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metvmorqhoses · 2 years

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This is a letter submitted to me by the previous anon. I was left nothing short of appalled by it. In a few paragraphs this person managed to take everything I ever said on this blog about art, literature, gender, ethics, or even myself as a person, twist it to their own biased and, quite frankly, worrying perspective and use it to accuse me of being, at best, a Nazism and antisemitism apologist.

I’m very open minded, I’m able to understand most point of views even without sharing them, but this is another matter entirely. This is being unable to read reality correctly anymore. This is dangerously and hurtfully spinning things out of proportion. This is being unable to form a pure critical thought in a reality that is already mad and confusing enough.

I read extensively in the past few years about the plummeting of comprehension of the written word among all demographics, but that an educated peer of mine, mirror and parrot of too many others, could genuinely reason like this will always be beyond me.

Anon, you are right. I wouldn’t normally publish or entertain such profound drivel, but the things you just accused me of are not only absurd, but beyond serious and grave. You cannot throw such ideas and words so lightly at another human being, especially not inventing yourself every single reason for doing it.

So I’m going to answer, word to word, in the hopes to make you, or at least someone else, wake up from the horrors of a brainwasing this society is, at this point, irremediably affected by.

“i do not think that your response to me displays “good disposition”, so i will be sure to match you in tone. you do not have to answer this, or even read it; i hope that you will read it though, if only to momentarily consider someone else’s perspective. quoting you verbatim from a previous ask/answer, “I absolutely hate to contradict the canon”. you’re right, the original books don’t glorify nazism, mostly the new content does. however, you say voldemort is the true hero. he is driven to exterminate specific groups of people for his personal gain. whatever depth you want to give him, that is still canon. you don’t deny it. you might not find it the most interesting part of him, but it is still there, and you still call him hero.

i and many others will never know most of our families because of a man and his followers who worked exactly like that. so don’t think of this as me trying to cancel you. i will not be reaching out to your friends or trying to get you banned from anywhere, that’s not what i’ve come directly to you for. i’d like to know what it is about two blood supremacists that you see not only so much inspiring complexity in, but yourself in as well.”

Honestly anon, considering what you are accusing me of, the hinting of which I had already perceived in your previous ask, my disposition towards you was and still is way better than it should be. I’m taking pity of your way of thinking and still hoping to somehow help you understand how wrong this is on every possible level.

I’m very glad you seem to agree the Harry Potter books are no Nazi hymn, but I unfortunately have to contradict you right away. I never, ever, glorified Voldemort’s figure or called him “the true hero of the story”. If you had taken the time to actually read the things the person you are accusing of terrible and very real things has always written about that fictional character, you would have noticed the whole point of my metas is, on the contrary, to underline his twistedness, his monstrous and yet very present humanity, his unfillable voids, his abysses in negative with still a wisp of something else enduring nonetheless.

You would also have noticed that I’m utterly uninterested in and rarely mention the blood-purity movement, not because I think there’s something literary wrong in constructing fictional evil after Nazism (nor, again, do I think there’s anything wrong in finding Nazism intriguing as an historical event and as a study of human nature), but because, as I previously tried to make you understand, I find it psychologically uninteresting in regard to him and not what his character is fundamentally about.

You also just took an ask in which I said I’d have liked to rewrite Harry Potter with Voldemort as the real protagonist (protagonist, not hero, the difference is huge - I linked it for you), and twisted it to construct this huge delusion about my preaching the bloodthirsty ideology of an evil wizard from a fairy tale. Voldemort went around even repeatedly trying to kill a child, why not accusing me of seconding infanticide too, since you are at it? Or seeing antisemitism everywhere is your main fixation since it touches you closely?

I would never call Voldemort a hero, and you know why? Because it would be incredibly dull. Voldemort is a villain. I appreciate him precisely as such. I’m not interested in finding his actions (at least not his monstruosities) correct or admirable, it wouldn’t be riveting. What makes villains compelling is their darkness. And this is because, most importantly, unlike all the people you are mentioning, Voldemort is the bad guy in a children book. Voldemort is not real. His darkness has no consequence whatsoever.

As for why I find Voldemort and Bellatrix compelling, if you had bothered to read my writings before accusing me of absurdities, you’d already have your answer. You’d know that it’s their character as people and mutual relationship that I find intriguing, not their ideology.

As to why I said I see myself in them, those are personal reasons I would never disclose to someone who cannot seem to count to ten, let alone understand utter complexity of certain childhood circumstances or unusual personalities, but (even if it’s obvious, even if I stated it multiple times for the thick idiots in the back) it’s obviously not their fictional murderous/blood-purist/unicorn-blood-licking tendencies I see myself, a real person, in.

I equally see myself in Dorian Gray, Heathcliff and Catherine, Frankenstein’s monster. I trust no sane person would believe I’m inciting the masses to make deals with the devil, traumatize children or set the world on fire out of spite towards human nature (even if the latter is tempting and people like you are making it even more so, I would admit).

“i am not always just an anon on the internet. i am a real person with a real family, real experience with antisemitism and racism in my everyday life. real books i like to read, real foods i like to enjoy, real fears and angers and excitements about the changes i’m seeing in politics and in the public these days. i am, in real life, affected by the ease with which some of my own friends can tell me “jews control the media” just because they’ve heard it on tv enough, from movies or talking heads or whoever.”

As it so happens, I’m a real person just as well. You don’t know anything about me. You for example don’t know that my grandmother spent World War II with real Nazis invading her very home, robbing her of everything and using her farm as a militar base. You don’t know the story of my family, you don’t know that I share many, too many, concerns and fears about the world we are currently living in too and I’m genuinely sorry about what you have to go through, because even without being Jewish I know something about it first hand. But this doesn’t give you the right to behave how you are behaving. You are in fact being just part of the big cultural problem you are denouncing. You are going after innocent people, judging them out of invented nothing. Even if you are surrounded by ignorant and racist people for real (I wonder to what extent, since you seem to highly exaggerate things), this doesn’t mean you have to blindly assume the whole world conforms to it by default, twisting everything you see to make it about you and your current, perhaps justified, fixations.

“consider also that you are a woman. you’ve said you don’t feel very strongly about any part of your visible identity, which is fine. but others around you likely perceive you as a woman. you will be treated differently by different people based on how they perceive you. you have to exist in the context of the world around you whether you want to or not. do you call it activism or wokeness to tell someone off for treating you poorly because you’re a woman, or do you call it standing up for yourself? now what if that person is andrew tate or jordan peterson, whose sexism reaches and influences many, many people around you? telling them or their parrots to think before they speak is not being woke. that’s recognizing a lack of respect and responding to it appropriately to shut it down before it gets worse.“

Again, you took something I said and completely failed to understand its meaning. I never said “I don’t feel very strongly about any part of my visible identity”. I actually feel my womanhood deeply, to extents you couldn’t imagine. What I said is that I don’t care to conform to this, in my opinion quite pathological, trend of labeling everything you are and put it on display for the world to see and use, in the hopes of creating an ever-more vacillating sense of identity, belonging and validation. I firmly believe everyone has the absolute right to be true to themselves and I have no problem embracing anyone who wants to intruduce themselves with a ten minutes-long list of pronouns, gender, sexuality, heath-status, ethnicity and religious beliefs, but this is not something I’ll be ever taking part of, nor the kind of circus I’d like the world to turn into, merely because for some reason I feel like this is more a show (a dangerous one, too) than a real quest towards inner truth.

Calling out idiocy is not being woke, anon. I confirm. Not agreeing with powerful people spreading dangerous ideas is one thing, making up the 99% of those terrible crimes in order to have a scapegoat for your witch hunts is another thing entirely.

“so why can’t i criticize your purposeful decision to deify a character who can all too easily become a model for others who want to take their hero worship of people like him further than tumblr?”

Because you are making this “deification” entirely up, anon. And the fact that you cannot seem to understand this simple fact is very concerning. If I preached Voldemort’s blood-purity ideology, you would have every right to criticize me. You are even totally entitled to have opinion about others tastes. You are not entitled though to make things up to further your own ideologies and worldviews and you should actually be capable, fairly educated as you are, to understand what you read.

“i guess i am not judging you for the art you enjoy, but the way in which you talk about it. people who are actually affected by these views have to be most wary when decent, intelligent people begin to repeat and think them. unfortunately, for my family, this was indeed the way real life worked in the 30s/40s. their kind, smart, beloved neighbors could still turn on them after being exposed to enough nazi propaganda, to films and papers and gossip. and now i have to feel like this in the present day because it is media like this, which “minorities” like us have always, always made our worries clear about (you can’t tell me discussion of cho chang’s name or the subtext of sex-aware staircases is new, because i was around to see when it began), which seeps into good people’s brains and creates opportunities for them to turn on us. this is why white supremacists and fascists use dogwhistles, why they won’t speak the quiet part out loud and will use whatever media they can to further their message under the radar.”

“The way I talk about it” is not at all what you are describing lol If you had actually taken the time to read what I wrote you would have (I hope) noticed.

Oh, yes. Calling a character “Cho Chang” is a terrible crime against humanity. Entire generations of children are traumatized. Also, oh my! Sex-aware staircases! Call the police!

No, anon. Good people don’t let anything seep into their brains and “turn on you”. Good people are good people. People that out of the blue, only because society validates them, turn against fellow human beings, for whatever reason, weren’t good people in the first place. Ideologies give permission for the real self to show, they don’t create anything from scratch.

“analyzing media is about opening your eyes to the context in which it sits. i’m afraid, and i think you’ll agree, that critical analysis skills are degrading on a mass scale these days.“

Yes lol I deeply and absolutely agree.

“i’m afraid that these books have always contained subtle problems, but those of us who were affected by them did not have such a free internet to express ourselves and were otherwise shouted down by fans at the time. i’m afraid that these books have always existed in a context in which antisemitism, racism, and xenophobia have only been on the rise. i’m afraid that someone like you, who is writing a novel, who has some reach now and who may gain even more of a following in the future, who touts herself as not only intelligent but a lover of ethics, may end up contributing, whether you intend to or not, to the mass of people who will turn around to hurt people like me.

i can understand the notion that voldemort simply used a preexisting Other that he despised anyway to further his own drive for power. lots of scholars would say hitler did the exact same thing. my question for you is not even why you see yourself in that, because i suppose it is understandable as a strategy to get yourself support for something by finding like minds already headed the same direction. but the key point there is like minds. no, my question is, why do you call him the hero?

not protagonist. not something akin to humbert humbert per nabokov’s original purpose.

hero.

a: a mythological or legendary figure often of divine descent endowed with great strength or ability

b: an illustrious warrior

c: a person admired for achievements and noble qualities

d: one who shows great courage

at this point, it isn’t the harry potter books that praise nazi ideology and strategy. it is you. even if you don’t see it that way, i’m here to tell you that i can interpret your words this way, and if i can, then others can too.”

Apart from telling you, again, you are completely making up this way of mine of praising Voldemort as a hero and that you should probably read other people’s writings before judging them, allow me to “tout myself as intelligent” once again, and enlighten you with a banal fact.

Media, fiction, art is for the most part a mirror of who is consuming it. The fact that you can interpret, as you are doing, my words completely wildly, incorrectly, insultingly, tells a lot more about you than about me. If a person isn’t able to apply critical skills to what they are reading, again as you are doing, they are going to find exactly what they want to find in anything. Mind creates reality and you are a marvelous example of it.

It’s the same old debate about morality and amorality in art. Not very intelligent people keep bringing it up again and again through the eras, but the truth about it doesn’t change. I can use a knife to surgically save a life, cut bread or kill a person. None is inherent fault or merit of the knife, but of the hand who wields it.

I remember distinctly when Hannibal came out, the woke police wanted it cancelled because it romanticized murder and cannibalism. Everyone was afraid people would have gone out eating each other. What happened instead is that no raise in cannibalism was detected. Cannibals became cannibals regardless, perhaps feeling a little more represented in media. Decent people remained decent people. I hope you get my hint. Nazism didn’t become Nazism when writings of the Golden Dawn came out, talking about the superior race. Nazism became Nazism when a government used those writing as the mass excuse to unleash the most basic and terrible instincts of humanity to further its own political and economical ends.

I guess your vision of the world, in which the big evil blogger on Tumblr is going to write a new novel without perpetually denouncing every other word everything problematic anyone could possibly read in it and the good people around you will suddenly turn to eat you against their will because brainwashed by my subtle suggestions, could be a quite childish way to justify somehow a world that terrifies you, in which evil isn’t banal and everywhere, but has a tangible and therefore preventable reason.

I’m sorry, but the roots of persecution are as old as human nature, and you actually could even find something really akin to them in your own behaviour if you look very closely.

“in your response to me, you have strung together many lengthy ways of telling me what a brainless lemming i must be for having concerns about how people analyze media, but you couldn’t manage even the simplest ‘i do not support nazism’ after saying you find the history interesting. it’s not your interest that concerns me, but your inability, or perhaps unwillingness, to just confirm that interest is where it ends. unless you deliberately, explicitly, and vehemently deny this, others will continue to misinterpret you. you might be tempted to say that this will only be an issue with people who aren’t as smart or literary as you. let me inform you now that i am at least “a normally intelligent and educated person”, as you put it. we��ve read all the same books. i enjoy a lot of the same media you do. yet i am still not confident you will clearly denounce nazism even now that you have been asked. now imagine that you have even one follower who cannot be described with your above quote. it only takes one misguided person to be the next john hinckley jr., or robert gregory bowers, or dylann roof, or so on. you care not about morality, but about ethics. consider the ethical ramifications of this kind of public hero worship of a character who so easily maps onto a real life perpetrator of genocide without some sort of discussion about him ultimately being wrong. do i think we should all have to disclaim that we don’t condone what villains do? no. do i think you should have to say it every single time you talk about the subject? no, of course not. but if i cannot find it anywhere on your blog, then it has to be said somewhere.”

I’m sorry anon, but after everything you just said I cannot help but conclude those same books on you had very little effect. Maybe try to read them again. I dread what you might have made out of them.

#lord voldemort #anon #asks/replies #villains #bellamort #jkr discourse #this is appalling from start to finish #hp

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ericuda · 10 months

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Reflection, growth, perspective.

A little over three months ago I started this blog for my humanities class. Not knowing what to expect from this class, it’s interesting, looking back on all of the different assignments. Starting with my introduction, not much has changed. I still have the same interests and goals. One thing that has changed is my perspective on the arts. Things that in the past I wouldn’t have looked twice at, now I find myself looking at in multiple ways. For example, in Abstract images, four simple squares could have so many different meanings from the “jungle “to “an eye” to a poolside vacation. Before, I may only noticed the different colors or the squares and moved on to the next image.

Public art and sculptures, driving around a new city and seeing a “36-foot tall, 21-ton sculpture made of steel and concrete” could get anyone’s attention. But looking into the history and the meaning was something I didn’t realize that I would find interesting. It’s quite amazing, and made me want to look into more sculptures, and public art more local to myself.

Even after living in my own home for more than 10 years, the assignment on architectural interiors made me learn and appreciate so much about my house.

Plotting, I think was my favorite assignment. I never considered myself a writer, and still find it to be difficult at times. But having almost free creativity to write about whatever came to mind made it more fun and interesting. I thought my story came out cute, especially since my dog Max was one of the main characters. I would love to continue writing in that way.

Photography, I love that our photography was included in this class, getting to analyze our art and create a theme.

Hamlet was maybe the most difficult piece for me to analyze. The language is English, but it is so far from how we speak today that, made it difficult to understand. Maybe one of the only assignments that I don’t think that I would look into any further than necessary. One thing I did like about Hamlet was the actual story, and how many current movies use almost the same plot, even more familiar movies like Disney’s The Lion King.

Comedy and Drama, I enjoyed this assignment, because, watching movies is something that I do regularly. Now the difference is being able to look at the different filming styles, and analyzing the scenes. Relating the way the movie is filmed, and the overall feel of the movie can differentiate and coincide with the genre of the movie. Anytime an assignment includes something that you already do makes it easier of course.

Ekphrasis, I didn’t think that I would like this assignment as much as I did. Never even having heard or seen the word ekphrasis before and writing is not typically my favorite thing to do. But with open creativity, it makes it easier and more enjoyable for me. Normally when I look at a painting, I don’t think too much about it, but looking at this painting, and having to come up with a story/poem, for it was something I could see myself doing again. I would do this again with a different piece of art.

As far as this manifesto, trying to connect all of my blogs. I feel what connects them is, my growth and perspective of how I look at the arts now versus three months ago. I truly have enjoyed this class, especially considering it is a writing-intensive course. This blog alone is something I have never done, and truly think it is an interesting way to have completed these assignments, especially now being able to look back on them all together. This blog motivates me to keep growing and expressing my creativity in writing. I looked at and analyzed all types of art from photography to sculptures, and even continued to write my own short stories. I don’t always carry information or habits with me after every class I take, but this one I definitely will.

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mywritingonlyfans · 3 years

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One Shot with Ethan Torchio // It's a bit Fluffly, Smut and Angsty

prompt: in which, ethan always need/visit you when he's not in tour + casual sex(?) with ethan tying you up so you don't touch him i'm telling you this but isn't a hardcore smut

warnings: it's smut. a fluffly kinda sexy(?)maybe it's just sexy bc it's ethan smut ig fem!reader

(he is so hot. i'm crying all my tears, and that's fucking pathetic.)

Your head hurt, you knew your face was probably red due to your desire to go home and cry, but yet, your friends convinced you to go out for a drink. According to them nothing was too bad that a beer couldn’t improve, you doubted it.

Somehow, you found yourself happy to have accepted.

You didn’t know Ethan was back in town, you briefly wondered why you didn’t know, since he always contacted you when he was near (or at least that was what it seemed to be). Still, you were glad to see him. He was always able to make things better, even if only for a short period of time; which in your case was very short one as he wasn’t yours to have.

Ethan complemented your friends, they were all too familiar to him. He hugged you, giving a small kiss to your head while sitting next to you. Suddenly, you felt like a stronger drink would do you good.

It wasn’t hard to tell what was going to happen in the next few hours, after a couple of years going through that, you knew the time you spent together would always be the same. You guessed that you were able to put his head in place, just as he did with yours; and that's why he always came back to you. You'd never be able to tell if it was luck or mischance.

“Was it too hard to find me?” You asked him.

By now, your friends had moved to another corner. “I mean, I’m not complaining, I’m glad you did.” You offered him a weak smile. He did the same.

He looked tired, yet deadly cute.

He shuffled his chair closer to yours, letting his leg touch your bare knee. “Not really, Victoria said she called you in the morning, then told me that you intended to visit here for the night,” he mumbled, signaling to the bartender that he needed a beer, and so did you.

“She’s a gossip,” you wrinkled your nose, causing him to provide offer you a nasal laugh that you had learned to find lovely over the years. “But what has been happenin’ in your life lately? You’re good?” You tried to sound casual, but deep down you knew he wasn’t there entirely for you. Something was bothering him, he was looking for someone to rest on.

“Pretty much the same,” he sighed heavily. He wasn’t tired just physically. “We finished the last album, I feel exhausted.”

He looked at you like a lost puppy, watching your face, analyzing if you were in the mood to listen to him, or even if you were okay with having him around. After all, he came to you out of nowhere.

He’d never make you uncomfortable around him, maybe he hadn't noticed that yet. “C’mon, let it all out. I haven’t seen you for too many months for you to deprive me of the details.”

“If I tell you,” he pondered, “ you’ll tell me why you have a runny nose to match your watery eyes?” He poked your cheek, dragging his fingers so he could put some strands of hair back in place.

His seat was now so close to you that you'd be able to rest your head on his shoulder if you wanted to without creating any bodily discomfort.

“I guess life just hasn’t been all that gentle with me lately.” You giggled at him. “I lost my job last week, the same life shit is goin’ on as usual, and when I finally managed to move to a decent place, I’ll now be actually going back to sharin' apartment with strangers, because, y’know, I can’t afford bein’ in there anymore.”

Ethan was quiet for a while, you needed him more than he needed you. Listening to you made him realize how his worries were nothing at all. He knew that you didn't mind sharing an apartment with someone, but the loss of perspective was always tough.

Without further thinking, he pulled you to himself, fluffing your hair and holding you tight in his grip. You didn’t cry, yet it was possible to read your emotions. It was little, but Ethan knew you.

You took your head off his chest while he still had his arm around your waist. Taking a deep breath, you stared at your laced fingers, feeling it slow down. “I guess it’s all happenin’ at the same time, I’m just not sure how to handle it at the moment,” he held your face in his hand, his mouth close to yours as he ran his fingertips over your chin, until his lips were on you.

He was soft and wet, he had the same taste you still had etched in your mind, at that moment it seemed to be all you needed. He let go slowly, distributing pecks on the corners of your mouth, letting his forehead rest against yours.

You two stayed like that for a few minutes and you could bet that anyone who passed by could see how much of a fool you were for him. You tried not to think about it too much, it was better to have little of him than to have nothing. “Ethan?”

“Huh?” He murmured with his eyes closed, giving your lips a tickling sensation.

“Kiss me more,” and then he did. Ethan was holding you in place while your hands intertwined around his neck. You played with the chain of his necklace, savoring the touch of his tongue on yours, focusing only on him while pulling at his hair to hear his soft moans.

It didn’t take long for the bartender to come get your attention. You laughed nervously against him, you were embarrassed because you didn’t even remember where you were, still Ethan seemed untouchable about it. He wasn’t one to be embarrassed over small things like that, at least not with you. The bartender was quite irritated with the two of you and just now you noticed that your drinks had arrived and hadn’t even been touched; he was rightly pissed.

Ethan stood up, lifting you up with him. You looked in your pockets for your money, but then Ethan said it was okay and that he’d pay. You would argue, yet any money left over would be welcome. You held both beers in hand as he paid, thanking the old lady for the service, still feeling your skin burning with embarrassment, and then headed outside to wait for Ethan.

“Are you drivin’?” He asked, laughing at your state of awkwardness.

You bumped into his shoulder slightly, laughing along with him. “I am not, I’m living nearby,” you whispered as he put his hand inside your skirt pocket, bringing you to his side for a walk. “In the apartment that soon won’t be mine… how ‘bout you?”

“Not drivin’, I thought about staying somewhere to spend the night.”

He was close to home, but not that close, it would take about 3 hours to get to where he lives; it seemed plausible that he wanted to stay. “Are you only here because of me?” You risked asking.

“Yeah,” he took his hand out of your pocket and ran it through his hair. “I didn’t think it‘d be a bad idea.”

There was a silence, but it was far from being uncomfortable. “You know you can stay with me.”

——————-

Considering that you were in the process of moving to another place your house was a bit of a mess. Ethan wouldn’t be bothered by that, somehow your instinct of wanting things always in place - aka Monica from Friends - made you wander around the space in an attempt to make Ethan at home.

“What ‘bout the new album?” You asked, dragging one of the boxes away from him. It wouldn’t even bother anyone, but the thought that it would be in the middle of the room while someone was at your house bothered you.

“I don’t really know, I feel anxious about releasin’ it. It’s not that I don’t want to release it or am afraid of doing so, far from that, it's just, I don’t know… ” His voice fell silent, lost in his thoughts.

You turned to him, wanting to ask him what he had said, after all, that didn’t sound like Ethan, you felt as his hands touched your hips, pulling you on his lap. “Y'know I don’t care about your mess, right? Just, please, stop walkin’ 'round the house dragging boxes.” He said with his face close to your neck, hugging you from behind. His warm breath was in contact with your soft skin, providing heat to your body. Well, there was a minimal percentage chance that you were trying to make the place look good for Ethan, just because he made you a little nervous.

“Okay, fine. I’m fine,” you exhaled, turning to face him. He was smiling with his eyes almost closing; he still looked tired, but at least you were improving his mood. “You know you’re good at what you do, Ethan. You shouldn’t worry 'bout those things.” You held on to his shoulders, breaking something that could turn out to be a pity silence.

He squeezed your thigh at the same time as he laughed humorlessly at your words. “I know that. I guess that this is the short time they gave us to finish the album – it was drivin’ me crazy. The album isn’t bad, not at all, it’s honestly very good. Dami did a incredible job, still if it weren’t for the time it could have been even better. That’s crazy how I’m still letting myself get stressed over this, don’t you think?” He vented, moving his hands up your skirt.

“I know it’ll be good, I can’t think of anything you did that ended up bad!” You ran your fingers over his covered shoulders, down to his chest, going to the first open button of his t-shirt. “But if it’s just stress I can help you.”

He lubed his lips, nodding assiduously, putting you properly on top of him. That way, you were stuck to his body, feeling the rough of his jeans along with the zipper against your underwear. You gulped as he held your face, sealing your lips with his. You were relieved he always guided you through that; the leading up part was way better when it came from him.

You unbuttoned the rest of his shirt in middle of sloppy kisses and grips. Running your hand over his belly, tracing your fingers to the back of his neck while moving your hips lightly. You lugged on his hair, pulling him away to catch your breath. You opened your eyes to find Ethan with a deep pink mouth and brown eyes more intense than normal, at that moment you could have sworn that he was the most beautiful thing you had ever laid eyes on. You spread his shirt to the sides, sensing your body getting hotter, when Ethan smirked at your rush, managing to hold both of your hands behind you; stopping you in place.

“No need to rush, we have plenty of time,” he clenched you in his hands. You arched your back, breathing heavily at each touch of his fingers on your wrists.

He ran his nose over your neck, placing kisses and bites on the way to your collarbone, leaving wet tracks that would later turn into dark marks.

Your legs ached from that position, the couch wasn’t the best, but feeling Ethan getting hard under you as you writhed yourself against him, made you want to stay there for as long as he wanted you to. It was crazy to think that at the beginning of the day you were sure that the rest of it would be a pure disaster, and now being spoiled by Ethan’s lips your worries seemed to fade away.

Temporary as that would be, you were determined to give him your all, making his and yours next hours one of the best escapes from both of you. Unnecessary to say that you were lost in your own mind by now, craving for having his strands in-between your fingers, wanting him tugged into you furiously, causing you to ache. Your mouth was ajar, your vision was just white dots as he played with your sensitive skin, driving you insane. Ethan paralyzed when his grip became too strong around your fists and you got louder than usual.

“D’you like that?” He did it again, but this time pushing your body backward. He kept his devilish grin on his face, watching you from top to bottom. You bit your lips, containing your noises to yourself. Such an angel in his eyes. “Up, babe. I need to see something.” He didn’t let you answer, not as if he needed to. You stood up in front of him, legs shaking with your head definitely not in the right place. “Undress.” He rested his elbows on his knees.

His face was serious, and you didn’t see any problem in obeying his voice, but perhaps, due to the lack of his body being glued to yours, you couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Don’t act like you don’t like it when I tell you what to do,” He caught you by the hem of your underwear, helping to take it off while you got rid of your blouse. “Especially, when I just got you off my lap, almost unconscious 'cause of some kisses to your soft neck, pet.” He added, drawing circles on the inside of your thigh, smoothly going up to your center.

You felt your breath come to a halt. “You’re just too bossy.” You teased, confirming that your breathing was faulty.

