#and you give him a question and he spits put whole paragraphs

[147cookies]

I am so impressed w these ai character bots, my new addiction, highly recommend

[kaghoeyama]

three of cups.

featuring: eren jaeger, armin arlert, afab reader.

word count: 5.5k

summary: you, eren and armin have been best friends for ages. there’s always been an underlying tension between the three of you, until that tension finally snaps.

content warning: smut, college au, post-timeskip characters, alcohol consumption (characters are tipsy but not inebriated), threesome, mlm, mutual pining, voyeurism, thigh riding, fingering (f receiving), slight edging, use of good boy/good girl, masturbation, cumplay

a/n: uhh so i was horny and this happened. pls be kind this is like my first fanfic ever (also english is not my first language so if you spot any mistakes feel free to let me know).

update: so apparently tumblr took out a whole ass paragraph after the “keep reading” and then repeated two different paragraphs twice?? i’ve seen people trying to fix this by adding asterisks so i’m doing the same. sorry about that lol.

18+ CONTENT - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

So loud, you think.

You can almost feel the room vibrate with beat of the music, your steps naturally adapting to the rhythm as you make your way through a crowd of college students in various states of dishevelment. A smile comes to your lips. The whole place smells of alcohol and sweat and the floor is sticky, but you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed at the chaos; the year had been brutal for a lot of you and with finals finally behind you, no one was gonna miss the chance to loosen up and just have fun, yourself included. Which was exactly what brought you to make this little trip across the room, eyes fixed on your objective.

*

*

*

He’s leaning against the wall, his golden hair making it easier for you to spot him in the crowded room. His eyes are trained on his phone as he mindless scrolls down with his thumb, so you’re not too surprised when he doesn’t notice you straight away, even when you’re standing right in front of him.

You take a moment to take in his delicate features, his skin turned to porcelain by the bright light coming from his phone; the alcohol makes you bold enough to trail a hand up his arm and rest on his cheek, successfully shifting his attention to you. His face relaxes in a smile when he sees you, but his eyebrows are still raised in surprise at your sudden closeness; he opens his mouth to greet you but you’re quicker,  “Armin, would you please let me kiss you?”, your gaze keeping him pinned against the wall.

“I- what?” 

You relish in the way his breath catches in his throat, and you certainly don’t miss the flush that comes to his face or the way his eyes drop to your lips. 

“It’s for a dare… please?” your answer comes so innocent to his ears and he tries not to think at how pretty your plea sounded, even prettier than he’d fantasized so many times now.

 “I- I mean, yeah, sure” he stammers; you chuckle when close the distance between you, his pretty blue eyes still confused as you press your lips against his. 

The kiss comes out of the blue for him, yet you don’t miss the way his hands instinctively grip your waist as he pulls you closer to him. You hum into the kiss, your body suddenly so warm as he moves his lips against yours; he’s so pliant, all you had to do was ask and now he’s all over you, his grip keeping you flush against his body. Your fingers slip between his golden locks and when you lightly tug at them his hold grows tighter, his lips parting with a low moan. You swear you hear him whimper as you slip your tongue past his lips, taking control of the kiss as you explore his mouth, warm and wet and oh his hands are gripping your ass now, and you moan into the kiss as you feel his erection poking at your hip.

 “The dare said ‘kiss’ but if you two wanna get a room…” Sasha’s loud voice somehow reaches you from across the room and you pull back from the kiss, a string of spit connecting still connecting your mouths. He’s panting, mouth still parted, and you can’t help but stare at his pink lips, slightly puffed and still shiny from the kiss.

 Without thinking you brush a thumb against his lower lip, “so pretty” you murmur. 

Armin swallows around nothing, and when your eyes meet his pupils are all blown out, pleading, almost begging you to close the distance once again. Fuck he looks so flustered, heat pooling between your legs as you wonder how he’d look if you took his cock in your mouth, if you could make him so lost in pleasure that his smart little brain couldn’t form any coherent thoughts.

 You feel his arm around your shoulders before you see him, his usual scent of soap and lemon shampoo now mixed with a hint of smoke. You rest your head against his shoulder, your body craving physical contact after the kiss you’d shared with the blond. “Hi ’ren” you murmur against his shirt, dazed eyes looking up at him and then shifting to Armin. Your kiss was enough to make his brain fuzzy but now, with Eren’s arm wrapped around him and his body so close, he felt completely overwhelmed.

Eren pressed a kiss over your hair and pulled you and Armin even closer. “You shouldn’t keep all the fun to yourselves, don’t you know that sharing is caring?” he whispered, loud enough for both of you to hear through the music.

You can’t believe that cheesy line sent a shiver through your body. You figure it’s because of Eren.

“Maybe we should make use of that tequila bottle in our dorm room, what do you say Armin?” he adds, the blond choking out a soft affirmation. You doubt your sober self would have done that, but you were tipsy enough not to care when you took both their hands, interlacing your fingers with their own, a teasing smile gracing your lips. “Then what are we waiting for?”

 You feel strangely calm as you walk down the hallway. It’s definitely quieter than the party, and your attention is quickly drawn from one dorm room to another, where you catch glimpses of people smoking and drinking to the sound of at least ten different playlists.

Again, you smile. For the third year now you’re witnessing how your otherwise rigorous and law abiding campus turns into a huge frat party in the weekend after finals. You don’t know if it’s the warm weather or the fact most common spaces are surprisingly clean by monday that makes everyone look the other way, either way you’re thankful. You close your eyes for a moment as you walk, slightly overwhelmed by the music and the loud chatter and the drink you had at the party, your brain lost in a pleasant buzz.

 A light squeeze to your hand brings you back to earth. Your head turns to your left, eyes slowly opening to meet a pair of blue ones. 

“Are you okay?” Armin asks softly, the tiniest hint of concern slipping past his lips. You wait a beat before addressing his question, choosing to look at him instead. You note that his cheeks are almost as pink as his lips, and that his blue t-shirt makes his eyes sparkle; you ignore how your stomach flips when you realize he’d been holding your hand since you’d left the party. 

“I’m great,” you say as you shift closer to him “I’m in a good mood actually.”

 You catch Eren’s eyes leaving you as he turns his head forward and keeps walking in front of you. You let your gaze travel from his head – you loved that half bun he kept his hair in more than you should – to his broad shoulders, entranced by the way his black t-shirt stretches over his muscular back.

You must have missed the part where he stopped in front of the dorm room, because you end up bumping against that back. 

“You’re completely out of it” Eren teases with a grin. 

“No, I’m not” you retort, “as I said, I’m in a good mood.”

 The look he gives you is playful. “You call it good mood, I call it being drunk.”

 “I had literally just one drink, there’s no way anyone could get drunk from that.”

 “Depends on how strong the drink is.”

 “Will you shut up?”

 You’re still bickering as you enter the room, Armin rolling his eyes at the two of you with a fond smile. Once Eren shuts the door though, you all fall quiet.

 The only light came from the blue led Armin had put on his side of the room, casting a glow over your faces that was almost ethereal. There’s a weird tension, a nervous feeling gripping your stomach and making you tingle with anticipation. You’d been alone with them in that very room more times than you could count, cramming for tests, watching a movie or simply hanging out, but tonight something was different. You sit next to Armin on his bed, eyebrows knitting together as you quickly try to analyse that feeling.

 The three of you had been friends for ages, since you all attended the same elementary school and lived down the same street. You had bonded with Armin first, his quiet and intelligent personality matching well with yours. You remember fondly the warm afternoons in his backyard, grass tickling your skin as he showed you his new ocean life books and you rambled about ancient Egypt, Greek myths or whatever you were fixating on at the moment.

 Eren on the other hand – at first you couldn’t stand him. You only knew him as ‘Armin’s other friend’, but he was such a loud and hot headed kid, you’d always found his attitude too off-putting to even start a conversation, and you were pretty sure he didn’t like you either. After some pushing from Armin though, you’d actually tried to get to know each other; much to your surprise, you found out you had a lot of interests in common. Eventually, you’d even come to admire how passionate he got about the things he cared about, how strong his ideals were, and with time his impulsivity left room to a much more calculated approach.

 After all these years, the three of you were still as thick as thieves; you’d become so comfortable around each other that people always assumed you were either dating one of them. You’d always brush it off with a laugh, but now you wonder if it’s normal for friends to behave like that around each other. It was the little things at first; lingering touches, wondering eyes, teasing comments. Then Eren’s hands all over you every time you wore a pretty dress, or Armin’s obvious erection that time you and Eren were messing around at the pool; even your friends had noticed how close you were – and never missed a chance to tease you about it.

This is stupid, you conclude. They’re your oldest and closest friends, you won’t allow your attraction to them – at least you’re admitting it’s there – to make things weird.

 You move to get the tequila you know they keep hidden in the closet; maybe that will shake the awkwardness away. You take a long sip before handing the bottle to the blond, alcohol still burning in your throat as you lay on your back, head resting on his lap.

 You feel him still beneath you; when you look at him, his flustered expression is clear despite the dim lit room – before you can catch yourself, you wonder if he’s still hard from before.

 Eren looks at the both of you on Armin’s bed. You’ve closed your eyes and your head is lightly nodding along with some music coming from the hallway, the beat muffled by the closed door. He watches Armin, a fond smile dancing on his lips as he can almost hear the mental pep talk the blond gives himself before raising a hand to play with your hair. You hum at that, eyes slowly opening as you turn your head towards him.

 “Eren, come closer” you say, stretching out an arm as if to reach him.

 “And why would I do that” he answers with a playful smile on his lips.

 You raise your eyebrow, smiling back to him. “If you insist on staying over there, I guess Armin and I are really gonna keep all the fun to ourselves, isn’t that right Armin.” You say lightly, rising from his lap to lay against his side, your body wrapping around his arm; his hand ends up between your closed thighs and somehow you manage not purr in his ear as you rest your head on his shoulder, both of you now facing Eren. 

When Armin speaks, you don’t miss how his playful tone hides a hint of malice, eyes fixed on the brunette, “oh I’m sure he wouldn’t mind just watching if we were actually having fun.”

Eren laughs at that, his voice dropping lower. 

“True” he admits calmly, as if the thought hadn’t brought him to several orgasms through the years, “but right now I think I’d rather join.” 

And he does, sitting close to your other side.

You wish that type of exchange wasn’t as common as it was between the three of you. You also wish it didn’t send a wave of arousal trough your body every single time.

You watch him as he leans toward you to grab the bottle from Armin’s hand, taking a sip of the amber liquor. Your eyes follow a drop of alcohol at the corner of his mouth, unconsciously tightening your hold on the blond as Eren’s tongue comes out to bring the drop past his lips.

In that moment, Armin decides he’s had enough. He’s way too turned on to let all this teasing slide; if the three of you really are as attracted to each other as he thinks, this was the time he was gonna do something about it. So when he speaks, he does with a purpose.

 “Is it weird that I’ve kissed both my best friends?” his question sounds so innocent, he even lets out a calculated chuckle to feign embarrassment.

Eren tilts his head toward him, throwing him a curious glance “You still remember that? Must have been one hell of a kiss huh” he smirks. 

Armin knows he’s teasing, and that he clearly remembers too, but he can’t help the pink blush that colours his cheeks as his thoughts rush back to that night.

 It happened first semester of junior year, after Sasha’s ‘small’ housewarming party had quickly turned into a full blown party. As the music got louder and more and more people filled the tiny flat, Jean, all tipsy and bright eyed, had gathered all of you in Sasha’s room to play spin the bottle – most of you had booed him, but you’d followed him anyway.

 After watching you awkwardly peck Connie on the lips and Mikasa blush violently as Sasha took her face between her hands and gave her a loud smooch, it was his turn to play. He gave the bottle a spin and almost choked on his spit when it landed on Eren. He remembers everyone cheering as he tried to stop his face from flushing red, looking everywhere but at Eren; that’s how his eyes landed on you, quiet where your friends were loud, your eyes focused on him in a way that was almost daring.

He followed your gaze as it moved towards Eren, finally making eye contact with the boy. His attempts look composed failed miserably when Eren, a lazy smirk spreading on his lips, beckoned him with his hand to move closer.

 “I- uh we don’t have to…” he choked out.

 Eren’s smirk grew wider, “It’s just a game Armin, what are you scared of?”

 Armin couldn’t tell if his tone was soft or mocking, either way he felt as he had something to prove now.

He stood on his knees and crawled on the floor as Eren mirrored him, ignoring the way his stomach flipped as they met in the middle of the circle, so close he could feel his breath over his lips.

“What’s taking so long?” Jean said from somewhere behind him, “it’s not like you haven’t done this before” he teased.

Armin wanted to turn back and state that no, they had not actually done that before – he’d probably sound way more disappointed than he should – but before he could even open his mouth he felt a hand on his cheek; his eyes flickered back to Eren’s green ones, only to find them trained on his lips as the brunette sealed the gap between them.

Eren’s lips felt so impossibly soft again his, he tasted like vodka and something sweet he couldn’t recognise and Armin couldn’t really thing about anything as he lost himself in the kiss. The hand on his cheek moved through his hair and Eren pulled slightly, just enough to make Armin gasp against his lips, taking the chance to slide his tongue against his lower lip and into his mouth. Armin broke the kiss at that, a whimper leaving his lips because he wanted, needed more, but the feelings building up inside him – and the arousal making his pants tighter – were sending him in a slight panic.

He barely registered his friends’ loud noises as he sat back on his spot, but he didn’t miss the way Eren winked at him and licked his lips, green eyes boring into his blue ones. Armin struggled to act like his normal self rather than some teenager who had just kissed his long time crush. He desperately tried to focus on something, anything but Eren and his stupid lips and stupid grin and stupidly pretty eyes right in front of him, and that’s how his eyes found you again.

 You had watched the whole scene with an interest you hoped went unnoticed by your friends. You sure hoped Mikasa, sat right next to you, had missed the way your breath hitched in your throat as you watched the blond gasp under Eren’s grip, heat coursing through your body and pooling between your legs. When Armin’s blue eyes found you, flustered, with half lidded eyes and teeth sunk in your bottom lip, you’d lowered your head in shame.

 Eren rests his head again the wall and closes his eyes, as to enhance the memory.

It had been over a year ago, yet he remembered Armin’s sweet lips against his, the small noises he unconsciously let out going straight to his groin.

 He remembered your face, eyes glossy with desire as you watched them part, flustered almost as much as Armin, as if you’d been the one kissing him instead, and oh had he wanted to kiss you. Had it been just the three of you in that room, he would have grabbed your face and bruised those pretty lips, forcing Armin’s sweet taste in your mouth.

 He’d long given up the guilt that came with fantasising about his closest friends, any uncomfortable feeling quickly replaced by pleasure every time he wrapped his hand around his cock. At first it was just one of you under him, on top of him; soon enough he’d started picturing both of you on your knees, eyes bright and pleading, pink tongue hanging out of your mouths as you wait for him to paint your pretty faces with his cum.

“So who’s the best kisser?” you ask, your warm breath against Armin’s ear making him shiver.

 “I can’t- You both… I’m not gonna answer that.” Armin manages to sound flustered when he answers.

 Eren looks at him. “I would” he states nonchalantly, “but I don’t have all the materials to make my choice.” His tone drops to a low murmur, green eyes slowly shifting to you.

 Armin tries to hold back a smile, both of you reacting exactly as he anticipated.

 Your heart is hammering in your chest, it’s beat so loud you’re sure both of the boys can hear it; when you speak, you desperately try to keep your voice steady.

“Then god forbid you make an uniformed decision.”

 Eren is straight up grinning at this point; he grabs your wrists and tugs you closer, pulling you on his lap. You balance yourself on his shoulders as his hands graze your bare thighs up and down, your skirt bunching up to your hips and barely covering your panties.

 When your eyes meet, you’re shocked at how softly he’s looking at you. “I’ve been waiting a while for this” he murmurs, his voice almost a whisper, and you swear you can feel him stroking your cheek before burying his hands your hair and drawing you closer. He’s so warm all pressed up against you, so sweet when his lips ghost against yours before finally kissing you.

You’re slow to respond at first, too lost in how right it feels to have him so close and all over you, but you’re quick to part your lips for him, his tongue sliding against yours; he tastes of alcohol and you get drunk on it, a small moan leaving your throat and getting lost in the kiss. You whimper as you feel him groping your ass and push you even closer. He’s kissing you like a man starved, devouring you, the intensity making you feel light headed. You break apart from the kiss with a sigh, head falling on his shoulder, barely registering what you’re doing as you lightly grind against his hardening cock.

Eren groans as he tugs your hair so that you can look at him, his dark pupils swallowing up almost any trace of green. 

“So needy… how many times have you thought about this?” he asks, a teasing smile on his lips as his fingers play with the hem of your skirt. 

You look away from him, cheeks heating up; you don’t want to admit how many times you’ve cummed on your fingers with their names on your lips, but you don’t think you have a choice.

 His head dips lower to press an open mouth kiss to the column of your throat, “Answer baby, there’s no need to be shy; we’re all friends here.”

 You suck in your breath, voice embarrassingly shaky “so- so many times, w- with both of you” you confess.

 Armin groans at your words, a curse slipping past his lips. “We- we could have done this so long ago” he mumbles, eyes fixed on you as he palms himself through his jeans. You feel so hot under his gaze, so wanted, you never want his eyes to leave your body.

Eren steals your attention by sucking a purple mark at the base of your neck; you bite back a moan as he licks at the bruise, heat pooling in your panties. he clicks his tongue in disapproval.

 “This won’t do” he says softly against the shell of your ear “how can Armin hear all your pretty noises if you hold them back?”

 Before you can choke out an apology, his lips go back on your neck, finding that sweet spot below your ear that makes you whimper. You’re trembling as he sucks another bruise on your skin and this time you don’t hold back, soft moans leaving your lips as your hands grips his hair, tugging it loose and fawning all over his shoulders.

 Eren pulls back, admiring his work as you try to steady your breath. 

“Good girl” he murmurs, “let us hear you.”

 You shudder at his words. You don’t think you’ve ever been so turned on in your life, and he’s barely put his mouth on you. You can feel wet slick gathering in your panties and you shift to straddle one of his thighs, grinding hard to relieve the tension as your head falls back, a loud moan leaving your lips.

Two strings of low curses reach your ears, and you barely register Armin slipping a hand under his pants as Eren pulls you down on him again, the knee you have trapped between his legs pressing against his hard cock.

 “Fuck, baby you wanna cum like that? Riding my thigh?” he pants, slightly bouncing his leg up to meet your movements, successfully drawing another moan out of your lips.

He brings a hand your face, almost reverent as his thumb grazes your lower lip, just like you’d done with Armin barely an hour ago. Your tongue darts out and licks the tip of his thumb before wrapping your lips around it, sucking slightly as you nod, eager.

Eren parts his lips, eyes glued to your mouth. He can’t believe he finally has you – both of you – as he wants you, as he’s pictured so many times; he wonders if he’ll come undone in his pants like a teenager, as you add pressure on his throbbing cock with each grind of your hips. He slips his finger from your warm lips, rushing his hands under your skirt to take off your panties.

 When you finally readjust yourself on his thick thigh, you almost sob at the feeling of your bare, sensitive cunt against the rough material of his pants. Before you can resume your movements, he lifts up the piece of fabric, dangling it in front of your face.

 “Look at this” he murmurs, “completely soaked” his voice trailing off as an idea suddenly forms in his mind. 

He turns to Armin, and fuck, he feels his cock twitch at the sight. The blond is laying against the headboard, legs spread apart; he has a hand wrapped tight at the base of his hard, leaking cock, his pretty face all scrunched up in pleasure. 

Armin’s cheeks heat up when he notices Eren’s eyes on him, but it doesn’t stop him from slowly stroking his cock, trying to delay his orgasm as much as possible.

“’Min, you think you could use these?” Eren asks, dark eyes dropping between the blond’s legs. Armin’s eyes widen at the request, his brain shutting down for a moment as he looks at the drenched panties in his hand. 

“What? I- I-…” he looks at you, dazed, half lidded eyes boring into his blue ones as you rub slowly on eren’s thigh. “Y- yes please” he chokes out, shame reddening the tip of his ears.

 “So polite… what a good boy” Eren purrs, his deep voice making Armin twitch in his own hand. 

He takes the panties, the beads of your arousal thick on the side your cunt was, and he wraps the fabric around his cock. You watch with wide eyes, struggling to believe that sweet innocent Armin would ever give you such a lewd sight; you’re itching to lean over and kiss, lick, bite every inch of his body, but Eren’s grip on your waist keeps you in place.

Armin moans loudly as your slick smears all over his shaft. He keeps rubbing at himself with your panties trapped between his hand and his cock and how the fuck is this already topping every sexual experience I’ve ever had he manages to think. His eyes trail up and down your body, Eren’s body, and he doesn’t even notice how much his strokes speed up, hips bucking desperately into his own hand.

“Slow down baby or you’ll miss all the fun” Eren’s voice is as soft as the hand he puts on his leg to appease him. “If you behave, y/n will let you cum on her, right?” he says, sneaking a hand between your legs and sliding two fingers between your dripping folds.

 “Ah- ye- yes Armin, wherever you want” you squeak, arching your back as Eren slips his fingers inside you. You feel inebriated as he slowly starts pumping, his fingertips massaging your walls, so slowly you want to cry. You wail when his fingers curl over your sweet spot, a hand gripping your waist to stop you from fucking yourself against his hand.

“Please ‘Ren, oh god, please, faster” you sob, high pitched moans slipping past your lips before you even realise it.

Instead of listening to you, Eren pulls his fingers out and slides them up to your clit, collecting your slick; you whimper when he retracts his hand from your cunt, pressing down on his thigh once again to get more friction. When your clit brushes against a wrinkle in his pants your eyes roll inside your head, orgasm so close you can taste it, but apparently Eren has other plans.

 “Not yet baby, hold it for a bit longer, will you?” he purrs close to your ear, his mouth peppering wet kisses on your neck.

“Please a-ah Eren I c-can’t-” your words come out as broken sobs but you’ve long stopped caring, your brain filled with nothing but pleasure.

When Eren looks at your face you look absolutely wrecked, sweat shining on your forehead and cheeks red from the strain, chest heaving as quick pants come out of your parted lips. “

Armin, come here.” He says, hungry eyes still locked on yours. The blond obeys and shuffles closer to the two of you, your panties forgotten on the bed.

“You’ve been so good I think you deserve a reward” he says, as he pushes the glistening fingers he’d just pulled out of your cunt straight into Armin’s pretty mouth. 

The blond moans at your taste, both hands coming to grab Eren’s wrist and push his fingers further in his mouth, choking slightly when they hit the back of his throat. Eren watches him in a trance, mesmerised by his blown eyes and the drop of spit that dribbles from the corner of his mouth. He wants to fucking ruin him. But not yet.

He takes his hand from the blond’s grasp – the whimper that leaves his mouth almost makes him cum on the spot. Eren lifts you from his lap, ignoring your pout as he places you right beside Armin.

 “Sit still for me” he says as he slowly palms his cock before unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down with his boxers. You hear Armin suck in his breath as Eren’s hard cock slaps against his stomach, your own eyes widening at the sight; in length he almost matches the blonde, but the girth is just… fuck. Even dwarfed by his huge hand it’s almost intimidating, a thick vein reaching his pink leaking tip.

Eren takes his time as he pumps himself, eyes fixed on both of you; he drinks in your pretty, desperate faces, hands clutching the bedsheets as you try not to squirm under his gaze.

“Where do you wanna cum ’Min?” Eren’s question snaps him off a stupor, eyes leaving his groin to settle on your face.

You’re surprised Armin can blush more than he already is as he stutters that he wants to cum on you tits. You smirk as you quickly take off your top and unhook your bra, lust clouding you senses as you lay on the bed, head towards Eren as you motion Armin to straddle your waist. His eyes flicker to Eren and you miss the brunette’s nod before Armin comes on top of you, knees straddling your thighs.

Armin can’t believe just how fucking pretty you look under him, naked except for that cute pleated skirt you’re somehow still wearing. His hand trails up your stomach to squeeze your tits, fingers playing with your nipples as he pumps himself faster.

You feel Eren’s hand cradle your face, “touch yourself” he says, and you do just that.

With your skirt bunched up at your waist and your fingers quickly circling your clit, Armin doesn’t stand a chance; he leans forward, a hand planted on the bed as he cums on your tits with loud moan and your name on his lips, warm liquid painting your heaving chest. 

You watch the blond leaning back against the headboard, desperately trying to catch his breath; you lock eyes with him, toungue wetting your lips as you bring a hand up to play with the mess he made on you, getting high on the look of pure defeat on his face as you take your cum coated fingers back to your clit.

 “Oh fuck” Eren can’t believe how wrecked his own voice sounds “who would have thought you two would be such dirty sluts” he pants, his hand sliding faster and faster against his cock.

 You moan at his words “’Ren p-please can- can I-”

 “Cum.” He orders, and you obey right away.

The sounds that leave your lips are nothing short of pornographic, your body shaking and twitching in pleasure, mouth agape and head thrown back as white lights explode behind your eyelids, any coherent thought wiped out of your brain. Eren chokes out a curse at the sight, soft, high pitched groans echoing in the room until he finally cums with a broken moan, the liquid coating his hand and making a mess on his clothes.

It takes a while before any of you even attempts to move; silence falls in the room once again, except for your labored pants mixed with the music still playing in the hallway.

 Eren is the first to get up and head for the bathroom. By the time you’ve all taken a shower and settled back on Armin’s bed, no one has still said a word. You feel anxiety settle low in your stomach, its grip speeding up your heartbeats.

Did you ruin everything? Is this the end of your friendship? 

 “So who’s the best kisser?”

 Armin’s voice comes out tired and rough, but it puts a halt to the doubts swirling in your mind.

 The breathy chuckle leaving Eren’s mouth sends a wave of relief through your body; “I’m sorry ’Min but y/n is definitely winning this one.” You smile as you feel his hand ghosting over your spine.

 “Yeah, figured.”

The blond curls up against you and you’re still smiling. 

The bed is way too small for the three of you and the night breeze coming from the window does little to cool you down, but you’ve never been better, a warm feeling spreading from where your bodies connect with each other.

 As slumber takes you, you hope they’re still gonna be there when you wake up.

[mrs-march-ahs]

May you please do 1,23,57,11,17 with James overstimulating the heck out of the (female) reader?

James March Overstimulating the Heck Out of You

I swear I’m working through requests! I’m sorry it’s so so long! I just love this man so much! As always, requests and feedback are appreciated.

I obviously recommend reading the whole thing, but if you want the smut then skip to the paragraph that begins “You are going to make this up to me”

Words- 3.2k

1. “Please, let me taste you.”

23. “I’m proud of you.”

57. “I won’t stop until you pass out.”

11. “You’re fucking hot when you cry.”

17. “One last time, please?”

Enjoy :)

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You sit at the Cortez bar, moving your glass around on its edge, swirling your martini in circles. You look at it longingly and deep in thought, which is immediately noticed by Liz.

“Something on your mind, honey?”, she says, and stops wiping down the counter to lean down slightly in front of you, with a worried expression on her face.

You break out of your trance and look at her and smile warmly at how much she cares about you.

“I just have a question…”, you hesitate and quickly explain. “Because of course you’ve known James a lot longer than I have, and of course I value your opinion”.

Liz’s worried expression turns into a laugh and she picks up her cloth to get back to work.

“Spit it out”.

You laugh awkwardly and look back down at your glass, to think exactly what to say.

“Is James, sensitive?”, you ask. A blank expression covers her face, as she waits for you to say more. You feel defeated and sigh before explaining.

“I know he has a big ego, and I would honestly hate to hurt him, but recently…he’s not been too great. I’ve even had to…you know”. You close your eyes to avoid eye contact.

“Fake it”.

