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jungkoode · 2 months ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #11 死

† embers in the night †

"Camping trips are not your favorite thing in the world, but if Moon made it a thing, then you might as well swallow it up. Just like you swallow up Jeon's glances across the fire during the truth or dare game, or the way the flame of his cigarette glows amber in the distance and you somehow manage to know it's him.

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.5k

rating: mature

content: camping trip stuff, grab the flag game, jessi and V bantering, jessi being a queen, friendship, truth or dare, sexual tension, hidden cig encounters, lowkey innuedo

☠ author's note ☠

You bitches. You unhinged little chaos goblins. DID YOU miss you trees, tension, and team-building trauma? Well, here's more of that.

Who would've thought? Not Moon. He just wanted to force the criminal girlies into the woods like it was a corporate retreat gone feral.

This chapter was so much fun to write. Like. The sheer range. One second we’re all sunburnt and pissed, and the next we’re watching Jessi roundhouse-kick a flagpole while V monologues like he’s in Phantom of the Opera (Violent Remix).

I really loved exploring the absolute clownery of this “team bonding” mission while sneaking in all these little character moments. Jessi and V’s rivalry? I LOVE THEM. SIBLING VIBES BUT MAKE IT DEADLY. ALSOOOO JM’s cardigan diplomacy? Flawless. Takama being a soft deadly kiwi?? I weep.

And then there’s Jeon.

Brooding. Smoking. Being allergic to feelings like it’s his job. (Which, to be fair, it kind of is.)

That last scene?? Baby girl. Baby DARLING. If you didn’t feel that in your knees, go reread.

Also. Also. Can we take a moment to appreciate the absolute tomfoolery of “Never Have I Ever” in a group full of criminals?? Like—everyone’s drinking. Everyone’s unwell. AD’s collecting blackmail. JM’s watching V with that “I’m not touching you but I’m thinking about it” gaze.

And Y/N?? Dropping that bomb about attraction like the menace she is. Girlie took a sip of that chaos juice and said “bet.” Queen behavior.

Anyway. All I’m saying is... get ready for next chapter. Hihihi.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The sun is being a real bitch today.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead for what feels like the millionth time, cursing whoever decided winter should feel like summer.

Moon, that conniving bastard.

His brilliant idea of "team bonding" in the mountains somehow got RM's stamp of approval, and now here you are, hiking up this godforsaken trail with the rest of Kkangpae's finest.

The gravel crunches under your boots as you trudge along. Something about seeing each other's "true colors" and "building trust," Moon had said. You snort. Leave it to him to turn a camping trip into some deep psychological experiment.

Up ahead, Jeon's leading the pack like the brooding commander he is. You watch him navigate the path with that focused intensity of his, all broad shoulders and purposeful strides. Everyone else keeps their distance—smart of them, really. His storm-cloud aura is doing that thing again, the one that makes the air feel electric and h̶o̶t̶ dangerous.

V bounces around near him like some deranged mountain sprite, which would be funny if it wasn't so unnerving. One second he's scaling rocks like some kind of professional climber, the next he's pelting people with pine cones, cackling like a kid on a sugar rush.

The contrast between him and Jeon is almost comical—darkness and chaos, wrapped up in two very different packages.

"Watch your step here," Flower calls out from behind you, her voice steady and sure.

You glance back to see her expertly maneuvering around a particularly treacherous patch of loose rocks. She makes everything look effortless, even hiking in this heat.

God, teach you her ways.

Jessi's voice cuts through suddenly: "Keep up the pace, we're not here for sightseeing!"

You can't help but grin as you watch her march ahead, red ponytail swinging like a battle flag. Even in hiking gear, she manages to look fierce as hell. Her division members trail behind her like ducklings, trying (and failing) to match her energy.

Something about seeing everyone out here, away from the castle's shadows and politics, feels weirdly raw. Real. You're all still the same dangerous people, just... dustier. Sweatier.

Maybe that was Moon's point all along.

Sneaky bastard.

The late afternoon sun bathes everything in gold, and you can't help but snort at the sight before you. It's absurdly funny seeing Kkangpae's finest trudging through nature like some twisted corporate retreat.

AD looks particularly out of place, blonde hair catching the light like a beacon as he leads his team of tech nerds through the wilderness. They're all following him like lost puppies, probably experiencing their first dose of vitamin D in months. You notice how his casual slouch doesn't quite mask the way his eyes keep scanning the treeline. Old habits die hard, huh?

"For fuck's sake, watch where you're stepping!" J-Hope's voice cuts through the air, his usual crankiness making a brief appearance as one of his medics nearly trips over a root.

Still, there's something different about him out here.

Less Dr. Jekyll, more... well, still Dr. Jekyll, but maybe after a cup of chamomile tea.

His team's got enough medical supplies to handle a small apocalypse, which is probably smart given this crowd.

And then there's JM, floating through it all like some ethereal woodland creature in his oversized cardigan. His financial team looks hilariously out of their element, but they're managing to keep up, probably because JM's presence is as calming as ever.

Though you'd bet good money those designer shoes aren't going to survive this trip.

The path finally opens up to a view that actually makes you pause.

Damn.

The valley stretches out below, all misty blues and greens, and for a moment, you forget you're part of a criminal organization of sorts. Everyone else seems to feel it too—this weird, peaceful vibe that has no business existing among a bunch of gang members.

"Alright, let's set up camp here." Moon's voice breaks the spell, all business as usual. But even his sunglasses can't hide the fact that he's actually enjoying this ridiculous situation.

You watch as everyone scrambles to follow his orders, divisions mixing like some bizarre summer camp activity—and it's kinda funny, seeing assassins and hackers arguing over how to pitch a tent.

Moon clears his voice like a professor about to announce a pop quiz. "Alright, everyone!"

You fight back an eye roll. Of course. The camping trip is not but some structured learning experience.

"Before we set up for the night, we have an activity." There's something almost gleeful in his tone that makes you nervous. "It's a team-building exercise, but with a Kkangpae twist."

Oh great. You watch as everyone exchanges looks, probably sharing your thought that nothing good ever comes from the words "team-building" and "twist" in the same sentence.

"We're going to split into mixed teams," Moon explains, pushing his round glasses up his nose. "Your task is to find and retrieve a flag hidden somewhere in this area. First team back wins."

You catch Jeon's subtle shift in posture—that slight straightening of his shoulders that means his competitive side just woke up. Meanwhile, V's grinning like someone told him there's cookies, which is honestly terrifying given his track record with "games."

"You'll need to use your skills cooperatively," Moon adds, like he's reading from some corporate manual. "This exercise is about strategy, teamwork, and understanding each other's strengths."

"Sounds like fun," Jessi cuts in, hands on her hips. "But what's the catch, Moon?"

Moon's lips curl into what might actually be a grin—holy shit, someone document this rare occurrence—before he drops the bomb: "You must stick together at all times, no one can be left behind. And remember, the forest can be deceptive. Stay alert." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Whoever wins gets to choose sleeping tent and partner."

Well, fuck.

The clearing erupts into motion as people start grouping up, and suddenly you're caught in the middle of what feels like the world's most dangerous game of musical chairs.

Your team's a weird mix, but maybe that's the point.

There's Jessi, JM, and Takama—the powerhouse trio you actually know—plus a handful of faces you usually just pass in the castle hallways.

There's Hyun from Medical, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but manages to radiate competence anyway. Seojoon from Cyber's got that twitchy energy all AD's people seem to share, like he's searching for a WiFi signal in this godforsaken forest. And then there's Minji from Stealth, who moves like she's made of smoke—seriously, how does she make hiking look graceful?

"Okay, team." Jessi's already taking charge, because of course she is. Her ponytail swings as she surveys your group like a general reviewing troops. "We've got a diverse set of skills here, and we're going to use them to win this."

JM hums in agreement, somehow making his oversized cardigan look appropriate for a hike. "Let's keep communication open and clear."

"The flag's probably hidden somewhere difficult," Takama cuts in. You've seen him around Jeon enough to recognize that tactical mind at work. "We should start in the denser areas."

The others chime in with their two cents—Hyun promising to play medic (thanks, but let's not need that), Seojoon muttering about search grids like this is some kind of programming problem, and Minji suggesting stealth like she's on an actual mission.

You nod along, trying not to roll your eyes at how seriously everyone's taking this glorified scavenger hunt. "Alright, we've got a plan. Let's just... not die in the process?"

Your ragtag team heads into the forest, and wow, Moon really picked the worst terrain possible. The ground's basically trying to trip you with every step, and these bushes are definitely winning the war against your clothes. But between Seojoon's weirdly effective grid system and Minji's silent-assassin routine, you're actually making decent progress.

Maybe this won't be a total disaster after all.

You can't help but grin as you listen to Jessi and JM's back-and-forth.

"You know," Jessi starts, that trademark smirk of hers making an appearance, "I'm not one for all this sneaking around. If it were up to me, I'd charge through these woods, make a beeline for that flag, and dare anyone to try and stop me."

JM chuckles, and you swear you can feel the calming effect it has on everyone. "That's exactly why we're here, Jessi. To learn different approaches. Besides, subtlety can be just as powerful as brute force, don't you think?"

"Maybe there's some strength in silence," Jessi admits, nodding at Minji. "But come on, it's hard to deny the rush of a good brawl."

"I get that," JM says, his eyes scanning the trees like he's trying to find a hidden Excel spreadsheet or something. "But we're a team. This is about more than just strength. It's about using our heads, too."

Jessi lets out a laugh that probably scares off half the wildlife in a five-mile radius. She claps JM on the back, and you wince, half-expecting him to topple over. But nope, he doesn't even flinch.

Guess that cardigan's hiding some muscle.

"That's why you're here, Jimin," Jessi grins. "You keep us grounded and thinking. But if we do come across another team, I'm not holding back!"

"You wouldn't be Jessi if you did," JM responds with a smile that's way too sweet for a guy who probably knows twenty-five ways to launder money through a lemonade stand. "Just make sure to keep that energy until we find the flag. We'll need it."

You watch as they fall into step together, and it's kind of... nice? In a weird, 'we're-all-criminals-but-hey-found-family' kind of way.

"You're the calm to my storm, Chimchim," Jessi says, and oh, this is the first time you're seeing her softer side. "But let's not forget, we've got Chaewon in another team and there's no way I'm letting her beat us."

JM grins, and you swear you can see the gears turning in that big brain of his. "Not a chance. We've got this." His eyes flick to Jessi's feet. "Just watch your step, though. Can't have you charging off and spraining an ankle. We need you in top form, Jessi."

You bite back a snort. Leave it to JM to be all caring while also low-key telling Jessi to chill the fuck out.

As you trudge along behind them, you can't help but wonder what the other teams are up to. E̶s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'s.

Not that you care. Nope. Not at all.

Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you realize with growing irritation that your water bottle is probably sitting pretty back at camp, completely useless to you right now. Great going, genius.

You're in the middle of cursing your own stupidity when Takama falls into step beside you. For Jeon's second-in-command, he's surprisingly... not terrifying?

"You look like you could use this," he says, offering his canteen with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. It's weird seeing such a genuine expression on someone from the Assassination Division.

"Thanks, Takama." You accept the water, trying not to look as desperately thirsty as you feel. "I can't believe I left mine back at camp."

The water hits different when you're this thirsty. You try not to chug it like some dehydrated gremlin, but it's a close call.

"It happens to the best of us," he says, and there's something almost kind in his voice. "Just remember to stay hydrated. We've got a long day ahead of us."

You hand back his canteen, feeling weirdly touched by the gesture. "I owe you one."

"No worries. We're all here to look out for each other, right?"

He says it so easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we're not all part of a criminal organization where trust usually comes with a price tag.

It hits you then—Takama's actually nice. Not in that fake, calculated way some gang members are, but genuinely considerate. The kind of person who notices when someone's struggling and helps without making a big deal out of it.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, radiating both competence and awareness at the same time. You can't help but think it's almost funny how he ended up as Jeon's right hand—they're like night and day. Where Jeon's all storm clouds and sharp edges, Takama's more like... well, a really deadly teddy bear with a shaved head?

A soft kiwi, maybe?

What even is this gang anymore?

Hyun's voice interrupts your inner chatter. "Eyes peeled, everyone. We're approaching a likely area."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. No shit, Sherlock.

And then the trees loom overhead, casting weird shadows that make every bush look like a potential hiding spot. You're starting to think Moon's got a sadistic streak, making you play hide and seek in this green maze.

Minji glides forward like some forest nymph, graceful and silent. It's almost annoying how effortlessly she moves. You, on the other hand, feel about as stealthy as a drunk elephant.

"We're making good progress," Seojoon mutters, probably to his imaginary friend.

The guy's been muttering to himself this whole time. You're half convinced he's got a spreadsheet running in his head.

The sun's starting to dip, painting everything in that Instagram-worthy golden hour light. It'd be pretty if it didn't also mean you're running out of time, because where the fuck is the goddamn flag?

You all keep moving together until Jessi throws up her hand like she's hailing a taxi in the middle of the woods.

"You hear that?" she whispers, and there's this glint in her eye that screams 'trouble'.

You strain your ears and—oh. Oh shit. That's definitely the sound of people nearby. Your heart does this weird little skip, part 'fuck yeah' and part 'oh fuck'.

"We move quiet, we move fast," Jessi hisses. "Remember, they're not expecting us. We've got the element of surprise. Let's use it."

You all nod like a bunch of bobbleheads and spread out. You try your best to channel your inner Minji, but you're pretty sure you look more like a constipated ninja.

Jessi peeks over some bushes, and bam—there it is.

The flag.

Your golden ticket to a decent night's sleep and maybe, just maybe, a chance to stick it to Jeon.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're surprised it hasn't alerted the other team.

This is it.

You watch as Jessi's eyes narrow, and you know that look. She's not just seeing what's there—she's looking for all the ways this could go wrong.

Then it happens. A rustle in the trees that's definitely not the wind, and before you can process it, you spot him. V, looking like some demented forest creature, perched in a tree like he's auditioning for a horror movie.

The moment Jessi and V lock eyes, the whole atmosphere shifts. Because fuck. You've seen enough of the chiefs' competitive bullshit to know this is about to get wild.

They both move at once, like someone fired a starting gun. V launches himself from the tree with that unnatural grace of his—so that's where Minji's gotten it from huh?—while Jessi... well, Jessi does what Jessi does best: something absolutely batshit crazy.

Instead of going for the flag like a normal person, she fucking roundhouse kicks the pole. The flag goes flying through the air like some patriotic frisbee, and you have to bite back a laugh because of course she'd pull something like this.

The look V and Jessi share is almost funny—like two cats who just realized they're both after the same mouse. Although it seems to be accompanied by this weird respect, probably buried under layers of competitive spite.

They both land, and V's got that smile on his face. You know the one—that 'I'm about to be an absolute shit' smile that you're really starting to associate with him.

"Well, well," he drawls, brushing off his hands like he didn't just parkour through the forest. "I must say, Jessi, you still know how to make a man's heart race."

Jessi straightens up, and you can practically feel the eye roll coming. "Please, V. The day you can outmaneuver me is the day the Council of Nine turns into a knitting circle."

V's chuckle is low and lazy, like he has all the time in the world. His grin stretches wide, equal parts mischief and provocation.

"But isn't that what makes it so fun?" He gestures between himself and Jessi with a flourish. "You, all brute force and chaos. Me, dripping with finesse. A perfect match, don't you think?"

Jessi crosses her arms, utterly unimpressed. Her gaze could cut steel, but V? He's eating it up.

"Finesse? Is that what we're calling your sneaky little stunts now? Sounds like bullshit with extra steps to me."

The air suddenly turns... weird. Like it's cracking with adrenaline and... whatever the hell their dynamic is. Though it's clear neither is willing to flinch, and the rest of you might as well not exist.

"Ah, but—" V bows theatrically, one arm sweeping out like he's on a stage instead of about to throw hands. "Subtlety is an art form. And me? I'm nothing short of a masterpiece. You know, not everyone gets the honor of sparring with the Stealth Chief."

Jessi barks out a laugh so sharp it echoes through the trees, momentarily silencing the usual rustle of leaves.

"Stealth Chief? Is that what you call scurrying around like some feral house cat? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but sneaking isn't exactly fighting. It's just running away in slow motion."

Her stance shifts slightly, weight rolling to the balls of her feet. It's the kind of posture that makes you take a cautious step back, because you've heard of Jessi when she's motivated, and it's not pretty—for the idiot on the receiving end.

V doesn't even blink. Instead, his smirk deepens, resilient as ever.

"Coward, hmm? That's what sore losers say when they can't keep up." He tuts softly, shaking his head as if she's the one being unreasonable.

Oh, boy.

You can almost feel Jessi's hackles rise. Her eyes narrow into slits, a dangerous glint stealing across her face.

"The only finesse you're gonna have is figuring out how to pick your teeth out of the dirt, pretty boy."

It's like the temperature drops a few degrees—or maybe it's just the shadow of their looming chaos. Everyone else stays frozen, like one wrong move will get them caught in the crossfire, and honestly? You wouldn't blame them.

V circles her slowly, scornful expression still intact, obviously. But there's an edge to it now, playful but keen, like the blade of a knife.

"Oh, Jess," his voice turns mocking, "I'd consider you competition... if we were in the same league."

And that's it. That's the match to her gasoline fire.