He patted his nose over the damp stain of the fabric, placing a kiss there. “And you love it.” He pecked you a few more times, teasing you by running his fingers on the edges as putting the cloth to the side; never touching you where you needed him.

Almost involuntarily you took hold of his hair, bringing him closer to your core. And then, you understood his previous question, it wasn’t just about not being able to touch him, but also about the power he was having over you.

He cut his actions short and got up, hovering over you. “Tonight, you won’t be allowed to touch me, all right?!” He whispered, tossing your hair behind your ear.

That’d be comical in any other situation, yet with his body and eyes fixed on your frame you felt in his domain.

You nodded, diving into the way he pulled at the hair on the nape of your neck firmly so that you were looking at him. “Go on, babe,” He insisted on having the words he wanted.

“Yes, it’s all right, Ethan,” it was far from all right, you couldn’t do that. How could you go without touching, making a mess of his hair or marking your nails on his back?

“That’s my girl,” he praised you in between sighs.

He was excited while your face was overflowing with nervousness; not out of fear, but out of curiosity. He finished removing his shirt and indicated with his fingers for you to lie down on the couch.

You shut your eyes tight, with his voice echoing 'my girl’ in your mind, Ethan was lugging your wrists above your head as you did what he told you to do. He tied them with his shirt. “Is this hurtin’ you? Are you comfortable?” He tightened it in a knot.

Your head and elbows were on the arm of the couch, only your hands were unsupported. Although you weren’t uncomfortable, it was to be expected that pain would appear the next day; it’d be worth it. “No, it’s fine. I’m good.” You assured him as he knelt beside the couch, running his hands down your torso, making you squirm.

He went down to the hem of your underwear, taking it off with the help of your legs kicking the lace away. “Good then,” he warbled, pattering lines on your pubic hair. “Needy and in your proper place.”

“Bastard,” you swore through clenched teeth.

He grinned, admiring how your breast rose and fell in a quick but punctual rhythm while your hips fidgeted at his touch. You looked like a piece of art he had just created, swollen lips, filled in lovely marks on the collarbone. He found himself in need to concentrate on his breathing while watching you, to control his pulse as he reached his fingertips to your pussy.

“Ethan” you breathed out, forcing your fists. “Go on, please,”

With that, he held your hands, forcing them down and slid a finger inside you. Your lips opened in a sigh and he took the opportunity to kiss you, running his tongue over your bottom lip and nipping it to his mouth, keeping things on a slow pace.

You wanted to hold his hand, make him go faster or be able to pull the locks of his hair until he understood how much you wanted him, but you had no way of doing that, and you knew he was just doing that to provoke you.

His lips traveled over your neck again, this time giving light kisses, blowing air on the soft fresh he had left in there.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he said without even opening his eyes, delighting in your skin as he sped up, now rubbing his thumb gently over your bud.

You whispered something almost inaudible that Ethan recognized as his name. He raised his head, coming face a face to you. “Right there, huh?” He asked, focusing on the spot that was blurring your vision.

You groaned. The satisfying delight running through your veins. You closed your legs, wishing you could hold on to his body, but all he did was laugh, shoving his fingers leisurely into you.

“No, no Ethan,” you looked at him properly, thinking that if you hadn’t been with your wrists tied you’d have slapped his chest.

He wiped his hand on your thigh, and stood up slipping his jeans down his legs along with his underwear. You sighed at him, stretching your arms, staring at the ceiling to disguise yourself. Not that it was necessary, Ethan was already too much of a show-off when it came to you for your liking.

“You good? How’s your arms?” He doubted, getting on top of you.

He had his hair damp, falling over the spots on his forehead. Some of his locks was glued to his chest and his golden pendant dangled in front of your eyes. For a split second, you though about saying that you missed him, but you were wise enough to know better than doing such a thing.

“If I say that I’m not good. Are you goin’ to untie me?”

He pressed his chest to yours, your body sticking to his since you were both sweaty.

“Not even a chance,” He stroked your neck with his thumb, up and down, with a silly look on his face.

You grunted as soon as you felt how solid hard he was against your thigh, he aligned himself in-between your knees, holding on to your shoulders, and without hesitation he filled you up. Your body tingled and your voice failed, causing a silent moan to slip from your lips. His head fell over the crook of your neck and you could feel how dysrhythmic his breathing was. His warm body along with his breath hitting on your neck added a pleasant feeling in your stomach, leaving you dizzy under him.

“Move Ethan,” you tried to sound understandable, embracing his waist with your legs.

He thrusted deeply in you, leaving a breathed sigh of relief in your ears. You stretched out your arms, tightening your thighs around him. He held the shirt in your hands, preventing it from coming loose.

“No, I wanna touch you,” you whined.

“You will, just be patient, babe,” he squeezed your wrists in his hand.

Closing your eyes, you enjoyed the way his body was over yours, every movement and every delicate touch.

He went slowly at first, making sure you were taking all of him before going faster. Once he felt your walls clenching around him, he murmured a breathless 'fuck’, letting go of your hands so that you could finally feel him. You dug your nails into his back, kneading your body against his at the same time as he hugged you.

As you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you, with an intense gaze, building you up to feel sexy and wanted.

Both of you were a mess; sweaty and sticky. You felt a tingling ecstasy take all over your body, your toes twitching as you emptied yourself into him. He kept working on you until his body collapsed into yours, filling you up to perfection.

The last thing you remembered was having your fingers entwined in his hair, patting at it slightly as he whispered sweet nothing against your skin; just like a lullaby.

———–-------

You woke up to the noise of the television, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the daylight. Failing to stretch, you felt how sore your body was.

Your eyes searched for Ethan, finding him sitting opposite to you with a lazy smile and a cup of tea in hands, his attention was all on you. Friends was playing on the television, but you doubted he was really watching it.

“Good mornin’ babe,” his husky voice echoed through the room. It was the best thing to hear in the morning. “How’s it? Hurtin’?” He asked when you started examining your marked wrists.

He was fully dressed and although you weren’t, he had managed to get a sheet to cover you.

“Good mornin’. It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt,” you mumbled, scratching your eyes, curling up on the sheet. “How long will you be stayin’ in town?”

“Not long,” he paused thoughtfully. You already expected that he wouldn’t be with you for long, still sometimes you liked to think that it’d last longer than just a few days before he disappeared to another continent. “I need to go home in a few minutes, I’m going to take a flight at night to adjust the final details of the album.”

“Sounds nice,” you wanted to have the courage to tell him how he made things in your life look just right, as if he were some kind of piece missing from your puzzle. “I can’t wait to hear it, hear what your great fingers are capable of.” You ignored your thoughts. He laughed.

However, you truly believed that not saying anything was a wise move.

He lifted a cup from one of the boxes next to him, holding it out to you. “I made one for you too, I hope you don’t mind.”

You didn’t mind it, in fact, you loved the way he made himself at home so quickly. The home that soon wouldn’t be yours anymore. You wished Ethan could remedy your worries for more than just one night.

“Thank you,” you took the still warm drink in your hands, looking at him as if he were part of your decor. “You can smoke in here, I don’t mind that either,” you spoke up. You couldn’t even imagine that he’d have gone without lighting a cigarette all morning.

“The place is all clean, and smells nice. I bet you never lit one yourself, I wouldn’t do that.” He was right.

“Well, y'know that I don’t care about the smell, I just don’t see the need to leave the house impregnated with it.” You explained, remembering that Ethan’s house was a perfect description of that smell, yet you loved his place.

“I know this is going to sound strange,” he started. “But if you can’t find a place in time to live in… you can stay at mine, I mean, you know I am never home and as I’ll be travelin’ you could make yourself at home.”

He said it casually, and you knew he wasn’t lying, if you wanted to he wouldn't even think twice about letting you stay at his.

“No need, I’ll be fine. I do appreciate it though.” you took a sip of your now cold drink.

He bobbed, checking what you thought could be the time on his phone.

“You have to go, I guess?” You asked, your soft voice revealing you didn’t want that.

“I need to,” he gave you a small smile, getting up. “It’s gettin’ a bit late for me.”

“I see,” you went to him, adjusting the sheet on your body, feeling ridiculous for still being undressed. “I guess I’ll see you, right?” You added it while he picked up your stuff on the couch; keys, wallet and the pack of cigarettes. There was no answer for your question.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, heading to the door. “You could come and visit, spend a few days with us. It’d be nice.”

“On tour? Like a groupie?” You wrinkled your nose. His arms wrapping around you. You’d miss it.

He squeezed you into his chest, his tiny beard tickling your cheek. “You know you are much more than just a groupie for me, Y/N.”

You didn’t answer that. He pulled away and for a second you thought he was going to kiss you, but he didn’t.

“See ya Y/N,” instead, he kissed the top of your head. “Think about it, both about comin’ to visit and also about needing a place to stay for a while.”

“I’m sure I will, thank you Ethan,” you watched him, from his rumpled shirt to dark circles under his eyes. He’d always have a special space in your heart. “I guess I’ll see ya then.”

>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<

taglist ( 'cause someone actually wanted to be tagged, i didn't even force anyone😁): @maybanksslut , @oro-e-diamanti

#maneskin #ethan torchio #ethan torchio smut #ethan torchio x reader #ethan torchio imagines #ethan torchio fanfic #ethan torchio fluffly #writing #maneskin x reader #imagines #fiction #fanfic #damiano david #måneskin

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thescarletwitchsapprentice · 3 years

Text

A Pure Soul: Nearly Taken (Yandere!Wanda Maximoff x ADD!autistic!reader)

*Not my GIF.

Summary: The day (y/n) comes back to the compound after being told all those nasty things takes a toll on their mental health and self-esteem. Unfortunately it gets to a point that Wanda hoped it would NEVER reach.

Request?: Still none.

Word Count: 3,456

Warnings: Ableism, eugenics mention, r-word slur, attempted suicide, attempted overdose, hurt and comfort.

Notes: This is a sort of “in-between scene” from “A Pure Soul.” The rate of suicide is 3 times higher in autistic people because of the world’s lack of understanding and willingness to accommodate us. Plus being told the world would be better off without you, along with people looking for ways to make sure we’re not born....that’s gonna take a toll. So it makes sense for these feelings to emerge.

=============================================

You know that the world isn’t very kind to the disabled.

You know that the world wishes people like you wouldn’t exist.

But that doesn’t make what happened hurt any less.

You were out shopping when you ran into your best friend from high school. Except....this friend wasn’t the same as you knew them. No, instead they showed you their true colors.

“Oh hey, (y/n),” they said.

Tone has never been your specialty.

“Hey!” you exclaimed happily as you were looking through the books at your local bookstore. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen you! How are you?”

“Better. How’s the treatment coming along?”

This confused you.

“Treatment?”

They nodded.

“For that disease you call autism.”

This struck a chord, and it struck HARD. How could they say something like that?!

“D-disease?!”

They smirked.

“I mean, it just makes us humans lives harder to be around your kind.”

What?!

“What the hell’s gotten into you?!” you exclaimed. “I thought you were my best friend!”

“Oh?”

They pretended to wrack their brain.

“Oh! Yeah, I was such a great actor in that part. I should get an Oscar. Here’s the tea; I lost a bet and had to be your best friend for those four hellish years. I can’t believe they wanted me to suffer that much.”

Your heart began to crack. It was all....an act?

“You took my high school years away from me, made me miserable. I could’ve won prom royalty, but no one voted for me because I associated myself with your species. I’m glad you’re out of my life now. You’re nothing but a burden and the world would be so much better off without you. Why not do us that favor?”

Your heart shattered. You were so plagued with shock that you didn’t notice them push you to the ground and spit on you before walking away with a satisfied chuckle. For the next few minutes, you couldn’t say or do anything. You were just frozen to the spot, their words bouncing around your head.

Finally you were able to feel both the physical and emotional pain. Pursing your lips, you got up, kept your head down, and quickly left the bookstore, trying not to let the tears fall.

===============================================

In the elevator, heading up to your floor, you can barely form a new thought. All you can think of is that hurtful interaction.

Burden, your kind, your species, disease....

It all hurt.

And the worst part is that you can’t help but think that they’re right.

But your thoughts are jolted by the elevator bell. As usual you find the Avengers hanging out in the lounge. Nat and Clint are chatting with Wanda. Tony and Peter are working on homework. You can barely see what the others are doing.

Almost instantly, Wanda’s eye falls on you. She has a smile on her face, but it falls when she sees you, as she instantly knows that something is wrong.

“(Y/N)!” she whispers worried.

She rushes over and gives you a gentle hug, but you practically squeeze the life out of her. The other Avengers also come to your aid.

“What happened?” Wanda asks you.

You gulp as she and Nat lead you to the couch.

“I....” you begin as you sit down. “I was out shopping....and I ran into my best friend from high school....”

You tell them the entire interaction. Shocked looks are nearly all around by the end.

“That’s seriously messed up,” Nat says in a mix of disgust and anger.

The others nod in agreement, except for Wanda. Instead she begins to tear up.

“My sweet angel,” she weeps softly as she hugs you closer and pets your head. “Oh, my sweet, sweet angel. None of what they said is true, not one bit of it. You’re an absolute joy to have around and you’re one of the kindest souls I’ve ever met. You bring so much to the Avengers and to our lives. Autism is not a disease. It’s a part of who you are, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

“Wanda’s right,” Peter nods. “You’re wonderful, (y/n). You’re one of the best friends I could ever ask for.”

“And you bring a lot of new perspectives,” Nat adds. “You came into our lives when we needed you the most, especially Wanda.”

They all take turns giving you words of comfort and encouragement as well as letting you cry. Wanda stays the closest to you, to no one’s surprise, hugging you tightly. Her embrace is exactly what you need right now; so warm and loving.

Tony, though not the most emotional person, does feel sympathetic and even angered at the person who said that to you; even though you’re on the opposite side of the Accords, he decides to get your favorite food for dinner. It’s not the greatest gesture of sympathy, but it’s definitely something. After that, you take a nice, warm shower and get into some fresh, soft pajamas. Wanda’s waiting for you in your bedroom, and surprises you with some soft socks that match your pajamas.

“I removed the fabric tags too,” she tells you.

Your heart melts a bit more for her. How someone as kind, attentive, and loving as her could ever be considered a terrible person is beyond you. You let her put them on your feet and they feel amazing. You wriggle your toes in them, smiling.

“You like them?” she asks you.

“I love them,” you giggle before turning to Wanda. “And I love you.”

She smiles and gives you a kiss on the forehead.

“I love you too, my angel.”

The two of you spend the rest of the night together, cuddling up close with one another, watching sitcoms, singing quietly. You doze off in her arms.....

But that doesn’t mean it’s over.....

==============================================

You’re not someone who easily forgets how things make you feel, and what that person said still makes you feel like shit. Now whenever you go out, you’re worried that you’re going to run into them. You keep your guard up and walk as quickly as you can. Every outing feels like a fight for survival, but you try to stay strong so that you don’t bother the others. You try to keep a smile on your face. You need to be strong.....

.....But even the strong reach their limits.

It’s a little after you found out they became catatonic. You’re at a coffee shop, nearly empty, when someone else walks in. It’s a friend of that person. You keep your head low as they place their order; four cups of black coffee, extra hot. Your anxiety is increasing, but you don’t want this person to think you’re weak. You keep your back to them, hearing the door open again.

The other person is called for their order. Maybe you can finally get out of here.

The next thing you know, you feel something steaming hot being poured down the back of your shirt, on your head, thrown in your face, (which you luckily cover most of with your arms) and splattered on your arms and legs. Standing up, you cry out in pain as you whirl around to see 4 people from high school, among them the friend of your former best friend.

“It’s your fault my best friend can’t function, you retard!” the friend snaps as they push you around roughly.

“No one wants you on this planet,” spits another.

“You’re nothing but a parasite!”

“You just weigh people down!”

“You’re an embarrassment to society!”

“Why don’t you just end this?”

“It’ll be better that way!”

“Your birth was a mistake!”

By this time, you’re hardly a thread’s width away from a meltdown and you look at the cashier for help, but nothing. You try to take out your phone to call for help, but you end up slipping on the coffee, falling to the ground hard and in an odd position, hearing a crack. Pain surges through your body as you look at your arms; burn marks are beginning to form.

After they kick at you for a bit and spit on you, they leave. You look up at the cashier.

“Why....didn’t you help?” you whimper with a whistle in your voice.

No answer.

They don’t help you up either. Crawling to the door, you use a nearby booth to bring yourself back up to your feet. Suddenly you feel an intense surge of pain in your left leg, and not just from the burns. You look to see that it’s swollen and turning reddish-purple. You reach into your coat and get out your phone only to discover that it’s dead. Wanda’s going to be worried sick....you hate making her worry, and she’s been worried sick these last few weeks to the point where it’s taking a toll on her; so on the way back, you decide to take one worry out of her life for good.

======================

It’s dark when you get back to the compound. And lucky for you, the elevator is closed for repairs. You limp up the stairs, finally reaching the compound. As quiet as a dust mite, you open the door, biting down on your lips to keep yourself from crying out in pain; unfortunately, your lips took some burn damage as well. Limping to the bathroom, you shut and lock the door. You search the medicine cabinet and find some pills.

“This should do the trick,” you whisper.

You try to quietly position yourself on the floor so that you won’t hit your head. You want to be able to pass as peacefully as possible. But something gives in your left leg and you fall, letting out a loud cry of agony. Realizing your mistake, you quickly fiddle with the lid of the bottle as you hear footsteps rush in. You finally get the lid open and begin to pour out the whole bottle into your hand, hoping to get it in in time--

Click!

The lock turns scarlet, clicks, and the door swings opens.

“(Y/N)!”

A terrified Wanda immediately snatches the pills and bottle from you with her powers. She makes them disappear before heading to your side, tears already flowing from her eyes.

“My sweet angel.....” she squeaks as she kneels in front of you gently taking ahold of your hands. “I didn’t realize you were feeling this terrible. I’m so sorry things have reached this point.”

You look away guiltily.

“No, I’m sorry....it’s my fault. I never said....anything. You....you’ve been so stressed these past few weeks....all of you. I didn’t want to make it worse on you, so....I just kept quiet.”

Wanda shakes her head.

“You have nothing to apologize for, (y/n). It can be scary, but there’s no shame in reaching out. We all need help sometimes.”

Other footsteps rush in.

“What happened?” Nat asks. “Did (y/n)---?”

“Almost,” Wanda gulps. “We need to get them to the emergency room.”

“I’m fine,” you lie.

“Are you fine?” Wanda asks.

You realize that it’s pointless to lie, and you shake your head.

“No, I’m not....”

“Then we need to take you to the emergency room.....”

That’s when she sees the burns and leg.

“Especially to treat these.....what happened?”

As they carry you to the car, you tell them about the run-in at the coffee shop, them pouring the hot coffee on you, how they were telling you all of these things, how the cashier did nothing to help, how you heard that crack. Both of them are disgusted and horrified at those monsters.

“I don’t care what they say,” Nat tells you as they get you inside. “I’m glad that you’re here.”

“I am too,” Wanda agrees as she gets in the front seat. “We’re here for you.”

“But.....my autism.....”

Wanda gently takes ahold of your fingers, careful to avoid the burns.

“My angel.....I can only imagine how isolating it feels to be in a world that’s not made for you, but your autism is part of who you are. It’s what makes you unique. If the world refuses to accommodate for people like you on their own, we’ll help them to see that they need to, and we’ll help advocate with you.”

Nat nods as she starts the car up and the three of you head for the ER.

“I....I feel selfish worrying you like this and even attempting....I just thought....you’ve been so stressed and I thought it’d be better to take one worry out of your life.”

“You have nothing to feel selfish about,” Wanda assures you. “What you did wasn’t selfish. You’re in pain, and wanting to do something to stop that pain isn’t selfish. But there are better ways to deal with the pain, and I want to help you with those. (Y/N), I can say with 100% certainty that I’m glad to have you in my life, through the good and the bad.”

Tears flow down your face as the three of you silently drive to the ER.

=============================================

It takes several hours for you to be treated, along with a few more hours of consultation for your mental health. Some of the burns are treated through surgery, so you have to stay for a little over a week to make sure you recover and stabilize. Your leg is put in a cast, and Wanda comes to visit you everyday. You feel much better with her and Nat.

A psychologist comes in to discuss a safety plan with you. You decided to ask Wanda if she’d come and discuss it with them. She said yes and Nat also decided to help. You all work out what works in terms of coping mechanisms, people you can talk to, calming techniques, etc,. The psychologist also recommends regular counseling. Wanda asks if there are any remote options for counseling, as it’s going to be difficult for you to get there with your leg, (Also, she’s a little worried that the therapist might try to take you away from her, but she does show concern for your leg) and to her relief, there is.

You’re discharged after about a week, but you’re not to be left alone for a few days to another week or two, just to be sure. Well, it’s more of Wanda’s recommendation than psychologist’s orders, but the psychologist also thinks that that could be a good idea. You’re not really complaining; it’s more time to spend with Wanda. And she’s certainly not complaining either.

For that time, especially, she makes sure you know that you’re loved, wanted, valued. She practically dotes on you; as if she hadn’t been doting on you before, she’s especially pampering you now. The other Avengers also get the 411, and decide to help. If you need pain or sleep medications, one of them brings the proper dose to you. They take turns spending time with you and getting to know you more. If they need to go out on a mission, Wanda volunteers to stay with you, but if she’s absolutely needed there, she entrusts your care to Vision, a robot who’s exceptionally caring. You and Wanda regularly discuss possibly adding him to the relationship, but you’re not sure if she’s being serious or not.

On one night, Wanda’s caring for you. After applying the prescribed cream on your burns, she helps you find an oversized t-shirt to wear as PJs.

“This one’s softer than the others,” you note.

“I went looking for a shirt with a softer material than normal,” she tells you as she prepares a small dose of melatonin for you, one that you’ve been taking to combat the nightmares of those events in the hospital. “I know how much it tends to make you feel discomforted if there is one. I also made sure it was a tagless shirt.”

You smile and sigh.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve an angel like you, Wanda,” you tell her.

Hearing this she smiles and blushes.

“If anyone’s the angel, it’s you,” she says as she gives you the melatonin. “You’ve been there for me even when I’m at my absolute worst.”

“So have you.”

You take the melatonin before Wanda brings you your toothbrush and toothpaste. You brush thoroughly before spitting it into a cup that Wanda disposes of.

“You know, I could go to the bathroom and do this myself,” you tell her kindly.

“I know,” she sighs. “I’m just worried, my angel.”

“What if I wash my face tonight with the door open?” you suggest.

Wanda gives this a little thought and nods.

“I can work with that.”

Using your crutches, you walk to the bathroom where you sit on a stool in front of the sink. You wash and dry your face before heading to the bed with Wanda helping you get tucked in.

“You’re seriously an angel,” you tell her. “I don’t think I’ve ever met someone outside of my family that’s been as concerned about my well-being as you.”

“And you’re too sweet,” she smiles again as she finishes getting ready for bed herself. “If anyone’s the undeserving, I don’t deserve you.”

“No, it’s the other way around,” you say.

“No, I’m certain I’m right.”

You giggle.

“Wanda, if we try to prove one right over the other, we’ll be going at this all night.”

She smiles as she goes over to the other side of the bed.

“Well, I know you’re an angel,” she tells you as she gets under the covers. “You came to me in a dark time, and you shone a beam of sunlight through the shadow.”

The two of you look at each other as the fairy lights hang above you. Of course you’re looking at the bridge of her nose, but you can’t help but glance up at her eyes a few times; one time they catch you, and they are stunning. They’re like emeralds to you; vivid, entrancing, mystical. Just a single glance, and you know there’s so much to know about, so much to discover, and you become lost in them.

“I’m so proud of you, (y/n).”

Wanda’s gentle voice echoes against your eardrums and dances around your mind, soothing you into drifting even more. But then she boops you on the nose, making it twitch like a bunny’s and snapping you out of your trance.

“Huh?” you ask, looking lost.

Wanda giggles.

“You are too cute,” she tells you. “I was saying that I’m so proud of you for pushing through all of this. It’s not the easiest thing to do, and.....well.....I’m glad you’re still alive, my sweet little sunbeam.”

You blush upon hearing this and turn away, but Wanda gently redirects your face forward.

“There’s no need to hide, my angel. I want to see your lovely face.”

At that moment, you begin to feel drowsy and bring yourself closer to her.

“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough, Wanda,” you sigh.

She brings you in closer and you melt into her embrace.

“Being with you, and you being safe and happy and alive.....that’s the only thank you I need.”

Leaning in, she kisses you gently on your forehead and you shyly return one on her cheek.

“Goodnight, my angel,” she tells you as she brushes a strand of hair out of your way.

“Wait,” you say as she turns to switch the lights off. “Will....will you sing me those lullabies again? Please?”

“Of course,” she smiles.

Turning the lights off, she returns to embrace you and softly sings the Sokovian lullabies her parents used to sing to her. As you drift off to sleep, you don’t know what’s going on in her mind. What’s going on with her mind? Her master plan, of course. Tonight’s the night she will finish what she started. Those monsters at the coffee shop messed with the wrong person. For the past few nights, she’s been paying them visits, doing the same things she did with your former best friend, and sending subconscious suggestions for them to gather in one place, thinking they’d be safer together. And now they have.

Tonight she’s going to make sure their minds are gone for good, but not before making them feel the pain and agony she imagines you felt. Her anger with them is in full throttle, so it’s going to be even worse for them. Telekinesis, fear projection, hypnosis, inducing extreme fear, she’ll do whatever she has to. Wanda will not leave until they’re nothing more than hollow husks, shadows of their former selves. With how they’d been acting on those nights, and how much Wanda has done so far, it won’t take too long.

Because no one-and she means no one-gets away with hurting her precious angel.......ever.

#cw suicide attempt #yandere x reader #yandere wanda maximoff #yandere wanda maximoff x reader #yandere marvel #wanda maximoff x reader #yandere avengers #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #yandere scarlet witch #wanda maximoff x autistic!reader #autistic!reader #marvel imagine #avengers imagines

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calpalirwin · 3 years

Text

Let The Walls Break Down

Summary: Calum gets over his skepticism

Word Count: 2.7k

And away, and away we go!

“It’s almost impossible. Love sucks. Don’t try it. It’s a scam.”

That had been Calum’s general thoughts on relationships since the two of you called it quits. The “almost” bit was in admittance that 1.) your relationship had been amicable from start to finish, in fact the two of you were still close with each other, and 2.) he knew love worked for some people, however he didn’t view himself as one of those some.

Being close to Calum post breakup meant you had a front row seat to the man’s brief stints at romance, which was a nice way of saying “endless stream of one night stands.” The flip side was he had a front row seat to your own count of nameless men. While in the beginning, the others in your friend group joked in hushed tones that it was an act on both your parts to stir up jealousy, the longer it went on without any animosity building up between you and Calum, the more the whispers died down until they disappeared all together. Because the simple truth was that the one night stands were just about sex. After all, you and Calum had learned together that the two of you were too busy for anything more than casual sex. A lesson both of you considered well-learned until Michael got engaged and flipped everything into a new perspective.

