#probably moved it so his face will be lit by the window when he's bedridden in illustrious client :'( i hate this show

[ofbakerst]

[guqin-and-flute]

ok but if jiang cheng gives jin guangyao a jiang sect clarity bell he's going to be so confused and shocked and then probably cry. for days. this family wants him! on purpose! not even as a disciple but as part of the family itself! and they're all accepting him intentionally! and publicly! he's not going to be able to handle that at all.

Anonymous said: Yanli is pregnant, about to give birth and JGY is so anxious and nervous. It's his first kid! He doesn't want to do anything wrong, neither for this child, nor for Yanli, nor for her brothers. He's going crazy. As time went by, the more involved with the affairs of the Jiang sect he became, but now, in the face of the birth of his son, nothing was enough to soothe his nerves. He was genuinely going crazy. So JC, WWX and JGY bonding time!!

(WONDERFUL, anons! I’m putting these two together because it felt right! This is a trip and a half to write because I came into it going ‘this is fluff!’ and JGY came into it going ‘this is torture’. Did you know that having nice things is untenably terrible? Cause I didn’t until I consulted JGY, but this seems to be the case)

[First post/fic of the Peony to Lotus verse. Set after these posts]

Jin Guangyao hated when his thoughts became too much to ignore. It should not happen, he should be able to package this anxiety into a neat little box like every other thing that had ever made his hands shake and get on with his business but here he was, gripping the edge of the window sill tight enough to make his knuckles ache as he simply fought to breathe. 

A-Li was far enough along, now, that she spent most of her time bedridden, radiant and tired and soft and patient and--

Sometimes, he would come to himself realizing he was smiling over something ridiculous Wei Wuxian had said, or the way that A-Li looked in the sun just then, or A-Yuan clinging to his leg and he wouldn’t have meant to and it was so fucking awful. And he had no one to discuss it with, not even A-Li, not even Er-ge because they would have no idea what he was talking about. Because they had had the practice of their whole lives to bear the weight of putting their heart into other people and letting them run around and do what they would with it. Soon, he would have a child. A child. 

He already had a wife, and he had felt the uncomfortable stretch of accommodation in his bones when he had realized, with deep terror, that he actually loved her. Deeper still, somehow, when she had loved him back. Then Wei Wuxian had elbowed his way into His People--when had he gotten people? When had that happened?--then Jiang Wanyin, then Wuxian’s little A-Yuan. Lying in bed next to a gently snoring A-Li, staring at the ceiling above, painted in the slow, light ripples from the lake, he had quietly realized that even Wen Qing and Wen Ning would leave holes within himself he would be able to trace in their outlines, were they taken from Lotus Pier.

It had taken him quietly confessing to Lan Xichen the depth of his anxiety over the pregnancy, his gentle chuckle, his hand on his cheek as he assured him that he would be an excellent father that Gods! Gods, he was one of them, too! One of His, living there already, before he even knew to look. How had he not known? When had he filleted his heart in such a manner and with what knife so sharp that he hadn’t even felt the sting? Was it supposed to be this easy to lose yourself in others? The last time he had been a part of anyone, she had died in his arms on a whorehouse bed, whispering about a man who had never come back to collect his token, his son. Her son. 

Jin Guangyao blew out his breath, rocked from heel to the ball of his foot as if limbering up for exercise, trying to expend the buzz of anxious energy that crawled under his skin, excise the slow panic that had been building these many months. 

Wen Qing had said it was going well. That everything was normal. Back pains and knee pains and trouble sleeping were normal. 

A child.

Pushing away from the sill, he shook his arms out at his sides as he turned away from, then back to the window when the nausea within him bloomed, bid him to grab something, hold something, anchor himself against the current of this emotion. He wrapped his fingers back around it, put his head down and closed his eyes, breathing deeply. He was supposed to be meeting Jiang Wanyin in the Hall of Swords. He was going to be late.

There was no reason for this. There were duties to attend to, things he must do, errands he must run. A-Li had said she felt fine. They had a while, yet; weeks. Days. 

Days and he would hold a baby. His baby. Their baby. Made from them, of them, out of them and into the world where it could grow and think and laugh and run and leave and die--

A harsh, clamped down sound left him as he squeezed his eyes tighter, tucked his chin down lower as he rocked back again, stretching back from his arms, feeling the burn down the backs of his legs. Focus on the physicality. Focus on the feeling. Accept the inevitable; what was done was done. 

Bring in a life to the world and you bring in a death. How equitable, how balanced. How insane.

How was he allowed to do this? How could someone like him who had never dreamed of fatherhood past a vague, uninterested ‘perhaps’ of a future just...choose that? How on earth could someone like him be allowed to make another human and be tasked with its health, it’s happiness? What did he know of happiness, having had so precious little of it? 

Well, until now. And there lay the problem. 

For here he was, in a place he thought was exile but was, in fact, a seeming paradise unlike any he had known, full of ease and warmth and love and it was worse than he could ever have possibly imagined because he was used to the struggle it was supposed to have been. Had always been. Was going to have been. His goals had never been about comfort and love but about safety and what was owed to him. He was a Jin, therefore he would be a Jin--he would work to become it at the expense of everything and everyone else because it was the place he belonged. If he could get there, if he could be recognized, it would be Right. Not necessarily good, not necessarily comfortable, but Right. Safe.

And now here he was, miles and miles away at Lotus Pier, amongst Jiangs and Wens, lilypads and lotuses, and he was happy. Not necessarily Right. Not necessarily...Safe, in the most concrete of definitions. The scorch marks at the base of some buildings, the abundance of tablets in the shrine told how nebulous such physical safety might prove to be. The Jins had the money and numbers for that safety. But ask him--ask him, don’t ask him, please--whether he now wanted that or this and his hesitation would betray decades of his life, his promises to his mother, his plans. 

And it was all transient. Able to be taken and broken in the beat of a heart. Lanling was supposed to have been forever. Yunmeng was supposed to have been a setback, a roadblock, a stalling, a breaking, a dying of a dream. How on earth had this hidden in the folds of that? Just burst into being with no intention? How had this happened?

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t thought of these things throughout A-Li’s pregnancy, hadn’t spent many a night pacing throughout the walkways of Lotus Pier, taking care of this or that at some godsforsaken hour where he would sometimes cross paths with a cheery Wei Wuxian, wiling away the wee hours of the morning on less focused pursuits. But these thoughts had been successfully contained and filed away, not unearthing themselves in the light of day when other obligations required his attention. 

They would grow louder when he saw A-Li’s belly, when he lay his cheek on it in bed and felt the restless life within push back against him, but they were still containable, kept at bay by the sheer joy that lit his wife up whenever she caught him looking at her. She was infectious with it, her excitement to usher in this new person seeming so clean and pure and delightful through her eyes. And he could see it--of course he could--the joy in the idea of a little one who came out loving you, would only ever know loving you, if you did it right--

And that. And that made his stomach churn and his hands clench, made every uncertainty that had ever used his ribs as a ladder to his throat scream in chorus because it was if you did it right. There was no plan to cover everything. No contingency that caught everyone, in all cases. And there were so many ways to fail--in little ways, big ways, catastrophic ways. 

When this tumble of a thought started, it was nearly impossible not to be crushed beneath its roll, the parade of every man he had ever seen in the brothel of his childhood playing across the backs of his eyes, accompanied by the ever present absence and then terribly wounding reality of his own father. How could he not be like them? What treacherous part of his own psyche did he have to avoid so he did not wound this child the ways he had been? Could he? 

Could he only wait, without a plan, without warning, for the time that he would bring harm to his child, whether through action or inaction? He would go insane. He would absolutely lose his mind. 

He felt as if he was already. 

He pushed back from the window again, hard, swung himself around and set off for the Hall of Swords. The sun passed hot on his face through the windows, brief bands of cool striping over when he reached the edge. 

Jiang Wanyin was seated on the lotus throne with Wei Wuxian perched insolently on one of it’s sleek petals, both looking down at something in Jiang Wanyin’s hand. “Hello, Jin-gongzi,” came Wen Ning’s hesitant voice from his side and, wound as tight as he was, Jin Guangyao had to clamp down his startlement and instead offer a smile and nod to the man that moved as quietly as a ghost. 

“Good afternoon, Wen-gongzi. Jiang-zongzhu. Wei-gongzi.”

“Sooo formal,” Wuxian drawled, spinning Chenqing through his fingers with a grin. “Come here, we’ve got something to show you.” Eagerly, he hopped down, then hesitated and turned back to peer at him closely. “You alright?”

Jin Guangyao flashed a smile he knew pressed in his dimples and stuffed down every part of him that shook. “Perfectly.” When he approached, Jiang Wanyin traded a knowing, poorly suppressed smile with both Wei Wuxian and Wen Ning beside him and held out his hand.

In it was a tiny silver bell set on a long purple tassel, the knotwork fine and intricate, hung with a little jade lotus above it. The Jiang Sect’s Clarity Bell. Since it seemed to be what he was intending, Jin Guangyao accepted it with a smile and polite nod as he brought it closer to study, absorbing the engraving of the lotus petals on the metal, the clear chime that rang out when it moved. It was a beautiful little thing and it took him half a moment to realize that this was them seeking his approval for a gift for his child. The spread of his smile became slightly more real and he tilted his head. “Ah. It’s beautiful, Jiang-zongzhu.” A bit long for an infant, he added silently, but they will grow into it, certainly. “Very lovely.”

“Uh...mn,” Jiang Wanyin answered, the way he had started doing when he was unsure of what just happened and when he glanced up, he caught him sharing a befuddled look with Wei Wuxian.

“Wow. I dunno what I was expecting, but not that,” Wei Wuxian laughed, putting his hands on his hips and shaking his head as if he were puzzled. 

Jin Guangyao let his placeholder smile emerge, holding the pleasantness in place while his mind whirred, attempting to piece together what had gone wrong. Was he supposed to be more excited? He could certainly do that. “I appreciate it very much,” he elaborated, stroking a finger down the sleek tassels in obvious admiration. “The workmanship is incredibly intricate and lovely. A-Li will be very pleased and I’m sure it will serve our child well.” Perhaps it was supposed to be of bigger consequence--but if that were the case, wouldn’t there have been more ceremony?

Wei Wuxian snickered again, very clearly at him, and even Jiang Wanyin grinned, tilting his brother another one of those infuriating  looks that, at present, was sending irritation skittering down Jin Guangyao’s spine. Usually he had the patience for their antics, but with the background noise of his fear, it was a bit much. 

“Jin-g-gongzi,” Wen Ning spoke up again, the hint of a smile in his voice. “It’s for you.”

Jin Guangyao looked back at him, uncomprehendingly blank. It’s for him. What was for him? The bell? The bell was for the Jiang Sect--

His head jerked back around to stare at it again, his fingers closing like a vice around the smooth flow of the tassels. For him. It was for him. “But….” choked from him without warning, so he snapped his mouth shut and simply...stared.

“Oh-ho, that’s a new one. What does that one mean?” Wei Wuxian leaned down in his peripheral, the indistinct blur of his face cut with the white of his smile.

He could not answer. That burning, trembling fear was bubbling up his stomach, his throat, his spine until it throbbed in his temples and sinuses. 

“--figured it was about time, I mean, considering how long you’ve been here and all--” Wei Wuxian was saying breezily in the background, but Jin Guangyao felt the cold weight of Wen Ning’s gentle hand on his arm like gravity, pulling him back to this room. 

“Jin-gongzi, are you alright?” he asked, softly.

Wei Wuxian stopped at this and the brightly colored forms in the corners of his eyes drew closer, reached out to touch him as well, his shoulder, his arm. “Hey. Hey, Jin-xiong, look at me.”

He did, because it was simple, because it was asked of him and when he did, Wei Wuxian blinked. “Wow. You really didn’t know, did you?”

“We have one for the baby, of course,” Jiang Wanyin added in from his side, as if that was even remotely the problem. “It’s smaller, but….”

They seemed to be waiting for him to say something, which at this moment seemed absurdly impossible. It was for him. For him. Without asking. Without begging. Without having to bow and scrape and kowtow and….

They wanted him. They wanted him. They wanted him. 

He opened his mouth to say something, anything but all that came out was a strangled, shaky, “Ha….” that squeezed shut at the end as his stupid fucking traitorous ill-behaved throat closed and he, all at once, had to crouch down to stop the spinning in his idiot head, burying his face in his knees. There was a hand on his back as he sucked in a shuddering breath, then another on his wrist as someone crouched before him but he couldn’t look up because his eyes were dripping unsanctioned tears onto his purple robes and the clarity bell rang out sweetly with every ridiculous tremor of his hand. 

He didn’t want this. A child. A family. He couldn’t want this because he wanted this and if he wanted something, it would hurt to be taken away, it could tear him, it could kill him. He wasn’t big enough to have this many People huddle inside of his chest. He hadn’t enough heart to go around. 

But they wanted him anyway. Not out of obligation or guilt or political savvy or because he had done something so exceptional it could not be ignored but because they did. Him.

Help.

At least he had always cried quietly. The one blessing in this whole ordeal. If he couldn’t control his damn self, at least he wasn’t wailing like...an infant. A baby. His baby.

Gods, what in the hell was he doing?

“Should we get A-jie?” was muttered and he surged to his feet, startling Wei Wuxian stumbling back a few steps.

“No!” he gasped, allowing his hand to clamp onto Wen Ning’s supportive wrist so he didn’t topple over. “No, no, don’t bother A-Li, I’m fine, I’m--”

“You’re definitely not,” Wuxian interrupted with an incredulous laugh. “Did we break you? Is it bad?”

“Is it bad?” Jiang Wanyin echoed, quieter, more uncertain from his side and Jin Guangyao shook his head, tried desperately to latch back onto his control. 

“No, it’s not. It’s...um….” That stupid quaver spoiled it again as his gaze landed back on the bell, innocent and fine, resting on the backs of his knuckles from where it sprouted through his grip. His face crumpled anew, this time a little softer, at little less wildly transporting, but still fully out of his control and dammit, shit, and fuck. This was stupid. He was stupid. This didn’t need to be happening.

Wen Ning gently patted his back as he covered his face, trying in vain to stifle this absurd, unceasing flow that seemed to come from deep within him as every part of him writhed, knowing he was being seen doing this. Knowing that he could not stop. That this weakness was….

 On purpose? A small, helpless part of him was asking repeatedly. Did you mean to do this? You know everyone will be able to see if I wear this, right? This is on purpose? 

A stupid question. An obvious answer. The reasons for which eluded him. 

“If it upsets you so much, I could take it back for you,” Wei Wuxian teased--obviously teased--while reaching out and in the most terrifying motion he had ever made, Jin Guangyao jerked the bell away from him and pressed it to his middle. He hadn’t even meant to do it. 

He needed to leave.

“No. I’m fine. I...thank you. Thank you for this, I….” He looked over at Jiang Wanyin, saw the alarm and furrowed bemusement in his face and managed to force out, nakedly. “I’m...having a difficult time...absorbing this.”

