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starshapedkookie · 3 years

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Live Through This | 1

↳ if you live through this with me, I swear that I will die for you

pairing: jungkook x female reader

genre: ex-lovers to frenemies to lovers(?), band au, punk au, angst!!!!, smut

warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol and drug use, mentions of heroin overdose, jungkook & oc are toxic! by britney spears (#freebritney) but really do lurve each other, minor smut in this part (fem. oral receiving + fingering), ANGST, jungkook got tats, piercings, & is lead guitar because... duh, also oc slaps jk one time but honestly it’s deserved lol

summary: A record deal. The one thing Violet needed to become the next big rockstars. As the front-woman to the band, life couldn’t have been any easier for you. That is until a devastating life event changes everything for you, leaving you heartbroken and in a downward spiral you can’t get out of. With your biggest competitor, Whailen 52 on your heels, your bandmates worried about the future, and your ex Jeon Jungkook being your only solace; you weren’t sure if you were going to live through this to see your dreams come to fruition.

word count: 22.5k

spotify playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6U3lm7y9hCgpw1bzc6r5qu?si=201adb3f43364141

➪ welcome to part 1 of this beast i’ve been tackling for 2 months. part 2 will be out soon. please like & reblog, i’m nervous to post (it’s been a year!!! 🥺🥰) come chat with me after you’ve read! enjoy💜💟♍️

The first time you picked up a guitar singlehandedly changed your life. You were eight years old—a gift from your father on Christmas morning. You’re unsure what prompted your father to gift you the instrument at such a young age. He always told you he had begun playing around the same time when he was a child so perhaps that’s why. It came at much annoyance and protest from your mother. You were a loud, borderline unbearable child to begin with—throwing an instrument into the mix was a sure disaster. Your mother should have expected it though. With two musically gifted parents, it was bound to happen at some point. She would later tell you she would have just wanted you to make the decision for yourself. You roll your eyes at her now—oh how naive she was.

It was a Yamaha—your first guitar. Your father didn’t think you needed anything too fancy at such a young age. Looking back you realize how ridiculous that was, always cracking a laugh when you think about it. An 8 year old—with a Yamaha? It’s comical but it was perfect. Without that first Yamaha, you wouldn’t be standing here, right now, doing what you loved. Doing what your body craved.

“Tough crowd, huh?” Your bassist, Lisa remarks only to where you and your band could hear her. You shoot her a smirk before tending back to your guitar, ensuring that it’s in tune for the gig. You are currently strumming along your Fender aimlessly, waiting for your cue from the club owner towards the back.

It was lavender—a hue of the purple family that may have been too on the head for your band, but you didn’t care. It was the most recent gift from your father—your birthday a few months back. You would play this guitar until the strings broke. This was your first gig in nearly a month. You felt pressured—your absence was seen throughout the underground. For more reasons than one, you were perhaps the most talked about darling in your scene—you had people to impress. You couldn’t embarrass yourself like that. You wouldn’t embarrass your band like that—you wouldn’t embarrass him like that.

Lisa wasn’t wrong—the crowd which had already seen one band before you—didn’t seem too interested in what they had to play. Granted, they were playing weird renditions of 2000’s pop music which may not have been the best choice on their part. You by no means were a music snob, but growing up around your father being who he was, you considered your taste… elevated.

From the back of the club through the bright stage lights, you are given a thumbs up by the sound guys in the back. You glance back at your band; Lisa—the bassist, Hoseok—the drummer, and your lead guitarist—Park Jimin. They all give you a nod that they’re ready and you let out a heavy breath of nerves. You loved performing, you truly did, but the anxiety of it all never fully went away.

“Hey everyone,” you give a small smile into the microphone as some people whistle and catcall as you speak. “We’re Violet and we hope you enjoy the show… this first song is about shitty men doing shitty things to women.”

Some of the audience laughs, others continue to whistle and on a count of three by Hoseok’s kick drum, you begin strumming your first chords, Jimin helping you out in the back. It’s an easier song to play on guitar, but nonetheless one of the song’s that inspired your band in your early inception.

“And the sky was made of amethyst… and all the stars look just like little fish,” you breath in, focusing on your strumming, “You should learn when to go… you should learn how to say no!”

The rest of your band comes in, kicking off the fast pace which grabs the crowd instantly. You continue to sing the song loud but in control, making sure not to speed up your rhythmic sections—a bad habit you’ve only broken in the past couple years thanks to your father’s scoldings. The club begins to come alive at this point.

“And the sky was all violet… I want again but violent… more violent,” you inhale to catch your breath.

“Yeah I’m the one with no soul… one above and one below!” you bellow into the microphone, opening your eyes to look at the crowd briefly—

“Go on take everything, take everything, I want you to—“ you momentarily stop singing, listening to the crowed sing along, making you smile in return.

“And I told you from the start, just how this would end… when I get what I want and I never want it again—“

“Go on take everything, go on take everything, take everything, take everything!”

It’s moments like this when you realize how full circle you’ve come—listening to all the classic albums in your bedroom to now performing them on the cusp of a record deal. The last note and word to come out of your mouth somewhat drags on and out of breath, you step away from the microphone admiring as the club cheers and yells for your band. You give them all a smile muttering a brief thank you. The lights are bright and you step back to give your retinas a break.

You start your next song after a few moments, keeping the momentum of the club high. You and your whole band are starting to break sweat, but you wouldn’t change it for anything else. You hoped he was proud of you. All he ever wanted was for you to be happy and see you doing what you loved. In that moment, you promise to yourself that you wouldn’t miss another show. Not just for your band, but for him too.

Your band plays around 5 more songs—going from L7 to a rendition of one of your favorite Panic! At the Disco song. All your nerves had seemingly gone away by the end of the show, your body just running on a pure adrenaline high now.

“Thank you guys so much, we hope you enjoyed it,” you breathe out giving a one last wave to the crowd. The high you felt after a show was unmatched—and trust, you had plenty of experience to compare it too. The four of you quickly bow as one last thanks before heading off the stage to the small green room for the club.

“Killed it as always guys,” Jimin gives you a quick hug and you squirm underneath him, his back a little too sweaty for your taste.

“Ew, get off!” You push him away as you set your guitar back into the case, closing it shut promptly.

“You’re really gonna deny Park Jimin a hug over some sweat?” He retorts and you roll your eyes with a laugh before responding with a flat yes. Jimin ruffles your hair to which you give him a glare for.

“Lisa, Hobi—you grabbing drinks?” Jimin asks the two of them as everyone packs their things away.

“Yeah yeah, you comin’?” Hobi responds with a wide smile. He always had so much energy before, during, and after a show, you had no idea how he did it. You nicknamed him your ray of sunshine many moons ago. Hobi didn’t have to ask twice as Jimin trails behind them.

“Y/N, you coming?!” Jimin asks over the loud music that had resumed playing. As the last band to play, the club results back to playing normal bar music.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom, but I’ll be right there!” You reassure your band mates and that’s exactly where you head. You don’t see Lisa’s concerned gaze as you turn away. Her eyes are sad and worried for you, unsure of where your head actually was.

You didn’t need to relieve yourself in anyway, you just wanted to freshen up from the show. Sweating and moving around the last 45 minutes on stage did not make you feel clean in any way. You powder your face some and reapply your lipstick—the red color being a signature for you—and straighten out your dress. As the only girl in the bathroom, you take it upon yourself to take in your appearance in one of the mirrors.

You clean up the edges of your lips, noticing how you merely don’t recognize the girl in the mirror. Unfortunately, your post-show high was coming down much quicker than you wanted, bringing you back to a much harsher reality than you wanted to face. Your eyes were somewhat dead, no longer possessing the usual confident gaze. You couldn’t remember the last time you got a full nights rest, staying up in the early hours in the morning, only sleeping whenever you physically couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore. Your dreams were too painful. It was a weird method of keeping things under your control. The less you slept—the less you had to see his face in your slumber.

Once you take a few deep breaths and feel like you look much more presentable than just mere moments ago, you leave the restroom, squeezing through the crowd of people to the bar. You’re able to hear the ensemble of drunken compliments as you make your way there. You can’t help but smile at the praise—if there was one thing you knew you were good at, it was this.

Despite it all, before you are able to reach your bandmates, someone shoves you into a stranger, nearly tripping you and eating the ground of the dance floor.

“Oh fuck—I’m sorry!” you spill out quickly, realizing whoever you bumped into had caught you wiith strong arms. “Kai?” You pant out, feeling somewhat relieved that you fell into someone that you just so happened to know.

“Y/N, hey!” he gives you a small smile as he lets go of your frame once you’ve steadied yourself.

“What are you doing here?” You ask him, glancing around your surroundings, seeing he seems to be by himself.

“A few of us heard you guys were playing tonight and wanted to come check it out,” he explains with his ever so charming smile. You had to admit, it was one your favorite feature of his. Without warning, another person bumps into you to which you send them a strong glare.

“C’mon over here?” Kai suggests and you nod quickly—you hadn’t seen him in a few weeks and you didn’t mind to leave your band at the bar for a few more minutes to catch up.

“Enjoy the show?” You ask him once the two of you are settled in an area of the small club where there wasn’t any risk of someone bumping into you anymore. It was still loud but more manageable for conversation.

“Always,” he says licking his lips briefly, “You guys gonna be playing in the band competition in a few weeks?”

“Of course,” you say confidently.

“Good,” he compliments with another smile. It’s this moment where you really take him in. He’s wearing simple blue jeans and a distressed tee, but he looks good enough to take right here and now. You and Kai knew each other in more ways than one—him being one of your most loyal suitors. With everything that has gone on in the past few weeks… you had not had time to focus on yourself much. However, talking to him now has all the sexual tension you’ve repressed brewing to the surface.

“What are the rest of your plans tonight?” He subsequently asks, noticing the way your eyes rake up and down his body quickly. He does the same to you.

You shrug, “I was just gonna hang out here with the rest of the band.”

He gives you a look you can’t exactly read before speaking again, “Some of the guys were gonna head to Yoongi’s apartment in a bit if you want to join?”

The mention of Min Yoongi has you hesitant to fully agree, but nonetheless, you’re always down for a good time. You’re also sure if you go, Kai will end up in your bed at the end of the night which is just what you wanted.

“Sure, sounds fun.”

____

Jungkook has a hard time with names. He’s pretty good with faces but when it comes to labeling those faces, he goes blank until he’s met them at least three times. With alcohol running through his blood, he couldn’t care less about the girl’s name who is straddling his lap, lacing his tongue’s with hers. She’s hot and has a great figure, his fingers clenching at the girl’s waist, pulling her center impossibly closer to his growing bulge in his tight jeans.

“Christ Jeon, can’t you get a fucking room?” Jungkook pulls away from the girl when Namjoon’s voice interrupts his business. A smirk spreads across Jungkook’s face before he stares up at the girl, her lips swollen and cheeks tinged with a pinky haze.

“Do you want another drink?” She nods excitedly at his question, standing up from his lap. He takes her hand that’s outstretched for him and he leads her towards the makeshift bar of Yoongi’s apartment. He greets some people who have just showed face but then his world suddenly stops when he sees an all too familiar frame walk into the main living room, hand in hand with Kai—some fucker of a friend of Yoongi’s.

You’re wearing a short black slip dress that’s most likely a lingerie set of yours, white converse highs, and a flannel over your shoulders, red lipstick painting your lips. You must have just come from a show. He knew your schtick all too well. You looked damn good and he hated to admit that with another girl trailing close behind him. He has to tear his eyes away from you, focusing on getting himself and this girl a drink.

“Jungkook!” Taehyung yells loudly from behind the “bar”—Taehyung likes to role play when he’s drunk, and tonight, he’s ‘bartender’. Jungkook laughs at his oldest friend before telling him to stir up some concoction of whatever liquor and mixer available.

“Gukkie,” the girl whispers into his ear, her breath sweeping against his exposed neck.

“Hm,” he mumbles, turning his head to her, their noses brushing ever so slightly.

“Let’s go back to yours,” she pouts with a set of irresistible puppy dog eyes.

“Soon, I promise,” he says. He’s yearning to get into her panties as much as she is, but he knows he should stay a bit longer. It might piss off some of his friends to dip another party so quickly again to fuck a girl.

“Here you go Jungkookie,” Taehyung hands Jungkook two drinks, Jungkook passing the second one to the girl. Fuck, he thinks, he really wishes he could remember her name. “Oh Y/N!”

The playful smile on Jungkook’s face soon disappears when Taehyung’s voice booms over the music. Jungkook turns his attention away from the random girl when he turns around to meet your frame. Your eyes immediately meet his, your heart dropping in your stomach. Eye contact is such a simple thing, but looking in Jeon Jungkook’s eyes was like looking into a whole new galaxy. His eyes sparkled and held so many secrets. You had yet to figure them all out.

“Hey guys,” you smile, breaking eye contact with Jungkook, looking over at Taehyung. You could tell Taehyung was drunk the way he was being loud and playful—usually he’s much more reserved.

“Hey,” Jungkook nods to you courteously. Taehyung hands you a random seltzer before you give Jungkook a nod in return.

You take notice of a girl hanging off Jungkook’s arm, paying close attention to the scene in front of her. You grimace, the girl barely even acknowledging you. Does she know who you are? Does she know your history with the man to her left?

“Jungkook, who’s this?” So many questions.

His face goes completely blank, licking his lips awkwardly, “Uh, this is… uh,” he coughs trying to diffuse the tension. The girl looks completely taken aback, an offended look crossing her features.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She spits bitterly, stepping away from him. “Fuck you. I’m Joy by the way,” she turns to you before she stomps away angrily.

You can’t help but laugh to yourself before shaking your head, getting ready to go back to Kai until Jungkook says something.

“Haven’t changed much I see?” He chuckles to himself, on the surface looking somewhat pissed or annoyed—maybe both, you couldn’t tell. It’s been a few weeks since Jungkook has seen or spoken to you. He did send condolences which you were thankful for. He did have a heart of gold; most of the time. He definitely wasn’t going to bring up anything personal right now—opting to keep the conversation cordial and lighthearted.

Your eyes narrow at him, “I could say the same to you. Fucking a random girl whose names you don’t even know,” you say obviously to which Taehyung snorts from behind the bar. You had almost forgotten he was there.

“You always know where to cut deep, don’t you?” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. He’s gotten it trimmed and dyed since the last time you’ve seen him. It had been a faded grey, terrible roots showing from all sides and much longer than it is now. He’s now got the ends of his hair dyed a dark blue and his roots back to his usual black, his eyebrow piercing hiding behind his fringe.

“Part of my charm I suppose,” you shrug, taking a sip from your drink.

“Indeed,” he says, mimicking your motion of taking a drink. “You had a gig tonight?” He asks, completely switching gears on the conversation.

You furrow your eyebrows, “Are you stalking my band now?”

He shakes his head while pursing his lips, “Your lipstick gives it away,” he chuckles slightly. You don’t say anything for a moment, crossing your arms over your chest. Sometimes you forget just how much you and Jungkook truly know about each other.

“Always observant Jeon,” you mutter.

“Are you guys playing in the competition in a few weeks?” He asks genuinely, tone laced with curiosity.

You lick your lips, glancing back to Taehyung who has completely forgotten about you and Jungkook. He’s speaking to some guy you’ve never seen before, waving his arms around exuberantly as he tells a story.

“If we were do you think I’d tell you?” You retort.

Jungkook laughs taking one more glance down your body, shifting on his feet, “Does it really matter if we’re both gonna be there?”

“Keep to yourself Jeon,” you breathe out, pushing a finger to his chest to push his proximity away from you, “Maybe you should go find Joy, you might be able to still get in her pants if you apologize enough,” you give him a wink before walking away from him.

Frenemies—that’s how you would describe Jeon Jungkook. The two of you had a long history that was complicated—fun—hateful—loving—toxic. Maybe it was the physical chemistry—his musicality—the fact he was also a guitar player? You couldn’t pinpoint it. It wasn’t long after that when you found yourself in a relationship with him. A 3 year endeavor that ended so painfully and so riddled with toxicity. You wanted to hate Jungkook for what he did to you and he wanted to hate you for what you did to him—but you simply couldn’t. Not only was your inner circle pretty much in the same scene forcing you to be pleasant in each other’s presence, but Jeon Jungkook was your twin flame no doubt. A twin flame that burned so bright and blew out unexpectedly. Here you were, almost 6 months after your breakup, finding yourself around each other more often than ever. Were you enemies? No. Were you friends? No. Nothing was black and white with your former lover and you weren’t sure you wanted it to be.

You steady your breath as you leave your heavy thoughts, trying to find Kai through the masses of people—Yoongi’s apartment wasn’t that small, but the masses of people here tonight was overwhelming. Even though the “underground” was the “underground”—it’s becoming more and more mainstream as bands like yours and Jungkook’s get more recognition.

You can feel Jungkook’s eyes following you until you’re sure he’s out of your sight, finally finding Kai talking to a girl you briefly recognize, but you can’t place a name on her.

“Y/N!” Kai smiles throwing an arm around your shoulder, pulling you close to his chest. “This is Nessa, you’ve probably seen her around?”

“Ah, yes I remember you were at a show a few weeks ago,” you smile to her.

“Yeah, you guys are amazing, you’re amazing,” she studies your frame and you give her a curious look. She then eyes Kai before biting her lip slightly.

“Thank you,” you smile flatly at her, “Kai do you wanna get a drink?” you ask him, trying to divert his attention away from her. He only gives you a glance shaking his head slightly. You inwardly roll your eyes, afraid that you may have lost your fuck for the night. So much for loyalty—and you even spoke so highly of him too! You excuse yourself with some shitty lie, unsure of where to go or who to talk to now.

Instead of going back to the bar, you wander aimlessly around the apartment, smiling and making small talk for those who come up to you. Years ago when you formed Violet, you couldn’t have imagined the recognition you’re getting now. Obviously you are no celebrity by any means—just a struggling college student with a somewhat successful band. It was still fair to say it was weird having people know who you and you were band. With the battle of the bands coming up, it only made things worse for you. As a child, you never understood fully what your father could have dealt with. Now, in your early 20’s, you were starting to learn.

“Hey Y/N,” Min Yoongi makes his first appearance to you tonight. The two of you exchange a short hug. He’s got silver hair that would be striking under the sun, but the dark atmosphere dims it to a faint grey. He’s never been one more tattoos, only carrying piercings on his lobes. You quickly ask him how he is, catching up briefly. You met Yoongi through Jungkook years ago and you two have always had a good friendship. Despite the bumps in the road, Yoongi was a good friend. Unfortunately he was subject to a lot of your drama with Jungkook, which you still apologize for to this day.

“Good good,” he nods curtly. “We’re about to smoke, wanna join?”

You’re about to protest but then you think about it, and honestly, you could use a nice high right now—numbing your pain had been your go to these past few weeks anyway.

“Sure,” you shrug, following your friend down a narrow hallway into a small bedroom. You’re sure this bedroom belongs to Kim Namjoon—the drum set in the corner giving that away.

“Look who it is,” you look to your right to find Namjoon seated in a chair, holding a fat blunt between his fingers. You wave to him taking in your surroundings promptly. Including you, there’s Namjoon, Yoongi, Jin and his girlfriend Sana, one of Yoongi’s other roommates, and Jungkook sitting around in a circle. You purposely avoid Jungkook’s eye contact, feeling it radiating from his direction. So much for trying to purge from him tonight.

Everyone passes the blunt around, taking one to two hits to get the high they desire. You’re sat between Yoongi and Sana, small talk amongst the group. You find yourself not saying much, sitting back to observe the scene—too much going through your mind to expend any extra energy. Jungkook does the same, keeping his lips sealed unless he is called upon.

Yoongi passes you the quickly fading stick and you quickly flick the lighter on to relight the green substance. You inhale deeply, only holding it in for a brief moment before you’re coughing the smoke out. You pass it Sana, trying to control your cough. Seokjin makes a snarky comment to you about it and you flip him off with a small laugh. You look around the room once again, your eyes meeting Jungkook. He’s chatting with Yoongi’s roommate and you chew on your bottom lip, your heart racing as you stare at his jawline.

Fucking hell, you curse to yourself, why did he have to look so good—all the time? Maybe it’s the high? Shut the fuck you you idiot, you scold yourself. Jungkook glances away for a moment before doing a double take, taking notice of your stare. You rip your eyes away from him, demeaned that he caught you in the act.

“Thanks Yoongi, I’m gonna get some air,” you whisper to him before standing up to leave the room. Everyone wishes you well before you find yourself wandering down the hallway, holding on to the wall for support. You are definitely high and you need a moment to yourself. Your heart rate has picked up and you lean against the wall, closing your eyes to steady yourself. You keep yourself in the shadows, hoping the loud music and other anomalies is enough to not draw attention to you.

You look at your phone to check the time; 12:56 PM. You should probably get home soon. Tomorrow is Sunday but you have lunch with your mom in approximately 12 hours. You’re pulling up your Uber app before you hear footsteps coming up to your left. You take a glance and see Jungkook coming down the hallway from Yoongi’s room. He instantly takes notice of you but he doesn’t say anything as he moves past you. Before you register what you’re doing—you reach out and grab his tattooed arm. He whips his head around as you pull him back to you, stumbling slightly.

“Hey,” he chuckles looking down at you. Jungkook is high too, but he eyes you closely to make sure you’re okay.

You let go of his arm, “Hi,” is all you can manage. If you couldn’t have Kai tonight, you always had a backup plan.

“Can I help you?” He mutters, his tone dark.

“Mhm,” you breathe out, looping one of your fingers through his belt loops. He steps forward without a protest, caging you in against the wall. “You going home?”

He nods slowly, his eyes studying your face intently, “You wanna ride with me?” He whispers so that only you can hear.

You glance around his frame, ensuring no one was eavesdropping on the two of you.

“I know something I can ride,” you’re bold with your words but it’s something Jungkook has always liked about you. You’re strong, determined, and you don’t sugar coat shit. It’s amazing how little the two of you have to speak to each other to fall into each other’s arms once again. A small chuckle escapes his lips before he speaks.

“Mmm, I’d like that,” is the last thing he says before he closes the small gap between you two. His lips fit so well against yours and they feel so new yet nostalgic at the same time. And maybe that’s why you keep him at an arms distance even after all this time. No matter how much he’s broken your heart—and how much you’ve broken his—you can’t say no to a twin flame.

_____

It’s 5:36 in the morning when you wake up from your slumber. It takes you a moment to realize you’re not in your bed but by the scent of the sheets, you know exactly where you are at. It’s still dark outside, making the room nearly pitch black. You can faintly make out faint sounds of some cars outside, the subway and buses running in the distance.

There is a stir of the sheets beside you and you know you need to get the fuck out of there. You glance over your shoulder to see Jungkook sleeping peacefully on his back, his hair pushed back off his forehead. Carefully, you lift the sheet up from your body as you sit up as quiet as you can. You manage to find all your articles of clothing, slipping them on quickly. You keep your eyes fixated on Jungkook the entire time, ready to sprint if he were to wake up. Shoes, panties, phone—you complete your mental checklist as you leave his room, shutting the door quietly behind you.

You leave Jungkook’s apartment deciding on taking the subway back to your place as that will be the fastest way home rather than walking. Your apartment honestly wasn’t too far, but the faster you got home and away from him—the better. As you settle into a subway seat, keeping your face low despite no one else inhabiting the car—all your emotions begin to spill out along with a set of fresh tears.

“Fuck,” you wiped your eyes ferociously. You really wished you would stop crying.

___ Jungkook remembers the first time he met you vividly—and he thinks about it far too often for his own good. It was his first year of college—yours too. A shitty old bar down the road from his shared apartment with his bandmates. A couple friends, Mark and Yugyeom, invited him and his accompanying band to the show. He had briefly heard of the new female-led band Violet growing in the area. There were plenty of bands up and coming, including the one he was in—he wasn’t sure what could be so special about this one. That wasn’t until he heard who the front-woman’s dad was.

“Her father is Krist Vedder?” Taehyung, the frontman of their band mouth dropped at this revelation. Jungkook was equally as shocked—the Krist Vedder? The famous Krist Vedder who has produced music from the Foo Fighters to Linkin Park. He wasn’t an actual celebrity by no means but if you were well versed with music, people knew who he was. Now Jungkook was more curious than ever to see this band—surely it had to be a little good if the front woman grew up in that household.

Once you stepped up on the stage with a white Squier Bullet Stratocaster, he almost let out a laugh, him and Taehyung somewhat skeptical considering your frame, but the crowd hyped you and the band before you even strummed one chord.

“Good evening, we’re Violet,” your voice was strong and confident. Jungkook watched you intently as your drummer gave the cue and then you were off. The first chord that came from your guitar was strong but melodic and he immediately picked up on the classic—Sex on Fire

Your voice was clear and commanding, confident with every lyric you sang. The bar immediately lights up as you get into the chorus. Jungkook finds himself singing along, mesmerized by your strumming and smile. That smile—all he could think was wow. Your drummer hit hard, the bassist—another female, had great melodies, and the lead guitar strum fast and clear despite his smaller frame.

A little good was an understatement—you guys fucking rocked. The set was already on the shorter side, but it ended all too quickly for Jungkook. The entire bar, even though it was small and crammed, cheered as you all walked off, clearly loving what they had just heard.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says, bringing everyone back down to reality.

“Told you guys,” Mark raises his eyebrows, “They're great. Can you believe Y/N is only eighteen?” He comments.

“The front girl?” Jungkook inquires, realizing you’re the same age as him.

Yugyeom nods, “Yeah I met her in class last semester, she’s sick.”

“I mean her dad is Krist fucking Vedder,” Taehyung mentions once again seemingly in disbelief.

“Yeah yeah, don’t mention it too much—she doesn’t like it,” Yugyeom narrows his eyes at Taehyung. Jungkook takes a mental note.

A few minutes later after they all get some drinks and settle in for the next band to play, Yugyeom and Mark are greeting an unfamiliar group of people. It’s you and your band.

“Guys this is Hoseok, Jimin, Lisa, and Y/N,” Marl smiles widely as he introduces everyone.

“Taehyung,” he smiles shaking hands and giving a slight bow to everyone, “Kick ass show guys,” he comments.

“Yeah,” Jungkook agrees, his eyes locking directly with yours, “Jungkook,” he nods. The two of you find it hard to break eye contact until he does, glancing at the rest of the band.

“Wait, you guys are in Whailen 52 right?” Lisa, the bassist, pipes up a question.

Taehyung nods with a smile, “Yeah, in the flesh, although the other three couldn’t make it tonight.”

“Oh shit no way! I went to a couple of shows of you guys last semester,” your finally pop in, your red lips hard for Jungkook not to look at.

Whalien 52—Jungkook and Taehyung’s baby. Formed by them when they were only 12 and 14—abet the name Whalien 52 didn’t come until much later. Not only had they been a band for years, they were quickly becoming the most popular band in the scene.

The small group ended up to continuing chatting whilst the next band was still setting up their equipment to play. Jungkook sipped on his beer, letting the rest of the crew talk amongst themselves. He was there for the music. Although he couldn’t seem to stop glancing your direction every so often when he noticed that you too, seemed to not care much for small talk, ready to take in more music yourself.

You hair was thrown up messily in a ponytail, your gold hoops on display for everyone to see. You were wearing a black dress that was pretty fitted all over, exposing some cleavage tastefully, black tights that clearly had been worn too many times to count, and Doc Martens. Jungkook rips his eyes away from you when you glance his way, catching him in the act. He’s thankful it’s somewhat dark in the bar to hide the redness growing on his face.

“See something you like?” You raise an eyebrow at him, a playful smile growing on your face.

Jungkook, not expecting you to be so up front, gives you a chuckle before meeting your eyes again.

“Can I buy you a drink?” He asks, ignoring your first comment. Unable to resist the dark haired cutie in front of you, you managed a nod and the two of you walked over to the bar together, Jungkook following closely behind you.

“Jungkook, you said?” You questioned as you quickly thanked him for the drink of your choice.

He nods, “And Y/N?”

You nod in response with a smile.

“You guys were great tonight,” he compliments and it brings a smile to your face, “You're a great guitar player.”

“Thanks, though I don’t do as much as Jimin,” you smile, looking down at the floor almost as if you were embarrassed of your talent.

He shrugs, “Every band needs both though, rhythm and lead.”

“You’re not too bad yourself from what I’ve seen,” you say. You had seen Jungkook’s band a few times and they were also damn good. Punk-rock was some of your favorite and they knew how to do it right.

He smiles, “We’re alright,” he shrugs, knowing that’s a lie. He’s only trying to humble himself to impress you. He knows they are fucking good. “How long have you guys been together?”

You ponder for a second, “Um, like end of high school, so just about a year. But Lisa and I have been playing together longer than that.”

Only a year?! Jungkook couldn’t believe that you guys already sounded so tight with such little time. I guess being Krist Vedder’s daughter comes with those perks of just instantly having your shit together.

“What about you?” You ask curiously. The more you spoke to Jungkook, the more handsome he appeared to be. Yes, he was cute—like a boyish cute with a boyish charm—but the way he looks at you says something different. Maybe it’s the piercing gaze he holds or the rings covering his fingers, something tells you he’s not as boyish as he wants to let on.

“Hyung and I formed it when we were like 12, 13? Something like that? But we didn’t properly fill out until early high school.”

Your eyes go wide,“Shit,” you laugh,“And you aren’t sick of playing with each other yet?”

Jungkook laughs with a shrug, “Somedays we want to kill each other, but we always work through it.”

You continue to sip on your drink, eager to see to see the next band. You didn’t just love playing music, you loved listening to it as well. If anything, that gave you the most inspiration for you and your band.

“Why’re you called Violet?” Jungkook asks, trying his best not to look down your dress.

“It’s my favorite color… duh,” you lick your lips, watching Jungkook’s eyes intensely. He stares down at you with a tension you could only describe as sexual. You had known him for approximately an hour, yet you felt like it had been years with how comfortable you felt with him. Jungkook was sure you felt it too, an electricity pulling you guys closer together. He’s had one drink, so it’s definitely not the alcohol making his head spin.

He rolls his eyes at your sarcasm before you open your mouth again, “I’m kidding… you know Hole?”

Jungkook tilts his head for a moment, before nodding slowly, “Of course.”

“Mmm,” you purse your lips, “My dad showed me Live Through This when I was like 11 and it fucking changed my life. That’s the day I knew I was gonna have my own band and name it Violet.”

With the mention of your dad, Jungkook sticks to what he heard earlier and decides not to elaborate on that aspect.

“That’s a great album for sure,” he nods, understanding you some now. So your father was Krist Vedder and you liked 90’s grunge. Was he dreaming?

“But isn’t Courtney like a terrible person?”

You narrow your eyes slightly, a small laugh emitting from your lips, “I separate the art from the artist… my dad always told me that was only fair.”

“Mhm,” Jungkook eyes you up and down once more before taking a sip of his beer.

You narrow your eyes at him before stepping towards him slightly, “But you know, Kurt also called Courtney the greatest fuck in the world on national television,” you raise an eyebrow at him as he meets your eyes, an obscene playfulness to your tone.

“Are you implying something?” He smirks, licking his lips with a laugh.

You bat your eyelashes at him for a moment and he swears he goes hard right then and there in his pants.

“Take that how you want,” you bite your lip as you cautiously rest your hand on his forearm. He takes this as his opportunity to step closer to you, his other hand pulling you in by your waist.

“Wanna tour of my apartment?” Jungkook gets out quickly and you let out a laugh, glancing over your shoulder unable to see the rest of your friends and bandmates.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” you breathe out and before you can even finish your drink, Jungkook is dragging you out of the bar by your hand, the two of you desperate to get a taste of one another leaving any other worries behind.

“Earth to Jungkook,” Namjoon beats on his drum set to snap him out of his long reverie.

“What?” Jungkook snaps looking up from his guitar.

“Don’t worry he’s probably just thinking about whatever girl is going to get his dick wet later,” Jin, the band’s vibrant bassist snakily comments.

Jungkook flips him off, not even bothering to respond. Between juggling school, the gym, and band practice—Jungkook wasn’t there. Dozing off every ten minutes or so, bored with his tasks at hand. Maybe Min Yoongi was rubbing off on him too much these days?

“Thinking about Y/N more like it,” Namjoon comments and Jungkook shoots him daggers from where he’s seated with his guitar. “What? You really don’t think we’re stupid do you?”

Jungkook hunches over in his seat, ignoring their piercing stares.

“You’re still fucking her?” Jin raises an eyebrow at his youngest peer.

“Hyung!” Taehying shoots. Jungkook and Taehyung know each other the most and he knows exactly what will set Jungkook off—your name being one of them. Jungkook woke up this morning alone is his bed. He wasn’t surprised but he’s come to realize that he shouldn’t get his hopes up when it comes to you. He supposes that he’s lucky you’ll still let him fuck you so he’s taking whatever he can get.

“We all know it’s true,” Namjoon shrugs, twirling his drumsticks aimlessly around his fingers.

Once again, Jungkook ignores Namjoon’s comment, focusing on strumming a few opens chords on his acoustic guitar.

“Pussy whipped,” Jin sing songs, plucking some strings on his bass. Everyone seems to laugh but Jungkook and Yoongi.

“Fuck off guys,” Jungkook mutters leaning back into his chair, “Can we change the subject?” He pouts like a child. He hated when the guys poked into his life—whether you were the topic of conversation or a random girl he fucked after a gig—it wasn’t any of their business.

“Agreed,” Yoongi speaks up, eyeing Jungkook carefully. Jungkook knows how close you and Yoongi are which can make for some awkward moments. After all, he is the keyboardist for the band.

“What are we thinking for the competition? We still going to with setlist we have?” Jin asks.

“Actually Kook and I were thinking about changing some things,” Taehyung says, setting down his guitar beside him.

Namjoon furrows his eyebrows, “Changing what?” Namjoon is the type of guy who likes a plan, so when the plan is changed without him knowing about it, it makes the inner Virgo within him vexed.

“Well, we have a gig this weekend, we could test some things there,” Yoongi suggests and Taehyung nods agreeing with him. Once again, Jungkook has dazed off thinking about your body pressed against his. You were an enigma—always had been the entire time he had known you. Taehyung notices Jungkook out of it again before he curses at his friend. Goddamnit, he needed to get his shit together.

Band practice goes by relatively quickly. Everyone’s mood seems to shift upward once the band jams and practices some new songs and riffs. There was such an exciting feeling each time Jungkook strummed new chords on his guitar. Jungkook actually didn’t start his band career as a guitarist. The first instrument he ever played was the drums—getting his first toy set as a child which then turned into a real set at aged 10—obviously still small in scale to fit his small body. He started playing guitar about a year later and he realized that was his calling for music. He had the reputation of being good at everything he did but with guitar—it was so different. Perhaps it's why he was so attracted to you in the first place. Your love of the instrument coincided with his. It was a match made in heaven—perhaps hell now he looks back on it retrospectively.

After concluding a successful practice, Taehyung and Jungkook are the only ones left in their practice studio. The whole band pitched in to rent the small studio monthly since everyone lived in separate apartments these days—it was the only feasible way to get practice in.

Jungkook has packed all his things up, getting ready to head out the door before Taehyung’s deep voice stops him.

“Kook,” he says. Jungkook turns on his heel and meets eyes with Taehyung.

“What’s up?”

Taehyung scratches the back of his neck awkwardly before speaking, “What are you doing man?” Taehyung hated confrontation, especially with Jungkook, as they were practically brothers without the blood part. Knowing each other for so long—both of them could sense things about each other that no one else could.

Jungkook’s brows furrow, “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you leaving with her last night,” Taehyung sighs heavily, “With Y/N.”

Jungkook’s blood runs ice cold, unable to come up with any response immediately.

“Why are you doing that to yourself Kook?” he asks with genuine concern.

A scoff comes from Jungkook’s mouth, “I don’t know what you’re on about,” he shakes his head lightly.

“C’mon you know exactly what I’m talking about,” Taehyung retorts, feeling some anger bubbling beneath his skin. If there was anyone who cared more for Jungkook than even his parents—it was Tae. And he could see how the thought of you was slowly eating away at Jungkook alive.

“She breaks up with you months ago and then suddenly wants to start fucking you again but refuses to get back together? Do you not see how fucked up—“

“Hyung, what’s between me and Y/N is only between us,” the younger interrupts.

“Man, you’re my fucking best friend,” Taehyung steps forward, unable to hide any of his deep rooted anger now, “You know I’ve always liked Y/N, you dating her or not, but what she’s doing is fucking dirty Jungkook and you know it.”

Taehyung’s words cut through Jungkook’s chest like a knife because he knows it’s true. The first night the two of you had hooked up after the messy breakup—seemed to be a happy accident. Jungkook had stumbled upon you at a bar for a mutual friend’s gig and before he knew it—he was fucking you from behind in the bathroom, making you come around his cock in 5 minutes. Ever since that night—you had seemingly always ended up where Jungkook was and you would go back to his place, Jungkook waking up alone each and every time. He knew that you had to be grieving and if someway somehow, he could help you—he wanted to do that—even if it broke his heart all over again every time he woke by himself.

“I just want you to be happy,” Taehyung says, “We’ve got too much good going for us right now, I don’t want someone taking advantage of you like that—“

“Don’t you think I took advantage of her enough? What’s a little on her part,” Jungkook somewhat laughs, his eyes dropping to his picked cuticles. Taehyung’s face softens. He knows practically every detail of yours and Jungkook’s relationship—a passionate affair riddled with jealously, miscommunications, and hurt on both sides.

“Kook,” Taehyung says with a deep sigh, “You can’t keep blaming yourself for what happened between you two. She’s also in the wrong and not perfect—“

“But I still love her Tae,” Jungkook looks up angrily, “And that’s the fucking problem.”

Jungkook’s not lying—he’s still madly in love with you and all your flaws. And he didn’t know how to stop.

____

You’re only 12 minutes late meeting your mother for coffee and lunch. Once you got back to your place, you managed to sleep until nearly 11:30 AM, trying your best to shake off last night. You walk into the cafe spotting your mother sitting towards the back of the small restaurant. She’s got a coffee on the table, a mimosa in one hand as she scrolls through her phone with the other.

“Hey, sorry I’m late,” you apologize as you pull out the chair across from her. She looks up at you waving your lateness off but knowing her, deep down your tardiness has actually agitated her.

“No worries,” she says taking in your somewhat disheveled appearance, “Late night?” She quirks an eyebrow at you.

“We had a show last night,” you explain, a yawn protruding from your mouth shortly after. She nods once before licking her lips after she sips on her mimosa. Her hair is fixed nicely, her nails always perfect, her silver jewelry always on point. She’s dressed in a what seems to be a navy pantsuit, a simple white top underneath the lapels and her favorite watch from your dad on her left wrist. She was such a contrast to your father—she was always put together wearing the nicest things money could buy. While your dad on the other hand was punk through and through, only dressing up for occasions that he absolutely had to dress up for.

“You wanted to meet?” You say after the waiter comes over and gets your order in. You stick with a simple latte, not feeling too hungry this morning.

“Yes,” she breathes watching her coffee as she stirs it without a care, the spoon clinking against the glass occasionally.

“Your father didn’t have a will. And now it’s our job to clean his mess up.”

You’re slightly taken aback by her statement. You refrain from saying anything you’ll regret.

“Well, that’s not surprising,” you say with a slight shake to your head.

“I always told him he needed to have one,” she speaks lowly, thinking out loud—a bad habit if hers. “Since you’re over eighteen, the courts have put you and I in charge of disbursing his assets.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “What? Why—“

“If we hand everything over to the courts, we’ll lose millions of your father’s estate. I’ve hired the best lawyers and they’re advising me to keep everything within personal parameters for now.”

The way she was talking over your father had you uneasy and on the edge of your seat. Talking about him like he wasn’t an actual person himself—her husband and your father. A disposable asset himself.

“I don’t know what you want me to do about it right now,” you tell her honestly. She narrows her eyes at you before she bends over to her left, pulling out a thick manila envelope. She slides it over to you and you stare at it blankly.

“You need to read all of this.”

“What?” You grab the envelope, noting how heavy it was just to be paper.

She nods once, “After you read it, we can make real plans about what to do with everything.”

“Mom—“ you pause, setting the envelope to the side, “When am I supposed to have time to do this? I’ve got school and the band—“

“Oh forget about that,” she says distastefully, “This is the priority right now and it needs to be done. I’m sick of looking at his shit.”

Your mother has always been opinionated—supposing that’s where you get it from yourself. But like your dad, you were the exact opposite of her. You were empathetic, understanding, musical, a free-spirit—a good listener. All the things she wasn’t. And you guess it’s moments like this where you realize how much you miss him.

“What’s with the attitude?” You ask after a few moments of silence.

