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athanasius-symposium-of-writings · 9 months

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All I Have Is Yours

Chapter One

Rated Explicit | Warning: Usual period drama

Ao3

Chapter Two

“I could take everything and leave you with nothing. Your only choice would be to work at a brothel.” The prospector's words are cold, sharp as the metal of a newly made pickaxe.

“Would you… Visit me?” There you sit in the carriage-style automobile with Norton beside you, “I would hope you will allow me to still show my love for you.” Shy as you look down and toy with the button on your coat. “For free of course! I don't deserve a cent of your money.”

Norton frowns, his grip on his knee pressing hard enough his blunt nails are digging into the fabric of his new pants. A full suit with a long coat, something he never thought he would ever afford let alone own.

You place your hand on top of his, gloveless so he can feel the warmth of your hand, “I love you, Mr. Campbell. I do not expect it in return but I hope you do not mind my love for you.”

He stares at the wedding ring on your finger, it matches his own. A simple design, gold, and he weighs on him for he is using it to keep you on a leash. A leash you happily put on yourself as you hand him the control and power he always wanted. No, Norton wants security and not have to fight for scraps every day of his life!

Norton sneers as he hisses out with venom yet it holds no potency, “Pathetic.” His head turns towards the window but his eyes are on you, the sweet smile on your pretty face he can see through the window reflection. You would– Have given him everything.

The paperwork was completed, the marriage certificate was signed, and just recently he got to see your father's company as the owner. It was in vigoring.

The arrival to the manor, his manor now, couldn't happen sooner. From what he read in the newspaper about your father, he built this place in honor of your mother who passed after your birth. The article says he put his ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ into this place but Norton has seen your father’s hands. That man has never seen a day of hard labor in his life.

The driver stops in front of the entrance to first let you out then Notorn, a bow follows and they return to the car to park in the back. You stand beside your husband, hand nervous to hold his.

A sharp whistle comes from those no longer chapped lips, “All this is mine.” Greed.

“I do hope you like it here.” You stay following him to the door where the butler opens it and slightly bows as he delivers a form greeting and welcome.

Then your husband slams the door on you, right in front of your face.

“Do not let that waste of space in!” He ordered the butler as he took off his coat and tossed it to the maid who stood there utterly shocked and holding his coat in her waiting arms.

There is silence as he stands there with his fist clenching and unclenching, a rage that spilled threats to take him. He breathes in and out, slowly as he counts. His right hand touches his left hand where he feels your lingering warmth, those pretty eyes of yours that easily express your love for him.

The prospector has won, he has everything that bastard owned all in his name, he even has you as an insult to injury. You, pretty you, this wedding ring is based on a drawing you made and hoped he liked before commissioning it to be crafted.

“Damn it.” Hating himself at the moment, his head turning slightly at the door is so brutally closed on you with the adding insult of ordering the butler to not open it for you. Worse is there is no knock from you or so much as a peep of distress. Self-punishment? Were you expecting him to be a cruel husband? One who would give you a cold shoulder and an even colder bed? Norton’s hands clinched into fists has he hated the idea of proving such a thing right, would it not be better if he had you fonding over him while your father rolled in his grave? Worse is when you have his children! Your father’s name will die with him and the Campbell name will takeover everything all things the bastard made.

You stood there for a while, it is cold out here too, but you waited. Then you sit down at the entrance and look up at the clouds, you pretend each cloud has a story. Childish, maybe, but you lived a sheltered life and your only form of freedom was gazing upon the cloud outside of rooms you often lingered in.

A cold wind blows, the first snowfall starts and you smile wide as you stand up with your hands open to catch the snowflakes.

The door opened, the light limited by the tall body blocking it, “Get inside.” When you heard him, you jumped a bit. He hates that, which makes him feel bad even though he clings to his hatred. It was easy when he just saw your father; when he was digging through dirt. Now he finds himself both given power and control willingly by the silver spoon-fed child of that asshole.

“Thank you!” Polite. He wants to make you cry. “Tsk.” Ignoring how you are shivering yet not moving after from the door once inside. “Well! Go get warmed up.” He moves to the side letting you pass him, he can smell the perfume you wore today and see the snowflakes that got caught in your hair. So beautiful and his.

“Okay.” You leave to go upstairs.

The butler is giving him a nasty look.

Norton avoids you the rest of the day until dinner is served in the dining area. A dining area, the type he had seen only once when he was looking through a window of a house when he was cold and alone a New Year’s Day. A party as everyone celebrated… He wished he threw that brick at that damn window to this day.

As the former miner sits here with you at the opposite end of the fairly wide table, the dinner is prepared in a lovely display. It looks gluttonous how much there is for just the two of you— He doesn't know where to start so he looks to you only to see you are served something different.

The servants give you soup after seeing you more than once sniffling and coughing. Oh… He glances away silently cursing himself knowing what he did likely has gotten sick.

“(Name),” He cannot help the pain in his chest when you gaze upon him like he is the most beloved creature you have ever seen. “...” Looking away embarrassed.

“I understand.” You say.

“No, you don’t.” He says with a bitter laugh, “Your pops made sure you would not have to understand.”

This is true, your father kept you safe, clothed, fed, and loved; though his love could be overbearing and controlling. Your life was schooled, and mapped out, and you had no say in the changes and decisions made. It was only after his death did you make your first choice. In the hospital you found Norton there covered in bandages and casks, there you told him your proposal.

“Do you like it?” Watching him at first take cautious bites then becoming ravenous. Grabbing the plates, and though he did his best to have table manners, he ate a grand portion of the food made.

He is about to speak but stops himself the second he does, Norton nods his head as swallows the food in his mouth, “Not bad.”

You chuckle at his words.

#idv #idv x you #idv reader insert #idv x reader #idv prospector #reader insert #ao3 fanfic #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader #norton campbell x you #identity v x you #identity v x reader #idv norton

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whetstonefires · 2 days

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After seeing your weatherbugapp reblog i installed duckduckgo and tried it.

I don't know much about technology tbh but i downloaded this app less than 30 mins ago and in that time google tried to track me 112 times?? And they tried to collect finger prints? And my first and last name? And my gender? And my country, state and city? My gps coordinates? My postal code? My network carrier? My fricking battery level for whatever reason? Can you please tell me if this is normal at all, because i'm freaking out right now. I just turned 18 and started using mobile banking and stuff and this shit scares me

Why tf does it need to know my screen density???my system volume????my charging status????? What tf are they cooking

Now it's at 476 tracking attempts bro???? barely 5 mins passed.....

I condensed your three asks into one for readability!

And yeah, I'm very far from an expert about any of this, but as far as I know that's just. Normal. That's the normal amount of spying they're doing on your phone. I assume the numbers we see are to some extent because having been foiled, a lot of these scripts try repeatedly, since I can't imagine what use thousands of trackers per phone would be even to the great aggregators.

Tracking the phone stuff like screen resolution and battery level is because (apart from that definitely not being considered remotely 'private' so it's Free Real Estate) in aggregate that data can be used to track what phone use patterns are like on a demographic scale and therefore. Where the smart money is.

Almost all of this is getting sold in bulk for ad targeting and market analysis. This does presumably make it very hard to notice when like. Actually important stuff is being spied on, which is why I feel better about Having Apps with the duckduckgo app blocker thing.

My bank's app reportedly sells data to a couple aggregators including Google. Not like, my banking info, but it's still so offensive on principle that I avoid using the app unless I have to, and force stop it afterward.

The patterns that show up on the weekly duckduckgo blocker report are interesting. Hoopla attempts about two orders of magnitude more tracking than Libby, which makes sense because they're a commercial streaming service libraries pay by the unit for access, while Libby is a content management software run by a corporation that values its certification as a 'B' company--that is, one invested in the public good that can be trusted. The cleanness of their brand is a great deal of its value, so they have to care about their image and be a little more scrupulous.

Which doesn't mean not being a little bit spyware, because everything is spyware now. Something else I've noticed is that in terms of free game apps, the polished professional stuff is now much more invasive than the random kinda janky thing someone just threw together.

Back in the day you tended to expect the opposite, because spyware was a marginal shifty profit-margin with too narrow a revenue stream to be worth more to an established brand than their reputation, but now that everyone does it there's not a lot of reputation cost and refraining would be sacrificing a potential revenue stream, which is Irresponsible Conduct for a corporation.

While meanwhile 'developing a free game app to put on the game store' is something a person can do for free with the hardware they already have for home use, as a hobby or practice or to put on their coding resume. So while such apps absolutely can be malicious and more dangerous when they are than The Big Brand, they can also be neutral in a way commercial stuff no longer is. Wild world.

But yeah for the most part as far as I can make out, these are just The Commercial Panopticon, operating as intended. It's gross but it probably doesn't indicate anything dangerous on an individual level.

#answers #womadfem #ask #hoc est meum #data privacy

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fti-incorporation · 1 year

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The PDE Certificate, or Professional Development in Education Certificate, offered by FTI is designed for educators and professionals working in the field of education. This certification equips individuals with the knowledge and skills needed to excel in their roles and make a positive impact in the education sector.

#PDE Certification Company #ADE Certification Company #PDE Certificate

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jqmalikhsgib · 9 months

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quest

three

when emily received your phone call she knew immediately she had to inform jj. telling her everything. from where you’ve been this entire time to why you’re in jail.

jj was shocked and a bit pissed she kept this from her. she was close to you as well. but she understood why. she would not agree with you keeping your pregnancy away from hotch and constantly tell you that.

but now she had to tell the team. she knew she’d have to inform hotch first before they flew to houston texas and figure out why they’ve arrested you for a crime they know you could never commit.

jj sighs as she walks to hotches office and knocks. “come in.”

jj gives him a look and he knew they had a case.