“Well, that much is clear!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed, clapping his brother on the shoulder. “Look, Jiang Cheng! We’ve made him speechless! Took the silver tongue right out of his head and turned it into a bell.”

“Are you...happy?” Jiang Wanyin asked, hesitantly.

Jin Guangyao was not so certain--was happiness supposed to burn like this? Dredge your deepest depths without mercy? But he could not lie and say that that small voice hadn’t now transmuted into simply chanting mine mine mine mine mine. He needed to absorb this. He needed to be away. It was wrong because it was not Right--but when had Right ever made him so warm? Golden. He swallowed and took a deep, shuddering breath, stifling the steady swell of tears with immense difficulty. “I think so.”

“You are so strange,” Wei Wuxian grinned, throwing his arms around him and Wen Ning. “Here, I’ll put it on.”

When he cheerily plucked the bell from Jim Guangyao's frozen grip, Jiang Wanyin shot his brother a scowl. "Don't you think I should be the one to do that?"

"I don't see you shifting yourself to, so it's my job as oldest brother to welcome him in," Wei Wuxian announced. "Deal with it."

It all seemed so wretchedly possible as he knelt down before him and gleefully manhandled his belt around, as Jin Guangyao just...let him, staring down at him in a daze. A life here, raising children--happy children with a happy wife and happy brother-in-law's and happy sect-mates. Happy. Ephemeral.  Delicate. Unprotected.

“There,” Wei Wuxian proclaimed as he rose again, wrapping his arm around his shoulders again and thumping his chest affectionately. “Now you’re officially one of us. It was all Jiang Cheng’s idea, to tell you the truth.”

It was all Jin Guangyao could do to take an iron grip of his throat’s functions, look up at Jiang Wanyin’s nervous smile and ask in a tight, small voice. “You’re sure?”

While his smile turned slightly sour with puzzlement, the Clan Leader gave a huff of amusement. “Of course I’m sure. What kind of question is that?”

“Congratulations, gongzi!” Wen Ning beamed eagerly, bobbing his head. They all looked at him with wide smiles. Now knowing smiles. The knowing that he wanted to hate but couldn’t muster more than a prickle.

When Jin Guangyao bowed, deeply, they scoffed and the tiny bell hung from his belt gave a little chime. Still smiling, they watched him go and he blindly made his way back and back and back to his room. To A-Li. 

She was reading on the bed when he burst in and she blinked up at him. “Oh! Are--” her eyes went to his hand, clutching the slim silk line that connected to his belt, and her worry melted away into beaming excitement. “So they did it? They made me promise not to be there. Here, come here, come here, you.” She held out her arms and he shakingly made his way to the bed and practically collapsed within them, burying his nose into the softness of her as she wrapped around him. 

Here, he was safe. Here, he could ask. “Is this alright?” he whispered, voice choked again. “Is this allowed?”

“Is what, A-Yao?”

He clenched the bell in one hand and laid the other on her stomach, both still trembling as he shook his head, encompassing all of it, everything, anything here.

“Oh, love,” she crooned into his hair, stroked his face. “Of course.”

And here, against her, in the quiet and the safety, he let the tears come again as the pressure threatened to burst him--let himself weep, either in joy or grief, for all the things he now had to lose.

[wersoverytired]

Watching the Supernatural finale hours after almost dying is, well. Different.

I cannot stress this enough: MAJOR triggers for frank discussion of a recent suicide attempt (no, not because SPN ended). Steer clear if this might hit too close to home. I'm no longer at risk, this happened a while ago and is over, and my care manager is aware.

Right, and spoilers for the series finale.

_____ _____ _____

I'm old enough to have been a fan of SPN since 2005. And considering the fact that childhood abuse had me suicidal at around age 12, probably earlier, it's safe to say that I have never watched the show without that constant battle going on in the background, unrelated.

When Dean said he was tired, that he was done, I got it. When Sam asked in that abandoned chapel what the upside was to him being alive, or when he confided in his brother in a hotel hallway that he had always felt unclean somehow, I could relate. There was more to the show than that, of course -- the love, the loyalty, the humor -- but the struggle was another point of connection.

As both the show and I grew long in the tooth, and my life circumstances were progressive getting worse (as they sometimes do when you carry untreated trauma), I used SPN and the fandom as a comfort. And increasingly, living to see how the Winchester story ends became one of those grappling hooks you latch on to when you look for reasons to keep going just a little longer.

Naturally, that didn't (and couldn't) arm me against the waves of acute, hope-obliterating, soul-sucking despair that can routinely crash on your head when you're dealing with poverty, chronic physical illness and disability -- and in a harsh country, too -- as well as being severely post traumatic and dissociative. Saving me was never the show's job, nor should it have been. I used it as much as I could, though.

The more I felt like I had to die, the more I tried. Dying hardly ever comes naturally, not even when you feel like there's no other way. Painfully isolated and increasingly bedridden, I watched convention panels and smiled so hard my face hurt. Other times I cried. And I made online friends, often through the fandom, who made life less empty. Who loved and laughed and cried with me from afar. It's hard to overstate the effect that can have when you're trapped in a body that's pretty much your cage, with a mind that's wounded and struggling.

I kept fighting. But I also kept finding myself, over and over again, faced with the reality that most people who are deeply traumatized, certainly those who are also severely dissociative, get to know early on: the world excels at letting many of us know that there's no place for us. Fighting hard to survive with about 10% of what I need to live, I sometimes find it hard not to listen to that toxic message that many survivors and disabled folks hear and feel coming at them over and over: you're too broken to justify the cost and effort of keeping you alive.

It's been an especially hard couple of years in that sense. And as the finale was months, then weeks, then days away, I kept telling myself to wait. Wait for that. Decide later. "Deciding later" is a survival technique I've been using for decades now whenever I get actively suicidal. It's not a bad one.

So that very last Thursday evening (or very late night, where I live) came around. And it so happens that I was at the very end of my rope. Again, for unrelated reasons to the show ending, obviously. And I couldn't go on.

The finale was hours away, and off I went on that same journey. Wait. Wait just long enough to see how it ends. It's been 15 years. You've survived so far, and that bit of closure, at least, is within reach. Just fucking wait to watch that last episode; see how they go before you do. Let that be the one last kind thing you do for yourself.

I kept telling myself that even as I numbly went through my final checklist.

I know it hurts so much. I know this damn body is tortured beyond what you can stand, I know we've been told it's about to get even worse. And hours more of this seem like an eternity. Watching anything seems impossible. I know the PTSD is intolerable, I know you can't sleep, you live in constant fear and rage and exhaustion; I know you're alone in this.

I know you live in a place that has made its peace with people like you dying of Covid, and finds it a small price to pay for refusing to wear masks. I know how that makes you feel, to be told that your life is worth that little because you're disabled. I know 9 months of what amounts to house arrest, while living alone, have made everything so much worse. I know you just want to go.

But wait to watch how it ends. And decide later. You can go later. You can.

And I almost made it. I mean, I'm obviously still here, so I eventually survived. But I tried not to. I couldn't wait.

Sometimes, when you get to the lowest low point, when you are in all-encompassing agony, when your circumstances leave no room for hope even though you desperately want to live -- and I do, I so want to live -- no show, no fandom, no unfinished story can keep you from taking that step over the edge. Many times it can, but there are places where nothing has any meaning. Thursday night became one of those. Watching the finale was a faded notion in the background of all that agony, and then it was nothing at all.

I only managed to write one goodbye letter. Hard to be as organized as you imagined you would be, hard not to leave unforgivable loose ends. I have no memory of what the letter said, and I can't look at it, not yet. It's tucked away now, just out of view.

And then I went about doing the only thing that I felt could be done.

I didn't get to go away. Both because I couldn't stand the torment of the only method I had handy, though I sure gave it my best efforts -- two more minutes would have sealed the deal -- and because I was fucking afraid to die. All the way through, until I gave up and stopped what I was doing.

Fear of dying when you're your own executioner is an odd thing. Your body wants out of this plan you've made for you both. It responds like you'd expect when someone's life in under threat. It makes you have to run to the bathroom over and over, it makes your heart hammer in your chest and your ears ring.

There was no crying. Not at that point. I don't think there was crying when I gave up and accepted that I was staying alive, either. But I can't remember.

I don't know what I did during the few hours after that. The physical consequences of what I did were gone within half an hour or so -- being so ill, I knew not to try something that would land me in the ER during COVID, should I not complete the plan. I'd also be on my own there, and most likely dissociated to such a degree that I wouldn't be able to move or speak. That's not something I ever wanted to experience again, and a fucking horrible starting point if I survived.

Anyway, I was okay physically soon enough, which is not how it usually goes. I just remember being fuzzy and distant and alone. There was no one to call, and I also thought about how it would feel to get a call like that. I considered a crisis hotline, but didn't have the energy to explain my messy, complicated circumstances. I probably just lay there.

A few hours later, I was present enough to watch the finale. Still don't know how. Dissociation has it occasional advantages, one of which is being disconnected from certain things when it's all too much. And so I watched the final episode in bed, with the aftermath of that suicide attempt still all around me.

I watched Dean die the way he did. I watched Sam die. I watched them both being given the pained, tearful reassurance that it was okay to go. Watched them being held, watched those two strong, kindhearted, emotional, loyal men crying as they breathed their last. Dean's death, especially, broke my heart. He so clearly did not want to die. Was afraid, more than ever before.

I did cry then. I sobbed. I could cry for them. Hell, I could cry for that dog, wandering with Sam through the empty halls of the bunker. I cried as that dog looked up, with all that trust and love, at the only human he had left. I cried for Sam, sitting drained and aching in the dark library. Saying "I know, me too" on the unmade bed in Dean's cold, empty room.

Before that, back in the barn, I watched Dean not want to go. Sam begging him not to go, then forcing himself to tell his older brother what he needed, what he begged to hear. That he wasn't abandoning the one person he had spent his life looking out for. That Sam would survive him going, now that he had to go.

I never saved the world, and there's nothing heroic about me. But so much of what went on around those characters' deaths echoed what I had felt hours earlier, what I still was feeling. It gave me a safe way to cry for that, too.

I will always be grateful to the show for that small mercy. And grateful to Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, whom I've never met and never will, and have given such phenomenal performances here that they reached through all that distance, to unknowingly touch an ache that I could not cry for. They'll never know that. I imagine there are so many people like me who feel the same gratefulness, too, for their own similar moments of human connection.

The show is over now, and I try not to be sad about that, and I'm sure I will be. It would be sadder if I didn't feel a loss. Meanwhile, life doesn't stall just because you tried to stop your own. It's around two weeks later now, bright and loud outside my window in a world that's not safe for me to go out in, and I am lying in bed in a half-lit room trying to manage my pain. I didn't die. I'm still here.

I can't pretend I'm glad that I am, but I also know that I'm not ready to go yet. I'm just not. I have no good reason for that; sometimes you're just too afraid to die. And so I can't see myself trying to go away again any time soon. My health might take care of that for me anyway, but otherwise, looks like I'm stuck on this ride.

I'm very grateful that I've had SPN and its people for so long through this battle, to give me and the rest of the fandom so much more than meets the eye. And I'm grateful for that last, good cry, too.

Well, not the last cry, for sure. There's always rewatch #475783. 

[randombtsprincessa]

Anarchy

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Kim Namjoon x Reader (Ft. Jeon Jungkook) (2nd POV)

Words: 16.1k

Genre: Smut/Angst

Summary: A brutal break-up leaves you devoid of inspiration and an enigmatic author helps you see that the best of us have demons.

Warning: Jerk! Jungkook, Bitchiness, Pettiness, Profanity, Dirty Talk, Oral (Both receiving), Unprotected Sex.

A/N: I just love Namjoon!

The last year of college is supposed to be fun and studying in equal parts. It is supposed to be studying all day and letting loose at night in a frat party with your man and your girls and boys.

It isn’t supposed to be sitting in front of your open laptop in the dark room binging on ice cream and Netflix. It isn’t supposed to be ditching your literature thesis and novel – two of the most important things to you to get out of college – because you were uninspired.

It definitely wasn’t supposed to be your best friend letting herself in to your apartment to find you in your hiding place – vulnerable in pajamas, wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

“Y/N,” she sighed, dropping her bags on the coffee table with an ominous thud as she began to move around your usually tidy apartment with lithe steps.

You watched her warily while she opened windows to let in the cool night breeze, shook out the curtains, kicked away tossed clothes and take out containers and then come over to stand next to you, hands on hips and lips pursed.

“Did you even move since the morning?” Yerin asked.

You shrugged. What did it matter if you moved or not? What did it matter if you did anything at all?

“Y/N,” she sighed again, looking around the dark room again before her manicured fingers reached out and did the unthinkable.

She switched on the light switch.                                                

Brightness flooded the living room, harsh and unfamiliar to your delicate eyes as you let out a wild yelp, ducking under your blanket to protect yourself.

“Hell, Y/N, this isn’t healthy!” Yerin said from somewhere overhead even as you stayed buried in your soft darkness, tipping your body over to lie on the floor, pitiful whines falling from your mouth. Your brain fought hard, trying to infuse some sense into your aching heart, reasoning with claws and fangs.

“I know, Yerin, ok? I know this is horrible and filthy and that I smell and that probably everyone in class thinks I’m dead or something…maybe pregnant.” You wailed.

Try as she may, Yerin couldn’t help rolling her eyes at her best friend.

“No one thinks you’re dead or pregnant, Y/N. they know what happened, they know you need time.” She cajoled before biting her lip as you emerged, a furious scowl on your face.

“Oh, so everyone knows I got dumped? Great, Yerin, that’s just great, it’s just what I fucking need.” You snapped before picking your decrepit self off the floor, blanket still wrapped around you as you made your way into the kitchen to put the ice cream container in the refrigerator.

Yerin followed, mentally slapping herself for letting it slip that everyone on campus knew about your heartbreak.

“They don’t mean to be mean, Y/N. I’m just saying that people will understand.” She tried again.

You did not reply. What came instead was a soft sniffle that immediately made Yerin rush to the girl, wrapping slender arms around the hunched figure.

“I just don’t understand…” you hiccupped, “why he would do this.”

“He’s a jerk, Y/N. a jerk who did not deserve you…at all.” Yerin whispered, her grip tightening on you as you thought back to the day your loving boyfriend of 3 years decided he did not want to be with you after all, that there was plenty of fish in the ocean that he needed to try out before he settled down…that you were just not enough anymore.

“I saw Jungkook in class today, Y/N…he didn’t seem to be doing too good,” Yerin ventured slowly.

You shook even more, triggered at the mention of your boyfriend’s name…no, ex boyfriend’s name. Yerin was right. If Jungkook didn’t love you enough to keep it in his pants, then he did not deserve you…and you weren’t about to be sympathetic to the man who hurt and left you at a time you needed him the most.

His betrayal went deep. Not only were you crippled by the pressure in your heart, it was wrecking your life at college. You should be in classes, writing assignments, working on the novel you were going to try and get published after graduation. You weren’t supposed to be bedridden or hidden in a mass of blankets binging food and movies.

