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imnotoverlyobsessive · 2 years

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Title of Your Sex Tape

Chapter Three: Lie Still, Close Your Eyes

AO3 one two three

Yes, yes, I know. It took me three months. In my defense, I was writing Confessions. And also, this is pretty standard for me; that’s why I usually don’t post until the fic is done. But anyway, enjoy.

Take it home, take it off, ‘cause I can’t take anymore; it’s your touch, it’s your taste, it’s your dress on the floor. Take it home, take it off, ‘cause I’ve been waiting all night for you and this is what I’m gonna do. Ice, ice, mealy your heart; baby girl, let down your guard. Rush, rush, for that touch; just one taste, can’t get enough.- The White Tie Affair, Take It Home

Tim texted her all weekend. At first, she wondered why he was texting her. She figured maybe he was contacting her about a work thing, though she had no clue what that might be.

As it turned out, it was not at all a work thing. He never mentioned work once. He really had wanted to know more about her schooling. He told her about his family, that his father was French, like from France levels of French, that he’d spent summers there with his grandparents as a kid. His sister was an aspiring actress, and he wanted to be one, too, but had some difficulty getting into more than just commercials. She wondered if he was any good.

By the time Tuesday rolled around, Lea knew tons about him. She knew his middle name (Hal) and she knew his birthday (December 27th). She even knew where he’d gone to high school.

He’d opened up to her so quickly, so easily, as if the story of his life was written on the pages of a book sitting in front of her, just waiting to be read. She found herself confiding in him, too; she told him about her mother and sisters, that her father had abused her mother and was no longer around. At one point, he’d ask her outright if that was why she’d never kissed anyone before, and she confirmed his guess despite her embarrassment.

Still, despite knowing him quite well by the time they next saw one another, she was terribly nervous about seeing Tim again.

When he came to pick her up and she slid into the passenger side of his car, he was beaming at her, looking her up and down.

“Hi!” he exclaimed happily. “You look adorable.”

Lea blinked up at him. “Oh, um.” She gulped anxiously. “Thanks.”

He drove off, prattling away about something or other. When they arrived, he opened the car door for her and offered her his hand. She took it, stepping out onto the pavement.

Tim was grinning down at her like she the mere sight of her was the best thing he’d seen in his entire life, and he didn’t let go of her hand as they walked through the doors.

————————————

He’d shot for so long that it was early one evening several weeks later by the time he was driving her home, and he walked her to her apartment building, the bustling New Yorkers swerving around them.

Lea turned back to face him, her cheeks pink from the memory of the orgasm he’d given her earlier that day as they’d kissed hungrily. “Well,” she said awkwardly, “thanks for the ride home. I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” he told her with a smile, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. She gave him a little wave and turned towards the door of her building to go inside, but he stopped her. “Lea?”

Turning back towards him, unsure of what the tone in his voice meant— if it meant anything at all, for that matter. “Yeah?”

He shifted from one foot to the other, like he was anxious.

What on earth could a man like that have to be anxious about?

“Would you like to have dinner with me sometime?” The words came out rushed, flowing from his lips like a waterfall of syllables, and it took her a few seconds to decipher them.

Once she had, however, her eyes widened until she rather resembled an owl. “W— what?” Lea squeaked.

Tim brushed his hair from his eyes, shooting her a small smile. “Would you like to have dinner with me?” he repeated, a bit slower this time.

“I…” She couldn’t seem to formulate words. Or maybe they just refused to come out. She wasn’t sure. Either way, it took a few loud thuds of her heart before she was able to force any sound from vocal chords. “Wouldn’t, uh. Wouldn’t that be like… a conflict of interest or something?”

He laughed quietly, taking a step closer. “No, of course not. Just me thanking a beautiful girl for helping me do my job.” After a moment of him staring down at her, he added, “I honestly don’t know how I ever managed without you.”

She swallowed. “Glad I’m able to help, then.”

She considered his request as he looked down at her expectantly. Would she get in trouble? She knew she couldn’t, like… date him or anything, of course not. He had sex with other women, and regardless of the reason he was doing it, how was she supposed to deal with something like that? But he’d said it was just to thank her for helping him and she did enjoy his company.

What could be the harm?

“Yeah, okay,” she finally conceded. “If you’re sure it’s okay.”

“Positive.” He seemed so damn happy about her agreeing that she honestly didn’t know how to react. He was… disarmingly attractive.

It was distracting.

He took her out the following night after she got out of class.

She did her makeup and dressed in a fairly nice dress, but not so nice she thought she might be seen as trying too hard.

Okay, so maybe she liked him a little bit. Big deal. It’s not like anything would ever come of it, anyway. He’d never made a move on her outside of work, and that was most definitely for the best on account of the whole… pornstar thing.

He was sweet and courteous and, as she understood it, a perfect gentleman.

On Thursday, Lea found herself being tugged by the hand into his dressing room, and she was immediately pinned against the door with his lips on hers and his hands squeezing her hips.

She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing him back. Tim hiked up the skirt of her dress and slotted his knee between her legs, rubbing against her panties insistently.

She was panting by the time he moved on to her neck, kissing and sucking the sensitive skin there as she arched into him. “Touch me,” she begged.

“Fuck.” The word was a groan against her throat, his teeth grazing her flesh, and he reached up with one hand to squeeze her breast. “So big,” he murmured. “What I wouldn’t give to see them. Suck on them.”

She leaned further into his touch, and he squeezed a bit harder. “You want to see…?”

“I’ve never wanted to see a woman naked so badly in my life,” he informed her bluntly, pulling back from her slightly.

Lea gulped.

Okay, so looking up at him now, she realized two things. First, that her feelings towards him were most definitely of the romantic sort. Second, she trusted him enough to see her naked. This was odd, as they were friends and nothing more—outside of work, of course—, but she actually kind of wanted him to, which was a bizarre realization in and of itself.

“I can… I can show you,” she told him hesitantly. His eyes widened, and she continued. “If… if you’d like to see, I can show you.”

“You don’t have to,” he assured her hurriedly.

“I know,” she said with a small, hesitant smile. “I don’t mind. I trust you.”

He smirked at her, then took her by the hand and walked backwards towards the couch before plopping down on it.

She was wearing a casual, flowy green dress that ended just above her knees, and he gripped the edge of the material lightly, watching her flushed face intently. “Why don’t you strip for me?”

“W— what?” she squeaked.

Tim’s hand traveled up beneath her dress, just past the hem. Not too high, but just enough to make her core clench. “Stra-rip,” he enunciated slowly.

She watched the way his mouth moved with each syllable; he was mesmerizing. Then, slowly, ever since slowly, she lifted her dress up over her head and dropped it next to him on the couch. She was wearing bright pink panties—with her hair being red, she never got to wear pink where people could see it, and she quite liked pink—, and her bra was a soft cream color with a little bow in the middle.

Bras in Lea’s size were always rather uninspired.

“God,” Tim groaned, yanking his shirt off. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

“Thanks,” she said awkwardly, fidgeting with a curl that had fallen loose from behind her ear. He was pulling his pants off, his boxers following shortly after, and Lea flushed when she saw how hard he was.

He pumped himself with one hand and trailed a hand up her bare thigh with another. “Do you still want me to see you? Are you okay with that?”

Nodding, she nibbled on her lip before reaching behind her back and unclasping her bra. She slid the straps from her shoulders and, without looking at him, let the garment fall to the floor. She watched it do so and then continued to stare at it as she bent over to pull her panties down.

When she stood back up, he stared at her for a moment before reaching out to touch her again, his hands lightly brushing against her outer thighs, then sliding up to her waist. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, rough. “Can I…”

Lea nodded jerkily, finding herself unable to speak just then.

His hands—so large, so warm, so soft—moved to cup her breasts gently, his thumbs swiping over her pebbling nipples, and she inhaled sharply.

“You like that?” Tim asked quietly, the words hesitant, almost. When she nodded wordlessly, he squeezed a bit harder. “You’re so beautiful. God, your tits… they’re unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

She laughed shakily. “I seriously doubt that, given your choice in career.”

He shook his head, squeezing again and pinching each nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making her whimper. “No,” he breathed. “No one else’s have ever been attached to you, Lea.”

She gasped, arching into his touch.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “Can I suck on them? Please? I want them in my mouth.”

“Y— yeah,” she agreed.

He grabbed her by the hips and yanked her closer, latching onto one of her breasts immediately and beginning to suckle.

It felt incredible. She hadn’t been expecting it to feel quite so good, actually. Lea threw her head back, clutching his hair with a low moan. He growled against her skin, taking her nipple gently between his teeth. She gasped, pressing his face further into her breast. He reached around to grip her ass with both hands, squeezing it eagerly.

“So fuckin’ hot,” he muttered as he switched to the other breast.

“Tim,” she whimpered, “that feels—“

“You like it?”

She nodded shakily, her chest heaving.

Suddenly, he pulled back from her, gripping her arms and looking into her eyes intently. “Lea,” he began firmly. She blinked down at him in response, in somewhat of a daze. “Can I… can I eat you out?”

Her mouth fell open. “You… you wanna do that?” She swallowed anxiously.

Tim nodded vigorously. “I really, really want to. We don’t have to, of course, but…” He glanced down at the apex of her thighs. Most of what his eyes were searching for was concealed, she knew—thigh gap? What’s that?—, but he could see some of her. When he spoke again, his voice was a little choked-sounding. “But god do I want to.”

She swallowed again—or tried to, anyway; her throat was too dry for her to manage it—before nodding. “Okay. If… if you want to.”

“Don’t feel like you have to,” he insisted firmly, taking her hands in his and squeezing them. “You can say no or tell me to stop or slow down, anything you want. Whatever you’re comfortable with is okay.”

“No, I…” Lea let out a slow, shaky exhale. “I trust you,” she said again. “And… I want you to.”

He groaned, pulling her down so she’d replaced his spot on the couch, and then he spread her legs and knelt between them.

Tim kissed her inner thigh softly, his gaze hot on hers. “You’re sure you want this?”

“Yes,” she breathed.

He smirked. “Good.” With that, he nipped her thigh, chuckling softly at her little gasp of surprise before trailing more kisses closer and closer to where she really wanted him.

Was she shaking? She might’ve been shaking. One of his hands left her leg to reach up and squeeze her breast, rolling her nipple between his long, nimble fingers.

Lea whimpered, arching into his touch. He was so close to where she needed him. She was clenching repeatedly on her own emptiness, and she thought she’d die if he didn’t give her what she needed.

Then, his fingertips finally—finally—brushed against her wetness, and he hummed low in his throat with interest.

“Fuck,” Tim murmured, “you’re soaked. You really want this, huh?”

Too embarrassed to confirm this verbally, she clenched her eyes shut and nodded once.

“No, no,” he told her placatingly, moving the hand on her breast up to cup her cheek. “Don’t be embarrassed.” Lea squinted her eyes open hesitantly to find Tim smiling softly up at her, like he was trying to reassure her. “I like that I made you this wet. It’s sexy.”

She gulped. “Really?”

“Mhm.” He nipped her inner thigh again, and she chewed the inside of her lip.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, Lea,” he promised.

The way Tim was looking at her was heated, but it was also a question— he was asking for a final stamp of approval from her before continuing. She nodded once, and that was all he needed.

The hand on her cheek migrated back to squeeze her breast and tweak her nipple, and he dove in. Lea yelped when she felt soft, gentle licks along her slit, just barely brushing over her clit. Still, his eyes watched her face closely, reading her expressions and paying attention to each reaction he elicited from her.

“Can I put my fingers inside you?” he breathed, the heat of his exhalation on her wet, flushed skin making her shudder.

“Yes.”

The first finger slid in easily, and he curled it within her before pulling it out again and thrusting two fingers back into her this time.

She gasped, lifting her pelvis to meet his touch. “Fuck, you’re…” He inhaled sharply. “You’re really tight.”

Should she thank him? Was it a compliment? What—

Tim nipped her inner thigh again, and she yelped. “Stop overthinking,” he chided gently, looking up at her with dark eyes. “Don’t think. Just feel.” She nodded back at him unblinkingly, and he grinned. “I’m gonna lick you now, okay?”

“Okay,” she breathed, focusing on the way he was moving his fingers inside her and not on what he was about to do and how self-conscious it made her.

With that, he brushed his tongue against her clit in a feather-light touch, and Lea jolted. It was strange— warm and wet and altogether foreign. She wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been expecting, but it wasn’t this.

He licked her again, just as light as before, but more slowly this time. He thrust his fingers in and out of her, curling them each time, never taking his eyes off her face, not even for a second. Swirling the tip of his tongue around her clit, he reached up with his free hand to squeeze her breast and tweak her nipple.

Lea whimpered, arching her back and throwing her right arm across her eyes. He licked a bit faster, and she moaned low in her throat, reaching down with her left hand to hold him against her without even really thinking about it. He chuckled softly, and the vibrations made her clench around his thrusting fingers.

“Feel good?” he wanted to know, rubbing her clit with his thumb. She nodded jerkily, her eyes clenched shut beneath her arm. “Good.”

With that, he resumed licking her, his tongue moving faster now, making her breath come in short, gasping pants. The hand she had in his hair clenched, and he must’ve known she was getting close.

Tim seemed to know her body better than she did, which made sense as he’d been the one to give her her first-ever orgasm just s grew weeks ago, but she wasn’t able to think about that. As it happened, she wasn’t able to think about anything at all. Her mind had been filled with fog, and she couldn’t formulate a single thought.

He took her clit between his lips and sucked on it gently, curling his fingers inside her again, and she exploded with a gasp of his name.

Lea panted, her arms collapsing at her sides. The room was still spinning when he pulled his fingers out of her and sat up, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sat on the couch next to her.

“So,” Tim began, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her against him, “how’d you like it?”

She stared dazedly at the wall across from the couch. “That was…”

Words. Words were hard. How could she even describe that experience?

“…Amazing,” she finally decided.

“Good.”

Lea was about to open her mouth to say something—she wasn’t entirely sure what—, but there were several swift raps from the other side of the door that cut off her thought before it had entirely formed.

“We’re ready for you,” came the voice of a production assistant.

“‘Kay,” he called through the door.

Wait, she thought in a bit of a panic, I didn’t touch him, what if he’s not hard—

But then he stood, and she saw that he was, in fact, very hard.

“Here,” he told her quietly, handing her her clothes and waiting patiently as she dressed. “I’ll see you after, okay?”

Lea nodded, watching as he strolled from the room with that casual confidence she was quickly growing to adore, and tried to push down the jealousy brewing in her stomach at the knowledge of what he was about to go do.

Aaaaaaand that’s chapter three! Please give me all of your thoughts! All. Of. Them.

Tag list: @meetmyothersouls @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence

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opaljm · 3 years

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yours, truly (m) – jjk

⟶ pairing: female reader x Jungkook

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ genres & tropes: angst, future smut; arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, enemies to lovers, scorned lovers with a past, second chance romance, featuring ceo!jungkook & music producer!reader

⟶ summary: Ten years ago, you had run away from your family to pursue your dreams of becoming an idol. Eight years ago, those dreams were turned into dust and you were forced to beg your family to take you back in. Now, as a part of their agreement for making you a member of the illustrious Min family once more, you were forced to do their every bidding, including marrying the man you hated the most of all.

⟶ warnings/content tags: tension and hostility between Jungkook and the reader, flashbacks, talk of being a runaway teen, alluding to family problems/drama, producer shenanigans, dramatic jungkook, petty reader, this chapter is sfw!

⟶ length & status: 13k words; in progress

⟶ a/n: Hello welcome to Naia’s first (of several) long fics of this year. This is entirely free written which means there’s not really an outline. Outside of whatever chapter I am currently writing and a vague idea of how the only the next chapter after it will go, I am just going with the flow as far as the plot goes. So this is actually the third story of the Marital Bliss universe, however, you don’t need to read the other two fics before this to be able to enjoy this one. I will post the other chapter ones after this before I post chapter two for this fic. Just a head’s up. I plan on having the other two posted in May as well, though so don’t worry. I hope you guys enjoy this! Also sorry for the super long boring A/N at the beginning. You have @chateautae to thank for the surprise early drop lol! I hope you guys don’t mind that it’s not Friday. beta-read by the lovely @hantaev. The masterlist will be linked after all three stories’ first chapters are out!

↳ complete masterlist | ‘marital bliss’ series masterlist | next

"𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍𝚗'𝚝 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚒𝚝

𝙷𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚎𝚕𝚝 𝚒𝚝

𝙸 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚍𝚊𝚖𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

𝙳𝚘𝚗'𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚑𝚢 𝙸 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚢

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎, 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑,"

𝙼𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝙱𝚎𝚎𝚛, 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏𝚒𝚜𝚑

The mansion that the Parks had acquired for the night was certainly magnificent. The chateauesque building was built in the late 1800s, and with its blend of Gothic and Beaux-Arts architecture, it created a massive, ornate space that evoked a sense of splendor and grandeur. The inhabitants of the first floor, that had been completely opened for the celebration, only furthering that impression with the women in their long floor-length gowns, long ropes of pearls hanging from both their necks and ears, and giant golf ball sized stones adorning the rings on their left hands while the men were decked out in three piece dark suits, livening up their outfits with the pointed toes of their leather shoes, and the wristwatches on their right arms often going up to six figures.

You were on the periphery of the wild crush of people, nearly hugging the edge of the room like a wallflower, a wine glass in your right hand, your wrist kept snapping, idly swishing around the burgundy contents of your glass. Your plush lips were wet from the constant sips you had indulged yourself in, stained a deep berry red from what must have been two or three, or possibly even five, glasses of cabernet sauvignon. Your gaze flickered to the starlet of the night, the main reason that all of you have congregated this evening. Little baby Park, your niece through marriage, was in her father’s arms in a petal pink flouncy Dolce & Gabbana princess dress. Her pin-straight black brown hair had been neatly arranged into a cute half down half up do, in one of the few designs she could have due to the short length of her hair, and the updo part was sticking straight up like a fluffy apple stem behind the diamond barrette that was holding it up.

Her parents were celebrating her first birthday with a massive fete, though graciously they had decided to accommodate their guests and make the event on a Saturday, rather than the following Tuesday when her birthday really was, so baby Park wasn’t even a year old. She was an adorable baby you thought to yourself, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth. You tried to keep your resentment from taking hold of you: your niece had done nothing to deserve your ire, she was an innocent babe. And yet, jealousy was still so hard for you to break free of, wanting your own little girl as well, knowing that you would probably never get her.

Her mother joined them, the daughter instantly holding her arms out for her mama. Her mother was a gorgeous woman, two or three inches shorter than her husband, creating the perfect height difference between the pair. Other than the similar eye shape and color she shared with your husband, the siblings didn’t have much in common other than their otherworldly beauty that made them the most attractive people in any room they stood in. Every single member of your husband’s family was breathtakingly gorgeous, from your coldhearted parents-in-law, to your disgust, your husband, who turned heads wherever he went.

Based on observation, seeing your sister-in-law and her family in the passing for the last couple of days, you had a feeling that she was the favored parent. You felt like you were in the minority with your belief however, because any time anyone ever talked about your niece, the conversation shifted to how she was her father’s mini-me with plump cheeks, sleepy eyes, and the cutest pouty lips and how that must have also translated into her being a Daddy’s girl.

It wasn’t that Jimin wasn’t a good father and didn’t spoil her needlessly, you just saw past the biased misogynistic lenses that everyone else had adorned and saw that all of the similarities between her and her father didn’t quite translate into her loving her father the most, but rather being just like him, down to sharing the same exact favorite person: the woman who had cozied up by her husband’s side and held her toddler daughter in her arms, a patient look of love and amazement painting her face as she attentively listened to her baby babble to her. But this could’ve all just been your alcohol-addled musings; you had rarely been sober any time you were in the presence of your family members by marriage.

You raised your glass for another sip, frowning against the rim before you could swallow the complex acidic burgundy liquid. If your sister-in-law was in the front with the rest of her nuclear family then where the fuck was－

“There you are, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” your husband said, sidling up to you.

Your frown deepened into a grimace, Jeon Jungkook looked good to your complete and utter disappointment. It was a thought that had plagued you every single one of the rare times he was in your presence. He was wearing a custom tailored suit from Louis Vuitton, his jacket was entirely open showing the bright white dress shirt underneath and his neck was missing a tie. You couldn’t even remember if he had left the hotel with a tie on, so careful were you in your avoidance and ignorance of your husband. He had made the right decision in getting rid of his tie if he had had one initially, you decided, even if his outfit looked a little incomplete. By its virtue of being all black, it went well with your midnight blue Alexander McQueen gown.

“Have you been here the entire time?" Jungkook asked. “You disappeared pretty fast after they introduced us when we came in. My sister wanted to thank you for the birthday present you got, although she thinks we went a little overboard.”

You stared unseeingly into the murky red depths of your wine glass. You felt sick of it, you would surely hurl if you took another sip. You hadn’t even eaten, the waiting staff never quite made their way to the corners of the room with the hors d’oeuvres like they did with the alcohol. Dinner was in half an hour, you thought, but it might have been running late since no one else seemed as eager to sit down and eat like you were.

Jungkook leaned in, his overgrown dark bangs brushing against the side of your head as his frustrated whisper tickled over the shell of your ear. His hair which usually reminded you of a perfectly round coconut or a brown sugar soaked tapioca pearl, or perhaps you were just incredibly famished and hallucinating, had grown out enough that the tresses were wavy and framing his face in a devastatingly becoming manner.

“I told you I was going to take care of the gift. You should’ve listened to me. Did you think I wouldn’t put your name on it? I’m not like that Y/N. At least she didn’t realize that this was a result of a communication error and thinks we just want to spoil our only niece.”

You couldn’t take this anymore. Your eyes continued to harden with barely concealed abhorrence and your teeth were so tightly clenched that your jaw was starting to ache. You simply did not have it within you to play one half of a happily married couple with Jungkook, right now.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” you announced abruptly, cutting Jungkook’s monologue short. You finally managed to dispose of the glass that had been holding your right hand captive for the entire evening by thrusting it at one of the waiting staff who had been conveniently walking by with an empty tray over his arm.

“I’ll take you there,” Jungkook said.

With one of your eyebrows raised, you asked, “Why? You’re not a girl. I don’t have to travel in pairs with men to go to the restroom.”

“I know,” Jungkook said with a defeated sigh, tired of your contrariety, “I just didn’t think you knew the layout too well. You’ve never been here before.”

“I’m fine,” you retorted, wrapping the sheer tulle cape that was sewn onto the dress’s shoulders, made of the same fabric and color as the rest of your gown just more transparent, even more fully around your form. You stalked away from him, your body tightened into a hard line as your figure made its way across the vast expanse of the room towards the interior exits.

Jungkook almost let you go by yourself before he realized he hadn’t talked to you all that much today. He quickly started to move, his feet picking up speed as he followed along your footsteps. By the way your nude Kate, Louboutin heels hurried along that much more swiftly, he knew that you had realized he wouldn’t be leaving your side for the rest of the night. The glittering chandeliers overhead did excellent work casting light down on the entire room, the geometric prisms of crystals shining rainbow rays of light over your figures, making you appear angelic. Jungkook was enraptured as he followed in your footsteps, rushing to make sure you didn’t disappear from his sight.

[almost ten-ish years ago]

Dragging the toe of your shiny leather loafers along your left calf to help pull your white stockings back up, that had ridden down, pooling around your ankle, you found yourself lingering in front of the Chun-Ah Arts High School, reluctant to make your way inside, waiting to see if you would be able to see him again. You were sure you two were in different grades so you never really got to see him during school hours and knew that seeking him out then would be futile. But sometimes, you would get lucky in the mornings before he headed to the east where the school gymnasium and fields were and you headed to homeroom since you didn’t have any friends to hang out with in the mornings.

You had run away to Seoul two days after your fifteenth birthday, after getting an offer to become a trainee at a small entertainment company known as Big Shot, much to the displeasure of your rich family living in Daegu. They could hardly comprehend why you would want to throw away a life of security and wealth all on the pipe dream of becoming an idol. When you had moved to Seoul, your family had kicked you out of the will and taken away your trust fund, telling you that you would no longer be associated with the Min’s hotel chain legacy.

The thought of your family made a wry smirk take over your lips; when you had dropped out of the Jeong Finishing School for Exemplary Girls, the first female in your family in generations to leave the school without honors, your family thought you had ruined your future. Little did they know, you would be starting your second semester of sophomore year at the fancy Chun-Ah Arts school in Seoul.

When you first started at Big Shot, you had quickly realized that maybe you had been naive and living in a privileged bubble, having to dorm in a studio apartment with ten other girls. The type of jealousy and backbiting at the agency was different from the kind you had experienced in your all-girls school. Here the fights weren’t about boyfriends or stealing one of a kind Dior sweaters to dump in bright red paint for revenge. The sabotage was more physical, with girls trying to claw their way to the top to be the stand out talent in a group line up. The mind games were more psychological, with girls doing anything and everything to undermine each other’s evaluations, hoping to be that rare, that special individual, who would be considered talented enough to potentially debut as a solo artist.

And then, as more trainees came in, soon there wasn’t enough time for the vocal coaches to teach everyone better vocal techniques, for the choreographers to help the struggling trainees memorize their dances, for songwriters to help aspiring rappers find their flow and improve their lyricalities. You were on the brink of getting cut and being thrown out on the street homeless, when your cousin Yoongi, the black sheep of the family, who was struggling to make his own dreams of becoming a music producer suggested that you apply to Chun-Ah as a scholarship student and make use of their renowned music department where it had famous retired vocalists and dancers as the teachers. With Yoongi’s help you were able to prepare for the entrance exam, excel in the interview and performance portions and even write a heartbreaking story of how you were a homeless youth who had been kicked out of her family for wanting to pursue her dreams.

You had impressed the academy’s admissions panel greatly, allowing you to enter the school midway through the year, but since entering, you kept finding yourself disappointed with how things were at the school. For one thing, you would have thought with how rigorous and extensive the application process was, not to mention how expensive the application, uniforms, and tuition were, your classmates would have been more talented. You weren’t expecting them to be Maria Callas or Joshua Bell or Michael Jackson, but you did think they would be a little more talented than Vine dancers, Youtube song cover singers, and garage band musicians. Especially for individuals whose parents were part of the one percent and could afford to give them the best tutors and tools to excel. But on your second day of school, to your immense dismay, you found a sophomore abusing his 300 year old Stradivarius violin in front of the school’s giant Grecian inspired water fountain by basically grating the bow against the strings with how roughly he was playing﹣no scratch that﹣handling the instrument.

It didn’t take you long to realize the sham that was the Chun-Ah Arts High School. The school created fake competitions with arbitrary rules where they would divide the winners for each category based on the biggest donors to the institute. It wasn’t based on talent at all. And based on these awards and accreditations buffeting their resumes and applications to illustrious foreign universities, the students at Chun-Ah would be able to get into the Fine Arts, Visual and Performing Arts, Theater, and Athletics departments, more easily than they would’ve been able to get into the more exclusive medical, law, or business departments and then easily change their majors once they were already accepted.

If only you had known about the USA college admissions scandal that would become uncovered a few years later, which would reveal some of the more shady things that foreign students had done to get accepted with their American classmates. Of course, not everyone at Chun-Ah was a bad egg trying to take advantage of the system, but there were definitely enough that had you raising an eyebrow. You were sure you would have been angerier if you actually wanted the number one class rank, if you knew about the exam keys that could be bribed off of teachers manipulating the entire class rank system, but you were just here to hone your skills as a singer and performer so you generally left it alone.

That didn’t mean that you were excited to go to school each day though, there was bullying and backbiting at the agency and there was also more of the same at the school. Sure the rich kids and starving artists played by different rules and prized different things, but they all hated you, the common denominator. Every time you saw a girl laugh behind her palm at your ill-fitting uniform or make fun of the fact that you were a scholarship student, you couldn’t help but think to yourself how glad you were to have removed yourself from that life. If they had realized the Min in your last name stood for one of the most powerful families in not only Daegu but the entire country, you were sure they would’ve changed their tone quickly and begged to be your friends. Personally you were glad that your newfound poverty made them remove that mask of civility they donned for other people in their circle.

But then you had discovered the voice, the tipping point of the scale that made you prefer school to the company and lie to your manager that you were taking extra lessons after school. During morning announcements one day, a period where you usually spend your time looking out the window and counting all the falling dead brown leaves in the winter, the school choir had been invited to sing the school anthem before Sports Day. There was a voice that stood apart from the rest. It was a male tenor, whose voice was soft and lyrical, a bright angelic tone following his words and painting it with a soothing harmony. You were immediately captivated, because not only was this your first exposure to real raw talent in the school but also because of the hypnotic beauty to the voice. You immediately found yourself wanting to know who it belonged to, and with a little eavesdropping of your classmates, you found out that it belonged to a mister “Jungkook,” according to Hair Spray Helmet and her minions Excessive Lip Gloss Applier and Overplucked Eyebrows, who all sighed dreamily as they fawned over him.

To your dismay, Jungkook was not only talented but also exceedingly attractive. The male would always wear either a gray or black Comme Des Garcons hoodie under his school jacket and occasionally have a red slouchy beanie perched on his head, in a devastating combination of prep and rockstar. His black gauges and staple wheat colored Timberlands were all it really took to cement your infatuation with him. And as a teenage girl with no family, who had to deal with the struggles of an idol trainee, you would take whatever small joys you would find wherever you could find them.

Today Jungkook was later than usual and as the first warning bell rang, you found yourself worrying your bottom lip with your teeth, wondering if you should already head into class to avoid getting a penalty mark on your record. As you had finally made up your mind, he ran past you, almost barreling you down as he tugged a much shorter girl behind him. The female looked fragile and angelic, probably the most beautiful person you had ever seen, excluding Jungkook but he was a male. You bit the inside of your cheek, tasting blood and swallowing it down, you found your gaze hardening in their direction as you made your own way to homeroom, which you were now late to thanks to him.

Fifteen minutes ago, when Jungkook was by his sister’s side and not waiting for his wife to come out of the restroom, he had been congratulating his sister for how well her marriage had been going, only two years in. His sister deserved happiness and she had found it with Jimin and their daughter in their new home. The pair had moved to the States before Jieun had been born as Jimin got an offer to be a Korean American pharmaceutical company’s COO.

“How’s your marriage going with Y/N, we’ve never had a moment alone where I could check in with you,” his sister asked, smiling as she absentmindedly fiddled around with the two row diamond encrusted band of her gold Harry Winston wedding ring. “I know it’s still in its early stages. But, you like her right? So it must be going more smoothly than mine and Jimin’s was at the beginning. And I’m really sorry I missed it.”

Jungkook painted his face with what he hoped was a believable look of happiness and contentment, he didn’t need his younger sister to worry over him. “We’re fine. Y/N is just really busy all the time. You know how she’s a producer at HYP.E, and ever since father has been giving me more and more responsibilities at the company I’ve been busy too. We’re fine, we just haven’t really been able to see each other too much. It’s fine ___, maybe we’ll do a vow renewal one day and you can be there for that.”

“Right of course, that must be why we’ve barely been able to see her this past week without her getting swept away only moments after,” his sister nodded, “A vow renewal, that sounds nice.” Her smile looked a little forced after his answer, but she continued the conversation, “I have to thank you guys for getting Jieun so many presents. Frankly I think it’s a little much, but Jimin’s all for it. He thinks Jieun-ie deserves the world. But in between your presents that you dropped off at the house earlier and the shipments we’ve been getting the past two weeks from Y/N you both went all out. You really didn’t have to. She’s a growing toddler, spending thousands of dollars on shoes and dresses she can’t wear in two months is a little much.”

That must’ve been what you had gotten for his niece. Until this moment Jungkook hadn’t even known you would bother; he had thought to make up for what he thought would be your absence by signing off on gifts in both your names.

“Did Jieun enjoy the toys I dropped off?” Jungkook asked, rubbing his palms together. His wedding band glinted on his left hand, mocking him.

“That tricycle you dropped off terrifies Jimin. He doesn’t want to let her on it, he thinks it’s a death trap.”

“No, no,” Jungkook protested, “It’s completely safe, it just looks badass and is also electric. She’s gonna be the coolest kid in her neighborhood as soon as she learns to take more than two steps without falling and can actually ride that thing.”

“Jimin’s very protective you know,” his sister murmured, a soft smile on her lips, “I think he’ll be more open to the bike in a couple of years.”

“I don’t blame him,” muttered Jungkook, “I would be protective too, if I had so much I cared for.”

“Oh she’s asking for me,” his sister exclaimed, it seemed that even half a room away, her eyes were always on her daughter. “Do you want to come with me? She loves her Uncle Googie.”

Jungkook let out an amused chortle, “Nah it’s fine. I think Jimin’s threatened by how much she likes me.” He stiffened his jaw and put on theatrics, popping his collar in self-admiration.

“Don’t,” she protested. His sister clapped a hand over her mouth, covering up her accidental giggles, that kept easily slipping out. She had missed being able to converse and laugh with her brother, the one downside of moving away from home. “I don’t want him getting into another existential crisis that our children won’t like him. The nine months I was pregnant were hell.”

Jungkook’s responding chuckle was light and airy, “I’m just having some fun. You guys are great parents. Jieun is really lucky,” he admitted. “I think I am actually going to go look for Y/N, she’s missing out on all this familial fun. I’ll be sure to find you later when you’re getting Jieun ready for the cake cutting.”

“We’ll probably end up cutting the cake ourselves,” his sister admitted drily, “I don’t intend to have a knife in my one year old’s hand for longer than necessary. But, when you find Y/N, bring her around. We’d love to get a couple of pictures with the family to mark the occasion.”

But that was then. Right now, he was leaning against the gilded wallpaper that lined the walls of the hallway, a beautiful spread of cloudy white with cherubic angels that were adorned with golden halos and harps. There were multiple powder rooms that had been converted for public use, and you had spent way more time than he would’ve thought in the restroom. He was considering asking the next person to come by to ask you if you were alright in there since you weren’t answering his texts, but for now he would just have to scroll through the barrage of unread emails he still had sitting in his work inbox.

Meanwhile in the powder room, you were making use of the serpentine shaped tête-à-tête that lined the center of the room, providing seating for those who needed a break from the partying, you supposed. It worked out well for you actually; instead of having to sit over an open toilet in your seven thousand dollar dress, not even the fancy toilets in Chateau French le French had lids on them, scrolling through your phone, you could just do it out in the open where sink area had seats in the middle. The smell of linen and potpourri was overwhelming, but you’d do anything to wait out your husband until he got bored enough and left. You opened up the snow app and took a few pictures with the flower halo filter, sending them off to the HYP.E producer group chat you had with your work colleagues, individuals you’d found yourself to consider like friends.

Lee Sunmi Unni ♡: So cute Y/N

Min Yoongi (work): I thought this was a baby shower

Min Y/N: it’s my niece’s first birthday party

You scowled, your cousin was annoyingly and intentionally uncomprehending at times.

Min Yoongi (work): where is baby??

Min Yoongi (work): cake???

POTY Kim Namjoon: I know this is the fun group chat where we try to avoid talking about work things

POTY Kim Namjoon: Y/N you need to put out a fire for the new Stray Together album. They’ve suddenly decided that the second digital single won’t work after all. I’ve tried to help the situation, switching around the lyrics, adding more of a synthe vibe to the song. They hate it.

POTY Kim Namjoon: How soon do you think you could come back?

Finally. An excuse. You sighed in relief although you knew that redoing the second digital single completely from scratch would be a headache and a half this late in the game. But you would rather spend every moment of your waking and sleeping hours in the HYP.E building rather than spending another second in America with Jungkook, pretending you were the picture perfect newly wed couple.

Min Y/N: If you buy me the earliest redeye out of here, I can leave tonight and be back before noon tomorrow.

POTY Kim Namjoon: I’ll let the business manager know and handle the expense. See you soon Y/N.

POTY Kim Namjoon: Sorry for cutting the party short.

Min Y/N: anything for the company

Min Yoongi (work): ::eye roll::

After that message, you slid your cellphone back into the vividly dark blue clutch you had chosen for the evening. Taking a moment to tidy up your dress, the skirt had shifted around while you were comfortably ensconced in the cozy mustard yellow velvet seats of the tête-à-tête, you absentmindedly wondered if you should blot and powder your face, perhaps freshen up that pale pink MAC lipstick you had painting your lips. Anything to get through the tedious minutes at the party until Namjoon’s business manager emailed you the flight confirmation that had the departure time, you supposed.

