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faeriekit · 3 months

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Health and Hybrids (XXV)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Tim pulls a fast one on Batman for their mutual benefit. Everybody giggles. Danny goggles.

Trigger warnings for this story: body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) | my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

(Additional TW: I think this counts as a panic attack ngl)

On the one hand. The room Danny’s in has a killer view of the earth from the moon.

The wall is basically just one big window. Danny is also apparently permitted to mash his face into the glass and ogle the Earth from Space for as long as he wants until the stinky dad, whoever he is, finally emerges from the depths of the building.

Diana’s the only one beside him today. She looks nice—nicer than usual, in her armor and bright clothing rather than soft scrubs and hair net. She can push his chair without getting tired—she could probably fly and carry him too, if she had to, so. Danny’s maybe counting on her liking him if this stinky dad tries to be mean.

So. Diana (nice lady) and Danny (half-dead ghost boy) are quietly seated in a dim, peaceful board room, absorbing the early morning (?) space radiation when the door hisses open across the room.

In the doorway is a long, dark, shadow of a man.

…And the green guy!!

Okay, if the stinky dad man brought a friend to this meeting the same way Diana’s meant to supervise him, Danny feels like he’s been lawyered up for the sake of some kind of court trial. This is not fair. Danny wasn’t able to review his case with his legal representation before this.

Well. Danny fumes. Whatever. His lawyer is Diana, the most powerful living being he’s seen ever in his life, and she can totally kick the green guy’s ass. Hell, Danny could probably kick the green guy’s ass.

...You know. If he wasn’t. Sick.

The stinky dad guy looks a lot like the blob his kid drew him as. That’s kind of neat—his suit is all black with little to no variation, which sort of just washes out the colors Danny might have been able to see if his eyes were still good. He’s very quiet, which is nice, and he’s very not-trying-to-read-Danny’s-mind, which is even better.

The two sit. Danny’s already in a wheelchair, so he just lets Diana wheel him to the table. The lady sits beside him in the spinny office chair.

Hello, the green guy opens with, already toying with the edges of Danny’s aura.

Danny sends back an abundance of ass-kicking emotions.

…Alright then, the green man capitulates, the barest hint of bemusement quickly stifled.

Good. Danny is mean. He’s awake enough to be mad about other people touching his aura from any end of his personal bubble.

But then the green guy…says stuff to the dad guy? And it’s very? Quiet?

Explanations, the green guy says. The image of a sign language translator at a baseball game floats over to him, and—

…Oh. He’s translating. For Danny.

That’s…nice? Nicer than Danny expected, honestly? Most of the time, people are perfectly happy to misinterpret him. It was kind of the way of the world at this point. Getting blamed for stuff, getting accused of stuff…

Man. If they turn out to be indoctrinating him for secret war purposes, at least they’re going all in. Danny might actually. You know. Like it here. A little.

He squirms in his chair, and tries not to look at anyone in particular. Diana—the lady who’s been nice to him—makes as if to straighten his hair for him, and remembers at the last second that he doesn’t like to be touched.

And sure. Danny doesn’t want to be touched. By bad guys.

…But Diana’s been really nice to him, so. Maybe. He scratches at the back of his neck, and ducks his head down—and remembers to use his words. “Yes,” he consents verbally. He can’t make eye contact. But he can…let her. Brush his hair back. A little.

Diana asks something long and complicated—and the green guy presses an image of Wonder Woman asking permission, being kind, being gentle—up against the edges of Danny’s awareness.

Danny nods at the floor instead of at the lady. It’s fine. She’s fine. It’s fine.

And her fingers carefully brush through the front end of his fringe, and Danny. Danny is so normal about it. He doesn’t even cry or anything. Not even in front of his friend’s stinky dad.

And she doesn’t do it like Mom did it. And she doesn’t ruffle his hair like Dad did.

But it’s. Nice. And she doesn’t pull.

…And she doesn’t hit.

Danny eventually leans back into his wheelchair. It’s a little bit embarrassing to be halfway in and halfway out, but. Whatever. The scary-looking-dad with the earsies on his helmet has his own teenager. He should understand what it feels like to get emotionally weird with your teen in a public place. If he doesn’t, well...he wouldn’t be a great dad, then, and his opinion would suck anyway.

Based on what Danny knows about the masked kid, Danny isn’t sure the guy would tolerate a bad dad. The teen seems kinda unhinged.

The man says something, and the green guy presses a number of translated feelings against Danny’s awareness: Greetings. Questions about Danny’s wellbeing. Curiosity, but not demanding.

“…Hello,” Danny says back, and. Waves.

The man waves back. He’s got little claws on his gloves.

…Like a cat? Is it to go with his ears? Danny wonders about the possibilities of the guy being cat themed. It’s possible, presumably.

So…they want to know how Danny’s doing? Danny shrugs, and he glances at Diana, since, you know, she could probably fill them in? She does speak their language. And she’s been here the whole time.

The lady leans in close to him, black hair falling out from behind her ear. “What do you want to say?” she whispers into her ear, hand covering her mouth from their watchers.

Uh. It’s up to…Danny?? Somehow??

Danny winces. “…Good?” he tries, unsure if the word he uses means okay or fine or well. “…Not…hungry?”

“Very good,” Diana agrees, a little louder. She looks proud. Being not hungry must mean a lot to her, then. It means a lot to Danny too—he can remember the sensation of his stomach rubbing against itself, friction pulling raw at his insides as acid ate at him.

It was. Bad.

It was bad.

Danny’s glad he’s not there anymore. Anyway, there’s a guy in the room who reads minds, and Danny doesn’t really want to share that memory with anyone ever; especially someone who could turn it back on him.

The stinky dad says something else, but he uses words too thick and long for Danny to understand. The green guy translates, pure conceptual recall brushing against Danny’s outer aura—Needs? Wants?

…Danny frowns.

Danny looks at Diana, who looks back at him. Wants, needs…? What?

“Do you need aniþing?” Diana whispers to him, which. You know. Mostly makes sense.

Does Danny…need anything? He has medical care, he has food, he has water, he has toys and brain teasers, even…he has people to hang out with, he has people who stretch his legs with him so that he can go back to normal…heck, he doesn’t even have to clean his own waste bag. There’s people who do that for him.

Like. What more could Danny ask for?

Danny shrugs. He just wants to heal up and run away. Maybe…maybe, if Diana is real and not just pretending to like him to keep an eye on him, she’d let him visit her later or something. Danny would do what Dani doe—did. What Dani…did. And he’d just go a bunch of places and come back when he wants to.

But. No. There’s nothing he really needs right now.

The pointy-eared guy and the green guy share a look and a couple quiet words. Danny flares his annoyance into the silence, but all he gets is a silent Apology/Apology, which isn’t answers.

Ugh. Danny leans over the arm of his wheelchair. This is kind of super boring; it’s more boring than it is frustrating, even.

The stinky dad guy says something else, and Danny feels the push and pull of something double ended tugging on the outer edge of his aura. Additional/information, giving/take?

Danny really wishes he’d brought a fidget toy or something. His nerves are ramping up but all he can do is contort his fingers together, feeling the strain in and the joints click as he pushes them together and twists them apart. They want…to ask him questions? No, they’re already asking him questions. They want Danny to…give them questions??

…Danny doesn’t really want to. Still, he probably…should.

“The…space station,” he says, using the wrong word for their big space building but not knowing the better one; “Is this…where…why is it?”

The black-caped dad grumbles something vaguely approving. A tablet pops out of the table—spooky—and the guy starts drawing on it, explaining all the way. The green guy simplifies more of the verbally complicated concepts for Danny as they go.

Anyway. So they’re in space because it’s their…job? Danny thinks? They do…fighting stuff. Which Danny knew. Because he’d seen them on the news.

But it looks like they do a lot of things—they clean up after storms, and chase regular bad guys and super-bad-guys instead of just big ones. And they stop bad aliens from hurting people on Earth.

The green guy shifts from a green-looking, pointy-headed, red-eyed form to a warm, brown, human skin tone. And even. Like. Human clothing.

Danny stares.

…And the guy immediately takes back his natural form, his body physically shifting and morphing, which, fair, but holy crap. He’s living, on Earth. He passes as normal, on Earth. No one snitches on him. No one’s selling him to the government for parts. No one’s trapping him in a cage and not feeding him.

This guy works here, and everyone lets him.

Danny shifts in his chair. He…he wants that. He wants that. He wants to pass as human and not have to worry about…about anyone getting rid of him. He wants to go back to school. He wants to hide, and never ever not ever be found by anyone or anything when he does.

“I want that,” Danny says. There’s no inflection. He feels dead. He is dead, but usually he doesn’t feel it. “What do I do for…that.”

Help/Searching/Finding? the green—alien—questions, but there’s nothing for Danny to find. He knows exactly where everyone he loves is—and unless they’re already fully formed in the ghost zone…

…Well. Danny has forever to wait and see if he’ll see his friends and sister again. Maybe he’ll find them again one day, in a world purely green and glowing.

He shakes his head.

The next question comes…softer. Gentler. The mental push feels more like a breeze than a gale. Friends…Home/family?

The question comes tinged with all sorts of sensations that Danny’s suppressed—warmth, security, happiness, oxytocin, fondness, pride and being the source thereof, warmth and love, love, love—

Danny’s sweating. He can’t stop. His hands are shaking faster than usual—he kicks the brakes off his chair with the heels of his palms, and jerks the wheels back, pulling away from the desk—

He’s halfway across the room before he hears the noise. It’s just. Noise. It’s Diana, carefully shushing the loud heartbeat churning in his ears, hands on his hand, trying not to cage him but trying to keep skin on skin contact. Her hand is on the back of his hand, and on his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Diana whispers. Danny’s shaking. His whole body is shaking. “Shhh, sh sh sh. It’s alright, it’s okay.”

It’s not it’s not it’snoit’snotit’sNOT. His sister is dead. His friends are dead. His parents sold his captors the equipment to catch him and they didn’t care if he got hurt doing it and now they’re DEAD. They tore open his hometown down the middle just to catch him, they stole him—they took his dead parent’s things as tools to hurt him—they HURT HIM and there isn’t—he can’t—he can’t—

Something is holding him down, and Danny thrashes. He has arms, but they’re injured—he has legs but he needs a tail and he—and—

He cries into Diana’s arms, sobbing and wailing. It’s a miracle that the building stays together. She holds him tighter, and he cries even harder into her soft under-layers.

He wants to run away. He needs to run away. Someone is holding him, and he can’t even flicker through her the way he wants to; his core is already too strained just from talking.

Danny’s sick. He’s dying. He’s—

“Take a breath,” Diana whispers, calm and sure. She models it for him. Danny gasps in air. “Good. Lete it out slow. As bobbels in a straw.”

He tries to copy her he does and she’ll be so angry if he can’t do it right on the first try but she lets him try, over and over again, until Danny’s able to stop hiccupping and leaking tears and ectoplasm all over her and realize that she’s holding him like a baby. Like. Actually cradling him against his body armor.

…You know what. He’s too tired to even be embarrassed. Screw that. Danny leans all the way over her and goes completely limp. Someone else can deal with his him for a little bit.

She does. Diana just…holds him.

It’s nice. Mom and Dad used to do that for him, when Danny was still…more human, he supposed. More than he is right now.

Something else touches his hand. Danny looks blearily downwards.

The teenager’s dad gets to his knees and takes Danny’s hand—and he doesn’t need the translation to understand.

“I’m sorry,” the man says, over and over again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Danny blinks sleepily. What does his friend’s stinky dad have to be sorry for? He didn’t even do anything to Danny in the first place.

Danny won’t remember, afterwards, being wheeled back to his room for a nap. They must have wheeled him back, though, because the alternative is that Diana tucked him into bed like a baby, and that’s just kind of embarrassing to even think about for too long.

#Diana: I have been allowed to touch him. Ergo I can pick him up now. This is permission #Bruce (in the meeting review later): ...no #Diana: why not??#Bruce: that is. most certainly not how human trauma works. Keep asking before you try anything.#Diana: ah. Understood.#health and hybrids #dp x dc #danny phantom #dcu crossover #dpxdc #dcxdp #tw medical #tw body horror #tw gore #although tbh at this point we're mostly a recovery fic #faer fic

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theskit · 1 year

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Stickers AU

Anyone linking here from the previous posts or wanting to use the links on this post to go back/forward to the other parts and not wanting to spoil the surprise stickers, after using the link, click on my blog name to go to the actual post, as direct linking takes away the readmore cut. I'll take this out and fix it if I can find out how. Sorry!

Part 6

《Prev Next》

Danny floated along as he caught his breath. Okay, so jump scaring the Red Hood *might* not have been the best plan he'd ever come up with, but man, was it funny!

It was getting kind of late, though. He should probably start making his way back to the hotel. Any more vigilante pranks would have to wait for another time. Good thing the conference was on a long weekend. He had one more night to try his luck before they left Monday afternoon for the drive back to Amity.

Pulling up the map on his phone, Danny started making his way back. Just over halfway there, he jolted to a stop, catching sight of a rippling back shadow. Batman's distinctive silhouette was marked briefly against a building wall before being almost lost again in the perpetual dimness of the city rooftops at night.

Well, well, well, looks like he might have the chance to bag all the bats and birds of Gotham in one night, leaving tomorrow to hunt down in Bludhaven for Nightwing.

Eeeeexcellent. Danny pulled himself straight in mid-air, steepling his fingers and druming them together in classic Evil Villian style, grinning in a manner that would have shown entirely too many teeth had he been visible.

Now, this would require *true* stealth if he wanted to both get a sticker onto Batman's utility belt, as well as help himself to a batarang or two. Because Ellie was right, there would be no greater souvenir from his time in Gotham than a batarang from *the* Batman himself.

Choosing a sticker and prepping it, Danny sidled up to where Batman was staring down at a building that was probably not as vacant as it looked if it called for that much concentration. All the better for him if Batman was distracted though.

Moving by inches, carefully controlling his breathing so as not to make a sound, Danny made it to Batman's side. Batman was... probably? right handed, most people were, so he was gunna make an educated guess that the sharp throwing objects would be on the left side of the belt.

Getting ready to make the grab and stick, Danny nearly jumped out of his skin as Batman moved his arm and draped his cape over the space where Danny was standing intangibly right next to him, in a gesture that seemed more ingrained habit than conscious thought.

O-KAY! Time to go before Batman had a chance to recognize that there was no one where he very obviously expected someone to be. Robin, maybe?

Thoughts to think another time! Moving with all the speed and precision he could muster while his heart was still attempting to leave the city without him, Danny swiped one hand through a series of belt pouches while the other oh-so-gently tapped a sticker to the front buckle.

Not even stopping to see what it was he'd swiped, Danny made a quick exit, stage left, do not pass go, do not collect $200.

Batman was jolted out of his concentration when he felt a nudge at his belt as his cape settled against his side once more. Whirling to the left, he scanned the rooftop but saw no one.

Which was entirely unexpected as his instincts were *sure* a small presence had been snug up to his side, like a young Dick or Tim when they got tired or a bit overwhelmed while on patrol and wanted to hide in his cape.

But neither Dick nor Tim, or even Damian (though Damian had never actually done so) was small or young enough to have done that in *years*.

A quick inspection found his belt pouches missing a handful of batarangs, some candy he kept on hand to help soothe distressed children, and the extra just-in-case comm unit. As well as the addition of a glowing sticker, much like the one currently decorating the batmobile, somehow placed on the buckle despite him neither seeing or hearing anything.

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort

#dpxdc #theskit writes #Stickers AU #danny makes his own stickers :3 #and now danny is running around gotham like a gremlin #with a pocket full of homemade stickers #whatever will he do with them? 😈

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cxrrodedcoffin · 2 months

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Begin Again - Aaron Hotchner

“you pull my chair out and help me in, and you don't know how nice that is, but i do.”

——

Likes are always appreciated but reblogs and feedback keep artists going!

Summary: Part 2 to don’t call me kid, Aaron takes Reader on their first date and things go better than expected.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: Aaron Hotchner massive prog rock nerd confirmed by me (◡‿◡✿) I’ve decided to turn this into a mini series so more parts to come!

TW: established relationship, anxiety, food, alcohol repeatedly mentioned, fem reader, fluffy fluff, reader + aaron are huge music nerds

Rating: PG

——

It had been two weeks since you’d confessed your love to Aaron Hotchner, and tonight was the night you were finally going on your first official date with him. You weren’t sure how to feel, your stomach swirling with butterflies of excitement and fear all the same. Your previous plans of doing this last weekend had fallen through as the BAU was called onto an emergency case, the last one you’d work with the team. You’d been with your new unit for a week, the new setting pitching your anxiety to an all time high, and the pressure you were putting on yourself for tonight certainly wasn’t helping either. How would this go? Would he find your interests intriguing, or childish? Were you even ready for a relationship as high stakes as this one?

You brushed your scattered thoughts aside as you pulled the dress you’d spent hours contemplating over your figure, pulling the zipper before nervously smoothing out the fabric over your hips. Aaron had chosen the restaurant, a small but upscale place close to your apartment. He didn’t mind making the drive to your part of town, he wanted first and foremost for you to feel as comfortable as possible, and he knew if things somehow went south you’d be able to get home easily without him.

Aaron had his own doubts, he knew you were more than capable of making informed decisions, he’d witnessed you do so many times over the last couple years, even under extreme duress, but he still doubted you fully understood what you were getting into with him. Truthfully he didn’t understand what you saw in him, he felt impossibly flawed in every way. There was always something more he felt he could do, constantly trying to improve himself to make up for his self-perceived failings.

What he didn’t know was that you knew about his past and a good amount of his complicated personal relationships, and none of it phased you in the slightest. The rest of the team wasn’t exactly tight-lipped about anyone’s history, a few drinks into girl’s night always resulted in gossip sessions about the whole team, and the subject of Aaron Hotchner was no exception. Your past wasn’t devoid of trauma either, and you weren’t afraid of a little emotional instability.

You looked over your appearance in the mirror one last time before grabbing your bag and car keys and making your way to the restaurant, pulling into the first open spot you could find. You scanned the lot, hoping to find Aaron’s car amongst the rows of vehicles, but it was no use trying to pinpoint it in the sea of black sedans.

You took a deep breath and walked to the door, heels clicking against concrete. You pulled open the heavy glass door, silently praying that you wouldn’t have to wait long for him. You approached the hostess stand, ready to explain your situation to the well-dressed server behind it when you saw Aaron rise from his chair at a table tucked away in the corner of the crowded restaurant, waving you over. You breathed a sigh of relief as you walked across the dining floor, clutching your purse tightly against your body.

He was so handsome, he always was, but tonight, in his open suit jacket, with the top few buttons of his collar undone, perfectly framing his Adam's apple, you felt like your knees could buckle at any moment. Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, smiling in an attempt to hide how flustered he made you.

“You look beautiful.” He broke the slight tension in the air as you finally approached the table he’d reserved for the two of you, pulling your chair out, ever the gentleman.

“Thank you.” You smiled at him, keeping your response short and turning your head down while taking your seat in hopes of hiding the blush overwhelming your cheeks. He made you feel like you were experiencing a crush for the first time again, and it made your doubts about doing this even stronger. Maybe you were too young, too naive to attempt to commit to a man as mature as Aaron Hotchner.

“Did you have trouble parking? It’s not usually this busy.” He skipped the usual greetings, feeling it unnecessary given your prior history. The mundane question pulled you out of the dark cloud of doubt in your mind for a moment, almost putting you at ease.

“Oh, it was okay, I found a spot right away.” You reassured him, picking up the menu to browse the dinner selection.

“Do you mind if I order for you? There’s a dish on the menu I really think you’d enjoy.” He asked, pulling your gaze from the menu. His request caught you off guard in the best way possible, your heart beating just a little faster at the thought of him thinking about what you’d enjoy. You figured it could be fun to put him to the test and see if he was really catching onto your tastes the way he seemed to think he was.

“Sure, I trust you.”

When the waiter came by to take your orders, he ordered the same dish for each of you and a bottle of wine he knew would pair well. You couldn’t deny that the way he took charge even in the most mundane ways was deeply alluring. Despite your naturally headstrong demeanor, you didn’t mind letting go of control around him, and if he was open to it, you couldn’t wait to explore that dynamic in other areas given the chance.

“How are you liking your new position?”

“It’s good so far, I do miss seeing you and the team, but I think I’m fitting in pretty well with my new team members.” You took a sip of your wine, avoiding eye contact as you tried to hide your half-lie. Truthfully, you weren’t adjusting the best to your new surroundings. Your coworkers were nice enough, but the low stakes nature of financial crime didn’t exactly build a family dynamic the way the BAU did.

“I’m glad you’re finding your footing.” He smiled softly, not letting on that he knew you weren’t being entirely honest. He didn’t want to push, trusting that you’d let him in more as you become more comfortable around him.

You didn’t know what to say, continuing to down your wine until the waiter brought your meals to the table. You both took your first few bites in silence, enjoying the food in front of you. Aaron was right, as he usually is, in picking it for you. Maybe he understood you better than you’d thought.

You exchanged small glances, content to enjoy the hum of hushed conversation coming from the tables around you, until you saw something stirring behind his eyes. He swallowed and took a deep breath, preparing himself to break the comfortable silence.

“I’ve been thinking about that night a lot, and I want to commend you for your bravery. I know it must’ve taken a lot of courage to open up to me like that and I want you to know how much I appreciate your vulnerability.” His right hand outstretched across the table to squeeze yours, the reassuring touch sending a spark straight to your heart.

“Thank you, Aaron, that means more than you know.”

He sat up just a little bit straighter at your words, as if the metaphorical weight he’d been carrying was suddenly lifted off of his shoulders. Having confirmation that he had been harboring the same nerves you were about tonight made the butterflies in your stomach settle to a dull flutter.

“You really seemed to take a liking to my record collection, who are your favorite musicians?” You redirected the conversation for his sake and yours, hoping to lighten the mood and get to know him a little better than you already did.

“You already know I’m a fan of The Beatles’ experimental albums, Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd are classic, and Blue Oyster Cult are an underrated favorite.”

You couldn’t help but feel captivated by the way his eyes lit up talking about the things he loved, and this was no exception.

“You know, when I was your age I saw Paul McCartney on his first solo tour.”

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, taking a second to register if he was being serious or not.

“You’re joking.” You playfully scoffed, raising an eyebrow.

“No, I went with some of my friends while I was in law school, can’t say I remember much from it though, we drank half our weight in cheap beer before he even came on stage.” He laughed, taking a sip of his wine. You’d never been more jealous in your life, but the way the outer corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled made you forget your envy in an instant.

