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moondustis · 4 years

Text

songs for you (m)

pairing: nakamoto yuta + reader genre: smut, angst, fluff / friends to lovers, 70s, band!au word count: 10k summary: A story about dreams, music, groupies and falling in love with your best friend. It’s the 70s, baby, live a little. song rec: miss you - the rolling stones / woman - harry styles / grow up - paramore

You don’t remember much of your childhood, just flashes and weird memories that pop in every now and then. That’s what happens as you get older, you guess. But here’s something you remember:

Nakamoto Yuta, three years older than you, walking inside your house with his mother holding his hand. You had seen the woman before, a very good friend of your mom from a long time ago, but the scrawny kid by her side was something new. And in your young age, nothing seemed more intimidating than a boy older and taller than you.

It didn’t go very well, let’s just put it like that.

But still, for some reason, after that day the boy sticked to your side like glue. A friend you could say, even with the age difference and the intimidating stares. It was like Yuta got himself a permanent place on your life, always teasing you, but also always making sure you were okay.

As a teenager, you remember daydreaming of travelling the world. Finally getting away from the too small town you lived in and away from all the stupid closed minded people that wanted to know about everybody's business. You remember Yuta showing you songs that you never heard before, Bowie, Fleetwood Mac, Hendrix, the list would go on and on. It was like music became a little world you had built for yourselves, where you could be who you truly wanted to be.

The both of you had always dreamed of something more, something exciting and that made your blood rush with adrenaline. You wanted to live, experience the things you only heard about in the records Yuta played for you and what you saw on the telly at late night at his house.

That’s something you had been thinking about a lot these days, while you watched roads pass by through the windows of the barely comfortable tour bus. Because, somehow, you had made it, your dreams had come true and at the age of 20 you got to go on tour with your band and finally see the world you had only fantasized about, even if it was only a few cities not that far from yours.

The band, put together by none other than you and your best friend, consisted of four people: you on the guitar, something you had learned by watching Jimi Hendrix too much, Taeyong on the bass, Doyoung singing, Johnny on the keyboard and last but not least, Yuta as the drummer. Oh, and you couldn’t forget about Taeil, your self proclaimed manager that didn’t gain anything with this job but the opportunity to travel with you all.

And with punk and classic rock influences all over your songs, you were not half bad, had gotten the opportunity to tour for a reason and could even make the small crowds that gathered to see you sing along, achieving an even smaller amount of fans that proclaimed their adoration for you.

It was literally the start of a dream come true, but for some reason you had been feeling weird the past days. Like your mind just started wondering out of nowhere, like it is now, and you started to think about things that made a lump form in your throat. Because see, it was great, the music and all the perfoming, the parties and the small magazines, but you didn’t feel happy all the time. You wondered if 16 year old you would be proud.

A loud clash spurs you out of your trance and brings you back to the studio you’re all in, trying to record a new song. Yuta looks at you with an annoyed expression as the plate on the drums still stirs.

“Wake the fuck up, you’re daydreaming again.” He says, without real bite to the words, but still mean enough to make you snap back. “We only have one hour left and the song is not even halfway finished.”

“Sorry.” You murmur, guitar feeling heavy but comfortable as you reposition it. Taeyong starts counting and then the melody of the familiar song you had all finished writing yesterday starts. Your fingers find the guitar strings with ease and you let yourself go with the music.

❀

There were few things better than making music with your best friends. Travelling to different places, standing in front of a crowd no matter how small and performing, the money you managed to split among yourselves, they were all great but nothing came close to being in a studio with the people that became your family while you did the thing you all loved the most.

It’s a small studio this time but the atmosphere is good, with velvet walls, tiled floor and low lights. The smell of weed is intoxicating and you feel high after not even that many hits. Maybe it’s just the joy of being in the moment.

The small sketchbook you take around with you everywhere stays placed on your lap with possible lyrics written all over it in a messy way, because when inspiration hits it’s impossible to keep an organized mind. Your head stays tilted back, eyes closed as the melody Taeyong is playing and your own thoughts fill your head. They come and go with no rush, something that is rare because usually you’re all over the place, overthinking until you get a headache.

Taeyong hums something to go along with the bass and a smile forms in your lips at how good it sounds already, good enough to have your eyes opening as you write down the things your mind provides. These days it’s mostly about the same things, finding yourself and the overwhelming feeling that came with it, even more when you did it while discovering the world and you recent acquainted opportunities. But they are also about something that you like to ignore. You knew very well it was there, would be too obvious if you didn't, but pretending you didn’t was better. Safer.

Johnny plops down next to you on the leather couch, a silly smile on his lips as he tries to take a peek at your writing. “What is it you got there? Another love song?” He asks just the tiniest bit teasingly, making you blush because that’s the exact subject you would like to avoid.

Love, what a weird thing isn’t it? Both in concept and in practice.

You had once thought you would never fall in love, too independent and doing well on your own. But that’s the thing about it, you don’t really get to choose when or if it’s going to happen. Love strips you down of your free will and there’s nothing you can do but succumb to it.

Were you in love, though? That’s a good question, really. You weren’t one to think you knew everything about it and had it all figured out, because in reality the mere thought of it scared you. But there’s this feeling on your chest that you can quite find another word for.

“Maybe.” It’s your answer to Johnny’s question. “But it’s none of your business.”

He laughs when you poke out your tongue at him, nudging your shoulder playfully. “It is when I’ll be also playing it live.”

He’s right but you won’t give out the privilege of letting him know that. Not that you would have time, because Taeyong is calling him to go over the melody together and soon you’re on the couch by yourself again.

You ponder getting up as well to play a little, on hopes to find the right notes to fit the raw lyrics you had, but your body feels lethargic enough from being high and you decide against it.

Closing your eyes again you only open them when the couch tips again, this time Yuta sits down close to you. Closer than Johnny had and you can smell his cologne amidst the strong smell of weed that's in the entire room.

“What you up to?” He asks, arm resting behind you on the couch and the gesture makes you feel small. He smiles, glancing down at your notebook and flipping through the pages gently.

“Just… writing and stuff.” You feel higher now than you did before for some reason.

He hums, looking straight ahead now, but you continue looking at him. “You’ve been really quiet lately.” He points out, no beating around or questioning. It must’ve took a lot of thinking from his part to finally say that to you, because talking about anything that could become too personal was far from his strength.

“Yeah, I think I’m probably just homesick. Or something like that.” It’s not a full lie so he falls for it, nodding as if indicating he feels the same.

“Missing your mom’s cooking, huh? Can’t say I’m not either.” He jokes and it makes you crack a smile. “But I get that. But most times when I start to get homesick I remember I got you.”

He says it still looking at Taeyong and Johnny as they play. His voice is calm, slightly slurred when he adds. “And you’re practically home to me.”

His eyes move to you then, a smile on his lips as his arm pushes you closer in an almost hug. He acts as if he just didn’t say something that makes your heart somersault in your chest.

Like he didn’t just say something that made you think you were in fact, in love.

❀

The adrenaline that came with performing in front of more than twenty people was something unmatched. You jump around the stage, playing like it could be your last time with fingers a little red from the guitar strings but you couldn’t care less, not with the music playing so loud and your heart beating so fast.

Yuta smiles wickedly when you stand in front of him, hands moving as fast as yours as the drum and guitar mix together. You smile back, thrilled and beyond excited that you get to do this with your best friend every night.

The best friend which you had been nurturing feeling you didn’t know how to deal with for. What a messy situation, because for one there was an unsaid rule that you shouldn’t have any sort of romantic relationship with your bandmates. And secondly, Yuta just wasn’t interested in you like that, he had his groupies to keep him busy.

Groupies that don’t take long after the end of the show to gather around him as you walk outside the venue. And you would really like to say that it doesn't bother you, that you couldn't care less, but you can’t. Because you hate it and think it’s a little pathetic how Yuta whispers something to a girl wearing barely anything and how it makes her giggle.

But even more pathetic is the fact that you seem to be bothered by it only because it’s him. All your other bandmates had girls all around them too, Doyoung especially with a different girl under both of his arms. Hell, even you had a small share of men and women that tried their luck approaching you and no one seemed to pay no mind.

When it came to Yuta’s groupies though, it made you almost livid. With how obnoxious they were and how he gave then smiles and flirted like a man with a very defined goal.

You manage to play it cool, though, had mastered the art of pretending by now.

❀

You're sitting on the hotel bed, the only light coming from the outside lamps and the moon shining bright, but it’s enough for you to be able to write the words down on your sketchbook. Inspiration always striked at late nights for some reason, probably because of the loneliness of it all.

You’re playing the guitar mindless, trying to find the perfect melody to fit the lyrics you had just gotten out, when there’s knock in the door. And it would be weird if you weren’t already used to it.

Putting the guitar aside you get up from the bed and tiptoe to the door, peeking on the fish eye to confirm your suspicious. Yuta stands there, hair falling to his face and wearing a shirt that has too many buttons open. He smiles when you open the door, charming and familiar. “Hello there, sweet cheeks.”

Rolling your eyes, you move out of the way to let him get inside your hotel room. “That’s the worst pet name you could ever come up with.”

He makes himself comfortable, plopping down on your bed and taking a lot of space with his spreading. “Don’t lie, I know you like it.” His voice is convinced and you won’t bother trying to change his mind.

“Can’t sleep?” You ask, changing the subject as you move to sit on your previous spot. Now, closer to him, you can smell the faint smell of his cigarettes lingering underneath the cologne he probably applied so you wouldn’t notice. Smoking was the way he found to deal with the annoying thoughts that filled his mind at night, resulting in an awful case of insomnia. Not that he would admit that.

“Sleep is for the weak.” He says nonchalantly and you scoff.

“Yeah, yeah. Real artists live on coke and music, is that it?”

He laughs now, amused while he scratches the exposed tattooed skin of his stomach. “That’s the spirit. We’re already halfway there, might as well, huh?” He jokes and you just roll your eyes, kicking him lightly on the shoulder.

“We can't have that stuff around us. One line and Taeyong will be climbing up walls.”

“Taeyong? Please, we both know the one climbing walls would be you.”

You laugh out loud this time and he follows, shaking his head. Times like these, where it was just the two of you, felt too much like when you would stay in his room to listen to records and talk about things that didn’t really make sense.

When your laughter settles down Yuta moves around until his eyes land on your sketchbook and he takes it to read what you’ve been working on. You don’t protest because there’s no reason to, he knows your thoughts almost as well as you do.

He hums, eyes roaming around the page and lips turning a little. “This is good.” His voice is genuine and it makes you blush, praise was something weird to take.

“I’m still working on it, though.”

“Hmm, let me know when you finish it then, we can work the melody together.”

“Of course, can’t make a song without my favorite drummer.” You say it in a funny voice as if you’re joking but he knows it’s nothing but the truth. The first song you had made with him was at 17 and now every time inspiration struck he was always either by your side or on your mind. He called it a connection, a deep one that many artists could only dream of happening. Musical soulmates he had called it once and you agreed, it was like you were just in tune with each other.

You play a little of what you had so far to him, the clock blinking red when it hits 1AM but neither of you bother.

When you get tired of playing you decide to press on the matter. “What were you thinking about?” You start, voice low as if to not scare him off. “That made you lose sleep.”

He must be feeling calm because he lets the words fall out. “Taeil suggested that we make a song with pop influence.” He says and you grimace. “To reach a wider audience.”

“That’s fucking stupid.” Is all you say because it’s what it is. Pop had nothing to do with your style, never had and never would. Not that you hated it, but it wasn’t what you were passionate about.

Yuta chuckles lightly. “That’s what I told him.”

“That’s good.” You say and a minute of silence follows, someone outside drives away, a wheels on concrete sound filling the room. There’s something unspoken in the air, a promise you had made to each other when this tour started.

Music was the thing the two of you loved the most, and nothing, not even money, would change how you did it. The deal was to always stay loyal to that thought.

“We got each other’s back, right?” He asks sudden, but it’s a rhetorical question because he’s soon adding. “That’s all we got in this world, our music and ourselves.”

You look down at him but his eyes stay glued to the wall. A lump forms in your throat at the heaviness of his words and you have to swallow around it to reply. “It’s always gonna be us.” You say in a broken but sure voice. “No matter what.”

“Fuck yeah.” He says quietly and you both laugh.

❀

One thing that you learned with your recently discovered success was that parties became boring quite fast. Loud music and people getting way more drunk or high than they should near a pool was a dangerous mistake. Still, you always followed down the same road.

Your bandmates liked them, a way to interact more with people and an opportunity to get high for free. Music came from experiences, it’s what Johnny always said and you agreed partly because there was indeed something inspiring about being among people that were having fun, that felt carefree.