Jungkook, that oblivious husband of yours had picked steak for both of your meals for the evening, even though you had abstained from eating red meat at the wedding, due to your sensitivity to red meat. It wasn’t as though you were a vegan but you did avoid eating meat when there were alternatives. There had been a fancy lobster option too, your favorite, but you supposed you would have to have to do with the vegetable medley and creamy potato and mushroom side. As a grumble overtook your stomach, you wondered what the cake flavor was to celebrate your niece’s first birthday. Could one year olds even eat cake? Were they still breastfed? It was a good thing you were never going to let Jungkook touch you. You weren’t completely sure that you would make a great mother. Jungkook and you as parents was a recipe for disaster, your children would end up needing lifelong therapy.

To your utter disappointment, and he knew it too if the instant dimming of his features were anything to go by when he saw the deep scowl painting your face, Jungkook was still there waiting for you when you finally made it out. He peeled himself away from the opposite wall, his hair looking a little softer and more rumpled deeper into the evening.

“Are you okay?” he asked, frowning. “You took a while in there, I was starting to worry. I think I even contemplated asking one of the ladies waiting in line to go check up on you.”

You scowled, your eyebrows turning into an angry vee, with flashing eyes you hissed, “I’m on my period, you asshole.”

Jungkook stilled in embarrassment, “O-oh, I’m s-sorry.” he stuttered, “I didn’t, I didn’t mean to humiliate you. I was just worried that you had gotten injured or you were in trouble or something.”

“In the ladies’ room?” you scoffed incredulously. You sniffed and picked up the pace, heading for the dining area; you knew Jungkook would just follow in your footsteps, like the well trained dog he thought himself to be.

Almost as though Jungkook had heard your condemning thoughts, he lengthened his strides so that he was half a step of you while walking to your left. “We’re sitting with my sister and her family,” he notified you.

He was attempting to take back control, not that you would hand it over so easily.

You stopped abruptly in the middle of the hallway at his words. “Tell me something, Jeon, do you think I’m an idiot?”

Jungkook furrowed his brows at you, “Why would I think you were an idiot? Y/N, can you please stop picking fights with me? At least while we’re in public? I don’t understand what I ever did to earn your ire.”

You laughed hollowly, “You don’t, huh? Well let me educate you: I would prefer to live my life pretending you don’t exist, but somehow you seem to be against that idea.”

“Well, of course I am, Y/N. I’m attempting to make our marriage work,” Jungkook retorted.

You held your tongue and started to walk again, just another hour or so and you wouldn’t have to see him anymore, you comforted yourself. When you guys finally found yourselves in the dining area, Jungkook’s sister and her husband were gesturing at you two to go to their table which was placed on a podium that made their seats a little higher than everyone else’s and visible to the entirety of the room. Feeling spiteful, you pulled out your own chair before Jungkook could do it for you. The Parks, excluding the baby, stared at you two in bewilderment as Jungkook sullenly took his seat next to you. Your niece was belted into a high chair and let out a cry when she realized no one was paying attention to her.

“Jieun-ie what’s wrong? You want Appa to hold you?” Jimin asked. You thought he was four years older than Jungkook, though you were not entirely sure as he hadn’t attended your wedding and was usually at work when Jungkook would force you to visit his sister and niece, which would make him about five years older than you, if your math was correct. The male looked dashingly handsome in his head to toe black Prada ensemble, a skinny dark tie contrasted his white button down that only peeked out at the top behind his closed suit jacket. His honey blond hair was slicked away from his forehead revealing a gorgeous hairline. You admired his nerve, rocking bleached hair, dangly Chrome Hearts cross earrings that adorned his ears, and chunky silver rings lined his right hand, leaving his left empty except for its wedding band, two layers of yellow and white gold that complimented his wife's golden ring. Jimin didn’t play by the same rules that the corporate assholes in Korea did, even Jungkook had gotten rid of his gauges when he had accepted his position at Jeon Pharmaceuticals, and you thought it made him look badass. Your niece had lucked out with some pretty awesome parents when they were so rare in the circles that you all kept with.

“Abba no,” Jieun pouted, was that her name? You had honestly forgotten it. The toddler’s plump pale pink lips formed a little chick beak with every word she said as she attempted to enunciate to the best of her abilities.

“Appa,” Jimin said patiently, holding eye contact with Jieun. The tot’s face scrunched up and you felt like she was seconds away from a meltdown; if Jimin said the wrong thing one more time, it would be game over.

His wife sensed it too, which was why she immediately interrupted the silent war between father and daughter, “Or perhaps Jieun wants to have fun with someone new? She must be tired of us monopolizing her all the time, Jimin-ah. Jungkook oppa, would you like to hold her? Or you, unni?” she asked.

“M-Me?” you stuttered in surprise when everyone’s attention at the table went to you, “Um, maybe later when she’s a little older.”

“So, maybe, on her real birthday next Tuesday?” she said agreeably.

“May-Maybe,” you stammered. You didn’t even remember the last time you had held a child. Jieun was definitely the last child you were near, but before her, you didn’t think you had been around one since your cousin Sunye had given birth when you were in middle school.

“Jieun you wanna sit in Uncle Googie’s lap?” Jungkook asked the toddler, focusing his sparkling doe eyes on her. He stretched out his arms and to his delight, Jieun stretched hers out too, babbling “Googie, Googie,” as she stared, enraptured at her uncle.

His sister helped remove her from the high chair so that she could sit comfortably in Jungkook’s arms as the table waited for the servers to come around. But before they did, Jimin stood up and held out a hand to help his wife up so they could thank everyone for coming and give a short toast to their daughter.

When the waiter put the filet mignon in front of you, you sighed glumly and wondered if you had past your threshold of wine for the evening. Sitting in the powder room had sobered you a bit, but you knew that you were going to have a massive hangover the next day. Though Jungkook was distracted with Jieun, it appeared that your sister-in-law had noticed that you were moving your food around with your fork, not really eating anything.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, “Is the filet mignon not cooked to your liking?”

“I don’t really eat red meat,” you admitted, “I have a sensitivity to it.”

“Oh, I didn’t know,” she worried, “We had vegetarian options too. Would you like me to go to the kitchen and ask the chef if he can wrestle up something for you? I don’t want you to go hungry.”

You smiled wanly, “It’s fine ___, I have to fly out later tonight to catch a flight back home to put out some fires at work. I’ll eat something in the waiting area or in flight.”

You felt Jungkook turn around, his stare burning through you, but you refused to acknowledge him. What did he care if you were going to South Korea early? It wasn’t as thought you two slept in the same bed or kept the same schedule.

“That could be hours from now,” his sister fretted, “Switch plates with me, Y/N. I got the lobster if you enjoy seafood. I had to give up being vegetarian during my pregnancy due to my anemia, and you know, I still struggle with my iron levels, the steak will be good for me.There’s nothing like a well done steak to compliment such an important occasion.”

“Um okay,” you said hesitantly. There was no way you were going to eat your plate and you had been thinking about the lobster all night. Your sister-in-law didn’t look too sad over exchanging plates either. You thought nothing of the exchange, so focused were you on enjoying your meal and avoiding the table’s conversation until she went to talk to the caterers about the cake and Jimin deserted the table, taking Jieun from Jungkook’s arms, to make his rounds as the host, ensuring that everyone was enjoying their meals and interacting with the guest of honor.

“Why did you do that,” Jungkook asked coldly, “You could have told me you didn’t like red meat when I was signing the RSVP. Look at their plates, she hasn’t touched the beef at all.”

You looked up from where you were dipping a piece of lobster into the delicious butter sauce, “You never asked me. You assumed what I wanted, just like you always assumed what I wanted. We had steak for our wedding luncheon too. I never ate a bite of it. But of course you never noticed it.”

There was a tiny pinprick of guilt in your gut when you noticed that her plate had been pushed towards her husband’s. Jimin had finished his filet it appeared, and was trying to help his wife with hers so no food was wasted. There was a piece of steak still speared to her fork and you noticed that her knife was lying next to where she had made the cut into the filet mignon. The center of the meat had a reddish hue to it. You blinked, it was medium rare. Hadn’t ___ said she was looking forward to eating your well-done steak? Ah, there it was: the deepening remorse you had been desperately trying to avoid earlier. You suddenly realized that she must have gone to the caterer’s not only to talk about the cake cutting time but also because she was famished and wanted a little something to nibble on.

“It’s not my fault,” you sniffed callously, “___ offered it to me.” You were not going to let Jungkook blame this on you.

“You’re leaving tonight,” he asked.

“I am not talking about this with you right now,” you spat, “we’re at a party.”

Jungkook’s jaw hardened until there was a stubborn set to it, his lips were pressed tightly together, that little mole underneath his bottom lip contrasting sharply with his pale skin, “I am not letting this go, Y/N, you are not leaving before we talk about this, even if the conversation has to take place in the car before you’re dropped off at the airport.”

“It would be more convenient for you to ride home with your sister’s family. Haven’t they offered you a room while you stick around for Jieun’s actual birthday?” you drawled, “you’re only wasting your time if you get into the car with me, Jeon.”

Jungkook glowered, a lock of his dark hair falling over his eyes, “Actually no it wouldn’t be, because you turned down their offer to house us and I couldn’t stay with them, leaving my new wife in a hotel by herself, unless I wanted them to think that my marriage was already in trouble. Did you forget the person you are sharing that large suite at the Ritz-Carlton with?”

You let out a faint snort, “Our marriage is in trouble. By the way did I tell you? I want a divorce.” You laughed again mockingly, “Although, it’s never been consummated, so truly we should really be seeking an annulment. But I doubt you want that news to get out. So a divorce, it is. I’m tired of this bullshit, I’ll deal with whatever fallout there is, after the fact. I refuse to be shackled to you any longer,” you spewed venomously.

Jungkook stared at you; doe eyes giant in their surprise, mouth gaping in shock with bunny teeth visible in between thinned lips. Before he could so much as retort, the host’s table was suddenly full again with the Parks presence.

“Who wants to eat some cake?” Jimin asked, holding a sheathed knife adorned with a bow in his hand. Two waiters were pushing a multi-tiered rustic cake adorned with fruit and bare of frosting on the sides. A naked cake you scowled, how disgusting. Why would they make a child eat a boring concoction of dry vanilla chiffon, probably sour unripe fruit, and deflating whipped cream? Where was the rich german chocolate and fudge frosting that you, yourself used to yearn for as a child and did so even now.

“Actually,” you interrupted, patting your mouth dry with a napkin and standing up, “I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave a little earlier than expected. I’m sure I’ll have another opportunity to enjoy cake with you all in the future.”

“Uh, yes of course,” your sister-in-law faltered, she looked in between you and Jungkook for answers, trying to catch either of your eyes, but you knew she would not gain any insight, definitely not from you and not now from Jungkook. She would have to at least wait until after the guests had left at the very earliest, for a moment when she could have a bit of privacy with her brother.

“Would you two be a dear and drive him home after the party? Oh actually,” you mused, in seemingly deep thought, “Could you two take him home with you, I’d feel awfully guilty about Jungkook staying all alone in our giant hotel room after I’ve left.”

“Yes, of course,” agreed ___. “Jungkook oppa, spend the rest of your time here in our home! Jieun would love to get to spend more time with you before you had to leave for Korea. And you know, I would love it too.”

“Well it looks like that’s settled,” you fixed a giant fake smile on your face, “You all have to get together with us the next time you’re back in the country. Saengil chukhahaeyo, Jieun-ie. Bye bye, sweetheart.” Your farewell was for the darling child and Jungkook knew it from the frown that got deeper and darker, although your sister-in-law and her husband would just think that you were doting on your husband.

You left without looking back although you knew that despite you getting further and further with each step of your nude Louboutins, Jungkook’s hard glare to your back never faltered.

[eight-ish years ago]

Jungkook hated university. His parents had turned down his offers at Seoul National, Korea, and Yonsei universities after the half of dozen acceptances that he had gotten from schools abroad. The most prestigious of the batch? Stanford University, where Jungkook had gotten into the business program, which had a heavy conversion rate of students then getting into the university’s MBA program for graduate school. As the son of the CEO of the biggest pharmaceutical company in South Korea, and soon of all the four tiger countries if the expansion went as his father planned, Jungkook was expected to follow in his footsteps. After flying through his school courses at an accelerated rate, he was expected to move back to Seoul and take over the mantle at the company, just like his father wanted. His father would remain on the board of directors to keep Jungkook firmly under his thumb, but the plan was to have Jungkook take over the CEO position before he turned twenty-five.

But he hated university so vehemently. Getting a 110 on his TOEFL, acing his SATs, and even being on International Baccalaureate hadn’t really helped Jungkook understand the nuances of English language outside of an academic setting. And even though he understood 80-85% of what his classmates were saying to him, he didn’t always understand the slang, which would leave him scratching his head. Stanford undergrads did not speak the way his English tutor did, but then again the man had been a middle-aged Oxford graduate with a PhD in British Literature, who had moved to Korea after having a midlife crisis that had him chasing Asian women half his age in his spare time.

His roommates were also kind of mean, although Jungkook wasn’t entirely certain if it was intentional or not. They talked too fast and when he would try to converse with them, they would stare at him blankly, making Jungkook stammer into a stop, self-conscious of his accent.

He didn’t know why they hated him so much. At first he had thought it was racism, but then Jungkook had realized that one of them was an engineering student who had a full-ride scholarship and the other was a firmly middle class economics major that had taken out excessive student loans to attend Stanford. So in his attempt to be a more understanding roommate, sympathetic to their socioeconomic struggles, Jungkook had started offering them meals out on his dime or trips to San Francisco, where Jungkook would drive them and pay for everything they did. If anything however, that had just made the resentment build even more. Jungkook seemed to have hurt their pride.

Outside of the cold front that existed in his dorm suite, Jungkook was struggling a bit with his courses. He liked math the best because it was all numbers, no words. Nothing could get lost in translation there; there was nothing he could possibly misinterpret. But the first essay he had written, he had gotten back with an angry red C+ on the front. He had been horrified; in all his IB courses he had never once gotten anything less than a 92%. He hadn’t thought that his high school teachers had ever graded him more leniently. He had always done well in the written portions of his standardized tests too. But this professor who he was dealing with, was unaccommodating, even when Jungkook went to every single office hour. He was just about to start pulling his hair out in frustration. The professor didn’t understand how determined Jungkook was to do well in this class; he also didn’t understand what would happen to Jungkook if he didn’t do well in this class.

Sighing, Jungkook folded up his Samsung Galaxy Book, lunch time was close to ending and then the dining halls would be closed for two hours to prepare for dinner. He wasn’t really in the mood to walk into town to grab something to eat either. He got up from his desk and stretched, their dorm had the worst natural lighting in all of the residential halls, with all of its windows facing another six story building that felt like it was only ten feet away.

He grabbed his key card because one time he had forgotten it, and instead of responding to his texts and letting him into the room, one of his roommates had taken advantage of the fact that Jungkook wouldn’t be able to get in, by having a girl over. Jungkook had ended up needing to ask the floor’s residential advisor to let him in with the master key. The fine he had to pay was nothing to Jungkook, who kept getting weekly deposits to his account from his parents. But the RA had opened the door and the first thing they both could smell was the musty scent of sex, and then as Jungkook walked into the shoebox room, he saw his roommate having sex with a girl on the bottom bunk. The girl had screamed and ran out, wrapping her body with his roommate’s sheets, past Jungkook and the RA who glowered at both offenders and said his roommate and the girl would be getting written up for having the opposite gender in the room and being in the room of the opposite gender with the door closed, just adding to the list of reasons that Jungkook’s roommates hated him.

At least the weather was nice today, he thought, as he walked up the hill to the Stern dining hall. Jungkook was getting really tired of American food; he would do anything for some of his mom’s kimchi and samgaetang right now. The last time he had been able to enjoy Korean food had been the farewell breakfast his mother had prepared for him before his plane ride to San Jose International Airport. He hadn’t ventured out to find the Bay Area’s Koreatown yet for two reasons: the first, he genuinely did not think he would get homesick so fast and the second, he was wary of interacting with NorCal’s Korean population because everyone knew everyone and he didn’t want any form of gossip or news about him getting back to his parents besides what he told them on his weekly phone calls home.

It was the same reason why a month into the fall quarter, Jungkook was still relatively friendless besides the one or two friends he had made for each lecture to study together. His classmates didn’t generally hang out with him outside of that, though he had been making attempts to get closer, and he thought that sometimes it was succeeding. He found out that Bambam liked to play Overwatch like he did and they had talked about playing together sometime, although they hadn’t yet. There was a ready-made group of friends for him in the form of other Korean international students that were in the same circles as him and his family but moving to California was a breath of fresh air and Jungkook didn’t want to restrain himself any more than he had to. But making friends with complete strangers, even when he so desperately wanted to, was much harder, especially when Jungkook was so shy and an introvert.

He grabbed a tray inside of Stern, putting a heavily stacked cheeseburger on it, grabbing a Caesar salad side dish, and some garlic parmesan shoestring fries, he was ready to sit down. Ah, another conundrum, the dining halls were always full of students, with more waiting to be let in, so you would always have to sit with strangers. No one really seemed to mind when Jungkook asked if he could join their tables, but Jungkook preferred empty tables or ones with just one other occupant, it made him feel less like an outsider that was encroaching on a friend group.

“Can I sit here?” Jungkook asked, standing in front of those tiny tables that sat two. The person sitting in the other chair was wearing a monochromatic set of sweats in mustard yellow. He had a half eaten burrito bowl in front of him and was deeply immersed in the book that he was reading. The cover was a soothing amalgamation of natural browns and green, a black bowler hat was levitating above a sepia toned landscape that had a building in the distance. Jungkook squinted trying to make out the title, The Unbearable Lightness of Being, huh.

The male looked up, using his index finger to save his place, “Sure go ahead.”

The two ate in relative silence although Jungkook’s neighbor was reading more so than eating, really. But at one point, he must’ve reached the point he was trying to read to, because he put down the book and returned to his burrito bowl with vigor, his eyes staring at Jungkook, burning holes through him until he decided to look up and acknowledge.

“Can I ask you something?” the man asked.

“Um sure,” stammered Jungkook nervously, he had a feeling that the male was not a freshman like he was, with how relaxed he looked in the dining hall, he looked like he belonged at Stanford unlike Jungkook.

“Do you like Korean food?” he asked, “The food here makes me want to gag, but I had to meet up with my group for a project, and couldn’t eat anything for hours. I felt like I was going to faint. There was no way I could make it anywhere further than here without refueling.”

“Um yes,” Jungkook replied, he had been eating around his burger, avoiding the heavily sauce drenched parts. He had no idea what ingredients made up the reddish white sauce but it was disgusting.

“Cool, you wanna go into Ktown for dinner?” he asked, “I know this great soup place that’s dirt cheap. We all gotta save money somehow.”

Jungkook stared at him, dirt cheap? He didn’t know Jungkook was Jeon Jungkook; he didn’t know Jungkook was rich. “How did you know I was Korean?” he asked instead.

“I didn’t,” he shrugged, “I try not to guess where someone is from. You just looked like someone who would enjoy eating more than just American food day after day. Also, you’ve barely touched your meal.”

The salad was worse than the burger and the fries had tasted old and stale, “Um okay, we can go to dinner,” Jungkook eagerly agreed, “Or we could even go now, unless you’re busy.”

“No I’m fine, let’s go,” he said standing up with his tray, ready to dispose of everything, “My name is Namjoon by the way. Kim Namjoon.”

“Jeon Jungkook,” Jungkook replied, also standing up, watching carefully to see if Namjoon’s face would change as he suddenly realized what family Jungkook was related to. Nothing changed however, maybe Namjoon was Korean American, thought Jungkook, hoping hard he wouldn’t have to lose his new friend.

Namjoon laughed sheepishly, “So here’s the thing about me, I don’t drive and I think the bus won’t be here for another hour or so, so how about we take some bikes?”

Jungkook held his tongue, should he offer up his car? But then sophisticated worldly Namjoon would know that Jungkook was rich and start forming certain impressions of him.

As Jungkook stood there contemplating, Namjoon interrupted his thoughts, “Yeah sorry, it’s not really hyung-like of me to not have a car but I’ll pay for your bike.”

“I guess then I’ll pay for our meals,” offered Jungkook.

“No, I invited you, it’s my treat.”

“But hyung﹣”

When you got off the plane, without even changing, your studio in the HYP.E building was the first place you went. There were a few eyebrows raised amongst the other employees as they saw you walking into the office at ten in the morning dressed to the nines in your fancy Alexander McQueen gown, but they said nothing and you were able to ignore them as you got into the elevator.

Your computer took longer to boot up than you would have liked, but when you were finally able to have the file open, listening over the song you were forced to admit to yourself that there was indeed something lacking about it. The beat was too generic, too safe so to speak. You had no idea how to fix it without looking at Namjoon’s notes.

Fortunately, the man had emailed you a list of things that everything Stray Together’s main team had taken issue with for the second single. You looked over the lyrics for “God’s Hour,” the songwriting seemed to be a little too harsh for the disco and dance beat that was underlying it. The upbeatness of the song was already there and the lyrics seemed to encourage an intense rise to action too, but maybe there needed to be more instruments, a drum beat thrown under the rapid fire pace of Felix’s rapping, more synthe when Taehyun used his honey vocals. Perhaps you needed to lean more into the R&B vibe, play a little more into the hip-hop that the lyrics seemed to beg for, make it less ethereal and disco. The energy would have to remain the same however, this song was nothing if not a pumped up dance track.

You were hunched over the desk for hours, working on the song until you noticed that it was almost two in the afternoon on the blinking neon numbers of your digital wall clock. It was a gift from Glitzy, the rookie girl group under HYP.E; you thought it came from their season’s greetings package this year but you weren’t too sure. You hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since you’d inhaled a small bag of cashews right before your plane had landed. Your stomach was growling and letting its presence known.

Where was your intern? Surely the shuffling of the high school and college age interns between departments and producers hadn’t happened yet. It was still the spring, the summer batch hadn’t come in yet. You didn’t want to move, you wish someone else was here to take care of the smaller menial tasks for you. You definitely needed a large to-go cup of scalding black coffee and perhaps you could order a delivery of your favorite vegan ramen from that Japanese place three blocks away.

Your finger was hovering over the submit order page of the delivery app when your door got unceremoniously flung open. Yoongi flopped over the small two seat sofa you had along the back wall for when artists need to come in your studio to work with you, or there are more than three people in the room.

“Can I help you?” you asked, staring at your cousin. He was a grown man, of thirty-one (you had just celebrated his birthday last month) and he was throwing a tantrum in your room like a child.

Yoongi allowed himself a few more moments of flinging his arms around and kicking his feet before he covered his face with one of the cushions and screamed loudly into it. The cushion, a cute one of a blue koala, courtesy of a partnership Namjoon had had with LINE, was still on his face when he grumbled against it, “upper management wants the idols to have more involvement with the album. Says it doesn’t feel raw enough because they’ve barely done anything on the creative side of things.”

You could have been a bitch and played the devil’s advocate, going against your cousin and saying mockingly, ‘Well isn’t that good? The artists should play a role on the producing side.” But you knew what Yoongi meant. Most of the songs were around 70-80% complete, they just needed a couple of finishing touches, letting the idols mess around with them now could make everything have to go back to the drawing board and start afresh if any of the songs got any worse after their participation.

“Bang Chan was heavily involved with the songwriting for God’s Hour,” you offered, “Why don’t you let them work on their songwriting. Or you could do what I do. I just have Soobin sit in the room with me while I work on their album. He offers suggestions and I try them out. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t but it’s enough to get him listed on the credits as a producer.”

Yoongi sneered, “Ah yes, why don’t I have a bunch of teenagers just consolidate in my tiny ass studio and have them give me suggestions. What could possibly go wrong when Beomgyu and Minho are in the same room.”

You rolled your eyes, “Don’t be so disagreeably obtuse. You know what I meant. Get Yeonjun or Jisung to do something.”

“Hmph,” sniffed Yoongi, “Why are you still wearing that? You should go change.”

You glared at him but he was right; it had been bothersome getting your feet pinched by your red bottom high heels and though the dress was made of a comfortable material, it’s shape didn’t allow you to have a wide range of motion. You went to the invisible cabinets that lined one of the walls of your windowless studio. You usually kept a change of clothes or two due to the amount of time you spent at the company. You even slept here when you were particularly in the zone.

“I’ll be back, but maybe you won’t be when I am,” you rudely suggested, urging him to silently leave.

“Or maybe I will,” Yoongi grunted, tossing the pillow over his head again. His long legs were hanging over the sofa’s arms so you took the chance to kick his shins as you passed.

You stopped outside the door, your phone in your hand. You couldn’t remember if you had actually submitted the order to the restaurant and were trying to check it when you overheard the conversation that was flowing towards your direction from the two people that were walking down the hall.

“Ah Ryujin, you really got the bottom of the barrel this time for concepts didn’t you?” tutted Yun Benzo, one third of CEOs of the company, and in your opinion the most irredeemable and misogynistic one.

“Ah, sajangnim, I don’t think that,” Ryujin commented politely, “The company always picks great concepts for every comeback, I’m very thankful.”

“Still,” murmured Benzo, “You look horrible, that hair is too short. You look like your boyfriend broke up with you after leading you on with the promise of marriage for years. It looks like a poorly executed revenge cut.”

“Ah, well I don’t know about that, I think I pull off short hair relatively well,” Ryujin effused, trying hard to balance her tone between humility and confidence, striving to sound charming enough to not be seen as conceited by this sexist prick.

They were passing you when you blurted, “Hello sajangnim, Ryujin. Is that your new look for the mini album? It really suits you.”

“Oh unni! You’re back!” cheered Ryujin, “Will you be watching our countdown stage?”

“Of course I will,” you assented, “I worked hard on that album.”

Benzo looked you up and down icily, “I don’t know if you should be taking beauty advice from her. Ryujin, ask your coordinators and stylists if you can get extensions for that big stage.”

The fake smile on your face froze and you hugged the bag with your change of clothes. “You know I think I actually forgot something in my studio. It was good seeing you both,” you inclined your head in a show of respect before turning back to the door.

Yoongi looked up at surprise, “That was fast, how did you﹣oh,” he abruptly trailed of his train of thought, noticing that you were still in the same clothes.

“I forgot something,” you insisted. And then you walked over to your table where you had ceramic containers holding copious amounts of stationery. Your fingers looped through the holes of the scissors you had left in your pencil holder and always had forgotten to take back home. Well, it would now become useful again.

Yoongi’s eyes squinted in confusion but he said nothing as you made your way to the door again.

In the ladies' room, you changed into your oversized baby blue sweater and comfy Off-White cream track pants, sliding your Louboutin heels off one by one so you could pull up white ankle socks on each foot before sliding them into a pair of indigo Nike Blazer ‘77s. The corkscrew design, accents of baby blue, and floral embroidery softened your look but your stance was threatening as you stood in front of the sink and stared at the mirror across from you. Raising the scissors in your right hand to the opposite side of your hair, you snipped off a thick section of the hair held in your left hand. For the second time in your life, you were attacking your hair with scissors because of a man. As the dark locks of hair collected in the sink, you couldn’t find an ounce of regret within you.

After a final bit of finagling, you found yourself appeased with the length of your hair, it was a little longer than chin length and was actually very symmetrical all the way around, even in the back. It made you feel like a weight had been lifted off your chest, getting rid of all that hair you had to grow out for the wedding and photos, the hair that you had to keep even after getting married just because it made you look softer and more feminine, because it was more wifely.

You carded your fingers through your hair, raking it back so that it wouldn’t fall into your face, once you were satisfied with the way it looked, you gathered up all the loose hair and threw them away in the trash bin under the paper towel dispenser, slightly surprised that no one had come and interrupted you in the midst of your impromptu decision when every ladies’ room in HYP.E saw a lot of heavy traffic. Folding your dress over your arm and holding your nude pumps by their backs in your other hand, you were finally ready to leave. You pushed your back against the door to have it open and ducked out, inhaling sharply when you saw the two gentlemen walking in your direction.

A scowl took over your whole face when you noticed the white plastic generic ‘Thank You’ bag, embossed with red letters in one of their hands. An uneasiness settled in your stomach as the thought that it was probably your food hit you. Sighing, you made your way to them, deciding to pick the battle field and have the fight be on your terms.

“Oh Y/N, there you are,” Namjoon grinned, his dimple poking into his cheek as a giant smile took over his entire face. “Jungkook and I were at Tokkijung for a meal, we noticed an order getting ready to be delivered to the office while we were paying and it turned out to be yours. What luck, right?”

“What luck indeed,” you groused sarcastically, tucking one of your short new locks of hair behind an ear.

Jungkook was damn near hugging the three styrofoam boxes in the bag to his chest when his eyes shot to meet yours at your words. He still couldn’t believe the change in you﹣it hadn’t even been twenty-four hours since he had last seen you and since then you had managed to chop more than two thirds of your hair off. But still, it looked good on you, almost surprising was the fact that it suited you so well. The blunt cut sharpened your features making you look like a coquettish elven creature. Jungkook’s eyes were raking over your face, taking in every feature before they flitted over the rest of you.

You looked so goddamn good he was almost losing his mind with how quickly his gut filled with lust, his collar suddenly feeling suffocating, and his blood rushing straight down. “I decided to add more food to your order,” Jungkook admitted, “I wasn’t sure if you had really gotten a chance to eat in between the party yesterday and now. I thought we could talk while you ate, and if it’s too much for you, I could help you finish it.”

Your eyes narrowed at him as you reached out for the bag, “It’s okay, I’m really busy today you don’t have to join me. It’s been a day from hell, the less said about it the better.”

Jungkook evaded your hand, stepping back and holding the food closer to his chest, “I don’t mind, I’ll be quiet as a mouse. You can do your thing; I won’t bother you. I’ve hung out at Namjoon’s studio plenty of times.”

“I’m surprised you came back so quickly,” you opined, “What about your niece’s actual birthday.”

“I don’t know that Jieun can tell time yet. I imagine that she thinks her life must either be one long endless day or that she’s trapped in some sort of a Groundhog Day situation with no way out. She won’t miss me. Her attention span is very short,” he snorted thinking of her fondly, “My sister and Jimin hyung were understanding. I don’t think I should be gone from the company so long in the future, so I have to thank you for playing a role in how early I returned.”

“And yet you’re here,” you mumbled under your breath. Namjoon didn’t hear you but Jungkook did, the smile on his face becoming more stilted, his eyes hardening with its bright sheen dulling.

“Hyung, I’ll see you soon,” Jungkook piped up, “I don’t want to waste so much of my darling wife’s time out in the hall when she could be in her studio. We’ll be going now.”

“Of course,” Namjoon looked between you both and seemed to have finally noticed your new ‘do, “Wow, Y/N that haircut looks amazing, American hairdressers are something else huh?”

“Hmm,” you hummed blasély, shrugging. Jungkook’s scowl deepened since he wasn’t in on the secret as well. As Namjoon waved farewell to the two of you, you took off, knowing that Jungkook would follow in your footsteps and not leave you be.

When you reached your room, you glared at the entrance, an acrylic neon sign saying “L.8 Universe” in cursive letters lit up by ice blue light the only decoration on it. Jungkook was an unignorable presence at your back, breathing down your neck ﹣figuratively, your soon-to-be ex-husband was too well-mannered to actually huff at your back. With a sigh, you opened the door just a hairbreadth to duck half your body in and check whether or not your cousin was still there. To your disappointment he was not, though he could have saved you from this pointless conversation about whether or not your marriage could be saved that Jungkook had aimed to corner you into.

You sighed heavily before reluctantly opening the door wider and walking in completely, Jungkook following so quickly in your footsteps that he was almost stepping on your heels.

Sitting down on your ergonomic Sidiz Spiderman office chair, you rotated it around so you faced Jungkook who was putting down your food on the glass coffee table. To your constant state of utter dismay, when it came to him, the male looked regrettably good in his distressed light blue jeans that were hugging the length of his legs in a very becoming manner, revealing the sun-kissed skin of his knees through the giant holes he had worn into them.

The yellow button down he had tucked into his jeans with the sleeves rolled up on made him appear casual yet put together and a black belt was wrapped around his waist, completing the ensemble. His right wrist shone with his two-toned gold and silver Rolex. He even had the audacity to still be wearing his wedding ring, although you had to admit you had forgotten to take off yours, yourself. The draining effects of a fourteen hour flight were nowhere to be seen on his face, in contrast, you were looking worse for wear with your pinched dehydrated skin and chapped lips.

“Jungkook why are you here?” you demanded tiredly, “Did you think that chasing me down would get me to change my mind? Jungkook I don’t care about the consequences. I don’t care about what clauses of the prenup we’ll be breaking by divorcing so quickly. I just want to be free.”

“You are so selfish Y/N,” Jungkook blurted, suddenly. He had always tried his best to be civil with you although you had revealed your distaste for him quite early on into the marriage. “This doesn’t just affect you. I’ll be punished too. And I’ll be damned if I have to reap the consequences for something you sowed. I won’t make this easy for you Y/N. Hear me out before you go through this and make things worse for both of us because I will fight you every step of the way.”

“What do you want Jungkook? Compensation? Fine, it's yours, it’ll have to be a yearly installment because I don’t have that much in liquid, but I’ll get you your money. I don’t want to be married to you. Why is it so hard for you to understand?!”

“You don’t even know me, Y/N,” Jungkook retorted angrily.

“I don’t want to get to know you,” you rolled your eyes. You played around with your wedding band. It was so ugly, not like anything you would have ever picked out for yourself. But you had refused to participate in any of the planning for the wedding, so in the end your mother had been the one to pick out your ring and she had chosen the most gaudy, obnoxious, and chunky piece of bling you had ever seen.

“Don’t you think I deserve better than this?” Jungkook questioned, using his pinky to furiously brush back his bangs.

“Sure,” you agreed easily, “You deserve better than me. Let me divorce you so you can be on your way to a new wife. Perhaps, someone more congenial and straight out of Stepford who would delight in being the picture-perfect Mrs. Jeon.”

“I don’t want to deal with a new wife,” Jungkook grumbled. “Why can’t you just﹣”

“Why can’t I just what?” you parroted, trying your best to oppose Jungkook at every turn..

Jungkook exhaled loudly in frustration, “Stop being so contentious, Y/N, we’re both in the same boat.”

Your glare turned venomous as you thought to yourself, no we really aren’t.

“Y/N please,” Jungkook pleaded, “Just one year. One year more from this date and then we can go separately in our different paths. Just give us a chance. I’m not asking for love, Y/N, you can’t ruin my life over this.”

You narrowed your eyes at Jungkook, glaring at him beadily, “And if I want to ruin your life? I see no reason to continue to stand by you.”

“Don’t pretend ﹣don’t pretend you are a bad person,” Jungkook groaned in frustration, “Just come on, Y/N, what’s one year of your life to you?”

So much, you thought mutinously, especially when I have to give it up to you.

“You don’t know what I’m like when I’m wronged,” Jungkook blurted out, his voice shaky with how anxious he was that you were still going to refuse after it all, “You don’t know what I’ll do to ruin your life and make sure that you end up just as miserable as me.”

But you already were familiar with the ways that Jungkook could destroy you and everything you built. You scrunched your eyes shut as the telltale pinpricks of pain that hinted at a migraine began to flood your head. You were so tired of everything. But, what if you could bargain with him, you thought desperately.

“One year, Jeon?” you murmured, a lethal tone lining your voice.

“Just one,” Jungkook acceded frantically.

“And in return do you promise that when it’s over we will finally, completely be out of each other’s lives?” you asked, “Like we don’t exist for each other?”

Jungkook’s large doe eyes widened even more in his bewilderment, “If that’s what you want,” he agreed hesitantly.

“One year, Jeon,” you conceded, “I’ll be counting down the days.”

“Not more than I am,” Jungkook replied, lying straight through his gritted teeth.

⟶ tag list: @taestannie @kaithezaftig @apollukee @alpaca1612 @somewhereinthestarss @ggukkieland @ysltae @moonchild1 @doiemarkzen @etherealuv @diorkookie @squishyjk @rooo-tah @thisartemisnevermisses @vettigirl @awixxx @jimidol @ppeachyttae @fan-ati--c @kimmieloveswho @bambuzlee @jwlmnbt @immaculateloser @daggerbeneathmygown @afangirllikeme-blog @she-is-dreaming @ducktan-sonyeondan @ladyartemesia @igotnotype @lilyflowerguk

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Welcome to The Smut Bucket: This is where we put fics that defy categorization entirely (or we just haven't come up with the right category yet...)

