#so now I have to figure out how to stop a stupid cotton bedsheet from fraying

[maybeamiles]

I hate sewing so much why did I decide to put myself through this

[comfortwriting]

I Hate You - F.W

Masterlist, Requesting Rules, Writing Prompts

Fred Weasley x Fem Reader

Requested/About: Enemies to lovers smut! Fred is constantly getting his classmate into trouble, and Y/N is finding herself spending more of her evenings in detention with him - her hate for him growing. One evening, something out of the ordinary happens between them. 

Warnings: 18+ swearing, mention of blood, smut, fingering, handjob, oral (male receiving), unprotected sex.

"Stop shaking the desk!" you hissed at your transfiguration partner.

Fred smirked and squinted at you "no" he replied, his ego popping out in his voice "if you've got a problem go and sit somewhere else"

You watched Fred waving his wand at the mouse that cowered in front of him, letting out little squeaks each time Fred failed to transform it into a large cotton bud.

How this feud started between the two of you - you couldn't remember - you were past caring. All you know is that Fred hates you, and you hate him, his face pisses you off and your face - your body frustrates him.

He thought about you constantly, almost as if you were invading his mind on purpose just to taunt him - you appeared in his dreams and he couldn't stop it, he couldn't figure out why this was happening - why he would dream of you feeling nothing but hatred, only to wake up with his ejaculate spilling on his bedsheets.

"Don't ask me for any help during potions class, then." You replied, taking out your wand, the mouse suddenly going stiff, then turning round fluffy, losing its legs, ears, facial features, and tail.

Fred scowled at you, poking the cotton bud with the tip of his wand "I wasn't going to" he slouched back in his chair, pulling apart what once was the mouse, grumbling under his breath. "This is kids stuff" he huffed "It's only why you're good at it."

You rolled your eyes and snatched the cotton bud out of his hands, 'Reparo!' putting it back together and transforming the bud back into the innocent, shy, creature that curled up into and started to tremble in your hands.

"Miss Y/L/N, I think your partner can do his own work" Miss McGonagall spoke out, staring down at you whilst walking past your desk "Sit up Mr Weasley!" she hissed at Fred, hurrying to the front of the classroom.  

Fred sighed and sat up grudgingly, "It's alright for you, being a good girl who never makes mistakes, who everyone loves so dearly."

You scoffed and rolled your eyes "you talk so much shit, Fred Weasley!" you huffed "I actually spend my time revising because I actually make mistakes, something I'm sure you've never given the time of day to work on!"

Fred huffed "You sound just like my brother Percy, it's as if he never bloody left!"

Whilst the back and forth continued to unfold between you and Fred, the class was dismissed, everyone leaving - you and Fred didn't notice, too wrapped up in arguing, his brother George and friend Lee stayed behind, watching and enjoying the entertainment.

"Well, you know what!" you raised your voice, picking up your bag and pushing your books inside "sod you! you're on your own next lesson, don't come begging when Snape rips you a new one!" you stood up from your chair and stormed off.

"Nice one Fred" George called out, walking out of the great hall and towards the dungeons "you're going to suffer in there, mate."

Fred pulled a sour face "she's the most obnoxious bitch I've ever met"

Unfortunately for Fred, you were in earshot of his insult "Obnoxious bitch?" you laughed out, catching up to him "lads like you are all the same, threatened by smarter women"

George laughed, bashing Fred in the ribs with his elbow, Fred felt mortified and could feel himself wanting to grab you and shove you against a wall, the thought of doing it however made him feel something he didn't want to admit...

he couldn't

no way

feelings for you? oh please...

Fred rattled his brain, trying hard to shake this intruding feeling out of him, he hates you, love is out of the question, anything intimate is a red flag.

"Well, with what you lack in looks and personality you make up for in IQ, I'm not threatened by you, you're just disgusting to look at and be around. My skiving Snack boxes wouldn't change your appearance you're that bloody ugly." he snapped.

Ugly.

Your heart pained at the word, why? you didn't know, whenever anyone attacked your looks and your body, you didn't care, it meant nothing to you - so why your heart is suddenly hurting did more than baffled you.

Why should you care?

It's not like you're in love with him or anything

You could feel your stomach doing flips, your blood boiling, how dare he!

"it's a shame because your dick will never match the size of your ego, regardless if it's flaccid or hard." You snapped back, pushing past him, bashing into him on purpose, storming towards the dark and dingy dungeons.

Fred went bright red, infuriated that you shamed him in front of his twin, especially for something that he believed determined his value as a man, his blood - like yours, now also boiling.

He wanted to storm after you, grab you by the wrist, pull you into him so you couldn't escape, he wanted to stare down at you whilst demanding an apology, hell, he wanted to show you - show you just how wrong you were.

"Come on now, Freddie" George spoke out, breaking him out of his thoughts "don't let her bother you, all the lasses say shit like that - if you let her get under your skin, she's winning."

she's winning

Fred couldn't and wouldn't allow that to happen, never in a million years - you wouldn't get away with embarrassing him like this, you were in for it, without a clue of what Fred is capable of.

Potions were nothing short of pure hell, you weren't able to switch seats, forced to endure two long hours with Fred who had never looked so angry before, he shot daggers at you, practically seething and speaking through gritted teeth when he needed to look over the ingredients and steps.

"I told you not to bother asking me for help" you snarled, stirring your cauldron, Snape watching the two of you argue in pleasure behind his test papers he should be marking instead.

Fred huffed "Well until you budge over, quit being greedy and let me pick what I need or I'll keep bloody asking!"

You bit your tongue, trying not to swear "Look, you forgot your book, either go and ask Snape if he has a spare or bugger off!"

Fred could feel himself losing his temper, his body temperature increasing, his heart thumping, his fists bunching.

"The two of you will have plenty of time to discuss during detention" Snape spoke, dragging out his words.

You shot Fred an angry look, your eyes widening and your nostrils flaring, Fred looked back at you, shaking his head whilst your Professor walked away, causing the two of you to argue even more.

"Look what you've done now! Thanks a lot!" you raised your voice, stirring your cauldron so angrily, specks of dark amber liquid splashed onto the desk and your skirt, hissing away.

Fred scoffed and stood up, snatching your book away from you, gripping it in his hand "What I've done?" he shook his head "You've caused this!"

"One more word and one detention will become a week's worth," Snape warned.

"Caused what?" You stood up, puffing out your chest "I haven't done anything! You're just an idiot, a dumb idiot who is jealous because I'm going somewhere in life and you aren't because you're fucking stupid!" You yelled, the whole room becoming silent.

Fred stared at you, his heart hurting, he wanted to cry.

idiot, dumb, fucking stupid, going nowhere in life.

"You're a fucking bitch, who everyone laughs at, who everyone thinks is a loser!" He yelled back.

These two weeks of detention would change everything and the two of you had no idea.

Arriving early in the Hospital Wing which surprisingly had empty beds that had been stripped from their bedding, Madame Pomfrey waved you over to her, a forced smile spreading across her face.

"You're rather early"

"I know" you sighed "It's to make up for Fred being late" you grumbled, the thought of hours with him this evening making your head pound.

"Well," Madam Pomfrey wandered around the hospital wings, laying out dirty bedsheets, pillowcases, pyjamas, empty dishes, and medicine bottles "the two of you - when he arrives - will be cleaning everything, without magic" she emphasised that last part, "I thought I'd be rather easy on you this time, you won't be scrubbing any bedpans this week."

You nodded, realising that she wouldn't be sticking around to watch you or Fred, you walked up to the long table and popped on the large purple rubber gloves, sitting down on the stool, waiting for your nightmare to turn up.

"You can only start when he arrives" Madame Pomfrey reminded you "Whatever you can't finish, you'll do tomorrow, and if there are any patients, you'll have extra work." She walked out of the hospital wing, leaving you behind, the waiting game beginning.

Two hours passed by, two long and dreadfully boring hours, you stared at Fred's matching purple gloves, itching to just get started and clean up; but you couldn't.

Instead, you filled the large bucket with laundry detergent, there was no point in adding any hot water, it would be left to cool anyway if Fred didn't show up soon.

Fred waltzed in, laughing and waving goodbye to his twin, shutting the door behind him. His face dropped when he met your eyes, he noticed your gloves and smirked, laughing lightly "you look ridiculous."

"I don't care what you think," you snapped "You're two hours late, everything just piles up you know, it doesn't just go away."

Fred pulled out the wand from his pocket "Oh come off it, love."

Love?!

Fred fell quiet, he felt embarrassed, mortified, and you stared at him confused, horrified even, your eyebrows knitted together. You brushed his mistake aside, knowing that pulling him up about it would just strengthen the argument.

"We can't use magic." You pointed to the line of buckets, sponges, scrubbers, mop, and broom "Everything has to be done by hand, the muggle way."

Fred's face fell, even more, something you thought wasn't possible, you picked up his matching purple rubber gloves and threw them at him "put them on."

Fred wanted to argue, but he couldn't, he didn't know what to say - the feelings inside of him confusing him, making him question everything, he felt sick, he could feel a strange fluttering inside of his stomach, something he only felt when he was in love.

Why was he feeling this now? How was he such a thing... love for you? He hates you.

Fred caught the rubber gloves and put them on, not saying a word. You filled up the empty buckets with warm water, the cleaning liquid making the water foam up with bubbles.

"You sweep" you passed him the boom "I'll mop after you've done, we'll take turns washing the bedding, pyjamas, dishes and bottles."

Fred's hate for you suddenly went through another wave, the fire igniting in his belly, he snatched the broom from you. "Just shut up and let's get on with it." He snapped, starting to sweep the dusty, grimey floor.

You walked away from him and sat down, huffing so the hair in your face moved away over your head, you placed the bucket on your lap, grabbed the pyjama shirt and laundry stain remover soap and started to scrub, focusing hard on the fresh spots of blood.

"I wasn't the one who turned up two hours late," you muttered under your breath, scrubbing the shirt harder, the red liquid slowly getting lighter.

Fred had swept the majority of the floor, he looked over at you, stopped sweeping and glared.

"Shut up," he grumbled

You grinned, the sight of him in purple gloves making you burst out into laughter.

"You look ridiculous" you laughed, dunking the pyjama shirt into the warm water, the stain finally lifting and ready to dry.

Fred dropped the broom, its long wooden handle clanked against the floor, you looked up at him as he stormed over to you, pulling off his gloves and throwing them across the room.

The way he walked with the expression on his face made you flutter, your crotch heating up and getting excited as he inched closer and closer to you, his hands now gripping on the table. You sighed and placed the bucket on the table, squeezing the water out of the pyjama top and handing it up to dry, Fred still staring at you.

You turned around, looking into his gorgeous brown eyes, sighing and pulling off your rubber gloves, setting them down on the table.

"What?"

"Don't what me."

"Well stop staring!"

Fred pushed the buckets of water off the table angrily, the water splashing as the buckets collided with the swept floor, the foamy and suddy water spilling everywhere.

"What was that for!" you yelled.

Fred reached out for you over the table and pulled you into him, he couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't ignore these feelings, his feelings, his wants, his needs, he couldn't deny himself of you anymore. When his lips crashed against yours, something that you couldn't describe clicked, like the missing piece to a puzzle, and you kissed back.

The kiss was hungry, passionate, lustful, and the two of you just wanted to fuck.

Your hands got lost in his hair, pulling at it as Fred gripped onto your waist, both of you now mounting the table, the dishes, bottles, bedding, and pyjamas fell on the floor, absorbing the water.

Moaning against his lips, Fred's hands pulled at your top, you moved your hands away from his hair and lifted your arms up, your top being pulled up before falling to the floor, being soaked by the water. The sight of you in your bra made Fred's face heat up and go red, he quickly unfastened your bra, unable to control himself.

He took your breast into his mouth, sucking your nipple, you lolled your head back and moaned, one of your hands held his gentle face as he sucked, the other fell down to his trousers, slowly undoing the buttons and pulling down his zipper. Your hand sneaked underneath the waistband of his boxers and you took hold of his erect length - you were wrong - his cock was as big as his ego, and you knew when you were able to look at it, it would be even bigger.

Fred's free hand dived under your skirt and went into your underwear, whilst wanking him off his index circled around your entrance hole - you were so wet, the thought of being this close to him usually repulsed you - but right now, you wanted nothing more than him inside of you, fucking you as much as he hated you.

His index finger slowly pushed inside of you, you moaned out and tugged on his cock harder, he started to finger you faster, knowing part of him was inside you made you so wet, and got you so excited. Fred added his middle finger, now pumping them faster as your walls tightened around his fingers, he pulled off your red and saliva coated nipple and attacked your neck with kisses, then sucking, leaving his marks all over you.

Fred pushed you down on your back so your body was now pressed against the cool table, he continued to finger fuck you, you pulled down his trousers and boxers with both hands, already missing the feeling of his throbbing cock filling one of them. You glanced down - you were definitely wrong - his length was large, definitely outshining his ego.

"You wanted me to shut up, didn't you?" you asked Fred, he pulled away from sucking on your neck, a confused expression formed on his face.

"Is that what you want?" he smirked, catching on "you want me to shut you up with my cock?" he withdrew his fingers, now coated with your juices, sucking them clean.

Fred leaned back, taking his cock in his hand "go on then" he encouraged you "suck my cock."

"Make me."

Fred grabbed you by the hair - but not roughly or too hard - you were actually quite surprised by his gentleness. You were on your knees now, sucking Fred's large length, choking on it as you went down deeper and deeper, taking more of him in your mouth.

Fred loved the sight of you sucking him off, the sight of your mouth being so full you couldn't say something stupid, the sound of you choking made him happy, he was finally shutting you up - but part of him didn't want to shut you up, he wanted to listen to you speaking about your interests, your hobbies, what you thought of Hogsmeade and Zonko's Joke Shop.

This part of him pulled you off him, you caught your breath and wiped away the laces of saliva that were hanging from your mouth, swinging as you moved back with the back of your hand. Fred pulled you into a kiss, this time it wasn't lustful, it was gentle, caring, soft - it made your heart skip a beat and it made you weak at the knees.

Once more, your back was against the table, Fred pulled down your skirt and knickers whilst still kissing you, your hands back in his hair, massaging his scalp, Fred propped your legs around his hips, you pulled him closer to you.

Fred grabbed out a condom, but you stopped him.

"Don't bother with that crap" you sighed, wanting him inside you already "I'm on the pill."

Fred nodded, confident that this would be enough, and he applied lube onto his length.

You wondered why he had brought condoms and a sache of lube, Fred didn't know why - he never usually carried these items, but after weeks of the same dreams that he couldn't explain - that small part of him kept telling him, over and over to bring it.

Fred looked into your eyes, searching for your permission, you nodded your head.

"I'm ready, Freddie." you breathed.

Freddie.

He had never expected you - of all people - to call him that, but he liked it, and he hoped that he could hear it again.

Fred rubbed his erect length against your folds teasingly, and then slowly pushed himself inside of you, the two of you moaned and exhaled - he felt amazing - stretching you out, and your walls felt amazing - tightening around him. He started to fuck you faster, his large length plunging deeper inside of you as he bucked his hips, your legs tightened around him, as did your walls, your hands now resting on his back, your fingernails digging into him leaving marks of your own.

His moans were beautiful - perhaps the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. How could you hate him? How could you be so mean to him, insult him, mock him and shame him, he was perfect, everything about him - your heart now reaching out to his - how could you be so wrong?

You didn't hate him, you were madly in love with him.

Fred couldn't take his eyes off you and your body - the perfect shape and size of your breasts, your tummy, the feeling of your insides engulfing him in warmth, your gorgeous eyes staring into his, the feeling of your fingers tips gliding over his back, then your fingernails scratching him.

Fred felt stupid, he felt awful for what he said to you - the way he treated you - calling you ugly - you were far from such a thing. This moment felt better and meant more than any dream he ever had - this was real, this was the moment he had been waiting for - his heart finally finding yours.

"Fuck!" you moaned out, reaching the edge "Please don't stop, fuck me, I want to cum!" you wailed.

Fred couldn't stop, he didn't want to, even if he was getting tired and over working himself.

He continued to fuck you, feeling himself getting close, you lolled your head back, your eyes rolling in the back of your head and released - your cum spilling onto his length, your moans filling the hospital wing. Your orgasm face pushed Fred over the edge, he spilt himself inside you and collapsed, holding you in his arms.

The two of you said nothing, you were trying to make sense of this all, and you were in trouble - after tonight, you would have a lot of explaining to do - not just to one another, but to Madame Pomfrey who would be back in half an hour.

After coming to, Fred pulled out his wand and dried your clothes, so toastie to put back on. You started to mop the floor as Fred speedily washed the pillow cases and bed sheets, hanging them up to dry, then starting on the dishes. With the floor sparkling clean, you joined him, cleaning and rinsing the bottles.

"You're not an idiot" You spoke out, breaking the awkward silence "You're not dumb either, and I don't doubt that you're going to go far in life."

This meant a lot to Fred, it made him feel secure.

"You're not ugly" Fred replied, scrubbing another bowl "You're not an obnoxious bitch."

Looking up at Fred, into his deep brown eyes, your pursed your lips for a moment.

"I don't hate you."

"I don't either."

"I don't want to hate you, I-"

"I feel things for you too, Y/N."

Madame Pomfrey burst through the door, staring at the rows of dirty bowls and bottles that needed cleaning.

"Looks like you two will be back here tomorrow!"

You and Fred shared a glance, smiling, with a flush of pink across your cheeks.

These two weeks were the start of something special.

Taglist: @amourtentiaa @alwaysnforeverfangirl @reeophidian @inglourious-imagines @horrorxweasley @sebby-staan @onlyfreds @lucymfer @escapingrealitybyreading @freddiemylovelg @pandaxnienke @xmalfoyweasleyx

[qsphyxias]

𝖗𝖊𝖈𝖐𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘

if you fetishize mlm/nblm relationships, get the fuck out of here!

synopsis ; you took a reckless bullet for your ever so beloved detective/partner, and shuichi isn't too happy about it. understatement ; he was fucking devastated

warnings ; hospitals, gun violence, getting shot, inaccurate depictions of police and police negotiations, cussing, major angst, male! reader uses he/him pronouns

note ; the first one-shot of this blog, everybody dance ( the imagine isn’t based on the song, but i just thought it had the same vibe ig )

words ; 4k

⊱ ────── {⋅.𝐢𝐝𝐟𝐜 - 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐫.⋅} ────── ⊰

ring, ring.

