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yoona-jnr · 2 months

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Meant To Be - By Ryan McCartan (Musical)

Pairing: Ryomen Sukuna x Female Reader

Prompt: “I was meant to be yours, we were meant to be one. Don’t give up on me now, finish what we’ve begun.”

A murderer? He can’t be…

Oh, but he is. And he’ll do whatever it takes to make you accept that.

Tags: Slight angst, mentions of sexual themes, heavy dub-con, Sukuna on his own is a warning, modern au, insanely toxic/psychotic boyfriend au

-BANG

Another forceful thud reverberates through the door, causing your head to jolt as his fist connects with the wood. “(Name),” his voice echoes from the other side, the sound of him struggling with the doorknob audible. “Get out of my house!” you shout in response, ensuring your body remains firmly pressed against the door, the only barrier preventing him from getting to you. “Our house, (Name). I can explain.. Just.. open the door.”

It was clear to you that ignoring the softness in his voice was the right decision, no matter how tempting it was. The feeling of betrayal and heartbreak was overwhelming upon realizing that he had deceived you throughout the entire relationship. While he may not have been the most ideal boyfriend, discovering that he had murdered countless people, all while using you as an alibi, was a shocking revelation. You were a fool, a fool who was in love with him.

As you find yourself standing in front of the door to your shared bedroom, you mentally slap yourself for not knowing sooner. The signs were all there, staring, almost taunting you in the face, yet you had failed to connect the dots until now. His habitual late returns, the lingering foul odor that seemed to follow him home from “work”, and the sudden change in his demeanor whenever you asked to use his computer - all now pieces into a disturbing puzzle that had led you straight to where you are now.

“I don’t like playing games, (Name),” he expresses, frustration evident in his voice as he struggles with the doorknob once more. A disapproving click of his tongue escapes his lips as he realizes that you still haven’t unlocked it. “Just.. get out before I call the police.” From inside, he hears your sobs, the pulsing vein on his forehead reflecting the mounting annoyance in his stomach. He was getting angry. It wasn’t his fault your perfect relationship was ruined. After all, he had told you repeatedly to stay away from his private folders. But oh.. you just had to look.

“Baby-” – “DON’T FUCKING CALL ME BABY YOU MURDERER!” Fuck. He clenches his jaw, knuckles turning white from the force of his grip on the knob. “I thought you loved me. But it turns out you were just using me to hide from the cops?! Are you fucking craz-” Before you could continue your tirade, another blow landed on the wooden door, the impact making you flinch.

“Don’t raise your voice at me, woman. Did I not tell you to stay the fuck away from my shit?” He attempts to turn the knob, his annoyance intensifying as he struggles to pry it open. “How can I not raise my voice when all you’ve been doing is lie to me?!” Lie? Oh, how he wished for that to be the case. Initially, it may have been a falsehood. The intention of involving you as an alibi gradually transformed into something more.. self-serving. It became a desire that impelled him to prolong your presence despite only requiring your assistance for a year.

Sukuna releases a heavy sigh, his grip on the handle loosening. “(Name).” – “Please, just go away,” you plead, voice tinged with a mixture of frustration and sadness. Despite the barrier, he can still hear the sound of your cries, slowly tugging at his heart. Would you doubt the authenticity of his emotions if you could feel the turmoil he is experiencing at this moment? No. He’ll show you that despite the lies he may have told- his love for you is genuine.

Going through great lengths to uphold his principles to spare you, even if it meant resisting the urge to harm you like he did with his other victims. Wasn’t that sacrifice- this act of restraint, a true testament to his love for you? He allows you to vent your anger and frustration at him through the door, knowing full well that he could easily break it down if he desired. Can’t you tell how much he loves you from sparing that much?

“I didn’t lie about how I feel towards you.” His mouth twitches. “The only thing that I’ve ever lied to you about was my job, that’s all, nothing else.” Were you really about to make him say all this shit just to get you out of that goddamn room?

“That still doesn’t help the fact that you lied to me for three years, Sukuna. Just.. please leave already. I don’t want to talk to you.” He scoffs. “Do you wanna know what I did? From the moment our relationship started, I stopped killing for fun. I started killing people for YOU.” Sukuna’s patience was wearing thin, evident from his sudden need to justify his actions. “I got rid of them. People who hurt you, every single person that ever tried to get in between us- I didn’t even bother to kill anyone else. I did it for you, for us.”

“..Don’t you understand? You’re mine, and I’m all that you could ever fucking need. So, fuck-” He rests his other hand against the door. “Open the door.. open the door for me baby.. I know you want to. You can’t just abandon me now, not after everything we’ve been through.” The sound of his voice gradually returning to its customary tone sends a shiver down your spine. Why did this have to happen to you? He expects you to open the door, but then what? Easily welcome in the fact that he was a ruthless murderer? You haven’t even introduced him to your parents yet. What would he do if they disapproved of him? Would he resort to killing them as well?

“(NAME)!” Startled by the sound of your name being yelled, you instinctively move away from the door, your eyes fixed on it in disbelief. The doorknob rattles again, but this time with even greater force. “..Open the door, please.” The sudden shift in his volume makes you tremble. He’s gone insane. It becomes clear to you now that this wasn’t your boyfriend. The man on the other side of the wall was a completely different person, devoid of the love of your life. “Open the door (Name).”

Have you been cherishing a lie? The mere thought of it was unbearable as you reached for your phone resting on your bed, trying to unlock it while the fear of him catching you intensified. ‘Please, please, open.’ Was the only thing running through your mind as you struggled with the lock, tears welling up in your eyes the moment you succeeded. “(Name), can we not fight anymore? I know you’re scared baby.. it’s okay.”

Despite your lack of attentiveness, it was obvious from the intensity of his voice that he was both frustrated and desperate to get to you. The way he expressed himself made it seem as though he was teetering on the edge of losing control. You were well aware of his explosive temper when provoked, and it was clear that he was exerting every ounce of self-restraint to prevent himself from resorting to violence.

With trembling thumbs, you hastily open the dial pad, a surge of fear coursing through your veins. Never in your wildest dreams did you imagine that you would find yourself in a situation where you needed to call for help from your own boyfriend. The very same person who vowed to protect you from any harm that may come your way. “(NAME)!” He slams his fist against the door. “You’re not calling the cops, are you?” Inhaling sharply, you inadvertently confirm his suspicions by the mere sound of your breath. “Don’t make me come in there.”

“GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!” You sob uncontrollably, not wanting to witness your supposed-to-be husband getting dragged out by the police. He was a murderer, hell, you even hate him for lying to you all those years. Yet just a few hours ago, he was your loving, caring, boyfriend who struggles to show affection, but tries his best for you. “Open. Before I count to three.” shit. Shit. SHIT. SHIT-

You start dialing-

“..one” 1..1

.“Two-“ You hear him speak just as you finish dialing the numbers, anxiously waiting as the phone continues to ring.

“Fuck it.” Sukuna grumbles without prior notice, forcefully propelling the door open with a powerful kick to the knob. With remarkable agility, he catches the door with his hand as it rebounds off the wall, preventing it from dislodging from its original position.

As soon as he enters the room, a wave of terror washes over you, causing you to let out a piercing scream. His usually calm face was now twisted into something much more sinister, making him almost unrecognizable. “If only you fucking listened.” With heavy, stomping steps, he makes his way towards you, and despite your attempts to move out of his path, he grabs you by the waist- effortlessly throwing you onto the bed. “If only you weren’t such an insufferable bitch.”

The impact of his words were sharp, yet it paled in comparison to the sensation of him forcefully holding both of your wrists above your head, while his other yanks the phone out of your grasp. You tremble as you watch him slowly press a finger to his lips, a silent warning.

“110.. What’s your emergency?” A man’s voice resonates through the phone, leaving you stunned as you witness a sinister grin spread across Sukuna’s face, almost relishing in your vulnerability. “Sorry about that,” He begins, his tone oddly friendly. It makes you sick. “My kid accidentally called while she was playing around with my phone.” The man on the other end lets out a weary sigh, another moment of silence passes before he responds, “Sir, please make sure this doesn’t happen again. Your daughter needs to be aware that calling this number has consequences.”

“Will do,” he laughs, observing the way you quietly sobbed. “What was that?” – “Nothing. My kid’s just crying cause she’s scared she might get in trouble for this.” Sukuna warns you again by tightening his grip. “Ah, I understand. My son reacts the same way, always crying as soon as he realizes he’s in trouble,” the man chuckles. “Alright, have a good day sir.” – “You too.”

Beep..

Sukuna hurls your phone across the room, showing no concern for its potential damage as it crashes onto the floor.

“Please, let go- i-it hurts..” He shakes his head, dipping his face in the curve of your neck, tracing the tip of his nose along your skin as he breathed in your scent. He momentarily stops, parting his lips to lick a path up to your chin, sending shivers down your body. Fuck, you hated how your body naturally reacted to him. It felt like a curse, one that you were no longer proud of possessing. “You know I hate hurting you baby.. But you keep testing my fucking patience.”

He emphasizes his words by leveraging his free hand to pry your legs open, positioning himself comfortably in the space between them. Sukuna releases your bruised wrists, repositioning his hand near your head, while the other tenderly strokes your inner thigh. He gives an experimental squeeze, immediately picking up the sound of your breath hitching. “Oh?” He lets out a deep, sinister chuckle. “Don’t tell me you’re getting wet from this?” Leaning in closer, he spreads your legs even more as he presses against you. “Didn’t take you for someone who likes it this rough.”

Your faces were now inches apart, his smile only growing wider as he observes the way you make an attempt to divert your attention elsewhere- anywhere but on him. “Then again..” he mutters, slowly sliding his hand closer to your center, clicking his tongue the moment he realizes you were wearing nothing but one of his shirts and underwear. “You always did like being treated like a toy in bed, hmm..?”

“Tell me,” he gently pulls at your underwear, making you hiccup, tears continuing to flow from your eyes. “Did you wear this just for me.. With the thought of having my dick shoved right in this tight pussy?” You shake your head, tilting it slightly to the side to avoid any unintended eye contact.

“Tsk.” Unimpressed, he firmly grips your face, forcing you to meet his gaze while his hands skillfully slips underneath your underwear. “Why don’t I make it up to you, yeah?” He shoves a finger in, hissing from the sensation of your arousal coating his digit so easily. “I’ll fuck you to the point you start losing your mind as an apology.. How does that sound, princess?”

Author’s Note: No part two will be made as this was a test to see if I could still write sexual stories. (It’s been years my brain’s literally decomposing as I type.) But, if you guys like shit like this then I’ll make more. This time with completed smut!

Sorry for edging you guys 😔🙏

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna x y/n #sukuna x you #sukuna angst #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader smut

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unseededtoast · 6 months

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I Stayed There | Spencer Reid x F! Reader

Summary: After an eye-opening case, Spencer realizes that his job puts you in too much danger. Loving you too much to put you in harm's way, he does the only thing he can think of that would ensure your safety. Years pass by slowly, and neither you nor Spencer are able to move on. Inspired by "Right Where You Left Me" by Taylor Swift.

Part Two: Take My Hand

Cross posted on Wattpad and AO3 and here is my masterlist!

WC:6.8k

Warnings: Angst. So much angst, and pining, and emotional turmoil. Perpetual heartbreak

a/n: So I finally managed to write about Spencer and it not be inspired by a Hozier song, and yes it's a little shorter than my norm but I think it works well. Anyways, this is the first oneshot I've written that has actually made me cry. And once again thank you for reading, you all deserve the world

"Spencer please, don't leave. Please." Your voice sounds foreign in your own ears, and he rests his hands on the handle, looking back to you one last time, an unrecognizable look on his face.

"I'm sorry." Is all he says before leaving for the last time.

You're left on your knees in the middle of the apartment, feet bleeding from the broken glass you stepped over, and heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

You anxiously look to the clock every two minutes, leg bouncing up and down as you anticipate your boyfriend, Spencer, walking back into your shared apartment after his assignment. He had texted you earlier in the day to let you know he would be home tonight, and so you took it upon yourself to deep clean the apartment and prepare his favorite meal. Spencer is always mentally and physically exhausted when he returns from a case, and so you want to make him as comfortable as you possibly can. He deserves it and it's the least you can do.

After five extremely long minutes, you hear the door open and stand from the couch with a smile on your face. Spencer looks less happy to be here, and your heart plummets; it must have been one hell of a case. Changing your approach, you calm your nerves and approach him, taking his coat and hanging it on the rack beside the door without a word. He drops his bag down beside the door and turns to you, engulfing you in a warm, tight hug.

"I missed you." You speak into his chest, feeling his lips press a kiss to the crown of your head.

"I missed you more." He says, and you hear the exhaustion and tension in his voice. You pull away from the hug and kiss his cheek, letting your thumb caress his cheekbone.

"I've got dinner ready for you, go get something comfortable on, baby." You rub his back and he nods, walking off to your room. In the meantime, you turn off the overhead light and opt for soft lighting tonight, turning on the tableside lamps and lighting his favorite scented candle on the coffee table. You make sure his dinner is warm, and pour him a glass of wine, so it's one less thing he has to think about tonight.

Moments later, he returns from the room, hair a little disheveled and eyes tired. Without a word, you pull out the seat for him, and he thanks you. You go to pour your own glass of wine and join him at the table, content with just being in his presence for the night. If he needs silence, that's exactly what you'll give him. His job is entirely stressful, and you don't want to add to that stress by asking a million different questions.

He eats dinner quietly, and you think he's almost avoiding your eye. But surely that's not the case, he's probably just tired. And when he's done you clear his plate for him and ask if he wants another glass, instead of looking at you, he just stares down at the tablecloth and shakes his head. Your heart sinks, but you remind yourself that you don't know what he just experienced on the job and deserves some grace.

By the time you two are ready for bed, you blow out the candle and turn off the lights, eager to be held by Spencer tonight after not having him home all week. You quietly enter the room, careful not to disturb his peace and get in next to him. You turn to face him, expecting to see his beautiful gem-colored eyes, but instead are met with the back of his head. Once again, your heart aches, thinking he had to have had one of the worst cases. In an attempt to comfort him, you reach an arm over him and hold him close. You can always be held another night, but tonight he needs this more than you.

While he doesn't wish you a goodnight, or give you a kiss, or even look at you, you drift off to sleep, just happy to have him back even if it's just for a few days.

-----

The next morning, you wake to find Spencer is already gone from the bed. Where he should be is an empty, cold space. You listen for him, but hear nothing, which is odd. Worried about him, you get up and rub your eyes before leaving bed to see where he is. As you go to walk out of the room, you notice that there are two packed bags by the bedroom door that most definitely were not there last night. Usually you two spend some time together in bed, catching up and kissing on each other. Something in the pit of your stomach tells you something is off, but you do your best to ignore it.

You walk out of the bedroom and see Spencer sitting alone at the dining table. He's already dressed for the day. Maybe he got put on another case already? Your mind fights to rationalize what's going on. Spencer looks up when he hears you walking towards him, and you see him swallow before looking back to the table. You feel nauseous, but take a seat next to him, mirroring your positions last night.

You reach out for his hands that are interlaced atop the table, but he pulls his hands away before you can make contact.

"What's going on honey?" Your voice shows your nerves plainly, and you're convinced he can hear your heart thumping out of your chest. He takes a breath and stands from the table. You follow suit and try to busy your mind with something, so you pick up the empty wine glasses to take to the sink, but his voice interrupts you.

"I don't want to be with you anymore." His words hang heavy in the air, and you can't believe what you heard. Surely, you had heard wrong, right?

"What?" You ask, palms getting clammy and eyes growing wide, searching his face for any indication that this is just some weird, twisted joke.

"I don't want to be with you anymore." He repeats, your mouth falls slack.

"I don't-what? Why?" Your mind is working overtime to make sense of all this, and you feel your eyes involuntarily water.

"I-I met someone else." He says and the glasses fall from your shaking hands, shattering all over the white tablecloth, remnants of wine staining the cloth. Your ears are ringing, throat constricting with emotion, chest burning as you start hyperventilating.

"Spencer what? I don't understand." Tears flow down your face and you ignore the glass, stepping towards him, but he backs away. You swear you see tears in his eyes but you can't be for sure, as tears blur your own vision. A pain on the bottom of your foot sends shivers up your spine but you can't be bothered to look at what happened.

"I met someone else, and I don't want to be with you anymore." He says again, hammering the sentiment into your brain. Spencer turns from you and goes to your bedroom, picking up the suitcases you saw.

You practically choke on your sobs, unable to grasp that this is reality. Never in a hundred years would you have imagined your Spencer would find someone else. There had been no signs, nothing even slightly out of the ordinary. How could this have happened? How could it have happened and you noticed nothing?

With red eyes and a steady stream of tears running down your face, you try one last time.

"Spencer please, don't leave. Please." Your voice sounds foreign in your own ears, and he rests his hand on the handle, looking back to you one last time, an unrecognizable look on his face.

"I'm sorry." Is all he says before leaving for the last time.

You're left on your knees in the middle of the apartment, feet bleeding from the broken glass you stepped over, and heart shattering into a million irreparable pieces.

-----

Two weeks later you find yourself sitting alone at a dimly lit table. Today would have been your third anniversary with Spencer, and you had made these reservations months in advance. But instead of the two of you sharing a romantic evening full of love, you sit alone.

You're thankful for the low lighting in the restaurant, so that people aren't openly able to see the rogue tears that fall down your face in uneven intervals; emotions come and go like tidal waves. The waitress comes and refills your glass, giving you a sympathetic smile as she leaves.

She probably thinks you're pathetic for sitting here alone, spending hours in this one spot. The same spot where you and Spencer had come together in the first place. Your first date had been here and the two of you had been seated at this very table. The memory is still vivid in your mind, you can see the light reflecting in Spencer's eyes as he reached for your hand across the table, can still remember the cologne he wore. In fact, you're convinced that if you close your eyes you'd be able to reach out and feel him.

Throughout the evening all you can do is sip your wine and stare at the empty seat across from you, oblivious to the world around you. All you can think about is how tonight should be. Spencer should be here with you, sharing an appetizer and picking something from the menu you both like, so that you can share. You should be confessing your undying love to him, thanking him for another amazing year together and reminiscing on how far you two have come.

But instead your mascara is smudged and you're on your fourth glass of wine, alone, in the middle of a busy restaurant that's teeming with life.

You see a couple walk into the restaurant and your throat constructs with emotion. The smiles on their faces makes your heart drop, and you can't help but feel sorrow and jealously in some intricate tangle together. The woman laughs, her eyes crinkling in the corners.

Unable to handle the sight, you down the rest of your wine and leave a sizable amount of cash on the table before leaving, running a finger below your eyes so people can't see your tears. You don't want their sympathy, don't want to hear how they take pity on you.

Your feet carry you through the streets, taking the familiar path to the local park where you sit on a wooden bench. The crisp breeze sends chills up your spine, but you wrap your hands close to your body and stare at the leaves in various stages of color change.

To your right is an empty field, and it's where you and Spencer used to come for spring and summertime picnics. Usually on a weekend after he had a case, the two of you would pack up some snacks and lounge at the park for the afternoon, enjoying the beautiful weather and soaking in the comforts of each other. You never realized just how much those moments meant until they ceased altogether.

Eventually, you make your way back to the apartment. It hasn't changed a bit in two weeks, you've left everything as it was. Spencer's books are still adorning the shelves, his products still lay on the bathroom counter, and his coat still hangs from the rack beside the door. You suspect they'll be gone one day, you know him well enough to understand how he values his books. And when that day comes, you know you'll leave the apartment and give him ample time to pack up, leaving you with a nearly empty apartment. Truthfully, you never want that day to come but you know it's looming over you like an angry storm cloud.

You strip from the dress you had forced yourself to wear to the restaurant and slip one of Spencer's shirts over your head, taking in the scent and committing it to memory, as if you could ever forget it. The dark bedroom invites you to bed and you crawl in, hand lingering on the spot where Spencer should be, kissing you goodnight. But instead, you lay there alone, just like every night since he left and like every night that's to come.

-----

"What's up with you kid?" Derek asks Spencer, who's been staring out of the jet's window, uncharacteristically quiet. Spencer sighs and looks at Derek, who has a quizzical look on his face.

"I'm fine, just thinking about the unsub." Spencer lies right through his teeth, but Derek isn't buying it. Spencer's actions for the past two weeks has been peculiar, and everyone has noticed but nobody's asked. Until now.

"Now don't give me that. I know something is wrong." Derek's voice is quiet, as to not put Spencer on the spot in front of the whole team. A silence passes between them before Spencer leans forward in his seat. His eyes are tired, dark circles adorn his under eyes.

"We broke up." Is all Spencer says. Truthfully, he'd rather not get into everything, the wound is still fresh and Spencer's still trying to come to terms with the decision he made.

"What do you mean you broke up?" Derek is surprised, his voice raising ever so slightly. Spencer rubs his hands together.

"After the last case I realized that my job puts her in more danger than I thought. When the unsub had pictures of her hanging in his room alongside us, I couldn't let her be a target anymore." Spencer's voice breaks and a tear runs down his cheek. This is the first time he's admitted to someone what had happened, and it brings all of the emotions to the forefront of his mind again. Derek rests a hand on Spencer's knee and gives him a heartfelt look, eyes soft and full of understanding.