Everything here in The Smut Basement is for 18+ friends only! Minors and unverified persons will be blocked. Please heed ALL author warnings when you click a link.

In the Dark by @coreychick (There’s tons of dirty talk, a sprinkle of spanking, and lots of yearning for your own version of this Mando in this series. Okay, Lauren’s yearning.)

Let’s Talk About Sex Baby by @pedro-pascal-love (Holy shit. This series had me having to take recovery time because it was so fucking filthy. Din is a very fast learner and his dirty talk alone is a panty soaker.) - Lauren

Rage by @the-scandalorian (I didn’t know I would like this until I read it. Please read and heed the warnings, and then read the warnings again, and then if you’re cool with “Mando kills a bunch of people to protect reader then they fuck on the floor in the same room” you will be rewarded with the craziest and hottest thing I’ve read this week! -Claire)

Resurrection by @slater-baby (Several breaks had to be taken by Lauren when reading this so please be advised. Iced water is recommended to have next to you because you will get thirsty for Din Djarin.)

Would You Let Me by @keeper0fthestars (This is a HOT and heavy AU Din fic about you wanting matching ink based on some of his, and also letting him be the one to do it. And I honestly almost fainted dead away at how hot it was, so yeah… give it whirl. –Claire)

Nighthawks by @pedros-mustache (This series is explosive. Reader is a little shit and Din is an even bigger shit, but together they are one filthy match. If Din threatened to put me over his knee I would ask only one question. Promise? 🥵) - Lauren

Bargaining with Beskar by @beskarberry (This series is one I come back to over and over and over again. You’re an ex bounty hunter who is now a bounty and Mando is the sexy tin can that’s sent after you. Sexy is a personal observation but still stands true. It’s one I find myself reading until the early morning because I am incapable of putting my phone down. It’s just too hot for me to go to sleep.) - Lauren

Cover Me by @letterfromvienna (This is a series I always find myself coming back to late at night. I reread it, get some very filthy feelings, yearn to be worshipped by Din, reread it again, yearn again, and the cycle repeats itself. It is HOT but you also get all the soft feelings accompanied with it which isn’t helping my yearning problem.) - Lauren

Bruises & Bitemarks by @221bshrlocked (The speed at which I switched accounts to add this to TSB. Yes, I absolutely did do it immediately because it is filthy and HOT. The walls are thin in the Razor Crest and you get caught making some pretty noises that happen to feature Mando’s name front and center. Cancel whatever plans you had for later and get comfortable. Maybe take a cold shower afterwards…) - Lauren

Chasing Butterflies by @tuskens-mando (This is about Siobhan who is an earthling on Tatooine and to be completely honest I’m not sure who I love more. Din? Siobhan? Probably both? Eri creates a beautiful love story and had me binging through the chapters because I couldn’t get enough. It’s got all the soft smut and ahem…breeding kink you need!) - Lauren

Yours for the Taking by @silksaddle (I always feel like we get spoiled every time we get face sitting and Din in the same fic. Am I right or am I right? Din comes back from his hunt early because he just needs to have you and that’s something I’ll be thinking about late at night…not sleeping. Just thinking about what Claire created.) - Lauren

Tight by @frannyzooey (Kelli said it first. This is a size kink like woah kind of fic and let me just scream about it for a minute. Kelli knows smut writing. An expert really to be honest so the fact that I read this more than once shouldn’t be a surprise. It’s to be expected. So this? Oooof. 🥵 Come to your own decision, but we’re going to reach the same one.) - Lauren

Velvet Mand’alor by @mandocrasis (Competency kink like WOAH. If you’re looking for the filth then spoiler alert you’ve found it in this fic. There’s some inappropriate use of his darksaber and now I wish it was canon honestly. I just want some throne sex after reading this. 🥵) - Lauren

Stitches by @djarinsbeskar (Bend me over and call me Kitten this series is as filthy as it gets. You’re a Medic and you end up on the razor crest taking care of a little green child with Mando and if you maybe end up on your knees taking care of him that’s your business. But can I join? It sounds like some good hot fun if you ask me.) - Lauren

Suggestion by @salt-is-a-terrible-currency (Well fuck me this is one of those fics that feature all of your favorite things in one series. Queue the Sound of Music gif! No? Okay. As always with TSB heed the author warnings. Now sit down and relax or if you’re like me take a cold shower instead because that’s what I had to do after reading it. 🔥) - Lauren

Beskar and Lace by @firstofficerwiggles (Mando makes a comment about your nightgown or rather lack thereof in his eyes and your rightfully petty self decides to take some sexy revenge and pop into a lingerie shop on the next planet. The sweet torture is delicious and the conclusion is something I will be thinking about for a long time, preferably late at night.) - Lauren

Many a Dream About You by @parker-razor (You have to share a bed with Mando in an inn and during the night he wakes up when you’re making some…interesting noises during your wet dream. And of course he’s interested and you’re embarrassed, but damn we get some good filth from it.) - Lauren

The Garden of Eden by @nobedofroses (Din visits a sex worker for something only she can provide. This was SOFT and HOT and I adored getting the opportunity to beta-read it!! -Claire)

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dana-chan-the-control-brain · 3 years

Note

Hey, did you saw the film theory on Invader Zim on Membrane that Low-key makes sense

NO. IT. DOESN’T!

Okay, maybe this is my personal bias shining through, because I really don’t like Mattpatt sometimes... No. Okay, I have nothing against the guy personally. More frankly, I don’t like his fanbase or the way he structures his videos.

The way Mattpatt words and structures his videos acts like he’s the first person who thought of this idea, it’s the main contributor to why I stopped watching his videos a long time ago.

He speaks in a lot of rhetorics and strawman arguments rather than just saying what he wants to say. Like “If you don’t believe me... look no further then...” and that’s the one thing I ABSOLUTELY HATE on theory videos.

And some of Mattpatts own theories he doesn’t take seriously, but this is what you get when you base your INCOME off of youtube ad revenue and browse the reddit forums for new ideas. A completely monopolized way of theorizing. (and this is why there are several paragraphs in my current chapter of Tech Support of Zim’s Computer complaining about the concept of youtube entertainment in general.)

Sure, I don’t think Mattpatt will run out of theories... but I really hate the structure of his videos follows along strawman arguments, acting like he’s always arguing with an imaginary audience for entertainment value rather than just say what he wants to say.

That, and people will often cling to theories of someone with good editing software and a youtube channel then Their own opinions.

Something that I learned was incredibly dangerous to do. I learned my lesson with “That Guy with the Glasses dot com” and I don’t plan to act like I know something or am better than someone else cause I agree with someone who said something on youtube once.

I do watch Internet reviews and theory videos for entertainment, but that’s all they are to me. I don’t like to watch youtube videos to give me opinions on how I feel about things. And I seriously think a wide margin of his subscribers lack critical thinking skills at times, as well as a majority of the youtube audience, or from what I’ve seen in the comment section.

However, remember... These are just my thoughts on the matter... My thoughts are not law and I never claim them to be.

Like when I first joined the fandom and posed my GIR analysis questions... I even said:

“I don’t know if the fandom has talked about this in depth or not... I just got here... or if someone put it into this many words before but...”

Also... the thing that bothers me about his Invader Zim theory...

A lot of Mattpatt’s sources are just..... Wrong...

(for the next few minutes I will be talking about this video, feel free to watch or don’t)

Okay.. “Membrane is an Irken” this has been a popular fan theory since before I even entered the fandom and there are old fics about this. I have read Irken Membrane stories before.

It’s not personally my cup of tea, but it’s fun to think about.

But the straws Mattpatt grasps in his video.... Really upset me because there is some thought to the theory back in the day.. ... Like back in 2002??? but like.... NOW?!

Okay, I’ll pick apart this a little... bit by bit...

He says that Membrane takes a hard stance against anything paranormal.

Kinda... but no.. Membrane never outright denies the existence of aliens. (except in ETF... which he mainly says out of frustration...) This is what Membrane says about “there are no aliens” in the show:

Membrane just says that there are no “intelligent” aliens...None that are able to travel the massive distance to Earth, anyways... If aliens existed at all, (like the cryptoids Dib talks of) they would have traveled the distance to the planet and communicated with them by now.

However, this is a nitpick of a minor issue. One that a majority of the fandom tends to overlook when viewing Professor Membrane and Dib’s relationship in general.

And I do find it weird that he used this for evidence when he cut out the most important snippet from the full lecture he gives Dib here.... JUST to support his claim... as if he’s intentionally leaving that part out.... hmmmm

However, I can let this slide, because it’s a nitpick and really doesn’t change anything that Membrane is very dissuasive of Dib’s alien-hunting hobbies. (I have a theory as to why and I explain it here in my own way)

The point is, Membrane is dismissive of anything alien... maybe because he’s an Irken...okay, good, yes. fair.

A lot of Mattpatts claims from then on are pretty solid, and I won’t bunk them with “But in my headcanon/Fanfic verse...” Because what he is saying is all true.

Membrane denying the existence of aliens even after being taken to space jail doesn’t have much of an explanation and is played for comedy and there are many ways you can go with this, and I am not going to bring up my fanfics or my own headcanons to argue with him here.

Because there is no explanation, and he is going with the “Membrane is Irken” theory... So that’s very solid when he’s talking about Membrane denying the Hallucinations.

Mattpatt claimed that Membrane wore his face covering at all times and had been dressed this way since he was a child.

I will not deny this. This is true.

However, isn’t bringing up Membrane’s childhood kinda put a hole in your own argument?

MEMBRANE WAS A CHILD.

He had been shown to have childhood memories in the comics and the show.

Irkens don’t really have a “Childhood” per say, at least not in the way that humans do. They are a smeet, then elite, then Invader..

If he’s claiming that Membrane came to earth as an Irken SMEET....How, why, and when?

That kinda raises more questions than it answers.... What are you proving by bringing up Membrane’s baby pictures on Earth exactly? It kind of works against your own argument?

Saying that they’re Irken because they all have the same hair.... that’s just stupid... and he’s citing the Invader Zim wiki on this .... oh boy.

Yeah, Like before I watched the show I thought Dib and Disguised Zim were the same character or brothers...

But I don’t think character design here is a solid enough reason in this case... At least not when it comes to the hairstyles... That’s a stretch.

“Hmmm Membrane’s hair forms an M shape... What could the M stand for? Mirken?! SUSPICIOUS!” (this is just a joke)

Also... the lack of ears thing... He did say it would be hard for Membrane to hear if his headpiece was covering his ears, but not necessarily... The entire thing is a headset and he is the man of science, he can really do whatever the fuck he wants cause Science is like magic in a show like this. So if Membrane wears a headset that doesn’t obstruct his hearing at all, I can buy it... Also.. it’s equally possible his ears got blown off in a chem lab accident or he’s legally deaf and that headset acts as a hearing aide and HELPS him hear...

Actually, I always noticed how in Membrane’s original design from the show, the headset looked a lot like a hearing aid. Specifically one with a head clip, It’s one of the things I first noticed about his design in the show.

And it’s just something I always assumed because he’s a scientist who deals with explosions in his face on a daily basis... (in fact he experiences one in episode 2B) So on first viewing, I thought that his headset served as a hearing aid as well as prescription glasses and a communication device.

I’m just throwing out possibilities because the “lack of ears” is also kinda a stretch.

Mattpatt complaining about “lack of nose” however... Okay, yeah I’ll give him that one. It’s a character design choice that is a little odd for Professor Membrane, but it does fit with the Irken theory, since a majority of human characters, in fact, all have noses. So, Yes the “lack of nose” does fit more into the Irken theory.

However.... Florpus anime Membrane DOES have a nose...

Meant to be drawn in a more semi-realistic artsyle, you can clearly see the bridge of his nose here.

And he looks very similar to anime Dib... Sooooo... Shrug-city...

It’s likely that Membrane not having a nose in the show is simply a stylistic choice than anything else. Basically, the bridge of the nose is there... we just don’t see it.

Especially since Nightmare Membrane has a nose as well..

Membrane is like Home Improvement’s Wilson. We will never see his face, and that’s part of the gag. The man probably sleeps in his labcoat honestly...

I also find the voice pattern thing a bit of a stretch. Membrane and Zim are just eccentric characters who yell to emote or emphasize a point or emote stronger. And Membrane’s inflections are never the same as Zim’s.

Remember, no other Irken TALKS like Zim. Professor Membrane doesn’t really go around screaming: “I AM PROFESSOR MEMBRANE” either.....

If anything... it just kinda proves both characters have auditory processing issues or hearing problems more then anything.

And there is a lot of screaming on this show.... Screaming from Dib, screaming from Membrane, Screaming from GIR, screaming from Zim... Screaming is funny... and characters scream so much that the characters with their mouths wide open is somewhat a staple of the show.

This is more because of Johnen Vasquez’s voice direction...

Especially since no other Irken really talks like Zim..

Zim’s manor of Speach is strictly a Zim thing and not an Irken thing.

Professor Membrane’s manner of speech is simply a Membrane thing and not a human thing.

I will give Mattpatt that. That a lot of tech in the show looks similar to Membrane’s. I feel this is mostly a stylistic choice, but it really does fit in with the Irken theory.

Like that Zim just so happens to use the same operating system as Dib is played off as a joke. But it does add some small credence to the theory here... I need to point out when he does get it right... some pats on the back.

These are very good points and does follow through with what he’s trying to prove by the end of the day.

(even if Membrane was lying about the destruction of all mankind with the beans thing, but that’s a minor nitpick here)

But his entire paragraph comparing Membrane’s tech to Irken tech is a really good one. Props there.

This whole paragraph about there being only Tall or short irkens cause their society is height based and there are no “medium-sized” irkens....cause they were “dealt with”

Okay.

....

Sure Mattpatt. Let’s just entirely ignore the existence of the Frylord and this entire character even though you mentioned it in the synopsis at the start of your video... Showing that Taller irkens are in positions of power against the shorter, also... Zim is a tiny irken... there are many Irkens that stand taller then Zim.

Being tall in Irken society is a rarity, and Almighty Tallest Purple said that he and Red “became” the Tallest. How? We don’t know, but we do know at one point the current Tallest looked like this:

How do Irkens get that Tall? Body modifications? Maybe... it’s never explained, but considering the Frylord is super big and probably eats a lot of snacks might have something to do with it. We don’t know.

It’s safe to say that being Tall in their society is a rarity and Tallests are either born or made special from the cloning chamber from the get go.

Not to mention, Membrane is Taller than the current Tallest are already...

and you said earlier in the video that Membrane would have gone to Earth as a child...

When he was no taller than a wrapped Christmas box of socks...

So why would Membrane take refuge on Earth at this point? Mattpatt says that Membrane was sent on a mission to Earth because the Tallest felt threatened by his rule...

BY MEMBRANE’S RULE?!?

HE’S THE SIZE OF A CHRISTMAS BOX OF SOCKS!

What do they have to be threatened by?

Because... Mattpatt DID bring up Membrane as a child earlier in the video... meaning Membrane came to earth when he was about the same size as Zim.

SO THEY HAD NOTHING TO BE WORRIED ABOUT AND HAD NO EVIDENCE TO BELIEVE MEMBRANE WOULD GROW TO BE TALL ORE EVEN VIEW HIM AS A THREAT

You bunked your own argument. Congradulations.

Membrane conquered the world through his inventions. In a way, sure. Membrane Labs does own a lot of stuff. But he doesn’t own everything. A majority of the Corporations that keep the population stupid usually don’t have anything to do with Membrane Labs and aren’t affiliated at all.

But this does fit into the “Membrane is an Irken” theory so I will give him that one.

However, Membrane being an evil corporate dictator is a hot take I never really appreciate at all and I can never get behind it.

It hits too close to home in the real world, and I always like to view Membrane as a self-made man and a World loving hippie at his core who just wants to make the world a better place, much like his son, but he actively does something about it. (which can also be why he encourages Dib with real science so much cause he knows Dib wants to save the Earth as much as he does)

Just calling Membrane a capitalist billionaire that doesn’t care about the little guy kinda seems disingenuous towards his character for me.

Especially when Membrane in “Ten Minutes to Doom” created a machine (foodio) that completely end world hunger... which was in BETA in the unreleased episode...

but by the time the movie rolls around... Foodio exists... past his BETA, meaning that he’s probably no expensive than a common household microwave and can materialize food from nothing:

Yeah. Membrane completely ended world hunger off-screen. thanks. (something no capitalist would ever do...)

Membrane also does appearances for charity (in the comics), and often takes funding for sponsorships when he is low on funds and he had to find a cure for pig mouth.

Sure “Membrane conquered the world” fits the Irken theory...

But I never appreciate that take on his character and that is admittedly, very personal bais.

I just wanted to say my peace a little bit here about how I 100% don’t vibe with the “Membrane capitalist/billionaire scum” especially since he ended world hunger...and invented a cure for the un-common cold.

Works for the theory, so good on Mattpatt for that one, but I personally don’t vibe with it.

Mattpatt compared Zim and Dib’s head shape as something to argue... Like because Dib has a similar head shape to Zim... that Dib has to be an alien... Okay... But If you look at the Invader Zim artbook (which I own)

The show has a very distinct look on how they draw characters’ heads. It’s a very distinct stylistic choice and there are pages upon pages in the artbook describing the style and how it looks in motion, and many revision notes to the Korean animators.

There are lots of pages on the artbook describing in detail the differences between the main characters’ heads, what to do, and what not to do.

It’s a difficult style to replicate, and Dib having a big head was mostly a joke from the showrunners to the showrunners, cause they kept drawing Dib’s head slightly bigger to make him look more appealing.

A majority of the audience doesn’t really notice because all the children in the show have big heads. All the kids are like 3-4 feet tall and have huge heads.

Also... Dib’s head is far more rounder then Zim’s in the comics and the Movie... comparing their head shape as an arguing point, when Dib’s head shape changed midway season 1 when the designs got slightly more streamlined is just... bad form..

Dib and Zim’s heads never really look the same from the early episodes as they do later on.

Comparing this character design similarity just because of the artstyle is really stupid.

This is the most infuriating thing about the video... because Mattpatt disproves his own argument with his own footage not a few seconds earlier.

He claims that Gaz sarcastically mentioning she has a squeedly spooch is a canon fact...... but ... hmm.. Mattpatt... can I rewind the footage of your video, please?

Where’s her squeedly spooch?

IS IT BEHIND HER CLEARLY HUMAN ORGANS?! I DON’T SEE IT?

And this isn’t just a stylistic choice... here’s a picture of another human’s organs for comparison.

Mattpatt literally disproved his own argument and ignored the fact that we saw an X-ray of Gaz’s organs in the very same episode...

Gaz doesn’t have a squeedly spooch and she literally was being sarcastic.

and the whole thing is disproved very easily.

Everything Mattpatt says in between those two points, about Dib being taken aboard an alien ship as a baby, and that there is no mother, and the Clone theory... That is all good stuff and this is what the theory video should have speculated and focused on, because there is some digging to be had here... I feel he focused a lot on the wrong points in his video...

And this is the most outrageous point he makes in his video. It’s the thing that pissed me off the most... and lead me to write this essay in the first place.

He claimed Eric Trueheart himself confirmed the clone theory and had story plans where Dib would discover his clone origins.

HE DID NOT!

IN FACT, Eric Trueheart himself published Volume One of the Invader Zim script book AND THIS IS WHAT HE SAID:

Eric neither confirmed nor denied the rumor.

But for Mattpatt to blatantly say that Eric said that Clone Dib was a planned thing by the screenwriters?!

He is BLATANTLY putting words into a Screenwriter’s mouth! Something that you should NEVER do.

Because it is 100% a lie.

He had no source for this claim. He probably just read the same rumor on the wiki and has no source.

This is the reason why I don’t trust videos like Mattpatt. The truth is often stretched for entertainment value, or information is just made up to prove “they were right” about whatever the topic of the day was. He doesn’t even bother to cite the source he got “Eric Trueheart’s word of mouth” from... because it was wrong.

Sorry if this whole thing is more hostile than it intended to be... But Mattpatt was looking at the ENTIRELY wrong evidence for this show....

Irken Membrane is a fun theory... but Mattpatt picked the entirely wrong topics and points of discussion, even to the point of hiding the truth and straight-up lying to his audience about his sources.

It’s kinda like saying “Birds eat ghost peppers because they’re part dragon and dragons can handle spicy food”

While, yeah, Birds are descended from dinos, it’s kinda missing the full story there and it’s not the reason why birds can eat spicy food.

Irken Membrane is a fun fan theory... do what you want with it. I am not here to dissuade Irken Membrane headcanons...

I’m just here to encourage critical thinking, and perhaps NOT put words into content creators' mouths when there is no credible source for it just because it benefits your argument.

#Invader Zim #Film Theory #Mattpatt #danachan's rants #lol sorry i went off but he really needed to cite his sources more on this one

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iamasphodelknox · 3 years

Text

Suptober 2021 Day 6: Cemetery Boys

The night was cold, a vast difference from the night before, spent hunkered in a shelter and snuggled - because there really just wasn’t any other word for it - with Cas for warmth. Instead, Dean and Cas were standing next to an open grave, the damp night air resting thick on their skin. The memory though, of the previous night lingered in Dean’s conscious. Dean tucked his chin to his chest to hide his smile. Cas’s wings hadn’t left his mind’s eye all day.

The case that had called them away from the bunker was an easy salt and burn. An angry spirit, a man who hadn’t told his best friend he loved him and had died of a heart attack that came much too soon, had been haunting said best friend.

Or rather, pestering was more like. The spirit was lonely and hadn’t actually hurt anyone. Aside from causing the town’s entire power grid to short out after trying to get himself to show up in front of his friend. The spirit had just seemed regretful.

It was the tamest case Dean could remember in a long time, and the spirit had given them permission to burn his remains after some kindly spoken words from Cas. Which was how, of course, they had come to be standing in the town’s only cemetery over the grave of a recently deceased man.

“This almost feels too easy,” Cas said as Dean lit a match and dropped it on the remains.

The match caught and the flames cast an orange glow on Dean, Cas, and the tombstones around them. It wasn’t even that creepy of a cemetery. It was well kept, with lots of flowers and mementos on several of the graves. Whoever had been buried here over the years had obviously been well-loved by the people they left behind.

Must be nice.

Dean chuckled. “Don’t jinx it. As much as I loved camping with you, I’m looking forward to my own bed. I’m getting too old to sleep on the ground.”

Cas grinned. Cas had been doing a lot of that throughout the day. Even after the tougher conversation with the spirit’s best friend, or the interaction with the spirit himself, Cas had seemed… lighter. Like he moved with more ease.

Probably cause of the cuddles. Dean felt lighter after waking up next to Cas, and all day, it was like he couldn’t stop touching Cas. Back slaps, grabbing Cas’s hand to drag him somewhere, guiding Cas places with a hand on his low back, slinging an arm around Cas’s shoulders when they walked into a tiny diner for dinner. Cas didn’t seem to mind at all.

In fact, every time Dean reached out, Cas reached back. He’d wrapped an arm around Dean’s waist at the diner, leaned into Dean’s hand on his low back, tangled their fingers together when Dean was dragging them somewhere, touching Dean’s shoulder like a lifeline when Dean’s back slaps lingered.

Like they couldn’t help themselves.

Dean reached out and patted Cas on the back.

“Ready to head out?”

“You’ll be okay to drive?” Cas asked as he grabbed Dean’s hand and started pulling him to the car, the fire dying out behind them.

“I’ll be alright,” Dean said. He gave Cas’s hand a squeeze. Dean didn’t really know where all this was going, this dance between him and Cas, what it meant, if it meant anything at all. But he knew what he hoped it meant. He hoped the way Cas smiled at him meant something, meant the same thing that Dean meant when he grinned at Cas.

They stopped by the passenger side of Baby and paused. Cas didn’t let go of Dean’s hand and Dean didn’t let go either. Cas looked up and met Dean’s eyes.

“Maybe we should get an air mattress,” Cas said softly.

Dean cocked his head, confused. “Why?”

Cas shrugged. “That way we can go camping again but we don’t have to sleep on the ground. I did some research earlier and they have some nice sets for car camping. We could even get a tent.”

Dean raised his eyebrows and grinned. “Look at you. You’re a camping pro now.” He traced circles on the back of Cas’s hand. It was becoming a habit, tracing shapes on Cas’s skin. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“It would solve the problem of no vacancies at motels,” Cas said, looking down at their joined hands.

“Would your wings make another appearance?” Dean asked, because he apparently had no chill whatsoever.

Cas chuckled. “Camping? Probably.”

“Good,” Dean said. “That’d… that’d be nice.”

Cas hummed, looking pleased. Dean wanted to kiss him. Dean probably could kiss him. A well-loved cemetery was as good a place as any when it came to them. He took a step closer to Cas.

“Shall we get going though?” Cas asked, squeezing Dean’s hand before letting go and opening the passenger side door, and squandering any kissing opportunities. “It’s a long drive back.”

Dean nodded haltingly. “Yep, yeah, let’s… we should go.” He grinned, turned, rolled his eyes at himself, and walked around to get into the driver’s side door. The two of them buckled up, Cas shuffled through Dean’s old cassettes and picked a Led Zeppelin at random, and Dean started Baby.

Dean glanced over at the Cas, the cemetery just through the window behind him. Perhaps, if Dean tried, there’d be people after him to miss him. People Dean left behind, who loved him enough to remember him. Until then, maybe he could love Cas as he wanted to. Maybe Cas could love him back. Here and now, that seemed like the best course.

Read the whole fic, Finding My Way To You as I add each chapter! Link in comments.

#suptober21 #destiel #day 6 #day 6 cemetery boys #asphodelknox #salt and burn #gravesite #camping references #pining #fluff

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snickerl · 3 years

Text

Of Miracle Births and Other Wonders

tagging @today-in-fic

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

The lady behind the reception desk sends Mulder and the two kids up to the fourth floor of the hospital. They find another reception area with another helpful nurse. She tells them a doctor will be with them very soon to give them an update on Scully's condition. The few minutes they have to wait tears every nerve in Mulder's body, putting his patience to a hard test. Then, to his great relief, a good-looking woman in her late thirties approaches them. "Hello Mr. Scully, my name is Dr. Hanson, I am taking care of your wife," she says, holding her hand out to shake his.

"Uh, nice to meet you, Doctor, but my name is Mulder. These are our children, Emily and William," Mulder says, nudging them both in front of him. "How is Scully? I mean, my wife? How is she?"

"Hello everybody," the doctor says good-naturedly. "Your wife is perfectly fine, Mr. Mulder. She is doing great with her breathing technique. Her cervix is at 5 centimeters, so we still have some way to go. The baby is in good shape, she is in good shape, so we believe we will have a smooth delivery in a couple of hours. Are you all coming to the delivery room?"

William is aghast, his eyes saucer-wide. "What? Ew, no way! Gross!" He shakes his head vehemently. "Never ever!"

Mulder looks at his daughter. "Em?"

Emily thinks for a moment but quickly decides against it. The thought of seeing her mother in pain, even if it was for a good cause, makes her uncomfortable. "I'd rather stay with Will. We don't want him sitting here all by himself," she says.

"I don't need a sitter," William snaps, "I'm not a baby."

"But you definitely behave like one," Emily fires back. "Now shut up and be nice so dad can look after mom and doesn't have to worry about us at each other's throats out here."

"Alright," Doctor Hanson says. "The waiting area is over there. There are magazines and a vending machine. If you need anything, ask the nurse at reception. Follow me, Mr. Scully...I mean Mr. Mulder, sorry...your wife will be happy to see you." She leads the way to the delivery room. Mulder presses a kiss on Emily's hair and waves at William who has already plummeted into a chair. "Okay, kids. See you later then," he says and hurries to follow the doctor.

"Say hello to mom from us," Emily shouts after him, "and good luck!" She looks after her father who disappears through a swinging door marked Deliveries, then trots toward the waiting area to join her brother. She places herself in a chair next to him, looks around, gets up again to leaf through a pile of magazines on one of the tables, finds nothing of interest, goes back to her chair, and lets herself fall onto it with a sigh.

"You could've gone with dad, if you wanted," William tells her without looking up from his phone.

"Nah, I'm good."

Both sit in silence for a while. William is totally absorbed in a game on his smartphone, Emily pulls a history book and some pencils out of her backpack and starts reading, writing notes on the pages in different colors here and there. William shakes his head when he sees her doing that. "That's so old school, sis."

"Well, it's good for me. This way, the information stays longer in my brain than when I read it on a screen. You may call it old school, bro, I call it efficient mnemonics."

"Whatever," he sighs, his eyes back on the screen.

"Hey, what you said in the car, that mom doesn't care about us anymore, what did you mean by that?"

"I meant what I said, whatever the baby needs comes first, and we will play second fiddle. Or maybe even third. But I don't care. If things get unbearable, I will ask to go to boarding school. They can play house with the new baby then and I won't be there to bother anyone with my presence."

"You're being ridiculous, Will. Mom and dad will never let you go to boarding school, and I can't believe it will be anything like you just said."

William only shrugs. The narrative in his head has solidified like concrete, and he can't imagine a worse place to be right now. The best he can do is immerse himself in this online game and forget about what is happening at the other side of the door his father vanished through. After some hours of playing (thank God he brought his charger) and a short nap with his head leaned back against the wall, his stomach grumbles. "Are you also hungry, Em?"

"Well, I could have a snack. How long have we been waiting?"

"We came here at 10:45 am, now it's almost 6," William tells her, looking at the big clock on the wall of the waiting area.

"Wow, seven hours already. Poor mom. I wonder why dad hasn't given us an update."

"Do you think something is going wrong and he doesn't want to tell us?" William says, his voice trembling a bit.

"I don't think so."

"It's not so unlikely at mom's age."

"And how do you know?"

"I read stuff."

"You read stuff. Where?" Emily has problems picturing her brother behind a pregnancy textbook.

"On the internet, where else? If you google 'late motherhood' you get thousands of hits. And they all tell you women should have babies in their twenties and thirties, not their fifties. There is a reason for that. Nature doesn't want you to have a baby when you're old."

"Mom's not old."

"For having babies she is. She should be a grandmother rather than giving birth."

"Well, if she was a grandmother, I would already have a baby," Emily points out pensively, then adds a determined, "no thanks!"

"I just can't believe they let this happen."

"Let what happen?"

"Getting mom pregnant. Why? How?"

"Well, I can tell you how..."

"Ew, don't!" William imitates a gagging sound. "But why?"

"I guess it just happened."

"There are ways to prevent getting pregnant, I hope you are aware of that, unlike our parents apparently. I don't want to be an uncle on top of this any time soon. How could they have been so dumb? I don't get it. For all the times mom lectured us about condoms and safe sex, she didn't follow her own words." He shakes his head showing his disapproval and lack of understanding quite clearly. "I will never have sex, that's for sure."

Emily gives a slight chuckle. At fourteen, her brother most certainly doesn't have any idea of the joy of it. When he gets older and starts fancying girls, he might rethink his attitude, but something else is hitting her the longer their conversation goes. "You've given this a lot of thought, haven't you?"

"Well, what else was I to do? It has been the main topic in our house for the longest time. I guess, sometimes they even forgot I was still living there."

"Bullshit."

William is done explaining his thoughts. His sister obviously isn't getting the point either, just like his parents. "Now are we getting something to eat, or what?"

"You hangry?" Emily asks with a smirk and he is glad she has taken the bait and they changed the topic.

"After seven hours of wasting my time in this stuffy waiting room, I think I am allowed to have a bite to eat. Do you have change for the machine?" The boy is inwardly fuming at his father for once again neglecting him by not giving him money for food.

Big sister overtakes Em again, "I am definitely getting us something more nutritious. There has to be a cafeteria somewhere with sandwiches and a drink with less sugar than what I see in that machine." The idea of having to deal with a cranky brother on a sugar-high isn't very appealing. She gets up from the chair, her mind set on improving her brother's mood with a tasty snack. Plus, the hunt for food will give her something to do instead of mulling over what her mother is enduring at this very moment in the delivery room. "Text me, if you hear something," she tells her brother before she leaves him alone.

He tries to distract himself with the game again, but his thoughts keep going back to six months ago when his world turned upside down. The situation was surreal. His parents had prepared one of their usual Sunday family dinners, Emily had come to join, and with the dessert they served them the news of the pregnancy. His sister's piercing shriek of surprised joy hurt his eardrums and he almost choked on the pie he had in his mouth. His mother annoyed him with science book citations about the finer points of late motherhood and male ongoing virility that made him want to cover his ears entirely and yell 'too much information' at her. The worst was his dad though. The puppy eyes with which he was looking at his mom and the silly petting of her still flat stomach caused a severe tickling in William's throat. To this very day, he hadn't gotten past the shock. He shakes his head to make the unpleasant memories disappear.

And then, of course, what had to happen happens: Emily is gone for about fifteen minutes when Mulder appears in the waiting area with an ear-to-ear smile on his face. "Waiting time is over, the baby's here! It's a girl! A healthy, beautiful little girl," he announces, his voice full of pride and also relief. He looks around, surprised to find William alone. "Where is your sister?"

"Getting us a snack. Is mom alright?"

"She is. She did great. I am so amazed by that woman." Mulder's whole face lights up. "She sent me to get you guys. When will Em be back?"

"I don't know. She's been gone for about 20 minutes now, it shouldn't take her much longer. I mean only if she hasn't met a cute guy she needed to get into a conversation with." William rolls his eyes so hard he sees the back of his head, his voice high-pitched on 'cute guy'.

Mulder is still so high on adrenaline that he doesn't chime in, although he too has been annoyed more than once by his daughter's tardiness, and the reason has often enough been a 'cute guy'. "Okay, gotta go back to Scully, I don't want to leave her and the baby alone for too long," he says. He points toward a long gray hallway with several doors on each side. "We're in room 302 over there on the right. As soon as Em gets back, come and join us. Mom is waiting for you guys."

"But dad," William laments in vain, his father is already around the corner. "Great," he mumbles to himself. First, they drag him out here and make him wait endless hours in an uncomfortable chair only to be here when the baby is born, and now that it is born, they don't have a problem with him standing around for God knows how long until his tardy sister is back. Typical. He pulls his phone out of his pocket, types in 'get here asap', his fingers flying over the screen, and slams the send button.

Impatience gets the better of him soon. There is no more sitting in the chair and playing online games for him now, he is pacing the waiting area, glad that nobody else is there to see him in this state. If Emily isn't back soon, he'll explode, he thinks, but it takes another 20 minutes until he sees her leisurely strolling down the hallway. He sighs in relief when she finally stands in front of him, a cardboard tray in one hand filled with two drinks and something to eat he can't quite figure out, and some flowers wrapped in paper in the other. "It's about time!" he lets her know.

"Sorry," Emily says quite relaxed, "I was just standing in line to pay for the food when I got your text. This hospital complex is huge and a bit confusing to be honest. I'm not sure I took the shortest way on my way back. Healthy muffins, iced tea, and something for your sweet tooth," she says with a grin, holding the tray out to William. "What happened?"

"What happened? What do you think happened? The baby's here, of course, and mom wants to see us!"

Emily gives a girly shriek that hurts William's ears once again. "Yay! Great! You could've been a bit more specific in your text rather than simply summoning me back here. I thought you were just craving the food."

"Yeah, well, there was food right in front of our noses." William points to the vending machine, unable to keep his outstretched index finger steady. "But you had to go on a hunting trip for some salad leaves and made me stand around here alone wondering."

"Where are they?"

"In room 302. They are waiting for us. It's this way." William nods in the direction Mulder showed him.

"Okay, let's go then."

Side by side, Emily and William take long strides toward the room they were told. "Boy or girl?" Emily asks on the way.

"Girl."

"Yay again! Ah, that's wonderful. I have a little sister," she chants.

William isn't sharing an ounce of his sister's enthusiasm. If he had been given a choice, he would have passed on this experience as a whole, but now that they are standing in front of room 302, by opening that door what he has tried to deny will become real. If only his mom is alright, he will accept all that comes with it: sleepless nights because of the baby crying, smelly diapers, more Thai takeout, and an annoying younger sister on top of an annoying older one. If only his mom is alright. Emily knocks and he hears his mother's voice say "Come in!" It sounds weak, he thinks, and his heartbeat accelerates. When he follows his sister into the room, he braces himself for the worst.

