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sidespromptblog · 3 years

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What to Do?: Chapter 10

One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine

Warnings: General Angst, Remus being spooky, Hurt/Comfort, Brief Food Mention, and Sad Stuff.

Summary: Logan realizing that his first mistake was seeing the other sides as anything other than coworkers. They weren't a family. They didn't even like each other. How had he not realized sooner?

Word Count: 2,067

Logan heard the springs in his bed behind him squeal as someone sat down on it, and for a moment he didn��t look away from his computer. His eyes were already straining against the glare of the computer screen in front of him, he just wanted to close his eyes and rest for even just the slightest moment… but the presence behind him forced him to keep his back straight and his eyes trained professionally on what he was doing. It was only when he had made more than one spelling mistake on the same sentence did he direct his attention from that, to his cold cup of tea sitting right next to his keyboard.

Logan grimaced, now of all times he could have much rather preferred coffee, at least the caffeine from that would have helped keep him awake. But he just grimaced and took a sip, the sweetness mixing with the spices over his tongue making him scrunch up his face a little bit. Yes, he much rather preferred the bitterness of his old coffee, and despite what he’d said to Roman and Virgil…

He missed it so damn much.

He moved to take another sip, and the bed behind him squealed again, as the person behind him finally stood up.

“That’s enough nerd,” Logan felt his body jolt in surprise as he felt Remus’ hand smoosh over his face, and covering his mouth so that he couldn’t take a single sip from his drink. Looking up, he found his eyes locking with Remus’, as his head was bent backwards so that he couldn’t have even tried to look at his computer even if he had wanted to keep working on it. Remus’ stance was clear, even if his methods were… odd. “That’s enough…” The creative side spoke again, with a surprising amount of softness in his voice, the wild chaos that had been present the other day all but gone.

Nevertheless, Logan attempted to bat the other side’s hand away.

Clearing his throat he wheeled his chair around so that he could properly address Remus. “You’re a bit late,” He began, before holding up his hands before Remus could talk. “But given your track record, lateness is better than nothing. Do you have your paperwork Creativity?”

Remus’ expression spasmed, and his hands clenched tightly for a moment, as if he had gone through all of the stages of grief and had gotten stuck in the process of rage for a moment. His eyebrows pinched, and the dark look in his eyes took a moment too long before it finally cleared away to a blank kind of smoothness, that told Logan more than enough about how Remus felt in that moment.

“That’s not my name,” The creative side said carefully, his fingers clenching and unclenching into fists, as if he was still contemplating decking Logan right then and there. “You know that… Logan.” Remus’ teeth bared themselves in a fierce smile, that was more of a threat than pleasantries. “So do not call me that. My name hasn’t been Creativity for a very long time, that’s Roman’s title… not mine.”

“Don’t you forget it.” That smile said, “Or I’ll rip out your throat.”

Logan cleared his throat, and in an instant the look was gone, replaced instead by a simple look of impatience.

“That being said…” Remus groaned to himself, as he flopped back onto Logan’s bed, completely ruining the neat and orderly presentation of his blankets and pillows when he did. “I'm supposed to be here apologizing.” He grumbled, sounding very… not sorry in the process. “Apparently…”

Logan’s head cocked to the side, curiosity curling in the bottom of his stomach.

“Apologizing?” He asked, “For what?”

Remus kicked his legs out, scattering Logan’s starry blanket and nearly making it flop onto the ground, only caught by the creative side’s leg at the last second. An angry frustrated huff left Remus, as he snatched up one of Logan’s pillows and pressed it over his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself so that he wouldn't have to answer these questions anymore. In Logan’s honest opinion, he looked all too similar to a child throwing a temper tantrum, and just like that… the image of Remus wearing the dunce hat while pouting flashed into his mind like a streak of lightning.

Logan had to press his lips together to keep his smile down.

And just like that another groan sounded from Remus, “For ruining your schedule!” He finally shouted, throwing his hands up in the air as he suddenly sat up, the pillow flying off of his face and falling at Logan’s feet. “Janus says that if I apologize that it’ll help things, and things certainly aren’t supposed to be like this!” The creative side swept his hands out dramatically, emphasizing Logan’s room, and how it was supposed to look like a cubicle until Logan had started feeling too tired to hold up the illusion of it all. “You’re supposed to be the boring ordinary one that bests me! But this!” Remus stomped his foot, “You’re letting me win with this!”

Bending down Logan picked up his pillow, and dusted off a speck of imaginary dirt before tossing it back over to Remus. The creative side caught it with no problem, before hugging it tight to his chest, a borderline desperate look on his face. He hadn’t looked sorry before, especially now with knowing that Janus had been the one to make him apologize. But now… now he truly looked sorry, even if it wasn’t for the reasons that Janus had wanted him to be.

“Remus,” Logan began, his voice much softer than it had been with any of the others. “You don’t have to apologize to me, not for finally getting me to see what I needed to see in order to get the others to listen to me.” Remus’ face blanched for a moment, and a look of miniscule guilt that Logan didn’t exactly understand passed over his face within a second. “Truthfully… I understand how you feel.” Logan began again, this all felt so easy to explain to Remus than it did with any of the other sides, and he had no idea why. “I understand how you felt… by constantly being ignored all this time.”

For a long moment, Remus looks solemn. Up until the moment that Logan finally stands up and makes his way over to the bed. Sitting next to the creative side Logan stops for a moment, before flopping back much of the same way that Remus had and after only pausing for a moment Remus does the same. The two of them laying there, side by side, as Logan stares up at his ceiling and Remus stares at him

A heavy sigh leaves Logan, and without even thinking about it he presses his pillow over his face in the same way that Remus did. “I deluded myself,” He mumbled into his pillow, before dragging it off of his face. He feels weak when his eyes start to sting and water, “The others weren’t ever my family, or even my friends. They didn’t like me… I was just.. just annoying to them. So… so…” Logan hates himself for how his bottom lip trembles, but he knows that he’s right and that it needs to be said to the one person who might get it. “So boring.”

For all intents and purposes… Remus feels crushed.

It’s a new feeling for him, being this hurt by someone who isn’t Janus and isn’t his brother. And what’s worse is that Logan isn’t even meaning to hurt him, this is a hurt born from feeling empathy for another person. He knows that he should hate it, and that he should hate Logan for it as well. But the kicker is…

He can’t.

He can’t hate Logan for this, not when he made this happen.

“I’m sorry.” He wants to say it again and again, until Logan truly understands what he’s apologizing for, until Logan understands that he’s apologizing for the others as well and everything that they've done to hurt him, and until Logan felt that he could go back to the way that things were before all this.

Instead he just nods his head, “I know.” He turns over, so that Logan can have his tears in peace, “The others miss you though, they… think of you as family…” Remus winced, while the words didn’t exactly feel like a lie, it still felt…

Hollow.

Like it was too little and very much too late after everything that had been done, he knew that had he been in Logan’s shoes his reaction wouldn’t have nearly been so.. so nice. In his eyes, Logan was giving them far better than what they deserved, despite what he had said to Virgil… he knew that there wasn’t much he could do to help this situation, and that anything he did would mostly just make Logan pull away more and more. If anything, his ranting and even his presence here probably made things worse for the others already…

Just like with everything that he did.

Logan snorted roughly, and just that Remus was dragged back to the present.

“That too bad,” The logical side muttered sourly, his lips twisting into an angry frown. “They can imagine whatever they want, but our relationship was nothing more than them taking what they wanted from me, and leaving me in the dust. They don’t get to miss that just because I decide that I’ve had enough. No matter how much I regret that this is how things are, and no matter how much I miss them… this is how it is from now on. They ensured it.” Logan didn’t like the dark feeling that had seeped into his chest, the anger that burned there, or the hurt that seemed content with lacerating his heart every time he thought about how things used to be.

He could have been content, and he could have just turned a blind eye to all of this and just… looked at the good moments. Like when Virgil smiled at him after their mock debate, or when Roman had made him his book, and when Patton smiled at him after he had gotten the moral side his new hoodie. He could have just pretended, and learned to take things how they were, and make himself look away from the bad parts.

He could have…

But he didn’t want to anymore.

“I’m tired…” Logan finally sighed out, when only silence had answered him after his long spiel. “And maybe that’s boring of me too, but at least I can be happy with that.”

For a moment there was nothing, before Remus finally moved.

His arm tucked its way around Logan, pulling him in tight and holding him there firmly. “I know.” Remus merely said, those two words holding a deeper meaning than the logical side could ever truly know. “I know…”

Logan…

Logan wanted to break apart into a million pieces the moment that Remus had touched him, in a good way. It had felt like forever since he'd last touched one of the other sides, let alone a good touch that didn’t reek of annoyance from one of the others. It had been forever since he’d sat with the others, everyone touching everyone as they all watched movies late into the night. It had been forever since, Virgil had just casually sat with him on the couch, the anxious side leaning against him without a second thought. It had been forever since Roman had slung his arm over his shoulders to show him something new and interesting. And… and it had been forever since Patton had swiped his hair out of his face, in an act of care and love.

He hadn’t let them touch him, because he knew that if they did...

Logan heaved a shuddering breath, and turned into Remus’ one-armed embrace and shoved his face into the other side's chest. Letting his tears get soaked up by the fabric of the creative side’s shirt, just this once… he let himself do this.

While Remus…

Remus let his touches linger as he curls his entire body around Logan, as if he were protecting him just as it always had countless times with Janus.

It comes to him as easy as breathing does.

#logan sanders #ts logan #ts logan sanders #ts logan angst #logan angst #remus sanders #ts remus #ts remus sanders #sanders sides #ts sides #ts sanders sides #sanders sides fanfiction #ts sanders sides fanfiction #ts sides fanfiction

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

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Into The Unknown, Part 7

First

Sorry the chapter is late my schedule got thrown off by a hurricane

Three days after they arrived in Gotham, they officially ran out of cash.

Honestly, it was a wonder they had even lasted as long as they had. Who knew that rich kids had so much money just laying around? Certainly not her, if she had she probably would have reconsidered rejecting Adrien’s old offers to date to make their fans shut up... because damn.

Now, they sat outside Drake Manor.

Marinette sat, back resting against the gate, playing a game with the baby. In an effort to soothe the kid’s need to fall from high places, she had tossed him a foot in the air and then caught him. Unfortunately, this didn’t seem to help, but it did entertain Damian. He giggled like a madman (mad...baby?) every time she did it and would yell ‘up!’ every time she tried to stop. Her arms were tired. She’d been doing this for what felt like years, and would be doing it for many years to come. Save her.

The only person that could possibly save her was, unfortunately, busy with other things.

Tim was applying for credit cards. He had stuck his computer and phone through the gate to get their wifi so the company wouldn’t be suspicious (Marinette said they probably wouldn’t be but the king of paranoia had insisted) and was now pressed up against it as far as he possibly could, arms poking through the bars to keep working.

“This is only until we have enough money to get on our feet,” Tim said.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, Tim, I know.”

He nodded a little against the bars that were pressing against his face and allowed the subject to drop -- for now, Marinette knew it was only a matter of time before he said it again.

“At least one of us needs a job at WE, that’s the only way both of us would be able to send the kid to daycare.”

Marinette stopped tossing Damian, considering, only to immediately start up again when the baby screamed “UP!” at her.

“Probably me,” she said, finally. “The you that lives here is a direct competitor, you might get recognized.”

He nodded his agreement.

And then she sighed and set Damian in her lap because her arms were physically unable to lift him anymore. Damian screamed at her but she just wrapped her arms around him tightly and pet his hair until he relaxed.

When he finally shut up, she said: “You know we’re going to have to wait for both of us to get a job.”

He paused in his typing. “What do you mean?”

“Since it’s WE, they probably have pretty thorough background checks. Two adults that seemingly have lived here their entire lives getting a job at pretty much the exact same time is… more than a little suspicious.”

He pulled his head back from the gate and she wondered idly if he was finally done, but then he just knocked his forehead against the bars. There was a resounding clang that neither of them minded, all of this world’s Drakes were currently at work, and he groaned.

“Yeah, that kind of screams ‘we’re using fake identities’, doesn’t it?”

“Kinda, yeah.”

He groaned again, louder this time.

“I can stay at home,” she offered, somewhat reluctantly. “I can cook.”

He sighed and shook his head as much as the gate would allow. “No. You’re probably going to have an easier time getting a job, WE accepts basically everyone. We need money, so I’ll be a stay-at-home dad.”

Oh.

She smiled a little and looked down at Damian, who was currently petting her hair like she had been petting his just a few moments before. She blinked but reciprocated the action. Damian lit up and reached his hands up so he could get more of her hair.

She leaned down a little and nuzzled her nose against Damian’s.

She glanced up and saw Tim checking over what he had done so far, apparently thinking the conversation over.

Marinette hesitated. If she really wanted, she could just let the conversation drop.

She mumbled a quiet: “... thanks, Tim.”

He didn’t look up from his screen, but she could see the pink tinge in his ears. “It’s fine. I don’t even know what I’d do yet. I’ve only ever had one job and I got it because of nepotism.”

She grinned. “From rich kid to even richer CEO to trophy husband.”

“Oh, how the mighty hath fallen.”

She felt a hand tug her hair and looked down to see Damian pouting, so she started running her fingers through his hair. It was getting kind of long, she wondered if she should get it cut. She didn’t want it to get caught on something, the kid could get hurt.

A thought occurred to her. She glanced at Tim out of the corner of her eyes. “You know… you’re taking my name and I’m going to be the one getting money… maybe you should grow out your hair and I’ll cut mine. Y’know, to really get into our roles.”

He huffed a little. “Shut up.”

She laughed. “Fine. But, really, I think you should grow your hair out. It’d be pretty.”

The both of them tensed at the implications of what she had said. She wondered if she could play it off as a joke… or maybe she should apologize? The blush that had tinged his ears was now creeping down his neck. Was he embarrassed or flustered or angry?

Before she could figure out what to do, Tim’s phone rang.

He fumbled for the phone and pressed it to his ear, successfully hiding the rest of his face from her view.

“Hello?... yes, this is Timothy Drake… yes, I just applied for a new card… I figured I would have a backup in case one of my others got stolen, you know how it is… can I have the card information in advance?... great, thank you!”

He hung up and turned to her, smiling widely.

“We have money.”

She didn’t react how he expected, no playful grin or witty remark or even just a smile. Instead, she doubled over with laughter. Damian whined a little in protest as she threatened to squish him.

He frowned confusedly. “What?”

She motioned vaguely to his face, giggles still spilling from her lips. “It’s just… you’ve been leaning against the gate for so long that it’s made little lines in your face.”

He huffed. “It’s not that funny.”

She managed to get her breathing under control again. “It’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

She opened her mouth to continue the dumb little argument they were having but then Damian yelled: “NO!”

Tim lit up. “HA. He agrees with me.”

She gasped. “Dami, how could you? You’re supposed to be on my side,” she said with an over exaggerated pout.

Damian looked up at her pout for a moment before slowly leaning forward and attempting to wrap his arms around her middle in a hug.

“Oh,” she said softly, carding her fingers through his hair a few times. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“Weak,” Tim teased.

She looked over to send him a glare, but then she saw the fond smile on his face and relaxed.

“I am. Look at him. He’s so cute.”

“Yeah. He is.”

Tim leaned back against the bed frame.

Marinette was out at a job interview for WE. He hoped she got it, he didn’t know what they’d do if she didn’t.

But, he didn’t really have much time to think about that. He was on baby duty.

He’d gotten better at dealing with Damian while doing things, it seemed. He had found a position to sit where one knee was pulled to his chest and the other curled close to him, his legs acting as a chair for the kid. One hand held the kid’s bottle as he drank, and the other scrolled through apartment options on his phone.

They’d probably be in an apartment for at least a while. He didn’t know how homeownership was in this new version of Gotham, but in the old one if you were able to afford a house on your own then you were an immediate target for thieves.

So: apartments.

They could probably get away with a one-roomer, at least while Damian was young. It wasn’t like they needed much room for him, anyway, they might even get rid of the crib since it didn’t look like either of them had the willpower to leave the kid in it all night.

Damian slapped the bottle away, apparently done despite only having drank… all of it. Huh, he must have been more out of it than he’d thought.

He turned off his phone and looked down at the baby. Damian looked back up at him, giving that wide-eyed stare babies were so fond of.

Tim cracked, a smile making its way across his face. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his little brother’s head.

“So, kiddo, what do you want to do?”

Damian babbled at him in an authoritative tone. Tim nodded thoughtfully, as if he understood him and was truly considering the idea of whatever it was he said.

“Interesting idea. I think we should watch TV. Sound good?”

Damian nodded, though Tim really doubted that he had somehow managed to say the exact thing that he had.

He pulled the remote out of the bedside drawer and started flipping through channels, looking for something that was bright and colorful enough for Damian to enjoy it but at least semi-decent so Tim wouldn’t be bored out of his mind.

He came upon Monsters LLC and turned it on. While Tim agreed that, considering the way that Mr. Firenoose acted, the company would totally be an LLC, it just didn’t have the same ring to it as Monsters Inc. So sad. The kids of this world were missing out.

At least Damian seemed to be enjoying it. He gasped and pointed at this world’s version of Sully and yelled “KITTY!”

Before Tim could correct him, though, the knockoff Boo said the same thing.

Great. Well. He supposed the kid was close enough. At least there were no monsters in this world for Damian to mistake for cats. It wouldn’t come back to bite them. Probably.

And, so, that’s how the day went. Tim and Damian sat in bed, Damian leaning back against Tim’s chest and watching his movie, a new bottle of milk half in his mouth. Tim scrolled through apartment options on his phone, picking out a few to check out over the next few days.

After a while, Marinette slipped in. She kicked her shoes off, letting them fly in opposite directions, and then trudged across the room.

She dropped onto the bed face down beside the two boys and Tim frowned.

“I’m guessing that means it didn’t go well?”

“No, I got the job,” she said, her voice muffled. “They said I could start tomorrow if I wanted.”

“... then…?”

She slowly picked her head up. She looked absolutely exhausted. “I’m an intern.”

… yikes.

He hesitantly reached a hand out and patted her head a few times.

She rolled her eyes and pulled a pillow to herself so she could scream into it.

Damian looked away from the movie, eyes wide, and then looked at Tim like he would somehow know how to fix it.

… he probably was supposed to. He was the adult here and, supposedly, married to her.

But Tim was a bat. So, he pulled a classic bat move:

“Want to spar?”

“... kinda,” she admitted. “But what about Damian?”

Damian was currently entranced by a movie about… was that unicorn eating trash?

It didn’t matter. (It totally did. What the fuck was going on in this movie?)

Tim smiled. “I’m sure that Kaalki and Tikki can warn us if something is going to happen. Not that it looks like anything will.”

Marinette hesitated before breaking into a smile. “Okay, let’s do it. I’ve been feeling a little antsy.”