...

ring, ring.

what's that noise?

ring, ring.

why won't it stop?

ring, rin-

"hello?" gratuity washed over your body, the feeling causing you to relax as the obnoxious noise had been replaced by the gentle tone of the one you love. suddenly you didn't feel as bitter as you did before; when you had first awoken from your slumber. "ah... yes, this is... detective shuichi saihara."

your head shifted towards the sound of shuichi's voice, eyes flickering to him and back to the small dot on the ceiling you had first caught sight of.

shuichi darted his eyes over to your turned back, hands cupping the phone as he tried to muffle the authoritative tone your shared boss had been emitting. "... but he's still recovering. no, i don't think that that's-" the anxious detective's voice grew a little louder out of panic, causing him to immediately lower it back down to a whisper as his mind reminded him that you were still sleeping — or so he thought. "just... at least give him one more day. please. i'll take all his work for that day."

you blinked, brain whirling as you tried to process the information that seemed to be dripping from shuichi's lips. who's he talking about? you groaned quietly, feeling as if an anvil and a hammer had been clanging obnoxiously at your head.

shuichi whipped his head towards you, sad eyes widening as he had caught your groan, however soft it was. "s/o?" nearly dropping the phone, he tightened his grip and spoke into the receiver again, quickly wanting to end the call so he could go check on you. "oh- um, th- thank you so much, yes- okay, thank you again." without hearing his boss's reply, he abruptly ended the call and kept in mind he would have to hear the scolding later — however, it wasn't like he really cared at all in that moment.

"sh-?" you paused, shuffling to sit up from your waxy, cotton hospital bedsheets as you finally decided to announce your consciousness. fuck, how did the rest of his name go? come on brain! he just said it!

shuichi had been repeating and reversing what he had wanted to say to you the moment he saw you shuffle up and groan, as well as what you needed to hear. his head was sure to detonate, each second that passed by brought him closer to his limit.

despite shuichi's selfish desire to hear your lips say his name again, he held his greedy urges back ; he needed to talk to you first. "no, you ...you don't have to talk. actually i... need to talk to you first." that's right, shuichi. stay calm, don't scare him, he's still recovering.

you furrowed your brows at him, feeling yourself slightly perspire at his serious tone ; he was usually a pretty calm, serious guy, so you weren't sure why you had been so nervous. this was quite common, however, talks like this happened a lot at his demand ; he believed communication was key — and since then you were always at his mercy with his sweet and honest sentiments.

however cringe-worthy they may have seemed, he never failed to make you flush from his honesty ; though the embarrassment he caused you had been nothing but unintentional, or at least...you believed it to be.

laughing nervously, you opened your mouth to say a stupid joke to lighten up the mood, but the throbbing feeling of your shoulder being detached, reattached, pulled, strained, and yanked stopped you from doing...well, practically anything. wincing, you gripped your wound instinctively.

"s/o! i- i said not to talk...!" the sudden, yet the revolting sound of his chair scraping against the floor hit your ears, but shuichi's hands cradling your face distracted you from the gross sound. "s- shuichi?" his touch acted as a brain restarted, as your pupils suddenly dilated ; memories of yesterday coming back to you and hitting you like that bullet you took for him.

that bullet you took for him...

"i- i did it out of love! just- just let me go! i can't go to jail! i just fucking can't!" with blurred and fuzzed vision, there stood the perp, a small pistol held improperly in his quivering hands as he spewed out excuses and nonsense.

"listen, it's going to be okay...! just put down the gun, and i promise, we'll try and work this out ; i'll talk to the judge about your prison time, just...trust me, okay?" right...you remember now. you could remember so vividly how beautiful he looked, even as he was practically sweating out of his fancy turtleneck, he still somehow was able to keep a calm attitude.

he was...he was such a nice guy. well, that was an understatement.

despite his amazingly calm and reserved speech, the perp remained unconvinced, yet also unsure of what he was supposed to do. that much was obvious when he kept darting his eyes all over the room indecisively picking one spot to focus on.

as you held your gun firmly and pointed in your hands, you flickered your eyes back onto the perp, despite wanting to stare at the detective for hours ; you had a job to do.

you sidestepped towards the detective that had kept his golden eyes glued onto the perp carefully, leaning your head into his side as you whispered something into his ear, "you know you can't actually do that, right?" you could see his adam's apple bob in response.

"i'll... i'll figure something out." shuichi adjusted his grip on the gun he held, eyebrows furrowed in such a breathtaking way. you could feel your knees buckle.

"what are you guys- what are you guys talking about, huh? talking about- how-how i'm such a pathetic piece of shit!? huh?!" you threw your head back to the shaking, wary man, gun tightening in your grip. "we weren't. just take his offer, it's the best thing you can do." your tone had been firmer than shuichi's, not as kind, but hey ; that was your whole dynamic.

"we really weren't." shuichi agreed, sincerity was written all over his face. a small part of you felt envious of his stare.

"stop-stop lying to me!" the perp's frantic switching of his gunpoint, seemed to halt to a stop as he directed it at shuichi ; causing an unwanted panic to rise up in the both of you, but mostly you.

"hey, you seem pretty nervous there. say, when was the last time you had any contact with drugs or alcohol?" you questioned in a condescending tone, a smug smile adorning your face and irking the already unstable man. looking back at it now, you should've kept your mouth shut. even so, shuichi's life was in danger, and if you had to risk your life for his ; well, you'd take any chance to do that.

the perp seemed to take the bait and aimed it back at your chest, lucky or unlucky for you two. "shut up!" an unreasonable relief washed over you as shuichi had been put out of danger.

shuichi looked over at you, communicating with his eyes as if he was pleading for you to stop and let him handle it instead. however, there seemed to be an itty bitty miscommunication. your ego seemed to betray you, as you started spewing out things you probably shouldn't have been saying ; all so you could impress the very nervous and quite frankly, unhappy detective.

"cocaine? heroin-?"

shuichi glared at you, mistakenly taking his eyes off the perp for once. "s/o, what are you doing?! i have this under control...!" he suddenly barked at you, breaking his composure as he had gotten a tidbit angered that you had been interfering with the negotiation.

"shut up! shut up, shut up, just shut the f-fuck up!" a gunshot rang out.

"watch out!" without thinking, you had shoved the frozen detective away from you, even if the gun had already been pointed at you ; you had no business risking his life.

jesus, you were probably the most idiotic man known to humankind.

next thing you know, you've been knocked onto the floor, head throbbing and wheezing from blood loss as shuichi has to determine whether he should chase after the perp or stay with you.

the decision had been more than easy ; he took barely one second to decide that your life was more important. dialing back-up in one hand, he crouched down to assist you with the other. taking in one shaky but deep inhale, shuichi nervously fiddled with his radio, shaky eyes glued to you. "officer down, i repeat officer down."

"the hell are you doing, saihara...!? he's going to get away!"

"i-i can't just leave! what if you- no, i-! just...just here," he handed to you a handkerchief he held in his shaky hands. "press it onto the wound, okay? please?" he wasn't going to take no for an answer, one more beat and he would've been doing it for you.

grunting, "shuichi, i'm happy you're worried about me but you're being hella stupid right now-" you cut yourself off, grunting at feeling the strain of talking.

"w- why did you do that? i had the situation under control...!" he sounded upset, that much was clear.

"he...he aimed the gun at you and i guess i panicked, i don't- i don't know, look- just go, alright? back-up's coming for me, and you know you can't let him get away." you could feel the adrenaline from getting shot wearing off, and with it, the pain getting worse. sweat formed on your brow ; it felt like the more you breathed, the more the searing pain worsened.

you knew deep down you didn't want him to go, that you were scared you could actually die within moments, yet you hated yourself for that feeling. it was extremely selfish. it wasn't fair. you could remember the way he looked at you.

"i'm not going, that's final. we're going to... we're going to wait for back-up together, okay?" it was weird to hear him use his asserting tone when talking to you, it was weird to hear him so confident with you too ; yet you couldn't ignore the strange sense of pride you held.

suddenly out of the blue, a wave of exhaustion hit you, causing your eyelids to flicker shut. you knew you weren't supposed to sleep ; especially not when you were bleeding out from your shoulder, but you told yourself, hey, one 10-minute nap couldn't hurt, right? back-up would come anyway.

before shuichi could even stop you, you're already out like a light, and causing sudden arrhythmia to shuichi's chest. "s/o! w-wake up!" with his words echoing throughout your dream-like state, your smile only seemed to widen ; he may have been screaming at you to not leave him — but his voice still kept that same, soothing tone to it. it was like a lullaby, to a man seconds away from death.

comparing his tone and reaction from the incident to now, it had certainly been different. you wondered what had changed... maybe he was mad? understatement of the year it seemed ; he was probably pissed the fuck off. you did ruin the negotiation after all, and for what?

"you don't seem very sad that i got shot ; i knew you were a pretty stoic guy but i didn't peg you as cold-hearted." you teased, to which shuichi held a neutral face, eyebrows creasing as he stared you dead in the eye. for a second you worried if he could tell you were joking.

"... i cried for days, s/o." his voice broke, and you could feel your heartbreak piece by piece as he frowned at you.

blinking in response, you didn't seem to believe him ; why would he cry over you? your head was probably just fucking with you. promptly ignoring the blood bag hanging beside you wondered if it had been the blood loss. "you- you what?"

it took you a few minutes to process what he had said, and for good reason. days? had you been asleep that long-? wait, he was crying? over you?

sometimes you forget he has emotions from how calm he is ; you swear you've only ever seen three sides of him ; anxious shuichi, serious shuichi, and calm shuichi. along with the occasional happy shuichi when you make him laugh with your shitty jokes, but that's a secret you keep between the two of you. or more like for yourself.

"i was- i mean, of course, i was devastated- you're sp- i mean- look, why did you- what made- that w- s/o, you- ah-" he stammered over his words frustratingly, hand rising to fiddle with his hair out of habit.

you watched him sympathetically. "hey, where'd mister assertive go?" you grinned, tone playful as you essayed soothing his anxiety. "...listen, it's okay, just take your time ; i'd prefer it if you did anyway, you're probably just gonna scold me, right?"

shuichi took strange comfort in your words, golden eyes staring straight at your hospital-gown covered chest as he tried calming himself down. "y-yeah...thanks." something was unsettling about how you seemed to be smiling in a situation where you nearly got yourself killed — even so, it was refreshing to see it.

he missed it. he missed you.

you had been sleeping for two days, so it would make sense that you were refreshed and well-rested enough to be back to your regular self.

whilst you had been peacefully sleeping and recovering in the nasty smelling hospital, shuichi had been in agony. those two whole days had been hell for him. crushing guilt and his anxiety attacked his head 24/7 ; even when he knew you probably weren't going to die in your sleep, 'probably' wasn't very assuring when you were shuichi saihara.

he would fret for hours and cry in the shower about whether it was his fault or not ; despite it being so obviously your fault, he couldn't help but wonder what he could've done differently. he shouldn't have been so weak, he'd tell himself. this was a normal thing that happened as a police officer, getting shot in the line of duty, it was normal. but it... it was completely different when he knew it was you who had been taking the bullet.

his eyes widened as he felt your hand clasp upon his. "don't look so guilty, shuichi. you're breaking my heart." you pouted, apologetic eyes staring at his kicked-puppy-like eyes. "sorry, i just- i know you said you...you said you panicked when the perp aimed the gun at me ; who, um, thankfully got captured by one of our back-up team." he could hear you sigh in relief, which frankly, irked him a little.

you were still worried about that? he, himself was a workaholic but not to the point where he would sigh in relief as there was a large bullet wound inside his shoulder.

"but uh, i don't...i don't think i understand why? i mean, he- he wasn't going to shoot, i had it under control—"

"i know you did, and i trust you but...i just couldn't take any chances, you know? i'm...honestly i don't really regret much." you smiled sheepishly, hands gently fiddling with his cold hand that rested on the very end of your hospital bed.

"i mean, i get to see you worried about me." you chuckled, "it's cute, i have to admit." you forgot all about your wound at this point.

his guilty expression didn't change a bit ; eyebrows only furrowing deeper down as he eyed you questionably. "you think it's...cute? you almost got yourself killed, s/o. you know you can't be that reckless. to get yourself nearly killed just because you didn't want to take the chance of me in danger...s/o, i was terrified. when you fell asleep, i thought my heart was collapsing — you shouldn't have done that for me—" his worries spilled out of his mouth like fluid, the words coming to mind easier, and quicker at the cause of your hands being a good distraction.

"saihara." you snapped him out of it, tugging his arm further towards you. "don't cry, okay? i'm okay. if it makes you feel better, i'll...try not to do that again. please, just..." you swiped your thumb at his face, flushing as he instinctually leaned into your hand.

shuichi sniffed in response, hands coming up to wipe his own face as soon as he realized he was, indeed crying. "...i'm sorry."

"i know i'm too reckless for my own good, but i just didn't want for you to get hurt. you're...you mean so much to me. more than you could ever know." you confessed, eyes averting as you tried to avoid his reaction.

"um, i don't know what i'm saying — maybe it's the painkillers? they put in the right blood type for me, righ-?" you took your hand away from his and to the back of your cold neck.

"i made sure they had the right one — but um, what did you mean by that? just earlier?" shuichi stared up at you, pouting as you only seemed to look away from his detecting stare.

you knew one look in your eyes would show everything you felt for him ; and you weren't sure if he even wanted to see that emotion. so you settled for a temporary solution.

"um, is- is that a bee outside? i like bees, though they are going instinct — haha, the human race is fucked-"

"s/o, why are you avoiding the question?" he dealt with many guilty perps, thus knowing when someone was guilty ; and that right now, had been you.

you grunted underneath his stare, sinking further down into your sheets as you sighed defeatedly. it's not like you could hide from a detective for long. "i- uh, i just meant like," your confidence seemed to deter ; and for a second shuichi almost felt bad. almost.

his job as a detective meant he wouldn't stop until he got answers ; and that applied to his daily life as well, his daily life that included so much of you.

damn him and his adorable crying. "i think i...since the gun thing, and i don't know if this will comfort you in anyway but this has been seriously e-eating at my brain and i finally know- i finally know what this feeling is. i feel kind of dumb for not knowing earlier ; i mean, was my career as a detective nothing?" you gazed at him from underneath the 'comfort' of your uncomfortable paper-thin sheets.

"getting off-track, i just meant that i-i think that i really really like you." your voice had been slightly muffled by the sheets, but shuichi heard you clearly nonetheless. he made sure he did.

"you- me? r- romantically?" he flushed bright red as you nodded in confirmation.

you hoped he was as embarrassed as you were because you felt like you would dissolve into the sheets from the pure humiliation if he wasn't. "youdon'thavetosayanything,ijustthoughti'dletyoukno-"

"n-no, that's not it! i- i like you too! i...haha, to be honest, i thought this would go differently." he chuckled, scratching his cheek awkwardly as he eyes your shoulder wound.

jerking up, you briefly ignored the searing pain in your shoulder as you leaned way too close to him for comfort, a look of pure devastation and worry on your face. "you already knew?"

he couldn't help but think your worried pout was nothing but adorable, unsuccessfully stifling a goofy smile. "no, i..." honestly he kind of did already know, but he never thought it was something possible ; thus clouding his judgment.

"i planned to confess, actually...i was planning to-to talk to you about it during one of our-"

you made an 'o' shape with your mouth, a thoughtful look in your eyes as you nodded understandingly. "-talks, of course."

huffing quietly, he sent you a worried look. "what, are they bad? communication is key, you know-" his informative, but light-hearted scolding had been cut off as you reached to tussle with his hair, erupting a hiccup out of him.

"they're not bad ; you're just...you're a real saint."

"a-ah, i wouldn't say that..." you laughed at his nervous reaction, retracting your hand to his dismay.

"that's what a saint would say." he pouted at your teasing tone, grabbing your arm gently with his hand as he kept in mind your disability.

you cut him off as he opened his mouth, seemingly about to defend himself. "don't worry too much about it ; i actually sometimes like our talks...though i spend most of my time staring at you as you talk, it's still pretty fun." oops.

"s-s/o..." he squeaked, looking at you pleadingly for a reason you hadn't been aware of yet.

"what? i didn't say anything wrong, did i?" blinking at him, you tilted your head.

"n-no, but- um." he wasn't sure how to tell you how much he wanted to kiss you right now. those talks proved to be nothing but useless as he couldn't find the words he desperately wanted to speak.

it was only then had you noticed he had leaned half his body over you, nearly climbing into the hospital bed with you. the sudden realization caused you to widen your eyes, as you awkwardly hovered your hands in the air. it was like your body had been telling you to touch him, cradle his head but you didn't know how, or where.

the awkwardness had caused a small, nervous chuckle to erupt from your throat ; prompting shuichi's worried glances. were you laughing at him?

you felt him shrink away, and out of panic, you let your heart act before your brain could. your hands cupped his face, a quiet clapping noise echoing throughout the white hospital room walls and only seeming to make everything more strange than it had been.

shuichi held a shocked expression on his face, as you had practically been melting from how much you were sweating. fuck, did i mess this up?

no words had been exchanged, both of you, too bewildered and too nervous to say or do anything — the situation grew so bizarre that it literally left them speechless. with both pairs of eyes glued onto the others, neither of you moved — no matter how sore shuichi's arms had been getting from holding himself up not to crush you, and how with each agonizing second, you weren't sure whether or not to tighten your grip on his jaw.

"a-are you going to kiss me? or just stand there?"

"i-i can do that? really?" shuichi watched you closely for confirmation ; and you swore you felt him lean in closer to you — not that you were complaining. in any way. whatsoever.

"um, y-yeah. i-i consent, ha— mmf-!" shuichi hadn't bothered to hide his eagerness, lips already pressing and moving against yours like it was instinct, like it was something he had been waiting for for years.

your fingers ultimately tightened around his jaw, and you made the move to bring him further down onto you — to which wasn't a very good choice.

"w-wah! s/o, w-wait a second!" he muffled through your lips, golden eyes revealing themselves as he lifted his eyelids in a panic as you started pulling him down to you. he was unreasonably afraid of accidentally putting you in more pain ; but the electrifying feeling you had felt from his lips on yours had had the same cause and feeling as 10 million painkillers — you felt like you were in cloud 9 with a million tiny shuichi angels swimming and flying around you.

you promptly ignored him, craving more as you used one of your arms to hug him close to you — the position probably looked like you were trying to strangle him, but your lips on his said otherwise.

you two probably spent 30 minutes making out in your assigned hospital bed, but hey, it's not like anyone was waiting.