A huge laugh erupts from Liz as she shakes up another martini for you. You watch awkwardly, waiting for her laughing to come to a halt and give you some advice. Sadly, she doesn’t stop. You look at her slightly upset and she immediately tries to calm herself.

“Girl, why is it such a big deal? If he isn’t doing good, tell him”.

An unknown voice from behind you chuckles warmly before sitting down next to you. He looks at you with a friendly smile and orders a whiskey from Liz. She promptly gives him his order and refills your drink too. You thank her and take a sip from your drink, while the stranger takes the opportunity of being out of your vision to look at you, up and down. He fixates his sight on your cleavage before you look at him, quickly forcing him to snap out of it. Though you were obviously loyal to James, it was nice to know that other men were still interested in you, despite some of your insecurities.

“Imagine having a lady like this, and forcing her to fake orgasms”, he clicked his tongue a few times before smirking at you. “What a waste”. His compliments redden your cheeks and make you let out breathy laughs. His penetrating gaze on you made you warm inside.

“What’s your name?”, you happily ask the stranger.

“Will”. He replies and smiles back at you. Before he has a second to bounce the question back at you, you feel strong hands around your waist. You look over your shoulder straight away to see a very angry and tense James March behind you, pulling your waist off the bar stool.

“I apologize dearly, but we have to go”, James snaps keeping his eyes on the still smirking man.

“No worries, see you later, darling”, Will says and winks at you, before taking a big drink of whiskey.

James looks at him with his jaw tensed and puts his arm around your waist tightly, before walking away with you. You try to keep up with his quick and angry pace as he takes you to your room, staying silent the whole trip there. He opens the door and pushes you in the room. You stumble in trying to not fall over, and you turn to look at him as he slams the door shut and locks it. You smile at him innocently.

“Don’t play innocent with me now, darling!”, he barks at you, coming close to you. “Is this what you do when I’m not around? Must you have constant attention?”. Instead of answering his questions, you kiss him. He kisses you back forcefully and grabs you by the waist, heading for the bed. He rips your white satin dress off in one quick motion and throws it to the ground before pushing you on the bed.

“I’m going to remind you to whom you belong”, he says sternly and climbs over you. “Because clearly you must have forgotten”. James takes off his blazer and starts to unbuckle his belt. “I haven’t forgotten”, you say sweetly, and pull him closer to your face by his tie. You whisper seductively, “I’m all Will’s”. His expression switches from slightly jealous to intense anger at you. Although he knew you were only pushing his buttons, your disobedience made it clear that you didn’t care for the consequences. And he couldn’t have that.

He straddles you and takes his tie off and uses it to tightly restrain your hands to the bed frame. As he is securing a tight knot on one of your wrists, you use your hand to palm him through his pants and start to unzip them. He glares at you but continues working at your hands and doesn’t stop until you unzip his fly completely and take out his pulsing cock and stroke him. He quickly grabs your wrist and ties a knot around it. “Please let me taste you, Sir”, you beg. Although James was a fan of Daddy, respectful words like Sir and Mr. March were his kryptonite. Usually, they get a very enthusiastic response, but instead he shakes his head and laughs darkly.

“You truly believe you can get away with anything”. You giggle at him but quickly stop when he stares at you. He gets off the bed and starts to loop his belt back through his pants, and quickly puts on his blazer too. He smiles sarcastically at your confused expression and grabs his cane. Your eyes widen and your mouth opens as he begins to walk towards the door. You shout his name repeatedly, but he doesn’t stop, until he walks towards the clock on the wall. He gently takes it off and sets it down on the desk facing down.

“Why would you do that? James please! Please don’t leave me here!”, you beg him and pull at your restrains, which do not move in the slightest.

“James! What if somebody walks in?”, you whine desperately and wriggles around the bed. James gives you a quick glance and chuckles at your desperation but instead of helping you, he gives you a quick wave and shuts the door behind him. You scream his name but quickly regret it, hoping that it doesn’t attract the attention of anybody else. The bed creaks slightly as you jump around trying to get your restraints off, but only hurting your wrists in the process. You wince and decide to stay still, but quickly come to realize that you don’t even know how long James will leave you here for. Assumingly until you learn your lesson. Even the sheer idea of him coming back and punishing you for being a brat makes you even wetter than before. You whine to yourself as you rub your legs together, attempting to get some release on your tingling crotch, but instead just looking like a cricket. You huff when it doesn’t work and try to relax your body, looking up at the ceiling. Though you knew it would only make your situation worse, your mind couldn’t help but wander to filthy scenarios in which James punishes you for being such a bad girl.

After what felt like an hour, you hear steps coming towards your bedroom door and the handle turn. Your cheeks flush red in embarrassment and you shut your eyes tightly, hoping that it was James. The loud slam of the door makes your body jerk and your eyes open, looking at James walking towards you, smiling widely. You huff at him as he steps by the bed looking down at you.

“I think you’ll be happy to know dear, you do not have to worry about Will Drake anymore”, James says happily, and looks at your confused face. Fear runs through your body as he unbuttons his blazer, revealing his blood-stained shirt. He takes it off and carefully hangs it on the chair, taking his time with every step, purposely to annoy you.

You’re lost for words watching James take off his shirt, throwing it in the laundry basket.

“Just because I talked to somebody, you killed him?!”, you spit at him, the effect of your harsh words not getting through to him, as you remain tied up on the bed at his mercy.

“Have you learned your lesson, dearest?”, James says calmly. As if he didn’t just take somebody’s life. You couldn’t help but feel guilty and responsible about his death, and angry at James for being so casual about it.

You try to scold him for what he did as he sits on the edge of the bed, looking at your almost naked body up and down, his face showing no remorse.

“He didn’t deserve to die! He was just being friendly! He was telling me that if I were his girlfriend, I wouldn’t have to fake orgasms!”. The second the last word came out of your mouth, your stern face softened and looked at James, waiting for his reaction. He looks over at sorry face with an enraged expression. He stood up and towered over you as you laid there helplessly. Though his parted lips looked like he was getting ready to shout, he didn’t. Instead, he speedily untied your hands from the bed. You watched him, looking at his tense muscles and chest, combined with his tough and mean expression, making you even wetter.

“You are going to make this up to me”. He growled and pulled you to sit up by your hair. You gasp as he pulls you towards the floor. You get on your knees and watch him sit at the edge of the bed and unbuckle his belt just enough to get his soft cock out. He wedges his foot between your legs to part them and pulls your hands to link behind him. You look up at him, inches away from his dick and wait for permission to put him in your mouth. Though disobedient before, the last thing you needed is for him to tease you longer and delay your orgasm more than already. He shoved himself into your mouth and urgently started suckling on him.

“Do not even think about stopping until I’m hard”, he snapped at you. He keeps his shoe between your legs and rubs it against your crotch making you moan softly around him. He groans as you do so, feeling the vibrations on his dick.

“You’re so wet; you’re polishing my shoe”, he chuckles and grabs your hair, pulling you down further on his now hard cock. He throws his head back as you gag on his length and moan from even the minimal friction you get from his shoe. You close your eyes in humiliation that that little contact can have such an effect on you. James’ grip on the hair at the back of your head tightens and he yanks it, making you open your eyes and look up at him.

“Keep your eyes on me, darling”.

He groans and pulls your head off his hard cock. He stands up and pulls you to lay face first on the bed. You lay still and try to look over your shoulder at James, pulling his belt from his pants and folding it in half roughly, he spreads your legs and stands between them, looking down at your perfect ass. He rubs his large hand over your cheek and exhales, minimal contact once against making you melt. As you relax and moan softly, he stops and holds his belt with a tight grip. As you go to look over at what he’s doing, he snaps the belt down on your ass cheek, making you squirm in pain. Your hand instinctively goes to touch your sore mark, but James pushes your hand away, and belts you once again. Heat burned throughout your body, on the inside and out and you whimper. He forcefully pulls down your underwear and rips it all the way off your body. His dominance making you gasp and the cool air hitting your dripping pussy making you shiver. As you breathe heavily and try to relax again, he resumes belting you, this time, not stopping after every one and giving you five new bright red marks. The constant stinging brings tears to your eyes and you shut your eyes tightly, trying to make them go away, but instead forcing them out. As another hard whip hits you, you bite your lip but can’t help letting the tears all fall out and wailing quietly.

“You’re so fucking hot when you cry”. As a proud gentleman, James rarely swore. But the times he did emphasized his words so much and made them so much hotter, that you couldn’t help but bite your lip harder, and look at him. Your teary eyes made James melt and softened, as he rubbed his hand over your thigh lovingly.

“You’re taking your punishment very well, kitten. Why don’t you prove to me that you’ve learned your lesson, and take a few more?”, he suggests. It becomes clear in his much softer tone that he wouldn’t continue striking you if you didn’t want it. It was this slight safety net that made you nod your head at him, willing to try to take as many belts as thought was fit. He spares no time before he steps back slightly and whips across both ass cheeks. You jump and wince, but no longer cry, getting used to the pain, and kind of liking it. He strokes some hair out of your face and turns your head to the side so he can see you. He doesn’t break eye contact as he hits you again and again, several times with no break. You wince repeatedly and once tears return to your eyes, James drops his belt on the bed and takes his pants and underwear off.

“I’m proud of you”. He grabs you by the hips and pulls you up to get on your knees. “I think you may have learned your lesson about teasing me by sharing your attention with other men.”

“However, you still need to make up all those fake orgasms to me”, he says bluntly, slamming into your pussy in one thrust. You moan and bounce forward. You try to prop your body up with your shaky hands, but before you can do that, James grabs your still sore wrists and holds them behind your back, forcing your face into the mattress. He slams into you repeatedly and fills you up deeper every time. Your already dripping wet pussy swallows every inch of him and clenches around him, earning rhythmic moans from James. The sound alone is enough to bring you over the edge and you moan loudly as you cum for him. His pace gets faster and you whine and whimper as you try to look at him with pleading eyes.

“J-James I already-”

“How am I meant to know whether that was real? Perhaps you are a master at the craft of faking orgasms?”, he says sarcastically, letting go of your hands and grabbing your waist, thrusting himself into you and pushing your body onto his, going in deeper. You moan as you still tingle from your previous orgasm, very quickly reaching close to your second. James reaches round and rubs your clit, making you jump from overstimulation, but he doesn’t let you go and continues thrusting in you fast. The extra touch from him brings you to your second orgasm. You moan and swear incoherently, making James chuckle and moan louder. He continues thrusting into you and you lean forward to get away. He pushes you to lay down and kneels on the bed, still fucking you from behind. You become slightly limp as he leans over your flat body, fucking you. Every time his pelvis touches your sore ass, you flinch. He pulls your shoulder up, forcing you to prop yourself up on your elbows. He wraps his big hand around your neck and kisses you shoulder as he thrusts in you, increasingly groaning in your ear.

“James I’ve already cum twice for you”, you say, your voice breaking up with every harsh thrust into your aching and creaming pussy. His grip around your throat tightens.

“I won’t stop until you’ve passed out”. His harsh words make you shiver and as you open your lips to argue, he purposely thrusts hard, pushing against your ass, making you cry out. The stringing and burning mixed with the hard thrusts hitting your g-spot force another orgasm from you. But after a few more movements hitting your ass, you choke back a cry and James instantaneously lets go of your throat and slows down his thrusts slightly. He looks at you and flips you over. He climbs over you and continues moving slowly, looking at your tired face.

“One last time, please? You’re doing so well my darling”. He cups your cheek, and you lean into his touch. You nod tiredly and wrap your hands around his neck. He starts thrusting harder but tries to keep his speed reasonable, to not hurt you. However, you liked it, the pain from all the stimulation of the day increasing your pleasure. He kisses your neck and sucks on certain spots that he knows you like, making you moan softly in his ear. You reach down and rub your sore clit to bring you to orgasm quicker, but James pulls your hand away and puts his thumb on it and rubs you. You smile slightly and relax your body, knowing he won’t go too hard on you anymore. He moans and watches you intensely, your lax body bouncing up, causing your boobs to jiggle. The sight of you with dried tears down your cheeks and red rings around your wrists fits right into his corruption kink and groans as he releases in you, making sure to keep up speed on your clit. Watching him come undone and fill you up makes you moan his name and cum one last time. After riding out both of your orgasms for a few more seconds, you close your legs and push him off, too sore on the inside and out for him to continue.

He lays down next to you and kisses where your tears slid down your cheeks. You roll over to face him and he puts his arm around you. After a minute to gather your thoughts and catch your breath, you look at him.

“I promise that next time a man is too friendly with me, I’ll mention you straight away”. James chuckles lightly.

“Instead, darling, please promise me that you will never deceive me with a fake orgasm again”. You smile at him and nod, then peck his lips. “Feel free to flirt with whoever you chose, dearest. Next time, I’ll punish you harder”.

[darkmulti]

Love Lies

BTS

Pairing: Yandere! Jungkook, Sugar Daddy! Jungkook, Split! Jungkook x female reader

Genre: Angst & Smut

Word Count: 5.5K

CONTAINS DARK THEMES! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

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A/N: I’m so fucking done with tumblr. This is really shitty like the rest of my works. Read the warnings carefully.

𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐃𝐈𝐃) 𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐲/𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬.

Contains ‘hardcore’ kinks

Smut Warning: multiple smuts, anal, choking, dacryphilia kink, heavy degradation, bdsm -> ddlg, face slapping, spanking, fucking in front of a mirror, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, blowjob, cum eating, overstimulation, dirty talk, finger sucking, bondage (I’m probably missing something)

Other Warnings: possessive Jungkook/ JK, mentions of past abuse, Stockholm Syndrome, blood, murder, Jungkook kills people, cheating

Featuring Baekhyun (EXO) and Taehyung (BTS)

THIS CONTAINS NON CONSENSUAL SEX!

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“No! Stop! Let me go! I want to go home! I hate you!” You cried, provoking Jungkook even more. He spanked your bare butt cheek again. “Is that how you talk to your owner? Mmh? Answer me, you slut!” Another spank was placed on your bottom. You whimper under him, not knowing what to do.

“Please… I want the old you back.”

—————

2 weeks ago

You peered out of the tiny, plane window as the sun was shining right in your eyes. Finally, you’ve arrived in the city of love, Paris, France. You’ve always dreamt about coming here, but you couldn’t afford it. It was unfortunate at the time however, life is full of surprises. You sat down next to your sugar daddy - Jungkook - and leaned in for a kiss. You’ve been with him for a year now and it has been the best year of your life.

He bought you high-end accessories, clothes and cars. He owned huge mansions, a private jet and a helicopter. Being a billionaire was amazing for the most part. Though there was one thing Jungkook found himself struggling with and that was his love life. Coming back home to an empty bed after a long day of work made him feel like shit. That’s why he hired you.

You started working for Jungkook as a personal assistant. Everything about you lit up Jungkook’s eyes. But in secret, of course. You were smart, pretty, professional, your eyes and smile made Jungkook’s heart skip a beat. Yet, he still kept a cold attitude towards you.

You didn’t mind his cold attitude. It kept you on track and productive throughout the day. To you, Jungkook was a boss. Nothing more or less. That’s why you politely denied going out with him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Jeon. I’d like to keep things professional between us.” You said calmly but inside you were freaking out.

Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue. So you’re playing hard to get with him? Too bad, Jungkook always gets what he wants. “If you don’t go out with me tonight, I’ll fire you.” You look at him in confusion. “W-what?! Why? You can’t do-”

“I can and I will. Be ready by 7. I’ll pick you up.” He walks back to his office like nothing happened while you stood there with your mouth wide open from shock. The following night, you got ready for your date. You can’t lose your job. How will you survive? Your money situation was already pretty tight, so you really couldn’t lose this job. Jungkook texted you right at 7 pm and told you he was outside of your apartment.

That’s where the wonderful journey with him began. You both were close to finishing your meal when he brought the contract up.

“I know you're struggling with money right now, but I promise I can make it all go away.” He whipped out his papers and handed it to you. “It’s a contract. I want you to spend time with me. Ask me about my day, cuddle with me, satisfy my sexual needs and I'll give you whatever you want besides money.” Your eyes widen. Is he serious? You flipped through the pages that were full of detailed paragraphs. “You want to have sex with me?” Jungkook nodded his head and avoided eye contact. “If you agree you can move in with me and stop stressing about money. I’ll take care of you.”

“No. You’ll take my independence and freedom away.”

“You say no to this contract, you’re fired.”

“You can’t-” you argue back.

“As I said before, I can and I will.” His voice got deeper, completely shutting you up.

“Can I at least have some time to read over this?” You look back down at the paper and flip to the last page. “Wait wait wait. What’s ‘DID’?”

“Read it.”

‘Dissociative identity disorder’ You read quietly to yourself. “Wait, you have another personality?” You ask, looking up at him.

“Why do you think I'm so cold towards everyone? It’s not me, it’s him.” He said, casually sipping his wine. “JK is the one dealing with… issues.” His voice went quiet. “Issues?” You were quietly utter. “I can’t tell you yet.” You nodded and flipped through the papers again.

“How long is this contract for?”

“Two years.”

“Can we test this out for one week?”

Jungkook hesitated. He didn’t want to get used to you just for you to leave him in the end. “No. Simple yes or no, princess.” Jungkook had you wrapped around his finger. You rub your temple and reach for the pen. “Fine. But don’t make me break the contract.” You hand him back the signed paper. “Let's go to my house. You’re moving in with me.” He paid for the expensive meal then brought you back to his enormous mansion.

That night he made love to you. It was one spectacular night. You smiled to yourself as you thought about all the memories you’ve made with him.

“Princess, what’re you smiling at?” He looked over at your lap, making sure you weren’t texting someone. Jungkook was extremely possessive and had trust issues. You were assuming it was because of his other side so you never questioned him. Speaking of his other side - JK - you met him not too long ago. After entering Jungkook’s life, JK hasn’t shown himself too much. He only comes out to punish you. You shivered as you thought of your last punishment. How could a human being be so cruel?

You snap out of your thoughts as the jet touches the ground. “We’re here. Let's go.” Jungkook got up and held his hand out to you. You grab it and he leads you out of the jet and to the black SUV parked a couple of feet away. While the driver drove to Jungkook’s penthouse, you started bugging Jungkook.

“How much did your penthouse cost?”

“I don’t know. Around 8-10 million. It has an indoor swimming pool and a movie room.” Your innocent eyes widened when you heard the price. “Daddy, that’s a lot of money.” You whisper in his ear. He grabbed your bare thigh with his tattooed hand and looked at you. “it’s like twenty dollars for me, baby girl.”

As soon as you guys entered the penthouse, his tongue was already down your throat. He impatiently took your clothes off and started fingering you, while you unbuttoned his shirt to feel his rock hard abs. Jungkook picked your naked figure up and carried you to the master bedroom. He placed you down on the bed and took his pants off. He stroked himself a couple of times before entering your already wet hole.

You hold onto his muscular arms for dear life and watch him go into you. “Please daddy, you’re so fucking big. Feels so good.” You moan, immediately clenching around his member. “Open your mouth.” As soon as you do, he spits into it then slaps you. “Little girls don’t swear.” You swallow his saliva and apologize for swearing. “S-sorry daddy. It won't happen again.” You wrap your legs around his waist as he pulls you closer to him. His whole cock was throbbing inside you, turning you on even more.

He wraps his fingers around your neck and starts thrusting in, each time going harder and faster. The room filled with moans, grunts and skin slapping. “You like this don’t you, you little slut? So desperate and needy for daddy’s cock. Swallowing my saliva like a dirty little girl.” He raised your leg and spanked your butt. All you could do was moan for him. Your brain couldn’t even form a sentence. “C-close” you whimper, hoping he would let you cum.

Jungkook placed his thumb on your nub and rubbed it in a circular motion while pounding your pussy. “If you cum without my permission, daddy’s gonna have to punish you. You remember your last punishment right?” Your heart stopped. You never want to interact with JK ever again. You could cry just by thinking about the last punishment. “Y-yes daddy! I remember it but please don’t punish me. I won’t cum without your permission.”

He started thrusting faster while rubbing your clit harder. Your body started shaking because of the sudden pressure. “No! Slow, please! I won’t be able to hold it in!” You cried, putting your feet on his chest and trying your best to push him away. Jungkook slapped you again and flipped you onto your stomach. He roughly entered in again, making you scream. He spanked your ass and pulled your hair while thrusting harder and harder. “No, please! I-I can’t!” You sob, kicking your feet back.

You squeeze around him one more time before cumming on his cock. You release your clenched muscles and relax your body. “Did I say that you can fucking cum?” You shook your head ‘no’ and cried under him. “I’m sorry, daddy. I really couldn’t hold it. I tried my best.” He smacked your butt again and kept thrusting. This wasn’t Jungkook anymore.

It was a long and painful night. It became extremely painful to cum. Your wrists were tied above your head. Your legs were wide open while he viciously hammered himself into you. Your body was covered in hickeys and bruises. You squirt around him once again and knock out before he could finish.

Jungkook continued roughly fucking you despite you not being conscious. He gripped onto your waist and pulled your body back while he thrust forward. After a couple of hard thrusts,’ he came in you. Cum overflowed in your hole. Your thighs were completely soaked. He picked you and laid you down on the bed before reaching over for a towel to wipe the cum off.

The next morning you woke up naked on his chest. “Good morning.” He said in a raspy tone. “Good morning” You whisper back. “What do you want for breakfast?” He asked while running his fingers through your hair. “Pancakes please.”

Jungkook helped you shower since you couldn’t feel the lower half of your body. When you got into the shower, he placed you down on your knees and slapped your face with his cock. “Open your mouth, princess.” The second it opened, his cock was shoved down your throat. You choke around him while holding onto his muscular thighs. “Suck, babygirl. Suck it like a good slut.” He pushed your hair out of your face and harshly fucked your mouth since your pace wasn’t satisfying him. He slapped your face as you struggled to breathe around him. “Look at me, you little whore!” You look up at him with eyes full of tears. Soon you felt ropes of thick cum going down your throat. You swallow it all down and moan around his cock.

The next week was full of rough sex. During the day Jungkook had to “deal with business” so you stayed home, scared and helpless. Every night he would come home and drag you out of bed just to have sex with you. Your body and mind couldn’t keep up. Every time he touched you, you mentally screamed and cried. Some nights he would come home covered in blood. Of course, it was terrifying. You’ve never seen this side of him. And you’re not sure what triggered it either.

You were in your shared bedroom when you heard the door unlock. He was home earlier than usual. He walked into the bedroom with a dress in hand. “Get up and get ready. We have to attend a party. Here’s your dress.” He left the room and you left to take another shower. After putting on some light makeup, you slip into the gown.

Jungkook walked in wearing all black. He comes over to you and places his chin on your shoulder and wraps his arms around your waist. “Babygirl, when we arrive at this party you stay close to me.” He whispers in your ear. His icy fingers trace your nude back before zipping your dress up. “You look stunning, princess.” He turned you around and kissed you softly.

The party was held at a huge mansion outside the city. Jungkook held onto your hand and dragged you with him. It seemed like he was looking for someone. As you two walk hand in hand, you notice some of the men eyeing you down. One guy specifically caught your attention. You both were staring at each other. Jungkook was talking to someone and didn’t notice you looking at another man. You immediately stop and look down.

“Who’s your date, Mr. Jeon.” The stranger said, looking at me.

“She’s my wife. Mrs. Jeon.”

You’re his what? You gave him a strange look but as soon as you did he squeezed your hand, signalling you to play along.

“Well, I don't see a ring on her finger.” The man whom you were staring at moments ago was now standing in front of you. “O-oh I forgot it at home on the dresser.”

A sly smirk places on the man's face. He puts his hand out and introduces himself. “Byun Baekhyun, CEO of Byun Enterprise” you grab his hand but before you could shake it he kneeled and placed a soft kiss on your fingers.

Jungkook was squeezing your hand even harder. You quietly whimper and tug on his fingers with your other hand. He loosened his grip but his face showed clear frustration. Baekhyun walked away before Jungkook could punch him in the face. He excused you and himself from the stranger and dragged you into a room.

The man slammed the door shut and grabbed you by the neck. He pushed you against the mirror and started yelling at you. “Why the fuck were you looking at him like that?! Huh? Do you wanna go and be his slut?!”

“I’m not a slut! You cried out, trying to push him off of you. “Turn around.”

“No! I’m tired of being your sla-”

“FUCKING TURN AROUND.” You immediately turn around and keep your head down so you don’t have to look at him. The male pulled down your spandex along with your panties. “You know how I feel about other males being close to you..” he covered your mouth and thrust in. “Yet you still disobey me. And now you’re talking back to your daddy.”

He started to increase his pace as you sobbed into his hand. Your insides were bruised. Your walls were tired of clenching around him every night. Every time he touched you, your body weakened. He was able to do whatever he liked because you were too scared to leave him. “Why the fuck was he looking at you like that? Do you know him?” He pulled on your hair, forcing you to watch him fuck your guts outs.

“N-no, daddy. I-I’ve never met him before. I swear- ahh!” He pushed his whole cock in and the tip hit your g-spot. Jungkook’s hand intertwined with yours as he kissed your jawline. “You wouldn’t lie to me, right?”

“No daddy, never.” You said, finally being able to breathe.

He pulled out and tucked himself away then pulled your spandex up. “If I catch you making eye contact with another male, I will hurt you. Understand?”

“Yes, daddy. I understand.”

“Good girl.” He kissed you once again and pulled you back to the party. You guys both sat down at a table and waited for the event to start. People kept coming to your table to talk to Jungkook. A man asked if he could speak to him outside so Jungkook told you to keep your head down, don’t talk to anyone or don’t leave the table.

About five minutes later, Baekhyun sits next to you. “Are you having fun?” He asked, playful dancing. “Not really. This party’s pretty boring.” He nodded his head in agreement and stopped dancing. “Where’s your husband?”

“He’s outside talking to someone.” You look back to see if Jungkook's around. If he saw Baekhyun sitting next to you, he would lose his shit. Luckily he wasn’t. “Wait… are you guys really married?” Baekhyun asked, in confusion. “No, we’re not. I’m not sure why he said that.”

“So he lied?”

“Yeah.”

Baekhyun moved closer to you, making you a little uncomfortable. He was quick to notice and apologize.

“I’m sorry, I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. But I know what Jungkook’s been doing to you. If you want, I can help you escape him.”

“H-how do you know?”

“It’s kinda obvious, I guess. Especially since… you know… JK. He’s not the most gentle guy around and I’m sorry that you had to face him. Just trust me. I know I’m a stranger and all but you won’t be able to leave him without my help.”

“How do I leave him?”

“Now. While he’s talking to someone, ask if you can go to the washroom. I’ll meet you there and we can leave together. I’ll protect you. If you think Jungkook has a lot of guards, wait till you see my pack.” Of course, you hesitated. If Jungkook found out about this not only will you suffer for the rest of your life, but anyone around him would die.

“He’ll find me. I can’t do it.” You quietly say.

“Fine. I won’t force you. I’m just trying to help.” Baekhyun said while getting up. He left you alone at the table while you deeply thought about your decision. “Princess, what’s wrong.” It was Jungkook. He took a seat next to you and put his arm around you. “Nothing, just bored.”

“Thank you for being a good girl while I was gone. Do you want something to drink?”

“No thanks. Actually, can I go to the washroom?”

“Is it an emergency?”

You nodded your head.

“Go. Be quick. If you’re not back in five minutes, I won’t hesitate to fuck you in the stall.”

You quickly get up and head to the washroom. Baekhyun wasn’t there making you lose all hope. After all, you said no. You were about to walk into the bathroom until Baekhyun’s voice surprised you. “Changed your mind?”

“Yeah…”

“K, let's go.”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you to the back door. Two guards were waiting in front of a black car and they quickly opened the door when they saw you two. You all get in and they start to drive away. You did it! He’s out of your life now.

You look over at Baekhyun and thank him. “Thank you so much for helping me escape him… but I gotta ask, why did you help me?”

