#Ill just be restraining myself and observed from the other side | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Every Little Thing.

Part 3!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1 and read Part 2 here! This is the last part sort of. I’m planning on an epilogue of sorts though!

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 8681

The next time you open your eyes, the first thing you see is the shadow of an unknown person looming over you. Your instincts are screaming danger and without thinking about it, you start fighting your way out of their hands. They are trying to restrain you, so you fight back harder. You can’t stop hearing the lamp crashing on your head. It’s reminding you over and over of the danger you are in. Your self-defense training kicks in when the person wraps an arm across our chest. Afterwards, you think it should have occurred to you that the person wasn’t really fighting back so much as trying to calm you down, but you’ll blame your poor observational skills on adrenaline. It just all happened so fast.

You form your hands into “large claws” as the instructor called them in class, and swiftly shove them between your body and the arm of the attacker. Gripping the arm, you throw your weight diagonally forward, curling your body in toward your left knee. You end in a one legged kneel, having thrown the person over your shoulder. The thud they made upon hitting the floor was highly satisfying, until you looked down and recognized the face.

Derek Morgan was staring at you from his new found position on the floor, you kneeling over him with a slightly crazed look in your eye. You would start apologizing, but you are so stunned you don’t move until Morgan gets up and guides you back to the couch.

Apparently the team had been trying to reach you or Reid for a while. Neither of you answered, for reasons that were obvious now, so the team rushed over to check on you. Nobody mentions how you just threw Derek over your body as if he were a ragdoll. It doesn’t seem like the time to be joking around.

You tell them everything you can remember, starting with everything you told Spencer about the man you recognized and ending with the sound of the lamp cracking over your head. You’re surprised you didn’t cry through the whole story. Maybe you’re out of tears, physically unable to produce any more because your tear ducts dried up. If Spencer were here he’d tell you some fact about how your tear ducts never really dry out, your body just becomes dehydrated and water is diverted to more essential tasks.

At the thought of Spencer, a few tears do spring to your eyes. “Why would he take him? I was right here! He could’ve just taken me and been done with it. Oh, god. I was right there and I couldn’t stop him. No, no, no no no nonono.” You can feel all the signs of panic setting in, but you don’t have the power to stop them on your own. The team is trying to help you. They are, but you don’t hear them. You’re too worried about what is currently happening to Spencer.

It feels like time has slowed down. It’s like you’re swimming through syrup, desperately trying to stay above the surface, but the liquid is heavy and it’s sticky and it’s pulling you down. You hear what people are saying to you, but the words don’t make sense in your brain. They might as well be talking to a toddler, because all you can do is babble incoherently and point at the pieces of lamp on the ground.

You are relieving the same two scenes over and over. The look on his face when you made eye contact in the park. Then the sound of the lamp hitting your skull in the dark. The look on his face. The sound of the lamp. The look. The sound. His face. The lamp. It’s repeating in a never ending cycle. Your brain is moving so fast, you’re combining the two experiences. Logically, you know it was way too dark to see him holding the lamp, but you can see it clear as day in your head.

He’s walking across the room. He stops to pick up the lamp. He’s got both hands wrapped around it, as if he needed all the force he could possible create. HI lifts it above his head, and crash- wait. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand. He’s holding the lamp like a mic stand!

“The lamp!” Your exclamation is so loud, Hotch looks as if he could’ve been surprised.

“He hit you with the lamp. We know.” Morgan’s voice is soothing, but your brain is moving through everything too fast to listen. You must look certifiably insane.

“No, the way he held the lamp.” Your brain is moving too fast for the words coming out of your mouth to catch up.

“You said it was too dark to see anything. How do you know how he held the lamp?” JJ looks confused more than anything at your behavior.

“I don’t. I mean, I do. I don’t know.” You’re being pulled back to the couch again. It’s as if the syrup has you in a bubble. You’re moving at a different frequency than the rest of them. You’re in a daze, not speaking as clearly as you are thinking.

“Y/N.” Hotch says your name with such a commanding presence, you’re focus is returned to the team. They’re staring at you with various expressions. Rossi looks so concerned you can’t help but think of the song you started for him. He really is the parental type. The rest of the team wear expressions that perfectly balance confusion, concern, and worry. Except for Hotch. He looks as stoic as ever, but there is a glint in his eye that seems to indicate he’s worried. “What about the lamp?”

“You’re right. I didn’t see the lamp in his hands. It was too dark.” This clears the confusion, but the concern and worry haven’t left their faces. “I can picture it though. And in my head, he was holding the lamp like I would hold a mic stand if I was trying to adjust the height.” You mime the grip in front of you. “That’s a weird fucking way to hold a lamp. So, why would I picture that?” They give you sympathetic looks, but nobody has an answer for you.

You’ve risen from the couch to pace back and forth across the room. The team starts speculating where the unsub would’ve taken Spencer, but you’re not listening. You are so sure there’s a reason you picture the lamp like that. You aren’t paying attention to them, and they aren’t paying attention to you. At least, that’s what you thought. You’re practically muttering to yourself when you figure it out. “I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand.” Hotch must have ears like an elephant because his head instantly swivels in your direction. You make the briefest of eye contact, a small smile forming on your face as you dart back toward the team.

“You’ve seen him before yesterday?” Hotch asks, cutting off the conversation currently going on between the agents. The group turns toward you, just realizing you’re no longer walking in circles talking to yourself.

“Yes. Yes, I’ve seen him adjust a mic stand. That must be why I pictured it like that in my head. The lamp I mean.” Hotch gives you a gentle nudge, encouraging you to reach a conclusion. “He works on the crew. His first show was the Louisville show.” Morgan already has Garcia on the phone, narrowing down the names for newer hires only.

“That’s still 42 names.” You can hear her nerves through the phone, and you’ve only met her once.

“Right, we hire a lot of new people for the US leg of the tour. It’s usually the biggest part.” You try to remember anything else about this man, wishing you had Spencer’s memory.

“Y/N, what else can you remember about him?” JJ’s words are gentle, but the look in her eyes is anything but. It is her best friend that’s missing.

“I don’t know. He’s never talked to me. I tried to introduce myself once and he just awkwardly ran away. The other crew guys he was working with, though they said something though.” You start tapping the side of your head, trying to recall the memory from nearly a month ago. “They said he’s been like that since he started. A little shy, I mean. They thought he was star struck.” You know they said something else, but it feels like you’re trying to catch individual grains of sand. You can just barely see them before they land in the water, fading away. “His name! One of them said his name. Jake or John or something with a J.”

“Three names.” The hope was evident in the way Garcia said the two simple words.

“What are they? I know they said his last name too, it’s just harder to remember because I didn’t talk to him personally.”

“Jacob Hawthorne-“

“No, it’s not him. He works in lighting, great guy. Cute kids.”

“Jordan Crawford”

“No, he’s a set designer. I talk to him all the time about switching things up between shows.”

“Last one, Joshua Gr-“

“Graves! Josh Graves That’s the name. That’s him!”

“Y/N, stay here. Agent Anderson will make sure you’re safe.” You can still hear his commanding voice as he leaves the room with the rest of the team. “Garcia, look for addresses where he-” The door swings shut, cutting you off from the rest of the information.

You gave Agent Anderson a small wave, asking if he wanted coffee or tea. You were still trying to be a good host, even if the room was a crime scene.

Crime scene. Suddenly, the idea of staying in this room any longer made you feel physically ill. You threw on a pair of sweatpants and a baseball hat, grabbing your keys as you headed for the door. Before Agent Anderson, or Grant as he introduced himself, could speak a word of protest, you had the door open.

“I can’t be in that room anymore. We can go wherever you want, I just can’t stay there.” He nodded in understanding, but still looked nervous at the idea of ignoring Hotch’s order to stay put.

The elevator doors opened to a mostly deserted lobby. You instantly walk over to the small café tucked into the corner. The barista recognizes you immediately, reaching for a bag as if you had already ordered.

“Ms. L/N, a man ordered this for you earlier. He said to give it to you as soon possible, but I didn’t want to wake you up since it’s still so early.” She has a sweet smile on her face, one you try to return but fail miserably.

“Thank you.” You’re far too stressed to worry about who ordered you a pastry before 5:45 in the morning on a day you were definitely not planning on being up this early. Agent Anderson, though? He was suspicious.

As you sat down in the arm chairs just outside of the shop, he politely asked for the bag.

“Why?” You said it with genuine confusion, but apparently he wasn’t actually asking. He had the bag open and the contents dumped onto the table in a matter of seconds. A blueberry muffin, you’re favorite, and a napkin topple onto the surface of the table in front of you.

“Are FBI agents trained to waste perfectly good muffins?” It’s hard to hide the slight mirth in your voice as you stare at the muffin that rolled of the table and onto the floor. Grant must not have heard you, or maybe he just chose to ignore you. He was still looking at the napkin. He took a picture on his phone before finally returning his attention to you. Of course, now your attention was trained on the napkin. It was your turn to move quickly, sliding it over to you and holding it out to prevent him from taking it back. The message on it was written in sloppy, rushed handwriting, but it was still legible.

“You belong with me. Not him.”

“His story is bound to have dust on every page when I’m done with him.”

“The slope was treacherous, the path reckless.”

“Do you think there’s enough blank space for him?”

You aren’t proud of the first thought that popped into your head. It was true, but you still would’ve liked to think your first thought would somehow tell you where Spencer was. Or at least be about Spencer, but no.

So rude of him to use my own lyrics for this.

You moved passed it quickly though, ignoring the fear you felt at seeing an unreleased lyric in front of you. There must be some sort of clue in the note. Why would he leave it for me if he doesn’t want me to find him? Grant managed to snatch the napkin out of your hand, but you had already read it. The damage was done.

“Y/N. You cannot leave this hotel. The team will find him. They know what they’re doing.” His words were a warning. One you intended to ignore.

“Fine. I’m going to get another muffin.” You tried to sound normal, but that’s probably what gave you away. Nobody would sound normal in this scenario. It didn’t matter if he figured out your plan though. You had a distraction for him. You waved at the barista as you walked into the shop.

“Hi, can I get another muffin? Accidentally dropped mine, whoops!” You smiled at her in a conspiratorial kind of way before leaning closer. “By the way, my friend over there” you nodded toward the agent who hadn’t taken his eyes off you as you walked away, “he thinks you’re cute. You should go talk to him!” Before you knew it, she was out from behind the counter, waving to her colleague to get you a muffin. She stood right in front of Grant, twirling her hair, but more importantly blocking his view of you.

You didn’t wait for the muffin. You slipped out the side door that lead straight to the main street, repeating the clues in your head. Dust. Treacherous. Blank Space.

Somewhere dirty, dangerous, and empty?

Ideas are flying through your head, but they don’t make any sense. The clues aren’t specific enough to tell you everything. It has to be somewhere you’ve been. Realization hits you as if a piano just fell out of the sky.

The arena. There was a staircase and some back rooms that were closed for construction. Dust, check. Unsafe conditions, check. Empty rooms, check. That has to be it.

You hail a cab, texting Hotch once you are on route to your destination. You know he’s going to tell you to stay put, but you want to make sure he knows where to go.

“The arena. They were doing construction.” You put your phone on airplane mode before returning it to your bag.

You expect to arrive at the arena to see it surrounded by black SUVs and police cars, but everything is eerily quiet. You must have beaten them there somehow. You pay your driver before walking up to the main doors. It seems like the best plan of action is to get inside and then find the construction zone. Weirdly enough, the front door is unlocked.

The sound of your shoes hitting the floor echoes in your mind as you wander through the building. It should be a fairly straightforward path, but you’re all turned around. Everything feels different. It’s no longer the nervous butterflies you get right before you perform. The syrup is coming back, only this time it’s pulling you in every direction except for the one you want to go in. You’re fighting your own sense of self preservation. Your brain is screaming at you to leave. You aren’t trained for this. You’re barely trained for anything that doesn’t involve music. But there is a part of you that still feels like this is all your fault. Maybe if you had just talked to him that day things would be different. You could’ve prevented all of this. Maybe…

The sound of Spencer’s voice pulls you forward. He sounds like he’s in pain, but the words are powerful.

“She’s not going to come. Even if she does get the note, there is no way the FBI would let her anywhere near the building.”

More guilt overwhelms you. It’s as if, all at once, the extreme stupidity of your actions hits you. You are putting Spencer’s life at risk. Hell, you are endangering the lives of any agent who has to walk into this building to protect you. You don’t know what will happen to Grant. You left him behind when all he was trying to do was protect you. You made it so he couldn’t do his job properly.

Your body leans into the nearest wall with a soft thud. You barely heard it, but it was apparently loud enough for Joshua.

“Someone’s hear.” His voice sounds playful, as if he’s really enjoying this. “Let’s hope for your sake it’s her.” You’re frozen in place as the footsteps grow closer and closer. You can’t hide. You can’t run. You can’t do anything except wait for him to walk around the corner and see you standing there.

Seeing him again isn’t like you thought it would be. You thought you’d be angered. Mostly, you’re just tired. Multiple panic attacks in one day could do that to a person. You also probably had a concussion that was influencing how you processed the emotional side of everything going on.

Seeing Spencer was different than expected as well. There was no huge wave of relief at discovering he was relatively unhurt. You felt relief, but it was like a tiny puddle surrounded by an ocean of guilt and sadness. There was mostly guilt, and no matter what anyone said before it felt different now. He was only in this position because of you. If he had not have been the one to go undercover, he wouldn’t have been targeted. And, it was your brilliant idea that landed him undercover in the first place.

He looked so panicked at the sight of you. A flurry of emotions ran across his face before settling back into a carefully controlled blank stare.

You wanted to run to him, but you couldn’t move. Yes, Josh was holding your arm in a grip sure to leave bruises, but your legs also felt like jelly. You kept thinking over and over that you shouldn’t have come. That you are only making everything worse. That everyone else’s jobs are so much harder now that you’ve put yourself here. Spencer must see it written on your face because the first thing he says after you enter the room is “It’s not your fault.”

Hearing it from him, you’re almost inclined to believe it. All you can do is nod, tears springing to your eyes.

Josh isn’t pleased with you sharing any sort of a moment with Spencer. He somehow tightens his hold on your arm, drawing a slight yelp from you. You try to remember what Hotch told you that first night. It feels like it happened months ago, but maybe you can talk your way out of this by remembering something useful. Or at least talk Spencer’s way out of it. You’ve been listening to him talk about profiling for the past week, time to put your skills to the test.

“I’m here now. You can let him go.” You don’t know who is more shocked at your words. Yourself, Josh, or Spencer. You’ve never seen Spencer speechless, but apparently you trying to talk down a psychopath who is obsessed with you and rapidly devolving is enough to manage the feat.

Josh pulls a gun from the waistband of his pants. He throws you into the wall before angrily pacing through the room.

“Josh, look at me.” It takes everything in you to pretend like this is a script. As if you are playing a role in a movie. “You have me. We can be together, but you have to let Spencer go.” He’s staring right into your eyes, trying to read your thoughts.

“You’re lying. He has to die, or he’ll always come between us.” He slowly raises the gun, not quite pointing it at any one, but enough to cause your heart rate to soar.

“Josh, think about it. I’ve known you for so much longer than I’ve known him.” You nearly choke on the next words that come out of your mouth. “He’s not important to me. Not like you.”

“STOP LYING TO ME. I KNOW WHAT I SAW.” Oh no. No no no. He’s frantically waving the gun around the room as you inch closer to Spencer. You notice movement near the door you came in, but you don’t have time to investigate. When Josh aims his gun at Spencer, you don’t think before you act- a recurring theme with you today. With all the grace of a newborn deer learning to walk for the first time, you jump in front of Spencer right as the gun goes off.

You’re not sure if it’s an echo but you would’ve sworn you heard two resounding bangs instead of just one.

Spencer catches you as you fall to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound in your abdomen.

“Spence,” you take a shuttering breath, trying to gain the strength to talk to him.

“Shh, Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” He turns to yell at someone out of your view. “I need a medic! Now!” He sounds just as panicked as he looked earlier.

“I’m sorry.” You squeeze his hand when he tries to interrupt you again. “I’m sorry, for coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” you couch a bit as you try to get the words out. “For everything.” You know he is remembering your heartfelt speech to him and Morgan from a few days ago, or at least you hope he is. The last thing you say before your vision fades to black feels so random in comparison. “Don’t blame Grant.”

“Spence,” your breathing is choppy and rough, contrasting the smooth skin beneath his fingertips as he assesses your wound.

“Shh. Y/N. It’s okay. You’re going to be okay.” His thoughts are running wild with everything he wants to say to you, but he can’t get anything meaningful to come out. Instead he’s yelling for a medic, frantically looking at all the faces of his closest friends. “I need a medic! Now!” He can hear the panic in his voice, but no amount of training or profiling knowledge can get him to control his emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He tries to interrupt you. To tell you it’s not your fault. That you did everything right. That Josh’s profile said he wouldn’t back down without a fight. Anything, but you squeeze his hand and he can’t breathe, let alone speak. “For coming, but not for sav-saving you. The world- it needs you to pr-pro-protect people. Th-thank you. For every,” he leans in closer, wishing he could do anything to stop your pain. “For everything.” He can’t help but replay your previous conversation with Morgan. Tears are falling down his face, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Don’t blame Grant.” It takes him the entire ride to the hospital to understand why you mentioned Anderson. Even with your brain shutting down from a lack of blood flow, you were still trying to make sure nobody was blamed for your actions.

He barely listens to the EMTs and the hospital staff as he watches them wheel you back through the all too familiar ‘Authorized Personnel Only” doors.

Spencer doesn’t bother to hide his emotions when the rest of the team arrive. He doesn’t have the energy in him to muster enough energy to hide how he’s feeling from the group of profilers. They all come to the same realization simultaneously. Spencer is a wreck. There’s no other way to describe it. He spent hours in the waiting room before anyone could even convince him to wash your blood off his hands.

He just keeps thinking about how he didn’t get to say goodbye. Hell, he didn’t really say anything. You were bleeding out in front of him, having just jumped in front of a bullet to save him, and still you had more strength than he did in the moment.

Another few hours later and he still hasn’t said a word. JJ’s tried. Derek’s tried. Hotch, Penelope, and Emily tried. Nobody can get through to him. He’s either pacing back and forth or staring at a wall. Of course, his mind is racing, the words just don’t come out of his mouth.

He thinks about how much he hates hospitals. He goes over how germ-ridden every surface is, how much money is spent on healthcare in America, how many people are pronounced dead in hospitals- and then he cuts his own train of thought off.

He thinks about the statistics of gunshot wounds next. He’s hyper focused on how clean shots with an exit wound are less lethal, but yours didn’t have and exit wound so that meant you were less likely to survive- and again he cuts himself off.

He’s begging his brain for happier thoughts. Anything that won’t lead him down the rabbit hole of statistics and how likely you are to die. He clings to the first memory that pops into his head. The night he first saw you.

Hotch, Emily, and Spencer arrived at the arena while the show was still going, if the fireworks were any clue. Normally, one flash of a badge would get the team through any checkpoint, but security at this place was no joke. They called to confirm the identities of the agents before escorting them to the head of security.

That’s when Spencer saw you for the first time. Hotch was arguing with the head of security, a woman named Carrie. Emily was interjecting, trying to convey how important it was that the three agents speak to you immediately without giving away any details about the case. Spencer, if not for his eidetic memory, would have no idea what had been said. His attention was drawn elsewhere when you ran off the stage.

He knew it was the last song of the night because of what Carrie was saying. It was clear to them she was stalling the team, so you could finish the show everyone was there to see.

You had a bright smile on your face, but it seemed off to Spencer. There was a slight sadness in your eyes, and he wanted nothing more than to ask you why. The feeling perplexed him. He’s never been a social butterfly, but your presence was captivating.

He watched your smile transform into genuine happiness when you slid your arms into a new jacket for the final performance, and he wanted to ask about that to. He wanted to learn everything he could about you.

He would’ve thought his heart had skipped a beat when you made eye contact, but he knew logically he would’ve required medical attention had that actually happened. The moment was brief. Your expression, although still happy, transformed into slightly quizzical when you glanced at the three agents. He watched as you thought about who they could be before discarding all thoughts from your mind to focus on the grand finale. He kept watching as you ran back on stage, the smile only growing in size and authenticity when you looked out at the crowd.

He replays that memory in his mind, all the while ignoring the concerned glances and attempts at conversation from his friends. He desperately clings to the way he felt during that 30 second interaction.

He doesn’t understand the feelings that started in that moment. It’s like as soon as he saw you, something in him shifted. He can’t explain it. He’s not blind. He saw the smirks and subtle glances the other profilers were giving when they saw him interact with you. He was just as surprised by his willingness to comfort you, both emotionally and physically. He’s never been one for touching people he doesn’t know. There’s too many germs. But with you, everything is different... With you, he wants it all. Every little thing.

Spencer has never believed in love at first sight. He’s always been too practical, has always thought too logically. But, after the tenth time reliving that moment, he still has no other explanation for the desire he felt. The desire he still feels to learn everything there is to know about you.

All week, he’s chalked it up to his inquisitive mind. He’s always loved learning, so that must have been what was happening here. He’s never spent any considerable amount of time with a musician before, so it’s only natural that he would want to learn from the experience.

That’s a much easier explanation to accept than love. People can’t fall in love in a week. Even if it was a week spent nonstop with each other. But something in the back of his mind was screaming at Spencer to tell himself the truth.

And so he did. And it only confused him more. He’s a man of science. Proving theories with facts, not emotion. Of course, he’s always wanted to be in love, but life has shown him again and again that it wasn’t probable for him. That’s why he nearly fell out of the chair he was in when the realization dawned on him.

“I haven’t had enough time.” It’s barely a whisper, but all his friends are right there hanging on his every word. They wear cautious expressions, as if he could be easily spooked back into silence.

“Enough time for what, kid?” Morgan’s voice is uncharacteristically soft. Even in his most calming moments, Derek always puts power behind his words. It’s why he’s so good at helping people, but this is different. He can tell Spencer is hurting, and he doesn’t want to spook him back into complete silence.

“I’ve barely scratched the surface. I have so much left to learn.” Although he’s still whispering, Spencer’s voice is growing more frantic as he looks between the concerned and confused faces staring back at him. His brain is moving too fast to really explain the thought process going on inside. He can’t put into words how it wasn’t love at first sight, but rather the desire to love you. He saw you and just knew he could love you. That desire to learn everything about you somehow turned into love in the span of a week. Before he can fall even deeper into the rabbit hole he’s found himself in, Spencer is jolted out of his head by the feeling of Rossi’s hands gripping his shoulders.

“I know, kid. You’ll have more time.” Rossi’s words are so confident, Spencer has no choice but to accept them as fact. His heart slows back down to a normal pace. His breathing becomes more regular. His legs stop bouncing. His hands stop fidgeting. And he accepts the comforting words from his family.

You’re running. You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here. But you know you’re running.

You feel at ease. You don’t know why. You know it to be true though. You feel safe. Peaceful.

You try to look around. Try to figure out why you’re running. Are you running toward something? Away from something? For fun? It feels fun.

You hear voices. It sounds like laughter. Slowly, you put the pieces together.

You’re in your backyard. Playing with your children. Yours and Spencer’s children. There’s three of them. All girls. The youngest is 4. The other two 6. Twins. You have twins with Spencer. You bask in the joy of it all.

You’re running because you’re playing tag. With your daughters and Spencer. He’s got the all teamed up against you. It feels unfair, but you wouldn’t change it for the world.

There’s a song playing in your head. One you’ve never heard before. It’s beautiful though. So happy. You’ll have to write it down. Find out if you’ve written it in the moment or if you are simply remembering it from long ago.

You still can’t remember how you got here. All you remember is dark. And cold.

Dark and cold. Dark. Cold. A gunshot.

The memory is foggy, but it’s there. The scene in front of you changes. The song is still playing. Its positivity doesn’t match the scene.

It’s like you’re watching a movie. Spencer is holding you. You squeeze your eyes shut. You want to go back.

Back to your kids.

Back to being happy with Spencer.

Back to running. Playing. Being in love.

Then you hear beeping. It’s quiet at first. Drowned out by the song in your head.

Then the song is getting quieter. The beeping getting louder.

Then the song is gone. You can only hear the beeping.

You remember everything when you open your eyes. It comes back to you like a wave crashing over your head, dragging you back into the ocean.

Instead of focusing on the trauma, you focus on the song.

It only takes 30 seconds for you to find your phone on the table next to your bed, open it to the voice memos app, and start recording.

You sing as much of the song as you can remember. It’s not hard since the feelings behind it are so strong. The first verse comes from the forth night you spent with Spencer. You couldn’t sleep so you convinced him to get coffee with you. It didn’t take much convincing for the coffee part since he’s pretty much addicted to the stuff. It took some convincing for him to agree to where you wanted to go though. You wanted to go back to his favorite coffee shop, but he said you could just get some in the hotel. You managed to convince him to go though. He insisted on driving since he now knew you didn’t like it much. The gesture did not go unnoticed. You knew he didn’t like driving either.

The chorus, second verse, bridge, and breakdown are jumbled, but they’re all there. It’s harder to get it right because it’s not coming from memories of you time with Spencer. It’s coming from what you hope to do with him. After a few tries, you’ve got the whole thing in order.

You lay back in your bed, the song replaying in your mind as you fall back asleep.

5 hours and 42 minutes. It’s been 5 hours and 42 minutes since you were wheeled into surgery. Every member of the team has gone up to ask about your condition at least once.

The nurse they’ve been bombarding with questions walks into the room and immediately all eyes are on her.

She escorts the team out of the waiting area into a private room before she says anything. “Since Ms. L/N is a high profile patient, we have a certain protocol to follow. All I can tell you right now is that she’s out of surgery, and she’s stable. Her security team is on the way and will need to approve any and all visitors. Once approved, her doctor can give you more information.” And then she leaves before any questions can be thrown at her.

Everyone breathes a collective sigh of relief when they hear that you’re stable. That relief is replaced by frustration when they realize they have to wait to see you. Especially for Spencer. If he could walk more than two steps in this tiny room, he’d be pacing it. Once he starts rambling, not a single team member dare to interrupt him.

It must have been 25 minutes of fidgeting, mumbling, and checking their watches before Carrie walked into the room, interrupting Spencer’s rant.

“I don’t see why our badges aren’t enough proof that we can- Carrie. Finally, can we go see her now?” Based on the look in Spencer’s eyes, anything other than an affirmative answer would not end well.

“Spencer, of course. I just had to confirm your identity in person. It’s standard procedure when she’s in the hospital. For safety reasons. The doctor should be coming in any minute and she can take us to her room.” As if on cue, the doctor walked in.

“Hello everyone, sorry to keep you waiting. Ms. L/N’s surgery went very well. The bullet was removed and all the internal bleeding was stopped before it got too bad. As you know, we’ve got her in a private room. She can have visitors, but limit it to one or two people at a time. Do you have any questions?”

Spencer knows somewhere in his mind that he should ask the doctor everything about your condition, but he can barely keep it together enough to shake his head no. He doesn’t trust himself with words right now.

“Alright, follow me to her room.” A parade of agents, along with Carrie, follow the doctor down twisting hallways to the private wing. “Now, remember one or two at a time. Last I checked, she was still asleep.” Spencer’s gaze drifts from the doctor to look at you through the window. At first glance, he would’ve sworn your eyes were open, but when he looked back again they were closed.

“Once I go in there, I’m not coming back out until she’s awake.” He turned to the rest of the group.

“Spence, it’s okay. You go in. Let us know when she’s awake.” JJ gave him a reassuring hug before her and the rest of the team wandered back to the waiting room.

Spencer and Carrie walked in slowly, as if any sudden movement could hurt you. For the first time in his life, Spencer’s mind was completely empty.

There were no statistics. No miscellaneous facts. Nothing.

He looked at you, asleep in a hospital bed after you saved his life, and he allowed himself to just feel.

It took a strange amount of concentration for him to only feel. His brain wants to butt in with statistics about the surgery or to count your breathing so he will notice any change in the pattern. But, he blocks it out. For you.

He sits down in the chair beside your bed, grabs your hand in his, lays his head on the side of your bed, and feels everything.

He feels all the love he’s been denying for the past week. He feels all the relief of knowing you are okay. He feels all the pain of watching you slip away from him. He feels everything he’s ever blocked out with numbers and statistics. And it’s exhausting. To feel so much at once.

Without thinking about it, he feels his eyes grow heavier with each added emotion.

Love.

Relief.

Pain.

Sadness.

Greif.

Anger.

Fear.

Gratitude.

Happiness.

Just the prospect of being happy is heavy enough that Spencer falls asleep.

The first thing he notices is that he’s running. He’s chasing someone. But not like he normally has to. No. There’s no unsub. Nobody is in danger. He’s playing a game. With children. His children. His and Y/N’s children. He has three daughters. The twins are older, around 6. The youngest is 4. They are helping him chase their mom. His wife. He’s built quite a future for himself in his head. He listens to the sounds of laughter, memorizing each individual’s laugh.

He feels something squeeze his hand and he’s awake. Groggy, but awake. He wants to go back to the dream. To remember what pure happiness feels like.

Then he remembers where he is. And why he’s there. The grogginess is gone. He’s alert in an instant. He’s looking at you, but you aren’t focused. You’re mumbling under your breath, looking for something in the sheets with your one free hand.

“My phone. Where’s my phone? Was it real? Did I dream it?” You seem so flustered, and he can’t fathom why your phone could be so important, but he finds it for you nonetheless.

“Thank you!” He watches as you rapidly open your phone, intently staring at the screen as if it might disappear.

“What are you-” Before he can finish the thought, a voice- no, your voice is playing from your phone.

“It was real…” You are clearly in a daze, but the happiness in your voice is contagious. Suddenly Spencer is smiling, pulling you closer to him as the lyrics to your song play in the background. He peppers soft kisses over any piece of skin he can reach. Your giggles fill him with even more love. Even more happiness.

When the two of you finally separate, he asks the first question he can think of. “When did you write this?”

You think back to your dream. The love. The joy. The pure happiness. You feel Spencer brushing the tears off your cheeks before you even realized you were crying. “It came to me in a dream. I… I guess I woke up earlier and I wanted to remember it. The dream. The song. It was all so beautiful. So happy. You were there. And then when I woke up I just recorded everything I could remember.”

Spencer is looking at you with such adoration that you almost feel shy. You want more than anything for that dream to be a reality. Not right away obviously, but in the future for sure.

“It’s beautiful.” His words are soft and low.

“It’s about you.” If you weren’t in a hospital bed, you might be inclined to think you were still in a dream. “About us.”

“I love it. I love you.” Spencer whispers the words into your skin. Almost like it was involuntary, it slipped out like a breath.

“I love you too.” He kisses you again, before the sound of the door opening breaks you two apart.

Carrie rushes in when she sees you’re awake, not realizing the moment that had just occurred.

“Oh, Y/N. I’m so glad you’re okay!” She squeezes you lightly in a one armed hug, the other hand carrying a tray of coffees and a paper bag. “I brought coffee for Spencer and a scone for you!”

“Well, I hope you poured a mountain of sugar into it. He likes it sweet.” You turn to smile at the man only to find him already looking at you.

“Only as sweet as you.” You laugh at the cheesiness of the moment, but you blush anyway, squeezing his hand. “Thank you, Carrie, for the coffee. I should go let the team know you’re awake.” He kisses your forehead before he walks out of the room.

“Oh honey, you have a lot to fill me in on.” Carrie is looking at you with the biggest smirk you’ve ever seen. She has been your head of security for 4 years, and the two of you have become close friends through all the crazy experiences. Although, nothing as crazy as this.

“What do you mean? I told you I thought he was cute…” You really have no hope of hiding this from her, but you can mess with her a little bit.