Jessi lunges first—of course she does. She's all instinct, fast and explosive, and it's honestly terrifying how much energy she has left even after the trek through the forest. Her feint is quick, purposeful, a snap to the left designed to bait him.

But V's not a rookie. He doesn't take the bait. Instead, he stays planted, watching her with that maddening patience of his, tracking her every move like she's easy to figure out.

"Come on, V," Jessi taunts, her voice bright. "What's the matter? Scared I'll knock that smirk off your face?"

V leans back slightly, just enough to dodge her next swipe. He looks far too calm, that smirk of his like a permanent fixture.

"Oh, Jessi, Jessi, Jessi." His voice is mockingly soothing, like he's trying to calm a rabid dog. "I'd actually have to notice you to be scared."

You don't know whether to laugh or take cover. Probably both.

V springs into action like some unholy mixture of a cat and a ninja. This is the first time you've seen him fight, and honestly you're not entirely sure he's actually trying.

Maybe it's just the pure glee radiating off him as he dances around Jessi's attacks.

Jessi's not making it easy for him. She's fierce, determined—and girl's got stamina for days. But V? The bastard's treating this like his own personal performance art, ducking and weaving like he does this while eating a bagel for breakfast.

"Come on, Joo," V taunts, narrowly avoiding Jessi's grab. "Getting slow in your old age?"

"I'll show you slow, you little shit!"

Suddenly V feints left and Jessi takes the bait, lunging forward with enough force to probably knock out a bear. But V's already spinning away, cackling as he dives for the flag.

His fingers brush the fabric, and for a second, you think he's got it. But Jessi? She's not Logistics Chief for nothing. She hooks her foot around his ankle—dirty move, you love it—sending him slightly off balance. It's not much, but it's enough.

They both grab the flag at almost the same moment, and suddenly it's a weird game of tug-of-war mixed with what looks like interpretive dance. V's got the advantage of height, but Jessi's got pure stubborn determination on her side.

"Let go, you overgrown weed!" Jessi grunts, yanking hard.

"Ladies first," V purrs, and you see the exact moment Jessi's eye twitches.

She does something then—some crazy mix of a twist and a roll that makes you dizzy just watching—and suddenly V's grip slips. The flag comes free, and Jessi stumbles back, barely keeping her balance but clutching her prize like it's made of gold.

V's jaw falls, and it's like he's about to curse her out.

But then, he simply straightens up, brushing dirt from his clothes with exaggerated care. His hair's a mess and there's a leaf stuck to his shoulder, but he's still grinning.

"Well played, Jessi." The words come out warm, genuine. "You've still got the moves."

Jessi's victory dance consists mainly of waving the flag in V's face. "Not too shabby yourself, pretty boy. But let's not forget who the winner is here."

You watch them, these two ridiculous powerhouses of Kkangpae, playfully shoving each other like actual siblings.

Maybe this is exactly what Moon wanted you to see.

The walk back to camp feels like a victory parade.

If... victory parades involved a bunch of criminals trampling through the woods.

Jessi's leading the charge, waving that flag like she just conquered a small country.

The clearing comes into view, and suddenly you're all celebrities. The other teams are gathered around, some actually cheering, others looking like they just bit into a lemon. You catch a few eye rolls—sore losers much?

"And then—" Jessi's voice booms across as she launches into her dramatic retelling. She demonstrates her kick, nearly taking out a poor sapling in the process. "—the flag was mine!"

"Ours." JM corrects.

You bite back a laugh. Trust Jessi to turn a game of capture the flag into an epic saga.

"That's my girl!" Chaewon hollers from the sidelines, looking like a proud mom at a soccer game. She bounces over to Jessi, and they fall into their usual rhythm of playful jabs and inside jokes.

The attention shifts to JM, who's scanning the crowd intently—but before he can even open his mouth, V materializes next to him like some kind of demented jack-in-the-box.

"Come on, JM," V purrs, draping himself over JM's shoulders. "You know you want to bunk with me. I'll keep the monsters away."

JM sighs, but you catch that little smile he's trying to hide.

"I suppose someone needs to make sure you don't terrorize the entire camp." He shakes his head, fond exasperation written all over his face. "Fine, you win."

Now it's your turn. You glance around the clearing, weighing your options. Your eyes land on Yunjin, and something in your chest settles.

After all this chaos, her gentle presence feels like finding a quiet corner in a noisy room.

"I choose Yunjin," you say, and watch her face light up like a sunrise. "We'll take a two-person tent."

"I'd like that," she replies softly, and you know you made the right choice.

At least someone in this camp won't try to murder you in your sleep.

Hopefully.

The sun finally gives up its assault as evening rolls in.

Everyone's hustling around, pitching tents like they actually know what they're doing (spoiler: most don't), while someone gets a bonfire going. You find yourself plopped down next to Yunjin, watching the flames dance.

The clearing's alive with chatter and laughter—gang members discussing random stuff like normal citizens.

You notice from your periphery that Chaewon and Jessi are cackling about something, probably roasting someone (metaphorically, for once).

Their friendship hits different when you see them like this, all guard down and genuine.

Not far from them, V's got JM trapped in what looks like the world's most animated conversation. He's all dramatic hand gestures and shit-eating grins while JM just sits there, dropping these little zingers that have V practically bouncing.

The fire crackles, bottles clink, and for a moment it's like... you're at some normal camping trip.

If normal meant with your dysfunctional criminal found family thing.

"Alright, folks!" V slaps his thigh like some demented camp counselor, grinning like he just thought of the best worst idea ever. "How about we spice things up a bit? Never Have I Ever—you drink if you've done it."

The response is a mix of "hell yeah" and "oh god no," but you know everyone's going to play anyway. That's just how V's chaos works—it's like a black hole, sucking everyone into its orbit.

AD shifts against his log, looking way too comfortable for someone sitting on literal dirt.

"This should be good," he drawls, and you can practically see the blackmail material forming in his brain.

"Just remember," J-Hope cuts in, trying (and failing) to sound responsible, "I'm not drinking tonight."

You notice how AD's eyes flick to him for just a second, unspoken words being thrown into the space between them.

You don't have enough time to decipher it though, because soon enough everyone is grabbing their drink (or in J-Hope's case, what looks suspiciously like apple juice).

This is either going to be the best team-building exercise ever or the start of World War III.

"Never have I ever..." V drawls, and you just know he's about to say something stupid. "Gotten a tattoo I regretted the next day."

A few drinks go up, and AD mutters something about a phoenix that sounds suspiciously like a drunk decision gone wrong. You catch J-Hope trying not to laugh at that—probably because he's the one who had to deal with the infection afterward.

The game picks up speed, stories getting bolder with each round. Your brain's starting to feel fuzzy around the edges when it's your turn.

"Never have I ever..." You tap your bottle against your chin, grinning. "Bailed someone out of jail before sunrise."

The response is instant—bottles going up everywhere like some weird criminal toast. Jeon takes a particularly long drink, and you can't help but wonder how many times he's had to rescue his disaster squad from lockup.

"Never have I ever," AD announces, shooting J-Hope that shit-eating grin of his, "been caught in a ridiculous, bright yellow suit that could be seen from space.

J-Hope doesn't miss a beat. "Never have I ever walked into a glass door because I was too busy admiring my own reflection."

The clearing erupts with laughter, and AD shoves him like he wants to murder him. You swear these two are one bickering session away from either killing each other or adopting each other.

Then it's your leader's turn, and she confesses to some wild midnight adventure that has Jessi cackling, and then Jessi drops the bomb about her secret karaoke obsession—which weirdly, surprises nobody.

The alcohol's doing its job, making everything feel warm and loose, when V suddenly turns to you. His eyes are glinting with mischief in the firelight, and you know you're about to be targeted.

"Your turn," he purrs, and everyone's eyes swing your way. "Let's hear something juicy."

Oh, it's on.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the fire's dancing in your vision, making faces blur like some abstract painting—but suddenly you've got what might be either the best or worst idea ever.

You lean forward, propping your elbows on your knees, and oh—maybe sitting up so fast wasn't the smartest move. Still, you've committed now.

"Never have I ever," you drawl, feeling particularly bold (or stupid), "found someone in this circle attractive."

The silence that follows is delicious.

Then, the clearing erupts in laughter and the telling clink of bottles.

Your eyes scan the circle, catching all those little tells—the shifted gazes, the not-so-subtle glances. And then—

Oh.

Across the fire, Jeon moves. It's subtle—barely anything at all. But you see it. The way his dark eyes find yours, steady and unwavering, even as he lifts his bottle to his lips.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your breath catches, just for a moment, before you collect yourself. The fire crackles as if mocking the heat suddenly pooling in your chest. Goddamn him.

Yunjin's trying (and failing) to be subtle about her giggles, taking the tiniest sip from her bottle. Next to her, Eunchae's practically glowing, her laugh carrying across the fire as she drinks.

Kazuha makes drinking look like some fancy tea ceremony, all grace and poise, while Sakura's grinning like she's got secrets to spare. They share this look that makes you wonder if there's a story there.

And then; there's Takama. His face does this thing where it's completely blank before he drinks, but there's this little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth that says he's in on some joke the rest of you aren't.

V, though? He doesn't even hesitate. "Looks like we've got a crowd full of admirers," he says dramatically, raising his bottle like he's toasting to a room full of fans.

Your eyes catch how they flick toward JM for just a split second, and well—that's interesting.

Laughter ripples through the group again, and the tension eases, though your heart hasn't quite caught up yet.

It's still hammering in your chest, louder than it has any right to be, especially with Jeon sitting there, calm as a fucking statue.

You dare another glance at him, only to find his eyes still on you, half-lidded but watching.

Always watching.

The firelight dances across his face, catching on the silver of his lip ring, the sharp line of his jaw. You can't read him, and that pisses you off more than it probably should.

"Think you're clever, huh?" V says, pulling you back to the moment. His voice is teasing, but there's that signature chaos behind it, something wild and unapologetic. "Careful, sweetheart. Questions like that just set the wolves loose."

You smirk, forcing your gaze away from Jeon. "Good thing I don't mind wolves."

V laughs, throwing his head back dramatically as if you've just made his entire night. Meanwhile, Jeon hasn't moved, hasn't said a word. But you swear you can feel the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Like the goddamn hurricane he is.

You don't miss how JM takes a slow, deliberate sip from his bottle, and that little smirk playing on his lips. His eyes flick briefly toward V before darting away.

Huh.

"Guess we're all a bit fucked up, huh?" Jessi announces with 0 subtlety, taking a long drink and throwing a wink across the fire.

J-Hope leans back against his log, grinning despite his apple juice. "What can we say? We're a good-looking bunch."

Coming from anyone else, it might sound conceited. But J-Hope manages to make it sound like he's sharing some universal truth.

AD just sits there with that infuriating eyebrow raised, looking like he's cataloging every reaction for future reference—and the way his lips curve up at the corners... Yeah, he's probably acquiring blackmail material.

The game keeps going, and you all keep drinking. Everyone redoubles on the alcohol, guards slip a little bit and then the fire's dying down, but the energy around the circle is still very much present.

You blame the booze for the way your skin prickles every time you feel Jeon's gaze slide over to you.

Not that you're keeping track.

The crowd around the fire thins out as the night deepens.

A few stragglers remain—Yunjin and Eunchae huddled together like gossiping schoolgirls, while Kazuha and Sakura stare into the flames like they're trying to divine their futures or something.

You sit there, watching the fire die down, feeling that pleasant buzz from earlier starting to fade.

Then you spot it—a tiny orange glow in the darkness, like a misplaced star.

Cigarette.

And there's only one brooding asshole who'd be lurking in the shadows at this hour.

You get up, picking your way through what feels like a minefield of sleeping bags and empty bottles. You make it through some trees and bushes, and an owl hoots somewhere in the distance, probably judging your life choices.

Then he's there.

Jeon.

Standing there like some noir film character, all broad shoulders and moody silence.

The cigarette between his lips is the only thing giving him away in the darkness.

Dramatic bastard.

"Smoking again?" You try to keep your voice casual, but it comes out softer than intended. Maybe it's the lingering alcohol, or maybe it's just... him.

He doesn't even flinch—of course he doesn't. Mr. Perfect Assassin probably knew you were coming before you did.

He takes a long drag before answering, smoke curling from his lips.

"Yeah." His voice is rough, low. "Had to hide from J-Hope. He'd have my ass for this."

"And here I thought you quit." You lean against his tree, close enough to smell that addictive mix of tobacco and him.

Pine and wood and petrichor.

He finally turns to look at you, and fuck—the way the cigarette's glow catches his features should be illegal.

That smirk doesn't help either.

"Old habits die hard."

"Bad for your health, you know." You're not sure why you're still talking, but something about this moment feels... different. Significant.

His laugh is dark, barely there. "Ain't much about our lives that's good for health, is there?"

Silence falls between you, like tiny droplets of water during a sizzle.

You both know what this is—what it isn't.

You watch him take another drag, mesmerized by the way his lips wrap around the filter. The only sounds are some distant snoring and the occasional hoot of that judgmental owl from earlier.

"You ever think about quitting? For real, I mean?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Blame it on the lingering alcohol, or maybe just the way the moonlight catches on his lip ring.

Jeon rolls the cigarette between his fingers, and you try not to stare at the way they move.

Really try.

"Sometimes," he murmurs.

And god, his voice shouldn't sound like that—all gravely and burnt at the edges from the nicotine dragging down his throat.

"But it's like this—" He gestures vaguely at the darkness around you, at your whole fucked-up world. "It's a part of me. Even if it's not the best part."

Your eyes drift to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, lingering maybe a second too long on his lips as they part to release another cloud of smoke. There's something dangerous about the way he looks right now, something that has you holding yourself back from doing something stupid.

Something really stupid.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach out and snatch the cigarette right from between his lips. His expression shifts from surprise to something else, something you can't quite grasp. His mouth stays slightly parted, just for a moment, before he catches himself.

You bring the cigarette to your own lips, taking a slow drag. The filter's still warm from his mouth. You hold his gaze as you inhale, watching the way his eyes track the movement.

"Look at you," he finally says, voice rough and low, "preaching about bad habits."

You exhale, letting the smoke curl between you like a secret. "Consider it a public service. Just looking out for you."

You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips.

He leans in—fuck—close enough that you can smell pine and rain and tobacco.

"By taking on the bad habits yourself?" His tone is teasing, but his eyes... his eyes are something else entirely.

Another drag, slower this time.

You're playing with fire and you know it.

"Someone's got to make sure you don't fall off the wagon." Your voice comes out lower than intended, smoke dancing around your words. "Might as well be me."

Your chest burns, and you wonder if it's really just the nicotine.

Dangerous territory, babe.

You watch as Jeon's eyes track the cigarette between your fingers. He doesn't ask for it back, and somehow that feels more intimate than if he had.

"You're a hell of a contradiction, you know that?" His voice is soft, barely there, but it hits you like a punch to the gut.

You can't help the wry grin that tugs at your lips.

"Aren't we all, in this game?"

The question hovers between you like the smoke curling up from the cigarette still nestled between your lips.

Loaded.

With all the things you're not supposed to say, not supposed to want.

His laugh, when it comes, is low, obscure. Utterly dangerous. It does things to your chest that you refuse to examine too closely.

"We are," he admits, and fuck, the way he's looking at you makes your skin feel too tight. "But some of us are better at playing the part than others."

You pull the cig out of your mouth, roll it between your fingers, watching the smoke curl up toward the stars.

Anything to avoid drowning in those hurricane eyes of his.

"And which one of us isn't playing their part right now?"

You catch the way his jaw tenses, the slight shift as he leans back. It's subtle, but you think you're starting to learn to read these tiny tells of his. The way he holds himself, like he's physically stopping from moving closer.

"We're both walking a thin line here," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice—exhaustion maybe, or resignation. "You know the rules as well as I do."

"I do." The words taste bitter on your tongue. "Doesn't mean I have to like them."

Doesn't mean you have to like the way he makes you want to break them. Squash them. Fuck them.

F̶u̶c̶k̶ h̶i̶m̶.̶

He watches you like he's trying to memorize every detail, and you hate how it makes you feel exposed.

Like you're simply made of glass and he can see right through to the mess underneath.

"We don't get to pick and choose which rules to follow." His voice drops so low you almost miss it. "Not without consequences."

Consequences. It's a horrible word and you suddenly can't help hating it. Fucking stupid consequences.

You take one last drag from the cigarette, letting the burn ground you. It's almost funny how that tiny ember matches the heat that floods your system whenever he looks at you like that.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it spinning into the darkness, watching it burst into sparks before fading to nothing.

"Then I guess we're good at playing by the rules, aren't we?" Your voice stays steady, even if your pulse is doing gymnastics in your throat.

His eyes follow the dead cigarette's arc before landing back on you, and fuck—there's something in that look that makes your chest ache.

"Yeah," he says, and you catch that hint of... something in his voice. Like regret, maybe. Or defeat. "We're the best."

It's almost funny how these stolen moments have become your new normal—these little pockets of time where you both pretend you're not thinking about breaking every single atom of space between both of you.

But rules are rules, and Jeon... well, Jeon follows them like his life depends on it.

And maybe, it does.

Too bad his dedication to the rules doesn't make him any less fucking attractive.

goal: 160 notes. If we don’t hit it, I’m putting you all in Moon’s next trust fall workshop. With V as your partner. Good luck.

