#i hope this hurts you as much as it hurt me

[i1k]

gojo hates condoms ☆

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

[nochepsicodelica]

♡ ʕ˶´• ᴥ •`˶ʔ ♡

"Toji, do you love me?" You ask, as if he isn't curled up with you, his head resting on your shoulder so that he can see the stupid videos that pop up on your feed.

"Why would you even ask me that?" He mutters, tilting his head up to look at you.

"You're taking forever to respond. Oh... my heart," you say, your voice forcefully strained while clutching your chest as if you're pained.

"Don't start--"

"It's crumblingggg," you cry out, dramatically. "Oh god, it hurts so much, Toji! How could you? Is this how it feels to have love taken away? I should go outside and tie myself to a pole and see if there are any takers. Maybe, someone will actually want me and give me a warm, safe, and loving home." You give him a hopeful smile. "Yeah... that sounds nice and peaceful."

"Uh-huh, sure. Too bad you're not going anywhere. You get me and our warm, safe, and loving home." You huff, childishly, at that, to which Toji grins. "You know I love your dramatic ass. You keep asking if we can get a dog, but you're basically like if a husky turned human."

You gasp at that, playfully offended, and stare at him in disbelief. "I'll be waiting for your apology," you say, putting your hood on and turning your back to him.

"Baby, come on," he pleads, chuckling. "Come on. You're not mad at me."

"I am. I'm furious," you say, monotonously. "You shouldn't even look at me right now. I'm ferocious," you add, trying not to laugh at your own word choice.

"Yeah? You're a scary thing, right now, 'cause I made you mad?"

"Mhm," you hum, in response, and continue to scroll and watch videos without him.

"Hmm..." He leans over and snatches your phone out of your hands, tossing it towards the end of the bed. You feel helpless as he smoothly pulls your hood off, flips you onto your back, and straddles you. Your arms are pinned beside your head, by his enormous paws. You've been somewhat manhandled into surrender and all you can do is laugh as you look up at him.

"This is your ferociousness?" Toji asks, with a dumb grin on his face when you simply nod and press your lips together, to do a horrible job of stifling your amusement. "I'm so strong and brave, huh?" Again, you nod, unable to contain the giggles that spill out. "What if I... I don't know..." he murmurs, leaning down, closer to you. "Just gave you a little..."

The distance between your lips is closed off by Toji's lips pressing against yours—a slow, savored kiss, that makes your hands go limp beside you. He is utterly disarming, even against your faux grumpiness.

He hums something low against your lips when your laughter begins to bubble up once again. "Mm... You were never mad at me, were you?" Toji asks.

"And if I was?" You say, a gleam of mischief in your eyes and a sly smirk on your face.

"I'll kiss you, again. Is that really what you want?" He says, as if it's a threat.

"You know it. Kiss me, sugar lips," you say, amusedly.

"Why are you like this?" He mutters, rolling off of you and positioning himself beside you on the bed.

"Fine, gravel lips. Rock salt lips, sandpaper lips—is that what you want me to call you instead?" You ask, turning over to face him.

He slings an arm over your waist and pulls you in close. The scent of his body wash smells warmer as it mingles with his body heat. It's relaxing, fitting for the lazy day you've both indulged in. "You don't mean it," he responds, smugly. "I was sugar lips before you decided you wanted to hurt my feelings."

"Whatever," you mutter, rolling your eyes.

"Love you, sassy baby," he says, teasingly. "Don't ever doubt it. Now, where were you going with that question?"

"Well, it was going to be built up to me asking you if you have a Valentine, but then you crapped all over it. Now, it's not cute and it stinks. My plan reeks of failure."

"There's my dramatic girl," Toji utters under his breath, a chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Why don't you try again?" He says, smiling with amusement. "I'll even play along, alright?"

You sigh, as if it's going to take forever to pick up from where you left off, but nonetheless prepare to retry.

"Okay, fine," you start off, a soft sigh leaving your lips. "You love me, Toji?" You ask once more, already trying not to laugh at the focus he holds on you, like he's answering a survey.

"You know I do," he responds.

"Okay. Are you busy on the fourteenth of February?"

"Not that I know of."

"Are you interested in doing something that day?"

"Yeah, you, but go on," he says, smoothly.

"Toji," you chide, with a giggle. "Be serious."

"Fine, fine. Uh, yeah. I am," he answers. "Gotta treat my baby real nice, don't I?" He says, with a smirk.

You press your lips together, and compose yourself before asking the next question. "Do you have a Valentine?"

He tilts his head and deadpans, as if you're playing some sort of joke on him. "Ma."

"Just answer the question, Toji," you whisper, like you're breaking out of the questionnaire you made for him. "Do you have a Valentine?" You repeat, in your normal voice.

"Yeah, I got a Valentine," Toji says, his eyes trailing down your face, to your lips and back up to meet your eyes, again. His hand slides under your sweater and grabs ahold of your bare waist. He loves the layer of goosebumps that rises on your skin when he touches you. You're just so reactive to him. "She's basically an actress with how dramatic she is. It cracks me up, 'cause it's like talking to one of those screaming huskies she's always showing me on her phone." He grins, ready for you to go off, again. "Look at her, look at her. She's about to do it, right now," he says, lowly, his eyes glued to your squinted ones.

"Hmph. If you want me gone, just say so. Here I am, trying to ask you out on a date for Valentine's Day. Trying to show you all my love and affection and... and ugh—you don't care about my effort. You don't care about how romantic I am. So, you know what you're getting instead of wined and dined?"

"What's that, mama?" Toji asks, attempting to stay serious through your little dramatic fit.

"A big pile of nothing. No chocolates, not even a rose. And then at night, i'm gonna make a pillow wall between us, so you can't touch me. I had a gooood surprise for you, too, but you won't get it, until... uhh... I haven't decided, but it won't be on Valentine's Day," you assure.

"Baby," Toji coos, smirking at the light grumpiness in your features.

"No," you grumble, with a huff.

"Pretty baby. My pretty, pretty Valentine," he murmurs, the corners of his lips curling when he sees your facade crumbling. "Oh," he utters, with a soft, barely audible gasp. "Look at that little smile. It's getting bigger... and bigger... and-"

"Stop!" You cry out, through a laugh. Toji takes that as an invitation to pull you in even closer. To see your sunshine-like smile up close and hear more of those uncontrollable giggles as he tries to kiss you.

"Don't turn away from my sugar lips. Kiss 'em," he instructs, reaching for your jaw. With ease, he makes you face him again, soft laughter still spilling past your lips. "Be nice," he says, his voice a low purr. "You're my good girl, right? You'll let me kiss you?"

You sigh, defeated, and stop resisting his affection. "Yeah," you mumble, a confirmation for both statements.

"You're an angel," he murmurs, before connecting your lips once again. You feel his thumb stroking your side, causing your heart to race and goosebumps to surface on your skin all over again. They spread even more when his hand travels towards your back, his fingertips running up and down your spine.

His kisses are soft and slow, yet, still manage to bring heat to your cheeks. You know that if breathing wasn't necessary, he would spend hours on just kissing you, nonstop. Kissing until your lips feel raw and miserably bruised—tender to the touch. Until just the act of him leaning in for a mere peck, has you putting your hands up to his chest to stop him before he gets to your lips, again.

With a soft, final smack of your brushing lips, Toji breaks the kiss. "Say," he drawls, a sly smirk forming on his lips, "do you have a Valentine, sweetness?"

You hum, like you're thinking thoroughly about the question. "No, unfortunately," you respond, wiping the smirk off his face in an instant.

"Baby, you have to answer the question honestly," he whispers, mimicking the way you did before. You crack a grin and nod, compliantly. "So... you got a Valentine, doll?" He repeats, in his normal voice.

"No, I haven't been asked," you respond.

Toji scoffs. "Really?"

"Yeah, you said to answer honestly. I asked you to be my Valentine, but you haven't asked me."

"You asked if I have a Valentine," he corrects. "See, you're not being entirely honest with me," he says, shaking his head and clicking his tongue in disbelief.

"Will you be my Valentine, Toji?" You ask, trying incredibly hard to stay serious, though your lips are quivering, giving away the laughter you're suppressing.

"Yeah, i'll be your Valentine, pretty. Will you be my Valentine?" He asks, in return.

"Yes, i'll be your Valentine," you answer.

"Great. And those plans you made for Valentine's Day... are we still on for that?"

You laugh. He looks like he's genuinely hoping you were joking about shutting it all down.

"Of course we are, baby. The plans were never cancelled. I didn't think you actually believed me."

"You're cold for that, ma. Ice cold," Toji grumbles, earning a chime of your laughter. His hand comes out from under your sweater and travels lower and lower until he's able to grab the back of your thigh and lift your leg over his hip. "Let me warm you up."

[p5buecks]

gift swap

paige bueckers x reader

valentines day gift swap with your girlfriend

cw: smut (munch p! strap p!)

hi! happy early valentines day or galentines day, i hope u feel all the love <3

ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `ִ ࣪𖤐◞ ꙳ ๋࣭ ⭑ `

“You first.” “No, you first.” “No, you.” You and your girlfriend were currently arguing over who would open their gift first. It was the night before Valentine’s Day and you had snuck away from your family home to come to Paiges house to exchange gifts.

“No seriously, you first because it’s technically for me but you’ll get the true present.” Paige says shoving the red gift bag towards you. “Wait really? Because same. We didn’t get the same thing did we?” You ask although there’s no way you could have gotten the same thing. Your gift to Paige wasn’t exactly her kind of vibe. “Doubt it, ma.” Paige chuckles, “Now open it. And take your coat off. Makin’ me all uncomfortable sat on my bed in your trench coat.”

“You want me to take my coat off?” You ask, brows raised. “Yeah?” Paige was confused and it made you giggle, “Whatever you say.” You stand up from her bed and with your back towards her, you untie the belt around your waist and carefully unbutton your coat. The material falls slack around your body and you slowly spin around to face Paige, “Happy Valentine’s Day, P.” Paiges eyes widen as she takes in the sight in front of her.

You’re wearing a short, sheer black babydoll dress with a black lace trim. Beneath, a matching black lace bra and thong set. Your smooth thighs are on full display as the dress hem barely covers your ass. The deep, plunging neckline paired with the push up bra accentuates your full cleavage and along with the knee high black boots you opted for, you looked damn right slutty and Paige was eating it up. “Damn, ma.” She rasped out, leaning back on her elbows, her piercing blue eyes raking over your body, from head to toe, unapologetically. You shrug your coat off and it lands on her bedroom floor with a soft thud. “You like?” You ask, giving your girlfriend a spin so she could see the full fit. “I fuckin’ love.” She all but growls, reaching out for you hungrily.

You let out a high pitched giggle as she pulls you onto her lap so you’re straddling her, “You know I love you in black.” Paige remarks, fiddling with the lacy hem. The way her fingers graze the exposed skin on your thigh gives you goosebumps. “I do.” You grin down at her, “I know you love me in lace too.” Your raspy words have an immediate effect on Paige and she pulls her lip in between her teeth, “Alright. Open your gift now.” She hands you the red gift bag and you swing your leg off of her so your sat by her side.

Ruffling through the pink tissue paper, your hand meets something in the bag and it takes your brain all of three seconds to come to the conclusion your touching a strap on. You pull it out with eyes wide and your mouth falls open when you see the size of the silicone toy. “Paige! That’s huge!” You gasp further inspecting her gift to you. “Theres no way that’s fitting in-“ You begin to speak but Paige silences you, taking the strap from your grip, “Relax ma. You trust me, right?” Of course you do. You nod. “And you know I’d never hurt you?” Absolutely. You nod again. “Ok good. Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. I got you.”

You and Paige settle on a safe word of apple. She tells you if anything feels too much or it hurts or you don’t like it, just say apple and she’ll stop. No questions asked. You’re grateful for her care and consideration but by the time she’s knuckles deep, tongue lapping to get you wet enough, any fear you had disappeared and you just wanted her inside, now.

“Want you…inside.” You moan, pushing Paiges head away from your dripping core and she stretches up and kisses you deeply, hands digging into your waist. You taste yourself on her lips and tongue as it plays with yours and you groan into her mouth.

“You ready?” She checks in and you nod eagerly before she gives you another quick kiss and you watch as she strips out of her sweats. Her navy blue boxers tight against her muscular thighs and the way they flex as she steps into the harness makes you salivate. Her sweater was long discarded and the way she looked in her sports bra, hair in a messy bun and the plastic cock hanging from her waist made you wonder why it took this long for y’all to try this. “You look hot as fuck right now.” You tell Paige, looking at her through hooded eyes, desperate for her to hurry up.

You fiddle with the button holding your babydoll dress closed but Paige tells you to stop, “Keep that on.” She softly commands before tugging on your ankles, pulling you to the edge of the bed. You shudder with a mix of nerves and excitement, “Remember, apple, okay?” She reinforces the chosen safe word and you nod but that’s not good enough, “Words, baby.” Paige insists. “Yes. Apple, got it, whatever. Now just fuck me…please.”

Despite your clear yearning and vocal begging, Paige took her time and teased you. With one hand holding the base of the silicone cock and the other pushing your thigh to the side, she ran the tip through your wet folds. Up and down, agonisingly slow. You twitched and fidgeted, unable to keep still and you bucked your hips upwards in hopes that she would finally get the hint and give you what you wanted.

“Deep breath, ma.” Paige instructs and as you inhale and hold, she sinks down into you. You can’t help but wince as the silicone toy stretches you open, “You good?” Paige checks in and you nod quickly, biting down on your lower lip, “Uh huh.” Words are failing you right now but you want to assure her you’re okay. “I’ll go slow.” She promises and she proceeds to move her hips at a careful, steady pace.

Both her hands were planted on each of your knees, not only keeping them apart but also steadying herself. After the first few initial movements, your body began to relax and Paige could tell. She pressed her hips down further and your jaw fell slack as the tip of the toy knocked at your g-spot ever so slightly. A quiet, breathy moan escaped your lips and you reached up for your girlfriends hand which she gladly linked with her own.

Her speed never faltered and you could tell she was being gentle with you. Her thumb stroked your leg comfortingly and her eyes never strayed from yours. You appreciated her concern for you but the ache between your legs was becoming so intense, it felt like you were being edged in the worst way. “Faster, Paige.” You plead. You were aware of how ridiculously needy you sounded, but you didn’t care. “Are you sure?” Paige double checks and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, “I’m not made of glass. If you’re fucking me, I want to feel it.” In hindsight, you should have known this would set your girlfriend off, but you were desperate and in the moment you wanted nothing more than for her to slam into you with no remorse.

Any thoughts you had quickly turned to mush and you could only imagine the same had happened to Paige because she was no longer holding eye contact with you. She was utterly entranced as she watched the way she filled you up, thrust after deep thrust. “Taking me so well baby. Good fucking girl.” She praised and your cheeks flushed a dark fuchsia as you groaned in satisfaction at her words. You had a praise kink and Paige knew it and there was no way she wasn’t going to take advantage of that. “Feels s-so so good.” You whine and you grip onto the sheets beneath you in hopes of grounding yourself even slightly.

You knew how wet you were because you could feel it. It was dripping out of you, coating your thighs, they were warm and sticky. But the sloppy sounds of Paige driving into you at full force were nothing shy of pornographic.

With every movement from Paige, you were being pushed further up the bed, your tits jiggling each time she slammed into you. You had followed her instructions and kept your babydoll dress on, the mesh now clinging to your sweaty body. Your hands traced over the thin lace covering your firm nipples and you tweak them slightly, intensifying your pleasure. Paiges eyes were back on you and you watched in real time as she had a physical reaction to your movements. She groaned hungrily, as if she was a predator and you were her prey before leaning forward and hooking one finger into the neck line of your lingerie. She pulled it down in one swift, calculated action and your perky tits spilled out of the lace cups, now on full display.

You were pinned beneath Paige and her position on top of you caused her to be so deep inside of you, you were sure you could feel it in your stomach. You gasped, squeezing your eyes shut and in an attempt to relieve you she tried to pull back but in your utterly fucked out state, you wrapped your legs around her, keeping her in place and begged for more. “Don’t stop.”

Paige steadied herself, with her hands at either side of your head, her intense eye contact and deep pounding resumed. “Fucking me so good P, gonna come.” You rapsed, your mouth was dry and your whole body was beginning to tingle. Your orgasm was scorching inside of you and Paige knew exactly what you needed to get you there. Of course she did. It was Paige. She gave your first orgasm and hundreds since then. She knew your body inside and out.

She shifted her weight to one arm and it flexed under the pressure while the other dipped down and found home on your swollen clit. She rubbed soft circles over the sensitive spot and your body jolted as if her fingers were a souce of electricity. Within seconds you were overcome with pure bliss and delirium. All awareness of what you were saying or doing disappeared but your girlfriends strong, steady voice remained as she spoke your through your shattering release.

“That’s it baby, doing so good.”

She kissed your forehead.

“You took me so well.”

She kissed your cheek.

“My perfect girl.”

She kissed your lips.

You were so far gone, you were unable to even kiss Paige back and she chuckled against your lips, “You okay?” Her voice was tender and caring, “M’ okay.” You replied with a small nod of your head. “I’m gonna pull out okay? Might feel weird.” Paiges constant, clear communication only turned you on more. She cared about you deeply and she wasn’t afraid to show it.

As she pulled out, it did feel weird, she was right and you felt empty, like something was missing. “I want to turn around.” Your voice was thick with tiredness, “What?” “I want to turn around. And I want you to take me from behind.” You proposed and Paige chuckled again, “As much as I would love that, your legs are still shaking and you haven’t opened your eyes.” “But-“ “Next time baby. Let me get you cleaned up.”

thank u for reading! appreciate u guys so much <33 let me know if u have any fun valentines day plans so i can live vicariously through you 😫 long distance sucks especially on days like this :( anyway send requests if you have any fun <33

[holyblonded]

beggin’ | stargirl

pairings: alexia putellas x teen!reader

summary: you beg alexia for a dog but she doesn’t believe your responsible enough

warnings: dog slander, hurt animal

notes: eagles won and i have been on a high 😭 but classes are canceled this week cause of the snow so enjoy

“So you hate me? Because that’s all I’m hearing,” you argued, trailing after Alexia as the two of you walked into the weight room.

The gym was already buzzing with activity—Aitana and Patri doing resistance band workouts, Mapi and Ingrid spotting each other on the bench press, and Vicky and Ona lazily stretching while gossiping about God knows what. You, however, were too focused on your current battle.

Alexia exhaled, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was already exhausted. “Estrelleta, no vuelvas a decir eso. Te quiero con todo mi corazón, pero no. (don’t say that again. i love you with all my heart, but no)”

The finality in her voice crushed your hopes… Again.

With a defeated sigh, you dramatically slid yourself down the nearest wall like your world had just ended. Ona and Vicky immediately burst into laughter at your theatrics.

“Oh no, she’s gonna start monologuing,” Vicky teased.

“Tragic,” Ona added, shaking her head.

Before you could hit full sulking mode, a tattooed hand appeared in front of your face. Lucy.

“Come on, drama queen,” she said, effortlessly yanking you off the floor and throwing an arm around your shoulders. “Still trying to convince La Reina?”

“She’s immune to my suffering,” you mumbled, allowing yourself to be guided toward the treadmill.

“What is it now?” Lucy asked, already looking amused.

“The puppy,” Ona answered for you, smirking. “She’s been denied again.”

Lucy clicked her tongue. “Rough.”

“Right?” You sighed as you climbed onto the treadmill, setting it to the slowest possible speed. “She doesn’t understand how much this means to me.”

“I understand perfectly,” Alexia called out from across the room without even looking at you. “I also understand that I do not need a dog destroying my apartment.”

“But I’d train it so well!” You protested, turning dramatically in her direction, which nearly sent you stumbling off the treadmill. Lucy had to grab your arm to keep you upright.

“Yeah, yeah,” Lucy chuckled. “You can barely train yourself.”

Vicky and Ona snickered from their mats.

“Et tu, Brute?” You gasped at Lucy’s betrayal.

“I’m just saying, if Alexia says no, you’re not winning that battle,” Lucy shrugged. “She’s got the stubborn gene.”

“No one’s ever won an argument against her,” Ona added.

“Except Irene,” Vicky pointed out.

“Yeah, but that’s because Irene fights dirty,” Lucy laughed.

You crossed your arms, still pouting. “I refuse to give up. She can’t resist me forever.”

Alexia, now stretching with Aitana, turned to glance at you. “Try me.”

The weight room erupted with laughter, and even you couldn’t help but grin. You weren’t giving up, though. One way or another, you were getting that puppy.

The apartment was dimly lit, candles flickering on the coffee table, giving the illusion of an intimate, important gathering. Alexia and Olga sat on the couch, arms crossed, faces unreadable, as you stood in front of them, remote in hand, ready to present your magnum opus.

A massive title slide was projected onto the TV screen:

“WHY I, ESTRELLITA, DESERVE A DOG (AND WHY YOU SHOULD LET ME HAVE ONE)”

You cleared your throat dramatically. “Ladies and, well, just ladies—thank you for coming tonight. I know you’re busy, Alexia with captaining, Olga with being very sexy, but this is a matter of utmost importance.”

Olga smirked, clearly enjoying herself. Alexia, on the other hand, was already rubbing her temples. Not a great start, but you pressed on.

“Slide one, please.”

You clicked the remote, and the next slide popped up. “REASONS I NEED A DOG” was written in bold letters, accompanied by an image of the saddest, most heartbroken puppy you could find on Google.

“Point one,” you began, pacing like a lawyer in a high-stakes courtroom drama. “Companionship. As a hardworking footballer and occasional agent of chaos, I deal with immense stress. A dog will provide me with emotional support, cuddles, and, most importantly, unconditional love.”

“You literally live with us,” Alexia interrupted.

“Exactly,” you shot back. “And yet, somehow, I still feel alone.”

“Wow,” Olga muttered, biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“Moving on,” you said quickly, clicking to the next slide.

This one had a picture of you edited into a stock image of someone running with a golden retriever. “EXERCISE AND FITNESS!”

“A dog will encourage me to stay active outside of training! Long walks, jogs, and playful activities will not only keep me fit but also keep me in peak condition for Barça. You both want me in peak condition, don’t you?”

“Or,” Alexia said, unimpressed, “you could just… go on a run.”

“Who am I, Eliud Kipchoge? No. I need a motivator.”

Alexia sighed. Olga, to your delight, nodded thoughtfully. “She makes a good point, Ale. Running with a dog is more fun.”

You gasped dramatically. “Thank you, my ally!”

“Don’t call her that,” Alexia warned.

Next slide.

“RESPONSIBILITY & MATURITY”

“With a dog, I will develop a deeper sense of responsibility,” you declared proudly. “I will wake up early to feed it, I will train it, I will clean up after it—“

Alexia held up a hand. “You literally leave your socks in the living room for days.”

“That’s different,” you argued. “A dog is a living being. My socks are… just socks.”

“You also ‘forget’ to take to take the trash out,” Alexia finished for you, raising an eyebrow.

“Okay, but in my defense, the trash doesn’t wag its tail and look at me with big, adorable eyes when it wants to go outside,” you shot back, clicking to the next slide before she could counter.

This one was titled “LOOK AT THESE DOGS AND TELL ME YOU DON’T WANT ONE” and featured an entire collage of the cutest, most heart-melting puppy pictures you could find.

Olga audibly gasped. Alexia, despite her best efforts, blinked a few too many times at a particularly fluffy golden retriever puppy in the center.

“You like that one, don’t you?” you asked smugly, pointing at the screen.

“No,” Alexia said quickly, looking away.

“She totally does,” Olga whispered, nudging her.

“Fine,” Alexia huffed. “Yes, it’s cute. But cuteness is not a reason to adopt an animal!”

“That is literally the best reason to adopt an animal!” you argued.

Alexia groaned and slumped back into the couch. Olga, however, was still staring at the pictures, and you knew you had her right where you wanted her.

Click. Next slide.

“POSSIBLE NAMES FOR OUR FUTURE DOG”

“What do you mean ‘our’ future dog?” Alexia interrupted, sitting up again.

“Slip of the tongue, slip of the tongue!” you said quickly. “Now, first name option: Messi.”

“Absolutely not,” Alexia deadpanned.

“Fine, fine. Option two: Little Estrella, or Estrellita Junior.”

“Pass,” Olga snorted.

“Okay, okay,” you sighed dramatically. “Final suggestion: Captain Paws or Captain Culer.”

