#Something Vaguely Heart-Shaped | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

alexiroflife · 2 months

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sukuna takes a while to learn how to treat you with softness…

fluff, soft sukuna strikes again, vague mentions of suggestive themes

ask

🥀🥀🥀...

at first, sukuna's instinct is to reject you. he finds you to be rather too clingy for his taste, ogling him as though you are bound by a love spell to his will. he believes you to even be stupid, that hazy look in your round eyes growing heavier as you take him in, a dopey smile stretching across your face and pinching your cheeks. he doesn’t know why he entertains you at first. he thinks perhaps he can find your devotion useful in some way, considering the fact that you would have severed your own ten fingers yourself if he had ordered you to do so

as time goes by, however, your attachment to him grows to be a pestilence in his eyes. there is nowhere he can step without you stepping on the same path just behind him, nothing he can say without you nodding in eager agreement at his side, and nothing he can think without you reading his mind, voicing his inner thoughts before he has a chance to verbalize him. he’s glaring at you more often than he’s humoring you, attempting to puzzle who exactly you are and what your deal is. he’s seen worship under his authority, but not in the way you do so. you’re so… spritely, so happy to even look at him when he has accustomed himself to soldier-like obedience and fear-stricken loyalty

what he finds specifically confounding is that you don’t fear him. despite all the things you have seen him do, the obscenities that fall from his mouth, the humans like you that he has torn limb from limb, and the lack of mercy and sympathy he withholds within his bones, you still turn to him excitedly. as though he is some kind of savior to you when he should have been the very thing making you run for the hills

and you're so... innocent. at least, you behave in such a way. you carry a brightness about you, one that shines into the darkest aspects of his world and almost blinds him with your beam. you seem far too light to be associated with himself, yet he knows you aren't completely innocent because you spend your time in his company, allowing him to do to you as he pleases

despite how often sukuna brushes you away when he is not physically indulging his needs by means of you, you are nothing but chirpy greetings, heart-shaped eyes, and polite requests to sit in his lap and kiss his cheek. sukuna denies all of this at first, but the more your persistence proceeds, he finds himself allowing you to get away with more. he keeps a blank face as you press your warm, soft lips to his cheekbone and wind your arms tightly around his neck, giddily bouncing on his thigh with glee when he doesn't push you away. his body goes limp rather than turning from you completely when you throw yourself into him, tightening your arms around his midsection and pressing your warm cheek to his chest. he even ducks his head for you wordlessly when you reach a hand up to fix his hair mindlessly, threading your fingers through silky salmon locks with your face aglow with pure adoration. while his gaze elsewhere looks hard, you know he is warming up to you nonetheless

sukuna knows something is wrong with him when he starts waiting for your affections, bringing you around him more often to sit nearby and keep him company. any time you fail to greet him with a huge grin and wide, inviting arms (which only really happened once mistakenly), he's glowering at you harshly, brows ticked downward and lips set in a firm, tight scowl. he's in a crabby mood, but he doesn't say anything or mention it to you, refusing to show in any way that he has begun to look forward to your daily interactions with him

he's cold for the next few minutes until you're pressing your palm to his broad shoulder, looking up at him curiously with loving eyes. you ask him if he's alright, to which he responds with a grunt and the twitch of his arm away involuntarily. you blink, yet do not take his bitterness personally, and smile kindly

you tilt yourself up onto your tip-toes, palms meeting either side of his face, and press a gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. he stills, expression faltering slightly though his arms remain crossed over his chest and his crimson eyes stare ahead. when you pull away, grinning, he visibly softens and attempts to hide so. his teeth grind together and he snaps his gaze to you out of the corner of his eye, frowning. you walk off without another word, hand lingering on his arm when you turn away mentioning something about fixing him tea, and his eyes follow your fading figure calmly

as much as you enjoy bestowing your affections upon the king of curses, he struggles to understand that you in turn desire the same affections that he is previously incapable of providing. you, ever the foolishly kind woman, never complain or express your needs to sukuna, but he begins to observe a shift in you when your arms cling around yourself for comfort or your hand runs tenderly over the back of your own neck, a tired glint in your normally shining eyes

naturally, instead of speaking to you, sukuna seeks uraume for assistance, who knows far better about the human race and their conditions than sukuna cares to recall or learn himself. though he does not at all understand what the purpose of giving you such attention is when he never asked for it from you in the first place, something within him is itching to satiate your needs, to bring you contentment and peace the way you do him. he wants to put this feeling off as a burden, but internally, he knows that you and this blooming desire are anything but. still, he doesn't make knowing this easy

his reciprocation starts with him opening one of his arms slightly when you approach him, welcoming you into his side. he feels odd doing so, but once he catches the way your eyes burst with joy and that breathtaking grin of yours appears, a flutter in his chest tells him that he is on the right track, though he truly hasn't even done anything

he slowly transitions to nodding his head over to you, beckoning you over to sit with him, or having the servants make you whatever meal you tell him that you are craving when he asks. it's difficult for sukuna not to take completely to only showering you with material gifts as a form of reciprocation, for displays of affection are very rare for him to come by. it's even harder for him to understand that he can't be as rough with you as his subconscious encourages him to

a sort of cuteness aggression often takes hold of him when he is with you, the urge to squish your cheeks in bruisingly or smack your ass so hard it leaves a bruise (which he actually has done a couple times) as you walk away consuming him, but uraume reminds him that you are breakable - still a human, and a human who favors soft affection at that

he finally gets the gist one night when you are tangled up against his bare body, nose tucked into the crook of his neck with your arms thrown around him, the very action serving as your sole source of comfort

sukuna keeps a hand over your waist and the other just under the plush of your bum, holding your thigh. you twitch against him, weak from your previous indulgences of lustful hunger, when you murmur something into his skin. sukuna turns slightly, quirking a brow down at you. "what? speak up," he demands, his voice soothingly low.

you hum and shift, pushing yourself further into him. "can you massage my head, please?"

sukuna's lips turn up, befuddled. "what for?" you're silent for a moment.

"dunno. i think it would feel nice." when sukuna fails to respond, you're quick to add: "but you don't have to. this already feels good."

sukuna exhales, now faced with a task he did not comprehend. how fast did you want him to go? how hard? how soft? did you want the top of your head massaged or the lower part, closer to your neck? what if his fingers are too sharp?

despite the questions that flow through his head, sukuna does not desire to leave you hanging. especially so after you've tried to reel back in on your request, and you hardly ever ask him for anything but his time and presence in the first place. the salmon-haired curse clicks his teeth. "do not tell me what i can and can not do," he orders, and he feels you smile against him.

"yes, my lord."

slowly, sukuna raises his hand from your thigh to tuck through your hair, fingers sliding into your scalp. you exhale softly, relaxing further against his chest as he gently scratches at your head in gradual, calming circles. your lashes flutter in contentment, heat lifting to your face and gentle hums of satisfaction falling from your lips. blood-red eyes keep themselves pointed down into your back, his other hand smoothing over your spine.

"kuna," you murmur, and for a moment the said being believes you are going to tell him to stop, that he is harming you in some way.

"what is it now?"

"...a little lower please?"

he scoffs. "needy," he remarks, though obeying mindlessly and sliding his hand down further, pressing his fingers tenderly into the back of your head and caressing meticulously. "i'm only doing this because you have manners."

you hum again, your thigh rising over his torso as you curl into him, the sensation of his fingers in your hair alleviating any tension in your body and rendering you to putty in his embrace. "thank you," you whisper, a coat of goosebumps dotting over sukuna's skin in reaction to your gentle breath.

you sound so grateful, so humbly in love that it tears away at sukuna's hardness, and he suddenly wants to massage all of you until you're thanking him again and again, over and over, and the honey-drenched sweetness of your voice soaks him in its honesty.

he thinks he gets it now as he turns his head into you, lips brushing the shell of your ear. skin to skin, heart to heart, sukuna shivers at the realization of what you are to him and the proper place softness how has in his life when it comes to you.

from then on, sukuna's at your beck and call whilst pretending, very poorly, not to care about you. he presses his lips to your temple swiftly when you hug him, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder to carry you along with him to wherever he decides to go, he brushes pieces of hair from your neck on hot days to reduce your discomfort, and he holds his arms tightly around your waist when you sit with him on his throne, his chin tucked to your shoulder and that same stern expression on his face

he lets you do as you please, holding his hand and dragging him out to the garden with you, bringing him to sit beside you when you eat lunch, and asking him to help you with little mundane things that he would have never bothered doing before

your clinginess to him has grown contagious, for suddenly he can not imagine you failing to be by his side, and frankly, he does not want to. he anticipates your kisses, learns how to cradle your palm gently, figures out all your likes and dislikes and interests and desires and has his servants work twenty times as hard to make you happy, though all you really need to be happy is him

he still doesn't get how someone like you managed to fall in love with him, nor how he managed to return those feelings just as strongly, but he now stubbornly holds onto you, refusing to let you out of his sight for any reason. you are his, now, his alone, and he would burn the world for you if you only asked with that soft politeness in your tone that entertains him so much

sukuna is a hard being, with a hard exterior and an even harder heart. he's a sadist, a murderer, a king of demons and all chaos and misery that roams the earth

but you... you bring him down to a wordless, tranquil being of action who has taught himself how to care for you with the same gentleness that you care for him. his roughness, of course, has not been stripped away. he still fucks you with intense vigor and speaks to you with the same firm haughtiness in his tone, but even so, for you, he has become lighter. quieter. handsier. easier. softer.

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rowarn · 3 months

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shadow entity!ghost part: one | two | three

cw: angry!ghost, umm he hurts u )-:, but he feels bad so it's okay, a bit shorter than other parts

the mystery surrounding ghost was driving you insane. living with a primordial entity of unfathomable horrors was already a mindfuck but now you realized it could just...erase people from existence.

no one had asked about phillip, no one had shown up to seek you out since you were the last one to see him before he vanished. you even wandered into the bar he said he frequented -- and he seemed well known in. and...nothing. no one even brought up how he went home with you and never returned. no one asked about him.

it was unnerving. had ghost somehow pulled all memory of this one human out of the world along with its physical form? where did phillip even go? all you remember was being surrounded by the shadow and how hard it was to breathe -- and the horrible, inhuman scream before silence.

it had already confirmed that it wasn't a ghost. so what was it?

"ghost?" you called into the house as you returned from the bar, "can you come out so we can talk?"

as you stepped into the living room, you took a glance at the scorch mark on the floor before your attention was diverted to it -- a shadowy manifestation across from you.

it didn't speak, simply stood there. usually you would divert your eyes from its face because something about it unsettled you, but this time you stared right at it. shapes formed and faded before your eyes, making you wonder if you were really seeing them in the first place. eyes, sometimes two sometimes dozens. a vague, fading silhouette of a skull face. you wonder if it intentionally let you see these images or if it just was.

"i-i want to know..." you swallow thickly around the nervous lump in your throat, "is phillip dead?"

it was quiet for a moment, "not quite."

"what's that mean? where is he?" you prod, furrowing your brows as you stare at it, hoping that it can understand your pleading.

"why do you care?"

"b-because..." you sputtered, licking your dry lips, "i just...want to know."

"he's in the pits," it finally supplies, sounding almost bored.

"...of hell?" you sputter, "so you're a demon?"

"your hell is a bastardization of the pits," it explains, "where i come from is not hell. it's worse, darker. that's where i put the human."

"can you...can you bring him back..?" you whisper.

ghost's shadow flickers and it falls silent for a moment before speaking again, "i could. but you don't want that."

you can't help but think you'll regret asking but you do anyway, "...why?"

"he's not the same anymore," it explains, "it's much kinder to simply leave him in the pits."

you're not sure how to take that. it doesn't answer any of your questions. what exactly are the pits? what happens in them? what is happening to phillip down there?

"ghost..." you take a small step back and you swear you see it's head cock to the side curiously, "what are you?"

"you can consider me a demon if you wish," it responded, taking a step forward to follow you.

your heart skips a beat, "but you're not."

"no," it answers with ease.

"so tell me what you are," you demand, growing tired of these mind games it's playing with you.

"i don't think your human mind can comprehend just what i am," it says.

"try me," you challenge, already mentally slapping yourself.

"no," it responds.

your temper flares, "just tell me, damn you! what the hell are you?"

suddenly, the shadow grows in size -- as do your eyes. you watch as it takes up more space in the room, that overpowering weight on your body making you wince. it makes the room feel so heavy, makes your bones ache to the marrow.

you're not sure how you know -- despite the fact it's not saying anything; you know you've made it very angry. your eyes lock onto his shadowy form, making out the horrible, unsettling images of eyeballs inside the darkness that flicker in and out of your vision.

nausea settles like a pit in your stomach and you double over, dropping to your hands and your knees to keep yourself from throwing up. your head throbs and aches, a ringing in your ears only makes the pain worse. it feels like your eyes are going to pop out of their sockets from the overwhelming pressure growing inside your skull.

"s-stop..." you manage to choke out before you slump against the floor.

then, all at once it's gone. you gasp for air once it finally feels like there's nothing coiling around your lungs and tears trickle down your cheeks. you're not sure if you're trembling from the pain or from the fear you just experienced.

you can't bring yourself to uncurl yourself from the ball you've found yourself in on the floor.

you're acutely aware that ghost hasn't left -- in fact, you can hear it's heavy footsteps on the creaky wooden floor as it approaches you. it kneels down, disturbing the air around you with the movement.

you feel a strange weight on your head and it takes your foggy mind a moment to realize that it's touching you. as if it had reached a hand out and was tenderly petting your head, consoling you.

a silent apology before it vanishes completely.

when you finally uncurl and look around, you see yet another strange, scorch mark on the ground where it had stood.

you realize instantly that those scorch marks are a manifestation of it's anger. pure, unbridled rage that leaves a physical mark on the ground where it stands.

you swallow thickly and close your eyes again, deciding that standing is much too hard for now.

do not repost to third party sites. reblogs okay!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod x reader

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jellinuy · 7 months

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ꪆ୧

there were few things gojo loved about life. a handful of simple joys that made his — frankly, tiring — existence as the world’s strongest sorcerer just a pinch better.

one of them was your face. a vague first, and he knows that, but that doesn’t change his answer.

“satoru, look. look how many there are!”

look at you, fascinated with something as simple as jellyfish, your eyes illuminated by the blue luminescence of the bubbling tank, your palms pressed to the glass as if you’d never even heard of a sea creature before. he’d never given a second thought to things like that, but he’d buy you the entire aquarium to keep that smile on your face.

“mhmm,” he murmurs, "real pretty.” not once had he taken his eyes off you. even with six of them, he could never get tired of the way your cheeks stretch and your lips show off your teeth.

the second thing was the way you looked at him.

or maybe, he'd told himself countless times, times late at night when his thoughts raced with you, times when he felt his heart ache and pull against his ribs, begging his lips to spill words that his brain told him to keep in, maybe you look at the whole world like that. he wouldn’t be surprised if you did. the way your eyes gleamed when you stared at something you loved — satoru gojo never thought he could be jealous of an inanimate object until he met you.

the third thing was the fact that you didn’t know how he felt. it was a bittersweet, slightly addicting feeling, like candy with a sour coating and a sugary aftertaste. he’d thought out how to tell you: that was why you were at the aquarium right now, though he’d disguised the very obvious date as another hangout when he’d first texted you.

“i didn’t know there were so many different kinds,” you continued to ramble, your hands still pressed to the tank. then you turned to him with that look. that look of wonder. like a child — and gojo hated children, but when you looked at him like that…

“do you think we’re jellyfish in some other life?” such a stupid, random question, and yet his heart pounds, and he prays you can’t hear it. white lashes flutter under his sunglasses, all six eyes focused on the shape of your lips as they push out sweet words. the strongest sorcerer, prodigy of the gojo clan, reduced to something of an elementary school kid with a life-sized crush.

“…yeah,” he mutters, clearing his throat awkwardly when his voice nearly cracks. “yeah, probably.”

the rest of that day was spent in a comfortable bubble, just you and gojo, wandering around staring at fish. it was simple, and he’d not have it any other way. for a few hours, he could forget about it all, take in your face and feel his tiredness die out like a bad dream.

...satoru gojo swore the gods must have hated him.

he couldn’t even lift the tarp. it was white, practically red now that unimaginable amounts of blood had soaked it through. your eyes were closed now, courtesy of him — because you deserved to rest in peace, and because he couldn’t bear to see the fear preserved in them as you lay there on the table. as a reminder that he wasn't there to save you.

'killed in action'. three fucking words, and his world was turned on its head.

if had he known the aquarium was the last place you two would've been happy together, gojo would've given anything to make that day last just a few minutes longer, so he could spill his guts, pour his heart out, told you that you could be jellyfish in your next lives like he should have.

but in the end, you died without ever knowing he loved you.

#gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #gojo angst #if this gets 1k likes i'll make an alt ending /srs #user jelluf1sh actually posting real writing ?!!1!??#drabble #jjk drabbles #ᴊᴇʟʟʏ'ꜱ ɴᴏᴛᴇʙᴏᴏᴋ .ᐟೀ

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adoreddestiny · 6 months

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ೃ⁀➷ FLUSTERING HIM — zayne, xavier, rafayel x gn!reader

it tends to be difficult to flustered the impenetrable dr. zayne. the crispy sizzle of bacon hits hot iron and the thick scent of popping fat flies into the air. you eye the tall doctor from your spot at the counter. a apron uncharacteristic of him is tied nicely around his waist. he cracks an egg with his empty hand, plopping the slimy yolk into a bowl only to whisk it into a frothy yellow mixture.

mornings with zayne have always been comforting. you watch him carefully, scurrying over to watch his cooking skills from behind. "do you want me to teach you?" he glances briefly down at you, a touch of affection in his green eyes. "no, i just wanna watch for now." he raises an eyebrow but says nothing.

a sleepy affection fills your heart and your arms slide around his waist from behind. pressing your face against his back, you take a chance to inhale the refreshing scent of his shampoo. zayne stiffens, taking a moment to pause his cooking as he feels your hands glide across his waist. heat floods into his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

"why'd you stop?" you murmur into the fabric of your shirt. "i couldn't remember what else i needed," he says, his calm tone wavering just for a second. his adam's apple bobs as he tries to ignore the way your touch elicits tingles up his spine.

xavier’s arm reaches over, pulling you closer as streaks of colorful light flash across the tv screen. you find your eyes growing heavy as you lean into his chest. the soft rising and falling from his breathing rocks you gently. you couldn’t remember by now who had suggested a movie, but neither of you seemed to mind much.

you don’t think it capable of flustering someone as calm and lackadaisical as xavier. but his own emotions are seen when the lights of the movie begins to fade and he strokes your arm with languid fingers.

you lean closer, intaking his scent as your eyes flutter close. sleep descends on you as the credits begin to roll. xavier skims over the varying list of names before turning to you. he nudges you gently, unsure if you’re awake or not. he calls your name but garners no response.

instead, you bury yourself deeper into his embrace, murmuring his name through parted lips. he pauses, staring you with a soft amazement and adoration. a tinge of pink colors his cheeks as he glances away from your endearing position. he wants to ask you not to catch him off guard like that, but lets out a sigh, covering his warming expression with the back of his hand.

it’s easy as breathing oxygen to fluster the stubborn rafayel. you snack on the stick-shaped chocolate biscuits, watching as he rambles on about one of his latest clients. you wonder if there was an easier way to get him to stop talking at the speed of light.

a final bite of your pocky sparks an idea and it seems rafayel has recognized it as well. he juts out his lower lip, pouting as he realizes you’ve dropped paying attention to his very important words. “are you listening?” he chirps, “this is very important, you know?”

you nod your head vaguely before placing the pocky stick against his lips. “first one to pull away loses.” you grin and you can already see the tips of his ears turning a lovely shade of red. he stares at you before delicately biting down on the biscuit. “fine, but i won’t lose,” he mumbles.

you already know you have this in the bag the moment you bite down, inching closer to rafayel little by little. your eyes lock with his for a moment before a mischievous gleam strikes in your eyes and you’re tilting your head to the side as if ready to kiss him. immediately as his lips brush against yours, he bites down and pulls away. his eyes dart away as he tries to cover up his neck and face turning into a burning cherry. he mumbles something about letting you win.

#ੈ♡˳ aurora's writing #love and deepspace #zayne love and deepspace #xavier love and deepspace #xavier x reader #zayne x reader #rafayel x reader #rafayel love and deepspace #love and deepspace xavier #xavier x mc #xavier fluff #zayne x y/n #zayne fluff #rafayel x y/n #rafayel fluff

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moonstruckme · 9 months

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Hi! I love your works but the poly!marauders have my heart and soul. This is literally my first request ever but could we have poly!marauders as emts, where they are already in a relationship with the reader and reader keeps getting dizzy and passing out without a clear reason. Or literally anything established relationship and hurt/comfort with them.

I’m so bad at communicating and I hope you know and trust that people sincerely think you are amazing and believe in your talents even if we don’t know you in real life.

Much love and happiness for the new year <3

You're so sweet omg, thank you!! I slightly varied your dizzy/passing out idea but I hope this scratches the hurt/comfort itch <3

cw: severe dizziness, vomiting (this actually happened to me as a kid and I still have no idea what it was but it was ROUGH)

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You wake with a whine already tearing from your throat. The room is dark, and yet somehow it’s spinning. You know this more by feeling than by sight.

You breathe heavily, patting the bed next to you until you find something that’s not sheet. You’re holding your head as motionless as you can. You think it’s slowing.

“Hm?” Remus grunts.

“Help.” Your voice is scratchy, choked with panic. “I don’t—I’m so dizzy.”

“What?” He shifts on the bed, and your plan to keep still is instantly foiled. The slight movement of your pillow sends your head rolling again. Terror claws up your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you stress. “I just woke up and it’s like I’m spinning, Rem, I can’t see and—”

“Okay, shh, shh. Calm down.” You feel his spindly hand set down on top of yours.

The sheets whisper as the other boys rouse, and then a light turns on. It’s instantly better and worse. You can make out vaguely that you’re in bed, but everything in front of you whirls. At least now you can detect movement as a brownish shape enters your field of vision.

“What’s going on?” James’ voice is groggy. His hand stretches across your clavicle. “Why’re you looking up like that?”

“She says she’s dizzy.” Remus lifts his head above yours, or you think he does, a smear of pale skin and brown hair. “Is everything still spinning, dove?”

You try to hum in affirmation, but it comes out a bit like a whimper. “It hasn’t stopped, but it gets worse anytime I move my head.”

“Sounds like vertigo,” Sirius says. You recall he’d fallen asleep on Remus’ other side, but you don’t know if he’s moved since then. It’s odd speaking to them like this, disembodied voices you can touch but not see.

A warm hand lays across your forehead. “No fever,” James murmurs. “Is it getting better when you’re still like that, angel?”

You swallow. Maybe it’s because you’re in a vulnerable state, but his concerned tone is making your sinuses hurt.

“A little. Not enough to see or anything.”

You feel the bed dip, and then someone’s knees are digging into the sides of your hips. “Alright, gorgeous,” Sirius says, “let’s sit you up.”

“That sounds not fun,” you voice your concern hastily.

He coos, enfolding you in a hug that presses you securely against his chest. “I know, baby, but it could help us figure out what’s going on with you, okay?” He starts leaning back slowly, pulling you upright with him. “There, good girl.”

You recognize the feel of James’ hand as it splays on your back, drawing big, sweeping circles. You feel like you could be sick. You close your eyes, but can’t decide if that helps. Everything is worse. There’s no escaping it.

Remus’ bony knuckles brush your forehead, rechecking your temperature. “Can you hear us alright? Are your ears ringing at all?”

“I don’t think so.” It’s hard to tell when everything else is already so disorienting. Could it be a quiet ringing? You’re not sure you’d know it if you heard it. “I can hear you fine.”

He hums. James’ hand leaves your back and the mattress shifts as he gets out of bed. You turn your head on instinct to see where he’s going. It’s the worst idea of your life. You groan as the spinning intensifies, dragging you along on a tilt-a-whorl you’d never agreed to. It’s the feeling of the drunkest you’ve ever been times a thousand.

Before you know it’s coming, bile rushes up your throat and spews out onto the bed.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

One pair of hands grips you by the shoulders, keeping you from pitching forward into your own sick, while another gathers your hair away from your face. You whimper as saliva strings from your mouth. Someone wipes it away with their sleeve.

“I’m sorry.” Your throat hurts, your voice flagrant evidence of how close you are to tears. Your hair is secured behind your head with a ponytail. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright, darling, it’s not your fault,” Remus shushes you, using that tone he does when he’s trying to cover his own worry and soothe someone else’s at the same time. You once heard him talk this way to a kitten he was trying to coax out of the road. “Do you feel any better now?”

A sob catches in your throat. “No,” you confess.

If anything, the feeling has gotten worse. It’s like you’re swimming in your own head. You grope blindly for something to hold, and a cool hand presses itself into yours. Sirius.

“I’m really scared,” you choke out.

His fingers squeeze yours. “I know,” he says. “I’m sorry, baby, I know it has to be terrifying.”

He presses his lips ardently to your forehead. Wetness drips from your nose, and you grip his hand hard. It’s horrifically disconcerting not to be able to see your boyfriends, to be robbed of your sense of place, but their touches are grounding. The contact makes everything feel a bit more solid.

“James is getting some things ready to go to the hospital,” Remus says softly, and you realize they must have been having one of your silent eye conversations while you couldn’t see. Stupidly, you feel a bit left out.

“You can't help me here?” You’re pleading, your voice raw and wretched. You don’t want to make them feel bad, but what good is it to have three medically-trained professionals for boyfriends if they can’t utilize their expertise here at home?

“I’m sorry, dovey.” Remus’ thumbs stroke your shoulders. “Vertigo this severe is probably an ear infection, but it could also be something more serious. Either way, we can’t get you antibiotics without a doctor.”

“The quicker we go, the quicker you could be feeling better,” James says, signaling his return. “Here, honey, I brought this to clean you up.” He doesn’t tell you what this is, but a second later a warm cloth swipes across your mouth and over your chin, wiping away the vomit there.

“Thanks,” you say weakly.

You can hear the smile in his voice well enough to picture it, small and sympathetic. “My pleasure, angel. Do you think you’ll be sick again?”

“No.” You can say it with moderate certainty. Your head is still roiling, but it’s no longer taking your stomach with it.

“Okie dokie,” he goes on with his usual determined cheer. “I’ve got a change of clothes for you in the car, so I think we’re all ready to go. Hold your head here for me?” He presses it gently to what you suppose must be his chest, the neckline of his pajama shirt rough against your cheek. “I’ll try to keep as still as I can.”

Remus and Sirius let you go as James’ arms wrap around your shoulders and under your knees, lifting you off the bed. You push your face into his collar, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. Your vision swirls.

“Fuck,” you mumble.

“I’ve got you, my love.” James’ lips come down on your forehead, warm and sweet. “We’re gonna take such great care of you, I promise.”

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breadbrobin · 9 months

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jealousy, jealousy

luke castellan x reader - percy jackson and the olympians

[established relationship, fem!reader]

summary: you weren’t jealous. not at all.

warnings: jealousy, fluff, kissing.

word count: 670

(this is my shortest one yet, but it’s cute and fun so here you go. (yes the brainrot has gotten worse i know))

————————————————

it was happening again.

it was always happening, to be fair, but it had been happening a lot more lately.

every time you went to hang out with luke, your boyfriend, he was being hounded by young girls, all asking him for extra help and extra training and batting their eyelashes like broken dolls.

you rolled your eyes and stood off to the side, waiting for the crowd to disperse.

you weren’t jealous, you swore it. like, sure, maybe they annoyed you a little, but you weren’t jealous of them. luke only had eyes for you… right?

your gaze sharpened on him. he hadn’t noticed you yet. he looked a little overwhelmed. stressed even. was that because he was getting too much attention full stop? or because he didn’t know where to look first?

you clenched your jaw and decided to put him out of his misery. you pushed through the girls, ignoring their mumbled complaints.

“will you help me with my sword fighting, lukey?” you cooed from behind him.

you could see his jaw clench as he turned around.

“i’m not giving out—“ his entire expression softened, flipping from irritated to relieved. “y/n.” his voice was a soft breath, murmuring your name like it was the last thing he ever wanted to say. he smiled. “what are you doing here?”

“came to get you. chiron wants to see you. something about counsellor duties?” you raised your eyebrows at him.

he nodded quickly and stepped closer to you and back from the girls around him, who were tittering disappointedly. “sorry, guys. i gotta go.”

they all called various goodbyes after him as you took his arm and pulled him away.

“thank you,” he muttered. “i didn’t know how to get rid of them and i didn’t want to be too mean.”

“that’s your problem, luke castellan. you’re too nice.” you kept pulling him away. not towards the big house like you’d said you would, but around the side of the arena.

he frowned. “where are we going? i thought i needed to see—“

“i haven’t seen chiron all day. and i haven’t seen you all day either,” you said simply.

“oh.” he frowned for a second, then it clicked. “oh, okay!”

you still hadn’t let go of his arm, and he was beginning to notice it.

you could hear his smirk in his voice as he spoke. “were you… jealous, y/n?”

you dropped his arm like it burned you and stopped, turning to face him. he stopped too, almost hitting you. he was inches away. “what? no.”

a mischievous smirk grew on his face. “oh, really? i don’t know if i believe you. you know that you’re the only girl i want, right?”

you blushed slightly and looked away, staring at at cloud shaped vaguely like a heart behind his head. “yeah, i know.”

“do you?” he stepped into your line of vision again.

you nodded.

“good. because all of those girls? if they were trying to get with me, they’d have to look like you, talk like you, act like you. and even with all that, i’d still chose you, because you’re you. not them.” he ran his hands gently down your arms, holding your hands in his. “cool?”

“cool,” you said. you slipped your hands from his and looped them over his shoulders, messing with the hairs at the nape of his neck. “very cool.”

“cool.” he leaned in to kiss you.

as you leaned in too, you saw the hoard of girls come around the corner with accusing looks on their faces. and maybe you pulled luke so you were side-on to them and they could see both of you. and maybe you kissed him a little more passionately than the moment really called for. and maybe you had been jealous. maybe. but maybe they needed to learn that he was yours and you were his, and it was time to give up.

in your mind, at least, that was fair.

jealousy, jealousy, you mused. what a weapon.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #pjo #charlie bushnell #luke castellan x you

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schoenpepper · 13 days

Text

It's Okay to Play Favorites (Vice Housewardens)

Intro: You accidentally get sucked into the world of Twisted Wonderland, your favorite game, like, ever. And uh, you may or may not have teleported with a plushie of your favorite character…

Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, self aware au but not god, your card collection is just you being freaky and taking pictures of them, google translated French be warned, ortho’s is platonic and if u take it any other way i ban u, lilia’s is also platonic but if u see romance crumbs i won't stop u, ik ruggie and ortho aren't vice housewardens but get this idgaf

A/N: Bro college got me fucked (second day in i know i'm a fucking whiner i hate it all). Not a request, just some random stuff I wrote during my 3 hour round-trip commute jfc. If my Jade favoritism is acting up, no it ain't.

Masterlist

Trey Clover is a man often overlooked, whether in the fandom or the world of Twisted Wonderland.

So when you get transported in during orientation, you, the player, were holding a plush form of him?

He blanks out.

Sorry Riddle, your vice housewarden kinda crashed maybe you can reboot him or something.

Trey’s never thought of himself as anything special, but he must be if he’s your favorite character, right?

You befriend him with a giddy smile, he can almost see the hearts in your eyes as you fan[redacted] so hard you actually hug him in your excitement.

The player? Hugged? Him?????

“Crazy bro that’s like super nuts so jealous of you.” - Cater Diamond

Hm, he gets a bit bashful when you take so many pictures of him.

Do you really like him that much?

He…likes you too.

“Cringe.” - Cater Diamond

I’m just a normal person, you know? At least, the closest someone can get to normal in this place. You still want me? Are you sure?

…Okay.

If you’re sure.

Unfortunately, to date a dad is to put up with dad jokes.

Do you mind though?

Makes you the most delicious pastries and confectionery known to mankind. You’ll probably get 5 lbs fatter and a sugar addiction.

But your teeth will be beautiful because he teaches you how to brush your teeth properly.

(Ten kinds of toothbrushes…)

Picnic dates.

Tea party dates.

Baking dates.

You might need to go on a diet to stay in shape because Trey doesn’t mind fat. He will probably love you more if you’re chubby.

But he loves you regardless.

Rest of the cast is like, vaguely jealous because why Trey?

But also he has a generally good rapport with other people so it’s cool.

Maybe.

Ruggie Bucchi wasn’t really paying too much attention at the ceremony but you definitely drew his focus.

Is that a plushie hyena beastman?

Does not register that it’s him until someone calls it out.

What? Why? How? When? Where?

He probably has major self esteem issues because, you know, the school’s filled to the brim with rich kids and people with status.

He has neither money nor power. So when he finds out he’s your favorite character? Boom.

He lets out his cute (im not biased) laugh but it’s because he doesn’t know how else to react.

You want to be his friend? Why not?

(Laughs again because he’s exploding on the inside)

You hug him???? Crazy. You owe him a donut for that, bro.

Thinks the picture thing is a bit weird but who is he to argue with the player?

You’re weird, y’know? There’s like princes and moguls and stuff in NRC, why me?

You like me? You find me charming?

That’s not something I’d really use for myself but hey…knock yourself out. Shishishi.

Floof.

You get to scratch his ears and kiss ‘em and watch ‘em twitch while he tries to get away from you.

Insane bro wish I was you.

Cuddly and surprisingly clingy, loves loves loves being pampered.

Are you indoctrinated by my subby Ruggie vibes yet???

His love language is sharing food.

(Have you ever tried passing candy through a kiss? No? Wanna try?)

His grandma will love you <3

The other characters will be giving him major stink eye. The scrappy hyena? Really?

Yes really.

“Whatever, good for you.” - Leona probably.

Jade Leech is amused.

Rather childish, is it not? Well, he’s flattered that you think so highly of him and even have this stuffed toy in his image.

Unfortunately, he does hold enough respect for you as the player to not immediately use your infatuation with him for nefarious purposes.

Not to say he doesn’t tease you though.

You are the flustered one here.

He’s your favorite? Oya, how interesting. He’s never seen himself the way that you do, but who is he to argue with the player?

Please, what do you like so much about him? Do tell.

(His systems crash when you hug him but you’ll never know)

You seem to enjoy taking his pictures. If you let him [redacted] you can take as many as you want.

If you don’t take him up on his offer I will!!!

My, I never expected to be your ‘favorite character’, was it? Well, I don’t mind.

What do I think of you?

Fufu, wouldn’t you like to know?

Loving a sadist means you’re probably a masochist.