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes, “You can’t tell me you’re not angry at him for doing this to us.”

You shake your head, “I wouldn’t say angry,” you defend, however you were getting somewhat angry at her the longer you sat here.

She laughs sarcastically, “You two are just alike,” she pauses, “Selfish, greedy—“

“Excuse me?” You fight back. You and your mom had your disagreements but this was another level of disrespectful. Not only to you—but to your father too. “I didn’t meet up with you to argue,” you shake your head, trying to level your head a bit.

“I’m not arguing Y/N. This has to be done, without or without you. And I like to know what’s best for you so please, don’t put this off.”

“I think I know what’s best for myself,” you fight back.

She chuckles again before she begins to gather her things around her, downing the last bit of her Sunday mimosa.

“Your father always said the same thing and look where that got him,” she pauses pushing herself out of the chair, “Dead, leaving us in goddamn turmoil. Read the papers and get back to me as soon as you can.”

She gives you one last glance before she slips on her sunglasses, leaving you alone in the cafe; stunned, confused, and in a worse mood than when you first walked in. What the actual fuck? Sure everyone deals with grief differently but seeing your own mother act in that way—completely invalidates your own feelings. Ever since the news broke, you feel like you’ve been drowning, unable to keep your head afloat, air slowly leaving your lungs.

Your father was everything to you—he made you into the woman you are today. He was your best friend and he was fucking gone. Everything you did was to make him happy and now he’s not even here to see you flourish into the person you’ve always wanted to be.

You stare down at your untouched coffee, feeling sick to your stomach thinking about the past few weeks. You look over at the manila envelope, unable to process that you are going to have to go through all of his stuff. You think you’re getting one step ahead but then there is always something that sends you two steps back.

The more you think about it, your mom was right—this was going to be a mess that could have huge legal repercussions. Of course your father didn’t have a will though—no one in their middle forties is expecting to die—at least you had always assumed.

You didn’t even believe the news when you first saw it. And to make matters worse—the news came to you from an article on your phone in the middle of you eating lunch with your fellow bandmates. You laughed, brushing it off as a silly rumor. You had just spoken to your father last night—he was fine! You ended up texting him, laughing about how idiotic and insensitive it was to make up an article like that. After a few minutes of him not responding, you waited another 5, 10, 15 minutes, waiting to hear back from him. To see that he read your message, holding down the picture to laugh in his reaction. Once that never came, you ended up all calling him—no answer. Your heart was now heavy, an unsettling feeling dropping down into your stomach. It was soon after when you received a call from your mother—panicked and shaken, that your life would never be the same ever again.

Apparently the housemaid back home had found your father slumped against the side of one of the guest bed frames. At first, she didn’t think anything of it until she tapped him on the shoulder, his body then completely falling over—a scream let out by her once she saw a needle and syringe sticking out from his arm, a bottle of dark liquor split everywhere.

Never once had you suspected your father to have a serious drug problem. The idea of him sitting there alone, injecting himself with a foreign substance—shattered you. It made you sick to your stomach. He was so perfect in your eyes and always being such a daddy’s girl, you never thought he would have crossed into such territory. He taught you everything you know about music, he made laugh until you cried, he was the shoulder you leaned on after your breakup with Jungkook—all that was now gone.

Your mother swears up and down that she had no idea. Maybe this is where your newfound resentment towards her is coming from. She was the one who knew him the most. She was the one who slept in the same bed with him when he wasn’t gone for business. She was the one who should have suspected something. Your mother may be mad at your father but if anything, you’re more infuriated with her.

You decide to drink your latte, not wanting it to go to waste. You tapped your foot nervously on the floor, an unsettling realization coming to you. You were lucky in many ways—talented, pretty, smart, passionate, had so many people around you at all times that said they loved you. Despite all that, these past few weeks have solidified how alone you undoubtedly were.

_____

Jungkook never really got nervous. He was confident in his abilities and his band. If anything, he got a little too cocky when it came to performance. Every girl ogles over him in their audiences and he relishes in it like a kid in a candy store. It also came with the availability of handpicking one out to take home later to fuck if he wanted.

Tonight he feels a little different. His hands are sweaty, his mind floating elsewhere. He stares down his tattoo sleeve, his eyes landing on one tattoo in particular. A violet. It makes his stomach churn. It’s a painful memory for him to think back to.

“Babe look!” You marvel excitedly. He comes over and stands behind you in the mirror, his eyes roaming your body and new tattoo. It had taken some convincing on Jungkook’s part for you to finally bite the bullet in getting your first tattoo. He smiles radiately, excited that you’ve done it.

“You like it?” His eyes are full of stars as he looks at your new ink. He can’t wait to get you alone, desperate to see your tattoo fully exposed in private.

“I loooove it,” you breathe out, “I can’t believe it didn’t hurt that bad.”

“I told you,” he places a kiss on your temple quickly before turning his attention back to the tattooer, “You should trust me more babe.”

“You next?” The tattooer looks at Jungkook and he nods excitedly before sitting down in the chair himself after he gets it sanitized. “What are we thinking today?” He asks as Jungkook shrugs off his flannel, exposing his tatted arm. Jungkook had started his sleeve only a couple months back but it was filling up quite quickly. You loved Jungkook’s tattoos not just for the aesthetic, but he truly seemed to become more confident with each addition, not caring what others thought.

“I’m thinking a flower, do you have any violets in your portfolio?” Jungkook says and your head quickly whips over to him. That sure wasn’t expected.

“Jungkook what are you doing?” You ask him in disbelief.

“What babe?” He turns his head to you, an amused grin on his lips, “Something wrong?”

“It’s just… I don’t know a violet, don’t you think that’s a little too…” you trail off unable to find the words. He gives you a sweet smile, eyes looking at you with complete adoration. He quickly leans in and gives you a small kiss which you gladly return but pull away quickly, not too keen on PDA in the tattoo shop.

“That’s the point,” he leans back in the chair watching the tattooer flip through his book of artwork before he lands on his flower section.

“We’re on in five minutes,” Taehyung walks into the small backstage room informing the band of their cue time. Namjoon whistles with excitement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited for a show,” he comments, drumming his sticks on a random wall trying to expend some of his excessive energy.

“Guk, how you feeling?” Yoongi inquires nudging his leg a little bit.

“Nervous honestly…” he pauses, picking at his thumb cuticle, “I think once we get out there, I’ll be settled.”

Yoongi nods, agreeing with the younger. He can tell Jungkook is going through something. Yoongi is a smart guy and he has a gut feeling that you have something to do with it. As much as Yoongi and you were friends, your behavior as of late as been very unpleasant to him. People in the scene talk and you were a fucking mess. Granted, given your situation, he understands that people grapple with death differently. At the most, Yoongi is just concerned that you are spiraling out of control and bringing Jungkook down with you unknowingly or not. And Jungkook being Jungkook—would fucking let you. Everyone can see how in love Jungkook still is with you—he’s blinded and isn’t making rational decisions himself.

Unbeknownst to Jungkook, you were with Lisa and Jimin in the crowd tonight. Hobi wanted to go see another friend’s band which was totally fine. Yes, you were the leader of Violet, but you didn’t consider yourself to be a control freak over your members. It was also good to scope out as many bands as possible for the competition in a few weeks.

“Shouldn’t we be watching a band who we haven’t seen?” Jimin says, a snarky attitude laced concealed in his tone. You loved Jimin, you really did, but he really disliked Whalien—Jungkook being the dominant reason. He didn’t see why you felt the need to stay friends with him and his bandmates. It irritated the fuck out of him but you being the leader of Violet, Jimin had to bite his tongue on certain issues.

“Jimin you know they’re gonna be our biggest competition,” Lisa nudges him. She was right. At this point, you were only concerned about Whalien 52 taking your precious record deal away. Not only was Jungkook a kick-ass guitar player, Taehyung had great vocals, Namjoon could hit the drums as hard as Dave Grohl, Jin was great on bass, and they had a keyboardist—Min Yoongi—an element that made them stand out heavily. There was always an unspoken rivalry between Violet and Whalien, even when you and Jungkook were dating. In an odd way, both bands started feeding off one another, seeing who could strum guitars faster and hit the drums harder, write more songs. Overall, just be a better band. This didn’t change after you and Jungkook decided to part ways, if anything, it made it worse. After all, your band was now the most talked about band in the underground, something that pissed Kim Namjoon off more than anyone else—whether he showed it or not.

Whalien 52 takes the stage to loud cheers and excited screams. As Jungkook expected, once he put his guitar over his shoulder, all his nerves seemed to disappear. Maybe it was the lights, the crowd, Taehyung sending him a reassuring gaze, or the pretty girl with a nice smile in the front—he was in his element. The club was one of the bigger venues they had played which sent an electricity through each member.

“Welcome, welcome,” he smiles, “We’re Whalien 52, thanks everyone for coming out tonight… we gotta great set for you all, right guys?” He turns around looking amusingly at his bandmates. Your eyes can’t help but watch Jungkook as he smiles out to the crowd, holding his black guitar firmly in his hands, strumming a few low open chords. He’s wearing light blue jeans for a change, still donning a black t-shirt, and a short sleeve button up thrown over his frame, exposing the astonishing number of tattoos that now cover his arm.

“Jungkook, you ready?” Taehyung muses to his friend to his right. Jungkook smirks before giving a quick nod and as a guitarist yourself, you can see him counting down in his head to start.

As soon as the first note comes from Jungkook’s guitar, the club erupts in a loud cheer. An all too familiar guitar riff fills the club and soon Namjoon comes in hitting the drums hard and fast, almost sounding like lightening cracking in the club. Then as if they weren’t just shaking the whole club, everything slows down as Taehyung begins to sing.

“One baby to another says I’m lucky to have met you,” Taehyung begins singing and you shake your head in disbelief.

“I don’t care what you think unless it is about me…it is now my duty to completely drain you—“

“Chew your meat for you, pass it back and forth, in a passionate kiss, from my mouth to yours… I …like… you!” Taehyung sings with charm, letting the crowd sing along with him. Jungkook sings backup vocals, his voice blending well with his hyung. Fucking hell. They had huge balls not to just play Nirvana but sound damn good doing it too.

The whole band smiles, Jungkook throwing his head back into a laugh. Jungkook plays his Fender with precision, Jin’s bass carrying the whole song through with power. Namjoon looks calm and collected behind his drum set, Yoongi chilling behind his keyboard, adding a new element to the song.

“With eyes so dilated I’ve become your pupil,” Taehyung bites his lip as he lets his rhythm guitar take over. “You taught me everything without a poison apple—“

God you loved this song. But right now right, you fucking hated it. One; because they were perfectly killing it and two; it happened to be one of your favorite Nirvana songs that you and Jungkook would listen to together—even having sex to it more than once. Fuck.

The chorus breaks again and the guitar solo comes in, Jungkook stepping up a little bit on stage, Taehyung’s rhythm guitar and Jin’s bass complimenting him. Jungkook looks sleek as hell as he plays the iconic chords, biting his lip in the process—everyone, particularly girls screaming as he sends a wink to someone in the audience. The smile on your face drops. It stings more than it should.

Jungkook’s guitar solo ends, Taehyung yelling into the microphone just like Kurt would, breaking back out into the chorus. Taehyung’s voice complimented Cobain’s voice so well. Both deep and raspy, kind of slurring the words all together—you can tell why they decided to play this song tonight.

“Chew your meat for you, pass it back and forth, in a passionate kiss, from my mouth to yours, sloppy lips to lips… you’re my vitamins, I… like… you…”

They end the song with Jungkook dragging out his last power chord, his forehead already breaking a sweat from the stage lights. You hated to admit how good he looked but the blue in his hair really complimented him. Fucking hell, you roll your eyes, you need another drink.

“Shit,” Jimin yells out, pushing his hair back from his forehead.

“They’re good,” Lisa remarks.

“They always have been,” you reply obviously, all of a sudden feeling too hot and too congested in the club. No one has stopped cheering and it’s deafening. They’ve always been good since you first crossed paths with them years ago, but their improvement was evident. You were suddenly worried about the competition and your capability as a musician. Jimin notices your change in demeanor, elbows you as Whalien takes a break to chat a few words to the crowd.

“Y/N?” he turns to you. You rip your eyes away from the stage to look at him, your gaze giving everything away, “You’re worried aren’t you? About the competition?”

Briefly, you hear Jungkook’s familiar laugh through a microphone and it weighs heavy on your chest as you find your words.

“Jimin—they’re good, really fucking good, I-I don’t—“

“Hey, stop that,” Jimin pulls you into his chest. “Listen, we’re amazing okay? You’re amazing, we wouldn’t even be in this position right now if it weren’t for you.”

You grimace into his chest. You had been friends with him for so long he always knew what to say to make you feel better. You were thankful for him but you could only push away your insecurities for so long. You didn’t want to disappoint your dad and right now, it felt like you were doing just that.

“Alright alright,” Taehyung says throwing down his water bottle, “We’re gonna switch up the pace a little bit, you guys good with that?” He turns to his bandmates. Kim Taehyung was naturally suave and as the front woman to your band, you understood where the attitude comes from. When people marvel at you like you’re a god, always telling you how talented you are—it brings you to another level.

Jungkook was finally in his groove after one song. He was mainly nervous to play the opening song because well… it’s Nirvana. With Nirvana lyrics tattooed down his arm, he always feels pressure when the band decides on playing their classics. Luckily, the chords aren’t that complicated and he felt on top of the world after getting through the guitar solo cleanly. He looks out into the audience, squinting to be able to see with the bright lights.

The smile on his face falls instantly when he locks eyes with you, settled towards the right-middle of the crowd. Park Jimin has an arm wrapped around you and he feels his jaw clench involuntarily. If there’s any one guy who he hates seeing you with—it’s him. For good reasons too. Ironic consider he’s your lead guitar, but he absolutely despises him.

“The world is a vampire,” Taehyung’s deep voice rings through the microphone—quite the contrast to the Billy Corgan himself, forcing Jungkook to look away from you to focus on the song at hand. The crowd instantly begins to sing the Smashing Pumpkin’s classic, interrupting any head thoughts for him.

You shift on your feet awkwardly, stepping away from Jimin some. Whalien’s show continues and it’s no less than stellar. You find yourself singing along to every song, dancing along with Lisa and Jimin, trying to let go of any inhibitions you were carrying at the moment. Jungkook doesn’t look your way the rest of the show. You couldn’t pin point why it was so painful to rip yourself away from him. Did you still love him? Was it just lust? You two had gone your separate ways as lovers months ago. Yet every time you saw him—which was definitely too much for your own good—you couldn’t say no. You had known him for years and had yet to rip yourself away from him.

They play a few more songs before ending with a rendition of a blink-182 song, the crowd clearly wanting more but club and bar owners are sticklers when it comes to time. Once you’re done, you have to get off as soon as possible if you want an invite back.

“Ah-ha,” Taehyung chuckles, “Sorry guys but we’re getting kicked out, hope to see you all again soon! Thank y’all so much!” The entire band gives one last wave and bow before they exit the stage. You, Lisa, and Jimin decide to head to the bar to get a drink before the next band comes on.

You’re sipping a drink when you feel your phone buzz in your other hand. You furrow your eyebrows when you see who the text is from.

[Jungkook 10:31 PM] What are you doing tonight

Jimin and Lisa are caught up in conversation with another mutual friend so you turn away from them to respond. Jungkook knows you’re here right now… so what does he want? The two of you barely text each other nowadays, only doing so when it’s convenient.

[You 10:32 PM] I’m having a drink right now

[You 10:32 PM] Why

It only takes him a few seconds to respond.

[Jungkook 10:32 PM] I wanna see you

You bite your lip in contemplation. Bad idea, bad idea, bad idea—you were responding before you could second guess yourself.

[You 10:33 PM] Me too

[Jungkook 10:35 PM] Wanna come home with me? The guys are going to stay out but I’m not in the mood

You text a quick ‘sure’, turning your attention back to Lisa and Jimin.

“Guys I think I’m gonna call it an evening,” you breathe out. Jimin eyes you suspiciously but you ignore him, focusing on Lisa instead.

“Babe,” Lisa gives you a weird look, “I thought you wanted to see the next band?”

You shake your head, “I want to but I just remembered these papers my mom needs me to look over… about my dad’s stuff, it might take awhile—“

“Oh my god no, that’s fine, go,” Lisa nods, pulling you in for a departure hug.

“You okay?” Jimin asks once again as you give him a quick side hug, noticing the concern lacing his tone. If they knew the true reason you were departing—you were sure you wouldn’t hear the end of it.

“Yeah, yeah promise,” you give him a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes.

You make your way towards the exit, going to where Jungkook told you wait on him. A deep rooted guilt begins to settle in your stomach. You felt your emotions brewing to the surface, trying to wipe your sweaty hands along your skirt. You felt yourself slowly spiraling and wish nothing more than to be able to talk with your dad. You text Jungkook you’re outside to which he responds promptly that he’s coming. You knew he could make your pain go away, at least temporarily—or so you hoped.

___

Jungkook had you pressed up against a wall in his apartment, one hand dug deep in your scalp, the other holding one of your legs up close to his side as you pushed yourself closer to him. You kiss each other forcefully. It’s an affair of zealousness that you could only have with him. Everything about him was addicting. He smelt of clean and amber, his lips plump and pink, his hands large and calloused, his thighs that you fit so well on. Your fingers pull against the roots of his hair eliciting a deep groan from him.

He tugs back, moving your neck to the side as he begins to trail his lips down the flesh, nipping in all your sensitive places. He knew your body more than any other man and for that you were thankful. He trails his free hand from your hair down the side of your figure, rounding your ass with it before he boldly moves it to your scantily clad center. You were quite exposed wearing a skirt and a thong but if anything it excited Jungkook even further, giving him easy access as he begins to rub your clothed center.

“Mm, Jungkook,” you whisper breaking your kiss, looking up at him through your lashes.

“Wanna fuck you in this skirt,” He says rubbing his nose against yours, he moves your underwear over, slipping one finger inside you at once, halting your breath as your wetness allows him to do so with ease. “That feel good?”

You whine at his words, “Mhm,” your breathing picking up quickly, “Want you, right now.”

He smirks before placing a chaste kiss against your mouth, “But I don’t wanna come right now baby.”

You groan as he inserts another finger in you, curling them inside you as he begins to move in and out. The only sounds in his apartment are your lips moving against his, his fingers moving in and out of out at random, picking up and slowing down on his own time. Wanting to return some of his efforts, you begin to palm him through the front of his jeans, earning a small hiss from him. Jungkook’s lips leave yours as he begins to trail them down your neck and to your collarbone. He pulls out his fingers and your face scrunches up in disappointment until he gets down on his knees, pushing up the material of your skirt with his large hands.

He manages to pull down your underwear and you step out of the garment quickly, not caring where the flimsy fabric ended up. He begins to eat you out hungrily skipping any teasing around your thighs or pelvis, his lips and tongue working you just like how you like. You fist his hair, pushing his tongue deeper into you. His big nose rubbing your clit as he buries himself deep in you, a lewd moan leaving your lips.

“F-fuck,” you moan out as he begins to lick lightly at your clit, sending a chill down your body that you’re sure he felt.

“Feel good baby?” He mutters against your wet cunt, lapping at your opening and teasing your clit. “Am I the best you’ve ever had?”

His question is laced with amusement and genuine curiosity. You half laugh, throwing your head back against the wall as you feel a familiar bubbling sensation of an orgasm approaching.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you answer him after a moment, trying to steady and catch your breath all at once.

“Better than Jimin?” His question cuts the air like ice and any chances of an orgasm all goes away. You look down, bewildered him as he has stopped his actions. He’s looking up at you with dark eyes and you’re positive he’s not joking around in amusement. Your shoulders relax against the wall as he slowly stands up, keeping a few inches from your frame. You suddenly feel smaller than ever looking up at his frame, a newfound vulnerability in your stature.

“Where’d that come from?” You ask defensively, furrowing your eyebrows, tension growing in the small space exponentially.

He shrugs, “Just curious babe,” he steps away from you, turning his back to you walking away deeper into his apartment towards his small kitchen.

Your mouth falls open, unable to comprehend what the actual fuck is going on with him. Maybe it’s the small about of alcohol in your system or all your other emotions that you’ve put on the back burner, but something inside you feels like it’s going to implode.

“No,” you mutter, pushing yourself off against the wall, “No, no Jungkook you don’t get to do that,” you follow after him. He turns around, a wicked smirk crossing his features, an almost sinister laugh coming from deep within his chest.

“Because I cheated on you? That’s it huh?” he raises his voice some, stopping you in your place.

You bite your lip, unsure of what to say. He’s right—he cheated on you—a pain so strong when you found out, you thought someone had stolen all the air from your lungs. You couldn’t breathe as you laid in your bed for days sobbing into your pillow. Your heart was shattered into a million pieces. Jungkook had broken you. You thought there would have been no greater pain in your life. It wasn’t until your father passing away showed you something even worse.

“You’re seriously gonna bring this up, now?!” You fight back. “Jungkook, what the fuck?”

“Because I think I have a right to know why you keep fucking me and then leaving me out to dry,” he steps towards you and you feel a lump forming in your throat. Jungkook hated to admit—but Taehyung’s talk with him last week had been edging him all week with greed. Taehyung was fucking right—you were milking Jungkook for all it was worth and while Jungkook loved you—it wasn’t fair to him.

“I-,” you stop before you say something stupid, a response far from your reach, “That’s not fair,” is what you muster. It’s pathetic and you don’t even believe it.

He laughs, his eyes breaking from yours, “And this is fair to me? To you? You’re smart Y/N, I think you know exactly what you’re doing,” he spits angrily.

“Excuse me?” You hurl back flabbergasted, your anger spewing to the surface. “You literally don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Jungkook tugs at the roots of hair, running his tongue through his cheek, “Using me when it’s convenient, fucking me when you want to get off, coming to my shows—all while knowing I’m still fucking in love with you—”

“Jungkook stop—“

“Just shut up for a second Y/N,” he interrupts you, stepping forward, “All this time has passed and I still can’t get over you—I don’t want to get over you—but this has to stop, it’s killing me when I see you self destructing this way—“

“I am not!” You push back. You and Jungkook had your fair share of fights over the years, but this is the first one in a while where you feel tears threatening to spill out of your eyes. Because you know. You know everything he is saying is true. He’s reading you and your emotions like an open book.

“Everyone can see it Y/N but you,” he shakes his head, stepping forward, grabbing your wrists in the process, “I fucking love you Y/N and I want the best for you, but acting like this—isn’t it.”

You shake your head, looking down at his large hands wrapped around your wrists before you jerk them out of his grip, tears brimming to the surface. You blink rapidly, trying to hurtle them away.

“Well you fucking ruined that a long time ago,” your words cut through Jungkook’s heart like a razor sharp knife.

“I ruined it?” He retorts, “Yes, Y/N, I cheated on you and it’s the worst fucking mistake I’ve ever made in my life. I apologized on my fucking knees and we were working on our relationship,” he pauses, his voice somewhat breaking, “And then you had to go and fuck your bandmate behind my back— So don’t put all that blame on me Y/N, don’t you fucking do that. Imagine what your dad would say, seeing you like this! Just because he overdosed doesn’t give you and excuse to treat people like shit!”

As soon as Jungkook’s last sentence came out, he wished he could take them back in an instant. He watches your face fall and he knows he has said something he shouldn’t have. Jungkook’s words cut you deep into your tissue, your heart doing that weird aching thing it does when you are hurt beyond repair. The mention of your father fully sends you emotions into a deep spiral and it’s in that moment where the tears you had been holding back for so long start to fall from the ducts.

You can’t help your next actions as your hand comes in contact with his face, slapping him hard, his face whipping to the left. Your mouth parts, the repercussions of your actions settling in.

“Fuck! Oh my god Jungkook I’m sorry—“ Your hands fly to your face, trying to stop tears from coming out but you can’t help it.

“No, Y/N, please don’t,” Jungkook steps forward, wrapping his arms around you, completely forgoing your previous actions, “I’m s-sorry I shouldn’t—“

“Get the fuck off me,” you shove him away weakly but it does nothing for his strong grip. You fight against him but to no avail; he’s too strong and you’re simply too weak. You sob into his chest, your body falling limp into his arms.

“I hate you,” you say into his chest, regretting it instantly. That was easily the biggest lie you’ve ever told. You knew you loved him and always will. You hated how he made you feel sometimes. That’s it.

“Shut up,” he says, his own tears threatening to spill over into your hair. Jungkook knew your heart well. He knows how much of amazing person you were and how you deserved the world. You’ve always deserved the world and he couldn’t give that to you. It lead him to the worst decision he’s ever made. He lies at wake at night, unable to shake his regret. The hold you have on him is crippling and he would do anything to take it back.

However, he knows himself that he could only give and take so much from you. He knows you feel the same about him. It wasn’t until this point that he realized how much of a mess you two had made.

You don’t know how long the two of you stayed like this but exhaustion starts to set in your body and you want nothing more than to go to bed.

“Can I stay here tonight?” You ask into his chest. Again, an outsider looking in would nothing to say but what the actual fuck. And you find yourself saying the exact same thing. But you didn’t have to explain anything to anyone.

“Of course,” he says, looking down at your frame as you step away from him, your tears all dried up for now.

“I’m just gonna sleep on the couch,” you say, your mind clearly elsewhere as Jungkook stares into your eyes. It’s hard to keep his gaze, but you manage. You figure that sleeping in his bed with him wasn’t the best idea and at this point, we weren’t sure if he wanted you there anyway.

He nods without another word, gathering you some blankets and a pillow. You don’t protest when he gives you a t-shirt to sleep in, not wanting to sleep in your normal clothes. You and Jungkook stare at each other, your arms crossed in front of your chest, waiting for him to go to bed himself.

He steps towards you, his shoulder brushing yours, “I’m sorry Y/N. Goodnight.”

His voice was barely above a whisper but you heard him loud and clear. You mumble a goodnight yourself though you are positive he couldn’t hear because when you glance over your shoulder, he’s made his way back to his room. You slump your shoulders, getting in position to lay on his couch. Thankfully Jungkook lived alone so you didn’t have to worry about drunk roommates coming in to find you sleeping on his couch.

Your head falls against the pillow, looking out the window which was a nice view of the city. There was still plenty of ruckus going on outside but you had no energy to focus on anything else but trying to relax.

You were a goddamn mess. Your personal life was a wreck. Your life back home was a wreck. Your relationship with Jungkook was a wreck. You had dug yourself into a deep hole that you were afraid you weren’t going to get out of. You missed your dad so much. You wondered if he was watching over you but at the same time you hoped he wasn’t knowing how disappointed he would be with you right now. Maybe Jungkook was right—were you using his death an excuse to be an asshole? Or was it just normal grief?

You had no idea as you continued to get lost in your thoughts. You shift your body on the couch trying to find the most comfortable position on the couch but to no avail as your mind is refusing to let you rest. You look back over at the hallway that leads to Jungkook’s room. You close your eyes, debating the action for a moment. It doesn’t take you long to make up your mind. You push the blankets off your body, standing up and quietly walking over to Jungkook’s room. His door is cracked and you push it open as silent as you can.

You noticed Jungkook is still awake, resting on his back, the blue light from his phone lighting up his face slightly. He notices you come in, flicking his eyes to meet yours.

“Can I sleep in here?” You ask him in a whisper. Jungkook clicks off his phone, placing it on his nightstand. He doesn’t say anything as he moves the sheets over for you, signaling that he doesn’t mind. You climb into the familiar bed to Jungkook’s left, laying down comfortably.

“Thanks,” you tell him and he gives you a small smile. You fully lay down on your side, your back facing away from him.

It only takes a couple minutes before you feel Jungkook’s arm move around to your front, pulling you back to his chest. He entangles a leg through yours and you finally feel yourself to relax, your head emptying itself from all your worrying thoughts. You place your hand over Jungkook’s, lacing your fingers on top of his knuckles.

Fuck, you think dozing off to sleep.

Fuck, Jungkook thinks.

_____ “Jungkook—there’s bad news.”

Taehyung is dismayed over the phone—panicked and unruly as he speaks. Jungkook hasn’t been awake ten minutes. The last thing he expected was for Taehyung to be calling him this early, let alone upset.

“Hyung, what’s wrong?” Jungkook paces in his small kitchen, an unsettling feeling bubbling in his stomach.

“I think you should come to the studio as soon as you can,” he says and Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“Jesus Taehyung it’s not even ten,” he groans, trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

“Just get your ass here as soon as possible, I really don’t need your attitude today.”

Taehyung hangs up the phone, leaving Jungkook speechless. He stares at the device for a moment feeling no less than confused. Not only does he have an apparent crisis with Taehyung, he’s been thinking about his crisis with you all morning. For once, you hadn’t woken up at the crack of dawn and left him alone in his bed.

He was shocked when he woke up, your face nuzzled in his chest as he kept you warm. He thinks back to last night’s fight with you, knowing it was something you two would have to confront eventually. Both of you couldn’t keep hurting and loving each other all at once. He was hoping that could have been this morning but whatever emergency Taehyung is dealing with, settling the tension between him and you had to wait.

He enters his room quietly, walking slowly over to his bed bending at his knees to be face level with you. He hates to wake you up seeing how well you seem to be sleeping. His heart strings pulled for you and it hurt every time you had to leave.

He brings a hand up to your hair, pushing some of it off your forehead.

“Hm,” you suddenly say, startling him some.

“You awake?” He asks, watching your head nodding slowly. He felt a little better now knowing that you had apparently woken up on your own.

“Mhm,” you slowly open your eyes coming face to face with Jungkook. His features are soft but he looks exhausted. You’re sure you look the same to him.

“I hate to kick you out but Taehyung needs me, an emergency or something,” he shrugs, removing his hand from you.

“Is he okay?” You ask pushing yourself up on your hands, eyes watching Jungkook as he stands tall.

“I think, probably just being dramatic,” he laughs lightly, “I’ll take you home if you want?”

You stretch your back before nodding slowly, “If you wouldn’t care that’d be great.”

Jungkook leaves you to get dressed quickly. You fold his shirt up, placing it on the end of his bed, grabbing your phone in the same process. Your mind strays back to last night—your fight with Jungkook rushing back in every detail. You hated being this way with him. Getting along one minute, screaming at each other the next. It was an up and down battle with him but the last thing you wanted to do was lose him. Despite all the bullshit between you two, he was not only a staple part of your peers and scene you were surrounded by—but your life too. He was your first love and nothing was going to change that. You knew that fixing your relationship with Jungkook had to be a priority at some point. You couldn’t keep doing this yourself.

Jungkook drives you home in silence, neither one of you speaking to each other. It’s not awkward, but it’s not exactly comfortable either. He taps his steering wheel to the beat of the song coming through his speakers softly. You can’t remember the last time you had been in Jungkook’s car. Probably when you were still dating. You had always managed to wake up and sneak out taking the subway or lifts back home after nights with him. You suppose you had been too fatigued and slept well past your normal escapades.

He pulls up to your apartment complex, swinging in a parking spot close to your building.

“Listen Y/N,” he speaks breaking the silence, “About last night, I’m so sorry—“

“Jungkook don’t apologize,” you interrupt him. His eyes are soft and you can tell he’s overthinking everything about last night. You are too. “I’m sorry for slapping you, I d-don’t know what—“

“Forget that Y/N,” he shakes his head, “I think we should talk, I-I wanted to this morning but then hyung called and,” he pauses his short rambling, “Can I call you soon?” He finally settles.

Your stomach twists at the idea of confronting your demons with Jungkook, but you know it has to be done.

“Yeah, of course,” you nod, “We have a gig tonight but I’m free the rest of the week.”

He gives you a small smile, “Okay, sounds good. Good luck tonight.”

The two of you say your goodbyes and once you get into your apartment, you slump against your door knowing one thing—you have to get your shit together.

____

“Jungkook—where the fuck are you?” Taehyung spits as soon as he answers the phone.

“Hyung I’m pulling up right now, fuck off.” Jungkook hangs up on his friend as he parks his car quickly, heading up to their studio as fast as possible. Taehyung had been calling him non-stop every two minutes after he dropped you off at yours, annoying Jungkook to his upper limit.

Before Jungkook could even open the door to the studio, he heard loud bickering behind the door, causing him to stop in his tracks. He furrows his eyebrows, leaning in against it to see if he can make out any of the commotion. It all sounded like gibberish considering most of the room was as soundproof as possible. He swings open the door quickly, all eyes diverting over to him, everyone going silent.

“For fuck sakes,” Yoongi mutters under his breath.

“What’s going on?” Jungkook asks stepping closer to the boys. He looks around the room intently and it seems to get his answer once his eyes land on Namjoon. “Hyung, what the fuck?”

Namjoon sits on one of the couches, his head slightly down, his left wrist wrapped tightly in a white bandage, a sling across his chest too, his right hand wrapped around his palm, bruises scattered along his face.

“What happened?” Jungkook asks again, looking around at his bandmates who shake their head in shame? Annoyance? Anger? Whatever it was, it was creeping up Jungkook’s spine sending his jaw into a locked position.

“Namjoon got into a bar fight after you left last night,” Jin breaks the silence, unable to look at Namjoon.

“He jumped me dude!” Namjoon defends himself, wincing in pain as he reels his hands back in from flailing around too much. “What was I supposed to do? Let him kick my ass?!”

“Well maybe you shouldn’t have gotten so fucking drunk and egged him on,” Jin retorts back.

“Fuck you hyung,” Namjoon spits.

“I just don’t understand how you managed to strain your wrist and break the fucking bones in your hand,” Yoongi pinches in between his eyes, clearly fed up with the whole debacle. The band had been at each other’s throats all morning when they realized how bad Namjoon’s condition was—Jungkook completely oblivious to it all until now.

“Well how long are you gonna be out?” Jungkook interrupts the bickering, his face recognizing the slight panic that’s looming over their heads.

“Four to six weeks,” Namjoon mutters, leaning back against the couch, shaking his head to himself. Fuck.

“So… that means,” Jungkook looks over to Taehyung who has kept quiet since Jungkook walked in.

“We’re out of a goddamn drummer,” he says rubbing his temples.

“Jesus fuck,” Jungkook mutters, falling back into another couch in the room. He covers his eyes with his forearm, the light suddenly becoming too much for his sensitive eyes. So Namjoon got into a bar fight—injured himself to the point he can’t even wrap his hands around a set of drumsticks—right on the cusp of the most important gig to them as a band—leaving them with no drummer. A punk rock band with no drummer. Give me a fucking break, this couldn’t be happening, Jungkook says to himself.

“Fuck the record deal I guess,” Jungkook mutters talking aimlessly to himself.

“No, no, no,” Namjoon pipes up, “You guys are still fucking playing, I don’t care. We can’t let this stop—“

“This?! This is all your fucking fault!” Jungkook spits towards him. His whole youth all he ever wanted was an opportunity like this and here it was, being ripped out from underneath him like a blanket.

“Namjoon’s right though,” Yoongi interjects, “We still have to play—we’re three weeks out, we’re not going to let that record deal slip away to a band who doesn’t deserve it.”

Taehyung looks towards his oldest friend, Jungkook’s blue tips fading in last few weeks from many hair washings. Taehyung then looks at the others, wanting a nod of approval before opening his mouth.

“Jungkook we were thinking… you could… um, sit in at drums for the time being?” he lets the proposition into the air and Jungkook looks up at the rest of his bandmates. It hangs over Jungkook’s head heavily. Jungkook himself had actually thought about the idea but he couldn’t remember the last time he sat behind a drum set and took it seriously. Only 3 week left until the biggest moment of his musical career and he wasn’t even going to be able to show his talent in his true form behind his beloved Fender? But—what choice did he actually have?

Jungkook glances at his guitar propped up near his normal spot at their studio before he rips his eyes away, nodding his head slowly.

“Fine,” he says, “I can guess I can try.”

And try was all Whailen needed—or maybe something short of a miracle.

____

“Where do you want this?” Lisa’s voice rings through your shared apartment.

“What is it?” You yell back from the kitchen, scrubbing the countertop as best as you could. The two of you were in the process of deep cleaning your humble abode—a task you two did a couple times a month. Lisa was deranged when it came to keeping things clean and organized.

“It’s like a black shoe box,” she responds, shaking it around in her hands. Without any hesitation, you drop the sponge out of your palm, rushing over to where she stands. Lisa stands near the threshold of your room, curiously looking at the object.

“Give that to me,” you rip the object from her hands and she puts her hands up in defense.

“Whoa, sorry,” she apologizes, picking up on the way you look at the box fondly. Your heart dulling aches staring at the minuscule object. To anyone, it looks like an old beat up shoe box, but to you it had so many memories tucked away inside of it. There was no way in hell you could be rid of it.

“I-it’s fine,” you shake your head, “It’s just some stuff… from my dad.”

Lisa’s face falls slightly, subconsciously shrinking up in your presence. Anytime your dad was involved in any type of conversation these days, no one knew what version of you they were going to get. Some days it was like nothing had ever happened. Other days were emotional rollercoaster’s.

She notices the way your demeanor has altered, your face blank and your shoulders slumped. Being your best friend, she feels it’s okay to ask her next question.

“Y/N,” she pauses as you give her a glance, “You okay?” She realizes that she hasn’t asked you in a while nor have you really talked much about your dad. Granted, she didn’t expect you to but she wanted to make sure everything was fine for you.

You hold the shoe box close to you, your heart heavy as you think about your answer. You already know and simply put—you weren’t okay.

“Yeah,” you give her a grimace, “I’m fine.”

Lisa gives you a look you can’t entirely read. You’re positive she doesn’t believe you but she doesn’t press you any further. She does however bring up an unexpected topic as you enter your room, setting the box down on your desk.

“How’s Jungkook?”

You freeze up before easing off, not wanting to give away any vulnerabilities in your stance. You had not exactly told to her that you and Jungkook had been sleeping together on and off the past couple months. However Lisa wasn’t stupid—she’s seen you leave with him on multiple occasions—whether it be at a gig or house party.

“He’s fine,” you shrug, your eyes meeting hers trying to decipher if she has a motive bringing him up, or if she’s just genuinely curious.

“So are you two… like together again?” She leans against your doorframe, her arms crossing over her small frame.

You let out a quiet chuckle, “What does it matter to you?”

She furrows her eyebrows at you, clearly picking up on the vibe that you do not want to discuss any of this, but with your behavior the past few weeks—she wasn’t letting you off that easy.

“Y/N you’re one of my best friends,” she states, “It matters because I wanna know what the fuck you’re doing to yourself—he’s an asshole who cheated on you—“ “Yeah and I fucking cheated on him too,” you interrupt, letting out another snicker, “I think we’re even on the asshole spectrum.”

“Y/N,” she says again, as if she’s trying to drill it into your brain, “I understand you two ended with the intentions of still being somewhat friends, but do you really think sleeping with him is healthy?”

Lisa, like Jimin, never understood why you and Jungkook were so adamant on staying friends after such a hateful breakup—sure, your whole friend groups coincided in many ways—but if anything, being frenemy-fuck buddies has to be doing more harm than good.

“It’s not that simple Lisa,” you breathe out, staring down at your feet, feeling somewhat flustered. You weren’t one to be super open about your relationships—even when you and Jungkook were dating.

“No shit,” she says the obvious, “Why are you digging yourself in a hole you know you can’t get out of?”

You still refuse to look at her, but she notices the way you clench your jaw tightly, “What if I don’t want to get out of the hole,” you say it more of a statement than a question. You finally look up at Lisa, your expression blank and unreadable.

She slightly shakes her head, wanting so badly to hold her next words back, but your nonchalant attitude is more than pissing her off.

“Look Y/N,” she says, “If you want to keep fucking Jungkook—fucking get back together again—but.”

“But what?” You press.

“I don’t know what it’s like to lose a parent Y/N, but I don’t think you’re coping in a healthy way at all—I think you’ve run back to Jungkook because he’s familiar and you loved him at one point—“

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you interrupt her again. You felt yourself growing more irritated by the second—because you knew she was fucking right.

“I’m not saying I do!” She fights back, “But it’s not fair to you or Jungkook. You broke up with him for a reason, shouldn’t you just fucking move on?”

You narrow your eyes at her, not believing the words she’s saying to you. Who was she to tell you how to feel?

“Like I said,” you pause, “It’s not that goddamn simple Lisa.”

She rolls her eyes with a sarcastic laugh, “You’re so difficult sometimes. You’re a fucking mess and everyone knows it but you. I’m going for a walk,” she pushes herself away from you, leaving you alone in the apartment once you hear the door slam shut behind her.

“Fuck,” you wince, tossing yourself down on your bed. You feel more tears pricking behind your eyes and you try your best to push them away. Lisa had basically said the same thing as Jungkook the other night.

