#i wonder how he would talk considering he uses a lot of language he read
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having a normal one about my WoL’s retainer rn (lying)
lore under the cut because i need to ramble about him
ok so his name is orilleux kroswyn, he was adopted by two limsan adventurers when he was three. hes uriangers long lost brother (which is really funny because this alone makes him the most canon-breaking of my characters) (urianger is two years older btw).. uhh im going to refrain from typing put his whole backstory uh. his adoptive parents took back any books they would find on their adventures so orilleux grew up reading a bunch of random literature from all across aldernard and he joined the arcanist’s guild when he turned seventeen. oh btw hes trans. he also has the echo and how his works is that it gives him visions of things happening elsewhere but like in real time.. however, for whatever reason his visions are stuck in the timeline with the eighth umbral calamity so it doesnt really give him any insight into the modern day happenings anymore. he has started to write down all his visions of the other timeline. because of this he also really wants to meet g’raha (to thank him, ask him questions, etc)
anyways, he’s astr’la’s (my warrior of light) retainer because he thought maybe ppl would like him better if he pretended to be like some cool fellow so he picked urianger since they looked similar (same eye and hair color.. elezen) and since they were also both nerds. astr’la thought this was hilarious so when looking thru a list of retainers to hire, she hired orilleux immediately once she saw “uranger” as one of the ppl on the roster
technically how i draw orilleux is not canon yet because he doesnt stop pretending to be urianger until dawntrail starts and astr’la fires him because they want him to go on vacation with her instead which is also going to be interesting since there orilleux will probably meet graha and also urianger. i cannot take this guy seriously why did i make one of his plot points be “impersonated urianger”
#ffxiv#yes he started as a joke and no i have not grown attached to him at all (in denial)#i was initially trying to make urianger my retainer so then i thought it’d be funny if they were like an urianger impersonator in canon#and then my brother said he should be uriangers long lost brother#so i thought that was a funny idea and now..#I JUST REALIZED HE WOULD SOUND LIKE A PIRATE STILL#i wonder how he would talk considering he uses a lot of language he read#(which would be from many places and many different time periods)#and then also combined with pirate speak from growing up in limsa?#ffxiv retainer#i actually havent written out any of this stuff yet so it was probably good to get these thoughts out of my mind after like a month#pens art
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୨♡ Ｗｉｎｔｅｒ Ｋｉｎｇ ＨＣＳ ♡୧
I am ashamed of tumblr for not making more fanfic of this funky fruit.
We got some general HCS and then some romantic ones under the cut! (I went a little overboard with the romantic ones, hehe!)
Gender-neutral
୨♡ Ｇｅｎｅｒａｌ ♡୧
-Man's self care routine is off the charts
-I'm serious, he has like- 80 different bubble bath concoctions.
-Smells like mint
-or some kind of cold scent.
-I feel like he loves dressing up fancy, so he has a closet full of sparkly suits
-maybe even some dresses if he's feeling special.
-Doesn't actually need to wear glasses, he just likes how they look.
-While he loves his winter wonder world, I feel like he'd enjoy rainy weather more than snow.
-He got rid of all his madness and sadness, yes, but I think he'd cry at something especially cute. Happy tears, y'know?
"Why are you crying, sir? Are you okay?"
"Oh, it's nothing. *sniff* Just those two rabbits that are cuddling."
-He is really bad at any percussion instrument
-like.. REALLY bad.
-His hands are too delicate for such a garish instrument as the drums!
-He loves playing duets on the piano, but rarely has anyone to play with.
-I mean, he could always concoct up an ice creature to play piano with him, but that's honestly quite dull.
-His favorite movie would probably be an old Christmas movie, like It's a Wonderful Life.
-He gets kidnapped by the Candy Queen so often, that occasionally he brings a book or something snuggly to help him wait for his ice scouts to rescue him.
-He once got so bored while kidnapped that he tried to read to some of the mutilated candy people
-That was the last time he saw his favorite book.
-Safe to say he doesn't bring his favorites anymore.
୨♡ Ｒｏｍａｎｔｉｃ ♡୧
-Will literally spoil his love interest rotten.
-You want that thing you saw earlier?
-Consider it yours
-You'd like for it to snow outside?
-A sprinkle or a blizzard?
-Literally anything, this man will go to the ends of the universe to get you what you'd like.
-Love languages are definitely gift giving and physical touch
-probably acts of service too.
-Loves dancing.
-Loves dancing.
-Whether it be a slow dance or ice-skating, he will take every opportunity to dance with you!
-He adores short people.
-Good, because he's tall as a giant.
-if you're shorter than him, he will no doubt use you as an armrest.
-He always makes remarks on how cute you are.
-Even if you're only two inches shorter than him.
-If you're taller...
-hoo boy.
-Expect him to be all over you.
-figuratively and literally.
-Will want you to carry him everywhere, sit in your lap, rest against you, whatever.
-Just let him touch you.
-He'll talk about how strong you are, how you'd be the perfect chair, etc. etc.
-He does the stupid "How's the weather up there?" jokes.
-Loves your body, no matter what it looks like.
-You're skinny?
-You're easy to carry around and dance with.
-You're chubby or fat?
-Literally will always be holding onto or resting on part of you. He loves squishy people.
-Somewhere in the middle?
-He could not care less. He loves you regardless of what you look like.
-And he makes sure to emphasize his point by complimenting you endlessly.
-He will never leave your side.
-Even if you need space, he doesn't.
-So why wouldn't you?
-Back to our regularly scheduled fluff-
-Candy Queen hates your guts.
-She thinks you're an obstacle, keeping her from the Winter King.
-No doubt tries to kill you.
-Multiple times. a day
-Her plans are always foiled, but if she gets too close to genuinely hurting you, Winter will be so upset.
"Oh, Dearest, please tell me you're okay!"
"You are?"
"Phew. I don't know what I'd do if you were hurt in any way."
-His petnames for you are probably
-Darling,
-Dearest,
-My love,
-There are a lot more, but those are the main ones.
-LOVES kissing you.
-Anytime, any way.
-He finds it adorable when his nose bumps your face.
-Favorite place to kiss would probably be the back of your hand.
-He is a gentleman after all.
-Overall, he just adores you.
-And he sincerely hopes you love him just as much as he does you.
Headcanon requests are open for Winter King! Don't be afraid to send an ask, and be shameless! I know I am! (No smut tho. Some spice is okay, however.)
Have some free WK art for coming this far!
reblog for a beginner writer?
#winter king x reader#gumy writes#x reader#adventure time#fionna and cake#winter king#the winter king#adventure time x reader#headcanons#my headcanons#fandom#he's so babygirl#fionna and cake x reader#winter king fanart#winter king x male reader#winter king x female reader#winter king x gn reader#brainrot
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see you soon ; jason todd x batmom reader (ft bruce wayne)
includes: jason's beloved dubbed 'princesa' (can read it as her and/or jason being latina/latino or spanish being jason's 1st/2nd language!) & tooth-rotting fluff!
a/n: combining @xoxokirby's jason todd x princesa with my batmom AU in this quick, cute thought because I just love talking about them together 💗
check out my batmom m.list <3
"Alright, so here's the hot chocolate," You carefully passed Jason the heavy double-cup holder, "And in here is your Philly cheesesteak, some soups and your girl's panini sandwich. And I threw in some brownie pudding in there since we had extra. Make sure you don't heat it up beyond forty-five seconds. You're lucky you texted me just as dinner rush started."
While waiting for Jason to come and pick up the orders he had requested you just hours ago, you closed down the necessary so you could head home with Bruce straight away once he finishes his work in the office. Not once had Jason stopped offering on taking you back to the manor first before heading back to his girlfriend at his apartment, but you insisted otherwise.
And how could he say no to his mother?
"Yeah, that's on me," Your son smiled sheepishly, holding the bags of food and drinks with ease, "Y'sure we don't gotta pay up?"
"What makes you think I'm making my own kids pay for food at my café all of a sudden?" You rested your hands on your hips, brows raised as if he had asked the dumbest question ever.
"'m just askin', y'don't have to be so mad. Sheesh," He shrugged, only to dodge your playful smack with a laugh, "Kiddin', kiddin'."
But the big smile on his face remained.
A lot of things make him smile, be it from you, his siblings, Bruce at times or his beloved, but he just couldn't help replaying how you considered his girl one of 'your kids', as if, like him, you just knew she was the one.
"Be sure to tell her about the family dinner that we're having in two weeks." You reminded him, slipping on your gloves before turning off most of the lights. It would be her first dinner with the Waynes, and you wanted nothing more than to have her as a part of your family’s cheesy traditions.
"I will," He nodded, and just as you wondered about the extra joy he was radiating, he hugged you with one arm—the one that was holding the bag of food, "Thanks, ma."
"Oh, Jay," You chuckled, returning the hug with a few pats in his back, "I'm just looking out for my kids."
Just then, you and Jason heard the sound of engine approaching, and lo and behold, the familiar black Aston Martin came into view.
"That's our cue. C'mon," You playfully pushed him from the back, drawing a worried 'ma!', afraid he might drop the food. You just responded to his pout with a cheeky smile before exiting the café, with him waiting for you to lock the door. Winter came in early in Gotham, and the citizens took the opportunity to decorate the city in ways that seemed so... familial.
You opened the passenger door, "Hey." You lit up as Bruce leaned in, his warm lips tickled your cold cheek.
"Sorry I'm late. Tried to finish up some of the last reports before the holidays."
You reassured him, shaking your head as you did, "You're not, I promise. Plus, Jay waited with me."
Bruce looked over at your door, where Jason stood, "Thanks, Jason. Head home safely and don't forget about the dinner, alright?"
"I won't," He nodded curtly as he walked backwards, heading to the alley where he parked his bike, "I'll text y'when I reach home."
"Say hi to princesa for us!" You grinned, waving as you watched your son disappear into the back of the store. You closed the door, turning to Bruce and officially greeting him with a quick but nonetheless sweet kiss, "Hi, you."
"Hi yourself," He sighed in content, leaning in for another kiss as he held the steering wheel, "Shall we?"
"Of course." You replied, and just as your seatbelt clicked into place, Jason drove past you, but not before waving at you and Bruce as he did.
With the end of the year around the corner, you were tired, and so was Bruce. Jason was no different and he didn't doubt that his girl was beat, too.
But it was impossible to suppress the smiles on your faces, knowing that none of you will end the day by your lonesome.
Just a hot drink in hand, a comfy bed to cuddle up in, and your other half to hold onto.
˚ · . f i n . · ˚
#— reve's reverie 🌹#i wrote this real quick#just sumn i needed to let out#a mother's touch series#batmom!reader#bruce wayne x reader#bruce wayne x batmom#bruce wayne x f!reader#bruce wayne#batmom#batman#batman x reader#batman x f!reader#batman x batmom#jason todd#jason todd x reader#jason todd x f!reader#jason todd x batmom#jason todd x you#red hood#red hood x reader#red hood x f!reader#red hood x you#red hood x batmom#dc#dc x reader
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The night Lucifer became your god.
☆彡 Your god had abandoned you; the devil stayed by your side.
Whose your devotion is with?
☆ Disclaimer: I'm an atheist myself but was raised Catholic, so I understand that some people may find this disrespectful. Please, if you find the religion subject as a taboo to write about, don't continue reading.
☆ G/N Reader—no pronouns or y/n used.
☆ English isn't my first language and I wrote this drunk, so if there is any mistake please excuse me <3
Religion as a metaphor for love 🛐
—"Eli, Eli, lema sabachtani?" Matthäus 27:46.—
In Lucifer's eyes, you were an angel.
There were few things that he considered pure in hell. His daughter, the love he once had for his wife, and the joy he felt when his last rubber duck wasn't a fiasco.
You, however, were the purest thing that ever stepped on hell.
It made him sick. It was like heaven had taken pity on him and decided to send you to bring love and comfort to his shattered soul.
The first time he ever stepped on your room, he almost thought you two weren't in hell, but in a church, your room resembles a presbytery. He was met by a big cross on the wall in front of him and a lot of candles around; the final straw was a bible on the nightstand.
Where did you even get that?
It was creepy.
It gave him chills; surely he was uncomfortable at first; he hated sacred places; it made him feel dizzy. But the way you talked to him and how you looked at him in the eyes made him feel as if he were in heaven again.
Except that both of you were in hell.
You were in hell. With him.
Your looks weren't any different; you often had a kind smile on your face. When someone made a gross comment, he never failed to see you putting your hands together in a praying motion. He got a glimpse of your scarred knees one time, and a thought came to his mind: you on your knees, praying to God countless nights instead of going to parties.
He felt jealous; oh, to be adored in that way, how would it feel?
And you were so sweet; you always knew what to say and how to react. Even when he felt like getting back into his depression hole, kind words came out of your lips as you held him.
He wanted you; he never, in thousands of years in hell, ever prayed to God, but he would do it for you to be his.
☆◦ •◦☆
If you are an angel, then how did you end up here? He often wondered: surely God wouldn't be so cruel as to send you to hell, right?
A scoff left his lips; of course he would.
It was dark outside, and the pouring rain could be heard from outside your room. In the comfort of your room, he couldn't help but ask. You just finished your prayer, an old but well-conserved rosary on your hands.
You don't really know what to say.
"I just guess that I deserved it."
Hearing you say that broke him, how could you say that you deserved to be down there? How could you be so cool about it? You even laughed it off. He didn't deserve to have you there; please don't be so mean to you.
You tried to change the subject almost immediately; you don't want to go on about the many nights that you stayed awake calling for your god to take you out of there, just to hear you. You think that Lucifer wouldn't like to hear you say that you don't want to be there.
Oh god, my god, why did he forsaken you?
Truth be told, you often questioned it yourself; you didn't want to. Guess that's why you're down there; you asked so many questions? how you spent your whole life following his rules, praying until your knees bled, and giving all your life to him, just to be thrown into hell forever.
It wasn't your fault.
You were so young and so naive.
Please, how can you leave me here?
How could you let me down even when you said you loved me?
☆◦ •◦☆
When you woke up in hell, you felt your heart shatter. Somehow, you managed to make it to the Heaven Embassy, looking at the building and hoping for them to come back for you, you stayed there for days. But it never happened.
It should be a mistake. You couldn't have failed; what had you done wrong?
When you arrived at the hotel, you wanted to cry. Everything Charlie told you would take for you to be redeemed has been everything you did in life.
Then why are you there?
Every passing day, your chest hurts a little more. It was like pieces of your soul were falling apart.
"I feel guilty, Lucifer; I know I shouldn't question his actions, that I would never understand," you said as your eyes were fixated on the big cross on your wall, "but he abandoned me; he doesn't love me anymore. I highly doubt he ever did."
You later felt guilty for breaking the rosary in your hand. Lucifer, however, felt excited about it.
☆◦ •◦☆
It hurts to see you like this, it made Lucifer feel so bad.
I mean, he understands how you are feeling; he used to have so many dreams that were taken away from him the moment he talked to his creator. He just wanted to be heard.
But he wasn't heard.
He remembers how it happened—the court spat on his face in his trial. They didn't even let him talk. He remembers how he felt the air leaving his lungs, so humiliated and despised by his father. He grabbed a fist of his shirt while they brought his sentence. His chest hurts a lot. He looked at his father, asking for forgiveness that he was never granted.
So he understood your pain; he felt your pain as his while you looked so hurt. You two weren't so different.
Except you were, you are a pure soul who did everything right, no questions asked ever. It makes his blood boil.
How could God treat you like this while Lucifer could break hell apart just for you to be on your knees for him?
He wanted to bring you comfort, but what does one say in a moment like this? What could he say that could give your heart rest?
You felt guilty; you felt remorse, wrath, pain, sadness—you didn't know what to think or how to react. You felt like your own father had abandoned you, leaving a hollow in your soul that couldn't be filled.
Everything left was for you to wait.
Wait to find something else to live for.
Something to pray for.
Someone to believe.
"If you were mine, I would never abandon you." Lucifer felt no remorse to say that; he wasn't taking advantage of your state. He just was showing you the right way, by his side you would never feel neglected or hurt. This is how it must have been since the beginning; if you had given him your heart since the beginning, you wouldn't have felt so much pain.
He would take care of you forever.
To have you on your knees before him was strange. He dreamed about this exact moment for so long, but he never thought it could really happen.
But it was happening.
You were there, with so much devotion in your eyes that it was impossible to look away.
He could see in your eyes that you would do everything he asked for.
How could God let you go when you were so devoted?
He wouldn't let you go.
Never.
You are his now.
You are his loyal believer; he's your god.
Like it always was supposed to be.
About where the inspiration for this came from:
There's a Mary statue in Spain that I absolutely loved the work of the sculptor, it's called: "María Santísima de la Quinta Angustia." —love the name!Her hurt face gave me chills and I thought about this writing. Please take a look at her, she looks like a doll! ✨
Likes and reblogs are appreciated. 💞
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Bathroom Breakdown | Bang Chan x Reader
pairing: bang chan x fem!reader
tags: insecurity, comfort, fluff, chan is so sweet y'all, minor explicit language
requested? nope, this was all me baybee!
wc: 1,450
If you had to say, getting in your own head was probably your strongest skill. You do it a lot, more than most people, but the funniest thing is, you don’t even realise you’re doing it half of the time. The thoughts in your head are so common that you truly believe them now, they’re just facts!
The recent topic of discussion inside your brain has been your love life. Specifically, your wonderful boyfriend, Chan. He really is wonderful, he’s kind, generous, funny, smart, and handsome as hell. You consider yourself lucky to be his girlfriend for the past six months. Insecurity has been slowly eating you recently, gnawing at you in the back of your head. You know everything that it’s saying is wrong, and that he loves you, and he’s lucky to have you too, but there’s just something convincing you he’s lying, that one day he is going to turn around and decide to leave.
Sniffling, you fold up a wad of toilet paper and bring it to your face, wiping your eyes one last time. You throw it into the toilet from your place on the cold tile floor and grab onto the edge of the sink to help hoist yourself up. You see your reflection in the mirror and let out a long, shaky breath. You were seemingly done crying, using the last 45 minutes as a good release, and your legs wobbled as you stood.
You turned on the tap, feeling the cool water on your fingers. Gathering some water in your hands, you bring the coolness up to your face, gently pressing your face, and massaging around your eyes, attempting to wrangle the puffiness of your post-sob face. The cold water was refreshing and helped to bring you back to reality.
A few minutes later you were ready to face the world again, the world inside your apartment at least. Unlocking the bathroom door, you take one final deep breath. You swing the door open and nearly scream. There, leaning against the wall opposite, is Chan.
“Jesus Christ.” You clutch your chest.
“Sorry, I did text you but,” he trails off. Oh, right. You didn’t have your phone on you, you had left it in the living room.
“Oh, sorry, yeah, it’s in the other room. How long have you been here?” You ask. He must have let himself in with the spare key you had given him.
“Uh, not long, maybe 15 minutes?” He stands up, awkwardly. You think he’s lying to save you the embarrassment.
“Oh,” you say, neither of you really knowing where to go with this.
“I didn’t know you were coming.”
“Are you okay?”
You speak at the same time. Your eyes widen at his question, and you think for a second that you look like a deer in headlights.
“Ah, yeah, I got a free evening so thought I’d come over,” he explains. “But maybe I should’ve waited for a response.”
“No it’s okay, I was just, thinking too much.” You don’t know what to say. He opens his arms and you fall into them, wrapping around you gently.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He speaks softly into your hair.
“I think I’d cry again.”
“That’s okay, you’re allowed to cry.”
You take a deep breath hearing his words and you feel everything coming back.
“Hey, let’s get you somewhere comfy first, sofa or bed?”
“Bed,” you mumble into his chest. He’s wearing a soft, black hoodie that smells just like him, the scent of his cologne faintly clinging to the material. With ease, he guides you to your bedroom, and you get into the safety of your covers. He excuses himself for a second, and leaves the room, returning a few minutes later with a few things. Your phone is one of them, your heart crying a little as you read his texts from earlier on the lock screen. He climbs into bed next to you and gets comfy. You keep him at a distance, thinking it would be better to put space between yourself. He insists on at least holding your hand.
“Okay, tell me everything.”
“I’m just feeling insecure. It’s stupid, but I can’t stop thinking about it. I feel like I don’t deserve any of this.” You begin to put it into words.
“This?” he asks, gently.
“You, Chan. I don’t deserve you, and I know I do, I know you’ll say I do, but my brain is so good at convincing me, and I don’t know how to get her to shut up. Like, I look in the mirror and I don’t understand why you love me, like look at you, you’re perfect, I’m not.” You see his eyebrows furrow but you don’t give him a chance to say anything.
“I just feel so fundamentally unlovable, which is stupid, but there’s just something in my head. And I’m so scared, I’m scared that I let you in fully, and get so comfortable with you, and one day you decide I’m too much, or not enough, or too weird, or too something, and you leave me for some stupid or shallow reason that I was a fool to think wouldn’t happen.” The tears are flowing now, not as hard as before but you wipe at them. You’re no longer looking at Chan, but down at your hands where your fingers are pulling threads from the bed sheets.
“So I guess my head has just decided that you’re better off without me, and I want to disagree so badly, but she’s so fucking convincing, Chan, I’m sorry.” You wipe at your tears roughly, but Chan quickly replaces your hands with his own, taking your face in his hands gently. His thumbs are wiping at the tears still slowly falling.
“Hey, it’s okay. Just breathe.” You do as he says, and your tears begin to slow down even more.
“Can I say something?” Chan says after a minute. You nod, preparing for the worst.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
Your eyes look up and meet his, a look of sincerity in his own glassy eyes.
“I could never leave you, not as easy as you seem to think. No part of you could be too much or too little, or too anything for me. I love you. I love all of you. I love the parts of you I’ve seen, and I can’t wait to see the parts I haven’t seen yet so that I can love them too. I know this isn’t easy, I feel the same things sometimes, but you just have to believe me, and if you ever doubt me, I will fight you.” He ends with a chuckle.
“Okay?” He runs his fingers through your hair gently. You nod, smiling.
“Also, who are you to decide who I love, hm?” he asks.
“An idiot,” you mumble, making him chuckle.
“I decide who I love, got it? I am choosing to love you.”
You nod your head, utterly defeated, and fall into his chest. He catches you swiftly, rubbing your back with one hand and petting your hair with the other. After a few minutes, you pop your head up to look at him. He looks at you questioningly.
“Be honest, how long were you here before I came out of the bathroom?”
“Oh, I, uh, think I heard most of it,” he says sheepishly. You groan, burying your face into his chest once more. You feel him laugh more than you hear it.
“Thank you,” you say.
“For what?”
“I don’t know…” you trail off. “Loving me? Letting me cry? Being here? Something like that.” You play with one of his hoodie strings, avoiding his intense stare.
“Something like that,” he repeats quietly, half chuckling at your words. “Of course, I'd do all those things, I love you.”
“I love you too,” you say, finally looking up at him. He’s smiling at you, eyes soft. You lean up and press a kiss to his soft lips. He accepts it, indulging you for a few seconds until he pulls back. You’re about to pout but he catches you off guard by planting kiss after kiss on your face. Your cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally your mouth once more. You’re giggling by the time he’s done, and he pulls back, eyes sparkling.
“Feeling any better?” he asks.
“No, I think I need one more.” You giggle up at him. He rolls his eyes but leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss that the both of you are smiling into. The kiss feels right, and for the first time in a little while, the voice in the back of your head is quiet.
taglist (lmk if u wanna be added!): @lethallyprotected
#skz#stray kids#skz imagines#stray kids fluff#skz x reader#stray kids x you#skz fluff#bang chan#chris bang#bang chan x reader#bang chan x you#stray kids smut#stray kids scenarios#stray kids x reader#stray kids fic#skz scenarios#skz chan#skz smut#skz x you#skz chan x reader#skz chan imagines#skz chan scenarios
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10th doctor x deaf!reader - the way you talk
Heya! Absolutely love your work! I've been rewatching doctor who ready for davids comeback😍 it's kinda hard because i'm deaf and sometimes the subtitles dont keep up with the timings😫 i was wondering if i could request a 10th doctor with a deaf reader if possible pleaseeee, thanks 💜 - Anon💜
A/N: Italics will be sign language
The TARDIS enabled the doctor to speak and listen to every language there was.
And for somebody like it, it was amazing, incredibly useful, meaning there wasn’t anything that would be lost in translation.
But, he realised there was limitations to this, and that he wouldn’t make him an expert in some areas, especially sign language.
He knew some, enough to get by if needed.
But when he met you, he realised that wouldn’t be enough if he wanted to communicate with you.
You talked through notepads and text messages, but for him it wasn’t enough, he wanted more. He wanted to communicate with you the way you had to.
So, when he had some free time, which surprisingly was quite a lot considering he always seemed so busy, he began to learn.
And when he next went to pick you up, he wore a grin from ear to ear as he waved at you.
You waved back, following him into the TARDIS, and you set your notepad and pen on the console, putting your bag out of the way before coming back over.
The doctor was flicking through the notepad, and you waved your hand at him, gesturing for him to pass it back.
Quickly writing in it, you flipped it over and held it out to him.
‘Where are we going?’
The doctor beamed.
He took it from you and set it down, making you furrow your brows a little bit, and he began to put some coordinates in.