Jungkook had effectively destroyed you and he did not get to feel sad after shattering your heart, life, hopes and dreams.

“Y/N…?” Yerin asked softly, trying to jolt you out of your stiff countenance but you vigorously shook your head.

“I don’t care anymore. I don’t want to care anymore.” you whispered harshly, more of an order to your own self than an assurance to her.

Yerin stared for a while before nodding.

“You got it, beautiful. Let’s go get your life back.” She whispered as you wrapped your own arms around her.

Morning dawned a little too fast for your liking; sunlight pouring from your window and brushing against your closed eyelids, prompting you to roll over on your back with a disgruntled groan.

Unbidden, Yerin’s words from last night flooded your mind and you sat up slowly, blanket pooling around your waist as you gathered your bearings about you.

Jungkook and you had broken up. You had mourned that relationship while it lasted for long enough. You couldn’t stay cooped up in your apartment forever – for one, you needed your degree to work and pay for yourself.

With aggressive affirmations chanting in your mind, you picked yourself up to attend your class.

When you passed through the open doors of the lecture hall, you expected all eyes turn to you with varying degrees of judgment, sympathy or pity like a cheap rom-com but none of that happened…

It was almost as if you had never disappeared off the surface of the world as you made your way to your seat, weaving around the throngs of the chatting students. Yes, one or two turned to glance back at you when they saw you were back but it didn’t faze you all that much until you spotted your seat finally…and the one next to it…occupied by Jungkook.

You stopped mid-step, jostled by the passing students as you stared at the boy in front of you.

Damn, you had forgotten that over the course of your relationship, Jungkook and you had sat next to each other in all the lectures you had together. Thankfully, you only had this last subject remaining for your final year so that made things easy. You wouldn’t have to see him for five consecutive hours.

As you shuffled on your feet, you noticed that Yerin probably hadn’t looked at Jungkook too closely.

He didn’t look too bad. His hair still had that shine he achieved from the most expensive hair gel he could find. He had even changed his clothing. Instead of the usual hoodie and t-shirt, he had donned a fitted leather jacket and a shirt that screamed branded.

You couldn’t help but feel hurt. Jungkook was putting in so much effort to lure in new ‘fish’. Where had that effort been when he had been dating you? Hadn’t you been worth it at all?

Spinning on your heel, you marched towards one of the empty desks near the middle of the class and tapped the person sitting next to the empty one on the shoulder.

“Is this seat taken?” you asked roughly.

The boy widened his eyes at the slightly hostile behavior from you and quickly shook his head. “Thanks,” you huffed, flopping down into the seat and huddling in close as the boy turned to you completely.

“You’re…Y/N, right?” he asked.

You nodded and he cleared his throat. “Sorry about Jeon, you know; I heard about why he broke up with you.” he said. You pursed your lips at the uninvited sympathy but nonetheless offered him a smile.

“Thanks,” you said again.

He nodded. “I’m Taehyung, by the way,” he smiled. “You should know if you’re going to be my partner.” He said before turning to face the front when the professor strode in.

Professor Jung Hoseok was the youngest professor on our campus and the dream boat of almost all the females in the vicinity. Not only was he good looking; with dark hair parted neatly to give him that scholarly look, gold rimmed glasses that reflected light when he put them on and a sunny smile that lit up the room, he was a verifiable literature genius; able to recite sonnets and complicated Latin couplets that would make our lunch lady swoon.

Still, no matter how much of a heartthrob he was for the university, Jung was stern and a scary perfectionist. He never became overbearing but he was known to push people till they achieved their potential. He was a big name in the publishing world for this very reason.

Naturally, you had to please him if you wanted to make it in the field.

Mr. Jung stopped at his desk before casting a keen glance over the class, dark eyes sharp without his glasses. With a single wave of his hand, he acknowledged our greetings and began to get to work.

Switching on the projector and laptop, he pulled on his glasses, the rim glowing in the silver light of the projector as a picture of a blank paper.

He cleared his throat.

“Ok so class, what do you see here?” he asked.

“A blank page,” someone called from the back.

“Good, why do you think I have this on here?” he asked.

There was silence.

Mr. Jung circled the desk to stand at the front. “Come on, class, this is creative writing, use your imagination.” He said.

“To…tell a story…?” a voice floated.

He grinned.

“Correct, but not quite…it’s not for me to tell the story…it is for you.”

You froze in your seat.

“Now, we have forty five minutes. I want you to write me something in thirty minutes. Do this and you can leave fifteen minutes early.” He clapped his hands twice and returned to his desk, sitting down and fiddling on the keyboard.

Taehyung turned to me, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Wow, not what I expected today, I’m so out of it.”

You snorted mentally. Yeah, says you who have had zero inspiration for weeks now…

Even as people turned in their sheets to Mr. Jung and filed out, Taehyung included you nervously stayed back until you saw Jungkook pass by, sheet of paper clutched in his hand.

You watch as he hands in over to Mr. Jung before walking out, hiking the strap of his bag higher up on his leather clad shoulder.

Finally realizing that you were the only student left in the class, you stood up shakily, taking in a deep breath for stabilization as you shuffled over to him.

Mr. Jung looked up expectantly.

“Ah, Y/N, yes, I’m looking forward to your work.” He smiled.

There was a pause as you guiltily looked down. “I…don’t have anything, sir.”

He frowned immediately. “I beg your pardon?”

“I couldn’t do it…”

Mr. Jung frowned at you as he glanced around the empty class again.

“Its fine, Miss Y/L/N, its creativity, sometimes it takes time to come. Don’t beat yourself up about it. I have a class in another fifteen minutes. I would like you to come to my office at the end of college hours.” He said briskly, snapping the laptop shut.

You nodded before turning, leaving the room.

By the time the end of workday strolled by, you were nervous and sweating at what Jung was going to tell you. was he going to tell you he was taking away your assignments from you? was he going to sideline your book?

Veritably trembling, you knocked twice on the frosted glass of Mr. Jung’s office and entered at the soft ‘come in’.

At your appearance, Mr. Jung smiled.

“Y/N, good, good, have a seat,” he said, indicating a chair in front of his desk and you plopped down, biting your lips as he steeped his fingers together, eyeing you speculatively.

“Now, do you want to discuss what has you in such a dump?” he asked.

You stumbled. “S-sir?” you asked.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m not that much older than you…I’ve been where you are just a few years ago. I know an inspiration leak when I see one…” he said.

You stayed still, spluttering wordlessly at him.

“In professional terms, we call it a writer’s block.” He gently murmured before tapping at his laptop.

“You have been absent in class for the past week, I doubt you have done your assignment and I have received no updates on your book. As a man close to your age, I can sympathize but as your teacher who reports to superiors of his own, I have to interfere in due course, Miss Y/L/N.” he said.

You looked down, trying to blink back disappointed tears before you were spouting out your side of the story to your professor about how Jungkook broke your heart, how he was parading around his good looks in your direct line of sight and how you couldn’t move from your floor for days and the fact that some part of you still believed that Jungkook could come back to you after having his fill of ‘fresh fish’.

Was it stupid of you to consider taking him back? Of course, but who cared?

“However, as a man and your teacher who sees potential in you and believes that you can get past it and wants to help you, I can say that I am willing to give you some help.”

You looked up quickly at that as he gave you another quick smile of pity.

“I’ll give you an extension on that assignment and in return I want you to start working on your book along with it. If you can submit the assignment in two days and its good enough, I will help you on your book.” He said.

You shot up from your desk.

“I won’t disappoint you, sir. I promise to submit it by then,” you said, taking his wave of acknowledgement as your dismissal as you rushed off to get to work on 2500 words worth of an assignment.

On the day of reckoning, I watched as Jung walked among the desks taking in the assignments before he was stopping at mine – still next to Taehyung – and quirking an eyebrow. I slipped the folder into his waiting palm and watched his lips twitch a little before he moved on.

At the end of the class he stood up, “Miss Y/N, kindly stay back,” he said as everyone filed out.

I stood up to go to his desk when my elbow collided with someone while swinging my bag on to my shoulder. “Oh sorry!” you said quickly, only to see it was Jungkook, who looked startled to see you.

Yeah, did he forget you and him go to the same classes?

“No…no worries, Y/N,” he said shakily before he was slinking past you, hurriedly walking out the door.

You sighed, walking quickly to Mr. Jung’s desk, hoping that he hadn’t seen that exchange.

“Very good, Y/N, this looks promising, I’d say you have earned help on that book of yours fair and square.” He said a rare wide smile on his face.

You smiled back, rubbing your hands a little to warm the excited numb feeling in your fingers as he pulled out his wallet and picked out a paper from one of the compartments, handing it to you.

“I spoke to one of my friends about helping you on the book; Writing, editing, the works. He’s an author himself, so he knows all the tricks. Maybe you’ve heard of him? His name is Kim Namjoon.” He said.

You wracked your mind. “Is he the one who wrote The Real Me?” You asked. You remembered seeing the book on the shelves of your favorite book store but you had been too swamped with studies to afford buying a new book.

“Yes, he recently came back from an abroad trip and I know he doesn’t have any works in progress at the moments as Real Me is still making the rounds. He’s one of my best friends and he agreed to take a look at your work. He’s going to be at that café at the time I’ve written down and I included the number just in case. I hope this helps you, Y/N. I expect you to be on your best behavior with him as well.” He said.

You nodded fervently, profusely thanking the lucky stars for giving you this opportunity.

That weekend, you arrived bright and early at the meet up place Jung had written down for you and nervously waited for anyone to approach the table you were sitting at. You’d already done a sweep of the place to make sure you were the only one sitting alone so there would be no mistaken identities and had looked him up online.

Kim Namjoon was twenty four years old, fresh out of college and published by one of the most prestigious companies in the business, Bulletproof Co. He was tall, handsome and always well dressed, in suits or preppy shirts and sweaters. You had zoomed on his face to make sure you had the correct guy and even underneath the thick rimmed black square glasses or the occasional sunglasses, you could see the softness lingering in his sharp good looks; be it in the plumpness of his lips, the round, dimpled cheeks or the slant under his eyes.

You switched to his book details to see informed and you had to say, you were pretty impressed.

The Real Me was a philosophical and psychological revelation. It started with recounting real life instances of people’s lives and how Namjoon himself had felt them; failure, pressure of success, silver spooning and finally heartbreak.

It ended with the realization that everything came and went and that the furnace which life lit for a person would indirectly forge them into a better person…and if they were lucky, they might be able to find their true selves in that journey as well.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

You looked over your shoulder to see the man in a large black hat and shades standing at your chair, head cocked to one side.

“Um, yes, that would be me,” you said.

The man nodded, moving to sit in front of you before he was removing his hat and glasses, placing them neatly on top of each other to a side of the round table.

“I’m Kim Namjoon; Jung Hoseok came to me about you.” he said, finally looking up to meet your studious eyes.

The Kim Namjoon in the pictures did no justice to the real life Kim Namjoon, you realized. He wasn’t as lean, the tall frame wrapped in muscles that bulged in the tightness of his clothes. The black jeans showed strong thighs, biceps flexing under the movement of his coat sleeve as he removed it, tossing it over the back of his chair. The simple plaid shirt underneath, made him look like a normal guy, not the suited bestseller author you’d seen online.

You realized he was waiting for a reply while you were staring at him so you quickly lowered your gaze.

“Yes, yes he did, he said you’d be able to help me with my book.” You said quietly.

“I could, of course, but I would like to know what exactly it is you need help with.” He said.

“Um, the writing and editing thing,” you mumbled as Namjoon nodded to a passing waiter who came to take your orders. While you asked for a simple milkshake, he went for a black coffee with the House Special Blend.

While the orders were done, he turned back to you. “I’m a little confused. Hoseok is your creative writing professor, isn’t he? He has much more of a name in the world than I do for these kinds of things. Why not just go to him?”

“He’s my teacher,” you said as the waiter placed your drinks in front of you and left. “I cannot ask him to push for me with the publishers. All that would be appropriate for him to do would be to give me a letter of recommendation. I need someone who can actually tell me what to do to get my work in print. Who better to do that than an already published writer?” you asked.

Namjoon smiled knowingly, turning his cup with his index finger.

“Ah, Hoseok…he always knew his little tricks.” He murmured before looking at you.

“What did you mean by helping you write?” he shot.

The question as always made you stiffen and then blush in embarrassment. “Yeah, that…um, I’m having a little bit of a…inspiration leak.” You said, quoting Jung.

“Writer’s block,” Namjoon said bluntly before shaking his head.

“I don’t know Miss Y /L /N; you seem like a good investment to me. Bright, well spoken and everything…plus you come with Hoseok’s recommendation and he doesn’t recommend just anyone…but I’m worried about the slump you’re in. I can’t help you if you cannot write. I cannot write your book for you, you see.”

“Oh but please, Mr. Kim, I mean, Mr. Jung gave me two days to finish his assignment and I managed that so I guess desperation works best for pulling me out of my slump. I’m not going to ask you to write anything for me. I just need you to guide me,” you said quickly.

Namjoon contemplated.

“Fine, tell me about what you’re writing…while I think about it,” he brought his cup up his thick lips to take a sip.

You took a sip of your own drink.

“The book is about struggle, something I think you’re familiar with.” You said and Namjoon tilted his head at you, an impressed look in his eyes.

“You read my book…did you grasp it well?”

“The basics, but I think I should get a chance to share our own pieces as well.” You said.

Namjoon smirked.

“Fair enough, I think I’d like to see what piece it is you want to share with the world. Bring me five hundred words tomorrow.” He said before placing his empty cup on the table and standing up, collecting his belongings.

“Where?” you asked.

“You have a writer’s block, what better place to go but to the park? see me near the small pond where they used to keep duck at 10.” He said.

The disused duck pond was the perfect spot, you realized, sitting on one of the fairly stronger benches as you waited for Namjoon, early again to maintain good impressions.

Your five hundred words were in your lap, a page full of masked demons, loss of self, and a maze of a journey with no outing.

“You have a habit of being early,” you heard from behind you.

A glance to your side, told you that Namjoon had arrived, this time looking like one of his pictures. A white button down, black slacks and blazer with his thick rimmed glasses, his silvery dark blond hair caught the dull morning sun as he sat down beside you, holding out a hand that you placed your homework on.

He sifted through it before tucking the page into one of his inside pockets. He crossed his arms as he bit on his lips.

“Did you read my book?” he asked.

“I told you; I read up on a bit online but I couldn’t complete it. I was busy studying to pass my course.” You said.

“I see; that’s what you say, Miss Y/L/N, but that isn’t what an editor or a publisher is going to say. It isn’t even what I’m going to say. What you’ve written���it’s like you’re holding up a mirror to what I have written in my book.” He said.

You gaped at him. “Are you saying I copied you? Because I did not; I mean yeah the premises are similar but the…”

“The premises, prose, writing style, even some of the wordings…they are all similar, Miss Y/L/N. I told you yesterday, I cannot write your book for you.”