You felt attacked—defeated—unsure of your true feelings. Why were you so angry at everybody? Why you were so angry at yourself? Were you really acting that different?

When you notice the double picture frame on your nightstand—one side a picture of you and your dad, the other picture of you and Jungkook. You hadn’t had any will power to get rid of the second side. Two of the most important men that you had in your life—one of them now gone—the other left to clean up your messes.

You check the time on your phone and before you can stop yourself—you go to his contact, pressing the call button.

____

Jungkook was sat with one of his acoustic guitars when he receives a text about your arrival. It wasn’t late, but the sun had been gone for a while now. He had spent the majority of the last few days strictly practicing on the drums. He had good rhythm which was half the battle when drumming, but he forgot about physically exhausting it is compared to being on guitar. He needed a break and strumming his beloved instrument, it was giving him the catharsis he needed.

His gaze looks up when he watches you let yourself in, the door loud against the night. Jungkook had a small speaker playing some low music to fill the defining void of silence. He didn’t mind being here by himself, but he hated how quiet the soundproof studio got.

“Hey,” you walk towards Jungkook, curiously looking around the studio. You had never been here in particular. Whalien had practiced somewhere different when you and Jungkook were still dating. You assumed the ole lease ran up. The studio was quite big for a 5-piece, a couple couches lining around where their instruments sit. Speakers surrounding each corner, a nice carpet lining underneath everything. Jungkook had lit a few candles but they didn’t smell too strong—he was always sensitive to smells.

“Hey,” he greets, setting down his guitar beside him. He wasn’t expecting you to text him at all, especially at this time of the evening. You were dressed down, a large sweater and leggings covering your frame, hair thrown up messily with no makeup on. He thought you looked beautiful—you always looked beautiful to him. Unfortunately, that beauty was missing from where it mattered the most in your eyes.

“I um, got this for you,” you hold out a small cup of coffee, breaking the silence in the room.

He quirks an eyebrow, a small smirk playing at his lips, “It’s a little late for coffee don’t you think?”

“Just take it,” you push narrowing your gaze. He obliges, thanking you. “I’d figured if you were practicing this late, it would help,” you shrug explaining your kind gesture. “Where is everyone else?”

He takes a sip from the coffee, the warmness causing him to release a small sigh, “Just me here tonight, they all left a couple hours ago.”

“Oh,” you say simply, taking another look around the practice space again. You feel a little awkward standing, so you decide to sit down beside him on the couch, keeping a good distance between you.

“Thanks for letting me come,” you feel quite shy under his heavy gaze. His eyes were always your favorite feature of his but sometimes, he held them in an angle that was too harsh to hold.

“No problem, I’ve been meaning to reach out anyway,” he says, “You okay?” He asks, noticing the way your shoulders slump and your usual confidence nowhere to be seen.

You close your eyes for a second, letting out a shaky breath.

“No,” you manage to say. The heavy weight on your chest lifts some, though not fully. For the first time since your dad’s passing—you’ve admitted your true feelings. You weren’t okay and you needed help.

“Y/N..” He says with a low tone, setting down his coffee to scoot a little closer to you, worry crossing his delicate features. He’s dressed in sweats and a large sweatshirt, an outfit that was a big change to his usual aesthetic.

“I’ve just been thinking a lot,” you start, “About everything you said last weekend and—“

Jungkook’s eyebrows furrow deeply before he shakes his head, “Y/N please don’t—I was being an asshole—“ “No Jungkook stop,” you take back the conversation, “I’ve been such a bitch to you, for no fucking reason and you’ve done nothing to me. Yes, you’ve done shitty things to me in the past but that doesn’t give me an excuse to do shitty things to you—“

“Y/N—“

“Jungkook please let me speak,” you interject him again and he nods once, allowing you to continue, “I-I’m just sorry okay? You were my best friend at one point and I,” you pause again, “I’m just sorry okay?”

Jungkook’s face softens, chewing on his soft lips as if he’s contemplating something.

“I don’t want you to apologize Y/N,” he says after a few moments of nothing. “I shouldn’t have brought up your dad, fuck I shouldn’t have said a lot of things—“

“Jungkook it’s okay—“

“But it’s not fucking okay,” he presses, shaking his head, “I can’t even imagine what you’re going through and having to sit by and watch you clearly not okay, pretending you are, it fucking sucks. It fucking sucks because it’s not my place anymore but you know I’ll always want the best for you.”

His words hit deep and you find yourself having to look away, tears threatening to spill over. You had been a mess ever since yours and Lisa’s argument earlier. You start to sob quietly, refusing to look at Jungkook as he suddenly shifts over to pull you close to him. His arms are vast around you as you cry into the thickness of his sweatshirt.

“I miss him,” your voice breaks off, “So much Jungkook.”

He holds you close, rubbing your back comfortingly, burying his face into the crook of the left side of your neck. You’re not in hysterics by any means, holding coherent sentences but clearly you’re upset.

“It feels like I’m in a crowded room screaming and no one fucking hears me,” you say into his chest, pulling yourself away from Jungkook some. His eyes look at you heavily, honestly unsure of what to say. Jungkook was one of the few people in your life who had actually known your dad from being with you. Another reason why it was so easy to fall into him when you felt lonely.

“Y/N,” he says and you look back up, holding his gaze which has softened significantly since you first walked in, “You know you can talk to me about anything. You have so many people who care about you, you don’t have to put on this persona that everything is okay when it’s clearly not.”

Your heart lurches at the thought. You knew Jungkook still loved you—and you weren’t sure if you had fully moved on either—but frankly, you hadn’t put too much thought into it the past couple months. When you are around him, he can make me you feel all kind of emotions on the spectrum—angry to lust to confusion to genuine happiness—all back to anger again. Right now, he was making you feel calm and controlled.

His body was warm around you so you take it to lean back some, heat rising on your chest. Jungkook rests his head on a hand supported by his elbow, looking at you intensely.

“How do you always know what to say,” your sentence comes out like a statement, a laugh almost behind your words.

Jungkook returns a small chuckle, “I don’t,” he answers, “I just know you better than I know myself.”

You glance down at the minimal space between yow two feeling somewhat shy at his statement. It’s amusing because you would say the same about him. His free hand rests near yours, and without thinking you grab it, noting something different about it.

“This is new?” He lets you inspect his right hand, turning his wrists with your smaller hands, noticing a new tattoo. Tiny lettering down the side of his inner wrist.

“Mhm,” he says as you try your best to read the writing. In the sun I feel as one, is what it reads. You immediately know where that stems from and you give him a small smile.

“Pretty,” you say while he aimlessly intertwines your fingers together. You let him without protest. The silence is loud between you two—the speaker Jungkook was listening from the only form of vibration in the room. You think it’s Cage the Elephant but you weren’t exactly sure, unable to make out any lyrics.

The longer you stare at Jungkook, the harder it is for you to sit still. He had yet to give up the grip on your hand, tension rising in the middle of you two. You bite your lip softly, thinking tentatively about your next move. You unlink your fingers, keeping eye contact with him as you maneuver yourself to straddle his lap, looking down at his frame from this angle. You weren’t wrong—yes, his tattoos were pretty but he was prettier.

Neither of you say anything, unsure of who closes the gap first. His lips are slightly chapped, probably from lack of sleep, but it doesn’t bother you in any way. You sigh heavily into the kiss as you move against his mouth. His tongue slips into your mouth, sending a shiver down your spine. Each time you kissed him, you knew he was your one and only which is why you hated what happened to you two. It wasn’t fair—he loved you and you loved him—why did you two have to go and do stupid things, fucking everything up?

“Jungkook,” you whisper as he kisses the side of your neck delicately, being careful to not leave any marks on your skin. His hands hold you in place by your waist firmly as he leans against your forehead.

“This is a bad idea,” he says breathily as you move your hips along his pelvis, feeling his cock hardening through his sweatpants.

“When have we ever had a good idea,” you laugh as he continues his gentle and small kisses, tongue poking out occasionally. You continue to grind along his hips, your breath hitching when his member catches across your clit.

“Fuck Y/N,” Jungkook pulls away from you quickly, “W-we shouldn’t do this.”

You furrow your eyebrows at him, slumping against his frame, your hands resting on his shoulders. He adjusts you some so your forehead falls against his own, your breath uneven and shaky.

“You don’t want to?” You frown, never experiencing this type of rejection from him before.

“No, no, baby I want to—trust me I want to but,” he cuts himself off, “You’ve been upset and I don’t wanna seem like I’m taking advantage of you being vulnerable with me.”

“Jungkook it’s okay—“

He cuts you off with another short lived kiss, shaking his head again, “It’s too painful for me right now,” his tone not even a close to whisper, his voice breaking off at the end.

You look away from him, ashamed that you’re the one who has put him in this situation. He loved you like no one else ever has and you’re not sure you will ever find someone to match that love ever again. And you’ve come to the terrifying realization that you haven’t gotten over him—you haven’t moved on—and you’re still in love with him too. But clearly that wasn’t enough right now.

“I’m sorry Jungkook,” you shake your head, disappointed in yourself, “I’m so sorry.”

“Baby don’t apologize,” he says, squeezing your sides encouragingly, “I’m not mad at you or anything I just think we need to figure things out by ourselves for awhile…”

“Please don’t call me that,” you whisper as you push yourself off him to give you and him more space.

“Y/N,” he says stopping you from getting up from the couch by grabbing your hand, “Please don’t get mad. You know how much I love you all right? That’s not gonna change I promise you, I just want you to get through what you’re going through and then we can figure this out.”

He was right. He was always the more level headed of the two of you. You slowly nod, letting him know that you understand. Looking at the bigger picture, yours and Jungkook’s problems were clouding what you really should be focusing on—your band and the competition and then everything going on with your mother and father’s estate. You supposed once all that worked out, perhaps you and Jungkook could start at square one.

“I should head back soon, Lisa is probably wondering where I’m at,” you speak after a few more moments of quiet. Jungkook looks up and down your frame quickly before nodding.

“I can walk you out if you want?” He stands up following your move as you grab your bag from the floor.

“You’re still gonna stay? It’s getting pretty late,” you ask him just purely out of curiosity.

“Yeah I gotta keep practicing on the drums,” he runs a hand through his hair and you furrow your eyebrows at him.

“Drums?” You muse. Of course you knew Jungkook was multi-talented and could play the drums well. Why would he be practicing that over guitar with the competition so close though?

He had begun to walk you out of the studio and down the stairs to your car, the building was dark and quiet. You were thankful Jungkook offered to walk you, unsure if you would have felt comfortable to do so by yourself at this time of the night.

“Remember when hyung said he had an emergency last week?” He says and you nod quickly in response, “Well Namjoon hyung got into a drunken bar fight and long story short, he can’t drum now.”

Your face falls, taken aback by his words. “Wait—what?” You ask in disbelief, “What do you mean he can’t drum?”

His eyes find yours again, a yawn emitting from his lips, “Fucked up his hand and wrist—I love him but shit he’s a pain in the ass sometimes.”

“Oh fuck,” you pause, “Are you still playing in the competition then?” He nods in response, another short yawn coming out. You eye him carefully and suddenly a realization hits you— “So… you’re drumming right now?”

“Yup,” he sighs heavily, “Can you tell?” He holds out his hands flat, rough calluses and a couple blisters lining the insides of his palms. A laugh emits from him as your mouth gapes open at the damage.

“Jesus Jungkook,” you marvel, your fingers running over his palms gently.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” he shrugs aimlessly as you finally make it to your car, leaning against it for a moment.

“Damn.. I’m sorry, that’s genuinely awful timing.”

You are unsure what you would do if someone in Violet did something that stupid, leaving you down one instrument. It would cripple you. And as much as you feel bad for Jungkook, you couldn’t help but feel a little bit selfish, knowing that this would easily give Violet a leg up at the band competition.

“We’ll be fine,” he says. With battle of the bands less than 3 weeks away, you’re not sure he believes that himself. Namjoon out on drums—Jungkook filling in, leaving Whalien 52 without their full sound. Jungkook was good on drums you knew that—but you also knew that like you, guitar was where he excelled. You assume Taehyung was taking the lead guitar position leaving no rhythm guitar. As lead singer—that was going to be rough on Taehyung.

“Thanks for letting me come talk again,” you say opening the driver side door, throwing your bag across the middle console. “I feel a little better to be honest,” you cross your arms over your chest as you look up at him.

“Good,” he gives you a small smile, “Drive safe okay?”

You give him a small smile and before you can change your mind, your press yourself on your toes, kissing him once again. Nothing too passionate but needed to get your next point across—

“I love you Jungkook,” you whisper against his mouth as you pull away but your lips are smothered again as he pushes you against your car fully. The kiss is feverish, both of you desperate to hold onto each other a little longer.

He finally pulls away, almost ripping himself away from you with one final glance—“Goodnight Y/N.”

____

Your mother was angry with you. Angry to the point where she had yet to make eye contact with you as she waltz into your apartment—lawyer in tow. It wasn’t even noon and you were in the middle of finishing a paper for a class when you heard an unsettling pounding at your door. Lisa was quick to run to your room with a puzzled look on her face.

“My mom,” you muttered to her as you sauntered your way to the front door.

“Good to know you saw my text we were coming,” she says, looking around your apartment, observing every little detail for her to potentially nitpick. “This is Son Yejin,” she introduces the lawyer, who is strikingly beautiful though she looks intense and not up for bullshit.

“Nice to meet you miss Y/N,” she nods and you take notice of the thick briefcase at her side. You don’t say anything as they walk past you towards the small dining table sat in the corner of your kitchen. You really hoped Lisa took your word when you begged her to lock herself in her room and put in noise cancelling headphones. You had a bad feeling about this but your mother gave you no choice when she texted saying she was coming in 10 minutes.

“So I take it you haven’t looked over the papers I gave you a couple weeks back?” Your mother finally looks up at you, eyes puffy and wearing less makeup than usual. Still, she is dressed chic like herself, but her face says a much different story.

“I haven’t had time,” you lie smoothly, knowing full and well you shoved that damn manila envelope into a drawer in your desk, haven’t looking at it since. You understood it was important to sort out your father’s assets but at the same time, you felt sick at the thought of going through all his stuff. You couldn’t care less about his money or his valuables—none of that could replace losing your best friend.

“Cut the bullshit Y/N,” your mom’s lips are tight pressed into a line, “Sit down.” She motions towards the chair beside her. You drag your feet causing your sweatpants to drag against the floor. You sit at the chair across from her, the lawyer sat to your right, placing her in the middle. It felt almost symbolic as this random woman separates you two—an invisible wall has been placed between you since your dad passed and now that very wall has come to fruition.

You don’t say anything else as the lawyer and your mother begin to spread out papers on the table in front of you. She also opens up her laptop and begins explaining this process and why it was so important for you to cooperate. It all felt so redundant as your mother had been harping on you about it for weeks. Did she really think bringing in her lawyer would make you understand it more?

“You were your father’s primary beneficiary,” she begins, “That means you are entitled to whatever he left you and you are entitled to the right to do whatever you want with those assets.”

Your mother’s face remains relaxed though you can sense she’s studying your every move as your eyes lazily move across the legal documents that you barely understand or care about.

“Your mother is the contingent beneficiary, so whatever you don’t want—she gets.”

“I really don’t care about what he left me,” your voice is trembling, “Dad didn’t care about materialistic things, he wouldn’t like us doing this—“

“Well, he didn’t give us much of a choice did he?” Your mom says, narrowing her eyes at you.

A discomfort tunnels through your chest but it’s not as strong as the frustration boiling your blood. She spoke about your dad—her husband—like he was expendable. It was repulsive. You stay silent once again as the lawyer starts talking again. Hearing the tapping sound of your mother’s nails against the table sends a shiver down your spine. It’s not until your mother speaks again that catches your full attention back.

“Y/N listen to me,” she says slowly, “I know you don’t want to do this, I don’t want to do this, but I can’t sit at home by myself with all this stuff and expect to be sane,” her own voice breaks off, signaling a distress you haven’t seen from her in weeks.

You hadn’t really thought of it like that. While at least you were here at your college apartment, your mother was alone in your childhood home that was destroyed of all its innocence when they found your deceased father. Perhaps you had been too selfish and resentful towards her to realize how much she was suffering too.

“I just,” you pause, looking down at your picked at nail polish, “I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do—I don’t know anything about his assets, how am I—“

“Y/N that’s why Yejin is here,” she reassures, with Yejin nodding in agreement.

“The courts aren’t expecting you to know what to do, but it’s important you are cooperative as possible. It’ll be smoother not just on your mother, but you as well.”

You begin to nod slowly, recognizing that this was something you couldn’t run from anymore. Yes, it was painful to remember every small detail about your father, but you and your mom was all you two had left. You shouldn’t spend the rest of your life resenting her for a problem that she had no knowledge about.

“I also found this a couple days ago… wanted to bring it to you in person,” she slides a thin envelope over to you, gaze soft and relaxed.

You grab the paper slowly, only breaking eye contact when you take the piece of paper from the inside that’s been folded into 3 parts. You open it slowly, your eyes quickly scanning the page and your heart immediately drops to the pit of your stomach. It’s a letter—written from your dad to you.

“W-where did you get this?” You ask shakily, your fingertips sweaty against the paper.

“It was in a safe in his closet when I was cleaning some stuff out. I only had the code myself in case of emergency situations,” she explains. She glances at the lawyer before speaking again, “We will be going now. I think you know what’s expected of you now.”

The two women stand up and you follow slowly, your hands still not letting go of the letter. Your mother comes closer to you and you can smell her perfume faintly.

“I know your dad wouldn’t like us doing this Y/N,” she pauses, fiddling with her sunglasses in her hands, “But he also wouldn’t like us fighting over it. You know that.”

She was right.

“I know how hard this has been on you sweetheart… he loved you more than anyone else in the world,” she lets out a breath that’s a bit shaky for her usual assertive self, “If you’re struggling you know he would want you to get the help you need, I want that for you, okay?

You had almost forgotten about the lawyer standing by your front door awkwardly until you glanced her way. You felt unstable in front of your mother, feeling unsure of how to respond. She hadn’t shown you this much empathy since he had passed. If anything, her empathy was just what you needed. It was comforting—despite everything—it was comforting.

You nod slowly, combating moisture in your eyes by blinking rapidly. Without a warning, your mother pulls you into an unexpected hug. Instinctually, you wrap your arms around her frame, your chin sitting on her shoulder comfortably.

“I haven’t said it enough,” she says in a whisper, “But I do love you. You’re just so much like him—it’s so hard for me because it’s like he’s here but he’s not.”

You feel a stray tear drop down your cheek, breath heavy and shaky, “I love you too mom.”

She pulls you into another tight hug as if to reassure her words. Your mother could be difficult to crack. She was a person who was very grey—not much was black or white with her. On most days, she reminded you of Jungkook. You had hoped from this point onward the indignation you had built towards her would fade. She was a grieving widow and you were a grieving daughter. She of course had a life with your dad long before you were even in it. She was trying her best to hold it together—much better than you had the past few weeks—she was trying.

You make it back into your room after they leave, letter heavy in hand. You shut the door to your room, back against the wood as you unfold the paper carefully. Your hands waver and you’re almost afraid you’ll rip it.

Sweet pea,

Know that I will always be here if you need me… even if I’m not here one day. I don’t have the answers to everything but if there’s one thing I want you to know; I am so proud of you and who you are becoming. Never stop playing and always do the right thing.

I love you more… and that’s for sure. Dad.

____

Whalien 52 was no less than t-totally fucked. Their first gig back with Jungkook on drums and Taehyung attempting to be lead guitar and sing had not gone as planned. In practice, they really had thought they were sounding pretty good and getting into the new rhythm. Being on a stage was a lot different from the usual practice studio They opted on playing some easier songs for Jungkook and Taehyung’s sake, but that came at the sacrifice of not practicing the songs they wanted to play for battle of the bands. The crowd—probably too drunk or high to actually notice any difference—still seemed to enjoy the show. That didn’t matter to any of the members though. It’s why when the member’s go backstage, it was inevitable for them to take their frustrations out on each other.

“I just don’t understand why you bailed halfway through the fucking solo,” Jungkook spit angrily as he threw himself on a small couch, chucking his drum sticks across the floor, barely missing Yoongi’s legs.

“Hey now,” Yoongi remarks giving the younger a harsh glare.

“It’s fucking hard Jungkook, that’s why,” Taehyung spits, “I’ve never had to play lead ever—“

“Other people have done it,” Jungkook mutters, his gaze falling on Namjoon as he waltz in the back room, a beer in his somewhat okay right hand—his other wrist in a brace now. The sight sends more anger through the members because they know if he hadn’t acted stupid they wouldn’t be in this position.

“Yeah well if you haven’t noticed Jungkook I’m not Jimi Hendrix or Kurt fucking Cobain am I?”

“Can we not fight here?” Yoongi mutters though he wasn’t sure if anyone heard him as the tension grows thicker between the band.

“Jungkook you completely messed up a couple sections though,” Jin points and Namjoon throws in an agreement.

“Fuck you guys,” the youngest swears.

“Don’t criticize Taehyung then if you can’t handle it yourself,” Namjoon says tipping back his beer.

“Fuck you the most hyung,” Jungkook says to Namjoon as he gets up angrily, looking over at Taehyung not bothering to say another word to anyone else, afraid he might continue to spill words that will only cause more issues.

“Both of you made mistakes tonight but that was going to happen,” Yoongi pauses, catching everyone’s attention from his corner of the room, “But I’m sorry guys, we don’t have a fucking chance if we can’t get a lead and let Taehyung have a break.” If no one was going to take Yoongi’s advice about not fighting here, then he was going to put in his two cents too.

“Yoongi’s right,” Jin says matter of factly.

The band was stumped. Everyone knew Taehyung needed some help on guitar but obviously Jungkook couldn’t leave the drums—what was a band without fucking drums? Every one of the guys drop the conversation, sitting there in silence battling their own mental frustrations. Jungkook sits forward, rubbing his face up into his hair trying to calm himself down. He was doing everything he could but he didn’t know what a solution could be for Whailen.

Faintly, another band begins to play in the background disturbing the uncomfortable silence. Yoongi observes the band intently before crossing his legs, opening his mouth.

“I mean, I have one idea,” he suddenly says, all eyes turning to him. “You are aren’t gonna like it though,” he laughs backhandedly, his eyes landing directly on Jungkook.

Creasing his eyebrows together, “What are you on about hyung?”

“I highly doubt she’ll agree,” Yoongi murmurs to himself, “Worth a shot right?”

Each Whailen member glances around at each other, wondering exactly what Min Yoongi is proposing. Min Yoongi was one of two things; he was either quite reckless with his decisions or he was quite the genius, coming up with the best of ideas. The band hoped the latter, but when the words come from his mouth—everyone straight away assumes he’s lost his goddamn mind.

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gemmie43 · 2 years

Text

never ending loop - calum hood

summary: calum overdosed a year ago and everything has been horrible ever since

warnings: alcohol/drug abuse, swearing, talk of mental health & suicide

rating: angst, whole lot of sad shit

author’s note: i know this is really depressing but in a way, i feel how she feels. the feeling of being independent and hopeless. if you never feel this way, just know that you’ll become hopeful again. it just takes time. i know this feeling all too well.

Before Calum, I didn’t know how to live. I felt like i was on a constant loop, never ending, every day blended together. But one day, i stumbled into the wrong dorm room and i saw two people making out on the bed. before i closed the door, because it was obviously not my room, i caught a glimpse of the dude’s face. I didn’t recognize him, but then I kept seeing him everywhere; three of my classes, coffee shop, grocery store, even in my dreams.

however, i hated it. i hated seeing his stupid face, with his stupid hair and his stupid sunglasses he always wore. i ended up memorizing his daily routine, which was the same every day except for weekends. i realized maybe he felt like i felt; in a constant, never ending loop.

we officially met when he was fucking with one of my friends, carla. we were at a party that she dragged me to and he barely looked at carla the entire time. his eyes were on me. and i noticed, but i never acknowledged it. i knew a manipulative, asshole, gaslighter face extremely well. i didn’t want to get involved with him at all, so i tried to avoid him at all costs. that was until he kept sitting next to me in class, “randomly” bumping into me around campus, going to the coffee shop when i was there. then I figured it all out: he was exactly like me.

eventually, we started talking more and it became a part of my routine. yet, before, i hated routines because i felt stuck. but it was the best part of it, the only part of the day i didn’t dread to experience. i finally felt good, and i didn’t want anything to change. then he had to kiss me.

after he kissed me, i avoided him again. i stopped replying to his texts, avoiding his calls, coming to class late so he couldn’t move next to me. he had enough and decided to address it but it became a whole thing and it stressed me out. then he kissed me again. and i kissed back. the stress, the emptiness, i needed to fix it, so i let him have me.

i became attached to the feeling he gave me. i woke up wanting to die, saw calum, felt good again, went home and i want to die again. i didn’t know that was happening until i couldn’t have him anymore.

a lot of people say they remember an event that changed their life like it was yesterday.

i swung open the front door, the doorknob hitting against the wall behind it, causing an echo to go through the house. whispers came from the hallway, i wasn’t stupid and they really thought i couldn’t hear them; they were right.

“-a year ago,” was all i heard, until i came into eye contact with bright blue eyes. “hi, y/n.” he gave me an awkward wave as the short girl in front of his turned around to see me. her eyes widened, running to me and gave me a tight hug.

“nice to see you too?” i patted sierra’s back, not used to the physical affection. her long black hair was soft and silky, she felt like she hadn’t seen it in a while.

she pulled me away, both hands on my shoulders, “you scared the crap outta me! i was looking for you everywhere but you’re a fast fucking runner.”

then i remembered i saw her the night before, driving back from a concert. then i remembered all the xans i took that night, i kept forgetting i took one so i kept taking them. classic y/n.

“so where did you go anyways?” sierra asked after she calmed down a bit.

i opened my mouth, yet nothing came out, trying to think of a good lie so sierra wouldn’t know i took a shit ton of bars last night. it must’ve been a good night, since i jumped out of a car and ran away from sierra as she chased me. that shit was probably so cool. what a shame to forget all of that. oops.

“i- i went- i went to michael’s,” was the first thing that came out of my mouth. probably a stupid lie, and i hoped that michael would cover for me if sierra or luke asked about it; which they definitely would.

luke chuckled, “you think mike’s gonna cover for you?”

“um, actually, he would if he had to. however,” i continued, “there’s no reason for him to cover me because i didn’t do anything wrong- anyways, i need to piss. brb.”

i dashed out of sierra and luke’s way, towards the guest bathroom and locked the door. i searched every single cabinet and drawer in the bathroom to look for at least weed, even though my lungs would be fucked after a blunt. i found a bottle of prescripted xans, shrugged my shoulders, and took a few. i flushed the toilet and washed my hands, just to be more convincing. i wiped my drenched hands on my pants, feeling something in one of my pockets. i quickly shoved my hand into it and pulled out a bag of white powder.

i thanked the gods above that i didn’t believe in, using my pinky nail to scoop the powder and snort it. the burning in my nose felt so beautiful. i could write a book about that feeling; i won’t.

i wiped my nose, then finally left the bathroom. then everything went black.

i woke up on a couch, a really comfy couch. i immediately recognized it was luke’s couch, the best couch to pass out on; speaking from experience. i groaned at the bright light from the tv, squinting my eyes and rubbing them.

“babe, she’s awake,” i heard luke’s soft voice from next to me. yet, when i looked over at who i thought was luke, i saw a blue haired boy. i blinked a few times and then saw luke’s stupid blonde curls come into view.

i rolled my eyes and turned to face away from luke, closing my eyes again. i knew i passed out and him and sierra were probably worried, but i honestly couldn’t care less. i just wanted to go back to sleep. i wasn’t necessarily feeling sleepy, but i was definitely tired.

luke put a hand on my shoulder, rubbing it a bit in a soothing way. the familiar feeling caused me to immediately calm down, imagining it was someone else. i turned back and my eyes met with deep brown ones. i furrowed my eyebrows at the sight, my breathing becoming faster and my heart rate quickened. sierra walked into the room, catching my eye, but once i looked back at the boy again, i saw luke.

“y/n, you need to stop this,” sierra spoke with her annoying, serious tone. even since i started doing drugs, she’d been using that tone towards me a lot and honestly, it was boring.

“mhm,” i mumbled, turning away from the two once again. i heard inhale sharply, instantly knowing he was stressed out. i tend to be quite a handful, but they signed up for it, so they couldn’t complain.

suddenly, the sound of luke’s phone ringing filled my ears, making me jump from the noise.

luke groaned, “it’s mike. what?”

i guessed he answered the phone, but i didn’t care to listen in, so i tried to drown out the sound of their conversation, and close my eyes once again.

“are you at a party?” luke asked, with an annoyed tone in his voice. the second ‘party’ slipped out of luke’s mouth, i opened my eyes and sat up from the couch.

i saw sierra hit luke’s arm, giving him a ‘shut the fuck up’ look that she did a lot. everything about sierra make me want to vomit, so i decided i was going to finally leave luke’s apartment.

“i’m feeling a lot better now, i’m gonna go home now,” i concluded, grabbing my keys and phone that were on the coffee table.

i stood up from the couch and sierra did the same. bitch better not stop me from leaving, but she definitely won’t let me leave if she knew i was going to the party michael was at. i had to lie, a very convincing lie. which one should i choose? i thought.

“you’re not going to that party,” sierra demanded.

“party? what party? even if there was a party, i wouldn’t wanna go. i gotta go home, i’m pretty hungry and i just remembered i have leftover pizza from a few nights ago. better go eat it before it goes bad, you know?” lies. complete and utter lies spuing from my mouth. it was kind of fun.

luke hung up the phone, but it didn’t realize until he started speaking. “how about we order a pizza instead? better than leftovers, right?” he started to look up the number for a pizza place on his phone as he spoke.

“nah, i’m good. i’ll see you-“

my words were interrupted by my phone ringing. the contact read ‘mike’ on my phone and i immediately answered, hoping he was going to ask me the big question.

“wanna party?”

“fuck yeah.”

lucky for me, sierra and luke couldn’t keep at the house. they can’t stop me from having some fun, right? so i left luke’s apartment and headed over to ashton’s. i could kiss ashton for throwing a party at the best time. i was in need for some good drugs and i knew he had the good shit.

the next thing i knew, i was walking through the doors of his house, the blaring of loud music filled my eardrums and i felt the humidity on my skin. it smelled of booze and sex and sweat; it smelled like home.

i squeezed myself through the crowd of people and grabbed a random person’s cup of whatever it was and chugged it. i coughed at the disgusting taste of the fruity drink. why drink alcoholic if you’re going to drown it in sweet shit? but to be honest, i’d drink anything that has at least 1% of alcohol in it.

i caught sight of the blonde haired, beanie wearing boy with a red solo cup in his hand. i snatched it and took a sip of it, handing it back to him. the taste of michael’s usual whiskey quenched my thirst, yet not enough.

“so what you got?” i asked michael, putting a hand in his front jean pocket to find some drugs on him.

“woah, y/n, calm down!” michael laughed at my actions. i continued to look through his other pockets, even his jacket pockets. he pushed my hand away, “i got nothing on me, tonight. my guy is sold out.”

“oh, just try my guy, i’ll give you his-“

“i tried him too, mate. nothing. the only other guy that’s selling is too sketchy.”

the thought of not getting any good drugs was the most disappointing thing i heard all day. i felt an annoyance and anger fill up in my chest, but i tried to keep my cool.

“you good, y/n?” michael asked, taking a swig of his drink.

“um, yeah, yeah. totally. could you just, um, give me that guy’s info? i was really looking foreward to getting some molly or xans, anything really. i just-“

“y/n, i get that it’s calum’s birthday and you wanna drown out the sorrow with drugs. i really don’t think that’s a good idea. i thought you’d come and celebrate today instead of sulking-“

“i’m sorry, back up. tonight is what?”

“calum’s birthday? obviously you remember.”

all of a sudden, my vision started to become blurry. not like i was going to pass out, it was worse than that. tears.

the second i felt that feeling, the lump in my throat and my lip quivering, i left michael where he stood. i stumbled through the house, shoving people as i go, not caring about the yells i was getting. i made my into the nearest bathroom, and locked the door.

i hovered over the sink, feeling like i was about to throw up. i gagged, a weird noise coming from my throat but nothing came out. i realized i haven’t eaten anything in the last 48 hours or so. beads of sweat formed on my forehead, yet i was freezing cold. i rolled up the sleeves of my green, oversized hoodie that i wore almost every day; it probably smelled of alcohol and sweat but i didn’t care one bit about that. i looked up into the mirror and saw i person i didn’t even recognize.

it was me, but dark bags under my eyes, my dark hair in knots, and drips of sweat falling down my face. the more i stared at myself, the i felt disappointed. i looked like an absolute mess and it was all because of one person.

the moment i started thinking about calum, i saw someone behind me, looking at me through the mirror. his dark blue hair, his chocolate brown eyes, and i convinced myself i could smell his scent; his usual calvin klein cologne and cigarettes and a hint of minty gum. i stood there, staring at him, my mouth slightly open at the sight of him. i turned around, excepting to see his disappear like he kept doing all day. he didn’t.

“oh, love,” he spoke. his voice sounded like heaven, and i didn’t even believe in heaven. but if it was real, it’d sound like calum’s voice.

“cal?” i asked. he brought up his hand and cupped my face. i held his hand with both of mine, letting out a sigh of relief and closing my eyes. “i missed you so much.”

“i’ve been here this whole time, love.” the more he spoke, the more tears welled up in my eyes and poured out of them, one by one, never ending.

“i’m so sorry, i’m sorry,” was i could say.

“for what?”

“i-i never wanted to disappoint you.” my voice was shakey as i sobbed into his palm.

“you could never disappoint me.”

“real-“ i opened my eyes and he was gone. my hands were gripping onto nothing, i was talking to nothing. “no, no, no, no, no. come back. please, come back.”

i turned back to the mirror, hoping to see him again. my boy. my beautiful boy.

but nothing. he was gone.

and there was nothing i could do about it.

#luke hemmings #ashton irwin #calum hood #michael clifford #5sos #5sos imagines

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babymetaldoll · 3 years

Text

DIWK - Chapter six: "I don't know everything, despite the fact you think that I do"

My gif

Word count: 12,6K

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drug use, drug detox, physical violence. Spencer being a jerk.

Summary: (Y/N) had enough of Spencer's attitude and plans an intervention on her own.

A/N: Hello! how are you? how's your week going? my life is a mess and I'm fighting with a lot of anxiety and stress after the month I spent with my grandparents, so I've been taking everything with calm in the latest days. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Spencer is... and then reader... ok, read it, and see you in the comments! Stay safe, kids!!!

Series Masterlist

───※ ·❆· ※───

(Y/N)'s point of view

After New Orleans, I thought things were starting to get a little better. For a few days, Spencer was a lot like himself again. It was refreshing and exciting. He smiled. He even looked like he had slept. And he wasn't rude. Not at first. Not until that Friday.

- "Hey, pretty girl"- Morgan appeared next to my desk and tapped on the pile of files I was working on- Got any plans for tonight?

- "I was actually going to meet my boyfriend. Why? What do you have in mind?"

Yes. Paul and I had a date, 'cos I hadn't seen him in two weeks. We had spent San Valentine's apart, 'cos we were out on a case. And I barely noticed it. I didn't have my hopes high for that night, though. Maybe pizza, a movie... I didn't feel like having sex, even when it had been over a month since we had done it.

- "I'm clubbing tonight, and I know you are a party girl. So, do you wanna come with me?"

- "As tempting as it sounds, I pass"- I smiled at my friend and shook my head- "All I can do today is have a quiet evening, eat something, watch a movie and then call it a day."

- "Are you sure? 'cos Emily is on board, and you two are my party sidekicks."- I chuckled and kept shaking my head- "Ok, alright. You lose. What about you, pretty boy?"

Spencer had been awfully quiet that whole afternoon. He was buried in his paperwork and only moved from his seat to get coffee.

- "Reid? are you listening?"- Morgan waved until he got his attention. But Spencer apparently didn't want to talk- "Hello? Earth to Reid."

- "What the hell do you want?"- I brought up my eyes to my best friend, 'cos his voice was as annoyed as rude.

- "Hey, hey, slow down, kid. What's your problem?"

- "I'm trying to work, and you don't let me! That's my problem!"- Morgan raised an eyebrow and took a deep break.

- "Ok, my bad."

Spencer glued his eyes on his files again, and I kept looking at him closely for a minute. He was fidgety on his chair. He kept scratching his arms, and he had flipped from human to whatever he was when he yelled at Morgan in a blink.

Of course, shit wasn't over yet.

- "Hey, do you want a ride home?"- I asked him and stood by his desk on my way out. He was getting ready to leave too.

- "I can take the subway on my own"- he talked to me like I was insulting him- "And I don't wanna get in the way of your fake date,"- he grumbled and put on his coat

- "Sorry, what?"- I wasn't sure I had gotten that right.

- "Yeah, you have a date with your boyfriend, and I don't want to get in the way."

- "What are you talking about, Reid?"- I couldn't believe his words. He was acting like a jerk.

- "You know, I don't get it"- he was mad. Furious. And he snapped in front of me, out of the blue- "Why are you still dating that jerk if you don't even love him? does he fuck you that good?"

I could see from the corner of my eye how every head in the bullpen turned to us. I looked at my best friend in the eyes and didn't say a word. I just nodded and grabbed my purse.

- "Enjoy your weekend, Reid."

I knew I didn't have to take those words personally. Spencer wasn't himself. But I was growing tired of justifying him in front of the team and myself. It was time for the big guns.

I tried to ease my mind that night, preparing myself for what I knew I had to do the next day. But I couldn't shake Reid from my thoughts. I needed to know what he was doing if he had dinner. If he was able to sleep. Shit! I needed to know if he was getting high all alone in his apartment.

What if he overdosed? What if he just decided to go a little further and his body couldn't resist it? He was too skinny. He wasn't eating correctly. Shit! He could die.

- "Hey, babe. Are you ok?"- Paul asked me all of a sudden. He was kissing my neck and trying to get under my shirt, and I wasn't even moving. I was thinking about Reid and how to help him. And meanwhile, my boyfriend was trying to have sex with me.

- "Sorry, what?"- I know, that wasn't a good answer.

- "Are you even here?"- he sighed and let me go- "Let me guess, you are thinking about a case."

- "No, I'm just worried about Reid."

I know. That wasn't a good answer either, considering Paul's angry face as soon as he heard his name. Paul hated Reid. Ok, Paul hated every single one of my friends, but he despised Spencer. He would almost see him as his sworn enemy, and they had seen each other in person twice in over a year.

- "Now you think about that nerd when we are making out?!"

- "What?! No! that's not what I meant!"- I tried to explain, but it was clear that wasn't going to work- "He is going through a tough time after the abduction and..."

- "Yeah, yeah"- he cut me off and stood up- "Everything about Spencer is more important than me! I don't wanna hear that shitty and sad kidnap story again!"

- "I'm just trying to say I am worried about him!"- I stood up and followed him around the apartment.

- "You are always worried about him!"

- "He is my friend. He is in pain!"

- "And what about me?! Do you even care about me?!"

- "Sure! of course, I do!"

I knew that was it all of a sudden. I didn't even want to argue with Paul, and neither explain to him how much I needed to help Reid. So I didn't say a word. I only stood in front of him. He brought up his eyes to me and sighed. It took him a few seconds to gather the courage to say what he wanted to say. But when he did, it wasn't good.

- "You are in love with him, aren't you?"

His question made my blood boil. I hated he made such a presumption only because I was worried about Spencer. I loved him, sure, but because he was my best friend. I was with him all day, every day. I saw him more than my own family. More than Lu, Mikey, or Frank. And I knew Reid was in pain and in real danger. Of course, Spencer was my priority.

- "No, Paul. I am not in love with him."- I looked right into his eyes and tried to make my point clear- "He is going through a shitty situation, and I wanna help him. That's all."

- "And do you love me?"

He had never asked me that before. We haven't talked about "love" in the whole year and a half we had been together. And, to be honest, I didn't want to lie. I didn't want to hurt him either, but it was the end of the line, and we both knew it.

- "Paul..."

- "That's a no,"- he said and folded his arms across his chest- "If you don't love me, why are you with me?"

- "Do you love me?"

- "Of course, I do!"- I raised an eyebrow and stared at him for a second - "Don't profile me!"

- "I'm not profiling you. I'm just sure you don't! And that's ok. Paul, we... This is not a relationship. It's two lonely persons holding onto something that didn't work."

We just stared at each other and didn't say a word for what seemed to be for ages.

- "Despite what you might think, I know you, (Y/N)"- he took a step closer to me and kissed my forehead- "And I know you love him."

- "Paul, I really don't. He is my friend, and I'm worried about him"- he simply nodded and sighed.