You take a sip from your beer with that though on your head, leaning against a wall as you watch last mentioned man swing his hips in a messy way in the middle of the living room as two girls laugh and dance with him. You can’t help but laugh alongside with them, even if you’re standing on the opposite side of the room.

It’s a small house, from someone you never met before, but being in a small city always meant crashing a house party with too many college kids that usually screamed when they recognized mostly Doyoung from the posters spread across town.

The slightly buzz of alcohol made you feel like you were floating, head just slightly spinning and you lean against a wall to keep yourself steady. There’s not much going on inside your brain, just the numbness of being just a bit drunk and you enjoyed it, made you feel content.

You clean your wet palm from the beer’s perspiration on your jeans, eyes roaming around the room until you find him. Yuta stands on a wall opposite from the one you are, the bandana on his head keeping the hair out of his face and making you see his features more clearly. He looks good tonight, as he does always, but the post concert glow really did wonders to him and the way his exposed tattooed arms flexed a little when he moved made your head spin again.

It had become a habit, one that you wanted to desperately get rid off. Watching Yuta, almost as if you were analyzing every little detail about him, left you with a weird feeling in your stomach. There he was, the person you felt the closest to in the entire world, the person whom you already knew everything about, but when it was like this, with you staring without him knowing, you felt like he was still a mysterious person. Someone you would be lucky to dive deep into.

He raises his eyebrows and smirks at something the girl besides him whispers in his ear, probably something raunchy by the way he tries to bring her closer. You look away.

Taeyong finds you like that, beer going warm in your hand and your eyes dazed staring at nothing as you overthink every single thing. He smiles when he sees you, probably a little tipsy himself as he leans against the wall so close to you that your hips touch. “What are you doing here alone?” He asks, bumping against your side playfully and it gets a smile from you.

After Yuta, Taeyong was the closest to you in the band, for the simple fact that he cared. Not that the others didn’t, but Taeyong always made sure everyone was doing ok and that had made you feel safe, helped shape the friendship you have today of sharing your secrets and supporting each other.

“Just don't feel like socializing.” Is your reply, because it’s true. People at these parties were usually terrible at small talk or so pretentious they made you feel stupid for even thinking.

He hums, following your vision line as it goes back to Yuta again. His arm is now wrapped around the girl so you look away immediately.

You don’t see the way Taeyong looks at you emphatically. “Have you ever thought about telling him?” It’s obvious what the question is about because as much as you’d like to think you’re good at hiding it, you wouldn’t be good enough to hide it from him.

Still, you try to lie. “What? There's nothing to tell.” The awkward laugh and roll of your eyes are a dead giveaway, too forced to even come close to being genuine.

He laughs in disbelief of your attempts. “Yeah, alright. Just remember you’ll never know the things you don’t try.”

It makes you scoff. How poetic, probably a great thing to say to a drunk girl who’s already having risky thoughts. “Wow, we should definitely write a song about that.” You joke, trying to shift the subject to something else.

“Ha-ha.” He fake laughs but there’s still amusement on his face. “I’m being serious.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” How serious could he be after too many beers, you think to yourself. Maybe you were a fan of being in denial, so you shrug and just do your best to think about something else.

Something pops up on your head, a bad idea most definitely, so you act on lazy impulse. Walking just far enough to throw the still almost full beer bottle and then you come back to stand in front of Taeyong. You must have really be going crazy.

He rolls his eyes even before you talk or put your hands on his shoulders, but still moves to hold your hips. “Yongie…” It’s a sickeningly cute voice, one you use as a joke when you want something. It makes him crack a smile, already knowing what is coming. “I think we should kiss.”

He chuckles, squeezing your hips and smiling. “I’ll have to agree just because you look cute tonight.” You laugh right back at him.

And then you’re kissing, like you had done before in the past for reasons that were the same as the one right now. Boredom, loneliness, horniness or just because. It was a friendly kiss, shared between two people that knew it would never go further than that. And it was good, his tongue sliding against yours in slow motions that are just the tiniest bit sensual because that’s just how Taeyong liked to kiss. It was so good that you forget for a second about other things, such as Yuta.

Yuta who happens to be watching, or better yet glaring, from the other side of the room as you kiss your friend. Yuta who tells the girl he’s with that he’s not in the mood anymore and leaves the party.

In some cases, ignorance truly is bliss.

❀

The dressing room was always a mess before a show, no matter how sketchy, dirty or small it was. Trust a group of musicians that had no basic decency to behave like this to calm their nerves before performing.

Johnny is pressing random notes on the keyboard, making sounds that would be unpleasant to anyone else, but you and Taeyong dance to it in weird moves that get you laughing as Doyoung sings extremely off key. The only one not taking part in your shenanigans is Yuta, who stays on the old couch writing on his notebook, and even if you wanted to call him over, you know better than to bother him.

You don’t even notice when Taeil walks into the room, holding what looks like a folder in his hand and barely helping the excited grin that wants to settle on his face. “Hey!” He tries once to get everyone to pay attention but without success. “HEY!”

His shout has all of you turning to look at him, Johnny’s fingers stopping on the keyboard and the sounds that filled the room before give way to Taeil’s rushed voice.

“I have some really good fucking news.” He announces, shaking the papers around in the air as if any of you could ever guess what’s in those papers.

“What is it?”

“Spit it out, cutie.” Comes Johnny voice and you all laugh. Making Taeil flustrated is easy but he pays it no mind right now, whatever it is he wants to say clearly more important than stupid jokes.

“A Neo Records scout was at the concert last night.” He says with edge on his voice earning confused and shocked reactions from all of you

“What the fuck?” Doyoung groans, dropping his face on his hands. “How did we not know that?”

“How could we even know? These people are sneaky as hell.”

After that the room just becomes a mess of you all talking over each other, putting yourselves down for not having performed better, for not playing better songs.

Taeil has enough of it very fast, yelling over all of you to regain your attention. “None of that matters, because he liked the performance. And,” He breaths out, a pause that has you walking forward to urge him on, “he wants to sign you guys.”

A shriek leaves your lips as someone mutters a curse. It’s unbelievable, not even Taeyong’s hand gripping your arm in excitement manages to spur you out of your trance. “Oh my god. Do they really?” He exclaims and you feel tears forming at your eyes.

“Yes. He said you guys have a lot of potential and after the tour is over they’re going to fly you all out to L.A to record an EP.” Taeil explains in calmness but just enough giddiness to his voice.

There’s no words to describe how much this means. No one in their right mind would ever sign a contract with a band that had a girl playing guitar in it. Women in rock and roll were there to be pretty, you were very much aware of how much hate The Runaways were getting constantly, how much sexist shit you yourself had to hear.

But this, this right here was an opportunity to take your dream to the next level, do something that actually stood a chance of getting recognized.

Your eyes look for Yuta’s, to share the excitement of getting this far but when they meet he holds your gaze in an expression you can't quite pinpoint. His voice raises suddenly, making everyone in the room look at him. “What’s the catch?” He uncrosses his legs, widening them as he looks at Taeil with his pierced eyebrow raised.

“What do you mean?”

He chuckles. “I mean, a big record like them wanting to sign with us, there must be something they want out of this.” You furrow your eyebrows because as much sense he makes, it sounds like he’s looking for conflict.

Taeil gapes, as if looking for the right words and you realize there is in fact a catch. “I — Well, they just… They just think it would be nice to have some songs that are more public friendly, but it can be discuss-“

Yuta’s laugh cuts Taeil short. He’s an intimidating person, even more when he looks pissed off and right now as he gets up from the couch you feel like the air is tense enough to cut. “We’re not making shitty manufactured pop songs, man.”

Usually a comment like that would be taken as a joke between all of you, but he says it in a sharp voice and you know it’s because he has had this same conversation with your manager not that many days ago. But still, you feel like there’s something more, even if Yuta wasn't keen on letting his feelings show, you knew something was going on with how distant he had become the last days.

“Come on,Yuta.” The voice comes from Taeyong, moving away from your side to face Yuta properly. There’s not an ounce of bitterness in his voice, only sympathy because you all share the same passions. “This is a crazy opportunity, we can’t let it pass.”

And then you’re sure there’s something going on that goes way over this, because Yuta is pushing Taeyong and mutetting words that you wish he doesn’t mean.”What do you even fucking know? Y’all will just take any validation you can get like little bitches.” It’s simple but it has venom to it. Venom that makes Taeyong’s face contort because he despises confrontation and at that you come forward, pushing Yuta the same way he did.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You sound way too emotional and it makes you hate yourself. Yuta just looks at you like he’s annoyed, his shoulders knocking against yours as he walks out of the room.

You look down, shaking your head in disbelief and feeling tired from the quick rise and fall of emotions. Feeling someone hover over you, you look up to find Johnny’s eyes staring down with what looks like sorrow. “Don’t stress over it, he’ll come around to it eventually.”

And you really hope that’s true.

❀

After that, things go back to the same routine of being in a bus for hours, performing in a sketchy bar, getting shitfaced drunk and then doing it all over again. The only difference is that now there’s a tension in the air that comes from both Yuta’s outburst and the prospect of all of this becoming something bigger than it is.

The higher executives at Neo Records or whoever made the decision to sign the band, had given you until your last performance to make a decision. There’s only three shows left until that, but that’s the last thing on your mind as your play a riff that makes the bigger than normal crowd that gathered today scream.

There’s blinding lights on the stage that make you feel like you’re dreaming, the sound of Doyoung half singing half screaming just slightly muted. You turn to where Yuta is, giving his all because he would never do anything but that and when the drumstick hits a plate in a sharp noise he looks right back at you.

Something had changed, you’re not dumb to not know that. But what it was exactly seemed to escape you, because Yuta was just too good at keeping things to himself, too mysterious for your sake. So he keeps giving you this look, a look that wants to be more than that but it’s not that easy to decypher. A look that you ignore to continue playing.

A look that you ignore when you all come out of the stage, sweaty and with adrenaline filling your hearts. That you ignore when everyone gathers around the hotel pool to have a beer and joke around, Johnny jumping on it and splashing everyone on the way.

A look that you can’t ignore any longer as you stand outside of Yuta’s room after everyone has retreated for the night, knocking softly until he opens the door.

This is still the same, he makes way for you to get inside and the scent of him that fills the room make your mind spin. He’s shirtless, probably ready to get to bed, and you can see all of his tattoos and the piercing on his navel on display.

Clearing your throat, you watch as he takes a seat on the bed, legs spread open and looking at you like he’s waiting for you to talk. “Something is going on.” Is what you decided on, not too keen on beating around the bush.

“A lot of things are going on.” He points out and you have to roll your eyes.

“You know what I mean.”

“Maybe I don’t, so why don’t you make it clear for me?” He’s being defensive, you expected this, but it still makes your blood boil.

“See? There’s no reason for you to give me attitude right now but here we are, so there’s clearly something going on.” You cross your arms on your chest, still standing in the middle of the room like a fool as he chuckles.

“You keep saying that but I think you know very well what’s going on.” He sounds annoyed now, staring directly at you. “You just expect me to accept this shit? For money or whatever it is that you all are looking for?”

His words sound empty so you squint your eyes at him in defiance. “You’re being an asshole, this is not your dream exclusively. You’re not our fucking frontman.”

That makes him scoff. “Please, there wouldn’t be a fucking band to be signed if it weren’t for me.”

Now you really get mad, laughing in disbelief. “Are you kidding me right now? We started this shit together.” You want to punch him in the face, get the annoyed look right out of his face and remind him.

He looks down, shaking his head in what you think is disbelief. “So why does it feel like you’re not by my side?” His choice of words make your eyebrows furrow. When had you not been loyal to him? You have been by his side since you were 7, nothing had changed. “Seems to me that you’re always taking your little boyfriend’s side now.”

“What?” There’s nothing but confusion in your features as you let your arms fall to your sides. “What boyfriend? Are you fucking out of your-“

He interrupts you with a groan.“Come on, I saw the two of you kissing.”

You blink slowly and then when you realize what he’s talking about, you’re completely outraged. “Taeyong? I’m not dating Taeyong.” Your voice is going higher by the minute and he seems to be getting just as heated.

“Why were you kissing him then?” He asks, getting up from the bed and moving closer to you.

You can’t help the incredulous high laughter that leaves your lips. “Because I wanted to. Is this why you have been acting like this? Why does it even matter to you?”

His tongue curls on the roof of his mouth, looking at you with angry eyes. “Because it does.”