...i mean, just ignore the nurse awkwardly standing at the doorway and you're fine.

⊱───── ❝ thank you for reading! ❞ ─────⊰

[novoaa1writes]

comeback kid

pairing(s): f!reader & jennifer jareau (familial), f!reader & emily prentiss (familial), jennifer jareau x emily prentiss, the BAU team & f!reader (familial)

summary: reader is a young girl who escapes captivity at the hands of a very bad man with the BAU’s help. she meets emily and JJ. spencer, too, along with the others. somewhere along the way, she learns a little something about trust and healing.

word count: ~5,500

rating: mature

warnings: kidnapping, rape/non-con, canon-typical violence, non-graphic sexual & physical abuse to a child

notes: i definitely spent too much time on this bitch i’ve got FINALS tf??? anyways. in this ‘verse, jj never met will and therefore didn’t have henry or michael. and yes i’m aware the title is stupid but it’s kinda sticking with me so i might change it later. **PLEASE read the warnings dude i’m begging you the first half of this is pretty brutal before the healing starts*** (also on ao3)

— —

“I’m sorry there is so much pain in this story. I’m sorry it’s in fragments, like a body caught in crossfire or pulled apart by force. But there is nothing I can do to change it.

I’ve tried to put some of the good things in as well. Flowers, for instance, because where would we be without them?”

— Margaret Atwood

Your daddy dies on a Tuesday. The bad man forces him down onto his knees, shoots him in the chest with a real-life, actual gun. BANG. It’s so loud. Way louder than it is in the movies. 

He turns to you next. Tells you to watch as he takes Momma’s clothes off, throws her onto the bed. He starts touching her like Daddy sometimes did, except she doesn’t smile and laugh like she does with Daddy. She screams and cries like it hurts, like the bad man is making it hurt. It goes on for a long time. 

Eventually, he takes out a knife, puts it in Momma’s stomach. Once, twice, three times. She cries a little louder, starts to breathe a little funny. Soon enough, she goes completely quiet.

Then the bad man turns to you with a big, toothy smile. You don’t like to think about what happens after that. 

— —

Time passes, and the bad man gets a name—Sir. You think it’s sorta a funny name (not truly a name at all, really), but you don’t ask him about it. He gives you a name, too—Princess. You don’t ask about that either. Your questions only ever seem to make him mad, and he gets really mean when he’s mad. 

Sir gives you a bedroom down in the basement of his house. He tells you it’s your home now, but it doesn’t feel warm and safe like home should. 

You get used to it, though. Eventually. 

— —

You start to grow. It’s slow, at first, but once it starts it doesn’t stop, and you have no idea how to feel about it. 

Your chest starts to get a little bigger. It isn’t flat like Sir’s anymore, and that makes you worry about what he’ll think. Instead of getting mad, though, he actually seems to approve. You don’t know why or what it means, but it’s a relief all the same. 

One morning, you wake up with a tummy ache and blood staining the bedsheets between your legs. You kind of freak out about it, but Sir just smiles and says that it’s a good thing, that it means you’re a woman now. That same night, he spreads your legs and takes out his thing. It hurts when he forces it inside you, but you know better than to fight. He says it’s called “making love,” that it’s what two people do when they really care about each other. 

You wonder why it’s called “making love” if it hurts so much, but you don’t ask him that. 

After that night, Sir starts letting you stay in his room. You were never allowed before. At nighttime he puts his thing inside you and makes love, but you don’t mind. His bedsheets are so much softer than yours, and his pillows are so fluffy. You sleep a lot better most nights, even if your private parts feel ache-y and sore more often than not. 

Sir isn’t angry with you as often as he used to be, but he’s still super strict and punishes you for almost everything. He says it has to be done, that you’ve gotta learn your place. He says it hurts him just as much as it hurts you to do it. You don’t know if you believe him. His thing always grows in his pants when he hits you, which you’ve learned to mean that he’s excited. Sometimes he’ll stop in the middle of punishing you to drag you upstairs and make love. 

It’s okay, though. You’re kind of used to it now. 

— —

More time passes, and you get a sister. 

She’s smaller than you are, and when you ask her if she’s bled yet, she just looks back up at you all confused. 

Sir says her name is Sissy. Sissy frowns and says, “No, my name is Bella.” Sir slaps Sissy until she screams and cries and her nose starts bleeding. By the end of it, she’s calling herself Sissy, too. 

Eventually, Sissy’s body starts to go through changes, too, just like yours did. Her chest gets a little bigger. One day she falls to her knees, whimpering and clutching her tummy, and when you check her panties, they’re red with blood. 

Sir starts making love to her, too. Sometimes he invites his friends over. They make love with you and Sissy, too. 

Other times, he makes you and Sissy kiss on the mouth and touch each other’s private parts. You don’t understand why, ‘cause you thought sisters weren’t supposed to do things like that, but you know better than to question it. 

You actually like having a sister, you find. She’s warm and soft and you get to hold each other when things are bad. Since Sissy is old enough to do grown-up things now, Sir gives you and Sissy your own room and a bed to share. 

He still makes love to you most nights, and forces the two of you to play grown-up games together in his bed. But you try your best to be good, and teach Sissy how to be good, too. Sometimes, the two of you can manage to go hours on end without making him upset.

When he hugs the two of you against his bare chest late at night, squeezing you tight and saying how much he loves his two beautiful little girls, it doesn’t make your skin crawl like it used to. It actually doesn’t bother you at all. 

— —

The angry-looking people with guns and vests come barging in late at night when you and Sissy are with Sir in his bed playing grown-up games. Sir grabs a knife, stabs it right into Sissy’s tummy. You’ve never heard her scream so loud.  

The pretty man with dark, chocolate-y skin barges into the room, yanks Sir off the bed and pins him down on the floor. Sissy is whimpering and bleeding from her gut, Sir is thrashing and yelling on the floor. A handsome man with dark curly hair yanks you off the bed, drags you outside. You keep hitting your fists against his big, burly chest; wriggling and flailing in his strong arms; begging him to take you back in and get Sissy, too. He doesn’t. 

The next bit is kind of a blur. 

Someone drapes a coat around your shoulders. A lady with a buzzcut sits you up on the back of the ambulance and dabs wet cotton balls all over the cuts on your face. It stings.

She says you’re gonna be okay, so long as you go to a hospital later.  

They take you back to the police station. You’ve never been in one of those before.

Sissy’s blood is drying on your hands when the big, burly man with brown eyes leads you into a room right next to the captain’s office. It’s got a table and cushion-y chairs. He leaves you there with a tight smile and an apology, but not before telling you that there’ll be someone in to talk to you soon. 

You’re wearing a big blue jacket that says FBI on the back, a pair of panties and nothing else. It’s a little cold, but otherwise you don’t mind. 

You clamber up onto one of the chairs, tuck your bruised knees against your chest. 

You don’t have to wait for very long until someone opens the door and comes inside. She’s really pretty—tall and thin with long golden hair and big blue eyes. You think she kind of looks like a Disney princess. 

“Hi, there,” she says. You watch her carefully as she takes a seat at the table right across from you. “My name is Jennifer, but you can call me JJ.”

“Are you a police officer?” you ask. 

“No, I’m with the FBI.” Her voice is soft and gentle, like silk. 

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

She chuckles, like you’ve said something funny. “Kind of.”

You nod, staring down at the tabletop. “Cool.”

“Can you tell me your name, sweetie?”

“Princess.” 

“‘Princess,’” she repeats, eyebrows raised. “That’s a cute name.”

You look up. You can’t figure out if she really means that. “Thanks. Sir gave it to me.”

“Ah.” JJ’s eyebrows creep a little higher.  “And do you like being called ‘Princess’?” 

You frown. “I guess so.” You don’t really understand what she’s asking. “It’s my name.”

“Okay.” JJ nods. “And how old are you, Princess?”

“I… I don’t know,” you admit. 

“That’s alright,” JJ says. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You start fidgeting with your hands, concern for Sissy still fresh on your mind. “Is Sissy okay?”

JJ looks confused. “‘Sissy’?”

“My sister,” you tell her. “Is she okay? She was bleeding.”

JJ pauses, a wrinkle forming between her brows. You get a sinking feeling in your gut. “Princess, your sister was hurt very badly,” she explains, looking at you with sad eyes. “The doctors said there was nothing they could do. I’m so, so sorry.”

Your eyes start to burn like they do when you’re about to start crying. “She’s… She’s dead?”

JJ nods slowly. The sad expression doesn’t leave her face. “Yes, Princess. Again, I’m… so, so sorry.”

Your body feels numb. There’s a humming in your ears you can’t quite place. Your sight grows hazy around the edges. 

“Princess?” JJ’s voice sounds far-away, distant. 

A hot tear traces down your cheek. It helps to anchor you in the moment, sort of. “Sir is a bad man, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” JJ says after a moment. “Yes, he is.”

You tuck your knees a little tighter to your chest. Your bad arm aches, but you ignore it. “I don’t wanna be called ‘Princess’ anymore,” you whisper. 

“Alright. What would you like to be called instead?”

You sniffle as another warm tear traces your cheek. “I… I don’t know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. You don’t have to figure it out right now.”

“You’re really nice, Miss JJ.”

“Just ‘JJ’ is fine.” She takes out a notepad and pen, sets it in front of her on the table. “Now, can you tell me how you and ‘Sir’ met?”

You nod. You still feel numb. “He came into my house one night. He was scary.”

“He hurt your parents, didn’t he?”

You gulp down a whimper. “Y-Yea. He had a gun and a knife.”

“What did he do with them?”

“Shot Daddy right here.” You shift in your seat, pointing at your chest with your good arm—right around where you think your heart should be. “Put Mommy on the bed, and… made love.”

JJ frowns. “‘Made love’?”

You nod, looking at her curiously. Weren’t grown-ups supposed to know all about making love? “Yea. The thing that grown-ups do with each other.”

JJ just stares.

“You know, when they take off their clothes and touch each other’s private parts.”

Something in JJ’s eyes shifts. “Honey… ” she begins. She sounds like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Did Sir teach you about that?”

You nod again. “Yea, he showed me how once I became a woman.”

JJ’s eyes widen. “Once you ‘became a woman’?”

Why does she keep repeating everything I’m saying? “When I started bleeding down… there.”

“Your period?”

Huh? “What’s that?”

“It’s something that happens every month to girls like you and me.”

You lean forward a little bit in your seat, peering intently at her over your knees. “It happens to you, too?”

JJ’s lips curve into a little smile, like she’s amused by your question. Her eyes still look kinda sad, though. “Yes, sweetie, they happen to me, too. I have one every month.”

“A period.” It sounds kinda funny coming off your tongue. “Do you get tummy aches when they happen, too?”

“Sometimes. I take painkillers for the first couple days so that it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“Why… Why doesn’t it happen to boys?” 

“Because girl parts and boy parts are different.”

You nod. That makes sense. After all, whenever Sir pulled out his thing, it was so strange-looking. It didn’t look anything like what you had between your legs.  

“Boy parts are weird,” you say eventually, wrinkling your nose. 

JJ laughs. She has a pretty laugh. “Yes, they certainly are.”

— —

JJ leaves eventually, says she’ll bring you food when she comes back. Your stomach growls. You don’t know how you can be hungry at a time like this, but somehow, you are. 

Another woman takes JJ’s place. 

She’s beautiful, too, in a different way. Black hair, bangs, dark eyes. Her smile is white and dazzling. She’s tall and thin like JJ, but the sweater she’s wearing looks soft while JJ’s shirt was crisp and business-y. 

“Hi, there,” she says as she takes JJ’s seat across from you. She places a brown folder on the table in front of her. “I’m Emily.”

“Are you FBI? Like Miss JJ?” When you mention JJ’s name, her smile seems to get wider. You wonder if you’re just imagining things. 

“Yes, in fact, I am,” she replies. 

“Are you gonna put me in jail?”

Emily raises one eyebrow. “No, honey, I’m not going to put you in jail.”

“What about Sir?”

Emily sighs. “He’s in another room right now. One of our agents is talking to him.”

“He’s gonna go to jail, isn’t he?”

Emily nods. “Yes. For a very long time.” Straightforward and honest. You like that about her, you decide. “What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You frown, hesitating. “Sir called me ‘Princess.’”

“So, should I call you that as well?”

Instantly, you shake your head. “No, thank you.”

“What about the name you had before Sir took you?”

“I… I can’t remember.”

“That’s okay.” Emily opens the file, flips it around and slides it across the table over to you. “One of our people, Garcia, found you.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to trace the paper on top. There’s a smaller picture paper-clipped to the front of it. It’s… It’s you. “Name: Y/N Y/L/N,” you read off the page. “That’s… That’s me?”

“Yes, honey,” Emily agrees. Her voice is soft like JJ’s, but different. Deeper. You like it, you decide. “That’s you.”

Your head spins. You look up at her, searching her pale features for an answer. “Miss Emily, h-how old am I?”

“You’re 14.”

“And my parents… They’re gone, aren’t they?”

Emily nods. There’s sadness in her eyes, too. It’s different from JJ’s, but not by much. “I’m afraid they are.”

You bite your lower lip nervously. You really don’t want to think about that right now. “Are you and Miss JJ… friends?”

Emily’s lips twitch. “You could say that.”

“What does that mean?”

“We live together.”

“Oh. That’s cool,” you say, tapping your knees. They’re a mottled combination of purple and black and blue. “Miss JJ is really pretty.”

Emily smiles. “Yes, she certainly is.”

“You smile when you talk about Miss JJ,” you observe, watching Emily carefully. You can’t quite figure her out. “You don’t seem like a very smile-y person.”

Emily looks a little taken aback at your remark, but she recovers quickly. “Well, JJ and I are very close.”

You hum, resting your chin on your knees and giving her your full attention. “Sir says I’m a woman now. Is that true?”

Emily huffs out a laugh. “No, sweetie, not quite. You’re a teenager.”

You tilt your head curiously. “But I did the period.”

“What’s that now?”

“The period. Miss JJ says that that’s what it’s called when you bleed from... down there.”

“Oh, I see what you mean now,” Emily says. “But you don’t ‘do’ periods. You have them.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“And, either way, having a period doesn’t automatically make you a woman, Y/N.”

You squint over at her. Now you’re even more confused. “It doesn’t?”

“Nope. I had my first period when I was around 12 years old, but I didn’t grow up until much, much later.”

You nod at that, like you understand. (You don’t really.) “How much later?”

“According to the law, everyone’s an adult at 18. But honestly, I don’t think I really became a grown-up until I was 25, at least.”

“Woah,” you murmur. “That’s a lot of years.”

Emily chuckles again. You find that you’re beginning to like the sound of it. “I used to think that, too.”

It’s quiet for a little bit. “Miss Emily?” you ask eventually. “Why am I still here?”

“We’re not quite finished with Sir yet,” she tells you. 

“But you caught him.”

“That’s true,” Emily agrees. “But we need him to tell us where to find some other people, too.”

“Why? Did Sir do something to them?”

“Yes. He did.”

“Sir gets angry sometimes,” you say. You don’t quite know what point you’re trying to make, but you feel like you should say it all the same. “He loses control.”

“Everyone gets angry sometimes. Everyone loses control.” Emily leans back in her seat. Her eyes don’t leave you. “That still doesn’t make it okay to hurt people.”

You agree with Emily on that, you think. Even if Sir doesn’t. “Miss Emily?”

“You can just call me ‘Emily.’”

“Emily,” you correct yourself. It feels wrong coming off your tongue. You don’t think you’ll be doing that again any time soon. “You know about making love, right? The thing that grown-ups do in bed?”

Emily opens her mouth but nothing comes out, like she doesn’t quite know what to say. You think she looks kind of silly like that. After a long moment, she says, “I… Well, yes, I suppose I do.”

“Why does it hurt so much? Sir says… that it’s supposed to hurt when you make love. He says that sometimes we have to hurt the people we care about. Is that true?”

Emily’s face falls. All of a sudden, her eyes are sad again, and the way she’s looking at you… like she’s sad for you. 

When she finally answers, her voice is small—smaller than you’ve heard it be since she came in and started talking to you. “He’s wrong, Y/N,” she says.

“But then why is his thing so big?” you ask, completely bewildered. “How could anyone ever fit it in without getting hurt?”

If anything, Emily’s face gets even sadder at that. “He’s a grown-up. He’s much bigger than you are.”

“But I can do grown-up things. I had a period,” you point out. 

“Sweetie, that’s not how it works.” Emily’s hands clasp tightly together on the tabletop until her knuckles turn white. “You’re still a kid. You shouldn’t be doing things like that with grown-ups, and it isn’t fair that he forced you to.” 

You frown. That doesn’t sound totally right, but you don’t know enough to say one way or the other. “Do I belong to him now? ‘Cause we did grown-up things together?” you ask. As soon as the words leave your lips, you realize how badly you’ve been wanting to know the answer.

You can see Emily’s jaw get tight. “Is that what he told you?”

“Yea,” you admit. Your tummy churns as you watch Emily’s clenched hands start to shake. “Um… Are you angry with me, Miss Emily?”

Emily blinks, looking down at her hands and then back to you. “No, honey. No, of course not.” She takes her hands back, puts them in her lap. “I’m sorry. I’m angry with him for doing these things to you.”

“Oh.” Your frown deepens at the defeated look on Emily’s face. “It’s okay,” you assure her. You don’t want her to be sad. “It wasn’t too bad. I learned what he liked pretty quick, and that made it easier.”

Emily begins to look a little sick. 

“Miss Emily, are you alright?” you ask. 

Emily clears her throat. The green complexion fades, but she still looks wary. “Yes, sweetie, I’m fine.”

She’s lying. You don’t know why, but she is. Still, you won’t ask about it. You’re smarter than that. “Is Miss JJ coming back soon?” 

Emily glances down at her watch. She wears it on the inside of her wrist, you remember. “Yeah, I think—”

A sudden knock at the door interrupts Emily mid-sentence, making you flinch. 

“Ah.” Emily’s eyes shift to look at something over your shoulder. She smiles. “Ask and ye shall receive.”

You chance a look behind you. 

There Miss JJ is, holding a brown paper bag and a Sprite. When you meet her eye, she gives you a warm smile and a wink. You immediately turn back around, your cheeks feeling hot. 