“You aren’t though,” you said.

“You told me that you have a piece to share with the world. I liked that and I also like the piece but it isn’t…you. The girl I have seen in these two days is not the one I’m seeing reflected in this piece of paper.” He said, turning to face me as he scanned the confusion on my face.

“A writer needs to have a voice. This voice is what communicates to your readers. Sometimes, they might see themselves as you, try to relate as you…sometimes you try to relate to them, become them…in all these situations your audience needs to be able to see you, hear you, feel you in your words…if you can’t make your readers understand your essence through your work, what is the point of conveying messages to them? What is the point of writing? Just to get royalties…? Be rich and able to buy stuff…? Or do you actually want to be able to make a difference, no matter how small?” he said.

You sat there, watching over the pond as you contemplated his words.

“I want to make a difference.” You mumbled.

“Good, but you’re not going to do it by sounding like me. Try sounding like yourself. Tell me, what is it that you have on your mind right now? What’s driving you? Write about that. You are important to yourself and if you believe that, you can make your readers believe it too. So, tell me, Y/N…what do you feel?” he said.

“Um…I feel…desperation mostly, because I really need this. I want to be out in the world and if I wait till I graduate I will never get it done. I’m…sad I suppose…I just went through a break up because my boyfriend thinks he’s too young to settle down and needs to fuck others to decide.” You ranted.

You stopped before grinning sheepishly at him.

“Sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about that.”

“I’m a reader, Miss Y/L/N. if you can tell me a story, I’m willing to listen.” He mumbled, his body turning to you as he made himself comfortable.

Stumbling a little, you gave him exactly what he wanted…you told him a story about Jungkook.

When you were done, your eyes were distant, pools of amber and onyx lush with unshed memories as you recalled the way you’d disbelievingly watched your guiltless boyfriend leave you life, heart and apartment.

Namjoon was quiet as he let you finish before you sighed, turning to look at him again.

“Allow me to say this, Miss Y/L/N; you may not agree with me with your present mindset but you should use your heartbreak as a strength.” He turned to face the pond again.

“I’ve had my fair share of failures at love and I admit I had a bitter view of it for a long time but over time it changed. I have settled to believe that it is a necessary evil nowadays. You cannot avoid it in life. You will always see it, on the street, in a restaurant, in a park but you have the choice to be hateful towards it or you can take your chances and turn it into art – no matter how tragic it seems.” He gave you a bleak smile.

“You have a strange world view Mr. Kim Namjoon,” you whispered.

“I hope so…the woman who broke my heart had a habit of telling me I should stick to the mainstream. When we ended, I made it my mission to go the opposite way of everything she stood for. Now I am a successful author. Maybe you can do it too and in a few years, you won’t even remember this Jungkook.”

“You still remember her, don’t you?” you asked.

“Well, yes, but then it’s ok if you remember your past loves. All you have to make sure you remember is that they are not the people you once fell in love with. It seems unfair to go to that much trouble and yes, I will steer clear of her if I see her which tends to happen because we are in the same business, I still don’t hold myself inferior enough to beguile her existence as long as she is not beguiling mine.”

“That takes guts.” You said bluntly, making Namjoon laugh.

“Yes, it does, doesn’t it? I think I got what I wanted across to you. Think about what I said and the next time we see each other I want a thousand words. I’ll text you when I’m free next.” He said, standing up and offering me his hand to shake.

“Until next time, Y/N,”

You shook his hand, “See you, Mr. Kim,”

He buttoned his blazer and made to turn before giving you one parting glance.

“Y/N,”

“Yeah?”

“Call me Namjoon.”

You’d known Namjoon for a month now and while he still remained an enigma to you mostly, you were happy to say that he was an enigma you could call him your friend.

Over the time that you’d known him, he had given you more insight into a writer’s mentality, reader reception and what publishers usually were looking for.

All of these guides were helpful but somehow along the way, you had started to crave more of how you felt around him rather than just the way he helped you along.

Namjoon had a very soothing presence, almost lulling you into tranquility while you were with him as he took you on walks and trips to places where no one was present. It would’ve seemed creepy if not for the fact that you trusted him explicitly in the short amount of time you’d known him. Besides he’d already warned you of his ways of detaching you from the world in the way that you could find yourself.

In these solitary places, he said, where no one was around to see you and judge you, you could be yourself, think of yourself, see things for yourself, wander inside yourself.

Did it seem melodramatic? Probably, but it did help.

Your mind was clearer…it helped you submit finals much easier and even as you were picked valedictorian by a beaming Jung Hoseok, you made it a point to thank him for helping you.

He characteristically waved it away. “I knew Namjoon would’ve been a great help to you. He was like you, you know, when we were in college. Same sort of thoughts, same proclivity towards philosophy…even the same, forgive me, naivety towards love.” He said.

“His ex?” you guessed and he nodded.

“She was a real piece of work. On the surface you’d think she was a godsend – sweet, kind, supportive, encouraging…but it wasn’t until she left Namjoon that we found out how sadistically she chewed on him.” Mr. Jung handed you the sash for valedictorian before shaking his head.

“She’s in the past now. So, how’s the book coming?” he asked, changing the subject as you spent the next half hour discussing the changes you’d made to it.

“Seems promising, I’d love to read it once Namjoon’s done with it. Oh and, our university is hosting a fund raiser for on campus personnel, Y/N. Many editors and publishers are going to be there. I know for a fact a few of your classmates have a few professors backing them. Would you be interested?” he asked.

“Um…is it appropriate?” you asked.

Jung shrugged.

“I don’t see why not. I am writing your letter of recommendation. What good is it going to do if you don’t have someone to show it to?”

“Oh,” you laughed, “Makes sense, I’ll try and be there.”

“Fantastic…oh and Y/N, I know this will sound strange but try to get Namjoon to attend…lord knows the man needs to get out more.”

By the time you emailed Namjoon about the fund raiser he’d already been logged in for a book signing and had to refuse, sending in a best of luck instead.

Yerin had come over, doing her best to make you look presentable. For all her knowledge of pop culture trivia, your best friend was hopeless with a hairbrush and even though you teased her for it, you were more than grateful as she tried to put your hair in an up-do by watching a YouTube tutorial.

“It’s just a fund raiser, Yerin. Don’t give yourself an aneurysm.” You said, watching her struggle with bobby pins and she threw you a look. “A fund raiser where your potential boss could be scouting talent; try looking your best, ok… There are going to be a lot of big shots there.” She said.

And a lot of big shots were present at the fund raiser…

Your dress swirled around your knees as you examined the Great Hall of the university where the event was taking place in awe. You wouldn’t have recognized it in daylight as shimmering chandeliers hung in alternative skylights.

Namjoon would’ve liked to be here, you thought, surprising yourself.

Normally, you wouldn’t be thinking of people like this and how they would appreciate…but you supposed that Namjoon just had that kind of aura of deriving pleasure from seemingly mundane things and that had struck a chord in you.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N, you made it,” you saw your headmaster, Mr. Sihyuk draw closer to you with Mr. Jung and you smiled, nodding at them. “The hall looks great, sir.” You said and Mr. Sihyuk grinned.

“It does, doesn’t it? You have the Art department to thank for that. I see Hoseok is backing you this year, very well very well. Make sure to make us all proud, Miss Y/L/N.” he said, patting Jung on the back and leaving to greet the other guests.

Mr. Jung sighed.

“You have no idea how pretentious this backing thing can get, Y/N.” he said, taking a sip from his flute. “Namjoon is signing books right now. He should’ve been here. He’d have merged right in.” He rolled his eyes before shaking his head.

“Don’t mind me, I’m just feeling frustrated from all the exam corrections…go and mingle Y/N, you’ll need the connections in a couple weeks.” He said, giving you a bleak smile before walking away.

Your smile faded away a little as you looked around the people talking. They all seemed to already know each other beforehand. There was no way your little anxious self was going up to someone and just introduce yourself.

As you backed up a little, you felt someone’s elbow catch you and you gasped, turning to apologize just as the woman turned too.

Pale, slender and beautiful, she grabbed your arm, a sheepish smile blossoming on her smooth deep pink lips as she quickly pulled you towards her.

“I’m so sorry! I am a complete klutz in heels, I swear.” She said.

Closer, she was even beautiful, flawless even as she tilted her head back a little to laugh.

“No, no, I should’ve seen where I was going.” You corrected quickly and the girl blushed prettily.

“That wouldn’t have helped. If I’m meant to hit someone, I usually do hit them.”

You giggled at her and she beamed. “Come on, join me, I have a feeling we’re going to get along really well. I’m Seulgi.” She said, tugging you after her to one of the empty table.

“I’m Y/N.” you said as she plucked two champagne flutes from a passing waiter and handed you one, plopping down on the chair and letting out a soft moan of relief.

“Thank god, these things were killing me,” she said.

“I know right, my best friend told me to wear flat just because she knows I can’t stay in heels for long.” You told her.

She sighed, “I wish my friends were that smart, but alas, I happen to be the expert in these things. You’d think I’d be wearing flats but come on, heels make you look great.” She gushed.

After a few more glasses, you and Seulgi were still at the table, talking about future prospects and past experiences alike. She was the assistant of one of the editors and you recalled that Publishing House had worked with Namjoon. Funny how that was how you would remember someone…You even talked about douche bag exes and she tutted at the way Jungkook had treated you.

“That, honey, is why men are pigs. No matter how much you love them, they still cannot think clear past their dicks. Was he hot, though?” she asked.

“Oh, very,” you mumbled, thinking of the doe eyes that would turn to dark and hooded and the half smirk that could itself made you want to crawl over him. You didn’t have to see his body to think him hot but he somehow had that as well.

“Well, as long as you tapped that good and nice.” She said and you choked on your drink, bursting out laughing.

“What about you? Any douches in your life?” you asked, quickly diverting your new friend from Jungkook.

“Hmm, a few…there was particularly one though…he wasn’t a douche…we just didn’t see things the same way. If you asked him, he’d say I was trying to hold him back…” he laughed, “typical excuse, right? I just wanted him to make big and be safe, you know. I loved him.” She said.

You shook your head. “Well, I guess you’re better off without him.”

She smiled. “That’s what I keep telling myself.” She whispered.

When you finally came back home, late and with Seulgi’s number added to your phone with promises to see each other again that you thought nothing of, you wandered into your room to see Yerin was still waiting there.

She had passed out in your bed, hair sprawled around her like a halo, arms tucked neatly under her and you smiled fondly at her before tucking her in and going out with your phone and to browse a bit before you went to bed. There awaiting in your inbox was a small text from Namjoon asking you if you were free tomorrow and that he’d like to take you for a movie he’d been aiming to watch but didn’t have free time to go until today.

For a reason unbeknownst to you, the small message brought a smile to your face as you typed and sent in a yes.

The next day when you opened the door at six, you were surprised to see Namjoon standing at your doorstep without his usual effects of hat, sunglasses and coat. He was in a simple long sleeved black shirt and grey jeans, his hair mussed artfully which made you question why it was fair for people to look that good while you had to spend half an hour in front of a mirror.

“Hey,” he said a dimpled smile on his face. “How was the fund raiser?”

“Hmm, it was good, met a few interesting people,” you replied as you locked your door, following him to his car. He held the passenger door open for you and when you slipped in you found the tickets already on the dash in front of you. You picked it up turning them to see the name, expecting to find some documentary only to be surprised again.

“A scary movie, really?” you threw at him as he got in and started the car.

“Yeah, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing, I was just expecting something more like…you know, a guy on top of a hill talking about aliens or something like that.” You teased.

Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“I do have a life outside of my profession, Miss Y/L/N. it might not always seem like it; but it’s been known to happen.” He griped as you chuckled.

The ride to the cinema seemed shorter with him recounting his short history with Horror. He had only seen five in his time but he’d read a lot about them. Something about the visuals already created for him made him relax his mind, he explained, which was why most people probably preferred movies over books. After a long day, they didn’t need to spend time imagining things.

“Which is your favorite?” you asked, standing next to him as he got popcorn.

“This is going to sound so cliché to you…it’s the Exorcist.” He mumbled, slipping his wallet back into his pocket and handing you the tub and your drink.

“Oh my god, yes it does,” you said.

“Oh come on, it has blasphemy, levitation and my personal favorite, projectile vomiting.” He grinned.

“So, you’re into those kind of things?” you shoved at him and he stuttered over his words, ears reddening.

“No, I just meant…let’s just watch the movie.” He grunted, quickly ducking into the dark theatre as you followed, howling with laughter.

Even with the movie playing, you could tell that Namjoon was overcompensating.

His eyes were nearly squinting, ready to close at any jump scare of gruesome scene in the Slash movie. You stretched out your hand and gripped his free one.

“It’s just a movie, Joon.” The nickname falling from your lips easily, as he turned to look at you, eyes wide before looking down at your hands as he returned the grip, twice as hard.

“I know, I’m fine.” He said.

You’d have agreed with him if he hadn’t been holding your hand like a bear trap but you stayed mum before jumping yourself the next moment at a jump scare. Only it wasn’t because of the appearance of the hooded and masked killer, it was because Namjoon nearly shot up from his seat and threw himself across the room, taking you with him.

Even as the main protagonist fell on the stairs with the killer in pursuit, the lights came on and Namjoon and you both visibly deflated, slumping against the seats in relief.

“Thank god,” you said as he quickly stood up, your hand still in his and began to walk through the aisles, heading outside.

“Namjoon, promise me one thing.” You said, blinking in the bright lights. “That’s one sequel we are not watching.” You said.

Namjoon chuckled, dropping your hand. “Agreed…do you mind? I’ll just be a minute.” He said, tilting his head towards the men’s room and you nodded.

You’d just sat down on the bench near the lobby when you felt him.

Your shoulders stiffened, body tensed and mouth went dry even as days later of enduring heartbreak because of him, your body responded to him like a live wire. You turned slowly, eyeing him.

He was dressed in fitted leather again, you noted, hands deep in the pocket of his jacket as he stared at you.

“What do you want?” you snapped finally.

Jungkook sighed as he took a step closer to you. “I just wanted to see you. I haven’t seen you…for such a long time.” He said.

“Did you…follow me or something?” you asked.

“No, I just…I brought Rosie here…” he mumbled.

I closed my mouth. He was on a date…he was on a fucking date. I wanted to tell him to go to hell but he was speaking again.

“That time in class I just…you looked at me and I…I remembered when you used to look at me…it was so different, like you didn’t know me anymore. I felt, I don’t know, I guess I felt hurt but then I brushed it off but then I saw that you were here with that guy and I…I feel angry, I feel jealous. I’m not supposed to feel like that, I know. I have no right.”

“You’d be right about that.” You spat at him.

“I don’t know who you are anymore. You left me, you’re on a date. You can’t feel jealous or angry because I might be on one too. You lost all right to do that when you stopped loving me.”

“I didn’t stop loving you. I still love you…and I know it might be a little late now but I meant it when I said you’re it for me,” he said, taking another step towards you and you stumbled back, already weakening. He had always taken you in so easily.