You like it when he ‘unintentionally’ makes you do something stupid? Toys with you? Teases you with his annoyingly adorable super cutie pie grin?

Bro you have weird taste I could like, never~

If you didn’t like mushrooms before you do now.

You wish he’d look at you the way he looks at his terrariums.

You know that silly, happy, dopey little look he gets? The lab coat groovy one? Yeah.

Hiking dates if you’re physically able to. If not, he makes like the fanciest dinner dates ever.

He does love you, promise.

The other characters are highkey judging you.

Jamil Viper is inside his hoodie and is very unlikely to ever come out.

You’re kinda embarrassing but what is he supposed to do?

You’re the player. You have a plushie Jamil. Tiny and cute.

Jamil doesn’t see himself as cute. Wouldn’t it be better if you had a different one? Someone sunnier, someone warmer, someone like…Kalim?

Jamil’s your favorite character?

Yeah he’s not leaving his hoodie.

When you’re so happy and excited that you hug him, his soul leaves his body through his lips.

Rip Jamil Viper.

I don’t think Jamil’s very used to the camera, considering he’s technically Kalim’s servant and servants stay in the background.

But since you adore him the way that you do, well, he won’t stop you.

You’re strange. Is this a prank?

No, I don’t mean to doubt you. It’s just that…

No, nevermind. Since you want me, I’ll—love? You love me? Fine, I can work with that too.

His favorite kind of date is one where you two sleep and cuddle together.

He needs a break.

It’s not too often that he can carve time out of babysitting, so any time spent with him you’ll cherish like gold.

You can help him with chores if you manage to persist through multiple rejections.

He’d really prefer not to make the player do chores with him, but when you smile so wide like that, he can’t refuse anymore on the grounds of you not enjoying it.

Kalim can lend you guys the carpet though, you wanna fly?

While the cast doesn’t generally approve of the snake, you’re very loud about your infatuation.

They can’t stop you.

Rook Hunt is a lover of beauty, and you, the player, are the most beauté of all! (full points :D)

Qu'est-ce que c'est? A soft and fluffy copy of himself? How wonderous! Marvelous! The adorable cotton-filled blah blah blah (insert soliloquy here)

While there’s a tiny thought in his mind that perhaps the poison apple or the queen would be more befitting of a nui plush, he still takes your fascination with him in stride.

(It’s not often that he’s in this role.)

To be your favorite, it is an honor!

He shall dedicate a poem to your inner and outer beauty!

Accidentally tosses you to the ground when you try to hug him.

Desolé, instinct. Try again?

He’s not used to being the one in the spotlight, but please, take as many pictures as you need!

Love? Love is the most beautiful indeed. Comme toi, tellement adorable. Lovely.

You’re asking if I have someone I love?

Je suis un lâche de ne pas exprimer mon amour pour toi.

Either you get what he’s saying or you remember it so you can translate later.

Anyway, have you ever wanted to hunt for sport as a date?

No?

How about getting hunted for sport?

Still no? Shame.

Rook settles for little camping trips in the woods, just you and him and the forest (and his bow and quiver of arrows and his hunting knife and his dagger and—).

He makes very good roasted meat.

You’ll enjoy it as long as you remember not to ask where it’s from.

Uh, ignore how every other cast member is judging you. Love is love, right?

Ortho Shroud is very happy! Very excited! Yay!

You’re a legendary figure, and you’re treating him so nicely!

Is that a toy made to look like him? You like Ortho? He’s your favorite character?

Yay!

Robo baby is very happy.

Since you like Ortho, do you like Idia too?

Can you be Idia’s friend?

Can you be a new older sibling? Please?

(Say yes or I will [redacted])

Hugs? Hugs!

Forehead kisses?

Yes!

You seem to enjoy taking many pictures of Ortho. Why is this? You like him that much?

If so, maybe you two should take pictures together instead of always taking pictures of him alone. He’d love to take lots of pictures with you!

Can Idia come?

I am your favorite character? Like in a video game? This world is also a video game?

That’s great!

What kind of character am I?

Lilia Vanrouge thinks you’re funny. But also totally correct.

He must be sinful because even you, dear player, find him absolutely adorable!

Hehehe…

Is that a tiny Lilia? Good taste! It’s almost as adorable as the real one.

When you hug him in your excitement, he just laughs and pats your back.

Grandpa vibes.

A picture? Why not?

A selfie, as you kids say. (bro you’re not even detached from modern technology???)

Really likes taking pictures with you.

Since you like him a lot and he’s your favorite character, be a dear and forgo your sleep schedule to game with him.

I’m your favorite, right? Surely that means you’d love to taste my cooking?

No? Why, I’m saddened by your rejection…

There we go. It’s not so bad, is it? I made it with effort, onions, garlic…are you alright? Oh dear.

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gatorbites-imagines · 2 months

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Logan Howlett x Cyclops variant male reader

Ficlet

Reader is a Cyclops variant, just extra spikey, because Scogan is one of my guilty pleasures. I don’t know a whole lot about the X-men, so this I try to keep it vague.

I’m also very sick, so if this sucks, that’s why. I didn’t get a request for this, but I just needed it out my system.

Deadpool and Wolverine Spoilers ahead!!

The void was a strange place, it didn’t take Logan long to learn that. Being stuck with Deadpool meant he had come to expect seeing weird shit, but a very angry, very bloody, almost half feral Cyclops was not one of them. You were simply so… angry. From what the resistance could tell them, your deep connection to the punch dimension, and whatever else had you picked up by the TVA and dumped into the Void, kept you safely out of Novas grasp, even if she very openly wanted you by her side.

Seeing the familiar visor made Logans heart ache so deeply, but that snarl on your lips reminded him too much of himself. Deadpool being himself immediately started cracking jokes, only for you to blast him with your eyes. And instead of just throwing Deadpool back, it seemed to completely disintegrate arm right off his body. Logan later learned that was one of the reasons the TVA picked you up. Apparently, your mutation was… wrong. Cyclops wasn’t meant to slice people in half with his eyes, just throw or punch them back. But whatever life you had lived, had shaped you differently.

Working side by side with a Cyclops again took some getting used too, and for you it was difficult too. But that rivalry but underlying respect was still there. You couldn’t decide if you wanted to hit him or kiss him when Logan absentmindedly called you Slim for the first time. In the end you nailed him in the knee with your one of your beams, just enough to get him to trip face first into the ground. That had caused Logan to snap out at you with his claws, but there had been no real heat behind it.

After everything, with Nova, with the TVA, and with you and Logan for some reason settling down in Deadpools dimension, things were up in the air. The X-men still existed in this world, and neither of you felt much want to join them again. Both for the fact that they clearly already had a much more stable Cyclops, and their Wolverine had been dead for years at this point. So, in the end you two just stuck together, tracking down different mutant traffickers and other bad guys, and dealing with them in your own violent manner. Your beams and other abilities, and Logan technically being dead in this world kept you both an unknown card in this world, to everyone but Deadpool at least.

Sure, at some point your actions would catch the attention of the X-men, but it would take them a while, and during that time the relationship between you two brewed into something new and different, but still good. At least, you thought it was good, and if Logans shoulders growing less tense and his eyes less haunted meant anything, then you could only assume the same from him.

Seeing Jean, Remy and Anna Marie on a hit wasn’t something you expected though. Logan had never truly dealt with his grief of losing them, and you had over dealt with it, to the point where you felt nothing but an empty black hole, which fueled the more deadly part of your powers. In the end, you sent Logan away, as you distracted the present X-men, with the fancy black beams you had mastered, keeping their appearance different enough that they wouldn’t be able to tie it back to their Cyclops.

Maybe the reunion with past familiar faces was what broke the camels back with Logan, as the moment you guys got back to your motel room, you found yourself flung onto the bed, Logan easily ripping your baggy clothes off your body. “Logan- hold up” you grunted out, as he descended upon you like an animal, sinking his teeth into your neck, your shoulders, your chest, as his hands grabbed and kneaded at you. Unlike most cyclops, you had a healing factor, so it was fine, but still, seeing him so fervent had you worried.

Logan had never been one for talking about feelings, but he also wasn’t gonna force you to do something when you clearly wanted to talk about it first. In the end, you two wound up laying side by side, Logans ear resting against your chest to hear your heartbeat even if his heightened senses easily could have heard it anywhere else. It was clearly painful for him to talk about it, how he felt, what he wanted to do about it but couldn’t, what he thought of himself, so on and so forth. And through it all, you just found yourself rubbing his back and caressing his hair, giving him replies when he needed it.

Getting all the nasty details off his chest seemed to be what Logan needed, as he became so much more relaxed and softer afterwards. You had never imagined you’d see the wolverine of all people being soft, but him laying on your chest and drawing small shapes on your stomach was proof it was real. Hearing it all from Logan brought of some of your own suppressed memories, stuff you wanted to forget or stuff you had overanalyzed till it lost all meaning, but still, you found yourself spilling it all to him. What happened to you, your own x-men, your powers, how you ended up in the void.

It left you both feeling vulnerable, like an exposed nerve, but also so much closer. It was at this point you two officially started your relationship, and would also be the day you celebrated anniversaries, even if Logan acted like he didn’t care.

In the end, you two hadn’t really planned too far out in the future, what you would do, where you would go, you just kinda lived at the edge of your seats and went where the wind took you. Of course, you guys joined Deadpool and his little gang of misfits every now and then, whenever you were around his territory. You shouldn’t have been surprised when the X-men finally fully tracked you down. Apparently, Colossus had been a great guy and kept you two hidden, since you in his words “needed time to heal and find yourselves”.

Them having Kurt bamf into your motel room was too much though, especially as Logan almost skewered him on his claws, only avoided by old instincts of Kurts taking him out of fire. They had all been near tears when they saw Logan, some happier or weepier than others. He fit in so great with them, and made that lonely sour feeling rear its ugly head as you sank into the background.

Logan, being ever observant, pulled you to the front, and introduced you by his nickname for you, easily stating that you were his, and that was that. Your visor had been lost a long time ago, replaced by whatever shades or goggles you two could find, but it was pretty clear who’s variant you were. It left the X-men floundering when it became obvious you two were more than just allies. Your preference for bloody violence was also pretty new, but what could they really do.

You both denied joining the X-men, blaming it on not wanting to settle down in one place. Xavier had a very knowing look on his face, so you wouldn’t be shocked if he knew exactly why neither of you felt comfortable amongst their ranks, at least for a long while. That didn’t keep different X-men from pulling up on you two any chance they got. Apparently seeing an edgier more rebel version of their leader and/or headmaster was quite a hit. They talked about you offering students beer for months, and how sour this worlds Cyclops looked about you made you cackle. So maybe it wasn’t all bad. But only the future could really tell, but with Logan, and your shared group of randos, then that future didn’t look too bleak .

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vanteguccir · 25 days

Text

── ୨୧ !　GOD'S WILL

spencer reid x reader

SUMMARY: Where Y/N Reid is forced to watch her husband being tortured by a delusional and psychotic serial killer through a computer screen.

WARNING: Based on s2e15 ‼️ Use of gun, blood, being beaten, death, usual CM violence.

REQUESTED?: No.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

The air was thick with tension as Y/N, Morgan, and Emily stepped out of the SUV, the silence of the rural property around them almost deafening. The barn loomed ahead, a dark, foreboding shape against the twilight sky.

They moved in quickly, flanked by a small group of local police officers, their flashlights cutting through the dim light, illuminating the path to the barn. The scent of decay and rot hit them before they reached the entrance, a sickly rancid smell that made Y/N’s stomach churn. She pressed a hand to her nose, trying to filter out the stench, but it was impossible to escape.

As they entered the barn, their beams of light swept over the scene inside, revealing the carnage. Dead dogs littered the floor, their bodies twisted and broken, and the last victim's remains sprawled in a grotesque display.

The walls were smeared with blood, and the metallic tang filled the air. Y/N’s heart clenched, horror flooding her senses at the sight of the animals’ suffering, the brutality of their deaths. She’d seen a lot in her years with the BAU, but this... this was something else.

"Jesus." Morgan muttered under his breath, the disgust clear in his voice. Emily’s jaw was clenched, her eyes dark with anger and revulsion. They moved further into the barn, their guns raised and ready, searching for any sign of the unsub or another victim.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows, a gun pointed directly at them.

"FBI!" A familiar voice screamed, the word slicing through the air like a knife.

Morgan’s reaction was instant, his gun snapping up to meet the threat.

"JJ! JJ, it’s Morgan, Prentiss, and Y/L/N!" He yelled, his voice a desperate plea. "Don’t shoot, it’s okay!"

Recognition dawned in JJ’s eyes, and her grip on the gun faltered, her arm lowering as she took in the sight of her colleagues. Relief flooded her features, but it was mixed with fear, her face pale and drawn.

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She rushed forward, her hands reaching out to steady JJ, her heart pounding in her chest.

"JJ, are you hurt?" She asked, her voice laced with worry, her eyes scanning JJ’s for any sign of injury.

JJ shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

"Tobias Hankel is the unsub." She said, her voice cracking, eyes wide with horror.

"Yeah, we know." Emily replied, her tone clipped and urgent.

JJ’s eyes flickered over the dead dogs, her expression crumbling.

"I had to kill them." She whispered, her voice thick with guilt, her gaze distant as if she were replaying the scene over and over in her mind. "They attacked me. I didn’t have a choice. I had to-"

"JJ." Y/N interrupted, her voice firm, cutting through JJ’s daze. Her hands tightened on JJ’s shoulders, grounding her. "Where’s Spencer?" There was an edge of desperation in Y/N’s voice, a need for answers that she couldn’t contain.

JJ seemed to waver, her eyes not quite focusing as she tried to gather her thoughts.

"He... he said he was going to the back. To check the cornfield." She finally said, pointing vaguely towards the rear of the barn, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Y/N felt a cold wave of fear wash over her, chilling her to the bone. She turned to look at the cornfield, its tall, dense rows seeming to stretch on forever, hiding whatever secrets lay within.

"Alone?" She asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. The thought of Spencer out there, by himself, searching for a killer without being used to confront one on the field, made her stomach twist into knots. "Why didn’t you go with him?"

JJ looked down, guilt flashing across her face.

"He insisted. Said he could handle it. I... I should have gone with him. I should have..." Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, visibly struggling to keep her composure. "I’m sorry, Y/N."

Morgan didn’t waste a second. He bolted for the door, his determination radiating off of him in waves. Y/N started to follow, not even looking at JJ again, her feet moving before her mind could catch up, but Emily reached out, grabbing her arm.

"Y/N, wait!" Emily said, her grip firm. "Why don't you help me search for some clues around here? Morgan can do it, okay?"

Y/N’s heart screamed at her to go with Morgan, to find Spencer, but she knew Emily was right. She had to be logical, had to stay focused. They needed to understand what they were dealing with if they were going to help Spencer. She nodded reluctantly, pulling herself together.

"Okay." She said, her voice tight.

It didn't take too long, and soon, the whole scene was covered by ambulances and local police cars. JJ was already being checked by paramedics, her face still pale, her hands trembling. Y/N felt a pang of sympathy, but she couldn’t focus on that now. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Spencer, with the fear that she wouldn’t find him in time.

The sound of steps interrupted her train of thoughts, catching hers and Emily's attention. Morgan finally reappeared, his face grim, his eyes shadowed with worry, and Y/N could feel her heart instantly dropping. She knew the answer before he even spoke, the tightness in his shoulders, the way he avoided her gaze.

"He’s not there." Morgan said, his voice low and rough. "Reid’s gone."

The world seemed to tilt around Y/N, her vision narrowing, her breath catching in her throat. The reality of his words slammed into her like a freight train, the implication of Spencer’s absence echoing through her mind. She had known it in her gut and had felt the terror creeping in, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all too real.

She staggered back, her hand finding the rough surface of the barn wall to steady herself. Spencer was missing. Tobias Hankel had him, and God only knew what he was doing to him. The thought was a knife to her heart, twisting and tearing, leaving her gasping for air.

"You can't find him?" JJ's voice echoed closer to them, her figure involved by a thin blanket that disguised her exhausted form.

Y/N kept her eyes on the ground, her eyes widened while her mind ate her alive, not noticing how Emily shook her head negatively or how JJ approached her hesitantly, her face etched with worry.

"Y/N." She said softly, trying to reach through the haze of sadness and worry that surrounded her friend. "We will do everything we can to find him. I promise."

Y/N whirled around, her eyes blazing with a fury so intense it made JJ take an involuntary step back, her hands clutching tightly around the blanket.

"Everything we can?" She spat, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotion. "If it weren't for you, we wouldn't need to do anything at all! You should never have left him alone. You were supposed to be with him, JJ! He was with you!"

JJ’s face paled, guilt flickering across her features.

"I- We thought it would be faster if we split up. We didn’t know-"

"You didn’t know?!" Y/N’s voice rose, sharp and accusatory. Her tears blurred her vision, but she didn't bother wiping them away. "You let him go off on his own! You let him-" Her voice broke, and she took a shuddering breath, trying to hold herself together. "And now he’s..." She gestured helplessly at the corn field as if pointing to nothing and everything at the same time. They didn't know where he was.

JJ’s eyes filled with tears, but she tried to hold her ground.

"I know you’re angry, Y/N, but I was just trying to do my job. I thought he’d be safe-"

"You thought?!" Y/N cut her off again, her voice laced with venom. "How could you think he’d be safe? We’re dealing with a killer, JJ! A crazy sadistic psychopath! And you thought it was okay to let Spencer out of your sight? He’s not like us! He’s not... he’s not..." Her words faltered as a sob tore from her throat, her anger giving way to the raw, unfiltered terror that gripped her heart.