“Who knew mister tall, dark, and serious was so cool?” You teased, a sly smile plastered across your face. He shook his head with a deep laugh, taking another gulp of his wine.

You spent the rest of the night talking about your interests, telling Aaron all about your hobbies, answering his questions about the knickknacks he’d seen in your apartment. The more he asked the more you felt genuinely appreciated in a way you never had before, finding his attentiveness and attention to detail immensely attractive.

The more he learned about you, the harder he was falling. His previous impression of you as a young, naive agent was thrown out the window with every word that left your lips, finding himself completely captivated by the vibrant, intelligent, sexy woman in front of him. He wanted to give you everything if you’d let him, and you hoped you could give him the world all the same.

——

tag list: @lover-of-books-and-tea @ssa-aaronhotchner @pleasantwitchgarden

DM me or send me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general or Aaron Hotchner taglist :)

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotch x you #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fluff #criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fluff #mine #my writing

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brummiereader · 1 year

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PREVIOUS PART

Hopelessly Devoted (PART FIVE)

Summary: After your tearful departure from Small Heath, you find your way back in the town you bid farewell to quicker than expected, Inevitably back to face the very man who told you to leave. Will your unavoidable confrontation with Tommy threaten to put an even heavier strain on your already fragile relationship?

Warnings: Language, angst, mutual pining, mentions of blood

" Fuck, fuck fuck!" you sobbed dropping your keys on the floor as you furiously wiped away your tears. With one sharp kick in frustration to the old wooden door at your current predicament you slumped down onto the cobbled floor as the clouds broke open and a deluge of rain poured down on you. Great.

" Y/N?..." You heard Polly's voice say in the darkened alleyway, her heels echoing loudly through the back row of house as she hurried over to you, holding her brolly up from the torrential rain now pouring down on the entire town. Yes that's right, Polly. You was back. Your dramatic departure filled with tears and sorrow in attempts to escape both your broken heart and Tommy's fury lasted all but one day. One fucking day. You quickly learnt upon your arrival in London after meeting with the Landlord that there had been a mistake or, what you had determined to be an absolute bollocks of an injustice. There was no letting, or at least there wasn't anymore. Greed knows no bounds and the Landlord your cousin had spoken of was no different. With little sympathy he quickly explained to you that he had let the property out to someone else, favouring their six months advance in rent over your measly one month deposit, leaving you on the doorstep of the flat you hoped you would call home with a puff from his cigar and a snide smirk as he slammed the door In your face. " Y/N?" Polly said as she helped you up from the ground, her eyes wide in confusion." You should be in London. What are you doing back here love?" She questioned as she pulled you under her umbrella, rubbing you arm up and down in attempts to warm you up.

" I was. But like everything in my life it was a disaster. I can't do anything right " you said as you sniffed back your tears bending down to pick up your keys.

" Disaster? You've only been gone twenty-four hours. What could have gone so wrong that you found yourself back in this shit hole?" She replied looking around her as she kicked a clump of mud off the end of her pristine black boots.

" Landlord had a better proposition, six months worth of rent in advance" you replied as you wrapped your hands around your body from the cold.

" Greedy bastard" she replied with an irritated huff on your behalf. "What about your cousin, you couldn't have stayed with her?"

"She's not there. Neighbour said she went to Hull on holiday. A holiday, In winter, who does that?" nobody does Polly thought to herself, especially not somewhere as bitterly windy as Hull. This was all too much of a coincidence for her liking. There was only one person that could have arranged all this within the space of twenty four hours and he was currently sat in the Garrison with her two other nephews and half a bottle of whisky in his hand. Deciding to spare you any further misery for one day she kept her suspicions to herself, but not without mentally taking note to give her meddling nephew a sharp smack to the back of his head the moment he had sobered up and the warm lull of alcohol had worn off. " I have two weeks left of rent on this place Pol. I kept a key just in case" you said turning to look up at your bedsit window. " He's changed the fucking locks on the back door, I can't get in!" you started to sob again as you looked down at the keys in your hand." Pol what am I supposed to do?"

" Come on, you'll stop at mine" she said hooking her arm in yours as she started walking you out the alleyway.

" Pol, Tommy...I can't " you said as you abruptly pulled away.

" Yes you can. You'll stop in Ada's old room. And as for Tommy, you let me worry about him. Understood?" she replied, not giving you a chance to argue otherwise as she took you by the arm once again. " I doubt you'll see him anyway love. He'll be in the Garrison until the early hours drowning in his sorrows"

" Sorrows? What's he got to be sorry about, thought he had everything made?"

"Y/N, there's something I need to tell you..."

" Bewitched, she bloody bewitched you!" John slurred as he raised his glass of whisky up to the ceiling whilst he precariously tried to pour a steady stream of the amber liquor down into his mouth, half of it inevitably spilling onto his freshly ironed shirt.

"No. Y/N bewitched me. Bewitched me since we were kids" Tommy said as he slammed his glass down onto the table, reaching in his pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes.

" Fucking hell, that good was it Tommy?" John laughed with a snort as Arthur threw a cushion at his head causing the remainder of his whisky to tip over onto the plush crimson sofa he was laying on. Polly would certainly have his head for that.

" Wouldn't fucking know anymore, it's been five years" Tommy mumbled under his breath lighting a cigarette as he let his body fall back into the arm chair. But he did know, he did remember. He'd thought about you every night since the day he boarded the train for France. Thought about the small whimpers he would coax from your lips as he rocked his body into yours. The way he'd wrap you tightly in his arms after as you drifted off to sleep, listening to the gentle sounds of you breathing as his own eyes became heavy, and he joined you in peaceful dreams. Now all he heard was the sound of shovels on the four walls of his room, reminding him of what he had lost, what he had endured in those lonely nights away from you. Not that he would admit it of course.

" So what's your plan Tom?" Arthur said as he looked down at his drink, swirling the amber liquor from side to side before downing it. For once, he was the lesser drunk out of the three. Polly had given him strict instructions to go easy on the whisky and watch that Tommy didn't drink himself into oblivion. What Polly really meant was to not drink at all, but all Arthur heard was " go easy". And he had, albeit within his own limits before he too was too drunk to stand and ended up as hammered as his two younger brothers.

" Bloody Plan. I don't have a plan" Tommy lied as he stood up, leaning his arm on the mantle of the fire place to keep himself steady as he looked into the flames.

" You not going to London after her then?" Arthur asked as a heavy feeling of guilt started to sit uncomfortably in the pit of Tommy's stomach. The truth was Tommy did have a plan, one that had started to play on his conscious like the many other things he had added in the last twenty-four hours.

" She won't be in London for long" Tommy replied as he flicked his cigarette into the flames.

" Jesus Tom, what you done now?" Arthur said as he stood up, handing him the bottle of whisky to further dull his guilt.

" Something I'll regret no doubt" he said taking the bottle, intent on finishing its contents before Arthur grabbed it back. Pulling out your gold watch from his trouser pocket Tommy rubbed his thumb over the front, the wear and tear of the years he had kept it by his side more noticeable the longer he looked at it. " Fucking women eh?" Tommy said as he cleared his throat placing the watch back in his pocket.

" Your fucking women. You don't half pick 'em" John replied as he sat up rubbing the back of his neck as he placed a cushion over the whisky stain beside him, hopeful Polly wouldn't notice.

" Nah, Y/N was an angel" Arthur said resting his hands on his stomach as the four glasses of sharp liquor started to weigh down his heavy eyes." It's the other one I didn't get. You had it all Tom, what the hell was that?"

" To piss Y/N off" Tommy said shamefully when the front door creaked open and you and Polly walked in from the rain.

" To piss me off?..." You said, standing their stunned having heard the entirety of their conversation.

" Y/N..." Tommy said stumbling your name out as he turned to face you, his eyes wide at the realisation you had heard his spiteful confession.

" What the bloody hell are you lot doing here? You're supposed to be in the Garrison" Polly said as she shook the rain from her umbrella, her eyes darting between you and Tommy and the death stare you was sending him. It was all about to kick off.

" Grace was to fucking piss me off?!" You shouted as you marched over, grabbing the bottle of whisky from Arthur's hand and launching it in Tommy's direction.

" Jesus fucking Christ!" John shouted as he jumped out the way, dodging the bottle that landed on the floor beside him as a barrage of other objects came flying Tommy's way.

" Y/N, darling, I didn't mean it like that..." Tommy attempted to say with his hands out as a vase of flowers landed on him, gashing his arm. "Fuck!" he yelled as he looked down at the shard of glass lodged in his skin.

" She got you good there Tom" Arthur chuckled, amused at the fact his little brother was finally getting his dues. " Stay still" Arthur said getting up as he rubbed his hands together ready to play the surgeon. Looking sheepishly over to you Tommy watched as you turned around and stormed out the house.

"Y/N wait!" Tommy shouted as he pushed Arthur's hands away, pulling out the piece of glass stuck in his arm with a loud grunt. " Y/N it's pissing it outside, come back in!" he yelled after you as he ran through the living room, stumbling over the edge of the coffee table in the process. Drunk, one arm bloody, hair disheveled, he looked a mess, a desperate pathetic mess.

" Fuck off Tommy!" you shouted, arms crossed as you walked rapidly down Watery Lane.

" Y/N I didn't know! I didn't fucking know!" He yelled back in the middle of the street, awakening the whole neighborhood as the rain continued to violently pour down on the small town. " I thought it was you. Isaiah, Kimber's men...what, what else was I supposed to think?" he said coming to a stop as you continued to ignore him." You started all this you know, five years ago when you broke my heart!"

" Shut up, shut the fuck up! You screamed as you span around, storming back to him having had enough of hearing the same broken record non- stop for five years. Coming face to face with him, Tommy took a step back. He had never seen you this way, this angry this furious, the softness of your face replaced with a rage he had created. "Have you ever, ever once stopped to think that when you left me on that platform when you didn't look back, you broke my heart too!"

" I did look.."

" Shut up Tommy, just stop!" you cut him off unwilling to entertain anything he had to say as the whirlwind of anger stormed within you.

" Y/N" Tommy said reaching his hand out for you that got quickly slapped away by your own.

" I may have broken your heart first Tommy but every day since you have broken mine over and over again. I waited Tommy, waited five years. Watched you move on with that barmaid, stood there as you accused me of stabbing you in the back" you sobbed, the bitter reality of your unrelenting devotion towards him and all the years you had wasted trying to please him cutting sharper then any cruel passing comment he had ever made." All because I loved you...because I couldn't let go" you sobbed as the anger that had been building in you rapidly left, leaving you stood there deflated.

" Sweetheart please.." Tommy pleaded hearing the hurt in your voice as he gently cupped your cheek, slowly moving closer to press his forehead against yours.

" I'm not your sweetheart anymore. I'm done Tommy." you cried turning around as Tommy's hand dropped from your face.

" Y/N!" Tommy shouted, watching you walk away as he stumbled forward slipping over the wet dirt covered ground, the half bottle of whisky he had drunk dulling his usually sharp reflects. " Have a look everyone, take a good fucking look!" he yelled watching the neighbours curtains twitch from behind their windows, his yelling bringing the whole street's attention to the commotion he was responsible for. "Tommy Shelby on his fucking knees begging, happy now Y/N. Y/N!"

" Bloody hell, get up Tom. You're making a fucking scene" Arthur said looking around the street as him and John pulled him up from the ground.

" How much has he drunk?" Polly said storming over with Tommy's coat as Arthur and John held him up.

" I don't know half a bottle, maybe more" he replied as he brushed the rain off Tommy's face." He's alright Pol, ain't you Tom?"

" Arthur, I told you to keep an eye on him. He's a miserable bastard when he's drunk" Polly said looking to her nephew as she placed the coat around Tommy's shoulders.

" Would you all just fuck off..." Tommy slurred, pushing his brothers off him as he walked off into the night.

" Tommy where you going?" John called out ready to follow when Arthur put his hand out.

" Let him drink it off John boy" Arthur said watching him stumble around the corner.

" Don't you mean sleep it off?"

" Drink it off. Tommy's barely slept a wink since him and Y/N broke up"

" Best we leave him to it. The drink will force him to sleep whether he wants to or not" Polly said as she ushered her nephews back to the house. " Come on, in" she ordered them as she turned around to shut the door. " One day, just one day I'd like us not to be the talk of this town"

" Tommy, Tommy! You sick Tommy?" Curly said as he bent down to Tommy laying in a heap of hay inside one of the horses stalls on Charlie's yard early the next morning, his hand grasped tightly around another bottle of whisky he had presumably found on his way there.

" Nothing the hair of the dog can't fix" Charlie said as he bent down lifting Tommy's peaked cap up as Tommy slowly opened his eyes . " Think he's had enough of the good stuff, get him a glass of vinegar instead Curly" Charlie said as Tommy grunted at the idea of his Uncles hangover cure.

" Vinegar, I'll go get vinegar for you Tom. We'll have you back in shape in no time" Curly said as he hurried off out of the stall.

" Tommy get up, you're laying in horses shit" Charlie said as he grabbed the bottle of whisky from his hand. "You won't find what your looking for at the bottom of a bottle Tom" Charlie said as he poured its contents onto the cobbled stable floor beside him whilst Tommy watched the only thing that dulled his self-inflicted guilt slip away. " Y/N?" Charlie said as he turned the tin water bucket upside down to sit next to him, handing him a cigarette.

" Written across my face is it Uncle?" Tommy said as Charlie leaned over to light the end.

" Always did find your way back here, sleeping with the horses when you two would have it off. That and a bowl of cold water on you when she'd find you the next day" Charlie said as Tommy let out a scoff of a laugh looking down at the cigarette between his fingers. " She still comes in here. Find her siting there watching Curly brush the horses like she did when she was a kid, like when you were both kids" he said as he nodded to the bench in the corner of the stall as Tommy rested the back of his head on the wooden enclosure whilst the memories of happier times flooded back to him.

" Started when her dad died. Would bring us here to get away from her mum and Polly's sharp hand on the back of my head" Tommy chuckled as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. " Just wanted her to enjoy the quiet" he sighed rubbing his thumb along his brow as last night's drinking started to catch up with him. How long would he keep doing this?

" Times changed" Charlie said as he looked over to Tommy's eyes fixed on the bench in the corner where you'd both sit " So what did you do this time then Tom?"

" What haven't I done?" Tommy replied as he stood up adjusting his coat around him.

" Still breaking her heart?" Charlie said looking up to Tommy as he watched him pat down the horse he had for company the whole night, thankful he couldn't repeat his drunken rambles.

" Since I boarded the train for France, so I've been told"

" You were too young Tommy. You were about to go off to fight. You could have left her a widow when she was still a kid herself. But I'm guessing that's not all you've done." Charlie said as Tommy listened and let his Uncles words sink in. " Make it right Tom. She's been good to you, she don't deserve this"

" Think I ruined all chances of that Charlie" Tommy said giving up, straightening his peaked cap out as he walked out into the bitter morning mist.

"Bollocks. Bite the bullet and do what you got to do Tom, else you'll spend the rest of your life looking down that whisky bottle" Charlie said as he walked off, throwing the empty glass bottle into the cut.

"Vinegar Tommy" curly said running up to Tommy as he squinted through the fog, watching his Uncle walk off into the yard.

" Save it Curly, for when I'm really down in the dirt, ey?" Tommy said as he patted his shoulder, forgoing the idea of drinking Charlie's sharp remedy to bring him to his senses. His words had been enough. It was time for him to pay the piper and own up to his mistakes if he ever wanted to win you back.

It had been a week since your return to the town you thought you had bid farewell to and a week since you had last seen Tommy, having avoided every one of his attempts to talk to you. After a sharp word to your landlord Polly handed you a new set of keys to your bedsit the very next day. But with only one weeks worth of rent paid left, and your unexpected return ticket from London costing more that you thought it would, your savings were dwindling. Polly had offered you help even asking you to come back to the betting shop, an offer you was convinced Tommy had been the first to suggest. Declining both propositions and adamant on showing Tommy you didn't need, nor want his help you decided to look for work elsewhere, and with three job interviews lined up for today you had high hopes your money troubles would soon pass. Fixing your hat in place, you pushed a small pin into the side firmly securing it from any gusts of wind that threatened to blow it over. With one last glance at your appearance in the mirror you turned around, the smile on your face dropping and a scowl quickly replacing it at the sight of the growing flower garden currently occupying every surface of your bedsit. Seven bouquets of flower for each day you had been back, each with their own card hand written to you from Tommy himself. Fuck sake. Gaudy, flashy, over the top. Not like the beautiful posy of meadow flowers he would spend time picking for you on your birthday. You thought to yourself as you glared at them opening your front door only to be met with another ridiculously large bouquet in your face.

" 'Scuse me Mam" the young boy said as he stepped back. " Delivery from Mr Shelby"

" Jesus fucking Christ" you mumbled under you breath. You had no space for them and was frankly getting fed up with his pitiful gestures. After the relentless messages he had left you it was time to send him one final of your own so he understood exactly what your thoughts were on his grand displays of love. Pulling the card out from within the bouquet of red roses you scoffed at the message before reading it aloud.

" Roses are red..." you said without finishing the rest of the card before ripping it up and placing it back within the flowers as the young boy shuffled on his feet, his eyes quickly darting away. " Send them back Archie" you said with a huff as you shut your door.

" But Mr Shelby he..." the young boy replied nervously before you stopped him.

" Archie it's alright" You said bending down to his level as you placed your hand on his shoulder " Don't you worry about Mr Shelby, he won't do a thing. The only person he will get angry at is himself after his brothers tease him about this, alright?" You smiled as he nodded his head in reply. "Send them back at noon when Arthur and John will be there. We can't let them miss out on the opportunity to get one over on him can we?" you giggled as the young boys muddy cheeks dimpled into a grin. " Go on" you said handing him a penny, winking to him as he ran to the stairs, jumping down the rickety wooden steps two at a time. That will keep him at bay, you thought to yourself as you too headed down the steps jumping off the last one, your mood suddenly brightened again. Little did you know your scheme to keep Tommy away would only backfire when the result of another stupid idea Tommy had concocted to get your attention was about to play out.

" What do you mean the position has been filled?" You asked as you stood in front of the manager of the postal office, having only just arrived for your final job interview that day.

" Sorry Mam. The Position was filled this morning" he replied clearing his throat as he shuffled the papers in front of him.

" But it's only eleven thirty, I'm the first to be interviewed on the list" you pointed out to him at the paper on his desk. This was your last hope. The two previous interviews, well, lack of interviews were disastrous. One only lasted all but three minutes and the other place was shut before you even arrived.

" We erhh, we found someone yesterday" he said packing his documents into the draw as he quickly stood up taking the other pile of files sitting on the side.

" Yesterday was Sunday"

" Mam I'm sorry. I can't help you, the position has been filled" he said as he looked to the door not wanting to be asked any further questions.

" Shelby Company Limited" you scoffed, noticing the business card on top of the pile of documents in his hand. " He's been here hasn't he? Told you not to give me the job?" you huffed crossing your arms as you bit your bottom lip trying to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Your heightened emotions never failing to show themselves at the most inconvenient of times.

" He said you already have a job, he was quite adamant about it. He..." the manager replied as you put your hand up, stopping him from making any more excuses for him.

" Save it " you said wiping your eyes as you turned on your heel, heading for the very man you knew was to blame not only for this failed job interview but the two others as well. Thomas fucking Shelby. Was this his way of getting you to talk to him, for him to see you? Well he was going to get just that, and five years worth of pent-up anger coming his way too.

NEXT PART

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#tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders imagine

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readsaboutreid · 2 months

Text

Permanent Solution (part II) | S.R.

contains: lots of discussion of suicide, other typical criminal minds violence, heavy heavy angst but a happy ending (i promise!), MORGAN GETS REDEEMED

look i'm sorry to put spencer and reader through so much pain T-T but also i wanted to use my own negative thoughts in a better way than just stewing in them so i adapted them to fit this

i also had someone request that i tag them so i guess if you'd like for me to tag you in future posts lmk and i'll add you onto a taglist! when you request just specify if you want to be tagged for a specific part 2 (or continuation of a specific story) or tagged for any future fics :)

Spencer jolted awake, the faint ringing of his alarm clock dragging him out of sleep. He sat up and rubbed his sore neck, wondering why his alarm sounded like it was in a different room. And then the memories from the previous night came rushing back to him, and he realized that it sounded that way because it was, in fact, coming from a different room. He had fallen asleep on the couch, Dr. Mewshroom taking up (Y/N)’s usual place wrapped in his arms. He checked his phone, no missed calls from her (but about 20 from Garcia, and only one voicemail, also from Garcia), and the clock on its little digital screen told him it was 6:30 AM. He got up and went into the bedroom, checking to see if maybe she had decided against waking him. Anxiety rushed through his veins when he saw the empty bed, and he called her phone again, which rang four times before going to voicemail.

“Hi, you’ve reached the voicemail of Dr. (Y/L/N), I can’t come to the phone right now but if you leave your name and number, I’ll return your call as soon as I am able. Thanks!” Beep.

He swallowed, struggling around the lump forming in his throat. He got a call from Hotch right as he started getting dressed for a day off (much earned after their last case). “I’m sorry, Reid, but I need you and (Y/L/N) here immediately. We have a new case, local, and we need all hands on deck for this one. I need you two in the briefing room in 20 minutes.” Spencer groaned internally at the prospect of back-to-back cases but confirmed that he’d be there. Then, he covered for (Y/N)’s absence. He said that she was sick and couldn’t leave the bathroom for longer than five minutes at a time and that seemed to be all the convincing Hotch would need. “Since the case is local that’s fine, she can join us when she recovers. But get here ASAP, Reid.” Click.

Spencer took a deep breath to calm the anxiety bubbling in his gut and chest. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it hadn’t happened since they had moved in together five months ago. Since she had stopped taking The Walk. He took a deep breath and assured himself that the chances of (Y?N) being missing were slim-to-none.

Spencer walked through the glass doors of the BAU and hurried to the round table, the last one of the team to enter. He nodded to Garcia, Prentiss (who looked like she had a very fun mystery date the previous night), Hotch, and Rossi. He pointedly ignored the greetings of both JJ and Morgan, the latter rolling his eyes slightly at the passive aggressive behavior.

“Reid, glad you could make it. Okay JJ, fill us in,” Hotch nodded to JJ, who stepped forward and placed a file in front of each of them.