He gently picked up Damian and set him on the bed, telling the kwamis to keep him safe for the maybe ten minutes they would be distracted, and then led Marinette a few feet away so they could let out a little bit of their excess energy.

~~~~~

@nathleigh @peachmuses @unoriginalmess @hammalammadamdam @astrynyx @laurcad123 @927roses-and-stuff

#into the unknown #maribat #timari #timinette #timmari #shutterbug #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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ninjaslegos · 3 years

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All of Them Empty but Mine part two pleaseeeee and thank you.

I dunno if you wanted angst or like a happy ending...I went with the happy ending though because I had an idea for it faster than the angst lol.

I Remember, Do You?

Where Zane finds a backup file containing extra memories.

"It doesn't make sense, I am not capable of receiving head trauma." Zane frowns as he collaborates with the others. They had just been released from the hospital.

Lloyd shrugs, "they were probably generalizing it. Like how I say 'you guys' but Nya's a girl."

"I suppose you're right." But still, something felt off.

The walk to the monastery was slow, and quiet. Everyone was thinking, trying to remember what happened to them. They were told they were in an accident, but they don't remember being in a car. Something else was going on, but what exactly? No one had a clue.

"Sensei, we're home." Lloyd opens the door to see his uncle there, waiting for them.

"Welcome home." Wu greets them with a smile, but his face falls in confusion. "Where's (Y/N)?"

Lloyd remembered that name from somewhere, but he couldn't quite recall. Was it someone online? Wait, that was the name of the person who said they loved him, the creepy person. "Oh, I blocked them." He didn't understand how his uncle knew about you, but it didn't click yet.

Now he looked surprised. "What have they done?"

"They were being creepy and told me they loved me, I don't even know them!"

"No..." Wu's face twists into one of horror, "they promised they wouldn't use their power...where are they now?"

The ninja looked to each other for answers, but none of them had any. "We don't know," Lloyd feels guilty, "were they important?"

"Yes, very! The whole of Ninjago could be at stake if we don't get them back as soon as possible." He shuffles off before anyone can ask anything, leaving them to figure it out for themselves in his usual 'mysterious Wu' fashion.

"Well, at least tell us why!" Jay shouts after him before he closes the door. "Great, we don't even know where to start."

Cole pipes up after thinking for a bit, "well they're clearly a wanted person, and whoever was after them needed us out of the picture. But why didn't they kill us in that crash? They only took our memories."

Nya looks angry. "What's wrong?" Kai asks his sister.

She huffs with frustration. "I can't control my element anymore, why do I remember doing it, but suddenly I can't use my power?"

This alerts everyone else, and they rush outside to test their powers.

"I can't use airjitzu anymore, despite knowing how to." Kai scoffs.

"So? You still have your elemental dragon! I know I had one, but suddenly I can't summon it anymore!" Jay rambles. "Why can't I summon it?"

"What happened to my earth punches?" Cole asks. "I feel weak..."

"At least you guys have your full potential unlocked! I feel like I'm a powerless 10 year old again!" Lloyd snaps.

"What about you, Zane?" Nya asks. He doesn't respond. "Zane?"

"Oh, I apologize for zoning out; I just remembered something." He smiles. "I might have an answer to our problem." He turns to Lloyd, "after I first died, once Chen was defeated, Pixal and I developed a memory chip that I could use in case I ever needed to remember my past."

One by one, the teams' faces brighten with smiles. "Zane, you're a genius!" Jay grins and comes over to hug him. "Let's go find those backup memories!"

Lloyd feels nervous about watching everything Zane had seen. What was his relationship like with this '(Y/N)' he knew? They loved him in some way, but he had no idea what his feelings were towards this person.

Zane plugs the memory chip into the computer, and everyone huddles around to watch. He typed your name into the search, and every file pertaining to you showed up. First, everyone read through his description of you. "A good friend, (Y/N) has the power to manipulate, create, and erase memories, but has promised not to use them against us. Not only do they think it is morally wrong, but it hurts them to use it." Then came a voice clip from you.

"I don't ever want to have to use this power. If I do, it's to protect others from death." Your voice...it was so smooth and light on Lloyd's ears.

No one liked these implications. "We were...going to die?" Jay whimpered.

"Hey," Nya put her hand on his shoulder, trying to comfort him, "we don't have any proof it was them who did it. Maybe there are others with this power." It held little reassurance; it had to be you.

Lloyd took over, scrolling through memories. In the majority of them, he was always with you. You looked so pretty, and you were so sweet and kind; no wonder he spent a lot of time with you. You must've been his best friend, but he found himself starting to form a small crush on you, despite not remembering you. "Zane? Do you know why I chose to become a ninja? When I fled from home, I could've become anything, but I wanted to protect people. I'm not the monster everyone thinks I am."

Soft in spirit, and gentle in voice and body; were you real? He wanted to hold you. "Woah, Lloyd, do you like them?" Jay snickers.

"Huh? What do you mean?" He looks around at the others.

'Well for one, you're smiling." Kai smirks.

Cole adds, "and you've been staring at them in the videos."

He shrugs, "I'm just learning about them."

A little bit of teasing and sweet memories later, darker stuff starts to emerge. "Zane, I'm scared. I had the bad dream again. You're smart, don't you know how to get rid of them?"

"Go to Lloyd, he'll help you. He always does."

You smile at him, "thank you."

"What? What bad dreams?" Nya asks, going through older memories.

They found one of you, curled up on the couch with Lloyd, who was hugging you as you sobbed in his arms. Everyone else was there, trying to comfort you. "He was there, dad was there, and he kept hurting me, and threatened to kill everyone else, too."

"It's okay," Memory Lloyd rubbed your back, "He hasn't been looking for you, and if he was, I'd fight for you. We all would."

Everyone exchanged worried glances as they continued going through Zane's memories of you.

"What if I end up like him?"

"I'm scared of hurting other people."

"How could anyone love me?"

Lloyd couldn't take it anymore. "Let's go to the last memories, that should tell us where they are. I don't want...I can't watch this anymore."

No one had to speak or move to prove they agreed with him. The last memory saved to the chip was of Lloyd talking into his phone and crying, as the others tried to comfort him. "Please, (Y/N), if you get this, call me back. I need to know you're safe, I need to know your father didn't get you. I...need you."

He sounded so sad, so broken. Clearly he loved you very much, so why did you erase his memories of you? He knew why; you said yourself that you never messed with others' minds unless it was a life or death situation, but he didn't want to believe that he wasn't going to die if you didn't. Even now, with nothing to go off except for these memories of you, he still liked you, crushed on you, loved you. That's how he knew it was meant to be. He couldn't take it anymore. "I-I have to go." His voice cracked as he scurried out of the room.

(Y/N). He looked at his phone. He looked at the last message you sent to him, Hey, Lloyd, I hope you're feeling better by the time you read this. I still love you. He was clearly your boyfriend, and you were kidnapped; counting on him, and he blocked you. It must've broken your heart. He scrolled up, looking through all the messages you sent to him in the past. One of which was a location. Hopeful, he decided to bring the information to the others.

"Actually, we found something too." Zane informs him.

"Yeah, you were (Y/N)'s boyfriend!" Jay pipes up cheerfully.

Boyfriend? The thought made Lloyd blush. You were perfect, and his? The text you sent him wasn't platonic love, but romantic?

"No, not that, the other thing." Cole chuckles, then his face falls as he becomes serious. "(Y/N)'s father was planning something, and kidnapped them. We suspect it's because of their ability to manipulate the mind, as they have stated their father made them for that exact purpose."

Lloyd nodded, "then it's a good thing I know their last location." He shows them the phone, and immediately the team starts getting ready to head out.

It doesn't take them long to reach the location on the map, but there isn't much left to the scene. There's a vengestone cage, a splintered chair, and a stain of blood. Lloyd's shoulders sank in disappointment.

Nya shakes her head, "there has to be a clue, anything. The (Y/N) in Zane's memories was smart, they had to leave something behind."

"They did." Kai gulps, pointing to the blood. It's smeared across the ground with haste, as if whoever had you last was trying to quickly relocate you.

No one speaks, they just follow the trail until there's nothing left but scuffs in the dirt. "I can track the footprints." Zane's eyes start to glow as he scans them, leading the team to another track, of which were tire marks.

"(Y/N) must've been put in a vehicle and driven to the next location." Lloyd doesn't waste any time, and just keeps going. He's silent, and in a rush to rescue you.

It takes several hours, and everyone's tired and sore, but the tracks soon end at the edge of Ninjago City. "We should look for something out of place, that's where (Y/N) should be if their father is hiding them." Lloyd orders.

"Like that?" Jay asks, pointing to the closed antique shop across the street.

"Jay's right, it's Wednesday afternoon, I don't think most shops close this early." Cole agrees.

Nya scoffs, "especially one with hardly anything in it."

Zane uses his ice to craft a key so they could unlock and enter the shop without setting off alarms and alerting anyone. "I am detecting a large entity beneath the floors."

"Probably behind that 'employees only' door." Kai points.

It's unlocked, and behind it is a deep hole with a ladder. One after the other, they slide down it and land safely on the bottom, of which was a giant room that looked like some laboratory for unethical science. The centerpiece, though, was a large mammalian creature with a long tail, antlers, tusks, and shaggy fur of a familiar hair color. Held down by the several chains around its neck, body, and limbs, it whimpered and whined at the person in front of it, who was a man with similar hair color, also with antlers and small fangs. He kept cooing at the creature, but it just whined more.

Finally, he snapped at the creature, "you're a no-good, piece of shit child!" He then began striking it with a thin metal pole, which caused deep lashes that oozed teal blood, thick as molasses. Screaming and howling in pain, he silenced it with more yelling, "if you don't shut your stupid fucking mouth, I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!" Panting and crying teal tears now, it quieted down. He softened his voice for it, "I'm doing this for you, because I love you." He strokes behind it's massive ears, and scratches under its chin. "I'm all you have left, your friends are gone, so tell your dear father you love him too." Unable to speak, the creature just purrs; a deep rumble in its chest. "You're being so good, (Y/N). I'll let you go soon."

(Y/N). Lloyd felt sick. The ground around your large paws was covered in your blood, and he couldn't even see the grungy, grey floor beneath the bright teal substance. You could barely stand, weak and malnourished. You were down here being abused and treated like some experiment while he stayed in the hospital to heal a concussion he and the others probably didn't even have.

Kai, who couldn't stand to see anything being treated like this, jumped out without thinking and began attacking the man, your father. Nya and Cole were right behind him, readying their weapons and letting out battle cries.

"Kai, - guys, stop!" Lloyd yelled after them, but it was too late. Your father, fast with monster DNA, blinked away before anyone could hit him.

He tsked with aggravation, turning on you instead of the ninja. To anyone else, they wouldn't see anything immediately wrong with this, but Lloyd knew. "You stupid brat! You promised me that you erased their memories!" You began howling again as he beat you with the pole. "Now not only will you suffer for it, I'll make you watch as I rip their heads from their bodies!"

Fat tears dribble down your cheeks and chin, and one of them lands on poor Kai, who lets out a disgusted groan. Nonetheless, the team continues to try and fight against your father, as there's nothing left to do. They can't reason with him, so they must fight for their lives.

"You don't have to take this!" Lloyd shouts above the pain and clashing of weapons. Your ears flick, hearing him, but you don't want to hurt anyone. Not anymore. "You're a ninja, (Y/N)! You said you wanted to protect others!" You let out a shriek and cover your ears, it's too much. "How can you protect others if you're being used to hurt them? You can't even protect your own team!" You're being timid.

"You." The word is spoken with so much hate and venom, that it causes Lloyd to turn and face your father. He's not even scratched, while most of the ninja are wielding wounds. "Stop poisoning my offspring!"

"WHY CAN'T YOU EVEN CALL THEM YOUR KID?!" Lloyd screams at him. "YOU'RE HURTING THEM AND TREATING THEM LIKE A LAB RAT!! THEY'RE YOUR CHILD, NOT SOME EXPENDABLE TOY!!"

His faces twists into one of rage. "I'll kill you for that!"

He disappears, and Lloyd can do nothing but prepare for impact. Instead, there's a loud roar; carrying the weight of protectiveness, might, and anger. When he opens his eyes, in front of him is a large, fluffy paw, and the metal bar is deep in your flesh. You do not scream this time; you will not show weakness, and you will not back down anymore.

Teeth and jaws strong enough to break anything; the chains around your body are bitten off, and the one around your neck is pulled off by a single jerk of your head. You grab the metal pole and shake it around like a gigantic, house-sized dog until your father is flung off of it and into a wall. Despite everything you'd gone through, the adrenaline makes you faster, stronger, and tankier than your father.

"(Y/N), it's me. Your dear old dad. Don't make me hurt you, do you think I like doing that? I do it when you make mistakes, like the one you're making right now." He is cautious with his words. You let out a warning growl, and bite the pole in half. "We're almost done. Just a little-"

You're tired of it, tired of the experiments, tired of him. You bat him across the room again, then catch up before he can recover. Grabbing him by the leg, you shake him around, faster and rougher until your teeth go through him, and he loses it.

No one on the team wants to watch as you tear the man to shreds, and they plug their ears to block out his agonized cries. Everyone is scared of you now, especially as you move so fast that it looks like you teleport behind Lloyd. "Run!" They yell to him, "Lloyd, get out of there!"

They don't know how to calm you down, nor get you to stop, so they try to flee and wait it out instead. But Lloyd needs closure; answers. Your breath is warm as you snort into his hair, waiting for any sign to attack him too. He won't give you any. "(Y/N), it's me, Lloyd. You remember me, don't you?" You don't look so angry, but you're still uneasy.

"What are you doing?!" The shouts from his team make you snap your head over to him.

"I can get through to them!" He remembers the text you sent him, probably the last thing you could say before you were turned into...this.

Cautiously, he holds a hand out to your head, and you sniff it. You don't let him touch you, though. Hey, Lloyd, I hope you're feeling better by the time you read this. I still love you. He smiles, "yeah, I'm doing better. I love you, too."

Like a flipped switch, the transformation is instant. Your stance becomes relaxed, and your face becomes peaceful. "Ruh...rof..."

He chuckles, "come on, you can let go now. You can't talk to me in this form."

Your fur begins to glow a bright blue color, then disintegrates into a mist that covers the room. Slowly and one by one, the ninjas breathe in the mist, regaining their memories. By the time it's all over, and the mist dissipates; all that's left is you, curled up on the floor; covered in cuts, scars, and bruises.

Lloyd blinks a few times, along with the others as they groan and try to recall what just happened.

Nya shrieks excitedly, "my powers, they're back! I got them because (Y/N) helped me discover them..."

Cole grins, "I got my earth punches back; I remember it was because (Y/N) gave me the courage to..." he trails off, perking up.

Lloyd knows why, whipping around to see your still body. "(Y/N)!!" He shouts, stumbling over his own feet to get to you. "Hey, honey, wake up, wake up, it's me, I remember now," he begins sobbing, lightly smacking your cheek as he holds your head in his lap, "come on, I love you, I love you," he gasps and screams in relief when you wave away his hand, mumbling with exhaustion. Hugging you tightly, he kisses your face all over, rocking back and forth with you in his arms. "I'm so sorry, I know you told me about my phone and contacts, but actually, it was Zane who-..." he cuts himself off as he hears your soft whimpering. "(Y/N)?"

"I'm a monster." You wail, "I don't deserve to be rescued, I killed someone. I lost control. No one could love-"

He interrupts your rambling with a passionate kiss, "it's okay. I still love you, I love you no matter what. What you did to your father was justified; he was using you, hurting you, abusing you, and I'm sorry I couldn't get here sooner. All that matters now is that you're alive. We're going to be okay."

Your breaths are raspy, and you're still bleeding on your left forearm. "I suggest we take (Y/N) to the hospital, they've lost a lot of blood."

"Yeah," Lloyd sniffles; he didn't even realize he was crying happy tears, he was just so glad to have you back. "Yeah, yeah, let's do that." You try to stand, but he picks you up, "I've got you, (Y/N). You don't have to worry about a thing. I'm going to take you to the hospital. You're going to heal, and I'm never going to let you go again."

"...Lloyd?" You ask, and he acknowledges you with a hum, "I'm sorry for breaking my promise."

He laughs it off weakly. "You tried your hardest, and I'm still proud of you. I love you, so much."

You smile with him, eyes tired. "I love you too, I love you. I love you..." You were finally safe again.

#ahaha... :)#I finished it lmao #idk for once I don't have extra words...huh.#ninjago #ninjago lloyd #lloyd x reader #blood #death #gore #injury #scars #trauma #abuse #oneshot

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slowpoke-fics · 3 years

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Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Sam x Reader ; Platonic Dean x Reader

Summary: the group had been hunting a djinn, you get the short end of the straw and find the djinn, what you didn't expect was it taking you

Warning: this is angsty, and can be very triggering, su!cide (to get out of djinn hallucinations), death in djinn hallucination, hurt/comfort, if I missed warnings I am sorry, but you read at your own risk

A/N: This is a three part series, Empty, Cold, Warm, Cold is written so you don't have to read this part, if this fic is too triggering to read, p l e a s e skip it and move onto Cold.

You and the boys sat in your motel room, you had been hunting a family of djinns for weeks, every time you got closer it was like they were one step ahead. You had managed to kill one of them, but you still had two to hunt down. "Okay," Dean started, "I'll check the mines, Sam you get the caves, Y/n look through the train station." Dean had a plan, you were fine with it but Sam was not. "I don't like this," he finally spoke up, "they seem to always be ahead of us, I don't know that splitting up is a good plan. This could be exactly what they want." You smiled at him, going to sit on his lap, "I'm sure it'll be okay, we're all prepared and ready, we can get them this time." Sam shook his head, "I don't know, something doesn't sit right with me." Dean sighed, shutting his computer, "You only say that because your woman isn't gonna be within ear shot," Dean grabbed his keys and headed for the door, "it'll be fine Sammy." With that Dean headed out, most likely to find a piece of ass for the night.

You planted kisses on Sam's face, "It will be okay, this is our best plan to corner them." Sam smiled, not wanting to press, "Yeah, I'm sure you're right baby," pressing a kiss to your lips, "Dean's probably right too, it's because I won't be able to be with you, making sure you're safe." You and Sam prepped nine silver knives dipped in lambs blood for when one of you ran into them, and then laid down, waiting for sleep to come. "I want you to be careful tomorrow," he whispered, "I can't lose you." You kissed him, swinging a leg over him, planting a kiss and grinding your hips on him, "I'll always come back." Sam giggled and flipped you underneath him, kissing your neck, "You better or I'll hunt you down."

The next morning your alarm started blaring, Dean groaning in the bed next to you, Sam pulling you a little closer. You trucked out of bed and stopped the alarm, setting it for half an hour later and heading out the door. You were always the first one up, always headed out the door early to go get coffee. Sure enough as you walked into the room the alarm was going off. You walked to Dean, handing him his coffee, and he gladly accepted, and then to Sam, who shut off the alarm and sat up in bed.

Handing him his coffee and sitting next to him with your head on his shoulder, feeling the worry he holds for you. "Don't worry, we're all gonna get out of this together." Sam kisses your head, "I know," throwing a pillow at Dean, "you'll always come back to me." He put his fingers under your chin, lifting your lips to his, slowly kissing you, "I love you." You smiled, putting your hand on his cheek , "I love you too, Sammy."

After you guys had separated you began to look through the train station, looking everywhere for a sign of a djinn. You were trying to find something, anything that could help you to get ahead of these monsters. From behind you heard a small whisper, "Hello." You immediately whipped around, knife raised, waiting for the fucker to come near you. You circled, and then it charged. "Goodbye."

You were able to duck, and quickly stab the djinn, effectively killing it. "Goodbye, fucker." You continued to look around, with no sign of the other djinn after an hour or so you left. Pulling out your phone to call Sam, "I got one," you announced as you came out of the station. You could hear the pride in Sam's voice, "I got one too, we've finally put this bastards to rest. Pick you up in 15?" You smiled, happy to go home, "Yeah, baby, see you then."

Sam and Dean were both back at the hotel, had been sitting around for ten minutes, trying to call you over and over to no avail. Sam got up, "Alright, lets go now." Dean immediately got up, jogging behind Sam, ready to find the woman he's called family for years now.

When they arrived at the station they looked for about half an hour before coming upon a piece of paper written in blood, hello. Dean and Sam both looking at each other with a sense of horror and realization starting running, just as fast as they could. They eventually hit an intersection, a huge wall, with two knives, identical to the ones you and Sam had prepped the night before, laid neatly before them. Written above the knives in blood was one word that made Sam and Dean both want to puke.