“Yeah, but kissing you on the forehead? Calling you sweet in the corniest of ways? What’s going on? Tell me!!” You could leave her hanging, but you are really feeling the need to gush.

“I wrote him a song. In my dream. I think it conveys everything pretty clearly.” You play the song for her, again remembering how you felt in the dream. When it’s over you’re nearly in tears again.

“It’s stunning. Just so beautiful. I’m glad you’ve found someone who makes you so happy.” You can tell she’s nervous about something, and you’ve got a pretty good idea of what.

“Carrie, don’t worry about me. I really think he’s the one. I’ve never felt this strongly, especially so fast. And I know what you’re thinking, fast might not be good, but we’ve spent so much time together. I mean, think about it. How long does the average date last? 2, 3 hours? At that rate, we’ve already been on roughly 37 dates! And that’s if you don’t count the hours we spent sleeping, which we also did together!”

Carrie snorts at that. “Yeah, sleeping.”

“No, I mean actually sleeping.” You try to stress the point. “He kissed me once, but the rest of the time was spent getting to know each other, writing songs, him working on the case, and sleeping. Eyes closed, pajamas on, sleeping.”

Her eyes soften, the smile on her face widening before she responds. “Okay. I won’t worry… too much.” You’re just about to tell her about the dream when the door opens again.

Penelope comes storming into the room with flowers and a teddy bear, whisper shouting about how happy she is that you’re okay. Just before you turn to give her your full attention, you can see Derek and Spencer talking in the hall.

“Come on Pretty Boy, what’s going on there?” Derek’s wearing his usual smirk for whenever Spencer’s love life is concerned.

“What do you mean?” Try as he might, Hell would have to freeze over for Derek to stop this line of questioning.

“I mean, I see how you look at her. Hell, we all watched you fall apart in the waiting room. What’s the deal? C’mon man, fill me in!” Spencer doesn’t know how to describe it. He doesn’t know how to convert the emotions he’s recently accepted into words, so he tries something else.

“She wrote me a song.” Spencer’s words are wistful. He’s transported himself back into dreamland. Back to the kids and the games. Back to happiness.

“Kid, it’s more than that. She wrote all of us songs.” Derek’s words cause the dream to sleep away yet again. .

“No, well yes. Although technically we wrote that song about me together. I mean, she wrote me an entire song. In a dream.” This time, Derek replies too quickly for him to slip back into the dream.

“Reid. You’re not making sense. You dreamt that she wrote you a song?” Derek’s words are comforting, like he’s trying to figure out the best way to help Spencer convey his emotions without pushing him too far.

“No. She said after her surgery, she had a dream. About me. About… us. The song was playing in the background.” Derek nods, finally understanding his friend.

“Okay, so what was the song about?” Again, his words are soft.

“Us. The time we’ve spent together and the time she wants us to spend together in the future.” It’s taken Derek this long into the conversation to realize why Spencer seems so out of it. He’s happy. He’s not faking it. He’s not hiding behind statistics. He’s just happy. Plain and simple.

“And that’s what you want to?” He can’t help but smile, really truly smile, at the pure look of adoration that Spencer wears when he looks through the window at you.

“More than anything.” Derek pulls him into a hug. Normally, hugs like this are typically reserved for when they just saved each other or after a particularly bad case. This case, although involving Spencer’s kidnapping and a trip to the hospital, had a rather positive outcome.

“Good. You deserve it man.”

A few days later and you are itching to leave the hospital. You’ve been working to reschedule your tour dates so you can fully recover before performing again, but even with that it’s incredibly boring to be stuck in the hospital for so long.

“Good news. You can leave the hospital tomorrow!” Spencer walks in, followed by the rest of the BAU team. They’ve been taking turns visiting you, something you suspect Spencer asked them to do, but you don’t really mind. You’ve actually become good friends with most of them.

“Yay!” Before too much celebration can occur, you’re passing out USBs to each team member. “I’m glad you’re all hear. I managed to record some preliminary versions of your songs! Listen to them whenever you’d like, or don’t that’s cool too. Either way, I’ll make sure to get you the properly recorded versions when I get a chance to go into the studio. I included some thoughts about other inspirationsas well, so don’t feel bad if there is a lyric that doesn’t really match you.” The majority of the team give you thanks and endless praise before Hotch clears his throat.

“Our songs? Did I miss something?” You chuckle at that. The man clearly doesn’t miss anything ever.

“Nobody told you? The first day I met you all, Pen asked me to write a song inspired by her. Trust me, it wasn’t hard. She’s a fountain of inspiration. Then when I was waiting for Spence to get back so we could go to the hotel, I came up with one or two for everyone!” You can’t tell if Hotch is more or less concerned now than when he was out of the loop.

“So I have a song? What is it?” The rest of the team can’t hide their smirks. It’s clear they never get to see their boss act this nervous.

“Well, it’s on the CD!” He groans at the idea of waiting when everyone else already knows. “But, since everyone else got a sneak peak, I’ll give you one too. Wasn’t it beautiful running wild till you fell asleep? Before the monster’s caught up to you… It’s okay, just wait and see. Your string of lights is still bright to me. Oh, who you are is not where you’ve been. You’re still an innocent.” You give everyone a minute to think about the lyrics before the silence is too much for you to take.

“I’m sorry if that’s weird! It’s just, the first time I saw you, and there was this look in your eyes. In all of your eyes, but yours the most.” You are looking straight at Hotch. “Like you’ve been through some really terrible things, and maybe you had to do some things that can be hard to deal with. But, that doesn’t make you a bad person or anything, ya know? That’s where the inspiration came from…” You can’t tell if your rambling helped or not. The profilers are so hard to read. Pen is subtly crying near the side of your bed, so you pull her in for a hug. Before you know it, the rest of the team is joining in.

“It’s not weird at all. You are pretty good at reading people, ever consider becoming a profiler?” Hotch is clearly trying to lighten the mood, but his expression conveys how much he appreciates the song.

“I think this will be my first and last case. Clearly I’m not that great at talking down the bad guy.” You shudder to think of putting yourself in that position again.

“From what I heard, you did a pretty decent job. The ending was exactly what we expected unfortunately. Plus, you can definitely hold your own. I heard you flipped Morgan over your shoulder like a ragdoll.” Rossi’s comment earns laughs from the entire group.

“Please, I just caught him off guard. Although, I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on his face afterwards.” Again, the groups laughs. “I just wanted to thank you all. For protecting me, but also for visiting me so much. You really know how to see the positive side of things.”

“Anyone willing to jump in front of a bullet for Spencer is definitely a friend of ours.” JJ chimes in.

You can’t help but truly smile at the team. It seems you’ve found yourself another family, and you couldn’t be more grateful.

tag list:

@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13 , @ladyravenclaw , @uwucorpse , @dark-night-sky-99 , @thechloethings , @http-cherries , @emilouu

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst

236 notes · View notes

chalkrevelations · 3 years

Text

OK, Word of Honor, Episode 9, and I know last time I got deep in the weeds about symbolism, but this week, I’m getting back to basics and rambling on (and on) about what this show is really about: Zhou Zishou and Wen Kexing and their relationship.

First, though, the usual warning: SPOILERS. Not just for this episode, but potentially for the entire show, so drive past and circle back around later if you want to watch all 36.5 eps unspoiled.

Bear with me on this one, because this ep spends a LOT of time on ZZS and WKX, and I think a lot of that time is ZZS making some Monumental Life Decisions, including how he’s going to proceed in this relationship and how he’s going to approach his life moving forward. But I’m finding myself needing to work through it chronologically, and it’s. A Lot. Also, let’s face it, ZZS has been my ride-or-die at least since he dropped to his knees and started disrobing in the middle of the throne room in Ep 1, so a chance to wallow in his emotional journey is a chance I’m gonna take.

So, we do have a brief opener when we find out Dead Guy who the Yueyang disciple was shrieking about at the end of the last ep is Fang Buzhi, AKA the Nine Clawed Fox, the guy who lifted WKX’s (Danyang) Glazed Armor (along with some replicas). He got got by mysterious somebodies in the previous episode, and we find out now that he has three tiny needles in his neck, which ZZS recognizes as a Tian Chuang technique. This leads ZZS to 1) assume it must have been Han Ying who did it, so the (Danyang) Glazed Armor is now in the hands of Tian Chuang, and 2) realize that maybe this is not the best place for the former leader of Tian Chuang to be hanging out right now, so he makes their excuses, because he knows that Gao Chong must be VERY BUSY now that he’s got this corpse on his hands, so they’ll just BE GOING, thanks so much. Gao Chong hopes to see them at the Hero’s Conference, and WKX responds in a Significant Tone that of course he’ll be at the Hero’s Conference, and now ZZS has his Thinky Face on again, because WKX is not nearly as subtle as he seems to think he is when he’s making Pronouncements.

The ZZS/WKX Show really starts kicking into gear that night, at the Getting Lucky Good Luck Inn, where we open on ZZS wandering contemplatively around his room, looking beautiful in the soft light of evening (your FACE, Zhang Zhehan) and ruminating on Prince Jin’s motives for wanting the Glazed Armor, like he’s never met this power-hungry asshole before. Also, he thinks to himself, wtf was that, with Gao Chong keeping anybody from seeing Chengling in the last ep? There’s a knock on the door, which momentarily confuses him - understandably, because as we’ll see, WKX doesn’t generally get the concept of announcing yourself and waiting to be invited in by knocking first, preferring to dramatically bust open doors (at least to ZZS’s bedroom) and grace you with his presence, whatever your thoughts on the matter are. He’s accompanied by waiters and dinner, and ZZS realizes his senses are going, presumably because he can’t smell this spread that WKX has procured in an attempt to prove what a good provider he is (what did I say about food and bonding? ZZS fed him in the market, and now it’s his turn to feed ZZS). WKX tells us that life is just three hots and a cot - which gives away more about your life than you would likely be comfortable with us knowing, Lao Wen, given how close to the vest you’re holding your cards – and that everything else can wait if you can have a meal with someone you like. :coff: (Also, remember this, it will come around again.)

Cut to dinner by flickering candlelight, the better for soft lighting to caress ZZH’s exquisite face, but ZZS isn’t into it at all, staring into space instead of eating WKX’s proffered Courtship Delicacies. This earns what’s possibly WKX’s most hypocritical and amusing comment yet, which is to ask ZZS, “What is it that you can’t tell me?” ZZS - apparently - is still feeling soft about WKX’s help against Tian Chuang’s Chengling-kidnapping attempt - or maybe he’s thinking that a little bit of opening up on his part will soften up WKX - because he hardly has to have a spoon dug into his ribs at all to admit that he’s wondering if it was a mistake to bring Chengling to Five Lakes Alliance. My dude, just steal him back, then. WKX laughs at him and tells him he’s got such a handsome face (true) along with a kind and innocent heart (false, he’s a former government spook and assassin, a part-time ill-tempered gremlin, and a whole-ass troll), and therefore girls will clearly go crazy for him (true, just ask me). ANYWAY, A-Xu, (WKX continues) now that the requisite random no-homo boilerplate is out of the way, are you really thinking of taking on Chengling as a disciple, because now is apparently not too soon to have the adoption conversation about Our Son. I almost expect him to pull out the adoption papers then and there. Instead, he pulls out a story - which is awkwardly placed and kind of clunky, actually, despite being thematically important - of a dog he had once, given to him by Someone Very Important, although of course he’s not going to say who that was (:facepalm:), and his mother warning him that he’d have to take care of it for life, and then he betrayed it.

So, there’s a lot going on here. We’ll eventually find out that ZZS gave Zhen Yan a puppy, so will this story of a gift dog jog ZZS’s memory into realizing that WKX is Zhen Yan without WKX actually telling him, so that WKX can tell his Bundle of Neuroses that it’s not reeeaaallly WKX’s fault ZZS figured it out? Also, WKX sees ZZS being like this about Chengling, and in the Chengling = Zhen Yan equation we’ve already established, is it possible this will prime ZZS to remember another disciple/young boy he took responsibility for, at one point? Of course, on ZZS’s side of things, it’s possible that hearing about this dog that WKX failed is likely to remind him of the way he failed his own responsibility to all the other disciples of Siji Manor, so, excellent way to take a stab at his heart, WKX! However, ZZS breaks the miserable tone we’ve become mired in by smacking WKX, chiding him for comparing their son to a dog, and getting them drinking. See, here, Chengling is the dog. Earlier, the two sisters A-Xiang rescued were the dog. Later, A-Xiang will be the dog. Unfortunately, WKX is going to have a blind spot and never quite realize that, in the Ghost Valley schema he’s set up, the Department of the Unfaithful is also the dog, but we’ll get to that in later eps. For now, cut to later that night: After dinner and a washup, ZZS sits on his bed, and we get some special effects to indicate that his hearing is also giving him problems, so he deploys his special Nightly Nails Torment meditation pose, and then we get the second instance of WKX playing the xiao to help him meditate and rest. (Junjun, your hands on that xiao …) ANYWAY, we get a gorgeous little bit of physical acting from ZZH here that could easily have been overplayed but is nicely restrained and subtle, with just the slightest smile when ZZS realizes WKX is playing, and then his whole body visibly relaxing as he allows himself to sink into WKX’s now-familiar musical embrace the meditation. It is :chef’s kiss:

Cut to next AM, when ZZS is now a very cranky boy, and I get this, because I also am exceedingly irritated when people bust into the room where I’m sleeping with an abundance of cheerfulness and try to get me to interact and do things without at least half an hour to creep my way out of bed, two cups of coffee, and an hour of silence before any attempts to converse like a reasonable human being (I’m looking at YOU, mom), and I don’t even have the excuse of seven Nails pinning me. Also, when WKX whips off the blankets, we learn that ZZH dresses to the right. :hands: I’m just making an observation. So, WKX wants to go to Yuefan Tower like some kind of wide-eyed tourist, and despite some smacking and scowling and death threats, we then smash-cut to the Tower, where ZZS has apparently come to the conclusion that the only way to deal with the ADHD gremlin crawling into his bed is to humor him about this daytrip. I think you could have come up with some more creative ideas that didn’t involve leaving bed, but I guess you’re not the fast one in this relationship, Zhou-ge. Srsly, though, I’m sure WKX would have been happy to do all the work, my dude. (I don’t always have strong top-bottom preferences, but you probably aren’t going to have much luck convincing me that ZZS is not a pillow princess who wants to just lay back and be spoiled. “Aren’t you a very capable man?” indeed. WKX has to do ALL THE WORK, god. I don’t know if I’m swimming against the current here – god knows I was in Inception fandom, where I felt the same way about Eames - but here we are.) Also, I can’t believe WKX didn’t just sit in the bedroom and creep on A-Xu’s beautiful sleeping profile for at least the amount of time it would have taken to drink a pot of tea, another viable option if it was me in this scenario. Tch. What kind of stalker are you, Lao Wen?

ANYWAY, at Yuefang Tower, ZZS tells us about the Four Sages of Anji, a senior-citizen polycule of soulmates who are, conveniently, at this very moment, on a boat in the lake beside the tower, playing music and sword-dancing. This is the first time they’ve been seen in 10+ years, after they put down their various swords and ran off together to live like hippies off-the-grid in the woods, probably skipping around naked, drinking “tea,” and having lots of sex. ZZS sighs wistfully while recounting this tale and calls them “a breath of fresh air.” There’s some discussion and poetry quoting and literary references to soulmates, and somewhere in here we get a shot of ZZS and WKX from behind which makes it super-obvious how hard they’re working the costumes to make Gong Jun look as broad as possible. He’s got the power shoulders on this set of robes, compared to Laopo ZZS’s soft, unstructured, flowing robes, and with those shoulders tapering down to the belted waist, they’ve got Junjun seriously working the Chris Evans Dorito silhouette. Meanwhile, focus back on their conversation: ZZS thinks that “the world is not important, finding a soulmate is,” giving some MAJOR FORESHADOWING for the end of the show (which we are accepting as “Ep” 37 because WE ARE), when we get that icy separation from the rest of the world but they have each other. WKX gives him a yearning look. ZZS looks back … there’s really no other way to put this … coyly, not meeting WKX’s gaze directly. This offers WKX and us a chance to admire his profile once again, thank you, Laopo. ZZS waits until WKX looks back out at the lake before looking at him directly, and his face journey, y’all. He’s thinking that it might not be bad to spend his remaining time with this soulmate, I think he’s starting to re-think the slow suicide, and he’s also thisclose to just letting WKX have him. Y’all, he seriously wants WKX so bad, here. It may be the first time we’ve seen this level of interest from him - it may be the first time, in all that we’ve seen of him, that he allows himself to even have that kind of interest. I think this is the next big step from Ep 6, when he allowed himself to enjoy being desired - now he’s allowing himself to desire, to want something again, other than a chance to drink himself to death in the gutter. This, right here, is a crucial point when he makes the decision to spend whatever time he’s got left living rather than just dying, and I’m flailing on the couch. This is the face of a man who’s ready to Make Some Declarations while getting railed within an inch of his life. SOMEONE IS GETTING SOME TONIGHT. Or he would if he wasn’t going to turn out to be such a fuckup. FFS, WKX.

But first, we cut to a scene of them back at the marketplace, wandering through as WKX mocks various sects in town for the conference – including the Mount Hua boys, who apparently look like virgins make their first trip to a brothel – and ZZS supplies background info on them. WKX asks if ZZS can tell what sect WKX is from, and ZZS calls him a messy bitch before asking if WKX can please stop making him play guessing games about everything and just tell him what WKX so clearly wants ZZS to know. (I know, right? But no, because then WKX might get what he wants, and he’s way too terrified for that, so you have to guess. That way, it’s not his fault when you figure out who he is and reject him, as anyone clearly will do because he’s unlovable and unforgiveable and not even really human, A-Xu.) WKX immediately changes the subject to ramble about the Hero’s Conference and how laughable all the sects are for wanting to be seen as heroes, blah blah blah, rinse and repeat. ZZS comments that only inexperienced people want to be heroes, that experienced people know “every character of the word hero is written in blood,” and yes, the character they’re using for hero, “ying,” is still the same character used in Han Ying’s name (which is not, by the way, the “ying” used in Wei Ying’s name, to cross streams for a moment). ZZS says he’s too old to be a hero (I and my knees feel you, my dude), now he’s just a wanderer, and he asks if WKX wants to be a hero or a wanderer, and WKX says that as a wanderer, all he needs is ZZS, and I’m telling you, someone absolutely would be getting some tonight if only he wasn’t such a fuckup, Lao Wen.

I’m’a try to wrap this up soon, because it’s gotten v. long, but we then cut to that night at the Getting Lucky Inn, ZZS drinking in his room, WKX busting in with his usual dramatic flair, with wine, inviting ZZS up to the roof to drink and look at the moon. He clearly has ulterior motives, but unfortunately for everyone, we’re going to discover they’re not the ulterior motives ZZS is expecting. As they lean back on the roof together, hands almost-but-not-quite touching, a romantic tune playing, WKX tells ZZS that he’s like, really happy! Just super happy! So happy! Ask me why I’m so happy, A-Xu! Spoiler alert: It is, unfortunately, not because he’s getting ready to get some from his laopo. This is particularly unfortunate, because ZZS chooses this moment to take another big step in this relationship, telling WKX that he’s not going to ask about things WKX doesn’t want to tell him, that he’ll wait for whatever WKX wants to tell him. On the surface, this comes off a little bit like, I’m done with asking when you’re not going to answer anyway, but in context – particularly on the back of the earlier scene when ZZS watched WKX turn on a dime and immediately change the subject to avoid exposing anything when ZZS asked WKX to stop making him guess everything – this is as good as a declaration of going all-in. ZZS is committing to this relationship on faith, without having all – or even most – of the answers about WKX, and his approach is going to be to wait until WKX is ready to reveal whatever information he feels safe and comfortable revealing. In practice, he’s going to end up being better or worse at this, depending on the day, but what it reminds me of, already, is that moment in the 20s (Ep 21? 22?) when A-Xiang and Cao Weining are arguing about her killing the beggar guy, he approaches her, she yells at him and points to the ground to indicate exactly how close he’s allowed to get to her, and his respect of that boundary she lays down is instantaneous and absolute. That’s what ZZS is saying he’s going to at least try to do, here. It also reminds me of the way he’s going to respect WKX’s decision on whether or not WKX is going to claim his place as a disciple of Siji Manor, without it affecting their relationship, so we really are starting as ZZS means to go on, here.

Unfortunately, we then find out that what WKX is actually so happy about is that his plan to burn down the jianghu is starting its next big step, and their romantic evening is interrupted by a bunch of dudes fighting and killing each other over a bunch of fake Glazed Armor. WKX mentions that he’s so happy the show’s started; he’s alternately amused, satisfied, and smug as they watch various fights; he seems to be expecting ZZS to also be amused; and I feel like the implication is that this was his real motive for inviting ZZS out onto the roof, to be able to watch this show with him. ZZS – who’s spent enough time standing ankle-deep in blood for six lifetimes and was working hard just a few weeks ago at drinking himself to death to try to forget what that feels like - is displeased and horrified, rather than very proud of what WKX has accomplished; he pushes WKX away from him when WKX approaches him to ask if he doesn’t think it’s all so very amusing; and he calls WKX crazy, then turns his back on him and walks away. To make things worse, the next morning, after WKX brings breakfast to ZZS’s room and actually knocks, only to find that ZZS has left in the middle of the night, WKX will witness an angry mob gathered outside the house in the woods where the Four Sages of Anji are staying for the Hero’s Conference, demanding a piece of the Glazed Armor the Sages are supposedly holding for Gao Chong, and eventually leading to the deaths of all four of these peaceful aging hippies whose commune in the woods was ZZS’s ultimate dream, leaving WKX horrified by the fact that his actions have consequences, including some that are going to make his boyfriend even more pissed off at him.

SO. All that happened. There were some other people in the episode, too:

We see A-Xiang and Cao Weining having lunch. She asks him why he’s not eating, calls him fat and cute, then proceeds to tell him about Ghoul, who likes to eat the faces of pretty boys. Her conversation skills could still use some work. Cao Weining vows to kill the ghosts of Ghost Valley who would do such awful things. A-Xiang actually ignores this slander about the evil of the residents of the Ghost Valley in a way that she doesn’t usually – usually she looks kind of unhappy when the Evilness of the Evil Inhabitants of the Evil Ghost Valley comes up, going all the way back to ZZS’s comments in Ep 2. Right now, she’s too busy pumping Pooh Bear for information, asking about why the Ghost Valley would have left a pile of heads on Yueyang’s doorstep if the Five Lakes Alliance is so great, so what is Five Lakes going to maybe, perhaps, do about this? Cao-dage is suspicious … that A-Xiang might be scared, but don’t worry, he’ll protect her. Oh, sweetheart. I could eat you up with a spoon, right along with Ghoul. Also, it finally registers that A-Xiang called him cute, but she has to step away for a quick confab with a henchwoman.

We also have to watch Chengling get bullied some more by a Yueyang shixiong who I think is Gao Shan, who we’ll later see bullying some prisoners in the Yueyang dungeon as he admits that he’s doing it to relieve his own frustrations and make himself feel better - fantastic disciples you’ve got there, Gao Chong, I’m super-impressed by the morality and ethics you’re instilling as a sect. Once again, I have to consider WKX’s position on the jianghu as a hive of scum and villainy. Anyway, once Bullying Hour is over, Chengling runs into A-Xiang, and he can’t manage to prevent the waterworks as he confesses that he thought he’d never see any of them again and that ZZS didn’t want him. UGH. Zhou Zishu, come and get your child back. He’s at least somewhat mollified by Xiang-jie telling him she’s been sent to take care of him, and god knows she’s managed to keep WKX fed and clothed this long, so she has some experience as a minder, as counterintuitive as that seems.

We get a quick shot of Han Ying (My Beloved) with two identical pieces of Glazed Armor, apparently realizing that there are fakes out there.

Deng Kuan shows up, beaten and stumbling, and nearly gets turned away at the front gates of his own sect as a beggar – have I mentioned how unimpressed I am by the Yueyang disciples? Deng Kuan appears to be the only one of them worth anything – before they realize who he is. He is put to bed and tenderly nursed by Gao Xiaolian, who cries over him as he won’t wake up.

Finally, Gao Chong, Shen Shen and Zhao Jing (uh-huh) are horrified to discover that there’s fake Glazed Armor fk’n everywhere in town, making Five Lakes Alliance look ridiculous, which is just fabulous as the Hero’s Conference is coming up, guys. Shen Shen, because everything is a nail, vows to kill anyone who makes problems. Later, Hei Zi, who plays Gao Chong, has an utterly fantastic moment after the deaths of the Four Sages (wow, I did not remember that we wrapped up their entire storyline within a single ep), when he’s haranguing Beggar Gang Chief and is literally all, “You want the Glazed Armor? :pulls a piece out of his robe: HERE. You want some more? :pulls another piece out of his robe: TAKE IT.” It’s a great acting moment, his delivery is perfection.

#zhou zishu #wen kexing #zhang chengling #gu xiang #cao weining #han ying #deng kuan #gao chong #word of honor #word of honor episode reax

21 notes · View notes

astriefer · 3 years

Text

I will elaborate more later, but I reached 100 followers on Tumbler and I just find it? So? Amazing??? I don't get why someone would follow me but I love you all a lot!! <3

Thank you @kit-12 for dealing with my incapable mind and helping me get the courage to post it. You're the best :3

Warning: bad writing and possible fluff.

"Come here," Cordelia wheedled, spreading her arms. "Come to your sister, azizam."

Their sibling, sitting on the other side of the carpet, was too busy playing with his toy to notice. He was bubbling and giggling as he shook the Persian doll vigorously.

"This is ridiculous," commented Alastair from his place on the armchair. He laid there, twisted so one leg was over the arm of the chair and the other fell to the floor. He also, for five minutes straight, kept saying how ludicrous Cordelia's attempts were.

"You will see," she retorted, redoubling her effort for the sake of proving Alastair wrong. She reached out her arms and signaled their sibling to get closer. "Come on, Baraadar-e koochektar. Let's prove our ill-tempered brother you can do it!"

Alastair rolled his eyes, cutting his gaze back to the newspaper in his hands. "He still too young to crawl. Leave him off alone."

"No," she insisted. She looked at her brother with a keen look, despite his eyes rested on the printed words on the newspaper. "He will. Have some faith, Alastair."

"I have faith just alright," he said. "But he'll do it when he's ready."

Cordelia didn't resist making a face. Their baby brother laughed at it, a toothless grin that reminded Cordelia of Alastair's.

That was one thing she and Alastair would argue about frequently: Whose smile is more like the baby's smile, what weapons would he use growing up, would he like Persian literature and art like them and Maman, what food he'd like, what music he'd prefer (Alastair stated their brother loves classical music, she's certain he prefer Blues much better).

"You talk as if I make him walk on a five feet tall rope. It's just crawling." She smiled fondly at her baby brother. "Oh, little one, I hope you won't end up like Alastair." She pretended to shudder from the thought. "Great Lord, I'd do all in my force to prevent such tragedy."

"Very amusing," Alastair said dryly.

Her brother looked up at her, chubby cheeks flushed from glee and expression clear of any fuss. Cordelia smiled to him encouragingly, coaxing him up to try and reach her. He glanced at her innocently for three steady seconds before ignoring her again in favor of the toy in his hand.

Cordelia stared blankly. Alastair mumbled under his breath, and she turned to glare at him. He pressed his lips together, clearly suppressing a grin.

"What?" she demanded.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to come to you," he suggested. She captured the smug smirk playing on his lips and narrowed her eyes at him.

"What is it you implying?" she demanded, peeved already.

Alastair didn't seem bothered by her exasperation. He cocked his eyebrows. "Nothing, sister. Nothing at all."

She crossed her arms on her chest. "You think he is not trying because he isn't interested in coming to me, especially."

"How observant of you."

He was indifferent to her irritation, which made her even more annoyed. She huffed at Alastair's irksome demeanor. "You won't do any better on this field."

"Of course I will," her brother said in a superior voice. "You clearly don't know how to capture his eye."

"And you do?"

"Yes, most obviously, " he responded.

It was Cordelia's turn to arch her eyebrows, a challenging smile on her face. "Oh, really? So why don't you, dear brother, try to make him crawl toward you?"

Alastair made his signature eye-rolling. "Because it's childish. And because he can very well do so on his own."

She clicked her tongue. "Are these excuses? Besides, you said a moment ago he's still too young."

"He is," Alastair clarified.

"But he's a Carstairs, we always come ahead of our time," she smiled at him. She swept imaginary dust away from her dress. It was too late, she knew; Alastair's challenge was accepted - and she was determined to prove him wrong. "If I didn't know better, I would say you don't think he'll come to you, seeing as you refuse to prove your saying of him not wanting to crawl only to me. You should have no problem then."

He squinted at her, grumbling, and she thought he might simply go to his room and ignore her for the rest of the day. However, he tossed his newspaper aside and looked her straight in the eye. "I know what you are trying to do."

"I have no doubt," she answered. "But it's working, isn't it?"

He didn't reply but glanced at their brother. Their sibling has been rolling over, rocking, and dragging himself on his belly in the course of the last months. She always was fascinated and full of joy to see their baby brother stumbling around; pushing himself to sit, reaching to whatever near to grab or investigate with dark curious eyes.

"Just give him a toy he likes. He is fond of that baby rattle with the dragons' decorations as much as this Persian doll."

"Ah," Cordelia said, faking the incredulous tone in her voice. Her glinting eyes and curving smile failed her, though. "You need to bribe him with toys! How poor of you, Alastair."

He rolled his eyes again. Cordelia chuckled. "Let's make a deal. If I lose, I will give you one of my books."

Alastair tilted his head quizzically, but his look was drab. "A book?"

"It's a very fine book," she protested. "Tessa Herondale bought it for me, a rare book in Farsi, so it's sentimental. Just to show how gravely I take it."

"I am not convinced," he revealed pensively.

Alastair hummed and looked over at her, and she scowled. She knew what he wanted to hear. "I will not say it."

"You already know my answer, then."

She restrained herself before she could stick her tongue out at him. She begrudgingly nodded. Then, "As you may. But if I win, you have to perform a song in front of all my friends."

His eyes widened and he made some sort of choking sound. "Pardon?"

"You heard me," she smiled mischievously. "It's only fair."

Alastair considered her, still thunderstruck. "In what world is it fair? A song in exchange for a book I don't desire? I eat my hat before this would ever happen."

"So to Maman, Papa, Risa, and myself. And our sibling, of course. Be that as it may, I agreed to add the second part to your request, so I want a song."

Alastair shook his head but seemed less strained. He scowled - not unlike she did before - but deemed it fair. "Alright."

She pushed it far enough already. Yet, she gave it a last try. "Include that little say you made me add, and we are on our way."

Alastair's expression made his answer clear. Cordelia rubbed her hands together. "Your face when you lose will be enough, I suppose. The song is just a benefit."

Alastair snorted. He lifted himself to his feet and reached to them. "We will see."

He sat cross-legged on another edge of the carpet, so both were in front of their baby brother on different corners.

Cordelia spread his arms, twisting her fingers to gesture to the baby to come. Alastair was a bit stiff as he called their brother's name, too self-conscious to do the same thing. Their sibling seemed baffled by the additional attention drawn toward him, ruthlessly rattling his doll and staring at them.

"Look how surprised he seems by getting your attention," Cordelia pondered. Their brother rocked back a forth on the muted carpet, pushing his hand into his face as if he was wondering what he should do.

"Nonsense. He always looks like that," he dismissed.

"I decided to ignore your remark. Azizam, come here," she cajoled, concentrating on her mission. "Would you not like to play some music with me?"