- "Sure thing. Take care"- started walking to the door and never looked back.

I stood alone in the middle of my apartment. That was it. The easiest breakup because neither of us was in love. And yet, I felt empty and sad. Tears started falling down my cheeks, and I didn't notice them until I was sobbing.

I wasn't sad I had lost Paul. I didn't understand where that emptiness and misery were coming from. Maybe it was grief for a relationship that was never meant to work. Perhaps I was sad because I had failed to maintain a relationship. After all, work had turned into my life. I was just like my father and my brother.

A part of me felt I was slowly turning into what I had fought not to be. And letting Paul might mean I was no longer the old (Y/N). And the new (Y/N) scared me: I was a Fed, I worked over 50 hours a week, and I had killed people. Bad people, but I had pulled the trigger. I knew I had the job of my dreams, and I knew I loved working at the BAU. But with every day that passed, I was walking further and further away from the version of me I loved.

And I was scared of what the new (Y/N) was going to be like. Was she going to be like her dad and lose her family due to her work? or like her brother? who couldn't have a normal life 'cos being a detective was more significant.

I knew we all made our own personal decisions, but a part of me felt it. We were all cut from the same cloth, and I was meant to grow old, alone, and the BAU was going to be my whole life until the day I retired, and the loneliness consumed me.

- "I need a drink."

Spencer's point of view

I took a cab home. I didn't want to take the subway because it would take longer to get there, and I couldn't wait that long. I needed one more fix.

I had been telling myself the same for a whole week now: Just one more. One last time.

But it never was the last time. Every night I failed, and that Friday, I was so eager to forget, I wasn't thinking straight. I snapped at Morgan and (Y/N), just 'cos I was going insane, craving Dilaudid.

After New Orleans, I decided to stop using it. And for two days, I did it. But, of course, I couldn't handle the need. That needle was going to be my end, and I was struggling every day to quit. It was impossible to stop on my own when I needed to quieten the pain somehow.

You don't know how much pain you are into until you numb yourself, and the weight of all your troubles and regrets is lifted from your chest. I knew it was eating me alive, but I had to be strong and quit. So, every day I tried. And every day, I failed. Just like that night, when I laid in bed and slowly unwrapped my belt from my arm, losing all connection with reality.

I had yelled at my friends, and they were probably angry at me. But shit! It was worth it. Nothing was even relevant as long as I could feel the relief Dilaudid gave me.

But it never lasted. And the following day, I regretted it all. I woke up dressed on my bed, a needle next to me and an empty bottle of Dilaudid by its side. Just like a junkie. Tears filled my arms as soon as I realized what had happened. What I had done: I had failed yet again.

My whole body was shaking. I needed to eat something. My last proper meal had been Thursday when (Y/N) and I stopped for dinner on our way back home. And I guess if it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't have eaten at all.

I took a long shower, trying to wash away the guilt. It's obvious to say it didn't work. But I consoled myself thinking last night had been the last time. That day I was going to be strong enough, and I was going to quit. I had decided. Nothing could stop me that time.

My breakfast was miserable: I made coffee and took a look in my fridge. Nothing. All I ate that morning was a bowl of cereal (without milk) and two cups of coffee and sugar. Sugar and coffee, actually, like everybody teased me.

I tried to read for a while, at a normal peace, because my head was still fuzzy. So I sat in my living room and grabbed a book from my coffee table: "The Illustrated Man."

After a few hours and four books later, my mind kept coming to the same place. I was out of Dilaudid. And it was a good thing, 'cos now I just wasn't going to get any more. That was it. I had officially quit. Yes. And I felt good. It was a new day, and I was ready to be clean and sober. So I made myself another cup of coffee to celebrate and took a look at my bookshelf. I picked another three books and sat on my armchair, ready to keep on reading. I didn't need drugs to be happy.

Around three in the afternoon, I couldn't stop moving on the couch as I read the sixth book of the day. I drank yet another cup of coffee, even when I knew what I really needed was to get some real food. But I didn't care to starve at that moment. There was only one thought in my mind: Getting high.

Maybe I wasn't ready to quit. I should try leaving it periodically. Actually, perhaps having a bottle around the house could help me ease my mind. Knowing it was there made me feel better. As good as using it.

I was going insane. I kept debating whether I should stay home or find my dealer and just get a little dose. Just enough for one more time. Maybe two. I kept walking around my apartment, creating excuses in my head to get high.

And that was when I heard a knock on my door. I stopped on my tracks, confused. I wasn't waiting for anyone, and I wouldn't really have many unannounced visits. So I walked silently towards the door and looked through the peephole.

- "Shit"- my voice was a whisper I prayed (Y/N) hadn't heard.

What was she doing there? Maybe she had come to talk about my attitude at the BAU. I had said some awful things, but that wasn't really a good moment. I didn't want to see her. I didn't want her to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me. So I didn't open the door.

But she knocked again. I didn't move and almost didn't breathe as I stood still by the door, waiting for her to leave. But she wasn't leaving. Instead, she kept knocking over and over again, driving me insane until I snapped.

- "What the fuck do you want?!"- I opened the door and yelled at her face. She widened her eyes, surprised, and didn't move.

- "You just came to stand there and look at me?- I shouted, and she flinched. She had to leave. I wanted her out of my house. But rather than leaving, she walked in and stood in the middle of the apartment.

- "What is wrong with you?"- she was making an effort to stay calm, but I could tell she was scared. She kept biting the inner part of her cheeks and crossed her arms on her chest. Was she scared of me?

- "Spencer, why are you acting like this?"

- "What the fuck is your problem, (Y/N)? Why are you in my house uninvited?!"

- "I called you like three times. I wanted to invite you to my house for dinner, but you didn't answer, so I got worried."

- "As you can see, I'm fine! And no, I don't wanna go to your house for dinner!"

Her eyes were wide opened, staring right into mine, and I swear it physically hurt to see her. She shouldn't be there. I needed her out. I didn't want her to see me like that, and I needed to get out and get some more Dilaudid. Now more than ever.

- "I'm making lasagna"- (Y/N) whispered- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."

- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."

- "But, honey bunny..."

- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"

The silence in my apartment was so deep, I could hear my own heart racing inside my chest. (Y/N)'s eyes filled with tears that soon started falling down her cheeks. She dropped her shoulders, and her arms hung at her sides, slacks.

- "Please"- she begged- "Tell me what's wrong. I want to help you, Spencer."

- "There's nothing wrong! don't you get sometimes I don't want to be stuck at you?! I already have to see your face all day at work. I deserve a break during the few weekends we have off!"

- "I know you don't mean that"- her voice broke, and her chin trembled, but she still made her best not to cry.

- "You don't know that. You don't know shit, (Y/N)."

I stayed quiet and looked away from her. I couldn't stare at those sad eyes for another second.

- "Please, leave"- I managed to control my voice for a second, in a poor attempt not to hurt her anymore. But she shook her head and sniffed.

- "No, Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."

- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it?! I just don't wanna be with you!"

- "Please"- she begged, sobbing in front of me. I couldn't stand it. I couldn't bear to see her anymore.

So I ruined everything and hurt her. I pushed her. She nearly fell back but managed to stabilize. She was shocked by my actions, but I didn't even have time to think about what I was doing. All I could think of that minute was that I needed her out of my house to buy drugs and get high.

- "Spencer, what the hell are you doing?"

- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"

I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her out of my sight. She cried, pleading I would tell her what was wrong with me. But I didn't listen. Instead, I dragged her out of my apartment and slammed the door. I could hear her crying in the hall for a moment, and it enraged me. I thought if she was crying, she herself had caused it. She had appeared at my house at the wrong moment, unannounced.

It wasn't my fault. I just wanted her to leave. I did what I had to do.

And I didn't regret it.

Not until Sunday afternoon, when an announced knock on my door forced me to drag my stoned body from the couch. It was a delivery boy who gave me a package and left. It had nothing written on it. Not even my name. When I opened the box, I found a computer and a note.

- "Play me."

I knew I was still stoned, but not enough to be imagining those kinds of things. I took the laptop to the couch with me. There was a video ready to be played in it. So I pushed play.

- "What the fuck do you want?!"- my heart dropped. It was me, but I could barely recognize my own face- "You just came to stand there and look at me?"

It was a recording of me yelling at (Y/N). She had taped everything, and I couldn't believe my own eyes. I was a monster.

- "I'm making lasagna"- my chin quivered at that scene. Her voice was a whisper, and I was out of myself- "Mikey, Frank, and Lu are coming."

- "I don't care, I don't wanna go to your house, I don't wanna go anywhere! I'm fine here."

- "But honey bunny..."

- "Stop calling me that!! I hate it!! It's a stupid nickname! I'm not your fucking honey bunny!!"

I paused the video, 'cos I couldn't take it anymore. That wasn't me. I couldn't believe I had said all those things to her. It hurt (Y/N), so I could get drugs.

I covered my face with my hands and cried. I was done. Not only did I not know how to recover from my drug addiction, but I also didn't know how I could ever look at my best friend again in the eyes after what I had done.

I remembered she had cried, and I knew I had been mean. But when I saw the extreme hate in each one of my words, I knew I had reached rock bottom. I needed help.

After a few minutes, I pushed play again. I knew I needed to see the whole thing actually to understand what had happened.

- "Please, leave!!"

- "No! Spencer, I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong with you. I am worried."

- "There's nothing fucking wrong with me, (Y/N)! Don't you get it! I just don't wanna be with you!!"

- "Please... Spencer, no! What the hell are you doing?"

- "I asked you nicely, but you didn't leave. So now I won't be nice anymore. Get out!!"

I hit her. I pushed her. She was there to invite me for dinner, and I hurt her. Who was I? What kind of beast does such a thing to his best friend?

Who would do such a thing to the woman he loves.

I curled on the couch, crying. How could I let that happen? When did I turn into a downward version of myself? Ethan was right. I had been dumb enough to think I could control it when in reality, drugs were controlling me. I was losing who I was. I could lose my job. I was losing my friends.

I knew things had been hard for me growing up, but I had finally reached a point in my life where I was happy. I liked my life. I loved my job. For once, I had real friends, and I was making good, catching bad guys. I had actually fulfilled my dream to work at the BAU. So why was I wasting it all?

- "Spencer"- I heard (Y/N)'s voice at the end of the video and saw her face on the screen- "I am here if you need to talk. I'm not mad. I just wanna hug you. Please, call me. Let me help you."

But I couldn't do it. I couldn't talk to her after what had happened. I dragged her by the arm out of my apartment. I made her cry. I didn't deserve anything. I couldn't deal with reality and the consequences of the monster I had become into.

Sunday, March 4th. That was the day it all changed for good.

(Y/N)'s point of view

Spencer didn't call. I wasn't surprised, though. I knew he would be affected by the video and probably felt like he didn't deserve my help. So I did what I knew Frank would say I shouldn't do. I put on my shoes and got ready to go to his apartment and pick him up. I was not going to leave him alone when I could see he was struggling to survive.

But when I opened my door, Spencer was sitting in the hall outside my apartment, hugging his legs, shaking. His eyes were puffy, and his lips were shattered. He looked at me, afraid I would be mad. But how could I? I just wanted to help him.

I kneeled in front of him and touched his hands. They were stone cold. His lips trembled as I looked into his eyes, and after a few seconds of hesitation, he finally threw his arms around me, crying.

- "It's ok, honey"- I whispered and felt his whole body shaking as he held me tight- "I've got you."

- "I'm sorry"- I mumbled, sobbing against my shoulder.

- "Shh, it's ok, it's ok"- I ran my fingers through his hair and kissed his cheek.

- "Please"- I had to bite my lips not to cry with him, but I knew I had to be strong for him- "Help me."

- "Always."

I poured two cups of tea on my kitchen island as I looked at Spencer eating a bowl of soup. He was swallowing it like he hadn't eaten in days, which was probably true. We had barely spoken in the last hour. He kept asking for forgiveness as I helped him walk into my apartment and sat with him on the couch. He held onto me like a castaway holds to whatever shipwrecks he finds to survive.

When I finally convinced him to eat something, he followed me to the kitchen and looked at me in silence as I cooked. I didn't know what to tell him, so I just did my best to stay calm. I knew what was happening next, and it wasn't going to be pretty. But I was ready to go through it with him.

- "Thank you"- he whispered and sighed as soon as he was finished.

- "Do you want some more?"- but he shook his head. I smiled at him and handed him his cup of herbal tea.

- "Cookies?"- he didn't answer. He just looked at me with those big puppy eyes and broke my heart.

- "I'm sorry"- he spoke so softly I almost didn't hear him.

- "Don't be."

- "I was a monster"- he stared at me, and I knew he was thinking I was never going to forgive him, when the truth was, I wasn't mad at him at all. I was just worried sick.

- "Are you ready to get better?"- I was afraid to ask, 'cos I was afraid he could change his mind. Still, I trusted the video had shaken him deeply enough to erase from his head any thought of relapsing.

- "Yes."

His answer was clear. Even when it was a whisper, there was no hesitation or no fear. Pure determination. It made me smile to hear him like that. And he smiled at me for a second, filling my heart with hope.

- "Ok, then this is what we are doing"- I walked to my desk and took a folder I had prepared for that day. I gave it to him, and he frowned, confused.

- "What is this?"

- "Our home detox plan. You and I are locked in this apartment for the next fifteen days."

Spencer looked at me, baffled. I just smiled and walked to the fridge to show him how prepared I was.

- "I got all the food we need, and the meds you might need, and a nurse that will come to visit daily to put an eye on you."

- "What? How? What about work?"

- "I'll talk to Hotch."

- "What are you gonna tell him?"

- "The truth"

I wasn't going to lie to my boss, not when he also knew what was happening with Reid.

- "Honey, he knows there's something wrong with you, and I'm sure he will understand our absence for two weeks. You and I have enough vacation days saved to cover that time. And you need it."

Spencer looked at me in silence. I couldn't read his face because his eyes hypnotized me. Even under those circumstances, his eyes were beautiful and sweet. Filled with hope.

- "Ok"- he nodded, and I hugged him right away.

- "I'm so proud of you, honey"- I whispered and caressed his hair for a second.- "Come on. We are doing one more thing before we start."

- "What?"

- "Cleaning your apartment."

I took Reid back to his place and got rid of the Dilaudid he had gotten that weekend: All of it. And the needles. I helped him clean because I didn't want him to find a messy apartment when he would get back there. Then, we packed a bag of clean clothes to take to my place. He looked weak but determined to change, which made me feel so relieved. My heart was joyful.

- "Do you have everything?"- I whispered and held his hand as he stood in the middle of the living room and took a look around- "Do you want to take some books?"- he didn't answer- "Spencer? are you ok?"

- "I don't want to be a burden"- he whispered, and I took a deep breath right away, trying to find the right words to convince him he wasn't and that there was no way on earth he could ever be a burden in my life.

- "You are not, I swear"- he looked down and played with his fingers in my hand- "I mean it."

- "It's not going to be nice"

- "I know"

- "And..."

- "And I want to be there, with you, all along. Ok?"- he looked at me, and my heart skipped a beat.

- "(Y/N), withdrawal symptoms from opiates include anxiety, sweating, vomiting, and"- he cleared his throat, embarrassed- "And diarrhea."

- "I know... but we are going to go through this together, one day at the time."

Spencer kept his fingers in my hand, tracing paths on my skin. I looked at him and bit the inside of my cheeks. I didn't want him to doubt himself, 'cos I knew he could do it.

- "One day at the time sounds good"- he murmured and looked at me with a tiny smile. I nodded and kissed his cheek. I don't know why I did it. I just know how much I liked it. The sensation of his skin, and his two days beard, I don't know what it did to me. But I even shivered.

- "Let's go"- I whispered and held his hand tight. He nodded and grabbed his bag. It was about to get real.

The first night with Spencer was wild. He hadn't used it in over a day, and the withdrawal symptoms started around midnight. We were on the couch watching a movie. I was already half asleep when I felt Spencer constantly moving. He started biting his nails and scratching his face every two minutes.

- "Are you ok?"- I whispered and looked at him. He was pale.

- "I'm not gonna be able to do this."

- "Honey..."

- "No, I mean it."

- "You can, and you will."

- "How do you know? I was weak enough to start using."

- "You were forced to start using, and you are strong enough to stop"- I sat straight and held his hands. He was freezing- "What do you say we put you to bed? I'll make you a cup of tea, and we'll see how you feel in the morning."

He didn't move. I kept his hand in mine, and he held it tight. Real tight. I don't know what he was thinking about, but after a few seconds, he sighed and looked at me.

- "Bed and tea sounds nice,"- I nodded and stood up, but he didn't move- "(Y/N)?"

- "Yes?"

- "Where are you going to sleep?"

- "On the couch"- he sighed, and his face was filled with guilt.

- "I can't let you do that. This is your house."

- "Don't worry about that now. Come on. You need to rest"- I caressed his hand with my thumb, and he finally stood up. But halfway to the bedroom, he stopped.

- "I feel so guilty to put you through all this."

- "I want to do this"

- "But..."

- "No, but"- I turned to him and cupped his face with my hands- "I love you, and I'm not gonna leave you alone. No matter what."

My words resonated inside my head for a few seconds as I stared at him. My stomach was fluttering, and my heart was racing inside my chest.

That wasn't good. But I didn't have to overthink my feelings because my best friend needed me.

Reid walked to the bathroom and put on his pajamas while I made him a cup of warm tea. I knew what was coming: nausea, shivering, throwing up, stomach ache, and more. But I was ready. Two weeks and Spencer was going to be ok.

I had talked about my plan with Hotch earlier that day, and he agreed to give us two weeks off and cover us. Spencer was going to be in Vegas, 'cos his mother had had an episode, and I would be in New York, helping my brother on a case. Seemed convincing. Having the two of us out of town would stop any of our friends to stop by unannounced.

- "(Y/N), thank you for doing this for Reid"- Hotch said before hanging up. I felt lucky to have him as my unit chief. He surely cared for all of us. I don't think anyone else would have done the same.

Retchings from my bathroom were the first thing I heard as soon as I stepped into my room.

- "Honey, do you need help?"- but Reid didn't answer. So I ran back to the kitchen and got him a Gatorade from the fridge, set it on the nightstand. Then I ran to my closet and grabbed a clean towel.

I opened the bathroom door and found Reid kneeled by the toilet. He had already flushed but didn't stand up.

- "Here"- I dampened the towel and put it on his forehead. He closed his eyes and sighed- "Better?"

Spencer just nodded and stayed still for a moment. I took off his glasses and pulled his hair back carefully. He started retching a second later, and I rubbed his stomach, cooing him. When he was done, I flushed and helped him stand up. That wasn't it, and I knew it. He knew it too.

- "Did you know brushing your teeth right after throwing up damages your teeth?"- he whispered, making me smile. It felt good to know deep down, even under those shitty circumstances, he was still the same good old Reid.

- "So, mouthwash?"- I moved the bottle closer for him, and he just nodded- "I'll be outside."

Reid drank a little Gatorade and made a sad effort to read after getting into bed but fell asleep in less than five minutes. I took the glasses off (again) and took the book from his hands. My heart felt warm just to see him there, resting.

But that lasted less than half an hour. I stayed by Spencer's side to make sure he was ok. I was reading when he started retching again. I grabbed the bucket I had already set underneath the bed and rushed to help him. His stomach was already empty. He was basically just vomiting bile.

When he finally fell asleep again, he started shaking. I touched his hand, and he was freezing, so I took an extra blanket from the closet, placed it on top of him, and set the room's thermostats to make it a little warmer for him.

I stayed by his side, reading until he woke up again. This time, he was sweating. I took a clean pajama top from his bag and helped him change. Then, I took the dirty pajamas and the clothes he had worn that day and put them in the washer.

I sat next to Reid on the bed and looked at him. He was awake, rolling over and over, not able to stay still.

- "Come here"- I whispered and tapped on my lap- "Put your head here."

I thought he was going to argue, but no. Instead, he did as told with no hesitation as I ran my fingers through his hair slowly, scratching his scalp carefully. I felt how he inhaled deeply and relaxed, at least for a little while.

But it didn't last. And the rest of the night was a long loop of puke, shivers, and sweat. Spencer finally fell asleep for good around six in the morning, and I dragged my exhausted self to the couch. Night one was done. Nine more to go.

Spencer's point of view

My whole body ached. I opened my eyes, disoriented. All I knew was that I felt I had been beaten up, but I didn't recognize the room. I did recognize the smell on my pillow, though. It was (Y/N)'s. That's how I remembered what was going on.

Adding to how bad I felt, physically, I felt worst knowing everything that had happened the night before and in advance for everything I knew would happen that week. But even knowing that, and even when I was embarrassed to be a burden, I was glad to be there. I was happy to feel taken cared of and loved. It was a change I never imagined I could experience. The one who always took care of his mother now had someone who took care of him. It was under a miserable context, but I felt loved anyway.

Even when I was loved only as a friend.

I stood up slowly. I was fatigued, probably 'cos I had spent half of the night puking. I drank what was left of the Gatorade on the nightstand and walked to the living room. (Y/N) was asleep on the couch. My heart ached to think how uncomfortable she probably was while I slept on her queen-sized bed. No one had ever cared so much about me before. So I walked to the kitchen and made her breakfast. A classical Reid breakfast. Coffee, cereal, and milk. That was it. That was all I could cook.

- "Hey, what are you doing?"- (Y/N) appeared suddenly and smiled at me so sweetly, I nearly dropped the coffee pot.

- "I'm trying to make you breakfast"- I confessed and blushed- "And as you can see, I'm not much of a cooker."

- "You made coffee, you covered the most important part"- she held the cup I had filled for her and smiled- "What if you get comfy on the couch while I make you something to eat?"

- "I can't let you do everything, (Y/N)"- the way she looked at me, my heart skipped a beat.

- "I'll tell you what: If I ever get sick or hurt, or anything happens to me, you are going to be the one taking care of me. Ok?"- I nodded and stayed quiet- "Now, go to the couch. It's a lazy Monday."

- "What does that mean?"

- "We stay in our pajamas, watch movies, nap, and do nothing."

How could anyone say no to that?

I wasn't hungry at all, but (Y/N) really applied herself with everything she cooked: she made chocolate chips, hotcakes, peanut butter and jelly sandwich, a smoothie, and also forced me to eat a bowl of fruit. She said I needed all the vitamins I could get, 'cos I had to get strong.

She sat next to me, ate the bowl of cereal I had prepared for her, and drank the coffee I had made. It was relaxing just staying there, covered with a blanket, watching Dr. Who. I felt my body losing up little by little. Until detox hit again. The light was bothering me, burning my eyes, and my body felt weak. Nauseous started kicking in, and before I knew it, I was throwing up on (Y/N)'s carpet.

She held a bucket in front of me and pressed a damped towel on the back of my neck.

- "Better?"- (Y/N) whispered and smiled at me. Her fingers tucked some of my hair behind my ears gently- "Do you want to lay down for a while? You are shaking."

I just nodded.

- "Ok, come on, let's go"- she held my arm and helped me stand up. She was right. I was shaking, but not just because I was cold. It was the withdrawal.

I was so embarrassed and mortified. With each symptom, I was a little more certain (Y/N) would never look at me the way I did. She would never fall for me after what she was witnessing. No one in their right mind would.

- "There you are"- she whispered, fixing the pillow behind my head as I laid on her bed again.

- "Can you please close the curtains?"- I whispered, covering my face with both hands. The light was too painful to deal with.

- "Sure, honey. Headache?"- all I could do was nod- "I'll get you ibuprofen, that will help with your body aches and the migraine."

I stayed still, eyes closed, hands covering my face, thinking how I had gotten to the point of having to detox my body from drugs. It was, without a doubt, the lowest moment of my whole life.

- "Ok, honey, try to get some rest, ok?"- (Y/N) whispered after I took the ibuprofen and drank half the bottle of water she had brought.

- "Can you..."- I studied because I was afraid to tell her I didn't want her to leave me alone. I was afraid to be on my own. I didn't trust myself or my mind.

- "What is it? Do you want another blanket?"

- "Can you stay with me?"- I finally asked and held her hand. She just nodded, smiling, and sat next to me on her bed, making sure I was comfy and cozy, fixing the pillow again and the blanket. I looked at her as she laid by my side on top of the covers and held her book.

- "I'm here, Spencer. And I'll be where when you wake up, ok?"

- "Can you read to me?"- I closed my eyes 'cos the light was killing me.

- "And your headache?"

- "Your voice is soothing, and it would help to concentrate on something else but the pain."

- "Ok... then prepare yourself for some horror, 'cos I'm reading, yet again, "Something wicked this way comes."

- "It's one of my favorites"- I whispered and sighed.

- "Why am I not surprised?"

I tried to fight the waves of nausea, the pain in every muscle and headache, and only focused on the sound of her voice as she read. It took me back to when I was a kid, and my mom would read me every night. (Y/N) kept caressing my hair and reading to me. It was the closest I had ever been to heaven, even when physically, I felt like dying.

When I woke up, (Y/N) was asleep by my side. I tried to move, but my body was limp. It was too painful for me to get up on my own, and all I could think of was one simple thing: Dilaudid. I was craving it. I would never feel so bad if I had a fix. Just a little one. To make the pain go away.

I was making excuses to justify my need for drugs. I wanted to feel better, 'cos right there, on (Y/N)'s bed, I felt dead already, and my whole body was rotting. I just wanted to get a little high. It wasn't going to hurt anyone. Right?

Wrong. The bruise on (Y/N)'s arm was the reality check I needed. I hurt her. I hit her. I pushed her away from me. That's how low I had gotten. I would not let that happen again, and more important than anything else: I was never going to hurt (Y/N), ever again. And that I swore to myself that day on her bed.

There was no use in denying the fact I was in love with my best friend. She was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And I knew I was going to love her forever, even when she would only be my friend. I didn't even know when I had fallen so hard in love with her. I tried to remember the moment my feelings had changed from friendship to love, but I couldn't find it. I just knew I loved her, and nothing was ever gonna change that.

The kind of love that makes you think you'd die for that person. I would die for her, just to make sure she is safe.

I felt so pathetic thinking those things. Not because I didn't want to feel that way, but because I knew (Y/N) would never look at me like that. But still, I'd give her everything she could ever ask me for.

I just laid by her side and looked at her as she slept. My eyes were finally able to slide on every detail of her face. Her freckles, her nose, the color of her lips that even without makeup looked like a cherry. And the bruise on her arm. I was never going to forget about it and neither forgive myself.

- "Hey"- she whispered, fluttering her eyes- "How are you feeling?"

- "Good"- I lied. I didn't want to tell her I felt like dying. She stayed still, looking at me for a few seconds.

- "Are you hungry?"- I shook my head, even that hurt- "How's the headache?"- my eyes were killing me.

- "Better"- she nodded and sighed.

- "I know you are full of shit, Spencer Walter Reid. You don't need to lie"- I just closed my eyes and refused to open them again for a few minutes.

- "I just don't want you to worry, (Y/N). That's all."

- "Do you want to sleep some more? I'm gonna go..."- but as soon as she moved, I stopped her.

- "No"- I looked at her and held her hand immediately. Every muscle in my body hurt with that movement, but I didn't regret it- "Please, don't leave."

- "Ok, I won't go. I promise"- she held my hand and caressed it slowly and smiled so sweetly, I think I even smiled back.

We laid in silence for a while. I closed my eyes again, trying to breathe normally. (Y/N) was lying next to me. That would get my heart racing in a second.

- "The nurse is coming around five. She will put an eye on you every day if you need any medical attention, ok?"- I hummed as a response and kept focused on her fingers playing with my hand- "Maybe we can ask her to help you take a bath."

I wide opened my eyes at those words and noticed how my best friend was blushing.

- "What?"- she chuckled at my reaction- "I can take a bath on my own!"

- "Really? You should consider it then"- she stuck out her tongue to me and giggled- "Though your two days beard is cute"- she ran her fingers along my jaw and sent shivers all over my body. The proximity felt so new, yet incredibly natural, almost familiar.

- "Thanks?"- I answered with a question 'cos I had no idea what else to do. I just stayed still and looked into her eyes. She didn't say another word either. Her eyes were following her fingers, playing with my jawbone slowly.

I wanted to move a little closer to her and hug her, maybe. But I couldn't. Not only because I physically couldn't move without crying, but because her phone rang and made her jump on the bed.

- "Hey! Paco, how are you?"- I heard her pick up the phone in the living room and walk back to me, holding another bottle of Gatorade.

- "No, I'm on a case. In New York. I don't know how long, I wish I could predict how long it's gonna take to catch a fucking serial killer, but I can't."

I looked at her as she walked around the room, talking with Frank. Of course, it was him. She always called him Paco. I slowly sat down on the bed and sighed. I was paranoid about the shower. Maybe I stank. I hadn't bathed since... Saturday. Obviously, I smelled terrible. I had been sweating all night long.

I made my best effort and walked to the bathroom. Everything hurt. When I finally managed to take off my pajamas and ran the shower, I was weary. But the warm water made me feel a lot better.

I took a long shower. Not just because I wanted to stay forever under the warm water, but because I couldn't really move that fast. I washed my hair and considered shaving. But I didn't have a razor on hand, and if (Y/N) liked my tiny beard, I decided to keep it.

- "Hey! everything ok?"- (Y/N) asked from the other side of the door.

- "Yes, I'm ok"- she walked in, and I froze.

- "Ok, I'll leave a clean towel next to the shower, ok? It's warm"

- "Thank you."

I stayed still under the water until she exited the bathroom and nearly held my breath at the thought of her being there with me. It was too much, and to be honest, I was too weak to overthink it. But I knew it was going to be a thought that would hunt me back home.

(Y/N)'s point of view

I sat on the couch and drank my tea after leaving the towel for Spencer in the bathroom. My heart was racing, and that shouldn't be happening. Why was I so affected by my best friend? I knew I was worried, and all my attention was focused on him, but that didn't explain why my stomach fluttered when I looked at him.

- "Put your shit together!!"- I yelled/whispered to myself and shook my head.

Frank had called to know about Spencer, but I had to lie and act like I was at work. I couldn't just tell him what was going on in front of Reid. So I texted him the short version of the fact, and he asked me to keep him posted. He also told me he was going to keep Mikey and Lu away from my apartment those days.

Spencer took a shower and sat with me on the couch. I had cleaned the vomit from the carpet and kept a bucket near in case he felt sick. We read in silence for a while, and I kept checking on him every few minutes. He was nervous and looked anxious. I wasn't going to ask him what was wrong, 'cos it was obvious he was craving Dilaudid, and to be honest, I was scared he might start yelling and getting violent. So, I stood up and prepared him a smoothie. I knew he hated healthy eating, especially salads, but he was doomed. He had to put some vitamins in his body.

He looked at me disgusted as I gave him the glass but drank it quietly and gave it back in a minute. I was impressed.

He threw it up in less than ten minutes, though. So far, not so good.

He also vomited lunch. I knew his whole body ached, so I put on a Star Trek DVD to keep his mind busy in anything else. When the nurse came, she did a brief check-up and told me to continue with the same diet and ibuprofen in case of severe pain. We had to put an eye on dehydration. She also suggested we'd engage in some physical activity as soon as he felt better. Walks to the park were her recommendation.

I couldn't imagine Spencer walking out of the house under those conditions, but I had high hopes by the end of that week, he was going to feel much better.

The second night was worse than the first because his body aches hit him harder. He rolled in bed in pain, shivering. I stayed with him until late, trying to soothe him. I read and caressed his sweated hair. At a certain point, I just sat there with his head on my legs, and he started crying. His tears soaking my legs and his sobs breaking my heart.

I didn't know what to say. I don't know if there was anything to be said at that moment. So I just leaned in and kissed Spencer's temple. I rocked him like a baby and did my best to calm him down. He just kept crying on and on, tearing my soul apart. I couldn't handle watching him like that. I didn't know what to do to help him feel better too. All I could do was be with him throughout the process and hold him tight to make sure I kept all his pieces together. I didn't want him to fall apart.

When I opened my eyes the following day, Spencer was asleep in front of me. He was pale, and the rings under his eyes were darker than ever. But at least, he was finally sleeping.

I stared at him for a few minutes, planning the day. But soon, I realized I couldn't concentrate. I just looked at him. I knew my friend was handsome, even when he always argued when I let him know. But at that moment, he made my heart beat faster. His hair was messy and with some curls. His brown beard kept growing. I had never seen Spencer with facial hair, and I loved it. I wanted to tell him to keep it, but then I thought it might be inappropriate. Not that telling him was wrong, but what he was making me feel.

I refused to think I had a crush on my friend. Because I didn't. I was just worried sick for him, and my head was confused. It wasn't the time to think about that. I had to be a good friend and help Reid. His wellbeing was all that mattered to me.

So I got out of bed and ran to the kitchen to make sure everything was ready. I cooked breakfast and lunch, cleaned, and took a quick shower. I was walking out of the bathroom in my clean clothes when Spencer woke up. He rolled in bed and looked at me, confused.

- "Hey, how are you feeling, honey?"- I whispered and sat next to him on the bed. He yawned and nodded.

- "Better."

- "Great, I hope you are hungry, 'cos breakfast is ready"- he scratched his head and yawned again. And I swear, I had to mentally slap myself because I thought he looked adorable and couldn't stop staring.

- "Do you want to take a shower?"- I asked him and stood up. I had to do anything to keep me from being stupid- "I can also run you a bath. I got some salts that could make you feel better. They might help with your body ache."

- "Thank you"- he whispered and sat down. He just looked at me in silence as I kept myself busy opening curtains, folding blankets, and cleaning the bathroom, to get it ready for him

- "Did you sleep?"- he asked me suddenly- "You look tired."

- "Nah, I'm ok. I think I went too heavy on the coffee earlier."

- "How long have you been up?"- I looked at my wristwatch and sighed.

- "A couple of hours."

It was ten. I got up at eight. Spencer had finally fallen asleep at five. It didn't take a genius to see I hadn't slept properly.

- "Why don't you nap?"- he asked and tapped on the bed- "You look like you could use some more sleep"- that was tempting, I won't deny it. But no. I couldn't.

- "Tell you what, why don't you eat something and then we can watch a movie together?"- Spencer nodded and moved slowly. That's when I remembered he felt like shit.

- "Come here"- I stood by his side and held his hands- "Can you stand up?"

- "Yes"- he whispered and tried to move on his own. His legs were shaking, and so were his hands. He did his best to stand up, and after a few tries on his own, he succeeded. But after giving two steps alone, he stumbled and nearly fell.

- "I've got you!"- I said, wrapping my arms around him and keeping him steady. His whole face was red, in anger maybe, or embarrassment. I didn't want to push him to talk or do anything. I just made sure he wouldn't fall.

- "Wanna stay in bed?"- I suggested

- "No"- he murmured and took a step ahead

- "Ok, let's go to the living room then."

Spencer didn't reply. I was sure he was ashamed and upset. I just walked with him to the living room, trying to think of anything else: anything but the butterflies in my stomach.

It was getting harder to ignore the mental fuzziness I felt each time I looked at him. But I refused to think about it. It wasn't the right time.

But it got worse that evening.

We spent the whole day on my sofa, napping, reading, and watching Star Trek. I was getting dinner ready when Spencer's phone rang. We both stayed still. He looked at me with widened eyes, almost scared. I smiled and walked to my room to get the phone. It was JJ.

I'm not proud to say it, but an overwhelming sensation of insecurity and concern filled my body. Why was JJ calling Spencer? Were they closer than I thought? I don't know why I kept thinking all those things.

- "It's JJ"- I announced and gave him his phone. He hesitated for a moment and finally picked up. I walked back to the kitchen and poured myself a glass of water. What was wrong with me?

- "Mom is fine, thank you for calling"- I heard him say and closed my eyes. I had to focus on the food. I had to focus on helping him get better.

Why was I so upset JJ had called him? It was nice to know more people cared about him. Not as much as I did, of course.

- "Sure, I tell her. I'll see you in a couple of days"

I walked back to the living room carrying a tray with soup and salads. Spencer sat down properly and looked at me with a small smile.

- "I know you hate veggies, but you are doomed"- I whispered, reading his mind- "These are packed with all the vitamins and minerals your body needs."

- "Thank you"- he murmured and kept his eyes on me until I sat next to him and grabbed my bowl.

- "How was JJ?"- I had to ask. He cleared his throat and played with the lettuce on his dish for a moment before saying.

- "She was ok. She wanted to know if everything was ok with my mom."

- "Oh"- I didn't know what else to say. I tried no to think about it anymore, 'cos it was useless.

- "I kind of felt bad everybody swallowed our story"- Spencer confessed and sighed.

- "That's because I make up the best lies, honey,"- I smiled at him, but he just stared- "Everything ok?"

- "I'm not hungry"

- "Come on, at least have the soup, please?"

- "I don't want to barf all over your carpet, again"- he whispered and kept playing with the lettuce.

- "What if I tell you I made brownies? and you can have a brownie if you eat the soup?"- Spencer bit his lips and shook his head.

- "Why are you treating me like a kid?"

- "I am not! I'm blackmailing you with sugar as I would do under any other circumstance."-

And I wasn't lying. I would definitely try to force him to eat or do something with the promise of a brownie.

- "So? What do you say? Eat that soup, and we'll have brownies... with vanilla ice cream."

Reid stared into my eyes, and I held my breath. He was so pale, so thin. And yet, so beautiful.

- "If I vomit..."

- "If you vomit, you vomit. No hard feelings"- I smiled and tapped on his leg- "Besides, you need to get some vitamins in your body. You are too thin."

He didn't reply. He started eating slowly and kept watching Star Trek in silence.

Spencer successfully ate his bowl of soup and ate a little bit of the salad. I knew he hates veggies, so I didn't push him. As a reward, I prepared a big tray with brownies with ice cream, chocolate sauce, and hot chocolate with marshmallows and put it on the coffee table in front of us. We were about to start eating when we heard a knock on the door.

- "That's the nurse"- I said and stood up quickly. But I was wrong. It was Paul.

- "Babe... hey"- he smiled at me as soon as I opened the door and tried to walk in. But I didn't let him.

- "What are you doing here?"- I stood at the door and raised an eyebrow. I knew we didn't have a bad breakup, but after what he had said that night, I was afraid he might freak out to see Spencer in his pajamas watching tv on my couch.

- "I couldn't stop thinking about what happened the other night, and..."- he made a pause and looked inside- "What are you doing?"

- "I'm having dinner"

- "Alone?"- I didn't answer- "Can I come in?"

- "No"

- "Are you with someone? are you on a date?"- Paul pushed the door and stormed into my apartment. Reid turned around and looked at him, embarrassed.

- "What the fuck do you think you are doing? get out of my house!"- I grabbed my ex-boyfriend's sleeve and stopped him.

- "Hey, Paul"- Spencer waved from the couch, looking scared. His shoulders were tightened, and his eyes wide opened.

- "What is this nerd doing here?"- Paul turned to me, ignoring my friend.

- "What are you doing here? That's the question!"

- "I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day."

- "Well, sorry to crack the news, but if this is an apology, it sucks!"- I swear, I could feel my pulse speeding- "And there is nothing to talk or forgive, we broke up, and it was ok!"

- "Yeah, and now the nerd is here to make you feel better!"

- "You have no idea what you are talking about! And would appreciate it if you stop calling him that!!"- I freaked out and clenched my fist. I was going to lose it with him.

- "Good luck with the Ice Princess here!!"- Paul yelled at Reid- "If you are lucky, she is gonna hug you once!!"

- "Get out!"- I stood by the open door and slammed it as soon as he had left. My hands were shaking, my lips were quivering, and my eyes were tearing up.

- "Are you... are you ok?"- Spencer stood up and walked to me. He stumbled a little but managed to hold me. I didn't reply. I just broke into tears.

Why was I crying if I was glad I had broken up with Paul? Why was I so upset to see him at my house? Why was I shaking in anger?

Maybe I was just human, and I was tired of all the shit. Perhaps I was just sleepy or stressed with everything going on with Reid. Or the fact he kept thinking I had feelings for my best friend was too much for me.

Even the fact he called me "Ice Princess" hurt me. Yes, I wasn't a very physical person with him. But that was just because I wasn't in love with him.

For a few minutes, I just cried, soaking Spencer's pajamas as he held me tight, just like I had done for him the night before.

- "I'm sorry"- I whispered and sighed. I let him go and fixed my hair- "I shouldn't let Paul affect me so much, but I wasn't expecting to see him."

- "What happened?"- Spencer held my hand and took me to the couch with him. He handed me a dish with brownie and melted ice cream, and a spoon.

- "We broke up a few days ago."- my best friend looked at me in silence as his shaky thumb wiped off the tears on my cheeks.