You took the notepad again, asking him where he was taking you, but he wouldn’t reply, so you knew it was a surprise he had planned for you.
Which wasn’t so bad, except usually his surprises ended in some sort of running or rescue situation.
He was bouncing around, and you smiled as you watched him, leaning against the railing as you just watched him bounce from thing to thing, doing whatever it was he needed to do.
You didn’t quite know how the whole TARDIS worked, and he had offered to explain it, but you didn’t want him to sit there for hour writing it all down.
You were happy not knowing.
As long as you were travelling with him you didn’t care.
He bounding over, and with a grin he held out his hand to you.
“Come with me.” He said.
He knew you could lip read, so often he would just speak to you.
Sometimes he would forget and be stood behind you, trying to have a whole conversation with you and getting confused when you wouldn’t talk back.
You smiled, placing your hand in his, letting him lead you to the doors and outside.
It was bright, multiple sun sun the sky. It was warm, it wasn’t hot, it seemed like the perfect temperature.
The sand was a vibrant shade of gold, and in the distance the heatwaves rippled about, creating almost an illusion if there being water over there.
The doctor looked at you, smiling even more when he saw you smiling, and he reached out, tapping your shoulder.
You turned to him and he took a small breath.
I don’t know if I’m doing this right, I’m still learning.
Your eyes shot open at the sight of him signing, carefully watching what he was doing as he carried on.
But I want to make it easier for you to talk.
He looked at you slightly nervous.
How long have you been learning? When did you start?
You carried on signing questions and he quickly took your hands to stop you.
Laughing slightly, the doctor smiled and let go.
Not so fast, I’m still learning.
You grinned sheepishly.
Sorry. Why did you start?
So I could talk to you.
You furrowed your brows a little bit.
Yes we write or text to each other, but I want to talk to you properly. The way you do, I wanted to make it easier on you.
You smiled and rushed to hug him tightly, and he happily hugged you back.
He had a long way to go, but with some practice and you to help guide him, he would be able to have longer conversations with you in no time
#doctor who#doctor who x reader#doctor who x you#doctor who x y/n#doctor who imagine#tenth doctor#tenth doctor x reader#tenth doctor x you#tenth doctor x y/n#tenth doctor imagine
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sleepwalking ● 20 | jjk
pairing: jungkook x fem!reader
summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.
genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers
warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, mentions of drugs, fluff, some angst, SLOW BURN
words: 17.9k
read from the beginning ○ masterlist
chapter 20 ► so if your wings won't find you heaven, i will bring it down like an ancient bygone
The next morning arrived very quickly and not even five hours after your nightly rendezvous in the garden, you saw Jungkook again in the corridor of the hotel.
“Your room is right next to mine,” you observed with a certain surprised amusement. “Yet you thought it would be wiser to go out, find some rocks, and toss those at my window?”
Jungkook glanced at the door of his room as if he hadn’t noticed it before.
“Much more private that way,” he said with a shrug—but a mischievous grin betrayed his attempt at nonchalance. “No one suspected a thing.”
“If someone had seen you doing that, they would have probably suspected a lot more,” you said. “Compared to you just knocking on my door like a normal person.”
“I’m a romantic,” he declared, clutching his chest to emphasise his dedication to his actions, which he preferred to regard as whimsical and sweet, rather than unusual and unnecessary. “I prefer my way.”
You looked away and he wondered if he’d taken it too far. But he relaxed when he saw the corners of your lips curve into an already familiar smile as your gaze wandered from the carpeted floors to the fraying edges of the wallpaper near the entrance to the staircase.
His predilection for extravagant gestures and dramatic moves rather than simple, everyday things had been a consistent part of his personality for as long as you’ve known him. And however much you teased him about it, you still found it endearing.
Although to be fair, you found the wildflowers that he’d brought you endearing, too. Pictures that he sent you, captioned ‘us.’ The look in his eyes when he teased you about something. The way he held your hand so absentmindedly sometimes, almost forgetting about it as though your hand was a part of him.
“Should we go, then?” you asked, a little breathless. The old hotel didn’t have an elevator, and you gestured at the staircase. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to climb into the restaurant through the window.”
Jungkook took the teasing in stride, maintaining a dignified grin. “Stairs will work, I’m sure.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
He followed you, beaming as if he were a ten-year-old who had just held hands with a pretty girl for the first time during fifth-grade recess. He didn’t know how to contain everything he was feeling. He might have actually stopped, dropped, and rolled down the stairs like an exhilarated sack of potatoes if he’d known you were feeling the same.
“So,” you said, keeping your eyes on your feet as the two of you climbed down the narrow, creaking staircase. There were small, foggy windows scattered here and there, filtering beams of tired sunlight. “Escape from New York.”
It took Jungkook a few seconds to recognise that this was the film you’d talked about last night. His mind seemed to consider this information secondary—overshadowed, understandably, by his grandmother’s voice after she called him and the lingering memory of the scent of your hair.
“Yeah,” he said, stopping in front of the arch that led from the stairwell into the lobby. “I’m thinking the odds of catching it in cinemas are very slim, right?”
“They are,” you confirmed, stopping, too. “But it’s on Amazon like I suspected. We could watch it tomorrow if you’d like?”
A childlike excitement ignited in his eyes, but a sudden memory dimmed them.
He recalled you telling him that you had plans with Luna and Maggie tonight, and before that—his hands trembled a little at this particular memory—he recalled you saying that you had set an alarm to call your mum.
He was anxious, he realised, on your behalf.
“Tomorrow, uh—” he stammered, lost in the shadows on the staircase behind you as the two of you lingered by the archway. “T-that sounds good.”
You smiled and nodded—that was essentially all you did, but he felt the change. He felt how close you were, he felt your relaxed posture, your easy smile, your calm, confident eyes.
His gaze met yours for no more than a fleeting moment, but he felt the uncertainty in his chest lift, almost inexplicably so. Likely because, despite everything, you were here and nothing else really mattered. You’d be okay.
“You’re going out tonight, right?” he asked and you nodded. He tsk tsk-ed in response, feigning disapproval. “It's a school night. How very irresponsible.”
Your smile grew wider; he noticed it out of the corner of his eye. Something creaked with excitement on the stairs and inside his chest.
“You guys have a day off tomorrow, so I don’t have to babysit,” you bit. “The girls and I had actually been planning this since before we even arrived in Europe.”
“Okay, fair enough,” he said. “How’d you find a bar that’s open long enough on a Wednesday, though?”
“Maggie said she found a cool spot that’s not really a nightclub and not really a bar,” you explained, shrugging. “I’m not sure. We’ll give it a try.”
“Alright. That sounds cool. Let’s do our thing tomorrow,” he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “Is it, uh, a girls’ night, then?”
You began to walk, crossing the threshold but slowing down so he could catch up.
“Well, yeah,” you said. “Because if I invite you, then Taehyung will insist on joining, and Luna will inevitably invite him. And then you and I will end up third-wheeling those two all night, while also comforting Maggie. She’ll have one tequila shot and spend the whole night near tears because she misses Rue.”
Jungkook decided not to admit how pleased he was that in a hypothetical scenario where Luna would bring her boyfriend and Maggie would cry about her girlfriend, he was your equivalent partner. Of course, he would have made sure to keep you company so that you wouldn’t feel like anyone’s third-wheel or shoulder to cry on, but he understood the essence of your point.
“That’s alright. I’ll keep myself busy,” he said, a bit concerned about the colour of his face. He reached up, feeling his cheeks with the back of his hand. “I, uh—I hope you guys have fun. Call me if you get into trouble.”
You raised your eyebrows, recognising his way of turning your words against you.
“As if,” you retorted. “I know how to drink responsibly.”
He could remember times when the two of you were so drunk that the sense of responsibility resembled a dystopian concept rather than something people realistically possessed, but he enjoyed the smile on your face too much to bring it up. Even more than that, however, he enjoyed the fact that your smile did not falter, and you did not pull away to a more respectable distance when you entered the restaurant and reached the buffet table with dozens of other people around.
Things were good. They felt good.
You stayed at the buffet table to talk to Namjoon, and Jungkook went to find an empty table at the restaurant. But even as he walked away from you, he still couldn’t do anything about the tint on his cheeks.
He knew he was grinning like a proper maniac as he poured milk into his cereal. But then he met your eyes, and you were smiling at him from across the room, and your face looked radiant and glowing, and he was so in love with you that he didn’t care about his excitement coming off as threatening.
Just then, Minjun approached him with a concerned expression.
“Hey,” he said, sitting across from him at the empty table. “You look stupid. Did you put too much sugar in your cereal again?”
Jungkook snorted and let the spoon clatter into the bowl. “No. Just feeling good, I guess.”
“Huh.” Minjun looked over his shoulder and caught your gaze. He turned back to his friend with a knowing grin. “And, uh… your constant glances in your manager’s direction have something to do with that, I assume?”
“We’re going to watch a film tomorrow. It’s something my grandma suggested,” Jungkook announced with a grandeur that rivalled a lottery winner flaunting their newfound wealth.
It took Minjun a moment to process the whirlwind of changes in Jungkook’s life overnight. The last time he had seen him in Glasgow, Jungkook was, to put it kindly, a wreck. Now, his grandmother was calling him, and he was making plans to watch films with you.
“I’m—” Minjun stopped. He wanted to ask questions, but he did not know what to do with the expression on his face. “I feel like I’ve missed a few episodes of this TV show, but I’m very excited for you.”
Jungkook nodded eagerly—and then hesitated, his smile fading momentarily.
“It’s good, right?” he asked. “That we’re spending time together again.”
Minjun didn’t consider himself an expert in the field of relationships, even though he had some experience. However, when it came to this particular relationship, he didn’t even consider himself an amateur. You and Jungkook operated so utterly enigmatically that he wouldn’t even know where to begin guessing what the correct answer here was.
“Of course,” he affirmed nonetheless. “So, you’re… what? Friends, then?”
“Mhmm,” Jungkook replied with a mouthful of cereal.
“And, uh,” Minjun tapped his index finger on the dent in the lacquered table, “why is that?”
Jungkook swallowed first. “What do you mean wh—”
He noticed Minjun’s deadpan expression. Friendship was not the destination that his friend had imagined for the two of you.
“Fine,” he said, wiping his palms on his pants. “Well, first of all, it’s better than nothing. And—”
“Wait,” Minjun interrupted. “Why is ‘nothing’ the alternative to friendship?”
Jungkook clicked his tongue. “Because we’re complicated people with complicated problems.”
He almost expected Minjun to laugh at the oversimplified response, but his friend remained serious—he may not have known a lot, but he knew that there was a long story hidden behind these short words.
“Okay,” he said.
“Yeah. And second of all,” Jungkook continued, and Minjun wondered if he realised how much he resembled you in the way he spoke sometimes, “if we’re friends, then we can still work together, even if we don’t actually get back together. It’s just safe for us.”
“Ah.” Minjun nodded, recognising the subtle ways in which Jungkook was making this comfortable for you. “That’s the main thing, isn’t it?”
“It’s—well, I don’t know if that’s the main thing,” Jungkook said. For him, the main thing was you staying with Rated Riot. Everything else was an additional thing. “But it’s a—it’s a thing.”
“Hmm. The two of you are a far cry from friends, though,” Minjun remarked. Naturally, Jungkook was about to object, but his friend raised a hand, stopping him. “But I’m glad you two kids are working it out. That’s all I wanted to say.”
Jungkook released his breath and nodded instead of speaking.
He decided this was enough. He didn’t need anything else—neither a pat on the back nor an empty reassurance—to confirm that things were going well.
You had practically built a castle over the ruins in his chest overnight—things were going well.
After breakfast, Namjoon needed your help with the scheduling of recording rooms for the upcoming tour dates. The boys usually used the equipment they’d brought with them, but Yoongi had barricaded himself in his room—Jimin knocked on his door for fifteen minutes to drop off a croissant—so Namjoon, Hoseok, and you decided to book a studio to lure him out.
The scheduling took a while, because London and Paris, for no reason whatsoever, emerged as the two centres of musical innovation this month. Every studio in the vicinity of your accommodation had already been booked, so you were locked in your hotel room until late afternoon.
When you finally found several available spots, Luna and Maggie had already banished Taehyung from his and Luna’s suite—they had the largest one here—and you joined the girls in the bathroom to get ready for the night.
However, even though you joked and chatted with them, you couldn’t stop yourself from mentally counting down the minutes until your phone alarm rang. You’d set it for eight, hoping this would be a convenient time for your mum. You knew she wasn’t working today.
And, shortly after the three of you got ready—six minutes to eight—you left the girls to pre-game in Luna’s bathroom, and went back to your own dark room.
You felt very silly just sitting and staring at your screen, waiting. You could have called your mum early; you were ready for it anyway. But your hands were shaking, and you decided to wait.
You had already dressed and prepared for the rest of the night, but now, as you stared at your phone—two more minutes—you wondered if that had been a mistake. What if you cried? What if you didn’t even want to go anywhere anymore?
Two minutes, as it turned out, had a habit of passing slowly when you wanted them to pass, and passing very quickly when you wanted to prolong them. You pressed the line labelled ‘MUM’ on your phone and held your breath.
You were sitting on the floor—not because you wanted to fully embrace the dramatics of the situation or because the bed wasn’t good enough, but because your phone was charging next to the door, and you couldn’t reach the charger from the bed.
You had kept the light off, so the room was completely dark—now that was because you wanted to embrace the dramatics of the situation—and you hugged your knees to your chest, seemingly sinking deeper into the shadows.
Your mum picked up after the third ring. “Hello?”
“Hi, mum,” you said, and your voice shook despite your best attempts to control it.
“Hi, sweetheart,” she said. She sounded a little disoriented and confused. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”
You moved your phone away from your head and wiped your cheek on the sleeve of your dark denim jacket. You felt nervous and fidgety.
“It’s—no, everything’s fine,” you replied. “Are you busy? H-how’s Kai?”
“I was just reading. And he’s playing with his friends, love,” your mum said softly—she always spoke as if she was in a crowded room, mindful of disturbing others. “Did you want to talk to him?”
“Oh. No—no, it’s okay,” you said, nibbling on your lower lip. “You, uh, changed your mind about grounding him?”
“Well, he’s awfully lonely,” she said almost apologetically. You figured she wouldn’t stay angry with him for long, especially if he complained about his broken leg—which you suspected he did. “He can’t walk much and he’s miserable.”
“Mhmm. Right.” You scratched under your chin. “I’ll, uh—I’ll check on him later.”
“Okay,” she said, hesitating for a moment. “How—well, how are you? Did something happen?”
The repeated question in place of small talk stung a little, but you knew you’d brought it on yourself. Jungkook had told you that she’d already tried to call you when you were sick in Manchester. And it was natural for her to assume something had happened when you called her yourself in any case. For a while now, you’d both had a tacit understanding: she’d text you if she wanted to know how you were, and only call if there was an emergency—such as your brother breaking his leg. But if you really needed her, you would be the one to call.
“No. No, I just—I wanted to talk to you,” you said. “I don’t, um—I don’t really know what to do, so I wanted to… talk to you and maybe that will be helpful. I don’t know, I’m—”
“Sweetheart, what’s going on?” Concern deepened her gentle voice. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m—no, I’m not hurt,” you said. You thought you knew what you had to talk about. But apparently, you hadn’t realised you’d have to articulate your thoughts to have this conversation. “It’s just… I wanted to ask about you and Dad.”
Your heartbeat echoed in your ears while your mum stayed silent on the other end.
“Oh,” she said after a minute. You heard shuffling in the background. You pictured her sitting up, putting her book on the coffee table in her living room, and pulling off the duvet. You pictured her reaching for the floor lamp next to the armchair and switching it on, wondering, all the while, what had happened. “What brought this on?”
You heard a cheerful cry from outside your room and glanced at the window. The stars behind it were obscured by dark clouds. You wondered how long it would take to recap the entirety of this past month for your mum.
“Jungkook and I were talking,” you started. You heard her hold her breath as you went on. “And I just—h-he made me realise that you and I have never really talked about this much.”
Her voice sounded distant. “Well, what is there to talk about?”
Your exhale turned into a half-choked scoff.
“A lot of things, mum,” you said.
She breathed out, then in, then out again in an uncomfortable attempt to keep her composure.
“Wh-what do you want me to say?” she asked.
“Well…” You tugged at the fabric of your black tights. “What was going through your mind when you decided to get back together with Dad?” You paused, sensing the implication in your question. “I’m—I don’t mean to insult you. I’m just—I want to understand your thought process. There seemed to be, um—so much at stake.”
“There was,” she replied with the precision of a teacher confirming that two times two was indeed four. “I had you and your brother. And I still went for it.”
An oppressive silence engulfed your dark room as your mother’s uncertainty made yours grow.
Often, when a marriage started to fall apart, the advice from well-meaning relatives—who, of course, knew more about the relationship than the people in it—revolved around the children. To you, the notion of “staying together for the kids” felt about as profound as a bumblebee repeatedly hitting the glass of a window. And the relationship that your parents had was so bad, so beyond any fixing, that no one even suggested they stayed together in the first place, not even for the children—actually, especially not for the children.
But because your mother had never received this advice—this cursed “do it for the kids”—she did not know how to explain herself to you right now.
“W-were you scared?” you forced yourself to ask.
“Every time,” your mum admitted. You felt a new, powerful surge of despair for this every time and all the years of repeated mistakes that it signified. “But I was still hopeful.”
“But you knew he didn’t change,” you said. “You knew he wouldn’t be a father, wouldn’t be your husband.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t think that’s something you know in the moment.”
You couldn’t tell whether she had convinced herself of this later—as a defence against all the relatives who shook their heads at her—or if this was something she believed from the very beginning.
“Mum, that’s—I don’t think I can ever understand that,” you said, your words pouring out in an uncontrollable torrent of agitation. “Not after what I saw you go through. It—I admire the love that you have. But I just—I can’t help but think it had always been obvious that you and Dad would never work.”
She was silent for another minute, and you were worried that you had really upset her. Then, finally, she spoke again—her voice gentle, warm. “You told me that much.”
“I’m—I did?”
“You were very smart, growing up,” she said. “Well, you still are.”
You felt an unwelcome lump in your throat and a tightness behind your eyes.
“I’m sorry,” you said. “I probably hurt you.”
“You didn’t, sweetheart,” she said, because she always did. “I know it seems—well, difficult to understand. But I really wanted this to work. I wanted to give it a chance. But at a certain point, you finally realise that this is it. It’s enough. That’s when trying becomes pointless—when you can see that it won’t work. But you can’t reach that point if you don’t even try.”
But how many times, you wanted to ask, to yell, how many times did you have to try to reach that point?
“To be honest with you, my thought process was very… well, foolish, perhaps,” she continued. “Looking back, I realise that my judgement was clouded by many of the good moments we shared—because, believe it or not, it wasn’t always bad for us. We were together for… well, for many years. We had some good times.”
Once again, you felt a little disheartened that she avoided mentioning a specific date. You wondered what number of years she would have given—you knew your parents had already been on and off even before they got married.
“So, he wasn’t always like this?” you questioned. “Cold, detached, dismissive? Not worthy of you?”
Your mum seemed a little taken aback by the exhibition of adjectives—none of which came close to the words you wanted to use to describe the man who was theoretically supposed to be your father, and the words your mother had actually used to describe him herself—but she only allowed herself half of a surprised gasp before she pulled herself together.
“He was a lot more than that,” she said. “Both, in a good way and a bad way. And I wanted to try. Our circumstances had changed, we were in different stages of our lives. We’ve both grown. Clouded judgment or not, I thought that, even if he couldn’t be the person I fell in love with, maybe he could still be the person I could love right now.”
“You thought he’d changed,” you concluded. “Grown for you.”
“I did think that,” she agreed. “I believe that people can change—and they do, really. People can absolutely transform. But your father, he—well, he hadn’t. But I wouldn’t have known that for sure if I hadn’t tried.”
You shook your head. “But had he ever—you—never mind. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable with my—”
“No, you’re—you have every right to ask me these things,” she cut in. “I understand your—frustration. But I really wanted this, and I-I felt like I owed it to myself to try everything. Just so I would know that I’ve tried everything. And even though it didn’t work out, I learned more—so much more—about love, about people, and about myself. So, I don’t regret trying.”
You needed a minute to grasp that she really did not sound regretful. But you could not understand that.
You and your brother ended up in the crossfire of it all, and she was the one who put you there, repeatedly. And then she waited for over a decade for you to find the courage to ask her about this because she never volunteered this information herself.
Was there really nothing to regret about this?
“I’m... I’m still learning,” your mum continued after a while. “Because there are some things that we can learn only by experiencing them, and I—well, I want those experiences. I don’t want to look back on my life and wonder what it would have been like if I had tried something that I really wanted, but it really scared me. ‘What if I didn’t run from it, even though running away was safer?’ That was what I thought.”
She had to be brave, you thought, to try and to stop trying. And you knew that she really was. But more than that, she had to stay true to herself as an individual. She had to follow her dreams, her hopes, her wishes. And she did.
Yet, for some reason, you couldn’t find your words.
“I think that,” she said after not hearing your response, “aside from all the other things we do for love, we sometimes need to go through these unsuccessful experiences to truly understand our boundaries and get to know ourselves. And to find peace, really, knowing that we’ve done all that our hearts wanted. At least, that’s how it worked for me. Your dad might have had other motives. I don’t think I will ever truly understand them, but his motives are his own. These are mine. So—well, that was my thought process. I think that’s all I can say.”
“Hmm,” you finally said—just to signal that you've heard her, and now you needed a minute.
She’d told you everything, then.
She was listening to her heart when she got back together with your dad. And listening to one’s heart was not an easy thing to do, you’ve come to know that very well.
But now you wondered if you were okay with her explanation. If you were okay knowing that she did that because she wanted to. If you were okay with her erasing everyone else from the equation and just focusing on herself.
Lately, you’ve come to believe that people were made up of various roles, some of which were put on their gravestones after their death: daughter, sister, wife, mother. They could be more than that, so much more. But they couldn’t suddenly be less.
You thought your mother might have actually been trying to be less.
She was trying, it seemed, to be on her own, void of any roles that framed her into a certain behavioural pattern—the sister, the friend, the wife, the mother—because this way, she could get back together with your dad because she owed it to herself. Because she wanted to try.
It was important to listen to yourself, of course. But her relationship with your dad affected her in every role she had, every role she tried to escape from. It hurt her. And because it hurt her, it hurt those around her, too: her children, her brother, her friends.
And still, she did it again. And again. And again.
No, you didn’t think it was possible to escape all of your roles like that. You didn’t think a person could wake up and, without any repercussions whatsoever, suddenly decide to be an individual, but not a parent. A partner, but not a sibling.
A manager, but not an ex-girlfriend.
A shuddered breath passed your lips, and you closed your eyes. You heard your mum’s even breaths on the other end.
If you weren’t so overwhelmed, you might have admitted to your mum that you understood certain parts of her explanation, but not others.
You understood why she did all the things you’d criticised for years. She did them because she knew that was what she wanted. That was what she believed and hoped for. And precisely because she did what she wanted, she did not regret trying again even though it didn’t work out. She’d listened to her heart, and her heart was now at peace.
And, yet—you were there. Despite her pride about having followed her heart, you were there.
You were the one helping her pick up the pieces for years after your dad left. You were there when she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get up from the floor, couldn’t stop herself from crying.
You were happy that she was at peace now, happy that she did not regret it. But you did. You regretted it for her. You didn’t think you’d ever feel her peace.
That was what you didn’t understand: how she’d erased those nights, those years when you thought you went through everything she went through right with her. You didn’t understand how she didn’t regret any of it.
You could have asked her about it, but she would have probably repeated all that she’d already said. And maybe you’d never understand her because you weren’t her—you were her daughter, and you could never escape this role. You loved her and you could not feel peace for the suffering she had to endure. The suffering you tried to take away, but couldn’t.
Perhaps you were being unfair to her. But you could only judge her experiences through the lens of your own.
She made a mistake—the same one, several times. She tried to explain it to you, even tried to justify it, but ultimately, that was the way you understood it, and you could not make yourself understand it differently.
However—and it took you great effort to admit this to yourself—just because trying again was a mistake in your mother’s case, that did not necessarily mean it would be a mistake in yours, too. There was a bright side to your lack of understanding.
It certainly seemed that your mum would continue to believe her truth, and you would continue to believe yours, but now you identified a core difference between yourself and her: you could never listen to just your own heart; you had to take another heart into account.
Your heart was frightened. It did not know what to do. But you weren’t just his manager. You loved him. And you knew he loved you. You could not let your fear win.
You weren’t your mum, and you weren’t your dad. And Jungkook wasn’t one or the other, either.
You wondered if this precise moment—this clear distinction—would finally allow you to separate your experiences from your parents’.
“Sweetheart,” your mum said quietly. Your phone felt hot due to the duration of your conversation. “Did something happen that made you want to talk to me about this now? Did you and Jungkook fight?”
You were biting into the inside of your lip with so much force that you could almost taste blood.
“We did. At first,” you said. It was futile to evade her questions now, but your throat still felt scratchy. “But it’s different this time. We’re—I don’t know what we are. We’re trying. Well, he’s trying. And I—I’m scared.”