Olga nodded her voice breaking the silence. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Thank you!” you beamed.

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “This is ridiculous.”

Click.

The final slide appeared, in all its dramatic glory: “WHY YOU SHOULD SAY YES – AN EMOTIONAL APPEAL” with a giant photo of you, making your best sad, pleading puppy eyes.

You turned to them, arms spread. “In conclusion, I am but a simple footballer, yearning for the love of a small, fluffy creature. I ask for nothing—except this one thing, this one chance at happiness. Will you grant it?”

Silence stretched in the room. You held your breath.

Olga exhaled, turning to Alexia. “You know, I think she’s really thought this through—”

“Don’t encourage her,” Alexia muttered.

“Alexia,” you said, your voice trembling dramatically, “are you really going to stand in the way of my happiness? My growth? My dreams?”

Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose, then finally groaned in defeat. “If—IF—we get a dog, it’s on you. You feed it. You walk it. You clean up after it. And the first time you forget, it’s my dog. Understood?”

Your eyes widened. “Are you saying…?”

“I’m saying I’m considering it,” Alexia sighed.

You let out an ear-splitting cheer, immediately lunging at her and wrapping her in a suffocating hug.

“Best decision of your life, Cap!”

“I already regret it,” Alexia muttered, but you could see the tiniest, smallest smile on her lips.

Olga clapped, laughing. “Well, I guess we’re getting a dog.”

You turned, grinning mischievously. “Now, about getting two—”

“Don’t push it,” Alexia warned.

The moment the final whistle blew, you sprinted over to Alexia like a woman on a mission. Your captain barely had time to process what was happening before you clung to her arm like a koala, bouncing up and down excitedly.

“Did you see? Did you see?” you exclaimed, practically vibrating with energy.

“I saw that we won and you scored a goal,” Alexia responded dryly, trying (and failing) to shake you off.

“Not that! That!” You pointed wildly into the stands, where a fan was proudly holding up a neon pink sign that read in massive, glittery letters: “LET ESTRELLA GET A DOG!”

Alexia stared at it, then slowly turned to look at you.

“You didn’t,” she said.

“Oh, but I did,” you grinned. “Posted it on my story this morning. The people have spoken, Ale. The movement has begun.”

“Estrelleta.” Alexia pinched the bridge of her nose, inhaling like she was gathering the last ounce of patience left in her body.

Aitana jogged over, took one look at the sign, and burst out laughing. “Oh my god, you’re actually rallying the fans?”

“Absolutely,” you said proudly. “Strength in numbers.”

Alexia rubbed her temples like she was fighting off a migraine. “You are unbelievable.”

“But lovable,” you shot back.

“That is debatable,” she muttered, but you could see the tiniest twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips.

As you all made your way off the pitch, you continued your relentless campaign.

“You know, Ale, dogs are great stress relievers,” you pointed out. “And I know how much stress you have. Wouldn’t it be nice to come home to a happy little fluffball that loves you unconditionally?”

“I already have you for that,” she deadpanned.

“Okay, rude,” you huffed. “But imagine—just imagine—a tiny puppy running towards you after a long day. Tail wagging. Ears flopping. Looking up at you with those big, round eyes—”

“You are not winning me over with emotional manipulation,” Alexia interrupted, stepping into the tunnel.

“Okay, but what if I told you I already have a list of shelters we can visit?”

“Of course you do,” she sighed.

Back in the locker room, you continued your noble mission. Even while changing out of your kit, you pestered her.

“Alexia, picture this: me, walking a dog in our neighborhood. Think of the aesthetic.”

“Alexia, a dog would be great company when you’re watching game footage.”

“Alexia, if we get a golden retriever, we could name it Oro! Like gold! Get it?”

“Alexia, please—”

“Y/n,” Alexia finally cut you off, slamming her locker shut. “I love you. But if you mention a dog one more time today, I will personally call Nike and have them cancel your entire cleat line.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

You gasped dramatically, clutching your chest like she had just stabbed you. “I thought you cared about my happiness!”

“I do. Which is why I am going to shower in peace now, without hearing the word ‘dog’ for the next ten minutes,” she said, pointing at you warningly before walking off.

You pouted, watching her go.

Ona and Vicky, who had been eavesdropping the whole time, exchanged amused glances.

“You’re really not giving up on this, huh?” Vicky asked.

“Absolutely not,” you said with determination. “She’ll cave. She always does.”

Ona grinned. “I give it a week.”

“Ale will last at least two,” Vicky countered.

You smirked. “She’ll break in five days. Maximum.”

And with that, you pulled out your phone and posted another story: “THE MOVEMENT CONTINUES. #LetEstrellaGetADog”—complete with a picture of the fan sign from the stands.

Because if Alexia thought this battle was over, she had another thing coming.

The storm outside was relentless, rain lashing against the windows as thunder rumbled through the streets of Barcelona. The second you slipped through the front door, you knew you were in trouble.

You weren’t exactly subtle about it.

For one, you were soaked—dripping water all over the floor like some stray cat who’d just climbed out of a sewer. Your shoes squelched with every step as you walked to the stairs, and to make matters worse, you were gripping the straps of your suspiciously bulky backpack like your life depended on it.

“Estrelleta.”

You froze mid-step, eyes darting toward the living room.

Alexia stood there, arms crossed, her expression radiating ‘I am fed up with everything what have you done.’ Behind her, Olga was peeking over the couch, squinting like she was a detective in a crime drama.

“Uh… hey,” you tried, flashing a completely innocent smile.

Alexia’s eyes narrowed immediately. “What’s in the bag?”

“Nothing!” You answered too quickly.

Olga sat up straighter. “Then why do you look like you just robbed a bank?”

“I—what? That’s crazy!” You let out a nervous laugh, gripping the straps even tighter. “Can’t a person come home after a refreshing walk in the rain without being accused of high-level felonies?”

“In a thunderstorm?” Alexia deadpanned.

“…Hydration is important?”

Alexia didn’t even blink.

You took a careful step backward toward the stairs. “Anyway! I am so tired. I’m just gonna go upstairs—”

“Give me the bag.”

“Ale, let’s be rational about this—”

Alexia was already walking toward you, and before you could flee for your life, she snatched the zipper and yanked it open.

Immediately, a tiny, miserable whimper came from inside. Olga gasped as Alexia’s soul left her body.

Very, very slowly, you reached into the bag and pulled out a tiny, soaked, shivering puppy.

The little Presa Canario pup blinked up at them with big, glossy eyes, looking like the saddest little gremlin on the planet. One of his tiny paws was wrapped in a bandage, and his whole body trembled as he let out a soft, tragic little huff.

Olga? Immediate meltdown.

“Oh my god!” she squealed, grabbing his tiny face. “HE’S A BABY!”

Alexia on the other hand… immediate crisis.

“Estrelleta.”

“Before you say anything.” you blurted, clutching the puppy to your chest like a newborn child, “he was alone in the rain, Ale! He was limping, and he looked so scared, and I couldn’t just leave him!”

Olga was already cooing at the puppy, rubbing his ears. “Look at his little nose!”

“Look at his little future as a massive security risk,” Alexia countered, rubbing her temples. “Do you realize how big Presa Canarios get?”

“Big enough to protect our home!” you argued immediately. “It’s like free security! We won’t need an alarm system anymore!”

“You don’t even lock the front door half the time.”

“Because I’m trusting!”

“Because you’re an easy target for burglars.”

The puppy, sensing tension, let out a tiny, heartbreaking sneeze and rested his head on your arm like some kind of Oscar-winning performance in sadness.

Olga audibly gasped. “Ale, LOOK AT HIM. He’s one of us now!”

Alexia sighed like a parent catching their kid trying to sneak dessert before dinner. The puppy lifted his injured little paw like he was saying ‘help me, ma’am.’

Alexia groaned, rubbing her face. “I hate both of you.”

“So that’s a yes?” you asked hopefully.

“That’s a ‘we’re going to the vet first thing in the morning’,” Alexia muttered. “Then we’re going to the pet store, because we don’t have a single thing for a dog in this house.”

You and Olga erupted into cheers, bouncing the puppy happily between you.

“Thank you, Ale!” you beamed. “You won’t regret this!”

“I already do,” Alexia muttered, but her lips were twitching upward anyway.

[preciousannie]

Ateez Headcanons

Ateez as your long-term boyfriend

Genre: Fluff, Boyfriend AU!, Idol AU!

Warnings: None

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾    ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾   ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾   ‧͙⁺˚*･

Kim Hongjoong

always attentive to your emotions

dislikes PDA but showers you with affection when the both of you are alone

the two of you share every part of your daily lives together

he would get slightly jealous when you get too close to the other members

very dedicated to his work but always makes sure to spare two days in a week for “dating days”

“I’ll always have time for you babe, always.”

Park Seonghwa

he surprises you with random gifts or gestures

keeps track and remembers your period schedules

always prepared beforehand to help you soothe all your discomfort and pain as much as he can

it hurts him to see you in any sort of unpleasant emotions and he tends to match your emotions

always makes time to video call you even on late nights when he’s busy and always after concerts

“I miss you, gorgeous.”

Jeong Yunho

the two of you always do silly things together

either one of you would be cracking a joke with the other 

laughs and giggles surround your entire relationship

likes to give you piggyback rides and princess carry you just because you’re “tiny” to him

very playful when you’re around each other

but when it comes to it he can get earnest and protective about anything threatening related to you

“You okay my love?”

Kang Yeosang

the both of you have a whole facial routine that you have to follow through every night

he likes to shower together whenever he can

buys you lots of expensive beauty products that he approves of and wants you to use with him

prefers to stay at home ideally with you on his off days to spend quality time together

but he would be down in a heartbeat if you just mentioned that you want to go somewhere or want something

even if it is in the middle of the night, he’d do it

“Oh? Consider it done baby, wait for me.” 

Choi San

he unleashes his cute side whenever you’re around despite wanting to appear stoic and manly around others

follows you around everywhere like a lost puppy

likes to take you out on food dates

loves complimenting you random times a day for just about anything

you absolutely endear him when he introduces one of his plushy collections

“Look darling! This one looks just like you! It’s a cute bunny, hehe.”

Song Mingi

he enjoys taking you on random vacations and trips

has to hold your hand wherever he goes as he claims it comforts him

showers you with affection and hugs especially back-waist hugs because of your size differences

absolutely has to cuddle or spoon when in bed together whether it’s relaxing or sleeping

loves sniffing your hair or the perfume you had on that particular day because it’s calming to him

“Mm, you smell so sweet today beautiful, come closer.”

Jung Wooyoung

always showers you with kisses and pecks whenever he can

enjoys bringing you to his family home and letting you be engulfed in the affection of his family members

loves mentioning and introducing you to everyone he engages with

eager to marry you ever since the beginning and wants to have children with you

hopes that the kids the both of you will bear would resemble you the most

“Let’s make it official, shall we dear? And have adorable children together please~” 

Choi Jongho

always makes you feel safe and assured in every aspect of your life

his goofiness makes you laugh all the time even when you’re down

loves singing you to sleep while he caresses your hair 

very mature and responsible even though he is younger

likes to help you with everything he can even when you say you don’t need help

“Here, I’ll do that for you honey, don’t hurt your hands.”

Hihi, it’s been a while (3 years to be exact) but I’m back. I’ve decided to clear up these years-old drafts refining them a little so that they can finally see the light of day XD But anyway hope ya’ll enjoy! Have a beautiful day or night wherever you are <33

[naomihatake]

I find solace in your arms

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ pairing: sylus x fem reader / love and deepspace

���⠀⠀⠀➺ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, angst & fluff, third person pov

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ summary: Skyhaven brought new nightmares to the young hunter. When she came back to Linkon, the only person that came to mind was Sylus — a safe and stable presence in her tumultuous life.

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ content warnings: allusions to abuse, suicidal thoughts due to overwhelming emotions (they don't follow the entire narrative), insecurities, they're both trying to heal each other

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ word count: 1.9k

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ theme song: “Runaway” by AURORA

⠀⠀⠀⠀➺ A/N: Sylus's vulnerable moment came out unexpectedly when I started writing this. However, I like how it turned out, because it makes me feel like there's balance in the way they try to comfort each other. To me, they're beautiful that way. In this narrative, she views Caleb like a brother/best friend.

Skyhaven has been an exhausting and scary place. Linkon had its own dangers, the N109 Zone was a shit show, but Skyhaven might've ruined her perception of danger. Just like pain tolerance, her sense of danger had changed in the span of a few months. 

Sylus — he was the only one she could think of when she arrived back in Linkon. It was all a blur, from the airport to the N109 Zone. What mattered was to see him, whose name she heard in Skyhaven. Hearing about Onychinus was a danger in itself; it meant someone was after Sylus. 

‘There's always someone after me, kitten,’ he'd say. 

He was anxiously tapping his fingers on his knee as he sat on the couch in his office. It wasn't hard to guess that he was equally distressed after being in no contact with her for a few weeks. 

She came back to her senses when she crashed in his arms, when she felt his gentle and warm embrace envelop her like a protective shield. She's missed him, Gods, how much she missed him. 

“I wish that whoever kidnaps me next time, they just kill me instead,” a sob broke from her lips. “I wish they wouldn't toy with me, I wish they wouldn't keep me alive for longer. Sylus, I'm so tired.” 

No matter how much she loved Caleb, his behavior had been unsettling. 

The dam had broken and before she knew it, she was shaking in the arms of her beloved. And like the devoted lover that he was, he held her tightly, despite the aching heart beating painfully in his chest. As if he knew, as if he could feel her heart shattering. Instead of pushing it away, he let it happen, he let himself hurt as well, with the hope that it'll steal away some of her pain. 

“Don't say that, darling,” he whispered softly against her ear, fingers tightening on her shoulder. “Don't.”

“But it's the truth,” she whimpered against his neck. “I can't. I'm too tired to keep myself together, it's too much. I wish you were my enemy so that I'd disintegrate into thin air. I wish—” but she couldn't continue any further, her cries intensifying. 

It was silent. Except for the small whimpers when she ran out of breath, except for the broken words, no other sound escaped her lips. With her fingers tightened into the collar of his maroon shirt, she bit at her own lip. 

It was a lot. It was too much, the pain, the despair, the hollow in her chest that's just been reopened for the hundredth time. 

For months, he's been her everything. He still was her everything, but a small piece of her soul had been broken and never put back together by that one person — Caleb had broken her for the second time. 

She hurt Sylus with her stupid words. The realization hit her when his hold onto her tightened. Just like that, her arms curled around his shoulders and she hugged him with firmness, despite the broken pieces of her heart that beat weakly between their chests. 

“I'm sorry for saying that,” she shook her head, closing her eyes as another tear ran down her face. “I shouldn't have. I know you only care about me. I promise I know, Sylus.”

His breath shuddered when she spoke his name like that, in that sad and mournful tone. Pressing his nose against her hair and swallowing her scent deep within his lungs, it was hard to hide his own despair. His very soulmate was breaking in his arms and he wasn't even sure how to mend her broken pieces back together. 

“It's not you talking,” he reassured her in such a gentle tone. “It's the grief and the pain. You don't have to explain yourself.”

“But I can't cause you suffering just because I'm in pain.” Another broken whimper. 

“And even if you do, I'll gladly accept it for as long as I can hold you for a little longer.”

If only she had hated everyone, it would've been easier to go through with her life. It would've been easier to handle it, it would've been easier if it wasn't for her beating heart and her stupid, pitiful soul. If it wasn't for the life living inside that body, it would've been easier. 

Sliding one of her hands down from his shoulder to his chest, she pressed her fingers against his body. Feeling that very same life beat under her touch ruined something within her as a shard was put back into its rightful place. Sylus was there and he was breathing, he was right next to her, holding her like no one else has. Caring for her in ways she's only dreamt of being cared for. 

“I'm one mind away from killing whoever has put you through this.” His solemn tone was filled with a promise. 

“I wish I had it within myself to let you do it. But I can't,” she shook her head. 

Her hair tickled the side of his neck and he let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through the strands. 

Love was, indeed, the most painful thing he's ever felt. It was painful for the way he had to watch his beloved cry in his arms when he could do nothing to help her, when he could do nothing to properly solve the situation. Never once in this life has he ever felt so helpless, all because of her. She had twisted his life, had knotted the threads and he couldn't undo it anymore. Truthfully speaking, he'd never wished to undo those knots, even if it hurt. 

Had she asked him to kill someone, he would've. Had she told him to ruin a city, he would've. Had she pleaded with him to burn the whole world to the ground, he would've. 

But she didn't and that was the hardest part of them all. Instead, she asked for a kindness that wasn't even alive, a kindness reserved to a few things. Stray cats and lonely children, mourning people and that hurt dove she's helped once. The mechanical crow and the twins. Her. 

Multiple times, she had tugged at his heart in a way he didn't even believe it was possible. Sometimes, holding himself back from torturing a man was a sign of kindness — in his life, in that business, mercy was the highest act of kindness. On a normal day, he wouldn't have cared, she wouldn't have cared either. But this time, she did. 

So Sylus was left helpless while his soulmate silently cried against his chest. 

“Don't let go,” she murmured softly, voice hoarse. 

“That's how little you think of me, sweetie?” his soft whisper brushed against her ear. 

Her only answer was the tightening grip onto his shirt. Another sigh escaped his lips. 

Raising her head, she cupped his face in between her palms with a tenderness that stole his breath. She looked at him with a love so gentle, and for a split second he saw that white haired woman with red eyes. In the reflection of her glassy eyes, he saw the reflection of a monstrous dragon that resembled a human far too much. 

Sylus didn't realize when he said her name in a reverent tone. It slipped so easily, despite the low number of times he's used it.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he whispered. 

Instead of answering, she continued to admire the beautiful man that was holding her so dearly. Running her thumbs over his cheek bones, dipping a little into the dark circles under his eyes, she treated him the way one would treat glass. 

It tugged and clawed at his heart, ruining every piece of him and putting it back together. He recognized that stare from a life of long ago. His breath hitched. 

“I've never missed you as much as I did in the last weeks,” she cracked a small smile. 

Sylus removed one of his hands from her waist and placed it at the side of her neck, cupping the warm skin in his palm. Something flashed in her eyes — fear. 

All she could think of was that gloved hand (she once found comfort in) grip at her throat. 

His hand raised like he's been struck and his gaze mirrored hers. However, she pressed his hand back where it was. 

“It's not you,” she assured him. “I promise. It has nothing to do with you.” 

He was hyper aware of his own breathing, a little laboured and quick, heart beating faster. 

“Sylus.” It snapped him out of his head. His eyes were, once again, focused on her. “It's alright. I trust you.”

“I've also missed you, kitten,” he hummed instead, trying to avoid her gaze for a little while. 

I trust you. How long he's dreamt of hearing those words, how long he had hit that boxing sack with pure hatred for his own self. 

Usually, he would've teased her. “How much did you miss me, hm?”, “Really, kitten? Let me show you just how I missed you too”, “I feel honored to know you've thought of me, sweetie”. 

However, at that moment, teasing didn't seem like a good answer. Too shallow to fit. The loving words slipping from her mouth — from between those pretty, sweet lips — twisted another claymore straight through his chest. 

“Love.”

Their gazes locked together once more. Sylus was surprised to hear that pet name — it wasn't unusual, but it was rare enough to make his heart skip a beat or two, or more. As if she had heard his thoughts, she leaned in closer, their breaths mingling together. 

Peace had settled around them in a thick cloak. The planet stopped rolling and the hands of the clock stood still, its sound nowhere to be heard. 

She read right through him, could feel the avoidance in his gaze and gestures, the way there was something he tried so hard to hide — and he failed, because she knew better than that. Before her eyes didn't sit a fierce beast, but rather a kind man. 

They ached to kiss, to feel each other's lips, but there was something greater burning inside their hearts, something that swayed in the small space between them. Something that could only be seen and felt when they stayed so close, stripped of all walls and shields, as they were each other's protection. 

“Are you sure you won't let me destroy whoever brought you back to square one?” he arched his eyebrow. 

The answer was obvious, Sylus was just trying his luck once more. If she had decided to do something, nothing could change her mind. The sadness in her eyes reappeared. 

“I'm sorry, Sylus.”

Once more, she hid her face against his neck, arms curling around his waist. 

“There's no need to apologize, sweetie,” he hummed. “You should rest.”

“Will you chase away my nightmares?” She's been having plenty in the past weeks. 

“Always, kitten.”

Even if for her he couldn't be the ‘big, bad mafia boss’, he will act like it if he has to. His sole reason was to protect her from whoever threatened to destroy her peace. 

“I promise I'll chase away yours in return.” 

There was no moon in the night sky. Clouds had covered every surface of it. 

Outside the window, a dove with pretty white feathers tilted its head as it stared at them with curiosity. 

A/N: The dove, yes 🥰 I'm referring to the dove MC saved in Nightplumes, the one Sylus took care of. If you don't know what I'm talking about, you can find it on YouTube or you can get the 5stars card in the wishing well, I think.

When he takes his hand away from her after she flinches, the reason why she tries to comfort him is because she knows there's still remnants of some insecurities. Sylus has gone at her pace the entire time and he is fully aware of how brutal he's been in the beginning, when they first met. However, each one of them has their own triggers, as you can see.

If you have any thoughts, you're free to leave a comment <333 Thank you for reading!

[acphengene]

Sweets

₊ ⁺ pairing: Jungwon x afab!reader

₊ ⁺ genre: soulmate au, pining, tiny bit of angst and as always sappy shit

₊ ⁺ word count: 3.3k

₊ ⁺ the second story for this little au i decided to throw together. thank you all so much for supporting, and once again let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list

₊ ⁺ Jake ₊ ⁺ Jungwon ₊ ⁺ Jay ₊ ⁺ Sunoo ₊ ⁺ Heeseung ₊ ⁺ Niki ₊ ⁺ Sunghoon ₊ ⁺

When Jungwon got his mark it had taken him a while to figure out what it was. In the beginning he thought he was just having very vivid cravings for sweets or some very specific lasagna he had never had. But after his mother had dragged him to the doctor the secret was finally revealed, his mark was taste.

It could’ve been a lot worse, he knew that. And if he was being honest he found it fun most of the time, the only downside was that you ate breakfast when he ate dinner and the two things rarely suited each other very well.

He had a theory that you deliberately ate the sweetest things in the mornings for that exact reason, but it was a hard one to prove when the two of you hadn’t met yet. But as time passed he learned to eat early or late, all depending on whether or not he would want dessert before or after his dinner.

When he was on I-land the food was whatever young boys wanted to make after a long day. Sure Jay did his best but in the end, they were young and instant ramen seemed like the easy way to go.

It had ended up getting so bad you started eating salads for the first time in your life, no doubt an indicator that he seriously needed to take care of himself and his health. He had laughed at that but tried to listen.

When he debuted he knew he had a platform bigger than most, so he did his best to make sure he was eating whenever he was on camera. It could be small things and snacks, maybe even full on meals, because maybe you were a fan watching along? He hoped you were.

And then he went viral… for something as basic as strawberries with chocolate.

“Dude it’s everywhere…” Sunoo said as he checked weverse in the middle of dance practice. He hid his head in his hands.

“I know” he groaned. “God it’s so stupid, of everything I could be eating it had to be the most generic thing ever”

Jake laughed. “It could be worse, it could’ve been bread with butter or plain rice”

“Any response yet? Like did she maybe eat it too? You know, as some kind of bat-signal?” Heeseung asked as he threw a soul-bandaid on his knee, it was hurting yet again.

He just shook his head. No, there was nothing. You liked sweets, he knew that much, but you currently had an obsession with some kind of pastry he himself had never tried and unfortunately not chocolate covered strawberries.

But he now knew what he had to do to go viral, so he milked the meme for absolutely everything it had. Unfortunately you seemed to be annoyed at all the chocolate covered things he ate, and got the habit of eating a slice of lemon shortly after.

He hated it, mostly because it was a disgusting combination but also because it led to a lot of wierd facial expressions, all who became memes for engene to utilize.

He threw himself in bed and yelled into the pillows. “You okay?” Sunghoon said as he had overheard the commotion.

“Yeah it’s just getting annoying,” Jungwon said. “It’s been years and I’m no way near finding her”

“Don’t worry too much, she’ll come running with years worth of memes when the times right” the older man laughed as his leader.

“I’m sorry Hoon” he said silently, as he picked at a thread in one of his pillows that had come loose.