One thing both siblings agreed on was their brother's attachment to music. Once, left on the kitchen floor, he took a wooden spoon and decided to hit a pot with it, ostensibly creating music for his own ears. He later threw it, unintentionally, at Cordelia. Alastair could barely keep his face straight when it happened and reminisced it for weeks.

"Who's bribing who now, Cordelia?" quipped her brother, and was rewarded by a giggle from their brother. He twirled an eyebrow. "It seems like he got my sense of humor."

"A natural disaster, really," she teased. Alastair gave her an amused look. A small sound made her glance forward. The word 'music' apparently intrigued him because their sibling's eyes were fixed on her.

"Oh, Would you like that, baby brother? " She smiled victoriously, spreading her arms. "Come to me, and we could play together."

"Or, I could play the piano, unlike Cordelia," suggested Alastair. He changed position so that he knelt now, pressing his hands on the knees. He leaned forward as if sharing a secret. "And you could assist with the drums."

Cordelia pouted. "That was my idea," she complained. "And I will be a much better companion to play music with."

Alastair rolled his eyes again. "So to speak."

he opened her mouth to tell her older brother he is wasting time and is wrong about what he is trying to prove when she saw the movement in the corner of her eye. Their brother left behind his toy. He swung his legs, slipping more than once, putting one small hand after the other as he attempted to crawl.

"Alastair," she gasped, forgetting their banter. "He is doing it! He's crawling!"

She turned, elated, to share her awe with Alastair. He looked at their brother wonderingly - It was a rare, open expression on her brother's face that made her smirk wider. His lips turned upward and tinted his face with a smile. She suspected her expression is similar.

The older Carstairs siblings observed as their brother made his way toward them on the carpet. Cordelia decided no matter whom the baby will come to, she couldn't be more joyous. "Mother should see it," Alastair mumbled.

Cordelia nodded. "It would be a nice surprise when she gets back from tea with the Lightwoods."

Alastair swept his head so swiftly a few strands fell on his eyes. "Wait," he stuttered out. "Which Lightwoods?"

Cordelia flushed and turned her attention back to her little brother. She watched as he tried to move his leg unsuccessfully. "Come to your sister, Baraadar!"

"Layla," he said, his voice informing her he won't let her away without an answer. "Is Mother with Sophie and Gideon Lightwood?"

"Maybe," she conceded. She kept her eyes on their brother "Maybe not."

"Cordelia-"

"It's our brother's first time crawling, do you really want to miss it?"

"We'll talk about it later," he snapped, and Cordelia found it inequitable. She had nothing to do with whom their mother went out with, and it was certainly not her fault Sophie and Gideon Lightwood happened to be Alastair's partner's parents.

Now fully settled on their brother, they watched as he ungracefully wiggled himself toward them. They encouraged him to get up when he fell and smiled at him when he raised his head to their voices. Cordelia even clapped her hands.

The baby crawled, not fairly straight, but if she reached her hands out she could hold him now. So could Alastair, but she tried her luck. "I think it considered my win."

"Not quite yet, Layla." The baby fell on his belly. He struggles to find his balance and continued to come closer, his visage as if he wondered himself what was going on.

They watched in astonishment as he kept wiggling his legs and hands, and then passed them. They both changed confused glanced and turned over, watching as a pair of hands grabbed their sibling's small figure.

"Risa!"

Their baby brother snuggled himself contentedly in Risa's embrace, and she gave the both of them amused looks. She turned away to leave the room.

The Carstairs siblings locked eyes with one another.

"That's unjust!" She exclaimed. "Risa wasn't one of the choices."

As Risa walked away, they heard her laughter echoing from the corridor. Alastair's eyes lent on hers again. "So, what was it about Mother and the Lightwoods?"

Cordelia just grunted and shook her head.

_ _

Thank you for reading so far! I hope you liked it!!

This is still very weird to me. 100 followers??? I suppose some doesn't remember they followed me at all, but I am still quite honored 🥺

I can make the 100 followers celebration thingie🙈 although I'm not as crafty as others I don't think someone wants to know me better, I can answer asks about my opinions, headcanons, maybe a fic if it's Alastair centered, stuff like that :p Please tell me what you think and if you'd like that!!

I'll tag some people who I much regard as mutuals or friends here! I am glad I got to meet you all, no matter if we don't talk at all. If you are reading this, you are amazing 🌺

@fairchilds-and-herondales @littlx-songbxrd @upsidedown-cats @nott-the-best @rinadragomir @gummybears-4u @aceofjesper @dianasarrow @no-scones-allowed @stitchkiss @stxr-thxif @itsdaughterofthemoon @shadowhuntertrash @doitforthecarstairs @banescrown @greymistttt

111 notes · View notes

yzkhr · 4 years

Text

Love Language miniseries for Shinran!

I dedicate this corny and cringe worthy miniseries to @meitanteisachi for giving me inspiration through her gifset and her wonderful fanfictions.

Acts of Service- a language that can best be described as doing something for your partner that you know they would like, such as filling up their gas, watering their plants, or cooking them a meal.

"Not sick, huh?"

Shinichi glared as Ran leaned back from the table, unamused. He was working on a difficult case in their—now only his— mansion, when she showed up unannounced after he forgot to attend school. He was wearing his school uniform but lost sense of time being too absorbed at the new case Inspector Megure gave him.

"I told you I'm fine." he avoided her scrutinizing gaze, being stubborn. Ran wouldn't have any of it however, bringing her left hand to her waist like a stressed mother.

"Fine? You're burning hot and your face is even redder than a traffic light!" she argued and his face produced an even darker shade, acknowledged.

He wanted to protest and retaliate how can it not be when she literally put her face in front of his without any sort of warning, brushing his unruly bangs upwards with her soft hand and letting their foreheads touch as he froze while she remained unbothered.

The detective restrained himself however, not wanting any further embarrassment to occur.

He heard a sigh from Ran, forcing him to turn around. She was now arranging the stack of messy papers and documents, bringing them to side.

"Oi, what are you doing?" he frowned as he stood up from the swivel chair and held Ran's hand to stop her. It didn't go unnoticed how Shinichi flinched at the coldness of her skin.

Ran eyed their physical contact before giving him a stern gaze.

"I'm fixing all of these so you can rest. You won't be touching files until your fever's gone." she effortlessly shook his hand away, continuing.

"Ran, I told you I'm fine. I have to end this case cause if I don't---"

"Then you can let Megure-keibu and the other officers to handle it until you're well again." she was consistent at putting all the paperwork aside, not even sparing a glance.

"I told you I'm fine didn't I? It's just a fever."

Finally done with her task, Ran faced him with an expression that resembled his mother way too much for his own comfort.

"You're not fine. You have a horrible fever and along with it is a terrible headache. You didn't actually expect to read all of these with those blurry eyes of yours, did you?"

She squinted, gesturing at more than fifty papers on the side. He opened his mouth to deny her claims but retreated seeing her eyes squint even more, as if challenging him to lie. Ran was right. He'd been trying to ignore the throbbing of his head and the haze in his vision while reading through the entire case.

He sighed as his misty eyes finally having the time to observe her. She was still wearing their uniform, which means she went here as soon as classes were over. He suddenly remembered an important thing.

"Wait, don't you have an upcoming Karate competition? You have training everyday after school right?" he smirked internally, finding out a plot hole.

But instead of seeing a look of panic and rushing out the of the doorway like Shinichi expected her to do, Ran simply grabbed his hand towards the door making his cheeks turn red out of surprise and something he would never dare name of.

"I'll just skip it for today. Besides, I have something more important to take care of." she squeezed his warm hand, hinting what—or who— important thing she meant.

Blushing even more at the implication certainly did not make his illness any better.

After a few stumble here and there, they finally got to the bedroom in one piece. Minutes seemed like an eternity, with his headache feeling like he was being hammered. He was freezing and sweating at the same time not knowing if he should undress or add more layers. It was good thing that Ran immediately slumped Shinichi down the bed, and started removing his blazer.

Wait, what?

"Umm..." he spoke weakly, but still complying and accepting her help. He thought that she was done but she suddenly kneeled in front of him and leaned in, making Shinichi hyper aware of everything around him. Her hands went straight to his uniform which he did not predict. She was now untying his neck tie, making their faces inches apart. She was so close that he could feel her breathing at the open part of his longsleeve. Despite his mind telling him not to, Shinichi's eyes went directly to her face, which seemed too focused at her task, with her slightly furrowed eyebrows and violet orbs concentrated at undoing the knots. He would never admit it, but Ran looked too innocent and pure that it was killing him.

It didn't help that her scent was literally intoxicating him. A combination of honey and lemon, Shinichi noticed. Flustered and a bit shameful, he looked up,having butterflies in his stomach with his childhood friends' soft and nimble hands slowly removing the fabric from his neck.

He jolted awake when she begins unbuttoning his polo however. On instinct, Shinichi took a hold of her hands before they can go further. Shocked and confused, Ran looked up.

"I," he breathed heavily. "I think I can do this myself, Ran."

As if broken by a spell. Her face instantaneously turned crimson red at the realization that Shinichi might have thought she was the one with the fever. She stood up straight away, turning around and making a beeline to the door. She had been uptight all day that he was a bit glad the usual Ran came back.

He wanted to laugh at her reaction but was too tired to do so. Even slightly moving drained him, but it didn't mean he wasn't capable of undressing himself.

"I-I'm sorry! I got lost in my thoughts! I'm going downstairs!" she squeaked and left in an instant, closing the door with a loud thud.

Now alone, Shinichi struggled to move his shaking hands to undo the buttons. After a few more attempts, he was finally able to fully strip and drag himself to the closet. Nauseated and feeling like the world weighed on his shoulders, he randomly put on a white pajama and went straight to his bed, curling a bit like a kitten. His eyelids getting heavier and heavier, Shinichi closed his eyes, immediately falling asleep.

"Shinichi? Shinichi?"

Hearing a faint voice from behind, Shinichi turned around languidly and opened his eyes, meeting a concerned Ran.

"Hmm?" he hummed, still sleep deprived.

She brought up a steaming hot bowl of food, smiling.

"I cooked you chicken soup. Sit up, you have to eat." she ordered gently.

Despite feeling pain all over his body, he obeyed, knowing that he needed energy. Sitting up groggily, Shinichi faced his caretaker.

Ran sat beside the empty space of his bed, chicken soup in her hand. He frowned at the sight of the food.

"You still cooked my favorite style? Even though you know I won't be able to taste it anyway?" she shrugged as a response, bringing a spoonful near her and blowing weakly.

"Well, you might not be able to taste it but your stomach will surely enjoy it, so why not?" something in his chest swelled after hearing such words. Still, he kept it to himself.

After a few more blows, Ran brought the spoon near his mouth, gesturing for him to eat it. Face flushing and coughing slightly, Shinichi took a bite at the soup. Albeit tasteless, he couldn't help but smile mildy, knowing the effort put in.

Ran laughed a little looking at him as well, but said nothing and continued feeding him.

After five minutes or so, the bowl was finally empty. She told him that he could have just ate half but Shinichi argued that he was hungry(he really wasn't but he would never stand having a food Ran cooked for him go to waste but he'll die before she even find that out).

He was now inclining back to the comfort of his own bed when Ran spoke.

"Seriously, don't overwork yourself Shinichi." she berated, masking her worry with exaggeration as she arranged the plate and the soup, slowly making her way outside.

"I wasn't, I just got a little busy that's all." her saw how Ran rolled her eyes at his excuse as she replied.

"A little busy? You rarely get sick. I was so close to believing you were invincible to fevers." he scoffed at her remark, being defeated with yet another fact. Maybe the pain he felt was a lot worse than he expected.

"Look, I'm glad that you're trying to save as many people as you can but you also can't forget about yourself." he winced at the obvious disappointment and seriousness of her scolding. Instead of meeting her gaze that bore holes into him, he averted his stare into the lamp.

"I'm fine."

"No you're not. And besides, if you don't take care of you, think of all the people that will need you but won't have you." he stayed quiet, getting her point. Shinichi knew it was irrational being stubborn and pushing himself to the limits but he just couldn't help it. He may be a cocky bastard as a lot of people call him, but he wasn't someone that can stand not being able to help when he clearly can.

He sighed, giving in.

"Fine. I promise I'll take better care of myself." his answer seemed to satisfy Ran as she smiled contently.

"Good." as he heard the creaking of the doorframe, Shinichi instinctively flipped his head towards the sound.

"You're leaving?"

He didn't know why, but an infallible amount of upset coursed through him at the thought of Ran leaving. She paused by the door and looked back, inclining her head to the side.

"You want me to stay?" she teased in a light-hearted manner, making Shinichi's cheeks flushed.

"N-no, just wondering.." he played it cool by keeping his voice even, now being reminded how pathetic he must have sounded like asking her if she was leaving.

"I'll stay. After all, someone has to make sure a certain mystery otaku doesn't go back to the library just because he's feeling a little better."

He glared at her jesting and turned to the other side, lying down.

"Barou, it's not like I can do that with my entire body in pain."

Ran laughed, knowing she annoyed him enough.

"Then that's more reason for me to stay right?"

Before he can even think of a reply, she already closed the door and all Shinichi could hear were the sound of her shoes walking downstairs and the erratical beating of his heart he hoped was a side effect of the fever and not..... entirely something else.

#Shinran #1/5 #Fluff #Sickfic #detective conan

83 notes · View notes

flatfootmonster · 4 years

Text

Reflections

Neither the gentle rustle of the wind, the ease of the dark, nor the ache of exhaustion is enough to lull me to sleep. Curiosity is an itch that I’m familiar with but not growing in the shadow of ignorance in regards to someone’s emotions. How someone feels has always been inconsequential.

The half-wild creature next to me still shivers, despite the heavy robe now draped over him. But he makes no move to turn or leave, even if these are his chambers I wouldn’t put it past Na-Kyum to storm off and sleep outside. That thought pulls at a thread of amusement and I find myself grinning. He is unknowable; a fey animal dancing on the boundaries of this world and an ethereal realm.

My fingers move on their own, reaching for him and finding soft strands of hair beneath my fingertips. The enjoyment I receive from the way he feels beneath my hands and the gratification that comes when he sighs, inching across the narrow span of space left between us is an even weight. His body is curved towards me—not away. Why am I taking so much stock in irrelevant observations?

He’s just as restless. I could demand he tells me what is bothering him but that concept is foreign; I’ve never needed to know how someone feels. It’s never mattered before. Yet, as he trembles and sniffles, the same anxiety that had its grasp around my gut when he was ill plays in the same shadows my curiosity grew.

Has his spirit been broken? What exactly did his teacher say? That single memory coaxes a tide of murderous anger…

“He is a fool, you realise.” There's an edge to my voice I didn't intend, sharp enough to let blood. Certainly strong enough to make him flinch yet he stays still. Contrary creature. Withdrawing my hand, I resist the urge to pet him—not least because comforting isn't something I often feel compelled to do. Or ever for that matter. That aside, given his unpredictable nature, it's a toss up whether he’d sob or bite me.

Tilting his head up, he gazes at me wide-eyed. The innocence in his soul cannot be sullied—even by me. A long moment of consideration passes before he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter anyway.” Eyes once more are cast down, and that subservience grates me—it shouldn't be there, not for In-Hun.

“It does,” my reply is as firm as the finger I place beneath his chin, tilting his face back up, eyes meeting mine again. “It may be foolish to love without a thought for yourself but the bigger fool is the one who would snub a love so pure. And not only refuse it but to shame it.” My thumb rubs gently along his chin without being told to do so. His lips slacken, the pink tip of his tongue darts out to wet them. Somehow I can feel his tension being eased. The shivering subsides.

“He said I— that I’m a p-prostitute.”

The tide of anger swells again, it's so easily provoked in this matter. The arguments that froth at the surface all relate to me. Implying that I would sleep with a prostitute, or pay for intimacy, would be a misstep that I'd answer with a blade rather than dignify with words. But I cannot give worth to another borrowing from my own standards.

The stern expression I know I've donned, that Na-Kyum now sees, sparks fear in his eyes. Yet he doesn't pull away. "And what do you think?"

The hesitation is enough to alleviate my fury. He at least has the confidence and freedom of thought to question his mentor—or past-mentor. "You keep me here to paint, the agreement was for nothing more," he comes to a premature halt, holding back the speculation I took more than I asked for. He wouldn't be wrong. "I'm not being paid for w-what we do."

A rare and discomforting pang of guilt thrums through my veins. Despite what he says, up until tonight he never had autonomy in our affairs. Choice is a difference between himself and a prostitute. That matter wouldn't normally trifle me, let alone induce guilt, but there it is.

But he came to me now, asked me to take him. Was he simply submitting to his lofty teacher's assessment? Is that what brought this on? As I study him, confusion welling like tears, I see something other than that. Perhaps I want to see it, but it's a point he's been shamed over by In-Hun and used by myself as a probe to tease.

"Enjoying it makes you feel conflicted?" In his naivety, perhaps he assumes the only people that enjoy sex submissively are prostitutes, and that's why they do it. Slaves to desire and nothing more.

His mouth moves wordlessly, unable to even admit the pleasure. But his gaze doesn't deviate from my own. His spirit isn't broken, I'm sure of it. "Not it," he stammers. "It's not what we do, it's that it's you that does it."

My brows knit together as I try to pick apart his words. "What I do makes you feel conflicted?" But the meaning unfurls as I speak. Pushing myself up on one elbow, I look down at him, my hand resting on his neck. His heart is running as wild as his emotions.

"The way I feel—my dreams—" his words stop and start. Impatience is a barely restrained force as I wait for his thoughts to be articulated. "I yearn for you," he whispers finally.

I hear the now that's missing. His adoration lay at someone else's feet, undeserving as they were. But now his allegiance has changed. Something stronger than anger expands in my chest, I can barely breathe for the possessive instinct that overwhelms me. He is mine—body and heart. A battle was won that I had no idea I was fighting.

My fingers curl around his pale and fragile neck, as my thumb runs over his Adam's-apple to the crest of his chin. His head tilts with every minute direction of my hand, apprehension in his eyes, waiting for whatever comes.

He used to feel like a small bird trapped in my fist, I could anticipate the beat of his frail wings before I'd loosen my hold, and mirth would rise as I'd imagine the ways he might try to escape. Now, as he lays beneath me, if I closed my fingers on that bird until bones crunched, the only fight would be its heart against a delicate cage made of ribs. Yet if I hold my palm flat, the bird will perch on my finger.

His spirit isn't broken but he is enamoured in the foolish way he loves, forgetting himself. "You are the fool it seems," I admonish gently, but there's no heat in it. If he is a fool then I must be one, too. Of course I’m aware of the exceptions I make for him.

And he reads between the lines, for once seeing me as transparently as I see him. "Then I am your fool, My Lord." They are the first firm words he's uttered.

Will he now defend my honour, the way he did his teacher’s? Has he done so already? I'm drowning in curiosity over matters that should be insignificant. No—his loyalty is not insignificant; small perhaps but persistent, like the grain of sand that becomes a pearl. I won't probe. Proof of his nature is already abundant, in my memories and before my eyes.

"My fool." The repeated sentiment falls softly from my lips; a coveted caress. Past that, I find it difficult to move from this moment. The stillness draws out as I simply hold his throat in my palm, enjoying the racing pulse that radiates from his surrendered heart. That revelation calls for motion, my hand answers as it slips down to his heaving chest, fingers splayed across vulnerable flesh. He’s blissfully warm where the beat is strongest.

The tip of his tongue darts forth again as a tentative hand drifts up to my arm. Gentle fingers test my bare skin. "You're cold," he murmurs, "let me." The offer is made as his hand falls to the robe, opening it from around himself and proffering one side.

A heavy breath rushes from my lungs as I nod, unravelling muscles that had tensed at some point. Arm laid flat, I settle beside him, allowing the material to be draped over my torso. He fusses over it, focussing on his work as our makeshift covers are smoothed around my shoulders. There’s a furrow between his brows as he does so and I can’t help the way my lips pull at the corners.

“Are you going to mother me now?” I can’t blame him when my jest falls flat. When has he ever heard me joke to know how my tongue paints humour? But that doesn't stop the whiplash of regret that’s inflicted when he recoils, looking down in self-deprecation. I already know his cheeks are red despite the dark withholding solid facts.

He may be quick but so am I, I grasp his hand before it disappears in the folds of fabric. And with his hand I catch his attention, both brought to my mouth as I push a firm kiss to his wrist and then place his palm flat against my chest.

"Don't." It's a one word warning, I'm not sure how to tell him not to pull away from me again without ordering him or begging. After all his candour I should be softer, I just have little practise. "I like your body heat."

I listen to him breathe in the quiet, three haggard exhales before he moves closer. His hand stays where I placed it, warm and soft, and that sensation spreads as his body presses to mine. He tucks his head beneath my chin, and the air that leaves his body caresses my skin. "Is this… OK?"

There's little to be done against the will of my fingertips, my hand runs the length of his back before resting at his nape, holding him tight against me. I hum a yes and it sounds like a contented purr. But there are matters to straighten before I let my senses dull. I already slackened by allowing us to lay here—we should be in my own bed. "Tomorrow you will eat every meal in my presence." He nods quickly, hair tickling my neck.

"I will, My Lord."

"I do not want to see you get sick again." The hardness in my tone resurfaces, but by the way he clings tighter to me he reads it in the context intended: worry rather than impatience. Perhaps he has started to know me, or my hands give me away. They have a mind of their own as they sweep over his smooth skin. "Do you need to eat now?"

"No."

My finger drifts to his chin, tilting his face up so I can peer down at him. "Are you lying?" He shakes his head, a singular and minimal motion, eyes locked to mine and lids heavy. With sleep, or perhaps...

"I want to stay here—this way," he murmurs, emphasizing his meaning by pressing closer.

I draw a line down his torso, finger coming to stop at his naval. "If I hear any complaints from here," I poke at his slender stomach to emphasize my meaning, "then I will feed you myself." The soft beneath my touch pulls taut. He’s tense. Did he expect hurt? It would be a fair assumption given the marks my hands have already made on him. The taste of that realisation is sour but short lived when I hear the soft huff expelled from his lips. Before I’m certain of the reaction that I just witnessed, my fingers run along the seams of his muscles, to the soft spot above his hip. The tensing becomes a full flex as his body curves protectively and something happens that I hadn't expected or considered.

The huff becomes a gentle gurgle. He’s laughing. He’s laughing and I have never wanted to capture something as futile with my fingers before now. I’ve never heard him laugh, and if he’s smiled I can’t recall it. The night and it’s secrets be damned, I can’t see the expression this new development brings to his face. I want to see how his eyes wrinkle, the shape his lips take, the warmth flood his features, whether his cheeks dimple. And now I have stared too long so he grows still. Does he think I disapprove of laughter?

“It’s ticklish,” he murmurs as way of explanation, as if it’s needed and I’m too dull in my senses to draw that conclusion on my own.

“I realise.” And even I can hear the pleasure on my tongue. There’s a pause, he’s hesitating, I imagine he intended to apologise for such a natural and wonderful reaction. It’s down to me to make some things clear, I’m not one for many words, especially when it comes to assurances. “I like your laugh. You will do it more often.” It sounds as ridiculous as I intended the demand be, and he hears it. I grin when my efforts win another soft snort.

“Yes, My Lord.”

#painter of the night #seungho x nakyum #nakyum #seungho #fanfic

156 notes · View notes

elliemarchetti · 4 years

Text

Red Queen Pride and Prejudice AU (part 3)

Part 1

Part 2

Masterlist

@lilyharvord sorry for the long waiting but life got in the way, as always. I hope you like this chapter and stay tuned for the fourth (which, I swear, won’t take that long)

Words: 2335

Wren wasn’t feeling any better. On hearing this, Miss Samos and Lady Haven repeated three or four times how terrible it was to have a bad cold, and how much they themselves hated being sick, but after that, they thought of it no more, and their indifference toward their guest when they weren’t directly around her confirmed to Mare all her previous feelings toward the party, including the satisfaction with Mr. Samos’ ways, since his anxiety for Wren was evident. On her side, Mare received very little attention from everyone: the ladies were attracted to the General like flies with honey, and Lucas Samos, beside whom Mare sat for lunch, wasn’t much of a conversationalist, and when he discovered that Mare preferred simple dishes to elaborate ones, he had nothing more to add until the end of the meal, when Mare apologized and immediately returned to Wren. As soon as the door closed behind her back, Miss Samos began to speak ill of her manners, which were declared very bad, a mixture of pride and impertinence.

“She has neither style, nor taste or beauty,” added Lady Haven. “In short, she has nothing that does her honour but to be an excellent walker. I’ll never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked like a savage.”

“I just managed to contain myself!” exclaimed the other. “What nonsense to go all that way through the mud for a simple cold. Besides, I would never have shown myself around with such sloppy, dishevelled hair.”

“Miss Barrow may not be a great conversationalist, and I guess your description may be correct,” replied the cousin, “but not only did I miss the muddy slip and the simple hairstyle, I can also say that I justify her little desire to chat, when her friend, for whom she feels a palpable affection, is in those conditions.”

“I am afraid, General, “observed Miss Samos, almost whispering, "that this adventure has somewhat shaken your admiration for her beautiful eyes.”

“Not at all,” he replied, “they were enlightened by the exercise.”

A short pause followed, and it was Lady Haven who began again: “I have a lot of respect for Miss Wren, she really is one of the sweetest girls I had the pleasure to know, and with all my heart I would like for her to settle down well, but with such parents and modest kinship, I fear there’s no chance of that happening.”

"I seem to have heard you say her uncle is a scholar,” said Mr. Samos, who didn’t seem to have any objection to the words his sister and friend had addressed to Mare, but didn’t like those harsh comments towards of the other guest and wanted to end the topic quickly.

“Yes, and they have another one, who lives somewhere close to Cheapside,” replied his sister, unleashing her friend’s laughter.

“If she had enough uncles to fill all Cheapside”, exclaimed Ptolemus, who was starting to get really irritated, “that wouldn’t make her less nice.”

“But that actually diminishes her chance of marrying a man of some importance in society,” Cal replied quietly, hoping to be able to be a peacemaker now as he always did when they were children. Obviously Ptolemus didn’t like his words, and left the room in great strides, slamming the door behind him. Everything would be back to normal by tea time, he was sure, and in this way he had also managed to dispel, at least for a moment, from Evangeline’s mind the thought that he was in turn interested in one of their guests. After lingering for a while to amuse themselves at the expense of their dear friend’s vulgar kinship, with a surge of tenderness, they went to her room, and stayed with her until they were called for tea. Wren was still very unwell, and Mare absolutely didn’t want to leave her until late evening, when she had the comfort of seeing her asleep, and judged it correct, more than pleasant, to go downstairs. Entering the living room, she found them all playing cards and she was immediately invited to join, but suspecting they were playing hard she refused but decided to watch and listen to their conversation about Whitefire, General Calore’s estate, and his grandmother, a woman whose manners was widely praised by Miss Samos.

“It’s surprising to me,” said Mr. Samos, “ how many women have the patience to get to be so well educated as they all are; they can paint, play the piano, dance, sing and even embroider. I don’t know any who can’t do all this things, and I’m sure I’ve never heard of a woman before without being made aware of how well educated she was.”

"Your list of things commonly defined as education is all too true,” said the General. “The world is applied to many women who doesn’t deserve it and I can say it with certainty, after getting to know them better. I have to admit that, sadly, in my entire range of acquaintances, there are no more than half a dozen of really educated women.”

"Neither am I, I’m sure,” said Miss Samos. The more she knew her, the more it was evident that she was trying in every way to create bridges between her meagre personal ideas and those of the General, and Mare was ready to bet, even if she hated it, that she would be willing to trample any friendship or ideal in order to achieve her goal to marry him. If only their descriptions of what was a truly educated woman had been more alike, Mare would’ve said they were meant for each other, but their words were so diametrically opposed that she almost had to restrain herself from laughing, a task in which she was aided by the fact that General Calore described someone who was also very distant from both her, her family and her friends, a mixture of talent, good taste, elegance and commitment that didn’t even reflect the other two young ladies in the room, who began to protest so much that Lucas Samos had to impose some order on them so they could finish the game. Since the conversation had ended so bitterly, Mare left the room shortly after.

“Miss Barrow,” said Miss Samos, once the door closed, “is one of those young ladies who try to make a good impression with the opposite sex by underestimating their own, and I am convinced that with many men the thing is successful but, in my opinion, it’s a petty system, a squalid artifice.”

“No doubt,” replied Cal, who was the main recipient of this remark, “there is some meanness in all the tricks that ladies sometimes deign to use to seduce. Anything that has an affinity for cunning is despicable.”

Not completely satisfied with that answer, Evangeline dropped the subject. How dare he throw digs at her when he knew perfectly well what had pushed her this far? Not even Ptolemus intervened, and Elane gave her a sideways glance, to make sure she wasn’t making one of her scenes. It was probably the possibility that Miss Barrow or Miss Skonos might hear it that stopped her, but that didn’t prevented her, that very evening, from consoling herself in the privacy of her room with the one that everyone would forever call her dear friend. As always after Elane’s loving care, all tension was smoothed out, and the following morning, when Mare had the pleasure of being able to give a fairly positive response to the request for information she had received very early in the morning from Mr. Samos through a waitress, it was proposed that a note could be sent to Mrs Skonos to ask her to visit her daughter and see for herself the situation, inviting her to take Mrs Barrow and the younger Miss Barrow with her too. If she had found Wren visibly in danger, Mrs. Skonos would certainly have despaired, but felt satisfied to see that the disease didn’t cause any alarm, she didn’t wish she would recover immediately, given that a healing would probably have taken her out of the Hall of the Sun. Therefore, she didn’t want to listen to her daughter, whom proposed to be brought home, and also the pharmacist, who had almost reached the house at the same time, thought it was definitely inadvisable. After spending some time with Wren, the four women were invited by Miss Samos to join her and her brother in the breakfast room, where he welcomed them hoping that Mrs. Skonos hadn’t found her daughter worse than what she had expected, but his hopes were partly dashed, although the woman later took care to compliment them profusely both on their kindness and on the wonderful estate they had rented.

“I hope you’re not going to leave us too quickly, even if the lease is short,” said Mrs. Barrow, who hadn’t yet uttered a word except for the customary greetings.

“Whatever I do, I do it quickly,” he replied, “and so if I had to decide to leave the Hall, I would probably leave in five minutes. For the moment, however, I consider it a stable accommodation.”

"That’s exactly what I would’ve imagined from you,” Mare said.

“I didn’t know,” Miss Samos interjected, “you were a student of characters. ”

“It must be a fun study,” noted her cousin, who had recently joined them along with General Calore.

“Yes, but the intricate characters are the funniest. At least they have that advantage,” she replied, casting a quick glance at Tiberias, who, feeling drawn into question, reminded her that the countryside wasn’t exactly the best testing ground for studies like that.

“In a countryside area one moves within a restricted and uniform social environment.”

“But people change so much that there is always something new to observe,” replied Mare, always ready to change his mind about his prejudices on simple people. If she had addressed any other gentleman like that, her mother would’ve reminded her of her place in the world but since it was General Calore, she was happy to take her daughter’s side, although not in the best of ways, to the point that her interlocutor, after giving her a long puzzled look, walked away in silence and even Lucas Samos found himself embarrassed.

“You have completely misunderstood my friend: he only meant that in the countryside there certainly can’t be the same amount of people you can find in town.”

“Nobody says otherwise, but as for not frequenting so many people in these parts, I think there are few places richer in neighbours. All I know is that we know twenty-four families.”

Nothing but the regard towards Mare allowed Lucas to keep himself serious. The cousin was less delicate, and gave her brother a very expressive smile. Mare, in order to divert her mother’s thoughts, asked her if Diana Farley had been visiting them since she was at the Hall.