“I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a handful of things for you to choose from,” JJ explains. She drops the paper bag and soda right next to the open file in front of you, then circles around to the other side of the table. It smells like grease and fast food and ketchup. Your tummy rumbles again. “There’s a cheeseburger, some chicken nuggets, and a grilled chicken sandwich. I got you some fries, too.”

JJ gently touches Emily’s shoulder, and the two of them share some sort of silent communication. Then she sits down, too. 

“Thank you, Miss JJ,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to touch the food. 

“You’re welcome, honey.”

The room goes quiet. You steal glances at the food, then over at JJ and Emily. They’re watching you with identical frowns. Occasionally, they turn to exchange concerned looks with each other. In the meantime, you continue your staring match with the purple skin of your kneecaps. 

“Not hungry?” Emily asks after a little while. 

You glance up at her. “Is this a test?”

JJ and Emily exchange another look. “‘A test’?” JJ repeats. Her voice is just as soft and silky as you remember it. “What do you mean by that, honey?”

If it is a test, it’s already way more elaborate than anything Sir ever did. Still, you can’t help falling back on old habits. 

“Food is earned, not given,” you recite. The words come out easy—like second nature. At this point, they kind of are. 

It’s quiet again, until—

“Y/N… Did Sir tell you that?” Emily’s dark eyes on you are steady, like if she looks at you for long enough, she’ll figure out all your secrets. You pray that that isn’t true. 

Reluctantly, you nod. You look back and forth between them, searching. “What do you want for this?”

“Nothing,” Emily says simply. 

You just raise your eyebrows. You’ve played this game before. “A favor, then?”

Emily shakes her head. “No favors necessary.”

“I brought you food because you’re hungry and you need to eat,” JJ adds. She’s looking at you with a pained expression. “That’s all.”

Slowly, you reach for the Sprite. You don’t take your eyes off JJ and Emily. The can is cold and wet, dripping down the sides. 

“Oh!” Emily abruptly stands, leaning forward over the table and reaching out. “Here, I’ll open it for y—”

She stops herself short when she sees you flinch. 

“Y/N, hey,” she prompts. She raises both her hands, palms facing you. “I’m sorry; I should have asked first.” She nods down toward the soda can. “Would it be alright if I opened that Sprite for you?”

Your heartbeat hammers in your chest. Slowly, you reach around your knees to slide the can forward a couple inches. Your eyes don’t leave Emily’s face. 

“Okay, I’m gonna open it for you now,” she tells you. Her hands fall to the soda can, and she does just that. Chk-chk! Her nails are all ragged and torn, you note. One of them has dried blood around it. It looks painful. The soda hisses as she slides it back over to you. 

You don’t relax until she retreats back into her seat. 

“Thank you, Miss Emily.” You take the soda can into your hands, down a little sip. It’s fizzy and strange and way too sweet. You like it. 

“No problem, hon.”

— —

After endless tests, and doctors poking you, and a whole bunch of confusing questions, you’re finally left alone. Well, mostly. 

It’s just you, a hospital bed, and a thin pale man who says his name is Spencer. He’s FBI, too, evidently. He doesn’t look like he’d be FBI, but the gun on his hip says otherwise. 

He’s got big brown eyes, short brown hair, and he won’t stop fidgeting with his hands. He seems nervous. It’s making you nervous. 

Eventually, you can’t take it any longer. “Mister Spencer?” you ask. 

Immediately, his eyes shift to you. “Yes?”  He leans forward in his seat, rests his elbows on his knees. 

“They said I have to have surgery.”

He nods. “You’ve had some broken bones that didn’t heal correctly,” he explains patiently. His voice is soft, so soft it’s almost a whisper. “Most of them won’t require surgery, but from what I understand, the one in your left forearm is still hurting.”

Instinctively, you cradle your bad arm to your chest. “It’s not so bad.”

“That may be true, but the doctors here can fix it. They’re very good at what they do. And once you heal from the surgery, it won’t ever hurt like that again.”

A song plays in your head—one of Sir’s favorite songs. He’d play it all the time. “Ain’t nothin’ in this world for free,” you murmur. 

“Sorry?”

“Nothing in this world is free,” you say. “They can’t just take the pain away, Mister Spencer. Not unless the price is really, really high.” 

“The price has been taken care of.”

“By who?” Owing someone is dangerous. You know that. 

Spencer hesitates. “Well—”

“By me.” A familiar voice makes you whirl your head around. You really don’t like surprises. 

Emily’s standing there in the doorway. She looks at you with an expression you can’t quite figure out. 

“Miss Emily, I—I can’t pay you back—”

“You don’t have to.” She pushes off of the doorframe, comes in and sits in an empty chair next to Spencer. “I just want you to get better, sweetie.”

You eye her suspiciously up and down. “That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

“I don’t believe you,” you whisper out eventually. 

You don’t expect her to hear you, much less answer, so it’s a surprise when she does. 

“I know,” she says. 

— —

The next couple days are a blur. You get the surgery, though you don’t really remember it. All you know is you wake up with the room spinning and your bad arm feeling numb. There’s a bandage on it, and white gauze wrapped from your wrist all the way up to your elbow. 

The doctors smile and tell you that things went well, that you’re gonna be okay. Their smiles are too big and the room is too bright and you really don’t want to be there anymore. 

Someone carries you out of the hospital to a big, black car. They smell like cinnamon, and their shirt is really soft. Their long black hair tickles your nose. Emily.

She stays with you in the backseat when the car starts to move.  

There’s a woman with golden hair driving the car. You think you might know her. JJ, a distant voice in your head supplies. 

Things go black for a while after that.

When you wake up, it’s bleary. You’re warm and comfy, which strikes you as unusual. The bed you’re on feels like a cloud. It’s a million times softer and more cloud-like than Sir’s bed ever was. That’s unusual, too. 

Turns out, it’s a guest room in an apartment that’s too fancy to be called an apartment. A “loft.” 

There’s a black cat with green eyes that jumps up on the bed and starts nuzzling you as soon as you’re up. Its fur is really, really soft. You like the way it purrs when you scratch it behind the ears. 

Turns out, the “it” is a “he.” His name is Sergio, and he belongs to Emily and JJ. 

This is their loft, where they’ve offered to let you stay for the foreseeable future. 

You have no idea what their angle is, and that terrifies you. But they’re warm and they smell nice and they let you order takeout from wherever you want for dinner. They’re gentle and they smile a lot and as far as you can tell, they don’t come into your room to touch you at night. 

Still, there’s only one way to be sure. One day, you sneak a strip of Scotch tape from Emily’s desk before dinner. That same night, you stick it horizontally on the inside of the door—from the metal frame across to the wood of the door itself. 

This way, it won’t come undone unless someone opens the door. And if they do, it’ll be impossible to stick the tape back exactly how it was unless you’re on the inside. You’re not sure where you learned that, ‘cause it definitely wasn’t from Sir, but you figure it doesn’t really matter either way. What matters is that it’s smart, and it works.  

Three nights go by. The tape doesn’t move. 

Three nights becomes a week. You keep sneaking bits of Scotch tape to replace the old ones when they start to lose their stick. 

The tape still doesn’t move. 

JJ and Emily are still as kind as ever. They still give you food, change your bandages, let you watch as much TV as you want. They don’t make you play grown-up games. They don’t yell at you. They don’t hit you, either. 

It’s new, and confusing, and strange. 

You think that maybe you could use a little of that. 

— —

A geriatric, balding judge with bifocals and a lisp signs the adoption papers on a Tuesday afternoon. And just like that, Emily Prentiss and Jennifer Jareau are finally declared the official legal guardians of Y/N Y/M/N Y/L/N. 

You’re sixteen, now, after a quiet but memorable birthday spent at home with your moms three weeks prior.

Thanks to Uncle Spencer’s influence, you’re reading books like a fiend and doing weekly crossword puzzles with him on Sunday mornings. Social media remains something of a mystery to you, still. Hell, even Mama Emily’s better at it than you are. Auntie Penelope says it’s better that way ‘cause “the Internet is a beautiful but terrible place, my sweet sugarplum,” but at the very least, you think you should get a Facebook before you graduate.

Plus, Uncle Kevin says he’ll teach you some hacker tricks on the sly so long as you don’t tell Auntie Pen. You’re really, really looking forward to that. 

Uncle Hotch goes on weekly runs with you around the park. You pretty much spend the whole time teasing him for being so old and having to stretch so much before the two of you can actually get going, but he still very nearly beats you every time. 

Uncle Rossi spoils you with gifts and home-made Italian recipes. Sometimes, he’ll come over just to cook you dinner. 

Uncle Morgan’s teaching you how to pick up girls. Ever since you told him about that cute girl Emiko in your Spanish class, he’s been drilling you with lessons on “how to woo a lady.” You groan and blush and act like it’s the worst thing that ever happened to you, but secretly, you don’t really mind it. At all. Sometimes, you even take his advice. (Though admittedly, that’s rather rare.)

Luke, Matt, Tara, Alex and Stephen are all new, but your moms seem to trust them, and that’s good enough for you. Plus, Luke lets you play with his dog Roxy sometimes, so he’s already pretty cool in your book.

Friday nights are special. They’re the nights you always, always spend at home with your moms. You play board games, watch movies, binge trashy Netflix shows. Currently, you’re 11 seasons into Grey’s Anatomy. 

Most of the time, you pass out snuggled between them on the couch. They shake you gently when it’s time to go to bed, and you trudge back to your room in a zombie-like trance. You don’t stick tape anywhere. You don’t even close the door. You just fall face-first into bed and drift off to sleep. 

In the mornings, you always wake up all tucked in with a smudge of JJ’s strawberry-scented lip gloss drying on your forehead. 

And… you’re happy. Happier than you’ve ever been. 

‘Course, you still get sad sometimes. You still think about Sir and miss him even when you know you shouldn’t. You still visit Sissy every year, lay pretty pink flowers at the foot of her grave. (Sissy always loved pink.) But, things are different—you’re not alone. Your moms are always, always, always at your side. 

You think Sissy would’ve liked them. Loved them, in fact. 

After all, you certainly do. 

— — 

end notes: the song is “ain’t no rest for the wicked” by cage the elephant and uhhhh that’s it? i think? i Love using fanfic as a means of self-projection <3

[ohhipstaplease]

Strawberry Sugar | NH

Chapter 5

CH. 1 | CH. 2 | CH. 3| CH. 4| Read all chapters: Ao3 / FFN

nsfw | semi-canon divergence | ongoing

Naruto couldn’t sleep. He had tried, but every time he closed his eyes he would see Hinata. Her full lips, her bright, lilac eyes. It was driving him mad.

He didn’t understand it. How he could’ve missed the signs that she had...that she...

He turned in his bed once more, trying to shake off the thought. But he simply couldn’t. Konohamaru had opened Pandora’s Box it seemed, and that stupid piece of strawberry shortcake was the final nail in the coffin. Everything had been fine, easy even. His life had finally become normal after so long. And now he couldn’t even fall asleep without seeing her.

He didn’t know if he could face her again without immediately thinking about what had happened earlier that afternoon. As he recalled the warmth of her mouth his index finger throbbed, not to mention another well-endowed appendage that felt as if it were burning a hole through his thin pajama pants.

His body typically ran hot, but it felt as if he were engulfed in flames. He had never felt so incredibly overcome with these feelings, this white-hot desire that was so incredibly all-consuming. He couldn’t help but lift the waistband of the cotton material he was wearing and stroke himself to ease the painful pressure. He reached his climax so quickly that he basically blinked and it was over.

It wasn’t until after releasing himself onto his bedsheets—and changing said bedsheets—that Naruto passed out. His mind finally free from torment.

He hadn’t set an alarm, not planning to train in the morning. He was far too drained to attempt it. Instead, he had shot a text to Konohamaru, hoping he’d see it before he ran over at the crack of dawn.

It was when he was finally fully asleep that a knock on his door made him stir. He opened his eyes to look at the clock on his nightstand and angrily yelled, “Konohamaru, I already told you training is off! Don’t you dare use that key to get in here.”

The knocking, though, continued.

Naruto rose from his bed in one swift motion, clearly on a mission to slam some sense into Konohamaru, since he didn’t bother to put on his nightshirt or even look in the mirror to fix his clear case of bedhead.

Angrily, he swung open the door, “Konohamaru! I’m not training tod—” only to see Hinata on the other side.

Hinata blushed furiously upon seeing Naruto, his bare chiseled chest, his pajama pants slung low upon his hips. His arm was the only thing that was decently covered.

She had forgotten why she was even there.

“Oh, fuck. I mean...god.” Naruto tried, as worked up as he had ever been. “Hinata, hi, what are ya....what are you doing here so early?”

Hinata sucked in a breath and tried to calmly say, “I wanted to talk to you about...um...about what happened yesterday. I thought you would be already up and about to go train like you usually do. I’m so sorry for intruding!” She said, looking as if she was going to turn and head back down the stairs and out of his life.

Naruto quickly shook his head and opened his door, “I’m up! I had a kind of a rough night and I thought I’d take a break from training today.”

“Oh, I hope it...” She didn’t finish her thought, but took a step towards him and into his home. “Thank you.” She said bowing her head. She had a bag in her hands, clearly a peace offering of some sort. She handed to him with an unsure smile, “Some dumplings. I figured you hadn’t had breakfast yet.”

“You know me so well,” He smiled.

She shyly looked at him and nodded, sitting down at his small kitchen table, “I was also hoping we could just...have a chat.”

“You sound mighty formal this morning.” He said, trying to play it cool, “Is it about what happened yesterday? You sure couldn’t have run off any faster.”

She blushed once more as she mumbled, “You embarrassed me.”

Naruto gaped at her, “I’m...I’m sorry I did that.”

Over the last few months, Naruto had noticed Hinata had shed her old ways, the constant and incessant stuttering, the inability to hold his gaze. But for her to outright admit that he had embarrassed her, he began to think that Konohamaru had been right.

“I’m sorry too. I...I think I crossed a line, and I wanted to apologize.”

“It was an accident...wasn’t it?” He asked, processing once more everything that had happened. He knew it couldn’t have been, but would it be best for them both if they pretended it was?

She nodded, “Y-yes.”

Naruto stepped forward and bent down, purposely placing himself inches away from her face. He wanted to see if this whole thing was really real. If it wasn’t, he’d let it go, but he had to know.

“So let’s say I give you...ah!” He opened the bag of dumplings and plucked one from the bunch. “Let’s say I offer you a delicious dumpling. Would you know where to stop biting to avoid the same mistake?”

Hinata turned a shade of red Naruto had only seen upon her porcelain cheeks once. Nonetheless, she pushed her chin forward slightly and said, “I would.” She nodded as his fingers yet again approached her lips, he could see her lip tremble as she swallowed nervously.

Could it be? How had he never noticed this tension between them before?

At the last possible second, she pulled her head back and looked up at him head on, “I just told you that you embarrassed me yesterday, Naruto-Kun. Are you trying to do it again?”

He breathed out and took a step back, heart racing, “My bad, just making sure you weren’t out to get my good hand.”

She gave him a half-smile and chided, “Maybe you should ease up on the training and you’d be able to use both.”

He groaned, “You sound like granny Tsunade.”

“She says it for a reason.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He said, waving her off.

There was a beat of awkward silence, Naruto wanting to fill it with something, anything before he began thinking inappropriate thoughts yet again. Hinata beat him to it though, getting up from her seat, pushing it in, and brushing her long hair back over her shoulder.

“I-I guess I’m off then.”

“That’s it?”

She nodded, “I just wanted to make sure that we...were okay.”

“Um,” He thought this was his chance to say something, but then decided against it, chickening out at the last second, “Of course we are, why wouldn’t we be.”

“Oh, Okay. I’m glad to hear it.”

He thought there was something sad about the way she responded to him, but brushed it off. Things were better kept this way. If she didn’t reciprocate after he made a move then maybe neither of them were ready...maybe all of this was just in his head.

“I have to get going then.” She said, heading towards the door.

“Do you want to get ramen soon?”

“Yes. I’d like that.”

“It’s been a little bit since we’ve gone out to eat.”

“Right, we’re both busy. It’s okay.”

They stared at each other again, Naruto wanting so badly to ask her. To know if what everyone told him was true.

“I really do have to go.”

“Oh, don’t let me keep you,” He said, opening the door for her. “Thank you for the dumplings.”

“Of course.”

She turned to face him, about to wave goodbye, when he took the opportunity to embrace her. She stiffened immediately in his arms.

“I’ll call you when I’m free.” He said, his warm breath less than an inch away from her ear.

Was the hug unnecessary? Perhaps. But if he didn’t do something he knew he was going to jump out of his skin. He needed to feel her again, his body ached for it.

“O-okay!” She exclaimed in a voice that was a tad more high-pitched than usual. Naruto smiled to himself as he very slowly unwrapped himself from her.

She couldn’t look him in the eye, refused to until she made it out of the door and quickly yelled a “Bye!” before she ran off.

He stretched, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on his bare chest. He was already up, he figured. Might as well do something that’ll keep Hinata off his mind.

[outroshooky]

no halo | kth

⇢ genre: oneshot (brief angst, fluff, smut) (exestolovers!au)

⇢ pairing: kim taehyung x reader, bestfriend!min yoongi x reader

⇢ word count: 5.3k

⇢ audio: brockhampton’s ginger album

⇢ warnings: brief angst (it’s exes to lovers, what do you expect), a smoking mention, some varied cursing; implied and explicit smut (soft!! body worship). there’s a happy ending, i promise.

⇢ a/n: i sat down at my laptop today, turned on no halo by brockhampton, and started writing. six hours later, i cannot believe that i managed to smash a brutal writer’s block by churning this out in literally one day. i hope that this is a bit of bright light for you, dear reader, in a time where nothing seems to be going your way. you will make it through no matter how messy or uncertain life seems to be, and you will come out on the other side all the more stronger for having survived it. 

Believe it or not, it’s the pair of battered red Converse slung over his shoulder that tips the whole thing over the edge.

It’s inexplicable. Perhaps it’s the memories attached to it, knotted and strung through metal rivets scuffed with night rides and hard asphalt. Tastes like cigarette smoke and ashen dreams wafting from the driver’s side window, but there’s something more bitter there. Heartbreak veins, like you’d expect them to pulse with anything but. They say love doesn’t last when it’s not built on something solid, but somehow, heady summer nights and network love aren’t enough to pass the time.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing with those?” It bites, thickened with venom. Somewhere far-off is a headboard banging, curses of those stupidly thin walls of the motel complex. 