"And when I left I had told her I met someone else. I knew if I told her the truth that she'd be able to talk me out of leaving. But if she thought I had found someone else I knew she'd be too kind and wouldn't interfere. She loves me so much that she would sacrifice her own happiness for mine. And the worst part is that she bought it all so easily, she really thinks I could ever replace her." Tears fall down Spencer's face and he chokes on his own breath as he spills it all to Derek, whose own heart breaks at the confession.

Without another word, Derek brings Spencer in for a hug, and for once Spencer doesn't mind the contact. In fact, he's grateful for it.

-----

The ground is now covered in a thick blanket of snow. Frost decorates the corners of the windows, and the apartment that should be full of comforting warmth is only full of coldness and despair.

Christmas is two days away and you hadn't even bothered to put up the tree this year. There's no reason to celebrate or get excited. Everything you had loved and cherished about the season is gone, vanished into thin air. The past two years you and Spencer had hosted a dinner party for all of your friends. It was always a good time, a time where everyone came together with hearts full of love and generous spirits.

But this year you're sat at the dining room table, staring at a limited edition copy of The Hobbit you had found from an antiques dealer six months ago. It's one of the early prints and is in great condition for its age. You knew Spencer would love it and so you bought it without regard of the price. Seeing the happiness on his face would've been worth every penny and more.

After staring at it for hours, you grab the fragile book and slide it in one of the bookshelves. Your heart constricts but you're unable to produce tears anymore. It's like your insides have frozen over, and while you still feel, you never react to it anymore. The dull ache in your chest is a permanent fixture in your life now. One day you woke up and couldn't even cry anymore. It's like you've become a shell of your former self, a statue sentenced to life.

The lights are off in the apartment, the overcast light seeping in through the curtains, giving you all the light you need. You end up on the couch, curling up in Spencer's favorite blanket and stare outside at the people passing by. They're all holding gifts and dishes of food with smiles on their faces, likely heading to visit family.

Your phone rings in the bedroom, but you can't be bothered to go get it. There's nobody you're in a particular mood to talk to anyways, except for one man, but you know he'll never call you again. After a few minutes, the ringing ceases, but begins again only seconds after it stops. Like last time, you let it continue ringing. You've no family left, and the friends you do have all gradually began distancing themselves after Spencer left. They told you that they were there to support you, but eventually they were unable to handle your solemn mood and just quit trying.

As the limited sunlight begins disappearing for the night, you drag yourself off the couch and begin getting ready for bed. You brush your teeth and stare at your reflection in the mirror. Your eyes are dull and sunken, dark circles painting your undereyes. Your cheekbones have become more pronounced, your overall expression sullen. At this point you can't even recognize yourself.

Before you can pull the covers over top of you, there's a knock at the door. Your heart hammers in your chest and you begin running through every possible scenario, a mix of emotions flurrying through your system. Curious, you get out of bed and answer the front door, seeing Derek Morgan on the other side with a box in his hands. His signature smile is on his face, and you lean against the doorframe, confused about why he's here. You haven't talked to Derek since before Spencer left, and surely Spencer made it known that he's with someone else now.

"Derek?" You ask, studying his appearance. Nothing about him has changed, really.

"Can I come in?" He asks, and you glance over your shoulder, suddenly self conscious about the state of the apartment. It's not that it's unclean, it's just that Spencer's things are still everywhere. But maybe that's why he's here, maybe Spencer wants his things back and Derek is just here to tell you.

"Of course." Your voice is quiet and you open the door for him to step through. He looks around, and you move to turn on a lamp so he can see without tripping over a rug. Derek places the box on the counter and turns to face you.

"No Christmas tree?" He asks. You should've expected nothing less from a profiler. Cracking the faintest of smiles, you shake your head.

"Not this year. And um, not sure if you heard but there's no party this year." You hate how defeated you sound, but it's a true reflection of your physical and mental state. Just dejected and numb. Nervously, you start playing with the skin around your fingers.

"I know. I just wanted to come by and see you." Derek says, nothing but kindness in his eyes. Your heart swells at the sentiment. Derek and you had always gotten along together quite well, and you considered him the BAU member, besides Spencer, that you connected with the best.

"That's very kind of you Derek." Your voice cracks from emotion, but you try to play it off as you clearing your throat. "Can I get you some water?" You follow up, feeling rude for not having offered him anything.

"Water would be great, thank you." He takes you up on your offer and moves to sit at the kitchen island. You set the glass in front of him and lean on the other side of the island, waiting for him to tell you that Spencer wants his belongings back. You knew this day would come, but you never wanted it to.

"Why did you really come here?" You find the nerve to just ask him, growing tired of beating around the bush. Derek takes a sip of water before sighing,

"I hadn't heard from you in a long time, and it's Christmas. I missed you. Oh, and I got you this." He says and slides the small box across the counter to you. Feeling blood rush to your face, you fiddle with the ribbon on top.

"I'm sorry I didn't get you anything, I really wasn't expecting anyone." You're embarrassed that you have nothing to give back, but he shakes his head, dismissing your sentiment and urging you to open the box.

Untying the ribbon and lifting the top of the box, you see a beautifully crafted bookmark inside. It's a clear bookmark with colorful pressed flowers preserved within the thin layers of resin. You turn the bookmark around in your fingers and smile up at Derek.

"Thank you, this is beautiful." You place the bookmark back in the box and walk around the island to give Derek a hug. The words on the tip of his tongue die; there's no good reason to tell you that the gift was from Spencer, and that he asked Derek to give it to you as if it were from him.

His arms wrap around you, and it's the first physical contact you've felt since Spencer. While it's just a friendly gesture, it evokes something within you, and you can't help but start crying in Derek's arms.

"Hey hey hey, what's going on?" Derek holds you at arms length and looks worriedly at you. You feel pathetic to have to admit to him what's going on, but you trust Derek enough to know that he won't patronize you for this.

"I miss him so much. He should be here with me." Is all you can say before sobs wrack your body once more. It seems you can still cry after all.

Derek is patient with you, and he stays for hours, giving you some much needed company. You tell him about the day Spencer left through broken cries, and you tell him that you're not able to move out of this apartment; this is the only thing you have left to hold onto. If you lose this apartment, and everything in it, you fear that eventually the memories of Spencer will fade from your mind, and the thought of that is enough to send you spiraling. You don't want to forget Spencer. No matter how badly he hurt you, he's the one true love of your life. And you're not interested in finding someone else or moving on, because you know you could never love that deeply again.

-----

"You coming with us?" Emily asks Spencer, packing up her belongings for the end of the day. The rest of the team is going out for celebratory drinks, but Spencer doesn't want to join, knowing he will likely bring down the mood. And besides, he would rather get back to his place and read a book or something to distract himself from reality.

"No thanks, I'll uh, I'll come next time." He declines, grabbing his jacket off the back of his chair.

"Oh no you don't, you said that last time." Penelope says, coming out from her office to join in on the Friday night activities. The air is still cold outside, but the snow is basically gone for the season, or so everyone hopes.

Knowing he's already lost this argument, Spencer gives in and joins the group at the bar for drinks to celebrate another case closed. He sits at the end of the table, swirling his straw around in the glass, watching as the ice cubes slowly melt away. The rest of the team goes on and on about their weekend plans, but he tunes them all out.

"Hey you with us?" Someone waves a hand in front of his face, snapping him out of his trance. Spencer blinks a few times before giving JJ an apologetic smile.

"Sorry, just kinda lost in my own head." He says and she claps a hand on his shoulder and forces Spencer to look at the bar.

"See those girls over there? Pick one and go talk to them. It'll be good for you." She says, and while Spencer knows she's only trying to help, the thought of talking to any woman in a remotely romantic sense makes him feel nauseous. Spencer shakes his head,

"I'm good." He says, but JJ won't give it up. Derek tries to tell her to knock it off, but she's determined for some reason to get Spencer back out into the dating scene. After a few more attempts from JJ, Spencer finally stands from his chair.

"I'm sorry, I can't do this. I don't want any of them. I'll see you all on Monday." His words are rushed and he's already moving towards the door before anyone can stop him. The fresh air on his face is refreshing, and he starts walking aimlessly, trying to distract himself from anything but thoughts of you.

Since he had left you, Spencer had rented out a small apartment, only a few streets away. He was unable to move any farther than that, still feeling the need to keep some sort of tabs on you, just to be sure that you're safe. Sometimes he'd purposely walk past and try to see up into the window, hoping to get just a glimpse of you, but you always had the curtains closed. And he had been vigilant in making sure you hadn't moved out. He asked Penelope to monitor the rental status. While he misses his belongings, he knows that everything is well taken care of with you, and if you ever decided to sell or get rid of his things, he's already made arrangements to anonymously get them.

Spencer glances down at his watch as he walks in the brisk early spring air and decides to take a detour before returning to his new apartment. He finds himself at the park where he remembers the shared picnics, simpler and happier times. He makes his way to the bench the two of you always sat at, and he feels like the air has been kicked out of his lungs. There on the bench, you sit, oblivious to his presence behind you.

He should've known that you might be here. After all, it is your birthday, and the two of you always came here on your birthday. You always insisted that you make the first trip of the year to the park on your birthday. He watches as your hair blows in the breeze and he wants nothing more than to go to you, to feel your soft hair in his hands once again, to have your arms embrace him, to have your sweet kisses lingering on his lips.

But he knows that things are better this way, with him out of your life. You're safer this way, he reminds himself. If you're alive and safe, that is good enough for him. He figures that eventually you'll find someone else and live a happy and fulfilling life with them, and he wants that for you. While he wishes he could share that life with you, he understands that his lifestyle is not conducive with that happening.

Spencer turns and walks away, leaving you at the bench by yourself.

-----

Another year has passed, and you find yourself in a familiar seat, drinking a familiar wine, wearing a familiar dress. Today would have been your fourth anniversary with Spencer. You had made the reservation, needing to cling to something. You understand that this is pathetic and sad, but you can't help it.

Just like last year, you can remember Spencer's hand reaching for yours, but this time you have a hard time remembering how soft his hand was in yours. You can't quite recall the multitude of colors in his eyes. The realization that you own memory is betraying you sends chills throughout your body. First it was his scent fading from the bedsheets, then it was not being able to recall how raspy his voice sounded in the mornings, and now you can barely remember the feel of him.

You feel hollow inside with the new development, and down the rest of the wine in your glass. The seat across from you is empty, but you force your mind to remember what he was wearing the first time you two had a date here. His shirt was white and he was wearing a purple tie, the sleeves were pushed to his elbows and his hair was just every so slightly messy, but in an endearing way.

Content with the memory, you drink one more glass of wine before leaving a generous amount of cash on the table and going back to the apartment. When you step outside, the rain is coming down at a steady pace, but you can't seem to care that you'll be soaking wet by the time you get back to the apartment. In fact, the cold water droplets remind you that you can still feel something. For so long you've forgotten what it feels like to have emotion other than numbness.

When you get back to the apartment, you lock the door behind you and go through the motions. The wet dress takes residence on the bathroom floor and you figure you'll get around to picking it up later. Your mind is occupied on recalling as much as you can, the realization that things are fading sends you into a mild panic.

You move from room to room, making yourself remember at least one thing about each room. In the bathroom you remember watching Spencer get ready for work in the mornings through sleepy eyes and admiring how handsome he looked in his work attire. You always told him that he was the most beautiful man on Earth, and he was quick to tell you that you were the most gorgeous woman on Earth, kissing the tip of your nose before he left for the day.

The bedroom reminds you of the times Spencer's hands caressed every curve of your body. How he would kiss every square inch of you, how it felt like you two were made for each other. His fingers would always entwine themselves with yours as he kissed on your neck, the two of you moving your bodies in heated tandem.

In the living room you remember curling up together, cuddling underneath the blankets in the soft light, each reading and quietly enjoying the presence of the other. Of course, Spencer would always finish his book before you got to chapter three of yours, but once he was done, he would always lay his head in your lap and you would play with his curls as you took your time. His eyes would always flutter shut and eventually he'd fall asleep. You never had the heart to wake him up, so you would end up spending an uncomfortable night on the couch, but beyond happy to be tangled up with him.

The kitchen reminds you of the time he accidentally burnt toast. You were never quite sure how he managed to do it, but you thought it was sweet he was trying to make you breakfast in bed for Valentine's Day. Spencer had planned an elaborate day full of romance and he was determined to let you be taken care of for once. He had given you a full body massage, created a bouquet of your favorite flowers, and taken you to your favorite ice cream shop.

The front entryway of the apartment reminds you of all the mornings you saw Spencer off to work, fixing his perpetually crooked ties before giving him a kiss on the cheek and telling him to save the day. His face would always blush when you kissed him goodbye, and he would always tell you that he'd be back soon and not to miss him too much.

When the memories fade, you find yourself standing alone in the middle of the apartment, just like it's been for over a year now. Your eyes are trained on the dining room table, specifically at the pink stain that soaked into the white cloth, reminding you when time stopped.

You wonder about the other woman he found, if they're happy, if he's happy. You wonder what she's like, how she's similar and different from you. You hope she's making him the happiest man alive, it's what he deserves. You know he's taking the best care of her, giving her his undivided attention and sweet gestures. Does she know his favorite dessert? His favorite sock combination? You wonder if she's found the sensitive spot on his neck, just below his ear.

-----

Spencer sits at his desk, staring at the incident report that lays in front of him. Usually he would have this complete in less than twenty minutes, but this particular report is causing him some issues. It was no secret to anyone on the team that this case had struck a nerve with Spencer, it was obvious from his treatment of the unsub and in the way he tirelessly worked this case.

Sure, since the break up Spencer had thrown himself into his work, but not like this. Hotch, Morgan, and Emily all noticed a spark of light come back into his eye, like he had real purpose again. He was always attentive to each case, but this one hit particularly close to home. The victims looked eerily similar to you. In a way, Spencer felt like he was protecting you from the unsub.

Breaking him out of his thoughts, Morgan sits on the edge of his desk and closes the file so Spencer has no choice but to give him undivided attention. Derek had been keeping in contact with you all this time, unbeknownst to Spencer, and he knows just how much each of you are suffering without each other. At first he had hope that they would both take their time to mourn and then move on, but neither of you have.

"I met this girl the other day, she invited me on a double date with her friend. The only catch is that I have to bring a friend as well. What do you say?" Derek proposes, hoping that by some miracle, Spencer will agree. If you and Spencer aren't going to reconcile, then he's going to take matters into his own hands and help each of you move on with life. Spencer shakes his head.

"I'm good, thank you though." Derek bites the inside of his cheek, feeling frustration bubble within him. If only he could open Spencer's eyes to see the situation the way he does.

"Come on man, it's been almost two years now and you haven't even looked at someone with even a tiny bit of interest." Derek recalls that this conversation with you went the same way. You had shot him down immediately, pulling out every possible excuse as to why you couldn't go with him.

"I'm just not interested, sorry." Spencer says, trying to open the file once again, but Derek stops him from doing so.

"I'm saying this as your friend. You either need to move on or go get her back. If you don't you're going to be stuck like this forever." Spencer's eyebrows furrow and his jaw sets tensely, his eyes move slowly to meet Derek's.

"She can never be replaced. And like I've told you before, she's safer without me in the picture." Spencer feels his throat tighten as he imagines what it would be like to have you back in his arms. Derek shakes his head, and tries to keep his cool.

"And who's to say she's not suffering just as bad as you are?" With that, Derek gets off of Spencer's desk and leaves him alone with his thoughts.

Spencer always thought that you would eventually move on. In fact, he assumed that you had because it's been close to a year since Penelope or Morgan brought you up. He had taken their silence as an indicator that you've been doing better. Spencer knows you're still in the apartment, he knows Penelope would've told him that much.

The thought of you sharing intimate moments with another man in the same apartment the two of you shared makes Spencer sick to his stomach. Imagining another man's hands on your body, his lips on yours, your love showering him, makes Spencer's heart contort in pain. But Derek's words contradict everything Spencer had assumed. Is it true, could you possibly be living in as much pain as he is?

After work, Spencer takes the long way back to his apartment, detouring to go past your apartment. He stands where he can see the window, and this time you have the curtains pulled open to let in some natural light. He stands there for hours, hoping to see you walk past. And eventually, his patience pays off. As the sun begins to set he sees you walk to the window to close the curtains.

Spencer can see even from this distance that you're not yourself. Your hair looks like it's gone without its usual care, your clothes look like they've been picked out with no care. And you always took pride in your appearance, you always wanted to look good and you loved expressing yourself through fashion.

You close the curtains without spotting him across the street, and his heart sinks when he can no longer see you. That tiny glimpse was enough to show him that Derek wasn't lying. There isn't anyone new in your life, if there were, he would be able to tell from the way you carried yourself.

Emotions wage a battle inside of Spencer, feeling confliction he hasn't felt since the day he left you. On one hand, he misses you dearly. In fact, there's nothing more he wants from life than to be able to feel your touch one more time. But on the other hand, he remembers the twisted unsub that had targeted you alongside the rest of the team. And he knows that it's possible for something like that to happen again.

Spencer reminds himself that he would never be able to live if something had happened to you. That if some sick individual targeted you again, and was successful in carrying out their plan, that he would not be able to go on. He knows that if he stays out of your life, then you have the best odds of living a happy life. He knows that his job put a strain on you, though you would hide it well. He knows you missed him terribly, worried about him constantly; and you endured all of it because you loved him more than anything. And he loves you too much to make you continue that lifestyle.

He convinces himself that one day you will move on and that you will be happy. With one last fleeting look towards the window, he turns and goes back to his apartment, where he's sure he will dream of nothing but memories of you.

-----

Your eyes are glued to the television in front of you, not believing what you're seeing. A press conference is being replayed on the news about some case the FBI is working. They're calling out to the public for any helpful information. And you feel bad for the victim, but you can't focus as you stare at a familiar face to the side.

Spencer stands straight, face serious as the blonde on the screen goes over important facts. You notice he's grown his hair out, that he's filled out a little more, but his tie is still crooked. Your teeth bite the skin of your lip to keep it from trembling. This is the first you've seen him since he left four years ago.

You know it's pathetic, that you've devolved into something you don't recognize, but you don't seem to care. After the night Spencer left, your life had lost its light and you never were able to find a reason to try moving on. Derek tried to help in the beginning, but after a while he stopped trying; he still comes around every once in a while to keep you company but you see the pity in his eyes.

Your fingertips graze the screen, as if you'd be able to feel Spencer through the television. His eyes flicker towards the camera as your fingers ghost over his face and it's enough to send a tear down your cheek. The television switches to another story and you get yourself off the couch and you pour yourself a healthy glass of wine.

Sitting at the dining room table, your mind replays that fateful morning again and again. After all this time you still hold nothing but absolute love for him and you wish that any day he would knock on the door.

But until that day comes, if it ever does, you'll stay here, right where it all happened, right where he left you.

Part Two: Take My Hand

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #derek morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #dr spencer reid #taylor swift #taylor swift inspired #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fandom #Spotify #heavy angst

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— 『 𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐋; 𝐨𝐭8 』 [7] (M)

— 𝚠𝚘𝚗 • 𝚍𝚎𝚛 • 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕, adjective. having someone who serves as a pillar in your life, who offers a sturdy place to lean in times of trouble. somebody you find yourself thinking about constantly and are completely infatuated with.

❝humans were such strange creatures. wretched in their mere existence. none of the eight were ever truly interested in them until they found you. they just find. it strange that despite their status and rank, you'd rather spend time with your lover. that isn't much of a problem, though. one they can fix with ease.❞

〘ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ, ᴍʏᴛʜ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰᴀᴇʀɪᴇꜱ〙(m.list)

— pairing: ot8 x reader, focus: jongho x reader, wooyoung x reader; mingi x reader; 9.7k

— note: this is a yandere fic. sensitive topics such as manipulation, gaslighting, murder, and other topics involved with the genre. please heed the warnings and read this work of fiction while keeping this in mind.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: MCD, murder references, manipulation, blood, torture references, dark magic, lying, emotional turmoil, injuries, slight descriptions of gore

Chapter 7:

Sweat sinks into the mats below you, your skin sticking to the rubber. Your hands waver, struggle against the wooden pole gripped in your fists. A slight misstep and you doubt you'd be able to stop it from breaking your neck. He stares at you. His body is not like yours – unmoving, relentless in his hold. You should be a bit proud that you made him sweat at all. There's a bit of perspiration coating his forehead, shiny against the backdrop of darkness. His wear is much more firm that what they usually wear – wispy sheer cloth now a darker, workout-like clothing. He wears nothing on his feet still, blonde hair slicked back, only small strands escaping the style. If it weren’t for the situation you’re in at this very moment, you’d loosen your hold and admire him.

“You will die, nymph, if I pressed even a fraction more.”

Your hold trembles, “I have told you all already that I'm not strong compared to faeries–”

He pulls it from your hands entirely, throwing it to the side. It splinters against the stone wall, you turning your gaze away from smaller pieces flying over. He does not flinch at all, reaching down to grab another pole. This one is more flimsy, plastic as he coats it with powder. You slowly lean forward, desperate to catch your breath. Body aching, you rise to reach for the small bottle of water you brought with you. He looks at you.

“Another.”