“I felt bad. A guy like him doesn’t deserve a woman like you.” You chuckle. “Are you done flirting?”

“Not yet.” He smiled at you then started talking again. “So what’s the real deal between you and him?”

“Contract. Made me sign it a year ago. He was nice until we landed in Paris. Then he became someone else.”

“I guess Jungkook hasn’t opened up to you. He used to live in Paris when he was younger. He suffered a lot because of his parents. They abused him. They forced him to participate in killing people at such a young age. That’s why JK has been out. His parents are still around but he lost contact with them after becoming an adult. He’s out for revenge.”

“He’s been killing people?” Baekhyun nodded. “I mean, he came home with blood on him the other day. But I didn’t question him.”

“It’s good that you didn’t. The slightest things set him off.” You hum in response and look out the window. “So, where are we going?”

“Back to my house. You’ll be safe there. We have plenty of guest rooms and I can lend you some of my clothes. But we’ll have to leave Paris as soon as possible because Jungkook is probably looking for us.”

Jungkook’s POV

———————-

Y/N left for the washroom while my eyes searched for Baekhyun. I had to make sure that she wasn’t with him. I released my breath as I saw him talking to another guy.

“Jungkook? Is that you?” I turn around to see my old friend, Kim Taehyung.

He hugged me and showed me his bright smile. “Taehyung! Nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too! How’s JK doing?”

“He’s calmed down, I suppose. What about V?”

“He’s hanging in there.”

This is why Taehyung and I get along so well. We both have another personality that fears absolutely nothing. He teaches me how to control my other side. I teach him my torture methods. It’s a win-win. He and Y/N are the two positives in my life.

We continued our conversation until a guard ran over to us, informing me that Y/N was gone.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s gone?”

“She’s not in the bathroom. We checked the cameras and she left with another man. They used the back door so we didn’t see her.”

I took my gun out and aimed it at the guards head. “You have one fucking job and it’s to protect my girl.” Taehyung snatched the gun out of my hand and questioned the guards. “Who did she leave with?”

“Byun Baekhyun.”

“I’m going to kill that motherfucker.”

“We can, but we have to get out of here first. Do you have Y/N’s location?” Taehyung asked me.

“No, I don't. She doesn’t have a phone because she’s always with me.”

“Calm down, Kook. We can track down Baekhyun.”

Your POV

—————

You stepped out of the shower with a white towel wrapped around your body. You were finally able to clean yourself properly since Jungkook’s been the one bathing you. And by bathing, you mean having more sex in the shower.

“Baekhyun, I need clothes.” A couple of seconds later someone knocked on the door. “Here’s my shirt and sweatpants.” You quickly open the door and take it from him. “Thank you.” You could deal with no underwear for one night. It wasn’t a big deal. At least you were away from Jungkook.

You put the clothes on then leave his bathroom. “Thank you again for everything.”

“Stop thanking me. It’s lame.” He laid down on his bed and patted the space next to him. “Let’s watch a movie. Maybe it’ll distract you.” You climb onto his bed and lay down next to him.

“You hungry, peanut?” You giggle at the nickname. “No, I’m not hungry.” You felt safe with him. It was an unexplainable feeling. Baekhyun slightly turned to you and wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you close. You wrap your arms around his neck and continue watching the movie. When you looked at Baekhyun he was staring at you. “What’s wrong? Is there something on my face?”

“There is.” He gave you a quick peck then went back to watching the movie. “Heyyyy, what was that for?”

“No reason. You’re just so pretty.”

The cute moment ended when one of the guards slammed the door open and yelled that they were under attack. He was immediately shot in the head after he said so. You both get off the bed and Baekhyun takes his gun out. “Go hide in the closet. I’ll come and get you after I’m done, okay.” He kissed you one more time before leaving the bedroom.

You run into his closet and hide under his clothes. You were hiding for about ten minutes when you heard the closet door open. “Princess? Where are you? Daddy came to save you.” His voice sent chills down your spine. You held your breath and didn’t move a muscle. “Come out or I’ll kill your precious Baekhyun.”  

“Did you find her Jungkook?” Another man with a much deeper voice spoke. “No, I haven’t.” You released your breath as quietly as you can. “I’ll go question Baekhyun then.”

“No, no. That won’t be necessary.”

Jungkook started to dig around the pile of clothes you were hiding in and pulled you out. “Noooo! Stop, please! Let me go!” You scream and try to crawl away but Jungkook pinned you down and the other man put a cloth over your mouth and nose.

Jungkook’s POV

———————-

I carried her to the car and laid her down on the backseat. I go back into the mansion only to hear that Baekhyun had escaped. “Sir, we had him here but his guards must have set him free.” I close my eyes in annoyance. “You’ve failed two times in one day. Find him or I’ll cut your body up and feed it to my dogs.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

I walk towards Taehyung and he pats my back. “We’ll catch him next time.”

“If we don’t, I’ll kill every person in sight.”

“Relax, JK. At least you got your girlfriend back.”

“You mean my slut? I have to teach her a lesson.”

“Mind if I join?”

“Next time, V. I need her to myself tonight.”

Your POV

—————

“Get the fuck up. We’re here.”

You open your eyes and see that you’ve arrived at the penthouse. “J-Jungkook, p-please let me explain.” He yanked you out of the car making you fall onto your knees. “Owww.’’ You sob, bringing your hands on your knees to massage it.

He didn’t care about anything at this point. You did this to yourself. If you behaved, maybe you would’ve been at the Eiffel Tower, enjoying the view with him. But no. You left him for another man and now you have to pay for it.

Jungkook carried you up to the penthouse and pushed you in before slamming the door shut. He grabbed your throat and slammed you against the wall. You were forced to look into his dark orbs. “Did you enjoy his dick, you little slut?”

“P-please no! Daddy n-no! Y-you got it all wr-wrong, I-” You were crying so hard, you weren’t able to finish your sentence.“Let me show you what I can do to you for the rest of your life” he removed his belt and pushed you on the floor. He pulled your pants down just to see no underwear. “You little whore! Where’s your underwear?” He spanked your ass with his belt over and over and didn’t stop until he saw small cuts on your cheeks.

“Jungkook! please I didn’t” before you could finish your sentence a hard slap landed on your cheek. “Wrong fucking name, princess.” Tears rushed down your hot cheeks. You didn’t want this. You wouldn’t be able to handle the pain. You get back to your senses and run for the door. “Not so fast, baby girl. We haven’t even gotten started.”

JK dragged you to the bedroom, shoved you down onto the bed and started tying your wrist to the bed frame. “You know, I was planning on being gentle with you tonight… but fuck that.”

He placed his fingers into your mouth and made you suck on them while he ripped your shirt off. JK placed you on your stomach then pushed his tip into the wrong hole, making you scream at the top of your lungs. “Noooo! Please! No!” You squirm underneath him, begging him to stop. He pushed his whole cock in so you screamed  and cried into a pillow. He groaned in satisfaction. Your ass was much tighter than your pussy. Not caring about your pleasure, he brutally pounded you. Your whole body started to shut down as you felt hopeless. All you could do was cry.

The man pulled on your hair and licked your tears away. “If you wanted a punishment, you could’ve just asked, princess.”

“No! Stop! Let me go! I want to go home! I hate you!” You cried, provoking Jungkook even more. He spanked your bare butt cheek again. “Is that how you talk to your owner? Mmh? Answer me, you slut!” Another spank was placed on your bottom. You whimper under him, not knowing what to do.

His nails dug into your skin, putting you in even more pain. His thrust was unbearable. He would pull out until only his tip was buried in you, then slam his whole cock in, knocking the breath out of you. Your hole was aching around him. “P-please, j-just slow- oww!” You cried, giving up on your sentence.

He used your ass for hours. His cum was filled to the brim of your hole. He pulled out, laid down behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. The male took out a gun and shot at the wall. You sob and move back into his embrace, shaking even harder. “See what you did there? You came back to me. You came back into my embrace, wanting me to protect you. Let me tell you something. It will always be like this. You will always come back to me. Into my arms. You belong to me.” He laid his head on yours and slowed down. “Am I right?” He whispers in your ear. “Y-yes daddy. I want chu to protect me. Pwease don’t hurt me. Pwease.”

He rubbed his cheek against yours then went back to thrusting. “We’re gonna get married, right babygirl?” You hide your face and cry your heart out. How could you marry him? “Answer me!” He yelled into your ear. “Y-yes daddy, w-we’ll get married. We’ll get m-married and I’ll be all y-yours forever.” Jungkook held you down and kept thrusting. You quiet down after some hours and let him use you. You kept cumming on him over and over. There was a pool of cum on the bedsheets.

You couldn’t possibly do anything to save yourself so the best thing to do was to obey. He kept you under him the whole time and didn’t give you a break. You insides were being wrecked by his cock. He had a tight hold on you, so you couldn’t escape him.

“Are you sleeping on me, princess?”

“N-no, daddy. I don’t have the energy to talk.”

He flipped you onto your back and started aggressively slamming his cock into you again and again. He held onto your neck and spat into your mouth. “Tell me exactly what happened at Baekhyun’s house.”

“H-he let me shower and gave me his clothes to wear. Then we started to watch a movie and that's it.”

“Did you fuck him?”

“No daddy. M-my body belongs to you.”

“Damn right it does. Get on all fours.” You slowly flip yourself onto your stomach and try your best to keep yourself up. He plunged himself into your ass once again and started thrusting at an inhuman speed. You held onto the bedsheets but the pain was still there. You collapse on the bed, not being able to hold yourself up anymore. But this didn’t stop Jungkook. He only went faster, showing you who’s in control. His hips smacked against your ass repeatedly.

You started losing all your senses. You shake around him as you push through your orgasm. You sharply inhale and clench your sore muscles as hard as you can. Waves of pleasure and pain push through your body and as soon as it reaches the bottom, you release. Your muscles relax as your cum drips down your slit. You try to catch your breath but the man behind you pulls out of your ass and slams into your wet pussy.

“Come on princess. Do that one more time for me.”

“Noooo!” You screamed out. You couldn’t do that again. “Daddy.. can’t! Daddyyyy!” He went harder and faster, indicating that he’s close. You clench around him one more time, sending him over the edge. His hot cum rushed deep inside you. “Fuck, princess. Just like that!” He hissed. He pulled you onto his lap and pushed you to have another orgasm. All you could see is white. All you could hear is his skin slapping against yours.

Tingles travel throughout your body as you clench all your muscles again. Jungkook held you tightly and gave you a final thrust that sent you over the moon. “Daddy!” You sob, holding onto him like your life depended on it. Your cum coated his cock one more time. “I-is it over? Are y-you done?” You sniffle and keep your eyes closed. Jungkook lays down with you in his arms. “It’s over.” He kissed your forehead and rubbed your back to soothe you.

You cry into his neck even harder. “Please… I want the old you back.”

“You want Jungkook?” He asked, suddenly looking a little hurt. “Y-yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I took him away from you. I just wanted to feel what he was feeling.”

“What was he feeling?”

“Loved… if you want, I can give you him.”

“Wait no.” You said, suddenly feeling bad. “I-I can love you too.” You rub your nose against his and feel all warm inside. You kissed him softly on the lips while your fingers moved his damped hair out of his face. You lay back down on his chest with your fingers still tangled in his hair. “Please love me back.” You mumble.

“I already do.”

[mercy-burning]

A Strange Request

Part of Mercy’s 1k Celebration: A collection of Spencer Reid x Reader requests to celebrate 1,000 followers.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets a rather strange request from Derek’s girlfriend Category: FLUFF, with discussion of sex, so still 18+ probably, just to be safe Warnings: discussions/topics of sex, one paragraph of blink and you’ll miss it female-receiving oral sex Word Count: 2k

Full Request: “...a fluff about reader is friend with Derek’s girlfriend, and she ask her if spencer (s/2 - s/3) can teach him where the clitoris is because reader had already told her that spencer is very good in bed... Baby Spencer Teaching Derek How To Make A Woman Cum is so funny to me” —anonymous

MASTERLIST | 1K MASTERLIST

NOTE: Just came here to say, first of all, thank you all so much for reading and enjoying my content, it means the world to me. I love you guys 🥰 Also, this request??? I was dying thinking about it, and I laughed pretty much the whole time I wrote it, so I hope you like it as much as I do!

I will be posting the rest of the requests I get throughout the month of March, so you have until February 28th to send one in if you’d like to! More information on that can be found HERE

It wasn't really normal for Y/N and Kelley to talk about their sex lives. They'd brought it up in conversation a few times, but it was never a regular thing.

So when Kelley came over to Y/N's apartment Friday night after a cryptic text stating that she needed to talk to her about something 'weird but important,' she had no idea that her weekend was about to get very... informative.

"Is everything alright?" she asked Kelley, handing her a glass of wine. The two of them sat on the couch and Kelley shrugged.

"I mean... Yes, everything's fine, but...I have a sort of, uh... weird request."

"Yeah, you mentioned that," Y/N chuckled, bringing the glass of wine to her lips. "What's up?"

"Well, basically... I can't orgasm."

Y/N almost spit the wine out of her mouth. Thankfully she was able to get it down, though not without choking slightly. "Huh?"

"Well, okay, I can orgasm it's just that... I can't when I'm with Derek. And at first I thought maybe it was me, but I tried on my own and I can do it just fine. It's just that when Derek and I are together, he can't... make me cum. "

"Well, I... Okay. I'm not... What do you want me to d—oh!"

"Oh! Y/N, no, I didn't mean that I wanted you to... No, um... Sorry, that's not what I meant. Look, I know you've said before that Spencer is really good in bed, and I was wondering if you could maybe ask him to talk to Derek about it, like... give him some pointers or something."

Y/N really didn't know what to say. But she tried really hard to say something that wasn't an incoherent mumble of surprise. "Wow, uh... I mean, I... Yeah, I can ask him, but why don't you just talk to Derek about it? He's a good guy, I'm sure he'd be more than willing to hear you out if you just communicate with him..."

Kelley sighed, setting her wine down. "I know, but... Well, it's just that every time I try to talk to him about it, I chicken out, and I know you said Spencer knows what he's doing, so I figured I'd ask you..."

She could tell that Kelley was embarrassed, so Y/N reached out to hold her hand. "Hey, Kel, it's okay. You know I'm happy to help. And I'll talk to Spencer about it, but I really think you should try talking to Derek yourself, too, okay?"

She nodded, a small smile adorning her face. "Okay."

***

Repeating this conversation with Spencer was going to be... well, weird, as Kelley had put it. It really was a strange request, but Y/N was more than willing to help out a friend in need, especially if it meant said friend was going to get laid like she deserved.

She just had to figure out how to bring it up. The best way was probably to just sit down and talk about it, but she didn't want to spring it on him at random.

So, she used decided that maybe some... inspiration would be good.

She studied her boyfriend as he went down on her that night, paying attention to how his fingers felt as the pushed and curled themselves into her, how his tongue explored her like a paintbrush exploring a canvas with beautiful precision.

And when it was all over, she laid beside him and stroked his hair, smiling. "You're so good at that," she mused. The praise put a smile on his face, as it always did. But he became suspicious when she took it too far, adding, "Seriously, you should teach men how to properly please a woman."

"Y/N?" Spencer asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You're trying to get at something, what is it?"

"Well, uh... this is probably going to sound really weird, but you have to hear me out, okay?"

"O—kay?"

Y/N sighed, a small shake of her head following. "Well, I talked to Kelley yesterday, because she had something she wanted to talk to me about, and, uh... she said that... Oh, wow, this is so fucking weird—ShewantedtoknowifyoucouldteachDerekhowtomakehercumbecausehe'sreallybadatit."

She blinked, and Spencer blinked back at her, the two of them laying together in silence for a good ten to fifteen seconds.

And then he started to laugh.

"W—What? Is that too weird? Because I told Kelley she should just try talking to him, but she really wanted me to ask you because I'd mentioned how good you are, and she just figured since you two worked together and that we're all friends that you wouldn't have a problem telling him about everything, an—"

Spencer reached out to brush the back of his hand across her cheek. "Hey, slow down, okay? Look. The idea that I have to teach Derek Morgan of all people how to make a woman cum is just... It's funny to me, and surely you understand why... And besides, how would I even bring that up? It's not like I can just walk up to him and be like Hey, Morgan, your girlfriend thinks you suck in bed and she wants me to show you how to do it right."

Y/N blinked up at him again, and he blinked back, the both of them starting to realize how that sounded.

"Yeah, maybe don't lead with that," she said, patting his arm. "Look, you guys talk about your sex lives sometimes, right? I mean, you're both guys in relationships, I'm sure it's come up at some point."

"No, Y/N, not really," he said, clearly exasperated and most decidedly not thrilled about the idea of talking sex with his co-workers.

Still, she sighed. "Spence, please? I told Kelley I'd talk to you about it, and she's really desperate here. Besides, it would be rude to let Derek Morgan of all people go around thinking he's great at sex when he's really not, don't you think?"

Spencer really seemed to think about that for a moment, before huffing a laugh. "Actually that sounds pretty funny to me."

Y/N slapped his arm.  "I'm serious! At least do it for Kelley's sake... The poor girl deserves to feel good, right?"

"If I do it, can we end this conversation?" he gave in, clearly not in the mood to talk about their friends' sex life.

"Wait really? You'll do it?"

Spencer sighed. "Yes, I'll do it. It's most likely going to be more awkward than this conversation, but I'll do it."

With a laugh and a quick kiss to the lips, Y/N pulled him closer and said, "I love you, you know."

***

He hoped he wouldn't have to do much talking at all. Which is why he brought a bag of books on female anatomy and pleasure. He tried for the entire train ride to work to figure out the best way to even bring it all up, but when he actually stepped into the bullpen, he almost froze up with nerves.

He spotted Derek from across the room and in a split second decided that it would be best to just rip the band-aid off.

So, he briskly made his way over to his friend and set the bag of books in front of him on the desk. "I want to preface this by saying it wasn't my idea. Kelley and Y/N were talking about some stuff, and they asked me to talk to you, so I'm just going to give it to you straight. These are for you."

"Whoa, kid, slow down. What did they want you to tell me?"

Spencer looked around nervously before taking a deep breath. "Well, um... Y/N and I were talking last night, and she said that Kelley had this weird request for her, and, um... I guess she wanted Y/N to ask me to talk to you about... um... how to have better sex?"

He said the last part very quietly and immediately looked down at his feet. When he looked back at Morgan, he almost looked like he'd been petrified, actually frozen in time with the blankest expression ever seen.

"What?" he asked just as blankly.

"Please don't make me say it again," Spencer signed.

"Reid, I don't know what you mean."

"Look, I know this is really weird, trust me, I know, but I, uh... I wrote out some detailed notes for you, and there are also some books in that bag, so it should help."

Derek looked down at the bag and then back to Spencer, still puzzled. "I... You're not serious... This is some kinda prank, isn't it?"

"I swear it's not, just... Look, after sex, has Kelley ever stayed in the bathroom for like ten minutes or longer?"

"Excuse me?"

"Just answer my question!" Spencer whispered harshly, still looking around to make sure no one would hear.

"Reid, I'm not— Oh... Oh... No..." The journey that Derek's face took almost Spencer feel kind of bad for him, though he'd be lying if a large part of him didn't find this whole thing absolutely hilarious.

"But like I said, I have things to help you," Spencer rushed out. "It's not... Look, maybe it would be better if you just talked to Kelley about it... In the end it's all really about you two, and if you don't have communication coinciding with your sex life then chances are it's not... very good."

"Kelley wanted you to talk to me... That's what she said?"

"Well, yeah, I guess so. Y/N told me that she said she couldn't... you know, finish when she was with you and she wanted me to talk to you about it."

"Why?" It was obvious that Derek was having a hard time believing all of this, even after having the epiphany.

"I don't know, I guess Y/N told Kelley at one point that I was good at it? Look, it's not a big deal, just... read the stuff I gave you, and it should help, and then we never have to talk about this ever again, okay?"

Still grappling with everything he'd just learned, Morgan muttered out an, "O—kay?"

"Good talk," Spencer said quickly, turning around and getting out of there as fast as he could.

***

Later that week, Y/N and Spencer were watching a movie on the couch, and things had been... fairly normal considering all that had happened the previous weekend.

A knock sounded at the door, and with neither of them expecting any company, they paused the movie and answered the door together, swinging it open to find Kelley standing in front of them with a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine.

Before either of them could say anything, Kelley handed the flowers to Spencer and the wine to Y/N, a smile on her face. "Sorry for stopping by on short notice, but I just, uh... I wanted to thank you guys for helping me out... You know..."

"Oh!" the couple said at the same time, a bit of heat creeping up on both their cheeks.

"Yeah, it wasn't a problem," Y/N said.

"Really," Spencer reassured.

"Yeah, I know it was, uh... a strange request but it really did wonders, and we talked over everything, so, it's, uh... It's all good now. So, thanks again. I just wanted to bring over some gifts to say thank you."

Even though the whole situation had been rather out of their comfort zones, Y/N told Kelley with earnest, "Happy to help."

She left, and Spencer and Y/N set their gifts on the coffee table.

"What did you tell Derek, exactly?" she asked curiously. "You never did tell me what happened."

"Oh, um... I just gave him some books, and I wrote out some notes for him."

With a smirk and a loving gaze, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close. "They must have been some pretty damn good notes if it warranted presents..."

"What can I say, I'm a good note taker," he said, returning her smile.

"Well, I think I'll have to be the judge of that. Show me what you got, smarty pants..."

Let's just say that by the end of the night, Y/N knew Kelley was in good hands.

[kindness-ricochets]

I’ve been seeing a lot of thoughts and hc of autistic wylan lately and you seem to also be a fan of the concept. May I ask why? Exactly? I could definitely kinda see it but wanna hear you thoughts you’re always so eloquent

Hey there anon! Sorry for the delay—I’m guessing you already found an answer to this elsewhere while I was off Tumblr for a bit, but just in case, here are my thoughts. This will be heavily personal, but… well, you can’t very well ask an autistic person about autism and expect neutrality!

Autism is different for everyone and can be difficult to pin down, so while Wylan is arguably autistic, he misses several beats that for me would have made him definitively and undeniably autistic. For example, when the bells start to ring, triggering black protocol—I work in a place with a lot of bells and am frequently caught too close to one and normally press my hands over my ears until it’s over because that sound is like shrapnel raking across my insides. All of them. Not just the ear and brain parts. Wylan doesn’t have that sort of visceral reaction, but that may just mean he doesn’t have the same sensitivities that I do, or to the same level. He also never, that I recall, eats meat—as weird as that might sound, eating meat is incredibly complicated with heightened sensitivities to taste and texture. I’m not sure how old I was when I realized it was strange to get up from the table to spit out my food because it viscerally repulsed me. So it might be that Wylan is autistic and has different experiences than I do. Those are things I would include in a story as major indicators of a character being autistic. This might also mean that his father’s way of raising him taught him to hide unusual reactions and stimming behaviors. It’s not that much of a reach to assume a man who tried to abuse the dyslexia out of his son would take the same approach to autism. (More on autism and abuse later.)

So while I’m going to lay out why I read Wylan as autistic, that’s why I think it’s valid to read him as not being autistic as well. Both are valid.

A final caveat, I am well overdue for a reread of the books, so I likely left something out or could have found better examples. Take this as a few of my reasons for a personal headcanon. Anyone who feels differently, that's fine! We can each read things our own way :)

1 - Hyperfixation: The way Wylan loves music

Most of the Crows’ backgrounds color how they see the world: Kaz’s shrewdness, Matthias’s tactical thinking and superstition, Inej’s faith and Suli wisdom, etc. That’s a sign of good character writing. But very little of Wylan’s upbringing seems to have influenced how he sees the world. It comes closest when he thinks about how his father would scorn his new friends, but we never see that scorn from Wylan.

The way a hyperfixation feels, it’s like you’ve always lived in a close parallel world, never fully been a part of the other one where it seems like everyone else lives, but suddenly there’s this bright shining piece of your soul laced through the other world. It lets you connect, it lets you exist in their realm, and you can’t help but filter everything new through that lens because it’s the brightest, most wonderful thing. (I had been between hyperfixations for a while when I started a new job; six months into that work, I read Crooked Kingdom. One of my coworkers thought I had fallen in love, it was that marked a difference.)

So, combining these: Wylan never really acts like he was part of his father’s world, and indeed is in some ways separate from the other Crows, but he parses everything through music, his hyperfixation. He sets words to music to remember them, like he does with the contract. Even his own anxiety is made sense of through music, when in his first narrated chapter, he sets it to music: what am I doing here what am I doing here…. When he’s overwhelmed, his thoughts are “a jangle of misplayed chords”. The Crows have backgrounds that influence how they react to the world, but Wylan’s hyperfixation is his means of experiencing and understanding the world.

2 - Literal thinking: Wylan responds to exact words

In this post, I went into detail on the line where Wylan suggested waking up men to kill them. Wylan is generally unsupportive of killing people—Oomen, Smeet’s clerk, his father… he advocates not-murder in each of these situations. Accepting his aversion to murder, his suggestion to wake men up and kill them seems like a genuine reaction to Jesper saying he doesn’t want to kill unconscious men. Wylan takes things literally.

This happens the most with Jesper, probably because Jesper talks to Wylan the most. Nina and Matthias don’t really register him past how he might be useful, Inej is usually quite direct, and Kaz is very deliberate when he speaks with Wylan. This really interests me because Kaz tends to vary his speech more than the others do, he adapts more to being around other people. He jokes a little with Jesper, spars with Nina, speaks more openly and more sharply with Inej, and he’s precise with Wylan. Kaz may not know what autism is, but he recognizes what’s effective with Wylan.

Another example is when Wylan is sketching the Ice Court plans and Jesper says it looks like a cake. There are plenty of valid responses here: pointing out that concentric circles look like lots of things, that it’s just a sketch, telling Jesper to stop looking over his shoulder. Instead, Wylan says that the Ice Court is sort of like a cake. That… doesn’t sound like something Wylan would normally say. He’s not addressing the whole situation, he’s addressing the specific words Jesper said.

One of the most heartbreaking examples of this (to me, anyway) is with Marya. Wylan does the same thing with his mother, when she asks if he’s there for her money and says she hasn’t got any, and his response is, “I don’t either.” We understand as readers that what Marya is communicating here is that she is so accustomed to being utterly ignored unless she is being used, and if she told Wylan that no one visited but to take advantage and she assumed he was here for the same reason, he would say it wasn’t the case. But he just responds to the immediate statement.

There are a lot of examples of this.

3 — 0% perception, 100% creativity

Wylan can identify things that don’t make sense or that he doesn’t understand, but at the beginning of the series he can’t make leaps, only ask questions. On the Ferolind, he wonders about the source of water at the Ice Court; though Kaz doesn’t say as much, he was clearly wondering, too, because he eventually figured out the underground river. There’s an interesting parallel here where, in the beginning of Crooked Kingdom, Wylan asks a question about how they’ll break into Smeet’s and Kaz tells him to use his eyes instead of running his mouth—at which point Wylan is able to figure it out. I don’t think this is because he never tried before, though, but because no one ever bothered to teach him. Kaz can be harsh but he gives harsh corrections rather than harsh rejections and Wylan learns from him.

It’s hard to understand the world for people with autism. The world is designed and run by and for people whose minds are fundamentally different from ours, whose thoughts and experiences are unlike ours. Imagine trying to learn English or Spanish or Mandarin or any other spoken language if your first language was olfactory. That’s sort of what it’s like for someone with autism to just get dropped into the world and expected to figure this out.

This can be attributed to Wylan’s upbringing, but I disagree with that because none of the others were brought up in the Barrel, either, and Wylan doesn’t understand trade or politics with any special skill. Kaz wasn’t born in the Barrel, but he managed to go from “stealing is wrong” to “wrong isn’t my concern” real quick; Colm Fahey didn’t raise his son on gambling and firefights; the Ghafas never expected their daughter to be away from the family. Only Nina has relevant training—and even that’s precious little, she left school way too early. The others figured it out; Wylan needed a bit more help. He also seems surprised by the way his father conducts business. Wylan takes things on face value—like the time he’s surprised someone would do something, simply because it’s unlawful. This is something he expresses to a group of gangsters. He’s never been taught the way of any world and these things are not intuitive to him.