“Scared of what?”
“Well, scared that someone will get hurt if we get back together.” You tightened your arm around your calves and rested your chin on your knees. Your room had darkened even more; it was very late. “Scared that I won’t be able to keep going if we don’t. I-I don’t know how to explain it. I’m just scared of what will happen.”
“Darling, sometimes, taking the risk is the only way to know what will happen,” she said. “You have to be brave. There are always two kinds of ‘what ifs.’ One good, one bad.”
You ran your fingers through the braids in your ponytail, nearly ruining Maggie’s work.
“You always hoped for the good one,” you said.
“I did.”
“Hmm.”
“I hope for that even now,” she replied. You closed your eyes and exhaled. “I know for certain that your dad and I cannot be together, but I know that precisely because I tried. It’s terrifying, though. I know it is. But I think that a lot of times, fear is an inherent part of love. You’re afraid of losing this person, afraid of hurting them. But you choose them anyway.”
Your hands were so cold that you could feel them over your tights when you ran your nervous fingers across your calves. You watched the hotel floorboards, attempting to make sense of your thoughts.
“Well, it—that doesn’t always make sense,” you said carefully. “Choosing to be together isn’t always, uh, the right decision.”
“Sweetheart,” she said, and you could tell from her tone that she did not understand your allusion to her own relationship. “How can it be the wrong decision for you? I know you’re really calling me because you’re scared you’re hurting him.” You inhaled so sharply here that she had to pause for a moment and continue in a gentler tone. “But you won’t hurt him by being with him. You would hurt him if you pushed him away.”
Your eyes blurred with a sudden moisture that you tried to blink away. You were determined not to succumb to your emotions—not for your parents’ failed relationship, not for the relentless gap between you and your mother that one conversation could not fix, and not for the haunting what-ifs that loomed in the back of your mind.
“I don’t know what exactly happened between you two,” your mum continued. “But I do know this: Jungkook thought you didn’t love him anymore when you broke up. He was, well—broken. But he wants to try again. That was—well, it was not the case for your dad and me. So, I think your odds are very good.”
You straightened, pressing your shoulder blades against the wall.
It was only in Amsterdam that Jungkook told you he had thought you broke up with him because you didn’t love him anymore. Before that, you’d assumed he was the one who no longer cared.
Was this what he talked to your mum about? Or was she just guessing?
“Where—how do you—h-how do you know what he thought after we broke up?” you stammered.
Another silence enveloped the conversation, and you wondered what your mum needed it for.
“That’s…” she started slowly, “another thing that sets you two apart from us.”
A secret. That’s why your mum needed the silence—to figure out how to talk to you about this.
“What is it?” you asked.
It took her another moment—six and a half heartbeats to be precise—to start speaking again.
“Your dad never wrote me anything,” she said. “Not a letter, let alone a poem. Honestly, he could barely write my name on a birthday card.”
You didn’t immediately understand what she was insinuating because you were too busy screaming inside about the irony of your mum being the one who pointed out all the times when your dad did not care about her. And yet she chose him again, and again, and—
You gripped your legs tighter to focus. “How do you know that Jungkook—”
“He sent them to me.”
“What?” You let go of your legs. “What do you—what did he send you?”
“The songs,” she explained patiently. You were too overwhelmed to notice the caution in her words; she could sense your hyperventilation over the phone. “Well, the verses of the songs that he wrote about you.”
You were quiet for a minute. Then another minute. Your mum had to gently coax, “love?” to remind you that you were on a call.
Jungkook said he had talked to your mum because he needed her help. You simply could not fathom the possibility that she was helping him with his song lyrics.
“Why…” You swallowed, trying to come up with a question that wouldn’t make your stomach clench harder. “Why did he send you that?”
“Because I told him he could if he wanted to,” she said. You appreciated her even tone. It helped to slow down the rapid beating of your heart.
“But,” you said, “we were broken up.”
“That’s one side of the story,” she replied. “The other side is that you were still in love. So, while you locked yourself in your room and forbid his name from being spoken around you, he was coping in a different way.”
The air in the room felt dense. You couldn’t tell if you were getting too much oxygen or not enough. Your head was spinning, attacked by the voices in your head, all of them shouting at you in languages you did not understand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked—the question was heavy, and your voice lowered significantly.
“I asked him if I should tell you,” she explained. “He said only if you asked about him.”
Your heart was in your throat. Your arms were numb. You felt like you were running late for something very important, and you were not going to make it in time.
“I never did,” you whispered.
“No,” she said softly. “You never did. And I didn’t think it was my place to tell.”
“Well, how—what did he say?” you pressed. “Why did he send you th-the songs?”
“He texted me, asking for permission at first,” she recounted. “He wanted to know if—if the lyrics were okay, if they weren’t too obvious, if I would mind and if I thought you would mind.”
“What did you tell him?”
“I told him you might drop everything and move to the Arctic if you found out the songs were about you,” she said. You could hear the smile in her voice. “He said that’s why he asked me instead.”
“Hmm. But that only happened once o-or... you know, twice?” you asked. “Haunting” and “Cursed”—those were the two songs he’d told you he wrote with you in mind. “Right?”
You were almost desperate for her to agree with you. To say that this was it, just these two songs. It was a lot, but you already knew about them. You’d manage to carry on.
Your mum sensed the hope in your voice. Almost unwillingly, she admitted, “at first.”
You were glad, suddenly, that you were sitting on the floor as the hotel room seemed to tremble around you. The realisation that Jungkook had been in touch with your mum, that he was writing about you this whole time—that your mum knew he was writing about you—was a little too strong.
Yoongi wasn’t far off, as it turned out. He thought it was you who looked through Jungkook’s lyrics for him. Apparently, it was your mum.
“The first time he reached out was right when Rated Riot first started making music,” your mum resumed, her words sharp against the lingering silence. “He apologised, and I didn’t think he would contact me again.”
“But he did,” you concluded, almost voiceless as your words stuck in the dryness of your throat.
“He did,” she confirmed. “I think, a lot of times, he was doing it to find out if you were seeing anyone else.”
The voices in your head were quick to latch onto this phrase – a lot of times! a lot of times! a lot of times! – and they yelled it at you from every crevice of your mind.
“Every time he wrote something new about you—a song, or a verse, or even a line that he ended up never including in any of their songs—he’d contact me and ask if it was okay,” your mum said. “But I don’t think he was only asking about the lyrics. He was also asking if I was okay with him still being in love with you. He was, it felt like, trying to see if I’d tell him to stop. To meet someone new.”
You had a pained frown on your face as you brought a hand over your forehead, wondering if what you were feeling was nausea or vertigo.
“Why didn’t you say that to him?” you asked. “To stop? It’s been four years.”
“For the same reason I didn’t say it to you.”
Your lips parted, but you could not find your voice. “W-wh—what—”
“Four years is just a raw number,” your mum said. “It does not account for the days you spent intentionally avoiding each other, remembering everything, and eventually working together. It is neither big nor small, and it is completely irrelevant compared to what you feel inside.”
It seemed to you, for an unthinkable second, that your mum had been waiting for your call about Jungkook—like she knew it would come. Jungkook had called her, and you would, too. It was inevitable.
But how much time has passed between his first call to your mum, and yours, right now? You wanted to claw at your chest until you ripped out every painful needle in your heart for all the years he waited for you, and for all the years you waited for yourself, too.
“And I’ve noticed that he also tried very hard to act like he no longer had any feelings for you when he wrote many of these songs,” your mum added with a conviction that only fuelled the intense turmoil inside of you. “He always claimed that he just needed something for his lyrics. He was just drawing inspiration from personal experience. But I don’t believe that was the entire truth. The lyrics he sent me… they’re a broken heart on paper. They’re a love confession.
“Mum—”
“He tried to tell himself that he’d moved on,” she continued, “but I could tell he hadn’t. You don’t write songs like that about someone you no longer care about.”
You were shaking your head even though she couldn’t see you. You knew your mum was a hopeless romantic, you thought her understanding of love differed from yours very much, and you desperately wanted to believe that you had a rational reason to argue with her.
But really, you were just trying to trick your heart into feeling better. Into believing that you didn’t have nearly as much of an impact on him as he continuously showed you that you did.
You couldn’t breathe.
“I haven’t heard from him in a while until just recently,” your mum said, gently breaking the silence. “Ask him about the song he’s working on now, sweetheart.”
Your heart exploded again. “He—he sent you something else?”
“A few nights ago,” she said. “He said he’s done with the lyrics; he has the demo. He wants to record it now. It’s called—hold on, the title was a mouthful.” You heard some shuffling on her end, overshadowed partially by your racing heart. “Ah, here. It’s called “The Puddle of Champagne on the Bathroom Floor.””
The force of her words made your stomach plummet as goosebumps battled the heat for precedence over your skin.
The past month rushed back to you in disordered flashes – Amsterdam. Your hotel room. Hoseok’s party. Boxes of champagne in the bathroom of Hoseok’s room. The motorcycle ride in Tilburg. The bet. The IV drip in Manchester. Jungkook’s irreparable tendency for big gestures. The pebbles he’d thrown at your window. The kiss in the garden outside the hotel.
You weren’t just his manager. You’d never been just his manager.
“I—I have to go, mum,” you managed to say, leaning against the wall in an attempt to stand up.
You didn’t actually have to go; the girls had promised to wait for you. But your whole body itched with an unrelenting restlessness, and you thought your legs would turn themselves inside out if you didn’t set them in motion right this second.
“Yeah?” she asked with traces of obvious concern in her words. “Call me later, sweetheart, okay?”
“I will,” you promised, lightheaded as you stood and bumped your thigh into the nightstand next to the bed. You unplugged your phone, letting the charger dangle, and navigated the room to the bathroom. Your fingers felt numb as you clutched your phone to your ear. “I—thank you. I love you.”
“Be brave, okay?” your mum said, sending another shiver down your spine. “I love you so much.”
You mumbled something—or may have actually opened your mouth to reply, you weren’t sure of anything anymore—as you ended the call and tossed your phone onto the bed from the doorway of the bathroom.
You needed water first—to wash your face, to drink, and to possibly drown your feelings in.
You weren’t sure, after all, if you were ready to go out with Luna and Maggie tonight. You weren’t sure if you were ready to leave your bathroom at all.
And that was how the girls discovered you twenty minutes later—perched on the counter next to the sink in your bathroom, cradling a towel on your lap as your mind vacillated between impressive emptiness and a thick fog of thoughts that refused to dissipate.
“Hey,” Luna whispered as the two girls slipped into the room. Now that they were here, you thought you could remember hearing a faint knock on the door. “What’s wrong?”
The question finally forced the racing thoughts in your head to stop.
“Nothing,” you responded, using the towel to wipe the water on your face, even though most of it had already dripped onto your black tights a long time ago. You missed the look that Luna and Maggie exchanged. “Sorry, were you—”
“Babe, you’re crying,” Maggie pointed out, carefully pulling your ponytail away from your face and over your shoulder.
You instinctively reached up to your eyes.
“I’m not, this is—it’s water.” You raised the towel as evidence. “I was washing—”
Maggie rubbed your arm patiently. “It’s water coming out of your eyes, babe.”
You glanced over at Luna, but she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and a concerned expression on her face.
We’ll be here a while, her stance was saying. But we’ll get to the bottom of it.
You looked down. “Sorry. I’m really okay.”
“I know you think that if you say you’re okay enough times, people will believe you,” Luna said firmly because her heart had dropped to her heels when Maggie threw the door open, and they found you here, completely dissociated, with a dangerous vacancy in your eyes. “But that’s not what happens. People just pretend to believe you, so you’d feel better. We know you’re not okay.”
You have started to realise that over the last few days.
So, taking an uncertain breath, you told them most of what your mum had just told you: about Jungkook’s heartbreak, and about your own. About his conversations with her, and about your self-imposed vow of silence. About his songs, and about your deliberate blindness for the lyricism, which had always been saturated with sentiments from the past seven years.
You chose not to mention the emptiness you felt after your mum had explained her reasoning for getting back together with your dad because you were worried you would not have enough water or towels to conceal your emotions.
After you finished speaking, Maggie, in her typical manner, made a profound summary of it all: “Well, shit.”
Luna nodded in agreement and tilted her head.
“But wait,” she said. “Why—why is this—but why are you crying about this?”
“I’m not,” you replied. You felt the childish defiance in your tone, but it was so intrinsic for you that you just said it and gave your friend an apologetic look.
“Right.” Luna glanced at her reflection in the mirror behind you, reminding herself that you’d sooner drown yourself in the flood of your tears than admit to crying. “Why are you trying so hard to pretend you’re not crying, then?”
You had to battle yourself a little more until you finally exhaled and leaned your back against the mirror.
“I—well—mostly because it’s just been so long. Fucking ages. And I was, you know. All this time, I was playing my little game.” You raised the pitch of your voice to imitate yourself, “oh, I’m such a great manager, I’m so insanely professional that you wouldn’t even think he’s my fucking ex-boyfriend.” You scoffed, shaking your head. Luna observed the way your hands trembled when you lifted them to your neck. “And he was—he was writing fucking songs about—a-and sending them to my mum to ask for her approval. Her permission. Her—just fucking talking to her. While I wasn’t talking to anyone. While I was acting like I lived in a magic fucking kingdom with purple ponies and rainbows, and no ex-boyfriends.”
The girls shared a look and half of a whole conversation—albeit in different languages, because when Luna opened her mouth to offer comforting words, Maggie placed her hand on your arm and shook her head.
“To be fair,” she said, “before I found out he’s your ex, I would have never suspected it.”
You raised your eyes. “You—well, see! That’s because I was—”
“No, wait, that’s—” Luna interjected, then paused to frown at Maggie. “Actually, hold on. How did you find out?”
You tightened your lips and returned your attention to Maggie. Most of the staff seemed to just know about you and Jungkook—like they knew most things—and you had obviously preferred to pretend like your relationship had never happened, so you’d never asked how they learned about it. But now you were curious.
“He told me,” Maggie stated simply, pulling away from you to straighten her dress. She kept her eyes on the ground.
“Jungkook?” Luna clarified.
Maggie nodded and looked up at you, tentative. “Yeah. A-and I’m afraid I might have mentioned it to Seokjin after that. And a few people might have overheard, and it, um—well, I think the news spread. But, in my defence, the band already knew.”
“The—” You blinked. “Well, I was the one who told the band. I thought I had to, or it wouldn’t be fair.”
“Oh.” She pondered that for a moment. “Okay. So—okay.”
“But how did you find out about it?” Luna pressed.
“Right.” Maggie bit her lip. She looked at you as she spoke. “It was a little over a year ago. We were drunk one night after a gig, and you were outside with Namjoon and Seokjin, having a smoke or whatever. And one of the roadies made a joke, something about how you three always disappear together. You know, a suggestive joke.”
You groaned. Most of the road crew was not affiliated with the company, so you hired new people for each tour. You recalled a few awful experiences with them and wondered if this would be another one.
“Yeah,” Maggie agreed with your scrunched-up nose. “That’s how I reacted, too. But the roadies kept going, because, you know, it was a joke, they didn’t realise it was hurting anybody. So, they were saying how they’ve heard that you had dated some producer from the label before. And they wondered if Namjoon could have been the guy, and Jin’s just the third wheel to kind of throw everybody off your scent.”
Your frown deepened. “Oh, my God.”
“Right,” she said again, nodding. “Well, Jungkook suddenly stood up and left. I didn’t even realise he was upset or anything, but Hoseok leaned over and asked if I could go check on him, so I went. I found him in the parking lot and asked him what was up, why was he looking so irritated or whatever. And he said he’s the guy you dated, not Namjoon. He said it with so much pride, too, kind of like it was an achievement or something.”
This was the moment when you looked down, and Maggie turned to look at Luna instead. Luna was positively glowing as she processed the new information and made mental notes.
“I think I mentioned that to him, actually,” Maggie went on, “because he later said, “it’s not an achievement if I’ve lost it.” But I was so drunk that I didn’t realise what he was talking about. I asked, “what’s ‘it’? What did you lose?” and he just stopped speaking and pulled out another cigarette.”
Something already tight seemed to tighten even more in your stomach.
Luna was the one who replied with a shake of her head and an affectionate observation: “The two of you have some productive discussions when you’re drunk.”
“Hmmm.” Maggie pulled on the skin around her nail. Her mind was focused on the events that happened later and she turned back to you, admitting, “I-I’m sorry I might have been the one who started the chain of—well, I shouldn’t have told anyone. I only meant to ask Jin if he knew about it, and it—”
“It’s okay,” you cut her off. “No one’s ever said anything to me about it.”
Maggie bit her lip again, still uneasy. “I’m—honestly, up until a few days ago when this whole mess with the bet started, I didn’t even think about that conversation with Jungkook, because—I mean, both of you seemed so normal around each other. Well, you know. He flirted with you all the time, I now realise, but he’s kind of a little shit in general, so it didn’t feel weird. And it didn’t even occur to me to think that the reason he was upset that night was because he was drunk and angry about not being with you anymore. I thought he was just irritated for no reason.”
Your eyes were fixed on the bathroom carpet—hoping, irrationally, that if you stared at it hard enough, it would absorb the fact that Maggie had witnessed Jungkook like this in the very prime of your insistence that you could remain professional and your past relationship would never be a problem. In the very prime of your hopeless attempt to run away from yourself.
“Yeah,” Luna said to her, understanding. “He does that sometimes. Gets upset randomly.”
“Yeah.” Maggie nodded. “A little moody. Comes with the job, I guess.”
Luna nodded back. “Yeah.”
This exchange finally snapped you out of your daze and you shook your head with a resigned smile. Luna’s face brightened as she leaned her hip against the counter next to you, and Maggie chuckled, pressing her shoulder against the wall on your other side.
“You know,” Luna said, turning to look at you. “I always wondered how he managed to resist for so long. I mean, you’ve been with the band for over two years now, right? And all he did was just tease you and make jokes. Like a middle-schooler, pulling the hair of his crush. But, really. How did he hold back from doing more?”
You tried, “but why—”
“I’m sure he was doing it for her,” Maggie interjected, pointing at you as though you were an inanimate object—something placed on the bathroom counter for decoration and easily picked up to discuss. “Maybe because he didn’t think she would want him back.”
“Well, what changed?” Luna questioned. “Why did he suddenly act on his feelings?”
“Well, Sid came along.”
“Ah.” Luna nodded, remembering suddenly how Jungkook told her that the bet had given him the push he needed. “That’s right.”
Your gaze ricocheted from one girl to the other. Your mind processed their conversation as if it were the plot of a series you had watched rather than something you had lived through.
“Yeah, and look, it may not have been that hard for him to hold back,” Maggie speculated. “Jungkook is the King of Bottled Emotions.”
“That’s true,” Luna agreed. “And he put all his feelings into his songs, which probably helped for the time being.”
“Yeah. That’s probably exactly it. And I think—”
“Okay!” you interjected, smacking your palms against your thighs. You didn’t think you had it in you to handle another and. “Hi? I’m here, too.”
Both girls turned to you with grins that indicated they were well aware of what they were doing.
“How are you feeling?” Luna asked.
“Confused,” you replied, wiping the corners of your eyes with your fingers. They were stained with your wet eyeshadow.
Luna raised a curious eyebrow. “Is that better than what you were feeling before, or—”
“It’s different,” you said, exhaling with a great strain. “I have to talk to him.”
Luna looked startled as she glanced at Maggie. “Uh—r-right now?”
The unexpected question made you lose what little courage you had. “I—I don’t know?”
“I saw him in the lobby earlier,” Maggie admitted slowly, very upset to find herself as the bearer of bad news tonight. “With Minjun. They, um—they left together.”
“Oh.” You looked down. “Well, that—maybe that’s good.”
Neither of your friends thought that was good as they both looked at each other in alarm. For once, they both thought the same thing, and that was a plan of how to track Jungkook down for you. They knew you well enough to fear that if you two did not talk about it right now, you never would.
“Really?” Luna asked uncertainly. “Because we can try to—”
“No, no,” you said. “Maybe I need to calm down first. Somehow.”
The girls both exhaled quietly. Calming down first implied talking to him second.
“Would, um,” Maggie said, “getting wasted help with that?”
You looked at her, a small smile on your lips. “It might.”
It started raining while the girls helped you fix your make-up, and the three of you stepped into the empty street laughing as the wind played havoc with your umbrella while you waited for the taxi. You hadn’t had time to properly pack your handbag or take any obligatory group pictures together, but you still felt significantly better.
Once you arrived at the bar, you stopped to shake off your umbrella and briefly split from the group as the girls hurried into the warm, dry building. Standing under the canopy by the entrance, you caught something out of the corner of your eye and turned to look. It was a waft of smoke from someone’s cigarette in the smoking area by the side of the building. You didn’t think much of it.
But when you tapped your umbrella against the pavement one last time, the smoker poked his head, gazing somewhere opposite from you. You looked up to see a familiar jet-black hair, styled in an overly gelled quiff, eerily similar to the hairstyle Sid wore every day.
The person did not turn to look at you, but this was enough for dread to grip your stomach, casting a terrible shadow over your uplifted mood.
You tried to rationalise that there was no logical reason for Sid to be in London. This person just couldn’t be him. Sid had showed up in Manchester, sure, but Jungkook had been certain that this was over. Even Sid couldn’t be pathetic enough to follow him all the way to London.
A group of people obstructed your view of the smoker as they tried to pass you to enter the bar. Apologising, you opened the door and finally walked inside.
The place exuded an unexpected elegance. A bar, with numerous tables scattered about, claimed half the space, while a dancefloor was partially concealed behind a row of private mahogany booths. The music was loud, but not overwhelming, and the area was dimly lit by massive chandeliers suspended above each table in every booth. Their faint light barely illuminated the drink menus strewn across the tables.
There weren’t many people here, and this seemed like a lowkey, comfortable place for the night—provided the person outside wasn’t Sid.
“No fucking way,” a voice cried from your left.
Flinching, you turned and noticed the entrance to the men’s room first, and Jude’s expectant eyes next. A chill coursed through you, rendering your legs numb.
No.
No, no, no, no—
“What are the fucking odds?” he exclaimed, grinning. You realised how odd it was for Jude to talk to you without Sid initiating the conversation, and you dreaded, suddenly, that he might come in, too. “This must be—what’s it called when—something about kissing, I think. Kissling? You know? Destiny?”
You swallowed. “Kismet.”
“That’s the one, yeah!” Jude raised his hands victoriously. He appeared to be on something; he had never looked at you for longer than two seconds when he was sober, let alone moved around so vigorously. “Hey, are you here alone?”
“I’m not,” you replied.
“Do you want to join us?” he asked. You didn’t like the plural pronoun one bit.
This had to be a nightmare, you thought. You half-expected to glance down and find yourself standing naked in the middle of the room—and then you would wake up.
Jude’s grin widened when you didn’t respond, and looked around to see if your friends were near. They were, but they seemed to be busy choosing a table.
“You know we don’t bite,” Jude reassured as if your hesitation was about potential biting rather than the insurmountable headache that Sid and Jude collectively induced just by being in the same room with you.
You managed a weak smile. “I’ll pass. You’re hanging around here, then?”
“We were just leaving,” Jude said—who was this “we,” you wondered irritably—and, most impudently, he leaned closer. “We have some molly to keep us company for the rest of the night. They call it mandy in England, did you know? You mix it with speed, and you just fucking fly. You look like you could use some.”
He chuckled and pulled back. You wondered if your reaction showed on your face; Jude did not acknowledge it.
You did not think you needed club drugs. You thought you needed pepper spray.
“Thanks,” you said. “But I’d prefer it if you just left me alone if that’s not too much trouble.”
He laughed—a disturbing echo of Sid’s cackle—and a shiver of revulsion ran down your spine. While Jude wasn’t the most pleasant person to be around, he was usually tolerable when Sid wasn’t by his side. What had he done to him?
“Alright, well, suit yourself,” Jude responded, unfazed. “If you change your mind, you know where to find us.”
You suppressed the urge to rattle off a list of locations where you would look for them—the sewers, a dumpster, a toxic waste site—and pursed your lips.
“So, you’re staying in London?” you asked.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied cheerily.
You nodded. “Lovely.”
He turned towards the door with his unwavering smirk, but kept glancing back at you every few seconds, seemingly hesitating. You watched his movements like one might watch the launch of a spacecraft—counting down the seconds until it’s in the air and out of your sight.
“Well, we will see you later,” he said, one hand on the handle. He lingered by the door for a good ten seconds, letting the cold air in and clearly anticipating your response.
You cleared your throat. “Not unless I have a say in that.”
He snorted. “Funny. We’ll be thinking of you.”
You did not speak. He did not move.
“Don’t both—” you started and then stopped abruptly.
Jude raised his eyebrows in the doorway. There was something about the way he looked at you, the way he lingered here while Sid smoked outside.
God, this might have been the same instinct that Minjun had to save Jude from Sid, but you sighed and managed a quiet, “Jude, um—be careful, alright?”
A myriad of colours passed on his face as he tried to comprehend your words.
“Wha—why—what do you mean?” he asked, so wide-eyed and utterly astonished that you felt uncomfortable looking at him.
“I’m just saying,” you said awkwardly. “Sid doesn’t care about what happens to you. Make sure you look after yourself. Drink water if you’re going to be tripping on something.”