“Yes, she came yesterday with her father, but she didn’t stop for lunch because her mother was waiting for her at home to make apple pie for her little sister’s birthday. The Farleys are really good girls, I assure you, and they are also very nice, but if they are with Wren or my daughters… they inevitably end up taking a back seat. That’s what everyone says, I don’t just trust my partiality.”

“When Wren was only fifteen,” Lady Skonos added, “there was a gentleman at my sister’s so in love with her that my brother-in-law was sure he would’ve declared himself before we could leave. Instead nothing came of it. Maybe he thought that she was too young. However, he wrote some verses about her, and they were very pretty.”

“And so his love ended,” Mare said impatiently. “There were more than one, I guess, that ended up like this. I often ask myself who was the first to discover the effectiveness of poem in chasing love away!”

Obviously the General didn’t share her idea, and was more than happy to point this out, interrupting his conversation with Miss Samos. Mare too had the answer ready, and their quarrel was followed by a long silence, which forced Mrs Skonos to thank the homeowner again for the kindness showed to her daughter, and Mrs Barrow to apologize for the inconvenience caused by Mare, who still didn’t have the slightest intention of leaving. Mr. Samos gave a spontaneous and courteous reply, and also forced his sister to behave in the same way, although she didn’t play her part gracefully enough not to allow Mare to notice that hers was all fiction. The two older women, however, seemed to be content and when Mrs Skonos ordered the carriage, Gisa stepped forward as if on command and asked Mr. Samos when he intended to give the ball his cousin had promised he would tell him about when they arrived in the countryside. Gisa was a strong and well-developed girl of fifteen, with a beautiful complexion and a cheerful expression; it was her mother’s favourite, whose affection had led her to make her entry into society at a very early age. She had a bursting vitality, a kind of innate self-confidence, that the officers’ attentions had turned into cheekiness, making her the perfect candidate to address Mr. Samos about a ball which, if not given, would’ve been the worst of shame on his honour, at least in her words.

"I’m perfectly ready,” he reassured her, “and when your friend has recovered, you will set the date of the party, if you please.”

Gisa looked satisfied, and began to fantasize about what other events she would be able to organize and continued to do so even when they were gone and Mare returned to Wren, leaving her and her relatives behaviour at the mercy of the two ladies and the General, who nevertheless didn’t allow himself to be persuaded to join in the criticism despite all the jokes Evangeline made about beautiful eyes.

#pride and prejudice au #p&p #marecal #ptolewren #evane #mare barrow #cal calore #ptolemus samos #wren skonos #evangeline samos #elane haven #gisa barrow #ruth barrow #diana farley #madeline farley #lucas samos #anabel lerolan

10 notes · View notes

heartbreak-of-a-marauder · 4 years

Text

Forever and Always My Little One (1)

Title: The Second Moonrise

Pairing: Kol Mikaelson x OC

Summary: Fayne is a vampire created during the first 100 years of the Originals immortal lives. Just as the end is approachings a chance encounter with the youngest original changes her life forever, and always.

Words: 1,927

1 ->

~*~*~*~*~

1348 – St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, London, England.

I laid on the unforgiving mattress of the hospital bed, gazing up at the ageing paint that decorated the ceiling. Every now and again a shiver would pass through my body causing my hands to grip the blanket a little tighter. The coating of sweat that covered me from head to toe had long since soaked through my shift causing it to stick uncomfortably to my skin. It is an indescribable feeling to have your skin burning with heat but have a chill in your bones. An endless hunger seemed to be developing in my stomach as my natural instincts pleaded to be obeyed, and the ever-increasing number of people fillings the hospital made things more difficult.

The silvery rays of the moon that managed to break past the clouds, crept through the window panes adding a little more light to the candlelit room. The sounds of raspy breathing and soft coughing were two of the few things that could be heard across the wide expanse of rooms. Scenes of the vivid past that had poisoned my dreams would soon spill into my waking moments as the days went on and to fight them would cause painful aches in my head.

Slowly I pushed myself up into a sitting position, the bed frame creaked slightly due to the changing positions of pressure. The calm of the room was soon disturbed by my own coughing when the dryness could no longer be ignored. The coughing became more violent to the point of wrenching. Removing my hand from my mouth I instantly zeroed in on the red splodges that mingled with mucus. A single tear slid down my cheek, I was still greedy for life despite having taken more time than I was originally dealt. But the evidence in my hand made it plain that I would not last much longer.

A shadow in the corner of my eye catches my attention, it moves swiftly with an inhuman likeness, it lurks around the cots at the far end of the room; hovering almost. It leans over one of the cots seemingly surveying the individual that lay in it. I shift slightly to get a better view, even in the poor light I can see how its back stiffens like a creature caught in the act. In the same quiet yet elegant manner he moves away from his previous point of interest and begins his journey towards my bed.

“Are you well miss?” A distinct British accent can be heard as he lowered the hood of the cloak.

“As well as I am able to be sir.” I offer politely in return.

“I hope circumstances could be better for you.” Cocking his head to the side.

“Many have said that it is God’s will, a punishment of sorts.” I offered some of the fatalistic babble given to me by a now-deceased person.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards a little after hearing my comment, he seemed to like the façade I had constructed. A breathy chuckle escapes his lips as he lowers himself to sit on the edge of my cot.

“The fragility of human life…” He muses to himself while an outstretched hand toys with a lock of hair that has fallen over my shoulder. He pulls his attention away from the strands in his fingers to look me directly in the eye.

“I can only imagine your wildest fantasies and the adventure you thought you may have had.” He voices his thought, without waiting for a reply he continues. “What if I could give you the means to travel the world and see its wonders?"

"Money is of no use to a person doomed to die my Lord..." I mused lowly.

The stranger lets out a hearty chuckle, allowing a grin to grace his face. He looks away from me for a moment before he brings his gaze back to mine.

"Money is not what I offer dear girl, I can give you so much more." He boasts while leaning a little closer, when he is a hair's breadth away from my ear he whispers, "I can give you eternal life." He stays there for a moment inhaling deeply capturing my scent.

When he draws back the grin he previously wore is gone, instead, his brows have pulled together and his mouth is in a straight line. The amusement that had occupied his eyes has iced over, and he sits very still observing me.

He knows why I am dying.

"Eternal life has been good for me up until now," I sigh while peeling back the sleeve of my shift, smiling sourly when I hear his sharp intake of breath. "And I admit that I lust for more, but this is a death sentence, not even a vampire can escape." I break my eyes away from his brown ones to focus on the putrid bite.

"I can still give you eternal life" He speaks after a while, determination lacing his words.

A wry smile forms on my face. "Then I would encourage you to let go of those follies, a bite from a werewolf is final, no one survives."

"Were you not told to look a gift horse in the mouth girl?" He copies my expression.

I narrow my eyes at his tone, hunger mixed with a fevers rage proves to be a volatile mix. "I am no child sir, my name is Fayne and you shall address me as such."

"Then you shall address me as Kol Mikaelson, little one." He fires back, I huff harshly at his use of the pet name.

He stands abruptly and straightens out his clothing, all the while his eyes never leaving mine. "Then I propose a wager of sorts, should I save you by the second moon rise then you shall accompany me in my travels" He declares.

"And if you do not?" I ask with morbid curiosity.

He smirks. "I am sure you can work that out for yourself little one, goodbye for now." In the blink of an eye, he is gone.

_ _ _ _ _ _

The sun was beginning to set on the eve of the second moonrise, vast orange beams forced their way into the crowded room. I had not laid all my faith in Kol and his abilities to save me, but time was running out on his wager, and I was growing less lucid with every minute. I wanted to be cured but it was surely something of a fantasy. I was fighting to stay in the uncomfortable cot. My gums burned as my fangs fought to be free, the scent of blood was everywhere, the thread of humanity I clung to was beginning to fray.

In an instant, the thread had broken, and the animal inside came barrelling to the forefront. I didn’t feel the thick veins appear on my face nor the elongation of my fangs, I simply gave in to nature and it took me to a place I would be grateful for.

I loomed over my unsuspecting victim, they were here for injury, not illness, and it smelled so good. Quietly I hike up the shift unit it allows me to comfortable straddle his stomach. I crouch over him dragging the tip of my nose across his exposed skin before settling by his neck, I do not waste time or thought before biting down hard. I feel the way he fights weakly beneath me, not quite ready to die but I show no mercy and quickly drain him dry.

I attach myself to every victim like a newly born babe suckling from its mother. I break free from the current poor soul who serves as my dinner, breathing deeply I tip my head back. Never has it felt so good. Once again, I lower my head in preparation to finish my meal, but I don’t get near her delicate skin as hand fists itself in my hair dragging me away.

I buck and thrash like a wild animal, but the mysterious assailant further restrains me. The scent of sickness invades my nose informing me we have returned to my cot. They throw me harshly towards it, I whirl around preparing to attack but stop when I see Kol has returned with a stranger.

"She has got fight brother." He smirks at me.

“Come now brother, we don’t have all night.” Kol hurries, earning a sigh from the other man.

"I struggle to see why I should help a diluted bloodline but as you can see my brother insists." He teases, I look in Kol's direction for an indication that this is a jest, but his face is emotionless.

"Get on with it Niklaus." His nonchalant tone shocks me.

Niklaus takes a few steps towards me but I cannot escape the feeling that he is a predator and I his prey.

"Come now love, it will be painless; I promise." He chuckles before biting his wrist, my eyes switch between his wrist and face in disbelief. After seeing my hesitation, he uses his abilities to force his wrist into my mouth. The blood trickles down my throat for a few moments before he removes it.

He gives a curt nod towards Kol before disappearing.

"Vampire blood? You think that it will magically cure me?" I scoff at Kol, his face hardens.

"A 'thank you' is customary for when someone helps you." He retorts.

"Thank you?!" I cried incredulously, in a moment I appear before him. "You have not helped."

Roughly he grabs onto my right elbow drawing me closer to him, but also bringing my arm into view, he wastes no time in ripping the fabric of the sleeve back to reveal that the wound is indeed healing. The inflammation and discolouration had receded considerably and the bite had shrunk. I stared in disbelief, it had worked. Swallowing my pride and looked up at Kol.

"Thank you." It would be barely audible to human ears, but I knew he had heard me.

He smirks, liking that I had given in. "Now we must depart." He states while walking towards the entrance to the ward.

"Depart?" I ask, still stood near the cot.

He casts a glance over his shoulder before stopping. "I won the wager little one, you are now my travelling companion." He seems to think better of a previous decision and begins to walk back towards me, or rather past me.

"And where will we go?" I ask curiously as he peers out of the now open window.

He beckons me to him with a flick of his wrist, and slowly I come to join him by the window. He uses the inside of his dark cloak to wipe around my mouth and down my neck. Once satisfied he unbuckles it from his neck and sweeps it over my shoulders before securing it.

"There is no rush in having ready-made plans, that is the beauty of eternity."

"So, when are we to leave?" I ask not following.

"Now." He replies simply while smirking.

He pulls me into him, fixing us together by holding me around my waist, heat travels up my neck at his closeness but the cool air of the night soon takes over. I didn’t pay attention as to where we were going because the blackness of the night morphed the surroundings but, I was grateful when we got into a carriage and the sight of Saint Bartholomew’s disappeared into the distance.

#nate buzz #nate buzolic #nathaniel buzolic #kol #oc #kol x oc #kol mikaelson #kol mikaelson imagine #the vampire diaries #the originals #fanfic #wattpad

45 notes · View notes

rexinferorum · 5 years

Note

Private Detective AU / jackson

( loosely based on prodigal son ) ft. @sitacross

he’s on the ground, a shotgun in his face. the murderer has the heads of his victims in jars, they stare back at him like the heads of his sister’s barbie dolls used to whenever he wrenched them free. it had been a scientific experiment, he’d said to their mother when she, in horror, asked him why; he wanted to see if they’d go back on after. he’d always enjoyed hypothesis and experimentation, in seeing why and how things reacted the way they did. he applied those same curiosities to people, though he’d become a profiler rather than a serial killer like the man before him. two different paths, same curiosities. that curiosity however might get him killed today. wait for back-up, his superior had said on the radio when he arrived at the suspect’s home, don’t go in there alone, avery. he hadn’t listened of course. they only had once chance to catch the man off guard and if he waited ? there was a chance he could bolt – ESCAPE before they could bring him to justice. he’s just about talked the man into putting his gun down, into going quietly, when the local authorities show up and ruin everything. he ends up splattered in blood, the murderer DEAD. there’ll be no justice served today. he gets to his feet, stumbles out of the crime scene, and punches the sheriff before leaving.

he’s summarily dismissed from the bureau. conduct unbecoming. when they hand him his pink slip, it’s with a recommendation: get some help. jokes on them, he doesn’t think there’s enough help in the world to get his head on straight. he knows this, accepts it even.

he gets the call a few days later. the NYPD need help tracking down their latest serial killer. “ i don’t know if i’m your guy. ” he relays to the man on the phone — a man who was there for him over the years, a man he considered family. “ you should probably know i was fired from the FBI this week. ” — “ perfect, that means you’re available to consult. ” he is, so he goes.

he steps under the crime scene tape when he arrives, taking a loud bite from his apple. it crunches, forces the other detectives to turn and stare at him. “ sorry. ” he apologizes, though he doesn’t mean it. “ late start. ” he tosses it in the trash, listens to the captain run down the details of the crime. it’s a grisly murder; the woman was strangled with a piano wire, then cut into pieces which were arranged into a very specific pattern. it’s a pattern he’s seen before — why baird silvermist has called him in to consult on this case. “ why is he here ? ” the detective — claudia, frowns with her hands on her hips. “ we can’t just have a civilian traipsing around a crime scene, baird. ” jacks smiles; bittersweet, but a smile nonetheless. “ hi, i’m the civilian. ” he waves a hand in front of her face. he’s never been one to avoid an awkward interaction. “ i know i introduced myself as jacks avery but that’s not my given name. ” he sighs, takes another look at the carnage around them. “ it’s jackson elsey. my brother is vuras elsey … the pollock killer. ” he grimaces. “ what we have here is a CLEAR copycat. ”

* * *

it isn’t something he advertises — that his brother’s a serial killer. half-brother, if you want to get technical. vuras was arrested when he was 11 and he’d changed his name as an adult to create some distance between the horrors of his past and his future. as it turns out, jacks avery wouldn’t be immune to the pollock killer’s influence either. pollock, because he spread body parts out in such a way it had once been described as art of the most macabre threshold.

his profile is coming together nicely. the copycat is someone roughly his brother’s age or older, who grew up hearing or reading about the pollock killer’s reign of terror on the news. with over 42 confirmed kills, vuras elsey is known as one of the most notorious serial killers in modern times. his arrest was made even more shocking given he’d been a registered clinical therapist. someone who was supposed to help people, who was supposed to be good, had simply used his position to get insight into human behaviors that he couldn’t quite replicate on his own. as a psychopath, the only emotions he ever felt were ghosts — imprints — impressioned from those around him. any one of his patients could be the culprit and with bodies piling up, jacks knew he was running out of options. if he could do something to get more insight, to get a lead, and he did nothing ? well he was no better than his brother. that blood would be on his hands.

so it’s with shaking hands that he signs himself in at the psychiatric hospital, pins a guest badge to his chest and follows the guard to v’s cell. it’s a maximum security hospital, his brother only permitted to remain there so long as he refrains from starting any trouble. his lawyers were sharks – they’d defended him to the letter, narrowly avoiding the death penalty in favor of a lifetime stay at asphyxia medical center. 10 years down the line and the man has his own office; connects with clients via skype, or a closed circuit chat system. he even has satellite tv, for crying out loud. ( v has friends and connections in high places. even being incarcerated hasn’t slowed him down any. the guard explains all this on their walk. ) it’s been 7 years since jakson last visited. 7 years since he last looked his brother in the eye.

he remembers that gleam. he remembers his brother looking him dead in the eye, smiling, and saying words that haunt him. you and i, we’re the same. you’ll see. you think solving murders, helping people, will atone for my sins but what about yours? i see your darkness and it matches mine. we’re the same.

they reach the door as its buzzed open. the guard steps back, motions for jacks to go inside. he does, taking a moment to collect himself before walking in. it’s … not what he expected. there’s a bookshelf against the wall filled with reading material, a filing cabinet beside it presumably holding his patient records. the man himself�� is sitting in an office chair, he spins around to face him. he’s older now — has a beard, his hair longer than he remembers and starting to grey. he’s in his 40s now, but his face hasn’t aged a day. he still looks the same as he did the day they’d put a gun to his head and forced him to his knees, jacks the one who’d turned him in. he’s restrained to the chair; a feat jacks finds surprising. it’s easier to stare at the restraints than the man, so he does.

“ well, well, well. i wondered when i’d see you again. ” his brother speaks and jacks feels shivers running down his spine. he doesn’t acknowledge the comment, instead directing a nod towards the restraints. “ that’s new. ” v laughs. “ just a precaution. they’re worried we might have a repeat of what happened last time. ” jacks blinks, confused. v, in turn, looks pleased. “ i suppose you wouldn’t remember. you told me you wouldn’t be coming back, that you were going to college and starting a ‘ new life ’ and wouldn’t be coming back. ” his lips turned down. “ so i asked you for a HUG — a going away present, and you, little brother, were dumb enough to believe it. ” he smiles, all teeth. “ maybe memory loss is a side-effect of hypoxia. hmm. ” he pulls at the restraints violently, laughing wildly when jacks flinches on instinct. shit. he was supposed to have the upper hand here.

“ i didn’t come here to talk about the past. ” in fact, he’d like to pretend it never existed to begin with. “ i came here to talk about my case. mr. elsey, on behalf of the NYPD, i’m here to — ” v’s eyes light up. “ oh, i know all about your case, jackson. i saw it on the news. the pollock copycat … not the most original name, but then again our sister was always more beauty than brains. ” jack’s stomach lurches. their sister had been 6 when v was arrested, he’d hoped that v would have failed to recognize her now as an adult. maybe it shouldn’t surprise him that he does. for someone so disconnected, he sure knows enough about what’s been going on. “ you think i might know something about your killer. or maybe you think i did it. i’m good but even i have my limits. ” he smirks. “ i’m a little TIED UP. ” the restraints get another pull. “ hate to disappoint, but this one’s not on me. ”

— “ but you know who it is. ” this isn’t a question. he observes the way v’s shoulders tense, how his eyes flit to the filing case every so often. these are tells that give him away, lead him to believe that v knows more than he’s saying. “ we’re working on a profile. the killer is male, probably struggles with mental illness, and is looking for purpose with these kills. they aren’t personal … none of the victims have anything in common, minus one thing; the clue that brought him here in the first place. “ each were murdered in the exact style you adopted. ” he moves to the filing case, watches v’s eyes follow him. “ which means they’ve studied you, mr. elsey. very closely. ” — “ mr. elsey. ” v looks amused. “ let’s not play coy, jackson. you can call me v. we are family. ” jacks doesn’t rise to the dig, continues. “ … which leads us to believe that the killer could have been a patient of yours. ” finally he looks back at v, waits patiently for the man’s reaction. he simply shrugs, leaning back in his chair. it’s evident he won’t be getting any information from him and without a warrant, he can’t search the files himself. “ fine. that’ll be all, mr. elsey. ” he turns to go; it’s a calculated risk, leaving, but if he knows his brother he knows that fear of never seeing him again — never getting the opportunity to mess with him — will be enough to stop him. “ WAIT. ” he’s right.

v gives him the information he’s looking for. the information leads to a half brother, one that jacks wasn’t even aware had existed. of course it’s a family member; there isn’t a sane one of them in the bunch. they use the information in the file to track down the brother. he claims he’s innocent, claims he had nothing to do with the murders, but they find another victim in his attic and he goes down for them all. he’s found guilty, sentenced to LIFE. it’s only when the murders resume again six months later does he realize that v played him. he led him to the wrong culprit and hid the real murderer from him. it takes them nearly a year to track down the true murderer — v’s boyfriend, aster silvermist … the NYPD captain’s son.

#( meme )#( answered ask )#( jacks )#( baird )#aster )#willdoitforher

5 notes · View notes

missstormcaller · 5 years

Text

CAN’T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD Vol. II Part 12 Full Translation

This is part 12 on the app 2/2 (chapter 11 continued)

Somewhere in Seireitei. A facility catering exclusively to nobles, located in the basement level of a certain hidden domain of Seireitei. In this facility which has become a data collection center under the direct control of the Visuals Department, image observation data on various locations is accumulated and stored, not only from the Seireitei, but also throughout the entirety of the Human World and in recent years, even as far as some parts of Hueco Mundo. Within the passageway travelling between ground level and basement level which led to said facility, the very man Kurotsuchi Mayuri had named, deliberately gave a slight shake of his head at the individuals who were blocking the path before him.

"The fun was just about to begin. I didn't quite expect you'd come hindering me at this opportune moment." Although Tokinada spoke in a manner that seemed to indicate a sincere disappointment, an ecstatic smile which couldn't be contained revealed itself in his eyes. "So then? What in the world is this all about? I guess I'm a little slow on the uptake… I want an explanation." Standing before his eyes was petite Shinigami clad in a captains' Haori, and stationed behind her, a platoon dressed completely in black —— all were members of the first branch of the Onmitsukidō known as "Keigun" (Punishment Force). "…Tsunayashiro Tokinada sama. We have obtained intelligence regarding individuals who conspire to assassinate you. Until we eliminate this threat, we urge you to enter our protection." "Oh my, so that's how it is, I didn't see that coming." Shrugging his shoulders, Tokinada continues to speak as an indignant smile emerged on his face. "That sort of back-door approach is Kyōraku's way of doing things huh. It appears that he still cannot lay the groundwork to drag me down from my position as clan head. Did he dispatch you in order to momentarily stall for time, knowing that I have beaten him to the punch?" "With respect, I don't understand the implications behind what you are saying." "On the contrary, I expect you understand already don't you? You can stop with the ill-conceived smoke and mirrors, 9th generation Fēng family. Furthermore, it's obvious that you're practically forcing yourself to use honorifics you know? Don't you think this superficial respect suits poorly with the Onmitsukidō." "You must be pulling my leg.” Though Tokinada had spewed words of provocation, Soifon's countenance didn't flinch in the slightest. Perhaps that roused his interest further; the man who was a leader among the four great noble clans, continued to toy with the lesser noble who existed as part of a family of assassins. "Among your elder brothers, two died running errands for this very Tsunayashiro clan of mine, didn't they? Well, at this stage it's possible to say that they died in vain, but it's good to know that at least they did their duty as sacrificial pawns." "…Such gracious words, I humbly receive them."

Completely suppressing her innermost thoughts, Soifon gives a mechanical response. Seeing her like that, Tokinada contorts his lips even further and sets fire to the chemical agent which serves as an explosive to her. "Didn't I just tell you that the superficial respect is unnecessary? What you truly pay respect to, is the Shihōin clan alone. In particular, towards that absconder Yoruichi who isn't even clan head anymore, isn't that right?" "……" Soifon's facial expression is deadpan. However, Tokinada who had perceived a slight tremor in her Reiatsu, tosses words in a form that poured salt into the wound. "Ah, I see, that's right! If rather I take Yoruichi as my wife, then I wonder if by extension you could give me genuine respect as a member of her family? We are fellow aristocrats of the four great noble clans, don't you think we'd make an appropriate match? I who had inadvertently ended up slaying my own wife, and she who was coaxed by Urahara Kisuke into inadvertently betraying Soul Society. Indeed, how can one not help but think that this is a match made in heaven?" With a sudden snap, the sound of something breaking resounded within her. Soifon's Reiatsu began to fluctuate, the members of the Punishment Force who were standing at her back prepared to restrain Soifon who remained as expressionless as before, and in that very moment —— a voice belonging to the subject of conversation herself, abruptly echoes across from within the passageway.

"Well I never, that you'd actually marry me only to spite Soifon, you really seem to think so little of me." " ! " When Soifon turned to look over her shoulder with great vigour, standing there was the form of Shihōin Yoruichi clad in black garments. "Yoruichi sama!" "Oh my, you ended up hearing my shameful words." In response to Tokinada whose demeanour didn't indicate the slightest bit of shame, Yoruichi makes an assertion. "Even in the unlikely event that I am genuinely being proposed to, I can't stand such formalities so let me tell you in advance. I might as well leave Soul Society once more and even escape to Hueco Mundo than remain married to you till death do us part." "Yoruichi sama…! This honeymoon you speak of… please allow me to accompany you in your escape…!" At Soifon who spoke with a serious look on her face, Yoruichi narrows her eyes smilingly and breathes a sigh. "Soifon, you… really have a few screws loose in your head when it involves me." "*gasp!* Thank you!" "You're taking that as a compliment? I mean, it's quite amazing that contrary to expectations, these guys from the Punishment Force are standing by on alert with a straight face even after watching you just now… or maybe it's better to say they've trained themselves well." (TN -- 'well trained' as in they've grown accustomed to Soifon being smitten with Yoruichi.)

"*gasp!* Thank you!" Despite her astonishment at Soifon who now resembled a plaything that would repeat the same words, a complete reversal from her mechanical deadpan mask, Yoruichi addressed Tokinada a second time. "Anyway, it appears that I'm also being targeted by assassins. That's a frightening prospect so I thought I'd have Soifon protect me alongside you. Is that fine with you?" At those words, Tokinada was silent for a brief moment, but before long he smiled bitterly as he exhaled a heavy sigh. "Shihōin Yoruichi who doesn't carry a Zanpakutō, being protected by 9th generation Fēng family who specialises in Taijutsu? I see, I see, it seems you've heard of my Zanpakutō's abilities from Kyōraku. That blabbermouth." "How rude. I have a regular Zanpakutō. It's just that in my case, I'm stronger when I battle using Taijutsu alone. It's something of a daily routine pacifying my sword which is always sulky thanks to that." —— Soothed on a daily basis… by Yoruichi sama…? Imagining that scenario, Soifon harboured an intense feeling of envy towards Yoruichi's Zanpakutō, in spite of this, she decided against voicing said feelings aloud whilst maintaining vigilance towards Tokinada. Aside from Soifon who operates with great dexterity as though she was perhaps dividing her frame of mind into two separate parts, all members of the Punishment Force stabilise their Reiatsu like the surface of a calm body of water in order to safeguard the Tsunayashiro nobleman. After giving it some further consideration, Tokinada accepted the other party's request whilst flashing a smile that was particularly sordid. "Very well. If that's the case then I shall leave it you lot to be my guard. I myself have been feeling quite uneasy too after all." "Uneasy you say?" "That's right, recently there has been a spate of attacks made on my person by these assassins. My bodyguard Hikone is also not by my side at present. On the days I step outside in the absence of a defense mechanism like this I——" In the next instant, the sound of an explosion traversed through the space, a huge cavity opens up on the ceiling. " !? " What emerged from there was a group of men and women whose faces were wrapped in cloth, skin completely concealed. Without looking left nor right, they rushed towards the spot Tokinada was standing in, each grasped a Zanpakutō in hand, readied in its Shikai state. —— Assassins!? It can't be, they're real!? —— No, are they Tsunayashiro subordinates!? Despite being unable to discern which interpretation was correct, either way, they had no choice right now but to keep a watchful eye on Tokinada whilst guarding him. Soifon who had come to that impromptu decision immediately regains her usual visage, she issued a bare minimum of instructions to the lineup among the Punishment Force who were under her command. "Battle formation, engage the enemy!" "Good heavens, how frightening. Assassins can be awfully scary. In that case, I suppose I too have little choice but to cross the barrier of social status and do battle by joining hands with you a lesser noble." As if mocking Soifon, Tokinada grins and at the same time he extends a hand towards the Zanpakutō at his waist.

"Revere —— 'Kuten-kyōkoku'." And thus, close to the very heart of Seireitei, the curtain rises on a tragedy brought about by the hands of the nobles. . . . As if to indicate that it was a prelude to further conflict which is yet to occur.

#CAN'T FEAR YOUR OWN WORLD #CFYOW #BLEACH #BLEACH NOVEL #mytranslationtag #Tokinada Tsunayashiro #Tsunayashiro clan #soifon #yoruichi shihoin #yorusoi intensifies #Yoruichi's zanpakuto

122 notes · View notes

minyoongijjangjjangmanboongboong · 5 years

Text

Sweet Dreams Chapter Seven

Lucid dreaming: The process of being aware that one is dreaming. Some researchers believe that in lucid dreaming, the individual may be able to change the outcome of the dream or control their degree of participation in the imaginary (dream) environment.

Description: Lee Eunbyul has been plagued with hellish nightmares since she was a child. Not the sort of nightmares you may be familiar with. There are no monsters to evade, no serial killers to outrun, no auditoriums of classmates in front of whom to stand naked. Instead there is just…darkness. Endless darkness. With professional help, the dreams come less frequently. But after moving away from home to live with her sister, Eunbyul’s nightmare returns, only this time it’s different. This time…she’s not alone.

What would you do if you had the chance to change the outcome of not only your dreams, but your life?

Genre: Romance, Drama, Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn

Pairing: Namjoon x (f) OC

Word Count: 8.1k

Tags: Non-Idol!Au, Producer!Namjoon, Bookstore Clerk!Seokjin, Potter!Jimin, Producer!Yoongi, Dancer!Hoseok

Warnings: Frequent mentions of mental illness, infrequent swearing and mentions of alcohol

A/N: Hello! I hope you’re all doing well and enjoying this story so far! I think we are getting kind of close to the end! Please don’t be shy and send feedback, critique, questions, theories, and comments my way. I’ll be sure to respond to all asks I receive within a day of receiving them!

And again, if you want to follow my Twitter, my username is @/plzpunchmebts. I’m super active over there and hopefully in the future I’ll do some livestreams/chats with you all!

- Mercury

Previous Chapter – Next Chapter

Masterlist

Weekly updates: Sunday, 1PM (PST)

Eunbyul

“What are you doing?” asked Gaeul as I sat at the table, absently working my lower lip between my index finger and thumb.

I startled a little and dropped my hand with a thump beside my untouched bowl of cereal. I turned to her with wide eyes. “Hm?”

“You’re spacing out,” she remarked with raised brows. “More than normal.”

I glanced down at the bloated bits of cereal, swelling with milk, floating there as they slowly disintegrated. “Mm…,” I mumbled, picking up the spoon and swirling them around. “I dunno.” Again, without meaning to, my fingertips raised to brush against my lip and I furrowed my brow, cocked my head to the side, and exhaled slowly. “Feels weird.”

“What feels weird?” asked Gaeul, legs crossed on her dining chair beside me, her phone screen going dim as she neglected to touch it. She watched me with mascara smudging around her eyes from the day before, one brow raised in inquiry.

I sighed and pushed the bowl of cereal away. “Nothing,” I said with a shake of my head. I stood up and pulled my hair back to the nape of my neck, restraining it with the old rubber band I’d stolen from the newspaper on the front mat. “I gotta go to work.”

She groaned, tossing her head back. “I feel like you work more than I do these days,” she grumbled.

I chuckled and pulled an old white baseball cap on my head. “Better put in more hours, Miss Corporate Ladder,” I teased with a smile.

She stuck out her tongue and pushed off her chair, meandering toward the mural which was slowly, gradually, growing in detail. “If you’re free later, let’s watch a movie.”

“Are you always this nice?” I asked as I slid my shoes onto my feet with a laugh.

She smirked over her shoulder at me. “Only on my days off.”

I laughed and nodded. “If I get home in time,” I said.

She waved a hand, nonchalant, and returned to stewing over her mural. “See ya.”

“Yeah.”