"Where's (Y/N)?" Penelope asked Spencer, giving him a confused and worried look. He avoided her gaze as he muttered something about her having a stomach bug while he took his seat.

“Last night, a body turned up in the Anacostia River, near the 11th Street bridge,” JJ began as she placed files in front of each of them. Spencer’s blood ran cold, and his stomach dropped at her words. Not there, anywhere but there.

“It’s the third body they’ve found this month, and the timeframe between bodies seems to be around the same each time, one week. All the victims are female, mid-to-late 20s, and all three had a history of multiple suicide attempts," she explained, pulling up some of the crime scene photos on the projector in front of them.

“Hold up, JJ,” Morgan interjected, “if all three victims have a history of suicidal tendencies, how do we know these aren’t just run-of-the-mill suicides?”

“Each body was disposed of in a large black trash bag,” Hotch explained.

“That and they found evidence of torture as well as ligature marks on the wrist and ankle of each of the victims,” she elaborated, switching the slide to show some of the coroner’s photos. Electrical burns littered the torso of the victim on the slide, and Spencer's stomach churned at the sight. She looked so much like (Y/N) it was uncanny.

“Each victim has a similar build and they've all got the same hair cut and color,” Prentiss observed, “maybe a surrogate for the Unsub’s real target?” Please, no.

"Could be a mother or girlfriend," Rossi speculated. "Do the DC police have any idea of where he's taking his victims from, or is it just the dump site that they know? And are there any witnesses?"

"Until last night, the victims had all been taken from their homes with no witnesses on what the police assume were the same nights the previous victims' bodies had been dumped," JJ answered, "but last night he seems to have escalated and abducted someone straight from the bridge itself according to a nearby eyewitness, a man who had been out for a late night jog. They found this—" she clicked to the next slide, "at the scene, along with the victim's cell phone, both of which have been bagged as evidence and are at the local precinct."

Spencer’s world came to a crashing, burning halt. In the image on the screen was a rather generic looking, but still all too familiar, green knit cardigan and black cell phone with a cracked screen. No one else had seemed to put it together yet, except perhaps Rossi, who had shifted his gaze to Spencer.

"Do we know the identity of the most recent abductee—" Prentiss had started to ask before Spencer had to stand and run to the trash can to vomit.

"That's some stomach virus," Rossi mused, giving Spencer a concerned and knowing look.

"Reid? Are you alri—" Prentiss was cut off again, this time by Hotch.

"Prentiss, Morgan, go to the location where the bodies were found, and the most recent victim abducted. Track down the eye witness through any means possible and interview him. Rossi and JJ, you two head to the precinct. Reid, my office. Now." Hotch issued the orders with a deeper sense of urgency than usual. Spencer stood and shakily walked to Hotch's office after the rest of the team had hurried off, and as soon as Hotch entered and closed the door behind him Spencer’s legs gave out, leaving him to collapse onto his knees.

"Talk,” Hotch said, his tone dangerously quiet.

"(Y/N)'s not sick," he managed to choke out between the gasping sobs that now wracked his chest. "Di-didn't— come home— last night," his words were punctuated by gasping breaths. "M-my sweater— wearing my sweater—" he couldn't breathe, and his vision was like looking through a tunnel, the edges getting darker and pushing in more and more with each second, he struggled to inhale. He shouldn't have gone home last night. He should have gone after her.

"And you have reason to believe she was at the 11th Street bridge?" Hotch questioned.

"She used to walk there every night," Spencer jumped at the sound of Garcia's hollow voice coming from behind him. He hadn't even noticed her come in through his panicked haze. "When she first started here. It's why she always looked so tired those first five months, because she'd barely sleep. She'd walk there and pace back and forth along the bridge. Sometimes she'd just sit on the railing."

"Sh-she hasn't been there in months," Spencer's voice was hoarse, "but last night she— something happened that upset her and she walked off—" another round of sobs forced their way out. "Hotch, he's gonna—" Spencer reached for the trash can next to Hotch's desk and vomited again, and again.

"Spencer," Hotch knelt in front of the young agent, gently moving the trash can to the side. "Deep breaths. I know you're terrified. If you need to take yourself off the case, don't worry. We'll find her."

"Off the case?" He panted, trying to steady his breathing.

"Well you're clearly in no state to be doing much of anything. I don't think anyone on the team would blame you for having to step back on this one," Hotch reasoned.

"What? No, no I've got to find her!" He felt his head clearing a bit as his breathing finally returned to a normal rhythm, his vision slowly returning until he could see the full room properly.

"Reid, are you sure that’s a good idea—"

"Hotch," Spencer interrupted, "I can't just do nothing while he tor—" he reached for the trashcan and vomited yet again at the thought of what the Unsub was going to do to her, what he probably already was doing to her; he was honestly surprised there was anything left for his stomach to throw up at this point. “I can’t just sit by and watch, knowing that every second she’s there with him she’s being subjected to one sort of torture or another.”

Hotch paused and observed Spencer briefly before he rose to his feet and offered Spencer a hand to help him stand, as well. “Take a few minutes to compose yourself and then meet me at the SUV downstairs. We’ll head to the precinct together and you can fill me in on what happened that upset her last night. It might help with the victimology, which you’re going to be working on with me for now since you know (Y/N) better than anyone else.”

“Thank you, Hotch,” Spencer managed to force out, the words quiet and trembling. Hotch left the office and Garcia lingered, giving Spencer a look of pure sorrow.

“I— I’m so sorry, Spencer,” she began, an echo of their conversation outside of the bar last night.

“Garcia, this isn’t your fault,” he responded, continuing the reprisal.

“When you didn’t call me last night I—I just figured that you two had—I don't know—kissed and made up and fallen asleep, I didn’t realize that she never even made it home,” her voice broke on the very last word, and her hand shot up to her mouth as sobs began to escape. Spencer’s legs were still shaky, but he managed to cross the room to her and give her a tight embrace. “I—no, you shouldn’t have to comfort me right now, Spencer, I’m sorry!”

“Consider this me returning the favor from yesterday,” he muttered, his own voice tearful while he kept holding on to her. He swallowed around the lump in his throat.

“Spencer, you have to find her before he can—”

“I know. I will,” he said, trying his very best to sound determined. Instead, his voice came out sounding more like that of a frightened boy than a grown FBI agent.

“What’s going on with Reid?” Emily asked Derek, giving him a quizzical look from the passenger seat of the SUV.

“Last night I sort of went off on (Y/N) after one too many glasses of whiskey and I may have told her nobody wanted her there,” he confessed, shame swirling in his head as he drove. He didn’t really dislike her; he found her demeanor slightly off-putting, but he had felt the same way about Reid when he first joined the team, and she was an excellent profiler, so the least he could do was give (Y/N) the same benefit of the doubt he had given Reid. “Garcia tore me a new one after he had come back into the bar and told us that she had broken things off between them because of my...outburst.”

“Damn it, Morgan,” Emily muttered, flipping through the file in her hands. “You see, this is why we can’t have nice things!”

“Look, look, I know I was wrong about what I said to her, but I can’t turn back the clock. I’ll just have to find her and apologize once she’s feeling better.” They approached the 11th Street bridge, and he stopped the car and put it in park. They both stepped out into the crisp morning air, a light fog slightly obscuring their vision.

“According to the witness statement, this guy was out for a late-night jog when he called the non-emergency police line after seeing a man toss what the was presumed to be trash into the river in a giant black trash bag,” Emily recited what she had read from the file on the drive there. “But he called 911 when he said he heard what sounded like the start of a scream and then saw the struggle before saying the woman went entirely limp. Report says he tried to catch up with the Unsub, who then got into an unmarked black van and drove away.”

"Looks like the CSI team may have missed something," Derek called out to Emily as he caught a glimpse of what looked like an earring and some dried blood under some fallen leaves on the bridge. He snapped a glove onto his hand, and when he pushed the leaves aside he felt his blood run cold. He'd recognize this earring anywhere. "Oh, no."

"I-I like your earrings," a soft, small voice spoke from behind Derek and Penelope as they did their morning flirting routine. They both turned and saw the newest member of the team looking shyly at Penelope.

"Oh these? Thanks! You know, I could make you a pair if you'd like," Garcia smiled at (Y/N), whose eyes widened in panic.

"O-oh! No, don't worry, y-you don't n-n-need to trouble yourself like that!" The young agent hurried off in a panic.

"That was...weird," Derek mused to himself as he walked to his desk.

"I guess she decided to take up Garcia's offer on a pair of her own after all," he muttered, his voice sorrowful.

"What'd you find, Morgan?" Emily asked as she made her way over. "Is that one of Garcia's earrings? How'd that get here?"

"She had offered to make a pair for (Y/N) right around the time she joined the team," Derek explained before looking up to find Emily's face falling at the realization.

"Oh, god," she gasped, her hand covering her mouth. "Bag that, I'll call Hotch and let him know what we found."

"I'll also call Garcia, ask her to get the address of the witness. We got to get (Y/N) out of there ASAP." Derek pulled out his phone and dialed Garcia.

"What, Derek?" She snapped, and Derek had to fight every urge in his body to playfully argue with her to try to lessen her anger with him. There were more pressing things he had to talk about right now.

"Hey, Garcia, we found something at the scene," he began, "it was, uh, an earring you had made for (Y/L/N) from the looks of it. Got a little bit of dried blood on the post." He took in a deep breath before adding on, "I'm sorry." The line was silent for a minute before she finally spoke again.

"Poor Reid," she whispered, her voice tearful. He could hear her take a shaky breath before she asked, "what, uh, what do you need me to do?"

"I need the address of the witness, a man named Jonathan Levi," he he explained.

"Yeah, uh, yeah I can get that for you right now," she said, her voice growing stronger. He could almost see her wiping her tears from her cheeks as he heard her sniffle on the other end. "I'm sending it to your phone now. And Derek?"

"Yeah, baby girl?"

"You find this son of a bitch," she said before the line disconnected.

"We will," he said to himself.

"Prentiss," Hotch's voice came through Emily's cell phone, "what have you been able to learn from the crime scene?"

"Uh, well not very much, yet. Morgan's calling Garcia to get the address of the witness so we can interview him," she answered, trying to keep her voice from sounding shaky. She failed.

''But?" Hotch pressed.

"...but we did find an earring with some dried blood on the post that was missed under some leaves," she added, swallowing nearly audibly. "Earrings that—that Morgan thinks Garcia had made for (Y/L/N) a little while back."

"Thanks, Prentiss. I've got Reid with me, I'll let him know what you've found," Hotch said before the line disconnected.

"—yeah, baby girl?" She heard from where Morgan stood, followed by a determined, "We will."

"Prentiss!" He called out, heading to the black SUV. "Garcia sent me the address, can you drive?" He tossed her the keys and she caught them, jogging over to the drivers' seat.

"Reid, you doing okay?" Rossi asked him as they rushed to the home they had finally tracked the Unsub to.

"I—I just—," he stammered, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I just hope we get to her in time." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"We know he keeps them for a week. It's only been three days," Spencer felt Rossi's hand land on his shoulder. "She's a fighter, Spencer. You know that better than anyone else here."

The address Garcia had tracked down for them led them to the fairly large but still dilapidated house of a man named Andrew Warren, a CNA at a local mental facility who lost his parents in a double suicide as a child, and then his older sister to suicide a month ago after she had gone through multiple rounds of ECT as a teenager in the 1990s.

The other SUV containing Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan arrived at the house slightly before theirs and Spencer could see as his coworkers stopped the car and raced towards the door of the house. Morgan kicked down the door and raced inside right as Hotch put their vehicle in park and Spencer was out of the door before he could hear any of Hotch's orders. He didn't care about orders, right now. All he cared about was getting the love of his life to safety.

As he ran over the threshold of the house, he heard shouting coming from up a bunch of old stairs. He took the steps two at a time and he went up each floor until he finally reached what seemed to be the third floor landing. The shouting became more distinct as he approached and he could make out Morgan negotiating with the Unsub.

"She's weak," the Unsub spat, followed by a whimper from (Y/N) that sent a stab of pure fear through his gut. "Weak members of our species like her need to be removed from the gene pool."

"Drop the knife, Andrew," Spencer heard Morgan say in a calm voice as he rounded the final corner and the entire situation came into his view. The Unsub had (Y/N) in front of him with a knife held to her throat, both of them standing before a large, open window. She was in nothing but her underwear and bra and had multiple electrical burns marring her skin. (Y/N) made eye contact with Spencer and tears started streaking down her cheeks as she mouthed I'm sorry to him, sending a crack through his chest.

"Don't come any closer!" The Unsub screamed as he finally noticed Spencer approaching with his gun drawn. Spencer's eyes widened as he slowly put his gun back into the holster and then raised his hands just as slowly. He halted his steps and took a deep breath.

"It's okay, Andrew," Spencer attempted to sound calm and collected through his panic. "I'm just trying to help."

Spencer looked around the room at JJ and Prentiss who were flanking Morgan in the center, both with their guns drawn. He could hear Hotch and Rossi approaching behind him and he turned and softly told them, "stay back." He then started slowly approaching again as he turned to the Unsub. "I know what you've been through, Andrew," he said, his voice steadier than he thought it would be.

"You lost your parents in a double suicide when you and your sister were little. Your foster parents would torment you and your sister and blamed you both for the way you reacted to the trauma you had been through and your sister ended up institutionalized after a suicide attempt at 17. Once she got out and took custody of you when she turned 18 and you were 16, she had trouble being able to keep up with everything. She started harming herself," Spencer took another shaky breath as he slowly continued forward, watching as tears welled in Andrew's eyes. "And then you lost her, too, when she jumped from the 11th Street bridge a month ago."

"Sh-she was weak, just like my mom and dad." Andrew responded, but his voice cracked and faltered.

"No, Andrew, they weren't weak. They were sick," Spencer reasoned with him. "Your sister was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, just like your parents. She was sick and in pain. She wasn't weak."

"She was weak," Andrew said. "She left me here all alone!"

"I know," Spencer said, the slightest amount of relief sparking within him as the knife at (Y/N)'s throat began to lower. "I know she did. You can't blame yourself, though, Andrew. It's not your fault. They needed help that you couldn't give by yourself, and that's not your fault. Just let her go and we can get you the help that you need." He pleaded with him, his voice wavering slightly as he looked (Y/N) in the eye again and saw all of the fear and pain radiating from them.

"No," Andrew responded as tears streaked down his face. "I can't—" As he raised the knife back to (Y/N)'s neck, Spencer heard the sound of gunfire and watched in terror as Andrew started to fall backward with his arms still around (Y/N). Spencer tried to run to her but didn't make it before they fell through the open window.

"No!" Morgan shouted as he lunged forward, grabbing (Y/N)'s hand right as she fell backward out the window. Andrew's lifeless body plummeted to the ground beneath them, landing with a crunch. "Hold on, (Y/L/N), I've got you!" He called to her as she dangled from the window, his hand her only lifeline.

Spencer rushed forward to his side before reaching his own hand out the window toward (Y/N), and together they pulled her back up through the window. They moved back and Morgan closed the window as Spencer wrapped (Y/N) into his arms while she sobbed in relief.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered into his chest over and over. Spencer just held her close and kept assuring her that she had nothing to apologize for.

I sat on the back lip of the ambulance, a blanket around my shoulders in some borrowed clothes. Spencer refused to leave my side until he was called away by Hotch. "I'll be right back, okay, love?" He looked at me before giving my forehead a soft, gentle kiss and then walked over to our boss.

"(Y/N)," I heard from a few feet away. I turned and was faced with Derek Morgan.

"M-Morgan," I stammered as my eyes widened. "I-I'm so sorry—"

"Stop, (Y/N). You don't have to apologize to me for anything," he started, "I'm the one who needs to be apologizing for my behavior."

"I—you just kept me from being dragged out of a window and likely breaking my neck. You don't owe me anything. I owe you my life." I muttered, looking at the ground.

"You don't owe me anything. I did the same thing for you that I would have done for any other member of this team," he looked at me while I kept my gaze on the ground in front of me. "Look at me, (Y/N)." I looked at him and he looked me right in the eye as he said, "my behavior the other night was uncalled for. "This team is a family, and you are a vital part of that family. We need you, Spencer needs you, and I'm so, so sorry. I hope that you'll let me try to make it up to you in the future."

Vital. He called me vital. That word clanged through me and I broke down crying again. He wrapped me in a bear hug and apologized again. "Th-thank you, Derek." I said, my voice small as I hesitantly wrapped my arms around him in return.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)," he said one more time before releasing me. The paramedics approached and asked if anyone was going to accompany me to the hospital.

"Reid!" Morgan called to Spencer, who had just finished up with Hotch. Spencer raced back to us, his eyes widening and growing concerned when he saw my fresh tears.

"What's wrong?! Is everything okay?" He asked as he gently grabbed me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. I closed my eyes and nodded, unable to form any words. Vital. I'd never felt that I was wanted or needed anywhere I'd been in my life, much less vital to anyone or anything.

"Paramedics wanna know if you're gonna accompany her to the hospital," Morgan explained, and Spencer agreed in a heartbeat. I was then loaded onto a gurney and into the ambulance, one of the paramedics and Spencer following behind.

Vital. As I looked at Spencer, he grabbed by hand and pulled it up to his lips and placed a soft kiss on the back. "I'm so happy you're alive," Spencer whispered to me, his hand moving to stroke some of my hair out of my face. "I love you, (Y/N)."

@busy-buzzing here's part 2 sorry it took so long!

#criminal minds fandom #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer x reader #spencer reid #heavy angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fic #angst

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naoreco · 2 months

Text

I figure it’s worth putting on the Tumblr radar since much of this is current discussion of Niosi is happening on Twitter.

(content warnings for sexual assault, abuse, manipulation, and otherwise taking advantage of people)

On Chris Niosi, and Kyle McCarley’s defense of him:

Recently Chris Niosi (aka Kirbopher), who has admitted to abusing people around him for at least a decade, was cast in Honkai Star Rail as the character Moze. Five years have passed since his public apology, where he addresses some specific callouts from victims to debatable effect, but unfortunately he’s lied about apologizing to all of his victims (1, 2), and the specific apologies he has written are now deleted from his tumblr, calling his efforts into changing for the better into his question. Furthermore, as he has a history of taking advantage of his fans even in his more underground days (1+2, 3), putting him in a situation where he has access to more fans to put him on a pedestal is dangerous. Other users have iterated much of this already on tumblr, where it was already discussed in previous years, so this is just some context.

But I’m here to talk about something related that hasn’t gotten any Tumblr coverage. For example, people here have talked about Griffin Puatu’s reddit post defending him already. But nobody has mentioned Kyle McCarley defending him yet.

On July 19, 2024, in the replies of Moze’s introduction tweet, he had this to say:

He addresses his use of “bad boyfriend” downplaying legitimate abuse later. I don't think it's great but we’ll get to that. However, “the court of public opinion” is a concept that he does stand by, perhaps reinforced by the backlash he received for this. Some of this was vitriolic, given the kind of person he was defending from further criticism, but others did try to reason with him, including some of the above and more as evidence that Niosi isn’t being entirely truthful about his atonement, and overall most responses expressed disbelief and disappointment more than anything else.

Still, he deactivated his account the following day, on July 20, 2024.

Unfortunately, our story doesn’t end there. In the early morning of July 21, 2024, he made an announcement in his Discord server.

So here's the thing about Niosi not being a confirmed sexual abuser or rapist or pedophile. I don't have everything, with this being such an expansive case so this is off what I've found. You know the time he planned to take advantage of his girlfriend at the time while said girlfriend was intoxicated (plus this follow-up where he attempted to cover for himself)? Drunk people cannot consent, especially not when drunk sex is already a hard boundary. Although this technically doesn't make him a rapist, to my knowledge, if you're gonna argue semantics it'll just sound like "well he didn't ACTUALLY rape someone so it's not as bad". Is it not already terrible that he tried to and still downplayed it when called on it? Besides, as mentioned in Lighty's testimony linked above, he's let other in his sphere groom minors under his watchful eye, and his other ex Audrey had things to say about how he weaponized sexual favors too. If someone actually has more on a history of sexual abuse and pedophilia, though, please bring it to my attention. I'll add it to this post.

Either way, we don't know what he knows. At best, Kyle has a very incomplete picture of the situation, and at worst he does have a complete picture and he just doesn’t think it’s valid or up-to-date criticism. The person who first brought this to people's attention on Twitter also mentioned that her messages in the server were being deleted when she spoke up to provide evidence, so for someone who welcomes others to share evidence how open he actually is to it is questionable. (UPDATE: There's more to this part of the story but we'll get to it in a future update.) His final message a couple of hours from these just solidifies it.

Having joined the server myself to see, around the time of the announcements seems to have been scrubbed clean, but there is some current discussion of the topic as of this post. Furthermore, someone there has stated that they're compiling sources to send his way to give him a better understanding of the situation (even if they're not sure if he still wants to talk about this), so maybe this will finally get him to reconsider his stance! Only time will tell.

Overall, though, I stand by my point that if Niosi makes a living, it should be somewhere far away from the public eye. Don't give him a platform to find new fans to take advantage of. Don't give his victims the opportunity to be retraumatized whenever they start a new game of show. He's been given more than enough chances. It's time to turn over a new leaf instead of digging his heels into the ground.

Still, I don't know if Kyle will change his mind at this point. I want him to - I tried, back when his Twitter was still up - but even at this stage he's doubled down on a situation he knows he might not have the full story on and I'm not sure if I can trust that. For any other fans, give this some thought - keep an eye out for any future developments if you still want to have faith in him, move on from him if you can't stand it. I just want him to at least hold his friend accountable instead of trying to shield him from the lasting consequences of his own actions.

(I'll be linking future updates here: #1, #2 and #3 for now.)

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flamingpudding · 1 year

Text

Part 6 of Ghost Kid in Gotham

>>Masterpost

<<1 Previous Next

A dead but now revived Son

When Bruce returned home he did not know what he should have expected. Alfred had contacted him a day earlier. Insisting that he needed to finish up the case with the Justice League as soon as possible to return and giving him a rather strange warning.

Apparently there was a new family member Damian had failed to tell them about. The butler did not leave a lot or room for discussion about who or what Damian failed to tell them so Bruce did all he could and made it back before lunch.

Bruce had assumed that his youngest had once again smuggled in an animal that was there to stay but that did not explain the butler's insistence of him coming home as soon as possible. So color him surprised when he stood in the doorframe of the sitting room that became the main hang out room for the family and two of his children were currently holding a screaming match about whether or not the older of the two was part of a cult. Tim was even threatening Jason with some sort of book he had gotten via express mail looking ready to hit his second oldest across the face with it.