#dana scully #fox mulder #emily scully #william scully #msr #xf fanfic #au fanfiction

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alphabet-blues · 3 years

Photo

Here it is, chapter one of my baby, my magnum opus. This fic is going to be so long so I hope you guys are buckled up and ready. Each chapter also is accompanied by a literature/media excerpt and five song mini-mix as a YouTube playlist. - Venom

Read on Ao3

Title: drowning lessons

Pairing: Harley Keener/Peter Parker

Fandom: Spider-Man (Tom Holland), and MCU

Chapter: One

Rating: Explicit

Content Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Tags: Angst, Depression, References to Depression, References to Drugs, Graphic Drug usage, Addiction, Graphic Usage of Opioids, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, brief mentions of forced prostitution, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, drug overdose, Graphic Depiction of a Drug Overdose, Getting Together, Fluff, Banter, The Euphoria Fic, Blowjobs, Alternate Universe - College/University, Drug Addict Harley, Aged-Up Harley Keener, Aged-Up Peter Parker, Drowning Lessons, Falling In Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tags Are Hard, Tony Stark Acting as Harley Keener's Parental Figure, Harley Keener Needs a Hug, Underage Drinking, Partying, Purchasing of Drugs, Harley's Nirvana Hoodie is a character

Summary: It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

In which Harley takes pills, listens to Nirvana, and doesn't want to be alive anymore.

Falling for Peter is easier than breathing, and also the least of his problems.

(Also known as the Parkner Euphoria Fic)

Mini-Mix 1 for Chapter 1

The Pool Players. Seven at the Golden Shovel.

We real cool. We Left school. We

Lurk late. We Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We Die soon.

- Gwendolyn Brooks

It all started with a house party and a bad idea, like most things in Harley’s life.

He was 14, and it was his first party. Well, not his first party, but his first party with actual high schoolers that involved booze that wasn’t snuck out from a parent’s meticulous liquor cabinet. Harley though, didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol.

The smell of beer on people’s clothes was tainted by memories of his Father. He’d had his first beer when he was 10, given to him by his Uncle with strict orders not to tell his Mother. It was bitter, rancid, and burned as it went down and Harley couldn’t understand how people loved this stuff. Or how his Father had chosen this over their family.

The party was a little ways out from the main road and tucked behind a line of trees that led to a few rolling fields of corn. It was October, and there was a slight chill in the air. The corn had been combined at the end of summer, leaving a desecrated patch of land in its wake. By the time next summer rolled around, there would be stalks nearly as tall as Harley. He was fascinated by the cycle of it all.

Technically, there wasn’t supposed to be any freshman at the party, but he had weaseled an invite from his friend Joey’s older brother, Mike, as long as he followed his strict orders to “be cool.” Harley could do that.

When Harley made his way into the house he watched the different crowds of upperclassmen interact. Some were dancing to the loud thumping of the music playing from the speakers by the TV in the living room, while others were huddled into tight groups, either drinking, or passing a joint around. An ache settled inside Harley’s chest.

Harley committed to his role of being a wallflower and held back from all of the groups as he made his way through the house. He had sat on the couch for close to a half-hour when someone passed him a joint and told him to take a hit. Harley did, and was careful not to choke so he didn’t look green at his first-ever real party.

The joint in question got passed around their circle a few more times until someone put it out. At that point, Harley had taken several puffs and was starting to feel light-headed and fuzzy, but in a good way.

The ache in his chest morphed - it spread warmth over Harley’s ribs and clavicle, but it still burned.

Harley floated through the house afterwards, giggling at nothing, and took whatever was offered. He drank something bitter and sour that made him want to hurl before he was passed something sickly sweet but felt like acid as it washed down. When he finally stumbled out of the house he felt a happy buzz wash over him. He could barely feel the cold nip of the air, and goosebumps raised all up along his arms.

He found his bike where he had discarded it on the grass lawn when he arrived. It was hard to see in the dark, especially with his head swimming, but he managed to pull his bike onto the road. The wind of the night air blew through his shaggy overgrown hair as it fell in his eyes. He biked down the eerily quiet streets of his hometown as the persistent aching in his chest eventually subsided, for the first time since it had arrived. No one was around, and his ears were filled with static due to the lack of sound - a sharp contrast from the thudding bass of the party.

He fell off his bike twice before he got home, and winced as his elbow got scratched up from the gravel. But instead of being frightened, he was elated, he couldn't really feel it. He snuck back into his room through the window he kept unlocked for that exact purpose, and made sure to be as quiet as possible, even though the motor functions in his hand were failing him and it took him multiple tries to get his window up.

He changed his clothes, noting how they smelled, and buried them deep into the bottom of his hamper so his Mom wouldn’t get suspicious. When he finally collapsed onto his bed he felt sated. He was warm, and the rocking of his bed from his head spinning as he closed his eyes lulled him to sleep.

It was probably the best sleep he’d gotten in years.

That was the start, but it wasn’t the beginning.

The beginning was not quite a year later, at the start of summer break. He was invited to a pool party by Mike’s friends. As soon as the sun went down they all changed out of their bathing suits and into t-shirts, and shorts. They relocated to Maddy’s basement - the girl who had been throwing the party. Harley was expecting the alcohol, and the weed. He’d gotten used to it by now, and even knew how to roll one of the best joints in town. He kept a stash in a sealed bag buried deep inside his nightstand that he would pull out and smoke in the backyard by the shed whenever things got overwhelming. Or, for when that well-known emptiness crept into his veins, that instead of making him angry, just made him sad, and desolate.

He was used to the weed, but the pills were something new. He was halfway through a joint that he had matched with a girl he vaguely recognized. She had introduced herself as “Tasha” when one of Mike’s friends stumbled over and sat down next to him. Harley passed the joint over to Tasha. His head was swimming pleasantly, and he grinned over at the guy who he was pretty sure was named Toby.

“Look what Jessica’s sister brought,” Toby said excitedly as he held up a baggy with a bunch of tiny perfectly round blue pills. “She’s like the fucking tooth fairy, I swear to God,” He crowed as he handed a pill to Harley and one to Tasha. Tasha glanced over at Harley nervously, and Harley didn’t say anything until Toby left, probably to go distribute the pills to the other partygoers.

Harley looked down at the pill he had clutched in his palm. It had a ‘5’ etched big in the center, with a smaller ‘325’ carved under it. Harley recognized the pills from health class. It was percocet.

Tasha finished the joint and then stubbed it out on a spare plate that everyone had been using as a makeshift ashtray. “I’m gonna go see what Josh is up to,” She told Harley in a small voice before handing him the pill she had been given. “I’m good with just weed.”

Harley nodded dumbly as he watched her scamper off. He took in the scene of the party going on around him as he stared at the now two pills in his hand. It felt like an old cartoon where there was an angel and devil sitting on his shoulder arguing over what he should do. He stared at it for entirely too long before he said, “Fuck it,” and swallowed one down dry. He tucked the other one into his weed grinder for safekeeping, figuring that even if he hated how it made him feel he could probably sell it to someone at school for a couple of dollars.

The next twenty minutes passed slowly as he waited anxiously for it to kick in, to see how it would feel. He didn’t feel anything for the first while and was gonna accuse Jessica’s sister of being an idiot and buying counterfeit pills when it started washing over him in waves. He went out to the back deck where the pool was, and where it was relatively empty. He sat down on the edge as his eyes went half-massed, and the ribbons of euphoria made their way through his bloodstream.

For a blissful while he didn’t feel anything. Nothing at all. He laid out flat, head facing the water, and started swirling circles in it with his pointer finger. He watched for what felt like hours as his finger caused ripples in the pool.

It wasn’t until later, much later, when Joey was helping him into his house quietly, because he was too fucked up to stand, that he pulled the grinder out of his pocket. He opened it once Joey had gone home and looked at the little pill inside of it. Harley didn’t understand alcohol, but he understood this. He would do anything to feel nothing again.

It wasn’t an all-or-nothing type beat, at least in the beginning. It was more gradual. As the low simmer of Harley’s misery built so did his coping mechanisms. It wasn’t until right after he turned 16 that he was sneaking out to parties every single weekend, coming back high, drunk, or sometimes something worse.

He bought from Jessica’s sister for a while until she left town. Then, he bounced around various dealers getting wildly different qualities. He tried a little bit of everything, and never turned down a pill if it was offered. He passed out in so many different basements he lost track. He could tell that his Mom was catching on to his worsening attitude and sunken eyes. Hell, even he had noticed the weight he had lost and how he was able to count most of his ribs without sucking in anymore. None of that mattered. All that mattered was how he could get rid of the emptiness inside of him, even if it was just for a night, or however long the drugs in his system lasted.

He got a job bagging groceries at the mini-mart downtown. Most of the people that he worked with were college burnouts who sold and did drugs whenever they weren’t showing up for a shift. He bought baggies of pills in the parking lot whenever he got off work with the money he made from his minimum wage. He knew that he couldn’t keep up the delicate balance forever, and eventually there would be a tipping of the scales.

It was a month before his 17th birthday when he ran out of money.

He needed a fix so bad that his hands were shaking and he could barely see straight. He had nearly crashed his bike 10 times on his way over to Tyler’s apartment. He wasn’t the best of dudes, but his shit was always pure, and Harley knew he could deliver.

Once Harley climbed up the steps he walked along the railing until he got to the door that led to Tyler’s apartment. He rang the doorbell as he fidgeted with his hoodie and dug his fingers into his palm so hard he nearly drew blood. When Tyler opened the door he followed him inside, chewing on his lip.

Tyler went back to his room as Harley waited anxiously in the foyer. He didn’t have any money, and he didn’t know what he was going to do. All he knew was that he needed another pill. He needed everything to stop. He bit his thumb as he waited for Tyler to come back out. After a few tense moments, Tyler came back out with a baggy full of familiar pills. He sat them down on the coffee table and glanced at Harley expectantly.

“I can pay you back next Friday. That’s when I get paid,” Harley told him, his tongue feeling thick in his mouth.

Tyler sucked on his teeth and grabbed the pills back up, before Harley had a chance to reach for them. “You still owe me for last time.”

Harley’s stomach dropped. “Right. I know that. Just- ... I can pay you back next week.”

Tyler shook his head. “And what’s in it for me?”

Harley’s eyes widened as he took in the setting of what was going on. “W-what do you mean?”

Tyler shrugged. “How bad do you want ‘em, kid?”

Harley bristled, and brought the sleeves of his hoodie down to hide his hands. He wanted to hide from the situation completely, but knew he’d be right back here tomorrow if he didn’t leave with the pills that he needed. “What do you want?”

“I heard you gave Colson head at the bonfire party a few months ago,” Tyler said, as Harley’s face burned. “You any good?”

Harley counted to 10 in his head. He thought about a lot of things in the time it took for him to count. He thought about his Mom, his Dad, and his sister. He thought about his one English teacher from the previous year who always had an absurd amount of faith in him and told him that he was capable of great things if he just put his mind to it. He thought briefly about Tony and his billions of dollars while here he was broke as shit and questioning his morals. He thought about Colson, who he’d had a crush on for a couple of months, who let him blow him at a party and then told him afterwards that he wasn’t gay, and that they probably shouldn’t do it again. Lastly, he thought about how shaky his hands were and how all of this would be over as soon as he got his hand on the pills. There were five in the baggy. If he paced himself he could last until next Friday when he got paid and he would never have to do this again.

With that resolve in mind, he closed his eyes and dropped to his knees.

| | |

When he left Tyler’s apartment he couldn’t stop wiping at his mouth, and how it felt dirty and raw. He got halfway down the street before he let his bike fall to the ground and bent over to wretch into the grass on the side of the road. He didn’t have much in his system so it was mostly just bile, but anything, literally anything, was better than the lingering taste of Tyler’s cum in his mouth that only served to remind him what he had let him do.

Once he gathered his wits back up, he was able to make it to the 7-Eleven that was only a few blocks away from his house. He parked his bike in the bike rack outside half in a daze, feeling like he was no longer inside his body. He went into the bathroom with his hood up, and made sure nobody else was inside. He wiped down the edge of the sink with soap, and dried it meticulously with the thin paper towels from the machine. He took one of the pills out of the baggie and smashed it until it was basically powder. He spread it with his finger into a line on the edge of the sink and snorted all of it in one go.

As soon as he did he felt the immediate head rush and stinging pain in his nasal cavity that made his eyes burn and well up with tears. He grabbed onto the sink for dear life as he took several deep breaths. He looked up and finally made eye contact with himself in the mirror. His hair was a messy tangle, and greasy, on top of his head. His eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red, as well as his mouth, which looked rubbed raw. In a certain light, it could have been enticing, but Harley knew that he just really looked wrung out.

He glared at his reflection in the mirror until someone else walked into the bathroom. Harley froze in place and waited till the guy took his position at one of the far down urinals. “Whatever,” he whispered to his reflection as he turned around and left the bathroom, wiping at his nose with the bottom of his hoodie sleeve. The moment he reached his bike he felt it start to kick in and he breathed out a sigh of relief as the telltale rush he had gotten used to spread from his head down his shoulders, all the way to his toes as his chest flooded with warmth.

He just had to make it until next Friday, and then everything was going to be okay.

| | |

The thing was, Harley was a pretty angry person. He wasn’t angry all the time, but the slightest thing could set him off. He had a temper like his Dad, and it was always hard to stop himself from doing something rash, or impulsive. His Mom liked to say that he thought with his fists before his head. His anger was more like a low simmer, on a backburner constantly until something set him off and he snapped. It had only gotten worse since he started the pills, but so had everything in his life. He knew he had a problem, but that didn’t mean he wanted to stop.

Harley had been getting into fights at school for almost as long as he could remember. There was a day in elementary school where he had to wait outside the principal's office with a split lip and torn-up knuckles. He could hear his Mom crying through the door, he could hear her saying how tough it had been since Harley’s Dad had left and it made him feel awful. But, it also kind of just made him want to punch stuff more.

Kids at school were mean, but all kids who are growing are mean, and seem to have endless bouts of nasty shit to say. They picked on Harley because he was weird, and nerdy, and his Dad had left. There wasn’t even a divorce like some of the other kids in his class. He didn’t have elusive tales of two Christmases, or weekends at his Dad’s - all he eventually got was Tony Stark showing up in his garage when he was 9, before he fucked off just like everybody else. Sure, he had decked out his garage, but that didn’t mean much. Tony was a fucking billionaire, it was probably the equivalent of him giving a homeless kid on the street a 5 dollar bill.

Harley got better at learning how to deal with his anger. He also got better at not getting punched, and throwing his own. He learned how to hide bloody knuckles, or bloody noses, and only got pulled into the office a handful of times. They made him go to the school counselor and she said it was a coping mechanism; that the violence was a way for him to act out and ask for attention. Harley thought she was mostly a quack who didn’t actually give a shit about the kids she was supposed to be helping. The fighting had been self-defense, but the pills? He could admit that those were probably the coping mechanism.

Harley thought about his school counselor as he locked the door to his room and threw the baggy of pills that he had worked so hard for into his nightstand, under a pile of books he was supposed to be reading for class and knew he never would. He wondered what she would think of him now, or what he had done. He laughed mirthlessly at the picture of her horrified face as he told her that the school system had failed him, just like his Dad, and just like everybody fucking else.

Despite everything, his grades were good. Harley was smart. He knew he was smart, and that was half of his problem. He stopped having to try in school after the second week of 6th grade. He always showed up, and always finished his work though, even if he was working on his projects high out of his fucking mind. He usually wrote his best papers that way.

Sometimes, not often, but sometimes, he thought about his Dad. He thought about what his Dad would say to him and his pills. Maybe an outsider would draw parallels to him and his Father, from one addict to another. He wasn’t anything like his Father, though. Yeah, Harley had a problem, but he was still here, still doing the shit he was supposed to be doing. He was still a functioning member of society as far as he was concerned and hadn’t ran away as soon as things had gotten tough. His Father was a coward and that’s all he’d ever be.

Sometimes though, sometimes, in the dead of night when he was shaking and sweating from either a comedown, or withdrawal, he would try to discern if his Dad would be sad, if he even gave a shit at all. He wondered if he would be disappointed.

Whenever those thoughts took hold he would just text one of his friends to see if a party was going on, and there usually was. He’d smoke a joint, or take a pill that was offered and suddenly he’d forget all about the thoughts that had previously been consuming him.

But the thing about all of his anger is that he would gladly take it over the sadness. There was a hole inside of him. He wasn’t quite sure when it formed, but it was there. It threatened to consume him whole on nights he was alone and could only stare at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom. The only time when he didn’t feel empty was when he had some chemical pumping through his veins. So that became his thing.

He couldn’t ignore though, how it was hurting everyone he loved. Abbie and his Mom never said anything, but sometimes it was like they knew. They would give him a look with their sad eyes like they wanted to help him, like they somehow had the capability to heal him. When he came home on certain nights, pupils blown and speech slurred, his Mom would look at him like he was his Father.

Maybe he was slowly becoming his Father.

Either way, it hurt, and he couldn’t stop. The only thing that didn’t hurt anymore was the dizzying rush he got whenever he snorted the pills that he had come to love so much.

There was one night that Harley could remember. He had slammed his bike on the front porch a little hard, and had made a little too much noise coming in through the window of his bedroom. He was high as shit and the world was thick, but buzzing around him. He changed out of his jeans into an undershirt, his hands fumbling and not working right, like they were no longer connected to his brain. When he finally finished his task he stumbled out into the hallway to go to the bathroom before he could pass out for school in the morning.

As soon as he got to the door of the bathroom he could hear his Mom talking in the living room, and he froze. Her voice was muffled, but he could still make out what she was saying. It sounded like she was on the phone with someone, which wouldn’t be an unusual occurrence for her, especially at this time of the night. It always made Harley smile whenever he would come home and she would be gabbing excitedly with one of her girlfriends, or spilling town gossip. This time, however, Harley could tell she wasn’t chatting with her friends.

“He’s just been so withdrawn. I know he sneaks out of the house almost every night and I don’t know if I should let him have his freedom or be concerned.” Harley heard her say, her voice sapped, and weary. “He’s so bright. You know that. I’m worried that’s going to be what gets him.” She paused for a while, so someone else on the phone must have said something. Harley took that time to let his head fall against the door of the bathroom.

Harley had a feeling the conversation was about him and it made him sick. His fuzzy brain was taking in all the words she was saying and knew that he didn’t want her to feel that way. He didn’t want her to worry. But he also couldn’t stop. His brain was whirring all the time and the only thing that ever gave him peace; a fucking reprieve, stopped the voice in his head - the one that sounded like his Father, the one that told him he was a waste of space, that he was nothing - were the pills that he took, or snorted, whichever was easier, or quicker, really. At least when he was high he was a good nothing.

“No, I know. And he’s so good sometimes. He’ll be happy and chatty, and he’s always been so good with Abbie...it could just be a teenager thing. Sometimes I’m just at a loss. I know he needs something, but I don’t know what that is.”

The world to stop turning, Harley thought, with a sudden flash of vengeance. If there was one thing he could write on his Christmas list it would be for the world to stop turning, and for him to stop breathing. But that would definitely cause his Mom more concern and he didn’t want that.

He didn’t want to listen to the conversation anymore, so he made sure to open the bathroom door obviously, and took a few stomping steps inside, hitting his hand on the counter in the process, that way she would be alerted to his presence in the hallway.

He couldn’t make out her voice after that.

Harley stared at his face in the mirror. He took in his red eyes, pupils swallowing his irises, skin pale and sickly. At one point he might have been something to look at, with sweeping blonde hair, and a crooked grin that his Mom used to always pinch and say was her favorite.

He didn’t look like that anymore.

He didn’t even look like himself anymore. His outside finally matched his inside - a hollow shell of someone pretending to be a person.

When he got out of the bathroom his Mom was no longer on the phone, and he couldn’t pretend to be anything other than absolutely exhausted, so he shuffled into his room and fell back onto his bed. He played the words she had said on the phone call over and over again in his head until he fell asleep.

| | |

Harley was smart, brilliant, actually, that was the thing. School was a breeze, but he knew that even though he kept his grades up, every time he snuck back in through his bedroom window his Mom was disappointed in him. He knew that she had no idea what he was doing, but she also wasn’t stupid, and somehow knew he was close to doing something that would throw his life away.

If only she knew that this was the only way he could keep on living. If only she knew he probably would have slit his wrists in the bathroom if those tiny little blue pills hadn’t kept him company, and drove away all the malicious clawing thoughts that flickered through his brain constantly.

Harley had an affinity for building things. He also had an affinity for hacking, which would have been worrisome if he wasn’t good enough to hardly ever get caught. After he burned his bridges with Tyler he started exploring his other options. Hacking into the local hospital’s database was so easy it was almost laughable.

He quickly learned it was going to be a dead-end because they kept all their opioids in a Pill-O-Matix which was an automatic drug dispenser that used doctors’ credentials to unlock it. Even if Harley could somehow bypass it he would have to disable the security cams, and it wasn’t something he could do on a regular basis. It wasn’t worth it.

After that, he did some digging into his local pharmacy, but that was mostly a dead end as well. Their computer systems were out of date, but most of their pill tracking was manual, as it was a tiny small-town pharmacy. If any of their opioids went missing they would surely be noticed.

So Harley started bouncing around dealers again. He knew it was dangerous. But the hole inside of him was just as, if not more dangerous, so he knew what he had to do. He got shitty pills from freshmen with older siblings that dealt; who didn’t know the worth of what they were selling. On one occasion he got a set of pills of oxy that were cut with speed that made his heart race and he felt like he was having a low-grade heart attack for hours.

He didn’t want to be this way - a junkie. But he found something that worked when nothing else had. He could feel himself getting worse and worse and knew rock bottom was just around the corner. But he couldn’t stop. He didn’t know if it was a sick desire to actually hit rock bottom and to see what that felt like, or if his own self-control had finally waned to a point of no return.

It all came to a head a week before his high school graduation.

Graduation parties were popping up all over the place, and Harley wasn’t about to miss any of them. It wasn’t so much that he wanted to see his friends (friends that he could barely even call friends anymore because he didn’t really talk to anyone who wasn’t going to eventually sell him drugs).

It wasn’t even that he wanted to have a nostalgic cry fest with all the people who had tortured him his entire adolescence. He just wanted to get as smashed as possible so he could forget everything. Then he wouldn’t have to think about college, which he couldn’t afford, or all of the stress that came with being on the cusp of adulthood.

He could tell that something was off as soon as he took the first pill. He got high quicker than usual, and he also felt higher than what was normal. He relished the buzz, every second of it, and used his impairment as an excuse as to why he took another one, and another one once it was offered. He was never one to turn down free drugs. By the time the third one kicked in he could barely walk outside. He must have fallen on the grass lawn because one minute he was looking at the driveway that led to the house, and the next minute he was blinking up at the night sky.

He didn’t even realize that he was puking until someone was rolling him over with a bruising grip on his arms and back. The bile that had been clogging his throat rose and fell out of his mouth as he heaved and heaved. He puked into the grass for what felt like ages until he tried to focus his eyes and could only make out a vague blob of a person standing over him.

“Fuck, Harley,” he could hear the voice saying, but it was distant. It sounded like they were crying, but he couldn’t figure out why they would be crying. Harley opened his mouth to speak but when he did he only choked on bile once again until he was forced to spit it out in the grass.

A loud ringing was in his ears and all the talking he could hear was muffled and unintelligible. He started shivering violently and couldn’t stop. The hand that was holding him reached for something in the pocket of his jeans but Harley could barely feel it. He came back to himself enough to glance over with glassy eyes and recognized the person as Joey. Fuck. He shouldn’t be seeing him like this.

Joey had a phone pressed to his ear, and Harley tried to piece all the details together to figure out what was going on but it was hard to think. All he could feel was the sudden pounding in his head and how his whole body ached in a way that made him feel like he had just been run over by a semi.

It could’ve been hours later, or only a few minutes, time was passing weird for Harley. But suddenly he was seeing his Mom. She was pale as a ghost as her face floated in front of him, blocking his view of the night sky. “Mom?” Harley said, not quite believing what was in front of him. Just saying those words scratched against his raw throat and suddenly Harley was so, so tired. All he wanted to do was go to sleep and never wake up.

“Harley, baby.” His Mom said, her cool hands pressed against his face. He was burning up. When did that happen? “What did you take? We need to know what you took.”

“I didn’t take anything,” Harley mumbled out, his words barely coming out as sounds or words. His Mom must have understood because her face turned thunderous.

“What did you take!” She yelled, her voice turning shrill as she screamed. Harley winced and his eyes fell shut until someone was shaking him, causing him to blearily open his eyes again. His Mom and Joey were like little pale-faced moons over his head as he could hardly make out the details of their faces, or why they were looking at him like that, or why they were so concerned. Couldn’t Harley just go to sleep?

“...hospital,” He heard his Mom say distantly. Then jerkily he was being pulled up by two pairs of hands until he was upright. The movement jostled him and his head fell back painfully like a rag doll. The sudden motion caused him to start puking again, and he bent over and heaved on an empty stomach which only made his throat feel like it had been hacked at with razor blades. Every inch of his body hurt.

He didn’t realize he had been put into a car until he was laying in the backseat while Joey held his head, probably to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit again. This was one of his worst nightmares. He could hardly think but suddenly he was stuck in a spiral of guilt so strong that it choked him even further. He could taste the bile he had been throwing up all over his mouth and tongue, and could hear his Mom crying from the front seat.

He was so sorry.

Nobody should be seeing him like this. All he wanted was to go home and pretend like none of this was even happening.

“I’m sorry,” Harley said, even though it was hard for him to talk. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to his Mom, Joey, or possibly both. “I’m sorry,” he kept saying in between the tears that were rolling down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

That was the last thing he remembered before he fell asleep.

| | |

When Harley woke up he was in a brightly lit hospital, and was lying in a bed. He had various wires hooked to his arms and he felt like death warmed over. Once he was able to blink through the blinding lights and focus on the room he noticed Abbie and Mom, both sound asleep in their own respective guest chairs. A lump formed in his throat as it settled in his bones what had happened.

| | |

After his Mom woke up they fought for what felt like hours. Eventually, it led to her crying as she said she didn’t know what to do. The pills Harley had taken at the party had been laced with fentanyl, and they had caused him to OD. The doctors had told her that he showed signs of having a long-term opioid addiction and would have to go through detox before he would be released. Harley had denied it vehemently until his Mom had told him to cut the bullshit.

In the time that it had taken him to recover he had missed graduation, and hadn’t been able to walk across the stage like the rest of his classmates. Harley pretended that it didn’t sting.

It was clear that his Mother didn’t know what to do with him, and Harley didn’t know what hurt worse, the fact that she looked at him differently now, or the fact that he had hurt her so deeply. It wasn’t until he went through the detox with gritted teeth and false promises that he would stay clean that he knew nobody really believed, that he was able to go home.

When Harley got to his room, he stopped short in the doorway and stared. All of his stuff had been packed up into bags that were sitting on his bed. He turned to look at his Mom, who was only a few feet behind him, with betrayal and fear. Was she kicking him out?

Instead of answering him right away, her eyes trained on a picture that was hung up in the hallway, just a little ways down from the entryway to Harley’s bedroom. It was a baby picture of him. His blonde hair was platinum then, but still tangled at the top of his head like a bird's nest, and he had a wide smile on his face that was completely toothless and all gums. He could see the tears welling in his Mom’s eyes as she turned back to face him.

“When you first mentioned that you wanted to take a gap year I got in touch with Tony. He gave me his number years ago and said to call if we ever needed him. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if the number was still going to work. I thought it might do you good to go and see him.” Her voice trembled then, “Lord knows he has more resources than I do.” A tear trickled down her cheek, but she continued. “I know you’re not happy here, baby. You haven’t been happy for a while, and I don’t...I don’t know what to do.”

Harley tried to let her words sink in, but they weren’t making any sense. “Since when does Tony give a shit about me?”

“Oh sweetie,” His Mom said, eyes sad. “He’s always been keeping tabs on you. He wants what’s best for you.” She seemed to gather herself together then, and her voice was less wobbly when she said, “I think a change of scenery will do you good. You have a flight to New York tomorrow morning, so you should probably get some rest.”

Harley balled his hands into fists at his sides and glared at the bags that had been packed for him. He was a problem who was being shipped off to New York because his Mom no longer knew how to handle him. He wasn’t sure what Tony fucking Stark was going to be able to do for him. The fact that he had been keeping up with Harley and how he was doing hit him as a shock because he genuinely thought that the man had forgotten about him, or at least, didn’t care for him anymore. He didn’t know how to handle the information that not only did Tony in fact care about him, but cared about him enough to open his home to him and want to help him.

“And what if I don’t want to go to New York?” Harley tested, because he always had to push.

His Mom only pursed her lips sadly. “It’s not negotiable.” She closed his door then, he guessed to give him a semblance of privacy. Not like it mattered, he was sure his room had been cleaned of all his stashes, and all his shit was packed up anyway.

Harley punched his pillow repeatedly, and screamed into it a few times before he ended up curled up in his bed and staring unblinkingly at the wall. If he was miserable in Tennessee he doubted New York was going to be much better.

Thanks for reading! This fic means so much to me and I can’t wait to hear the response to it, and post more :)

#Parkner #Drowning Lessons #Fic #Chapter One #Parkner Euphoria Fic #Graphic Drug Usage #Harley Keener #Peter Parker #Keenker #Parley #Harley/Peter #Harley Keener/Peter Parker

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sagedgeek · 3 years

Text

A Connection

Part 6 of The Whispers of Fate (A Rey Djarin fic)

Summary: Din’s latest acquired skills of parenthood are put to the test and Rey’s newfound awareness only grows worse... until a certain someone steps up to help.

Rating: Gen (Platonic)

Word Count: 5.4k

Previous Chapter ~ Masterlist

Rey wakes with a harsh startle, unable to catch her breath.

She was too hot… way too hot! She violently throws off her blankets to rid herself of the suffocating fabrics and pulls in a harsh gulp of air. She leans forward to press her sweaty palms to the cool metal surface of the hull and follows them with her head to rest her clammy forehead there as well.

All she can remember are the pulses of interweaving light sparking red and orange like the flames of a fire… then black and white, clashing and warring with echoes of banging metal and the cries of dying warriors. Then there was Mando, and then no Mando; like he had never been there to begin with. And the whole time, she remembers the dark and painful sting of the baby’s projection crying out to her. Loud, painful cries always accompanied by an aftershock of buzzing and tingles. She couldn’t sever the strings from her mind and whatever spell the baby had put upon her was jerking her around like a puppet and she hated it.

The voices seemed to follow her too, although now they were only quiet whispers that she couldn’t decipher, and no matter how hard she rubbed at her eyes or ears they wouldn’t go away.

She felt exhausted. Her eyes stung and her face ached like it did when she just had a good cry. All she wanted to do was go back to sleep and hope the dreams wouldn’t follow her, but she knew they would. She could still feel that buzz dragging down her spine and nestling itself into the back of her neck.

It wasn’t a foreign feeling, but it was so much more prominent than what she was used to. She’s always had a small little twinge at the back of her neck, and a tiny tickle in her tummy, but yesterday all of a sudden it just got worse than it’s ever been. She knows when it happened… but she doesn’t know why it did.

It had been a sudden rush of something when Mando got thrown down by that hairy monster, and she’d been frozen in place lying in the squishy dirt where he’d pushed her and the baby out of the way. She watched him, the confidence that Mando would fight his way out diminished into fear which spurred a gush of warm tingles shooting to the tips of her fingers, like they were suddenly encompassed by the lick of flames from a fire. Still, she couldn’t seem to make herself move. And then the baby… he did something, she know he did, because as soon as the beasts feet lifted from the ground she felt that annoying itch in her teeth quite literally shatter into a cacophony of darkness, fear, and pain; she could feel everything. She could feel the baby, she could feel Mando, she could feel the wooly monster hovering in the air, and she could feel the tiny lizards skittering away from the scene. Everything. And it was so loud, and it scared her.

She shudders at the memory, then recalls another event the day before just before she went down to bed. The same thing happened… when she touched the baby. Only that time, instead of the darkness and fear having an unspoken face, it took the form of that familiar scene she’s encountered far too many times in her sleep recently.

Was the baby bad? He didn’t seem bad… but whenever she was around him she unwillingly fell prey to a fear and pain that she knew didn’t belong to her… but maybe he was just scared and lonely just like she was before Mando found her, and maybe she could help make him feel safe and happy again. He didn’t have reason to be scared anymore. Not with Mando there to protect them…

Speaking of… where was he? All the times she’s woken up on the Razor Crest, he was right here. She looks around one more time, just to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the eye, but nope, he wasn’t there. He must still be up in the cockpit with the baby.

It makes her a bit nervous, being around the baby again, but maybe if she didn’t touch him just yet things would be okay. The whispers were still just a little too loud ad she didn’t want to make them worse again.

She pulls her usual blanket over her shoulders and creeps up the ladder. The door hisses open for her and she shuffles in with her head dropped, gaze staring at her small toes.

“Did I wake you?” Mando asks softly without turning around in his pilots chair.

Rey shakes her head even though she knew he couldn’t see her. She was too busy staring at the tiny green baby peering out at her from his pram with a small coo. He was awake now.

… and her teeth start itching again. She hates it.

She turns from the baby, pulling her shoulders up and rushes further into the cockpit, right up to Mando’s chair. She hopes maybe he’d let her sit with him again. It was nice… he had made all the whistling whispers go away before when he held her, and the universe was quiet when she was around him… even now it was just a little more bearable.

She doesn’t want to ask though… so she stands beside him with her blanket wrapped tightly around her as she waits for him to figure it out for himself.

Finally, he gives into his curiosity and turns his head to look down at her. His head tilts to the side in question as it usually did when it came to her.

“Are you hungry?”

She shakes her head.

“Are you hurt?”

She shakes her head again.

“Thirsty?”

It spawns the same result.

Suddenly she caught a whiff of frustration from Mando as he shifted slightly in his seat.

“What do you need then, kid?” And that time the frustration was clear in his tone, and she felt like standing down, but she was stubborn… and she was feeling lonely and sad again and Mando was the only solution she could think of. She didn’t want to have to be by herself anymore; not after having to do it for so long on Jakku.

So, she took a single step forward and snuck her hand out from the blanket and placed it on the metal piece of Mando’s leg, staring up at him with big eyes and doing her best to communicate her need for comfort through the thin air of the cabin so she wouldn’t have to open her mouth and make the words say what she needed them to, because really, she had no idea what she needed. Everything was just a big old warbled mess and she couldn’t make any sense of it anymore!

Mando shifts slightly and his left shoulder slumps while his right leg angles further inward, and she knows he’s hesitant and confused.

“You want to pilot?”

She shakes her head. He wasn’t getting it… and he probably wasn’t going to without her telling him what she wanted and she just can’t do that.

She didn’t want him getting more irritated either. So, she sighed, and her chin dropped to her chest. She turns to walk away, sad she wasn’t able to fulfill her goal.

She doesn’t get very far though. Mando grabs her by the arm and pulls her back to where she was, right beside his chair without looking. He presses a button on the console while he adjusts a few controls then slowly turns his chair to face her, giving her his full attention.

He’d never done that before…

His back hunched slightly, to be better aligned with her eye line, and his elbows rested precariously against the metal covering his thighs as he tilts his head down at her.

“Tell me what’s wrong ad’ika.”

It was a bit of a startling contrast from the rigid Mando she’s grown used to, and she ends up biting the inside of her cheek and turning her gaze to the ground when a sudden wave of shyness washed over her.

Then Mando grabs her hand with his warm leather fingers, giving it a small tug to pull it away from her lips, where she was obliviously soothing on two of her fingers. His other hand lifts and he gave her a soft chuck beneath her chin to force her gaze up at him.

“I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong, ad’ika.”

Rey doesn’t know what’s wrong either! And that’s the problem! All she knows is she feels small and sad, and so, so very alone and scared. And this time she knows these feelings now belong to her… these were her own fears and memories pushing against the seams of the tight knot she’d tied around them in her mind. It had acted like a dark void for so long, knowing that if she ever ventured down that path, she wouldn’t be able to find a way out. And because of it, now she could feel this unknown weight pulling her down deeper into that cavern of dark thoughts, obstructing any light that tries to shine through. It only got worse when she came into the cockpit, so now she knows it’s because of the baby, and-and she doesn’t know how to fix it.

Mando soothes a thumb just below her eye, along her cheek.

“Don’t cry,” he pleads with her, and just like that the dam breaks.