But Wylan isn’t stupid.

He doesn’t know how to understand the world, but he does understand how things go together. Given a pointy diamond, a handle, and a screw, he cut through Grisha glass. He carries flashbangs and magic napalm, he recreates military hardware—Wylan understands how to make things interact for a specific result. But to me the most telling thing isn’t just that he puts together chemical pieces, it’s that he figured out Jesper controlled bullets. He saw the pieces and put them together.

Wylan can understand when things don’t make sense, but he can’t make sense of them—yet when he understands things at their basic level, he understands them without preconception, for what they are. This is a very autistic way of thinking about things, it goes back to the literalism. He can’t make the leaps of logic other people can, but he also doesn’t make the assumptions they do—“I’ve never heard of a bullet Grisha, so that’s not a thing” vs “Well Jesper’s an almost impossibly good shot and he controls metal and bullets are metal, so why not?”

4 - Broken brain/body connection

Wylan’s great at chemistry and drawing and playing flute or piano—but he’s something of a disaster other times. This is in particular contrast to the other characters, all of whom are physically adept. Meanwhile it’s a challenge for Wylan to climb a rope ladder and he spends a full paragraph trying to figure out what to do with his hands. It’s easy to say, well, he’s used to a sedentary lifestyle, but at this point he’s not. He’s worked in the tannery for months. He’s just physically awkward.

I have less to say on this point only because it’s about something I don’t fully understand myself. I don’t really understand what it would be like to have a body that just… does things? Like normal stuff? Without tics and stims. No idea. Only that Wylan’s discomfort in and seeming lack of mastery of his own body feels very relatable to me.

5 - Abuse

One of the most familiar things about Wylan is how he has been so thoroughly abused and broken down that he’s afraid to do or say much of anything. Again, this is a place his background can be an obscuring factor. Of course Wylan didn’t think to blow up the walls when the first met the parem-juiced jurda and got trapped, he’s a spoiled rich kid! Except, he also startled when Jesper said his name later. Wylan didn’t hesitate because he was spoiled, he hesitated because he had no confidence.

He also thinks Kaz would laugh at him for playing music at his mother’s grave. Now, personally, I can’t see Kaz laughing at Wylan—being indifferent, thinking it’s pointless sentimentality, shaking his head, maybe commenting sharply that they need to go if they don’t have the time. But not laughing. Kaz is a snarky, sharp-edged jerk sometimes, but he doesn’t go out of his way to criticize, he just lets people know when they inconvenience him.

Wylan has been trained to identify attention as negative by an overbearing abusive father who literally saw him as less favorable than a demon. Now, that may have been hyperbole, but Jan criticized everything he could about Wylan—art, music, emotion—and made clear that he was worthless and competent to nothing. (Jan Van Eck can suck a rotten donkey dick but that’s neither here nor there.)

A lot of people with autism experience levels of bullying that have similar impacts. Or as the kids these days are calling it: we go to school. We go to school where we are weird. Where we look weird and move weird and talk about weird things and there’s a whole little bevy of asswipes to makes sure we know it. I got teased more for playing Pokemon and sitting alone reading than the kid who pissed himself onstage at assembly. (This was before Pokemon was cool. I’m old.) And that is not unusual for autistic kids. It’s also not unusual for this to be compounded by relatives or even parents who may be trying to help but don’t understand and can make things even harder.

So we can’t read social cues and we’re taught at a vicious age that everything that comes naturally to us is wrong. Imagine trying to interact in society with that background. There is no guide and most advice from neurotypical people isn’t actually what they mean. It breaks you down.

Wylan’s anxiety isn’t definitive of autism, but isn’t something that was incredibly familiar as someone whose neurodivergent experiences created a strong level of anxiety.

6 — High Compassion, Low Social Competence

Wylan isn’t very good at making friends. In fact, none of the Crows likes him much in the beginning, and only some of them soften toward him by the end. (Matthias and Nina come to respect his skills as a chemist but neither seems to particularly like him.) But you can see throughout the books that Wylan wants to connect with them and be one of them, he just… isn’t. He’s off-beat. He’s weird. He asks questions and mimics behaviors (trying to be cool and tough like Jesper, saying “mission” like Matthias does, imitating Kaz’s scheming face) but he doesn’t quite get how to adapt.

But he still cares about people. Not just them. Everyone. He cares about the people they leave in the ditch outside the prison wagon, he cares about Hanna Smeet, he cares about Alys. He cares about the people who’ll take a hit from Kaz’s sugar caper.

Wylan’s awkward social skills have undeniable big autism energy. I posit his compassion does as well. This is simply who Wylan is, and that means being someone who cares about everyone. I have nothing to back up that this is related to autism. I can say that it’s like me. (Not to brag.) I can’t turn off the part of my brain that says everyone matters. Individuals can opt out of that compassion, but they have it by default. There’s a certain agony in feeling a pull toward and love for just about everyone and yet an inability to develop meaningful connections with them, and that keen loneliness… it just burns.

Again, it’s not definitive of autism, but it’s very similar to an autistic experience.

I said in the beginning that I didn’t think Wylan certainly had autism and I stand by that, but he is a powerfully honest reflection of many people who do. So he can be understood to have autism, and that’s part of the reason some people have that headcanon.

[sundaeserenade]

So a few weeks ago I wrote a thread on twitter about wanting to write a reguri soulmate fic where they decide to not be soulmates and make the decision for themselves. like it’s a mutual thing that they both decide on instead of it being this sign from the universe or fate or whatever. basically, they just go against fate.

and i tried writing out that idea and forcing it into the standard path of r/g/y/fr/lg but i ended up not liking that and i didn’t like a few other things that i did. so this was a learning experience! if i ever write this, it’ll have to be an actual..au with no canon ties. which is probably better because i can do whatever i want with the world building!

but i wrote 2.3k words... and i’m not going to post this on ao3 bc it’s not finished and it never will be. it’s not polished and it never will be, but i figured i should post it here so that it’s somewhere, at least.

They were considered to be two of the lucky ones. Finding one’s soulmate so early on in life is a blessing from the universe, a sign that their bond is under the ever watchful gaze of the divine. Luck will follow them, surely. What do they have left to despair over? What do they have to fear? The greatest challenge of their lives has already been solved, and so they are told to walk freely and without pressure clinging to their shoulders.

They found each other at the fine age of six, and from now on, they will be blessed and find wealth.

“I don’t believe any of it,” Green whispers. He keeps his voice low, eyes darting around the blanket fort they’d built in Red’s living room. The only light they have is a single flashlight that keeps flicking on and off due to low battery. Red’s in charge of turning it off and on in hopes that it’ll last just a minute longer while Green is pouring over the books he’d taken from the bookshelf at his grandfather’s house. 

They’re all self-help books with titles like How to Find Your Soulmate and Gut Feelings Can Get in the Way of Love and other crap that Red doesn’t care for. Green turns pages and looks at indexes, his mouth forming words but no sound coming out. He skims over paragraphs meant for people twice his age to read, but Green’s smart, always has been, and he’s handling the bulk of the work while Red turns the flashlight on and off again.

Green stops on a page and Red leans forward to read the chapter title: Life is Always Better with a Soulmate! Green scoffs and rolls his eyes. “That can’t be true. What about those couples that break up? Your mom and dad did, right Red?”

Red nods, lips thinning. There’s a nervousness in his heart, heightened by the darkness that comes and goes with the dying of the flashlight. All of these books are telling lies and the adults believe them. But both he and Green know that it’s wrong, that soulmates aren’t all that they’re cracked up to be. 

After all, when he’d first met Green, when they’d first shook hands and looked into each other’s eyes, their bond was formed. 

It felt like… It felt like what volcanoes erupting looks like. A loud, earth-shaking feeling that filled Red with shock and fear of what was to come. It felt like the air was being forced out of his lungs, like an ekans squeezing a rattata. It felt like being lost in the woods at night and getting an expensive toy as a birthday present. It was frightening and too much all at once, so much so that they both jumped back, startled and scared.

But it was a bond being formed under the eyes of the universe. A pact being sealed without their consent or understanding. They had found their soulmate, and the elation and joy swept over Pallet Town like a wind with Red and Green staring at each other in confusion through all of it.

Green is Red’s best friend, but he can’t say for sure if that’s because of the bond or because Green likes to talk about pokémon with him. There’s no one else around who has such a strong interest in the creatures, but Green will flaunt his knowledge and sneak them into his grandfather’s lab to look at some of them. They fed a growlithe together, they ran from a nidoran together, but Red doesn’t feel that special feeling again. 

“I don’t feel it either,” Green admitted to him when Red had written out his question. “Maybe that’s all we’ll ever feel. Maybe it’s normal.”

There are no marks to make the process of finding soulmates easier. It’s a feeling, it’s a gaze, it’s a touch that one feels when they meet their special someone. Because of this, everyone is overly friendly. Shaking hands and hugging strangers is commonplace. Eye contact is expected, and Red is secretly relieved to have met Green because now he can avoid meeting people’s eyes.

Everywhere around them, people are almost desperate to find their one. It’s so deeply ingrained in their way of living and looking at the world. So Green wonders and ponders and thinks. Red asking that question only opened up other possibilities, and Green is curious and intelligent, so he runs with it in search of the truth. 

Which brings them to the blanket fort and the lies printed in black ink. The two of them sit there comparing what they’ve experienced in their lives to what the world at large believes. Red’s parents were no longer together, and yet they’d been soulmates. What does it mean? They’d been told repeatedly that once they found their special someone, the world would right itself, the universe would sing their song and they’d face little to no hardships.

“It’s a lie,” Green spits, closing the book with a loud slam. “They’ve been lying to us, Red.”

Red puts down the flashlight and reaches over to take Green’s hand. 

There’s no spark or visions of celebration to differentiate the touch from any other one.

 When Green turns seven, he puts distance between them. 

When Green turns eight, he starts being mean.

When they both turn eleven, they begin their pokémon journeys. 

It’s a monumental undertaking and when he was younger, Red had thought he and Green would face it side by side. But now, Green runs forward, spewing taunts in his wake. There’s no link between them that offers Red a peek into what Green’s really feeling, no sign given by their bond that could explain his behavior. Red is left alone, confused and hurt by his own soulmate shunning and belittling him every chance he gets. 

Red keeps walking because that’s what he’s always done. He catches pokémon, forges bonds with them, and trudges through grass and mud and rain to get where he needs to go. It’s fun being outside so much. He gets to be on his own, away from people and it’s not seen as him being strange or weird. Pokémon aren’t afraid of him. Pokémon don’t whisper hurtful things behind his back. It’s him, his team, and the four badges in his case.

That is, until the foreboding air and eerie light of Lavender Town comes creeping closer. An unsettling presence hangs over the town like a smog, and Red finds himself thrust into the city's problems as he chases Team Rocket. And in doing so, he runs into his soulmate once more in the Pokémon Tower. 

Red has a reason for being here; he’s been chasing Team Rocket thugs his entire journey. Green, however… Well. There’s only two reasons for visiting the Pokémon Tower, but Red doesn’t pry. Green tries once again at intimidation, and it ends as it always has previously; Green hiding his hurt behind a cracking mask and Red never being able to find the right words to say.

And yet, when he leaves Lavender Town after driving out Team Rocket and saving Mr. Fuji, he spots Green on Route 7, leaning against a tree. It’s not like Green to stick around in places where there’s no gym, so Red is confused...until he understands that Green’s been waiting for him.

A feeling of dread weighs him down. Was their fight at the Pokémon Tower not enough? Were the insults not enough? Red has had enough, and moves to the left to give Green a wide berth. He doesn’t want to battle or deal with the complex feelings that follow. He’s spent enough time here. He needs to go.

“Red.” 

Green’s voice stops him. It’s not because of the bond or any other false truth that’s been shoved down his throat. At one point, Green had been his best friend. And now, he still remains Red’s soulmate. Red keeps handing out chances for change, opportunities to fix things, but nothing ever comes. He needs to go.

Green pushes off of the tree, his arms still crossed. “Camp out with me tonight.”

Not a battle. Not an insult. Not a pointless taunt. A proposition. An opportunity for change? Red would be a fool not to take it.

He nods.

 By the fireside, Red and Green stare into the flames and keep their words to themselves. Their tents are already set up, their teams have already eaten dinner and they’ve done the same. There’s nothing left to take care of, but still they prolong what brought them together in the first place. 

Red has no idea what it is that Green wants, so he’s confused, but that’s not the only thing that’s confusing him. He hasn’t spent this much time around Green in years, and yet...he feels nothing from their soulmate bond. There’s no relief or itch for touch, there’s no yearning in his heart and no sudden impact of feelings like when they’d first locked gazes. If feels normal between them, as it always has since that first meeting. 

Is this normal? Is this how it’s supposed to be?

Green tosses another twig into the fire that it didn’t need and looks up at Red. “Do you want to break our bond?”

Red’s eyes widen. His lips part. He forgets to breathe. He stares.

“I’m not going to force you,” Green holds up a hand. “But I… I’ve been thinking...about this whole soulmate thing…”

Red keeps silent, his heart racing and it’s the most feeling he’s ever felt since that day. 

“I don’t know about you, but luck hasn’t been following me,” Green says, glaring at the flames. “Wealth hasn’t found me. And I know… I know we aren’t close anymore, but…” Green sighs, looks up at Red and the fire in his eyes is unlike anything Red’s ever seen. It’s volcanoes erupting and stars bursting into dust. “I want to make this decision myself.”

Quickly, Red reaches into his backpack for his notepad and a pencil. He bites his lip as he thinks on what to say. When it comes down to it, there’s just one question that hasn’t left him and probably never will. 

Have you felt anything since that first day? Even now?

Green looks over the paper and he takes a minute to respond. When he does, hurt chokes his voice, reality making his throat tighten. “No, I haven’t.”

Red sits back. The last bit of hope up and fades and he’s left with this choice. What is a soulmate bond if there’s no feelings attached? If there’s no constant affirmation that this is right? How do they know for certain that they’re each other’s soulmates? The feelings had been immense, but they’d vanished since. But who was to say that was a bond being formed? What if it was just them, the two of them, and nothing more?

But it had to be a bond, because that’s how it’s always been described. That was the one part those books got right. That initial feeling of everything at once, like the universe crashing in on them. Amazing and scary and beautiful and sad. Everything that they are and could be leveled against them in one, single gaze. 

Then after, there’s no more. That is all they are afforded. 

Green is his soulmate, but Red thinks of him as a lost childhood friend, someone who isn’t interested and wants nothing to do with him. Still, those old times when they were younger… Red wouldn’t mind going back to that. He prefers friendship over this bitter rivalry that hurts much more than it should, that tears and rips his skin.

But isn’t this the same? Green wants nothing to do with him yet again. Not as friends, not as soulmates, only rivals competing for something that they were supposed to do together. Red grips his pencil tight.

Do you hate me that much?

Green stutters. “Red, I…” He shakes his head, leans forward to set his elbows on his knees. He stares into the flames but then looks past them to regard Red. “I don’t hate you. I just think this would be best for both of us.”

Why?

“Because have you ever felt anything for me?” Green asks, turning the question around. “You always ask if I’ve felt anything, but have you? What is this bond doing for us, huh? Everyone talks like it’s the best thing, like it’s an amazing necessity, but it’s not!”

Red looks away, feeling Green’s frustration and understanding it. They always sang of soulmates, sang of love and fate, but it’s done nothing for them. Are they too young? Too ignorant of the world? And if so, shouldn’t they figure this out themselves? They can’t trust what they’re told, they can’t trust what people say. This is a step that they have to make on their own.

With every step on his journey, Red’s been making his own choice and how freeing it’s felt. He decides where to go, who to battle, what pokémon to catch. He decides his place in the world and who he wants to be. He dives into caves and crosses rivers. He looks up and dreams of snow, he looks back and yearns for times long past. But those are still his choices to make. 

This is the same. This is something that they can choose for themselves. There was always the possibility for more, an opportunity for the two of them to become more, but…this opportunity, this chance may be what they need.

What does Red have to lose? There’s never been another feeling or indication. They’ve grown apart despite being fated to be together. They’ve already defied all logic and reason. 

And he wants… He wants to know. Maybe if they break the bond, another feeling will happen and they’ll know for certain, then. 

How do we break it?

[undyingsunshine]

YESSSSS YOU’RE BACK AND TAKING ASKS

14 and 15 for the most recent post, and I’m gonna come back with more too

Here we go!!!!

14. At what point in writing do you come up with a title?

Honestly, it usually differs from piece to piece! Usually, though, the title comes last! (Though I do have a short list of potential titles for Li Cu fics stored away, most of which are just lyrics from songs xD Whether I end up using them or not, only time will tell!)

15. Which is harder: titles or summaries (or tags)?

All of these tend to give me a bit of trouble xD if I was to rank from hardest to easiest however, I think I'd say titles are the hardest and tags tend to be the easiest. For summaries I usually just slap a portion of the fic in and then add a small almost-summary below it, mostly because I feel like giving a sample of the fic will be more effective than trying to give a succinct description? Kind of shows you what you're getting into before you've even clicked xD

Titles, I use a lot of lyrics from songs, especially ones that I think fit with the character. Though, this does sometimes mean my titles are... long and it can make it a little awkward when trying to talk about the fics themselves. xD

Examples include;

"Come with me, I promise the water is fine..." Which is a lyric from God Bless Eric Taylor by Marietta, a song that I relate to Li Cu somewhat.

This next one is the title of a chapter instead of a whole fic, but I'll count it anyway xD Chapter 2 of I'm Here is titled: "I have this dream that I'm hitting my dad with a baseball bat and he is screaming and crying for help..." which is from the song Father by The Front Bottoms.

I ideally try to make it so that the lyrics also match up with the contents of the chapter/fic. I'm Here's second chapter is all about Li Cu's nightmares, so I thought the title would be pretty fitting xD Honestly, thinking back maybe I could've added more types of dreams.... Ones that fit that title even more.... Small rewrite of that Chapter perhaps? I don't think it would be that different, but still... Would add more angst onto everything xD

The title for "Come with me..." Also sort of relates to the contents of the fic, but moreso in the following line that appears in the summary: "I need something else to comvince me I won't die."

Honestly these lines could have me ranting a whole lot, especially in relation to Li Cu. Just makes me think of all his conflicted feelings, and how he must feel when he drags his friends into the mess he didn't even make. (And these feeling really would increase after Su Wan blames him for the snake bite and getting Shen Qiong inveolved, and during just... the entirety of the time he, Yang Hao, Su Wan and Liang Wan are in the desert together. (ESPECIALLY when Yang Hao is being absolutely mistreated by the 9 families, like sheesh.)

It's just a whole lot of guilt, but also maybe some stubborn determination? Li Cu is very adamant on living just to spit in the face of everyone around him. Existing out of pure spite, but with friends involved, it's more like he's existing to fulfil a purpose? One that he feels like he's bestowed upon himself. Not Wu Xie, or Rishan, or anyone. Just him. He stays alive so he can protect his friends. He'll keep them safe, he'll get them home alive. He has to. And he knows that he will. Or else, what is he even persevering for? "I need something to convince me I won't die." In the fic, this could also be referring to Wu Xie, as he kind of marks safety by the end of the drama. Wu Xie being there means it's okay. It means he doesn't have to fight anymore. And in the fic, it also means that Li Cu can let go. Of Everything. Permanently. (I have so many branching ideas based on that 300 word demon of a fic, you wouldn't even believe)

ANYWAY I'LL STOP RANTING ABT THAT FIC MAYBE I'LL TALK ABOUT THAT FIC MORE IN DEPTH SOME OTHER TIME IF PPL WANT IT.

As for tags, I struggle mostly because I never know what's okay to tag? I'm afraid of tagging a fic with something if the content of that particular tag doesn't show up all that much in the fic? Unless it's something that's a potnential trigger, and then I'll tag it, even if it's small. Just ot be safe. But like. Characters, I don't tag unless they're actually there and present and doing something. If they're mentioned, I tend to not tag them since it's not all that crucial? For people to know they show up for a second? Idk, I like to be as succinct and precise as possible with my tags, because I know how annoying it is for tags to be clogged or for fics to have too many tags xD

4. Share a sentence or paragraph from your writing that you’re really proud of (explain why, if you like)

I have a few, surprisingly! I'll choose two, both from the second chapter of I'm Here!

"Each one makes him wake up, terrified and shaky and wanting to hide or just outright stop existing; to become intangible, untouchable, safe. Of course, he can't actually do that, so instead he pushes the fear down and suffocates it before burying it in the backyard of his mind in the hopes it'll never be dug up again."

Something I try and do while writing is find ways to explain how I. Just. Experience life? (This is also present in Chapter 1 with the line "Further frustration gathered in his chest, making it tighten with stress before it shot up into his throat". Just little things that I've never really seen in words before? That I feel but never know how to accurately describe.) There's always the whole "let the void swallow me/him/her/them whole" thing in media that I love because, honestly, mood. But I guess for this I just wanted to word it differently? In the way I felt was most accurate to myself. Just to be in a state of which nothing can get you, be it life or that one imaginary demon that you sometimes think is lurking around the house at the convenient time of 3 AM, Y'know? When real life becomes TOO real and you just want to blip out for a second, just pause everything and have a moment to be free of everything xD

I also just kind of like the metaphor(?) with his fear. Trust Li Cu to not only associate feelings with violence, but also treat his feelings violently xD I feel like I'm not the best when it comes to imagery and creative expression, especially through words. I point out the obvious, the facts, a lot, both when speaking normally and in writing, and it takes a bit of time for me to remember that I'm writing a story and not jotting a list of events xD So anytime I actually come up with something more kind of creatively written, I feel particularly happy with myself.

"He can't even fully comprehend what's been going on - everything feels bizarre and just out of reach, moreso than usual - but what he does know is that Wu Xie is here and he's angry. The man stands above Li Cu, his cold calculating eyes burning him with wordless accusations that, despite their ambiguity, feel justified. There's guilt, desperation and denial crashing inside him like waves assaulting a rickety raft on a stormy sea. What these feelings are for, he doesn't know. It makes him want to plead for forgiveness all the same."

Let's be honest, Li Cu probably has way too many mixed feelings on Wu Xie. The man who simultaneously built him up and destroyed him. The man who caused him agony, but is also probably one of the best things to come into Li Cu's life??? Like damn, I think I'd be pretty conflicted if I was Li Cu. And things only get worse when, in this fic's timeline, Wu Xie essentially ghosts Li Cu out of guilt for what he did to the kid. This is taken wrong by Li Cu, and he ends up feeling abandoned. By his own kidnapper. I just feel like this snippet is pretty okay at capturing all the blame he puts onto himself, and captures some of the trauma that comes with the events of Sha Hai as well. I just kind of like how this paragraph turned out in the end. xD

6. What character do you have the most fun writing

LI CU!!! Absolutely Li Cu. I don't know exactly what it is but it just. Clicks with me? Or at least the version I write of himd does, it's probably not even close to Li Cu's canon portrayal xD Maybe it's because of the fact that I'm also an angsty, angry 19 year old that I feel as such? It's much easier to put myself in the mind of a teenage boy rather than a 40 year old man xD In terms of non DMBJ writings, I have OCs that I love writing for! Funnily enough, one is an angsty 19 year old boy with a lot of self-worth issues (ringing any bells?) and the other is an angry, confused and conflicted character that was modified to be a kind of living weapon, but had since escaped and repressed all their memories of what happened. Though, the memories eventually start to resurface and they begin to question themself a whole lot, with flashbacks haunting the corners of their mind and driving them deeper and deeper into guilt-filled despair.

In general, angsty characters with a lot of conflicted emotions are super fun to write for! To flicker around from thought to thought and dive into all the hidden feelings that a character can have. It's just super enjoyable for me xD

[angelguk]

another prerequisite to the things i never told you fic that is coming [eventually]. i do suggest u read this or else oc’s behaviour/reactions will not make sense in the main fic. kinda angsty. jeongguk is mean. jeongguk’s girlfriend is mean. listen to being freezed by heize. 1.8k.

He’s late. You should have expected that. And yet, it still stings; an odd pain tightly gripping your heart as a gentle autumn breeze whispers through the air. Sunlight wanes against the worn brick pavements, splaying across your dirty sneakers, the shoelaces untethering themselves despite the firm knot you’d tugged them into before sprinting up the hill where you promised to meet. You tap your feet against the ground, the pounding that your soles make harmonising with the erratic beating of your heart. His present is clenched between your tense fingertips, the crinkle of plastic melting into the rustle of leaves. They sway gently above your head, courtesy of the zephyr that settles over the hill. You hope he likes it. You’d taken time out of your exhausting high school schedule to thread together his bracelet. Lilac, violet and a dash of white flowing through the amateur design. His favourite colour is purple. Or at least that’s what you can recall. You don’t remember the last time you had a full conversation with Jeongguk - despite him being your best friend.

And it was all because of her.

Even the thought of her name has your heart plummeting to your gut, your fingertips taut around the plastic bag that contains his presents. There was also a new sketching pad and a bunch of expensive colour pencils you’d forked your savings over for bumping inside the bag, hopefully not rumpling the card you'd made for him. But it was worth it. You know how much Jeongguk likes to draw. But you don’t know if he’d appreciate these gifts as much as you think he would have if she wasn’t in the picture. Jeongguk has changed, drastically, since he’d started seeing her. From the way he styled his hair to his interests - little by little the things you knew and adored about your best-friend gradually vanished, replaced by a person who was virtually a stranger to you. Sometimes you go whole days without seeing him, he’d even swapped seats with a classmate to be closer to his viper of a girlfriend. She’d been so smug when you’d walked into class to find nosy Yongsun as your new seatmate instead of seeing Jeongguk planted in the chair whose leg he’d carved his name into at the start of the year with a sheepish grin tugging at his petal pink lips. You had felt her eyes boring into your head, and when you snuck a glimpse at her direction (right in front of the class where she could suck up to the teacher; a position that Jeongguk had always abhorred) you couldn’t miss the sly upturn of her lips. Jeongguk would have seen it too, if he wasn’t so busy writing her a stupid cheesy love note. 

He would have seen a lot, if he bothered to pay attention.

You’d only showed up to the hill because this was your tradition, something she hadn’t been able to taint with her toxicity just yet. There’s only a slither of hope inside of you that believes he’ll show up. But you stay regardless, because it’s your best-friends birthday and you’ll be damned if you let some girl who’d only shown up in the middle of the school year take this away from you too.

It’s the rough pedalling of a bicycle that yanks you from the pit of despair that you’re currently wallowing in. Jeongguk’s face appears around the bend a second later, soft brown curls ruffled by the wind that wipes around his frame. He’s still got his school uniform on, white sleeves rolled up the elbow and his navy tie loosened from its hold. It’s a stark contrast to the sweatpants and knitted jersey you’d tossed on after coming from school before hurrying to the hill. And then her face pops up from behind his, the dark bangs cut across her forehead unmoving even with the breeze whistling around you.

You don’t say anything, the greeting you were about to mutter caught in your throat. Instead, your gaze follows them cautiously, watching the disdainful look his girlfriend gives you as she halts her bike behind Jeongguk’s.

“Hi,” Your best-friend says. He even sounds different. It makes your heart ache violently.

“Hey Jeongguk,” You return, praying he doesn’t note the waver in your tone. And then you throw her a glance. “Hi, Minjoo.”

She doesn’t say anything in response. Apparently, her nails are more interesting than acknowledging your presence. What’s worse is that Jeongguk doesn’t even bat an eyelid at her behaviour.