You pause in the middle of gulping. “We barely had a break.”

“I never told you that we were pausing. This is not for your comfort. This is to test your limits, to see you turn into a kumiho. To help you defend yourself until you're able to control your own strength at will. Your exhaustion now is mental, nothing more.”

You look down at yourself, body coated in sweat. “Doesn’t look mental to me.”

Mingi merely sighs. “Again, nymph.”

“What happens when I figure out how to control my other self, or whatever you want to call it?”

“We use it to our advantage. We defend against the Seelie, against any who may attempt to dethrone us.”

“And if I don't want that?”

He glances at you, amused. There is no answer to your question but it is an easy guess. They will end your life. Without as much as a second thought.

Not much time has passed since Seonghwa told you what he believed you were. You still vehemently disagree with his assumption, but the others don't. From his guess led you to rarely being left alone with one of them now, except for Mingi, oddly - though you do not doubt one of the others is somewhere around, peeking through a window or hiding in the thickened forest.

Mingi lifts his hand, words mumbled beneath his breath as he stares at the broken stick. It mends itself slowly, morphing into smaller, perfect chips of wood. He flicks his hand, tossing it into the grass. He voted for you to die. Neither of you have brought it up since your life was spared, but you cannot help but wonder. Why did he want you to die? Is it because of Seonghwa, whatever he may have said to him? Did he see your presence as so much of a threat he needed you gone? His personality hasn't changed at all – indifferent, slips of his true personality shown whenever he let his mask fall. From what you can gather from those moments and how he speaks when he doesn't see you around, he's kind. Funny, a bit loud. Endlessly teased by the others. Blunt and honest. A bit more closed off than what you’ve seen before, but it would make sense since he did say he wanted you dead.

You believe you two would be great friends if it weren't for the circumstances surrounding your stay here.

“We leave tonight,” he tosses you the metal stick, and you barely catch it, balancing it between two fingers. “Seonghwa and Jongho will be around. Yeosang and San are hunting but will be back soon, just before we leave. Our house is secure, but it will be more vulnerable while we aren't here. You won't become an expert in Seelie weaknesses in an hour, but this next brief lesson will be enough for you to survive for a few minutes, at least. Until one of us comes to help.”

“How reassuring,” you mumble.

A small smile peeks out. “A brief refresher might be needed. Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

“Hate to break it to you Mingi, but there’s little for me to be happy about right now.”

He snorts, the smile breaking out into a wider grin. “That I know. This is just for information purposes. They can tell it is fake just as we can tell when you are truly afraid. It is part of our nature,” he points to your palms. “The metal that you hold in your hands now is blessed by gnomes. It holds in the wielder’s emotions, whether it be negative or positive, and exemplifies it. Right now from where I stand, I can feel the anxious energy emitting from you. With that in your hand, I can feel it tenfold.”

“And this could help…?” Your doubt is evident in the dragging of your words, peering at Mingi. He nods simply.

“When you are happy, hold that. Magic casted on it helps store it inside. It will lure Seelie to you.”

“And I would want that for?”

He takes it from you, pointing it farther away from the two of you. A spark lights, flying through the air. The crack of the tree crumbling beneath the impact echoes around the night, your own eyes widening at the sight. What once was a lively tree is now a crumbled mess of wood and sticks, flames flickering in the night. He whispers against his hair and blows, the fire dissipating.

“For that.” His eyebrow lifts, passing it back to you. “Use it wisely.”

–

“Yeosang can listen to it. Her thoughts, that is.”

“A bit peculiar,” Seonghwa mumbles, flipping through his book. “Perhaps it is because his gifts have always leaned towards it. He was the first of us to excel at tormenting human minds, it makes sense that he is the only one who can somewhat hear what she thinks.”

“But she is neither a human nor a faerie. It makes less sense that he can do it at all.”

“Well, what do you want me to say?”

“That you will figure out why, at least.”

“There is no reason to anymore.”

Jongho observes him silently, his own thoughts scattered. “You were interested in here before – what changed?”

“Her being a threat to us changed, Jongho. Why would I want to dig deeper into it when I have already told you all that it wasn't a good idea to have her around? One day it will happen. One day she will hurt one of us. Or cause one of us to be hurt. There will be no room for me to say I told you so because we’d be long past that.”

“Then it should be imperative that we start digging deeper into what she can and cannot do.”

Seonghwa turns over his book and flattens it against the wooden desk, peering over his glasses. “And then what? She is already resistant to many of our strengths aside from physical. If I tested her further, it's possible that I may awaken something that's been long buried. I do believe that she doesn't believe she's a kumiho. It's best for us to not trigger her true nature at all. Kumihos are legends – having one rise on Earth now can lead to its destruction.”

“Is it such a good idea to ignore it, though? We would need to know eventually. It’s better for it to happen now rather than later.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes as he stares at his mate. “Has Mingi started his training again? Why that tree is destroyed in the front yard? Is this why we're having this conversation so I won't be furious once I find out?”

Jongho’s lips remain shut, quickly getting to his feet when Seonghwa stands. “Wait, you have to understand why we're doing it. It is to protect us from Seelie, from other faeries. Having someone like her on our side will be an advantage.”

“Then so be it. Do what you'd like. Don't expect me to endorse it, because I won't,” he avoids Jongho’s touch, shaking his head slightly. “I care for you all dearly, and I would listen to any of your opinions on something this serious without as much as a blink. This situation, this woman, how most of you have thrown my words to the side–” He takes a breath. “There's no use in dwelling on it further. Tell Mingi to meet them at the edge of the Rowan trees. They will be waiting.”

Seonghwa walks to his coat rack, raising his finger slightly to slide the clothing over his body. He does not bother looking back at Jongho, knowing well what expression he'd be showing him now. In a different situation, Seonghwa would follow their words, their instincts. Even if he were wrong, completely, having his words disregarded because of lust –

He cannot fathom how he will continue going on like this.

–

Mingi lifts the hood over his head, face disappearing beneath the shadow it forms. Yunho, Hongjoong, and Wooyoung wait at the edge of the trees, as Jongho said. Yunho places a hand on Mingi’s shoulder as he moves just behind Hongjoong. None say a word. Their leader closes his eyes, dead leaves trembling beneath their feet. Though there are no markings, they stand in an old cemetery, long decayed bodies dust beneath the ground in wooden caskets. They watch as the forest speaks to them, warm air gusting, pulling the hoodie off of Mingi’s head. Hongjoong’s reaches back, Wooyoung taking his hand, Yunho taking his, and Mingi taking Yunho’s last. Within a blink they’re gone from the rowan trees. Mingi stumbles slightly as his feet land on unholy soil, Wooyoung whistling as he pulls his own hood off his hair.

“Hells, I’d never get used to that,” he grins. “Is everyone here yet?”

“A few more stragglers, then we’d be able to speak to everyone,” Hongjoong says, their steps identical as they follow him up the stone path. It is silly to consider the building in front of them Unseelie headquarters, but it is where the leaders meet for pertinent discussions. Rarely do any of them ever enter the palace, its essence being cared for by chaos itself. The hall remains empty as Hongjoong swings open the door with a nudge.

“Bothersome, the blood still seeps into the carpet from years ago,” Yunho murmurs, glancing down at the stains. It looks fresh, as if they’ve just slain a creature moments ago. This is what they consider the in-between - this place never really changes. That blood could be from someone who hasn’t existed in this realm for over a hundred years ago and it’d still be fresh. Time does not truly exist where they are, though it passes in the realms beyond.

Mingi barely gives it a glance himself, tucking himself further into the cloak he wears. Wooyoung jumps up slightly, wrapping his arm around the taller Unseelie.

“You’re the one that did it Mingi, no need to feel ashamed!” He touches his back, rubbing it lightly. “Remember how you struck down those Seelie? We haven’t even seen those wings in so long.”

Mingi's back aches, the ribbing of his wings straining against his sealed skin. He hasn't let them breathe for months. They yearn to escape his body, to lift in flight. But for some reason unknown to himself, he cannot, no matter how hard he tries.

“Enough, Wooyoung. We have things to do,” Yunho pulls him away from Mingi. Though neither meet each other’s eyes, Yunho can see how Mingi’s tense body relaxes just a bit, the two Unseelie disappearing down the hall. Leaving Hongjoong and Mingi alone.

The last time this happened was just before Hongjoong asked him to turn into your human partner to break things off permanently with you. His body aches at the thought of molding himself into something else again. But he would do it if Hongjoong asked. Without thinking twice about it.

“They will look to us for answers, Mingi,” Hongjoong says, walking slowly as he follows. “Most would want to start a war.”

“Would you allow it?”

Hongjoong thinks for a moment, “No. Not yet. What you’re doing with the girl, training her. It is smart. It may caution her to pause if she turns on us in the future. Perhaps even our livers will remain intact.” Hongjoong pats his stomach, a dry laugh escaping his lips. “At least for the moment anyway.”

“Is this the path we are going to take? Allowing her to continue training, keeping an eye until the very last moment?”

Hongjoong shrugs, “Do you have anything else to suggest? It was not unanimous, but we voted on keeping her around and alive. At least for now. It’s better to strengthen rather than not. Having a Seelie take her away while we’re in the middle of bonding with her would be unfortunate. But that is not all you’re asking, right?”

Mingi cannot come up with another response, mouth opening and closing. Hongjoong stops walking, turning on his heel to look at Mingi. "It is unbecoming of you to hide your own feelings, Mingi. We all witnessed how your body tormented itself when you turned into her dead partner. It rejected it so violently, because you desire her yourself."

Mingi's frown deepens. "Don't start with this."

"You like her Mingi. I never thought I'd see the day." The teasing look spreads across his face, smirk deep enough to show the small curvature of his dimples just above his lips. Mingi tries to ignore the look as much as he can, but Hongjoong only sits in anticipated silence. Very likely waiting for the words of confirmation.

"Why does it matter if that were true?"

Though it is not a certain confirmation, it is enough for Hongjoong. He hums, "We make our decisions as a spark, Mingi. I won't leave any of you behind as I observe this y/n. I want to know how each of you feel before I offer a choice to all of you."

“We said she will stay alive.”

“Momentarily, yes. But that’s not the choice I was speaking to.”

"Then what choice will that be?"

Hongjoong’s canine peeks out, sinking into his bottom lip. "What would be the fun in telling you that?"

–

Jongho bends the spine in half, wincing slightly as he hears the book’s glue crack. San would be furious seeing him treating the book this way, but alas, he could care so very little. Most of the editions he has on his shelves are what San has gifted him, likely due to how Jongho treated the writing. Books are meant to be read though, he would hate to see unworn copies lining the shelves. His ear twitches, the familiar steps of yours passing his room and down to your own. He never had his door closed until you arrived, many of his spark popping in every now and again to say their greetings. Frankly, he would have kept it open even with your presence if it weren’t for the look Seonghwa threw at him when you first arrived. Now, only the main areas are left open, doors to each of their chambers closed. He knows why Seonghwa worries, why he listens to every conversation someone has with you, why he has carved spells everywhere in the home. The reasoning does not go past him; he is keeping a close-eye on you in the event that you snap. Wooyoung is the only one that has removed the spell on his room though, after his … well, his late night caress with you.

“Your mind always wonders with those tales,” San enters his room, shutting the door behind him. “Mindless enough that you didn’t pay mind to my knockings.”

“I thought you were out hunting with Yeosang?”

“It was brief, there were Seelies hanging around,” San sighs, throwing himself into Jongho’s bed. He glances over, a frown slowly forming. “Yeosang thought it best that we only bring in one miserable human rather than two. So whoever is in dire need of feeding, it’s in the basement. I placed a spell on it to subdue its hysterics temporarily.”

“Basement…” Jongho’s nose wrinkles. “Why do we hide it? She knows we kill humans. In fact, she should encourage it since she is a kumiho.”

“A reformed kumiho, from what we understand. No longer feeding on the livers of men, unfortunately. He thought it best we keep it away so she doesn’t stumble across it.”

“What about you?” Jongho asks softly. His frown slips away as he takes in those three words. “What will you feed on?”

“What I have already done so far, it is enough for now.” “San, that Seelie you ran into while in town with her, he was right. Pushing away your true nature will only make it harder for you to control yourself. You should take his – Hongjoong’s – words into consideration.”

“I am not leaving this spark. I chose this, I chose all of you. Hongjoong knows that, Yeonjun knows that. You know that.” His words carry a sense of finality, leaning up. “I've fought for this, for us to be together as we are now. I gave up everything. And I’ve said that it isn’t up for discussion. I will not leave unless you all kick me out. Is that what you want, for me to be removed?”

Jongho closes his book, “That is not at all what I’m saying, San.”

“For a spark of Unseelie, all of you worry too much about things that do not affect you.” San ignores the look Jongho gives him, waving him off. “I know, no need to give me a talk about how much you all care. I’ve heard it dozens of times.”

“And it seems like it hasn’t sunk in yet despite that.”

“Jongho please,” San closes his eyes, taking a deep breath before speaking. “I love you all, more than you could ever believe. I will protect you with my life if need be. This is a choice that I have made. I will not leave in the face of distant peril. I will not leave because I haven’t grown accustomed to feeding like you. I am here. I’d rather not discuss this again, at least with you. You know where I stand, no?” Jongho’s hand reaches for San’s, and he takes it promptly, lifting it to press his lips on the back. “Promise that you will not discuss this with me again.”

Jongho looks at him, the darkened skin beneath his lids, the redness of his eyes. His inner struggle has not gone unnoticed by any of them - most worried for his well-being. Going against your own nature, it is almost impossible to do. He is only concerned that it may go too far before any of them can help.

“I cannot promise that, you know that,” Jongho says softly. “It may need to be dealt with in the near future.”

“Then promise to not bring it up unless absolutely needed.”

“I promise.”

He leans forward, lips moving from his hand and brushing lightly against Jongho’s lips before moving away. “Alright.”

—

Jongho can see a bit of the appeal of you. Your otherworldly form, though hidden, could be one reason. But despite that, he can see why Wooyoung so desperately needs your presence. It almost makes sense as to why they all somehow enjoyed you around, even if it were a miniscule amount. That is what kumihos do. It worried them all after it was revealed. Most needed firm assurance from Seonghwa that you aren’t far gone enough for them to worry. Despite how much Seonghwa wanted to hide it, he agreed. At least, for now.

Jongho sits on the single sofa chair, eyes flicking over to you.

Your body is mostly covered with the blanket that rests on the couch, a small book beneath the coloring one that you have. It hasn’t been touched since they’ve come here - none desired to rest in the main living space. After you’ve settled yourself in the room, the space has transformed entirely. Spellbooks thrown on the table in the middle, several potions lining the walls, baskets of supplies scattered about. Oftentimes they all spent their free time in the area, chatting about unimportant things even while you weren’t around. It feels more lived in the more he looks at it. He wonders if the rest noticed the change as well.

“You guys love to stare,” you note. He looks at your face, your gaze amused as your eyes flick back down to the page, marker shading the characters. The blanket is wrapped around your head, face barely peeking from the shade it brings. “Is that what you do to lure people to their demise? Watch them until they notice?”

“Most are too occupied with other matters to pay concern to how we hunt.”

“Hmm.” You continue. “Are you on duty now to watch me, then? Seonghwa put you up to this?”

His nose wrinkles. “He hasn’t told me to do anything.”

“That you’re sure of? Because this is the first time I’ve been alone in a room aside from my own, and you haven’t said anything except to stare.”

“I am just curious about you.”

You raise a brow, gliding your marker across the pages. “I’m an open book. You can ask.”

You’ve spent time with each other, small chats turning into a friendship, even if it’s only the beginning of one. He hasn’t pried into your personal life, only commenting on surface level things that wouldn’t get you agitated. Asking what he is curious about may sway what you two have built. It makes him nervous, which is humorous in itself.

“Is it wrong to say that I expected you to turn into a kumiho and run once Seonghwa told us?”

You snicker softly, closing your marker and grabbing another. “It’s not wrong to say, but it’s a little funny. I don’t believe in myself being this nine-tailed fox you talk about. It would be cool if I were, though. I’d feel less defenseless.”

He nods slowly, “You still don’t believe Seonghwa?”

“How could I? His little speech was based on theories, and everytime I try to talk to him about it he leaves the room. I get not wanting to be around me but it’s a bit much, don’t you think? I did one thing that happened months ago and nothing has happened since. He didn’t even take into account the first time I was almost killed by a Seelie in the bookstore. Nothing happened then.”

Ah, he himself forgot about that. “That is what you believe? That you’re not a kumiho?”

You nod, holding a marker between your lips as you dig for another. “I do.”

“Then so do I,” he agrees simply.

“You do?”

“I do.”

“Even if everyone else doesn’t?”

“Since when did our thoughts have to align? I am my own being, y/n, even if you don’t think it true. So if you believe that you’re fully human, then I believe it as well. It shouldn’t be a hard concept to comprehend.”

You pause. None of them so easily believed anything you’ve said to them, even Wooyoung. You can’t quite decipher what Jongho’s end-goal would be - defying everyone else’s beliefs would only cause him trouble in the end. This would hurt him, listening to your words. Why?

You look back down at your coloring sheet. It’s a simple hobby - you rarely indulge due to your busy life. Now that all you do is wake and train then sleep, it fills in the hours of nothing. What you stare down at now, the deepened orange of a sunset, the wide stretched m birds along the horizon. It used to help distract you, calm yourself. But all you can feel now is fear. Endless fear of what is to come.

“I’m a slightly wrinkled book, but you can ask me anything you’d like.”

You let your feelings subside briefly, eyes flicking up to him. “Everytime I ask Wooyoung about other types of fae he doesn’t even let me ask.”

Jongho laughs, “Because he’s stubborn. But I wouldn’t mind. What do you want to know?”

“Which ones are real.”

“Alright.”

Still suspicious, you continue. “Gnomes.”

“Real.”

“Elves.”

“Real.”

“Selkie?”

“Not the term we use, but yes. Real.”

“Sirens.”

“Real.”

Your eyes widened, “So pirates were telling the truth?”

He nods simply, “Yes. But they’re numbers have dwindled. There is likely less than fifty left in this world.”

“If Sirens are real, then-”

“Mermaids are real too, yes,” A cheeky grin crosses his lips as you stare at him in shock. “A small colony is not too far away from us. I can bring you one day if you’d like.”

“This is where you two have gone,” San enters the room, lip twitching into a frown slightly as he observes you. You stop coloring, sliding the markers back into the small box and standing. “Wait, no need to leave because I’ve entered-”

“Not leaving because of you,” the lie falls from your lips. “Leaving because I have to practice with the majik pole Mingi gave me.”

“Majik… pole…?” He watches as you leave the room, eyes meeting Jongho’s. “Is this a human word that I don’t know? I should know, I watch plenty of their cinema.”

Jongho merely snorts, shaking his head.

–

It is not often they attend these meetings. It is usually done with all eight of them in attendance - showing power in numbers is what temperaments Unseelie. Sparks vary in size but rarely do they contain over five Unseelie. Hongjoong’s spark, consisting of eight, is a large factor in his position rarely being threatened. His existence as their leader has not shifted in hundreds of years due to it. So standing now, with only three Unseelie behind him, well, it is not ideal. Mingi can see it well - how they look upon them, the sneers that are hidden usually, displayed on their faces. Sparks of two to five stand beneath them, thoughts elsewhere as Hongjoong speaks. Mingi’s gaze shifts to one group in particular. Decades prior their leader attempted a coup, one that ended in her death. None have been tried since, but it has been long. Soon, the Unseelie will grow tired of Hongjoong’s rule. Soon, their rule may end.

“Seelie have always stuck themselves in places they didn’t belong,” One retorts in the crowd. “It was deserved for some to die. But they have killed several of us, while we have done barely half of ten. We should strike instead of hesitating, it makes us look weak.”

Hongjoong laughs at the suggestion, “Then you venture forth yourself, Hanbin. Tell me how it works out.”

“Are you joking with me?”

“How could I not? Their numbers surpass ours by almost double, they can function at night and during the day. We ourselves cannot use majik as well in the daylight. We are at a disadvantage and have always been. It would be nonsensical to venture down the path of death. But if you'd like to, I won't stop you. Your death will be in your own hands.”

It is a jab, even if it is small. Hanbin’s lips pursed, gaze flicking away. Mingi, Wooyoung, and Yunho do not offer any additional points, knowing only to speak when spoken to. Especially at events like these.

“What do we do then?” Another asks from the crowd.

“We wait.”

“For how long?”

Hongjoong's gaze moves to the one who questioned him, eyes narrowing. “Until it is time.”

–

“They are growing uneasy,” Yunho notes, head covering slipping from his hair. He rests in the chair adjacent to Hongjoong’s rubbing his temple. “Your words will only satiate them momentarily. They will need to know further explanation before trusting in you.”

“They’ve trusted in me for hundreds of years, doubting me now will only bring their peril.”

“We haven’t interacted with the Seelie in hundreds of years too, so there was no need for an uprising. Now that we’re moving closer to a war, it would make sense that they become wary,” Yunho notes, gesturing for Mingi to sit near him. “And we do not have many faerie allies. It makes sense that they worry.”

Mingi ignores the movement, eyes glued to Hongjoong’s. “We should have killed her or given her up to Seelie.”

