#also thanks for making me relive their movie in the finale :(((((

[helioooss]

midnight rain

synopsis: sana and y/n used to be the top celebrity couple in the entertainment industry. over a decade after a nasty break up, they meet again at a jimmy kimmel show

w/c: 5.2k

warnings: mentions of drug use and overdose, read at your own risk, angst with a happy ending

a/n: first story in ten years, creative brain’s a bit rough these days, haven’t been on tumblr since its golden days. also not proofread. hope ur all well and enjoy this one :)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your heart was beating out of your chest, each thump pushing you further you into a downward spiral as your clammy palms tapped against your bouncing knee. Leaning against the chair, you refused to make eye contact with anyone — the worried look on your face was enough to push them away, anyway. In a situation like this, it would be strange to not feel anxious.

After all, it had been over ten years since you let the love of your life go and agreeing to see her on live television was a decision that you have been regretting since the day you said yes.

Two minutes, you blew a breath out as you stared up at the monitor in front of you.

"Welcome to the Tonight Show!" Jimmy trailed off with a smile, the audience in front of him clapping as they yelled in excitement. "Thank you for being here, tonight we have two very special guests —"

A staff member tapped your shoulder, pulling you out of your messy thoughts with his apologetic face. "Y/N, it's time."

Uncrossing your legs, you nodded your head with a shy smile. The fact that you could hear your own heartbeat amongst all the noise made you uneasy, so you stood there for a moment longer; wondering what Minatozaki Sana looked like in person.

You haven't been this nervous since the world found out about your relationship with her.

Taking a deep breath, you walked out with your heart in your throat. You bowed your head at Jimmy and waved your hand at the audience members, screaming can be heard from the other end; your name being chanted, their anticipation shining through from seeing you on television again after what seemed like an eternal hiatus.

It would be a lie to say it didn't feel good to relive what was once your life like, but you don't regret disappearing from the spotlight.

You were happier now, away from all the awards and glory, you think.

As if you were in a movie, time suddenly stopped as she emerged from the other side in the black Yves Saint Laurent dress you bought her all those years ago — brown hair flowing freely past her shoulders as she mirrored your gestures towards the crowd. Watching her fondly, you were reminded of the moonlight that illuminated the surface of the endless ocean; truly God's masterpiece in its purest form. You were frozen in your spot as you stared at her with the utmost adoration and respect.

Then, she finally settled on your eyes and suddenly you felt like a kid again.

"Hello stranger," she said with a sly smile, taking the seat next to yours with the crowd going wild at your first interaction. "Hi Jimmy, thank you for having me."

"Yeah, I'm gonna pretend that you didn't acknowledge Y/N first," he teased, making her and everyone else chuckle. "Anyway, wow, you look wonderful. And so do you, Y/N!”

You grinned, nodding as you try to remember the rough script on how the conversations would go in your head. "Thank you for having me back here, Jimmy, I appreciate it."

"It's the both of you this time," he raised his eyebrow suggestively. "Which is amazing, the world hasn't seen you together in twelve years. Am I right?"

"Yes," she looked at you, heaving out a breath as she laughed. "Sorry, it just feels so weird to see you again."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Suddenly, you were pulled back into past; during the last time you ever saw her in the alleyway behind Stanley's; your favourite getaway restaurant during midnights. Every now and then, you remembered it; the pain from losing her always came back like it just happened and you wonder if you've really moved on.

"We can't keep doing this," she said with tears welling in her eyes. "It's so hard, Y/N, and as much as I love you, our relationship is mentally breaking me."

You shook your head in desperation, cupping her cheeks with both of your hands. "That's what they want, you know that, our fans want us to break up. You don't have to do this, baby, I'm sure there's another way. We can talk to both of our managements —"

She sighed, pulling away from you. Both physically and emotionally. "I've spoken to mine and they respect my decision.

You paused, repeating the words in your head to make sure you heard her right. It felt like she just stabbed you in the back as you gawked at her with defeat in your eyes, shoulders slumping while piecing everything together. "The last time you spoke to them about our relationship was over a month ago, and you're only talking to me about this now? Is that how you've been feeling this whole time?"

Her tears rolled down her face, understanding the betrayal you felt. "It's not just the fans, Y/N, it's literally everything. I barely get to talk to you and see you. How can we both work it out when we can't even create time for each other?"

"I'll do anything for you, my love, just say the word and I will cancel everything - you know that! Every project, every interview, every shoot, literally anything —"

"No, I stand by my decision," she said firmly. "Perhaps, when you and I have achieved all our dreams...then we can work it out. This isn't the right time for us —"

"Four fucking years, Sana," you bellowed angrily, fists clenching. There was pain written on her face from hearing you call her by her name. "From the very beginning, we have been there for each other. What the fuck am I supposed to do without you?"

"Let me go — we'll both be happier without each other."

"No," you shook your head, tugging her closer towards you. However, she resisted. "Please, please don't do this. Don't leave me like this. What happened to forever?"

Her tears rolled down her cheek at the sound of your defeated voice. As much as it hurt her, she had to make up a lie on the spot. "I don't love you anymore. I — there's someone else."

Just like that, all of your hopes and dreams for the future shattered. Without her, the life you built meant nothing.

She really wanted you out of her life and there was nothing you could do about it. Shoulders slumping, you looked down - the thunderous roar of the oncoming storm startled her whilst it had no effect on you. "Okay, I see what you're doing. It's going to start raining, you should go."

She doesn't know whether it was the coldness in your voice or the wind, nonetheless, she shivered. "Y/N -"

"Leave, that's what you wanted, right?" you looked up at her, eyebrows furrowing. "I don't understand what I've done to you to justify what you're doing. I know I don't deserve any of this. If you're going to leave, leave now and never come back. And when I say never, I mean it, Minatozaki Sana."

She nodded her head, turning on her heel with a sob. Tiny specks of rain began to pour down on you, the rest of your world going down with it. You watched her walk away from you as if it were the easiest thing - did she ever really love you?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"I can't pinpoint whether that's a good thing or not, but considering I'm your ex, I'd say that's a bad thing," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully.

She laughed once more, shaking her head at you. You swear that sound never failed to put you on a pedestal. "It's just surreal, I haven't seen you in so long. You look younger than I can remember."

"You never reply to any of my messages," you put your hands up at her as Jimmy bursted into another set of laughter. You didn't know where the confidence was coming from, but you were relieved you were feeling something else other than being constantly nervous. "I'm joking, I don't have her number. I'm sure you don't mind giving it to me after the show, right?"

"God, get a room," Jimmy whined, turning you into a blushing mess. "Before you both propose to each other, Sana, let's talk about the dress you're wearing tonight. Somebody may or may have not told me that you're wearing something very special."

"We'll talk about my number after the show," Sana turned to you, winking; making the heat rise on your face. "Yes Jimmy, this dress is probably my favourite one out of everything - I don't wear it very often, obviously, but this beautiful Yves Saint Laurent piece was a gift from Y/N thirteen years ago."

You stared at her in awe, the way she spoke with so much grace never failed to impress you. The years had done her a favour - life always seemed easier on her than it was on you.

She left you behind, after all.

"Look, I'm just glad you kept it because this archival piece cost me a lot back then," you admitted with the biggest grin on your face as you looked at anyone but her. You couldn't place what it was about her that struck you so forcefully, but you simply couldn't take your eyes off her and you somewhat needed to feel in control of your emotions. "It was our first anniversary, I had just gotten a pretty decent check from Little Women and I wanted to give her something special."

"You got a big check in twenty-nineteen and the first thing you thought of was a dress for your girlfriend instead of a Lamborghini to flaunt on Instagram?" Jimmy scoffed as you and Sana giggled at him. "Get out of here!"

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Your anniversary was coming up and frankly, you wanted to give her the world. You were panicking inside; with the amount of things you've gotten her, none of them felt special. You hummed as you sat in Chou Tzuyu's kitchen, patiently waiting for her to acknowledge you.

"You know, if you weren't my friend, I'd have you sent out of my house already," she grumbled in a playful way. "Seriously, I'm telling you that she will love that Saint Laurent dress by Tom Ford."

You sighed, shaking your head. "It's our anniversary though, it's special. Do you think giving her a dress and taking her to Hawaii are good enough?"

"Jesus Y/N, that woman looks at you with stars in her eyes — she will love anything you get her. If you ask her to marry you right now, I believe she will say yes in less than a heartbeat."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The show was going very well, you felt relieved as time went by, and you were actually enjoying the things you found out about Sana after you had broken up.

She went on to become a successful solo artist and fashion model after Twice's disbandment, and you couldn't be any prouder. It had always been her dream and you always knew she was made to be a superstar - you prayed for her to achieve it, even if it meant she would be harder to reach.

You were able to open up about your past; the dark hole you fell into after the breakup — all the women, the legal troubles and the projects that failed because of your behaviour; it wasn't easy to talk about, but somehow, the way she intensely listened made all the fear go away. It would be an understatement to say you haven't felt this comfortable in years — just watching her talk about her passions put you in awe.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You were barely conscious in a suite at The Ritz in Paris, an unlit cigarette resting on your mouth as you scrambled to find the lighter in your pocket. The only thing illuminating the room was that stupid lamp on the office table. And you hated it, you really did, because it was the same model she broke the last time you were here with her.

You felt so warm - breathing heaved and beads of sweat forming on your forehead. And you laughed to yourself because it was pathetic, really. You were all alone in the city of love because the love of your life decided she wanted to move on from you.

And suddenly, the door opened with Jongin appearing from behind it.  "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Kai..." you could barely mutter his name as the world spun around you. "You're here!"

He knelt in front of you, forcing you to sit up. He tapped both of your cheeks worriedly. "Look at me, open your fucking eyes!"

You cupped his face back with a chuckle, everything seemingly softer around the edges. "Eyes open."

"I need you to tell me how much of these pills you had and when," he dangled the two bags in front of you but all you could think of was her face; the way her eyes lit up whenever you told her you loved her and that smile of hers that never failed to put you in a spiral. "Momo, I need you to stop freaking out and call an ambulance right now."

You were lying against Jongin's chest, your vision blacking in and out.

"We're at the Windsor suite at The Ritz, we have called the hotel medic and they're coming," you heard someone frantically say. "Y/N looks really unwell. Please hurry, please!"

There was buzzing all around you, and you smiled to yourself before giving in and closing your eyes. "Happy 27th birthday to me."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"But how are you doing now?" Jimmy asked with a sympathetic look in his face.

"I..." you looked down, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. "I don't think I know who I am anymore after everything. I regret everything that I've done - all the fame and the money, I don't think it was worth losing myself over the superficial things. Then again, rehab and lots of therapy helped me a lot, you know, I always thought I wouldn't make it past 27...but here I am. All thanks to everyone who held me together."

Everyone began clapping in the audience, your cheeks reddening at all the attention. Despite being a nervous wreck, you managed to let out a small smile. You could feel her eyes on you, yet you refused to look again.

"Would you change what happened in the past?"

Deep down, you were aware of the answer to his question. It'll always be a yes. Everything that you have now wasn't worth more than her.  As ridiculous as it sounded, you would've given it all up for her; without her in your life, it always felt like you achieved it for nothing.

It was supposed to be her and you against the world. As much as it sounded wrong, your love for her will always be greater than your dreams.

"Yes, I would've," you pursed your lips, looking down at your roughed up running sneakers. Compared to her look, yours was too casual. If you were younger, you would've been on the same level as her. You didn't belong to each other now, what else was different about her these days? "For most of you who didn't know, the world hated that her and I were together. Everyone criticised each move we did. We were young...really young, it felt suffocating to hear the same things from the public but god, I loved her so much. To this day, I'm firm on my decision that I would've given up on my dreams for her if it meant I could keep her."

You were truly not over what you had, but with everything that has happened after that, you don't think you could let her in again. Not now.

Not when you were still a mess.

She placed her hand on top of yours, gently squeezing it. "If I knew that letting the world find us would ruin what we had, I would've kept you a secret," she paused, looking at you with pure adoration plastered on her face. "For as long as I could have."

Jimmy nodded his head, satisfied with your answers. "Well, that's it for tonight's show everyone. Please give a huge round of applause to our dear Y/N and Sana!"

You stood up, stepping closer towards Jimmy as you wrapped his arms around him, whispering. "Thanks heaps for having us tonight, never thought we'd cross paths again."

He was smiling as if he understood how it felt. "Anytime, Y/N, my wife and I were big fans back in the day."

You didn't respond, eyes following her instead. There was a sudden sharp ache in your chest as you watched her walk away from you, not bothering to look back.

Jimmy noticed the change in your emotions, squeezing your arm in comfort. "Hey, she'll be backstage for another half an hour. Don't let this chance slip away."

You heaved out a sigh, a defeated look on your face. Perhaps, her actions were all for the show, but god, her face said it all — she missed you as much as you missed her. "I can't, Jimmy. I'm a mess. I think I'll always be a mess. Do you think I could leave without her seeing me or knowing about it?"

There was surprise written on his face at your question. "I thought you guys did great out there, don't you wanna rekindle it?"

"No," you frowned. "I still love her...but its been over a decade and a lot has changed. She rejected me the last time I saw her. She seems happier - I'm still working on myself. I can't risk it."

"I understand," he smiled at you with sympathy. "Come, I'll get one of my producers to show you out."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Sana is here with her rumoured girlfriend," Lisa rasped out, closing the door behind her as she leaned against it - eyes wide and all that. "How are we gonna hide her from Y/N? She's literally sitting outside."

Jennie had horror written all over her face as soon as her eyes landed on your messy face - wonton soup smeared all over your mouth. "Actually...Y/N is here."

Lisa gasped at the sight of you. "I thought you went to order more drinks at the bar!"

You shook your head, standing up. "No, I ordered it through a QR code like I said I would. Where is she?"

"Y/N," Jennie held your hand to stop you. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'll be fine, Nini," you smiled reassuringly, rubbing your thumb against her skin. "I just wanna see what she looks like now."

"It's been seven years, Y/N," Lisa deadpanned, arms crossed and still blocking the door out of the private dining area. "She has moved on and so have you."

"We all know that's a lie."

With a mask of disappointment in her eyes, she took a step ahead to get out of your way, her shoulders slumped as she shook her head disappointingly. "This is going to pull you back a hundred times worst."

And it did. You wished you had listened to Lisa because as soon as Sana's eyes landed on yours, her smile faltered and turned into a worried frown. "Not now, Y/N, talk to me when you're sober. And in private."

"I am sober, Sana," you whispered frozen in place, a pang of pain rushing through every nerve end in your body. “Can we talk, please?”

She wouldn’t even look at you. “If you have anything important to say, I don’t want to hear it.”

You felt sick, stomach twisting in more ways than one and a sudden onset of frustration washed over you. “How could you be so cruel?”

She was once the constellations you admired, now the moon weeps at how she dimmed the brightness within you.

“We’re in public!”

“Nobody fucking knows us here,” your frail attempt at choking up your anger was visibly failing. “You know what? Fuck this, whatever. Have a nice life.”

“Y/N, wait,” she seemed taken aback at your outburst, quickly standing up to trail behind you.

“Fuck you, Sana.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The days that followed after your first public appearance became a blur. You were all over the news again, this time, they were all positive things about you (according to your publicists). Many old friends from the industry have been trying to reach out, some wanted to meet up for their own good - however, most were just glad to see you alive and well.

Since your hiatus, you have been away from the public eye; all of your social media accounts remained stagnant. Even the sleaziest paparazzi companies couldn't figure out where you were.

After all, you were and still are one of the biggest names on the industry.

"Here goes nothing," you said as you tapped on the 'share' button. It was a selfie of you in your bedroom - your bookshelf and art collection on the background. The caption was a simple 'this is 34'.

You closed your eyes as you inhaled a deep breath; it was your first post in nearly three years and you feel absolutely terrified. They were definitely going to judge the way you've aged, the books you read and a lot more other things that you should be prepared for and be used to - but you weren't.

Not long after, your phone rang; interrupting (thankfully) you from your dilemma. It was your mum on the other end. "Hey ma," you greet with a grin.

"Your dad, siblings and I wish you the happiest birthday today, my darling. Will you come and see us this year?" she asked with hope in her voice.

"Ma, I was just there last week," you playfully rolled your eyes. "Besides, if I come now, they will figure out where our family home is. And eventually, the public will find out where I live too."

"I know, I know," she hummed. "But you've been celebrating your birthday alone for years now. Why can't you invite your old friends? I'm sure Jongin and Momo and Lisa and Jennie and Jisoo and Jimin and Jungkook and —"

"Okay, okay," you chuckled. "I'm sure they all miss me too but I don't think I'm ready to let people in again. They're all living very busy lives. I enjoy my solitude right now and —" the sound of ringing from your front door cut you off, startled, you moved the phone away from your ear to make sure you weren't hearing things (again). "Uh, there's someone at the front. Must be one of my book deliveries — well, I hope."

"Aren't you gonna open the door?"

"No, why would I? Then they'll find out I live here." However, the doorbell rang once more. "Oh god, what if I accidentally put my location on my Instagram? Ma, I'll call you back."

"Y/N, it's —"

"Bye, I love you!"

You quickly hung up and turned your phone off before padding across your camera room to see who the person on the other side of the door was.

Your breath hitches at the sight of your ex-girlfriend patiently standing outside with a birthday cake on her hand. After a month of not seeing her, your shoulders slumped into a more relaxed state as you take another deep breath; pressing the red button.

"Sana?" you said with hesitation through the speaker. "You have red hair?"

"Hi Y/N," she waved at the camera. Damn that smile. "Happy birthday, please let me in before anyone sees. And yes, I had to dye it for a shoot."

You cleared your throat. "Uh, I'm coming," you walked towards the front door with your lips tucked behind your upper teeth. You pull the wooden door open, revealing the fiery-haired beauty on the other side. Your heart hammers against your chest and your fingers visibly shake as you step away to let her in. "It suits you."

"Thank you," she smiled shyly, looking around your place. "This is a lovely home, Y/N."

"Come," you took the cake off her hands as you walk towards the open kitchen with a view of the forest surrounding your house. "Pretty bold of you to assume caramel is still my favourite."

She frowned. "Is it not?"

You laughed. "No, no, it still is." As soon as you set the cake on the counter, you looked up to meet her gaze. "How did you find me?"