Goodbye.

Looking further, they find your phone nearby, with ten calls from Sam and Dean each, both of them now frantic to find you. After searching the tunnels for hours, Dean finally spoke up, "We've gotta check everywhere man, we have to go back to the caves, the mines." Sam was on fire, he knew this would happen. He saw it coming and he didn't stop it. He screamed, "Y/n!" Threw his flashlight, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

You arrived back at the bunker, ready to crawl into bed and sleep for a week. The ride home was silent, almost deadly. Something definitely didn't feel right. You brushed it off and went to the room you've shared with Sam for years. Sam came in and laid down with you, pulling you close to him, "I'm glad that you made it out. I'm glad we all did." You fell asleep, jolting awake suddenly in the middle of the night, words echoing in your head, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

You felt sick, then it was gone, just as soon as it was there. Sam rubbed your back, "You okay?" You smiled at him, "Yeah, just something bothering me, not sure what it is. Something feels too easy about this." Sam chuckled, "Now you sound like me, paranoid, waiting for the danger," Sam kissed your shoulder and pulled you down to him, "it's okay, we've made it out, now let's go back to sleep."

Dean and Sam checked every inch of the caves and the mines with no sign of you. Sam slammed the car door as he ran his hands through his hair. "Sam," Dean started, "I know," he started his car, we'll find her."

A week later, you and your boys were back on the road, this time going after some vamps, no biggie, Dean even let you drive. When you found the nearest motel to the nest, you finally stopped, not realizing being the driver was very tedious, grateful to have a bed, and an actually decent one. You plopped down on the bed, sighing to yourself, as Sam pulled out the computer explaining the mission. You only heard part of it, "Old mansion about five miles away-" starting to fall asleep, "probably less than ten-" manageable, "go tomorrow morning," Sam finished, closing the computer and over to you, sliding you up the bed. "Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning Jess."

You jolted awake at that, "What?" Sam looked shocked, "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up, just trying to make room for me." You sat up completely, "What did you just say Samuel?" Dean looked over, curious what the fuss was about, "I said I was making room?" Sam looked completely confused, a little like he was afraid of something. "Before that Sasquatch." Sam chuckled, "I said I'd explain the plan tomorrow morning, for when you're awake?" You sighed, something is wrong, but you just couldn't quite place it, so you just laid back down, cuddling into Sam.

Sam and Dean went back to the wall stained with your blood the next day, the knives were now pointing a different direction, made into an arrow pointing towards the left turn they can make there. Following the trail, they started walking, shining a light on every part of the walls until they found an arrow. "Let's go," Sam starting moving faster. "Wait," Dean stopped and looked around. "This doesn't feel right," Dean sighed, "man, I don't know what to do here, they want us to go this way, it doesn't make sense." Sam's eyes frantically looked around, "Well we can't split, this has to be a trap, but at least we can fight them together." That was that and they were going to follow the trail.

When you got to the nest it seemed simple, seemed like it was in and out, hit em' while they're asleep. You couldn't have been more wrong. Dean had the front, you and Sam had the back. Dean and Sam went in, you following suit, only to see twenty vamps or more staring at you. It broke out into a brawl, heads rolling all over the floor. Panic flourished in your chest as the brawl died down and only you three were left standing. "Nobody move," you whispered, "this isn't," you sighed, "right." Dean laughed, moving forward to you, "Hell yeah it is, we just ganked a bunch of these fuckers," Dean was still laughing, wiping blood off his face, "damn, we're getting good." It only took you a second to register it, weak boards, "No!" You reached out for Dean, but it was too late, he went straight through the floor.

You screamed, Sam rushing to find stairs, you staying above Dean, who was impaled by several planks of wood. "Hold on, brother," you started crying, "we're coming." Dean started to say something, but he couldn't, then you saw it, a vamp. Coming out of the darkness, relentlessly feeding on Dean. You couldn't breathe, "Sam! There's another one!" Sam hollered something back, then you hear it from behind you, a sense of familiarity, "Hello."

Sam and Dean had checked every single door on the left turn. Wasted so much time trusting that the djinn had left a trap that would lead straight back to you. When they realized they had no further to go, they started sprinting, realizing that this was a distraction, likely to have more time to kill you.

You woke up tied to a chair, Sam planted in front of you. "Well," a vamp coming out of the darkness revealed himself, "I wake up to find all of my brothers and sister dead! How do you suppose I punish you two?" The vamp hummed, another coming out of the darkness, whispering something in his ear. A vile laugh came out of the vamps mouth before biting into his wrist and walking to Sam. You started screaming, jerking around, trying anything to get him to stop. He laughed and laughed as Sam ingested the blood. After he felt like it was enough, he hit Sam, hard enough that he was out cold. He then untied him, clearly wanting to force Sam to feed on you, the woman he loved. The second vamp walked past you, not saying a word, the first one walked by you slowly, grazing his claw against your neck, barely cutting you. "Goodbye."

All of a sudden you couldn't breathe. Remembering the station with the djinn.

From behind you heard a small whisper, "Hello." You immediately whipped around, knife raised, waiting for the fucker to come near you. You circled, and then it charged. "Goodbye." A hand on your neck, and you're out.

It clicked.

The ride home was silent, almost deadly. Something definitely didn't feel right.

Words echoing in your head, "Y/n! Come back to me!"

"Yeah, just something bothering me, not sure what it is. Something feels too easy about this."

Dean even let you drive.

"Don't worry, I'll tell you all about it tomorrow morning Jess."

Something is wrong, but you just couldn't quite place it, so you just laid back down.

"Nobody move," you whispered, "this isn't," you sighed, "right."

You're with the djinn, you didn't kill it. You just pissed it off. Taking a deep breath you slammed backwards, crushing your arm, causing excruciating pain, screaming and crying, "It's not real, gotta get out of here, gotta come back." You were finally able to move as you heard Sam groan. Racing for your gun and raising it to Sam, who had a sinister smile, "That won't hurt me, Y/n." You raised the gun to your head, "I will always come back to you."

Bang.

Blood curdling screams was the only thing you heard when you woke up, until you realized they were your own. Taking deep breaths, trying to gather yourself, you found a knife next to you, the one dipped in lambs blood. One of the djinns charged at you, your reflexes allowed you to slide the knife through her heart. "Goodbye, fucker." You pulled the knife out, holding it up to the second djinn.

"Stop!" He begged as you got up from the ground, "I helped you! You remember! Jess? Feeling like something just wasn't quite right?" You growled, "I don't believe you! You let me rot down here!" He put his hands up, "I helped you! She was insane, driven with rage! You have to believe me, I controlled everything there, I could only help you so quickly without her noticing! She couldn't move on from you killing our brother!" You moved closer to him, barely able to breathe, "I," another step, "don't," another step, "believe," your final step, "you."

You stood there, face to face with him for at least a whole minute, giving him every opportunity to hurt you, he barely whispered, "I don't kill people." You backed away, suddenly not knowing what to do. The door busted down next to you, you were staring at Sam and Dean, both charging at the djinn who is only looking at you, not moving a muscle.

"Stop!" You screamed before you even know what had happened, "he helped me, he doesn't kill people." Sam and Dean turning to you in disbelief, "Y/n you've been gone for days, are you insane?" You scoffed, "Maybe, but he didn't do this-" you pointed to the dead woman on the ground, "she did." Sam looked you up and down, not noticing a single ounce of harm on you, turning to the djinn he moved nose to nose.

"If I ever pick up on your trail, I will hunt you down and mutilate you into a hundred pieces." The djinn just stood there, truly scared. "Go! Get out of here right now!" You begged before you had changed your mind. He didn't need to be told twice as he scattered. "You sure that was the right call?" Dean whispered to Sam, you turned around face to face with Sam, "Yes." A simple statement, lingering in the air as you walked to Sam, gently reaching up to his face, checking his teeth. Once you realized it was really him, you hugged him, whispering lovingly, "I came back to you." Sam didn't want to let go, still so scared.

You turned to Dean, checked his teeth, his body for any injuries, nothing, a sigh of relief. Pulling him into a hug, he wrapped his arms around you, "I love you Dean, you're the best brother I never asked for." Dean chuckled in relief, "Let's go kid."

As you walked out of the station dread washed over you. You didn't feel anything. You were just...

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#supernatural fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfiction #spn fluff #spn flangst #spn angst #sam angst #sam x reader #sam x y/n #sam x you #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x sister!reader #sam fluff #sam winchester fluff #sam winchester x reader #sam winchester x y/n #tw fanfic #tw fanfiction

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juniorgman187 · 4 years

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All the Little Things (Spencer Reid Imagine)

Summary: JJ’s Season 6 departure reimagined

Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Fluff Content Warning: None Word Count: 5.1K

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was the little things.

His habit of scrunching his nose while he listened to you speak.

How he never matched his socks.

The incessant lip licking that drove you crazy.

You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment you fell in love with him. The only reasonable answer was that it was a gradual process. Over time, the more you learned about him and his little things, the more you fell for him.

You could, however, pinpoint the exact moment you realized you were hopelessly devoted to Spencer Reid.

The jet landed and everyone was awake and ready to leave - everyone, but you. For the week you’d been working on the case, you spent most of your days in the hospital interviewing the victims. Sometime during day three of visiting the hospital, you started to feel really icky. Your bones ached, you would get ferociously hot and mind-numbingly cold within a matter of minutes, you were extremely fatigued. The signs were clear as day, but still, you refused to let anyone know what was happening. You’d feel guilty if you took any attention away from the case or stopped working on it to tend to yourself. So you pushed through, and ultimately, your body paid the price of your choices.

“Y/N?” You winced at the light as you started to wake up. “We’re home.” Reid told you.

You nodded while rubbing the sleep from your eyes. You started to lift your head up from the pillow, but as soon as you managed to sit upright, you felt dizzy. Spencer immediately noticed your wobbliness and put a free hand on your cheek to steady you. The feeling of his cold hand against your hot skin shocked you and him both.

“You’re burning up.” He muttered, more as a comment to himself than to you.

You couldn’t even be bothered to explain that you were sick since you were still so caught up in what he was doing, rather than what he was saying.

His hand never left your face. He cupped your cheeks so gingerly as if he was handling priceless china. This alone made your heart race, but it didn’t stop there. The overkill came from the way he was soulfully gazing into your eyes. The only way you could describe it was like he was looking into your soul, examining every little thing. It was intimidating how vulnerable you were. You worried that he might see the love in your eyes if he looked any further, but if he did, he didn’t say anything.

And as if you didn’t have enough reasons to love the young doctor, he drove you to his apartment that night. Yes, you heard that right - he drove.

Much of the night faded into a blur from where you felt so miserable that you subconsciously wanted to block it out, but from what you could remember, Spencer was the perfect remedy for your illness. He was the cure.

That day happened two years ago. So for two years, you’d known you were in love with him, but as for how long you’d unknowingly loved him - that was unclear. It sort of scared you, too. How long had you loved him? What if you’d loved him since the first day you met? That was like centuries ago. It would be painfully pathetic to find out that you’d been in love with a man for that long and nothing ever came of it. It was just embarrassing to think about.

A loud sound startled you out of your daze.

“Jesus!” You yelped.

In front of you, Garcia dramatically thwacked a huge box onto your desk. It actually looked more like a gift judging by the way it was wrapped in wrapping paper and presented with a huge bow on the top. You moved your gaze towards Garcia, who was grinning at you expectantly.

“What’s this?” You asked, diverting your eyes back to the suspicious mystery gift momentarily.

“Open it.” Her voice had a hint of childish excitement behind it.

You did as told, trying not to completely demolish the wrapping paper because knowing Garcia, she’d probably cry if you ripped the paper excessively.

When you unveiled the gift completely, it was vaguely familiar. You’d definitely seen this before at some point in your life, but you couldn’t place where. It looked like a small wooden trunk or suitcase almost. You looked back at Garcia for approval to open it further. She nodded and motioned for you to go on, so unhurriedly, you pressed on the clasp and slowly lifted the top of the box to reveal the contents.

It was a record player.

“Oh my god!” You squealed. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You instantly pulled Garcia into a hug, bouncing up and down with her out of pure joy. “I love it! But what’d you do this for?”

“It’s your half birthday!” She delightfully replied. You laughed. Only Garcia would give you a half birthday gift.

It was funny though because you couldn’t even remember telling her that your old record player broke, but knowing her, she went through your computer searches and found that you were looking to buy a new one.

“Thank you so much.” You exclaimed once more before pulling out of the hug.

“Can I tell you a secret?” She whispered. You were too busy admiring the gift to really pay attention to what she asked, so you hummed approvingly.

“The gift isn’t mine.”

Your smile disappeared from your face and you instantly stopped touching the gift, like it was suddenly wrong to. “Wait, what?”

“I only wrapped the gift. I didn’t know your half birthday was coming up until I was asked to wrap it.” She honestly answered.

“So who remembered my half birthday?”

She broke into a cheeky grin.

“Who wouldn’t forget?”

Instinctively, your eyes darted behind you.

“Garcia!” Reid whined. “You promised you wouldn’t tell her.”

“I couldn’t help it. You know I’m not good with secrets.”

Garcia began pressing on your side to encourage you to walk toward him. She didn’t have to ask you twice because you’d already bolted to his desk. You ran into his open embrace, snaking your arms around his neck, and without hesitation, Reid hoisted you into the air, lifting you off the ground long enough to spin in a full circle. Even when he set you down, you couldn’t pull away. You needed to be in his arms for longer.

“Thank you.” You whispered into his curls. For some reason, telling him it quietly just seemed more appropriate.

“Happy half-birthday, Y/N.” He whispered back.

When you shut your eyes to take in the moment, you recalled a distant memory months ago on the jet where Reid asked you how your night was and you said it wasn't great because your record player broke. It was just a simple answer - a small, brief moment. But he remembered.

He remembered the little things.

“I can’t even believe you remembered.” You happily sighed, still clinging to him as tightly as you were at the start of your hug.

“Your half-birthday or the record player?”

“Both, I suppose.” You laughed a little, finally loosening your embrace to let him breathe. You pulled your head away from his shoulder and leaned back so you could see his face again and he did the same. You weren’t quite ready yet to let go of him entirely so you kept each of your hands on his shoulders while he unwrapped his arms and slid his hands to rest right underneath the side of your breasts. His dangerous touch sent chills down your spine.

Once again, you two were looking at each other just as you did two years ago when you were sick on the jet. Much like that night, you felt slightly dizzy just looking at him. You tried not to think about how weak your knees were and how they’d sooner buckle underneath you if he didn’t stop looking at you like that.

“You’re amazing.” You wanted to say more, but you were too lost in his eyes to find the right words to say. You waited a little longer than you would’ve liked for him to respond; it almost started feeling awkward just looking at him for so long without him saying anything back. All the while, his eyes flickered and moved rapidly from one of your eyes to the other, like he was reading you, and then, out of nowhere,

“I love you.”

Your kiddish smile faded into a frown. “What?” Did you hear him correctly?

“I love you.” He repeated. Yes, you did.

Like a reflex, you tried to alleviate the tension by saying, “I love you, too, Reid.” You said it slightly laughing to make it clear that you meant you loved him like a best friend and that you assumed he meant the same thing. “Um, thank you again for the gift.” You added, using your hands on his shoulders to push yourself away from him. You didn’t know why you did that, but maybe if you put some distance between the two of you, you’d actually be able to think or breathe.

When you drew further away from him, you couldn’t help but feel insanely guilty. He stood completely still, frozen in his place, watching you walk away from him. You actually had to turn your back to him so you wouldn’t have to look at him being so sad.

Luckily, it seemed like no one was watching the interaction, so you weren’t bombarded with questions of what just happened. You made your way through the maze of cubicles, forcing yourself not to look back at Reid and to keep walking at all costs. You didn’t have a destination in mind, but you soon realized that your feet had instinctively led you to the farthest location you knew that was on this floor - Morgan’s office. So when you walked in and shut the door behind yourself, you finally let out a breath you were holding the entire way over.

“What’s up, PYT?” That was his nickname for you. Stood for Pretty Young Thing.

You took an overly dramatic seat on his couch and buried your face in your hands out of shame.

“Whoa, are you crying?” You heard him get up from his seat, but you removed your hands from your face to prove you weren’t so he would sit back down.

“No, no. I’m not crying! I’m just -” What was the word to describe what you were feeling? “I’m just confused?” Even that word didn’t seem to sum it up.

“What’s this about?”

You groaned, realizing you definitely couldn’t tell him what just happened. “Never mind, it’s nothing.” You got up from the sofa and reached for the door handle, but Morgan objected.

“Nuh-uh. Sit your little booty back down and tell me what’s going on.” He playfully demanded.

You rolled your eyes and opened the door anyway. “I’m fine!” You declared before shutting the door behind yourself. As soon as you stepped back into the hallway, you wished you hadn’t.

Now what? What was the next move here? Go back to the bullpen and see Spencer? And then what? Talk about it? Ignore it?

You prayed for any kind of sign that would tell you what to do, and here it came.

“I need to see you in my office.” Hotch beckoned you to follow him.

Just a year ago, this ambiguous statement would’ve scared the shit out of you, but as of recently, you learned that there was no point in worrying. You could trust that Hotch just had a way of saying things really seriously, but it was never something to fear. While he led you through the bullpen, you could feel a pair of eyes on you the entire way. You kept looking straight forward so you wouldn’t have to see him, but that probably just made things much worse. Hotch opened the door for you first and shut it behind him. Little did you know, before he closed it, a grand total of six pairs of eyes were trained on the scene.

“I need you to do a custodial interview in Texas.” He calmly stated, placing a manila folder in front of you.

“Sounds good.” You took the folder and started to get up out of the seat, but Hotch put his hand on top of yours to stop you. His eyes were narrow with sternness.

Okay, now this scared you.

“When were you going to tell me about the Pentagon's promotion?”

Oh, shit. How did he find out?

“Hotch, I-”

“I have a great deal of respect for you, Y/L/N but hiding this offer from your superiors was wrong and you knew that.”

You gulped back the lump in your throat. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You’ve rejected the promotion twice, Y/L/N, and I can’t guarantee that they’ll take another no for an answer.”

“Hotch, please. I need to be here. I don’t want to work anywhere else besides the BAU. This is my home. This is my family.” You probably would’ve gotten on your knees and begged Hotch if you knew it would work.

“Unfortunately, the decision isn’t up to me.”

His words made tears prick at your eyes. You already knew what was coming even though he wasn’t outwardly saying it. You were a profiler after all.

“How much time do I have left?”

Hotch actually had to look away from your face so he wouldn't cry either.

“When you come back from the custodial interview.”

Three days. You had three days. All of these years you spent working in the BAU, and now suddenly, all you had left were three days. Three days that you weren’t even going to be spending with the team. You were going to be spending it in a jail cell talking to some serial killer. A part of you just couldn’t accept that this was the end for you. Was this really it?

“Who’s gonna tell them?” You asked with tears running down your cheeks.

Hotch’s eyes told you that was your responsibility.

“I’ll gather them in the conference room.” Hotch got up from his seat, and before leaving, he placed a loving hand on your shoulder. When the door closed behind him, you could just see the team all outside watching. You knew how badly they’d be worried if you didn’t come out of the room soon, so for the team’s sanity, you left Hotch’s office and headed straight for the round table - not looking out into the bullpen whatsoever.

By the time you made your way to the front of the round table, you heard rapid footsteps shuffling in, too.

“Everybody take a seat.” Hotch instructed, taking one himself. He left you to your own devices, standing completely alone right in front of them.