“It’s not that I don’t believe in love,” you said after Crystal recounted all the details and you stopped squealing in excitement for her. “I mean, anyone who sees you and Michael has to believe it’s real.”

“Aw, Y/N,” Crystal blushed shyly.

You laughed, “I’m serious. You and Michael. Luke and Sierra. Ashton and Kaykay. I’m surrounded with reasons to believe love exists. The real ‘can’t imagine my life without you’ kind of love. But for me?” You waved a hand dismissively. “Pfft, nah.”

“Because you don’t believe he’s out there for you, or because you already had him and the timing was wrong?” she pressed suggestively.

You rolled your eyes. Right person, wrong time was the excuse you had given when asked when you and Calum split, because to you, it was the closest thing to the truth. “Okay…” you started slowly. “Of course I loved Cal. And I still love him now. But when we were together… We were kids who were focused on our careers. And we’re still those career-driven kids. Understanding the balance between professional life and personal life without feeling like we’re sacrificing a piece of it for another was something Cal and I will never master. We tried. I thought if I could find that balance with anyone, it would be with him. But it wasn’t. And that’s okay. I’m fulfilled in other ways.”

“But…” Crystal kept trying to press.

“But nothing,” you laughed. “I’m happy with my life the way it is, Crys. And beyond happy for you and Michael. You’re getting married!”

~~~

Across town in a celebration of their own, Calum was under similar fire. “Happy for ya, mate,” Calum said, clapping Michael on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Cal,” Michael beamed. “I think I’m still in shock from all of it.”

“I think that’s probably a natural feeling,” Ashton told him, playing the voice of reason. “It’s an exciting change that pulls things into sharper focus.”

“Yeah, like all I wanna do now is tell Sierra how much I love her,” Luke put in.

“Oh, you fuckin’ sap,” Calum laughed.

“Just because you’ve never been in love…”

“I have too!” Calum defended.

“Oh, really? Who?”

“Y/N, idiot…” Ashton told Luke with a roll of his eyes.

Luke nodded in a “Oh, yeah!” fashion, before going on, “Is she the only girl you ever loved?”

“Yep.”

“So why aren’t you still with her?”

Calum shrugged. “Timing was off. And we haven’t changed. So why would the timing have suddenly changed?” The question was rhetorical, without the slightest hint of hurt. A simple fact of life, nothing less, nothing more. A fact Calum had made peace with long before.

“So what? You’re fine with the greatest love of your life being over 2 years ago?” they questioned anyway.

He shrugged again. “Have been for a while, in case ya haven’t noticed. And no,” he raised a hand, cutting off any protest, “this isn’t a bitter, ‘oh convince me otherwise’ deal. Y/N and I are both more than happy with the lives we’re living.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I talk with her, and I trust she’s telling me the truth…”

“Alright, alright,” Ashton was willing to let the conversation rest, but he had one last question. “Is there any part of you that would want to try again with Y/N?”

A third and final shrug. “I mean, she was the only one I ever saw a future with aside from the band.”

“That has to mean something, Cal. C’mon. If there was ever a time to give love a chance, it’s now.”

~~~

While Calum’s head raced with his friends' words of encouragement, if he could call it that, yours raced with thoughts of feeling like you somehow failed in life. Sure, your career was everything you wanted it to be and more. You wouldn’t trade a single moment of your life for anything else. But now that your friends were clearly doing more than simple dating, the doubt started to trickle in. Would it be nice to share a life with someone? Absolutely. But not at the risk of your own independence. And the only person who had ever proven that you could maybe have the best of both worlds was Calum. And even that hadn’t worked. But maybe there was something to Crystal’s words about it being a case of bad timing. Maybe it was worth another try.

So that’s where you found yourself, sitting on the edge of your bed, sharing at Calum’s contact, finger hovering over the call icon, trying to figure out where and how to start again with the man. And then your phone was buzzing in your hand, and you gasped. Had you accidentally hit the call button?! No. Calum was calling you. Confused, you hit accept. “Hey, Cal. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just had a quick question for ya.”

“Well I might have a quick answer for ya.”

You heard his soft chuckle and then a brief pause as he cleared his throat, and you knew he was pushing a hand through his hair, stemming whatever nerves this “question” was creating. “You got any dinner plans for Friday?”

“No. Why?”

“There’s this new place I’ve been wanting a try, and you know how I am about eating out alone. And it’s been a minute since just the two of us hung out. So I’ll pick you up at 7?”

You gave a small laugh at the rushed excuse, wondering what he was really up to. “Sure thing, Cal.”

“Cool. Oh, and uh, dress in something nice-ish? The restaurant’s kinda uppity.”