You squint your eyes again, not believing this is really going on right now. Yuta, who hooked up with a different girl every night, patronizing you for kissing someone. It makes something boil inside of you that you find incredibly awful. “Why does it matter?” You demand, pushing him when he doesn’t answer. “Why?”

His face contorts in something you think is guilty, eyes roaming around your own and lips parting. For a second you think he’s going to say something, then you think he’s going to do something else. But none of that happens.

You push him again, no strength to it but he still falls down on the bed in defeat. A lump forms in your throat as he avoids your eyes.

You leave the room before he can see the tears.

❀

The day it happened is still fresh in your memory.

Your bedroom is the classic teenager one, filled with posters of all kind of things, from movies to bands and just quotes that inspired something within. But the one you like the most, of Joan Jett being a complete badass, stares right back at you from where you’re staring at the ceiling. You still remember dreaming about becoming like her one day.

There’s a song playing, something from the Rolling Stones that Yuta had wanted to show you and had practically stormed inside of your house with a vinyl on his hands to do so.

Said man looks at you from your bedroom floor, his now black hair long enough to tie into a small ponytail. There’s a piercing on various parts of his body and that’s enough reason for every girl in the city to want a piece of him, his aura just helped the whole thing. You remember that at 16 you thought it was amazing too. How he just carried himself with so much confidence, how he was always unapologetic. Yuta was someone you looked up to.

“We could do it, you know?” He says out of nowhere, getting you to finally stare back at him with furrowed eyebrows.

“Do what?”

“Start a band.”

You laugh because he was like that. Talked about things that he wanted to do with ease, not matter how crazy or unordinary they were. “Sure.” Is what you reply with, giving him a smile.

“I’m being serious.” He urges on. “We can do it, me and you. Just make the music we want to and have fun.”

You think about it for a second but there’s not really a reason to. You would do anything with Yuta. “Ok.” That makes him smile. “Yeah, ok. Let’s start a band.”

Back to the present, your tears stain the stark white fabric of the pillow case. You wonder in the back of your head if 16 year old you would be happy right now and that only makes you cry harder.

❀

Pride, isn’t that a stupid thing to have over trivial matters?

You don’t speak to Yuta at all for the following weeks, confusion and anger still filling your mind and tainting your every thought. And he does the same.

It’s comfortable not having to confront him and hear the harsh words you are sure he has stored, but it also makes your skin itch thinking that this stupid fight is going on for too long.

There’s only one show left and then it’s back to reality for a couple of days. The thought of having to go back home and leaving things unsettled with him makes you sick, and it was obvious if someone were to say something it was going to have to be you. Yuta’s pride was too big, even when it didn’t have to be.

So you go after him, because someone had to. Try to get him alone but it’s like there’s always someone around, or he’s too busy composing and it all hurts. It hurts but not enough to make you give up because you know this is merely a pointless fight.

“Where’s Yuta?” You ask Doyoung, who’s sitting by the hotel pool on one of those cheap looking chairs and with a cigarette lit between his lips. The hotel this time was not as nice as the others, the pool looks unkempt like no one had even touched it in at least a month.

Doyoung blows out smoke, looking at you with a tired face that you probably share from all the performances that are just now weighing down on your shoulders. “I think he went out to some party with Johnny.” He says absently and you huff in defeat, slumping down on the chair next to him.

“Asshole.” You mumble out, shutting your eyes for a moment and then it’s silent. The only noises filling your ears are from the ice machine and from the tall lamps.

Then there’s some rustling going around before Doyoung speaks. “Listen, I know that’s not any of my business, and believe me I would much rather stay out of it.” It’s what he starts with and you almost already know what he’s going to say. “But you two need to figure your shit out.”

Trust your lead singer to just lay down the obvious to you because sometimes that's all you need to hear. You scoff. “That’s what I wanted to do.” In the back of your mind you try not to think about what figuring your shit out would entail.

“He can be a dickhead sometimes, but he’s with us.” He says as if that wasn't something you knew already. “And he said he’ll sign the deal, you know? Had a whole theatrical chat with Taeil and all.”

That’s new information, that makes you squeeze your eyes shut in both excitement and frustration at the same time, because if that was already dealt with then the reason why he was acting like this with you was for something else like you had imagined.

You think of something to say, settling on what you felt deep down the moment you got inside that tour bus. “I… I just don’t want things to change.”

That makes Doyong laugh, his voice hoarse when he says. “They already have, love. You just gotta move forward with it.”

❀

You barely remember the last show, exhaustion finally catching up with your body. You remember the trashy alternative bar, remember some people singing along which was absolutely surreal and you remember the groupies crying about how they would miss the band while you took a little break. Anything other than that is a blur and forgotten as you sleep through the entirety of the trip back home, not bothering with the bumps in the roads or how awful the tour bus smelled after weeks.

You don’t notice until later that Yuta hadn’t even gotten on the bus with everyone else. Instead, as Johnny had said, he went on a small trip and would be back in town by the end of the week. You try not to worry about it too much.

Being back home feels weird and you start thinking about what Doyoung had said that day near the pool. Everything has changed, yes, and now your bedroom feels too small. The band posters don’t inspire you anymore as much as they ignite a fire inside that’s too big to extinguish. Your mother’s hug feels comforting but it doesn’t hold you back.

You were still scared, of course, but being back home made you realize that you craved it too much to let fear hold you back. Because how does one go back to reality like when they had a taste of their dreams? How do they live without wanting a bigger taste, to eat it whole?

The only thought in your head as you lay leisurely in your bed for the next days is that you can’t wait to make more music with your friends.

With Yuta. (Thinking of him makes you want to cry.)

The phone rings on saturday, just as your mother is leaving for her job at a diner and she yells for you to pick it up quickly. You get up from the bed with a groan, leisurely walking to the phone and greeting whoever is in the other side of the line with a simple “Hello.” It was probably one of your mother’s friends wanting to gossip or someone trying to sell you items for gymnastics at home.

It takes a while for anything to be said but when it does, the voice even if static is a familiar one. “Hey, it’s me.” Yuta says and the effect it has on the butterflies on your stomach is maddening. It had been too long in your opinion, relief immediately settling in your mind.

“I know.” You breath out and he chuckles. “Thought you were out there on a self discovering trip.”

The comment makes him snort, a smile of your own making its way into your lips as you twirl the phone line with a finger.

“I just got back.” He clarifies and then there’s pause that lasts for seconds before he’s speaking again. “Listen, I — Fuck, I don’t wanna do this over the phone. Can I come over?”

Your lips feel dry. “Oh. Yes. Yes, of course you can.” And then he’s hanging up after a promise of not taking too long.

The anxiety that bubbles in your stomach is unpleasant but the thought of finally seeing him overshadows it. Because see, there’s a few ways this could go and in the back of your head you’re sure, one hundred percent sure, that your friendship with him would never be the same. Because again, how does one go back to normal when everything had changed?

Your breath hitches when there’s a knock on the door, your heart race going worryingly up and when you finally open it, Yuta stands there with a grin on his lips and looking like he always did, with an old band t-shirt tucked inside his bell bottom jeans. There’s just one thing. “You got a haircut.” Is the first thing you say, dumbly.

“Yeah.” He says, running a hand through his now blonde, almost white, hair that has the sides shaved. It’s very bold looking but it suits him.

There’s no chit chatting then, he just steps inside and hugs you like you haven’t seen each other in years. You let yourself drown in it, shoulders slumping as you arms circle his back and he hums pleased. “I miss you.” He mumbles against your hair before breaking the hug and looking at you with eyes that say a lot more than his words. “I’m a fucking asshole, right? I’m sorry.”

You shrug. “Yeah, you are.”

That makes him laugh. A laugh that’s comfortable and familiar as the way he walks inside your house, asking for you mother and pouting when he finds out she’s not there. Familiar as the way he walks into your teen bedroom and looks like he fits there just as much as you do when he plops down on your bed. There’s a feeling of nostalgia to it that he must feel too by the way his eyes roam to the poster covered walls.

You sit down on the bed next to him when he pats the empty spot, his hand disappearing inside his pocket and then he’s getting something out of it. “Got you a gift.” He says jiggling around what you now see is a keychain.

“Wow, how considerate of you.” You tease, getting it with your hands and examining the object. “Thank you, Yuta.”

“No biggie.” He shrugs but the way he watches as you swirl it around your hand tells you that he hopes you like it.

It’s one of those ‘I love NY’ keychains, and in your mind you know very well he didn’t go that far so he must’ve bought it in a random store, the fact alone bringing a grin to your lips. But where there was supposed to be a ‘N’, there’s a very badly done scratch so that it reads ‘I love Y” instead. You can’t help the giggle that forms in your throat. “I love Yuta?”

His smile is as wide as possible. “That’s right.” He doesn’t even try to play it cool. “Make sure you put it somewhere visible so everyone can see it.”

You shake your head laughing, but you still promise “I will.”

There’s a silence that follows, one that is filled with his eyes not leaving yours. This is it, you think to yourself, because you both already know it, would be impossible if you didn’t. Still you ask with a quiet voice. “Do you know why I keep writing all these love songs?”

“Yes.” He breathes out without missing a beat. A simple reply was all you expected.

“How long did you know?”

“For a while.”

And then. “Why did it bother you? That I kissed Taeyong?” You play with the hem of your skirt, pulling at a single line of fabric that was hanging from it.

There’s a small smile forming on his lips as he raises his pierced eyebrow at you.“You really don’t know why?” You do now, you both know that. And you wish you had known sooner, but right now you want to hear what he has to say. “Because I’m selfish and a fucking coward.”

His confessions carries all the meaning you need and there’s a few things you could say. But this is about you and it’s about Yuta, your best friend and the one that had been by your side all this time. The two of you didn’t need big gestures, words that would make someone tear up or any theatricals. It was simply how it was meant to be, just the two of you.

“I’m not.” Is what you say and his lips part.

“What?” He asks just to be sure.

“I’m not a coward.”

And then you kiss him, with a press of your lips to his that could as well just be saying how much you had wanted this, how you think you would go crazy if you never got to taste him like this. Because intimacy with Yuta was something you rarely gave yourself the luxury of thinking about, too scared that you would dig a hole deeper than it already was. But now, as his hands hold your cheeks and he pushes you closer, kissing you with just a hint of desperation, you let yourself drown it it.

He does it with expertise that you can’t possibly match and in the back of your head you feel slightly shy for it. Still, there’s no time to think about that when he deepens the kiss, moving your head a little so he can do as he pleases, sucking on your bottom lip and earning a soft noise that comes from your chest.

You don’t know what’s better, the hand he moves to your neck, the one that holds your thigh, almost dipping inside your skirt or how he looks at you when he breaks the kiss a little breathless. His eyes don’t leave your face as he massages the area where his hand is and you think you could melt completely. “Wanted to do this for so long.” He breathes out and your eyes never leave his now heart shaped pink lips.

Nodding in agreement, you mutter teasingly. “Took you long enough.”

He chuckles, pressing another quick peck. “Then I better not waste any more time.”

He kisses you first this time and it’s with purpose, his tongue licking at your lips until you finally give him what he wants. He draws every little noise you make with the way his tongue slides against yours and how he nips at your lips, kissing you deeper with every second he gets.

You feel overwhelmed, because for one this is new and something you never thought you would be doing, in your teen bedroom of all places. The fact that Yuta starts kissing down your neck only helps, his tongue tickling your sensitive skin before he closes his lips around it, sucking enough that it could leave a bruise. For everyone to see, you think, as he presses a small kiss to it afterwards and then moves to the next spot.

He treats you with as much delicacy as his desperation allow him, manhandling you so that you’re laying more comfortably in your bed and he can hover over you as he kisses you again.

You hate feeling small, but like this, with Yuta on top of you, it makes arousal bubble in your body. And when his hand moves to dip inside of your skirt, gripping at your thigh you let that arousal be known in the form of a surprised moan let out against his lips.

He smirks at you, clearly pleased with himself as your glossy eyes stare up at him. “You’re so cute, baby.” You feel your cheeks warming up and you hate, as much as he seems to love it, that you’re acting like this in front of your best friend. “I could just eat you up.”

His words are followed by your lips forming a small ‘o’ and then by him kissing you again, this time not waiting to let his tongue move against yours in messy motions that make you crave more of anything he has to give you.

You don’t notice at first that he hands start to move again, but when he plays with the hem of your cotton panties you know that he’s not going to settle for that. It’s embarrassing how quickly you react when he presses his fingers to your covered clit, applying pressure to it and then giving a tentative roll. You cry as quietly as you manage and he watches as your eyes squeeze when he moves his fingers again.