Hongjoong’s laugh is boisterous, “Give her up? She is a weapon, Mingi. It would be foolish to pass her over. A rare commodity like her cannot just be given away at the inkling of possible chaos. Is that not what we live for?” He moves closer to him, reaching up to pull a loose strand away from his cheek. “Have you grown bored at your old age?”

Mingi steps away slightly, in tune to how Hongjoong’s smile slips. There has been a barrier between them since his last stint, his recovery from the transformation rough. The air thickens a bit in the brief period of silence, Mingi’s eyes anywhere but where he stands.

“I don’t agree with you wanting her dead, but if she is truly what she says she is, would she eventually grow to hate us? It is in her innately,” Wooyoung murmurs, fingers twisting a loose string between them. “She just began to care for me.”

“It’s not impossible, but I’ll try my best not to let it happen,” Hongjoong grabs his overcoat, head flicking to the door. He does not acknowledge the lull in conversation, and neither does Mingi, shifting closer to Yunho. “I have another meeting to attend, but you all can head back. It’s best not to keep our land in such low numbers for so long.”

“I will go with you,” Yunho says, fingertips light against Mingi’s arm as he stands. The touch is brief, Mingi’s breath hitching. “Mingi and Wooyoung can go back.”

“Yun…” Wooyoung whines, stopping once he sees how unsettled Mingi looks. He stands, arm wrapping around his center. “Don’t take too long.”

“I won’t.”

–

You can barely catch your breath, almost dry heaving into the dirt beneath you. Getting away from them to train yourself as hard as you have wasn’t the greatest idea. But you could hardly stand being in a room with more than one of them right now. You wish you could be back in your apartment, or maybe in your bookstore. The smell of old books was much more comforting than being here. Agreeing to staying was not an easy choice to make.

You just didn’t want to die.

You slowly stand, wiping away the small pebbles that indent your knees and palms, flicking them back to the ground. The evening sun burns on your back as you grip the water bottle.

“Fuck this place,” you murmur to yourself. You lean to grab your bag, stopping in place. Not too far off, deep within the darkened forest, something stands there. It does not say a word, but you can see how the silhouette is hidden behind the thick trunks. It does not move. You can feel your heartbeat pick up its pace, your fingers wrapping around your bag tightly as you stare at it. Something tells you not to turn around, not to give it your back.

“y/n?”

Jongho moves into your line of sight. Your gaze flicks over to him only for a second, but when you look back, the figure is gone. His brows furrow at your cold expression, following your gaze. “What’s going on?”

“There was someone there watching me, Jongho,” you move closer to him, fear riddling your body. “I swear there was.”

He nods slowly, recognition crossing his features. “No need to worry, just pixies.”

“Pixies?” Your voice is incredulous, glancing back at the spot. “I thought no one else could enter this land?”

“Pixies aren’t allowed to enter our territory, yes. But they live in the rowan trees. That lining that you see around us, it’s the barrier between us and them. They haven’t been really active when you’re around, so I’m a bit shocked that they showed themselves to you anyway,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “Seonghwa isn’t going to be happy they're still hanging around.”

“Are they…?”

“Will they hurt you?” Jongho asks, and you nod. “No. They’re curious faeries, a bit mischievous, but they only care for the trees. Maybe they will make you trip over a branch or fall into a fit of laughter, but that’s all. They’re just curious about you - not many see kumihos in person.”

“How do they know about that?”

“They listen to the trees speak, y/n. For us, our home is a giant one.” He winces at something you cannot hear, turning toward the house. Though your senses aren’t as heightened as Jongho’s, you can hear doors opening and shutting loudly, a familiar voice erupting throughout. “An Unseelie is running through the halls to look for you. You should go and meet up with him, less of a chance he’d break something.”

“Maybe later,” you say. Jongho looks a bit surprised, brow raised. “Believe it or not, sometimes I do want to spend time with people other than him.”

“Me?” His cheek lifts, eyes flicking between yours. “Wooyoung has monopolized you. I just thought you enjoyed it.”

“I do enjoy him, but I also enjoy hanging out with you.”

Jongho does not respond. His cheeks lift at your words, glancing at the house before resting on you. Though no words are exchanged, he turns and walks toward the woods, your steps following him close. There is little hesitation as he holds out his hand, your fingers easily sliding into his palm. Just as you hear the backdoor of the house creak, Jongho and you disappear into the brush.

–

“Has she not had enough of him?” His voice is sour, disgruntled brows seemingly permanently furrowed. Seonghwa merely rolls his eyes, shifting another box into the corner with the flick of a finger. It has barely been an hour since you left with Jongho, and Wooyoung has decidedly glued himself to Seonghwa’s quarters. He’s not as used to Wooyoung seeking his advice, the Unseelie often only letting Hongjoong’s whisper sweet words to him. More recently, though, despite his stance on your presence in their home, Wooyoung lets himself into his personal areas more often than not, pestering him about you. “She’s spent most of her time with him idly by, she should miss me more.”

“Overcrowding her isn’t going to help her seek you, Wooyoung,” Seonghwa mumbles, glancing over his work. “Has Hongjoong arrived yet?”

“But she likes me more,” he insists, glaring at his mate.

“Stop acting like an unruly pixie and give her space. Where is Hongjoong?”

“It isn’t fair, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Wooyoung, I’ve asked the question twice already.”

Wooyoung sighs, rubbing his head. “He stayed behind a while longer. Yunho stayed with him just in case.”

“And Mingi?”

“He came back with me then left, saying something about seeking refuge outside this home. You know how he is, with his pretty words.”

Seonghwa narrows his eyes, thinking. “Did any of them say when they’ll be coming back?”

“Likely not until tomorrow. But for Mingi, who knows. Maybe Yunho or San can find him meandering the unholy lands.”

That is the one he is worried for. Seonghwa steps to a window, gaze resting upon the thickened forest. Jongho knows better than to keep you in the rowan trees after dark, so Seonghwa isn’t too worried. Nothing is out there now that could stir something within you. Wooyoung steps near him, hand wrapping around his limp fingers. He squeezes it once, lips pressing against his jaw before stepping away and out.

Seonghwa rubs his temple. Whatever Hongjoong may or may not be up to, he knows well enough that it’s not good. He hates the unnecessarily lavish mansion, and hates appeasing Unseelie to stop a revolt. Politics is something none of them enjoy. So his stay after everything has been settled is just odd in itself.

He does not like this feeling.

Not at all.

–

Jongho holds a finger to his lips, looking back at you. You nod, shifting closer to his body as you look ahead. The lake is vast. These woods surprise you with the amount of differentiation of ecosystems hidden. Likely due to it being filled with faeries and other magic. You do recall the townsfolk speaking of avoiding venturing deeper into the forest. The festival that you attended months ago was another way of preventing anything nefarious from sneaking out from the leaves. You didn’t believe it at the time, but now it makes sense. Though it did not stop Seonghwa from seeking you out.

Jongho lightly touches your shoulder, guiding you to sink further behind the large bush. You do not see it at first.

The water shimmers, current swirling. The lake seems to bubble, large fins rising from its depths. You hold a hand over your mouth as you gaze ahead, heads appearing one by one. They’re too far for you to see clearly, but Jongho warned you that this was a safe enough distance. He could protect you if it ever came to it, but he preferred to not start another quarrel that wasn’t needed.

The mermaids aren’t what you imagined. Heads covered in scales, luminescent. Their laughter flows through the air and into your ears. Like bells chiming as wind flows through them. They’re alluring - beauty behind what your mind could conjure up by itself. Jongho’s hand reaches for yours, fingers entwining. His whisper is barely heard, but you can see the water moving. The mermaids turn to where Jongho and you are, but they do not move. The current grows wild, thrashing against the shoreline. He pulls you away from it all, your head turning back for a last glance.

Though they’re too far away for you to see details of their faces, their stare unsettles you.

As if they are warning you.

–

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you closer,” Jongho explains, sending you a small smile. “Seonghwa would kill me if I let something happen. We already have enough happening to last a lifetime.”

“I’m thankful you brought me here, anyway,” you say, letting his hold help you over a deep hole. “What spell did you cast, just before we left?”

“High tides,” he grins. “They began sensing someone was watching. Unlike the mermaids from the tales, they can breathe on land. But they much prefer the coolness of water. I stopped them from getting closer to us as we left,” he glances up at the sky. “It’s getting late.”

“Is San going to yell at us?” you joke, and he laughs lightly.

"Believe it or not, he’s quite adventurous in comparison to Seonghwa. He loves so tenderly, there has never been one kinder," Jongho says softly. "He praises me like I'm the most, but we all know it is him. Not one of us matches his devotion."

You’re not too sure how to respond to that, San’s resolute anger at your presence only waning slightly. You’re sure he’d prefer if you weren’t here at all, even though he voted to save your life. But Jongho believes you when you say you’re not a kumiho, so you’ll believe him when he speaks of San.

"You're my favorite human friend," Jongho whispers, gazing at the branches that hang over you. "I'm sorry that I want you to be more than that."

Now this is surprising. You stop walking, hand leaving him. He looks at you, cheeks flushed. “Ah, I didn’t mean to say that out loud.”

"More?" Is all you can muster to say.

His soft gaze resting on yours. It's hard to keep your eyes steady on his, the feeling leaking from the heavy look more than what you've ever experienced before. With Wooyoung, with Soobin. They looked at you lovingly, sure, but Jongho? Your stomach twists the more you hold his gaze.

"I'm sorry that I am so desperate to be your lover."

The breeze whispers through the leaves, hairs resting on his forehead lifting back from his skin. A scar from the banquet hall fight months prior shines at you. A reminder of what he's done, what he did, and what he will continue to do, as long as the others agree to it. It's overwhelming, these strange feelings appearing with them all. All unique and different, but still quite new.

"Why are you trying to go where I can't follow,?" He asks softly after the brief quiet.

"I'm right here."

His lips curl into a soft smile, "You were in that mind of yours. I can't go there."

You swallow. "I'm scared, Jongho."

"I know," his eyes soften, lids heavier. "It's a lot to say when we haven't known each other for that long. And it frightens me even more that I feel this way. You don’t need to do anything about my feelings. I’ll be fine as I am now."

His eyes flick to the sky, “But we should probably head back. Seonghwa must be furious.” He holds out his hand, and you take it, letting him pull you forward through the path you took.

–

Furious is an understatement.

Seonghwa paces back and forth on the edge of the woods, hands crossed against his chest, angered eyes unmoving as you two enter the clearing. Jongho lets go of your hand, opening his mouth to speak. Seonghwa does not allow it though - frown deepening as he waits for you two to come closer.

“I lost track of time.”

“I can see that.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. You expect seething words from Seonghwa, but he only sighs, waving him off.

“Go inside. I need to speak with her by myself.”

Jongho gives you a pitiful look before disappearing from sight, leaving the two of you alone. As alone as you can be, with the watching eyes of everyone in the home behind you. He rubs his forehead, long, exasperated breaths continuing to leave his lips. His expression is pained as he meets your eyes, lips downturned.

“You continue to cause more trouble than you are worth.”

“What a nice thing to say,” your tone drips with sarcasm, crossed arms resting against your chest. His gaze roams over you. It is nothing sensual, mute annoyance at best. “Good thing I don’t plan on being here so long.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa’s brow raises. “What will you do without us?”

“Once I have trained enough, I’m leaving. I’ll take care of myself, far far away from here.”

“I have no complaints about that,” Seonghwa shrugs. “I just wonder if the others would be as amicable.”

Wooyoung. And now, Jongho.

“They will live.”

There are questions in his eyes, likely because of the ‘they’, but he does not probe further, sighing. “I just want everyone to be safe, kumiho. Especially Wooyoung. He has grown into our spark, mended himself with ease. There is reason why he feels that he must be loved by us all without as much as a slight worry. His insecurities on being the last have not gone away, despite the years. Hongjoong has tried to reassure him endlessly. Giving him leeway on things that happen, using his punishments as just time to reflect. But sometimes his inner turmoil catches up to him.”

“So he thinks he cares for me this way, but it's not the case.”

Seonghwa hums, likely choosing his next words carefully. “I wouldn't speak for Wooyoung, but we've all experienced these moments with him. I am sure he cares for you tremendously, but what comes into question is how much. Is it because he truly truly wants you to be his, or is it because he wants you to not reject him? That worry hasn't gone away and it's been hundreds of years. I doubt it will suddenly mend itself now. I am concerned, and I know it's wildly unserious for an Unseelie to, but I do. I hope that you will care for his heart.”

His lips lift slightly. “Perhaps it would have been better if you were a human, after all.”

“Well I am, and nothing has changed.”

He does not say anything, looking back at the house. “I will kill you if you hurt any of them. Kumiho or not.”

“You will try.”

His expression breaks, smile growing. “Haven’t you gotten bold?”

–

He watches you, how your laugh erupts from your lips. Eyes closed, hand over your lip muffling the sweet sound. His fingers grip the cup, eyes roaming to your body sinking into Wooyoung's side. How you do it with such ease, his arm wrapping around you, pulling you closer. He barely gives you a glance as he does so. Seonghwa knows his own affection is opposite to his mate's. He knows that he's aggressively avoided each chance he has had with you alone. So the bitterness itching the back of this throat shouldn't be there. He wanted you gone – not killed, just far away from them. For their safety, for their protection.

He hates this.

Wooyoung presses his lips against your temple, your lashes fluttering at the soft caress. Seonghwa places his cup down, the click of the ceramic against the marble catching only Mingi's attention. He meets his eyes. Mingi does not say anything, but he does not need to. He could see the uneasiness spilling from Seonghwa even if the others could not. His curious eyes only confirm it.

Seonghwa looks away.

“Nymph, training.” Mingi says simply. Seonghwa sees how you tense at the word. Wooyoung does as well, thumb rubbing your arm before letting you go. The rest carry on their conversations as you follow Mingi out the room, Wooyoung's eyes lingering on the empty doorway.

Just as the doors close behind them, Wooyoung leans forward. “You could hide your jealousy just a bit, hyung. I could feel you seething before seeing it.”

“Don’t say things that make zero sense.”

“A lie within truth, you’ve become an expert at it,” Wooyoung waves him off. “Worry not, I'm jealous too.”

“I said –”

“And I chose not to listen,” he grins, poking his side before stepping away.

–

A few days have passed since then. The others slowly came back, Hongjoong still away for a while. Mingi barely acknowledged after the small training session with you, Yunho sending you a smile before the two disappeared into their respective rooms. You’ve spent some time with Wooyoung, the silence filled with his tales of the in-between. He didn’t notice how your face contorts as he explained their feasts, bodies piled as the Unseelie celebrated. Their feeding habits are not unknown to you, but listening to how much he enjoys killing only makes your chest ache. A vivid reminder of what you’ve gotten yourself into.

“Your face is twisted,” he points out after a moment. “Is something disturbing you?”

“I’d rather not hear about your murders, if you don’t mind.”

He laughs. “I am an awful being, solaris,” his smile slips. “There are things that you will never know, never fathom. You may never look at me the same if it came out. That is what worries me, what keeps my mind open at night. It is why I’ve rarely rested since you’ve come here. Why I cannot leave you longer than a few days because I am desperate for you to yearn for me the same. And I know that is impossible, due to your true nature,” his fingers shake as he takes yours into his, “And despite my being of chaos, I do not want it to fall on you.”

“You can tell me what you’re hiding, and I will listen, Wooyoung.”

He shakes his head, “I cannot.”

“This, between the two of us, will end if you do?”

His breath hitches, eyes meeting yours. “It will.”

The fear of not knowing would linger if he never says it. And he knows that. He will not utter it, even if you pry over and over. Even if you leave. Because he is still an Unseelie. And he admits that he is selfish. You could be letting out your last dying breath, and he wouldn’t say it.

Oh, how that scares you terribly.

“You expect me to stay after you’ve told me this?” It is a genuine question, one that you really need answered.

“I expect you to trust me when I say you being here is the only way we can protect you. I expect you to understand that once you leave, you will be taken by the Seelie. And we may never meet eyes again.”

You love him. You do. But what you’ve learned since your last love leaving you is that you can love again. It will hurt terribly, leaving them, but you will live. You will grow. Perhaps the look in your eyes makes him panic, his fingers tightening in their grip. You have seen him angry, hurt, confused. The way he looks at you now frightens you more than any of those times. It is something he has only slipped when you’re in bed together, but seeing it now, it leaves you utterly cold.

Obsession.

He will not let you go. So your next question is fairly straightforward.

“Will you try to kill me if I leave you?”

His eyes widened. “Not… I…” He pauses. “You have to understand the others and their position, solaris. We are not good. But, San, San is good. He is innately good. He has never been like the other Seelies, he has always been different. He has always cared differently. Faeries are selfish, we all are. But he, him, there is not one faerie who can surpass how much care he has in him. And I so desperately want to,” Wooyoung stares at his hands, slowly curling his fingers into his palms. “I want to be good like San. Will you love me, then?” His eyes seemingly glow in the dim light, “Or will I have to always be second to him?”

“There isn't a ranking here, Wooyoung.” And what is he speaking to? Neither of you have ever brought up San in conversations. You don’t even love San, let alone like him. Has someone told him something you haven’t?

“Oh, but there is. You hate Hongjoong, that is what I am sure of. You care for Jongho, for Yunho. But me… even though we have been together, you do not care for me as I do you. I can feel it. I can feel your hesitation when it comes to me.”

“Enough.”

You pull your hand from his, his grip limp. He stands just as you do, eyes flicking behind you. There is no need for you to turn and see who it is, his resolute tone enough. His body is close enough that you must feel the heat emitting from his skin. His fingers lightly brush against your forearm as he moves to get to Wooyoung. You are not unaffected by the brief contact, sliding down your sleeve to get rid of the feeling.

San makes his way in front of his lover, sliding onto one knee. “What are you speaking of to her, Wooyoung? When was the last time you fed?”

“Just days ago, San. I’m okay,” his tone is insistent, eyes flicking to you. “I won’t do anything, I just want to speak with her.”

“Have you heard yourself?” San asks, shaking his head. “This isn’t good for you, letting your thoughts roam like that.”

The way he speaks to him is strange. How his hand is tight around Wooyoung, the other pressed harshly on his shoulder.

As if he is restraining him.

Their words are quieter as you watch, your attention moving to just behind them, on your porch. Your eyes begin to widen.

Something rests on the railing, the same eyes that stared at you through the forest only nights ago. The ones that Jongho insisted were just pixies. The creature grips the railing, large feathered wings draping against its back, gaze still on yours. You stand up quickly, San and Wooyoung looking at you.

“San–” You can barely let his name come out, their heads turning to look back. There isn’t enough time for any of you to register what is happening, the creature breaking through the glass. Its claws sink into Wooyoung’s shoulders, its grip pulling him away from San and out through the broken paned doors. The scream that erupts from San is agonizing, but everything happens too quickly. You can hear crashing downstairs, likely the same creatures attacking everyone in the home. A firm grip on your arm pulls you back. You look to see Mingi, blackened blood smeared on his body as he steps in front of you. His clothing is shredded, barely held together. You left your practicing gear outside, and you’d doubt you’d be able to reach it before one of these things grabs you. All you can do is stand behind him as he moves forward, panic rising in your body. San is fighting off the creatures with ease - oddly none have targeted you just yet.

They seem to be able to fight each one that appears through the crumbled wall with ease, until more and more pile inside. You hear his scream before you see it. San’s body is thrown across the room and into you, the two of you tossed out the room and into the hallway. Mingi yells, but he cannot reach you. You struggle beneath San’s body, struggling to lift him off of you. He grunts, pulling himself off of you.

He stumbles onto his feet but cannot seem to hold his own body weight up, falling to his knees. You’re able to grab him before he hits the floor face first, blood coating your fingers. You rest on your bottom, holding his upper torso on your legs. You look down the hallway, the blur of bodies fighting off the creatures. You don’t have the strength to drag him and you’re afraid to, the gaping hole in his chest stopping you from attempting.

It is all so dark. His blood covers every inch of your palms, seeping through the cracks of your fingers as you desperately press the cloth over it. It is of no use – it bleeds through, dripping to the wood beneath your feet. It splatters against your cheek as he attempts to speak. A shh escaping your lips. You can see how the others fight, their gazes moving to San beneath you, yearning to help and be by his side. Their loud shouting occupies your ears, how they ache, unable to stop the fight even briefly to pull San away from it all. To help him live. To save his life. You are useless in saving him. You haven't the knowledge or spells to mend the deep wound. His fingers wrap around yours that hold him, a soft smile showing the blood that reflects against stained teeth. He will die soon, and you can only look at him in grief. Until, that is, until Mingi's words sink into you.

“Seelie and Unseelie are similar in many ways, and different in so much more. To put it simply – they thrive on light, on goodness, luck, wealth, care, etcetera. We feed on terror, fear, life, chaos. We may seem evil, of which we are to a certain extent, but our kind are both faeries. Our weaknesses are similar. Seelie in particular, though, has a greater one. How joyous we as Unseelie are when we find someone in despair is quite comparable to how aroused they are when they see pure happiness. It is their greatest weakness.”

You look down at him. Your fear, your hurt, it should be able to help him now. To let him feed, gain his strength back. But your angst seems to not affect him at all - the blood continuously pouring from his lips, his body barely holding on. Unseelie wouldn’t hesitate to use you to help themselves. But San, he does not seem even the least bit phased.