"Hey, hey..." Emily got in between them, her eyes going from Y/N to JJ. "Y/N, I know you’re scared. We all are. But lashing out isn’t going to help find Spencer."

Y/N's shoulders fell, a mix of a sob and a deep breath escaping through her throat before she shook her head.

"I can't even look at you right now."

　　　　　༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The quiet that had settled over the old house was deceptive. Every member of the team could feel it: the heavy, expectant tension pressing down on their shoulders, tightening their throats, and making their hearts beat just a bit too fast.

The house reeked of rot and disrepair, the moldy walls and peeling wallpaper a bleak reminder of the darkness that had taken root here long before Tobias Hankel had become who he is now. But it wasn’t the squalid condition of the house that held the team captive, nor was it the videos from the past victim that they were analyzing with a scrutinizing eye. It was the video footage being streamed live on a grainy, unstable feed.

Spencer Reid - her lover, her husband, her everything - was on the screen, and he was in agony.

Y/N stood before the makeshift command center. Every muscle in her body tensed to the breaking point. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the flickering image of Spencer, bound to a chair, blood streaming down the side of his face, his eyes wide with fear. Her hands balled into fists at her sides, nails digging painfully into her palms. She barely registered the sharp sting, her gaze locked on Spencer’s face, every detail of his pain etched into her mind.

"Y/N." Emily said quietly, her voice breaking through the fog of her thoughts. She stood a few feet away, her expression a mask of professional calm, though Y/N could see the concern in her eyes. "Do you want me to bring you to the hotel?"

"No, thank you." She answered in a beat, not tearing her gaze from the screen. "I need to see this."

"Y/N-"

"I said no!" Y/N snapped.

"Hey, calm down." Hotch quickly intervened, noticing her demeanor changing drastically. "We’re all doing our best here. There's no need for that."

Y/N rounded on him, her eyes flashing with a dangerous fire.

"Don’t tell me to be calm, Hotch!" She muttered, her voice raw with pain. "My husband is out there, alone, being tortured for hours, and you want me to be calm? How am I supposed to be calm? How am I supposed to just stand here and watch while he’s suffering?"

Her chest heaved with each breath, her heart hammering against her ribcage. She felt like she was drowning, like the walls were closing in on her, squeezing the air from her lungs. Her mind was a whirlwind of images of Spencer’s bloodied face, his desperate eyes.

"Do you have any idea what he’s going through?" She demanded, her voice breaking. "Do any of you know what it’s like to watch the person you love more than anything in this world being hurt and not be able to do anything to stop it?"

Hotch’s expression softened, but he stood his ground, his voice gentle but unyielding.

"We’re going to find him, Y/N. But we need you to stay focused. We need you to keep your head clear. If you don't, I will send you to the hotel until this investigation ends."

Y/N shook her head, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Hotch... he’s all I have." She whispered, her voice breaking. "He’s everything to me." Her voice dissolved into sobs, her body shaking with the force of her grief.

"We will bring him back, Y/L/N. That's a promise." Gideon’s voice echoed closer to her, his hand squeezing her shoulder for a moment, trying to send any type of comfort to her.

Her blurred eyes got back to the computers, breathing heavily. The video feed flickered for a second, distorting the image for a moment, and she felt a flash of panic, her breath catching in her throat. When the image stabilized, showing Spencer still alive, still struggling, she let out a shuddering breath.

"Please, God." She whispered, the words slipping from her lips before she could stop them. "Just bring him back to me."

She could feel her heart pounding a relentless, painful rhythm against her ribcage. Each beat felt like a countdown, ticking away the seconds she had to save him. Her chest tightened, and each inhale felt like she was dragging razor blades into her lungs.

But it all stopped abruptly when her eyes caught Tobias appearing in the frame again.

"This ends now." Hankel's deep voice echoed from the cheap microphone, echoing around the room. "Confess your sins."

He raised his hand, and Y/N felt her blood turn to ice. Her body tensed instinctively, her muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. She could see Spencer’s fear, see the way his eyes darted towards Tobias's face, wide and pleading, searching for some shred of mercy. But she knew there would be none. Tobias was too far gone, too lost in the labyrinth of his own madness.

The slap echoed through the small room, amplified by the crackling speakers, a sharp, vicious sound that reverberated in Y/N’s skull. It was as if she had been struck herself, the force of it radiating through her bones.

"Oh my God." She gasped, a strangled, broken sound, her hand flying to her mouth as she watched Spencer’s head snap to the side, a fresh streak of blood painting the side of his face. His eyes closed for a brief, agonizing moment, his face twisted in pain.

Y/N felt her own cheeks burn with the phantom pain of that slap, as if Tobias had reached through the screen to strike her too.

The helplessness she felt at that exact moment was suffocating. She was supposed to be his shield, his protector, and yet here she was, miles away, separated by a screen, powerless to stop the horror unfolding in front of her. It was torture of a different kind. Every inch of her body screamed to leap through the screen, to place herself between Spencer and Tobias, to take the blows herself if it meant sparing him.

How could I let this happen? How could I have been so blind?

She replayed the events leading up to this moment, searching for the misstep, the overlooked detail that had led them here.

When Spencer’s eyes opened again, glassy and unfocused, her vision blurred with tears that were never really gone. His pain was a tangible thing, a living, breathing entity that clawed at her heart, ripping it to shreds. She felt a sob rising in her throat, thick and choking, but she swallowed it down.

"Garcia, please..." She whispered, her voice a broken plea. "You couldn't find anything yet? Anything at all?"

The sound of her own voice brought a fresh wave of agony crashing over her. Spencer couldn’t hear her. He didn’t know she was there, didn’t know she was watching, didn’t know she was tearing herself apart with every second that passed.

"I'm sorry, Y/N..."

When Tobias struck his face again, the sound seemed to echo endlessly in her mind, each repetition a fresh cut to her soul. Spencer’s cry of pain, raw and involuntary, cut through her like a knife.

"Reid." Gideon said softly, his voice cutting through the haze of her anguish. His hands gripped her shoulders, turning her back to the screens and lowering his upper body in a way that he could look inside her eyes. "Why don't we step back for a moment?"

She shook her head violently, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand, smearing them across her cheek.

"I can’t leave him, Gideon." She choked out, her voice cracking with the weight of her emotion. "I have to stay with him. I have to-" Her words dissolved into a sob, and she clamped her hand over her heart, trying to hold herself together.

"Oh my, he's killing him." Penelope's words made her go into complete shock, her head turning to the computers so fast that she could feel the pain radiating from her neck.

The sound of the impact of the chair against the ground was sickening, Spencer’s body hitting the hard floor with a thud that reverberated through the barn, and that Y/N was sure she would have nightmares with it for the rest of her life.

"No!" Y/N’s scream tore from her throat, raw and anguished, her hands flying to her hair, pulling at her strands, ignoring the pain that washed over her head, her eyes widening in horror.

On the screen, Spencer’s body jerked violently, his limbs thrashing, his back arching off the ground as his muscles spasmed uncontrollably. Foam bubbled at his mouth, his eyes rolling back in his head, his face contorted in a rictus of pain.

Y/N stumbled back, her legs giving out beneath her, her hand reaching out to catch herself on the edge of the table. The world spun around her, her vision blurring with tears, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Spencer was convulsing, his body seizing, and she couldn’t do anything.

Until it all stopped.

A scream tore from her throat, raw and anguished, as she turned away from the screen. Her fist connected with the doorframe behind them, the wood splintering under the force of her blow. Pain shot through her hand, sharp and electric, but she welcomed it. It was a distraction from the pain that was tearing her apart from the inside.

"Y/N!" Morgan’s voice cut through the haze of agony, his figure reappearing from the room he escaped to minutes before, his hands grabbing her shoulders, pulling her away from the door. "What the hell are you doing?"

She struggled against him, tears streaming down her face, her body shaking with sobs she couldn’t control.

"He’s dead." She choked out, her voice broken. "He’s dead, Derek! He's dead..."

"He- what?" Morgan turned to Gideon, searching for any trace that told him that Y/N's was lying, but there was none.

"I should have been with him. I should have been there to protect him. How could I let him come here? How could I be so stupid?"

Hotch stepped forward, his expression as hard as steel.

"This isn’t your fault, Y/N. None of us could have predicted this. We’re dealing with a monster, and we’re doing everything we can to stop him-"

"It wasn't enough." Y/N shook her head, lowering her eyes to the ground, her heart feeling a kind of pain that she never thought she would have to feel.

"Guys." Garcia's voice was a shaky whisper, gaining their attention. "Guys, you should see this."

Y/N’s head snapped up, her heart lurching in her chest. She couldn't take any more scares.

On the screen, the image had changed. Tobias was leaning over Spencer now, his hands pressing rhythmically on Spencer’s chest, his face contorted with concentration. The sight was surreal, a twisted juxtaposition to the violence they had just witnessed.

Spencer’s body was still, his face pale and lifeless. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Tobias count under his breath, his hands moving with a practiced precision. For a moment, it seemed like nothing would change, like Spencer was gone for good. But then, there was a small, almost imperceptible twitch of Spencer’s fingers. His head rose suddenly, his body jerking as he took a ragged breath, coughing loudly, his eyes flying open.

"He’s alive." Y/N breathed, her voice trembling with a mixture of relief and disbelief. Her fingers found the golden ring that decorated her left hand, ignoring her hurting knuckles, her eyes wide as she watched Spencer cough and gasp for air. For a brief, shining moment, hope flared in her chest. Spencer was alive.

They still had time. They could save him.

But the moment was shattered when Tobias’s got away from Spencer's body, his face twisted, his eyes darkening as the cruel, sadistic personality took over again. His expression shifted from concern to cold satisfaction as he stared down at Spencer, his lips curling into a smile.

"You came back to life." Tobias muttered, his voice a low, eerie whisper that sent a chill down Y/N’s spine.

"Raphael." Spencer gulped, breathing heavily, the not so pleasing experience from dying and coming back to life taking a toll on him.

Y/N’s hands found Garcia's shoulder, trembling violently while gripping her covered skin, trying to ground herself.

"There can be only one of two reasons." Tobias - or Raphael - voice echoed again from the computer, cutting into their conversation.

"I was given CPR." Reid muttered, his face twisting in pain. His obvious answer would make Y/N laugh if it was on another occasion.

"There are no accidents... How many members are on your team?" Tobias's question brought confusion to the team's head. Why would he ask that in the middle of his own chaos?

Spencer’s breathing was shallow, his voice weak as he responded.

"Seven."

Y/N’s eyes flicked to Emily, who stood beside her, her brow furrowing.

"Seven?" She repeated, confusion knitting her features. "But there’s eight of us..."

"He took himself out of the count." Emily realized, her voice tinged with disbelief. "Spencer didn’t include himself."

Before anyone could react, Tobias began to talk again, his voice low and ominous.

"Seven. And the seven angels that had the seven trumpets prepared themselves to sound. The first angel sounded, and there followed hail and fire mingled with blood, and they were thrown to earth."

A horrified understanding dawned in Hotch’s eyes.

"He thinks we’re the seven angels of death." He said, his voice grim. "He believes we’re here to bring about the apocalypse. The seven archangels versus the seven angels of death."

The room fell silent, everyone’s eyes glued to the screen as Tobias lifted Spencer’s chair, setting it upright again. Spencer winced, his body still weak, his breathing ragged. Tobias moved around to stand in front of Reid, his expression a twisted mask of anticipation.

"Tell me who you serve."

"Son of a bitch." Y/N whispered, her voice wavering as her free hand brushed roughly against her cheeks, trying to wipe the tears that never seemed to end.

"I serve you."

"Then choose one to die." Tobias commanded, his voice harsh and unyielding.

"What?" The sound of Spencer’s voice mixed with Morgan's one as both asked the same question.

"Your team members... Choose one to die."

Y/N felt a hand searching for hers desperately, Garcia's touch meeting her own above her shoulders, squeezing her fingers.

Spencer shook his head weakly, his eyes filled with pain and desperation.

"No... I won’t... I can’t..."

Tobias’s face darkened in a way that wasn't like Tobias or Raphael, his jaw clenching. He took a gun from behind his back, raising it with an expressionless face, pointing it directly at Spencer’s forehead, his finger tightening on the trigger.

"Oh, but you can." He hissed. "And you will. Or I start with you right now."

Y/N’s left hand balled into a fist at her side, squeezing her marriage ring between her fingers.

Spencer’s voice broke through the silence, choked and desperate.

"Please... don’t make me... please..."

Tobias's eyes hardened, the barrel of his gun almost digging into Spencer’s skin.

"Choose and prove you'll do God's will."

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing as she watched Spencer struggle with his decision. She could see the conflict in his eyes every time Tobias pressed the trigger, the fear and the resolve battling within him. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse again, that he might find a way to resist. But then, his eyes closed, his face going still, as if he had made a decision.

When Spencer opened his eyes, his gaze was steady, his voice calm as he spoke.

"I choose... Y/N Reid."

The room went deathly quiet, everyone seeming to stop breathing, the words hanging in the air like a dark cloud. All eyes turned to Y/N, her face a mask of shock and confusion. Her heart stopped, her breath catching in her throat as Spencer’s words echoed in her mind.

He had chosen her. Why?

Spencer’s voice was steady, almost detached as he continued, his words cutting through Y/N like a knife.

"She thinks she’s stronger and better than everyone else. That she can do anything she wants, and no one can stop her. Not even God."

Y/N’s eyes widened, the words stinging like a slap. She felt her eyes burn more than before, her hands trembling. She knew Spencer didn’t mean it. He couldn’t mean it. But hearing those words from his lips, feeling the weight of his condemnation, was more than she could bear.

The others were staring at her, their eyes filled with shock and concern, but Y/N barely noticed. Her focus was entirely on Spencer, on the pain and sorrow etched into his features.

Spencer’s voice dropped to a whisper, and he began to recite.

"Mark 5:3-4. This man lived in the tombs, and no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain. For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet. No one was strong enough to subdue him."

Tobias’s eyes gleamed with malicious delight. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a dark smile, a different one. The kind of smile Spencer had only seen in Tobias’s father's face.

"Reid?" He repeated, drawing out the name mockingly. "Now that sounds familiar." He glanced down at Spencer’s left hand, the faint glint of metal catching his eye. "Is she the reason for this ring on your finger?"

Spencer’s eyes darted down to his hand without moving his head, the simple gold band that had become a symbol of their love, their commitment to each other. He swallowed hard, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I... I don’t know what you’re talking about." He lied, his voice wavering.

Tobias's face stiffened, his brows furrowing instantly.

"Lie is a sin. And she's a sinner, like you, and she will be punished for that. I'm honored to do what will make God proud."

Rage flared in Spencer’s eyes, and he struggled against his restraints, his voice rising in desperation.

"Shut up! Shut up!" His voice cracked with the force of his emotion, the words torn from his throat.

The smile across Tobias face widened, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. He leaned closer, his voice a low, taunting whisper.

"I hope you kissed Mrs. Reid goodbye and told her how much you love her before you came here, because you won’t get the chance to do it ever again."

His fingers tightened around the gun, and without a warning, he aimed upwards and fired, the gunshot echoing through the barn. The sound was like a detonator in Y/N’s mind, snapping something inside her.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her ears, her thoughts a chaotic swirl. She had to understand. She had to believe that Spencer didn't say all of that for nothing. She had to figure out what he was trying to tell them. Without another thought, she turned and ran from the room, her footsteps echoing in the silence.

"Y/N!" Morgan called after her, his voice filled with worry. But Y/N didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She needed to find the answer.

Her mind raced as she sprinted down the hallway, the words of the verse running through her head. Tombs. Chains. It was a clue. Spencer was trying to tell them where he was. He was giving them a way to find him.

She burst into the small library, her eyes scanning the shelves frantically. There had to be a Bible here. Tobias was religious, his entire psyche built around his warped interpretation of scripture.

Her fingers brushed against a worn leather cover, and she pulled the Bible from the shelf, flipping it open with trembling hands. She scanned the pages, her eyes darting over the lines until she found the passage Spencer had recited. Her breath caught as she read the words again, her heart pounding with realization.

"The tombs." Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. "He’s in a cemetery."

Behind her, the rest of the team had followed, their expressions a mix of concern and confusion.

"Y/N, you know he didn't... Wait, what?" Emily started, interrupting her train of thoughts after understanding what Y/N was saying.

Y/N turned to face them, her eyes wide, the Bible clutched in her hands.

"He’s in a cemetery." She repeated, her voice filled with certainty. "Spencer said tombs. He’s telling us he’s in a cemetery."

Hotch’s eyes shined with recognition, understanding dawning on his face. He turned to Penelope, who was already typing furiously at her laptop, her fingers flying over the keys.

"Garcia." He said sharply, his voice filled with command. "Search for cemeteries in the area. Any place that fits the description. We need to find him. Go."

Penelope nodded, her face set with determination.

"I’m on it." She replied, her voice steady despite the fear in her eyes.

Y/N muted all of their talking after that, standing in the back of the room and looking at her feet, absorving the surge of hope that washed over her, her heart lifting for the first time since this nightmare had begun.

They were close. Spencer had given them a clue, a lifeline. They just had to find him before it was too late.

As the team kept trying to find the exact place, Y/N clutched the Bible to her chest, silently praying that they would reach Spencer in time.