“They’re mine,” Yoongi says. Which they are. Unfortunately. “I need them to like, go outside and stuff.”

“Fuck you,” you fire back.

“A ray of sunshine you are,” he remarks. “Any particular reason you feel like biting my head off in this shitty hotel room?”

The silence explains absolutely nothing. What he doesn’t know is that it’s not his fault. It’s right there in the middle of the dingy carpet, cracked and bleeding, privy to one and one alone. You’re too stubborn and he’s too good and here you find yourselves, locked at an impasse. He doesn’t know how good he is, how he’s patched your wounds up with wind in your hair and sand between your toes. He tries his best; it’s better than anything you would allow yourself, a luscious pleasure in such a stark world. So you settle for what you’ve got, and he shakes his head.

“You know you can come to me, right? About what’s on your mind?”

You finger the fraying tear in the bedspread, the cotton crumbling between your thumb and index.

“Look, I’m not good at this feelings thing and you know that. But you’re my friend, and I care about you, and I want to hear you out, okay? Whatever you’re thinking about. You’re not gonna hurt me; it’s not like I haven’t been through the ringer myself. You’re not so different, yeah?” Yoongi’s eyes search your own for acceptance. Defeat. Anything at all. “You’re not some kind of lost cause because one asshole in particular who shall not be named made you feel that way. Maybe it was two assholes. Whatever. Your worth isn’t dependent on their opinion of you.”

It feels like rambling but burns like an iron, sears through the darkness hovering over your consciousness, casting shadow. That thing twitches, bent and broken deep inside, staining down the bedsheets and spilling onto the beige carpet. He’s hit home, and Yoongi knows it when the defiance in your brow drains, floodwater evaporating against the creamy popcorn ceiling. He’ll forever hold that he doesn’t have a way with words; you’d kindly argue the opposite.

“I’m sorry, Yoon.” You look up at him for the first time since you’d woken up on opposite sides of the same bed. Something about childhood innocence preserves moments like those, in spite of years gone past since the last time you shared a bed like that. Nothing dirty about needing companionship in the form of a brother you’d had since you’d skipped stones down at the pond in grade school. He knows you intrinsically, like the scars that cross his knees and the freckles that dot his neck, no better and no less. “You deserve better than the way I’ve been treating you. Because you’re right, you know. But right now, it hurts.”

“Hurt doesn’t make you any less human. It’s a part of life. And it’s okay to hurt sometimes. Just don’t let it consume you till there’s nothing left.” He readjusts the shoes tied together by one string, sitting on the narrow angular of his shoulder. “Breakfast ends in an hour. I’ll grab you something and bring it back, and then we’ll figure out what to do next, yeah? I don’t have work till Tuesday, so we don’t have to be back for a few days more.” He pauses in the doorway. “Oh, and for the record, fuck Kim Taehyung. I’ll knock his teeth through his ass for the shit he put you through.”

The small smile you crack brings a toothy grin to his own visage. “Excellent advice.”

There’s a wry fondness dancing in the deep russet of his pupils, burning umber in the low light. “I try.”

Fuck Kim Taehyung. The exact advice you needed to hear, and the exact advice you decided to act upon, in exactly all of the wrong ways.

It’s the number that is stamped on your brain like a fifty-dollar tattoo— not necessarily the most tasteful, a pain in the ass to remove. Unfortunately, it is the tattoo that your thoughts like to trace with gentle fingers, rubbing at the lines, blurring the edges. Laser removal takes time and patience, but the contrary nestles in the form of stupid decisions and late-night mistakes. Like a dead battery on your Wrangler at 1am on the back streets, a useless cell phone, and three weeks of time to think.

Grief gave way to rage gave way to kindling coals of sadness, burning low but bright enough to light your way. Gone were your attempts to fan them back into the roaring bonfire those motel walls once contained, but here were your best efforts to cradle them close, nurture them that they might die out on their own, and most of them had. Moving on tasted ginger-sweet and minty-bitter, the chill in the air as the leaves tumbled and crunched underfoot, ignited with reds and yellows and everything in between. A summertime flame left for the autumn rain.

Pour the rain did, leaking rivulets down the windshield as you sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard. In times like these you’d call Yoongi, but he didn’t get off work till the morning and an impossibly timed dead zone did nothing to help your wireless suffering. Nighttime meant comfort for souls like yours, an escape into the quiet of dusk when everyone else sought the dreamy confines of sleep. Unfortunately, it meant that everyone else sought sleep while you were cursedly awake and stuck in the downpour. No place to go, no one to find.

You let your head fall forward and hit the steering wheel with a thunk. Fuck.

Knock knock.

It’s a glance to the left, out the driver’s side window that reveals a silhouette framed in darkness, wrapped in a thick coat, peering through the glass. Hand raised to brow and you can’t help the involuntarily yelp that leaves your mouth from the sheer proximity of the stranger. The figure flinches back in response, and you can’t help the immediate pang of worry. You can’t afford to miss a chance for help, but you also can’t roll down the window, and thus you’re opening the door and squinting into the rain as it blusters through the open gap. “Hello, I’m sorry, my cell phone isn’t working, is it possible for me to borrow yours so I could call somebody to pick me up?”

“Wait, what?” The stranger hunches slightly, peering through the watery onslaught. “Is that who I think it is?”

Oh god.

Oh god no.

The sheer absurdity of the situation isn’t lost on you, not like the way relief is wrapping that thick timbre around yourself like a familiar blanket. The irony of your car happening to die only a few blocks away from that little blue two-story, the coincidences of such a familiar stranger going out for a stroll in the middle of a fucking rainstorm. Of course he had to.

“Unfortunately,” you can’t help but grimace. “Taehyung, what the fuck are you doing out here in weather like this?”

You can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. It almost aches. “Are you saying this isn’t ideal weather to take a walk and enjoy the fresh air?”

“No,” you reply bluntly. Infuriatingly positive he is, always has been. “Ideal weather isn’t a fucking thunderstorm.”

“Mm.” The momentary quiet, save the rainfall, hints at what goes unsaid. “So what are you doing out here?”

You bristle. How to formulate a response that would not warrant help, but also warrant help? “I was out taking a late-night drive and stopped to take a break. I was getting drowsy and I prefer to be a responsible driver, so I pulled over to make sure I was awake enough to drive home.”

“What a considerate person you are!” Taehyung trills, and you’re almost positive it is completely unironic. “How are you feeling then? Do you think you’ll be able to drive home?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll be fine.” A tight smile. Polite. It takes every ounce of will to not study him deeper, all of the curves and edges hidden snugly in the darkness. “Thanks.”

“Are you sure? It’s raining really hard as well; you won’t be able to see well even if you aren’t feeling drowsy.” There’s genuine concern in his tone, warmth bubbling from his throat like liquid sunshine. Maddening. But he’s right; he’s shining a bright light through the flimsy veil of your lies and you’re pinned. Even more maddening.

“Taehyung, it’s—” you clamp your mouth shut because in a slip of the tongue, you were that close to letting anger seep into your tone. That close to losing your stance as the better man, but the line of who exactly is the better man is smudged beyond sight in the downpour. You take a deep breath. Start again. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

Lightning flashes, jolting the clouds and cleaving them in two. The very world could be coming down in tatters around him and Taehyung wouldn’t think twice about being his everyday self, annoyingly cheery and maddeningly gentlemanly. You swear you see a flash of teeth, a boxy smile despite the water dripping from his umbrella, striking the pavement with an irregular heartbeat. Not your own, of course. “Nonsense! We can’t have you left out here to soak like this. Come on, you can drive us home!”

Oh my god, he certainly has not disappeared quicker than the very implication left his mouth. He is not shaking his head like a dog shedding wetness, nor opening the passenger’s side and hopping in, pausing to fold his umbrella in the gap before pulling the door neatly shut. You are not seated in your dead Wrangler with your ex-boyfriend at one-thirty in the morning in the middle of the very heavens coming apart with a religious fervor.

Taehyung brushes his wet hair out of his face, dribbling water down his cheeks. For all of your expectations, he looks no different than when you saw him last, standing on the curb with all the world’s joys flickering in his pretty almond eyes. The shadows cast his profile in a gaunter light, sweeping down the hollows of his jawline, his cheekbones; your fingers tighten around the door handle. Apparently, three weeks might not change much after all.

“Oh sorry, did I rush you?” He opts to ignore your blank-eyed stare of shock, reaching out to you before pausing, his hand outstretched to touch you. “I didn’t mean to rush you if you’re not ready to drive yet. We can sit here as long as you’d like! There’s no rush for me to be home. I just wanted to get out of the rain; it was starting to soak through my umbrella!”

For all of this, you can manage a brief: “Yeah.”

“Let me know when you’re ready to go!” The optimism in his voice is painful.

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah!”

“I lied.”

You don’t need to look at him to know the way his forehead will furrow. “What?”

“Gah!” You can’t help pinching your brow between two fingers. “I can’t fucking believe this—”

“Believe what?” Blinking doe-eyes, long lashes wet and thick in the dimness.

“Taehyung, my car battery died three blocks from your house and my cell phone isn’t working, and now I’m sitting here with my ex-boyfriend in the passenger’s seat and I have no fucking idea how I ended up here.” You sigh. “Do you not see the irony in this?”

He blatantly ignores the gesture towards the massive elephant basically perched on the center console. “No wonder your car is off! We’ll walk then.”

“Taehyung, please just make it easier for the both of us and l—”

It’s no use. Dear god. How you had ever put up with him, shared a bed with him is currently escaping you, but regardless of this, he is already out of the car as the words punctuate empty air. Weighing options is impossible when you have none to choose from.

“-use my phone to call somebody to pick you up!” The driver’s side door opens and he’s there, right there, not across the console or the bar or whatever. Right there. “Come on, we don’t have time to waste!”

“Kim Taehyung, for god’s sake, I am your ex-girlfriend!” The exclamatory stops him in his tracks. Finally. “Why are you helping me?”

The rain pours rivulets down his black slicker, drenching his hair and bunching along his shoulders and running down his arms. And yet, he brushes the water from his brow with a swipe of his thumb, peers at you, sneakered feet planted firmly in the asphalt. He raises a finger to the sky, smiles— not a half-smile, lopey and lop-sided, but a true grin, squared and gummy and full of wonder. “Ideal weather.”

“Kim Taehyung, you are absolutely ridiculous—”

“Ideal!”

“So let me get this straight,” Yoongi grits as you sit across from him, your frame molded into the plush of his second-hand loveseat. “Your car died on the back streets, coincidentally three blocks from Kim Taehyung’s house, who is— just to double check— the asshole who shredded your relationship, and he happened to be out for a walk in the rain and stumbled across you in your car, and offered to take you back to his house and let you stay there till morning until you could get me to pick you up?”

“Yes.”

“What the actual fuck.”

You gesture at him with your free hand, the other occupying a mug of steaming tea. “Join the club.”

“Just to double check, we’re talking about the same Kim Taehyung. The dude who you officially dated for a solid four months but fucked around with long before that. That guy, right? That Taehyung?”

You release a deep breath; the steam rising from your mug winds away. “Yes, it’s the same Kim Taehyung.”

Yoongi looks like he is about to spit nails. “I hope you took the chance to kick him in the balls.”

“Yoongi!”

“Just saying.”

“It could’ve been a lot worse, actually.” Your companion raises an eyebrow. “He gave me his umbrella when we walked back.”

“Ah yes, because giving you his umbrella once undoes six months of emotional damage—”

“Yoongi, chill. I did what I had to do—”

“Which is good, because survival skills are important.” He searches your face for any hint of something other than stoicism. Forgiveness, maybe. “And it doesn’t have to be any more than that.”

“I didn’t say it was,” you affirm. “But even if I don’t like him, I owe him credit where it’s due.”

Yoongi frowns. He knows not to push, but curiosity pecks his bones, nips his intuition. “For the third time— why didn’t you call me last night when you got back to his house?”

You sip at your tea. Flaxen sweet, mild on your tongue. “You were at work and I didn’t want to bother. Paying rent is more important than saving my sorry stranded ass.”

“You’re neglecting to mention the Kim Taehyung part.”

He rubs a fine nerve, one push too far. “Yoongi, what are you so worried about?” You sit up, place your mug on the fold-out table. “It’s not like I’m suddenly pining over him just because he happened to be there when I needed help. It’s not like I had any other options; I can handle myself. Taehyung and I broke up a month and a half ago; I’m not as… broken as I was before.”

It’s written on Yoongi’s face that he doesn’t like it, but protectiveness wins out over stubbornness. It always does when it comes to you. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again.”

You soften. “I know.”

The tension drains from his hunched figure. “I know you can handle yourself when it comes to people like him. But I also know how hard you cried over him in a shitty motel all those weeks ago.” The corner of his mouth twitches. “I don’t want you to feel like that again because of someone. Fool me twice, you know? You deserve better than that.”

Your eyes flick to his. Steady, warm, weighing justice by the tawny flecks that glint in the raven black of his irises. “I do. And I don’t doubt that. It won’t happen again.”

His own mug clacks as it meets the wooden tabletop. “You know, you never told me what exactly happened between you two that ended it. Like, I know the rough idea, but not play-by-play. If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine, but…” He trails off, leaving the gap.

“Ah.” A remark, neutral in sheen but bitter in taste. Like biting into the shell of a crisp apple, only to find that it’s not as sweet as once hoped it to be. “Sure.”

So Yoongi listens.

It’s strange how someone so vivid in nightmares, so seemingly real as the pen between your fingers or the breath in your lungs, can fade away so quickly by daybreak. Before you ran into Taehyung again (for better or for worse? For worse), he loomed as some larger-than-life figure in the back of your consciousness, spewing traumas and terrors like a river gully. But there he was in the passenger’s seat, no larger or smaller than before. Just Taehyung. Terrifying in premise, in rationality, on the contrary.

With that in mind, it was hard to not wonder if you had, perhaps, not given him credit where it was due. The Taehyung you met in the pouring rain was the same Taehyung whose hair you brushed sand from and temple you kissed and sides you pinched to get him to squeak when he laughed. Memories you tried to stuff away, filter through a new lens with every flicker in your mind, like a crackling film reel. But there he was, and here you were, and you weren’t quite sure who you were running from anymore.

Is it easy to run from someone who your lips know the taste of, fingers know the feel of? Is it easier to run from yourself when you strip away the miscommunications, aches and pains?

Yoongi knew the full story now. Terrifying to admit your fault, any measure of it, because you never liked to show him what being broken looked like. Some measure of personal freedom exercised, but with the wrong heart in mind, because he would never judge anything you had to say and instead, simply listen. He was always an older soul than you ever tried to be and he knew it, rugged wisdom at its finest. But ultimately, he only knew what he was told or taught, and there you were, spilling the unmangled truth to him on a Wednesday morning over two cups of chamomile tea. 

Coming to grasp with imperfections is part of the cursed struggle of being human, of embracing those little nicks and dashes that make us who we are. It does not mean we are loved any less, but loved because of them; none of us are angels. These messes are our measures, our faults and our pleasures. How terrifying it all is, being ourselves. Being raw and vulnerable and attacking those thoughts that weigh heavy on our consciousness, day after day.

And it is easy to wonder if you matter through all of this, through the chaos of that inner dialogue. It’s moments like these that put those perspectives into frame, click them like camera shutters pausing time to breathe and think. To look at the white-framed ink is to rewrite tangibility, printed blurry on those transparent rolls. Nothing is so unforgettable when it is angled just so.

In the evening, in the comforts of your apartment, you uncork a Polaroid from where it is hidden behind some cheery optimistic phrase you stole off of tumblr. Bullshit for the purpose it serves, painfully ironic for the task it demands. A picture of a boy with cherry-red hair and a boxy grin on his face, arms wrapped around you with all of the comforts and ease of home. There’s mirth in your eyes, sheer joy and laughter. No alcohol involved, just two people who found it easy to slip into each other’s company just-so. A jasper gem for you, polished to perfection and printed right underneath your fingertips.

Anxiety clenches at the base of your jaw, massages your throat with the cruelest intentions. You swallow it back.

The phone rings once.

Twice.

Crackles to life.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Taehyung?”

His voice melts through the receiver like buttery chocolate, smooth and warm. “You still have my phone number! Hello! I thought I’d never hear from you.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?” You blink in confusion, then shake your head. “Never mind.”

“I thought I’d never hear from you. That guy who picked you up didn’t seem to say much, but I figured you’d call eventually to say that you made it home safe. So I guess you did! And I’m glad.” You can hear Taehyung smiling through the phone, easy inflections of speech.

“Yeah.” You fidget, playing with the edge of your sleeve. Now or never. “Taehyung, I owe you an apology.”

This is the first time he falters, hints at something deeper. “What for?”

You take a deep breath. “You were kind to me. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was at the time, so I was a complete asshole to you. And I’m sorry for that. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it was the least I could do! Nobody deserves to be stuck in the pouring rain—”

“I’m not talking about the rainstorm.”

He stutters. “I-I’m sorry?”

“Taehyung.”

He’s quiet. It is terrifying.

“Taehyung, both of us know what I mean.”

You momentarily wonder if the line has gone dead. Perhaps it has. A saving grace, and then that deep timbre crackles to life on the other side. You nearly miss what he says.

“I want to hear you say it,” he whispers.

“You were kind to me,” you stutter. “Kind to me; so, so kind. And I didn’t recognize it for what it was w-when you gave it to me. And I was a complete asshole to you. I’m sorry.” You wait for something, anything, but he gives no intention, and you continue. “Taehyung, you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was so terrified that I stuffed it away into some far-off corner and tried to pretend that it wasn’t happening. I turned so much outward onto you that you didn’t deserve because I didn’t know how to be good enough for someone like you. I took you for granted, Taehyung, the exact opposite of everything I should have done. You glow like the literal fucking sun, and I’m a little cloud drifting through the sky. I should’ve let you shine through me, but instead, I just blocked you out. And I’m sorry,” you confess, the tension in your shoulders collapsing. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time in weeks you wish you could see him in front of you, gauge his reactions like barometric pressure, but instead he’s across town and you are here, feeling ever-so-small in spite of yourself. It was easy to read what he was thinking, painted across his face in swaths of joy and sadness and everything in between, but here, he gave away nothing. 

Please say something, Taehyung. Please say anything.