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

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endearng · 6 months ago

Text

Lifeline

Pairing: earlyseasons!Spencer Reid x addict!reader Summary: How does one move on after seeing the lost versions of themselves on someone else entirely? WC: 8.8k Warnings: canon criminal minds violence (m-rder); pr-stitution and mentions of sex; s.h-rm; illegal substances consumption; mentions of dr-g abuse; panic attacks; graphic suicide attempt. Minors, please, do not interact. A/N: This is heavily based on "The A Team", "Gale Song" and "evermore" and also Skins UK's character Effy Stonem. Besides that, I was also somewhat inspired by CM'S 2x11 and I messed up the timeline. Feedbacks are always welcome! | masterlist

"Her name's Amelia Holden. She was found in a dumpster in an alley of a neighborhood in central Richmond. Along with her, we have four women murdered within two weeks." JJ informed as she briefed the team about the case they were invited to work on.

Their reactions always were different. Aaron Hotcher remained unreadable, often asking about the local police's findings. Derek Morgan usually worried about victimology and the modus operandi. Emily Prentiss used to brainstorm details on the pictures. David Rossi was the one to make comparisons with previous cases. Spencer Reid busied himself with data, statistics and whatnot about the locality.

Speaking of which, "This is an high-end neighborhood, not to mention the obvious fact that it happened in the capital of Virginia. Based on that, one could think that the citizens will cooperate to solve this as fast as we can."

Derek sighed, "I wish I could tell you're wrong in different circumstances, pretty boy." Spencer frowned, eager to ask, but Derek was faster, "Truth is, these girls were all prostitutes. The rich won't give a damn if they go missing, which is pure hypocrisy based on the fact that they go where the money is, which is, well... in their neighborhood." JJ pursed her lips, taking another look at the evidence.

There were pictures of four girls, placed so carelessly in the dumpster that it was possible to deduce that they had been all thrown in there already dead. Not a single chance of survival. Not a single chance someone could save them. JJ felt a lump in her throat and looked away from the photos.

“It’s most likely a male.” Rossi said.

Emily nodded, asking, "So what do you guys think? Maybe this guy is murdering them because he thinks he's doing society a favor?"

"It could be, yes. When prostitutes are targeted, the main reason is misogyny, but we can also associate these crimes to other forms of hatred. It can also be related to power." Spencer answered. "Are there any signs of sexual abuse?"

"No, only physical violence." JJ answered. "The coroner's reports indicate that they were drugged, some of them with multiple substances. There are red bruises as well as knife scars and stabs basically all over their bodies."

"Multiple substances in their body can be a sign of addiction, but also that our unsub drugged them to make them easier to drag around." Spencer continued. “Does the lab have the substances yet?”

“Garcia is working on it.” JJ replied.

"And the amount of cuts and bruises on their bodies mean that our unsub is angry. Like, uncontrollably angry." Emily finished.

"Well, he's killed both black and white women, so we know it's not race motivated." Rossi completed Emily's train of thought. "He's been getting more and more desperate, given the depths of the cuts as he progresses, look." He said, pointing to the picture of the last victim.

Emily gulped, shaking her head lightly.

“I’d say that, given the color of the bruises, they were beaten right before they died. This unsub doesn’t keep them for much longer. Most likely, he tortures them and kills them, getting rid of them in the dumpsters. The place of disposal is rather telling.” Spencer chimed in.

"Get Garcia to look up sex offenders in that area." Hotch said. "Try to find them all, no matter what their outcome was. Close, dropped... It doesn't matter. If the theory about social cleansing is right, maybe the offender has a past history with it. On the other hand, if he's rich, he probably got away with it."

"I'll call her right now." Morgan said with a nod.

"Great. tell the Richmond PD we're getting there in a couple of hours." Hotch announces. "Wheels up in thirty."

—

Arriving in the precinct, Hotchner assigned the tasks. Rossi and Morgan would go to the latest crime scene as Reid and Prentiss looked around for possible witnesses. JJ would stay at the precinct in case something came up.

"Check this out," called Rossi. "The... instrument was big enough to go through her body, from her stomach to her back." He said.

Morgan sighed. "Intensified violence means that he's not planning on stopping any time soon."

A couple feet away, agents Reid and Prentiss talked to one of the prostitutes. "We're always here, especially at night. Some girls are here during the daytime, but you know, it's slower. Nobody wants to be seen with us." She had bloodshot eyes, a defeated expression on her features.

"Who are your usual... customers?" Reid asked, a little embarrassed to be talking to a woman who had that much expertise in a field he lacked any. A flash of worry and guilt crossed the young woman's face and she looked around as if making sure no one was listening to them.

"Don't worry, everything's classified. You're not gonna get in trouble if you talk to us. We're just trying to help." Emily said, trying to ease her nerves.

"Okay... I... The guys who work in the bank are often here. Cops, too. But they are very sneaky." She whispered, fright almost palpable in her voice.

"Did any of them ever pose a threat? Maybe too violent? Persistent?" The young doctor asked, again. She blinked at him, willing the tears not to fall.

"Most of them are just bored husbands or divorcees who want to get laid without the worry of being chased after." Looking away, she went on, "we’re the ones who can't afford to say no to the things they're into. We get the best of their roughness, so it's hard to tell." Emily gave her a sympathetic look.

From afar, you watched their interactions. The girl, whose name was Renée, looked very nervous and guilty. You approached them, looking a lot more skeptical than the emotional mess they were asking questions to. You took a look at them, took in the way they were dressed, besides the pens and notepads in their hands. The man took a second look at you, but you shrug it off, used to be perceived and not always in the best manner, given your appearance these days. “You ok, Renée?" You checked on her softly and she nodded in agreement. "Excuse me. Are you with the police?" You ask in a serene voice.

"Hi. I'm Agent Emily Prentiss and this is Doctor Spencer Reid. We're with the FBI," the dark haired woman answered, both of them showing you their badges. You nodded. "We're investigating the murder of women in this location."

Spencer looked at you as you inspected their faces. You wore casual clothes, nothing like the outfit Renée had on, and, for a moment, he thought what were you doing in there and how and why did you know her. It didn't make sense, albeit briefly, to him, why would someone so mundane be in that place, at that time. After a couple of seconds of watching you curiously, the pieces started falling into places, though. The crestfallen expression, dry skin and chapped lips... You were going through something.

He had a feeling he wasn't sure if he wanted to know what.

That is, until you actually started talking.

"Hello," you introduce yourself. "Oh, I see. I didn’t think the locals would be interested in solving these anyway."

“Why do you say that?” Emily asked, curious to know your answer.

“I suppose they don’t like the fact that some of us are so daring to the point of going to their station to report the abuse we all go through weekly,” you snorted, voice thick with disdain, although every person in the conversation was aware that it was not aimed at either of them, “like, why are we complaining? We want to do this, we are willingly here.” Emily sighed.

“I’m sorry.” Was all that Spencer could muster up.

“Anyway…” you sniffled. A telling sign. “How can we help?”

"Have you seen anyone violent around here? A-a new face, perhaps?" He asked, turning his body to face you properly. Emily looked at him, puzzled.

"Doctor, with all due respect, they are men. And they are paying. It’s basically a green light for all sorts of abuse, I'm sure Renée told you that much." You answered, in a much more certain tone than your friend had used.

"Did either of you recall anything about that night? The most basic detail can help us.” Emily inquired.

"Yeah." Renée answered with a quiver of her lip, clinging to you, trying to find some solace. You squeezed her shoulder lightly, glancing at her.

Sensing she might not be able to talk, you went on, "I can't think of anything out of the ordinary that night. I didn't notice they were missing until the next day. We try our best to watch out for each other. As I said, some men can be real creeps, but once you start your own thing, it's… hard” you exhaled, “for some of us to keep track of what's going on around us. Unless we run into each other again, we won't know for sure if we're actually safe." You explained, looking down at your feet. After a couple deep breaths that felt like you were inhaling the oxygen of the entire Earth, you looked back at them. Still avoiding eye contact, glancing between their foreheads, something you'd learned to do in order to escape the person you were with when you needed to.

Spencer watched you the entire time.

“I see,” the woman said, taking some notes. “Would you know if they share anything in common?”

“They usually stay in the park at the end of the street,” Renée answered, “They go there once things quiet down, and guys pick them up in their cars. The night they were… um, taken, was pretty intense. If they got kidnapped, we couldn’t even give you a license plate. We weren’t around.” Her voice dripped with pure guilt. You ran your thumb on her shoulder.

At the moment, though, there's something else entirely on your mind. Eventually, after a beat of silence, you decide to speak your mind, to expose your insecurities. Not worried about how you may look. Hell, it's been a long time since you stopped. "I'm sorry to press or if I sound too demanding. I know sometimes things get out of your control, but, uh, you're gonna catch this guy, right? I mean... we have to be here. I hope you don't think we have another choice."

As you talked, your soft voice and pleading eyes drew Spencer's attention to you with even more intensity. Your voice and mannerisms weren't something he was expecting. He berated himself after realizing how he was in the wrong by assuming you’d portray yourself in a certain way because of the area you worked in. Your voice was low, but firm. Your words were understanding, but demanding. Your posture was almost defensive, but the desperation of your tone told them how terrified you were. He couldn't help but notice the fact that you were sniffing quite often. His profiling skills were faster than himself and he made the conclusion that, given the line of your work, he presumed it most likely wasn’t only a cold.

Spencer knew, then, that you shared something in common with him. Something bad.

Again, not something he wanted to know about.

Emily opened her mouth to speak, but Spencer beat her to it, "We're gonna do the best we can, Miss."

"Glad to hear that," you muttered, unable to look him in the eye.

“Thanks for your time.” Emily said, a gentle smile on her face.

Spencer watched from the corner of his eye as you and René left, walking arm in arm. In a safe distance from everyone else, he saw as your friend broke down in your arms and as you comforted her, even if you had your own tears streaming down your face. He had reached Morgan and Rossi when you two walked away. Emily studied his face attentively, wondering why he was so fast to assure a possible victim like that, because, one, it was unlike him to want to partake in such sensitive conversations with the ones involved in the process. Two, what kind of agent, doctor, official, profiler, whatever, makes promises before such an intricate process such as their work?

“So, did you get anything?” Rossi asked him, breaking him out of his reverie.

“Oh, yeah. Those two women said that the victims usually waited for clients in the park right down the street.” Emily said.

“I think we should go take a look.” Spencer suggested.

Searching the park, which was full of passersby and families just spending some time outside their houses, Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling that this case had already hit him too close to home. The violence was something that still messed with his head and he thought he could never recover from the flashes of memories behind his eyelids once he closed his eyes to sleep every night. Still, it wasn’t that that baffled him the most, but you. He knew what it was like to struggle with addiction. He had been very harsh on Emily not long ago, during a withdrawal, so he knew aggressiveness and mood swings were to be expected. You and your mannerisms, however, were totally out of the addiction bingo. The way you looked, so broken, so sick, in every sense of the word, didn’t stop you from having a polite conversation with them, even if the topic was very much concerning to you. Plus, the caring nature you seemed to have and the way you made sure to be supportive towards you and the others who, just like you, went through hell every day for the most unspeakable reasons stood out to him.

It was intriguing, to say the least.

“Hey, I got something.” Morgan said as he approached the team with a piece of paper. “It says: They will not do it again.”

“Who’s they?” Rossi inquired.

“Maybe the prostitutes. The only way of stopping them is killing them.” Spencer answered, albeit his thoughts were still far, far away from the scene.

“But stop them from doing what? Causing a divorce? Being a homewrecker? Polluting the city?” She wondered out loud.

“These are all valid possibilities,” Rossi nodded, “we now know from your interview that rich men are regulars here. Maybe one of them was unfaithful and snapped after getting his divorce. Now, he might be taking it out on these girls.” He finished.

“We still need to figure that out.” Morgan sighed. “Hey, babygirl, we need a favor,” Derek said once Penelope picked up his call. “Can you check every upper-class man in Richmond that has recently gotten a divorce?”

“Sure thing, handsome,” she quipped, “it might take some time, though. And I know you’ll need to narrow it down.”

“We’ll keep you posted. Thanks, babygirl.”

“Always happy to help, hot stuff.”

—

Back at the station, the BAU team was surrounded by cops, sharing their findings so far. Spencer was the one to make sure that the cops would be on duty and laser focused on the areas he determined through the geographical profile. Those areas were most likely the ones the next attack would take place. He emphasized, very intently, that they needed cops especially in darker alleys and that they were looking for a male in his thirties.

Spencer couldn't shake the thought of dread that crept up on him, making him almost paralyzed. The fear of getting to the unsub, of letting him get away, of being too late, of being too early, of not being enough. Every scenario was the worst, his mind working overtime to make sure he had at least an ounce of optimism for months on end, ever since he finally managed to stay clean off Dilaudid. The cops moved around, divided between groups to start surveillance. And the dread kept building inside of him, like a crescendo of horror.

Sitting next to Emily, he decided to break the morbid silence hanging over them. “I'm sorry I lashed out on you, Emily. I don't think I ever apologized.”

Totally not expecting his words, she looked at him, wide-eyed. It took her a second to gather her thoughts and form an answer. “It's no problem. I know what you were going through.”

“Still. It doesn't change much. It's not a good enough excuse for me to treat others poorly.” He couldn't look at her, fiddling with his fingers instead.

“Reid, why do I sense you're talking about something else?”

He sighed. He was so, so tired of keeping it in, of bottling everything in, of swallowing his words so as to not make anyone uncomfortable. “I am.” He confessed, after a moment of silence.

Maybe staying quiet was less morbid than the conversation they were about to have, he mused.

“What happened?”

“That girl, today. The second one. I could tell she's having issues. The same as me, I mean. And she was so nice the entire time. She was trying to make her friend feel better.”

“Spencer…” Emily breathed out, a somewhat reprimanding look on her face. Not that he could see it. “This comparison is unfair on so many levels. First, you've seen her for what? Five minutes? We don't know what she's been through, if she has a family… There are so many possibilities. Maybe she was having a good day—”

“How does one have a good day knowing that they have very high chances of being killed?” He interrupted. A sigh left Emily's lips.

“I don't know. But you do understand why that comparison you made was unfitting, to say the least, right?”

Right on cue, to make the subject die, he muttered a “I guess.” so she could drop the subject. From afar, Spencer watched as you left a building with a glare on your face. He wondered what you were feeling and if your expression always told you off.

“There she is. Not looking happy.” Emily said, simply, not relating it to the use of any substances out of respect. She could only imagine what he was going through, being forced to watch someone she loves slowly lose themselves over something so trivial, but at the same time, dangerous as a substance.

Spencer pressed his lips on a thin line.

—

You laid there, on a big, albeit uncomfortable bed, simply enduring the sloppy, much erratic thrusts of a man who was old enough to be your dad. Grandfather, if you pushed it a little bit. Internally, you chuckled bitterly at the thought, because those two decided to want distance from you a long, long time ago. You had turned out into a person who many people didn't want to be associated with, so you kind of understood their attitude towards you. Still, it didn't make navigating through this world all by yourself any easier. In fact, it stung harder than you cared to admit, but, for the most part of the time, you were as high as a kite — your coping mechanism to shield your brain for reminiscing about the disgusting, vile man that you had to... satisfy to avoid starving to death. It was a never ending cycle. A torturous one that you wouldn't wish upon your worst enemy.

Speaking of which, the man above you came on your stomach, meaning that the appointment had finally reached its end. You couldn't quite pinpoint if he was the first, second or even third man you've encountered that night, but you didn't care. The effects of the dope made sure you wouldn't remember them the next day. Actually, it had been a while since you had been exposed to daylight. Your routine consisted of being around all night with those men, getting home, scrubbing your skin hard enough to draw blood as you showered, trying to get rid of the feeling of the greedy, disgusting hands all over your body, sleeping all day, getting high and repeating it all over again. Some nights you didn’t have too much strength to do it all. Some days felt like they mashed together with how long it felt with the same ache, the same hole in your chest. Your life was miserable, and you often caught yourself thinking if it was worth it. And, if it was, what for?

"You're so good, princess, kept quiet all the time and shit." The man said as he pulled his shirt back on, covering his thin frame. You cleaned yourself the best you could with a washcloth. "You’re fairly pretty… If you weren't a junkie, I might take you home with me... keep you all to myself, you know?" He inquired, a smirk dancing around his features.

You didn't dignify him with an answer. Instead, you glared at him, even though he couldn't see your face, grabbed the money that had been placed in the nightstand and made a beeline to the door.

You stared at that money with burning rage. If you didn't need it so much, you would definitely tear it apart given the hatred coursing through your veins. You gulped, and it tasted bitter, and it was hard to swallow the lump in your throat. You sold yourself for something as ordinary as money, and it made you so angry because your family was swimming in it. Sometimes, you wished they would drown in it, just to see if your anger simmered down.

You weren't always like this, so... so rotten. Coming from a rich, traditional family, people expected highly from you all the time, thus, you had been an excellent, straight A's student, being the valedictorian of your class at a traditional Catholic school without your teachers needing to double check any records. You also volunteered halftime in an institute that helped old people, which made your parents immensely proud. At that time, you had gotten yourself a boyfriend, your high-school sweetheart, getting engaged to him as you started your third year at a great university, majoring in Psychology. It all went down, though, when you started struggling with addiction.