"Your parents," she quickly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, awkwardly wrapping her arms around her loose cardigan. "I called to see how they were doing."

"And why's that?" you curiously raised an eyebrow, attempting to kill the assumption that she missed you in your head.

She took a step closer towards the counter — the only thing separating you away from her. "Because I wanted to find you," she paused, biting her lip. "After the interview, you disappeared. Just like that. No goodbye, no nothing. Why?"

"Why not?" your tone made her flinch, reminding her of the same coldness you showed her in that alleyway.

"We were doing so well...the interview, I thought you would maybe want to catch up —"

"I did, then I remembered how you broke my heart and then many other thoughts came along after that. Remember when you told me there was someone —"

"An obvious lie, Y/N, there was only you."

A sigh escaped your lips as you avoid her eyes. "For years, I made myself believe that it was true just so I could hate you. And not even a year later, Sana, not even a year, you began dating someone else. A fucking CEO out of all people — a guy who was probably busier than most of us combined; that was such a massive slap in the face considering you told me it wasn't working because of our schedules."

"It was —"

You raised a finger, stopping her. "No, I told you to leave and never come back. I told you that, do you remember?"

"I do," she tilted her head carefully, gaze holding that same familiar hurt all those years ago. "I do, and that's the sole reason I refused to knock on your door again for a decade - no matter how much I begged myself to. I couldn't bring myself to, anyway, not after I hurt you."

"So why are you here?" you asked, voice strained.

"Because I'm still deeply in love with you after all these years, because I believe you're the love of my life and I still want to grow old with you. And I want to love you again if you'll let me, Y/N, please. I love you, that's why I'm here.”

You looked up to find tears pooling in Sana's eyes, she turned away before wiping them away with her fingers. All you could hear was the drumming coming from your chest, your head all over the place once again.

You remembered it so vividly, the moment you wanted to marry her...the cherry red box that was sitting untouched in your safe after all these years. And it hurt.

"Say something, please," she sniffled, pleading you with her eyes as she placed her hand on top of yours - her cold skin against yours now lingering for a moment too long.

"Look at me, Sana," you exasperated, arms flinging wide open. "Look at the mess I am. I've been to rehab more than I can count my fingers. I ruined my own reputation and I hurt so many people along the way. There were days where I could barely breathe, days where I wanted it all to stop. And those days still come every now and then. I have pushed everyone away - even my own family. There's a barrier between me and all of the people I love, the gap will always remain because of the things I've done. And you say you want me?"

"I want you, chaos and all. I have loved you all these years...what's so different about now?"

"Do you know how long has it been since our break up?" you scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose to stop the tears from coming. "You are in love with the idea of me, not who I am."

"Then let me unravel you once more, Y/N, this is all I'm asking for. I know I walked away when you needed me the most and I'm so fucking sorry, I live with that guilty everyday - god, I was so worried. I didn't sleep for a year when we were 27 because I didn't want to wake up to find out you were dead like everyone else would say. I should've reached out then because I knew that I couldn't live this lifetime without you. I didn't want to, not if you weren't in it. I ask myself why I didn't, but I can never find the right answer. All I know is I'm here now, and I'm never gonna let you slip away ever again."

Your walls began to crumble at her intimate confession. This time, you took both of her hands under yours, unable to stop yourself now. "I was going to marry you but you didn't stick long enough for me to do that."

"W-what?" she stammered, her voice breaking. "You were?"

It felt as if there was a knot wrapping your heart and your chest together, squeezing in a way that it almost hurt to breathe. There were so many thoughts flying through your mind, a million of what would've, could've and should've beens.

She unexpectedly collided her body against yours, making you stumble in your feet. Your hands luckily gripped the edge of the counter, balancing her and you together. Her arms snaked around your waist, engulfing you in a tight embrace as she whispered a million apologies.

"I'm so sorry," she cried, pushing you away with her hands. "Oh my god, how did I fuck this up so bad? I love you so much, why?"

"We both were fuck ups, weren't we?" you chuckled through the tears flowing down your cheeks. "Too young to know how cruel the world was."

"Will you please let me in again, Y/N? Let me fix this. I want you and I want us again. I don't care what they all think.”

"I don't deserve you, Sana, I think I'll only end up hurting you. I've been alone for so long now that if you asked me what love was like, I would only be able to mutter your name and remember what ours was like."

"Like the way I hurt you?" she croaked out, intertwining her fingers with yours - thumb rubbing gentle circles against your cold skin. "We'll work through it, together. I know what I'm walking into, I'm not as naive as I used to be. It won't be easy, but I love you. And I can't let this go - I'll never love again if it's not you."

You braced your hands on her hips, pulling her again. You welcomed her in, arms wrapped around her body - never wanting to let go. You stayed like this for a while; the comfortable silence filling all the missing puzzle pieces in your life. "I'm scared."

"I know," she sighed, rubbing your back with her palms. "I'm here now."

For years, you were lost. But not anymore. She was here now and you were home. Again.

[spencerreidswhore187]

Checkmate (Part Three)

By @spencerreidswhore187 for @sackofpissandshit

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader

Word Count: 2.6K

TW: Death, kidnapping, mentions of assault, hospitals, strong-ish language and Frank Kafka

A/N: Hi! Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged and followed Checkmate (Part one and two), it means the world to me. I ate like six Wispa chocolate bars (the superior chocolate) whilst writing this and I swear I have never typed so fast. I also, finally, proof read so yay!

“Reid-”

“You can’t stop me, Emily,” Spencer said, pulling the tubes out of his arms, indifferent to the pain, “I need to see them. I will see them.”

JJ tried to persuade him “This isn’t a movie or one of your novels, Spence please, y/n tried to kill you. You cannot see them.”

It was silent, the team avoiding making contact with Spencer and his bloodshot eyes and dishevelled hair. He looked insane when he spat “Don’t say their fucking name, I am going. We all know they won’t talk to anyone else.” You would have grinned, were you there. Spencer could have sworn he saw you throw your head back and laugh in the corner of the room. It was an ironic twist of fate, the way you’d both reacted to the truth. You had become soft and timid - growing a conscience and your Spence had grown twisted and harsh. 

Spencer hated himself for it but he wished you were with him.

Emily stood dumbfounded, she did not know what to expect when Spencer awoke but surely it was not this. This was not Spencer. Is this what love does to someone, she wondered.

Spencer was unrecognisable as he walked towards the exit of the monotonous hospital room, his face unreadable. Emily recalled the way it used to light up whenever your name was mentioned. 

Spencer paused in the doorway, looking over his shoulder, “

Emily would let him go - against protocol, or not - they both knew that. 

They needed you to talk and the only person you would speak with was Spencer.

——————————————————————————-----------------

Agent David Rossi slammed his hands against the tables in frustration, “We know what you did, y/n. We have evidence,” you made no move to speak, “ you can either make a deal with us and tell us who you are working for or spend the rest of your life rotting in a cell.” 

Tara and Rossi took turns trying to interrogate you but you weren’t listening, you had forced yourself into the corner of your mind, reliving your favourite memories in a futile attempt to dull the throbbing pain in your heart.

It had been three years, eight months, two weeks and one day since you met Spencer Reid. You’d had left a meeting with Ben, black and blue because you had refused to kill a group of children whose worst crime had been staying up past their bedtime, and had gone straight to August.

August had been your first love and your third kill. When Ben had found out about them he had forced you to slit his wrists. 

You rested your head against his gravestone, crossed-legged and book in hand. It was late and you were exhausted but you could not bring yourself to leave - perhaps it was pure stubbornness: everyone had always left you so out of spite, you refused to leave them. Or maybe it was fate. If you had left you never would have met Spencer. 

“Yours,” You had read aloud, “now I'm even losing my name - it was getting shorter and shorter all the time and is now-”

“Yours,” a tall, brunette stranger interrupted. He was beautiful; he looked like you, broken. Alone might as well have been tattooed on his forehead. The stranger raised the book in his hand and you recognised the cover:

“Letters to Milena,” you had smiled. It was the same novel resting in your lap. He wore a matching smile on his face, it looked like the first time he had smiled in a while, it was certainly the first time you had.

He sat down at the grave next to August’s, the stone read ‘Maeve Donovan’. 

You extended your hand, “Y/N L/N. Hi.”

He took your cold hand in his, it was much larger but fitted in yours so comfortably, “Spencer Reid,” he replied. 

That night you talked for hours in the graveyard, eventually forgetting the reason you were both there to begin with.

When you got up to leave and return to the real world, he had grabbed your wrist, releasing it immediately and apologising profusely, a jolt of electricity had run up your arm, “I, er, maybe we could go out sometime…together…like an, um, date?” 

You had grinned, feeling alive for the first time in years. At that moment you weren’t Y/N, The Phantom Menace, you were just Y/N, someone who at long last believed in hope. 

You’d been alone in the dull interrogation room for around an hour when the door at last creaked open; there he stood. 

Spencer’s breath caught in his throat - how could you sit there looking so beautiful, like something he’d never seen. Perhaps you were a fallen angel, a plague on mankind. That’s the only explanation Spencer could concoct that would validate how someone as deadly as you could look so heavenly. 

He wanted to grab hold of your chin and press his lips against yours, he wanted to feel the warmth of your body pressed against his. This endless loop of thoughts made Spencer feel sick, he forced himself to remember who you are and what you’ve done. It didn’t matter though. 

You watched him analyse your face, maybe you were delusion or maybe he still cared and was checking to see whether you were hurt. Whether you were okay. You weren’t, neither of you were. 

You didn’t say anything as he slowly approached the steel table you were handcuffed to. You didn’t say anything as he took a seat across from you. You didn’t say anything as he reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

Soon the silence became unbearable for Spencer.

“You tried to kill me,” he whispered. 

You didn’t know how to respond. You hated that things would never be the same; you missed the way you would lie in bed and talk for hours, the mornings where you would drape yourselves across the sofa and race each other to finish the crossword first. 

“I’m sorry,” you replied, hesitantly. 

“That’s not good enough.” 

A tear, a lone bead, trailed down your cheek. You hated he could see you cry, you yearned to wipe your sorrows away. 

“Why are you here, Spence?”

He scoffed, “Oh, are we back to Spence now? When will you stop playing these games, y/n? You won. Is that what you want to hear,” his voice slowly raised into a shout, “Checkmate. You broke me.”

Spencer closed his eyes tightly, remembering how Garcia had told him you were the one who made the call. 

 “I need you to explain something to me.”

“Anything,” you breathed. 

“Tell me what you meant by ‘the men who kidnapped me.’” 

“Spencer-”

“Tell me,” he glowered, “and then we are done. You won’t ever have to see me again.” 

You choked back a sob, you had been injured, nearly killed, countless times by countless people but nothing hurt like this. Spencer ignored the tears streaming down your face and the way your voice shook as you finally spoke, it was so convincing and he knew if he let himself believe it, there would be no turning back. 

“When I was eight years old, I was walking home from school. My parents, well, they weren’t home much but it was my birthday and they had promised me that there would be this huge cake and lots of presents. I was so excited. I don’t know why. I was five minutes away from the house when a van pulled up beside me and these two men grabbed me and drove off. 

“They used to laugh at me. They would drink and stare at my tied-up body making jokes about how my parents told the police to stop looking for me after just a few hours of looking. They would tell me how easily I could be found if someone actually cared about me. 

“After a few years, they got bored of me and made me run errands for them. At first, it was drugs and then they would make me steal, rob small shops. If I didn’t then they would, um…” Spencer stared at the surface of the table, he didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from uncuffing you and then escorting you out of the FBI building if he did.

You continued, “It was easier to do what they said. I thought that if they let me go far enough, maybe I would get caught. Anything…anything would have been better than being with Aidan and Steven Keith. At least that’s what I thought.” 

Spencer’s mind was racing with a thousand possibilities. He hates it when you cry, he hates it when you’re hurt, he sat frozen, not knowing what to do. 

“They got in, um, trouble with Be-the leader of this local gang. Some drug deal gone wrong I think. They tried to trade me as a gesture of good faith - I was seventeen. I killed Steven and thought I had escaped but they found me in an alley. 

“They started training me to be an assassin, sending me out to do their dirty work. I didn’t want to, at first, I swear it, Spencer. But then it became a way to disassociate. When I held that little blade I became a completely different person, it was the only way I could survive. I wanted to escape but I couldn’t get away from him.” Him? 

“And then…I met you.” 

Spencer remembered the day you brought him back to life in that graveyard. It had been two weeks since Meave died and he wasn’t sure what he expected when he went to visit her for the first time but it sure as hell wasn’t you. You were mesmerising. 

“After our second date I told, um, him that I was done. I told him I had money, I tried to give him everything in exchange for my freedom - a life with you, Spence, would have been worth it. He wouldn’t let me, though. We ended up meeting less and less frequently and I managed to convince him that there were worse ways to ruin his enemies' lives than death. 

“I thought I was done. I was happy, we were happy; I foolishly believed we could lead a normal life. 

“He told me five more people and then I was done. I did the jobs without hesitation, it’s not like they didn’t deserve it. 

“It was supposed to be our last meeting, earlier,” you weren’t aware of what time it was anymore, the hours just rolled into one another, “and he revealed my loving boyfriend had lied to me. That you were a profiler for the FBI. He didn’t give me a choice, I had to…I had to kill you.” 

Spencer couldn’t breathe. He forced himself to inhale, hold, and then exhale. He had more questions he needed answering. 

“So you did not kill Sheppard, Daugherty, Smith, Chen or that bastard Keith?”

“No.”

“Why should I believe you? Why should I believe anything you say?” He did know why he was being so harsh. It was like Spencer had become two different people and he was standing mute watching this cruel figure shout at the love of his life. He wished more than anything that you could just stop loving someone, and turn it off like a switch. Spencer feared he would love you forever. 

Mirroring your conversation earlier, he asked: “How did they end up dead then?” 

“I told you before, I don’t know.”

‘Then think!” 

“I can’t-shit.” The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks. It was Ben. He had lied to you - every life you thought you had spared, you had been wrong. He had been playing you the whole time. Perhaps you were a pawn after all. 

Spencer seemed to come to the same conclusion as you. 

“It was him, wasn’t it,” he asked.

There was no point lying, he knew your tell, you knew that, “yes.”

“What’s his name.” 

“I can’t-”

“I won’t let him hurt you y/n, sweetheart. If he comes after you, if he touches a hair on your pretty little head, I will kill him. And…I will sleep well.” He knew that it made him a hypocrite and no better than you but he didn’t care. The thought of someone hurting you made him feel nauseous. 

You whispered, “Ben. His name is Ben.”

With that, Spencer got out of his chair and went to open the door. He heard your voice call his name “Spence” from behind. 

He paused but he could not bring himself to turn around and face you.

You continued anyway, “Spencer, Spence, I wish the world were ending tomorrow. Then I could take the next train, arrive at your doorstep in Vienna, and say: ‘Come with me,’” Your voice cracked, you couldn’t disguise your sobs as you watched Spencer. “‘We are going to love each other without scruples or fear or restraint. Because the world is ending tomorrow.’ Perhaps we don’t love unreasonably because we think we have time or have to reckon with time. But what if we don't have time? Or what if time, as we know it, is irrelevant? Ah, if only the world were ending tomorrow. We could help each other very much.” 

You hoped Spencer would come back, you foolishly hoped he would hold you but you should have known by now that hope is a myth, a horrid, twisted lie. 

‘I love you, still. Always,” you promised the vacant room.

As he, at last, left the interrogation room, Spencer’s facade slipped - his composition crumbled. Heartbreaking, he leant against the door. He was exhausted from pretending that he didn’t care. As the tears started spilling down his cheeks, Spencer slid down the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. Harsh sobs echo down the corridor. 

Why was it always him? Why couldn’t he live a perfect life for once - it didn’t even have to be perfect, it just needed you. 

By the time Spencer heard the voices of Emily and Rossi in the distance, he had already decided. He was going to find this ‘Ben’ and he was going to destroy him for what he did to you. 

—————————————————————————————————---

Ben scrubbed at the blood that stained his knuckles, intently watching his reflection in the mirror above the sink basin. 

He didn’t look away when he heard a gentle knock at the door, “enter,” he called. 

The new girl, Beth something, walked in, twisting a dark curl around her finger. 

“What?” He demanded. 

“Y/N’s been arrested, sir,” she said, “and the agent is still alive.”

 “Stupid bitch,” Ben scoffed, turning round to face the timid girl. 

“She was foolish enough to get arrested and keep her dickhead boyfriend alive? Did she think she’d get away with it or what? I should have gutted that brat when I had the chance.” 

Ben grinned at the thought, his rotting teeth on display. Beth took a subconscious step back at the putrid display. 

“How long will her sentence be?”

“For life, Sir.”

His nasally laugh engulfed the pair, “Good. Y/N’s fallen right into my trap - it’s all going to plan, Brittney,” the destruction Ben planned to bring excited him, “Checkmate.” 

A/N: Thank you for reading! Part four will be uploaded soon ◡̈

——————————————————————————————————

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Taglist: @sackofpissandshit @ara-a-bird @princess-ofthe-pages @catsinaspacesuit @skull-centric

[sailorsenshishitposter]

Dante x Reader

In which you are the pizza delivery man. Enjoy.

It was 3 AM and you had no idea why you couldn't just go home already. You worked at a pizza joint that the higher ups insisted on having open 24/7. You were on the night shift but you were so bored. After all, who orders food at this time of night? You were fiddling on your phone while your boss came in, surprising you.

It turns out that some mad man actually had requested delivery so you would need to head out once the order was finished being prepared. Twenty minutes later and you grabbed your coat along with the pizza box. "They don't pay me enough for this..." You entered your car and looked down at the handwritten note. "Who the hell doesn't even give an address? I'm supposed to drive all over Red Grave to find some place called Devil May Cry?"

You groaned. This would be a long night. Fourty five minutes of driving and you realized that the place must be in the bad part of town. "No wonder the guy didn't give an address. Who wants to get mugged or stabbed? I better make this quick!" Luckily you kept a pocket knife on you just in case a situation should arise. Another twenty minutes and you finally saw the giant, neon sign.

You glanced at the street to make sure you weren't going to be attacked by some crack head and end up on a world star video. "All clear." You were somewhat relived. "Now to get this over with so I can go home!" You made your way to the door and knocked. No response. "You've gotta be kidding me!"