- "I was actually planning dinner with the guys to give them the news, 'cos I knew they would like to celebrate... but that doesn't matter. You were right; I didn't love him. I don't know why I was still dating him."

- "I'm sorry"- he whispered and carefully wrapped me on a blanket.

- "Don't be. I really wanted to break up with him. I was just scared to lose who I used to be..."

- "You are never going to lose who you are, (Y/N)"- Spencer whispered and cut me a smile- "Frankie, Lu, and Mikey would never let that happen"- I sighed and nodded- "I won't let that happen either."

- "Thank you, honey"- I grabbed the spoon and took a big piece of brownie- "You know what bothers me? I don't know why I'm crying so much! I'm not sad! I'm angry!"

- "Actually, when you get mad, your body produces a flood of hormones that stimulate strong reactions in your body, like racing your heart and getting sweaty palms. In response to the elevated stress level, crying stimulates the release of oxytocin and prolactin. These two chemicals can bring your heart rate down and otherwise calm you after a stressful event."

- "Well, my fucking body makes me look weak and stupid!"

- "You could never look weak..."- Spencer hesitated for a second. It felt like he wanted to add something to those words but finally just stayed quiet.

- "Thank you, honey bunny. You are the best friend I could ever ask for."

- "Don't say that. You are the best friend I could have ever asked for."

We just stared for a few seconds. His eyes on mine, my hands still shaking, though I didn't know why.

It was a moment I knew I could never forget, 'cos it was the moment I first considered kissing Spencer.

It was a thought that only lasted for a second, but it was there. And like a seed planted on my brain, once I knew it was there, it could only grow and hunt me, like a ghost.

Spencer's point of view

My heart ached to see (Y/N) crying because of an asshole who never deserved her. And it also jumped of joy knowing she was no longer dating that jerk. I knew I could never make a move on her, but just to know she wasn't stuck with him made me happy.

But the fact she had gone through all that alone and didn't even talk about it for four days because she was too busy taking care of me made me feel awful. I didn't deserve any of that.

- "How are you feeling?"- she whispered and smiled at me after finishing her brownie- "Want me to heat your cocoa?"

- "I'm ok, thank you"

I stared at her in silence and decided to make the boldest move I have ever made with her, and opened my arm for her so that she could cuddle. She didn't hesitate and moved closer. I wrapped an arm around her, and her head rested on my chest. And trying not to make it look like a big deal, I also held her hand and caressed her skin, tracing random patterns on it.

- "I'm sorry for being such a bad friend"- I said and kissed the top of her head. I didn't plan it. I just did it. And it felt so good.

- "Don't say that."

- "I've been an asshole since Tobias."

- "You haven't... I mean, you have, but you had your reasons"- she made a pause and sighed. I knew something was bothering her, and I was hoping it wasn't our position because I loved how her warm body felt against mine.

- "Honey?"- she whispered, and I hummed as a response- "Would you call me a cold person?"

- "Never..."

- "I know I'm not a physical person, but..."

- "Me neither, and look at us"- I pointed out the obvious, and she softly giggled. He raised her head from my chest and turned to look at me. I swear all I could think of that minute was kissing her.

- "I am more loving with you than I ever was with Paul"- she confessed and sighed. Her eyes were sad. Clearly, what he had said to her had affected her more than she wanted to admit.

- "He didn't deserve it anyway"- she added and moved back to lay her head on my chest- "You do."

And after that, we just stayed like that, hugged on the couch, until the nurse knocked on the door.

- "You look much better"- I smiled at the nurse and nodded- "Still nauseous?"

- "Yes, but not as much as yesterday"- I whispered and looked at her, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around my arm, right next to all the marks I left with the needles. I wanted to hide them from everyone, and I thanked (Y/N) wasn't in the room. Of all people, she was the one I didn't want to see those marks the most.

- "They are going to fade soon"- the nurse whispered. I wasn't too subtle with my reaction, I guess. I just nodded and looked away.

- "Your girlfriend is taking excellent care of you. You are a fortunate guy"- I'm sure I blushed and turned to her immediately.

- "She... she is... she is not my girlfriend"- I felt I needed to explain it, I don't know why.

- "Really?"- and the nurse seemed to be in shock- "She surely loves you."

- "She is my best friend"- I whispered and felt how my heart was nearly bursting inside my chest.

- "You are lucky to have her"- she added, and I agreed.

I knew I was lucky. Even when (Y/N) wasn't my girlfriend, I knew I had to be with her. Always.

After thirteen days of home detox, I was back to being my old self again. I felt happy, healthy, and strong. I don't think I had ever felt that good before.

I loved spending those days with (Y/N), and I was pretty bummed I had to go back to my apartment the next day. The fact I had lived with her for two weeks was incredible. I knew it all happened under dark and miserable circumstances, but it had been life-changing.

Now I knew everything I wanted to know about her to help me make her day better and all her little quirks. Her favorite brands of tea, her favorite snacks. How she liked to take the last cup of tea of the day in bed, reading. Her favorite bands. How she always cooked singing. She always slept on her left side. And how after all those days, we would be so comfortable together, we would cuddle naturally, even without asking.

I don't want to overreact, but it was pretty heavenly to me, like the sensation I felt with the romantic poems mom used to read to me when I was little. Just don't tell anyone I said that.

- "Ok, dinner is ready"- (Y/N) announced and took the lasagna from the oven. I held a bowl of salad and walked with her to the dining room.

- "What do you wanna drink?"

- "A glass of wine, you?"

- "Red or white?"- I asked her and walked back to the kitchen. I didn't even wait for her answer. I took the white and two glasses. She smiled and sat down.

- "This looks amazing, (Y/N)"- and I wasn't lying.

- "Wait until you see dessert, we have three colors of Jell-O"- the fact she knew I loved jello wasn't what got me. It was how happy she looked to spoil me with my favorite dessert.

- "Thank you for cooking all my favorite meals."

- "You are welcome, honey bunny"- I smiled at her and poured a glass of wine for her and one for me.

- "Can I ask you something?"- I whispered, and she nodded- "Why do you call me honey bunny?"- she looked from her dish and giggled.

- "It took you forever to ask."

- "Well... I didn't want you to think I didn't like it..."

- "You don't?"- I wide opened my eyes and shook my head frenetically.

- "No! I love it! I just... don't know... where does it come from? You said I gave you the "honey bunny" vibes, but... what does that mean?"- (Y/N) chewed her lasagna and looked at me.

- "Well, I always loved that nickname. I thought it was adorable and never used it on anyone because no one ever gave me that vibe. I had never met my honey bunny before."

"My Honey Bunny." That woman was killing me, and she had no idea.

- "And I took it from Pulp Fiction"- she finally confessed and waited for my reaction- "Have you seen it?"

- "No"- I admitted and shrugged.

- "Then we are watching it after dinner tonight"- (Y/N) decided, and I nodded- "You still don't give me a nickname, by the way."

She had no idea, but I had a list of nicknames for her. I had written all the cute names I wanted to call on a notebook I kept in my satchel. But I didn't dare. I could call her cute names in my head all the time, but never out loud.

- "You don't have to do it if you don't want to, by the way"- she added and kept eating.

- "I have never done it before"- I accepted, feeling embarrassed- "Sorry."

- "Why are you sorry?"

- "I don't want you to think I don't want to call you by a loving nickname. I just..."

- "Come on, how would you call me? Do I give you any nickname vibe?"- I chuckled, and she smiled childishly.

- "I really like the story behind "nugget." I think it's brilliant"- she shook her head, and her cheeks blushed- "But for you... I think I have three options."

- "So you've given it some thoughts!"- I nodded and took a sip of wine- "Let me hear them."

- "Well... after that case in Oregon when you got lost in the woods, I thought I could call you "chipmunk"- I confessed and watched her face light up.

- "I love that!"

- "Really?"- I chuckled and looked at her holding my breath- "Well... then I remembered how we became friends and your obsession with cupcakes, so I thought I could call you that."

- "I love that too!!"

- "And..."- since I was honest, I took it a little further- "After last Halloween, and all the carving we did, and our movie marathon, I thought "pumpkin" was pretty sweet too."

(Y/N) sighed and smiled at me, her cheeks blushing and her eyes shining.

- "They are all awesome, so you should use them all, and I can look for more nicknames for you"- I simply stared at her and felt how my heart melted.

- "Ok"- I whispered, and she raised an eyebrow playfully.

- "Ok, what?"

- "Ok... pumpkin"- I whispered and held my breath at the sound of those words leaving my lips.

She really didn't have a clue about what she did to me.

DIWK Taglist:

@all-tings-diego @big-galaxy-chaos @muffin-cup @shilohpug @eternalharry @tvandfanfic @archer561

Spencer taglist

@calm-and-doctor

General Taglist

@spenxerslut @ash19871962 @babebenhardy

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Do you want to be on the taglist or ramble about this chapter with me? Just send me a message here.

Next update: May 19th, 2021

#Spencer Reid #Matthew Gray gubler #Criminal Minds #mgg #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #fluf #angst #Criminal Minds rewrite #babymetaldoll edits #babymetaldoll writes #DIWK #Spencer Reid x reader #matthew gray gubler

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luxwritesfanfic · 3 years

Text

Right Where You Left Me

Reader gets déjà vu in a way she never expected. Or, the one where Sherlock is the gift that never stops giving. AU!Bucky because he always has your back. Enjoy!

Author’s Note: There is a lot of angst and multiple different aspects that could be very triggering for some within this work. Please be mindful of the trigger warning below and if you see something that you feel should be listed, message me and I will edit accordingly!

Trigger Warning: Severe depression, suicidal ideations, suicide attempt (overdose), forced vomiting, talk of death in general, angst with a happy ending

Sherlock Holmes/Reader

You couldn’t really tell how long you’d been lying in bed for. Time was such a foreign concept to you now. It was either before the fall, when you were happy and he was with you, or after the fall, where you were all alone. You weren’t alone physically because your friends would never allow for that. Since the fall, you’d been staying in Sherlock’s flat, and Mrs. Hudson would always bring you a plate of whatever she was cooking and put it in the fridge. And like clockwork, she’d come every Sunday and clean the fridge out from where you didn’t touch any of the plates. She never seemed to mind, though, and she never stopped bringing you food.

Bucky would come by every day and check on you and help you do things around the house. And by help you, he did everything for you. Mrs. Hudson would let him stay in John’s old room whenever he needed, and he’d make sure you showered and that your laundry was done. He would tell you he does this because he loves you and that even though you weren’t born his sister, you would die that way.

John had moved on and moved out and you were happy for him. Mary was lovely, and you wished you could move on with your life, but you couldn’t. You knew he was taking it just as hard as you and that you both just had different ways of coping with the pain.

When you had to quit your job, Mycroft was immediately there and offered to take care of you financially. “Please, allow me to do this for you. It’s what my brother would have wanted. He couldn’t stand me when he was ali—here, so the least I can do is make him happy where he is now,” he said quietly. Pigs must’ve been flying in the window behind you because when you reached to hug Mycroft, he met you halfway. You cried nonstop for days after that.

You had tried to be better after the scare, not for you, but for your family. You don’t remember much from it, but you do know that no one brings it up around you and you haven’t been left alone for longer than a few hours since.

You woke up with your face propped up against something cool, but you could barely open your eyes to see where you were. Your stomach was in the most pain it had ever been in and everything around you sounded so far away. You remember being yanked back and fingers were shoved down your throat and someone, Bucky, was standing over you and holding you up saying through tears, “I know it hurts and I’m sorry, but you have to throw it up, Y/N. You have to. I can’t lose you, too.”

Everything hurt and in between gags you could hear Mrs. Hudson crying and begging whoever was on the phone to get there faster. You had never heard anyone scream like that and you were sorry you were the one who caused it.

Even though you’d promised Sherlock he would never lose you, Fate stepped in and you lost him. When you thought about the turn your life had taken, you just told everyone you were keeping your end of the deal.

Bucky knocked on your door and stuck his head in. “Mornin’, Y/N. I’m gonna start some laundry and make us some coffee and then I’ll be back, okay?” You could tell he was worried by the tone of his voice, but he did a good job of hiding it. You didn’t say anything back to it and he didn’t expect you to.

Bucky came in a little later with some towels in his hand and a coffee in the other. “I know you’re not feeling real good today, so I was thinking I could wash your hair for you? You can just bend over the tub and I’ll do all the work. I’ve even been watching some videos on how to braid and then you won’t have to worry it matting up either.” He set the coffee down on the nightstand and sat on the edge of the bed next to you.

By this point you were already crying into the pillow because how could the people in your life love you this much when you had nothing to offer them anymore?

“I love you so much,” you cried, and Bucky’s heart broke at the sound, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry and I love you.”

He brushed the hair away from your face. His hands were warm, and it made you feel human again. “You don’t have to be sorry. I love you and I will take care of you for however long you need me to. God knows you would-- and have, done the same for me. So, let me wash your hair for you and I can tell you all about how Lestrade constantly shits on Anderson now as an eternal tribute.”

You smiled and although it wasn’t full of life, he was just as happy to see it. You ended up just getting a shower and Bucky rushed next door to get you a sandwich in hopes that you’d eat for him, too.

As you were brushing your hair out, you heard multiple voices. You heard Bucky, and he sounded… shocked? And then there was John and then just as you were about to reach for the door you heard it. You would know that baritone voice anywhere. Barging out of the bathroom and almost tripping over your own two feet, you came to a full stop.

“Sherlock?”

There he stood in the middle of the room with John a few feet behind him, and Bucky with his back to you, seemingly always ready to protect you. It looked like him and it sounded like him, and hell, it even smelled like him. You couldn’t believe it.

“Y/N.” He went to make a step towards you but seemed to have think better of it. It was better if he assessed your reaction to seeing him first. It had been so long since he had last seen you and while he silently fought the raw want he had to hold you, he knew you were seeing red.

“I don’t even—I can’t-- can’t even comprehend this. Where do I start? Where the fuck have you been? You were dead, Sherlock! I watched you…” You squeezed your eyes shut, steeling yourself the best you could. You weren’t going to cry. You had too much to say. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw John and Bucky slip through the front door. You were sure that was their best bet.

Sherlock said nothing as you went off because there was really nothing for him to say. He understood why you were so mad with him, even if he wasn’t generally self-aware when it came to his own feelings, he wasn’t that daft. He had come prepared for this and he was going to make it right.

“No, you know what? Don’t say anything. I don’t even want to hear it. I have been fucking rotting in this flat while everyone else was able to move on with their lives. I was here, because I couldn’t live without you. My world stopped. I do nothing, Sherlock, nothing but sit and lay in your bed and cry into your old shirts!” You were yelling now, hands running through your hair as you tried to make sense of it all. Somewhere in the back of your mind you made a mental note to thank Bucky for making you get up and shower this morning.

“I quit my job, Sherlock. Mycroft has been paying to keep me alive and Mrs. Hudson and Bucky take turns to make sure I’m still breathing every other hour because they’re scared that if I’m left alone for too long, I won’t be. And poor John, I see him and start fucking bawling because then all I see is you. I stopped caring about everything, and everyone else, because the only person I cared about looked me in the eyes and walked off a fucking building!”

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something, but you quickly cut him off.

“Seriously, don’t speak. You don’t get to just waltz in with John after all this time—you know what? There’s the million-dollar question. Was I the only one who didn’t know you were alive? Because so help me God, Sherlock, I’m this close to losing it.”

He didn’t know whether or not he should actually speak, but he took the cue after he started to physically feel the heat from the deathly glare you were giving him. You quite literally looked deranged but that didn’t stop him from taking a step towards you. He always seemed to chase danger, and you were no exception.

“No… you weren’t the only one. John only just found out a few weeks ago, and only a few select people knew the whole time.” Sherlock was careful with his words. He knew he was walking on thin ice.

You didn’t say anything to that, and Sherlock found that even scarier than when you were yelling.

“Hah, select people, huh? I like that one. So, where were you staying? Were you in London this whole time? Shit, you could’ve been downstairs for all I know. I guess I wouldn’t be a select person to know that, though, would I?”

Sherlock grimaced. Things were going worse than he imagined, and he already figured it would be pretty bad. That was an understatement. “I had to jump around often for everyone’s safety, but I stayed in London for the most part. I stayed with Molly when I could.”

You laughed in his face at that, and you clamped your hand over your mouth, turning your back on him lest you start laughing again. He watched you with furrowed brows and you knew he wanted to speak but you couldn’t do it right now. You took a few steps towards the kitchen window and looked out at the bustling London streets beneath you. For months your world stopped, and it seemed so real when in reality nothing stopped at all.

“Great, great. That’s so great. Splendid, really.” You murmured to yourself and perched your free hand on your hip. Drumming your fingers against your lips, you began again.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because he thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly.” The tone of your voice was venomous and if looks could kill, Sherlock Holmes would be dead for real this time.

Sherlock winced. “Y/N, please, let me—” You cut him off, speaking louder this time. Your face was void of emotion, but your eyes betrayed you as the tears started to fall freely and your voice cracked under the weight of everything that was being said.

“Bucky had to glue the windows down because I thought I was going to jump, and you were staying with Molly! Damn you, Sherlock Holmes! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!” You grasped at the kitchen counter to steady yourself as you gasped for air between the sobs that you couldn’t contain anymore. Your heart ached so badly that you actually clutched your chest, afraid that it was going to break through your ribcage and abandon ship. You could barely register Sherlock coming up behind you through your tears and as he willed you to face him, you noticed that his eyes were brimmed red and glossy. Even sad, Sherlock looked as beautiful as a doll.

“I always come when you call, why didn’t you come for me?” You cried, fisting your hands in his shirt so tightly that you thought heard buttons pop. Your head was swimming and you had never felt more betrayed in your life. How could Sherlock turn to anyone but you? Had you not made it clear that you would do anything for him?

“I called for you every single night, Sherlock! Begged for you, mourned you, I—” The tears wouldn’t stop flowing and your voice was starting to crack from its sudden and harsh overuse.

It was then that Sherlock wedged himself so close to you that you didn’t even have the space to move your head and look up at him. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your back and you were being squeezed so hard to him that you thought you’d either die from a heart attack or suffocation. And even now at the hands of Sherlock, neither seemed that bad. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He whispered against your forehead again and again as if he was repeating a chant he had been practicing for some time.

“I love you so much and you didn’t even call! Why didn’t you call?” Your words were lost to the both of you now, spoken into his shirt and distorted by your sobs. Sherlock held you as you cried and tried to contain your shaking body against his as you let out months of sadness and pain and despair. You were so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think straight.

“I know, I know you do, and that’s why I couldn’t call. I couldn’t call for you.” He held onto you as he spoke like you would disappear. Sherlock had decided before he even stepped foot into the flat that he would not lose you again. In his time away from you, he was subjected to feelings he could only describe as both love and heartbreak in equal measure. Being apart from you had left him feeling a void that nothing could fill, but it was his love for you that he relied on to keep you safe and away from him.

Sherlock pulled back from you and while it was only by a few inches, you suddenly felt worlds away. You go to pull him back to you when he gathers your hands in his and leaves a trail of ghostly kisses along the spread of your knuckles.

“I have never begged for mercy in my life…” He murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. He was determined; that much you could tell. Your eyes widened as he lowered himself to one knee, and then two. “Until now. I have hurt you in ways that are beyond comprehensible. Please, grant me the mercy I do not deserve to explain myself. I am willing to bare myself before you if you’ll have me.”

You were in shock at the sight of Sherlock on his knees before you. You had heard him apologize maybe twice in your time of knowing him and here he was, begging for you to hear him out. All you could do is nod.

You expected him to stand up again, but he sat in place and looked up at you with so much love in his eyes that felt all the anger you were harboring dissipate under his gaze. He took a deep breath and prepared himself. If you were ever going to forgive him, he knew that he would have to be honest. And he knew that if he was going to be honest, he would have to admit the feelings he had for you and hope that he could express them in a way that you could understand.

“There were constantly people watching you, and John, and pretty much everyone else who held any value in my life,” he explained, rubbing his thumbs over your fingers as he spoke absentmindedly, “they knew you would be suffering, they counted on that. And if you weren’t, they’d know something was going on. Your suffering had to be real, or else it wouldn’t have been believable. I didn’t want to keep you in the dark. But I had no choice. When I faked my death, I had some help. I stayed with Molly here and there because she already knew, and my relationship with her is is…different for ours.” He paused.

You were hanging on every word he said. You could tell he was being sincere, and even though you were upset, you understood. If leaving Sherlock meant protecting him, you would do it too.

He cleared his throat and started again. “Molly was a safer option. They would have expected less of a reaction from her. And if things were to go wrong…” Trailing off, Sherlock squeezed your hands. You knew what he was trying to say, and you didn’t dare breathe. “You were not someone I could lose. It couldn’t have been you. So yes, I stayed with Molly, but I worked constantly to make it so that I could come home to you.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. “Sherlock,” you whimpered, pulling him to his feet by his collar and back to you where he belonged. He followed suit quickly like he was reading your mind.

For what seemed like the first time today, you were truly taking him in. He was just as beautiful as he was the day he left you. You reached up to brush away a stray curl from his eyes and smiled at the way he seemed to try and follow your touch.

There were so many things that you couldn’t be sure of, but this is something you’d always know to be true. You loved Sherlock, terribly, terribly, so. If loving him was the only purpose you ever found in this lifetime, you would be sure not to fail him.

You were lost in other when the sound of footsteps climbing up the stairs drew your attention. Sherlock followed your gaze as you watched John enter the flat from the living room.

“Is everyone okay up here? There was a lot of yelling and then it got pretty quiet…” As he rounded the corner to the kitchen, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of you braced against the counter with a small amount of space between you and Sherlock that he must’ve recently graced you with because you could barely move before. His hands rested on your hips and your hands had found solace on his shoulders. John looked like a deer caught in headlights before he covered his eyes with his hands and made to walk back out, determined not to ruin the moment that all of London was waiting on.

“Fuck, I’m sorry! Don’t mind me, pretend I was never here!” He called out as he dashed back down the stairs so quickly you thought he had fallen and you were sure you heard him say to someone, “I told you so!”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the whole situation and when you looked back at Sherlock, you realized he was already looking at you. Even after everything today, you still caught yourself feeling nervous under his heavy gaze.

“So, it’s okay when you stare but not when I do?” You teased, hoping that he couldn’t see the blush you could surely feel. Sherlock squinted his eyes at your comment as if he didn’t understand what you meant but gave you a devilish smile all the same.

“I’m sorry.” He wasn’t. “But you are confirming that you do stare at me, right?”

You were torn between smacking the smirk off his face or kissing it, whatever compelled you the most and right now it was a tie. Rolling your eyes, you brought your hands down to his arms and gave them a squeeze. Not even realizing you were thinking out loud, you whispered something about having déjà vu. This caught Sherlock’s attention, and he moved tiniest bit closer to you. “Déjà vu? How so?”

Cursing yourself under your breath, you laughed and dipped your head down between the two of you, laughing at how ridiculous all of this was. “Jeez, it’s been years now. I had the most realistic dream that’s stuck with me all this time.”

Sherlock tsked at you and moved to bring your head back up so that he could properly see your face. He cupped your cheeks and in the most familiar way and just like in the dream, you were breathless.

“Go on,” he urged, voice like velvet, “tell me what happened in your dream.”

You all but melted under his gaze. Sherlock, in any form, would always have this effect on you it seemed. His thumb brushed along your lower lip as his own parted. Physically he was with you, but mentally he was far away committing this memory to only a place he could see.

“Use your words. I’m paying raft attention, aren’t I?” Once again you thanked Mrs. Hudson and her choice in countertops because if it was any less sturdy you were sure you would collapse and bring him down with you. On second thought—

Any coherent thought was lost to you when Sherlock nosed your cheek, and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your lips or the words after.

“I told you I loved you, Sherlock. That’s what happened in the dream.” Your words were spoken so quickly in the effort to chase after his lips but he held you still, waiting and wanting in front of him.

You whined like a child. None of anything that happened today was fair to you, but one kiss and you would forgive all of London for keeping your detective’s secret.

“Well, I guess the only proper response to that is for me to tell you that I’ve loved you for ages, my dear girl.” He smiled against your skin and you thought that this was it. You had officially lost your last marble, and this was the delirium finally setting in. You welcomed the insanity happily.

“Say it again, please. I need to hear you say it again.” You begged, everything hitting you at all at once.

“I love you,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours. “I love you, and it’s only ever been you. It couldn’t be anyone else but you. You…didn’t you know that?” His eyebrows rose up and you stopped him in his tracks. That was Sherlock for “are you dumb?”

It was then that you decided you were done with talking before he had the chance to say anything smart. You pulled him down to you so quickly that you missed the shock that flashed in his eyes when your lips finally met. After years of yearning and pining for the man in front of you, you finally had him right where you wanted him. There were so many things you wanted to say to him, but no words would express how you truly felt about him and lucky for you, Sherlock was more of a hands-on learner.

When you finally broke apart, you got to admire the man of your every hour in all his glory. The mussed hair and kiss swollen lips really added to his already suave look and you couldn’t help but smile like an idiot. “You’re handsome. So handsome, seriously, it should really be a crime. I can finally tell you that without any shame.”

He returned your smile tenfold, and you thought if you could make his eyes crinkle like that just one more time in your life that it would be a life well lived. He acted as if he was mulling your statement over, rolling his bottom lip between teeth. “You could’ve mentioned it before. It might’ve helped me make my deductions much sooner.”

You slapped him on the shoulder but then worked on smoothing his shirt out while he watched you with a gentle fondness that he reserved just for you. You still had so many questions that you wanted answered but you knew those could wait. Something had been generous enough to answer your most asked prayer and you weren’t about to be ungrateful for even a second.

Placing one last (for now) kiss on his cheek, you led him to the door to the flat and swung it open. “Hey, has Mrs. Hudson seen you—”

As if on perfect cue, Mrs. Hudson shrieks so loudly that any bad memory you have of her yelling is now a good one.

“Sherlock!”

#bbc sherlock #bbc sherlock fanfiction #bbc sherlock imagine #bbc sherlock x reader #bbc sherlock x you #sherlock holmes #sherlock x reader #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock x you #sherlock imagine #sherlock #sherlock has feelings #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes fanfiction #reader insert #fanfic #luxwrites #bucky x reader #au bucky barnes

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Too late | Dazai x reader |

Too late | Mafia Dazai / dazai x fem!reader |

( A very shitty attempt at a song-fic. )

Warnings- toxic relationship (minor mentions of abuse?), death

A brunette sat on the cement. The tan folds of his coat fluttering out behind him. The wind brushed his hair from his face, it stung his eyes and brushed his skin with bitter cold air. His fingers dripped the brightest shade of crimson. His eyes had dilated and shook with shock and fear. The skin his hands desperately held, already losing its warmth. Lips stained the color, as well as the outfit that resembled his own. Those blood-stained lips coughed final words before letting go. How, how had this happened? Why had he never predicted this? Why would you ever do this?

He knew those answers like he knew his own crimes. After all, how could he forget? He’d been the reason you fell, he’d only denied it for years.

The sun fell softly along the stone. A boy, no older than 15, walked along the stone edge of a bridge. His brown locks flying within the wind whilst he adjusted the bandage over his left eye. He paid no mind to you, even as you walked behind him. Your feet carried you on the safer ground, next to the edge. It was common to find the two of them like this. You were always with him, whenever you could be at least. He never seemed to notice you were there; You didn’t mind it though. The rare moments where he did suddenly ask you questions were enough. Rushing to close the distance between you and him, you caught a glance of his eyes darted to the side. He was looking at you, the single eye that showed seemed puzzled, before he parted his lips to talk to you; His arms opened at the same time. Skipping around steps, he smiled, “Hey, why are you still following me, woman? Don’t you have a better hobby than stalking me?” so he did notice you at times.

Flustered you froze before chuckling with a light hum. “No, not really Dazai-san. I think you're interesting! You're the only one I can't read.” you were referring to your ability. It wasn’t much, so you weren't too high up in the ranks. You could read thoughts, see their feelings in the form of aura, and manipulate that aura. So far, you could make people freeze up and lose themself in an overdose of emotions. Also known as individual illusions created by their auras; things only they could see. It was hard to believe you were even in the mafia. Your bubbly appearance and lack of interest in killing made you look harmless. You never killed, but when you worked with another they sure had an opening to kill.

Dazai leaned down so he leveled with you. “I wonder, have you ever thought of using that ability to induce such outrageous depression, one acts on it?” blushing you took several steps back shaking your head.

“N-no, sir! I d-don’t think I could do that. Well, if Dazai-san really wanted me to, I-I could try it for him!” What were you saying? Knowing this demon prodigy, you’d probably end up not meeting the expectation and ending up punished. Though, would that be so bad?

He puffed his cheeks out, jumping from the edge to land in front of you. With a half-smile, he flicked your forehead. “You keep doing the opposite of what I predict. I really can’t get a read on you.” turning away you covered your face.

“I-is that a compliment?” you mumbled, looking through your fingers. He shrugged, jumping back to the ledge. His eyes lost their glimmer as he looked down. He seemed to be judging the distance; With a heavy sigh, he looked back to the sky.

“If only this was a little higher. I think falling into the water and dying right away, without the pain of falling to the ground, would be okay. I’d drown unconscious, how peaceful that would be.” you didn’t respond as he turned and began walking again.

Year after year you walked by his side, growing with him. Slowly that bubbly gaze began to fade ever so slightly. The fun-filled times like the day on the bridge no longer existed.

My head is haunting me and my heart feels like a ghost

Standing next to the demon prodigy you stretched out your hand with a sigh. “Ability: vortex of emotions.” from the shadows you worked alongside him. The enemy's hands reached their head. A perching scream echoing as they turned their gun to themselves. Looking to the side your eyes met the brunettes; They were colder than they were a year ago. Sighing, he raised his pistol and shot. He pushed past you, and you followed numbly.

I need to feel something, 'cause I'm still so far from home

Entering the box he called his home, his hands grabbed your waist pulling you towards him. His fingers lifting your chin. The flutter of your heart pounded against your chest, the closer his face came to yours. “You really should stop following me everywhere. If you won’t at least try to kill.”

Cross your heart and hope to die. Promise me you'll never leave my side

Nodding as he released you, he sat at his desk. “Mori won’t be happy that we clocked out so early.” he leaned back groaning. “Found a new suicide method? I don’t want to deal with his annoying voice tomorrow!” his older persona slipped through. The light in his eyes spread before it disappeared with your silence. Yet despite that, there was a caring hint to his posture. The way his hands moved softly, how he traced your bow. How he exhaled with a sigh when you closed the door

Show me what I can't see when the spark in your eyes is gone

Another year went by with a soft ease. You stood in Mori's office, a blank expression on your face. You were sure you were dead. Messing up like this, letting somebody get away. You were shaking, unsure why your breaths still rang. The doors opened to the brunette mafioso. Dressed in all black, a short ginger walked at his side. The way your emotions suddenly changed was unnoticed by everybody but Dazai. His eyes set in glares as you looked away. Your heart raced, why was it you still felt like this? He treated you as a pawn, yet you still ached to kiss him. Mori blamed your failure on Dazai’s lack of discipline with you. “I’ve been more than lenient with how she follows you around. If this happens again, it will be you who pays the price Dazai.'' Why did this have to happen in front of the ginger? His eyes looked at you with sympathy. It was weird to see such a thing. Dazai rolled his eyes stepping closer to the ginger as his eyes darted to you. Puffing your cheeks out you looked away.

Once you were in his office, he practically pulled you by the ear. Pushing you to the floor with his frustration. “I don’t understand why I keep you around! All you seem to do is put me in situations that bore me to death!”

You've got me on my knees I'm your one man cult

You looked up with begging eyes. “Please, I’m sorry Dazai-san! Please forgive me! I’ll do better! Please don’t leave me.” he was the first person to ever make you feel real emotions. Fear, excitement, lust, love, heartache, despair. He gave it all to you.

Cross my heart and hope to die Promise you I'll never leave your side

It was an unexpected look, an unexpected plea. His eyes showed excitement. “There, there’s the reason! You can’t stop doing the opposite of my expectations, every time I think you’ll do something, you manage to shock me, even in this kind of situation! I wonder, would you commit suicide if I died? It would be so unexpected!” his voice was full of wonder as he lifted your chin using the front of his foot.

Looking at him he smirked. He'd known, all along, about your feelings. He teased you all the time, but maybe he could finally get an expected reaction from you. It would be possible to toy with you. Maybe then he’d be satisfied with you. “Would you ever be only mine? Something only for my eyes?” with wide eyes you nodded.

Cause I'm telling you you're all I need I promise you you're all I see

With a smile, you brought your hands to press against your chest. With a desperate smile, your eyes filled with that childish light from when you were 15. “Even if I'm only being used for your satisfaction, it would be all I need! You're the only one for me." Once more he was shocked by the response. Nearly losing the balance he had, his hand reached to his face a soft snicker leaving his lips.

“You’re utterly helpless.” he hummed, removing his foot from under your chin. “Come here darling~” he was certainly stressed today. A little fun wouldn’t hurt, right? “Tell me you’ll never leave.” he hummed holding your chin within his fingers. The blush on your cheeks darkening in your complexion.

'Cause I'm telling you you're all I need I'll never leave

His lips met yours. Shivering you closed your eyes, letting a tear fall. You wished he truly loved you back.

Another year passed, you stayed by him no matter what he did. He was crueler than ever. He often left you at night to go hang out in a bar. Those nights were lonely but a ginger often peeped in to see you. “You look like hell.” he would always tell you how messed up you looked. “Why do you stay by him?”

The images passed by your head. The boy you fell in love with. The young 15-year-old. The one with a smile that would show itself here and there. The young boy who jokes around, the carefree one. You picture the feeling of his fingers over yours. Cold yet so warm in those years.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

“I love him.” you hummed watching the male drop a bottle of wine in your lap. He walked out leaving the gift. He knew you understood how cruel he was. He had never really pitied anybody before but you… you were something he pitied. A demon prodigy's toy, your relationship was nothing more than toxic.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Sipping on the wine you drank yourself drunk. “I love him… he loves me. I love him. He loves me, I know he does. I’ve seen some softness in those harsh eyes.” you wiped the tears looking up to the ceiling. What had you gotten yourself into? Why did your heart have to play you like this?

I will follow you, I will follow you

He stood looking so conflicted, broken, and unsure. It wasn’t the first time you saw him without the bandages but it was the first time your dull lifeless eyes saw him this vulnerable. “Figures, you do follow me everywhere.” his voice was blank of anything; You could no longer read his voice.

Come sink into me and let me breathe you in

It was true, you needed him, so of course you followed him everywhere. “Go, we’re done! I’m not going back! This is all Mori's fault! He’d be alive if it weren't for inviting that damn organization here!” he was upset, yet he seemed so confused. Like a child, he had no grip on what he was feeling. Was he angry, grieving, sad? He couldn’t tell.

You ran to him wrapping arms around him. “I will go with you! I will follow you!”

I'll be your gravity, you be my oxygen.

You'd hold him down during this pain. You’d help him achieve whatever it was that he needed. “Even if it is death, I will not leave.”

So dig two graves 'cause when you die I swear I'll be leaving by your side

With a soft sigh, he pushed you away. “That changes nothing, follow if you have to but I never loved you.” you backed away smiling you curtsied.

“I know Dazai, I know you never did and never could. You are a demon prodigy, one that can’t understand his own feelings. I wish I could help, but your gift cancels mine out.” your voice was sweet as honey, but he shed you no more glances as he walked away. Following him, you sighed.

Two years later your empty eyes sat at an agency desk, you'd bought an outfit to match his. Those feelings refused to leave you even after all this time. They surged more than ever. He was like his 15-year-old self again, different but at least there was life in his eyes. He laughed and flirted just as he did those years ago.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

You looked to the cafe waitress’s hand, then your own. How you wished to be her. You stood up, walking out and to the office of the agency, sitting in your chair, Kyouka walked up to you. She once had your eyes. Dull, lifeless, broken, but then Atsushi seemed to save her. “Do you love him?” she asked tilting her head as you looked from your phone to her, you sighed.

“Yes, but I'll suffer for life over this. I had my chance and now it’s gone.”

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell

She set down a small piece of paper. “I found this.'' She tried to give you a smile that wasn’t pity. They often asked why you always looked so disturbed. Maybe it was the fact you were really all alone now?

And you can throw me to the flames

A tear dropped from your eye. Something, a feeling you hadn’t had in so long. It was worth it, these empty dull years. “A tossed away letter to apologize.” you held it to your chest.

I will follow you so you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

You found yourself alone on a mission. This was assigned to both you and Dazai, but he had other things he wanted to be doing. Neither of you knew how dangerous this was. He had not batted an eye at this mission. It was simple, a simple recovery mission. A ransom kidnapping, simple in and out. You could handle it without being seen. You ached for the warmth of his hand. A little light lifted your eyes as you stepped into the building.

When his fingers opened his phone accepting the call, he nearly fell over dead. The mission you were attending wasn’t a retrieval; It was a set-up. Despite how careful he'd been, somebody had found out about you. More so his past with you. His mind was too focused on you to think of who let it slip.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Dazai pushed past the doors too late. This was his fault, all of this. The loss of your true self.

I will follow you, I will follow you I will follow you, I will follow you

You'd always said you would follow him. It was always like that. He had taken years to figure out why he never ignored or let you go. He was selfish, he had grown attached. Ango and Oda had even offered the thought. The thought that, maybe in this heart; swallowed by black, he loved you.

It was his turn to feel desperate as he dropped down. The blood flowing from your stomach in spurts.

So you can drag me through hell If it meant I could hold your hand

He held your hand in his while also trying to keep the bleeding down. “I’ll get help! Just hang on, we just need Yosano!” it was the first time your heart slowed like this; The first time you could read him like a book.

I will follow you 'cause I'm under your spell And you can throw me to the flames

Your hand was growing cold, your breathing staggered. You looked to be in so much pain. “No, I won't be that long. You should leave, you don’t love me so…” your voice trailed off as your head tilted to look at his cheeks. Tears… there were tears.

He shook his head pressing your hand to his forehead. “I will follow you.”

Your eyes widened as a light chuckle left your lips, “I will follow you.” you hummed, as the crimson left your lips. He was forced to watch you die in his arms. There was one final look on your face. A giant smile, a real smile on your lips. “I love you Osa…” then, you were gone.

Another, another friend in his arms, dead. No, you are more than a friend. “I… I love you.” he’d never said those words, and it didn’t matter now. There was no going back. He held you to him, cold and motionless.

Somebody from the mafia had done this. Somebody would probably be Mori… he’d dropped this low before, it wouldn’t shock him if he were trying to drive Dazai to murder again; To get him kicked from the light.

For you, for the wish left by Oda, he wouldn’t let himself fall that low. He’d be strong.

#bsd #bsd x reader #bsd song-fic #really shiity attempt at a song fic #bsd dazai #dazai x reader #dazai x reader angst #dazai angst #reader x dazai angst #dazai x you #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader song-fic #first attempt at a song-fic #this kinda sucks

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awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands · 3 years

Text

Laid out cold, now we're both alone (part 3)

A/N: Hello, this fic is very important to me because I tried my best to give justice to such a cool idea and I hope I did a good job. Plus I don't do multichapter ofter, so this was a challenge.

I wanna thank the lovely @livdonna for proofreading my work, you're literally the best <3.

P.S. If you want to get tagged in the next chapters, let me know.

Summary: Nikki needs to ask a favor to Vince Neil, in order to keep someone safe.

Warnings: Major Character Death,Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Drug Use, Angst, Overdose.

Pairing: Nikki Sixx x Tommy Lee

Chapter 1, Chapter 2

Taglist: @slashscowboyboots @witchytombstonesmile @arnold-layne @emometalhead @i-dont-like-rice @nikki-sexx @smokeandmirrorz

Bittersweet. That was the best way to describe Nikki’s emotional state as he got teleported in front of Vince’s house. They weren’t the biggest fans of each other. He was always so annoyed by his singer, whom he considered more of a diva prince than a front man.

Sometimes Vince Neil was a stupid spoiled fucker, in his opinion, yet he needed him. What made his blood boil the most was that he had to put his pride to the side, because this wasn’t about him but about Tommy, and there was no way in hell he would have disappointed him again, even if that meant having to deal with the blonde’s bullshit.

He decided to get in the blonde’s house but without showing himself at first. He wasn’t being avoidant ( absolutely not) but just he wanted more time to think, that’s all. The first thing he noticed was how different Vince’s mansion looked from Mick’s : outside there was a big pool, in which the clear water was shining thanks to the sunny day, meanwhile the inside was mostly white and gave the whole house a very elegant and snobby atmosphere; however it was very messy too, which was a huge disappointment.

