#how I feel dropping the hardest piece of art while it’s 3am

[p4rty4nim4l]

top of the morning beautiful family

[mercy-burning]

Cold Feet (Alternate Version)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: After receiving a letter from an old flame just days away from her wedding, Reader wonders if she should call it all off. —Inspired by the song Cold Feet by Tenille Arts Category: Angst (unhappy ending) Content Warnings: An almost kiss that isn’t with Reader’s fiancé Word Count: 1.8k

Read the other version of Cold Feet here!

MASTERLIST

***

She should be happily wrapped in a dream, Safe in a warm bed and sound asleep. So why is she walking back home From a long night down by the creek, With cold feet?

Y/N is currently finding it difficult to breathe.

It was easier a couple days ago when she knew exactly what she wanted. Her husband-to-be was more than excited to marry her, and she'd reciprocated that feeling entirely. Everything was ready to go. Truthfully, they could have gotten married right this second if that's what they wanted, that's how ready to go they were.

But now? She was questioning everything.

She still felt the thin paper in her hands, even with its folded body currently tucked away in an old book she knew was never going to be opened again- a gift from the man who'd written the letter in the first place.

The first time she read it, her heart sank. And by the third time she'd read it, her heart soared.

And then her fiancé walked in, asked her about what to make for dinner, and her heart sank all over again.

Honestly, damn him for choosing now to finally confess. Damn him for making her question everything, after she'd finally moved on and found someone who would always be around.

But then again, she'd ended up choosing to live in a house in their hometown, just blocks away from that creek he'd mentioned in his letter. So... Maybe she hadn't moved on entirely

She hated that she even had to think about it.

She hated that her thoughts were so consumed with this man she hadn't seen in years when the man she was about to marry slept next to her every night, unaware of the start to her inner turmoil. Each night since then, she dreamt of dances with both of them, alternating between the two until they made her choose which of them she wanted to spend the rest of her life with. And every morning she'd wake with an even bigger tear in her heart than when the old flame had burned it alive and left her alone in the aftermath to piece it back together.

Her fiancé helped her do that, though. Day by day he taught her to love again, to trust in somebody again, and he was truly a good man.

So why was it absolutely destroying her, thinking of getting married to him when there was someone else in the picture to think about? Someone who'd had a hold on her for well over fifteen years?

Again, she hated that she even had to think about it.

But she wasn't about to get married with all these conflicting thoughts, so whether she wanted to or not, her only real option was the one that would also be the hardest on her tattered heart.

She'd sent him a text message this morning that read, Midnight, and tucked her phone away for the rest of the day, drowning herself in mindless work and looking to keep time moving forward.

Now, she struggles to breathe as she makes her way down to the creek.

It's cold, having just rained fifteen minutes prior, and she wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly over her her arms, searching for warmth and comfort. She would have settled for one of her own, heavier pieces, but in some strange way she thought maybe having something there that belonged to her fiancée would ground her, something to remind her of the gravity of the situation at hand.

Nothing could have grounded her upon seeing her ex boyfriend after all these years, though, especially when she finally shows up to their old spot and sees him perched on the big stump right next to the water, relief and joy flooding through his features at the sight of her. His smile is just as bright and familiar as she remembered, and it just about knocks the wind out from under her feet.

"Hi, Y/N," he greets softly, standing up and stretching his hands out over his legs. It's obvious that he's nervous to meet up with her after all these years apart, and she couldn't blame him in the slightest.

She's just as nervous as her feet take baby steps towards him. Meanwhile she's hugging her fiancée's cardigan around her body tighter than before. "Hi..."

"I... I can't believe you actually wanted to meet. Truthfully I thought I wouldn't hear back from you."

"Well... Your letter kind of rattled me... You rattled me. I guess I just had to know..."

There's a long pause before he takes a small step towards her and tilts his head. His words are hesitant, like he thinks she might say something he doesn't want to hear. "And... What do you know?"

"I know that I love my fiancé. After you, I didn't really think I'd ever love anyone the same way again, but... He makes me happier than I've ever been, and I... I can't just discard that feeling because you decided too late that you still love me. You know?"

"I do, Y/N, I really do," he answers earnestly, and this time his hand reaches out to grab hers. "But... I mean, you showed up here, didn't you? That has to count for something..."