I stared at the junction between the kiln and its lid, slack-jawed, mind blank, as fresh noontime sunlight filtered in through the workshop curtains. I really couldn’t place it, but something felt like it had shifted. Some imperceptible piece of me, set at a new angle. Like a locked door left just slightly ajar. I felt my fingers on my lips before I realized I was again touching them. I jumped a little and dropped my hand, but in the process nearly knocked a platter of fresh porcelain teacups off the table beside my arm. I fell to my knees as I slid to catch the lip of the metal platter.

“Jesus,” I breathed out, sliding the platter so it lay further from the edge of the table. I stood up and wiped the clay dust from my knees, patting my skin. If I didn’t get myself together soon, I’d end up making a real mistake.

I turned to see Jimin removing another batch from the kiln beside me, and from the smile on his face I knew he’d seen the whole thing. Even though he didn’t look at me, that cheeky smile told me all I needed to know. I sighed, rubbing my forehead, and nodded.

“Go ahead and say what you’re thinking,” I said gently, resting a hip against the kiln.

He chuckled, eyes nearly disappearing, and shrugged. “I’m not thinking anything.”

“Just say it.”

He smiled as he met my eyes, still bent over the kiln. “Just thinking you seem like you’ve got a lot on your mind today.”

I stiffened, crossing my arms, before relenting with a sigh. “I feel…kind of complicated.”

“Mm…,” he remarked gently, shutting the kiln once he’d retrieved the last piece from inside. “Wonder why.”

“Me too.” I stretched a little and groaned. “I’m gonna go vacuum the carpets.”

“Careful,” he began with a barely contained laugh, “might end up getting sucked in.”

I rolled my eyes and, as I passed, gave the back of his head a flick. He winced and I chuckled. “I’ll suck you in.”

He laughed as I stepped into the shop. “That sounded dirty!”

“Only because your mind is dirty!”

Again, his laugh ushered me out and I got to work quickly with the vacuum.

The front door bell pinged and, as I was on my hands and knees scrubbing a decade-old clay stain on the wall beside the potter’s wheel, I scrambled on all fours toward the aisle to greet the customer. But Jimin, having only just begun patting the clay into position, laughed at me efforts and patted my back with one dirty hand before jogging out from around my shoulder.

“I’ll take care of it. Just…I dunno, watch the clay or something,” he said through laughter. He rushed to the sink to wash his hands before jogging out to meet the patron.

I sighed and slid my cleaning supplies away and stood, taking a moment to peek around the corner at Jimin and the customer. Jimin stood facing me beside the register, and the customer stood with his back to me. Broad shoulders, honey-blonde hair, dressed simply and stylishly in a white tee and jeans, he stood with one muscled arm extended, resting on the register counter. I couldn’t see his face, but he was familiar nonetheless somehow. I couldn’t quite place him.

I lingered there for a moment, but returned to reality once I realized I was again touching my lip. And with a flutter in my stomach, I realized I was staring right at him. Flushed, I turned around and forced myself to sit at the wheel, watching the clay. It was nothing more than a blob, just an asymmetrical lump of hard material, too stiff, not even workable yet. I poked it with my index finger and found, as I expected, an unyielding mound of potential that I couldn’t quite tap into.

Well, I reasoned, softening the clay isn’t too hard. Shouldn’t matter if I do it for him. And I was right, partially anyway. So, slowly, I began pounding the clay with my palms, working it almost like bread dough. For a while, it felt hopeless. And as the dull hum of conversation drifted on between that customer and Jimin, I found my focus becoming acutely trained on that lump of clay beneath my warm fingertips, slowly softening as I molded it. Tentatively, I pressed a foot on the pedal, just enough for the wheel to lurch to a slow spin. Quietly, I smoothed my hands along the sides of the clay, guiding it up into a lopsided circle.

Perhaps because I’d been keenly observing Jimin’s technique for a while, or perhaps because I’d managed to find a way to turn my brain off, but the process felt natural, comfortable. I dipped my hands into the slip Jimin had prepared and again ran my hands over the smooth ball of clay. Maybe, if I just pressed my thumbs a little, I could create an indent in the center. Like a bowl. Without my brain telling my hands, they did just that and my thumbs dug into the clay, pushing and smoothing it as I coaxed the material into a shape I liked. It was rough and not quite symmetrical, but it felt…nice.

There’s beauty in something even if it isn’t perfect. Hadn’t Jimin said exactly that? I stared at the slightly misshapen, off-kilter almost-bowl and couldn’t help but smile, just a little bit. I pressed my thumb again, this time pinching the clay with my index finger on the other side, pulling it out to create the lip of the bowl.

“Looks good,” said a voice from behind me.

I shouted and jumped, my foot slipping off the pedal and my palms colliding with the clay, flattening my bowl. I stared down at the mess with a gape before turning to see Jimin leaning against the rack of pottery with crossed arms and a smile. I coughed a little and stood up, hiding my dirty hands behind my back like a kid who’d just been caught tracking mud in the house.

He smiled and shook his head. “You could’ve kept going.”

I cleared my throat and shook my head. “I was just bored,” I said.

He chuckled. “Are you sure about that?”

“Where’s the customer?” I asked before he’d even finished the last syllable, too eager to redirect the conversation.

He blinked a few times. “Oh, uh, he’s browsing. I’m gonna work on a commission for him, so he was stopping by to tell me what he wanted made.”

I nodded. “Alright then. I’ll go see if he needs help-,” I said, walking quickly past him.

But Jimin grabbed the crook of my elbow with wide eyes. “Wait a second,” he said, brows knit. “I think you should really keep working on that bowl, Eunbyul.”

I gently guided his hand off my arm and smiled at him. “I’m gonna go wash my hands off now,” I said, taking a glance back over my shoulder at the ruined bowl.

As my gaze swept back toward Jimin, I caught the outline of someone’s body on the other side of the shelves, peering through the spaces between ceramics. I stiffened, ready to point out the observer to Jimin, but they quickly moved out of my view, walking out from the aisle and into the larger shop space.

“I’m gonna go help him,” I said, maneuvering around Jimin with my arms raised like a surgeon prepped for an operation, two arms raised, palms facing my body. But once I emerged beside the register, the man’s strong back was retreating toward the front door. “Wait!” I called, mimicking Jimin’s frantic tone from before. I cleared my throat and managed my voice a little. “Did you need help with anything?”

The man waved his hand over his shoulder and shook his head, blonde hair catching the sunlight as it bounced. “I’m good, thanks,” he said before ducking out the front door and onto the sidewalk.

And I stood there, stupefied, for a long moment. Just staring at the space left behind in his absence, the empty space in front of the doorway where he was. His voice, the words, replayed over and over in my messy mind and I couldn’t force them out. Instead, I could only stand exactly still, hands dripping slip down my bare forearms, mouth open like I might shout something else, stunned into stillness.

Until I tasted something chalky on my tongue and spat a little, realizing too late that I’d lifted my dirty index finger to touch my lips once again…

I stared at my reflection for a long moment in the bathroom of Hyejin’s Books. Behind me, greenery clung to the wall from a hanging basket, alive and vibrant. But me…somehow I looked sallow, ill. It had to have been from lack of proper sleep, but surely my own mood was contributing. My eyes were heavy, my skin looked almost papery, dull. And as much as I hated to admit it, Mom was right when she said I was looking thinner. I knew it was my fault for eating less, but my brain felt like it was everywhere at once these days. I found it difficult to force myself to eat with my head so messy. But as I pulled at one of my under-eye bags with my index fingertip, I couldn’t help but groan a little and turn away. It was a bit hard to look at.

As I took a much needed step backwards, I caught sight of a pair of stylish black boots beneath one of the toilet stall dividers, like someone was sitting there holding their knees. And I remembered. That person in the last stall, sitting here alone some days.

Crying some days.

Today, they weren’t crying. Just…sitting there. And I wasn’t so sure what was worse. I wavered there for a long moment, brows knit, biting my lower lip and swaying from foot to foot as I lingered in indecision. Of course, bothering the stranger would be weird. It would be odd.

But…the fact that they were here again, in my path again…

Didn’t that mean I had another chance…?

I sighed, glancing at the door, before taking another look over my shoulder down the bathroom at the stall door. As I did, I caught another glimpse of my reflection. Haggard, tired, worn out, but…in my eyes I saw something new.

Worried.

I inhaled sharply and took the few paces needed to reach the last stall. I stopped in front of it and, with bated breath, gave the door three sharp knocks. To my surprise, the response was nearly instantaneous. “Occupied,” said a stern voice from inside.

Shit, shit, shit, I thought, gnawing on the inside of my cheek. Of course they didn’t wanna be bothered! Jesus Christ…

“You still there?” asked the voice, gentler this time.

I swallowed hard, blushing, and stared at the stall door like I was looking at the voice’s owner. “Um…just…checking if you needed, uh…toilet…paper…,” I said, and the excuse was lame even to my ears.

“Uh…,” responded the voice. “N-No, I’m good.”

Sweating, I nodded and turned on my heel toward the exit, ready to run all the way back home. But before I could push my way back out into the bookstore, I heard some shuffling, like the person was adjusting their position, and along with it, one simple phrase.

“Thank you,” the voice said, and suddenly it sounded like a child. Breathy, quiet, uncertain. Much like mine…

“Uh…yeah. Of course,” I said, clearing my throat as I stood awkwardly in front of the exit. “If…um…if you happen to need…toilet paper…you know, later on down the line…my name is Eunbyul and I’m here almost every day.” I stared at the bathroom door, heart hammering, awaiting their response.

And, quietly, one came in the form of a laugh. “Okay,” they said. “I’ll remember.”

I nodded and rushed out into the bookstore without another word.

As I rounded the corner from the bathroom hall, I caught sight of Seokjin behind the counter and wished I hadn’t. With flaming red cheeks and a hyper-awareness of my own social ineptitude, meeting with him was just about the last thing I was ready for. But when I glanced his way, I found him already watching me with a half-smile, resting his cheek in his hand as he chuckled a few times, one brow raised. Today his hair was styled out of his face, and he wore a tee that looked expensive. He looked a bit like a rich grad student or perhaps the son of some hotel chain.

He had the confidence for both.

“Eunbyul!” he called as I averted my gaze and attempted to slip past him.

I cursed under my breath and swiveled around to face him. I managed a tense smile and bowed my head in greeting. “Hey,” I said.

He smiled and beckoned me toward the register and, unable to find a reason to say no, I complied. Once I approached, he scrutinized me further, squinting his eyes as he looked at me from head to toe in the light of the unforgiving sunset.

“You look beat,” he said with a sigh. “Do you sleep enough?”

I blinked a few times, struggling for a response, but eventually settled for a grunt and a shake of my head. “No,” I said at last.

He hummed and clicked his tongue, leaning back to cross his arms. “Better work on that,” he said, then sighed. “I’m off in, like, thirty minutes. Wanna go get something to eat? My treat.”

I stiffened and waved my hands. “Ah, no, no. That’s fine,” I said, shaking my head.

He rolled his eyes and reached out to flick my forehead. “I already decided anyway. Just wait for me, alright? Thirty minutes.”

I stared at him for a long time, brow furrowing. I couldn’t quite figure it out, but something was different today. Normally, an innocuous touch from Kim Seokjin would have sent my mind spinning like a top, but today…

Nothing, really.

I chomped down on my lower lip, puzzled, and nodded once. “Alright,” I said, and was surprised by how easily I relented.

But it would have been a lie to say I wasn’t curious. Not only about Seokjin, but about why today of all days talking with him didn’t give me butterflies…

I watched as Seokjin tended to the meat, smoke hanging low in the air of the barbecue joint. It was a short building near the beach with a decidedly adult crowd. All around were men in business suits and loosened ties, older women gossiping, clumps of people gathered here and there for two separate company dinners.

And then, in the front corner by one of the only windows, two twenty-somethings with two plates of meat and three bottles of soju.

My shot sat untouched beside my chopsticks, but Jin had helped himself as soon as we’d entered. I wasn’t counting, but he had to have been on his third by now as he struggled with the metal tongs and the hot stove. He grumbled all the while as he managed the flame, turned the pieces of pork, added bits of kimchi, and his brow was low, jaw set. Like it was a big labor.

I’d offered to do it myself multiple times, but he’d silenced me with a look every time.

Perhaps he liked controlling things like that.

“You must be hungry,” said Jin as he finally tore his attention from the grill to look at me with a flushed smile.

I raised my brows. “Hm?”

He raised the tongs to point to his lips and only then did I realize that, once again, I was touching my own. I quickly dropped my hand and offered a halfway smile. “Ah, yeah,” I said, grabbing my chopsticks. “Haven’t eaten much today.”

“With Kim Seokjin, you’ll eat like a king!” he said, following the statement with a loud, lilting laugh.

I couldn’t help but smile for real, just a little. I played with my chopsticks for a moment, making them walk across the table. “I can pay my share…”

“So you’ve said,” he began, eyeing me over the meat. “Three times.”

I chuckled. “Sorry,” I said.

He hummed. “If you’re sorry, take a shot with me!” he said, then paused. “Ah, once you’ve eaten something, of course.” He quickly began grabbing pieces of pork and placing them on my small plate, stacked one on top of the other. “Here.”

I bowed my head before taking the first bite. I had to admit, it was cooked nicely. Having grown up in an industrious family, I was used to first-rate barbecue from my dad, but Jin’s skills nearly matched. My eyes went wide.

“Good?” he asked, and there was a hopeful glimmer in his eyes.

I nodded and held out a thumbs-up. “Mhm!” I said, taking another bite. “Really good.”

He sighed and nodded. “As expected,” he said, taking a bite of his own. “You know, in high school whenever my friends and I would go out they’d always pay for my share so that I’d cook the meat.”

I raised my brows, another bite between my teeth. “Hm?” I asked. “Are you sure they weren’t using you?” As the joke left my lips, I regretted it. Who was I to be acting so familiar?

To my surprise, however, Seokjin simply laughed and nodded his head. It seemed he was more lighthearted than I thought. He waved his chopsticks, taking a sip of water. “Ah, is that so?” he asked through laughter.

We locked eyes across the small table and, for a few seconds, I waited in suspense for the moment my heart would race, the moment my palms would get sweaty, the moment my stomach would drop. But, as the eye contact continued, I was left with…nothing.

I cleared my throat and grabbed for my shot, holding it out across the grill towards Seokjin. “I’m ready for my shot now,” I said.

He smiled and clinked the rim of his glass against mine. “Cheers,” he said gently, tipping the shot back.

I followed suit, pressing the cool glass against my warm lips, letting the soju slide down my throat in one fell swoop. I winced a little as I returned to sitting straight and, with squinted eyes, met Seokjin’s gaze. He was already laughing at me.

“Don’t drink often?” he asked.

I hissed just slightly as I exhaled. “Ah,” I began. “You can tell?”

He laughed. “Just a little.” He met my eyes with a smirk. “So…your boss? The pottery guy?”

I raised my brows, already pouring both of us another shot. “Jimin? What about him?”

“Has he…you know, taught you anything cool? About pottery?” asked Seokjin as he took a sip of his shot.

I took a sip as well and hummed. “Yeah. A lot, actually,” I said, then waved my hand. “It’s probably boring though.”

“Mm…,” he continued, tapping a finger against the wooden table, eyes down. “Well, I always see you reading about…like, mysteries and stuff, right?”

I blinked a few times, the alcohol warming my skin, and met his eyes. “Jin, are you making small talk?” I asked.

He stiffened, eyes round. “Uh, well…I was just…,” he began, then stopped and gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry, it’s just…with the meat cooked and the cheers done…I guess…”

And suddenly I felt the nervous part of me settle back into place. I exhaled in a sigh and smiled. “No social lubricant,” I said with a nod. “I get that.”

He met my eyes with raised brows. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” I said, taking another bite of meat. “Like, at the bookstore it’s easy to find things to talk about, right? Since it’s work. No need to manufacture conversation topics.”

“Right!”

“But…one on one in a new place…it’s harder, isn’t it?” I asked, smiling.

He nodded, snapping his fingers. “Exactly.”

I chuckled. “I didn’t know you felt that way too.”

“Ah, well…,” he started, laughing a little. “Contrary to how I seem, I’d consider myself quite the introvert.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said, then sighed, resting his cheek in one hand and popping a piece of pork in his mouth with the other. “Probably one of the reasons I wanted to reach out to you in the first place.”

I nodded, sipping my soju. “Hm…”

“Sorry, was that offensive?” he asked. “I’m not trying to imply that you, like…need someone to reach out to you.”

I smiled. Where I would have fumbled with my words and taken to going silent, it seemed Seokjin tended to talk more. Much like Jimin. “I get it,” I said. “I don’t really know how to interact with people,” I said, but as the words came out the felt like deja vu. “Or maybe…I can interact if there’s no pressure. If I don’t feel like I’m…,” I continued, but still the words perplexed me, “in the way or…being a burden.” When had I said these exact words?

Seokjin nodded once more and exhaled, like he was relieved. “Well thank God that’s outta the way,” he said, pouring another shot for both of us. He raised his glass for me to bump, and I did with furrowed brows.

That sentence…that interaction…it was so jarringly familiar. Like I remembered something but only in stranded pieces, like the answer was there in my brain, filed somewhere just barely out of reach.

Jin tipped back his shot, and I didn’t waste any time in doing the same. Frustrated, I took the shot down and poured another.

“Eunbyul, please, just…tell me your address!” whined Seokjin as I leaned heavily against him, both of us walking in an unsteady line down the sidewalk.

I shook my head, shutting my eyes and stumbling just slightly. “No! I don’t give my address to strangers. No, no.”

“We aren’t strangers!” he protested, groaning. He dragged me beside him like a limp doll.

I dug my heels down into the sidewalk and Seokjin skidded to a halt, whipping around to pout at me. “Okay, then what’s my address?” I asked, placing both hands on my hips and staring at him through half-open eyes.

He scoffed. “I don’t know it!”

“Then we’re strangers. Friends know,” I said with a nod, turning on my heel to walk staunchly back to the restaurant.

“No, no! Eunbyul, the shop is closing, we gotta go!” he said, grabbing me by the crook of the elbow.

I shouted and tried to thrash out of his grip. “Hey!” I shouted, turning to glare up at him. “You can’t just grab women! Or men! Or non-binary people! You-you can’t just grab people!” I said, shaking my head.

He sighed, gripping his nose bridge. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbled.

I sighed and swayed a little. “Take me home, Jin,” I commanded, pointing my finger at him.

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m trying to do!”

“Huh! Did you just roll your eyes at me?” I asked, stumbling closer with my finger pointed squarely at him. “Are you disrespecting me?”

He laughed, leaning away from me as I stood an inch away from him. “No, Eunbyul. I’m trying to get you home.”

I hummed. “Well I don’t give my address to strangers,” I said, smirking as I crossed my arms.

He groaned. “This is going nowhere,” he said, sighing as he turned his back to me. He bent a little at the knees and patted his lower back with one hand.

“What kind of pose is that?” I asked, laughing.

“Not a pose,” he said, peeking at me over his shoulder. “Hop on.”

I raised my brows. “On your back?”

“Yeah. You’re slowing us down anyway,” he said. “And since you won’t give me your address, I’ll just take you to my place until you sober up. It’s a block away.”

I hummed and sauntered toward him, draping my arms over his shoulders and holding tight. He grabbed both of my thighs and stood up straight. “I haven’t had a piggy-back ride in years,” I giggled into his ear.

He nodded with a grunt, adjusting me on his back. “Mhm.”

“Hey, is your heart racing?” I asked, patting his chest with my palm. “Having someone so close?”

His laugh rang out into the near-empty street. “What am I, a middle schooler?” he asked.

I chuckled. “No,” I said. “Big middle schooler.”

“I’m too smart to be a middle schooler anyway,” he said with a sigh, our pace slow as we walked down the night-drenched sidewalk. Streetlamp's punctured the darkness only every now and again. I was briefly relieved that Seokjin was here.

“You didn’t answer though,” I said, letting my head loll forward so I was closer to his ear. “Is your heart racing? Like badump-badump,” I said, laughing as I blew a puff of air against his skin.

He gagged. “God, you’re giving me goosebumps!” he exclaimed. “And the answer is no, alright?”

“Hm…,” I said with a nod, shutting my eyes as I rested my head against Jin’s shoulder. “Me either. Weird, huh?”

“I must not be your type,” he said with a laugh.

I smiled. “I guess not,” I said, yawning as I nestled into his back. Somehow, it was warm and comfortable and the siren song of sleep was inescapable.

My head throbbed as I peeled my eyes open, finding myself lying on my side in the darkness. It took me several disorienting moments to realize where I was. The pitch blackness, the vague chill amongst the absolute absence of feeling…

“Eunbyul,” said a voice from beside me.

I turned and found Namjoon, sitting by my thigh with squinted, tired eyes and a soft dimpled smile. I sighed, relieved to remember it all again. “It’s Namjoon!” I said, pushing myself up to sitting and collapsing against his chest. As my chest collided with his left pectoral a slew of giggles escaped me. “Oh no,” I said, laughing against him.

He placed gentle hands on my shoulders and guided me back, brows furrowed as he scrutinized me in the dark. “You…are you drunk right now?” he asked.

I sniffled a little and reached grasping fingers out toward his torso, eager to hug him close again. “Mm, a little,” I said, then laughed again. “A lot.”

He sighed, gripping his nose bridge, and shut his eyes for a moment. In an instant, we arrived in a nice apartment, furnished monochromatically with greys and blacks and whites and blues. Directly behind me was a nice white sofa and a big television screen. Wide-eyed, I looked around me with a grin. The kitchen adjoined the living room, and the floor was chilly. Polished tile. I ran a finger along it and laughed.

“Wow,” I said as I glanced around.

Namjoon nodded, standing and walking quickly into the kitchen. He rifled around in the big fridge and produced an ice pack, falling once again to his knees beside me. “Not sure what good it’ll do since we’re in a dream, but it’s worth a shot,” he said, placing the pack along my hairline.

I hummed, nodding once with shut eyes as the pleasant cold spread across my skin. “Feels nice,” I mumbled. “Ahh, but where is this?” I asked, opening only one eye to peer at him from above the rims of my glasses.

He chuckled and helped me to my feet, guiding me to rest on the couch. He joined me with a thump and a sigh. “It’s my apartment. Well…the one I share with a senior from college.”

“Ah, so you live with a friend?” I said, smiling with a nod. “Good! Now I don’t have to worry.”

He laughed. “You were worried?”

I nodded, eyes shut, and leaned back against the couch. “Mhm,” I said, then jumped and snapped my fingers, eyes wide. Namjoon stared at me, clearly startled, and grabbed my shoulders to keep me from moving too much. I turned to him. “You came to the shop today.”

He exhaled slowly and nodded. “Ah, that?” he asked, releasing me. He turned a little bashful, rubbing his arm with a shy smile. “I’m commissioning Jimin.”

“He’s talented!” I exclaimed, clapping my hands. “Really good, really.”

Namjoon turned to me and chuckled. Carefully, he twisted around and grabbed the thick blanket draped over the back of the couch. He returned to me with a gentle, tired smile and placed the blanket over my legs and torso, grabbing the fallen ice pack and replacing it atop my head. I offered him a slow smile and, without thinking much, reached out and pinched his cheek.

He laughed, grabbing my hand so I’d stop squeezing his skin, and instead simply interlaced our fingers. I felt my face go hot and forced myself to look away, look back at the coffee table. “I saw you there,” I said, and the drunken haze relented for just a moment. “For a second, but I knew somehow.”

“You knew what?” he asked, leaning in to get a better look at me.

I leaned back, flushed. “I dunno. Just knew.”

He smiled and that did me in. The dimples, the rows of perfect teeth, the way his eyes got smaller like he really meant it. My heart kicked up, stomach fluttering. I blinked at him for a moment. “Hey, I wanna kiss you. Is that alright?” I asked before I could stop myself.

His smile vanished and it was his turn to go red. “Huh?” he asked, eyes round, innocent. “W-wait, you’re drunk, right?”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then no,” he said, pulling back a little.

But I kept a firm hold on his hand. “But I want to.”

He laughed, eyeing me from a safer distance, still beautiful even in the dim apartment. “Tomorrow night then. If you’re sober.”

“I can be sober,” I said with a nod. I released his hand and crossed my arms, clearing my throat. I settled my gaze on him and locked my jaw, nodding again. “Sober.”

He laughed once more and shook his head, and it was clear he was now on guard. “No,” he said.

I sighed, collapsing back against the couch. “You’re right. I’m drunk,” I said with a laugh. “It’s your fault anyway. Seeing you today made me feel weird.”

He chuckled. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

“Well…I saw you too. I was watching you at the wheel,” he said with a wistful sigh, eyes going faraway. “You looked…really cool.”

I laughed. “Me? Cool?”

“Really cool,” he said. “You looked…peaceful, I guess. Your hands anyway. That’s all I could see.”

I hummed. “I messed it up.”

He glanced out the window behind my head, at the full moon, and smiled just barely. “Did you?” he asked. “Isn’t that normal though?”

I stiffened. “Huh?”

“Isn’t it normal to mess up sometimes? So that you can get better?” he asked.

I blinked, eyes wide, and stared right at him. At the peaceful smile on his lips, the warmth in his gaze, the way his skin went gold in the low light. “You sure I can’t kiss you?” I asked, persistent as my heart kicked up again.

He laughed. “No,” he said, eyeing me. “What’s gotten into you? Is this how you are when you drink?”

I pouted, crossing my arms and leaning away from him. “No,” I said. “As a matter of fact, it’s not. I didn’t even feel anything tonight for Jin and he carried me back to his place.”

At this, Namjoon’s smile vanished and he squared his gaze on me without a hint of playfulness. Deathly serious, his brow furrowed. “He took you back to his place?”

I covered my mouth. “No! Not like that,” I said. “I didn’t wanna give him my address so…”

He exhaled loudly, glancing back at the floor. “Byul…”

“I promise! I don’t have feelings for him anymore,” I said, shaking my head and lifting my arms to form an X in front of my chest. “Not at all.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he said, rubbing his temples. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

I nodded. “He’s nice.”

Namjoon eyed me, skeptical. A few tense moments passed that way, me desperately and drunkenly attempting to sate his concerns and him watching me carefully. He raised one brow. “Are you sure you don’t like him?”

I shook my head and patted my hands against the couch. “No!” I whined. “I’m certain. Even today, without my memories, I didn’t feel anything and that’s what made me feel weird, you know?” I asked, sighing. “I think from the start it was just because of one thing.”

“Huh?”

“Why I liked him in the first place,” I said, running a hand through my hair and knocking the ice pack onto the floor. I stared down at it with a sigh, my attention stolen. “He reminded me of a boy I knew when I was a kid. Confident and handsome and smart. Someone I could depend on,” I said, then laughed. “But he’s not like that at all!”

“You realized that?” asked Namjoon.

I nodded, then paused to cough a little. “Ah, you know, when I was a kid I got lost? For a few days, you know? I got lost in the woods and couldn’t find my way out,” I said, laughing. But an old ache returned, an old anxiety. And laughing didn’t fix it. I paused. “Mm…it was scary.”

“You never told me that,” he said softly, watching me from across the couch.

I laughed again and patted his arm. “Don’t look guilty! It’s not your fault,” I said with a sigh. “Ah, anyway, I don’t have feelings for Seokjin. I promise,” I said, holding out my hand for him to shake.

Namjoon raised his brows and, tentatively, took my hand in his, shaking twice. “I mean…I don’t really have any right to tell you who and who not to like…”

“You still don’t believe me!” I exclaimed, tearing my hand away. I stood to my feet and crossed my arms, staring down at him with a glare. “How can I prove it?”

He chuckled and shook his head, reaching out to gently touch my waist with one hand. “You don’t have to, alright? It’s fine. We…we’re in a very unique situation.”

“Hah! It still sounds like you don’t believe me,” I protested, frustrated. I bent at the waist so our eyes were level and I noticed his go wide. “Tell me the truth. Are you regretting confessing to me last night?” I asked.

He stiffened. “Huh? What-no! Not at all,” he said, laughing. “What would give you that idea?” he asked, his thumb rubbing into my side, comforting.

I inhaled sharply. “Well you don’t believe me about Jin, and you won’t let me kiss you. I’m wondering if you regret it,” I said, throat constricting. “I wonder if you’d be relieved if I liked Jin.”

He raised his brows. “What? I’m only saying no because you’re drunk,” he said with another laugh.

“Don’t laugh!” I said, eyes teary. “I think I really like you, okay?”

He barely contained another laugh behind one hand and shook his head. “Me too.”

“Even now?”

“Somehow, yeah,” he said.

I knitted my brow, still bent uncomfortably to look at him close. And, too soon, I felt that distinctive tug in my chest. Namjoon’s eyes flashed with panic, and I knew he’d felt it too. We locked gazes and I felt my heart begin to race.

“A-a peck then,” I said, raising my brows.

He laughed, tossing his head back, his hand still warm against my waist. “You’re still on that?”

I nodded. “Since we’re waking up soon anyway…,” I said, pouting. “What’s the harm?”

He smiled. “You’re a good salesman,” he remarked, laughing again.

“Is that consent?” I asked.

Again, through laughter, he responded. “Yes.”

“Okay,” I said with a nod, placing both of my cold hands against his warm cheeks. I bent down just a little closer and, wordlessly, pressed a chaste kiss against his lips.

“Ugh,” I groaned as I rolled over in the sheets.

I yanked my glasses off my face and tossed them aside, but as soon as I did I regretted it as I heard them clatter against the ground. Strange. Normally, I’d have enough space in my bed to toss my glasses onto the other pillow. Slowly, I peeled my eyes open and saw to my surprise that not only was the bed smaller — a full instead of a queen —, but the sheets were unfamiliar and the scent wasn’t mine.

I jerked upright, but as I did my head began spinning and I felt I might vomit. I held a hand firmly against my mouth and squeezed my eyes shut, holding it in. I tried to manage my breathing, but I felt remarkably ill.

Of course, it was a hangover.

I opened my eyes once more and glanced around, running a hand through my knotted, slept-on hair. The clock on the wall read 4:03. Jin’s apartment was small, a studio, with sparse furniture and few decorations. It seemed the most expensive thing in the whole apartment was a pretty, large media setup complete with fluorescent keyboard and gaming computer. I’d only seen those sorts of things in videos online. Wincing, I looked around once more, but like the first time I found no Seokjin in the dark studio apartment.

Carefully, I swung my legs out over the bed and, trying not to disrupt my equilibrium too much, padded across the faux wood floor to the kitchen in search of water. As I passed the old sofa, I noticed a few pillows and a blanket strewn haphazardly across it. He’d given me the bed to sleep on the couch? Softly, I smiled and folded the blanket, laying it across the back of the couch. I reorganized the pillows and made a halfhearted effort to remake the bed.

The security system sang a little tune and Seokjin entered, popping off both shoes and flicking on the light before even noticing I was up and walking. But when we met eyes, we both shouted in surprise.

“Ah!” he screamed, dropping the grocery bags he’d been carrying. Startled by the sound of groceries hitting the floor, he jumped and I fell to my knees to help recollect the fallen goods. “Shoot, when did you wake up?”

I shook my head, but even that made me want to barf. “Um, just a few minutes ago.”

He sighed as we finished repacking the food and led the way into his kitchen where he set the bags on the counter. “Sorry I was out. I realized I didn’t have any real food, so I…,” he said, then waved his hand. “Let me go open the window or something. Smells like alcohol in here.”

“What are you doing up so early?” I asked, watching him

He maneuvered around me, hopping over a few miscellaneous clothes and household items strewn on the floor to the window. “Ah, couldn’t sleep. I was…kinda worried,” he said with a laugh. Like it was no big deal.

He pulled the curtains up and swung it open, letting fresh summer morning air leak inside. The sky was lavender with the breaking day, and the cityscape looked all too big from behind Seokjin’s small window.