The tears fall as the pressure finally finds its release. She reaches her arms up at Mando, forgoing any care she might have had earlier in her desperation for that alluring relief of safety.

Next thing she knows, she’s being lifted off her feet and settled into a warm embrace. It’s instinctive what she does next, because she doesn’t ever remember doing it with anyone before. She wraps her arms securely around Mando’s waist and nestles her face right into the cowl of his cloak. The hard ridges of his beskar armor and helmet, poke at her, but it wasn’t enough of a nuisance to deter her actions. The soft fabric soaks up her tears and she curls in closer as her sobs begins to slowly die down.

“Is this what you wanted, kid?” Mando’s voice took on a foreign sense of worry and affection and a large hand rested on the flat of her back, nearly covering it entirely as he rubbed soothing circles up and down her spine, chasing away the weighty pinch of tingles that have collected there for what felt like so long.

Rey didn’t want to admit that this is exactly what she had wanted, but she shrugged anyway, pulling her arms tighter around his waist to soak up as much warmth and serenity that she could before Mando could change his mind.

“Hey.” The rough edge to Mando’s voice returns in a stern scold, and Rey pulls back quickly like the metal of his armor had burned her. She flinches away from him, thinking she’s done something wrong. “I thought I told you to leave that alone.”

Mando’s hand doesn’t leave her back, instead it negates his words as he tries pulling her back into the embrace, using his other to situate the blanket back around her shoulders so she was still nicely cocooned against him. It was confusing, so she turns to look at him, unsure of why he was scolding her so suddenly when his actions spoke the opposite.

He wasn’t looking at her, instead his helmet was turned to the side, and she followed his gaze. She sees the baby standing on the console, just a foot or so away from falling right into Mando’s lap beside her. He’s holding out something round and shiny towards her in his claw. He looked sad with his big eyes drawn together by the big wrinkle at the top of his head.

Mando reaches out to grab it from him, but the baby was quick and pulled it out of his reach, closer to his body, and shoots him a look. His ears pull back, and his big eyes narrow to accompany a threatening purr. Mando grunts, and the baby turns away from him, ears wilting once more and eyes growing big and wide as he holds out the little metal ball towards her again with a soft coo.

On impulse, she reaches out to take the offered gift. Then she remembers the night before and she pulls back with a jerk and she stares at the baby in horror of what she had almost done. She turns back into Mando, falling against him and smushing her arms protectively between their chests.

“She doesn’t want it kid,” Mando says gruffly, and it’s followed by a sad coo.

Rey feels bad, but she doesn’t want the tingles to get worse if she touches the baby again… not when they’ve finally gone away again.

It’s okay… safe.

Her body goes stiff at the warm sentiment echoing in her ears, and she sits up a little more.

Warmth… no more tingles… she could feel him. It wasn’t like the other whispers.

Safe.

The presence blotted out everything else, acting almost as a shield for her own mind and she didn’t realize how much everything else had been weighing down on her until it was gone. She sagged forward against Mando, eyes almost instantly going droopy as she was finally able to relax. She peeked her head out at the baby… the cold press of Mando’s chestplate chilling the heat of tears on her fac and she looked up at the baby. His little ears quirk up as his head tilts to the side.

“Baby?” She squeaks.

He gurgles at her with a happy smile and he extends his arm to offer the ball once more.

This time she takes it, slowly and tentatively, but she takes it, fingers brushing momentarily against one of his tiny claws. And instead of a wave of alarm and panic, it’s an even stronger sense of warmth and security that rushes over her, almost like the physical connection had solidified the mental one.

Safe… goes the whisper again.

Rey hums, tears instantly drying and she shivers as the residual tension flushes through her.

“Thank you,” she whispers, feeling the lulling pull of exhaustion.

She pulls the ball close to her face and rolls it around her fingers. The metal was chilly to the touch, but it wasn’t bad… and she shut her eyes,

Her sleep hadn’t been restful before, dreams filled with noise and chaos, but now things were quiet…

She feels the small tap of a tiny claw caressing her cheek. She blinks open to find the baby right near her face, perched on Mando’s opposite leg. Two more small taps of his claws, and then a rush of soundless relief and everything goes dark.

***

“Kid?” Din shakes her shoulder when her small body suddenly slumps against him like every muscle in her body had given out.

She doesn’t move.

“Kid!” He shakes her harder. “Rey.”

She snuffled, a small hum which evolved into a quiet chirp. Her head tilts just enough for him to spy the relaxed smile she wore. He turns towards the baby.

“What’d you do to her?” He asks it, eyes narrowing suspiciously beneath his helmet. He’s seen the uncanny power the small child was capable of.

He plucks him off his lap by the back of his tunic and drops him into the pram like he did earlier, and tilts Rey’s head to the side with a soft grip on her chin, just to double check nothing was amiss where the baby had touched her. He found nothing and he gently pries the small ball from her grip and screws it back onto the gear shift and stands from the chair. He adjusts Rey in his arms, grasping the blanket that had fallen off her shoulders and tucking it back around her as he hikes her up onto his hip like he’d seen other parents do with their small children. And he must admit it is much easier to carry her this way. Much more efficient.

He treks back down into the hull, toeing at the jumbled mess of blankets spread across the floor. He bends to pick up a handful of them and uses his elbow to press against the control panel and open the door to the small storage space he uses as his own sleeping quarters.

He uses his free arm to arrange the blankets along the hard metal, hoping this way she might sleep a little better than she had on the floor. He lays Rey down on the blankets gently and he tucks the blanket around her sides then brushes away the hair in her face. He stares for a couple moments, still warry and unsure with the circumstances, but she looked at peace and nothing seemed wrong. So, he stepped back and closed the door.

He hopes she wakes before they land. He doesn’t want to have to deal with the aftermath of leaving her behind on the Crest. By his luck, she’d probably wander off on her own in search of him and end up getting hurt or taken by a skanky slave trader. Nevarro was not a crowd for unaccompanied children.

Din forces himself to trudge back up into the cockpit. He’s met with a mischievous baby mouthing on the same metal ball, and the beep of a transmission on his dashboard.

“I thought I told you to quit that,” he mutters, pulling the child, yet again, from the control center and dropping him back in the pram. Mischievous, this one was. He falls into his chair with an irritated grunt and spins towards the controls, quickly flipping through several switches now that Nevarro can be clearly seen through the viewport of the Crest. As he gets the the ship back on course, he plays the transmission from Greef.

He grips the controls tightly, stretching the cramped muscles of his fingers as he adjusts his grasp. He knows he’ll regret what he plans to do.

***

Din stares at the baby as they both sit down in the hull of the ship while they wait for Rey to wake. They’d landed in the shipyard on Nevarro half an hour ago, and Din could feel himself growing antsy as the minutes passed and Rey still showed no signs of waking up no matter how much he tried to shake her awake.

“What did you do to her?” He mutters, turning his head down to the silent child. He looks back up at Din with a curious tilt of his head and quiet chirp.

Din sighs. He braces his elbows on his knees and laces his fingers together as he stares at the closed quarters Rey slept behind. Whatever spell the child had put her under, it was definitely doing its job.

“You’re hard to read, kid. Not sure whether to hurl you off this ship or thank you…” He sighs and drops his head. “I could tell she didn’t sleep well.”

The baby cooed at him, and he felt the tap of a tiny claw patting his leg. Din looked at him and the kid stared at his visor with his big eyes, and his ears twitched while his head tilted to the side with a curious chirp.

“How long will she stay like this?”

He doesn’t know why he asks, the baby couldn’t kriffing talk for Maker’s sake…

But then the child’s big eyes slowly close and his ears pull back slightly as his small face morphs into the same expression he saw him make just before Rey fell into her deep sleep.

His eyes snapped back open, then blinked slowly like he was in a daze and Din reached out a hand to steady the little guy when he wobbled precariously.

He heard a quiet rustle from the compartment Rey was sleeping in, and he glances between the baby and the storage bay.

There’s no way…

He stands slowly from his crate and moves towards the compartment. And when he opens the door, sure enough, there she was, awake and rubbing at her eyes as she yawned.

She looked up at him and squinted with a small smile.

“G’mornin’.”

“Good morning,” Mando huffed in astonished amusement. “Are you feeling better.”

Rey sits up and continues to rub her eyes as she nods. “Yeah… tired though.”

Din pauses, thinking this might be the perfect excuse to leave her behind on the ship without her fighting him every step of the way. “I have to leave with the kid. Why don’t you stay back and sleep?”

Rey perks up, because of course she does, and she shakes her head adamantly. She vaults herself out the container, rushing for the clothes she had folded neatly in the corner, then to the fresher to get changed out of her sleepwear.

Din sighed.

It was worth a shot.

He turns around to face the kid, moving towards one of the storage cabinets overhead to retrieve a couple ration bars for whenever Rey decided she was hungry during their trek. He didn’t know how long they would be away from the ship.

He would have quickly eaten one himself while she was getting ready, but the child was there. So, he would just have to wait until tonight after Rey went to sleep.

He does break off a small piece though and offer it to the child as a silent thanks. He gladly takes it, mouthing on the rubbery piece of food.

When Rey joins them, he holds out the rest of the bar towards her.

“Would you like to eat now, or later?”

“Now please,” she exclaims excitedly, reaching out to grab the ration greedily. She takes one large bite, chewing viciously at the portion in her mouth then holds it out towards Din to share.

He shakes his head slowly, a small smile growing beneath his helmet and he reaches out to push her offered hand back down then uses his hand to gently pet her hair in thanks.

“I can’t remove my helmet, remember?”

Rey frowns, opening her mouth to speak while she still chewed.

“Why not?”

“I’m a Mandalorian. This is the way.”

She swallows.

“Oh,” her brows furrow and she stares down at the bar in her hand. “So, if I want to be a Mandalorian I have to wear one?”

Din nods.

“Can I still eat?”

He chuckles under his breath.

“Yes, you would still eat. You just can’t remove your helmet in front of someone else. You would have to eat alone so no one sees your face.”

Rey stares up at him, completely crestfallen.

“No one can ever see my face?”

Din shuffles on his feet. He knows the answer, but the matter regards his willingness to disclose it.

“Well…” he hesitates. He did not want to discourage her form becoming a Mandalorian; she would grow to be a skilled fighter, he knows it. Yet, he wonders if it were the best choice to reveal everything so soon. There were still so many variables that could change…

“If you were to become a Mandalorian… then only I would be able to see your face.”

Rey squints at him and asks the ever-dreaded question of “why?”, and he sighs.

“You would be my… my clan…” You would be my child. I would be your father. We would be Aliit.

“Oh,” she muses, frown dissolving as she thought about it and took another bite of the bar. “So… does that mean I can see your face too?”

Again, Din shuffles awkwardly. “Eventually.”

Rey grins at him, a wide smile to show off her missing tooth. “Then we can eat together! You won’t have to eat alone no more.”

Din blinks, a sudden sting piercing his eyes. “Yes.”

His answer is clipped and short, but Rey doesn’t seem to mind.

He turns his back to her to lift the baby off the crate and into his floating pram. Then, without looking back at her, he gestures with his hand for her to follow him and she obeys, trotting up to his side near the hanger door as she gnawed away at the remains of her breakfast.

***

Rey follows along beside him as they navigate their way through Nevarro once more. She holds onto his cloak, and he’s glad she does judging by how distracted she becomes with the baby. Any prior fears or grudges she held against the creature long gone as she giggled and poked him. The child loved it, cooing and laughing and chasing after her hands when she’d reach in to tickle him.

She trips over her own feet a couple times but is otherwise able to remain upright.

And about halfway into their trek, she tugs on Din’s cape.

“Can I ask a question?”

He nods.

“Where are we going?”

He turns abruptly into a small alleyway, his cowl tightening around his neck as his cloak is pulled taught by Rey’s ill-preparedness to change directions so suddenly.

“We’re dropping the kid off,” he answers, helmet nodding to the side to gesture towards the pram following beside them.

“What?” Rey whines, “I thought he was gonna stay with us.”

Din doesn’t respond. He knows she won’t be happy with any answer he gives her and simply lets her protest continue in vain. They descend a small staircase and come upon a heavy door. He bangs on the metal with four loud knocks and then flexes his fingers to loosen the cramped muscles… he felt strange.

“Whoa!” Rey jumps back when the small droid pops out of the pillar beside the door.

Din holds up the card to be scanned and the door unlocks and opens with a hard screech. Out walk two storm troopers and Din can hear Rey’s audible gasp then immediately steps behind him. They stare at the baby then gesture for them to follow.

Rey grabs his hand and tries to pull him away from the door. “Mando,” she hisses, “those are storm troopers! They’re bad guys!” The baby voices his agreement with a disgruntled squeak, and the remaining storm trooper outside, waiting for them, stares at her.

Din wasn’t a fan of their piercing stare and he steps to stand between his gaze. Then he grabs Rey’s wrist and gives it an encouraging squeeze. He moves her hand to rest at the side of his belt, folding her fingers around the leather.

“Stay close,” he orders, and leads them through the dark threshold.

Rey watches the trooper that follows them in. She hangs tight to Mando’s belt

“Easy with that,” Mando grumbles, and Rey turns her head quickly to see the storm trooper in front grab the baby’s pram.

“You take it easy,” the trooper snaps back, walking even faster and pulling the baby even further from them.

Rey doesn’t think when she does it, she just senses the sudden wave of distress. She lets go of Mando’s belt, surging forward to grab the pram to try and yank it out of the troopers grasp. “Let go!” She grunts, tugging even harder.

“Hey!” The trooper rounds on her, pulling out a blaster aimed right at her head.

It all happened so fast she has to question if it actually happened. Mando grabbed her arm and hauled her out of the way so quickly it hurt her shoulder. He didn’t let go as she was shoved behind him. His blaster was already lifted, standing off against the trooper.

“Keep that brat in check Mando,” the trooper eventually muttered, slowly lowering his weapon. Mando follows his lead and soon they’re continuing down the hall once more, but now Mando had a tight grip on her arm.

He was mad at her…

She frowns and gives a small tug to try and loosen his tight grip, but he doesn’t budge.

“Yes!”

They enter a large room and Rey cranes her head to see the owner of the excited voice. It was an old man with white hair… she didn’t like him.

“Yes, yes, yes!” He approaches the cradle as she and Mando come to a stop just behind it. Then a guy with glasses rushes up to join the old man and they both stare down at the baby.

Rey wants to jump in front of him to protect him from the two strangers, but Mando must have sensed her plan because his grip tightens even more around her arm and he tugs her even further behind him. It twisted his arm in a weird way, but he didn’t seem to care. Now she couldn’t see what they were doing, but she heard the baby make a sad noise and her skin tickled with a wave of panic.

“Very healthy. Yes.”

She frowns. She wanted to know what was going on! The tingles were just getting worse and worse and she knew that the baby was scared. She tried tugging out of Mando’s grip again, but he didn’t let up.

“Your reputation was not unwarranted.”

“How many fobs did you give out?”

“This asset was of extreme importance to me. I had to ensure its delivery…”

Rey shivers, mouth going dry as she peeks out to see the old man walking away from them, headed for a long table in the middle of the room.

“…but to the winner goes the spoils.”

Mando follows him slowly, and Rey is tugged along behind him. She didn’t want to leave the baby alone, but Mando was just leaving him there! She didn’t know what to do.

She saw the weird man with the glasses grabbed onto the cradle and pull him away. Rey gasped and the baby looked at her with a fearful whine. He was scared.

She revived her effort to pull away, tugging with an angry fervor and whined with an angry grunt when the effort proved fruitless.

“Now who is this?”

She feels Mando go rigid and slowly his grip on her arm loosens enough for her to step out from behind him. She’s sure to use her best glare as she comes into view, and the old man chuckles. She wasn’t going to be scared of him.

“I have to say, I did not expect a man of your distinction to be caring for a child.”

Rey looks between the old man and Mando to determine the best opportunity to bolt to the baby and save him from the mean old man.

She forgot how good Mando’s reflexes were though. As soon as she jumped into action he grabbed the back of her tunic. She fought him, the growing desperation of the baby’s tenor urges her to act.

“Let me go!” She tries reaching back behind her head to slap at his hand. When that doesn’t work she twists and pulls, which only ends up tangling her in her own clothes.

Nothing was working and the baby was leaving now. He stares at her, looking sad… and Rey slumps with defeat. She failed. She failed to protect her new friend.

“He’s scared,” she pleaded. “Mando don’t make him go. He doesn’t wanna go with them. Please.”

She quiets when she sees the angry scowl the old man shoots towards Mando. “How unprofessional, bringing a child of this disposition to such a significant business dealing. I expected more from a man of your reputation.”

Mando didn’t move or say a word for a long time. Rey stares at him with tears growing in her eyes. She refused to cry in front of these people. So, she moves forward to hug his waist in a last ditch effort to convince him not to leave her new friend behind.

But he ignores her and reaches up to close the canister holding his hefty payment. It seals with a hiss and a click and he lifts it from the table then grabs her wrist with his other hand, prying her off him.

“Couldn’t find a sitter.”

And with a shrug Mando turns, walking past the troopers, and headed for the exit. Leaving the baby alone in the hands of these people with the dark hearts.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfic #rey djarin #din djarin #dad!din #grogu #din is a softie at heart #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian adopts rey #Rey Skywalker #rey of jakku #rey and mando #rey and grogu #force sensitive rey #grogu and rey as siblings #star wars fanfiction

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xxdragonwriterxx · 4 years

Text

🔥The Angelus Mortis (1/2)🔥

A/N: Hey everyone, I’m back! I apologize for the really long wait but I wanted to try something different where, instead of posting one story at a time as soon as I finish it, I wrote five stories and then I went back and edited them in the order I wrote them. It took so long because I’ve been writing a ton in the past week. Hopefully I can make up for the long wait by giving you guys several stories in the next few days or so. Thank you so much for the support on “Scalding”, I was not expecting it but it makes my really happy to know you guys liked it ❤️. Now, without further ado, here is my next Levi x Reader fic!

Warning: This one is super long so I actually had to split it up into two parts so it wouldn’t be such a huge pill to swallow. I will post the next chapter asap though, so keep an eye out for part two!