You went to bang again this time but the door opened and your fist collided with a huge chest. It was so squishy that the recoil knocked your arm backwards, causing you to punch yourself in the face. "You okay man?" You waited for stars to leave your vision so you could get a good look at whatever the hell you just hit. It seemed to be a man in his fourties maybe? You weren't exactly sure how old but his hair was already gray.

He then woke you out of your thoughts. "Oh man. Is that a black eye? I've got some ice if you want it." You shook your head and told him you were fine. You would just be happy as soon as this nightmare was over. "My names Dante by the way." Dante? The same Dante who frequently called up your work over fifty times per week? The employees shuddered whenever they had to slave over another one of his exhausting orders.

"No olives right?" You remembered the last time a coworker accidentally added that ingredient. It's been three months since they were last seen. You opened up the box hesitantly and prayed to every God you could think of. You eventually opened your eyes. Thank God it was just pepperoni. "No olives sir."

You calculated his total and then told him the amount due. "Look, here's the thing. I don't really have money right now. Can I pay you some other way?" Now you were pissed. Who the hell orders food without any money! You then felt your hand be pressed to Dante's Tarzan style. That's when you finally took notice of what he had been wearing. A red thong with a matching velvet, bath robe.

He then started palming your crotch with his other hand. "Now that I think about it, I'd like to add some sausage to my order if you know what I mean..." You were too stunned to move or speak. "I thought this shit only happened in movies!" Just before he could continue, you heard a loud scream from upstairs. "DANTE I SWEAR ON MOTHER'S GRAVE THAT I WILL STAB YOU AGAIN IF YOU DON'T STOP HARASSING THE DELIVERY BOYS! NOW SHUT UP AND LET ME ENJOY WILLIAM BLAKE IN PIECE!"

More shouting soon followed. "HE'S DOING IT AGAIN! HOW MANY TIMES DO WE HAVE TO TEACH YOU THIS LESSON OLD MAN!" Soon Dante was being dragged away by a younger man who coincidentally also had the same hair colour. He pulled out a robotic arm somehow (you weren't sure why you were still surprised at this point) and switched it with a can of raid.

"FUCK YOU!" Soon Dante was knocked out and laying unconscious on the floor. The younger man then took notice of you. "Shit, sorry about that. How much did he owe you?" He soon pulled out a wad of cash that was at least three times the size of the bill. The man looked at you with a face that said "please don't call the cops!" He shut the door and you went back to your car, trying to process the events you just witnessed. You were never going to be able to enjoy pizza again.

[rispwr]

still with you - JK - SPECIAL - CH. 3

pairings : ex!jk x ex!reader, barista/producer!yoongi x reader

genre : fluff, angst

context : after finally leaving all of those memories behind and make new ones, your current partner yoongi still holds a grunge against your ex for everything he put you through. "if karma won't hit him, i will."

will jungkook get what he finally deserves?

word count:1k+ words

warnings/contents : yelling, ruining a family, cheating, exposing, rape, domestic violence, jungkook here is really mean, adultry

songs : house of balloons, swim, into it, goodluck, babe, so high, bloodline

Yoongi’s POV

I had been enjoying the tranquility of our movie night, the soft glow of the TV casting gentle shadows around the room. 

Y/N was nestled comfortably against me, and for a while, it was easy to forget the turmoil that had clouded our lives recently.

 The softness of her hair against my chin and the steady rise and fall of her breathing were comforting.

But then, out of nowhere, a question bubbled up from my mind...one I hadn't fully prepared to ask, but felt necessary. “Hey, Y/N, were there any cameras in your old apartment?”

The words slipped out before I had a chance to fully think them through. I could see her stiffen slightly, her body tensing as she processed the question. Her gaze shifted to meet mine, and I could read the confusion and trepidation in her eyes. My heart tightened; I knew this question might open up old wounds, but something inside me was demanding answers.

“Yes,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “There were cameras in the living room. Why do you ask?”

Her response only deepened the weight of the moment. The living room—where everything had gone so wrong.

 My thoughts raced as I tried to gauge how much I could reveal, how to navigate this delicate conversation. 

The last thing I wanted was to cause her further pain, but I needed to understand if there was something I could do.

“I was just thinking...” I began, struggling to find the right words. “About what happened in that apartment. I know it must have been incredibly hard for you, and I was wondering if you ever saw anything on those cameras.”

Y/N’s reaction was immediate...her eyes filled with a mixture of dread and sadness. 

She looked away, and I could see the anguish in her face.

 I hated seeing her like this, but I felt a growing urgency to address the issues head-on. The fact that there were cameras meant there could be footage, footage that might shed light on what had happened.

“I didn’t really check the cameras,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “I tried to avoid thinking about it. But... I knew something was off. I just... didn’t want to confront it directly.”

The pain in her voice cut deep, and I could sense how much she had tried to protect herself from reliving those moments. I wanted to comfort her, to tell her that she wasn’t alone, but I also needed to ensure that whatever had happened, we would face it together.

“I’m sorry,” I said softly, my voice laced with genuine regret. “I didn’t mean to bring up painful memories. I just thought that if there was something we needed to do or if there was any way I could help, I should know.”

Her hand reached out to mine, and the touch was both a relief and a grounding force. I squeezed her hand gently, trying to convey my support and understanding. “Thank you for asking,” she said, her voice barely audible. “It means a lot that you care. I just don’t want to relive it, but I appreciate that you’re here for me.”

Her gratitude warmed my heart, and I felt a deep resolve to be there for her no matter what. “Of course,” I said, my voice steady. “We’ll face it together, whatever it is. If you ever want to talk about it, or if there’s anything you need, just let me know. I’m here for you.”

As she leaned into me, I could feel the weight of the world lifting slightly. 

The comfort of her presence, the shared understanding of our struggles...these things made the burden easier to bear. In this moment, I wanted nothing more than to provide her with the peace and safety she deserved.

The movie played on, but my focus was on her, on us. The past might have left its scars, but I was committed to being her rock, her support. With her nestled against me, I felt a flicker of hope. Together, we could face whatever came our way, and I was determined to make sure she knew she wasn’t alone in this fight.

awhile later.

The CCTV cameras were still connected to Y/N’s phone.

I carefully shifted to avoid waking her, my heart pounding in my chest as I reached for her phone on the nightstand. 

The screen was locked, but I knew her passcode and managed to access it with practiced ease. My fingers trembled slightly as I navigated to the CCTV app, my thoughts a jumbled mess of frustration and determination.

There it was. the live feed and recordings from the cameras in the apartment.

 I scrolled through the list of recorded videos, my eyes scanning for any sign of what I dreaded yet needed to confirm. 

Each thumbnail was a potential glimpse into a moment I had hoped never existed, and my stomach churned as I clicked through them one by one.

Finally, I found it. a video timestamped from the night of the incident. 

My heart raced as I tapped on it, the playback starting almost immediately. 

The footage was grainy, but unmistakable. Jungkook’s face was visible, and I could see the harrowing scene unfold before me. The anger and pain surged within me as I watched, confirming what I had feared all along.

I felt a surge of protective rage, but I kept my emotions in check, knowing that acting impulsively wouldn’t help Y/N. Instead, I focused on the task at hand. I needed evidence, and this video was a crucial piece of it.

 With a quick, decisive move, I sent the video to my phone, making sure it was saved and backed up securely.

As the video transferred, I felt a mix of relief and anguish.

I was finally holding the evidence that would expose Jungkook’s brutality, but the reality of what Y/N had endured weighed heavily on my heart. 

I needed to be careful with this information—how it was used, when it was revealed. But for now, I had secured it.

I placed Y/N’s phone back on the nightstand and returned to her side, carefully maneuvering back under the covers.

 I lay there, my mind still reeling from what I had seen. The footage confirmed my worst fears, and it solidified my resolve to ensure that Jungkook faced consequences for his actions.

I wrapped my arm around Y/N, feeling her warmth and softness against me.

 Despite the dark truths I had uncovered, I took comfort in the fact that she was safe here, with me. I would protect her, support her, and ensure that she received the justice she deserved.

For now, though, I focused on the present...on being here for Y/N, on offering her comfort and support. 

The battle ahead was daunting, but I was determined to fight it for her, no matter what it took. I knew that together, we could face whatever came next, and I would make sure that Y/N’s past didn’t dictate her future.

Jungkook’s POV

I was lounging in my living room, scrolling through my phone, when an anonymous email popped up.

 The subject line caught my attention: "She deserves justice." I didn’t think much of it, dismissing it as some spam or prank, but my curiosity got the better of me.

 I clicked the email and saw an attachment with a video file.

I almost didn’t want to open it, but something nagged at me.

 I clicked on the video, and as soon as it started playing, my blood ran cold. The scene in the video was unmistakable. It was my old apartment...her living room. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized what I was watching.

There I was, clearly intoxicated and aggressive. And there was Y/N, looking terrified and vulnerable.

 The image of me hurting her, of me committing the worst thing imaginable, was right there on the screen. 

My breath came in ragged gasps as the video played on.

The initial shock quickly turned to a boiling rage. “This bitch,” I muttered under my breath. “This bitch is really annoying.” The sheer audacity of the video, the way it laid bare my darkest moment, filled me with uncontrollable anger. How dare someone expose me like this?

In a fit of rage, I grabbed my phone and hurled it against the wall. The phone shattered on impact, pieces scattering across the floor. I stared at the remains of my phone, my anger morphing into guilt and frustration. How had things come to this? How had I let myself become this person?

As the sirens outside grew louder, I realized the situation was getting worse. I could hear the police approaching, their footsteps echoing in the hallway. My mind was a chaotic mess of guilt and fury.

 I felt trapped, my actions finally catching up to me in the most humiliating way possible.

I slammed my fist against the wall, trying to release the pent-up anger and shame. 

The guilt was eating me alive, but my pride and rage wouldn’t let me face it properly. I was furious at Y/N for making me confront this, at myself for being such a monster, and at the entire situation that had spiraled out of control.

As the officers knocked on the door, my anger slowly began to subside, replaced by a hollow sense of dread. I knew I couldn’t escape this. My actions had led me to this moment, and there was no way out. The video had sealed my fate, and the reality of what I had done was crashing down on me.

I opened the door to the officers, trying to compose myself. My anger was still there, but it was overshadowed by the overwhelming guilt and fear. I knew I was about to face the consequences of my actions, and the weight of it was almost too much to bear.

The reality of my situation settled in as they read me my rights and led me away.

 The anger and guilt were all-consuming, and all I could think about was how far I had fallen and how deeply I had hurt Y/N.

Yoongi’s POV

The next morning, I was sitting in my studio, trying to focus on my music, but my mind kept drifting back to the evidence I had collected. 

The gravity of what I had done hit me in waves, but I knew it was necessary. 

I had to make sure Jungkook faced the consequences for what he did to Y/N.

I pulled up the footage and reviewed it once more, making sure everything was in order.

I had sent the video to Jungkook anonymously, but 

that wasn’t the end of it.

 I knew that exposing him wasn't enough; Ae-ri needed to be held accountable as well. I found the evidence of her involvement...how she had manipulated the situation and used the baby to deceive Jungkook.

I compiled everything into a new file and sent it to the authorities anonymously.

 The evidence clearly showed Ae-ri’s role in the deceit and her ongoing affair with another man.

I hoped this would be enough to bring her to justice too.

Ae-ri’s POV

I was at home, trying to go about my day when the sound of sirens outside grew louder.

My heart raced with a mix of anxiety and confusion.

I didn’t understand what was happening until I heard the doorbell ring, and the police entered with a warrant for my arrest.

As they explained the charges—adultery and fraud—I felt a surge of anger and disbelief. 

How had this happened?

 I was being accused of things I hadn’t done, or at least not in the way they were portraying.

 The whole situation felt like a nightmare, and I could barely process it as the officers led me away.

“This is ridiculous!” I screamed, struggling against the officers. “I knew it! His ex is so crazy! She’s gone mad!” My voice cracked with frustration and panic.

 The idea that Y/N had somehow orchestrated this, that she was behind all of this mess, was infuriating.

 I couldn’t believe that she had taken things this far, that she was willing to ruin my life out of spite.

As they escorted me to the police car, I could see the flash of cameras from reporters and the curious glances of onlookers.

 My emotions were a whirlwind of anger, betrayal, and confusion.

 I didn’t understand why things had escalated to this point, and the realization that someone had outsmarted me, someone who I considered beneath me, was hard to swallow.

I was shoved into the back of the police car, my mind racing with a hundred thoughts.

 I couldn’t escape the feeling of being trapped in a situation that spiraled out of my control. 

All I wanted was to figure out who had done this and why, but for now, I was left with the bitter reality of facing the consequences of my actions.

[wolfdog-weatherman]

Yes…hahahha…YES

@heart-patch-jacket Thank you for this! I’m gonna make a whole post on it because I have some stuff 2 say…I’m also gonna write it like I’m turning this shit in to my teacher cause this is serious TO ME !! Get ready 4 a bit of reading…

Quick thing before I start: I am absolutely horrible at translating things outside of my brain. Sorry if anything I say in this post doesn’t make as much sense as it did in my head :(.

Ice Sculptures and the “Frozen Man” Metaphor in Groundhog Day:

Including deleted scenes, there are three major moments throughout the film involving ice sculptures, and how Phil chooses to interact with them. In each of these scenes, Phil is in a completely different stage of the loop. The headspace he is in at the time is reflected in how he interacts with the ice sculptures.

Instance #1:

The first time the sculptures are featured prominently in a scene, not much happens, Phil just walks by and looks at them with an overall forlorn expression.

At this point in the movie, Phil hasn’t realized the potential for growth that the loop has given him. He hasn’t tried to turn his life around or improve the lives of others, he’s mostly just been feeling sorry for himself, morose over being stuck on the worst day of his life.

His feelings of insignificance and overwhelming sense of being powerless in this situation is reflected in the way that he watches the statues: doing nothing to them, and nothing about his circumstances.

In the director’s commentary, Harold Ramis himself notes that this scene is meant to convey Phil as a “frozen man”; not learning or growing, but instead choosing to brood over his current state of hopelessness.

Instance #2:

(Tw for mentions of suicide in this section)

This is the only deleted scene on this list, but I think that it’s significant enough to be discussed even if it never made it into the final film.

While there is no way to know where this scene was meant to be put in the movie, I believe it fits best amongst the scenes of Phil repeatedly ending his own life as he tries, and fails, to escape the loop.

In these sequences Phil is careless with his life, trying every possible way to destroy himself despite knowing deep down that he’ll wake up perfectly fine the next morning.

His destruction of the statues mirrors this: he knows they will be fully intact by tomorrow—and no one will be able to see what he did—but at this point it’s just a method of catharsis for him, the same way his attempted suicides were.

His discovery of this power leads him to believe he’s some kind of god, and—after an effort to convince Rita to give credence to his situation—he learns just how much he can accomplish with his ability. This leads us into…

Instance #3:

This final example is probably the most obvious one. After finally realizing the potential that reliving one day over and over gives him, Phil decides to take up ice sculpting, and becomes incredibly skilled at it.

Unlike the other two instances, Phil is creating a statue of his own, he’s at last using his circumstances to shape the small life that he has into something new and beautiful, that only he can accomplish.

While each of the previous examples involve the tacky groundhog sculptures made by the townsfolk, Phil’s statue depicts a graceful, angelic being. His previous hatred for the small town has faded, and he’s using his unusual power to bestow benevolence and good deeds onto all the townspeople, even if none of them could know or comprehend how he’s able to solve all their problems.

I could go on a whole other tangent about “Phil is a god/angel” implications, but I will hold back now for the sake of this post. (And because I’m a very normal person.)

So yeah, that’s my little analysis of how the ice statues are used as a symbol throughout the movie! The movie that I’m obviously very regular and not crazy about!

[theknightmarket]

This is like the most random concept to probably ever come to me so out of the blue, you don't have to do it if you don't want to, but also I feel like if anyone could make something interesting out of this it'd be you. (love your fics btw<3)

So like, Illinois, with his whole knock-off Indiana Jones bullshit, with an s/o who's similarly akin to James Bond...….yeah idk either, man- You can come up with whatever action movie plot, or maybe just some domestic fluff with comically abrupt fight scenes sprinkled in cus that's just how chaotic I imagine their life would be. It's entirely up to you. I am very tired rn.

“Berlin, 1996.”

In which Illinois and his partner – in more than one sense – relive their meeting.

TW: cursing, blood, drug use, general mature themes

Pages: 12 – Words: 5,000

[Requests: OPEN]

The distant sizzle of waffle batter on a pan was the first thing you recognised when you woke in your bed. The smell of coffee wafting from the same place was the second, and the third, while a strange sensation to anyone else, was comforting to you. Your dog lapping at your hand that dangled over the side of the bed had you shaking yourself from the fuzzy grip of sleep. It was going to be a long and laborious process considering the amount of work you’d had for the last week, but this was finally a day that you could spend doing whatever you wished – which, right now, looked a lot like following the sweet scent of breakfast into the kitchen.

Moriarty led the way, the beautiful puppy, although actually a six-year-old Belgian Malinois, whom you had adopted a few years back. He had never liked many of your friends, and you trusted his nose enough to follow his advice. Sure, it might have seemed weird to take social cues from a canine, but he hadn’t steered you wrong yet. Whether it was a Russian spy you’d accidentally offered coffee to, or the smuggler who moved in down the road, Moriarty told you when people were off, and that just happened to be most of those you came in contact with. You’d long since given up making connections when the tenth potential acquaintance had turned out to be the head of some mafia you’d never even heard of. 

And then imagine your surprise when you finally brought home someone he liked. 

And your further surprise when he stayed the night, and then the morning, and then a week, and then a month, a year, and so on, until you should have been asking him for rent. All the while, Moriarty hadn’t made a peep, leaving you to your devices with this new and, for lack of a better term, strange fellow.

“Morning, gorgeous!” 

Speak of the devil and he may appear. 

That ‘devil’, affectionate, of course, was none other than the infamous Illinois Jones. A man chased by many, found by few, and held onto by only the luckiest of the lot. You were one of these people, aware that you had him in the palm of your hand, and you thanked him routinely in the morning with a kiss on the cheek for staying. 