“Happy birthday!” You try instead, gaze flickering back to Jeongguk. But your heart drops when you find him sending you the same air of disinterestedness emitting from Minjoo. “I haven’t even seen you today! How are you?”

“I’m fine, just busy.” You hate how monotone his response is. “How are you?” That simple question is enough. Something to show you that he still cares. You hang onto it like a fish caught on bait.

“Exhausted, dude. I have so much to tell you. Where are we going for dinner? The stories I have have to be told over food.” Birthday dinner was part of your tradition. Exchange gifts on the hill, share anecdotes over food, spend way too much at the arcade before moving to linger at the park until sundown and then crash at each other’s house (at yours on your birthday and at Jeongguk’s on his). It wasn’t extravagant or wild. It was simple. Like your relationship. Nothing complicated. Just the two of you together, enjoying each other’s company.

The silence that spans between the two of you indicates that, for the first time, in the sixteen years you’d know Jeongguk, that something was complicated.

He scratches the nape of his head first, bottom lip caught between his lip as he thinks of a way to navigate through the problem that you’re still unaware of. If it’s Minjoo’s presence, you can work through that, an assurance already drifting from your lips. You don’t know why she hates you. But if she’s the girl that Jeongguk loves, you’ll tolerate it. He’s your best friend, after all, the person you cherish the most. You’ll just have to learn to find the things that Jeongguk loves about her with your own eyes. You’ll get there eventually. You know you will. Because you don’t know what your life would without Jeongguk. 

But then he glances back at Minjoo, who’s staring at him impatiently, rapping her long nails against the metal handle of her bike and you sense that something is off. Very off.

“Are we not going out?” You softly murmur, intentionally putting emphasis on the ‘we’ as your eyes flicker between their unreadable faces. Their eyes are speaking full-length paragraphs to each other but you don't understand what any of their weighted gazes mean, the look Minjoo is giving Jeongguk practically indecipherable. “Are we going to eat at your mom’s? That’s okay! I haven’t seen your mom in a while.” You stand up without thinking, your sneakers shuffling the fallen copper leaves around, a resounding crunch emitting from your steps. Minjoo stares at you like you’re dirt for doing that. 

“Um…” Jeongguk eyes are apologising when the words aren’t even out of his mouth yet. They’re round, innocent, gaze anywhere but on you. “We already have plans.”

It’s clear, immediately, that that we doesn’t include you.

“Oh.” Your voice is meek even to your own ears, a strange small sound that makes your heart crumble inside of you. “Okay. That’s fine. You can just take your present then.”

He plucks it out of your hands, not even bothering to peer inside, feet already moving to place themselves on the pedals of his bike. Minjoo’s already turning her own bike away, bone straight onyx hair staring back at you, shoulders triumph in a manner that makes the pain gripping your heart spread across your chest, gaze swimming with the torrent of tears that you’re furiously blinking away. 

It’s not fine. It’s not fine at all.

“Jeongguk!” You catch him before he speeds off, Minjoo already flying down the worn pathway. Her silence isn’t missed.

“What?” He spits the word out like you’re a nuisance. It takes everything in you not to punch him right across his pretty face.

“We need to talk.” The words wobble into each other, tone quivering with the tears you swallow.

“Now?” He ruffles his hair again, an exasperated sigh floating from his lips. There’s a sly eye roll that you catch instantly. Your heart lurches sharply in your chest.

“Yes now.” 

“Can’t it wait? Minjoo’s planned something and she’ll get mad at me if I mess it up.” The impatience in his voice is palpable. You really want to punch him in the face. It’s alright for him to suddenly abandon a tradition that both of you treasure, at the drop of a hat all for some even that his annoying girlfriend planned for him? And she’s allowed to get annoyed about him messing the surprise up while you’re meet to just swallow the sudden despondency that sits heavy on your chest? 

“It can’t wait.” You try to be firm, but like the autumn leaves that hang loosely from the branches above, your resolve is weak. It crumbles, when he settles on his bike, huffing loudly, a frown marring his features. And you hear her voice, frill as she screeches his name. She’s a banshee, a bringer of misfortune and pain. Some part of you wants to sew her mouth shut. That part grows bigger when you note how his back straightens and his eyes widen, feet faltering back to the pedals of his bike.

“Later.” Jeongguk dismisses you. “We’ll talk later. I don't want to fight with you right now.”

And then he’s off, swift with his movements, a hurry that indicates trepidation driving his frame further and further away.

You plop back down on the bench, fists clenched with the ire that blazes inside of you. You ball your hands into your lap, blink away the sudden heat you feel in your face and try not to dwindle on the fact that Jeongguk didn’t even thank you for the present. Or look at it. Or even pretend to care. It hurts. More than you expect it too. You wish you could erase it, all of it. Especially Minjoo. How she’s managed to worm her way into Jeongguk’s life and rip him right from your fingertips is lost on you. But it’s becoming clear now, how little Jeongguk values the relationship you have. If he even cared in the slightest, he would have stayed to listen. Faced whatever consequence Minjoo would have waiting for him with valiance. But with how fast he scrambled, it’s evident Jeongguk didn’t think it was worth it. You weren’t worth it. Not anymore. 

[stusbunker]

What Lingers Within: Eight

A Supernatural Fan-fiction Mini Series

Featuring: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Written for: @thisismysecrethappyplace

Prompt: Amnesia

Word Count: 3925

Beta’d by the amazing @itmighthavebeenintentional

Aesthetic by @thoughtslikeaminefield

Divider by: @talesmaniac89

A/N: Set in season 11. Flashbacks are still in italics. Thanks for finishing this journey with me and all your patience! xoxo Stu

Series Masterlist

     Dean woke up to an empty bed, which shouldn’t have been surprising, yet the realization that she wasn’t there beside him kept hitting him harder each day. She was asleep in the room next door; it was both reassuring and torturous having her so close, never close enough.

    He stood outside her room and debated knocking. It was too early, he reminded himself. He let her sleep, like the day before and the whole week before that. Dean cursed Sam for giving her a room on his every path and headed to the kitchen for coffee. She shuffled in just after ten, looking blurry eyed and warm. Her hooded stare burned right through him as he handed her the mug that had already become hers.

    “Got anything stronger?” she mumbled, trying to play tough. He didn’t buy it.

    “You know, we’re not exactly on a strict schedule here. You could even go back to bed--- if you wanted.” Dean dipped his chin, gauging if he could keep prodding or step back.

    “Sleep is dumb, and besides, my room is boring,” she pouted, cupping the mug in both hands.

    “Thought Sammy had that laptop all set up for you?” Dean tried, brow knit in concern. She glanced up at him sheepishly, the heaviness inside reflected in her posture and the silent plea in her all-too-familiar eyes. Dean couldn’t help but soften as he continued, “Right, well, I was going to skip research today. If you’re up for it, we could do some target practice?”

    Just as Dean had returned her small smile, Sam came in with a breathy, “Hey.”

    Dean closed his eyes, unsuccessfully hiding from the disappointment before he turned to look at his brother. “Where’s the fire?”

    “Sandusky, it’s--- probably her,” Sam’s voice was calm, but his eyes told Dean whatever it was, it was bad.

    Dean nodded. “Okay, well, looks like I’m going to have to take a raincheck.” He faced her and saw all the unsaid things staring back at him. Tendrils frayed between them as he had to pull himself away again. “You gonna be okay by yourself? It’s gonna be a long drive, both ways.”

    She rolled her eyes. “Are you kidding? I’m gonna be ransacking the place when you’re gone. How much do you think the Men of Letters shit will go for on Ebay?”

    Dean shook his head, even though he felt Sam flinch behind him. “Yeah, well, don’t touch anything that isn’t labeled as safe, alright?”

    “Go on, fight the good fight.” Her eyes sparkled with the forced casualness her wit always brought with it, letting them both off the hook.

    Dean sat in the driver’s seat, squinting in the afternoon sunlight, watching the hospital entrance with growing trepidation. Cas walked out with Sam first, the blood along Sam’s collar the only remnant of his injury. They quietly slid into their respective seats. Dean mumbled a greeting, but continued to stare at the glass doors across the parking lot.

    He ignored Sam’s sad puppy dog eyes and Cas’s perpetual confusion and waited, the keys grew sweaty in his hand against his thigh. She was discharged alongside Sam, though they played it off as a fender bender. Cas explained it all to her, as an off duty officer who happened to witness the ordeal and got them to the hospital in time.

    Dean had little problem bludgeoning her car to back the story up. 

    Fourteen minutes after Sam and Cas made it to the impala, she wandered out of the revolving door and into the life Dean had left for her. His eyes trailed her up and down the rows until she found her crumpled sedan. She fought with the driver side door and he almost got out to help her, but she managed. He exhaled as she disappeared from sight.

    His heart rotted inside his chest, arteries and veins strangled his lungs with the spreading poison. He sniffed and put the key in the ignition. 

    “Dean,” Sam started.

    “Don’t. Don’t say her name.” Dean snapped. “You mention her ever again and I will break your fucking nose, I swear.”

    Sam cocked his head and absorbed the rage in Dean’s words. He side-eyed Cas as they both agreed to those terms.

    Her car creeped behind them as she navigated the overly complicated traffic pattern between the hospital buildings. He gave her three minutes before he eased out of their spot and back onto the road. The only proof of his life with her was shoved into his duffle and buried in the trunk. The proof that couldn’t be written on the back of his eyelids or settled in the bottom of his gut.

    You stopped in the library for your laptop before settling at the kitchen table with a fresh cup of coffee. Your curiosity was piqued and a quick search brought up the horrors that had been unleashed in Ohio.

    ‘Four Dead, Seven Injured in Nursing Home Altercation’

    You scrolled through the news story wondering how this spelled ancient dark being to Sam. In the weeks with the Winchesters, you had quickly learned what hunters looked for in order to sort out the regular awful and the freaky awful. It wasn’t until the last paragraph of the article that your blood ran cold.

    The CNA that had called the cops said a woman in a black dress had been bent over the patient when she came to take the elderly man to the common room for lunch. But when she asked her if she was the patient’s granddaughter, the woman had disappeared. That patient went on to assault the others at lunch with his spork and his fists.

    Naturally, the article questioned the eye witness’s credibility, but you knew better and so had Sam. You suddenly felt very scared for your hosts’ safety, despite their expertise.

     You closed the computer as Dean’s face ran through your thoughts.

    That night you did lunges down the web of hallways, muscles burning and face twisted in effort and bouts of laughter. It was ridiculous and if anyone had been home, you never would have dared, but it felt good to be silly and to use up the nervous energy that had been bubbling up inside since the guys had left.

    It wasn’t that you couldn’t sleep, but rather that you slept fitfully. Katelyn’s voice snarled through your dreams, the feel of her spit on your hand mimicked by the sweat leaching from your body. You gave up after the second nightmare, texting Dean for an update in the middle of the night before you could think your way out of it.

    Amara appeared to Dean fully grown, bathed in shadow. The hollows of her face were almost voids as she whispered in his nightmares. The nursing home was a tragedy they couldn’t stop, couldn’t fix. Amara was growing more powerful and there were plenty of souls in one place to feed from. Wherever she had been hiding, she didn’t wander out for long. It felt off.

    She was the itch he couldn’t scratch in the back of his mind.

    He didn’t want to keep chasing Amara, but the quicker she was off the board the better. It was a selfish desire, knowing he wasn’t fully himself since she had been released, but it aligned with the greater good, so he leaned into the hunt. The text he hadn’t replied to still stared back at him almost three days later. 

    There was no update to give and somehow he didn’t want to disappoint Y/N with a “no news” bullshit response.

     The trail had dried up two days before Sam and Dean headed home, the unwillingness to quit wearing them both down to the edge of constant bickering. They stopped chasing their tails and settled on a couple of days to recoup before easing back into the usual hunts. Dean needed a win, but he couldn’t force Amara out of hiding, and even if he could, they had no way to end her anyway.

     They got in close to eleven at night, creeping into the bunker so not to wake Y/N up. Sam showered first, and Dean sipped on a beer in the library before he decided to grab fresh pajamas and the shaving kit he kept in his attached half bath. But when he went into his room, he found a mound of blankets twisted in the middle of his bed, snoring lightly.

       He felt suddenly self-conscious about the state he had left his room and tried to count back to when he had last changed his sheets. But that worry didn’t stop him from blushing with the rush of excitement seeing her in his bed once more gave him. He gently pulled the door closed, turning on the bathroom room light to let him grab his things. 

      She murmured something in her sleep and rolled over, causing Dean to freeze in panic. He was trained in the art of silence, but since she moved in, it felt like he had gained two left feet. Her breathing returned to a steady rhythm, letting him watch her from the wedge of light he stood in. Once his eyes readjusted he saw that she had brought in pillows from her room, but was only  using his. He chuckled despite himself.

      With a final glance at her sleeping silhouette, Dean left for that shower. 

    You were running through your office, rows of cubicles surrounded you like an endless forest. The click of heels on concrete followed you, despite the banal beige carpeting you were treading. Suddenly everything went dark and then you were looking down on yourself, hands around your own throat as you both inflicted and felt the pressure cutting off your air supply.

    You woke up coughing uncontrollably, flailing in the dark against the non-existent double.

    Your elbow hit something firm and you backed yourself into the corner of the nightstand, trying to escape.

    “Hey, you okay?” Dean’s voice scratched through the dank confusion and you sat up, struggling to cover your chest and tummy with your bunched camisole. 

    “Dean? When’d you get home?” You coughed again, and swallowed thickly.

    “A couple of hours ago.” Dean whispered, propped up on his elbow, he watched you. You slowly made out his features in the dark, pale skin a beacon, hooded eyes and wet lips. He was so beautiful and he was right there.

    “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come in here without your permission, it was just so quiet and being here made me feel sa---,”

    “It’s fine, I mean, you’re still a blanket hog, but I know you haven’t been sleeping,” Dean reassured, before he shifted the pillows so he was propped against the headboard. “So, nightmares, huh?”

    His hands rested in his lap, pajama bottoms firmly above the comforter, practically chivalrous. Especially after you had helped yourself to his bed.

    “Yeah, mostly,” you admitted, swallowing once more, the phantom pain had started to ebb with the conversation. “I should go, let you sleep, you had a long drive.”

    “Hey, come here.” Dean cocked his head, beckoning you to him as he opened his arms. You hesitated. Then he tipped his chin, and you were a goner. Awkwardly you situated your body against his chest, his strong arms framed you just so. “That’s better, in’it?”

    You sank into his warmth, refusing to be self-conscious about being half naked in your tank top and sleep shorts, and just relished in the firmness of his body and how it supported yours.

    He breathed in your hair, his lips grazed your forehead, and you squeezed him tighter.

    “I never wanted to be the bad guy. I don’t know what to do now, don’t know how to deal with this guilt,” you explained, staring at the slats on the bottom of the door.

    Dean pulled back to look you in the eye. “You did what needed to be done. That bitch was going to kill you. There is nothing wrong with defending yourself.”

    “I know. It’s just--- this--- being a fugitive is not where I ever thought I’d be,” you admitted, eyes closed in pained shame.

    The moments ticked away, the weight of your words increasing as your breathing fell in sync with Dean’s. His thumb tapped a gentle rhythm against your side, as you rested your head on his shoulder. You were so close you weren’t sure if you were smelling or tasting him.

    “Life on the run ain’t easy.” Dean shifted so your head fell over his heart. “But I do know you can’t lose yourself to guilt. Trust me, there are things that I have done that still keep me up at night. It doesn’t bring them back, it doesn’t undo anything. Except for maybe your sanity.”

    He let out a sad three-beat-laugh. 

    “Just keep doing what’s right. Make the world better in your own little way and hope that someday you’ll find your own absolution,” Dean spoke as if he was a million miles away.

    A moment before you thought better of it, you asked, “Have you found yours?”

    Dean stiffened in your arms and then exhaled, his fingers threaded through your hair. Slowly he relaxed again, his chest and arms softening to the point of you forgetting which parts were him and which bits were you. 

    “Right now, it feels like I might,” Dean whispered in response to the question you almost forgot you had asked. You blushed beneath the implication, the warmth between you intensifying Dean’s natural magnetism. His honeyed voice and steadfast embrace was hypnotic amidst the exhausted chaos of your thoughts. 

    “Dean, I ---?”

    Dean hummed in response before he shushed you. “It’s fine, just try and go back to sleep.”

    You fell silent, the emotions rolling through you in waves of strung out anticipation and tempering doubt. In the end your mind stopped trying to stay afloat and let you sink into the depths of a ragged slumber.

    Then one night, you slept. It wasn’t exactly refreshing, and it wasn’t perfect, but it was something. The fact that you had been crawling into Dean’s bed each night, may have helped. 

      Deep down, you felt the shift in your psyche: a glacial slide, the gradual progress of accepting what you had done which sprouted the fissuring magmic ooze that was hardening you into something new. Forged yet still fragmented, you bent to each sweltering degree as you navigated the impossible almost Dean and you had stumbled into.

      Dean was in love with you. 

       You felt it first when he called you honey and invited you to breakfast all those weeks before. And you knew it the moment he shared your past in a handful of worn photographs. Unfortunately, you just didn’t know if he loved the you that you were becoming or the woman you had been. Your past self, which you didn’t even know. 

      Both possibilities were equally terrifying.

      Winter slid into Kansas like a muddied dog, invasive and messy. Your usual and completely unscheduled call from Michelle told you that you were expected back for Christmas. No excuse, safe for an actual arrest, would suffice. You could almost taste your aunt’s green bean casserole already. You smiled to yourself, imagining Dean in an ugly sweater as Sam, oblivious, would knock his forehead on Michelle’s dubiously placed mistletoe.

      Because, of course, they were invited too. Not that you would have gone without them at your side; they were as much your family now as Michelle and her parents had always been. 

     You hung up without promising your cousin anything except that you would stay safe. Though Dean and Sam were never in the bunker for long, you were fairly certain you could persuade them to take a few days off for a real, home-cooked, holiday meal. You just didn’t know if you would be bringing your roommates/ bodyguards or if you would be bringing whatever it was Dean had become and his brother.   

      That would require you to address the real problem. One far scarier than the temporal question of Dean’s affections.

      You hadn’t let yourself fall for Dean. Not completely. You had been holding your breath, so oxygen deprived that you had developed tunnel vision. And no matter how patient or generous Dean had been, he couldn’t get you to acknowledge the silent, unanswered question in his eyes.

      No amount of cuddles or lips brushed warmly over your forehead or strong arms that held you through the terror of your nightmares had emboldened you to fully reciprocate his affections. You remained simultaneously in his arms and proverbially a day’s drive east.

     The problem was if you let yourself love him, you would be giving him permission to hurt you. Again.

      You had time, you told yourself, before you would be introducing your aunt and uncle to the Winchesters. And you would drag your feet the entire two and a half weeks until then.

One week later   

      The half-truths had grown comfortable, expected, predictable. Dean and Sam would return from a case and Y/N would have food in a crock pot or beer and popcorn waiting for them to unwind before bed. She would duck out early, and then Sam. Dean would have another drink alone, telling himself he’d be brave enough to say something if she turned up at his door again.

    He had too many misgivings about what she’d say. It wasn’t fair to make it about him when she’d get so riled up after the nightmares. 

    It was better to wait for the morning.

     “Dean?” Her voice broke through his internal rationalizing, and he held his breath. She wasn’t upset, no tension nor tears. The look in her eyes felt like a punch to the gut.

    “What’s up?”

    She laughed dismissively, a short trill ending on disbelief. “You didn’t even hear me, did you?”

    “Uh, no, not really. Come on in.” Dean stepped back, letting her in once again with his heart in his throat.

    “We should talk,” she repeated.

    “About?” Dean rested his hands on his hips, straightening himself as he watched her crawl into his desk chair and perch, heels along the edge, as she hugged her knees.

    “Us?” She made it sound like he was slow. His eyebrows shot up; this was happening.

    “Okayyyyyy,” Dean trailed off. She gave him nothing back. “What specifically do you want to talk about?”

     “You’re in love with me.” She smiled that secret keeping half-smile.

      He huffed in exasperation, but couldn’t help but smile back. “Really? You’re sure about that?”

     “Mmm-hmm.” She nodded. 

     “So?”

     “Sooooooo, it’s your turn.” She looked up at him, chin jutted out, challenging.

      “My?” Dean stammered, hand curled at his own chest. “You’re saying--- that I need to---- I don’t know, diagnose your feelings?”

      “Yup.” 

       She was going to be the death of him, that shit-eating grin already creeping up on her lips as she watched him huff and puff and try to pull himself together. He looked at her like a deer trapped in headlights, and she looked back; he felt like he was going to melt under the pressure.

       “I mean---- I don’t---- What do you want me to say?!” Dean chuckled self-deprecatingly. He dropped to the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees as he started at the floor, but finished to her face. “Christ, I know what I want to say, but I can’t say it for you, Y/N. You have to mean it.”

      “And what if I do?” Her feet fell to the floor as she leaned on her palms. She seemed somewhere between coming fully back to him and flying away for good.

    Dean started to let the hope sneak in. “Well, I was kind of thinkin’ you would’ve shown me already.”

    Time stopped.

    She launched at him, and just as he caught her, a notch above the waist, her lips stole his breath. He gave it away willingly, until there was no more to spare.

    Triumph. Relief. Yearning answered.

    Dean’s arms curled around her body, clutching her to him as her momentum pushed their top halves onto the bed. It felt like a dream; Dean wouldn’t open his eyes ever again.

    They tasted and teased each other, lips and tongues, whispers and snickers. She looked down at him like he hung the goddamned moon, and he prayed he’d never do anything again that would change that. He swallowed, not sure what to say next, unwilling to break that impossible moment.

    It just got better.

    She left a trail of punctuated kisses up his jaw and whispered in his ear. “I love you, too, you idiot.”

    In a flash, Dean rolled you onto your back, sliding you fully onto the bed at last. He practically purred as he nuzzled your pulse point before leaving a sloppy kiss behind your ear. You shivered, bolts of electricity shot through your body, burning from the inside out.

    “I--- just let me tonight,” Dean insisted, hands in your hair as he pleaded over your lips. “Please?”

    “Be my guest.” You didn’t know where all that nerve had been buried, but it was reassuring to find your footing after so long.

    He kissed you dizzy, stubble scraping and lips soothing. Slowly you were able to lay down your worries, alongside your clothing. With each brush of his mouth over your body you became lighter, leaving behind the fear and the uncertainty for something you’d never thought you’d get: trust and understanding. 

     True acceptance. 

     You fell into the moment, head first and determined, enjoying the knowledge he had retained of your body as he planted a firm palm over the thick roll of flesh above your mound, holding you in place before he dove in.

    His tongue told you that you were wanted, his fingers showed you how you were cherished, revered. His lips were lingering reminders that he wasn’t leaving again, that you were just where you were meant to be, that he needed to show you all the things he couldn’t say out loud. 

    That you came first, always.

    Bursting and brilliant, Dean saw to it, gentle yet persistent.

    He never stopped touching you, aching to hold you as long as you’d let him. Maybe longer. He crawled his way back up your body, nuzzling your nose with his before you got your mouth back on him. You drank in his now tangy desperation.

     You locked him in the cradle of your legs, telling him you were just as invested, a puzzle completed. Together you found your rhythm, your promises matched and measured. It was everything, and it was easy: no confusion or second guessing, just bliss. Dean’s moan broke on your name, and you felt it as if it had been the thousandth time, not your first. 

     It was you and Dean, forever as it had always been. These feelings had always existed, and they would never leave because not even the host of heaven had been able to snuff them out. They had lingered within you, and now that they were fulfilled, you knew you were going to make it in this uncertain life. 

      Because as scared as you were, you were certain of Dean. And he’d never stopped betting on your ability to keep fighting, to pull through all on your own. 

      His faith in you had seen you through the mess with Katelyn and years of unknown memories. Now you had nothing but time to regain what you’d lost, because lost things always have a way of finding their way home.

Series tags: @tiggytaylor @vicmc624 @kalesrebellion​

General SPN tags: @flamencodiva @dolphincliffs @dontshootmespence @thoughtslikeaminefield  @fangirlxwritesx67 @dawnie1988 @mrswhozeewhatsis @cosicas-cuquis @foxyjwls007 @tumbler-tidbits @defenderrosetyler @ericaprice2008 @princessofthefandomrealm @wingedcatninja

[lalahbug]

False Ring - Levi x Reader

Fandom: Attack on Titan Word Count: 2,296 My Masterlist Warnings/disclaim: general Modern Office AU Author’s Note: Continued under story Originally posted on DeviantArt, under the same username, on 12/25/2016. Revamped/edited in 2020. ___ is a blank for your name/oc/whatever you prefer Written in 3rd person Line/header is to separate paragraphs to indicate time skips, as Tumblr hates my formatting.  Story under cut

          “Hanji! Take down that mistletoe, now!” ___ barked at her while walking up to her.

          “But it’s Christmas!”

          “There will be no kissing in the office!”

          Hanji kept complaining and trying to defend the decoration.

          “Hanji. I let you get away with going overboard on the decor for Christmas, decorating everyone’s desk, the lobby, the breakroom. I am drawing the line at the mistletoe!” ___ was lecturing Hanji basically in front of the entire advertising and marketing team. Hanji was one of the top managers, behind Erwin and Levi, of course.

          ___ is the CEO but always has a degree in advertising, so a lot of her free time was spent there. Being hands-on and knowing about every campaign and making sure they all appealed to a wide audience.

          “But, ___-”

          “Hanji, you can put it up at home and the Christmas party tonight. But please just, not in the office.” ___ sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

          “___!” Hanji whined.

          “Oi! Shitty Glasses, ___ said no, so get away with that shit.” Levi stood next to ___.

          “Come on, Hanji. I’ll help you with decor for the party, okay?” Erwin wrapped an arm around Hanji, dragging her away.

          ___ took a deep breath. “Thank you, Levi.”

          “Tch, whatever.”

          “Will you be at the party, tonight?”

          “No.”

          “What, why not?” ___ tried to not let the disappointment show in her voice.

          “I don’t like Christmas, it’s over-done and all about presents, nowadays.”

          “That’s why I am holding the party without presents, though. So we can all get to know each other better and spend time with each other and our families.”

          “I have no reason to go, nor do I want to be around all of the brats and lovey-dovey couples.”

          “Oh, okay. I’m sure you’d rather just spend time alone with your girlfriend anyways.” She gave him a sweet smile. Levi just glared at her, making her sigh and look away. “I know, I know, you won’t talk about your life outside of the office.” An awkward air settled between them. “Well, I hope I get to know your personality better in the new year. I’ll see you after News Year’s, I need to tell everyone to go home now.”

          ___ gave a quick surprise to all of her employees, telling them the only reason for them to come into work on Christmas was to clock in and get their bonus check. Telling everyone Merry Christmas, go home and she was looking forward to seeing them and their families at the party.

          About an hour after everyone had left, ___ was sitting at her desk, finishing some paperwork.

          “What are you still doing here?” ___ jumped a bit, at hearing Levi’s voice, which made him click his tongue at her. “Go home to your family.”

          “Oh, there’s no one waiting for me at home. And this paperwork needs to be finished.” ___ gave him a small smile before looking back down to the papers and filling them out.

          “Isn’t this supposed to be mine?” Levi had walked over to her desk, taking the paper from her.

          “Hey, put that back.”

          “Why are you doing my work?” He glared at her.

          “I’ve been taking half of your’s, Hanji’s and Erwin’s work lately. We got a new client and I know you guys are already overworked. Since it’s Christmas, I wanted you all to be happy and not too stressed out. I prefer being at the office, so I always find where I can lighten the load of others.”

          “You do this often? My work?”

          “Yeah, not just yours, though. It’s not like it’s too hard to do or anything.” She shrugged and opened her hand to Levi. “Come on, give it back. Go home, have a goodnight.”

          Levi sat down across from her. “When are you going home?”