“ill inform the team.”

“wait! this isn’t just some case hotch. it’s about yn.”

hotch heart starts to beat out of his chest. what could this be about? were you okay? where exactly were you this whole time? had you been alive? fuck! he hoped the last thing you remembered wasn’t him cheating. he couldn’t bare that.

“just—just tell me she’s alive jj?!”

“she’s alive.”

he breaths a sigh of relief.

“but she was arrested for murder charges last night. she’s currently in houston texas.”

“murder?! we know she didn’t do this!”

“yes! we know her well. but she was near the body, blood all over her clothes, and the weapon had her fingerprints on it. she looks good for the crime.”

“what do we know?!”

“we should get the team together and discuss. but first there’s something else you should know.”

“this is insane! yn won’t hurt a fly! how could they possibly believe she’s the killer?!” derek shakes his head.

“guys! we gotta focus. we all care about yn but she needs our help more than anything. penelope what have you found on the victim?”

“oh, yes sir. robert kelp. he’s the ceo of a dna company. he has helped many families find so many lost loved ones. he’s donated to plenty of charities to stop human trafficking and even helped sex workers get back on their feet if needed. oh. he was a very kind man. says he’s—oh, sir. it says that he started the business because long ago he’s fallen in love but was sent to afghanistan. his lover at the time let him know she was pregnant but lost the baby. when he got home he tried to find her. after years of searching he found out she ended her life through her father. she couldn’t take the lost of her baby.”

“could you find any records of the woman, baby girl?”

“um—i found her name. sarah wilson. but—”

“what is it?”

“there’s no death certificate. and—oh, god!”

“what? what is it p?”

“sarah jones. currently married to a darius y/l/n.”

“that’s—”

“holy shit!”

i love leaving you all in suspense!

anyway i got a person on my taglist for stone cold.

please let me know if you want to be added or unadded <3

taglist:

@ivebeenthearchersstuff

#aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #hotch x you #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x female reader #hotch #hotch x black reader #aaron hotchner x black!reader #quest jqhotchner

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charlott2n · 23 days

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hiii accountant here. i used to do our bookkeeping when i was a baby in undergrad but then we hired a contract bookkeeper after i started doing actual accounting work so i know both sides. quickbooks online (QBO) is what like 99% of small/medium businesses use (these are the ppl most likely to outsource their bookkeeping work, big companies will have their own software or use SAP or smth and more likely have in-house teams). without experience/qualifications think you’d be best off trying to get a position at a place that just does bookkeeping services for other companies, i’d check job ads for bookkeepers to see what sort of qualifications they ask for but having a certificate or something that says you know your way around QBO is good. any 101 intro accounting course will cover fundamentals about the work as well

great tysm!!!!

#asks

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abibliophobiaa · 1 year

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Beyond — s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Two: I Think I Wanna Marry You

a/n: here’s chapter two of my purely self-indulgent fun, which shouldn’t be taken very seriously, if at all fic. haha. wanted to play around with one of my favorite tropes, so here we are with modern day!rich!fake husband!steve harrington x afab!reader.

warnings/tags: hugely unedited; mentions of alcohol; parent loss, both parties; r has a sister and father; smut in later chapters, so 18+, minors dni; additional tags to be added.

masterlist

The move itself brings a second dose of reality you never fully thought through.

Seeing Steve there, with his dark BMW, sunglasses on his face. He’s popped the trunk already and it’s with that sudden clarity you’re reminded that it’s happening.

That this is real and not some dream you’ve imagined in your mind.

You’re marrying him. In four weeks. Thirty days, exactly. A countdown to the next three years of your life. The other half of your “paperwork” you’re going to sign when you scribble your name along that certification of your marriage.

You work in comfortable silence. Robin and Nancy come along too for assistance, and with the combination of efforts, Steve’s car is packed in less than two hours. You’re shocked he’s even bothered to do it himself, and not order some sort of moving company. But when you point that out to him, he only shrugs and says he wanted to help.

Apparently it’s the least he can do for getting a wife at the end of all of this.

That and countless zeros on a check that he doesn’t even need or want.

Once your things are all settled in the trunk and backseat, Robin wanders over to where you both stand on the sidewalk, arms looping tight around your frame. She steps back and moves to tousle Steve’s hair, earning a sharp jerk of his body out of contact and an utterance of complaint from the taller man.

With a snort, she says, “You love me, don’t deny it.”

And he does. You know that much. He’s been closer with Robin for a year or so now. A direct result of her relationship with Nancy. Nancy’s job as a journalist, often documenting his life or the accolades of his family, has established a bond between the three. You try to tamper that slight jealousy.

The fact is that both Robin and Eddie have more insight into the man you’re marrying than you do.

You were always too busy, after all. Working or deep in your own studies and missing out on the many evenings Steve invited them all to join him in his outings. You suppose you’ll rectify that soon. There’s a lot two people can learn in three years—if he’s open to it, that is.

That awareness of truly not knowing him settles in as you clamber into the passenger seat, thumb sliding awkwardly over the band of your engagement ring to fiddle idly. He turns the dial on the music, something pop and current, and you lean back against your seat, letting the quiet of the morning wash over you.

You wake some time later to the sound of Steve’s voice in your ear, announcing, “Hey. We made it.”

Sleep lingers in your eyes as you shift in your seat to take him in. Dark eyes greet yours, sunglasses tucked into the neckline of his shirt. Your gaze then slides to the imposing building on a side of the city you’ve never really ventured outside of your coffee date with him some days prior.

It stands proud, tall and looming, with workers at the ready, prepped with carts for your things.

“They’ll take care of bringing everything up, and I thought maybe we could grab a coffee,” he suggests, moving to open his door. He tosses the valet his key and waltzes over to your side, opening the door for you. “How does that sound?”

You’re suddenly aware of the state of your clothes. Nothing more than a pair of baggy mom jeans and a striped tee shirt. Some white tennis shoes that are veering on brown in some areas from overuse.

Then there’s Steve, in dark wash jeans and a shirt you know likely still cost him a small fortune. Effortlessly handsome as always with a Chanel watch strapped around the wrist extended toward you.

You take his palm, nearl tripping over the bump of the curb as you go, your side thumping against his. He curls you there instead of letting you go, an arm around your shoulder, waving to the workers as they shift and swirl around you.

Keeping up appearances already, you suppose.

One pauses to dip their head your way, beaming brightly, asking, “It’s the girl from Instagram. Congratulations, Miss. Or rather, soon to be Mrs. Harrington.”

The name drops something akin to cool dread in your stomach. But you smile all the same. “You know what they say. When you know—” You tip your head up to look at him, gripping him by the jaw and giving him a soft wiggle. “You know.”

In your palm, Steve forces a grin. A little wild, a little smushed and silly, but the worker smiles all the same and wishes you both a good morning. Leaves you standing beside your soon to be husband on the side of an unfamiliar street, in an unfamiliar new town, ready to walk into your unfamiliar home.

“Coffee sounds good, actually,” you decide, wanting to be anywhere other than stuck in the awkward silence of the moment, and follow him down the sidewalk.

By the time you return, Steve’s been alerted that all your things have been brought up to the penthouse. Coffee in hand, you walk through the swirling doors, standing as close to Steve as humanly possible without truly touching him. There are people there to greet him, realizations in the back of your mind that he must be well-known. Amicable and kind, they offer warm welcomes to both you and your future husband as you’re led to an elevator that brings you all the way up to the top floor.

It’s from there, you’re brought into the place you’ll be spending the next few years. But what greets you is far greater than you even imagined. Endless floor to ceiling windows that overlook the cityscape. High, vaulted ceilings, impossibly white walls. Dark furniture throughout the living area, the kitchen. Against the living room wall rests the largest television you’ve seen, presently off, though Steve turns it on to allow some music to play and break the awkward silence as he walks you around.

He’s already told you the general layout of his space: two bathrooms, multiple bedrooms, a fully decked out personal gym, movie area, dining area, outdoor patio, a study that also poses as his office, a library. It seems impossible to have this much space, and yet the further into the suite you walk, the more real it becomes.

“Seems not lived in, though,” you comment out loud, taking in the impressively clean place. Especially knowing Steve doesn’t spend much time at all here. “Like there’s all this space and nothing to fill it with.”

He huffs out a laugh, not disagreeing. “You can spruce it up if you want. I’ll give you my card. Whatever you like to make it feel like yours. Because, well, it is yours.”

“Yours, mine, and ours, right?” You awkwardly laugh, walking over to look out the windows and take in the bustling city below. “It’s amazing.”

“It’s…yeah, you know, I guess it is.” He sidles up next to you, peering out where you are. He frowns, contemplative. “I guess I don’t think about it often. I wake up to it every day.”

Another stark reminder of just how different your lives are.

“How was wedding planning with my mom?” he asks, drawing you attention to his face. His fingers card through his hair, his feet carrying him over to the kitchen to pull out a glass. He adds a second, asking, “Anything to drink?”

“Water is fine,” you say, hands clasped behind your back as you join him. “We went over color schemes. I ended up with pale pinks, lavenders and a tiny pop of gold. More so the accents. We will be looking for a dress tomorrow. Kind of shitting myself over that one.”

“I can come—if you want?” He suggests, holding your glass in front of him.

“Isn’t that bad luck?” you tease, taking a sip.

“Pretty sure that’s only at the wedding.”

“Right.” The wedding. In thirty days. “I mean, if you wanted to come…”

“I’ll be there,” he promises, opening his phone and showing you the calendar app. “What time?”