Summary: Erwin finds a dangerous assassin in the Underground while Levi is on a solo mission.

~~~

Erwin sighed and rubbed his temples to try to dispel the headache that was already building there, the message from the Military Police on his desk, mocking him. He glared at it, his eyes scanning over the words again.

Gods they were so incapable. He would never voice his frustrations aloud, but he wished, for once, they could deal with their own issues. Fight their own battles without having to drag the Survey Corps back to do all of the hard work for them.

Despite his annoyance, Erwin would not have normally been so frustrated, but this situation was different than usual due to the fact that Captain Levi was gone from the base. He had been sent off on a solo mission to get some more information for Erwin on the movements of the violent gangsters that were fighting with one of the Military Police branches.

“What’s today’s headache about?” The loud, chipper voice of his girlfriend, Hanji, made him look up and grunt at her and the stack of finished reports she held in her arms.

“Oh, I just received a message from the Commander of the Military Police. There is a dangerous assassin who has been cutting down the MP’s that venture into the Underground. Apparently, this guy is impossible to catch and incredibly ruthless, known to leave pieces of the soldiers around for the officers to find later. They want us to go down there and find them, put an end to them before they wipe out an entire regiment.”

Hanji leaned her hip against Erwin’s desk and raised her eyebrow at her partner as she listened to the gruesome things the assassin had done.

“Holy shit…, who are you going to send? Levi is on that solo mission,” Hanji said.

“Yeah that’s the problem,” Erwin responded. “I’m going to have to be the one to go. I’m not going to send someone who will lose their life on this mission. There is no need to waste lives on something as trivial as catching this guy. Also, if he’s impossible to catch, the only one other than me who has enough experience with the ODM gear to navigate the Underground would be Levi, who you pointed out is not here at the moment.”

“Well, I’m coming with you then,” Hanji said. “Someone will need to watch your back, and be there to bring you back to the surface if you end up getting your ass handed to you.”

Erwin smiled at her as he shook his head.

“I’m not going to lose this fight.”

“Oh ho ho, tough guy! Such confidence, I can’t wait to watch your ass hit the ground when that assassin shows you a couple of choice moves,” Hanji chortled.

“Your obsession with my ass is noted. Now go get ready, we are leaving in an hour,” Erwin said, his eyes twinkling as he teased her.

Hanji’s laughter bounced around the halls as she exited his office to pack her things and prepare for the trip to the Underground.

__________________________

Levi grumbled lowly to himself as he nursed a glass of whiskey, his silver eyes appraising the other people in the bar in annoyance. The Captain was not normally one to drink, especially back at the base, but after having to deal with some of the most annoying people on the planet, he felt as if he deserved to relax a little.

At least neither Erwin nor Hanji were with him. That was one of the only reasons he was able to convince himself to go into the old bar; not having to worry about Erwin pressuring him to loosen up, or Hanji trying to wrestle secrets about his life out of him while he was drunk.

Levi took a sip from his glass. The alcohol slid down his throat, leaving a fiery trail in its wake to settle in his stomach, the warmth spreading throughout his gut. The whiskey was starting to loosen the headache that was holding his skull captive, allowing the usually stoic Captain to settle a bit more in his seat, enjoying the relative silence of the dingy establishment.

All day he had been forced to fight with violent gangsters, helping one of the Military Police branches arrest the most aggressive ones and scaring away the others. The whole day had been a loud, frustrating, exhausting experience, making Levi almost miss his normal expeditions outside the walls with the Titans. At least it was his last day in this shit hole, finally able to return to the base in the morning now that all of the criminals had been successfully rounded up.

Thinking about the men and women he had helped put away that day, combined with the alcohol that was circulating through his system, made his mind stray back to memories from his Underground days. For the most part, he tried to forget about his past, thoughts about his time down there, only bringing up bitter emotions. It was like reliving a nightmare over and over again.

He huffed as he tried to lead his train of thought elsewhere to no avail, his mind flooding with images from his childhood, his struggle as he and his friends fought for survival. His mind even dragged up a foggy image of a beautiful face from the dregs of his past before he quickly diverted his train of thought, refusing to think about that face, that loving smile.

Levi didn’t know if he was lucky or unlucky when his spiraling thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a woman. She wearing a severe red dress that pushed her cleavage up so her breasts were almost spilling out over the top, her lips pursed as she sat herself across from him.

Levi refrained from groaning aloud in frustration, wanting absolutely nothing to do with the woman in front of him, but also recognizing that a tiny part of him was grateful for her intrusion, distracting him from sinking further into the dark memories of his past. Now, he just had to figure out how to shrug this woman off as she leaned forward, so obviously trying to get into his pants he was surprised there was not a ‘FUCK ME’ sign strapped to her chest.

Levi scowled and pulled away from her when she went to touch his arm. To his annoyance, the woman laughed instead of moving away, her eyes sparkling with barely disguised lust as she looked him up and down.

“Look, I’m not interested,” Levi said bluntly.

“Come on, handsome, it won’t hurt for you to relax, why don’t we ditch this joint?” the woman purred.

Levi rolled his eyes so hard he was worried he’d strained something. The situation reminded him of all of the times Hanji had tried to set him up, ignoring his protests and forcing him to meet women from all walks of life despite the fact that he turned them all down without a second thought. It bothered him to no end, not only because it was annoying as hell, but also because there was only one person he had ever given his heart to, and she was gone. Nobody could ever replace her, it didn’t matter that she wasn't around to love him anymore, he refused to be with anyone else.

He figured some people would probably see this as childish, but he didn’t care. To him, he didn’t have a heart left to give, the organ dying with his lost love all those years ago.

“Not interested.”

The woman pouted but moved closer still, practically leaning into him despite his grimace of disgust.

“You don’t mean that, baby, you look like you could use a good time. Here, let me help you. I know exactly how to make you feel better. Have you ever felt the stars? Because you’re about to…,” the woman said boldly, her hand slowly drifting downward.

Levi stood up so fast he almost knocked the table over. His glare was fierce as he slammed his empty whiskey glass on the table. Piercing her with his sharp gaze, Levi snarled lowly at her.

“Not. Interested.”

Grabbing his cloak, Levi stormed out of the bar in even worse spirits than before, memories of the face that haunted his dreams floating across his mind to tease at the edges of his broken heart. Growling to himself, Levi was only grateful that he was leaving in the morning as his feet carried him back to the shitty inn he was staying in for the duration of the mission.

____________________________

This was a bad idea. Scratch that, this was a horrible idea. Erwin laid on the filthy street of the Underground, hidden in the shadows of an alleyway, holding his hand to his shoulder where a dagger was lodged, gritting his teeth as he fought back the bile that rose in his throat at the pain swelling in his body.

He had no idea where Hanji was, the pair having been separated when they were attacked out of nowhere. Erwin realized now as he lay in the dirt that he had severely underestimated this man, the assassin who got hired to kill the most powerful soldiers and officers in the military. He had read about his strength, but even with that information, he had not expected the fight to be so overwhelming.

This man was dangerous. Very dangerous. Erwin knew from the reports that the killer worked alone, using wit and cold, calculated cunning to attack in ways that not even the veteran soldiers had seen before.

Erwin’s thoughts were suddenly cut short when he heard a pained shriek, one he immediately knew to be Hanji, and watched in horror as a figure slowly came around the corner, holding the limp form of his comrade in his grip.

Hanji let out another pained noise as the figure threw her right at Erwin, the Squad Leader hitting her Commander, causing them both to grunt. Looking down, Erwin saw that Hanji had a long gash down her side, but it didn’t look very deep and she didn’t seem to have any more wounds other than some bruising. A warning.

Erwin managed to hide his nearly imperceptible sigh of relief at the thought that this assassin was considering sparing them if they only left him alone. He knew that he could never leave the assassin alone forever, but if it gave them the chance to get to safety, he could come back another time with reinforcements. It was only one man. A very powerful man, but a man nonetheless, he wasn’t invincible.

Forcing down the whimper that bubbled in his throat when Hanji moved against his shoulder, shifting the blade in his flesh, Erwin locked his eyes on the figure that was still watching them, the darkness of the alley covering any distinguishable features. The only thing Erwin was able to make out was that the figure looked smaller than he imagined. But the seasoned Commander wasn’t stupid enough to determine his threat level based on size, not when one of his best friends was Levi Ackerman, one of the shortest yet deadliest men alive.

The pair tensed when the figure suddenly started towards them, his arm reaching back to procure a wickedly sharp sword from underneath his black cloak. Erwin’s mind scrambled for a plan but he came up blank, his mind ceasing all thoughts when the figure suddenly charged them, sword held aloft.

Erwin and Hanji closed their eyes, clutching each other as the killer came for them, both of them waiting for the quick sting of pain before death, waiting for their remains to be scattered around the Underground like Easter eggs for their friends to find when they came back to their empty offices and cold beds.

Erwin sucked in a breath when he felt the cold, harsh tip of the sword touch his throat but slowly opened his eyes after a moment when the feeling stayed there, the blade hovering just above his delicate wind pipe.

From this distance, Erwin could tell that the assassin was wearing a mask in the shape of a wolf over his face, his body poised to strike as he hovered over the pair of senior officers, his breathing labored.

“Are you Commander Erwin?” The man suddenly asked, the voice deep and distorted thanks to the mask.

Erwin contemplated lying for a second, but knew he didn’t really have a choice in the matter when the man pressed the tip of their blade a little bit harder against his flesh, even causing a pinprick of blood to bubble up from under the steel point.

“Yes.”

The man hesitated for a moment. It was almost as if he were remembering something, Erwin’s name bringing up memories from another time. The Commander had no fucking clue what that could mean for them, but he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to find out.

The assassin opened his mouth to say something when all of a sudden, several ropes were thrown from the darkness, catching the killer by surprise. He leaped out of the way, dodging the ropes at a speed that could only be rivaled by Captain Levi, almost making it out onto the street before he ran headfirst into a trap of chains, the metal clinking as it wrapped around his lithe form and tightened, forcing his arms to snap to his sides and his legs to buckle.

Erwin and Hanji scrambled into a standing position and smiled in joyful surprise as a familiar Mike, Nanaba, and Moblit rounded the corner. Erwin sighed in relief and Hanji let loose a little cheer as the three other veteran officers surrounded their quarry. The pair had no idea how their friends had found them or even why they had thought to follow them, but neither cared as relief filled their systems.

The assassin snarled at them and continued to struggle against their bounds, his mask making the words coming from his mouth sound nearly animalistic in nature.

“Fuck you!” The assassin roared, somehow finding the energy to fight harder as the veterans leaned down to detain the criminal. The soldiers ignored the assassin as he continued spewing profanities while they made their way towards the stairs, their mission complete.

___________________________

Erwin blinked in utter shock as he stared at the assassin through the bars of the cell they had shoved him in underneath the Survey Corps HQ.

Only, it wasn’t a him.

Erwin could only gawk as the reality of the situation settled in, his eyes roving over the assassin’s (h/l) (h/c) hair, feminine curves, and beautifully angled face. The strongest assassin in the Underground, the one that had been dubbed The Angelus Mortis, The Angel of Death, was a woman.

He never doubted that women were strong, he trained and fought beside a whole legion of strong, battleworn women that could take down anyone in a heartbeat any day. But this woman had come from the Underground. While not impossible to gain strength in the Underground, most women, and many men for that matter, that lived in that cesspool merely ended up rotting away, their legs destroyed by the lack of sunlight and their bodies wracked with disease. Even if a woman managed to avoid the severe malnourishment, most of them were forced into brothels to be used by the wealthy merchants and nobles who decided to flaunt their wealth in the poorest part of their cities.

But this woman had fought. She had fought like an animal, a wolf, as her mask had suggested. She had used her impressive intelligence and strategic mind to avoid getting caught, all while clawing her way to the top of the food chain, making herself such a feared symbol that nobody would touch her. She was cold and vicious but not at all feral, her mind sharp and her eyes clear as she stared right back at the giant blonde Commander, her gaze never drifting from his.

Erwin leaned back as he appraised her. He could tell that despite her strength, her body was severely malnourished and neglected, the lack of proper food and water paired with the intense physical labor she pushed herself through every day, rendered her body weak and thin. Erwin could tell right away that if she were given the proper commodities and nursed back to health, she would be stunning and very powerful.

He had to think about this carefully. He had sent in an after action report to the MP’s telling them that the Survey Corps had done their dirty work for them, and they had already responded with a message telling him to bring her to one of their prison cells the next morning to be tortured to death for her crimes. He knew she probably deserved a punishment like that, she had killed a lot of soldiers, but he felt a strange tugging on his heart, like he knew, deep down, that there was more to her story, something that would make her worth much more than a street rat to be thrown to the dogs.

He had no idea why but he wanted her in the Survey Corps. He knew that she was dangerous, knew that most people would call her insane and then call him insane if he brought this up. But he felt something, like he knew that if he didn’t get her into the military, they would be losing something priceless.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like a perverted fuck or are you going to tell me when I’m being taken away?”

Erwin’s eyes snapped to hers from where they had drifted to her ribs, which were jutting out of her chest prominently.

“I knew you were going to be testy, sassy even, maybe downright insane, but I didn’t expect someone so close to death to be so confident,” Erwin said, a smirk teasing the corner of his lips.

The assassin rolled her eyes.

“I’m from the Underground, idiot, death is always a constant companion on your shoulder. I’m not scared of death, scared of the torture before death, maybe, if I decide I care enough, but not of death.”

“Is that why you killed all of those people? Because death is your friend?” Erwin asked.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“That is what you said.”

“I only said it is something I am used to, the constant threat of death and suffering, not that I enjoy it. Death is not my friend,” She growled with a sharp glare in his direction.

“So why did you kill all of those soldiers? Besides being hired to, I mean. I’d understand your motivations a little more if you had started killing other people who lived in the Underground, to give yourself an advantage, but you chose soldiers.”

The assassin was silent for a minute, breaking his gaze for the first time since he had come down to see her. He could’ve sworn her gaze clouded over slightly, as if she were remembering painful memories, but the fog in her gaze was gone as quickly as it appeared, making Erwin question whether it was even there to begin with.

“That’s personal,” she said after a heavy pause.

“They didn’t compliment your outfit?” Erwin teased, flashing a smile in her direction when she snarled at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Alright fine,” Erwin said. “Why did you ask about me? About my name?”

“That’s personal too.”

“Well you’ve got to answer at least some of my questions.”

“Why should I care about you and your inquiries?” She asked, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms in a way that reminded Erwin so much of Levi he almost smiled.

“Because it might guarantee you your life,” Erwin said.

“Who says I care about living?”

Erwin was silent for a moment this time as he scanned her with his bright blue eyes again, really taking her in. She was something, he could say that. She was unlike anyone he had ever met before. Even Levi, with his similar distrusting nature and sharp, piercing gaze was never this witty, never this sassy.

“I say you do,” Erwin said.

“Oh really? And what makes you the authority on that?”

“Nothing. You are the authority on yourself, on your emotions and instincts. I am merely an observer in this matter. I can see it in your eyes, I can read it in your posture and spot it even in the methods of your actions. In why you became an assassin, and the best one at that.”

She stayed quiet, watching him.

“I know you want to live. I don’t know anything about the personal shit that went down between you and the Military Police but I’m assuming that whatever it was was crippling, which was why you went to such drastic measures to make it to the top, to do whatever it took to make them hurt and scream. Why you never even attempted to hide the bodies. I know some people claim it was because you are cocky or egotistical, but I know better.”

Erwin leaned forward, his eyes glinting in the dull golden light of the lantern hanging on the wall. The assassin again said nothing but she never stopped watching him, playing into this game they had started, dancing on hot coals.

“Just from the fact that you did all of that. That you chose to fight back against your grief rather than succumb to it, rotting away in a forgettable corner of the Underground, shows me that you want to live. That you want to give yourself a purpose to cover up whatever loss you have felt in the past, and use it to fuel your own future.”

The assassin’s eyes narrowed on him as she pushed away from the stone wall of the cell. “I’m impressed.”

“Not quite so much of an idiot anymore, right?”

She glared at him and the smirk that spread across his face.

“(Y/N).”

“What?”

“My name is (Y/N).”

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

Text

“All you have to do is ask” Chapter 8 - [Reid x Reader]

previous chapter // series index // next chapter

Summary: After their weekend together, Reader and Dr. Reid have very different ideas on what the next step is. But all of that will have to wait because there’s a serial arsonist in D.C. who has been choosing victims that appear too random.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x (Female) Reader

Rating: Mature

Category: Angst. Just all the angst. There is a moment of smut...but it’s angsty smut.

Content Warnings: The usual criminal minds talk of m*rder and mayhem. Mentioned of drug addiction. Vaginal penetration. Unprotected sex. And there is a character that gets seriously injured, but is ultimately fine.

Word Count: 6.6k for Chapter 8

A/n: There is a quote by Jane Austen that says, “All my characters shall have, after a bit of trouble, all that they desire.” That’s my philosophy on writing. I know this isn’t what everyone signed up for when they started reading a sub!Spencer fic. This my hurt you heart, but I promise you the part of Chapter 9 that mends it is already written. If you want to wait to read this until Chapter 9 comes out to read this, I understand. The earliest it will be out is tomorrow, the latest is Friday.

-- Chapter 8 – “Because I love you” --

Spencer had been reluctant for me to go home last night, but eventually relented when I pointed out that I couldn’t very well show up to work in what I was wearing when I left yesterday. He had kissed me so softly before I left that it made me ache. Everything felt so different, but everything was the same.

The next morning, I was getting ready when I heard my phone ding with a text message. I smiled when I saw Spencer’s name.

“Open your door.”

Not a second later I heard a knock on my door. My eyebrows drew together as I crossed the living room, throwing the door open to see a very chipper Dr. Spencer Reid standing on the other side.

“Hi,” he said softly, smiling at me.

“Hi?” I laughed; I really couldn’t help it. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

“I brought you this.” I noticed the cups in his hand then, both from the coffee shop I showed him yesterday. “Even though it felt wrong to order it,” he teased.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, taking my iced coffee from him before I waved him into my apartment. Iced coffee was an abomination to my Dr. Reid. “You only hate it because you haven’t tried it.”

He moved to sit on my couch, taking a sip of his own drink. “And I will continue to hate it without having tried it.”

“Brat,” I muttered, moving to stand in front of him. I glanced at the clock on the wall. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, but it’s 6:45 in the morning. You were going to see me in, what, an hour anyway?” How early did he have to get up to do this?

His bottom lip stuck out in a slight pout. “Are you upset that I came by?”

My nervous, darling boy. “Never, Doc.” I turned to go back into my room to finish getting ready.

“I also thought we should talk about what we’re going to do today,” he called from the living room.

Huh? “What do you mean?” I picked out a pair of ankle boots from my closet that would match with my outfit. “Do we have a new case?”

“Probably,” he said, scaring the shit out of me. I didn’t realize he’d gotten up and come into my bedroom.

“Jesus, Spencer,” I laughed, my hand over my heart. “Warn a girl next time, alright?” I finished putting on my shoes, checking my hair and makeup in the mirror a final time before I turned to walk back into the living room. “So, we need to talk about the fact that we ‘probably’ have a case?”

“No,” he said, reaching out to grab my elbow, stilling my movements. “I wanted to talk about us. And what we’re going to tell the team.”

Oh no. “Tell the team…about what?” I hedged.

Spencer's eyebrows came together in confusion. "…About us?”

“…Why would we tell the team?” My question sounded hollow in my own ears.

My darling, darling boy looked confused for a second. “Well, its protocol. We’re on the same team. And…” he swallowed thickly. “I-I thought that…”

I felt my heart splinter into a million pieces. "Spencer," I began quietly. "I don't know if we…I'm not sure if that’s the best idea.”

“What do you mean?” He looked so crestfallen, so fucking hurt that I could barely breathe. "I thought after last weekend that..." he trailed off. He looked so young in that moment like he really was a small boy afraid that someone he cared about would leave him. "I thought you wanted to be with me."

His sadness was a punch to my gut. “Spencer,” I said gently. “It is not that. It’s not that at all.” I took a step towards him, reaching out to place my hand on his arm. “I just…you’ve never been involved in this sort of relationship before. There are a lot of high emotions that come with this-“

“What are you saying?” he interrupted, his voice hard.

“I’m saying that we need to give this time before you make any sort of decision about us other than our established BDSM relationship.” He jerked his arm away from me. Don’t do this to me, baby. "Spence, plenty of people have a relationship within a dom/sub relationship. I have! It can work. But…” I trailed off.

“But what, y/n?” His eyes were cold. They looked so wrong. My boy was supposed to have warm amber eyes. Not these flat brown eyes that made my heart feel hollow.

“I’m saying that it’s only been one weekend. And I need you to be sure. We need to be sure about each other.”

“So, you aren’t sure?” He took a step towards me, crowding my space. “You seemed pretty fucking sure last night.” Spencer looked up at the ceiling, running his hand through his hair. “How can you stand here and say you aren’t sure after what we did together last night?!”

Tears pricked in the corners of my eyes. “It was just sex, Spencer.” Liar.

He backed away from me, a look of disgust on his face. “I’ve asked you once before not to lie to me, y/n. You know that what we did last night was a whole lot more than ‘just sex’ or ‘fucking.’ You can lie to yourself about it, but don’t you dare fucking lie to me!”

“Then what was it, Spencer?” My anger matched his own, my hands were shaking so hard I had to ball them into fists at my sides.

Spencer turned then, taking several steps until he was in front of me again. His hand moved up to the left side of my face; he ran his thumb over the cupid’s bow of my mouth. “You know what it was, y/n.” His head tilted down while his thumb ran over my bottom lip. “I made love to you last night. You’re hiding, and I don’t understand why. But please. You promised you wouldn’t regret it. Do you?” His eyes searched my face frantically.

“Not for an instant, Spencer.” My eyes were starting to brim over with emotion.

“Then don’t push me away, baby. I know you’re scared.” He moved to close the few inches that separated us, his lips brushing over mine softly, sending a tingle down my entire body.

“I’m not pushing you away,” I said against his mouth. “I just…Can we give it time?” He pulled back from me, his hand dropping from my face, leaving me cold. “Spencer, you’ve never done this before, you went through a lot of high emotions this weekend… that might have affected how you think you’re feeling.”

Spencer gave a jerk, abruptly pulling completely away from me. “I know exactly how I fucking feel.” His words were low and harsh. Without looking back at me he stormed out of my apartment.

The tears didn’t come until I saw he had left his coffee cup behind.

I was only 15 minutes late for work, and I think I had fixed my face enough so that it didn't look like I had been crying. The team was already in the conference room when I arrived. I darted inside, mumbling my apologies.

“Did you sleep in,” Morgan teased from beside me.

I just shot him an obviously fake glare. “Maybe.”

That seemed to ease the tension in the room…except the tension that was coming from the man sitting in between JJ and Morgan, the man refusing to look at me.

My heart broke more every single second he ignored me. But this is what I deserve.

Garcia walked into the room then, iPads and casefiles in hand. “Welcome back, crimefighters. We’re coming in hot today but luckily we’re staying close to home!” She passed out the iPads to all of us, save my boy who got a paper file, with a huge smile on her face. “There’s a serial arsonist right here in D.C.!”

JJ laughed. “That’s a weird thing to sound happy about, Penelope.”

“And we have a problem,” Hotch said, walking into the room and shutting the door.

“Figures,” Morgan muttered. “We get a weekend off and come back to a problem.”

Garcia smiled at him before turning to Hotch. “A problem with what, Sir? I didn’t see any problems in the files. Other than murder…and destruction of property…Just general icky-ness.”

Hotch sighed, gesturing for her to put the photos on the monitor. "Over the past month, there have been three fires in Dupont Circle. So far 6 people have died. He seems to be targeting married couples with no children or pets."

“It’s not uncommon for arsonists to avoid places with pets,” Morgan mused.

“What is uncommon is how random the victims are. Garcia?” Hotch motioned for her to go on.

"Right, well D.C. Police didn't even realize the fires were connected at first. In the first two fires, they initially couldn't find the origin point where the fire started."

“What?” I asked. “How can the unsub be hiding that?”

“People can hide lots of things.” That comment came from my boy. I looked over at him, but he still refused to meet my eyes.

“That they can, Doc.”

“That’s all the information we have Sir,” Penelope said to Hotch. “I’m not sure what the problem is.”

"The victims are too random, which is why I wanted to look them over before we officially accepted the case. I think I've found his pattern. Garcia," he said, shifting his focus to her. "Can you cross-reference the names of all the victims against BAU cases?"

As Garcia sat down and started typing Morgan turned to our unit chief. “What are you thinking here, Hotch?”

“I recognized one of the victims of the second fire. We questioned him years ago. Gideon and I were the ones that brought him in. There was a string of rapes in the Washington Highlands area.” Hotch crossed his arms over his chest. “We thought he looked good for it, but he had a solid alibi. His wife said she with him all night. The case was never solved.”

“Oh my god,” Garcia gasped out, her eyes wide. “We’ve brought all three male victims in for questioning on different cases over the years.”

“And there’s our problem. You’d either have to be a member of D.C. police or someone in the Bureau to know that they had been questioned.”

Fuck me running. “So, we have a serial arsonist that might be able to know every move we make as we make it?”

This day just keeps getting better and better.

After hours of speaking with the D.C. fire departments and working with local police, Derek and Prentiss made a discovery when they examined the crime scenes.

“I’m telling you Hotch," Morgan's voice rang out from the phone held in our unit chief's hand. "The scene has been tampered with. The reason they had a hard time finding the ignition point is because someone went to a hell of a lot of trouble to cover it up after the fact."

“That confirms our theory that the unsub is a member of law enforcement or the fire department,” Spencer chimed in.

Rossi came over to the table, his hands in his pockets, a worried look on his lined face. "Being a member of the fire department fits better if you're trying to hide the ignition point," he began. "But a firefighter wouldn't have access to the files on who was questioned.

Derek made a noise of agreement. “I think we might be looking at a team.”

“That would make sense,” I said, looking up from the files on the round table. “No firefighter showed up at all 3 fires. We know he’s organized, but arsonists are compulsive. He would have to be nearby to watch it all burn.”

“You think maybe an off-duty cop or firefighter was in the crowd,” Spencer said, finally, finally, finally meeting my eyes for the first time that day. His eyes were lit with excitement over figuring a puzzle out. “No one would notice a person like that being at all 3 fires. And nobody would notice if a firefighter or cop asked to come take a look once the fire was out.”

I nodded. “Correct again, Doc.”

His gaze shuttered at that, his jaw locking, then he turned his back to me.

“We’re gonna have to re-interview all the firefighters and D.C. police,” Hotch said with a sigh. “He’s one of them.”

“I can ask Will if he’ll come in. A lot of the cops in his prescient have also worked Dupont Circle in the past. Maybe he can help us narrow it down,” JJ chimed in.

Hotch nodded. “Tomorrow. We all need to go home tonight. D.C. police are on high alert. We’re not going to catch him tonight. Get some rest.”

With that dismissal, the team disbanded from the conference room.

I tried to catch him, but my boy was gone before I even got back to my desk.

“Hey, Spence. It’s me again. I…I know that you probably don’t want to talk to me. You also probably don’t want me leaving you voicemails. You hate voicemails. But…I’m just worried about you and I want to know that you’re okay. Please call me back.”

"Hey, Doc. I'm just checking on you again. Please call me back."

“Spencer, please don’t do this to me. I’m sorry.”

The clock above my TV said that it was almost midnight, but I wasn’t aware of any time passing. My eyes were swollen from crying but the rest of my body felt numb. I had been calling and texting Spencer for hours with no reply. I couldn’t believe that he would do this to me…especially after what I told him yesterday.

It’s strange how this weekend already feels like it was years ago. The best two days of my life…gone. Maybe my ex was right...maybe I’m not worth it.

My thoughts were interrupted by a banging on my door that was so loud and so sudden I almost jumped out of my skin.

Having every intention of just ignoring whoever it was, I didn't move to get up. But then the banging got louder.

I quickly scrambled to my gun safe, putting my thumb against the sensor to unlock it. Gun in hand, I moved towards the door. The banging was constant now, and so forceful I was worried my door would fly off the hinges.

I looked through the peephole in my door, my gun gripped in my right hand. I saw him at the same time he spoke. “Y/n,” Spencer called, pounding on my door. “Let me in!”

I put my gun down and had the lock off and the door open in seconds. "Spencer, what in the ever-loving fu-“

My words were cut off because he pushed through the door, entering my apartment without even looking at me. This feels familiar. I turned to face my boy, angry but in a different way than I had seen him before. “What are you doing here, Doc?”

He gave a bitter smile at that. “We’ve been here before. Don’t call me Doc right now.” Spencer shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer your messages. At first, I was ignoring you, but then I…went somewhere where I couldn’t have my phone.”

His words felt like an ice pick in my heart. “You were ignoring me?” My voice was small. “And…you went…” I couldn’t finish my thought; I just wrapped my arms around my middle.

“Yes, y/n,” he said simply. “I was ignoring your calls. I didn’t…” His tongue ran over his bottom lip as he considered me. “I was afraid of what I’d say…what I’d do.”

“Oh.”

Spencer shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I went to a meeting. Then I went across town and went to another one.”

“Spencer." My voice was a whisper, emotions threatening to overtake me. "I'm so fucking sorry.” I hurt him so much he went to multiple meetings? I did that to him?

“You don’t have anything to apologize for.” His tone wasn’t dismissive just…impersonal. “Your actions are your own, how I respond to those actions is all I can control.”

“Did the…did you?”

He pulled both of his lips between his teeth. He knew what I meant. He always knows. “No, y/n, I didn’t.” His tongue tapped against his top lip. “But, I really, really fucking wanted to.”

My entire body went cold. “Spencer, I didn’t mean to-“

"Don't, y/n." His hands left his pockets; he crossed his arms over his chest. "I know. I was in the middle of my second meeting when I realized. I was thinking about the quickest way I could get in touch with my old dealer." I winced at his words. "Because…how was I supposed to live with the fact that you dismissed the most…" I saw his anger rising again as he thought about it. "It was one of the most important fucking moments of my life,y/n!” The voice that was usually so soft was laced with bitterness.

My tears started falling then. “Spencer I never meant to hurt you.” I curled my body more into myself. “I…I don’t know how to fix this.”

"That's when I realized what was happening," he continued like I hadn't spoken. "I remembered the look on your face when I told you that you were all sunshine and kindness. You balked at the idea." His eyes bore into me, laying me bare. "You're trying to protect yourself, and it's a natural instinct. But you're hurting me to do it.”

I saw the moment his anger left his body. His shoulders relaxed, his eyes went glassy and I felt the hurt wash over him. “You have to stop doing this,” he whispered, his voice strained. Each one of the tears that fell from those beautiful brown eyes was a knife in my stomach. “You have to let someone care about you.” Spencer cut the distance between us. He reached for me, his hands come up to hold my face, while his own crumpled. “You have to let me care about you.”

I couldn’t bear to see him cry; I couldn’t live with myself when I was the cause of this wonderful, beautiful man’s pain. I looked straight into his eyes, taking in all the pain I’d caused. “I want to, Doc,” I whispered. “But I don’t know how.”

His mouth crashed against mine. Spencer was desperate in a way I hadn’t felt before; he ripped my shirt from my body while I tugged his shirt free from his pants. His mouth moved down to my neck, sucking harshly while I worked his belt off. I slipped my hand inside of his underwear, palming him. He was already hot and hard, and I ached for him. I’m not sure which one of us pulled the other down to my living room floor, but I felt the cool wood on my back as Spencer settled over me.

His hand came up to brush my hair out of my face. “You’re beautiful,” he whispered. The pressure of his hands changed. The desire still burned between us, but it wasn’t fueled by pain and rage. Spencer kissed me like I was the most precious thing he’d ever held. His fingers were soft when they slipped into my panties, finding me already wet for him. There was no smirk on his face when he unfastened his pants or when he pulled mine off.

He held himself against me, not quite inside of me yet. Spencer Reid, my wonderful, darling, nervous boy leaned over me, put his mouth against my neck when he entered me. My back arched and I moaned loudly at the invasion. He peppered kisses from my shoulder, around my neck, until he reached the other side. His mouth moved up my cheek, finally finding my lips while he continued to move inside me.

This felt different than last night. If last night was making love…I don’t know what this could be. I felt like Spencer was inside every part of me, consuming me. He pulled back, looking in my eyes, his thrusts never slowing. “I know you’re not ready to hear it,” he whispered. “But you need to know I feel it. I’ve felt it since the first time you smiled at me, y/n.”

He moved his hand down between our bodies, brushing against my clit. I hadn’t thought I’d be able to cum, but he quickly proved me wrong. I felt my orgasm rising up inside me but even it felt different. It wasn’t frantic or intense, it was slow and powerful…it was perfect, just like my boy was.

Spencer felt when my orgasm started to break. “When you’re ready to hear it, I’ll never stop telling you. I will tell you about how I’ll feel it forever, and how no one has ever felt it the way I do with you.”

I’m not sure if I started crying from the sudden release of the orgasm or from his words, but tears slipped down my cheeks while I held him to me tightly when he found his own pleasure.

“Stay with me,” he whispered against my mouth.

Always.

Both of our phones went off at 5 am the following morning.

“Hurry!” Garcia’s first text read. The second made my stomach drop. “There was another fire!”

We arrived on the scene as quickly as we could. I didn't live very far from Spencer, so it wasn't that weird for me to swing by his place and "pick him up." In reality, he just needed to change his clothes. His left hand held onto my right as we drove towards the fire that had claimed 2 more lives.

“We have to talk,” he said at last.

“I know.” Because I did.

“After the case?”

I nodded, bringing our joined hands up so I could press a kiss to the back of his hand.

The next two victims were just like the others; a husband who had been questioned in a serial murder investigation by the BAU and the wife that was his alibi. After interviewing everyone again we kept coming up with one name over and over. Edward Gordon was a responding officer at the first and third fires, but several people remember seeing him at fire two. He was on duty for the fourth fire and was already on the scene when the BAU agents showed up.

He had applied to the FBI academy but was denied; that denial didn’t stop him from applying to the D.C. police department. He fit the profile; he had the connections needed to pull it off. We were on our way to his house with a warrant. I was sitting in the passenger seat while Morgan drove; Prentiss and Rossi were in the back. “I don’t like this,” Rossi muttered.

“What’s up?” Derek asked.

"I don't know," the older man said. "It just feels…gift wrapped." He turned to look at Emily. "It wasn't until the firefighter you talked to remembered him that anyone else remembered him.”

“Right,” Emily said, consulting her notes. “Jeff Sawyers. He’s 35, married, and well-liked by everyone. We ruled him out.”

Rossi shook his head. “Everyone we talked to said that Gordon was a loner, he didn’t stick out. No one noticed him. So why did Sawyers?”

“Maybe he felt something? Like when the hairs on the back of your neck stand up?” Morgan offered.

“Well,” Rossi said with a sigh, sitting back. “I don’t know about you guys, but the hairs on the back of my neck are already up.”

Mine are too.

Arresting Edward Gordon was too easy. He didn’t put up much of a fight, which made me more nervous.

“Guys,” Spencer called while Morgan loaded Gordon into a suburban. “This doesn’t feel right.”

Hotch nodded. “Something is off. Stay sharp, we need to clear the area.”

We broke off into teams to do another sweep of Gordon’s house. I was with Hotch in the basement, Rossi and Reid took the main floor, and JJ and Prentiss to the top.

“There’s nothing,” I said when we all met again on the front porch. “But something feels wrong.”

Emily nodded. “Maybe we should canvas surrounding houses?”

“Not a bad idea,” Rossi mused. “Maybe somebody saw something…or maybe somebody is actually someone.”

“I’ll go tell Morgan,” my boy said, turning to head for the car parked on the side of the road.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw something move in the upstairs window of the house directly across the street. I saw it a moment before everyone else; I was already sprinting towards Reid before the others had a chance to react.

Not him, no not him, I begged. I wasn’t even sure who I was begging. Please not him, please.

Spencer heard the others shout his name; my jaw was locked together in panic, unable to speak. I slammed into him hard, knocking him out of the way just in time.

I felt fire rip through my shoulder, I heard bullets ring out behind me. I didn't pay attention to any of it though.

Why is he crying? I thought my heart sinking into misery. Please don’t cry, my darling boy. I can’t stand it.

His hands were so warm when he cupped my face. These circumstances were different from the last time he held me like this, but my heart squeezed just the same.

“Why,” his voice was strangled. “Why would you do that?”

Blackness edged around my vision. I wanted to make some funny quip to try to make him smile, but I couldn’t draw in enough air. So, I settled for the simplest and truest thing I could say.

“Because I love you.”

-- Spencer’s POV –

In times when I felt overwhelmed, I always counted things. It was a sort of compulsion that started when I was a child. When my parents would fight, I’d count the number of specks in each tile on the kitchen floor. I’d count the number of seconds between each shout. When Tobias had me all those years ago, I counted the boards around the cabin.

I couldn’t focus on anything long enough to count now.

Derek was to my right; Emily was to my left. Hotch was across the room sitting with his head in his hands. Rossi stood near JJ, his arm around her.

It’s not right, I thought. None of this is right because she’s not here. She has to be here.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to…how am I supposed to breathe without her?

“How long?” Morgan’s voice broke through the silence. I didn’t need to ask what he meant.

“37 days, 5 hours, 17 minutes, and 45 seconds. Since the case in Nebraska.”

I saw him nod out of the corner of my eye. Emily raised her hand to place it on my shoulder. Usually, their touches made my skin hurt. I couldn't handle the constant pressure and sometimes they would rub patterns on my skin meant to bring me comfort but all it did was set my teeth on edge. Nobody had ever understood that.

But she did. She knew how to touch me without me telling her. She always checked in with me during everything. I had never felt safer in my entire life than I did in her arms.

And she’s not here.

Penelope burst into the room a moment later. “What happened?” Her big eyes were swimming in tears behind her glasses. Morgan stood and went to her, wrapping her in his arms.

Bitterness rose up in my throat. What if when she was dying was my last chance to hold her? What if all this was my fault? Would she have jumped in front of a bullet for another team member? Logically, I knew she would have. That’s just who y/n is…but I couldn’t shake this feeling that this wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t-

My thoughts went blank when another man walked into the room; he had on blue scrubs and a mask hanging around his neck. He’s the doctor. I shot to my feet, halfway across the room before the others even realized someone else had entered.

“You’re all here for Y/l/n?” he asked, his eyes darting around.

I opened my mouth to speak but no sound came out; I was frozen. My heart was currently in a paradox. She was my very own Schrödinger’s cat. She was both alive and dead and somehow neither at the same time. I now understood that experiment better than I ever had before.

I couldn’t ask the doctor because what if she was gone? What if I got 37 days, 5 hours, 19 minutes, and 3 seconds to hold her…but I had to go the rest of my life without ever seeing her light again? I had told y/n she was sunshine…but she was so much more. She was the sun itself. Without her in this world, nothing would be there to hold my universe together, leaving everything to spin out into freezing darkness.

What if she’s already gone? What if I haven’t had her the past 24 minutes? 15 minutes?

Hotch spoke for me. “Yes, how is she?”

“The bullet nicked her brachial artery; she lost a lot of blood. Luck you had medics so close by. It was touch and go for a moment, but we were able to repair the damage. She should make a full recovery.”

I felt my entire universe shift; my legs were suddenly unable to hold me. I felt someone grab my shoulders when my knees hit the hard floor. My mind flashed with every moment we had had together. Her kind smiles, the way she cocked her head to the side when she was teasing me, the look on her face when she finally trusted me enough to let me be with her the way I had always wanted.

“Kid,” Rossi’s voice said, I only then realized he was who had grabbed me. “She’s gonna be okay. Y/n is gonna be fine.”

His voice was soft, I could barely hear it over the sound of someone sobbing. It took me a minute longer to realize the sobbing was coming from me.

Yes, she was going to be fine…but for how long? How long did I get her until she had to jump in front of another bullet to save me? How long did I get to have the sun before I did something to make it disappear? I could live in a world where she didn’t love me, but I couldn’t live in a world where she didn’t exist.

“Because I love you," she had said. She jumped in front of a bullet because she loved me. But did she even love me? Or did she just tell me what I needed to hear because she thought she was dying?

I finally understood why she was so afraid of love because I had never loved anything the way I loved her.

My body went cold when I realized what I had to do. Every possible future I imagined ended with her the way she was earlier today, bleeding out because she loved me. I couldn’t be responsible for putting her light out. She’d never forgive me. And none of that mattered if I got to live in a world where she was still breathing. Where I got to love her. Even if she didn’t love me back.

Rossi’s grip tightened around me. “Let’s go see your girl, Spencer.”

My voice was hollow as the gravity of everything fell down around me. “I-I don’t think I can.”

-- Reader POV –

The first thing I became aware of was how goddamn bright it was. My eyes started to flutter open and they immediately shut in a wince. The second was the pain.

“Oh, this is some bullshit,” I muttered, trying to pry my eyes open.

I heard several chuckles at my words. “There she is! Feisty as ever!”

That was Morgan. Why is Morgan here? Where is here? It all started coming back in flashes. The house…the unsub…the fires…the gun pointing out the window. Spencer!

My eyes finally opened all the way. I heard the beeping of machines and I smelt antiseptic. Once my vision came into focus, I saw my team filling the room. JJ was crying and holding Garcia. Derek and Emily were closest to me on either side. But…I didn’t see that curly mop of hair.