          She stared at him for a moment, confused. “About 3 hours before the party, so I can get ready and get there before everyone. To make sure Hanji didn’t go overboard. But I’ll be back here tomorrow.”

          “Are you going to be there all night?”

          “Yes, of course. I am the main host after all.”

          “What time do you think you’ll go home?”

          “Um, I don’t know. Probably sometime tomorrow. Why are you asking so many questions? This isn’t like you, you normally don’t care.”

          “Do you ever go home?” Levi glanced around, avoiding her question, his voice was getting harsher and judgmental.

          “Sometimes. I usually just go home to shower and get a bit of sleep. But I have a bed in my side office for days where I just would rather get more work done. I have a week’s worth of clothes here. So I guess I mainly just go home to get clean.”

          “Wait, you sleep here? How often?” Now, his voice was belittling and demanding.

          “I don’t know, like 4 times a week maybe.”

          “Tch.” He seemed truly annoying with her.

          “Don’t you click your tongue at me, boy. You’re acting hostile and demanding. I don’t need this from my employee, go home.” She snapped at him. Levi stared at her for a moment.

          “Did you just call me, boy?” He almost growled at her.

          “Ackerman. Go. Home. Now.” ___ let authority coat her every word. It was rare she used his last name or ever had to use an authoritative tone on him. He stared at her for a moment, before clicking his tongue again and leaving her office without another word.

          “Hanji, thank you for not going too overboard.”

          “Erwin reeled me in.”

          “Then I guess I should be thanking him.”

          “Nah. You both look beautiful by the way. I didn’t know you had tattoos, ___.”

          “Thanks, but yeah, I’ve had them for a while, sometimes I forget about them.”

          “It’s awesome to see so much for your skin, it looks so soft!” Hanji rubbed ___’s shoulders, making her smile then push her away. 

          “Stop it.”

          “Where did you get your dress?” Hanji was feeling the soft material. ___ just smirked at her and looked down at her red strapless dress.

          “Um, I think my mom got this for me last year. So I’m not sure.”

          “How are your parents?”

          “Oh, they’re good. They couldn’t make it over to me this year and I have too much work, so I couldn’t go to them, but I’ll be seeing them for New Year’s, I should be done with all of my work by then.”

          “Why do you have so much work? Hanji and I finished everything the other day.”

          “Oh don’t worry about it.” She gave them a heartwarming smile.

          “It’s because she’s doing some of our work.”

          ___ turned on her heel, to see Levi standing right behind her.

          “You what?!” Hanji screamed, gripping ___ and shaking her by her shoulders. “You’ll never get babies if you keep overworking yourself! You’re going to end up in the hospital again for overworking yourself!”

          “Hanji! Stop!” 

          The brunette stopped shaking her boss. 

          “I love my job. I’m not worried about having children. I won’t overwork myself, again, that’s why I put that bed in my side office.”

          Erwin groaned and Levi stared at all of them.

          “Wait, that’s why you were hospitalized for a few weeks a couple of months ago?” Levi wanted confirmation.

          “Yeah, I came to her for some signatures and she was unconscious at her desk,” Erwin stated.

          “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

          “You didn’t ask and we didn’t want to tell too many people.” ___ shrugged.

          Erwin and Hanji then continued to bug ___ about giving them their work back so she could go see her parents sooner. Eventually, she caved in and told them she would give them their work back tomorrow.

               “I can’t believe you showed up, just to tattle on me about helping out with work.” ___ grumbled as she and Levi leaned against a wall, drinking some wine.

          “I showed up because Erwin told me to. Ratting you out, after calling me boy, was a bonus.”

          “You were mad at me for calling you, boy? But you’re younger than me by a few years.”

          “I’m not a boy.” He growled.

          “Uh, huh. Sure," she giggled at his anger.

          Levi moved so he was blocking her path and his hands on either side of her head, making her blush.

          “I’m not a boy. I am a man.” 

          “Oh, okay.” She was too shocked to say anything else. Levi moved back a bit to look at her.

          “You’re blushing.” He smirked at this, which only made the crimson dusting her cheeks grow darker; because she had never seen him smirk before. “You’re blushing more now.”

          “Shut up. Why are you teasing me?”

          “Because I didn’t know you were single before.”

          “What?”

          “The whole office believes you’re married.” This made ___ burst out.

          “No! Oh, that is funny.” She kept giggling. “No, no. I don’t have a partner, I mean I have some people I have crushes on. But I have no interest in letting them know that.”

          “Why is that?”

          “I like how things are now.”

          Levi and ___ hung out together most of the party, well, he hung around her while she talked with many different employees and told stories.

          “So, ___. Tell me,” Jean piped up. He was a new customer service employee. “Is the rumor true that you and Levi are married?”

          ___ almost spit out her drink. “What? So not only was the rumor that I am married is going around, but to Levi?”

          “So I take it’s not true?” Jean chuckled. “Then how would you like to get dinner sometime?”

          “Just because she’s not married doesn’t mean she’s desperate enough to go out on a date with you, horse-face,” Eren sneered as Mikasa glared at Jean before he could retort.

          “If anyone takes her to dinner, it’ll be me,” Levi grumbled, making everyone quiet.

          “So you’re dating?” Jean was the only one stupid enough to ask.

          “None of your business.” Levi glared at him. “Come on, ___.” Levi turned on his heel.

          “Oh, um. I’ll see you guys after the new year. Have a wonderful holiday!” ___ chased after Levi. “Levi, what was that all about? Why did you confuse them like that?”

          Levi scoffed. “Because I meant it. It’s none of their business, but if anyone is to take you out anytime soon, it’ll be me.”

          “What are you talking about?”

          “Oi, you’re stupid for being smart. I like you, clearly. That’s why I got mad anytime you asked about my nonexistent girlfriend or offered to have me come to dinner with you. I thought you were married. Anyone would with that ring on your finger.”

          “Oh.” ___ was blushing and looking down at the ring on her finger, she had stopped walking.

          Levi turned to face her, standing in front of her. “Why do you wear a wedding ring?”

          “It was my grandmother’s, she didn’t have much, but being her only granddaughter. It was the only thing she left me. I just wear it because she was like a mom to me. Plus, it kept away creeps. I didn’t mean to confuse everyone, though, or push anyone away, especially you.”

          “You’ve been visited by the Mistletoe Fairy!” Hanji giggled while holding a stick with mistletoe hanging from it.

          “Hanji, no!” ___ scolded her, pointing a finger at her. Levi glanced up at the small green branch. Levi clicked his tongue before grabbing the back of ___’s neck, pulling her in for a kiss.

          ___ squeaked while Levi pulled her to him, but she quickly let her body relax against his.

          Levi smirked as the tension in her body disappeared, he kissed her gently again, before pulling away, letting his grin slowly fade away.

          “Can I expect Levi babies soon then?” Hanji squealed.

          “You’re just being stupid now,” ___ giggled. Erwin had popped up and dragged away Hanji so Levi and ___ could be alone. “Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday, Levi.” She beamed at him.

          He froze for a second before pulling her into a hug. “Thanks.”

          She pushed back a little. “What for?”

          “You’re the first person to say that today, a lot of people seem to forget my birthday because of Christmas.”

          “Oh, I even got you a gift. I was just going to give it to you next year, but since you’re here.” She smiled and pulled away from him, grabbing his wrist and dragging him over to the coat station. She asked for her purse and pulled out a small box.

          “I got it last week. So, happy birthday, Levi.” She offered it to him, he cautiously took it. “Well, open it.” So he did.

          He pulled out a couple of sturdy tins. “Is this really Jungpana and Glendale loose tea? This is expensive shit.”

          “Is it? I just went to a tea shop with great reviews and told them you really love tea, that you like to be clean and your birthday was soon. They recommended these.”

          “They are really good, they have good taste, but pay attention to pricing brat.”

          “You like your gift right?”

          “Of course.” He pulled her close to him. “I can’t wait to see more of you, you’re the best gift.”

          “That’s not what I meant!”

          “Well, you being single, is the best news I learned today, so that’s the best gift. But you won’t be single, much longer.” He rested his forehead against hers.

          “Well, if that’s the case, I think you should invite me to test that tea out with you.”

          “Tch, don’t tell me what to do. But you should come over soon.”

          “It’s a date.”

          “Damn right it is.” He pulled her close, keeping an arm around her most of the night, showing no signs of leaving her side anytime soon.

Author's Note: Continued As far as I know, Levi’s b-day is Christmas, so this fic was written for his b-day.

[okay-j-hannah]

Summer Lovin’

The Marauders : Fic

Sirius x Reader

Word Count: 3567

Warnings: Just a lot of adorable banter over the beautiful Sirius and his constant denial over the fact he needs to let people in 😂❤

Request: “Can you write something with sirius where he meets a girl over the summer and they never really talk about Hogwarts so he doesnt know her house and when they go back he finds out shes a slytherin” - Anon

A/N: Unbeknownst to them, the two kids from seemingly different worlds had so much more in common than meeting during the summer holidays

She sat below the grand tree, leaning against its rough bark as she flipped through her book. The breeze made its way through her hair, ruffling the pages between her fingers; she could barely register the cool touch it fell on her nose.

Her mind was entirely too enthralled with the chapter written before her, describing wonderous tales of a quiet, simple life. One that didn’t hold so many frivolous magical duties or exuberant ministry bound parents.

A swift shift above her caught her otherwise occupied attention, sending her to gaze ahead instead of downwards. However that view was quickly taken up by a wavy-haired boy of sixteen, hanging upside down by his legs hooked onto a sturdy branch.

“Sirius!” she shouted, unable to jump back due to the tree she rested upon, but nonetheless pressing herself flat against it.

The boy hung there, a ridiculously impish smile on his face, “Good evening, (Y/N).” He dropped his arms, revealing a tiny maple seed in his hand.

“You about made me bend the pages of my book,” she scolded, placing the object neatly beside her, “I need it for school.”

In an instant Sirius was right side up again, very nonchalant about what he’d just done. Instead he held his palm up to her eyes, presenting the maple seed before blowing gently.

The little seed immediately became airborne, but not at all as you would’ve expected. It was almost as if the wings of the plant flapped ever so slightly. But (Y/N) knew that to be entirely impossible, Sirius wasn’t a wizard – just a newfound friend from the city over.

“What are you reading?” he asked, just as he always did when they met, planting himself beside her.

“Little Women,” she responded, instantly feeling the warmth come from him where their shoulders touched. “It’s quite good.”

He frowned, pulling a comical face, “You sure? It looks like a bunch of boring words strung together into agonizingly long paragraphs that’ve been extended into impossibly confusing pages.”

She couldn’t help but giggle, slapping his hand before he could fiddle with the novel, “What you’ve just described is called a book, Sirius. And you’d know that if you ever bothered to pick one up.”

The offended look he gave her was dramatically overdone, “I will you have you know I’m passing my classes with adequate grades!”

“Adequate?”

He bent his head side to side in thought, “Well, adequate enough to pass.”

It always made her smile when she was able to figure him out. It wasn’t at all that difficult though, once you broke through the initial barrier. Sirius was a boy that desperately did want people to know him, although those people had to be very select and definitive.

(Y/N) fit the description apparently.

“Have you gotten any word from your parents?” She waited patiently, letting that cool breeze draw them almost instinctively closer to one another.

Upon mention of his family, Sirius always grew a bit darker, his eyes down-turning to his fiddling fingers. “No – I don’t suppose they ever will. Seeing as they’ve already got their perfect son, they can leave me for the scrap heap.”

“Don’t say that,” she muttered, nudging into him, “From what I’ve heard it sounds like you don’t necessarily want to be associated with them anyway.”

It always did surprise him whenever she’d give negative feedback on a person. She was normally entirely against pointless gossip and ignorant bullying.

It also always made his heart pump a little bit faster.

“You think?” he mused, finding another maple seed on the ground and opting to pulling the leaves off.

She gave a rather vocal thinking cap, scrunching her face up in the way that amused him, “Do I think you’re a pompous, ever-livid, critic that shoves anyone you think is beneath you into the gutter? No I don’t.” She pushed him a little harder that time, making him fall over with his guard down.

“I hate when you compliment me so.” He whipped up to push her back, sending her a bit farther away with a squeak in her voice.

“Then you hate the truth,” she muttered, fixing her hair and spitting blades of grass from her lips.

He couldn’t help but stare at her as she did so, his knees drawn up to his chest and his gaze soft and dreamy. It was as if he was envisioning something far away and barely within his grasp.

“Besides, things are better now that you’re with your friend.”

He blinked his eyes rapidly to attempt to clear his foggy dream, “Yeah, James’ folks have been real delights.”

“Don’t say it so sarcastically,” she wriggled her nose feeling a sneeze come on. It only made him smile further.

“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”

She hummed, “I guess it’s just your natural tone of voice then.” That brought a laugh out of him – she loved it when she could make him laugh.

“How’s your family been, then?” he questioned, too worried she’d wonder about his considerably quieter demeanor that evening.

It didn’t phase her at all that he was being simple; she quite enjoyed when he didn’t feel like he had to be a clown all the time.

“Proud and defiant as always. Sometimes I wish I had a James I could runaway to.”

Very faintly she could have sworn those words made him flash with anger but thought it merely a trick of the eye. Things were never complicated with Sirius and they weren’t about to be now. Conversation always flowed between them as the breeze was through the leaves above them.

“In that case, you’re going to have to write me at least twice a month,” he decided, turning himself so he was facing her. “I don’t want to miss out on you finding yourself a James at your faraway school.”

She feebly punched him in the shoulder, sheepishly retracting it to fold her arms, “You know I’ve never been that popular with the boys.”

“I can’t imagine why.”

It was the first bout of silence they had in days, Sirius finding his throat growing dry. His eyes diverted to her hands rubbing up and down her arms.

“You’re cold.”

Still a bit stunned at what he stated before, she slowly nodded, cracking a small smile. Quite unlike him, Sirius shyly opened his arms to her, urging her to come closer. And without hesitation she inched forward, leaning into him with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her safe and warm.  

(Y/N) always had a hard time discerning when Sirius was being truly sincere or not, normally when it came to more serious statements. In her gut she knew she’d rather have liked to believe most of them, but she would scold herself for putting faith in silly beliefs.

Sirius didn’t honestly feel for her in that way.

The problem was… Sirius felt completely and whole-heartedly in that way.

And as he skid home that night, he couldn’t help but feel a little lighter than before – secretly accomplished in himself for having held (Y/N) that night. He could almost remember the pleasant feeling of her leaning into his chest – the soothing touch of her hand in his.

A stupid smile was plastered onto his face as he rounded the corner and spotted his best friend lying on the front grass of his home. A glittering snitch was whizzing around his head as the sun faded still.

“Hey, well isn’t it lover boy coming back with a triumphant look on his face.” The wild-haired boy sat up, clutching the snitch in his hand, “Did he manage to steal a kiss from our little muggle friend perhaps?”

“Shut up, James,” he replied, plopping down on the grass beside him, “Just because I bunk with you now doesn’t mean I get to share every part of my summer.”

“No, that’s exactly what it means,” James stated, straightening his glasses, “Come on now, at least tell me you got a cuddle.”

Sirius drew his knees back towards his chest, wrapping his arms around them and resting his head on top, “Maybe just a little one.”

Punching him in the shoulder, James grinned, “Progress, mate. Now just you wait – soon we’ll see it in the papers: Double wedding with James Potter and Sirius Black, marrying their lovelies Lily and (Y/N).”

Sirius couldn’t help but snort, “The day Lily Evans accepts your date proposal is the day I face my parents with an apology and full allegiance.”

They shared a laugh, enjoying the company of having another to talk to, especially about things such as who they fancy.

“But I suppose it’s going to end soon,” Sirius muttered, gazing at the grass with that same drowsy stare.

James then became overly serious, “What you talking like that for? Just cause summer is ending doesn’t mean (Y/N)’s going to disappear forever. You can come back here next year, and she’ll still be living down the street.”

“That’s just it – what if something happens over the school year? You never know.”

It pained him to see his friend like that, so far away from the carefree expression he was accustomed to. All he did in that moment was give him a reassuring nudge, showing that he understood and would be there for him if it happened.

But as quickly as that silence enveloped them, it dispersed – James making a point to shove Sirius out of the way as he sped to the house.

“Last one to the room has to clean up the owl droppings!”

“By Merlin’s baggy y-fronts are you going to make me clean up after your ruddy owl!”

~~~

The school year was going by slower than she expected, the seasons falling into autumn with agonizing speed. As the days went on, all (Y/N) seemed to focus on was when Sirius was going to write her.

It was becoming detrimental to her declining grades as she dwelled on this wish throughout every class. Even Professor Binns mentioned the lack of participation as she was normally the only one who’d ask questions in History of Magic.

Professor McGonagall requested that she seek some extra tutoring before her scores became too steeply down.

It was just the overwhelming thought that Sirius hadn’t made any sort of attempt to contact her. And he promised he would.  

Was it just a summer fling?

“You’ve got to eat something, (Y/N).” Her friend Gwendolyn shoved a breakfast plate her way, “Slughorn is going to be upset if you pass out in the dungeons because of malnutrition.”

She could only faintly smile in return, “I’m just not hungry.”

“It’s that boy you won’t stop thinking about. This mysterious boy you refuse to name,” Gwen bit her toast, eyeing her friend suspiciously, “Come on, you’re starting to look greener than your robes.”

(Y/N) snuck a feeble giggle, “McGonagall was saying something similar just yesterday.”

“I don’t think it’s right for you to be pining over a boy that isn’t putting forth the same effort.”

That created the frown that harshly etched (Y/N)’s chin, “I just don’t get it…”

A crash from the other side of the Great Hall made her pause, simply some surprise that halted her thoughts.

“He was so kind, so attentive – he was always there; cracking jokes and making fun of my reading and…”

“And being so secretive,” Gwendolyn concluded, extracting her wand to fiddle with it against the table. She eyed the commotion happening across the sea of students, “He told you even less about his life than you did!”

(Y/N) sighed, resting her chin in her hand, “I just thought maybe he actually meant it all.”

Another thundering disturbance hit the hall, a number of students standing from their meals to catch a sight of what was happening.

“Probably that Potter gang,” Gwen muttered, turning to console her friend once more. “Look, how about you talk to Professor Kettleburn about some owls that can find his house. Just write a letter explaining the circumstances, owls probably come as a shock to some muggles…”

But (Y/N) had turned her attention to the commotion Gwen pegged as being caused by the Potter gang. Not one too familiar with other social gossip of the school, nonetheless too observant to not know who Potter was, she was suddenly engrossed by the gang of boys surrounding him.

“(Y/N), I’m trying to help you in your stupid dilemma,” Gwen pouted, leaning forward, “The least you could do is try to listen.”

But she was too caught up thinking that one of the boys looked so familiar. Across the way, bombarding a hoard of first years in their wake, the four boisterous sixth years laughed and tossed rolls to one another.

The ringleader, obviously Potter, chucked a buttered piece of toast towards a young Gryffindor, clearly a frightened first year. The sticky bread hit his freshly bought robes, making the youngling cringe and run away with tears in his eyes, others following him.

A short blonde friend snickered, keeping his distance, but enjoying the company. A slender, scarred boy stood shyly away, a disapproving smirk on his features. And another wavy-haired boy was nudging Potter, a crazed laugh on his face as he pointed out the scampering first year.

He looked so oddly familiar. His demeanor beginning to dawn on (Y/N)’s memory.

But it couldn’t be.

“Where in the name of Salazar are you going?”

But all (Y/N) could do was walk towards the disturbance, almost in a trance-like way. Her eyes were quickly beginning to sting, her mouth falling into a look of shock.

The closer she got, the plainer it became that it was Sirius she was noticing. Her Sirius that claimed to be as innocent and clever as she. Her Sirius that portrayed such a charming façade that she completely believed he was the good guy she had always hoped. The good, simple boy she met over the summer – one that could take her away from the stupidity that the magical community gave her.

Only now she was realizing he was just another piece in it.

“Sirius!?”

At the sound of her voice, the quartet stopped their squandering, all suddenly motionless at being addressed by an unknown student.

Remus furrowed his brow, stepping farther away from the classic duo of James and Sirius. He wasn’t about to get in another one of their feuds – especially over a girl. Peter followed suit, sensing the danger and looking towards his cleverest friend.

“Merlin’s beard,” Sirius muttered, dropping the roll he had aimed for the Gryffindor Prefect leaving their food fight. “(Y/N)?”

“What are you doing here?” she fought back those angry tears, noticing sharply his red robes and the glasses clad boy beside him. “I can’t believe it.”

“You’re a Slytherin?”

She shook her head more fiercely, “You’re a wizard! All those months and you didn’t even have a clue that I was one too? God, Sirius, what are you doing?”

The only thing he seemed to be able to do was gap at her, “A Slytherin?”

“The James you were talking about was James Potter!? How could I be so stupid?” she threw her hands in the air, clearly just on the brink of an all-consuming rant, “And I thought I had a decent clue who you were. Oh my God, Black? Sirius Black? My father literally spends weekends at your house… oh my GOD!”

James finally started connecting the dots, “Holy… wait a minute – is this that (Y/N) chick you met over the summer?”

Sirius was still horribly consumed in his initial shock of the whole event that he could only slump where he stood, staring at her.

“I told you back then that I didn’t think you were cruel and indecent. I told you I thought you were incredible and a good person. And now…” she addressed the mess he and his friends had made of the table; the small group of terrorized students at the end of the hall. “You’re bullying first years! First years, Sirius?”

“(Y/N), wait – I…” Sirius was just starting to wrap his head around what was happening. “A Slytherin?”

She was beginning to reach her limit, a personality quite unlike her own snapping through, “Were you just pretending to be something you’re not? I think you’re one way and then come to find out that you’re best friends with the most infamously arrogant child of our year.”

“Hey, now wait just a second…”

“I thought you were better than that, Sirius,” she cut everyone off, “But you’re different, you’re worse, you’re just like those parents you hate.”

She began to back away as he tried to clear his throat, gathering his shocked thoughts, “Slyth…”

“Yeah, we established that, Black,” she shouted, turning around, “I’ve never been gladder that Slytherins and Gryffindors eat on opposite sides of the Great Hall! Don’t speak to me – ever. Got it?”

And as she stalked off; Sirius could feel his own blood growing colder. His thoughts fully back now, shock dwindling as James leaned into him.

“Woah,” he whistled, “You’ve got yourself a little snake now, don’t you?”

At his scoff, Sirius shoved him away, “Sod off, James. (Y/N)!” He ran from his friend group, chasing after this girl he realized he was about to lose.

And if there was anything truer to him in that moment, it was that he didn’t want to lose her.

“(Y/N), please, let me explain.”

She sped out of the hall and towards the adjacent corridor, going anywhere that was from him. “I don’t want an explanation, Black.”

“Please, come on…” he picked up his pace, chasing her in a sprint as she wavered in her steps.

Her eyes were full of tears and she was not in the mood to address them, “Leave me alone, Sirius. Didn’t you hear a word I just said?”

He reached her shoulder, tugging on her sleeve and gaining a glare from her flustered face, “But I don’t want you jumping to conclusions without the whole story.”

She swallowed hard, silently cursing herself for the tears in her eyes, “More stories? So you can lie to me more?”

Sirius bit the inside of his cheek, finding it difficult to let his guard down now that he was back into the grove of school. “(Y/N), you’re not even giving me a chance. Don’t you think I’m a little surprised to see you a student at Hogwarts? You’re clever – Don’t you think I’ve earned the right to be a bit shocked too?”

“You’re a bully.”

“And you’re a pure-blood.”

“So are you.”

“But I left my family.”

“And I despise mine.”

“Looks like we have something in common then.” He attempted a little smile, enjoying the banter a little too much despite the bad timing.

She gave him a harsh gaze, “You’re different.”

He felt his heart give way a little, that urge to open up to her becoming more of a reality. It was that feeling that initially got him to like her in the first place.

“(Y/N), I’ve never been more honest in my whole life than I have with you. You bring that out in me – the real me – the side that I don’t like others to see.”

He waited for her to explode more, but instead watched as she let a tear fall, her frown still in place and not contradicting what he was saying.

He decided it was safe to continue, “You know how school is – it’s hard to find your place and to show you’re not something to be taken lightly or made fun of. I come from a very infamous family, one that represents a lot of what I hate. I’ve tried to take every possible measure to show that I’m nothing like them.”

The look in her eyes was beginning to soften and he found more courage to speak up, “I’ve rebelled against a strict upbringing, I defy any sort of rulebook given to me, and I do the complete opposite of the expectations set for my life. I’m a Gryffindor for crying out loud! My whole family has been in Slytherin for generations.”

She sniffed, swiftly reaching to wipe away stray tears, “You’ve built a wall. And you’re too stubborn for your own good to let people into it.”

“Except James, Remus… and you.”

That made her chest hurt with a little more pride than sorrow, “Maybe I did jump to a few conclusions.”

“And maybe I’m a blithering idiot that said Slytherin one too many times.”

The smile he gave her made her giggle slightly, taking a step forward so they were closer as they once were those many months ago. “If you can promise me you try to avoid the bullying, maybe I’ll consider seeing you more.”

“Even with the distance between the tables?” he smirked.

She lifted her hand slowly to graze his fingertips, “If you make the trip worth it.”

It was like his whole body froze in place, a feeling like none other coursing up his arm and taking refuge in his steely heart.

“But of course,” she remarked much louder to the muttering she used before, “That means you’ll have to actually show you have a good heart every once in a while.”

And she walked away, heading back to her dorm as Sirius stood there with the biggest smile on his face – one he hadn’t felt in a long time.

~~~

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[ckret2]

how tf do u write sir pen and alastor

Step one: rewatch this and this a million times specifically to focus on how they talk—the way they emphasize words, the cadence and flow of their sentences, pace, sound effects, mood, pitch, tone, etc.

Step two: reread their lines here or here (each one handles the transcript a little bit different—the first one is more comprehensive, the second one more objective, and they disagree on a few words) so that you can more fully absorb things like their vocabulary, length and complexity of sentences, etc.

Step three: keep those pages open constantly so that every couple paragraphs you can refer back to those pages to refresh their voices in your head when you get nervous about drifting too far off the accurate voice of a character who's got less than three total minutes of footage, which will be often.

Now you have their voices in your head.

Step four: Go write their voices!! Here are their voices:

Sir Pentious is pretentious. Alastor sounds like a radio host.

I know, I know, that sounds super obvious.

Sir Pentious will occasionally use vocab & sentence structure that makes him sound old-fashioned and dramatic on par with a parody of a Shakespeare villain. He uses phrases like "[they] dare not hinder [me]" or "the likes of I" or pronouncing "striped" as "stripéd." His vocab isn't wildly complicated—you shouldn't be sending readers running to the dictionary—but nevertheless he sounds intelligent.

Pretend that in his heart he's constantly on the verge of giving a villainous monologue about how his evil plan will let him effortlessly conquer the world, and anything else he's doing—whether it's trying to impress a crush or ordering lunch at a fast food restaurant—is either a practice run for that villainous monologue or a distraction from being able to give it. His casual conversations will have that hint of grandiosity. He's going to be mildly irritated at anything that undercuts his grandiosity—it doesn't have enough style, doesn't have enough class. He'll jump on opportunities to gloat, to talk about his goals & plans, to talk down his enemies—to try to make himself sound good, basically.

And—this is super important—remember that he thinks he's evil and is proud of it. He's not one of those villains who believes he has a just or justifiable cause. He's also not one of those villains who is villainous out of spite/anger/vengeance. He says that he is evil and he is gleeful about it. Don't feel the need to give him sympathetic/understandable/justifiable motives for his actions, because he doesn't think he has any and he doesn't care. He's power-hungry and he's bad and he's having fun. He embraces it. Embrace it when you write him.