You remember when San saved you from the Seelie at the train station, the words uttered to San odd, but not notable enough for you to inquire about it at the time.

“You have forgotten yourself, San. There is only so much you can do before she knows as well.”

San is not an Unseelie.

He never was an Unseelie.

You use your free hand to wipe your tears away, forcing your eyes shut. The idea is likely hopeless, your sadness might be too deep to push away, but you can’t sit here and let him die. Your fingers wrap tightly around his hand, willing yourself to think of something happier. You haven’t thought of Soobin in a while, but it’s the only warm memory you can think of. You look at San, how his eyes stay on yours. How the pulse of his heart seems to slow down, blinks following suit. You will yourself to focus on happier memories, letting one hand go to push his hair away from his face. The memories are not enough, though. His hold loosens on your hand, steady eyes glossing over.

No.

“y/n, move!”

You turn to the side, one of the creatures holding Mingi against the wall. He grunts, elongated limbs thrashing against its face. He cannot break free.

“San…” You whisper, “Please.”

His smile slips, grip loosening completely. You’re unable to leave his side, no matter how much the voices shout at you to go. To leave San behind. Claws dig harshly into your shoulder blades, pulling you away from him. You try reaching for the framing of your room, but the creature is exponentially stronger than your own grip, ripping you from the home, out the gaping hole they took Wooyoung through.

#fic: wonderwall #ateez x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader #yunho x reader #yeosang x reader #san x reader #mingi x reader #wooyoung x reader #jongho x reader #ateez fanfiction #ateez fics #ateez angst

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thefallennightmare · 4 months

Text

Just Pretend-sixteen

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Parings: Noah Sebastian x Musician! Reader

Warnings/Tropes: language, angst, fluff, smut, star-crossed lovers, right person/wrong time, cheating, talks of mental abuse.

Summary: “I can wait for years, heaven knows I’m not getting over you.” A story about two star-crossed lovers, that always find their way back because their souls are entwined. The universe desperately attempts to bring them together, no matter what the cost.

Authors Note: Please listen to Eyelids by PVRIS during this chapter. Thank you very much.

Collaborating With: @thescarlettvvitch(better give her all the love as well)

Tags: @thescarlettvvitch @ozwriterchick @waake-meee-up @notingridslurkaccount @niicoleleigh @sammyjoeee @xxrainstorm @dominuslunae @notmaddihealy @malice-ov-mercy @crimson-calligraphyx @iknownothingpeople @writethrough @thebadchic @blackveilomens Claudia on Tumblr @tobe-written @blacksoul-27 @loeytuan98 @loverofagoodbeard @comfortcharactercraze @lma1986 @plutonikchaos1 @spicywhenspeaking @lyschko666 @somewhere-diamond @hi-fancy-seeing-you-here @koskeepsake @bngurngheart @shilohrosechicken @emzandthevoid

READER

With the notebook in my lap, as I sat cross-legged on my bed with Salem curled up next to me, purring away, I watched intently my laptop screen. My heart pounded so hard in my chest it made it hard to breathe. Noah and Jolly were currently performing a live stream on Veeps and from the moment I clicked on the video, I couldn’t stop staring; with his long hair cascading down his face in perfect waves. His face stone with concentration but yet soft with the features I loved.

“Do you think he’ll mess up like the last stream he did?” I asked Salem while scratching his belly.

Noah’s voice was something extremely distinctive, not just anyone could hold a tune or lit a candle to how he sounded. The way he effortlessly went through every emotion in his body. I looked at Noah as he was pretty still, with thick hair and soft eyes, and he swayed so gracefully that it almost seemed as though he was gliding. I’ve seen beautiful men before; men who caught my eye, but to my mind, they usually lacked the traits I found most desirable. Traits like intelligence, confidence, strength of spirit, passion, traits that inspired others to greatness, traits I aspired to myself, all the traits he had.

I hung off the cliff for Noah for a long time until recently, when I fell to the depths below.

It sparked something in me as I watched Jolly and Noah’s performance. I wanted to do something like this too; to showcase my real voice. I was better without Trey; the band was better. Trey wasn’t the end-all, and I wanted to prove it further. I understood the fans; I knew their positions; I understood their inner turmoil and their panic. Change is actually horrific under some circumstances, not all, but surely a few. This one was big.

Hollow Souls was never supposed to be a 3 piece. Hell, we didn’t even have a guitar player and our tech had to fill in when we recorded My House. Which is why I was learning how to play guitar so I could take Trey’s place. A lot of change within a few months and while it was scary, it was also exciting. But that didn’t stop me from questioning once again if we needed another person. What if I wasn’t strong enough to do this alone? Just the three of us?

What the hell were you worried about, angel?

I was thinking so heavily about what Noah texted me. He was proud of me. Of me! And my friends. That woke me up, he always could. I wanted to grab my phone to call him, and ask him for more reassurance. Our 2:30 conversations were slim and in between and I was struggling with that. I didn’t want to push my luck; he had Bailey.

Bailey.

I rolled my eyes, at the memories of the party. Ridiculous. I was tiptoeing around Noah; I knew if I called him I’d so desperately try to stay on the line. But what if she showed? It was killing me.

Therefore, I was hesitant to perform Eyelids; I was worried Noah’s reaction would warrant further frustration, considering he was in the arms of someone else. I couldn’t handle it because it fucking hurt seeing him with her. I wanted Noah to myself, as selfish as that sounded. I could only hope that in the discovery of my lyrics, he’ll at least know I meant everything we did and said that whole tour, meeting him changed my life for the better; before I hurt him.

I miss him and I only wished I was in his arms.

As the livestream ended, I smiled warmly as Noah and Jolly waved goodbye at the camera and then tried to focus my attention on the paper in my lap.

Amongst the idea of our own live stream, I couldn’t help but want more out of me. It was small; it was something just dying to purge out. However, the more I looked at the lyrics on paper, the more it didn’t fit; it wasn’t me. It was as if these lyrics were meant for someone else.

Letting out a deep breath, I sang a harmony I thought would fit with the lyrics. “Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask.”

The more I read it, over and over. It was good; I’ll say that. But, surely it didn’t belong to me. I could feel that. But I didn’t give up yet. I wrote another verse, hoping this one would speak more of me.

“I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself and tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.”

Fuck, even singing these lyrics didn’t feel right. My heart knew that this didn’t belong to me, it was meant for someone else.

Making a rash decision, I pulled out my phone and clicked on the name I needed help from.

“Hello?”

I perked up at the accent immediately. “Jolly! Hey, it's me. Y/N.”

A light chuckle echoed in my ear. “I know who it is, doll, I have caller ID.”

“Ok don’t be smart,” I teased.

“Sorry,” he laughs, “What do I owe the pleasure?”

I bit my lip, wondering how he would take my idea. It sounded rash in my head but if anyone were to listen to my idea; it was Jolly.

“I have something to run by you. Well, actually a few things.”

NOAH

My knee bounced as I sat in my chair, phone gripped tightly in my hand, as I glanced at the clock on my computer.

2:28.

It has been almost a week now since our last 2:30 call and the last one was short as she was running around Japan with her dad. Things were awkward to say the least at the party the other night and I wanted to make sure that things between us were still good.

Good? What’s considered good anymore? You’re dating someone else, dumbass.

Ignoring the voice in my mind, I let out a deep breath before clicking on Y/N’s name; the ringing echoing loudly in my quiet room. It rang and rang and rang. It went on like this for a few more times until, eventually; I hung up the call with a groan. But I wasn’t ready to give up yet and I typed out a quick message to Malcolm.

ME: Is Y/N around? I tried calling her.

Malcolm: Yeah, she’s been in the shower. Has been in there for a while- too long, maybe shaving or some shit. I’ll have her call you.

An audible, deep groan, fell from my lips as I leaned my head back against the headrest of my chair when the thought of Y/N in the shower.

Naked, water, and soap ran down every inch of her unholy skin.

“Shit,” I cursed when my dick twitched in my sweats.

“Noah.”

Y/N’s voice rang in my ear as my eyes fluttered shut, hands in fists on my thighs. My vision was so vivid as if I was in the shower with her, our wet skin ablaze as I wrapped my arms around her from behind to bury my face into the crook of her neck.

“Angel,” I breathed while my palm pressed against my hard cock in my sweats.

My hips raised from the chair as a moan crawled out of my throat, my hand now all but ripping out my dripping cock from my pants. It was red and thick with the mere thought of Y/N in the shower. Gripping it between my fingers, I slowly pumped up and down, thumb grazing over the pre-cum that leaked out from the slit and circled it around the head of my cock.

“Noah, I need you.”

Her name fell from my lips as a prayer while I leaned farther back into my chair as my hand worked faster, the grip around myself tightened as the orgasm buzzed in my lower stomach. The burn felt so good but it wasn’t enough; I needed something else to help me over the edge.

I pulled the extra skin down tight, cock standing straight up in my hand, as I let out a strangled breath. My orgasm was right there, but I wanted to edge myself longer; I didn’t want this vision to end.

Y/N rubbed the soap over every inch of her skin, her fingers teasing over her nipples as he head fell back, water spraying into her mouth.

But after that vision, another one came to mind which made my hand work in faster strokes. Y/N on top of me with her hands gripping my braids as her mouth fell slack with ecstasy. I consistently became a time traveler of that night, the night she rode me into oblivion. A night I’ll surely never forget. Even in these moments, my mind goes there.

“Fuck. Shit.” I cursed as a shock shot from the base of my spine to the top when my body went stiff, orgasm so close to destroying me.

I jerked when my phone buzzed against the computer desk so I stopped my actions but kept my grip tight on my aching cock to realize Bailey was calling me.

Ignore.

With my phone still in my hand, I quickly went to my photos and clicked on one of my favorite pictures of Y/N; from the day we spent on the beach. She was staring straight out into the water, a small smile playing on her sweet, plump lips.

Fuck, I wished those lips were strangled around my cock.

Once the phone was set up directly in front of me, I leaned back into my chair again and worked my hand in fast short strokes, the orgasm once again burning low in my belly.

“Noah.” Y/N’s voice echoed in my mind again.

“Shit, angel. I’m gonna-fuck,” I groaned low, the noise barely audible as it crawled out of my throat when my release finally washed over me.

Cum shot all over my hand and onto my pants but none of that mattered; my dark eyes were stuck on the picture on the screen. Until a different picture appeared which had me cursing and wiping my cum covered hand on my pants before tucking myself back into my pants. Just a simple phone call from her had my dick aching again.

With a few steady breaths, I ran my clean hand through my hair before answering the FaceTime call; Y/N’s bright smile warming my heart.

“Hi Mochi! I didn’t mean to miss your call. I was in the shower.”

She was sitting on her bed, water still dripping from her wet hair, and internally I groaned when the same thoughts as earlier came creeping back into my mind.

“Oh yeah? You-uh-feeling clean?” I flushed while shifting in my chair.

“Well, yeah,” she chuckled. “That’s what a shower is. Water, soap.”

Naked, I know the drill.

I cleared my throat. “Right. Anyway, can you talk or is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I was going to send this in the group chat but since I have you on the phone, I figured now would be the best time.”

I raised a brow as my heart pounded widely in my chest, wondering what she was going to say.

“Veeps offered Hollow Souls to do a stream as well! So I wanted to make sure you were free to watch it, maybe? Totally fine if you can’t, I know you might be busy with-.”

“I’ll watch it,” I rushed out, not missing a beat. “What time?”

“Oh, in about 2 hours?” She bit her lip, hopeful I’d say yes.

My dick throbbed as memories of moments before her phone call replayed in my mind. “I’ll have the tv on standby downstairs, angel. We wouldn’t miss that shit for anything.”

Y/N smiled brightly as she brought Salem into view of her phone, his green eyes staring directly into my soul. “Salem thanks you for the support.”

“I miss him, we really bonded while you were gone,” I smiled a bit.

“Well, you can come by anytime to hang out with him; or me,” Y/N added the last bit slyly.

“Count me in, angel.”

READER

Once dressed, almost ready for the live stream, I was rummaging through my sock drawer to find a pair of socks when my fingers brushed against something soft. My brow raised as I pulled out two small velvet boxes, my mind immediately going back to my birthday.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I opened the box, and a gasp left my lips as the silver necklace and matching bracelet shined under the light of the room. It wasn't anything over the top and there were no diamonds but that didn't matter to me. I wasn't one for over-the-top jewelry, this simple chain and bracelet were enough.

With wet eyes, I gazed up at Noah, who had a nervous look on his face as he fiddled with his wooden rosary. "Do you like it?"

I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him into my embrace, burying my face into his neck. "I love it, Noah. Thank you so much."

With the haste of break up, the end of the tour, the move, and everything that happened between Noah and me, I almost forgot about the jewelry. I've stared at this bracelet and this fucking necklace for a while now. To think I had almost forgotten it, I shook my head at the thought. I couldn’t, things that were meant for us to find their way back. Well; at least that’s what I told myself. I yearned for him, his comfort, his gaze. I didn’t plan on falling in love with him. But once we met, it was clear that neither of us could control what was happening to us. I gasped when I realized what that burning feeling in my heart took over my entire existence each time I thought of him or saw him.

I love Noah.

I nearly stumbled on my feet as a breath fell from my lips again. “It’s too late now.”

With shaky hands, I opened the box, my heart skipping a beat. It still took my breath away as I opened the box, clasping on the necklace first then the bracelet.

“I have to admit, Salem” I turned towards the mirror in my room so I could stare at my reflection while the cat sat on my vanity. “Noah did pretty well.”

There was a knock on my open door, and I gave a small smile towards Jolly. “Hey.”

“Almost ready?” He asked.

“Yep.”

He then taped a finger to his neckline twice. “That’s a nice necklace. Who gave you that?”

“It was a birthday gift,” I shrugged nonchalantly.

The corner of Jolly’s mouth turned up in a grin. “That’s not what I asked.”

Ignoring his comment, I slid into my slippers and led him out of my room down to the dining room where we set up earlier.

Jolly first arrived a few hours ago for our daily lessons before helping me set up the stream. After I watched theirs almost a week ago, I asked Jolly if he could come over to help me with my stream. I couldn’t play guitar but we could practice the two songs I wanted to perform.

Chase and Malcolm asked if I needed them for this but I could tell they already had plans. Even though this was a Hollow Souls set, it was more of an acoustic version so Chase on drums and Malcolm on bass wasn’t needed; hence why I asked Jolly to help. First off, who else was better to teach me how to play guitar than him? I knew the basics, but he was helping me hone in on my skills. Second, I needed to talk to him about something important.

As I finished making things were in order, Jolly sat on his chair to strum the first few notes of If I’m There on his guitar.

“Feel comfortable enough?” He wondered.

I nodded while looking at the laptop to make sure the stream was ready; all I had to do was hit the live button.

“Yep. We’ve been practicing every day. It helps I have a great teacher,” I beamed at him. “Thanks for this, Jolly. I didn’t know who else to ask and I know you’re Noah’s friend first.”

Jolly shrugged. “You’re my friend as well, doll. I help my friends and that’s something Noah knows and understands.”

Silence fell between us for a long moment until he hesitated.

“How did you feel about our new single, honestly?”

My shoulders went rigid for a second before I shrugged. “I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?”

“Y/N don’t take this the wrong way, but you can’t be that dense. You know it was about you, right?” Jolly asked.

“I-,” The words died in my throat.

Jolly raised a brow. “Yeah, so tell me. How do you feel about it?”

“Are you my shrink now?” I crossed my arms over my chest, one last ditch effort at shielding myself from admitting the truth.

“No, a friend,” he sighed while setting down the guitar.

Defeated, I fell into the chair with a groan. “I-I feel sad. Noah must fucking hate me.”

“I assure you, he doesn’t,” Jolly said.

“How can you be so sure, Jolly? He went and found someone else. He’s clearly writing how he feels too. I hate feeling like this.” I sat with my hands folded in my lap as I chipped away at the nail polish.

“So talk to him, because I can tell you right now, Noah’s not head over heels for this girl. I think you know deep down what he’s trying to do.”

I refused to meet his gaze as I shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean. I can’t-he seems happy.”

“Y/N,” Jolly sighed. “He’s not happy unless he’s with you.”

“Then he needs to tell me that,” my eyes snapped up towards him. “I was going to express some things I’ve discovered but-.”

Jolly raised his brows. “Discovered what?”

For a split second, I thought about telling him but decided against it. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t mess anything up for him. I need Noah to need me. It works both ways, Jolly.”

“Y/N you’re not understanding you’ve got it all wrong-.”

“Can we move on, please? It hurts enough to think about him with someone else the last fucking thing I want to do is talk about them,” I let out a shaky breath as my bottom lip wobbled.

Jolly gave me a weak smile. “Sure thing, doll. Did you want to go live?”

“Actually,” I bit my lip before reaching over to the table to grab a piece of paper. “There’s something I want to run by you.”

When he nodded, I handed Jolly the paper. “I wrote it about Trey but the thought of recording it scares me. It’s deeper than what I typically write and it's not me. I thought about selling it but that didn’t feel right.”

I watched intently as Jolly read the lyrics, his eyes taking in every inch of the page, the smile on his lips growing with each pass.

“Doll, this is,” he shook his head. “Amazing. Are you sure?”

Our eyes locked as I nodded. “It’s not a Hollow Souls song. But Bad Omens on the other hand, I know you guys can give it the justice it deserves.”

NOAH

“SHUT UP!” I bellowed while tossing a pillow towards Jesse, who was talking extensively to Orie about some shit that didn’t matter. “The live stream is about to start.”

Jesse caught the pillow mid-throw and smirked. “Excited, are we?”

Flipping him off, I sat on the couch with a beer in one hand and my phone in the other, sending another text to Jolly. He’d been M.I. A all day, and we were wondering if he was going to join.

“Has anyone heard from Jolly?” I asked.

Orie shrugged. “I thought he was in his room.”

“We went to lunch earlier,” Michael said while walking into the living room, bowl full of random snacks in his hands before he set them on the coffee table. “But he said he had some things to take care of afterward.”

Just then the stream began and Y/N’s soft voice echoed through the speakers.

“Shit, are we live? Wait, I probably shouldn’t swear on this.”

We all shared a laugh until we saw who was sitting next to her.

“Hi everyone! It’s Y/N from Hollow Souls. You might have noticed that I have a friend here with me today,” Y/N adjusted the headphones before she motioned to Jolly who sat on her left. “Jolly from Bad Omens.”

Jolly waved to the camera. “Hi.”

“I guess that’s what his errand was,” Jesse said while throwing some popcorn in his mouth.

Ignoring him, I wondered why Jolly was with Y/N right now. I wasn’t jealous he was with her. I was jealous that I wasn’t there instead. She looked breathtaking with her long hair pulled back in a tight bun to showcase the sharp features of her face, her plump lips glistening with the lip gloss she must have applied before the stream started. Her bright eyes shined with the excitement of what she was about to perform which in turn made me sit up straighter in my spot on the couch, a proud smile on my face.

“So, the reason Malcolm and Chase aren’t here is because this set is more of an acoustic one. I recently saw some friends of mine do something like this and wanted to try it,” she smiled over to Jolly.

“I’m here for moral support,” Jolly said.

“He’s actually been teaching me guitar the last week because I wanted to do more for this band since we kicked Trey out,” Y/N revealed.

At the mention of his name, I felt my face twitch but kept it as stone as I could, not wanting to give anything away to the rest of the guys. They were the only three of the entire group that didn’t know the truth about Y/N’s relationship with Trey.

“Did you know Jolly was teaching her guitar?” Jesse asked me.

I shook my head while running a hand through my hair. “I had no idea she wanted to learn. I mean, I knew they had to figure out a guitarist moving forward but didn’t know she wanted to play.”

“She didn’t ask you?” Orie wondered.

I shrugged, wondering the same but did my best not to dwell on it as I went back to watching the feed.

“So, I’m going to sing two songs for you guys today. The first one is a cover, and the second is something new. It’s nowhere near ready for release but it’s been weighing heavy on my heart the last few weeks since I wrote it.”

Y/N adjusted her headphones before glancing over to her laptop. “Woah, the chat is going crazy you’re here, Jolly.”

He hummed in amusement while tuning the guitar. “What are they saying?”

“Where’s Noah? When is the collab with Bad Omens coming?”

Y/N snickered before looking back at the camera, giving a wink. “I don’t know. Noah has my number.”

Quickly pulling out my phone, I pulled up the stream to add something to the chat.

“Oh, look who joined the chat. Jolly, Noah is wondering if you could bring pizza home,” Y/N laughed as she read my comment.

I chuckled to myself as we saw Jolly roll his eyes. Then Y/N read my next comment, her cheeks flushing red; something others might not have noticed. But I did. I watched and analyzed everything she did with a careful eye.

The comment I sent in the chat was something simple; something only a few of us would understand.

We can talk about the collab during our next phone call.

She shifted in her chair, a hint of a smile on her face. “Well, my first song might sound familiar to a lot of you. It’s my first time performing it but unlike Noah did last week, I won’t mess up the words.”

Jolly broke out in laughter before playing the opening notes of the song; one I recognized immediately even though I knew which one she meant before Jolly played the first few notes of the song. There was only one song I messed up on a livestream recently. If I’m There.