You always had wondered how someone else's fingers would feel compared to your own and when Yuta finally, finally, dips his inside your panties, you are sure no fantasies could compare. He drags two of his fingers down to your entrance, feeling the embarrassing wetness that had gathered and bringing it up to your clit so the circling of his fingers is more pleasant.

He continues to watch you, eyes glued to your face as you let out all kind of noises and move your body as the hint of an orgasm makes your entire body tingle. You feel so close already that you wonder if he can tell.

His movements are slow, almost teasing, and when he kisses you again his tongue moves in the exact speed as his fingers, in a way that makes you clench around nothing. As if sensing that he shifts his hand, your body almost arching from the bed when he dips one long finger inside of you. If he didn’t know about the extents of your inexperience, he knows now with how your walls hug tightly just one of his fingers. The groan he lets out at the feeling is one of the prettiest sounds you had ever heard.

He moves his finger slowly, as if testing the waters and when he curls it just right you gasp at the new feeling. “There?” He asks with a grin and you just nod dumbly, biting on your lips enough to bruise.

Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder if the other girls he had, had came this fast, because when he combines the thrusting of his curled finger to his thumb circling your clit, you feel enough to explode. Doesn’t help that he says his next proposition.

“Let me have a taste, hmm?” His words are muffled from where his lips are pressed on your neck and there’s a very clear mix of feelings that happen inside of your head. You cry out, clearly affected by the proposition and the mere thought of his wet lips against your warmth makes you clench around his fingers. He feels it, of course he does, because he lets out a small moan and grinds down on you a little, his hardness very much there. “Yeah?” He sounds breathless.

“I—I’m.” You gasp when he moves his fingers faster as if to entice you. But this is the extent of your inexperience, the mere thought of him eating you out makes you so overwhelmed that you can’t give in just yet. “I don’t… I-I’m not ready.”

Your voice sounds small but he doesn’t even blink at your denial, instead he kisses you deeply in reassurement. “It’s ok, sweet girl.” He presses down on your clit, giving you exactly the friction you need. “I’ll eat your pretty pussy another day.”

And then his fingers are moving faster, enough that it takes you no time to come with a loud moan that sounds a lot like his name and your hands gripping tightly at the bed sheets. You shake, body trembling as you try to ground yourself but the orgasm is too shattering.

When he removes his fingers from inside you, he licks then clean before moving your shirt upwards so your stomach is exposed. He moves to kneels between your open legs and you’re left confused until he starts unzipping his pants, asking a soft. “Okay?” To which you nod excitedly.

He doesn't ask you to do anything, instead he dips a hand inside his underwear, barely pushing the rest of his pants down as he pulls his cock free. It’s a sight that leaves you breathless, the way he thumbs at the head and smears pre cum around and when that’s not enough, his fingers move inside the mess of your panties, gathering your arousal and bringing it to his hardness in what is the most erotic view you had ever seen.

The first stroke is slow and he bites his lips, looking at you with a fucked out expression. “See what you do to me?” He asks in a groan and you nod in your little haze, eyes not knowing where to look at.

His strokes get quickly faster, with swirls of his wrist and it doesn’t take long for him to let out a strangled moan as he comes with thick spurts in your stomach. You watch it all in awe, the way he twitches in his palm and his eyes fight to stay open. It’s like suddenly you know why there are so many songs about sex.

Afterwards when you’re cleaned and laying on the bed lazily, Yuta plays an unknown melody on your old acoustic guitar with a little inexpertise, humming what you think is the start of a song still in the works.

The sun is about to set and you feel a weird sensation of contentment, a spark blossoming in your chest. You had kissed your best friend, done things with him that reached a level of intimacy you were still learning to navigate, but everything still felt the same.

“Doyoung told me you’re going to sign the contract.” You say, breaking the comfortable silence.

His eyes don’t leave the guitar strings. “Of course, can’t leave my own band.” He deadpans jokingly and you scoff, nudging him with your feet.

“What if they make us do songs we don’t want to?

“I’m sure you’ll scare them off with your attitude.” He laughs when you gasp, lurching at him but stopping because you couldn’t attack him properly with the guitar on his lap.

Noticing that, he smiles, one eyebrow raising at you as he lets the guitar down and opens his arms almost in a challenge for you to hit him. Which you do, playfully before you’re letting yourself fall putty into his chest. “I don’t have an attitude.” You whine.

He huffs. “Yes you do. But it’s very charming.”

Rolling your eyes you hug him closer, basking in the feeling of having him here with you and the comforting knowledge that he feels the same way you do. “Do you think we’ll be able to handle it? Fame and whatever else comes with it?”

“We were born for it, baby.” He says with a cocky grin, always overwhelmingly confident. “I told you, you and me, we can do anything we want together.”

And that’s all you need to hear.

❀

“Back to earth, pretty girl.” Yuta’s voice snaps you out of another daydream, some ideas for a new album and whatever else filed your mind these days. He sounds slightly demanding but you don’t mind at all.

“Sorry.” You mumble and he gives you a grin that you can’t help but match.

There’s the start of a melody playing in the big studio that was rented for the new album. Johnny says something and you adjust the guitar strap, feeling the familiar and comfortable weight of it as your fingers find the strings with ease.

You glance at Yuta another time and he’s still looking at you, mouthing something you can’t quite understand but by the silly smile on his face you know exactly what it is. “Love you too.” You mouth right back at him, shaking your head at his silliness.

And then the song starts.

❀❀❀❀❀

tag list: @jupitersmark @euphoricdreamies @peachybun-01

#yuta smut #yuta scenarios #nct smut #nct scenarios #i reread this last night and realized its not at all how i wanted it to be #it could be so much better :(#but i hope you guys still enjoy it

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erinxneil · 4 years

Text

Stay with Me

This story will be based on the song:

Walk Me Home - P!nk

Primarily based on the lyric:

When I saw everything as good, but now you’re the only thing that’s good.

This was suggested by @my-own-oracle and I am super happy that you did! This was actually the most recent request that I got for this and I still have a few others i need to do, but I wanted to do this one next for several reasons. 1) The request mysteriously disappeared from my messages and was only available in the tab I still had open. 2) This song genuinely takes me back to a better time and means so much to me. 3) I just really was in the mood to write about our boy lol. Usually for these I just base these off a single lyric and write the story around that but for this one, I think the whole idea of Spencer walking the reader home and the reader asking him to stay because she doesn’t want to be alone is just super cute. Again thank you so much for suggesting this and if anyone would like for me to write a story about their ship based off a song you can send your requests anytime, the original post is here ! I was asked to write this story using the pairing Spencer and Reader from Criminal Minds!

Pairing: Spencer Reid X Reader

Warnings: Mentions of suicide

Summary: Spencer comforts Reader while she’s having a tough time.

Loud music. Voices buzzing. Spilled alcohol on the floor. Someone probably throwing up in the corner of the room.

Y/N never really liked clubs, and especially not today. The team had wanted to go out to celebrate a successful case. however she didn’t really feel like partying. This particular case had struck a chord with her, and she hadn’t been able to get over it.

The killer in this scenario had been targeting the youngest siblings, manipulating them into trusting him by honing in on their feelings of insignificance in their own life.

As someone whose youngest sibling had succumbed to these feelings and taken her own life, Y/N really did not appreciate this case.

Yesterday was a year since, and it was like this was the universe’s way to keep reliving it.

“Hey, Y/N!” I glanced up from the inside of my drink, lost in thoughts, in the direction that I heard Prentiss call my name.

I forced a smile onto my face as I gazed over at her, JJ following behind. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere, why aren’t you dancing?” I laughed curtly. “I just needed a beat. The music’s getting to me.” The girls nodded. “Well, when you’re feeling better, come join us! We wanna dance with you!”

I grinned as they walked away, the smile immediately dropping the moment they fell out of sight. Sure, they were profilers, but I was exceedingly good at hiding my emotions. Practically nobody could ever tell what I was feeling, except-

“Y/N, what’s up?”

I smiled softly at the voice behind me before turning around and forcing it to grow wider. “Spence! I’m peachy. How are you?”

He raised an eyebrow, as if to say, I’m not buying it.

“In all of the time that I have known you, you have only ever said the word “peachy” twice, and both times were with sarcastic intent.”

I blinked. “Sometimes I forget you’re an actual genius with an eidetic memory.” I forced a laugh but Spencer’s face contorted as if the sound pained him.

“Do you wanna head out? I’m getting a headache from this music. Sorry to be a buzzkill, I know I’m supposed to walk you home, and you’re having so much fun but I think we should leave.” I felt the corners of my lips perk up slightly as he spoke. Spencer didn’t do subtle. While he may think he was being subtle, I knew exactly what he was doing. And I appreciated it greatly. I nodded my head, and we walked around to say goodbye to everyone, Spencer taking full responsibility for our sudden departure.

We got outside and began to walk. It was silent for a moment,both of us admiring the beauty of the sky. It was almost pitch black, few stars speckling the night sky. I glanced up at them before Spencer finally spoke.

“So,” he began, “Rough day, huh?” I raised my eyebrows in mock surprise. “Me? I’m sure I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Spencer sighed. “You don’t have to play this game with me, Y/N. I know this case hit you hard, especially considering the timing, and if you don’t want to talk about it that’s fine, but never feel like you have to lie to me.” I tensed. He knew. Of course he knew. He has an eidetic memory, he’s probably been watching you writhing all day, all knowing that yesterday you were forced to remember the worst moment of your life, and that the case today only amplified that.

I didn’t respond for a moment, before replying. “I was the one who found her, you know.” My voice was quiet. “I was coming home after a long day at work. I’d brought home icecream for her. I walked up to her room and-” I struggled to get the words out, my voice getting hoarse, when I felt a pressure on my hand. I glanced over at Spencer, to see his jaw locked tightly and his gaze locked forward, but his hand still rested over mine in comfort. He glanced at me quickly, a sudden softness in his eyes filled with evident concern.

I sighed. “I just wish there was something I could’ve done. I’m a profiler for gods-sake, how wasn’t I able to tell that my own baby sister was hurting?”

Spencer frowned. “You were there for her as much as you could have. And now, you’re using that to help even more people. We wouldn’t have been able to solve that case today without you suggesting that he was likely preying on the youngest siblings insecurities. That would’ve caused even more families to lose their baby sibling.”

I blinked away the tears that sprung from my eyes, trying to hide them from Spencer, but he of course noticed. His thumb began to run circles around the backside of my hand and I sighed. “Thank you, Spencer. For everything.” I glanced over at him to see him already smiling at me.

We soon arrived to my apartment. “Here, I’ll walk you up.” Spencer offered. I grinned. “Spence, you really don’t need to. You’ve done so much already-” Before I could even finish my sentence, Spencer was already walking through the doors of my apartment complex. I chuckled and followed behind him.

When we got to my room, I placed down my stuff.

“Are you alright?” He asked finally. I smiled at him. “I’m not going to break, Reid.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and warmth spread through me. “Spence, do you remember when we first met?” He nodded. “It was 492 days, 12 hours, 42 minutes and...” He checked his watch. “36 seconds ago.”

I chuckled. Of course he knew the exact date and time.

“And do you remember what happened when we met?” It was practically a rhetorical question. We both knew that he remembered. He nodded, a look of uncertainty on his face, as if he wasn’t sure where I was going with this.

“You looked at me and spouted some random fact about the probability of the occurrence of tsunami’s in the East coast, and I turned to Morgan, and I said ‘this must be the genius boy you were telling me about.’“ He smiled softly, clearly remembering. “From that moment, I felt completely at peace. It seemed as if everything in my life was going great. I had a great job, great family, and I knew I was bound to make some great new friends.”

He tilted his head, appreciating the sentiment but unsure of why I suddenly brought it up. “Sorry, I know it seems random. It’s just- seeing you roll your eyes like that, it just takes me back to that time of my life where I felt like everything was good.” I sighed. “Some days, Spence, it seems like you’re the only thing in my life that’s good anymore.”

Spencer immediately wrapped me in an embrace. “I’m always here for you, Y/N. Always.” I smiled into the crook of his neck, hugging him tighter. It was odd. I had the sudden urge to cry into his shoulder and just to have him hold me and tell me everything was going to be alright, despite the fact that I refuse to shed a single tear around anyone else.

I eventually pulled away, knowing Spencer wouldn’t have let go until I did. His hands still rest around my waist and my arms around his neck. I smiled at him and he grinned back.

He cleared his throat. “Well uh, I guess I’d better get going then-” He turned as if to walk away before i grabbed hold of one of his hands.

“Stay.”