393 notes · View notes

transform4u · 3 months

Text

Through the Looking Glass---bro

Atticus Conway, a 32-year-old art maven with a hipster edge, strolled into the contemporary art gallery, his attire a blend of vintage band t-shirt layered under a worn denim jacket, paired with well-worn Converse sneakers. His boss beckoned from the entrance, amidst the eclectic crowd that mingled beneath the soft glow emanating from the center of the room.

The gallery exuded a fusion of minimalism and sophistication, its white walls serving as a stark backdrop for abstract masterpieces. At its heart stood The Matrix—a sprawling lattice of translucent panels forming a walkable installation, pulsating softly with an ever-shifting spectrum of colors. Attendees, ranging from avant-garde eccentrics to sleek sophisticates, engaged in muted conversations and occasionally clinked glasses as they explored the transformative potential of the Matrix.

Atticus was drawn closer by the installation’s allure, its promise of blurring the boundaries between technology and personal expression. Some visitors had already ventured into The Matrix, their movements triggering dynamic responses from its structure. He observed cautiously, appreciating the installation’s energy and its impact on the gallery-goers.

Designed to accentuate the avant-garde spirit of the exhibition, the gallery itself was a work of art—clean lines and an expansive layout creating an experimental playground. As Atticus navigated through the crowd, the symphony of soft whispers, the hum of the Matrix, and occasional gasps of awe formed a backdrop to the artistic exploration unfolding around him.

The Matrix had been completed only moments before the opening—a testament to the eccentricity of its creator, an old man whose exacting instructions had been followed to the letter. Its otherworldly presence glittered and shimmered, a tunnel stretching infinitely through the gallery space, hinting at vague shapes and possibilities beyond its translucent panels.

Stepping forward with a glass of prosecco in hand, Atticus was the first to enter the walkway. The mirrors inside rippled and shimmered, reflecting his hipster persona back at him a thousand times over. Initially awestruck by the spectacle, he soon felt a peculiar sensation—a lingering feeling that the mirrors were watching him, even when he turned away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Atticus noticed something unsettling—his own reflection seemed to wear a twisted smirk, staring back at him with a gaze that felt intrusive. He dismissed it at first, attributing it to the immersive nature of the installation.

A few steps ahead, he encountered a large panel—a full-length mirror. As he approached, his reflection wiggled and vibrated unnervingly. Peering at himself, Atticus was taken aback by the expression on his own face—it seemed contorted into one of disgust, a stark contrast to his genuine admiration for the art surrounding him.

Attempting to look away, he was startled to hear a voice emanating from the mirror, mocking him with crossed arms and a sarcastic tone. "Don't look away… Look at yourself… God, you're boring…"

Turning around abruptly, Atticus faced his reflection, bewildered by the unexpected interaction. His mirrored counterpart rolled its eyes mockingly, a gesture that cut through the enchantment of the moment. "God, we've got our work cut out for us…"

Atticus Conway, caught in the bewildering depths of The Matrix installation, stared in horror as his reflection twisted into a sinister smile, its eyes seemingly glowing with an unnatural intensity. The once-familiar face now bore an unsettling expression that mocked him with a knowing smirk.

"So, pathetic Atticus," the reflection taunted in a voice that echoed eerily within the mirrored chamber. "But that's why I'm here—here to help. I can see into your very soul. Your desires. Your wants. Your fears. And most importantly, your rage. That fire burning in you."

"What the hell kind of trick is this?" Atticus shouted, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and fear. He attempted to turn away, to escape the unnerving spectacle unfolding before him, but everywhere he looked, he was met with more mirrors, each reflecting his own image back at him, each bearing a different facet of his personality.

"Oh, there's no escaping now, baby boy," the reflection sneered, its tone dripping with malice. "I'm here to bring out the worst of you, but by the time I'm done with you, you—hah—you certainly won't think so."

Atticus' heart raced as he witnessed the reflections morphing before his eyes. They twisted and contorted, each portraying a different version of himself—a twink with styled hair and fashionable attire; a jock with a confident grin; a nerdy version with glasses and a book in hand; an overweight ex-jock struggling with his identity; a tougher looking black Atticus, a middle eastern Atticus with thick muscles; a desperate straight man clutching at his phone; a closeted young man hiding behind a facade; a frat bro with a swaggering attitude; an arrogant jerk with a sneer.

Each reflection seemed to delve into a fragment of his psyche, exposing vulnerabilities and hidden aspects of his persona that he had never acknowledged.

As Atticus Conway stood amidst the labyrinth of mirrors, the reflections before him began to laugh—a haunting, ominous sound that reverberated through the chamber. The mirrors around them pulsated in response, the soft glow intensifying into a crescendo of brilliant light.

Atticus instinctively raised his arms to shield himself as the mirrors burst with a deafening crash, shards of glass spraying in all directions. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, feeling the sting of glass against his skin despite his efforts to protect himself.

When he cautiously opened his eyes again, he found himself standing outside the art installation, amidst a stunned crowd of onlookers. They stared at him with a mixture of concern and curiosity, murmuring amongst themselves about what had just transpired.

Blinking to clear his disorientation, Atticus noticed a small cut on his cheek from a stray piece of glass. He reached up to touch the blood, intending to brush it away, when a strange sensation coursed through his body—a surge of energy that seemed to pulse through every fiber of his being.

He let out a frustrated groan, feeling his blood pumping vigorously through his veins. His muscles began to tingle and swell, starting from his core. A heat spread through his stomach as his abdomen tightened and sculpted into a tight, defined six-pack, the muscles rippling beneath his skin.

Atticus gasped as he felt his pecs pulsate with newfound energy, growing and expanding, stretching his shirt taut over his broadening chest. His shoulders widened, his biceps and triceps bulging with strength. His lats flared out, emphasizing his athletic build.

His legs followed suit, his thighs thickening with muscle, his calves firming beneath his jeans. Even his feet seemed to grow slightly, yet miraculously, his clothes adapted seamlessly to accommodate the transformation.

Atticus couldn't help but flex involuntarily, testing the newfound power surging through his body. The sensation was both exhilarating and unnerving, a physical transformation that defied explanation.

As he stood amidst the bewildered crowd, Atticus felt a surge of confidence and vitality unlike anything he had experienced before. With a deep breath, he straightened his posture, his expression a mix of wonder and determination.

A sudden craving gripped him—a primal urge for booze. With a swagger that was uncharacteristic of the laid-back art maven, he pushed his way through to the bar, demanding rudely for a shot of tequila from the startled bartender.

"Give me a shot. Now!" Atticus barked, his voice laced with an entitled tone that seemed to emerge from nowhere.

The bartender hesitated for a moment, taken aback by Atticus' abrupt demeanor, but reluctantly poured him a shot. Atticus downed it swiftly, the fiery liquid burning down his throat and igniting a rush of adrenaline. He slammed the glass back on the counter and demanded another, then another, each shot fueling his sense of entitlement and privilege.

As the liquor coursed through his veins, his features seemed to shift—his jaw becoming more pronounced, his face taking on a chiseled and manly appearance. A widening nose and a scruffy beard began to form on his once-boyish face, while a deep tan spread across his exposed skin.

His demeanor turned cocky, exuding an aura of arrogance that was worlds away from his usual approachable nature. With a burp that echoed through the bar after his final shot, Atticus leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a newfound sense of bravado.

The once-artistic Atticus now seemed like a caricature of bro culture, his clothes appearing garish and mismatched as if chosen to attract attention. His actions drew stares from other patrons, some amused and others bewildered by the sudden change in him.

Atticus leaned heavily on the bar, scanning the room with a self-assured grin. "Hey, bartender," he slurred, his voice tinged with bravado. "You ever seen gains like these?" He flexed his newly muscular arms, oblivious to the bemused looks around him.

The bartender raised an eyebrow, unsure how to respond to this altered version of Atticus. "Uh, sure, man," he replied cautiously. "You hit the gym hard?"

Atticus launched into an intense monologue about his workout routine, detailing his protein intake and the hours spent sculpting his physique. His gestures became exaggerated, his voice booming with enthusiasm as he regaled the bartender with tales of his gym achievements.

But suddenly, a sharp pain pierced his temples. Atticus winced, clutching his head as if trying to ward off the throbbing ache. In that moment, he felt something slipping away—a passion for art, a knowledge of Picasso and Van Gogh fading like a distant tide.

"So, like, uh, this art is like pretty cool right? Like uh, I like uh---" Atticus muttered, his voice slurring. He tried to explain a painting from the gallery, but his words came out muddled and confused. "It's like, colors and stuff, man. You know?"

The bartender couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yeah, I think I get what you mean."

Slowly, Atticus straightened up, he rubbed his temples, the remnants of his headache lingering. The bartender looked up from wiping the counter and smiled, his gaze lingering on Atticus for a moment before he spoke. "So, you enjoying your night?" His voice was warm and friendly, almost like he was genuinely interested in Atticus' response.

Atticus couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the question. It wasn't that he wasn't enjoying himself - far from it actually. But something about the way the bartender asked made him uncomfortable. Like there was an underlying tone to his words that made Atticus feel like they were flirting or something worse…

Without thinking, anger filled Atticus as if someone had flipped a switch inside him. He straightened up again and narrowed his eyes at the bartender in response to what felt like unwanted attention. "You fucking hitting on me bro? That's fucking gross dude! I'm not a fucking homo!" He slammed down his drink glass hard enough to make ice cubes rattle against each other loudly while glaring daggers at the man behind the bar who looked taken aback by this sudden outburst of rage from someone who moments ago seemed perfectly content with their company."Faggot!" He spat out before storming off into oblivion where even memories no longer exist.

With the booze and anger flowing through him, Atticus' smile turned into a cocky sneer. He strutted through the art gallery like he owned the place, his eyes scanning for any woman who caught his attention. And when he found one, there was no holding back - he grabbed her ass without hesitation or remorse.

As he passed through the gallery, Atticus continued to shamelessly flirt with every woman in sight. It didn't matter if they were interested or not; all that mattered was satisfying his own twisted desires at this point. But then something happened that threw him off balance: a random chick stopped him to ask about an art piece she didn't understand.

Atticus found the nerdy art chick, Emily, extremely attractive. Her glasses only added to her charm and he couldn't help but feel drawn to her intelligence as well. "Hey there, cutie. What's your name?"

"I'm Emily. And you are?" she says blushing.

Atticus just starts flexing and mumbles, "Oh, just a guy trying to get his dick wet. So, what do you think of this painting here? It looks like some abstract shit to me"

"That's not abstract art; it's actually an interpretation of the artist's feelings about the current state of politics in their country. The colors represent different emotions they experienced while creating it, and the shapes symbolize various issues they faced during that time period… haha...Sorry, but I can tell you don't know much about modern art techniques or concepts used by contemporary artists these days…"

"Fuck off you woke bitch! You think you know everything just because you wear glasses and read books all day long?! Go back to your little nerd cave before I punch those fucking glasses off your face!" Atticus shouts as he storms off to another bar, with a hot busty blonde waitress, leaving behind a trail of confusion mixed with humiliation within himself as well as those around them who witnessed this exchange between two people who couldn't be more different from each other socially speaking.

Atticus made his way to the next bar, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. As he approached, he noticed a ditzy blonde bartender with tight shirt barely containing her busty chest. She was giggling vapidly to herself as she wiped down the counter, completely oblivious to Atticus' presence.

Without hesitation, Atticus began flirting with her shamelessly. He leaned in close enough for their bodies to touch and started leering at her boobs which were on full display through her tight top. His voice grew deeper and developed an accent - it was clear that this man had lived a life far from luxury or education; one filled with hardship and struggle where language wasn't always properly taught or understood but rather learned through experience alone… And it showed in how he spoke now - thick brogue rolling off his tongue like honey dripping from a spoon onto freshly-baked cookies hot out of the oven… Delicious yet dangerous all at once…

"Hey there," Atticus drawled as he placed his order for another drink, "I ain't got no clue 'bout them art pieces ya got hangin' around here but I do know what makes me feel good…" He flexed slightly before continuing on about how dumb those 'art crap' are compared to what really matters in life: getting laid and having fun while doing so without any cares or worries holding you back because let's face it – we only live once so why waste time thinking too much when we could be enjoying ourselves instead?

The bartender, Amber, smiled brightly at him before introducing herself. "I'm Amber," she said sweetly as she leaned closer to him, her cleavage on full display through the tight fabric of her shirt. "And what's your name big guy?"

Atticus paused for a moment, his mind blank as he tried to remember his own damn name. Finally, after a few seconds had passed by without any answer forthcoming from him, he managed to muster up something that sounded vaguely familiar: "Uhhh… Jackson… yeah. Jackson Armstrong."

As they talked more about trivial matters, Atticus couldn't help but think back on his past - growing up in the south where church was mandatory every Sunday; attending college parties every weekend until dawn broke; being a 21-year old frat bro who would probably drop out soon as he now thought college was for losers. It all seemed so distant now compared to this new persona emerging within him – one filled with conservative ideals and passion for tradition above all else… His liberal ideals slipped into oblivion as easily as water down a drainpipe while Jackson took over completely.

"So Amber," Jackson drawled as he leaned in closer to her, his voice dripping with vapid entitlement, "you know what I think would make this night even better?" She shook her head no before he continued on with his plan: "I think we should go back to my place and continue our conversation there… Without all these distractions." He winked at her playfully while giving her ass a subtle squeeze.

As memories of pranking his bros in the frathouse flooded back into Jackson's mind alongside images of blackout drunkenness each night after partying hardcore, one thing became clear - southern pride was something that ran deep within him; it defined who he was at his core regardless if others liked it or not… And right now? Well let's just say Amber looked pretty damn happy about it all too.

As Jackson continued to flirt with Amber, his muscles flexed beneath the tight fabric of his shirt. He couldn't help but feel proud of himself for finally finding someone who shared similar beliefs as him – someone who understood the importance of faith and tradition above all else… Someone who wasn't afraid to speak their mind even if it meant offending others in the process.

"I can't stand this woke bullshit," Jackson said passionately as he leaned closer to her, "It's like everyone wants to be a victim these days instead of standing up for what they believe in." Amber nodded her head in agreement before adding her own thoughts on the matter: "Exactly! It's about time people started speaking out against all this political correctness nonsense."

"You know what else pisses me off?" Jackson asked rhetorically while flexing again just for good measure, "All these damn snowflakes crying about how hard life is because they weren't born white or straight or rich or whatever else it is that bothers them nowadays…" He shook his head disapprovingly at society as a whole before continuing on with his rant: "But you know what? I wouldn't change a thing about being a white, straight republican man!"

The rest of the night was a blur for Jackson. One moment they were in the bar flirting and flexing, and then suddenly they found themselves back at his smelly frathouse… It didn't matter though because all that mattered now was fucking Amber senseless while belittling her every step of the way – being as crude and rude as possible just to get off on it all…

"You like that you stupid bitch?" He asked her between gritted teeth before slapping her ass hard enough to leave a red mark. She moaned out loud in response, begging him for more which only served to fuel his desire even further…

As he took in the football and wrestling trophies lining the walls alongside other mementos from his past glory days, Jackson grabbed a half-drunk beer from the side table before turning back towards Amber who lay naked on his bed with cum dripping down her leg. "You know what else would be fun?" He asked rhetorically while chugging down another swig of beer, "Telling everyone at school how much of a slut you are…" His voice trailed off into laughter which only served to further embarrass Amber even more than she already had been during their encounter together.

Jackson was the biggest asshole on campus – feared by nerds, lusted after by every chick, and loved by his frat bros. He was an awful conservative douchebag who always grunted in the gym while flexing his muscles; he truly believed himself to be God's gift to women… And it showed in how he treated them – with disdain and entitlement instead of respect or compassion.

As word spread about his encounter with Amber (which he made sure happened as soon as possible), Jackson couldn't help but feel proud of himself for finally being able to humiliate someone else publicly just like they had done to him countless times throughout high school… It wasn't long before every girl on campus wanted a piece of him – whether it be for sex or simply attention from such an infamous figure at their university… And every guy? Well let's just say they all wanted to be friends with Jackson so that they could ride his coattails into popularity themselves without having any real skill or talent beyond being part of "the group".

#gay to straight #male tf #transformation #douchebag tf #jock tf #nerd to jock tf #homophobia #twink to jock tf #gay to straight tf #dumber #male transformation #reality change

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dark-dawn · 4 months

Text

❝ HEART RATE HIGHS !! ❞ – azriel x reader

✭ pairing: gym rat ! azriel x archeron ! reader

✭ summary: you swear you only have a gym membership for self-improvement. it’s definitely not to see the cute guy you have a crush on.

✭ contains: modern au, f!reader, college au, but age is vague, anxious!reader who can’t see that azriel is already a little in love with you, gym culture, alcohol, meddling sisters, because reader is terrible at talking to guys, mutual pining.

✭ word count: 3k+ ✭ a/n: i absolutely love gym fics and i couldn't stop thinking about azriel in a compression shirt, so if i have to suffer, so do you <3

“wait, did i hear you properly? you’re going to the gym?” nesta’s voice cuts through the quiet murmur of the lecture hall. heads turn, and the professor pauses mid-sentence, frowning at the interruption. you cringe at the sudden attention and whisper an apology, slouching in your seat to avoid the stares.

“you’re acting like i’ve just sprouted wings,” you respond, trying to keep your voice low.

nesta blinks, her surprise melting into scepticism. “well, it is out of character for you. the gym, are you sure?”

“yes.”