It reminded him of the singer: face of an angel but inside he had his demons. Who didn’t to be honest? Unfortunately Nikki wasn’t so lucky to get an angel face to hide his dirty soul, he felt like everyone could tell how fucked up he was.

Lost in his thoughts he almost didn’t notice Vince passing right through him, talking on the phone in an exasperated tone.

“I know Doc, you repeated that hundreds of times! Yeah , I’ll call Mick and Tommy and we will do this fucking conference!”

There was a small pause. Doc was probably answering back, and Vince looked like he was about to smash the phone on the ground.

“What’s holding us? We fucking lost our bassist, our friend and brother. Jesus, I fucking get it that you want our money but show some fucking mercy, bastard! Fuck you!” He violently put the phone down, only to fall ungracefully on the couch.

The whole conversation made the bassist laugh out of anger. He knew Doc was all about money, especially because they made his life a living hell, but Vince appearing concerned about his death was honestly so fake.

What? Were you saying that Vince Neil was mourning him? The guy who kept fucking up the band over and over again was sad for him?

“Fucking Nikki, real dick move you pulled there!”

Nikki didn’t wait one second before sitting on the couch and making himself visible to the blonde.

“Oh Vinnie, that’s so rude to say.”

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” Vince screamed, trying to back away but just managing to fall off the couch.

The other man couldn’t help but let out a laugh.

“Nikki, is that you? What kind of joke is this?!”

“Yeah. Look it might sound nuts but I’m a ghost. I’m dead and couldn’t pass through because I have unfinished business to solve.”

If looks could kill, well Nikki would have died again judging by how Vince was staring at him. He saw his face turning into an angry snarl before he started to yell.

“What the fuck, Sixx?! You die, leave us all alone and then you even have the courage to stay a fucking ghost! You fucking selfish prick!”

The bassist felt his blood boiling, well not literally but he got the same feeling as if he still had blood pumping in his body. How did Vince dare to say such things? He was the selfish prick, he was the one never caring and always causing trouble. He was destroying the band!

“I’m a selfish prick?! I didn’t decide to fucking die! I put my heart and soul in the band and you kept destroying it. Now you want to accuse me? Fuck you!”

“You didn’t want to die? Oh well, what did you think would happen if you kept injecting that shit in your veins. We are fucking screwed now, without a bassist and ready to split up!”

Oh that was funny! Vince wanted to shame him, as Nikki was the only one drinking and fucking up with drugs. Oh sure Mick, Tommy and him could do anything but Nikki dares to shoot up, oh he’s a junkie! However he knew it was different, it wasn’t a simple way to party for him... He needed it to be alive. He had tons of pages written in his diaries that could be used as a proof.

“Oh because you’re such a saint, aren’t you Vinnie? I’m the bad one, I’m the one out of control. Well guess what? The only person I hurt was myself, meanwhile we can’t say the same thing for you!”

It was a low blow, a terrible one and Nikki knew that. Rage blinded him, but that didn’t mean he had to dredge up the past, especially on something as horrible as Razzle’s death.

Good job Sikki, great way to get your friend to do what you want.

Vince’s face turned red, his fists clenched and got up to Nikki’s nose. He looked like he was about to punch him, but he had to realize it wasn’t going to happen since the bassist was not tangible, so he kicked a small table.

“You’re the only one who you hurt? What about the band, the fans, all those people you lied to and made suffer. Most importantly, what about Tommy, Nikki? How is he? Because it doesn’t look like he wasn’t hurt when you left him all alone, when you preferred shooting up instead of caring for him.”

Tommy. If he knew Vince’s weak point, the singer knew his too. It fucking hurt so bad, now he was the one wishing to be able to slap him.

“You don’t know a fuck about me or Tommy. Shut the fuck up!”

“Oh, I know all the times I saw him scanning the room around hoping to find you, all the times he looked heartbroken when you disappeared in the bathroom during rehearsal. I saw him after you destroyed him, how he still loved you even if you threw him away like trash. His two worst nightmares came true: you left him and you died. So tell me again Nikki, how did you just hurt yourself?

He wasn’t about to cry, even if he felt like a thousand legs were kicking his chest, he wasn’t about to give that fucker the satisfaction to see him crying ( he probably couldn’t even do that). But after the pain came the realization : he was there for Tommy. He was angry to forget that this wasn’t about him but about the drummer, and he probably ruined everything.

Now the hard part came : swallowing his pride down and convincing Vince. Oh, he would probably torment the bassist as slowly as he could, but eventually he had to accept. Fuck, the two of them knew each other since high school!

“How’s Tommy?” His voice was so low, he doubted the singer heard him, but somehow he did.

“Oh, so now you want to know how he is?!” His voice was still loud and angry, but he must have seen the desperation on Nikki’s face, because he decided to answer anyway. “ He’s a mess. I just talked with him very briefly, he wanted to know if it was real. Then Doc fucking occupied this phone like it was his bitch, so I haven’t called him again, yet.”

This wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear, it wasn’t fucking reassuring at all… Fuck, literally anything could have happened, Tommy could have hurt himself or left the country and this was all because of him. He just hoped his family was going to be close to him, he was loved, they would have never left him alone. That was supposed to be his job too, but he failed.

He failed his sweet Tommy.

“Sixx, what are you thinking about?”

It was the moment. Even if his heart wasn’t beating, he still felt the oppressive pressure of anxiety. He wanted to run but he had to do it.

Swallow your pride. You fucking owe it to Tommy.

“Vince, promise me that you’ll protect Tommy, no matter what.”

“What?” The blonde was visibly confused and how to blame him!

“You were right, I broke Tommy and he’s going to have such a hard time. He fucking loved me, even if I didn’t deserve it, and now I’m terrified he’s going to destroy himself. You can’t let that happen!”

“Nikki…”

“I fucking love him Vince. I still love him so much. He deserves a good life, I can’t ruin him even in death. He needs support.”

“Why me? It’s not like Tommy and I are best friends.”

“Because both you and him have known each other for a long time, and when the band will keep playing there’s going to be you, him and Mick left. He would never tell his stuff to Mick and he has something else to do, which means that you have to do it.”

A dry laugh escaped from Vince’s mouth.

“What if he doesn’t want to get helped?”

“You know how to get what you want. You’ll find a way, I’d do it but I’m a little dead… look I know you hate me but I’m only asking this. Like I said to Mick, this is my dead man’s wish.”

“Okay.” The voice was so low and Nikki barely had the time to react before Vince disappeared in the kitchen.

All his insecurities came back to eat him alive. What was even the point of being a ghost if he still had feelings? The truth was that he wasn’t sure on how much Vince could help, sure having someone close to Tommy was good, but he knew his boyfriend and fuck if he was a stubborn fucker.

His boyfriend.

It was a dagger through his chest, yet it still felt warm like the first time Tommy called him that. His face always lit up whenever he said it. The drummer always made loving him seem like the easiest thing in the world, as it was even possible to love someone like Nikki.

But Tommy did and what did he get in return? A junkie boyfriend and eternal heartache, because the love of his life was dead now.

Vince came back with a beer and softer expression on his face. Nikki didn’t move from the couch so he sat back to where he was.

“I will do it. I’ll keep an eye on Tommy.” His firm voice eased Nikki’s worries a bit.

Fuck, he never expected to see Vince Neil agreeing with him.

“Thanks dude, I know you hate me but Tommy didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t hate you.” His voice was shocked and the bassist had to suppress a laugh.

Yeah sure Vince Neil, not hating Nikki Sixx.

“Oh c’mon, don’t tell me you weren’t happy to hear I was gone.”

“Fuck no. Nikki we might have fought a lot and you were a fucking pain in the ass, but I’d never want your death. I cried, you were still my band mate and brother!”

He wasn’t sure why this whole conversation was hitting him so hard. It was probably because he didn’t know how to react to the simple act of someone caring for him beside Tommy. Especially when this someone was his singer.

But did they really hate each other as they thought they did? If the roles were reversed, would he be happy about his death?

“I felt the same. Ya know, when we thought you were dead in the car crash.”

Vince gave him a small sad smile.

“Maybe we can bury the hatchet. You don’t follow me for eternity and I won’t talk shit about you in interviews. Deal?”

“Deal.” Nikki smirked.

It’s time to go, Nikki.

The same sense of helplessness he felt before with Mick, came back. Because he could pretend everything was somehow normal, until the voice reminded him that this wasn’t his place. Even if in this case it was for the best for him to go, considering how awkward it felt for both of them to be so friendly with one another.

“Vince, I have to go now.”

The singer made an expression between sad and relieved, but maybe for the first time ever, it was genuine.

“Don’t be a stranger. Send us some bottles of Jack or some strippers from hell, okay?”

Nikki let out a chuckle. Since when he was laughing with Vince Neil?

“I’ll try my best. Vince, keep the promise.”

“He loves you. You should visit him, he deserves to say goodbye to you one last time.”

He knew that, he fucking knew that already! It didn’t matter how hard he was trying to avoid that, he was going to go to him anyway, not only because Tommy deserved it but because he was selfish.

He wanted to see him one last time too.

“I know. I’m going to go to his house next.”

Vince seemed happy and gave him a small smile. Nikki took a deep breath and got out of Neil's mansion, feeling every type of emotion.

God, now it was show time.

#nikki sixx #Tommy Lee #Vince Neil #Mick Mars #Motley Crue #motley crue fanfiction #80s rock band #80srock #fanfiction #My writing #tommy lee x nikki sixx

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jwnchstr · 3 years

Text

I’m Not Those Men

TITLE: I’m Not Those Men

PAIRINGS: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

SUMMARY: After being friends for a few years, Dean started to show interest towards you. He tried many times to say it, but you pushed him away. Until one day, he hurt himself because of you.

******

Imagine being a hunter, always closed to the Winchesters and Bobby and those who are close to him, that sooner you're considered family to them. They've seen the worst part in you and you've seen the worst part in them especially Sam and Dean. There are some men who called themselves alphas (huh, pathetic alphas), who have complicated mood swings more than you do. You've seen how they killed innocent people just to protect their ego. They're seen who you tortured those who possessively wanting you for nothing except being their sex toy. For the best and worst, you stick together like you took an oath.

You and Sam are always friendly. When the weather is right, you will always be seeing together with Sam laughing, joking around and chasing each other like kids in a playground. It's like, you and Sam cannot be together in the same room because both of you will play a lot. Dean hated how you and his younger brother never take things seriously. Well, at least, that is how his brother acts when he's with you. It's like, he is a different person, the exact opposite than the one Dean knew.

Meanwhile Dean is always serious with you although you never took him seriously. Or if it's just how you act around men, no one knows, but that's how it is. Sam never flirted with you. Sam never asked you out on a date. Or if he did – take you to dinner without Dean – he never took it as a date. You're as free as a bird with Sam. But it's a different case with Dean.

Dean, more than once, had asked you out. Well, at least, that's what he thought he's doing. He'd be like, "Sam is not cooking tonight. Wanna go out dinner with me?" And your response will always be, "Sure! I'll ask Sam if he wanted to tag along." And, of course, Sam does because you're going out, too. See, this is also why Dean hated you and Sam together.

Some times, when you have free times, Dean asked if you want to go out and take some fresh air. Dean understood that staying in the bunker is like staying in a prison. No windows to look at the greens outside. No fresh air. Just the ventilator. When he asked if you want to go out, he'd plan to take you to some nice place he knew, be alone with you. Most of the times, you tell him that you're not in a mood to go out or you told him that you and Sam planned to go the grocery store because you're out of stocks in the pantry.

That challenged Dean as a man, truthfully. Why can't you just see it? Why can't you feel it? The pull to be near and close? The tug every time you make eye contact with him? The spark every time you accidentally touched him? Why can't you feel them? And it’s not like Dean had been discreet, but ugh!

Dean continued to try his best to get your attention. Like how he pretended he didn’t understand a certain article. He made you read and explain to him later because seeing how you're so focused whenever discussing with Sam, stirred him inside. Even Sam never understood why Dean is so needy at times.

One day, something happened that changes the relationship between you and Dean. It started when Dean told you, "Hey, I'm going to see Lisa." You knew who Lisa is, of course. His ex-girlfriend. You didn't know, but that happen when he thought he was wrong about his feelings towards you. Turns out, he was wrong about being wrong. You're still the woman he desire to see and be every day.

You gave Dean a look. "And?"

"I want you to come with me," he said, looking at you in the eye, trying to read your emotion.

To be honest, you felt uneasy when Dean told you that he wanted to meet Lisa. Why, though? After years? Did he want to go back together with Lisa? But more importantly, why does he want you to come to meet his ex-girlfriend?

But amidst your thoughts, you just said, "Oh."

"So?"

You were quite for a few seconds, looking around, not wanting to meet his eyes. Without thinking, you said, "I can't. I have a date." And you saw hurt in Dean's eyes. You wanted to take back what you said, but what's said can't be unsaid, you thought. You felt your heart thumped inside your chest.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked through his greeted teeth. "You and Sam?"

"Sam? What? No. It's someone else."

"And you didn't care to tell me?" Dean's voice was deep and rough.

***

You know he is angry. You understand. You didn't actually want to make it hard for both the both of you, but you had to. To tell the truth, you felt everything Dean felt. The tug. The pull. The spark. The need. Ever since you met him. But you had a bad history with boys and men. That's before you met Sam and Dean. You weren't treated right. You were tortured. You were kicked out. You didn't belong to anyone until when you met Sam and Dean, Bobby and the other "family" the Winchesters had. They were the reason you became strong and undefeatable. Yes, they saw you being a killing machine, but years before that, they never knew what actually happened to you and you never opened up.

Being friendly with Sam is everything for you. You feel like Sam is the sibling you never asked for, but blessed with. Him not being possessive, not flirty, not over-protective, supportive, funny and lovely. He's like everything in one. With Sam, you're treated equal. But with Dean, you're treated like you're the most vulnerable person in their life – positively – and that scares you. No man ever treated you like that. You don't know what to do.

You left Dean with the heaviest tug inside your chest. You felt like it's tearing apart. Leaving the person who is waiting for you, it hurts more than anything. Dean quickly left the bunker and stomped the door.

Sam walked into the scene and asked what happened.

You just dismissed it, saying, "Not in his mood, I guess."

He nodded, shrugging it off. "I'm visiting Bobby. You wanna join?"

"Sure!" You smiled widely. The thought of Bobby excites you.

You decided to go the market to buy something for Bobby. Well, something that you can eat properly and together as a family. Bobby doesn't cook much. He usually eat canned food, so you decided that that won't happen tonight to Bobby. You wanted to cook for him, although he might think you lost your mind.

Well, honestly, you just want to forget about Dean for awhile and what he's doing with Lisa right now. It’s agitating you. You do not like knowing Dean going with Lisa although he could say that they only go out as friends. That's where "I have a date" came.

Not long after that, you and Sam arrived at Bobby's. Upon seeing him, you ran towards him and threw yourself at Bobby. Oh, it feels like forever since you last seen him! You missed him so much. And even though his place is....quite of a place, but you like it here. It feels like home.

"How you’re doing?" you asked the older man sitting on the wheelchair with his beer on his lap.

"Same old, same old. Bet you have good news."

You watched Bobby eyeing between you and Sam. Quickly, you said, "No! Me and Sam? No!"

Behind you, Sam laughed while agreeing with you. And even though it was quick, but you saw a slight relieved look on Bobby's face.

"Well, you better not. You're breaking someone's heart if you do. Big time, I tell you."

You smiled bitterly, understood what Bobby was referring to. "Well, cheer up, old man because we're going to have a big dinner tonight!" you announced.

"You’re cooking?" Bobby watched you suspiciously.

"What, you don't think I can cook?" You tried to give Bobby you straight face, but you failed. "Okay, fine. I'm going to need Sam in the kitchen with me."

Three of you chatted for awhile at the front porch, just like you used to back in the day. Bobby with his dad jokes. Sam with his awkward self around girls. You with your stupid imagination that make them think you are actually stupid and no wonder you didn't finish school. Sometimes, Bobby will update you about hunters who left, died or still alive. Sam said that he'll pay them a visit one day and you'll agree with Sam.

Then, you and Sam decided to start cooking for dinner and being you and Sam, it took longer to finish cooking. The laughs, the jokes, the mockery. Good thing, Bobby is used to the two of you, but he still gave you and Sam a look of irritation at the dining table and babbled about how you guys took so long to cook and how he is already hungry and ready to die.

In the midst of having dinner, your phone suddenly rang. You took a look at it. Sam peeked. You didn't want to pick it up, but Sam insisted. He knew his brother so much. Dean wouldn't call on a free time unless something is happening.

"Dean?"

"(Y/N)!" It's Lisa's voice.

Your heart skipped a beat hearing Lisa’s voice instead of Dean. Sam was right. Something is happening to Dean. Otherwise, it won’t be Lisa who’s calling. "Lisa, what happened?"

Lisa? Sam looked at you worried – worried for his brother, worried for you.

"Dean. He's hurt.”

"He's going out with you?" you asked.

"He's supposed to, but he didn't turn up. I tried to call him, but he didn't pick up. So I came to look for him."

"I take that you found him?" You heart is thumping on your ear. Your head felt like it's going to explode. God, what did I do to him?

"Yes. He's passed out. I don't know what happened to him, but seems like he hurt himself."

Your heart stopped. "What–"

"There’s blood on his hands,” Lisa said. “(Y/n), come here quick. I don’t know if he’s safe."

"Share me the location. I'll be there now."

*****

Turned out, Dean was overdose from his favourite beer. Everyone knows damn well that it took Dean a full bottle of beer to get drunk, but now that he’s passed out, god knows how much Dean have drink them. Oh, and the blood on his hands? They’re his. Logically, out of anger, Dean threw the glass bottle and hurt himself.

Dean was taken to the bunker as soon as you and Sam found him with Lisa nearby. Lisa looked so worried while she stayed close to Dean. She tried to explain again how she’s supposed to meet Dean just to catch up some things, but Dean didn’t turn up. Before you and Sam left, you thanked Lisa for staying with Dean until you came.

“What was he thinking?” you voiced out as you sat with Sam at the reading table, staring into spaces as you tried to understand why Dean suddenly behaved like how he behaved. “If he wants to meet Lisa, why should I come along? He could just meet her and talk to her and I don’t have to interfere their meeting.”

Sam was quiet and stared at you while you talked.

“And now he’s hurt. Worrying us while we have a lot of hunts to be done.” You shook your head. “Gosh. How cheap is he that he hurt himself just because he wants an attention from-”

“You,” Sam cut you off.

“What?” Your eyes shot at Sam, glaring at him as if he were accusing you committing a crime. “Sam, you’re-”

“Dean likes you. He wants you,” Sam continued. “He’s been showing all the signs but you didn’t notice it. He thinks this is the only way to get your attention.”

“I thought I gave him enough attention.”

“Yes, but not as he hoped for,” Sam explained.

You felt something caught in your throat. Indeed, you’ve been avoiding all the possibilities you two could have been. You never intended to reject Dean nor telling him that you do not want him like how he wants you, but you do not know how to do this. You grew up accepting people only then you’ve been pushed.

Your eyes watered. “I don’t know how to do this, Sam,” you confessed to your best friend. “I had bad experiences with men before and I can’t-”

“Maybe if you give me a chance, I can show you that I’m not those men.”

Your head snapped towards the direction where the voice came from. There, Dean stood, though still looking sick, but still look strong.

#dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #supernatural #dean x reader #sam winchester #dean x female!reader #hunter #baby #1967 #impala #bobby #lisa #lovers #soulmates #mates

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spencerreidscoffeecup · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5 | Beautifully Broken

TW: Self-harm, mentions of parental death, mentions of ab*se (from father), suicidal, depression, anxiety attack, (almost) an overdose on antidepressants, emetophobia (fear of v*miting if you don't know the technical term), cutting, s*icidal phone call

If you think any of this will bother you, I will write a short summary on the next chapter of this chapter so you can skip over this one!

Y/N's POV

"Thanks for the party, Spencer. I'm sorry."

I close his car door, taking a deep breath, the early morning air causing the hairs on the back of my neck to spike up. I feel terrible for how I acted to Spencer. He was just trying to help- but I couldn't bring him into my mess. I loved him too much to do that.

I walked inside, too emotionally exhausted to cry. I felt alone again, and that somewhat inexplicable feeling of wanting to control something in my life, besides what I consumed resurfaced. I set my things down, and walked to the bathroom. It was weird. I felt like I was in this dreamy state, like this wasn't happening--like I was numbed in the mind and being controlled by a greater force than me as if I was a marionette. I felt calm. Weirdly calm. As I entered my bathroom, I took the sharp, lustrous silver blade out of my bottom drawer.. Inserting it deep into my skin until I felt small relief. I looked in the mirror, the pain searing through my arm, my face stoic. I didn't even recognize myself.

I wished I could talk to someone, anyone. It wasn't that I didn't have people to talk to-because I did. I knew Spencer would listen to me if I wanted to talk to him.. But it wasn't about people listening or not listening to me. It was about me using this blade to cope with my problems instead of me growing a pair and talking to someone.

All the same, I never did anything about it, instead letting my problems eat me away. When I was younger and harming myself without exactly knowing what I was doing, my mom used euphemism to explain to me that what I was doing was unhealthy, so I wouldn't feel like I was a lunatic for scratching myself on purpose at seven years old because I thought I deserved it.

My mother was the only thing that kept me from taking my own life. I was not only dealing with depression and anxiety by the time I was in second grade; but was also dealing with physical and mental abuse from my father. I honestly had no idea how someone as kind and caring as my mother could be with someone so monstrous as my father. She was too sick to do anything about it, so I just took whatever my father gave me.

After my mother died and my father was made to look after me, he began hitting me more. One day, I decided I had had enough and left in the middle of the night. I took his money, and bought myself an apartment three hours from where we lived. I was only eighteen at the time and so I immediately was stressed out with how I was going to pay my bills and taxes, as well. So I then got six part-time jobs. I did online school, and graduated college at twenty. School was my only escape from my life, so I finished the courses quickly, as I was not only passionate about being in the BAU (it was always my dream-job), but I also loved the feeling of accomplishing things. I graduated early and top of my class. I joined the BAU three years later.

As you could probably tell, I was extremely busy. This was a good excuse for me to 'forget' to eat. I had always dealt with body dysmorphic issues, but my father made it worse, calling me ugly and obese all the time. I was nowhere near obese. I was 5'3 and 105 pounds. But because I was so insecure, I began to stop eating on purpose. I went on two-hour runs everyday and only drank water and ate ice-cubes and celery.

I try talking to people about it, but they either feel sympathy then leave, or instantly shut me down, telling me I am stupid for thinking that way. That's why it's so hard to talk to someone, even someone so close to me like Spencer. I knew he cared, and deep down I knew that he wouldn't leave, but my anxiety fogged away any chances I had at being reasonable. Therefore leading me to believe I would have to bottle up these feelings alone. I lie in my bed, closing my eyes so I can drift into a slumber to forget about everything for a few hours. I am alone.

Spencer's POV

8:00 a.m., Monday (2 days after the party)

The shriek of my alarm wakes me up, the sound setting off every nerve in my body. I quickly get ready, then head to the office. Memories of Friday night start to flood my brain, as guilt and anxiety create a hazy fog over the images. Had I done something wrong by trying to help Y/n? No, I couldn't have... she needs help and sometimes people have a hard time with confrontation, I knew that- I knew that from personal experiences.

I texted and called her about five times each, trying to make sure she was okay, but she had never returned my texts or calls, she only read my texts. I had been debating going over to her apartment and seeing her, but I decided against it. I had to talk to her today.

I get ready then drive to the BAU, nervously tapping my hand on the steering wheel. I arrive a few minutes early, and walk inside. The bullpen is quiet but busy. I look around, no Y/n to be seen.. Just Derek and a fresh stack of paperwork sitting on my desk, awaiting my arrival. "It's fine," I think, "she's probably just late. I also arrived two minutes earlier than usual so she is going to probably be here any minute." I try to convince myself but I just have this twisting sensation in my gut, as if something is wrong. I brush it off to be a guilty conscious or anxiety, and continue on with my paperwork.

Y/N's POV

2 days after the party, 8:00 am

I woke up this morning, from my alarm chiming in my ears. I can't go to work today. I can't. So I text Hotch:

From Y/n to Boss-Man:

Hey Hotch. I unfortunately cannot come into work today as there is a family emergency.

I know he knows that I have no family members left, but maybe he'll think it's a friend that's almost like my family,- emergency.

From Boss-Man to Y/n:

Okay, don't worry about it. There isn't much paperwork to be done today so you can just get it done tomorrow or Wednesday... Whenever you get to it. Take care, and let me know if you need anything

From Y/n to Boss-Man:

Will do. Thank you so much. :)

Hotch sends a thumbs-up back and I set my phone down, fidgeting with my fingers. I think of Spencer.. How he has called and texted me but I haven't replied back. I feel like shit. I just couldn't bring him into this mess with me. I walk to my kitchen, grabbing some water, and my medications. I take them, then look back down at the bottle. If I wanted to end it all I could. I walk away and sit on my couch. I can't do this anymore.

I lie down, and fall asleep for a few hours.

Spencer's POV

The day is almost over and there is no sign of the beautifully broken angel. My heart sinks a bit and I just can't get rid of that nervous feeling in my stomach. I finish my paperwork, turning it into Hotch before I ask him,

"Do you know where Y/n is?"

"She said she needed time off for a 'family emergency'." he says honestly.

She told me that she doesn't have any family members around, a few months ago. She never explained why, but she seemed touchy about the subject so I never pushed it any further.

I gather my things and leave to go to my apartment.

In the middle of driving home, I hear my phone buzz. I ignore it, not wanting to be distracted from driving. But the buzzing is consistent, distracting me already from driving. So, I cautiously pick my phone up to see Y/n's number flash across my screen. I almost crash my car into the other car in front of me, my heart skipping nervously. I answer.

"Spencer," I hear sobs breaking from her throat, tearing my heart apart. "I-I did something really stupid."

Y/N's POV

I woke from my slumber, the purple skies filling my vision as the night air from my open windows seeps into my apartment. I hear a buzz from my phone.

Boss-Man to Y/n:

Hello, I hope all is well. I tried to call you, but you didn't answer. I have some bad news. We believe your father is trying to track you down to find you. Try not to worry too much, we have you secured and locked down. Call me as soon as you can so I can give you more info.

I feel my throat close up, bile rising in my throat. I thought I was safe. I moved two cities down from where I used to live. My panic sets in as I begin to hyperventilate.

"No no no.. this cannot be happening right now." I whisper to myself, tears pouring out of my eyes. I hear my phone buzz some more, but I am too distracted to read any of it. I want to go away and never come back.

I rush to the bathroom, grabbing that metal blade and dragging it slowly across my skin. It didn't work. I didn't feel relief. I scream angrily, rushing to the kitchen. I want this to be over. I don't want to die. I just want the pain to stop.

With shaky hands I grasp my antidepressant prescription bottle. Taking a handful of them and washing them down with water as I wince, some scraping the back of my dry throat. I feel like I'm watching myself from a third-person point of view. I can't stop thinking of one thing-one person, as I fully swallow those pills. Spencer. I need him. I need to call him. So without thinking, I grab my phone, ignoring the missed calls and texts from Hotch. I quickly dial Spencer's number, as wrecking sobs break from my voice.

Spencer's POV:

"Spencer," I hear sobs breaking from her throat, tearing my heart apart. "I-I did something really stupid."

"What did you do?" I ask, keeping my voice soft.

"I can't do this anymore- I couldn't do this anymore. I'm sorry. I tried to cope with it but I can't anymore. I wanna go away. He's back." she chokes through her sobs, breathing heavily.

I try to compose myself, to not freak her out. Truth be told, I'm completely and utterly terrified.

"W-Who's back?" I stutter, "what happened, Angel?" I ask, trying to hold back my own sobs as tears fall down my cheeks. Who is she talking about?

"I was trying to get better, I'm sorry. I-I love you. I always have." she cries, gasping for air.

My heart hurts but swells at the admittance. I want to say that I love her too, but I can't. All that comes out of my mouth is,

"I'm coming over there." I turn my car around to head to her direction.

I try to talk to her, to ask her what's wrong, but she never answers my questions, only saying that she's sorry. She hangs up, and I panic more. I arrive at her place, running up to her apartment, as I open the door with the spare key she gave me.

Running in, I see her on the floor, lying there like a broken angel, unconscious. I see the pill bottles and my heart drops down to my stomach. It felt like a blur; me running over to her, and putting her in a bathtub with water, letting her lay on me as we both get soaked under her shower head. I take my two fingers and plunge them deeply into her throat, cringing slightly. A few moments go by and I hear coughing and gagging, throwing up the pills and bile that was left in her throat. She gasps for air, clutching on to my hand as I continue to comfort her, by rubbing her back and brushing her hair out of her face. She turns to me and cries.

"I-I'm sorry," she says through sobs.

"Shh, it's okay, it's okay," I softly say to her as she wraps me in one of her hugs. "You're going to be okay... I'm gonna help you- we'll get through this together." I use my free hand to turn off the water and we just lie there, cuddling. I kiss the top of her head, as she sniffles into my shirt. Tears sting my eyes, but I need to be strong.

"I'm proud of you," I whisper to her.

"Why?" she whispers back, grasping my body to pull me closer to her.

"Because you called me." I say.

After about ten more minutes of us sitting in her tub, I gently help her out of the water, giving her a towel, and some warm clothes. She keeps the bathroom door cracked open slightly as she changes. I then change and walk to her bedroom where she is.

"C-can you stay the night? Like sleep in the bed with me, please. I want someone here with me." she stutters nervously.

"Of course," I reply softly.

I get into the bed with her as she pulls me closer to her body. I kiss her forehead and she lies down on my chest.

"Thank you, Spencer." she whispers before falling into her own quiet slumber.

"I would do anything for you." I whisper back, not really meaning for her to hear it, but she looks up at me and smiles softly, that beautiful smile of hers. I take my thumb and gently caress her cheek with it. My cheeks burn a light pink but I am sure she can't see it as it is dark in her room, besides the white glowing moon casting a shiny glow on to her, making her look like a fairy.

As I drift off to sleep, I am reminded of what she said earlier... about her loving me.

'I love you too, Y/n', I think to myself. 'I always will.'

___________________________________________________________________________

AN: SAD. SAD. SAD. this chapter is very sad, I know, but I promise that it will get happier (there is a happy ending!!! i love happy endings!)

love you all!

Suicide Prevention Hotline: 800-273-8255

youtube

#spencerreid #spencerreidxreader #drspencerreid #criminalmindsspencerreid #criminalmindsfanfic #angst #suicideawareness

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ciggylungz · 4 years

Text

Show me yours

Blurb night- 1.8k words

(Request: Maybe more catholic school H but there bestfriend and there both v innocent and its their first time trying _______ (whatever you want) just a thought? (For the possible blurb night.)

“Did you hear what Lily was saying about Connor?”

y/n looked up when she heard Harry’s voice, the two of them in his room trying to finish their shared art project. They had to do a joint painting of the schools logo for the competition being held to pick a new art piece for the Catholic school. Y/n was currently trying to fix her minor mishap of mixing the purple too dark on the lower corner of the canvas.

“No? what happened?” her attention was divided between the art and Harry’s bite of gossip he was finding the correct verbiage for. “Lily said her and Connor did it!” his tone was slightly lower, whispering the last word so no one would hear a slight blush creeping onto his face. The revelation made the girl snap her head towards her best friend, eye’s widened a bit. The two of them were rather sheltered, they had attended the same private Catholic schools from the time they were in kindergarten up to the present as they were both in their second year of secondary school. The most rebellious thing they’ve ever really done was taking a second sip of the communion wine during mass, so hearing that their classmates may have had sex was very shocking to the pair.

“No way!” the project now took a backseat, y/n now fully invested in the drama Harry was relaying to her. “I swear! She said they did it in the bathroom!” , “Oh my gosh!...did she say anything like detailed?” the girl was just as nosy as her best friend. She wanted every drop of information she could squeeze from him. Harry smiled awkwardly, nervous repeating the words he’d heard from the two teens in question. “Uh…well she said they had s-sex in the bathroom, and Connor said she uh…’went down’ on him at his house..” while y/n knew the basics of sex, she didn’t exactly know much beyond ‘sex is between two married people and makes babies’ , so she questioned his revelation. “what does that mean?” , Harry wasn’t sexually experienced by any means, he was a kiss-less virgin but he would be lying if he said he didn’t know what certain sexual acts involved…he may be a good boy but he’s also a teenage boy with internet access.

His blush grew a few shades darker, opting to clear his throat and make sure the door was closed while he tried to find his voice again. “Uh..well-“ a uncomfortable chuckle escaped him while he tried to choke out the dirty words. “It’s when a girl puts their mouth on a boys private parts…” Y/n gawked at Harry, totally shellshocked at the fact that was a thing! She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to do that, “Wait what?! Isn’t that dirty? Don’t you pee from there?!” the girl was now standing on her feet her innocent mind trying to comprehend this new information. “Well…yea but I don’t think it’s dirty? If you don’t shower maybe, and the boy doesn’t pee in their mouth…” a nervous hand reached up to scratch the back of Harry’s flushed neck.

“that’s so…weird….h-have you ever done that?” Y/n asked him with a slight bow of her head locking eyes with him, “No! I’ve never done it! I’ve just s-seen it before tha’s all…” the boy shifted uncomfortably, “You’ve seen it? Where?”

“in…porn”

Once again, a comically dramatic gasp ripped through the air from Y/n. she knew of porn, her brother had gotten caught watching it once and that’s the first time she found out people have sex on camera. That was another huge shock to her, yet this one seemed bigger.

“You watch porn?!”

“shush! you’re going to get me in trouble y/n” Harry shot her a glare, yanking her forward to sit on his bed with him, his palm moving to cover her mouth. “Don’t yell that! It’s a secret” Harry cast a nervous glance towards his shut bedroom door before removing his hand from her face. Y/n giving his chest a nice swat with furrowed brows. “Don’t do that again, jerk” Harry simply rolled his eyes. “Then stop being so loud!”

Y/n pouted slightly, crossing her arms over her chest and huffing. “Or what?” she challenged “Or ill glue your mouth shut.” His fingers moved to flick her forehead, which was a mistake since Y/n then chose to start yelling “MISS AN-“ yet she was silenced by his hand once more. “I’m serious Y/n stop it!”

Y/n suddenly got an idea, decided she’d bargain her way out of this one.

Harry knew that look, his eyes widened realizing she was about to suggest something that he may not want to hear. Y/n was a sweet girl, but she had a bit of a bossy side too.

“If you show me the video, I won’t tell.”

Well, Harry expected something, but definitely not that one. “W-wait what?” he couldn’t believe Y/n had just asked him to show her porn! What was he supposed to say? He knew if he showed her he’d have to take a cold shower, but he didn’t want his mom knowing he watched the videos either. “If you show me the video I won’t tell.” Her statement was very level, the angelic doe eyes coming back to persuade him, and well Harry was a sucker for that look.

Soon enough the pair were sat against his headboard, Harry’s laptop open to a private tab with Pornhub opened on it. He chose on of his favorites, a simple pretty tame blowjob video.

“are you sure you want to see it?” his palms were sweating, knees twitching every few minutes trying to control himself and keep his pants from tightening. “Play it, Harry.” Y/n took control, tapping the space bar to start the video.

The logo played before it got to the video, a man sitting on his couch filming his girlfriend kneeling in front of him slowly moving to undress the man in front of her. Y/n watched the screen intently while the woman went to work, tugging the mans cock free and stroking it but Y/n being Y/n the video didn’t suddenly change the atmosphere like it does in a romcom, instead she was full of questions and comments.

“Wow, I didn’t know boys privates looked like that. It looks kind of like a snake.” Harry was happy Y/n wasn’t making the situation too serious, laughing a little breaking the tense atmosphere listening to her talk. He tried to focus his gaze more on the wall in front of him then the porn playing on his computer so he didn’t pop a stiffy in front of her. “Uh…kinda? I guess…” , “Does your penis look like that too?”

Harry choked on air a bit, suppressing a cough. He sweats he can feel himself burning alive from the blush on his face. “I don’t think my penis looks like a snake y/n, no. I think it looks like a penis.” His response got him a ‘hmph’ from his friend which he of course, laughed at. Yet he wasn’t entirely prepared for her next sentence.

“Show me yours?”

This time Harry’s eyes were the ones wide as saucers, his jaw slightly slack and body gone tense. “What?!” Y/n giggled, finding his reaction a bit silly since they were already watching two people engage in oral, how is this any more shocking? “What? Show me yours” she shrugged slightly, Harry was trying to keep his head from exploding but an idea popped into his brain right before the urge to combust took over.

“I show you mine, you show me yours?”

“Harry I don’t have a penis.” Y/n replied with a ‘duh’ eye roll, causing an annoyed groan to come from her friend. “I am aware of that, smarty pants. I mean…if I show you my penis, you show me your boobs.”

He expected to get a smack or a immediate refusal from her, but surprisingly Y/n nodded, “That’s fair, I’m not putting your penis in my mouth just for the record.” She gave him a pointed look as her hands traveled up to loosen her uniform tie and start fumbling with the buttons of her shirt.

The boy felt frozen in place watching his best friend start to undress in front of him. His teenage boy mind was going crazy, this was the first time he was going to get to see boobs in person, he was a bit scared he might keel over and die from a hormone overdose.

“What are you waiting for? You’re supposed to show me yours. I’m not taking my boobs out if you’re not holding your end of the bargain up ,Harry.” Y/n’s hands stilled, giving him a pointed look that broke his trance quickly fumbling with his pants to shove them off his hips the outline of his plumping cock showing against the white and grey checker print of his boxers.

“Who’s gonna go first?”, his throat felt painfully dry while he talked swallowing hard after he finished. “You duh!” the girl pushed his shoulder lightly and pointed to his crotch waiting for him to reveal himself.

The boy took a deep breath, his hands shaking slightly as he tugged his cock through the flap in the front of his underwear. He grunted quietly, the cold air hitting his swollen tip. For a few moments nothing was said, Y/n quietly observed his organ taking in the details and pondering her thoughts before speaking, “Yours looks better than his, it’s prettier. Still kind of looks like a snake though.”

Harry sighed, he was glad she didn’t make a comment on his size or anything negative but the snake comment wasn’t exactly the erotic language he needed to get himself off, and then he remembered the deal. “Your turn.”

Y/n nodded, giggling a little bit as she unhooked the clasps of her bra and let them slip down her arms. Her breasts finally came into Harry’s view and god his balls were already constricting. He feared he’d really be the guy who cums in 2 seconds just looking at a girl, but this would be the right situation for it. Y/n didn’t have any clue how long boys lasted so if he was to bust then she probably wouldn’t tease him she’d just have more questions.

“God…they’re pretty Y/n.” The girl smiled shaking her chest a little so they bounced in front of his eyes. “Thanks, I grew them myself. I’m a b cup” she was adorable, so blissfully unaware of what she was doing for him. A smile and playful giggles still radiating from her while he was trying to keep himself from passing out.

“Can I touch-“

His request was soon cut off, not by Y/n but by the door swinging open and his shocked mother standing behind it.

#harry styles fluff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles imagine #harry styles angst #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry style drabble #blurb night #harry styles writing #harry styles au #harry styles x yn #harry styles x reader #harry styles concept #harry styles request

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stxleslyds · 3 years

Text

MY TOUGHTS ON PART TWO OF RED HOOD BY CHIP ZDARSKY :)

A DC BOOK THAT TASTES LIKE MARVEL.

You know when you are reading a book and you feel like the story you are reading seems familiar but not really within the context you are reading it at the moment? If you can’t shake the wrong sense of familiarity you search for what it probably the biggest give away, the author.

Here it’s something like that; I have read other pieces of Chip Zdarsky’s work, namely Daredevil. While I could tell you the familiarity is there, in the subject of guilt after taking the life of another person, the reality is that this book doesn’t taste like Daredevil, it tastes like Marvel.

That can be either an excellent thing (because Marvel has amazing books) or something terrible (because DC isn’t Marvel and they don’t work the same way).

As of now I can’t really tell if this Red Hood story is going to be one or the other, but I can tell you that it feels out of place in the DC universe, or at least that’s how I see it. I will explore this particular thought later, I just thought this was a nice way to open this post.

If you would like to read the first post I made about this book I will leave the link here!

Now…let’s begin.

Part two picks up exactly where part one left off, we see Jason calling Oracle so she can bring the police to the place where Jason killed Andy a.ka. that gigantic piece of shit.

Jason is having some thoughts, ones that I think are important.

“I have taken lives before, a lot of them. I have killed guys knowing nothing about them except that they had guns and murder in their hearts. Those ones are easy; I don’t have to think of their mothers getting the news or of kids being...”