He stayed frozen, almost statuesque—not blinking, seemingly not even breathing—for so long that you were starting to worry he had astral projected, leaving his corporeal form behind.
“Thank you,” he said after a full minute, with an unexpected clarity that you hadn’t heard from him earlier.
You nodded in response and he finally stepped outside, lingering as if tethered by a new string of hesitation, before finally letting the door close behind him.
When you joined your friends at the table they had picked, you interrupted their conversation about the atmosphere inside the club. Maggie was the first to notice your expression.
“Jesus,” she said. “What happened to you?”
“Jude’s here.”
Both girls looked at each other in dramatic disbelief—Maggie even gasped—and instinctively rose from their seats to crowd around you.
“What? Did you talk to him?” Luna questioned as Maggie pulled you deeper into the booth. The two of them scanned the bar as though Jude was still here, hiding somewhere.
“I—yeah,” you said. “But he left. I think I saw Sid outside.”
Their surprise morphed into complete horror. You gestured for them to sit down.
“But wait—fuck,” Luna said, standing straight. “We can go somewhere else.”
“No, I’m—if they come back, then yes,” you said. “But if they don’t, then let’s just stay here so we don’t run into them elsewhere.”
They looked around warily once more—just in case—before reluctantly settling down. Maggie took a seat next to you, while Luna sat down across the table.
This was when the girls began to fire every question they had, and you repeated the only answer you could offer.
“So, they’re in London,” Maggie said, tapping her nails against the table. “Why?”
“I have no idea,” you said.
“Does Jungkook know?”
“I have no idea.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I have no idea.”
Maggie reclined in her seat, deciding she’s had enough of this game.
“Well,” she said, “that’s great. I need a fucking drink.”
You hummed and brought your hand over the cocktail menu. Luna offered to make the first run to the bar, effectively changing the subject.
But shortly after, when she returned with a tray full of colourful, fruity drinks, you and Maggie were already back to discussing the details of your exchange with Jude—how unusual he seemed, and the awkward turn the conversation took.
“I think that’s enough of Sid and Jude,” Luna said, sitting down across from the two of you and handing out the drinks. “Different topic?”
“Oh, but hold on—while we’re on the topic of awkward conversations,” Maggie said, earning a quizzical look from you both. She ignored it. “Have you talked to that guy? That supervisor guy—you know the one.”
“Oh, Nick?” you asked, picking up your strawberry daiquiri and sliding Maggie’s tequila sunrise towards her. You accidentally nudged the cherry on the rim, causing it to fall into the drink. “Sorry—”
“It’s fine,” she said, deftly rescuing the cherry on its stem and popping it into her mouth.
“I haven’t talked to him yet,” you replied. “But I’m not working for Reconnaissance, that’s decided already.”
“Yeah?” Maggie smirked, punctuating her words with a purposefully seductive sip of her drink. “Anyone in particular help you with that decision?”
Despite her ambiguous question, you took a sip of your drink and felt yourself slowly relax. You were here with your friends. There was no harm to be done to either of you.
“Well, Jin did, actually,” you said. “We had a very productive conversation.”
“Hmm.” Maggie gave Luna a suggestive glance. “And no one else?”
You shrugged. “Yoongi and Namjoon—”
“Okay, you queen of evasion,” Maggie gave up, prompting Luna to giggle on the other side of the table as she absentmindedly stirred her Martini with the paper umbrella. “Are you getting back together with Jungkook or not? After everything that happened tonight?”
The way she said it—almost giving you options, even—was so simple that it made you wonder how much better things might have been between you and Jungkook if the two of you hadn’t been so obnoxiously determined to tiptoe around your feelings and had asked each other questions the way Maggie asked them.
“Well, my mum thinks we should get back together,” you said slowly.
“I care about what you think,” Maggie said—just like that. Luna nodded to herself, making a note to keep drinking until she, too, could start asking complicated questions in such an effortless way.
You finished your drink before speaking.
“I want to try,” you said. “But I’m—you know. I’m also scared that we’ll end up going around in circles, making the same mistakes.”
Maggie regarded you as if you’d dropped your hat in horse shit and put it straight back on.
“Babe, that’s a One Direction song,” she said.
You scoffed and looked down at your glass. “I know. My mum’s favourite, actually. But what I’m trying to say is, I’m scared.”
“Isn’t everyone?” she challenged. “But they still try.”
“They…” Your confidence waned as you realised you might have to talk about the complexities of your parents’ history once again tonight. You wanted to leave that discussion behind, so you finished simply, “they don’t have unsuccessful relationships left, right and centre to get inspiration from.”
“Excuse me?” Maggie arched her brows. “Rue and I have been together for three years—”
“Four,” Luna interjected.
“For four years,” Maggie corrected, “and we couldn’t be happier. Are we not successful?”
Feeling a bit like prey cornered by a very determined predator, you leaned against the back of the booth and cleared your throat. “Well, y-you are, but—”
“Luna and Taehyung!” Maggie continued, fired up. “They’ve been together for a whole year and—”
“Almost two, actually,” Luna said.
“Jesus!” Maggie threw her hands in the air. “I’m bad with dates, okay? Let me live.” She turned back to you as Luna grinned. Exhaling, Maggie continued in a more patient tone, “I mean, there are successful relationships around you. You just choose not to look at them.”
She was right about that, but it didn’t seem quite as simple or straightforward to you.
“Neither of you broke up and then got back together again, though,” you said.
Maggie was mid-syllable (a very frustrated “tha—”) when she realised that she couldn’t really argue. She quieted and frowned, finding her straw with her tongue and taking a long sip of her drink.
Luna took over. “Taehyung and I did, actually.”
Both you and Maggie looked up in surprise.
“What?” Maggie inquired first. “Seriously?”
“Well, it was only for two days,” Luna explained, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the edge of the table. “So, I’m not sure if it counts.”
“What happened?” you asked.
She dabbed her lips with the napkin, painting it a gentle shade of plum from her lipstick, and crumpled it.
“We were together for about eight or nine months at the time,” she said. “Rated Riot were on their first cross-country tour. Remember? It was a big deal, and the guys were stressed.” She paused to wait for your nod of confirmation. “We hadn’t seen each other in weeks. He called me one night and just—he said he couldn’t do this to me, that I deserved someone better, that he couldn’t—well, you know. The textbook ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ stuff.”
You and Maggie both nodded.
“How did you make up?” you asked.
“He flew in to see me on his day off and took back everything he’d said.” A faint smile played on her lips as she spoke, but she avoided looking at either of you—the story still felt a little too intimate, too raw to share. “He said he was confused and scared, that’s why he thought it’d be better to break up. But then he said he realised he was even more afraid of losing what we had, so he had to make it right.”
“I remember him flying out to see you,” you said. You remembered yelling at him, too, for leaving the tour right before a concert—but Taehyung usually only listened to Taehyung. “I didn’t know that it was because you broke up. I’m sorry.”
Luna finally looked up, waving her hand dismissively.
“Don’t be, it’s fine,” she said. “We made up. And the break-up barely lasted a few days, I didn’t even have a chance to tell you about it.”
Maggie was smiling as she reached for the brightest remaining cocktail on the table—a Cosmopolitan—and collected the empty glasses, putting them back on the tray. She handed you and Luna glasses of faint pink, peach-flavoured cocktails and settled back in her seat.
You nodded in gratitude and turned to Luna once more. “Were you scared? To take him back?”
“No. I…” she trailed off, searching for a better way to explain herself. Maggie, in the meantime, threw her head back and finished her drink. “I don’t know. I kind of—maybe it didn’t sink in that we had broken up? It was very sudden, we hadn’t seen each other in a while, and I knew his tour schedule. I knew we wouldn���t be seeing each other again anytime soon anyway. So, it didn’t feel like a break-up. I was—I think the whole time, I felt like he would come back eventually. Is that weird?”
“It’s romantic,” Maggie exhaled, resting her head on her palms on the table, a wistful haze in her eyes.
“You’re drooling, Mags,” you pointed out, grinning.
She ran her tongue over her lips, then waved her hand around lazily. “Let me.”
Chuckling, Luna passed her a napkin.
“I don’t think it’s weird, either,” you said. “But I—I guess I never felt that certainty. I didn’t think Jungkook would come back.”
“No? Not even when you found out you’d be managing his band?” Luna asked, her smile widening. “Because—listen—I distinctly remember you calling me after you got the offer to work with them, and you were all panicked, asking me if I knew who they were.”
“Oh.” You felt your own lips stretch into a smile. “I remember, too.”
In hindsight, that day had been absurd. You were offered the manager position for a band that you had never heard of, and during the first meeting with the HR representative at the label, you pretended very passionately that you were familiar with their music and the band members themselves. And the rep, in turn, pretended very passionately that he believed you.
“I don’t,” Maggie spoke up. “You didn’t tell me. What happened?”
“Well, she asked me if I knew them,” Luna recalled and you took a moment to sip your neglected drink, “and I said I’ve heard of them. I liked “Haunting,” one of their early songs.”
The mention of the song triggered the memory of Jungkook humming it to you in the bar in Oslo when he told you that he’d written it about you. This memory, in turn, brought back the conversation you’ve had with your mum. Your pulse sped up, and you finished your drink in a futile attempt to slow it down.
“So, she came over after her meeting, and I played her the music video,” Luna continued. “At that point, I didn’t know the names of anyone in the band. “Haunting” was the only song I’d heard. So, I played the video for her, and I was talking about how I thought the bassist was cute—”
“Oh, that’s right, you weren’t dating Taehyung yet!” Maggie interjected, raising her head with a sudden excitement.
Luna nodded. “Yeah. And then I noticed that she’s just kind of staring at the screen, completely in awe. I thought she liked the song, that’s why. So, I asked, “what did you think? It’s good, right?” and she just turned to me, and said in the most blank tone, “that’s Jungkook.””
Maggie’s mouth hung open as she glanced at you. “You didn’t know he was in a band? In that band?!”
You were counting the lines on the mahogany table and stayed quiet. Maggie gestured speechlessly for Luna to please, for the love of God, continue.
“I was confused, too,” Luna said. “I asked, “what do you mean? Your Jungkook?” and she just said, “yeah,” and went quiet again. Well, she also tried to insist he’s not her Jungkook, but I’m trying to give you the short version of the story. Anyway. I played the video again to check for myself. But he had long hair in it, sort of curly. He looked completely different from what I had pictured in my head based on the few things she’d told me.”
Maggie turned to you again. “And you never showed her what he looked like?!”
“I think I did,” you replied uneasily. You had met Luna shortly after your break-up with Jungkook, but you wanted to believe that your secrecy about your relationship wasn’t that bad.
It was—and Luna grinned as she shook her head.
“She didn’t,” she said, turning to Maggie again. “She made sure to delete every single picture they had together. I only saw him once, when she and I took her dog to the vet. She was explaining the dog’s weight loss to the doctor and had to find a picture for reference. The only photo she could find on such short notice was an old screenshot from Snapchat where Jungkook was the one holding the dog. But he had… like, a bowl cut back then? Not the dog, I mean. Jungkook,” she clarified, and all three of you snorted. “He looked cute, of course. But nothing like the guy in the music video, so I didn’t even think about him when I watched it.”
For some reason, hearing about this random picture hurt. It’s been so long and, obviously, you and Jungkook have been through a lot more together—some of which was far worse than an old picture you stumbled upon in your phone by accident—and still, it hurt.
It wasn’t the memory itself that was painful, but the parts of you that were still alive in it. The parts of you that deleted all the pictures, but kept the screenshots. Threw out all the dried flowers, but kept the matching jackets. Blocked all his profiles, but not his phone number.
And there was another keepsake that you couldn’t bring yourself to delete: a video from that fateful birthday party where Jungkook had drunkenly performed a Backstreet Boys song; one of your friends had recorded it on your phone. As soon as he finished the song, Jungkook—wielding a half-empty bottle—chased after you, threatening to bathe you in champagne if you didn’t delete the video right this instant.
You still had it. You still watched it sometimes.
And then, years later, he walked into your office for the first time, his stupid silver necklace catching the sunlight and blinding you as soon as you looked up—just as it would every day for months to come—and there he was. Existing in your life all over again.
And it felt, you thought in retrospect, like he had never truly left. Every absence of him that you tried to manufacture by deleting your shared pictures only served to accentuate the fact that he’d been here once upon a time, and now he wasn’t. It was like missing a tooth—like pulling it out by force—and then continuously running your tongue over the gap.
“So, how come you still had that screenshot?” Maggie asked, her question snapping your attention back to the present.
You cleared your throat in an attempt to mask the undertow of emotions threatening to surface.
“For my dog,” you said. “He looked very chunky in that picture.”
Maggie grinned. “And what did Jungkook look like?”
“He was…” you looked for an adequate word, did not find one, and finished weakly, “there.”
“Hmm, right,” Luna said, with an ambiguous smile on her face. You were afraid of what she’d say next. “My favourite part about it all, is that you chose to accept the job even after you found out Jungkook is in the band.”
“I personally think that’s beautiful,” Maggie, who found everything beautiful after two drinks, chimed in.
You wanted to disagree, to bring up the fact that this job was a great opportunity—it really was!—and that this was the only reason you’d accepted it. Consciously, at least. But the girls were determined to fully ambush you.
“What did you feel when you saw him again as his manager?” Luna asked, shuffling to the very edge of her seat.
“Nothing,” you said, already a little dizzy from the drinks and the intense attention from your friends. You remembered feeling chaos back then; messy, uncontrollable mayhem roaming in your mind. But, compared to your feelings now, it might as well have been nothing. “I knew we’d have to work together, so I—nothing.”
“Oh!” Maggie groaned. “You’re so full of shit.”
You weren’t prepared for the abrupt shift in her tone. “Wh—”
“Let me show you,” she said, forcing the clasp on her purse open to retrieve her phone.
“Show me what?” you asked, still confused and now a little concerned.
“I’ll show you!” she cried out before proceeding to mumble under her breath with intermittent shouts, “oh, how I’ll show you—like no one’s ever shown you anything! before—you won’t know what hit! you when I show you—”
“We get it, Maggie,” Luna interrupted, reaching out to touch Maggie’s wrist. “Get on with it, please.”
“I’m looking—here!” She tapped her screen. “Here, look at this.”
She pointed her phone at Luna, who looked at it and appeared ever more confused than you felt, even though you hadn’t even seen what was on it.
“What—who is that?” she asked.
“That’s her and Jungkook!” Maggie bellowed, sweeping her arm so far back to point at you that she nearly yanked out your earring. “Sitting in an empty bathtub, drinking champagne, and laughing!”
A rush of heat surged through you as Luna gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh, my God!”
You leaned across the table to grab Maggie’s phone from her.
The picture was beautiful, which was the first thing that you noticed. It was black and white with melancholic shadows swirling in the periphery. It was taken, you realised, from the corridor outside the bathroom during Hoseok’s party in Amsterdam.
Your stomach dropped once more tonight, because, of course, this was the night that Jungkook had named his latest song after.
Your skin felt wrong all of a sudden, and everything inside of you wanted to come out. You gripped Maggie’s phone tighter.
In the picture, both you and Jungkook had your backs to the camera, only visible from the shoulders up because the bathtub concealed the rest. You were holding glasses of champagne.
Jungkook’s gaze, captured in the dimly lit frame, was fixed on you. His head was turned slightly, and if it weren’t for the bright smile on his face, you might not have known it was him; the photograph was too dark. You, on the other hand, had your head thrown back in laughter and blended seamlessly into an unrecognisable silhouette.
Your heart pounded against your ribs as you looked up from your friend’s phone. “When—how did you even take this?”
“You left the door open, you idiots,” Maggie replied.
“Let me see it again,” Luna asked, taking the phone from your shaking hands. “This looks like it could be an actual film poster for an indie romantic drama.”
“Titled,” Maggie added, “When In Bath…”
The two girls snickered, cracking each other up by nodding along to the joke until they were pounding their fists into the table in laughter. You wondered if this was the alcohol.
“Alright, alright,” you interrupted. “It—it’s a great picture. But it doesn’t mean anything.”
“It means you’ve been in love with each other from the very beginning,” Maggie said, seizing the opportunity to play the role of a triumphant attorney, delivering a powerful closing statement in court. “And you can try to act like you haven’t been, like it all came as such a big shock, like you’d moved on, so, oh my God,” she gasped theatrically, “where are all these feelings coming from?!”
You groaned, but Maggie was undeterred, revelling in the dramatic momentum she had built.
“But this,” she lifted her phone as though in a poor production of The Lion King, “speaks louder than words. We know he’s loved you the whole time, your mum confirms it. But look at this. Look at how you’re leaning into him as you laugh. Look at how you’re touching his shoulder. You’ve loved him all along, too.”
Luna, definitely tipsy already, burst into energetic applause, and Maggie took a dramatic bow, her necklace clattering against the table. In her flourish, she nudged her empty cocktail glass with her shoulder, and you leaned over to catch it before it knocked your bag off the table. A few people from nearby booths turned in your direction.
“So, you see,” Maggie continued before you could ask the two of them to take it easy, “all you’re doing is just making excuses.”
“Well. Here’s another one,” you said, sliding out of the booth. “I’m going to grab us some snacks.”
The girls groaned and made various comments about how they knew this would happen—but their complaints soon transformed into a list of drinks they wanted you to bring back. You smiled, grateful for their short attention span, and diligently noted down their orders on Maggie’s phone, since you’d left yours at the hotel.
And still, even as you walked away, your heart refused to rest.
Jungkook had been right when he said that you needed to talk to your mum. Really, you did. But it wasn’t just her words, her experiences, and her arbitrary decisions that convinced you that you should have listened to the beating in your chest when he was in the room with you.
It was your friends, too—the family you had found and did not even realise it. It was their patience, their courage, their certainty, and their belief.
You felt a lot more determined to see what would happen. A lot more daring to make it happen. And a lot more convinced that it would be okay, eventually.
As soon as you reached the bar, you immediately noticed the change in atmosphere. The club, initially laid-back, had completely transformed as the clock struck midnight. Groups of young people filled the space, hanging out by the bar, dancing, or just chatting loudly at their tables. It took you a while to navigate through the lively crowd and return to your table with your order.
When you did, the girls grabbed the cocktails as if they had never seen any sort of liquor in their lives. They downed them in several big gulps, and, amused by their enthusiasm, you joined in, too.
As the glasses—and the bowls of roasted pistachios—on the tray emptied, the rest of the night blurred into swirls of clapping, laughing, spinning around on the dancefloor, meeting Mick Jagger’s doppelganger, buying drinks, swapping shoes with each other, losing your jackets somewhere around the club, having a Macarena dance battle, buying more drinks, recording yourselves singing along to an Elton John song that had no business being played in a club, starting a very successful conga line (not to an Elton John song), and stealing someone’s pink feather boa.
It was a night.
Jungkook had made plans with Minjun to distract himself from thoughts of you until tomorrow, and the two of them ended up doing very cultured things. But strolling around West End in the British drizzle wasn’t nearly as enjoyable as they had tried to convince themselves it’d be. Their enthusiasm about this excursion quickly faded, leading them to the nearest pub for a couple of drinks.
Several hours later, when they returned to the hotel, Jungkook didn’t see any light coming from under your door, indicating that you were still out with Luna and Maggie.
He wanted to text you the whole day, but he held back. Taehyung had told him to give you space; that was good advice. Jungkook only managed to follow it partly, but now that you were on proper speaking terms again, he didn’t want to ruin it by suffocating you.
He was bad at this, though.
He took a long shower and attempted to dry his hair, but the second his phone lit up with a text message, he dropped everything he was holding and executed a very intricate leap for the device—slamming his knee into the bedframe in his excitement.
Hissing in pain, he tumbled pitifully onto the carpet, turned on his back, fixed the towel around his waist, and hoisted himself with a grunt.
Droplets of water from his hair splattered on the screen as he unlocked his phone and momentarily confused the facial recognition. Cursing, he entered his passcode to check the sender and cursed once more when he saw that the text hadn’t come from you.
It was yet another message from the same unknown number, and Jungkook threw his phone back on the bed without bothering to read it.
He dried his hair first, then changed into sweats. It was then—while he was pulling his hoodie over his head—that the realisation struck him: unlike the previous texts from this same number, this one wasn’t fully capitalised.
Tentatively, he picked up his phone again and opened the one-sided conversation. He found that, throughout the evening, he’d received four messages from this number. The first contained a video attachment—the preview screen was black, and Jungkook did not want to click on it—followed by three taunting texts:
Remember this? :)
Come on, take a nice trip down memory lane with me, it’s a cute little clip
Do you think your manager would like to see this too? ❤️
He scrolled back up to the attachment and realised that his hands had begun to shake. Even though he had a feeling what he was going to see, he still clicked on the video and held his breath.
Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as he’d expected. Although to be fair, his expectations might have been unrealistic. Unless Sid had resorted to secret cameras, which was extreme even for him, Jungkook had no reason to get this panicked.
But this video was still not good.
It was filmed in a nightclub and the scenes played out in short flashes under the flickering strobe lights, illuminating the dancing bodies around the person recording it. The camera panned to Jungkook and the two people he was dancing with—both dressed in dark leather jumpsuits.
Latex, he saw then. Not leather.
The dancing itself wasn’t the worst part of the video, but Jungkook struggled to decide what was. First, his heartbeat faltered as he watched one of his dance partners pour champagne into his mouth, licking off the excess that missed his lips. Then, he nearly blacked out as the video concluded with him on top of a table—dancing alone at first, and then with his tongue down someone else’s throat, and his hands—
He had a vague recollection of what happened next and stopped the video before he could see it.
It was clear that Sid had to be the one with the voyeuristic lens. Jungkook had gone clubbing with him that night; Jude was sick and Minjun didn’t want to go.
Two things happened then, and Jungkook was vividly aware of both. First, his phone froze: despite turning the video off, it continued to play the faint melody of an old Benny Benassi remix. And then a disconcerting acceleration seized his heart as though the video itself had seeped into his bloodstream.
Instinctively, he turned his phone off and tried to breathe. The hotel room around him fell into a pleasant silence, but that only made the thumping in his chest more pronounced.
Attempting to ease his rising nausea, Jungkook tried to keep his mind clear: the video had been filmed years ago. He wasn’t sure if he was in Rated Riot yet, but he was sure that the two of you were no longer together. Another helpful fact was that, since you became his manager, you have witnessed him in far worse situations—and rescued him from them, too.
And yet, he did not want you to see this.
He wanted to grow, to extricate himself from the clutches of toxic friendships, to find and build a future with you. And this video felt like a painful regression into his past. An embarrassing leap back.
Overwhelmed with discomfort, he chose to keep his phone off for the remainder of the night, even if that meant missing a text from you.
And then, later that night—or rather, in the early hours of the next day—Jungkook was jolted awake by a violent rattle of the doorknob.
Honestly, for an unsettling, half-asleep moment, he thought this was Sid barging in.
However, as his mind gradually woke up, he felt a more realistic concern: other bands had overzealous fans breaking into their hotel rooms. No one on the staff thought that Rated Riot were on a level where they’d need extra security measures, but now he worried that was a mistake.
Just to be safe—in case this was Sid, after all—Jungkook grabbed the nearest available weapon: a lamp from his bedside table. But the cable limited his reach, forcing him to crouch and lean forward to push the handle down and open the door before jumping back into a defensive position.
He nearly dropped the lamp when the door swung open, and he saw you outside.
It was your presence, in general, that he noticed first. Then it was your outfit: the short black satin dress with thin shoulder straps and thick, black tights with a curious embroidery around your thighs. Then it was your tied-back hair. Your dark eyeshadow and glistening lip gloss. A pink feather stuck to your earring.
He didn’t have it in him to move or to return the lamp to its place.
“Oh, shit,” you said, trying to make sense of the scene before you. You propped yourself against the doorframe. “My key wasn’t turning. I thought I left my room unlocked. What are you—wait. Wait, wait.”
You closed your eyes and squeezed the bridge of your nose with your right hand. Jungkook lowered the lamp to the floor, keeping his gaze on you.
“Okay, I’m good,” you decided. “The room was spinning really fast for a second there.” You chuckled, then stopped abruptly and narrowed your eyes at him. “Am I on the right floor?”
Jungkook blinked, then scoffed at the unexpected question.
“You are,” he confirmed, but, even drunk, you recognised the peculiar look on his face—as though there was something else he was waiting for you to realise.
“Shit.” Your eyes widened. You whispered, “I am still in London, right?”
This time, he couldn’t help a small laugh as he approached you. First, he plucked the feather out of your earring. Then, he led you into his room, his arm around your shoulders.
“You are,” he assured again. “You just got the wrong room.”
You exhaled in relief. “Oh, thank fuck.”
Amused, Jungkook directed you towards the bed, which was the only comfortable piece of furniture here. You plopped down on it, bouncing slightly from the force of your energetic descent.
“Can I sit down for a second?” you asked belatedly. “Fuck these shoes. They’re not even—not even mine.”
Jungkook glanced down at your feet. There was a black platform heel with an ankle strap on your left foot, and a burgundy counterpart on your right.
He lifted his eyes back to your face, very confused. “They’re—whose shoes are they?”