“really?”

you nod.

you can’t blame her for being doubtful. among your sisters, you’re the most averse to exercise. even elain, thanks to her gardening, could likely outlift you. but –

“i don’t know if i should be offended that you’re so surprised.”

“hey, it’s not personal,” nesta replies, her voice softer as she glances around the room. the professor had resumed teaching and students were slowly returning their attention to their notes. “it’s just... unexpected. i mean, last time i suggested going for a jog, you looked at me like i’d grown a second head.”

“yeah, well, i just figured it’s about time i start taking better care of myself.”

“what brought this on all of a sudden?”

you shrug, trying to put your thoughts into words. “i guess i just realised that i’ve been neglecting my health lately. with school and everything else going on, i haven’t been feeling so great.”

nesta nods in understanding, letting you continue. neither of you really cared about this class, after all, and it wasn’t the first time you’d been called out for talking through a lecture.

“i just thought it might be a good way to clear my head, you know? like, a chance to zone out and focus on something other than deadlines and exams.”

“if you turn into a gym rat and only eat chicken and rice, i’m disowning you.”

“you’d have to pry ice cream from my cold, dead hands,” you say, nudging nesta with a grin. “nothing can take away my love of carbs and cheesy fries.”

“uh-huh, sure. that’s what they all say until they’re posting pictures of their meal prep on instagram.”

“you have no faith in me, do you?”

“none whatsoever,” she replies with a grin. “but hey, if this gym thing helps you feel better, i’m all for it.”

“if i ever mention a juice cleanse, you have full permission to stage an intervention.”

“deal. and if you lecture me on the importance of pre-workout supplements, i’m kicking you out of the apartment.”

after your year abroad, you found yourself back at the university of velaris, settling into a new rhythm with your three sisters. the four of you had decided to share an apartment, a decision fuelled by equal parts necessity and nostalgia. it wasn’t long before familiar routines took shape amidst the chaos of unpacked boxes and endless debates over furniture placement.

besides, feyre had been spending most of her time at her new boyfriend’s apartment, leaving a bit more breathing room for the rest of you. you hadn’t met him yet, but you’d heard he came from money and his penthouse had skyline views, so you could hardly blame her.

nesta wasn’t a fan, muttering something about “trust fund babies” under her breath whenever his name came up in conversation. but feyre seemed happy, and ultimately, that was what mattered most, even if a twinge of jealousy occasionally crept in.

“you should come with me.”

“i would rather die,” she snorts. “doesn’t mor work out? you should ask her.”

“no way, i’d look even more unfit next to her. i have some pride.”

“wow, so you ask me instead. you’re such a bitch,” she laughs.

as luck would have it, the gym was just a 10-minute walk away, conveniently offering a discounted price for students. the only downside was going alone.

“but i don’t know how to use the equipment,” you groan.

“and you think i do?” your sister retorts.

“well, no, but at least i wouldn’t look like the only idiot.”

“just find someone with muscles and ask them,” she suggests.

“right, of course, because i’m so great at talking to strangers.”

nesta raises an eyebrow, her lips twitching with amusement. “so, what’s your plan then? to stand in the corner and hope the smith machine starts talking to you?”

“maybe,” you mumble, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck. you didn’t even know what a smith machine was until this morning.

nesta lets out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “stop being such a baby and put a cute workout outfit on. you’ll be fine.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you were very much not fine.

the blonde girl at the front desk, with her bouncing ponytail and bright smile that could probably power the entire gym, was very nice. she had given you a tour of the gym, showing you the rows of gleaming equipment and weight racks, and enthusiastically pointed out the array of classes available, from yoga and spin to high-intensity interval training.

she had, however, assumed you knew how to use everything, and you hadn’t been brave enough to correct her.

you had nodded along, trying to absorb the barrage of information she threw at you, but each machine seemed more complicated than the last, and you were positive some of them belonged in a medieval torture chamber.

but you could do this. if guys who couldn’t even spell “midterm” could end up looking like greek statues, surely you could handle a single gym session. you were smart, you were pretty. everything was going to be just fine. besides, you had watched enough fitness influencers on social media to have a vague idea of what to do. with a deep breath, you reminded yourself that everyone had to start somewhere – or at least that’s what your therapist had told you.

deciding to start your session with something familiar, you made your way over to the row of treadmills. incline walking was hard to mess up. the downside was that it made you feel like you were dying.

thirty minutes later, you were profoundly regretting your decision as you clung to the handrails, legs burning with exertion. sweat had beaded on your forehead, and you couldn’t help but curse under your breath.

with shaky legs, you made your way to the weights, steeling yourself against the familiar wave of self-doubt. this part of the gym was always crowded with an excess of men flaunting their egos, their grunts and posturing only serving to make you feel even more out of place.

you think of nesta and how she would never let anyone make her feel small. she would have your head if she thought you would let any man intimidate you.

deep breaths. everything is fine.

as you attempt to adjust the resistance on the leg press machine, your fingers fumble over the pin that holds the weight stack in place, causing the plates to clang noisily against each other. flushed and annoyed, you would love nothing more than to slink away in embarrassment.

“here, let me.” he crouches beside you and effortlessly rectifies your problem as if you hadn’t been struggling for the past ten minutes.

oh god, he looked like he could go viral on tiktok or be on the front cover of a fitness magazine.

and he was helping you.

stay calm. just ignore the fact that this might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

you couldn’t help but steal glances at the way his muscles flexed beneath the fabric of his black compression shirt, each movement highlighting the definition of his arms and chest.

he was so pretty. you just hoped you didn’t look like you were dying.

“thanks,” you say, your voice coming out a little more breathless than you intended.

oh god, just breathe.

he flashes you a soft smile, “no problem. we’ve all been there.”

you’d like to say you committed to a gym membership for self-improvement.

(you would be lying.)

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

before ever stepping foot in a gym, your taste in men was somewhat predictable.

you liked nerdy computer science guys you could play video games with and pretentious english lit students who gave you good book recommendations – the indoor sort.

they all tended to look like a light breeze could push them over. not the kind where you could steal their hoodies. and that was fine. you didn’t care, honest.

but then the cute guy at the gym completely ruined your usual type in men. you never imagined you’d be that into muscles, but he looked like he could toss you around like a rag doll, and you soon realised that you actually quite liked the thought.

you initially thought your crush would be harmless – glancing at him from across the room and playing out scenarios in your head.

but then he started offering to unload your plates, and showed you how different machines worked when you looked particularly confused. he would ask you to spot him, despite you both knowing you would be of zero help, and would refill your water bottle when he noticed it getting low.

he would even help to correct your form so you wouldn’t injure yourself.

that, however, had you so flustered you couldn’t even complete the full set. his hand grazing your waist made your heart pound so loudly, you were certain he could hear it. you wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

you told him you had to leave early to finish your essay.

and then, like the gentleman he was, he had asked you about it the next time he saw you, and let you ramble about your major for far too long. the worst part was that he seemed genuinely interested.

you didn’t even know his name and yet you were pretty sure you wanted to have his babies.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“are you sure you really need protein powder?” elain questioned, picking up a bunch of celery for her green juices. “you can get all the vitamins and minerals you need from real food, you know.”

“but it’s so much easier to hit my protein goals with it,” you whined, clutching the tub of powder defensively.

“she’s only doing this because her crush drinks the same brand,” nesta teased, a sly grin spreading across her face as she tossed a box of granola into the cart.

“oh my god, keep your voice down,” you groaned, glancing around nervously. it was 10 pm on a wednesday. the grocery store was practically deserted, but you think you might cry if anyone overhears. “besides, it’s not just because of him. it’s practical!”

“practical,” nesta repeated, her grin widening. “sure, that’s the reason.”

“what’s his name again?" elain said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“i hate you,” you muttered, feeling your cheeks heat up. you tried to focus on the nutrition label in front of you, but nesta’s laughter made it impossible.

“come on,” nesta said, nudging you playfully. “you’ve been pining over him for months. when are you going to actually talk to him?”

“never?”

“you should accidentally bump into him and spill your protein shake all over his expensive gym clothes. it would be a brilliant conversation starter.”

“please don’t jinx me.”

“oh, and then you could do his laundry as an apology, and he’d buy you a coffee because he thinks you’re pretty!” elain chimes in.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you’ve been working out long enough now that you knew the basics of gym etiquette. namely, don’t be creepy. a simple thing, really, but too many people struggled to act like sane, well-adjusted human beings capable of basic manners. it was as if the gym was some bizarre alternate universe where leggings made men’s brains short-circuit.

so you try very hard to not stare at your gym crush doing pull-ups.

but his biceps are flexing, his shirt is riding up, and you never knew you could be so attracted to someone’s back.

you feel like you’re twelve again – you want to write his name in a heart in your diary and talk about him for hours on the phone.

for the first time, however, you’re grateful you don’t know any concrete details about him. you would’ve stalked his social media, found out he had a girlfriend or horrible political opinions, and then cried yourself to sleep.

you’d really rather not know. hopeless yearning is much more to your taste.

but then he notices you across the room and smiles, and you realise your gym crush is very much not harmless.

you decide that you’ll be brave and actually initiate conversation for once.

a horrible idea, really.

“hey.”

“hey,” he responds.

“what are you listening to?” god, you didn’t think you were this awkward.

“oh, i don’t listen to music when i work out.”

“right, yeah, i totally get that.” you actually don’t understand that at all. the idea of exercising with just your thoughts sounds like a special kind of torture, but he doesn’t need to know that.

you fidget with the hem of your shorts, desperately searching for something else to say.

“so, uh, how’s your workout going?” he asks.

“it’s going okay,” you reply, the words tumbling out. “you?”

you want to disappear.

“yeah, it’s good too.” you swear you see a hint of pink in his cheeks, though it’s probably just from finishing his set.

your mind is blank and you have no idea what else to say. “great.”

you hope you look like you’re smiling and not grimacing.

this was quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had. you’re never speaking to a man again.

even if they are very pretty and look like they could pick you up without breaking a sweat.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

getting ready with three other girls in a cramped apartment was always a challenge. you loved your sisters, but if feyre didn’t get away from the mirror, you would scream.

feyre, always meticulous with her makeup, was painstakingly perfecting her eyeliner, ignoring the sighs from nesta.

“can you possibly move any slower?” nesta hisses, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms.

you exchange a knowing look with elain, who was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, scrolling through her phone. she had opted to stay behind, and you were growing increasingly jealous of her decision.

“why don’t we just take turns?” you intervene, hoping to avoid a fight before you even got to the party. “feyre, you finish up, then nesta, and i’ll go last. sound fair?”

feyre finally steps away from the bathroom and nesta wastes no time in taking her place, muttering something about how she could do a better job in half the time.

feyre had been persistent about attending one of rhysand’s house parties for weeks now, and despite your and nesta’s reluctance, she had managed to wear you down. it wasn’t so much her persuasive arguments as it was the promise of free alcohol that ultimately swayed both of you. plus, you were a little curious. feyre had been gushing about her boyfriend for months now.

as you stood in front of the mirror, giving yourself a final once-over, you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. feyre, radiant in her navy dress, was practically buzzing with excitement. nesta looked as though she’d rather be doing anything else, despite begrudgingly admitting that the three of you looked good.

you had opted for a short, tight-fitted black dress. shocking how regularly going to the gym could actually help your confidence.

feyre led the way, practically dragging you and nesta out of the apartment. elain, now comfortably nestled on the couch with a book, waved you goodbye. “be safe, and don’t drink too much!”

“it’s so cute that you think i could survive the night without being drunk,” nesta laughs.

the cool night air is a welcome change from the stuffy apartment as the three of you step outside to wait for the cab. feyre was already chattering about rhysand and his friends, while nesta had shot her a look that could wither plants.

you really needed a drink.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

rhysand’s apartment ended up being a thirty-minute drive away, nestled in the wealthier district of velaris, and you could see why feyre spent so much time here.

you could hear the music before you even enter, and it smells so strongly of alcohol you already feel a little lightheaded.

it can hardly be called an apartment in all honesty, it’s nicer than most houses and certainly surpasses anything you’ve ever stepped foot in before. it’s spacious, with an open layout that flows effortlessly from one room to the next. plush couches and chairs face a glass coffee table that is currently covered in red plastic cups and half-finished bottles of vodka. luckily, all his furniture was black. you winced at the thought of cleaning the stains that were bound to appear after tonight.

you noticed the floor-to-ceiling windows offering a pretty view of the city skyline, the twinkling lights stretching out like a blanket of stars against the night. you weren’t the jealous type, but you had the sudden urge to strangle feyre.

she had navigated the apartment with ease, her eyes alight with familiarity as she disappeared in search of rhysand. left to fend for yourselves, you and nesta exchanged a glance before setting off in the direction of the kitchen.

as you weave through the throng of people, you catch sight of mor, effortlessly manoeuvring between guests as she pours drinks. she seems completely at ease, flashing dazzling smiles and looking stunning as ever.

mor’s eyes light up with recognition as she spots you among the crowd. with a beckoning gesture, she calls you over. “i didn’t think you two would be here!” she seems genuinely happy to see you, despite only talking to her after class a couple of times.

“our sister is dating the host, so naturally, we’ve been dragged along,” you reply. “she’s off hunting him down now.”

mor’s gaze shifts between you and nesta, realisation crossing her features. “rhysand is actually my cousin,” she explains with a smile. “so, i’ve met feyre a few times now.”

“that’s unfortunate,” nesta laughs. you’re pretty sure she’s only half-joking.

you elbow her. “come on, don’t be mean. i don’t want to be kicked out after five minutes of being here.”

“are you sure? we could go get pizza and ice cream and not wake up feeling like we were hit by a car?”

“are you seriously the voice of reason right now?”

“hey, if you’re going to the gym, then i can be a responsible adult.”

mor perks up, her eyes brightening with interest. “you work out?”

you smile sheepishly, “i only started a few months ago.”

“you should join me sometime!” mor suggests eagerly. “i usually go with rhysand and a few others, but one of them hasn’t shown up in ages. it’d be great to have another girl!”

“speaking of which, i should introduce you to them,” mor adds with a grin before calling out, “azriel! cassian! get over here!”

and then you spot who is walking over.

“mor, what’s up?” a very familiar voice asks.

because, you realise, it’s your gym crush. it’s the guy you’ve been pining over for months.

your brain is really struggling to comprehend that he’s here, and he knows mor, and apparently rhysand?

has he met feyre too?

he’s wearing all black, like usual, and his biceps look even better in this lighting, and oh god, you want to melt into the ground before you somehow think of a new way to embarrass yourself.

your mind is racing a hundred miles per hour and you’re suddenly realising you’re going to have to avoid feyre’s boyfriend forever if he’s friends with him and –

and as your eyes meet his, and realisation flickers across his features, you’re really wishing you had stayed at home with elain.

or vanish into thin air. that works too.

“az, these are feyre’s sisters!” mor’s voice breaks through your thoughts.

you’ve finally learnt his name, you suppose, but you’re pretty sure you’ll have to find a new gym.

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jungkookstatts · 8 months

Text

As Thunder Rolls

[Summary]: You know Taehyung is the one. You knew it since the first day you saw him, when thunder rolled through the sky. But your lives don't collide. They might be too different to choose both.

[Theme]: Rich Reader, Law Student Reader, Construction Worker TH, Poor TH, Rich Girl Poor Boy AU

[Rating]: 18+ for sexual themes, sexual content, unprotected sex, kissing, making out, marking, angst, familial separation, topics of class, and triggering opinions of some characters

[Word Count]: 8,296

[A/N]: First TH fic!! I hope it is enjoyable~ This might be my last fic for a little bit. Going to be focusing on school and working really hard until the summertime :)

People say that when you fall in love, your life develops new meaning. They say that your life changes as you fall, and you watch it spiral out of your control over a silly feeling you can’t help.

You can say that the people, whoever they may be, are correct. Love happened to you quite unexpectedly, and completely out of the box you put your goals for the future inside.

Taehyung happened during the city's worst monsoon season in over 50 years. His rain-stained jeans and dirty white construction t-shirt clung to his skin, showing you all of his tanned glory as the rain fell angrily. You stood on the top step of your sister’s corporate building, looking down at him three steps below you.

“You got a spare umbrella, by chance?” he asked you. Caramel-colored, wet hair covered his forehead. But you could still see the discomfort in his eyes due to the harsh rain.

Looking at your own umbrella in your grip, you shook your head, telling him that this was your only one.

“You know a place around here where I can find one?” he asked.

“I’m not familiar with the area,” you explained.

“Me neither,” he smiled as he looked down at his red Converse.

There was an uncomfortable feeling in your chest. You felt bad for the guy, clearly well-underprepared for the season. Your designer coat and accessories terribly clashed with his, an obvious difference in class confronted you in the face. There was a feeling of fear, you remember. Back then, you used to be one of those people who thought terribly of people like him. Thinking that he’d ask for your Burberry umbrella and never return it. You thought maybe he’d pull you aside and forcibly rob you of your money just because his shirt had a few stains and the brand name of the city’s lower-end construction company was written on the fabric. You associated him with the worst of the worst, just because of his class. Or rather, assumed class.

But those eyes captured your soul. They were warm, and his smile sent medicine to your heart, healing all those presumed thoughts and replacing them with the benefit of the doubt.

“I think there is a 7/11 around the block,” you recalled from your memory.

Thunder rolled through the city skies, and you clutched your umbrella harder. You never liked thunderstorms. There was a sense of urgency to get home to avoid any more of this growing storm, and fast. But this guy — you wanted to continue talking to him.