Another small laugh. “Alright, Cal. See you Friday then.”

~~~

“It’s just dinner. It’s just Cal,” you told your reflection as you finished getting ready. “Nothing you haven’t done a million times before,” you kept trying to calm the butterflies in the pit of your stomach. While you had a pretty good idea on what this dinner really was, you didn’t want to get your hopes up that Calum was having the same change of heart that you’d been having. The man really did hate eating alone at restaurants, and if the place was as upscale as he had told you, then it made sense that he’d rather bring you along than Ashton. And he had been right about it being a good while since it was just the two of you spending time together rather than a larger group outing.

But when Calum knocked on your door rather than texting that he was in your driveway, you couldn’t stop the blush coloring your cheeks. And when you opened the door to reveal the man on the other side, dressed sharply with a bouquet of your favorite flowers in his hand, you felt your heart skip a beat. “Oh, Cal,” you breathed. “You didn’t have to do that,” you told him, taking the flowers and moving to put them in a vase of water.

“It’s how you deserve to be treated,” he said simply with a shrug as he leaned against your doorway.

“You’re too sweet to me, Hood,” you teased lightly. “Ready?”

“After you.”

When he went as far as to get the car door for you, you had to laugh. “Okay, Hood. What gives?”

“I told you. I’m treating you the way you deserve to be treated.”

“Nah, there’s more. I can tell. C’mon. Spill it,” you pressed when he got in the driver’s seat. “Flowers. Getting the door. Dinner at a place that requires me to dress like this. You’re up to something.”

“You look stunning, by the way,” he said, reaching over to give your thigh a squeeze.

“Calum Thomas Hood.”

He sighed. “We were good, right? Like when we were together? It’s not my memory playing tricks on me?”

“You were the best boyfriend I ever had,” you answered honestly.

He nodded. “Okay. You’re not allowed to make fun of me. But since Mike got engaged, it’s gotten to me a bit. Almost like I’m missing out on something, but it’s weird because my life is already everything I want it to be. So what could I possibly be missing out on, you know?”

“Why would I make fun of you for that?”

“Because it’s a stupid ass reason to take you on a date.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I hadn’t noticed.”

“Ha-ha,” he deadpanned. “Look, I guess what I’m saying is, recent events made me reevaluate things in my life. And I think I’m in a better position than I was a few years ago to be a real partner to someone. And even when I wasn’t that person, you were the only one I could see myself becoming that person for. So… if you’re up for it, I’d really like for us to try again.”

Underneath the streetlight casting him in a soft reddish hue, he turned his head slightly to look over at you, brown eyes hopeful and solemn. When the light turned green, he turned his attention back to the road, but kept stealing glances over at you, still waiting for your response.

“I guess it’s only fair to let you know that I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

The corner of his mouth curved up in a smile. “Really?”

“Really,” you said with a soft smile and a small nod of your head. “I was actually hoping this was more on the date side than the friends grabbing a bite to eat side.”

“Good, because this is definitely a date.”

“Good,” you nodded again before leaning across the center console to press a kiss to his cheek, grinning as warmth spread across his face.

~3 Years Later~

You startled awake at a phone ringing nearby, a tangled mess of limbs and bedsheets. “Mmm?” Calum rasped, voice heavy with sleep as he answered the phone, followed by a quick, “Whoa, mate, stop yelling. You did what now?” There was a small pause as whoever was on the other end of the conversation spoke in a rapid flurry that you couldn’t decipher. “You did?!” Calum clarified whatever the news was, sitting up straight in bed, your head falling from his chest to his lap.

“Ow…” you giggled, shifting to sit up against the headboard like Calum was.

“Sorry,” Calum mouthed, listening intently to whoever he was still talking to, raising a finger for you to give him a minute when you raised an eyebrow in silent question. “That’s fuckin’ great, Luke! Congrats to the both of you. Lemme know what the plans are for celebrating and give Sierra a hug from me in the meantime, yeah? Alright. Talk to ya later, mate. Bye.”

“Well?” you demanded.

“Luke and Sierra are getting married. Or he proposed anyway, and she said yes.”

“Oh, that’s great!”

“Yeah, I’m really happy for them. Wow… first Mike, now Luke. We really aren’t the same kids we used to be, are we?”

“I think in some respect you guys still are. You still cling to those roots of who you used to be, the things that shaped you into the people you are now. But you guys are also growing up, too. It happens, Cal.”

“Yeah, no, I just… Wow. It’s not something I really pay much attention to, us growing up, until something like this happens.”

“The last time one of your band members got engaged, you got a case of feeling like you weren’t measuring up somehow. You’re not feeling that way now, are you?”

“No. Not at all. In fact… Luke said something when Mike told us he got engaged. That he wanted to go tell Sierra how much he loved her.”

“Aw, that’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, and at the time I made fun of him for it. But… I dunno… I get it. This type of shit really shifts things into perspective.”

“I mean, yeah. Last time it resulted in both of us thinking we should try being an ‘us’ again. What’s the perspective shifting to this time? You’re not gonna go out, and buy a ring, are you?”

“No, I already have one in my sock drawer.”

You choked. “What?”

He climbed out of bed with a laugh, making his way to the dresser and rummaging around in one of the top drawers. Then, something small was soaring through the air as he tossed whatever it was onto the bed towards you. “Told ya,” he said simply, as you grabbed the small box, popping the lid to find a ring inside.

“How long have you had this?” you asked, your voice a small whisper.

“Uh… 2016 I think,” he said as he rejoined you in bed.

“So, since the first time we dated?”

“Yep.”

“Calum!”

“What?” he laughed. “I told you our entire relationship, both then and now, that you’re the only person I see a future with. Did you think I was lying?”

“No! I- I just didn’t know you went so far as to get a ring, and keep it for 5 bloody years.”

“Well, it would have been a little weird if you had it all these years, considering… ya know.”

You laughed in a mix of disbelief and shock. “You are absolutely crazy.”

“I’m not actually proposing, you know that, yeah? I mean, yes, the ring is yours. But only if you want it to be. I love the life we have together, more so than I thought I could love any other version of my life. I never feel like I’m stuck in place, or missing something when I’m with you. I’ll be just as happy if you never wear that ring, as I would if you wore it every day for the rest of your life. You, me, Duke, and music is all I’m ever gonna need in life. I’ve known it since the first time I said I love you. Even in those years we thought chasing our careers was more important, you were still the only person I’ve ever been in love with.”

“Calum…” you breathed, your lip trembling.

“Shh, if you want the whole deal of the proposal and the picture perfect wedding, I’ll give that to you gladly. That’s what the ring’s for. But if you’re content with what we have now, this will always be enough for me, and that’s a promise.”

“I don’t want a proposal only because Luke and Sierra made you extra sentimental. I don’t want to take their moment away from them either.”

“That ring has been yours far longer than any extra sentiment our friends getting engaged could stir up, but I get what you’re saying. If/when you want it, say the word.”

“Ask me again in a year,” you decided. “And I mean really ask me. The whole deal.”

“I can’t fuckin’ wait,” he murmured as his lips crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face. “I’m so in love with you. Always have been. Always will be.”

Tag List

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#let the walls break down #calum hood #calum hood fic #calum hood x reader #5sos #calpal irwin

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amethystpath-writes · 3 years

Text

A Lesson Learned

(NOT A PROMPT)

Hello :) Could you write a piece where the extremely flirtatious villain notices that the hero isn’t taking care of themselves and tries to get them to and promises not to do anything (capture them, etc), but (surprise!) then they do? Haha sorry if it’s a bit specific, adore your writing!

******

“Why, doll,” Villain cooed from behind the bench which Hero sat upon. The bench was old, wood in the process of rotting. Speaking of rot- Villain rounded the park bench, coming face to face with that once-handsome, now-perished face. “Don’t you just look like you sprang from Hell? Yeesh.”

Hero shrugged, not even caring that Villain was here to taunt him yet again- to pick at him with compliments. Usually, anyways. Now, she was insulting him. Did he really look that out of it? Hero felt like it, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him. “Don’t feel great- get out of here.”

“And do what? I’d miss the grumble in your voice too much. Come now, my dear, tell me what has that pretty hair of yours so tangled.” Villain’s hand grazed the locks atop Hero’s head, fingers skimming his scalp. She hummed her delight. “How pretty,” Villain whispered into Hero’s ear. “Even if it is greasy.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Good God, what is that stench? Villain could gag- not could; Villain did gag on the smell. “When was the last time you showered, sugar?” Hero certainly didn’t smell like sugar, but it was in Villain’s nature to shoot a flirt at him anyways.

“Don’t know. Would you get your hand out of my hair?”

“You don’t know?” Villain sighed, dropping her hand and rounding the bench until she came to the front, facing Hero and his abnormally large eye sacks. “Oh, darling…” you have jellyfish beneath your eyes. “You should take better care of yourself. I could help you, you know?”

Hero’s eyes grew as wide as they could with eyelids made of lead. “Help me do what? Bathe?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you do that- think of how close we would be, my sweet doll.” She sat beside the broken-beyond-repair hero, dragging a fingertip along his dirtied pants. Villain sighed, slightly bored of this game of chess. Her flirtations were slipping away like a wet bar of soap. What an ironic comparison.

Villain said, “What I meant is this; I’ll give your handsomeness a break- or your ugliness, rather. You need to regain your looks, hence the break.”

Ignoring the insult, Hero said, dead-panned, “And I’m supposed to believe you.” A soft tut.

“Have I given you any reason not to? On this pretty night?”

“Beyond the not-so-subtle insults,” Hero thought aloud, and finished with, “I guess not.”

With a scoff, Villain said, “I wouldn’t call those insults. I could have said much worse- and anyways, you know I’m a tease. I feel even more concerned that you’ve forgotten such a vital detail about me. More reason to leave you alone. Right, my love?”

“I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why would it matter what I did or didn’t do when you don’t even care to look after yourself?”

She makes a good point. Still… “What would you do then?” Hero didn’t particularly care to have this conversation right now, but- well, he was a hero. Even if he were too exhausted to take care of himself, it was still his responsibility to protect the people. Just because Villain was saying she’d leave Hero alone didn’t mean she’d leave the citizens alone.

“What would I do? Sulk, mostly. I’d miss your pretty little face while I sat alone on my couch.”

“Right. Because I always sit on a couch with you.”

“There’s a taste of that precious fire. You’re beautiful when you’re sarcastic- and healthy.”

Hero sighed. It didn’t matter what he said, did it? He could tell Villain she looked like a horse’s rear-end mixed with a jackal’s paw and she’d continue sticking around. “You said you’d give me a break.” Of course, Hero still didn’t believe Villain’s words. It was her one and only nature to torment him with pointless compliments- and harmful insults apparently.

As if I didn’t already know I look like crap. I’m tired; that’s all. No motivation to do anything but sit on the park bench. He didn’t even feel like getting up to stretch his legs, despite knowing it needed to be done. Hero would rather deal with the aches of standing than to be forced into using so much energy while sitting. How draining it was- standing up from his position now. That’s why he stayed put, even with Villain’s hand circling in his hair once again.

This time, the hand in Hero’s hair was actually soothing. The tender scrape of Villain’s nails against his scalp. The gentle pull through the hair as her fingers caught on tangles, though the larger knots were a tad painful. Hero hummed his delight at the two former feelings, finding himself leaning into the arm which offered such relief.

On a regular day, one not so adorned with absent motivation and sourness, Hero would have slapped Villain’s hand away- would have told her to go find a dog in the park to pet. Naturally, he would have regretted saying it, thinking that Villain might claw its eyes out instead of petting it. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do something that serious, but she might have stepped on a puppy’s tail, making it screech- if only to horrify the owner.

“Isn’t this a nice break, sugar?” Villain asked, but, of course, there was more to it than this scalp massage. When Hero fell asleep, with his head on Villain’s shoulder, she would give herself a break- not him.

******

Eyes still closed from having just woken up, Hero pulled his shoulder back against the hard- hard? I thought I was in- His eyes cracked open.

White ceiling. Or, mostly white, at least. There was some water damage that Hero could see even through his blurry and freshly woken eyes. The yellow and orange stains did not belong on his ceiling.

He shifted slightly, body still stiff, but he wasn’t willing to stretch yet- just in case there was…a certain someone…paying attention. Damn Villain, Hero thought, because who else’s home could he be in if it weren’t his own?

It was with this thought in mind that Hero sat up. No use in lounging around. Better off to find a way out before Villain-

“Nice to see those starlit eyes of yours.”

Great. Turning his head, he saw Villain casually sprawled across a couch.

Well, one thing was for certain; Hero had the motivation to get up and run again. At least he could thank Villain for something, even if it were simply the desire to escape.

Sitting up, slowly and stiffly, Hero said, “A break. You were supposed to give me a break. It’s what you said, what you told me you’d do. You would give me a break to take care of myself and you would sulk.”

He could almost imagine Villain’s voice answering with an easy lull, ‘I didn’t say what the break would entail, love.’ Love. Darling. Doll. My dear. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“I gave you a break. Two of them, if we’re being technical. The massage and the shelter. Actually,” Villain smiled at him from her couch cushion, eyes closing just slightly as her cheeks gathered higher and higher. “I might call it liberation- instead of a break. Infinite freedom versus periods of mass depression and showerless nights.”

Hero felt his jaw tick. “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice low- just the way Villain liked.

He wasn’t helping his case any, now, was he? Being all cutesy. It only allowed Villain to enjoy this whole situation more.

“You wake up in your stalker’s home and don’t even think to check your body for modifications? What a pity you are sometimes,” Villain giggled. She meant it as a compliment; it was her way of calling the hero cute and favourable.

Stalker. Well, Villain might as well have been considered as such. She showed up just about everywhere Hero was, only to hold hostages for no other reason than to have control over someone, to hear the fear in their high whines- and to see the fear glistening low in their eyes. Villain was wicked, and she was wicked always in Hero’s presence. Stalker- maybe that’s what the news would start calling her if they, or Hero, ever managed to stop Villain.

Villain grew impatient with Hero’s procrastination of observation. “Explore yourself, won’t you?”

And Hero did now. He looked down his arms, torso, legs, anything that was in his perspective, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except- “Do not tell me you actually washed me.” His arms were speck and dead-skin cleaned.

“A wet rag against your arms and legs, nothing else.”

Hero simply took her word for it, trying not to imagine how he’d feel if she were lying. How horrendous.

Then what is it? Nothing- absolutely nothing- was irregular, so why was Villain going on about…Hero’s fingers skimmed something along his neck- one of the few things he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

No…no. Not just along his neck. There was something inside of Hero’s neck. “What did you do to me?” His voice came out as a horrifyingly quiet whisper, one that squeaked in the back of his throat.

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself, Hero. I had to step in.”

“I don’t- no. No. Whatever you’re doing, you- you need to- I need to go home. I need you to stay away from me and I need- I need-” Oh no. Was he hyperventilating? He couldn’t- God, he couldn’t breathe. Hero was panicking, scratching at his neck, at the irregular shaped lumps. Get out. Get. Out. Getout. Getout. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

A gasp sounded in the room as Hero’s head hit the ground, trying to dodge the zap that occurred at the front of his throat, right where he was scratching so madly.

“Well, I guess that’s a lesson learned rather quickly. Darling, you didn’t even know what those were, and yet you were trying to rip them out. It might have killed you.”

“Uhah.”

Villain quirked her head to the side. “Didn’t get that, sorry. Must have fried your vocal cords- better that than you build up a bunch of infectious bacteria.” Truth be told, the zap wasn’t so bad that it would permanently damage Hero- only give him little tics and make him fret.

“You’ll be so very happy that I took that rag over your skin- otherwise you’d have woken up to your own stench while I was injecting the little stun rods. That would have been difficult,” Villain laughed, legs extending until they laid on the arm of the couch.

“Now,” Villain piped, “there is an outfit laid out in the bathroom- down this hall here”- she pointed- “and second door to the right. Get a shower, bath, whatever you want, and get dressed. I have plans and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Swerving her legs over the arm- despite having just put them there- Villain planted her feet on the ground and placed her elbows near her knees, leaning forward, all amount of humour aside. “I’m the only one who gets to torment you, you hear me? Not even you have my permission to do harm to yourself or otherwise slack in personal healthcare. If you are in any kind of bad condition, it will be because I allowed it. M’kay?”

She stood, walked several paces to where Hero still sat on the floor and patted his cheek. “I’m making myself food before we leave and while you take a shower. Don’t disappoint me by trying to escape, my dove. You’re in my cage now.” Villain gave Hero a tap on the head as she pulled a remote control out of her pocket with her other hand. For extra measure, she held one of the buttons for three seconds, sending Hero onto his back once again, writhing on the floor- though avoiding scratching his neck.

A lesson learned indeed.

“Believe it or not, I do intend to be kind to you. I just wanted to show you what happens if you decide you’re not worth taking care of again.”

One last click of the button and she was gone, leaving a panting hero behind in the dust.

#NOT A PROMPT #request fill #A Lesson Learned #2038 words #As you may have noticed- I found a new way to answer asks without having to officially answer them.#Requests are still *only valid when sent through an ask.* I just won't be answering them with a link anymore since I've been having so much #trouble with notes. I stopped writing stories in asks because I like to have titles for easy reference (on both our ends).#Anyways. No change worth mentioning- just different formatting <3 #AGAIN- Requests are only accepted when sent as an ask (just as usual :) <3)#hero x villain #hero x villain story #hero x villain drabble #hero x villain snippet #possessive villain #possessive whumper #villain whumper #hero whumpee #evil villain #good hero #hero #villain #heroes and villains #hero and villain story #hero and villain drabble #hero and villain snippet #whump #whumper #whumpee #intimate whumper #intimate villain

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yuzukult · 4 years

Text

from home 05 || jjk & reader

title: from home pairing: jungkook x reader genre: richkid!jk, baker!reader, fakedating!au, fluff, angst, e2l, smut in later chapters word count: 7.5k+ prompt: jungkook is the youngest of five boys, the last in line to truly inherit any his parents’ money. but what if his mom suddenly cuts him off due to his current poor behavior and he’s forced to learn how it feels like to be part of the working class? a/n: i was really excited to write this chapter and i still couldn’t get myself to make it longer... :( i suck...

please let me know if you’re interested in being tagged! but also let me know if you want to be removed! taglist: @scalubera @strugglingartistno16-2 @taestannie @teresaisla @drumsofheaven @vampgguk @christiandosworld @madjammil @jungkookieyoongs @bananagguknim @shuttheelleup @yobroitsjayden

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Stating that Jungkook was 'on edge' is an understatement.

His palms and armpits were sweaty from the moment he arrived at your apartment to grab you before going to meet your parents, despite the amount of layers of deodorant he has on. He's never had a real relationship before, let alone met any girl's parents, and he can't help but feel something churning in his gut. "Good to go?" You ask, and he merely nods, suddenly bashful because he feels like he is definitely not ‘good to go.’ "Alright, let's head out."

The ride on the bus to your family home is only 30 minutes away, and truthfully, he has never ridden on one before. Walking to yours, Hoseok, and his home were less than 15 minutes, the thought of taking the bus being the absolute last thing on his mind.

Jungkook isn't exactly sure how he feels about the bus. The constant starting and stopping makes him nauseous; then the unsteadiness of having to hold the bars and handles throughout the vehicle all around seems unsafe. When there's an available seat, you sense his fear, nudging him cautiously, gesturing him to take the seat. "Sit," and granting he wants to offer it to you instead, Jungkook complies to the demand because he swears he's going to vomit.

After getting off the public transportation that he vows to never take again, you guide Jungkook through a narrow road, he notices the neighborhood here was more concentrated than the ones in Busan; tightly knitted with homes that stacked on top of one another, side to side, and back to back. People hung their clothes on lines that stretch from apartment to apartment, piles of boxes stored on balconies, and plants resting on the borders with owners sitting idle on their porches, fixated on their hobby of people watching.

Jungkook is known to be popular to the public, from magazines, gossip TV channels, social media posts, and the types continue on to the point that you couldn’t name them all on your own ten fingers. People don't often recognize him on the streets anymore because he's unrecognizable in regular everyday clothes but today, he learns that you're the celebrity.

The people in their homes say their greetings, making comments here and there as you entertain them with a response back, laughter dispersing in the air. There's an old lady that lounges on the steps of her home, a smile stretched so wide that her eyes disappear, all with a blanket laying across her lap, knitting away. "I haven't seen you around, I assume your mother is having a dinner party for the kids? I see you brought a friend!"

"Something along those lines," you retort indirectly, nose snug into your scarf. "You're not staying indoors? It's cold out."

"My husband keeps the heater on the home too high, I sweat like I'm going through menopause like I’m forty all over again, so I much rather be outside here. Anyways, I don't want to hold you up too long, but please come by for Christmas, I do have a sweater I knitted for you as well!"

Then there's a grandfather, another grandmother, and a couple who seems just a bit older than the two of you, and the list just goes on. Despite the whisper exchanges at the supermarket mentioning that you're intimidating, mean, and scary, it's obvious that you aren't or else you wouldn't be swooning the hearts of these strangers.

But there will always be an exception. Especially when the two of you run into a girl who looks close in age, hair dyed blonde with her lips painted fusion red. He could tell how curvy she was with how tight the winter coat hugs her frame, swaying her hips toward your direction as she eyes you both suspicious. "I see our town loser brought a friend."

"Mm," You nod, attempting your best not to amuse her, or else you’d be pouncing on her back by now. "Jungkook, this is Somin. A classmate of mine when I was in grade school." He bows in politeness, zipping up his jacket further while stepping closer to you. "Nice to meet you, Somin."

"Oh, no!" She gasps, a hand on her chest in exaggeration, completely flabbergasted by something he said. "Don't call me that. I go by Bella, since... you know, I am an American now. Being an American deserves the right name."

"You got your citizenship there?"

"No, but, I spent enough time there to know." She grins, shrugging her shoulders. Spent enough time there—you want to call out on her bullshit yet again, knowing she barely spent a month there before dropping out of school and coming back, but it'd be humiliating to mention that with Jungkook standing by, a stranger that she had only met a mere few seconds ago. "You said Jungkook... Are you perhaps, Jeon Jungkook of the Jeon Corporation?"

You furrow your brows. "How do you even know that?"

"Well, daddy invests in their stocks, of course." Fluttering her lashes, she manages to make her presence known to Jungkook as she moves in his direction. "And I saw his pretty little face in a magazine and couldn't help but admire."

Possessively, your hand slips into his pocket, intertwining your fingers together, causing warmth to creep up his neck and into his cheeks. "Well, great to see you, Somin. Jungkook and I have dinner plans with my parents."

"Whoa, wait, dinner plans?" Somin nearly exclaims, shifting aside to block your way. "Also, it's Bella, get that straight, will you? And why is Jeon Jungkook with you anyway?"

"We're dating," Jungkook interjects, clearing his throat. The words are still unfamiliar on his tongue yet he loves to flaunt them anyway. "I'm her boyfriend." He adds, tightening the grip on your hand as if Somin could see it. Her mouth drops open, unable to grasp onto the fact that you were able to land on a hunk like him. If only she knew how much knowledge of basic life skills he didn't have... actually, she might still have the same perspective. "There's no way. This is fake, right? You realize how rude she is, don't you?"

"No, it’s not fake, and well, kind of," Jungkook admits, scrunching up his nose at the thought. "But it's endearing. Wouldn't be as exciting if she wasn't always trying to banter with me, so I don't think I'd have it any other way. People mistake it for her honesty. I love a woman who can be true to herself and genuine with her words."

Just then, your mother peeks out of the front door of your childhood home, waving her arm eagerly, calling out your name. "Well, that's our cue. Thanks, Somin, for congratulating us on our new relationship. Hope you find someone yourself soon!"

"What—" Somin barely finishes her sentence before you're zooming past her, tugging Jungkook along.

"I didn't know you had so many enemies," Jungkook says jokingly, a playful smile upon his lips. You roll your eyes before squinting them at him, squeezing his hand hard as he winces. "Now you know how little I care for them, watch out because you might become one."

Upon entering the home, Jungkook observes too many things at once. Your mother is in the kitchen, frantically maneuvering through the junk that your family has hoarded over the years, searching for whatever it is she needs for the task at hand. Your father sits comfortably on the couch, feet on the coffee table with a controller in hand, dozing off with a combination of quiet and loud snores escaping from him. As a family home, Jungkook believes it's small considering that you had mentioned previously that you had two other siblings. To think that your parents are still living in the same home they grew up in is amazing to him, knowing that his parents moved at least five times within his youth while you only stayed in one home.

"Uh, hello," He greets your mom, bowing as she places her hands onto his shoulders, shaking him in excitement. She looks almost like a replica of you, except older and much brighter. "You must be Jungkook! It's so great to meet you, I'm so happy that my daughter found someone. She's known to be a bit... cold, so knowing that you were able to warm her up means that you're definitely special!"

"You make me sound like a bad guy." You hiss before your little sister walks in, in the midst of tying her hair up into a ponytail. She resembled your mother than you did, a delighted expression that matched exactly the one your mother had on. "That's because you are, and any guy who dates you seem to run away once they find out." She halts in her steps when she notices Jungkook's face. "Oh my god, you're that model."

"Model?" Your mother reiterates, glancing back at Jungkook and then your sister. "Yeah, yeah, that model in the new edition of Elle. He was in it—he's listed as one of the 10 most desirable men under 30. No flipping way, how'd you even get him to even date you?" She pauses before pointing at Jungkook with a suspicious look on her face as his eyes widened. "Unless... you need her for something. What's she offering? It can't be her body, she's not sexy... is it her brains? You heard about her—"

"Miyoung." Your mother says sternly, interrupting your sister. "Just because Jungkook is a model, it doesn't mean that your sister is incapable of being loved by a man like that."

"Actually—"

"Oh, hey. You must be the boyfriend." A taller male enters the room, his hair messy and lids hooded from waking up barely minutes before. He's still in his pajamas, a loose grey shirt and red checkered pants, but from the outline of his shirt, Jungkook could tell this guy was built. "I'm Daehyun, also known as their big brother. It's nice to meet you." Jungkook is in awe, hand extending to shake with Daehyun's. He knows he's straight, but even as a straight guy he knows a pretty man when he sees one.

Jungkook was starting to pick up as to why your exterior was so tough. With a younger sister who didn't have a filter to an incredibly handsome older brother, of course as the middle child you had to protect yourself. "Uh, yeah. And that's my little sister, Miyoung, who basically just attacked me for all of my insecurities within a minute. Thanks, kiddo."

"No problem, Unnie." She grins cheekily, seated on the high stool. "Did mom tell you I was back home from college for the weekend? That's why you're here?"

"Something like that," you respond ominously, hanging up your jacket along with Jungkook’s. Despite her preceding interrogation, she’s chewing on her bottom lip skittishly. "More like she forced me to come. Well, she didn't say anything yet but I felt a guilt trip coming so I just decided that I would come instead."

"Typical," Daehyun scoffs, leaning against the wall beside Miyoung. He sneaks a glimpse into the kitchen where your mother secretly runs back into, resuming in her work. "She's been desperate to get us all back together since the two of you moved out. Remind me again why I'm the only one stuck here?"

"Because you can't find a job." Miyoung and you remind him in unison and he frowns. The interaction between the three of you is crystal clear evidence that you guys are related. "Well, geez, hurt a guy, why don't you? See what I have to deal with, Jungkook?"

With some time left until dinner, the four of you crowd at your small dining table, conversing away about updates in your lives. Miyoung is in University an hour away from home, residing there for an easier commute, and Daehyun stays at home with an ambition to find a job that fits his degree. Daehyun still dates from time to time but he admits that he can’t tend to his needs because well, his mother is a room away, and oddly enough, albeit Miyoung babbles on about other things, she’s silent about her love life. Neither Miyoung and Daehyun are able to hold a steady job, he observes, and he’s starting to pick up as to why you’re so adamant about keeping both of yours. Jungkook learns that everything seems to gravitate toward one of the two phrases from your siblings when it comes to finances and they are: “Mom can handle it,” or “I’m going to let Dad do it so I don’t have to.”

From what Jungkook can gather, your siblings seemed to have different outlooks on life compared to you—they still depended on their parents whilst you were already hunting for opportunities of your own before Miyoung’s age so you didn’t have to ask for money.

“Are you still upset with me about what happened a year ago?” Miyoung finally asks you, chewing on her nails nervously. It seems to be something she’s been holding back from you, Jungkook takes a note of the way her eyes were filled with worry. “Of course,” You reply nonchalantly, leaning back against your seat with your arms crossed. “How could I not be? But you’re my sister, so I can’t actually be mad at you.”

Miyoung begins to tear up— glassy gaze with her bottom lip quivering, in spite of the previous aggressiveness she presented when you first entered the house. Before Miyoung could get another word in, your mom comes in with a guilty expression on her face. She calls your name faintly, a pout upon her lips. “Can you and Jungkook go out and grab me a couple things before dinner?”

Jungkook can’t get the question that Miyoung brings up out of his mind. In the middle of an aisle at another one of his mother’s grocery stores, your lips are pursed in thought at which brand of soy sauce would your mom like more.

“What was Miyoung going on about?” He eventually asks, but he holds his breath in case you decide to sock him for querying you about something so personal. Strangely enough, you open up. “Miyoung fell in love with my ex. He told me they didn’t do anything but he was in love with her, so we broke up. I thought I was going to settle with him but— guess not.”

Jungkook’s eyes expand like a deer in headlights. “Your little sister is dating your ex-boyfriend? And they were in love with each other during your relationship? I would’ve given her an uppercut if I were you— are you seriously still buying the banana milk she asked for?” He’s trailing behind you as you lead him toward the drinks; your face brightening from the lights from the fridges. How could someone who lost their boyfriend to their little sister seem so put together in the first place? Was this was Hoseok was talking about that your men streak was horrendous?

“Because she’s my little sister. At the end of the day, I want her to be happy.” Throwing a pack into the cart, Jungkook continues to push it while following you, mind still foggy and angry about the situation. Here you were, with a guy who you’d fallen in love with to the point of considering settling down, then finding out he’s been in love with your sister... he feels like this is all a fever dream and isn’t an ounce real. “You’re fucking with me right?”

You look at him with perplexity. “What do you mean?”

“This sounds crazy. You’re serious? Miyoung stole a guy from you and you’re just going to be the bigger person here and not do anything about it?”

“What am I supposed to do? Throw a tantrum? Get in the way of their relationship that is obviously blossoming in a good way?”

Jungkook pauses. Was this what it was like in another family? Or at least yours?

In comparison, he perceives that within his family, outbursts were everything. Getting attention and being recognized for any wrongdoing was immensely important— he knew that if he stole a girl away from one of his brothers, he wouldn’t make it out of the house alive. His mother, including father, would never forget it. The chattering would be heard through the grapevine amongst the housemaids, drivers, and employees of the company. Even news media outlets would dabble a bit into the family drama, adding fuel to the fire. He could never react the way you did, at least, he hopes he would, but realistically speaking, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it.

Yet, with you, it seemed simple enough. Sure, your heart was broken, but how were you going to be with someone who didn’t love you back?

“If you love someone, you let them go.” You say calmly when Jungkook doesn’t respond back. “Keeping them around for your benefit doesn’t solve anything. If he wasn’t truly happy with me, I want him to be happier with someone else. And if that person so happens to be with Miyoung, what am I supposed to do?”

“But... you’re not happy.” Jungkook declares with no hesitation. He recalls the time where you felt bad for him for not having the best upbringing, and he’s starting to understand the emotion that ran through you. “I’m happier now,” You concede, placing the last ingredient your mom has on the list for you to purchase, turning your back at Jungkook. “Now that I met you.”

His heart flutters at the comments, and he’s desirous about bringing up the topic of the kiss again. Jungkook resists the urge to because he could tell from the way your silhouette begins to quicken its pace toward the checkout line that you really didn’t want to talk about it.