Sunghoon just shrugged: “don’t be, I’m used to it. Now come down for dinner before Jay comes up here and rip both of our heads off”

He knew that Sunghoon was right, and he knew he should be great full for you being out there communicating one way or another.

So how did he show you where in the world he was? He started eating nothing but Korean, he mixed and matched and had fun with the food. Sometimes waiting for retaliation if you didn’t like whatever he ordered, but it never really came.

One night while on a set you however finally ate something as simple as kimchi fried rice but it made him ekstatic.

“I think she figured it out” he said to the only couple of the group, as Jake cuddled close to his soulmate.

“You sure?” He asked and the two perked up.

Jungwon nodded. “She’s eating kimchi fried rice” and I think she might’ve made it herself, you know with a package of kimchi”

“That’s a good sign isn’t it?” Niki said as he reached out for his string and gave it a tug. His own way of showing he thought of his other half.

“Yeah I think so” he nodded excitedly.

You had indeed figured it out, as you had grown up you decided to stop fooling around when it came to your mark, even though you sometimes couldn’t help it. But when the Korean food became the only thing he ate, you had to think that maybe, just maybe he for once was try to tell you something other than the fact that he liked chocolate.

So you researched recipes, sure you worked with sweets and baked goods but you did have experience with the more savory side of the culinary kitchen. And Korean seemed to fit so you tested that out, all the while you researched the culture, the language and of course the sweets.

It didn’t take long for you to book a ticket to Seoul, desperate to try some of the delicious meals your other half kept eating. Some of your friends tried to convince you to just stay back home and test the recipes there, but they just never hit the spot.

As you touched down the only thing you knew all you needed was some type of comfort food, so you went searching.

The days you spent in Seoul made Jungwon extracting and almost unable to concentrate, he knew you were close, he could feel it, taste it.

Whenever he had the chance he went searching for you in the restaurants and cafes. On that specific day you were a little sad, he was harder to find than you had expected, and when you were sad you craved sweets.

In a little stand not far from your hotel you found a lady who sold tanghulu, and the treat looked delicious. And while your ordered it a group of younger girls came and asked for the one thing you had done your best to avoid; “strawberries with chocolate”

You saw how the lady herself rolled her eyes, and when you asked about it they all tried explaining it was a trend for fans, all because this one leader kept eating chocolate on absolutely everything,

As they spoke you felt something pull on your heartstrings and for some reason you decided to search it up. It could after all just be a coincidence… right?

There was no doubt in your mind, it had to be him. But then again you couldn’t help but feel delusional, just because both your soulmate and Jungwon, leader of Enhypen, both liked the same type of foods didn’t mean they were the same person.

You would have to test it out, and god you already felt with both his and your tastebuds.

Another live, another slice of lemon, but this time it had a hint of chili as well. You had been out of control lately and he hated it, where you had previously been somewhat predictable you had now just completely lost your head.

“I’m getting sick and tired of you spitting out my food” Jay said with judging look one evening.

“How do you think I’m feeling?” He just answered with hopeless eyes.

“Have you thought about making a diary? You know for all the wierd things they’re doing?” Sunoo asked.

If he was honest he had considered it, it just seemed silly to do so. He sighed. “I got nothing else to loose I guess”

Unlike Jungwon you had that thought as soon as you suspected him of being yours. And every day, close to whenever you suspected his last meal to have been you made a list of everything he had eaten, and everything you had too.

You knew it would be frustrating with the insane amount of lemons you just kept eating, but what was a girl to do?

One day you got a notification from Weverse, “I hate lemons” was all he wrote and you smiled harder than you ever had and then you plopped the infamous strawberry into your mouth.

Jungwon almost fell down his chair. His hands were shaking and he felt how he suddenly had tears in his eyes.

“What?” Heeseung looked at him as his eyes glazed over.

“I - I don’t know” Jungwon whispered. He didn’t dare to hope that this meant what he thought it might. But as soon as all there was left was the after taste, it was replaced with a chocolate cookie, that then was replaced by a chocolate covered almond.

Jungwon left his members behind and hid his face in his hands in one of the corners of the room. Heeseung was by his side a second later.

“Hey, what’s going on” He pulled the younger man into his chest as he held him close while he cried. He sent the remaining boys panicked eyes, and they made sure to empty out the room to give their leader a bit of privacy.

“She knows who I am” Jungwon sobbed into his hyungs chest and the comment gained loud cheers from all of his brothers as he tried to catch his breath.

“I’m so jealous!” Sunoo said, and couldn’t help but worry about his own soulmates heart as he knew their vision had just flashed every color under the sun.

“So what do we do now?” Niki asked.

They looked at one another but the room remained quiet, none of them had any idea what so ever. The mark the two of you shared made it a little harder to locate one another. Unless you ate something, somewhere in the city that Jungwon visited regularly, it was close to impossible. Especially since you couldn’t just walk through the front door at HYBE.

“I guess I’ll just have to wait until she figures something out” He answered as he dried his eyes. “Not let’s get back to work!” The kitten had once again become the leader.

You spent the next few days eating the same desert at almost 2 am every night. He knew it meant something, so he sent assistants out every night to collect anything even a little similar to the sweet, at every cafe close to their office and dorm. But every day he had to fall asleep disappointed, and you fell asleep with a stomach ache.

The guys were working on a comeback and had been in the studio until the late hours of the night, some might even call it in the early mornings. Heeseungs directions were almost as strict as Woozi’s were, at least if Jay were to believe Jun, as he had sat in on a session to provide feedback. The many sweets did however cause the guys to expect it every night, especially since Jungwon always was the one paying for them.

One night they were on their way home, this time the guys themselves stopped at yet another open cafe. Niki and Jake went in to pick up the large order.

“Picking up for Sim” Niki said with a somewhat low voice despite the almost empty room. He heard Jake laughed quietly, and he got a pointed finger at a young woman hitting her head against the table in front of her, as she stared at a raspberry cake.

“God I don’t wanna eat you” you kept repeating. You were so sick of the buttery dough, and the crunchy shell with the both sweet and somewhat bitter raspberry filling.

“You okay?” Jake asked.

You lifted your head towards the two caps and masks of what seemed like young men. You gave them a smile and a nod before groaning as you once again hit your head against the table. Niki laughed loudly.

“I’m not, I’m so fucking sick of eating this shitty desert” You said, forehead still resting against the wood.

The two friends were shocked at your boldness and of how you seemed to disregard the woman behind the counter. Niki was about to apologize when the woman told them that it was okay. She felt honored that you had chosen one of her cakes as the one to eat.

Niki smiled. “Taste mark, huh?” He asked and you sent them a thumbs up before dipping your finger in the raspberry cream.

“This is the only bakery in the city that makes this dessert with the berry. It seems that would be a given, but noooo… He insists on trying ever other cake with the taste” you said dramatically.

Jake took off so fast all you could do was stare after him in chock as he ran out of the shop as fast as he could and yanked the door to the car open. “Won, get the fuck in there!” He yelled.

“Really not in the mood okay, just give me my cake and let’s get home” he said as he pulled his hat down over his eyes.

“Nope!” Jake said as he pulled it off of him. He tried fixing his hair with his spit.

“That’s disgusting,” Sunghoon said with a grimace.

“You’re going in there, right. fucking. now” He opened his seat belt and pulled him out of the vehicle, before shutting the door after the man, to shut up the protest from the remaining members.

Jake pushed Jungwon all the way into the cafe, kicked him inside the door and grabbed Niki before shutting the door behind his leader, holding it shut.

“Jesus fuck Jake, what’s your problem? I said I would pay didn’t I?” He yelled through the glass where his two friends remained and did nothing more than to gesture that he should go.

The chaos had gotten your attention. And you looked up at the blond with eyes as piercing and special as a cat, and your breath hitched. Behind the window next to you stood none other than Kim Sunoo, with no mask and gestured for you to get the fuck up.

You coughed, hoping to get his attention, but he kept his back to you.

“Rasberry tarte?” You asked with a shaking voice as he grabbed the box in front of him.

He turned with a smile. "Exactly! How did you…” And as his eyes, as beautiful as crescent moons met yours, he dropped the box. “Know…”

“Holy shit” Was all he said before he bent down to pick up the cakes. You were next to him within a second.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I should’ve said something else, or just tabbed you on your shoulder or something instead of startling you”

He just stared at you while you kept rambling, as you tried to scoop up the cakes. God you looked beautiful, and the faint smell of raspberry made him almost lose his mind. He knew that was the same taste that was currently coated on his tongue. He wondered if it tasted sweeter in your mouth than in his, and had to mentally hit himself before he got carried away.

Instead of stopping your rambling with words he just grabbed onto you and pulled you into his arms. You screamed in surprise, but as soon as he started laughing, well so did you.

“You’re here” he kept repeating, and everytime he did you answered; “I am”.

None of you didn’t seem to mind that he had dragged you through all the cakes, all he did was to bury his head in the crook of your neck, as he laughed in pure bliss and utter disbelief.

The guys had celebrated and laughed at both of your expenses. It had been a mess trying to get the two of you cleaned up before the chauffeur would allow you in the car.

As you all got back to the dorm he constantly had your hands in his as he stroked your knuckles with his thumb, the gesture calmed you and made it absolutely impossible for you to stop smiling.

Jungwon went to his room and returned with a set of slacks for you to change into, all the while he to changed out of the cake smothered outfit.

“We’re matching” you said as you made a pirouette as you entered his room. The matching outfits had definitely been a part of his plan, and he absolutely adored the way you looked in his clothes. He made a mental note of always making sure that the two of you would always be matching.

“You look good” He said as he pulled on the large hoodie, pulling you towards the bed.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously. This was after all very new to you, to the both of you. He pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear and send you a half smile, as he hummed a tone.

“So… Any questions?” You asked as you pulled on his fingers, you wanted to hold his hand, but had trouble actually doing it.

Instead he did it for you, and intertwined his fingers with yours, you hummed by the skin to skin contact.

“I do have one…” He said and couldn’t help but laugh. “Why so many lemons?”

You laughed, it was loud and uncontrollable, and he couldn’t help but wish he were to hear that sound for the rest of his life. He smiled at the sound, and you saw how his eyes were shining like little stars when he looked at you.

When you catched your breath you told him: “Well I’m a pastry chef, so my profession is basically just baking and tasting cakes”

That made a lot of sense.

“And your obsession with chocolate” he was just about to protest when you held a finger to his lips to shut him up, “kind of ruined that a little. The lemons was a palate cleanser, and a small fuck you for ruining my taste tests”

He just smiled, as utterly bitter the days had been when the two of you ate sweets with lemon in between, it was also the reason the two of you had found one another. He was grateful.

“I’m sorry” he said as he laid down on the bed. “That must’ve been annoying”

You shrugged before joining him. “It’s okay, it let me here in the end, so there’s not much to complain about really”

His smile haltered and you saw how his eyes turned sad.

“What’s wrong?” You asked right before you stroked his cheek.

He leaned into your touch, savoring the warmth. “When are you leaving?” he asked with a small voice.

You laid down on the mattress and looked up at him, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Well that depends on you”

He perked up a little, and you ‘boob’ed’ his nose earning you a dimpled smile before you continued: “I’m done with school, so in reality the only thing kicking me home is my visa. Honestly I only need a job. But something tells me the sweet old auntie from tonight might offer me one on the spot after tonight”

It was a pretty good story, and he couldn’t wait to tell it over and over again as the two of you grew older together.

“We better drop by tomorrow then, but for now I wanna know everything there is to know about you my sweet”

“My sweet, I like that!” You said. You saw how his eyes lingered at your mouth, and before you had a chance to talk yourself out of it, you closed the distance between the two of you.

He savored the softness of your lips, the way your breath became faster, and how he could almost hear the beating of you heart. You really was the sweetest thing he had ever tasted.

Taglist: @why4anne @juicygirl4life @azzy02 @bluxjun @why-did-i-just-do-this

note: thank you all so so much for the response to this series, i honestly cant belive it! please reachout with feedback, theories or if you wanna be added to the taglist!

[luveline]

hey jade!!! do u think we can get a little something with bombshell and spencer 🙏🙏 missing them

—you and spencer get serious. 1.3k

“So,” you say, holding two hands behind your back, shoulders tight in a vague attempt at flirting, “come here often?” 

“To Austin?” Spencer nods. “This is the tenth time we’ve been in the last five years.”

“Big city. Thirteenth most populous city in the entire country, right? That’s a lot of crime.”

Spencer smiles approvingly. “Right.” 

“At least this one was easy.” 

You’re standing in the sunshine outside of a bar near the hangar, waiting for the jet to finish loading, the rest of the team inside drinking a round of well-earned drinks. Spencer was in good spirits but didn’t seem to love the ruckus, so you’d made some excuse about feeling light-headed and promised you’d be alright as long as Spencer came outside with you. 

You don’t not feel dizzy. You’ve been under the weather all week. Spencer’s concern has had moments of obviousness. He’s roped it in for now, only evidence of his worry the lack of space between you. 

You’re enjoying the game you’re playing for now. You lovingly ignore him. “What’s a guy like you doing in a place like this?” 

“Uh, trying to get home, honestly.” 

“Yeah?” 

“See, I know this girl,” he says, his voice a soft pattern of itself, “and she’s– she’s great. She really is. She’s smart, and she’s beautiful, and she’s stubborn as a mule when she wants to be. She won’t let me take care of her out here. I’m hoping when we get back, she’ll let me take her home. So I can look after her.” He has no intention of playing the ignoring game with you. 

“Stubborn as a mule,” you murmur, leaning back against the bar’s brick exterior, lulled into security by his voice, and the sweet breeze that passes over you, the right side of cold as the sun begins to set behind the buildings across the street and beyond. 

“You like that one?” 

“No. Not my favourite comparison.” 

Spencer holds his hand out across the way, palm up but low, his fingers still. “Stubborn,” he says as you slip your hand into his, “but in a good way.” 

“…I don’t need you to take care of me,” you say softly. 

“But I want to.” 

You don’t know why you’ve been struggling with Spencer lately. It certainly isn’t something he’s done wrong, and it’s not the first time he’s wanted to look after you. But things between you are looking serious. Just a few weeks ago you took the ‘next step’, long overdue, and you told him you loved him. You do. 

“If I did something–”

You wince and he stops. You knew he’d bring it up eventually, but it doesn’t make it hurt less. What a mess you’re making. “You didn’t do anything,” you say. 

“Are you sure?” 

“No, Spencer, it’s not you, really, it’s not, it’s me–”

The face he makes is of unbridled horror. You’re worried he’ll snatch his hand back. He squeezes tighter. “What are you saying?” he asks, his frown a pout that turns your heart. 

“I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, that was a fright wasn’t it?” you ask, squeezing him too, pulling at him as you slip against his side. Your faces are close enough to kiss. “Not breaking up. I can’t describe how much I don’t want that.” 

“But?” he asks. 

“But… there’s been some chafing, lately, on my end.” 

“‘Cos of me?” 

“Aw, Spencer,” you murmur, turning your front into his side as you hold your free hand over his heart, “no, baby. No… No, it’s not because of you, or– it’s not your fault. I was alone for a while before you, and I guess being sick just reminded me that things are different.” 

“And you don’t like it?” 

“Spencer, please,” you plead gently, rubbing your thumb against his chest. “You haven’t done anything wrong. I love you–”

“I love you.” 

“–and I’m not asking for anything here, not space, not for you to change, I just want to tell you how I’ve been feeling so you can stop confusing it for something you might’ve done wrong.” 

Some days being with Spencer feels like you’re the same soul in two different bodies. It’s moments like this that remind you of how human he is, the depth of his feelings, and how much he cares about you —how much you can affect his life. He’s frowning like he’s not far from tears and you regret ever bringing it up in the first place, but you have to finish now. 

“It’s scary, for me, sometimes, to be with you,” you say eventually. 

“For me, too.” 

“I worry I’ll get used to you and one day I won’t have you.” 

“I promise you will,” he says. 

“But you don’t know that.” 

“For however long you’ll let me have you, you can have me,” he says simply. 

You tease a line into his chest with your two fingertips. “I love how you look after me. There’s nothing like it. I fall asleep sick and I wake up knowing you’re there to make me a cup of tea, and to help me shower when my head’s hurting, you don’t let me down. You know that?” 

“So why can’t I look after you tonight?” he asks, eyes dark as pine tar. 

“You can. You think I’m not going home with you?” 

“I wasn’t sure.” 

“Please let me come home with you.” 

Spencer lets his forehead drop gently against yours. The breeze runs a loop around your legs and cools your too-warm shoulders, pulling your blouse from clammy skin. For a while, you wait for him to speak, but when he doesn’t you figure you’ve overwhelmed him with your confession, maybe you’ve upset him. 

He rubs the tips of your noses together slightly. 

“Are you still dizzy?” 

“No.” Your voice is a croak. “I’m sorry.”

“For what, being scared of the future? It’s okay.” 

“I think it sounded like it was your fault.” 

“I won’t take it that way if you don’t mean it like that,” he promises. “I just want to look after you, angel. I want to be with you. I’m scared all the time that one day I won’t have you, but then you smile at me or you–” He laughs. “You tug on my hair trying to make me kiss you and I don’t feel that way for a while. I’m sorry if I made you worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is life.” 

“Not much you can do about that,” he says.

“I know. I didn’t mean for it to get to you, too.”

He makes a nice humming sound, says, “I want you to feel better, and come home with me, and I don’t really care if I have to beg. You know I will.” 

“You should know you don’t have to beg for anything. Not from me.” 

Spencer’s hand comes up to your neck. He holds it carefully, pressing the soft of his cheek against your temple, the other hand working its way behind your back. “And you’re worried I might leave you?” he asks, laughing bashfully as he presses two kisses to whatever bit of skin he can fin, the side of your nose and the soft well under your eye. “When you’re saying stuff like that to me? In public?” 

“It’s hardly the worst thing I’ve said to you in public.” 

Spencer pulls away to meet your eyes. He's smiling. Worry and love line his gaze. “Do you wanna go find something to eat before we leave?”

“Yeah,” you nod, trying hard not to smile ear to ear. “Let’s go eat.” 

[darkmatilda]

𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐬 | 𝐬.𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: each of you—especially spencer—knew that the words let's split up never ended well. yet, they still escaped his lips, something he would regret for the rest of his days. now, held captive, you must decide whether to place your hope in being rescued by the team or to start a psychological game with the unsub and escape on your own.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬/𝐭𝐰: spencer reid x bau!female reader, kidnapping, psychological and physical torture, captivity, bloodletting, reader attempting to commit s (to end their suffering), split narrative, performing a ritual, mention of sexual abuse, everything being broadcasted live by the unsub, incestous relationship, sad but not tragic ending

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 14.8 k

𝐚/𝐧: i admit, there’s not much romance in this, and yep, probably the freakiest shit i've written so far. a slightly modified request from an anon—really hope you like it. i hate how i described this investigation. please overlook the absolute lack of logic at times (especially in the beginning) (in my defense i've never kidnapped anyone lol). oh, almost forgot, happy valentine's day (to those who celebrate) <3

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/ˌmetəˈmɔːfəsɪs/ a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one

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You took a step back when your friend threw herself at you with a joyful squeal, wrapping her arms around your neck.

"Happy, happy birthday, my dearest!" Penelope exclaimed.

"My dearest?" you echoed, raising an eyebrow. A wide smile stretched across your face as you remained in her firm embrace, breathing in the pleasant scent of her sweet perfume. "Wait till Morgan hears that..."

"I heard," a deep voice sounded behind you. "But just for today, I'll let it slide. Happy birthday, kid."

Turning around, you spotted Morgan and Prentiss stepping out of the office elevator, each holding an identical cup of coffee. Both had smiles on their faces, and both pulled you into tight hugs while Garcia and Rossi were providing a cappella, completely off-key performance of Happy Birthday 

In seconds your hands were full—two gift bags and a box, and you hadn’t even managed to take off your coat yet. You thanked everyone with genuine warmth and gratitude but didn’t want to drag out the moment too long. It was still morning before work officially started, and you were already running later than usual. JJ had practically begged you to stop by first thing because your godson, Henry, simply couldn’t wait to give you his gift and wish you a happy birthday.

Either way, you had already been hugged by everyone—except…

“Come back in five minutes,” Hotch instructed the two of you, nodding at the rest of the team. “We need to get started on the case.”

And just like that, you and Reid were left alone—a surprisingly thoughtful decision from your boss. You were just friends, of course. Just like the rest of the team…okay, maybe a little closer than that.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, watching with a soft smile as Garcia’s massive gift nearly slipped from your grasp. True to his word, he carefully took it from you and placed it on your desk with the kind of caution usually reserved for handling evidence.

“Are you doing this because you’re an altruist,” you teased, “or because you’re afraid Pen would murder you if her present got damaged on your watch?”

“Why do you assume she’d only murder me?”

“Because I have a birthday,” you said matter-of-factly. “It’s weird to hurt someone on their birthday, don’t you think? Pretty sure even savoir vivre has something to say about that.”

Reid let out a short laugh, but whatever he was about to say next seemed to get caught in his throat. Under different circumstances, he probably would have kept talking, but time wasn’t on your side. In five minutes, you’d both have to return to a world filled with kidnappings, murders, and violence.

“So…” he started, briefly glancing down at his shoes before slowly reaching into the pocket of his blazer. “Oh—first and foremost, happy birthday. I know you’ve already heard that about a hundred times today, but…”

“But not from you.”

“Happy birthday,” he exhaled, almost nervously.

You frowned slightly, wondering why he seemed so worked up over this.

“Sorry, I just…I spent a lot of time trying to figure out if you’d like this gift, and I really wanted to see your reaction. So much so that I kind of forgot to actually say happy birthday.” He let out a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I hope that…”

He stopped short at the look on your face.

For a moment, you just stared at what he was holding, lips slightly parted, completely silent. Then, slowly, a delighted smile spread across your face.

“You hope I’ll like it?” you repeated, shaking your head in disbelief. “Tickets to Heathers? Spence, of course I love it! You know how much I love musicals, and oh my god, I wanted to see this so badly…”

You opened your arms to hug him—but then hesitated.

You knew he was one of those people who tended to avoid physical contact, and his comfort had always been your priority. Even after all these years of friendship, you had only truly hugged a handful of times. And by truly, you meant something more than the brief, passing embraces that came with birthdays or other celebrations.

Spencer caught your gaze, his lips parting slightly as if he was about to say something. But instead, he simply gave a small nod—and wrapped his arms around you. The corners of your lips lifted again—though, honestly, you weren’t sure they’d ever really dropped. Not that he could see it, not with your hands resting against the fabric of his sweater and his chin lightly hovering over your shoulder.

You let out a soft sigh as you pulled away, reluctant but aware that time was chasing you both. Besides, you had something to show him.

There was a quiet tension in the air as you slowly stepped back, just barely out of his arms. Spencer watched intently as you reached into your coat pocket.

“Henry gave me this this morning,” you said, handing him the homemade card your godson had made. A small, knowing smile tugged at Spencer’s lips even before he took it, his gaze dropping to the stick figure that was supposed to be you. “He said I’m his favorite aunt in the whole world,” you added, a playful lilt in your voice. “But I’m not supposed to tell Uncle Spence because it might make him sad.”

He placed a dramatic hand on his chest, his eyes flickering between the card and you, back and forth.

"That would have really hurt my feelings," he began, "if he hadn't told me the exact same thing on my birthday."

You burst into laughter. With a small nod, you gestured that you should head back to the rest of the team. Walking side by side, you made your way in the right direction.

"Should we tell JJ that there's a little liar growing up under her roof?" you asked along the way.

"Well, the lying phase is actually a natural stage of child development," he mused. "A lack of distinction between fantasy and reality, a desire to please adults—there are various reasons. So I think we can spare her that particular worry. At least he's empathetic."

You had already reached the door to the briefing room, but before either of you could grab the handle, Spencer stepped forward slightly, stopping you in your tracks. You looked at him, a bit surprised by the gesture.

"And by the way..." he began, his tone drastically different from the one you'd been using just moments ago. You saw him swallow, carefully choosing his words. "Are...are you okay? The case we're working on...it seems to be affecting you a lot. You have dark circles under your eyes."

You had the urge to scoff defensively and sarcastically thank him for the compliment. You probably would have with anyone else—but with him, you never felt the need to hide your worries. It was easier to admit to them. Easier, but not easy.

You took a deep breath, lowering your gaze as you nodded.

"I just really want to catch these people," you admitted quietly, truthfully. "It's been going on for too long. They've hurt too many girls..." You clenched your eyes shut, avoiding his gaze, which was filled with concern. You nodded toward the door in front of you. "Come on."