"Just admit that you are or were a part of a ghost cult!"

"The fuck you talking about replacement?! I have never been in a ghost cult!"

"Bullshit! The sigels in this book say otherwise!"

"What fucking sigels you asshole!"

"The ones in this book!"

"Wave that any close to my face and I will punch you!"

Looking toward the couch he found his oldest sitting next to his youngest holding out sweets and treats to a child Damian was keeping in his lap in a rather protective hold. The child, a little boy that didn't look older than seven or eight, was wearing an oversized hoodie he recognised as one of Damians. The boy did not appear really happy with his situation as the child kept hissing at his oldest and snapping his teeth. Damian scowled at Dick clearly also not happy with what he assumed were his elder son's attempts at getting the child to not hiss at him.

"Richard, I am warning you."

"Come on little teethling! How about this chocolate? Or do you like baked goods better?"

"Richard."

"Just one pat without biting Dami, please! He is not hissing as much as he did earlier! Should I juggle the cakes?"

"Danyal, how about we leave these idiots?" The child didn't even look up at his youngest but kept hissing at Dick who kept offering small cakes to the child.

He cleared his throat, gaining the attention of his children, just as Damian was about to get up and leave with the boy. It was interesting seeing them blink at him this owlishly whenever he joined them when they least expected his appearance. "Someone wants to explain to me why Damian has a child with him?"

"This child is Danyal." Damian stated, looking down at the boy whose eyes were now focused on him. They were a glowing sky blue and Bruce couldn't help but think that his son might have picked up a little Meta child he wanted to take care of.

He hm-ed stepping into the room and closer to his children. Noting how the child in his son's arms tensed, pupils blown wide. The kid was on high alert. Now that he also took a closer look at the small boy he noticed that he had similarities to Damian, was that the reason the kid seemed to have latched onto his youngest?

"A Meta?" He questioned as he slowly moved towards the clearly tense child. Considering all his sons being around, the child might be a rescue and with the way the little one watched his every move as the newcomer, possibly abused too. He would need the report from his sons to get a better understanding of the boy's circumstances.

"Not exactly…" Tim started and he looked over at his third eldest. He was hesitating with his explanation, why? Was there something else amiss with the child?

"B maybe you should wait and sit down over there. This will be a lot to take in." Dick added his eyes worriedly going to the child that had become strangely quiet and back to him. Bruce only hm-ed again, Dick was good with children but from what he had seen this child wasn't trusting his eldest.

Maybe he should give it a try? So he crouched before Damian and the boy putting on the friendliest face he could muster. If this child was an abused meta case then the boy was surely scared, he could see it clearly now in the boy's eyes. The likelihood that he had probably latched onto his youngest because of their similarities for safety was now even more apparent.

"Hel-" He couldn't even finish his greeting before the child's eyes took on a glowing green color.

"Danyal!"

Suddenly the boy slipped out of Damian's hold and in what looked close to flying flipped over the couch onto his second oldest shoulders, using them as springboard to get onto one of the high shelves of the sitting room. Drawing back into the ceiling corner and making himself as small as possible. The entire time the child's glowing green eyes were on Bruce and his stomach sank at the familiarity of that color. His eyes, only for a split second, went over to Jason who glared at him, placing himself between Bruce and the shelve the boy jumped on.

"Father! What did you do?"

"I was only attempting to greet that child on eye-level so as not to further scare him."

"Yea sure." His second oldest scoffed. "You didn't want to judge if the kid was a dangerous unknown?"

"Jason."

"No Dick. The kid is fine with us, though still hissing and bitey but that was not a normal reaction. If I had to guess, the kid's Pit must have reacted to something with Bruce. The Biter stopped hissing the moment he noticed him. Look at the kids' eyes and tell me that's not true."

His eldest did look conflicted as his eyes went over to the kid on the high shelf silently staring down at them before looking back at him still crouching by the couch where he really had only attempted to greet the small child that had been in Damian's arms.

Standing up Bruce looked straight at his second oldest while still keeping the boy in his field of vision. "The child's Pit?"

Dick sighed covering his eyes with his right hand for a moment before looking back up at him again with determination. "That's why I wanted you to sit down and listen to us first. Danny is showing symptoms of being influenced by Lazarus Water. In addition Tim found that he not only has it in his system and blood but also influencing his DNA."

Bruce couldn't help his as his eyes narrowed at what his eldest son was saying. "The child, Danny you said, is like Jason?"

"Possible worse." Tim replied this time. "The way the Lazarus water influenced his DNA had nearly made it impossible to test it when we tried to see if Danny was a clone. I had to split and isolate it from his DNA to get clear results."

"A clone?"

Tim arched his eyebrow at Bruce judgingly. "You must have noticed how much he looks like Damian. We first thought the child was a Clone but turns out that's not the case. He-"

"Congratulations you have another supposedly dead son Talia revived via Lazarus Pit." Jason cut rudely not once looking away from Bruce as he waited for the man's reaction.

"JASON!"

"Just rip the bandaid off. Better to get his negative reaction out of the way now than later."

"That's not what I mean and you know it!"

"What…?" He barely said it loud enough for his children to hear. To say Bruce's brain short circuit was an understatement as the words supposedly dead son registered.

Dick sighted and Bruce felt his eldest son placing his hand on his shoulder but all Bruce could do was turn to look at where the child was still high up on the shelf staring at him and looking like he wanted to merge into the shadows of the ceiling corner while Damian tried to coax the child down again.

"Damian told us that Danny is his twin that had died eight years ago. We don't know yet why he is here nor how but Dami, who was the most convinced that Danny was a clone at first, is now insisting that this child is his revived brother. And we believe him, everything we found so far points to that conclusion too."

Bruce barely heard Dicks explanation over his own heart beat as he watched Damian and Danny. All he could think about was that he had failed another child. The child who was supposed to be Damians age had died too young and only to get revived eight years later? Why hadn't Damian told him anything about his brother? Why did the revived child need to appear for him to learn about his existence?

All but one of his sons' attention turned to the child on the shelf as now three of them tried to get the chil- no. Danny, Damian's twin who had died at the age of eight and had now been revived and had been kept a secret from him by his own son too, down from there.

"Danyal come down please. Father does not mean any harm."

"Great Bruce scared the little biter so much that he acts like a scared cat again."

"Just be happy he didn't instantly go to bite Bruce."

"I would have actually liked to see that happening."

"Would you imbecile shut up. Danyal, would a snack from Alfred help calm you down?"

"If Dickie didn't get him to stop hissing with treats why would he come down from up there for one?"

"Hey Jason, hold your arm up please?"

"The fuck you want replacement?"

"We are not using Todd as bait."

"Worth a shot."

"Fuck off, how about you hold your arm up."

"You're taller than me and have more reach."

"Oh now you're fine admitting you're short?"

"Shut up. Neither of you will be used as bait. Who knows what diseases either of you carry."

""HEY""

Turning around and wordlessly leaving the room Bruce decided he needed to find a way to contact Talia. He needed answers and that as soon as possible. He could not face Danny like this and his children seemed to have the situation handled for now.

As the man stormed out of the room, he did not notice the worried or judging side eyes of his children. Nor the green eyes that had never once stopped watching him as they turned blue appearing more confused than when they had been green. Jason on the other hand had noticed the change and couldn't help but wonder why the little biters Pit reacted this strongly towards Bruce when his own had been surprisingly quiet for the last couple of hours.

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

Meanwhile Illinois in a small hidden town…

"What do you mean template isn't here anymore?!"

"He disappeared. They say he died but I can't believe it. I don't believe it."

"You better! If he died the entire ghost zone would have rioted!"

"What?"

"Hello? Ghost King?"

"Right… But how do we find him?"

"Maybe we can track his ecto-signature?"

"We have to give it a shot. We need to find him before the GIW do."

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dariaslookalike · 7 months

Text

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt I

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: No Beta readers for any of my fics, so apologies for spelling mistakes. I wrote this originally on AO3, and it's still a work in progress. As with my other fics, I'll be uploading here and there when I get inspo

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 2

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

Your mind trails off to the strangest of things when you’re nervous. You’re staring out the window pane, and there’s a small robin, hopping from branch to branch. It’s entrancing in a way. Do robins have little bird interviews for their little bird jobs? Or does everyone simply know what their role is, without having to apply for it? Collect the sticks, eat some bugs, and raise the young. Simple little bird jobs for simple little birds.

But then the woman in front of you clears her throat and you snap back to reality. Lisa Cuddy stares at you, but it’s not coldly like some interviewers may have. She smiles and you are flashed with her rows of perfect, white and straight teeth. Across from her, you feel underdressed, and not only in the literal sense. Some light makeup, to hide the fact that you hadn’t slept the previous night due to nerves, form-fitting but very obviously last-season pants, and a coat that you had quickly folded onto the chair beside you, to hide the tea stain down its front. But outside of that, she held a certain properness and professionalism you hadn’t mastered yet.

Despite that, she had beamed across your resume, congratulated you on your achievements, and told you that the job was almost ‘as good as yours’. She did, however, warn you. You would have another, more unofficial, interview to complete with your team leader before you began work. With the infamous Gregory House.

She inhaled, and it whistled through her nose. “Now, can I trust you to give you the very blunt run down of House, without you screaming and running for the hills? Because I think you need to know, while this job is incredibly hard and taxing…You may find he’s the worst part of it.”

You laughed politely. “I’m sure he’s not that bad. I once had a boss who had me make him coffee and lunch for three weeks straight after I had completed my PhD. He said it was a ‘chance for me to relax’,” You gesture air quotes, “before I got into serious work.”

Cuddy pinched the bridge of her nose. “No. As condescending as that is, House is worse than that.”

She must have seen your eyes widen because she quickly waves her hands in front of herself. “Don’t get me wrong. He’s brilliant, and, don’t pass this on to him, one of the best doctors you will ever work with. But…He can be rude. Egotistical. Infuriating. There are some days when he will make you feel pathetic and exhausted and other days when he will make you feel like you’ve discovered the secret to medicine. I’m not saying this to scare you, but rather I think you need to know that the people who are able to manage House and manage to work under him, do so with a lot of patience, humour, and resilience.”

You nod your head, and your brow furrows in seriousness. “I understand. Regardless of how he treats me, this is honestly an opportunity that I can’t pass up. I’m not going to let someone else ruin that for me.”

She beams at you. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smile back at her, and she begins to shuffle papers on her desk and sort them into a stack. When they’re ordered into a neat pile, she looks back to you. “Rather than an interview, House will see this as a test. He will try to push your buttons. Make you nervous; worried. Don’t let him. You’re young, you’re beautiful, you’re smart,” You find yourself flushing at the honesty she seems to hold in her words. Cuddy was genuine and seemed like someone you could trust. That would be important if House was as bad as she made him out to be. “And he will try to make you all the more miserable for it.”

You let out a breathy sigh. “At least I’ll have time to prepare myself. What day would you like me to come in next?”

She winces and hands you the stack of papers (perhaps some miscellaneous files and formalities that you’ll investigate later, in private). “There won’t be another day, I’m afraid. He’ll be expecting you by his office following this.”

You breathe out, but afraid to seem well…Afraid, in front of Cuddy, you grit out a smile. “That’s perfectly fine. Sometimes it’s better to rip the bandaid off sooner, rather than later. Can you please direct me to his office?”

—--------

You feel your stomach plummet when you leave the elevator and begin walking down the hallway, clutching at your files as you do so.

Your short heels still manage to clack against the tiled floor as you walk. You pause and peer into a glass office. Sure enough, beside the door is a small plaque reading Dr G.House. Your hands reach for the doorknob, but it’s locked and you can’t push through. You peer into the office and see an empty desk, among other things.

It appeared the G.House was not home. So much for Cuddy’s warning that he would be waiting for you.

You breathe in deeply and scan around you. There are four or so chairs across from you, lining the side of the hallway, and sprawled across one of them is a man, staring right at you. You smile, half out of politeness and half out of awkwardness, and move to sit on the furthest seat. You settle down your papers, but when you look back, the man is turned and still staring. He has cropped, greying hair and steely blue eyes, and you quickly skim over him. Worn out jeans. A shirt with some sort of stain on it. A scuffed, dark cane resting beside him. Ratty trainers. At least he didn’t have the professionalism or poise that Cuddy carried around.

You realise you’ve stared a second past the respectful amount and you smile, fully out of awkwardness. “I don’t suppose you’re waiting for Dr House too?”

“Me?,” He raises an eyebrow, “Noo, I just like to wait outside his office as a pastime. See if I can conjure him through my psychic powers alone.”

You snort and raise your hands to your face quickly. “Well, do you know when he’ll be back?”

The man clicks his tongue. “Not at all. He doesn’t seem to care at all for punctuality, especially for…Who are you? A new hire?”

You tilt your head at him. “How’d you guess?”

He mimics you, tilting his head in the same direction. “You don’t look sick enough to be a patient, or tired enough to be a worker. Then there’s only the patient's family, new hire, or hooker to choose from. And no offence,” He trails his eyes down your form. “You don’t dress the part for the last option.”

You bark out a laugh at his incredulous words, shocked. “God. I’d hate to see the new hire who does.”

You’re happy to turn from the man and count the minutes until the infamous House appears, but the man draws your attention back to him with a question. “Why do you want to work with him?”

You squint your eyes at him. “And why do you want to know? Weren’t you the one to say that sitting here means you’re sick, a worker, a new hire, or a hooker?”

He nods, and his eyes appear calculating for a second. But then they’re masked and replaced with a forced smile “Yes, I did. As you can tell from my wicked cane, I’m a cripple hooker. I charge $200 for the hour, by the way. $300 and I’ll bring out the wheelchair.”

You can’t help but smile. Its funny, in a very twisted way. But you breathe deeply and try to compose yourself. You had never met someone as strange or bold as this man, but you supposed hospitals were the perfect place to find such specimens. The perfect mix of medicine, death and life, and you were produced with nutjobs.

“I’ve heard he’s a brilliant doctor-”

“And incredibly rude. I saw him the other week for the pain in my leg, and he just shoved a Vicodin bottle in my hand and called me an addict.”

You sighed. “You’re the second person to tell me that today. While I’m sorry to hear of his bedside manner, there are certain things I’m willing to go without in trade for working with him. I’ll deal with any rudeness or arrogance if it means I’m able to learn from him and contribute to his team.”

Now it’s the man who snorts out a laugh. “You’ll deal with being disrespected and abused just so you can be the ‘teacher's pet’ of medicine?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “No! Obviously, I’m going to stand up for myself and my own morals. But I think to some degree, people are set in their ways; if he is, I’ll learn to work around it, rather than break through it.” You huff, “And I won’t be a ‘teacher’s pet’. Been there, done that; it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”

The man says nothing, and you turn to him, waiting for a witty reply or another snarky hooker joke, but then another man strolls up to the two of you. He has tousled brown hair, dark eyes and a strikingly white lab coat. House.

You stand up quickly and offer your hand. He shakes it, and you introduce yourself.

He smiles at you, with a sincereness that nearly startles you. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m assuming you’re the new hire? I’m James Wilson, head of Oncology here.”

Oh. So not House.

You stutter for a moment but compose yourself. “Oh! I’m sorry, I thought you were Dr House. Let me know if this is completely out of your ballpark then, but we’ve,” You gesture over your shoulder to the man still sitting down, “been waiting here for Dr House. Could you please point me in the right direction? He wasn’t in his office.”

The man raises his eyebrows at you, and you’re worried you said something to offend him -not like you made a hooker comment about him- but then he sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose, the same way Cuddy did. “House, would you like to introduce yourself to your new hire?”

Your eyebrows narrow. “I’m sorry, what?” Who was he talking to?

But then there’s the slight tap of a cane against the floor, and the man beside you rises to his full height.

You turn to him, perplexed, and he mockingly widens his eyes and raises his free hand to his mouth in faux shock. “Whoops! I forgot I transferred from being a Cripple Hooker to being a doctor. Don’t worry, I still charge the same rate.”

He shuffles past you, limping, and into his office. Wilson remains beside you, and he shakes his head, eyes cast upwards. “You’ll get used to him. Just don’t let him hassle you too much or he’ll get used to that.”

You turn to thank him for the warning, but House clears his throat loudly from within his office, and sits down at the wooden desk as if to say ‘well hurry up then’. Meekly, you gather your notes, tell Dr Wilson it was nice to meet him, and walk into the office to sit across from House

He stares at you, the same way he stared at you out in the hallway, and you find yourself prompted to speak first. “So, Dr House. While it’s nice to formally meet you, I’m wondering if it wasn’t for Dr Wilson, were we just going to sit outside and trade hooker jokes for the next few hours?”

His eyebrows narrow. “You don’t need to lie.”

“What?”

“It’s not nice to meet me.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve met me before. It’s not a pleasant experience.”

He runs his hands down his worn face and continues to speak. “I have your resume. Your, quite frankly, startling long list of academic achievements and medical mumbo jumbo. I could give less of a hoot about those things; they won’t help you here. Awards and experience and acting like you give a shit is Cuddy’s forte, not mine.”

You find yourself puzzled about how to reply, but he saves you the effort and continues speaking, first drawing out your last name in a long drawl. “You seem intelligent and as if you lack a backbone. Both are necessary things for my team. But,” He stares intently at you, “Why do you want to work here? With me? On this team?”

You suck in air. “Well, as I said earlier, you’re brilliant. I know your cases and I know the work you’ve done. To put it blatantly, you’ve saved lives where others would have prepped the morgue. I want to know how to do that, and how to become the best doctor I can be.”

He laughs. “Being a suck-up isn’t a requirement for being a good doctor.”

“Neither is being an arsehole, but you seem to have that covered.”

Shit. Shit. Did you really just say that? To your boss? God, he was infuriating yes, and rude and-Oh. This was what Cuddy was warning you about. Losing your cool in face of his taunts and remarks. Well, low and behold, you lost your cool.

He narrows his eyes and leans forward to rest his head on his steepled hands. “Do you usually call people names during interviews or just the ones where you don’t want the job?”

You huff, exasperated. “I want this job. Hell, I need this job.”

“Everyone needs a job. Everyone has bills. But you’re avoiding the question.”

Your jaw clenches. “Well, not everyone has tenure. And, to answer your question, I only call people names during interviews because you made an incorrect assumption about me; I do have a backbone.”

He leans back in his chair and studies you. “Snarkiness isn’t a backbone. It’s a defence mechanism, sure, but a backbone would be walking out of here and knowing that your worth as a doctor means you shouldn’t be disrespected like that.”

Staring into his icy eyes, you speak. “You’ve got to ask me question after question. Am I a hooker? Why do I want to work with you? Now, I’m going to ask you a question. Why are we doing this?”

“Well sweetheart, I’m not sure if you’ve heard of this amazing thing, but there’s an interview you have before you start a job to see if you’re suited to-”

“No. I mean why are you ‘interviewing’ me if you’ve already made up your mind?”

At that, he stays silent. Confirmation. You get the sense that if he hadn’t made his decision even before you saw him, he made it the second you sat down outside. Maybe it was the way you walked, or the awkward smile you passed to him. Whatever it was, he couldn’t give less of a shit about your credentials; or you.

You nod and gather your things again. “Thank you for your time, Dr House. Please pass my regards to Cuddy.”

You reach the door before he speaks again. “You didn’t ask me what my decision was.”

You huff. “I think you’ve made it abundantly clear.”

“You’re hired.”

Oh.

#gregory house #gregory house x reader #gregory house fic #house md #house md x reader #house md fic #house md fanfiction #greg house #greg house x f!reader

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fangsforiris · 3 months

Note

I've recently checked out your Yui x female headcanons and I wanna know do you actually think Yui falling in love with the diaboys is just Stockholm syndrome? I know they’re just meant to be head canons but I’m pretty curious about it (but I’m pretty sure she genuinely fell in love with them)

I was waiting for this one!! Here’s an analysis on my end!!

TW FOR PEDOPHILIA, STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, DIABOLIK LOVERS TYPICAL ABUSE.

So let’s start off with who Yui is as a character.

She’s supposed to be written as a sheltered, sweet, and overall empathetic girl who follows a strict moral code, mainly influenced by her religious views (Roman Catholicism).

This is heavily implied as in Romania at the time and as of current, Roman Catholicism is the main religion practiced.

It’s canon that her interactions with men have been controlled, as seen with her father— who did neglect her, leaving her to eat meals by herself, always be home alone, and basically only rely on the nuns for some support— but even then it wasn’t enough.

Hence why she can be considered to be a ‘good housewife’ since she has that experience on knowing how to manage a household with chores and all.

Even further pushing it for her previous relations with men, we know she had friends before— a life before— the house. Men? I would assume she was cordial when needed to be, but never was allowed to heavily interact, which is why she’s so out of date with her speaking, and pop culture— as it’s revealed by Yui, herself, that she doesn’t know that much.

But of course, why is that important? It gives the key foundlings to her environment, and also aids in assessing who’s more susceptible to Stockholm syndrome, and any tactics of abuse.

Basically who is the best ‘target’ for abusers to get too.

Her father canonically has given off-hand sketchy vibes, and also has canonically shown borderline pedophilic behaviours towards his own adoptive daughter. Even going as far as to want and attempt to marry her.

(I’m not sure where that is shown again, but in some MB routes— Kou’s, Ruki’s— he [Seiji, Her adoptive father] meets Yui and assumes she’s a vampire and attempts to kill her.)

Basically, it all starts at home. It sets the ground work for what you can take and what a person is conditioned to believe, etc.

In this case, Yui is conditioned to believe that it’s at least normal for her to appropriate these behaviours, and in a sense, still talk good about the men around her because she doesn’t know any better. She doesn’t know anything other than this.

That’s why she still tries her best to talk about her father is a positive light, because, due to her good heart, wants to believe and see the best and people (a core part in her character which allows her to live and persevere all routes— especially HDB with the boys.)

So due to that, we can take the groundwork presented to us as a Player, Reader, or consumer of the games and Diabolik Lovers Media, that Yui’s relationships and viewpoints of men is formed and directly influenced by her father and what rules he set up.

A psychological fact, everyone’s core parts and associations all start at home, with our parents. That’s why many get their viewpoints of how a man should treat you, via your father figure. And so forth.

It starts with discipline, then forming views and opinions, and overall how the treatment you receive reflects directly what you are constantly engaged and exposed to in your home-life and environment.

So for Yui, we can understand the following—

A) Relations with Father figure (which impacts her views/treatment by men) is shifty, but she still speaks in good light.