“Your mother got us a private appointment at twelve. I told her she didn’t have to do that but—”

“She’s excited. She’s getting a daughter out of this. Sometimes I think she wishes I’d been a girl,” he laughs, though there’s a hint of bitterness there you don’t miss. “Here—let me show you your room.”

You trail after him in silence, eyes taking in everything you pass. Boring, empty walls. No pops of color. No personal photos. Nothing indicative of life. Not even a shred of memorabilia from his childhood, or something of sentimental value from his boyhood. It seems odd, though you don’t press him on it. Instead you allow him to bring you through the tour, before stopping in front of a closed door.

“This,” he says, tapping on the exterior, “is my room. In case you ever need me. And here…”

You walk further down the way and stop in front of another door. “Will be your room. All your things will have already been moved in. You just have to unpack and make it yours. I do have some work I need to get to now, but I’m around if you need me.”

“It’s the weekend…” you point out, fingers around the door handle.

“Yeah,” he agrees, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “But with all that’s going on, I want to make sure everything is taken care of before the wedding and our honeymoon.”

Honeymoon.

Right.

To that private island in the Maldives.

A honeymoon for two people who are most definitely not intimate and, therefore, should not be spending money like this is anything more than a mere sham.

Still, your flights are booked, accommodations made, and itinerary is set. It was the first thing his mother had done other than figuring out what color palette you preferred.

“So, uh, I’ll talk to you…later then,” you say, shifting awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Yeah, later.” He nods.

And suddenly, you’re Cinderella once more.

Standing there in that doorway, in her too-big home, with that pumpkin instead of a carriage.

Though you’ve never spent much time fantasizing about shopping for your wedding dress, it never quite looks like what you see around you now.

For starters, you imagined your mother would be there. Kind, bright and smiling. There to tell you how beautiful you look, to coax you through your nerves, to remind you that this is the most special day of your life coming up and to just enjoy the moment.

But it’s not. And you’re left standing on a pedestal in front of Mrs. Harrington, your father, sister, Eddie and Robin. Further off in the distance is Steve, phone against his face as it has been since you woke that morning.

Steve’s always busy, you soon realize. In the private car to take you to the boutique? He had a work conference call. In the kitchen while you ate your breakfast? Another phone call. Now here, while a bridal attendant works with his mother to find you some options to try on? He’s got some major meltdown to help sort out.

You understand, and yet there’s a slight sting there you’re not expecting. The idea that he said he would be there for your try-on session, but he’s not really there. Not emotionally, at least.

“Still can’t believe you got Eddie to come,” Caroline laughs, elbowing the man in question as he snatches her up and shakes her vigorously. “Stop it, asshole—”

“Caroline!” your father snaps, leaning back into the couch cushion as another attendant passes out glasses of champagne for all present.

They even manage to find some juice for your sister, so she feels involved with the process.

“So, we picked a few beautiful pieces. A lot of these are brand new, so you won’t have to worry about someone else wearing the same dress—”

“Oh I’m not concerned about—”

Mrs. Harrington clears her throat, waving her champagne flute in the air. “Only the best for my future daughter in law.”

You shoot a weak grin Robin’s way.

Eddie gives you a reassuring thumbs up, arm still around Caroline’s neck despite her protesting.

The next few hours are a whirlwind of trying on dress after dress. Fancy beading, endless lace, plunging backs, dramatic trains, striking silhouettes.

You’re decked in beading from head to toe, diamond encrusted gowns, gowns that look like they’re better suited for royalty than on the girl who grew up in Hawkins. Who worked at her little hole in the wall restaurant and had a normal, unglamorous upbringing.

It hits you as you’re standing there, with a veil that looks to be studded with expensive jewels, staring at your own reflection that this isn’t you. None of these are. And even if you’re marrying someone to help them fulfill a will and to secure a debt for your own self, there’s a part of you that wants to do things your way.

If you’re going to get married to Steve Harrington, you want to feel like yourself while doing it. “Do you have something more…simple? Classic. Understated, maybe?”

The bridal attendant looks to your future mother-in-law like you have grown five dozen heads, and the look your mother-in-law then gives you tells you she is agreeing with the same sentiment.

Her gaze wavers, shifting over to where her son is pacing in the background, before she shifts back to where you stand on a podium.

The girl in a fancy ball gown that feels like a costume more than anything else.

“What are you thinking, sweetheart?” she asks, and you blow out a heavy breath.

Your guests shift on the couch awkwardly as you hop off the podium and peruse the dozens of racks. You point out the ones that seem more comfortable, more like something you would have picked up on your own even before all of this. Simpler designs, classical silhouettes, subtle beading.

All in all, you end up in a stunning a-line princess, v-neck wedding gown with thin straps and a pretty lace detailing along the low back.

A minimalistic veil is placed at the back of your head and draped around you like a billowing halo, trailing down the pedestal and onto the cream carpeting below.

Behind you, Eddie whistles.

Caroline snaps photos on her phone.

Robin’s shouting, “Holy shit, babe.”

And when you turn around to your father and future mother-in-law, you know you’ve made the right decision in trusting your gut. Both have snatched tissues from a nearby tissue box and dab ceaselessly at their eyes, sniffling audibly.

“You look beautiful, honey,” your father says around a sob.

Bottom lip wobbling, you whisper, “Thank you.”

Mrs. Harrington waves in her son’s direction, calling over her shoulder, “Steve, look at your bride. Stop being rude.”

When he turns around, there’s a moment. A brief one, you think, where he pauses. Maybe it’s a realization he’s making a huge mistake, the understanding that he’s going to have a wife in a few short weeks, the idea that he’s giving up his future for three years. But there’s a thought, however fleeting, where his eyes widen and you wonder if it’s actually none of those at all.

Without a name to place that emotion to, you simply swallow and mutter softly, “Well, what do you think?”

Eddie leans against the couch, fingers draping over the plush back as he asks out loud, “Yeah, Stevie, what do you think?”

It’s a threat.

Veiled.

There’s no danger, not really, but Steve swallows all the same.

Wavers a bit as he looks to Eddie, then back to you.

He swallows again, and says, “You’re beautiful, honey.”

Disappointment sinks like an anchor of dread, because you wonder if he even means it.

Cake testing a week later fares no better. You’re still getting used to your new routine. Waking up early to an empty home in an empty room that hardly feels like yours. Steve’s usually off to sort out something with the business, while you’re left to your own devices.

Which means phone calls with the wedding planner, pictures sent back and forth between Steve and your future mother-in-law about decisions made, which Steve always just sends and thumbs up emoji back to, and trying to make sense of a wedding that only one half of the couple has been privy to.

Sure, he’d been there when you picked out your dress. But he hadn’t been for the floral arrangements, for figuring out what the bridesmaids will wear as well as the groomsmen. And he’s definitely not there when you’re presented with options for musical entertainment.

So it comes as a shock when he does end up coming for the cake testing. And since he’s free to do so, his mother stays home, suggesting it’ll be an intimate moment for you two. Something about how the cake is important.

You hold back your biting remarks about how it’s just a cake, and instead thank her.

Whine a bit on the phone to really sell the fact that you ‘miss Stevie’—in case she doubts the validity of your engagement. She’s not really shown any indications of such, but you’re growing more mindful of the importance of appearances.

Because it’s in that first week your name pops up in the popular pages of instagram and other social media platforms. There’s even a TikTok of you walking on a busy city street with Steve and Eddie, where people bring to question if you and Steve are already fighting based on your body language.

Though, you do suppose there’s some weight to their remarks. In said video, you’re standing closer to Eddie than Steve, and Steve’s phone is in the hand nearest to you. The one they suggest he should really be holding if he’s as in love as he is. It sounds ridiculous, but it does make sense.

In their eyes, you’re more likely to be dating the famous rockstar based on body language alone than your fiancé.

Wedding planning should be butterflies in your belly, heart eyes for days, wrapped up in one another sort of affection. Steve and you, on the other hand, are two people walking side by side and yet not together.

You understand you need to change that. So as you walk down the street that evening on your way to the bakery, you mutter out, “Hold my hand.”

“What?” He’s typing on his phone, as always. The sound of keyboard clicking meets your ears, before he locks the screen and slides it into his pocket.

“Hold,” you say. There’s a little extra bite this time, “my hand.”

He exhales. “Why?”

“Because you’re in love with me and we’re getting married in less than twenty days,” you remind him.

Less than three weeks. Just under that, really. A thought that immediately has your skin prickling with nervousness and anticipation. Three weeks until you have a new name, a new husband.

“And we’re on our way to our cake testing,” you add, lacing your fingers through his. “People have been talking about us on social media.”

“Saying what?” He leads you down a side street, and then another.

“That we look uncomfortable with one another. That it seems like we must be fighting, because you don’t show me any affection in public—”

“I’ve been—”

“Busy, I know. But they don’t know that, so they’ll fill in the blanks when applicable,” you explain, giving his palm a light squeeze. “So I think we should get used to the public displays of affection, don’t you? I mean, we’re going to have to kiss at the altar, for one. And then there’s the dancing at the reception. Photos. Events.”

“I guess you’re right,” he agrees.

“I know I’m right,” you joke, allowing him to open the door for you to the building.

“Cake testing can be intimate. This is one of your first meals as a couple, so it needs to be representative of your relationship. The two of you. The love you share,” the cake maker explains, her hands waving to and fro in the air like she’s painting a picture.

You glance over at Steve. He offers a shrug, likely just as uncertain as to what the hell this lady is getting at. “Pardon?”

“You want a cake that is representative of your love. A symbol—if you will.”