“Yeah, well, sorry to burst your bubble buddy, but you’re definitely not it for her.” Another voice, deeper and stronger sounded behind him and you glanced over his shoulder to see Namjoon. Even though they were nearly the same height, Namjoon towered over Jungkook as he walked towards you, entangling his fingers with yours, body angled almost protectively in front of you.

Jungkook returned the look evenly.

“Look dude, I don’t know who you are but I think I know what I’m talking about. Your one date isn’t trumping my three years.” He said, shrugging.

“You’re right, it won’t. You breaking up with her because you wanted to fuck around, now that’s going to trump a whole lot more that just three years.”

You looked at Namjoon, the first time you’d heard him say anything as crude as ‘fuck’.

“Just stay away from my girlfriend.” He continued, shoving past a stunned Jungkook and pulling you with him.

Namjoon didn’t let go of your hand till you were at his car and he was pushing you in and getting in himself, driving off with his jaw clenched.

You sat there, eyes still blown wide open as you processed what had just happened. You let out a loud groan, burying your head in your hands, cursing. “Oh god, I am so sorry.” You lamented.

Namjoon turned to give you a bewildered look. “What are you sorry for? Out of all of us, you’re the last one who should be apologizing.”

“But…but…I just stood there and let him talk over me,” you said.

“That wasn’t your fault. It’s natural you still feel a little out of balance around him. That has everything to do with the fact that you need to get used to being around him and nothing to do with you or your feeling, understand?” he asked and you nodded slowly.

Namjoon tightened his hold on the wheel. “I hate people like him.” He grunted.

You glanced at him.

“People who…I don’t know how to explain it in proper terms…the people who get in relationships one after the other. They are the weakest people. Especially, the ones who use the power they have over you for their own sick purposes. That guy was just trying to protect the one territory he was sure he’d always claim over. The moment he thought you might be in danger of backing out of his ball court he came back to play with you. That…that kind of person sickens me.”

This was the longest you’d ever heard Namjoon rant about anything and you couldn’t help but reach out for his hand. He gave it you slowly and you squeezed it.

“Thank you,” you said sincerely before letting him go, looking out the window while he returned his hand to the wheel, slower still.

“Where are we going?” you asked suddenly realizing you couldn’t recognize the neighborhood.

“Uh…I’m taking you to my place. Damn, I completely forgot.” He said but you shook your head.

“It’s ok. I can’t say I haven’t been curious about your house.” You said. He smiled at you softly before taking a turn into a driveway.

Namjoon’s apartment was on the other side of the lavish apartment complex, meaning he had a fantastic view of the cityscape which at this time of night twinkled from the floor length French windows, leading to the terrace.

He flipped on switches along the way to illuminate the way as he sighed - obviously homily. It was a sigh you knew well. It was one you heaved when you entered the comfort and isolated silence of your own apartment, the quiet blanketing you.

You watched from the foyer as Namjoon walked to a large wooden dresser in the living room, taking his wallet and phone and placing it on them neatly before running his hands through his hair, messing it up even more before he glanced at you.

“You don’t have to stand there like that, Y/N. Come on in,” he said.

You walked over to him and looked around you while Namjoon watched you.

Namjoon’s home, though luxurious and tastefully decorated in warm, earth tones, it was still sparse, slightly bare.

“You don’t have a lot of things in the house.” You noted.

Namjoon shrugged, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. “I have a few things I got on the trips I have taken; Mostly collectibles and figurines or books.”

“You collect toys?” you smirked at him.

“Figurines,” he corrected, scoffing at you. “But you’re right, I don’t like having a lot of things around me…it feels like I cluttering myself.” He said.

“Sometimes, a lot of things means you take comfort from them.” You said, remembering the trinkets you had back at your place and the memory connected to each of them.

He didn’t say anything and you moved to a wall where he’d hung up pictures of himself with his friends and family.

A few of them were with whom you guessed was his mother, she looked like him as they took a picture in a café or in a park. The ones with who he told you were his father were more formal, suited, even though he looked like a kid or a teenager. Another couple was with his younger sister, identical smiles on their faces.

The rest of them – with his friends – were haphazard.

In some of them he was clearly in college, his hair styled differently, a more easy air around him as he took silly photos. One of them he was probably at a concert, hair spiked up with yellow sunglasses and next to him was…

“Is that Mr. Jung?” you nearly screeched, drawing Namjoon’s quiet attention. He chuckled as he came to stand behind you.

“Yeah, we were really into the pop music thing then.” he explained.

“Oh my, I wish I could tease him about it,” you said.

“You can after you graduate, you all seem friendly enough.” He said.

You hummed, moving towards the window when he cleared his throat.

“I owe you an apology as well.” He said.

You looked at him. “For what?”

He looked down at his feet, hand rubbing his neck. “I took a leap back there, calling you my girlfriend like that. I shouldn’t have taken the liberty to do that.” He said.

“Oh, its fine, Jungkook backed off.” You said.

“There were better way to do that. I took advantage.” He said.

“Namjoon…really, it’s ok. Neither of you are going to see each other again. I doubt the topic will come back up again.” You said.

“You’re too good to me,” Namjoon argued.

“Not at all,” you cut in. “The truth is…I’m not good at all. If I were, he’d have never left in the first place. if I was good, I…I don’t know…I just don’t…but if I was even a fraction good, I’d deserve someone like you…but I don’t.” you sighed, letting the bitterness and sadness pit together in your throat and flow out.

There was a long silence as you looked through the glass at the twinkling city lights.

You could feel him behind you, close enough to brush against if you turned, the warmth of his breath ruffling the top of your head.

“You deserve the universe, Y/N.” he whispered finally, his breath tickling your ear, “and I’m just a tiny speck in it, but you deserve everything you hope for.”

You took in a deep breath, trying to ease the sudden wobbliness you felt inside you as you turned to face him but he was already pressing up against you, his eyes fluttering close as his hands found your shoulders, pressing you against the glass.

Your head tilted up on its own, mouth parting to let out a gentle gasp that he took as he planted his lips across yours.

Namjoon tasted of popcorn and mints, his lips plush and soft moving softly against yours, barely brushing before he was cocking his head away from you to look at you properly, studying your expression as he so meticulously did.

“Namjoon,” you whispered and he shushed you, long fingers cupping your face and arching you to meet him as he kissed you again, this time deeper and a whole lot more headily.

He craned his neck, tracing you upper lip with soft strokes of his tongue before he nibbled on your lower lip, prompting a shaky gasp. He took the chance to slip his tongue in, running it over yours in gradual flicks and you keened towards him as your back moving from the window. He pressed you harder against it, one of his thighs finding its way between your legs, holding you against it.

You let him overpower you easily, enjoying the way he was circling your mouth, pecking your lips affectionately one second, before diving in and kissing your thoroughly, tongue curving in every crevice and dancing with your own before he went to nipping your swollen lips.

You wound your arms under his shoulder, fingers clutching at them as you felt his leg flex between your legs, a low thud in the pit of your stomach that had you moaning against his plush mouth as you grinded against his muscular leg to relieve some of the delicious burn.

Namjoon pulled away with a growl, looking down at the way you dragged yourself on his leg.

“Fuck, look at that, did I make you that desperate baby?” he asked, his voice raspy and hoarse and dripping with lust.

You answered that with a whimper and you tried to pull him back closer to you but he was already untangling himself from you and walking back, a hand coming up to brush his hair back, looking at your panting form still pressed to the window.

“Walk towards me, baby, slowly.” He said.

Slightly confused, you obeyed, taking somewhat staggering steps towards him which he watched with predatory precision before you realized he was watching your hips.

Stuttering slightly you stood in front of him finally before he was latching on to your waist again, fingers digging into your flesh as he walked backwards, towards what had to be his bedroom.

“I’d carry you, but I want to watch this. You walk like I’ve intoxicated you and it’s so sexy.” He growled, before he was reaching back to open the door. He pulled you through and went to the side before a low ambient light came on, illuminating the room.

“Wow,” you said first thing as you saw his bedroom, making him chuckle darkly.

The room was comfort and opulence in one world. A long closet took an entire wall with a huge writing desk under one of the windows. What took the spotlight was the bed.

King sized, high off the ground and plushy heaven, the bed was THE bed…the kind you saw in magazines and lamented your own over it.

You felt him return to you as he brushed your hair back from your shoulder, mouth hovering over the curve as he let warm breath waft over your skin. “Like?” he asked, softly.

“Love,” you answered and he chuckled again. “Good, because you aren’t going anywhere else tonight.” He said, his mouth latching on to your shoulder, sucking in a pulsating rhythm.

You close your eyes at the feeling, letting him move his hands on your body; brushing over your hips, around your waist, up the sides before he was cupping your breasts, squeezing gently. You dropped your head on his shoulder as he began to gently sway you, fingers tapping and teasing your nipples over the fabric of your shirt. His lips curled up in a smile against your skin, grinding his growing erection against the small of your back, demanding attention.

“Namjoon,” you breathed.

“Hmm,”

“Let me taste you,” you continued, turning in his arms and he bit his lips, eyeing your lips before brushing a thumb over your bottom petal. “I’d love to let you, Y/N. Get on your knees,” he said before he was moving away to sit on the bed. You walked towards him again, this time making sure to sway your hips more for his intense gaze as you bent over to give him a kiss first.

Your fingers wrapped under his jaw as you tilted his face up to yours and he let you, kissing teasingly, flicking his tongue against your playfully as you let your hands trail down to his shirt, tugging at it. He broke away to grab the back of the neck before he was pulling it over his head, revealing the smooth expanse of skin. You started to kneel, kissing a line down his chest and he tossed the shirt away, leaning his weight back on his hands as he allowed you to reach his waistband.

Slipping your fingers under it, you glanced at him through your lashes as you undid the button, tugging the two flaps gently to let the zipper down. He examined your actions before he was bucking his hips up and letting you pull his jeans and the top of his briefs down to free him.

His erection slipped out on your hand, warm and twitching at your touch and you licked you lips, unable to take your eyes off it, admiring the girth and the purplish, red head. Glancing at Namjoon again, who was clearly enjoying your awed gaze, you leant closer, your fingers wrapping around the base to squeeze as gently as he’d squeezed your breasts and licked a strip from the base to the tip, before flicking your tongue right at the slit.

Namjoon smirked at the tease before he leant back all the way on his elbows. “Take your time baby, we have the whole night,” he whispered and you grinned at the usage of reverse psychology before you were slowly sinking on him, making a point to give a good, first suck.

His reaction was obvious, the hitch of breath, raising up back to his hands as he looked down at you and the part of his mouth, tongue peeking out to wet his dry lips.

You blinked innocently, focusing on his dick completely as you close your eyes, lavishing your tongue against the now rock hard members, tracing the vein that wrapped around it. Bobbing your head slowly, you felt his hand move in your hair, blunt nails scrapping against your scalp as he tried to tug you further down on his length.

You let him, slowly pushing yourself down till your nose brushed his pelvic bone, the tip running down to touch the tunnel of your throat.

Namjoon grunted, closing his eyes, brows furrowed as you pulled up again, slobbering over his head before your began to run your palm over it, coating your saliva thickly on the member, making sure to squeeze more at the tip and base before your took his in your mouth again, taking him all the way in as he grasped your hair in his fist, the hold tightening as he began to curse when you swallowed around him.

“Fuck, that’s it, that’s it baby,” he said, using his hold to pull you up again.

You sat up on your knees as he cupped your jaw and used the back of his hand to rub off the string of saliva from your mouth as he kissed you again, thoroughly exploring your mouth with his tongue before giving you a sinister smirk.

“My turn, get on the bed and spread your legs over the edge.” He ordered.

You stood up and Namjoon sat up closer to you, quickly undoing your jeans and pulling them down to look at your panties. “Cute,” he smirked at the floral underwear, prompting you to blush but he didn’t tease, pulling you towards the bed and guiding you in the position he wanted.

Your feet hung over the edge of the bed, free to wrap around his as he unbuttoned your shirt, pulling you free from it and unclasped your bra to leave you completely bare in front of him.

When he was finished he didn’t say much, blank facedly roving his eyes on your nakedness before he was dropping to his own knees, spreading your thighs further to expose you to him.

You instinctively shied away and he held your legs open warningly letting his eyes give you a look before he was leaning in to blow air on your touch starved core.

“Ah, Namjoon,” you whispered his name but he didn’t reply, completely engrossed in his work of touching you as he placed a single digit against your clit, making it throb at the pressure of his rough pad.

“Hmm, you get sensitive easily,” he murmured and you nearly whined as he finally began to put himself to work on you.

He was obviously an attentive and observant partner, taking note of how your body writhed or shied away from his ministrations. His tongue pressed experimentally against your fold, dipping into your hole as he let his taste buds collect your arousal before his fingers were spreading your juices over your clit and entrance. He slowly slid in the first digit into your velvet cove before pulling back to slam another in, meticulously watching the way your breath jumped and your body arched, trying to flinch away but his tight hold around your legs kept you in place.

He even watched your wanton moans, sucking your clit into his mouth as he fucked you sadistically you with his fingers, letting your whines pitch up dramatically and then pulling away watching as your chest heaved, breasts juggling from the shivers he’d induced as he edged you repeatedly.

“Please, Namjoon…I can’t…” you groaned finally and he hummed, considering against your folds, thick lips coated in your arousal before he was standing up, fingers still buried deep in your mound as he used his free hand to run his fingers around his lips and chin, sweeping every stroke of your remnant juices on his face into his mouth, sucking perversely on his digits as he eyed you wickedly.

You gulped at the bold act as your pussy clenched in protest around his fingers and he winked, pulling his hand away from your core and he pumped himself, bringing his hips closer to yours, rubbing the tip through your folds which were wet again after the way he’d cleaned you up.

Suddenly, for a split second, clarity shone in his eyes through the lust and he looked at you with something akin to fear.

“Shit…I don’t have condoms,” he said and your own eyes widened.

“What?” you asked.

“I…I haven’t been with anyone since my ex…goddamnit,” he cursed, dropping his head as he ran both hands through his hair.

You hesitated for a bit before biting your lips with another idea. “I’m clean…” you muttered.

Namjoon nodded. “Me too, I got tested after I broke up with her.” He said, clearly thinking that you were implying the oral you’d given and received.

“Is it…ok, if we don’t use them? I’m on birth control...” you murmured, color rising in your cheeks and he looked up, fixing you with an incredulous gaze. “Y/N…”

“I trust you, Joonie.” You whispered, letting your fingers trail down his glimmering chest to his hand, entwining your fingers as you pulled him closer to you, angling your hips towards his.

He staggered closer to you, watching as his dick brushed against your wet folds, still hard and pointing up. He gripped the base, placing the tip right at the entrance of your core before looking at you again.

“Are you sure?” he asked. At you reassuring nod, he closed his eyes, heaving a relieved sigh.