He raised an eyebrow at you, looking to his left.

You raised your chest, nervously pointing in the opposite direction.

“Down there,” you corrected him.

“Ah,” he smiled. It was faint, but you noticed his upper lip formed the shape of a heart before another roll of thunder drummed through the sky. You winced, and his smile faded.

“I’ll let you be on your way, then,” he said. “Thank you.”

You nodded, and he suddenly turned his back, walking down the sidewalk in the direction of the vague 7/11 down the street. He hiked the back collar of his t-shirt over his head, creating a small hat to shield his eyes from the unwanted shower. You watched the exposed skin on the small of his back as raindrops trickled into the hem of his jeans.

Suddenly, your heart skipped in your chest, and you did something your carefully formed character would never allow.

“W-Wait,” you stumbled. The click of your heeled boots rang in your ears as you walked down the small set of stairs and onto the sidewalk.

The man turned around, his posture straightening at the sight of you.

Quickly, you went to him, covering his head with your umbrella.

“I-I’ll come with you,” you offered.

His close proximity flooded all of your senses. Your fingers visibly began to shake, and you had to remind yourself to breathe when you saw how tremendous the height difference was between the two of you.

“Thank you,” he softly said.

At that moment, you knew your life changed. You saw yourself in his eyes, maybe staring a little too long for two strangers who hadn’t even exchanged names yet. But you looked into them, and somehow the raging storm had transferred from the sky into your heart.

You became a jumbled mess after then, as Taehyung had exchanged his name with yours, along with all of his habits, hobbies, and love.

Every day after that was filled with giggles and kisses and sleepless nights wrapped in his sheets. He had shown you the other side of the world, and you accepted it with him by your side. He took things from you you couldn’t imagine anyone else being worthy enough to take. All your firsts, and what you hope, all your lasts, too.

But something had been sitting at the back of your mind ever since you laid eyes on him, creating an unsettling feeling.

He was, indeed, nowhere near the class you grew up in. Living in the worst part of the city with his younger brother and sister and parents in a small, 2-bedroom apartment. He worked overtime on most days; all of his earnings he gave to his mother was to pay rent. His brother had just become old enough to help out. However, Taehyung explained that he caught him a few times slacking — the young boy claiming that he was working but instead at the casino with his friends. His younger sister was 6 years old and by far the sweetest young girl you knew. She became someone like your own sister, someone you chose to connect with on a level you weren’t able to do with your own siblings. His father fell ill a few years ago and became unable to work a demanding job. Instead, he and his wife work at their own small grocery store on the lower level of the building down the street.

His family welcomed you generously, never once commenting on your class, never once making it a topic of conversation. They called you their daughter.

What was unsettling was not the circumstances involving his family. It was the circumstances involving your own.

You hadn’t mentioned him to your parents by choice. You knew how they would react, especially considering your father had already begun selecting the sons of his most trusted colleagues to propose a marriage. Though you are not ashamed of Taehyung, your family would most definitely be. They would never accept him as your love. It would be too tarnishing to their name, too embarrassing to taint the family with someone whose house costs less than their dining room table.

You kept Taehyung out of it, which doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t stop asking about meeting your family. He’s serious enough about you to want to take things further. But it puts you in an awkward situation, like now. Gasping into the sheets of his bed, his dick pulling out of you as cum falls down your thighs.

“Baby?” he pants, hovering over you and kissing up your shoulder to your cheek. He’s still catching his breath, as are you. He just railed the fuck out of you and still begs for conversation? You will never understand this man.

“Hm,” you ask, resting your head on your forearm in a desperate attempt to control your breathing.

“I want to meet your parents,” he bites the shell of your ear gently.

You groan loudly, tired of this topic of conversation. It seems to be the only thing on his mind these days.

In the two years you two had been dating, Tae was finally able to afford a place of his own while still helping his family. His brother stepped up and managed to land a good position at a nearby company that really helped with the family finances. Hence, Taehyung’s newfound freedom from the cramped space with his family. But ever since he moved into his new apartment two weeks ago, he’s been set on (a) “christening” every nook and cranny of his new place with you and (b) meeting your family.

“Baby, can we not talk about this right now?” you press your fingers to your temple before running them into your hair.

“We never have talked about it,” he reminds you. You pause, knowing he’s right. You’ve always swayed him away from saying anything about the topic other than simply asking to talk about it.

“Why would you want to meet my parents,” you begin. You feel him smile a little, happy to start this long-awaited talk.

“Because you met mine,” he slides his elbows under your armpits, resting his chin on your shoulder. You feel secure when he’s holding you like this, his chest embracing your back as he lets his weight rest on your body. If only the moment wasn’t ruined by the topic of conversation.

“I don’t want you to meet my parents,” you finally say. You know his heart broke a little from your words, being such a family man. But you feel obligated to be honest about this.

“What? Why not?” he crinkles his eyebrows together, pressing his nose into your cheek.

“Because, Tae,” you sigh into your palm. “They’re not…nice people.”

He lets the two of you sit in silence for a while, and you know he knows what you mean by that.

“It’s because I have no money, isn’t it?” he finally lets out.

You grab his hand, drawing circles into his palm.

“Essentially,” you sigh. It doesn’t feel good to admit that. Disappointment floods your veins for him, wishing your family was less shallow. Maybe then, your response would have been different. “You know I don’t care about that stuff. But they…they do.”

“Your siblings?” he asks.

“They’re all like that,” you continue, playing with his knuckles. “I’m the only one, it seems, that isn’t.”

He plays with your hand, sliding into your fingers to hold it.

“Do you wish you were?” he whispers seriously.

“No,” you laugh.

Finally, you turn around in his embrace, looking at his face from beneath him. This man is truly the most gorgeous person you’ve ever laid eyes on. Your palm holds the soft skin of his cheek as you search his eyes.

“Growing up, I used to be a little bit,” you admit. “But then I came to university. And I met you,” you rub his cheek with your thumb. “And you kind of flipped my whole world around.”

“Sorry,” he smiles. “Wasn’t the plan,” he pecks your lips. “I just needed an umbrella.”

You chuckle at that, pulling his face against yours to sear your lips into his. He accepts you, breathing into the kiss with chapped cherry lips and a big stupid blush on his face.

“I just want their blessing,” he clears his throat. “I-Is all.”

“For?” you peck his lips again.

“For me to date their daughter, amongst other things,” he laughs through his nose. “It’s also been…a little while.”

You do feel bad, as he had introduced you to his family about three months into dating. It’s been two years, and your family doesn’t even know you are dating someone.

“You’ll meet them when they have a reason to meet you,” you sigh against his nose. “They’re like that. It has to be on their terms, not mine or yours.”

“Hopefully, that’s sometime soon,” he says before kissing you deeply. You let him, wanting his lips to erase the scenarios you’ve let flood into your head of Taehyung meeting your family. You kiss him, asking him to heal you again, to give you the endless positivity he has within himself. But you can’t shake it this time around. You have a bad feeling about it, every time you think about making things just that more official with your family meeting him. You know Taehyung is it for you. But will your parents accept that? Your gut twists and turns at the thought, your answer spelled out for you.

___

Law school used to be interesting.

Back when lectures were shorter and the professors actually cared about their job, you had a fun time. Now, you sit through your lectures with the palm of your hand dragging the skin of your cheek upward as you lean against it. You stare at the oldest fart of a professor talk in circles, “womp wo-womp womp”, like in the Charlie Brown phone scenes. The only thing that keeps you from dozing off is the thought of your date tonight.

Last week, Taehyung had been working at this new site at this development on the other side of the city. They put in a fountain lake, with three willow trees (your favorite). Your boyfriend, of course, knew this and set up the idea of a picnic date along the new Willow Tree Lake. Just the thought alone makes you giddy.

These days, Taehyung has been working terrible overtime in an area near campus. Something about the pipes being plugged with slow-forming concrete from a newer company that started off just a few months ago. They fucked up a lot of the city’s piping, and of course, the company Tae works for has been assigned to fix all of their damage.

Needless to say, you feel like you haven’t seen him in ages. Only quick cell phone calls and tired texts in the small hours of the morning and night. You miss him terribly, and your body springs to life when the professor calls the end of the lecture. It’s your last one of the day, and you nearly run out to make your way to your car, ready to start preparing for your date tonight.

You’re met with a surprise, however, when you exit your dorm.

A chalky hand grabs onto your wrist, intertwining his fingers with yours, before pulling you into his chest.

“Hi, baby,” he smiles sheepishly.

“Tae!” you squeal, letting go of his hand and jumping into his arms. You wrap your arms around his neck, his own around your waist as he spins you in the open air of the campus. You giggle against him, quietly screaming when he goes a little fast. Eventually, he lets your feet feel the ground again, and you feel a strong urge to kiss him. It’s been so long.

“You’re so chalky,” you brush at his face, white powder smearing on his skin.

With that, he shakes out his hair onto yours, white dust falling onto your skin.

“Ah! Tae!” You shield your face from his assault. But he’s unrelenting, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you in for a kiss.

You let him kiss you, his big hands stroking your cheek. You don’t let him go on for too long, still not one to be too fond of PDA like he is.

“Oh, fuck,” Taehyung’s smile fades when he looks at your dress.

“Wha—” you look down at your dress, your white Chanel dress, covered in soot and powder and dirt, transferred from his clothes onto yours. “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” he gulps, running his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry, Y/n. I wasn’t thinki—”

“It’s okay,” you smile, holding his hand. “Nothing my dad won’t buy a carbon copy of with a good excuse. To him, I fell. Plain and simple.”

Your words don’t do much, his sorry expression written all over his face still. You cup his cheek, reassuring him.

“What are you doing here, anyways?” you change the subject.

“The pipe issue I told you about ended up going into some apartment building. They sent me up there and the ceiling fell in. Hence all the…white stuff and dust,” he shows you his powdery hands, as if his cheeks and hair weren’t enough to prove his story. “Anyway, the civil engineers ended up needing to go back to the main building and find a new plan to go about it. So they sent us all home early. Thought I would come and surprise you.”

“It worked,” you kiss him again.

“I should probably go though,” he cuts the time short. “I want to shower before our date.”

“That would be nice, you’re right,” you laugh. “I’ll see you at 7, then?”

“Mhm,” he squeezes your hand again before looking down at your dress one last time. You can tell he’s still beating himself up over it when he tightly runs his hands through his hair and sends you a tight-lipped smile as if still saying sorry. You send him one back, letting him know it’s okay. And with that, he leaves your presence.

You’re alone until you reach home a little past 4. When you walked into your house, the last thing you were expecting was your eldest sister, brother, and parents waiting for you in the dining room.

“D-Did I miss something?” you laugh awkwardly. They all seem to be looking at you, disappointment or disgust written on their faces at the sight of your dress. You do your best to hide it with your purse.

“No,” your sister starts. “But we seem to be missing the part where you let dirty construction workers make out with you in public.”

You feel your heart sink to your feet, a cold heat spreading throughout your body.

“Susanna,” you pinch the skin between your eyebrows. “It’s not like that.”

“Please, enlighten us, then,” she snobs.

You take a breath, ready to explain yourself. But your father stops you.

“Invite the boy over,” he calmly states.

“What?” all four of you say at once.

“Dad, are you crazy?” your brother laughs. “He’s a construction worker.”

“Ren, please,” you attempt to control your anger. You don’t like the way they are talking about him right now. Only mentioning his job and ignoring the rest.

“What, don’t like me talking down on your pet?” he smiles, doing his best to get under your skin. It’s working, that’s for sure.

“Seriously, darling, what are you thinking?” your mother puts her hand on your father's arm.

“The boy clearly has feelings for my daughter,” he sets down his brandy on the dining table. “And, if I’m not mistaken, she has the same feelings.”

Your sister looks at you in disgust, wondering how you could ever fall for someone so low class.

“Besides, he owes me a good explanation for destroying your clothes,” he clears his throat. “That was custom designed.”

—

You run to your car after the ‘meeting’ your family welcomed you home with. Your hands shake and tremble, trying to start the car without bursting into tears.

Without even calling him, you race to Taehyung’s apartment, knocking on his door with panic laced in every vein of your body.

He opens it, a big smile warming your heart. But it quickly fades at the pale look on your face.

“What’s wrong,” he pulls you into his apartment.

He’s showered since you last saw him. He changed into his PJs, not yet ready to get into his outfit for your date tonight. On any other day, you would be struck with the comfy boyfriend look, ready to pounce into his arms and hold him close until the sun rose. But not today. Today, you have uncertainty flowing through your veins. Could this be the end? Could this be the start of something new? What will happen between now and midnight?

“Baby, talk to m—”

“My parents want to meet you,” you interrupt him.

“What?”

“T-They want to meet you,” you say again. “Actually, my entire family wants to meet you. Today. Tonight. For dinner. At my house.”

You watch him take it all in, his expression changing rapidly into emotions you can’t really put a label on. You’ve never seen this expression on his face. You’re sure it’s a bit of excitement, as he’s always wanted to meet them. But also a little bit of worry, as you’ve told him what they think of people like him.

“I-Is this about the dress?” he asks worriedly.

“Kind of!” you panic, your hands running through your hair. Frustrated tears flood your eyes. You’re just so frustrated with this situation. With your sister, with your brother and dad. With everyone but Taehyung. He doesn’t deserve this. “My sister saw us today, apparently. A-And she went to my parents, a-and they were waiting for me when I got home, along with my brother. My dad was the one who suggested you come over, and I don’t know why. I can’t read what any of them are trying to say.”

“Hey,” he grabs your shoulders. You start to cry, fat tears falling down your cheeks.

“This is not how I wanted today to go,” you cry-laugh to yourself.

“I know,” he kisses your forehead. “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

“I don’t know what to do,” you candor as you fall into his neck, sobbing against his shirt.

His big palms rub your back. You’re sure he’s a little shocked right now. You’ve told him about your family. About what kind of people they are. You’re sure he’s scared, too. You hate this. You wish you could just run away and avoid it all.

“Let’s start with figuring out what I’m going to wear, yeah?” he gently smiles down at you.

___

Dinner is awkward. So awkward.

It’s quiet, and your leg bounces rapidly in your seat.

Your parents hadn’t let Taehyung sit next to you. Rather, he sits across from you, unable to soothe your nerves with a hand on your thigh or palm.

Your sister and brother sit next to you, your parents on either end of the table. There are two empty seats next to Taehyung, him being closest to your father.

You’re sure your siblings had interrogated him a little when your mother forced you to change into something else when the two of you got here. Clad in a pink flowy dress and a braid, you nervously made your way down the stairs and into the dining room, only to find your boyfriend in front of his seat, nodding to the space between your siblings as your own.

Since the appetizers came in, no one had spoken a word.

It’s terribly uncomfortable, and you try to distract yourself by silently telling Taehyung to put his napkin in his lap instead of next to his plate. Your brother laughs, and you jab your elbow into his side.

“So,” your father starts. His voice sends a shock down your spine. “I’m sure you have a good explanation for the dress.”

Your nerves spike the highest they’ve ever been. The dress isn’t really that important. Had it been anyone else, maybe someone your father knew or liked, the dress would be replaced without a word the next day. His pressure on the dress with Tae makes you think he will use it against him, causing you to bounce both of your legs up and down rapidly.

“Yes, I—” you start, but your father raises his palm slightly, telling you to stay quiet and let him answer.

“Yes,” Taehyung clears his throat. “I apologize, sir. I was simply being careless. I was excited to see your daughter, and had acted before realizing what she was wearing.”

“That was custom made,” your sister starts. “By Chanel.”

Taehyung doesn’t seem to recognize the name, making your sister smile snottily.

“It’s a brand,” she shoves her food into her mouth with a snobby tug of her lips.

You clutch the end of your silverware, trying to transfer all the things you wish you could scream into the piece of silver metal.

“Enough,” your father stops her interrogation. He has made it clear he would be the one interrogating tonight. “I do have to ask, though,” he turns his attention toward Tae again. “What makes you think you’re worthy of seeing my daughter?”

The table is silent, everyone’s mind empty but your own. You could think of a million reasons, maybe even more than that, as to why he deserves you. But does Taehyung think he deserves you? You thought you made it clear within the past two years that he does, but his silence speaks for itself.

After a few more seconds of being silent, your father laughs a little through his nose.

“I am aware of your financial situation so that already docks a big chunk off your worth,” he starts again.

“Father,” you try to stop him.

“Your occupation is less than fulfilling,” he continues. “Surely, you must know that affection alone cannot support her.”

Taehyung’s mouth is so dry, that he wants to drink the entire ocean. But he lets it sit in discomfort, the truth ringing through his ears like a bomb dropped right in front of him.

“You care for her, son,” he sighs. “I can see that,” your father sets down his brandy, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, and latching his fingers together over his lower chest. “So, why don’t we just end this here. Before it gets any deeper than it is.”

You see Taehyung’s heart drop to his stomach. You wish you could go over to him and put it right back in his chest for him, but your father continues to drop it further and further until it eventually breaks in two upon impact with the hard floor.

“I’ll give you an ultimatum, just to be sure you understand,” your father starts. “You go back to your construction work and help your parents with their grocery business. Cut her out of your life. In return, I’ll forget about the dress. About the some 70 thousand dollars you owe me for the destruction of it.”

“Father, please,” you cry, starting to stand. "It was my fault." But your sister grabs your shoulder and pushes you back down onto your seat.

“If you’re smart, you’ll understand how long that would take to accumulate on top of your other finances to return,” he continues. “If you truly care about her, you’d let her find someone who can meet all of her expectations and give her a comfortable future.”