The clock on the oven flashed a sharp 08:41, an unusual time for Illi to be awake at, but you weren’t complaining. Your job was stressful; you were sure that any doctor would tell you to quit immediately with how often your blood pressure spiked, so you treasured these couple of moments when you were given a break. Your partner had an on-and-off relationship with missions, the things he preferred to call adventures, but he had a likewise relationship with the agency itself. He had a habit of running off to foreign lands without permission, looking for trouble and finding it, too. You wouldn’t mind it, had it not been for your unfortunate love of the man that drew you after him, like a dog on a leash. In the meantime, a good rest was well deserved, now that you were back in the comfort of your own home after an unexpected visit to Guyana. 

Plus, he looked damn good in boxers and an apron. 

You lazily wrapped your arms around his waist, unintentionally distracting him from the food he was preparing, and muttered into his neck, “G’morning.”

“If you want breakfast, you’re gonna have to let me cook, babe,” he laughed, though that didn’t stop him from leaning back into you. 

Your only response was a muffled groan. It wasn’t your fault that you were so touchy-feely today. Work took up most of the daylight, and upkeep stole the rest away. The only time you really got together was in the late hours of the night when twilight would draw a sheet of privacy over the two of you and leave you alone. The stars would dance together, fireflies entertained themselves and you could just be together. Forgive yourself if you wanted to savor the minutes. 

Alas, you couldn’t stay at Illinois’ side forever. You’d have to come out of hiding eventually, and now was as good a time as any, so you drowsily shuffled towards the front door. The rusted latches groaned with a mere press of your hand, swinging open with an inching pace. Immediately, a gust of dry air trampled past your face, and the faint smell of dust had you sighing more than breathing. It was a classic Louisiana morning, something you haven’t experienced in a long time – not for a lack of breaks. No, although your recent schedule has been clogged, this quant place was a safe house paid for by the agency, meaning it wasn’t only yours to begin with. It was difficult to get used to using the same amenities that a stranger had just a few days ago, in a room that had a tagline of ‘safe’, but you got over it. It just meant that sanitizing every surface was the chore of the first day. 

Illinois didn’t have those reservations; the second that he stepped out of the truck, he declared it home, and went on the search for a good cave. He only agreed to come over camping in the wilderness because of the free food. Or, at least, that’s what he said. There was a small part of you that was sure it was because he didn’t want to be alone, you having no chance to agree on tents – and there was a big part of him that knew you were right. 

You laughed to yourself, pulling a porch chair into the orange sunlight. Being a safe house, it was surrounded by the thickest stretch of trees in the state and, even further, lakes and rivers that made it looked untouched by human hands. The second day had been spent exploring nature together. Illinois tugged you by your hand through bushes, over boulders, underneath a couple fallen trees, all the way to the perimeter of the land. From atop a small cliff, you could see the start of urbanization, but it was sheltered by a haze of smog and lights. The city stayed alight until well into midnight and beyond, like a dying campfire, only to be fed at the crack of dawn. 

A similar flicker of a flame shot into the air in front of you. 

The metal of your lighter was calming, the grooves of the ingrained letters basing you in the present. ‘Berlin, 1996’ was written in small italic near the lever, making it unlikely for you to ever resist the temptation of running your fingers over the markings. It made you smile and, from time to time, had the added benefit of you putting the lighter back in your pocket. This was not one of those times, but a grin did spread over your lips, nonetheless. 

The flicker met the end of a cigarette, which you promptly pulled towards your mouth when it took the flame. Illinois didn’t like the fact that you smoked, he always said how he wanted to be fit in his 90s, but you weren’t cheering for him when he jumped 20 feet down for the fun of it either. The compromise you came to was that both of you would continue to indulge the devils on your shoulders and could laugh at the other’s funeral if they died first. 

In all honesty, it was not a situation that you liked to be in. The constant, looming cloud of loss scared you more than any danger the agency put you in ever could. Nights spent waiting for Illinois to come home, the fear that time would go by, and the sun would rise and set again, and the door wouldn’t open… it was damn-near paralyzing. The only thing that kept you going, ironically enough, was that same man. At least, if you went on the same jobs that he did, you could keep an eye on him. You would know what kind of danger he was in, and you had the chance to stop it. The question was: would you be fast enough?

You took another drag of your cigarette.

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.” The porch crackled as Illinois stepped onto the wooden planks. “It’s not good for you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

A light-hearted chuckle brushed against your ear, accompanied by the click of his boots and humming of cicadas. The deep sound stopped when he swung another chair next to yours. As he came into view, you saw he had replaced his apron with a simple, loose shirt that fell from him like a woman who had fainted in distress. To catch Illinois in a shirt that actually fit him would be to kill the king – impossible and, according to him, a crime punishable by death. 

“You know,” he spoke up, “you don’t look like the rumors.”

Your head unconsciously twisted to the side, so that you could see Illinois only slightly better. His own gaze was fixated in the distant spread of trees. Questions as to what he was starting at batted against you, but you settled on making a curious noise, instead. 

“When we first met, I thought you’d lied to me. I’d heard all these stories about a suave, collected, expert of a heartbreaker, and then…”

“They were proved incorrect?”

He took in a steady breath. “No. They were proved, uh, very correct. Actually, after hearing about you, I kinda,” he coughed, as though that would transfer his thoughts directly to you and take away the need to say the words, “made some assumptions that were not as correct.” 

Illinois prided himself on being right most of the time – and expressed himself as being right all of the time. However, this was one of the only things that he would admit he was wrong about, this being you. The image he had conjured of you was snide and snobby, only in it for themself and with the biggest case of holier-than-thou syndrome he’d ever thought of. Those stories of you driving fancy cars had pushed him into a corner, trapped by a cage of disgust and partial envy. Then, the rumors of how many people you had seduced worked their magic, followed by a notorious habit of smoking and drinking, which designated you, though he perished the thought now, a scumbag. 

But when he’d actually met you…

“And I’m, uh, glad they weren’t.” 

He swung an arm around your chair, drew rough fingers across your collarbone and directed your jaw into facing him. The light breeze shifted your hair like a lover’s touch, and the yellow sun decorated you like a bespoke artwork. Something he’d steal from a museum if he had to, but, no, he had you sitting right in front of him, with the quirk of an eyebrow and a small smile on your lips. He was lucky, he knew that, and he thanked his lucky stars every time he woke up next to you in sparkling mornings, every time your hands brushed when he pulled you up from a ledge, every time your eyes met from across a ballroom. 

The first time that happened was still something he treasured more than any bespoke jewel or painting. 

“Let’s get this business started.”

The night was young, the guests were pleasantly tipsy, and you were perched at one of the centre tables, next to three attractive models and the focus of your attention. 

At this moment, you and your company were in the Berlin Operetta House, a classic establishment with smoke and liquor running through its veins. You had joined in – for lack of anything better to do while biding your time – and had been seated with these four the last two hours. The women you had no information on, except for what you had observed in the time given, most of which boiled down to being pretty faces for the big guy sitting across from you. 

Earnest Whimson, dramatic irony demanding repentance of his parents as he was anything but earnest. He’d made his living on buying and selling anything he could get him tobacco-stained hands on, be it stolen goods, illegal drugs, or people themselves. It was a desolate trade, rotten but protected by the wallets of the people at the top. In those cases, there was only one person the authorities would routinely turn to. 

You. 

The authorities, the uncorrupted minorities, would plead with your agency for help, and you were the first person on the list. Call it luck or honed skill, you didn’t care. What you did care about was getting the job done in a quick and efficient manner. These places weren’t good to stay in for more than a day, lest you want to gain a certain reputation in all of the sectors. Thus, speed was top billing this night. That, and types like Whimson made it hard to keep your cover with the way he was talking. 

Luckily for you, nine o’clock was rearing its head, the lights were dimming and only a few people were left still chatting over their expensive dining. All eyes were directed towards the stage with fervor, those who didn’t know what was happening watching in piqued interest and those who did waiting with bated breath for the real show to begin.

You did know what was happening, you were indeed waiting, but your breaths were slow and steady, like a smooth rock in a brook. The plan was simple; starting at nine, you’d watch Whimson, make friendly banter with him while he bid on whatever items caught his eye. When he inevitably would call out a ludicrous amount of money for a bejeweled crown or statue and the night comes to a close, you’d excuse yourself and make your way to where that thing was located, wait for Whimson, and kindly dispatch the man before anyone could catch wind of what happened. The money he had taken out the few hours before would go to any witnesses, and you’d get back home in time for a smoke and martini.

Simple. 

Except your life had to be hard, didn’t it? You couldn’t just have a plan and stick to it, without something going wrong. Why? You didn’t know. If it had to do with karma or just bad luck, you didn’t know. A pity, really, when it would have made it so much easier to fix it if you did. It almost made you laugh, the thought of what a normal, easy mission was like. 

And the things that went wrong never stayed the same. In one instance, you’d find your getaway driver with a bullet through his skull – in another, your target was informed of your mission and managed to get away – sometimes, it was just raining. 

Right now, the thing that went wrong was something that had never happened before. 

That thing being the infamous Illinois Jones. 

Not even half an hour into the auction, and yet this man, adorned in an open, off-white shirt and multiple belts, was leaping onto the wooden slats. Your jaw would have been on the ground had it not been for the table, if not for his bravado, then for his stupidity. The artifact Whimson had bid on – go figure, a bejeweled crown – slotted nicely into his hand as he snatched it from its marble pedestal, shocking the woman presenting it into stumbling back. A wink was sent her way, she ran off, and Illinois turned to the audience. 

You listened as he spoke. You sat quietly, pretending that you were shocked, when, in reality, you were seething. The boiling of your blood was louder than the whispering of the bidders, and you found yourself restraining the urge to run up there and slap him for ruining your mission. Questions preoccupied your mind while he lectured the guests about the importance of culture and integrity. Why him - why now?! He wasn’t even a part of the agency, he shouldn’t have known about this bid, and yet there he was, like a smug reaper coming to steal your soul into hell. Did he even know you were there? Did it matter to him?

You only noticed Illinois had stopped talking when he swiveled on the heel of his boot, presumably struck a pose, and then stalked off the stage. Everyone was in such a shock that they didn’t stop him, at least, not at first. After a few seconds had passed for people to gain their composures, that was the cue for havoc to befall the room. Illinois had single-handedly converted an organization of logical, fat cats into a daycare for screaming toddlers; suited men pushed themselves away from tables and darted down the hallways, bodyguards unequipped their guns and set about searching for the adventurer, while some of the wives, understandably, stayed to sip on white wine. You would very much join them if it weren’t for Whimson leaning over to his personal bouncer to whisper in his ear. 

“Get the street rat.”

You sighed and took a final swig of your drink. Illinois was a menace, sure, but you weren’t willing to let him die for his ignorance. The agency may have applauded you as you returned, but you had maintained something of a moral compass during your work, so you liked to think you wouldn’t let him die like this. As you said, the man was infamous, and infamous people would not find their ends at the hands of a capitalist bastard’s lapdogs. 

The clink of your glass against the wooden table did not draw Whimson’s attention, but, if it had, he might have been able to avoid the bullet that wedged itself into his skull. You had aimed for his temple, and you were a brilliant shot. The smoke of your pistol camouflaged itself into the ceiling’s belt of fog. Cigarettes, similar to the one you now pulled out from a pocket to light. This job was not only stressful, it was stress. No mission could be easy, no day could go according to plan, and no panicked mob of refined guests could leave the building in an orderly fashion. People swarmed to the exits at the sound of the gunshot, tripping over one another and abandoning their guests to, presumably, your slaughter. 

You took a drag of your cigarette, pressed it between your lips, and gathered the suit jacket that had been on the back of your chair. Movements slow and deliberate, it was a wonder how the guard dogs Whimson had sent to Illinois hadn’t turned around yet to catch you. Good for you, but stupid on their part. Nevertheless, you were out of the manic tide of bidders before they could even realise their owner was slumped against the mahogany, brain matter splayed on his dress shirt. 

The sound of clicking dress shoes amidst the cacophony of panic sent leftover guests into hiding, with the thought that anyone that calm in the sea of chaos was in control of the situation, and that anyone who wouldn’t do anything to stop it was not to be messed with. This gave you the perfect path towards your new target. Calling out Illinois’ name was unnecessary, given you could already hear distant shots echoing down the hallways. 

And when you came to the end, asking where those gunshots were meant to hit was also unnecessary. 

The wall behind Illinois was pepped with holes, like a coral beach, while Whimson’s bodyguards looked relatively unharmed. From your position, it looked like Illinois was doing everything he could to dodge the bullets, and nothing to actually fight back. Putting your cigarette out on a recently polished cabinet, you delved into the fray. 

The first man down was yours, with an ornamental vase smashed against his skull, the kind of ones only used for grasping at when someone’s strangling you, but they still worked well to knock him out. Next down was his friend, who charged at you with intent to kill, but a shard of the broken porcelain stuck in his throat sent him to the ground. Blood trickled from the cut like a damaged water fountain, but none of the others paid him mind. Really, how would they ever survive without comradery?

You didn’t know, because they wouldn’t; Illinois, in tandem with your bloodier style, brought a table leg down onto another of the staff, the frail wood cracking the second it touched his head. The man whirled around with fury in his eyes, but those soon rolled back with the force of a punch to his face. You watched on, subtly impressed, though now was no time to ogle. Instead, you could do so after these people had been dispatched. 

Strikes to the lower abdomens, blunt-force trauma to their foreheads, and what you hoped were lethal cracks of bone kept everyone wanting to live away from the corridor. You brought one dress shoe down on a woman’s fingers, sighed at the pitiful crunch that was muffled by her scream, and then stood up to assess the situation. One, two, three- four, two were on top of each other, and the one that Illinois was currently bashing against the wall. That made five at the scene.

Six, if you were to include the one that popped a bullet past your thigh. Lousy shot, they barely grazed the clothing, though it was a shame; that outfit had been one of your favorites. 

Swiping a hand to your gun, you whirled around to see a particularly bulky bastard rounding the corner you’d come from. Illinois jumped to your side to look at the arrivals and took notice of your weapon in quick fashion. If only he had more trouble with brutalizing that last one, you might have hit the bullseye.

But a pressure on your wrist distracted you enough to miss. With your target swiveling to look at the newly cracked mirror and one end of the corridor swarmed by suited staff members, your night was only getting worse, and you lamented as such while Illinois dragged you down to the only available exit. 

Your job required a lot of running – more than the average desk job did, at least – and that was why your legs were able to work on autopilot despite the adrenaline working through your veins that pressured you to be aware of every little thing that crossed your mind. The shattered glass from dropped plates, the swinging of doors as the last party members escaped, the texture of Illinois’ hand that had steadily moved to wrap around your own fingers. He was decorated with callouses and rough patches, war wounds sustained in the battlefield of caves and climbing. They told a story, one that you could have read had you enough time, but, for now, you had to be satisfied with knowing his present – told to you, not by his skin, but by you also experiencing it at his side.

That involved the darting through doors, ducking under pipes, skirting around the staff members who hadn’t gotten the memo. You didn’t even have the chance to ask where Illinois was bringing you, too focused on not slamming straight into a wall. The steady sounds of boots marching behind you, of which you counted six or seven, propelled you forward, like striking a match against a line of gas. You barely felt conscious throughout the run; the rattle of Illinois’ pickup truck went over your head, and the jingle of a bar’s bell hardly registered until you were seated in one of the old bar seats where you came to, a drink in your hand and Illinois staring right at you. Well, not just staring right at you, but also spilling every bad pick-up line in his book. 

“I was wondering if you had an extra heart, because mine was just stolen.”

You had half a mind to put your martini down and walk out the door.

“I’m really glad I bought life insurance, because when I saw you, my heart stopped.”

Did he have life insurance?

“You must be a bank loan, because you’ve got my int—” 

“Why do you even want that thing, anyway?” you interrupted, vaguely gesturing to the crown peeking out of his satchel with your non-drink hand. 

“So, now you’re interested?” he chuckled, but only stopped long enough to order a whiskey before he commented, “The crown of Dos Partom, an old relic from the Mesopotamian era. No idea how it ended up in a bidding war, but, really, it belongs in a museum—” he shot a glance to the side, acting as though he hadn’t been watching you for the past ten minutes, “—that, and the company isn’t bad.”

So, he was the cocky type? You could’ve guessed that from the million stories about his personality, but it was a wonder to see it in action. Sure, you had a habit of using your charisma to get into places you shouldn’t have been, but this? What was he hoping to achieve? You’d already saved his ass from Whimson’s lackeys, and yet there he was, perched on the bar stool next to you, continuing his verbal assault of shoddy lines. Your eyes rolling and your annoyance growing, you twisted in your seat and removed a cigarette from your belt’s pocket. Normally, on mission days, you had five or six, a large step down from when you had days off, and yet this day was taking its toll on your stash. 

“You shouldn’t smoke, y’know.”

And so, too, was Illinois taking his toll on your patience. 

“It’s not good for you.” Regardless, you continued your strut to the backgarden of the bar. Lucky for you, despite the lateness, the weather had taken pity on you. A gentle breeze carved through the foliage and guided the smoke of your cigarette into the moonlit sky. The growl of cars and humming of lights brought you to lean against the white brick wall and take in the scenery. When you got a moment to yourself, appreciating where you were was the best you could do – because, who knows, you could be dead tomorrow. 

You took another drag, and then placed it on your bottom lip as you retrieved your phone. It was just a burner that you took on missions, but it had all the essentials, including the number of your assigned agency representative. The handlers, you called them. You didn’t know the name of yours, but you trusted them with everything about yourself; where you were, who you were with, what you were doing down to the shift of a foot. Right now, you were entrusting them with the simple name of your mission and the promise of it having been finished at your normal quality.

“Berlin, 1996,” you muttered as you typed the letters. 

“Keeping a diary there, sweetheart?” 

Could you catch a break? Apparently not, you assumed, as the sight of Illinois wrapped around the corner. His hat was off, held in one hand, and both your drinks in the other. You met his eyes, he stared back, and then you removed your glass. 

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

“What do you want?”

Illinois pretended to be shocked, reeling back and pressing his hat to his chest. “Me? Want something? From you?” he gasped, a smirk overthrowing his lips only when you didn’t react. “Not at all.”