This was the first time you’d actually looked at each of them today, and you nearly broke.

Closest to you was Garcia. Behind hot pink glasses, her eyes were on the verge of spilling hot tears.

Oh, Garcia, I’m gonna miss listening to your daily gossip in the bat cave and how you smell like birthday cake every time we hug.

Next to her was Morgan. His dark brown brows were furrowed out of concern.

Morgan, you were the ultimate big brother. Thank you for protecting me and loving me like that. I don’t deserve you.

Prentiss was sitting next to him. Her jet black bangs weren’t long enough to hide her sad eyes.

Prentiss, I’ll miss your laugh and humor so, so much.

Rossi had the seat beside her. Rossi’s face was indifferent at first glance but how he was twiddling with thumbs told you he was just as nervous as the rest of them.

Rossi, you’re the grandfather I never had.

Next was Hotch, but his eyes were locked on the folder below him. He couldn’t bear to hear about your departure a second time.

Hotch, I’ll miss your smirks the most. They were so few and far between that I appreciated them all the more. Your smile was like treasure, so rare and priceless. Smile more, Hotch. Please - for me?

JJ sat beside him. Her big blue doe eyes were dilated just as they always were.

JJ, I’m gonna miss your maternal instincts and how protective and passionate you were about me. I can never thank you enough for how you’ve taken care of all of us.

And of course, the last person to look at was Reid. He was burning a hole into you from how hard he was looking at you. Reid couldn’t even be mad at you for all the things you’d done to him just before this. That’s how forgiving he was. How good his heart was.

Reid, I’m so sorry to be another person that you’ve opened your heart up to and been abandoned by. That list is far too long for someone as good as you.

You tried to fight the tears that were forcing their way to the surface. You actually had to stop looking at them because you weren’t sure you would be able to say what you needed to say if you were.

“I’ll be away in Texas for the next three days on a custodial interview . . .” You could feel the room’s atmosphere change instantaneously, which only made you feel crueler for taking the peace away from them with what you were going to say next. “But I won’t be returning.”

The room’s tenseness returned. Morgan’s eyes darted to Hotch, Prentiss and Penelope nearly stood up from their seats - don’t even get started on Reid’s reaction otherwise you’ll cry more.

“The brass promoted me and the Pentagon is expecting me as soon as I’m back from Texas.”

Immediately, loud objections and protests came from the room. Most of them were directed at Hotch. He tried to settle down the commotion, but it was no use. Everyone was raging. After Hotch explained how he couldn’t have prevented this and neither could you, everyone got quiet and turned their attention back to you.

“So that’s it? You’re leaving?” Tears cascaded down Penelope’s cheeks as she asked you this.

You couldn’t give her a verbal answer that would suffice, so you simply nodded.

“What are we gonna do without you?” JJ sounded so hopeless. You’d never heard her sound so forlorn.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for what Reid said next. “They can’t just take you away.”

Your lip started to quiver. “I won’t stop fighting to be back here with you guys. I promise this isn’t the end.” You tried to assure them, but they were beyond help. They were absolutely devastated.

“How did this happen?” Morgan huffed in disbelief.

“They can’t just take you away.” Reid repeated once more before walking out of the room.

“Spencer!” You yelled.

“He probably just needs some time. Frankly, I think we all do.” Prentiss made known.

You felt just awful for doing this to them, but like the resilient team you knew they were, they bounced back and focused on the matter at hand.

You were leaving.

Penelope of course was the first to hug you. You could feel her tears falling onto your shoulder and you sighed.

Please, God, give her the strength to carry on after this.

Next was Morgan. Oh, how you’d miss his hugs.

Don’t be afraid of change, Morgan. Have faith in the person that comes in after me. I know it’s hard for you to trust but do it anyway. Do it for me.

After him was Prentiss. She hadn’t let any tears fall just yet, but her bittersweet smile told you she’d deal with her emotions later.

Prentiss, you’ll never understand just how many times you’ve helped me with your playful banter, but don’t hide behind your humor. Be okay with showing weakness sometimes. You don’t need to be strong all the time.

After her was Rossi. He smiled with true joy. Knowing Rossi, he was actually happy for you and this promotion.

Rossi, keep the team alive when I’m gone. They need your joy. It’s the only way we’ve survived for this long and it’s the only way they’ll survive from now on, too.

Hotch was next in line. He gave a solemn hug just as you expected he would.

Hotch, I want you to know that you do not have to be serious to be strong. You’re the natural leader of this unit just as you are. You don’t need to be stern to prove that.

JJ was last. You could hear her sniffling in your ear.

Oh JJ. I know you feel like it’s your job to take care of this team, but you should take care of yourself more often. Or at the very least, let Will take care of you. You’re carrying the weight of this world, so don’t be afraid to ask for help.

You wiped the sadness from your face and gave one last look at the team in its (almost) entirety.

“I’ll miss you guys, but this isn’t goodbye.” You promised.

They all nodded.

“So I’ll you all soon, okay?” These were your final parting words before walking out of the conference room for what you hoped wasn’t your last time. Your heart grew heavy as you saw Spencer’s desk empty. You’d just have to find a way to say goodbye to him eventually.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You were on the train home from Texas. The impending doom of it being the last day before you moved onto the Pentagon loomed over your head.

Spencer hadn’t reached out in the past three days, so you still had to figure out a way to tell him goodbye. The only gesture that seemed fitting was a letter.

Dear Spencer,

I’ve known and loved you since the beginning of time, but if I recount every memory we’ve made since then - my hand will fall off, my pen will fade, and you’ll roll your eyes at every memory I’m retelling incorrectly. You probably remember everything right down to the littlest detail.

All the little things.

I hope you never lose that quality about you. People can say you remember certain things because of your eidetic memory, but I think it’s because some memories are so good that you can’t forget them. It’s the same with me. That’s why so many of my memories are of you. You make up most of my good memories. That’s why I’ll never forget you.

What’s the fondest memory you have of us? Mine has to be when we were working on the case in San Francisco. Hotch sent us to the hospital to talk with the victims, and we got lost. I still laugh whenever I think about how mad you were that the hospital signs were leading us to all the wrong places. You’d never gotten lost in your life mainly because of your intelligence pertaining to geography and maps, so it made you all the more frustrated. I think you got so mad at one point, a vein in your forehead starting popping. Somewhere along the wild goose chase, we ended up in the well-baby nursery, and it was probably like some sign from God, because it instantly calmed you down. Because if you yelled or freaked out, you’d wake up the babies and how could you get mad in the presence of such cute creatures? There was one baby in particular that we both noticed. I said he looked like you, and you said he looked like me. We looked at each other as soon as we said it and burst into laughter. Could you imagine our baby, Spence? Because I could. After that day, that’s probably the one thing I could think about for weeks, but slowly the ridiculous thought escaped my mind, when I started thinking about your baby. That’d be the luckiest child in the world no doubt. You’ll be such a good dad, Reid. You have this natural quality in you that cares for people wholeheartedly. You’re so perceptive when it comes to other people’s pain - it’s like a sixth sense of some sort - and you do everything you can to make things better. You’ve got the biggest heart in that small little body. So don’t be afraid to shower the person that replaces me with as much love as you showered me in. You have a huge heart for a reason. Don’t waste it.

Now I know I don’t have an eidetic or even a photographic memory, but I also know that I will never forget you. Because how could I?

I’ll always remember us, Spence.

I’ll remember how you would read to me.

I’ll remember the magic tricks you taught me after spending months of begging.

I’ll remember every costume you’d ever worn since I’ve known you.

I’ll remember everything. Every. Little. Thing.

With Love,

Y/N

When you finished writing, the train arrived at your stop. You left with a huge grin plastered on your face.

Things were gonna be just fine.

It was late at night when you arrived, so you knew that no one would be in the office while you were there, which was actually the more ideal option. It made it easier to leave. When you reached Spencer’s desk, you took an envelope, signed his name on it, slipped the note into the pocket, and tucked it safely within pages of a book you grabbed off his desk.

You walked around to your desk and grabbed the box that Penelope helped pack. The desk was barely recognizable now that it was bare of anything that proved you were once there.

This was really it. This was the end.

Breathing a heavy sigh, you lightly pat the desk almost as a way of saying, “I’ll be back.”

With one last look at the bullpen, Hotch’s office, Rossi’s office, and the round table room, you were on your way out.

That’s when lights flickered on, shocking you. It wasn’t the regular fluorescent lighting overhead - no, they were small lights attached to a string lying on the floor. They looked like a mix between Christmas lights and fairy lights. It was actually kind of cute, sort of whimsical even. Uncertain of what was happening, your heartbeat accelerated.

You turned around to see that the fairy lights formed a sort of pathway that led you to somewhere. Still unsure of whether or not you should be scared or happily surprised, you followed the lights with caution. They zigzagged through the cubicles and rested along the railing of the stairs and the balcony right in front of Rossi and Hotch’s office. You followed them all the way to where they stopped - the conference room. With hesitation, you slowly turned the doorknob.

“SURPRISE!”

Confetti flew everywhere, nearly distorting the sight of everyone standing there.

“What is this?”

“You didn’t think we’d let you leave without a proper goodbye now did you?” Rossi teased, pulling you into a hug. That’s when you noticed the giant “Bon Voyage” sign.

This was a going away party.

You went through all the rest of the hugs, including Spencer this time. His hug was longer than the others, but no one seemed to argue against it.

“I looked up when your train was arriving, and Boy Wonder did the math to figure out when you’d be arriving so I could program the lights to turn on at a specific time, Rossi made the food, Prentiss and JJ got the decoration, and Derek and Sir Hotch laid out all the lights.” Garcia gleefully explained.

“How did you know I’d come here?”

“We knew you couldn’t leave without seeing everything one last time.” Prentiss answered.

“I really hope this isn’t the last time, though.” Morgan added.

You felt the exact same way, and from the looks of everyone in the room, they all hoped it too.

“Alright, alright, enough of this - let’s eat!” Rossi declared.

Sayings like, ‘Yes, please,’ and ‘I’m starving,’ came from the mouths of the attendees as they began diving into the food. You all happily indulged in Rossi’s Italian creations. Peaceful chatter filled the room. It was just like a dinner party at Rossi’s, but it was better.

It was at your home.

“So I couldn’t help but notice you left something on my desk.” Reid smirked, pulling you away from the group to have a separate conversation.

“Well, it’s not as good as a record player, but it’s my gift to you.”

He smiled and looked away briefly. “I, uh, I’m sorry about walking out the other day.”

“Don’t be. If anything, I should be apologizing to you. I shouldn’t have made things weird after . . .” You weren’t yet comfortable referring to Reid’s big ‘I love you,’ so you didn’t say it at all.

“Yeah about that,” When he said this, you already started mentally preparing yourself for him to tell you that it was just a spur of the moment thing or that he meant that he loved you like a friend. “I meant what I said,” That wasn’t what you were expecting. “And I don’t expect you to say it back, but I needed you to know it. I do love you and I regret not saying it more often.” You could tell Reid was holding back tears because of the trembling in his voice.

He wished he’d told you he loved you while you still had time, and you wished the same.

In the past two years, you’d thought about this exact moment where Spencer would profess his love for you, but you couldn’t have imagined that it’d be when you were just about to leave the only job you’ve ever loved.

The very job that brought you two together.

How could something so lovely be born out of something so sad like saying goodbye?

Or was that the lesson in this?

That even in darkness, there’s a beacon of light.

That even in despair, there’s hope.

That even with all the hate and pure evil you see in the world doing this job, there’s still love.

And when you find that light, or hope, or love, that you should never let it go, because it is the only thing that makes the darkness, or despair, or evil worth enduring.

Maybe that was the lesson.

So Dr. Reid,

This is my confession.

As dark as I am,

I will always

find enough light

to adore you to pieces,

with all of my pieces.

All of my little pieces.

After years in the making, you finally worked up the courage to ask him, “Can we go out for lunch sometime? Just us two?”

A grin crept onto his face.

“It’s a date.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

PART 2 HERE!

“This is my confession. As dark as I am, I will always find enough light to adore you to pieces, with all of my pieces.” - Johnny Nguyen

#fluff #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds one shot #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds drabble

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oftenderweapons · 4 years

Text

The Studio - Namjoon

Pairing: Namjoon x reader (nicknamed Vixen)

Wordcount: 9.7k words

Genre: smut, angst, fluff

Rating: 18+

I told you I’d be back really soon ;) Tonight there’s a lot on schedule! I’ve been working on this piece for two weeks, since it carries a lot for both Namjoon and Vixen, emotionally speaking. It means a lot for me too, since to me it was truly a challenge in terms of the different levels of knowledge that Joon, y/n and the narrator hold. I think I’ve grown a lot in terms of writing even from Tiktok Towel Trick, which I wrote last May, but I’m really proud of myself comparing to what I used to produce a couple years ago.

Now, let me introduce this fic. The piece takes place two or three months after the two have started sleeping together (ideally late January or February). In this piece Vixen visits Joon at the studio after a bad fight and Joon’s self-imposed isolation. The two feel like they’ve come to a dead-end as they wait for the other person to cut ties. Namjoon is suffocated by his job, his tendency to lash out at his closest ones when he’s stressed and his previous traumas; Vixen is locked in her head, shut out by Namjoon and repeatedly accused of infidelity, as a sign of Namjoon’s lack of trust. Will the two manage to work things out?

Description and trigger warnings: The piece was written referring to Namjoon’s Rkive as in his vlive log. There is ANGST. Loads. There is some crying and it is not Vixen’s. Longing and miscommunication. In terms of filth: so much dirty talking the walls exude holy water by now. Unprotected sex (STAY SAFE GUYS!!!!!!!!), DDLG/daddy kink, Masturbation paired up with Voyeurism and Exhibitionism, Fetishism (Shoes, tights and lingerie), Oral (female receiving), Cumplay (eating), Marking, Spanking, Angsty doggy fucking followed by a very soft ride on the sofa. That should be all. Fluff alarm: Namjoon doesn’t want to lose his little fox and Vixen just wants to cuddle her big teddy bear Joon.

Wordcount: 9.7k

Here is my masterlist

Enjoy!!!

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

Standing in the main corridor of the studios felt very strange. You looked around, uncomfortable, while the receptionist at your side stared at you, waiting. "Don't worry, he's busy all the time. We can wait, no big deal." The fact that you'd been greeted by Namjoon's driver at the entry desk had helped you get to the studios unannounced. "That boy always gets caught up on something. He shouldn't make you wait." He tutted, looking at you with a kind smile.

"____? What are you doing here?" Taehyung smiled at you brightly, close behind him Hoseok and Yoongi approached with heavy-looking bags on them.

"Oh, hi. I sort of stopped by for Namjoon." You bit your lip, smiling embarrassedly.

"He's still in his room. I can show you the way." Taehyung said, grinning.

Yoongi seemed to be observing him closely while Hoseok looked absolutely oblivious.

"No, I only have to give him this." You showed them two small bags, one containing food and the other a few things he had left at your place.

You tried not to let your heartbreak show.

"Maybe you could bring them to him, I don't want to distract him."

You smiled but you felt the tears welling up.

Yoongi's glance moved to you. It felt scorching. "I think you should bring those to him. I think he'd like to see you." His serious tone made you realise that maybe he did know what was happening. Maybe he did know better.

"I think he'd rather not see me right now." Your lips tightened in a thin line.

Both the guys turned to Yoongi. "Go, I'll see you tomorrow."

They both patted him on the shoulder and waved at you, Taehyung hugging you close. "It'll be alright. I'll see you."

Taehyung smiled at you, his cute cheeks popping upwards. Maybe it had to do with the fact that you had just granted him an exclusive piece by one of his favourite photographers. Maybe he was just friendly, maybe he simply liked you because he deemed you a decent human being.

Right at his heels, Hoseok gave you a cute wave, saying bye-bye in a cartoonish voice.

Beside you, Yoongi shook his head, still sporting a fond smile. "Uhm, I never know whether I should introduce myself. Anyway, we've never met before, so– I'm Yoongi. " He said with a tiny smile, his cheeks jumping upwards.

You introduced yourself with a small bow.

"You are just like he described you. He talks about you a lot." He commented. You blushed, almost feeling like dissolving into thin air. You never thought you would meet his friends like this.

Yoongi looked at your face. "You're exactly his type — in the best way possible." He blushed. "Let's go." He said, leading you. "I actually want to say a few things." He threw his bag on the floor, getting comfortable on the sofa in the common room. "How are you doing?"

You stared at your feet. "Decent enough."

"I'll be honest, ____. He hasn't been doing good. Not even decent, in my opinion." Yoongi announced, as if trying to prepare you for what you were going to see. "I feel like telling you a couple things about him. He can be hot-headed, and an absolute pain in the ass. He is a perfectionist, and a terrifically clumsy one at that." Yoongi huffed out. "He holds himself to extremely high standards and punishes himself whenever he feels like he's not delivering. And he has the horrible tendency to lash out when he's stressed. He just takes it all out on those who are closest to him." Yoongi patted the spot at his side, inviting you to sit. "I'll be inappropriate, maybe, but I have to say it. You don't have to stay at his side."

The sentence was like a slap to your face. It had never come to your mind to part ways with him.

"You don't have to put yourself through his tempers and tantrums. You need to be ready to handle those emotionally. If you aren't, I don't think you'll be able to go for the long run." Yoongi looked at you in the eye. "Sorry if I overstepped, usually people come to me to talk, I'm not used to giving unsolicited advice." He blushed and laced his fingers together, laying them on his thighs.

"I don't want to let go of him, Yoongi." You confessed.

"Then you should go bring this stuff to him in person. And remember, you don't have to be his therapist. If you want, you can be his partner, walk by his side, but it's not your duty to carry him." The man was incredibly smart and thoughtful. And sensitive. The more you got to know him, the more you understood Namjoon's adoration for him.

"Thank you so much." You bowed your head briefly, placing your palm on top of his hands.

He moved one on top of yours, patting gently. "Let's go find your grumpy bear, uh?"

With a groaned "aigoo" He pushed himself up, standing on his feet like an old man before bending to catch the strap of his bag. "This way."

He led you through the winding corridors until you recognised the door to Namjoon's studio. "Go on. Knock politely and be smart. Discuss. Negotiate. Compromise. And be kind to each other." He gave you the official salute and left.

You found yourself staring at the door, wondering if he'd roar at you for interrupting him.

The room sounded quiet.

You counted to three. Knocked.

"Come in." Said his voice with a weak rumble. He was probably distracted.

His studio was warm and welcoming, if a bit clustered. The lights were low and yellowy, coming from his desk and contrasting with the white gleam of his computer screen, still you could see everything perfectly in the slight penumbra, your eyes perusing your surroundings. It was easy to see why his apartment felt like a hotel room: he barely spent time there while this place really felt like home. It felt like stepping into his soul. Small sculptures and toys and collectibles were neatly lined in his bookcase together with some books. Then the baby shoes. Art catalogues. Candles. Art. A drape too big for the wall, but still there, a painting, probably from Yoongi, since you vaguely recognised his style. On the back wall, you noticed two drapes embroidered in traditional patterns. The floor was covered in thick cream carpets with geometric prints that reminded you of tribal symbols. And sweet lord, that was his wooden, swoon-worthy, customised low table, matching with the piece by the door holding one of his bonsai. A comfy couch with a fluffy, warm blanket, and embroidered pillows. You were mesmerised. You didn't have time to take it all in, your glance running from the upright piano to the microphone standing beside his chair. He didn't turn around, he kept staring at the screen, typing every now and then. His beautiful desk was crowded with stationery, electronic devices, a keyboard and all kinds of knicknacks.

"What is– oh. Hi." His expression was ice-cold.

"Hi. I was passing by, I wanted to bring you some stuff you'd left at mine."

His heart froze. This is the end then.

He'd been avoiding it for almost two weeks, hiding from you in his studio, even though the only things he could write were heartbreaking blue rhymes that had Jimin and Jeongguk exchanging pitying glances.

The beginning of this tragedy was almost comedic in its stupid futility. It was just him incapable of perfecting a pre-chorus. A dumb verse or something. He had called you, talked it out but apparently all he did was just turn down your ideas and suggestions, snapping at you until you exhaustedly told him that you were tired and needed some sleep. He took that as you umpteenth sign that you didn't care about him — which you both knew was entirely wrong — and caused a huge fight which ended on you telling him to go fuck himself, at which he unceremoniously replied that he was okay with that since you were clearly already fucking someone else.