It started with lighter substances, like alcohol. You drank until you started mumbling out the words you meant to say, going even as far as embarrassing yourself and your fiancée multiple times at social gatherings that involved booze. You loved the thrill, the buzz, the lightness it made you feel, instead of the pile of anxiety that built and seeped into your very bones after being so pushed to the edge your entire life. You thought you liked your life, but after being in touch with people who had a much (what you considered to be) easier life than yours, you started to let loose. Since you didn't have any family around you to put you on a tight leash, you lost control altogether.

When your family realized what had happened, too engrossed in their own businesses and investments and money and anything that was more important than their offsprings, it was too late. You couldn't go a day without drinking, dropping out of schoolcALT without thinking about the consequences for your future. Ironically, you knew and understood pretty well the things you were going through, but battling an addiction requires a lot of strength that you didn't know where to find, since you were all alone. After all, you had pushed all your friends away, your fiancée had walked out on you and your family basically disowned you.

Left to your own devices and unable to keep a steady, serious job, despite your background, you found yourself in the streets.

Sigh.

Opening the door to your small apartment, you got rid of the clothes that began to reek of alcohol, throwing them mindlessly on the floor. You rushed to the bathroom and stared at your own reflection for a moment, noticing the dark spots under your eyes, your dry lips and the lifeless gaze that your eyes had turned into. You had lost quite a bit of weight, now looking like a dead skull, wandering around, doomed to search for any reason to continue living in a world that had been pitch black.

In the bathtub, you scratched your skin aggressively, not being able to avoid the feeling of the remnants of several unknown men, which sensation brought up the comparison that you felt similar to a person who suffers with phantom limb pain: you couldn't see their hands, you couldn't come up with anyone's face, but you couldn't avoid sensing their touch on your skin. But, unlike the syndrome, you didn't feel pain, feeling rather like needles were seeping into your skin, deep enough to reach your bones. But, like the syndrome, it felt like it was yours. Their touch, although invisible, was forever inked into your skin.

You couldn't help the tears running down your face, mixing themselves with the water that poured from the shower. Tears of both pain, disgust, desperation, regret. It was a whirlwind of emotions that you couldn't deal with. As you left the bathroom, you downed half a bottle of vodka, hoping that it would lull you to sleep.

Maybe for good this time.

—

A loud banging on your door roused you from sleep. Your mouth felt dry and your skin felt even worse — it felt like it had been days since you last drank water. Maybe it was true. The loud noise made your head throb in pain. Curled in bed, you tried to muffle the sounds by covering your ears with your hands, but it was just as annoying. The person on the other side of the door seemed hell-bent on seeing you, but you couldn't come up with anyone other than your landlord, because your rent was supposed to be paid yesterday.

Getting up from your bed with a groan of annoyance and pain, you threw on a flannel you found on the floor. Opening the door, you were surprised to see your older brother.

"Y-you?" You asked, baffled. Embarrassed by your own appearance.

"It's me." He said, the usual serious edge to his voice. He said your name, hesitantly. "Can I come in?"

You didn't know what he wanted. The fact that you had been left alone for so long made your heart burn with anger and you wanted to slam the door in his face. You considered it for a moment, but it wouldn't take a genius to know that you needed someone with you, even if for just a couple of minutes, even if it was out of pity. You didn't mind. You relied on the kindness of people to get by, so what harm would it be in accepting a little more pity? More self loathing than you already had and constantly feeded inside you? You judged it impossible.

With a curt nod, you gave him space to enter your apartment. The place was a mess, clothes scattered around, curtains drawn closed, the darkness in the room not only caused by the absence of sunlight. Something somber stopped light from entering. Your brother looked around with an unreadable expression and saw the countless bottles everywhere, from the floor to the couch, not to mention the many white remains on the surfaces like the small coffee table. He blinked away tears, desolate to see you in that position. Desperate to find words. Desperate to find you again in that vessel of a human you had become.

Clearing his throat, “I… heard what's happening. I was worried so I came all the way here to check on you.”

You bit back a bitter laughter. How could someone be this cruel? Abandon you and then treat you like you mattered? It made you almost want to throw up. “I'm alive. Happy?” You couldn't help the snarky remark.

“Come on, you know I'm not like them.” He defended, not able to look you in the eye.

You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “If you weren't, you wouldn't have left me, too.”

“Come on, I was going through my own shit, I didn't realize what you were going through until it was too late.”

“Too late? Too late? I spent all my days wishing any of you would pick up the damn phone so that someone could come and get me before I was dead. But you're all the same. So self absorbed, so selfish, so… individualistic.” Your words were daggers, but you couldn't stop yourself from being mean, from trying to push away the only person who seemingly had an interest in helping you. Too bad you felt it was a little too late.

“Don't say that.”

At this point, the verbal vomiting was unstoppable. You sure looked like a maniac, rambling and jumping inconsistently from one topic to another, aiming to hurt him as much as they have hurt you, too. You knew what you were doing, but it felt for a moment that something else was forcing such cruelness out of your mouth. “The final blow was grandma dying, right? So you could finally pretend I don't exist. Keep doing that.”

“Let me help you.” He pleaded, coming close to you.

“I don't need your help.”

“If you don't accept it now, you're gonna spend more time wishing you had.” He said, holding your hands with his own.

“How are you going to help me? By sending me money so that I spend it all on drugs? On booze? Hah, nice one, really.”

“I wouldn't help you kill yourself.” He almost shouted, rage and sadness fighting over which would be the dominant feeling in his eyes.

“Then how? I basically just told you I'm helpless. I'm a ghost. I stopped existing a long time ago.” A sob broke through you, echoing in the walls of your dark apartment. You shut your eyes. “I don't know who I am anymore.”

Silence.

He's probably thinking everything through. Trying to find a way to let me down gently, you thought. “Let me take you somewhere safe. We'll see how it goes.”

You didn't expect that much. Despite wanting to say yes, your mouth was seemingly disconnected from your brain, so your words took a whole different turn. Instead of accepting his help, you simply stated, “I don't think I would stand to let you down again. I'm sorry.” He looks at you, bewildered, but, to you, not strong enough to put up a fight. “Can you please leave? I'm waiting for a friend.”

Defeated, he walks out the door.

You don't notice the paper with his number left on the kitchen counter. When Renée shows up, dressed in a skin-tight red dress, she sees and runs her finger on the note as if it could save her from every single risk her life could show her.

—

"We found another body."

Amidst the research and data analysis required to provide the profile, Spencer Reid got easily lost on his obligations and far too focused on his duties in order to help people as fast as he could, which was why he was seemingly terrified of one of the local officer's voice.

At the crime scene, the found body was once Renée Woods. Spencer watched from afar as the coroner examined their body and as Derek and Emily searched frantically for anything they could do to help, whether it was examining the crime scene or simply talking to the assigned legists. Spencer, unlike them, stood still. Muscles unable to make any movements besides clenching his hands in fists so tight that his somewhat long nails almost cut through the sensitive skin.

How would you take the news?

What if that was you?

The thought went as quickly as it came, because, from afar, he watched as you showed up, looking skeptical, but soon becoming hysterical once you recognized her, even from a certain distance. You could tell it was her by the clothes she was wearing. You cried hysterically, screaming as if someone had torn apart your heart with their bare hands, sobbing as if you couldn't breathe unless Renée was walking the Earth. A cop touching you, instead of soothing your turmoil, only served as a fuel to the fire raging through you. Sadness, anger, desperation, panic, everything flooding your chest, ragging your breath. You pushed the man away, trying to find a way to enter the crime scene.

Spencer finally was taking control of his body again. Approaching you, calmly, as if you would attack him too if he got too close and too abruptly, or worse, you’d run away, he made his way to you. Noticing your red-rimmed eyes, he took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”

“You said you’d do your best,” you said in a broken voice, looking him in the eye. Defeated.

Silence. All the noise seemed dull, distant, far away. You were in a bubble.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out, wide eyes looking at his confused ones. Right now, talking to you felt like whiplash. “I know it wasn’t your fault. I didn’t mean to accuse or blame you. Fuck,” you cursed, bringing your hands to your eyes. “Can I do anything to help? I can… I can try.”

Unbeknownst to you, Emily Prentiss watched your interactions with a puzzled look on her face. You looked and acted so distraught that she felt the need to approach, mindful of the damage the words from an enraged, saddened close friend of a victim would do. Unable to stop her own feet, she approached you. Spencer wouldn't utter a word. You looked nervous, looking from her to him and obsessively trying to wipe your tears that seemingly had their own will to run on your face.

"Can you come with me?" She offered, handing out a blanket for you. You looked at her and amidst the mixed feelings that the grief started etching into your eyes, you could give her a grateful glance.

By her side, you looked at Spencer, who was still frozen in place.

"I'm sorry..." You whispered, looking at the ground.

He looked straight ahead. Once you were with Emily, he glanced your way with a pitiful look on his face.

—

Days passed. You were in the precinct once they called Renée’s family to break the morbid news. You watched as her mother fell to her knees once one of them told her what had happened to her daughter. You heard the chanting of "I failed, I failed, I failed..." endlessly. And by endlessly, you mean it is still haunting you to this day.

For three days, all you did was escape reality, whether by sleeping or doing drugs. Your brother's contact sat still on the kitchen counter, collecting dust and meaning hesitation from your end.

On the fourth day, you were sober for a couple of hours. You opened the curtains and despite the darkness still loomed around, it felt better. It burned, but in a nice way. As you stared at the note in the counter, untouched, Emily Prentiss knocked on your door to let you know that they were close to catching the killer. His profile was complete, it seemed. Something about a man in his 40s taking out the frustration of his parents’ broken marriage because of his father’s infidelity and his own divorce because of his affairs. Cyclic. Looking at your wrecked state, she told you all about him.

"Why are you telling me this?" You asked as Renée’s mother chant still echoed in your mind.

"First, I thought you needed hope. Second, I was thinking you might recognize him.”

Needless to say, she was right. Your lungs burned at each breath you took, and, in that moment, you decided you would try to be strong. Stronger. Renée’s face came to mind. You had nothing left to lose if you exposed a few rich men. Thanking Emily, you said softly, your tone contrasting with the vile nature of your words, “You said he dumped the girls in a specific place, right?” She nodded. “I don’t know if anyone told you about this one place, but they take some of the girls there. It’s kind of off-radar”

As you gave her the location, her surprise betrayed her usual composure. “No, nobody did.”

“Do you think it could be helpful?”

—

You found yourself in one of aforementioned building’s room along with Dr. Spencer Reid, as sort of your protector, while the others patrolled the building and the people who came and went, and the local cops lurked around downtown, in the park. You felt nervous, reminiscing about your last interaction with the man. Taking a deep breath, you sat down on a chair. “May I ask you something?” You inquired, carefully. He hadn’t talked much to you unless it was information about what you knew and what he needed to know. He nodded at you, turning his attention to your figure. "Do you like your job? I only ask because... you know... nobody really likes this job."

"... I do, yeah." He muttered, albeit not the whole truth. It was gruesome, but he thought he could manage. Besides, you didn’t need to be exposed to even more disaster. It was bad enough as it was.

"I don’t know if you know or acknowledge this, but not many people choose to do this. It's more of a last option, the one you really don't wanna take." You justified, even though you didn’t quite know why.

You supposed it was the embarrassment that came with being with a man who knew what you did but wasn’t with you to do that.

Understanding flooded his features, a soft "I understand." making its way out of his lips.

"Thanks." I say with a tight-lipped smile. "It means a lot."

He nodded. "You keep fiddling with your necklace."

"It's a locker, actually. It's a picture of me and my grandmother. I don't wear it when I'm.. um... Anyway, it's kinda sacred to me." You chuckled, gripping the accessory tighter. “I wore it today so that it would give me the strength needed to help Renée. And myself.”

He glances at you as if he wanted to know more. After a beat of silence and deciding that it was enough, "Do you have a good relationship with her?"

"I did. We were very close, but she passed away last year, sort of giving my family the free pass to cut me out entirely. I believe they think that I was the one who killed her, my life choices and whatnot."

He furrowed his brows. "You didn't choose this."

"In a way, I did. I knew what I was doing, I just couldn't stop. It's just that... It felt good not to have so much pressure on me, you know? I felt finally free... but what did it cost me? A safe relationship, my education, my family and friends… They never gave me a chance, not even to explain myself. I needed help. Thus far, I have had company my entire life. I didn't know how to exist. Then one of those girls helped me, but I realized that she was struggling to pay rent and I needed to do something, not just sit pretty and be high with the money I had left.”

His silence was unexpected.

In reality, it was caused by the cliché of watching your life passing before your eyes took over his mind. He remembered being drugged by Tobias Hankel, he remembered the needles puncturing his skin and the relief he felt from the entire situation once the substance started running through his veins. He remembered taking Dilaudid from his abductor’s pockets and he remembered staring at his own reflection in the mirror and finding a stranger looking back at him. He remembered being given a chip of sobriety even though he wasn’t sober for that long. He remembered thinking of himself as unworthy as he became more and more dependent, especially when he couldn’t even disguise how affected, how it changed him. Looking at your defeated face, he muttered, “I understand. It changes your perception of things and yourself.”

You could act oblivious and assume that his knowledge of the topic came from books, but you don’t see that expression on just anybody’s face. You felt sorry for him. Sensing he didn’t want to talk about himself any further, even if, in your opinion, wasn’t nearly enough for someone who had battled something as deep as an addiction, you decided to respect his wish. You talked about yourself instead, hoping to give him something, someone to relate to, as you desperately wanted for yourself. “I wasn’t always like this.”

“I’m sure you weren’t.” His voice held that tinge of something you couldn’t quite describe, something distant, but so close at the same time. He saw himself in you, almost if he was talking to himself.

He might have had Penelope check your background. Something about the lost potential resonated deep within him, and it made him all the more anxious to be close to you, to repair something he hadn’t been the one to break. As he looked at you, all he could see was someone in dire need of something, someone to grasp onto. “How does one manage to move past all that?"

Despite the will growing and boiling inside of him, he couldn’t just come up with a magic solution to cut through the darkness surrounding you. "Honestly, I don't know." You couldn’t see when he gulped.

"It's a long way from home. At least, for me."

For a moment, you looked at each other, mouths shut, not a single beat of sound around you. You looked at him, searching for answers and for someone to relate to. Spencer hesitated for a moment, the silence hanging over you like a fog. He wasn't trying to seem disinterested or unkind, but he felt as if his curt phrases weren’t enough to calm your heart. He spoke again, his voice softer, offering a hint of deeper sincerity, "Sorry, I..." he trailed off, unsure how to convey his thoughts without making the situation more hurtful. "I'm sure you can manage it with the right people."

Your grip on your locket softened, letting it fall close to your chest once you let it go. Looking at him, a soft melody started playing in your head.

Patience.

“I’m sorry,” you said, earnestly, which made him look at you with recognition. “Thanks for talking to me. It’s been a while.”

I missed this feeling.

—

After a few moments, the BAU team had captured the man before he could collect another soul. Everything happened so fast. In one moment, you were in a superficially verbal conversation with Spencer. Despite the shallow nature of the words exchanged, digging deeper, the interaction was filled to the brim with meaning, which made you rethink a thing or two. You shared that much with him.

“Goodbye.” He said, simply. To you, he was not one to speak much. “You’ll be home by spring.” I can’t wait ‘til then, he thought.

“Goodbye, doctor.”

Next thing you knew, as you got home, all by yourself, you decided to reach out for your brother. Telling him you needed help, that you were pessimistic but that it would be foolish not to at least try.

Days at rehab went on as smoothly as they could, considering you were suffering with withdrawal. Your behavior and emotions swayed like waves on a lake surface on a windy day. Deeply unstable, your mind was forced to remember all the hell you’ve been through on a daily basis for the last sad months of your life. Grieving for the version of you you could have been, for Renée, for your sense of self, self-respect and whatever you had lost during those dark times. Often, your hands trembled, you felt cold in a warm, cozy room and there were times your skin felt ablaze, not to mention the whirlwind of thoughts that made your head hurt. You missed feeling numb.

And when I was shipwrecked, I thought of you.

Still, there were afternoons that you would sit on the porch of your bedroom and simply take in the surroundings. The green grass that was taken better off by the employees like it was someone’s first born. The other patients who walked around and closed their eyes as they felt the sun kissing their skin for what it felt like the first time in years. The trees that casted shadows on the grass so that some of them could lay beneath them. The breeze that engulfed your figure and gently touched you, unlike you had been treated. The immense sense of belonging to this existence, of not longer being a stranger to your own life. You would take deep breaths and your lungs wouldn’t ache like before. You pictured the two reasons responsible for making you take the decision that brought you to this place sitting next to you. You held what was left of one of them between your fingertips.

The sudden and constant mood swings made your attitude change at breakneck speed.

Tonight, taking a quick break from the notebook you were scribbling on, you took a look around you. At that moment, everything around you was spinning. You couldn’t breathe, feeling as if the hands that touched you in the past stopped you from inhaling oxygen altogether. You shut your eyes closed and tried to breathe in like the doctors had told you to when things got too hard — it was not working. Panicking further, you stumbled your way to the ensuite bathroom and took a good look at your reflection. You felt shivers running down your body, an uncomfortable feeling sitting in the pit of your stomach as you desperately tried to turn on the faucet to splash some cold water to your face. Unsuccessful, to say the least.