B) She is used to being alone, and handling everything herself. Bottling it in as she didn’t have that many outlets other than the obvious religious standpoint.

C) Despite it all, she’s raised to be a good person and is high or quite white, on the scale of morality.

So with that being said, what is Stockholm Syndrome?

Stockholm Syndrome is a diagnosis given when:

A) Feelings of trust or affection felt in many cases of kidnapping or hostage-taking by a victim toward a captor.

B) Hostages sometimes develop a psychological bond with their captors. It is supposed to result from a rather specific set of circumstances, namely the power imbalances contained in hostage-taking, kidnapping, and abusive relationships.

That is the formal definition, given by Oxford Dictionary and Wikipedia (Cited from: King, David [2020], and Jameson, C [2010].)

Which are official reports reviewed by psychologists and psychiatrists who are heavily trained in their field.

Now, we can take it from the anime and HDB (the darkest of the games,) that Reiji implicitly states “You are not able to leave.” To which Subaru replies, “Just tell her that if she attempts to escape she’ll die.”

That in itself tells you there’s no escape. And that from that point on, Yui becomes a hostage. In a house with pre-established men who already are high level threats to Yui, and are highly dangerous.

And what is Yui? She’s afraid. Like any sane person who understands the power difference between a man and a woman— more specifically vampires. She learns this instantly, and also faces threats of bodily harm quick into her stay.

Whatever happens later on in any route, is Yui playing the saviour. She’s expected to cater to every boy, and there are heavy repercussions if she disobeys.

There’s a master post of everything in HDB that occurs when the boys attempt to kill her.

And of course, this doesn’t just start at HDB, this also extends all all games, MB, DF, LE, and just any and all games when there’s an introduction in characters or simply just any routes.

In every route there will be at least some sort of implication of abuse or undertones. As that is what Diabolik Lovers is, a dark video game series.

Point is, if it’s Diabolik Lovers, expect some sort of abuse towards the MC/Yui/Player.

With this basis and mentality in mind, it’s heavy and dark. Which is what lead many previous brides to take their own life. They couldn’t handle the constant pressure nor the abuse being presented to them that they underwent.

So where does Yui fit into all of this?

A) She’s one of the many brides and assumed to be the last bride to enter the house due to her complicated relations with her heart.

B) She is undergoing the abuse of the Sakamaki’s, Mukami’s, Tsukinami’s, and Kino.

C) She is quite literally a victim and survivor of what countless other brides have died to. The only thing keeping her alive is her heart, which also goes to make problems for her in the future.

It’s been stated, highlighted, emphasized and understood by everyone— including Yui herself, that all she is worth is her blood. A blood bag. That is it.

Of course, this is where the Adam and Eve Plan would come into play with Yui finding an Adam out of the candidates.

However, she is still in this environnement which tolerates and even thrives off of her abuse.

Which would, in some routes, condition her to become a masochist, thriving off of her own pain, just because the vampires constantly tell her, gaslight her, and condition her to believe that she likes it.

Even after Yui consistently states she doesn’t.

(This is also influenced by Cordelia’s heart, and what Cordelia is subconsciously pushing Yui too aswell, as seen in HDB, one of the scenes with Shuu as he gets jumped in the alleyway. Her thoughts— driven by Cordelia in the moment— reflect sadistic intent. Another scene where she’s pushed to enjoy her suffering, even when Yui fights against it because somewhere inside her knows it’s wrong.)

However, this isn’t to say that the boys don’t get character development. They do. Which is how we as a consumer and player can have fan favourites and like them.

But how do they get to that point? Through Yui. Using Yui as a direct catalyst to project their abusive tendencies into her, leaving her to pick up the pieces with herself, and become an unlicensed therapist to aid in their problems.

This is directly influenced by each of the Sakamaki’s mommy issues, the Mukami’s inferiority complexes and need to succeed, and for the Tsukinami’s— their need for their race to be saved.

And of course, understanding every boys’ underlying complexities of their individual traumas which make up their character as we know it.

Yui has to suffer a lot for her to get what we see it, or what is painted as, ‘love and a good ending,’ with the selected boy and route of each respective game— along with the boy chosen.

She gets here because she’s slowly conditioned to allow these abusers to take over her life, and basically become what they need in that moment.

But she does have her own personality, her own goals, motivations, and whatnot.

However it becomes overrided by the survivor mentality she’s instantly placed in when she’s constantly around these vampiric men. She’s always on her guard, and the moment she drops it, it’s used against her.

Even when she’s seemingly in a good moment with the boys, understand, that one wrong move can send her straight to death. So everything is much more calculated than it seems.

In fact— to further prove the Stockholm syndrome affect— Yui acknowledges that she’s stuck and trapped. In Shuu’s HDB route, DARK 01, she only attempts to get Shuu to go to his classes in hopes that the Sakamaki’s will be greatful to her and let her leave.

So even if she does happen to find attraction in any of the boys, and fall in love, there’s still an outlining of conditioning that gets her to that point.

This isn’t to hate on anyone that ships Yui with any of the boys, this is simply a brief analysis of the facts from a purely psychological approach!! I’d like to think if the boys got therapy and worked through their problems, perhaps then, they wouldn’t have projected their traumas onto Yui.

But thank you for the ask!! This was fun to analyze!!

#ask reply #ask iris/admin #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #dl fandom #diabolik lovers analysis #yui komori centric #yui komori #komori yui

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lowkeychenle · 10 months

Text

Irrevocably (3) (M)

Description: Following the night of the party, all you want to do is be alone. Chenle, on the other hand, has other ideas, and is suddenly hellbent on proving to you he'll be better for you

Content Warnings: Angst (previous content warnings from other parts do apply, please check those out before you continue). Smut: explicit, rough, unprotected sex (let's make sure to use protection y'alllll), multiple rounds, why is chenle always pussy drunk i don't understand, use of pet names baby and pretty girl, temperature play (ice), oral (both), cockwarming (did y'all really think I could end a fic on a BAD NOTE when it's CHENLE WEEK?! no bye)

Word Count: 9,105

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Juliet's Full Fic Masterlist | Requests

Taglist: @anthropologymajorkpopmultistan

You wish you could say things changed for you. That you miraculously felt better after you broke down in front of Chenle. Maybe you’d be in a magical world of bliss at this point if that were the case. He’d finally realize all of the bullshit he did and beg for your forgiveness, but a man like him is too prideful to admit his mistakes. You know that now.

He stayed with you until you were calm enough to think rationally, but as soon as your thinking ability came back, you hightailed away from him as fast as you could. Thankfully, Jisung hadn’t been drinking, so he offered to take you home.

He was probably dying to know—not only why Chenle stormed after you and Mark, only for Mark and Chenle’s girlfriend to both stomp off in anger, swearing they’d never speak to either of you again. Although, it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on. Everyone is suddenly painfully aware that you and Chenle have some sort of history that’s more than what you’d let on.

The first text from Chenle came that night. Apparently, he decided it was time to unblock you.

Chenle: I’m so sorry

All you can do is snort and drop your phone into your lap. You make sure to actually open the message so he sees you’ve read it without responding. He doesn’t deserve anymore of your time. Even if it is to apologize. You want to tear the world down when you see the two hearts next to his name, one in your favorite color, and one in his.

“You okay?” Jisung asks as he pulls up to your building. “I know we’re all friends with Chenle, but you’re important to us, too, okay? Don’t hold anything in if you’re hurting.”

Your throat is dry, and you’re sure your face is still red and puffy from all the crying you did. “Thanks, Ji. I really don’t feel like talking at all tonight. I’m sorry.”

“As long as you know I’m here if you need me.”

You nod once at him and thank him quietly before getting out of his car. Without a single look back, you head into your building. You’re not sure what to expect. Considering how Chenle’s been acting lately, his sad apology attempt is most likely all you’ll get. He’ll go back after his girlfriend, and you’ll end up blocked all over again before the end of the week.

Once you’re inside your house, you have the urge to curl into a ball on the couch with your favorite blanket and never leave the protection of the walls around you. With the door locked, nobody will ever be able to bother you.

Hours turn into days and days into weeks, and the most you’ve done is go to the grocery store once. Delivery has become your savior, but even that doesn’t sit right with you. To your surprise, Chenle continued to message you periodically.

Chenle: You have every right to be pissed at me. I know. All I want is to explain myself, okay?

Chenle: I fucked up so bad I know I did

Chenle: I need you in my life (Y/N)

You’re even more surprised when you don’t hear a single peep from Mark. Chenle was texting you at least once a day, and it seemed that as many times as he sent something to you, you were reaching out to Mark.

You love Chenle. There’s no denying it any longer, but you know better than to love someone who’s not emotionally available to you. Chenle already tore you down to the ground once.

Chenle: I’m not gonna give up until you talk to me. Even if it’s just five minutes

Chenle: I fucking miss you

Chenle: in a real way…i’m not missing anyone. I’m missing you. Please.

Chenle: I don’t even know what to say next, but I’m gonna keep texting you until you respond to me

On week three, he even went as far as to knock on your door. You hadn’t left or ordered any delivery, so you were confused as to why someone was there. Looking out the peephole, your breath faltered at the sight of Chenle. He had no right to show up. You hadn’t responded for a reason, and you’ll apparently have to move apartments to stay away from him.

“I know you’re there,” he says, voice carrying to you. “(Y/N), I really just want to talk to you. I don’t know how many times I can tell you I’m sorry before you believe me.”

You almost laugh and give away how close you are. It doesn’t matter how many times he says it, it’ll take much more than that for you to even consider talking to him. You watch him closely as his face scrunches up and he lets out a sigh.

“I’m not giving up. Ever. You’ll see. I need you and we both know it.”

The door must be thin, because when you let out a shuddering breath at his words, he perks up. It’s almost as if he’s looking right at you through the wood, like he knows exactly where you are.

“Just let me in,” he asks again. “I know what I did was wrong, and I don’t want to ask you to forgive me, but I do want to explain myself. If anything, it’ll give you some closure knowing this wasn’t your fault.”

Your heart rate escalates to the point you’re sure it’ll shatter upon impact with your ribcage. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you angrily brush it away. He doesn’t deserve your time, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be in your safe space.

“Please. You won’t even have to say anything. Let me say my piece and then I’ll go, okay?”

This isn’t even the same Chenle you knew, you tell yourself. Nothing has changed. All he wants is leverage.

The tone of his voice makes it hard to believe that, but you steel your resolve. You have to ignore him.

After that, he slumps in defeat, sighs, and walks away. You let out a pent up breath, relieved he decided to go.

Or at least, that’s what you thought.

When dinner time rolls around, you don’t have any groceries since you’ve been holed up for weeks now. The only logical response is to order pizza. Plus, after the emotional wreckage Chenle left you in, you’ve earned it.

It takes about forty-five minutes for the food to arrive, and you gladly throw the door open. You recoil in shock at the sight of Chenle holding the box.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” You scoff.

“I gave the dude a $50 bill and he just gave it to me. I really just want to talk—”

“That’s not the problem, Chenle,” you cut him off, stomping off toward your kitchen. “You continue to disrespect boundaries and me, and it’s not okay. I’m having trouble figuring out why you can’t see that.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You stand on one side of the island, and he sets the box down on the opposite end, resting his palms against it.

“You deserve an explanation.” His gaze scans over you, guilt written all over his face.

“Another thing you don’t get. If I wanted or needed an explanation, I would’ve asked you. Actually, I did, and you not giving it to me was the answer. You’ve ruined everything for me. I can’t even talk to any of the guys without feeling like they’re pitying me.” You run your fingers through your hair. “You hurt me, and you’re doing it again by showing up when I said I didn’t want anything to do with you. You’re selfish. You only care about yourself and making up your image in my eyes so I don’t hate you.”

“Do you?” he whispers. “Hate me?”

“That doesn’t concern you anymore.”

“Either way, I know you should. I’m not here to make myself look better, okay? I don’t want you to excuse my behavior because it was beyond fucked up, but I want you to know that it wasn’t anything about you that made things work out this way.”

You pause, averting away from the pleading look on his face. “What could you possibly have going on to justify all of this bullshit?”

“It’s not a justification,” he clarifies. “I know it was wrong. All of it. I know I’m a shitty person for putting you through that.”

He takes your silence as approval to continue.

“Honestly, I miss you so fucking much. Before all of this, you were my best friend, and I know I was yours. I never meant for it to get this messed up, you know? I…Towards the end of our, um, situation, I realized I was in love with you. Real love. Love that made me want you in ways I couldn’t, because I already knew there was no way you’d feel the same.

“And so I gave up. I had to press the fucking panic button and get as far away from you as possible. Jia showed up at the right time, and I threw everything I had into her instead. I didn’t tell her about what we’d done, because I also thought that meant I’d have to admit to her what came along with it.

“Things got…serious, I guess. She was around my family and they all loved her. You know how important they are to me, so I felt so much pressure to maintain this relationship because they’d never been so excited about me being with a girl before. So yeah, when we broke up, my first instinct was to come to you. I love you, and it was the first time I felt really happy in months.

“But when she called me, (Y/N), I felt like I didn’t have a choice. You wouldn’t ever want me in the way I needed, my family loved her, and everything fell apart. It wasn’t until she made me block you that I really saw what it was like without you in my life. When I first started dating her, we still talked and hung out all the time, so it was…okay. As long as I could have you both, I was okay.

“And seeing you with Mark fucked me up so bad. I wanted to take you away from him and keep you for myself, but in my head, that never meant you were on the backburner. Everything was you, and even the idea of Mark having you in the ways I did broke me into pieces.

“And I was talking to Jia recently, just to apologize to her for wasting months of her life. She told me that the night everything blew up, she slept with Mark. They were both pissed and wanted revenge, I guess, but I wasn’t even upset. I didn’t care. But if it had been you, I…Nobody has ever had my heart the way you do.”

Tears stream down your face, but you refuse to acknowledge their existence. Chenle’s eyes are welled up, his jaw clenched tight once he finishes his words.

“You’re so fucking stupid,” you choke out, turning away from him.

“I know,” he agrees without hesitation. “I know.”

He makes his way around the counter, and you take a step back.

“Please don’t touch me.” You shake your head.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, standing so close in proximity to you, you smell his cologne. The scent invades your senses, and you suddenly have trouble breathing.

“What are you doing?” you ask.

You recoil in shock for the second time in the past hour when he lowers himself to his knees. He looks up at you, totally defeated as he opens his mouth to speak.

“I’m so sorry.” His voice catches in his throat. “I’m not asking for us to be together, and I’m not asking for anything close to what we had before. I just want us to be friends again. I need you in my life. No matter where that spot is.”

“God, Chenle, get off the floor.” You wipe angrily at the dampness on your cheeks.

“I need you. Please.”

When you look at him, you hate how you see him. How he looks like the Chenle you knew before all of this happened. The sight in front of you makes you want to kiss him and tell him you love him too, but you’re well aware all of this could be an act. Maybe he gave this same speech to Jia, and you’re the leftover—

“Jia’s gone. I promise. You’re more important to me, okay? Whatever you want or need, I’ll do it.” The pleading gleam in his gaze has your frozen heart slowly melting.

You can’t give in. Friendship could be good for the two of you, but if you give him anymore now, you fear it’ll be detrimental for you in the future.

“Friends. That’s it.” You watch him closely as the relief floods over him.

“Thank you.” He stands up and brushes his jeans off. “I won’t do that to you again. I fucking swear.”

“We’re not immediately going back to normal,” you tell him, confidently meeting his stare for the first time in a long time. “You have to prove yourself to me. That you care about me as a person and not as something to take your stress out on. No more out of place jealousy, no more butting into things that have nothing to do with you. Our past doesn’t exist anymore.”

“I’m not going to let you down,” Chenle insists. “I swear I won’t.”

“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

One week later, 9:35 p.m., September 15th, 2023, Jaemin’s house

You arrived at the party by yourself, but the majority of the group was already there. Jaemin sees you first, letting out a loud cheer when he makes eye contact with you. It’s the first time you agreed to come out after everything that happened, so they all view it as a big deal.

You laugh as he hugs you, and then pulls you down to sit next to him. Thankfully, no one brings up what happened last month, and you’re able to have a good time with your friends without you feeling like they secretly pity you for all of the shit Chenle pulled.

Speaking of him, he hasn’t arrived yet, but you know he’s coming. He’d never miss one of Jaemin’s parties. That, and he told you this morning in his daily good morning text that he was excited to see you tonight. The entire week, you’d been in contact with him, and you almost hated how normal it felt to sink back into a friendship with him. It’s how you remember him before he started dating Jia, and all you can do is hope that it lasts.

In fact, his text was ‘good morning bighead, it’ll be nice to see you at jaem’s tonight.’

He’s clearly very eloquent.

Although, it did make you laugh. And respond back with how his head is much bigger than yours.

Your guard is still up. You don’t trust him. But it’s not like he can’t build that back by showing you he’s serious. As much as you hate to admit it, your hopes are up as high as the steel wall he’s pulling down piece by piece.

“I’m gonna go grab a drink,” you tell Jaemin, who gives you a thumbs up and delves into a conversation with Haechan. Something about global warming, but you don’t stay around long enough to hear the entirety of it.

Once you return, you notice the extra person. Chenle arrived while you were in the kitchen, and the pain in your chest at seeing him is miniscule. You want him in all the ways you had him—more, even—but you know it’s best for both of you to work your way up. After all, he could still be lying. But seeing him alone and not with Jia also adds to your hopes—maybe he’s being serious. Maybe people can change, and you should give him the benefit of the doubt.

You make a bold move, a show of faith, perhaps, when you go sit down next to Chenle. There’s a decent amount of space between you two, but you don’t miss the way his smile widens.

The night rages on around you, but you’re acutely aware of the way Chenle gets a little closer to you with every drink one of you goes to get, and eventually, you’re laughing together while making fun of Jisung.

Everything is as it should be, and everytime Chenle’s not looking right at you, you’re smiling in his direction, knowing this is who he should’ve been all along.

11:32 p.m., September 17th, 2023, your apartment

“And then, Haechan said Mark and Jia are actually dating now.” Chenle’s voice travels through your phone resting on your chest while you stare up at the ceiling.

Without meaning to, you let out a laugh. “I mean, maybe it’ll work for them. They both deserve to be happy.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He’s silent for a moment. “You, too, you know. You deserve to be happy.”

“Everyone does,” you reply. “Sometimes, good people do bad things, Le. I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

There’s shuffling on his end, like he’s settling in his blanket. “I’m glad to hear that. We haven’t really…talked about that much lately. It’s not a bad thing, ‘cause it’s probably best to shelve the past for now, but if you want to say anything to me, you don’t have to hold back.”

You contemplate. There are thousands of things you could tell Chenle right at this moment. You could tell him you’ve always loved him, too, or you could tell him how hurt you were. How he tore you up from the inside out and gave you no room to breathe. He infiltrated everything you had and turned it into his own personal playground.

God, you should be mad at him. You should hate him and hang up right now, but you won’t.

“Thanks,” you murmur. “I missed you, too. When you were gone. I’m glad you forced your way into my house with pizza to tell me everything. You were right, I was blaming myself for it.”

“Don’t ever blame yourself for my dumbass actions. I won’t lie to you, not anymore. Um, is it…okay if I ask you something?”

You frown, wondering if it’s a good idea. “Sure.”

“Did you ever feel more for me than friendship? Like when we were hooking up, did you mean all the things you’ve said to me?” He clears his throat, the tone of his voice clearly portraying his embarrassment.

“I’ve never lied to you,” you return, face heating up.

“Next time I see you, is it okay if I hug you?” Chenle whispers. “I miss you.”

“Yeah, I think that’s okay.” A tiny smile forms.

“Okay. I…I’m gonna go to sleep, I’m exhausted. I’ll see you soon?”

“Soon. Goodnight, Chenle.”

10:23 p.m., September 25th, 2023, Jisung’s house

You, Chenle, Jisung, and Jaemin decided it’d be a good night to get together and watch a movie. Jisung has a theater room, so the four of you rest in there. You sit between Jaemin and Chenle, and you quietly let them know you’ll be back in a few minutes.

You go into Jisung’s fridge to grab a water bottle.

“Don’t you have a drink in there?” Jisung’s voice startles you, and you let out a gasp.

“Christ, Sungs, don’t sneak up on me like that.” You smack your hand over your heart. “Don’t you know that’s how you put people in cardiac arrest?”

“Dramatic.” Jisung snorts and grabs a bag of candy from a cupboard. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. It’s been a while since I got to talk to you, and I’ve noticed you and Chenle are friends again.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.” You grab a piece of chocolate and unwrap it before putting it in your mouth.

“I just want to make sure you’re okay. We’re your friends, too.”

“Look, I’m not sure how much you know about what happened, but that’s all over. Chenle and I…started over. And we’re friends, and I’d very much like to keep it that way.” You sip your water to wash down your candy.

“Be honest, do you just want to be his friend?” Jisung raises an eyebrow at you.

You laugh. “That’s not really something you should be asking me.”

“I know him, okay? I’m trying to look out for you—”

“I appreciate it, Ji, but I also happen to know Chenle. When a man like him begs for forgiveness on his hands and knees, you give him a shot. I’m not dumb, and I know what that whole situation made me look like, but I never would’ve done anything to hurt Chenle’s relationship when he was in one.” You shift on your feet.

“He just won’t tell us what’s going on, and Mark and Jia aren’t your biggest fan—”

“Jisung, what the hell?” Chenle leans on the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. “What are you doing?”

You recognize this tone of his, and you immediately look at him and shake your head. “It’s not a big deal, Chenle, he’s just—”

“No, it is a big deal. Is this why you invited us here?” He frowns at the younger man. “You thought if you couldn’t get answers out of me, you’d get answers from her?”

“Hey, man, it’s not like that.” Jisung holds his hands up in mock surrender. “I’m just curious.”

“You really wanna know that bad?” Chenle steps in, planting his palms on the countertop.

“It’s really okay,” you whisper to him, going as far as to wrap your fingers around his wrist.

“Yeah, I do. Because right now it looks like some girl is tearing apart our friend group.”

“She didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t care what they think.” You tug him gently, but he doesn’t look at you.

“It was me. I screwed everything up. (Y/N) and I were hooking up for over a year before I met Jia. And when Jia and I started dating, we obviously stopped that. But when she broke up with me, it was because I still had all of the conversations with (Y/N), and she was pissed about it. That night, I went to (Y/N)’s house and we slept together, and I lied to Jia again. Everything that went wrong was my fault, Jisung. She hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Jisung blinks in shock, lips parting as he glances between the two of you. You stare down at your feet, trying not to let the way he defended you seep beneath your skin. Chenle still has a lot of work to do, but you won’t lie and say it didn’t give him some brownie points.