We stared at each other a moment. My cheeks flushed, realizing the implications of what I said. I didn’t necessarily mean anything by it, I just really wanted him to stay with me tonight. “Please. You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just.. really don’t want to be alone right now. If you don’t want to it’s fi-”

Spencer grabbed hold of both of my hands in his and smiled at me. “I’ll stay as long as you’d like me to, Y/N.”

I changed into a loose t-shirt and shorts, and for Spencer I grabbed a large t-shirt and sweatpants that my older brother had left here.

“I’m not sure if these will fit, but it’s probably the best I’ve got.” I glanced up from the clothes to find Spencer staring at me. I felt myself fidget under the weight of his gaze and my cheeks heated up. What was he doing? Were there stains on this shirt or something?

“Uh, Spence?” He blinked, as if ripped from a trance. “Y/N! Sorry! I just- uh.. I’ve never seen you in anything other than clothes from work.” I watched him scratch the back of his neck awkwardly, flipping his hair to cover his face. Was Spencer Reid blushing?

I grinned at the thought and handed him the clothes, which he quickly took and practically sprinted to the bathroom. I chuckled before heading in the direction of my bedroom, thankful I had cleaned the place yesterday during my day off. Spencer walked in the room shortly after and paused, observing his surroundings. He was no doubt trying to profile me, if not simply just because of instinct.

He walked over to my vinyl collection and ran his thumb over the slightly worn covers. “You like a lot of old music.” He commented. It wasn’t a question. He could tell.

I didn’t really mind him trying to profile me. He wasn’t trying to be nosy. It just allowed him to get to know me better without me even having to say a word, which I think is pretty great.

He smiled as he came across my book collection. He picked up my copy of Wuthering Heights and fingered through the pages. He probably noted the messy handwriting smudged between the margins and the creases in the pages where I had left as a bookmark. He probably noted the coffee stain on page 187, dark enough for him to realize I took my coffee black.

“Do you annotate all of your books?” I grinned. “Yeah, I like to be able to read it later again and know exactly what was going through my mind during the last time I read it.”

I heard soft laughter as he flipped through the pages of another book. “Only you would leave comments making fun of Shakespeare in the margins of Romeo and Juliet.” I chuckled.

He then came across my makeup table, which was a sight that’d make a neat freak weep. Despite having cleaned my place yesterday, when I do my makeup in the morning I tend to throw my products everywhere. I use the same three products everyday but I always manage to lose them in the box of products, so the table is a scattered array of mascara, highlight, and eye-shadow.

He turned back to face me. “Sorry for looking through your things. A persons room just tells you so much about them.” I smiled. “And what did you learn about me, Dr. Reid?”

“You’re organized in a disorganized way. You clean your place often because you dislike the cluttered feeling that you get when it’s messy, however if the place was messy you would still manage find. You’d still know where everything is and how to find it. You desire to maintain the status of olden days and are still stuck in the past in some aspects of your life. You don’t wish to move foward, as you’re scared of what the future may hold and dislike change. You thoroughly enjoy reading and reread the same books often because you like the familiarity that they offer and you aren’t unsure of the ending. I’m sure you look up spoilers to any show or movie that you watch after the first ten moments because you can’t handle not knowing.”

I stared at him. “Wise observations, Dr. Reid.” He blushed again and I laughed, throwing a pillow at him. “You’re cute. Why do you keep blushing at everything I say?”

He laughed aswell, turning slightly to shield himself from the pillow. “Leave me alone, Y/L/N!” We joked around for a bit more before we both sat on the edge of my bed in comfortable silence.

After a while, Reid sighed. “Well, I’ll go take the couch then-” I reached out and grabbed his hand as he began to sit up.

“Could you actually... stay with me?”

He turned to face me, an unreadable look in his eyes.

“Is that what you want?” I nodded in response. Spencer paused for a moment longer, before smiling and agreeing. I grinned and crawled into bed and Spencer followed behind awkwardly. We glanced at each-other and started laughing.

“This isn’t weird, is it?” “A little bit, but it’s alright.” We chuckled before it soon became silent again.

“Thank you again, Spencer.” I quietly murmured.

He wrapped an arm around me in response, and I fell asleep to him whispering in my ear, “Anytime, Y/N.”

-*-*-*-*-*-

Sorry for not posting for 2 days!! I was preparing for going on vacation and didn’t have much time. Keep sending me requests!

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thethousandyearwitch · 3 years

Text

Eye for an Eye

A "Medical Experimentation"/Black Market Surgery KakuHida fic, because it came to me in a dream.

"Hidan wakes up after a wild night, only to find himself in an uncomfortable and yet enticing predicament featuring a good looking stranger and the miracle of Jashin. And maybe both parties can get something out of this situation..."

Rating: Explicit due to some gruesome talk

Ship: KakuHida

Words: 1702

AO3 Link

Nauseating Darkness. That was the first thing Hidan perceived when he woke up. The feeling of a room, that you’re not even seeing, spinning.

He should have known that this would happen, after the hot bartender kept pouring drinks on the house before he could even finish them. It wasn’t his intention to get drunk off his ass, but free alcohol and shallow compliments from some goth chick can change a night quite quickly.

Reflexively, the man tried to turn to his side to soothe his nausea, only to feel a firm resistance on his wrists. The restrictive movement called his attention toward how cold he felt overall, and how fucking uncomfortable whatever he was laying on was. At the same time, he could hear some movement close to him come to a halt.

“Hey, hey, I’m not in the mood for some BDSM games, I think I’m gonna hurl.” He slurred and tested the restrains again. A gurgle crept up from his abdomen, and the suffocating darkness still wasn’t giving way to any light.

“What the fuck.” A deep voice echoed, definitely not from the cute bartender that Hidan had hoped he took home with him. It wasn’t a question, more of a baffled statement. The young man wasn’t a stranger to taking men home with him, but this was definitely not planned, and the unclear discomfort from his abdomen that stretched all the way to his sternum was enough of a boner-killer that he just wanted to get a shower and a prairie oyster.

“Dude, just, uncuff me, get this fucking blindfold off, and I promise I’ll write you a 3page essay apology for the missed sex or whatever.”

“What- No, stop. Listen closely to me.” The deeper voice came steadily closer, and Hidan was sure he could feel the warmth of another body inching closer to his. “I am not about to fuck your sorry ass. You had some real bad luck, and drew the interest of one of my clients, who paid me to remove your eyes and a couple of organs.”

The spinning inside of his head only got worse, and Hidan let out a confused groan. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“There’s no blindfold, dumbass, your eyes are already sitting on my desk ready for pick-up. I don’t even know how or why you are alive; you’re probably banged up on some drug cocktail that cancelled mine out. But you’re going to bleed out any second. No hard feelings.”

Oh. He’s been tricked. Of course, free drinks are never truly free, but he’s never paid with organs before. First time for everything.

The pressure on his body became clearer to him now. He could feel the burning edges of an incision, reaching roughly from 1cm below his bellybutton up to the tip of his sternum, between the 6th and 7thrib. The foreign body that squirmed itself under his ribcage, wrapped itself with learned precision around his heart, that could only be a human hand.

“Can you not afford a bone saw like any other unlicensed doctor?” Hidan laughed and could feel the pressure on his lungs. Every muscle in his body slowly started to follow his command again, warming back up with steady relaxation and contraction.

“I don’t need to justify my expenses to a dead man talking. I don’t care about leaving a neatly chopped up body, and neither does my guy who’ll get rid of you after the job.” Something cold and sharp pressed against Hidans Aorta, a scalpel, he was sure. “Any last words?”

The pain from the incision gave way to a booming headache, itching and scratching the inside of his skull. Slowly, white spots came into his visions, like a night sky that revealed itself one star at a time. “Yeah, what’s your name, asshole?”

“…Kakuzu. Goodby-“Before he could finish his parting words, Hidan snapped his arms free of the leather straps that held him down, and he threw himself at the other man’s throat, toppling both of them to the ground. His eyes had fully reconstructed themselves, and away from under the surgery lighting, he could slowly take in his surroundings in dimmer light.

“This place is a fucking shithole.” The floor was dirty, the walls and even the ceiling were covered in dark stains, an oakwood desk near the wall was held together with layers of yellow-ed glue, next to it a beat-up office chair with scotch-tape adorned seating. His eyes wandered to the man he kept pinned below him, covered in Hidans spilled out lower intestine. “You’re not too bad though, damn.”

His hands were wrapped around the throat of a well-build man, probably a couple years older than him, with rich, sepia brown skin, black hair tied in a knot. He wore a surgical mask, but it couldn’t fully cover the ends of what was clearly a not yet fully healed Glasgow-smile. But what was most striking about Kakuzu were his eyes; His sclera was a dull red, and his Iris were a bright emerald green. “Why would anyone want my eyes when you’ve got the grand prize resting in your skull?”

Under Hidans firm grip, he could feel the strength Kakuzu had to use just to speak up. “What the fuck are you?”

“I’m my gods most favorite little bastard! Now, how about a little trade, ‘kuzu?” He shifted his weight off of the other man’s windpipe, just enough to let him breathe under a strain.

“What do you want?”

“My guts, ideally back where they belong. And in return- “He grabbed Kakazu’s hand, which until now had been busy digging his fingernails into the immortal’s arm, and guided it to Hidans restored eyes. “-I’m sure your client would go bonkers over two sets of eyes.”

There was a pointed silence between the two, Hidan grinning as his internal organs tried to work against the pull of gravity, tissue already trying to reconnect itself with a painful burning sensation. For a moment he thought that the incision would close over his exposed organs before he’d get a response.

“Get on the table. I’m not going to waste anymore anaesthetics on you though, or else I won’t turn enough of a profit.”

Hidan climbed back on the operation table, arms rested behind his head, legs crossed leisurely. “Money greed is a sin, y’know?”

“That’s fine by me, I’ll buy myself a VIP seat when I get there.” Kakuzu readied a medical sewing kit, and unceremoniously crammed Hidans intestines back into his abdominal cave, to which he squirmed in response, but snickered as well.

“It’s not too late to repent! Jashin takes every poor soul that knocks on his door with the correct offerings, and I have a feeling you’ve got what it takes. And I’m living, breathing proof of his miracles. Or else how will you explain all of…this?” He waved his hand around in the general direction of his eyes and his open wound, and Kakuzu swatted his hand away.

“I don’t know, I don’t care. Maybe you’re the result of a radioactive freakshow. Maybe I’m finally succumbing to asbestos poisoning. Now hold still or I will have to tie you back down again.”

“Kinky! Say, after you’re done stealing my eyes again, wanna grab some drinks?”

“Drinks is how you got into this situation in the first place.”

“I’m not regretting it~”

This earned him an eye roll, though more importantly, he realized Kakuzu didn’t say ‘No’ to his proposition. The surgeon finished the final stitches and gave his work a satisfied nod. He placed a glass jar, filled with some strange liquid, on a smaller table next to the operation table, and leaned in closer to Hidans head. “Now for the money-makers.”

“Wait-wait-wait, how are you gonna take ‘em out? You’re not just gonna snatch them out with your fingers, right?” Hidan fidgeted, though his manic grin didn’t falter. His chest was rising and falling heavily with rapid breathing, pulling at the fresh stitches.

“You really are an idiot. The eyes are too delicate and firm to be taken out like that. I’ll be using a tool that looks like a spoon, but has the sharpness of a scalpel, to basically scoop them out. Getting scared?”

“Are you kidding? I’m really getting excited now…”

Kakuzu huffed and placed one hand on the right side of Hidans face, using his thumb to pull the skin under his eye down. “No squirming, or I’ll take your teeth as collateral.”

“Don’t entice me, ‘kuzu.”

The sharp, cold tool slid smoothly between eyelids and eyeball, and without much resistance it curved into the eye socket and severed the optical nerves. In just a second, Hidans vision on his right side went black, and his heart beat violently against his chest. The pain was overpowering, searing, and exciting.

The surgeon dropped the disconnected eyeball into the formaldehyde jar, and switched hands to get a better grip on the left side of Hidans face. “Halfway done. Need a break?”

“Stop being a fucking tease…” Hidan breathed out, face flushed with excitement, fingernails helplessly scratching at the side of the solid table.

And without any further warning, the tool slid behind the second eyeball, severed nerves, and discarded it into the jar.

Back to nauseating darkness. All of Hidans other senses felt enhanced, he could smell the preserving chemical mixed with his fresh blood, he could hear the buzzing of the lamp above him, he licked his lips and tasted only his sweat, and most of all, he could feel the lingering warmth of Kakuzus hand still on his face, his thumb brushing over Hidans cheekbone.