Her beautiful voice stung deep into my veins as I fell back on the couch.

“Oh. Shit,” Orie spoke. “No offense, man, but Y/N kills your lyrics.”

I nodded, numbly as I agreed with him. It was as if my lyrics were made for her voice, the sultry tone of it sending chills all over my body. She gripped the microphone with a soft touch and my cock twitched as I remembered earlier up in my bedroom.

As she got to the verse I messed up on my own livestream, Y/N’s eyes opened to throw a quick wink and smirk toward the camera when she sang it perfectly; almost annoyingly perfect.

I felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of my head and briefly tearing my gaze away from the television; I shot Jesse a look.

“What?”

He pursed his lips while shaking his head. “You haven’t stopped smiling since she came on the screen. You look like a kid that was given free rein in a candy store.”

Rolling my eyes, I focused back to Y/N just in time as she sang the last two lines of the song.

“And if you're there to catch me when I fall then maybe Hell ain't so bad after all,” she breathed before pushing away the microphone from her a tad.

Shit.

This was different than Hollow Souls. The softness of the song was fucking made for Y/N and something she needed to do more of.

“Fuck yes,” she beamed but then smacked a hand over her face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to swear. I’ll add it to the jar Malcolm has on top of the fridge.”

“He doesn’t?” Michael chucked.

I nodded while taking a long drink of my beer. “He does. I saw it when I was there taking care of Salem. Thing is empty but fuck is in their everyday vocabulary so you know they’re not adding to that shit.”

Noticing she was reading the comments once again, I quickly typed out one.

Great job, Y/N! Feel free to cover any of our songs. I’d always watch it with a proud smile.

Even though she didn’t say she read it, I knew she did with the way the corner of her lip raised and the way her eyes crinkled at the sides.

“Alright, the last song is a new one. We do plan on having it on the next record but it will sound different from what you’ll hear right now. My friends, thank you for watching. This one is called Eyelids.”

This had me sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on my knees, as excitement filled me.

“I'll face my fear of the evening once I get used to this feeling. I can't sleep. That's when you're torn away from me. While I'm dreaming I feel you leaving.”

My jaw fell slack, hearing the rawness in her voice with the pure emotion being poured out of her soul.

"I'll face my fear of the sunrise when I wake up with your hand inside mine. It's hard to say good morning when it's followed with goodbye. Just wanted to say good night.”

Something glinted on the screen, which immediately took my gaze away from her face down to her neck, my heart and breath catching in my throat. I remained silent as my body leaned closer to the television.

“What are you doing, man? Did you forget your glasses?” Michael joked.

His voice was a white noise as I moved from my spot on the couch to the coffee table, now sitting directly in front of the screen.

What the fuck?

Is that?

I inched closer and closer to that television, I couldn’t hear what was being said to me as I scrunched my face up and began squinting.

No, it can’t be.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

It hung almost a little well above her cleavage, that beautiful silky neck- my eyes moved quickly to her wrists.

“Let me see,” I muttered under my breath.

I made an inaudible sound from my throat, mouth peering a little open.

She was wearing them; both of them. My heart raced even further, longer, more rapidly.

I was feeling a lot of things at once; I didn’t quite know how to place them. I needed a beer. I needed to talk to my shrink. That’s what I should do, because the panic was setting in, this ache was almost unbearable.

Why, why would she want to wear them after everything? Even now?

I’m hurting her right back, aren’t I?

Everything has become a puddle of mud, a mess of my volition now. I did this. All I could think while seeing the jewelry I gifted her, all I could hear while listening to her voice was “Maybe, just maybe I’ll come back to you.”

She was occupied by her own complicated thoughts - you could tell from the way she was squinting and moving her mouth.

Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe until-.

“I'll face my fear of the cold nights when you leave me behind. I felt your hands in my hair. I felt your breath on my neck. Yeah, I need to feel you again. Just wanted to say good night.”

My body went still, all the air taken from my lungs, as I watched her lips move. Her own personal conflict was clear in the way the muscles in her jaw tightened and her eyes screwed shut.

No, it couldn’t be.

She didn’t.

Did she?

Was this about us?

No, I’m overthinking this.

“Our eyes fighting the light but I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Orie smack Jesse on the shoulder and motioned to the stillness of me; still unmoving.

“Our eyes fighting the light. But I'm not ready to say good night, ooh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. Say good night.”

I could see Jolly vibing along to the lyrics next to Y/N but it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered more than this moment right here as I watched her pour every feeling about that night into this one song. My heart fell deep into the pits of my stomach when I saw her grip the necklace, playing with it between two fingers.

These eyes are closed again for yet another night I wake up and I can feel you by my side. But I can't find you in the dark when you're so far. Yeah, that's the hardest part. Here comes the hardest part.

My eyes dropped slightly in tangent with my shoulders.

Our eyes fight the light. But I'm not ready to say good night oh. I try and hold on tight 'cause it's just not time to say good night. To say good night.

As the last lyric faded into the air, there was a hushed recording playing some words in the background; another small thing I picked up on.

“I mean in what world do I go to sleep after you and wake up before you? I don't even know how it happens. Well, I hope you're having sweet dreams. And you call me when you wake up.”

Fuck.

My bottom lip trembled when I recognized that voice. It was Y/N’s, and it wasn’t just any kind of recording. No, it was a voicemail she left me while she was in Japan. It was right after I missed one of our 2:30 calls. I was asleep but once I noticed she called me less than an hour later; I listened to the voicemail before quickly calling her back.

“Okay, that deserves a curse,” Jolly said. “You fucking killed that, Y/N.”

She was beaming with pride. “Holy shit, guys. You don’t understand how long I’ve had this festering inside of me. It feels so good to get out.”

Y/N clicked on the laptop to read through some of the comments, a small frown pulling at her lips.

“Oh my god. Are you and Trey getting back together?! You were so perfect. No, we’re not getting back together. I grew up since the breakup; I became a savage. But not everything is about fucking Trey. This is just a song about a really awesome guy. That’s it.”

I was still, like a statue, unmoving and unnerving as Joly and Y/N said their goodbyes before the stream ended; a black screen mirror back to me.

Jesse leaned forward in his chair. “Noah-.”

Hearing my name broke me out of the trance and without saying another word, I jumped up from my spot on the coffee table and took the stairs two at a time, my footsteps thundering throughout the house before I slammed myself into my bedroom.

Tears threatened to spill, burning at the corners of my eyes, but I held them in with a choked sob as I ran a shaky hand over my face.

I didn’t know what to make of anything anymore. Maybe just romantics would call this a twisted, toxic beginning to a love story while the cynics would call it a tragedy. In my mind, it’s a little bit of both, and no matter how you choose to view it in the end, it doesn’t change the fact that it involves a great deal of my life and the path I’ve chosen to follow and that I- I love her.

Ripping the drawer of my desk open, I rummaged through the useless crap, already knowing what I was looking for. I tossed the velvet boxes to the side and cradled the jewelry, my large hands encased them. I pressed them on my forehead and let the tears finally spill to the floor as I fell to my knees, resting my back up against my bed.

I cried; actually fucking cried.

The necklace and bracelet shook in my hands as the sobs wrecked through me. I haven’t cried like this in a long time mostly because I hated being this open and vulnerable. It made me sick, knowing that I wasn’t able to protect myself from these feelings right now. I spent my entire life protecting myself from these feelings only for Y/N to sink her claws into me in the best way possible.

“I love her,” I choked out through sobs, realizing what I felt earlier. “I fucking love her.”

NOAH

I wasn’t sure how long I kneeled on the floor, jewelry grasped deep in my palms as it dug into my skin. But it wasn’t until there was a soft knock on the door that pulled me from the despair. Red, puffy, bloodshot eyes glanced up at Jolly, whose shoulders fell as he took in my state; tears dried to my face and hair a mess from running my hands through it.

“Noah,” he muttered.

“Please leave me alone right now.” I whimpered lowly, refusing to meet his gaze again.

“No. Jesse said watching her perform Eyelids fucked you up. What’s going on?” Jolly kneeled in front of me.

“I can’t-,” I choked on a sob. “I don’t want to deal with this.”

Jolly rubbed his jaw. “Was it the song or the jewelry?”

My eyes snapped up to him. “How did you know about the jewelry?”

“You used the band card to charge it, goof. I see everything,” Jolly gave me a small smile.

“Fuck. Sorry,” I sighed.

“It’s okay man, it’s okay,” he reassured me with a strong grip on my shoulder.

“No, no, it’s not. I’m tired of feeling. I want to disappear, just disappear.”

Jolly now gripped both of my shoulders, forcing me to look at him. "No, you don’t. Don’t say that shit.”

“I just mean I wish it wasn’t this. Y/N’s been giving me mixed signals.” I mumbled.

“Have you thought you’re doing the same? You’re literally hanging out with another woman out of spite,” He raised a questioning brow.

I leaned my head against the side of my mattress. “She won’t tell me how she feels, I’m trying to show her. I’ve always tried to show her.”

“There’s a saying.” Jolly paused, trying to think of the right words to say. “We are defined by what we do, not just nice words. However, I think you’ve shown enough, Noah. It’s time you use your words.”

“I don’t know how,” I admitted with a shaky breath after a long beat of silence.

“If you’re not comfortable talking about it with us, Noah. Talk to your therapist about it- but this has to stop. It’s draining you.”

I saw the way Jolly’s mouth twitched, his own emotions close to slipping through his own mask, but he held it stronger than me.

“Once you’re in a better place, come to the studio. I have something to show you.”

I nodded. “Sure, yeah. Might be good for me to write something.”

Jolly gave one last squeeze to my shoulder. “Love you, man.”

“You too. Thank you.” I smiled.

NOAH

An hour and a long shower later, I walked down the hallway toward our studio with a new tune in my head. The lyrics were loud in my mind as I played with the new bracelet on my wrist, twisting it between two fingers.

“There’s not another way don’t let me go, don’t dig another grave today,” I sang under my breath as I walked through the door.

Jolly was sitting on the couch in the room, guitar on his lap and notebook on the floor at his feet. He looked up as I walked in and had a nervous smile on his face.

“Hey, you better?”

I gave a small nod. “Yeah. What’s this?”

As I sat on the couch next to him, I went to reach for the notepad before he placed a foot over it, blocking me from retrieving it.

“Y/N gave me something earlier. I really like it but wanted to run it by you, if you were comfortable,” Jolly said hesitantly.

I tensed, not knowing how to feel. I wasn’t comfortable with whatever Jolly needed to show me but knowing it was from Y/N eventually made me agree.

He removed his foot so I could grab the notebook, eyes immediately scanning over the lyrics on the page.

Evened the scores, then I let it all go fall apart. And every step forward put a little more sword in your heart, yeah. Looking sideways when I say I’m okay with the past but I’m afraid of what I might say if you ask. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. I let it tear me down, and I'll never be the same. I did it to myself, tried to be someone else. And you didn't notice 'til I finally got, finally got away.

My heart stuttered in my chest as I licked my lips. “Wow, that’s impressive. When did you find the time to write this? Usually, that's my wheelhouse.”

“Noah cut the shit. You know this isn’t my work. I just told you, it’s Y/N’s,” Jolly sighed while pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m just being a dick.” I snorted a laugh while bumping his shoulder with mine.

“Yeah, you are. Now what do you think? We can use this, no? As inspiration, maybe?”

Suddenly the lyrics I sang a moment before walking into the room played in my mind again; I hummed them under my breath, adding it to the lyrics Y/N wrote.

“One second,” I muttered while pulling out my phone.

ME: You sure you want us to have your lyrics?

Y/N’s response was immediate.

Angel 🪽: Nobody could do it better than you guys. You’ll give those lyrics the justice it deserve.

Leaving the message on read, Jolly and I worked tirelessly to rework the lyrics together and when I felt we were in a good position with them, I reached for my phone again. There was still a lingering feeling festering deep inside of me, that I wanted to make sure Y/N was fine with.

ME: I’m taking creative liberty for this, are you good with that?

Angel 🪽: What's mine is yours, Noah.

Yeah, not everything.

#noah sebastian #noah sebastian and reader #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian reader insert #noah sebastian smut #enemies to lovers #right person wrong time #starcrossed lovers

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iheartfrogs1904 · 5 months

Text

HOUSEKI NO KUNI IS CRIMINALLY UNDERRATED.

One of my most favourite pieces of media has to be houseki no kuni. It shows such a disgustingly sad story with such BEAUTIFUL visuals and writing. Something I find about my favourite pieces of art is when it tells a story starting off with nothing, or with something underlying you could only have known was another piece to the puzzle after it’s been revealed to you, like attack on Titan. Anyone who’s read houseki no kuni knows what I’m talking about, it starts off with knowing nothing, literally in the pov of Phos being as ‘ignorant’ as them and all that. What I think sets it off from the rest is that throughout the story, the other characters don’t seem to emotionally or mentally change the way Phos does. Aechmea designing and using Phos as a puppet, breaking and moulding them into an empathetic, sapient being. The way everyone had accepted Phos’ fate to become the one to leave behind, them having no regard for how Phos would feel or even apologize for how they treated them shows the huge lack of humanity of them all, shows why it needed to be Phos to be the one to stay behind too, because they did genuinely care for others. The way the others treated each other could have come off as caring but at the end of the day it was so superficial, especially with the way we can see their relationships develop from being divided to all living on the moon together to being prayed away, it was all surface level, even after a millennia they all lacked empathy, EVEN DIAMOND. The way the diamonds mirror society in how our value is how we contribute to it is taken to an extreme in this story, the other gems genuinely not caring if Phos could have died when they got swallowed by that creature because of how easily they broke, similar to Cinnibar.

I actually love how when Cinnibar is finally accepted they are completely devoted to helping a cause they know nothing about, not caring about what Phos had to say because they were finally accepted into the society they had never been a part of. The one person that showed them empathy, they would not listen to because of how low their self worth and esteem was, mirroring how someone whose climbed their way to the top from the bottom seeing themselves as a pig with lipstick on, for Cinnibar it genuinely coming from a way of thinking about their society and not them actually feeling anything. If they felt something, you would at least be shown that turmoil, but Cinnibar, just like the others is not an empathetic person.

Anyway, on the topic of empathy the fact that the gems didn’t seem to be emotionally affected when Phos attacked the island with the other gems as well again shows their lack of it. They just buried Phos and went about everything as it was, being able to carry on and not carrying any vendettas or anything, always just indifference. You are never shown any major inner turmoil of the other gems, maybe a bit of questioning or slight sadness but never any pure raw emotion. Even earlier in the series where other gems disappear to the moon, they’re sad but never in deep disparity, always close to humanity but never actually experiencing it except for Phos, or maybe Antarc too, maybe that’s why they were so easily replaced by Cairngorm, who knows.

#uncanny valley #houseki no kuni #phosphophyllite #hnk phos #hnk fanart #hnk spoilers #hnk #hnk manga #hnk lapis lazuli #houseki no shitpost #houseki spoilers #land of the lustrous

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wambsgansshoelaces · 4 months

Text

Turmoil; Chapter 8

Roman Roy x Reader

a/n: I need him biblically

let me know your thoughts x

Word Count: 3.289k

You got one lazy day. That was it before you had to throw yourself back into work. You and Roman both stand at your bathroom sink, his head tucked into the crook of your neck. You press a light kiss to his forehead, and surprisingly, he doesn’t run off after the fact. He winces, but he stays.

“Connor’s bank statements should be handed to you when you walk in today,” he murmurs.

“You’re a godsend.”

“I know, right?” He takes you by the chin and presses an obnoxiously sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Kendall and I are looking into that politician thing today. Maybe we can go out to dinner today?”

“You’d better show up today,” you warn. He playfully pinches your hip.

“I promise.” He moves away, pulling his shirt off and disappearing into the closet. “If I don’t, put a bullet through my head.”

You roll your eyes, smiling. “Rome?”

“Mm.”

“What’re you gonna do with that… thing with Marcia?”

“We wait until we can use it,” he calls back. “Thank god it’s on your phone and not mine.” You sigh. You both manage to get dressed and feed yourselves breakfast, and Roman hails you a cab and sees you off with a hesitant kiss to your lips.

You steel yourself as you stare up at the building containing your firm. You love your job- just not what you were doing with it now.

Before entering your office, you subtly slip a jewelry box onto your assistant’s desk. You’d gotten her a necklace and set of earrings while abroad as a thank-you for fighting Connor off with a stick. Roman was right, too. You give her the box and she slides you a manila file with a grin on her face, mouthing ‘thank you’.

You settle into your desk chair, leafing through the papers. It’s normal the first ten years, but starting another ten, his spending became erratic, and lo and behold, he stopped paying his taxes. You wonder how Connor has made it this far in life without getting killed by someone.

You can piece together the puzzle pretty easily. Connor thinks he’s too high and mighty to be taxed, he stopped paying them, the interest racked up an outrageous amount, and now he’s committing fraud to get money to pay everything off.

You take a moment to think.

If Logan bailed Connor out before, would he do it again?

You think you want to find out.

You could catch Logan with his pants down. You were closer to a solution to get him out of your- and Roman, and Kendall, and Shiv’s -life. You were lucky that he was the vote that would’ve won him the vote of no confidence- if he’d legally won, he would’ve dropped the guillotine on you and ousted the fact that you’d kept Connor innocent from fraud. Since he hadn’t, and he’d stayed, if he’d tried ruining your image, he’d look like a child throwing a tantrum.

Satisfied with your mental acrobatics, you toss the file into a lockable compartment of your desk. While you wanted nothing more than to serve Connor right that second, you knew taking him and Logan down at the same time would be much more satisfying. So you decide you’ll wait.

You make a small list on a post-it note of what you have so far. Kendall and Roman had begun to investigate Logan’s suspicious activity around the failed politician, Greg and Roman had gotten you the finances, you’d found more than one hard piece of evidence that Connor was lying on the suit. You also have the issue with Marcia, which you don’t really want to think about. Ever.

If you wait long enough, you think you’ll be able to find your way out of this mess.

Having gotten yourself into a good mood, you decide to pick up some pro-bono cases from junior associates in the bullpen to lighten their load. You spend the rest of your day doing paperwork, but you don’t mind.

You’re in your office for so long you eventually need to flick on your desk lamp. You’re not feeling as tired as you usually would at this point, and you’re thankful for it. When your phone rings, and you find Roman on the other end, you pick it up with a smile.

“Asshole. Why do you work so late?”

“Aw, I miss you too, Roman.” You jot something down in the margins of one of your documents. “Besides, it’s only dark out because it’s winter.”

“Are you almost done? I made a reservation for six.”

You glance over at your watch, sitting on the inside of your wrist. Five-thirty.

“Can you come get me?”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, we have stuff to talk about. Involving my big, happy, functional family.”

“We do,” you muse. “I thought this was a date.”

“It is, swear. I just have to tell you because I’m a good fiance.”

You laugh. “Whatever you say. Call when you’re here.”

“I’m already outside, bitch.”

“You’re so romantic.”

You clean up in your office, bid your assistant goodbye(even though you’d given her permission to leave ages ago), and find him parked in front of the complex.

“You drive? How many people have you hit?” you ask, climbing into the passenger seat. He rolls his eyes at you, waiting until you buckle your seat belt to pull away.

“Only two old ladies and their dog that looked like Kendall.”

You snort. “How was work?”

“Glorious. Felt like a superhero fucking shitting on my dad like that.”

“Go on.”

”We did some digging, found a few paper trails. I didn’t know the old man was stupid. Kendall thinks we’re on track to find people that have the ability to testimony.”

“If you even have an inkling that someone could, send them to me. Like immediately. We can’t have them blab to the wrong people. I can legally keep them safe from Logan if they disclose to the firm.”

“You’re the boss.” He honks at the car that missed the green light in front of you. “Fucking dick.”

“Of course you have road rage.”

“I don’t have road rage.”

You sit in comfortable silence the rest of the way, interrupted by the occasional expletive from Roman at bad drivers. He’s surprisingly level-headed behind the wheel, keeping calm regardless of the ‘idiots around him’.

At the restaurant, you take the inside of his elbow as you walk. He flexes his arm, trying to suppress a grin, setting his hand on his stomach. You can tell, despite his slowly dissipating disdain for your physical affection towards him, he fucking loved showing you off in public.

He’d warm up to you eventually. You didn’t want to force him into anything you didn’t want, so most of the time, you let him initiate physical contact. And even though neither of you ever spoke about it, you got the feeling that he appreciated it immensely.

You both sit in a secluded corner of the restaurant, and his legs press up against yours from his seat across from you.

“You should tell me more about yourself,” you begin, setting your head in your hands, balancing your elbows on the table.

“What is there to say?” Roman mirrors your pose.

“I dunno. What’s your favorite color, Romulus?”

“Green. The color of money. Next.”

“Oh, that’s so bullshit.” You lean back, laughing. He pushes off his elbows, instead crossing his arms over his chest. “Your favorite show?”

“I don’t watch television, Miss Attorney-at-Law. Eat, sleep, corporate fucking, repeat.”

“That’s kind of vile.” You take a sip of the water at your hand. “We should watch garbage reality TV together. You’d enjoy it.”

“Why watch on a screen when it’s my real life?”