Alastor is 100% performative at all times. Imagine that at every moment he's speaking he sees himself as a radio talk show host sitting behind his desk with a packed studio audience and the knowledge that thousands more people are listening live. He's animated and exuberant because he's trying his damnedest at all times to be an entertaining host for that imaginary audience. That's his job: put on a good show for the audience.

So every comment is snappy and interesting, he always sounds upbeat and energetic. When he talks about himself and his own emotions, it never sounds confessional, intimate, or sincere; even if he's talking about something that's genuinely been a heavy psychological weight on him, he doesn't present it like that. He presents it like a guest on a talk show telling the host a funny anecdote about his life, or a comedian telling a story to the audience: even if the anecdote is about something miserable, it's presented as an interesting/entertaining story for the consumption of the audience.

(See: the jokey way he says, "Hahaha, why does anyone do anything? Sheer! Absolute! BOREDOM!" The woe-is-me faux drama when he says "My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless!" Those straight up sound like two depression symptoms. His voice does not sound depressed.)

So he speaks in anecdotes, one-liners, punchy comments. There's going to be very little "uh-huh" or "mm-hmm" or grunts or sighs or other such wordless sounds—everything he says is going to sound crisp and carefully enunciated for the audience at home trying to listen in over the radio.

(And you can play with that as appropriate: I have his performativeness go down when he's having an actual intimate sincere moment, and I have it crank up wildly when he's uncomfortable, secretive, feeling vulnerable, etc., and he wants to hide that.)

Step five: remember their weird speech quirks!

Hiss! Sir Pentious has got his hiss. Now, listen to me very carefully: if choossse to write Sssir Pentiousss'sss ssspeech ssso that every sssingle sssibilant isss emphasssized jussst like ssso, I ssshall sssneak into your houssse in the middle of the night with a Sssharpie and ssscribble an angry faccce on your forehead.

This is the best essay I have ever read on writing accents. And one of the most important points in it is: don't misspell every word to phonetically match how the character sounds, because it's incomprehensible, silly, and gives readers headaches. That applies to Sir Pentious's hiss.

Now, I feel like you can give him SOME hissing. If there's a word or phrase HE's trying to emphasize—if he's talking Extra Fancy, or if he's spitting an insult at someone, or if he's just being more pretentious than usual. Example: if a hero sneaks into a villain's lair and the villain captures them, the villain might sarcastically say "so nice of you to join us!" When I hear Sir Pentious giving that line I hear his voice jump up on the first word, "so nice of you to join us!" So I could write that as "ssso nice of you to join us!" for that extra emphasis. I wouldn't write it as "ssso niccce of you to join usss!"

Also: you can just not write his hiss at all. That's valid, we'll still hear it in our heads. I don't write his hiss when I'm writing inside of his perspective because he doesn't hear himself doing it.

If you DO write his hiss though, remember that it's not just on the S's. Sometimes he over-emphasizes his H's as well or inserts them where they don't belong. ("hhell will be mine, h'and everyone will know the name of Sir—") That's harder to naturally write into dialogue than the S's, but if you're looking out for opportunities you might naturally stumble across one or two. At least remember to carry the hissed H's in your head.

Radio sounds! Alastor's dialogue is loaded down with radio sound effects—studio audience applause (and different kinds of applause for "applauding a stellar performance" versus "welcoming a guest onto the show"), studio audience laughter, little trumpet sounds, snatches of music, xylophone scales, telegram beeps, drum rolls, the screams of the damned—you know, normal things you might hear on the radio. And less clear things too: a thousand different static sounds, muffled voices like you might hear when passing through stations and getting near but not actually on the right station, garbled humming, little second-long clips of songs he heard earlier.

You don't want to CONSTANTLY talk about the sound effects he's making; but like, also, constantly talk about the sound effects he's making. Strike a balance. Good luck.

Get familiar with sound effects—listen to the radio and pay attention to the sound effects used in bumper messages, listen to the sounds in old game shows, listen to radio dramas, find guides by people who work on sound effects for radio and see what they do, browse sound effect sites to see what kind of categories are listed and that people look for. Alastor shouldn't sound like a radio drama, but you can steal sounds from that. If you can hear a sound but aren't sure what to call it, try looking up lists of similar sound effects for sale and just look at what terms they use in the file names to describe the sounds. (Obviously you don't want to buy a $50 folder containing 500 radio sound effects, but oftentimes you can still see the names of the files.)

And—again, from that essay I linked earlier—the characters don't complain about each other's voices in canon. If someone's going to comment on Alastor's radio noises, there has to be a good reason for it, because it's a divergence from the norm. (Like, I have Sir Pentious commenting on and asking questions about Alastor's radio sounds to show he's curious about/interested in Alastor and how his abilities work on a deeper level than just "oh yeah of course the radio demon makes radio sounds" and to show that he's absolutely not too intimidated by him to risk annoying him—and that's intended as a deliberate exception from the norm, to the extent that Alastor comments on it once.)

Musical numbers! Occasionally Alastor will burst into song. Unless you're desperate to try your hand as a lyricist, I recommend against actually writing full songs for him, for this reason: when we see Alastor's full song in the pilot, it sounds like he's singing, because he is and we can hear it. When we see a full song in a book or a fic, it sounds like somebody's reciting poetry, because we don't know the tune and we can't hear the song in our heads. And "giving a poetry recital" is a very different vibe from "singing a song."

What I do to get around this is, when I think Alastor oughta be singing, I just take a song that actually exists and have him sing that one, and then I can fling the link at readers. Go get familiar with pre-1933 popular songs. I recommend vaudeville and musical theater as easy sources to draw from because it more often tends to be snappy, energetic, and oftentimes humorous, which fits Alastor's vibe. I also don't quote the entire song, just a couple of relevant lines—so that within the fic itself it comes across like dialogue rather than like a poetry recital. If you HAVE to include the whole song, mix it in with actions, description, narration, etc, so that it can still be read as dialogue rather than like a solid block of poetry. He's not just standing in one spot unmoving while he sings, is he? No of course not, he's Alastor. Have him dance and do dumb stuff.

Step six: remember their weird accessories, mention them from time to time.

One of the streams that I don't feel like digging up says that Sir Pentious's hat's facial expressions mirror whatever Sir Pent is currently feeling, even if Sir Pent's own expression is less honest to his true feelings. Personally, I go with that—his hat is always showing his genuine emotions—unless it's off his head, in which case it can have its own separate emotions for a moment (such as: reacting to the fact that it's fallen off its owners head). It's completely psychically connected to him and so it's never going to have a separate/independent reaction to what's goin on, just mirror Sir Pent's. There are other ways to headcanon his hat and so other ways to write his hat but that's the way I do it.

Alastor's microphone cane occasionally talk. In the show we see it do that when Alastor specifically prompts it. We don't know if the cane is its own person or if it's more like a magic ventriloquist doll Alastor talks through in order to banter with himself. I treat it as like, 1/2 a person: it's a direct extension of Alastor, and it's got some low-level intelligence, but like intelligence on the level of a chat bot programmed to try to have conversations with people but that doesn't really think for itself. Since it's an extension of Alastor it doesn't really have any thoughts/knowledge that he doesn't, but it's got a slightly snippier/crankier personality, and it might on very rare occasions say things that Alastor like, knows on a subconscious/instinctive level but is consciously denying. Its primary function is to give Alastor the reply he's looking for when he says something he wants a reply to, or to set him up for a snappy one-liner he wants to make but is unable to make unless someone else says JUST the right thing first. Again, there are other ways to headcanon/write his cane, but that's the way I do it.

Also Alastor has living shadows, one of which might be his own shadow, but like, I always forget about them so I don't do anything with them. It's fine it's cool it only shows up during musical numbers anyway.

Step seven: remember their body language.

Sir Pentious's overall body language is, unsurprisingly, pretty serpentine—he's got some wiggles, he's got some dramatic bends that show off his flexibility—and also rather elegant, or at least making a show of looking elegant. At least when he's busy posing in between doing actual work. And he likes playing with his bow tie.

Alastor's gestures are big and theatrical and his arms are always going everywhere.

However, that's not the part of their body language I want to talk about! That's the normal stuff! I'm here for the weird stuff!

Hood! Sir Pentious's hood is basically always flaring out and flattening down and flaring out and flattening down. (And I do headcanon it as a hood—just fraying along the bottom—not as hair. Every time I see fanart that treats it as hair and they braid it or put it up in a bun or whatever I have a moment where I picture his hood shredded up the length into strips and go "OH GOD, OH GOD.") Like, do not constantly describe every single time his hood flares, because it's every five seconds. But don't leave it out by any means. Pick important moments. Make sure it actually adds to the scene.

Eyes! In canon there's a few shots where we can see that Sir Pent's many many eyes move and blink, and they ten to look toward whatever Sir Pent is focused on. It seems likely that they work. If you want to say they work you totally can. I say they work. If you're gonna say they work, keep in mind what kind of field of view that gives him, and keep in mind what you can do with that knowledge. Like, if he's sitting at a dinner table with someone to discuss some kind of skeevy underground business deal and the other person slowly pulls out a gun under the table and points it at him, he's going to see that gun with his knee-height eyes and be able to kick that dude's whole chair over with his tail. 

Smile! Alastor's single most defining character trait is the fact that he's always smiling. The terrified sinners that named him the Radio Demon should've named him Smiley McSmiles. Therefore, there is no need to tell readers that he's smiling. They'll be like, "of course he's smiling. He's Alastor. We're not stupid." However, it's a good idea to mention from time to time that he's smiling, because like, Alastor's single most defining character trait is the fact that he's always smiling. And when it's that constant, it helps to occasionally bring it up to like, maintain that continuity, maintain that sense of the fact that his smile is always there. So you've gotta strike that balance between "don't just keep telling the readers that Alastor is still smiling because you don't need to tell them that" and "mention his smile from time to time." The way I do that is like, mentioning his smile in conjunction with other things, usually as an indication of his mood. Whereas with other characters you'd show changes in their expression by going "he smiled," "he frowned," "he grimaced in disgust," with Alastor you'd say like "his perpetual smile stretched wider into a more genuine one" or "he pressed his lips together as his smile thinned" or "he fought to keep smiling through the disgust"—that way, you're not telling readers that Alastor is smiling, it's something you're mentioning in the process of telling readers something different and more important about his mood.

Step seven: remember this ain't TV. Keep in mind the difference between how they sound when they’re talking out loud on screen and how they’ll sound when they’re just text in a fic.

To get their voice across, you might have to exaggerate some things in written dialogue that you wouldn’t in spoken dialogue. For instance, Sir Pentious doesn’t always have vocab that makes him sound like a pretentious, sophisticated supervillain. Sometimes he says “No other demon can compare to the likes of I!” but then sometimes he says “You wanna go, missy?” When he says that the latter line in the show, he still sounds pretentious, because his VA is still using his pretentious-sounding voice. In writing, there is no voice. Most readers KNOW what his voice sounds like, and if you’re writing close enough to his voice they’ll be able to hear it; but it’s going to be harder for them to hear it if you have him saying words that go against what his voice sounds like and they aren’t actually simultaneously hearing his voice IRL saying those words.

So, while “You wanna go, missy?” works on screen when we can hear the contrast between his voice and the dialogue, if that scene was written instead, it’d be easier to get his voice across with “Do you want to go, missy?” because it still has the unexpected/humorous casualness of “missy” in there but making the rest of the sentence very formal preserves Sir Pent’s pretentious speaking style.

Step eight: keep in mind that the question I'm answering is "how do you write sir pent and alastor," not "how should sir pent and alastor be written," so feel free to toss out anything that doesn't work for you.

[toast-the-unknowing]

11, 14, 18, because I'm greedy :P!

I DID YOURS LAST BECAUSE YOU’RE SO GREEDY. Or because I knew 18 was going to take a while, one of those two.

11. If you could only write angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your life, which would it be?

I often have a little angst in my fluff, or a little fluff/humor/comfort in my angst, and either some angst or some fluff in my smut, so it's not even just a question of "you don't get to write the others" it's that "you don't get to write hybrids," that's the part that makes this question tricky. I suppose of the three genres, the one that I most often write in its purest form is fluff, because that lends itself to comedy better than the other two, and I like writing comedy. So I’d have to say fluff. But I wouldn’t like saying fluff.

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Blue for being practical and hard-working and Henry for company/morale boost.

A part of this consideration was picking two characters that get along well with each other, because oof, the last thing you need on a desert island is drama.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

I worked really fucking hard on it all will fall, fall right into place and I am really fucking proud of the whole thing, but I think my favorite scene might be the one where Ronan talks to Adam’s mom. So that’s the one you’re getting. I am putting it behind a cut and I am sooooooooo sorry if the cut doesn’t work for people, because it’s long.

Adam's dad is seeing a doctor the next morning; Adam says he might visit in the afternoon, depending on how that goes. His voice is totally flat.

The main reason we don’t get actual dialogue of Adam talking here is just practical, to avoid needing a mini-scene of that conversation, but I do like that it has the effect of distancing us from Adam, stripping some of his agency away from him. So much of this fic is about Adam being disconnected from what’s going on inside his own head, that I like this moment where we take away his voice.

Ronan hopes the nurses will tell Adam that Robert isn't up to visitors, that he got rushed to the ER, that he's dead, so he doesn't leave the hospital after Adam disappears inside of it. He ditches the car in the parking lot and slinks back to main entrance, prepared to pace back and forth for a minute or an hour or the rest of the day.

The hospital visits are set up for a progression where Ronan stays at the hospital longer each time, as the situation wears him down more and more. He’s less and less willing to let Adam out of his sight, but he has to, since that’s one of the very few things Adam actually asks him for.

Except he comes to a dead halt ten feet away from the entrance, because while he was parking, Adam's mom arrived.

Relatively early in working on this fic I had the thought of “oh, FUCK, Ronan’s going to have to talk to Adam’s mom at some point, isn’t he?” It was one of the moments that I was the most interested in writing, so there was a lot of excitement attached to it once the horror cleared up, but my first impression was also correct. I suspected this scene would be an absolute bitch to write and it absolutely was. I worked on this fic a lot while riding my commuter bus and I cannot tell you how many afternoons I spent working on this scene, only to come away with one or two new sentences to show for the entire hour.

He hasn't seen her since that night in LA. She'd caught a flight back the morning after her dinner with Adam, so they hadn't all had to travel together, thank fuck. He doesn't know what he would have done stuck on an airplane with her. He doesn't know what he's going to do now.

The moment of Adam’s mom ambushing him in front of his friends was one of the very first things I knew would happen in this fic; the moment of Adam meeting her for dinner came a bit later, I forget when exactly. It was only MUCH later that I put together that this timeline makes no sense from her point of view. She ambushes him on a Monday; he calls her on either Thursday or Friday. That means she paid for three nights in a hotel or motel, without knowing if Adam was going to get in touch with her (and with more reason to assume he wouldn’t than that he would). I don’t think it’s hard to believe that she would fly out to LA in the first place, once Adam refused to take her calls; it’d be the only way to get in touch with him, and she’d know that the shock of seeing her, and the guilt she could lay on him about how she had to fly all this way because he wouldn’t just talk to her on the phone like a son is supposed to, would be effective manipulation. But it’s hard to buy she’d spend the money staying in LA, and spend the time away from Henrietta when Robert’s condition is so serious.

But I really LIKED the idea of Adam meeting her for dinner, and the scene after dinner is such an essential part of the story – and I don’t think it would have been as effective after just a phone call, although I suppose he’d  have been pretty wrecked after a phone call, too. So I had to make a call on whether a character would do this thing that doesn’t make any practical sense, or change it and risk weakening the story.

Sometimes you have to take something out of a story that you really love, but I generally hold that that’s if the element in question is causing problems within the story itself; e.g. if a joke is really funny but is ruining the tension or the mood of a scene. My own writing philosophy is that good scene work is more important that rigidly holding true to details of reality, but a different writer might have made a different call.

So here is an answer to the question of “when did Adam’s mom go back to Virginia,” whether it’s the right answer or not. And, of course, the answer to “why did she go back on a different day than Adam and Ronan did” is “I didn’t want to ruin this scene by having Ronan spend any time with her before now.”

She spots him at the same moment he spots her. She doesn't have the decency to look away or try to hide. There's something eating at her and she's making up her mind about how nasty she's going to be when she lets it out. Ronan hates that he knows that; Adam twists the corner of his mouth the same way.

I like the idea of Ronan – and, by implication, Adam – noticing the ways that Adam looks like his parents. I also liked having the gesture that reminds Ronan of Adam be a negative one. It ties in with the bit later, of Ronan being aware of Adam’s flaws.

"You just going to stand there all day?" is what she goes with.

"What," Ronan spits, "you think I want to talk to you?"

"You could leave," she suggests. "Better for your eyes than gawking."

"Don't pretend you care. You didn't know I existed a week ago."

"Wouldn't've pictured he'd have someone like you," she agrees, breezy in a way that turns his stomach inside out.

Probably Adam’s mom didn’t know he was bi until a couple night’s before this, when he took her out to dinner – I don’t imagine he would have told her before then, and I imagine there was some awkward “so how has the last decade+ since we stopped abusing you been” conversation during that dinner. Which raises the question of how she and/or Robert feel about Adam being in a relationship with a man, but honestly, I didn’t want to muddy the waters by bringing homophobia into the story. I wanted to deal with the abuse, that was the part that was interesting to me emotionally, which is more or less the approach that canon takes, too. So for “someone like you” I really meant it to be more about “someone with a giant tattoo and a foul mouth” but I suppose it could also be read as “someone with a dick.” In either case she’s intending to be very dismissive of Ronan.

"You don't know anything about him."

"But you know me, is that it? I can see you judging me. You don't know anything."

"I know what you two did to him."

"Is that how he tells it?" she asks, like she isn't interested in an answer. "He makes it sound like any of us had it easy? Three people in that little trailer, never any space, any quiet, never enough of anything. Robert'd work all day and come home and there's the kid getting in the way again, making trouble, telling lies...anyone could lose their temper. I did my best to keep Adam out of the way, but I'm just one woman. He never did learn to listen to someone who knows better."

There’s for sure one time in canon where Robert accuses Adam of lying to him (when he finds Adam’s pay stubs, the night of the concussion) and I feel like there are others, but I may be misremembering. In any case I find it an interesting accusation – because it probably is true at least sometimes, Adam would have to lie to his parents in some situations. But there are probably others where he isn’t lying, and that’s an interesting bit of psychology to me, this idea that his parents might think of him as a fundamentally dishonest person -- because they HAVE to think of him that way, because they cannot reconcile “Adam tells the truth” with “we are decent human beings.”

Beyond that: this paragraph got reworked about ten thousand times, and usually that means that I’m never really happy with the result (because maybe one of the 9,999 other ways was slightly better, because maybe 10,001st time was the charm) but this? I’m pretty happy with this paragraph. It’s awful in exactly the way I wanted this scene to be awful.

"Yeah, I'm sure it would have been really convenient for you if he'd just made himself stop existing," Ronan spits. "It would have been pretty great for him if that shitbag had gone to jail."

"Right," she says. "He goes off the jail. Makes a dollar a day. Gets out with a record and now no one'll hire him. Now there's no money coming in, all on account of a couple of bruises, that would've been better for Adam?"

The reason this scene was so hard to write, which was also the whole reason I WANTED to write this scene at all, was that it meant getting into her head and explaining what the abuse looked like, to her. What story does she tell herself about her husband hitting her son? How could she allow it to happen, for years? How does she live with herself? I wanted to get her point of view across, not to justify it, but just to make her an actual person. I didn’t want her to be a cartoon-moustache-twirling villain.

(I suppose I could have had a version of her that had realized what they’d done to Adam was wrong, but that’s so far out of line with the rest of the tone and plot of this story that it literally only occurred to me now, months after I finished the story and months more since I started it. That’s not interesting to me.)

She absolutely believes what she’s saying here: a couple of bruises are better than starvation. On its face, that’s a reasonable sentence! But oh, how convenient it is that she plays down the extent of the abuse; how convenient it is to pretend that those were the only two options; how convenient that Adam doesn’t get to express a preference between those choices.

"Having nothing would have been better for Adam than having you."

She shakes her head, unfazed. "That right there tells me you've never had nothing."

I think it’s reasonable to assume that she grew up poor, which makes this another of those uncomfortable parallel moments between Adam and his mom. Ronan has absolutely heard Adam point it out to him before, when he unintentionally shows off his privilege.

"If you were such a great fucking mom you could've taken him and left."

She doesn't answer right away. Ronan doesn't want to give her any space to feel comfortable in, to come up with these lies, but he can't force any more words out. His whole mind is one blaring siren, lights and sound, emergency emergency emergency.

There’s a bit of advice I’ve gotten in improv, that if you don’t know what else to do in a scene, you can just say how you, the actual improviser, feel in the moment: “I’m confused,” “I don’t understand,” “why are we doing this again?” Endow your character with those feelings.

I didn’t want to give Ronan another line of dialogue here, but I didn’t know what he’d be thinking or why he’d let Adam’s mom just take her sweet time coming up with horrible things to say to him, so I just went with “Ronan doesn’t know what to say and he doesn’t like this and he can’t even make thoughts happen.”

"You think you're gonna marry my boy?"

"Yes." He never figured he'd say that with so much hate. He never figured she'd be the first person to ask.

The whole “are you going to marry my son” bit of the conversation was something I knew was going to be in this scene basically since the moment I realized this scene was going to exist, but this exactly line about Adam’s mom being the first person to ask was one that just happened during writing. It was a complete surprise and I love it so much.

"You think he's perfect?"

Ronan clenches his jaw. Adam is a stubborn control freak with a temper and intimacy issues a mile wide. Ronan knows that, and he doesn't care; he doesn't need Adam to be perfect.

Adam and Ronan recognizing each other’s flaws is one of my absolute favorite things about the ship.

But he's not going to say that to her. Adam is a god compared to her. She should be walking door to door proselytizing for him. She should be proud of him.

When you’re listing things, you generally want to get stronger as you go through the list; if you’re e.g. writing a joke, you want the funniest item on the list to be the last one (unless the joke is that you’ve messed up the list; Leslie Knope’s “I gotta stop ending on that boring thing” is a good example). This one plays out the other way. The list of things gets more reasonable as it goes along, to emphasize how tragic it is that Adam’s mom cannot do this one very reasonable thing.

"You know what marriage is?" she asks. "It's picking a man and saying, I choose this one, even though he's not perfect. If you can't stay with him when he makes a mistake then you don't marry him."

Another moment where Adam’s mom puts words together in a way that is completely true and rational and yet also a horrifying nightmare sentence when you put it in context!

Everything stops.

He can't speak. He can't move. Every living part of him is blasted away by a scalding wave of outrage. His vision blurs out and Adam's mom fades out of existence -- and then it slams back into place, everything too sharp against his eyes, and she's still there.

He wants her to stop talking. He wants to strangle her so she has to stop talking. He wants to drag her through the streets while people throw things and scream her sins at her. He wants her to admit that she did something wrong. He understands, in a sudden, terrible way, why Adam doesn't expect his father to apologize, and he's shaking with all of the things he's not doing.

Oh my lord these paragraphs. THESE PARAGRAPH. I mean this whole scene was painstakingly forged one word at a time, like I was making chain mail or some shit, but THESE PARAGRAPHS probably took a week’s worth of afternoon commutes all on their own. The thing he’s reacting to is so horrifying, but at the same time, they’re just words; from the outside this just looks like a conversation, this looks like nothing. So I suppose some of the difficulty was in walking this line between too strong of a reaction and not strong enough of a reaction.

Also, just, is there a word for that medieval punishment kind of thing, where they drag you through the streets and yell at you and throw things at you? Is there? That sentence alone I changed every single word of so many times, fuck.

I do quite like that moment of Ronan better understanding Adam, though. That is, of course, the actual plot and character significance of this scene; getting inside of Adam’s mom’s head was an interesting puzzle for me, as a writer, to play with, but what actually matters is that Ronan comes away from this conversation really KNOWING something that before he could only know in an academic way, if that.

"You had to make a choice." His voice is harsh in his own ears, but she just looks bored with him. "And you picked the wrong one."

This bit of dialogue is another one that was written relatively early, compared to the rest of the scene, so I’m not sure why it took me so long to figure out that “you pick a man and stick with him” “well you picked the wrong one” sounds like Ronan is saying that Adam’s mom picked the wrong man to marry out of all of the potential men she could have married. It is SUPPOSED to mean, “you had to pick between your husband or your son, and you fucked up,” but I couldn’t really find a way of rephrasing it that made that clearer and that still flowed in the conversation. I consoled myself that readers would probably understand it, anyway. I had to trust you guys on this one.

[galadrieljones]

writer’s review

tagged by @ma-sulevin and @a-shakespearean-in-paris. thank you! i’ve never done this one before.

I will tag @thevikingwoman @shallow-gravy @littleblue-eyedbirdchirps @roguelioness @pikapeppa and anyone who’d like to do this. Please tag me if you do!!

Rules: Post two snippets of your writing. The first should be one of the oldest examples of your work that you can find (the older the better!), and the other has to be an excerpt from something more recent. Compare the two side by side to see the difference between what your writing looks like now and how it did then.

Since I have way too much old writing from my life, I am just going to stick with my fanfiction. I chose to compare an excerpt from my older Solavellan work The Dead Season (2016) to my current The Last of Us fic As You Were (2020). 

I put this under a cut, as it’s a little long!! 

From The Dead Season - Chapter 8: The Emprise du Lion

For the first three nights, they’d had to camp in a quarry surrounded by the dead lit veins of red lyrium. The lyrium glowed through the fire, illuminating the snow, keeping everyone awake, bandaged and bruised, all four of them piled into the Inquisitor’s tent where nobody wanted to be alone. Death was too nearby, they decided. Things were better together. Exhausted, hardened, dirty, cold to the bone. Drinking warm ale brought in by Scout Harding’s people, gnawing pieces of rabbit Sene had hunted herself and then cooked on a spit. Iron Bull tried entertaining with mad stories from his stranger youth. He and Solas played whole games of chess through the power of memory alone, and Sera braided Sene’s hair, and asked her all kinds of questions about her childhood and her love for the elven man. She told her about Dagna, that the two had started a quiet affair, and she had such stories of Red Jenny and her foreign life as an elf of the city. Sene listened eagerly, all the time, finding Solas with her eyes, and he would give a small touch. Security in a place of death and blood in the snow.

Despite Sene’s dreams, whenever they slept in the Emprise du Lion, Solas held her with serious possession. He slept deeply when he drifted, without stirring, and his arms hardened around her as stone. A carefulness and new severity imbued them, each movement guessed and exchanged as mind-reading. Somehow, it felt new. Sera noticed one morning, as Solas helped Sene into her jacket: “You do that like it’s all you’ve ever done,” she said to him.

“Perhaps it is,” said Solas. “Perhaps each night I help Sene out of her jacket, and then each morning, I help her back in again. Would that shock you?”

“The two of you,” said Sera. “Like green on sky. Eggs on toast.”

“Interesting perspective,” he said.

From As You Were - Chapter 6: La Crosse (Pt. 1) / The Lapp Farm (Pt. 1)

Joel and Noah drove until they hit what looked to be the town. They parked at an O’Reilly’s Auto Parts, hauled their backpacks onto their backs, and loaded their guns. The signs continued, most of them nailed to other kinds of signs: COTHS, they read. C.O.T.H.S.

C O T H S.

La Crosse had never been a big city. Joel didn’t know a lot, but he could gather as much. It wasn’t big, but it was a college town, and that college was big enough to have a football team. It would have been home to a lot of people during the initial Outbreak, probably forty or fifty thousand, and it was probably a metro-hub for these little Driftless, farming towns, too, with a good hospital, warehouses, factories, and some semblance of a retail industry. It would have been a lot of meth, he thought. Maybe not so much in the city proper, but in the outskirts, in the tin cans and the trailer parks. As a city on the banks of the Mississippi, it would have pretty pockets but mostly, it was just franchises and mini-malls, like anything else.