“You’re a walking organ bank.” The younger man didn’t reply, too busy with catching his breath. “I could save money on anaesthetics and trying to lure idiots to operate on. I’d have any organ anyone could want – on demand.”

“I’m not gonna let you cut me open every day for free, yknow?”

And suddenly Hidan could feel hot breath ghosting over his ear, so close that cold shivers ran down his spine.

“Maybe I do have some free time for a couple drinks, and a little business talk.”

#kakuhida #kakuzu #Hidan #akatsuki #naruto #fanfic #fanfiction #I would like to formally apologize for this

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daily-dose-of-imagines · 4 years

Text

ɢᴏʟᴅᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴅ 1/2 | 𝕊𝕡𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝔸𝕨𝕒𝕪 𝔸𝕌! | WindSpirit!Bruno x Human!Reader [𝕁𝕁𝔹𝔸 𝟝]

[PART ii]

I literally had this thought last night (7/6/2020) when I was talking with Admin T. I mentioned Ghibli AU’s and well-- expect her to also put a Ghibli-esque AU out in the near future~! As for me, I saw fan art of Bruno and Haku and well--- here’s where this came from SKSKSKSK I hope you guys enjoy this! ;; god I love spirited away so much...

» » Admin Ko

»»————-　♡　————-««

For as long as she could remember, the wind was always warm and friendly around her. The soft way it tousled her hair always left her chest feeling breathless whenever she played out in the large open yard. Now, at the age to finally begin her life alone, she can’t help but slowly forget the warmth of the summer breeze that always greeted her every time she went out to play.

Now, all she could really think of is the bustling streets and the crowded subways. The daily routine she became accustomed felt more like a pattern she could never escape from.

With a heavy sigh, she looked up at her musty colored ceiling. The sudden sporadic memories of home overwhelming her as a wave of homesickness washed over her depleted form.

How long had it been since she had gone back? As she closed her eyes she pieced together her fuzzy childhood memories. Though in reality she couldn’t remember much. The loud horns and yells of people failed to help in her submersion of her memories as she finally sat up.

“...maybe I should head to campus to work on that paper...”

Another blank stare to the ground, and then she was up as she sluggishly made her way to collect the messy and torn pages of her notebook. Her laptop placed securely in it’s pouch before falling into her backpack with a soft ‘thump’. Once everything was collected, she gave her barren room a brisk look around before leaving the premises.

Though as she left, the light touch of a familiar warm wind brushed against her arm as she left. She, of course, paid no mind to it as the door shut firmly behind her. Unknown to her, a ghostly figure stood by the now closed door. It’s sad eyes taking in the small and deprecated state of her room and then the lone figure that walked down the silent hallways. With that, the figure vanished, the warm sun shining through the weak windows of her room in the spot it once stood.

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

Seated at the book busy table, she couldn’t help but hold back a grimace as she wedged herself into an open seat. The crunch of final exams and projects was taking it’s toll on the student mind, and anyone could see that as plain as day.

Once comfortable, or as comfortable as she could get herself, she brought out her notes and laptop. Her fingers working in a quick and familiar routine as her tired eyes found themselves staring back at an empty page. The title, header, and page number mockingly stared back at her as her sporadic notes sat by her side.

As hard as she tried to force herself to indulge in the working grind, her mind just refused to work. Instead, more memories of her youth kept flashing at her-- signalling her, luring her into a world that was carefree with no worries; and boy did she want to just succumb to those thoughts.

Before she could even nod her head off, a loud thump and annoyed groan came from her right as she, and many other students around her, turned to look at the figure who banged their head on the desk. As relatable as the situation was, it definitely was distracting. Out of her peripherals, she could spot a couple of annoyed stares and an angry huff from the person before her.

The tension in the usual quaint sanctuary of the library was now broken, and a good majority of people were none to happy. Feeling an edge of panic, she quickly packed her belongings away and slipped out of the cramped bench. The cool air fanned against the sweat that had begun to build up from the small amount of time she stayed seated and she was honestly thankful for the disruption.

With hurried steps, she walked out of the library and back into the never sleeping city.

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

“....should I take a break and head back home?”

The question came abruptly, an old thought suddenly coming back full force into her mind as she found herself back in her apartment. Her bag abandoned by the front door and her shoes kicked off haphazardly as she found herself staring back into the musty colored ceiling.

In retrospect, she had 3 weeks left before her papers and projects were due. If she decided to return home, she’d have 2 weeks to prepare for finals and to finish her papers. Furrowing her brows, she couldn’t help but feel her mind reel at the sudden rescheduling of her assignments and planned writing.

“This is honestly too much...”

Another sigh, and she kicked herself up from her lain position. Without even a glance at where she was grabbing, she fumbled for an all too familiar object; and once in her possession she found herself flopping back down onto the bed as the dial tone rang in her ear. She hadn’t even noticed she dialed her mother’s phone number.

As the dial tone rang, she felt a strange anxious feeling well up in her chest, but once she heard her mother’s familiar voice she melted into a soft smile as her features smoothed over.

“Hi mom...yeah I’m doing good. Yes, I’m eating-- no, you don’t need to do that.”

A soft giggle as the familiar banter filled her ear. As the conversation drew on, she felt herself slipping more into her bed as she curled around one of her pillows for a sense of familiarity. When the line went silent for a moment, she spoke what was on her mind. Her words flooding out in waves as she felt stress filled tears slip out of her eyes as her body racked with emotional tension.

Once spent, she weakly wiped at her red and puffy eyes as she felt her mother’s comforting words slip into her tired mind. The confirmation she honestly needed.

“Come home. Give your body and mind a break, sweet heart.”

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

The next day, her memories went by in a flurry of motions. She remembered packing her essentials. The fuzzy forms of people slipping by her as she purchased her ticket and found herself now in a taxi on her way back home for the first time in months.

Though as the familiar scenery passed her dull eyes a familiar stone statue caught her attention. Her eyes widened slightly as a memory whipped itself into her head, promptly taking her back in time as she could practically feel the warm rays of the beating sun down her face and the careless laugh that flew past her lips as she played out in the open field.

Before she couldn’t even stop herself, she has asked for the taxi driver to drop her off. Her bag now sitting on the road next to her as she looked at the wide expanse of field and forest before her. The all too familiar scenery bringing back a sense of nostalgia, and despite the cold winter air, she could still feel a strange warmth to it.

Step by step, she found herself walking through the paths she walked through as a child, and soon enough she found herself before an old tunnel. The friendly little statue at the front greeting her as if an old friend had returned and she couldn’t help but feel a warm smile flush across her face as her hand gently patted the top of it’s head.

“Hello Iwa...it’s good to see you again.”

A soft whisper of comfort fell from her lips as she gently rubbed the cool statue before looking up at the grand abandoned tunnel. As a child, she was told to never venture forth, for the dangers of being lost was too great. Now though, as an adult her child-like curiosity couldn’t help but come back at full swing.

“...A little detour never hurt...”

Looking around, she set her bag down in a secluded area behind the statue before steeling herself and stepping forth into the dark tunnel. An initial sense of dread washed over her as darkness crowded her vision, but suddenly a bright light met her gaze and subconsciously she began to pick up the pace. Her feet moving quicker towards the bright light as the odd familiar warm summer’s breeze rushed forth, tousling in her hair once again as she broke through.

What greeted her was an expanse of field, flowers of all types graced the area as her eyes fell on an odd looking trinket that sat on a stone pedestal. Suddenly intrigued, she moved forward.

“Is this...an arrow?”

Though right as she went to touch it a sharp yet deep voice cut out at her.

“What are you doing here?!”

The prick to her finger and a strange feeling suddenly overcame her as her vision fuzzed over, her form toppling to the side as she was suddenly caught in strong warm arms. The blurry figure of a person hovered above her as she tried to focus on their muffled words.

Though all she could remember before she fell unconscious was the striking cobalt blue eyes the stranger had.

ⳮⷤ ── ⲇ ── ⳮⷤ

When she awoke, she found herself in a bed. One that was warm and held a sense of familiarity in it’s own strange right. Grimacing, you went to try and massage the headache that suddenly made itself known to you away when you found your face being gently cupped by warm tan hands.

“Oh caro, are you okay? What on earth are you doing here? You shouldn’t be wandering in these forests at all!”

It was almost comical how the tall man before her was practically crumbling before her in worry. From an initial glance, he looked to be someone who no one would try to fight, but upon closer inspection he was just a young kind hearted man who had a heart of gold and a sense for justice. Yet she couldn’t shake the odd feeling of deja vu as she looked at the man’s worried face.

“...I’m sorry but...who are you? I remember walking into an open clearing with flowers and I saw an...arrow?”

The man stared, almost pained as he searched deeply into her face for any sense of recognition before resigning as an odd haze filtered over his eyes. The action making her even more confused before he gave her a rather pointed stare.

“I’ll explain, but you must tell me what drove you to venture through the tunnel. Alright?”

Hearing his tone, she couldn’t help but obey as she gave him an obedient nod before he finally let go of her face. The feeling almost sent her stomach lurching with affectionate want as the warmth and comfort his hands held brought a sense of calmness to her; and now that it was removed she felt...on edge.

Seeming to sense her uneasiness, he set a hand on top of her own as he relaxed and schooled his expression into one that wouldn’t reveal much, but was comforting in it’s own way.

“...I...I’m gonna sound stupid for saying this but...I’ve had this weird pull to this place. As a kid I remember playing in these fields and the forest in these parts, and my mom told me to never play in the tunnel because I could get lost....but, as an adult I thought it would be okay? I only meant to stay for a short while! Honest!”

Her heart raced as she felt a sense of dread overcome her. The strange feeling of disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach that even his warm hand couldn’t contain. It was unexplainable, this odd feeling of disappointment and guilt she felt compiling within her as she couldn’t meet the handsome man’s worried eyes.

Eventually, a soft and even sigh drew her attention from her lap to his face as he gave her a strangely familiar soft look. The dull ache in her chest now causing a subtle shock as she furrowed her brows. Instinctively preparing for a tongue lashing, that she had almost missed the words that escaped his lips.

“....you never change do you?”

The look in his eyes practically began to melt her unease away, despite the strange comfort she found in the words she could barely hear. When she tilted her head in curiosity to know what he said, he merely gave her an almost dejected chuckle as he brushed it off.

“It was something I said to myself, don’t worry. Now, as for what you told me...I can tell that you’re not lying. The truth in your words and expressions are enough evidence for me to assume you aren’t here on some ulterior motive.”

The relief that flooded over her body was immediate. The slump of her body falling back into the cozy bed had the mysterious man before her chuckle once again. A glimmer of joy in his warm blue eyes as he watched her motions.

“I will have to say though...the item you touched--- the arrow. It’s something that should never be touched by a human. We’ll need to visit a friend of mine to get an understanding of your condition before we can get you home. Is that alright?”

Though his words held nothing but concern and warmth, the absolute dread and fear of the unknown coiled around her as she felt the color drain from her face.

“Hu...man. Are...are you not human?”

A sense of deja vu overwhelmed her as a faint memory played of her younger self. The same question being poised to a young blurry figure. Another thump of pain dropped into her chest. Ignoring his concerned words, she once again built up the courage to look him in the eyes. Her demands for an answer high, despite her mind and subconscious desperately wanting this all to be some sort of dream.

With a resigned sigh, the mysterious man leaned back into his chair. Seemingly considering his choices as he looked out to the fields. A melancholy look on his face before he turned to her once more.

“Correct. I’m not human, I am Bruno, the spirit of the Golden Summer Winds.”

#jjba x reader #jjba imagines #bruno buccellati x reader #bruno x reader #bruno buccellati #spirited away au #au #spirit!bruno

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mbat · 5 years

Text

i wrote a short story ^_^

so i finally finished editing the story i had written last night!

i had seen @pyralart 's drawing (see below) of corrupted steven and i couldnt help myself, it had such story potential even if the story is short.

note that i didnt immediately notice certain details other did so some were added after the initial writing ^_^;

any criticism is appreciated as im still learning and please forgive me if this story isnt the best oof,

(insert weird attempt at a seperation i hope it doesnt look weird when i post this)

\-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-/

Steven lay lashing in his bed. He was having harsh nightmares he'd only vaguely remember when he woke up, but they were enough to leave him sweating and groaning as he tried to escape them desperately in a plane of existence outside of his control.

It was only with a jolt of physical pain did he finally awake, and he had just about screamed when he did. It took him a moment to remember where he was and that he was okay....or well...mostly okay. He was feeling physical pain actually?