“Ideal weather,” he murmurs.

“W-What?”

“A sun without clouds in the sky shines blindingly. Clouds temper all that light; certainly we don’t need all of it.” It sounds so cheesy, some Shakespearean verse he quotes from off the top of his head, but it is the closest thing he’ll phrase to acceptance, and you swallow down a relieved sob. He calls you by name then, lets it ring warm and sweet, the way he used to say it. With life, energy, everything it lacked simply because it rang from all the wrong mouths till then. “Everything happens for a reason. You did the best you could. It just didn’t work out at the time.”

“Taehyung, it’s okay to blame me. It’s okay to say that I was the one who fucked it all up, not you. For god’s sakes, you never did anything wrong. It was always my insecurity, my mistakes—”

“You’re only human. You did the best that you could, just as I did. Who could blame you for that?” Taehyung’s words seep heat into your bones, calm your trembling fingers. “I couldn’t. Nobody could. I certainly don’t think any less of you for it. None of us are angels; we did our best with what we had. And that’s alright.”

You can’t help but laugh, dry, monosyllabic. “You handled this so much remarkably better than I did, god.”

He’s breathy with amusement. “It took a little while.”

“I could imagine.”

He hums. “Is there anything else you want to talk about?”

Your index finger finds the edges of the instant photo. His smile catches in the light of your desk lap. “There’s another reason I called.”

“That wasn’t it?”

“Believe it or not, no.” You trace his shoulders, the planes of his chest. “I just wanted to say. I have a Polaroid of us from July, from that bonfire that Jeongguk had with like fifty people down at the beach. I kept it, selfishly. It’s been pinned up on my bulletin board behind another piece of paper. But I took it out today. And I think I might pin it up in front now.”

“Oh, the cherry red hair.” The fondness seeps through the receiver. “I loved that night.”

“Me too,” you admit. A beat of silence. “Goodnight, Taehyung. Thank you.”

“Oh, you’re hanging up already?”

“What?” You nearly sputter.

“I haven’t gotten to talk about the Polaroids I kept, too.”

There are two ways to fundamentally seduce Kim Taehyung: make his coffee exactly how he likes it, or play with his hair while he’s lying on your chest. Both of which you achieved, and both of which led to your current predicament.

But we’ll rewind a bit.

That phone call, the first of many, lasted into the early hours of the morning, that sacred time that you both hold dear. It tasted like nostalgia and fondness, feelings you corked and bottled out of fear of what might lie on the other side. But in this case, the other side was a friend and more, a living history book for all of the cracks in between. And he simply adored filling them in.

That lazy afternoon where you planned on having a date at the park, but it had poured rain nearly as intense as the day you reconnected with him. You danced in between the raindrops instead, bare feet on the gravely asphalt, wishing you could touch heaven and so you kissed the boy whose cheeks were between your palms. The spontaneous road trip you took to the next big city over, five hours away, simply because for the first time in so long, you had nowhere to be but with each other. Hands held between library shelves, firelight’s glow on faces untouched. Sharing a tuft of blue cotton candy with sticky fingers, talking about everything and nothing under the moonlit, cloudless sky. For every instant photo saved were memories tenfold that he plucked from that mind of his like stars placed in the breadth of the cosmos.

One phone call became two, became four. Became texting over a break at work, FaceTiming over dinner. Became meeting each other for a late breakfast, studying at the cafe for an early afternoon cup of espresso. Depth and understanding, and Taehyung is slotting into your life without a second thought, as easily as you’re slipping into his. You let him this time, so much smoother than before. You want him to.

Neither of you can deny what it is happening, but neither of you can find a complaint to lodge. So when he asks you out, fingers entwined over the metal arm of the park bench, a bouquet of sunflowers tucked next to you, he already knows what your answer will be.

Indeed, there are two fundamental ways to seduce Kim Taehyung, and as a master of both of them, it is only a matter of time before you find yourselves at the foot of your bed; he pulls you closer to press his lips to your own. He tastes like cappuccino and chocolate and you’re humming into the kiss, shuddering underneath him. He still knows your body, every divet, every edge. He never stopped loving it— never stopped loving you.

He worships the way he loves— selflessly, giving every ounce of himself without abandon or question. When he eases himself between your thighs, the look in his eyes is nothing short of sinful adoration, seeking out every secret to your pleasure. It’s ingrained in his memory, the way you gasp or grab his hair when his fingers dance along your skin; he couldn’t forget it even if he tried. It is worth every wince as your digits tug at his scalp; he swallows down everything you give him and begs for more, more, more.

And likewise you lavish him, devoting minutes to dot his heaving ribs with kisses, stroking comforting palms down his sinewy thighs. Taehyung is every work of art you have wanted to see in a museum, living, breathing, merely mortal but so much more. So vibrant, so raw.

And afterwards you lie together, unable to tell where he begins and you end. Breathing in the heat, piecing each other together in the silent din. Clothes are tossed about the room; you can’t find it in you to care. You turn to him, caress his cheek, run a thumb over his lips. “Stay here tonight. Please.”

He smiles and your thumb brushes his teeth, boxy and exposed through the gap of his grin. “Was the overnight bag not enough?”

“How did I not notice you packed an overnight bag?” You sit up, wrapping the blankets around your torso, scanning the room to spot his duffel.

He pushes himself up on his elbows, wraps himself around you like a human koala. “I’m very good at being sneaky.”

“Mm, I noticed.” There it is, against your dresser. Your heart swells, fit to burst.

“Come to bed,” Taehyung hums, gritty, a little seductive. It sends a chill down your spine. You don’t think it’s meant to. Your fingers find his own and knit together over his knuckles.

“I’m right here, sunshine.”

He kisses behind your ear, the gentlest of intentions. “I love you,” he whispers. “Come to bed.”

You squeeze over his hand. Everything left unsaid, in the space of a breath. Two. “I love you too,” you whisper. “And I will always be here, loving you, with everything I could possibly give you. Every ounce of my heart. I love you.” 

He squeezes back, wraps the blanket around your frame, tucks you in tight. He kisses your shoulder with lips of silk, and you roll on your side to get comfortable, his arm draped over your waist. 

Against the far wall, propped up on his duffel, lies a pair of Converse sneakers, as scuffed and beaten as they were saturated with rain, on the day you fell in love with Kim Taehyung all over again.

[veronicassadboi]

Ooo i have a good one-J realising his feelings for V (inner thoughts) love you 🥰

I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it ❤️ love you too!

Jug realising his feelings for Veronica.

———

“I bought you cupcakes, a very sweet way of telling you that you are ever the gentleman.”

Jughead eyes Veronica, grateful for her bringing cupcakes all the way to his new trailer, eyes dragging over her velvet dress and red bottoms on his peeling green flooring.

She was ever grateful for his presence at La Bonne Nuit, he could tell by the way he feels her smile from across the Speakeasy. He was grateful for her presence after hours while they spoke lightly under rising sun, dust plumes reflecting from sun streaming in through the windows. Her humour surprised him, people and dynamics are interesting when it’s one-on-one.

Her sarcastic comebacks were hiding something… what? He wasn’t sure yet, but he was figuring her out bit by bit. What surprised him most was that every night, he couldn’t wait for La Bonne Nuit to close just to share that chocolate shake with her after a dozen cigarettes and a booming headache. She’d tell him her dreams of escape and he’ll swap them with his dream of becoming more than Riverdale.

“I better go..” she says, trying to look over his shoulder into the trailer. “The whiskey glasses won’t clean themselves.”

Her eyes hold longing, Jughead knows, because his heart holds it too. The lick of her lips keeps Jughead’s eyes on her a little longer. “You don’t have to go,” he murmurs before he can stop himself.

He gets to watch her smile a little longer.

———

He promised Veronica she’d never be alone this summer, and she laughed at him but a Serpent never breaks a promise. Betty had accompanied Archie to Chicago anyways, she seemed more excited than she cared to voice and for some reason, the distance was welcomed.

He watches Veronica from above his laptop screen, she has a slight sway in her hips, she has a smile that bends even the sourest of patrons, she keeps a Pop happy and she makes the best chocolate shakes, of this, Jughead is certain.

“You don’t have to sit here all day,” she says quietly as she hands him a coffee.

“Are you not under the protection of the serpents?”

His comeback is quick and he’s pleased that he came up with it. Trying to explain exactly why he spends all day waiting for her was hard enough to comprehend in his own mind let alone passing it on to her. How can he say that he enjoys her company, she understands him, her laugh makes him laugh and his heart gives a funny kind of pull whenever she’s around without actually saying it?

He feels stupid; for a person who uses his words for an outlet, he couldn’t quite choose the correct words to convey his thoughts on Veronica Lodge.

She smiles at him, brushes a kiss on his cheek. “Well i owe you one, you’ve single handedly assured me I won’t fight through the summer alone.”

“Not me,” Jughead mumbles. “Under the protection of the serpents, remember?”

Veronica nods but her amused look doesn’t tell him that she believes him. “Many thanks to the serpents then.”

Jughead tries to drown out Veronica’s kiss with caffeine. It only seems to amplify the feeling and watching her all day doesn’t help at all.

——-

12:30am at Pop’s is always a buzz of dimming lights and coffee steam that shouldn’t be there. Jughead is a constant tap on his laptop keys and at this time of night, it’s always just them two.

Veronica slides over a fresh coffee before grabbing the half drunk one by Jughead’s right hand and tipping it down the sink.

Ritual, that’s what it was now. Ritualistic coffees, a ritualistic tightening of Veronica’s apron that he notices every now and then. He wonders if Archie knows these ritualistic traits of his girl. The way she licks her bottom lip from left to right when she’s put on the spot or the way her hands go straight to her hips, filling small dents of her body when she’s proving her point. The way she raises her her left brow when she knows she’s right. Maybe these are the things you only notice when you’re here at 12am on a weekday, he muses. Veronica’s pale purple nails tap on the counter in front of Jughead when she’s back to filling the quiet buzz of Pop’s with her constant chatter.

“Do you think the Ghoulies will come out tonight?” she asks, peering over Jughead’s shoulder to look at the front door as if they may just walk in.

“Why the hell would they come out tonight?” he replies, eyes not leaving his laptop. “It’s late.”

She sighs loudly and steps forward to lean her head on her forearms, looking up at him sideways. “You’re out late…”

“I can’t argue that logic, Princess.”

Veronica rolls her eyes and reaches out to tilt Jughead’s laptop screen slightly to get his attention. Jughead chuckles and looks at her. “What if they came out?”

“Why would they come out?”

“You’re the King of the Serpents, aren’t you?” Veronica says slowly. She’s searching for a rise out him, He knows it.

“So they say…”

“I’m bored.”

“We have this same conversation every night,” Jughead drawls, rubbing his face.

“You come here every night. Why?”

Jughead doesn’t have the words to describe the pull that he has to this place. He’s almost certain that Veronica understands the natural draw that he has, it’s in the way she makes his shakes extra special when no one’s looking or how she went as far as to buy the place. Jughead doesn’t want to acknowledge the slight spark in Veronica’s eye when he turns up every night. He reads too far into it, he knows this. Each and every word in the form of her body when she’s in front of him or the smile she gives him that he wonders if Archie receives the same smile. “To escape.”

———

“You better go,” she hums outside of the Pembrooke. Jughead notices heels that click along concrete and her jacket that’s a weird mix of vanilla syrup and his menthol cigarettes. “Thanks for giving me a ride home.”

“Archie couldn’t pick you up?” Jughead knows the answer, he just wants to hear it.

“I didn’t ask.”

“Oh,” he replies.

Veronica’s smile grows as she twists the ball of her foot on the concrete, she straightens out her yellow dress underneath her jacket, lips being sucked in. She blows a kiss on the way inside that Jughead catches with the jagged teeth of his fucked up heart. “Thanks for that, Jug. Give my love to Betty....”

Her sing song voice hurts his fucking chest.

——-

Her eyes linger on Jughead, he feels her gaze splitting his skin. It’s the same skin tearing glare that she gives him when he lies to her about the amount of sugar in his coffee. She sees straight through me, he reminds himself. “Betty doesn’t wonder where you are?”

Jughead thinks of a string of lies. “Betty knows where I am,” he says. Betty doesn’t really know anything at all and the guilt doesn’t hurt as much as it should. Words stick in his throat. “Sometimes it’s a little hard,” he mutters. “When I don’t seem to be on the same frequency as her.”

Veronica takes a deep breath, her eyes seeming to be a little heavier than usual. “I understand that.”

Jughead sniggers, coffee sitting on his tongue, malice in his laugh. “Do you?” he asks, letting his tongue drag on his teeth. “Riverdale’s favourite son not doing it for you?”

Veronica’s lips purse. “Betty doesn’t like living with a snake?”

They sit in a silence that hurts more than either of them care to acknowledge. That’s what is though, isn’t it? Unspoken truths. “Betty doesn’t like a lot of me.”

Veronica’s eyes shift from his to the counter, flicking left to right. “My shift is over.”

She tells him that information as if he didn’t already know and as if she didn’t know that he did.

————

He smokes a joint outside of the trailer, he follows it with a menthol outside of Pop’s. Betty’s words were sharp and numbing. He felt still and calm, but they still hurt… A little. He can’t even remember.

Southside is the pit of hell, he remembers. That was the topic of conversation.

He wants to talk to Veronica. Archie is inside talking over a vanilla shake that Veronica has made and her smile at her man is so big, Jughead’s never seen it look so… depthless.

She sees Jughead through the glass, frown on her brow.

He drowns in an ache he can’t explain.

———-

“Sometimes I feel like no one understands me,” she says, pouring coffee into a mug at 2:52am.

“I understand that,” Jughead says, feeling poison on his tongue.

“Do you ever feel like maybe the people around us are too good, and we’re the bad ones?”

Jughead sits on Veronica’s words. She brushes dark hair out of her eyes and her lips are over licked. “Yes.”

“Just yes?” she says, raising an eyebrow. “What if I said that being bad but being right is all that matters… does that make sense?”

Jughead doesn’t know how to tell Veronica that everything she says makes sense. “It makes sense to me.”

Veronica’s eyes falter. “Sometimes I think you’re the only person who gets anything I say.”

Jughead wants to ask about Archie, but he doesn’t want to be reminded of his best friend.

————

Sometimes it’s painful.

Veronica lets legs hang over the edge of the bed, swinging them back and forth with fists full of bedsheet while Jughead walks towards the trailer window. “Does Archie know you’re here?” he asks.

“Does Betty know you were with the Serpents all night?”

Jughead laughs with a menthol between his lips. “So you just needed an escape, huh Princess?”

Veronica’s eyes darken as she watches smoke leave cracked lips. He watches nails dig into the grey sheets, purple on cotton. “I just needed someone to talk to who didn’t want to talk about how I was feeling…”

“So we’re sharing secrets now, are we?” Jughead says, an amused tone in his voice.

Veronica doesn’t say anything as she continues swinging her legs, eyes flickering in the light of passing cars.

The silence is welcomed.

He wonders what it would feel like to have a raven haired princess in his arms.

Oh, how lucky that would be.

———

He likes the way her skin feels when she smells like vanilla shakes and his menthol cigarettes. Her hand brushes his arm when she lays next to him on top of his bed. “This trailer holds more peace than the Pembrooke,” she admits.

Something in Jughead swells with pride when she tells him this truth. “Society tries to tell us otherwise.”

“Well society can fuck right off.”

“Very interesting choice of words, are you sure you’re not from the Southside?” Jughead teases.

Veronica inhales sharply with her eyes closed, letting Jughead feel her ease. “Sometimes I wish I was.”

Betty’s hate towards the Southside rises in him.

And then suddenly, he doesn’t think of her at all.

“You can stay,” he almost whispers.

“I could stay like this forever…”

Veronica’s phone lights up. Archie. Jughead’s breath hitches.

———

They were too different. Or too much the same. She stands in the middle of his trailer, sun setting on her skin. For once, his mind stops. There’s a moment in time where it’s just the two of them in the place that never felt like home, but for some reason does when she’s with him.

There’s a fear in him when she leaves, there’s a panic that pulses through him when he knows she’s not his. But in the pit of it, he knows he’s hers. Because if he wasn’t, his atoms wouldn’t be so drawn to hers.

Veronica Lodge stands before him and too frequently when she’s around, he’s at a loss for words.

He stands in the cold room with Southside hanging on his shoulders, she wears expensive heels with her Pop’s uniform.

His heart races. He’d been building up to this moment for months, the singing in his soul, the pretty ringing of her voice in his mind. The way she speaks so animatedly with her hands in the air and the way she snaps back at him when he needs it. She knocks him down, he reels back in. He pauses his mind, letting the arch of Veronica’s eyebrow in amusement boost his strength. “Veronica, I think I love you.”

——-

Send me a Jeronica centric ft Barchie prompt and I’ll write you a >2000 word drabble!

[misstinfoilhat]

Whumptober 2019 #9: Shackles - Bungou Stray Dogs

“Uhu, no.” “Kunikida-kun...”

“No.”

“I don't see the big deal...”

“Still no.”

“In that case, I have to make it an order.”

“B-but, director...”

To Kunikida's defense, he held his sulks rather stoically for a twenty-four-year-old who was throwing a fit inside a hotel lobby.

“You and Dazai-kun is sharing a room, and that's final,” Fukuzawa announced dryly, if not a little miffed. They were all tired from traveling and were looking forward to spending the night in the comfort of a fancy hotel. The Agency had been given a mission by a large corporation in Akita. It wasn't a particularly complicated mission, and they expected it to mostly be of the theoretical kind, which was why Fukuzawa, Kunikida, Dazai and Ranpo had gone, instead of the agents with the more physical abilities like Atsushi, Kyouka and Kenji.

Really, if it hadn't been for the fact that the company they'd been hired employed a large amount of ability users, it would have been a police matter more than anything.

Kunikida growled defeatedly, trying his hardest to ignore the bandaged nuisance that stood behind him, leaning his head on his shoulder and grinning triumphantly. Not only did he have to sit with him on the train, listening to the cacophony of Dazai's double suicide composition, but now he had to room with him too. He usually didn't long to spend any prolonged amount of time with the miniature detective either, who, despite almost being nearly thirty years old was licking a lollipop vigorously while the Armed Detective President was literally helping him with a wry zipper on his coat. But, considering the alternative, he'd take that infantile genius any day.

“Well, let's hit the hay,” Dazai announced cheerily, grabbing the keycard from the reception clerk as she was about to hand it over to Kunikida, leaving the idealistic man fuming with fury.