“No,” you start, but Taehyung silences you with his gaze.

He looks to you from your father, feeling the weight of his words. You look at him, seeing how he believes every word your father is saying. You see it ring in his ears, and you know exactly what his next words are going to be.

“Sir, I—” he rasps, defeat flooding his lungs. This is not about the dress. He’d spent the rest of his life paying your father back if it meant he’d let him have you. This is about your future that he knows he can’t support; about the fact that he knows the best he can give you is nowhere near the luxury someone else can. “I just want her to be happy.”

“In this world, love is not enough for that,” Your father stands up, his hand on Taehyung’s shoulder. “I’ll show you to the door, son,” your father says.

Taehyung stills, his attention suddenly transferred to the calluses on his palms. He examines them, then the scuffs on the rim of his sleeves. It serves as a reminder, that even the best things he owns cannot match up to the expectations served tonight. He knows you don’t care. He knows you’re better than this. But surely it might become easier with time for you. Your father would find someone genius, with wealth beyond imagination. You will forget about him with time, and your wounds will heal. You’ll have an army of new cars, go to fancy banquets with designer dresses, a penthouse in the city, a smart-suit husband, and beautiful children with loads of worth to their names. He thinks about what he could give you, and it amounts to close to nothing. He’s already given you everything he has, and it’s not enough to keep you safe.

He thinks about this before standing in his seat. Your breath hitches in his throat, watching him give you up, your father’s hand on his back guiding him through the dining room, neither sparing you a glance.

“No,” you cry, standing up. Your sister tries to stop you again, but you shove her hand away.

“Y/n L/n, if you chase that boy, right now will be the last time you step in this house!” your mother slams her hands on the table.

There are words you wish you could say. So many emotions and slander and curse words you wish you could shout and spit in her face.

“I'm happy with him,” is all you can say. "I love him"

“Love is but a word,” your mother rolls her eyes. “You will forget about him in two weeks! That boy cannot support you. He can be replaced.”

“He can’t be,” you counter. Your chest rises with words, an essay might come out of your mouth, but you’re silenced when your father comes back into the room, Taehyung gone from your sight. You silence yourself, knowing you have to make a choice. Without even thinking, your feet move, and you’re brushing past your father, opening the door to you’re home and welcoming the rain.

Your parents wouldn’t have his presence in your life, banishing him from your home after he showed up in the nicest clothes he owned. They forbid him from ever seeing you again, using the price of your stained clothes as a threat if he ever were to lay eyes on you again. But you ignore that, running after him, soaking yourself in the rain once again as you chase him.

You call his name, shouting it into the street. He ignores you, and you feel you’re going crazy the more you call out his name until he finally turns around in quick anger. By this point, you two had already gone well down the street, far away from your posh, gated house. He grabs your cheeks in his palms, pressing his lips harshly against yours. You kiss him with fervor, letting the rain soak your pink dress and braided hair. He does the same, not giving a care in the world about the time he spent trying to make himself look nice for your family. He kisses you as if it would be the last time he would ever feel your lips against his again.

“We can’t do this, Y/n,” he breaks the kiss. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes close as his jaw clenches from his own words.

“Tae,” you sob, cupping his cheek. He covers your hand with his own, squeezing it tight.

“You know we can’t, Y/n,” he shakes his head, looking into your tear-filled eyes. “They will never accept me.”

“I accept you,” you sniffle. “Please don’t leave me, Tae. I accept you.”

“It’s not enough,” he whispers.

“N-No,” you shake your head.

But he already began letting go of your hand, his heel taking a step back.

“T-Tae, no,” you grab his other hand, but he forcibly makes you let go. You watch him turn on his heel, his back replacing his chest.

“Kim Taehyung,” you sob into the open air of the empty street. He does nothing, continuing his path to wherever he is going. “Taehyung!” you scream, but he doesn’t stop.

Your chest rises and falls so quickly, that you feel dizzy. Panic rises into every vein in your body, watching him grow smaller and smaller as he distances himself from you. Never in your life had you felt like it was between life or death between two choices. But god, was it clear which option had been labeled death, and which one was life.

“Marry me,” you shout. You watch his feet stop, both shoes parallel to each other. The panic in your veins slightly subsides at the fact that his distance stopped becoming larger. And then you say it again. “Marry me, Taehyung.”

He turns around, and you begin walking—running—toward him.

“Don’t say that,” he angrily breathes through his nose once you reach him.

“Marry me,” you say it again.

He looks up, despite the rain, his jaw clenched.

“I can’t go through life without you,” you cry, shaking your head. “I can’t do it.”

“You can,” he denies.

“I’m so in love with you,” you laugh, wiping the tears from your eyes. “I love you.”

His hands clench, balled into fists. God, did he love you more than the world itself. More than himself. But he can’t be selfish. He can’t rip you away from your family.

“And what about them?” he nods his head in the direction of your house.

“They can’t replace you,” you cup his cheeks, forcing him to look at you. “No one can replace you.”

“You can’t replace your family, Y/n,” he says. “I’m just a guy. Probably the least qualified to have you,” he laughs through his nose. “I can be replaced. They cannot.”

“They have given me a choice,” you cry. His words hurt. You wish you could make him see just how irreplaceable he is. You cannot replace your family, but you cannot replace him, either. “I already made it the minute I ran out of the house.”

He looks at you, finally locking eyes with yours. You feel the panic fade when he looks at you, and you can’t help but feel that this is right. That you’re making the right choice.

“Y/n,” he starts, shaking his head.

“I chose you a long time ago,” you go on. “The minute I shared my umbrella with you, I chose you. All your boxy smiles and shy laughs. Your job; your family. You. Your heart.”

A tear falls from his eye, his jaw still clenched.

“I can’t give you this life,” he takes your hands from his cheeks, holding them tightly between your soaked bodies. “I-I will never be able to afford law school or a gated mansion in the city. Or a white Chanel dress,” he whispers the last part. “Your life — I can’t rob you of it.”

“You are my life, Tae,” you rub your nose against his. “That stuff doesn’t matter. I want you. Forever.”

He gulps, the look in your eye speaking nothing but the truth. It scares him because of course, he wants the best for you. But he is unsure of himself, of what he can give you other than his heart. But the way you look at him, as if that is truly enough for you, makes his worries subside. You’re choosing him. Between life or death, you took a side, labeling him as life.

He grabs your waist, his arm pulling you into his frame as he sears his lips onto yours. Big, callused palms cup your jaw, holding you against his lips as if you’d try to escape. This time around, the kiss is hard, so needy and loved. You feel loved like you’ve never felt before. All the panic in your heart fades and is replaced with a need to keep him close. You assume he feels the same, his strong arms lifting you around his waist. You laugh against his lips.

“I love you,” you chuckle, almost in disbelief that you could love someone so much. He’s given you something you thought you’d never receive in the world your parents brought you into. You feel fresh with him, like you’ve been born again.

He kisses you again, confirming he feels the same before he sets your feet back on the wetted sidewalk.

“Let’s go,” he takes your hand.

“Where?” you follow him.

“My place,” he looks back at you.

You come up to his side, holding his arm as you walk in the rain. It was just a walk until thunder struck again, and the rain started falling ten times harsher than it was before. It causes you to shriek, and Taehyung only laughs, beginning a sprint while you follow after him.

You two ran to the bus stop, where you kissed some more, before the bus arrived and you shivered in the air conditioning of the large vehicle until it arrived on the other side of the city.

His place became a little bit of yours. You had unofficially moved in until now, as you stumble in his arms into the elevator, making out like horny teens until the number for the 15th floor rang in his ears and he pulled away.

The kisses you press to his neck make his whole body feel weak, his fingers unable to find the key to his apartment amongst the many in the single key ring chain he owns.

“Baby,” he whispers desperately. “S-Slow down, m’ trying to find the key,” he nervously chuckles.

You only run your hands under his soaked shirt, feeling the divots of his abs under your fingertips. Working at a construction company certainly did have more perks than one.

Finally, he seems to have found the key, slipping it forcibly into the lock and turning it until it opened the door to his apartment.

“Come here,” he lifts you up onto his hips, walking you inside his place and pushing you against the door, making it close all the way. He’s sure to lock it after tossing his keys somewhere on the neighboring kitchen counter as he kisses hot trails up your neck. They’re hasty kisses, and so so needy.

“T-Tae,” you grip his hair.

The feeling makes him groan, his hand forming a fist against the wall in pure self-control.

You slide your fingers under his shirt again, except this time, they go all the way up. You force his shirt off his skin, and he lets you take it off as his hands firmly grip your waist. He uses his new grip to support you when he moves you off the wall, his legs guiding you through his apartment as you kiss his neck once more. This time, to leave marks.

You latch onto his sweet spot so tenderly, and he grips your hips hard enough to leave his own marks on your skin.

With one hand, he pushes open the door to his bedroom before landing you on the soft sheets of his bed. You’re overwhelmed with him. The smell of his clean sheets floods your lungs as he traps you underneath his body.

You gasp when he slides his hands up your waist, his fingers coming to your back to find the zipper of your dress.

He waits for your permission, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he plays with the zipper.

“Please, Tae,” you allow him.

He nods against your neck, telling you without words that he’s going to undress you.

You sit up for him, making it easier for him to carry the fabric down your hips. You’re revealed to him in your soaked bra set. Nothing fancy, just nude colors to hide your undergarments beneath your dress.

But despite the plainness, you watch him admire your body, eyes flicking back and forth, trying to remember what you look like underneath the rest of your clothes. You help him, reaching behind you to unhook your bra yourself.

It falls off your shoulders and your skin perks with the cold air mixing with your wet skin.

“Make love to me,” you ask. “Please.”

Taehyung’s mouth goes dry. He’s seen you naked countless times. Fucked you like a rabbit in heat multiple times in just a day. But god, did hearing you ask him to make love to you settle the weight of your proposal from earlier. You really do choose him. And suddenly, he feels like it is the first time he’s ever looked at you naked. Like it was the first time he was going to enter your body.

He felt nervous. So, so nervous. But never so sure of anything else in his life. He knew he wanted you as his forever. But was too selfless to ask you to leave your prosperous life for his. For the longest time, he thought he was living on borrowed time with you. That one day, his first and only love would eventually leave him. His dreams are coming true, and he doesn’t know how to process that other than following your exact command.

“Tae?” you cup his cheek.

He sits on his knees, each one placed next to your thighs as you sit below him.

You watch his throat bob as he swallows, his face leaning into your touch. You bring him back to life, his body finally moving to trap you against the sheets again.

With soft lips, much less needy than the prior ones you two have shared today, he kisses you. He’s gentle as his hips press against yours. You gasp against his lips, the feeling of his clothed cock against your thin underwear stirring things inside of you.

You wrap your legs around his hips, crossing your ankles to secure his embrace over your own.

Taehyung groans, the friction making his desire uncontrollable as he grinds against your core.

“T-Taehyung,” you gasp, head falling back against the sheets. He takes this as an opportunity to trap the skin of your neck with his teeth, gently biting at your flesh in soft confessions of his love.

Your breasts push against his bare skin, feeling overwhelmed when he takes your pert nipple between his fingers, pinching them slightly, just enough to drive you crazy.

It’s all too much, his lips, his fingers, his hips grinding into you, sending waves of pleasure straight into your core. You just want him already. You want to feel full of him.

Your heels start the process, digging at the hem of his jeans as if you could get them off without your hands when they’re so securely fastened by his belt.

“Fuck,” he moans, finally granting your wish as he pushes off of you and unbuckles his belt.

Dark brown eyes admire you, laying on his sheets, giving yourself to him completely. You stare back at him, watching him push his jeans and boxers down to the floor, stepping out of them slowly before he hooks his slender finger under your panties.

“A-Are you sure?” he asks you, hiking your legs up as your underwear slides off your smooth skin.

“Yes,” you nod.

You hear your panties fall on the floor, joining the rest of your clothes, when he slowly spreads your legs, creating a place for himself as he falls on top of you again. Strong arms come under your shoulders, and you slide your hands up his neck, one arm securing him close to you, the other feeling a rapid heartbeat under his chest. You gasp when you feel the head of his cock brush gently against your thigh, so close to your core, but far enough away to make you want to beg for it. You, too, feel like it’s the first time all over again. When he took your virginity and your heart and wrote his name all over your skin.

“You look like you’re having second thoughts,” he shakily breathes above you, a small nervous smile on his lips.

“No,” you laugh shyly through your nose, looking into his warm eyes. You see yourself in them, and you’re reminded of the moment you first saw yourself in them two years ago.

“Are you scared?” he asks, lining himself up with your entrance. You know he isn’t referring to sex, but rather everything that comes after. Of your parents. Of everything you’ll have to sort out. But you know it is nothing that you won’t do alone. The man above you has made it clear that you will never feel alone again.

“A little,” you admit with a small smile.

“Me, too,” he kisses your cheek softly. With a push of his hips, his face falls into your neck, a small groan coming from his lips as you gasp and claw at the skin of his shoulder.

“Oh, T-Tae,” you moan sweetly, tangling your fingers in his hair as he slides out just to slam back into you once more. You feel giddy, a small raspy laugh coming from your throat as he develops a pace. He’s so perfect for you, fits you like a glove in more ways than one. He fills you completely. Over fills your cup with all of his love and giggles and smiles. You can’t get enough, it’s almost comical.

“Faster,” you whine, arching you back into him.

He obeys, grabbing your thighs and pushing them upwards until they’re hooked on his shoulders.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he moans, slamming into you with a newfound passion. Your nails slide down his biceps, some drawing blood from the feeling of his dick ripping you open. It makes you choke beneath him, your head falling back as he fucks you full of his cock. “S-So perfect.”

His nose brushes against your collarbone, using your neck as support when he leans his forehead against it. He takes a deep breath, breathing in your scent before he takes your hips firmly into his palms and holds you against the sheets. Your legs fall naturally, too weak to hold themselves up. But he doesn’t seem to care, instead using his new grip to pull you into his hips, pushing you deeper onto his length than you think you’ve ever gone before. The tip of his head kisses your cervix, and you wince in pleasurable pain when he slides out and slams against it again.

“A-Ah,” you whine, unsure how to feel about this new sensation. The man above you is sure, slowly but harshly pushing into you. His sureness makes you swell, and you feel like he is truly combining his body with your own the deeper he goes.

“Y-You,” he nearly slurs. Your pussy squeezes the head of his cock so justly, he feels his vision going blurry. Everything about you makes him explode. His dick, his mind, his heart. Everything. He can't even finish his sentence.

He goes faster, slipping past your folds with your slick sliding down your thighs and onto his sheets.

“T-Tae,” you panic, your high coming in quickly, setting warmly at the pit of your stomach just seconds away from release. “Tae, I’m gonna cum.”

“F-Fuck, me, too,” he moves faster, harder. His hands touch you, your skin following in flames the further his hands slide up your waist. He groans uncontrollably when you clench around him, your warm heat spreading down your walls as he makes love to you. “Y-Yn,” he whines.

“Say you love me,” you gasp, your voice nearly a whisper as you cream his cock.

“I love you,” he kisses your lips. It’s wet and so disgustingly sweet, you force him to lean himself into your body again, to use it to cum. “I love you so much.”

You watch him shut his eyes tight, his cock twitching inside of you, begging for release as he fights it, probably wanting to last longer for you, to give you a second orgasm before he lets himself cum.

“Cum for me, sweet boy,” you kiss his cheek.

“A-Ah,” he moans, his nose rubbing against yours. You squeak when he slams himself into you, harsh and raw, pushing past you as he fills you with ropes of white cum. “Oh, fuck,” he shakes, fists gathering the fabric of the sheets tightly as he falls into your neck, dick twitching as he cums hotly in your walls. He can’t control the noises, he’s never felt like this before. Like nothing else matters but his future with you.

His dick slips past your cervix, exiting your walls with loads of cum falling out of your abused cunt.

He falls on top of you, the two of you catching your breath with closed eyes and heavy limbs. Until you start laughing.

“What?” he chuckles with you. Your laugh is contagious.

He comes up to look at you, your cheeks red and your pupils shot with love.

“Nothing,” you shake your head. You look at him, cupping his cheek as he switches his gaze between your eyes and your cherry lips. “I-I’m just so happy.”

He laughs at that. Himself full of the same happiness.

“So?” you poke his cheek, raising an eyebrow.

“So?” he raises his own.

“Will you?”

“Will I…?”

“Will you marry me, silly,” you roll your eyes. Although it doesn’t seem nearly as sassy as it is supposed to, not with a giant smile plastered on your face.

“Oh,” he smiles back. “I guess.”

“'You guess'?!” you pinch his shoulder. He winces but laughs as he pulls you into a hug, switching himself on his back with your hips straddling his own. Cum leaks down onto his softening cock, but that is the last thing on either of your minds. His big hands feel the smoothness of your thighs, as yours play with the skin of his chest. If he didn’t know every one of your quirks, he would have taken it as you being silly. But he knows you’re just a little nervous about his answer.

“Yes,” he takes your hand, kissing your knuckles. “Of course I will. But, let me do it properly.”

You physically relax, and pure happiness floods your system.

“We never do things properly,” you remind him, rolling your eyes with a smile again.

“You’re right,” he acknowledges. “I-It might be a while, but at least let me buy you a ring.”

“Okay,” you bite your lip, hiding a closed-lipped smile. It doesn’t work, of course, and the two of you are left a stupid mess as you start your forever together.

___

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2024]

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