“So why was she with Mark?”

“After I slept with her, I left the next morning when Jia called me. And then Jia asked me to block her, and I did. So all she was doing was honestly trying to forget about me, which is still her best bet.”

Your throat dries as the memories resurface, but even now, you see the difference. The Chenle who walked out on you never would’ve admitted that to another soul. He’s taking the fall. He’s taking accountability for his actions.

“Everything would’ve been fine if I hadn’t stormed up after them at Jaemin’s party. But I couldn’t stop myself, and everyone else there knew it, too.”

“(Y/N), I’m sorry for assuming.” Jisung chews the inside of his cheek. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay, Sungs.” You give him a small smile, but Chenle’s hand slides into yours, and the way he intertwines your fingers has your heart skipping.

“Let’s get out of here,” Chenle mutters. “I’ll drop you off at home.”

You nod once at Jisung and allow the other man to pull you out of his house. The car ride is mostly silent, the soft hum of music distracting you from the way Chenle still grips your hand over the center console. You catch a glimpse of him, the street lights reflecting off his skin as they pass.

God, all you want to do is love him. You want to throw caution to the fucking wind and tell him the truth. Allow him to hold you close and feel the warmth of his embrace.

He pulls up outside your building, looking at you with a soft, tired gleam in his pretty brown eyes.

“I’m really sorry,” he says. “Jisung shouldn’t ever have done something like that.”

“It’s okay. And not your fault. I’m aware of what the situation looks like to everyone else, but it’s not their business. Thank you for standing up for me.” You squeeze him gently.

“I’ll do it for as long as you let me,” he whispers.

In your tired, vulnerable state, the rest of that wall crashes to the ground.

“Come upstairs with me?” you ask. “I don’t want to be alone.”

“I…” His eyes close and he rests his head back on the seat.

“I don’t mean it like that. I just want some company.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way. Please. But I can’t.” He forces the words out, palms running down his face. “I know you think you want that now, but I don’t want to risk you getting upset about it later. And part of proving myself is knowing when a decision will hurt you. I don’t trust either of us when it comes to being alone together in a room. Your bedroom especially.”

It stings, sure, but you know he’s right. Old habits die hard, and as soon as he’s in your bed, all bets are off.

You inhale shakily. “Right. Of course.”

“I want to.” His finger guides your chin up until you’re looking at him. He smiles softly. “I’ve missed you so much that I want to be with you all the time. But that’ll come with time when I know you really trust me fully.”

You lean across the center of the car and press your lips to his cheek, lingering for a second too long before pulling away and unbuckling your seatbelt.

“Thank you, Le.”

He nods, watching you closely as you get out and head toward your building. You look over your shoulder once before entering.

His fingers trace over his skin where your lips just were, and relief has his chest deflating.

10:34 a.m., October 14th, 2023, a local coffee shop

Chenle sets a cup down in front of you before sitting down in the booth, resting his head on his palm. You type away on your computer, occasionally glancing up to him to see if he looks bored yet. He seems perfectly content, swirling his own drink around.

“So, what’s that for again?” he asks.

“Just a last minute report I’m typing out for work,” you reply absentmindedly. “Sorry, I’m almost done.”

“I’m not in any rush.” He chuckles and leans back.

You spend nearly every day with Chenle. The two of you have even graduated to spending time alone away from your other friends, and you love how much it feels exactly how it used to. The Chenle that left you has thankfully disappeared into the abyss, and your friend has come back. You two text every day, he buys you coffee, he teases you whenever he deems necessary.

As soon as you finish your report, you sigh in relief, save it, and close your laptop. “Thank you for the coffee. I definitely need it.”

“Anything that’ll give you enough energy for Jaemin’s Halloween party. What are you dressing up as?” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “I still think we should coordinate.”

“I’m not telling you what I’m going as.” You stick out your tongue at him. “You’ll live.”

“Well, Jaemin wants me there early to help set up or whatever, so I will unfortunately just have to see you there.”

“Oh, that’s okay. The goal for tonight is to get as drunk as possible without blacking out.” You grin at him, to which he responds with a quirked eyebrow.

“Calm down there, bighead, you might hurt yourself.”

“Look on the brightside, if I get myself hurt, you get to swoop in and be my hero. Isn’t that exciting?” Despite the sarcastic drawl in your voice, Chenle shrugs.

“I’m supposed to save you from getting hurt, not just help you after the fact.” His phone starts ringing in his jacket, and once he grabs it, he groans. “Yeah, Jaemin?”

There’s a muffled sound from the device that has you laughing at the frantic yelling Jaemin is doing.

“It’s not even eleven yet,” Chenle points out. “I know I said I would help, but I didn’t think that meant twelve hours before the damn party starts.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. “You should go!”

He glares at you and mouths, ‘not helping.’

After a few more garbled words, Chenle rolls his eyes.

“Okay, I’ll be there in like twenty minutes. You owe me, dude.” He hangs up the phone and gives you a guilty look.

“None of that.” You wave him off. “I need to get home anyway and take my daily rest.”

He snorts. “Alright. Come find me later, alright?”

“Well, duh. Who else is going to stop drunk me from making a fool of myself?”

12:54 a.m., October 15th, 2023, Jaemin’s house

The world spins around you, but the happiness you feel is unrivaled. You and Chenle dance together, where he twirls you in circles despite the beat not matching. He dressed up fairly simply, some dude that wears a trench coat and an odd looking hat, but for the life of you, you can’t remember the damn name.

You barely even recall what you’re dressed up as, but it’s something with a plaid-like skirt and a white top. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Not until you’re climbing up on the pool table for nostalgia’s sake, and Chenle’s practically begging you to come down.

“Your skirt is a little too short.” Chenle stands in front of you while you continue to dance.

“It’s Halloween, Chenle,” you remind him.

“In the nicest way possible, your costume isn’t exactly modest—why wouldn’t you put shorts on under that—”

The more you ignore him, the more he’s determined to get you to listen. He eventually climbs up next to you, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. Your eyes are stuck on his lips, but your vision is blurring a bit too much to tell if they look as good as you think they do.

You miss him. He’s touching you, the warmth of his body ironically freezing yours in its place.

“C’mon, get down.”

“I think you should get down on your—” The world swaying cuts you off, and despite his grip on you, you stumble.

He waves someone else over, and you recognize Luigi. You shake your head and blink, realizing that it’s actually Jaemin dressed up as Luigi. Giggling, you basically drop your head on Chenle’s chest.

“I thought he was really Luigi.” You laugh and smack his arm as if that’ll ground you.

Jaemin and Chenle are talking to each other, but you’re too invested in the way Chenle’s lips look when they move to care all that much on the topic. You allow Chenle to lead you to the edge of the table, and with Jaemin’s help, you’re back safely on the ground.

“I’m taking you home.” Chenle’s lips brush against your ear as he keeps his arm around you and guides you toward the door. The sensation sends a chill down your spine, and you know he feels it through where his fingers are splayed out along the small of your back.

Everything happens in a blur—getting into his car, him driving to your apartment, him bringing you upstairs from the car. By the time you’re home, you suddenly understand exactly what Chenle said about being alone with him in your apartment.

He looks divine. Angelic. And you’re weak, needy, and drunk.

“Lele,” you murmur, leaning on the doorframe to the bathroom. “Help me take my makeup off.”

He follows you in. You know he’s weak for you, too. That it’s been so long since either of you have gotten any sort of satisfaction. You crave his touch, and the alcohol raging in your system does little to help with your inhibitions.

You bend over to grab your makeup wipes from beneath the sink, and you hear him shuffle behind you. Without another thought, you slide yourself on the counter and grab at his tie, tugging him close until he’s between your legs and pressing into you just enough to drive you crazy.

“What are you doing?” he asks, eyes dark as he takes in the situation. Your skirt riding up your thighs as you pull him closer, a short glimpse of the red lace beneath the skirt. You spread your legs a bit farther, craving to feel him right up on your lace-clad entrance.

“You have to get close to take makeup off,” you reply, giggling to yourself.

His jaw tightens, but he starts cleaning you up anyway, ignoring the way you periodically shuffle closer to the edge of the counter. When he’s almost done, you wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your hips up.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath, dropping what was in his hands. “(Y/N), let me finish taking your makeup off.”

You roll up once more, a soft groan leaving your lips. His hands dart down and push your thighs into the counter, halting your movements.

“C’mon,” you mumble, dropping your head against the mirror. “We both want it. You’ve been good, Lele, and I need you.”

Oh, Sober You was going to regret this. Sober You was going to kick your ass when the morning came, because you knew there’s no way Chenle’s not going to give in. The two of you are too addicted to each other not to.

He drops his head on your shoulder. “Baby, you’re drunk.”

“Please,” you whisper. “It’s been so long.”

“And we can wait a little longer,” he mentions, pushing your legs away from his waist. “Finish taking off your makeup. I’ll get you some clothes to change into.”

You groan when he disappears out of the room, but you listen to what he says. As much as your drunk mind allows you, you wash your face. When you get back to your room, he’s in a drawer you almost forgot was there. Stuff he’d left at your place, all stuffed into one tiny section of your dresser.

“C’mere,” he says to you.

You stop in front of him, the edges of your vision still blurred as you put your hand on his chest. Beneath your palm is an erratic thumping, and you know how much inner turmoil he’s dealing with.

“Chenle,” you murmur. “Help me.”

“Okay, I’ll help. Don’t move.” He untucks your shirt from your skirt, trying his best to avoid skin-to-skin contact with you. Pulling it over your head, he avoids looking down.

He reaches over for the shirt he took out of the drawer, but you grab his wrists, leading both of his hands down to your skirt.

“What are you doing?” he asks. “If you don’t knock it off, I’m gonna tie you up in a very non-sexy way.”

You giggle, wavering a bit on your feet. “Just wanted you to see what I wore for you.”

“(Y/N), I don’t want to leave you like this but I can’t stay if you keep this up. I want you so fucking bad, but I refuse to do this while you’re this drunk.” He shakes his head. “Please.”

“We’ve had drunk sex,” you defend.

“Two things were different then, too. You actually wanted me while you were sober, and we were both equally drunk. I’ve barely had anything to drink.” He brushes your hair behind your ear. “Let me get you dressed so you can get some rest.”

“I do want you when I’m sober,” you continue defiantly.

“(Y/N), I’m not going to argue about this—”

“No, no.” You grab the shirt from him and put it on, almost smiling at the familiarity of wearing his clothes. “I love you. I’ve always loved you, but everything is so confusing.”

“Confusing how?” The guilty look in his eye tells you he already has an idea.

Great. Here comes the part of the night where you cry violently.

Tears well up, and you sniffle. “You hurt me so badly.”

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“And a part of me knows that.” You’re sure your words are slurred, but he grips onto them like they’re his lifeline. You grip onto his stupid trench coat. “I want to believe it, but I’m so scared it’s gonna happen again, and then all of this is really over. I fucking love you, damn it.”

“I hope you know I love you, too.” His gaze glistens as he furrows his brows. “I’m gonna work so hard to be everything you need. Promise, I’ll never stop trying to be better for you.”

“How do I believe that?” Your voice breaks, and a tear falls down his cheek.

“I…I don’t know. Just let me continue to prove myself. That’s all I ask. We’ll stay just like this until you’re ready.”

You shake him, or try to, in your drunken state while you cry. “Why do I love you? It’d be easier if I didn’t.”

He wraps his arms around you and tugs you to his chest, heart pounding in his chest. For the second time, you break down. For the second time, you’ve put yourself in a position to give him the upper hand.

But for the second time, he doesn’t use it to his advantage.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to you, stroking the back of your head. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“What if I’m never ready?” You rock back and forth in his grasp.

“Then I’ll wait forever. I promise you. No matter how you want me in your life, I’ll be there.” He kisses the top of your head, attempting to calm his own breathing. “Baby, you’re drunk. Let’s get you in bed so you can rest.”

“Don’t leave me,” you mutter, holding him tighter.

“I’m not going anywhere. C’mon.”

You listen to him, but before you get beneath your blankets, you slide your skirt down your legs. Once you’re comfortable, he grabs some more clothes for him to change into, and then he’s climbing in next to you, pulling you flush to him and kissing your head again.

“I’ll stay for as long as you want me to.”

‘Forever’ is the last thought on your mind before sleep takes over.

11:48 a.m., October 15th, 2023, your bedroom

The first thing you note when you wake up is the splitting headache raging on in your brain. Next, is the warmth of another body half-draped over you. At the sound of your groan, Chenle shifts back a bit.

“Are you awake?” he asks.

“No.”

He chuckles. “Alright, well let me know when you’re ready to get up.” He pulls you closer again, allowing you to relax against his chest.

“Wait.” You pause. “How long have you been up?”

“Uh.” He ponders on it for a moment, fingers tapping on your back. “I don’t know. Maybe two hours. Or three.”

“You haven’t gotten up yet?” You frown, pushing away from him to force yourself to sit up. Immediately, you groan and smack your hand to your forehead.

“Not sure if you remember much from last night, but I figured it’d probably be worse for you to wake up without me than with me, so I just waited.” He rests his head on his palm, tilting a bit to look at you.

As soon as he mentions it, you curse yourself a thousand times over. You really fucked up, but he’s still here.

“I’m so sorry.” You cringe. “Everything yesterday was so…”

“Don’t be sorry. It was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. And it felt like we had a breakthrough last night, so there’s that.” He grabs your hand, thumb rubbing against your skin. “I told you I’d do whatever it takes and I meant it.”

He meant it.

Unintentionally, you’d given him the biggest test thus far, and he passed with flying colors. He even waited for you to wake up for hours so you wouldn’t be confused or upset by his absence.

“I’m ready.” Your words surprise him, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as he scans over you.

“You…”

“For more. I’m ready for more, Chenle. I want us to be more than friends.” You fidget with your hands. “We’ve always been more than that.”

“And you promise you’re not still drunk?”

You scoff and push his shoulder. “Way to ruin the moment, dick.”

“There she is.” He grins.

“I still want to take it slow,” you clarify. “But I want to try.”

“Is it too fast if I kiss you?” he asks.

You’ve kissed this man thousands of times, but something about his question still makes you blush.

“I think you’ve probably earned it after your torture session last night.” Your headache is long since forgotten when he playfully tugs you to him.

Both of you laugh until he grabs your face and presses his lips to yours. He moves so you’re flat on the mattress, his upper half leaning over you. You melt into his kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair and pulling it ever so slightly. His breath shudders, and you feel the urge to push further, to tell him nothing is too fast anymore.

He pulls away, shaking his head. “I’m taking you on a date. Go get ready.”

You go to get up, but halfway through the motion, he tugs you back to him to kiss you one more time. His mouth works gently on yours, and after a few seconds, he lets you go.

8:47 p.m., November 22nd, 2023, Chenle’s house

Chenle’s birthday party ended a little early, mostly of his own choice. You hadn’t planned on anything happening tonight between you two, but it’d been so long since you’d felt pure, absolute bliss just by being next to him. Every day you’ve spent with him has made you two closer. The trust you have for him has grown tremendously, and as soon as you make it back to his house, you shed your coat from your shoulders.

He grabs it from you, hanging it up before he wraps his arms around you. His eyes droop from the overactivity of the day, but it doesn’t erase the smile he has when he sees you. You press a quick kiss to his lips.

“This is the best birthday ever,” he says, hands resting on your hips. “I love you.”

“We still have a few hours of your birthday left. It could go horribly wrong, you know.”

“Yeah, I think it will if you don’t tell me you love me back right now.”

You laugh, shaking your head at him. “I do love you back.”

“Oh, good to know.” He nods, squeezing you.

“Kiss me like you mean it, bighead.”

“That’s my nickname for you, get your own.” He rolls his eyes, but abides by your request.

His lips meet yours, an automatic sigh escaping you as your back arches you closer to him. You hold onto him tightly, swiping your tongue along his bottom lip. He gladly grants you access, but it’s an instant battle for dominance between the two of you.

You barely even recognize him walking you backward until you're against the wall. With a gasp, you pull away from him, his face still centimeters from yours.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispers, leaving open-mouthed kisses along your jawline and down your neck.

“Don’t.” You shake your head. “Don’t stop.”

His curse is muffled by your skin, but his grip tightens on you. He pulls you away from the wall, allowing his hands to venture down to your ass. You whine when he squeezes.

“This is a very bad joke if that’s what’s happening.” He nips your collarbone. “Are you sure?”

You move away from him, grabbing his hand and leading him toward his bedroom. He kicks the door shut behind both of you, immediately pulling you back to him and meeting your mouth with his. The need radiating from him has your stomach doing backflips. You want him just as badly, and all you want to do is pleasure him.

“Lay down, baby.” He sits you down on the edge of the bed, guiding you until he’s kneeling in front of you.

“Chenle, what are you—”

He flips your skirt up, hands trailing along your thighs, skimming the hem of your lace panties.

“You smell so fucking good, baby. Let me taste it. Please.” His eyes flick up to yours, eyebrows raising.

“It’s your birthday.”

“Best fucking birthday meal ever.”

He waits for you to nod before he practically rips the fabric from your body. His head disappears beneath your skirt, and before you know it, his tongue nudges your clit. That’s the only warning you get before he really begins.

He licks up your entrance, lapping at it like a man starved. You haven’t been touched this way in months, and it takes all of your self control not to buck your hips up against his face. The sound of your wetness fills the room, the heat making you squirm beneath him. Your skirt covers him, when all you want to do is see how much he’s enjoying himself. Fisting the sheets, you whine and cry out for him, rocking back and forth as he brings you closer and closer. Lewd sounds are muffled by the clothing you still wear, the suction between your legs making you shake.

“Fuck,” you whimper.

The next thing you know, two of his fingers slide inside you, the movement quick and easy with the way your wetness slicks even the skin of your thighs.

“Gonna make you cum like this first.” He kisses your clit as he pumps his hand faster. “Then over and over again on my cock.”

You let out a breathy moan, bucking your hips up and grinding on his tongue. He mirrors the sound with his lips on your core, and that’s what’s enough to finally push you over the edge. Thankfully, you’re not in an apartment right now, otherwise your neighbors would be getting a free show when you scream out his name as you finish.

You squirm under him, the only thing holding you down is the dig of his nails into your thighs. When he pulls away, his face shines with your arousal, and your insides clench down all over again. You’ve never wanted him inside you as much as you do right now, and you make it your mission to get him on the bed.

“God, pretty girl, I wanted our first time together to be sweet, but I’ve never wanted to fuck you this bad.” He pulls your shirt over your head, pushing you back until you’re flat on his mattress. He tugs your skirt down, grabbing handfuls of your breasts and squeezing.

“Me too.” You nod. “Just don’t stop.”

He pulls his shirt off, pushing his jeans and boxers down in one go before he climbs over you. Your mouths clash messily, his teeth bumping yours, but it does nothing except add to the aching need you have for him. When he situates himself between your legs, you wrap them around his waist and roll until you’re on top.

You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, jerking him slowly. He groans quietly, thrusting into your hand. You rub the tip along your entrance to gather your juices.

“I’m not gonna last long with you on top of me,” he admits.

“Funny that you think you’re only gonna cum once tonight.” You barely give him time to process your words before you sink down on him. Moaning, you take him slowly, relishing in the stretch of your walls.

“Fuck, look at you.” He scratches down your thighs.

You give yourself a moment to adjust once he’s fully sheathed in your hole, moving your hands up to squeeze your breasts and tweak your nipples as you grind down. Sounds spill past your lips, and you almost get lost in your own pleasure. When you see Chenle, his eyes are barely open, dark with lust as he thrusts up.

Your walls throb around him, squeezing his cock so hard you feel the way he pulses inside you. Arching your back and resting your palms on his thighs, you start moving on top of him.

“So wet,” he whispers. “You’re soaking me.”

You move faster, the sounds of your arousal emanating around the room. Chenle’s hands find your breasts, flicking your nipples much like you’d done to yourself. Then he reaches between your legs, the arch of your body giving him perfect access to your clit.

“‘M gonna cum.” He drops his head back on the bed, thumb faltering against your sensitive bud. “Fuck, fuck.”

A loud moan escapes him, and the next thing you know, he’s coating your insides with his release.

“Damn it,” he whispers. “‘M sorry, baby, I tried to hold it back.”

You put your hands on his chest, rolling your hips until he groans from the overstimulation.

“It’s okay.” You grin at him. “It’s your birthday, Le. We can have as many rounds as you want. Plenty of time to redeem yourself.”

He chuckles breathlessly, sitting up to pull you into his embrace. Kissing all over your face, he rolls you over so you’re on your back before sliding out of you.

“You asked for this,” he reminds you. “Don’t forget that later when you’ve finished so many times you don’t even remember your name.”

He meant it, too.

9:18 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

The chill of the ice cube in his mouth trailing down your body, over your breasts, even the brief few seconds he presses it against your clit, has your body shuddering at the slightest touch. The melted water left behind has goosebumps forming on your skin as he worships your body.

Thin black fabric covers your eyes, leaving every touch of his a mystery to you. The coldness is a drastic contrast to the heat of your core, and the ice cube coming in contact almost has you yelping in pain. His fingers slide back inside you, and you swear you’re slowly losing your mind. You can’t stop moaning, each sound surely making him more than proud of himself.

It’s not long before you’re writhing beneath him all over again, your arousal pouring out over the sheets as he brings you to your euphoria.

9:28 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

“That’s it, pretty girl, take it all,” he hums as you take him in your mouth. You sit on your knees beside the bed where he sits, bobbing your head up and down with the assistance of the makeshift ponytail he grips in his fist.

He hisses as he pushes you down further until his cock is seated deep in your throat, the constriction of it making him bite his lip to stop the sounds. The steady pace he sets for you has tears forming in your eyes, the choking amplifying his pleasure.

“So, so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He tugs your hair to make you moan around him. “Taking me like a good girl. I love you, pretty.”

His eyes roll back, and he quickly pulls you off him, your hollowed cheeks making a popping sound.

“Lay down, baby,” he instructs you.

10:01 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

His chest slides against yours, low, quiet moans escaping both of you as he finally makes love to you like he wanted to in the first place. Your fingers are intertwined together as his hips meet yours over and over again, sweet words whispered in your ear.

He pushes in completely, his tip kissing your cervix, and a tiny yelp escapes your lips.