“It’s just a c—” Steve begins, but the older woman narrows her gaze darkly and he clears his throat. Uncomfortable. “Honey, why don’t you handle this one?”

“Oh, but darling, you’re the cake connoisseur.” You pat the hand holding yours affectionately atop the table, forcing a megawatt grin on your lips.

“Is that so?” Madeleine asks, cat eye glasses sliding lower down the bridge of her nose. “In that case, did you have any ideas for what you imagined the cake at your wedding to look like?”

Steve’s hand nervously grows tighter around yours. You hiss at the throbbing pain that develops there when your knuckles smash together. The grasp immediately loosens, a thumb coming to slide gently over the sore areas.

You choose to ignore the rush of heat that swoops low in your belly, though.

“Well—I pictured…a cake,” he expresses lamely.

“What my dear fiancé means to say is…we’ve been so caught up with the rush of wedding planning we haven’t given it much thought,” you giggly airily, faux coyness filling your tone. “You know how it is. We’re just so excited to spend the rest of our lives together. So we were hoping maybe you’d be able to suggest some options for us.”

Because you’re also not sure how to tell them your cake needs to be representative of a mix of high levels of shame and “I was drowning in debt and Steve offered assistance, so long as I become his wife.”

Madeleine huffs and gets to work.

Later, the two of you stumble back onto the street with a cake picked out and designed to Madeleine’s liking. A red velvet center with some endless swirling flowers along the exterior in the color scheme of your wedding.

“A cake reflective of our relationship,” he mutters, shaking his head as he reaches for your palm once more. “And what was that? Sacrificing me to her?”

You bat your eyelashes prettily, shrugging. “My idea of a cake is a boxed Pillsbury one. I figured you were the closest to an expert we would get. Also—you nearly broke my hand there.”

“I was stressed,” he argues, though there’s a hint of a smile curling his lips. His thumb does another one of those low sweeps that has you pausing in your footsteps. “But that was a little ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

You bark out a laugh, following him down the still unfamiliar streets leading home. “A little? I don’t know where your mother and the wedding planner found her. It’s a cake. It’s literally a cake we’re going to have one bite of before the caterers feed it to the rest of our guests.” A shudder ripples down your spine at that. “Our guests. Weird to think, huh?”

“Less than three weeks,” he muses, the two of you crossing at a streetlight. “Still feeling okay with the whole thing?”

“Okay? That's still to be determined.” He waves to someone in passing. Likely a neighbor, you assume. “Backing out? Absolutely not.”

One thing you definitely didn’t consider in this whole…fake marriage plot with Steve, is the concept of bachelor and bachelorette parties. You are obviously well aware of the typical fanfare, have been in numerous weddings as it is, but there are no parameters or guidelines in place for a wedding that has been planned in thirty days in an effort to rush to the altar.

So, you leave that part of the wedding planning up to your friends.

And somehow the end result is a joint party.

What could possibly go wrong?

“Holy shit, Steve.” Robin’s head falls back as she enters your bedroom, mouth dropping open, taking it all in. It’s the size of both your rooms combined back at your old place. “At least you got a nice place out of all this.”

You shrug, dropping down onto your bed. Fingers splay across the sheets, soft and cool beneath. Against your closet rests the white jumpsuit you’ve decided on for your party. A sleeveless number that cinches at the waist and a sweetheart neckline that cups your breasts sumptuously.

Pretty.

But there’s the dawning realization that tonight all the attention will be solely on you and Steve.

So what do you do?

“This is a terrible idea,” Steve groans, wincing as his shot goes down.

“Actually, it’s probably one of the best I’ve had,” Eddie exclaims, clapping you both on the back.

The sting of tequila burns in your nose. The flowing sash across your chest that says Mrs. Harrington rumples when your arm reaches over to place the glass back down on the countertop. Robin’s there to adjust it, grinning despite your sour expression.

“Wow, look at you two,” she coos, pulling out her phone to snap a photo. “For your story. They’ll eat it up. Plus, better to get all the cute pictures now, instead of when you’re both drunk later.”

Steve pulls you closer to take a photo, grumbling. “We are not getting drunk.”

“Steeeeve.”

You’re drunk.

“Yeah, honey bunny.”

Aaaaand so is he.

“F—” You hiccup. He laughs, leaning bodily into your shoulder. “—uck. I’m gonna kill Eddie.”

Even though Eddie’s only responsible for your first drink. Not the second, or the third, fourth…you’re not sure where you’re at now.

There’s at least an awareness that it’s enough; enough to have the room spinning when you sit down, and Steve beside you like an anchor in a shaky sea.

So when he moves to stand, your fingers curl around his wrist and drag him back down again. “No. Don’t go. We’re…to death do us part.”

“Till,” he corrects, snorting playfully. “You’re gonna see me everyday for…three years.”

“But there’s so many people here. Soooo many. And most of them are your friends,” you whine, clasping your hand in his as he leads you back out further into the people spread out along the private rooftop. “You have soooo many friends. Did you know that?”

He simply laughs, just as Eddie’s voice breaks over the noise all around you. A loud shout of, “The soon to be newlyweds should do the next round of karaoke!”

“Edward Munson, you little s—” Another hiccup. Shit, you think, we’re giggly drunk tonight. “shit. I’m gonna beat your ass like I did when we were kids.”

“It’s like something out of a fuckin’ romcom,” Steve later whines as you’re both pushed onto the stage by a bunch of cheering friends. “And they picked our song already.”

“Oh no, which one?” You slur a bit on your words, one ankle rolling like a baby deer.

Steve grasps your bicep to steady you. “Marry You by Bruno Mars.”

“Nooo,” you moan, hiding your face in his collar bone. Shit, you think, I’m a flirty drunk tonight too. “Think we can escape our own party?”

One glance out to your awaiting guests tells you that’s not at all a possibility. Steve’s there, overly affectionate now that you’ve got a crowd, with a hand on your lower back, pulling you close.

To anyone else, you’re a couple celebrating their nuptials in the next few days.

To you, you know he’s laying it on thick.

Making sure there is absolutely no question as to the validity of your marriage.

Especially with potential co workers around, with those who can easily talk rumors in the halls, who might wonder why the speedy engagement and rush down the aisle in the first place.

“One song,” you shout over the crowd, over Steve’s shoulder.

And then, in a puff of breath against his ear you whisper, “Make it count, hubby.”

“It’s a beautiful night. We’re looking for something dumb to do. Heyy babyyyy! I think I wanna marry you!” You sing.

If you can consider it that.

To Eddie it’s screeching or a shrill wail, a high pitched thing that makes everyone around you wince.

There’s interference with the mic that has Eddie’s eyes slamming shut against the sharp pang against his eardrums.

“Think we should stop them?” Robin asks out loud, watching Steve awkwardly bob and sway beside you, never really sure of what to do with his body when it comes to music.

“No,” Eddie chuckles darkly, leaning back on his chair. “Those idiots are involving us in a literal crime, so we’re going to have our fun with it.”

“Is it the look in your eyes or is it this dancing juice? Who cares, baby, I think I wanna marry you,” Steve continues, and it’s clearly not up to your standard, because you grab his arm and wiggle it frantically.

“I am marrying him!” You giggle over the microphone, extending your ring to the crowd. “Can you believe it? Mrs. Harrington.”

“Oh no,” Robin mutters, gripping Nancy’s hand beside her. “She’s giggly now.”

“She’s fucked up. She’s going to kill us in the morning,” Eddie grumbles.

Robin’s eyes widen as Nancy says, “I really feel like you two should stop them. Because Steve just grabbed her and now they’re, uh, making out on the stage—”

Robin jumps to her feet. “Oh fuck.”

You wake in the morning to a bunch of tiny needles stabbing your skull. Like someone took a jackhammer to your brain and pushed an on switch.

Brain practically groaning in your head, you lift yourself slowly into a sitting position and moan at the throb that rolls down the nape of your neck and down your spine.

Wincing, you kick your legs over the side of the bed and insert your feet into the slippers on the floor down below, sighing at the immediate comfort.

The penthouse is full of chatter. Voices mill from the kitchen, soft despite the clanging cymbals you’re convinced are in your brain. And there, at the kitchen island, stands none other than your two (ex) best friends and your soon to be husband, cups of coffee held against their temples, shame ebbing from their forms.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Robin coos, turning around to gauge your expression.

You don’t miss the shock of brows curling high on her forehead, nor do you miss the tick in Eddie’s cheek as he fights a smile.

“I must look like shit,” you grumble, sliding into the kitchen between the group, uncaring as your shoulder brushes Steve’s. There’s already an iced coffee for you on the countertop. Steve must have ordered, you assume, fighting the flutter in your chest at the thought. “I feel like shit. Very unsexy shit. People keep talking about my bridal beauty, but I feel very much like a bridal beast right now.”

Robin shakes her head, hand on your shoulder. “No, you look fine, you look—”

“Like you’ve had better nights,” Eddie says nonchalantly, earning a cough from Steve to his left.

“I’m sorry, it seems like your invitation to my wedding was rescinded. So weird,” you say brightly, leaning against Robin’s shoulder, pinching your eyes against the bright kitchen lightning. “You’re no longer my best friend. Maybe you’ll fare better with Steve here.”

Why did Steve get a building with white walls as far as the eye can see? You also decide your first purchase will be curtains to block out the natural light coming through the large windows covering the entirety of your living room exterior.

“Tell me you guys didn’t have fun,” Eddie says with a roll of his eyes. “Unless you don’t remember much of it. But it looked like you were having fun.”

The thing is, you remembered every moment.

Every interaction with your guests, every brush of shoulders from your soon to be husband.