You didn't bother correcting him, since no matter how many times you told him, he always seemed to get back at you being unfaithful and uncaring. You were done justifying yourself, apologising for things you had never done.

"Uhm. I also brought you some food. I didn't know if you had already eaten."

He looked at you like you had finally lit a candle in a dark and cold room.

Your heart broke some more. You asked yourself if there was any more breaking to do, at this point.

You figured there was the moment you heard his hoarse voice speak. "Let's eat together."

You didn't have the guts to deny him.

You laid the bags on the small table and took off your coat. He stood on his feet immediately, crossing the room in a few broad steps and hugging you to his chest.

Let it hurt. You told yourself. It heals faster like that.

His palms settled at your waist and his eyes closed. He breathed you in. He had never felt something really end. His exes were like a song slowly slipping into a diminuendo until they became silence. His interest burned out, his curiosity simply died down and the feelings never seemed to grow fully. They felt like a balloon which was never supposed to be blown that big. This thing with you was like a song being stopped mid-chorus, silence biting in where it wasn't supposed to be. Is this what the end feels like? He asked himself as he held you tighter, one of his hands climbing up and burrowing into your hair. He pressed your face into his chest, where his heartbeat was so strong and so loud that you asked yourself if you could somehow amplify it, if your body could register it and replay it once you were alone in your bed, mourning over this. "You feel taller." He said, noticing how your forehead reached his lips instead of slotting under his jaw.

"I still have my heels on." You replied.

"Wanna take 'em off?" He asked.

You shook your head. "No, if that's not a problem.

He breathed out heavily. He interpreted your refusal as a sign that first, you were keeping your tough-woman shield up — which he couldn't blame you — and second, you weren't intending to stay long.

You tried to part yourself from him. "One more second, little Vixen. Just a second." He whispered.

You allowed him.

"Come on, dinner is getting cold." You said softly.

He didn't let you go, he simply loosened his grip and dragged you to the sofa. He was willing to keep you as close as he could until you ripped the bandaid off, unraveling this small spell that had turned his life into a perfect, dreamlike snowball.

Sitting on the sofa, he made you sit beside him, your side sticking to his from shoulder to hip to knee to ankle.

It was all too much but you didn't have the strength to part from him. He bent down and opened the small boxes.

It was fried chicken.

Like the first time at his place, at two am, naked in his bed after he had owned you in every way that mattered.

He loved fried chicken. And now it would always mean you to him.

No chimaek after fucking with anyone else. He wanted to keep it for you, in case one day you decided to come back, and he would say he had never done that with anyone else, that he had been waiting for you. Because some part of him told him that you would come back.

Both your brains were going on the same path, already mourning someone who was right there in that moment, but already felt so far away. The room was quiet but both your minds were screaming, thinking so loud that the silence was welcome.

"I got you fried chicken. I know you love it."

I love you, his brain replied. But his mouth stayed silent. It was too late anyway.

"Thank you." He said brusquely. He reprimanded himself for sounding so harsh.

"It's okay." You said quietly, using the lid to grab a couple pieces out of the ten or so. You didn't feel like eating and he always ate two thirds of the box anyway.

He exchanged one of your wings for a leg. "You prefer the leg." He said with a shy smile, trying to make up for the coldness he had shown previously.

You had been sleeping with Namjoon for three months now, spending all your spare time together at his place, sometimes moving in for the weekend, the both of you leaving your job early so you could spend Friday afternoon together and go on small dates. He usually had his schedule on Saturdays and Sundays too, so it wasn't uncommon for you to spend several hours alone at his place. You had made small improvements, making his house feel more like a home with small handmade crafts. And when he came back, you would usually try to keep it chill but eventually you ended up in bed, or on the sofa, or the kitchen counter. Or the carpet on the corridor leading to his bedroom. Or the shower. Let's just say that you would be all over each other.

You thought how different it would be now, and how difficult it would be to get him out of your system.

"How is it going." You asked quietly after you swallowed your first bite.

"Tough. I'm polishing some stuff, but this is the part where I doubt everything and want to rewrite all of it." He explained, his fingers gripping the chicken with a precision and finesse that reminded you of his delicate, careful side.

"You'll get through it. You're a pro by now. And I'm sure you have excellent taste. You know what you want and you'll find your way to it." You praised him, rubbing your shoulder against him since your fingers were dirty.

He leaned his head on your shoulder, shrinking down to reach you. "Thank you."

The more time passed, the more you realised he still hadn't said sorry for what he had implied during that phone call.

"That's okay."

"How have you been doing?" He asked, trying not to let his worry show. It still showed, though.

You decided on being honest. "I've been missing you."

He paused eating. "I've been missing you too." He put down the chicken, using the ball of his wrists to press against his temples. "I'm sorry about what I said that day. I know my past relationships and nerves are not valid excuses for how I treated you, but I got swallowed in those and I dragged you in."

You looked at the leg and finished munching on it, stripping the bone of the last few strings of meat. You put down the naked bone, licking your fingers. "You never talked about your most recent ex." You commented.

He picked up his head. "To put it simply, I was her side piece." He said, plainly. "She was getting married to someone else. And she messed around with me." He looked at his feet. "At the beginning I didn't know. It lasted around eight months, as she was waiting for her fiancé to finish his military service. After I discovered it, we kept going for a couple weeks, but I found the whole thing so upsetting and disgusting that we parted ways. Her fiance forgave her and they got married a while ago, a few weeks before I met you." He snickered sarcastically. "I even sent them flowers."

You blinked distractedly. "Joon, I'm so sorry, baby." You brushed your forehead against his arm.

"It's cool. I mean, it's not since I'm still traumatised by it. I've been talking about it with my analyst, but it's been a while since I last went, almost three weeks, because this project had been swallowing me whole — after chewing me a little, clearly." He had his exhausted laugh on.

You felt like you needed to talk about the whole story about that girl, but right now he didn't seem in the right mindset to do that. For now, knowing that he knew he had a bias and he was tackling the issue with a therapist was enough.

"Have you been sleeping, babe?" All the breaking up was momentarily suspended. There was something to save here. You had a lot you still wanted to save from this.

He seemed relieved when you called him that. Don't get your hopes up. He shook his head. "A couple hours at a time. Small naps when I'm tired."

"Okay, so once you're done eating, we're gonna take a good, long nap."

He didn't want to sleep though. He wanted to hold you close, kiss you, make sure that he did everything he could to make you stay. The meal continued quietly, and as soon as you were fed he asked you about your job, how it was going, if you had any new clients or if you had met any new artists. You replied to each question fully, telling him about curious accidents and little inconveniences.

And he listened. He had missed your voice and it felt good to listen to someone who wasn't himself or the boys' voices over speakers and headphones.

As you were both done with dinner, he guided you to the bathroom, standing behind you as you washed your hands. He took some soap, foaming it up between his hands before he caught your left palm within his, pressing and rubbing them together to clean you up. And then he laced his fingers with yours, lathering your digits in bubbles and making sure that the sticky sauce from the chicken disappeared completely. He moved to the other hand as you laid your head against his chest at his collarbone, tipping it back so you could stare at him. You were sure you had never adored someone this much. He turned slightly to look at you, smiling softly. He bent down and pressed his lips to yours gently. No man, no person in the world had ever touched you or kissed you like he has. No one has ever talked to you like him, showed you their world like he has. He reluctantly parted from your lips.

He led your joined hands to close the tap, moving to the hand dryer. It felt all too intimate.

"Joon."

"Let's get back to my studio, yeah?" He whispered in your ear. You nodded.

He laced his hand with yours.

Once you reached the studio, he quietly dragged you to the sofa, pulling at your arm so that you fell with your ass on his lap. He hugged you again. "I am so sorry about what I said. You have told me countless times that I'm the only one."

"You hurt me, Namjoon." You said quietly.

It felt like a slap, his full name.

"Let me make it right." He kissed your cheek and your eyes fell shut. "I want you."

And you wanted him too. You thought yourself crazy for wanting a man so complicated, someone who had disrespected you, who had repeatedly and blatantly demonstrated his lack of trust towards you. Still, when you needed reassurance, affection and devotion, your bodies always came into play, talking with a language so simple and obvious to each other that you simply nodded, whispering "I want you too."

With his index finger he turned your head, kissing you square on the lips and forcing you to part them, his tongue sweeping in your mouth, making your head spin with the intimacy and intensity of it all.

Let him take you, if that would reassure him that you only thought about him, you wanted only him and no one else.

His free hand curled around your thigh, climbing up under the tight knee-length dress you were wearing. The woolen grey number was the first thing to come off as he tugged it over your head and off his way. "You're so gorgeous," He murmured painfully, looking at you and taking in every small detail. "A work of art, little Vixen." He kissed your shoulder.

You smiled shyly, trying to straddle his waist. He toyed with the lace covering your breasts and nipples, teasing them with his fingers until they pressed hard against the fabric. Next he fooled around with the waistband of your tights, making you stand between his legs as he dragged the nylon down your thighs and calves. He stared at your feet, where the garment bunched up, noticing your black stilettos. "Off." He whispered, tapping his foot against yours. Once you took off the shoes, he bent down to help your feet out of your tights. He bit your leg harshly, leaving a mark behind. "Heels on again, Vixen."

Smiling darkly, you slipped them back on, shivering a little, but so happy to wear your favourite black lace set and stilettos for him.

"Walk for me?" He asked, making you put on a little show.

And God, did you enjoy it. His jaw went slack at the Brazilian cut of your panties, exposing to his hungry eyes the perfect curve of your ass, the way it swelled fully before meeting with the back of your thigh.

That was his favourite place to bite. And spank.

You did a small catwalk with your back to him, reaching his chair, which you turned around from his desk to the sofa. Facing the chair, you bent forward, your thumbs catching the fabric of your panties at your sides and pushing them down as you bent forward, offering him the whole panorama.

He groaned. "I'm gonna get an heart attack, baby."

You smiled at him viciously over your shoulder, letting your lower piece of underwear fall to the floor. Next you dragged your full palm up the curve of your ass, smacking it playfully as your fingers made their way to the clasp of your bra.

"You're gonna kill me, Vixen." He cried out.

Bra undone, you let both strings fall down your shoulders, removing one side first and letting the garment dangle from the other side, making your arm fall and drop the delicate lace ordeal.

Your smile disappeared in an innocent pout when you turned around, completely naked except for your shoes.

"I'm gonna sit here." You announced, waiting for his approval.

He nodded eagerly. "Make yourself comfy, Vixen."

You sat down, crossing your legs and propping your elbows on your knees. Shyness was not a word in your vocabulary in that moment. Your only intention was that of distracting him from whatever it was that was mauling his brain.

"Are you going to make me wait, Joon." You teased demandingly.

He stared at you, meeting your glance. "Stay there and sit still." He ordered before grabbing the hem of his sweater and pushing it upwards, taking off both sweater and undershirt in the process. His upper body appeared, a bit skinnier than two weeks ago but maybe it was just the distance and the slouching position. His sweatpants were taut around his lap and you bit your lip as your eyes traced the outline of his length. He laid his palm there, stroking himself over the cotton. "Missed you so much, baby." He groaned and huffed. His eyes closed, his hand grew tense, stronger and heavier. Licking your lips, you kept staring at him, squeezing your thighs as he touched himself for you.

He was hot, all the time, but this… This felt like a fever dream. You were soaked. Thank god his chair was leather and it could be cleaned easily.

He moaned your name, his eyes struggling to open enough to look at you. His voice was so deep and needy, mixed with heavy huffs. "Namjoon." You whined.

He opened his eyes fully, his hand coming to a halt. It was like a cold shower. He was reminded why you were doing this, why you had come to this, the sudden distance that had come within the two of you. "What is it, baby?"

You pushed your ass against the chair, looking for friction. "Come here. Touch me." You begged.

It pained him seeing you so needy and whiny and stressed. "Listen to me, baby thing. Listen very carefully." He wanted to reassure you but he couldn't come to you. "I need you to touch yourself, little one. Can you do that for me? I promise I'll touch you after you cum, baby, but I want to see you first." He asked, palming himself again.

You licked your lips. "Can I?" You questioned innocently, placing your palm on your thigh, your fingertips grazing your crotch.

"You can, doll. Do it for me." He growled, pushing his fingers under his waistband, grabbing his hard on at the base and stroking it as you parted your legs, exposing your wetness. You were beautiful, naked on his chair, dragging your middle finger along your dripping slit. Your other hand grabbed your breast.

"You're a vision, Vixen. You're magnificent, pretty thing."

"I want your tongue, daddy." You mewled, your finger dipping inside, emerging covered in glossy wetness.

He groaned, taking his cock out of his pants, moving the waistband to his thighs. “I’m gonna eat you later, pretty doll. I’ve been starving for weeks for that sweet cunt of yours.” His erection immediately sprung up, arching to his belly button, the lower tendon looking so inviting along that thick vein that always had him throwing his head back whenever you traced it with the tip of your front teeth. As your fingers met your clit, eliciting a whine from your throat, he used four fingers to press on the vein, his thumb already playing with the tip. His hands always looked incredible whenever he used them on himself, strong fingers and spidery tendons making the vision sinfully erotic. However, he was lost in you as much as you were lost in him, his lips parted, his breath panting while you opened your legs wider, using two fingers in small upward circles that teased the underside of your clit. You felt a chill run down your spine, your legs trembling and closing a little with an involuntary reflex. You giggled at that, closing your eyes and moving your grip to the armrest of the chair. Your upper body inched forward a little and your hand stopped.

“Too much, babygirl?” He asked and you smiled brightly, nodding.

You’re gonna miss it, the way she smiles when you’re doing it right, his brain reminded him and as a way to shut it up, he stroked himself faster, with more pressure, his spare hand brushing his abdomen and moving upwards, spreading over his pectoral, scratching the skin there before his thumb and forefinger curved around the base of his neck, pressing there.

You observed the motion, unpausing the movement between your thighs and humming as he gave you his desperate stare, the one that meant that he couldn’t take it anymore, that he was on the verge of it and even the smallest addition to the current situation would have him screaming and cumming.

“Joonie, lemme get close. Cum in my mouth, Joon, please.” You whined.

“No, naughty girl. Stay there and cum for daddy.” He groaned. “Come on, baby, I’m waiting for you.” He said, with a harsh and strained command.

Arching your neck, you started moving faster, opening your legs as far as the armrests allowed, but they only allowed an inch more than what you already had. Huffing with disappointment, you closed them and propped the back of your right knee on top of the armrest and repeated the gesture with your left leg, spreading yourself wide, almost hitting a split with your legs bent at the knees.

“God, you’re the dirtiest. You stretching it out for me? You’re so good, showing daddy how wet you are for him.” He teased, using that raspy voice that he knew always drives you insane.

With short, quick breaths you brought yourself closer and closer to the edge. “Daddy, please, keep talking to me.”

His hand slowed down. “Need to hear my voice, babygirl?”

You nodded and he snickered. “Then I’ll talk to you, little one. You know what I’m gonna do after you cum? I’m gonna crawl to you and kneel between those wondrous legs of yours. I’m gonna push your ass to the edge of the seat and feast on you like I’m trying to die eating that pussy. And do you know what you’re gonna do, Vixen?” He provoked.

You shook your head. “What am I going to do, daddy?” You questioned innocently, your words stumbling a few times as your breath got stuck somewhere in your throat.

“Oh, little fox, you’re gonna grab my hair and push that lovely cunt on my lips and tongue, fucking my face so hard and fast, pressing your sexy heels on my naked shoulders. I want to hear you gasp for air because I make you cum so good you forget to breathe, you forget how to speak.”

“Joon, I’m cumming.” You cried out, your legs starting to quiver and your clit getting too sensitive to stand the movement of your fingers, slipping them inside and pushing them in slow circles around your cervix.

His fingers moved back to the tip, the other hand massaging his balls. “Take it, Vixen, that’s it baby. I’m cumming, ____.” He moaned your name, spilling his release on his lower stomach.

You were still staring at each other with your chests heaving, eyes wild, hands stained by your pleasure. It was always the two of you. Always getting caught up in each other, always getting tangled in each other's fantasies with this constant lust pulling you in and never having enough. You wondered when the hunger would stop, when you would grow tired of his insecurity and possessiveness, when he would find out you're too kinky, too needy, too fucked up for a busy man like him to handle.

He cleaned his hand with one of the unused paper towels from dinner, crumbling it and throwing it in the box with the garbage from dinner.

"Joonie." You whispered, waiting.

"Coming, baby fox." He replied, standing up and taking off his sweatpants and boxers, walking straight to you. You closed your legs, a bit cold and embarrassed now that your high was over. Standing right in front of you, he cupped your cheek, making you look up at his face, however, even though your head was tipped back, aimed at his eyes, your glance hung low, staring at the droplets smearing his abdomen. "What are you looking at, spoiled little fox?" He said, with a sardonic smile.

"I wanna lick."

He grinned and scooped some liquid with his digit, bringing it to your lips.

Parting your lips, you licked your lower one first, then you let your tongue dart out and swipe at his finger, carefully sucking it into your mouth before he lowered his eyes, staring into yours and smirking seducingly as he pulled his digit out. You smacked your lips and savoured his taste, your eyelids falling shut as you hummed at his flavour.

His cock, once half soft, was now hardening again, swelling intermittently and slowly rising to his navel. But Namjoon's eyes were focused on your face. "Want more?" He asked once your eyes opened and your gaze focused on his face. With a sex-addled, lazy grin you nodded, opening your mouth.

He grinned right back. "Such a hungry little girl."

Impatient, you grabbed his hips, pulling him towards you and licking his belly clean. He groaned, observing you closely.

I'm going to teach her some patience and some manners, he thought darkly. However, he immediately reminded himself that he would never have the time, your liaison coming to an end.

With this unfortunate thought, he cupped your face. "I'm the one supposed to be eating now, ____. Let me take care of you, darling." He said, before falling to his knees. Immediately he pushed the back of the chair to the table, so that it wouldn't cartwheel out of his grasp.

Once more you asked yourself how many times he had done that before, thinking about how the relationship with the bride-to-be must have been mostly sexual, since you don't usually have much romance and dates with someone who is taken. Even though he didn't know she was taken. Whatever.

In that moment he was there, kneeling before you, placing your heels on his shoulders, cupping your ass and tipping it forward so he could easily and comfortably give you that first, glorious lick from your hole to your clit. "Taste so good." He said, nuzzling his lips side to side as he spoke, mixing the movement to the vibration of his voice. He bit the small tattoo at the top of your thigh, where it met your pelvis, just shy of your hip bone. "Sexy little thing." He kissed it. "Drove me insane since day one." As usual, he sucked at it, causing a dark purple mark to bloom over it. "Fucking perfect."

He laid his tongue flat against your slit drawing the tiniest circles with the whole length of it.

You hand-combed his hair back, holding it so you could look into his dragon eyes. He looked vicious and dangerous and so cunning, so smart in the most atrocious way.

"Namjoon." You moaned, your hips arching closer to his mouth.

He snickered cockily, moving his tongue slowly back into his mouth, allowing only the tip to wander up your crevice and reach the apex of your labia. He delivered a set of ten licks, slow and curling perfectly against your nub. "Are you good, little fox?" He asked.

You nodded and pushed his head back between your legs.

He laughed loudly, fighting against you. "I'm not done talking, brat." He bit your lower belly gently. "I'm gonna pump your clit with my mouth, Vixen. I'll suck it twenty times, then I'll let you rest until I'm ready again. I'll keep going until you cum. Remember that after twenty I'll pause. This could easily turn into edgeplay, baby, so you'd better get very horny very fast. You okay, Vixen?"