He slipped in quickly inside your heat before halting, eyes opening and fixed on your face as your eyes widened, lips parted and chest rose again from the sharp intake of breath. He grinned, bending over your taut body as he swirled his pink muscle over your hard and aching nipples, using his incisors to place small nips on the top of the buds before coaxing them back into his warm mouth, sucking enthusiastically.

His hips began to pick up pace as he grounded his pelvic bone against your clit for added stimulation with every few strokes.

You arched your back, giving him more access to use his mouth and hands as you raised your arms to clutch at the feather like throw pillows on the bed. You were sure with the slow but steady pace he was going, you were going to lose your damn mind and rip one.

“Namjoon, please,”

He let go of your nipple with a lewd pop as he eyed you, “Please what, baby,” he said and if possible his hips slowed more.

You clutched at his shoulder, letting one slide over to dig in your desperate claws.

“Harder…please…”

Namjoon hissed at your nails but stayed focused, “What do you want from me, baby?”

You were nearly crying now from the inability to reach your high, the release he was dangling in front of you. “Please fuck me harder…I need to come.” You begged finally and he smiled, gently.

“That’s what I wanted to hear.”

He straightened from your torso, gripping your calves before he was pushing them up to your chest, hands coming up to clench his sheet as he pressed his forehead to your as he began to pound into you, hips slamming into you with wild abandon of a man who’d been un-caged after years.

Your body hiked up with every thrust of his powerful hips and you clung to him, scared you’d shatter with the force of love –making.

Namjoon’s swollen lips kept spewing profanities, broken praises and heavy pants that washed over you as he groaned out your name, dirty promises following of what he wanted to do to you.

“Want – want to feel you – come…on my dick,” he moaned, eyes watching the way his cock pistoned in and out of your now swollen pussy.

His hand trailed down to your cunt, locating your clit between your thighs as he circled it with his hand, fast and unabashed in his need to feel you clench on him and the glint in his eyes as he looked back up at you pushed you over the edge, your muscles contracting and squeezing his length and your hands shooting up to pull him to you in a heavy, hot kiss that he immediately took over, tongue pushing into your mouth. You sucked at the wet muscle, feeling his hips turn sloppier, frantically pumping him inside you as he chased his own release.

His head dropped down to the crook of your neck, sucking at the skin as he let out a loud moan of your name, followed by appreciative hums as he rode out your highs, soft words of reassurance echoing in your ears as he pulled away from you, looking down at the mess on his and your skin from your mixed juices.

“Be right back,” he said, climbing off the bed while you reached up and grabbed the throw pillow, tucking it under your head.

By the time, Namjoon came back with a towel to clean you up; you were already out like a light.

The smell of fresh bitter coffee woke you up as you turned over to your back in the unfamiliar bed. For a moment, you dazedly rubbed your eyes. The placement of the window was wrong, making the light hit the floors on either side of the king sized bed, instead of the bed itself. Were you in Jungkook’s apartment?

It took you a split second to realize that couldn’t have been since he had broken up with you. you bundled up the comforter to your bare chest as the door to the room swung open, revealing Namjoon, balancing a tray in one hand as he shut the door with another, turning before he paused, seeming surprised that you were already awake.

He had put on a black t-shirt over some sweats as he moved towards your awkward frame, placing the coffee tray on the nightstand next to your side.

“Good morning,” he said, sitting at the end of the bed, a decent distance from you. He probably could sense the post coital tension in the air was trying to make you feel comfortable.

“Hi,” you said softly, glancing at the cup. “Is that for me?” you asked.

“Yeah, I remembered you take sugar and milk so I added some. If you want more, just tell me,” he said.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, hesitant to drop the covers and reach for the cup.

Namjoon glanced at you once more before he stood up.

“So, um, I’ll let you…yeah, get dressed. The bathroom is through there, you can shower and I’ll leave out a hoodie for you to have. If you want we can have breakfast.” He said before he was walking out the door, leaving you alone.

You stood under Namjoon’s paneled shower, letting the exhaustion and tension wash away from your shoulders as you tilted your head down, watching the soapy residue of his shampoo pool around your feet till you heard him call out that he’d laid out clothes and then the slam of the door shutting again.

You shut off the water and grabbed a towel, hurriedly drying up and leaving the bathroom to see he’d put out a simple black hoodie out. It was almost your size, indicating he’d probably grown out of it.

Not wanting to put on the underwear from last night again, you shoved the bra in the bag and pulled on your jeans, the shirt and his hoodie on top, going to throw the towel in the hamper before leaving. Your aim was, as usual off and instead of the hamper, it hit the desk under his window, scattering his pen stand and the book he’d left precariously on the side. It fell over; open and you hurried over, gathering the pens and shoving them back before picking up the book to place it safely back where it was.

Even as you rose, the pages of the book fluttered and a small folded up paper fell out again.

You rolled my eyes, huffing and bending down to pick it up again to see that it wasn’t a paper after all, it was a folded photograph.

For a moment you could’ve sworn you heard Yerin speak in my head that you shouldn’t invade his privacy, it wasn’t your business. Ignoring that small voice, you slipped my finger in the fold and straightened it out, holding it open.

As usual your eyes trained on Namjoon and his rare full dimpled, all teeth revealed grin as he held up what was obviously a Polaroid camera to take the photo. You smiled too, a natural reaction now to any of Namjoon’s smiles.

He was obviously on vacation; he was on a beach with small huts on them, the water crystalline and skies bright.

It was when your eyes moved to the person standing next to him that made your smile fade away in shocked horror.

Small doe eyes squinting up in the sun, a cheeky smile spread over her pale lips as she would her arms around Namjoon’s, stood none other than Seulgi. Your mouth dropped open, in an attempt to gasp or to screech, the world would never know as you stood there frozen, your hyper mind now putting jumble pieces together.

Namjoon’s ex was Seulgi, the woman who he had said was in the same work he was in which was why he had to keep seeing her around…Seulgi was the assistant of the man who’d published his book.

But…but it couldn’t be…Mr. Jung had said that his ex had been mean, a horrible person to him…

The Seulgi you knew was sweet, kind…

No, Mr. Jung had said that she had been good on the surface…Seulgi from the party was the persona she showed everyone.

Even before your mind could register the fact that you got played, there was a knock and Namjoon stuck his head in.

“Hey, are you...ok – where did you get that?” he said, the concern fading from his voice as his eyes found the snapshot in your hands.

His eyes bugged, nostrils flared as his eyes went cold, entering the room to march over to you, snatching the photo out of your hands to glare at you.

“What do you think you’re doing, going through my things?” he snapped.

“I wasn’t…I was just…I dropped the towel on it and the book fell. I wasn’t snooping, I swear.” You stammered, quailing under Namjoon’s height when his eyes softened and he sighed, a hand coming up to rub at his face.

“I…I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me. I shouldn’t have snapped.” He said, wearily.

You stared up at him, still wary from the sudden change in his demeanor as he stared sadly at the photograph. Something like guilt was stirring up in your stomach. He was so obviously still in love with her and no matter how bad Seulgi was, she had to be too…you couldn’t not be in love with Namjoon.

Seulgi didn’t know you knew Namjoon. She had no reason to make it out that she was a victim.

“Namjoon,” you whispered to tell him your rumination and your heart ached.

It wasn’t fair. You had never felt as close to Namjoon before. Yes, he was mysterious and enigmatic and he drew you in from the start…even while you were looking at his pictures online. He could make you feel safe and comfortable around himself with little to no effort and yet he had his ways of remaining aloof, distant and coldly detached. The only time he spoke of his past love was when he wanted to make a point, speaking of her as if she was an entity he had withdrawn from, never giving her a name or identity.

But standing here, in his apartment, you had a peek into the real Kim Namjoon, the softer, human man underneath the Author who could see past the veils of reality. Was it so wrong to want more?

Namjoon was looking at you, waiting for you to talk.

“What…what do you feel for her now?” you asked, trying not to seem too guilty. His inquisitive eyes would definitely detect something wrong.

“What do you mean? I feel nothing for her anymore. She’s just a part of my past.” He said.

“Then why do you still keep her photo around…? You said you didn’t like clutter, emotional or physical.”

You knew you were coming off as pushy, but you just couldn’t stop.

“Y/N, stop…where is this coming from?” he snapped, his eyes back to cold.

“I’ve…met her.” You whispered and he froze, face going blank as he stared at you. “You what?” he asked softly.

“I…at the fundraiser…I met her and we talked…”

“And she told you how much of a fly away disappointment I was, did she?” he sneered. You didn’t have to look at his clenching arm to know he’d balled up the photograph by now.

“No! No, she didn’t…I think…she misses you,” you continued.

Namjoon raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “Is that what she told you, Y/N? Is that what she implied? Let me tell you, Miss Y/L/N,” he said, drawing closer and you flinched. “You know nothing about her. You don’t know the way she can get inside your mind and fuck with it. Don’t talk about think you don’t understand.” He said, simply, starting to turn away.

“But you need to get over her…just talk to her,” you pressed but he stopped you by facing you completely, fixing you with an icy glare.

“I am over her. I don’t need to talk things out to get over her. Talking to the people who made it very clear what they thought of you just to get a masochistic kick out of it, is for juvenile people like you.” he said and you pulled away finally, you eyes dropping from his.

“You’re right.” You said. You blinked twice. Ok, so that was how he felt. “I think I should go now. Thank you for all the advice you’ve given me and all the wonderful walks around the city. Goodbye Mr. Kim,” you said formally, looking up to see him looking sad again.

“Y/N…I didn’t,” he began but you cut him off. “Enjoy the rest of your day, I’ll give the hoodie to Mr. Jung to return to you and don’t worry I won’t tell anyone what happened last night.” You said, already walking past him to leave his apartment. “Let me drive you,” he started again but you shook your head. “I can find my own way.”

He didn’t stop you and you didn’t expect him to. Namjoon didn’t like clutter and right now that was exactly what you were to him, you felt as you put on your shoes. You caught him standing at the end of the foyer hallway, watching but you didn’t give him another look as you left the apartment, pulling his door close after you.

Once outside, you thanked your stars that you still had battery in your phone as you quickly ordered a taxi.

Entering your own apartment, you heaved a homely sigh of your own before grunting. Why did that have to remind you of him as well? It was likely you were never going to see the mysterious Kim Namjoon again. You would have to get over it and prepare for your graduation and your life after it which started in approximately – you glanced at your calendar – 7 days.

You stood in the middle of your living room for a few minutes, looking out the window, brushing away surprise tears that had no business being there. Namjoon wasn’t Jungkook, then why were you crying for him?

He was right. People did make clear what they thought of you one way or another – just like he himself had done. You had every right to stop thinking of him.

You moved to your charger and plugged in your phone, seeing a message from Namjoon already, asking if you had gotten safe that you sent a yes to before deleting it. The next was from Yerin, asking why Jungkook had been calling and texting her about who your new boyfriend was. You replied that you’ll tell her later and that you needed to sleep. The next was from Jungkook, asking if he could talk that you deleted without even opening it and the last was from Mr. Jung, asking if he could read an excerpt from your book.

You sighed, contemplating how to answer it when your eyes fell on your laptop.

Might as well…

You marched to it determinedly, booting it up and opening your document as you placed your fingers resolutely on the keys.

Flutters of laughter, shushing of teachers, flash photography from parents, and the genuine air of pride…

A bright beam lit up your face as you saw Yerin rushing to you, arm thrown wide open as she hugged you full force, her parents following with similar grins as they shook hands with your own parents.

“Oh my god, we’re here…we’re freaking graduating!” she practically screamed in your ear and you laughed, squeezing her back, as you turned to greet her parents with a polite smile and answered their questions.

“Did you get your speech? I hope you didn’t forget it.” Yerin urged and you patted the pocket of the denim jacket you were wearing under the graduation gown to show her you had safely tucked it there.

Of course, you had also memorized it.

Your mother gushed about the fact that you had been selected as this year’s valedictorian and reached up to correct your hair under the cap.

“Oh mom, please,” you whined, swatting at her hand as the supervising teacher came up to your group.

“Girls, in line please, and Miss Y/L/N, once you’re done in the lineup; please stay backstage for your speech.” Mr. Park said haggardly before moving off to tell other to get in line as well.

You and Yerin waved to your parents who whispered they’ll get the best seats before you were lining alphabetically.

You clapped your hands off as Yerin went to get her degree and nearly sweated them off when it was your turn.

Heart thudding, you climbed up to the platform stage and smiled blindly when Mr. Sihyuk handed you the roll of paper that you had worked for all these months. You whispered a thank you and faced the flashing cameras, unable to tell which one came from your family before the lady next to the headmaster was ushering you away and around the stage to wait for your speech.

Great, one down one to go, you told yourself. Oh how you wish…

No, you did not want to be thinking of him right now…

“Ready?” you turned to see Mr. Jung standing next to you, lips quirked when he saw you jump.

“Yeah, I mean yes, I think so…I hope so,” you said.

“You’ll be fine, just remember the pauses and breathe.” He said before checking his watch. “I need to go. Best of luck, Y/N and congratulations.” He said before he was ducking out from under the curtain put up to hide the backstage from the lights.

Soon enough, I walked to the podium set up for me as one of the technicians finished his adjustments.

“Good evening, teachers, students, notable alumni and all the parents gathered here today for this joyous event.” You began, making a small bow to everyone seated on their particular dais.

“I could begin this valedictorian speech like any of the ones that I have watched online…and heavily taken inspiration from because I have never done this before,” I said and there was smattering of chuckles echoing around the room.

“Or I can take new leaf, tell you about a few of my experiences and tell you about how they helped me become a better person somehow…and for those of you interested; a writer.”

You looked up from your papers with a small smile when you felt his gaze.

He was sitting on the second row, one of the special guests invited you noted and even though his face was clear of expression you could see the small tell tales of a smile brewing behind his dark wise eyes.

Your mouth parted a little and he raised his eyebrow, giving you a small nod indicating you to carry on.

You hurriedly looked down again.

“As I was saying, telling you all the same recycled things about how hard work and focus is all you need in life to succeed isn’t how I am going to give you my speech. I am going to give you the complete opposite. I want you all…to take it a little easy on yourselves.” You said, looking up again, but not directly at him.

“I know, it seems strange, isn’t taking it easy procrastinating and not being the best? Maybe, but you know what it is in another way? It’s not giving you stress. You don’t have to beat yourself over taking longer to complete a deadline, or getting a job or even coping with losses in life…and love.” You glanced once to where he was sitting.

“A wise person once told me that we writers are always scared of our works because we view it as a profession…something to worry about. Or that we’re just scared nobody would like it since it’s not really original. They told me, it might not be original…but it’s still new…because no one has heard it the way you want to tell it. The same way, you cannot and should not be worried about how other are living their lives…no one is living it the way you are. Try being you first, before just personnel…try rereading your chapters before you burn them all…”

You finally met his steady gaze.

“Maybe just before you burn, you’ll find something worth keeping in them.”

You folded your paper as you thanked the audience as applause broke out through the room. Smiling as you exited the stage, you were met first by your parents.

“That was an amazing speech, sweetie. Where did you get the inspiration?”