Every fleeting glance.

Every look over the top of your glass.

The way your heart danced in your chest as he led you onto that stage.

How his fingers had curled around your own as you sang that ridiculous karaoke song.

How his lips had felt when he dropped a hand to the small of your back and tugged you flush against his form.

The way his heart thundered against yours where your sternums pressed together.

The warmth of his palm.

The heat of his breath as you breathed one another in.

The fullness of his mouth against yours, gentle brushes at first that soon grew passionate.

Heated.

It had been scalding.

A burn that simmered.

A burn you relished, wanted to fan into flame, wanted to foster in the moment.

Just a silly, stupid, alcohol-fueled moment.

It means nothing.

Nothing.

“I don’t really remember much after we left here,” Steve says.

He stares at you. Eyes locked on your face. Imploring.

Eddie and Robin shift your way, too.

Curiosity brims, and your heart aches.

You open your mouth. “I don’t really remember much either.”

Seven days.

You’ll be a wife in seven days.

Don’t get it twisted now, you remind yourself.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader fluff #modern!steve harrington #fake husband!steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x female reader #steve harrington modern au

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bleedingcoffee42 · 25 days

Text

Speirton drabble I just had to get out of my head after seeing a photo that gave me vibes of post-war, Lip finishing his degree while 'roomates' with Ron.

It was 0700 and Carwood was staring at the cardboard taped to the fridge as he drank his morning coffee. Moments like this he was glad Ron still was in the army and got up earlier than him because otherwise he probably would have made him late to work.

It had been obvious who took his X-acto, it’s not like the dog ran off with it and he only had one ‘roommate’ to contend with. One who established early on he could be a bit of a kleptomaniac.

The top note was his frustrated way of trying to get his shit back so he could complete his presentation model for his engineering class. They had a million knives in the house, from butter to Hitler’s, and Ron had to walk off with his very specific cutting tool. It even had his name etched into it!

As Carwood stared at the note, he smiled and shook his head, then went about looking for the knife since Ron wouldn’t do anything to hinder his school progress. Why the hell did Ron need an X-acto knife anyway? He put his coffee down on the table and looked at his model building and saw the knife beside it. He started looking around for something Ron would have used it for, then gave up and went to look in the trash that his ‘roommate’ never remembered to take out. It was there that he found some local grocery store fliers with holes cut in them and some cardstock from invitations missing people shaped chunks.

So old ‘Killer’ Speirs was now into arts and crafts? How quickly post-war domestic life had ruined him. He turned back around to look for somewhere Ron would have stashed his creation, it would be somewhere hidden where nobody would accidentally find it if someone stopped by. Biggest danger would be one of Lip’s classmates, but the occasional Easy Company man couldn’t be ruled out.

Ron would keep it in his bedroom, which meant Carwood had looked right past it two days in a row. He started walking there, eyes scanning the photos on the walls to make sure nothing was added to them. Nothing. The house wasn’t huge, he was standing in the doorway of their bedroom fairly quickly. The master bedroom was decorated by Ron with a handful of high school trophies, his accounting certificate, war commendations and medals, and some trophies he liberated from Nazis. It gave the appearance that they didn’t share a bedroom--at least to everyone who they didn’t serve with who knew they had been billeting together since Ron ran his ass across Foy.

Carwood looked around, whatever it would be would be small. Detailed. Hidden in plain sight. Ron’s love language was little tokens of appreciation, little details he’d notice and expand upon to show you he cared, or things he’d think you needed.

He did need the laugh this morning when he saw the ‘note’ on the fridge. So that meant Ron had already picked up on his stress level and did something about it. Something that required an Exacto knife? Lip walked around the bedroom and checked his own dresser, then nightstand, then moved over to Ron’s. Nightstand clear but the dresser had a collection of new lighters… and behind them a couple of paper cutouts. Lip looked closer, and saw a little cardboard bed and table. The table had a pie courtesy of the grocery store ad, a wine bottle thanks to the liquor store sale announcement, and two people cut from the Winters-Nixon wedding invitation beside it. Two cardstock people with photo faces glued on them.

Carwood picked one up and looked at it, Ron’s face obviously cut from the photo of him in Bastogne with his damned binoculars. He put the paper doll down and picked up his own. A photo from Kaprun, when they took the company photo. Knowing Ron he had copies made, some abuse of military resources for sure. Lip looked at the scene and smiled, the two of them with a bed and a bottle and some apple pie? Yeah, it was one of their moments, the moment Ron told him to shut up and get in the bed and took care of him; because he was sick and trying to work himself to death.

“Just got to get to the end of the semester, Ron.” Carwood says to the little figure on the dresser before putting his in the bed and Ron’s next to him. “Just a few more weeks, then I graduate.”

Xxxxx

Later that week, Ron came home drunk from a promotion party Lip had to excuse himself from so he could finish schoolwork The damned officer’s club ruined the man again.

“Car…” Ron slipped his arms around Lip’s shoulders from behind, as he was sitting at the dinner table, ran them down his chest and kissed his neck. His garrison cap flopped off as he placed a sloppy kiss on his neck. “Come to bed with me.”

Lip took a deep breath as he smelled the booze on Ron and heard the thick Boston accent emerge which only happened when Ron was completely wasted. He moved the garrison cap off his notebook as Ron grabbed a pec with one hand and rubbed his abs with another. “Ron, I hope you didn’t drive.”

“Nooooo.”

“And no, you’re drunk and I need to get this problem figured out before class tomorrow. You should go to bed though.” Carwood sighed as Ron got handsy.

“Not without you.” Ron leaned harder on him, the chair tipped forward. He attempted to kiss him but just streaked wet lips across his cheek.

Lip braced against the table. It was 0200! “Ron. I’m pulling an all-nighter here, please understand that.”

“I’ll pull an all-nighter too.”

“No, you won’t. You’re going to either get to bed and slobber on me and giggle and pass out or start crying. You do not perform well under the influence of alcohol.”

“Then fuck me sober.”

“I have a headache from trying to figure out this math, I’m no further along to solving it, and I have class in six hours. How about I get the bed ready for you, with a trash can for whatever you’re going to puke up, and I’ll help you out of your uniform?”

“I don’t spit, I swallow.”

“God, you are fucked up.” Lip says and Ron chooses to try and kiss his neck, leaning way too far over for his own safety. The slurred Boston accent is making him strain to understand what the hell he’s talking about. “Come on, get to bed. That’s an order.”

“God, yes, sir.”

Lip barely slips out from under him and Ron’s face is flushed and eyes glassy. He should have gone out with him and celebrated, but instead he stayed home to work. Now he was paying for it. “Sit down, have some coffee and I’ll be right back. Okay?”

“Mmm.” Ron makes it into the chair and looks at the paperwork as Lip goes to do whatever he was doing. He hums, picks up a pencil and goes to work.

When Lip returns he hears the pencil on the table before anything else. Someone writing up a storm. Oh, no. Last time Ron was drunk and around writing utensils he wrote Forrest Guth a ridiculous letter that he was still hearing about. Except this time it wasn’t a blank sheet of paper, it was his damned schoolwork that he had been slaving over all week. “Ron, please tell me you’re not…”

Ron put the pencil down and triumphantly said, “Done! Can we fuck now?”

Lip walks over, hands going onto Ron’s shoulder with a death grip as he looks at what Ron did. It takes a few minutes for him to really comprehend what he was looking at. “Ron, did you just solve this complicated engineering equation?”

“Just math.”

“Ron, you did. How did you…how?”

“MMmm?”

Lip is confused as all get out but Ron is swaying back and forth on the chair and surely not going to answer until morning. “Okay, let’s see what we can do to sober you up because I need an explanation on how you did this before 8 am.”

“mm‘Kay.”

Xxxx

“I did this?” Ron asks and looks at the paperwork on the table as Carwood stands next to him. It’s time for work, his head hurts and he can't stomach coffee.

“Yes.” Carwood insists. “Last night you sat down and solved this and I am sure it is right. So how did you do it?”

“Huh.” Ron says as he looks at it and Carwood leans up against him and he glances over. He can see it, the desperation to know how he did it and he doesn’t exactly have an answer. “You know how I am when things need to be done, I just do it.”

“Yes, but running across Foy or swimming across the Rhine are both incredibly physical and stupid things to do. This….Ronald…what the fuck is this?” Lip asked and shook him as he did so, probably not the best thing to do to a man with a hangover, but he was desperate for answers.

“I solve problems when drunk.” Ron admitted. “I just see it, and do it.”

“You have come to my bed and cried. You have begged me to fuck you on the balcony of the Eagle’s Nest. You have written a letter to Forrest Guth about everyone getting hurt and dying, me going on furlough and you sounding so unenthusiastic about seeing your wife and baby…” Carwood stops and looks at the math problem then back at Ron. “Oh shit.”

“I guess I solve my problems with you when I’m drunk? I didn’t know how to even score when you were embarrassingly cuddly and needy when drunk. Kinda started then.”

“I was sick.”

“You were very clearly wrapped around me and wanting to be there and I enjoyed it very much, but it got weird after. Want to blame the German couple who told us we were such nice young men and they were glad America was supportive of people like us.”

“Yeah. I crossed a lot of lines that night.” Lip remembers. "Was a little too loud about it."

“And you got better? Your lungs cleared up the next day.”

“So you coming to me when Nix got you drunk while celebrating your promotion…”

“Well, I wanted you, but my first instinct was to go to Grant because he would have just kinda swept it under the rug and never said anything. But that wouldn’t have solved our problem of how weird you were being because we cured your pneumonia.”

“You got drunk and came to me and cried.” Carwood reminded him.