He checked on you and you nodded, impatient to simply have him on your clit.

"Be verbal, little girl." He reprimanded.

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get started."

He wasted no time. He wrapped his lips around your clit and started sucking, sucking so hard that you knew the following day his jaw and ears would hurt. At pump fifteen you already knew you needed more than twenty to cum. And as twenty arrived you whined but you felt confident that the next set would suffice.

This time you felt your edge at twelve, still you needed more. You were getting wetter and wetter, so soaked that his saliva and your slick mixed up and made you feel uncomfortable between your asscheeks.

"Joon–" You said, at which he mumbled "language" in between two pumps.

"Daddy, I want your fingers inside." You said, indulging his every whim.

He fumbled around with his arms, securing you with his left, making sure that your backside wouldn't get too close to the edge of the seat, and cause you to fall. His right arm moved back to your front, his index and middle finger coming to your entrance and waiting, his drool sliding from his tongue down your slit and directly on his fingers which, now lubricated, slipped in with no friction or resistance. The pressure was mind-blowing, your head spinning. "Daddy, please."

"Please what?" He said, hitting his pause.

"Make me cum. Let me." You asked, as meekly as you could.

"Why should I, uh?" He teased.

"Because I am a good girl." Because I love you, said an obnoxious part of your brain.

"Then I need you to say it one last time, Vixen. I know I've tormented you, but I need to ask it once and for all. Is there anyone else?" He said, his voice almost breaking.

"No, Namjoon. I swear to God, there's no one else. I promise it. I swear on everything that I love the most. Please." You begged, hoping that he would feel the desperate honesty in your voice. "Please. You're my only daddy. I have you, only you. I am yours." You said, and God if it felt right, if it felt true, being his, belonging to him.

Tell him you love him, your brain said again, but you refused.

He smiled brightly at your declaration. "We're done playing, if you want to, Vixen."

You simply nodded, batting your lashes at him. "I want to."

"Then hold tight because I'm not going to stop until you're fucking my face and screaming my name and shaking on this seat. Understood?" He warned you.

"Yes, daddy." You replied.

"Then hold tight, baby fox. I'm gonna eat you alive."

"Try." You challenged him.

And that's when he pounced. His pumps became longer, impossibly tighter, and the small pause between one and the next became shorter. Your eyes locked with his, brows knitting together, lips parting in a mewl as you threw your head back. "Namjoon. Please, daddy."

Smirking, he mixed the pumping motion with a barely-there curl of his tongue, teasing your clit with such delicate pressure that you couldn't even wrap your head around the incredible amount of tension that it was causing in your body. Your hands tightened in his hair, your moans dissolving into small giggles.

He wanted to tell you how good you sounded, how pretty you looked, how he wanted to see this every day for the rest of his life. He loved seeing you this happy, this carried away. He loved your morning voice and your late night cuddles. He loved breakfast in bed and midnight snacks and three a.m. quickies. He loved watching you take off your bra from under your t-shirt before going to bed, he loved seeing you shiver as you went to the bathroom early in the morning, clad in his t-shirt, plain cotton briefs and a pair of socks even in the dead of winter, since he always kept you warm under the covers by holding you close. He wanted to confess it all: the heartwarming wonder he felt staring at you had when you focused while reading and studying, when you brushed your hair, when you got dressed before leaving for the day, when you stood at the kitchen counter, cooking, with your back to him, and again when you applied lotion all over your body after showering, when he kissed your nape, standing behind you and donning the zipper of your dress.

However, he stayed silent, showing it all with the reckless ministrations of his mouth as your chest blushed, your hands grabbed his hair almost painfully and your hips snapped, your mouth opening in a silent scream.

You hadn't even bothered telling him you were cumming. He knew anyway. His mouth became more gentle, resolving to small licks while his fingers massaged your walls deep and slow, perfectly responding to the contractions of your muscles. "Here, pretty thing." He murmured, his hair tickling the skin of your stomach. "I've got you, baby. Shhh." He calmed you down, your breath coming in heavy pants, your heartbeat going like crazy. He rubbed his soaked fingers against his thigh, briefly cleaning himself before coming up to your face, cupping your cheeks. "Are you okay, little one?"

You nodded with your eyes closed, getting sleepy.

He caressed your face. "Open your eyes for me, baby girl, let me see your pretty eyes."

With a beatific smile you tried to look at him, eyelids lifting, taking a few seconds to focus on him.

"There she is, my moonshine." He cooed, pressing a kiss to your lips. "You look really happy, baby thing."

You simply moved your head in a nod.

"Do you want more, little fox?" He asked, still fussing over you. "Can you take it just one more time, babe?"

Licking your lips you nodded again with a giggle.

He smiled. "You keep nodding, baby. Are you saying yes to daddy?"

"Yes, Joonie." You whispered slowly.

"Good girl. Can you walk, Vixen?"

"Yes."

"Great. I want you to kneel in front of the coffee table, darling." He commanded, rising to his feet and helping you stand up.

This would be the last time, he decided.

He would allow himself your heaven just one more time, then he would hold you close for a few minutes, clean you up, accompany you home and let you go. He wasn't man enough to look into your eyes. He was weak and unfair. He turned you around with your back to him, his erection brushing against the small of your back. Once you were in front of the table, he moved your hair to the side, skimming the curve of your ear with his lower lip. "Kneel, Vixen."

You did.

He kneeled behind you, moving the books and magazines on the floor, away from the two of you, while the traces of your dinner were thrown into the bag, which he would discard later. With an empty table, he pushed his palm from the small of your back to your nape, making your front adhere to the table and making sure that your hair was out of the way. "I know you love this table." He murmured.

"I do."

"I do, too." His heart felt like a burden. Without further hesitation, he grabbed his length and rubbed his tip against you. "You ready, ____?"

"Please."

With a groan he slipped in, the filling sensation causing a loud whine on your behalf. "Quiet." He reprimanded.

You got a little scared at his dark voice, knowing that at this point you'd better obey. However, it lasted little. Once he bottomed out, he growled, bending down to your neck. "You good, little one?" He said, his sweet persona back in place.

"Yes, daddy."

He was breathing heavily through his nose as he sucked at the skin of your neck, marking you. As soon as he was sure the mark would bruise and stay for at least a couple days, he released your skin. "Do you want your spanks, baby girl?"

Your eyes rolling with pleasure, you hummed. "I want them so much, daddy. Spank me, please."

He simply breathed. "With pleasure, little one." He knew no one would ever be this good to him.

His chest parted from your back, a small shiver settling in instead.

The first smack was harsh, angry. You clenched around him and he thrusted in violently, growling.

The second one hit the tender skin of your outer thigh, where it met your ass. "Daddy." You whined.

"Quiet." He chastised again, his voice strained. He hammered into you four or five times.

"Daddy, it hurts." You cried out, at which he stayed silent, simply spanking you again, twice, without rubbing soothingly at your skin. You emitted a shrill huffing sound of complaint, at which he answered with violent ramming into you, using both hands to push you onto his lap.

This was not how Joon usually did it. This was not normal. With worry distracting your mind, you turned your head, looking at him. His eyes were closed, droplets falling down his cheeks. Was it sweat or tears?

"Namjoon?" You asked, alarmed.

He shook his head, biting his lip. "You good?" He asked, eyes still closed.

"Stop." You murmured.

He obeyed, exiting your warmth and opening his eyes, still avoiding your gaze contact. "Did I—?"

"Look at me."

He shook his head. "I can't."

"Namjoon." You reprimanded.

As your eyes met his, you noticed they were rimmed with tears, and he was biting his lip to hold back a sob, shaking his head in shame.

Your initial shock was followed by an overwhelming sense of tenderness for the beautiful, delicate man in front of you.

You quickly decided what to do.

You turned around fully, facing him as you stood on your knees, your hands caressing his cheeks. "What is it, Joonie bear?"

He simply frowned and hid in the crook of your neck, desperate.

"What is it?" You asked again.

He nuzzled even more into your chest, inhaling the damp feel of your skin. "I just want it to be a good memory." He huffed with a broken whisper.

A memory? "Why would it be a memory, Namjoon?" You asked, confused.

"If it's our last time, I wanna be good to you." He said, and you could feel every ounce of sadness in his voice.

Last time? "Joonie bear, why would it be our last time?"

His shoulders shook with sobs as he stopped holding back his tears. "I've been a bastard, it's okay if you want to go." He tried saying in his most composed voice.

You frowned in confusion. "No, Namjoon."

"You want to leave me. It's okay. I need it only one last time."

You shook your head, trying to grab his chin and make him look at you. However, he strongly opposed.

"Joonie." You murmured, hugging his head and caressing his hair. "I'm not here to leave you." You whispered. "I want to be with you." You continued.

He shook his head even more. "I was dumb. You have every right—"

"No." You kissed his head, caressing his shoulders, hugging him tight. "I'm not going anywhere."

He looked up at you, his face covered in tears.

"Oh, baby bear." You cooed, touching his cheeks, kissing his forehead. "Don't cry, Joonie." He disappeared even more into you, hugging your entire figure, dwarfing you. "Don't cry, my love." You whispered, the word tiptoeing out of your lips. He sobbed harder. "I'm so in love with you, Joonie bear." You crooned, offering him all your soul in those simple, childish words.

"You love me?" He asked, confused, alarmed, petrified.

"I love you, Namjoon." You repeated.

He completely forgot his messy face and brought his lips to yours, his mouth melting into you eagerly as your tongues spoke a language that came so natural to both of you.

Breathless, he parted from you. "I love you. I love you so much." He pressed tens of kisses on your face with such speed and pressure that you felt like disappearing into him.

"I love you too." You giggled, trying to clean his face.

You both laughed, elated, his hands coming to your waist, holding you closer and closer. "I wanna make love to you." He whispered. "Let me love you."

"Missionary on the carpet or cowgirl on the sofa?" You asked.

"Why choose when you can have both?" He wiggled an eyebrow. You smiled. He smiled back. "Let's get on the sofa." He replied gently. "You'll catch a cold with your sweaty back on the freezing floor."

"But no missionary on the sofa…" You cried out like a child.

He smiled. "Do you want missionary so bad?" He kissed your temple, smiling.

"I guess I'll be happy with anything you want." You pouted, still doubtful.

"C'mere." He said, getting even closer. You slipped your stilettos off and he picked you up by the back of your thighs and with some strength you didn't know he had, he carried you to the sofa, careful not to step on your shoes. "I'm going to sit. Careful with your legs." He warned, plopping down as carefully and as gently as he could, mercifully avoiding to sit with your calves underneath him.

"Don't worry, I won't make you ride me, baby." He kissed your brow. "You're too tired for that." He cradled you to his chest, offering you a bit of his body heat. "Can you push it inside you for me, love?" He asked seducingly, kissing your neck.

You smiled and reached between your bodies. He was already pulsating, you knew he would come undone in a few strokes. Slowly, you lifted your hips and pushed his tip inside, making him groan.

"You're always so tight, babylove. Fuck, you feel amazing." He sucked at your neck some more, drawing a twin bruise to the one you had on the other side of your throat. "I feel like a fucking teenager with you. I can never get enough." His hips jutted a little, pushing into you while his forearm around your waist pulled you down, his hand gripping your ass.

"Daddy." You breathed out, your forehead pressed against his neck as he bottomed out.

"Yes?" He replied, soothing you with long caresses down your spine. "Does it hurt, doll?"

He had so many nicknames for you but you couldn't wait for your next. "No, daddy." He held your face away from his shoulder. "Are you sure babylove?"

Your face stretched in a slight grimace. "Maybe."

He giggled and kissed your cheek, sliding down to your mouth. "I'm sorry, Vixen." He pressed his lips to yours once and then again. "I'm so sorry, baby. For everything." He combed your hair back. "I can't promise you I'll never hurt you, but I can promise I'll try to make it better every single time." He held you close as your brow furrowed. "I love you." He whispered, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing on your lower back.

"I love you too." You said right back. "But please, Joonie…"

"Need me to move?" He asked.

"I want you to cum." You murmured.

He smirked and nodded. "Want me to finger you?" He asked, already drawing short thrusts into you and helping you ride him with his forearm around you.

"Yes, please, daddy." You whined.

His right hand left the crown of your head, coming to the top of your thighs and beginning to draw small circles at the apex of your labia, the flat of his thumb wide enough to cover your bundle of nerves entirely.

"Would you like to take your time, Vixen?" He asked kindly, knowing that sometimes it took you a bit longer than him to actually get worked up.

"I just need you to keep going exactly like this. You're perfect, Joonie."

He grunted and started pushing into you from below. "Like this?" He said, his voice a tad strained.

His thrusts were low and deep, curling just enough to hit your sweet spot. He realised you started holding your breath. Usually that meant you were close.

He bent his head, looking down where your bodies joined. It was hypnotizing, his thumb drawing perfectly identical circles. He started kissing and licking any and every inch of skin that came close to his mouth, your shoulder, your chest, your neck, sucking whenever he managed to grip the skin for long enough to bruise and mark.

When you started shoving yourself on him, bouncing in earnest, he kept his cool and stopped fooling around, staying focused on lasting long enough, doing the exact same thing, knowing that with a few thrusts delivered just right, you would become like putty in his arms and he could just get crazy and chase his high.

With your lips parting in a high pitched moan, you pressed your hips to his two more times before your chest collapsed into his with a tired whimper. "Take what you need." You murmured before propping yourself with your forearms against the back of the sofa, lifting your hips. Your face was pressed at the crook beneath his jaw, your tongue blindly chasing the droplets of sweat sliding down the column of his throat. He emitted an animalistic groan before his palms thudded heavily against your glutes, gripping your hips so hard that both his knuckles and your flesh turned white. And then he started ramming into you from below. The sounds in the room were a mix of his grunts, the smacking of flesh and the wetness between your legs, but more quietly, under all those layers, in between a groan and the next, there were his whispered love declarations, which poured out of his mouth like prayers, until he was so close, so fucked out that he could only repeat 'I love you', over and over, interrupted only by a final howl as he spilled inside you.

In all of this you had tried to stay quiet, shushing him and kissing his neck, not sure that you were allowed to mark him.

You laid both exhausted, his body sliding sideways down the sofa, trying to rest on the seats, his head laying on an armrest as his ankles dangling from the other. You covered him like a blanket, your hair draping over his chest and tumbling down the edge of the sofa.

You were both sweaty and messy with cum and drool, still you simply laid there, until you felt too cold and shivered.

"Blanket?" You asked.

He shook his head. "I'd better dress you and take you back at mine. I can go home tonight. There's no use working late. I need to rest anyway."

"Are you sure." You asked, touching his face.

He kissed your wrist. "Sure."

"I have to clean your chair first. I should have some wet wipes in my handbag." You mumbled. "And I should clean myself too before I drip on your lovely sofa."

He hummed, tired, fake-crying as he said "I don't wanna get up."

"My bag is right beside the sofa, just stretch your arm backward." You directed him.

He fumbled around a bit, moving the bag from behind his head to your side, where you could easily reach inside. After a bit of rummaging, you fished out your wipes, making a quick work of pulling him out and cleaning yourself.

"Cold." He muttered with a pout, which you kissed away from his face.

"Come on, baby bear, get up and get dressed. I wanna shower with you and shower you in kisses." You pampered him, trying to convince him to get ready to leave.

He whined as you sat up, quickly dashing to recoup your underwear. Once you were wearing it, you cleaned his chair, quite happy when you noticed that it wasn't half as bad as you though. When you turned, you noticed he was staring at you, already completely dressed, your dress in his hands. You moved closer.

"Up with your arms, love." He said gently, and for a second you realised that your simple and emotional confessions weren't a mirage caused by arousal or desperation.

You followed his instructions as he helped you wear your dress, slipping it over your head and helping you find both sleeves. Next he gripped the hem at both sides, delicately rolling the fabric down your body. Once it reached your knees, he let his hands skim back up your hips and waist, crossing his wrists behind your back before squeezing your ass. He stared at your throat.

"Will I have to wear a turtleneck for the next ten days?" You asked, slipping the neck of your dress aside and checking the damage.

"Sorry." He murmured.

"It's okay. I like it. I'm just teasing you." You said with a playful smirk.

"Brat." He mouthed with a snicker, bending down to pick up your tights.

You tutted, stealing them from his hands. "Let me do these, they're tricky."

He simply stared, his body trembling with a new tide of arousal at the mannerism you used to put on the garment, rolling up one leg between your thumbs and forefingers, pressing your toes against the stitching and dragging the nylon up your leg. He had seen this scene in an old Italian movie, but seeing the gesture in real life helped him understand the frenzy that the main character experienced after such an act. After you repeated the movement on the other leg, his mouth practically salivating, he watched some more as you fixed the gusset and the waistband, stretching the garment around the curve of your ass.

"Call me whenever you need to wear those." He whispered in marvel and agony. "I might take them off you just to see it all over again."

You smiled coquettishly, grabbing your coat and wearing it.

He kneeled in front of you, holding one of your shoes. "When's your birthday?" He asked, making you lift one foot as he slipped your heel on.

You frowned, the connection unknown to you. "Mid-november. Why?"

He held your other shoe and you held onto his shoulder as you lifted your other foot, wearing the black stiletto. "I loved seeing those on you tonight. I might buy you another pair or eight as a birthday gift."

You shook your head and laughed. "I don't need a sugar daddy, I'm happy with my plain, regular one." He rose to his feet and you grabbed his cheeks, planting a big, fat smooch on his mouth. "I'm actually very, very in love."

"Hello, Actually Very, Very in Love. My name is Head Over Heels — he pointed at your shoes — in Love. Pleased to meet you."

You laughed and he felt his heart explode with joy, his nose brushing against yours with Eskimo kisses. "Your bag." He said, bending to pick it up. "My bags." He said, collecting his tote and the small paper bag with his belongings that you had brought him. He neared his desk, checking the various devices. "Equipment off, computer off–" He mumbled as he moved the mouse to shut down the system. Meanwhile you fixed the low table, putting the magazines back on top of it. He switched off his table lamp and moved towards the door. "Dinner." He reminded himself, picking up the trash bag by the entrance. "You ready, Vixen?"

You hummed in confirmation.

"Let's go."

#bangtan smut #bts smut #bangtan sonyeondan #namjoon smut #namjoon one shot #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fic #bangtan fanfic #bangtan fic #Namjoon x reader

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galacticlamps · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @the--highlanders ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

#oh boy that was long #sorry #also sorry if the 13 is really big for some reason #i dont know how it got that way so i dont know how to change it #it doesnt look like that when i edit the post only when i save it #not fic but fic talk

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

we poured mud through their veins (part one)

the first installment of an au i am in love with

in which a new member joins the Deetz-Maitland family!

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

The sky was the color of the ocean- dark, wild, and swallowing everything in its wake. The only thing that could possibly rival its impenetrable wall of thick black-blue were the occasional cracks of blazing lightning that split the roiling clouds like a hot knife. The storm would be cut in half at the flash of its searing glory, then sewed itself back together like a monstrous, watery wound. The wind was so fierce that it seemed to be sent by an enraged being (in which Delia would helpfully say it was “God” or “angels playing bowling”) to punish Winter River for some unruly sin. Water rushed down the streets like baby rivers, threatening to drag anything and anyone in its way down the asphalt with it. Raindrops battered windows and walls and doors, knocking so viciously like an unwanted guest.

An unwanted guest. That was what this damn storm was. And Lydia was at her wit’s end with this elemental stranger.

Her computer crashed for the third time and she finally slammed the lid close, letting out a miserable groan that was soon challenged by a deep rumble of thunder. She cringed, curling her shoulders in, and then sighed.

“Fuck this storm,” She growled.

“Language,” Barbara said from the kitchen.

“Sorry,” Lydia muttered. “Screw this storm.”

Barbara chuckled lovingly. “Better.” She peered over at the closed laptop. “Everything okay?”

“It keeps crashing,” Lydia said miserably. “And I’m finally not procrastinating on doing my essay!”

“You had an essay due?” Adam looked at Lydia sharply, yanking his head out from the spice cabinet.