“You like when I’m so deep, don’t you?” He nips your ear. “You’ll never be empty again. Can fill you with my cock whenever you want.”

“Chenle,” you whimper, your mind cloudy from however many orgasms he’s given you. You’re much too sensitive, but you still don’t want it to stop.

Your body is caked with sweat, but his is worse. His hair clings to his forehead, wet strands not a deterrence to the way he keeps thrusting into your still sopping cunt. This is what heaven feels like—the pleasure delivered to you by Chenle is peak. You’ll never feel like this with anyone but him.

His finger rubs circles on your clit, and as you shatter around him, it brings him to his end as well, filling you up for the second time tonight. By the look in his eyes, you know it won’t be the last.

11:59 p.m., November 22nd, 2023

Your body aches, but the last thing you want is for him to stop. He holds you close to his chest despite the unbearable heat between you two, hips lazily moving as he grips onto your leg wrapped around his waist.

Your moans have turned into quiet sighs of pleasure, your insides melted into practically nothing with the amount of times he’s finished in you. Nothing matters anymore, just you and him and the way your bodies stick together.

His lips lock with yours, and his movements stop altogether as he gently kisses you. Eventually, that stops too, leaving his mouth resting on yours, as your tired gazes meet.

“I love you,” he whispers. “More than you know.”

“I love you, too,” you tell him, giving him one last kiss.

Exhaustion creeps upon both of you, too tired to move any further as you bury your head in his chest.

“Best birthday ever,” he murmurs.

“You already said that.”

“It got even better, so.”

Everything about this feels right. You curled up in his chest, and despite him still inside you, you’ve never felt more comfortable than you do right now.

And in the morning, Chenle wakes you up with kisses all over your face, and everything within the world is right.

#nct dream #chenle #nct imagines #nct #nct dream smut #nct scenarios #chenle smut #chenle angst #chenle fluff #nct dream angst #nct dream fluff #nct smut #nct imagine #nct scenario #nct fluff #nct angst

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fleetingvow · 2 years

Text

‘ DEAD WEIGHT .

Anthony Lockwood x Female Reader

SYNOPSIS. the reader’s skills got rusty and with anthony breathing down her neck all the time, well, things that were better off unsaid were spoken. that’s when four became three. ( 6.87k words )

CATEGORY. angst. slight enemies to lovers ( not completely lovers because i write and stick to slowburn. )

WARNINGS. anthony being a total dickwad. usage of profanities. off the timeline. netflix series based. usage of “y/n”. lots of parallelism in statement structures.

NOTE. characters are aged up. written in third person’s omniscient point of view. room add-up for plot purposes.

REMINDER. this fic is written and copyrighted by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission.

TAGS. @superpositvecloudshipper

𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 shrouded in a misty veil. The room had turned bleary as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in her bathrobes. She closed her eyes and opened them again in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. When her feet led her to her room, she felt the pull stronger than what she had been feeling when she was washing up. Y/N gripped the doorknob and opened the door with a groan, and then there was a voice. A mere whisper to her ears.

“Help me!” She turned around, only to see no one but the pen she picked up from a previous home many months ago, mistaking it for the one Lockwood handed. It was surely just her imagination. They already contained the source from the previous mission, destroyed it even. George had done his research and there was only one soul that haunted the home. She was sure no other soul was left behind. Besides, Y/N made sure to set up a schedule to return the object to its rightful place.

However, just now . . . she felt as though it wasn’t just her presence that graced the room. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was no one, nothing. Why was it getting harder to breathe? The ringing, they were back again, but this time, it was higher in pitch and volume. She put both palms on her ears in order to block the noises, but it was too loud!

That was until she heard the knock on the door followed by the voice of someone more human, natural in his voice, “Prepare quickly, Y/N. We’re moving swiftly tonight, we have two missions!”

She didn’t respond. It didn’t seem like it mattered when his footsteps were already fading. The girl slowly ran her fingers through her damp hair, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. It was just her imagination — that ringing. But there was a protruding thought that maybe, there was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t place whatever it was.

Although, there was something far more important than that. She needed to be present for this other case. Y/N had been lacking for the past few days, and she was under the pressure of redeeming herself to prove something to Lockwood.

And she was going to prove it well.

THAT HURT! God, it hurt so much! There was no other thing in her mind than how much it felt, causing electric shock through her body, wanting to rip her ears out to just. get it. to stop!

“Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, losing her grip on her rapier therefore also failing to protect Lucy from the ghost that hovered before them. The clang of the blade on the floor only triggered a louder sound in her ears, putting her mind into shambles as she scrambled to the floor to regain possession of her weapon.

Before she could, however, Lockwood had already slain the ghost himself, buying them more time to pull themselves together. “Lucy!” Lockwood hurriedly rushed to her aid as she panted, refusing the help Anthony was offering.

“Y/N?” Lucy called, her voice combined with worry over the girl’s well-being. “Are you okay?”

It didn’t look like she was, but it was certainly better than before. The ringing had stopped, and what was left was an overcoming fear of when it will occur again. Her forehead was covere din beads of sweat, her mouth gasping for air, and clammy hands clutching the handle of her sword.

She had, in fact, once again failed to redeem herself. And what had she done? Make a complete fool out of herself to Lockwood who only looked at her with disappointment painted oh-so-vibrantly all over his face.

“I covered the source with the net!” George excitedly announced as he made his way into the bedroom where everyone was. It had been a rare occurence before that Lockwood allowed George to do this type of work, but since he’s proven himself to be the hero in most scenarios, he trusted him.

Y/N glanced up at George. She wasn’t mad at him. As a matter of fact, she was grateful for him, not just for containing the source, but also putting an end to the tension in the room. “Are you guys okay?” he proceeded to question.

She stood up from the floor and lowered her head before mumbling, “We’re fine.” She then walked past him swiftly and out of the room with shame as her feet led her to the gardens of the home.

“She’s definitely not fine,” George breathed out. Both of his companions looked at him in a questioning manner. He shrugged, “She’s been acting odd for the past few weeks - months, even. Am I the only one who noticed?”

“You’re always the one to notice something, George.” Lucy commented with a smile. Anthony did not appreciate the conversation, no matter how little. He’d much rather they didn’t talk at all.

“Stay here. I’ll talk to her,” Lockwood ordered. George and Lucy nodded followed by exchanged glances with subtle wide eyes. They knew it was not a good idea Lockwood would follow her, but what could be done? They just hoped he wouldn’t make an arrogant fool of himself again.

“WHAT WAS that?” Y/N’s ears suddenly perked up from the voice. She plastered a sarcastic smile as she replied, “You found me, then.”

“This is no time for foolish remarks, Y/N. What was that all about? You had it. Lucy could have been hurt! You could have gotten hurt! Do you realise what you’ve just done?” Anthony exclaimed. The leaves crunched from under his feet as he marched his way forward to the girl.

“You’re saying that as if I’ve done it intentionally. Is that what you think I do? Sabotage the team?”

“I’m not saying that,” he frustratedly protested, facepalming before placing his hands on his hips, his coat pushed back. “What I’m saying is for you to pull yourself together. Where are you, really? This, this state of yours is going to get us all killed!”

“Lucy’s fine! I’m fine!”

“You both wouldn’t be if I hadn’t stepped in and you had made an absolute mockery of yourself in the situation! You were flailing! Can I even trust you with simple tasks?”

“You call fighting off a type two, simple?” She fired back, trying her best to hold back her anger when she knew she had fucked up.

“We’ve done it before! We’ve dealt with harder cases. What’s going so wrong now?”

“Of course you’d say that! Everything’s easy for you, right?” Lockwood was taken aback by her words, yet instead of processing her words and taking it as a reminder of his past conflicts, he took offence of it, triggering his sense of authority and anger. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you just work with yourself? If you’re so obsessed with perfection, why don’t you eliminate mistakes and put down the team? Because that’s you, right? You’re the one who’s always so bloody perfect at everything!”

His eyebrow twitched as he blinked at her, his face getting softer, yet still inconsiderate as he lifted his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Anthony momentarily fixed his gaze on the floor before placing it back to her. His voice had become monotonous. Cold.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave the team?”

There was a moment of silence. If the rapier didn’t pierce her heart before, it definitely has now, but it wasn’t the steel sword that did its damage. It was those exact words he had uttered so confidently in her face. There was no hint of regret there when she searched his eyes. There was absolute nothingness.

Suddenly, the coldness of the wind got into her eyes — did it really? Or was she just finding an excuse to mask the reason behind her slightly blurry eyes. Y/N blinked and swallowed her spit in order to remove the lump in her throat. It was useless. She nodded slightly, her face stiff as she tried to muster up her thoughts to create a better expression.

But there was no better reaction.

“What?” she asked for confirmation. Lockwood slightly shifted in his position, standing upright. He looked at her eyes and down to her shoes slightly, taking the sight of the disappointed girl. He swallowed his spit, licking his lips.

“You heard me.”

“So, that’s it then?” she mumbled, trying her best to disguise the betrayal in her voice.

“That’s it.” Anthony replied in a stern tone, not leaving her eyes. “Don’t be so surprised now, Y/N. If it helps you feel any better, maybe you could still start somewhere — just not here.”

“You’re a fucking dickwad, do you know that?!” She yelled.

“I’m doing this for the team.”

“Like shit you are!” She exasperatedly gesticulated her hands in the open air and continued, “You think George and Lucy would fucking applaud you after they find out? I thought we were family! What now? I fuck up, and suddenly I’m gone for good?”

“You could just say n—”

“No, because that’s not it, isn’t it?” She bitterly interjected and combed her fingers through her hair irately. “You’ve hated me from the start! You ignore me every chance you get, but when you’re not, you berate me! You look at me as if I’m about to fail, and you undermine me every single time!”

“I don’t undermine you. I look at you, and I see transitions of how things start and how things end,” he started, chest heaving up and down from his bottled feelings of anguish and rage, not to her but to himself. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me doubt whatever it is I doubt. You were good at what you do, but you’ve been lost for the past few months. We don’t have a hold of you now, and you’re not telling us anything. To be completely blunt and forward, Y/N: Whenever you’re present in a case, something goes wrong.”

Even to herself, she could admit that he had a point. Every mission that she had with her friends, everything ends up a little bit too complicated than it should. She did feel like she was the cause for the performance of the agency lately. That information itself made her heart sink at the bottom of the pit, pushing her to another depth as he spoke once again.

“You’re a dead weight.”

That statement felt a little hypnotic that it proceeded to ring in her head. Now that was it, why did she feel defeated now? She felt as if he just called her useless. Huh, maybe that’s what she was. Completely and utterly useless for the best agency London has ever seen. She was the dead weight in their group, the failure.

“I just haven’t been myself. I—” Then, there was a silver streak of water that cascaded down her face. She cleared her throat and looked away, wiping the tear with the back of her hand as she sniffled and blinked away the glinting waterfall threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony’s chest felt different with that statement. His eyes that showed no remorse softened at this current sight of her, but there was something at that moment that told him to resist it. He had to stand firm, and he knew to himself he’d do just about anything for the sake of the team, even if it had to be removing Y/N from it.

The thought of questioning whether this decision was right began to rebuke him.

“Y/N, I’m only doing this for the best of everyone’s well-being.”

“You already said that,” she replied and took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and laughed to herself in bitter humour. She unsheathed the rapier from her side and took a few steps forward to the boy who gave her a puzzled look.

She took his hand and offered the handle of her blade, closing his palm with hers. Y/N forced a smile on her lips, looking up to meet his eyes. They were close.

Just. This. Close.

Y/N had seen his eyes numerous times before, but under whatever spell, she never got tired of it even despite the sharp daggers it threw at her. Her heart shattered once more, this soft gaze she’d sometimes thought was an illusion made the broken shards leap hopelessly that it left her dizzy for another minute or so.

The wind in the garden gently whispered.

Anthony felt this feeling before, but he dismissed it just like he’d always done. It was something that he believed to be unworthy of his attention. If he looked the other way, what of the path that he worked so hard for?

“Y/N, I—”

“I’ll be gone by morning. Don’t tell the others . . . for me please, would you, Lockwood?” She whispered. Goddamn it, she was going to go! Anthony couldn’t do anything. His body and soul were both locked in the position of looking at her, paralysed as he tried his best to catch his breath. His eyes quickly paid a glance to her lips before switching back to her eyes.

He hummed in response.

There was a palpable tension in such an open space. The girl decided to have had enough of it, leisurely stepped away without breaking eye contact, and walked off with his head turned to watch her figure fade away with the distance.

SHE SAID SHE’D be gone by morning. It was 3 AM, and he wasn’t sure what morning she was referring to, but surely she’d use more time for rest and packing her things. It wouldn’t be so early. He paced back and forth, almost creating a six feet deep grave of his own in front of her door, his hands secured in his pockets. His furrowed eyebrows almost reached each other to knit a whole line on his face, but he soon stopped with a sharp exhale.

Anthony realised how wrong he might have been. The fact that both Lucy and George don't know anything made him feel even more guilty knowing damn well they would have his head and ego once they learn of what he did. Not only that, he felt incessantly bad for being cruel with his choice of words without consideration to what Y/N’s explanation could offer. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even thinking straight! He had no clue where the idea of eliminating her from the team came from.

His mind hadn't been at peace nor was it sober in his library when they got back home. Y/N shut herself in her room after an awkward dinner in which they both pretended everything went well. Lucy and George, bless their poor naive innocent souls, seemed to buy it with Lucy feeling a little bit hesitant.

It was 3 AM, and he was at her door.

At her door.

His hand slightly lifted to knock her door, but it stopped mid-air. Lockwood sighed, pulling his hand back in his pocket with a shake of the head. He’d been horrible, and disturbing Y/N’s peace no matter how fleeting, would be more displeasing.

Anthony’s footsteps faded with Y/N listening intently behind the door, wiping her silent tears. He was outside her door for half an hour during her moment where she wrote her letters individually to the members of the team. She didn’t want to open the door, but her desire to speak to him drove her to a decision that if he knocked, she would let him in. If he asked that she returned, she would.

But alas, he didn’t do any of those, leaving her to conclude that his decision was final, and his words were deeply meant and intended. It was her fault, after all.

And maybe the agency would be better off without a dead weight.

WHEN MORNING CAME, Anthony was jolted awake when George shook him back to consciousness in the library lit with the sunshine pouring through the window. As soon as he fluttered his eyes open and saw the light with George’s frantic silhouette, it had been a clear indication that he was too late.

“Y/N’s gone!”

There was an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, bad butterflies taking control over his system. He quickly sat up and ignored the pounding headache he gained overnight. Anthony turned to George, “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Lucy called her for breakfast but she didn’t answer. She never didn’t answer! So we went up there to check, but all her things were gone.”

He got to his feet and went straight to Y/N’s provided room where all traces of her existence were never found, except for the envelopes clutched in Lucy’s trembling hands. Her face wasn’t warm and welcoming at all as she furiously questioned, “What did you do?!”

“She’s left the agency!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Why?” George asked in response.

“Ask Lockwood. Apparently, he’s the one who talked to her last night after the mission.”

“What are those?” Karim gestured towards the envelopes Lucy had. She raised the letters with their names engraved in jet black ink.

“See for yourself,” she answered and shoved each of the letters to the designated receivers. The girl then furiously marched out of the room, leaving behind both George and Anthony to themselves. Karim opened the correspondence and trailed his eyes along the letters scribbled on the tear stained paper, his face growing bitter word for word as he finished.

The boy turned to his companion, “You’re unbelievable.”

Lockwood wore the same frown he wore in front of her door a couple of hours ago. George left him in the room to self-reflect between the four walls of nothingness but the lingering memories of who used to occupy it.

He looked at the letter, opening it as he scanned the wirds carefully written yet stained with tears that dried on the ink that spread on the fibres of the paper.

“Anthony,

I didn’t tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I’m not sure if my explanations will suffice. I know Lucy and George are smarter than you give them credit for. Whatever happens, I want you to continue the agency with them. They’re your only family left.

I loved the memories with you and the others and I will continue to treasure them until it’s my prized possession that you will have to seek one day. I hated you for a while, and maybe I hate you now, but there’s nothing but the truth that you make a great leader, and I hope your passion will lead them to the path they want, and their loyalty will not banish even after eternity.

For a while, Lockwood, your home had been my home. Our home, but after tonight, it seems as though you gave the key to the wrong person. I hope you will find a better one worthy of the team.

Do not look for me. I will find a good place to find myself and start again and recover. And once I recover, I swear to George and Lucy, I will write. Take care of them.

I’m sorry,

Y/N.”

He wanted to crumple that letter, but that’s all he had of her. Each passing second that he stared at the empty room made him feel guiltier and guiltier. The blood in his veins rushed as he turned crimson with rage. Anthony had never been one to lose composure of himself, especially when he was angry, but it was different this time.

He knew to himself that he blew it. He had fucked up and now he was not the only one that was paying. Because of his arrogance, the house lacked Y/N’s annoying laughter, her awkward morning small talks and idle chatter, the familiar creaks on the wooden stairs because of how loud her feet become when she’s excited for a new case.

Her seat remained empty, devoid of the girl's presence. Her favourite cup had been set before the chair without any mark or stain of the hues she usually wore on her lips. The smell of coffee George brewed earlier for her wafted in a room, serving as an object to rub it in their nose of the bitter tension she’d left behind in that very room.

Lockwood cleared his throat, “Our next mission, er.”

Lucy’s scoff caught his eye, “Give us a break, Lockwood.” She put her mug down, her eyes piercing through his, speaking, “When will you ever learn to not only care about yourself?”

“Lucy, not now.”

“Yes, now.” George intervened. “No one knows why Y/N left, except you. Her family wouldn’t want her back even if she writes that on her Christmas list. You know it to yourself too, that’s a dumb excuse.”

“She left the agency because she made her choice,” Anthony monotonously replied, and quickly regretted it as he sighed and spoke again in a much gentler, more emotion-filled voice, “It was the best for us all.”

“Did she make that choice, or did you? No wonder she left.” Lucy mumbled as she was not having any of it. She slammed her feet on the floor and stood up to leave the kitchen with George leisurely following behind.

Y/N TOOK IN THE rotten interior of the home. Everything was mouldy and abandoned. It was an odd thing, for sure. The house was supposed to be sold months ago! Why was it deprived of human presence? Something was not right, especially with that voice slowly creeping in her ears again.

She wasn’t alone in that place.

“Help me,” she heard. There was a guess there. A guess she’d been doubting for weeks but knew to be believed by her subconsciousness. The girl grabbed the pen from her pocket and sighed, closing her eyes to allow itself to commune with her.

“What do you want me to do?” She questioned.

It was a bad idea, but it was daylight. The power of this type of entity, whatever it is, should be weak by now. Y/N felt herself being pulled in a deep void, forcing all her energy to go down with the force. It was her mind that felt lightweight and then her body with static. All sounds from her surroundings started to become collectively like the sound of electric waves until it was an absolute nothingness.

Just then, an ornate box appeared among the fog, its gold embellishments covered in crimson hues, dripping on the now visible desk. The event happened so fast, and what was once a flurry of foggy mess was now a warm room lit with glinting candle lights from above the ceiling before it turned into a ghost of the olden times. The doors were being pounded from the other side, followed by voices who furiously shouted a name.The girl looked around to see a cadaver on the floor, severely tortured and bloodied. Then, she looked at herself, taking note of how her hands were covered in the same liquid as on the floor.

“What happened here?” she whispered to herself in a frantic tremble.

“Give us the box!”

She looked at the object now in her hands. Every inch of her appearance had changed into someone else, feeling their sense of determination to hide and clutch the treasure in her possession. She turned frantically to look for a way out, but just as she was about to run for it, the door burst open and there came three men, one with a pen in his hand.

“You’ve signed the agreement my father’s given you!” She didn’t know why or how, but it must have been the ghost that kept haunting her that said it.

“Will it matter any longer?”

Just as she screamed, the world had turned into a fading vision. Y/N woke up with a gasp, finding herself on the floor with the piles of stones and rubbles, debris from the structure of what once was a home of an aristocrat. There it was again, that ringing. The girl groaned from the consistent hearing disturbance.

She stood up, only to find herself in an entirely different room. Her eyes made a quick scan of the structure. That was when she found an unusual glint inside the crack on the floor. “So that’s why.”

The death glows would have been seen by Lockwood before, but he didn’t, only because the home had been renovated long before it got destroyed again. The floor had been covered by another layer of floor.

Then, a glint caught her eye, the moonshine had reflected its light where she saw the intricate box. Quickly, she crawled over to it and pulled it out of the crack with force. The box was the same as before, only old and rusty. The surface was covered in dust and old traces of blood.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a series of the hushed voices of a woman. Y/N flailed side by side, falling on her knees as she crawled to grab ahold of the intricate box covered in dust and other filthy muck. “What is this for? What should I do?”

That’s when she realised the sun had finally set and she was in deeper trouble than she was. A glowing light appeared behind the door frame as it continued to hide. Her breath hitched, grabbing ahold of the rapier she managed to steal from Anthony’s library.

“I will help you! You’ve tormented me enough,” she mumbled, holding the rapier up as a barricade between her and the ghost.

The ghost let out a deafening shriek as it frowned at her, hovering through the air before her eyes.

“I promise!” Y/N exclaimed. “Just let me help you!”

However, it was not easy making deals with a dead-undead visitor made up of ectoplasm and substantial despair and anger toward the living. The ghost charged forward, making her lucky enough to move out of the way. She yielded the sword, and the luck of the draw struck again when she managed to hit the visitor with her iron blade, buying her more time.

The girl opened the box, revealing a pile of papers and an old silver pocket watch eaten away by old age and exposure to oxygen and insects that created their own home within the chest. The cobwebs were occupied by several tiny eight-legged creatures causing her to cringe as she dropped the box and shook the spiders off.

Upon the contact of the crate with the floor, a glowing spot appeared.

She looked at the ghost of the woman that haunted her. It stopped mid-air for a while before continuing with her new entertainment of tormenting the girl more. Y/N’s eyes widened at a sudden realisation.

That was it!

For the first time in a long time, she finally felt like she wasn’t being an absolutely bloody idiot. “I have to destroy it, don’t I? For you to find your peace, is that it?”

That was when she frowned and muttered under her breath, “But that’s not your source.”

Then, her ego was kicked off the curb with her guts. A hand reached out from the glowing spot on the floor. “That’s someone else’s source!” She raised her rapier and quickly wielded it to hit the box, preventing the ghost from coming out of it.