He watched you for a brief moment before sighing and stepping aside to let you go first.

Soon all of you were seated around the long table, noses buried in the case files. Penelope was briefing you on a new discovery related to the case you were working on—the one that, as Reid had noted, had been keeping you up at night. She kept her gaze averted from the image on the screen, never able to handle such sights well. And the body of a young woman, drained of every last drop of blood, was particularly disturbing.

"Just like in the previous cases, abandoned seven days after the abduction," she announced, clasping her hands at stomach level. "I’ve been tracking them—I mean, really staring at my screen for hours, even more than usual—but our twins haven’t streamed a single broadcast since then."

"We've entered the transition phase," Hotch said quietly, though his rough voice, as always, carried enough weight to reach even you and Reid, seated farthest from him. "Their ritual failed. They disposed of the body and now need time to prepare for the next one. Restocking supplies, medications, medical equipment."

"This is when we should strike," Prentiss said, leaning both elbows on the table. "They're out of their hideout, likely making transactions, meeting with suppliers. It's all illegal, of course, but the underground market, or at least part of it is under our surveillance…"

This case was difficult.

Usually, you followed a certain pattern. First, there was the crime. Then, piece by piece, you uncovered the missing fragments of a complex puzzle, eventually identifying the unsub. Or unsubs, as in this case. When dealing with an abduction, the final step was typically locating the victim’s holding site.

And that was exactly where you were stuck—on this fucking last step—for yet another week.

In the meantime, one of the unsubs had launched a career as a streamer, broadcasting their actions—at least fragments of them—on the dark web. The streams started at irregular hours, lasted for inconsistent amounts of time, and seemed almost spontaneous. He had to believe that he would attract psychos like himself and his sister—people who would be fascinated by the process.

As strange as it sounded, moving the crime online had actually filled you with a twisted sense of hope.

You thought it would make everything simple. Garcia would trace their location, or maybe, by watching the streams, you’d catch some clue that would lead you right to them.

Nothing could have been further from the truth.

He only ever showed you that one room—a space resembling a hospital ward that could have been anywhere. It could have been hidden in the basement of any house in the country, inside some abandoned warehouse, on a remote farm miles away from civilization. Anywhere.

The only thing that had changed was that now you could see the victims' faces. You could watch the hope drain from their eyes as they realized no one was coming to save them.

And that thought drove you to madness.

How you even uncovered their identities and names was an even more complicated story. It all started with an offhand theory Reid had muttered under his breath—one that no one had paid much attention to at first, but which later escalated into the truth.

You had already known there were two unsubs. Their names were Lavinia and Leon Schuyler—thirty-three-year-old twins. Well, technically, triplets.

Piecing together fragments of their lives, you discovered they had another sister, Lydia. The three of them had spent their childhood deeply bonded, drifting from one dysfunctional foster home to another. Since the third sibling wasn’t involved in their crimes, you concluded she had recently died. That theory was reinforced by the fact that their victims all resembled her—and that during the streams, Leon addressed them by one name Lydia.

And, once again, through analysis, you realized what all of this was leading to.

The twins believed they could bring their sister back to life.

You had all of this. But until you had their location, it was as if you had nothing at all.

"Prentiss is right," Derek announced, his hand tightening around his coffee cup. "Our best chance is to track them now, while they’re searching for their next victim. Because we all agree there will be another, right?"

He wasn’t looking for confirmation—everyone knew cases like this didn’t just end.

Hotch nodded thoughtfully. "That’s our job for today," he began. "Not just today—we keep looking until we find them. We need to reach out to our informants, track down their supplier for drugs and medical equipment. And we need to pinpoint the location where the transaction might take place."

With a quiet sigh, you rubbed your forehead, fully aware that the next few hours would be pure informational chaos. But you were completely prepared to dive into it—anything to finally bring this case, the one that had been keeping you up at night, to an end.

In a perfect scenario, that would happen before another victim was taken.

♊︎

"Guess this isn’t how you planned to spend your birthday evening?" Reid asked.

With your hands resting on the steering wheel, you gave a small shrug. He might not have even seen the gesture in the dimly lit car, the empty road ahead reflecting the brief flashes of headlights cutting through the night.

"I wasn't in the mood to celebrate anyway," you admitted.

Under different circumstances, you might have let your teammates drag you to a bar or invited them over, picking up a cheap cake from the first bakery you passed on the way home. But from the moment you came across the information about a human blood sale taking place that night in an abandoned ruin—once a shopping mall—you all knew there would be no chance to catch your breath anytime soon.

You were almost certain that the twins would be one of the parties involved in the transaction.

At first, it filled you with doubt. Human blood? Why would they need to buy it when they were kidnapping all these women for that very purpose? Every body had been drained of it—whatever ritual they believed they were performing revolved entirely around blood.

"Maybe it's a form of experimentation," Reid had tried to explain a few hours earlier at the office, his furrowed gaze fixed on the board cluttered with all the data you'd been compiling. He paused, thinking. "Our unsubs are deeply delusional. They believe their actions will bring their sister back to life. So far, they've tried twice and failed. But instead of admitting that what they're doing is utterly irrational and illogical—because, of course, a blood transfusion into a dead body won't resurrect it—they'd rather blame the process itself, look for errors in their methods. Buying blood allows them to practice, to refine their approach without wasting what they truly desire—the blood of their victims."

"Actually, the fact that I'll finally get to see Heathers soon totally makes up for having to do... this on my birthday," you added after a moment of silence, gesturing toward your bulletproof vest.

Spencer didn’t respond—he was listening intently to Hotch’s voice coming through the car radio. A brief summary of what was unfolding at the ambush site.

You had your doubts about it, ones you kept to yourself. This was your best shot; you had to believe it would work. There hadn’t been enough time to prepare. You didn’t even have up-to-date blueprints of the place.

The abandoned building was in such a state of decay that most people driving past probably had no idea it had once been a shopping mall. The floor was coated in dust and shards of shattered storefront glass. Water from a leaking roof had seeped into the walls, leaving behind dark stains. Plastic tables from the long-defunct food court lay overturned and filthy. From what you’d managed to gather, a lot of people from the local underworld—mostly dealers—had passed through here at least once in their careers.

You didn’t feel that you were properly prepared, nor did you like your role in all of this. Your job was to circle the area in an unmarked car, providing backup in case your unsub somehow managed to slip away. That meant you had no direct view of the ambush and had to rely entirely on the descriptions and updates from your teammates. So far, though, no one had shown up.

"Hm, Spence?" you suddenly said into the space between you, a little uncertain. You kept your eyes on the road as you drove, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw him tilt his head questioningly. You fell silent for a moment, trying to keep your tone casual. "I got two tickets from you…and, you know, I was wondering if maybe you’d want to, well…see it with me?"

You had no idea why you suddenly felt so tense. After all, you were friends, and friends went places together sometimes. Just the two of them.

"Are you sure?" Reid asked, making you shift in surprise. Was he going to say no? He quickly added, "I mean, I don’t want you to think I expected you to invite me just because I gave you the tickets…It’s a gift, and if you’d rather take someone else, a friend or…"

"I want to take you," you interrupted, shifting your gaze to him.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, the glint of your eyes visible in the dark car. Spencer gave a small, gentle smile.

"She's here. Alone. We're waiting in position until she goes inside," Morgan's voice informed you.

You both straightened up, as if brought back down to earth. The sense of satisfaction, even excitement, that had grown within you after he agreed suddenly took a backseat. You remained silent, listening for further instructions. Sitting there in the car, you felt utterly useless. She’s here. Just Lavinia? What about her brother? Did she come alone? Had they suspected something was off and decided not to risk being caught together? Your breath caught in your chest for several long minutes, stretching into a quarter of an hour.

“Fuck” 

Your grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Fuck! She got away. She was alone, and she still managed to slip through…there must be a hidden exit in the warehouse…”

Reid brought the radio to his lips.

“We’re nearby—we might be able to catch her. Did she come on foot? If so, her car could be parked somewhere close, maybe with her brother waiting. She’s probably heading straight there.” A faint crease formed between his brows, the mark of complete focus. “Garcia, you got me? Check the maps. Find anywhere they might have stopped…”

“How the fuck did she slip through?” you hissed under your breath, your heart hammering against your bulletproof vest.

You weren’t there—you had no right to judge. But for god’s sake, it was one woman against a trained FBI team!

“Guys, I think I’ve got something!” Penelope’s tense whisper crackled through the radio. “An abandoned parking lot, I’ll guide you there…”

You shoved your anger and confusion aside for the moment, yanking the wheel sharply as you turned toward the location Garcia had given. Cracks in the concrete had been overtaken by tufts of grass, something you noticed the moment you stepped out of the car, the door slamming shut behind you. It was nighttime, and darkness sprawled between the trees ahead, swallowing up what little visibility you had. The entire area was unlit, making it hard to see much—except for the single parked car standing out in the gloom.

You and Reid didn’t need to discuss your next move. A brief exchange of glances was enough—a silent reminder to stay cautious. Weapons drawn, you approached the vehicle from opposite sides, moving in sync without a word. You expected to see the face of the man you had been staring at endlessly over the past few days of the investigation. You hoped to find him in the driver’s seat, to yank him out with a firm pull, slam him against the hood, and cuff his wrists as his face met the cold metal.

But the car’s interior was empty.

“Damn it,” you muttered, lowering your gun. “Is this even their car? Maybe we came here for nothing…”

“Let’s find out,” Reid murmured, scanning the area cautiously before tugging on the surprisingly unlocked front door. His brows lifted—he seemed just as surprised as you.

You circled around the vehicle to join him on the same side, resting a hand on the open door as you watched him pull on a pair of gloves. He reached for the glove compartment, likely expecting to find some documents inside.

“Nothing,” he sighed after a long moment, disappointment lacing his voice.

He turned his face toward you, his tense jaw easing as he parted his lips to say something else. 

Then everything was drowned out by the sharp crack of gunfire. One shot. Then another. Bullets slammed into the hood of the car with a metallic clang.

It all happened too fast.

You spun around, your flashlight beam cutting through the darkness—and landing on her. Blonde hair wild around her face, cheeks flushed from a desperate sprint.

Her gun was raised. Her finger tight on the trigger.

And you.

Most of your body shielded behind the open car door.

Most of it.

But not your head.

Then—Reid’s hands gripping your waist. Yanking you down.

The bullet shattered the window, glass exploding around you. Instinctively, you both ducked, heads low as sharp fragments rained down.

Curled up together, arms tangled, you locked eyes—both of you breathing hard, lips parted in shock. It had only been seconds, but in his gaze, that raw flash of fear stretched endlessly.

Your fingers dug into the fabric of his vest, gripping onto the solid warmth of his body as the world tilted. The ringing in your ears was deafening, the gunshot echoing in your skull, stretching time unbearably—like a warning of the next shot to come.

But it didn’t.

And when another second passed. Then another—

You moved.

Ignoring Reid’s sharp inhale, his hand reaching to hold you back, you pushed up onto your feet. The flashlight beam managed to catch Lavinia for a brief moment before she disappeared entirely into the stretch of trees between you. You couldn't let her escape and make it back to their hideout, the one you had been struggling to locate for so long.

Following her trail, you shot across the parking lot like an arrow. Reid was a fraction slower to react, but he wasn’t about to let you go after her alone. You could hear his footsteps behind you as you ran forward with determination, nearly tripping more than once over scattered rocks and branches along the forest path. You knew the flashlight was giving away your position, but you kept it on, scanning the surroundings for one of the unsubs.

It was as if she had vanished into thin air. As if the trees had swallowed her whole, even though the narrow, mostly overgrown path led only forward. You stopped, desperately looking around. You had no idea how far you had run, but your breath had become uneven, despite your excellent physical condition as an FBI agent.  You couldn't accept the fact that she had slipped away from you twice, that she would soon meet up with her brother and together start planning the abduction of another victim…

Reid's hands reached for yours to turn off the flashlight you were clutching. In one moment, his face was right in front of yours, perfectly lit with squinted eyes, and in the next, it disappeared. You could still sense his presence just in front of you, his heavy breathing when he spoke.

"We have to..." he started in a slightly hoarse, quiet voice.

"We have to catch her," you interrupted through clenched teeth. You pulled away, moving forward again, but then he grabbed your wrist tightly.

"This is pointless," he replied, to which you immediately snorted in response. You wanted to argue, but then his finger landed on your lips, stopping you from speaking. "It's pointless for both of us to chase her like this," he explained, finally calming his breath. "Give me the flashlight, I'll go on alone. You head back to the car and take the other route. The forest is small; she'll have to come out on the other side soon. And above all, notify the team about everything."

His hand pulled back only after he finished explaining the plan. At that point, you no longer had the desire to protest. Everything he said made sense, even though something deep inside you screamed that you shouldn’t split up. You ignored it and forced yourself to nod. You handed him your flashlight and, after a last exchange of glances, you jogged back.

“Spence,” you turned suddenly after taking only a couple of steps. He also looked at you, clearly surprised. “Be careful.”

 Reid nodded.

“I’ll be fine,” he reassured you. “Be careful too. We’ll meet up in a bit.”

It was only when you were running back to the car that you realized just how far your pursuit had gone. Anxiety clung to your back and didn’t let go, even as you emerged from between the gnarly trees. You gripped your gun tightly and tucked it back into your waistband as you sat behind the wheel of your car, not even pausing to catch your breath. Without hesitation, you leaned over to the radio, but before you could get a word out, something flashed in the corner of your eye.

You froze at the sight of the gun aimed at the driver’s side window.

You didn’t even fully turn to the side, you didn’t wait. You knew what was expected of you. With slow, almost rigid movements, you opened the door and stepped outside. You dragged out the process, analyzing the stance of the man, the second of your unsub suspects. He wasn’t a tall man, and after reviewing his history, you knew he had no significant experience with weapons or combat skills you had mastered long ago.

You almost smiled when you managed to use the element of surprise, grabbing his hand and redirecting the gun to the side. The shot rang out.

Leon Schuyler hissed with satisfaction, as if he had expected it all along. Then, before you could slam your knee into his groin, another sound escaped his lips. It was possible you had misheard it, but it sounded very much like a goodnight.

And after that, a sharp needle of a syringe pierced your neck with precision.

♊︎

It wasn’t until morning that Spencer began to grasp what had actually happened.

And even then, not fully. He felt as if he were blankly staring at the script of a play—one whose plot and themes filled him with such deep discomfort that he wanted nothing more than to leave the theater without so much as murmuring an apology to the people he passed. Yet at the same time, his entire body was nailed to that rough seat, his head immobilized, unable to look away. He wanted to run onto the stage and shout, enough, to put an end to it all—but he had no such power.

Who did?

The ambush for the twins had been set around midnight. About an hour later, they had both taken off after the fleeing woman. Then they had split up.

He didn’t remember much after that—not until five in the morning, when the entire team finally stopped scouring the area, clinging to the desperate hope that they might stumble upon the unsub by sheer accident. For the first time, Spencer felt so detached from the passage of time that even when he looked at his watch, the position of the hands made no real sense to him.

Hotch had announced that they needed to return to the office. To regroup. To think carefully about their next move.

They were the first to arrive—Spencer trailing behind Hotch more like a shadow than an actual participant in events. Others followed, one by one. Shaken. Furious. Devastated. But most of all, still bewildered, still unable to accept what had happened.

The sun had begun to rise, but even that seemed slower than usual, reluctant to banish the wretched darkness still clinging to these walls.

Spencer realized he was staring blankly out the window instead of using his so-called genius to find a solution. His mind felt empty, and the shame of it hit him like a physical blow, followed by something even more tangible.

A pair of hands shoved against his chest, forcing him backward.

“JJ…”

Derek was between them in an instant, stepping in to hold her back.

She froze, staring at her own hands as if surprised by what they had just done. Then she clenched them tightly across her chest, her gaze locked onto Spencer, raw and overflowing with emotion.

“How could you…how could you even suggest splitting up?” Her voice trembled, her head shaking in disbelief. Her chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven breaths. She had been the last to arrive, the one who stayed out searching the longest—desperate, frantic, chasing down any possible lead that could tell her where they had taken her best friend, the godmother of her son. “You know this never ends well, Spencer. You know that. You should have known that…”

"Enough" Emily appeared beside them, gently wrapping her arms around JJ’s shoulders.

JJ slumped, a single tear glistening in her eye for the first time.

"This isn’t helping," Emily said softly. "We need to focus on finding her as quickly as possible. They… they don’t kill their victims. Not right away. We still have a chance…"

"They don’t kill their victims," JJ repeated blankly, wiping her eye with a stiff movement. She didn’t look at any of them. "They just keep them locked up for days, drain their blood, and throw them away like garbage."

She took a breath.

"I need to see Penelope."

She tore herself from Emily’s grasp and walked away without looking back.

Her words lingered, filling the space, stretching the silence into something unbearable.

Spencer felt like he might throw up if he even tried to swallow

By accident, his gaze met Emily’s. Her brown eyes were surprisingly gentle.

He looked away.

Facing JJ’s fury had been easier—it was just a fraction of the hatred he felt toward himself. But he couldn’t stand any attempt to soften just how badly he had fucked up. He opened his mouth, maybe to apologize, before realizing just how meaningless it would be. What would his apology change? The only thing he could do at that moment was pull himself together and find her.

“I need to focus,” he said, his throat so dry the words barely made it out. He wanted to leave the room, to be back among the case files, to lose himself in analysis and overlapping thought patterns, to check everything—literally everything.

But then Penelope appeared in the doorway, the color drained completely from her face.

“Guys, you need to see this…” she choked out.

For a second, everyone froze—until, led by Spencer, they rushed toward her office.

"Just like in the previous cases, I can’t trace this transmission," Penelope explained frantically, nearly running beside him on her high heels. They burst into the dimly lit room full of screens, where JJ was already inside—motionless. She was biting her thumb, staring at one of the monitors in a trance. "They’re using satellite internet, masking the signal, and constantly jumping between servers..."

Behind them, Prentiss let out a strangled sound.

The whole thing was being streamed via a handheld camera, mostly fixed on one point—the face of their teammate. It seemed to be set down on something, maybe a table, because if someone were holding it, the frame would be shaking.

Hotch stepped in as close as possible, his eyes shutting for a brief moment. He was reliving it all over again. Once more, one of them had been taken, and the rest were forced to watch, helpless.

But if Tobias Hankel had left behind anything remotely useful, it was that they knew how to handle this.

Silently, painfully, they all gathered around Garcia, absorbing the footage—no, the live feed.

"Is recording this really fucking necessary?" a woman's voice snapped—it belonged to Lavinia.

Spencer's mind flickered with the image of her face—those empty green eyes staring down the barrel of a gun aimed directly at them. Her brow furrowed. She had no visible injuries on her face. She was lying on a stark white bed, the kind that looked like it belonged in a hospital, covered by an equally white blanket up to her waist. She wasn’t wearing a bulletproof vest anymore—just a loose nightgown that ended at her elbows. Her eyes were half-lidded, blinking slowly—probably just waking up.

"We already talked about this. It is," her brother replied. "What are you doing?"

Lavinia stepped into the frame. They weren’t wearing masks, weren’t bothering to hide their identities—fully aware that law enforcement already knew their names.

One of her hands clamped down on the captive’s, pulling it toward her with little care before pricking the tip of one finger.

Confusion rippled through everyone watching. Spencer might have rushed to explain if not for the fact that he couldn’t force a single word out. He couldn’t even look away.

"I'm checking her blood type, what else?" she scoffed. "You kidnapped her without running it by me, and you should know that if this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her."

"Pay attention to the way they speak to each other," Hotch started, bracing a hand against the desk. "There's tension—some kind of conflict…"

"Hotch," Spencer cut in, his eyes shut tightly. Nausea churned in his stomach. Keeping his eyes closed was the only way to stay on his feet.

Lavinia's words pounded against his skull on repeat. If this bitch has the wrong blood type, I’m not wasting our time on her.

"…That's a good thing. It means they're less coordinated, and it's more likely they'll make a mistake..."

"Hotch," he tried again.

This time, it was almost a plea.

"…We should—"

"She’s AB Rh+."

Hotch finally turned to look at him. So did the rest.

They froze—silent, motionless—not because they didn’t understand what it meant, but because they refused to accept it.

AB Rh+, a blood type that could only be transfused to someone with the same.

All the previous victims had type A blood.

I’m not wasting our time on her.

Prentiss sank into the nearest chair, as if her knees had simply given out beneath her.

So this was how it was going to end?

Before they could do anything to help her? Before he could even come up with a single idea on how to save her?

A single tear slipped down Penelope’s cheek. She didn’t even try to wipe it away.

“Let me check,” Leon, the male unsub, suddenly offered. “Go turn the heat up. Even I’m cold, and I’ve got a jacket on.”

His sister hesitated for a moment before she agreed.

Spencer finally opened his eyes—not to torture himself with the helplessness on his colleagues’ faces, but to force his gaze onto the screen. He fixed his eyes on her half-conscious face, searching for any sign of understanding. Did she get it? Had she already connected the dots?

Breathing started to hurt.

He wanted so badly to apologize. It wouldn’t fix anything, but maybe—maybe—it would dull the ache.

Him. Spencer Reid. And his stupid idea to split up.

He had sent her back to the car.

He had sent her to die.

That thought was dangerous, but maybe it was a good thing that the end was so close. That she wouldn’t have to endure days of suffering, uncertainty, and fear. He knew that feeling. He knew it all too well—praying for his own death when the pain became unbearable when fear and exhaustion drained the last of his strength. He didn’t want her to go through that.

He didn’t want her to go through any of this.

But that…that especially.

"And?" Lavinia returned to the room after a long moment.

"Well, what can I say? I’ve got a good eye," her brother said lightly. "O Rh-, a universal donor. We couldn’t have asked for a better match. You know what this means? That this time, we might finally succeed."

Everyone exchanged glances, utterly confused.

“Spencer…” JJ looked at him for the first time since their argument. “You said…you yourself said that she—”

“Because she is,” he interrupted. “He lied.”

Prentiss snapped her head up, a spark of hope flickering in her eyes. Spencer didn’t share her optimism. He did feel some relief, that much was true. But he was painfully aware that this wasn’t over. The nightmare was only beginning, and it was up to them to end it—before it was too late.

♊︎

You were afraid to be afraid. 

Absurd—you were well aware of that. But ever since you woke up in that hospital-like room, hooked up to an EEG and an IV, with a pulse oximeter clipped to your finger, your thoughts had focused solely on one thing. Not panicking. Calmness gave you a sense of control. Of course, you had none whatsoever—you were entirely at the mercy of two lunatics who believed they could bring someone back to life. But if they could be delusional, then so could you.

You knew this room from the recordings. For the longest time, you couldn’t determine where exactly it might be located. Was it a repurposed basement? A cabin in the middle of nowhere? Even now, being here in person, you couldn’t say for sure.

The moment you were left alone, you seized the opportunity to unhook yourself from all the machines and pressed your ear against the wall.

Once, your team had found a victim’s location by identifying the sound of a plane taking off in the background of a ransom call. You hoped for something similar to happen now. But you quickly realized the grey walls were lined with  soundproofing foam. The floor, covered in rubber, absorbed footsteps completely. You didn’t even hear anyone approaching until a flat palm struck you across the face so hard that you collapsed back onto the bed.

Lavinia was ridiculously strong.

“If you get up without permission again, I’ll cuff you to the damn bed,” she said, tossing a bottle of water onto the mattress beside you. “Drink. You’ll get food when you do something for me.” 

"As if I have anywhere to run," you muttered under your breath, reluctantly reaching for the water. "What do you want me to do? What time is it?"

Every time one of the twins visited you, you asked for the time. You needed to know how long you had been there. But with the constant doses of sedatives they were giving you, you couldn’t even estimate it.

Deep inside, you felt like it had been no more than a day.

The others had been kept for seven days before…

You shook your head. You couldn’t think about the others if you wanted to hold on to what was left of your sanity.

“Good night,” Lavinia muttered, messing with the IV drip.

“But you said I had to do something…” You frowned in confusion.

The blonde shrugged. She was wearing a green coat with fur on the hood. Both she and her brother always came to see you dressed warmly, even though the temperature in your little prison was relatively comfortable.

They had changed you into a thin nightgown that ended just above your knees and at your elbows, but curled up under the blanket, you were relatively warm.