You glanced over their shoulder to see Namjoon already speaking to Mr. Jung. “Just…came flying my way,” you shrugged before letting them get to the buffet as you tried to locate your friends.

“Y/N!”

You turned to see Seulgi walking over to you, smiling as she engulfed you in a hug which you stiffly returned. Oh god, she was here…how were you supposed to act? Do you pretend you didn’t know? Do you brush her off? Do you act normal?

“Your speech was A+ material; I can see why they chose you. It was so bizarre though, the way you went off key there. It was out of the norm.” she said.

“Oh, yeah, my inspiration was kind of bizarre too.” you nervously chuckled.

“I could see that. Listen, are you doing something with your friends after this? I know, silly question but I want to take you out for drinks…real drinks, if you know what I mean.” She laughed and you hummed, looking around the room for Yerin or Taehyung or anyone you knew when you heard someone else call your name too.

You sighed, turning to see Jungkook rushing over to you. “You didn’t answer my texts.” He said.

“Yeah, within reason,” you gritted out. Seulgi looked at Jungkook then at you. “Is he the ex?” she asked quietly.

“Yeah,” you mumbled and Jungkook sighed too reaching for your arm.

“Baby, I just need you to listen to me once,” he urged. You shook his hand off roughly. “I did listen to you, Kook. I heard you loud and clear. You got what you wanted. Now just leave me alone, ok?” you said.

“Baby…”

“Don’t call her that,” Seulgi warned, “It’s graduation, ok? Let’s not create a scene.” She said, her tone becoming commanding. “Sure, so she can run off to her boyfriend?” Jungkook scoffed.

“Don’t do this, Jungkook.” You snapped.

You backed away from their stare off. Jungkook was so stubborn, he never listened to anyone if he could help it and right now you just did not want to deal with this. Seulgi looked at you. “She doesn’t have a boyfriend.” She said her voice sure and you suspected even condescending.

“Of course she does, there he is!” Jungkook stretched out his hand, a finger already up accusatorily and all of you turned to see where he was pointing, although you were pretty sure.

Namjoon was standing near the guests, Jung next to him as they spoke to a tall, older man with salt-pepper hair. When he felt the gaze of three people looking straight at him, he glanced up, eyes first meeting your panicked once, then sliding to Jungkook’s cocky ones and then lastly found Seulgi’s shocked, and rapidly becoming angry ones.

He stood there for a second, analyzing the situation before he was leaning towards his friend, muttering urgently in his ear as they both turned to talk to the man again.

“What do you mean, that’s her boyfriend? He can’t be her boyfriend. That’s Kim Namjoon!” Seulgi snapped, bringing Jungkook’s and your attention back to her.

“I know what I’m talking about, ok? He was at the movies with her and he called her his girlfriend.” Jungkook rolled his eyes and you had never wanted to claw them out than now.

Seulgi turned to look at you, eyebrows raised and teeth bared when you heard them.

“Mr. Jeon, can I help you with something?”

The small group of destruction turned to look at the approaching men. Mr. Jung was staring pointedly at Jungkook and he looked back defiantly before realizing his limits. His shoulders deflated as he let out a small, “No, Mr. Jung,” he said before giving you one last, if possible with his nerve, hurt look before turning on his heel and leaving.

Jung followed his with his eyes before glancing once at you and Seulgi, shooting her a nasty smile, “Good to see you again,” he mocked before looking at Namjoon, who nodded at his friend. Without another word, he turned and left as well, leaving you with the two exes.

“Long time no see, Seulgi,” Namjoon began.

“Whose fault was that?” She shot back.

“Can you really blame me?” Namjoon said.

They stared at each other and you had to say that you were impressed. None of them were willing to give up, even as Seulgi portrayed righteous anger flawlessly. Namjoon had a more pleasant countenance, but you knew it was to piss her off more than anything.

Seulgi suddenly glanced at you. “So, her?” she asked.

In another time, you’d have been pissed at how degrading she sounded when minutes earlier; you had been ‘A+ material’. Guess, Hoseok had been right, after all. Internally, Seulgi was really petty and horrible.

“Yes, her…what are you judging about us, exactly, this time?”

“Oh, just the fact that you down-graded so spectacularly,”

“You need a brush up on your vocabulary, Seulgi. I think you mean upgrade.” Namjoon returned.

You gaped at him. What was he even doing?

Seulgi bit her lip, her chin jutting out in a pout. “Namjoon please, don’t you see you’re hurting me? this…this has to end. I mean, I know I said a few things that you felt were wrong but you should’ve talked to me. you should’ve told me you were hurt. You shouldn’t have just left.” She said.

Namjoon took one step closer to her and dipped his volume.

“You told me you thought my work was going to be thrashed because I sounded like a teenage boy who was still high on stupid dreams. You told me I was never going to amount to anything. You sucked and sucked my morale, my esteem out of me; you told me you were better off without me so you could succeed without having to drag me along. Did I miss anything?”

Namjoon was still speaking quietly; not drawing attention as you stared at Seulgi is horror. How could such a pretty face be so venomous?

“I think you see why I picked her, Seulgi. Compared to you, she is a goddess walking the earth.” he said and that’s when you walked away.

Bursting out from the hall, you leaned against one of the brick walls, taking in deep breaths to calm your chaotic mind and erratic heart. What had just happened? Did you finally stand up to Jungkook without wanting to cry? Did Namjoon finally talk to his poisonous ex and you witnessed it?

So much…and at graduation…the one day you wanted to pass without event.

“So, that was quite the speech.”

You glanced to your side to see Namjoon standing near the door you had exited, the lighting from the hall dousing him in a spotlight.

You studied him for a bit. He was in a complete black suit tonight; dark gold hair fluffed a little to reveal his forehead. The gold accents on his collar shone from the light he was standing in.

You had probably lost your mind but you couldn’t help but think he looked damn right sexy at the moment.

It took you a moment to use your dry mouth. “Thanks,” you breathed as he walked over to lean against the wall next to you.

You both stayed silent for a while, watching the smattering of stars still visible in the night sky.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“I guess, what about you?” you countered.

There was silence before he turned to give you a smile. “I feel good.”

You nodded before you sighed, pulling away from the wall. “Thanks for getting to me back there, she would’ve clawed me up.” You said, trying to get back to the door when he spoke up.

“I threw the photo away.”

You paused, turning to look at him.

“I threw that photo away…the day you left.” He said.

“Oh…good for you, right?” you asked.

“I thought so too, but I didn’t realize it until now.”

You looked at him, puzzled.

“When people are hurt, they feel like they have to close off, to prevent being hurt again. You become scared to get attached. You think the pain they felt was worth knowing the secrets to guarding your heart but you miss that beauty of having your heart racing again when it’s been still for so long.” He quoted.

“I wrote that.” You whispered.

“You did.” He smiled, “After I think you left my home, not that I can blame…or deny the observation.” He turned his head towards you.

“Do you know why Hoseok sent you to me? He could’ve sent you to any number of authors to get audited but why seek me out?” he asked.

You shook your head.

“You remind us of me. You’re exactly how I used to be when I was writing my first draft. I met Seulgi when I was doing the rounds of publishers to get printed. I honestly don’t know why she got together with me – at this point I don’t remember what I myself saw in her but once I got in with her boss, she was ecstatic. She was kind, supportive, everything I could’ve asked for before I started work on my second book. Suddenly I was a child, I had no prospects, no idea what to give to readers. I won’t tell you all the gory details but she hurt more than just my heart. I couldn’t write after I left her.” He chuckled bitterly.

“I took that trip to find myself…or rather get myself back. When I met you, I felt like if I could help you, I’d be doing the both of us a favor. You’d have a supportive, encouraging person who would listen to you with no intention of downgrading you and I would have my vision back. You helped me more than you know, Y/N.”

“Of course, then I had to go ruin it that day. I…I don’t regret what we did…not at all. If anything,” he suddenly cleared his throat. “I mean, that when I said those things, I want you to know I was not aiming them at you. I get…I get stupid when it comes to her. I become defensive, angry, and I know I did it because I had no closure. You were right. You were right along. So when you left, when I realized what I’d done, the first thing I did was to throw that damn thing in the bin.”

“I even wanted to call you but I thought…I didn’t deserve to if I was just going to go back to square one when you brought her up. You didn’t deserve to have another relationship where you had to be disappointed. Of course, not seeing you for so long did make me weak to temptation. When Hoseok invited me tonight, I couldn’t say no, especially since he said you’d be valedictorian. I knew you wouldn’t disappoint and you didn’t.”

He grinned, the full grin I had seen in the picture.

“Tonight, this altercation with her made me see that I was being stupid, holding on to hurt when the person causing it did not even care. Why should I be holding back…when my heart is willing to race again?” he whispered.

His hand brushed your wrist, sweeping under the graduation gown till he curled his arm around your waist, pulling you to him.

“What are you saying?” you questioned.

“I’m saying I’m sorry that I was an idiot and that I am not anymore. I’m saying that you make my heart race, Y/N and if I’m not very wrong, I make yours as well. I’m saying that I would like to pursue this, properly this time. I’m asking, would you be willing to take a chance with me?”

Very slowly, keeping your eyes locked on his, you nodded.

Namjoon kissed you, hard, hand coming up to pull your graduation cap off your head before he was pushing you back against the wall, his heart thudding against yours.

Mouth open to allow him to sweep his tongue in, you moaned feeling him reciprocate as he grinded against you breathlessly before pulling away, eye blown open.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course, now,” you said, winding your arms around his neck to pull him closer to you.

“Your place or mine?”

[chika-the-terrible]

Guess what I did! That’s right, I wrote the frickin’ drabble, though it’s actually a little over 4k of angst with a happy ending. I’ve posted it on AO3 and I’m putting it under the cut here if you guys wanna read it for yourselves. It’s probably not that good but I’m sharing it anyway because I don’t know how to make it better.

Enjoy!

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

The Quick and the Dead

The whimpers from the bedroom were agonizing to hear. Not because they grated on the ears but because they tugged at the heartstrings, and they had been going on for a few days now. Roth hated it. He hated the coughing even worse. And yet he couldn’t stay away from the damned room, if only to keep Jacob company.

The young man had initially stopped by because of an injury, and so Roth had treated it. Jacob had stayed more out of a want than a need, Roth was quite sure, and so he had seen Jacob around the Alhambra more in two weeks than he had in months. But with it came a cost, one that Roth couldn’t help but feel resentful of: Jacob’s quickly declining health. And now the young assassin, once so bright and energetic, was bedridden and barely alive.

The nurses and doctors were doing their best but nothing was working, and Jacob was slowly getting worse. It was getting to the point at which Roth was afraid the young man wouldn’t survive another week. How was Jacob going to get better? Was he going to get better? Not even the professionals seemed to be able to do anything about the ailing man’s health, and the elder hated it. But what could be done? There was no sure cure for the diseases that plagued Jacob, yet Roth wasn’t just going to stand by and let his love waste away like this.

“Max?” came the weak cry. Immediately Roth moved from his desk to the door and entered. If Jacob needed anything…

What greeted him first was the sickly stench of death, something he had grown all too familiar with in the past four or five days. Jacob’s injury hadn’t healed at all and had been giving off the stench ever since Jacob had become bedridden, so it had become something Roth seriously didn’t enjoy. The second thing that greeted his senses was the cool temperature. The curtains and windows were open and there were no candles lit in the room. It helped keep the room cool and having the windows open breathed fresh air into the area, which Jacob desperately needed.

Roth strode over to the four-poster bed. While he had a residence elsewhere, he kept a bed at the Alhambra in case he stayed very late. Recently it had become something of a treasure, as he and Jacob had used it for different reasons. And now, its drapes were the only things standing between a deteriorating Jacob and the light of the windows. He gently pushed aside the curtains and felt his heart break at the sight of Jacob.

“Right here, darling.” He grasped one of Jacob’s hands with his gloved one. The assassin’s grip now was incredibly weak, nothing compared to when he’d first arrived a few weeks ago…

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

“Honestly,” Roth muttered, finishing tying the bandages around Jacob’s side, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re enjoying this, my dear.”

“What can I say?” Jacob chuckled, “You’re quite skillful with your hands, even outside of a fight.” He used a hand to turn Roth’s face so that they could share a small kiss. Jacob smiled, “Do you mind if I stay here while I heal? I’m quite sure the train’s movement wouldn’t do me any good while I heal and I don’t think I’m ready to get an earful from Evie yet.”

“Darling,” Roth smiled back, “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like. The better to keep an eye on you, after all.”

“Who says I’d get injured again?”

“Well, the words came from your mouth, not mine…”

“Piss off!” Jacob laughed and shoved playfully at Roth’s shoulder.

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

“Here.” Roth sat beside Jacob on the couch and handed him a cup and plate, “Warm tea for your throat. I added some honey to help soothe it.”

“Thanks.” Jacob murmured. While he had been improving for a few days since his injury, recently his health had begun to go downhill, starting with a sore throat and a cough. Roth was trying not to worry about what they could mean. After all, it could just be a small infection. There was probably nothing to worry about.

“Any better today?” Roth asked.

“No.” Jacob croaked. He was wearing a loose long-sleeve shirt with a shroud over his shoulders, his legs covered by a blanket. The young man’s skin had grown flushed, but it wasn’t healthy in any way. He added, “Breathin’s harder. And my wound…” Jacob reached and tugged up his shirt. Instead of the bandages being stained red, they were starting to turn yellow. Roth didn’t like the look of it.

“Lewis? Can you fetch a warm washbin and more bandages?” Roth didn’t have to leave the room to know his servant was listening in. He turned back to Jacob, “Anything else?”

“Yeah.” Jacob tugged down the collar of his shirt. Immediately his chest and neck could be seen as red and splotchy, even with the hair. It wasn’t hard to guess the signs now.

“Easy, darling. I’ll see about sending for a nurse or doctor. You just drink your tea.” Roth soothed. Jacob, seeing as there was little else he could do, complied. The tea helped, if just a little.

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

Scarlet Fever. Typically a childhood menace, it was decimating Jacob’s health with ease, and not because he was weakened from his wound. It seemed the injury had hosted a number of different infections, and with all of them attacking Jacob at once, his body was unable to hold them off. He was barely breathing as it was, fighting off both scarlet fever and consumption, among other things. Either one was typically deadly on its own, both at once spelled an assured death. How had Jacob even acquired the diseases in the first place? He’d not been around anyone sick, as far as Roth could tell, and yet he had fallen to both in a short amount of time.

“Max?” Jacob’s glossy eyes slid over to him in a sluggish, almost molasses-speed movement.

“Still here, darling.” Roth threaded his free gloved hand into Jacob’s hair and gently ran it through the strands. Once so brown and full of health, Jacob’s hair had grown as dull as his eyes, igniting a burning fury in Roth like no other.

“Water?” Jacob asked weakly.