When the two of you arrive back at your house, your father is jolted awake. Jungkook greets himself to the elder man who only grins brighter than the sun—something Jungkook is trying to grasp where your grumpiness comes from— and instantaneously directs him to the dinner table where your mom has a ton of side dishes laid out with six place settings for you all.

During the meal, there was nothing but exchanging stories, laughter, and elation that swarms the room. If this was what family meant, Jungkook wanted it. And the more he thinks about it, the more he wants it to be with you.

Nothing is working out for Jungkook.

This week, the pipe in his apartment burst. Something about— it’s winter and when it’s cold, the water freezes within the pipe and it expands the material, causing the pipe itself to burst, he doesn’t quite understand how the whole plumbing system works, but he knows that he can’t use the water in his apartment and has to go to yours and Hoseok’s for the week for a shower until the landlord can get it fixed.

Then, one of the deli guys called off because he apparently had the runs which meant that there was a shift change— Jungkook having to cover since whomever was working that day didn’t have the skills to do it.

Skills? Jungkook curses underneath his breath when he recites that word in his head repeatedly because he cuts his finger on the meat slicer as he winces, calling out your name. Coming to his side, you pull out the first aid kit and force him to sit down on one of the stools, tying elastic on a higher point of his finger to stop the blood from gushing out. “You alright?”

“Yeah, I just... I didn’t need to be put here, right? Someone else could’ve done this, I have no idea how to use a slicer.”

“I know,” You coo, wiping some of the antiseptic on the wound as he whimpers at the sudden sting. “The new shift manager panicked, she wasn’t sure what to do since the guy with the actual food preparation license is going to be here a bit late so she put you here. Not exactly the best plan.” After bandaging him up, you wash your hands underneath the faucet as Jungkook slouches in the seat.

Nothing really was going his way.

It doesn’t even stop there. Unexpectedly, his mother calls for dinner but you’re on shift, therefore you wouldn’t be able to attend. He’s tempted to down a glass of whiskey on ice, his signature drink, but when he opens the cabinet in his kitchen, he falters at the image of your face. Would you be disappointed if you saw what he was doing? And Hoseok? What would he say?

Retracting his hand back, he immediately slams the door shut at the thought of the consequences.

Dinner is the usual at the Jeon residence. Father sits at the end of the dining table, the typical beige cloth napkin spread across on his lap while in his usual work attire, glasses rested on the tip of his nose as he’s ready to dive in with a fork and spoon in hand. Mother is settled beside him, pretty as ever and calm in comparison to the hell that’s going to let loose in a couple minutes. The unknown? Who is going to blow up this time and who will they be comparing themselves to?

The answer? Jongseok and Jungkook.

Jongseok is upset to the point that he articulates every word with spit nearly projecting from his mouth to the opposite side of the room. The vein on his temple is stressed to the point that all Jungkook can think about is when it’s going to pop. “Why are you guys always babying Jungkook? You realize the kid is fucking working at a grocery store right? And not just any grocery store, either, but it’s mother’s chain.”

“Okay?” Father retorts, forehead wrinkling in puzzlement. “Isn’t he trying to prove himself worthwhile? Didn’t he find that job himself, despite it being your mother’s chain? He’s paying for his mistakes, learning basic life skills along the way, and even landed himself a serious girlfriend who can hold his hand through these tough times, since, after all, you’re the one who suggested we cut him off. If I’m being honest, I think we should give him access to our funds again.”

A scoff of incredulity comes from Jongseok. He’s a ticking time bomb in this moment; jaw twitching in frustration with the tips of his ears heated red. Even though he’s the target yet again, Jungkook is sober now, mind clear of the fog and the ability to defend himself for once. “I don’t get it. Why are you even mad at me? I’m trying here, right? You’re the one who wanted me to get cut off so desperately— and congrats, by the way, because I did. I had to find a job myself, one I’m not a fan of, and I’m barely making it by. I lost water in my apartment this week, cut my hand on one of those deli slicers, sprained my ankle on my way to work— and that’s only a portion of my bad week. Yet here I am, sitting at the dinner table with people who claim that they love me when you’re here flipping shit at father. What do you want from me?”

“For your name to be completely off the will.” Jongseok finally says what he has been actually feeling unperturbedly, not an ounce of affection in his tone with a gaze that could pierce through Jungkook. “You have nothing to offer to this family. Why we keep you around— I don’t know. Why should you have any portion of our estate and company assets when all you’re doing right now is working at the supermarket. Tell me, Jungkook, why do you deserve to be part of any of this?”

Jungkook hates how childish he’s being, but he feels like he has the right to. The flickering colorful lights and music booming through the speakers of the club are tuning out the words his brother exclaims at his parents, and the amount of alcohol passing through his lips are numbing the pain that tears through his chest. Your face pops up in his head; your laugh, your smile, and the comfort in the underlying messages through your tough love— he wishes that all of that was enough to heal the sting in his heart and fill the hollowness that his family left.

He doesn’t remember any of these people sitting at this table with him, even though they’re hollering in excitement that “Jungkook is back again!” The girl placing a hand on his chest with his arm around her shoulder isn’t you, but he knows that if it was, you’d be so displeased at how wasted he is. Honestly, this feels wrong. Nothing sits right in his stomach and when another pretty gal with her dress hiked up to the point he could see her thong from where he’s on the couch, he’s not even attracted to her. All he could think about was you, and that scowl on your face when he tells you about this night. He could hide it from you but he’s not going to lie to himself— if he wanted to improve for the better, it meant being straightforward and authentic. Jungkook came here to let loose because the events that occurred at the estate tonight was something he wants to forget.

Turning to the girl beside him, his eyes are hooded and vision is blurry when he asks, “What’s your name again?”

When her rosy plump lips open, she says her name but the voice that comes out of it is deep and oddly familiar. “Hyeri?” Why does she say it like a question, and why is her voice so low? Just then, a hand clenches the fabric of his shirt, pulling him up and he meets the proprietor of the response. Hoseok.

Hoseok drags Jungkook’s weak and frail frame out into the alleyway behind the club, fuming to the point that smoke could’ve been whistling out of his ears. “What the fuck are you doing here? And with Hyeri, of all people! I thought I told you to stop fucking around, dude! I-I thought you knew how much she means to me. Out of the people I’ve partied with— you were my actual friend.” He clenches his jaw before Jungkook could even answer, a fist tightening in his hand. “You’re such a fuck up, Jungkook. So much for a friend.”

Then everything blacks out.

His entire body hurts. His head is pounding, he can barely open one of his eyes, and his legs are so sore he can hardly shift on the bed— on a bed? He doesn’t have a bed. He has a futon but not a bed. Startled, he attempts to sit up against the bed frame, the other eye opening to skim through the room.

He’s never been in your bedroom before, but the pictures of you graduating college hanging on the corkboard above your desk, concert tickets, Polaroids, and holiday cards thumbtacked beside them is all the evidence he needs to know it’s yours. Jungkook wants a closer look at them, he can scarcely make out the cute little smile on your face with your family in attendance in the picture, but when he puts weight onto his arms, he groans. Seconds later, you’re bursting through the door, out of breath and worry in your eyes. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good,” Voice hoarse, he realizes how dry his throat is and you lean over to the bedside table to hand him the glass of water you had there originally. “Don’t move, idiot. You’re actually really torn up if you didn’t feel it with all that alcohol in your system.” Inviting yourself onto the foot of the bed, Jungkook frowns after he finishes the entire glass, much more dehydrated than he initially thought. “Trust me, it’s gone now. I feel every ounce of pain. What happened? I blacked out.”

“No shit,” you retort harshly, rolling your eyes at him. “You were drunk as hell, but you didn’t black out from that. Hoseok saw you getting all cozy with Hyeri and knocked the shit out of you. What happened, Jungkook? Why were you there in the first place? Did something happen?”

Reading the expression on your face, he fears for the worse but he doesn’t see any hint of dissatisfaction anywhere. There’s no anger, no resentment, no frustration— none of that. Just curiosity smeared across, genuinely worried about his well-being. “Are you upset that you found out I was there?”

“I was mad that Hoseok called me to come grab you, at first, so kind of, yeah. But if you’re trying to figure out if I’m disappointed in you, then no, I’m not. Old habits are hard to kill, so I understand that you’re trying to cope with something. I just want to know why you were there in the first place and why were you getting all lovey dovey with Hyeri—“

“I wasn’t getting lovey-dovey with Hyeri,” Jungkook exasperates, head falling back against the headboard, closing his eyes shut, interrupting before you lead the conversation into a lecture. “She was just some girl that sat down and claimed a spot next to me. I didn’t even know she was Hoseok’s girl.” There’s a pregnant pause in his explanation, and you don’t break off his train of thought. “I... I went because Jongseok called me useless tonight, yet again. It didn’t bother me as much as it did before, you know, before I met you, and it’s probably because I wasn’t intoxicated or the fact that I’m actually trying now and he still thinks I’m useless. He wants me out of the will.”

“He’s jealous that he’s the problematic child now, not you.” Making your way up the bed, you’re seated on top of the covers, settled adjacent to Jungkook. “If it makes you feel any better, I think you’re way more useful than you had been initially. I usually do the dishes at my parents’ house, mostly because I’m the middle child, but you did it for me instead. I consider that a huge accomplishment from who you were before.”

As much as he hates to admit how warm and fuzzy he feels inside just from that small achievement, it’s a resemblance of the time when he was younger and won an award for being most creative in his kindergarten class. How are you able to lift up his mood so easily by just saying a few words?

“I… is Hoseok really pissed?”

“A bit,” you reply sincerely and apologetically, even though none of this had been your fault. “He’s been in love with her even before I met him. She was all he could talk about, and I guess she finally gave him a shot, only to drop him a month later. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s a gold digger from the stories he shared.”

Jungkooks face drops when his gaze meets yours. “Have you ever told him that?” You laugh—the melody that practically heals his wounds on the spot. “No, are you crazy? He’s blinded by love, Jeon, and any interference with that, I’m done for, probably cut out entirely from his life. Have you never been in love before?”

He wants to say that he hasn’t, not until he met you, but you continue without expecting a response from him anyway. “Well, that’s just how he is. You could tell him a billion times that this girl isn’t for him but he’s never going to care about what I say until something actually happens.”

“I really care about Hoseok, though, and I want the best for him.” His doe-brown eyes are glossy, full of cherish for his friend. “And he cares for you too, Jeon. Just give him some time.” Quickly, Jungkook twists away, gaze avoiding yours as he clears his throat a couple times.

“Are you... okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” He says, choking up on his own words. “Hurts a little. Hoseok is strong.”

You furrow your brows. “Hey, look at me.” He doesn’t react. “Jeon,”

“Can... you give me some space?”

Pulling your lips into a straight line, you contemplate whether or not to listen to his words or go against him. He’s been living in a home full of people yet still feeling alone, with no one to listen to his perspective on things. Maybe it’s time you change that.

Abruptly, you swing your leg over his thighs, hands cupping his cheeks just like you did that fateful night. He swore his heart stopped beating. “What are you—” There’s tears brimming in his eyes, you realize, with some escaping, trailing down his cheek. He sniffles. “You’re crying?” You’re stating the obvious, yet somehow it comes out as a question. “Don’t cry. Why are you crying?”

“I’ve never had a friend love me before, a friend who actually liked me for me and only wanted to spend time with me because of who I was, not who my family was. Did I really fuck up with Hoseok?” You frown, thumb rubbing against his cheek to wipe away his tears. Truthfully, you never really knew how to react when someone fell apart like this, but with Jungkook, it felt natural, the comforting. It might’ve been the sunlight peering through the windows of your room that made everything toasty, thawing out your cold heart, or it was just Jungkook. “Maybe. But I doubt he wouldn’t give you a chance to explain yourself though. I mean, yeah, you’re bruised all over because he really beat you up... but, I’m sure this evens things out. Plus, I’m your friend and I love you too.”

He sighs, shoulders plunging with his hands creeping up to your waist unconsciously, tenderly steering you to sit on his thighs. Swallowing at the feeling of his body flattened against yours, you’re attempting to shake your head from the dirty thoughts. Jungkook feels at ease, detecting the words come from your mouth, yet he wants more. He craves for more, especially since that night in Busan and he isn’t sure he can hold himself back anymore.

“I... What happened that night in Busan?” Lifting your weight off him, he only stops you by putting down more pressure to stop your escape. Despite being in an awful lot of pain, he still manages to overpower you in strength. “Please don’t avoid this. If Jongseok didn’t come to our door that night, it would’ve led to something more. I want to know, please, what does it mean?” Cheeks burning, you stare at the wooden headboard behind him, except Jungkook knows your next steps before you do because his finger is already on your chin, guiding your view back onto him. He doesn’t need to say anything because the look he gives you says it all, tell me.

“Okay, okay,” You cringe, the idea of talking about this makes your stomach feel queasy and want to recoil in dread. “White flag. I’ll talk.”

“Enough of this white flag nonsense, just tell me.”

Belatedly gathering enough courage, you spill. Although your heart feels like it’s jumping through hoops from suspense, you realize that you can’t hold yourself back any longer anyway. “I’m... attracted to you, alright? I mean, I’m not sure how I feel about you 100% emotionally, because I still feel like we’re on different pages here, but I feel like I kind of like you? If this goes any further, I wouldn’t necessarily be opposed to it.”

That’s... it? Admittedly so, Jungkook was hoping for more of a confession, something along the lines of, ‘I really like you, Jungkook’ but he’d have to settle for this. This was definitely a step closer to where he wants to be. “So... you’d date me, that is. There’s still an opening somewhere.”

“I-I mean, I guess so... why?”

“Because well, I can’t stop thinking about that night, and I know that for sure that I like you.” He discloses. “And if there’s even a bit of an opening, I want a shot at it.”

You scoff. “With me? You want an actual shot with me? After spending time with my family, you want to still try to swoon me?” There’s a smile tugging on Jungkook’s lips; there’s a blackish-bluish bruise underneath his eye, the side of his lips red and blotchy and the entirety of his body is either swollen or bruised, and yet, he still endures the pain to be beaming brighter than the stars. “Of course, you met my family, right? Yours is nothing complicated in comparison... well, maybe your sister. But for once, I feel like I belong here, with you, I feel like I’m home. So, will you give me a chance to win you over?”

“Don’t you think you’re rushing this whole thing? This... you thinking you like me kind of thing.”

“Are you going to keep wasting your time?” He blurts, a hint of annoyance in his tone. “You wasted how long with some guy only for him to ditch you for your sister. What about your happiness, and what you want? None of this is fair to you. What if I could possibly give that to you, that happiness? Would you actually give me a chance?”

Sincerely, you didn’t know what the relationship with Jungkook held and what it would mean in the future. But what he asserts is right with the things he repeats in Busan about being selfish for once replays in your head again, and you finally decide to take a shot at it.

Was it the high of saying ‘yes, okay’ to Jungkook or the painkillers he took earlier because when your lips meet with his, he feels like he’s floating in mid-air. Your tongue is wet and soft when it fights with his, and when his hands on your waist pull you in closer, the bulge in his pants isn’t discreet, raging for attention, twitching against your thigh while your fingers knots through his hair tightens in response to your bottom lip suddenly tucked in between his teeth. The room feels steaming hot, especially when your hips start to move against his, emitting a groan from him as hand trails down to your ass to give it a harsh squeeze in consequence. His jeans from last night are still on and they’re straining in his crotch uncomfortably.

This is escalating so fast—just as quickly as his heart is beating in his chest, almost popping out of his chest cavity. Your natural scent is intoxicating, clouding up his mind to the point that he doesn’t think he needs the alcohol to forget the pain his family has caused him anymore, because you’re mending the pieces of him together. Your hands trail down to his neck, tugging him closer before they wander down to his biceps, giving him a gentle squeeze that releases a wince from him.

Just as abrupt as the kiss, you pull away with a concerned and panic expression, with your mouth open in aghast. “Oh my god— I forgot you were still injured—” As you’re trying to move back, you stumble on his legs and collapse onto the floor.

“What— hey, are you okay?” He says, breathless as he leans over to check on you sprawled on the floor. Swiftly hopping back on your feet, he observes you clearly with your hair disheveled, cheeks tinted pink, and swollen lips. There’s a look of achievement on his face from the sight of a disoriented you. “Uh, um, yeah. I-I’m good,” Flustered, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m... I’m going to get dinner ready for the both of us, uh, I’m going to leave you to it,” you’re awkwardly gesturing his crotch before rushing out the room and slamming the door shut.

He can only laugh at your reaction. At least his week wasn’t that bad after that kiss, right?

Jungkook stirs awake from the sound of chatter in the living room, voices familiar that he can associate them as yours and Hoseok’s. Unexpectedly, he sounds melancholic, the muffled sounds from your walls, almost to the point of whimpering mixed with your soft assuring words. He figures he should get a closer perspective of this, maybe enough where he can make out what the two of you are conversing about.

He’s not far off from shrieking when he angles his leg too far, but he bites his bottom lip in prevention of any sound, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the torment. Careful, he reiterates like a mantra in his head, chanting it until it’s engraved in his brain. When he reaches the door, he opens it slowly and just barely, to peek out and see the scene unfold before him.

“She told me that they didn’t do anything,” Hoseok exclaims, face in his hands as his elbows are resting on his knees. “That she chose to be there, and Jungkook was just lounging on the couch. That if anything, she wanted him to fuck her. Isn’t that ridiculous? How could she say that?”

You’re seated on the armrest of the loveseat, hand rubbing against Hoseok’s back soothingly. “I know, Hobi, I know. You might’ve been the right one for her, but at the end, she wasn’t the right one for you.”

“I could’ve changed,” He emphasizes, spinning his gaze to meet yours. His eyes are crimson and swollen from his tears, restlessness fills in those orbs. “I love her so much.”

“Well, and you love Jungkook. He’s in the other room, beat up and crying because he thought he lost you. He didn’t do anything wrong and you tore him to shreds! Earlier when we were making—“ You pause, clearing your throat when you realize where you were leading the conversation, Hoseok raising a brow in confusion at the action. “Earlier, I mean, I went to check on him and he was whining in pain. You really hurt him, Hoseok, and not just physically either. He’s both hurt emotionally and physically.”

He frowns. “I mean, I guess... I guess it wasn’t his fault.”

“There’s no guessing, idiot. It wasn’t. He was honestly too wasted to even realize that she was sitting beside him. Poor kid reeked of alcohol that I almost made him sleep on the porch. But he would’ve gotten robbed so... I let him stay in my room and I slept on the couch.” Jungkook glowers at the thought of you struggling to find comfort on the small sofa, wishing you would’ve chosen to sleep by him instead.

“Can I... talk to him?” Hoseok finally asks, looking down at his hands in embarrassment. His knuckles were red, contused from the one-sided fight he had with Jungkook the night before. “I fucked up, and I’m sure he thinks that he really fucked up.”

You hum for a moment before an idea pops into mind. “How about... you go out and get takeout? I’ll check on him, prep him for your appearance, and then you guys can hash it out?”

You don’t take no for an answer, pushing Hoseok out the door shortly, and a soft smile tugs on the edges of Jungkook’s lips before he lightly shuts the door and tip toes back into bed, pretending to be deep in slumber.

When you come into the room afterwards with a wet rag in hand and a bucket of warm water, his heart swells. Patting the towel against his wounds while seated at the edge of the bed, he hastily has a hand wrapped around your wrist, shocking you in the midst of your activity. “Oh— you’re awake?” He gingerly kisses the palm of your hand, heat clogging your face . “Yeah. And, thank you. For everything. I owe you a lot.”

“I—uh, maybe you’ll reciprocate this for me as well, one day?” You respond dubiously. “But... you also might not know how to do it so—“

“Are you still trying to make jabs at me after I made such a sweet comment?”

“Well, I’m just being honest, do you even know how to take care of another person?” You shoot back. “You couldn’t even get yourself back home, I had to be called and drag you back here myself, and my god, you’re heavy—“ He hauls your arm closer, dragging you along with it until your nose is inches away from his. “Can I kiss you again? I miss the way your lips feel with mine.” Even when he says the words in a volume that’s barely a whisper, his breath fans against your skin harshly, causing goosebumps to crawl up your spine.

The door pounds shut and before you can tear away from Jungkook’s hold, Hoseok is already standing in the threshold of the bedroom, mouth wide open in shock before it immediately fades into a mischievous grin. “What did I tell you, Kook? Which one was it first? You or her?”

#jeon jungkook #jungkook #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook x reader #gyukult fics

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eleanorbloom · 3 years

Text

Moonlight: Part One.

Disclaimer: Open Heart and most of the characters are owned by Pixelberry. Matilde is a creation of mine.

Book/Pairing: Open Heart / Bryce Lahela x F! MC (Matilde Luna)

Word Count: 1.9k Warnings/Rating: Few curse words/Teen.

Author's Note: I must confess I'm scared AF of sharing this with you. First POV is a challenge. Matilde has a whole different personality compared to Eleanor. And with her I'll share some of my deepest struggles and insecurities. That's why it took me so many months to finally realease this story to the world. Anyway, hope you enjoy it ❤

Taglist: @dalishessence @curiousconch @chocopeppermintcake @utterlyinevitable @secretaryunpaid @kachrisberry @romereadingshop @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Let me know if you wanna be added to my taglist!

______

Part One. Encounter with the Sun.

When you spend so much time in the darkness, it's inevitable to feel blinded by the light.

It’s dazzling.

You don’t see anything at first, your eyes hurt. They burn.

Then, when you’re able to detect the things around you, you feel good, even amazed by the new perspective, the colors, the depths, the lengths, the shining. The new world before you.

After a while, however, you feel overwhelmed by it. By the spotlight that gives you. How observed and judged you feel and how out of place you realize you are.

So you miss your old friend, the darkness. The intimacy of it. How it covers your flaws, your fears, your insecurities, your lackings. Your secrets. The secrets you don’t even know you’re keeping.

When you're invisible it's just you and your deepest thoughts and desires. No exposition, no need to cover your flaws, or make an effort to fit in.

You're safe from the constant awkwardness for feeling different.

That’s what happened to me when I met Bryce Lahela. His light dazzled me. It made me see the world bright, as I'd never seen it before.

But soon I realized it wasn’t for me. I belong to the darkness, and there’s not so much a person from the darkness can do with a person with so much light like him.

Or that's what I thought.

It was my first day of Residency when I met him, walking hurriedly to the locker room, covered in blood and lost in my thoughts. Orientation with the new interns was about to start in five minutes, so I couldn’t show up with my scrubs stained with blood from the Thoracotomy I just had done.

I was so deep in my thoughts and worries that I didn’t realize there was someone around the corner of the lockers until I bumped directly into him, my face almost burying on his toned, bare chest if it wasn’t because he had quicker reflexes than me.

“Woah there,” he said, surprised, and then his firm hands grabbed me by the arms.

“Sh…” I stopped instantly, reminding myself I was in my workplace, so I couldn’t be cursing as I pleased, much less in front of a person I hadn't met before.

“Damn, I’m…” I tried to say instead, but as I looked up, my words choked in my throat.

Damn indeed.

A pair of brown eyes looked at me curiously but warmly. But damn, damn, damn. He was handsome, so handsome it seemed like a hallucination.

Fuck, people can be this handsome in real life? I thought, as I was taking in the sight of him: dashing broad smile, eyes wrinkling in a playful grin. And all that was complemented with toned, perfect abs, illegal triceps, and divine hair. I could swear my hair never looked that gorgeous.

But the way he looked at me, even casually, was disarming. Just one look and he had me all inspected. And for some reason, I couldn't stop staring at him. There was something hypnotizing about him. Inevitable.

“Are you okay?” he asked a few moments later, as he noticed my speechlessness.

I blushed instantly. Oh my god, how much I stared at him like an idiot?

“Or are you already getting all the fun without even starting your shift yet?”

I sighed, thanking internally that he was talking about the blood on my scrubs and not about my embarrassing loss for words because of his appearance.

“I’m sorry, yes,” I said, shaking my head as I kept walking toward my locker, my cheeks flushing in a beet red in a matter of seconds, “Just a thoracotomy in the waiting room, that’s all.”

He chuckled as I was opening my locker to put my things inside, ignoring the anxiety washing over me slowly.

“Way to start the year, are you new too?”

“Y… Yeah,” I stuttered, begging internally he wasn’t looking directly at me at that moment. I didn't dare to check if it was the case.

By this point, I was used to changing clothes in front of lots of strange people, but it was always difficult doing it for the first time in a new place, so I tried to overcome my self-consciousness and simply tugged my stained scrubs out, ignoring the fact that he could see my curvy body in my simple black underwear.

After a lot of effort, I was a couple of years past feeling embarrassed by my body. I had finally accepted it the way it was -way off commercial beauty standards: chubby, fluffy, full of stretch marks and cellulitis-, but coming to terms with the fact that other people wouldn't think the same is completely different. There are always looks and awkward smiles, sometimes opinions. So this time I couldn’t help but feel a little shy about it, much more considering how handsome and sporty he was. It made me feel judged even if he wasn’t even judging me at all.

“Internal medicine?” he asked once I was with my fresh scrubs on. I turned around and found him with green scrubs instead, leaning against the lockers with a relaxed smile. There wasn't anything uncomfortable about his features.

“Yup,” I said sharply, giving him a quick glance before sitting down to lace up my black Chuck Taylors.

But then I felt the strange need to say something more.

I don't know why.

Any other day I would've replied and then acted like that conversation never happened. I hate small talk. But there was something that persuaded me to ask him something in return. Maybe it was the fact that I wasn’t expecting he would keep talking to me. Maybe I just wanted to repay the kindness. He could've just ignored me but he didn't.

“You?”

“Surgery,” he said grinning, fixing his hair with enviable naturality.

Oh, of course. Of course the living embodiment of Adonis would be a surgical bro. I should've known.

I couldn't help but chuckle as I shook my head.

“What?” He asked, with a puzzled look.

“Nothing,” I assured, still smirking while I was closing my bag before putting it back inside my locker.

“If you say so,” he shrugged before standing straight and checking his watch, “Are you ready? We can go to the Atrium together if you want. Considering we’re going to the same place.”

I froze in place for a moment.

I never expected something like that.

First, to interact with someone in my first hour at the hospital. Socializing wasn’t my forte so this felt like I was doing my first friend at playschool, even if this would bethe first and last time I'd talk to him in my life.

Second, to keep interacting with him after the usual pleasantries. He could’ve just greeted me and then done as nothing happened. Like I would’ve done it if it wasn't because my brain was pushing me to talk to him.

Third, that he would want to keep interacting with me despite how weird I acted and that I somewhat laughed at his face a few seconds ago.

“Y-Yeah, sure,” I said trying to conceal the slight shaking in my voice, and followed him outside the room.

“I’m Bryce Lahela, by the way,” he added, extending his hand to me as we started walking towards the exit.

“Matilde Luna,” I said in response, shaking his hand. His caramel skin felt smooth and warm on my palm.

“Nice to meet you, Matilde Luna. You have a really beautiful name.”

“Your name is pretty nice too,” I said without thinking too much of it, in my effort to hold the conversation even if I didn’t know what else to say.

When I turned to look at him, I could swear the ghost of a sad smile was concealed behind his -seemingly- signature smirk.

I frowned, wondering why that was. It was just a compliment to his name, how could I be wrong about something so simple as that?

But a moment later, that sadness was gone. As if it never happened, he grinned at me again.

“Do you have any friends or acquaintances from Med School here?” he broke the silence again, as we were reaching the stairs.

“I… I actually don’t know much,” I confessed, looking directly on the staircases before me. I couldn't care less about my classmates, honestly, but at that moment I felt bad for not knowing. Maybe guilty for my indifference. “I think a guy is in Peds and another girl is in Neuro?”

“Where are you from?”

“U-Dub. Washington.”

“Ah, cold and rainy. You won’t suffer too much with the climate here then.”

“Yup, I like it rainy.”

“You’re nuts!” He exclaimed, with an overacted shocked expression.

“Oh, let me guess why the gratuitous insult, you're from California, right?”

Bryce turned to me, perplexed, “Guilty as charged, what gave me away?”

“Mmm besides your tan and your surfer highlights?”

“Ouch, talk about gratuitous insults!”

“Just payback, ” I laughed heartily, “No, actually it’s your accent. I did my undergrad in Berkeley.”

“Oh,” he chuckled, “Makes sense.”

“Which part of Cali?”

“Stanford.”

Surgical bro from Stanford. La crème de la crème. Why was he even talking to me?

Just he replied, we entered the Atrium and found interns of all sorts of specialties gathered around place, waiting for the Chief to make her appearance.

My stomach churned at the huge amount of people before me. All these new people I'd have to meet and work with. To deal with.

But it didn't matter. If this was the price I had to pay to do what I love, to make her proud, so be it.

I took a deep breath, psyching myself to what was about to come, “This is for you, mama.”

And just the thought of her seemed to soothe whatever anxiety I was feeling at that moment.

“Well, Matilde Luna,” Bryce announced, after both observed the crowd in silence for a couple of seconds, “Time to meet my competition now. Good luck with yours.”

I looked up at him instantly, surprised by the slight tremor concealed in his voice. But there was nothing there. Bryce was already grinning at me, his caramel skin glistening against the morning sunlight. Melting as if they were just the same thing. But I could tell his smile wasn't reaching his eyes as before.

“Thank you, you too, ” I said as I watched him striding toward a group in green scrubs, each step taken with resolve.

But after a few feet, he stopped and slowly turned in my direction, a twinkle of honey piercing directly at me, “See ya later? ” he quizzed.

I arched an eyebrow at his question.

See ya later.

And made an effort not to snort.

With the sea of interesting people in this hospital, you won’t even remember my face by the end of the day, so don’t bother.

But I played along, it was the least he deserved for being so friendly with me that morning.

“See ya later,” I promised, convinced it was in vain. This would be the last time I would exchange words with him.

At that moment, though, I couldn’t even imagine how wrong I would be.

----

Thank you so much for reading!!!

#bryce lahela #open heart #playchoices #bryce lahela x mc #bryce x mc #open heart fic #open heart choices #open heart fanfiction #open heart fanfic #choices #choices stories you play #oh choices #pixelberry

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years

Text

Of bookcases and headaches

Merry x gn!reader

Requested: Yes, by a lovely anon for my 1k sleepover! “Congratulations! May I ask for 💙 with Merry, General Prompt 8 and/or 6?”

Prompts: 6 - Are you taking care of yourself? 8 - Is that my book?

Warnings: no warnings, how about that?

A/N: This got longer than I intended to... So this gets its own post and will be linked with the oneshots instead of sleepover drabbles. It was the first time writing for Merry (besides the preference posts) so thank you anon for this request! Also yes, this might have been inspired by the events of the past week :)

I’ve been out of my writing mood for weeks - ever since I’ve published Dwarves Always Knock Thrice and I hope I’m getting back into it with this fluffy comfort fic 🙈

Merry was on his way to meet up with Pippin in the Green Dragon, their weekly visit for a pint or two to celebrate the end of the week. Or the beginning of a new one. Any reason was a good one really.

The all too familiar path took him past your house and he caught himself slowing down his pace every time, in the hopes of catching you outside so he could invite you to join him.

Which was ridiculous really, since you were both friends who regularly talked to each other. It wouldn’t be considered weird for him to knock on your door and simply ask you to join him for a pint.

But somehow Merry found it extremely difficult to do so.

Most of the time he just lingered for a few seconds before he chickened out and quickly continued his way to his favorite pub, telling himself that next time he’ll be brave enough to do it.

Today however it went a little different.

When he stopped at the white fence surrounding your yard, he noticed something different about your house. Something that didn’t feel quite right. It took him a while before he realized what was wrong.

The curtains were drawn.

And it wasn’t even time for afternoon tea yet!

Without a second thought, Merry opened the gate and made his way over to your yellow front door. Gone were his nerves and his doubts, replaced with worry for you.

He knocked a few times but you didn’t answer.

It wasn’t until he started knocking on your window, calling out your name that he heard the front door unlock.

“Y/N?” he asked.

You had opened the door just a smidge, enough for you to be able to see who was so rude to disturb your peace and quiet.

“Merry?” you croaked.

Merry’s face went blank when he heard your raspy voice.

“Y/N? Are you alright? What’s wrong?!”