That led you to one conclusion—wherever you were, the rest of the building wasn’t as well-heated. It was cold enough that they needed extra layers.

Whatever was in the IV worked.

You woke up on the floor. And freezing. Oh God, it was so cold. Your entire body immediately started shaking.

When you tried to push yourself up at your own sluggish pace, someone simply yanked you upright, like pulling a vegetable from the ground. You hissed in pain, instinctively trying to push the woman away, but all that did was earn you another hit.

Lavinia didn’t hold back.

The previous victims hadn’t been beaten this badly, so you assumed she particularly disliked the fact that her brother had chosen to kidnap you.

Leon, unlike her, didn’t hit you.

He just kept shoving the camera in your face.

Honestly, you preferred a busted lip and bruises over the fact that your team was seeing what was happening to you.

That awareness hurt a thousand times more than any torture ever could.

You managed to take a look around this new room before you were shoved toward the bed.

Unlike yours, it didn’t look like a mad doctor’s operating room but rather an ordinary, slightly old-fashioned bedroom. Dark wooden floors, a wardrobe with ornate handles in the corner, no windows—just like your room. Bottle-green walls.

Your gaze finally fell on the bed, and you barely managed to choke back a scream.

Suddenly, you understood why it was so unbearably cold in the room.

In front of you lay the body of a woman, her eyes closed, but her face was so unnaturally blue that you could never have believed she was merely sleeping. If not for the fact that she had been dead for—what you estimated to be—several weeks, she would have been identical to Lavinia.

Only after the initial shock of the sight wore off did her name come back to you.

Lydia.

The last of the triplets. The one who had died. The one they were trying to bring back with their…ritual.

As an FBI agent and profiler, you were accustomed to seeing dead bodies—but this one unsettled you in a way you couldn’t quite rationalize.

Lavinia approached the corpse and smiled down at it with an affection so genuine, so reverent, that it sent a shiver down your spine. It was the kind of smile only mothers gave their children. Then, without hesitation, she leaned in and pressed a kiss to Lydia’s cold, gray cheek.

The dead woman’s short blonde hair fanned out across the pillow like a halo. Her hands were folded neatly atop the blanket, eerily reminiscent of someone in prayer. You were shaking, and it probably wasn’t just because of the cold.

"From now on, you will take care of our sister twice a day," Lavinia began, opening the drawer of the bedside table. She took out a hair comb, a bottle of some liquid, and a silk cloth. "Brush her hair and wipe her body."

As she spoke, she demonstratively rolled up one of Lydia’s sleeves. She was dressed in a nightgown similar to yours, but with lace at the collar and long sleeves reaching down to her wrists. You couldn’t suppress a shudder at the sight of her exposed skin. You were trembling too much from the cold for Lavinia to notice.

Lydia’s veins were dark. The blood transfusions into her lifeless body had caused it to clot. Small lumps had formed where the blood had thickened, and her arms were covered in scars and puncture marks.

“W-why do I have to do this?” you asked, clenching your teeth to stop them from chattering.

Lavinia shrugged as she wiped her sister’s skin with the cloth.

“Someone has to take care of her,” she said. “By doing this, you’re building a bond with her. Here, try it. Just be gentle.”

For a moment, you just stared at her. You were now certain—absolutely certain—that both Lavinia and Leon had crossed the threshold of madness and were living in a world where logic held no place.

Her gaze hardened as she shoved the cloth into your hands. It almost slipped from your trembling fingers.

You looked down at the body and hesitantly wiped its surface…a violent gag reflex hit you so hard that you staggered.

You heard a contemptuous scoff.

“If you throw up on her, you have no idea what I’ll do to you,” she warned.

This was sick. Sick, sick, sick.

Your breath caught in your chest—you couldn’t look at Lydia, laid out in bed as if merely asleep. Taking care of her as if she were alive. But another warning glance and the flash of a weapon beneath Lavinia’s coat forced you to keep going. You started wiping down each of her limbs, one by one.

She was a small woman, barely any weight to her, and yet it felt like the task stretched into eternity.

Sick, sick, sick.

When you were done, a comb was shoved into your hand. Its teeth were wide-set, meant to avoid damaging the delicate hair of a corpse. Lavinia kept hissing softer through gritted teeth every few seconds.

Sick.

You forced yourself to set the comb down calmly instead of flinging it away like it burned you. Following instructions, you reached for Lydia’s hands, gently folding them back into the same position as before. As you did, your gaze lingered on her wrists for a long, drawn-out moment. The deep, jagged wounds. So that’s how she died? Suicide?

Lavinia stabbed you with a syringe.

♊︎

You lay in bed, your body still trembling.

You weren’t cold anymore, yet you curled up under the blanket. Just as Lavinia had warned, she forced you to do it again a few hours later. Taking care of Lydia’s body now dictated when morning came and when night fell. Not once had you fallen asleep on your own—there were always the drugs, injected mostly when they needed to move you to another room. You wondered why you couldn’t just walk there yourself.

Not that you would have been able to sleep anyway. You made sure not to close your eyes. When you did, your mind conjured sick visions—of the corpse lying right beside you, feeding off your blood, slowly consuming you the way mold devours fresh fruit.

You were afraid to be afraid, yet fear was beginning to take hold of you.

You were still searching for a way out of all this… You knew the team was looking for you too, doing everything they could, but you couldn’t just sit and wait. You had to find a way to gain some sort of advantage over the unsubs. There was no use trying with Lavinia, but Leon…

He was the weaker link in this duo.

He had lied about your blood type, which meant he wanted to keep you here.

You heard him enter the room. They usually took turns coming to see you, rarely together. His arrival was always preceded by the small wheeled table carrying all the electronic equipment and streaming cables. If only Garcia could trace it…

“How are you feeling?” Leon asked, sitting on the edge of your bed, keeping his distance, the camera aimed directly at your face. You tried to turn your head so the bruise under your eye—courtesy of his sister—was out of view. A poor attempt. Your lip was swollen too. “You look weak. My sister told me to bring you something to eat, but… you know, Lydia is smaller than you.”

You raised your eyebrows. So what, was he planning to starve you until you resembled his sister’s corpse? You didn’t even try to understand it anymore. It wasn’t worth the effort for your exhausted mind. You didn’t answer, unsure of what you even should say. But you wanted to keep the conversation going.

“Why…why are you even recording all of this?”

You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing directly into the camera. It was impossible that the whole team was watching the stream. You hoped as few of them as possible were seeing you like this. Especially not Penelope—she wasn’t built for this. Not JJ, your best friend. And definitely not Spencer.

On second thought, you didn’t want any of them to be watching.

Leon cleared his throat.

“Well, we’re doing something incredible. People want to see it. They’re curious if we’ll succeed.”

You’re doing something sick. Freaks want to watch it. They’re fascinated by it, you corrected him in your head.

“So, I have fans?” You tried to sound playful, friendly.

Leon was surprised by the warmth in your voice. Pleasantly surprised. His pale face, green eyes brightened slightly.

“Yes. I guess you do,” he admitted. He almost seemed shy, as if he hadn’t kidnapped you. “Can I…can I talk to you? Maybe they’d like to know something about you. The previous ones…the previous ones didn’t really want to say much. Mostly, they just screamed.”

You used all your strength not to flinch.

“Sure,” you replied, forcing a soft smile. It was just a game, a mask. You tried to observe the conversation from the outside, detached, clear-headed—while pretending you didn’t hate him. “What do you want to know?”

He didn’t move closer, but he shifted slightly to make sure the camera captured as much of you as possible.

“I know you’re a fed,” he began. “I even looked you up. I know your name. How old you are. But nowhere did it say what you like. You know, what you do. In your free time.”

You hesitated for a moment. You were kidnapped. If it were someone else in your position, you’d tell them to be as human as possible—honest, even. Make your captor see you as a person with feelings, desires, dreams.

So you took a breath and tried to answer truthfully, even though it hurt.

“I love musicals,” you finally said.

You thought about the two tickets—Spencer’s gift.

It hurt unbelievably much.

You prayed he wasn’t watching. That he wouldn’t hear this.

You told Leon a little about the last musical you had seen. It had been a long time—your job left you no time for such things. You looked him straight in the eyes as you spoke, because the sheer disgust you felt toward him was the only thing keeping your tears from spilling over. You felt so fragile, talking about something you loved to a man who, in just a few days, planned to drain you of blood.

You didn’t want to die like this. You refused to.

“Do you want kids?” he asked suddenly.

The question was so unexpected that you didn’t even have time to think.

"I guess…I guess so," you said.

But your surprised mind quickly sharpened, pulling up information from their biography. You knew that the twins' mother had died in childbirth. You didn't know what was driving him to ask this question, but you preferred to be cautious.

"I mean, no. I don’t know, actually. Maybe. To continue the species."

Or to have a loving family, but of course, you weren’t about to say something so personal out loud.

Leon remained still for a moment, then suddenly laughed. You pretended to laugh along, but you couldn’t stop the sharp flinch when he suddenly moved closer, touching your cheek with his hand. He lowered the camera—it was now pointing at the floor.

"You're so funny," he said with strange tenderness. "Just like Lydia. She…she was the same way."

For the first time, he referred to her in the past tense instead of the present. Was he starting to realize that she was gone?

"Do you have a boyfriend?" Another question.

"No."

"Have you ever loved someone?"

"What…what really happened to Lydia?"

The team had never found that out. But you had seen the wounds on her wrists and figured it out yourself. Still, you wanted to hear what he had to say about it. Because by now, you were starting to suspect.

"She passed away because of an illness," he said shortly, enigmatically, cutting off any further questions. Then, he repeated himself. "Have you ever loved?"

"In what way? Romantically, like a sibling, like family…?"

"It doesn’t matter."

Your posture became more alert, analytical. Leon withdrew his hand from your face, but he didn’t point the camera back at you, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it.

"Of course, I’ve loved," you said quietly. "And I still do. And you loved Lydia, right?"

The man nodded, a certain longing filling his green eyes.

"It’s late," he announced after a moment of silence. "I should go."

But before he even moved to stand, he leaned in. His lips brushed the top of your head, hesitant. You fought the urge to push him away. You had to keep up the act, continue this game. Wrap him around your finger, so that the very thought of hurting you would terrify him.

"Goodnight, Lydia."

♊︎

A certain force kept him bound to that chair, watching each broadcast over and over again.

He believed that, eventually, he would spot some previously overlooked detail—one that would immediately allow him to pinpoint the location. But in part, he also wanted to punish himself. Because what could hurt more than watching the face of one of the most important women in his life grow paler and more bruised with each passing moment?

A woman he himself had condemned to this fate.

But he didn’t stay in the office for another night just to drown in his own guilt. He was capable of multitasking, so while the weight of it pressed down on him, he poured everything that came to mind onto paper.

He noted the exact moments the streams began, measured their precise duration, wrote down every single word spoken, and searched for any hidden meaning.

Maybe, somewhere in one of those conversations, she had hidden a message meant for their team—a clue to help them find her.

Three days had passed. Logically, it made sense to assume they were following the same pattern as in previous cases. And that meant nearly half of their time was already gone.

Spencer kept thinking about Leon’s cryptic words—that his sister had supposedly died of an illness. He wondered if that was true or if the twins had chosen to live in denial. Maybe it was easier for them to accept that fate, a cruel and indifferent universe, had taken her—rather than the possibility that she had done it to herself.

He rubbed his tired eyes and let out a heavy sigh when he realized he was getting nowhere.

Garcia had allowed him to stay in her office alone—something that, under any other circumstances, would have gotten him killed. She hated when anyone touched her keyboard.

But time was relentlessly moving forward, and they all had to sleep at some point. Usually, only one or two of them were assigned to monitoring the broadcasts at a time, while the rest focused on other search efforts. They worked nonstop.

They had already experienced a moment of sheer terror at the very start, forced to confront the brutal reality that she could die. And they were determined not to let that happen.

Especially Spencer.

Not just because he owed it to her. It wasn’t only about guilt—the fact that he had been the one to suggest they split up. Even if he had nothing to do with her current situation, he would still be glued to this chair in the dimly lit room, illuminated only by the glow of the screens, a single desk lamp, and the rhythmic ticking of the clock.

Because she was his friend. Because she was an inseparable part of his life.

Because she was someone he could say, without a doubt, that he loved.

Whether that love was purely platonic or something more didn’t matter right now.

The only thing that mattered was the silent promise in his mind—that he would make sure they watched that musical together.

Hundreds of them, if she wanted.

He drank surprisingly little coffee. What kept him on his feet and his mind sharp weren’t the stimulants but the occasional glances at the drawing Henry had made—a gift she had left in the office, intending to take it home after work. To pin it to her fridge with a cat-shaped magnet. Of course, Henry had no idea what had happened to the best aunt in the world. 

He drifted off in thought for a moment, only to be pulled back by movement on the screen.

The stream was starting.

Spencer immediately straightened in his seat, giving his cheek a light slap to wake himself up, to force himself into absolute focus.

Like every time, something clenched painfully in his chest.

He barely recognized her, even though the light in her room was on.

Several details hit him all at once.

First, the wound on her cheek—one that hadn’t been there before. Second, her hair. It had been cut to the exact same length Lydia’s had been in the photos he’d seen of her. The association filled his mind in an instant, vivid and unshakable. Third… the bandages wrapped around her wrists. Both of them. His hand shot toward his phone to alert the team, to wake everyone up. Or maybe someone else had already done it—he wasn’t entirely present in his own body.

But before he could move, before he could do anything at all, his breath caught in his throat. A thought began to scroll across his mind like a news ticker.

Metamorphosis had already begun.

♊︎

When Leon cut your hair, you took advantage of his momentary distraction—his mind entirely consumed by memories of his sister—and stole the scissors, slipping them under your pillow.

You wished you could say it was part of some greater plan. But in reality, you were exhausted, your strength fading more and more—not just physically, but mentally too. If your calculations were right, at least three days had passed. Twice a day, they drugged you and moved you to a room so cold that you lost all feeling in your limbs for hours, forced to care for a dead body. Staring into Lydia’s empty eyes, at the bluish veins beneath her lifeless skin, you couldn’t stop imagining yourself the same way—discarded by the roadside, drained of every last drop of blood.

You didn’t want to go like that. You wanted to go on your own terms.

You seized your chance that evening, when they left you alone without sedatives. You hesitated. But what if the team had finally tracked you down? What if they were already on their way? Wait or don’t wait? They would understand. You knew that. You were relieved that the camera hadn’t been on you 24/7. You had at least spared them from witnessing this, the desperation and terror slipping from your wrists along with your blood.

It was Leon who found you. He collapsed to his knees beside you, consumed by sheer panic, screaming Lydia’s name over and over, begging her not to leave him again. His cries alerted Lavinia. You had hoped that despite her medical experience as a nurse, she wouldn’t reach you in time.

You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting their faces to be the last thing you saw before death. With the last remnants of your strength, you struggled against their grasp as they tried to lift you from the floor.

Then, everything faded away.

"Leon, this is a waste of time."

The blurred words drifted into your consciousness, floating there like debris on the surface of water. You observed them with closed eyelids, seeing nothing, feeling little, barely understanding anything.

"She…maybe we should just get rid of her. Find a new one."

"We can’t," her brother responded firmly. You had never heard him speak in such a commanding tone before. "We can’t take that risk. They’re on our tail. Police…FBI. If we try again…this is our last chance. She is our last chance, and this time, it will work. I can feel it"

He paused.

"She’s just like Lydia."

His twin remained silent for a moment before letting out a weary, resigned sigh.

"I guess you're right," she finally replied. "I'll go refill the boat's fuel. Keep an eye on her, make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. And when she wakes up, take her to Lydia. They need to…they need to bond. A stronger bond. Right now, she's too weak."

"Be careful," her brother warned her gently.

You opened your eyes only after Lavinia left the room. The light stabbed at them painfully. For a moment, the helplessness consuming you was utterly devastating. You wanted to scream, to wail—it took everything in you not to beg the man to put you to sleep again. If even death couldn’t save you from this fate, then what could? 

Leon didn’t say a word to you. After a while, he simply helped you up, touching your body as if it were made of fragile porcelain, then guided you into the hallway, offering light support. You were weak, horribly weak, but the moment you left your room, a flicker of strength began to return.

For the first time, they allowed you to walk to Lydia on your own instead of carrying you there unconscious. That gave you a chance to take in your surroundings more clearly. You were so surprised by this newfound freedom that, for a moment, you forgot how unsteady your legs were.

You stepped into what seemed like a corridor. Instead of soundproof foam, the walls were lined with metal, rust creeping along some of the panels. The air carried a certain chill—not the biting cold of Lydia’s room, but something more natural, like a draft seeping through an imperfect structure. And then there was another sound, layered beneath the whisper of wind slipping through the cracks—a faint, steady noise.

Rushing water.

Leon kept leading you forward. You crossed a threshold, and that was when you saw it—an old window at the end of the corridor. Something inside you surged forward, an instinctual pull. You wanted—needed—to press yourself against the glass, to look outside, to at least see where you were. The unfamiliar sounds and the stark change in environment stirred something deep within you.

The will to survive.

You thought it had died back there, on the floor, when you miraculously lived. But it hadn’t. It had only been waiting.

Leon pulled you along more forcefully. For the first time, you thought about hurting him. He wasn’t as strong as his sister—if you wrapped your arms tightly around his neck at just the right angle…You were alone there, Lavnia had gone… You tried to recall her blurred words. Refill the fuel in the boat? A boat? So your intuition had been right—you were somewhere on the water.

You had done this so many times that he didn’t need to hand you the cloth or the comb; you already knew where to find them. As you opened the drawer, you could feel Leon’s gaze on your back. You moved slowly, hoping to find something sharp. Anything. Even the comb would do…

You turned around and saw Leon sitting on the table by the bed, his forehead resting on his sister’s lifeless hands.

A perfect opportunity. Perfect circumstances. He was distracted, not paying attention to you.

Unfortunately, you weren’t fully focused either. His sobbing…

"My beautiful Lydia," he wept softly into his sister’s body, burying his face in it as if hoping she would embrace him, stroke his head. "My dear Lydia. I loved her, you know. I love her."

You didn’t move, clutching the comb in your hands. You barely felt the cold, even though your body registered it perfectly, making you shiver. And although rage filled you—a wild, feral madness—you wanted to lunge at him. Yet somehow, you found a sense of calm, a sliver of reason.

You remembered your previous strategy. Leon, the weakest link.

Leaning in, you gently ran your fingers through his blond hair.

“I love you too,” you replied with difficulty.

The man stopped sobbing, remaining still for a moment. With a slow inhale, he straightened up, his wide-open eyes locking onto your face. A slight shiver ran down your spine.

It was possible that you had just made the worst mistake imaginable.

But there was no turning back now. You held his gaze, refusing to look away. You couldn’t tell what emotions were flickering behind his stare. Was it shock? Suddenly, he stood up abruptly. Instinctively, you flinched, raising your hands to shield yourself, bracing for the kind of blow his twin sister had delivered so many times before.

But it never came.

Instead, without a word, he simply turned on his heel and left. He didn’t call for you to follow. He didn’t say anything at all.  For a moment, you stood motionless before slowly setting the comb back onto the table. Your feet barely lifted off the ground as you moved toward the door, only to freeze once you reached it. Seconds passed. Then minutes.

You pushed it. And it opened.

A strange wave rolled through your chest.You were alone at the threshold of an open door. Alone on your own feet, not tethered to anything that could put you to sleep at a moment’s notice. You didn’t think long.

You ran.

The world spun violently from the sudden movement, your weak body barely managing to stop in time to avoid crashing into the window. Your heart pounded furiously, drowning out your thoughts.

You would regret it. In fact, you already did a second later.

Your gaze had barely locked onto the space outside the window when strong arms seized your clothes, yanking you back and slamming you to the ground. You landed hard on your elbow, too disoriented to even feel the pain. Lavinia stood over you, clad in a jacket, her hands clenched into fists. But before she could take a step toward you, her brother moved between you, shaking his head.

"Don't hurt her," he pleaded.

He reached out to touch her, but she slapped his hand away, redirecting her fury toward him instead.

"Don't hurt her?" she echoed mockingly. "And how else is she supposed to learn that she can't just go running off? Why did you even let her?"

"Sorry, it's my fault. I forgot to lock the door," he said.

You didn’t even care whether he was telling the truth. Your mind was spinning too much, especially as you tried to push yourself up.

"But she's our sister, and you can't keep hitting her."

At those words, both you and Lavinia froze.

You looked at her face—pure shock, trembling lips. You were surprised too, but… the corners of your mouth twitched. You masked it quickly, pretending there wasn’t even a trace of satisfaction in you. That your plan wasn’t starting to fall into place.

“Get her out of my sight,” Lavinia said coldly, her voice devoid of emotion.

You watched as Leon slowly stepped toward you, helping you to your feet. As he led you back to your room, you caught a glimpse of Lavinia hiding her face in her hands. You stayed silent for a long time, watching him carefully. It hit you—this was the first time you were with him when he didn’t have his camera.

Slowly, you sat down on the bed, waiting to see if he would sit next to you. And he did.

You swallowed. You couldn’t let yourself feel too confident yet—you still had to be careful, still had to watch every step you took.

“You defended me,” you noted gently.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He looked just as bewildered as you felt. You hoped he wasn’t starting to regret calling you that. You hoped his own delusions were wreaking havoc in his mind—to your advantage.

“Thank you,” you added.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said. He straightened up, turning his head toward you. There was a strange devotion in his green eyes. “You’re my sister. Of course, I have to protect you.”

You nodded gently.

"I am your sister," you repeated clearly, locking eyes with him, willing these words to sink deep into his very core. "I am already your sister, Leon. Lydia. But… our other sister wants to hurt me."

As you spoke, you reached out your bandaged hand, lightly touching his arm. He stiffened under your touch, staring at you with growing astonishment. In fact, he looked almost in awe. As if you had just descended from the heavens. You took that as a good sign.

"You know what she wants to do to me. To drain my blood. How many days do I have left?"

His breathing grew heavier.

"Tomorrow," he answered. "Tomorrow at midnight."

"Tomorrow…" you trailed off, shaking your head. You forced panic to take hold of you. You must have been unconscious longer than you'd thought. "But I am already her. Can't you see?" You ran your fingers through your hair, smiling brightly. "We’re together again. We love each other again. And she wants to tear us apart."

You saw hesitation creeping onto his face, the subtle furrow of his brow betraying his uncertainty. You had forgotten—Lavinia was his sister too. He loved her as well. Turning him against her wouldn’t be that simple.

Swallowing your nerves, you spoke again.

"We have to convince her that I have truly become Lydia. But for that to happen…you know, there’s something still holding me back. An anchor. Two anchors, actually. They keep me from letting go of who I used to be."

He gazed at you with growing intrigue. A metaphor like that had to be especially stimulating for his deranged mind.

"What are these anchors?" he asked, a readiness in his voice, as if he was already prepared to rid you of them.

"One of them," you began slowly, carefully choosing your words—mostly because you hadn't fully thought this through yet. "One of them is…I need to say goodbye. One last farewell that will sever all ties to my previous life. I wish I could let go without it, but…Leon, I’m afraid it’s necessary. It’s holding me back against my will."

You could see him absorbing everything you were saying.

"Say goodbye…to whom?"

There were many names you could have given him. But you chose the one that would strike straight at his orphaned heart.

"To Mom. I don’t need to see her. Just…just a short phone call would be enough."

The silence between you was so heavy, you genuinely feared he might hear your heartbeat. And it was raging in your chest, pounding so fiercely that your limbs trembled. You waited. Everything depended on his answer.

Leon averted his gaze, staring blankly into the distance. You prayed you had reached him. That his desire to have Lydia back was strong enough.

"Tomorrow, I will bring you a phone. One that can't be traced," he finally said.

Okay, that was not part of the plan.

"But tomorrow, Lavinia will…"

"She won't," he cut you off. "I won’t let her… We’ll get rid of the anchor, and she’ll understand that you’re already here."

You could have argued, but you were too afraid of accidentally undoing everything you had achieved so far. So, you agreed. Even an untraceable call was better than nothing. Especially since, in that brief moment you had stood by the window, an idea had begun to form in your mind.

Leaning in, you pressed a grateful kiss to Leon’s cheek. He allowed himself a brief smile.

"And what is the second anchor?"

You told him.

♊︎

When you woke up, you knew it was morning.

Lavinia had dragged you to Lydia’s room the old way—while you were unconscious. At the same time, she had announced that this was the last time and that you had better start getting it right. So, you wiped the woman’s body with as much care as possible. For the first time, you were able to look directly into her eyes.