“What happened? Is Spencer all right?” My words were frantic as I tried to sit up.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Morgan’s hand pressed against my shoulder, keeping me still. “Reid is fine. And you need to rest.”

He’s fine. He’s fine. I kept repeating that over and over again in my mind. “What happened?” I asked, my throat was dry and scratchy.

“It was a trap,” Hotch said from the end of my bed. “Gordon and Sawyers were working together. We had profiled Gordon to be the dominant member if we were looking at a team, but it was Sawyers who called the shots. He just used Gordon’s rage for his own advantage. Apparently, Sawyers’ sister died in a murder investigation 2 years ago. He blamed the BAU because we were called in but the man he suspected had an alibi. Sawyers was in the house across the street…”

Right. There was a gun…and it was pointed at Spencer. “Did you get him?”

Hotch nodded. “Gordon is in custody. Sawyers is dead.”

“Good,” I mumbled. “If Spencer is okay, where is he?”

There was an awkward pause for a moment before anyone spoke. “Let me go get the Doctor. I’m sure they want to know you’re awake,” JJ said before quickly leaving the room.

“I think he just needs a minute, Kiddo,” Rossi said gently.

“Oh, and don’t think for one goddamn minute you’re gonna be able to weasel out of telling us about you and Reid.” Morgan looked positively giddy. “He said since Nebraska, y/n.” Prentiss shot him a glare, to which Morgan only shrugged.

I sighed, but then quickly realized how much that fucking hurt. “I guess the cat is out of the bag.”

An older man entered the room then. “Hello, Agent y/l/n. I’m Dr. Richardson. I’d like to check you over if I could? And your friends can leave the room.”

Emily brushed her hand over the top of my head. “We’ll be back.”

I had a repaired artery, gotten a transfusion, and somehow fractured a rib. Oh, and a new scar near my shoulder. The bullet was through and through, and scars were just scars.

None of that bothered me as much as my boy’s absence. The rest of the team had left hours ago. Garcia promised she’d be back bright and early and that she would be making a schedule of who was going to visit me each day and at what time. I didn’t bother trying to talk her out of it.

I had brought up Spencer a few times, I had asked for my phone to call him…but everyone had always changed the subject or tried to redirect my attention. After everything that had happened, him avoiding me now almost hurt as bad as the bullet wound.

There was a hesitant knock on the door that made my heart jump. I know that knock. Sure enough, the door pushed open to reveal the only person I wanted to see. His hair was messy like he’d been running his hands through it, the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced, and he was in different clothes than he had had on Tuesday morning. But even though I was so happy to see him I just felt something…wrong.

“Hey Doc,” I said softly.

Spencer came to stand at the end of my hospital bed, his eyes flat, his hands gripping the plastic rails. “How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice was raspy and hollow.

“I’ve been better,” I joked in an attempt to lighten the mood.

My boy just sighed. “That was really fucking stupid, y/n.”

“What are you talking about? I wasn’t going to let him shoot you.”

His knuckles whitened as his grip tightened on the bed. “So, you let him shoot you? How does that make any fucking sense, y/n?!”

My voice was small, “Because it wouldn’t be you that got hurt. Why are you being like this, Spence?”

He ran a hand over his face, licking his lips before he spoke. “I just feel bad about this because…you were right.”

“I’m right fairly often, Doc. You’ll have to be a bit more specific.”

“About my feelings,” he said his eyes were on me, but they weren’t focused. “You were right when you said that they were just a chemical reaction to what happened this weekend. You said they would pass, and you were right.”

I couldn’t breathe. I felt like all the air had been taken out of the room.

Spencer went on. “I’m sorry if I led you on, y/n. I enjoyed our time together, but it’s not something I’d want to pursue long term. I’m embarrassed of how I acted, especially since it gave you the wrong impression.”

“Oh.” My entire body went cold and I felt my heart drop.

“I also think we should end our personal relationship.”

I blinked back tears, he sounded so impersonal. “We can’t even be friends?”

His hands lifted from the bed, his arms crossing over his chest. “We weren’t friends before, y/n.”

I pulled both of my lips between my teeth, taking small breaths so my body wouldn’t hurt more than it needed to. “I appreciate the honesty, Doc. I really do.” I turned my head to the side, unable to look at him any longer. “But this is a weird fucking time to do it.”

“I know,” he said, his tone not changing. “But I think your judgment has been compromised. I don’t think we can have any sort of relationship when it makes you do something so reckless because you think…” He trailed off.

“Because I think what, Reid?” I spat out.

“Because you think I care about you more than I do.”

I scoffed, not caring about the pain. “I didn’t take a bullet for you because I thought you cared about me.” I did it because of how much I cared about you. “You’re a member of the team, I would have done the same for any of them.”

“Then maybe you should reevaluate your place in this team.”

I think it would have hurt less if he just punched me in the bullet wound “Thanks a whole fucking lot, Reid. I’ll do that.”

He dropped his arms and turned to walk out of my room. “I’m glad you’re okay, y/n.”

His hand had just pulled the door open when I called out. “Reid…did I say anything? After I was shot?”

The man that used to be my darling boy turned to look at me, his face was unreadable. "Not that I heard, no." With that, he was gone. He just walked out of my room like he didn't rip me to shreds like he didn’t take my entire heart with him.

My heart jumped with hope when the door opened again, only to plummet when I saw it was just the nurse. “Are you alright, dear?” she asked, coming to fiddle with the machines that monitored my vitals. “Oh, my lord. You’re crying! Are you in a lot of pain?” she didn’t wait for an answer, she just started for the door. “I’ll get your next dose of pain meds, be right back.”

She could do that…but I don’t think this pain will ever go away.

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#criminal minds #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds imagine #Spencer reid #dr. Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid imagine #dr. Spencer Reid imagine #Spencer Reid smut #reid smut #Spencer Reid x you #Spencer Reid x y/n #Spencer Reid x reader #Dr. Reid smut #Spencer Reid angst #reid angst #criminal minds smut #criminal minds angst

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Rain is a Chance to be Touched Ch.1

this arid world has turned my deep heart dry

This is the first chapter in my new ongoing hotchreid fic! Please click here for the fic summary, full tags, trigger warnings, more information etc.

Chapter Summary: follows S5E1 and Spencer's depression and disordered thinking is introduced.

TW: depression, disordered thinking, loneliness, the events of s5e1 (guns and knives)

Word Count: 3.4k

RCT Masterlist // Main Masterlist // Read on AO3

SPENCER

"She simply said this arid world has turned her deep heart dry, there was just one way she knew of to finally feel like she was free, and it was 1400 feet beneath the cold and stormy sea." — Erin Hanson

Spencer’s entire body feels heavy as he drags himself into work, and it’s not exactly a good sign when he can’t even find the energy to press the button for the right floor; he just stares pitifully at the array of numbers as if the elevator will read his mind and resolve the issue for him. Eventually, he brings himself to move his finger the short distance, cold metal colliding with cold flesh, and the doors shudder close, catapulting him up several storeys towards his fate.

Some might call the emotions Spencer’s experience typical burnout, far too common in the FBI and even more so in units that deal directly with horrific crime on the regular, but he knows it’s more than that. His entire life is operating in a minor key, he’s functioning entirely on auto-pilot, and chunks of his day are a blur, almost impossible to recall. He knows he’s depressed. Knowing such a fact, however, does little to cure the actual problem. He has no idea what to do with information like this except bottle it up and shove it as far down as possible while pretending as much as possible that absolutely everything is fine.

Emily and Derek are laughing about something as he approaches their group of desks. Only weeks ago he would’ve been crushed when they don’t so much as look over to say hello, but now he’s glad to not have to fake a smile, invent a story to tell about his weekend, pretend he’s not currently being held together with slowly peeling sellotape.

Instead, he focuses on feeling grateful that no one’s commented on him arriving a whole hour later than he used to as he unpacks his messenger bag. It’s not like it’s his fault he can’t pull his exhausted body out of bed in the morning, but since he’d rather not disclose such sorry information and finding an excuse is way too much effort, spending the morning in solitude seems the only option.

He doesn’t really understand how he’s gone from being a genuinely happy person, thick as thieves with everybody on the team, to this. It’s almost as though somebody’s cut the rope tying him to the others and now he’s drifting away, sinking without everyone else’s buoyancy to keep him afloat. He can see them all still tied together, barely seeming to notice their drowning team member, clearly not missing his presence.

This misery over his inevitable isolation, though, is his own fault: he can’t believe he let himself forget his place. He’s useful, good to keep around for his intelligence, his reading speed, his problem-solving skills, but it doesn’t go beyond that. Spencer is not friendship material. And he certainly isn’t relationship material.

The day starts off slow, everyone burying themselves in their paperwork, but Spencer finishes it far too quickly for it to really serve as much of a distraction. Depressingly, it’s still miles slower than he’s used to. Since his pile of consults seems too exhausting to even look at, he decides another coffee is very much in order.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ says happily as soon as he pushes his way into the breakroom. She’s leaning casually against the counter as she drinks her coffee, reading through what looks like case notes at the same time.

“Hi,” he says, trying for a smile but he knows there’s no way he could possibly match her relaxed grin. Instead of trying to converse, he just heads straight for the coffee machine, fixing his eyes on the steady stream of coffee pouring into his mug already piled high with sugar.

“You alright?” JJ asks, sounding a little suspicious. Not concerned, Spencer notes, just suspicious.

“Hmm?” He looks up and catches her eye before deciding he should probably answer verbally. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

“Are you sure? You’ve been acting a bit off the past few weeks.”

Spencer sighs. Maybe this is an opportunity to actually communicate his feelings. He doubts JJ will be able to help but really he’d just like a bit of comfort: he’s in so much pain that a hug would feel really nice right now. And besides Penelope, she’s probably the team member he’s most comfortable with. If he’s going to share with anybody, it should be JJ.

“I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, I guess,” he admits, looking up as his left-hand fidgets on the hot ceramic side of his coffee mug. He resents how vulnerable his voice sounds, he’s giving far too much of himself over to hands he’s not sure he can trust, but there’s nothing he can do about that now.

“Really?” JJ sounds surprised. Spencer recognises the tone as that of anyone who has a certain perspective on him realising that he also has feelings alongside his intelligence, and it hurts. “I’m sorry, Spence.”

Spencer just presses his lips into a thin line and nods awkwardly in thanks.

“I mean… at least you’re not going through what Hotch is,” she offers, completely unhelpfully. “He’s still trying to cope with his divorce and isn’t seeing Jack as much as he used to. Derek was almost killed by the Reaper just a few months ago, Emily only recently lost a childhood friend — I mean, the whole team has been through a lot. Keep your chin up.”

She smiles at him, patting him on the shoulder, before leaving the break room and heading back to her office, leaving Spencer standing in the middle of the room like an idiot. He wants to shout that he was literally poisoned with anthrax only a month ago, if they’re tallying bad things happening as a method of tracking who has the right to be miserable. The others might be going through a lot, that’s true, but it doesn’t lessen any of the pain thudding in his chest and stirring in his stomach.

As he walks back to his desk, he realises he’s learned one thing: opening up = not a good idea.

As completely fucking miserable as he might be, there’s exactly one person in this world who doesn’t deserve to be burdened with any of it, so he carefully tucks it away in his pockets and plasters on the mask he’d perfected so many years ago. It might be a little rusty, after all, it’s been little used in recent years, but it works just as well as it used to do when he pushes the door open to Penelope’s office.

“I bring blueberry muffins,” he says as cheerfully as he can muster, and something inside him does warm as Penelope’s face lights up, squealing a little as she reaches her arms out eagerly, making grabby hands at the paper bag he’s holding.

“Oh, you have no idea how much I love you,” she moans, keen to rip the bag open as he pulls up a chair next to hers.

“I think I do,” Spencer chuckles, and it’s one of the only genuine reactions he’s given in months, “mostly because you tell me every day.”

“Mm, that’s right,” she concedes through a mouthful of warm muffin, pointing a finger at his chest. “I love you even more than I love coding.”

“That’s a lot,” Spencer says, trying for serious but he can’t stop a fond smile slipping across his face.

Penelope swallows her rather large bite of blueberry muffin and passes him his one. “It is,” she says. “How are you, anyway? You look tired, poor baby.”

Spencer looks down for a moment, schooling his expression for a second before he forces himself to look back up at her. “Yeah, I didn’t… didn’t sleep well last night, I guess.” He tries for a reassuring smile but he knows it’s more of a grimace.

Penelope’s face immediately morphs into one of grave concern. Spencer knows that that’s just the way she is, melodrama and fierce protectiveness is virtually her brand at this point, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t any less agonising to see, or the anxiety of being found out any less paralysing. He decides not to give her any room to actually address it.

“I’ll be fine, Penelope, don’t worry,” he says, turning away to brush some muffin crumbs off the desk and into his hand, purely so he doesn’t have to attempt another pathetic smile. “A good night’s sleep tonight will fix me right up.”

“Are you sure?” she asks, still looking far too worried for Spencer’s liking.

“Of course, Pen.” He feels sick at lying to her, but he has no idea how to broach any of the tumultuous emotions raging inside of him, especially after JJ shut him down so brutally. “It’s only a bad nights’ sleep.”

He’s saved from her inevitable continued line of questioning by Emily poking her head round the door and asking for Spencer’s opinion on a consult.

While getting out of bed in the morning might be an almost impossible task at the moment, the idea of getting into it at night seems rather depressing, really. That’s probably the reason he’s still at the office, despite the time nearing 8 o’clock and exhaustion settling into every muscle fibre of his being. It has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it’s just a little more time in close proximity to one Aaron Hotchner.

Of course, he’d had to accept the fact that he was maybe, just a little bit in love with his boss a long time ago. He just refuses to admit that he’s this embarrassing about it. Perhaps staying late to spend more time with someone you like this much wouldn’t be so weird if there was a reasonable chance of conversation — if he ever even saw him — but there isn’t even that: Spencer sits and works quietly at his desk, Aaron sits and works quietly in his office.

Today, though, today his lingering finally pays off.

Aaron is on his way back from the photocopier when he stops by Spencer’s desk. He doesn’t see him coming, though, is the thing: he has no time to try and make himself look even a smidge less miserable or to school his surprised yet utterly lovesick expression.

“Won’t you want to be heading off soon, Reid?” he asks, clearly curious as to why Spencer remains at his desk when there’s no real work to be doing, but he cleverly paints it in a light-hearted tone. Even though Spencer is completely aware of what Aaron’s doing, he doesn’t feel attacked or under pressure.

“Oh,” Spencer says unintelligently, stammering a little as he scrambles desperately at a somewhat coherent reply, “yes, yeah, I’ll get going soon.” He doesn’t want to lie when he doesn’t have to, so he doesn’t try and offer an explanation for his staying late, and he knows Aaron won’t push. He manages an almost entirely genuine smile, though, which must count for something, even if it’s only because he’s hopelessly in love with the man leaning casually against his desk.

“Right then,” Aaron says, offering a small smile in response, letting his hard exterior drop in the nearly empty office, and even though it’s nothing special, not really, Spencer carefully files it away as his heart pitter-patters against his ribcage and his stomach pools with warmth. “See you tomorrow, Reid.”

Spencer just nods in response and gathers his things, placing them carefully in his messenger bag and shrugging his jacket on before walking out of the building. When he glances back, just as he pulls the glass door open, Aaron is watching him carefully. He doesn’t turn away but instead offers a small wave, which Spencer returns bashfully, blushing scarlet in the elevator and on the walk out of the HQ and during the whole trek down the street and sat on the metro train and on the final stretch home. He fumbles with his keys and curses himself for being so goddamn pathetic.

He doesn’t consider it for long, though, because he’s utterly exhausted and his tired bones collapse on the sofa, and who is he to try and get them to move again? Sleep is a mercy.

🌧

The case is gruelling and stressful enough without the endless and constant worry about where on earth Aaron is. He never turns his phone off and Spencer can’t think of a time he’s worked a case without him, not properly; he’s always the first one at the office, the first one on the plane, the first to jump out of bed towards the chance to make a real difference in the world. It’s so out of character for him and it’s utterly distressing.

Nevertheless, he focuses all his attention on the job; on protecting Jeffrey and Tom Barton, on bringing justice to the perpetrator when they inevitably find them. He offers lame and desperate excuses for Aaron not being there, all the while knowing full well that none of them are likely. Something is wrong and he’s powerless to help.

Emily tells him why. He sort of forgets how to breathe.

Getting shot in the leg while simultaneously petrified for the livelihood of the person you’re in love with is inconvenient at best when trying to talk down an unsub and protect a victim and eventually fatal at worst, but somehow he half-manages and Tom escapes unscathed, though he isn’t quite as lucky with the unsub.

That’s what matters, really, isn’t it? That others are safe, even if it means he’s in danger? After all, Tom Barton has lives to save and a son to raise, a wide social circle, and a loving family. What does Spencer have? No, it’s much better that he’s the one hurt than anyone else.

Of course, once the adrenaline of the situation starts to wear off and medics arrive on scene, he realises quite how badly he’s hurt. Already feeling woozy, energy seems to seep out of him as roaring, raging agony takes its place. It’s the first time he’s ever been shot and it’s worse than he could have imagined: no amount of studying literature and anecdotal evidence could prepare him for the feeling of a small metal ball tearing through the flesh and muscle and tendons — though, hopefully, and judging by the amount of blood he’s lost, no arteries or large blood vessels — of his thigh.

His team arrives, minus Emily and minus Hotch, and they’re concerned, of course they are. That is, until he presents them with someone they see as much more important, someone whose life is worth something, someone they care about deeply being hurt. And they leave.

He doesn’t get a chance to tell the medics that he doesn’t want narcotics, so the ride to the hospital is a blur of morphine and voices talking to him, though he can’t quite piece together what they’re saying. He wonders vaguely where everybody is, whether Hotch is alright, whether he’s about to die, but no real emotion is attached to any of these thoughts, they just… are.

He’s rushed into surgery almost immediately after he arrives at the hospital, and the next thing he’s aware of is a dull, ever-present, agonising ache in his upper thigh and exhaustion settled into his bones like his body is pain’s home, fatigue’s resting place. The last time he’d blinked himself awake in a hospital bed, blinding pain burning in one part of his body or another, Derek had been sat by his bed, eating jello.

There’s nobody by his bed this time.

A PCA pump is resting by his right hand but he doesn’t touch it. Clearly, nobody from his team has informed the hospital staff of his previous addiction; he doesn’t even know if they’re at the hospital; if they know what’s going on. The morphine he’s already had is going to be hard enough to deal with, he can feel the future cravings itching beneath his skin already, scarred-over track marks simmering away.

It’s over twenty-five minutes of lying helplessly on a hospital bed in a cool, impersonal room, feeling a certain kind of emptiness sitting in his stomach, before a nurse comes by. She looks pleased enough to see him awake, but he doesn’t care about her satisfaction, he cares about his team, about Penelope, about Aaron, and he’s too exhausted to do anything about it.

“Good, you’re awake,” she says cheerily and for once, he doesn’t try and conceal his despondency. It’s oddly freeing. “I’ll get the doctor to come and explain the situation.”

She bumbles out of the room, clearly not fazed by Spencer’s expression, so he resumes staring at the wall, allowing his thoughts to wander, still not managing to attach much emotion to them other than a miserable sort of emptiness.

The doctor is nice enough, making sure he understands his injury and the procedures he’s had done, as well as the recovery ahead of him, but he just can’t bring himself to care. It’s as though this is the last straw; this is the proof, the evidence to win the case he’s been fighting in the court of his mind. His team doesn't care. His life is worthless. He will always, always be alone.

JJ stops by briefly. This feels like it should be a consolation, but it isn’t. He learns of what’s happened to Aaron, what his family is going through, and suddenly he feels selfish: how dare he demand and crave attention when Aaron is far more hurt and injured than he is? When he’s far more important and far more deserving of the team’s attention? Self-loathing creeps up his throat and settles into grey cotton wool that won’t melt in his mouth.

Spencer doesn’t know how to react to the incredibly overwhelming events of the day, and JJ doesn’t seem to have time for this. “Right, Spencer,” she says, visibly impatient with his emotional floundering, his lack of verbal response, “I need to go. We need to sort this out for Hotch. We owe it to him.”

She leaves, and all Spencer can think is how much more worthless not being able to work on his case makes him. If he can’t even work to save the man he loves; if he can’t strive effortlessly to protect him and make him happy, then what is he doing here? Aaron will be furious when he finds out Spencer laid in bed lazily instead of diving headfirst into the case.

No. That’s not true. He’ll be sickeningly nice about it, while on the inside suppressing his disappointment, and Spencer will feel even more guilty, he’ll be even more irate with himself, and life will seem just a little bit bleaker.

He’s discharged a few days later, and nobody has visited, barring JJ’s fleeting, impatient stop by. He goes home in a taxi and struggles up the stairs on his crutches, almost glad he didn’t have many personal items at the hospital. Then again, that was because he was completely isolated. And if he did have people to bring him things in the hospital, then he’d probably have someone to help him up the stairs too.

It’s a moot point, really. He dives straight for the non-narcotic painkillers he’d been prescribed as soon as he sits down on his dusty couch in his messy apartment, desperate to relieve at least some of the agony throbbing in his leg still. Clearly, the universe decided he wasn’t in enough pain already; that the unrequited love and the growing depression and the recurring stomach cramps and clenches in his chest weren’t quite sufficient.

He knows the team is working flat out on the Foyet case. But even Penelope, who probably works the hardest of all of them, has had time to send him an encouraging text message promising to pop round as soon as she can. Other than that, his phone is dry and his heart slowly freezing over.

Truthfully, he’s not sure how much more of this he can stand. He’s feeling the same way he did as a child: isolated, othered, hurt, and utterly, utterly alone. When he’d joined the BAU and was welcomed immediately into the arms of a family, he promised himself he’d never feel like that again. He would never, ever allow himself to sink so low; not when he was surrounded by so many people who proved day in day out how much they loved him. Surely, feeling like this would simply be impossible.

For once, Doctor Spencer Reid is proved wrong. And it burns, festers, and screams like nothing else.

Chapter Two

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#hotchreid #criminal minds #cm #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #spencer reid #hurt spencer reid #spencer reid whump #aaron hotchner/spencer reid #aaron hotchner x spencer reid #spencer reid/aaron hotchner #hotch x reid #spencer reid x aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #my writing #RCT #RCT 1

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keanureevesisbae · 4 years

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Mister Cavill, your dog is kinda fat - Chapter 1

Summary: Veterinarian Olivia Tran has zero time for bullshit. After becoming a mom at age twenty three, the one thing she wants is a good life for her daughter Vanessa. Her ex didn’t want anything to do with her nor the baby and she decided that man are officially banned out of her life. But then she meets Henry Cavill at her clinic and her ban slowly starts to crumble apart. Henry on the other hand is looking for one thing: a family. And when he meets Olivia Tran, he finds just that.

Henry Cavill x Olivia Tran (ofc)

Warnings: None

Wordcount: 2.4k

A/N: The beginnings of a new fic! It’s kind of a build up, so there isn’t a lot of Henry Cavill inthis chapter, but the next one is from his pov and more than 4.5k. I hope you like this new story 🤗

Masterlist // Next chapter

For fuck’s sake, I can still smell the fluids from those anal glands I have been popping all day. Even when you wear gloves every single time, that penetrating smell will just stay with you.

After a long day at the clinic, I can finally call it a day. Of course, I’m on call tonight, but other than that, I can relax now. Working as a vet has always been a dream of mine and now, at the ripe age of twenty nine, I have managed to become doctor Olivia Tran, one of the loved veterinarians here.

‘See you tomorrow, Belle,’ I yell to my best friend and other veterinarian at this clinic.

‘You on call tonight?’ Belle asks.

‘I am.’

‘If you need to go, I can’t watch Vanessa tonight,’ she tells me, while she is checking the ears of a pug, who seems to have severe breathing problems from the looks of it. ‘I have a date.’

‘No worries,’ I say to her with a smile. ‘I probably don’t need to go anyways. Hasn’t happened in the past months, so I highly doubt that something will change tonight. Please let me know how your date went tomorrow.’

Belle, the gorgeous brunette with legs for days and blue eyes as big as Rapunzel, flashes me a bright smile. ‘Of course, dear. Give Vanessa a big kiss for me, will you?’

‘Will do.’ I walk out of the clinic, give a sweet Jack Russell a scratch behind his ear and check my watch. I have twenty minutes before I have to pick up Vanessa, but it’s a fifteen minute walk if I hurry and if I just stroll around, it’s twenty minutes. Can I manage to buy myself some cookies or should I wait after I picked her up?

I think I would have a very happy six year old if I waited with the cookies after I picked her up from school.

I bury my hands in the pockets of my coat. Yesterday it was official: the summer has passed and autumn is here. I always love it when I see the green leaves slowly turning orange or brown and cover the pavement with a blanket of crunchy leaves. It’s Vanessa’s favorite season as well, but that’s mostly because it’s her birthday on November 12th.

I never planned on becoming a mother at twenty three. I never really gave it a big thought, the idea of having kids. In the far far far future I might’ve become one, but I always thought I had more cool aunt potential.

The day I found out I was pregnant, I was scared, but since I was in a pretty serious relationship with Wesley for almost three years, the man I thought I’d end up marrying, I figured we would make this work. We would marry, have this kid and live happily ever after, maybe even have a few more.

But Wesley broke up with me when I told him about the pregnancy and that I was going to keep the baby. I went to my parents for comfort, thinking that they and my two brothers would be supportive of this. We got through the time that I was partying all night, getting tattoos and smoked some weed out of my window. I mean, we would be able to handle this right?

But my parents kicked me out when I told them I was pregnant and I was going to keep the baby. ‘But what about your degree?’ I can still hear my mother say those words, but what was maybe the worst thing, was seeing my brothers turning their backs to me. Their literal backs towards me. ‘You worked so hard and you just got a job as a vet,’ my mom began to yell.

To be fair, I was their only hope. My brothers dropped out of high school and are now sort of working in construction, but they can hardly finish a job ever. My mother never worked a day in her life and my father was a lawyer. I told them that I could work something out, with a bit of help of them, but my mother just pushed me out of their house and told me to never bother them again, if I was going to have a kid out of wedlock.

So I had to do it by myself. I had to find a place for me and the baby to stay, but thankfully Belle was already working at the vet and decided that I needed a bit of help. I could stay with her, even after the baby was born. Belle went with me to the ultrasounds and when I went into labor, she was right there with me.

Belle is Vanessa’s one and only aunt and my best friend. When you get pregnant and not only your boyfriend leaves, your family disappears out of your life, you also notice how many people despise you. My friends from college all of the sudden seemed to have fallen off the earth and never checked in with me.

Now I have a happy six year old, a nice home for the two of us and a baby sitter Belle, who is becoming less and less available, since she has discovered the world of Tinder, because she wants a boyfriend.

I hear the bell ring when I step onto the schoolyard. It doesn’t take long before I see my daughter running towards me. Her baby blue coat is hanging open, her backpack in her hand and a rolled paper in the other. She insisted on wearing her boots to school today, but leave it to her to cover them in mud.

Entirely.

I catch her when she jumps in my arms. ‘I missed you, my lovely lady,’ I say to her.

Vanessa peppers my face with kisses, something she always does when I pick her up from school. I brush the hairs out of her face, including the sweet bangs that she insisted on having. Originally she wanted the same haircut as me from when I was the same age as her, but since I have severe traumas of the bowl cut, I had to spare her that and opt for some sweet thin bangs.

‘Mommy,’ she says, ‘I missed you a lot.’

‘Well, you want to go to the store, so we can buy some cookies?’ I ask her. ‘And maybe tonight we can order a pizza.’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ She gives me a tight hug.

Sometimes I doubt my parenting skills, especially when I look around the schoolyard. I watch those mothers who are housewives, with very handsome husbands and kids that always look formidable and put together and probably only eat fatty snacks on their birthdays. Sometimes I wished I had that: a husband, a man that Vanessa could look up to.

I figured that when my ex Wesley couldn’t provide that, my brothers and father would step in and treat my daughter like they treated me: a princess.

Now I have to do that myself.

It can be tiring, being both the mother and the father for Vanessa, but if I could turn back time, I’d do it all over again.

With Vanessa’s tiny hand in mine, we walk towards the store, to buy some cookies that I desperately craved the entire day I was at work.

Vanessa looks a lot like me. She’s basically my clone. People often stop us, simply to tell us that Vanessa is like a miniature version of me. I always like compliments about my daughter. I mean, she is my world.

When we arrive at home, I help her change into something more comfy. ‘Mommy, can we please have a pajama night?’ Vanessa asks, while I help her out of her dress.

‘It’s four in the afternoon,’ I say, knowing exactly what she wants. ‘You want to wait two hours before you wear your pajamas?’

Vanessa shakes her head. ‘No, I want to wear my pjs now.’ Her bright smile nearly lights up the room. I watch her nose scrunch up as the corners of her mouth curl up, the only trait that she inherited from her biological father. ‘Are you going to wear yours too?’

I don’t have anywhere to go and besides, after all popping all those anal glands today, I desperately want to get out of these clothes. ‘Yes, sweetie, I’m going to wear mine too, but first I’m going to take a shower.’

‘No bath, mommy? Because I like baths.’ Her dark brown eyes start to gleam with enthusiasm. ‘Please, mommy, please.’ She pouts, knowing damn well I can’t say no to that.

≫≫≪≪

The second Vanessa is in bed, I have some time for myself. I love every second we get to spend together, but it’s nice to have a breather every now and then. I stare at my arms, to see how Vanessa has colored in my tattoos. She’s obsessed with them and when she’s in school, she sometimes tries to draw them on her own arms by memory, sometimes even drawing on others when they want to. A few weeks ago, her teacher asked her what she wanted to be when she grew up. ‘Well, I want to be two things,’ Vanessa told her. ‘Like my mommy I want to be a vet, because I love animals, but I also want to draw tattoos on people.’

I sit up straight, looking at the drawing she made me today in school. She always makes drawings for me, but they are always the same. She draws a house, with me in it and herself. And outside she draws a dog and a man, with suitcases and moving boxes next to them. ‘Because,’ she explains every single time, ‘one day you meet a nice man who has a dog and he can become my new daddy. A daddy that does want me.’

Belle didn’t agree on me telling Vanessa her real dad didn’t want her, but I figured she needed to know the truth. Her biological father is a low life that disappeared into thin air and didn’t want to be involved in her life.

Vanessa understood, to the extent that was possible, but she really wants a dad, preferably one with a dog. Though she keeps pushing me, I can’t start dating again. Vanessa is the most important person in the world and men simply don’t fit into this—in my head—perfect picture. Vanessa is my life and men are big fat losers, so I don’t need them. I don’t want them, because the chance of them getting tired of maybe me, maybe Vanessa and leaving, is something I can’t risk.

Vanessa already lost her real father, what if a man that becomes really important to her, leaves too?

At around eleven I drag myself to bed, placing my work phone beside me. I hate being on call, but like I told Belle, I didn’t have a call in months, so I think I’m good.

I’m dreaming about Keanu Reeves (the only man on earth that I’d break my no man ban for) and how he takes me out on a lovely date, has Vanessa on his lap and helps her to cut her food, when the phone starts to ring.

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ I mutter, before I click on my nightlight. It’s three in the fucking morning. I don’t want this. ‘Animal Clinic Westside, doctor Olivia Tran, how may I help you?’ I say when I pick up the phone.

‘Hello, I’m terribly sorry for calling at this hour, but my dog is vomiting and I see some blood in it.’ Oh, poor man, he sounds so panicked. ‘He collapsed and is breathing really heavily and I don’t know what to do.’

I sit up straight in bed and rub my eyes, as I try to be as alert as I can on this early morning. ‘Sir, it’s okay. Did your dog eat anything out of the ordinary today?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘You think it’s possible for you to come to the clinic? I’d like to see the dog.’

‘Of course, of course.’ The man on the other side of the line has such a lovely and deep voice. He could become a voice actor or a narrator like Morgan Freeman. If liquid gold had a voice, it would sound like this.

‘I hope it’s not too much to ask, but could you take some of the vomit with you? Especially the part with some blood. I’d like to check it.’

‘I’ll bring it with me, of course.’

‘What kind of breed is your dog, sir?’ I ask, while writing it all down on a piece of paper.

‘An American Akita. His name is Kal.’

I don’t think he ever went to our clinic, I think to myself.

‘I’ll be at the clinic in about forty minutes, mister…’ I say, hoping that this man will say his name.

‘Cavill,’ he quickly says. ‘And I can be at the clinic in about an hour.’

That name does sound kind of familiar though, but I could’ve sworn that this man isn’t in our database. Maybe I went to college with him or to high school?

After we hang up the phone, I quickly get out of bed. I opt for a pair of tight fitted black leggings and an oversized sweater (after I put on a bra, because who knows mister Cavill is handsome and my nipples don’t want to keep that a secret) and I slip on some white sneakers. I put my hair into a bun. I freeze when I’m moisturizing my face.

I kind of forgot I had a daughter. I don’t like the idea of bringing Vanessa with me, especially since it’s three in the morning and she’s asleep, but then I realize that tomorrow it’s Saturday. Plenty of time for her to catch up on her sleep and plenty of time for me to feel less guilty about dragging her out of her dreams.

‘Sweetie,’ I whisper, when I gently wake her up. ‘Mommy has to go to the clinic, but you can’t stay at aunt Belle tonight, so you’re going with me to work.’

Vanessa was a groggy mess when I nudged her awake, but when she realizes she can go with me to work, her eyes light up. ‘Really?’

‘Yes, someone has a sick doggy, that needs to be taken care of.’

She gets up out of her bed and I help her with her socks, though she is perfectly capable of doing so herself. ‘You’re gonna save a doggy?’ Vanessa asks.

‘I’m going to try.’

I hand her a thick vest and while she puts it on, she says: ‘You’re a hero, mommy.’

With a smile on my face, I softly pinch her cheek. ‘I guess I am.’

Taglist: @thelastsock // @flhorah // @sausagefest1996 // @laufeysodinson // @xxxkatxo // @memoriesat30 // @henrythickcavill // @crimsonrae // @henryobsessed // @madbaddic7ed // @summersong69

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill x oc #mister cavill your dog is kinda fat #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill x Olivia Tran

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citrusella-flugpucker · 3 years

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All 68 of my SU fics, apparently

((Because @novantinuum did it and then I wanted to do it and then they said “do it” and I took it as a dare

Compiling these gave me a sense of accomplishment. And pain. In my wrist.

Multi-line summaries nearly always squashed to lessen the vertical length of this post, even if most of it is below a readmore))

Multi-chapter fics, regardless of collection status (chronological order--oldest to newest):

And He Doesn’t Wake: My first SU fic, complete; “It can't end like this. Or: Waxing realistic as we examine the events of the episode "Bubbled".” Steven suffers halfway-realistic effects from being exposed to the vacuum of space. Probably not super canon compliant given what we learned in Growing Pains but a fic that branches off at Bubbled and rejoins canon around Mindful Education (and written around that timespan).

Diamond in the Rough: Incomplete; “Connie is in the hospital with a serious disorder, and her biggest chance is an experimental treatment combining minerals with blood transfusions. Little does anyone know...” Originally crack of “Connie gets powers from PD-infused blood” but then ASPR happened and I have to figure out where it goes now (and I want to! but...).

The Results Are In: Incomplete; “Sadie gets a piece of mail from her dad. For most people that'd be pretty mundane, but it's a little more complicated considering who exactly her dad is.” Barb/Blue Diamond crack (it makes sense in context) and affectionately called “Space Maury” internally for reasons that will make sense later. Has a similar but less “it flips the ENTIRE plot” issue with ASPR. I have many idea chunks but almost no connection between them

He’s Gone: Complete (and technically a oneshot with two “bonus chapters”); “Steven asks Peridot to get the shirt Connie got for him for his birthday from his closet. He says he wants to look nice. She's confused by his request. Greg and the Maheswarans are less confused and more terrified. He keeps saying it'll be okay. They'll be okay, even though he'll be going away. It'll just be a couple of days now. Or: Steven and Pink Steven are unable to fuse after being separated on Homeworld. That's not good for Steven.” Steven dies. That’s it. That’s the whole fic. Might potentially get an extra chapter or two still. Or not. Eh.

Thanks, Padparadscha: Incomplete/open-ended oneshot collection; “Stories about the best gem.” Padparadscha oneshots.

Your No-Good, Dirty-Rotten, Gem-Shattering, Rebellion-Leading Mother: Incomplete, little desire to finish; “What if Steven had gone to Camp Green Lake instead of Stanley? Or: If Steven Universe And Holes Were The Same Universe: A Fanfiction (thanks @captainjzh) Or, as the top of my Google Doc I started back exactly a year ago (*2019-01-07) says: SU x Holes: Because the fact that Steven Universe and Stanley Yelnats are both 14 is messing with me”. Wrote this as an exercise after reading the appalling original shopped screenplay for the Holes movie which was basically a nuclear fallout enthusiasts dream world but also quite possibly the worst and most uncomfortable thing ever written and I have had to have whole pages bleached from my memory

It’s Okay to Need Help: Incomplete (three chapters total planned), the last part of the pre-SUF-finale “Steven Corruption Theory” collection; “"Everybody needs support sometimes, and you need support right now, with this. And that's okay." She takes a deep breath. "It's okay to need help, Steven." Or: (Based in corrupted Steven theory as well as taking inspiration/using characteristics from a fic by @love-killed-the-superstar) Sometime after coming back from corruption, Steven sees a therapist to try to hammer out some lingering issues.” Steven has specific lingering issues from corruption due to the way they had to mitigate it, and that affects how he communicates with his therapist some days. Just been blocked on the best way to write it

Waiting is Worse: Incomplete; “Is there anything more awful than the feeling of powerlessness?” The movie mostly ends the same, except Steven doesn’t un-rejuvenate.

Realism: Incomplete, strong desire to complete; “As much as he may want it to be, this is not a dream. He's not possessing anyone. It's not happening to someone else. It's real.” Steven has the same effects happen to him as the Watermelon Steven from Escapism--an arm and a leg are amputated.

The President Kisses Babies, and Other White House Briefs: Incomplete, open-ended oneshot collection with very little overarching plot; “Oneshot escapades of President Connie Maheswaran and her First Man, Crystal Gem and public speaker, Steven Universe.” Inspired by a Tumblr post and with more ideas in the pipeline! Love this fic even if I lost most inspiration for four years!!

Collection (series) oneshots (chronological order):

Citrusella Tries (And Succeeds!) to Write a Fic Each Day of the Bomb: A collection where I tried to write a fic each day of the HotCG (wedding) bomb. I succeeded but also kind of not? XD

Could You Imagine?: “Imagination is wish fulfillment. What are some of the things Pearl has imagined?” Now We’re Only Falling Apart

Partake In New Extraordinary And Pleasing Pizza Lover Experiences (Or: Kiki's Lament): “Kiki rarely hates her job. But she does hate pineapples.” What’s Your Problem? (Also the title spells PINEAPPLE o.o)

Acquired Taste: “Steven has a snack as he helps prepare for an important ceremony.” The Question

My Whole Life: “Some people are just born to go into certain careers.” Made of Honor

We Can Think About Hope: Incomplete multi-chapter with no hope of completion (why it’s not listed in the multi-chapters, BTW... also the “kind of not” regarding success); “What's going on? What do we do now? Can you still hear me? (Or: The end of Reunited plays out differently.) (Or or: And He Doesn't Wake: Part II: This time with weirder angst! And more not waking!)”

Citrusella's "Steven Corruption Theory" Collection: A collection of fics written on the corruption theory premise before it became canon. It’s Okay to Need Help not duplicated here but would be at the end.

Change: “Steven's come back from probably the most serious thing that's happened to him--save almost dying after his gem was ripped out--but that doesn't mean he came back unchanged. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

My Skin: “Steven does a mental inventory of what's changed about him since his uncorruption and finds himself starting to fall into a hole of self-criticism, until a song playing downstairs sets him straight. (Based on the "corrupted Steven theory".)”

Eternity in a Moment: “It had only taken a few hours, and yet, an eternity.”

I Can't Say with Confidence: “Over an hour. He's been sitting in the tub, fully clothed, the bathroom a mess… for over an hour.It should be working! Why isn’t it working?!” Based on this art!

It’s Okay to Need Help

Happy Steven's Day!: Just after Steven discovers his mother is Pink Diamond, Mother's Day rolls around...Greg just doesn't want Steven to be in a slump about it anymore.

You Deserve All the Joy: “Because nothing is better than being surrounded by family and love. Or: Steven's once-a-year struggle with a holiday he doesn't exactly have the ability to traditionally celebrate.” It’s Mother’s Day and Steven is sad. Post-ASPR

Universe Day: “"Being your dad is the only present I really need." Or: Greg and Steven talk and realize their experiences with Mother's Day have been two sides of the same coin.” Post-SUF

Citrusella's Comfortember 2020 Fics: Fics written based on prompts for November 2020 Comfortember... not finished with it

Speed Bump: “Steven's first night on the open road isn't as smooth as he wanted it to be. Attempt to combine prompts 2-6 of Comfortember (prompt 1 just couldn't be squeezed in): "first day/night", "nightmare", anxiety", "cuddling", "afraid to sleep"”

In the After: “Steven wonders if it was corruption. Comfortember days 7-10, though only in the most tenuous, technical sense (and by that I mean all four phrases are mentioned): "blanket fort", "lashing out", "confession", "crying"”

Late Night Hot Chocolate (described in next section)

Zombie Club Chronicles: Steven endures a violent accident on Frightnight (Halloween) that changes his life forever.

Beach City Zombie Club

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Steven] doesn’t enjoy the Halloween season, but [Fill in: Steven] take(s) them on a well-meaning trip to an old Gem Ruin where they come to realize [Pick from list: They’ve made a terrible mistake in coming here]

On Frightnight when he is 17, Steven experiences the most serious event of his young life. Almost exactly a year later, Steven takes Steven to Lars' ship in hopes of being able to hop off at a truly secluded gem ruin to talk about something that Steven and Steven have been disagreeing on for several months. Lars has an idea, and Steven comes to a realization.

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

Late Night Hot Chocolate (also a Comfortember fic)

"Steven? What are you doing?" He stares into the pot.

The gem half's voice comes monotone. "Making hot chocolate."

"It's three o'clock in the morning. Why on earth are you making… hot chocolate?"

The slyness on his face is one pixel away from nonexistent and yet it's practically a traffic cone to his other half, as he remarks flatly, "Because I've lost control of my life."

Or: Steven and Steven both have nightmares that threaten to take them back to... that night... One copes by making the other hot chocolate and pretending he really isn't having any problems.

