap.

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears?

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed.

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Stop." You murmured.

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Namjoon." You reprimanded.

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame.

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you.

You quickly decided what to do.

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?"

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate.

"What is it?" You asked again.

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper.

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused.

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice.

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?"

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed.

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued.

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—"

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears.

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words.

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified.

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated.

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you.

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him.

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face.

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked.

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child.

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling.

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful.

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him.

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck.

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan.

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass.

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out.

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?"

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?"

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back.

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…"

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured.

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you.

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up.

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained.

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close.

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark.

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high.

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you.

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him.

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa.

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered.

"Blanket?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face.

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him.

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself.

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face.

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave.

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation.

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat.

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage.

"Sorry." He murmured.

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk.

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights.

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass.

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it.

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on.

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?"

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?"

You hummed in confirmation.

"Let's go."

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