You winced at the volume of his voice, and one of your hands flew to the side of your head. “Shhhh,” you shushed him, stepping back into the darkness of your entrance hall and leaving the door open.

Merry hesitated for a second, not sure if he should follow. But if you didn’t want him to come inside, you would’ve closed the door or told him to go bugger off. Right?

Every curtain in the house was drawn, there weren’t any candles lit and Merry’s eyes needed some time to adjust to the lack of light before he could go any further.

As he entered your living room, his eyes widened at the state it was in. Books and scrolls scattered everywhere, like they were carelessly tossed aside without a second thought where they would end up. This was very unlike you.

He watched you curl up in your armchair with a heavy sigh, tucking your feet under you and burying yourself under your blanket. It was obvious he had woken you up, which explained the raspiness of your voice.

“This place is a mess, Y/N… ” “Yeah, thanks to you,” you accused him. “What did I do?” Merry looked at you confused. “You don’t have to yell, I can hear you just fine.” “Y/N, I’m not yelling,” he said, taking a few steps in your direction. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

You ignored his question.

“My living room looks like a troll horde because I was looking for that.”

You pointed towards the small wooden side table where, in between empty teacups and dirty plates, lay a thick book with a dark blue binder.

Merry recognized the silver lettering on the spine.

“Is that my book? The one that you borrowed from me… A year ago or so?””

You hummed in response, burying your head in your hands. “I know, I’m a horrible person!”

He chuckled. “Y/N, you’re hardly horrible. The complete opposite would be more accurate in fact.”

You raised your head a little too fast at his words and you winced.

“I’ll go and make you some tea,” Merry smiled at you and made his way to your kitchen, taking the dirty cups and plates with him.

He brought you a fresh cup of tea, almost tripping over the many books and paper scrolls on the floor in the process. You took a sip and winced when you burned your tongue.

“Careful, it’s hot. I thought that was a given,” Merry said, rolling his eyes in a playful geste.

He took the cup out of your hands and placed it on the side table before he crouched down in front of you.

“Now will you finally tell me what’s wrong? I cannot help if you won’t tell me.”

Merry’s eyes met yours and you noticed the concern in them. He didn’t even try to hide it.

“I hurt my head and now I can not bear any light or noise… And my stomach is upset for some reason. It’ll pass.”

Merry’s eyes widened. He did not know a lot about healing or injuries but he knew what it was like to have a concussion. It was that kind of knowledge you gathered over the years when you were friends with a Took.

“It sounds a lot like a concussion, Y/N. How did you hurt your head?”

“Long story short, I thought I lost your book. I did not want to tell you because you were going to be mad at me and I hate it when you’re mad at me-” “When have I ever been mad at you?” he interrupted. “Hush, I’m trying to explain something here. But then when I was lying upside down in my chair, I saw your book underneath my bookcase. That’s why I couldn’t find it!” “Should I ask why you were lying upside down?”

You raised an eyebrow at him and smirked. He would almost think your headache was gone, if not for the slight squinting of your eyes and your pale complexion.

“Do you really want to go there, Merry?” “Hey, if I’m missing out I want to know!” “It’s a great way to see things from a different perspective,” you explained with a smile, but it did not reach your eyes.

He rested his chin on his hand. “Hmm, i guess you could be right. Now, continue, what happened with the book?”

“When I tried to get the book - your book - from under the bookcase, I couldn’t. It was stuck. So I gave it a good yank, but then the whole thing started toppling over!” “So rude!” he gasped dramatically. “Right?” you laughed, and this time it did reach your eyes. Merry was happy to see you were slowly getting in better spirits and pride filled his chest knowing he was the reason behind it. “I was able to stop the case from falling over, but most of the books fell off the shelves. A few of them hit my head pretty hard.”

Merry nodded in understanding. “Hence the headache. And your troll horde.”

You huddled a little deeper under your blanket and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t feel like cleaning it up yet.” “When did this happen?”

You opened your eyes again but kept them trained on the ground.

“Two days ago…” “Two days- Y/N, have you been taking care of yourself these two days? You should’ve called someone!”

You scoffed.

“I know how to take care of myself, Merry. Besides, I was more asleep than anything else. I didn’t need help.” “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, Y/N. There are people who care for you, you only have to let them in.”

The silence that followed was deafening and Merry wondered if he had said too much.

He jolted back to his feet and clapped his hands before he could help it. You flinched and groaned softly, cursing him.

“I’m sorry!” Merry apologized quickly. “I forgot! I was about to tell you what I planned and I got excited. I’ll try and be good from now on.”

“We both know that’s impossible,” you chuckled. Merry was relieved you weren’t angry with him.

“I’m going to the Green Dragon first, Pippin is probably wondering why I didn’t show up and I don’t want to make him worried. After that I’m coming back, okay? Then I’ll clean up your books so you don’t break your neck. In the meantime, you try and get some more sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

He turned around and stepped into the hallway, but paused when you called his name.

“Merry?” “Yeah?” “You’re the best friend someone could wish for,” you smiled, fighting to keep your eyes open.

“So I’ve been told...”

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#Merry x reader #Merry x gn!reader #Merry x you #Merry Brandybuck #Meriadoc Brandybuck #Lord of the rings #Lotr fanfiction #Lotr imagine #Lord of the rings x reader #Guardianofrivendell 1k sleepover #Lord of the rings imagine #lotr #requested

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beevean · 4 years

Text

SEGA and its most recent Sonamy side – more canon than ever

[Translator’s note: this article was originally written in Spanish by @latin-dr-robotnik]

Hello again! Today we’d like to discuss about something that’s been happening recently, and probably taking Sonic fans by surprise: what is going on with SEGA and its stance about Sonamy?

At the beginning of this year, to celebrate the 200 articles on Seaside Hill Paradise, I finished what I call “the Sonamy trilogy” of articles that I started in 2018 and which cover different themes, such as:

SEGA and the eternal issue of the Sonic-Amy dynamic

“I love you” – Forbidden words in Sonic

SEGA and the eternal issue of “Sonic’s girlfriend”

The idea was to offer a more-or-less complete analysis about the many facets of their dynamic in the last 27 years; a dynamic that, you may have noticed, is not that easy to pin down, and that we’ve been updating almost regularly (although I also intended to investigate on other dynamics, like Knuckles and Rouge’s for example, and write about them). Generally speaking, in these articles I don’t draw objective conclusions about the status of the ship in canon (despite the fact that the available information tends to confirm it in various occasions). I also like to repeat myself and say that shipping is supposed to be for fun, not for tearing each other’s hair in that black hole of misery that is Twitter, but recent events left us slightly perplexed, and this is why we’re here once again.

We left the status of the Sonamy canonicity with these two peculiar instances back in August: Sonic mentioning his “girlfriend” in the Japanese version of Sonic Battle, and the Twitter account of SEGA of Europe saying Sonamy is their “favorite videogame romance”. Now, let’s recap a bit…

Sonamy in Sonic IDW... Round 3

[SPOILERS ALERT FOR IDW SONIC #14-#35]

In 2018, when IDW just started, I decided to study a little how the Sonamy dynamic worked in this new universe. To our surprise, the comic didn’t waste time in dropping its biggest bomb, in one of the cutest scenes we had seen in ages. Since the very beginning, IDW proved that it didn’t intend to deceive those fans that looked for a bit of development of both characters.

I wrote an article about it in June 2019, and it coincided with the beginning of one of the most infamous arc I’ve seen in a Sonic comic for a long time: the Metal Virus Saga. The question is, what has happened since then?

Well, in 2019, with the same accuracy of an aimbot, I said “We’ll probably see some new interactions between Sonic and Amy sometime around IDW #20”. And wouldn’t you know, as misery and tragedy settled in that arc, it was exactly around IDW #20 that we saw some Sonamy interactions: both exhausted, to their limit, with a Sonic that couldn’t even touch Amy to soothe her pain, due to him being infected with the virus.

The arc developed like this in what felt like an eternity, to finally conclude in one the most absurd ways in Sonic history. But it wasn’t a complete disappointment, as, after months and months of asking and discussing on the internet about how much Sonic and Amy deserved a hug at the end of the arc… it actually happened.

Since that moment in IDW #32, we shippers thought that it was what both of them deserved after so much time spent separated and pushed to their limit to survive, but also that after the end of the arc everything would go back to normal. However, what we didn’t know was that the Sonamy train had no intention of stopping, not in IDW, nor anywhere else.

A recurring detail in IDW Sonic is that Amy’s tail starts wagging every time she sees Sonic, as if she was a happy dog. I swear, it happens every time.

Come IDW #35, once again we have some hugs and bits of dialogue between our hedgehogs. For sure, the question here isn’t their relationship itself, as it was for IDW #2, but rather the issues this arc is slowly dealing with. But it’s really nice to see them again, sharing that closeness that they’ve had in the comic since the beginning– be it with some gestures of affection, a wink, a gesture, a private joke.

My favorite image is the first one, Belle’s reaction to seeing Amy hugging Sonic. It’s like she’s thinking “oh, is she his girlfriend?”, and she wouldn’t even be wrong in thinking that.

It can’t be denied that IDW Sonic provided us the conversations and the emotions that the games seldom do. Certainly, the comic has its share of issues and it’s not really a story that I personally follow for its own merits (it’s more because it’s still Sonic, for my interest for things like this, and Belle’s existence… whom I already ship with Tails, sorry not sorry), but what it does well it does really well.

For now, we have to see how IDW Sonic will follow the development of the characters, especially in view of the closure of the current story and beyond. And we may be done with this part of the article, but there is still a lot left.

Sonamy in merchandise

Taking us completely by surprise, recently SEGA launched, in collaboration with Hot Topic, a series of Sonamy-themed t-shirts. No, seriously.

So many people told me this as soon as the voice spread (you know who you are, thank you guys for thinking about me <3), and I can’t help being still surprised that this is actually a thing. T-shirts with lines like “You’re my favorite”, “Love in the fast lane”, and my personal favorite, “S&A Forever”, with drawings of Classic Sonic and Amy… in SEGA-approved products. I don’t know if you realize how much of a big deal this is, even more than “Celebrate the 25 years of Sonic’s girlfriend” from 2018.

One of the things that surprised me the most (aside from how explicit they are in officializing the relationship, and the fact that there are still 2 months left before Valentine’s Day 2021), was the decision to use Classic Sonic and Classic Amy. I tried to understand this decision by analyzing the simplicity and easiness with which the Classic designs convey a message (let’s not forget that Classic Sonic was so iconic because it was specifically designed to convey his expressions without words), besides the fact that they’re inherently cuter than their modern designs. There’s also the controversial aspect of post-Adventure Sonamy, with all the dubbing and weird interpretations that the fandom made over the years… By comparison, the Classic design are a much simpler choice.

What is actually going on?

Well, let’s take a step back and think about what we just saw. The way SEGA has been recently trying to push Sonic and Amy in front view (and for the entirety of 2020, based on the articles I mentioned in the beginning) tells us the harsh truth we all have to accept sooner or later: Sonamy sells, and it sells a lot.

From a strictly business point of view, the ship is so iconic and popular, with fans and detractors alike, that it would be absurd for SEGA to ignore the chance to print these two characters and get a load of money. As I said in my 2018 article, despite the fact that in Japan Sonic isn’t as big of an icon as it is elsewhere, they know pretty well that Sonic + Amy = love, and they have huge amounts of merchandise to back it up. It’s in the West that because of different cultural values, of which we’ve already talked about, along with some internal resistance, left this aspect of the franchise a little on the side. But they’ve been trying to fix it… and how…

Let’s not forget that a decade and a half ago Sonic Team seriously favored Sonamy. They officially said it, Sonic X was their purest view of Sonic they had at the time.

Outside of the business perspective, I believe we’re facing the moment that we’ve been waiting for: it’s time they’ll establish once and for all the dynamic of these two characters, following more closely the original Japanese vision of Sonic. I said many times that, in trying to change canon, the West, especially SEGA of America, did nothing but confuse fans and generate more discussions than needed, by introducing different data and portrayals that contradict the canon established by Sonic Team.

We’ve talked about Unleashed and emotional support, about Sonic X, about the major moments that opened the door to interpreting this dynamic as something more. We don’t threaten at gunpoint those who would rather stay away, but we respond to those declarations that still try to violently discredit the simple fact that Sonic and Amy, who are most of all close friends, form in some measure a couple that, even with its imposed limitations, manages to captivate fans and not fans everywhere in the world. Even the Simpsons used it as a joke, and that says a lot.

What the future has in store for us.

Unless something else happens in this last month of 2020, this is the most complete compilation I can offer at the moment about the status of Sonamy in the fandom and in the official canon. Yes, canon.

It’s impossible to ignore the signals. As you may have noticed, I’ve been considering Sonic and Amy as an official couple, with its clarifications (for example, that at the end it’s more of a friendship, that it’s not a romantic relationship in the most explicit way, that it’s more of a personal perspective to justify a more mature vision of the relationship in the future, not right now), but nowadays I think that SEGA has spoken loud and clear. I think canon is ready to negotiate the idea that Sonic and Amy, apart from being excellent friends who would risk their lives for each other in a heartbeat, have something else on their hands (probably the other’s hand). This won’t automatically translate into a kiss, or a complete love declaration (although Sonic X came close…), or a commitment to a formal relationship like we know them in real life. SEGA canon affirms that Amy is “Sonic’s girlfriend” and nothing more. Outside of that detail, they still pretty much function as friends interacting with a little flirting here, and a little Sonic running away there. It’s the basis of their dynamic, now enhanced by the fact that SEGA is giving us a clearer message.

I think that this all may culminate in a game or an animated series, but I wouldn’t completely count on that. It is good to recognize how far the official position goes on this issue, but at the same time I want to reaffirm that there are things that are better left in the hands of the fandom, and in the meantime that IDW or any other continuity gives us hugs, winks, gestures and words of encouragement, we as the fandom will take care of exploring other avenues and hypothetical scenarios.

This is all I have to say on the matter for now, and I hope you’re happy with this wonderful Sonamy experience we’re going through – I certainly am. See you next time!

#sonic the hedgehog #sonamy #amy rose #translation #long post #whew #this one was a doozy #but super interesting #thanks again latin for writing these long ass sonamy posts

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choosing-criminalminds · 3 years

Text

One More Time

Summary: Their love was years and years in the making, and even when prison quickly builds back up the walls they worked so hard to break down, Spencer learns just how strong the foundation of their trust is.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader(ish) -> told mostly in the 3rd person, from Spencer’s POV

Category: angst (?)

Warnings: mentions of character death (Maeve, Gideon), mentions of blood (Maeve’s death), slight panic/anxiety, language -> let me know if there are any more to add!

Also, un-beta’d, we die like the trash we are.

Length: 5.6k

A/N: Okay yeah so first post. So…this turned out much longer than expected? This is for Ellie’s ( @spenciebabie ) writing contest/celebration and goodness I’m so nervous because I’ve barely written, much less posted, anything in years. Anyway, I guss I decided to challenge myself to write this? I hope you guys like it?

Also, if anyone wants a new friend, please hit me up because I’m too shy to say hello myself.

Prompt was: “Why don’t you make me?”

-*-*-*-

“Trust has to be earned, and should come only after the passage of time.”

—Arthur Ashe

-*-*-*-

For all his genius, Spencer didn’t know what to make of the fact that he found himself inexplicably drawn to her.

It wasn’t until years down the line that he realized he had been exceptionally aware of her since they met, carefully observing, cataloguing the way she so gently and kindly defied every expectation and pushed past every preconceived notion he had of her. By then, she had already settled in a little corner of his heart and helped seal the cracks in his life that he didn’t even know existed.

But when she first joined the team as an intern, he was more than a little reluctant to get to know her. It was during the summer between her college graduation and the start of her graduate studies, and she seemed too worldly, too perfect. She wasn’t like the girls from high school, or even college, for that matter, who were simply mean. On the contrary, she was wonderfully polite and incredibly ambitious, intelligent, and very much the type of girl that was far too out of his league, one that wouldn’t spare him a second glance before continuing down whatever focused path she was on.

That’s why he planned to avoid her as much as possible her first day in the office. She had, thankfully, spent the morning in Hotch’s office, since he was her official supervisor, but when he saw them about to emerge right before lunch, he panicked, muttered a random excuse, and shuffled out of the bullpen, leaving a bemused Derek and Elle in his wake.

It didn’t help that he was ducking out of rooms while JJ was giving her a quick tour and making introductions, and almost every member of the team had cornered him, encouraging him to talk to her, to befriend her due to their closeness in age. (“She’s only what? Two-ish years younger than you?” When he mumbled that exact date, Penelope had broken into a large, wicked grin, poking him teasingly in the cheek. Gratefully, she held back any further comment.)

Spencer had blinked, a little surprised, when Penelope Garcia, who generally disliked change, had only good things to say. Remarkably humble about her achievements, and not in the standoffish fake way, Penelope commented after admitting she had run a background check on her. Genuine, and quite sweet.

Polite, Derek had said, if a little quiet, trying to see where she fits in the team dynamic. You should reach out, be a friend, he suggested.(Spencer ignored the very pretty slipped somewhere in the comment, as well as the knowing smile shot his direction when he felt his cheeks flushing.)

A surprisingly wicked sense of humor, was all Elle said with a sly smile. (Spencer chose to ignore that too.)

And when Spencer tentatively asked the man, Jason Gideon, a man of generally few words, had spoken of her, however briefly, with surprising fondness, because of course Gideon had met her when she was a child, because of course her uncle now headed legal three floors up, and of course her uncle was the last third of the BAU’s Holy Trinity, of which Gideon and Rossi were a part of.

You’ll get along very nicely.

Spencer was incredibly intimidated, to say the least.

And then when he couldn’t avoid her anymore (because of course they were desked next to each other), all it took for her was noticeably catching herself from extending a hand, then offering a small little wave and a nervous smile to leave him breathless. (He pointedly ignored the look knowing look JJ shot him.)

He tried to stifle the little seed of hope—that she definitely wasn’t interested in him, and her saccharine smile was nothing more than a false front to make a positive impression during a lucrative FBI internship meant only to bolster her resume—but the resolve crumbled quickly. She turned out to be so genuinely kind and sweetly humble that Spencer cursed the fact that the internship lasted only through that summer.

It also certainly didn’t help, either, that the very first thought he had when meeting her was a single word.

Pretty.

-*-*-*-

It was almost ridiculous how well she got along with everyone in the office.

She clearly made it a mission to make the most of the time she had and was more than willing to put in the work and prove her worth. Although she was technically Hotch’s intern and her main role was to assist the core field team, Spencer watched as she managed to get on absolutely everyone’s good graces through a combination of unassuming charm, sharp wit, and willingness to learn and to help that was so uniquely her.

For Spencer, it meant that she happily listened to what he had to say, encouraging him to continue when appropriate or saving a quiet question for later when it wasn’t. When she told him that she enjoyed listening to him talk, Spencer was taken aback, stuttering as he tried to figure out if she was only saying that to be polite. She gave him a gracious smile, ensured that she “quite honestly enjoyed” listening to him, and proceeded to ask a few well-timed and well-pointed questions to smoothly nudge him back to their previous topic.

Spencer stared at her, slack-jawed, then smiled bashfully, and allowed himself to hope.

(He definitely didn’t know what to do with the fact that when she knowingly reached out to his hand resting on the table and lightly tapped the back of his hand, he didn’t have his typical knee-jerk desire to pull away. He also mostly certainly didn’t know what to do with the fact that when her thumb grazed over his knuckles to sooth the tension he didn’t even realize he had, he felt an inexplicable calm ease into his very bones.)

-*-*-*-

“It’ll take a good five, six years to finish my J.D./Ph.D., but Hotch offered me an open invitation to join the team when I do, and I’m more than inclined to take his offer when the time comes.”

Spencer peered at her, breathing out a sigh of relief that he didn’t realize he was holding. It was the last day of her internship, and she was making the rounds to say her thank you’s and goodbyes individually to the members of the team. He was the last one, and he had been dreading the conversation the entire day.

While he wouldn’t describe what he felt for her as anything beyond a genuine, platonic friendship—in the grand scheme of things, they’d only known each other for ten weeks—their easy companionship had become very dear to him. And he was terrified and nervous that her time with the BAU would be just a small chapter in her life before she moved on to the bigger and better things, leaving him behind as a fond but distant memory.

She laughed softly at his surprise, before it trailed off into a sigh. She then took a deep breath and asked. “Do you trust me?” Spencer looked at her, a bit dumbfounded. Did he trust her? Her gaze was heavy on him and the question weighty, a gentle demand for an honest answer. Did he trust her? Yes, he did, he supposed, they were friends. Right? He breathed in deeply, squared his shoulders just a bit, and answered in the affirmative.

As if she sensed his hesitance, his unease, she gave him a knowing look and took one of his hands into hers, fingers brushing over fingers, before hooking her pinky around his. “Because I promise you, Spencer Reid, I’ll be back, right here. You’ll be waiting for me, yeah?”

He looked at her in awe, the dim light of the nearly-empty office reflecting off her kind eyes. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled so brilliantly that he nearly forgot to breathe, to answer. To answer. He smiled back, twitchy, introspective, and considered the weight of her question. He nodded and responded simply.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She managed to remain on the Bureau’s consulting payroll over the next several years, though she was primarily based in the Bay Area as she finished her graduate studies at Stanford. The team as a whole still went to her for a fresh perspective when needed; she video called in to help on cases when necessary and met up in person if a case called them to California.

He knew that she kept in touch with JJ, Penelope, and Derek, and that Hotch and Emily (whom she met shortly after Emily joined the team and a case brought them to LA) were also friendly, if professional, contacts. Spencer himself was known to receive the odd phone call from her.

However, what had Spencer almost covetously pleased was that they had something they shared exclusively between the two of them, because she had steadfastly kept her promise to write to him.

-*-*-*-

Her letters were as beautiful as they were constant, and Spencer handled and read each one with care.

Her handwriting suited her; while it generally was neat and clear little scrawl, he knew it would get a little freer, and little loopier when she was tired, if she was particularly excited, or if she found herself a bit tipsy. (And yet she still managed to always write in an almost perfectly straight line even on a blank sheet of paper. He was envious, and when he told her as such, he could hear the laughter in her response as she wrote it a little more wobbly than usual.) And while he knew her to be tilted more on the quiet, introverted side of the scale, she had a way with the written word, each phrase poetic and thoughtful.

And they were remarkably therapeutic to write in return, Spencer found. Their initial letters mostly consisted of light banter about their mutual and individual interests, updates on the progress of her research (sprinkled amusing tidbits of her exasperation and frustration), bits and pieces about his cases and updates on and amusing anecdotes about the team.

However, over time, he slowly opened up to her, about his fears, his hopes, his dreams. And when he hesitantly divulged bits and pieces about the drugs, his mother, the headaches, he felt the relief in his entire body when she responded with empathy and grace. In turn, she did the same. She was vulnerable, she was open, and as wonderful and quite near perfect as he knew her to be, he was pleased to find her so incredibly human.

Those letters he slowed down to read, committing them to memory with more intention.

(He kept her letters in the drawer of his desk at his apartment, and eventually moved them to a specially designated box when he needed more room. When he learned that she did the same, he couldn’t help the tender warmth that fluttered in his chest. He still didn’t know what to do with the feeling.)

-*-*-*-

They say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

It took six years, and an additional five months at the Academy (and then another few weeks as she was introduced to the legal team, with whom she would also be working with in her role as legal liaison), but she kept her promise and found her way back to the BAU, and it was like she was never gone.

This time, in her re-introduction to the team, she was a breath of fresh air.

When she approached him individually with a nervous smile, she reached out, then hesitated, and a sense of déjà vu washed over Spencer. But then, she had placed a hand on his elbow, and when she smiled, he breathed in a sense of peace and familiarity, of comfort.

“You waited.”

He smiled back, and in a rather forward gesture on his part, he adjusted so he could take the hand on his arm into his.

“Always.”

-*-*-*-

She was too good for him.

Whatever relationship they had—Spencer didn’t know what to call it, though friendship seem too trivial of a word for it—he knew it was too good, too perfect to last.

Because in a cruel twist of fate, her first case back on the team, however unofficial it was, was Maeve.

He was hyperaware of the neutral expression on her face when he finally brought his fears to the team. To anyone else she would seem serene and put together, but to him the slight sag in her shoulders and the realization transitioning to acceptance were clear as day. Spencer never mentioned Maeve to her in their letters, but later, in retrospect, he believed she had an inkling, at the very least. You seem happier, she had written, once, not too long after he first became acquainted with Maeve, and that makes me happy.

Did it? Then he didn’t want to know what his misery would do to her because then, Maeve died, and in his grief over another woman, he fought desperately to push her away.

She could share his happiness, but he refused to let her share his pain, his brokenness. She did not deserve that, and he would not be the one to destroy the beauty and sunshine and hope she brought everywhere with her.

But when they finally took Maeve’s body away, and when the blurred commotion of sirens and law enforcement and emergency services and constant hammering of half-hearted condolences and check-ins finally died down, he felt the blanket around his shoulders be adjusted, and a now-familiar pair of hands take in his own, firm, and refusing to ever let go. Thumbs traced over his knuckles as soothingly as he remembered, and only then did he begin to vaguely process the fact those hands had been tucked into his almost the entire evening, anchoring him through the haze and the fog.

As if on cue, she squeezed his hand gently, like she knew exactly when he was slowly becoming aware of her presence, and he suddenly found he lacked the strength to do what he initially intended.

Still dazed, he felt her shift, and she was kneeling on the ground in front of him where he sat on the curb, and softly drew him into a hug. Any form of resistance he previously had dissolved; he clung to her, tears stinging his eyes once again.

It’s okay, I’m here, I’ll stay, she whispered, I’ll stay, always and always.

Just don’t push me away.

“I-” His voice cracked. “I loved her.”

He paused, his voice weakening.

“I love her...”

Hands ran soothingly through his hair.

“I know.”

She always did.

“…so much.”

He didn’t need to see her face to realize that she was crying with him, for him—he could feel her trying to contain the trembling in her chest, trying desperately to remain composed. He tried to do the same, but when she tilted her head and let him bury his face into her neck, Spencer finally felt fresh tears begin to flow, and he allowed her to take his face into her hands and chase the tears with her fingers.

And Spencer wept freely, first for death of the woman he loved, and then for the tears and the grief he caused the one person he could call his kindred spirit, his soulmate.

-*-*-*-

He healed, slowly.

There were good days, when the thought of Maeve did not stir up memories of blood and fear and gunshots but, rather, of auburn hair and admiration and hushed conversations on the phone. On those days, he felt like he was no longer haunted by a ghost and could finally begin to move on. On those days, he could slow down, appreciate the small things again, and focus on how a pair of familiar, steady hands pulled him out of the past, anchored him in the present, and allowed him to hope about the future.

But then there were the bad days when her touch scalded and burned his skin. The warmth and the pulse of blood rushing through her veins and the germs on her hands and her life was overwhelming because Maeve was dead and cold and gone. So, with every glare and with every sharp comment aimed at where he knew it would hurt, he finally made good on his desire to push her away.

It was on those days the bitter voice in the back of his mind whispered how it was supposed to be Maeve, not her, there alive with him, holding his hand as they faced the world.

It was also on those days he chose to disregard the regret that settled in the pit of his stomach each time he heard his own biting voice, and disregard the horror brought on by even thinking of wishing she were dead instead. He began to ignore the tremble in her hands when she reached out to him and brushed her fingers against his in concern, and he ignored how she gradually began pulling back, hesitant, nervous that her touch would be unwarranted, unwanted. He certainly ignored the unconscious flex in his hand, the ache for the reassurance and comfort he had become so accustomed to—

He ignored it all until he woke up, one night, to an empty bed, and a sudden surge of panic rushed through his body and bile rose in his throat. She was right there, when he fell asleep, giving him a small smile and nod when he asked if she could read to him, to stay the night. Now, without a word, she was gone, she was gone, shewasgone and Spencer could feel the tightness in his chest and tears sting his eyes when realized that the only one to blame was himself, himself, himself.

Why, he thought bitterly, why was he like this? Why must he try to push away every good thing in his life?

But then, there he stood, barely aware of the tears on his cheeks and ice running through his veins, as he found her curled up on his couch, franticly wiping away her own silent tears and exhaustion from her eyes. He stumbled forward, upset, upset at himself because he made her cry again. And when she flinched when he cradled her face in his hands, apologizing to him, he nearly choked back a sob, his hands trembling as he tried to wipe away the tears that did not belong on her face.

Neither of them went back to sleep that night, and Spencer began to realize just how strong she was, as she gently told him through her tears the hard truths of his situation and where she stood in relation to him.

I can’t fight with a ghost, she had murmured hoarsely, but I can work with her legacy and her memory.

And then, with a pinky wrapped around his, she promised that she would be there to help him through it, but the only way was if, and only if, he let her.

It was that night (or, rather, morning, as the sun rose) that he began to come to terms that, whether he deserved it or not, she—and her pure and unadulterated goodness—was more or less a permanent fixture in his life, and he felt more at peace than he had in ages. And when the early rays of sunlight filtered through his windows and caught her in a soft glow, he found himself once again in awe. He reached out, hesitantly, and his heart soared when he felt the familiar pressure of her hand slipping into his.

She was steadfast and loyal and strong. She was brave, she was patient, she was kind. Moreover, she was alive, she was breathing, and she was here, present, by his side. It took time, and more painful conversations and more painful realizations, but eventually, the good days were a bit more consistent, the sun just a bit brighter, and his breathing a just bit freer with her hand pressed firmly into his own, her pulse thrumming beneath his fingers until his heartbeat synced with hers.

And Spencer was finally learning, learning about what to do with the fact that with her by his side, he felt like he could truly face the world.

-*-*-*-

Face the world he did.

When Gideon died, he felt his hand twitch, and the compulsion to escape and hide tugged at the back of his mind, and an old, nearly forgotten itch made its way from the crook of his elbow, slowly ebbing into in his veins and nagging in the crevices of the back of the mind.

But when he felt her hand slip into his, he felt it abate, the tension in his muscles eased. When her lips twitched into a knowing, gentle smile, he could see the underlying grief and frustration. Of course. She had known Gideon just as well as he did, if not better.

He breathed deeply and smiled back. It was weak, it was twitchy, and it was sad, but it was a smile, nonetheless. He wasn’t in this alone.

-*-*-*-

They were seated on a large blanket in a secluded park in D.C. on one of their rare days off when she pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, and suddenly it seemed like all the right pieces finally fell into place.

And when she whispered those three little words, and everything made sense. He looked up from where he laid, and again he was breathless at how the setting sun caught in her hair and reflected off her skin and her eyes. But then, when he opened his mouth to respond, the same three little words caught in his throat and his breath hitched, and he wanted to cry. He wanted to respond, to let her know that her feelings were returned, but the words failed him.

“It’s okay,” she murmured softly, and he trembled as he felt her hands cupping his face and fingers gracing over his cheekbones, “if you don’t reciprocate; I’ll live. But I just wanted to let you know–know that I’ll be by your side no matter what happens.”

It wasn’t until they were at the door of her apartment, when he found the strength to push past the nerves and respond.