Lydia smiled innocently. “Maaaybe,” She said. She noticed the stern expression on Adam’s face. “Hey, I’m doing it! So don’t worry!”

“Hmm,” Adam squinted at her suspiciously. “Seems like you planned this.”

“What? Me? Never!” Lydia said.

Barbara laughed again and then turned back to the pot she was stirring. “What’s your essay on?”

“Well, my English class needed to write something that had to do with society or the ecosystem,” Lydia explained. “So I chose to do mine on why the eighth amendment should be abolished!”

Barbara and Adam blinked at her proud expression.

“Reason?” Adam asked.

“If we don’t have the eighth amendment, then we can torture rapists,” Lydia said confidently.

Barbara and Adam then nodded in agreement.

It had been nine months since the whole incident with the ghosts, and it was honestly some of the best months of Lydia’s entire life. Not only did the Maitlands officially become part of the family, but Beetlejuice stuck around, too, becoming Lydia’s chaotic best friend and older brother figure, at least after being properly “housebroken” as her father would describe it. Waking up each morning always greeted her with new mayhem from one of the otherworldly tenants and more things she could learn about them. It was incredible.

They were a family.

“It’s really coming down out there.”

Lydia looked over her shoulder to see Delia standing at the back door, sipping a steaming cup of her weird herbal tea (which tasted disgusting, by the way).

“It’s what you would call ‘Noah’s Arc’,” Barbara said knowingly. Except her ‘knowledgeable’ comment got a weird look from Lydia and a laugh from Adam and Delia.

“Noah’s Arc was the, well, arc, honey,” Adam said. “Not the storm. But nice try.”

“It’s so foggy,” Delia commented. “The river may flood at this rate.”

Foggy.

Fog.

That word always sparked a memory in Lydia’s mind.

The Netherworld.

Lydia remembered the Netherworld clearly.

The air there had been wet and heavy, like she was breathing in a thick fog that stuck to her throat like tar. There was a certain sticky humidity in that dark place, pressing down on her in heavy waves, as if the very atmosphere itself was trying to crush her skull, punishing her for even plucking up the courage to step foot in the place where the Living didn’t belong. It was cold, yet uncomfortably warm at the same time, with no wind blowing to ease the mild heat that had settled its oppressive, sultry murk over the Dead’s civilization. It spilled into every street, every alleyway, every house that dared to open the window, thinking that it would help with the clamminess that fogged their home, but to no avail.

This, of course, had brought upon complete and utter dreariness that coated every Dead making their rounds through their daily lives. And, in reaction to her presence, the gloom tried to wrap its dark protections of the underworld around her in layers that pressed deeply into her skin, trying to become a part of her. It adorned her until she was nearly suffocated in the thick, moist air.

She did not belong there.

The Netherworld had been filled with enough freaks to make a whole circus- a suicidal beauty pageant queen with slashed open wrists, a failed skydiver in a shredded jumpsuit, a lady swathed in a smoldering towel and had hair crackling hair that hugged a toaster to her chest, a charred man who breathed smoke like a great fire dragon, a very confused football player, a man with a huge cleaver lodged in his skull as a sign of his infidelity, a gravely-injured jockey that spit blood when she talked, some kind of hunter with a shrunken head, and a very excitable victim of explosion, among many more that Lydia hadn’t seen. Not that she was surprised at the amount of strange characters in the underworld.

Aside from the beauty pageant queen, the jockey was the Dead that Lydia got to know the most. Even for the short amount of time she was down in the Netherworld , the jockey seemed to grow attached to her, talking to her animatedly as if they had been friends for years and hanging onto her arm like a baby koala would to its mother. She learned that her name was Presley.

And Lydia had to leave Presley behind.

It wasn’t because she wanted to- she had to! Presley said it herself: the living didn’t belong in the Netherworld. But still, it kinda hurt to leave her new friend behind.

But she got over it. And she moved on. And she got a new family that made her completely forget about the undead horse rider.

Lydia’s memories were then interrupted by a terrible crash of thunder that seemed to rip the entire town in half. The sound rang in all of their ears, even causing Lydia to snap her hands up to cover her own, much to her embarrassment, and making Adam phase straight into the drywall of the kitchen in reaction to the shock, and the sonic boom that followed rocked the house from side-to-side.

As the rumble faded and the lights overhead flickered, there was a heavy thud from upstairs.

From Lydia’s room.

Lydia groaned. “That’ll probably be Beej,” She said. “Messing with my stuff. Again. Probably thought the thunder could cover up the sound of him setting some kind of prank.” She turned her head to yell up the staircase as she stood up. “But not this time!”

She heard Barbara, Adam, and Delia laugh as she walked upstairs.

As quietly as possible, Lydia snuck up the stairs and to her bedroom. Inside, she could hear shuffling and a muttering voice.

Someone was in there.

Wanting to scare Beetlejuice for trying to prank her again, she grasped the doorknob, slowly pushed open the door, and peeked in at the demon in her bedroom.

The light from the lamp that she had left on fed into his white and red suit, soaking into the filthy fabric. He kept looking this way and that, the helmet he was wearing shifting against his head, and-- that was not Beetlejuice.

But Lydia did know this person.

White-and-red checkered shirt, white pants, gloves, black riding boots, a helmet with a crack straight down the middle, a crop holstered to narrow hips, old blood and hoofprints all over…

“Presley?!” Lydia yelped out loud, then quickly shut her mouth. She stepped fully into her room and closed the door behind her. A moment later, the undead jockey was in her arms, clinging to her in a way that felt more like how a drowning woman to cling to the side of a boat than a normal hug between reuniting friends.

Except she didn’t feel undead. She felt warm, solid, real…living.

She was living.

But…that shouldn’t have been possible.

“Presley…” Lydia said slowly. “How are you here?”

Presley looked up at her, the rim of her helmet sliding into her eyes slightly, then glanced all around. When she turned her head back up to Lydia, she seemed equally as confused. There was a stream of dried blood trickling down between her eyes and on one side of her nose. There was another scoring her right temple.

“I don’t-- I don’t know,” Presley whispered, and her voice was hoarse and weak. She then sucked in a sharp breath and coughed. Lydia realized this must have been the first time she had breathed in a long while.

“Well, that’s…confusing…” Lydia said. She batted Presley backwards so she would be away from the door. Presley clung onto her arm with one hand like it was her lifeline. “I thought you were dead? Like, really dead?”

“Yeah…” Presley shifted. “I would know.”

Lydia laughed slightly. “What happened? How did this happen?”

Presley shrugged helplessly. “Your guess is as good as mine. I was just sitting in my room, crying, as I usually am, and then I fell asleep and now I’m here!” She looked around. “Nice room, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door. “Okay, well…” She ran a hand through her hair. “This…will cause some issues.”

“Oh.”

Presley took a shuffling step backwards and unholstered her crop, which she began to fidget with nervously. Lydia thought it was strange- wasn’t that the thing that basically caused her untimely demise? How could she be comfortable with even having it on her person after that?

“Sorry…”

“Hey, it’s not your fault,” Lydia assured her. “How were you supposed to know that you were going to…come back to life?”

“Heh. Yeah.” Presley smiled slightly at her, which then turned into a grimace of pain. “May I sit down?”

“Yeah, of course,” Lydia said, and Presley instantly dropped down to her knees. Her breathing came out strained and ragged. “Are you alright?”

Presley gave her a weak smile, and there was blood in her teeth and blood on her lips and blood on her tongue. “Yeah, yeah… I’ll be fine.”

“Are you sure?” Lydia prodded, crouching down in front of her. “You don’t look so good.”

“Well, you know how I died,” Presley said, sitting up from her hunched position. She pressed a hand against the left side of her ribs, wincing. “Wasn’t exactly very, ahh, pretty…” She swallowed.

“Your wounds didn’t heal after you came back to life?” Lydia said. “I guess that’s what we’re calling this. But you didn’t get a fresh new start?”

Presley shook her head. She unbuttoned her jockey uniform and opened up one flap, the cloth making a disgusting peeling sound as it detached from her skin, to reveal the dark black abyss that was her trampled chest. Looking at it, even in the lamp’s golden glow, Lydia couldn’t tell where one wound ended and another wound began. They were all- the bruises and the lacerations and the welts and the hoofprints- melted into one big blemish of agony upon the young jockey’s torso. For a moment, Lydia didn’t even see that she had a sports bra on because the fabric (it had been grey, once upon a time) was completely soaked in blood and blending in with the rest of the mess.

“Unfortunately, no,” Presley closed her shirt. “I suppose it’s a fair trade. Being brought back for a second chance at life, but I have to live with the effects of how I died in the first one. Actually, that isn’t as fair as I thought. My internal organs had definitely been ruptured when--” She stopped talking and looked down at her stomach grimly.

“Well, that…sucks,” Lydia said. She glanced at her door again. How was she going to explain this to her family?

“Lydia!”

And speaking of the devils…

Lydia turned back to Presley. “Ready to meet my family?”

Presley perked up. “Really?”

“You don’t exactly have anywhere else to go,” Lydia said. “And you’re here, aren’t you? One more supernatural being living in our house won’t hurt!”

Presley tilted her head, and her helmet slumped over on her skull with the movement. “There are others?”

Lydia grinned. “Yep,” She said. “I got pretty much the coolest family.”

“Lydia!”

“Coming!” Lydia called back to the voice yelling for her. She looked back at Presley. “I’m going to go talk to them first. I’ll call down for you once they’re ready. Just be cool, okay? They’ll like you.”

At least, she hoped they would. Presley didn’t have anywhere else to go if they didn’t.

Delia, Barbara, Adam, and Charles, who had emerged from his office, were all assembled downstairs, preparing for dinner. Barbara smiled at Lydia when she came down.

“Did you find BJ?” Barbara asked.

“How long did it take to dismantle the prank?” Adam asked, sounding amused.

“What prank?” Beetlejuice materialized beside Charles, nearly making him drop the bowl of spaghetti he had been carrying to the table. He looked at him. “Sorry, Chuck.” He looked back at Lydia. “Now, what about a prank?”

All eyes turned to Lydia, and Lydia couldn’t help but feel like she was being interrogated, which was weird because she hadn’t done anything wrong. The ghost of a jockey who got killed during a race appearing in her bedroom as a living person wasn’t her fault! That was nobody’s fault!

“It turns out there was no prank,” Lydia said.

“Then what fell?” Delia asked.

“Yeah, about that…” Lydia glanced up the staircase. She faintly saw Presley hovering in the hallway. “Remember that one time we went to the Netherworld?”

“Yes,” Charles said. “It was the worst place ever.”

“Oh god,” Beetlejuice said. “Is this another lecture? I already said I’m sorry!”

“No, no, this isn’t about that,” Lydia said quickly. “While I was there, I met this girl. We kinda became friends, but, you know, I had to come back here so I haven’t seen her since.”

“Where is this going?” Adam asked, looking curious and slightly concerned.

“What if I told you guys that my friend came back to life somehow and appeared in my bedroom for no real rhyme or reason but now she’s here and has nowhere else to go?”

The house went quiet. Thunder rumbled outside, as if the very universe itself were laughing about the situation.

And then--

“WHAT?” Adam yelped.

“That can happen?” Delia said at the same time, looking at Beetlejuice.

“I guess!” Beetlejuice yelled.

“Wait, so there’s someone in our house right now?” Charles asked.

“Surprise!” Lydia said weakly. She looked up the staircase. “You can come down now.”

There was shuffling from upstairs; Presley emerged into the light of the open stairwell and staggered her way down the stairs, each step she took being punctuated by a wince. There were several gasps, mainly from Barbara, Delia, and Adam, as she stopped next to Lydia- not that Lydia blamed her family for their reactions.

Presley looked much, much worse in full lightning. Her skin was no longer pale pink like it had been in the Netherworld, rather just pale, as if all the blood was drained from her body and leaving her as an empty shell. Even her lips were completely leached of color. It was impossible to tell if the dark rings around her eyes were from sleep deprivation or were just shiners caused by her death. Her jockey uniform was slathered in a thick caking of mud--and then Lydia realized most of that was just dried blood. Black hoofprints were stamped up and down her chest, stomach, and legs, and some areas of the fabric were ripped, revealing grimy, bruised, and bloodied flesh underneath. The streams of blood down her face and side of her head were completely dried now, crusted over and flaking off. She was squeezing her crop nervously, bright hazel eyes darting everywhere around the house, but she quickly latched onto Lydia’s arm with one of her hands, holding on tightly, similarly to how she did down in the Netherworld when they first met.

“Everyone…” Lydia said to her gaping family. “Meet Presley!”

#i dont know what this au is gonna be called yet #but it's definitely something!#beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice the broadway musical #beetlejuice au #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice fic #beetlejuice fluff #beetlejuice #lydia deetz #barbara maitland #adam maitland #delia deetz #charles deetz #the jockey #we poured mud through their veins

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weeklyfangirl · 4 years

Text

Frat Boy Pt. 22

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19 , part 20, part 21

Hope everyone is keeping themselves mentally/physically well... here’s the next update in your adventure. Please safely read from home ;)

The sun moved slowly up my window, illuminating the dancing dust in the air. Even though I knew dust didn’t have feelings, it all still looked very peaceful, suspended there in space.

I wanted to be suspended, floating, with no obligations or pressures.

Instead, I watched time slip by, slowly, as the shadows stretched along my floor and I lay still, wrapped in a giant Winnie-the-Pooh sheets burrito.

I called in sick the past three days to work and to all my classes, my lack of attendance probably dropping me a letter grade in a few classes. Instead of checking on my academic scholarship, I begged Renny to drop off Dr. Rhinecuff’s papers for me. She did, lamenting about how his office smelled like roast beef and how she probably needed a nose job from it shrivelling up from the stench. Tired, I sent her three hearts, ignoring all of her calls and voicemails.

In a random bout of restless energy, I looked up the University of Oxford in England. No one would know me there. And maybe that wasn’t a bad thing when you didn’t even know yourself. I stayed on their site for an hour, avoiding my take-home assignments, and speculating which classes I could take in the spring semester. My eyes grew tired though, and even if I were accepted as a transfer student, it wasn’t like I could ever afford it without scholarships.

I closed the computer.

It’d been cloudy, rainy. The random storm that’d come in from Mexico lasted longer than the usual morning fog that’d roll in and out by the time it was 9 AM. This storm lingered, heavy, full clouds looking to burst and unleash a steady rain for three to four hours before the clouds rested, storing up all they could until the next downpour.

My parents didn’t question me when I came in, used to my random visits. But when I went straight to my room without saying hello, rain-plastered hair covering puffy eyes, my mom basically collapsed at the sight.

She followed me to the bed, trying to see my face, but I buried it in the pillow, ignoring the way the purple fringe tickled my nose.

“What’s wrong sweetheart?”

I just groaned. Her voice was too gentle, too well-intending for the dark thoughts sitting in my mind. She’d be heartbroken if she heard them.

She huffed, not out of annoyance, but distress. “What’s bothering you?? Is it Renny? Did you breakup with Harry?” All those reasons were too simple. She ran her hands lightly along my legs, but I cringed away from her touch. It was something I rarely did. She paused. “You can tell me anything...”

I shook my head against the pillow, my last attempt to tell her to leave without speaking. She waited a moment longer.

“Okay,” she said. And that was it.

Father didn’t ask questions, not even when I was here for the third consecutive day. Mom had probably come to her own conclusions, and shared them with him.

“Mom said you aren’t feeling too well,” he said over cereal one morning, confirming my suspicions. It was the first time he’d broken our three-day spree of comfortable silence.

“What else did she tell you?”

He shrugged his shoulders, his usual buoyant self replaced with a quiet voice. He looked at me, and all I saw was pity. If I were him, I’d probably look at me the same way. I hadn’t showered in a while. “Well don’t let anything get you down. You’re too smart for that.”

He’d tried. He’d put in an effort. I just nodded, scooping up another spoonful of cereal. He followed suit.

And that was that.

A week passed like this.

But overnight, the clouds had blown away, and the sun came back full-force this morning just in time for the weekend, renewing my guilt. That traitor.

I’d cried all of Monday and Tuesday, but when the last tear was shed in the middle of a New Girl episode, I was empty. My tears didn’t leave anything to replace them with.

On Wednesday, a phone alarm reminded me I had a therapy appointment. I hit snooze multiple times. It was only when I got up to pee, and I hated what I saw in the mirror that I threw on an oversized sweater to go over my pajamas and headed out the door.

“Is it good?” I asked.

Her hands reviewed my wants list.

“That’s just a coffee stain on the corner..just...ignore that bit,” I added.

She surveyed it briefly, not really focusing on it. “Were you honest?”

I nodded.

“Then there isn’t good or bad. It’s just your truth.”

“But I still feel… I don’t know. I don’t think I know what that is. I don’t feel like I’m… progressing. Doing anything towards that,” I said.

She looked at me with a level gaze. “Then that’s your truth. And that’s okay for right now.”

I shot her a glance.

“I see a common struggle with people your age. They feel this….” -She adjusted, quirking her head- “immense pressure to be perfect, to figure it all out, to achieve success so early.”

“Everyone’s doing it,” I began. “They’re getting internships, keeping up their grades, involved in ten clubs, doing community service…” I could’ve droned on, but didn’t.

“You have an internship, your grades are good, you’ve joined a sorority, and up until recently you’ve been involved in tutoring. Those are extracurriculars.”

I couldn’t argue with her.

“Is it too much?” she asked.

Too much. It was everything I’d been feeling until I’d felt nothing. But hearing her list off what was waiting for me just beyond her doors made me feel the weight of it all over again.

“I’ve just been overwhelmed.”

“Who have you been thinking about?”

She noticed I started picking my hangnail.

She started gently, knowingly. “Has it been Harry?”

“Ow,” I cursed. A bit of blood prickled up where the hangnail used to be.

“He seems to be a major stressor in your life. Would you agree?” The clock ticked behind her, filling the silence. Her hands rested in her lap, while mine swiped away the bit of blood. I could never remember my therapist’s name, but somehow it wasn’t important.

“Yeah, but … I mean …. there’s a lot of stressors.”

“Like his friends?”

His friends, in the abbreviated story I’d told her, stood in place for the gang. I’d used terms like … intimidating, mean, basically painting them as bullies who didn’t like us together. I wasn’t expecting to get much therapy from a lie. “Out of curiosity, if I were to tell you something… would you be obligated to report it to the police?”

“Not necessarily.” Her legs crossed, creased brows zeroing in with a laser focus. “Has something happened to you, Y/N?”

I swallowed hard, the truth lodged in my throat. But I had gotten too used to the weight of the secret. “I was just curious…” My mind raced to change the subject, and I blurted about Zayn’s art show.

“Do you think this panic attack was induced by this heightened sense of scrutiny from Harry’s friends?”

“Probably.”

“You said there were others. What are your main stressors?’

I settled in, more comfortable with this question. “There’s financial stressors, for one. And it’s exasperated here.”

“You’ve been dealing with financial difficulties for a while, now. Have you been feeling this anxious the entire time, or has it been recent?”

My foot tapped impatiently. We both knew the answer.

“Your panic attack was a first,” she explained, gently. “Some new factor in your life pushed you there.”

I picked at the hangnail, wincing. It was gone. My skin was raw.

“Maybe it all links back to Harry.” She waited a moment to see if I’d speak. When I didn’t, she leant back, and pulled out a new sheet of paper, scribbling something down. “I want you to write a pros and cons list about your relationship with him, for next time. When your feelings are overwhelming, it helps to get everything on paper. In a list. Puts things in perspective.”

I drove home, her words had pushed themselves into my empty shell and now they clinked around, jostling up my insides like a pinball machine and giving me a headache.

Just because I hadn’t left the house all week didn’t mean I didn’t feel guilty for ditching work. God, I did. It killed me. I knew I was lucky to get that internship. Harry had mentioned how people killed just to get on the waitlist, and I didn’t doubt it. An OC internship with, if not the top, at least the most publicized private practice? I mean, I was typing in appointments next to a Southern Stanford grad if that speaks to the competition here.

And here I was, retreating back to my house, too drained to face the world.

As for Harry, after what I’d said to him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want to talk to me ever again.

I’d been so cruel.

I was weak.

I felt guilty for feeling this way at all.

And then I would watch the dust again.

It was a cycle.

About three blocks from my house on my way back from the therapist session, a familiar car passed me. It happened suddenly, unexpectedly, like most things do. We made eye contact before he passed, and my foot instantly lifted off the gas when my eyes connected with my brain. I whipped my head around but the matte black maserati sped up, disappearing from sight.

What was Harry doing this far from campus?

My heart beat erratically as I pulled into the driveway, and it was only seconds before I made it into the house. Father held up a hand in Grandpa’s old room. Phone call. Trudging silently to my own, I wrapped myself in a blanket burrito.