This was going to end soon.

She would finally end up in a grave, those two would be in prison, and you…

You tried not to fantasize too much. You had to stay focused.

You slowly combed through Lydia’s short hair. Time passed, but Lavinia did not return. You had grown somewhat accustomed to the fridge-like cold, but you had never stayed here longer than fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. You waited for someone to come, but when the chill became unbearable, you approached the door and started pounding on it. Your frozen hands didn’t even register the pain.

"I’m still here!" you shouted.

Had they forgotten about you?

"And that’s where you’ll stay," Lavinia’s voice answered from the other side.

You frowned, hugging your trembling body.

"You’ll stay there until the ritual. I’ll come for you before midnight."

"But it’s morning!" you screamed.

No response.

You slammed your fists against the door again. Harder. Again and again, until blood coated your knuckles and your lungs burned from breathing in the freezing air. One moment, you had everything—a plan to keep yourself alive. The next, you doubted you’d survive the next few hours in this cold.

Had the previous victims gone through the same? Or were you the exception because Lavinia wanted to make sure you never made it out?

You paced around the room, hoping that movement would warm you up. Meanwhile, thoughts of hypothermia and its fatal consequences circled in your mind. You wavered between determination to survive and pure despair, convinced that you wouldn’t make it. You had no idea how many minutes had passed before your gaze landed on the wardrobe that had been standing in the corner of the room the entire time.

With almost blissful relief, you layered on piece after piece of clothing found inside. You knew you would make it until nightfall. 

What came next remained uncertain.

♊︎

Leon found you curled up inside the wardrobe, so accustomed to trembling that it felt like a natural state for your body.

“Come on, we have to hurry,” he said, offering his hand to help you out.

You clung to him tightly, as your legs refused to support you.

“What…where…Lavinia…the phone…” you mumbled, your frozen body unable to form coherent sentences.

“I have the phone, but we need to move fast. I got here just before her to give it to you. Come on.”

He led you out of the room. You turned your head toward Lydia lying on the bed, wondering if this was the last time you would see her.

When you were back in your own room, you wrapped yourself tightly in the blanket, leaving only your head and hand exposed—the hand in which Leon pressed the phone. Your body slowly began returning to its optimal temperature. You couldn’t believe this was really happening.

Leon crossed his arms over his chest. He had no intention of leaving you alone with the phone—he was going to listen to the call. But you were prepared for that possibility.

Instead of frantically dialing, you looked at him. He didn’t have his camera with him.

“Don’t you want to show… this moment to your fans?” Your voice still trembled slightly, your tongue struggling to cooperate. He frowned, not seeming to understand what you meant. You had always avoided the camera before. “Well, you k-know…the final moment before my complete metamorphosis. They’ve followed you for so long…I’d think they…they’d want to see it.”

"You're right. Absolutely right. Wait here."

Not that you had anywhere to go.

He returned, as always, pushing his small table along and clutching his camera in his hand. His fingers trembled slightly. Acting behind his sister’s back must have been stressing him out, but his desire to get Lydia back was too strong. At that moment, you were certain he would do whatever you told him to. With stiff fingers, you dialed the number twice before getting it right. You were calling your mother to say goodbye. That was the official version.

There weren’t many numbers you knew by heart, but Spencer’s was one of them.

Under Leon's watchful eye, you pressed the phone tightly against your ear to make sure he wouldn't hear a male voice—one that was definitely not maternal. The camera was aimed straight at your face, and you stared into it without blinking, as if challenging it to a contest of who would break first.

If the team wasn’t watching this, you might as well smash the phone against the floor.

"Hi, Mom," you said the moment the call connected.

You didn’t breathe. The fear of ruining everything made your throat tighten, and you swallowed hard against the lump. For a moment, there was only silence on the other end.

You didn’t look away from the camera, your senses sharpening from the sheer intensity of your focus. The adrenaline burning through you kept you warm.

Still, no response.

"Hi, sweetheart," a woman’s voice finally said—JJ’s voice.

Tears stung at your eyes, and you worried they would give you away in front of Leon. You made a mistake while blinking and you bit down hard on your tongue as punishment.

JJ was pretending to be your mother.

"I don't have much time, Mom," you began. "I'm just calling... just to ask how you're doing. Is everything okay?"

"Garcia, can you trace where this call is coming from?"

Spencer’s voice.

Another mistake.

Your next breath felt like choking, and you had to steady yourself. You needed to do one more thing—just in case this didn’t work.

"That's great," you threw in a random half-sentence to make the conversation sound real for Leon. "Uh-huh...I'm glad everything's fine. Yes, I'm okay too, don’t worry"

You fell silent for a second, too long. Leon raised an eyebrow. You were supposed to be saying goodbye.

"I...I...Mom, do you remember my favorite mug? The one you accidentally broke last time?"

You swallowed hard, never breaking eye contact with the camera. You couldn't come up with any other cover story besides the mug, so it had to be enough.

"I...I kinda yelled at you back then. Sorry. It was my favorite, but now I...I know it wasn’t your fault."

Your voice grew weaker as you spoke.

Don't cry, you warned yourself.

"It wasn’t your fault, Mom. Not your fault, S—Mom."

Terrified, you glanced at Leon, hoping he hadn't caught it. But he only waved his hand impatiently, urging you to hurry.

You swallowed hard, and before anyone on the team could say anything else, you spoke your final words.

"I love you. Goodbye."

Then you hung up.

For a moment, you stared at each other without moving, until he turned off the camera and you handed the phone back to him. Hearing their voices—possibly for the last time—tightened something in your chest, a pressure you struggled to release.

"Thank you, brother," you said softly. You nodded slightly, grounding yourself, pulling yourself back to the plan. You had to act, to keep moving before Lavinia returned. "You know what we have to do now, right?"

Leon nodded.

♊︎

“What was that about the mug?” Prentiss asked as the call ended.

JJ closed her eyes for a long moment. The rest of the team, gathered around the computer where the stream had played just moments ago, looked utterly confused.

“You think she was trying to send a message? A hidden clue?”

“Garcia, can you play it from the beginning?” Spencer cut in, leaning toward the screen.

The first time he watched it, emotions had taken control, clouding his focus. He had been stupid, so incredibly stupid. Most of his attention had latched onto the repeated words it’s not your fault which only deepened the devastation in his mind. But a small part of him had registered the way her eyes moved.

“Sure, just a sec…” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard, and soon the footage played again.

“Do you understand what she was trying to say?” Rossi asked.

Spencer shook his head. A rush of adrenaline, almost intoxicating, coursed through him.

“She didn’t hide a message in her words,” he explained, straightening up. His gaze darted around Garcia’s desk, searching for something to write with. He grabbed a notebook with a pink, glittery cover and a pencil topped with a fluffy pom-pom. “Look at the way she’s blinking. It’s Morse code.”

Everyone fixed their eyes on the screen, trying to see it for themselves.

Everyone except JJ.

She was looking at Spencer, no trace of anger in her expression—just hope.

Reid wrote down the message she had sent.

Oil rig.

♊︎

The cold was almost liberating.

You stood with Leon at the edge of the oil rig. Ever since you managed to reach the window, you'd been trying to figure out where they had kept you. The realization had come to you slowly. The sound of water surrounded you both, and the wind played with your freshly cut hair. It felt so good that, for a brief moment, you closed your eyes.

But only for a moment.

You couldn't celebrate victory when you hadn't won yet.

Your gaze shifted to the man beside you, then to Lydia’s body, wrapped in a bedsheet and lying just a few steps away. This was the last anchor—the one you had convinced him needed to go.

Lavinia would be back any second. It had to happen now.

Of course, it was never really about anchors. The whole story about your mother had been nothing more than a way to send a message—one you hoped your team had understood and was already acting on. And the one about Lydia? That was just to bring Leon to the edge of the oil rig. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” he said, nodding slightly and exhaling as his eyes lingered on his sister’s body.

You pushed him.

When you planned this, you hadn’t accounted for how weak you would be.

Leon staggered, yes—but he didn’t disappear beneath the waves. Instead, his hand caught the thin fabric of your nightgown, and with a short, startled yell, he yanked you both down onto the floor. 

You groaned as your body slammed against the hard surface.

“You… bitch,” he said, almost in despair, realizing you had been lying to him all along.

You kicked him in the face with your bare foot and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. He let out a sharp gasp of pain—you heard the crunch of his nose breaking—and for a fleeting second, you thought you were on the fast track to escape.

But then his hand clamped around your ankle, yanking you down again.

You let out a frustrated sound as his knee pinned you to the ground. You struggled to shove him off. He wasn’t like Lavinia, but he also wasn’t as weak as a starved woman who had spent nearly an entire day in a freezer.

Right. He wasn’t like her.

He was fucked up, but not enough. Not enough madness in him.

Your nails clawed blindly at his skin while your other hand fumbled against the surface, searching for anything. You felt like you could kill him with a feather if you had to. But you found something far more practical than a feather. 

A brick.

Leon collapsed when it struck his temple. But that wasn’t enough. With a pained breath, you pushed yourself up over him and swung again. You kept swinging, not caring that your fingers were sticky with blood and the brick was beginning to slip from your grip. You kept striking longer than necessary.

Leon had been dead for a while.

You threw the brick aside, gasping for air. Everything felt so unreal, so distant. For a moment, you closed your eyes, still kneeling over his motionless body. When you opened them, ready to face the sight before you, your gaze accidentally met someone else's.

Lavinia stood a few steps away, disbelief and slowly growing fury in her eyes.

For a moment, you just stared at each other, neither of you fully grasping what had just happened.

Then it hit her—you had killed her brother.

And it hit you—that you were absolutely screwed.

Well, that thought only truly settled in once she tackled you to the ground. Punch after punch rained down on your face, so relentless that you couldn’t think, couldn’t come up with an escape plan. Was there even one? Your hands fell limply to your sides, no longer attempting to fight back. The ends of her blonde hair mixed with yours, strands stained red from the blood streaming down your face.

When she stopped, for a brief moment, you thought you were dead.

You had always imagined death as a very quiet experience. Peaceful.

But instead, you could hear her ragged, frantic breathing, a sound almost like a sob, and barely intelligible words cutting through the air.

"I’ll finish this."

During your entire time in that place, she had always moved you from one location to another by knocking you out with sedatives first. But this time, it wasn’t necessary. Your body was so battered that all she had to do was grab you by the leg and drag you along, not caring that your skin scraped against the rough surface.

When your vision finally sharpened and you realized you were back in that same cursed room where it had all begun, for a moment, you thought the recent events had been nothing more than a dream.

But then—

One glance at your bloodstained hands.

One glance to the side, at the neighboring bed and the lifeless body of Lydia resting upon it.

One glance at the IV lines piercing the crooks of your elbows, the slow, steady flow of liquid passing through them.

Your blood.

The only thing that brought you solace was the slowly creeping realization that, at the very least, you had managed to say goodbye to those closest to you. They had seen your face, the raw pain and love in your eyes as you whispered your final goodbye. At least you had assured Spencer that none of this was his fault. You could only hope that, in time, he would start to believe it. At least partially.

You had long drifted off when the door to the room burst open with a bang. 

♊︎

She was saved by the fact that she was a universal recipient.

Still, by the time they found her—after Garcia had finally tracked down the illegally sold oil rig through a bankrupt extraction company—she was already weak. Very weak. So much so that the following hours were filled with even greater fear than the past few days.

She couldn’t slip away from them now that she had been rescued. Or rather, now that she had rescued herself. Spencer had no intention of taking credit—nor letting anyone else take credit—for her brilliant moves and meticulous plan.

He sat in the hospital corridor, while JJ rested her elbow on her knee and her chin on her hand. Her leg trembled, and with it, her entire body. Emily held her other hand tightly.

"Spence," she finally said. Her gaze had been fixed on the floor, and it took effort to lift it to him. But it was necessary for what she was about to say. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. For how I reacted, for how I treated you these past few days."

He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he just gave a small nod.

“She’s your friend. It’s normal that—”

“She’s your friend too. Ours. We should have been supporting each other this whole time instead of yelling at one another.”

“You were the one yelling.”

The words slipped out before he could stop them. JJ opened her mouth but said nothing.He hadn’t meant to throw it in her face—he didn’t even feel angry. Back then, he had only cared about one thing. One person. But before he could add, retract, or clarify his words, a nurse approached them, informing them that someone could go inside. The entire team stirred in their seats, but only two people were allowed in at a time.

Spencer sat back down, nodding toward JJ and Emily.

Emily raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Reid. Of course, it has to be you.”

Although he had been ready to step aside, a faint, grateful smile crossed his lips.

He followed JJ into the hospital room, his steps slowing as they approached her bed. Unpleasant flashbacks flooded his mind—seeing her like this on a screen, the helplessness that had gripped him then. It took him a moment to shake off the feeling, to ground himself in the realization that he was here now. That she was right in front of him.

A sudden chill of panic ran down his spine. What was he supposed to say to her? Was he even capable of opening his mouth without turning into a pathetic, guilt-ridden mess, mumbling endless apologies and self-deprecating confessions? JJ spoke first, sparing him from his spiraling thoughts. She started with something simple—a quiet whisper of her name.

She said it again, and slowly, her eyelids fluttered open. Spencer felt something tighten in his chest. A relief so immense it almost hurt.

She murmured something weakly.

Both he and JJ stepped closer, and this time, he was the one to say her name.

“Don’t call me that,” she rasped. Her eyes shut again, and she turned her head to the side, as if refusing to look at them. Shutting them out. “That’s not my name,” she whispered.

“I’m Lydia.”

post-reading author’s note:

if you survived reading such a long fic—CONGRATULATIONS and THANK YOU and also im SORRY. i know there wasn’t much reid not much of the team and honestly it had very little to do with canon—it was mostly just a product of my imagination. i hope you’re not disappointed.

if any topic in this fic triggered you, i apologize. i tried to include everything in the tw but i might have missed something.

[ducktoo]

Again

IVE’s Jang Wonyoung x M!Reader

Note: I have resorted to the sacred prompt list by Anon again….this helped me so much frrr. Hope you will post your first ever fic here so I can tagged you!!

This concludes the unofficial (or official ig) IZ*ONE marathon. @hyeyulenjoyer hope this was a fun ride for you. And thank you everyone for enjoying these fics as well! Also appreciate IVE for paying respect to the recent tragedy. All the dumb haters who find ways to hate them again....just touch grass pls.

(this was the perfect picture for this fic lol)

The tickets sit on your desk, undisturbed, their glossy surface catching the dim glow of your bedside lamp. You don’t even need to read the text printed on them anymore. The details are already burned into your brain.

A fan sign.

It was supposed to be special. The kind of thing you looked forward to for weeks, marked on your calendar with a little star. You were supposed to show up, tease her about messing up choreography, make her laugh in the middle of a serious performance, see that look in her eyes that was just for you.

Now, the tickets feel like a joke.

Your phone is face-down beside them, dark screen hiding the messages you haven't opened yet—the well-meaning texts from friends, the casual work notifications. All messages except from her.

Wonyoung.

You close your eyes, but it doesn't help. The memory of your last call with her is still fresh, the words playing over and over like a song stuck on repeat.

"I just don’t have time for this anymore."

"For us, you mean?"

"Mhm."

The way she said it—calm, measured, like it was just another item to tick off on her to-do list—had made something inside you crack. There had been no anger in her voice. No hesitation.

That…hurt more than anything.

You had wanted to say something, anything to make her stop. To remind her of the nights spent whispering over the phone until she fell asleep, of the rare moments when she let herself be vulnerable with you, of the way she would light up the second she saw you waiting for her backstage to take her to eat a whole cow together.

But you couldn't mutter a voice.

You had just sat there, phone pressed to your ear, fingers gripping the fabric of your hoodie so tightly it threatened to tear.

And then, just like that, she was gone.

It was three days ago.

Three days of checking your phone too often. Three days of convincing yourself you were fine. Three days of staring at these damn tickets on the desk and trying to figure out why you hadn’t just thrown them away. You should sell them. Give them to someone who’d actually enjoy them.

But something stops you.

Maybe it’s pride. Maybe it’s stubbornness. Maybe it’s the stupid, lingering part of you that refuses to admit that she’s really gone. Whatever the reason, you find yourself gripping them tighter instead of throwing them away.

You decided that you will go.

Not for her. Not to see her.

Just so you don’t have to sit in this room, drowning in thoughts of what used to be.

That’s what you tell yourself, anyway.

-

The venue is packed.

Fans shuffle forward in line, their chatter buzzing in the air like static. Excited whispers, rustling light sticks, the occasional squeal when a favourite member’s name is mentioned.

Your fingers tighten around the album in your hands. (Ironically you still hold onto her album)

This is normal for them. For the fans around you, this is just another fan sign. A chance to meet their idols, to share fleeting moments, to walk away with a signature and a memory they’ll cherish for years.

You should feel the same. Instead, you’re just… tired. Who could blame you, you’re about to come face-to-face with your ex-girlfriend.

And she has no idea you’re here.

Your grip on the album tightens as the line inches forward. The first few members greet you with polite smiles, their voices light and bubbly. You do your best to respond normally, but your mind is elsewhere, trapped in the inevitable moment that keeps creeping closer and closer.

You don’t need to look up to know she’s at the end of the table. You can feel her presence.

And then, suddenly, there’s no more time left.

Your album slides across the table. Long, slender fingers stop it in place.

There’s a small pause—so brief that no one else seems to notice—but you do. You feel it in the slight delay before she looks up, in the way her fingers tighten just a fraction around the album’s edge.

And then her eyes meet yours.

She looks the same. Flawless, as always. Every strand of hair perfectly in place, makeup soft and ethereal under the bright overhead lights. And those sparkly eyes that you often got lost in.

But…she’s not yours anymore. Not at all.

There was a flicker of something—recognition, surprise, something deeper—crosses her face. But it’s gone in an instant, replaced by a carefully neutral expression.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first. Then…

“Hey.”

It’s awkward. Too awkward. You can feel the tension hanging between you, thick and suffocating.

You swallow, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens. “Hey.”

For a split second, she looks like she wants to say something else. Like she wants to break the script, ignore the rehearsed greetings and practiced smiles.

But then—

She doesn’t.

Instead, she picks up her pen, the mask slipping back into place. Her expression evens out, and in a voice so perfectly professional it almost stings, she says,

“Thanks for coming.”

Just like she would to any other fan. That made your stomach twists.

You should’ve known. Of course, she wouldn't acknowledge it. Not here. Not in front of all these people.

Still, it doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah. Would’ve been a waste of money if I didn’t.”

Something flickers across her face, but it’s gone before you can catch it. She presses her lips together, nodding slightly. “Right. Can’t have that.”

She signs her name, her handwriting as neat and practiced as always. But there’s a hesitance in the way she moves, a slight delay before she lifts the pen from the page.

When she finally pushes the album back toward you, her fingers linger just a second longer than necessary.

Then, in a voice so quiet that only you can hear…

“Take care, okay?”

She’s looking at you now. Really looking at you.

And for a moment, just one fleeting moment, she’s not the Jang Wonyoung, the IT girl, the global superstar.

She’s just…Wonyoung.

The girl who used to call you late at night just to hear your voice.

The girl who used to lace her fingers through yours under the table when no one was looking.

The girl who told you she didn’t have time for you anymore.

You stare at her.

The words stick to your throat. You genuinely don’t trust yourself to say anything.

So you just…don’t.

You just take the album, stand up, and walk away. And even as you disappear into the crowd, you can still feel her eyes on you.

-

You’ve been doing fine.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself.

It’s been a few days since the fan sign, and you’ve buried yourself in anything that keeps your mind occupied—work, games, mindless scrolling through your phone. Anything to keep yourself from replaying the look on Wonyoung’s face at the fansign. From remembering the way she hesitated before handing your album back. From thinking about the way her gaze kept flickering toward you as you walk away, as if she was looking for something.

Or someone.

But that’s not your problem anymore. You told yourself that the moment you left the venue.

Which is why, when your phone starts ringing at an ungodly hour, you almost don’t check the caller ID. Almost.

The second you see her name flashing on the screen, your stomach twists.

Jang Wonyoung.

The ringing continues, each second stretching unbearably. You should let it go. Turn off your phone. Pretend you never saw it.

But you don’t. Because deep down, you know you still want to hear her voice. So you answer.

“...Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, followed by a soft giggle—breathy and drawn out, the kind that used to slip past her lips whenever she was feeling particularly affectionate.

"Dummmyy!" she hums, stretching your nickname like it’s some sweet, familiar melody.

“Wonyo. Are you drunk?” You sigh, ignoring the way your nickname for her easily rolled out of your tongue.

She giggles again, the sound loose and unguarded. "Mmm… maybe."

"Goddamn it." You rub your temples. "Where are you?"

A rustling noise filters through the receiver, followed by the distant hum of traffic. "Somewhere," she mumbles. "Some bar, I think. The girls took me out."

Figures.

You shift in bed, propping yourself up against the headboard. “It’s late.”

“I know,” she says, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “But I wanted to call you.”

You close your eyes, exhaling through your nose. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, there’s a soft exhale, the kind she lets out when she’s gathering her thoughts. Then, quieter…

“Because I miss you.”

Your fingers tighten around the phone.

"Don’t do that," you say quietly.

"Do what?"

"Say things you don’t mean."

Another pause. When she speaks again, her voice is steadier. "But I do mean it. I do miss you."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice steady. "Well, that’s not my problem anymore, is it?"

She goes quiet.

For a moment, all you hear is the faint sound of music in the background, the distant chatter of people. She’s probably in the back of some high-end bar or a private lounge that someone of her status often went. You can picture it too easily—her long hair falling over her shoulders, her lips painted red, the glow of the city lights reflecting in her eyes.

Your heart beat rapidly at the image.

"You came to the fansign," she says suddenly, cutting into your thoughts.

You rub at your temple. "Mhm."

"Why?"

"You already know why."

"Say it anyway."

You sigh. "Because I had the tickets. It would’ve been a waste."

She lets out a humourless laugh. "Right. Can’t have that."

Something about the way she repeats your words from that day makes your stomach twist.

There’s another long pause. Then, almost hesitantly.

"Did you feel anything?"

Your eyes widened. "Feel what?"

"When you saw me again." Her voice is quieter now. "Did you feel anything?"

Your jaw clenches. You want to lie. Want to say no, not at all. That it didn’t matter. That she doesn’t matter. But you can’t.

Because the truth is, you felt everything.

The way your heart clenched when she looked at you. The way your stomach twisted when her fingers hesitated over your name. The way your mind screamed at you to move on, to stop letting her affect you, to stop caring.

But you don’t tell her any of that.

Instead, you settle for, "Who cares anyway."

"Why not?"

"Because we’re done, Jang Wonyoung."

She sucks in a sharp breath, and for a second, you wonder if she’s about to cry.

"You-" She stops, swallows. When she speaks again, her voice is unsteady. "You didn’t even try to fight for me."

Your grip tightens around the phone, knuckles turning white. "You were the one who ended things. On the phone, may I remind you."

"I know," she whispers. "And I thought it was the right choice. But now I just—" She breaks off, voice cracking slightly. "I don’t know anymore."

You shut your eyes.

It would be so easy to give in. To tell her that you don’t know either, that you still think about her, that you still wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t supposed to end like this.

But what’s the point?

She made her choice.

And you’re tired of being the one left picking up the pieces.

"You’re drunk, Jang Wonyoung," you say, voice carefully even. "Go home and go to sleep."

"Wait—"

"Goodnight."

And then, before she can say another word, you hang up.

The silence that follows is deafening.

And yet, for the first time in days, you finally let yourself breathe.

-

Or at least, it should be.

You did the right thing, you tell yourself—cut it off before it could spiral any further. Before you let yourself believe, even for a second, that anything has changed.

But still, the weight in your chest lingers.

The room feels too quiet now, the kind of silence that presses in from all sides, making it impossible to ignore the thoughts creeping into your head. You lie back down, throwing an arm over your eyes, willing yourself to sleep.

You don’t know how much time passes before you hear it.

A knock.

You freeze.

At first, you think you’re imagining it. Sleep-deprived, emotionally drained, and still reeling from that damn phone call, your brain must be conjuring things that aren’t real. But then, the knocking got more insistent. Erratic, yet insistent.

Your brows furrow. You sit up, straining your ears.

"Who the hell…?"

It’s almost 3 AM. No one in their right mind would be visiting you at this hour. Then again, you just got a call from a drunk girl not in their right mind.