“You boring piece of shit.”

Roman takes your hand from across the table, hooking your fingers together. “That I am.”

“What about movies? Or are you allergic to rainbows, fun, and joy?”

“Oh no, my throat’s itching,” he says sarcastically, pouting. “I don’t have time for any of that. And when I do, it feels… weird. I never was into movies or TV shows or video games when I was younger. I was always on eggshells with Dad, so…”

You give his hand an encouraging squeeze. “So… we can do all of that stuff together after we give ourselves a week off of work.”

“We just got back from Norway…”

“Roman. You’re really saying you’re not going to give yourself a week off for shits and gigs?”

He has trouble pushing down his smile. “Of course I will. You know me so well already.”

“We should do it after we serve your dad the papers. So he has to wait even longer to go to court.”

“Oh, Y/N, you’re evil. So perfect for me.”

You both laugh.

You both begin your meals, Roman surprisingly attentive the entire time. You both ask questions, answer them, and giggle like schoolchildren.

By the end of it, his chair is pulled all the way around the table, sitting next to yours as he tries to explain a business venture.

“So if pervs won’t disappear completely,” he says, gesturing with his hands, dead serious, “we appeal to the ones who like feet. Because who’s going to fucking know they’re your feet if they one, haven’t bought them, and two, inspect your toes in real life?”

You can’t help the ugly laugh that rips from your stomach. “Why have you thought about this in so much depth?”

“It’s infallible.”

”I didn’t know you knew what that word meant.”

He taps the side of his temple. “I’m learning. From you, specifically. Kendall’s fucking dumb.”

Back at home, Roman’s reclined into you, his head set lopsidedly on your shoulder. He scrolls through his phone absentmindedly, glancing up at you every so often, as if making sure you’re still there. You catch his eyes, and you both smile at each other.

Without thinking, you give him a peck on the lips. He lets you.

“It was hard,” he says quietly. “But it’s getting easier.”

“And so goes life.” You let your head rest on top of his. “I think you’re doing great.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “Thanks.”

He hums, satisfied, when your nails begin raking through his hair. You stay like that, for a long while. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing regulating as time passes. You think he’s asleep when his phone rings, loud and obnoxious.

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill whoever’s calling,” he mutters, shifting so that his head is in your lap. You see Connor’s name. “I’m putting him on speaker.”

He does, and starts the conversation with, “What is it, asshole?”

“Hey, Rome. I know it’s a little late, but your fiance hasn’t been returning my calls. Or texts.”

“She thinks you’re ugly. Not interested. Stop trying.”

“Roman.”

“Just being honest.”

“Well, be serious. We need to hurry things along. I’m starting to go into the red.”

“What the fuck are you buying? Oh, wait, your gir-”

“Shut the fuck up. That douchebag of an accountant. He’s doing some shady shit, I know it.”

“Or, shocker, you need to stop spending money. Batshit crazy idea, man.”

“You’re giving me financial advice? Remember when you spend twenty grand on a watch in high school and then lost it the day of?”

“At least I had the twenty thousand to spend.”

You have to suppress a laugh.

“This isn’t what I called for. Just forward the word, okay? I don’t want Willa to have to miss anything important at the theater.”

”What’s that have to do with my girl?”

“She can speed up proceedings.”

Roman looks up at you, and you shrug. You could, but you definitely wouldn’t. Not for Connor. “Yeah, come back later.”

“Nice talking to you, too.”

☾𖤓

The next time you’re at Waystar, it’s a ‘family’ meeting in Kendall’s office. You sit on the couch, Shiv sunken into the seat next to you.

“I say you take that nasty-ass video straight to Marcia and get the good shit from her,” Shiv says. “No beating around the bush. Surely she’ll spill.”

“You’re certainly free to do that. I can’t keep it on my phone anymore- I’m prone to vomiting,” you respond.

“Anyone know about that prick from the party? The one balding in all the weird spots?” Roman asks, leaning against the wall.

“What, Peirce? That’s the dick that was sucking the life out of Dad’s bank account. He was taking money pretending to be paying taxes.”

You turn and glance at Roman. “He’s actually not that stupid, is he?” you ask incredulously.

“I feel like we’re saying that a lot,” he mutters back. “You know that that guy is Con’s accountant now? And he has literally no money left?”

“He’s never been the brightest,” Shiv says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“How can he miss that, though?” Kendall asks, dragging a hand over his face.

“Desperate times,” Roman supplies.

“His firm name’s Thompson & Thompson, right?” you ask.

“Fucking banger name,” Shiv says. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“They have a consultation with me tomorrow. I don’t think it’s anything good, given Connor’s recent history.”

“Lock them out,” is all Roman says.

“This is all such a headache,” Kendall mutters. “Has anyone heard from Dad recently?”

“Surprisingly, no. He’s been suspiciously quiet,” Shiv replies. “You think he’s in the hospital again?"

“Wouldn’t he say something?” you ask.

“I guess not,” Shiv says. “Makes him look weak. Someone will notice, anyway. We’re in the States, we’ll know where he is soon enough.”

“He’s scheming,” Kendall states. “He’s trying to find a loophole back into the company.”

“He wishes,” you retort. “Vote of no confidence. Can’t come back on without making a big deal about it.”

“What if he wants that? He could use it to distract us,” Shiv suggests.

“But from what?” Kendall asks, staring at his feet, boring a hole through the floor.

“You’re overthinking it,” Roman clarifies. “What does he have that he can do right now?”

“God, I don’t even want to know.” You push yourself to your feet. “I’d better head out.”

Kendall grunts a goodbye, Shiv gives you a hug. Roman walks you, and as soon as you turn the corner and nobody’s around, he takes your hand in his.

“Is this what having a crush feels like?” he asks as you wait for the elevator.

“What do you mean?”

“I never stop thinking about you. I get all giddy talking to you- just looking at you. I’m always trying to make you laugh, smile. And look at your fucking face. I don’t need to keep telling you how fucking pretty you are.”

“Hm, maybe you do,” you say, grinning.

“But really.” He lets go of your hand in the elevator, instead winding an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Is this how normal people feel? All… sappy and shit?”

“I guess. I don’t think I can be considered normal, either.”

“Why not?”

“I’m into you, aren’t I?”

“Asshole. I take back what I said. You’re repulsive,” he says, lips on your jaw. When you’re in the lobby, he tells you, “Call me when you’re done,” and leaves you with a squeeze of your shoulder.

At your firm, you give your assistant a wave, gather some files, and head to a conference room. Peirce is there, waiting for you.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say politely, ignoring his outstretched hand. You wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole. “Please tell me tax fraud isn’t why you asked to see me and refused to disclose why over the phone.” You both take your seats.

“I’m afraid it is. Rather, not that I committed it, because I wouldn’t be here if I did.” He takes his handkerchief and wipes away a bit of sweat from his chin. He’s a horrible liar. “Rather, some accusations that are being made. I was wondering if anything could be done. And since you’re already handling my client…”

You have to refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “If you can prove it, we can sue for defamation. That’s really it.”

Peirce straightens. “I can prove it, actually. Tax returns, receipts.”

While you don’t take cases you don’t want to(Peirce makes you want to vomit), you know that this could lead to something useful. So you tell him, “Have them faxed by tomorrow,” and he’s on his feet, thanking you profusely as you push past him.

To your surprise, however, he follows you to your office. “Can I help you?” you ask, miffed.

“I just, ah, thought that since I was here, I’d check on how my client’s suit was going.”

“It’s going,” is all you say back. “Last time I checked, I’m the J.D. between the two of us. I can handle my business like a big girl, while it disappoints me to say that you can’t do the same.” You gesture in the direction of the exit. “If you would.”

“Are you sure I can’t just-”

“Quite sure.”

“But-”

“But nothing. Take no for an answer and go before I have you removed.”

Dismayed, Peirce shuffles off.

“And tell Connor to get off my fucking ass,” you say under your breath, heading into your office. You drop your notepad, pickingup your cell and dialing Roman.

He picks up on the first ring. “What’d the weasel do?”

“Was creepy. He said he’s being accused of tax fraud and that he can prove it.”

He scoffs. “He’s going to send you a ‘get out of jail free’ card from a Monopoly game. Does he really expect anybody to buy it?”

“If he’s still in business, people have before.”

He sighs on the other end. “Come home.”

“I have some paperwork to do. Then I’ll hail a cab or something.”

“Boo fucking hoo. I want to see you.”

“You saw me an hour ago.”

“I want to see you again.” Roman pauses. “Pretty please?”

“You can wait another hour. I believe in you.”

“Aw, come on. I’m warming up to you and everything.”

You laugh. “I appreciate that, Rome,” you say sincerely. “But-”

“I’ll do your laundry for a month if you just bring the paperwork home.”

You take a moment to consider it. “You know how to work a laundry machine?”

“I’m going to murder you. Come home so I can stab you.”

☾𖤓

The minute you’re home, he pulls you into bed with him and curls up against you.

“You okay?” you murmur.

“Peachy,” he says into your shoulder. “Shiv talked to Marcia. It worked.”

“At least that bullshit was worth something.” You shudder. “Why are you going to bed so early?” He’s dressed entirely in pajamas, his shirt a soft cotton that clings to every muscle in just the right way.

“Early day. Stockholder drama.”

“I thought Kendall did that.”

“He does. I’m going because I know they’re going to fight.” You feel him smile into your skin. “Hey, Y/N?”

“Mm?”

“Never mind. I’m not so good with words.”

Roman’s hand finds your chin, bringing your mouth to his. When your lips meet, his hand slips up your jaw and buries in your hair. You kiss back fervently, and he matches your vigor. He kisses you like he needs your taste to breathe.

Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt and glides across the panels of his chest, and he groans into your mouth. You feel the soft, oddly satisfying scrape of his stubble against your face. He pulls away only to dot kisses on the corners of your mouth, then unevenly again on your lips.

“I think what I meant was good night,” he says cheekily.

“Jackass,” you murmur giddily into his lips. “Fuck you, Roman.”

#succession x reader #succession #roman roy x you #roman roy x reader #roman roy fic #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession hbo #succession hbo fic #wambsgansshoelaces #turmoil #succession fic

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for-a-longlongtime · 8 months

Text

On Dieter, Goya's Black Paintings, and Pedro on Talk Art

Alright y'all, it's Saturday evening, I have nothing better to do (I actually do but I don't feel like it), so welcome to my mini TED Talk about 'how to pay too much fucking attention to the Pedro cinematic universe'. None of this is new, and maybe everybody already knew about this, but I didn't... so here's a nerdy tangent courtesy of googling/wikipedia-ing.

I was reading a Dieter!fic (this one right here by @chaoticgeminate - go read her writing!) earlier today, which refers to the 'Saturn Devouring His Son' painting - that giant mural Dieter is working on in The Bubble:

(his brush isn't even touching the wall tho, ha)

The original 'Saturn' by Goya

The fic mentioned its part of 'The Black Paintings', so I got curious and started googling. I'm no art major or expert, so please allow me to just paraphraze the Wikipedia page. 'Saturn' is part of a group of 14 Goya paintings that are called Pinturas Negras/The Black Paintings. They "portray intense, haunting themes, reflective of both his fear of insanity and his bleak outlook on humanity" --this was late in Goya's life, and was connected to several illnesses he had experienced (and the fear of relapsing) and political turmoil in Spain at the time (post-Napolean war, changing Spanish government, etc.

Trivia fact 1: Goya actually made these paintings right on the walls of the Quinta del Sordo (so-called Deaf Man's villa) where he was staying -- so I love that Apatow had Dieter also paint right on the walls.

Trivia fact 2: while Goya was living in this villa, he actually became gravely ill (again) - not by a pandemic obviously, but it's hard to not link that loosely to the COVID period. He had never intended for these 'Black Paintings' to become public; "these paintings are as close to being hermetically private as any that have ever been produced in the history of Western art" (the murals were eventually transfered to canvas by other folks once he had moved out of the villa). Switching back to The Bubble -- I love how the tragic influence of Goya's illness(es) and art/things 'made at home away from the world, not intended for an audience' (so obviously, in a bubble) has that connection to the COVID experience and how many folks were suddenly homebound, along with the burden of illness in many ways (lord knows this all did a serious number on our mental health). In the movie, Dieter and the others do not want to go into isolation again, but that solitude is what eventually led him to painting on the walls in his room. This is not a 'grand discovery' of any kind, but I got a kick out of the parellels once I read up on it - and honestly makes me appreciate the movie a bit more, haha.

Not happy about another quarantine period.

Alright, more hyperfocusing after the cut:

Some googling led me to a post from last year by @nicolethered (gifs in this post are hers), and she included screencaps of the walls of Dieter's room (during that drug scene), which I hadn't even noticed while watching the movie. Upon taking a closer look, I noticed they're outtakes from other pieces of Goya's Black Paintings! I thought that was really cool, they sure worked on the details with that set (there's one more that's shown in a different shot but I can't exactly figure out which outtake that is):

First one is a mirror image from Two Old Men Eating Soup and the second one is basically Satan aka 'The Great He-Goat' from the Witches' Sabbath painting. Which IMO makes for fucking hilarious perfection a.k.a. trivia fact 3 -- because we all know about Dieter and his little emotional support goat, LOL. Excellent connection.

*insert sound bit from Hot Ones interview* : "Just let me love you!"

Anywaaay there's more. The Bubble was shot during Feb 22, 2021 to April 16, 2021, right? Pedro has spoken about how his input in shaping Dieter was mostly regarding his outfits (the Crocs, the robe, etc). But then I suddenly remember the Talk Art interview he had done in 2018, and how he namechecks 'The Dog' by Goya - and lo, guess which painting is actually part of the 14 Black Paintings? Yeap - the dog! So I checked the podcast and he was asked, 'if you could be any painting, what painting would you be?' by Russell. Here is the painting, and below it is what he said on Talk Art:

'The Drowning Dog' by Goya

"I think… it's a Goya. Yeah, old school. I think it's called 'Dog Buried in Sand' or something like that. It's so… I remember feeling it was such a visual representation of helplessness, in such a… come on, let's all admit that helplessness is a very recurring feeling for many of us, you know what I mean? When it comes to so many things. I guess… I was in Spain, in Madrid, and I was 20. And I went to the Goya museum. What's interesting about it is that the head of the dog is really quite small and sort of adorable, it looks like a stray mutt, and the painting - if I can remember it correctly - is very rectangular. There's so much above him, like the world just seems so big. It's quite incredible, isn't it? I know it's really sad, and sort of dark, and maybe I really like enjoy perceiving myself like..." (He gets interrupted by Russell, and then continues;) "Yeah, he's certainly not dying, it's sort of - it's a moment", (then interrupts himself with;) "Maybe he's totally dying, there's no way that dog is getting out of that. That dog is SO fucked. Anyway, that's the painting that represents my life". (All three of them burst out into laughing.)

If you're still reading this - I am impressed with your dedication to my silly little post, haha. Anyway, I just thought it was so striking that there basically is a straight line from the painting he mentioned in Talk Art to what Dieter is painting in the Bubble. Makes me wonder if perhaps he - or even Russell/Robert - had any input in that part of Dieter's backstory.

Thank you for attending my TED Talk on artistic analysis of Dieter Bravo during COVID, we now resume your regularly scheduled program for Saturday night. 🤪

(Have I been smoking because a local dispensary actually had 'Mando' bud? I sure as fuck have and I blame that for this post.)

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jasonswh0rre · 21 hours

Text

Heal What Has Been Hurt

AK! Jason Todd x OC

Pairings/Characters:

Main Characters: Jason Todd (Arkham Knight), Amira (OC)

Setting:

Arkhamverse (Batman Arkham Games)

Warnings:

Alcohol Use

Emotional Distress

Mental Health Issues (Depictions of trauma and PTSD)

Violence and Past Abuse (Mentions of torture and scars)

Rating:

PG-13

Summary:

In the aftermath of his alliance with villains like Scarecrow and Deathstroke, Jason Todd grapples with the weight of his actions and their consequences on those he loves. At a secluded safe house, he confronts his emotional turmoil and reveals his deepest secrets to Amira. Together, they navigate a path through betrayal, hidden truths, and the harsh realities of Jason's past actions and current crises.

Author's Note:

On Thomas and Martha Wayne's grave I will post the x reader story. But in the meantime, here is an OC storyline that I wrote

"We can fix this together," Batman said. Jason thought those words to himself. Speeding on his motorcycle, he rode to a safe house on the outskirts of Gotham. He kept Amira there, guarded by two of his militia, aware of the danger but still very much dependent on Amira's presence.

"Sir?" One of his militiamen said

"Leave. You're relieved of your post," Jason replied. The two men nodded and left their station. Jason entered the safe house and ensured it looked like a natural home, keeping Amira safe and none the wiser about what was happening.

He walked to the fridge, taking a beer bottle out. Looking at the bottle, he angrily threw it across the room. Hearing the noise, Amira left the bedroom. She watched Jason drink a beer with four empty beer bottles beside him. His hand squeezed on the bottle so tight that his knuckles turned white. He was swaying slightly, and his eyes were red.

"Jason?" Amira called out, her voice barely a whisper. He stared at her, mouth slightly agape, nose red, eyes bloodshot. The tears were like an overflowing dam had burst. Amira treaded carefully towards him. Jason rushed into Amira's arms, arms wrapped tightly around her waist. He cried profusely in her arms. Amira was taken aback, but noticing his struggle, she rubbed on his back, consoling him.

"I'm sorry I brought you into this; I'm sorry for everything," Jason cried; his breathing was erratic as he was crying.

"Jason—" Amira couldn't understand what Jason was saying. Before she could ask for clarification, he pushed her off him, grabbing another beer and downing it. Grabbing his sixth beer, Amira held his hand. She tried to grab the bottle from him, but Jason's grip was iron-shut.

Jason watched her; his eyes were glazed over. He loosened his grip, and Amira put the bottle away.

"I don't know what to do– I don't know how to feel," Jason confessed, sniffing his nose; Amira wiped the tears from his eyes, which only caused Jason to cry more as he leaned into her touch.

"Tell me what you feel now?" Amira asked, putting her head on top of Jason's. Their foreheads touched as she placed her hand over his heart.

"Angry, confused– and sad, I feel... lost," Jason said; he put his hand on Amira's, his breaths easing in a gentle rhythm.

"Okay, tell me what's making you feel this way,"

"I did a lot of bad things. If I tell you you're going to leave," Jason said; Amira got closer to Jason, her body pressed against him as she kissed his lips.

"When I saw you in Venezuela, you asked me to stay with you. It was like I had a whole world I didn't know existed back in my life; whatever it is, I'm gonna stay," Amira said

So he told her everything, his alliance with Scarecrow and Deathstroke, the real reason for the militia, the cloudburst, why Amira and Chloé were kept in this safe house, and his devotion to killing Batman. Even telling her bits and pieces of his torture caused by the Joker. Amira listened, and she listened intently; she did step away slightly from him for a moment, understandably seething from anger. Jason picked up the beer bottle and drank it as Amira paced along the living room; he attempted to follow her and tried holding Amira's hand, standing still when Amira flinched it away.

"You put me and Chloé in danger!"

"I know,"

"You– nearly destroyed the city!"

"I... I know,"

"You—You planned it the whole time. You were planning when we were in Venezuela, and I was pregnant. I thought I was helping when you had me working in the medic; I taught them life-saving techniques!" Amira ranted. By the time she finished, her anger had receded. She was tired of the lies, but she also saw how much pain Jason had gone through himself. He started to remove his armor, baring his body.

She had only seen Jason naked a handful of times, and it still made her stomach turn to look at him; there were scars all over his body, the bruises were all around, raised against his skin like unintelligible braille, and there were stitches on his chest and stomach.

"It looks like a buckshot wound," Amira thought. She approached Jason, who turned his back from her, leaning against the kitchen island, holding his head, and swaying.

"I'll transfer enough funds into your account, take Chloé and get out of here," He said

"Even his back looks worse for wear," his spine was slightly contorted, and his back and shoulders looked tight and tense; walking behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her head on his back.

"I told you– I won't leave you. No more lies, though," Amira said. Jason was silent, but he touched Amira's hand, recognizing her loyalty to him even if he didn't feel like he deserved it right now.

"Scarecrow will unmask him; he wants the world to see Bruce Wayne," he said; his voice was indifferent, with no indication of what he may have been thinking.

"You should help him," Amira added; she wrapped her arms around Jason's waist a little tighter, resting her head on his back.

Jason thought about it. Turning around in Amira's arms, he lifted her up in a bridal way and carried her to the bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead. Jason then turned to the cradle. Chloé was sound asleep. He grazed her cheek with his finger, eliciting a small coo from the infant.

Jason yelled at Bruce that he didn't deserve friends or people who loved him, but he was starting to think he didn't deserve that either. He fixed his red helmet and made a new symbol for himself on his uniform. Jason thought about what Amira had suggested, eyebrows furrowed and conflicted. He put his helmet on and left the safe house.

Making his way to Arkham Asylum.

End Notes:

Thank you for reading Heal What Has Been Hurts. As well as your likes, comments, and shares.