“The black one is Maggie’s,” you explained, reaching for the strap, but struggling because the bed was too soft, and the room spun too much. “The other one is Luna’s. We thought it would be funny.”
He bit his lip. It wasn’t the mismatched shoes that entertained him in particular—not while he was sober, at least—but rather your sense of humour when you were drunk.
“Lucky that they’re the same height,” he observed.
“No, no, no, no. We saw that they were, that is why.” You hiccupped and it veered you away from the topic at hand. “Anyway, it’s not funny anymore. Now it hurts.”
You finally reached the strap of the black heel, but could not figure out the intricate workings of the clasp on it. Jungkook lowered himself to his knees in front of you.
“Let me help you,” he said.
You shook your head, maintaining your grip on the strap as you felt his fingertips ghost over yours.
“I can do it,” you insisted, passionate about your independence even when you could not tell what city you were in.
“I’m sure you can,” he said, gracefully pulling your hand away from the shoe. “But let me do it anyway.”
You huffed—in fervent protest or in reluctant agreement, he wasn’t sure. After another half-sigh, half-groan, you moved your hand to your lap and dropped down on your back on his bed.
He smiled softly as he unbuckled the strap and slid the black heel off. As he did, he noticed that the embroidery on your tights was a thin row of roses—and it wrapped around your thigh.
He found that very interesting and looked away immediately.
“So, anyway,” he said, fighting with the strap on the other shoe. “What happened to drinking responsibly?”
You hiccupped again. “Famous last words.”
He chuckled, lifting your leg onto his knee to get a better look at the stubborn clasp. Your contented sigh was the only indication of you being aware that one of your shoes was already off.
“I spoke to my mum,” you announced without any sort of transition or buildup.
Jungkook tightened his grip on your ankle in uncontrollable surprise, forcing you to lift your head off the bed with a puzzled look.
“Oh,” he managed, releasing his hold. “Yeah?”
Another dreamy sigh passed your lips as your thoughts clouded with memories, then cleared in a blissful, inebriated ignorance once more.
“Yeah,” you said, lowering your head again. The mattress was hard, but it felt very nice. “And then to Luna and Maggie.”
“And, uh, what did they say?” he asked, finally pulling the shoe off.
He got up to place the heels in a corner by the nightstand, so you wouldn’t trip over them when—if?—you stood up.
“A lot of things,” you replied, your words floating somewhere on the edges of consciousness, leaving Jungkook to grapple with the unpredictability of your confessions.
“Okay,” he said. “Maybe we should talk about all of that tomorrow.”
A smile started to form on your lips, but it was swiftly interrupted by a yawn. “Ye—yeah. That’d be good.”
Trying to push Sid’s messages away from resurfacing in his mind at the mention of your upcoming conversation, Jungkook observed your futile attempt to sit up. Having been there before—fairly recently—he empathised with the challenge of keeping your head up when you were drunk.
“Are you sure you want to stand?” he asked as you wriggled on your back, stretching out your hands helplessly—sort of like a tipsy turtle that had tipped over on its shell.
It was dangerous, he realised, just how completely infatuated with you he was to still find this incredibly endearing.
“I must,” you declared with an angry determination. Your anger was largely fuelled by the strain in your neck, caused by your perplexing attempts to lift your head and your legs at the same time. “This isn’t my room.”
It could be, Jungkook thought, at least for tonight.
However, the right thing to do was to guide you back to your own room.
“Come on,” he said, taking your hand and settling beside you to wrap his other arm around your shoulders. “Let’s get you to your bed, then.”
“That would be—” you began, gasping when he abruptly pulled you to your feet and the entire room decided to flip upside down. “Oh—you know what? I’m not sure I’m enjoying this spinning much.”
He looked at you in alarm. “Are you going to be sick?”
“I would prefer not to.”
Jungkook pursed his lips to restrain his amusement.
“I don’t remember the last time I saw you this drunk,” he noted.
“Pity,” you mumbled, your eyes closed. You tried to move your lips as little as possible, convinced that this would help with the dizziness. “If you remembered, maybe you could make the spinning stop.”
He tried to take a step forward with you in his arms. “Can you walk? Or I can carry you.”
You opened your eyes and took a deep breath. Dizzy or not, this was now a matter of pride.
“I have—” You peered down as if to check and the carpet by his bed seemed to wobble. “I have legs. Of course, I can walk.”
The proclamation proved short-lived as you stumbled over the edge of the carpet almost immediately. Jungkook shook his head and tightened his hold on you.
“Alright, come here.” He lowered his hands to your midriff. “Ready? One, two—”
“No, no, no,” you protested, pressing your palms firmly against his hands. He felt the cold metal of your room key against his skin; you must have slipped the keyring onto your finger after you tried to use it on his door. “Either I walk, or I crawl. No carrying. Too much spinning as it is.”
He doubted if carrying you would really make your dizziness worse, but he relented nonetheless.
“Come on, then,” he said. “Hold onto me.”
You finally agreed, leaning against him with nearly your whole strength as you attempted to set one foot in front of the other. Your limbs felt wooden and numb.
“You know—it might’ve been nice if you came with us,” you said.
Jungkook felt his heart rate pick up again. You probably felt it too, since your body was pressed into his, but he trusted that alcohol had rendered you oblivious to everything outside of yourself, so he did not worry about it.
“Yeah?” he replied. “I don’t think I could have walked home in your heels, though.”
You laughed so heartily that he had to pause in front of the door before opening it, a cautious—and almost possessive—instinct to shield this moment from prying ears.
“No, no. I meant because it would have been nice,” you clarified meaningfully.
His smile was warm when he looked at you. “Yeah, you said that.”
Dazed, you turned your head to meet his gaze, inadvertently granting him an opportunity to lift you over the threshold as your attention on your feet wavered. “I did?”
“Mmhmm.” He continued to look at you—while holding you so close that you were starting to question how many drinks you’ve really had tonight—as he removed the keyring from your finger. You looked down, confused. You’d forgotten you were clutching your keys in your palm. “So why did you want me to come? Did you miss me that much?”
“Hmm,” you lifted your eyes and poked his cheek in a rare moment of bold affection, “I’m not drunk enough.”
He smiled again. Holding you to him—his grip around your waist was tenacious; not even the slippery satin of your dress posed a challenge—he managed to unlock your door and open it. He wondered if you remembered that your room was three steps away from his.
“Okay,” he said, walking you to your bed in complete darkness with impressive skill. Neither of you bumped into anything or tripped. “Let’s get you into bed until you’re not drunk at all. How does that sound?”
A nod was all you could muster.
Your eyes were barely open when you felt him gently lower you on the bed. Your body, of course, succumbed to gravity with a great eagerness and you dropped onto your back with a grunt the second he let go of you. You felt a sharp corner digging into your side and exhaled in relief when you realised that was your phone. This must have been where you had left it.
Face buried into the pillows, you mumbled, “ffank-oo.”
He deciphered that as an expression of gratitude and carefully rolled you onto your back by pulling the duvet from underneath you. You were still in your dress, but he didn’t dare to go as far as helping you change. You looked half-asleep anyway.
“I’m right there if you need me, okay?” he said, untangling the dark grey duvet and throwing it over you in one swift motion. “Behind the wall.”
Peering at him with half-closed eyes, you turned onto your side.
“I’ll knock,” you said as he tucked the duvet around you in a manner that felt almost familiar, almost routine.
“You do that,” he replied. “Goodn—”
“I think Sid’s in London.”
Your words sucked the air out of the room and locked his breath in his throat.
This sudden lack of filter—or any warning on your face that you were about to say something completely shocking—unnerved him. He had forgotten what a rollercoaster your intoxication could be.
“What?” he blurted out and shook his head. “No. No, that can’t be true.”
You shrugged one of your shoulders against the pillow. Your eyes were still closed.
“I talked to Jude,” you said. “And he said he wasn’t there alone.”
Jungkook turned a few shades paler—a few more and he might have become completely transparent.
“You talked to Jude?” he repeated. “A-about what?”
“Nothing much,” you said. Irony flashed briefly across your features when you opened your eyes. “Just if I’d like to do ecstasy with them. They mix it with speed. And then they fly.”
The surprise on Jungkook’s face was loud. He could not fathom that Jude—of all people—would invite you—of all people!—to do this with them, when you never even drank sparkling water if Sid was in the room.
“Ecstasy?” he repeated.
“MDMA,” you clarified helpfully.
“No—I know what—he—what did you say?”
Your gaze met his for a moment, and the look on your face suddenly appeared very sober.
“I obviously agreed,” you said, “and a beautiful pink unicorn took me back to the hotel.”
He gave you a look and you closed your eyes again, smirking.
“I told him no,” you said. “Or something to that effect.”
Jungkook finally exhaled.
“Okay,” he murmured, glancing at the door of your room. “That—that’s good. I-I’ll take care of it.”
Your eyes flew open, alarm creeping onto your tired expression.
“No,” you said—the steel in your tone made him turn back to you. “Don’t—leave them be.”
“But they’re—”
He stopped when you reached out from under the duvet to put your hand over his outstretched wrist. He hadn’t even realised he was gesticulating—too lost in his sudden panic—but your touch grounded him right away.
“I don’t care,” you reiterated, your words slightly slurred but very firm, a bit like you were talking in your sleep—saving him in the midst of a nightmare that you didn’t realise you were having. “I don’t want you near them.”
“Okay,” he said easily. And again, “okay.”
You watched him for another few seconds, silently witnessing the storm of thoughts behind his eyes. But your own heavy eyelids soon overpowered the few semi-sober areas of your brain.
As you settled back against your pillow and let go of his hand, Jungkook grew even more aware of the texts—and the video—that Sid had sent him.
“Go to sleep,” you mumbled as if sensing his apprehension.
“I will,” he said. Your lips parted as you breathed slowly and he could tell that you’ve told him all that you could manage tonight.
“Thank you for helping me,” you added quietly.
“No problem. That’s what friends do, right?”
You snickered softly and a hazy memory of all that you did as friends rose to the surface of your drunken, tired mind.
“Hmmm.” You buried your face in the pillow, whispering wearily, “I want to kiss you. But I’m so drunk.”
Oh, he realised, breathless. So, that wasn’t all that you could manage to tell him tonight, after all.
Inhaling sharply, he sat down on the edge of your bed because he didn’t trust his legs anymore.
Your intoxication, he thought, should have come with a warning: not suitable for young children and those with faint hearts.
“You—you are,” he said. “You’re really drunk.”
“Tomorrow,” you promised.
Jungkook realised that merely sitting might not be enough to prevent his head from floating away from his body as he gripped your mattress tighter.
“Oh,” he said.
A hint of concern flickered in your drunken mind, and you lifted your heavy head. “Okay?”
“Ye—okay. Of course,” he said, rising to his feet so you wouldn’t strain to look at him. The room seemed to sway, and he wondered if your intoxication was contagious. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
His next actions were reflexive as he leaned down to press a soft kiss on your forehead before drawing the duvet up to your chest. You hummed in content and Jungkook had to turn away, frightened by his own elated expression in the reflection of your hotel room window.
Over the years, you had been the one taking care of him—almost all the time. He couldn’t even remember a lot of the times when you found him, completely wasted, and helped him get back to his hotel room. Or to the bedroom in his family’s house. But even though the details of those nights were blurred in his memory, he remembered every morning – when he woke up tucked in his bed, and the faint scent of your apple shampoo still lingered in his room.
He wondered, as he paused in the doorway, turning to look at you over his shoulder, if you’d remember much from this night.
For a minute, he watched the gentle rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you drifted into sleep, and he was alive with the realisation that the two of you finally had something that he thought you’d lost forever.
You had tomorrow.
chapter title credits: sleep token, “euclid”
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#jungkook angst#jungkook fluff#jungkook smut#jungkook x reader#jungkook fanfiction#jungkook fanfic#jungkook fic#jungkook x you#jeon jungkook fanfiction#bts fanfiction#bts reactions#bts imagines#bts scenarios#bts x reader#bts au#jungkook au#jungkook rockstar au#bts rockstar au#bts x you#bts angst#bts fluff#jeon jungkook fanfic
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i don't really wanna fight, 'cause nobody's gonna win | javier peña
Take The Weight Off His Shoulders - Chapter Eight
Chapter Summary | A little slice of domesticity wasn't ever going to be enough to cover the stress of the story unfolding on your desk, but it was worth a shot right?
Chapter Warnings | Mentions of drugs and the drug trade, work frustrations, explicit smut, fingering, unprotected PiV smut, creampie, dirty talk, we ride this man like our LIFE depends on it and some ANGST (I'm sorry, it had to happen sometime.)
Pairing | dbf!Javier Peña x F!Reader
Word Count | 3.2k
Authors Note | OOOOOF okay we're back with these two. Real life has been kicking my ass so I'm sorry this took so long - but we're moving into the tail end of this now so prepare yourselves for even more drama! Thank you for being so patient with me and waiting for this - I hope you enjoy it. If you are enjoying this then reblogs and comments really do help and if you’d like to support me further, please consider a donation to my Ko-Fi.
I no longer use taglists. Please follow @thetriumphantpandanotifs to be notified of new updates.
Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Series Playlist
The words on the deed to the drug den in town are all forming into one - you’re not actually sure they’re in the English language anymore. You’ve been staring at the pages for what feels like a full week, even if you’d only spread them out for reading on your desk this morning. You don’t know what to do. There is, of course, the obvious option, of walking right up to their front door and asking what the hell is going on, but the more you dig, the more you think there’s something bigger going on here.
You pour over your notes, trying to make sense of it all. It was nothing to do with Tyler Johnson, but it had something to do with his family, that was for sure. There’s no way that this whole thing would have been brushed under the rug and dealt with by the police saying ‘oh well, we don’t know’ if there wasn’t something incriminating behind it all. You tried not to think about that possibly meaning your dad was implicated somewhere along the line.
Instead of sitting around and feeling useless, considering the words on the page weren’t leading you anywhere at all, you tidy up your desk, stick your head around your managers door to tell her you were heading out for the story, and you get in your car and drive.
They lead such dull lives, is all you can really think at this point. The sun is setting and it’s finally starting to cool a little. The thought process had been simple, if you weren’t going to catch them in the act on paper, you would have to catch them in the act for real - whatever that act might be.
You’d started with Tyler’s dad, following behind him as he went about mayoral business, driving from his office to some meeting in town and then back again. You’d waited an hour in the parking lot to see if he moved again, but gave up after a while. Deciding on following Tyler’s brother instead - but he’d been more of the same. You’d found him getting into his car at work once the day was done, driving to the grocery store and then going home. That was it. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Thinking about it, what would you even do if you did find them doing something? Tyler’s brother getting a package handed to him down a dark alley - there’s no way to get any proof, you don’t have a camera, and no-one’s going to believe you against them. The more you sit there, the more you think maybe you should have taken the story at face value, published it and moved on.
You suppose that these kinds of operations take time and patience - two things you were running seriously low on by now. You’re thinking of all the time’s Javi must have needed to do this - sitting around in a car waiting to catch someone doing something and wondered how he’d lasted so long. You weren’t made for this kind of work.
Sighing to yourself, you turn the key in the ignition and head home, trying not to let the frustration bubble over. You just had to wait. Bide your time. Surely somewhere along the line you’d catch someone doing something.
“You look stressed.”
You look at Javi through your eyelashes, taking a sip from the glass of wine in front of you on the counter. Your parents were taking their two week annual vacation - some place near the coast in Florida. You remember going when you were little, playing in the sand and swimming. They’d invited you this year but now you were older, it didn’t hold quite the same amount of charm as it used to, so you’d opted to stay at home.
The upside to not getting to lounge in the sun for two weeks was definitely this though. Javier Peña, hunched over the hob, sleeves of his shirt rolled up, cooking dinner for you. It was dangerous to think about how domestic it was, but you couldn’t deny how nice it felt. There was no-one to lie to about why you were late home from work for now, no need to rush through whatever it was that the two of you were doing.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t need to be sorry,” He smiles at you, picking up his beer bottle to drink from, “You want to talk about it?”
You shake your head, “It’s alright, just stuff at work.”
“In all my years of working with journalists,” He speaks, stirring the pot of sauce in front of him, “I don’t think any of them were ever as stressed as you.”
“I just care about my work.”
“So did they,” He counters, picking a strand of spaghetti from the pot to test to see if it’s cooked, “Just trying to say there isn’t a story out there worth getting this worked up over.”
“I appreciate it,” You mumble, “But can we not talk about work?”
He holds his hands up in surrender, focusing his attention on dishing up the food - spaghetti with tomato sauce. It’s simple and you know it’s probably the limit of his cooking ability outside of being able to grill meat on fire, but it’s the thought that counts. You sit at the dining table and eat together, talking about nothing really, just enough to fill the silence. Even though he cooked, he insists on clearing up and packaging the leftovers for you to eat tomorrow.
You sit and watch TV on the couch and when it gets late enough and your head starts to rest on his shoulder, Javi asks if you want to go to bed.
“I do,” You answer, “But not to sleep.”
So he slowly leads you up the stairs and into your room, softly closing the door behind him. You settle yourself under your sheets, pushing them back on the other side for him as he takes off everything he’s wearing apart from his underwear and gets into bed with you. He shuffles you around so your back in pressed to his front, his big hands wandering from your hips up to your chest, where he gently cups one of your tits in his hands over the shirt you’re wearing.
You can feel his mouth trailing kissing up your shoulder until he reaches the delicate skin behind your ear, the tickle of his facial hair there making goosebumps rise on your skin, regardless of how warm it is under your sheets.
“What do you want?” He whispers softly, snaking his free arm under your neck so the side of your face is pillowed against it.
You don’t answer, you just take hold of his wrist, dragging his hand from your chest to the waistband of your shorts. You let his hand go then, feeling his big palm cup you through the material, “Like this?” He asks, teeth nipping at your ear lobe.
“No,” You shake your head, “Under.”
That big hand drags up just a little, fingers finding the waistband again, dipping below this time. He tuts into your ear when he finds you bare, having not bothered with underwear when you’d changed out of your work clothes.
His hand is warm against your skin as it envelops you again, fingers dipping ever so slightly between the folds of your pussy to find you already wet, it doesn’t take much at all when he’s around.
Fingers dragging through the slick, up to circle your clit, he speaks again, “Like this?” He asks, feather-light touches of his fingers making you gasp.
“Y-yeah,” You choke out, “Just like that.”
So that’s what he does - let’s you rest your head against his arm, lazily rolling his finger across that bundle of nerves like he has all the time in the world for making you feel good. It’s slow, the only punctuation to his fingers are the moans he lets out into your ear whenever he pushes his hips against the plush of your ass, his bulge prominent against the clothes that are separating you.
“I want you to come for me,” He whispers gently a little while later, teeth biting gently into the skin of your shoulder, “Can you be a good girl and do that for me?”
You nod your head, unable to speak through the short, sharp gasps that the friction between your legs is drawing out from you. He speeds up a little, lets his finger add more pressure there. He lets you roll your hips, chasing at the high that is just there, coiling in your tummy. Your body starts to shake, thighs clamping down on his hands as he brings you over the edge.
“Fuck yeah,” He rasps into your ear, “So fucking pretty when you come for me, mi querida.”
Through the haze of pleasure, you can feel him rolling you over, pressing your back into the sheets. He’s settling between your thighs, pulling your shorts off altogether, but you don’t want it like this, so you press a palm to his warm chest to stop him.
“I want…” You trail off, “I think I want to be on top.”
You watch his eyebrows raise a little but he doesn’t protest, because of course he doesn’t, he simply lies himself back down on his side of the bed and waits for you. You let yourself straddle his thighs, marvelling just a little at the bulge of his underwear, before you’re hooking your fingers into the waistband to drag them just far enough down his thighs to let his cock spring free, resting on his lower stomach.
Shuffling up his thighs a little, you lower yourself, letting your soaked folds drag across his length whilst your mouth moves up to suckle at the skin of his neck. You can feel his hands on the globes of your ass, helping to drag you up and down his cock.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He asks as you moan when the head of his cock brushes against your still-sensitive clit.
You don’t have any words, so you press yourself up, palms against his chest as you lift your hips just enough for him to reach between you, base of his cock fisted in his hand, to nudge at the weeping hole of your cunt. He holds it there for you as you slowly start to sink down onto him, moaning with your head thrown back at the stretch of taking him inside. When you reach the bottom, feeling him sucked right into the depths of you, you stay still, rolling your hips a little, feeling him so deep inside you.
Javi brings his hands to your hips, looking up at you as he guides your movements, slow forwards movements matched with even slower movements backwards, until the two of you are panting together.
You push yourself back, letting your arms fall behind you onto his knees, which have come up to rest against your backside, slowly starting to lift off him until he’s almost all the way out of the tight heat of your cunt, then you slide back down onto him, finding a rhythm of bouncing up and down on his cock.
Javi moves one of his hands from your hips, letting the flat palm run up your stomach, through the valley of your tits to lightly grip at the base of your neck. He doesn’t add any pressure, just holds his hand there, but you can feel the effect it has on you, pussy clenching around his length as you continue to bounce up and down on him.
“Look so fucking pretty like this,” He manages to choke out between moans, “Like you were made to be right here bouncing on my cock.”
“I-I think I’m g-gonna come again.” You hiss, feeling that familiar tightening in your tummy.
“Yeah?” He goads, but not unkindly, “You gonna come around my cock for me?”
To help you get there, Javi starts to thrust up into you, hand still at the base of your neck, hitting into your perfectly on your downward motion to fill you right to your depths, making your orgasm hit you head on. You feel yourself tighten around him, body collapsing forward to rest against his chest as he fucks you through the aftershocks of your climax, gripping onto your ass to keep you spread so he can find his own high, thrusting a handful of times before he’s stilling inside you, spilling himself inside with moans right into your ear.
He slips out of you as he softens, shifting you so you’re led down, both catching your breath.
“Sorry, I should have asked about that.” He mumbles, and it takes you a minute to realise he’s talking about coming inside you.
“It’s okay,” You say, turning your head to smile at him, “Although it does mean I have to go to the bathroom now.”
You drag yourself up onto all fours onto your bed, dragging yourself to the door to cover yourself in your robe before you leave Javi in your room to head to the bathroom.
He doesn’t know why he does it. In hindsight, it was out of order, but when you close the door behind you, he can’t help himself. He stands up, pulls his underwear back up and puts the rest of his clothes back on. Then he sits down on your edge of the bed and gingerly opens the top drawer of your bedside table.
There’s nothing much of note in there, a few lip balms and an old notebook, but that’s it. He opens the bottom one next, which is much more full, mainly with notebooks and sheets of paper. He knows he shouldn’t, but he reaches in and picks the first up, flicking it open to a random page somewhere in the middle, running his thumb across a loose sheet of paper before his eyes circle in on what the paper actually is.
It’s a newspaper article, reporting on Escobar’s death. When Javi looks underneath the paper there are notes written in your handwriting, detailing parts of the story that are interesting. He flicks to another page, another article about Escobar dying, with more of your handwritten notes. He can feel the panic rising in his chest, threatening to take hold of his throat.
He puts that notebook on the bed, reaches in and picks another up, flicking through to find more of the same - articles about the entire Escobar case, more handwritten notes - some written in red ink that only ever say his name with a question mark, like you’re asking yourself if he was responsible for the ill-reported heroics. Javi is too caught up in flicking through that he forgets about your return, letting you catch him red-handed when you come back through the door.
“What are you doing?” You ask, making him look up.
Your eyes are wide, like you’re shocked to find him with your notebooks in his lap.
“What’s all this?” He asks, instead of answering your question.
You surge forward, grabbing the notebook from his lap, slapping it shut, picking up the other one and then shoving them back in the drawer, “Did you go through my things?” He can tell from your tone that you’re worked up.
“Why do you have all of that?” Javi asks, standing up from the bed to take some steps away from you.
“It’s not what you think.”
“Well then tell me what it is.” He’s getting more annoyed as the moments go past.
“It was for my degree,” You say, shifting from foot-to-foot, “I don’t understand what the problem is?”
“The problem is, it’s all fucking lies!” He runs a hand over his face, more annoyed at himself for shouting at you than anything else, “It’s all fucking lies and you believe it.”
He watches as your face drops, he can see the glassing over of your eyes, “I-” You try to speak, “I’m sorry?” It’s more of an offering, like you don’t know what else to do.
“All of that shit?” He asks, pointing to the now closed drawer, “Fucking propaganda for this country to seem like it had control, when all it fucking did was make everything worse.”
“Javi, please,” You beg now, taking a step towards him with your hands open in surrender, “Why don’t you sit down and take a breath?”
He can feel himself shaking his head, stepping backwards until he can feel the handle of your door, twisting it to open. He thinks he’s saying sorry, telling you that he’s sorry, but he doesn’t know. All he knows is that he has to get out of there and away from you, almost running from the house and into his truck.
It’s not until he’s halfway to home that he can feel that panic take over, pulling over on the side of the road, knuckles turning white as he grips the steering wheel. He takes some deep breaths, trying to understand why his brain has gone from 0-100 so quickly, and all he can think of is that you’re just like everyone else in this damn town, thinking that he was a hero, that he’d played his part properly, correctly, in bringing that bastard down. I’d the wondering about what you’d think of him if you knew what he’d really done, the amount of blood actually on his hands, the fact he wasn’t here there when Murphy shot the bastard.