Knock, knock, knock.

It’s louder this time, clumsy and uncoordinated, like whoever’s on the other side can barely keep their balance. A sinking feeling settles in your stomach.

You begrudingly throw off your blankets and push yourself up, padding toward the door. Your hand hovers over the handle for a second before you sigh and pull it open.

And there she is.

Wonyoung.

She’s standing there in the dim, flickering hallway light, wrapped in a thin coat that does nothing to protect her from the cold. Her long hair is slightly tousled, the glossy perfection from the concert gone, strands falling loosely over her shoulders. She sways just the slightest, a delicate wobble on unsteady feet. Her lips are slightly parted, eyes glassy—not just from the alcohol but from something else. Something unreadable.

You blink.

She blinks back, like she’s just now processing that you’re standing in front of her.

Then, with absolutely no warning, she wobbles forward, collapsing against your chest.

You barely manage to catch her. “Jesus—Wonyo.” You gently hold her arms, steadying her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

"Surprise," she breathes, half-laughing, half-sniffling.

You let out a sharp breath. “Surprise? You’re seriously—” You stop yourself, jaw clenching. “How did you even get here?”

"I took a taxi," she announces, like that explains anything. Like that justifies her showing up at your door past midnight after breaking up with you.

You stare at her. “Alone?”

“Mmhmm.”

Your stomach twists. “Wonyoung, do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

She just hums, leaning more of her weight onto you. Her forehead presses against your shoulder, and you can feel the slight tremble in her body.

You sigh, tightening your grip. “You’re freezing.”

“I was walking.”

“Walking where?”

She doesn’t answer. Instead, she tilts her head back to look at you properly. Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something—something serious, something she’s probably been holding in for too long. But then, she hiccups.

You close your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. “You’re unbelievable.”

She smiles lazily, like she didn’t just show up at your door dead drunk in the middle of the night after breaking up with you.

"You hung up on me," she murmurs.

You pull back slightly, just enough to see her properly. “Yeah. I did.”

"That was mean," she says, pouting. "I was talking."

"You were drunk."

"Still talking."

You shake your head, adjusting your grip on her. “Come on. You need water. And sleep.”

She hums, letting you guide her inside. “Only if you let me stay.”

You pause.

For a brief second, something in her voice sounds painfully sober.

But then she giggles again, burying her face in your chest, and you decide that you’ll deal with that in the morning.

For now, you just hold her close.

You sigh, pressing your lips into a thin line as you shift your grip on her. She’s barely standing at this point, practically melting into you like she has no bones in her body.

"Alright, come on," you mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and leading her inside.

She stumbles slightly, her fingers gripping at your shirt as she giggles under her breath. "You smell nice," she mumbles.

You ignore that.

You close the door behind you with your foot, guiding her toward the couch. She flops onto it with zero resistance, her coat slipping off her shoulders. The moment she’s down, she tilts her head back, blinking up at you like she’s expecting something.

She doesn’t hesitate. Stumble inside like she belongs here.

And maybe that’s the problem. She did belong here.

And now? Now you don’t know.

Her eyes lazily drift across the apartment, lingering on the things she still remembers—the half-empty cup of coffee on your desk, the hoodie she used to steal draped over the chair, the faint indent in the couch where she used to curl up next to you.

Then she noticed your desk, the same desk where the fansign ticket sat just days ago. The same one she saw in your hands at the fansign days ago.

"You really came," she murmurs, not looking at you. "I didn’t think you actually would."

You shrug. "Like I said. Would’ve been a waste."

She flinches. Just the tiniest bit. But you catch it.

She exhales slowly, arms wrapping around herself. "It was weird."

"What was?"

"Seeing you there. But not... There, you know?" She fully looks at you now, and there's something raw in her expression. Something you’re not sure you’re ready to face. "You didn’t smile. You didn’t tease me like you usually do. You barely even looked at me."

"What did you expect?" you ask quietly. "You dumped me, Wonyoung. You can’t just expect me to act like nothing happened."

She presses her lips together, fingers gripping the hem of her sleeve. "I know."

You wait. Give her the space to say what she came here to say.

But she doesn’t. Not right away.

She defeatedly sighed, tucking her knees under her chin, looking smaller than she ever has before. She stares at her hands for a long moment before mumbling, "I don’t know why I came here."

You scoff. "Really? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you drunk-called your ex, then showed up at his apartment in the middle of the night without a plan."

She frowns. "I do have a plan."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She huffs. "Step one: get inside. Step two..." She falters, looking away. "...I didn’t think that far."

You shake your head. "Unbelievable."

Silence stretches between you, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely above a whisper, "Do you hate me?"

You freeze.

Your first instinct is to say no. Because of course you don’t hate her. You never could.

But that’s not the right answer, is it?

So instead, you tell the truth.

"I don’t know," you admit. "I want to. But I can't."

She looks up at you then, eyes searching. Hopeful and afraid all at once. "I messed up, didn’t I?"

You let out a hollow laugh. "Yea. Big time."

She swallows. Lowers her gaze again. "I thought breaking up would make things easier. For you…for both of us."

"Did it?"

She shakes her head. "No."

You run a hand through your hair, exhaling. "Then why did you do it?"

"I was scared," she says, and her voice is so small, so unlike the confident idol the world knows, that it almost hurts to hear. "I thought I was being selfish, holding onto you when I barely had time to see you. I thought you deserved more than stolen moments and rushed phone calls."

Your jaw clenches. "You didn’t even ask me what I wanted."

"I know," she whispers. "I thought I was making the right choice."

You sit down across from her, legs spread, elbows on your knees. "And now?"

She meets your gaze, vulnerability laid bare. "Now... I just miss you."

Your heart leaped a mile. This was the Wonyoung you always see. Not the glamorous and model-esque Jang Wonyoung everyone always see on TV. Not the well-spoken and powerful public figure everyone knows. Just…a gentle yet bubbly girl who snuggled up next to you on the couch at the end of the day.

But your brain should tell her to leave. To sleep it off, to sober up and think about this when her mind is clearer.

Then she reaches out—just the slightest, her fingers brushing against yours on the couch. And you don’t pull away.

"You’re drunk," you remind her, though your voice lacks conviction.

She smiles faintly. "Thanks…Mr. Obvious."

Silence. Then, tentatively, "Can I sleep here tonight?"

Another hesitation.

But just like before, you already know your answer.

You sigh. Your hand intertwined with hers.

"Go get a blanket. Wonyo."

She doesn’t move right away. Just watches you, like she’s memorizing you all over again.

Then, with a small, almost relieved nod, she gets up and stumbled into your bedroom as she dragged you along—the same bedroom she used to slip into after long schedules, the same one she used to call hers.

And just like that, the distance you tried so hard to create crumbles.

Again.

[atlabeth]

something about her

masterlist

pairing: spencer reid x fem gideon!reader

summary: you’re reminded why you’re really here while spencer does some unwanted self reflection.

a/n: things have been a little too fun and fluffy around these parts so i had to fix it. it’s easy to forget you’re still dealing w a stalker when you’re busy living in denial <3 enjoy the mess! this whole thing is in spencer's pov bc this all got soooo far away from me

title from the song by stephen sanchez

wc: 5.3k

warning(s): things start to ramp up! stalking, anxiety, lowkey panic attacks, angst, hurt/comfort, r almost has a panic attack, alcohol/mentions of alcoholism, the usual. but more bonding!!

Spencer can’t sleep. 

He’s tried every trick in the book. Counting sheep, counting to one hundred, counting to one hundred backwards, going through the alphabet, going through the alphabet backwards, methods with actual scientific research backing them—none of it works. He’s stared at the ceiling for most of the night. 

He feels like a hypocrite most of all, preaching the importance of adequate sleep when he’ll be lucky to get five hours. But it looks like you barely sleep as is. He probably should keep preaching to you. 

There’s a myriad of reasons to explain it. His hyperactive brain has been responsible for many restless nights. He’s still in unfamiliar territory, and he hasn’t gotten used to sleeping on this bed yet. Lest he forget, he’s your first and only line of protection here from your stalker. That’s enough to keep anyone awake, even FBI. 

But then there’s also… you in general. 

Spencer can’t say he tries not to think about you, because this past week it’s felt like the only thing he’s thought about. 

It’s practically impossible, even before you were shoved into this house together. You have a way of tunneling your way into a person’s mind and refusing to leave—especially his. 

Again, it’s easy enough to pass off. You’re the only ones here, and the time you’re not spending alone you’re spending with each other. Your only choice beyond isolation is to talk to Spencer, and it seems you’re slowly moving past preferring it over him. 

But he doesn’t think he can just pass this off.

He can’t get your smile out of his head. Your moments of levity are so few and far between that it makes them shine bright as the sun. Spencer has learned he loves how you look when you’re happy. He just wishes it wasn’t such a rarity.

Gideon’s lecture rings in his ears. He really had two jobs—keep you safe, and don’t fall for you. Hopefully he only fails the one. 

It’s not like he has to worry about it, though. You might not hate him as much anymore, but you still don’t really like him. As much as it bums him out, it’s for the best. It means that in a week or two, when the team has caught the unsub and all this is over, you can both go your separate ways and you’ll never have to see Spencer again. 

That bums him out even more, though. 

He lets out a long sigh. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised. JJ, Elle, now you—Morgan would say he really knew how to pick ‘em. Girls who didn’t like him back. 

Just then his phone rings, jolting him out what could have been a convincing play for sleep if not for his thoughts, and he groans a little. Spencer fumbles around for it without lifting his head from the pillow, only turning slightly so he can flick it open and place it against his ear. 

“Gideon, why are you calling this early?” he mumbles. 

“I hope you’re treating her well.”

The gravelly voice through the speaker is a shock, and Spencer doesn’t really process it. His brain still hasn’t turned on. 

“Gideon?” he asks again. 

“I know you ran away. Trying to protect her like you have any right.” 

His blood goes cold as the words finally register. 

This is their unsub. This— this is your stalker. 

“What do you want?” he asks, unable to keep the sharp edge out of his words. 

“You’ve hurt her the same way he has,” the voice continues. “He’s ruined our lives and you don’t care.”

Spencer’s mind is simultaneously blank and running wild. He knows he should try to profile him or talk to him to get something out of him but— but all he feels is anger. 

“What do you want?” he repeats, louder this time. 

“Think about your priorities, Agent Reid. I’ll be watching.” 

The disconnected tone blares in his ear before he can say anything else, and Spencer stares down at his phone in confused annoyance. 

What kind of bullshit game is this guy trying to play with you? 

First he stalks you for a month—possibly months— then sends pictures of you to your door, then forces you into hiding and now he’s just mocking you like this? 

If Gideon is the goal, this bastard is doing a great job of dragging you along. 

Spencer’s heart jumps into his throat all of a sudden. You. 

He grabs his gun off his bedside table then lunges to the door with all the athleticism of a newborn baby giraffe, nearly tripping in his haste to get out into the hallway. He slams your door open once he gets to your room, and the relief that floods through his body when you shoot up from your previously sleeping position is almost dangerous. 

“Spencer?” you grumble, still completely out of it as you rub your eyes. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

You’re alive. You’re okay. You’re still here. 

He opens his mouth to respond, still kind of out of breath, when his phone rings again. Spencer takes it out and is already pressing it to his ear. 

“What the hell do you want from her?” he barks. The absolute nerve of your stalker to call back—

“Reid, it’s me.”

It’s Gideon’s voice that comes out of the speaker this time, and Spencer feels the wave of red hot rage boiling in his stomach crash against a wall of confusion. 

“I—” He swallows deeply, his eyes flicking over to your befuddled expression momentarily before he feels himself flush bright red and look away. “I’m so sorry, sir. I thought you were someone else.” 

“You got a call?”

His blood runs cold. “You mean you got one too?”

Gideon curses and he hears him move around. Pacing in his bedroom, if Spencer knew anything about him. “Tell me my daughter is safe.”

“She— she is,” he stammers. “I’m with her right now.”

“Spencer, what the fuck is going on?” You’re sitting up now, much more aware than you were fifteen seconds ago. “Why do you have your gun— why are you talking to my dad?”

“Do a perimeter check,” Gideon demands. “If he’s there—”

“I know.” Spencer looks back at you and sighs. “You should talk to her.”

“I know,” Gideon echoes. “Let her stay on the line with me while you figure things out.”

He nods and takes the phone from his ear. “Gideon wants to talk with you.”

You’re standing up now, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “Hold on, you still haven’t answered me! What is going on?”

“I got a call from our guy,” he says. Your eyes widen and he can see your chest still. His heart clenches at the sight. “Gideon did too.”

“What?” you breathe. “Wh— what did he want?”

“To scare you.” Spencer holds up his gun. “Can you hide in the closet while I do a perimeter check?”

You scoff. Your demeanor is still shaken, but the fire is more prominent. He’s started to admire that about you. “Spencer, I am not hiding in the closet.”

“Then lock yourself in the bathroom again!” he exclaims. He doesn’t mean for the outburst, but he can’t help it. “Just— I can’t focus if I’m worried about you, and right now the only thing I can think of is how worried I am about you, so I need to know you’re safe while I do this.”

You stare at him, and Spencer stares right back, if a little frantic. He feels his chest rise and fall from the force, a stark contrast to your still body—similar to the panic he knows is in his eyes to the steely cool of yours. 

“I’m not letting you potentially face an insane stalker by yourself,” you finally say. 

Spencer huffs. “I am an FBI agent. I’ve faced worse things than insane stalkers.”

“We’ve been together this whole time,” you insist. “We— we can do this together too.” 

He looks at you again—he can tell you’re not going to move on this. Spencer eventually sighs and holds the phone back up to his ear. 

“I’m assuming you heard that?” 

“Let her go with you,” Gideon says. “It’s riskier for her to be on her own than outside with you. But stay on the line, and stay alert. Nothing can happen to her—do you understand?” 

“I won’t let anything happen to her,” he says. “I meant what I said.” 

“...Good.” 

Spencer holds the phone out to you again, and your lip curls. 

“I’m not—” 

“Come on,” he interrupts, gesturing with his head into the hallway. 

Your annoyance melts into acknowledgement when you realize he’s not blowing you off again, and you nod as you take the phone. Spencer wraps both hands around his gun as he starts moving, you matching his pace as you follow him. 

“Yeah, Dad,” he hears you say behind him. “I’m here.” 

This is what he meant by you needing to stay behind. He’s worried about you more than anything, yes, but he also can’t help but listen. Spencer has very keen ears, to everyone’s simultaneous disdain and appreciation on the team—it makes him a very good asset in the field, but also a very good asset when it comes time for office gossip. 

“No, nothing’s happened yet. Yes— yes, I’m okay, I promise. Spencer’s done an annoyingly good job of keeping me safe.” 

Once Spencer reaches the door, he peers through the peephole to make sure their unsub isn’t embarrassingly obvious. It’s clear, and he turns to face you and raises a hand, then places his finger on his lips. 

“Uh— I have to go dark for a sec,” you say. “We’re checking the perimeter. Don’t worry, I’ll scream if anyone tries to kill me. Be back soon.” 

You pull the phone away from your ear and nod at Spencer, and he holds his breath before he opens the door. 

The frigid air hits both of you at once, and he hears then sees your sharp exhale of breath. It’s been a while since either of you have been outside, but it’s good to know he hasn’t been missing superb weather. 

“Stay close and stay quiet,” Spencer whispers. “I’m your only line of defense out here.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some remark, but you merely nod in response. Spencer hopes he hides the shock he feels before he turns away and starts walking. 

Dawn isn’t for a few more hours—the only real light source is the moon high in the night sky. It doesn't exactly help his nerves to be doing all this in the dark, but part of him is almost thankful to be doing this. Spencer doesn’t know how to deal with you or any of the emotions you stir inside of him or the sleepless nights you cause because he can’t stop thinking of you—but he knows how to do his job, and he knows how to do it damn well. 

He just wishes it didn’t have to come with the unfortunate side effect of you being in immense danger. 

But Spencer does his best to push those thoughts to the back of his mind—right now, he has to have one focus. 

And he does. The two of you stick close to the side of the house, his eyes darting all over as he tries to dig out any details, any possible sign that the unsub was here. The ground is still a thin layer of mud from the storm last night, so it should be easy to find footprints. Spencer’s Converse aren’t doing a great job at keeping him upright—slipping in front of you is too embarrassing for him to even think about. 

All of a sudden, he stops, his arm shooting out in front of you. You don’t realize it for a second and you run into him, your hand wrapping around his arm on instinct to steady yourself. If he wasn’t so shocked at what he was looking at, he would have been bright red over it. 

“What the h—” 

“Footprints,” he whispers.  “Th— they’re almost gone, but—” 

“He was here?” you interrupt. Fear spikes in your voice and your grip tightens on his arm. 

“Last night, maybe.” Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, how he feels—he’s not going to make you feel worse. “The rain probably washed most of them away.” 

“Spencer—”

“I am surprised these are still here, though,” he continues. “The rainfall was really heavy. I wouldn’t expect them to stay in mud like this—” 

“Spencer, look where we are!” you exclaim, gesturing hard with your other hand. He realizes that you’ve let go of his arm by now, but he pushes it out of his head and looks. 

“The window to your room,” he says. The blinds are closed and the lock is in place—he’s made sure every night—but there are small enough gaps between the shutters. 

“He was watching us last night!” Your breathing is starting to come heavier and faster now. “We talked about all that shit and he was just here watching and we didn’t even fucking know!” 

You’re on the edge of hyperventilating. Spencer has got to get you down or else you’re going to have a full blown panic attack out here. 

“Hey, hey— look at me.” He says your name and that, if anything else, gets you to listen and meet his eyes. They’re filled with an unbridled fear he hasn’t seen in you until now. “Don’t think about him. Don’t think about any of this. He’s not here.” 

“He was watching us—” 

“And we’ll figure out what to do next. But you have to stay calm. You can’t let him win.” 

You’re still harried, your chest rising and falling rapidly as your eyes dart all around. Spencer says your name softly, tucks his gun into its holster, then takes your hands in his, hoping that it gives you something to focus that isn’t the rest of this. 

“Just look at me,” he says softly. 

You suck in another shaky breath, but you’re not as frantic as before. You at least look him in the eye, and you don’t wrench your hands out of his grasp. Progress, if nothing else. 

“Breathe with me.” 

You nod—still panicked, but better. Spencer breathes in deep and you do the same, following as he counts up and down with his fingers. It takes a few rounds, but eventually, he’s gotten you off the edge. 

Spencer says your name again, just as soft as before. You’re still breathing slowly in and out. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Better,” you murmur. “I—” 

You’re interrupted by the phone you both forgot was in your hand, Gideon’s voice muddled as it comes from the receiver. You rip your hands out of Spencer’s as you come back into yourself, shaking your head and blinking a few times while you take a few steps away from him. 

“I’m here, Dad,” you say. “We— we’re okay. No, nothing happened.” 

Spencer blinks too. He looks down at his hands, then glances at you, then shakes his head. He walks back over to the footprint and crouches down, trying to keep his mind clear. He commits every detail he can to memory, doing his best to ignore the conversation with your dad in the background. 

Well, he tunes in a little. He can’t help it—he wants to make sure you’re okay. 

“We found a footprint outside my room,” you’re saying. “Spencer thinks it’s your guy. I have no idea. Yes, we are. You don’t have to be so pushy.” You sigh and he feels your gaze on him. “Spencer, we have to finish this up. Dad wants us back inside.” 

He clears his throat as he nods a few times. “Let me get a picture of this first.” 

You hand him the phone and Spencer snaps some photos from a few different angles, hoping forensics will be able to get anything out of it. He hears Gideon’s voice again and he holds it to his ear once more. 

“Gideon?” 

“Reid, get her back inside,” he says. “We can’t take any unnecessary risks.” 

“We haven’t finished securing the perimeter,” he says. 

“Then finish it and get back inside!” he exclaims. “You have proof that he was there—” 

“We don’t know it’s him,” Spencer interrupts. 

“We know there was somebody there!” Gideon shoots back. “I’m not risking her, and from what I’ve heard, you don’t want to either.” 

Spencer feels his cheeks warm as he looks back at you, and he pulls his gun back out of its holster. “Come on. We have to finish this up.” 

“That’s what I said,” you mutter, but you follow him without further protest. 

The rest of the check goes by quickly without any other distractions or surprises, and soon enough you’re back inside. While Spencer chats with Gideon, updating him in a calmer manner on everything with the phone call and the footprint, you’re ruffling through the cabinets. 

Eventually, he sees you pull out a bottle of clear liquid from the corner of his eye. He frowns and realizes that it’s vodka. 

“It’s 4:29 in the morning,” Spencer says, cutting off Gideon almost absentmindedly as you pop the bottle open. 

“And we found out that this place isn’t nearly as safe as anyone thought,” you respond sharply. “I think that warrants some drinking.” 

“That means that you should have a clear mind,” he says. “Alcohol impairs your brain’s communication pathways, as well as your judgment and coordination.” 

“I’ve gotten drunk before, genius,” you mutter as you search for a glass. You end up choosing a the mug you used for coffee the other morning then start pouring. “Enough to know it’s what I need right now.” 

“It can also cause mood swings,” Spencer says. “I think that’s the last thing you need right now.”

You roll your eyes, not even bothering to look back at him as you finish pouring a concerning amount of liquor into the mug. 

“What is going on over there?” Gideon asks. Spencer remembers he’s holding the phone and he puts it back to his ear. 

“I think your daughter is an alcoholic,” he comments. 

“I’m not an alcoholic,” you say sharply. “I just can’t focus on all this right now.” 

“It’s best if she gets some sleep,” Gideon says. “All of this is likely terrifying to her, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.” 

Spencer’s mind flashes back to your near panic attack—your wide eyes full of fear and harried breathing that only made you hyperventilate more when you realized you couldn’t control it. It’s too easy to think of you as some untouchable being from the way you interact with him, bothered by nothing and no one. 

The mask cracks on rare occasion. It makes you seem frighteningly real. 

“You’re right,” Spencer nods. You sip your drink without flinching. He doesn’t think he can even call it a drink if it’s just straight liquor. “We could all use some sleep.” 

“Just make sure she’s safe,” he says. “Make sure the whole place is secure. We’re not—” 

“Taking risks,” he finishes. “Believe me, I know.” 

Gideon is silent for a second, and Spencer takes the time to look at you. The bags under your eyes are even more prominent, and there’s a haunted glint in your eyes as you stare at the wall. You shiver ever so slightly, the outside chill still lingering on your skin. You’ve got pajama pants on but just a plain tee. You didn’t have time to put a sweatshirt on before he pulled you outside in the mania of it all. 

You really are beautiful—but you’re so damn tired. 

Spencer realizes that all he wants to do is give you some respite. 

“I’ll call you back later, then,” Gideon says. “To check in.” 

“Okay.” Spencer’s throat bobs as he averts his eyes from you. “Get some rest too, Gideon.” 

The other end hangs up without a response. Spencer stares down at the phone for a few seconds then sighs before he tucks it back into his pocket. 

“What’d he want?” you ask. 

“I can’t believe you’re drinking vodka out of a coffee mug at four in the morning.”

You frown. “You don’t get to judge me.” 

“It’s not good for you.” 

“None of this is good for me,” you enunciate. “What did my dad want?”

“I’m serious,” Spencer continues. “Drinking on an empty stomach can lead to low blood sugar— drinking at this hour is going to completely disrupt your circadian rhythm.” 

“You know what else has disrupted my circadian rhythm?” you ask mockingly. “Being here. Having a stalker. Finding out that said stalker was also here, watching us. I think that’s a little worse for me than the alcohol.” 

Spencer stares at you, and as you’re prone to do, you stare back. Eventually, he shakes his head and looks away, deciding to quit while he’s ahead. 

“He wants you to get some sleep,” he says. “Wants us both to.” 

You scoff and shake your head, downing much more vodka than you should in one go. Again, you don’t flinch—for a schoolteacher, you handle your liquor very well. “Like I’d get to sleep after this.” 

“It’s important,” Spencer insists. “You’ve gotten— what? Three hours of sleep?” 

“Well, all this excitement has woken me up,” you say. 

“Well, I’m tired,” Spencer says. “So I guess I’ll see you in a few hours.” 

He starts to walk to his room, figuring that you need time to cool off, when—

“Wait.” 

Your voice is oddly strangled, and Spencer stops in his tracks. 

“I—” you stop and sigh, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. “I don’t want to be alone right now.” 