“I had never been drunk, it sucked. God, I lost all control. I was embarrassed.”

“And the letter to Forrest?”

“He was your friend. He’s at home visiting your family, seeing your wife and baby and you were in Scotland without me. I guess indirectly telling you I was not exactly thrilled about going to see my family was a way to hint things weren’t looking promising. I don’t know, I was drunk? Did it do anything?” Ron asks and Carwood looks at him like he’s an idiot.

“I’m living with you, aren’t I?” Carwood asks and Ron gives him a smile that says he still doesn’t have a clue how he solved his homework.

“So, you’re a drunken savant. I can handle that. You resort to drinking to solve issues we’re having by being a drunk savant….glad to get that out of the way now.”

“You’re going to ask me what my problem is, aren’t you?” Ron asks.

“Yeah. You feel ignored because of my schoolwork?”

“No, I want this to be a permanent arrangement and you’re going to graduate soon. I’m tied to the army, you’re going to have to get a job somewhere.” Ron shrugged and looked at the homework. “I don’t know how to ask you that without impeding on a decision you make about your future.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Ron. Except class, with no explanation as to how I worked this out.” Carwood says and gets a smile from Ron, who then sits down and pulls a chair out for him. He sits and immediately Ron starts pointing to his work.

“Okay, I started here. How long did it take me to do all this?”

“Five minutes.”

Ron snorted. “Wow, maybe I should quit my job and be an engineer with you.”

“Thanks asshole.” Carwood elbows him in the ribs. “So, walk me through this.”

“Well, this is algebra.” Ron says and gets elbowed again. “Give me some paper and I’ll work it out. Easier for me to just try to do it again.”

Carwood gives him his notebook. “Thank you. For everything. I’m not going anywhere, Ron. Please stop getting drunk to talk to me.”

“Did I at least try and stay out of your pants this time?”

“No.”

“Well, at least I’m consistent.” He says and picks up a pencil. “Okay, from the top…”

#speirton #fic #band of brothers #ronald speirs #carwood lipton

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dr-spencer-reids-queen · 2 months

Text

The Uncanny Valley: Final Part

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.6k

Summary: Therapy isn't something you're taking too well, but if you want to keep your job, you'll continue to go. you're forced to confront thoughts and memories of your own family when you come across the father of the unsub.

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Season Five Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

If drugs are being used, then a doctor might know something about it that the team won't. Rossi calls in a doctor who is around all different types of drugs to get a professional opinion on the case.

"So, doctor, if a diabetic were given this battery of drugs to keep her paralyzed, what would the reaction be?"

"Diabetics metabolize everything they consume differently which includes drugs. It all gets broken down to blood sugar at varying rates. Most likely, this patient seized up minutes after she was medicated."

"You're saying she's already dead?"

"Probably. Although, there is another possibility. Bethany's condition could break down the drugs faster than the other victims. She might regain control of her body. Every hour that she doesn't turn up is a reason for hope."

"We're still running out of time. If the drugs don't kill Bethany, she's not gonna last long without insulin."

You and Spencer take it upon yourself to talk to a collector to try and get into the mindset of someone like the unsub. There is a store in town that is owned by a collector who likes to sell some of his things and give them to other people who are collecting the same things he is. Spencer breaks down the situation you're in without giving too much information away. He's still a civilian who doesn't need to know police business.

"Look, collectors are good, honest people. Just because you enjoy dolls doesn't make you a freak or a pedophile."

"We appreciate that sir, but the woman that we're looking for has lost her ability to control her obsession. She's killed three women trying to recreate a type of doll she had a child."

"Describe the line to me."

"There's a pattern to the victims. They're all in their twenties and petite."

"Most doll lines revolve around infants. Is she dressing them like babies?"

"No, she's not." Spencer looks at you to see you studying the things he has in his store. You're not touching anything but you are fiddling with your fingers as you look. "Their wardrobe consists of chiffon dresses worn by one blond woman, a redhead, and a black woman."

"Is she sewing the dresses herself?"

"How did you know that?"

The store owner goes around the counter and takes out a big book of dolls. He flips through the pages to the ones he thinks are the ones the unsub is trying to recreate.

"It's the Valois line. They were a local company back in the late eighties. They promoted feminism and multiculturalism. Strong, independent girls from different backgrounds who could still be friends."

"Y/N, check this out." You walk over to Spencer and study the contents of the book. "Each doll has a birth certificate to fill out, a form to describe their lives, and a kit to sew your own clothes."

"JJ said she's been at this for a while. She's probably been sewing since she was a little kid."

"Wait a minute. Sir, what's this contest that they held?" Spencer asks when he sees an ad in the book.

"That was to see who could come up with the most imaginative doll. Sew a dress and write an essay to describe her. If you won the contest, you'd have your doll featured in next year's line."

"That didn't end well, did it?"

"No."

"It's a classic tool child psychologists use. Tell me a story with these dolls sort of way."

"When the company got essays with thinly veiled references to physical or sexual abuse, they turned the entry forms and the dolls over to the police. The publicity killed the line."

"You said the company was local, right? They might still have the clothes in evidence."

The detective was able to get the dolls that were in evidence once you asked him to. By the time you got back to the station, Derek was reading some of the essays while JJ and Emily were inspecting the dolls. You used to have a doll like that when you were a child. Your dad gave you one to dress up with doll clothes. You didn't have the skill to sew and it's not like your parents were gonna do that for you.

You grab one of the dolls and think back to your childhood. You got a lot of dolls, in fact.

"How are the essays going?" Spencer asks Derek.

"It makes for some pretty depressing reading. Prentiss is having a good time."

"Hey, these dolls are like little time capsules only eighties fashion wasn't so kind to them. I'm surprised how many little girls knew how to make shoulder pads. How's it going on your end, JJ?"

"I got a list of vendors the victims went to--tailors and seamstresses, that sort of thing."

"JJ, you said something about a handkerchief hem, right?" Emily asks.

Emily shows her the hem on some of the clothes on the dolls.

"That's exactly like what she sews for her victims."

"What's the name on the entry?"

"Samantha Malcolm."

"She's on my list," JJ says.

"Wait a minute, guys. I have her essay around here somewhere." He looks for it. "Right here. 'Sally doesn't like the room with the lightning.' That can't be good."

You take out your phone and call Penelope to get information on Samatha.

"Okay guys, I just got Samantha's medical records. Oh, my god, she was doomed. Like Emily Bronte doomed, like Shakespeare doomed."

"What happened to her?" Hotch asks.

"Right. For the first ten years, nothing. Then, she starts a battery of electroshock treatments."

"At ten? Who subjects a child to ECT?" Spencer wonders.

"That would be her father, Dr. Arthur Malcolm. He runs an inpatient mental health facility for troubled young people called New Lives. At first, the essay that Samantha wrote raised some flags, but her father explained that the therapy was to deal with the recent death of her mother. After that, he started her on a serious regimen of anti-psychotic drugs which he weaned her off of a few years ago."

"It explains her familiarity with medication. Where is she now?"

"Her father declared her incompetent so he's still the legal guardian. Everything is in his name, and all of her records list New Lives as her residence."

"She can't keep victims in an inpatient facility. She needs privacy. Garcia, what about real estate holdings in her father's name?"

"Just his own, but New Lives has a bunch of outpatient and halfway houses all over town."

"JJ, where does she work?"

She checks her list. "I have her placed at three different shops around town."

"Alright, let's split up and cover the shops and the facility."

"I want to go to New Lives," Spencer says. "Whether or not she's there, I want to talk to the father. There are literally hundreds of therapies to help kids through loss. Electroshock is not one of them."

"Take Rossi and Y/N," Hotch says.

Rossi drives both of you to Arthur's facility that's right smack dab in the middle of town. You step out of the car and feel the sense that someone is watching you. You look around and know Samantha is out there. She's close whether on purpose or just passing through.

"What is it?" Spencer asks.

"She's here. I feel her. I can't find her, though."

There are too many people walking around that her energy mixes with everyone else's. Rossi takes you two inside and gets approval to talk to Dr. Malcolm. The second you see the doctor, you freeze in your steps. He becomes blurry through your tears but neither Rossi nor Spencer notice you. Rossi begins explaining the situation briefly but you can't hear the words coming out of his mouth.

"I am very confused, gentlemen. What does this have to do with Samantha?"

"We need to talk to her. Is she here?"

"No, she's at work."

"Does she live here or did you move her into one of your halfway houses?"

"As a matter of fact, she is in one of my houses."

"We'll need the address."

"I need to know what this is about."

"She might be tied to a series of abductions."

"That's not possible. It's not my daughter," Dr. Malcolm shakes his head.

"Is Samantha on her own at this house? There are no other patients, right?"

"She thought that was best and I agreed."

Rossi looks back at Spencer and notices the painful look on your face.

"Y/N, are you okay?"

Spencer turns to look at you and grabs your hand to which you squeeze. The feeling and energy you're getting from Dr. Malcolm is the same one you got from your rapist. It's similar to the same feeling you've been getting with your dad recently, but you're not going to open that door.

"I know a child molester when I see one."

"I beg your pardon?"

"You subjected Samantha to electroshock therapy when she was ten. The effects of that would be permanent, especially at that age but you knew that, didn't you?"

"My wife died when Samantha was ten and she never recovered. I tried everything. Child psychiatry and pet therapy. Nothing helped. She was cutting herself. She was in pain. But I want to go back to the part where you're accusing me of being a child molester."

"Really? Okay. I noticed you have toys in your office. Why are they here?"

"I use them in my therapy."

"I understand that, but why are they on the top shelf away from where any kids can reach them?"