“Don’t play dumb, Jones,” you warned. 

“I appreciate that you think I play dumb.”

That teasing smile, the glistening eyes, you had to look away before you did anything drastic. Whether that was punching him or kissing him, you didn’t know, but you knew that looked off into the well-trimmed hedges halted the urge. “I know you’re not just a pretty face, what do you want?”

“And I’m pretty?” Another chuckle. “You don’t need to say all that to get me interested.” 

“Just—” you took a breath in, “—tell me what you want from me, and then we can part ways. Easy.”

“And what if I don’t want it to be easy?”

Someone inside the bar shouted that it was last call, but neither of you moved to grab your final drinks. Neither of you moved, at all. You stayed still, Illinois stayed still, and the only sound between you was the buzz of moths at the dangling light just a few inches away. Illinois was… he was something else, that was for sure. Either he was going to kill himself, or you were going to kill him yourself. No matter what, you wanted to be there for it. 

Reaching out, you pulled a thumb along his jawline and took a sip of your martini out of the other hand. Illinois was too stunned to speak, leaving you the chance to remove your hand, snatch his hat and shove it onto his head in one, fast motion. He made some sort of sound, one that you didn’t catch as you waltzed back into the bar.

Illinois, standing in the porchlight, laughed to himself and followed you inside – and then, in another year, five months and two days, he’d be doing the exact same thing, except, this time, with a golden band around both of your fingers. 

[As a Brit myself, and having seen neither James Bond nor Indiana Jones, this was a treat for me! Thank you for requesting! Also, as some of you may have noticed, I have currently closed my requests because exam season is coming up, but I should be back around the end of June. Thank you for sticking with me, and, again, thank you for requesting!]

[cardiaccanesblog]

Thanks to @zamulas @lovelyteuvo and @bagelsunshinecoffee for tagging me in these!

Get to know me!

1. Do you make your bed? Sometimes I do but usually not because my partner is still asleep when I get up 😂

2. Favourite number? Probably 13 or 23. 13 just for fun because it’s considered unlucky and 23 because it’s a big number for a lot of athletes and my brother used to wear it

3. What's your job? I just recently graduated and started my first grownup job as an audiologist

4. If you could go back to school, would you? Not anytime soon. I just got my doctorate and finally finished school after 20 years 😂

5. Can you parallel park? I cannot and I refuse to learn

6. Do you think aliens are real? I do, just because the universe is so massive and we don’t know everything that’s out there

7. Can you drive a manual car? I cannot and I would be willing to learn

8. Guilty pleasures? Video games and YouTube cooking videos like Binging with Babish and Mythical Kitchen

9. Tattoos? None currently but I would like to get one at some point

10. Favourite colour? Orange and blue!

11. Favourite type of music? It’s very eclectic. I grew up with classic rock from my dad but have developed my own tastes (much to his dismay) it honestly changes day to day what I’m in the mood for

12. Do you like puzzles? I kind of hate puzzles. At my residency they had a puzzle table in the lunch room and I would occasionally go help with it but I get too frustrated to make a lot of progress

13. Any phobias? Clowns. Thank you Poltergeist for that trauma

14. Favourite childhood sport? I did dance for 13 years and learned tap, ballet, and jazz.

15. Do you talk to yourself? Absolutely. I usually do it if I’m trying to make sure I am remembering stuff I packed or need to pack. I also talk to myself if I’m making up potential conversations or reliving conversations.

16. Tea or coffee? Coffee for sure. I have a debilitating caffeine addiction

17. First thing you wanted to be when you were growing up? An astronaut and then after that a teacher.

18. What movies do you adore? My favorite movie right now is Bottoms but I love Green Mile and Shawshank Redemption. Jennifer’s Body is also an all-time fave

I’m not sure who to tag so feel free to make a post if you want to!

[valleyfthdolls]

I am once again here to annoy you, an' paste yet another whole ass post into your inbox cuz I'm feelin' very normal tonight (i very much am not-)

Not as in depth as my last kinda lyric analysis thing, but I am completely normal about movie Mike and Vanessa, an' this song made me think of them and their relationship throughout the movie, cuz as the title says they have both shared trauma thanks to William's actions

This verse would obviously be Mike constantly reliving his trauma through his dreams each night, an' Vanessa warnin' him that it will only make things worse for him, with the missing kids messin' with him

They both have trauma thanks to William, Mike witnessing his brother's kidnappin' as a kid, and forcing Vanessa to cover up his crimes for him which definitely has to have messed her up, an' the scene at the end where he taunts her before she shoots him tells me that he also definitely isn't world's best dad material wit' her, as if it wasn't obvious already, but by the end of the movie they both face their trauma head on in a way by facin' off against William and getting rid of the source of it for both of them, Mike finally knowin' who took his brother after all these years, an' Vanessa no longer having to live in fear of him and cover up his crimes. While they're definitely not 100% fine an' ok now, they're definitely on the right path to recoverin' from their own trauma now.

I don't ship movie Mike an' Vanessa, but I do headcanon them bein' in a queerplatonic relationship since I was so expectin' the movie to awkwardly shoehorn in some kinda romance subplot between the two, but I was pleasantly surprised that their relationship remained so natural, just keepin' 'em as friends, which I think their dynamic works so much better as <3

HI I JUSR SAW RHIS POST AND WENT

I personally see Vanessa as being like a sister to the Schmidt kids (plus combined w my movie Cassidy Afton theory Cassidy could be brotherly to Garrett which is cute) but really any interpretation that lets them bond over their shared experiences and feelings is just so special to me. I was so worried they’d force a romantic relationship especially after Vanessa’s one off line asking him to dance with her while the animatronics were performing but thank god they actually went for making them understand and matter to each other instead of ensuring they were boyfriend and girlfriend by the climax or something bc the relationship we GOT for them was so good and I love the way it lets ppl interpret them romantically, platonically, queerplatonically, or familially. I definitely don’t buy at the moment that Mike Schmidt is Michael Afton and I really enjoy it that way honestly because all of that open air between them makes Mike and Vanessa’s relationship feel very real. They’re not bonding because they have some kind of inexplicable draw because they’re romantically inclined or secretly siblings, it’s because they’re both traumatized and suffering thru the same situation and they understand bc of shared trauma and want to help and stick around with each other

[modgirlyreposts-revamped]

Not as in depth as my last kinda lyric analysis thing, but I am completely normal about movie Mike and Vanessa, an' this song made me think of them and their relationship throughout the movie, cuz as the title says they have both shared trauma thanks to William's actions

This verse would obviously be Mike constantly reliving his trauma through his dreams each night, an' Vanessa warnin' him that it will only make things worse for him, with the missing kids messin' with him

They both have trauma thanks to William, Mike witnessing his brother's kidnappin' as a kid, and forcing Vanessa to cover up his crimes for him which definitely has to have messed her up, an' the scene at the end where he taunts her before she shoots him tells me that he also definitely isn't world's best dad material wit' her, as if it wasn't obvious already, but by the end of the movie they both face their trauma head on in a way by facin' off against William and getting rid of the source of it for both of them, Mike finally knowin' who took his brother after all these years, an' Vanessa no longer having to live in fear of him and cover up his crimes. While they're definitely not 100% fine an' ok now, they're definitely on the right path to recoverin' from their own trauma now.

I don't ship movie Mike an' Vanessa, but I do headcanon them bein' in a queerplatonic relationship since I was so expectin' the movie to awkwardly shoehorn in some kinda romance subplot between the two, but I was pleasantly surprised that their relationship remained so natural, just keepin' 'em as friends, which I think their dynamic works so much better as <3

[indybob]

Was tagged by @coins-that-never-land for this reblog game, but thought it’d be easier to make a new post! Idk who to tag, so if you see this and wanna do it, then go for it!!

Favorite Color: Orange or blue, depending on the day/my mood/any number of things. It’s hard to choose just one, okay?

Last Song: “All You Had To Do Was Stay” by Taylor Swift! I’m a huge swiftie and that’s my all-time favorite song by her! Bonus fact, the 1989 in my user name is because 1989 is also my favorite Taylor Swift album!

Currently Reading: Hangster fanfics, exclusively. I’m in a Hangster chokehold that I have no idea how to get out of lmao. There’s so many piled up in my marked for later list that it’s almost overwhelming, I gotta get on those!

Last Movie: It’s actually been a minute since I saw one. Embarrassingly enough, I think it’s The Lego Movie, actually lmao. Sometimes you’ve just gotta relive the movies that you loved as a kid! It also inspired me to be more creative and keep working on my writing!

Last Series: Parks and Rec. That show never fails to make me laugh

Sweet/Spicy/Savory: Put me down for sweet all day every day!! I love sweet stuff so much, especially ice cream and cake, they’re like the best combination! I’m very thankful for my fast metabolism, because I I’m never gonna pass on desserts lmao

Currently Working On: To nobody’s surprise, another Hangster fic! It’s another multi-chapter and is centered around Bradley and Jake living together temporarily and their feelings finally coming to light! That’s all I’m gonna say for now, since I just broke this thing out of the outline and got to work on chapter one two days ago. It’s gonna be a minute, but I’m really excited for it and I’m already having so much fun working on it. There may be a random one-shot here or there before I post the multi-chapter, we’ll just have to see😅

Again, idk who to tag, so if you just want to do this then by all means go for it!!

[ghostiedreamsz]

Guardians of the Galaxy had such a coming of age ending and I am going to cry

⚠️Before I begin, spoilers for every Guardian of the Galaxy movie, especially Volume 3. I’m literally about to dump the entire plot on you and then cry about it. Go watch it if you haven’t it’s good

So I watched every single GOTG Volume in one day because I was bored and oh good golly gee I wish someone warned me about the messages because they absolutely DEVASTATED me every time.

I swear to god, the only message I obtained from GOTG1 is “who gives a shit if your family sucks? Come join our gang of misfits! We may hate each other, but we all have our own problems, and have learned to respect each other. Let’s commit some crime!” and it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever heard. Gamora’s dad is a dick who wants to murder half of the Galaxy? Found family! Drax’s family was brutally murdered by a Thanos wannabe and he’s seeking out cold revenge? Found family! Rocket was taken apart over and over and over until he could finally supply his creator with the power and knowledge to create a perfect society? What the fuOUND FAMILY! What was James Gunn on when he created this shit??? I need me some of that If my college found family doesn’t cure my gender dysphoria and crippling social anxiety I’m suing him

GOTG2 had the same message but like 1000 times more powerful because this is AFTER they created their little Guardians of the Galaxy family and determined that where they came from and how shitty their parents are doesn’t define them. I loved this movie so much. It does wondrous things for my heart that I’ll need a solid year to just put into words. Also Mantis is in it and I love her

But GOTG3. OH MAN GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 3. Shit had me SOBBING. It’s implied that it takes place after the events of Endgame (I never watched Infinity War/Endgame so idk what happened other than Gamora’s death it was memed to oblivion please don’t murder me) and their dynamic is so obviously different as a result. Quill is in shambles, Gamora no longer remembers they were together, it’s obvious Nebula feels some kind of guilt over what happened (or unrequited love for Quill), Drax and Mantis are doing their best to help but they just can’t, and Rocket spends half of the movie dying and reliving his hell of a backstory. Groot is frankly the only thing normal about this dynamic, but he’s Groot so we’re moving on. It’s obvious the Galaxy Family is not at their best. So you know what happens? At the end of the movie, after they’ve saved the galaxy a third time, and helped all the children and animals and such, they all split up and go their own ways. Gamora joins the Ravagers, Drax realizes his experience as a father makes him really good at raising kids, Nebula goes out to save more people who might have been victims like her, Mantis goes alone on a journey to find herself after realizing she’s only ever taken orders from others, Star Lord goes to see his grandfather one last time (and had me bawling my eyes out), and ROCKET. ROCKET TAKES OVER AS THE LEADER OF THE GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY! HE MAKES HIS OWN GUARDIAN GROUP TO SAVE PEOPLE WHO MIGHT BE IN SIMILAR SITUATIONS TO WHEN HE WAS A KID!! HE ALSO COMES TO TERMS WITH THE FACT THAT HE WAS A RACCOON!!! ISN’T THAT COOL?!

This is the greatest ending a trilogy could ever have, in my opinion. There’s no “We HAVE to stick together. We’re a team.” The group is aware that their dynamic is different, and that they aren’t what they used to be. And that’s fine! They all have their own problems to get over and passions to explore, so splitting up is the best solution! The found family is no more, but in its place is something so realistic and beautiful. It’s such a bittersweet, “so I guess this is the end” coming-of-age sitcom ending, but GOD I WOULDN’T HAVE IT ANY OTHER WAY. THANK YOU GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY, and here’s to more silly little adventures!!

[themomsandthecity]

Snooki Has the Perfect Response When Her Kids Ask About Her "Jersey Shore" Days

Image Source: Getty / Santiago Felipe / MTV For three wonderfully chaotic years, "Jersey Shore" gave an inside look at the lives of some of the biggest reality TV stars in television history, including Nicole "Snooki" Polizzi. While then-21-year-old Snooki had no qualms about broadcasting some of her messiest moments in front of a nationwide audience, much has changed in the 11 years since the MTV show's finale aired. Most notably, Snooki has become a mom to three children. During a recent appearance on "Live With Kelly and Mark," the mom of three revealed that keeping her past a secret from her kids has been nearly impossible thanks to a resurgence of "Jersey Shore" content across TikTok. "All the kids are watching it now." "All the kids are watching it now. And it's scary because my daughter's on TikTok," she told Kelly Ripa and Mark Consuelos, referring to her 8-year-old daughter, Giovanna Marie LaValle. "I try and advise what she's watching - make sure she's not watching anything bad. But she sees old episodes of me and she's like, 'Mom, what are you doing here?' and it's me drunk on the beach getting arrested." Snooki's typical response? "I'm just like, 'Uh . . .' I said, 'I'm acting,'" she joked. In September, Snooki told E! News that her oldest son, 11-year-old Lorenzo Dominic LaValle, had discovered clips from "Jersey Shore" on TikTok. Usually, when her son asks about her behavior on the reality TV series, Snooki's typical response is something along the lines of, "Honey, I'm an actress and it's not real. It's like a movie." Still, this hasn't stopped her kids from trying to imitate her superstar behavior by going on Instagram Live and posting photos on social media. According to a TikTok, her children have even started calling her Snooki. "I'm like, 'No, it is not happening,'" she said. "To be able to try and parent as a reality star mom, just makes it ten times worse." While some celebrities are eager to share their work with their children, they don't always receive the reaction they're anticipating, which is why others choose to keep their work under wraps. For Snooki, who was caught off guard by her daughter's knowledge of the show, it seems TikTok has made the decision for her. The "Jersey Shore" alum is also a mom to 4-year-old Angelo James LaValle, who she shares with her husband, Jionni LaValle. With Lorenzo and Giovanna already on the "Jersey Shore" train, it only seems like a matter of time before the whole family is caught up on Snooki's "where's the beach?" moment and those anonymous letters. Ahead, watch Snooki relive the moment her daughter discovered her "Jersey Shore" persona. Related: Jamie Lynn Spears's Daughters Make a Special Cameo in Her "Zoey 102" Movie https://www.popsugar.com/family/snooki-daughter-watches-jersey-shore-49248128?utm_source=dlvr.it&utm_medium=tumblr

[esta-elavaris]

Hiiiii!

It’s taken me some time, but I finally read the two first chapters of Fallen Through Time. Apologies for taking so long, I was travelling and it was only today that I finally had time to sit down to give them the attention they deserve, despite knowing they’ve been posted for a few days.

Boy, was the wait worth it! Honestly I was super excited when you decided to take this AU on. But now??????? How can you expect me to contain my excitement when you give me this amazingness????

I absolutely LOVE AND ADORE Elizabeth’s characterisation: the low-key sass of a clever woman ahead of her time, her excitement at having the mystery that is Theodora appear in her backyard (and Estrella’s panic at the potential danger lol, I’m sure Elizabeth drove that woman crazy), how adaptable she is and how she just rolls with the situation of Theodora appearing on the beach and her weird clothes, and she’s like, “Estrella give me your apron”, “bring milk and books”, “I shall undress her and do things myself since everyone else seems petrified by the weirdness of it all”. Yay to problem-solving, independent, efficient, get-shit-done Elizabeth!

I’m so eager to learn what she thinks of the whole situation once Theo tells her the truth. Will she tell her the truth? If she does, I feel like she would take it in stride, which would in turn make Theo’s process to adapt to Port Royal life much easier (having the sponsorship of the governor via his daughter won’t hurt either, I guess). Your Elizabeth would be ready to deal with anything from a zombie apocalypse to a alien invasion and everything in between and I am here for it (I think this is so in character, you have her exhibit so much of the adaptability that is such a huge part of her character in the movies). I bet once Theo realises this, she’s gonna be happy to have her on her side!

I’m so looking forward to Theo and Elizabeth becoming friends, I cannot even tell you 😭😭😭😭😭😭. If Elizabeth knows the truth from the get go, I imagine that’d lead to a much closer relationship between the two and I am sooo excited of how this impacts the upcoming events, particularly how this could lead to Elizabeth influencing (as in fostering) James’ and Theo’s relationship. Also, I feel that Elizabeth really needs a girlfriend to whom she can talk to about her own frustrations with her father’s expectations of her (ie marrying James), and her desire for freedom and adventure (I imagine she’d be super interested to hear about women in the future!), her thoughts about Will and her perceived impossibility of that romance due to the difference in their stations, and anything and everything in between, so I’m so happy in this story she found Theo the way that she did.

And of course, I’M SO PUMPED FOR JAMES’ INTRO IN THIS STORY AND HIS FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH THEODORA! The distrust! The sparks between the two (because Theo will take no shit from no one much less a man, and James is high key turned on by this, in a gentlemanly way of course)! The undeniable interest in one another that later turns into unavoidable attraction! The eventual realisation by James that he actually doesn’t fancy Elizabeth but kinda really likes Theodora and the internal conflict that this creates in terms of expectations vs wants!

Ahhhhhhh I am just so eager to relive this whole masterpiece from this new perspective, so I am so happy you decided to do this, honestly a million thank yous!

Here’s a gif of our favourite commodore to express my gratitude to you and love for this AU (oh to be that sword fr!)