“I’ve got some. Hold on.” Roth regrettably had to pull away to grab the pitcher of water. It was kept beside the bed and in easy reach so he didn’t have to scuttle out of the room to grab it. For the moment, he poured some into a cup and held it to Jacob’s lips. It hurt, seeing his love struggling like this, even just to drink a little. Once Jacob finished the cup, Roth poured some more water into it and helped the young man drink again. It repeated like this for a while until Jacob gave a weak groan. He’d had enough.

“Anything else, my dear?” Jacob made another small groan, which then descended into coughing. Roth did his best to help Jacob sit up to help still the coughs and miserably watched as the white sheets were stained with flecks of red. By the time the fit was done, Jacob was wheezing, almost unable to breathe, and Roth laid him back down. But in a surprising show of strength, Jacob was able to grip one of Roth’s hands. His eyes met the other’s in a desperate plea and, despite their glossiness, Roth knew what Jacob wanted. He didn’t move away as the ailing man fell back into a restless sleep. If he hadn’t been here, Jacob might’ve just passed out from exhaustion instead. The young man didn’t want to go to sleep alone and he didn’t want to wake up alone. Jacob just didn’t want to be alone and Roth understood it. It was part of the reason why he kept so close at hand now, ready for Jacob’s calls.

And that was another new change, the ‘Max’ thing. Before, Jacob had always called him ‘Roth.’ Not because they weren’t close, it was just what Jacob referred to him as. But when Jacob had started growing sick, sometimes he would start calling him ‘Maxwell.’ Eventually Jacob became too weak to pronounce his full name, so it became ‘Max.’ As much as Roth enjoyed finally being called by his name, he preferred it to not come from a sick Jacob’s lips. Half the time he was sure Jacob had little idea of where he was, he was so out of it with sickness, and the only thing he could think of was to call for Roth. And, of course, the older man responded.

But Jacob was getting worse. Out of kindness, Roth had asked some of his Blighters to go to the Frye Train and tell Evie the news. She at least had the right to see her brother one last time. But out of love, Roth hoped to ask her if she knew where the Shroud was. It was supposed to be an object of healing, he knew that much, and he knew she and Starrick had been searching for it. If she was as desperate as he was, Roth knew Evie would want to save her twin brother. His own leads hadn’t dug up anything, even though Lucy Thorne had apparently made progress, and so he hoped that Evie would be willing to work with him to save Jacob.

If she loved Jacob as much as Roth did, she’d make the right decision.

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

“Where is he?!” Evie demanded as soon as she barged into the Alhambra, followed by Lewis. Roth was waiting for her, sitting at the table where he had once shared food and wine with the bravest man in London. It felt dead and hollow now, this space on the stage, but if he was going to get Evie’s help, he had to make a performance of himself.

“In bed.” said Roth, standing from his seat. Evie threw him a furious look. Roth ignored it, “I ask that you keep your voice down, Miss Frye. Your brother is not in the best condition and I don’t believe you’d like to wake him up, would you?”

“...Fine.” Evie’s voice lowered to a more acceptable volume, “Now where. Is. He?”

“Follow me.” Roth led the way into the bowels of the music hall. Evie followed so closely it was as if she was trying to run him over. They went up two flights of stairs to the third floor, where his office and bedroom were. He only paused once they entered his office space.

“Lewis? The gloves, please?” Lewis stepped out from behind Evie and the woman visibly startled. Roth raised an eyebrow. Usually, from what he could tell from his experience with Jacob, Assassins were hard to scare. Apparently worrying over Jacob’s condition was making Evie less perceptive of her surroundings.

Lewis offered the gloves to Evie. She stared at them for a moment before taking them with a suspicious look. She asked, “What are these for?”

“Disease.” Roth shrugged his shoulders, “Unfortunately, darling Jacob’s been struck down by scarlet fever and consumption. Not a good combination, I’m afraid.”

The blood drained from Evie’s already pale face. She understood the seriousness of the situation. The woman then began to put on the gloves and Roth eased the door open for her. A small breeze was blowing, ruffling the window curtains and those around the bed. It was also driving out the deathly stench, making the room a little more bearable.

“A reminder, Miss Frye: Jacob is asleep, so please keep your voice down.” said Roth in a whisper. Evie nodded. He shut the door once she was inside.

“Sir?”

“Yes, Lewis?”

“Are you not going to keep an eye on her?”

“I don’t believe I need to. She understands how serious things are and moving Jacob isn’t an option, even if she wanted to take him. And if she’s as gracious as Jacob says, then she’ll come out again to thank me. That’s when I’ll ask.”

“Yessir.” Lewis nodded. They stood in silence for a long while. Usually Roth would try working on one of his plays in his spare time, but he was too keyed u[p to do anything but wait for the other Frye Twin. It was only after an eternity that Evie finally exited. Her face was blotchy from crying.

“Thank you.” she sniffed, “Is this why he’s been staying here? His letters said he wouldn’t be coming back to the train for a while, but I never thought-”

“He wasn’t sick at first, but yes. Jacob’s been recovering here.” said Roth.

“Then may I ask if I can stay? I want to be by Jacob’s side when he…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

“Of course, Miss Frye. But I only have one thing to ask of you.” Roth spread out his arms, a show of presenting himself as unarmed, in case Evie thought this was a trick. He asked, “Do you know where the Shroud is, Miss Frye?”

“The Shroud?” Evie grew confused for a few moments before her face lit up, “The Shroud! Of course!”

“It can heal others, so it could save Jacob, correct?”

“Yes, it’s supposed to, but-” Evie winced, “As far as we know, it’s located under Buckingham Palace. We don’t know the exact location and Starrick has all the blueprints. However, I have the key, so he can’t get to the Shroud without it.”

“I can easily take care of the blueprints.” spoke Roth, “And we can get the Shroud for darling Jacob.”

“Hold on, ‘we?’” Evie frowned, “What’s your stake in this, Roth? You lead the Blighters, and if this is where Jacob’s been spending all his time, I don’t know if he’s gone mad or what.”

“We both have a goal, don’t we? We both want to save Jacob.” Roth pointed out. Evie was still frowning. Roth crossed his arms and frowned back, “Miss Frye, if you very much want to save your brother, we can’t be arguing. I said I’d get the plans and I will. I have no use for the Shroud, for I quite like the world as it is. I just want more of Jacob in it instead of less. Don’t you?”

Knowing they were against the clock, Evie gave a frustrated sigh. She said, “Very well. But I want to know what’s going on after Jacob is okay again,” and she strode out the door.

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

Roth didn’t dare share the information to any of his Blighters. He couldn’t risk it getting back around to Starrick, not even if the possibility was very remote. Lewis was the only one he could trust, and so Lewis was the one Roth chose as messenger to get the blueprints. Evie had pointed out that she and Henry had failed to get them back and even their friend the Maharaja couldn’t get the plans. But her connections weren’t like Roth’s.

“As you requested, sir.” Lewis took the blueprints out of his coat and handed them over. Roth unfurled them to get a better look.

“You weren’t followed?”

“Certain of it, Mr. Roth.”

“Good. Keep an eye on Jacob while we’re gone, Lewis.” He rolled the blueprints back into their original shape and tucked them into his own overcoat, which he was wearing specifically for this mission. He was eccentric enough that it wouldn’t look out of place if one of the Blighters saw, Roth was sure.

“Do be careful sir.” Lewis cautioned, then made himself scarce and went upstairs. Roth didn’t waste a second. He ran outside and climbed onto his empty carriage, snapping the reins before he even sat down so as to get a move on. This was not the moment to waste any time. Evie said she’d be waiting at St. Pancras and Roth would pick her up as soon as they had the blueprints. The only reason why Evie hadn’t waited with him at the Alhambra was because she’d had to go deal with a Blighter incursion in another borough and didn’t know if she’d be back in time. It was for the best for them to meet up. And, thankfully, she was standing at the station entrance when the old man pulled up. Evie quickly became more trusting once he gave her the blueprints.

“How did you-?”

“Do you want to stand and talk or save your brother, Miss Frye?” Roth snapped. Time was running out. At best guess, Jacob didn’t have much longer before the illnesses would run their course. Evie’s lips snapped shut and she nodded. With no more words, she returned the blueprints and took the empty seat beside the Blighter leader. He snapped the reins and they headed towards Buckingham Palace, though they did make several twists and turns to confuse any who might be following them. Eventually, they reached the grounds and made their way over the high gate. It was unlikely that Starrick’s spies would be able to do anything with them already in but Roth only took out the blueprints for a brief moment, just to be safe.

“The vault seems to be on the other side of the grounds.” Evie noted, “Near the pond.”

“Then let’s make haste.” The two quickly ran across the grounds, careful to keep their steps as light as possible. The less guards who spotted them the better. And once they were at the pond, Evie took a swift dive into the water, barely making a sound, as if she had been born a fish ready to dive in. Roth was nowhere near as graceful but he still made an effort to be quiet. The plans would probably be ruined by the water but they were both sure they were at the right destination. And, if it kept the plans out of Starrick’s hands, all for the better.

“Here.” Evie knelt in the grass, “It almost looks like the door to a tomb.”

“And your key?”

“Right here.” Evie dug down past her shirt and pulled out the end of her necklace, to which a strange rectangular piece was attached. She snapped it off the necklace and inserted it into a hole. Immediately lines began to glow across the ground, lighting up a rocky door nestled in the earth, which then slid back to reveal stairs. This was it.

Roth and Evie made their way underground quickly, not wanting to get caught by anyone, certainly not Starrick’s spies. Eventually, after a lot of traversing and parkour, they eventually came to the chamber. At the far end was a dais, of which there was a stone box on top. With no regard to if there were traps, they both ran towards it. Evie used the key to unlock the box, and inside was a shroud of golden thread by the likes of which neither of them had ever seen. Curious, Roth pulled off a glove to touch it. Immediately it felt ice cold and burning hot, all at once, and he jerked his hand away.

“It certainly feels real.” He tugged his glove back on, “You’re sure this will heal Jacob?”

“Positive.” Evie closed the box and tucked it under her arm, “It’s not like we have much of a choice. We’ve run out of options.” And so they headed back. Thankfully no one had noticed the open hole in the ground and so they were able to make their way out of Buckingham Palace without conflict.

“Now, time to get back to the bravest man in London.” said Roth, urging the horses on as fast as they would go.

“Bravest?” Evie snorted, “Who told you that poppycock? Jacob’s not particularly brave.”

“He’s the bravest man in London to me, Miss Frye.” stressed Roth, and it was then that Evie understood. Unlike Jacob, it didn’t take much for her to get the hint. It was quiet for a few moments as her eyes widened and she gathered her thoughts.

“...Is that why he’s spent so much time-?”

“Yes.” Roth gave her a glare, “And I’ll have you know that your brother is far braver than you give him credit for.” To her credit, Evie had the grace to look sheepish.

“Apologies.” she murmured, “But why you? Out of everyone in the world, why you?”

“As if I know.” he replied, “I love him, but I never forced him into this ‘thing’ that we have, whatever it may be. It was Jacob’s choice to take this further, and I made sure with him that it was okay before anything happened between us. If you want an answer, Miss Frye, you’re going to have to ask him for yourself.” They finally pulled up to the theater. Without another word, Roth took the box from Evie and headed inside.

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

Jacob blinked his eyes open. For the first time in what felt like forever, his head was clear and he could breathe again. It helped that there was a cool cloth around his shoulders, as it felt like the cloth alone was chasing away his sickness. Slowly, carefully, Jacob made himself sit up and touch the cloth. It felt silky and soft, almost as if he was wearing a piece of the infamous London fog itself. Glancing down, he could tell that it had a golden color and was traced with lines, almost like-

“Fuck.” Jacob tightened his grip on the cloth, barely resisting the urge to throw it across the room. It wasn’t possible. How was he wearing the Shroud?! Wasn’t it supposed to be in a vault somewhere or something? He quickly looked around the room. After falling so deeply into his illnesses, he didn’t remember a thing after Roth had brought him tea that one time, when Jacob was sure he had caught scarlet fever. But here he was, in Roth’s bed, with nothing to his name except for the Shroud around his shoulders. Jacob was equal parts confused and nervous. He needed someone to tell him what had happened—especially with no memory of anything and no idea of what day it was—and how he was even still alive. Thankfully, his prayers were soon answered.

“Jacob!” It was Evie. She flung her arms around him and hugged tightly, to the point it felt as if she was going to break his ribs. Jacob choked and scrambled to push her off.

“Can’t- Breathe!” he gasped.

“Sorry!” Evie immediately let go, an alarmed look on her face. But she reached to hold one of his hands tightly, just as strong as her hug. Once Jacob recovered his breath, he asked, “What happened? And what in the world are you doing in the Alhambra, Evie?”

“Because you were dying, Jacob!” Evie couldn’t help but snap. She rubbed her eyes, “Roth’s been taking care of you since you fell ill and when you got worse, he told me to come here and see you, just in case you didn’t survive. But neither of us were willing to just let you die.”

“So you found the Shroud? Just to save me?” Jacob asked.

“She didn’t do it alone.” Roth finally stepped into the room and Jacob got the sudden urge to hug him, just as Evie had done, but Jacob let it go. Now was not the time to show his affection, certainly not in front of his twin sister. Roth took a seat at the foot of the bed and added, “I got the blueprints and we found the Shroud together. Without it, you never would’ve survived, Darling.”

Jacob blushed and glanced at Evie. He wasn’t used to Roth calling him by his pet names in front of others except for Lewis. Evie, however, appeared unaffected.

“I would’ve killed Starrick myself if he had captured you.” said Evie, determination burning in her eyes, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, Jacob.” She hugged him again, this time much lighter than before. Jacob used his free hand to hug her pack, comforted that she had gone through so much to find a way to save him. And Roth had helped her, so he should share in the credit just as much. Speaking of which…

“What happens now?” Jacob asked, “To the Shroud, I mean. Are we gonna share it or-?”

“You can bloody keep it!” Roth spoke, “I don’t want the damn thing. All it’s good for, really,” Roth cupped Jacob’s face, “is making sure you don’t get taken too soon, my dear.” And then the older man kissed him. Jacob was taken with the kiss but had to pull away in alarm, sure Evie was going to protest or shriek or something. Instead, his sister just rolled her eyes.

“Get a room.” she quipped with a smile. Evie gave her brother another hug, “I’ll be outside if you need me,” and she left. Jacob blinked.

“What in the bloody hell just happened?” he demanded. Roth chuckled.

“It’s a long story, my dear. Let’s just say your sister doesn’t mind what we get up to anymore.”

Small little thought I might eventually put a drabble to:

Jacob ends up injured from a fight and goes to see Roth, who then cares for him, only for Jacob to come down with a sickness (which isn’t hard because his immune system might be down from trying to heal his wound). Roth does his best to try to cure it but nothing’s working and he’s afraid Jacob won’t survive and so has the Blighters look for Evie, if only so Jacob can spend his last moments with his sister.

Roth also makes a search for the Shroud, hoping that maybe it could save Jacob if found in time, and so he ends up working against the clock and against Starrick to find the artifact first. He’s already pretty enamored by Jacob and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do what he can to save the bravest man in London.