"They're reminders of patients that I've helped."

"Okay." You grab one of the toys from the shelf. "What was the name of the girl you helped with this one?"

"Jenny Larson."

You grab another one. "This one? What was the name of the girl you helped with this one?"

"Abigail Moore."

"How about this one?"

"Linda Krauss."

"I'm assuming these girls are nine or twelve, right?"

"My PhDs are on the effect of trauma on prepubescent girls. I do not appreciate what you're implying," he glares.

"I'm not implying anything. I'm making an inference. An inference is an educated guess, and based on that, I form a hypothesis. For instance, my hypothesis here is that after you raped your daughter, you submitted her to electroshock treatment to make sure she stayed quiet."

"This is outrageous!"

"Then, out of guilt, you bought her toys. More specifically, you bought her a line of dolls. Because that's what serial molesters do. They give gifts. So, you continued the pattern with your other patients and once they left your care, you added their toys to your collection."

You pause to think about your own situation. Your father gave you a bunch of toys to keep you happy. Maybe there is no correlation and you're reading into but you'd rather not think of your own father in that light.

"I'm sorry, you can't back up your story, Agent."

"This is why I love my job, doctor," you laugh. "The jury is your peers and the witnesses will be Jenny, Abagail, and Linda. The DA will put them on the stand and I'm going to personally bring these dolls in. We'll watch how they react." You start to raise your voice and slam your hand on his desk which scares him. "Not to mention your goddamn energy painting a not-so-pretty picture of you fucking these girls!"

Spencer pulls you back to help calm you down and Rossi steps in to take over.

"Or you could tell us where your daughter is, and we'll tell the DA you cooperated. Once we walk out this door, that deal comes off the table."

You turn to leave the room and Dr. Malcolm says something right before Spencer can leave.

"2529 Adams Street. You'll tell them, right? That I cooperated?"

"Where are the other toys? The collection isn't complete," you glare.

Dr. Malcolm has no choice but to give them up. He gives you the dolls he took from his daughter, the ones that made her start kidnapping in the first place. Rossi informs the rest of the team where to go, but Spencer thinks it's best if he goes in first. Samantha is mentally unstable so she needs to be approached delicately and carefully.

Spencer goes in knowing he can talk her down while you go in so you can help the girls she's taken.

"Samantha?" She is in the middle of taking care of her victims and she gasps when she hears Spencer's voice. As he is talking to her, you have your gun out and trained on her. "My name is Spencer and this is Y/N. We're with the FBI. I know what your father did to you, and I want you to know that he can never, ever hurt you again."

"He never touched me," she shakes her head. "He's a good father. He loves me."

You say the same thing about your father.

"I know that he probably forced you to say those things. He'd punish you if you got it wrong and send you to the room with the lightning."

"Yeah," she nods.

"The dolls that your father gave you after he hurt you, what would happen to them?"

"He kept them in his office with the other toys, but when I moved out, I had to take my friends with me. I couldn't leave them behind."

As he keeps her talking, you slowly move to the right to get closer to the girls who are begging you with their eyes.

"Of course. When you went to get them, what did you find? He gave them to another girl, didn't he?" She nods emotionally. "Do you want them back?"

"He said I couldn't. He said they were gone for good."

"He lied. He's been lying to you for a long time. Do you want to see them?"

"Can I?"

"Yeah." Spencer reveals he has the box of dolls and she immediately goes over to him. This is when you put your gun away and tend to the girls. "Do you want to play with them?

"Don't worry, you girls are safe," you say.

You take out each IV tube from each of the girl's arms. If they could cry, they would. Bethany is the one with diabetes so she is able to move a lot more. The drugs Samantha gave her wore of quickly.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"It's clear. We need medical in here," Spencer says into his earpiece. When the team comes into the house, Samantha panics that she isn't going to see her dolls again. "Hey, Samantha? You need to go with these men but your friends can go with you, okay?"

"They won't take them away?"

"I promise no one will ever take them away again."

She is taken away but she is happy because of her dolls.

"Well done, Agent Reid."

"Thanks."

Rossi goes over to you and wraps an arm around your shoulder for comfort.

"Are you okay?"

"No," you whisper painfully.

Another job well done. Another successful case. It doesn't feel that way. It feels like the world is caving in on you and you can't get to safety. You dread going to sleep but you know you have to at least try. Maybe this time you won't have another nightmare. That's the hope, right?

You're back here again. You're back in the same nightmare. The same car is on the side of the road where you're walking. Someone grabs you from behind. Who is it? It doesn't matter. You scream out for help. You kick and fight to get away. It's no use. Whoever grabbed you has a tight hold on you.

Help! Someone help! Anyone! No one is coming to help you. You're all alone. Spencer stands on the other side of the street just watching. Help! Spencer, please! He doesn't do anything but stands there watching you get dragged into the car.

Spencer!

"Y/N, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

You gasp awake and look around the room to make sure you're not actually inside that car. You're covered in sweat and tears.

"Spencer?"

"I'm right here. You're okay."

"No, I'm not," you sob. You turn over in his arms and cry into his chest. "Please make this stop."

Spencer is heartbroken for you. He doesn't know how to help and it's killing him.

"In life, unlike chess, the game continues after checkmate." - Isaac Asimov

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds angst #criminal minds series rewrite #criminal minds season 5

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ratherbefangirling · 2 years

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Belong 4

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Pairing: ot7 x reader

Genre: Fluff, hurt/ comfort , Omegaverse

Synopsis: The pack seems to be falling for you but Jungkook doesn't like it one bit. What happens when he learns you are his mate

You avoid the boys by staying at home. You don't tell your mom so as to not bother her.

Instead you crash at your best friends house. Yun Suyeon was a beta with an alpha mom (you had bonded over 'are all alpha mom's the same?' ) and you had been friends for a long time.

Suyeon though finds it a bit strange but doesn't comment on it and commits on spending more time with you.

"Are you excited for the college fest." She asks.

"I dont know."

"You should. Why don't you try for the Coordination. I'm in hospitality. Lim Suho is one of the heads and Kang Taehee is another they need more people."

While normally you would probably not consider such an intensive position but it didn't seem like a bad idea to drown in work.

"Isn't it kinda too much work?"

"Yes but you get certificates and stuff." She replies. "That's why I've volunteered for the social media head."

"Fine. Where do I sign up."

"Wait let me send you the link." She said.

After you submitted the form. Suyeon's pack mom bought snacks for the both of you.

You thanked her.

"It's nice to see you too. Come hang out with our pup more often." She says.

You nod politely.

"Don't stay up too late." She says as she leaves.

Suyeon hugs you squealing in excitement.

"We are going to be the coolest kids on the block." She says.

She notes you have put on scent cleaners. But before she can say anything about it. Her phone rings her boyfriend asking to hang out. She informs him she's infact with her wifey and thus is not available.

You dress nicely in the morning as today was the team meeting between the coordinaters.

There were four of you. Though you didn't know who the fourth was because their number wasn't saved on your phone but you were added to like 5 different groups.

After the classes were over you all had decided to meet at a coffee shop to discuss. Suho who the teachers had declared the main guy was the one who would bridge between the teachers and you all and you would look over and communicate with heads of all the other committees like decor, entertainment etc.

Suho was a beta and Taehee was an omega like you. The third member was Choi Yeonjun, an alpha.

You thought he was cute. You texted the same to Suyeon.

S: he's soobins bestie

S: should I arrange a double date

Y/n: noooo ... I'm just happy with eye candy

S: I mean let me know if you want a taste

Y/n: YUN SUYEON

S:😉😘😘😘

You had met at the campus and Yeonjun offered to drive you all to the cafe.

But Suho had his bike and Taehee had to go home for a change in clothes as someone dropped their drink on her.

So it ended up being you and Yeonjun.

"So ... what made you decide to coordinate? You always hide behind your bestfriend." He said.

"Just like that what about you?" You say.

"I like meeting new people. This is the best way to make it happen."

Their is silence.

"Can I turn on the radio?" You ask.

He does it for you.

It's nice not having too speak and the music is decent until Namjoon's favourite song starts playing and you abruptly turn it off.

"Is something wrong?" He asks.

Luckily the cafe is in sight.

"No just like that.. the cafe is here." You say changing the topic.

He nodded and the others joined you shortly. You soent an hour discussing themes and writing down important information.

"Let's have dinner together. Bonding night." Taehee suggested.

"I'm sorry I have prior engagement but I will pat the next time. You guys have fun." Suho says.

"Don't tell me you guys are busy too?" Taehee pouts.

"No I'm free and quite hungry." Yeonjun says.

"Me too." You add.

"Perfect!" Taehee exclaims and you guys go to a barbecue place.

You have a good time. Yeonjun takes it upon himself to serve. Its very alpha of him but you don't mind.

Taehee is good company too.

After your meals are over. Yeonjun offers to drop the two of you. You spend the ride discussing ideas and themes. Taehee is very excited for a more fantasy based one. Yeonjun wants a more party theme.

"Why don't we do it Russet inspired?" You ask.

Russet was a popular fashion magazine.

"That's super vague." Taehee comments.

"Exactly bur we can include different elements under one thing. And maybe people can wear things they already own instead of buying so it's sustainable."

"I would have never thought that." Taehee says.

"Yeah and we could get sponsorship from a fashion house or Paqsal Inc. ....they do charity galas to support initiatives like recycling and other sustainability endeavors."

"Let me text it to Suho. Let's run our ideas through the teachers. But the art department is going to be excited." She says. "We need to be very specific for the things to match and not be all over the place though."

"I'm sure we can do that we have like more than two months." Yeonjun adds.