But this was strange, thought Joel. The goddam of it was, it seemed empty. Really empty. Like, god no longer smiled upon this place, as if something evil had given up on this place, gone on its way. There was nothing. Nothing bad, nothing good. Just the trees, and the nature noises, the grasses, which had grown so tall, they engulfed the cars abandoned at the side of the road. There was a McDonalds sign, growing out of a massive, twisted heap of vines and bramble and it made Joel think of small things that still broke his heart from childhood. He pushed it down.

“This is fucking weird,” said Noah. The air smelled ripe in some places. Rotten. Like an overgrowth of mold in the washing machine. “What the fuck is that smell?”

“Something bad happened here,” said Joel.

“Hey, look,” said Noah. He was headed toward another one of the signs. It said: COTHS.       

“Yep, another sign,” said Joel.

“No, look,” said Noah. He got closer. He had to snap a couple saplings to get to it. This sign was on the ground, leaning against a tree. He pushed back the tall grass, and the milkweed to reveal the rest.

Comparison: I settled on these excerpts because they are both descriptions of places and situations that are new to the characters involved. The biggest difference between my writing in 2016 and my writing now, as shown here, is that I have hugely simplified my prose and my approach to descriptive writing. Four years ago, I was still very flowery, and the dark, magical setting of Dragon Age only encouraged my dreamy, expansive sensibility. I used a lot of adjectives, figurative language, and fragments, and I tended to write big, sweeping descriptions of situations, rather than setting simple scenes. Tbh, I hadn’t really figured out scene-writing yet, at that point. It took me a while to realize how to make scenes do a lot of work in a short amount of time. Notice how I barely enter the scene in that first excerpt. It’s vague. It’s all happening at once. There is not really a specific scene being set in a specific setting at a specific time. I try to avoid that sort of thing now. While I don’t hate my old writing, and I think sometimes I do a nice job of hitting on the right atmosphere, my unwillingness to just enter the scene concretely is a little sophomoric and noncommittal here. Setting scenes is actually hard as hell. In doing this, I was avoiding the hard stuff without even realizing.

Now, I will say that while I am still improving, my writing has become much more concrete and to the point. I use figurative language, but I am much more judicious with my metaphors and similes. I prefer realism, it turns out. I want to describe true things, not ideas. Most of what I describe is there to build setting, whether it be through concrete description of place or a character’s actions in a place. Sometimes I will use my language to evoke a certain kind of atmosphere, but I try not to go overboard. I want my language to be practical, not tricky and overblown. I like strong, complete sentences (with the occasional fragment) and descriptions of specific actions and scenes in real time, rather than fragmented, dreamy language or a style that is overly stream-of-consciousness. I still use Free Indirect Style at times, and I will narrate thought, because I like going into my character’s heads, but I now practice much more stoicism. I do not let my readers know too much directly about what my characters are feeling. I find that this is much more true to what I want to evince with my writing. I now try to imply thought and emotion via what my characters do, what they don’t do, what they say, and what they see. Moving away from Solas, a very “talky” and intellectual character has helped me do this. While I love Solas, writing Joel and Arthur really improved me tenfold, as they tend to speak very little. They are not terribly ponderous in all they decide. They choose their words wisely and let their actions speak most of the time, helping me do the same.

In the past, my focus was almost always on language, ideas, and atmosphere. I wanted to evoke bigness at every turn. Drama, beauty, unfolding abstract ideas and feelings made of synesthesia, using my language to elevate simple feelings and ideas into something epic. But now, and maybe it’s just because I’m getting older or I have less time, idk, but I just want things to be what they are. I want to reveal feelings and themes, not evoke them through force. I want the scenes to speak for themselves. I let the reader do a little more work. I withhold much more. In fact, I rarely write interiority these days. Inner-monologue and emotions come sparingly. One sentence here and there. Never in rambling, abstract, unfurling paragraphs, which The Dead Season is full of. I am always reaching for economy now, and efficiency. It is better for me! Though I do play around still, from time to time, with my language. I will always be a little playful.

[jenoptimist]

you go back in time to try and make things right

Arguments between the two of you wasn’t anything new. There has always been petty arguments which would inevitably end with the offer of tea–black tea for him from you if you were in the wrong or a fruit tea for you if he was. Except this time the argument is bad. Worse than ever before and you don’t even know what started it. No, that isn’t fair. You know that it’s because of the stunt that you pulled earlier. But Doyoung is overreacting!

There was no way you were going to just stand there and watch him get torn down by the monster of the week. So what if you were been hurt? It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t heal your own wounds with magic. Plus lifelong silver scars are better than a future without him. And besides, did he really think you were just going to stand there and do nothing? Even if it wasn’t him that was going to get maimed, you would have done it regardless. At this point the rest of your friends have bets regarding on whether or not you would pull some sort of stunt whenever it’s time to face the big bad.

“You’re always doing shit like this!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you retort sarcastically with a roll of your eyes, “I didn’t realize I was supposed to stand back and watch you die!”

“I would’ve handled it.”

You scoff loudly. “Handled it? You call standing there and waiting for it to hit you handling it?”

None of your friends intervene as Doyoung continues his rant furiously. They stand surrounding the two of you, ready to react if the situation were to escalate but doing nothing to diffuse the situation. However the more he speaks, the angrier you get. Is it so hard to accept that you saved his life? That, hey, maybe you actually like him being alive and that it’s okay to need help every once in a while. You guys are a team, a family, for crying out loud. Or is it only okay when he’s the one doing the life saving acts?

“You know what?” He spits, tone taking on finality, and you’re sure that for as long as you’ve known him, you have never seen him this mad. “This is all your fault. We’re running around risking our lives all because of you!”

The fire in his eyes and the way he says it is enough to make you take a step back. Surely he doesn’t mean it. The reason why he said it is because he is in the heat of the moment–but no matter how much you try to make up excuses for him, you know that it’s was true. Everything is all your fault. It doesn’t matter that they have never said anything to you. There has always been suspicion lurking in your mind that they all blamed you for getting them involved in the supernatural world. Of course Doyoung is the one who ends up confirming your hunch–he’s always been good at that.

“Doyoung.” Taeyong warns, his tone firm, as he takes a step forward.

The said man redirects his gaze sharply towards him. “No, Taeyong. You all know it’s true. Don’t even try to deny it.”

The moment you see Yuta about to speak, you know you have to end the gruesome argument. “You’re right,” you say quietly, looking Doyoung directly in the eye. “It is all my fault and I’m really sorry.” And with that, you spin around and head straight for the exit, making sure to avoid everyone’s eyes. Fortunately Johnny, Yuta and Taeyong’s apartment isn’t too far from the one that you share with Jaehyun and Doyoung. After the night you’ve had, you figure that the walk back would do you some good.

“Hey, wait up!” Jaehyun’s beside you in a few seconds, quick to match your pace.

“Alright, spit it out.” The silence was comfortable but you know with the way he keeps glancing at you from the side of his eye that he’s bursting with want to say something to you.

“Nobody blames you, you know.” You purse your lips in response, knowing that it’s untrue. “No, really. Doyoung was just tired and worried.” All of you are tired. It’s hard trying to keep your community safe while you all juggle college, part time jobs and maintain hobbies. You don’t bother saying it to Jaehyun, though, just keep silent as he continues to speak. “I’m sure everything will be fine! Before you know it, you and him will be doing that weird tea exchange you guys always do.”

That statement is enough to pull a small huff of laughter from you accompanied by an eye roll. “I hope so.” You reply, opening up your apartment door.

“It will. Just you wait and see.”

*

Doyoung doesn’t go home that night. 

In fact, he doesn’t come home for the rest of the week at all. When he eventually does, however, everything is different. The two of you avoid each other and when that isn’t possible neither of you spoke to one another. It constantly makes you feel horrible that the rest of your friends have to divide their time between the two of you and you want to apologize to Doyoung but his words hurt. No matter how true they were.

“Hey Mark,” you call out as he’s aimlessly highlighting a paragraph on his very expensive college textbook. When he hums in reply without looking up from what he’s doing, you continue. “If you could take back being involved, would you?” That has him dropping his highlighter, head snapping up towards you with a clear look of confusion.

Despite his confusion, he still gives your question some thought. “Well I mean it can be inconvenient; my grades tanked for a while and it sucks knowing that I might die whenever we go hunting whatever it is that we’re facing,” you nod empathically, “but no. I don’t think I do.” Mark eyes you suspiciously. “Why’re you asking?”

Shutting your book closed, you shake your head at him. Mark is the last person you have asked this question and all the answers you have received are variations of the same thing he said. Twisting your mouth, you say a goodbye and leave the room determinedly. You are going to fix this. It won’t be easy but there is a spell you found that could help you reverse this whole situation. The risks involved aren’t too big, nothing you aren’t used to already, and if this is what it takes for the bone deep exhaustion and unnatural haunted look to disappear from your friends then it will be worth it.

So, yeah. Everything is not fine. But you’re going to make sure that it will be.

*

It takes a week before you decide to put your plan into action but only because of the new situation that popped up. The wendigo is taken care of immediately and then all of you go out for some celebratory pizza like you almost always did. It stings that Doyoung takes the furthest seat away from you, refusing to meet your eyes ever since that night, but you assure yourself that by the end of the night everything would be sorted. They will never have to deal with this type of stuff again.

“What’s with that look?” Johnny asks as he nudges your side with his elbow.

“Nothing, I’m just gonna miss this.” You reply absentmindedly. After tonight, there would be no more late night meals to celebrate surviving. No more group research and planning sessions. Would you guys even hang out at all? Whatever the outcome, you hope that somehow you guys will find each other again.

“What? The pizza?” Mark’s tone is full of confusion, his brows furrowed. “Why would you miss it?”

You wave your hand dismissively at him, “Don’t mind me. I’m just being stupid.”

Mark shrugs in response and continues to devour his pizza, clearly more interested in food than your wistful behavior. The rest of the night is full of laughter and you relish it, holding back any tears that threaten to show. Unfortunately, you’re aware of Jaehyun’s eyes on you and you aren’t surprised when, after he paid for the meal since he was the one who stumbled upon the wendigo, he is quick to make sure he walks beside you. You purposefully placed yourself behind the group, watching from a small distance as they continued their antics.

“Whatever it is that you’re thinking of doing,” Jaehyun says lowly as to not gain the attention of your other friends, “please don’t.”

You arch a brow. “What makes you think I’m about to do something?” This time, he’s the one who arches his brow–as if challenging you to prove him wrong. Of course he would figure out that you were planning to do something. Jaehyun was always smarter than he liked to let on, said it always gave him an advantage. But it’s also probably because he’s known you the longest. “Alright, so maybe I am. It’ll be okay, though, promise.”

“And you’ll be safe?”

There was no way to be sure you would be but for his sake, you lied. “Of course.”

“Okay.”

It’s easy to refuse their offer to grab some boba, a flimsy excuse leaving your lips. Normally it wouldn’t work, they would plead and plead with you until you caved, but you make sure to stand your ground. They all know what it’s like to have a professor speak with them privately, so they let you go with a promise of next time. Before you leave, Jaehyun catches your eye knowingly and you do nothing but incline your head slightly at him.

Time travel is something you think about every now and again. It’s an immensely intriguing topic and from all research you have done, no other being like yourself has managed to do it successfully. For all you know there could have been a successful attempt that wasn’t documented. But then again it could just be you comforting yourself in case it doesn’t work.

You hold onto a small photo album that you wanted to take along with you, for memories sake, and prepare yourself to say the incantation. When you finish, you wait it out. Nothing happens.

It’s strange because you know that you said everything correctly and that there is no way that a spell book that had been around for centuries (at least according to the witch that gave it to you) would contain wrong information. You frown but have to pause your train of thought because of the knocking on your bedroom door.

It’s a surprise to find Doyoung standing on the other side when you open it, holding a bag that you just know has your favorite fruit tea. Before any of you can utter a sound, there’s a strange feeling that starts to stir in your gut. In a flash it’s as if you travel through the stars at an unforgiving speed, your head spinning, before you come to a halt and feel weightless–as if you are being suspended high up in the air. Then nothingness.

*

When you come to, you find yourself in one of your favorite cafés. Your old windows laptop is sitting in front of you, notes and papers full of calculations spewn carelessly around the table.

The spell worked, you’re sure of it, but you have to confirm it just in case. A quick glance at the date on the corner of your laptop assures you that it’s the year when it all started. Not only is it the year actually, it’s also the day before you discover the magic that you possess. This time, however, you aren’t going to involve any of your friends. Curiously, after glancing around to make sure nobody is paying attention to you, you peer inside your t-shirt to check if you were still you or if you had taken ownership of your body from this timeline. There are no scabbed scratches in sight. You frown. What happened to the you in the future then? Did you just disappear? Or were you replaced by a different version of you?

Deciding that you don’t want to give yourself a headache, you focus on the screen of your laptop instead. Oh, you remember this assignment. You ended up submitting it late because you got ambushed by a kelpie. That damn kelpie lost you fifteen percent and you still haven’t let it go. Maybe you can submit it in early this time. Placing the photo album on the table, you decide to continue your assignment, searching your brain for any information you remember.

It’s an hour later when Jaehyun barges into the café, frantically making his way over to your table. “There you are! I’ve been looking for you for ages,” he tells you breathlessly, giving you a once over. “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

Dressed? Is there a function you need to attend? You wrack your brain for a memory. Obviously it’s the day before you come into your powers but there has to be something else for Jaehyun to eye you like he is. But what is it? What’s so special about April fifteenth? April fifteenth. April fifteenth.

“Mark’s recital.” Christ, how could you forget. “Today’s Mark’s recital, right?” It’s also the day you meet Doyoung, dressed to the nines in a black pinstripe suit with his hair perfectly slicked back.

“Yes you idiot, now lets get going ‘cause I don’t want to have to fight any moms for good seats.”

Without allowing you to reply, he whisks you back to your apartment. There is a lack of extra shoes by the door and the huge, ugly ceramic vase that Doyoung insisted he buy for his plant to dress up the place is missing from the corner of the room. Your grip on the photo album tightens as you soak in the difference, unused to how empty the place looks. Evidently there’s no time for you to be caught in your feelings if the way Jaehyun practically shoves you into your room as he yells at you to change is an indication.

Mark looks dapper and you tell him as much. There’s an ache in your chest when you notice the youthfulness in his face. This is him before he becomes jaded. His appearance (the lack of dark circles, the roundness of his cheeks, the brightness in his eyes) is enough to assure you that you’ve made the correct decision.

“Don’t cry now,” Jaehyun teases, “he hasn’t even started.” They chuckle at your expense but you can’t even respond with anything witty. Not with the way they look so careless–like they don’t have anything to worry about other than upcoming assignment due dates and what movie the three of you should watch during your next movie night.

Doyoung has always been easy to spot in a crowd. Well, at least for you. So you aren’t surprised when you scan the large mass of people and find him in record time. The breath is knocked out of you when your eyes land on him even though you already know what he’d be donning. But he’s wearing those cute horn rimmed glasses that he eventually had to stop using because there were too many close calls. Every fibre of your being demands you to run over and tease him about them again like you used to. But you don’t, obviously, averting your eyes the second he turns his head. There’s no way you’re going to take away his peaceful life either, you promise yourself, eyes devouring the way he tips his head backward as his mouth falls wide open in a laugh.

*

The feral omega howls, loud and clear in the night. The beating of your heart is racing in your ears which you know it can hear from far away no matter what tricks you use to distract it. Foolishly, you forgot your wolfsbane in your apartment so you’re left to your own devices. You know this forest like the back of your hand, have run in it enough to know that there should be a small area of the flower in the east. Picking up your pace, you move in the right direction.

When you first encountered this creature, you were with Doyoung, Jaehyun and Mark. The four of you weren’t as skilled yet; Mark thought that silver would protect all of you, Jaehyun’s aim wasn’t on par, Doyoung wasn’t as good at keeping up with the pace you all had to run, and you were too headstrong to follow any directions Doyoung barked at you. Now, however, it’s easy for you to eliminate the omega after you sloppily rub wolfsbane on your weapon and aim. There are no relieved sighs or eruption of cheers that follow when it drops to the ground. Instead there’s only silence as you wave your hand, willing a hole to appear in the ground so that you can bury it.

Once you’ve magicked your clothes clean, you sluggishly head over to the pizza place without a second thought. The place is packed but considering it’s Saturday night, you aren’t shocked. As you look around, waiting patiently for your to-go order at the designated spot near the counter, there’s a familiar mess of mud brown hair capping a broad figure you know all too well. But if Johnny’s here, that means–

Taeyong and Doyoung are bickering. You can’t hear them but you’re sure it’s about something silly like it always is. Yuta is watching them amusedly, sipping on his soda as his eyes swing back and forth. You allow yourself to watch them because you miss them so, so much. It’s been a week and you’re run down by all the creatures that keep popping up in your small town. As you are about to tear your gaze away from them, Yuta catches your eye. You spot the small quirk of his brow and prepare yourself for his oncoming smirk. When he doesn’t fail to deliver, you wink saucily at him, knowing that he turns into a shy baby the minute his target flirts back. The others peer at your direction, lacking subtlety as usual, when he sinks into his chair slightly.

Fortunately your order is called out but you manage to shoot them a hesitant smile anyway, figuring that it won’t hurt anybody. They’ll probably forget about you tomorrow anyway, so it doesn’t matter.

*

Since your small celebratory pizza, you have accumulated more injuries but they’re tiny and therefore nothing to worry about. What does have you worrying, though, is the fact that you and Doyoung have crossed paths more than you’d like. At first, it seems like a coincidence; you see him a few times in the campus library or you’re both in the line for food in the canteen. But then you start seeing him outside of campus and you can’t help but find it strange.

“Hey,” Jaehyun greets over the phone. The two of you scheduled a lunch date with Mark but neither of them have shown up yet so it’s just you waiting for them boredly at your table. “Is it alright if I bring someone? We were working on a project together and we’re both famished.”

“Sure. The more the merrier, I guess. I’ll ask for an extra setting, just one extra person right?” Jaehyun gives you an affirmative then ends the call after promising to be at the diner in fifteen minutes.

“About time you got”-your voice hitches at the sight of Doyoung standing beside Jaehyun-“here.” What type of bullshit is the universe pulling? Is it purposely dangling your friends in front of you knowing that you refuse to interact with them? Aren’t you allowed to keep them as far away from you as possible, where they’ll be safe? Christ Almighty. Only Jaehyun would somehow manage to be Doyoung’s partner for his project while you were actively trying not to befriend him.

“Hi I’m Mark, nice to meet you!” The blond says cheerily, easily gesturing at the seats in front of you.

Clearing your throat, you introduce yourself. It’s just your luck that Doyoung sits in front of you, recognition settling in his eyes once you are face to face. The conversation runs smoothly once he’s introduced himself and although you know you shouldn’t, you can’t help but prattle on about various topics that you know will get him heated–you’ve always loved debating with Doyoung. There is just something about the way he words his points, bringing up necessary facts and even searching them up in order to prove you wrong. Mark and Jaehyun’s heads swing back and forth between the two of you as if they are watching a pendulum.

You didn’t realize how much you have missed his intense eyes until now. They are locked on you like you are his target and it reminds you of when you would go monster hunting, just the two of you and nobody else because both of you were stupidly confident in your plan. The debate ends when Mark diverts the conversation by mentioning dessert. Doyoung smirks smugly at the fact that he got the last word but you don’t even care about your loss, you are just content that he took the bait. The lunch ends with you trading numbers with him, passing your phones to one another over the table. Doyoung hates the picture you take of him but when you tell him to suck it up because you think he looks cute in it, he is adorably flustered.

*

On nights when you can’t drag yourself to your usual pizza spot, too lonely and aching with pain, you quietly slip into the spare room that should be occupied by Doyoung. You like to lay on the bed and imagine that you never traveled back in time, that he’s reading aloud to you like he regularly does. Instead of reading out loud while imagining the warmth that he radiates, you flip through your photo album. They are all your favorites; Yuta squishing Mark in a hug, Taeyong feeding Jaehyun a dish he cooked, Johnny staring at the sunset. But you like the ones with Doyoung the best, mostly because you are a tiny bit biased.

Sometimes you wish you could tell them. All of them. You are bursting with need to do so. But then one of them does something, like Mark smiling brightly when you visited the aquarium a few days ago or Taeyong’s proud smile because he managed to learn to strum a song on his ukelele, and it’s enough to remind you that you can’t burden them. There has been one or two incidents where you almost blurt it out but then you vividly remember their faces crumpled in pain and you can’t.

Other times you think about whether or not the future is being rewritten. Maybe you won’t even be present in the future because even though the injuries you have sustained so far have been small, it doesn’t mean that they won’t become serious in the future. Or maybe you do survive, somehow obtain your degree and find a job then start a family or something.

This time, however, you find yourself muffling your sobs in the dark as you stare at a group picture because yeah, your friends with them again somehow and you’re thankful, but you are so, so lonely. Shouldering the protection of your small town on your own is extremely difficult without anybody to lean on. Even with the knowledge you possess, executing a plan is a big obstacle considering any move that you make could end up very badly since you don’t have any back up.

Tomorrow you will shove down these feelings but tonight you allow yourself to cry until you fall asleep.

*

The pain in your arm is excruciating but you don’t stop–can’t stop. You are running as fast as you can, taking sharp turns here and there as you silently plead with your legs to keep going. You need to find a small place to rest so that you can build up some energy to use your magic but you know there isn’t anywhere to hide.

The time you have recently spent rebuilding your friendships has led you to forget about one of the worst ever monsters you have had to defeat–the pilgasari. The first time you had to execute it, you failed miserably and everyone was horribly injured. Taeyong and Mark had nightmares for weeks, Johnny and Jaehyun grew paranoid, Yuta never let any of you out of his sight and Doyoung stuck by your side for months. It is basically immortal and the only reason you managed to defeat it on your second attempt is because you were about to witness your friends die. Magical exhaustion took over you afterwards and when you woke up, you were greeted by teary eyes, pizza and a smack on the head accompanied by a lecture.

A loud roar shakes the trees, causing you to move faster out of sheer desperation. But when you swing left, you come to a screeching halt. The creature is a few feet ahead of you, it’s large eyes boring into your own as it stomps its way towards you. The spells that you yell desperately are futile, it keeps moving towards you without a hitch in its step. Christ. You are going to die. You are going to die and miss movie night tomorrow and your friends are going to mourn you forever, wondering what happened to you for the rest of their lives.

You flinch when it takes a swipe at you, dangerously close to ripping off your arm. The second your back hits a tree, you know it’s over. You don’t have enough energy anymore to even attempt a spell so all you can do is watch in fear as it towers over you, raising it’s long claws. The sound of your heart pounding isn’t loud enough to eliminate your scream as it slashes at your direction.

It manages to make an incision on your good arm and just as it raises it’s claws again, you squeeze your eyes close. And then you feel like you are traveling through the stars, speed so fast that it’s dizzying. You know this feeling. You do. You have been acquainted with it before only once and you have never been more glad to be feeling it again.

It shouldn’t be possible but when the weightlessness disappears, you find yourself staring into Taeyong’s large, moist eyes and you can’t help but huff out a weak laugh.

“Missed you.” You manage to mumble, body now painfully aware of just how many injuries you have endured. You want to reach out to him, to smooth the lines away from his forehead and assure him that you are okay but you’re arms feel like jelly, the cuts screeching in agony, so you resist tamp down the urge. Someone, Mark maybe, cries loudly and that is the last sound you hear before you succumb to your exhaustion.

*

You wake up with a start, eyes wildly scanning the room. A garbled sound escaping your lips when you notice that one of your paintings is hung up on the wall–you aren’t very good and Doyoung said as much when you presented it to him but he still framed it and hung it up in his room. If painting is up, along with the books overflowing on the shelf, that has to mean-

Your eyes dart towards the door as it opens. Jaehyun hasn’t taken notice of you yet since he is rubbing his eyes but when he does, his eyes widen and he bellows at the others. Immediately, everyone tramples in. Weakly, you raise your arm a fraction and that’s enough for them to flock towards you. They speak over each other and you can’t help but tear up at their expressions. They all look so torn up except Doyoung who stands at the door with his arms crossed, head down as he creates holes in the carpet with his burning stare.

“How did you guys bring me back?” None of them are magically inclined–just a bunch of extraordinarily brave humans who are reckless enough to join you to keep the town safe.

“We had to ask three witches for help.” Mark admits, staring at you like you might disappear if he doesn’t keep his eyes on you.

“Don’t do that to us again,” Yuta says as he takes your hand in his. “We thought we lost you forever.”

“Yeah! If we all lost our memories of you, you would have been gone forever!” Johnny exclaims.

“What do you mean?”

“Every one of us started losing our memories of you,” Taeyong answers, “except for Doyoung.” At his response, your gaze snap towards Doyoung who still refuses to meet your eyes.

“Alright, we are going to get boxes of pizza and snacks while the two of you sort everything out.” Jaehyun states, clapping his hands together, his eyes directed at Doyoung pointedly before returning to yours. “I’ve missed you so much dummy, never do that again.”

“I’ll try.” Mark squawks at your reply, eyes widening in terror as he begins to list out the reasons why you should never do it again. “I was kidding. I won’t.” The collective sagging of shoulders doesn’t escape your notice which makes you feel horrible.

Before shuffling out they touch you in different manners; Yuta lightly clutches your hand before letting go, Johnny pats your head, Jaehyun softly flicks your forehead, Mark places a heavy hand on your shoulder and Taeyong strokes your forearm.

The silence is overbearing once they leave the room. You feel like holding your breath as you wait for Doyoung to say something. Anything. But he still won’t meet your eyes. Instead he walks over to his bed and kneels at your side, crossing his arms on the mattress and resting his head on top. He is close enough for you to place your hand on his head, so you do. Your fingers card through his hair, making sure that you scrape your nails delicately on his scalp. When you notice the small tremors of his shoulders, you move your hand from his scalp to the nape of his neck then in between his shoulder blades.

“It’s okay,” you soothe quietly, wincing at the sight of the bandages that cover your arms as you rub your hand up and down his back in a constant motion. “I’m here.” You continue to murmur what you hope is enough assurance for him so that he can talk to you.

“How could you do that you absolute idiot.” Is the first thing he says, his tone harsh, when he looks up at you. “You just disappeared right in front of me and never came back! And then everybody started to forget about you!” You wince guiltily at his words. “And I- And I-” You wait patiently for him to continue. Your heart hurts at the sight of him softening as he examines your injuries. “I thought I’d lost you forever and it would be all my fault.” He continues quietly, shaking his head at you when you open your mouth to say something. “Didn’t mean what I said back then. I was just mad because you always take the hits for us, for me, and it was so bad. Almost as bad as the time we fought the chimera. You didn’t see how much blood you lost.”

“Hey, it isn’t your fault,” disbelief is written in his eyes at your statement. “It isn’t! It was all me, okay? I thought you would all be better off without knowing, so I tried to fix it.”

“But you wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t say what I did!” The exclamation is followed by a fresh wave of tears.

“Alright, how about this: it was both of our faults because we were being idiots. Sound good?”

“Only if you don’t do it again.” It’s supposed to come out as demanding, you know it is with how he has squared his shoulders and faced you determinedly, but all you see in his eyes are pleading.

“I promise I won’t.” You pledge, placing your hand on his cheek. He moves it so that it covers his eyes and something inside you breaks when you feel hot tears building up a wall against your palm and fingers. “Doyoung,” you whisper. “I’m sorry.”

“No. I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” you call gently to gain his attention when he removes your hands from his red rimmed eyes, “read to me?”

“Of course.”

You fall asleep to the sound of his voice, snuggling into his side with his arm around your shoulders. And the next morning when the others tease the two of you and show off the pictures they took, trying their damn hardest to make sure that everything feels normal and you didn’t disappear for almost three weeks, Doyoung kicks them out of the apartment so he can spend some quality time with you.