He yawned and stretched, not planning on returning to such painful sleep just yet. He stood up and went to go turn on the lights when he saw a patch of darkness on his arm. A bruise? he thought, wondering how much he'd been moving around in the night. He flicked the switch to the lights and got a better look at the splotch. Looked like a bruise....but when he poked it, it didnt hurt.

He inspected his other arm to see...another spot? And another! Were these spots....spreading? He looked at his legs. There were more there, growing and growing faster. He started panicking which only made it worse.

It took all of his willpower to not start crying or screaming. He didnt want to alert the others. This is probably nothing after all right?? maybe hes just hallucinating, or ate something weird and is having a reaction! Yeah, just something along those lines surely.

He wasnt entirely convinced by his panicked excuses though. He was breathing heavily and went to go put his hands on his head to ease the headache he was suffering from and squeaked at what he felt upon his head. Sharp horns. HORNS FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!

Now he was ready to scream, but he still didnt want to be bothersome. He could fix it! Just go to the bathroom and use the diamond essences! Those will surely stop this!

He quickly walked to the bathroom, having a hard time seeing straight and walking straight too. He just about fell on his face trying to open the bathroom door.

He didnt bother turning on the light, he ran straight for the mirror and gripped the mirror with a much too tense hand as he just about slammed it open. His hand was so tense in fact that you could hear the mirror crack. He winced, the noise being louder than life yet impossible to hear over the pounding of his head. He turned the sink on and grabbed the bottles and quickly poured a few drops into the water, hands shaking. He went to go turn off the faucet but he had broke the handles before. He didn't have time for this!! He grabbed the faucet and twisted it. it kept rumbling but he would deal with it later once he was better, surely. He then splashed some water in his face, just about poking his own eye out with a claw that had sprouted from his hand.

He took a moment to pull the mirror back, accidentally cracking it some more as he finally saw himself with the help of the waters glow. He couldn't help but gasp loudly and just about pass out. His eye. Black sclera with a pink pupil. horns sticking out of his head and purple splotches ever so slowly growing and mocking him.

He stuck his face in the sink water trying even more to make it work. It did nothing. He went for the bath and started it full of panic, and tried to settle his beating heart while he waited but to no avail.

He stopped the faucet and went to go grab the diamonds bottles and ended up knocking everything off the rim of the sink in the hurry, crashing and crashing. He hoped no one could hear but the fear of them seeing him at any second was overwhelming. His mind raced like a horse as he poured the entirety of the diamond essences into the bathwater, desperately. They couldnt see him like this. They couldnt. No one could. It would be the end of the world and they'd know how much of a monster he truly was. He couldnt hide it anymore now.

He climbed into the tub, the water swirling calmly around him and illuminating the entire bathroom softly. He didnt bother to take off his clothes that he'd been wearing. He put his hands to his face, trying to not see what was happening but he wanted to know. He peeked between his fingers and watched, fearing the worst that was only getting even more worse.

The splotches still kept growing and spreading. He wanted to keep the tears from falling but the lump in his throat betrayed him and his vision blurred with tears and pain. He tried to choke out a sob uncontrollably but he couldn't even do that.

He lay paralyzed in place, uneven breathing and shifting water being the only noise in the whole universe to him. His mind spinning out of control as he drowned in his own trauma all swelling back to him like a tsunami.

He could see through the blur just enough to see his skin was almost entirely purple now. He felt pain all over as strange extra parts were ready to fly out of his painfully small skin, and he felt himself slipping away into a consciousness that he couldn't anymore comprehend. He finally let out a loud, piercing scream before succumbing to the pain and transformation.

#hope at least one person enjoys that #i wrote the initial unedited story between 1240 am and 120 am last night. 40 minutes #i was inspired and couldnt help myself. such a great picture prompt #shout out to pyralart for creating that drawing in the first place cause its so damn well done?? the details??? oh my stars???#its just a beautiful picture. i hope i did it justice with my short fic.#my art #my writing #steven universe #corrupted steven theory #steven universe future #12.13.19

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poisonousfey · 5 years

Text

shelter

against my better judgement, putting a little ficlet up here set in an AU fic that I’ve attemped many times to write and have never finished, bc Certain People have expressed interest in it, so here it is, Garrosh Makes Jaina Get Up And Drink A Glass Of Water, The Fic

---

It's just going to be one of Those Days, apparently.

She probably should've known that this was coming, and she did, on some level, suspect something was amiss when she curled up in bed the night before and stared at the far wall for most of the night instead of actually sleeping. She hasn't quite pinned down what's triggered it this time; it could be any number of things. It could've been the weather, perhaps- storm clouds were moving in, with rain on the way, and she did always tend to have headaches until the first crack of thunder finally broke the sky open. It could have been the cold, leaving her toes and fingers clammy and numb. Something about the damp chill the air carries is inescapable, creeping into her bones, slowing her blood. It could be the seabreeze, bringing the cold in, the rush of the ocean in the far distance a call to something inside, half-forgotten and full of longing. She feels alien here, still, even after all this time; the desert is a far cry from the marshes of Dustwallow, and even farther from the isle she once called home. She is no more home here than she would be there, now. She feels alien in her own skin.

The sea speaks to her in rumbles and hisses, the churning waters crashing against the shore of her little port-town, against the base of her tower. Its song is relentless, pounding against the inside of her skull. It tries to call her to a home that now lies beneath its dark waters. It takes all of her will to ignore it. So much so, that she has none left to rouse herself from her bed.

Her mouth is dry. Her ribs are hollow. She stares at the far wall. She tries to sleep again. The ocean roars, and she can't manage much more than an uneasy doze, drifting into it and jolting out of it before sleep can take her, fully.

---

Pained tries to get her up, a few times. She pokes her head in around the time she knows that Jaina is usually awake, sees her under the sheets, and lets her have a few more minutes. This is a mistake.

She tries again, half an hour later when it becomes clear that Jaina is not getting up. She tries to coax her up, and Jaina hardly has any voice to respond with. This is when she begins to sense something is amiss. Jaina can hear her talk to Aegwynn in the hall just beyond her door, and she tells the old witch that she's sick and can't get up, which is close, but not quite. Aegwynn knows better.

Still, they leave her be, for a while longer.

Around mid-morning, she is exhausted from the sea's endless cries. She finally succumbs to sleep, and her slumber is black and dreamless. She is afforded this mercy, at least.

---

Jaina doesn't wake up again until a little after midday, to the sound of her bedroom door being slammed open. She jolts straight up, heart beating frantically inside a body that's still mostly numb and hollow, and turns to find an infuriated orc man, her friend and now-guardian, standing in the doorway. His stance is Loud, eye-catching, but defensive. He came here, for all the world looking like he meant to fight off her affliction as if it were Real and Living and he could rend it from her with his own two hands. She can see Aegwynn peeking around the great mass of his body, like Jaina doesn't already know who the culprit behind this is.

"Have you eaten anything at all today?" he snarls. Jaina shakes her head. Garrosh sighs and rolls his eyes exaggeratedly before tromping down the hall. Jaina turns to Aegwynn. She's doing an awfully poor job of covering up her grin.

"This is cheating," Jaina croaks, because she can somehow find her voice for this, but not anything else.

"I told him you needed help," Aegwynn says, smirking. "And here he is. Helping."

Jaina still feels half-dead and mostly drained but somehow is still managing to find the energy to want to stagger out of bed and strangle her. She unfortunately does not get that chance; Garrosh hardly gives her a moment before stomping back up the hallway and right up to her bedside. He shoves a glass of water under her nose.

"Drink," he demands, not growling, but close. She takes the glass from him and sips it, and he sits next to her on the bed, presumably to make sure she drinks the whole thing. He watches with a scrutinizing eye until she's drunk the very last drop.

"How are you feeling?" Aegwynn asks.

"Tired," Jaina says. Her voice comes easier, now, and it shows. "I didn't really sleep that well. I couldn't actually fall asleep until this morning after you and Pained checked up on me."

"You've been up all night?" Garrosh asks incredulously.

Jaina hesitates.

There is no correct way for her to answer this question. Clearly, she hasn't slept all night. He already knows. This isn't even the first time this has happened before. The only reason Garrosh is asking this is because if she says yes, he more or less takes that as permission to take full control of the situation. Taking full control means him dropping literally everything else that is going on that day, consequences be damned, and fussing over her until he deems her condition no longer critical. To be honest- the worst has already passed. She's awake, now. She's consumed something, even if it was just water. She's up and talking and is thinking about maybe eating or getting dressed soon. His brooding over her is... appreciated, but not entirely necessary, at this point. He has his duties, and she has hers. She is not so important that she feels herself worth him skipping out on his.

He continues to glower at her, and she can feel herself wavering.

"I mean," she starts. It's not a good start. "Not... all night," she continues, trailing off. That's enough for Garrosh, apparently, because he then inhales sharply and stands up from the bed in one fluid motion. He's staring out her window now, at the ocean. He Knows. He's practically vibrating with it.

"You're not staying here," he tells her. It's not a request. Jaina huffs, and starts to argue, but-

"Would you let me stay here, if the situation was reversed?" he challenges. Her mouth snaps shut with a clack of her teeth, and she huffs again.

"No," she replies moodily. Garrosh hums, satisfied.

"That's what I thought," he says, smug and preening. The tilt of his grin makes her want to knock it off his face.

---

She manages to stumble out of bed and shuffles around her room for another half-hour or so, packing while Garrosh hovered over her and her things and played with the little knickknacks scattered all throughout. He pockets a couple to fidget with, later. She keeps finding more and more of them around his rooms whenever she's there; it reminds her a little bit of hens, or maybe bower birds. Garrosh tends to covet those he considers His, and Jaina is no exception. She thinks he might be trying to coax her into his den, whether he realizes it or not, so that he can take care of her and stop her from running and hiding like an injured housecat. Jaina knows she's not an easy catch, despite herself. It's part of what makes her so tempting to tame for Garrosh, she thinks. He looks at her and sees something not unlike himself, a creature with wounds so deep that they have barely even begun to scab over, let alone fade away. She's not so sure how or when or why she's become this feral, half-wild thing, but here she is now, skittish and cagey and starving, and she will never be so quick to trust as she was in her youth ever again. Garrosh can tame her, in time, she thinks, with enough determined, stubborn doting, just as she's already tamed him, with patience and honesty and kindness. He can tame Thrall, too, probably, but Thrall is a fair more flighty than she is, and has far more opportunity. Garrosh probably need her help with that one. She'd be happy to. Someday. Maybe.

In any case, she finishes packing her things, and lets Garrosh herd her back through a portal to the Hold.

---

Garrosh takes her to his chambers- once Thrall's, now his, and the thought of that is a stinging comfort to both of them- and lets her hole up there, away from the dark tides that call to her. He doesn't ask anything of her- he doesn't make her come out, he doesn't make her get up again, and doesn't make her interact with anyone, save him and Malak. The worg's presence is a huge comfort, even if her brand of affection is a little smothering. Jaina drifts in and out of a shallow sleep for a while, Malak glued to her side, and only truly seems to wake up when Garrosh comes back to check on her. He sits with her when he can, probably more than he should, if she's remembering his schedule for today correctly. His visits are frequent, but short, and he seems to resent their brevity. He'd probably just call it quits for the day and just stay and fuss over her if he could get away with it. Jaina tries to get some work done, or at least tries to read and keep herself distracted, but she can never quite get herself to focus, and her anxiety lingers, buzzing passively the rest of the day.

Finally, supper rolls around, and Garrosh returns for the evening, dinner for the both of them in hand. She can't imagine what the cooks thought when he took it from the kitchens, or what his soldiers thought when he made his way here. She doesn't imagine Garrosh cares, even a little bit.

He puts the dinner tray in front of her wordlessly, brooking no argument. then, putting his own dinner aside, he dresses down for the evening, for comfort and rest. He doesn't typically pull late nights, not like Thrall did, but she doesn't think he'd tolerate being interrupted, right now. By the time he's gotten changed, Jaina has at least taken the first few bites of her food. This appears to satisfy him, for now. He sits next to her and eats, and she manages to finish her meal with some effort.

"You're staying here tonight," he tells her. It's not a question. She didn't think it would be. It's a relief, if anything.

He grabs a few things, documents, mostly, probably things that he was supposed to look at earlier but didn't in favor of being here with her, and then climbs into bed with her. She takes to him quickly, tucking herself into his side while he huffs a small laugh, all smug affection, and makes room for her to be there. His hand on her, her body lying against his and his warmth filling the bed, quiets the buzzing. His touch is grounding. The cries of the sea are silenced, and finally, finally, she falls asleep, and her dreams are warm and quiet.