AAAAA hi yes hello -- no worries on you taking a while to get round to reading it, it's probably for the best because it'll be a little bit before I can get the next part done anyway, so I'm sorry about that! It's all good!

Thank you so much!! I'm so stoked that you're enjoying it, honestly I'm just mega grateful that you even suggested the idea because it's provided an amazing excuse for me to revisit Theorrington from the very beginning, which is a ✨godsend✨ -- y'know those musicians that whine about having to go out on stage and play the greatest hits over and over while nobody cares about the new stuff? Fuckin couldn't be me. I'd be like "Paradise City for a fifth time? DONE." (Not that I'm comparing my bullshit to Paradise City, but ikyk.)

But yeah, honestly I was excited about writing this to begin with but when I had the Elizabeth Revelation it really kicked it up a notch. Like, she's much more likely to properly strip Theo down to help her than Norrington was (well, until later much later in their relationship if u know what I mean heuheueheu 👀 - I'm sleep deprived, I'm sorry), because it would be much less of a propriety/honour issue between two women, which means she would be way more likely to come across the wallet. I did consider having her not do that, and sort of hand-waving it away, but it felt a bit disingenuous, and then I stopped and actually asked myself "what if she did find it, though? Why shouldn't that happen?", and it just felt like it absolutely should.

Like not only is it exciting because it presents the first major difference between this and the AU, but because it just makes Elizabeth's involvement here so much more substantial. Like not only will she be helping ease the path for James and Theo (even if that's for her own gain, which feels fitting anyway), but because she can mentor Theo in the ways of the time, too. I feel like James would be way more willing to give her the benefit of the doubt in the very beginning if he saw her acting in the ways Elizabeth had taught her - aka as little like a pirate as possible.

And honestly like, I was worried that Elizabeth's reaction might seem too convenient, but the more I tried to map it out, the more true it felt? Like this is a woman who's just absolutely fuckin desperate for adventure and for an escape from the monotony of the life she's expected to lead. She has no clue that said escape is absolutely on the cards, so having someone from the future drop into her lap would be a godsend, and maybe even her only godsend and only chance at adventure, as far as she knows. Like at this point in her story she reminds me of Rose from Titanic in the beginning of that movie - where she just sees her life stretching on before her, all planned out and very expected, and just needs something else, whatever it takes.

It's exactly like you said - she really needs a girlfriend, but especially one who understands. I feel like so many women in her current circles would think she's the luckiest woman alive and that the path being set before her would be The Dream, but Theo would actually get it and offer a new sort of ear to lend.

Plus, this is the woman who tried to trick Barbossa on his own ship at the very beginning of her bloody character arc in TCOTBP. She's a badass. Taking a lost futuristic woman under her wing is small scale.

I think so long as she knows Theo doesn't mean any harm, and isn't a malevolent force, she'd be all in with getting as involved with this as humanly possible, and it makes for so many fun and exciting possibilities!

I'm ALSO very excited for how much of a rockier start this could give James and Theo, because man they're kinda hot when they're mad at each other (respectfully).

[anissagraces]

Cheleanor + 13

Here you go! 

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[magicshopaholic]

About You (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: There's something Namjoon isn't telling you. After finally getting out of him, though, you find yourself wishing you'd never asked.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC, minor Taehyung x OC (different OCs)

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 10.1 K

Warnings: language; arguments; implied mentions of past trauma, particularly SA; mentions of campus assaults

Additional warning: This fic contains discussions of triggering topics centering around SA and r*pe, so please do NOT read this if you are not comfortable. While there is no description of any kind and no member of BTS is involved in it, the fic is meant to depict realistic conversations and implications of past trauma which may be difficult for some to read. This fic is extremely personal, not to mention important for characterization within the series, but please do exercise appropriate discretion before reading.

A/N: This fic is set around six months after Suburbia, on the same day as You Make Me Live. It also consists of important plot points for Taehyung and Dilara, a couple of months before the events of Los Angeles.

Tagging: @kflixnet @k-radio @bbl32 @dreaming-with-happiness, @sweetieguk, @ggukkieland (if you want to be added to the taglist, drop me a message)

Listen to: "nothing's gonna hurt you baby" by cigarettes after sex

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

“Milk?”

“None.”

“Okay. Sugar?”

“Only if you’re giving it to me.”

Namjoon snorts, spilling a few drops of the Americano he’s stirring. “You mean right now?”

“Depends on how interesting the movie they’re all watching out there is.” Kaya leans against the kitchen counter of the dorm and folds her arms across her chest, watching him sheepishly wipe the spilt coffee. “Any chance we’ll be interrupted?”

“I would rather get caught by paparazzi than by any of the guys,” he says seriously, shuddering. “They’ll make it a whole thing and ten years down the line, they’ll still act like it’s the funniest thing that’s ever happened.”

Kaya frowns. “So none of you have ever walked in on each other, in all these years?” she asks sceptically. “I find that a little hard to believe. Seokjin told me you all lived together in one room or something. You had to have, you know… interrupted each other, some time.”

“Sure we have. It’s why Jimin, to this day, calls Hoseok The Closet Hyung. Or that’s the closest translation, anyway,” he amends.

“Was he… in the closet?” Kaya asks, with a bit of trepidation, biting her lip as Namjoon shakes a small sachet of sugar into his glass.

“No, he was in a closet, with another trainee, and his pants were, well -” He breaks off and winces, shaking his head. “Not something I want to relive.”

She laughs. “How dramatic.” She watches him for a moment, his tall frame next to her, as he takes a sip of the second glass he’s stirring, this one most likely his. “Are you going to put yours in there, too?”

Namjoon chokes. “Put my - what?”

Kaya grins, nudging him as he coughs. “Sugar,” she says, enunciating every syllable.

“You called?” Yoongi’s dry voice enters the kitchen before he does, strolling in and stopping on her other side to look inside a couple of cabinets.

“Here,” says Namjoon, sliding the first glass of coffee carefully across the counter to him. “One sugar.”

“Thanks.”  

“Yoongi, you tell me.” Kaya turns to him, resting her palm on the counter. “Have you guys ever walked in on each other in the dorm?”

It takes Yoongi seemingly a second to process this, before he chuckles dryly and glances over at Namjoon. “I don’t know, have we?”

Behind her, Namjoon sighs. “Oh, come on, that doesn’t count.”

“Really?” Kaya turns back to her boyfriend, thoroughly amused. “When was this?”

“Never. We didn’t get caught.”

“It’s true. We just found him sneaking her out of the dorm when he accidentally closed the door on his own hand.”

Namjoon winces, sipping his coffee. “Still hurts.”

“Oh, is this the girl you were telling me about? The hashtag-dangerous one, with the whole bad girl thing going on?” Kaya asks curiously.

Yoongi raises his eyebrows. “You two really talk about your exes, huh?”

“Well, it’s not dinner table conversation,” she says reasonably. “But we know about our exes. It’s healthy.”

“I happen to agree.” He looks up at Namjoon, raising his eyebrows. “She’s a wise one.”

“It’s the Ph.D. On the downside, I have no bad girl thing to speak of.”

“You really don’t,” agrees Namjoon, grinning when she mock-glares at him. “And in any case, if serious exes are what we’re counting, then I only really have Yu-jin.”

“And I only have Nick. College boyfriend,” she adds for Yoongi’s benefit as they start walking outside to the living room, Namjoon slightly behind them. His free hand brushes her waist as they take a seat on the couch, him on the edge and Kaya next to him, with Jimin on her other side. The rest of the group is spread out around the room while a political drama plays on the television. The early evening sun is warm and dim, the last rays skimming the back of the sofa before it disappears over the horizon.

“Nick was much more recent, though,” points out Namjoon, continuing their earlier conversation. “You have to count him.”

“Five years is a lifetime ago. And duration doesn’t matter,” she adds, holding up a finger. “It’s the nature of the relationship that determines its seriousness. So Yu-jin was just as serious,” she concludes.

“Wait, we’re talking about Yu-jin?” Jungkook pipes up in English, and both of them turn to see him grinning from his place on the floor, a can of beer precariously balanced between his knees. “Your Yu-jin?”

“I wouldn’t say my -”

But Namjoon is cut off by a smattering of Korean, Seokjin snorting into his cup of ramen and Jimin laughing out loud at something. Hoseok simply goes “no, no, no” in Korean while Namjoon sighs, and the former notices Kaya and shakes his head.

“He’s saying she was -” His eyes flit to Namjoon for confirmation “- badass.”

“That’s… that’s stretching it a bit,” says Namjoon weakly, but Seokjin waves him off.

“No, no, he’s right,” he says quickly. “Not badass, but like…” He struggles for a bit and finally says a Korean word, and Kaya dubs it in her head as ballsy. “Didn’t she also have a motorcycle?”

“That was her brother’s. Can we -”

“Oh, yeah,” interrupts Taehyung, ignoring Namjoon entirely. Kaya’s once again taken aback by his casual elegance from his spot next to Jungkook, unashamedly sprawled on the ground with his hands behind his head. “She drove us home in her car once, remember?” he asks, looking at Jimin who nods. “She drove so fast, I almost threw up.”

“Doesn’t Dilara drive faster?” Jimin asks innocently, grinning when Taehyung bites his lip.

“Much faster,” answers Jungkook, taking the ramen Seokjin offers him and scooping a mouthful into his mouth. “Explains why she has all those guy fans,” he adds, slurping the noodles.

There are snickers around the room and even Namjoon chuckles, but the name finally clicks in Kaya’s mind. “Wait, Dilara? Dilara Komyshan? You - you guys know who she is?” she asks, not suspecting Formula One was popular in this country at all.

Jungkook’s eyes go wide and Jimin turns to her, comically shocked. From her other side, Namjoon nudges her. “How do you know her?” he asks, a bit incredulous.

“I mean, I know of her. I live in Amsterdam. The whole country is a shrine to Max Verstappen, especially now that he’s started being in the running for world champion… anyway, she’s his teammate.” Kaya waits for him to nod slowly in confirmation. “They’re a legendary pairing. I saw them race in Zandvoort last year. I told you, remember?”

“Oh, yeah…”

“When did you guys meet her?”

There’s silence until Namjoon speaks up again. “We met her in - in Japan last year. We were there for Honda.”

“Oh, yeah, you told me. Did you get to meet Alex Turner, too? Actually, no, they probably weren’t dating back then, but -”

“What?”

Kaya breaks off, realising Taehyung’s spoken in Korean. “Uh, yeah, I don’t think they started dating till earlier this year, actually - or, at least that’s when they became public -”

“Um… Alex Turner?” Namjoon’s spoken this time, and there’s something too deliberate in his tone.

She hesitates. “Yeah… from the Arctic Monkeys,” she says slowly. “They were performing at this club in London and my friend Marianne had an extra ticket because her girlfriend couldn’t make it…” She realises she’s rambling and pulls herself together. “Anyway, Dilara Komyshan was there and… well, it certainly looked like they were a couple.”

There’s not too much ambiguity in the way she says it, despite her refraining from detail as much as possible. The silence is clear now and it’s starting to make her uneasy, as though there’s something everyone but her is in on. She almost jumps when Jimin speaks from next to her.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Yeah, pretty sure… wait, I have a selfie with her,” she mutters, reaching for her phone and swiping through her gallery, relieved for something to do. She finds the picture and both Namjoon and Jimin lean in from the other side to look at it. It’s in a dimly lit area, with all the members of Arctic Monkeys, her friend Marianne, Kaya herself, and Dilara Komyshan, with three people separating Kaya and Dilara.

Jimin moves away, sighing, while Namjoon leans closer and zooms in. She catches a whiff of his woody cologne and her toes curl automatically on the bare floor. 

“Oh. Crap.” 

Kaya looks up at him curiously to see him looking in the opposite direction before he closes his eyes, as though just spotting a problem. She turns to see Taehyung stalk out of the room, too conspicuously for it to be a coincidence, and something suddenly falls into place, something so obvious that she can’t believe she didn’t catch it the moment he interrupted her the first time.

“Oh, God,” she whispers, cringing and turning back to her boyfriend, “are they -”

“Something like that,” he mutters, sighing.

“Shit. I had no idea. I -”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, putting an arm around her shoulder. “Even we don’t, really. We just know they met in Japan and… got close.”

There’s an awkward silence for a moment, the movie playing uselessly in the background, before Jimin gets to his feet. “I should…”

“Oh, of course,” she says immediately, shuffling her legs so he can step out from behind the coffee table. “Tell him I’m sorry,” she adds uneasily, sighing when Jimin nods reassuringly before disappearing into the hallway.

The embarrassment doesn’t disappear, though. It takes a backseat for a while, once the movie is over and there’s some general chatter about dinner and what to watch next. Seokjin leaves midway once he gets a phone call, already pulling on his shoes before the call even ends.

“It’s Nari,” is all he says, in Korean, before ducking out. They carry on from where they left off, Jimin eventually rejoining everyone but making some thin excuse for Taehyung that absolutely nobody believes. Namjoon, preempting her reaction, hugs her to him a bit more before telling her to let it go.

Even two hours later, once they reach Namjoon’s apartment, Kaya isn’t able to. 

“You think he’ll be okay?” she asks, stepping out of the car.

“Yes, Kaya, he will,” says Namjoon, sighing and closing his door shut. “I told you. Let it go.”

Kaya frowns. “I just can’t believe I didn’t figure it out,” she mutters after a moment. “I’m usually a lot better at reading people,” she adds, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye.

If he catches on, he doesn’t respond. Kaya bites her lip, deciding that she isn’t imagining his aloofness after all. It had started a little while before they’d left the dorm, but in the midst of five other men talking and laughing in Korean, she couldn’t be certain and it hadn’t been that obvious either. 

The walk to the car had been quiet, something she’d chalked down to tiredness, but the actual car ride had been strange, too. They had a running joke ever since he’d gotten his licence last year where she’d give him a dramatic pep talk as he started the car, keeping it up until he hit the road, and making a big show of it once they reached their destination. She’d been about to start tonight as well but before she could even get a word out, he’d reversed out of the parking lot, his jaw harder than usual.

Now, she follows him silently into his apartment, frowning and trying to recreate the night in her mind to guess what might be bothering him. They enter and take off their shoes by the door, Namjoon turning on the light behind her. 

“Do you want a drink?” she asks, taking off her jacket and walking inside, stopping near the kitchen island. 

“Didn’t we just have a lot to drink?”

“Not really. You drove home.”

Namjoon seems to consider this. “I don’t want a drink,” he says finally, opening the fridge behind her and retrieving a bottle of water.

Kaya is dumbfounded for a moment, noting belatedly that this is the first time he’s ever iced her out like this - if that is indeed what he’s doing. She watches him walk over to the bookshelf and scan the spines, quietly drinking the water. Her guess is he’s already finished the book he started yesterday, but the way his back looks stiff and his jaw is still hard, she doubts he’s actually looking for a second book right now.

Normally, her instinct would be to let him be, knowing he’ll talk to her when he wants to. It was one of the most important aspects of their relationship she’d seen change over time: his reluctance to confide in her, as though afraid he would demotivate her by venting to her. She’d had to remind him more than once that he wasn’t her leader, that he absolutely could vent to her if he needed to. It had been hard for him, but once he’d consciously started opening up to her, their relationship only felt stronger.

But this feels different. She can’t fathom what, but something about this feels directed at her. She’s not one for mind games, though, so she simply sighs. “Okay, do you want to tell me what’s wrong?” she asks softly.

Namjoon’s hand holding the bottle momentarily pauses halfway up to his mouth, before he continues. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Really?”

The pause is longer this time, as he continues drinking. He’s definitely not focusing on the books anymore. Finally, he swallows a mouthful of water and exhales. “We don’t need to talk about it.”

There we go. “I don’t even know what it is,” she says, somewhat relieved he’s at least responding. “Why can’t you just tell me? If something’s bothering you, I want to know.”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” she states. “Did you want to stay back and watch the movie? Did I make you leave too early?”

“I wanted to leave before you did,” he points out, turning around to face her and leaning against the bookshelf. His eyes flicker towards hers before looking away, and he crosses his arms loosely against his torso. “And Pulp Fiction is not very high on my list of movies to watch.”

Me, neither. But he already knows that, and he knows why. Kaya moves on without dwelling on it. “Then what? Is it the joke I made about Nick?” she guesses, referring to a throwaway line about her ex-boyfriend she’d made when the boys had been arguing over which movie to watch. It had seemed harmless, but she also knew that Namjoon, for better or for worse, had a jealous streak he wasn’t proud of. 

“No,” he mutters.

He’s also proud. Kaya shakes her head. “If it is, I apologise. I didn’t think it would be a big deal, but I can understand if you didn’t like it. If that’s what it is, then I’m sorry.” When Namjoon doesn’t respond and simply looks in the other direction, she sighs in frustration. “What is it?”

His tongue is poking into his lower lip, and his jaw looks as hard as rock. She’s never seen anything bother him so much and the fact that she doesn’t know what it is doesn’t sit well with her at all. 

Finally, he speaks. “I don’t want to start a fight,” he says quietly.

“Well, I don’t want to spend the rest of the night wondering what’s bothering you so much that you can’t even look at me.” Her eyes bore into him but he still doesn’t turn. “If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it.”

“I don’t…” Namjoon trails off, clicking his tongue in what she takes to be annoyance. His eyes flicker to her again before averting. “Can we drop this?”

“Not now that you’re making such a big deal about it.”

“I’m not making a big deal about anything. You’re the one who won’t stop talking about it.”

Kaya scoffs incredulously, her heart already starting to race painfully. “You’re the one being evasive,” she says tightly, trying not to raise her voice as he runs a hand over his face. “Namjoon, you’ve never been like this,” she adds in a smaller voice. “Can you just tell me?”

It seems to give him pause, too, for he closes his eyes and exhales slowly. “I don’t want to upset you,” he says quietly.

There’s a strange and uncomfortable sensation in her stomach at his change in tone. This is bad. “I appreciate that,” she murmurs steadily. “But I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

Namjoon simply looks at her, observing, before pursing his lips and turning away. The dimple appears faintly in his cheek, the one that had popped as he’d grinned down at her in bed this morning, and in the kitchen at the dorm, and on the sofa when they’d been watching their debut music videos. 