Jason is troubled. He is now in front of a reality that he never truly thought about but to be honest with you I strongly believe that nobody in the DC universe thinks beyond what happens in front of them, that’s just how fictional comic worlds are designed.

Anyway, there is a little something that bothers me in this inner monologue of his, like since when have “murderers” been Jason’s actual target? Like Joker was his target but he didn’t kill him, the base of Jason’s morals when it comes to killing has always been drugs, most importantly if you sell drugs to kids. So unless he is saying “murderers” because they were selling drugs that caused people (especially kids) to overdose then I don’t really get what is going on.

Another thing that I also talked about in the first post is that Jason hasn’t killed in a very long time, this man has been sticking to the Bats rule for so long that it’s actually unreal. Even when he shot the penguin and Batman proceeded to almost beat Jason to death the penguin hadn’t died. So once again I am thinking that Zdarsky has some info that he is not sharing right now or maybe he just didn’t read Lobdell's run (in which case, can you really blame him?)

Now let me talk about the other part of his monologue “…I don’t have to think of their mothers getting the news or of kids being...” This is something that I haven’t seen in DC, direct consequences after a hero/vigilante does something, and let me tell you it feels out of place. Is it a good or bad thing? I don’t really know but I have some thoughts on the subject.

I think it's unfair to put a comic character in that situation or dilemma. Jason has basically three reactions to the same situation and they are all valid, but can this situation be handled by a fictional person in a fictional world? Because to be fair I could also ask about the criminals that are put in hospitals after they are beat up by heroes, what if they die in the hospital? Is the hero a killer or does it fall on the hospital? If a criminal cannot pay for the attention given to them in hospitals and they immediately go back to criminal activity to pay for those things, are heroes a good thing? If the Joker bombs a hospital for the third time in four months and Batman does the same thing (take joker to Arkham) only for Joker to escape and do it again, is Batman as guilty as the Joker for the deaths of innocent people or not?

As I wrote it and as I read it again I see that it is a crazy thought because you can simply add more depth to the characters decisions and the consequences that would ensue because of them, but Gotham is a fictional city created to establish that crime is off the charts and that they need Batman because no amount of resources will be able to fix this city’s problems. So putting Jason in this position is new to me…but only in DC (more of this particular thought below).

Going back to the comic in question, I feel like Jason had the answers and the ideas all in his head. In this issue alone he basically says that if the mother does not pull through the boy will be alone, but alone means going into the system (a horrible system that Jason does not trust and needs improvement), but also, Jason recognizes that if the mother died and the father was left alive then that man would have done horrendous stuff. I just simply wouldn't believe that a man that gave drugs to both his wife and son so they wouldn't bother him is just going to change after realizing that his wife died because of him. Even less believable is him becoming an amazing father.

In the big scheme of things, Jason has killed people who fitted very certain characteristics, never innocents (bye, Morrison). What happens after the killing is done? We don’t know because past stories have never focused on that (criminals in comics are by default one dimensional, villains are not)

But here is the thing, Zdarsky is a Marvel writer and Marvel has gone in depth within those situations (like what happens after heroes commit mistakes or kill someone) mostly with Civil War by Mark Millar and more recently in Daredevil written by Chip Zdarsky, but DC hasn't and DC has been plain for a long time, DC doesn't really explain how batman hurts people severely and nothing happens beyond that.

What I am trying to say is that Zdarsky is going for a different and unique route for Jason here but I think the story is out of place in the DC universe.

I promise I am done with those thoughts, they were really difficult to put on paper and to make them make sense, so I apologize if I only confused you, sorry!

Anyway! After the monologue is done we have a flashback where little Jason is being told by his mother to go buy bread (the only thing they can afford) but she is also making him leave so he doesn’t have to be present when Robby (a friend if you ask Jason’s mom, a drug dealer if you ask Jason) comes to the apartment to help her.

Sadly as Jason is leaving Robby is walking up the stairs, now not to copy little Jason but fuck Robby. Jason’s issues with drugs, drug dealing and overdosing is once again shown here but what is also shown is the violence that comes with it. Jason being terrified for himself (and his mother) as Robby pulls a knife on him broke my heart and as he is left there in the corridor to his apartment all we can see is a defeated little boy and that shit hurts a lot.

After that we jump back to the future with none other than Batgod…I mean Batman. Batman is following a man called Sydney and apparently he disappointed Batman because B told him to stop being a criminal, like come on man if I ask nicely or if I break both of your arms you will surely stop, right? Yeah, no.

I feel like I mentioned something about this while my brain decided that DC never usually explains what happens with criminals after they get caught or killed and now here we are. Consequences. Batman scares a man off of working for Scarecrow but the man still needs to work (does he have a family to provide for? We don’t know. Does he do it because it’s the only job he can get? We don’t know.)

This Batman intermission ends up with Oracle telling him that Jason might be in trouble.

So we find ourselves back with Jason and Tyler in his safe house, Zdarsky does not hesitate and first thing he does is give us a couple of very angsty panels.

I love the way it hurts.

Jason honey, my sweet chonky boy…what are you doing?

Well at least I am not the only one asking that because Jason is having a moment to reflect about what has happened, what is happening and what could happen in the future. In this monologue he says the following:

“Dammit, Jason, what the hell are you doing? You can’t take care of this kid! But you can’t put him in the system either! Just waiting for some obsessed militaristic billionaire to adopt him? Dammit. His dad was scum, he hurt Tyler, he hurt his mom. But if Tyler’s mom doesn’t pull through…I just made this kid an orphan. He is my responsibility, he is too young to really see what he’s gone through, he can still be saved…unlike…”

Yeah that’s some really angsty thoughts, he is really going through it and I understand it. He lost his cool after what that horrible human being said he did and killed him and now he has to face the consequences of his actions, he recognizes that if the boy is left truly alone he will have to step up…but here is the thing, does Jason really want that? It seems to me like Jason is deeply against the idea of children working as heroes, and here he is as an adult that is a vigilante with an impressionable child that sees the Red Hood as his hero, I don’t know, it looks like the perfect recipe for a disaster.

But we don’t get to see what Jason does right away because its flashback time.

Jason only moved from his spot in the corridor of his apartment door to get the bread but as Robby comes out of said door Jason is there waiting. Robby teases that he and Jason’s mom ended up sharing the “medicine” and that she will be sleeping for a long time, and that seems to be it for Jason because next thing you know Robby is falling down the stairs.

Aw, shit.

Jason from the future continues his monologue while he remembers what happened on those stairs.

“I never had a chance, not for one second. But he does, Tyler has a chance. I can help him, help him be okay. This doesn’t…what I did…what his parents did, it doesn’t have to define him.”

So Jason wants to make things right for Tyler so he doesn’t become like Jason. Now I don’t truly know what Zdarsky is going for but I will go for the unconscious route, little Jason pushed Robby (that fucker) down the stairs and he was left unconscious there.

In Jason’s eyes Tyler is still a good kid that deserves only the best (like you Jason, please don’t think so low about yourself) and that can be saved from a life of vengeance, justice and trauma. But whatever Jason was going to actually say to Tyler we don’t know because Tyler informs Jason that through the Red Hood mask there is someone telling him that Batman is coming.

Batman appears out of nowhere as he does and starts talking shit.

Honestly Batman what is with that “not my town” bullshit? Baby this isn’t the medieval times, you are not a king and as far as I know not only is Lucius Fox richer than you but so is Dick so sit your ass down and shut the fuck up.

Luckily Jason is giving the outstanding amount of zero fucks and tells Batman exactly what he needs to be told, sadly Jason’s big brain time doesn’t last long because he absolutely loses his cool and starts a fight. So you know what that means, monologue time!

“This was a mistake, but I can’t help myself, he gets under my skin. His sanctimony, he acts like he’s God, all knowing, all seeing when really…he’s just another failed parent.”

Amen. Jason knows many languages but he chose to speak facts.

As the monologue ends Batman is standing over Jason like he is about to murder him but no such thing happens because Tyler, who was quietly watching them fight, jumps in to protect Jason. Yep, there goes my heart, goodbye.

And this is it. The issue ends with Tyler putting an end to the fight and telling batman that he has to leave the Red Hood alone because he is a good guy. Jason of course is thankful and promises that everything is fine.

I don’t know about you guys but so far I can’t say if I like the book or not. Both parts left me with mixed feelings. I obviously want to see how it ends but I honestly think that there is only one way this story can end with a happy ending, which I think it would be Tyler going back to his mom and Jason somehow working to help her with her drug addiction, maybe even have Dick involved so he can help them economically.

Things that I surely do not want to see are Jason backing down again and limiting himself to the Bats rules. I also absolutely don’t want Zdarsky to go all Geoff Johns on us and make Jason think that he should give up the Red Hood mantle.

Jason really needs to gain his confidence back, he was smart, calculated and strategic and now they have taken those things away to accentuate his “daddy issues” and “inferiority complex”. Why the quotation marks you ask? Oh, because those things are bullshit and there is no room for those things in Jason’s characterization other than to add more angst to the plot.

Let me know how you felt about the issue and my review! Are you excited about what the four next issues are going to bring to the story?

Also if you read Marvel, did this issue taste like Marvel to you too or am I going crazy?

#Jason Todd #red hood #red hood outlaw #batman: urban legends #batman urban legends #infinite frontier #DC comics #robin

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Twenty-Three) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Name calling. Brat taming. Bondage (tied back with a neck tie). Fingering. Choking. (Slight breath play?). Talk of kidnapping and murder-- everything Criminal Minds.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Greenaway!Reader

Word Count: 16297

Timeline: Season 3 Episode 19. Two months after part twenty-two.

Hotch was standing at the window in his office, his hands buried in his pockets. His face was flat with a natural frown, his eyes scanning the bullpen, not looking for anything specific. When I noticed that his gaze was lingering on me from time to time a little too long, I leaned back in my chair, bit the back of my pen, and stared back with a smirk. I thought that the challenge would earn me a smile or at least a beckoning finger to lure me to his office, but he didn’t budge. He continued to watch the BAU move and work around him while he was lost in thought.

Something was wrong. The fact that he didn’t even pretend to not see me by going to sit down at his desk to distract himself told me that he really wasn’t paying attention and that his mind was elsewhere. It could have been related to whatever just happened on the phone call he was on only a few minutes ago. Or maybe it had to do with the way I kind of blue balled him that morning. He had woken up a little handsy, and I tried to play along before we realized that we were running late, and I made the call to wait until after work. Whatever was going on, it had him in a twist.

Finally, after a few minutes of me watching him, he finally gave in and exited his office. He walked down into the bullpen, waiting a moment to make his presence known while he just listened to the shenanigans the team had going on. As usual, Morgan was giving Reid a rough time, which was earning a laugh from the entire office. Garcia had brought in a photo she found of Emily in high school, which then turned into finding old pictures of Reid. Of course, Reid was a huge dork, and it was the perfect ammunition for Morgan to poke fun at him.

When Hotch cleared his throat, though, everyone stopped and turned. Just as I had noticed something was wrong, so too did the rest of the team. So when Morgan asked what was wrong, Hotch shuffled on the balls of his feet awkwardly and answered, “Brian Matloff woke up.”

Reid and Morgan exchanged a glance.

“What are you talking about, Hotch?” Morgan asked.

“I’m about to go to the hospital, but I got the call a few minutes ago.”

“It’s been four years.”

“I know.”

“Anyone care to explain to the class?” Emily spoke up, injecting herself into the conversation because the rest of us were in dire need of context.

“Brian Matloff, the Blue Ridge Strangler,” Reid clarified for us. “Hotch, Morgan, and I worked his case about four years back.”

“We nearly had him, too, but the son of a bitch leapt off a building,” Morgan hissed through his teeth.

It was clearly still a sore topic for Hotch and Morgan, though Reid seemed mostly unbothered. But that was what had Hotch all upset and broody in his office. Morgan didn’t like letting criminals get away, and if they died, he felt like that was worse than letting them go. As for Hotch, it sounded like the case was something that he had a lot of problems with after the fact. Maybe he was scrutinized for how the case ended, or maybe he was also upset that Matloff got out of it without serving his time. Either way, neither of them seemed to be over it, even though it had been four years.

“He killed three victims in the Blue Ridge Parkway,” Hotch gave more explanation since Morgan was letting his anger cloud his thoughts and conversational skills.

“Well, allegedly,” Reid said. “He was never convicted because after he jumped off that building, he went into a coma.”

“Yeah, well, he’s awake now,” Hotch scoffed, crossing his arms. “And he’s finally going to be tried. They want the three of us to testify. I’m headed down to the hospital now to talk with the prosecutor, Cece Hillenbrand, and we’ll discuss where we’ll go from here.”

“You want backup?” Morgan asked.

Hotch shook his head. “I’ll let you guys know everything once I’m done.” He buried his hands in his pockets as he returned to his office to grab his things then head out.

We all looked at each other blankly. The information Hotch just dropped on us hadn’t yet settled, and confusion was still hanging in the air. I could tell that Morgan was pissed, and Reid was simple mind-boggled. Emily and I still didn’t have all the pieces, which left our confusion in a separate category from the rest of them. We weren’t around when this Blue Ridge Strangler case was ongoing, and I hadn’t even heard of it before. Hotch probably forgot about it altogether until he got that call. It didn’t surprise me that it hadn’t come up before, but the shock of it still hit me with the same force that it clearly hit Hotch, Morgan, and Reid.

When Hotch left his office with his briefcase, we all watched him. Morgan looked anxious, like he wanted to go with Hotch, that the offer he made for backup was less of an offer and more of a “let’s go” statement that Hotch turned down. Then, when he was gone, I expected the office to go back to work, but no one moved. We didn’t even turn back to our paperwork. It was quiet. Telephones rang, keyboards clacked, Anderson was running around and asking for lunch orders. Yet no one moved or said anything. It was such an odd thing to think about. Usually, when we took down Unsubs, one of two things would happen: we would take them in and they’d serve their time, or for one reason or another, they’d die. We never, ever had an instance before like this where an Unsub would wake up years afterwards. What were we supposed to do? How were we supposed to respond?

“Four years…” Morgan mumbled, throwing his pen on his desk. “Four years that asshole is out of it, and then he just… wakes up.”

“It’s a miracle he even woke up,” Reid said, still dumbfounded. I had never seen him so baffled in my life. Reid always had something to say, but not this time. Finally.

Truth be told, though, it didn’t feel like a miracle. Matloff waking up when things were finally getting better after Garcia got shot seemed like a big “fuck you” from the universe. At some point we deserved a break, right? I mean, Hotch, of all people, deserved a break. He had been working tirelessly for years, and it seemed like since our brief suspensions, he was working even harder. I just wanted him to stop. I wanted him to slow down, to look at life, to look at our family, and appreciate what we had. Matloff waking up was just going to prolong that attempt… It was exhausting.

About an hour later, we were all still sitting around silently. Reid managed to get back to his work, but he was slow, which was odd. Emily was trying to fit all the pieces together of what was happening and what was about to happen, meanwhile Morgan and I were still just… there. When my phone started ringing, the whole office jumped. Even Anderson jumped in his own skin. Hotch was calling me already. Hopefully, it was good news that I could share with the office to ease everyone’s conscience.

“Greenaway,” I answered.

“We’ve got a problem,” Hotch said in a breathless panic. “Matloff had amnesia.” My eyes widened and I spun around in my chair to look at Morgan. He glanced up at me, catching my worry, and in return grew confused. “Dave’s coming down to help us rebuild the case, but our key witness died of an overdose two years ago, and the prosecution still wants me to testify, but not Morgan or Reid, and I—”

“Hotch,” I caught his attention after he started rambling. “It’s going to be okay. What do you need?”

“Approach it like it’s any case? Go through everything. Victimology, M.O., find the evidence, build the profile, do everything you can to help us put this guy away.”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “I’ll get the team on it right away.”

“Thank you. I love you.”

I looked around the bullpen to see that everyone was watching me, waiting eagerly for answers. I couldn’t say it back while they were all watching. As much as I wanted to, Hotch and I had our rules for a reason, and even something as simple as “I love you” just wasn’t appropriate in front of the team. At least not yet. Considering how comfortable the two of us were getting around each other at the office, it almost felt like saying “I love you” while around our co-workers wasn’t a big deal. But that was a conversation for another time, I supposed. So all I said back to Hotch was, “I’ll see you when you get back.” And then, without saying anything else, I had to hang up on him. One of these days I was going to say it back to him while around our friends, and I wasn’t going to be afraid to do it. Hopefully that time was soon.

“What was that about?” Morgan asked.

“We need to start building a case against Matloff,” I answered, standing from my seat. Everyone got up from their desks and followed me to the roundtable. “Matloff supposedly has amnesia. He doesn’t remember the murders.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Morgan scoffed.

I shook my head. “JJ, do you think that you and Garcia can get the case files for us?”

“Sure,” she accepted, leaving through the back door to head to Garcia’s office.

“Hotch wants us to build the case up from the ground,” I told the remaining members of the team in the room. Morgan, Reid, and Emily all sighed. It was going to be a very long day. “Hotch and Rossi should be calling back with more information once they have it.”

JJ and Garcia returned with copies of the Matloff case files for each of us. They handed them out then took a seat with us at the table. We had to start with victimology, like always. Three women were found murdered and buried in Blue Ridge Parkway. They were all found buried next to each other in shallow, two-foot deep graves. The soil over the bodies was fairly new when they were found, which referenced that the Unsub was going back again and again to revisit the bodies. The victims themselves were slim, beautiful, brunette, brown eyed women. They had all been out for jogs on the pathway when they went missing. Victimology wise, he went for women who attracted him sexually, and he always went for them when they were alone and least expecting it. He took them, strangled them, and buried them deep in the forest where he thought no one would find them.

Based on such information, we could determine the simple: he visited the part enough to know it like the back of his hand. A park ranger would have that knowledge. He liked to revisit the scenes, which made it sexually motivated. He had a ruse and a plan in order to take his victims, which made him intelligent and organized. All of which pointed directly to Brian Matloff.

The best part was, with the third victim, Darci Corbet, there was a witness who could put Brian Matloff at the scene. While that sounded like that would suddenly make this an open and shut case, the downside was that Marvin Leopold, the witness on the trail that morning, died two years ago of an overdose. So the fact of the matter was this: there was no physical evidence connecting Matloff to the crimes, no one to put him at the scenes, and our Unsub had amnesia. Plain and simple, we were fucked.

Hotch wanted us to rebuild the profile, but… no matter how we looked at it, it pointed to Matloff. That was the unfortunate part of looking at the case after they had caught the guy. We were biased, and our profile was always going to be tweaked to point fingers at Matloff. Emily, JJ, and I were supposed to be the most impartial at that table, yet the three of us kept coming up with the same profile they built four years ago. Great. That wasn’t exactly helpful. How were we supposed to find another way to tie this to Matloff when our tunnel vision was blinding us from seeing outside the box? I almost wished that Hotch hadn’t told us about Matloff first. Maybe this would have been easier.

“What about this?” Emily asked, pointing to something in her file before turning it around for all of us to see. She had spotted something about Matloff’s fascination of Native American Culture, and she was curious how that helped the profile back then.

“Matloff was obsessed with the Native American belief that burying a body face down traps the soul of the person and prevents them from haunting the killer,” Reid explained. “Tying together his interest with the mythology, we were able to hone in on his M.O.”

“What caught his eye about that?” JJ asked. “I mean, he grew up Catholic in the city. How would he have grown into the obsession?”

Morgan shrugged. “We didn’t get that far.”

“What about the jewelry he took as souvenirs? Does that have anything to do with the mythology?” I asked.

“Not that I know of,” Reid said, shaking his head. “We don’t even know what he did with them. We were hoping that he kept them at his apartment so that we could have physical evidence tying him to the crime, but we never found anything.”

My phone buzzed with a text suddenly. I turned it over on the table to light up the screen and get a look. Hotch had texted to say: “Judge wants to meet this afternoon with how to proceed.” I looked up at the team as they were still chatting about what to do, and an idea hit me. I picked my phone up and texted Hotch back. “Psych eval.” It took him a few minutes to respond, which was why I was shocked when all it read was: “Thanks. Love you.” That meant that they were either going to do it, or Hotch was completely ignoring me. I wasn’t sure which. Then, my phone buzzed again. “Can you and JJ go to the hospital to learn more about Matloff’s amnesia and his stay there over the past four years?” I rolled my eyes. I texted back a reluctant: “Sure. Love you.”, then buried my phone in my pocket.

I looked at JJ and nodded towards the door. We gathered our things after she caught my hint. On our way out to the car, I told JJ what we were doing. The plan was to head to Matloff’s hospital, talk to the doctors, find out what we could about him over the past four years. It wasn’t much to go on, but we were going to do what we could.

At the hospital, JJ and I navigated our way to the wing where Matloff had been kept for the past four years. People were hurrying around us, monitors were beeping, doctors were shouting for help, and the elevator was dinging with every floor it passed, but JJ and I stayed to ourselves. We walked quietly and calmly, making our way there without bothering anyone. We knew what we were there for, we knew how to get the information, and we knew where to get it. There was no point running around like headless chicken like every other time I had been to the hospital over the past year.

When we reached the front desk of the wing that we needed to visit, JJ asked for the doctor that was overseeing Matloff’s case. We waited a few minutes while the nurse went off to find him, tell him what was going on, and bring him back over to us in the waiting area. After we spotted him coming down the hallway, storming his way over to us, JJ and I fixed our postures for the questioning that would ensue.

“What can I do for you agents?” the doctor asked hurriedly. He obviously had other places to be, but when the FBI comes asking for you, that usually trumps everything else.

“We just have a few questions for you about Brian Matloff,” JJ answered.

“What can you tell us about his amnesia?” I asked

The doctor chuckled. “The simple way or the complicated way?”

“Try us,” I squinted at him lightly.

“The patient has Focal Retrograde Amnesia, meaning he doesn’t remember anything from before he woke up this morning. His name, his birthday, his address, that’s all wiped from his memory. His intelligence remains the same, and his ability to form new memories is still intact, but I’m afraid he won’t be much use to you in court.”

“What about his stay here?” JJ asked. “Was there any sign that he’d wake up different, or was he a unique patient in any way?”

The doctor shook his head. “After about two weeks, you always tend to forget about the coma patients unless it’s a check up that you’re assigned to.”

“What about visitors?” I inquired, crossing my arms. I mean, it wasn’t prison. Anyone could come in and visit Matloff. It seemed like at the time of the investigation, he was a pretty “popular” murderer, and there was a fad around obsessing over psychopaths. Someone could have come to visit him. Right?

“Yeah,” the doctor nodded, “he had a visitor every day.”

“Every day?” I scoffed.

“Do you have a visitor log?” JJ asked.

“I’ll grab it for you guys.” He walked over to the desk to look for the log.

I turned to JJ. “Every day for four years?” I inquired. “You only do that if you’re in love or family.”

“So we’re looking for an admirer or someone he’s related to? But I thought his parents disowned him and he doesn’t have any siblings.”

I glanced over my shoulder to see that the doctor was returning with the visitor’s log. “Then we’re either dealing with a crazy fan or…”

“Her name’s Nina Moore,” he told us while handing it over to JJ.

“What does she look like?” I asked.

The doctor shrugged lightly. “Um… I mean… She had dark hair, she was short…”

“Was she white?”

“No. She looked Hispanic or Mediterranean.”

A thought struck me. “Native American?”

The doctor furrowed his brows before nodding vaguely. “Sure.”

JJ gave me a short, acknowledging nod before I stepped to the side to call Hotch. We never knew why Matloff liked Native American culture and mythology so much, but if he was in any way related to this Nina Moore, and if she really was of Native American descent, it made sense. If it could help the case, which it probably could, then we needed to find Nina Moore as soon as possible. Hotch needed to know first.

“Hotch,” I said into the phone when he picked up. “JJ and I found something at the hospital.” There was silence on the other end, but I could tell that he was listening. “There was a woman who visited Matloff every day. Her name’s Nina Moore, and the doctor said that she’s possibly Native American.”

“That’s great. Have JJ call Garcia to find out if you can find her. Cece and I just got to the office with Matloff. We’re about to start his psych eval, if you want to come in.”

I paused. “The judge approved the eval?”

Hotch hummed a, “Yes.”

“You… you motioned for it after I mentioned it?”

“Of course I did.”

I let my eyes fall shut as relief washed over me. He listened. He trusted me. I was so worried that I had stepped on his toes by offering up the idea of the psych eval. After how he responded to that text, I thought that he wasn’t going to listen to me, but he did. I had nothing to worry about. I knew Hotch trusted me, I should’ve known that he would listen. I almost felt stupid.

“I’ll be there as soon as JJ drops me off,” I told him.

“Okay,” he sighed. I could tell how tired he was already. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.” It finally felt good to say it back after I was barred from doing it earlier in front of everyone in the bullpen.

When the line went dead, I put my phone away and told JJ that we needed to go. In the car, JJ called Garcia, as planned, to ask her to look for a Nina Moore. The idea was that Garcia would get us some information before we’d get back to the office, which meant that JJ could immediately leave to go seek out a new lead connecting to Nina. Thankfully, Garcia, the goddess she is, got us the information before we even pulled into the parking lot. She called back to let us know that Nina’s last name used to be Genesee. Through her wonderful talent of hacking, she was able to find out that Nina had a baby thirty-seven years ago, around the time Matloff was born, and gave her son up for adoption. When I asked if she had any Native American roots, Garcia chuckled before telling me, “Oh, yeah. She’s obsessed with it.” That was everything we needed.

So when we got to the office, JJ switched to take the driver’s seat, and I headed inside. On my way to the interrogation room down the hall to the left, I could see that Morgan, Reid, Rossi, and Emily were all in the boardroom, sitting around the roundtable, working on putting more of the case and profile together. They were all so nose deep in work that they hadn’t noticed my arrival at Quantico, even after I backpedaled to put my purse under my desk, then headed back out into the hallway.

In the mirror room connected to the interrogation room, I ran into Hotch and a woman with him. Hotch smiled lightly at me when he saw that it was me. The woman in the room didn’t acknowledge me yet, though.

“Y/N, this is Cece Hillenbrand,” Hotch said, pointing to the blonde woman next to him. “Cece, this is Agent Greenaway.” We shook hands and greeted each other with a smile.

“How’s it going in there?” I asked.

“Well, we already performed the eval once, yet nothing happened.”

“He passed?”

Hotch nodded. “I don’t know how.”

“Maybe he really doesn’t remember.”

“It’s possible. I want to run the test again, though.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “However, I want to do something different this time. I don’t like sending you in there with Unsubs who see you as their type, but…” Hotch hesitated while biting the nail on his thumb. “I think that if you sit in there with Matloff while they do the test again, it might…” He sighed and crossed his arms again. “It might arouse him enough that we might be able to get something out of him. But I won’t send you in there unless you—”

“I’ll do it, Hotch.” I stepped to the right and grabbed the handle of the door. “I’ll be fine.” I turned the knob, opened the door, and stepped into the room. As I entered, Matloff craned his neck to look at me. “Hello, Mr. Matloff, I’m Agent Greenaway. I’m going to sit in with you while we run the test again. Is that alright?”

Matloff silently nodded.

I took the seat across from him, just beside the monitor that was set up to show him the crime scene images of his victims. I nodded to the mirror window, a signal for them to start the test again. Just as I heard the slideshow buzz awake, I returned my stare to Matloff. He was watching the monitor intently, but I took note of how his eyes didn’t dilate, and his body didn’t move. Most Unsubs, even if they were trying to hide sexual attraction to their crimes, had an involuntary reaction to shift about uncomfortably. Usually, that had to do with trying to ignore any arousal so that their attraction wasn’t obvious. But not Matloff. He didn’t move a muscle. In fact, his face contorted slightly to show disgust and disapproval towards what he did to his victims. Most obvious, however, was that he didn’t look at me once.

When it was over, Matloff sighed, blinking his eyes dramatically as he looked away from the screen like he was trying to forget what he saw. I squinted at him slightly, trying to put together a profile in my mind. Either he was very good at hiding that he knew about the murders or he genuinely had no idea. My guess was the latter, unfortunately. And when the doctor came in, Matloff didn’t look at her, either, though she was also his type. Something just wasn’t fitting. The profile that the team built up four years ago, and the one we were recreating now wasn’t adding up. Something about Matloff was off.

I stood from my seat with the intent of leaving the room while the doctor detached him from all the different computers he was hooked up to. As I made my way around the table, reaching for the door, Matloff grabbed my arm. I seized up, looking down at him before thinking about trying to pull away. He glanced up at me, both of us ignoring how Hotch burst the door open to get between us. Matloff didn’t let go of me as Hotch tried to pry us apart, though.

“Do I know you?” he asked me. I furrowed my brows. “I mean, did we meet before, when I was still… you know…”

I snatched my arm away from him. “No. We’ve never met.”

Hotch kept his eyes glued to Matloff as I pushed past him in a hurry to leave the room. I didn’t care that he touched me or asked if we had met before, but what irked me was how he didn’t look at me once until I was leaving… and he didn’t appear enthralled at all. He seemed impartial. Interesting, considering his past. Perhaps he really didn’t remember what he did or who he was.

“So?” Hotch asked, closing the door behind us.

I shook my head. “Nothing. He didn’t flinch once. He didn’t even react positively. He seemed disgusted, Hotch. He didn’t look at me, he didn’t move, he didn’t smirk, his eyes didn’t even search the photos. He probably passed the test again.”

Hotch sighed in defeat. “Shit.”

“What does that mean?” Cece asked.

“It means that he really doesn’t remember—” Hotch began.

“Or you got the wrong guy,” I finished.

Cece’s arms fell to her sides for a moment as she came to terms with what she said. Either way, her case was going to fall apart in court very fast. The psych eval wasn’t admissible in court, which was the good news. We didn’t have to use it, but the defense would likely use the results of the eval to push their agenda that Matloff wasn’t involved in the first place.

“It’s been a long day,” Hotch finally spoke up after looking at the time. It was already past four. “We should call it so that we’re well rested for court tomorrow.”

Cece chuckled. She knew that she wasn’t getting sleep, and I knew that Hotch, Morgan, and Reid weren’t going to sleep, either. Even if he sent everyone home, it wouldn’t matter. This was going to eat at them until Matloff was behind bars for good. To my surprise, though, Cece “agreed” to Hotch’s idea. She grabbed her purse from the table behind her, wished us a goodnight, then left. Hotch and I turned back to face the interrogation room where they were getting ready to move Matloff out and take him back to jail.

“You okay?” I asked him, lifting my hand to run my fingers through his hair on the side of his head.

“I will be. At home.”

I nodded agreeingly before reaching back down to take his hand. “Let’s go home, then.”

When we left the mirror room, we stopped holding hands. We made our way back into the BAU so that Hotch could dismiss everyone officially, though they would all probably stay, anyhow. I grabbed my purse from under my desk, and Hotch grabbed his briefcase from his office up the ramp. Everyone wished us a good night as we hurried out.

Nothing was said between us on the way home. The radio was running and Hotch had his hand on my thigh, but we didn’t say anything. I could sense that he just needed quiet for a bit so that he could think. I was willing to do that. Honestly, I needed to think, too. Everything we learned all day was starting to come together in my head. Between finding out that Matloff had amnesia, that someone had gone to visit him every day, then he passed the psych eval, it seemed like the world just kept smacking Hotch in the face.

Hotch pulled into the driveway quietly. As he turned off the ignition, he sighed and slumped back against his seat. I unbuckled myself and turned to look at him. He looked exhausted and defeated, and, honestly, I couldn’t blame him. The day started off well. We got to work, we were happy, things were good. And then he got that call. Brian Matloff woke up and our day went down the drain. We were so busy running around, trying to rebuild a four year old case, and it had entirely worn him out. I didn’t envy him. Tomorrow, it was possible that he would have to testify, or at least start preparing to do so. Not only was our day long, but the next few were going to be hell, too. And all of it rested on Hotch’s shoulders.

“I’ll call in a pizza,” I offered quietly, trying not to disturb the peace he found in the car. He nodded. “Cinnamon knots, too?” He smiled and nodded. “Okay. Come on, Sleeping Beauty.”

We got out of the car slowly and lazily. While we made our way inside the house, I dug out my phone to place the pizza order. Hotch unlocked the door and turned off the alarm. We both fell onto the couch as I dialed the pizza place and waited for them to pick up. Before I could do anything, Hotch trapped me in his arms and pulled me towards him so that I was laying on my side, my back pressed against his chest as we cuddled. I kissed his forearms that were holding my chest to make sure I couldn’t escape. Then the line picked up and I started ordering. Hotch nuzzled his nose into the back of my neck, his breath hot against my skin, making me shiver and smile. I was trying to focus on getting the order right, but all I could think about was how much I loved him and how he never failed to make me swoon with even the smallest gestures like this. He was too precious, too pure to let the world ruin him like it was. This Matloff nonsense was ridiculous. He didn’t deserve it. I was just glad that I could be there to comfort him, and that I had the strength and energy to order a damn pizza when he clearly didn’t.

When I hung up after getting the order in, I put my phone on the coffee table in front of me, then turned over to face Hotch. His eyes were shut peacefully, and he was breathing calmly. He looked so untroubled for once. It didn’t look like the world had just dragged him through the mud all day. And when I brushed a hand through his long hair, he smiled. I kissed his nose gently then closed my eyes as we both hugged each other close. I loved him. So fucking much. The little moments like this always reminded me why all the shit in our lives was still worth it, that there was always a reason to keep fighting. If we didn’t have the shit moments and days, then we wouldn’t have these little moments like this, and what was the point then?

I kissed his cheek before my whole body went limp. I loved him. More than anything. The world didn’t deserve him. I didn’t deserve him.

“You okay?” he asked me softly. Both of our eyes were still shut, but I knew that he could still somehow see that my mind was racing. “I’m sorry I let things get out of hand at Matloff’s eval today.”

I shook my head slightly. “I haven’t even thought about it.”

“Then, what?”

“Sh…” I begged, squeezing him slightly. I just wanted to enjoy the silence a little longer. We could talk while eating. “I love you.”

Hotch kissed me tenderly. It was one of those light kisses that reminded me that he was there and that he loved me, but it wasn’t passionate or hard enough to rile us up. We just wanted to be lazy for a bit. That didn’t make us bad people. I think we had a tendency to forget that not everything was about work and sex. I mean, we obviously loved both. But taking a moment to just relax and be us amidst all the craziness in the world didn’t make us horrible people. In fact, it made us human.

Then the damn doorbell rang. I sighed as I tried to sit up to answer it, but Hotch was being stubborn. He was holding onto me for dear life despite acting like he was asleep. I pecked his cheek a thousand times, earning a wide smile and giggle from him. While he was distracted, I pried his arms off me and hurried over to the door. I grabbed my wallet from my purse next to the door, then paid for the pizza. By the time I turned back towards the living room with the food in hand and the door closed behind me, Hotch was actually sitting up on the couch.

When I tried to just set the box on the table so that I could go get plates and napkins, Hotch wrapped his arms around my waist again, and he pulled me onto his lap. To get back at me for my ticking kisses earlier, Hotch started attacking my neck with his lips. I bit back a laugh. I was trying to protest by standing up, but Hotch held me steady on him, so I finally gave up and turned my face to kiss him. He was caught off guard when I did it. I took the chance to carefully push him back against the couch while we kissed passionately and held each other. I swear, it was worth the sore and chapped lips. Always.

Hotch finally, after we were both breathless, let me pull away. I shifted around on his lap innocently, avoiding any contact that could be viewed as otherwise. I leaned forward and moved the small box of cinnamon knots so that we could get to the pizza underneath. Hotch still wasn’t letting me go to get plates or napkins. Asshole. So that meant things were going to get gross very fast unless he finally gave in. When I offered Hotch a slice, I think that was when he suddenly realized his mistake, because he immediately let me go, and even gently slapped the outside of my thigh to push me towards the kitchen. I glared at him over my shoulder. He smirked and winged his arms over the couch. He was absolutely impossible sometimes. Not jumping his bones every chance I could get felt like a challenge all the time, and he fucking new it.

Finally, when we had plates and napkins, and Hotch pulled me back onto his lap, we started eating. I was sitting on his thighs, my right shoulder facing him and my left shoulder facing the pizza on the table. As we ate, I was watching him out the corner of my eye. He still looked exhausted, but the food was giving him enough energy to keep sitting upright and not suddenly topple over.

“What do you remember about the case?” I asked him. That was what had been on my mind earlier, but I didn’t want to talk about it while we were relaxing. I also knew that I’d drop the topic the second we were done eating. “I mean, besides the facts. How did you feel? What stuck out to you the most? Would it really be so bad if Matloff doesn’t remember and he’s released? Just… what are you thinking?”

Hotch sighed quietly as he chewed on the bite he just took. “You really want to do this right now?”

I nodded. He was going to have to testify eventually, and it was probably better if he sorted all of his thoughts and feelings out beforehand. On the stand, he would have to be cool and collected. He couldn’t show any emotion because our jobs required us to push emotion aside for the sake of getting the truth. He needed to maintain that facade in court. However, if he didn’t discuss it all beforehand, I knew him well enough to know that he could get wound up if there was something on his mind. He could talk to me. Always. No matter what he was feeling or thinking about this, he could tell me.

“It was the first case I ever worked on with Reid. He was new, and he was still trying to prove himself—”

“Reid? Proving himself? Doesn’t sound like him,” I said sarcastically with a smirk.

Hotch pinched my thigh lightly to get me to be quiet. “Morgan and I weren’t close yet, but we respected each other. Our team just wasn’t what it is now. We weren’t…” He hesitated. I wanted him to say it. He could admit it. It wouldn’t kill him to say that we were a family. “We were just different,” he said, opting out of the truth. I tried to hide my slight disappointment. “I remember that the three of us felt bad for the victims, and we were desperate to find answers for them. I even… Honestly, I even felt bad for Matloff when he fell off that building, but that doesn’t excuse what he did. He did kill those girls, I know it, and there are definitely more bodies out there that we couldn’t find. Matloff’s playing a game, I can tell. I think that he’s smart, calculating, and vain. I feel like we shouldn’t let him get away with this, no matter what the eval said.”

“Do you think he’ll kill again if he’s found innocent?”

Hotch nodded and took another bite of his pizza.

As we pulled up to the courthouse, Hotch and I took notice of the media crowd that had gathered on the steps outside. Every major news channel had a van there with a reporter and a camera following everyone who was just trying to get inside. Poor Cece, Hotch’s lawyer friend, was caught in the middle of it while still trying to push through. I wasn’t exactly looking forward to that same adventure just to get into the courthouse for a few hours’ worth of the trial. It was only the first day of Matloff’s trial, which meant that it would be about an hour or so of excusing juror members, then both the prosecution and defense teams would get up in front of the jury to make their opening statements. If we happened to get to witnesses, it would be an absolute miracle. Considering the media frenzy surrounding this case, it was going to take forever just to find suitable juror members, and then to get through the opening statements? What a mess.

Hotch started getting out of the car, but I stopped him by grabbing his hand. I was still staring at all of the reporters on the opposite side of the parking lot, which must have tipped off Hotch about why I stopped him, because he settled back in his seat and kissed my knuckles. My breath sputtered as I tried to calm down against his touch, but I was still nervous about it. The media wasn’t exactly my thing. In our line of work, I liked staying back to do the behind the scenes work. That one time in St. Louis, during the Mill Creek Killer case, that was different, because Gideon and JJ practically forced me to be up there during the media meeting just to lure in the Hollow Man. But this… They knew who Hotch was, and therefore they probably knew who I was. It didn’t take a genius like Reid to figure out that mine and Hotch’s careers were nearly destroyed because of our relationship. Reporters were vultures, and I was sure that they already knew that they were dating, and that was somehow going to be made relevant on the nine o’clock news. Assholes.

He kissed my knuckles again. “Just hold onto me and stay close, okay?” I nodded. “They’re going to try to ask you questions, and they’re going to try to get under your skin in order to get a reaction. Don’t give them the satisfaction, alright?” I nodded again. “Come on,” he invited lightly, tugging at my hand.

We separated for a moment so that we could get out of the car. I raced around to the front where he was waiting for me, holding out his hand, and smiling at me. I took his hand and hugged my side close to his. Before we started towards the stairs, Hotch locked the car. When we were all sorted, Hotch started leading me forwards, though I was reluctant. It was so weird that I wasn’t afraid of sitting in the room with psychopaths like Matloff, yet I couldn’t face a crowd of reporters. That said something about me, didn’t it?