“I do re-reciprocate, and I want–I want to say it, because I do,” he stuttered out, “but I just…don’t know how to say it yet.”

He suddenly felt like a prepubescent schoolboy, nervous and quaking and terrified. But then, magnetic as she was, she brought his gaze back to her face, and her knowing smile breathed air back into his lungs. His heart blossomed, and the fingers rubbing circles into his hand anchored his attention on her. “Then I’ll wait until you can. Always. Forever.” She paused. “Do you trust me?”

Spencer peered up at her, brows furrowed. Unbidden, the memory of the first time she asked him the same question floated to the front of his mind, and he couldn’t help the breath of amusement. The question caught him off guard, but this time, when he found his voice it was resolute, quick, and sure.

Yes.

He felt a pinky hook around his, and the now-familiar warmth bubbled in his chest.

“Good, because it’s a promise I intend to keep.”

This time, the tears her fingers caught were those of appreciation and relief.

-*-*-*-

And then, the sun set, and prison happened.

-*-*-*-

At first, it was easy to ignore.

Prison changed him. He knew it did, and he knew that she wasn’t naïve to the fact either. He was a bit harder, a bit more defensive, and while he tried his best not to show it, he knew she could see the darkness had just a little bit more of an edge. He was well aware of how she watched him just a bit more closely.

It seemed alright at first. It took a while for him to adjust; there were certainly bumps and bruises along the way, along with some admittedly choice words exchanged in frustration, but that was expected.

But he supposed it was the small things, and small things add up.

The first week her hand naturally slipped into his like nothing’d changed, but his grip was tighter and more desperate than normal, like she’d disappear or slip through his fingers if he didn’t. At the same time, he was also too terrified to touch her otherwise, as if she’d break like glass if his grip on her waist was just a bit too tight.

She never commented, gave him space, and allowed him to initiate physical contact.

She didn’t need to know, he rationalized, it wasn’t her burden to bear.

Then he began to hold her at arm’s length. She pushed, gently, and he pushed back, harder. He knew she was only trying to help, but he needed to figure it out for himself, lest he hurt her again. She only sighed, and relented. While her concern was apparent with how she watched him with just a little more unease, she gave him space.

However, while she was an exceptionally patient person, there was only so much distance and space one could handle. When she reached out, worried, and pressed just a little harder, he withdrew completely, and his rationalization slowly evolved. Stop hovering. Don’t need you treating me like I’m broken. Don’t need your pity.He ignored the pain that flashed in her eyes, the quiet desperation in her voice whenever she called after him after he refused to listen, and the increasingly familiar ache in his entire body when he began to avoid and refuse her touch.

It was the small things, because when the nightmares started, it wasn’t so easy to ignore.

-*-*-*-

“—eathe, Spencer. That’s good, breathe.”

The mumbled affirmations continued as he slowly processed his surroundings.

Queen-sized bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Breathe in. Goose-feather down pillows. A firmer memory foam pillow that smelled of her shampoo. Breathe out.

Safety.

He was still bleary-eyed when he sunk back down, burying half his face in the pillows and ashamed as he mumbled a quiet apology. Her voice was kind, understanding, telling him it was alright as she tucked a stray lock of curls away from his face. When he seemed to settle back down, her hand gentle rested on his jaw, thumb absently tracing his cheekbone.

“Do you want to talk—”

“No.”

She frowned, sighed, took a moment to flick on the lamp light and collect her thoughts; he could see, through his lashes, the gears turning in her head about how to proceed. Meanwhile, he heaved a sighed, and sat up against the headboard. His eyes closed, doing the same as her. She then reached out, touched his hand, grazed her thumb over his knuckles and drew circles on the back. It started slow, hesitant—she was surprised that he didn’t recoil, and frankly, so was he—but the motion was familiar, grounding, so he let her continue. He knew it helped her focus as well.

“Spence, you’re…you need to talk to someone—it doesn’t have to be me! But bottling it up all inside, it’s clearly tearing you apart.”

“I agreed to start talking with my therapist, haven’t I?”

His voice was flat, defensive.

“But you haven’t, and…knowing you, you won’t be telling them the whole truth.” His jaw tightened and his lips pursed, his hand gripping the sheets flexed, and he looked away from her, intently staring at a random point in the room that wasn’t her. As always, she seemed to know him far too well.

She let out a breath of a sigh; she knew he was beginning to shut her out again. Her free hand lifted to his shoulder, rested in the crook of his neck.

“I’ve told you before, that you’ve started to shut people out. I know–I know you’re so, so strong, but you don’t have to face it alone. You don’t need to hold the weight of the world on your shoulders; we’re not as fragile as you seem to think we are.” She paused, contemplating. “If you need someone with distance that you can trust, call Derek, call Hotch, even, but remember, Spence, I made you a promise: I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

When he didn’t answer, still staring off into the mid-distance, she sighed.

“I’ll leave, give you some space. Think about it.”

She was at the bedroom door when he finally cleared his throat and responded. His voice was bitter as he bit out: “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that.”

A quiet ‘wha–’slipped from her lips as she angled toward him as he shifted to sit on the edge of the bed, hands gripping the sheets tightly.

“If you want to leave, fine. You seem to be doing that quite well recently. The door’s right there and you don’t have to come back until you want to make me a charity case again. But if you want me to talk, if you think you can handle it, then be my guest. Take a seat and why don’t you make me?”

He instantly regretted the words, but some dark part of his mind as pleased that he could see the anger and annoyance spark through her as she inhaled deeply and slowly turn around to face him in full. “I will if that’s what it will take.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened.

“You don’t have the fucking guts.”

A brief moment passed as she took him in full, eyes flashing. Spencer raised his gaze, challenging, daring her, and then, the same, shadowed part of his mind was savagely happy that he had finally gotten a rise out of her, because she bit back with venom.

“Fucking try me.”

And then, he watched her warily as she visibly froze, then deflate, her jaw tightening and eyes welling with unshed tears as she stumbled backward to the door.

“But–but not like this. Not like this. I’m–I’m so sorry you didn’t–you don’t deserve…” Her voice was quiet, but it was hitched with a swirl of emotions Spencer couldn’t pinpoint, and he was suddenly aware of the hot tears dripping down his cheeks. “I’m going–I’m going to go…” He heard the doorknob turn, and suddenly the sound of gunshots rang in his ears, and he could the taste the metallic bitterness as blood and dead brown eyes filled his vision.

Wait. Wai- She was halfway out the door when he called out, voice cracking, and through blurred tears he saw her shut the door and shuffled and stumbled back into the room toward him, kneeling in front of him. Through the ringing in his ears, he could hear the whispers of his name and the urgency of the apologies. And then his eyes fluttered closed when she reached up to brush the tears away, and the motion opened the floodgates. It was one of the many little touches they shared—thumbs wiping over cheeks and hands cupping faces—and he had half a mind to shove her aside, but dear God he hadn’t felt it in far too long; he leaned, almost desperately, into her touch and he could hear her sniffling back her own tears.

Fuck.

He was always like this.

His passive aggressiveness was his defense mechanism; he lashed out blindly whenever he felt vulnerable, not caring who he hurt and how much. It was something she had been helping him work through, and he thought he was getting better, but here he was, hurting her because of it again.

Not like this.

He barely noticed that she had pulled him into a tender hug, but now that he did process the warmth of her embrace seeping into his bones, he wanted to push it away. He didn’t – he didn’t deserve this but now she was pulling back, and it sent a brief course of panic through his body, a fear that she was pulling away, away from him, away from the darkness and shadows that loomed permanently over him. He wouldn’t blame her, but–but…oh.

Her eyes always spoke volumes for her, and now that she had firmly tilted his chin up, her gaze firm, resolved.

“I know you are feeling vulnerable, and I know that you believe you can do this on your own.” She breathed in deeply. In turn he gazed up at her through his tears, as evenly as he could, and she met it without wavering. “You are strong, Spencer Reid, so, so strong, been so for so long. But…but I made a promise that I would always be by your side, and I’m never going to break it. So please.” Her voice hitched, and his breath caught in his throat. “Please, trust in me, one more time. Just one more time.”

Moments ticked by to the time of his heartbeat before he finally nodded, and the relief and the elation in her eyes soothed the dull pain inside his heart. This time, he drew her into his arms and into his lap and sighed as he leaned into the crook of her neck.

Thank you.

I love you, too.

-*-*-*-

“Have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

—Maya Angelou

-*-*-*-

#spenciebabiesficcontest #joy's writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x fem!BAU!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic

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ibijau · 3 years

Text

Futures past pt10 / on AO3

Nie Huaisang gets in a bit of trouble with Jin Zixun

A week after returning from Yunping City, Nie Huaisang still hadn’t had a single chance to spend time with Su She, which was starting to thoroughly annoy him. His friend had been punished for getting into a fight with one of the guest students, and so hadn’t had time at all for Nie Huaisang. At the same time, Lan Xichen had been too busy to actually give those promised music lessons yet, though they had decided on a date for the first one which Lan Xichen has promised he would free himself for. But even with this to look forward to, Nie Huaisang still felt lonely and missed his actual friend.

Which meant that when one afternoon he found Su She waiting for him at the door of the classroom at the end of the day’s lecture, Nie Huaisang was thrilled. There was a lot he wanted to chat about with Su She, and some candies he’d bought in Yunping City to share, and he had to announce that he too was learning music now, and…

“What’s that merchant’s son doing here again?” Jin Zixun asked, pushing Nie Huaisang to the side so he could get to the door first, planting himself in front of Su She. “Hey, what are you doing here? Got something to sell this time?”

Nie Huaisang froze.

He didn’t like Jin Zixun.

Of course, that didn’t mean much. Everyone disliked Jin Zixun, as far as he could tell. The other guest students didn’t like him. The teachers didn’t like him. Even the other Jin kids who’d come with him didn’t like him, and only pretended otherwise when he was around to threaten them. Apparently his uncle and his cousin liked him well enough but they were the only ones, while his aunt preferred to see as little of him as possible, for obvious reasons.

Nobody liked Jin Zixun, but nobody could really stand up to him either, except some of the older Lan disciples, the Lan Jades if they were around, and of course Lan Qiren who remained convinced he could turn even that bully into a decent person and wouldn't put up with misbehaviour from anyone.

Su She, who already stood at the bottom of the pecking order in his own sect, couldn't do much when harassed by someone like that. He still had a faint bruise on the side of his face from his last encounter with Jin Zixun, but just clenched his fists and gritted his teeth and didn't dare say anything. It was what worked when other Lans teased him, he’d told Nie Huaisang before. It was what all Lans were taught to do when confronted with someone rude who tried to bully them.

But Jin Zixun was no Lan, and laughed at this demonstration of fortitude.

“So, are you selling or buying?” he mocked, pushing Su She around. “If you’re buying, I know where you can get pills to improve your cultivation. Then maybe it won’t be so obvious to everyone that you’re just a merchant’s son, right? Or maybe they will. The love of gold never goes away, right?”

“You’d know that, being a Jin,” someone said.

To Nie Huaisang’s consternation, the person turned out to be himself.

It was just that someone had to say something, right? And the teacher, that day, wasn’t Lan Qiren. If it had been, Jin Zixun would never have dared to behave like this, Nie Huaisang knew. But it was another Lan elder who had taught them, one who’d given them a few lectures before and whose attitude had made it clear he thought it beneath him to teach a bunch of outsiders. He’d never intervened before when there had been skirmishes between them unless they got too loud, and it was unlikely he’d come to the defence of a Lan disciple he probably also saw as unworthy. So someone had to do something.

Nie Huaisang hated being the one having to do anything.

He hated it even more when Jin Zixun swirled around toward him, one arm raised to punch him in the face…

But the punch didn’t come. Jin Zixun was a bully but he wasn’t an idiot, so he just grabbed Nie Huaisang by the collar, lifting him up just enough that Nie Huaisang had to stand on his toes.

“What did you just say?” Jin Zixun asked. “Do you have something to say about my family?”

Nie Huaisang shook his head, mostly out of sheer terror. Then, figuring that if Jin Zixun was going to punch him he would already have done so, Nie Huaisang found some courage and nodded.

“I’m saying Lanling Jin was founded by a merchant,” he squeaked. “And you’re right about this at least, the love of gold doesn’t ever leave.”

Technically, the venerable ancestor of Lanling Jin had been the son of a merchant and a rogue cultivator, and his mercantile father had only provided funds while his mother had helped in every other aspect of creating the sect, but it was irrelevant. Nie Huaisang, who only cared about history if it sounded like gossip, had just memorised the fun parts of that story, the bits he could use against the next Jin who'd have called him the son of a butcher.

Using that piece of history to insult Jin Zixun wasn't bad either.

Of course after such an attack on his sect's honour, Jin Zixun again raised his fist, ready to strike. But again, he lowered it quickly, and instead just shook Nie Huaisang violently, making him dizzy. If it had been anyone else Jin Zixun wouldn't have hesitated to hurt them, but only a complete fool would have risked Nie Mingjue's ire over such a small matter.

"You're only playing tough because of your brother," Jin Zixun spat.

"And you're doing the same with your uncle," Nie Huaisang replied while trying to gesture at Su She to leave. "Except I'm sure my brother would stand with me. Are you sure of Jin zongzhu?"

Su She, instead of making his escape, crept closer. He had a worrying glint in his eyes, as if he might try to attack Jin Zixun to rescue Nie Huaisang. Considering how badly Su She had been scolded after his previous brush with Jin Zixun when everyone agreed that he'd probably been the victim, and with several of his teachers already disliking him…

Nie Huaisang gestured more urgently at Su She to go, which was made difficult when Jin Zixun resumed shaking him.

"You little son of a whore, you're just…"

"Don't you dare talk about my mom!" Nie Huaisang shouted, all other worries burned under instantaneous rage. "Not when you don't even know who your dad is!"

He realised, a little late, that it was probably the worst thing he could have said.

Jin Zixun's fist connected with his face. Nie Huaisang felt and heard his nose make a crushing noise, causing a pain intense enough that he promptly fainted.

When Nie Huaisang started coming to, he was in a quiet place, nearly silent save for the respiration of another person nearby. With some effort he opened his eyes to a room that wasn’t his quarters at home, nor his cabin in the Cloud Recesses. Judging by the style of that room and the unbearable silence, he guessed he was still in the Cloud Recesses, but in a part he hadn’t visited yet. Considering that his face hurt a lot less than it should have after being punched like that, Nie Huaisang guessed he had to be in the infirmary.

Nie Mingjue was going to be so annoyed. His stance had always been that fights weren’t bad if they were righteous, but he expected his disciples and relatives to come out of them victorious. To be taken down in just one blow was embarrassing, and it meant Nie Huaisang would be subjected to so much training when he got home, so he wouldn't lose so fast next time he fought someone. And then, Lan Qiren too would probably have something to say about this incident once he heard about it. No private fights was pretty high on the list of Gusu Lan's rules.

Nie Huaisang, whose back had just recovered from the punishment he’d received after Yunping City, sighed deeply.

“Nie-xiong, you’re awake!”

Turning his head, Nie Huaisang realised that the person whose respiration he’d noticed was none other than Su She, who was kneeling next to his bed and had a rather fresh looking new bruise on his face.

“Tell me you didn’t fight with Jin Zixun,” Nie Huaisang sighed, only to wince when speaking caused some new pain on his face.

“I didn’t fight him! But everyone else was too slow to rescue you, and he was going to punch you again! So I put myself between you and him to protect you.”

“That might be even more stupid than fighting him,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, trying to move his lips as little as possible. Trying not to smile, also. Aside from his brother, nobody had ever taken a hit for him before, and it touched him more than he could have said. “Are you ok? They aren’t going to punish you, right?”

“Jin gongzi said it was our fault and the Jins backed him,” Su She said, looking down at his knees. “The Nies say that Jin gongzi struck unprovoked. Everyone else says they didn’t really see and hear anything, because they're cowards and they know Jin gongzi will target them if they don't stay out of it. So for now it’s probably just you and Jin gongzi that will be punished for fighting, unless you agree that I also caused it.”

“But you didn’t, it was all me,” Nie Huaisang said, sighing again. “He shouldn’t have said that about my mom, but saying that about his dad, that wasn't too smart either I guess. My mom was an honourable woman, and all the rumours are just fake, but Jin Zixun…”

He sighed once more, while Su She threw him a puzzled look.

“Wait, you don’t know, for Jin Zixun?” Nie Huaisang asked, wriggling on the bed until he was on his side and could look more easily at Su She. “I figured everyone had heard that one.”

“Gossip is forbidden,” Su She replied. Somehow, he made it sound both like a scolding and a request for details.

Whatever faint guilt Nie Huaisang had felt for having thrown something like that at Jin Zixun’s face evaporated at the perspective of being the first one to share a juicy scandal with someone else.

Before he could get started with that particularly awful story, the door to the infirmary opened so a few people could come in. Nie Huaisang hurriedly returned to laying on his back and put on his most pitiful expression. He didn’t even have to force himself too much. His nose really did hurt, and his cultivation just wasn’t good enough to help with that. As for Su She, he jumped to his feet so he could politely bow before Lan Xichen, Lan Qiren, and another inner clan Lan who Nie Huaisang guessed to be a doctor, a certain Li Fang he learned later.

"You can stay," Li Fang told Su She when he saw him trying to leave. "I'm sure your teachers can spare you, while your friend needs you."

Su She frowned, trying to find hidden insults in those words as always, but still obeyed and went to stand a little out of the way. Meanwhile the other three came to stand around Nie Huaisang's bed, making him feel just a little cornered. Lan Xichen, to his credit, was smiling in a comforting manner, but it did little to offset Lan Qiren's very severe expression.

"I know I shouldn't have done that," Nie Huaisang quickly mumbled. "But he shouldn't have either, and he was trying to make way worse trouble than what happened."

"And so you took it upon yourself to play the hero," Lan Qiren said, stroking his beard.

"Nobody else was doing anything," Nie Huaisang whispered.

"The teacher should have intervened before it got this far," Lan Qiren conceded, sounding irritated at his fellow teacher. Maybe he was. That man, Lan Xingyu, was despised by all of the guest disciples and by Su She, though the same Su She claimed inner disciples liked him well enough. "After reviewing this and other incidents, Lan Xingyu will no longer teach guest students. And Jin gongzi should not have reacted with violence to your taunt. Still, because you did taunt him, you are both at fault, and will both be punished."

"More beatings?" Nie Huaisang whined. His poor body couldn't take much more pain, he would die for sure if he was beaten again.

"Not this time," Lan Qiren said. "But for a week you and Jin gongzi will kneel together in the discipline hall after lessons every day, and then again for a shichen after dinner. At the end of it, I expect both of you to have reflected on your faults and to make sincere excuses."

That sounded pretty boring and awful, Nie Huaisang thought, but probably less painful than the discipline rulers, so he could deal with it. And making an apology didn't bother him, he was pretty good at those since his brother and him argued frequently.

"I will also demand an essay on how you should have dealt with this situation," Lan Qiren added, and that was such a torture that Nie Huaisang whined. "If you do not wish to be punished, then act appropriately."

"And don't pick fights if you can't win them," Li Fang added. Nie Huaisang could have sworn he saw the man roll his eyes in a very un-Lan manner. "You're lucky your friend was here, or your face might be in a worse state than this. As it is, your nose should be fully healed in a week or two, and it will look mostly the same as before."

Mostly was not exactly, and Nie Huaisang couldn't help the wave of despair that washed over him. He liked his face. He wasn't the most handsome person in the world, but now that puberty was starting to set in and he was getting closer to forming a golden core, he thought he didn't look half bad. A normal person could probably have pulled off a broken nose, but for a cultivator…

"Oh, true, let's not forget about this," Lan Xichen said, before turning around to look at Su She.

Su She, always suspicious whenever he attracted attention from his elders or from inner clan disciples, startled at being addressed and gave a quick bow.

"Shidi, thank you for protecting Nie gongzi," Lan Xichen said with a smile that might almost have passed for sincere. "I will make sure to mention it when we inform Nie zongzhu of the incident. I'm certain he will be happy to hear his brother has made such a loyal friend."

Even though it hurt his face, Nie Huaisang couldn't help a faint grin. He hadn't been sure Lan Xichen would keep his word about being more fair to Su She, but he figured even just something like this counted as a first step. Su She, for his part, was so surprised to be complimented that he could only bow again while trying to think of something to answer.

"Lan gongzi is too kind," he said after his bow, throwing a glance at Nie Huaisang who pretended not to notice. "I know I also failed to act appropriately, and so Jin gongzi was hurt by my fault. I will do better next time."

"I'm sure nobody would punish you because Jin gongzi bruised his knuckles on your cheekbone," Li Fang scoffed. Su She said nothing, only averting his eyes, but that was an answer in itself. "Really? Under what excuse?"

"Teacher Lan Xingyu said I should have better deflected the attack instead of taking the hit. I also had no reason to be there at that moment, and should have been practicing cultivation instead of socialising."

If he hadn't been in pain, and already in so much trouble his brother was going to murder him when he got home, Nie Huaisang would have cried out in outrage at this unfair assessment. The others looked just as startled, and even Lan Xichen seemed to be genuinely unhappy to hear about this. Li Fang in particular appeared quite aggravated by the news, perhaps because he too was an outer disciple.

"Some things don't change," Li Fang said with a sharp look at Lan Qiren who also looked annoyed. "I'm pretty sure we have rules about that."

Nie Huaisang had the impression of an entire conversation silently happening, one that perhaps the two men had had many times before. This impression was strengthened by Lan Xichen somewhat hopeful expression, and his brief smile when his uncle gave in.

"We do have rules, and I will talk to Lan Xingyu," Lan Qiren said. "It cannot hurt to remind teachers that they are not exempt from following our principles, and must be an example to younger generations."

"Good, go do that," Li Fang ordered with good humour. "And if old man Xingyu makes trouble for you, just tell me. I wouldn't mind having a chat with him either, if you'll let me."

Lan Qiren did not grace that comment with an answer. He took his leave, followed by his nephew. Su She too tried to leave, but Li Fang insisted he could stay longer, and even told him that if elders made trouble for him again, Su She should complain to him about it. They might not be part of the inner clan, he said, but they were still Lan disciples, they followed the same rules, and deserved to be treated with as much respect.

That was something Su She himself said often, of course. But hearing it from someone of an older generation, and one as respectable as a doctor, appeared to shake him up. If his face hadn't hurt so bad, Nie Huaisang would have grinned. He couldn't regret getting punched in the face if it might have finally given Su She an ally inside his sect.

Still, even with that good news, Su She found something to be unhappy about.

"I told you not to involve Lan gongzi," he complained as soon as Li Fang went to deal with other things in another part of the infirmary. "Now that it gets known I've complained…"

Nie Huaisang shrugged, shifting on his bed to try and find a comfortable position. Gusu Lan beds really were too hard for his tastes.

"I didn't say anything, so don't blame me for this," Nie Huaisang said. "Maybe Lan gongzi just decided to finally uphold the ideals of his sect after seeing what a loyal and morally upright person you are."

"Surely you can lie better than that."

"Not when I'm in pain," Nie Huaisang said. He poked gently at his nose and winced. The pain was one thing, but feeling how it had tripled in size was a true horror. “Oh no. Tell me the truth, Su-xiong. Am I ugly now?”

Su She scoffed, fighting a smile.

“Is that really what you care about right now?”

“My good looks are my only quality! How will I ever find love if I’m not handsome anymore?”

“Then I promise you that your chances of finding love are exactly the same as before.”

Nie Huaisang beamed, smiling as much as he could when his face hurt like that. It took him a moment to notice Su She’s expression, after which he repeated his friend’s words to himself.

“Hey! That’s mean!” Nie Huaisang whined. “I sacrificed my amazing beautifulness for you, and that’s how you repay me? Rude, very rude! Su-xiong, you’re the worst best friend I’ve ever had.”

Su She went very still for a moment, before a light blush crept over his face.

"How many other best friends have you had before me?"

"None. I was holding on for someone really great, and then I met you at last."

"You're an idiot," Su She grumbled.

"Maybe. But I'm your idiot best friend, right?"

Su She scoffed, but still nodded, averting his eyes almost shyly. Nie Huaisang beamed.

He'd been wondering for a while now, but now he was sure of it: he had to have misunderstood when his future self mentioned Su She, because there was just no way his best friend would ever become a bad person.

#xisang #nie huaisang #jin zixun #su she #lan xichen #mdzs #jau writes #double time travel

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funkymbtifiction · 3 years

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Finding my Si: a submission

I’d like to share 6 things that helped me discover my Si and how Charity’s advice helped me, in case it helps anyone else :)

1.It helps when friends and family tell you what they think your dominant function is. Like a fish not realizing the water is wet, it’s so normal that it’s invisible to you. My mum picked Si the minute I asked her which function described me best; she said, ‘You trust your personal experiences and refer back to them all the time; it’s like an anchor for you. You rely on the past to get you through the present.’ One by one, my friends picked the same, pointing to how I recollect everything from the date we first met to changes in their food preferences to the color of the shirt they wore one Monday morning. I never realized the enormity of the storehouse of detail in my head until they pointed out that not everyone treasures memory-keeping in the same way. I wouldn’t say Si memory is photographic; for me, it’s more like a fisherman’s net, where I gather in what matters to me. I see a living mosaic of past and present when I look at people and places I love.

2. Being willing to question my own assumptions. An unflinching look at what I actually do, not what I think I do.

I considered Ni when I thought of goals I’ve set. For example, I got into the same UK university at 18 that I’d loved at age 14. This story initially sounded as though I’d had a clear future vision, and never let go of the dream (Ni). However, I’d left out winding twists and turns in between. At 16, I was captivated by a Canadian university and considered going there for a while; at 17, I considered studying in New York. Eventually, I applied to a bunch of unis and got an offer from the original ‘dream one’ in England. It was the best offer and I’d remained fond of it, so I wound up going. I was pleased, but I’d been open to other unis and happy to go to them too. After reading the perspective of actual Ni-users on their laser-sharp vision, I realized mine wasn’t as unwavering, intense and single-minded.

Instead, I realized that the reason I treasure this story - 'I visited my uni when I was just a kid and then got to go there for good!’ - is that I liked being able to link my childhood self and adult self. I enjoy connecting the past and present and spotting continuity and change ('Back then, I did this…now I still do this…and I don’t do this….’). My mind always traces back to how things were, which spills over into dinner-table family conversations ('Do you remember when…?’/'You know how we used to…?’). I realized that this type of personal mythologizing and cherishing a living past is Si. I can set goals and work meticulously in a step-by-step IFJ way, but it is not a dominant personality trait in the strikingly single-minded, futuristic, visionary way that is Ni. For anyone considering Ni, I recommend looking up mbti-notes and Charity’s explanations here, as it is a very complex function and it helps to understand exactly how it works.

3. Painful honesty. Confronting flaws isn’t fun. However, as Charity says, it helps to think of pairs (Si-Ne, Ne-Si or Ni-Se) rather than functions in isolation.

I tried to determine which flaw I could most relate to: inferior Te, inferior Se, or inferior Ne.

I couldn’t identify with inferior Te because I’ve always been a careful planner and organizer; even my third-grade report cards said, ‘She loves being efficient and organizing her little space!’ Today, I have multiple administrative responsibilities at work and genuinely enjoy it. There’s something about streamlining systems and attending to details that feels satisfying (dorky, I know). I could not relate to inferior Se either, as sensory engagement has always been a big part of my life. Whether it’s dancing or nature hikes or cooking, hands-on hobbies have always been so core to me that I often find myself feeling one with the natural environment, rather than uncomfortable with it. I haven’t had reckless moments characteristic of inferior Se. But inferior Ne - those descriptions embarrassed me.

As Charity says, if something makes you go ‘ouch’, it might hit the nail on the head.

I thought I had good Ne because I can see multiple perspectives. But this is more a 9 and 2 influence ('Staying open-minded helps to understand people, help them, and resolve conflict’) and a skill honed through my job in peace-building. What trips me up are the problems plaguing inferior Ne users. Newness and novelty feels hard. My 9 probably plays into it, but in general I am not good at out of the box thinking and brainstorming dozens of different approaches. Despite my 2-9 positive outlook, I usually feel fearful of the unknown and find it difficult to speculate or imagine possibilities in the uncertain future.

4. It helps to see where your attention goes. When I teach and review students’ essays, I’ll start leaving comments about their word-choice in paragraph 3; the evidence they used on page 2; how their argument on page 12 risks contradicting their logic on page 10, etc. I can hold these details in my head with ease, suggest a clear structure, and spot incongruities, but I have to consciously remind myself to zoom out to comment on the overarching ideas in the work.

On the other hand, I notice when I do something creative or abstract because it’s not really what I do on a day to day basis. When I first began researching MBTI, I found it easy to recall the last metaphor I imagined because it stood out in my mind. But determining frequency helped. Not just how I think, but how often I think that way. Ne is a ‘play’ function for me - on good days, it’s a whimsical scribble in a poetry journal, occasional daydreams, self-improvement books on my shelf.

5. Being able to tease out finer differences in cognition. I got interested in a Royal Family controversy recently. I thought I was using Ni because I mused on the consequences for the nation (in a Ni-Fe way). However, I realized I was less interested in future possibility and more interested in what was helpful for interpersonal understanding (Fe/2-9) and how the country could preserve the traditions and culture built up over centuries (Si). Rather than preferring to look ahead and predict what would happen (Ni). It’s a fine line, but it helped to think: how often is my cognition located in the future vs the past? Which one feels more natural? Is it an Enneagram or an MBTI influence at play?

6. Avoiding sensor bias. I felt I must be an intuitive because I do engage in abstract conversation sometimes. It’s just that my topics of choice come from my Enneagram 269 tritype. How can schools treat children better? What can we do to promote community mental health? What keeps kids safer? My job is centered around people’s welfare, and I’d be happy to discuss theories of human psychology or relationships or mental health because I’m very absorbed in my little niche of knowledge. However, concrete applications interest me most, and I am not likely to start conversations about, say, 18th century theology or automated cars or space travel. My INFP and INFJ friends seem interested in a much wider range of philosophical conversation.

I agree with a post on this blog that pointed out that modern psychology now understands traits not as bimodal distributions (X or Y) but along a spectrum (how much of X? How much of Y?). People differ in where they lie along the spectrum. I’d say I’m close to the middle. My biggest tell that I lean towards sensing is when I look through philosophy books on human well being. Even though the topic reflects my interests, I’m quickly bored by too much theory. I’m happy to thrash out an idea with a friend, but it needs to be animated by real-life examples and practical applications for me to stay interested.

Above all, I recommend observing where your heart leads. Much of my free time goes into journal-writing, old albums, and time capsules. Detail-driven memory-keeping fulfills me deeply, and it was this deep joy that proved most helpful for recognizing my Si :)

#submission #isfj #istj

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justmypartner · 3 years

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Make it Work: Chapter 4

Summary: When offered a permanent position with the FBI, Hailey agrees to take it under one condition: Jay comes too. As their personal lives and work lives begin to change, the two partners find it increasingly difficult to navigate their complex relationship and manage their feelings for one another.

Writer’s Note: This is a monster of a chapter. I honestly could have split it into two separate chapters, but I felt like the flow of the story went better having it all be in one. If you watch FBI or have at least seen Hailey’s episode, there’s a familiar character in this chapter ;) as well as some newbies. Reach out if you would like to be added to the taglist for future chapters! As always, thank you for following my stories and for all of the kind words!

Tagging: @angelsjedi , @brookerz122493 , @cpdfan2014 , @the–carousel , @maya-asturias

Read on AO3 or below