The feeling grew as time went by. You couldn’t stand the discomfort and the memories and the feeling of being inappropriate to go back to living in the real world again. For a moment, you quieted your struggle. You gave in. You glanced at the mirror and although the tears blurred your vision, you were able to wonder if that was your opportunity of finally having the control of your life back. Maybe it was for the better, you thought as you reached for the small blade you secretly kept on the bathroom window. As you started feeling dizzy by the lack of oxygen, you couldn’t help but to think back to the interaction you exchanged with Spencer before you thought of accepting your brother’s offer. Picturing his face, of himself as a person and as a professional, you thought that, for a moment, he was a reflection of all that you wanted to be, all you wanted for yourself.

The blood that gushed from the open cuts of your arms, that drained from your body, felt like the catharsis you needed from all the mishaps that had taken place in your life. As you watched it dribble down your skin and as it stained the floor, you took a deep, difficult breath, feeling lightheaded. No thoughts swarmed your mind anymore. A sob, from both the dull sting of the cuts and of your difficulty breathing, echoed through the bathroom.

No!, you thought you heard a familiar voice scream.

In the cracks of light, I dreamed of you.

Finally taking short puffs of breaths, you kept thinking this was it. That it was for the better. That nothing could save you, nothing could stop the blood from cleansing you and taint the floor in the process. You finally shut your eyes as the tears never ceased to flow from your eyes, feeling hands squeezing your arms where you had drawn vertical lines with the blades. From that moment, everything around you felt mixed, the swaying of a vehicle, the alarmed voices, the brightness behind your eyelids. You never opened your eyes. You couldn't bear to open them and still be here, facing the people who were doing their best to help you.

As you lost consciousness, you finally found peace, your mind finally quieted down, the hands stopped touching your body. You thought you managed a weakened smile in your state.

;

Spencer, much like you, didn't keep much track of the time as it passed, for the things in his world happened too fast and burned too bright. As he approached his desk in the bullpen and he was reading through some emails, dread adorning his features and panic setting in the pit of his stomach as he read your brother's name on the screen — whose contact he had gotten after you were admitted in rehab — and the news he was sharing.

;

You didn't know how much time you had spent unconscious. You didn't have any dreams. You didn't have any thoughts. You were completely numb, as if you were surrounded by a bubble that protected you from anything that could possibly happen.

As you opened your eyes, you recognized a hospital room, wires and needles and the unmistakable smell of that place. Looking at your arms, you noticed the bandages that hid the scars that were certainly forming by now, if the dull ache was anything to go by. When you slowly felt reality creeping in, you didn't dare to look up, afraid to find a judgmental or angry look on someone's face. You focused solely on breathing, too frightened of your surroundings.

You gulped and your throat felt so dry that it almost scratched, which made you erupt in a fit of coughs. That drew the attention of a person sitting right next to you, which you hadn't noticed, too preoccupied with someone's reaction.

Slowly looking up, you found Dr. Reid’s face. You couldn't quite begin to read his expression, as his eyes were full of relief once he saw you were still alive. Hanging by a thread, but still alive. You didn't bother to speak after he silently held a bottle of water with a straw on it for you to drink. Neither did he. At least for some amount of time.

“I didn't know how bad this could get. I mean, I do know, but not because of the reason you probably think. It's not just because I have to study human behavior, but also because I was abducted and drugged,” he started, losing the bravery that it took to look you in the eye. “I know you have nothing to do with this. And that it makes me sound very selfish, because, um, I'm here talking about myself when you are so fragile and so broken, but it's just because I know what you're going through. I know what it's like to not recognize yourself. When we talked in that room, for the first time, I felt alive. I felt seen. I felt like I had finally found a little, small, fleeting piece of myself that had wandered too far once I was… addicted.”

You just took in his words. You already knew why he related to you so much, but hearing him talk so freely and unabashedly about his experience made you somewhat perk up. “I'm in a lot of trouble, aren't I?” You managed to mutter in a weak voice.

“It depends on what you think you're going to do now.”

“It's a lot of work.”

“Not if it's you.”

“How could you possibly say that?”

“I know a little about your background. My friend looked you up. You looked promising.”

“Yes, past tense. Now I'm just this… vessel of a human. I don't think I have blood, let alone the guts to face the world after this.”

“I'm not calculating your worth on your accomplishments or on the person you used to be.” He sighed, softly.

“Do I even still have worth?”

“Of course you do.”

“Don't waste your breath on me. How could you be so sure?”

“I just do.”

Little did you know, Spencer Reid was not one to pry where it wasn't welcome, but he spent every day letting his mind run to you. He couldn't help but think about you and whether you were actually doing good after the decision you decided to share with him. That was how he found himself having some unsent letters that were soon ripped and thrown away. Telling you about him, wondering about you, wondering if you two could relate on different topics.

“Would it be weird to ask you to trust me on this one?”

“What's the worst that could happen?”

For the first time in years, you had a sincere smile on your face.

—

The next day, you woke up to a letter addressed to you, which you knew who it was from.

Your lifeline.

This pain wouldn’t be for evermore.

☆

Part 2

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x yn #spencer reid x you #criminal minds fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfic #writersontumblrs #spencer reid self insert #cm fanfic #cm fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #personal fav <3

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mylovesstuffs · 4 months ago

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100 Reasons Why I Love Seungcheol ! (a.k.a. S.Coups, Choi Leader, Carat Nation’s Dad)

1. The way he manages 12 chaotic kids (men) like a pro. Where’s his Parent of the Year award?

2. When he yells at them but immediately softens like a marshmallow.

3. His laugh can cure seasonal depression.

4. A visual.

5. His habit of acting like the maknae when he’s the eldest.

6. Petty Seungcheol is peak comedy.

7. When he tries to act cool, but the members clown him anyway.

8. His relationship with aegyo.

9. The way he thinks he’s subtle when being dramatic.

10. His iconic “Say the name!”

11. When he stands in the center like he owns the stage. (Because he does.)

12. His “I’m SEVENTEEN’s leader” energy.

13. That time he pulled off blone hair like a literal Greek god.

14. The way he stares into the camera during performances.

15. How he can make a single word sound like a life-changing declaration.

16. The emotional damage from his tongue plays.

17. His airport looks could rival a runway.

18. His tiny, proud smiles when the members achieve something. You can see the love in his eyes.

19. The fact that he knows exactly how to bias-wreck us.

20. How he’s effortlessly charismatic without even trying.

21. The way he protects the members like they’re his own brothers.

22. When he cried during their Daesang speech—who didn’t cry with him?

23. That time he comforted Jeonghan when he was sick, and our hearts collectively melted.

24. How he takes care of Carats.

25. The soft way he says, “Thank you, Carats.” (Excuse me while I sob.)

26. When he got emotional during their first win.

27. His little “fighting!” moments to cheer everyone up.

28. The way his presence alone calms the chaos in the group (most of the time).

29. The way he values teamwork over individual success.

30. His deep, gravelly voice that feels like a warm hug.

31. Knowing he’s been through tough times but came out stronger.

32. When he cried feeling unworthy of being the leader—Cheol, we’ll fight anyone who made you feel like that.

33. Seeing him push through injuries just to be with SEVENTEEN and Carats.

34. His constant worry about whether he’s doing enough.

35. That one hiatus he took, which made us miss him like crazy but as long as he's okay.

36. Knowing he carries so much responsibility on his shoulders but never complains.

37. How he always thinks of the members’ happiness before his own.

38. His bittersweet smiles during emotional moments—why must you hurt us like this?

39. The way he supports his members during hard times.

40. He cried more over Woozi's hard work than their first win.

41. His leadership is unmatched—period.

42. He’s the glue that keeps SEVENTEEN together.

43. His vocals are criminally underrated.

44. His stage presence is absolute legend behavior.

45. How he hypes up the members like their #1 fan.

46. The way he makes sure every member gets their moment to shine.

47. He’s a friend, brother, and protector.

48. His rap go hard.

49. The way he’s always looking out for the younger members.

50. He gives off main character energy without overshadowing anyone.

51. His pout—it’s a lethal weapon.

52. The way he drinks water like he’s in a CF.

53. When he flips his hair mid-dance. Yes, it’s a reason.

54. His Jigeumbuteo. Iconic.

55. His obsession with Shinchan—same, honestly.

56. The way he claps when he’s laughing too hard.

57. His habit of clinging. Mood.

58. That one episode of Going Seventeen where he was scared giggling and wrapping arms with Shua just because he's scared lol.

59. How he randomly lifts the members like they weigh nothing (especially Hao).

60. When he plays rock-paper-scissors like it’s a serious sport.

61. Seungcheol is the reason I now find men with leadership skills attractive.

62. He’s personally responsible for ruining my bias list every other week.

63. The amount of time I’ve spent analyzing his fancams is embarrassing.

64. His “leader line” moments with RM and Bang Chan.

65. How he’s secretly a softie who loves hugs.

66. He lives rent-free in my brain, and I’m not charging him.

67. The way I feel personally attacked by his selfies.

68. How he can bias-wreck me with a single smirk.

69. The way he hypes up other members on stage like a proud dad.

70. Why does he make me emotional over a simple “fighting!”?

71. He’s a role model.

72. The way he shows that strength can be soft and kind.

73. How he’s grown with SEVENTEEN from boys to men.

74. His love for Carats—it’s so genuine it hurts.

75. He’s proof that hard work pays off.

76. The way he balances being goofy and responsible.

77. His dedication to his craft—it’s inspiring.

78. How he takes pride in SEVENTEEN’s achievements without being boastful.

79. The fact that he’s never forgotten where he came from.

80. Knowing he truly cares about SEVENTEEN’s legacy.

81. His dimples.

82. The way he flips between being a charismatic idol on stage and a complete goofball off stage.

83. When he said, “I’m SEVENTEEN’s dad,” and it’s both funny and true.

84. How he radiates warmth, even through a screen.

85. His goofy side that he shows when he’s comfortable.

86. The way he makes everyone feel like they belong.

87. His deep, thoughtful words during interviews.

88. How he remembers even the smallest details about the members.

89. The way he leads with both his heart and his head.

90. He’s the definition of dependable.

91. He’s a leader who listens, not just commands.

92. His honesty.

93. The way he reminds us that it’s okay to take breaks.

94. He’s proof that vulnerability is strength.

95. How he brings out the best in everyone around him.

96. His endless love for music and performing.

97. The way he’s stayed humble despite SEVENTEEN’s success.

98. Knowing he’ll always have SEVENTEEN and Carats’ backs.

99. He’s family.

100. Because, honestly, there’s no one else like Choi Seungcheol.

#choi seungcheol #★— mylovesstuffs 100 reasons #Because every time I think I’ve fully explained why I like him #he does something else that makes me like him even more.#svt x reader #seventeen scenarios #scoups seventeen #seventeen seungcheol #seungcheol x reader #seungcheol fluff #seventeen scoups #scoups #seventeen x y/n #scoups x reader #seungcheol x y/n #★— mylovesstuffs

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olomaya · 2 years ago

Text

Smoking+ (Mild Teenage Delinquency)

*cue the Spongebob 2 Years Later meme*

28-Sept Update: Added Brazilian Portuguese translations (thank you @cs2te!). Fixed an issue where there was no exit to the Sell Fake ID interaction. For those that have the Religion mod, you don't need a separate RM specific version, just download/redownload the main Overhaul package.

3-Sep Update: Thanks to ProtectusCZ over at MTS who let me know about a string issue with the vape flavors. That's been fixed so the flavors should not show up as blank when you are filling/refilling the cartridge. Also the smoking durations should now be tunable so you can adjust them in Retuner.

Czech version now available thanks to ProtectusCZ

2-Sep Update: If you have my religion mod installed, please download this version HERE (alt: here) to replace the main mod file. If you don't and don't want it, carry on.

This is the updated version of my overhaul of Cmomoney's Smoking mod which you can find here (original here). This update adds new features like vaping as well as more delinquency options for your teens by way of fake IDs.

Please read the full instructions after the cut before downloading.

Credits: Fake ID from @aroundthesims. And of course the OG smoking mod from Cmomoney on MTS.

I think that's it. Enjoy ruining your Sims' health and well-being. If you run into any issues, please let me know.

What does it do:

Everything my previous mod did

Sims can now sit and chat with others while smoking

I updated the way addiction works in the game. Previously it was just based on a random number of times smoked but now it's more nuanced and based on how often you smoke and certain trait and lifestyle factors (for example, if you have other smokers in your household, you're more likely to get a smoking habit)

Cigarettes and smoking items can now ONLY be purchased in a special section at the grocery store by YAs and above. You will see a new interaction in the store RH called "Shop for Cigarettes". Teens can get around this by using a fake ID.

Fake IDs

Teens can purchase fake IDs from:

Any common criminal (Sim in the criminal career Level 4 or below)

Any teen that has a fake ID

You can offer a price and based on your offer, the dealer will either accept or reject.

Rebellious, Computer Whiz or teens with high Rebel Influence Skill can also buy fake IDs online. The underground online market for IDs moves very quickly so prices change every time you check but will never go higher than §500 or lower than §50. Once you purchase, the ID will be mailed to your home the next day.

HOWEVER, you need to make sure you get to the package first. If your parent gets the package and opens it, then all teens in the house will get in trouble. The one who ordered the fake will get a special moodlet that will allow them 24 hours to confess to doing it. If they confess to their sibling(s), the sibling will either forgive and agree to keep quiet or they will get mad and have the opportunity to snitch to a parent. If the wrongdoer confesses to a parent, it will exonerate the other teens but also potentially get them into bigger trouble with both their parents and their siblings.

Fake IDs aren’t foolproof. If you use it in the store, there’s a chance you will get busted and your fake ID will be confiscated. The chance is based on how young your teen is and the quality of the fake ID. Fake ID quality is determined when you purchase, based on the price you paid so you may want to think twice before jumping on that §60 fake.

Vaping

Sims can now vape, vaping pens can be found where you buy cigarettes.

Vaping pens cost §300 with a cartridge that needs to be filled before you can use and then after every 10 uses. You can buy a regular cartridge or a flavored one and the costs are varied but are all between §200-§300. (I know, it's an expensive habit.)

Vaping is not as unhealthy as smoking regular cigarettes, is less addictive and doesn't leave your Sim with a smoke smell.

For teens, vaping will still get them in trouble if they are caught by a parent doing it.

Known Issues:

There are no IK targets on the sitting animations (they kept floating above the chairs when I added them) so teens will sink a little into the chair because they're smaller than adults.

Download here | SFS alternative

#s3cc #s3cc download #download #sims 3 cc #smokingmod

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 2 years ago

Note

weak and frothing at the mouth for soft dom!jason. maybe a little something something about jason getting just a teeny bit jealous when someone hits on reader and reader's just a little bit flustered because it has almost never happened before.

love your work! thank youu <3

"No thank you- I'm here with-"

"Come one baby," he said smiling, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, "I'm sure he wouldn't mind if-"

Behind you, thankfully, you can feel Jason. Back from talking to the waiter you'd come to talk to for a case. "You ready to go, Princess?"

"Jason!" You push the other guy away from you, wrapping your arms around yourself and stumbling back, "I didn't- I-"

"I know," he said, steadying you on your feet and letting you tuck yourself against his side. "You're alright?"

"Fine," you murmur, "just-" embarrassed, flustered, annoyed- the club was too loud and too busy for you to sort it out properly.

Jason kissed the top of our head and let you go gently, stepping up to his 'competition' with a smile that had made criminals visibly shiver. "Touch my girl again and I'll cut off your hand, understand?"

"Listen I just thought-"

"It's not an essay question."

"Yeah," he said, face burning, "I- yeah."

"Good," Jason said, stepping back to wrap his rm around you, "Let's get you home, beautiful."

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #softdom!jason

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i-live-in-spite · 9 months ago

Text

Summary: You get a case in your hometown, you haven’t been back for almost 10 years after you left when you were 18 to join the FBI academy. Your brother was not very happy to see your transition.

Pairing: Around season 5 Spencer Reid x Trans Male reader(He/They)

Genre: Angst w/ Comfort

Tw/Cw: Family argument/dysfunctional families, transphobia/homophobia, kinda “gory” with some details, talk of s3lf h@rm, platonic pairing but they are pinning for the other, normal violence of Criminal Minds, the Unsub targets queer people, religious talk/trauma, talk of ending one's life, use of the t slur(If I missed something please tell me)

Word Count: 2.7k

I knew that if I had just asked Hotch or Rossi to stay back or for time away from the case, they would have told me yes. After all, I’m pretty much just a stand-in for Garcia on the ground. Just there in case she got overworked or she was busy on one search I could quickly pick up the task. But the BAU taking me on the field was still pretty rare, I know why I’m here even if all I can think about is leaving again.

I didn’t know even after 10 years of healing, the wounds could still be so fresh. The feeling of blood rushed down my arms as we passed by the stores from my childhood. Some buildings I couldn't recognize but hardly anything changed from the old small town I grew up in.

I’m snapped from my thoughts when I feel Spencer’s hands on my shoulder, “I’m sorry could you repeat the question sir?” I snapped my eyes up to Rossi who was in the passenger seat as Derek drove.

“I was just asking if you knew of any hidden in the wall clubs who may..enjoy the same sex may go?” Rossi sounded as if he was afraid to say the wrong thing, which I could understand. I have always been open about my gender identity and how I have had male lovers, I really didn’t see why it had to be hidden. At least not to them, no the team was like family. Emily and Penelope aren’t as loud about it but they also didn’t hide it.