#arkham knight #jason todd #arkham batman #red hood #jasonswh0rre #red hood x oc #arkhamverse #fanfic #jason todd x oc #dc comics #batman arkham knight #batman family #bruce wayne

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bridja02 · 3 months

Text

Dedicating yet another blogpost to @cherrynojutsu's Like Gold:

It's been awhile since I've been on Tumblr, wow. The last time I reviewed Like Gold was, oh my god, three years ago?! Time flies.

As I took a break from reading this fic, waiting for more chapters to accumulate, as one does, and also because of life and studying... I decided to reread it last week, as I realized the latest chapter Cherry released was 19! My review was at chapter 6!

And oh boy, what have I missed! I have to admit I feel terrible for not reading for so long! T.T

First things first, I have to compliment Cherry's writing style, and how much it has improved since the last time! As she began the fic in June of 2021, and I'm not saying at all that her writing used to be bad, just that now it's absolute perfection! Here's a visual representation of my feelings while reading the first time:

The same gif used as for the first review - but the feelings were the same this time around too. The first couple of chapters of SasuSaku's blooming relationship was the cutest, from the tenative first kisses to the lingering touches ♥

However, the emotional rollercoaster that ensued after the story progresseed - oh my god. Here's another visual representation, this time showing my emotions just after I finished chapter 19:

(tears because of Sasuke's inner turmoil and trauma, and the blushing because of Sasuke's-😳 )

Once again mentioning my initial review, I SPECULATED the turn that this fic will take with Sasuke's mental health, and oh- the turn was so sudden and sharp that it sent me tumbling down the road. I feel so sorry for the poor boy, he deserves nothing but happiness, and I need him SO BADLY to talk to someone about it.

I knew the fic was going to be a huge slowburn (which was right up my alley) but at some point I thought to myself this has been so sweet and innocent for so long, with their sweet pecks and hugs and lunches and book clubs, will the author really have the means of turning this into something more? I was proven wrong after reading the scene on Sakura's balcony, and wintessing their first makeout sesh. I realized, Cherry will be going places. Had no more doubts after that.

I have no energy to describe anything I felt for the couch scene in chapter 19, as I am not quite done processing what I just read... (The blushing on my cheeks still hasn't passed).🥵

However, I wish to appreaciate the authors ability to indulge on the topics of mental health disorders and character analysis. It's soo hard to read Sasuke struggling like that, and believe me I've read my fair share on SS fics, but I've never seen someone delve this deeply into Sasuke's character and mental state. Cherry I don't know what your major is, but hats off to your skills! You must be really empathetic to be able to write this so well, and I truly admire you for it ♥

I'm so happy to see Sasuke finally trying to do something about it - the jasmine, the old district, his cuts and oh the letters break my heart into million pieces! I can't imagine how Sakura must feel when she finds out what Sasuke has been keeping to himself and suffering silently, even though she urged him never to suffer alone. Oh my, I CAN SMELL THE ANGST COMING. Am I bad person because I can't wait for it?

I love the authors humor, transfering onto Sasuke's witty one and also the other characters. I love the subtle details and descriptions this fic has to offer - from the descriptions of mugs, books they read, the teas they drink. It's too sweet. You can truly feel the authors soul through their work!

The chapter when Sasuke was sick was so lovely, but I have to admit that the bed scene and counting heartbeats has to be the sweetest, lovliest thing I have read in awhile! <3

I am so excited for the future chapters now that so many things unfolded, Sasuke's state has probably never been worse so I really need him to start healing T.T Sakura is so sweet and supprotive, hopefully Sasuke will help her too by urging her to work less. Also excited for the smut.

Thank you so much Cherry for sharing your work with us, I am eternally grateful! I will be looking forward to the future chapters!

#cherrynojutsu #sasusaku #sasusaku fanfiction #like gold #bridja reviews once in three years #i love this work with all my heart

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lilacthebooklover · 17 days

Note

3, 9, and 22 from this ask game

Of course! Thank you for participating! Here, have a piece of writing...

3) That encompasses my style (@acacia-may)

Hmm... My style's developed a lot over the years, and while I haven't had much time to write lately, I do think this little bit of Clamour from a couple months ago works pretty well! It's got the signature Lilac Anaphora, lots of flowery language, an abundance of commas and a little hint of enjambment as a metaphor for mental decline. (Sorry Acacia, I know you aren't in the fandom!! If you like, you can always submit another ask- 3 is just one that I struggled to think of something for :'])

His spiral down into insanity was not a quick process, nor was it without turmoil. It had been torturous, losing himself to the whispers inside of his brain, every thought overcome by that intoxicating need for more. His heart thrummed in his ears with each movement he made, fingers itching with the need to puppeteer once more, his head full of a throbbing, pulsating, incessant craving for control. Hiding it had been easy enough. His friends were long-since accustomed to his eccentricities, so when he began acting a little more oddly than usual, no-one batted an eye. He kept his lips sewn firmly shut and a toothy smile across his face, the chanting in his head growing louder and louder and louder with every lie he told. Maybe if he’d have been a little stronger, he’d have been able to overcome it. Maybe he would have told his friends. Maybe he would have been good enough to give up the power slowly killing him from the inside. Letting go was as inevitable as it was involuntary, in the end. As the floodgates burst, a rush of distorted euphoria like nothing before had sunk deep into his soul, a growing hunger beginning to fester within him. It grew and grew, and he took and took, and his friends fell with him as he watched , and he laughed and cackled because wasn’t it so ironic that anything heavenly or good be quashed in a place that couldn’t possibly hope to fathom it, and eventually, he had stopped caring about anything at all. The other Fallen Heroes mean nothing to him. His friends had died with him all those decades ago, only crude facsimiles of their former selves remaining. So here he is, the only performer left on a dusty set of cobwebs, and that hunger inside of him never stops. Something akin to loneliness aches alongside it, the lingering results of his isolation digging in deep and refusing to grant him even a moment of solace.

9) With characters I love

For this one, I think I'm going to have to go with an extract from Take A Bow- I'm hyperfixating hard on CRK at the moment lol. This was my first time writing both Pure Vanilla & Shadow Milk, and it was a lot of fun imagining how the story might progress before Theatre of Lies was released!!

Just as quickly as the darkness had arrived, a face shot out of the tree like a jack-in-the-box, sharp white teeth glinting down at them in a twisted, elated grin. A warped, reversed version of Pure Vanilla’s own symbol gleamed in the newfound turquoise light, his breath catching in his throat as he remembered all that Elder Faerie had told them. This must be the Beast who had originally possessed Pure Vanilla’s soul jam. The blonde found his hand subconsciously drifting to the crest on his own chest, gaze darting rapidly over every aspect of the uncaged monster’s face. “Ah!” A long, high exclamation pierced through the quiet, just as delighted as its voice’s owner. “Doesn’t this fresh air just feel… Divine?!” The last word ended in a growl, something manic heightening even further as the creature lazily surveyed its surroundings. Its unwavering stare passed over each of them in turn, finally settling on Pure Vanilla. Something in its glare sharpened, distorted cerulean light dancing along iridescent pools of insanity. “Oh, I see I have quite an audience here,” it remarked, its jauntiness seeming far too out of place amidst their own fearful grimaces. “I am so terribly sorry to have kept you waiting.” The voice fluctuated between shrill shrieks and inhuman snarls, every word laced with venomous glee. Its head alone was larger than all of them combined, and Pure Vanilla was loath to imagine how excessive the casualties would be if they were to instigate another fight. “But now… The wait is over. Your favourite trickster is here,” it lowered its head in a flamboyant half-bow. Its value had become Deceit, Pure Vanilla recalled. Undeniable intelligence shone among clear madness, for this was a being born of knowledge and corrupted into lies. It was– “Shadow Milk Cookie.”

22) That is so blissfully self-indulgent

Here, have a snippet of an Owl House AU I came up with on a whim one night in which I threw Caleb Wittebane into the future and leapt over plot holes like they were hurdles on an obstacle course >:]

Caleb was going to die. There was a dagger in his brother’s hand, glinting with the dark promise of blood to be spilt and aimed directly at him, merciless and unwavering in its pursuit. Caleb’s breath caught in his chest as he stumbled backwards, heartbeat pounding in his ears with a new sort of rapidity. It used to be such a thrilling feeling: the quick yet predictable pounding against his ribs, excitement making his lips quirk or anticipation leaving them agape. It was the adrenaline that used to come with a hunt, the dread and uncertainty and wonder that brewed within him as he stepped through that portal, the butterflies fluttering in his stomach that only Evelyn could incur. Now, his heart threw itself desperately against the confines of its prison, nausea rising within Caleb’s throat and poison in his mind because he was about to die, to be killed at the hands of the person he loved more than anything. The person he had loved more than anything. The person he’d given up everything for. The person he’d raised since childhood. Ever since Caleb was young, Philip had been his biggest priority. Their parents passed when they were both young, Philip so much so that he could scarcely remember them. It fell to Caleb to raise his brother, working odd jobs so they could afford accommodations as they passed from town to town. In a world where no-one could be trusted and not a soul was on their side, it had been Caleb’s responsibility to keep his little sibling safe. To keep him alive, protected. To keep him well. Looking at the pure resentment in Philip’s glare, Caleb wondered how it had all gone so wrong. He knew, really, exactly the reason behind his brother’s murderous intent; it simply seemed impossible to associate his hopeful, smiling, playful Philip with the spite-fuelled monster before him. His head swam with memories long since tainted by acidic regret. There were so, so many ways he could have prevented this situation, eradicated even the possibility of Philip wishing harm upon him. So many things he could have done. So many things he didn’t do, and here he was now, paying the price. Caleb’s days were numbered, he’d always known that. His fate was sealed as soon as he first took Evelyn’s hand.

Thanks again for the asks! <3

#this is harder than it looks lol #i've been locked out of google docs bc i'm out of storage #so while i'm itching to write something #i physically can't continue any of my current wips hfhkgf #fanfiction writer #fanfiction writing #ask game #writing ask game #cookie run kingdom #ao3 fics #shadow milk cookie #pure vanilla cookie #caleb wittebane #evelyn clawthorne #philip wittebane #the owl house #toh fanfic

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the-slasher-madame · 2 years

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Hi! I came across your blog today and I love it! I have a scenario type thing for Brahms I just thought of

So, only hours after the events of the movie, reader somehow someway finds the manor and decides to take refuge in there for a bit. They explore around a bit and the only reason Brahms hasn't attacked or anything is because he's simply too weak, so he retreats into the walls. Reader finds the doll, and just so happens to have owned a lot of glass/ceramic dolls in their past, so they know how to fix them up. As reader is fixing up the dolls head the best they can, they hear a loud thump from inside the walls, queue Brahms passing out. And you can take creative liberty from there LMAO

Sorry if that was a lot and you can change up anything you see fit! Thanks!

Awww HI!!!!! I'm glad you like it here <3333

LOL I love this because it just seems funny, random person is caring for the doll and Brahms just passes tf out and reader just goes "hmmm yes into the walls, let us care for the strange man." Ain't me, I get heart palpitations just playing phasmophobia lol, I'd die first in a horror movie (but hopefully I'd get my dying wish of a kiss from the handsome villain 👀.) Onwards!!

Warnings/Notes: mentions of violence, injuries, mentions of age regression (reader has friends who do), GN reader, poor Brahmsy :(,

ᵃˡˢᵒ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵉ ᴵ ʰᵃᵛᵉⁿ'ᵗ ᵃᶜᵗᵘᵃˡˡʸ ˢᵉᵉⁿ ᵐᵒˢᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵗʰᵉˢᵉ ᵐᵒᵛᶦᵉˢ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵉᵗᵗᶦⁿᵍ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ ᴵ ᵖʳᵒᵐᶦˢᵉ ᵖˡᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʰᵃᵗᵉ ᵐᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ >_<

I had to get that off my chest >_< anyways enjoy for real this time<3

Brahms had finally retreated to the walls, having patched himself up to the best of his abilities. It wasn't much, but it was something; he wouldn't die without saying he tried, he thought. It wasn't just his body hurting, but his heart, his mind. He really cared for Greta, had killed to protect her, and she betrayed him. She left him to die in the same house he'd been trapped in, alone, for his most of his life. Brahms thought he was about as bitter and angry at the world as he could get, yet here he was. If he could've moved he thinks he would have torn the mansion apart by now, or perhaps even left (he knew he'd never do that, he was as stuck with this broken home as he was with his broken face). He had just settled into a comfort spot in the walls when he heard the unmistakable creaking of the front door. This terrified him, thinking that Greta may have come back to make sure he was dead or had brought the cops to take him away. He groaned and gathered his strength to start towards the front of the house, stopping near one of the fireplaces to grab another weapon. He slowed as he reached the front, both due to exhaustion from his injuries and an attempt to be covert. Brahms, expecting to see Greta or unfamiliar men busting through the house, was properly surprised when he saw you instead. You had closed the front door while he made his way to this part of the house, and had stopped when you reached the shards of the doll. He rested a moment to see what you would do, as well as to catch his breath from the mad dash through his wall labyrinth.

“I think I can fix you little guy, hm? You know where I can find some superglue or porcelain? Why don’t we go looking around,” you hummed to the doll, having gathered all the pieces of its poor head. Brahms was shocked for the second time tonight, seeing you interact with the doll. He hadn’t interacted with many people, but he was certain that most wouldn’t stop for something that simple. They wouldn’t bother to even think of fixing it. He wanted so badly to go to you, to beg for some sort of help or comfort, but the recent betrayals kept him in the walls to watch as you started to wander through the halls of the house. Brahms passed by the mirror he burst through earlier, but his head started to spin. He tried so hard to stay upright, but the combination of emotional and mental turmoil of the night and his injuries made it impossible; he felt like he was watching himself crash to the floor before his sight finally faded to blackness.

You, on the other hand, jumped when you heard the noise. You had thought you were alone in the house; you had seen no cars out front or lights on in any of the windows. You carefully set the doll down and started back towards where you thought you heard the thump come from. As you cautiously rounded the corner, alert for possible assailants, you spot a large humanoid shape on the ground. The mirror was broken, like the person had fallen through it. You were quite properly terrified, but unfortunately for you, you had a kind heart. You could see the blood and bandages on what you determined to be a man, and you knew you had to help him. You slowly crept towards him and slid the fire poker out of the way, deciding you could pick that up in a moment. You rolled the man over onto his back, catching sight of some poorly applied bandages and plenty of blood smeared around his chest. It seemed pretty apparent to you that the man before you had no clear knowledge of first aid, or at least not enough to deal with whatever had happened to him. You had also noticed the cracked porcelain mask adorning his face, which was admittedly a little weird, but who were you to judge? I mean you had technically broken in and invaded his home, so you were certainly in no position to critique anyone.

You decided to look for some supplies before messing with the injury underneath all those bandages, You went back towards the kitchen, grabbing the fire poker before you went (no sense in giving him a way to hurt you when you just wanted to help. You riffled around in the kitchen cabinets, trying to find anything that looked like a first aid kit, or hell even some bandages. You found nothing, huffing as you arose from your knees and started walking back towards where you left the man. You rounded the corner just as the man shot up. His breathing was ragged as he whipped his head over to you, his eyes boring into you through his mask. You slowly set the fire poker on the ground, raising your hands above your head to show you meant no harm. The man flinched backwards anyways, starting to look around wildly for an exit. His current state was unstable as it is, and you didn’t want him to further hurt himself.

“Hey! Hey hey hey I won’t hurt you. Let’s calm down a little alright? I’m sorry to startle you,” you said, keeping your voice low and not moving. He started staring at you again, still heaving with heavy breaths. It wasn’t a lot, but you took it as a positive move. “My name’s Y/N, what about you?” He continued staring at you, thinking over whether to tell you. He was scared, he was unsure, and he was hesitant to trust anyone right now. You were going to start talking again, figuring he didn’t feel comfortable telling you any information. Just as you opened your mouth, the man before you opened his.

“My name is Brahms, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The man before you spoke softly, his voice closer to a child’s than an adult’s. His manners stuck with him, despite his fear. Your heart melted, seeing him deflate with fear and defaulting back to politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Brahms. Is this your house?” you said, trying your best to be gentle. The child-like voice also didn’t phase you much, either, as you had friends that would age regress. You were also more of a ‘go-with-the-flow’ sort of person, figuring to let people do what they wanted as long as it didn’t hurt themselves or anyone else.

“Yes, I’ve lived here my whole life,” Brahms responded to your question, surprised yet again by you. Most people were terrified when they saw him and heard him, their posture stiffening while they tried to back away. But he didn’t notice any of that with you; your breathing didn’t even change.

“Well Brahms, it’s a lovely house from what I’ve seen. I’m sorry to intrude, I didn’t know this house was occupied. I couldn’t help but notice you were hurt, can I help you with that?” Oh, you were so genuinely concerned for him. His eyes were tearing up, he didn’t think anyone could genuinely care for him, let alone a stranger. Meanwhile, you swear you could hear your heart break as he answered, “Please,” in such a scared, tired voice.

“Alright, thank you Brahms. Do you know where I can find some supplies? A blanket, some washcloths, a first aid kit?” You had lowered your hands by this point, kneeling down but still keeping a good distance away from your new friend, because you didn’t want to overwhelm him. You could tell this was a lot for him to handle at the moment. Brahms pointed to the broken remains of the mirror as he informed you, “There’s a first aid kit in the walls, just go straight left until you see it.” While you were a bit surprised to hear him telling you to walk in the walls, you figured it wasn’t the strangest part of your evening thus far. You promised him you would be right back and climbed up through the frame of the mirror, starting left just as he told you. You reached the kit in just a few minutes, glancing at the blood wiped along the walls. Why was there not a single soul to help this man when he clearly needed it? What had even happened in the first place? You filed these questions away for later as you slunk back the way you came. You had one hand on the wall, careful to go straight ahead through the darkened halls. You quickly came back to where the lights from the living room cast through the broken mirror, and you just as carefully made your way back out of the walls.

Brahms was dragging himself towards the couch about two [yards/meters] away, and it made you feel in your bones that this man was full of bad ideas and stubbornness. You hustled over to help him, saying to him, “Brahms! I could’ve helped you. Oh please be careful-” He’d made it to the couch, and only then did he turn to you and ask if you could help him onto the furniture. You let him use your body as a crutch as he lifted himself onto the cushions. He released you and sunk back into the softness of the couch, closing his eyes for a moment to regain his breathe. You briefly moved to the kitchen to find some sort of cloth to wet and clean up the mysterious man with. Brahms’ eyes were open by the time you returned.

You gently settled into the cushions beside him, opening the first aid kit to see what you had to work with: gauze, painkillers, medical tape, suturing equipment, a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide, butterfly strips, and some antibiotics. You prepared yourself, and decided you should probably warn Brahms. You mumbled, “I have to clean it, and I might have to put some stiches in. Is that okay, Brahms?” Another surprise, being asked if it was alright for you to touch him. He had a feeling that you were just one big string of surprises, but interestingly enough he wanted to see what you would do next. He nodded his assent, and you set to carefully removing the dressing he had applied earlier. It was a relatively small hole compared to what you were expecting, but it still looked rather deep. You started by lightly scrubbing at the dried blood, cleaning up his skin before moving on to the wound itself. You found some cotton pads in the kit and dabbed some of the hydrogen peroxide on to it. “It may sting a little, Brahms, I’m sorry. But It’ll help keep it clean and healthy okay?” you informed him, your brow furrowed slightly. “It’s alright, I understand. I’ll be a good boy,” he whispered back to you, his tired mind and body aching to be good, to be taken care of. You nodded and returned to the task at hand, carefully pressing the cotton bad to the hole in his chest. He hissed as it burned, but he stayed still like a good boy. You winced with him, knowing it felt awful. Finally you pulled the pad away, blotchy with watery pink spots. The man next to you breathed a sigh of relief once you pulled the pad away. You examined the wound closer, trying to determine if it needed stitches. It was a pretty small surface area, but it seemed deep enough. It’s also important to mention that you weren’t a certified medical professional, and you had no idea what qualified for stitches.

You remembered the butterfly strips, deciding that would be a good compromise. You grabbed the antibiotic tubes, using your (thoroughly sterilized) finger to smooth the jelly over Brahms’ wound. After that was taken care of, you used a single butterfly strip to hold the wound closed, then covered it with a bandage. You stood up and stepped back to critique your work, deciding to deem it passible. “Alright Brahms, I think that’s the best I can do for now. Good job for sitting through that,” you praised him, and it certainly helped him to feel better. “Thank you, Y/N,” he offered, his voice still high but not quite as high as it was before. You sat back down next to him, and he turned to watch you. A few moments later, your broke the silence to ask, “Do you mind telling me what happened here?”

//Finite. Squeeee I hope y’all like it!! Looking at the gifs of Brahms getting stabbed made me sad, but also made me remember how attractive he is. I really want him to kiss me :((((

Sorry if there are any plot holes, or inaccuracies in either how the events happened compared to the movie or in the medical care. I plan on going into forensics and homicide investigation, and that usually involves more dead bodies than live ones. Also sorry it took me so long, I wanted to make sure it was good!! I gotta put that whole slashussy in there. <333

#slashers #slasher fucker #slasher x reader #slasher fluff #brahms heelshire #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelsire fluff #brahmsy #brahms heelshire the boy #brahms the boy #the boy 2016 #brahms needs some love #give him a hug for fucks sake #babie #<3333

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