She isn't really sure how to respond after that. It's true that seeing this man in front of her for the first time in years has brought back a wave of feelings that she'd repressed and even experienced with someone new.

But it's also true that with those feelings comes an inevitable aftertaste of bitterness. He'd left her, decided ultimately that his career was more important to him, and now that she has someone new he's asking her to leave behind this peace she's found. And for what? For him? What's to stop him from leaving again, or deciding years or months down the road that he'd made a mistake and gotten her to leave her one shot at happiness after him?

Nonetheless, she sits with him for hours, listening to him explain... Giving him a chance. He apologizes for the past, he promises to do better in the future, and in between he makes her laugh. Their hands brush, their breaths mingle as they huddle from the cold, and with every passing minute, the cardigan on her shoulders becomes looser and more forgotten.

Slowly but surely, he's lowering her defenses and gaining her trust. He's showing her bits and pieces of the man she fell in love with until they're laughing at close to 3am.

And then, for a moment, it's quiet. Absolutely quiet, save for the crickets and the soft rolling of the creek behind them.

Y/N almost lets him kiss her then.

But then her heart hammers in her chest, and not in a good way. Suddenly, she's imagining the pure heartbreak that would surely manifest on her fiancé's face if he found out- if she really decided to leave him for this old flame that had barely started to kindle once again years later.

She has to be absolutely certain of her decision.

So she pulls back and wraps her fiancé's cardigan tightly around her arms. "I should go home."

There's disappointment in his eyes, and it twists her gut a little. "Right... Um... I-I can take you back, if you want."

"No, I, uh... I think I'm gonna walk. I have to think."

Y/N avoids his gaze just quickly enough that she doesn't see the disappointment in his eyes fizzle into a tiny sliver of hope.

Rain on the sidewalk, doubt in her mind. One thing's for sure, she's running out of time To decide what's right, And who's heart she's willing to break.

She climbs into bed some time later, the cardigan still wrapped tightly around her body, and she can't quite bring herself to face the man sleeping next to her. It feels wrong, like somehow she's betrayed him by even thinking of spending the rest of her life with another person. She doesn't feel worthy of his love.

When she wakes up the next morning, she'd somehow ended up facing him anyway. He's staring at her with adoring eyes, and under his gaze she can't help the guilt that washes over her.

"Quit looking at me like that..."

Her words are grumbly and soft because of having just woken up, and because her face is half hidden behind blankets and his cardigan, her fiancé doesn't know anything is wrong.

Instead, he laughs. "What, you're beautiful... And before you start arguing with me, yes, you're even beautiful when you wake up."

She only grumbles, feeling anything but.

It's quiet for a moment or two before he speaks again. "You're wearing my cardigan..."

Peeking her eyes out from the mountain of fabric, she can see the enchantment in his eyes and it makes her warm. "I was cold..."

While true, she mostly means I had cold feet.

"Come here."

Two simple words, two syllables, and yet it's the softest declaration of love she's ever heard. Her body instinctively nestles into his, face going straight into the crook of his neck while he wraps her up in his arms.

"There," he says, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "You feel warmer yet?"

"Mhm..." She sighs into his skin and then takes in a deep breath.

He smells like home.

He feels like home.

And as he starts softly humming her favorite song, rubbing soothing circles into her back as he holds her close, Y/N wonders why she'd ever doubted her love for him.

He is home.

Spencer never was— he was almost always gone.

Letting him go is hard given their past; The good in their relationship was really good, but... it wasn’t enough. It isn't enough for Y/N to leave behind this new, pure love that had reopened parts of her soul she hadn't realized could be repaired after Spencer.

While James makes coffee in the kitchen, Y/N wanders to the bookshelf, gently removing Spencer's gift from the dark wood and swiping her hand over the bound leather exterior. The letter enclosed inside, handwriting that matches an inscription on the front inside cover of the book, beats softly like a heart.

Later that day, as she makes her way five towns over, that heartbeat slowly diminishes— until, finally, she drops it off at the local bookstore for donation, and it stops beating altogether.

And Spencer, somehow, can feel it. He feels it deep in his bones, that she'd given up on them— on him.