Calm down, Droppo. It would be highly unideal to blow a fuse as early in the mission like this. You can hang in there for a couple of days. You're a strong person. You can fight the urge to strangle him.

“Hey, MacGyver,” Dazai singsonged happily. If Kunikida had been a little more alert, he would have stopped himself from reacting to such a stupid nickname. Unfortunately, he did look up at the dark-haired idiot, standing a couple of steps up in the staircase, giving him exactly what he wanted. Attention. “Snoozer's losers!” Dazai splurted out and jolted up the stairs with childlike glee. I can fight the urge to strangle him.

                                                           ➈➈➈

The hotel room was spacious and nice, with dark wood parquet floors and crème colored walls with one accent wall in paneling that matched the floors. The lights radiated warmth, which could almost remind one of the illumination of a fireplace. Two single beds were placed in the middle of the room, both with frames in a pleasant brown color, covered in light bedsheets and bedspreads that matched the rest of the tasteful interior.

Dazai noticed how the surroundings immediately soothed Kunikida's sour mood. Good, he thought.

Personally, he had never understood how one's habitat could affect one's mood that much. He had never been one for materialism. Really, he was more than satisfied as long as he had a roof over his head. A bed and a blanket were a bonus, and an own bathroom with bathroom facilities was simply a luxury.

He guessed he preferred the simplicity of having nothing more but the bare necessities. As an executive in the Port Mafia, he had been completely overwhelmed by the opulence of his executive suite. His dorm room at the Agency felt much more comfortable to him. “Well, I guess we should go to bed. We have an early start tomorrow,” Kunikida determined, placing his suitcase on the bed he had decided on (the one farthest from the window, because the air seeps through the cracks and can give you a throat or ear infection, Dazai mimicked in his mind), and started to unpack the neatly folded clothes inside. Dazai shoved his own light traveling bag inside the larger space of the closet, ignoring the disapproving glare from his partner, before shrugging off his jacket and gingerly placing it on a wooden hanger before hanging it inside and shutting the door. The only thing he grabbed from his bag before tossing it aside, was his toiletries which he brought with him into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

At least, seemingly, getting ready for bed. This was exactly what Dazai had dreaded. This mission was going to take at least a week to complete, and he would have to share a bedroom this whole time. Usually, he would unwrap his bandages at night to let his skin breathe, but that was out of the question. The worst part of this whole trip was that he couldn't remember the last time he had gotten an undisturbed night of sleep. There was a lot about his past he couldn't remember. It seemed to have been blocked out of his mind, and he had no desire of getting those pieces of his life back. But at night when unconscious, things tended to come back to him. Nightmares would terrorize him every single night when he was able to sleep. Once, after an especially long time of being unable to even shut his eyes without being struck by his past abuse like a lightning bolt, Yosano had slipped him a bottle of sleeping aids. Apparently, he looked like shit (her words) and it was clear he wasn't getting enough sleep. That night he had tried them. Reading the possible side effects being nausea, headaches, sleepiness (well duh), he saw that one of them were actually suicidal thoughts- so, if he wasn't able to get a peaceful night of sleep from them, there still might be something good to come from of it. It was the worst night he could remember ever having (at least sleeping wise). Before even falling asleep, he started hallucinating terrifying images. The branches scratching at his windows suddenly turned into fingers grasping at the henges and trying to get in. The ceiling was suddenly melting and faceless people were appearing out of the shadows gliding against the walls, throwing their grisly chains after him and trying to pull him back into the hell his mind had been gracious enough to suppress. And when he was incapable of keeping himself awake, he'd been trapped inside the night terrors for several hours, the drugs making it impossible to tear himself awake. That night had covered more of his horrid past than any night before or since. So, he had already decided that he wasn't going to sleep on this mission. He was completely capable of going several days without sleep, he'd done it many times. An entire week though, he was unsure about, but he would do the best he could. Finishing brushing his teeth and changing his bandages, an ordeal that usually took him about forty five minutes, he changed into his sleeping attire, a long-sleeved cotton shirt in white and black sweatpants, and returned to Kunikida in their joint room.

“About time, what the hell were you even doing in there?” Kunikida growled irritated.

“Stealing soap,” Dazai shrugged and settled into his bed. “Are you insane?” Kunikida snapped, starting a tirade about professionalism, hygiene (because; could they really know if they set out new soap to every new guest? They might re-melt old bars or refill bottles with old soap- to which Dazai answered that in which case, it was a good thing that he took it so they couldn't reuse it anymore) and the general criminal system because of it was technically a criminal offense to steal anything.

Dazai tuned his partner out. He actually enjoyed the familiar background noise before the dreaded night. There was something comforting about the normality of it, reminding him that everything was actually just like it was supposed to be and that nothing was going to lurk out from the dark corners or try to get in through the windows in spite the fact that they were currently residing on the thirteenth floor.

While Kunikida set the timer for his nightly ritual, Dazai settled in for the night, putting on his earphones and sinking underneath the hospitality of his thick comforter.                                                           ➈➈➈

The next day, Kunikida woke up at six in the morning like he always did. Even if everyone wasn't going to meet up until nine, Dazai knew that Kunikida would never, not even on the weekends, sleep in late. Dazai was grateful for the predictability of his partner's actions. That meant that he could lay down and pretend to be asleep before he woke up. Dazai had spent the night reading over the mission files more times than he cared to hold a count of, as well as re-reading his trusted favorite book, gathering inspiration in case the mission would become extremely tedious and he had to concoct a suicide poison of office supplies. Ink or battery acid seemed like his safest bets- sniffing sharpies would likely just make the work more entertaining, and before he would even know it, they might have another “mushroom incident” on their hands. Kunikida had not been happy with him that day (which was reason enough for a repetition).

The day went by painfully slowly. It was apparent that he would be stuck in a vacant office for the majority of the week, trying to crack hidden codes left by the culprits to communicate between each other in a series of sealed documents. It seemed like work suited best for Ranpo, but the kid wasn't even able to figure out how to turn on the damn computer, so that left the boring part of their mission to him.

Once nighttime dawned upon them once again, Dazai repeated his schpiel, getting ready for bed and settling under the covers without much hassle, pretending to be asleep before Kunikida was done in the bathroom. He had started to become tired now, but he knew he had another night in him easily.                                                         ➈➈➈ 

The day after looked much like the day before, with him downing coffee, locked inside the office, scrolling through hundreds of pages of numbers and codes, trying to keep himself alert of any series of numbers that didn't seem to add up. It was getting harder now. His eyesight seemed to double from time to time if he didn't stay fixated, and he fell in and out of concentration, staring sheepishly onto the screen, scrolling down the pages mindlessly.                                                        ➈➈➈

On the fourth day, he had started getting concerned glances from his coworkers. He wasn't blind (just nearly, but only on the one eye), he could see the dark circles under his eyes in the mirror, and he had a constant twitch at the edge of his left one. He felt it too. He was so tired that turning his head towards the president to answer his question (that he had no idea what was) at their morning meeting, felt like he had to rotate a small mountain all on his own. “...your daily report, do you have it?” Fukuzawa repeated. Dazai couldn't remember if he asked him to repeat or not, but he nodded carefully, not wanting to rattle his aching head more than necessary, and pulled outa neatly assembled folder and handed it over.

“There's definitely some correspondence there. It's subtle. They're using a...” He couldn't remember the word for it. Frowning slightly, he made a gesture at them to forget about it. “Ranpo can figure it out. I've highlighted what I could find.”

The rest of the meeting went by without much input from him. Only small noises of approval or disapproval when he was being addressed directly, and he was seriously starting to consider sniffing on the sharpies for a shot of energy.

It was almost a relief once he was able to lock himself back into the dark room with the computer and cases of flash drives. Heavily, he collapsed into the comfortable chair he'd been provided with and poured himself a cup of coffee before booting up the computer and busying himself with his work.                                                        ➈➈➈ Before he even realized it, he jerked awake, quickly realizing he had nodded off. Two weary hands came up to drag over his face, and for a short while, he just sat there, resting his head while trying to wipe the fatigue from his facial features. He wasn't sure if he could do this anymore. At some point, he would have to get some shut-eye. Knowing from experience that clinical depression tended to become so much worse from a couple of days without sleep, as well as the increased paranoia that his state of mind could not handle.

The problem was, that the paranoia he would feel when sleep-deprived, was not the same kind of paranoia he should have felt then and there. Because if he did, he might have been more altered to the shadow that lurked behind him.

Before he could register the firm grasp on his hair, his head was thrown forwards, hitting the keyboard at high force. Immediately, he felt his nose crack on impact and he glided, stunned, to the floor.

Within seconds after hitting the floor, a boot stomped on his chest. The wind got knocked out of him, and he struggled to get his body to obey his commands. A little too late, he grabbed at the boot, but it slipped through his fingers before it came down on him once again. A choked gasp escaped him before he kicked with his feet, trying to roll over and get up.

The unknown apparition got in another few hits before he was on his feet. Dazai blocked the next couple of punches as the culprit seemed to start charging an ability induced attack. Dazai calmly touched the person, and the energy he was producing between his hands was killed off instantly. Using the moment of confusion to his advantage, Dazai grabbed the dark-clad figure by the shoulder and spun him around, pressing him violently against the wall. Finally, footsteps were heard outside, and the door was quickly unlocked. Fukuzawa and Kunikida entered, stun gun and katana raised, ready for attack. Ranpo was standing a couple of feet behind them, curious while on guard. “Dazai, are you okay?” Fukuzawa inquired grimly, slowly lowering his weapon as he deemed the situation under control. Dazai tried to sniff in the blood streaming from his nose before he turned around, but the flow was too heavy and he had to admit defeat and let it flow freely.

“Peachy,” he grinned as convincingly as he could, not loosening his hold on his attacker until Kunikida came to take over. Dazai let go and slowly waggled away in a sudden dizzy spell, steadying himself against the wall. He didn't even realize that he drifted down to a sitting position on the floor before Fukuzawa leaned down and held a strong hand on his shoulder.

“Come on, Kunikida can take care of things here. I'll take you to a doctor.”

He was sure he argued against it, but the next time Dazai found himself aware of his surroundings, he sat on the examination table at a doctor's office, getting his broken nose forced back into place with a wet cracking sound.

Apparently, he had broken his nose and a rib and needed a few stitches on the bridge of his nose and over his right eyebrow.

At this point, he felt so out of it that he was unable to argue when Fukuzawa decided to steady him back into the waiting car once he was fixed up, and followed him back to his hotel room. Once inside, he was discarded on his bed, where he fell asleep instantly.                                                            ➈➈➈

He was shackled to the wall. Tight, rough chains bore into his fragile skin as he tried to wiggle his wrists out of them, adding to the burning, bleeding marks varnishing his juvenile skin. He had figured out how to dislocate his thumbs now, making it easier to slip his hands through the firm iron rings of his cuffs. So now, they had placed another cuff around his neck. Even if he tired- he couldn't dislocate that. Not if he wanted to get away from here.

There was no way in hell that he'd give them the satisfaction of killing himself in here- they were not going to see him crumble. Not going to see him give up. He was going to keep breathing until the day he could look them in the eyes as they bled out and suffered from the same torture they had inflicted upon him for years on end. He was going to live until the day he could hear them scream in agony. Hear them beg for release.

Years went by before he could do that. Years of burning hot branding irons, electricity, and painful medical experiments. Years of watching clones of himself being developed inside test tubes, maturing inside small bottles of liquid and being born from sick DNA splicing and engineering.

His clones always turned out so macabre. Usually developing an extra body part or completely missing one. The ones that clearly was lacking his ability of nullification were slain as soon as they were “born”, and the ones who did, usually died a long agonizing death from organ failure, if they were ever viable at all.

Their remains were laying there, rotting inside his holding cell. He couldn't even smell it anymore, he was so used to it.

His head hurt. It always did when he was starting to remember something. Something he had forgotten and was fighting its way to the surface, usually making his grim existence even more unbearable.

What triggered it this time, seemed to be the new chain around his neck. ...it was raining. His clothes felt heavy, making his emaciated body struggle even harder to move. The memory was blue- usually symbolizing that it was bad. All his memories were blue or red. But the red ones had only come recently, and he hadn't even been granted the fortune of suppressing them yet.

He was staggering along, suddenly dropping to his knees in a puddle, quickly being pulled up by the chain around his neck by... someone. A man. He didn't have a face, but he still visited in his dreams sometimes.

It was the day he got here- he hadn't even realized that there was a before. For the longest time, he thought he was one of the experiments. The clones.

...maybe he was. Maybe he was just that one successful clone, abilities, memories and all from the original host. Fuck! He was such an abomination- he had never had the right to be alive at all. No wonder life was so painful.

And then, they were back, those nameless, faceless scientists, and he knew it was time for another round of... of...

...of what exactly, he wasn't sure. He only remembered it would be cruel and extremely agonizing.

The cuffs were taken off- but it didn't matter. He didn't have the strength to hold himself up anyway. His head thudded to the stone floor, while his hands laid uselessly by his side, his body unable to move. New shackles were added, and he felt his already dislocated elbows being tugged forward, forcing him to try and stand up but he couldn't only stumble his way after them, as fast as he was physically able.

Once inside the room (the room- the- the fucking room), he understood what was going to happen. He couldn't quite see it but he still knew and it was bad he had done bad and it was starting all over again. He was hurled onto the table (the cold table, the one that always hurt and he didn't want to please don't-) and leather straps were being tightly fastened on his head, chest, arms, abdomen and feet.

The doctor prepared the needle that was supposed to make him mellow and obey but it hurt- hurt so much and it slowly, agonizingly slowly, was being lowered towards his...

“Dazai!”

Finally catching his breath, he threw himself off the bed he suddenly knew he was lying on and scrambled across the floor, pushing his back against the wall (because the wall is safe, no one can come up from behind- no one can surprise me and I can fight if they do) and curled tightly in on himself, hiding behind his knees and simultaneously protecting his vitals.

How long had he forgotten to breathe?

He was out of breath, panting, before he realized that he wasn't tied down anymore.

And he was certainly not alone. Shit.

Hesitantly, he looked up and into the somber, steeled gaze of Fukuzawa, who was standing over him in a slight crouch. Dazail looked to his sides, making sure that there weren't any more spectators before he warily brushed both of his hands through his hair, winching a little as his fingers brushed over the newly stitched wound over his eyebrow.

“I had a bad dream,” Dazai chuckled apologetically, trying his best to glue on a smile for his superior.

“Yes, you seem to be prone to those,” Fukuzawa answered gravely, not averting his eyes from his subordinate.

“Tsk, not really,” Dazai tried but understood that his bluff had been caught long before this moment. He lowered his head, resting it on his knees while waiting for Fukuzawa's verdict.

The silver-haired man used a bit more time than Dazai had anticipated before he spoke again.

“I'm sorry for this.”

His reply made Dazai's slightly swollen eyes peer up. Unintelligble, he uttered a weak, “Huh?”

“I'm sorry for putting you through this. I know sharing rooms is hard for you.”

Dazai had no idea where this was coming from. How in the world could Fukuzawa know about his nightmares? Unable to say anything in return, he just looked quizzically at his elder.

“I've read Yosano's reports, Dazai-kun. I know about your nightmares. They’ve occurred everytime you've been commited to the infirmary since you started with us, and I don't think I have to tell you that it's been quite a lot of times during these past years.”

There was a small pause, clearly left for Dazai to say something. But when he didn't, Fukuzawa continued.

“So, I know how you struggle with sleeping. And I knew before going on this mission that you'd have a hard time... I know you, Dazai-kun. You wouldn't want to be a nuisance. Unfortunatly, we only got these two rooms, the rest of the hotel is stacked. I thought that sharing a room with  Kunikida would be the best way for you to relax. If I could, I'd put Ranpo, Kunikida and myself in one room and you by yourself... but that would've been a bit strange...”

Dazai was slowly beginning to relax now that his boss was starting to speak a little more informally. He always liked to witness the humanity of the usually stoic man. Lowering his shoulders a bit and working on the strenght to get back to bed, the trembling in his knees made it clear to him that he wasn't ready to move just yet. Now, he felt like he needed to say something. Something to disarm the situation.

“I...” was all he could muster before his voice broke off and he had to settle back into his defensive seat on the floor. Fukuzawa seemed saddened by it, which only crushed Dazai’s heart. He never wanted to see the man who had taken a chance on him when no one else would in such disarray because of his own foolishness. He loathed himself for it.

“If it's of any consolation, the guy you caught has admitted to everything. He's given us all the names of his culprits, and we're looking at a hefty bonus for finishing the job early.”

Dazai mustered up a smile, tired eyes creaking at the raising of his cheekbones. Fukuzawa retuned it and leaned down, helping Dazai stand up and settle onto the bed.

“Now, I want you to sleep. We're not leaving until tomorrow morning, and the rest of us have a lot of work to do down at the police station. You've done your part and then some. We probably won't return until late. Will you be okay here by yourself?”

Dazai was already half asleep on the bed but nodded vaugly before letting out a deep, easy exhale and grabbed onto his pillow. Never had he been comfortable being in such a vounerable position in front of anyone. He wasn't sure if it simply was exhaustion or if it was... trust? But for the first time since he didn't know when, he felt happy to settle into bed, for several hours of a good night's sleep.

Fukuzawa stayed with him until soft snores were heard steaidly with each breath of Dazai’s broken nose. Then, he gingerly pulled the comforter over him, before shutting the lights and exiting the room.

Ranpo and Kunikida was waiting outside.

“How's he doing?” Ranpo asked worriedly with a slight knot between his eyebrows.

“Better,” Fukuzawa answered with a soft smile, ruffling his as-good-as-adopted son's head over his hat.

“Is he asleep?” Kunikida asked grimly, trying to get a look inside the room before Fukuzawa carefully closed the door, trying to make it as soundless as possible to not jostle their sleeping coworker.

“For now,” the silver-fox replied earnestly. There wasn't any quick-fix to Dazai's issues, but this was a start as good as any.

The three of them walked silently towards the second hotel room, ready to settle in for the night. It was time for Dazai to rest comfortably. And if that meant for one of three grown men to swallow their pride and sleep on a sofabed, that would just have to do.

[thestarsoutofyourwindow]

Panic Attack - Sixth Doctor X reader!