Jay’s first night in the city wasn’t pleasant. Both he and Hailey hired moving services to ship their things from Chicago to New York prior to their move. Because of this, they spent their last few days in Chicago living out of duffle bags and travel toiletries in hotel rooms. The hope was that by the time they arrived in New York, unpacking was the only thing they’d have to worry about. However, when Jay walked into his apartment for the first time, only half of his things were waiting for him. He tried contacting the moving company, but being that it was so late, all he got was an automated message. Wherever the rest of his things were, his mattress, couch, and any sort of seating he had were all with it. This left him sleeping on the floor, using whatever he could find in the mess of boxes filling the apartment to build a makeshift bed. It was something he had done plenty of times before, especially while he was stationed overseas. However, as proven the next morning, his body just wasn’t cut out for it like it used to be. He was sore all over, making the rest of the day miserable.

The first thing he did was reach out to the moving company. He found out that of the two trucks that were carrying his things, one of them had gotten delayed somewhere in Pennsylvania. That particular truck just so happened to be the one carrying his mattress, bed frame, and couch. He figured in the meantime, he would unpack the things he had. However, he found it increasingly difficult to maneuver around due to the ache mainly centered around his back.

After a few hours of progress, he decided to take a break, leaning his back against the wall and sliding his body down until he was in a sitting position on the floor. He hadn’t had a chance to get groceries of any sort, so he was hungry and in desperate need for painkillers, but he couldn’t find it in himself to leave that spot on the floor, let alone his apartment. He threw his head back against the wall and closed his eyes as his face scrunched up from pain. He was about to pick up his phone and text Hailey when there was a knock at the door. He stood with a groan, holding at the lower part of his back as the motion sent a sting of pain up his body.

When he opened the door, Hailey was standing there with a 6 pack of beer and a cheerful smile on her face. The smile faded as she realized he was clenching his back in pain.

“What happened to you?” She asked, her brows furrowing as she looked him up and down.

“Nice to see you too,” he said, moving out of the way to let her in. She stepped inside, making her way to his kitchen counter to place the beers down.

“Yeah, hi or whatever… What happened to you?” She asked again, looking at him with a puzzled look.

“Stupid moving truck carrying the other half of my stuff got delayed, so I was left sleeping on the floor. I do not recommend that by the way,” he said, grabbing one of the beers and making his way to sit back on the floor.

“Why didn’t you tell me? You could’ve just spent the night with me,” she said. Her eyes immediately widened and Jay sent her a raised brow, a confused smile on his face as she said it. He noticed her turn red and he rubbed at his mouth and chin to conceal a smile escaping across his face.

“Ah I mean, you know you could have slept at my place on the couch,” she stammered over her words as she turned to look around his apartment, avoiding eye contact with him completely.

“It was like 3am. I didn’t want to bother you and I was too tired to even consider that. Thanks though,” he told her taking a swig of the beer. “Thanks for these too by the way,” he said, raising the beer in the air.

“Yeah of course. So when’s your stuff supposed to be here?” She questioned, playing with a small Chicago Bears figurine he had rested on a shelf.

“They said sometime this afternoon. Really hoping they’re right because I don’t think my body can take another night on the floor,” he told her, his eyes following her as she moved about the room.

“Yeah, you better watch it. Might not be able to get back up next time, old man,” she told him with a smirk, grabbing a beer from the counter and coming to sit crossed legged across from him on the floor. He wiped the condensation from his bottle and flung the water droplets at her, causing her to flinch.

“Hey!” She called out, guarding her face with her hands.

“Call me old again,” he challenged with a grin. She held her hands up in surrender and he retreated.

“So I like your place. How are you liking New York so far?” She asked him, placing one hand behind her and leaning back on it as she brought the bottle to her lips.

“Well considering I’ve only seen the inside of this apartment, I feel like I can’t answer that. How about you? How’s your apartment coming along?”

“Really good actually. Most of the major stuff has been arranged, now I just have to unpack all of the tedious things - dishes, silverware, knick knacks, all that,” she told him. He nodded as he adjusted his position against the wall. She sent him a concerned look when she saw him flinch and grasp at his back.

“Can I get you anything? We could stop by the store and get you some medicine then we could go back to my place. You could check it out, we could order some food, you could actually have a comfortable place to sit too,” she offered him.

“You had me at get you some medicine,” he beamed. She chuckled and stood, extending a hand towards him to help him up. Being that he was much heavier than her, she really had to pull to help him up. When he was finally on his feet, he was only inches away from her, their hands remaining together for longer than they should’ve. He could feel his heart picking up rhythm in his chest by her touch, so he quickly released his hand, bringing it to the back of his neck before chugging the rest of his beer and tossing it in the trash bin by the counter.

After picking up painkillers and dinner, the two made their way to Hailey’s apartment. Following Hailey into the apartment, Jay’s eyes studied the space, noting how accurately it represented her personality. It wasn’t completely put together yet. There were still boxes lying around sporadically across the floor, but for the most part it was simple and organized much like her. Hailey made her way to the living room where she set the food down on the coffee table before planting herself on the couch. Jay followed suit, falling onto the couch and letting himself sink into the cushions. Hailey popped open the bottle of aspirin they picked up at the store, offering him a bottle of water and 3 pills. As he took them, he realized how instinctively she was caring for him and how natural it felt to be in such a domestic setting with her. She pulled out his food, sitting it in front of him and snapping him out of his roaming thoughts.

“So, are you nervous about tomorrow?” She asked him, settling back into the couch as she took her fork out of the plastic wrapper. She was referring to it being their first day. Jay hadn’t confronted his feelings about it until that moment.

“I would tell you no, but we both know that would be a lie,” he admitted. She flashed him a knowing smile before continuing.

“What are you most worried about?”

“Nothing in particular, I just know it’s going to be a lot different than what I’m used to. Every fed I’ve ever worked with has been a pompous jackass, in it for the optics more than the actual people they’re trying to help. I know what we’ll be doing will be important, I guess my reservations come from a combination of not wanting to deal with that and not wanting to turn into that,” he told her, a solemn look overcoming his face. Her face formed into a frown and her stare fell to her plate as she seemed to silently think through her response.

“You know my first day, I walked into that building already carrying this sort of forced regard for the place. I had those same reservations you carry for the feds, but I respected what they did so I forced myself to walk into it all with a sort of blind respect. My first interaction with OA wasn’t so great. He made some backhanded comment and you know me, I don’t take stuff like that, so I threw it back at him. Made him realize I saw through what he was really trying to say. The more time I was there, I realized that even though they don’t all go about it the best way, everyone is there to do their part and take the bad guys off the street. While that type of mentality you described certainly exists among many of the people we’ll work with, I think the perspective we can bring will have a similar impact as what went down with OA that day. We put ‘em in check and they sort the rest out themselves. You’re a good cop, and that’s just what these units need. So whatever fears you have, I wouldn’t spend too much time dwelling on them because you’re going to be great,” she told him, smiling briefly before immediately diving back into her food.

Her words reassured him. He still felt some apprehension about the next day, but she leveled him enough to instill a bout of confidence he hadn’t previously carried. After finishing their dinner, Jay relished in the comfort of the couch and the relief brought on by the painkillers. Hailey had put a tv show on in the background, but Jay was watching it absentmindedly. He noticed his eyes get heavier and heavier, and when exhaustion eventually caught up to him, he fell asleep. He was woken up with a light shake from Hailey. His eyes blinked open and he took in the sight of her slightly hovered over him.

“Hi,” she said as he fully opened his eyes and pushed himself into a straighter sitting position.

“How long have I been out?” He asked her, rubbing at his eyes and stirring about in a blanket he didn’t remember having before. He realized Hailey must have put it on him while he was sleeping and he stifled a smile as he awaited her answer.

“About an hour. Your phone was ringing and I picked it up. I hope you don’t mind,” she told him, holding the phone out to him. He took it from her, squinting his eyes at the brightness of the screen.

“No, it’s fine. Who was it?” He asked, looking at a number he didn’t recognize and looking back at her for her response.

“It was the movers, they said they’re coming in about an hour,” she told him, standing to clear their empty take out containers from the table. He looked down at the time and threw the blanket off his body gently before folding it into a more manageable size. He then picked up what was left on the table and brought it into the kitchen to help her clean up.

“I guess I better get going,” he told her, looking for his coat.

“Okay, yeah. Here’s the painkillers. You may need them again later,” she told him, handing him the bottle from before.

“Thanks for taking care of me today,” he told her, tilting his head slightly as he sent her a warm smile.

“Don’t worry about it,” she shook her head with a grin. “See you tomorrow?”

“You know it,” he told her, opening the door to leave. Just as she went to close it behind him, he pushed it back open slightly. “Also, thank you for what you said earlier. It helped a lot.”

She returned his words with a slight nod before he turned to make his way to the elevator. The rest of the night he felt like there was an oddly natural shift in their relationship. The way she cared for him and reassured him seemed so much more than their usual platonic dynamic. It was like they crossed some sort of line without making a thing of it, and it made his heart rush just thinking about it. Though, he decided to not think about it. Instead, he tried to focus on the change they were set to endure that next day.

- - - -

Jay woke the next morning in the comfort and familiarity of his bed. The night before, the movers brought the last of his things into his place, and he felt relieved to not have to sleep on the floor once again. After taking a shower, he stood in his bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt and boxers, staring down at the suit he had laid out for the day. It was a tangible symbol of his new life, and it made him nervous. He only ever had to wear a suit for two things: funerals and court, and those never came with good memories. He finally psyched himself up enough to put it on, looking in the mirror as he adjusted the tie around his neck. He took a breath, briefly staring back at his own reflection in the mirror before moving to his bedroom and pulling his gun from a safe in the closet. He secured it in the holster on his belt before pulling on his jacket, buttoning the top two buttons to conceal it from view.

He met Hailey outside of the building. They first had to get their photos taken for their identification and badges before making their way up to the new unit. He immediately recognized how nice everything was, even just the equipment they used to make their IDs was far more advanced than anything he’d ever seen. As soon as they handed the badge to him and he placed it on his hip, everything settled in. This was his new life. His new job. The nerves kicked in as they made their way up to their floor. He fidgeted in the elevator, pulling at the sleeves of his coat and adjusting his tie every few seconds. Hailey clocked his jumpiness from the corner of her eye.

“Dude, you need to relax,” she told him with a chuckle, placing a hand briefly on his shoulder.

“I know, I know,” he all but whispered.

He was feeling very out of his element. First days can be nerve wrecking in general, but this seemed new and unfamiliar to him. His transition from Organized Crime to Intelligence felt natural. There was a comfort about the ruggedness of Intelligence that put him at ease on his first day; it made him feel like he fit in. This though? Suits, million dollar tech, fancy buildings, it all seemed so far out of his league and he was having trouble calming his nerves.

There was a brief silence before he blurted out, “I just really hate suits,” he admitted, putting his energy into the discomfort he was feeling about the attire.

“Eh, I do too, but you get used to it. Just, relax though. You’re going to be great, they’re going to be great. It’ll be fine… You look great by the way,” she reassured him with her dimpled grin. He flashed an unconvincing smile at her and took a deep breath just as the elevator doors opened.

Organized chaos is how he would have described the room before him. Everyone in the room was busily distracted by something. It seemed to be a meticulous operation, but it was a much larger scale than what he was used to in Intelligence.

“Hailey Upton!” An excited voice called out as they exited the elevator.

“OA? The hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be a few floors down?” She asked as Jay watched a stranger grab her in a hug. He was tall, so tall in fact that he made Hailey look miniature.

“Yeah, I heard you started today so I thought I’d come say hello,” he said as his eyes met Jay’s over Hailey’s shoulder. As they pulled away from the embrace, Hailey turned to gesture towards an awkward smiling Jay.

“OA, I’d like to introduce you to my partner, Jay.”

“So you’re the illustrious Jay. Hailey told me a lot about you, specifically that you were a Ranger. I was a Captain, two tours in Iraq,” OA said, reaching a hand out to shake Jay’s.

“No way, I did two in Afghanistan. 75th Regiment, 3rd Battalion,” he said, shaking his hand back firmly. “Hailey told me a lot about you as well by the way. Thanks for looking out for her all those weeks,” he continued.

“Yeah, well I think you got it backwards, it was her who was looking out for me,” he said sending a smile Hailey’s way.

“Yeah, he’s alright… for a fed,” she said with a shrug and a mischievous grin.

“What do you mean? You know you’re a fed now too, right?” he laughed back.

“Shhh don’t tell anyone,” she replied jokingly.

“Secret’s safe with me, but I have a feeling they’ll find out eventually,” he said waving a finger at the busy room around them. “Anyway, it was good seeing you Chicago, but I gotta head back to JOC. Catch ya later?” OA said backing away towards the elevator.

“Yeah, for sure,” she responded.

“Hey man, nice meeting you!” Jay called out.

“Yeah, you too!” OA replied as he climbed into the elevator.

Jay felt more at ease by the interaction. Seeing how comfortable Hailey was in this environment and how well she got on with OA lowered his nerves a bit. He figured if everyone with the bureau was like him, adjusting may be easier than he thought. He followed Hailey as she made her way over to a group of people gathered by a large screen. When they were close enough, Hailey cleared her throat catching the attention of them all, heads spinning around to look at the two of them.

“Detective… or should I say Special Agent Upton, great to see you again. Welcome,” one of them said, extending a hand out to shake hers.

“Agent Reynolds, likewise. This is Jay Halstead,” she said with a nod towards Jay.

“Jay Halstead, it’s nice to officially meet you, I’m Drake Reynolds, Assistant Special Agent in Charge. Welcome to the FBI,” he said, reaching his hand out to meet Jay’s. “Everyone on the team just calls me Drake by the way,” he said, darting his eyes back to Hailey to correct her.

“Nice to meet you as well, sir,” Jay replied.

“Right. Now, normally we’d do a more official welcome, you know get to meet everyone and everything, but we just had a really urgent case come in so I’m going to have you two jump right in if that’s okay,” Drake told them. They nodded as he made his way to the front of the room to get everyone’s attention.

“Okay, everyone we caught a live one this morning. Subject is Eli Sarkova, Latvian national who has been on many federal agencies’ radars for a while now. Sarkova is said to run one of the major trafficking rings out of Eastern Europe with strong ties right here in New York. NYPD picked up one of his connections, Andris Ozola, last night. They called us and now he is sitting in our interrogation room where one of our agents was able to pull out intel that Sarkova is right here in Manhattan for the first time in months. Ozola didn’t have a direct location, but we do know where his driver is expected to be at 11 am today, so we’re sending a team to go pick him up. Driver’s name is Edgars Berlina, white male, 6’2”, 185 pounds, bald, with ironically, a tattoo of angel wings on his neck. Berlina and any crew he’s with are most definitely going to be armed and dangerous. Memorize his picture, he’s going to be in a public area so we need to play this one right,” Drake said as he addressed the whole room.

“Bennett and Burrows, I want you two riding with Halstead and Upton today. Show them the ropes and answer any questions they may have about the field,” he told two agents to his right. They nodded in agreement, flashing warm smiles to the partners before Drake left the four of them standing there.

“Agent Daisy Bennett,” the female agent said extending her hand out to each of them. “And this is Walker Burrows,” she said, gesturing to the male agent by her side. Jay picked up on a lingering look Agent Burrows gave Hailey as he shook her hand. He frowned at this slightly as Hailey introduced herself.

“Hailey Upton, good to meet you both.”

“Jay Halstead,” he said shortly, continuing a stern stare at the man in front of him whose gaze continued to remain on Hailey.

“Follow us to the garage. The gear is already in the car, so we can get suited up out there,” Daisy said, turning to walk down the hall to the elevators.

“So you’re both from Chicago. Detectives, right?” Walker questioned, pressing the button for the garage.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jay replied, carrying his gaze straight ahead of him. “I gotta say, it’s already a culture shock. I’m not used to having intel handed to us like this. Usually we’re digging for this stuff ourselves,” Jay admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I’m sure as hell glad we don’t have to worry about that. We get to do the actual important stuff like actually taking down the targets,” Walker replied. Jay shot Hailey a cross look, one that she returned, but he decided to keep his mouth shut, not wanting to challenge the man already in the first 5 minutes of meeting him. Maybe it was because he was used to doing the intel work himself, but Jay saw the value in all of it. Hearing the man so easily disregard other positions in the unit already didn’t sit right with him, but he shook it off for the sake of starting off on the right foot.

When they arrived at the car, Daisy opened the tailgate, pulling out 2 containers of gear.

“I’m not sure how you guys rolled in Chicago, but we have these in-ear coms. They’re fully open channels so you can communicate with any and all of us at all times. Mic button falls near your collar, so keep that in mind,” she said, handing them each ear pieces to put in their ears. “Bureau issued vests. Level IIIA body armor. It’s supposed to protect you even up to point blank range, but will leave a pretty nasty bruise,” she told them as she handed them each a vest. As they took their jackets off to put them on, Hailey looked over at Jay with a cheeky grin.

“Just because it’s good armor, doesn’t mean you need to go testing it out, okay?” She joked as she pulled it over her head, securing the velcro straps on the sides.

“Ha Ha,” he mocked back at her.

“Get shot a lot do you?” Daisy asked as she pulled her hair up in a ponytail.

“Bullet magnet, this man,” Hailey joked, eliciting a laugh from each of them.

Walker drove them to the target location, Daisy riding in the front and Hailey and Jay in the back. Jay didn’t like not being in the front, in control of the car, but he went with it, recognizing it as a temporary thing until they got settled in. When they rolled up, they exited the car, concealing their badges, vests, and weapons as to not be identified as law enforcement before they could get eyes on the target.

“Looks like there’s two entrances to the park. I say you guys take the north end and we’ll take the south. If he’s anywhere-“ Jay began, taking point on tactics as he was so used to doing in Intelligence, but Daisy cut him off.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to be rude, but you guys are supposed to be following our lead today. I think each of us need to be partnered with you both. So, Walker you go with Hailey to the south end. Jay, you and I will take the north,” she instructed. It made Jay slightly uneasy to be split from Hailey, but he went along with it, acknowledging his unfamiliar role that came from being the new guy. Hailey sent him a reassuring look, silently communicating that everything would be fine. He nodded before they all departed ways.

“Dean, Fisher, your teams in place?” Daisy asked the other team leaders through the coms.

They each confirmed as Jay walked side by side with her down the path in the park. They settled on a bench, giving them a view of the center and north entrance of the park.

“We’re in place, all clear on the north end,” Jay said into the coms, his eyes surveying his surroundings as he put an arm on the back of the bench.

They sat in the park for a while. Eventually, one of the other agents saw the target pull up. They were able to bring him in without any problems. He was alone when they brought him in, which they all found odd. He was also very silent throughout every interaction, something they took as years of keeping his mouth shut with his boss. When they got him in the interrogation room, Drake sent Jay and Hailey in together to get a read on their capabilities. While Hailey pulled the “we’re here to help you, but only if you talk” method, Jay took a more silent approach. He remained in the seat staring at the man as Hailey paced the floor of the interrogation room trying to convince him to talk. After 20 minutes of silence, Hailey sat down next to Jay, looking down at the table, her arms crossed as the man kept a cold stare at her.

“Tell me Berlina, why’d Sarkova send you into that park alone this morning?” Jay finally asked, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table. The man said nothing, shifting his stare from Hailey to Jay.

“I mean, you’re just his driver after all. Anybody can drive a car, you’re pretty replaceable. But still, you’d think years of working for the man would earn you something, right? Some sort of protection,” Still the man remained silent. Jay shrugged before continuing on. “I don’t know. He’s probably already got you replaced anyway. We found out some pretty interesting things about you from Interpol. A couple of outstanding warrants in Latvia… even a few in Estonia. You get around, don’t you? Anyway, your plane leaves this afternoon. Hopefully that gives you enough time to get out of here before Sarkova has a chance to tie up loose ends,” Jay finished, rising in his chair to exit the room. Hailey followed, and just as they were about to exit, the man called them back.

He ended up giving them the location of a brownstone in a wealthier neighborhood. They set out with the FBI tactical team, expecting heavy arms and numerous bodyguards according to what Berlina gave them. They had planned to infiltrate late in the night to provide themselves with an extra element of surprise. This was the one part of the job that Jay felt sure about. As he geared up, he felt pumped up for the first time that day. Knowing that his interrogation gave them the location added a little motivation as well. Still partnered with Daisy, she and Jay followed after the two tact team guys upon breaching the front door. Walker and Hailey were behind them, making their way to the other side of the house upon entry. One of the tact team guys came in contact with an offender first, convincing him to stand down and taking his weapon before cuffing him. Jay and Daisy continued into the house, sweeping each room one by one. They came into contact with a second offender, and they were able to convince him to stand down as well. Next thing they knew, there was a ruckus on the other side of the house, so they swiftly picked up their pace, making their way in that direction. There was a gunshot and panic overcame Jay as he realized it was in the part of the house Hailey was clearing.

“Hailey!” He called out. No response. He called her name once more before entering a large room. He caught sight of her blonde hair on the ground. His heart dropped, but she turned over as he got closer, clutching at her jaw. Walker was behind her, standing over Sarkova who was face down on the ground.

“Hailey! What the hell happened, are you okay?” Jay questioned, making his way over to her and instinctively grabbing at her chin to get a better look at the red mark on her jaw.

“Guy was hiding behind the door when I walked in. He tried to grab at my gun and forced me to fire a round into the wall. He also got me nice in the jaw before I could react,” she told him, stretching her jaw. Jay offered her a hand and she grabbed it to come to a standing position.

“She took the hell out of him though. Girl’s a badass,” Walker said, bringing Sarkova to his feet and guiding him to a tact guy by the door.

“Yeah, where the hell were you? Huh?” Jay asked, a slight snarky tone in his voice.

“Hey man, I was right behind her. I had her back,” Walker said back, closing the distance between him and Jay. Jay didn’t take well to people getting in his face. Hailey noticed this and stood between them, lightly pushing them apart.

“Woah, okay boys. We’re all good here,” she said, her eyes looking between the two of them.

Jay backed off, looking down at her with a worried look.

“Are you okay?” he asked her quietly, dropping his voice to a sincere tone.

“I’m good,” she nodded, patting him slightly on the chest.

“I should’ve had your back,” he said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“Jay, I’m fine. Relax, would you?” she told him, a slight frustration in her voice.

Jay didn’t like that she had gotten hurt and he wasn’t there to protect her. It wasn’t that she was hurt badly, but he didn’t like the idea of someone else, basically a stranger, being the one to watch her back in such a high risk situation. His opinion of Walker wasn’t all that great after his comment that morning, and it certainly wasn’t improving now that she had gotten hurt under his watch. One thing he was sure of was that he was glad their separation was only a temporary thing.

#upstead #jay x hailey #hailey x jay #jay halstead #hailey upton #chicago pd #upstead fic

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eveningstar1516 · 3 years

Text

Rise of the Demon King ~ Chapter 9

Rise of the Demon King

Fic: Multi Chapter Paring: MC x Everyone (Mostly Lucifer) Type: Angst with a Happy Ending Total Word Count: 26,758 TW: Major Character Death, Reader gets stabbed with a sword through their chest so..., Abusive Parents, Past Child Abuse, Demon Hunters, Loss of Control Summary: You’ve done it. You’ve finally done it. You’ve managed to anger the demon king. Now you hold your head high as he hands down your sentence. AO3 Portal: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27065362 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~A/N: I gotta Discord server guys! It's primarily Obey Me but other fandoms are welcome as well. It's kinda baby and dead so me and the other members are looking to revive it and we'd love for you to come join us. A roleplay area is included :) https://discord.gg/F3YEmDZCPS Please remember to read and accept the rules once you join for access to all the channels. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Previously: “Of course, what are big brothers for. Anyway, about my payment, maybe you can forget about the money I owe ya?” Groaning, Levi started walking faster, leaving Mammon and his whining behind as he made his way back to the safety of his room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

CHAPTER 9 - Not So Different After All (1754 words)

You were practicing your swordsmanship in the garden clearing when Michael approached you. You’ve been living with the council for 3 decades by now and was confidently running them like Lucifer used to. This left you little time for yourself and you cherished these moments to yourself. That doesn’t mean you don’t like teasing Michael from time to time.

“Good afternoon Y/N”

“Good afternoon to you too Mike. What’s up?”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” “Just be glad I don’t call you that at work. Anyway, how can I help you?”

“May I join you?”

“I don’t see why not, but on one condition. If I win, tell me why you despise Lucifer and why you refuse to call him by his new name. If you win, I’ll answer 2 questions with complete honesty, no restrictions on the type of question.”

Michael visibly stiffened at this. He contemplated this for a moment then agreed. He summoned his sword and stood opposite of me in a ready position. I matched his stance and parreyed off with him, signalling the start of our match. Michael started with a calculated quick strike to my neck. I brought my sword up to block his strike and tried to twist it from his grip but he pulled back and made a quick swing toward my left leg. I jumped up and switched to offence striking for his sword arm trying to land a hit. He saw this and backed away. This continued on for a few minutes. Michael attacking and me blocking and returning the favour. After a few more strikes, I saw an opening, he shifted his legs a little too wide. I dropped my weight and swept his feet out from under him. Before he realized, he hit the ground and I was standing above him, my right foot on his sword arm and my sword by his throat.

“Looks like I won.” I withdrew my sword and extended my arm to help him up. He grabbed my hand with a distasteful look on his face, ashamed at making such a mistake and losing to someone with less skill and combat experience than him.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Handing him a towel and some water I sat under a date tree and took a sip from my own bottle.

“Lucifer. I took an interest in it after seeing him practise one day and he took it upon himself to teach me, his excuse being that I should know how to protect myself if I insisted on taking up a blade. Enough of that, you lost, now can you tell me why you despise Lucifer so much?”

Michael took a seat next to me and leaned back against the trunk.

“You mean other than the fact that he went against Father, started a civil war, killed numerous angels, abandoned his duty, embraced the very sins that father forbade us from committing, birthed a demon of wrath, and willingly bowed down to the demon prince and still serves him to this day like a loyal lapdog all because he couldn’t take care of Lillith enough to keep her from trying to break one of our laws to save a human? No, no reason.”

“Wow, and I thought humans were the masters at holding grudges.” I took a swing of my water.

“Think about it, at the root of all that, Lucifer did it to protect his family, to protect his little sister. He may have embraced and embodied the sin of pride, but he pushed all of it away to save her. You don’t really think he serves Diavolo just because he asked him to? His pride would never allow it, and yet he does because by doing so, he can protect his family and the ones he loves. Isn’t that a virtue in Father's eyes, protecting loved ones no matter what you need to sacrifice?”

“Well yes, to an extent. You are supposed to do that, unless it means you defy him. If protecting your family results in you turning your back to him, he’d tell you to leave them behind.”

“Why do you keep calling Lucifer "Samael"?”

“That is the name Father gave him, that is the name I will call him. Samael was my brother and I don’t want to remember him for the destruction he caused but for the moments we shared as brothers. He was the pride of the heavens. Despite that, he embodied humility. He never took advantage of his authority. He always made sure the minority were heard. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion as Father's right hand. He never let the praise get to his head. Despite all that, he still embodied pride. He would never ask for help insisting that he could take care of things. He still took in his siblings and raised them, despite the burdens that were already placed on his shoulders. I used to look up to him and saw him as a role model. I accepted the fact that he is no longer an angel and is now a completely different being. In my mind, Lucifer and Samael are 2 separate creatures. I will remember him as Samael, my brother and best friend and Lucifer as the demon serving Lord Diavolo.”

“Would it make you feel better if I told you that they aren’t that different from each other? Samael may have taken all the burden and worked himself till he passed out from exhaustion, but Lucifer still does that. I can’t tell you the number of times I would enter his study just to find him clinging to consciousness trying to finish the never ending paperwork for both the Devildom and from his brother's antics. He does his best and works himself to the bone to make sure that his family has a roof over their heads, enough food to eat which I got to tell you is hard considering they are living with someone who embodies the sin of gluttony. He works himself to make sure that Diavolo doesn’t do the same and can focus on running his kingdom and school without having to worry too much about what goes on behind the scenes. Even with all those responsibilities he took, he still makes sure to be there and protect his family. He raised Satan as a first time father with no knowledge on demonic children. He always set aside some time each week, no matter how busy he is to spend some time with the rest of us. He may be harsh, but he isn’t heartless. He may look incapable of it, but he is very caring and compassionate towards the ones he holds close to him. He is still very much the Samael you knew, he just looks a little different.”

“Was your intention just to tell me these things so that I wouldn’t act distasteful to you or Samael?” “No, I just wanted you to see things from an outsider's perspective, nothing more.”

With that, I got up and left Michael in the garden to think about what I had said as I went to shower and finish up any outstanding work before dinner.

In the Devildom After they lost Y/N

After they lost Y/N, Asmo could barely function. Some days, he would lock himself in his room and not come out for days on end. When Beel would come and drop off some food, Asmo would always insist he just leave it outside the door. When Beel would come back to collect the plate, he found that only a small portion was eaten and that more than half of the food was left. They would never find out that it was because he was unintentionally starving himself and that he was dropping his self care routine. Other times he would leave for days on end and when he did eventually come home, he was either stoned or drunk out of his mind, but he always had a lingering scent of sex on him. It continued on like this for weeks before Satan found him. Asmo had just come back after being missing for a week and once again refused to leave his room. This time, Satan insisted on delivering his food. He needed to check on his little brother no matter how much Asmo didn’t want him to. When he got to the door he knocked and announced he was coming in. Without waiting for a reply, Satan broke the lock on the door and was greeted with an emotionally exhausted and physically wrecked Asmo laying face up on his bed. Tears streaming down his face. Satan closed the door and looked around the room noticing how everything was thrown around and the state of what used to be one of the most organized rooms in the house, now looking like a hot mess. Carefully, he cleared a spot on his dresser, making sure nothing got damaged in the process and set the tray down. Next he went to the washroom, equally messed up, and located a washcloth. He ran it under some warm water and went back to Asmo, carefully wiping away any tears and smudged make-up. Slowly, Asmo opened his eyes to look up at the soft expression on Satan’s face. He turned his head the other and screwed his eyes shut.

“Asmo, look at me.”

When he didn’t turn his head, Satan asked again, a little softer and put a comforting hand on his shoulder to ground him.

“Asmo, can you please look at me?”

Slowly, Asmo turned his head towards Satan and reluctantly opened his eyes. Satan gently lifted him up and pulled him into an embrace. Asmo couldn’t take it anymore and broke down on Satan’s shoulder. Satan rubbed soothing circles on Asmo’s back and stroked his tangled hair, grounding him. Eventually, when Asmo stopped crying, he pulled away from Satan with a sad smile on his face. Satan cupped his right cheek.

“It’s alright, we all miss them too. It’s ok to break down. When was the last time you took care of yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Asmo mumbled.

“That’s alright. Let’s get some food into your stomach first.”

Satan spent the rest of the night by his brother's side, cleaning his room and slowly, step by step, bringing back how his brother usually looked like. A glowing masterpiece, worthy of both envy and praise.

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