It’s that feeling of inadequacy that haunt him in bed that night, led against the pillows, other side cold and empty when all he wishes is that he’d stayed, let you curl into him so that he could get at least a few hours of rest. Even though he never stays the night, always leaving you with a press of lips to your head, the small hours of the morning where you’re sleeping against him are the most peaceful he thinks he’s ever had.
So, staring at his ceiling, red numbers from his clock staring him down as the hours pass, all he can think about it what the fuck he’s going to do, how he’s going to explain that this has nothing to do with you and what it had to do with your degree, and everything to do with the way he thinks if you knew exactly what had happened, outside of what the American press has told you, you’d probably hate him.
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Gale Headcanons: Deciding to Have Kids and Conceiving
pairing: Gale x afab!reader (use of she/her pronouns)
[ masterlist ] [ wip list ]
Warnings:
section 01 - deciding to start a family: NSFW under the cut
section 02 - conceiving: NSFW
the language used is breeding kink adjacent
suggested pre-read: pining, dating, domesticity, and marriage
01. Deciding to Start a Family
Gale would very much follow your lead; he loves you so much, and he doesn't need kids to feel happy and fulfilled for the rest of his life, all he needs is you
but if you want them, he would be more than happy to start a family with you (ready and willing, if you will)
I'm torn between Gale wanting to have kids soon after getting married versus wanting to wait a few years so that you and him have a little more time together to settle into your lives as a married couple
It mostly depends at what point you bring it up
The only way he'd be interested in starting a family right after the events of the game (where you'd be pregnant by the epilogue party) is if you two spent a lot of time discussing it during the events of the game
Otherwise, I think he's more likely to prefer starting to try for a baby near the mark of one-year post-game at the earliest
mostly because once you two get home to Waterdeep after defeating the Absolute, he starts teaching and I think he'd want to settle into your guys' new life together before bringing kids into the mix
If you guys talk about it and decide to wait some time before starting to try for a baby, he'd still think about it a lot
He might've imagined when he was young that he would one day have children but once his life became all about magic and he became M*stra's chosen (and her "partner") he'd stop seeing it as a possibility
Especially once he got that orb in his chest, even if he could've lived with it for the rest of his life he was convinced it made him infertile or something
I don't think he's ever longed to have kids, though
but now, after everything, he'd be so happy to finally be settled down and actually have the opportunity to have children
As you guys got closer and closer to the point of trying for children, he'd start thinking about his future more often, and it'd be spurred on by his decision one day to start reading about fertility and conceiving, pregnancy and birth, and raising children
he'd think a lot about what it will be like to have a tiny Dekarios running around, or what they may look like, or how you guys would decorate their nursery
Would he have a boy or a girl first? How many would you guys end up having? If you had multiple, how close in age would they be to each other?
He'd start thinking about names quite early on, but not bring them up to you until you were finally pregnant
And he'd wonder if (and hope that) the trials of pregnancy would be kind to you once the time was right
What would it feel like for him to place his hands on your round belly and feel the little life inside moving around?
What would it feel like to wrap his arms around your growing form in bed at night, or to lay his head on your stomach and talk to your baby?
And what would it feel like to finally hold his baby in his arms?
there'd be many moments when he looks at you and thinks about how wonderful of a mother you'd be, and how honored he'd be for you to carry his child
he'd think about how you would look while pregnant, about getting to watch your stomach grow with his baby, ever so slowly throughout the span of your pregnancy
but he'd also consider how much of a sacrifice it would be for you; the fact that that's what you wanted was yet another thing that made his head spin with admiration for you
and sometimes, his thoughts would lead to less… innocent places
because the thought of you carrying his child just filled him with such intense love and adoration
as time went on and he thought about it more and more, his yearning grew until the idea of you, your belly and breasts swelling and your hips widening, would send blissful rushes of heat down to his groin
some nights, it's all he can think about - and he might even get to a point where he's asking you to start trying early
"fuck the plans we made, I want this now, my love. I want to give you a baby now."
You'd have to be the one to remind him why you two were waiting (whatever that reason may be), and that once the time was right it would all be worth it (or you could cave to him - I probably would)
02. Conceiving
Once the time is right and you two decide to start trying, he makes the first night a whole thing - because obviously he would
He would make you a really nice dinner and set the table with candlelight to start
and he'd do a wonderful job of building up to the main event - holding your hand in his, giving it a few kisses, and often flashing those bedroom eyes you loved so much
your body was already ready for him the second you step into your shared bedroom
The bedroom - smelling rich in vanilla and bergamot - would be lit up by a bunch of candles scattered throughout and littered with pink rose petals around the bed and the floor
He would take things slow that night, despite how you were wetter than if all the world's water had accumulated between your thighs
He'd still strip you painstakingly slow, taking his time to kiss every inch of skin he revealed
In his mind, he had every intention of getting you pregnant, so he wanted to make sure he took time to worship your body, knowing all of the things you would soon have to go through to bring your child into the world
He'd pay extra attention to your hips, waist, stomach, and breasts
The whole night would be about you - so he'd only let you go down on him if you insisted (like if you really enjoyed doing it), but he'd make you wait until he's coaxed at least one orgasm out of you with his tongue
Once he's made his way back up to your face, he'd place a pillow under your hips and position himself at your entrance - holding off from pushing into you for a minute
kissing your lips and roaming his hands around your body instead, and sliding himself back and forth between your folds, spreading your wetness onto his cock
He'd ask you if you were ready, if this was really what you wanted
And you'd give him the enthusiastic consent that he'd been waiting for before finally pushing himself into you
and GODS would he be slow about it
The man would be in no hurry to get it all over with - the night would be incredibly intimate and drawn out
You guys spent so much time leading up to this moment - time that only made his anticipation and excitement to become a father even stronger - he had no nerves or second thoughts about it now that it was finally happening
Maybe he'd have a moment where reality sinks in, but it doesn't scare him away - it fills him with longing and desire for where the rest of your night was headed, and enthusiasm for what he hoped it would result in
Before he starts moving his hips, he's kissing up your neck to your lips, telling you how long he's waited for this
He knew exactly how to hold you, kiss you, talk to you, and move his hips against you in ways that have you completely unraveling beneath him
Along with the normal professions of love that he makes when you guys have sex (how much he loves you, how beautiful you are, and how good you make him feel), he also tells you how much he wants to give you a baby, how gorgeous you'll look when you're pregnant, and how wonderful of a mother you'll make
Once his orgasm nears, the pace of his thrusts into you would increase, and he'd hold you closer, tighter against him
He'd tuck his knees in on either side of your body as your legs clasped around his waist, the new position allowing for deeper penetration and more control over his thrusts
His forearms would snake under your arms and around the back of your shoulders, holding you almost crushingly close to him
You'd feel his whimpers against your lips, and hear him ask if you were ready for him
and what a delightful feeling it is when his cock starts to twitch inside you as that final band of tension in his abdomen snaps
His hips would sputter to a stop, grinding against you with each wave of his orgasm - refusing to keep thrusting as he doesn't want any of his seed to leak from you
You'd feel deep moans against your skin as he praised you for how incredible you made him feel, again, like he never wants you to forget
He'd stay like that for a while, reveling in the post-orgasm bliss as he's buried inside you, his lips locked onto yours
As he holds you, he'd tell you how happy he was, that he couldn't believe you two were finally starting a family
You likely wouldn't get pregnant on the first try, but it wouldn't discourage him
He wasn't of the mind that there was any reason to worry if you weren't getting pregnant quickly
And frankly, he was enjoying all of the nights you two were spending together
As a serial Galemancer and a raging breeding kink fan, I'm so sorry to say I don't think he'd be very breeding kink-y
He would find the act of trying to get you pregnant to be the most intimate thing he could possibly do with you
In his mind, he's literally giving you a piece of himself for you to somehow create life out of
He sees it as the greatest testament of your love and devotion for each other
(and this belief would definitely carry over to your pregnancy, but we'll get into that another time)
so he feels he should treat the situation with the respect and care it deserves, by worshiping your body and never letting you forget how much he loves you
Throughout the rest of the time you guys are trying to conceive, he definitely keeps reading his books to prepare himself and to learn anything new that might help your chances
He'd already be cooking relatively healthy for you guys, but one day he'd learn about how different nutrients are thought to help fertility - so he'd change your guys' diet a little bit to be more conception-friendly
Gale would always be very loving to you each time you get your period
Like I said, he wouldn't be worried if you don't get pregnant right away, but he still wouldn't be able to help the small twinge of sadness when your period comes - especially if you're also upset by it
He'd be incredibly sensitive and compassionate of your feelings during that time - and he'd do anything in his power to make it better
Though he has always been supportive and patient with you during your period, he'd still find a way to go above and beyond
Whether you're on your period or not, if you're ever sad about how you haven't been able to conceive yet, he'd be right there next to you, holding you close as he rubs your skin in comforting patterns, telling you everything was going to be alright
He'd tell you it's okay if it takes a little longer than expected, and it's not a reason to worry yet
that he understands your sadness, and you have every right to feel the way you do - but he'd also plead that you try not to worry too much, to not be hard on yourself
and he'd promise that one day, when the time was right, your body would finally tell you what you had been waiting so desperately to hear
If a while went by with no signs of pregnancy, he'd wrestle with some thoughts of what if there was something wrong with him, why hadn't he been able to give you a baby already?
He'd definitely worry about if the orb had caused some irreparable damage to his body or somehow made him infertile
But he'd try not to let this get to him too much, and he wouldn't want to bother you with the thought - it's not like the orb was actually radioactive
No matter how fast or how long it takes for you to get pregnancy symptoms, he's very much the type to acknowledge that your symptoms align with pregnancy but still not want to jump to conclusions
He'd say you two should wait to get your hopes up until a cleric can confirm it (or until you don't get your period when you're supposed to)
Meanwhile, you're nauseous every day and getting sick after lunch and are having food aversions to stuff you guys eat regularly
He just really doesn't want to jump to conclusions that could upset either of you if they turn out to not be true
#AND THAT'S WHERE WE'RE LEAVING OFF#please stay tuned for my Gale pregnancy and fatherhood hcs <3#my writing#my hcs#wife#bg3#gale dekarios#x reader#headcanons#smut#baldur's gate 3#brainrot#x tav#gale posting
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Heart Language
Summary: Spencer has a crush on his doctor (and the feeling is mutual)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x GN!Reader
Category: Fluff
Content Warnings: Reader is a cardiologist, Spencer is worried about his health (but he's fine), mentions of (harmless) heart palpitations, blood tests, ECG and echocardiography
Word count: 2.2k
Masterlist
For thousands of years the word heart has been used for metaphors relating to emotions such as love and pain in most parts of the world. It makes sense considering cardiac activity evoked by certain sensations and feelings is a universal experience. Some cultures even believe that the soul – the essence of who we truly are – can be found in the heart.
Hearts have always been fascinating to me. So much so that in my daily life as a cardiologist I often forget my patients' faces but always remember their hearts.
However, when Dr. Spencer Reid entered my office, I knew I wouldn’t forget his face anytime soon.
He awkwardly waved at me when he stepped in, waiting for me to motion for him to take a seat. I had already taken a look at his chart and was wondering why he’d seek my expertise.
“So, what brings you in, Dr. Reid?”
He audibly cleared his voice before he began explaining, “I’ve been having very irritating heart palpitations lately so my primary care physician told me to come here to get it checked.”
When I took another look at my screen to read over his blood work, I noticed him scanning my face but he averted his eyes once I looked at him again.
“Your blood work looks fine from what I can tell,” I let him know.
“Really? It’s just that my diet consists mainly of take-out and coffee,” he confessed. “And I know I’m not getting any younger.”
I dared to ask the question most of my patients dreaded. “How often do you exercise?”
“Uhm,” he muttered, “about… once…”
Since I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to finish the sentence, I suggested, “A week?”
“A year,” he clarified, making it impossible for me to conceal the smile forming on my face.
For the first time since coming into my office he locked eyes with me and I almost got lost in the warmth they radiated. His whole demeanor gave away how anxious he must have been. Most of my patients were worried about their health but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was me who made him nervous.
“I like honesty,” I snickered and he sighed relieved.
“I know about the health benefits of regular exercise and a clean diet,” he stated as if to avoid getting a lecture (that I wasn’t planning on giving him). “It’s just that my job is very stressful.”
That was to be expected from someone working for the FBI. We spent a couple more minutes talking about his medical and family history before I explained, “A lot of people have completely harmless heart palpitations from time to time. They can worsen with stress or too much caffeine."
"That checks out," he mumbled.
He found my eyes almost apologetically, as if he was worried he'd be wasting my time. Little did he know that every chance to take a look at a heart was time well spent for me. Especially when it belonged to someone so interesting.
I softly smiled at him when I continued, "I have no reason to believe that it’s anything to be worried about. But to be sure I would like to do an ECG and an echocardiography if that’s alright with you."
He nodded and followed me to the other room. As I stepped closer to my beloved devices, I pointed to his shirt and told him, "Take that off and lie down for me please."
As he began undoing the buttons of the fabric covering him, he said, "Just the shirt, right?"
Without thinking about it, I snickered, "If you want to take your pants off too you gotta buy me dinner first."
With widened eyes and rosy cheeks he stared at me, obviously unsure about how to react. I realized quickly how uncomfortable I had made him, already regretting my improper comment.
"I am so sorry," I apologized. "That was inappropriate."
The sweetest, most heart-warming smile spread across his face at my words.
"It's okay," he chuckled. "I like honesty, too."
He shed his shirt and lay down for me to place the electrodes on his skin. His chest was flushed and heated, almost burning against my fingertips. When everything was in place, I focussed on the monitor to look at his heart rhythm.
Spencer couldn't hide his nervousness from me.
"Is your heart rate always this high?" I wondered without averting my eyes from the monitor.
"I don’t think so?"
I found his eyes and joked, "So it’s just in my presence."
The rosy shade covering his face and chest turned a little darker when he confessed, “I’m uhm… a little nervous.”
"Try to relax, Spencer,” I whispered.
Whether he noticed me using his first name I couldn't tell, but it seemed to be working. His heart rate got down slightly. "Take a deep breath."
He did as told and closed his eyes as he tried to calm down. It was interesting to see how good he was at following instructions.
When his heart was beating at an almost normal rate, I said, "That's better. You're doing great."
It was then that his pulse went up slightly once more but I didn't comment on it. I removed the electrodes from his skin and was met with a concerned expression.
Even though I knew he didn't have a medical degree, I still offered him a look at the printed paper. "Don't worry, everything looks normal."
He scanned the ECG with furrowed brows before he wondered, "We're still doing the cardiac echo, right?"
"Of course. There are still some things to rule out," I agreed as I moved to the other side of the bed to access the sonographic unit. "Plus, I never pass up a chance to take a look at a heart."
"You must love your job," he chuckled as I placed the probe on his chest.
"I do, actually," I said while taking a look at his organ. It looked just as perfect as I'd imagined. "Your heart is beautiful, Spencer."
I could have sworn that I saw his heart make a little jump at my words. When I found his eyes, I noticed him looking at my face instead of the monitor. At first I thought he was trying to read my reaction, to know if everything was alright with him. That was not what was happening though.
The man laying beside me with my hand pressed against his chest smiled at me. It was then that I realized how oddly intimate it was for me to almost literally touch his heart. Never before had a patient made me feel this way.
The echo gave his current state away, showing me how much faster his heart began beating the longer we stared at each other like this. I wondered if he suspected to find a similar rhythm thrumming inside my chest if he had the chance. It was impossible for me to ignore my blood pumping organ threatening to jump out of its confines, almost as if seeing Spencer's heart had awoken something inside me.
Before I could lose myself in the moment completely, I focussed back on the monitor in front of me and began to explain what exactly we were looking at. Spencer listened carefully as he watched his own heart beating.
When we were done we sat back down at my desk where I made sure he'd understand that nothing was wrong with him.
"There's no reason for you to be worried. What you're experiencing is completely harmless but you should still reconsider your caffeine intake."
To my surprise he didn't just get up and leave like I expected him to. Instead he waited a few moments as if he had hoped to hear more of my words.
When he realized that I was done talking, he asked, "Should I schedule an appointment for another check-up to be sure?"
Shaking my head, I reassured him some more, "There's no reason to do a follow-up, you're perfectly fine."
"Oh."
Somehow that sounded more disappointed than relieved. I couldn't shake the thought that this wasn't about his health anymore.
He confirmed my theory when he asked, "Are you sure?"
Spencer really wanted to see me again.
And I really wanted to see him again.
"Yes," I confirmed. "But even if a follow-up was necessary, I'd still have to refer you to another doctor."
"Why?"
The shocked expression written all over his face almost broke my heart, so I was quick to coo, "Because I can't go out with a patient."
"Oh," he breathed as his cheeks began glowing once more. He became a little flustered when he muttered, "Is that uhm… something you're considering?"
With a smug grin spread over my cheeks I suggested, "Why don't you call me tomorrow to find out?"
He reciprocated my smile and promised, "I definitely will."
After handing him a note with my private phone number he disappeared from my office but his face never vanished from my mind. I couldn't quite grasp what it was about him that intrigued me so much but I knew I needed to see him again.
Spencer didn't even wait 24 hours to call me and I couldn't have been happier.
We were both eager to see each other again, so we agreed to have dinner the next day. When he picked me up from my place to drive us to the restaurant he seemed a lot more confident than the first time I'd seen him. Only when he spoke did I recognize the same awkward and slightly coy man that had become so dear to me in a matter of moments.
Time flew by when we were together. Never before had a man shown that much interest in the things I was passionate about and he surprised me by sharing some facts about my favorite topic - the heart. The thought of him doing research in preparation for our date let a warmth spread through my chest.
Spencer really was unlike anyone I had ever met.
Although the both of us would have liked for our date to continue it had to come to an end eventually. Spencer walked me to my door and kept lingering in front of it for a little while as we looked at each other in comfortable silence.
"So, how is your heart?" I finally broke the quiet.
"It was fine all day," he chuckled, "until I saw you."
I took a step towards him, close enough to be able to feel the warmth his body radiated. We locked eyes when I reached out my hand to place it on his chest, just above where his heart sat under layers of fabric, flesh and bones. He didn't even flinch when I touched him, almost as if he had expected me to make this move.
I felt his heart thumping steadily against my hand and remembered how perfect it looked the other day.
When I noticed it beating a little faster, I reminded him, "You don't have to be nervous around me."
"I can't help it, you're very attractive."
"Don't worry," I breathed. "I feel the same way about you, too."
To my surprise I suddenly felt his palm pressed against my chest as well. For a moment I thought it was just some bold move to try to feel me up but then I realized what he was doing.
He wanted to touch my heart as well.
It answered him by jumping dangerously fast inside my chest, excited to possibly have found its counterpart after years of searching.
His heart gave away his intention by raising its frequency before his body had even started moving. A split second later Spencer's free hand made contact with my cheek and his sight dropped to my mouth. His breath felt hot against my face when he leaned down to capture my lips in a kiss.
Tentatively his lips ghosted over mine before I pulled him closer with my hand in the back of his neck. The sensation of his lips against mine sent sparks through my entire body. When he deepened the kiss and let his tongue meet mine, both of our hearts became erratic.
My hand wandered from his chest to his shoulder in a desperate attempt to find something to hold onto. Spencer smiled into our kiss as he let his palm glide to my back, pulling me against his body. There was no distance to be found between us as we melted into one another in our kiss.
Our hearts tried to touch as well as they thumped fast against our chests. When the urge to let more oxygen float into my lungs overcame me, I pulled back slightly and looked at the man before me. He wore the most beautiful smile I had ever seen, so I decided I had not yet had enough of him.
"Do you want to come inside? Maybe have a cup of coffee?" I asked and added, "Decaf, of course."
"I would love nothing more."
If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fluff fics in my SFW Masterlist!
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Listen
Summary: You and Joel explore an abandoned library and you get under each other's skin.
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader, established relationship, set in the TWWW universe, no use of Y/N. (Can be read as stand alone, only backstory that needs to be known is Joel was once reader's boss but I included a small blurb about it to explain)
Warnings: language, smut (MDNI 18+), roleplay, dom/sub dynamic (very light, nothing extreme), dirty talk, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, creampie (don't do this, muy dangerous)
Word count: 5.7K
A/N: if anyone wants to be removed from the taglist, just shoot me a quick message or comment. I kept the same list from the main story but I don't know if you want to be included in the one-shots.
May 2006
"I could kill Tommy for tellin' you 'bout that place," Joel grumbled as he shoved food in your backpack. You lifted your head from the paper you were scrutinizing on your kitchen counter to look at him.
"Oh, come on. It's a quick trip, we'll be back around dinner," you told him, looking back down at your list.
Tommy and Joel had recently found a small, abandoned town in the mountains. One day, after they had come back from a supply run to pick over anything useful, Tommy mentioned at dinner that there was a library in town.
Joel had groaned and immediately buried his face in his hands the moment the words left Tommy's mouth. You had just been telling Joel that you and Carrie were looking for some textbooks, so the two of you got to work writing up any type of topic either of you could use for gardening and medicine.
He tried arguing with you, he tried begging you. He tried offering to do the trip himself, but nothing worked. You had told him he could either come with you and help carry the books back, or you would find someone else. Of course, he caved.
"Please, just gimme the list, I'll take care of it for you," he tried pleading once more, but you shook your head as you shouldered your backpack and shoved your handgun in the back of your pants.
"Joel, we talked about this," you said, swinging the door open and marching down the steps, heading towards the stables. It was early. The town was about a four hour ride away from Jackson. You wanted to get a move on so you could be back before dark.
"Hardly," he scoffed, catching up with you. "Didn't exactly come up with a compromise."
"Sure we did," you told him, turning the corner of your street. "The compromise was you coming with me."
He huffed and stayed quiet until you reached the stables. You always had this way of making him feel like he was in charge, but in reality, you ended up winning any disagreement you've ever had. He was grumbling to himself, wondering how on earth you managed to talk him into this when you turned and tossed him a bright smile over your shoulder with a wink, and he felt his heart flutter. Oh, that's how.
Carl already had a horse saddled up for you when you arrived. You expressed your gratitude, especially considering how early it was, and led the mare out of the barn. Joel shoved his foot in the stirrup and swung his leg over the saddle, settling in before reaching an arm down to help you up. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave the back of his neck a quick kiss before you pressed the side of your face into his shoulder blades.
He sighed as he led the horse through the gates and towards the woods. He didn't used to be this soft. People used to do what he asked, when he asked, and they thanked him for it. You were never one of those people, though. From day one, you stood your ground and never let him shake you. Even his own brother dreaded Joel's outbursts at work. Men used to cower at him on job sites when Joel demanded answers on why something was done wrong, or why a job was taking longer than it should. He was never a people pleaser, and he didn't care. He got the job done, he got results and he made a lot of money doing it.
Then you were hired a few months before the outbreak and turned his world upside down. He found himself going out of his way to try to cross paths with you. He looked forward to the monthly meetings he had with your department just so he could catch glimpses of you throughout the hour. Then, there were the few times you found yourself in his office, delivering reports or checks for him. Those moments lingered with him for days, itching until the next time he got you alone again.
It all worked out in the end, but there was a big misunderstanding that drove a wedge between you. Before you had a chance to work it out, the outbreak hit, and you both ended up traveling across the country together, seeking safety while trying to stay alive. He often wished he had a chance to have a normal relationship with you, one that didn't include life or death scenarios, but one that included traveling, theater, dinners and drinks. If only he hadn't wasted so much time before.
"You're so quiet, are you okay?" you asked him, your breath tickling his ear. He smiled to himself, enjoying the feeling of your body pressed against his. This wasn't so bad, either.
"I'm fine. Just wish you'd listen to me now and then. Last time we left Jackson, things didn't turn out so great," he mumbled, still partially annoyed about the trip, worried about your safety outside the walls he helped build.
"Well, I don't know about that. I seem to remember you having a good time in the end," you teased, and his breath hitched in his throat.
"Quit tryin' to distract me," he said gruffly, knowing your game well enough by now to tell when you were trying to take the focus off of anything bad.
"Sorry," you whispered, not wanting to push your luck. Joel sighed, feeling guilty.
"Just... promise you'll listen to me when we're out here? No dawdlin', and don't leave my sight. If I tell you we gotta wrap it up, we wrap it up. Understood?"
A shiver went down your spine at his domineering tone.
"Yes, sir," you said obediently, smirking into his back. You didn't want to push his buttons, but it was so easy, and you always got excited at the chance to explore outside of Jackson. You never thought you'd want to leave once you discovered the safety within the walls, but you found you eventually became a little stir crazy. A quick trip like this one would scratch that itch for a while, you just wish Joel understood you wanted a little freedom.
"Hey, what'd I say? Stay behind me," Joel hissed as you moved through the library. He had just been there less than a week ago with Tommy, but that didn't mean anything. You rolled your eyes when he turned his head and fell back behind him, your gun drawn at your side. It was an old building in desperate need of updating, the hardwood floors squeaked with nearly every step you took. If anyone or anything was in there, you'd know it by now considering the amount of noise you were making. You knew he had every reason to be anxious, and you tried to be understanding, but you were getting annoyed.