Taehee's home is closer so she leaves and their is silence in the car.

"So?" You both say in order to ease the awkwardness.

You both laugh.

"It was genuinely a great idea." Yeonjun says.

"Thanks.. yours was nice too and probably easier to execute." You reply.

"All good things are hard work." Yeonjun replies as your house appears.

"Maybe.. but what if they aren't so great because they were too hard."

He shoots a concerned look towards your way but bites his lips.

Choosing instead to offer you a smile.

"See you later."

"Good bye, goodnight. See you later."

Taehyung had come out to throw trash when he saw you coming out of the unknown alpha's car. How he knew it was an alpha? Well no omega or beta liked that type of flashy car.

He wants to call you out but he can't since Namjoon has decided they should give you space. He thought it would be a better approach even Yoongi had conceded.

The pack house wasn't the best place to be right now. Jin had left to see his family. He had been very sad and even Hobi was very restless and short these days. Jungkook was still stubborn. Namjoon was was working himself to death and Jimin was stuck to either Taehyung or Jungkook. Continuously scenting.

Taehyung was worried Jimin was taking this very personally but he could do nothing to help except do whatever Jimin felt like that.

When he had talked about this to Namjoon, he asked Taehyung to take Jimin and visit their family packs.

So they had planned a trip. Taehyung had to guilt trip Jimin a bit but Jimin did need to be babied a bit and nobody did that better then their family packs.

But before Taehyung left he would give Jungkook a little something to think because that boy had done enough hiding after rejecting his mate when she helped him out.

If you were Taehyung's mate he would never hurt you like this or let you be away from him unless you needed to.

When he comes inside the house. Jin is at the window looking outside towards you. He can see the longing in Jin's eyes.

He let's his hyung be and looks at him. Staying with his family has turned Jin chubbier and his face is glowing except for the expression on his face. Taehyung decides to change it.

"Jin Hyung !!! When did you come?" Taehyung says.

Jin is startled almost falls on the sofa beside the window but before he can recover himself Taehyung octopus hugs him causing him to fall.

"I will break my back you brat." He says but Taehyung smells no real anger. Thus Taehyung pays no heed scenting his beta.

"Can't you ask me before scenting me?" He says only half serious. In reality Jin missed his packs scents.

"No, my beautiful beta." Taehyung says muffled against his skin.

Jin laughs. Alerting Jimin who came out searching for Taehyung.

Jimin was glad to see a laughing Jin tackled by Taehyung. Jimin too joined the pile.

Just in time Namjoon came to witness the happy site. He planted kisses on their head and was going to leave when Taehyung pulled him too.

Maybe things were a bit rough but it would be fine as long as they were together.

On the day they were leaving, Jimin was careful to scent Jungkook. Taehyung had gotten their bags and tickets. He entered the room where he observed Jimin sitting on Jungkook's lap. A flash of irritation arose.

"Jiminie." Taehyung called out.

"Yes Tae." Jimin asked.

"Go get ready. We have to leave soon." Taehyung informs Jimin flashing the train tickets.

Jimin nodded rubbing his scent on Jungkook for the last time before he left yo get ready.

" You're angry." Jungkook said scrunching his nose.

Taehyung wanted to agree but he also didn't want to fight.

"Why are you so mad? Shouldn't you be happy about going home.. are you worried about alpha's on the train."

"I kind of hate that part." Taehyung confessed but that wasn't what he had been actually bothered about but that was a concern too it had been a while since it was just him and Jimin usually one of the hyungs would accompany them. When they were younger Jimin had built enough muscles to pass off as a non omega, these days Taehyung pretended to be the non omega. Even though it was inconvenient he did secretly enjoy being able to protect Jimin as much he liked being coddled by his soulmate.

Taehyung sighed and let Jungkook scent him.

"I saw Y/n yesterday." Taehyung confessed. "She was with another alpha. It made me kind of thingies." Jungkook stiffened but did not say anything.

Taehyung sighed. Jimin and Hoseok had come back. Hoseok was driving them to the station.

Before they left Taehyung stopped by quickly into Namjoon's room who had an off from work today.

Namjoon's scented him and it made Taehyung feel better and he could finally enjoy the time in which he would have Jimin to himself.

Jungkook is stirring a cup of coffee in the kitchen when Namjoon comes down. Now awake.

"Wanna go on a date?" He asks Jungkook.

Who stops functioning for five minutes. Namjoon uses those to make himself a cup of coffee.

Jungkook knew Namjoon liked you when in his rut he could remember smelling Namjoon on you, so he thought Namjoon might ignore him to sort his feelings out.

"Ok..."

"Good!" Namjoon says smiling so brightly that his dimples start showing. He gives Kookie a kiss on his forehead mumbling something about outfits.

Namjoon comes out wearing all black hoping to match with Jungkook who had decided to go with the softer warmer colors in his wardrobe, Hobi who's sitting outside with Yoongi eating tangerines bursts out laughing when he sees them.

Namjoon smiles too when he realises what happened. Jungkook groans in embarrassment.

Jungkook starts the car as Namjoon sits in and puts on the safety belt.

"Where are we going, hyung?" Jungkook asks.

"I was thinking let's go to the beach, it's been a while."

Jungkook nodded and entered the location in the GPS. Namjoon played his 'driving' playlist.

The beach was fairly empty when they reached it.

They set up the little picnic basket and picnic mat they had bought near a tree.

After eating the sandwiches and drinking their beverages they lie next to each other staring at the sky. The breeze is lovely and the sound of wind comforting.

"I should have brought something to sketch." Jungkook tells Joon.

"Hmm." Namjoon acknowledges.

Jungkook cuddles closer to Namjoon. Its rare they have time together like this.

"Hyung... can I ask you something?" Jungkook asks and he hates to ruin the peaceful moment but his curiosity overcomes all.

"Of course kookie." Namjoon replies.

"Do you... you not like it that I've driven her away?"

Though he doesn't take your name Namjoon knows who he's talking about.

"I can't say I'm happy that our relationship is in strains but if I had to chose it will be you over Y/n. I know I may not say this often but I love you and I love our pack. This.. us. It means the world to me. Being pack alpha I want to be able to take care of all the packs needs and whatever the others may or may not feel about her she's your mate and I should apologise for bringing her to you in your rut but I won't because I couldn't see you suffering and as your hyung and your pack alpha I just couldn't bear to see you in distress or lacking."

"No you don't have to be sorry. I trust you hyung."

Namjoon ruffles Jungkook's hair.

"Why did you reject her, jungkook?"

"I didn't want her in the pack."

Namjoon nods.

"Remember when you joined the pack." Namjoon asks.

Jungkook nods. Ofcourse he does how does one not remember the best thing that happened to them.

"You know how most people avoid larger non familial packs. " Jungkook nods. " The reason we worked was all if us were in duos as friends before we decided to become a pack. Then we suffered in the transition. It isn't very easy to include more people in an already established dynamic. Then you came along like a Knight in shining armor. To be honest a part of me was jealous that even though I was a pack alpha I couldn't provide for my pack omega when a kid who didn't present did. But later I learnt that I couldn't be the sole provider and that it was ok not to be. Now I know this is something you lean and keep learning..Then came the part we decided to bring you to the pack. There were many concerns, your age, your presentation, uneven number of packmates. But you know who was the most willing to bring you in?" Namjoon prompted.

Jungkook shook his head no.

"It was Taehyung. He talked to me, convincing me. I even asked him if he was ok with no longer being a maknae. He was like Jiminie needs it hyung. And he was right but it also made me realise how cool our Tae is. Jimin is his soulmate and he didn't even care about jealousy or loosing Jimin. He just cared that Jimin be happy and healthy. I guess it did work out in the end that you could supplement each others need to be babied." Said Namjoon chuckling at the end.

"Taehyungie hyung told me he saw Y/n with someone."

"Aah." Namjoon drawled in understanding.

"I dont know how to feel about it." Jungkook said honestly.

"It's ok not to know. But if you think there's a possibility you want her then don't make her wait. "

"It's so tough." Jungkook whined.

Namjoon let out a small peal of laughter and pecked his baby alpha's nose.

"It's going to work out in the end and you have all of us to help .. anyway I'm hungry again let's go check out if there's foodtrucks that opened right now." Namjoon says standing up and giving Jungkook a hand.

In the middle of their journey back Namjoon groaned loudly.

"What is it hyung?" Jungkook asked sparing a sideway glance.

"I forgot to check out crabs." Namjoon exclaimed almost jumping of his seat.

Jungkook laughed.

Yeah so this one doesn't have much fluff with you involved but we cleared the air ig aaaand we have a love rival. We will probably be seeing more members but hopefully it balances out.

Hope you enjoyed and let me know your thoughts.

I would like to take a moment to say that I'm grateful for the support and that's the only reason I'm continuing this au honestly it was meant to be a one shot maybe 1.5 shot lol and writing this it's easy to get stuck because I don't have any idea where I'm going with this. I mean I had plans with alpha reader and beta reader.

Anyway don't be shy to drop in and say hi.

Until next time 💜

Taglist : @jaiuneamesolitaiire ; @mintsugarmy ; @goooood-vibes ; @juju-227592 ; @singukieee ; @zae007live ; @rainbow-bunny-bts ; @fluffy-canada-pancakes ; @bleubirdinthesky ; @kyrah-williams ; @thedarkwinterrose ; @realswimshaddy ; @djodjom1 ; @thsrndkd ; @emu007

#bts x reader #bts au #bts fluff #ot7 x reader #ot7 x you #bts omegaverse #bts drabble #abo au #bts series #bts angst

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