She shakes her head in disappointment. “I’m sorry, I can’t think of anything that would piss you off this much except for that joke about Nick, which was about something that happened five years ago but if that’s the case, then I -”

“Why didn’t you ever report him?”

Namjoon’s words cut through her sentence, voice deep and steady, yet seeming louder than anything she’s heard him say all night.

“What?” she asks in a low voice, wondering if she could’ve possibly misheard his words.

He’s looking right at her now, finally, and she suddenly wishes he wouldn’t. “Five years,” he says slowly, his voice trembling with barely concealed emotion. “It’s been five years, and he still has a hold over your life. Why didn’t you report him?”

Her breathing feels loud to her own ears. “Please tell me we’re still talking about Nick,” she says quietly. Namjoon doesn’t answer, and Kaya takes that as a confirmation.

“I guess,” he begins after a moment, as though choosing his words carefully, “I can’t understand that after everything that happened, after everything he did to you -” His voice breaks and he bites his lip. “How could you not report him?” he asks softly, shaking his head.

“For starters,” she answers, voice oddly toneless, “I couldn’t see his face.”

“I - I know. But… there are ways for the police to do this stuff, to find people based on evidence…” It’s clear from his words that he’s thought about this before. “You didn’t tell anyone, though. Except -”

“Marianne and Nick,” she finishes. “Yeah, I told my closest friend and my boyfriend. That was enough for me.”

“And they didn’t tell you to go to the police?” Namjoon scoffs softly, but it doesn’t sound directed at her. “Not even your boyfriend?”

“He - he wasn’t my boyfriend anymore at the time,” she stutters, feeling rather like they’re about to digress. “And you know that. Why would you bring up -”

“Because it’s been five years, Kaya!” he exclaims, looking truly hassled now. “It’s been five years, and you still can’t watch a movie without being affected by it! And he’s just - he’s just free! How is that fair?”

She bites her lip, her heart racing. Iconic dialogues of an iconic movie, floating out through a loudspeaker in the common room hours before dawn, all the way into the empty streets of a university campus… her stomach churns.

“I thought you didn’t care about watching Pulp Fiction.”

“I don’t care about - come on, you know that’s not my point.”

“I can watch it whenever I want,” she states, hearing the tremor in her voice. “I have watched it, since then. I can - don’t you dare walk away, Kim Namjoon!” she says loudly, as he begins making his way into the living room.

He halts immediately, however, turning around. “I’m not walking away,” he promises, taking a seat on the cream-coloured couch. She takes a step back and feels the back of a chair dig into her spine. She’d told him about the worst night of her life at this kitchen island nearly a year ago, coming up behind him as he worked on his laptop and wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders, whispering calmly to him that if he had a minute, there was something important she needed to talk to him about.

They’d been together officially for six months by then, even though they’d been hovering back and forth for a few months prior to that. A level of trust had been established by then, though, not to mention a profound sense of safety she felt with him, even when he was halfway across the world from her. Later that night, after she’d told him and he’d expressed both anger and support but mostly shock, they’d cuddled on that very couch as they watched Cloud Atlas.

Sharing her secret hadn’t been easy, but no part of her regretted it. As she watches him rest his elbows on his thighs and run his fingers through his hair, she wonders if she’s finally about to. 

Namjoon sighs like he’s bracing himself. “I’m not saying you can’t watch the movie, Kaya. I’m saying you don’t, for a reason. And that’s his fault.”

“A lot of things are his fault. Reporting him wouldn’t have changed that. Even if I knew whom to actually report in the first place.”

“You weren’t even drinking,” he reminds her. “Even if all you remembered was the colour of his jacket, they could’ve at least narrowed it down to -”

“No, they couldn’t! It was dark, it was - I could’ve been mistaken,” she stammers, starting to feel anxious now as the edges of her mind start letting in scraps of memories from that night.

“You were not mistaken. You’re the most detail-oriented person I know.”

“Well, unless you were there that night, I don’t see how you could possibly have an opinion on that.”

Namjoon sighs. "This is why I didn't want to bring this up, Kaya.”

“No, please, I’m glad you did,” she says immediately, scoffing. “I’m glad I know what you think now. Have you been judging me for this ever since I told you last year?”

“I am not judging you - how can you say that?" he demands, looking stung. "I care about you. I love you, and I hate that you still have to make sacrifices and compromises, even if it is just over a movie. You’re still haunted by it, and he’s roaming around free!”

“And you think reporting him would’ve helped that?” Kaya exclaims. “Do you think we’d be back at the dorm watching Pulp Fiction right now if I’d gone to the cops? If I’d been neck-deep in paperwork, being asked to recount the incident a hundred times to a hundred different people about a guy whose face I couldn’t see and voice I could barely make out, only to be asked why I was walking alone around campus while wearing shorts?”

“I - I don’t know. I’m not -” He drops his head in his hands, breathing slowly and deeply. “I just… I fucking hate him, Kaya,” he confesses quietly, as though letting her in on a secret. “I hate him so, so much. I want to hurt him - I want to kill him with my bare hands.”

Kaya exhales shakily, never having heard him speak this disdainfully before, with this much hatred, about anyone or anything. “I hate him, too,” she murmurs after a moment. “Of course, I do. But I also had finals in two weeks and believe it or not, I knew my priorities.”

“I’m not saying you didn’t, I’m saying -” He sighs in frustration, his tongue poking into his lower lip again. “I just wish he would have suffered the consequences. Or just suffered.”

The fury in his voice is evident now, and is now starting to show on his face, but Kaya tries to hold her ground. She has to. “I told you: I had finals. I had a masters’ seat in the balance waiting for me in London, I had graduation - I had a million other things that I thought were more important for me. I couldn’t report him,” she adds after a moment, hearing the desperation in her own voice. “I couldn’t afford to get caught up in it.”

“You… you could report it,” he corrects her in a low voice. “You chose not to.”

“Yes, and that was my choice to make.” She grits her teeth, feeling her eyes start to sting. “I didn’t think this far ahead and anticipate that five years down the line, my boyfriend would be making me defend that decision to him.”

“That’s not what I’m doing! I care about -”

“Then listen to me! Listen to what I’m saying! It didn’t matter to me that -”

“How could it not matter? Kaya, he got away with it!” Namjoon stands up now, and his height is suddenly looming, even from across the room. “He’s out there, still, and he’s living his life while you’re -” He breaks off.

Kaya forces herself to breathe. “While I’m what?” 

“While you’re still hurting.” 

There’s no stopping it now; she feels her vision blur. “I’m perfectly happy with my life,” she says, her voice trembling.

“I’m not saying you aren’t. I just wish you’d -” He breaks off again and sighs, while Kaya turns around and lowers her head, unable to look at him any longer. Her chest feels constricted now, and she realises after a moment that it’s because she’s holding her breath. Letting it out seems dangerous, though, like she’s setting herself up to break down.

It’s a tall order for her to cry in front of anyone; it makes her feel uncomfortable and she avoids it at all costs. She wonders for the first time if it’s got anything to do with this incident, and acknowledges with a heaviness that any comfort she might have had in succumbing to tears in front of Namjoon has disappeared, at least for tonight.

“I just wish you’d see how much more you could’ve done,” he says, his tone taking on a different quality, something that reminds her inexplicably of Nick for a moment. It makes her feel inadequate and her heart hurts, even as Namjoon continues. “Even if he didn’t end up behind bars, you could’ve called him out publicly. You saw his varsity jacket - that college could’ve been made aware that one of their students is a -”

“Stop,” murmurs Kaya weakly, but he doesn’t hear her.

“It’s a world of things, and it only takes one to create change. I mean… how do you know he hasn’t done this again, to someone else?”

It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and Kaya feels her chest finally unclench as she swallows a sob. Her face and throat burn in discomfort as she tries not to make a sound, her hair falling down the sides of her face and shielding it from his view. Namjoon has fallen silent; whether it’s due to her reaction or because he realises the implication of what he’s said, she doesn’t know. At the moment, she can’t bear to be around him for another moment to find out.

She opens her eyes to see a tear fall onto the white kitchen island and hastily wipes it, taking a shaky breath as quietly as she can. “I’m, uh -” She breaks off, cringing when she hears the tremble in her voice. She turns slightly in his direction, not looking at him. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room tonight, if you don’t mind.”

Namjoon watches her turn and leave with a sinking heart, her smaller figure padding quietly down the corridor and passing his bedroom before she disappears from his view. There’s no point in going after her right now; it won’t be a fruitful argument, if that’s what they’re indeed in the middle of. 

There’s a twinge of regret taking form in his chest that stings when he hears the door to the guest room open and close. He sighs; he knew he shouldn’t have initiated this topic.

He’d had no intention of doing so. After she’d confided in him about it, it had probably come up once, and only when she’d brought it up. The night she’d told him, he hadn’t dreamed in a million years that this was the important thing she wanted to discuss. He hadn’t been able to process it past a certain point initially; he’d listened in stunned silence as she recounted that night, skipping the most horrific details (for whose benefit, he wasn’t sure, but he was thankful) and ending it with a short yet heartfelt declaration of how much she trusted him.

Kaya had seemed relieved after that, almost like telling him had been a catharsis of sorts. She’d been just as affectionate as normal after that, and Namjoon had silently gone along with it in a daze, his mind replaying her words and expressions the entire time, including when they were watching a movie on the couch later. It wasn’t until they’d gone to bed that the shock had finally worn off and he’d been able to register everything she’d told him, and the white hot anger at a faceless stranger had coursed through his body in a way he’d never felt before.

Namjoon drops his head in his hands, the living room suddenly feeling far too big and empty. He closes his eyes, trying half-heartedly to search for an apology or words of comfort but nothing comes to mind, not now that his mind is occupied with this.

Earlier this evening, when Yoongi had suggested Pulp Fiction, Namjoon had immediately expected Kaya to say no. But she hadn’t, and one by one the members had voted and before they knew it, the opening credits were playing. He’d nudged her gently, asking her silently if she was really okay with this, and she’d shrugged and given him a small smile before settling into his side.

Even after the movie began, Namjoon’s attention remained on Kaya, observing her for any movements that might signal her discomfort. It was an odd detail that had made it through the incident, the loud volume at which the movie was playing inside the campus common room, the dramatic and aggressive dialogues that floated out being the only thing her mind had been able to process.

She’d given nothing away today, though, not until halfway through when John Travolta, Samuel L Jackson and Quentin Tarantino’s voices had blared through the television amidst gunshots and male voices yelling, and Kaya’s face had suddenly crumpled.

It had been brief, a moment of heartbreaking agony that Namjoon had been powerless to stop, before she’d immediately straightened her expression. But he wasn’t fooled, and he’d taken it as a cue to casually say to everyone else that they were going to be heading out. Kaya hadn’t protested, for which he was glad, because the fury at her assailant was returning swiftly and Namjoon’s only focus from here on out was to ensure he drove them back safely to his apartment.

There’s a soft rattle, like an ominous rumble. Namjoon peeks out from behind his hands, wondering briefly if it’s an earthquake before he realises it’s him. His leg is jerking up and down, as though of its own accord, and the movement is making the wooden coffee table shake.

Just… just a jacket. Looked like a varsity football one. Yellow, I think… there were too many people from too many colleges on campus that week. So I don’t know.

It feels like his limbs are moving with a mind of their own, making him stand up and walk over to the kitchen island where Kaya had been standing a little while ago, his hands reaching for the sleek, silver laptop he’d left there this morning. He’s opened the screen and switched it on before even returning to the sofa, and the moment he’s logged in, he goes straight to the browser.

Here, Namjoon’s stuck. Watching the cursor blink, as though waiting for him to show what he knows, he chews on his lower lip. Finally, he types Colleges in New York, only to get almost a hundred results. He combines it with football team, before realising he doesn’t know if she meant American football or soccer, so he replaces it with sports team.

The results go into the hundreds now, with the swim teams and water polo and chess players popping up on his screen. He sighs, suddenly feeling ridiculous, when he spots a picture. Frowning, he clicks on it until it fits his screen: it’s of a Caucasian male, early twenties, with dark hair and dark eyes. He’s smiling straight into the camera, tall and confident - and wearing a yellow jersey.

It’s like a dull punch to his stomach, for even though Namjoon knows neither head nor tail about this individual - his eyes flicker to the name in the caption to see Mark Rivers - it occurs to him that the person who attacked Kaya, who hurt her all those years ago like a coward in the dark - that person could be Mark Rivers.

Namjoon forces himself to take a deep breath before slowly scrolling down, begrudgingly noting that nearly every male he comes across could have been him. He’s in no mood to back down, though. The image of Kaya all those months ago, her face carefully calm as he told him about that night, her face earlier this evening when Pulp Fiction had been playing, every single scene in Namjoon’s imagination that reveals itself in the darkest of times when he thinks about how it might have played out five years ago… He shakes his head, resolutely opening multiple tabs on his browser, each with a different college and its sports teams on the screen.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there, scrolling from picture to picture, eyes skimming over the names and the sports. At some point, in order to narrow it down, he makes an executive decision to filter out sports that aren’t high intensity, for while she hadn’t ever said it explicitly, she’d implied a level of strength that she hadn’t been able to fight back against.

Swallowing the bile in his throat, he moves on quickly. It also occurs to him soon enough that just because NYU was in New York, it didn’t mean that every college team that had landed up there was also from New York, and Namjoon is thus forced to expand his search to outside the city as well. He restricts it to the tristate area, however, and continues looking for links in the college websites about alumni and galleries with pictures of their sports teams. 

He combs through the links, looking for teams or graduating classes that would have overlapped with Kaya’s senior year. Some of the links have members listed by name and Namjoon pounces on them with a vengeance, flipping through picture after picture of former students who eventually start to blur into each other. 

There are some faces who, for some reason, just strike Namjoon as suspicious. He starts bookmarking the names, copy-pasting them onto an Excel sheet to maintain some kind of list, some kind of indication that this unorganized exercise he’s conducting in this frame of mind isn’t a waste, that there’s actually something fruitful coming out of it. 

Namjoon pauses, his mind still working amidst the tiredness and a dull pain between his eyes that he knows is the onset of a headache. He needs to narrow the search down further - it’s the only way. His fingers fly across the keyboard, the typos increasing both in number and his irritation, and he starts searching for known college campus assaults in Kaya’s senior year, along with two years before and after. He’s mostly met with newspaper and magazine articles about campus safety and the like, but names elude him.

Somehow, he starts getting directed to chat rooms and message boards that have been inactive for years, and while he wishes to interact with none of them, he scrolls through the hundreds of messages, pausing every time he sees a name mentioned. Finally, in what seems to be the fifth or sixth message board started by a former sorority girl half a decade ago, he sees a name that makes his heart leap weakly. 

He can’t understand why at first; it doesn’t sound too common but something about it stands out to him. The message doesn’t even mention a school associated but after a moment, he thinks he knows what it could be. Vaguely seeing the pieces in his mind, about to fall into place, he goes back to the Excel sheet, and searches for the name, gasping softly when the name matches. 

It’s at that moment that he spots two numbers: the time, showing him that it’s nearly three am, and the row number of the name he’s just searched, showing him row two hundred and thirty-six. He squeezes his eyes shut, unwilling to acknowledge how far gone he is. 

It was… it probably didn’t last more than fifteen minutes. It just felt like a lifetime. But turns out it was just one long scene of Pulp Fiction.

Clenching his fist on the keyboard so he isn’t tempted to throw the laptop against the wall, Namjoon tries to gather himself. In a desperate move, he enters the first name into Naver to find a LinkedIn profile. It’s him; it’s the same person, but his profile picture is no longer of a college student with a cocky grin and bangs, but an older version in a suit and tie, gazing calmly at Namjoon through the screen. A half-hearted scroll shows him that this person - Geoffrey Dominic - is currently residing in Dubai and working for an airline company.

Something about it makes Namjoon’s throat close up in frustration, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s the fact that any of these men, or all of them, could be anywhere in the world now. The way Kaya was in London less than three months after the incident, any of these men could be anywhere else, across the world from her or even in the same building as her in Amsterdam, and they would have no way of knowing.

Namjoon runs his hands through his hair, his fingers trembling, and feels a sense of such helplessness that it makes him want to scream. It occurs to him with some regret that Kaya might have been feeling the same, only magnified to proportions he would never understand. He suspects now - or, rather, he’d suspected all the way back then but didn’t want to admit it - that she was probably driven to tears before she’d quietly declared her intention to go to bed, effectively ending their argument.

Keeping the laptop aside, he stands for the first time in hours and winces when his knees cramp. Stretching his legs and making his way inside the apartment towards the bedrooms, he passes by his room; not only is his mind too cluttered to sleep right now, he also can’t imagine doing so in his bedroom, without Kaya. He stops in front of the guest room, his heart hammering when he imagines her in there, at her choice to actively be apart from him for the night.

They need to talk about this. He’s willing to concede that he might have been too harsh, that he may have brought up the topic too suddenly - but he cannot let this argument fizzle out and have them pretend to have moved on from it in the morning. Not this particular discussion, not after the way they left it tonight, and not with how Kaya left.

Namjoon stares at the door, hoping something will knock on it for him. His hand won’t move and with each passing second, his tiredness and frustration with his unsuccessful investigation turns into regret and something that resembles guilt. 

He wonders if she’s crying in there; the thought makes his heart twist. If it’s true, if that’s what she’s doing inside, he has to go in there. Maybe he’ll apologise, maybe they’ll agree to pick it up some other time under calmer circumstances.

The moment his hand goes up to the door, however, he realises it’s been hours since their argument; she’s most likely asleep. It occurs to him, out of nowhere, that all her things are in his room. He pictures her, alone in bed amidst the covers, still in the jeans and top she’d worn today. It’s one night out of the ten they have during her stay in Seoul this time, and they’re sleeping apart - and it’s seeming more and more clear by now that it’s his fault.

The fist that’s resting against the door, about to knock, becomes flat. Namjoon leans against it, suddenly exhausted, feeling like it’s the closest he’s going to get to her tonight, wanting to let her know he’s still here. He can’t go inside now, though, even if she is asleep. As much as it may kill him to be out here, on the other side of the door that she closed on him, he can’t not respect her wishes, especially tonight. He doesn’t want to leave either, though, so after a moment, he turns around and slides down against the door until he’s sitting on the floor, knees bent and feet flat on the ground. 