He feels the beating of his heart slow down day after day, so quiet and barely tangible, that once the day of her wedding finally arrives, it shatters altogether.

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[minjinlix-blog]

of ramen and duck slippers (minho x reader)

➥ words: 2.4k ➥ genre: fluff, college!au ➥ pairing: lee minho x reader ➥ summary: you keep running into this guy on campus. but hey, he’s pretty cute. ➥ warning: mentions of alcohol & suggestive comments from a greasy minho

The first time you run into Lee Minho, it’s 3am and he’s drunk.

You’re in your pajamas, hair more unkempt than a bird’s nest, and you’ve walked across the street from your university dorm to pick up some midnight ramen from the local convenience store. Well, 3am ramen actually. You and your roommate Jisung had been marathoning your favorite TV show in celebration of the end of another week of classes but he had fallen fast asleep next to you, his snores getting louder and louder by the minute.  You didn’t have the heart to shove him off your bed, and you figured you were craving some spicy noodles anyway, so you had slipped your feet into your duck-printed dorm slippers and left the building.

Tapping your slippers back and forth as you’re debating between the super spicy ramen or the super super spicy ramen, a body stumbles into your aisle, startling you out of your intense mental debate. Looking over in surprise, you see a boy roughly the same age as yourself, black hair disheveled and mussed. He clearly had been at a party of some sorts - it’s a Friday night, after all - given the faint whiff of alcohol around him and the slightly glazed over look in his eyes. He’s really cute, and all of a sudden a wave of self-consciousness washes over you. You’re aware of how nasty you must look - when was the last time you showered? Did you still have stink breath from the bag of chips you and Jisung ate earlier in the night?

The boy gives you a half smile, a little lopsided, and you’re surprised by how perfect his teeth are and how pretty his eyes are, even glazed over from being buzzed. “Hey there,” he says, his voice light and teasing.

“Hi,” you say a little unsurely. “Can I help you?”

“Hm.” The boy walks over closer to you and stares at the rows of ramen. “That’s a good question. Got any good ramen suggestions? I’m kind of feeling the munchies.”

“The what?” You ask. Who even is this boy?

“Oh. I’m Lee Minho, junior computer science major.” He - Minho - sticks his hand out for you to shake. Shoot, had you said that last thought out loud?

You take his hand - it’s small but his grip is firm. He seems surprisingly put together for someone who had clearly been partying. “Y/N. Uh, also a junior. But an English major. And I recommend the Nongshim ramen; it’s my favorite,” you confess. You point at the ramen cups in front of you, and Minho’s eyes trail down slowly from your face down your neck and across your arm to shelf. You feel weirdly exposed, even though you’re wearing a ratty old sweater that’s two sizes too big for you and covers any sort of shape you might have under it.

Minho blinks at the shelf, then grabs three cups from the rack. “Great! Thanks, Y/N!” He walks away toward the cashier. As you watch him go, he accidentally drops a cup. As he bends down to pick it up, he shouts down the aisle: “By the way, cute slippers!”

You look down and flush as you stare at the duck-printed slippers, the bright yellow pattern glaring back at you.

The second time you run into Lee Minho, you thought he had forgotten you.

“Hey, it’s you!” Minho exclaims as he catches your eye on the first day of spring semester, approximately four months after you had first met him. You’re in the front row of your comparative literature class, ready to get swarmed with the usual millions of pages of reading assignments, and seeing the cute boy from the convenience store you ran into once upon a time was a pleasant surprise. You’re pleased to remember that you did in fact brush your hair today and that you were actually wearing something kind of cute.

“Hi,” you smile at him as he slides into the seat next to you. “Why are you taking this class? It’s not in your major, right?”

“Nah,” Minho smiles easily.  “I just heard it was an easy class.  Gotta maintain that GPA, you know.”

You raise your eyebrows.  “Was someone trying to play a prank on you? Comparative lit is the required class for junior English majors.  It’s notorious for being, like, the hardest class in the major sequence.”

Minho’s eyes widen almost comically. “Shit! Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Is it too late to drop the class?”

You shrug. “You could go talk the the registrar about it.”