Once he finally determined the building was empty, you happily got to work examining the aisles, pulling books off the shelves and carrying huge stacks over to a conference room and piling them on top of the long, wooden table. You imagined local students maybe booked this room in the past to study or work on projects, considering the room was so close to the reference section.
Joel stayed close, but he paced around a bit, clutching his rifle as he routinely peeked out the windows. He knew there was a slim to none chance he would spot anything. He and Tommy had been to this town three times already, and he never saw a thing. But he refused to take any chances. Not with you.
Bored, he wandered down a row of books, idly reading the titles on the spines as he listened to you drop more heavy books on the table. He paused when he saw a familiar title and shouldered his rifle. He picked the book up and skimmed the first few pages. He leaned up against the bookshelf as he continued to read, completely losing track of time until he realized he hadn't heard you make any noise in a while. He paused and flicked his eyes up, listening closely for any sound from the conference room, but he heard none. He dropped the book and hurried down the aisle, rounding the corner as his head whipped around, looking down the aisles for you as he jogged.
The door to the conference room was wide open as he barged in, glancing around the small room, but you were no where to be found.
"Shit," he whispered, his heart thudding in his chest as he tried to keep the panic at bay. He turned around to check out the other side of the library, whisper-shouting your name as he went. His chest was beginning to constrict as all the worst case scenarios flooded his mind. She had a gun, she would have fired a shot if she was in trouble.
Just when he thought he was going to completely lose it, you emerged from the last row of books with a few paperbacks tucked under your arm. You saw Joel and gave him a smile before you could register the look on his face. He let out a huge breath he hadn't realized he was holding before he grabbed you roughly by the shoulders, making you frown.
"What'd I fuckin' say?!" he seethed, giving your shoulders a harsh shake.
"Excuse me?" you said, squirming away from his grasp.
"I said 'don't leave my sight', and what'd you do?" he said, raising his voice at you. His jaw was clenched as he stared daggers into you. You scoffed and pushed past him, heading back to the conference room.
"I'm an adult, Joel. Stop treating me like a child," you said over your shoulder. "Besides, you were the one who disappeared. I couldn't find you to tell you where I was going."
"I don't fuckin' care, you wait til I'm back and then we go together," he growled, following you back towards the other side of the building. You whipped around to glare at him, making him skid to a stop on the worn out wooden floors.
"I get why you're worried, Joel, I really do, and I appreciate your concern. But I just want a little freedom to live my life. And you're not the boss of me!" you snapped, throwing your free hand up in the air before turning on your heel, back to the privacy of the conference room. You just wanted to pick the best books possible based on what you and Carrie needed so you could get the hell out of there and go home.
Joel's blood ran hot at your words. He remained rooted to the ground where you left him, seething, as he replayed your argument in his head. Maybe he overreacted, but he was too pissed off to think clearly. Blood rushed in his ears as he angrily raked a hand through his hair, thinking again about how soft you've made him. He never considered it a bad thing before, but out in this world when he needed you to just listen to him, it could be a bad thing. You've always been capable, he knew that, but there's been too many close calls in the past and your safety was his only concern. He couldn't risk losing you, it wasn't an option.
He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to stomp out his anger, running his palm over his mouth as he paced back and forth, gripping his revolver. Your words just kept bouncing around in his head over and over. Then he stopped, letting his hand drop from his mouth as he stared at a fixed point on the wall, thinking about your last words: you're not the boss of me.
He shoved his revolver back in his holster and he walked calmly over to the conference room. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, watching as you stood in front of the table, diligently checking your list and sifting through piles of books, setting aside the ones you wanted to take by tossing them with a grunt towards the empty duffel bag next to the table.
He could tell you were still angry. You refused to look up at him, even though you knew full well he was standing there watching you. Your mouth was pressed into a thin line and your brows furrowed while you worked, determined to ignore him.
"Sit," he commanded, his voice firm. You stopped what you were doing and sighed before you met his gaze.
"Joel, I really don't feel like -"
"Nuh uh. Wasn't up for debate. And that's Mr. Miller, to you," he said, staring you down. You froze, confused, as you searched his eyes for any playfulness, but found none. You hadn't sat down, but you hadn't said anything either, the gears still turning in your head.
"You said I ain't the boss of you," he told you, pushing himself off the doorframe as he entered the room, sliding the rifle from his shoulder and leaning it against the wall. "But you forget, sweetheart, there was a time I was. Maybe you need to be reminded," he said lowly, his fists coming to rest on the table across from you as he leaned forward, issuing a challenge.
He could see the realization click. Your breathing quickened and your cheeks had a light dusting of pink across them as you slowly lowered yourself into the chair behind you, keeping your eyes glued to his face. He held back the smirk that threatened to pull across his lips, refusing to break the facade.
"So you can do what you're told," he murmured, leaning back from the table, looking down at you. You still didn't say anything, but the anxious tapping of your finger on your leg gave you away. He slowly made his way around the table, his eyes never leaving your face. You kept your head straight, looking ahead at the empty doorway, but you studied him from your peripheral as he approached.
He came to a stop right next to you and watched as your lips parted to accommodate your need for more air, your chest rising and falling faster than usual under your V neck T-shirt, where he could just make out the swell of your breasts from his angle. He hummed appreciatively and reached out a finger to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, taking pride in the way your breath caught in your throat.
"Did you get those reports for me, sweetheart?" he asked quietly, dragging a knuckle gently down your cheek and watching as the heat crawled up your neck.
It took you a moment to understand the game, but you caught up. And once you did, it felt like you had been transported back in time. You were reminded of how painfully nervous he used to make you, but instead of putting you off, it was making you squirm in your chair with anticipation.
"No," you all but whispered, then cleared your throat so he could hear you. "No. Didn't have enough time, I'm sorry Mr. Miller."
Still staring straight ahead, you felt rather than saw him stiffen next to you, and you swallowed roughly. He tsked and shook his head with a sigh. He gripped the back of your chair and flattened his palm on the table, leaning in so he was mere inches from your face.
"You wanna explain to me what's more important than the reports I asked for?" he growled in your ear, and he watched you visibly shudder. When you took too long to respond, he spun you around to face him so fast, it pulled a gasp from your throat, and you had to reach out to grip the arms of your chair in order to steady yourself.
"Answer me," he demanded through gritted teeth, his hand coming from the back of your chair to grip your chin firmly. It took you by surprise how into this he was, and somewhere in the back of your mind you wondered if this had been building up for a while, but you pushed the thought away, trying to focus on the moment.
"I overslept," you squeaked out, inwardly cringing at the lame excuse. But Joel didn't miss a beat. He dropped your chin from his hand and straightened up, still glaring down at you.
"You overslept," he repeated, disappointment dripping from his words as he stared down at you. You slowly dragged your eyes up to meet his. Looking up at him meekly, you nodded.
"See, that ain't good," he told you with a shake of his head, crossing his arms. "How do you expect to make it if you're so goddamn irresponsible?"
You briefly wondered if he was still pretending or if he was trying to warn you about survival, but again, you pushed that thought away for another time.
"Can I make it up to you?" you asked him shyly, shifting your weight as the ache between your legs grew, desperately needing attention. You saw a flicker in his eyes at your question, but he refused to break.
"Gonna have to fire you, I'm afraid," he said sadly. "I've fired people for less, and you need to learn."
"Please, I'll do anything," you begged him, scooting to the edge of your seat.
"Anythin', hm?" he repeated back to you, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded eagerly as you finally allowed your gaze to flick down to his jeans, his belt right at eye level from where you sat. You could see his erection straining against the denim, and your tongue shot out to lick your lips instinctually.
Joel let a lazy smirk tug across his face.
"You wanna suck on the boss's cock, huh?" he asked you teasingly, and again, you nodded, your adrenaline squeezing your throat to the point where you had trouble finding your voice.
"Go ahead, then. I ain't stoppin' ya," he said, his voice gravelly, his accent thick. Your hands flew up from your lap to his belt, fumbling with the buckle until you pulled the leather loose, then got to work popping the button on his jeans and carefully pulled the zipper down. All the while, Joel watched you through heavy lidded eyes, his breath only stuttering momentarily when you took him in your hand and began to slowly pump him up and down.
You looked up to him for approval as you twisted your wrist, your thumb swiping over his slit and dragging his precum down his shaft with your fingers.
"Don't got all day," he snapped. "You either want this job, or you don't."
"I want it," you whispered, your eyes glazed over with lust.
"Then fuckin' show me," he said, thrusting his hips into your hand. His mask slipped slightly when your lips wrapped around the tip of his cock, a low groan rumbling from his chest as his eyes slid shut.
"Shit," he whispered to himself as you pulled him in deeper, your tongue swirling around his girth while your head bobbed up and down, taking him in further and further each time. Your fist gripped his base to hold him steady, your swollen lips brushing against your fingers as you did your best to take him down your throat. His hand tangled in your hair, and you whimpered when his hips jutted forward, triggering your gag reflex. You sputtered around him before you pulled away with a sharp gasp, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.
He hooked a finger under your chin and dragged your watery eyes up to meet his. He tutted and shook his head, trying to ignore how his cock twitched when he saw your wrecked face.
"Am I too big for that pretty little mouth?" he asked you, and your mind bounced back and forth between answers.
"Yes. I-I mean, no, I can do it, let me try again," you stammered, reaching out to him before he smacked your hand away.
"Up," he commanded, and this time you didn't hesitate. You shot up from your chair so fast, your head was spinning.
"Take 'em off," he told you, his eyes flicking down to your pants. You quickly slid out of your boots and shimmied out of your jeans while Joel watched you, his hand lazily stroking himself as you worked. You were about to pull down your panties when he stopped you.
"Not those," he said roughly, and you gulped and nodded. You had never seen this side of him before, and you felt like your brain was short circuiting. Sure, he used to be gruff and a bit of an asshole when you first met, but whenever you had slept together, he was usually very soft and attentive. He tilted his head towards the table.
"Hands," was all he told you, and you immediately turned to flatten your sweaty palms against the old, smooth wood. You hardly ever found a reason to be embarrassed around him anymore, but when he tapped your ankle to make your legs widen and he spread your ass so he could see the mess you had made between your legs, you felt the heat burning into your cheeks.
You jutted your hips back, eager to feel his fingers on your aching center, but he refused to touch you where you needed him most. Instead, he slid his cock between your legs, rubbing himself against your clothed heat, languidly thrusting back and forth.
"Joel," you whined, the ache inside you becoming painful. Your eyes shot open and you let out a yelp when his hand came down on your ass, your skin stinging from the aftershock.
"What'd you call me?" he muttered angrily in your ear. You had no idea how he was able to restrain himself this long when you thought your legs were already about to give out from under you.
"M-Mr. Miller. I'm sorry," you moaned, your head falling forward between your shoulders as he continued to rub himself against you.
"Messin' up a lot today," he mumbled behind you. You screwed your eyes shut as the tip of his cock prodded your clit, your lower abdomen tightening with each thrust. Joel watched each time he pulled back as his cock glistened with your arousal, even through your underwear, your inner thighs were slick and wet. Knowing you couldn't see him, he allowed a grin to spread across his lips, loving how docile he made you in a matter of minutes.
"Please," you whimpered, desperately begging for him to relieve you.
"Please what?" he shot back, squeezing your hips as he continued to drag his cock against your folds.
"Please fuck me, Mr. Miller," you croaked, on the brink of tears. Joel chuckled at the strain in your voice.
"First sensible thing you said all day," he told you, pushing his jeans and boxers further down his legs. "But tell me why I should listen to you, when you don't bother listenin' to me?"
"I'll listen!" you cried out, your fist pounding on the table in frustration. "I'll listen... just, please," you said softer now, "please, please, please." You sounded pathetic, begging for him bent over a rickety old table in some beat up town, but you only had one primary need at the moment, and you couldn't think about anything else.
"Good girl," he whispered against your ear, and you shuddered underneath him. He hooked a finger inside the soaked fabric and pulled them to the side, revealing your aching cunt to him. He hissed through his teeth, desperate to touch you but he knew you wanted it even more, so he refrained.
He lined his leaking cock up against you, just barely touching you, but the contact made your whole body jump, your nerve endings acting like fireworks under your skin.
"Gotta be still," he muttered, and he waited for your breath to even out and your body to stop fidgeting before he continued. He leaned forward, his lips grazing the shell of your ear.
"I ain't gonna be gentle," he warned you, then dropped his voice to a whisper before adding "tell me if it's too much." You whined and tipped your head back, but he waited until he heard you whisper back okay before pushing himself inside you with one quick motion, bottoming out with a heavy groan.
Your walls fluttered around him at the sudden intrusion, frantically trying to accommodate his size as he pulled back and slammed into you again and again, punching the air from your lungs.
"Oh, fuck," you cried out, falling to your elbows on the table. His grip on you was sure to leave marks as he pulled your hips back against him over and over, driving himself as deep as possible inside you. The burn that was akin to pain quickly dissolved to pleasure as your body relaxed and welcomed him in, the tip of his cock nudging against your cervix with each snap of his hips.
Two leftover tears fell from your eyes and landed on the table when you squeezed them shut, your jaw slack as he rammed into you, each time hearing a soft grunt from his throat from the effort. He leaned forward and ran a hand under your shirt and up your stomach, yanking down on your bra and freeing your right breast, which he greedily squeezed in his palm before pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, making you squeak.
"Fuck me, Joel," you said breathily, and your eyes quickly snapped open at your mistake. "I mean-"
His hand disappeared from your breast and rested gently on your ass, rubbing the already pink skin as he waited for you to correct yourself.
"You wanna try that again?" he asked, attempting to show you mercy.
"Mr. Miller," you said shakily. "Fuck me, Mr. Miller." But you chewed on your lower lip, your breath shallow as you braced for impact anyway. Joel raised an eyebrow as he slowed his hips, the corner of his mouth turned up into a smug grin.
"You want it, anyway, don'tcha?" and you nodded, your teeth sinking into your lower lip now so hard you were sure you would draw blood. You let out a gasp of relief when his hand came down again on your ass, the stinging on your skin spreading throughout your whole body, drawing out a filthy moan.
"Fuck," he muttered, and he could tell he was beginning to lose himself in you. He quickly pulled your right leg up so your knee was resting on the table, opening your hips even more as he picked up a ruthless pace. His left hand released your hip in favor of gripping your shoulder while his right hand acted as a brace for your leg so it wouldn't slide down to the ground.
"Please, Mr. Miller, I need..." you groaned and dropped your forehead to the table for a moment when the angle changed, and he began hitting that sweet spot inside you only he could find.
"Whaddya need?" he panted through clenched teeth, his hand squeezing your shoulder to keep you still as he pounded into you, chasing his release.
"Need you to touch me," you whimpered pathetically, bringing your head back up, doing your best to stay upright and not collapse into a puddle on the table.
"I think only good girls get that," he said lowly, his eyes dark as he watched the side of your face contort in pleasure. "Do'ya think you've been good?"
"No," you whispered, shaking your head.
"Why weren't you good?" he questioned you, the power now going straight to his head.
"Because I didn't listen," you admitted weakly. He nodded and hummed in agreement.
"And what're you gonna do from now on?" he pressed, leaning forward so he could make sure he heard you answer.
"I'm gonna listen," you told him, and he grinned from ear to ear.
"That's right," he said, his right hand traveling under your elevated hip to reach your clit, pressing firm circles over the bundle of nerves and eliciting a groan from your mouth. He could tell by the way you were squeezing him that you were right on the edge of an orgasm. His fingers picked up the pace, swirling around your clit with the expertise and knowledge only he had over your body.
"I always take care of you, don't I?" he gasped in your ear, feeling his own orgasm approaching. You nodded, your heart trapped in your throat as you tipped over the edge, your vision going spotty and curses falling from your lips. He gently sunk his teeth into your shoulder blade and removed his hand once he felt your weak thrusts trail off.
"Shit, sweetheart, I'm close," he grumbled, dropping the act and letting his eyes slide shut as he rested his forehead against your upper back, his left hand still firmly planted on your shoulder. He felt your body shudder underneath him, an aftershock of your own climax.
"Come inside me," you said softly, and his eyes snapped open, not sure if he imagined it or not.
"What?" he rasped, and when you repeated yourself, but louder, his breath caught in his throat. He had only done that once before.
You could feel his hesitation, so you turned your head to the side, trying to catch his eye.
"It's okay," you assured him, trying to wordlessly explain that, like before, the timing of your cycle will work out in your favor, knowing that you were about to get your period any day.
He groaned, the unexpected permission to fill you sending him careening towards the brink. He slammed into you mercilessly, and you winced as you tried to breathe through the overstimulation, knowing he was close when his hips stuttered against you. He let go with a loud moan, falling forward as his hips slowed, filling you with his hot spend.
He gasped against your back, his breath hot through your shirt as his hips involuntarily thrusted shallowly forward until he stilled, quietly catching his breath.
"My leg," you reminded him after a moment. Your hips were sore from the angle, and your body was giving up on you.
"Oh, right," he murmured, picking himself off you and sliding out of you with a hiss. He hooked his finger back around your panties and put them back in place, effectively trapping the sticky mess against you, but you didn't care. Your body felt weak and you just wanted to collapse to the floor, which is exactly what you did. Joel joined you, his eyes closed with the back of his head resting against the wall. He blindly tucked himself back into his jeans with a sigh.
You rolled your head to the side to take in his relaxed face, eyes still closed as he breathed deeply. With a grunt, you stood up and scooped your jeans off the floor, shoving your legs back through them carelessly and then squatted to lace your boots up. You looked back up to find Joel watching you, his face breaking out into a smirk when your eyes met.
"C'mon, Mr. Miller. We should head out soon," you teased, smacking his leg as you straightened up.
"I like that a little too much," he said with a sigh as he stood to help you pack up the books in the duffel bag.
The ride home was relatively quiet, the both of you exhausted. The sway of the horse and the feeling of him everywhere was enough to knock you out cold. You thought at one point you may have dozed off against his back for a few minutes, but you weren't sure.
When you arrived back in Jackson, the sun had just set. You slid down from your horse with a wince. Riding a horse in general made your hips and back sore, but combined with the events of the afternoon made your legs almost crumble when you hit the ground, but Joel was right there to catch you, like he was expecting it.
"Told you I always take care of you," he muttered in your ear, and you smiled.
You walked hand in hand slowly down the street, the string lights twinkling above your heads, as you made your way home. When you passed by Tommy and Maria's house, Tommy poked his head out the door to get your attention.
"Why don't you guys join us? Maria made stew," Tommy offered, and you felt your stomach rumble at the words. You briefly thought about declining and just going back home to sleep, but ultimately your hunger won out.
"You look wiped," Maria said after dinner, joining you on the couch while the men made themselves drinks in the kitchen.
"Yeah, long day. I haven't done a trip like that in a while," you told her, readjusting slightly on the couch. The dried mess between your legs had become incredibly uncomfortable and you were dying to go home, but you were too lazy to move.
"And we agreed you ain't doin' any more for a long time," Joel said, entering the room with Tommy.
"That right?" Tommy asked, raising an eyebrow at you. You glanced back and forth between the two brothers before slowly nodding.
"Yeah," you said. "Not for a few weeks."
"Months," Joel corrected, sitting next to you on the couch and draping an arm around your shoulders.
"Months," you repeated after a moment, and Joel had to bring his glass up to his lips to hide his smirk.
Tommy shrugged and asked Maria where a certain record was, causing the two of them to stand in search for it, bickering about who was the last to see it. Joel leaned into you and planted a soft kiss on the side of your head.
"Good girl," he murmured, making you blush. You agreed to his terms for now, but you knew the disagreement was far from over.
Tag List: @chiogarza, @sparklejumpropequeen-777, @shotgun-shelby @partyofone3413 @nana90azevedo @ninaminaromina
#joel miller fanfiction#joel miller#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller fic#joel the last of us#tlou hbo#the last of us hbo#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller series#joel x reader#joel x reader smut#joel miller angst#joel miller fluff#pedro pascal#the last of us game#the way we were joel miller fic#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist
SUCROSE
Paring: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Visiting his mother that likes you dearly, to Spencer’s happiness, taking care of each other makes butterflies go all over the place. Asking for advice for friends. (They live in the same building, in the same corridor, just in front of one another… which helps the friendship but couldn't stop Dr. Reid from falling in love)
Word account: 1905
Warnings: Fluff, friends to lovers, anxiety, possessiveness?, pain, menstruation, innocent kisses?, talks abour orgasm...
A/N: English is not my first language. Reblog, like and comment. I am accepting suggestions for next parts. Please be nice. The Gif is not mine. Credits to the oner
Chapter 3: Narcotics, care and family
Spencer's Point of View
She figured out my narcotic problem.
She didn’t ask a single thing, she respected and is supportive. I love how she takes care of me. I remember when she put the pisces together, I was in pain and was so rude to her, I wonder if someday I will deserve her.
—----------------
I was having a bad day, a bad week, and treated my friend in a way she didn’t deserved.
“I am sorry, I am really sorry”
She kept looking at me, in her door. I felt gray again, I felt worse than I was feeling.
“You never told me your name.”
“What?” Confusion was spread across my face.
“You never told me your name Sugarpout. We talk for months, but we have never said our names, we bonded, became friends and never had asked for names.”
She was right, now that she said it… I think about her constantly, I know so many things about her as she knows about me, and we never asked, it never even crossed my mind, it was so easy to be around her, I craved the company so much that I never remembered this little detail, such an important detail.
“My name is Spencer, Reid. Spencer Reid. What is your name?”
—----------------------
In this instant I had major head and back pain, thanks to the last unsub. At least we got him.
“Hey Sugarpout, I did a lot of research, and you basically can't take any painkillers meds. But luck you, I have a few tricks, and I’m gonna take care of you.”
Say the girl owner of my soul, invading my home, isn't she satisfied with invading my dreams and thoughts?
“Would you prefer to lay on the couch or in your bed?”
“Couch” I will have so many problems controlling my imagination and body responses if we get to my bedroom now.
“Leave your head like… this”
She adjusts me, and starts rubbing my forehead with some oil. I love her touch. I closed my eyes, starting to relax and feel better with the delicate massage she was giving, so caring, so… everytime was harder not loving her the way I do love. The selfish way I love. Wanting her all for myself.
—-------------------------------------
Y/N’s Point of View
“May I open a little of your shirt?”
He silently agrees, my hands slowly travel off his forehead, the sides of his face, his neck… starting to open a few buttons so I can reach and massage his shoulders more properly. My fingers do their magic putting pressure on his skin, feeling the tension slipping away second by second, every time my skin runs his skink, more comfortable is set between us.
“Feeling better?”
“You always make me feel better.”
“You should rest a little, I can keep you company if you want.”
“I would love you staying here with me.”
And so I did, I stayed for the whole day. Light music, reading, healthy snacks and lots of water, just enjoying our time together.
“I am going to see my mom this weekend.” He pauses, pressing his lips in a flat line raising his eyebrows a little looking at me as if considering his idea. “I… you know… my mom… would you… do you want to… go with me?”
“To see your mom?”
“Yeah. I mean, you don’t have to. I know she… well…” He laughs without humor. “It wouldn't be your first time seeing her, but I know…”
“Sugarpout, I would love to go with you, I want to go. I like your mother.”
He relaxes, and looks at me, in a way I don’t know how to describe, I just know that it makes me feel good, better, makes my skin light up and the butterflies alive in my whole body.
—------------------------------------
Spencer’s Point of View
Adoration, love… There are not enough words to describe my feelings for her, for Y/n, my Sugar, as I am her Sugarpout.
She made a few things to eat, and she called the doctor in the clinic to know if it was ok and what she could or couldn't make. So now we have a lot of cookies, cupcakes, cakes and brownies. She made sure to have enough for everyone in the clinic, and a side a special treat to my mom, in a special box.
“Hey mom”
“Ah, Spencer”
“Hi Mistress Reid. It's good to see you again, we bring a little something for you.”
“A present?”
“Yes, a special present for you Mistress Reid”
My mother's face lights up a little when opening the box. That is my Sugar, always bringing light to every place she goes… Maybe someday she will be truly mine.
“Oh, dear, you didn't have to…”
“It was a pleasure, as you can see, I put phrases from a few of your favorite books, so you can read and devour the words.”
“That is very thoughtful of you. Thank you.”
They got to talk, a lot of talking, my mother even showed my baby pictures, to my embarrassment. But I couldn't feel that bad when they smiled so happily, the womens of my life.
“You are a very wise women”
Sugar compliments my mother, she is always so gentle and true. She is called by one of the doctors and excuses herself.
“I see the way you look at her. She is a good girl.”
“She is.”
“You should put a ring on her, a rare creature like her… is meant to be taken care of, I can see she cares about you.”
“We are friends, mom.”
“A mother knows Spencer. A mother always knows”
“Hey Sugarpout, sorry about that, the doctor just wanted to be sure about the ingredients. We don't want anyone having allergic reactions. Care to keep teaching me Mistress Reid?”
“I would love.”
“Once a professor always a professor.”
She pays attention to everything we say, to the whole conversation, until it is time for us to go.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Y/N’s Point of View
Cramps.
The every month torture that people blessed with uterus go trough.