---

Jaina wakes up to a cold, pale dawn, sun not even over the horizon yet, and she's okay. Garrosh is still there, long since asleep beside her, snoring softly. He's still got an arm wrapped around her, keeping her close even in sleep.

It's okay. They're going to be okay.

#jainosh

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a-fools-jester · 7 years

Text

The Words We Say

Greg and Sherlock were arguing, the rain drizzling around them as they shouted, the tension of the case making them both tired and irritable. The blasted word spilled from Greg’s lips before he could think of the effect it could have on Sherlock. Sherlock, who immediately stiffened up, not moving, not blinking, not breathing for a prolonged second as the word hung heavily in the air between them.

Freak.

The first time that Sherlock was called that loathsome word, he was just in second grade. He was in the playground, but he never did actually play with the other children. Instead he’d sit in the corner of the playground, underneath the trees that covered him in its shadows like a blanket of protection. He would read books that were meant for the older children that his teacher, a kind woman named Mrs Petelli, gave to him. He would solve puzzles, or he’d sort the wood chips by size and height if he was truly bored.

He existed peacefully alone, a shadow scarcely noticed and heard, until another kid named Sebastian decided that the scrawny loner was an easy victim. “Hey, freak!” he’d shouted, and Sherlock’s entire grade listened and for some godforsaken reason the name stuck. The first time Sherlock had been called the name, it stung. The question of what he’d done to deserve the name brought tears to his 7 year old eyes, before he turned on his heel and ran as fast as his legs would take him.

He did the same thing now at 24 years of age, his coat billowing out behind him as he ran, unable to stay at the crime scene any longer. The pounding in his ears sounded like the crashing of waves against an empty beach. Ice crept up and down his spine, freezing his fingertips over. It wasn’t the weather though, he was certain that today was a mild day in spite of the rain.

Sociopath was a word that Sherlock overheard from a conversation between his mum and dad when he was 13. Loud voices as sharp as shattered glass that filtered through Sherlock’s door and assaulted his ears as he tried to finish his writing assignment. Mummy and dad were arguing about something, and it took Sherlock a few beats before he realized it was about him and Mycroft. “They’re sociopaths!” Father had shouted, “I cannot have this go on any longer! William’s an outcast, he hardly socializes, and our neighbors think were some type of oddball family now because of those two!”

Mummy yelled back of course, voice tight with tears that Sherlock knew were falling even if she was hidden behind a closed door. The argument continued on, until it ended in whispers that were no longer coherent to Sherlock’s racing mind. Mycroft found his way into Sherlock’s room, silent as he looked into Sherlock’s eyes, and no words needed to be said. There was a silent understanding as he simply placed his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and handed his younger brother his mask of aloofness.

“It’s easier not to care, Sherlock,” he said suddenly a few nights after that, and Sherlock looked up already knowing what this was about. “Caring isn’t an advantage, I’ve learned. Ordinary minds often try to suppress the extraordinary, so they call us names to bring us down.”

“What do we do then? They think we’re…” he trailed off then, unable to say the word out loud, afraid that saying it would make this entire nightmare more real.

“What have people done throughout the ages when they’re called unsavory names?” Mycroft asked, a small smile pulling on his lips in spite of the look in his eyes that reflected the sharp edge of an icicle. “We take it and we own it.” And they did. They began acting distant and colder, because it becomes harder to target a heart once you’re no longer sure it exists. Sherlock forced himself to stop caring, shoving all emotions into a closed off wing of his mind and refusing to show any vulnerability.

Silk turned into leather.

The car came out of nowhere, it seemed. It wasn’t going very fast, Sherlock decided as he fell against the concrete, otherwise he’d be dead. Between 20-30 mph then, because at 40 mph there was a 90% chance of death, whereas for 20-30 there was only a 10-50% chance of death. He was fairly certain he was neither dead nor bleeding internally, although the fact that he hit his head on his way down may have been a mercy handed out by the powers that be to stupidify him into believing he was safe. His body felt… distant, as if he was a disembodied consciousness floating in the midst of a world that was spinning rapidly, colors and muffled sounds swimming past his mind as he fought to grab onto something that could steady him, anchor him to reality.

He could feel the pain burning beneath the surface of his skin, bubbling like a pot of water left on the stove. Someone was touching him, he belatedly realized, a wet hand pressing against his face. Maybe his face was what was wet and not the hand. Maybe it was raining. Or maybe nothing was wet and it was all in his messed up mind.

He couldn’t be sure anymore, and he fought to focus, trying hard but he was just so tired and his eyes were slipping shut, too heavy for him to keep open. Sherlock was vaguely aware of a pressure building in his head, and it felt like someone was wrapping a rubber band around his brain, tighter and tighter.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t move.

He couldn’t think.

“Focus on me,” Mycroft had whispered, voice soft as Sherlock- 16 years old- shuddered, too cold and covered in sweat as he lay on the mattress that did nothing for his bones. “Don’t go to sleep.” The light off of the candle lent a soft glow to Mycroft’s eyes as he stared down at Sherlock worriedly, wiping the sweat off of Sherlock’s face with a flannel with an uncharacteristic gentleness. The silence stretched on forever as Sherlock fought to stay awake in spite of the exhaustion the fever was causing him.

“You worry so much it makes me worry. Am I dying, Mycroft?” he asked with a teasing smile that Mycroft didn’t return which slowly fell from his face. He shifted slightly, trying to ease the pain in his back. “Am I dying?”

The look he received was filled with what could only be labeled as a mix of frustrated helplessness, panic and shame. “I don’t know, brother mine. You better not.” Mycroft moved slightly, face turning away and Sherlock watched as the shadows danced on his face. It did nothing to hide the tears which shined clear as day in his periwinkle eyes. “Not yet. Not before me, at least.”

Someone cried, “shit, are you okay? Don’t you die on me, you bastard…” and Sherlock wanted to reply, perhaps snap at the person to shut up, yet his entire mouth tingled and he wasn’t sure if anything even tumbled out his traitorous lips. All he knew was that everything was too cold and too hot all at once, his vision turning gray at the edges.

“Come on, Sherlock, wake up!” A hand slapped against his face, panicked and desperate. “He’s not waking up!”

Death was not a concept that Sherlock was knowledgeable about, he’d known about death and its permanence since he was 5 years old. He learned it through Mycroft, of course, since he learned most things through Mycroft. Redbeard had died, and he stared up at Mycroft with wide eyes. “He’s not waking up,” he had said in confusion, speaking slowly as he tried to piece together the events to form an explanation. “Why isn’t he waking up?”

“Call 999! We need an ambulance, he’s fucking dying!” a man’s voice shouted, distraught. Sherlock heard the marching of feet, and then succumbed to the darkness which swallowed him whole.

“Everything dies, Sherlock. All lives end.”

Sherlock became lucid in fragments, becoming aware slowly as his mind tried to stitch together the little slivers of data he received from each individual sense into a whole picture. The heart monitor beating to his right, noise loud and sharp in the otherwise silent room. The smell of cleaners so strong that it felt as though the inside of his nose was being burned, a lemon-like aroma that filled Sherlock’s lungs with every inhale. The scratchy blanket that bundled around his legs, coupled with the feeling of a cool metal bed rail against his left arm, helped him come to the conclusion that he was in a hospital without him needing to open his eyes.

He opened his eyes slowly, the lights thankfully having been dimmed to be more agreeable with his headache. “You’re awake,” a rumbling voice like rain against a window said from the corner, and after a moment more of staring up at the ceiling, Sherlock turned to look at Greg. “I thought you were going to die…”

Sherlock stared at him for a few seconds, eyes dull as he took in the sight of the disheveled man with wrinkled clothes, before looking at the wall instead. “I didn’t want to die yet,” he replied simply, unsure about how to speak to the man he’d considered a friend and father figure for a long time, his chest aching as he remembered the words they’d exchanged. The vitriol that Greg had yelled, the anger in his eyes- or was it disgust?- that had suddenly made Sherlock feel as if he needed to be anywhere- anywhere- but there.

Greg shifted in the plastic chair, nodding as he offered a tight smile. “I’m glad.” The smile was so bitter and brittle it seemed as though the slightest breeze could blow on it and leave it a pile of dust and regret.

“I’m sorry,” Greg finally said, breaking the silence awkwardly, like a child clumsily shoving a block between two others and bringing the entire tower down. “I didn’t mean to… call you any of those things. I didn’t mean it.” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and the dim lighting of the room did nothing to hide his glistening eyes. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock.” His voice wavered, on the edge of cracking, and Sherlock couldn’t help the tears that rushed to his own eyes.

Mirroring, he told himself. It was just a human instinct deeply wired into the subconscious to react to someone’s tears and pain with empathy. It meant nothing. Fighting to regulate his breathing, he nodded slowly, afraid that the wrong action would break open the dam and leave him to drown in an ocean of unshed tears that had collected through the years.

“When I saw you get hit by that car… I thought you were dead. Blood was all over your face, you weren’t responding to anything, and I just- I thought I lost you. I don’t want to lose you, Sherlock, and I hope you can forgive me for what happened.”

There’s a bridge being stretched out between them, and Sherlock knows that he could either ask the question that weighed heavily on his mind or he would miss the moment and wonder forever.“Do you really believe that?” he asked, voice hoarse. “That I’m a… freak?” He faltered at the word freak, feeling like he needed to drink an entire bottle of the horrible lemon-scented cleaner the hospital used to get rid of the dirty feeling that overwhelmed him at the use of the word.

Greg’s eyes bore into his, dark pools of sadness swirling behind them as he shook his head. “I don’t. I never did, I never would believe that you’re anything less than… extraordinary.” He moves closer in his chair, hand on reaching out and tentatively placing it on top of Sherlock’s which were idly tracing patterns against the blanket. “I don’t know why that I used that word, or why I snapped at you but I wasn’t angry with you, I was just- angry and I snapped. I’m sorry, I don’t have any excuses for my behavior but-”

“You apologize too much,” Sherlock cut in with a small smile playing on his lips, but the tears shining in his eyes contradicted them. “Apologies are tedious. A simple sorry would have sufficed”

Greg laughed in surprise at the statement, then his eyes flickered to Sherlock’s left leg that was in a cast, and his eyes softened, no it wouldn’t have.

Sherlock cleared his throat, staring at the tan and calloused hand on top of his for a few long seconds. “My father never apologized.” He shook his head quickly after speaking as if he was shaking an idea out, something akin to flustered panic written in his eyes. “Not that- not that he had any reason to! He never hit me, or anything. He was a good man, he just said some things sometimes.”

“He’s a good man,” Mum had said to Sherlock, who laid with his face buried into a pillow, his back against the headboard and his knees pressed tight against his chest. “He just has a bit of a temper these days, and he says the wrong things with good intentions at heart. You have to learn to ignore the things he says, love. In one ear and out the other.” She pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s mop of curls before she left Sherlock alone in the room that was far too big and far too cold for Sherlock. This isn’t home anymore, Mum, he had thought as the tears fell quickly, creating a pattern fit for a Rorscach test. “What do you see here?” a man in a white coat could ask, and Sherlock knew what his answer would be.

“I see a fallen angel without a home.”

“Sometimes good people do bad things,” Greg murmured, eyes scanning over Sherlock. “Sometimes the words we say carry more weight than we could believe. They get embedded into a person’s mind and after that, it can be a pain to get out. Even after years and years, the words we say could still be echoing in a person’s mind.”

Sherlock nodded, a tear falling from his eye as he bit down on his lip. “I’m not a sociopath,” he said, wondering if it was Greg he was saying it to, or the memory of his father that he could still hear yelling the word. “I’m- I’m not as strong as everyone thinks I am, Greg.”

He used the name deliberately, and he knew the older man knew that as well. The hand on top of his tightened for a second, before leaving it completely. “That’s alright,” Greg responded, standing and pulling Sherlock against his chest, mindful of the wires. “You’re plenty strong enough for me. And if you need me, I’ll help you carry all that weight you lug around inside you.” Sherlock buried his face into Greg’s soft cotton Henley, the dam broken as his skinny shoulders quaked.

“I don’t want to be alone,” Sherlock whispered between his tears as if it was a truth he was too afraid to say out loud, a thought which haunted him during long sleepless nights.

“You’re not alone anymore. I’m here.”

So! That took forever to write and the timing of it was pretty much all over the place. I hope it made sense. @princesspeach212 suggested it again, so she’s to thank for this little fic.

http://archiveofourown.org/works/11159409 if you’d like to comment/ leave a kudos. @love-in-mind-palace @savedbyholmes @kateis-cakeis @shag-me-senseless-watson @inevitably-johnlocked

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