I wrote this at the start of the year and didn’t really like it, but now that some time has passed, we can laugh at past me together! I also feel like I should post more so I’ll be posting stuff I maybe don’t like as much. The logic behind why you have a panic attack is a bit flawed but please change it around so it makes sense. Warnings: Anxiety, Panic attacks (Duh) and in my opinion Bad writing. Word count: 1,394 (I miss being able to write this much!)

"How come whenever I look at you, you're close to death?" You ask the newest incarnation of the Doctor. You observe him gently as he continues to focus on his work. Your attention moves from his curly, blonde hair that ever-so-slightly shifted with his head movements to his dazzling blue eyes; which nervously darted back and forth as he focuses on the console. Then you notice how he unconsciously and benignly grip his bottom lip between his teeth. You sigh fearfully and his 'noble' gaze was re-drawn to your figure, which enticed him to approach you. He would stop in front of you and place his hands just under your elbows before allowing them both to slip down to your hands. He was barely clutching your hand beside from his thumb and forefinger placed on either side of your palm with a benevolent yet cautionary grip as behind his eyes an internal battle between what seemed timelordish versus instinct. He let out a sigh that wheezed like someone sobbing or complaining. He grinned graciously yet morose at you when you attempt to contort your hand as much as he allowed to hold his palm, but you had to settle for the base of his thumb due to his increasingly restrictive grip. It was evident he was more controlling -if that is the right word- compared to his fifth face. You knew that the controlling nature that came with this regeneration -alongside his need to prove himself- wouldn't need too much attention or concern about. "I'm certain my appearance isn't that deathly, my dearest." You redirect your gaze up to him, making his hearts wrench. "That's not what I worry about." The Doctor observes you. His gaze was somehow both strong and intense but behind his eyes were light with mild intentions, "Whatever increases your anxiety over me, I promise I will do my best to correct." "I- I... nevermind." you metaphorically bite your own tongue, a wave of dreadful thoughts filling your skull, each one causing a thought-spiral. 'You can't tell him because you don't want to hurt his feelings. But you need to! You can't!' These sudden thoughts broke the dam of your anxieties over the recent events, the death of five, regeneration, the new doctors' attitude, how this had happened before and you didn’t feel ready, and what was left of your life outside of the Doctor. You felt immediately overwhelmed. You attempt to ignore how all of your limbs suddenly feel more weighty, and how you feel aware of the feeling in your extremities that felt oddly like cotton. You attempt to regulate your breathing but the sudden dryness of your mouth, how your thoughts wouldn't stop rushing around your brain and the dizziness that made your skull pound induced further panic. The dryness in your mouth and the intensifying pain in your stomach induced a wave of sickness to wash over you. All of your extremities tingle painfully and irritatingly. You felt increasingly cold but were somehow feeling sweaty. You let out a shaky sigh. Your sense of touch was heightened but everything about your touch made the Doctor realise just how weak you were growing. Your head felt too heavy for your spine, and you allowed your head to fall onto the Doctors' chest. Your vision began to cloud, small, black pinpricks approaching your vision from all sides. You feel completely alone, but the fear of someone overreacting made you feel even worse. The Doctor asks, "Are you okay? Darling? Y/n!?" Your only reaction was an uncomfortable groan due to the way your ears were ringing, distorting any noise you heard. The Doctor looks completely shell-shocked, but due to how pale you were and other tell-tale signs like your heart-rate and how you broke out on a cold sweat, so he deduced you were having a panic attack. "Breathe." You felt the vibrations of the Doctors' chest as he spoke. "C'mon, breathe with me. Breathe in. 1... 3." The Doctor moved you from his chest and cupped your cheek with his left hand while his right was pressed against your back. "Breathe out 1... 6." The Doctor looked you in the eye as best he could and would run his fingers through your hair. "Breathe in 1... 4." The doctor would whisper reassuring words in the small gaps between your breathing, things like 'I've got you,' and 'try not to panic, my dearest, everything is fine'. "Breathe out 1... 8." "and again, breathe in, 1. 2. 3." The Doctor kept you breathing and asked Peri to quickly grab you some water, meeting him in your room -after quickly asking you if you wanted to go there. He would slide your arm over his shoulders and hold you gently as he helps you walk with him. He actually had to pace you because you were walking too fast and causing yourself more harm.

You reach your room together, and the Doctor would quickly set you on the double bed, moving you so you were both sitting up against the headrest, your back against the refreshingly cool wall. The Doctor slides off his coat as best as he can and covers your legs with it. You move it up to your torso, the coat partially hanging off your knees as you raise them. You were aware of how your feet -after you kick your shoes off sloppily, your feet were still heavy but slightly comforted by the soft bedsheets below you and the aroma the Doctors' coat gave. The  Doctor copies you, kicking his shoes off -however less clumsy- and scooted closer, wrapping an arm over you. You flinch before letting your head fall on his shoulder. "Dearest. There is nothing to be afraid of, I'm here and I'll always be there to save you.” You nod as the pinpricks preventing your vision began emptying like the sand in an hourglass and the ringing in your ears begun fading away- it is much higher-pitched; you never imagined such a sound would be such a comfort. You kept breathing as the Doctor attempted to hold some distracting conversation with you. You felt increasingly calmer and your senses were no longer clouded. Normality swept over you.

To test, you hook a leg over the Doctor's to see how he'd react. For the most part, he didn't. He pulled you closer. "Do you feel better now?" You nod, moving your face so your lips were centimetres from his neck and allow your arm to snake over his waist. "I'm sorry." You whisper. "It's hardly your fault. Would you... like to tell me?" "I worry about your safety. That you will challenge someone or do something and you'll get hurt or that something will happen to me and I won't be around to help you. That thought hurts and I know you'll find it stupid..." "Oh, Dearest... I don't find it stupid in the slightest. In fact, I find it rather charming but it concerns me you worry about this at all." The Doctor looks down at you and he presses his lips to the top of your head. "You fell straight into my arms... if you wanted my attention so dearly you didn't have to surpass just asking." You chuckle lightly and prod his ribcage leniently in a kind of warning. "There you are. All smiley again. Just how you should be, not that you have to, of course- just... it's better if you do." "Thank you." You whisper in a docile manner. "It's no problem, my dear. I would much rather help you and make sure you're okay, for my peace of mind and your safety." "I love you." You murmur again. "I love me too." The Doctor laughs and smiles down at you as you giggle. "I can see why." You proffered, looking up to admire him. "In all sincerity, I'm rather fortunate humans are so compassionate, especially with this face. I've done so much to you and Peri and I don't deserve the two of you hanging around-" "You have done so much for us too! You're definitely charming and sweet when you really want to be. You aren't as brash or arrogant as you act and you can be quite pleasant. It is difficult to put into words why I admire you." The Doctor would exhale, "I love you too."

[goforwardgreenwriter-blog]

The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 32 - 33

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Aedion had been up half the night, debating the merits of every possible place to meet his father.

I am such a sucker for good parent/child relationships in fiction (extra bonus points if it’s adopted parents/child relationship) but honestly Assdion needs to stay the fuck away.

Beforehand Assdion put Lysandra to bet after she shifted back from some other form.

[Aedion] flipped back the crisp cotton sheets with one hand and then laid [Lysandra] down, her once-again long hair covering her high, firm breasts. So much smaller than the ones he’d first seen her with. He didn’t care what size they were—they were beautiful in both forms.

Uhhh does SJM not get how creepy this sounds? Lysandra is asleep and Aedion is staring at her boobs thinking about how beautiful they are?? God damnit SJM just stick to erotica if your characters are gonna be horny 24/7.

Lysandra made [Aedion] change out of his dirty travel clothes, barged into Aelin and Rowan’s room wearing no more than her own bedsheet, and took whatever she wanted from the Fae Prince’s armoire. Aelin’s barked Get out! was likely heard from across the bay, and Lysandra was smirking with feline wickedness as she returned, chucking the green jacket and pants at him.

This sounds like the beginning of a college fic where all the characters live in the same dorm. Not a fucking epic fantasy series constantly compared to LOTR. Tolkien must be rolling in his grave.

Dorian stirred, a cool breeze fluttering in as if his magic awoke as well, squinted at them both, then at the clock atop the mantel.

WHAT. Is this a medieval settings or not? The characters all use swords and bow and arrows and there’s hints of medieval Britain monarchies everywhere but the characters have clocks? What is this word building?

Gods, the females in his court ate more than [Aedion] did.

This is prompted after Lysandra eats breakfast. After we have already been told she burns a lot of energy with her shape shifting. Go fuck yourself, Assdion.

Aedion opened the door, finding the cadre precisely where he’d guessed they’d be at this hour: eating breakfast in the taproom. The two males halted as they entered. And Aedion’s eyes went right to the golden-haired man—one of two, but … there was no denying which one was … his.

I am actually so stressed. Either A) Aedion is gonna act like a dick to his poor father and be treated as right for it, or B) SJM is gonna turn Gav into a dick just so Aedion can angst over his daddy issues. Place your bets, folks.

“You look … ,” Gavriel breathed, sinking into his chair. “You look so much like her [Aedion’s mom].”

HHHHH SJM STOP I HATE THIS SHITTY BOOK AND ASSDION I DON’T WANT THESE FEELS....

“They could have cured [mama Aedion] in the Fae compounds, but she wouldn’t go near them, wouldn’t let them come for fear of Maeve”—[Aedion] spat the name—“knowing I existed. For fear I’d be enslaved to her as you were.”

I wish Assdion’s mom could’ve been a character, but nope, gotta kill off potentially awesome characters for the sake of main character pain. I know that’s just a thing that happens in 95% of stories at this point, but SJM literally only brings these dead characters up once or twice and it has no other impact on her main characters or the plot.

“I’m sorry,” his father said, those Lion’s eyes full of such grief Aedion wondered if he’d just struck a male already down. “I’m not the one you need to apologize to,” he said, turning toward the door.

Am I a dumb dumb, or... who the fuck is Assdion talking about? Is he talking about apologizing to.. Assdion’s mom? I’m so confused.

Assdion stomps out after his little tantrum. I mean, I understand why he’s upset, but... I need context? Was Gav forced to take the blood oath to Maeve, or was it his own choice? ‘Cause if it was the latter yeah he’s kinda a shitty dad, but if it’s the former, it’s not his fault??? This series is batshit confusing.

“We need them to work with us. I might have made an enemy of him.” [Lysandra] tucked her hair over a shoulder. “Trust me, Aedion, you have not. If you’d told him to crawl over hot coals, he would have.”

HHHH FUCK IT GAV IS A GOOD DAD..... I just feel so so sorry for him. He’s just a punching bag for everyone else. Protect Gav 2k18

He laughed, surprised he could even do so. “He’s a handsome bastard, I’ll give him that.” “I think Maeve likes to collect pretty men.” Aedion snorted. “Why not? She has to deal with them for eternity. They might as well be pleasant to look at.”

I mean a lot of those men have confirmed that they were forced to take the blood oath and are now basically slaves to her but sure, tee hee oh Maeve that slutty bitch, collecting only the hottest young men to enslave! Fuckin’ end me.

Bearing both Goldryn and Damaris for once, Aelin walked into the Sea Dragon two hours later and wished for the days when she could sleep without the dread or urgency of something pulling at her.

Greaaat, back to Alien’s POV.

A grand total of five minutes before Lysandra barged in, Rowan had awoken—and begun the process of awakening her, too. Slowly, with taunting, proprietary strokes down her bare torso, her thighs, accented with little biting kisses to her mouth, her ear, her neck.

EWWWWWWW if I wanted to read this shit, I’d go look up fanfiction. Preferably fanfiction with characters I’m endeared to and actually ship. Skip!

Gavriel and Fenrys were now sitting with Rolfe at the table in the back of the taproom, no sign of Aedion, both a bit wide-eyed as she swaggered in.

This is a nit pick but Gav/Fenrys always being described together irks me. They have the literal same reaction to everything. Like, are they doing this all in unison? Actually, that’s a pretty funny mental image.

Rowan took up a spot beside [Aelin] his knee brushing hers. Like even a few feet of distance was unbearable.

GDI. It’s a meeting. With a Pirate Lord. And all Rowboat can think about is getting his dick wet inside of Alien. I’m almost ready to tap out.

“What is this,” [Aelin] said, stabbing a finger near the main line of figures stretched across the middle of the continent. “It’s the latest report,” Rolfe drawled, “of the locations of Morath’s armies. They have moved into position. Aid to the North is now impossible. And they stand poised to strike Eyllwe.”

Ooo, action scene? Please action scene, I cannot handle any more scenes of these assholes being horny around one another.

Next chapter!

“Eyllwe has no standing army,” Aelin said, feeling the blood drain from her face. “There is nothing and no one to fight after this spring—save for rebel militia bands.”

Starts right where the last one left off, as per SJM’s protocol

Rowan said to Rolfe, “Do you have exact numbers?” “No,” the captain said. “The news was given only as a warning—to keep any shipments away from the Avery. I wanted their opinions”—a nod of the chin toward the cadre—“for handling it.“

??? Is it me or is this expression really fucking weird? Was “a nod of the head” not good enough?

“Why attack Eyllwe, though?” Fenrys asked. “And why move into position but not sack it?” [Aelin] couldn’t say the words aloud. That she’d brought this upon Eyllwe by mocking Erawan, because he knew who Celaena Sardothien had cared for, and he wanted to break her spirit, her heart, by showing her what his armies could do. What they would do, whenever he now felt like it. Not to Terrasen … but to the kingdom of the friend she’d loved so dearly.

Once again, we’re about to witness the destruction of a kingdom and all Alien cares about is her stupid feelings. Go fuck yourself Alien.

“You are the heir of the Mycenian people,” Aelin said. “And I have come to claim the debt you owe my bloodline on that account, too.” Rolfe did not move, did not blink. “Or were all the sea dragon references from some personal fetish?” Aelin asked.

SJM JUST USED THE WORD “FETISH” IN HER EPIC FANTASY SERIES. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

[Aelin] allowed a flicker of her magic to rise to the surface then, allowed the gold in her eyes to glow like bright flame. Gavriel and Fenrys straightened as her power filled the room, filled the city. The Wyrdkey between her breasts began thrumming, whispering.

I’m sorry, lovely readers, I keep ragging on about this, but holy fuck. I hate it so much. SJM wants this scene to be all epic and show what a special snowflake badass Alien is but then she undercuts all that supposed tension by drawing focus to her boobs I just. ajhdafdfagfds dj hdsa im b rea kin  g

Alien lets loose some of her power that literally shakes the world and rings bells or some shit? idk i guess its 2deep4me

“What the rutting hell was that?” Rolfe at last demanded. Fenrys and Gavriel became very interested in the map before them. Rowan said smoothly, “Milady has to release bits of her power daily or it can consume her.”

ROWBOAT CONFIRMED FOR NICE GUY HOLY SHIT

Aedion and Lysandra arrived after some time—and her cousin only spared Gavriel a passing glance as he stood over the map and fell into that general’s mindset, demanding details large and minute. But Gavriel silently stared up at his son, watching her cousin’s eyes dart over the map, listening to the sound of his voice as if it were a song he was trying to memorize.

Gav deserves a better series than this. I want to take him, Manon, Darrow, and Rolfe away so they can be at peace. How does Darrow/Gavriel sound to everyone? Pure old dads who rule their kingdom fairly, bringing peace and prosperity forward. What a lovely image.

SJM described the meeting rather than shows. It’s basically 90% everyone gushing over how powerful Alien is. Skip!

“You once said I would pay for my arrogance. And I did. Many times. But Sam and I took on your entire city and fleet and destroyed it. All for two hundred lives you deemed less than human. So perhaps I’ve been underestimating myself. Perhaps I do not need you after all.” [Aelin] turned again, and Rolfe sneered, “Did Sam die still pining after you, or did you finally stop treating him like filth?”

Dick move, maybe, but I mean... he’s not wrong. The Assassin’s Blade is literally just Alien being pissy towards Sam for no reason and then he gets angry when their master beats lAlien’s face in (you know, what any normal functioning human being would react like) and she’s suddenly frothing at the mouth to fuck him. Maybe I should review TAB next.........

Rowboat chokes Rolfe and throws him down, and everyone smirks. How are these characters adults? They’re all written like immature teenagers. Anyways, a bell rings out, signifying something bad.

Aelin watched as black - darker than the ink that had been etched there - spread across [Rolfe’s] fingers, to his palms. Black such as only the Valg could bring.

Please action scene I can’t handle one more “witty’ “banter” conversation between these assholes

The door banged open, and Rolfe’s towering figure filled it. “You.” Aelin put a hand on her chest. “Me?”

Pfft. I hated that I snickered at this, but I always laugh at the “dramatic hand on chest” joke.

“And what of your idealism—what of that child who stole two hundred slaves from me? You’d leave the people of this island to perish?” “Yes,” she said simply. “I told you, Rolfe, that Endovier taught me some things.” Rolfe swore. “Do you think Sam would stand for this?” “Sam is dead,” she said, “because men like you and Arobynn have power. But Arobynn’s reign is now over.” She smiled at the darkening horizon. “Seems like yours might end rather soon as well.”

Sam deserves better than this. He was an okay guy to my memory - not a poisonous fuck boy like Rowboat.

“Eight warships teeming with soldiers —at least a hundred on each, more on the lower levels I couldn’t see. They’re flanked by two sea-wyverns. All moving so fast that it’s like storm winds carry them.”

FUCK YEAAAH SEA DRAGONS LETS GO

Rolfe finally breaks down and agrees to join Alien’s war effort. Love it when one of the few good characters is kicked and beaten down to prop up the despicable protagonist. Then we swap to Dorian’s POV.

Aelin was insane, Dorian realized. Brilliant and wicked, but insane. And perhaps the greatest, most unremorseful liar he’d ever encountered.

Dorian, honey, you okay? Blink twice if Alien is holding you captive.

This war would not be won on smiles and manners. It would be won by a woman willing to gamble with an entire island full of people to get what she needed to save them all.

Yeah, doesn’t that make Alien likeable! I know war involves sacrifice and death but Jesus, could she feel even a little remorse? Innocent people may die today but Aelin’s head is so far up her own ass she doesn’t even care.

Fenrys kept at a distance from the others, but Gavriel remained close, his gaze still fixed on his son. Gods, they looked so much alike, moved alike, the Lion and the Wolf.

Stop ittttt Gavriel deserves better.....

Aelin tells Dorian to stay behind and the chapter ends. God, that was a lot of bullshit in two chapters.