Minho groans and slumps backwards in his seat, hair falling into his eyes. “That’s so much worrrrk,” he blows a piece of hair out of his face.  He’s quiet for a moment before he sits straight up again.

“Well, I’m off to go beg them to let me drop the class,” he says, standing up.

As he leaves the classroom, he shouts across the room: “Give my love to those cute duck slippers of yours!” He winks at you, and you feel your face heat up as your eyes follow his body disappearing around the corner.

If you keep running into this boy, you’re positive you’re going to have a heart attack.

The third time you run into Lee Minho, it’s because of Jisung.

You’re walking together with him, bubble tea in hand, and as you pass by the performing arts department building of your university, a boy walks out. Jisung gasps.

“Minho my man!” He calls out. “What’s up?”

Minho jogs over, grinning at Jisung. “Hey, Hannie-boy! Haven’t seen you in a while!”

“Hannie-Boy?” You whisper to Jisung.

“It’s what all the dance majors call me,” he explained.

“Wait, I thought you were a computer science major, Minho,” you narrow your eyes at the taller boy.  His eyes slide over from Jisung to you, his smile never faltering.

“Well, Duck Slippers, there’s something called ‘two majors.’” He winks at you.

“How do you two know each other?” Jisung asks, looking curiously between the two of you.

“Oh, we had a drunken 3am tryst between some shelves,” Minho says suggestively. You choke and Jisung looks at you with wide eyes.

“Y-Y/N? Really?” He sounds shocked, and you almost feel offended.

“Shelves of ramen,” you clarify, clearing your throat. “And he was the inebriated one, not me.”

“I wasn’t inebriated,” Minho protests. “I was simply...tipsy.”

“Sounds fake, but okay!” Jisung pipes up, giggling.  “But why do you call Y/N Duck Slippers?”

“Jisung, we’re literally roommates. How have you not seen my duck slippers before?” You smack his arm. He whines in pain.

“What do you mean duck slip-oh. Wait. Is that what they are?” Jisung looks almost scandalized. “I thought they were sunflowers!”

“In what world do sunflowers and ducks look alike?” Minho laughs. You join in.

Jisung pouts and crosses his arms, sniffing. “Well, I can see I’m not wanted here.  I’m going to the library to wallow in self-pity.”

“Okay, byeee,” you and Minho both say in a singsong manner.

“Have fun!” Minho calls out at Jisung as he walks away in a huff. Jisung slaps his ass in response.

“You seem to know him well,” you comment.

“Yeah, we were in the same dance class last year,” Minho says offhandedly. “And he’d always come over to my room to steal my lollipops.”

“Oh my god, you’re the mystery lollipop guy!” you gasp.

“The one and only,” Minho winks at you, and you will the heat building up your neck to subside. “Why, has Jisung talked about me? Good things, I hope.”

“Hardly. You’re the reason why my room was filled with lollipop wrappers everywhere!” you groan. Last year you had gotten so fed up with Jisung’s dirty habits that you’d withhold his snacks from him until he had cleaned up his side of the room.

Minho snickers. “I don’t think it’s my fault that Jisung’s a slob. But,” he sighs. “If it makes you feel better, I could make it up to you.”

“How?” you ask suspiciously.

“Let’s get lunch,” Minho offers. “On me.” He smiles, flashing his pearly white teeth at you.

“Like...a date?” you press.

Minho shrugs offhandedly. “It could be a date...or it could not be a date. You choose.”

You take a moment to think. Minho’s cute and you want to know more about him.

“It’s a date,” you say decisively.

Minho’s smile turns into a devilish grin. “How did I know you were going to say that?” he muses aloud.

The fourth time you run into Lee Minho, it’s literal. Like, you literally run into him.

You’re sprinting across campus, and it’s 12:10pm. Your class had gotten out late because your professor had been a little too wordy at the end of class, and it was only until you had left the building and checked the time when you realized you were late for your noon lunch date with Minho.

You pull out your phone as you start running over to the campus center where Minho wanted to meet so you can text him that you’re running late. But as soon as you open your messages app, you collide into another body, essentially body slamming the other person to the ground.

“Oomph!” Both of you exclaim in surprise.

Totally winded, you look down at the poor soul you just rammed straight into and realize it’s a familiar face.