Comfortember days 16-18: Protective, Flashbacks, Hot Cocoa

Standalone oneshots (reverse chronological order--newest to oldest):

Rumble Strips:

Prompt: [Randomly roll from list: Greg] notices [Fill in: Steven] is in a somber mood lately. Out of the goodness of their heart they try to cheer up the sad soul in the only way they know how: [Fill in: WHO WANTS TO GO ON A ROAD TRIP?!]

"I really thought I could handle myself on my own." He scoffed. "Even my own therapist didn't think I could do it."

"I bet she thought you could handle yourself just fine. She probably just thought you'd do better with your support system close, bud. Like, literally, I mean." His eye weaved through the thin line of gravel past the edge of the shoulder. "You started saying some pretty concerning things."

Or: Greg and Steven stop on the side of the interstate on their way to Empire City for New Year's, to have a conversation.

For the Cluster Christmas Writing Challenge!

Auto-Injector: “In an alternate timeline, Steven meets Bluebird at her welcome party but he cannot, under any circumstances, try her hors-d'oeuvres. Or: Steven ends up with allergies because why not” (I have three more ideas for chapters)

Don't Put Beans Up Your Nose: “"I know you want answers, and I wish I had some for you, really, Steven, but from what you've described… those aren't things to play around with. It's unethical to knowingly subject you to those for the sake of 'experimenting', even if you consent." Or: Steven asks Dr. Maheswaran a question she's not ethically able to answer.”

The Exor-schist:

Prompt: A series of events have led to a terrifying effect on one or more of the series’ characters. [Randomly roll from list: Mr. and Dr. Maheswaran] are now suffering from [Randomly roll from list: Spiritual Possession]. How did this happen?

"This corrupted gem, it has a powerful connection to organic matter. Ones this powerful have been known to overtake and even kill humans."

For the Cluster Spooky Writing Challenge!

It's My Party and I'll Dry If I Want To: “You would dry too, if it happened to you! Or: Steven says he wants a pool party for his eighteenth birthday in Delmarva, after over a year of traveling the country. ...But why isn't he swimming?”

Ace Up Your Sleeve: “Or in your back pocket, same diff. Or: Steven's sad about potentially not getting to go to Pride.” (oneshot and an epilogue)

Milestone: “"Okay, so like, the books aren't, like, useless, but they assume you have like the perfect baby. Maybe consider the following: kids are dorks, man." Or: Steven went to the doctor. Once. Or: Greg thinks Steven, at 15 months, is being weird and missing milestones and is worried he's a bad dad so he goes to Vidalia for help.” May eventually be part of a babby Steeb over the years collection

Full Enclosure: “What am I going to tell you? You're better off not knowing the trouble I'm in. / I don't want you to worry about what I've just seen, about where I've just been. / You don't have to be a part of this, I don't think I want you to be! / You don't need this, you don't need me... Or: Steven defines himself by his connection to others. So when they all leave, then… he's no one. (In short: Steven is crushed by his need to be needed.)”

Vice: “He could stop whenever he wanted to. He just didn't want to. Or: Steven falls into a bad habit and tries to rationalize it as okay as long as he's not completely abandoning the idea of improving his life.”

Stairwell Solitude: “Over ten years, Greg wrote just six letters to his parents. What could they have contained?” Post-Mr. Universe

Striations: “At Connie's behest, Dr. Maheswaran makes a house call to Steven's place after his un-monstering. It's different than his last appointment, but its core is the same.”

Everything Stays: “Ever so slightly, daily and nightly, in little ways, when everything stays... Steven's therapist brings up something she's noticed about him outside his PTSD.”

I Do It For Me: “"Forgiveness is the intentional and voluntary process by which a victim undergoes a change in feelings and attitude regarding an offense, and overcomes negative emotions such as resentment and vengeance." Steven asks his therapist a question. The answer may surprise him.”

A Break in the Case: “Dr. Maheswaran takes a look at Steven's results but quickly finds herself in over her head.” Mid-Growing Pains

I have a couple entries in the @connieswap omake collection (Comic Relief and Same Old Steven)--I’m not linking them

Changing Tastes: “ Steven and Connie share a conversation after watching Crying Breakfast Friends: Under the Butterknife.”

Rejuvenated Regrets: “Someone calls Steven's name from downstairs. He's not listening closely enough to know who it is. He's not sure he cares right this moment. He wants Mom—Rose—Pink—and that's the one person he knows it's not.”

Gut Feeling: “Every time, he has to push his brain off that train of thought--what if she does it again?--but for someone with super-strength, he's surprisingly not very good at pushing.”

Lapis Watches Titanic (1997) ...There’s no summary

The Cluster Halloween Exquisite Corpse 2019 (I only wrote part of this!!): “Lars tells a horror story but loses track of it, or; a bunch of fic writers do an exquisite corpse and hilarity ensues. Written by DocCairo, citrusella, E350, love-killed-the-superstar and br42.”

Drift Away: “There are timelines where Steven fell into the biopoison when the Earth cracked under his feet. Here we see three times Steven (technically) lived despite a dive into pure poison, and one time he didn't.”

The Rose Wilts: “Once upon a time, he knew Rose. But he knew he didn't know everything.Sometimes it feels like he's learned more about her after she died than he ever knew while she was alive.“ Doug and Rose used to be friends

Tying the Knot: “Steven never wears shoes with laces, because he can't tie them. When Connie finds out, he's pretty chill about it.”

Haploid: “You're not sure if this is what being shattered feels like. You don't know if you want to be sure.” Mid-CYM

Thestral: “"How many have you seen?" "All of them." She answered without hesitation. "Oh." Or: Pearl and Steven talk about a type of gem that corruption has given some... special characteristics.”

500 Words a Secret Santa Gift: The Gratuitous Reference: “200 words a day, every day, until Under the Knife comes back. Or Crying Breakfast Friends. We're not picky at this point. Secret Santa edition! (A Secret Santa gift for @e350tb that deliberately and gratuitously references their 100 Words a Day series.)”

Sesimorp, Sesimorp: “A Lapis Lazuli makes a beautiful work of art.”

Ship Talk: “Lars and Steven share a moment on the Sun Incinerator.”

No Way Around It: “An order is an order.”

Give It A Try!: “Steven gets a Diamond to try something new.”

Better Off: “Peedee ponders what could have been.”

Steven x A Nice Calm Life Please and Thank You™: A Case for the Realization of a Bold New Ship: “Steven deserves a happy life free of interplanetary struggle and strife. It's my OTP. So I'm going to give him that! :D”

I Don't Know: “Will this ever make sense? Will this ever feel normal?” Post-ASPR

Force of Nature: “Her diamond gave her orders no longer.”

My Gemmortal (by XXXbloodstoneshardz666XXX): “the escupaids fo steven hardlight amnesia lion universe and his freinds n crushs” (this is exactly what it sounds like)

The Picture of Steven Pink: “It took a lot out of him.” (SU but Steven takes on the injuries he heals)

Self: “In the Connie Swap AU, Steven considers his identity and place in his family, community, culture, and himself. For a kid who at least tries to be all sunshine and rainbows, this isn't exactly the most fun thing to do, but sometimes it's necessary.” (these are different than the things in the CS omake collection)

I Really AM My Mom...: “"When you're singing, you want to use enough air that you could blow a throatful of peanut butter clear across the room." The crackiest of escape-from-Homeworld plots, based on a ClickHole article and a joke headcanon.”

Left: “Of course there's shame in bailing.”

Old shames (chronological order): Stories I just kinda cringe at now

Shrinking Rose: “Steven never felt bad about his stature. Until he did.” (I just don’t love it)

A Rose for Emily: “What if Rose wanted to spend the rest of her life with someone before Greg? ...It's safe to say she has a skeleton in her closet.” (less old shame than the others on this list but was hard to shoehorn in the A Rose for Emily style writing)

Alone: “Steven won't open up about how everything that happened is affecting him. Not even to himself.” (I know I’ve written other dark stuff but this one just hits different)

You Should've Asked Me, I'm Really Good at Naming Bands (November 2019 Unfinished WIPs): “(title subject to change) I did a challenge that I had to write my WIPs in November (revised to November and December) or be forced to post them unfinished. I got some updates done, but several not done. These are those stories. Dun-dun.” (only “shame” because they were things that were never finished--I also had a Connie Swap omake I was supposed to finish or the punishment was not to post it unfinished but to write Steven and Spinel (NOTP) but I just never did that)

#steven universe #steven universe future #steven universe fanfic #steven universe fanfiction #su fanfiction #su fanfic #long post #(it should be considering there are 78 FICS IN HERE)#THIS POST IS ITSELF THE SIZE OF A FANFIC #(68 fics not 78)

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thetomorrowshow · 3 years

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i will make the sky collapse ch. 4

First - Previous - Read on AO3!

Chapters are getting longer, so you know what else is!! The content warnings. I wish I wanted to apologize. Also we’re finally in Crutchie’s pov??? I can’t believe it took me until chapter four when it’s a Crutchie-centric fic lol

cw: graphic depictions of violence (beatings, whipping, dislocation), blood, lots of it, brief mentions of food, thoughts of death (not suicide, but the main character is fairly certain he won’t survive)

Crutchie had been priding himself on not passing out, laying with his face smushed into the dirt outside. That is, until he blinked and was suddenly in a cool, dark room, the only light coming through a tiny barred window up high. He tried not to admit it to himself, but he was a little scared that someone had moved him and he hadn’t even stirred. He had no idea what time it was, how long he’d been out.

He blinked a few more times, then put his palms to the ground, grimacing as they scraped against the stone. He gasped when he tried to push himself up--there was--a knife, a knife in his chest, he was dying dying dying--Crutchie looked down. He wasn’t dying, there was no knife there, but it hurt so much he couldn’t even see right--Crutchie’s hands suddenly fell out from under him and he hit the ground, too lightly to cause as much rebounding pain as it did. This was bad.

“The boys been saying that you won’t work,” a voice spoke from somewhere behind him. Crutchie shivered--the same voice who had let the Delanceys swing at him endlessly for not telling where Jack was. Snyder the good old Spider.

“How’s a nice ‘pology sound?” Crutchie grunted. It felt like the inside of his throat was peeling, just from a few words. When could he get some water? Snyder laughed.

“The first day one of yous delinquents gives me an honest apology is the day I retire.”

Crutchie took several shallow breaths, steeled himself, then rolled over. He tried to not gasp in pain too much, but it was certainly showing on his face--the way his bad leg got caught under his good one, something in his chest scraped, blood trickled down the side of his face from some unseen mark on his cheek. Still, he looked up at Snyder, bringing out the doe eyes and what Jack affectionately called his ‘poor baby orphan’ face.

“For what it’s worth, Mr. Snyder, I really is sorry.” That I got caught.

Snyder pretended to consider it, his face twisting in mock thoughtfulness. “Not good enough,” he decided after two seconds. It was worth a shot, Crutchie figured. He didn’t think it would actually work, but he had hoped that maybe it would make the man go easy on him.

“Ten lashes for shirkin’, then another ten for ignoring the guards,” Snyder said, and Crutchie closed his eyes so that Snyder wouldn’t see them rolling up into his head and take it as a sign of insolence. He probably ought to roll back over, but he couldn’t find the strength. Then he heard Snyder’s belt unbuckle.

Crutchie’s system shot with adrenaline and he found himself on his stomach, the current pain barely noticeable when his body was prepping for the next bout. He took a shuddering breath, his heart pounding a tattoo into his head. He could survive this. He’d already survived the beating earlier today, this would be no problem. He remembered, vaguely, something that Romeo had told him a while back--“If it looks like you’s ain’t gettin’ out of it, breathe real slow and steady. Try ta breathe out with the hits, you’s fine.” He’d never asked Romeo why he knew that. No one had.

Crutchie began to follow the instructions, breathing in as calmly as possible as he felt Snyder pull up his shirt to bare his back to the chilly room. His breath out, however, was cut off with a choked gasp as the belt smacked against his skin. Snyder barely paused, letting it hit again before he could even take a new breath.

The third time it fell, Crutchie had his breath back and did exactly what he was supposed to, and surprisingly, it helped. It almost doused the panic choking him, giving him something steady to rely on. Breathing in through his nose and then out through his mouth helped even more, he found on the seventh hit, giving him something to focus on.

The eleventh lash broke skin, and Crutchie felt his nose burn and drip, his teeth suddenly clenched as a scream tried to escape. All thoughts of breathing calmly flew out of his mind as he tried to hold the yell back. The thirteenth landed with a wet smacking sound, and Crutchie couldn’t breathe at all anymore, was trying to crawl away, was biting his tongue so hard he couldn’t feel it--

The fifteenth was the worst so far, Crutchie thought desperately, so the sixteenth had to be better. Then it wasn’t, it was worse, and Crutchie nearly sobbed, swallowing it away. The seventeenth was worse still, and the eighteenth--the nineteenth--

Twenty. Crutchie couldn’t see, his face pressed into the floor as he gasped for air and swallowed repeatedly, trying to not make a sound besides the whistling of his broken nose. He was alive, he was alive, he had survived this so he could survive the next minute, and the next after that.

He couldn’t believe he was already counting minutes.

When he finally felt like he had some semblance of control over himself and an awareness of the room, Crutchie noticed that Snyder had left, the door at the top of the stairs closed. Crutchie took as deep a breath as he could without making his chest explode, then another. He was alive--and better yet, he hadn’t even made a noise. Crutchie couldn’t quite find it in himself to be proud about it, but he knew Jack would be.

All the aches and pains from all day came back at once, leaving him gritting his teeth and shaking. His hands spasmed--he was certain he had at least a few broken fingers--along with his feet, causing a more familiar ache to spread through his bum leg. Familiar enough that he held onto it, relished in something that reminded him of home.

The room was almost completely dark now, the slats of sunlight falling in through the window reduced to the light from the streetlamp nearby. Everything here was foreign, dangerous, everything Crutchie had tried to avoid for years. Most of all, though, it was lonely.

Crutchie hated to think of himself as a dependent person (even though he undeniably was, wasn’t he), but he sure missed the company of all the guys and Jack right now. Had it only been a few days back when he and Jack talked about their dreams on the rooftop? It seemed so long ago, like something that had happened to a very different Crutchie in a very different world. This Crutchie’s world was limited to pain, darkness, cold floors, and the wheezing of his own breath. He couldn’t be here any longer.

Crutchie lay there, motionless, on the floor of the musty cellar, until he had left his body and retreated into the back of his head, to a place where none of this had ever happened. Where the strike didn’t matter, and his leg was good, and he and Jack were leaping down the streets of Santa Fe, freer than ever before.

When he felt himself slipping into darkness, he let it happen. Anything to get out of here right now. A dreamless sleep relieved him of his pain.

Crutchie woke up to considerable pain in his legs and his head bumping against the steps, which he wished he could say was the strangest way he’d ever woken up. Before he could react or even totally process what was happening, they were up the stairs and into some light, which was just dim enough he didn’t need to squint to see. It was the little things.

Whoever was dragging him paused in the hall they were in, letting go of him completely. For half a second, Crutchie absently entertained a fantasy of hopping up, kicking this guy to the ground, then running out through the front door and right back to the lodging house.

Then he was being hauled up again--and there were two people now, where had the second man come from?--this time under his armpits, and once again practically dragged down the hall and up some more stairs. He hissed as his bad leg bumped against each step, steps that seemed endless. Where was he going now? It was night, maybe there were beds around here somewhere?

He didn’t know it was the last step until he heard a door open, and blinked his eyes open to see a dimly lit room full of dirty boys. Then he was pushed forward, hitting the floor with an impact that he felt to his very bones.

Crutchie let himself lie still for a few moments, moments that he wished could extend into forever. Eventually, he spoke, swallowing around the desert that had taken up lodging in his throat. “What’s a guy gotta do ta get a welcome ‘round here?”

Dear Jack,

Crutchie paused. What usually came in a letter after that? He didn’t get too many letters. Probably he should check that Jack’s okay, right?

How are you? I’m okay.

He wasn’t.

If he felt safe in the room, Crutchie wouldn’t be writing this letter, he would be passed out on this bed that another boy had crawled into earlier. But he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that these kids were ruthless, and would do anything to survive, even if that meant hurting him. So, instead of resting, here he was at sometime early in the morning writing a letter to Jack with the scrap of paper and pencil he’d found in his front pocket.

It had taken what felt like hours to check over his entire body and clean his wounds the best he could with the tiny bit of water one of those boys had brought him. He was bleeding from what felt like all over, and there just wasn’t enough to wash it off, so his face was going to be plastered with blood for a while.

He couldn’t quite reach the stinging lashes on his back, so he made do by ripping a part of his shirt off, dipping it in the water, then shoving it under his back. On his chest there was a scary-looking cut, surrounded by a mass of purple. He wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, but it was clearly part of why his chest hurt so much to breathe. The other part was made clear in the crutch-shaped swathes of bruises all over his body.

His legs weren’t in terrible shape, apart from his right, which had been stomped on by both of the Delanceys as soon as they got the chance, but it wasn’t the worst it had ever looked. Being dragged around by it hadn’t helped matters, though, and it hurt like it had been run over by a carriage.

After careful examination of his fingers, he decided that only three of them were broken, two of which were on his right hand. It was better than he had hoped, seeing as all of them were discolored and swollen.

Now, however, Crutchie continued to write, not entirely sure what he was putting on the paper, just wanting to make sure Jack knew he was alive. If he could get it to him. The room was close to silent, just a few snuffles and snores here and there, so Crutchie knew he ought to get to sleep soon, he just wanted to finish this up. He didn’t think he was making much noise, but he must’ve been whispering about Santa Fe while lost in his daydream, because he was suddenly shushed by several people.

Crutchie shifted--then nearly cried when his entire body complained. How could it be this bad? It was only his first day! Jack had spent months at a time in here, couldn’t he be just a bit more like him? All he had written so far were complaints, exhausted ramblings that showed very clearly that they were nothing like each other. A little bit about how hard it was here, more about wishing he was out.

And out of nowhere, Crutchie saw clearly.

There was no way out.

Even if the strike succeeded, he was going to be stuck here for another three months at least. He couldn’t escape because of his stupid leg, and the only person who had ever truly escaped was Jack. It was impossible for everyone. But while plenty of kids were released after serving their time, Crutchie . . . wasn’t going to survive that. The almost overwhelming pain that pervaded his body was all from one day. Even if he survived beating after beating, and the manual labor, and the lack of food, this place was ripe for illnesses and infections. When Crutchie got ill, he always got it worse than the other boys. If he got sick here, with his injuries and weakness, he would be gone instantly.

Crutchie almost wrote a goodbye right there and then. This would probably be the only chance to say it. Then he remembered that Jack didn’t get things like that.

Jack was incredible, the best friend a kid could ask for, but he was stubborn and made up his mind pretty quickly as to what the best way would be--and it was usually his own. If Crutchie said something, he would get himself locked up in here in a matter of minutes, and then he would just have to watch as Crutchie failed. The strike wouldn’t succeed without Jack, he needed to be out there.

I’ll be fine, Crutchie wrote instead. Good as new. His heart broke, having to lie to Jack in what would probably be his final words to him, but the strike had to continue. This was bigger than him, more important than one crippled kid stuck in kid jail.

He wasn’t going to deny himself a final request, though, so he asked, in shaky letters, for Jack to tell everyone to look out for one another. That way, they could know he was thinking of them.

Finally, he was at the sign-off, and friend didn’t seem like enough. Best friend?

Brother.

The letter was done, and just in time to get complaints from the beds around him for still having a candle on. Quickly, Crutchie blew it out and laid down, the letter tucked into his pocket. He tried not to move around too much so as to not disturb his bunkmate, but everything just hurt so much. No position was in any way comfortable. He eventually managed to stay in one place long enough to doze off. It was just his luck that a tapping on the window started.

All things considered, Crutchie’s second day in the Refuge was better than his first. For one thing, he got a spot of water when he woke up. According to one of the other boys, there was a well out back that they snuck out to in shifts to get some water from. Not that that would be possible for Crutchie, but it was nice of the boy--Red, his name was--to mention it.

There was no digging for Crutchie today. Instead, he was assigned to polishing the staircase--difficult work, but something he was capable of doing without needing to stand. He wasn’t quite sure how to polish something, and he also didn’t know why he needed to, but it was better than being kicked repeatedly and threatened while he struggled to dig a pointless hole.

Snyder was leaving him completely alone so far, and he’d actually walked by twice. The guards were still targeting him though, which Crutchie discovered when one of them pushed him down the seven steps he’d climbed so far.

As he lay on the floor at the bottom, trying to regain his breath and not scream, another kick came from behind. Cruel laughter came from around him, but Crutchie knew, somewhere, that if he didn’t get up now he never would again. His vision was sliding into a mixture of tinted red and completely black with flashes of white, the pain almost putting him out. Still, with strength summoned from who knows where, Crutchie got his arms under himself and pushed up. Sure, he was going to die anyways, but he had to make it until at least Jack got his letter. Ideally longer than that, but Crutchie didn’t know that he could cope with such a distant goal.

With immense effort, he managed to drag himself back to the stairs, not quite able to stifle a cry as a foot connected with his bad leg. Stars were dancing in his reddened vision, but he was almost there. He just had to get up a few steps, back to whatever the polishing stuff was. He’d have to redo the top steps, ruined by the footprints of the guards. That was okay. He had all day.

The laughter faded, and for a moment Crutchie wondered if he was actually passing out, before realizing that the guards were just leaving. All but one of the four in the area wandered separate ways, leaving the last one to start talking at Crutchie.

Clearly, Crutchie wasn’t supposed to speak back unless asked a direct question, so he stayed silent, gritting his teeth against the pain. He probably wouldn’t still be conscious, but between the strong scent of the polish and the ever-rambling guard, he couldn’t help but stay awake. The guard was derisive, rude, and just all-around disgusting, but at least it wasn’t active violence. For the second time, his head completely cleared and Crutchie despaired at the hopelessness. He was a cripple, stuck in the Refuge. He’d be lucky to survive a week. It would be a miracle if he survived at all.

If a guard or some other staff member passed by, they’d not only completely screw up his work, but also add to his collection of abrasions. His legs were a favorite target, his hands a close second. Those were coated in polish and his fingers were swollen beyond recognition, barely able to grip the rag he was working with.

After the entire day, less than half this one staircase was complete and dried, though sure to look like it had never been polished in a matter of days. The guard had walked off eventually, leaving Crutchie alone with his pounding head and aching body for hours. He had probably ought to get a drink of water if he didn’t want to die of dehydration before the injuries did him in, but there was no way he could get anywhere water was in his condition. Nobody had returned his crutch to him, so he wouldn’t have even been able to get there if he was in perfect shape.

Less and less people passed, and the stairwell grew darker and darker, but Crutchie kept working, taking breaks every few minutes just to psych himself up for the next bit of work. No one had told him to leave his work, so he didn’t dare try to find someone to ask.

When boys started to pass him on the stairs, they came in differently than he expected--no running, taking steps two at a time, jumping around each other. Instead, he was greeted with head-hanging trudges, each kid looking more tired than the last. Crutchie wanted to join them, abandon the rag and container of polish and walk to what was surely bed, but he’d been crouched for so long that he was certain straightening out would tear his muscles in half. Not that the pain from that would be too bad, all things considered. It couldn’t be anything compared to this.

Still, Crutchie only curled up to the side, waiting for someone to drag him up the stairs. A few of the boys shot him curious or pitying looks, but most of them didn’t even notice him. Most of them didn’t seem to notice anything.

As predicted, once most everyone had passed, a guard grabbed him by his bad leg and began to pull him up the stairs with no concern for his head knocking against steps and walls. Crutchie couldn’t keep from whimpering, even crying as the guard gripped his foot in a way that was just wrong, twisting it terribly and causing burns to shoot up it straight to his waist. He did his best to keep his other leg out of the way, but he couldn’t focus, it all just hurt so so much--

His good leg caught on a step, and try frantically as he might, he couldn’t get it unstuck before--pop!

Crutchie lost all his breath in a silent scream, his vision (which had been gradually clearing all afternoon) vacillating between red and white faster than he could see. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t feel his left foot but holy cripes could he feel his left leg. Bursts of passionate agony shot through his hip, the roof of his mouth heavy with the vague taste of blood that he was sure came from his splitting head. He barely noticed when the guard dropped his leg and left, he couldn’t hear or see or even smell anything, all his senses overwhelmed entirely.

When a burning sensation attacked his shoulder, Crutchie couldn’t even jerk away, just sobbed drily. He was dying, this had to be death, there was no way he could survive this without his body just shutting down. . . .

Distantly, a voice permeated everything, saying unfamiliar words that didn’t make any sort of sense.

“Bad disc’lation,” it said, “hold . . . need ta . . . so I cans. . . .”

More fiery touches, all over, too many places, gripping him so painfully, what was happening, why wasn’t he gone yet. . . .

Then the pain at his hip went white-hot and Crutchie screamed, and immediately something was covering his mouth as he found the energy to thrash away from the torture at his hip. Some of the hands let go of him, but not the one at his hip, and then--

Then he blinked, and Crutchie could see, through watery eyes, an arm in front of his face. A strange pool of relief was gathering in his stomach, and despite being able to feel too much and everything all at once and not even know what pain came from which part of his body, he could feel his left foot again.

All the rest of the hands released him and Crutchie relaxed slightly, and he was able to stop screaming. The hand covering his mouth left as well, and Crutchie blinked a few times and took a shallow breath only to see a face swimming over him.

“All right, kid?” the face asked, but Crutchie could only stare. Was he expected to respond? The thought slipped away as soon as it entered his head, and Crutchie thought he heard a sigh before the world went completely dark, completely silent, completely nothing.

“Psst. Kid. You. Kid. Crutchie.”

Crutchie’s eyes shot open, and he turned to--ouch.

Ouch.

Why did moving his neck hurt?

Scratch that, everything hurt. Right, he’d fallen asleep like that. In pain.

Crutchie swallowed a few times, pleased to find that his throat wasn’t as bad as he remembered it feeling. Then he scrunched his eyes closed and turned his head. Someone--the leader, what was his name? Harley?--was standing there, in the dark.

“Hm?” Crutchie mumbled.

“Ya got a visitor. Jack Kelly.”

Why was Jack here? He was supposed to be running the union, and striking, and definitely not worrying about him. That’s why he had written that letter, to try and reassure him.

Crutchie didn’t dare hope that Jack was here to get him out.

He tried to sit up, but Harley pushed him back down, none too gently. “Ain’t nobody helpin’ you up, I’s takin’ a message.”

“I don’ give messages,” Crutchie said stubbornly, his head clearing a bit. He must’ve been asleep for a while, judging by the level of darkness in the room. Not that he could remember much about getting into bed, or even into the room. How much time had he lost?

Despite his words, Harley kept his hand on Crutchie’s chest, refusing to move it when he pulled away. If anything, he was beginning to feel worse than he did yesterday.

“I’s already told him you ain’t gettin’ up, and he’s tryin’a fit through the window,” Harley whispered, “but he ain’t gonna do it. So--anything ta say?”

Crutchie searched his brain a little frantically, still not totally conscious and in almost too much agony to think. “Tell him . . .” he said finally, his tongue heavy, “that, uh, I’m doin’ better than I seems.”

Harley snorted. “You wants me ta lie to the famous Jack Kelly?”

Crutchie sighed, his face heating up in embarrassment. “I does it all the time. Jus’ . . . tell ‘im I’m gonna be okay, and that he needs to be workin’ on the strike.”

Harley watched him for a long moment, his face too shadowed to give anything away. Then he nodded and left, quickly out of Crutchie’s very short sightline.

That reminded Crutchie that Jack was here, actually here, breathing in the same stuffy air, and that somehow gave him the strength to shift himself up against the headboard, gasping in short little bursts, until he had a view of the window.

There Jack was--or, a figure that looked like him against the minimal amount of light coming from the street outside. Harley was blocking part of the window, but Crutchie could see that their whispered conversation was escalating, judging by the gestures. Finally, an exchange of some sort happened, and both boys spit and shook, Jack swaying dangerously on the windowsill.

Crutchie let himself fall back into a lying position, completely exhausted. The pain didn’t even matter too much anymore. He was too tired to care about it.

“Kelly says go back ta sleep,” a voice--Harley--whispered close to his ear. “And don’ worry about ‘scapin’ if ya can’t. Just survive.” Survive. He was alive. That was good, Jack wanted him to do that.

Crutchie wasn’t sure when his eyes had closed, but boy was he grateful for it. Closing them seemed like it would sap the last bit of energy he had. With that thought, Crutchie slipped back into a dreamless sleep, dead to the world and all that was in it.

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darriness · 3 years

Text

Klaine Fic - You’ll Always Be The Home - Chapter 5

Author: darriness

Fic Summary: Everything is finally settled in Kurt and Blaine’s life…right?

Link to: Prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 2874

Chapter Summary: Decision

Author’s Note: Just the epilogue left. Thanks to my beta @darrenismydarcy . Enjoy!

AO3 Link

“Are you okay, Aiden?” Blaine asks in concern as the boy just keeps staring.

Eventually, Aiden shakes himself out of his shock and furrows his brow, “So...you’re my brother and sister?” He asks.

Bethany nods, “Technically, yes. It’s a long story.”

“And you?” Aiden asks, looking over at Kurt.

Kurt gives a closed lip smile, “I’m not your brother.” He says before talking out of the corner of his mouth to Blaine, “That would make our whole situation incredibly wrong.”

Blaine chuckles lightly before he coughs and shifts in his chair to grab Kurt’s hand, “This is Kurt. He’s my husband.” He says.

The reaction from Aiden is immediate. His eyes widen before he scoots back in his chair and adopts a defensive pose as he eyes the pair warily. Blaine’s heart drops at the display and he sighs a little. Part of him had hoped for something better.

“You’re gay?” Aiden asks.

Before Blaine can answer, Bethany’s voice rings out in the room, “They sure are!” She says, “And if you have a problem with that you can march your OshKosh behind back where you came from.”

“Bethany…” Blaine warns, tiredly, as Aiden’s defensive pose switches to ward off Bethany.

Bethany shakes her head, “He can’t come into our house and…”

“Annie, he’s seven.” Kurt interrupts, quietly but firmly.

Bethany shrugs, “Yeah? And? I was seven. I punched our dad for it.”

Aiden’s eyes widened, “You punched father?”

“Okay!” Blaine interrupts to cut off Bethany’s reply. Instead, the sixteen-year-old just lifts her eyebrows and purses her lips as if to say ‘yup and I’d do it again’. Blaine sighs and runs a hand down his face, “Aiden, we should probably get you home. Your dad is probably worried sick about you.”

Or at least Blaine hopes that’s the case. Blaine had thought about running away a lot when he was a kid. He just hadn’t really thought his parents would care if he were gone. Obviously, as later evidence would show, he’d been correct.

Aiden’s face is a mask of conflict. His eyes are squinted and his lips slightly pouted as he looks back and forth between Kurt and Blaine. Blaine feels a little like he’s being dissected.

“Father says that being gay is a sin.” Aiden finally says quietly.

Blaine feels Kurt stiffen next to him and sees out of the corner of his eye that Bethany’s eyes narrow but Blaine feels no anger or hatred in Aiden’s statement. It’s just that. A statement. Of what he believes to be fact.

Blaine sighs, “Aiden, if that’s what your dad says then…”

“Why do you keep saying ‘your’?” Aiden interrupts with a curious head tilt. Blaine’s brow furrows in confusion, “You keep saying ‘your dad’ instead of ‘dad’. You also said they WERE your parents.”

“Is this kid really only seven?” Blaine hears Kurt whisper next to him while squinting his eyes.

Blaine gives a rueful smile, “There’s a reason we’ve never met, Aiden.” He says, softly, “Bethany and I didn’t even know you existed until today. We haven’t spoken to our parents in nine years.”

“Why?” Aiden asks.

“Because I punched our dad in the stomach.” Bethany deadpans, “Several times.”

Aiden’s eyes flash momentarily in alarm before Blaine sighs again and explains, “You know how your dad told you that being gay is a sin?” Aiden nods, “Well, when he found out I was gay...he didn’t like that very much.” Bethany snorts from the other couch as if to say ‘understatement’. Blaine smiles softly at her before turning back to Aiden, “Some bad stuff happened and he kicked me out of the house.” Blaine smiles at Bethany again, “And Bethany came with me because she didn’t agree with our mom and dad. We’ve been on our own for nine years.”

Aiden is quiet as he stares down at his hands still clasped in his lap. Blaine’s not sure what telling him would do. He’s not sure how Aiden truly feels about any of this. If he’s being honest, a small part of him hopes Aiden truly believes his father’s words. Because living with Marcus Anderson when you disagree with him is torture and Blaine wishes that on no one.

Eventually, Aiden looks up with a small smile on his face, “If it’s alright with you, I’d...like to get to know you two.” Blaine blinks owlishly as Aiden turns with a little grin and giggles (the most seven-year-old thing he’s done since entering the apartment), “You THREE.” He corrects himself, shrugging at Kurt.

Blaine lets a slow smile spread across his face as he grabs Kurt’s hand and squeezes, “I think we’d like that, Aiden.”

“Your dad’s not going to like it.” Bethany warns and Blaine knows she’s correct.

Aiden nods and swallows, “It would appear, from everything you’ve told me, that he won’t.” He then adopts a mischievous smile, “But I’ve become very good at being sneaky. I doubt he’ll know I was even gone today.”

Blaine lets out a chuckle. Everything about Aiden had led him to believe he was just like their father. Appearances can truly be deceiving.

“I think we’ll get along just fine then.” Bethany says with a decisive nod that makes Aiden’s face light up.

-- -- --

Bethany pouts as she leans against Blaine in the doorway to the apartment. He slings an arm loosely around her shoulders as they watch little Aiden Anderson making his way to the elevator. Seeing a seven-year-old about to walk into the streets of New York City on his own should have been something they tried to stop but spending an afternoon with Aiden had convinced all of them that he would be fine.

“We’re not letting you leave by yourself!” Blaine had protested when Aiden had told them he should probably get back home.

Aiden had given Blaine a rather placating smile, “I’ve been making my own way around New York City since before I could tie my own shoes. I have the subway map memorized and four different phone numbers for car services or cab companies in my phone if I need them. This isn’t my first time making my way home on my own.”

It had become abundantly clear that this kid was a kid of the streets...in a three hundred dollar suit.

That doesn’t mean, though, that Blaine hadn’t given Aiden his cell phone number to text when he got home.

“Can’t we keep him?” Bethany whines as Aiden waves from the elevator as the doors close.

Blaine chuckles softly and kisses the side of Bethany’s head, “He’ll be fine.”

Bethany grumbles, “You couldn’t handle one more?”

Blaine tugs Bethany inside and closes the apartment door, “I can barely handle you as it is!” He jokes.

Bethany scoffs and punches him on the arm. Blaine oofs and rubs the spot as he chuckles. Considering the emotional roller coaster of the day he feels...light.

He finds it interesting how growing up with the parents they did shaped each of them differently. Bethany had become opinionated, strong, and surprisingly loyal. Aiden had become smart, resourceful, and kind of sneaky. And himself? He’d like to think he became responsible, independent, and a better parent than either of the ones he was given.

“I’m a delight.” Bethany says with a turned up nose.

“Oh sure.” Kurt chimes in, walking up to the pair with Eugene the Unicorn in his arms, “I say that to Blaine on a daily basis after you’ve yelled at us for...something. It’s a new thing every day.”

Bethany tries to glare but ends up fighting back a laugh and failing. She giggles and shrugs as she grabs Eugene from Kurt and twirls him toward her bedroom, “Your lives would be boring without me!” She calls and then she’s gone.

Blaine sighs and flops down on the couch, “She is right about that.”

Kurt hums as he sits down next to Blaine. He grabs Blaine’s arm and brings it over his head to snuggle against his chest, “Crazy day.” He says.

It’s Blaine’s turn to hum, “Crazy day.” He repeats.

“Are you okay?” Kurt asks.

Blaine hesitates but only for a moment, “Yeah, I think I am. I mean, will the fact that my parents basically had another kid to replace me hit me at some point and cause me to freak out a little? Sure. But...he seems like a great kid.”

Kurt sighs and rubs a hand on Blaine’s thigh, “You know you’re not replaceable in my world, right?”

Blaine kisses Kurt’s head and leaves his lips there, “I know.” He whispers, “I know.”

-- -- --

“So, you have to help me out.” Kurt says, two weeks later, as he knees his way across the mattress toward where Blaine leans against the headboard. Both are in their pajamas, each in soft cotton t-shirts and pajama pants, and the soft lighting in their bedroom makes for an intimate setting.

Blaine ‘hmm’s as he threads his fingers together over his stomach. Kurt comes to rest with his knees against Blaine’s hip, leaning back on his heels before he continues, “How long is long enough to bring up the topic of having a baby after your husband’s mother who abandoned him passes away and he discovers he has a little brother he never knew about?”

He says the entire sentence in one breath with a wince and Blaine’s not sure if it’s the face or the sentence itself but he breaks up laughing. Kurt drops his wince to chuckle along with him before shrugging, “There’s no precedence for this situation and I love that you’re talking to Anthony, but I don’t know...what’s off limits.” He shrugs again with a sigh.

Blaine smiles softly and reaches forward to thread his fingers through Kurt’s, “Nothing is ever off limits with us.” He whispers, and Kurt gives him a shy smile, before Blaine sighs and speaks at a regular volume, “I actually talked to Anthony about that today.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow but stays quiet.

Blaine licks his lips, “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about on our honeymoon a lot, and like you, I didn’t know if there was a length of time that was appropriate to wait after...everything.”

Kurt gives a small smile, “And?” He asks.

Blaine sits up slightly and reaches with his other hand to rub his fingers on Kurt’s arm just under Kurt’s shirt sleeve. He looks at his wandering fingers as his face breaks into a smile.

“Anthony says that there is no specific length of time. There really IS no precedence for this. He said that my gut is the best judge. If it feels right deep down, then it’s right.”

“And?” Kurt chuckles, a little more insistent. He shuffles on his knees and shakes the hand he has in Blaine’s.

Blaine chuckles and then looks up at Kurt with a wide smile, “And I think, if you’re willing, we should start the process now.”

Kurt squeals loudly, claps, and jumps on Blaine. Blaine oofs, chuckles, and stabilizes Kurt who is now straddling his hips.

Blaine tilts his head up and catches Kurt’s lips in a kiss just as the door to their room flies open. They both turn to find a very wide-eyed Bethany, clad in her tank top and pajama pants, with one hand on the doorknob and the other on the door jam.

“What?” She asks alarmed, “What happened?”

Kurt leans his temple against Blaine’s as they both smile at her. Bethany’s face goes from alarm to skeptical very quickly.

She turns her head slightly and squints her eyes at them, “What’s with the smiles? Did we win the lottery? You have to tell me if we won the lottery. It’s against the law not to tell me we won the lottery.”

“Should we tell her?” Blaine stage-whispers to Kurt.

Kurt scrunches up one side of his face as he looks at Bethany, “Hmmmm, do you think we should?” He stage-whispers back.

Bethany huffs and puts her hands on her hips.

“She might be upset.” Blaine whispers, still in his not-so-private conversation with Kurt. Even though he’s joking and high on endorphins at the moment, he still knows there is a very real possibility that Bethany will not take this news well.

Kurt hums, “Yeah...I think she can handle it.”

Bethany all but growls, “Okay, one of you better tell me or I’m running away to join the circus.”

Kurt and Blaine chuckle before Blaine smiles at his little sister, “Kurt and I…” He pauses to look at Kurt who nods at him, “are going to start the process of having a baby.”

Bethany doesn’t do anything for a moment. She stares at them frozen and Blaine gets a sinking feeling in his stomach that this isn’t going to end well.

Just as he’s about to backpedal and say that they can totally have a discussion about it, Bethany lets out a large squeal and runs to the bed. She tackles the pair, Kurt still astride Blaine’s hips, and the three fall into a pile on the bed as she hugs them.

“Oh my God, this is amazing!” She shrieks, “This is the best news ever!”

The trio sits up and Bethany hugs Blaine again as he chuckles in relief, “You’re not upset?”

Bethany quirks an eyebrow, “Upset?” She asks, “Of course I’m not upset! Only,” She pauses with a finger in the air and Blaine and Kurt both lift their eyebrows waiting for her to continue, “there are only two bedrooms here. I’m not sharing with a screaming baby.”

Kurt and Blaine look at each other. Both realizing, at the same time, the potential ripple effect of this decision, “I guess,” Kurt starts, “we’ll have to look for a new place.” He shrugs at Blaine who nods in return.

Bethany claps and bounces between the pair before she suddenly stops and lays a hand on each man’s arms. Her face is serious as she looks back and forth between them, “You have to let me be the baby mama.” She says and both Kurt and Blaine immediately choke on their own spit.

“What?” Blaine splutters.

Bethany nods, “It makes perfect sense! I’ve seen the movie. Surrogates cost a lot of money AND if I have the baby then it’ll share both of your DNA!”

Clearly, Bethany’s brain is going a mile a minute but Kurt and Blaine are still trying to process her original suggestion.

“Annie, honey, you’re sixteen.” Kurt says gently, “That is such an amazing offer but...you’re sixteen. You can’t be our surrogate.”

Bethany shrugs, “Then wait a couple of years. I’ll be eighteen…”

“And starting college.” Blaine interrupts, pulling his arm out from under Bethany’s hand in order to lay his own on her arm, “Annie, Kurt’s right. That is SUCH an amazing offer but we can’t ask you to do that and we wouldn’t LET you do that. Part of my job as your guardian is to try and keep you from getting pregnant too early. I’d kind of be failing on that if I took you up on your offer.”

Bethany smiles ruefully as Blaine shrugs. She sighs and bites her lip, “All right but...I get to choose what colour you paint the nursery!”

Blaine laughs, “I think that may be a harder sell than the surrogacy thing.” He says, pointing to Kurt who has his eyebrows raised toward Bethany in a ‘Excuse me?’ sort of way.

“You are welcome to offer suggestions.” Kurt says with his nose turned up, before smiling and pulling Bethany to him in a side hug as she giggles.

“So,” Bethany declares a moment later, “since clearly we’re not getting any sleep tonight, I suggest we grab snacks and spend the night picking out baby names.”

Kurt and Blaine look at each other at the same moment with identical expressions on their face.

“Actually Annie…” Kurt starts but Bethany shakes her head, and finger, at them.

“Nuh huh.” She says, “This is too big a moment for the sexy times I pretend you don’t actually have. This is a family moment. We celebrate together.”

Blaine and Kurt look at each other again and have a silent conversation between them. She’s not...entirely wrong.

Eventually, Blaine sighs, “All right, Annie. You go get the snacks.”

Bethany cheers before kissing them both on the cheek and climbing off the bed. She leaves the room, declaring loudly that all the Oreos are hers.

Kurt is on Blaine the second she’s gone, catching his lips with his own and pushing him back on the bed. Blaine goes with a surprised squeak but doesn’t protest as he fists the back of Kurt’s shirt.

“Hey!” Bethany’s voice rings out and the pair on the bed jumps. Kurt looks up and Blaine tilts his head backwards on the mattress to look upside down...and sheepishly, at where Bethany stands in their doorway again, “I said no sexy times! It’s not like you can actually make the baby yourselves anyway!”

Kurt and Blaine laugh as Kurt drops his head onto Blaine’s shoulder and Bethany leaves again to go get snacks.

It may not be hot sex, but their night is perfect.

#klaine #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #my loves #my stuff #you'll always be the home

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