The first visitor shrieked again and charged forward as Y/N fumbled on the floor, miserably looking for the pen. Her breathing was audibly fast, waving her sword desperately through the air to ward off the ghost that had been restless in chasing after her.

She scanned the cracks, there was nothing. Then, under the desk, nothing. That’s when she noticed the object she sought right next to an empty cobwebbed shelf on the floor next to a book.

Y/N removed her sword out of the way, darting towards the pen to grab ahold of it, quickly swerving to get rid of the visitor. After that, she hit the box again and once the glow disappeared, her fingers found themselves holding onto the chest for dear life. She put the smaller object in it, and placed it between her side and arm, her other lifting the rapier up.

Dumb! Literally dumb!

Her foot got caught in a lifted crack on the floor, causing her to plant herself on the floor. A groan emitted from her lips as she tried to ease the pain on her chest. Upon realisation, she swiftly turned and held her sword up, fighting the phantom.

“My ears hurt from your constant shrieking!” she yelled.

Due to the movement of her arms, the box had slightly drifted away from her clutch as she busied herself warding away her enemy. “I even wonder why it isn’t Lockwood that you could have bothered! You would have been at peace by now, but no. You chose the weakest link! I’m practically useless, and I might possibly be losing my talent! Now you’re the one who’s mad? I didn’t choose me! You’re the one who screwed up!”

Maybe she was the mad one, in different terms. She was talking to a ghost, for Chrysler’s sake! Even worse, having a verbal feud with it!

If only Lockwood could see her now.

That was until the ghost disappeared after a swift, almost invisible lightning speed strike. She gasped for air and turned around to see what the cause of it was, but no. What’s better is to destroy the sources and get peace once and for all. She sat up and crawled over to the object, grabbing a nearby rock and destroying it for good. The pained wailing finally died down as she loudly caught her breath, exhaustedly falling on her back with her sword clattering on the ground.

“L/N!”

That voice. That god-awful voice. She closed her eyes shut, unable to open them for a second due to her strong will to rest and recover. Look, now she was even hallucinating Lockwood calling her by her last name. It was impossible that he was there, and even if he was — she laughed slightly. He couldn’t be. If he was, she would tear the world apart just to get away from him. She wanted to be millions of miles away from him, avoiding his gaze, getting rid of his smell, and that stupid voice with that arrogant tone of his. He had crushed her dreams and hope like it was nothing, even with just a brief conversation, everything that she clung to in that agency faded in one statement that she wished she never heard from him.

But good riddance, right? At least now she knew it was the wrong agency for her. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.

“L/N.”

“Can voices just stop — ” she angrily mumbled, almost in a slur of words, “ — pestering me all the time? Can I just have peace for once? Is that too much to ask for?”

“If they stopped now, you wouldn’t hear what I have to say now, would you?” Now that was it. The girl’s peace had been completely shattered once and for all with that single question built in a rhetorical structure. Her eyebrows now knitted together — an exaggeration, but they almost did. Just a little smidge and they’d be meeting. It couldn’t possibly be him, could it? Her heart fluttered both bitterly and in a way that she hoped that there was hope, but knowing Anthony, he was only here as a figment of her hostile imagination. He wasn’t truly here. That would be asking for too much — only she didn’t ask anything to send him here.

“I’m sleep-deprived,” she muttered under her breath.

It took Lockwood his whole body and soul to stop himself from smiling. He thought he wouldn’t see her here, that she would be off somewhere else, and not the usual destination she would go to whenever she was upset.

A hallucination: that’s what he was to her as of this moment. She still had her eyes closed, refusing to open her eyes, and what was worse was the constant question whether she refused to see the disappointment of a world with Lockwood there or the opposite.

Then, that’s when she felt a gentle contact at the back of her neck, slowly lifting her from the ground. Panic covered her bones and took over the nerves to her brain as she mentally screamed repetitively.

She quickly opened her eyes to see him kneeling just before her, holding her as if she was a fragile glass compared to all that he's seen in his entire life in his basement.

He was there.

He was real.

He was touching her.

And he was — "Your hands are cold."

"I don't care, L/N."

There was something different. All the passionate hatred she had for him was slowly starting to well up in her chest, but being swallowed by a big flurry of adrenaline that made her blood flush in her veins faster.

It was his gaze. They'd changed into something atypical. Too . . . soft, and upon realisation, the double volume of her disdain started knocking her off again.

"No," she mumbled and quickly sat up, pushing him away from her as she scrambled to get her rapier and stand up. "You can't just come here and play the hero, and look at me like that! No!"

Confusion changed his expression, "I just helped you."

"Why do you do this to me?" Her voice has all but given up standing sturdy. She trembled both in excessive fatigue and strong emotions. "You can't just — just look at me like that after you made me feel like shit! And then what? You pity me, and you say sorry and things will go back to being shit again and the cycle continues? What do you think I am?"

"I—"

"You what? You're sorry? Why did you come here? To tell me worse things, that I'm hopeless or that maybe you're so noble that you just felt the need to help me get started with my life?"

Lockwood understood every bit of what she was saying. Her absence in that home has made him realise just how much of a cowardly bastard he was. How undeniably much of an asshole he had been to her and how much hell he'd pay. Her wrath was just the start of it.

But his understanding was growing weary. He knew in a way that Y/N had her wrongs too, "You never told us about the voices."

She halted. She really didn't have any other reason than she didn't want to appear weak and bother anyone. Besides, she doubted the existence of the voice. But there was no excuse.

"I wanted to figure things out on my own," she stated before turning to leave. Before she did though, he spoke.

"I look at you," he started as she stopped and slightly turned to her side but not completely enough to meet his eyes, "like this, not because I pity you, Y/N."

That was her name. Her first name.

"I look at you because I've been. Whenever you were unaware that I was looking. I've always seen you from the start, hence why when I said you reminded me of how things begin and end, it was because you were the first person to make me get up from my bed and the only person I want to see when the day ends. When I'm tired and weary." He then averted his gaze to the ground, "I looked at you like that earlier because I couldn't bear to look at anything else or see you in another state."

"I regret everything that I said, and I wanted you to know how hard it's been to look at your door and think that in the next few days, someone else or no one will occupy that room knowing that there were traces of you — any traces, just anything but physical. It's been torture, not just for me, but for both Lucy and George. So, I thought maybe you'd gone to the place you've been going to peculiarly for the past few months," he continued.

Indeed, he knew her, watched her, examined her.

Possibly even admired her. From afar. But he looked the other way, believed the other way because how could he afford that? How could he afford these feelings knowing he had nothing? He had himself, but he did not have anything stable that he could give her. Will that make her happy? Not at all.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out. "I know it's not enough, but I'm willing to prove to you how sorry I am. Just — I want you to know that I never intended things to be so bad and out of control, and I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but this isn't an excuse. I just want you to know that I regret everything."

"You are not a dead weight, Y/N. If anything, you're a breath of fresh air, and you make things easier every time one of us feels down. You make the mornings lighter, the end of every exhausting day a moment of opportunity to think about how thrilling life can be. You make the next days, weeks, months, and years something to look forward to. When you left, thinking about those future moments without you with us, it feels empty and terrible. A few hours without you had turned us into malfunctioning lunatics. We're in shambles — I'm in shambles. What more with days? The truth is, it's not you that's the problem. I keep causing you pain, and I'm trying to be better, because I want to be better for you. When the time comes that I do, I will try to be the best. You deserve that. It will take time, and that is why I'll understand if you don't want to return to the agency with me."

Come to think of it, as she observed his state, his Lockwood hair wasn't in its best today. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot. His always tidy flat clothes were wrinkly and his tie was out of place. He looked like he'd been through hell, and his next elaboration explained why.

"Thinking about you every now and then, especially now, I've always shifted in my seat, trying to decipher just how you affect me this much. When I found the possibility of how, I felt the sense to hide it. Every smile that you caused, I hid it all, because secretly I love bickering with you every chance we get, because I get to see the thrill in your eyes and the fire that you hide. I thought that maybe if I hated you, I would selfishly gain more feelings and learn to embrace the things I might possibly find distasteful if my feelings started the other way. And I did, I managed to admire everything you hated about yourself. You've made me feel things strong enough that whenever I run away, I still end up going back to you."

"Lockwood," she finally spoke and swivelled to face him completely. "Anthony."

"Yes?" He eagerly lifted his head to wait for her response.

She chuckled, "I thought you were about to recite Mr. Knightley when he was confessing to Emma."

That's when he laughed and nodded, accepting the fact that maybe he said too much that all she could reply was Jane Austen’s Emma joke, "Well, I have been told that I have a knack for paraphrasing."

"Do you mean all that?"

"The bickering part, most especially."

"Do you want us to bicker now?"

"I think we're already starting," he commented, which made them snicker.

"I'm sorry," she stated. Lockwood thought that was her way of telling him that it was too late. His heart was pierced by a shard of mirror which he failed to use earlier for self-reflection. That was when she smiled, "I just don't know what to say."

"You can start by accepting our job offer. We, er, have an open position looking for someone with a talent like yours," Anthony cheekily replied with a playful smile. "Our agency is one of the most prestigious agencies in London, and we ensure the safety and warm welcome — new addition, of our team, old and new. Do you accept, Y/N L/N?"

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I think I’m losing my talent.”

“And you still managed to beat a type two with a frenemy in one night with a rapier, a pen, and a box?”

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

"I'm taking that as a yes. Come on, if you say yes, we'll bicker nonstop and you’ll get endless coffee privileges."

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

“Just so we could hate each other again, and be able to speak about our fondness more.” offered his hand for her to take. She leisurely took it, trying to ignore the warmth her hand provided to his cold one. He was holding her. Touching her, when a few hours ago, he couldn’t even as much as lay a finger on her.

And when they got back home, the block had been covered with missing posters of Y/N, with additional apology notes and “Lockwood sucks!” extras. That was true.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader angst #anthony lockwood angst #anthony x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #anthony lockwood fic #anthony lockwood fic rec #lockwood and co fic rec

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indigo-scarf · 1 year

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Draco DID want to be a Death Eater (and here’s why)

If I had a Sickle for every time I’ve read that Draco became a Death Eater against his will, forced by either his father or Voldemort, I’d be as rich as the Malfoys. However, that is not true in canon, and Draco is much more compelling and tragic for it.

It’s explicitly shown in HBP that Draco was enthusiastic about serving Voldemort in the beginning. Bellatrix, who’s ever eager to call out any unfaithfulness to Voldemort, defends Draco:

“And I will say this for Draco: he isn’t shrinking away from his duty, he seems glad of a chance to prove himself, excited at the prospect —” (HBP2)

Draco himself gloats about it:

“Well, you never know,” said Malfoy with the ghost of a smirk. “I might have … er … moved on to bigger and better things.” [...] “When the Dark Lord takes over, is he going to care how many O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s anyone's got? Of course he isn't. It'll be all about the kind of service he received, the level of devotion he was shown.” [...] Crabbe and Goyle were both sitting with their mouths open like gargoyles. Pansy was gazing down at Malfoy as though she had never seen anything so awe-inspiring. “I can see Hogwarts,” said Malfoy, clearly relishing the effect he had created as he pointed out of the blackened window. (HBP7)

And he’s preoccupied with the “glory” he thinks he’ll get by completing his mission:

“I know what you're up to! You want to steal my glory!” (Draco to Snape, HBP15)

“[Snape]'s been offering me plenty of help — wanting all the glory for himself — wanting a bit of the action — [...] But I haven't told him what I've been doing in the Room of Requirement, he's going to wake up tomorrow and it'll all be over and he won't be the Dark Lord's favourite any more, he'll be nothing compared to me, nothing!” (HBP29)

Of course there are threats and fear involved, as well, since this is Voldemort we’re talking about, but it’s both the carrot and the stick. When Draco starts to think he might fail, he focusses on the threats, hence:

“No one can help me,” said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. “I can't do it... I can't... It won't work… and unless I do it soon... he says he'll kill me…” (HBP24)

Nonetheless, as per the previous quotes, he oscillates between being terrified of failure and chasing the rewards of success up until the very end, in the Astronomy Tower.

As I've argued extensively in my Hand of Glory meta, I see Draco’s becoming a Death Eather as an attempt to both prove himself to his father and to prove himself better than his father.

It’s not that Draco has lost love or respect for Lucius, but he still wants to take the opportunity to make his father finally see his value by out-doing him. If Lucius’s DoM blunder triggered the Malfoys’ fall from grace, Draco’s success will earn them even more honour than they had before.

At the same time, though, Draco’s actions are not truly emancipatory because his father remains the point of reference that determines his worth.

Ultimately, Draco’s motive for taking the Mark is less about belief in the cause, and more about his daddy issues paradox: wanting to prove himself a grown up man, but doing so in a desperate, rash bid for the paternal validation he so sorely lacks.

Draco starts HBP insisting that he’s “...not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother”, and “perfectly capable of doing [his] shopping alone” (HBP6), but by the end of the book he’s feeling quite incapable of doing things alone, and still struggling with his need for approval from a father figure.

To me, this is much more interesting than simple external coercion. Draco’s own lack of independent self-worth is what leads him to destroy his life, and what renders him unable to be dissuaded from it. He dismisses anyone who tries to warn or help him, because he assumes they must share his own repressed lack of belief in himself, and marches solitary and obstinate towards his own ruin.

#draco malfoy #hp meta #my stuff

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demontonic · 1 year

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Hayden Christensen - The first time - 2

let’s pretend that i didnt already start writing this for a separate story before i decided to just add it in for a part 2 please and thank you! Here’s part 1 if you haven’t read it and my masterlist for more!

word count: 1998

You had landed a part in Star Wars after years of auditioning for any possible role. You had struck mainstream fame after a horror movie you did for Rob Zombie. They had introduced an interesting character, they wanted to give Darth Vader a devotee, of course after Padme he never loved again but they wanted to show how exactly he dealt with it immediately after her passing. The audition was a scene in which said devotee breaks after pining for his approval the entire series.

“I have given you everything I am, I betrayed everything I ever knew, and I have done everything you ever asked! Just once I want you to see me, all I do, all I am is for you… Anakin.” Your voice sounded empty, defeated, broken and angry. Unrequited love in the worst case scenario possible, falling in love with a widowed sith lord. The story outside all the theatrics however was quite the opposite.

“Chosen one, how’s your morning old man?” You taunted in a merry voice, the taller blond man just shook his head. A smirk resting on his lips as he scoffed at the weak attempt of a joke.

“You aren’t too far behind me lady,” he dropped his bag onto the blue mat next to yours. Soon Hayden towered over you awaiting the inevitable comeback, something you’d grown accustomed to during training.

“Twelve years is enough for me to give you shit big papi,” you shoved his torso once you felt your neck stiffening at the uncomfortable angle it required to look at him.

“Well I thought you two weren’t supposed to get along,” Dave Filoni, you swear you could spend hours thanking this man for his work in the Star Wars universe, afterall he did create your character.

“Dave!”

“Hayden!”

They briefly shook hands, clearly having a deep respect and adoration for each other as long time coworkers and friends. Behind Dave however was this redhead, she was older than you but still younger than Hayden. She was the trainer's assistant who very much liked to try and correct Hayden, despite him having more experience than most of us. It wouldn’t have struck a chord with you, it shouldn’t have, but when she placed her hands around his arms to adjust his ‘lightsaber’ it angered you deeply. Luckily for you she seemed to be in quite the chipper mood, “Fan- fucking -tastic,” you thought while watching her drool over him.

“-And then we’ll get started on your final battle, sound good?” Dave looked between you and Hayden, a nod coming from you both before he walked away; being replaced by the main trainer, Harry.

“Morning, Milord, lover girl, Jess.” His voice was relaxed as always, he was a gentle man despite the skills he had taught us. He could cheer you up and stop you from being discouraged one moment and then completely body slam you the next. You were forever grateful he was the trainer, because if it was that snotty bitch Jessica, you’d never catch a break. He liked to refer to us using names related to our characters to ‘get us in the headspace’ you just thought it was cute.

“Morning puff, how was the commute this morning?” You teased since he always complained about traffic, but today he gave you a knowing look. Puff was the nickname you gave him, his hair was insanely fluffy and long it also was a very light blonde.

“Well I’ll have you know it was better today, I hope that’s how your choreography goes as well since we’re gonna start breaking down your final battle today.” He grabbed a pole before swiftly turning to us, a test he’d do every now and then to see if we could spring into action. Of course, being the teacher’s pet I’d met his ‘blade’ first.

“Ah my lover girl, always quick on her feet,” his praise made you smile while he stood down, returning to his previous spot.

“She still needs to keep her legs braced properly, her stance is weak,” Jessica spat while she walked over to Harry, twirling her pole in hand cockily. To be fair she’d won many matches against you, but as of recently you had the winning streak.

“Now Jess-”

“Wanna give it a go, see how weak my stance really is?” You proposed, walking out to the middle of the mat, leaving Hayden to stand lonesome in the corner. He loved your drive, your constant need to prove yourself against that wretched woman. Not many people fancied her, it wasn’t hard to understand why, Hayden was not one of those people.

“Any day, any time, you know I’m always ready,” she quickly met you in the middle, poised for action, awaiting your first strike.

“Are you?” You had been working on this rendition of Hayden’s move, it was your personal touch to the character. It was the famous ‘Obi-Ani’ however when the saber went behind your back the blade would be downturned. From there it would switch hands, strike once it was brought forth, then switched back to your right hand. That was exactly how you started, she hadn’t been able to combat it and in the fictional universe her hand would be severed. In the real world, you hit her wrist very hard, you hoped to see the bruise later on.

“Impressive! I didn’t know you had finally polished that move, I think it will do well in the choreo.” Harry quickly declared before getting in between you two. Hayden also approached you, his hand turned your shoulder to face him.

“What even was that?” He sounded impressed, almost childlike especially with the smile that accompanied the question.

“I took your move, and I made it my own master,” you said cockily with a shit eating smile. Harry’s praise made you smile, but Hayden’s interest made you jump for joy.

*.·:·.✧ ✦ ✧.·:·.*

It had been a few hours now, you had gone through 4 out of 10 parts of the battle and you were starting to get frustrated. The lightsaber part had never been an issue, but the footwork on your part was intense. It had to be because by now Anakin was Darth Vader his mobility was nothing like the prequels. To keep Hayden stiff they had pads on his arms and knees to limit the movement. On top of that there was a lot of dialogue throughout the beginning, so you kept circling each other, anticipating each other's next moves.

“Again, let's slow it back dow-“

“No. Let’s do it again, I just need to keep doing this until I get it.” It wasn’t a backflip or some mind blowing parkour, however the transition from running, to sliding, up to your knees; and then trying not to fall back while Hayden pushed down on you with his saber wasn’t easy.

“Do you want me to ease up?” God sometimes you just wanted to hit him with the pole when he tried to water it down for you. He came from a good place but amidst your frustration, and Jessica’s relentless corrections you were losing control.

“No, just start again at 3”

“Okay, on your line”

And with a heavy sigh you repeated the last line of your spiel. “Just once I want you to see me, all I do, all I am is for you… Anakin.” Your voice was harsh, it was unmissable so as Hayden began his attack, you deflected with more force than normal. Your jaw was clenched and your fists tight. Your eyes were set on Hayden, it was like you were doing the scene for the actual take, hell it was like you were actually living this scenario.

“Anakin is no more, I killed hi-“

“Liar!”

You stepped forward going back into the confrontation, your sabers clashing louder than before. Grunts leaving your throat as you push your tired body to perfection, until you catch sight of Jessica. Her glare stuck on you as if you killed her favorite person, it just made you fume. The next part is when you cut off Vader’s left hand and while normally you let Hayden put his hand down, you hit the back of his hand. Finally it had clicked that you weren’t okay, something was bothering you and he had a pretty good idea why. However he remained silent and followed through with the scene.

“All this time, did you think I might fall in love with you? Your pride consumes you, padawan.”

“And your grief consumes you.” You said through clenched teeth, this was where you had to jump off a blue block they’d set up. As you jumped down, you rolled onto your knees before running at Hayden, and to avoid his saber you slid beneath it. Once you turned to face him, you hurriedly got onto one knee finally making it on time before your sabers clashed. He pushed down on you and you could feel your shoe slip against the slick fabric of the mats. You were fed up with this plastic always fucking this part up so you pushed back with all your upper body strength.

Not your best moment.

Hayden fell back as you stood up and this finally calmed you down from your mood. You breathed heavily while you walked over to help him back up, twirling your saber mindlessly. You looked down at the blonde, holding your hand out wordlessly in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I just-“

“Let’s take a break, and talk about this.” Hayden interjected before hurriedly ushering you to the parking lot. There was nothing to say, it was childish of you to act out, it was embarrassing, you couldn't begin to process the emotions pooling in your stomach. He unlocked his car and opened the door for you without hesitation, he was scarily calm as you got in the passenger seat. It didn’t take long for him to get into the driver’s seat, long strides equaled less steps. Once he was seated the silence continued for a moment, you wouldn’t dare meet his gaze.

“Jessica is a hard person to be around, I’m sure you’ve had a few instances like that in the workplace. Y/N you are giving her what she wants when you get angry, people like that thrive off your misery.” Hayden Christensen, he had to be God’s favorite, he was so nice and understanding. A gentle giant trying to reason with a short psycho, perfect.

“It disappoints you as much as it does me-“

“I’m not disappointed in you, if anything I’m proud… surprised even.”

“Surprised?”

“Yeah, Harry assumed you would’ve chewed her head off by now. You saved me 20 bucks”

“So what I’m hearing is you think I could win in a fight.” The mood was lighter now, you both sported bright smiles while the banter continued.

“I wouldn’t have put money on you if I didn’t think you would,” he was being sincere and you knew by the way he spoke so effortlessly.

“Might not be for much longer, it’s like she gets worse everyday- that or my tolerance is getting shorter.” This time your tone sounded defeated, sure you’ve dealt with more stressful things in life, but it seemed as though you had no more patience left. Hayden quickly took note of this and used the leverage of you being a Star Wars nerd to cheer you up.

“Have faith love, everything will soon be set right… I’ve been told she’ll be transferred to a different project anyway. Someplace far far away from us,” His voice dwindled to a hushed volume, it was soothing.

“That would bring peace to the entire city.” He laughed at your brutal joke before changing the subject.

“So do you think we can go in there and try to play nice?” The question lingered for a moment before you reluctantly answered him.

“I don’t make promises.”

“But?”

“But… I will try.”

“Atta girl.”

@oogachakaooga

@lonelywitchv2

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