Namjoon hasn’t a clue what to expect in the morning, how they’re ever going to move past this. If it becomes a fight, we have a fight. And then we move on from it. He closes his eyes as he replays her words in his mind. They were rational and pragmatic, just like everything about her he’d known he needed in his life from the day he’d met her. This probably wasn’t what she had in mind, though, a small part of his mind chimes in. It’s true, and he simply hopes she’ll remember her own words tomorrow.

He sits there for a while, contemplating more than once if he should quietly step inside. He could slip into bed with her, maybe gently hold her to him, possibly kiss her shoulder in the dark and ensure she doesn’t wake up alone. The thought makes his chest hurt but he knows he can’t, so in a pathetic attempt to distract himself from it, he picks up his phone and scrolls through it for a while, remembering with a dull sort of victory that he’s a day away from his credit card bill being due for payment. 

His wallet isn’t in his pocket, though, and when he trudges into the living room, he finds it’s not in his jacket pocket or anywhere else on the coffee table or the kitchen island. Mildly panicking, Namjoon shuffles between both rooms, the only places he’s set foot in all night, and searches behind jars and under the sofa, until he’s forced to conclude - and hope to high heavens - that it’s probably in the car.

It feels like the longest distance, from his penthouse to the building basement, but he takes his keys and heads out anyway. He locates the wallet in between the driver’s seat and the gear shift, lodged in the gap and peeking out apologetically when he reaches over to tug it out. Shutting the door and turning the car off, he rubs his eyes, wondering briefly that if he isn’t able to sleep, if he should head to the studio for some late night editing.

Only somewhat intrigued by the idea, he exits the building on foot, deciding that the solution to being stuck in his living room with the results of his deep-dive into the worst night of his girlfriend’s life probably isn’t another tiny room with a laptop. He walks along the pavement outside, shivering slightly in the chilly air in the absence of a jacket, in nothing but the white t-shirt he’s been wearing all day. 

It was late… really late. I went back to my room. I didn’t want to be anywhere else. I just wanted to sleep, possibly forever, but by the time I got into bed, it was already dawn outside.

Around this time of the night, then. Out of nowhere, Namjoon feels his face twist, the memory of her words and her voice feeling like a punch to his stomach. He stops in his tracks, dropping his face into his hands and squeezing his eyes shut, as though hoping it will get rid of everything, every memory of that night she’s recounted to him in the tamest fashion, every horrifying image that his imagination has ever created in his mind, bringing back the particular kind of rage that’s only ever shown its face when he’s thought about how a tall, faceless man had hurt Kaya.

Another cool breeze forces him to snap out of it, and he immediately crosses the street, hearing vague honking and blurred yelling but able to focus on none of it. He enters a coffee shop, a dimly lit one with fluorescent lighting that makes his sleep-deprived brain shirk away uncomfortably, but he rallies, going over to the counter and ordering a plain Americano to go. The moment he picks it up and turns towards the door, he realises he has no desire to go back into the cold.

Taking a seat at a single table in the corner and reasonably sure no one here will recognise him, he takes a sip of his coffee and turns on his phone, his fingers automatically going onto Naver and waiting, once again, for the fury in his mind to tell him what to do. It does no such thing, though, and eventually Namjoon half-heartedly enters in the same search he’d last put in at the apartment, regarding known culprits in New York campus assault cases.

He finds he has no energy to scroll anymore, though, none of that adrenaline that pushed him to search college websites, sports teams, cross-reference them with age and whatnot. His mind is awake, but his anger isn’t as easily in his grasp anymore, not when he’s aware of Kaya back in the apartment, alone. She’s safe, of course; his building has some of the highest security in Seoul’s residential areas, and his floor is only accessible by a select few who possess key cards. Additionally, the only person in the world who has a key card to his own apartment, apart from him, is Kaya.

Namjoon hopes she’s sleeping. She’d been working unbelievably hard in the weeks leading up to her visit here so she wouldn’t have to work as much on the trip; coupled with the lingering jet lag, he’s reasonably hopeful that sleep would have caught up to her by now. His chest aches when he thinks, once again, of how she left the room in tears at the end of their argument. At the moment, he’d let her go because not only had it been evident that he’d possibly pushed her too far, but because a part of him was also frustrated that he would never be able to express to her just how much it hurt to see her hurting, and how much he wished he’d be able to give her the justice she deserved.

His stomach churns uncomfortably when he pictures her again, alone in the penthouse. Despite the security, the fear of her being hurt again, in absolutely anyway, nauseates him. It was the hardest part when she’d told him about that night, the part where she’d made him promise that he wouldn’t look at her differently and wouldn’t treat her like a victim. 

Namjoon hadn’t done either, to the best of his abilities; his worry for her safety and security while she lived alone in Amsterdam pre-dated his knowledge about her past. He’d tried never to impose on how she lived, however, apart from reminding her every night to check if she’d locked the door or to let him know when she made it home after a late night in the library. It’s the one thing, even now, that gives him some comfort all the way in a different timezone, but he doubts she’ll ever know the intensity of his desire to keep her safe.

He scrolls down the screen once, the words now truly blurring into each other, until something catches his eye. You’re Not Alone: Supporting a Survivor, with further text undereath. Namjoon hesitates before opening it, spending the next ten minutes on each and every word of the article until he reaches the end and lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. 

He clicks on the next suggested link, and the next, and the next, until they’re all basically saying the same thing. A soft ding catches his attention and he looks up to see the last customer besides him leaving the restaurant. The waitress smiles politely at the older man before surreptitiously glancing at Namjoon, and he takes the hint, realising also that it’s half past four now and Kaya’s still alone in his apartment.

After leaving a generous tip, he heads out, the tiredness of the last twenty or so hours finally sinking in. The walk back is cold but the coffee helps and by the time he reaches his building, all he can think about is his comfortable sofa and the stacks of ramen cups in his pantry.

Over an hour later, after two cups of ramen and a small cup of chocolate ice cream he’d had no intention of eating, he finds himself watching a mediocre episode of the latest k-drama. It’s on mute, for any sound right now might make his head explode, but the subtitles work well enough. He wills sleep to find him; he can’t bring himself to get into his own bed right now, but a few minutes of sleep on this couch would suffice for a bit…

His eyelids start getting heavy just as the first rays of light start peeking in through the curtains, but he’s jolted awake by a sound that he realises a second later is a door opening and closing. His heart racing, he straightens up to see Kaya step gingerly out of the hallway, her long hair slightly dishevelled from her sleep. She’s in nothing but one of his white t-shirts, hanging loose on her smaller frame and reaching the middle of her thighs.

She stops at the edge of the kitchen island, close to where she’d been standing last night, and clears her throat. “Did you sleep at all?” she asks, frowning.

“Not really,” he answers softly, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice. “How - how did you sleep?”

“Late,” she says, and offers no further explanation. After a moment, she bites her lip. “I thought you…” She licks her lips and looks at the ground, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I heard the door close.”

“Yeah… I dropped my wallet in the car.” He watches as she nods, and it takes him a second to realise she was probably thinking something else when she said it. “And went to get a coffee, down the block.”

She raises an eyebrow. “You went to get coffee at four am?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Namjoon sees her eyes dart to the plastic coffee cup on the table, and a pang goes through his heart. “Did you - did you think I left?”

Kaya doesn’t answer, and it suddenly makes him want to cry. Need to start somewhere. He clears his throat. “Kaya, I want to just -”

“No, wait.” She holds up a hand, her gaze still on the ground. He sees her swallow and take a deep breath before looking up, this time straight at him. “I think there are some things I need to say. I don’t think I was really very clear the last time we spoke about this, but… I don’t regret anything.” She pauses, as though waiting for him to contradict her. When he says nothing, she continues.

“I’ve thought about this more than you know. I’ve thought about every single moment,” she says. “I’ve wondered why I had to have been walking alone on that street on that night, or why I went to NYU or why I didn’t scream louder so that someone would hear me. But it’s pointless. I was walking back from a committee meeting where we were making posters for an adoption drive at a dog shelter, which I don’t regret. I lived in one of the most amazing cities in the world and made friends for life because I went to NYU, and I can’t regret that.”

She pauses again, and this time Namjoon nods, if only to let her know he’s listening to every word.

“I chose not to report him because I was scared, and because I had next to no description of him. I know women have pressed charges with less, and I respect the hell out of that kind of courage. But I had finals, which my masters’ admission in London was contingent on. I had graduation, where I had to make a speech to my entire class. I had an internship to finish up which would round up my entire resumé - I had a world of things waiting for me.” 

Her voice is trembling now, and Namjoon has to make a conscious effort to not walk over to her right now and pull her into his arms. The words are tumbling out of her mouth as though she’s been thinking about them all night, with a fear and defiance he’s both sad and proud of.

“I didn’t want to get caught up in - in spending hours at the police station, in having my classmates talk about me behind my back…” She takes a shaky breath. “I’m not saying it was easy to choose not to do it. It haunted me every day for years, but I - I had to choose me. Who else would? I had to choose my future - and I was not going to let him or what he did define me or make my decisions for me.” 

“Every single day I’m glad I chose me because five years in, I’m living in a beautiful city, I’m the youngest doctoral candidate in the university, I’m working on a world famous research grant under Professor Woodstock who is a scholar -” She scoffs in mild disbelief, just as she had the day she’d secured the research project, and Namjoon can’t help but smile a bit “- I have good friends, I have a boyfriend who loves me, I have… I have a life. I have a good life, and I have it because I made a decision. You can - you can judge me for it… but I don’t regret it for a second. I just hope you understand that.”

Kaya bites her lip, feeling her vision blur again just like last night, as she watches him nod slowly, as though processing everything she’s just said. She makes no further motion, leaving the ball in his court. It feels like the most vulnerable she’s ever been before him, for she knows it’s a sliding scale. Either he does what the man she fell in love with would do, which would be to instantly understand her… or she finds out something new about him today, and they acknowledge the fundamental differences in their outlooks.

Namjoon rests his elbows on his thighs, running his fingers through his hair. The platinum blond looks slightly darker - or maybe it’s the light - as though making it clear that he hasn’t slept all night. He looks straight at her, though, and for a moment she’s comforted with the expression in his eyes. 

“I, uh -” He sighs, his gaze flickering to the floor. “I tried to look him up last night.”

Her heart stops. “You did what?”

He immediately holds up both hands. “I know, it was a - a violation of your privacy, and I’m sorry. It’s not like I found anything,” he adds after a moment, and she doesn’t know if she’s imagining a note of defeat in his voice. “I don’t know if I actually thought I would, but it felt like I wanted to. Looking back, though, I don’t even know if that would help.”

“Kaya, I -” He exhales, and the look in his eyes becomes even more pronounced. “I worry about you,” he says after a moment. “I worry whenever you’re alone in your apartment, when you tell me you’re staying late in the library, when you’re drinking with friends… even last night, when I was twenty minutes away from you, I - I worried.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to -”

“No, I - I know. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself. It’s one of the things I love most about you.” He’s quiet for a few seconds, his gaze not moving away from her, like he’s seeing her in the flesh after a long time. “I still worry, though. And it’s okay - I like worrying about you,” he adds, a playful smile flashing in his eyes momentarily, almost as though he can hear her heart flutter.

“It’s got nothing to do with your capabilities. I just worry because - well, partly because it’s the only thing I can do from here - but also because…” He sighs. “God, Kaya, it would kill me if something ever happened to you. If you ever got hurt.” He finally lowers his head, and she feels her heart ache. “To know that you did get hurt and that I can’t do anything about -” He breaks off, sniffing and looking up at her.

“But that’s my problem. Worrying about you, dealing with that anger… I guess somewhere in that manic searching I did all night, something pointed me to the fact that it doesn’t matter how I feel about it. It’s not about me. Or him.”

Kaya nods, not knowing what to say. She doesn’t know what he spent all night searching for and it’s too overwhelming to try to understand, even as her brain automatically begins dissecting the various demographics and data he could’ve started slicing and dicing. “Thank you,” she whispers finally.

“Did you ever consider it?” Namjoon asks after a few seconds. “Therapy? Or counselling?”

She bites her lip and nods. “I tried it for a bit, in London. I stopped because I moved to Amsterdam,” she says, anticipating his silent question. “Finding a new person, telling them everything… It seemed like a lot. We can talk about it,” she offers softly after a moment.

Namjoon stands up then and walks over to her slowly, as though giving her enough time to back away. She doesn’t, though, for his height feels comforting again unlike during their argument last night. He stops in front of her, almost a foot’s distance between them.

“I hope you know,” he begins, his voice low, “that I would never judge you. Definitely not for anything to do with this.” He purses his lips before sighing, his dimple appearing briefly. “I’m sorry.”

Kaya nods. “You should get some sleep,” she murmurs, reaching up to touch the bags under his eyes, his fingers ghosting over his skin. 

“I will.”

A few moments pass, and Kaya feels like she needs to say it again, just in case. “You can’t treat me differently, okay?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer right away. He brushes her cheekbone with his knuckle and she feels her toes curl on the bare floor. “Kaya, I’ll always be protective of you.”

It’s not an answer, but it feels like the thing she needs to hear right now. “I’ll allow it,” she murmurs, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt. It’s almost identical to the one she’s wearing; she’d found it in the closet of the guest room and didn’t imagine he’d have a problem with her borrowing it. Sleeping in his oversized t-shirt, smelling of his detergent… it was the closest thing to comfort she’d gotten last night.

Kaya feels her throat start to hurt uncomfortably. “I need you to understand my decision, okay?” she whispers in a small voice, looking up at him, more vulnerable than she can remember. “I need you to be in my corner.”

As though he’s been waiting forever to do it, Namjoon immediately pulls her into him, kissing her forehead and wrapping his arms around her. “Of course, I am. I love you,” he whispers into her hair, and she feels him inhaling. Coconut and vanilla. Kaya buries her face into his shoulder, having missed his broad chest and strong arms so unbearably last night. “I’m always in your corner. No matter what.”

~

Thank you for reading. Don't forget to leave a review :)

[introverted-scribblings]

Mourning || (Jeff the Killer)

I've had this concept in my head for a while now and finally got around to writing it. I had listened to "Ghost Of You" by 5SOS and decided that I needed to write some angst. Sorry to all you Jeff simps... or you're welcome?

I hope you enjoy!! (wc: 923)

How many times had he broken into your house? It felt like too many to count. And here he stood again in the living room of your house, everything eerily untouched from the last time he was here.

“Jeff, cut it out!” You squealed as he poked at your side. “I want to watch this!”

The boy scoffed. “This movie sucks, the killer is predictable. I’m so much better than that asshole,” he grumbled, causing you to snicker.

“Of course you are, Jeff.” You roll your eyes as you playfully inflate his ego. “But you should still shut up and let me watch this.”

He sticks his tongue out at you and you both go back to watching the cheesy horror flick you had put on.

Jeff clenched his fists at the memory and tore his eyes away from the sofa. The two of you had watched so many movies there, played so many games together. He moved to the next room.

In the kitchen, there were still dishes in the drying rack by the sink. Your seat at the kitchen table was pushed out as if you had just gotten up for something and would be returning soon. He knew that wasn’t the case, but he wished to god it was.

“Are you hungry?” You asked him from your place at the table. “I can make you some food-”

“Nah,” Jeff shrugged. “You’d probably burn it.”

“I would not!” You gasped, scowling at him. “I’m a good cook, thank you very much!”

“Oh yeah?” He smirked. “Why don’t you tell that to every batch of popcorn you’ve ever made?”

Your face flushed red with embarrassment and frustration. “Popcorn is different! But I’m a better cook than you!” You attempt to spit back at him. Jeff just rolls his eyes. He was about to respond when his stomach growled, silencing you both. Now it was your turn to smirk. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?” You snicker.

Jeff grumbled something incoherent as you laughed and stood from your seat, beginning to fix him something for dinner.

He bit his lip as he looked at your seat at the table. It was where you always sat when in the kitchen. Jeff’s eyes wandered from the chair to the cupboards, where your collection of different mugs were stored. From the cupboards to the fridge, where a variety of magnets were stuck to the surface. There was one that he had gotten for you sitting amongst the others, holding a grocery list to the metal. A list that was never completed.

Jeff wandered from room to room, reliving the memories he had made with you in this house. Remembering the time he spent with you, the hours you talked about anything and everything, the plans you had made together… for your future.

He found himself at the door to your room, his hand shaking as he gripped the doorknob and opened it. He took a shaky breath and stepped inside.

Like the rest of the house, your room was completely untouched. There were still clothes piled on the floor, including a shirt he had initially loaned you. He told you to keep it after seeing how cute you looked while wearing it. You had blushed and laughed at the time. It was painful to think about it now.

It was painful to think about you now…

“Hey, Jeff?” You were laying on your bed, staring up at the ceiling. He was sitting in the chair by your desk, the two of you had been enjoying the content silence. Not feeling like speaking, but enjoying each other’s presence.

“What’s up?” He replied, looking in your direction.

You propped yourself up on your elbows. “Would you be sad if I died?”

The bluntness of the question threw the killer off. He sputtered for a second. “The fuck kinda question is that?!” Jeff spat, sounding almost angry.

You shrugged. “I dunno. I was just thinking about it,” you said. “You’re this cold-blooded killer… but we’re also, like, kinda dating? And I just started thinking… Would you be sad if I died? You don’t mourn the others, so why would you mourn me…”

Jeff listened to you ramble. He had never thought about it before. “That’s a stupid question,” he scoffed. “You aren’t gonna die so there’s no point in thinking about it.”

You paused, thinking for a moment before laughing and flopping back onto your bed. “You’re right,” you giggled. “I can’t die, we have too many plans!”

Jeff felt his heart jump at your laugh.

He would give anything to hear it again.

It had been so sudden, you had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Shot and killed in a petty robbery by some douche with a chip on his shoulder. And now you were gone. From the world, from his life… Jeff felt his eyes stinging with tears. The plans you had made, your future together, all of it gone with you.

He dropped to his knees, fists clenched on the carpeted floor as the tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t stop them, it was impossible. The memories in this house… they hurt him so much. But he had to relive them before this place was cleaned up and sold away.

His heart ached, his eyes stung, his lungs burned as he held in the sobs that wanted to shake his body. Would he be sad if you died? What a stupid question. He’s not sad…

He’s devastated.