“Uh yea, if I remember correctly there is this, old salt cave that many would go to for..activities. Whether it’s still operational is another question, I would have to be able to get down there.” Rossi nods and I look away from Spencer’s gaze and the subtle look from Derek in the mirror.

When we got to the police station I hesitated opening the car door, a few quick memories flashing through my eyes. I take a deep breath before pushing the door open and going to the back to grab my computer bag, I feel Spencer’s hand on my shoulder, the other one gently rubbing the nape of my neck. I would typically find comfort in his light touches but my anxiety was running high, all I could do was curl up from his hands.

“I know something is wrong, is it because of the murders? Or the fact that this is a ‘special’ place to you?” I couldn’t stop a choked laugh from escaping and Spencer was quick to recover, “Maybe special didn’t quite express the right emotions. You are tied to this place, and you don’t like it. Why didn’t you ask to stay back?” His voice was soft, full of concern.

“You don’t ask to stay back when we have cases in your hometown.” I look up, my voice having more of an edge than I would like. He sighs and grabs his bag before turning back to me, a serious expression taking over his normal goofy smile.

“Yes but I had an ok childhood. It’s one thing to be an outcast because I’m smart, you were an outcast because-” Hotch calls us over cutting Spencer off, “I’m just saying, we have different memories of childhood, you had more hate than you let on.” I never heard Spencer being tied to emotions in this way. He knew my past and I knew his, we held each other's scars close, refusing to let the past repeat.

Spencer walks over to Hotch but I highly doubt that this conversation was over. I follow closely behind, keeping my head down. The station had the same bleach smell, my nose burned from the smell. Then the world seemed to crash when I heard his voice.

“Welcome in agents, we have a small meeting room y’all can use in the back.” The sound of my brother's voice made all my muscles freeze. Hotch shakes his hand, thanking him for the space and they start to talk a little more about the case. I go to the back and set up in a corner away from the door, this is gonna be the longest case in my life.

As I continue my setup, I hear his whistle. “That’s some mighty fine computers you got there, but I was told y’all had a tech analyst back at Quantico.” I refused to look up from my keyboard as I continued to fidget with my settings to appear busy.

It was Derek who finally spoke up, “Well we do, but the lovely little lady doesn’t always enjoy coming on the field and sometimes her work load is a little too much. So we bring him in and he helps on the ground.” My brother lets out a choked noise and even though he tried to whisper it was clear as day.

“That’s a boy? I mean i’ve seen my fair share of boys with long hair but that’s..damn near to the floor.” Derek sighs and expresses again I was in fact a boy, keeping out the fact I was trans. Which fills me with gratitude. “Damn well.. Okay. Nice to be working with you las.”

His hand appeared in my face and I was slow to grab it. I felt his gaze on my freshly painted nails, it was just a simple black and white look. But I could feel the judgement of his gaze.

“Did you know that a handshake spreads more germs, it would be safer to kiss.” Spencer’s distraction makes me laugh, of course he had no idea that we were actually siblings or the fact my brother would rather live in hell than kiss another boy.

“And who are you?” I was thankful for the attention to be off of me, though I’m very much aware of the attitude that hides behind my brother's voice.

“Hello, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.” Spencer waved a little uncomfortable. My brother looks him up and down before nodding.

“Well. Thank you for coming to look at the problem.” Spencer and Derek nod as my brother leaves and I finally let out the air in my lungs. Derek turns to me and sees the look of discomfort not fully leave my face.

“I typically try to keep the past the past, but the history between you and the sheriff?” I shift a little before looking down at the computer.

“Can't you see the family resemblance?” The boys are physically taken aback by this information. I smile awkwardly and get back to the set up of my computer. Neither of my fellow males spoke up after the statement, for once I’ve made the great Spencer Reid silent.

—-

“I need you to go to the cave, you are trusted there correct?” Hotch looks down at me as I gently play with my hands, a nervous habit I picked up from Spencer.

“I’m sure the older ones may remember me, I won't know for sure till I get down there though.” Hotch nods and scratches under his chin some.

“Would you be comfortable going alone or would you like someone to go with you?” I think for a minute, I would refuse to ask anyone from the local p.d. to join, but Emily or Spencer could be candidates. But Spencer is still getting over getting shot that him joining me is a hard no from me, even though he claims he was good to go.

“Emily would be a good fit to join me.” Hotch nods and leaves to tell Emily about joining me. I didn’t hear the door open till my brother spoke.

“You look different now, since when did you turn into a boy?” My brother's voice was a little callous, the same tone he used when I told my family I planned on leaving.

“I have always been a boy, you and the others just refused to see it.” He scoffs and looks around to no one particularly, I still refused to turn to him.

“Oh I’m sorry miss ‘used to love dresses’, it’s kinda hard to think you were a ‘boy’ when you always dressed all pretty like.”

“Because how I dress doesn’t define who I am,” I couldn’t stop my southern twang from coming through, something I fought to hide for a while. “, I’m very much aware that when I dress feminine people may see me as a girl. But also growin up here, if I dress like how I wanted to I would be shot on site. I’m not an idiot.”

My brother crosses his arms and I feel him staring me down. “So what, you put on a pair of pants and suddenly you were a boy? Is that really how easy it is? To erase the life mom gave you? To destroy the bridge you and dad had?”

“I would have died Evan!” I turn to him, rage clear on my face, “I would have killed myself. My only hope was my friends. Friends you belittled. Do you have any idea what that does to someone?” My brother laughs and his face hardens.

“And you do? Do they become the killers you chase down?”

“No Evan. They kill themselves, they do drugs, they hide every part of them because they can’t live any other way. I didn’t kill the little girl I was, I saved the little boy you tried to snuff out like a fire. I protected myself because the same people who were supposed to do it were the ones cutting me deeper than any of my blades do.” I took a step to him, the fire was clear behind his eyes. “Aren’t you proud? I changed my name. You can tell everyone I died in action. You have no connection to the man I am today. I may have to use extra means to make myself who I am but I am more of a man than you'll ever be.”

Before he could say anything Emily walks in and tells me she’s ready. I grab my coat and walk out without another word being said.

—-

The next couple of days went on with my brother ignoring me, if he had anything to say he went to Hotch or Derek. Not that I really cared, but I knew the team could tell the tension between my brother and I was getting very heavy.

Spencer walks up to me with an iced coffee, he looked a little unsure of himself. “I remember one time you told me you preferred iced coffee, I went down to the local cafe and got you one.” I thank him softly and take a sip. “Are you okay with working on the case? I mean with your brother and openly gay people being targeted..”

“I’m okay Dr. Reid, I’m a tough cookie you know this.” He nods, tapping his hand on his arm.

“I’m aware of that but after the case I got shot, you were worried about me, I could hardly go pee without you commenting about how I needed my crutches.” His smile was genuine, I knew he truly loved that I cared enough to keep him up with doctor orders.

“It’s not my fault a certain FBI genius liked to test his limits, someone had to care for him.” I smile and he shuffles steps a little closer.

“And this genius wants to make sure you're not chewing off more than you can handle. You’re just as important to this team as Garcia or Morgan or me.” There was a hidden message behind his words, that I was important to him.

“The best thing I can do is work and stay away from my brother where I can. I’ll be okay pretty boy, I’ll be good. You won't even have to handcuff me.” Spencer’s face bloomed into a nice rose pink colour, he was always so easy to fluster. It was another thing that made him one of the cutest people I have ever met. Can stare at dismembered bodies, but can’t handle a compliment fully.

“I’m here for you, we all are. Don’t go somewhere you don’t think iIcan join. I’ll find you, and I'll bring you back.” His hands slowly grab my face, his eyes searching mine. But before we could do anything the door swung open.

“Garcia thinks we found our unsub.” Spencer nods and grabs his vest before turning back to me as Derek leaves.

“I mean it, I’ll follow you into any river, any ocean, any fires you think you have to handle alone.” And like that he was gone. I stayed by the phone waiting for any information that this person actually was our unsub.

It wasn’t long before Emily was pushing the guy through the station spouting bullshit, saying the kids deserved it. I look at him, he looks back at me.

“You some little tranny aren’t you. You cried over their deaths? They were gonna do it anyway, why not speed up the progress?” I just stare at him. I knew him, but I knew everyone here.

“Sir, all you’re doing is incriminating yourself. The gender of my agents are none of your concern. He doesn’t have to kill to make himself feel good.” Hotch pushes him forward, him having my back makes me tear up. “He’s not weak. He doesn’t push others around to make himself known. He is a man.” Hotch was pushing the UNSUB every time he would call me a he.

Spencer shows up beside me, “We found a hair in his truck bed. It’s being analysed right now.” I nodded, his hand finding its way to the nape of my neck. “Hotch is correct, you aren’t..what he said. You’re strong and you’re the male you always knew you would be. You’re so strong being able to fight your way out of a town like this, with a family who did everything it could to keep you down.” All I could do was nod, I didn’t trust my voice.

By the night Hotch had everything he needed to prove this man did it, I started to pack up my stuff. “I will never understand you. Why did you tear it all down?”

I turn to Evan, annoyance clear on my face. “I tore down broken walls, I tore away the paint that hid the beautiful tile underneath. I am who I was always meant to be.” My brother started to talk but I cut him off, “I will never be your sister again, either accept it or stay out of my life.”

“You weren’t meant to be a boy though. You were born a girl, why can’t you understand?”

I take a step closer to him, “Your mind is one of the smartest things in the world, it’s not always connected to your body. Nerves can be damaged, emotions can be out of place. We live in a world where your next door neighbour murdered innocent kids because their brain didn’t match the way their body was. I bet deep down you wished we never caught him.”

“It’s not my fault.”

“It started being your fault after I left how you continued to fill your brain with the idea that who I am was a choice, that the fact I like guys as a guy was something I just woke up and picked. When in reality it was you who drove me away.”

“You’re unnatural.” His fist was balled up and I knew we would never see eye to eye, not in this lifetime.

“Goodbye. Enjoy the wife, but I hope your kids never have to live in the fear I did.” I grab my bags and walk out the station. I fit my bags snuggle in their place as Emily turns to me.

“You know, the family isn’t just blood. The saying ‘blood runs thicker than water’ isn’t always true.” She offers me a small I’m sorry type of smile.

“Actually one of the earliest sayings of the quote was ‘The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.’, meaning your brother doesn’t have to be the brother you accept. We will always love you.” Spencer has a goofy smile, his knowledge of everything makes me feel better.

“And I will always love you.” Spencer can’t hold my eyes sensing the deeper meaning behind my words. Derek ruffled my hair and we started the long hours home.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #gaslight gatekeep girlboss #angst #transgender #trans masc #spencer reid x reader #self love #coping mechanism

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transformationsproject · 3 months ago

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Today’s Legislative Updates February 13, 2025

Trans rights are still under attack in the United States. Please visit our website linked below to learn about your state and contact your reps. Here's a thread of today's updates:

Bathroom bills deny access to public restrooms by gender or trans identity.

They increase danger without making anyone any safer and have even prompted attacks on cis and trans people alike. Many national health and anti-sexual assault organizations oppose these bills.

Old Bills:

Missouri SB212 has a hearing scheduled on 2/18 at 8am in Senate Lounge - 3rd Floor in the Senate Education Committee.

Montana passed bill HB121 through both chambers yesterday and sent it to the governor.

South Dakota passed bill HB1259 through its committee yesterday and sent it to the House floor.

Healthcare bills go against professional and scientific consensus that gender-affirming care saves lives. Denying access will cause harm.

Providers are faced with criminal charges, parents are threatened with child abuse charges, and intersex children are typically exempted.

New Bills:

West Virginia introduced under-18 health care ban SB279 yesterday and sent it to the Senate Health & Human Resources Committee.

West Virginia introduced bill HB2072 yesterday and sent it to the House Health & Human Resources Committee. This bill allows doctors to refuse treatment on the grounds of ‘religious freedom’.

Colorado introduced under-18 health care bill HB1253 yesterday and sent it to the House Health and Human Services Committee.

Colorado introduced HB1254 yesterday and sent it to the House Judiciary Committee. Expands medical liability to allow patients to sue doctors UP TO AGE 38.

Old Bills:

Missouri passed bill SB75 through its committee today and sent it to the Senate floor.

Missouri sent bill SB249 to the Senate Families, Seniors and Health Committee today.

Drag Bans restrict access for folks who are gender non-conforming in any way.

They loosely define "drag" as any public performance with an “opposite gender expression,” as sexual in nature, and inappropriate for children.

This also pushes trans individuals out of public spaces.

New Bills:

West Virginia introduced drag bans SB278 and SB276 yesterday and sent them to the Senate Judiciary Committee.

Old Bills:

Iowa HSB158 has a hearing on 2/18 at 12:30pm in RM 304 in the House Education Committee.

Educational Censorship and Student Suppression bills force schools to misgender or deadname students, ban instruction on sexual orientation and gender identity, and make schools alert parents if they suspect a child is trans.

They remove life-saving affirmation and support for trans youth.

New Bills:

Kentucky introduced university-level educational censorship bill HB4 yesterday and sent it to the House Committee On Committees Committee.

West Virginia introduced educational censorship and forced outing bills HB2071 and SB154 yesterday and sent them to the House/Senate Education Committee.

Old Bills:

Wyoming introduced bill SF0103 in the House yesterday and sent it to the Joint Labor, Health & Social Services Committee.

Ohio passed bill SB1 through the Senate yesterday and sent it to the House.

Tennessee sent bills HB1262 and HB1270 to the House Education Administration Subcommittee yesterday.

Pennsylvania sent bill HB581 to the House Education Committee yesterday.

Trans Erasure bills create legal definitions of terms like “sex” designed to exclude or erase trans identity and insert them into various laws. This can have many different effects, depending on what laws are affected.

They can force a male or female designation based on sex assigned at birth.

Some target anti-discrimination statutes, legally empowering trans discrimination.

New Bills:

Texas filed trans erasure and bathroom bill HB2704 yesterday.

West Virginia introduced trans erasure bills HB2127 and SB244 yesterday and sent them to the House/Senate Judiciary Committee.

Old Bills:

Missouri passed bill SB76 through its committee today and sent it to the Senate floor.

Missouri sent bill SB298 to the Senate General Laws Committee today.

Arizona passed bill HB2062 through the House today and sent it to the Senate.

South Dakota passed bill HB1260 through its committee yesterday and sent it to the House floor.

Alabama passed bill SB79 through both chambers yesterday and sent it to the governor.

Digital Censorship Bills describe any legislation that potentially targets Queer and Trans media/material for removal.

They typically do this by using vague and broad definitions of "Obscene" or "Harmful to Minors" and then banning such content from being accessible to minors, which often either removes the material entirely or requires age verification methods in order to view.

This includes online censorship bills, library book bans, and other such legislation.

Old Bills:

South Dakota HB1239 has a hearing on 2/19 in the House Education Committee.

Montana HB446 has a hearing on 2/17 at 8am in Room 137 in the House Judiciary Committee.

Most sports bills force schools to designate teams by sex assigned at birth.

They are often one-sided and ban trans girls from playing on teams consistent with their gender identity.

Some egregious bills even force invasive genital examinations on student athletes.

Old Bills:

Utah HB0424 has a hearing tomorrow at 8m in Room 30 House Building in the House Judiciary Committee.

Indiana passed bill HB1041 through its committee today and sent it to the House floor.

In other bills that either fit multiple categories or stand on their own, we have:

New Bills:

Wisconsin introduced bill SB40 yesterday and sent it to the Senate Licensing, Regulatory Reform, State and Federal Affairs Committee. This bill is a pride flag ban.

Kentucky introduced bill HB5 yesterday and sent it to the House Committee On Committees Committee. This is a youth incarceration bill that dictates housing incarcerated youth by ‘biological sex’ as well as denying them gender-affirming care.

West Virginia introduced bills HB2033 and HB2153 yesterday and sent them to the House Health & Human Resources Committee. These are foster care/adoption/custody bills that prevent denying placement/custody due to transphobic or homophobic beliefs.

Old Bills:

Kansas HB2311 has a hearing on 2/17 at 1:30pm in Room 152-S in the House Child Welfare and Foster Care Committee.

Missouri sent bill SB272 to the Senate Economic and Workforce Development Committee today.

It's not too late to stop these and other hateful anti-trans bills from passing into law. YOU can go to http://transformationsproject.org/ to learn more and contact your representatives!

#protect trans kids #trans #lgbtq #activism #lgbt #transgender #trans formations project #trans rights #anti trans legislation

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magicshopaholic · 1 year ago

Text

Final Destination (Namjoon x OC)

Summary: Namjoon flies down to Amsterdam after the break-in.

Pairing: Namjoon x OC

Genre: Angst

Word count: 7.6 K

Rating: 18+

Warnings: language, breaking and entering, vague descriptions of sex

A/N: Picks up right where Paradise Interrupted ends.

Tagging: @bbl32, @quarter-life-crisis2, @margopinkerton, @faearchives, @whoisbts, @purpleseoul7, @sumzysworld, @kflixnet (if you want to be added to the taglist, lmk)

Listen to: "moonchild" by RM

namjoon masterlist | main masterlist

For a moment, no one speaks. One of the girls places the framed picture on the mantle with a soft thud and takes a couple of steps forward, her mouth open.

Kaya stays frozen, the shock making her blood feel like ice in her veins. The front door behind them is indeed unlocked, but they could have just as easily entered from the balcony as well.