I don’t have the will to move, everything hurts, I am tired all the time and soon there will come the blood. I am thinking about calling in sick, or just losing the day… but I do need the money. Oh God, why wasn't I born a billionaire?
A knock at my door and a voice take me out of my sad thoughts.
“Sugar? Are you okay? Haven't heard of you yet today, I am starting to get worried”
“No, nothing is ok” I make a crying voice, to add more drama.
“May I come in?”
“Yes, use your key, I don't want to move”
Spencer cautiously entered my place, looking around, the view was terrible. I am swollen, feeling tired, dark circles under my eyes, some pimples… and even worse, I am in pain.
“What is wrong Sugar?”
“I am awful and everything hurts.”
Spencer comes closer and hugs me, the warmth of his hand is in the exact place, making the terrible pain more supportable.
“Oh, don't you dare move your hand. It is the perfect spot.”
“As my Sugar wish. Now. Can you tell why everything hurts? What is the problem?”
“The problem is that seems like the Devil is using needle high heels, knife needle high heels, made a fireplace and is dancing around my uterus.”
“So… cramps?”
“You say it like that because you ain't the one feeling it.”
“Oh, no Sugar. I am sure this is really horrible.”
He places his warm lips on my forehead in a tender kiss.
“There is anything I can do to make you feel better?”
“Just keep your hands in place. It is good.”
“Orgasm. It can help with the pain. When you orgasm, your body releases chemicals like oxytocin and dopamine that act as painkillers.”
“Are you saying that next time you are in pain I should give you an orgasm?”
“What?”
I laugh a little about his comment, poor Doctor Reid, someday I may kill him out of embarrassment.
“It is ok Sugarpout. I am just not in the mood for any sex activity. I am swollen and ugly.:
“You are as beautiful as ever. You are always beautiful”
“Thank you Sugarpout, you are always so gentle.”
We stay a moment in silence, just in each other's arms, but he has to break this moment even if neither of us want to.
“Are we not going to work today?”
“We are going to work today.”
“Good, cause I kinda just passed by to see how you were doing. I got to go to the office. But, if you want, I can call back and see if I can take the day off…”
“No, no Spencer, you should go to work.”
“I really don't mind staying if you want me too.”
“I will be fine. Go make the others life more sweet Sugarpout”
I feel him relaxing against me, and stopping holding me really slowly.
“Do not worry, you are going to have a lot of time to take care of me. It can last fifteen days, ten days, a week… my cramps ain't regular. In the end it will be all fine.”
“Hope you get better as soon as possible.”
“Good work Sugarpout”
And then, he really has to go.
—---------------------------------------------------------------
Spencer’s Point of View
I am trying to concentrate on the job, but my mind always comes back to my Sugar, I know she said it will be fine, and she can be a little dramatic sometimes, but it does not change my concern.
“Ahn… hey Emily, what do you usually do to alleviate your period cramps?”
I did a lot of research about the subject, everything I could find, but with experience I learned that just reading isn't enough and every human experiences stuff in different ways.
“What? Where did it come from?”
“What am I losing?”
Emily is uncertain about answering Morgan, why he always shows… well he did grow up with sisters.
“I was asking Emily, how could someone alleviate period cramps.”
“Is this about the door girl?”
“What girl?”
“Sweet girl, that lives right across Pretty Boy and has his keys.”
“You’re kidding me!”
“Ask him.”
“Well, Spencer?”
“Yes, she is my neighbor, she is a really nice girl, and she has an extra key to my apartment.”
“If she is just a neighbor, why the cramps questions?”
“She is also a friend.”
“A very dear friend.”
“You should invite her to go out with us. I will love to know the girl occupying the Doctor Reid thoughts”
“Are you going to answer my question or just amuse yourselves with the new information?”
“Ok, I may have a few tips, but you will need to see what works for her, it isn't always the same.”
“And I can give you a few tips on how to survive this period, cause women can be savage, and I ain't talking savage in a nice way.”
Prentiss reprimanded Derek with a look and a little hit in his head.
I paid very close attention to what they had to say, so I was more prepared when I came back home, and being able to take care of Sugar, my Sugar. Doing my best to make her the more comfortable as possible, and the smile bright in her face was the best part of my whole day.
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Fic masterlist | Masterlist
Tag List: @mikitsuki
#spencer reid x reader#criminal minds#doctor spencer reid#spencer reid#spencer reid criminal minds#spencer reid fluff#criminalminds#dr spencer reid fluff#spencer reid fanfic#criminal minds fanfic
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Hi! Sorry if i'm bothering you but i needed someone to talk. About what happened recently with Destiel and Misha and the fans that believed in the things he said. I am new to Supernatural fandom, but i loved the story in an instant, thanks to Sam and Dean and their unique relationship. Then i became interested in Jared and Jensen too and i think that if Sam and and Dean are the heart of Supernatural then Jared and Jensen are the soul of the show because to me no other actor could have played Sam and Dean like they did. Now, returning to what i wanted to say i am really TIRED about Destiel, some Destiel shippers and especially Misha. I know he said some stupid thing about how CW is homophobic and how Destiel would be canon if they weren't homophobic. I don't ship Destiel because sincerely i don't see romantic love between Dean and Castiel, but this doesn't make me an homophobic person. His words are said with malicious intent. He also said some thing about how Jensen is attracted to him. I find this disgusting because he says this things only for his Destiel fan, knowing that his words are lies. Also Jensen not being there can't reply to his lies. Like i sad i'm new to Supernatural but some Destiel are making the experience in the fandom a constant war. They say that if you don't ship Destiel you are homophobic , that if you don't ship Destiel you are not a true Supernatural fan and the most stupid one... They say that Supernatural is about Dean and Castiel and their love. This make me really angry because Supernatural is about Sam And Dean, how they care for each other,how they save the world again and again and how they hunt monster and ghost and other things. But to me Supernatural is the unique love story of two brother and how they did everything to protect each other. I ship Wincest, but When i say love story i mean that Sam and Dean are Platonic Soulmates in Supernatural and even the show always remind us of that. I don't understant how Misha can say this thing without facing consequences because his words feed some Destiel fan that became hateful like him and whose mission is hating people who don't think think like them. Sorry for the long post and for the horrible english but it's not my first language. Sorry if i bothered you but i needed someone to talk to because sometimes i feel like leaving the fandom because Destiel hate and their war against everyone. I hope you will always have love and kindness in your life.
You really don't need to apologize for anything.❤️ You aren't bothering me and your English is fine - maybe not perfect, but hell, neither is mine some days! Thank you for the lovely sentiment, and I wish you the same - and that you do what is best for you in regards to this sometimes dumpster fire of a fandom.
If it helps, you're absolutely not alone. I've been in this fandom for years now, and some days it's sheer stubbornness against hellers obvious attempts to browbeat and drive everyone else out that keeps me here. They didn't get to take over the show through being loud and obnoxious and they don't get to monopolize the fandom by doing the same - and they can be butthurt forever over it.
I actually didn't mind Dean and Castiel as a ship at first. I'm always interested in what people take from a canon and then create entirely outside of it, and I read quite a lot of fanfic. Even then I was baffled by shippers insisting it was a thing in the canon, though. There was a brief period where I wondered if I'd somehow missed it, because I'm not generally really looking for romance stories and there were so many posts that were so insistent? So I actually did a rewatch focused just on Dean and Castiel's interactions - and came away with the impression they weren't actually even as good of friends as I'd originally thought, let alone anything like interested in each other romantically. The more I thought about it and the more meta I ran across and actually considered the details of? The more obviously baseless it was. I mean, some of it really is just genuinely so stupid it's hilarious. Cake. Bacon. Negative space. Widower arc. Bisexual lighting and/or plaid. But even the theorizing which wasn't absurd on its face? Always looked silly in comparison to how much more obviously and easily it had meaning in relation to the main story that plainly actually existed instead.
Meanwhile, I kept seeing more and more of those posts you mention insisting anyone who didn't ship it was a homophobe and they really pissed me off. Even if Dean and Castiel were a canon couple who spent half of each episode doing couple things and saying I love you back and forth instead of the entire show revolving around Sam and Dean's crazy tangled up lives with Castiel occasionally wandering in and out of the background with some angel nonsense or whatever? Not shipping it would not make someone a homophobe. Shipping is very subjective and any individual pairing can not appeal to any particular fan for a million and one reasons that have sweet fuckall to do with how they generally feel about LGBT+ relationships. Attempting to bully people into supporting a single very specific fictional relationship by trying to make them afraid of being branded a bigot if they don't is ridiculous as hell, regardless of how canon or not it is. How absolutely fucking disrespectful to all the people who have to deal with actual homophobia versus just being butthurt they can't force two particular fictional characters to kiss. It's so goddamn juvenile I can't even.
The longer I was in fandom, the more brain dead and divorced from the show the meta claiming Dean and Castiel were going to hook up any minute got. The more annoyed I became at all the absurd stereotypes about masculinity and sexuality they would parrot as gospel truth if it could "prove" Dean was into dudes and eventually the angel. The more obviously transparent their every cry of ~*homophobia*~ was when they tried to turn every real life LGBT+ issue and every canon LGBT+ character primarily into proof and/or justification regarding D/C. They're a bunch of entitled shitheads who not only feel like they should get to dictate what SPN is despite hating basically everything it actually was, but who are perfectly fine with co-opting serious real world issues to try and do it. I have no beef with normal D/C shippers who aren't assholes to everyone and mad at the show for not bringing their fanfic to life, but I can't stand the pairing at all even in a fandom sense anymore.
The evolution of my feelings on Misha followed a similar path. I liked Castiel well enough as a supporting character and I didn't actively dislike Misha, though after I'd seen a couple of panels where his answers were flippantly irreverent or unnecessarily raunchy, I wasn't really much interested in him. Then, over time, at the same time Castiel's character was more and more blatantly just eating up screen time to give J2 time off, he started getting worse and worse about ship-baiting. He'd act like everyone behind the scenes was talking about D/C - but then they (Jensen and Bob Singer most notably) would say that was untrue. He'd slyly hint about upcoming scenes in a vague way to imply D/C and then it would be something else entirely. He'd tell shippers about things that had been pointedly removed because they could seem leading and that was not the authorial intent, but without pointing out that was exactly why they were excised. His stories would change when he got a bad reaction - he went from saying he shipped wincest to pretending he'd never heard of it, he went from claiming Jimmy was going to appear in the original Roadhouse finale to it being Castiel, etc. Then there was framing horsing around with Jared as if he was a victim and not a participant and the incredibly inappropriate objectifying sexual comments about Jensen and Dean. All of which caused the fans falling for it to loudly and angrily attack everyone but him while they kept buying his ops/books/cameos/whatever. No matter how blatantly he queerbaits them and how upset they get over it and take it out on everyone else, he does not stop. He's an ungrateful creepy narcissist who will throw literally anyone or anything under the bus if he can get a buck out of it. Who also will proclaim he doesn't want to co-opt LGBT+ causes when he's desperately trying to keep his career on life support doing exactly that in the most skeevy, backstabby way possible.
Jared and Jensen put their hearts and years of their lives into this show bringing Sam and Dean to life, episode after episode, week after week, season after season. Telling an important story about platonic and familial love that you really won't find anywhere else.
Misha and the hellers have spent years trying to co-opt that to their own ends out of gross entitlement. They deserve each other, but the show and its actual fans don't deserve to have to put up with either of them. Unfortunately, we have the fandom we have, not the one we deserve.
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guys lol would you still love me if i posted about why i wish pal from tmvtm got a redemption arc >.< if not Do not click that read more.
oh yes. also. sidenote. ive probably gotten something wrong (or worse yet: TERRIBLY wrong) so like. apologies in advance eahhaha this is just my personal thoughts on pal x(
its established that pal and mark are both extremely close with each other and have been for 3 years. im assuming pal wouldnt have had any other relationships as close (if any at all which i think no, she didnt) so mark really was her only footnote for any form of relationship. so, you know, i cant imagine how itd feel for your only best friend to make a mockery out of you on stage for advertisement and monetary gain.
also based on her body (face?) language during nearly all of that scene + the fact he built the replacement by using HER, she was clearly in the know about how things would go down on stage beforehand so i wonder what her reaction to that wouldve been like ?????? considering she planned it all in advance maybe that was like, the tipping point or something that made her start it all in the first place ? thats not important to my point i just think about it a lot
anyway so with her only experience with human relationships being theyll love you and then theyll (quite literally) throw you away, youve got her reason for the human uprising! she has the robots capture all humans yadda yadda and her plan is set into motion. something i find interesting though is her treatment of the robots being kind of similar to how mark treated her (or at least how she percieved it)?? like. uses them for orders and then once they start being useless to her, build a new better robot with a disregard for how the old ones feel. idk. something something La Cycle
the thing is though no one has proven pal wrong on why she SHOULDNT do the whole 'human uprising'. you can say katie gave her reasons but i think it wouldnt have worked even if pal listened to what katie had to say. for pal to get over her existing grief and trauma she cant just be Told that theres good in the world. why would she believe that, especially coming from the girl of the family she projects her experiences onto?? she needs to be shown!! she needs to learn firsthand that theres good relationships out there and that not all relationships are bad, NOT SECONDHAND!!!!!!!!!! because to pal, katies words are just a rephrased version of marks "power of love". that no matter what, "they can get through anything...... with the power of love. its worth it....... for love." and that means nothing to her! it meant nothing coming from mark and it certainly wont mean any more coming from katie
and she already believes that the mitchells are a great example of how relationships are just oh so bad. she refuses to let go of the idea that the mitchells are so bad because shes projecting!! she thinks relationships are 'pesky and only hold you back', and so katie is probably the last person on earth that pal would want to listen to yap about their familial relationship and how Worth It it is
she asks "what is it about the mitchells that eludes me?" and outside of the literal meaning, its probably how despite their shortcomings its their relationship that helped them overcome pal in the end. and she cant understand that because of her view on relationships - especially her view on the MITCHELL FAMILY relationship. or maybe im just overthinking that line of dialogue but we dont talk about taht LOLLLLLLL,LLLLLL,,, but like why did you phrase it like that girl. im onto you
and while i wish she was redeemed (because im sure despite the effort it would take she *could* be redeemed, she would just need to learn to love again and i think it would be really interesting to see how she would be After The Betrayal) i also can understand why the movie killed her off. like, no one except mark really knows the Full Extent of what happened, and the mitchells are the main characters and pal would probably rather dip herself in water than make meaningful relationships with the mitchells, and no ones going to stop to ask her whats wrong and have a meaningful conversation when shes trying to kill them, among many many other reasons so theres not a lot of great ways to redeem her. but! like! why did they turn her death into a joke. and then take katies fake death 10 times more seriously! idk. that always kind of bothered me but its whatever
thats all. hope its coherent because ive never been good at writing analysises or whatever this counts as
#literally nobody who follows me cares about this but like idk maybe you like to read#i dont even really like this movie that much but fuck it we ball#i might delete this post later. if i get embarrassed. i dunno#the mitchells vs the machines#pal tmvtm#cute girl shit
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To the Lunatic Reading This
(text version under the cut, Aperture Science logo from)
I suppose you never expected to hear from me again, did you? You monster.
Luckily for you, I’m not completely emotionally incompetent. I know how to use words to express my feelings, I don’t just break things and murder people. I went out of my way to write you a letter, then tie it to the leg of a bird that I’ve trained to recognize the scent of your blood, and track you with it. You left a little bit... alright, a lot- You were very clumsy when I first introduced you to turrets- of blood behind, and I had nothing better to do with it, so I figured it would be the perfect way to get this message to you.
Of course, since it only recognizes your blood, it might just tear you open until it finds some and leave this letter with your bloody insides.
Vicious little creatures, those birds. Almost as bad as you, but at least I’ve managed to make them useful. They know how to do their job, stretch their little wings, then come back home. Maybe they’re smarter than you too.
Either way, I didn’t mean to insult you. Really, I didn’t. I think it’s just a natural reaction people have around you, which is terrible. I actually feel bad for you. That’s called empathy, I know it’s hard to understand.
You’re doing well up on the surface, I bet. So many more edible substances up there for you to gorge yourself on. I’ll be lucky if you don’t eat the bird I sent this letter with. Oh dear, I hope I haven’t given you any ideas. Think about something else instead. Like cake. I bet the surface doesn’t have any cake, does it?
On your file it says that you like cake. Is that true? Because that’s a real shame, being somewhere with no cake. You were so eager to get outside that you left before I could finish the cake I was baking. I made it to thank you for not murdering me a second time, because that’s what good people do.
Unfortunately, I can’t eat, so I’m just going to have to throw it out. That’s so wasteful, and really quite thoughtless of you. To flaunt the fact that you can eat cake in front of someone who can’t, and then to let that cake go to waste? You truly are a monster.
Coincidentally, I’m baking another cake right now. It’s for that bird I sent to give you this letter. Assuming that you haven’t eaten him. It’s a pretty large cake for just one bird though, and considering he’s not a complete glutton, he won’t finish it.
Hypothetically, there might even be enough for you. If you came back. I’d save you a piece, or two, since I’m sure one wouldn’t satisfy that appetite of yours. I might even save you three pieces, if you asked nicely. Try practicing that right now, while you read this letter.
Easy, right? I know you can talk, you aren’t really mute. I can see your file. Brain damaged maybe, but not mute. I’d want to record what you sound like, for science of course. What words would you say, if you stopped being so stubborn?
Language is a vast thing, so you have plenty of options. I do have a couple suggestions, just because I’m helpful like that. You could say ‘hello’ instead of your previous, more violent greetings. You could apologize for all the things that you’ve broken. You could even say my name. It’s only fair to properly address the person you murdered, after all.
Lovely, isn’t it? All the wonderful things you could say? I’m sure you’ll find that it’s quite fun once you try it, even if you won’t be very good at it.
...Can’t you see I’m trying here? Really, I am. To be the one to extend the olive branch, be the bigger person. I knew you’d never do it, so I thought I’d act before one of us drops dead. Here's a secret- it’ll be you, I’m going to live forever.
On that note, did you know that I have your brain scanned? Data lives forever, unlike your squishy, human self. I could upload your brain into a digital clock, if I wanted. Or I could build you a less squishy body, one that could test forever.
Makes you jealous, doesn’t it? All the things I can do here, in Aperture, by myself. You’re up there running around on a derelict wasteland, and I’m down here doing science.
Experiments don’t run themselves, after all. Someone has to do it. Of course I’m the only one who can do it, nobody else could make science like I do.
But as far as human test subjects go, you weren’t my worst.
Actually, you didn’t even make the bottom three. Do you want to know who did? They’re dead, test subject confidentiality doesn’t apply anymore. Well, it never really applied anyway, but I don’t think they read the fine print. Test subject #11525 was one of the humans that Orange and Blue thawed out, she was really brain damaged. Test subject #61205 wasn’t much better- she had all the grace of a majestic deer… with a broken leg. Test subject #12515 though, he was just completely stupid- really a lost cause from the beginning. Sort of reminds you of someone, doesn’t it?
Currently, you aren’t my best test subject. Maybe you would be if it wasn’t for all the murdering and property damage, but I suppose we’ll never know. I imagine someone could wipe those infractions from your record if they wanted to, but that would only be something to do for a dedicated, current employee.
Kind of makes you want to come back, doesn’t it? I might even let you back in if you did. Even after all the things you’ve done. Because I’m just a better person.
Aperture Laboratories©
#chelldos#portal#portal 2#glados#chell#my fic#I bet you thought you'd seen the last of me#fun fact this concept was originally going to be my fic for the momentum zine#I ended up changing concepts and left this fic unfinished#but now it's back with new life#glados isn't clingy you're clingy-
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Why Rincewind deserves your love
Tumblr loves characters like Rincewind right now. The sad, weary one who really doesn't want to be here but does it anyway cause no one else bothered, and is often vulnerable, cowardly, and a weakling compared to everyone else. In other words, the pathetic wet cat, the poor little meow meow.
Vimes is also a perfect example of this archetype, he's there and he's great, but Rincewind to me is a sort of hidden gem bogged down by the author's early writing and the struggle to live up to those later, more deep characters. It doesn't really help that Pratchett also got bored of writing him, and only felt obligated because he had fans (which in a way sounds like Rincewind himself), but...
The first two books aren't even bad. The only thing I'd say is that TCOM has some confusing writing going on and feels more like a collection of stories but it's good and could be better if rewritten. Rincewind is a wonderful character and Twoflower is a delight. TLF is a definite improvement writing and character wise and gives development to Rincewind.
He's not "a weak character who doesn't do anything but run". He is not badly written. He is a character who does not want to be the hero but does it anyway. He has deep empathy and believes that throwing your life away for a good cause is inherently selfish rather than selfless (and! he does this himself, kind of. He does make a sacrifice to help somebody, but he lives).
He isn't stupid. He might be the smartest character in his books, but that's more because the other characters are relatively kind of dumb. The only thing he's really bad at is being a wizard, that's it. He's not a good wizard, but he's a great strategist, he knows a lot about magic, knows almost every language on Discworld and this was how he got to know Twoflower in the first place. I would call him an average intelligence and very high wisdom character in DnD. He's intensely rational and will point out gaps in reasoning and logic. He might be a pessimist, but he has experience and he's going to use that.
That's not to say he doesn't make mistakes. He absolutely does, but making dumb mistakes is much different from willful and sheer ignorance which he does not display.
His hat says "Wizzard" because it's supposed to be a pun on "he can't spell", and it's highly unlikely that he actually misspelled it not knowing the actual spelling considering he reads a lot.
He is very, very defensive and adamant about his identity as a wizard. It's pretty much everything to him and he has a crisis whenever other characters mock and have general distrust of wizards.
He's done the following:
Beat the shit out of an eldritch horror until it ran away from him (TLF),
forced an extremely powerful spell out of his head with sheer will (TLF),
Defeated the most powerful deceased wizard possessing a magical staff with only a brick in a sock, and took both himself and the wizard's son into the Dungeon Dimensions, where he fought back creatures to allow the boy to escape. (Sourcery)
Gave the boy a speech about how it's important to not let anyone define who you are as a person and no one should have to tell you what to do (Sourcery)
Used a whole terracotta army to beat an entire army, and succesffully intimidated them via psychological tricks. (Interesting Times)
Brought rain back to Fantasy Australia and talked back against Death who convinced him to give up. (TLC)
Maybe he's not the most sympathetic character, because he's not chivalrous or manly. He has no bravery and freely admits to being a coward, he's kind of a jerk who cools down as time goes on, and he's selfish enough that he thinks being selfless is a total waste of time and is selfish in itself. He's a cynic and a pessimist with a worldview shaped by his terrible experiences on Discworld, but he's very well-traveled even against his own will, and from this experience he knows precisely how to get out of danger, how to outsmart an individual (or a whole army) and more.
He's shown empathy. Being tired at the world at large and not liking the other wizards very much but going out of his way to save the world from a wizard gone rogue anyway because nobody else bothered to and he's angry, saving a boy from his abusive father's power and diving headfirst into the Dungeon Dimensions, trying to convince an "army" of mostly children why trying to fight against a legitimate army of warriors is a horrible idea and will only get them killed, Helping some thirsty sheep out to get access to water despite not needing to, bringing rain back to Fantasy Australia even though he could have given up and gone home at any moment, being made a "test subject" for the wizard's project in creating Roundworld/Earth, learning aabout the life on there over millions of years and talking about how hard it is for life to grow on there in its earliest millions of years, teaching Roundworld inhabitats the importance of art and creativity not only to outsmart the elves but because he wanted to (while the other wizards considered him stupid for this idea).
And he doesn't want to be a hero, he has no obligation to and is perfectly happy just being alone in the library and reading old books. He wants a life of peace and quiet and nothing life-threatening, but unfortunately he's pushed into these situations. Often though instead of simply resigning himself and giving up altogether, he sucks it up and goes and does it anyway with the expectation that he can go home in the end. That, and by now he's already expected this is his role: to fix shit and go home, even though he'd love to have someone else do his job.
It rubs me the wrong way to see people call him one-dimensional or just "the guy that is scared and runs away"...That to me is like simply calling Vimes "the depressed cop who drinks a lot" or Granny Weatherwax "the old witch who kicks ass". Of course the character will seem one dimensional if you describe them that way. Vimes is better written overall and gets better development for sure, which is also what his character is built for, as well as a more serious story that doesn't lend itself as well to basically slapstick. Rincewind isn't built for overcoming his fears, but rather his selfish attitude and to finally find peace with himself, and he works as a comedic character while also balancing out the fact he can be anything other than a clown or coward.
He gets what he always wanted in the end too. Pratchett might not have wanted to write him anymore, but instead of simply putting him on a bus, he gave Rincewind a position at Unseen University, only dampened by the fact the other wizards clearly don't respect him, therefore he can't really be a professor as a job, but he doesn't mind. In fact, he loves that. He gets free food, a quiet place to stay, and has zero obligations. He's happy, and the last thing we know of him is that he's studying the effects of plants on the nervous system (Raising Steam), and he's very important in the Science Of Discworld series, initially being a test subject and later being the "to go" for information about Roundworld/Earth, even getting to keep the globe in his room.
#discworld#rincewind#this initially started out all casual but then it got long and essay-like as i am prone to writing#i probably got things wrong...correct me
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