I began unpacking the groceries quietly, sighing as I placed a bell pepper on the countertop. “I’m…I’m really sorry about last night, Seokjin.”

“I told you to call me Jin, right?” He searched my face with a smile and, upon finding none, simply sighed. He joined me and rested a hip against the counter, crossing his arms. “Hey, don’t be sorry. It was…mostly fun,” he joked, shoving my shoulder.

I laughed and nodded, rubbing my aching head. “I guess so.”

“If you feel bad, help me make breakfast,” he said with a grin. And, of course, I couldn’t say no.

But as I began removing packages of food from the plastic bags, I began to feel that tingly sensation in my lips again, and my focus wouldn’t waver as I touched my lip with a fingertip.

Seokjin worked the stove as I chopped vegetables. He’d insisted upon fried rice for breakfast. Something about oil and carbs being good for hangovers. I wouldn’t have known any better anyway. So instead of questioning him, I simply chopped.

“Sorry for…you know, the state of this place,” said Seokjin with a sigh as he swirled oil and rice around in the pan.

I raised my brows. “Hm?”

“I know it’s small,” he said, chuckling. “And messy. And outdated. And kinda empty.”

I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said, meeting his eyes gently with a smile. “I think it’s fine.”

He smiled and laughed lightly. “Thanks for saying that, but I know it’s not much,” he said, once more sighing. “I moved out of the house when I was seventeen and this was the only place that would take a kid that young with no job, so I just haven’t left.”

“You left home?” I asked, eyeing him.

He nodded, adding in the kimchi and peppers. “Yeah,” he said, smiling at the food. “I guess that’s surprising, huh?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, my home life wasn’t so healthy. I had to leave otherwise I’d have ended up in a bad situation,” he said, waving one hand and wielding a spatula with the other. “Anyway, I’m making okay money now, but moving sounds like a chore. Besides, the more I save the more fun things I can buy.”

I smiled. “Like your gaming setup?”

He grinned brightly at me with a nod. “Yeah, exactly,” he said, chuckling. “I don’t wanna be house poor or car poor or anything like that. I’d rather live someplace shitty but do what I like.”

“Hm…,” I said. “I’ve never really thought of it that way.”

“Do you think less of me?” he asked, but the conscious look my way made it clear he was only joking halfway.

I shook my head. “Not at all,” I said, sliding the broccoli toward him. “I’ve just been learning a lot lately. About…the different ways people live their lives. I guess…it kinda makes me feel better knowing there’s no one way to live. That there are billions,” I said, then shrugged. “I guess it’s comforting to think there’s no metric, you know? No way to conclusively measure a person.”

He was quiet for a long moment before laughing a booming laugh. I jumped, turning to face him with wide eyes. “That’s the most you’ve ever spoken to me,” he said, still laughing.

I blushed. “Sorry,” I mumbled.

He laughed again and smacked my arm. “I’m not saying it’s bad,” he said, still smiling. “It’s…cool, I guess. To hear that that’s what you think. I didn’t know you thought about those things.”

“Doesn’t everybody think of those things?” I asked.

He eyed me. “Hey, how old are you?”

I stiffened. “Twenty-two,” I said.

He smirked, crossing his arms. “I’m older than you, kiddo. You’d better start speaking to me more respectfully.”

I raised my brows. “How old are you then?”

“Older than you.”

I gaped. “I told you my age!”

“And since I’m older I reserve the right to not respond,” he said, laughing once I scoffed in disbelief.

“That’s not fair at all!” I shouted, wagging a finger at him. “We live in a democratic society where a person’s value isn’t related directly to their age!”

He laughed again. “This is Korea!”

“So?!”

He continued laughing for a long moment before settling down with a simple smile. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you yell,” he said.

I blinked at him, swallowing hard. “Well…you provoked me,” I said, sheepish as I crossed my arms.

He chuckled. “Say…I don’t have, you know, all that many…friends,” he said.

I raised my brows. “Huh?” Why was he telling me this?

He hummed a little, tending to the food with his back to me. But I suspected he was a bit nervous. “I feel like we get along well, that’s all,” he said with a shrug. “So…if you wanna hang out some more sometime, just…call or something, okay?”

I stiffened. Isn’t this the part where I get nervous? Where my heart skips? Where my stomach flips? Why, then, was I simply standing dumb on the linoleum floor, watching Seokjin’s broad back as he worked over the food, feeling nothing but platonic fondness?

I swallowed hard, touched my lip, and nodded once. “I…I’ll do that then.”

“You what?!”

I winced, still sensitive as my hangover began to dissipate, and eyed Gaeul from across the living room where she slaved over the peak of a mountain on her mural. She stared at me over her shoulder with her mouth agape, eyes like saucers.

“I slept over,” I said, shrugging as I peeled garlic cloves, setting them aside in a bowl as Gaeul had instructed.

“So that’s why you never came home for movie night?” she asked through disbelieving laughter.

I sighed. “It wasn’t like that,” I groaned, rubbing my head against the bright work lights Gaeul had set up in front of her mural.

She scoffed. “How do you know?” she asked, smirking as she returned to adding scraped of white down the side of the mountain.

“Because…I didn’t really feel anything special,” I said, nodding.

She stopped for a second before regaining her blasé rhythm and hummed. “Weird.”

“Yeah…,” I said, chewing on my bottom lip. It felt weird today too, just like before. Like I’d been stung by something, or like static. “Anyway, I think we’re friends.”

She chuckled. “Only you would go to a man’s house for the night and leave as friends,” she said, shaking her head.

“Well…,” I mumbled, still peeling the soaked garlic.

“I guess you lost feelings then,” she said absently. “Wonder why.”

I shook my head. “Dunno.”

She smirked, eyeing me. “Maybe you like someone new now,” she remarked before returning to her art.

And something about the phrase hit me weird, like a shove to the chest. I sat there, puzzled, for a long moment. Garlic clove in one hand and knife in the other, sitting criss-crossed in front of the coffee table, slack-jawed.

Even though that was impossible, even though I definitely didn’t have those feelings for anyone else…

Still I couldn’t help but sit there and ponder it.

Because, as I thought about it more, the sensation on my lips…felt vaguely like being kissed…

#namjoon fanfic #namjoon fanfiction #namjoon fluff #namjoon angst #namjoon au #kim namjoon #bts #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts au #bts au fanfic

16 notes · View notes

tarithenurse · 5 years

Text

On my mind, in my soul - 11

Prompt: Continuing the prompts from last chapter (just because I had written so much originally that it had to be split in two parts)…but I decided to chose a new song and got help from my hubby for that. Now the prompts are: “Dangerous” by Royal Deluxe, Asgard, Loki’s helmet. Pairing: Loki x Burglar!reader. Content: Swearing as usual (I think), the colour blue, a LOT of adult-only content! (avoid the itch - wrap the bitch) A/N: It’s been an absolute joy to watch the storm of demands for helmet-smut after the last chapter :) Please...if you like this chapter too, then reblog! Comment! Anything! Also...the art is obviously not made by me, because daymn!

Ready or not

Every ounce the man that drove you to temptation, Loki’s posture demands subjugation even if he must be weak still. Or maybe he isn’t? Studying the god, you notice a faint blue taint in his pale skin where raised markings are visible to any careful observer, proving that he’s putting on a show whether it’s for your benefit or not.

“I see you’ve been busy, my dear.” Moving his gaze to the golden headgear, there’s no doubt what he’s referring to. “I was…certain that chest had been locked…perhaps I was mistaken?”

His steps are careful, slow, but show no sign of strain as Loki walks to inspect the tools still lying by the chest. A hum reveals how impressed he is with what you’ve made do with, making you straighten up with ill-hidden pride. Adjusting his “crown” on your head, you consider the reflection in the mirror. Not bad. Sure, the dress is a bit odd in it’s foreign design, but the near-black purple silk that flows softly around your shape thanks to strategically placed golden ribbons. In fact, you decide, they match the horns very well. Flowy, long sleeves can easily hide the actions of your hands if needed, but that won’t be needed right now.

Turning fully towards Loki once more, you find him seated on the end of the bed. He’s been silently observing you as well, and a smirk hints that he likes the view.

“What brings you here?” you ask, crossing your arms below your bosom to push the breasts up towards the low neckline.

“These are my chambers,” the explanation is quiet, but his voice drops as he continues, “as are the contents.”

The low purr sends shivers through your body, and you know there won’t be anything you’ll refuse him even though you’re willing to play hard to get. “Is that so? I thought it was illegal to own people…at least I won’t be your slave.” ‘Cause I’m wearing the crown.

“My slave? No…you’ll attend to my needs of your own free will tonight,” he purrs deviously, “then we’ll see about the title later.”

“I may be benevolent…if you get undressed.”

Quirking and eyebrow, Loki doesn’t discuss the terms but merely waves a hand to magic his simple clothes away in a haze of gold and emerald, leaving him naked and very much at attention. Rarely one to ignore an impressive cock, your eyes are drawn to the semi-erection between the Asgardian’s thighs. Yes, you feel an aching need for it…but you want more than that, craving his touch everywhere on the skin. A hungry meeting of hot and cold. Past trails of kisses and love bites need renewing with a vigour that can only be found by those who nearly lost the way completely.

“Stroke yourself…my lord.”

He obeys without hesitation by grabbing the cock loosely, arm resting on the thigh as he sets a lazy pace without even once taking the eyes off you. Some incentive won’t go amiss. Reaching up under the dress, you find the delicate fabric of the underwear and pull it down. By the time it appears from under the skirts to pool around you ankles, Loki’s tongue is wetting his lips and his breathing has sped up. Moments later the tiny piece of clothing lands beside him on the bed.

“Move up to the headboard.”

Again, there’s no argument, and he’s rewarded by the golden sash that has held the dress tight around your waist. This one lands on the floor and is soon joined by the first layer of the dress (only leaving two more – Asgardian fashion is very different from temporary Earth-clothes). On his own, Loki has resumed the stroking but this time tighter, baring the dark cockhead each time his hand reaches the base. A bead of natural lubrication appears and is spread in a thin, glistening sheen.

This is how it's gonna be This is what you'll think of me

You pull at a few more ribbons, very slowly, before the most substantial part of the dress cascades off your shoulders. Gone are the flowy sleeves and the midnight-purple dabbled with gold, and you’re left in a thin shift in a ridiculously romantic lilac hue. You’d never have picked that yourself, but Loki approves, drinking in the vision of you.

“My dear,” the hushed longing transforms into the tell-tale purr, “had I know this would be my reward for sacrificing myself then I would not have waited so long.”

Head held high you cross the distance to the foot end of the bed. “Who says the reward is yours?”

You have to hold on to the horns perched precariously on your head as you climb onto the mattress, but as you settle down (kneeling or sitting on your heels) near Loki’s feet, it’s safe for you to occupy your hands elsewhere. Tracing every curve through the delicate fabric, you allow the god to admire what he can from afar. The pointed nipples are pinched and rolled through the almost transparent silk; waist is highlighted by broad strokes along the sides of the ribcage and across the stomach before you roll your hips into your own palms.

A few feet away, Loki’s ragged breath is barely muted by the teeth he digs into the lower lip even though his hand has slowed. All he can do, it seems, is to hold on to whatever is near. His grasp on the Asgardian shape is failing, causing red to mingle with the normally bright colour of his iris while the blue shade reclaims his limbs by spreading from each ridge and marking.

Bunching the skirt up a bit, one of your hands disappears underneath it with a clear destination. Although the nimble movement of the fingers is nothing by a shadow underneath the rumpled fabric, you help Loki understand exactly what is happening by rolling your hips, guiding your own fingers between then slick folds. And you do nothing at all to mask the obscene sound produced each time a finger slips past the entrance to the core or the growing moans when you tease the clit.

“[Y/N]…” the god groans desperately.

“Yeah?”

Your other hand hasn’t been idle but working your breasts and nipples through the shift. Now you slide it down a thigh and begin to collect the fabric, pulling it upwards inch by inch. It’s torture for Loki. His cock is straining and leaking precum.

“Let me worship your gorgeous body.” The offer’s breathless, making you smirk at his attempt to hide the frustration.

“Don’t want to strain you,” you mumble.

Already kissing a path up his legs while trying to control the impractical headpiece, you whine as the golden horns are stolen for you. Looking up at Loki, however, you change your mind. Fuck me. Battling colours in eyes and skin takes absolutely nothing from the sight. Sex on legs? Sure. And confident, skilled temptation too. But with that thing on his head there’s no doubt in your heart that he does command you.

Straightening up on your knees, it’s a battle to pull the shift off slow enough to maintain some semblance of control. Don’t let him decide anything…else...It lands in a heap somewhere beyond the bed. Bending down to continue the path you’d started, the kisses and bites are only interrupted the few times you have to swat the impatient god’s hands away, each time earning a growl that does nothing but encourage you. You pay particularly good attention to Loki’s hipbones and sensitive area around the cock…but you don’t touch him there.

The balls get a slow lick (resulting in a tremulous gasp) before you move on up across his chest where each nipple get either a kiss of a bite, and by the time you’re indulging yourself with the neck and chiseled jaw, you’ve come to straddle Loki…but you still don’t touch his cock.

“[Y/N…]”

“Patience.”

And I'm about to make it clear It's going down like I told ya I'm the baddest mother up in here

Lips meet, tongues dance. It’s enough of a distraction that you can return a hand to your own sex, causing you to sigh into Loki’s mouth, and as cool hands caress your shoulders and back you realize just how easily the god would be able to push you over the edge.

“My pet.” Insisting arms are pulling you closer, a bigger hand nudging your to take over the sinful ministrations.

“I thin’,” you murmur through teeth pulling at his earlobe, “tha’ we’ve establi’ed I’m no’ ju’ your pet.”

Moving closer, tilting your hips is all it take to guide his throbbing cock between your slick folds until it’s glistening. A bonk from the headgear and a tremulous groan proves the effect it has on Loki. It’s all he can do, restraining himself from rutting into you, and you see the shimmer as his Asgardian shape threatens to fail.

“I wanna fuck you, Loki,” you purr, “don’t hide your perfections.”

His eyes snap open, red outside the blown blackness of lust, making you shiver with anticipation of this wilder side of him as he grows just a smidgen in all dimension while the skin takes on the Jotun characteristics that you’ve come to love.

“There we go.”

Sure, the praise makes him smile crookedly, but the expression changes to that of slack-jawed bliss the moment you begin to lower yourself onto his length. Fuuuuck. Thick, ridged, and cold, the intrusion send shiver rolling through your body and there’s no way to prevent how hard you clamp on to him with your pussy.

Slow at first, and with Loki’s hands tight on your hips for guidance, you ride the god to the verge of the first orgasm. It becomes difficult to maintain the dragging rhythm even with your hands wrapped around the horns for support until a breathy order tumbles from you lips and Loki keeps you in place while he thrusts into you. Hard and deep, the ridges seem to slide across your g-spot with a perfection you couldn’t attain on your own, and soon you’re gasping the god’s name as your cunt spasms and your womb shakes.

“Let m–“

“No!” You’re not done with him yet, raising high enough to release his cock from your hold before you collapse onto his chest. “Not yet.”

“Then allow me to taste you, m’lady.”

How can you say no to that? Rolling off of him, you barely have time to land before his tongue weaves between the shivering folds.

Shit. The moans Loki produces should be illegal, obscene in sound as he eagerly labs at you, there’s no doubt that he genuinely enjoys what he’s doing, and each satisfied hum and groan sends vibrations into your core and still-sensitive clit.

Guiding him by the horns, you bring his focus exactly where you need it. The cold might soothe the burning ache, but there’s no respite from the feverish pleasure rolling through you. A finger, then two and then three are added to the mix and this time he’s got you arching as you practically call out for him. High-pitched and ignorant of a world outside the bed.

“Lo-LoKII!”

You can feel him smile against your core. “Yes, m’lady?”

A cheeky idea pops into your head, and you smile down at his glistening face. “You’ve been so very good, my dear,” shivering subtly from the soaring ecstasy, a pleased sigh escapes you, “I’ll grant you a wish.”

Now that gets his attention. Prowling over your naked form, he reach far enough to explore your throat and jawline with his mouth before biting gently at your ear.

“A wish…” he ponders while sending new shivers down your spine, “I should like to take you on all four. My horns on your beautiful head to hold on to as I ram into your delicious quim.”

A deep kiss seals the deal, but before you turn around, he places the golden accessory on your head. Oh, it’s like that? A golden shimmer radiated like a halo around your skull and you feel the crown tighten until it fits perfectly.

“So…perfect.” Something else than lust burns in the red and black eyes as Loki takes you in.

Suddenly, he’s twisted you around and you scramble to find purchase against the intricately carved wood of the headboard as your god slams his cock deep into you, one hand digging its fingers into your butt cheek while the other grabs hold of one of the horns. The tug isn’t harsh, but it’s enough to force your head back and spine arching in a way that present your ass perfectly for him.

Gibberish. That’s all the words tumbling from your mouth are, but the moans and whimpers are easy enough to understand and they spur the man on.

You’re already keening from the impending bliss when a cold hand snakes around your hips to find the slippery folds and the tiny nerve bundle hidden away there. A few circular rubs is all it takes before you come undone, screaming silently with pleasure.

“My…qu-queennn!”

Cold and hot liquids mix within you, taking away your attention from the sharp bite on your shoulder. Moments later, the two of you have collapsed in an ungraceful heap of tangled limbs and sloppy kisses. Somehow the golden horns disappear on their own.

“I’m gonna…gonna wear that more…often,” you manage to gasp.

The arm that ensnares you and pulls you close is still blue. Big and strong and absolutely perfect like the chest you snuggle against.

“But now we sleep, my dear.”

Get ready cos here I come I'm about to come and get me some Hot as a smoking gets

36 notes · View notes

thesinglesjukebox · 5 years

Video

youtube

HAIM - SUMMER GIRL

[7.92]

We think it’s fly when these girls stop by for the summer...

Nellie Gayle: I'm not exactly the least biased observer when it comes to Haim's music. I owe a good portion of my close friendships and my longterm relationship to the Twitter fandom they cultivated around the time of their first release, when I was a tiny baby in college. But, still, I think my respect and affection for them doesn't disqualify me from having a valuable opinion on them. In this case, I can especially appreciate "Summer Girl" as the rare Haim song celebrating longevity and long distance in all of its pangs and nuanced happy moments. Written for Danielle Haim's partner during a serious illness, Summer Girl is a painfully sweet momento of that moment when we realize exactly what we are to other people and walk toward that version of ourselves. There's an easy breezy quality to the song that's underpinned by the fear and trauma that can visit a relationship. To be a summer girl, here, is less about wilding out for yourself in global warming record highs (still an admirable pastime), and more about how we can find strength by viewing our own selves -- malleable, fragile, messy -- as the strength and release someone else needs. This shift in perspective creates love for both ourselves, and the vessels of care and affection in our lives *collective 'awwwww'* [10]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: Lou Reed knew how to make these sparse, simple songs that felt content with life despite knowing its many shortcomings. "Summer Girl" feels imbued with that same gritty hope, not least because its "Walk on the Wild Side" influence is patently obvious. The backstory of this song -- that it was written for Danielle Haim's partner Ariel Rechtshaid after he was diagnosed with testicular cancer -- makes this feel all the more heartfelt. But really, it's there in the music itself. This is the sort of song that feels like the product of a jam session between friends, where repetition and marginal changes in dynamics are a reflection of lazy summer days and a desire to just do something with the people you care about. Danielle Haim grounds the song with her vocals, but it's the music -- ever-loping and easy-going -- that signals the message here that everything will be all right. I'm reminded of Pavement's "Gold Soundz," specifically the notion of a mutual emptiness. What Malkmus spoke of was a romanticized ennui, but any emptiness I sense here is of a different sort: a willingness to empty oneself completely, to be filled with nothing but the love of another. [7]

Katie Gill: Thankfully, the four minute long showcase for a saxophone riff features a REALLY GOOD saxophone riff. [6]

Michael Hong: Haim may have described "Summer Girl" as an attempt to emulate "Walk on the Wild Side" by Lou Reed, but its aesthetics also seemed to be partially informed by Danielle's recent stints across Vampire Weekend's Father of the Bride, especially, the jazzy-vibes of "Sunflower" and "Flower Moon." And similar to Vampire Weekend, Haim have a strength for distilling decades of influences to make their music sound simply like the present. On the surface, "Summer Girl" sounds exactly like a summer breeze, but it's deceptively chill. The burden of forced positivity leads to a sadness and the feeling that the group is holding back that creep into the track's breezy atmosphere. That sadness and restraint should be worrying; however, Danielle's reassuring vocals flip any anxiety into peace, and everything else disappears in the meditative way she repeats the line "I'm your summer girl." [7]

Ashley Bardhan: I love how soft Danielle's vocals are and how the saxophone peeks out from behind it, like the twinkling of an ice cream truck on a sticky July night. I feel the heavy summer breeze passing when she says "You walk beside me, not behind me/Feel my unconditional love." It's a whispered command breaking into love and heat, opening the grey clouds to see the "angels coming now." As the song ends, amidst steely drums and saxophone swelling, you reached the beach in your favorite town. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Songs about summer love take place at the beach, on bright sunny days, end at parties; they are flirtatious, playful, even dangerous; they sound like the rush of falling in love at an irresponsible pace, but being too young and dumb to give a care about the eventual season's change. To be sure, these songs are great, but "Summer Girl" is so arresting and gorgeous precisely because of its subversion of this formula. It begins after the thrill of the chase has already subsided, and focuses instead on the emotional intimacy and complexity that percolates afterwards. When Haim whisper, "I can see it in your face/I'm relief/I'm your summer girl," it's the portrait of romance so intoxicating that pillow talk doesn't require talking at all in order to understand connection -- no matter how brief. The meandering saxophone soundtracks this all sublimely, tinged with bittersweetness as if to ruminate on the nature of love that, by definition, has an expiration date. I know I'm young and supposed to be at some club hooking up to whatever song of the summer dominates the airwaves, but this year, all I want to do is lay in an open field gazing at stars, surrounded by nothing but the sound of crickets chirping, the crackle of bonfire, and this song playing in the background as I fall asleep in a stranger's arms. [9]

Josh Buck: An unexpected and disarmingly smooth four minute swerve that makes a compelling case for Haim's longevity. [8]

Alfred Soto: A minute before the "doo-doo" hook I knew the drum pattern and sax were drenched in "Walk on the Wild Side," and it fits: Danielle Haim on a casual stroll across Hamptons dunes, cheering herself up with the musical memories competing in her head. [7]

Kayla Beardslee: An absolutely perfect summer song, "Summer Girl" would work best when played on a lazy August weekend, sitting on a screened-in porch or sprawling on a wooden dock, watching the sun slowly dip below the horizon and turn the sky pink and orange -- but I'm listening to it at a dining table on a Tuesday afternoon, and it still sounds wonderful. Danielle Haim is restrained, voice gliding smoothly over the bass with a contentment that matches the lyrics, but her emotions break through on the stellar bridge, where she describes her memories of earthquake drills and tears behind dark sunglasses. These images, which in a vacuum would seem sinister, are instead imbued with a surprising nostalgia, and the best lines in the song follow moments later. Danielle sings, "Walk beside me/Not behind me/Feel my unconditional love," and you can feel a lifetime's worth of emotions -- infatuation, frustration, longing, respect, happiness -- wrapped up in those ten seconds. And behind it all are the joyful bursts of saxophone, echoing like they're coming from just around the next street corner: the instrument, like the song as a whole, blissful, content, and yet always in motion. [8]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Summer in Southern California is, perhaps counter-intuitively, a dreary time. As a kid in the vast suburbs below Los Angeles, summer was mainly characterized by the absence of things -- of the structure of the school day, of the friends you picked up (gone away to various sleepaway camps), of the will to do anything that would risk your leaving the cool darkness of your room. The weather the rest of the year was good enough to be summer, and so the season itself became a sort of filler period, a tone-setter lost in the tone. "Summer Girl" is a song that captures the feeling of an endless Southern Californian summer perfectly, its lazy backbeat and drifting saxophones rattling around in my ears until the track's disparate parts melt together. For a band that's tended towards studio perfection even in their jammiest moments (c.f. "Little of Your Love"), the move towards chill is almost disconcerting. But afternoons spent waiting out the sun deserve soundtracks as much as any of the more kinetic times of summer, and "Summer Girl" fits that bill better than anything I've heard in a while. [8]

Kylo Nocom: "Summer Girl" hearkens back to weird memories of hazy 6th grade school buses playing Kendrick Lamar on the radio and 9th grade memories of looping Radiohead by myself thinking about all of the memories I was going to make in high school. It obviously doesn't resemble the former two artists at all past any invented superficial resemblances (well, the outro does resemble "Separator" a little...) but it captures something specific that I haven't felt in a long, long time. Much of this is like one long blur of looped familiarity, but the bridge is a sweet moment of lucidity quickly whipped into yet another river of pure daydreaming music. Summer's been rough on me; it's my last summer before graduating and I'm still so confused by what I want to do. This, in all of its reassuring and affirming glory, is a pleasant reminder that I've got all the time I need. [9]

Vikram Joseph: "Summer Girl" derives much of its power from the pull and tension between the crisis of health and love that inspired the song (hinted at when they sing about "the tears behind your dark sunglasses") and their determination to present the season as an airy, carefree thing nonetheless. The minimal, pastel tones of the production are impossibly classy -- there are shades of Broken Social Scene at their most light-handed here, and a saxophone part that suspends the song a few feet off the ground, like a balloon perpetually on the verge of carrying the whole thing off into the stratosphere. [8]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Haim #pop #music #music review #writing

3 notes · View notes

pandi-art · 6 years

Text

FOR THOSE WHO HAVE NO CLUE WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON WITH THE B.U!

!UPDATED VERSION! THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE EXPLAINED.

(Updates are in the 2nd part (hyyh notes) in bold characters.)

Hi ! Long time no see. It's been 500 years since I posted my last theory. I'm coming back today with this brand new one. By gathering all the information we were given I realized the BU isn't that complicated and stuff start to make sense when you understand each of their characters and put everything in chronological order. So hold on to your wigs my dears.

This post will be divided in 3 parts :

Members profile

Hyyh notes (summary) and videos in chronological order

My conclusion (theory)

Sources for translated hyyh notes :

- https://docs.google.com/document/d/19wOFwTDQiD-DAxabwxlt4wV_Eq6Y6dKEihckWIwQm3g/mobilebasic

- @papercrowns (marked by this annotation*) + all the quoted notes from the update.

This is the story of 7 boys with different coping mechanisms. This is a story about how friendship grows over time. This is a story about the long path leading to self love.

I. MEMBERS PROFILE

Jungkook

Age: 17 (the youngest)

Family : - Mother / Alive

- Step-father / Alive

- Step-brother / Alive

- Not really close with family.

- Runs away often.

Use to get bullied by step-brother. « [...] my stepfather clearing his throat. My stepbrother continuously kicking me while laughing. My stepfather's relatives would look elsewhere or talk about meaningless things. As if I didn't exist, as if I was nothing. In front of them, my mother stood helplessly. »

Strengths : Strong composure ; in touch with his feelings and values ; true to himself ; brave ; attentive ; empathetic ; idealist.

Weaknesses: Habit of keeping his emotions for himself and depreciating his own struggles ; Stubborn ; Tendency of isolating himself in hard times ; Sensitive ; Trouble expressing feelings.

Fears: Losing the ones he loves ; Going back to the time when he didn't know his hyungs.

His place in the group dynamic. - « the 15 year old me who had nothing » (cf. Begin). His hyungs taught him what his parents failed to pass on. They're his second family. He's the youngest and is being treated as such. He's always there when his hyungs need him.

- Is closer with Yoongi because of their shared passion for music.

Interests : Music; drawing.

Analysis: Jungkook has trouble accepting the fact that the hyungs whom he looks up to so much are becoming very unstable. The feeling of « home » his hyungs gave him is compromised. He doesn't react well to that. In the notes he talks about having a nightmare « Yoongi hyung was standing on the bed. Flames shooting up from the edge of the sheet. In that moment my whole body became entangled in rage and fear that I couldn't hold back. I wasn't someone who spoke well. I was slow to express my feeling or to convince anyone else. Tears welled up and I coughed and words would not come out. As I ran into those flames the only words I could manage to spit out were, « We promised to go to the beach together. »*

He starts to adopt an attention seeking behavior. We might not have realized that, but Jungkook emphasized several times how for a big part of his life he was considered basically invisible (ex : his family ignoring him while his stepbrother was beating him). When he met the others, for the first time in his life he felt like he mattered. He was suddenly loved and important. Taking that away from him triggered buried emotions which he didn't know how to deal with.

« I finally fulfilled my wish. When I saw the hooligans on the street, I bumped into them and got a beating. As they beat me, I laughed. [...] I felt the tears coming and purposefully let myself cry »

The boy who rarely shows his emotions purposefully let himself cry out loud. He stands on top of buildings rising his hands like he's gonna jump. He shakes his hyung's shoulders as a cry for help. He gets himself beat up. He walks nonchalantly near the road... Would it really matter if a car comes too fast ?

« [ ...] holding out both of my hands for balance [...] That gave me an idea that I could die if I just took one more step. [...] No one would be sad if I was not around anyway »

Jungkook is crying for help in his own way. He wants to help his hyungs more than anybody. He wants to save the ones who saved him.

Taehyung

Age : 19

Family : - Father / Alive

- Older sister / Alive

- History of domestic violence.

Strengths : Observant, Naturally sociable, Curious, Enthusiastic, Imaginative.

Weaknesses : Impulsive ; Has difficulty focusing ; Poor practical skills ; Highly emotional ; Overthink things ; Can't stand being restrained by rules or higher authorities.

Fears : His father ; Becoming like his father. « in my body Dad's blood flows. Is there violence in me too? There is something that wants to burst out of my tightly prepared self-defense net. »

His place in the group dynamic : Taehyung doesn't mind being a follower, he doesn't need to ask that many questions, he has infinite trust towards his hyungs and if one of them jumped from a window and shouted from the ground to do the same with no reasons he would do it. He catches on things quickly, if one of them was hiding something he would notice it even though he won't say anything. He's more on the extroverted side, he's always down for new challenges and adventures that can involve going out of his comfort zone.

He looks up to Namjoon a lot, maybe because Namjoon seem to be more free-spirited, open-minded and confident about his thoughts.

Interests : Although being full of ideas and creativity, doesn't have any apparent hobby. Enjoys hanging out and playing with his friends the most.

Analysis: Taehyung is the kind of person who enjoys people's company and different stories. He couldn't count on his father for being the company he needed. All the advice and support he should've received from his father, he received from his hyungs which built this unique admiration towards them. He's stuck between wanting to make his hyungs proud and the need to evacuate his overflowing unexpressed frustration by acting up (vandalism etc...). By not respecting the law, he proves that no one can put chains around him, not even the police. He's seeking for the freedom his father took away from him.

Jimin

Age : 19

Family : - Mother / Alive

- Father(?) / Unknown

- Siblings(?) / Unknown

Strengths : Altruistic, Tolerant, Reliable, Clever.

Weaknesses : Too sensitive ; Low self-esteem ; Perfectionist ; Struggles to make tough decisions.

Fears : Letting people down

His place in the group dynamic : He gets along with everyone, not the type who would bring trouble to the group. He acts fine in order to up the mood of his friends, doesn't want them to worry.