“You know, if you wanted to be on top, Duck Slippers, you could’ve just asked.” Minho gives you another lopsided smirk from underneath you. You roll off his body and push yourself off the ground.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” you apologize, speaking fast. “My professor let class out late and I was running because I didn’t want to make you wait, but clearly I was worrying for nothing because you also are late and I was just about to text you but then - ”

Minho cuts you off. “Y/N. Breathe.”

You breathe. In and out.

Minho smiles at you, and you think you’ve maybe forgotten how to breathe again.

“Great. Let’s go get lunch.” And with that, Minho reaches out and grabs your hand and drags you over to the campus center.

The fifth time you run into Lee Minho, he’s really sweaty.

The stage is dark, and you’re holding your breath in anticipation. You can feel your heart pounding as the crowd is hushed.

All of a sudden, a beat drops and the stage lights flicker on. Your heart bursts when you see Minho rush out onto stage to begin his dance number. You watch in awe as his body moves in sync with the music, each move sharp yet somehow relaxed - Minho makes dancing look easy. It had taken him a while to agree to let you come to his showcase (“No, I’m not good enough yet. Maybe senior year,” he had said) but you had begged with some wise-chosen words (“What kind of a boyfriend doesn’t let their significant other see his dance performances?”) until he had finally given you his extra free ticket.

(“Yeah, boyfriend. Unless you don’t let me watch your dance performance. Then you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Okay, I’m your boyfriend. And you can come watch, I guess.”)

After the performances end, you rush out of your seat and toward the backstage entrance. Running past the other performers and giving them quick congrats and praise, you spot Minho running a towel through his black hair, the front pieces still matted to his forehead with sweat. You beeline toward him and as he’s tossing his sweaty towel away, you throw yourself at him.

“Whoa!” Minho’s arms wrap naturally around your waist as you hug him fiercely.

“You were amazing!” You exclaim, but then pull away quickly. You look at your arms, damp with Minho’s back sweat. “But ew, you need a shower.”

“I know.” Minho leans in close to you, and your heart almost stops. He pecks you on the lips, short and sweet, before moving his lips to your ear. “Wanna shower with me?” he asks suggestively.

You pull away and hit him. “Gross!”

Minho just laughs and snakes his arm around your waist again, pulling you up close to his sweaty side. “One day, Duck Slippers, one day.”

It’s 3am when the credits of the third Lord of the Rings movie start rolling, and you yawn and snuggle deeper in Minho’s body, legs tangled together, your arm splayed across his chest. He’s breathing slowly, and you think he’s asleep when you look up to peck him on the chest.

His eyes flutter open, his unfairly long eyelashes bobbing up and down as he blinks. Minho looks at the rolling text on your laptop. “itssover?” he says groggily, running a hand through his hair to wake him up. “What time is it?”

“Uh,” you check your phone. “Three in the morning exactly.”

“Oh.” Minho drops his arm. It’s quiet for a second. Then his stomach grumbles.

“Wanna go get ramen?” Minho asks. You laugh.

“How cyclical of us,” you snort, hoisting yourself up on the bed so you’re sitting up.

“Hey, don’t go using that English major to say big fancy words around me when I’m too tired to understand.”

“Cyclical isn’t even a big word,” you say dryly before tossing an oversized jacket at Minho’s face. “C’mon, let’s go.”

Just as you’re about to leave your apartment, Minho pulls you back in.

“Wait,” he protests before running back in. You wait a second for him to come out. In his hands are your duck slippers.

“Can’t forget these,” he winks, dropping them at your feet. “Now we can roleplay our first meeting.”

“So you’re saying you want to be inebriated?”

“For the last time, I was tipsy, not drunk!” Minho huffs, but he still wraps his arms around you and dips his head so your faces are very, very close. You can feel his breath wash over your skin.

“Besides, just being with you makes me feel drunk,” he murmurs, lips brushing your cheek, making your skin tingle. You turn your cheek so your lips meet in a long and deep kiss. Melting into him, your lips mold perfectly against his as his teeth catch your bottom lip and graze against your skin. Your hand comes up to cup his jaw, his skin smooth and warm, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt happier.

“Come on,” you say a minute later when you’ve broken apart. “Let’s go get some ramen.”