I’d been avoiding my phone, but I caved this time, checking J’s social media to see if he’d posted anything about being in the area to prove I WASN’T crazy and DIDN’T just hallucinate. Nothing. I tossed my phone on the other side of the room before I spiralled.

It didn’t matter. I was in my room. Alone. Safe. I focused on the dust.

Two little knocks disrupted my exciting mind game - which dust particle would fall further than the other.

“You’re turning ripe,” Father noted. His briefcase was still in his hand and he was coming startlingly close to my depression burrito.

“What are you doing-!?” I protested. But it was too late. He ripped the sheets off, exposing me in the t-shirt I’d been in since Monday. “Your mood won’t change if you don’t make an effort.

Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“You’re coming to the water with me.” He hesitated at the door. “Shower first.”

In the car, a sense of comfort washed over me. He’d been right. Clean wet hair smelled nice and felt good slicked around my head. Even if Mom would complain I’d “catch cold,” it felt good to feel something. Dad’s speakers switched between classic rock and reggaeton as I sipped on the chocolate shake we picked up from the Shake Shack. It was a short drive away to the harbor, and once parked, a shorter walk to the public docks.

Our feet dangled above the water. It was too cold to go swimming this time of year, but my body buzzed with yearning despite the goosebumps on my skin. I wanted to feel encompassed by salty water. I wanted to be submerged, where everything was muted, a barrier between me and the world. Between my wet hair and the icy shake, I could pretend my body was as cool as the water below me. I could just…. dissolve.

“So what’s going on?” he opened up the conversation. “You having a hard time at school?”

“I don’t like the sorority.”

His brows raised, not expecting me to be so honest so soon. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, don’t you hate that shit?”

I looked at him, almost shocked he’d agreed with me.

The boats squeaked as they rocked with the rolling tides coming in from the ocean. I watched as a duffy boat wandered to the end of the jetty - where the harbor opened to the ocean. I took another big gulp of my shake, feeling the cold run down, freezing my esophagus.

“I liked frats, but sororities are different,” he mumbled, spooning his shake into his mouth. He’d gotten his usual Neapolitan, and it’d somehow stayed solid on the drive over. We hadn’t been to the Shake Shack in years, but I guess seeing his daughter waste away beneath her comforter was enough to break the dry spell.

“Why? Because its girls?” My lips were breaking into a smile without my consent. He didn’t make sense.

“They’re more catty.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Dad! That’s verging on sexist.”

“Eh, I don’t know. I’m just saying things. Did you tell Mom you want to quit?”

I shook my head.

“Yeah…” he looked out at the boats, a quiet understanding passing between us. “She was really excited for you to join.”

“It’s not all bad…”

“Well if it’s not making you happy, don’t do it. Your mom doesn’t want you doing anything you don’t want to do. I was in a frat to shoot the shit with friends and it was something fun to do instead of study. If it’s not something fun for you, drop it.”

I could hear the words he was telling me, but it was like they were rolling off my shoulders, not really penetrating. He made it sound so easy, but it seemed like it was a million times harder than that. Everything was entangled, just as Harry had said. Not to mention Renny. If I quit, I felt like I’d lose her forever, too. I knew I could use a better friend, but that couldn’t erase the years of memories we had together. Losing Renny would feel like losing a part of myself. Not that I knew who that was anymore.

“Dad?” I asked. The question that'd weighed on my mind ever since I got home rested on the tip of my tongue.

“Yeah?”

“This is going to sound weird, but did you see Harry today?”

“Yeah. He stopped by,” he said, casually, spooning another mouthful.

I practically choked. “What? Why?! Weren’t you going to tell me?”

“Y/N, I’m working. I have a thousand things bouncing around in my head all the time.”

“And?!!?”

Harry couldn’t reach out to me beforehand? He drove by but- what? Didn’t even want to see me?

He sighed, not understanding the urgency. “He just stopped by, said hi. That’s all.”

My brows stitched. “Why would he say hi to you? What’d he say, exactly?”

“Oh, come on, I don’t know. I can’t remember-”

“Dad!”

“All right, all right. Hi, how are you…” -his brain tried to remember- “he asked if you were doing okay. Then he left. He was nearby for a family brunch or something.”

“He asked about me?”

“Yeah. I mean, he didn’t go on and on, he just asked a question. He was in a rush.”

The shake froze me from the inside, and the breeze froze me from the out. But while I shriveled into myself, my guilt grew. “Dad?”

He hummed.

“Why are people so fake?”

He looked out at the harbor, peaceful for a winter’s morning. Only one small fishing boat headed towards the harbor’s edge, the sole fisherman at the helm facing the wind with the grace of a husband dealing with a temperamental spouse.

Father looked to our shoes as a random swell came, the water rising perilously close to our soles. Then, with all the untapped wisdom I seldom remembered parents had, “People are fake because they don’t know who they are,” he said.

He got a call from the restaurant and drove us home.

In bed the next day, I ignored the pros/cons assignment, watching New Girl and making collages of Oxford in a word document until my eyes were burning from blue light exposure. I knew I was pushing it staying this long away from school, away from my problems. I was pushing myself, seeing how far my apathy could go. I woke up Thursday night at 2 AM from the rain pouring against my shutter and anger pricking my insides.

Harry was the reason I was in this position. As well as Viv, who fucked Harry. And Kiki, who gave me a DG Pretty Please, that just so happened to involve Harry.

I wanted him, but I wanted him to fuck off. Nothing was changing. Nothing was getting better.

It was all Harry, Harry, Harry, and no matter what, I ended up feeling insane.

At one point, I was going to have to choose myself.

I rolled over, blindly reaching for a pen, and scribbled in the dark.

If my therapist wanted a list, she’d get one helluva list.

-----------

“I’m glad you’re going, honey.” Mom released me from the lung-crushing hug.

I’d created enough Oxford collages and daydreamed about a new life until I couldn’t think of any other imaginary scenarios (or postpone collegiate life any longer).

The Friday sun had set. The game had already started. I thought about the crowd, all the people I’d see…

“Can I just stay the weekend?”

“Oh.” Her arms dropped from my sides. “Didn’t you promise your friends that you’d go?”

Renny. I’d promised Renny. Singular friend. My hand was in a fist, thumb rubbing anxiously over my fingers. I didn’t listen to her voicemails, there were seven of them. But she’d texted me fifty times in the past twenty minutes, declaring that she’d Venmo me gas money if I’d come to the game.

I’d been in my hole long enough.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, you COULD stay-”

I broke away, shaking my head. If I let her coddle me another minute, I think I’d crumble all over again.

“I love you,” she reminded me. “You’re my precious angel.”

From the living room, the muffled applause from the game show Father had fallen asleep to faded further as I left.

Momma’s robe-bundled frame waved on the driveway, her sad smile burning in my mind long after she disappeared from view.

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

Come on, come on, come ON.

The path to the stadium took forever. No shame, I was full-on running, braless, fresh pit-stains on display as I booked it to the gate.

It was completely dark now, and the usual fleet of cop cars seemed to have all but disappeared the week I’d been gone. Only one passed me by, and the rest of the student body probably all congregated around the stadium.

When I saw the art studio, I slowed. It was completely dark, except for one entry light. The paintings would still be displayed... My pounding heart told me to keep running, and I hesitated, listening to it for a moment before walking to the door. I tugged on its metal handles, parts of me seizing up as it opened, giving way to my touch.

I crept into the space, feeling like an intruder as I walked through the exhibit.

For some reason, I expected it to look differently, to see it blurred together as I’d seen it before in a panic.

I was still hanging amidst the vines, but this time the paintings looked less threatening. Maybe it was the fact that I was alone, maybe it was because I’d already felt the worst of it.

Each piece was sold.

I looked over my shoulder a couple times before letting out a small shout. A tester.

It echoed in the space.

I did it again, louder, at my full about-to-be-murdered capacity.

I must’ve looked absolutely mental, but as I heard my shout reverberate around me, at least I felt something.

Five charcoal sketches in particular ran horizontally together.

Lust / Longing / Love / Lost / Loss

Had he seen all of this in me? He’d certainly seen other bits I hadn’t shown him.

My phone buzzed, and I pulled it out. Renny. Without thought, I started her stream of voicemails.

Y/N where the FUCK are you!? Zayn’s concerned and I’m concerned and you’re not in the room-

Next.

Are you really sick? Or is this just some BS excuse. Or is this real and Harry gave you tonsilitis or something. I want to hear your voice. Ilyyyyy.

Next.

It’s meeeeee. Niall’s busy and you’re sick and I don’t know what to dooooo. Housewives isn’t as fun without-

Next.

BABE WHY AREN’T YOU ANSWERING ME CALLS DO YOU HATE ME, AND YES I MEANT TO SAY ME INSTEAD OF MY I HOPE YOU’RE LAUGHING-

Next.

DUDE. You will not believe what just happened- Harry just stopped by.

My thumb paused, letting it stay.

I was avoiding his texts because I think he’s a dick. Well, he IS a dick, even if Niall said he was going through a lot. It’s still not an excuse. But Harry LEGIT found me on campus, like not even when I was with Niall at the house, but at our APARTMENT...I-hold on. Ew, pastrami professor just passed me. What are the odds? OKAY BUT SERIOUSLY, I almost punched him when I opened the door because remember last time he basically told me off. But… I don’t know. It was different this time. He seemed… so concerned. Frazzled. I don’t even know the word to describe it. Ugh, if you were here you would be able to TELL ME what the word is. I miss you. Come back.

The voicemail rolled into the next.

I’m just pretending to talk on the phone right now because the boy I hooked up with last year is staring me THE FUCK down right now-

A creak in the pipes startled me, and the voicemail was all but forgotten.

My heart beat fast.

It was very, very quiet.

With one noise in the dark, the art pieces turned menacing. An oil painting in the corner of the room morphed into the Styles’ portrait. It wasn’t here. It couldn’t be here. I squinted, blinking through the dark. The portrait I thought I’d seen was just a painting of two silhouetted men facing each other. My heart still beat like I’d just ran a marathon though. I wasn’t about to be a part of the next horror movie “art comes alive.”

I booked it out faster than I came, answering Renny’s call on the way.

---------

“Thank fucking finally,” Renny huffed, leaning over Lynn to draw me in a hug.

“You didn’t miss much,” Lynn said, looking past me towards the game. I sat on Renny’s other side so she was in the middle, but when I looked at the scoreboard - Home, zero. Guest, two - I knew it was a done deal. Some people had already left, but half the stadium was still here, either hoping for a miraculous recovery or refusing to put their tails between their legs for pride’s sake. I noticed a group of parents in Chapman gear huddled together, waving their flags. No Mary or Lionel Styles in sight.

“How’s he been?” I asked. It’s like my head already knew where to turn, because as soon as I looked to the field, I found him. On the bench, elbows on his knees, head bent over.

“How’ve YOU been?” Renny asked. “I was seriously about to drive over to your house and check on you.”

Someone beat you to it. The thought was sour. For as much as Renny could claim her undying love for me, I was struggling to see the actions to support it. Everyone was disappointing.

“He’s been playing like shit,” Lynn answered.

“Brought back some...” His sentence died. Of all people, Zayn stood there, stopped, popcorn in hand. “Hey, Y/N.”

Felix stood behind Zayn, giving me a small wave. Zayn was clearly waiting for me to make the first move, but I turned away to the field. I didn’t know what to say.

From my peripheral, I saw them sit down by Lynn.

As soon as he did, it hit me like a flashfood. I knew what I was feeling. Anger. Discomfort. Shame. That he could expose me so easily, that he’d looked through my clothes in a way I never permitted. That he could sit down so comfortably without apologizing, as if nothing had happened.

Renny leaned in. “Are you okay?”

“No.”

She flinched at the abrupt answer. “Do you want to leave?”

I stopped myself from saying yes. I didn’t want to have to climb over Zayn to get out of here. That would be more than uncomfortable.

“No, I’ll tell you later.”

I didn’t speak the rest of the game, pretending not to hear him cheer or laugh or make a snide remark to Felix every other second. Like the annoying click of a fan when you’re trying to fall asleep, Zayn’s every move made anger shake my bones. Lynn gave me sympathy looks every once in a while. It wasn’t like me to be this quiet, and even with our friendship being as new as it was, she knew that much.

The crowd didn’t roar this time. They were silent as the clock hit zero, staring blatantly at its twin beneath Home. The Guest team’s few Minnesota supporters jumped like little beans on the other side of the field, but their cries were faint.

We’d lost.

Everyone stood, and Renny linked her arm with mine. A familiar habit. “We’re going to Viv’s for some post-game depression drinks now.”

But I stopped her.

“I think I want to go back to the room,” I winced.

“Come on, PLEASE? It’ll be fun, you were barely here for the game.”

“I don’t know, depression and Viv in the same sentence… You really know how to sell a party.”

“Aren’t you coming, Y/N?” Lynn made moves to follow the rest of the crowd that was funneling out of the stands.

I shook my head at the same time Renny nodded hers.

She huffed. “Why not? It’s going to be chill. We lost. It’s not going to be like the usual ragers.” She popped her hip, completely deadpanned. “You haven’t seen another college-aged person in a week.”

“Yeah and there’s a reason for that.”

Concern washed over her, voice lowering. “Tell me.”

As if on cue, Zayn and Felix stopped their descent down the bleachers and looked up at the girls, waiting for them to join. It was all I could do to not scream at them.

“Later,” I said. “You’re leaving now.”

“I don’t have to leave right now, it’s not starting yet...” Renny began, but Lynn gave her a look that said yes, they were leaving now.

“She wants us to help set-up,” Lynn explained.

“But it’s a small thing, right?” I teased Renny.

My bestie rolled her eyes, lips pinching. “Are you SURE?”

I nodded, sitting down on the cool metal bleacher again. Renny took a step towards me, a sad look on her face, but I held up my hand.

“I’m fine,” I said, when I felt anything but. “I just want to wait until the crowd leaves.” I picked up the popcorn bag she’d left behind and threw a handful in my mouth with a cheesy, hopefully convincing grin.

She grimaced, briefly looking back to Lynn who was anxiously waiting. “Fine. But we’re still talking about this later. I friggin miss you.”

She left with the others, funneling out towards a party she’d probably stay at until the early morning.

I didn’t want to go back to the room. I didn’t want to go anywhere.

The lights were so bright on soccer fields. Bugs flew in and around, racing each other faster than the dust in my room. It wasn’t until the janitors walked past me that I realized I’d been sitting there for too long. I reached in the popcorn bag, but my hand came up empty. They’d gone overboard on the salty butter, but somehow, I’d still managed to eat all of it.

Even with everyone off the field though, I didn’t feel alone. An older Hispanic woman taking out the trash saw me walking down and opened up the bag.

“Thank you,” I said, smiling.

She just smiled in return, nodding her head as she continued down the aisle.

Leaving the field’s gates, I was prepping for another mini run-for-my-life-and-back-to-the-dorm anxiety episode, when I heard someone shuffling. There were faint groaning noises, and I sped up my pace.

For a flash second, I thought someone was winning the “sleep in the locker room” bet, but when I tossed my head-back mid-run, I stopped so quickly, I almost tripped.

“Harry?”

There, in the dark, barely concealed by the shadows, he stumbled out. His abdomen looked… glossy? But then the light reflected crimson.

I ran to him as he fell, his white jersey stained with blood. “Oh my God, oh my God…” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. “What happened?! Are you okay!?”

He pushed me back. “M’fine.” But his voice was strained. He stumbled again, and I reached out before he fell.

I thought the blood from his shirt had fallen from a bloody nose, but his hand moved to my arm in a vice-like grip, revealing a gash in his jersey, I saw more liquid pool out from his gut and I almost gagged.

“You are BEYOND fine. You aren’t fucking fine!!”

“We have to leave. Have to… get out of here.” He grimaced. His face, his beautifully chiselled face was swollen on one side, his lip cut from impact.

“Okay. OKAY. I need to call the cops. The cops. I’m going to call them.” Shaky hands took out the cellphone, but he threw it down. “HARRY!”

“Take me to the physical therapy room?”

I looked at his chest. “You’re bleeding. A LOT.” My free arm reached for the tossed phone, but he tugged me back.

“No. They’ll write a report. I can’t have a-” he winced, sucking in a breath, and I reached for the phone again. “DON’T. Fucking hell. Don’t call anyone.”

My eyes racked his frame again, and I immediately applied pressure to his ab area, right where the gash was. He sucked in a breath, unleashing a string of curses I couldn’t hear right now. “Oh my God,” I breathed.

“Answer me,” he growled.

My mind scrambled for his question… he wanted me to take him to the physical therapy room. “YES! Yes. I have the- fuck, yes, I know where the keys are.” I looked at him again. What the FUCK.

“Stop freaking out,” he grunted, but he weakened the next second, his eyes fluttering before coming back to me.

“Okay, hold on. Hold onto me. Keep applying pressure.”

The physical therapy room wasn’t too far, bits of blood that’d fallen to his shoes marking our path.

“Why aren’t all the cops here?”

“They’re on rotation. The parties... they’llbestationedthere-JESUS.” We paused, letting him catch his breath. But it was shallow. Too shallow.

“Can you wait here for a second?” I asked.

He nodded, resting against a lamp post.

I hurried to the lockbox located behind the planter, punching in the code and unlocking it at lightning’s speed.

I didn’t know if there were cameras. I didn’t know if this was illegal.

I didn’t care.

We made it through the doors, and he was just about to sit on the table when-

“WAIT!” I ran to grab several rags and laid it beneath him before heaving him up. The soft cry he made when sitting down was like a knife through my own chest.

I grabbed scissors, cutting his t-shirt. I didn’t have time to linger, I didn’t have time to notice the way his tattoos were completely concealed by a red current. There were two wounds. One, deeper, the other, more shallow. Both in the lower left abdomen, just above a prominent v-line.

I wiped around the area, pausing above the gashes. “This is going to sting,” I warned.

There wasn’t fear in his eyes. He watched me, and I, him, as I pressed it against the open skin. He trembled, wincing, mouth opening in silent exclamation.

“You’re doing good,” I whispered.

“So are you,” he gritted out.

I swallowed, reaching for the butterfly bandages. But as soon as I did, more blood rushed out. I held a rag to him. “Save your breath. You need it.”

The thin white bandages seemed too little in the wake of his wound, and just as one bandage was placed, he cringed away, regretting his decision to move almost immediately.

“Fucking hurts,” he groaned.

“Stop moving! I need to close the wound up. You’re bleeding too much.”

“Y/N, just take me home. Call Lionel,” he panted.

“I’m calling 911 if you don’t let me at least attempt to close this wound because if we leave now you’ll bleed out.”

“You’ve done enough, please-”

“STOP. TALKING. I’ll call him after.” He saw a flame behind my eyes, and quieted, too weak to protest much more anyway. I came closer, and this time he didn’t flinch. The butterfly bandages at least minimally shrunk the open gouges.

With no other choice, I left him there alone, running across campus to my car and driving back in less than five minutes. It was illegal to drive through student walkways, let alone drive 60 mph, but there wasn’t a choice. I kept picturing Harry passing out, his limp God-like body, turned mortal, weak, bleeding out all over the training room floor. My foot hit the gas pedal harder. I could’ve been a damn marathon winner/race car driver. Let the cops add “speeding” to the file they already had on me.

Once we were both in the car, I looked over at him every two seconds. An entire roll of tight gauze around his abdomen kept the wound from bleeding out, but it was still turning pink. It was the second time blood would have been on my car.

Of all the revenge daydreams I’d had, I would’ve settled for Harry seeing me make out with Andre on the dancefloor over THIS. Would he die in my car? Would I be responsible?? I looked at the cheesy Angel pin my mom had given me for my car mirror. Never Fly Faster Than Your Guardian Angel Can Fly. Where was my angel now??

“Where are we going?” He asked, between fading in and out.

“To your house.”

His hand grabbed mine on the wheel and I practically swerved into the center divider from shock.

“HARRY!”

“We need to go to my house,” he said suddenly, panicked, as if I’d told him the opposite.

I placed our interlocked hands above the console. A safe distance away from the wheel in case he lurched again.

“Don’t worry, we’re going there. We’re going to your house. You’re just in shock, it’s okay,” I cooed, but it was desperate. And it was definitely not okay.

“They’ll ask… less..less questions...”

His grip was unbearably tight for three long seconds before it relaxed.

“Stay with me. Stay awake,” I urged. Harry’s lids kept drooping and I was desperate, blasting the Air Conditioning to an uncomfortable temperature.

Lionel picked up on the second ring.

“It’s Y/N. I think Harry’s been stabbed-”

“What?!”

“- I told him we should call the cops, but he was adamant we call you instead.”

“Seal the wound with whatever you can-”

“I did that. Not well, we didn’t have wound sealant- Okay, I’m rambling. I don’t know what to do, but he needs to see a doctor. Immediately.”

There was a long pause.

“Hello?” my voice wavered.

“Bring him to the practice.” The voice over the other line was that of a doctor, matter-of-fact, somber.

Hoag Hospital passed me, a nagging thought telling me that’s where we should be going - where there was paperwork, evidence, some legitimate accountability. But I wasn’t his father. I wasn’t responsible.

“On my way. I’m getting off the freeway now.”

The call ended, and as I looked at Harry, fading dangerously out of consciousness, my hands trembled more from fear than cold. Out of all the reactions, I hadn’t expected this one. The voice on the other line hadn’t seemed surprised at all.

come talk to me about the chappie or just about how you’re doing! now’s the time to stay connected :)

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