Interests : Dance

Analysis : Jimin suffers from post traumatic disorder since an event that happened in an arboretum when he was a kid. (from Yoongi's notes) «I had been walking along with my head down [...] When I almost collided with someone, I lifted my head. Jimin was standing there as if frozen in place. The muscles in his face trembled as if had seen something terrifying. He was staring at a sign that said « Flowering Arboretum, 2.2km »

He often goes to the hospital to treat his illness because he sometimes get seizures. We don't exactly know what happened there but he briefly talked about in his notes. He was apparently on a school trip and decided to disobey the teacher and wander in the arboretum on his own. He got lost and it started raining. He was extremely scared. When Jimin talks about this experience, he refers it as him acting selfish. Probably meaning he got everyone worried because of his own selfish and immature behavior. He walked until he came across a storage space. We don't know what happened next.

After being treated at the hospital for the umpteenth time he chose to lie to his doctor by saying he didn't remember what happened at the arboretum. He was tired of fighting.

However two years later, he decided to face his fears by finally going to the arboretum. « I had to stop living in hiding in the hospital and stop having seizures. If I wanted to do that, I had to go to that place. » He goes to the bus stop every day but can't seem to ride the bus because he doesn't have enough courage. Until one day Yoongi appears and Jimin, on an impulse, asks him if he wants to come with him. We don't know what happened after that.

His ptsd is expressed through the symbolism of water (he was lost in the rain) in the hyyh videos. When will Jimin finally overcome his trauma ? What really happened in the arboretum ? Those are some of the questions we're left with, with no answers.

Hoseok

Age : 20

Family : - Mother / Unknown

- Father(?) / Unknown

- Orphan since he was 7 (Mother abandoned him in an amusement park)

Strengths : Strong sense of duty ; loyal ; warm ; good at connecting with others.

Weaknesses : Too critical on himself ; too selfless sometimes ; places importance on what is socially acceptable (very cautious).

Fears : Fear of abandonment.

His place in the group dynamic : He's the tension reliever. He doesn't miss any opportunity to have fun with his friends, he's also very loyal and always there for them. Considers Jimin like his little brother since the day they met. He has a soft spot for him and feels like he has to take care of him since he learned about his illness. (Jimin's notes) « It takes 2 hours walking from school to home. [...]just after the start of the new semester. Hyung approached me and stayed with me for 2 hours. In regards to the fact that our homes are not even in the same direction, I only found out a long time later. »

Interests : Dance

Analysis : Hoseok is a pretty bright person, and his main issues come from the fact that he was abandoned as a child by his own mother. His critical self has trouble accepting that hole he has in his heart, he doesn't know how to deal with negative emotions well. So he takes meds, thinking it will fix the sadness like it fixes a cold. Even though it doesn't, he still takes them just to put his mind at ease. « I take pills I don't even need and faint no matter the location. » (cf. Hoseok notes). He'd rather overdose on pills and faint than go through sad emotions. He tries to find joy in every little moments. This is his coping mechanism. Faking it until he cant feel sadness anymore. « even if I hate it I smile, and even when I'm sad I smile. »

Namjoon

Age : 20

Family : - Father / Alive

- Mother / Alive

- Younger sibling / Alive

His family have a very poor financial situation.

Strengths : Logical, open-minded, values harmony, passionate, self-aware, idealist

Weaknesses : His self-awareness can become the element that triggers a spiral of negative thoughts ; he isolates himself when he feels misunderstood ; habit of blaming himself

Fears : Growing up ; hurting people

His place in the group dynamic : Although there's something very pure about him, Namjoon has a very mature way of thinking compared to his peers. This is why the others come to him when they need advice or someone responsible.

Interests : Reading

Analysis : Namjoon has a sensitive soul and is full of different opinions about the world. He sees the corruptness, dishonesty and hollowness in adults and doesn't want to become like them. It doesn't mean he wants to behave like a kid either. Namjoon is idealistic and dreams about a world where his expectations wouldn't fall short unlike reality. In real life Namjoon is poor (mentioned it several times in the notes), his father is sick, his sibling often runs away from home and he lives in a container. He had to act like a grown up too soon and he hates that. His solitary self rebels by cutting all ties with the outside world and staying off the grid. The problem with that is that his friends might feel lonely in times when they need him the most, specially Taehyung...

Yoongi

Age : 21

Family : - Father / Alive

- Mother / Dead (passed away in a fire)

- Also implicitly mentions domestic abuse

Strengths: Independent, Hard-working, Determined, Confident (doesn't doubt his ideas and thoughts)

Weaknesses: Despises highly structured environments (following rules blindly, social conventions...) ; Is clueless about human relationships ; too careless sometimes

Fears: Losing someone (death) ; Himself

His place in the group dynamic : He seem to genuinely care for his friends and wants to help them (like helping Jungkook with music) but he 's more of an independent type of guy and likes to solve his own problems alone and do everything his way. It'd be great if he could listen to his peers more sometimes...

Interest : Music (he composes songs)

Analysis : Yoongi's house burned down when he was 15, his mother was in the house and died. Their piano burned down too. Yoongi refers to that piano « that will never make a sound again » several times, we also see it in numerous videos. I think it represents his love for music that died the same day his mom did. It looks like his father isn't really supportive of him pursuing an artistic career. However Yoongi mentioned in his notes that his mother used to play the piano. So in my opinion, his mother was the only one encouraging him, cheering for him and hoping he'll succeed with his music. After she passed away, Yoongi probably gave up and lost his passion. Now this is where I think Jungkook played an important role. It is very possible that Jungkook's love for music may have ignited that passion back in Yoongi and made him start playing piano again. (more details in the notes summary)

Seokjin

Age : 22

Family : - Father / Alive

- Mother / Unknown

- Siblings / Unknown

his family seem to be somewhat wealthy (they can afford traveling and sending Jin overseas to study)

Strengths : Great analyst, imaginative, enthusiastic, objective, straight-forward.

Weaknesses : Very private, absent-minded, condescending

Fears : Living with regret for the rest of his life

His place in the group dynamic : The older brother. They all became very close overtime which surprised Jin who never experienced a friendship like this. He was pretty lonely most of his life and he suddenly had 6 younger brothers who he deeply cared about. He's the one who drives them around and sometimes pay for their meals.

Interests : Photography ; filmography

Analysis : When Jin first arrived in the school and didn't know anyone, he had an interesting conversation with the principal that sounded to this day still very mysterious to me. Some of the principal's words were « School in general is a dangerous place, we need order and control. Don't you think so as well ? ». « I trust that you'll do well » he says to a very nervous Jin who was looking down at the principal's shoes. Jin's father standing behind him also spoke to the principal « I am leaving him in your hands ». Now if you think about what you just read and couple that with the red bullet vcr (which is surprisingly pretty canon to the hyyh notes) you'll noticed that something suspicious is going on here. In the vcr Jin is wearing an earpiece, listening to what the principal is saying. The earpiece also appears in the red bullet concert poster and the short film Awake. It's a recurrent object linked to Jin's character. So my crazy theory is... That Jin is the principal's spy. Ok maybe « spy » isn't exactly the correct word but something shady is going between Jin's father and the principal and I'm pretty sure corruptness is involved. So Jin, after arriving at this new school, follows the footsteps of his father (we'll learn later that his father was in the same school and also sacrificed his friends for what exactly ? We don't know yet) and becomes this « spy » that will denounce every student (or maybe just a particular group of student... ) who don't follow the rules. Of course as he becomes close with the « delinquents » he learns true friendship and what it's like to be free and careless and as a result regrets his acts (he betrayed them a few times) and starts to dislike himself for being this corrupted person.

II. HYYH NOTES AND VIDEOS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER.

Each year represent Seokjin's age.

The updates are in bold characters! I also had to modify some of the old notes as my interpretation of them changed after reading the new ones.The modified one are in bold too. (Credit to @papercrowns for the quoted new notes)

YEAR 10

23 July 10

Hoseok – His mother brings him to an amusement park, tells him to close his eyes and count to 10. When he opens his eyes she's not there anymore. She abandoned him. Hoseok becomes traumatized every time someone asks him to count, he can't count passed 9. His ptsd (post-traumatic disorder) starts to show itself in the form of narcolepsy. He collapses every time he thinks about his mother.

29 December 10

Taehyung – He finds his father in the living room, he can't remember when he last saw him so he runs to his embrace, but his father who reeked of alcohol curses at him and slaps him. He hits him several times and throws him against the wall. « Although his bloodshot eyes were scary, I couldn't cry because I was too scared. That was not my dad. No, he was, but it didn't feel like him. »

YEAR 11

6 April 11

Jimin – gets lost in the arboretum. Start of his trauma.

YEAR 16

Yoongi – House burns down with his mother still inside. She passes away that day.

YEAR 19

2 March 19

Seokjin – Comes back from the US and transfers to a new school. Has a mysterious conversation with the principal and his father.

12 June 19

Yoongi – They all ditch school and don't know where to go. Namjoon suggests the beach since it's a hot day. They all agree excitedly and decide to walk there since they don't have enough money to take the bus. They seem to be having a good time, they joke around a lot. Yoongi notices Jimin who suddenly stops with a terrified look on his face at a sign that says «Flowering Arboretum, 2.2 km ».

28 May 19

Jungkook - he asks his hyungs what their dreams are because he has to write a paper on future hopes. They all tell him their dreams and it matches with each of their personality and situation. Jungkook however doesn't know what he wants to become.

25 June 19

Seokjin – “I thought often, that a photo could never capture what the eyes can”. Seokjin is in the storage classroom reading the scribbling written on the walls. He wonders what kind of people were coming to this classroom before. At one point he wonders « And would there have been someone like me ? Someone who told the principal all about their friends.

30 August 19

Jimin – He thinks about how he has transferred schools so many times and how he's frequently admitted to the hospital. He feels lucky he found someone like Hoseok who was super nice to him since the beginning when he didn't know anybody at their school. Hoseok always stayed with him after school and they'd have fun. Jimin is scared because he wonders how long those good days will last.

YEAR 20

20 March 20

Taehyung – Catches Seokjin talking on the phone with the principal. Seokjin tells the principal everything Taehyung and Yoongi did the last few days (skipping class, climbing over walls and fighting other kids). Taehyung can't believe what he's hearing. He's shocked and confused, but thinks that Seokjin must have had a good reason. « Because hyung knew more than me, and was smarter and older ». He tries to forget it and acts like nothing happened. « I went into the classroom smiling foolishly [...] I wouldn't tell anyone else that I had overheard that conversation ».

15 May 20

Namjoon – he's moving away in two weeks. Goes to their warehouse classroom that they claimed as their secret base one last time. He doesn't know if he'll ever get the chance to come back. He doodles the words « You must survive » unconsciously on a piece of paper and then folds it into a ball and puts it in his pocket. Before leaving he fogs up the window with his breath and writes « We will meet again » hoping it's a promise between them.

25 June 20

Yoongi – Yoongi keeps a half-burned piano key he found in the ruins of his mother's room after the fire. He hasn't been to school for 10 days. He can't stand living in his house with his dad anymore. The house is silent all the time « to the point it becomes suffocating ». He hates living under his father's rules and predetermined time-table. He hates depending on him financially and always having to listen to his scoldings.

Jungkook – Two weeks ago, when the teacher discovered their secret classroom, there were only Jungkook and Yoongi there. Jungkook, who had skipped class again, was listening to Yoongi play the piano. Jungkook was so amazed by Yoongi playing the piano that he started having tears in his eyes. Suddenly, the door of the class violently opened and next thing he knew he was on the ground after being slapped very hard by his teacher. When he turned around his saw Yoongi sheltering him with his body and pushing the teacher back.

Today Jungkook is alone in the classroom, he just learned the news that Yoongi got expelled. He's sad and wonders if he got expelled because of him. « If it wasn't for me, hyung wouldn't have hit the teacher. If it wasn't for me, hyung would still be here playing the piano. »

12 July 20

Jin – it's the start of the summer vacation. Jin is leaving the school. He feels guilty about telling the principal about the storage classroom. He didn't know Jungkook and Yoongi would be in here at that time. No one knows he was the complicit. « As I passed the school gate, I thought of the first day I had come to this school. We had all been punished for tardiness together. We could laugh because of it. I had ruined these moments » .

15 September 20

Hoseok – Jimin's mother and Hoseok are in the emergency room after Jimin had a seizure at the bus stop. Jimin's mother is extremely worried and she keeps on checking if everything is well in the room. Hoseok is impressed and intimidated by Jimin's mom even though she seemed very warm. She keeps thanking Hoseok, but she obviously can only think about her son right now. « I suddenly felt an invisible line being drawn between Jimin's mother and myself. That line was sure and solid [...] It was a line that I could never surmount. » He thinks about how he lived in an orphanage for 10 years and how he'll never feel that motherly love.

28 September 20

Jimin – He's still in the hospital. He stopped counting the days. He lost hope and gave up on the idea of getting out. He's medicated and according to him it makes everything dull and boring. Today is the day he told his first lie. He told the doctor that he didn't remember a thing (about what happened in the arboretum probably). This is the beginning of his new « coping » mechanism = lying.

30 September 20

Jungkook – He stills goes to their secret classroom alone even though his hyungs don't go there anymore. « I suddenly realized : those days were gone and they would never return. » Him going back to that room even though the hyungs don't symbolizes how he's the most dedicated in terms of working hard to maintain their friendship. Jungkook's « coping » mechanism is his hyungs and this is why they mean so much to him and he wants to spend time with them. It's a healthier coping mechanism (seeking for mutual support ) compared to his hyungs.

YEAR 21

25 February 21

Hoseok – He's practicing a dance in a studio. He feels the best when he's dancing. He looks at himself in the mirror, he wants to grasp that moment and take the most of it « because it's a time where I can be myself ». He doesn't feel the need to wear a « mask » when he dances.

A year passes by without any news.

17 December 21

Namjoon – He takes the bus to go back to the school he left a year ago. He's tired of the same boring routine and wants to run away from poverty. His father is still pretty ill.

YEAR 22

2 March 22

Hoseok – He's talking about how he liked his part-time job at a fast-food restaurant because he likes being around people. « If I smiled brightly and spoke loudly and reacted cheerfully, even by force, I could eventually trick myself into believing I actually felt that way. »

Even though some days were difficult, he was able to endure it all because he had his friends by his side. But now that Seokjin transferred school without a word, Namjoon moved away, Yoongi cut ties with them since he got expelled, Taehyung whose whereabouts are always a mystery and Jimin who never came back to school after he was once again admitted to the hospital, Hoseok only really saw Jungkook sometimes outside with his school uniform, but he never visited the store.

29 March 22

Taehyung – He gets hit by the owner of the gas station for doing graffiti on his wall. He remembers how he started doing graffiti. How he felt relieved as if all his stress disappeared when he was doing it. He felt good seeing all the bright colors against the gray wall. All of his feelings were spread out on a wall. Even if it wasn't pretty, it was him. He was surprised when Namjoon suddenly joined him while smiling and handing him a spray can. Namjoon's presence instantly made him feel good.

7 April 22

Yoongi is drunk and wandering down the streets at night when he suddenly hears the sound of a piano. The melody is familiar and he knows oh so well where that sound comes from. He runs towards the music store. He sees through the window someone sitting in front of the piano, crying, their hands curled into fists. Although many years had passed Yoongi recognized Jungkook at once. He doesn't want to comfort him because he's not confident he can protect him so he'd rather not intervene. He doesn't want to hurt him. But before he can leave he hears « Hyung ». They're both seeing each other for the first time since Yoongi quit high school.

11 April 22

Seokjin – He dreams about Taehyung standing alone on the top of the observatory platform at the beach. « This happened on May 22. It was the past and the future. » I think Seokjin has the ability to have visions of the future. The things he sees may or may not happen. It all depends on him (or at least that's what he thinks). He has this vision that something's going to happen on May 22 and he's scared. « When I opened my eyes again it was today, April 11th ». It feels like he's traveling through time with his visions. In my opinion those are just bad thoughts and nightmare produced by stress. But for our unstable Seokjin it means more than that. (I go deeper on the theory of how he can't let go of the past later)

Seokjin - He goes alone to the beach they used to go 2 years ago. He remembers all the good times. Those times are shown in the Prologue video. (The first part where Taehyung is covered in blood happened way after the rest of the video when they all hang out at the beach) « Although we [...] had nothing and had no idea of what the future held, at least we were together ». While driving, he decides at the last minute to go to the gas station to see Namjoon. He decides he's going to fight for their friendship.

Namjoon - He has to deal with bad costumers who throw money out of their car. Someone picks up the money for him. It's Seokjin. Even though Seokjin knows all about his situation Namjoon still has trouble facing him because he feels embarrassed about his poverty and his cowardliness (as he says).

Jungkook – I NEED U scene where he gets beat up by the thugs (on purpose : « I finally fulfilled my wish »)

Jungkook - He is standing on the top of a building, one foot hanging in the air. He thinks about how everything would end if he took one more step. He closes his eyes and slowly lean forward. The fear suddenly went away. He was going leave this world without thinking about anything. But then, as he held his breath and was about to jump, his phone rang. It was Yoongi. Jungkook comes back to his senses.

Yoongi - Him and Jungkook go to meet the others in Namjoon's container. Hoseok who's also at Namjoon's is surprised when he sees that Yoongi showed up. It's been a really long time since they all saw Yoongi. Taehyung and Namjoon are also there. Yoongi notices how the atmosphere when they're together is still the same as if they were in their old classroom. « How long had it been since we met like this ? I couldn't remember. [...] This was a place I had come to for the first time, but my heart was at ease. »

28 April

Namjoon notices things aren't going very well for Taehyung lately. He's always at the police station and has bruises on his body. Namjoon doesn't want to push Taehyung to talk to him about his worries, he's waiting for Taehyung to say it himself.

Taehyung has a nightmare again, about Yoongi dying.

2 May 22

Yoongi – His room is slowing catching on fire. Yoongi thinks about his father and how he never understood him. He's having trouble breathing and starts feeling the heat but suddenly he hears Jungkook's voice shouting from nearby.

Jungkook – After saving Yoongi from the fire Jungkook is back in Namjoon's container. He can't tell what happened. « My whole body trembled, and I wanted to cry. But no tears came* » He remembers how he opened the door and how Yoongi was standing in the middle of the flames. Jungkook felt rage and fear. The only thing he was able to shout was « We promised to go to the beach together. »

Namjoon shakes Jungkook's shoulder and feels his forehead to see if he has a fever. « I had a throbbing headache and my throat hurt. * » But Jungkook feels relieved when he sees Namjoon taking care of him.

19 May 22

Jimin – He's out of the hospital. Decides he wants to face his fears so he plan on going to the Flowering Arboretum. He lets three buses pass by at the bus stop because he has trouble gathering the courage to go. Yoongi comes and sit next to him. He does some small talk until another bus comes by and Jimin asks him to come with him.

20 May 22

Taehyung breaks down and almost kills his father. « Instead of stabbing my father I had hit the floor with the alcohol bottle. The bottle had shattered and cut my hand »*. He couldn't take it anymore. The whole thing is like a blur to him, he didn't even notice his father leaving the room. But Taehyung is here in the room with a bandage on his hand and Hoseok is standing besides him wordlessly. « In my heart I killed him so many times I can't even begin to count them. I want to kill him. [...] I don't know what to do »* Taehyung stares down at Namjoon's phone number. He really wants to see him right now.

Hoseok goes to the police station with Taehyung for emotional support. He feels bad for him because he knows how much Taehyung has suffered.

22 May 22

Namjoon is walking down the beach alone while talking on the phone. « we're only a year apart. No, apparently someone said so. I'm his hyung. I know. But he can't be a young kid forever. Isn't time that he deal with it alone ? Got it. I get it. No I'm not getting mad. I'm sorry. »*

Taehyung sees Namjoon and hides himself so he won't see him. He overhears his phone conversation and gets very angry. He wants to hit him but contains himself. He's scared to become like his father. I'm still not sure to why Taehyung got so angry at what Namjoon said but I assume Namjoon was talking about Taehyung in his phone call and instead of being a friend Namjoon is basically saying that he's fed up of being the responsible one every time and cleaning up his mess so he'd would rather let Taehyung deal with his issues so he would maybe learn to think more before acting so carelessly.

Taehyung - « Hyung, is that all ? Isn't there something else you are hiding from us ? Taehyung and Jin get into a fight. Probably about Jin, the principal, and everything else he's hiding from the others. Namjoon tries to calm Taehyung down but Taehyung remembers the phone call he overheard and gets even more angry. He feels alone. « What's so special about being together ? What are we to each other. We're all alone in the end. » Seokjin hits Taehyung.

The same day (or night)

Jungkook describes like a weird dream where he sees the moon and he hears someone telling him « Living is more painful then dying. Do you still want to live? ». He also mentions how he can't open his eyes and how his body feels heavy and seems to float at the same time. It feels like he's losing consciousness.

12 May

Hoseok thinks he saw his mother passing by. He run towards her but when he finally calls her, the woman who turns around isn't his mom. Hoseok realizes that what he was doing was ridiculous, he doesn't even remember what his mother looks like. Jimin who was following him witnessed the whole scene.

15 May

Jimin - They all help Jimin escape the hospital. Hoseok takes Jimin, Namjoon is on the look out , Yoongi was distracting the nurse, and Taehyung and Jungkook were waiting for them near the elevator. Jimin dreamed about this moment for a long time. The time he'll finally get out of the hospital and meet his friends.

16 May

Jimin - After running out of the hospital Jimin is going to live at Hoseok’s house because he doesn’t want to see his parents. He couldn't take it anymore, he couldn't stay in the hospital any longer.

25 May 22

Yoongi - Highlight Reel scene when he's playing piano with the girl and she takes his cigarette. Maybe seeing Jungkook again made him want to restart playing music.

31 May 22

Highlight Reel scene where Jimin is filming Hoseok dancing.

Hoseok – He's in the practice room with his friend. He'd known her for 10 years and they learned dancing together. While they're playing around he suddenly starts having a panic attack because he started thinking about his mother again.

5 June 22

Namjoon – Highlight Reel scene where he meets the girl handing flyers on the bridge.

8 June 22

Yoongi- He was thinking about how the girl took his lighter when he suddenly receives a text message that makes him smile. « I didn't know what was so great, but the me wearing a tight red colored t-shirt that had the word « Dream » on it was smiling like a fool ». I think he received a text from the girl, and maybe she was talking about something related to music, like a song he composed ?

13 June 22

Jin is remembering the last time they all went to the sea together. That night he had a fight with Taehyung (he probably confronted him about everything he's heard and wanted to know the reason behind his betrayal). Jin punched Taehyung (BST Japanese ver. Scene) and Taehyung ran out. While Jin is remembering that he wonders when he'll have the courage to face himself entirely and smile together with his friends like the photo of them at the sea he's keeping.

[ Some people think Euphoria is another timeline where Jin fixed everything but I don't think so. First of all Taehyung still has his bandage on his hand so the thing with his father still happened. I think this is just Seokjin imagining the best outcome, what would happen if they'll finally reunite and be happy together like before.]

He suddenly receives a message from Hoseok that says Jungkook got into a car accident the other night. « The other night » probably meaning May 22nd when Jungkook notes were weird and talked about losing consciousness and having hallucinations.

Coincidentally enough, an image of Jungkook getting hit by a car flashes on the screen just before the Euphoria video ends.

Yoongi immediately runs to the hospital after hearing the news but when he sees Jungkook « lying down with corpses like patients passing by » he can't even enter the room, he can't even look at Jungkook. This is triggering him and he feels like a voice inside his head is telling him that it's his fault. He's drunk and pushes away the girl who grabs his arm. He needs to be alone. He doesn't want to hurt anyone.

Yoongi is traumatized by what happened to his mother and is afraid the same thing will happen to Jungkook. This moment is well expressed in the First Love short film where a car crashes into the music shop and burns the piano. Jungkook's car accident triggers his memory of the burning piano ( = his mom passing away).

14 June 22

Jungkook – Highlight Reel scene where he's in a wheelchair and meets the girl in the hospital hallway.

18 June 22

Taehyung – Highlight Reel scene where he catches the girl trying to steal in the convenience store and buys her the stuff she wanted to steal.

25 June 22

Taehyung – They meet in the convenience store for the third time, this time she follows him when he gets out which makes Taehyung laughs because she's trying to be discreet but she's not at all. They interact for the first time.

30 June 22

Namjoon is in an elevator and the girl he met on the bridge suddenly enters. He notices that her hair is tied with a yellow rubber band. This might have reminded him of his poverty. I think he also sees something pure about this girl. He's seeing innocence, which is something he missed a lot. This is why he's so intrigued by her and wants to know her more but doesn't have the courage to interact with her.

3 July 22

Jimin is practicing really hard at the dance studio. He wants to impress Hoseok but he feels like he's nowhere near his level which frustrates him. He just wants to be recognized as a serious equal partner that can match Hoseok so he's being really hard on himself.

4 July 22

Jimin – While he was dancing with « noona from the dance club », he made a wrong movement and they both collided. Jimin injured himself. He's in the bathroom trying to clean the blood on his arm while shaking. He thinks about the Arboretum thing and realized he hasn't overcome it at all. After coming back to his senses he remembers his noona fell too. He runs after them under the rain with an umbrella but realizes it was useless because it's too late. He's completely disappointed in himself and thinks the only thing he's good at is leaving people behind and trembling at his own pain only.

Same day

Hoseok takes care of the girl and brings her to the hospital. While she's receiving aid he notices an airplane ticket in her bag. He realizes she got the audition she took for an overseas dance team. He acts like he didn't see anything because he doesn't have the courage to congratulate her. He feels broken inside. It feels like it's all happening over again. She's going to left him just like his mother did.

(From now on, each of their stories will follow the same pattern. The girls they met are going to leave them one by one.)

11 July 22

Seokjin – Highlight Reel scene where the girl drops her journal and he picks it up.

13 July 22

Namjoon – notices the girl with the yellow rubber band on the bus sitting in front of him, she's sleeping. He thinks about how they rode the same bus and went to the same library for 3 weeks. He finally decides he's not going to try anything. He leaves a hair band on top of her bag and exits the bus. « That was not a beginning nor an end. It was nothing to start with and there was no reason for it to be anything. So I thought it really didn't matter ».

16 July 22

Jungkook is still in the hospital. He's singing a song to himself. The song's lyrics and melody make him feel emotional.

17 July 22

Taehyung got super close with the convenience store girl within a month. They hung out often and shared a lot of good memories together. But today she's nowhere to be found. She drew a big « X » on all the graffiti they made together. It was like she drew an X on all of their memories. Taehyung is angry. He doesn't know why she did that. « Why ? Of course there were no response. I kept walking. We were alone again. Me and her. »

20 July 22

Namjoon is in a library. Seeing the books remind him of his time in high school. He wonders if he grew up since then. He wants to get back everything he had given up. (his friendships?)

26 July 22

Jungkook is healed. Highlight reel scene where he runs to give flowers to the girl but no one is in her room.

Jungkook thinks about all the good times he spent with the girl in the hospital. He remembers that the stories he told her were only stories about his hyungs. « I only existed inside my relationship with them. [...]There may come a day when they would no longer be at my side. » Jungkook slowly realizes that his friendship with his hyungs maybe isn't the healthiest there might be.

28 July 22

Jimin got used to practicing dance late at night. He notices how his skills improved as much as he practiced. He realizes that he's getting more and more confident with his dance. The fear of doing mistakes slowly disappears and he can finally have fun while dancing.

29 July 22

Yoongi – He mentions that he gave up on music several times but always ended up going back to playing it again. I think the day Jungkook had his accident he stopped playing the piano, however today he started wanting to play again. « I didn't want to run away. I wanted to complete the melody that had been made by the guitar and piano. »

3 August 22

Seokjin - All seven of them go back to their old secret classroom together. They accidentally find Seokjin's father's journal (well hidden). But he only wrote bad moments up until a point where he just completely stopped writing about his friends. His last page is covered in dark ink and it bled onto the next pages. Seokjin thinks it's like it was predicting his father's failures. It seems like it represents the beginning of him choosing corruption over his friends.

There are hidden letters behind the ink stains. Seokjin reads them (but doesn't tell us what they are). He's happy they got to go to the classroom because he thinks this is destiny and he had to find this notebook for a reason. He had to realize his mistakes and not reproduce what his father did, and also « find a map to his soul ». Which I think means forgive himself and learn to love himself.

11 August 22

Taehyung - He finds a message the girl wrote on the wall. It basically says that she didn't left because of him or because she thought he was a bad person.

The same day Taehyung decides to confront his father. He intervenes while his father was beating his older sister. Not by fighting back though. He tries to hold his father's arms down. He has a realization. «I'm not like my father. I'm going to protect our family. »

13 August 22

Hoseok – He broke his ankle so he can't dance. He watches Jimin and the girl dance in the practice room. By watching as a spectator he realizes that Jimin's « mistakes » he used to point out actually come together to give a unique feeling. Jimin's dance was different from his but it no case less good. Hoseok thinks it was actually really beautiful and heart-moving.

15 August 22

Seokjin – He finally finds a flower shop that sells smeraldos. He visited other shops but none of them did. He orders them for delivery because they haven't officially opened yet. The only reason he needs this specific flower is because he wants to make her happy. And he knows she loves this flower in particular.

30 August 22

Seokjin – While he gets ready for his date, he has a vision about the girl dying in front of his very own eyes. He's scared. His mood switches completely, he decides to go on his date with a casual outfit.

The follow-up (update) of the 30 August note is at the end of my theory. I decided to place it there because it just confirms what I wrote pretty well and it makes a good conclusion. Also it's the last note in chronological order.

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

OKAY.

So now that we went over everything in chronological order (I can't believe it took 12 pages), it is now T time my children. And no, T doesn't stand for tea.

It stands for THEORY.

Seokjin's « girlfriend » tragically dies in front of his own eyes. It is all really similar to the original story of the smeraldo flower. I don't know if any of you heard of it but basically it's about a guy who hid himself in his castle because of his hideous looking appearance. One day, a woman appeared in his garden, she took a flower and left. It angered him in the beginning. The next day she did the same, and the day after, and the day after that too. He started becoming curious about the woman and began waiting for her each day. He then learned that the girl was actually selling the flowers to make a living. He desperately wanted to help her but he couldn't show himself, he was scared he'd terrify her. So he decided to create a flower that doesn't exist on this planet so the woman could sell them at an expensive price. When he finally made the flower he filled his garden with it. But the woman stopped coming. He waited for her everyday but she never came. He eventually found out that she had died.

Jin, who didn't love himself, decided to wait until he could buy the smeraldo flower. An exceptional flower that would impress her. Instead of meeting her with only his humble self. He didn't have the confidence. But in the end, it was all for nothing, because she died.

It's the same with his friends. Instead of being present and here for them, he waited because he didn't have confidence or felt like he didn't deserve their friendship. Which led to them getting into even more troubles and feeling more lonely.

The camera Seokjin carries all the time symbolizes his constant regret, his willingness to turn back time and the fact that he doesn't live in the present at all.

He wants to record the innocence and genuine moments because it's not something he's often exposed to in the world he lives in (higher social status, business like relationships with everyone his family knows). He wants to keep this forever. He keeps filming even during bad moments as if doesn't want to face reality and wants to make every moment good. His coping mechanism is denial. But because of his denial, he alienates himself from the others.

At the end of the prologue, when Yoongi doesn't appear next to him in the Polaroid, it symbolizes how he's slowly parting away from his friends who are left alone.

In the Highlight Reels, during the scene where Seokjin is choosing what he's going to wear to meet the girl, the date « 30 August » appears on the screen. When he changes he accidentally knocks down a vase of white lilies. White lilies symbolizes innocence and are often use in funerals. The camera pans on the fallen lilies. It's foreshadowing the girl's imminent death.

In the notes Seokjin says that after seeing the girl died he thought « If only I could turn back time ».