“Who - who the hell are you?” she asks, wincing inwardly when she hears the fear in her own voice.

The same girl, her short hair a brilliant crimson, scoffs in satisfaction. “She’s American,” she states, clapping the other girl on the shoulder. “I told you she didn’t look European.”

“I thought she’d be taller.” The guy tilts his head doubtfully. “Wasn’t the girl in the video also a little…” He makes an exaggerated gesture with both his hands, making his palms face each other and moving them closer, mouthing thinner.

“Damn it, Lance,” swears the girl with the crimson hair, rolling her eyes. “You said you were sure.”

“Ron said she was!”

“Shut up,” the second girl, presumably Ron, hisses at both of them. She’s still watching Kaya, almost hungrily.

Kaya swallows, a gnawing irritation breaking through the paralysing fear. They’re talking about her as though she isn’t even here, right in front of her. She adjusts the pen in her hand when the girl in front, Ron, steps forward slowly. She stares at Kaya with mild wonder and then raises a hand to touch a lock of hair on her shoulder. Kaya flinches and stumbles back.

“Who in God’s name are you?” she repeats through gritted teeth. In front of her, Ron raises her eyebrows in surprise at this reaction and takes a step back.

“You don’t have to look so freaked out,” she says dryly, frowning a little and folding her arms across her chest. “We’re not criminals, we just… we just wanted to see…” Here, she trails off.

“Are you really Namjoon’s girlfriend?” The other girl, slightly taller, asks. Her voice trembles as she does, as though it’s taking every ounce of courage to ask this question.

The answer is instantaneous. “I - no. Of course not.”

The guy, Lance, scoffs while Ron raises her eyebrows again, sceptically this time. The redhead glares. “Really? Then what’s this?” she demands, brandishing the silver framed picture.

Kaya’s heart skips a beat. It’s an expensive frame; Namjoon had bought it for her from a gallery on its opening night the last time they’d been in New York together. “That’s - that’s an old picture. We hooked up once, three years ago. I - I didn’t even know who he was.” The half-lie tumbles out of her mouth instantly.

The girl hesitates, and Kaya can tell she was hoping for this. She stares at the picture and Kaya is overcome with the urge to snatch it back from her. “Then why is it on display in your living room?”

Shit. Kaya’s stomach twists. “Well…” She racks her brain for a suitable fib. “If you had a picture with him… wouldn’t you have it on display in your living room?” she counters, the response sounding ridiculous even to her.

To her immense surprise, this seems to make sense to the girl. She looks doubtfully at Ron, who seems to be the ringleader of this trio. Then she looks up at Kaya, clearly trying to remain calm.

“So, he’s… he’s still single?” she asks hopefully.

“Sure. Probably.”

She sighs hugely in relief, as though this information personally affects her. “I knew it,” she mutters, seemingly to herself, as she looks back down at the picture and her mouth twists into a scowl. “I wonder which stupid fandom started this rumour…”

“So you’re really not dating him?” Ron’s frown deepens. “Then how do you explain the video?”

Kaya shrugs. “What video?”

“The video,” she replies, rolling her eyes, “of him and you, on a balcony or something. You’re really telling us that wasn’t you? So the whole fandom got it wrong?”

The whole fandom. Kaya isn’t sure whether to laugh at that, at the assumption that everyone is secretly a die-hard BTS fan. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I haven’t seen or spoken to Namjoon in three years. How - how did you even find me?” she asks, for the first time realising that someone she knows had to have revealed her identity.

At this, all three of the intruders exchange looks, clearly not wanting to reveal their source. “It’s on Twitter,” says the guy finally, taking a sip of his beer and apparently finding it empty. “Damn it.”

“I can throw that for you,” volunteers Kaya suddenly. “It’s just… the building is big on recycling, so…”

“Oh, of course.” He nods, a little surprised. “Thank you.”

He hands her the bottle and she takes it, using every bit of strength to not roll her eyes in disbelief at the fact that he willingly handed over his fingerprints. Behind him, the redhead is still staring at the picture and lightly stroking it.

“He looks so good in this,” she murmurs, biting her lip. She looks up at Kaya, and for a moment Kaya is afraid she’s going to ask to keep the picture. But a minute later she changes tacks. “Where was this?”

“In Seoul. Near, um, Hannam-dong.”

“Okay, hang on.” The guy, Lance, interrupts, looking rather annoyed. “So you’re not the girl.” Without waiting for a confirmation, he turns to the girls. “If she’s not it, can we leave? We have a paper due tomorrow.”

“You didn’t seem to care about that when you wanted to make it to happy hour.”

“Only because you wanted to come here!”

“Ron said -”

They continue bickering, as though having forgotten where they are. Kaya’s eyes flicker to her bag where she knows her phone is, but she can’t lunge towards it without this Ron person getting in her way. She remains the only one of the intruders to still remain quiet, simply looking around the living room suspiciously with her arms folded across her chest.

“Look, I - I’ve answered all your questions,” ventures Kaya, making all of them abruptly stop their conversations and look at her. “I don’t know who you are -” Lance, Ron, and the other one “- and I think it’s clear that I’m not who you think I am.”

“You’re not Kayla?” Ron finally asks. For the first time, even she starts to seem doubtful.

“No,” she answers honestly. “I’m not. Now I’m going to have to ask you to leave before -”

“Wait, hang on.” Ron holds up a hand and looks a little disgruntled. “We need to be sure of everything before we leave,” she states, sounding unhinged. “Someone is spreading rumours in the fandom and if the person in the photos is really not you, then we need to find out who -”

“Jesus Christ, Ron, they’re obviously fake!” The redhead says loudly, placing the photo frame carelessly back on the shelf. “He’s too busy to date - he’s said that a thousand times and - look!” She strides across the room and reaches the dining table to pick up a cardboard box of a ready-to-eat dish. “Shrimp tacos! We know he hates seafood!”

This time, Kaya can’t resist frowning a little incredulously, but thankfully no one else notices.

“Now can we just leave? Why do you want him to be dating so badly?” The redhead sounds on the verge of tears. Meanwhile, Lance seems to have had enough and is already opening the front door.

“You need to calm down,” says Ron, pointing a finger at her friend. “Lance, shut the door.”

“Bite me, Ron.”

“I said -”

This building, being a student residence, is already small enough that sounds travel. When the door opens and none of the intruders seem to have the sense to lower their voices, Kaya feels her heart race with hope that someone, someone, will realise that something is wrong. While Ron turns around to talk to her friends, Kaya inches towards her bag next to the kitchen.

“I’m leaving!” Lance is halfway out the door when they all hear footsteps outside. All three of the strangers freeze.

“Is someone there?” It’s her neighbour, Mark. Kaya almost stops breathing but realises she has to respond because the next thing he’s likely to say is her name, something she’s sure these people don’t know.

She swallows, her eyes darting towards all three of them. Lance shakes his head with wide eyes, warning her not to make any sound.

“Mark, it’s me! Call the cops!”

“What did you do?” hisses Ron, but the damage is done. There is more than one set of footsteps outside and all three of the intruders immediately run.

“Let’s go! Now! Damn it, Sylvia - leave the picture!” There’s a crash and the sound of glass shattering as Kaya retrieves her phone with shaking fingers and immediately dials 112 for the police as she follows them.

Outside, she sees Mark and his girlfriend, both looking terribly confused at the sight of three strangers running out into the hallway.

“They broke into my apartment!” she exclaims and Mark’s eyes widen for a moment before he runs down the stairs after them.

“Oh, my God, they did what?” His girlfriend, Maya, jogs past her to peer into her apartment before coming back to her. “Are you okay?” she asks, holding her shoulders and frowning in concern.

But words fail Kaya. She shakes her head wordlessly and when the call to the police doesn’t go through, she hangs up and leans against the wall, feeling like she hasn’t breathed in ages. When Maya kneels in front of her and doesn’t push for any more information, only gently convinces her that she shouldn’t stay in her apartment tonight since it’s compromised, Kaya simply nods.

Maya helps her get some of her stuff for the night, stopping only to inform her that the building security seems to have gotten hold of the intruders. Kaya feels like she’s on autopilot, even once the cops show up and she identifies all three of them with ease. They’re taken to the station for questioning while Mark gets his guest bedroom ready and Kaya packs for an overnight stay.

Just before she’s about to leave her apartment, she notices something on the floor by her TV shelf: the picture frame, its glass shattered and a scratch on the corner of the delicate silver frame. The picture inside it stays intact, their smiles from years ago frozen in print. It hurts to see it broken, but Kaya doesn’t know what to do about it right now so she simply takes it with her to Mark’s.

“Let me know if you need anything at all,” says Maya, after showing her to her room.

“You’ve done more than enough, really.” Kaya sets her bag down and looks around. “It’s perfect.” She forces a smile which fades when the door closes and leaves her in silence once more.

Kaya sits on the edge of the bed, the entire evening seeming absurd in hindsight. She waits for it to sink in, closing her eyes and recalling the details, the fear, the entitlement of strangers questioning her relationship.

And then, the panic attack hits.

—

When Kaya wakes the next morning, for a moment she can’t remember where she is. She sits up with a jerk, her mind still swimming with disturbing images of broken glass and hands wrapped around her neck, choking her.

It takes a few seconds but she spots her bag and the silver picture frame next to her on the bed and sighs, burying her head in her hands and trying to get rid of the throbbing.

It had taken hours for her to fall asleep last night. She’d stayed up with the lights on, her eyes wide open as she stared at the ceiling and replayed every moment since she’d set foot in her apartment. As silly and idiotic as those intruders had been, obsessed with a celebrity who didn’t even know them, they still had managed to break in.

Or walk in, as the case may be. Part of her still can’t believe Namjoon had been right, so right about everything. In the midst of all the danger and anxiety, she can’t help but feel irritated at being wrong, enough that she’d hesitated about calling Namjoon at all.

Once she picked up her phone, though, the thought seemed crazy. Suddenly desperate to talk to him, to hear his voice and to know that he was there, she’d called him with shaking hands. He’d cut the call at first, meaning he was busy. The picture of him in the suit with styled hair seemed like days ago; she’d texted him, however, asking him to please, please call her back and hoping he’d know it was important.

He’d called back in under a minute. Kaya had willed herself to sound as normal as possible so as to not worry him but the moment she’d heard his voice, all resolve had broken down. She’d narrated everything to him like word vomit, noting with unease how he heard her out in stone cold silence. He’d only spoken after she was done, and the anger beneath the surface made her hair stand on end.

Are you hurt? Did anyone touch you?

Kaya thought of the way the leader had looked at her - Ron, who had fingered a lock of her hair with impunity, and shuddered.

No. I’m fine.

She wished more than anything that they weren’t having this conversation over the phone, that for this night at least, they weren’t in a relationship where they spent more nights apart than together.

There were some voices in the background then, at which point Namjoon abruptly told her he’d call her back and to stay put at Mark’s.

I love you. The words were heavy with emotion but a moment later he’d hung up, and Kaya had clutched her phone in her hand, trying to remind herself that she wasn’t alone in this.

She’d drifted in and out of sleep all night, alternating between distracting herself with work and scouring the Internet to see if those people were telling the truth, if her identity and address were really public. She couldn’t find anything, though; she tried scrolling through Twitter but after finding nothing apart from snippets of baseless rumours, she didn’t even understand what she was looking for.

It’s well after sunrise now. As much as she’d like to stay inside this room for the foreseeable future, she knows she needs to head back.

“Are you sure?” Mark raises his eyebrows. “You can stay here if you don’t feel ready.”

“No, I - I can’t impose any longer,” she says, shaking her head at Maya’s admonishing hand gesture. “But thank you, though.”

“Okay, if you’re sure.” Mark still sounds doubtful but doesn’t press. Maya convinces her to have a piece of toast that tastes like cardboard, and Kaya obliges out of sheer gratitude. “I’ll send you the locksmith’s number,” he promises as she leaves.

“Call if you need anything at all!” Maya reminds her as she leaves. She hasn’t met Maya except for in passing over the last year, but there’s something about the instant way in which she’d understood Kaya’s fear that makes Kaya trust her implicitly.

Kaya enters her apartment hesitantly. It looks the way it always does, but it feels like a crime scene. She imagines going to campus today and returning in the evening, looking forward to her inviting sofa and a warm bath, but instead feeling this uncomfortable in her own home.

It takes her a minute, but she quickly snaps into action. She cannot allow her apartment to be this tainted; she drops her bag and the photo frame in her room, texts her thesis advisor that she’s taking a sick day, and gets to work.

By approximately eleven am, the locks have been changed, every inch of the apartment has been cleaned and sanitised, a camera for her hallway has been purchased on Amazon, along with an alarm system for her balcony.

It feels a little better, she has to admit. The empty spot on her TV shelf catches her eye, though, and her heart twitches painfully at the reminder of the broken frame. She’s sitting on Namjoon’s lap in the picture, her arm around his shoulders and his around her waist, the other one resting on her knee. They’re in sweaters during the onset of fall, having reached a milestone in their relationship after Namjoon had officially met her mother.

She has to get the picture fixed. It’s a loose end, a reminder of this hideous night, but before she can start Googling the closest place to get it repaired, she hears a loud sound.

Kaya jumps and freezes, her heart thumping painfully in her chest. It’s the new lock; someone is out there, jiggling a key or a pin or something to try and break in again. Her eyes dart around and she dives for the hockey stick the previous tenant had left here, one she’d just strategically placed by her room for future situations, and she holds it up in preparation.

No, please, no, not again. Would this be the rest of her life? Being on edge constantly and waiting for someone else to break into her apartment?

The lock jiggles for a moment longer, followed by a knock. “Kaya?” A voice travels through the wood, making her heart skip a disbelieving beat. “It’s me!”

Dropping the hockey stick to her side, Kaya races through the living room and unlocks the door, hardly daring to believe it. He’s here, in the flesh, dressed in a black T-shirt and tan cargos, looking both confused and relieved when she opens the door for him.

“My key isn’t working and I thought something was wrong…” Namjoon steps inside and closes the door behind him, frowning at the hockey stick.

She remembers then that she’s still holding it and drops it on the floor, all her remaining grit and forced calm disappearing at the sight of him. She tries to speak, but she’s suddenly afraid that if she opens her mouth, she might start to cry.

Namjoon seems to realise this, for his frown deepens and he drops his duffel bag on the floor before taking a step closer to her.

“Come here,” he says softly, holding out his arms and wrapping them around her when she reaches up to hug him.

“I got the locks changed,” she mumbles into his shoulder, feeling him nod against her head. He’s here, he’s really here…

His arms tighten around her like he’s only just convinced she’s real. “Good girl.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” she murmurs, watery and clinging to him as tightly as she can. He smells of soap and aeroplane and she can tell he picked out the first article of clothing he could get his hands on. Clutching the T-shirt fabric in her fist, she breathes it in.

“Of course I’m here.” He’s quiet but his voice shakes, his face buried in her hair. “When you called, I couldn’t believe - I mean, I didn’t…” He trails off and shakes his head, exhaling before pulling away.

“Wait, don’t you have a concert tomorrow night?” she asks, suddenly remembering that the rest of the world hasn’t come to a standstill just because she has.

“Yeah, I - I need to fly out tomorrow.” Namjoon runs a hand through his dishevelled hair, looking unbelievably tired. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer but I had to come, I just couldn’t -“

Kaya silences him with a kiss, so desperate to make him stay, knowing that no words on earth will be enough to communicate to him the world of difference that his presence makes. “I still can’t believe you’re here,” she repeats, sniffing and pressing her forehead to his.

Namjoon nods, his hands big and warm on her arms. “Are you okay? Are you - are you hurt?” He steps back and looks at her up and down, as though expecting to see something wrong.

“I’m fine,” she assures him, feeling more vulnerable yet safe since last night. “I got lucky, I think - I had the three biggest idiots in the city break in. They used real names, didn’t cover their faces, carried Leiden University backpacks and left their fingerprints on stuff and -“ She scoffs and gives him a look. “They Ubered over here.”

Namjoon says nothing, but it’s clear he doesn’t consider any part of this incident lucky. He licks his lips and it looks like he wants to say something, but then he shakes his head and takes another step closer to her. “I love you,” he says, pulling her into his arms again - and Kaya knows that this hug is for him, for his fear and worry. “I love you, I love you…”

He murmurs the words over and over again until his voice breaks but they don’t let go of each other for a few more minutes, not until her back starts cramping with his weight.

“Tell me everything,” he says seriously, taking a seat on the sofa, legs spread out and feet firmly on the ground. When she hesitates momentarily, he takes her hand and gently pulls her to him, directing her to sit beside him. It’s easier than last night; this time the initial shock has worn off and moreover, he’s here and she can touch him and see his reaction and squeeze his hand whenever he starts to get too antsy.

“So… wait.” Namjoon shakes his head and frowns. “They didn’t threaten you. Or actually want to hurt you?”

“No,” she confirms, resting her elbow on the top of the sofa. “They were… talking. They weren’t even sure if we were together - I don’t think anybody is,” she adds, feeling a strange sense of relief at saying the words out loud. It was true; every single thing she saw on Twitter last night had conflicting information, all the way down to her location and her name. “The moment I told them it wasn’t true - that we weren’t together and I had no idea where you were or what you were doing, they lost all interest.”

He bites his lip. “You really said we weren’t together?” Through the confusion and the worry, she can detect a hint of curiosity.