The closer we got, the more reporters started to take notice of our approach. It started with just one, but once they told their camera man to turn around, everyone else took their lead. Hotch and I were immediately surrounded before we even made it onto the steps. He got ahead of me slightly, making sure that his hold on my hand was still there and that I was still pressed against his side. He put his arm out, trying to push through all the microphones and cameras so that I wouldn’t have to. I kept my head low, focusing my gaze on my feet and trying not to trip on Hotch as we shuffled up towards the courthouse. Reporters were screaming in my ear still, though. They were all shouting questions, and cameras were flashing in my eyes, and microphones were bumping into the back of my head. At one point, I thought I heard someone mention Jack. I tried to stop to see who said it, but Hotch kept pulling me along.

When we finally got inside, I sighed with relief, and tripped into Hotch’s shoulder. He caught me and asked, “You alright?”

I giggled and nodded. “Yeah. There’s a reason why JJ always deals with the media and I’m not jealous of her.”

Hotch chuckled. “Fair enough.”

“Thank god you’re here,” Cece cheered, approaching us in a hurry. “Are you ready? We’re starting in a few minutes.”

Hotch nodded, and I followed his lead into the courtroom. The audience seats in the back of the room were surprisingly full. Reid was already sitting down towards the front with two empty seats beside him. It almost looked like he saved them for us. I smiled lightly as we headed over to him and Hotch jokingly asked him if those seats were taken after we startled him somewhat. Reid fixed his hair and gestured for us to sit down.

After a few minutes of sitting in silence, listening to the room talk in whispers, the jury was called in. Everyone fell silent as we watched them file into their seats. When they were done, we were asked to stand for the judge. Hotch slyly took my hand as we stood up. Afterwards, when the judge was seated, he told us to sit, and the prosecution and defense teams started taking their turns asking the jury questions to see who should be excused. By some miracle, time flew by, and not a single member was dismissed. So the opening statements began. Cece stood to go first.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you’re here today to bring justice to the families of the three beautiful, young women who lost their lives four years ago to a cold blooded, calculating killer. Darci Corbet, Celeste Ferami, April Sotherford. Three women out for a run on the Blue Ridge Parkway trail when they were approached by a park ranger. An employee who abused his authority to lure these women into a secluded area where he could safely perform the act of murder. He strangled them slowly, inflicting maximum suffering and terror, ensuring that he would gain the most pleasure from the kill. He buried them in shallow graves, leaving them turned upside down in the most demeaning position. And then he thought he got away with it. But he didn’t. We caught him. Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is your civil duty to finally bring justice for his three victims. It’s your duty to put this man away once and for all so that he can not hurt anyone else. Thank you for being here, for helping to put an end to this monster’s insanity.”

Cece turned away from the jury to return to her seat. When she sat down, I felt Hotch give my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Counselor, would the defense like to make its opening statement now or wait ‘til the prosecution rests?” the judge asked.

The defense lawyer stood. “We would like to give our opening statement now, Your Honor.”

“You may begin.”

The lawyer stepped around the table to approach the jury. “Was the murder of the three women found dead in Blue Ridge Parkway a result of the act of murder? Perhaps. Ladies and gentlemen, over the next few days or so, you’re going to be told that my client was responsible for these horrendous deaths, but this is nothing but a theory. There is no eyewitness, no fingerprints, no DNA, no physical evidence tying my client to any of these crimes. None. Not even a murder weapon. Not one shred of hard evidence.”

I squeezed Hotch’s hand. This was what we feared most. We tried and tried to get something, to find new evidence, but there was nothing. Of course the defense was going to base their argument around that. It was the obvious out. But Cece was still going to fight like hell, and Hotch wasn’t going to let Matloff get away with it. We still had time to find something. JJ was still looking for Nina Moore, which meant that we could possibly have a new lead soon.

“The only way that they can tie my client to these crimes is through the pseudo-science called profiling. That’s not evidence, ladies and gentlemen. That’s grasping at straws to put an innocent man away in prison. All I ask of you, the jury, is to keep an open mind over the next few days. Recognize that there are people rushing to close this case, and they will pin it on my innocent client if they must. That is all.”

“Thank you, Counselor,” the judge said. “Prosecution, you may call your first witness.”

“The prosecution would like to call Supervisory Special Agent Aaron Hotchner to the stand,” Cece said to the court.

I looked over at Hotch. I didn’t think we’d get to witnesses yet— and I especially didn’t anticipate that Hotch was already going to testify. I thought we had a little more time. He told me that he was prepared for it, but I was still caught off guard by it. It was as though he expected it, however, because Hotch untangled our fingers, and he stood to walk up to the stand.

After being sworn in, Hotch took a seat, adjusted his suit, cleared his throat, and looked up at Cece to signal that she could begin questioning him. Cece stepped around the table she had been sitting at and neared the center of the court.

“Agent Hotchner, could you please state your full name and title for the court?” Cece began her questioning, going easy so that Hotch could get comfortable up there first.

“Aaron Hotchner. I’m a Supervisory Special Agent for the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI in Quantico.”

“And what does the Behavioral Analysis Unit do, Agent?”

“We took at the psychological aspect of suspects in order to catch them. We look at behavior, victimology, the suspect’s Modus Operandi, and linkage analysis.”

“What is linkage analysis?”

“It’s the process in which my team and I attempt to link all of the behaviors between crime scenes in order to prove that one person is responsible, and from there we can determine who is responsible.”

“So, through the process of linkage analysis, you and your team concluded that all three of these murders had been committed by one man.”

Hotch nodded. “Yes, that’s correct.”

“And that man was the defendant, Brian Matloff?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell us how you came to that conclusion, Agent Hotchner?”

Hotch looked over at me for a brief moment before answering Cece’s question. “Four years ago, along with Agents Reid and Morgan, we began to analyze the behavior of the unknown subject, which we refer to as the Unsub. We took into account the behaviors that led up to the murders, during the murders, and following at the murders. Through that analysis, we were able to create a profile that allowed us to generate a suspect pool, which we could eventually use to narrow down to one Unsub. By assessing what we knew about the victims, the crime scenes, and the behaviors, we were able to conclude that the Unsub was in a position of power, like being a park ranger at Blue Ridge Parkway. Because of how the bodies were buried, we could tell that he was not only a ranger, but he was going back to the scene to relive the experience to gain gratification of either the sexual or sadistic nature. Once we had concluded that he was a park ranger, all of the evidence began to make sense, which then led us straight to Brian Matloff.”

“Well, how did you come to the direct conclusion that it was the defendant? I imagine that there are thousands of people who work for the park service. How were you able to narrow your suspect pool, as you put it?”

“Our technical analyst, Penelope Garcia, helped us narrow down the search. We knew that his knowledge of the forest was extensive, which meant that he wasn’t recently employed. We also knew that he knew the area and path around the waterfall well enough to know where to hide the bodies so that they wouldn’t be found, which meant that he was mostly stationed in that area. The last thing we checked for was which of the park rangers was injecting themselves into our investigation. Most of the rangers wanted the whole thing to go away, so they went on as normal, but Brian Matloff was constantly hovering and prying for answers that we couldn’t give him.”

“Couldn’t he have just been a concerned worker and citizen?”

“At first, we were also skeptical, but once we delivered our profile to his co-workers, they reassured us that he fit the same behaviors that we were looking for.”

“So, after deciding on the defendant as a lead suspect, what did you and your team do?”

“We decided to go speak with him at his mother’s home, but she told us that he had left earlier with ‘a lady friend’. We tracked him down to a secret apartment he had. We took a SWAT team with us because we were under the impression that he had a hostage or another victim. When we tried to get him to open the door, that was when we realized that he had started climbing through the fire escape. When Agent Morgan pursued him, that was when Matloff jumped.”

“And the woman that was thought to be with him?”

“We never found her… But we believe that he killed her and disposed of her remains somewhere.”

Cece nodded at Hotch before looking to the judge, “No further questions, Your Honor.” Cece walked back to her seat at the prosecution’s table.

“Would the defense like to cross examine the witness?” the judge asked.

The defense attorney stood. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“You may begin.”

“Agent Hotchner, in your report of the night that my client attempted to run away from the police, you called that ‘a strong indicator of his guilt’. Were you aware that he had an outstanding warrant at the time of his arrest?”

“Yes,” Hotch answered.

“So, isn’t it possible that Mr. Matloff fled, not because he was guilty of murder, but because he was guilty of the outstanding warrant?”

“There were eight law enforcement officers in bullet proof vests standing outside his door. I doubt that any reasonable person would—”

“A simple yes or no answer will suffice.”

Hotch bit his bottom lip briefly. He was getting a little worked up, but he was holding it back. “Yes, it’s possible.”

“Right. And you say that it was your team’s profile that led you to my client’s door in the middle of the night—”

“A behavioral analysis profile was a factor in our investigation, yes, but there were more factors involved.”

“Such as?”

Hotch fell short. We still didn’t have any physical evidence, and there weren’t any witnesses tying Matloff to the scene. While there was always more that went into a case than just a dumbed down profile that people would see in a report, it was hard to explain to people outside of the job. Most people didn’t understand what it took to work for the BAU. Being smart and fit was part of it, of course, but being able to put together clues that weren’t really there was sometimes part of it, too. It sounded like what happened with Matloff was a case of putting things together that weren’t tangible, while not thinking the future, like this, through ahead of time. It explained why Hotch was more careful nowadays.

The defense lawyer moved on, realizing that he wasn’t going to get an answer out of Hotch, which only helped prove his case. “These behavioral analysis profiles are what your unit in the FBI does, correct?”

“Yes.”

“You use this formula for every case you work on?”

“Yes.”

“You used this same formula for cases like the Olympic Park Bombings in Atlanta?”

“Yes.”

“And was that suspect that you identified, Richard Jewell, ever convicted of those bombings?”

“Objection,” Cece called from her seat. “Relevance?”

“Goes to the credibility of the witness and his field.”

“I’ll allow it,” the judge nodded.

Hotch’s lip pursed. That hit a nerve, I could tell. “No, he was not convicted.”

“Why was that?” the lawyer asked.

“Because the real suspect, Eric Rudolph, attempted another bombing while Jewell was in custody.”

“So you profiled the wrong man.”

“No. Our profile was dead on; we just had the wrong man.”

The lawyer scoffed. “And how about the Baton Rouge Killer? Your unit said that he was white and living in the city. He was black and from the suburbs. You said that the B.T.K Killer, Dennis Rader, was divorced and impotent. He was married with children. So, Agent Hotchner, was it possible that you profiled the wrong man this time, too?”

Hotch didn’t waver. He answered with his stone-cold glare and said, “No.”

“The truth is,” the lawyer turned to the jury, “behavioral analysis is just intellectual guesswork. You probably couldn’t tell me the color of my socks with any greater accuracy than a carnival psychic.”

I swear, if I weren’t in a court, I would have leapt out at that man and strangled him then and there myself. I knew that it was his job to practically tear down Hotch’s reputation in order to prove his case, but… my blood was boiling. He didn’t have what it took to be a part of the BAU. Hell, he didn’t have what it took to even be a part of the FBI. For him to look Hotch in the eye while saying all of that made me angry. Hotch was great at his job. He was the best of the best. He had been working tirelessly for decades to get where he was in his career. It wasn’t fucking guesswork. We trained and worked to learn how to profile. In a way, it was an art. Not just anyone could wander in one day and say: “I want to be a profiler.” It took more than that. It took training, education, and time. That was why it took me so damn long to get into the BAU in the first place.

The lawyer turned away from Hotch so that he could smirk to himself at his little victory. I caught him, though, as he looked up and made eye contact with me. My face was just as stone-cold as Hotch’s, but my eyes were telling a different story. Honestly, I looked like I wanted to kill him. I hardly knew him, yet I wanted to dance circles around his grave. I knew that Hotch was the protective one in our relationship, but there was something about the way that lawyer talked to him that made me want to—

“Charcoal gray,” Hotch spoke up plainly.

The lawyer’s smirk disappeared as he spun back around. “What?”

“Your socks.”

He chortled. “Well, you got one right.”

Hotch glanced over to me again, and I shifted in my seat when I felt myself grow hot. There was a look in his eyes that countered mine. While I was seeing red, he was still calm, collected, and sophisticated. He was even trying to hide a smirk. That was how he always looked when he knew that he was going to get the best of me. That look… it made my knees weak, and he knew it. That was why he glanced over in the first place.

“You match them to the color of your suit,” he said as he slowly looked back over at the lawyer, “to appear taller. You also wear lifts and you’ve had your soles replaced multiple times. One might think you’re frugal, but in reality, you’re broke. The Rolex on your wrist is a fake because you’ve already pawned the real one to pay off your debts, and you don’t want anyone to know, especially your family, because then they’d find out about your gambling addiction. I can tell you exactly what kind of gambling, too.” He shot me a quick glance. I hid my flushed face as I looked down at the ground. “Your vice is horses. Your Blackberry’s been buzzing on the table every twenty minutes, which happens to be the average time between posts from colonial downs. You’re getting race results…” I bit my lip and sank in my chair. “And every time you do, it affects your mood in court, and you’re not having a very good day. That’s because you pick horses the same way you practice law— by always taking the long shot.”

I gulped and tried to stop moving my thighs that were rubbing together for friction under my dress. I knew I made a mistake putting on Hotch’s favorite dress. I hadn’t worn it since the flight to St. Louis because it only got me in trouble the last time, but I thought that since it was a special occasion and we weren’t going into work, it would be nice. But now I could feel exactly how wet I was getting against the wooden seat beneath me, and I was cursing myself for rolling the skirt up to appear shorter, just like I always did. I was such an idiot.

“If I’m not mistaken, the results from the fifth race should be coming through any minute.”

And like clockwork, the lawyer’s phone started to buzz on the table. I looked up through my lashes to see that Hotch was grinning slightly at me. He knew what he did, that asshole. Not only had he gotten to the lawyer, but he had gotten to me, too. Fuck.

“Why don’t you tell us if your luck has changed,” Hotch concluded.

The lawyer tensed. His posture changed, his hands buried themselves into his pocket, and he cleared his throat uncomfortably. Well, if only my whole job weren’t a sham, I could have told him that his behavior meant that Hotch was right, and he was embarrassed at the profile that had been given in front of the entire court. Oh, wait. I had enough training and knowledge to make even the simplest of deductions about that man. He wasn’t unique, he wasn’t hard to read, he wasn’t special. Honestly, Hotch shouldn’t have wasted his breath profiling him in the first place, but I was glad he did, anyhow.

“No further questions, Your Honor,” the lawyer croaked, picking up his phone and stuffing it in his pocket.

“Very well. The court will be adjourned until 9AM tomorrow.” The judge banged the gavel down, and everyone moved to disperse.

Hotch came down off the stand, brushing past the lawyer without another glance or word. I stood from my seat carefully, testing to see if my knees could support me. It would have been embarrassing if I just toppled over then and there. Hotch reached out for my hand when he was close enough, and he started pulling me into the hallway outside the courtroom. I chased after him, having to skip a few steps just to keep up. When we made it out of the room, he stopped, pulled me into a sudden hug, picked me up off my feet, and spun me around. I giggled into his shoulder before he set me down carefully.

I looked at him when we parted. “Home. Now.”

“We have to go back to the office—”

“We’ll call them.” I pulled at his red tie around his neck slightly, making it look like an innocent and simple adjustment. “Please, Sir,” I whispered.

Hotch licked his lips as he looked around the hallway to make sure that no one heard. “We call them first.” I nodded. “You’ll behave until we get home.” I nodded. “Okay.” He grabbed my hand again and started pulling me out of the courthouse again.

The media was still there, and they were still pressing for questions, but Hotch and I ignored them as we made our way through. While it felt like an eternity to get into the courthouse originally, it felt like we practically teleported out. We rushed to the car. Hotch already had his phone out, and he was calling Morgan for an update. He put the phone on speaker as it dialed. I anxiously pulled at my seatbelt as Hotch started pulling out of the spot we were parked in.

Morgan picked up. “Out of court already?”

“Just finished the cross examination,” Hotch replied.

“How’d it go?”

“It went fine. What’s the update at the office?”

“We’ll just tell you when you get here,” Morgan insisted from a distance, like he was occupied with something else.

“We’re not coming in.”

Morgan scoffed, “Hotch, it’s only noon.”

“Yeah, I know, but Y/N isn’t feeling well, so we’re just going to head home.”

I glared at him, but he smirked at me.

“Okay,” Morgan sighed. “JJ and Rossi found Matloff’s birth mother. They’re there now, trying to talk to her about him and see if she’ll come forward as any kind of witness. Not much else has happened around her, unfortunately. We’re searching high and low, but it’s just like four years ago, we can’t find anything useful. Hopefully, his mom will have something that will pin him to the crimes.”

Hotch took a sharp right turn, making me grab onto the ceiling handle. He apologized quietly to me before continuing with Morgan, “Alright, well, just keep us updated. Send me a text when JJ and Rossi are done at the mother’s.”

“You got it. Tell Y/N to feel better.”

I hit a smirk by looking out the window. Hotch took a moment to clear his throat, also trying to mask the irony of Morgan’s comment that was making us snicker. “I will,” Hotch said calmly. “We’ll talk later.” And then he hung up the phone and threw it in the cup holder. “I told you to behave,” he said to me.

“I didn’t do anything!” I shouted defensively with a smile. “You can’t blame me this time.”

“I can and I am.” Hotch was trying to hide a playful smile. The longer I looked at him, though, the more he started to crack. “I love you, Y/N,” he admitted before he could let his smile shine through.

I grabbed his hand from the steering wheel and kissed his knuckles gingerly. “I love you, too.”

We pulled up to the house and I started to get excited about what was to come. The second we were in the door, I pushed him against the wall. I kicked the door closed behind me using my foot, and I ignored the ringing alarm just for a few moments so that I could get a hold on his tie and pull him in for a lustful kiss. When my lips were on his, Hotch grabbed my face and leaned over me to kiss me harder. Suddenly, he was pushing me backwards into the wall behind me, and while still kissing me and fighting for dominance with his tongue, Hotch stuck out his right hand and blindly searched for the alarm. He turned it off, then moved his hand to cup my neck. I moaned as he pinned me roughly against the wall. He parted from my lips and started panting.

“Why—”

“What you did on the stand…” I tried to kiss him again, but he tightened his grip around my neck, keeping me pinned. “I don’t know… I just…” I licked my lips. “It was hot, baby.”

His eyes turned a dark, lustful black as he smirked. “Yeah?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir. Please.” I wiggled, trying to create friction between my legs while simultaneously trying to touch him.

“Stay still,” he demanded. I could practically see him transition into Dom space, and in return, I immediately fell into sub space. I did as he asked, holding myself back from moving, and he released me. I watched impatiently, yet still obediently, as he reached for the tie around his neck and started pulling it off. “I wore my lucky tie for you today,” he told me. I had recognized that move when he got dressed in the morning, but I didn’t think that he’d say anything about it. He only wore it now and again when he needed good luck or there was a special occasion. It was the kind of day that needed luck and celebration, I supposed. “And I couldn’t stop thinking about doing this to you.” He grabbed my wrists and tied them together. I whimpered as he pulled it as tight as he could. “Quiet.” I nodded. “Good girl.” He raised my arms over my head, and he hung my tied wrists on one of the coat hooks on the wall. “Keep them there.” I nodded again, and he kissed me as a reward. “My good girl.” I bit back a moan. “Tug gently.” I did so, pulling my hands a bit to test the strength of the hooks in order to get a feel of how hard I could squirm without ripping the panel of hooks out of the wall. “Is that okay?” I nodded. “Good girl,” he complimented again while kissing my neck. I tugged again involuntarily, wanting to just reach out and touch his hair. “What was hot about me today, baby? You can talk.”

I let out a moan that had been building in my chest before I did anything else. Hotch smirked against my skin, then bit down gently to start leaving a hickey. “The way you talked to him— talked down on him. The way you silently profiled him, and then you—” I gasped when his hands cupped my breasts and started lightly massaging them. “Then you—” My knees buckled as he reached under my dress to unclasp my bra, then slid his hands under my bra so that he could pinch my nipples. “Sir—”

“Don’t stop.”

“I can’t…”

“Yes, you can. Keep going. What did you like about how I talked to him?”

I hesitated, trying to not think about the way he was pinching and rolling my nipples between his fingers. “You… You were so calm, so collected… Just like you are now…” I bucked my hips forward when he pulled at my nipples slightly. “I’ve never seen you profile like that… Like it was fun…”

He smirked and slid his hands out from under my dress. “Do you want to know what I think about you?’ I gulped as he let out a low, wicked chuckle that came from his throat, and he got incredibly close to my face, however, he didn’t touch me yet. “I know that you’re always a needy little whore for me. Always. I know that every time you look at me, your pupils dilate, and I can tell that you’re thinking about having me fuck you so hard you see stars. I know that you’d be on your knees right now, choking on my cock, if I asked you to. But I also know that you like to be a little brat all the time because you like getting me riled up so that I punish you. I know you whine, moan, and beg for mercy, but you secretly like it when I edge or deny you. I know that you’ll pull and tug at any restraints I put you in, but you’ll never actually put your full force into it because you like being a helpless slut.” He grabbed my neck. “I know that you like when I do this…” he whispered into my ear as he squeezed. I threw my head back, giving his hand more access and him a clearer view of what he was doing so that he would know not to go too far. “I know that you liked how I talked to that man today because I degraded him, and you like being degraded, too, don’t you?” I struggled against the restraints slightly in response. “Oh, yeah. I know I hit the mark. You want to know how I know? Because I’m good at what I do, and you’re obvious.” He released my neck, and I gasped for air. “I know that I haven’t even touched you, yet you’ve probably already soaked through your panties.” He grabbed my thighs roughly. He took a moment to make sure that I had caught my breath, then pushed my thighs open until my feet shuffled to shoulder width apart. When I was spread for him, he reached down to cup my heat with his palm to feel how I had soaked my panties, just as he had suspected. “Hmmm…” he moaned in my ear, “called it.” Within an instant, he yanked my panties down, helping me step out of them carefully, however. “Open,” he demanded once he had my panties crumpled in his palm. I opened my mouth and he suddenly shoved my panties in. “Do you taste how wet I made you?”

I moaned a, “Yes, Sir,” behind my gag, and my knees buckled, the coat hook barely catching me.

“Stand up straight, slut.” He grabbed my neck again and pulled me up. “Stay like that.” His hand returned to below my dress, and without warning, he thrust two of his fingers into me. I screamed behind the gag. “You scream when you know you shouldn’t moan; did you know that? You do it whenever you’re ashamed to admit that you enjoy what I’m doing to you.” He curled his fingers inside me, and I bit down on the gag to make sure I wouldn’t scream again. He chuckled, “And you get quiet when you don’t want to be punished.” He squinted. “What would I have to punish you for? Hmmm? Being a needy whore?” He hit my g-spot on purpose. “For jumping me the second we get into the house? For wearing this dress today and thinking that I wouldn’t notice? Let me tell you something. I gave that profile because all I could think about was getting home and torturing you all afternoon, so I just wanted to get out of there as fast as possible.” His thumb found my clit and started playing with it at an unrelenting pace. “And now that we’re here—” I screamed again when I felt my orgasm approaching, and it was getting extremely hard to stay up on my feet. I wanted to collapse again, but Hotch was glaring at me with a dare to try it. “Cum now and I’ll leave you like this all night.” My eyes pouted. “You better hold it.”

“Sir—”

“No.”

I whined, trying to hold still to prevent added stimulation. My walls clenched around his fingers, my stomach tightened, and I held onto his tie around my wrists to pray that I wouldn’t tip over the edge. Hotch had other plans, though. He worked harder to make me cum His fingers kept curling against my g-spot, his bicep bulging in his shirt to show all the effort he was going to in order to keep pumping his fingers in and out of me at an ungodly pace.

“Hold it for twenty seconds while I count, and I’ll let you cum.”

I nodded, screwing my eyes shut so that I could concentrate. “Yes, Sir.”

Hotch started counting backwards from twenty. He went slow and steady, watching me intently as I tried so hard not to fall apart. Trying not to cum around him while also putting energy into staying on my feet was nearly impossible, even when he got to ten. And he slowed down his counting even further. The asshole was taking about two to three seconds between every count, and I was so close to the fucking edge. I could practically feel myself already tipping over by five, but I kept trying to hold on for as long as I could.

“Three…” His thumb on my clit changed direction and pace, making me scream out again. “Two…” He hit my g-spot again. “One…” I just had to wait for the order. Any second now. I was about to tip over. “Cum.”

I came for him as he said it. My knees buckled again, and I kept screaming behind the gag, cursing his name over and over again. My walls tightened even further somehow, my legs shook, my arms pulled against the coat rack holding me back, and I felt my breath leave my lungs. Hotch pulled my panties out of my mouth. Before I could say anything, his lips were back on mine. He swallowed each of my moans as he continued to fuck me through my high. When I was done, though, and my body gave out, Hotch slowed his fingers.

“Good girl,” he whispered, somehow just as breathless as I was. I let my head fall forward onto his shoulder while he slid his fingers out of me. “Suck,” he demanded, shrugging his shoulder to lift my head. Exhausted, I looked up at him and let him shove his wet fingers into my mouth. “My good cum slut.” I moaned around his fingers. “You okay?” I nodded. He pulled his hand away. “Can you stand?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “Once you let me down, I think I’ll fall.”

He snickered, “I’ll catch you.” He wrapped one of his arms around me while he reached up to pull my arms off the coat hook. As my tied wrists fell in front of me, Hotch caught me, just like he promised. “Did I get my profile right?” he laughed.

I hit his shoulder with my clasped fists. “That’s the only time I’ll ever let you profile me.”

“They say while shaking against me after screaming my name.”

I hit him again. “I could profile you, too, you know.”

“Mhm, you’ll have to do that after this,” he said before throwing me over his shoulder easily. I tried to protest, but my hands were still tied, and he spanked my ass when I tried to kick at him. I felt Hotch’s phone buzz against my hip, though, as we made our way upstairs. Hotch waited until I was sitting on the bed to check what was going on. “JJ and Rossi said that Matloff sent her the victims’ jewelry.”

My eyes widened. “Will she testify?”

Hotch nodded. “Yeah.”

“Come here,” I coaxed him towards me. Hotch threw his phone on the bed and leaned over me. I draped my tied wrists over his head, trapping them around his neck so that he couldn’t escape me. “I love you.”

Hotch leaned in for a kiss. “I love you, too.” And then he pushed me back onto the mattress.

In court the following morning, Hotch met up with Cece early to review the new evidence the team found. They also discussed the questions they were going to throw at Matloff’s mother. It sounded like we really had a good, winning case. That was a relief, at least. After yesterday's fiasco, we were on a winning high, but we needed to maintain that momentum. Bringing this new evidence forward was going to throw the defense for a loop, which meant that they would need time to examine the evidence themselves and prepare questions for Nina. Ultimately, that just meant that we would spend about thirty minutes setting up the court, another thirty reviewing the trial thus far, then the prosecution would get to start questioning Matloff’s mother. That was it. Short and sweet. Impactful. This was going to bury Matloff.

Hotch kissed me in the hallway outside the courtroom before he went in with Cece. Since he was part of the prosecution team (somehow), he got to sit up front with Cece this time, unlike yesterday, when he sat back in the crowd with me. I sat in the first row, just behind him. Just as anticipated, the first hour came and went without anything of interest, but then Cece was called to invite her next witness to testify.

“The prosecution would like to call Mrs. Nina Moore to the stand,” Cece said after standing from her seat at the table.

Everyone turned to watch as a woman sitting in the back of the courtroom stood. She was a tiny woman in every way, but she fit the description of Matloff's ideal targets. Slim, tiny, brunette, brown eyes women. It suddenly made sense why he hunted victims with that appearance because they were surrogates for his mother. His obsession with Native American culture stemmed from her, and when she turned him away (the stressor), he took it out on women who mirrored her image. If only they had that for the profile four years ago, or even a few days prior to her taking the stand. Would’ve been a huge help.

After being sworn in, Nina took a seat so that Cece could begin questioning her. Cece immediately dove in with, “Can you please state your name for the court?”

“Nina Moore.”

“And what is your relationship to the defendant?”

“I’m his birth mother,” Nina admitted. “I gave him up for adoption when he was a baby.”

“And that was how long ago?”

“Thirty-seven years.”

“So, you didn’t have a relationship with him?”

“No. I never saw him until 2003.”

“How did that happen?”

“He found me,” Nina whispered, looking down at her hands. “He wanted to learn about his heritage, my family. We met at a café, talked for a bit, then he left.”

“You talked about your family?”

“Yes.”

“What specifically?”

“He said he wanted to come home, to be a part of my family. But I told him that I couldn’t do that.”

“You felt that he was being irrational.”

“No, not at all. I just thought that he was a little lost. He wanted to belong to something.” Her voice started to crack as she suppressed the cry bubbling in her chest. “Turning him away was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do!”

“Mrs. Moore, did the defendant ever try to contact you after that?” Cece asked, trying to get back on topic.

“Yes. He sent me something in the mail.”

“What was it?”

“A necklace. Two months later, I got another one. Then two months after that, I got a watch. I thought he was trying to persuade me with gifts or something. I never imagined…” She fell short of admitting the truth to the court.

“Your Honor,” Cece began, making her way back to her table, “I’d like to enter into evidence People’s Exhibits ‘F’ through ‘H’.” She picked up the bags of evidence and brought them back over to Nina on the stand. “Are these the items that you received in the mail?”

“Yes.”

“And this watch that you see in this bag, do you also see it in this photo?” she asked while holding up both pieces of evidence.

Nina froze. “Yes, that’s it.”

“Let the record show,” Cece said, turning towards the jury, “that the watch worn in this photograph of the third murder victim, Darci Corbet, was the same watch that the witness received from the defendant in the mail.” Cece put the evidence down. “I have no further questions, Your Honor.”

“Thank you, Counselor. Court will resume tomorrow morning at 9AM for cross examination of the witness,” the judge said, banging his gavel.

As we were all dismissed, and I stood to greet Hotch, I was taken aback when he walked over to Matloff’s table to look at something after he had been taken back into custody. My eyes followed Hotch, confusion washing over me. What did he see over there that was of interest? I didn’t understand. So I tried whispering his name to catch his attention, but he didn’t look at me. Cece and I exchanged a glance, and we both shrugged. I hissed Hotch’s name again, this time getting him to look at me. He went back to his seat at the prosecution’s table, grabbed his things, reached over the median to grab my hand, and started dragging me out of the courtroom.

“Hotch,” I called his name again quietly as we entered the hallway, “what is it?”

“I think that Matloff is getting his memories back,” Hotch said eagerly.

Cece and I exchanged another confused glance. When I looked back at Hotch, I asked, “What makes you think so?”

“I looked at the notepad in front of him during the trial today, and there were tears on it.”

“So?” Cece questioned.

“You don’t have that kind of reaction unless you’re connected,” Hotch explained.

If what he was saying about the tears, then it was true. I mean, I had my suspicions concerning his behavior in court, but I was never sure, especially considering how his evaluation the other day went. I thought that he genuinely didn’t remember anything and didn’t have any more sadistic tendencies because of how he passed that test. But Hotch was right, something was off. It was possible that Matloff was getting his memories back. If that were the case, then we needed to speak with him or the guards protecting him immediately to see if there was any new information we could use.

“I’ll go talk to the guards to see if they’ve noticed anything weird about his behavior, or if he’s mentioned anything about getting his memory back,” I offered. Hotch nodded, agreeing that it was a good idea. I started making my way down the hallway where Matloff was taken so that he could get changed back into his prison clothes. I flashed my badge to the court official standing guard outside, and he let me through without hesitation. “Thanks,” I whispered, moving past him carefully. I turned the corner and came to a sudden halt when I bumped into someone. “Sorry,” I apologized. When I looked up, I realized that I had run into Matloff, who was holding a gun. I reached for my weapon in my holster, but he already had his pointed at my temple. “Okay,” I mumbled, surrendering my hands. “Okay.”

“Don’t scream or try anything,” he demanded gruffly, grabbing my gun from my hip.

“Okay,” I agreed again.

“Walk quietly and calmly with me outside.” He pushed me towards the emergency exit down the hallway. With my hands still raised, I led the way towards the door. “Do you have a car?”

“I drove here with my boyfriend.”

“That’ll work.”

I pushed the door open. An alarm started ringing, triggering Matloff to push me out faster. With the gun pressed to my back, we hurried through the parking lot, avoiding detection from the media since we were leaving through a backdoor, and they were focused on finding out what the alarm was at the front door. I led Matloff to Hotch’s car, and he made me get into the driver’s seat while he got into the passenger’s.

“Your cellphone,” Matloff gestured with the gun before pointing it in my face again. “Throw it out the window.” I silently cursed him for having enough brains to realize that Hotch would try to call or track me through it the second he noticed I was gone. “Now!” he yelled at me when I didn’t move. I nodded vigorously, grabbing my phone from my pocket. I rolled the window down and threw my phone out a ways to make sure the car wouldn’t crush it. “Start driving.”

“Where?” I asked calmly.

“Blue Ridge Parkway.”

I screwed my eyes shut. That wasn’t good news for me. Matloff clearly had his memories back— if he even lost them in the first place. He obviously had his urge for murder back, at least, which meant that taking me to Blue Ridge Parkway was going to be his end game. Kill the fed, and he won. Even if he got caught, killing a cop— especially a fed— was the most impressive and respectable thing anyone could do when it came to prison rep. Matloff would be a saint on the inside. Great.

No one noticed us pull out of the parking lot. No one stopped us on our way out there, either. I thought that Hotch would have had the whole city on lock down, every street blocked off, and Blue Ridge Parkway under surveillance. Yet, no one was out there. Matloff opened the glove compartment as we pulled up to the trail, and he grabbed the extra pair of handcuffs that Hotch and I kept in there. He told me to put them on, which was probably just to make sure that I wouldn’t try anything still. He most likely knew who I was considering all the time I spent in the courtroom with him, and how clingy I was with Hotch. If he wanted to make sure I wouldn’t try to stop him, restraining me was the best way to do that. He had thought this through.

“You have your memories back, don’t you?” I asked as we got out of the car. I figured I could at least know the truth before he’d inevitably shoot me. “Or did you have them this whole time?”

Matloff was calm as we started walking down the path together. He didn’t walk ahead of me or behind me, just at my side a few feet away. Both of the guns he now had weren’t pointed at me, either. The one he stole from me was tucked in the back of his waistband, the one he stole from the guard swinging at his side as we walked. He probably knew that I wouldn’t try to run considering it would be foolish to run away from a serial killer with a gun. However, what he failed to realize was that I wasn’t going to run because I noticed something else. Matloff had always been off to me. Always. Since meeting him, I knew that something was wrong. But, now, as we were walking down the path where he preyed on his other victims, it seemed like his focus wasn’t on me. He was intent on getting somewhere. Even if he was going to kill me, that was going to follow whatever he wanted to find or do. I wasn’t going to run because I was curious. I wanted to know what the hell was so important to escape jail, kidnap a fed, and return to his crime scenes for.

“My memories,” he started explaining quietly, “started coming back last night. They’re in bits and pieces, and they come in hot flashes… I see what I did— who I was, and I hate it.”

“Then why do this?”

Matloff looked over at me. “Because I have to know the truth.”

“About how you strangled those three women?”

Matloff didn’t respond to my question. All he said was, “I’m sorry for scaring you and doing all of this.” I cocked a brow. “I just couldn’t let you stop me.”

“Stop you from coming out here? Why? Where are we going, Matloff?”

“Linville Falls,” Matloff said, looking up at the running waterfall we just approached. We came to a slow and steady halt as we both admired it for a moment. It was so beautiful and peaceful out there. I finally understood why he liked it so much, but it still didn’t answer why we were there. Before I could ask again, though, Matloff said, “You can go now, if you want. I won’t stop you. I promise.” He moved the gun he was holding in his hand to his waistband. I watched as he stepped off the path and started trudging through the mud and tall grass to get to something in the distance. “Go on,” he insisted, sensing that I was still watching him.

I didn’t move, though. I knew I should’ve made a run for it, or at least tried to disarm him, but I didn’t. He hadn’t told me why we were out there yet, and I didn’t know what he was looking for out in the field under the waterfall. But my interest was piqued when he got down on his knees and started digging through the dirt with his hands like a mad man.

I stepped into the tall grass, making my way over to him cautiously. He was still a threat, though he had proven that he had no interest in killing me. If I disturbed whatever he was doing, he still could’ve shot me or punched me or something. I knew that I had to be careful and maintain a safe distance.

And then we both froze when his hands hit something in the ground. I stumbled back a slight step when I saw a corpse emerging as he kept digging. Hotch suspected that there had been more victims, but he could never prove it… Yet there we were. Matloff was digging up a dead body and I was just watching like an idiot.

“Who… Who is that?” I asked.

Matloff sniffled as he pulled it out of the grave. “The first woman I ever killed.” He looked up at me with red eyes. He was crying. “I told you I had to know the truth… I wasn’t sure if I really killed those women until we got here, and it suddenly all came back to me.” He sat down on his tailbone and cradled the corpse. “This isn’t who I am anymore… I just had to make sure that you wouldn’t tell anyone before I could come out here to make sure it was real. I wasn’t convinced until just then when my fingers hit her skull.” He let out a sob. “I’m so sorry.”

“Matloff,” I crouched down, “are there other bodies out here?”

He shook his head. “It was just her.”

“Y/N!” Hotch called from the tree line.

I glanced over my shoulder to see him and Reid approaching with a SWAT team hot on their heels. “Wait!” I raised my cuffed hands in the air, waving them around to signal for them to stop. “It’s fine!” I yelled after noticing that they were all aiming their weapons at Matloff. “Don’t shoot!” Reid and Hotch slowed down, gesturing for the SWAT team to hold back. “He’s not a threat!”

With Hotch’s weapon still raised at Matloff, he carefully approached. “Brian Matloff, put your hands where I can see them.”

“Hotch—” I tried to protest, but Reid grabbed my shoulders and pulled me out of the way.

“Hands, Brian!”

“Stop there, please!” Matloff yelled back. “Just give me a minute… please…”

“I can’t do that, Brian.”

“Who is she?” Reid asked me quietly.

I glanced at him quickly before looking back at Matloff and Hotch. “She was his first.”

Hotch heard me, his shoulders falling slightly before he remembered to keep his steady stance. “Just put her down, Brian. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

“I’m sorry,” Matloff cried quietly. “I’m so sorry…”

“Maybe you are, but you still have to pay for what’s been done.”

Matloff scoffed as he pulled one of the guns from his waistband. “I might as well just die right here… They’re going to put me on death row, anyhow. What’s the point?”

“You don’t know that,” I said, stepping forward again, despite Reid and Hotch’s protests. I stumbled through the grass, praying that I wouldn’t trip while my hands were still cuffed because I wouldn’t be able to save my fall. “The jury might not put you on death row. They might see your new slate— your innocence.” I carefully kneeled beside him, ignoring the corpse in his arms and the way he was waving the gun around aimlessly. “Matloff, look at me.” He did so. “You can still prove that you’re a good man. You could have killed me out here, but you didn’t. You’re clearly sorry for the things you did in the past. Show that in court. Prove your newfound innocence.”

“I’m— I’m scared,” he admitted to me in a hushed tone that only I could hear. I nodded understandingly, but my eyes were still pleading for him to do the right thing. This wasn’t the answer. This wasn’t the way out. “Okay…” he mumbled, dropping the gun.

Hotch carefully approached again, his aim still trained on Matloff. As Reid came over to grab the gun on the ground and the one in the back of Matloff’s waistband, Hotch grabbed his cuffs. “Put the body down, Brian,” Hotch ordered. Matloff did as he was told, gently resting the corpse on the grass before standing up so that Hotch could arrest him. “Do you have any more weapons on you?”

Matloff shook his head. “No.”

Hotch slapped his handcuffs on Matloff’s wrists, then passed him off to the SWAT team to be transported back to the jail in town. Reid came over to us as Hotch started getting my handcuffs off with the key from the car. He must’ve seen that Matloff stole them from the glovebox and made the smart decision to bring the key.

The second the handcuffs were off, Hotch threw his arms around me. His hug caught me off guard, making me stumble in his hold before I could hug him back. I didn’t expect that while we were still on the job, around our friends, on a crime scene, and in front of an Unsub that Hotch would pull me in for a desperate hug like that, I didn’t protest. I held him back, closing my eyes as I inhaled his scent. He smelled like his Aqua Velva aftershave, which was so different from the forest and waterfall scents nearby. Honestly, he smelled like home. I needed home after the day I had.

“You okay?” he asked me quietly before kissing the top of my head.

I nodded against his chest. “I’m fine.”

“I shouldn’t have let you go on your own.”

“We didn’t know.”

“Still.”

“It’s fine, Hotch. I’m fine. He wasn’t going to hurt me.”

Hotch squeezed my shoulders. “I love you.”

I nuzzled against him. “I love you, too.”

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