« IF » so I don't think he really does. Although I'm a fan of time traveling stories, I feel like all the « time traveling » stuff we got were in Seokjin's imagination.

Seokjin becomes obsessed with the idea of turning back time and finding the exact moment that triggered all the other bad events. He desperately wants to find a cause, a reason to each of their suffering. This is what the notes are in my opinion. It's a collection of logs, events and dates, and it's like Seokjin is investigating through them to find out what went wrong (so if he was giving the power to turn back time he would go to that time in particular). He's making up theories (if I did that instead, this would've happened) and looking for clues, just like us.

But our pain in life doesn't come from just one event. It's a series of happening, the way we perceive things, the way we grew up, our environment, our personality, SO much things are involved that it's impossible to just go back to one point in life and fix the life of 7 different people at once.

This is my interpretation on things of course and I think the message they're trying to convey is instead of regretting what happened in the past and making up scenarios of « what would've been better » like Jin did, we should own up to our mistakes and accept ourselves. Like he does in the intro Epiphany. The lyrics are saying that he should love himself and that he's perfectly imperfect.

In the last scene of the Highlight Reels, it looks like he goes back to the time he was choosing his clothes for his date. However this time he decides not to go on the date so instead of wearing his suit he wears a cap and a t-shirt, but he looks extremely unhappy. That shows that turning back time isn't the solution and doesn't equal happiness. The words Seokjin narrates just before this scene are « If we could turn back the clock, where should we go back to ? Once we reached that place, can all our mistakes and errors be undone ? Will happiness be ours to stay? ». The answer is in the next scene. By seeing Seokjin's expression, it's obviously no. Turning back the clock won't give you happiness.

In the Euphoria video which represents their ultimate « happy ending » and the goal they're working for, Seokjin who had his curtains closed because he didn't want to see the truth and face reality, finally decides to open them.

He witnesses that the world is burning outside of the safe cage he made for himself. He's scared at first, but then he smiles.

He's freeing himself from the prison he created, he's no longer trapped in his denial. And at the end of the video, he throws the camera into the water. He will no longer live with regret and chooses to finally start living in the present.

- END

30 August 22

Seokjin – He's on the date with the girl. After all this time he finally realizes that hiding behind a mask wasn't the solution. He decides he'll be himself from now on. He leaves his date after apologizing. « I went out on the street and took off my hat. As I swept my hair back, all the time I had spent trying hard to be someone else seemed to slip through my fingers ».

380 notes · View notes

icecubelotr44 · 6 years

Text

Clear and Present Danger (3/16)

Summary: Homicide detective Killian Jones has been searching for a way to bring Milah’s murderer to justice. There’s only one small problem: Robert Gold is the captain of the same homicide division. Enter Emma Swan, Internal Affairs investigator, looking into Gold’s shady dealings. Between the two of them, can they unravel the web of deals and lies that have gotten Gold to where he is?

Rated: T, for violence, some dark themes, angst, and whump (you expected different?

TW: character death, mention of past self-harm, fatal car accident, school hostage situation

Other ships: mentions past Millian in a good light, Outlaw Queen, Snowing

Art credit/link: The totally awesome @cocohook38 made the cover you can see above and on her blog here. Later in the story, she’s illustrated some key points to the fic and I can’t thank her enough for her work! Go show her some love!

Beta reader: @gusenitsaa took on this monster without probably knowing exactly what she was getting into (what do you mean 100,000 words?!) and any mistakes that you find are probably me being stubborn and ignoring her advice! Thank you!

A/N: Written as part of the 2018 Captain Swan Big Bang Challenge. You can catch up with all the other fics that are complete by following @captainswanbigbang and/or subscribing to the Group Collection on AO3 and/or the C2 on FFN. This is complete in 16 parts and will be posted every Sunday from now until its completion.

Take it away, It’s going to be a bumpy ride.

Word count: ~ 6,250 (100k Total in 16 chapters)

From the beginning: AO3 / FFN

Current Chapter: ao3 | ffn

CHAPTER THREE: Reasonable Suspicion

Killian’s ears were still ringing from the blow the woman had landed across his jaw. His lungs had only just started working again and he was sure that there would be bruises to hide from Liam in the morning. To say that she’d taken him by surprise was an understatement. He watched her carefully, the glint of the sun on the metal in her hand enough to keep him on edge.

“Gold… murdered someone,” Emma repeated, playing idly with the blade. It wasn’t a question, but Killian nodded reluctantly anyway.

“I… I can’t prove it.” He scrubbed a hand over his face to hide his frustration at that before he continued. “Yet. The bloody crocodile was in the station when it happened and everything I’ve turned up is dead ends. But I know he was responsible. I know he killed her. And if you’re here to investigate him, then-”

“How do you know that I’m investigating him?” she asked, and he could hear the suspicion dripping off every word.

Killian shrugged. “You weren’t doing much to hide it. And there’s not much else going on in the office other than Gold’s hubris, lass. Not that would draw IA’s attention, anyway. But I meant what I said, you can’t trust Isaac. He’s so far into Gold’s pocket that I’m pretty sure they’re wearing the same pants.”

The woman nodded. “I figured that out for myself, thanks.”

“Oh, you’re a tough lass.” Killian was thrilled to see her finally fold up the knife and stuff it into a pocket. “May I have the pleasure of your name now, Miss...?”

“Detective Swan,” she said, sticking out her hand for him to shake. “Emma.”

Killian took her hand and, ignoring the widening of her eyes in surprise, pulled it up to kiss her knuckles in a show of exaggerated chivalry.

“Pleased to meet you, Swan,” he said over her knuckles, tightening his grip when she tried to pull away. “I think we’re going to make quite the team.”

She scoffed. “Who said I was going to work with you?”

“The way I see it, we’re looking for the same thing. We can either keep working separately, or” - he shrugged again, still refusing to let go of her hand - “we can pool our resources. Put Gold and whoever’s making it so easy for him to sit pretty in that office behind bars.”

Emma smiled sweetly, drawing a grin from him that he couldn’t help, before she struck, twisting his grip around until she had him shoved face first against the brick.

“Bloody-”

“Let’s get one thing straight, buddy,” she interrupted his cursing. “Your charm might work on someone else, but not me. You give me what you have on Gold and maybe… maybe I’ll think about keeping you in the loop. But I’m not going to just trust you because you say so. For all I know, you’re just as far into Gold’s pocket as your buddy Isaac.”

“I’d never be caught dead working with him,” Killian muttered against the wall, chagrined to realize that she had him completely incapacitated. “We’re on the same side, luv.”

“Not your love. You can call me Detective.” She released him as quickly as she’d restrained him, stepping back and glaring before he could even turn around. She was strong, she was guarded, and she was dangerous. But she wanted Gold behind bars and he’d worked with less in the past.

“Detective,” he allowed with a nod, “I think we can help each other. And you could use someone on the inside, yeah?”

He could see her mulling it over, the indecision written on her face as clearly as words on a page. There was something about her, despite the knife she’d pulled on him. He knew her job wasn’t easy, knew that the majority of their colleagues would rather vilify her than praise her for taking an impossible job and making it hers. But there was more than that hiding in the depths of her eyes. A deeper hurt that resonated with him. She had the look of someone who’d been thrown away like garbage and it made Killian all the more grateful to remember that Liam had always been there for him.

Even if he was going to take the long way home to avoid the Spanish Inquisition and resultant mollycoddling that was going to come the second Liam saw the bruise forming on his chin.

Her eyes narrowed, searching him, and Killian waited for her to make a decision.

He smiled in triumph a moment before she sighed. “I don’t like working with partners, Jones.”

Killian waited. She was going to let him help, he just had to be patient and not push it.

“But you’re right” - it sounded as if it cost her something to admit that - “that it wouldn’t hurt to have a set of eyes and ears that your coworkers wouldn’t expect. We do this my way, got it?”

“Of course, Swan. You’re in charge.” Killian held out his hand to shake hers again.

She glanced at it. “I’m not going to kiss your knuckles, you know.”

His answering grin was so wide that his cheeks hurt., but Emma didn’t seem to notice. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jones. Watch your back, all right?”

“I’ve got plenty of people in my corner who will do that for me, lass. Keep your eyes up, yeah?”

Killian thought he heard her mutter, “Must be nice,” before she disappeared around the corner. He nodded to himself, turning back to the main road and heading towards the subway station. There was a kernel of hope that hadn’t been there before, a tendril of possibility that Killian wanted to grab onto with both hands and tug. He wasn’t the only one anymore, the only one who saw Gold as more than just an untouchable and necessary evil. Still, they’d have to tread lightly. Gold wouldn’t hesitate to take them down to keep himself safe.

“Jones?” Locksley called, pulling Killian out of his thoughts. “What are you doing down here, mate? Get lost?”

Killian knew he was joking - mostly - but he could hear the worry in his tone. “Aye mate, thought I parked the Benz down here.” He managed to keep a straight face long enough for Robin’s hand to twitch towards the phone on his belt.

“Bugger off!” Robin spat when the grin on Killian’s face gave away the joke.

Killian sobered immediately at Locksley’s tone. “I’m sorry,” he apologized, moving out of the alley to catch up with his partner.

Robin glared at him before walking towards the subway station. “We were all worried, you know. You woke up in the ER and you didn’t know Liam.”

What?

Killian whipped his head around to catch Robin’s eye and he grabbed his partner’s arm when Locksley wouldn’t even look at him.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you that,” Robin grumbled.

Some of Liam’s hovering over the past few weeks started to make more sense. His brother could give the fiercest mama bear a run for her money on a good day, so Killian hadn’t thought too much about it. He couldn’t have named the emotion half-hidden in Liam’s eyes every time he’d fussed over Killian, not then. But he also didn’t remember much between seeing Hades in the alley and waking up to Liam’s mother henning in the hospital room he’d suffered through forty-eight hours of observation with ill disguised grace.

Maybe not so much on the ‘disguised’ end of the spectrum.

“I don’t remember that,” he muttered when Robin’s concerned stare went on too long.

His partner nodded. “We figured as much. And Liam said not to say anything when you woke up again and everything had seemed to settle.”

“Of course he did,” Killian mumbled under his breath amidst a sigh.

Fear. That was what Liam had been trying in vain to suppress. Killian had scared him again. While he remembered only a knock to the head, Liam had been forced to wait for him to wake up, not knowing if he’d remember his own brother when he did.

There had been plenty of scares in their careers - they were both police officers, after all - and injuries were par for the course. Both he and Liam had spent their share of sleepless nights at their brother’s bedside and the fear that came with that was all-encompassing, but mostly fleeting. It had to be, or they’d never get back out on the streets.

But Killian remembered when Liam had woken up shaking and couldn’t stop - not quite seizing, but close enough to send a tendril of pure terror coursing through him. He remembered how close he had stayed those first few weeks as the neurotoxin settled in Liam’s bloodstream and allowed him to resume most of his daily activities. He remembered that fear. That was what Liam had been dealing with over the last couple weeks as Killian recovered. The unknown quantity.

Didn’t mean that Killian wasn’t going to find a way to exact revenge for the super glue, though. It wouldn’t do to let Liam - and by extension, David - think they could get away with nonsense like that just because they were ‘older and wiser’ as it were.

He and Robin parted ways at the corner, the bustle of the city at rush hour serving to make the headache that Swan had exacerbated even worse. It would be sheer luck if Liam didn’t take one look at him and blow a gasket. He recalled a scene in one of the Harry Potter movies where Harry had been locked in his bedroom - it didn’t take too much of an imagination to picture Liam trying the same tactic.

Swan occupied his thoughts on the ride home, their two brief interactions playing on a loop as he pondered over her - who was she really? What made her tick? Why had she chosen to go into Internal Affairs? She was clearly tough enough to be on the streets and he didn’t think that outside perceptions of her would have swayed her away from a beat patrol before moving up the ranks.

What does she have on Gold?

Killian hadn’t been this intrigued by a woman since the day he’d first set eyes on Milah. He’d been sitting alone in Finnegan’s Tavern, a bottle of Sam Adams forgotten on the table in front of him and his brother off in another corner of the bar getting them something to eat. She’d been stunning to look at, sitting by herself as well and nursing a glass of wine as sharp eyes darted around the room. Her curls falling loose over her back, the lost look in her eyes, all of it intrigued him and he wanted to know more.

It hadn’t taken long for Killian to forget that Liam was even there with him; he’d approached her and been regretfully turned down that evening, but she hadn’t left his thoughts. Who was she and why did she look so sad?

Every minute with her was a gift - and Gold had torn it from his grasping fingers. She’d been Killian’s for a few precious-

“What the bloody hell happened?” The voice broke through his musings.

Killian sighed audibly. As expected, he’d barely managed to get the door open before Liam had pounced on him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, if only in deference to the headache, and waited for the inevitable inspection.

“You’re supposed to be on deskwork!” Liam stomped through the kitchen, reaching out to turn Killian’s head closer to the light. Killian hadn’t seen the bruise yet, but he could feel it - blood pooling hot and pulsing just under the skin of his jaw, a stark reminder of what it was to be on Emma Swan’s bad side. Liam poked at the bruise, drawing a hushed grunt of pain and - if possible - the frown on his brother’s face deepened to new levels.

Mindful of what Robin had let slip, Killian tolerated the inspection as patiently as he could manage, for as long as he could manage. It didn’t take too long before he was batting Liam’s prodding fingers away anyway. “It’s fine, brother. I spent the entire bloody day sitting at my desk twiddling my thumbs like a good boy, all right?”

The smirk on Liam’s face flashed for only an instant before it was hidden behind a mask, but Killian didn’t miss it. He glared and pointedly didn’t mention the super glue nor the fact that he likely still smelled like nail polish remover. He just wanted a shower and some ibuprofen and something to drink.

“So how’d you get the bruise then?” Liam asked, his fingers twitching like he wanted to poke and prod at it some more.

Killian moved safely out of reach before he snarked back. “I was attacked by a Swan on my way home. It took us awhile to come to an understanding.”

Liam just blinked. Killian waited just long enough to see the confusion start to turn to concern before he cracked a smile, waving his brother off and rooting through the fridge for a drink. The shower would have to wait until Liam was satisfied, but at least he could get rid of the cottony feeling in his mouth.

“Killian!”

He sighed. “Relax, brother. I’m fine. There’s an IA officer looking into Gold. She and I… we didn’t get off on the right foot, so when I went to try again…” he trailed off, waving over his jaw.

Liam snickered, a look on his face that left Killian’s ears red. “I assume you put things right, little brother?”

“Younger, Liam,” he whined, cringing a little at how petulant he sounded. It wasn’t a new argument and, truth be told, it wasn’t one Killian ever expected to win. He didn’t even mind too much when Liam didn’t acknowledge the ‘correct’ moniker as he moved to pull dinner out of the oven. It would be all too easy to make a remark about him becoming a good housewife and Killian patted himself on the back for not giving in to the temptation.

It was a close call, but he’d plan something better in retaliation for his desk.

Emma sunk into the steaming bath water with an audible sigh. She’d left the light off, several candles burning away merrily and filling the small room with soothing scents. There was a glass of wine on the bath caddy and a book lying face down that she only sort of intended to read. It didn’t take too long for the heat to seep into Emma’s muscles and she relaxed into a boneless heap in the water. However much she had intended to leave work at work, she couldn’t get that interaction with Jones out of her head. She had no reason to feel bad; he’d been sneaking up on her, she had plenty of experience with loyal cops showing her how they felt about her investigations, he’d been sneaking up on her.

And yet.

Killian Jones was far more than a pretty face. If he was telling her the truth, he’d been grievously wronged by Gold and could be a valuable asset in her investigation. The key was to get in and get out without getting attached. He was a tool in her arsenal, nothing more. His sarcastic quips and the over-the-top chivalry weren’t going to change anything - she was at the precinct to do a job and that was it.

Bringing someone like Gold to justice would more than make her career. It would make the other detectives start to take her seriously, a woman in a man’s world. She would love nothing more than to wipe the indulgent smirks off the faces of the men in her office. It might be nice to be able to peek out of the armor a little bit. Occasionally.

The water slowly cooled and her glass ran dry, but Emma still lingered in the half haze of sleep that she’d slipped into. It was simple here, in the sanctuary of her apartment, away from all the drama and the politics and the intrigue of her cases and her interoffice relationships. She didn’t have to hide behind the mask she’d crafted or question every interaction she had. Here, there was just her and the safety of her loneliness.

When the water was finally a few degrees too cold to be comfortable, Emma stood and wrapped herself in a towel. She tried not to bring her work home with her; it was hard enough to deal with it during work hours. But with the addition of Jones to her arsenal - and her constant thoughts, it seemed - she’d have to come up with a new plan of attack. Emma wasn’t used to having to consider another person on her side in her investigations. They’d tried to rope her into working with a partner before but it never stuck. They were too inept or she was too prickly, too stubborn, too set in her ways to listen to their ideas.

It was better if she worked alone, that was all there was to it.

Over the next few days, Emma did what Emma did best: she ignored Killian Jones completely. She had plenty of interviews to conduct and spent half of her time driving across the state to follow up with the men and women Gold had put behind bars as well as some he hadn’t. They all had precisely the same thing to say about him.

Absolutely nothing.

Emma didn’t need her ‘super power’ to tell that they were - to the very last man - terrified to speak out against Gold. Someone had gotten to them before her and had bought their silence. It left her irritable and exhausted, unwilling to play the game when Isaac cornered her in the bullpen to “see what she needed.”

She needed to punch someone in the face.

As it was, putting her fist across Isaac’s jaw probably wouldn’t do anything but get her suspended and put the investigation that much further behind. Instead, she plastered on a smile that she hoped looked sincere enough to pass muster and asked for another batch of files that had nothing to do with Gold or the charges against him, hoping that the little weasel would run back to his master and crow about her apparent ineptitude. She’d have to steer the investigation formally towards Gold at some point, but she needed something concrete to go on before then. All she had right now were allegations and rumors that were - so far - unfounded. Emma didn’t believe for a moment that the accusations listed in her file were false, but she needed to find some kind of evidence. Even the evidence from the investigation into Milah Gold was hazy at best and - as Jones had said - didn’t point to Gold’s involvement at all.

The case had, very pointedly in fact, implicated Killian Jones in her murder. Even if Emma hadn’t heard it in his voice the day she’d nearly knocked him out in that alley, she was no longer uncertain about how much Jones had loved Milah. It was written all over the interrogations, the track the evidence had taken, in every entry from the detective who’d investigated. Killian had been cleared quickly - which surprised Emma given Gold’s power - but the damage must have been done.

The problem was, it was all too clean. There was no way that the woman’s brake lines had been cut and no one had been spotted near her car in the police station’s parking garage. The video surveillance gave Emma - and anyone else who had investigated, namely K. Jones on a near-weekly schedule - a perfect view of Milah’s car. Emma watched as the woman got out of the vehicle and walked out of frame, then stared at nothing of note for the half hour she’d been gone, and finally saw her come back to her car and drive away.

All of it was too clean. Every case that Gold had closed, every murderer that he’d convicted, on paper they were all perfectly by the book. Every ‘i’ was dotted and every ‘t’ was crossed. On paper, there was no reason to suspect that he’d ever stepped a toe across the line. But all it took was one look at him to know that he was dirty. All it took was one readthrough of the case file that had been compiled to get the sick feeling in her stomach. Gold needed to be tried for his crimes and, hopefully, the evidence against him would be compelling enough that not even whoever was backing him would come out with their hands clean.

That was Emma’s job, and she looked forward to the end results. She did not, however, enjoy the monotony that came with trying to keep her investigation under wraps. She had Isaac pull Jones’s case files today, trying to get a glimpse into the lieutenant’s process in attempts to understand him better. The mole at her side grinned snidely when he’d commented that it was only a matter of time before Jones was investigated.

“His promotion was a little too convenient,” he crowed before elbowing her in the side in apparent camaraderie, “if you know what I mean.”

Emma stepped pointedly away and resisted the urge to roll her shoulder and stretch where he’d impacted her ribs. Instead, she smiled in feigned interest and cocked her head to the side. “Oh, really?” she asked, hoping Isaac would latch on to the ruse.

He did.

“Oh yes, I could tell you all about Lieutenant Jones and how he came to be in our humble department. Did you know that he was still on patrol just over a year ago?”

She hadn’t.

“Captain Gold requested that his promotion track be accelerated personally. I’ve never understood it, of course. Jones is nothing but a problem. The captain tolerates him, but if you ask me, there’s something fishy about it, because the two of them… well, to say they’re like cats and dogs would be insulting to those poor animals. And yet…” Isaac trailed off meaningfully, his eyes tracking across the bullpen to where Jones had just entered. Instead of finishing his statement, he just shrugged as if the lieutenant’s presence was answer enough.

It didn’t make any sense. From what she could tell, Jones was a Boy Scout. She wouldn’t be surprised to find an Eagle Scout award in his history. She’d known there was no way that he was being backed by Gold - even before she knew what she did about his history with the captain’s former wife. But the mysterious benefactor… Emma didn’t know anything about him. Yet. It was possible that Gold was just an unfortunate middle man, or that they were both trying to force Jones into a position where he couldn’t get free of them. It was possible, she supposed, that Jones was in on the whole thing and was playing her to get information.

Even as she thought it, the voice inside her head laughed at her. No, Jones wasn’t involved with Gold or his backer. If he was, then she would turn in her badge and gun and take up a job at the local Walmart. Emma wasn’t good at people, but she was good at reading them. It made her successful as a detective and horrible to play poker against, but she’d take the former over the latter any time. A cop who couldn’t trust her gut was a dead cop and Emma liked breathing too much not to hone that skill.

Emma focused on Isaac’s retreating back as he headed for the file room - now he was definitely working for Gold, and not in the official capacity. She’d do anything to have him far away from her and her investigation, if only for the drop in stress that would entail.

She almost missed the note on her desk, tucked away under the file marked K. Jones that she’d purposely left out. Who had been near her desk? And what did they want?

Atlantis Marina, 8pm tonight.

It’ll be worth it.

Emma supposed she’d have to go to the marina to find out. She wasn’t naive, but she wasn’t cautious by nature, either. She would, however, be there well before eight in order to get the lay of the land.

Emma worked for a few more hours, digging into Killian’s past just in case her gut was wrong. She finally dug past the insubordination claims that Gold seemed to file on a regular basis and burrowed deep enough into his file to find a redacted report of drunk and disorderly conduct that had never been closed or prosecuted. Further digging, however, revealed that the date of the report coincided with the date of Milah Gold’s funeral, so Emma put it out of her mind. If the man needed a little bit of liquid courage to say goodbye to a woman he clearly loved, then who was she to judge him?

Five o’clock came all too suddenly and Emma locked up the files she didn’t plan on taking home with her before signing out the ones she did. With evening traffic, it could take twenty minutes or it could take forever to get to the marina, and she wanted plenty of time to walk the perimeter and see if she could get an upper hand on whoever had left the note for her. At the very least, she wanted escape routes and a good vantage point of the entrance before whoever planned on meeting her showed up. Emma texted the address to Ruby and Dorothy in case she needed back up, but declined their offer to come down and stake out the place. She had a sneaking suspicion as to whose handwriting that had been, and didn’t think she’d need any of the precautions she was taking.

But Emma had been burned before.

The marina was well maintained. The lights in the parking area and along the docks provided very few shadows that someone could ambush her from and there were men and women in security uniforms patrolling the docks at random intervals. Emma found that she already had a reserved parking space in the guest lot, and the attendant there knew who she was - pointing out that the boat she was looking for was in its slip on B-dock.

The Jolly Roger.

Emma could see it from where she was standing on another dock - she wasn’t entirely sure which dock it was - sitting jauntily in the water and inviting her to come aboard. As if a boat could be jaunty and inviting. There were lights on in the… she thought it was called a cockpit but wouldn’t lay money down on it. But no one was aboard.

It wasn’t new by any means, but it was clearly well cared for. The hull gleamed in the lights and the name on the back was crisp-lettered and pristine. There were a few dings here and there along the hull and the railing, but the metal shined and the windows were streak-free. She had a feeling that whoever owned the boat would be put off by the small imperfections, but was clearly proud of his - or her - ownership.

“You can see her up close, if you like,” Jones’s voice whispered in her ear.

She whirled around, fists up and ready to defend herself. There was a moment of terrifying weightlessness as she stepped back, expecting her foot to impact solid wood and instead finding open air. Emma’s eyes widened in surprise and her breath caught in her throat even as she flailed and caught Killian’s outstretched hands. He pulled her close and Emma latched onto his shoulders, fingers tight in his leather jacket as she tried to convince herself that she was on solid ground again.

“Damnit, Jones!” she shouted in his face. He was terrifyingly close.

He shrugged, the muscles under her fingers bunching with the movement. She realized, a bit belatedly, that she still hadn’t let go of him. Nor he of her. Emma shoved him back, putting enough space in between them that her heart finally started to slow down. It rankled her a bit that he didn’t stumble, just swayed with the push and stood tall.

She glared at him. “I could have fallen in!”

Killian just smirked, something dangerous in his eyes. “That’s a plausible excuse for grabbing me, but next time, don’t stand on ceremony.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “You wish, buddy.”

He finally stepped back, although Emma got the feeling he’d have stayed there if he thought he could get away with it. He clasped his hands behind his back, instead, and rocked back on his heels. “I meant what I said, though. You can see her up close, if you like.”

Emma just looked at him in askance.

“You… you did get my note, didn’t you?”

She pulled the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. “And how, exactly, was I supposed to know it was from you?”

“I signed it,” he explained with a funny little grin, taking the note from her and smoothing it out against his leg. “See?”

Emma looked where he’d turned the paper over, the small caricature of a hook and a swan in the bottom corner. She’d seen the drawing, of course, but she still didn’t understand. She stared at him incredulously, before asking again, “And how, exactly, was I supposed to know it was from you?”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly sign my own name, could I?” Jones shrugged. “Not with your little shadow combing every piece of paper on your desk at all times. It’s all very cloak and dagger, you see, and who’s better at that than a pirate?”

Emma glanced over her shoulder to the nameplate on the back of Killian’s boat. “You had an unhealthy obsession with Peter Pan as a child, didn’t you?”

“Never liked the little demon,” he replied, matter of fact. “Always thought that Captain Hook was the hero of that fairy tale.”

“Even with the waxed moustache and the perm?”

Killian smirked. “You never read the book, did you? Captain Hook was devilishly handsome, after all. Like me,” he preened a little.

Emma just shook her head. He didn’t need the ego boost - clearly. “So what are we doing here, Jones?”

“I didn’t know how else to get your attention. You’ve been avoiding me, lass.” Killian shrugged. “I thought…”

“We can’t exactly be seen working together,” Emma defended her actions. “I haven’t been avoiding you.”

She totally had.

One of Killian’s eyebrows raised pointedly. “You might find this a surprising attribute in a detective, Swan, but I’m actually quite perceptive and this” - he gestured between them - “this is avoiding me.”

Emma nodded in spite of herself. There was no use denying what was painfully obvious anyway. “So… what? You thought you’d lure me here with a mystery and…” she shrugged emphatically, waiting for an explanation.

The tips of Killian’s ears went a little bit pink. “One of the first things my brother taught me after I graduated the academy was to limit the amount of work I brought home with me. I know that with Isaac lurking about you’re probably trying to throw him off and that’s got to be exhausting. I thought that you… that we could use the Jolly as some kind of, I don’t know, an in between or something.”

Emma blinked.

Killian just shrugged. “I want to help, Swan. I need to help put him away. For Milah. For… for me. We can’t exactly advertise that we’re working together, I get that. But I can help you.”

There was a reason Emma didn’t work with a partner. She did her own thing, her own way, on her own terms. The only one who she risked being hurt was her and the only one who was responsible for the outcome of her cases was her. She had worked with someone else a time or two, but not since she’d moved to Internal Affairs; she found it just wasn’t worth it.

But maybe just this once, with a case this big and a willing pawn in Killian Jones, it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. The appeal of having someplace away from both prying eyes and her own sanctuary was strong. Part of Emma still balked - she was better off alone, history had shown her that time and time again - but she pushed past it for the sake of her case.

“All right, Jones, let’s see this boat of yours.”

It didn’t take them long to cover the entirety of the aft cabin in paperwork. Liam would have a fit if he decided to take her out for more than a brief afternoon, but seeing Gold’s demise come together piece by piece was worth the strife Killian knew he’d hear about. Emma had already cobbled together a timeline of Gold’s career, listing cases and complaints alike along with his promotions and the men and women he’d promoted himself.

Killian bristled when he saw his own name listed, the blue star next to his name signifying Gold’s personal involvement in the transfer. “Swan, just so you know, this wasn’t… I didn’t…” he trailed off, still looking at his name on the timeline and uncertain how to explain.

Emma slid another paper over the top of that one, this one listing unsolved cases that Gold had sent to the Cold Case division. “You can tell me in your own time,” she allowed with a small smile.

He nodded. Killian couldn’t deny that the promotion had been a bit of grabbing the tiger by the tail. He knew Gold had it out for him, would try his best to make Killian’s life miserable. But Liam and David had already been in Homicide before Milah’s death and Killian had longed for the chance to work beside his brother. Then he’d met Milah and thought that the price he would have to pay for falling for her was his dream of being partnered with Liam. After her murder, he’d stopped caring how he got to Liam’s side, he just knew he couldn’t do it anymore without his brother. Any of it. The transfer had seemed like the universe paying him back - a little - for stealing Milah from him. And then Liam had been injured because of him and now… well, now it was all about taking down Gold. Killian couldn’t deny that he didn’t really care what happened to his career after that.

Or to himself.

Maybe he should take Liam up on that offer to move to the private sector, after all.

“Are you even listening, Jones?” Emma’s annoyed question made him realize she’d been trying to get his attention for quite some time.

He shook his head apologetically, scratching behind one ear and attempting a smirk. He could feel how forced it was and the look on Emma’s face proved that she wasn’t buying it either. “Apologies, lass, I got a bit caught up in my head.”

“I said, it’s getting late and we should probably get out of here. Do we need to pack this up, or…” she looked at him in askance.

Killian shook his head. “No. No one but myself and my brother have keys to the cabins and I’ll let him know that this is all here.” He groaned internally at the idea of telling Liam about all this - the mess and what he was about to do next. Regardless of Liam’s opinion on the matter, however, he reached into his pocket and handed her a keychain with a pirate ship on it.

Emma stared at it for a moment.

“It’s not going to bite you, lass. I just thought that…” he shrugged. “Well, you need access to the cabin and I might not always be able to get you here. Smee is the parking attendant you met earlier; he knows to let you have the guest parking space whenever you’d like it and you’re on the list of approved guests with access to the boat. No one will bother you.”

She finally reached out and snagged the key, turning the little ship over in her hands. “It’s a little on the nose, don’t you think?” Emma asked with a smirk that made the tips of Killian’s ears go hot.

“The appeal of Neverland as a child - an escape where time would stop and I could have all the time in the world to figure out how to get what I wanted - it was intoxicating. I guess it’s never really left me.” He paused and raised one eyebrow. “Although I still think the bloody demon of that island would have made life miserable there.”

Emma laughed, finally putting the key in her pocket after further inspection. She followed him out onto the deck, but didn’t make a move to climb onto the dock again.

“And what did a young Killian Jones want that he couldn’t have?” she asked lightly, a glint of something in her eyes that Killian wanted to understand.

He shrugged in what he hoped was nonchalance. That wasn’t a tale he was ready to get into yet. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” he deflected instead.

There was a look in Emma’s eyes that told Killian she might just understand what it was he and Liam had been searching for all those years - a home.

“Perhaps I would.”

tagging: @killian-whump, @gilliangrissom, @nothingimpossibleonlyimprobable

#csbb #cs fic #captain swan fic #cs ff #ouat ff

38 notes · View notes