“Yeah.” She links her fingers with his on his lap. “It felt weird but it was the only thing I could think of to get rid of them. Your fans really want you to be single,” she can’t resist adding wryly, remembering how the redhead - Sylvia, she recalls suddenly - had gazed at their picture in the frame.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, rubbing his eyes. “They’re the bad seeds. I hate them,” he adds with feeling. He looks away, as though he can’t meet her eyes, and the guilt is clear in his body language.

Kaya is quiet for a moment, observing his troubled expression, and gently runs her fingers through his blond bangs. She loves the curtain bangs on him. “How did you manage to ask for an off schedule trip so fast?”

“I didn’t ask.” He shrugs. “I would’ve loved to see them try and stop me leaving for this. We’re still people, you know?” he says, squeezing her hand. “We have emergencies.”

She cracks a hollow smile. “It could have been worse. Oh, and -” She exhales. “They broke the frame.”

He frowns. “What frame?”

“The silver Vera Wang one that we got in New York.” She lowers her eyes apologetically. “It was on the shelf by the TV and they - one of them picked it up and when they ran out, it fell -” Unexpectedly, her eyes sting at the image of the broken artefact. “I’m sorry.”

Namjoon sighs and pulls her closer to him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and tucking her head under his chin. “You really had me worried there for a moment,” he mutters, kissing the top of her head.

“It was a beautiful frame,” she sniffles.

But he shakes his head. “I love you,” he murmurs simply.

He repeats the words throughout the day. Their conversations become sparse, with both of them tired and sleep-deprived, yet staying as physically close as they can. Kaya can’t blame him; on some level, she knows how he feels. Being far away and out of control is nerve-wracking, even in theory, but after something like this, she doesn’t want to downplay his concern.

She joins him in the shower when he visibly hesitates leaving her in the living room. There’s no sex; they simply stay together, quiet and tactile under the running water where he murmurs I love you into her wet hair, saying nothing else. It’s the same while they order lunch and when she shows him the broken frame. He touches the scratched edge and tilts his head at her, as if to let her know this is the least of his worries, before kissing her forehead. I love you.

For the first time in their relationship, she’s on the verge of asking him to stay a little longer, concert be damned. She knows she won’t, but she lets herself imagine that she does, that he might stay back with her so that her studio apartment won’t feel so empty and inviting to strangers looking to break in. By the evening, Kaya has managed to hold her tongue and just make the best of whatever time she has with him, full of gratitude that he took a seven hour flight from New York at a moment’s notice just for her.

She wishes she could tell him that, but he seems far away in his thoughts. He’s quiet for longer periods of time while his hold on her only becomes more pronounced. Kaya isn’t sure how much of it is guilt and how much of it is anxiety, but she lets him process it at his own pace, content for now to simply let him hold her and to be held.

It’s late in the evening when Kaya gets woken by a shrill sound. Her eyes snap open and she jerks up from where her head was on Namjoon’s chest, sighing when he quickly silences his phone.

“Sorry, sorry - go back to sleep…”

“No…” She checks her own phone and groans. “Damn it, I’ve been asleep for an hour?”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs, tugging her back to her original position. “You must be tired. I dozed off, too.”

“Yeah, but you’re leaving soon. I don’t want to -” She breaks off and brushes her hair off her face, already recognising the signs of missing him for another handful of weeks.

Namjoon simply purses his lips, but doesn’t say anything more. He looks sad, too; she can’t tell if he wants to talk about it, but she supposes this is just one of those things that mean more when they aren’t uttered out loud.

She squeezes his shoulder before getting off his lap. “I’ll go see what I have for dinner,” she says, gesturing to the kitchen. “Or we may have to order in again.”

“Kaya.”

She turns to see him swing his legs off the couch and sit up straight, his elbows resting on his knees. “Yeah?”

“We need to talk.” He bites his lip. “About last night. About… what really happened. The root cause of it.”

Kaya folds her arms across her chest, knowing this would come up eventually. In fact, she can’t help but appreciate that he hasn’t brought it up even once yet.

“Yeah, I know,” she sighs and swallows. “The front door. You were right, Namjoon. About everything. In fact -” She shrugs hugely, as though bracing herself for it. “I officially give you permission to say ‘I told you so’.”

To her surprise, Namjoon shakes his head. “Come on, I don’t want to say that. That’s not the root cause I’m talking about.” He pauses. “They broke into your house.”

Kaya frowns. “You - you want me to move?” All of a sudden, her apartment feels like the safest place in the world. “I don’t - I don’t think that’s necessary. It’s not like my address is public - plus, this is campus housing. It’s subsidised. I don’t even know if I can afford anything that’s -”

“Kaya, honey -” Namjoon interrupts her, his eyes pleading. “That’s… that’s not the root cause either. You know it’s not.”

She’s stumped now. There’s a nagging voice at the back of her mind that tells her the answer is obvious, that it’s right there, but there’s nothing logical that presents itself to her, not even when he sighs and hangs his head. She’s never seen him this upset; it triggers an automatic surge of concern in her that makes her want to reach for him.

Something stops her, though. Namjoon isn’t speaking anymore, as if he physically can’t voice the words. His eyes are beseeching her to understand and it’s not until she notices how his eyes are filling up that it hits her chest like a cricket ball.

“No,” she mutters, realising only a moment later that she’s spoken out loud. “No. You can’t possibly - no.” Kaya shakes her head and takes a step back, refusing to even entertain this train of thought. “Just… no. I’m going to see what’s for dinner and then we can talk about whatever insane idea you think you’re -”

“Kaya -”

“No!” she interrupts, her lower lip already trembling because he can’t, he can’t be serious. “What is wrong with you? How can you even think of suggesting this? How could you -” But she breaks off because he isn’t arguing back. Why isn’t he arguing back? He doesn’t say a word, simply looking up at her with so much pain, so much sadness and guilt at her reaction that it tears at her insides because he’s serious.

“I love you,” he says quietly, and it sounds like the end.

—

Summer in Amsterdam is sunny, always. Tulips are in full bloom, tourists are taking pictures everywhere, and it’s colourful shorts and bicycles and gelato. The sun is up until late, late in the evening and the weather is dry and warm with just the slightest chill in the night.

Today, in an usual turn of events, it’s raining. It’s April in Amsterdam and it’s raining, hard enough that the clouds have taken over the erstwhile blue sky and the city is a colourless, soulless grey.

Kaya stares at Namjoon, using everything she has in her to keep her composure. “What,” she begins, her voice low and shaking, “the hell are you talking about?”

Namjoon sighs, looking resigned. “I can’t do this,” he whispers. “I can’t be the reason something like this happens to you. What if you’d gotten hurt? I would never be able to forgive myself.”

“So this is about you.”

He doesn’t take the bait. “This is about you. And you’re not safe - and that’s because of me.”

“It is not because of you. It’s because of whoever betrayed my confidence and revealed my identity - how can you take that upon yourself?” she demands.

“Because none of this would’ve happened if you were dating a normal person!” he blurts loudly, and Kaya doesn’t even want to ask how long he’s been thinking this. “Hiding and lying and - and - and now this! Kaya, they broke into your house!” he repeats. “Anything could have happened. I cannot be the reason you get hurt, baby - I just can’t.”

“You are not!” she cries, so scared now because he isn’t backing down. “None of this was your fault - and how in the world is this the answer?”

“You said it yourself,” he points out, clearly ready for this question. “They backed off the moment you told them I was single. They just need confirmation - I can put out a statement and this whole thing can just - just go away!”

“So lie!” she exclaims incredulously. “Just lie! We don’t have to actually break up for that to happen.”

Namjoon gives her a look. “They found out where you live. You think they won’t find out if we’re lying?”

Kaya blinks back tears. “They may not. Shouldn’t we at least try? Instead of relying on a statement that gets put out in a week or - or whenever your PR team decides is the best time for your tour?”

But he shakes his head. “That won’t be a problem. I spoke to them at the airport and they said if I give a go-ahead, they can have it released in twelve hours or maybe even lesser if I tell them in advance -”

“Wait, wait, wait. Hang on.” She holds up a hand, feeling a pit of anger starting to pool in her stomach. “You’ve already spoken to your team?”

Namjoon pauses. “I -” He looks taken off guard. “I mean… I had to ask before I -”

“Oh, my God,” she whispers, taking a step back, away from him. “You came here to break up with me?”

“No! No - God, Kaya, I came here because -”

“I thought you came here for me,” she interrupts, a horrible, terrible realisation washing over her. “I thought you came here because you were worried - but you just came here to break up with me?”

“Of course I came here for you,” he states firmly, walking over to her now. “You have no idea what kind of things went through my mind when you called me last night. Kaya, I will drop everything for you in a second - you know that. But that includes us, too,” he says after a moment, softer this time. “If it’s to keep you safe.”

“You are so full of it,” she mutters, avoiding his hand reaching for her and stepping back again. “That’s such bullshit. Tell me - how many people knew about our break-up before I did? If you’ve been planning this since before you even got here?”

“It’s not like that. This wasn’t an easy decision for me either, but I don’t know what else to do!”

But Kaya shakes her head. Her initial shock and desperation has been replaced with anger - pure and simple anger at him, for spending all day with her when he knew this entire time that this was what he was intending to do.

“Fine.” She shrugs, clenching her jaw to stop herself from crying. “Do what you have to. But if you’re expecting me to - to beg you to stay, that is not happening.”

“I don’t want you to beg -” Namjoon looks up at the ceiling, blinking rapidly and swallowing before meeting her eyes again. “I just want you to understand why I’m doing this because it’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done, baby,” he implores, reaching for her face. “I don’t know how else to fix this except to leave and let you live your life -”

“Then, go.” She knocks his hands away and pushes him back by the shoulders. He barely moves but his expression is stung. She knows he’s holding back tears, too, but she’s so angry and so hurt and she hates him so she doesn’t bother caring about his pain right now.

“Kaya -”

“What are you waiting for? Pack your shit and leave, now!” She pushes him back again, sniffing. When he doesn’t move, she pushes him back again, harder. “Go!” she cries, her voice trembling.

Namjoon looks as though he’s about to say something but evidently decides against it. His eyes fall to the floor and he rubs at his eyes before turning around and going back into her room where he’d dragged his duffel bag earlier in the day. He shuts the door behind him, although whether it’s to give himself privacy or her, she isn’t sure.

The sound of the door closing reverberates within her, though, and she stares after him, wanting to hold on to the anger and rage at how he’s giving up on them but it doesn’t last. She sits down on the sofa in a daze, absently bringing onto her lap the cushion on which Namjoon had been resting his head just a little while ago.

Without thinking, she brings it to her face and she’s met instantly with his scent, of his shampoo and his cologne and him. With the silence in the living room and the sound of the rain outside, it suddenly hits her like a punch in the stomach that this will be the last time her apartment will ever smell of him.

The first sob comes out of nowhere but once it’s out, she’s crying. She’s careful not to be loud but burying her face in her hands, she feels her shoulders shake and her heart ache like it hasn’t in her life. It feels unreal that he would even suggest this, that he would go so far as to make arrangements - all weighed against the alternative of just staying. It hadn’t occurred to her that she was ever afraid of this, but it feels like her worst fear come true, that finally, finally, Namjoon has made his choice and she’s more stress than she’s worth.

Part of her knows it isn’t true; the image of his face when he’d silently begged her to understand what he was asking without having to say it is burned into her mind. But there’s no sympathy in her for him, not when he’s willing to give up everything including their shared future over this.

At some point, the bedroom door opens again and Kaya can hear footsteps come towards her. She looks away, resolutely staring in the opposite direction, this time not even bothering to hide her puffy face and wet eyes from him when Namjoon kneels down next to her.

“Listen,” he begins, then halts. His tone has a forced calm quality to it, as though he’s had to talk himself into keeping his composure. She isn’t fooled; he was inside her room for a long time for someone who’s barely unpacked in the half a day that he’s been here. He places one hand on her knee and the other on her back and tries again.

“Kaya, sweetheart,” he ventures, sniffing slightly and deliberately keeping his eyes on her. “Listen, you know - you know why I have to do this, right? You know I love you, you know this is not about… that, but I just -“

Kaya bites her lip, hard enough to draw blood but to keep from breaking down in front of him. She continues to look away, closing her eyes at his touch in spite of herself, feeling the tears roll down her face and doing nothing to stop them.

“I love you. Tell me you know that.” He squeezes her knee and reaches for her face again, trying to meet her eyes. “Tell me you know that, baby, because I can’t do this without you understanding why I have to.”

She can barely hear him. She thinks of the last time they’d broken up and all the things he’d promised her when they’d gotten back together, and feels her resolve break. “Oh, my God,” she whispers, dropping her face in her hands again. It’s over, she thinks. It’s all over.

“No - don’t - don’t cry - Kaya, I can’t do this without you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry, I love you, I love you so much…”

“I never should’ve told you,” she whispers, shaking her head. If she’d just kept her mouth shut instead of running to him the moment something went wrong…

“No,” he says immediately. “No, come on, that’s not the answer…” He exhales shakily, pressing his forehead to her temple. His hair brushes her cheek and the moment his lips touch her face, Kaya pushes him away and struggles out of his arms. Ignoring his pleas, she goes in the only direction available to her and storms out the front door, slamming it behind her.

Eyes blurred with tears, Kaya runs down the stairs and towards the gate when she looks ahead and halts abruptly. It’s pouring. The rain is a wall of grey before her. She’s barefoot, she doesn’t have her phone and it’s night time.

Despite everything, she thinks of how desperately worried Namjoon will be if she disappears right now and her stomach twists painfully. He can’t leave. He cannot; she can’t let him. There’s never going to be another one of him - another one of them.

Before she knows it, Kaya is running back up the stairs. For a moment outside her front door, she considers the possibility that it might not work, that Namjoon might not stay. Three years of a relationship, braving cross-country distances and timezones and the stress brought about their jobs - all to come to an end in one night.

She opens the door and steps inside to see Namjoon exactly where she’d left him, but standing up now. She just about registers the look of relief on his face before looking away again; it’s so hard to meet his eyes.

He comes to her, taking her wrists and trying, again, to make her look at him, but she resists and he keeps trying and she steps closer to him and tilts her head up and kisses him because despite it all, despite all the anger and the hurt and betrayal she loves him so, so much and she doesn’t know how else to tell him apart from pulling him closer by his T-shirt that this is it, this is everything so please, please, to just stay because there’s nowhere else for them to go but to each other.

It’s working, she thinks when he pulls her close, so close that it feels like he might never let her go. He kisses her so deeply and so desperately, his hands moving down every bit of her body that they can, from her face, to her arms, to her back and to her hair; he needs her just as much, and she can see it - he can see it. He has to know - and it’s seeming like he does.

Kaya doesn’t let up, not for a single second, not when they stumble into her bedroom or when their clothes come off in a chaotic mess. Every time he kisses her, every inch of skin he presses his lips to is with a fervour, with a hunger that gives her hope that he gets it now. He kisses every inch of her, not leaving a single bit untouched, silent but passionate. I’m not going to beg. She isn’t and besides, there are no words left to say. This is the only way she can think of asking him to stay.

But something starts feeling wrong, somewhere down the line when they’re naked and pressed against each other and his lips are on hers and he pulls away but says nothing, doesn’t whisper a single word while being inside her that she realises with a sinking heart that makes her want to cry at the ceiling that it isn’t working, that the reason he’s savouring her isn’t because he’s staying but because he’s not staying - because he thinks it’s the last time they’ll ever be together.

They lie in the darkness, too tired, too afraid to move. Namjoon’s arms are around her and his nose is pressed up against her hair. Kaya can’t see his face; she’s not sure she wants to. She suspects he may have finally broken down and if she happens to witness that, she has no faith in her own ability to stay strong.

But it’s happened anyway. It’s too late and there’s nothing else left at her disposal.

“Don’t go,” she whispers, so quiet that she’s surprised when he stiffens against her. “Please, Namjoon. Don’t do this, please,” she repeats, not caring anymore if she cries in front of him. “I love you… I love you, so please, please…”

Namjoon pulls her close, wrapping his arms around her so she’s surrounded by his skin, his scent, his love and guilt for the last time. “I love you, too,” he murmurs, and she can hear it now, clearly. He’s crying and she has no idea how to comfort him. “I love you, too much. And I can’t… I can’t…”

Kaya wraps her hands around his neck and stays there, determined to hold him because if she doesn’t let him go, how will he ever leave? The weak logic keeps her going, along with his lips against her hair and the feel of his touch against her body.

But it’s late and despite her best efforts, the stress of the day and all the lack of sleep catches up and her eyes close of their own accord and she falls asleep against him.

When Kaya wakes up the next morning, the bed is cold and she’s alone.

Her eyes flutter open and a moment later her heart stops and she sits up with a jerk. It’s as though her mind knows exactly what to look for, even if she’s not consciously searching for it. His duffel bag is gone and so are his shoes. There’s a note on her bedside table and she can recognise his English scrawl even from here.

No. It can’t be. But it is, and deep down in her heart she knows what he’s done and why he’s done it the way he has. Pulling the sheets up to her chest, suddenly feeling terribly exposed in her nakedness, Kaya reaches for her phone, still unsure what she’s looking for until she sees the notification for the Google alert for his name and feels her heart break all over again.

Amidst dating rumours, BTS RM confirms he’s single.

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