“Our rooms are close to each other,” he says. “I’ll be able to hear if you yell.” 

You rub your eyes as you let out another haggard sigh. “I can’t stand to be in that room, Spencer. Not knowing that— that he was right there.” 

Spencer can’t look away from you. Your eyes glint with tears you’re trying to hold back, but you’re laid bare in a way he knows you hate. 

You’re being pushed to your limits against your will, and it kills him that he can’t do anything to help you. Honestly, sometimes he feels useless being stuck here while the rest of the team is out there actively working to help you. All he can do is stand around here and annoy you. 

Except you want him there. For the first time since all of this has started, you want him there. 

It’s the only thing he can do for you right now. How can he refuse? 

“Okay,” he says softly, and he nods. “Okay. We can share my room tonight.” 

The tension in your shoulders fades ever so slightly, and you—thankfully—set the mug down. “Keep your gun close.” 

“I’m not sure you want me shooting when I’m sleep deprived,” Spencer says. 

Your lips twitch just so, and Spencer’s heart skips a beat. He can’t help it. 

He should have known he was in too deep the moment he stepped into this house with you. 

-

“Very cozy,” you say. 

“It’s the same as your room,” Spencer responds. 

You shrug. “It’s messy. Makes it feel like home.” 

He feels his face flush. “I haven’t really been focused on keeping things clean.” 

“Relax.” You sit down on the bed. “I’m not judging you.” 

“Good.” Spencer glances at you as he moves his bag off of your side of the bed. “Because that would be very rude after the generosity I’ve shown you.” 

You laugh and Spencer finds himself smiling at the sound of it. He’s glad he’s turned away, and he’s glad he manages to push it away by the time he’s turned back around. 

You’re wearing a sweatshirt and sweatpants now, and it’s strange to see you look so… soft. Every part of you is so sharp, some of it jagged—sometimes you harden around him, sometimes you mellow. He’s a bit tired of the back and forth. 

Maybe that’s what makes him speak up. 

“I’m tired of us always being at odds.” 

Your eyebrows rise and you look at him. “Really?” 

Spencer nods, his will bolstered. “Really. We have a nice talk one night, and I feel like we’ve had a breakthrough, and then you go back to hating me the next morning. I’m— I’m sick of it.” 

He expects you to shoot back with some mocking comment like you always do, making fun of him for wanting more than what little you give him. But instead, you lay back against the pillows and shrug. 

“Okay.” 

He blinks. “Really?” 

“Really,” you nod. “I’m too tired to want to fight right now.” 

“You’re the one that always tries to fight me.” 

“Aren’t you fighting me right now?” 

Spencer shakes his head. “You’re unbelievable.” 

You chuckle. “Still fighting.” 

He stares at you. As usual, you stare back, but this time you can’t fully bite back your smile. For some reason, that gets Spencer to break. He smiles too, and he settles down on the bed next to you. There’s a pillow buffer between you, but it’s still a lot closer than he’s used to. 

Well, he did hold your hands earlier, but that’s because he was bringing you down from a panic attack. That doesn’t mean anything. 

“What a day,” he mutters. 

“And it hasn’t even started yet,” you muse. “I don’t know how you do this kind of shit every day.” 

“I’m not really the target of any of this,” he says. “I usually stay behind the scenes. I’m good with geographical profiles, not chasing down unsubs.” 

You look over at him. “You haven’t really talked about anything you do for the BAU.” 

Spencer shrugs. “I thought it would be a sore subject.” 

You pause. “You’re… probably right.” 

“I figured.” He chuckles, then glances over at you. “But you already know enough about me. You said you would talk about your job. Teaching, and your kids, and all that.” 

Your eyebrows rise. “You actually care?”

Spencer gives you a look. “I thought we were past that part in our friendship.”

“We’re not friends.”

He shrugs. “Whatever you say.”

You roll your eyes, but you go on anyway. “I’m a highschool teacher in Fairfax. You know Mount Vernon High?” 

Spencer nods. “I know the name of every high school in Virginia.” 

“Of course you do,” you huff. “But that’s besides the point. I did my student teacher hours there, and they offered me a full time position. I took it, so I guess I’ve been there since senior year.” You purse your lips. “It’s a little depressing when you look at it like that.” 

“Then don’t look at it like that,” he say. “You said you loved your job.” 

“I do!” You smile again, a bit lighter this time. “My teachers were a huge part of my life, especially in high school.” The lightness fades some, but he notices how you try to hide it. “If I could help even one kid the same way my teachers helped me, then I would have done something with my life.” 

“That’s very noble of you,” Spencer says. “I don’t think I ever would have guessed you were a teacher.” 

“Oh, please,” you say. “You’re a profiler. You’d figure it out.” 

“You wouldn’t know I work with the FBI at first glance.” 

“Well, I’m not a profiler. Besides,” you tip a shoulder, “I have the ulterior motive of wanting to introduce kids to the wonders of physics.” 

Spencer’s eyes light up. “You’re a physics teacher?” 

“I teach a load of science classes, but I carry the banner for AP physics.” You huff a laugh. “You’re probably the only one that doesn’t sound lame to.” 

“I love physics!” he exclaims. “I’ve got a PhD in engineering, remember?” 

You smile— no, you actually grin at him, and he can’t believe he finally broke through the barrier with science. 

“Trust me, I’d love to talk physics with you, boy genius, but—” you’re interrupted with a yawn, and Spencer resists the urge to do the same— “but I think I’m actually about to fall asleep.”  

Spencer shakes his head with a small laugh. He realizes that he’s relaxed while you’ve been talking, limbs looser and fully laying back against the pillows. 

“This was actually part of my master plan to get you to rest,” he says. “Talking science always works with the team.” 

He sees you smile out of his peripherals as you lay fully down, can feel every shift of your body against the mattress while you try to find a good position. 

“It wasn’t you,” you say. “It was the vodka.” 

 “Of course,” he agrees. 

Silence falls over the room as the two of you settle in. You take off your sweatshirt, a slight shiver running through you once you’re back in your tank top. Spencer removes his glasses, and he blinks a few times to adjust to the blurriness.

The bed is big enough for you to both have your own space,, and you’re both careful to keep your backs to each other. The silence is comfortable despite the previous animosity. Maybe all it really did take was for him to start talking science. 

Eventually, though—

“Thank you, Spencer.” Your voice is little more than a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. “I— I know you don’t like me. So it means a lot that you still do all this for me.” 

He’s quiet for a moment, taking your words in. The mingled sounds of your breathing are really the only things filling the room, and he can feel your weight against the mattress. It’s all oddly intimate. 

“You’re wrong.” He’s almost surprised at the sound of his own voice. “I do like you.” 

Your shock shows through the silence. Spencer takes his chance. 

“You’re going through something no one should ever have to experience, and you’re doing it with someone you think stole your life from you.” Spencer shifts ever so slightly. His hands feel inexplicably clammy. “It was unfair of me to take Gideon’s side so often.” 

“Still.” Your words are muffled as you speak half into the mattress. “We have more important things to worry about. It was unfair of me to spend so much time giving you shit. You— you didn’t even know I existed until a month ago.” 

“But now I do.” He pauses. “And I’m glad I do. So you can start looking forward instead of always looking back.” 

Again, silence. It lasts so long Spencer wonders if you’ve fallen asleep. Your breathing is thankfully steady (a side of him is always focused on your breathing just to make sure) and you don’t shift much, so he wouldn’t be surprised. You were exhausted—

“Spencer?” 

His eyes open. He didn’t even realize they had closed. You sound half-asleep, your voice nothing more than a whisper. He wishes more than anything he knew what was going through your mind right now. 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m glad you’re here.” 

His heart stutters so blatantly he’s sure you can hear it. Spencer honestly doesn’t know what to say—his mouth is so dry he doesn’t know if he can say anything. 

Spencer thought you hated him. You thought Spencer hated you. 

It’s ironic. 

“Me too,” he eventually manages. 

But there’s no response. You must’ve already fallen asleep again, just conscious enough to say a few words. The rude awakening mixed with the fear and alcohol couldn’t have done you much good. 

Spencer swallows the doubt in his throat and closes his eyes again, trying not to focus on you. It’s practically impossible. 

He’s glad, at least, that you’re able to sleep. You deserve to rest more than anyone. 

Eventually, the sound of your breathing lulls Spencer to sleep. 

You were the one thing he didn’t have on his list.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

The villain couldn’t help but stare at the hero.

They’d gotten thinner, the villain realized.

“Listen...” The villain brushed the hero’s chin with their fingers until they took it altogether. Slowly, they leaned forward, but the weary eyes didn't meet them. “Just let me help. Just let me say the words, let me do the evil monologue and join me.”

The hero brushed the villain’s wrist with their fingers.

“You’re fully aware that I cannot do that.”

“Come on.” The hero shot them a sharp look and for a second, the villain considered retreating. With a groan, the hero leaned against the wall. Ultimately, they sat down, clearly too tired to stand up. “This is eating you. This stupid job, this stupid costume. When was the last week all your bones were intact?”

“It’s not that simple,” the hero argued. They frowned and even that looked like it was draining. The villain tried to, but they didn't understand. They feared they would never be able to fully grasp what the hero was aiming for, nor why they were so adamant.

“It is that simple. Your obsession with justice is ludicrous," the villain said. "You know the law doesn't function as a guide for moral decisions."

"I can't just watch and let people die, can I?" the hero answered. Their fingertips against the villain's wrist were cold and very slowly, it dawned on the villain that they were shaking.

At first, the villain didn't say anything. They simply kneeled to be on the same eye level as their counterpart. Then, they took the hero's face into their hands.

"You also can't blame yourself every time someone dies." The villain leaned in, nearly instinctively, and lowered their voice. "Please, just come back to me."

Their lips brushed the hero's cheek and they closed their eyes, taking their time to concentrate on the proximity and calm down their racing heart. They didn't want to think about the past, they didn't want to think about the endless fights and the many tears. It was all gone now - right now, in this moment, resentment didn't linger.

All that remained was affection.

"Please," the villain begged again. By now, they were hugging their hero, holding them closer than ever before, taking in deep breaths and burying their face in the hero's shoulder. They could feel the hero's hand move; snaking up their back and eventually finding a place in the villain's hair.

It was unbelievably painful to hold the hero like this. It was unbelievably cruel as well. All the things they had thrown at each other before, all the insults and the schemes, all those plans and conflicts...still being able to hold so much love for a person felt specifically dreadful to the villain.

But then again, the hero wasn't simply a person. Once, they had been everything.

"Please come back to me," the villain begged again. "This is killing you. This job, it..."

They felt the tears.

God, they felt the tears. After months of pushing their feelings away and replacing them with rage. After months of suppressing their emotions, they could feel how heavy their heart truly was.

They pulled away, blinking tears out of their eyes, and stared at the hero who had already let their tears roll down their face. The villain brushed them away.

"It is so exhausting," the hero whispered. Their voice was shaking.

"I know."

"And it hurts so much."

"I know, darling."

"But I can't quit, I can't- I mean, there is so much pressure and so many people are counting on me and if I fall, I mean...I'm not a person anymore, I'm a symbol of hope and inspiration and if I...I can't, I just can't-" The hero took in a trembling breath and the villain hugged them again, softer this time.

"Take a break, please. I can't stand this anymore." The villain pressed a kiss to the hero's cheek and slowly, let their fingers intertwine. "I can kidnap you if that makes it easier."

"Yes," the hero said. "For a few days, okay? Just a few days."

Given the hero's physical state, a few days turned into two weeks.

[gongyoosgf]

army dreamers. - a dae-ho x gn!reader fic

warnings: minors dni!! gn!reader, very short fic i’m sorry.., angst, stressed dae-ho (i will sob), smutsmutsmut, dry humping, nicknames like honey, baby, etc, thigh job, cursing, not proofread, aftercare ofc, dae-ho needs a hug omg

an: this was requested by my lovely friend @222hyunju, i hope this is what you wanted ♡

the morning air is thick with the weight of unspoken fears. dae-ho sits at the edge of the bed with his elbows resting on his knees, fingers laced together as he stares at the ground. his shoulders are tense, his breath slow but heavy, like he's carrying something too big for his chest to hold.

you watch him from behind, the sheets cool against your skin compared to the warmth of his body just moments ago. he hasn’t said much since waking up, just a sigh, a hand dragging through his long hair, his back turned to you.

you know what’s haunting him. the games never really leave. and now, even though you both survived, the fear still lingers, clawing at his ribs, making a home inside him.

you move slowly, slipping out from under the covers. you crawl toward him, pressing your chest against his bare back. your arms wind around his waist, hands splaying over his stomach as you press a soft kiss to his shoulder blade.

“talk to me,” you murmur, your lips brushing his skin.

he exhales sharply. “it’s nothing, honey, just go back to sleep.”

his voice wavers, like he’s holding something back. you know better. your hands wander, fingers tracing the lines of his abdomen, feeling the way he tenses under your touch.

“dae-ho,” you whisper, pressing another kiss, this time to the nape of his neck. “you’re lying.”

his hands, which had been clenched into fists, loosen just slightly.

you shift, pressing your lips along his shoulder, his spine, anywhere you can reach. you’re worshipping every part of him that’s been hurt, every piece of him that’s still healing.

he shudders. “you don’t have to do this.” his voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“i want to.”

your fingers trail up his chest, feeling his heartbeat, too fast, too unsteady.

dae-ho exhales shakily. for a moment, he stays still, but then, his big hands cover yours, gripping them like a lifeline.

he turns in your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his breathing uneven. his arms wrap around you, pulling you into his lap, holding you like he’s terrified you’ll disappear.

you let him. you let him take what he needs, let him cling to you, let him feel that you’re real. let him know that you’re not going anywhere.

“i was so scared,” he finally admits.

“i know,” you whisper, cradling his face in your hands, pressing your forehead to his. “but you don’t have to be. not anymore. not with me.”

his lips find yours then, as if trying to make sure you’re real. making sure you won’t disappear like a dream. you kiss him back just as lovingly, promising with every touch that he’s safe. that he’s loved.

the kiss deepens, slow at first, sweet, desperate. but there’s something more now, an urgency buried in the way his lips move against yours. dae-ho’s hands slip under your shirt, tracing the curve of your back.

he pulls away, breath ragged, eyes dark with that raw need you’ve been stirring in him. his lips part, chest rising and falling as his eyes flicker between your gaze and your lips. “you’re too much for me,” he mutters, his voice rough with restraint.

you smile, fingertips grazing along his jaw, trailing down to the hollow of his throat, feeling the erratic beat of his pulse beneath your touch. “it’s okay. i can handle it,” you say softly.

he kisses you again, harder this time. one of his hands slips beneath the waistband of your pants, feeling the warmth of your skin as he draws you against him. you feel the evidence of his desire pressing against you, hard and insistent.

he groans, pulling back just enough to catch his breath, his forehead resting against yours. “you’re so perfect,” he mutters, as his hands trace the curve of your body.

you kiss him again, softer this time, like you’re grounding him with your touch. when you pull away, your voice is a low whisper, “i’m not going anywhere. you can let go. let me love you.”

his body shakes, whether from desire or the weight of his fears, you’re not sure, but it doesn’t matter anymore. he’s here. he’s with you.

his lips find the pulse point of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as his hands explore, urging you closer, faster, until neither of you can keep the pace. the touch becomes frantic and he’s no longer holding back. his lips trail lower, his hands move with purpose now.

his body trembles beneath yours, but the tension from earlier is slowly melting, being replaced by a need that burns through every inch of him. his hands roam as he gasps for breath, as if he's trying to imprint the feeling of you on his skin forever.

“please,” he says, voice breaking, “i need you.”

you can feel his desperation in every movement now, every brush of skin, every gasp. and as you pull him back into a kiss, deeper this time, he surrenders completely.

his hands slip lower, fingers skimming over the curve of your hips, your thighs, just enough to tease, but not nearly enough to satisfy. you can feel the tension in his body, like he’s struggling to keep himself in check, but his touch is already possessive, pulling you closer, urging you to let him in.

you let out a soft gasp as he pushes you back onto the bed, his chest rising with every labored breath. his eyes never leave you as he spreads your legs, just wide enough to slide his hands between them, fingertips brushing the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“dae-ho…” your voice is barely a whisper, but the way your body reacts to him says everything. your thighs opening instinctively, offering him more.

he leans down, lips ghosting over the soft skin of your neck as his fingers press into your thighs, moving ever so slightly, just enough to drive you crazy. his breath is hot against your skin. “i love you so much.”

he pulls away just enough to look at you, his eyes heavy with need, lips parted, face flushed with a mixture of desire and frustration. “don’t make me beg.” his voice is raw now, as he slides his hands up your thighs, fingertips brushing dangerously close to where you want him the most.

you shudder at the closeness, biting your lip to keep from moaning as his hands slowly, deliberately, begin to spread your thighs even further apart.

“i’m not making you beg,” you breathe, voice low and teasing. “but you have to show me what you need.”

dae-ho’s chest heaves as he presses his body closer to yours. his lips are hot against your ear, his voice a low, needy groans. “i need you. i need you so badly.”

without warning, he presses his weight against your thighs, using them as leverage to keep you pinned, his hips grinding into yours, making you gasp. the friction between you both is intoxicating, his hands gripping your thighs tighter, using them to move you against him. you can feel every inch of his body against yours, the weight of his need pushing you both toward the edge.

“tell me you need me,” he demands, his breath shallow, the tension in his voice rising as he drives himself harder against you. “please say it. let me hear it.”

“i need you, dae-ho. i love and need you.”

the pressure between your thighs is almost unbearable, each movement of his hips sending shockwaves of desire through both of you. dae-ho’s hands grip your thighs tighter, pushing them further apart as his body begins to tremble with need, each shift of his hips more frantic than the last.

“i need you so much, baby,” he whines, his voice strained, like he’s fighting to keep himself from losing control completely. his lips are just barely touching yours, breath hot and ragged as his hips begin to grind against the soft curve of your thighs, the friction building with each movement.

the feeling of him against you, so desperate and needy, drives you wild. you can feel him, so painfully hard, pressing against the soft skin of your inner thighs, the tip teasing, brushing against you. his fingers dig into your skin as if he’s trying to hold himself back, but it’s impossible.

“please…” his voice cracks. “let me feel you… i can’t hold back much longer.”

without waiting for a response, his hips surge forward, grinding against the smooth skin of your thighs, the rhythm steady and intense. the friction makes you both gasp, the sensation of him against you, in between your thighs, a mix of heat and pleasure. he moves with purpose, each thrust harder, faster, as he loses himself in the sensation.

you can feel his body begin to tremble above you, his breath hitching, his hands now pulling you closer, urging you to hold him tighter, to give him more. “f—fuck, you feel so good,” he mutters, a whimper breaking his sentence.

his movements start to become erratic, the tension building in his body as he nears the edge. “i can’t…” his voice is shaky, like he’s losing control, but he doesn’t want to stop.

you moan softly, your hands running through his hair, guiding him closer, feeling his desperation as he presses harder, grinding deeper in between your thighs. the pressure is too much, his movements become frantic, the pleasure flooding him as he reaches his breaking point.

with one final groan, his hips stutter as he cums, the intensity of it pulling a ragged gasp from his chest. you feel his body go rigid against you, his release spilling between your thighs, his grip on you unrelenting as he rides out the wave of pleasure.

he collapses against you, his breathing uneven, his body trembling as he tries to catch his breath. “god… i needed that,” he mutters, his face buried in your neck, his hands still gripping your thighs like he can’t quite let go.

dae-ho’s body remains tense for a few moments, but as the last remnants of pleasure fade away, he slumps against you, his forehead resting gently on your chest. you can feel his rapid heartbeat, still racing, but slowly, slowly it begins to calm. his breathing is shallow at first, but soon it steadies, and his hands loosen their grip on your thighs, now caressing you with a gentleness that contrasts the desperation from before.

you run your fingers through his hair, smoothing it back as you press soft, reassuring kisses to the top of his head. his body shudders slightly, but this time it’s not from need, it’s from the emotional weight of everything that had built up.

“are you okay?” you ask quietly, your voice soft, trying to make sure he’s truly with you again.

dae-ho lifts his head, his eyes still glazed with the aftermath, but there’s a look of vulnerability in them now.

he nods slowly, his hands reaching for you, pulling you closer to him, curling you into his chest. “i’m... I’m good,” he mutters, his voice still a little hoarse. “i just... needed that. needed you.”

you smile softly, nuzzling your face into his neck as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close like you’re his anchor. you can feel the faint tremor in his limbs, but it’s no longer a sign of stress.

you let your hands roam over his back, tracing the lines of his muscles, offering comfort in every touch. “i’m here,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his neck. “always.”

his fingers trail along your skin, tender now, almost as if he’s memorizing the feel of you beneath him. “i don’t deserve you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion.

“you deserve everything,” you reply firmly, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes, “and more.”

dae-ho closes his eyes for a moment, as if letting himself truly absorb the safety in your presence.

“i’m sorry, i just…” he trails off, clearly trying to find the right words. “it’s hard to let go sometimes.”

you nod, understanding. “i know. but you don’t have to carry it alone. not with me.”

- - - - ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

uhh taglist: @222hyunju @kouzih @cybrasigilism

[mononijikayu]

would you fall in love with me again? — ryomen sukuna.

“I don’t want to go either, you know.” you admitted, feeling the weight of everything pressing down on your chest. “How can I just leave everything behind?” For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, without warning, Sukuna grabbed your wrist, his grip firm but not harsh. You gasped, as he pulled you close. Your faces were a few meters apart, your breath ragged as you were confronted by the emotions blurring in his eyes. “Then don’t leave.” he said, his voice fierce. “Stay.”

GENRE: alternate universe - historical ;

WARNING/S: not safe for work (nsfw), major character death, graphic violence, non-con/dub con, heavy themes, historical fiction, tragedy, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, romance, childhood friends to lovers, first love, forbidden love, slow burn, falling in love, unresolved romantic tension, bittersweet, separation, mutual pining, domestic, reunion, feelings, arranged marriage, forced marriage, family pressure, political conflict, war, star-crossed lovers, betrayal, unspoken feelings, emotional baggage, emotional manipulation, period typical sexism, depiction of self-exit, depiction of war, depiction of heavy themes, depiction of graphic violence, mention of graphic violence, mention of self-exit, depiction of war, depiction of heavy themes, reincarnated! sukuna, reincarnated! reader;

WORD COUNT: 32k words

NOTE: this took the longest to do and really, it was so hard to just make. sukuna has this ability to challenge me when i write things and it just makes it even more fun to write. this is a heavy read and i wrote it as a reincarnated life of sukuna and concubine reader from the other woman series.

this was supposed to be a different story, but it changed in the process of writing to something different. i think various forms of love, even twisted one, can be something we can read.

unfortunately, tumblr is not letting me post the main post here, due to the format not being under 1k blocks. which is odd since i have done this before and it hasn't ended up happening before. so i posted it on kofi!!!

you can click on this link:

in any case, please come back here afterwards and post your reactions about the fic!!! i'd like for you to interact with me!!! i love you all so much and i hope you enjoy it!!! happy valentines day~ i'll see you in 2.5k followers event!!! <3

masterlist

if you want to, tip!

buono san valentino, 2025;

[parasolladyansy]

How does N feel in this Survival AU? Does he realize the magnitude of which he is a puppet? Does he regret his role in all this? Does he hear the voices of the Pokémon separated from those they love and wonder if this is really what’s best?

EDIT: decided to add some screenshots from “The Plan” & a couple drawings to break up the wall of text lol

—

🚩 TW trauma, narcissistic abuse, disassociation

N is in a truly terrible position on this timeline. If I can be very personal for a moment, he’s very much like who I imagine I would’ve been if I didn’t escape the toxic environment I was in (very, very short version: why I have C-PTSD).

In the Pokémon Evolutions animation, “The Plan” (VERY highly recommended), Ghetsis saw him as a blank slate to write the story of the Ideal Hero & King, an extension of himself who can be chosen by the Black Dragon (having enough self-awareness to know he wouldn’t be chosen).

We see evidence all through the original games that Ghetsis really infantilized & sheltered N. N’s room is full of very bright colors & more toys than one child could ever play with, & the only Pokémon Ghetsis allowed him to befriend were ones abused by humans.

This all made him very intelligent but emotionally / socially stunted, with a very carefully tailored view of the world - someone perfect to manipulate.

Ghetsis then goes on to appeal to the masses, appearing in places like Accumula Town, campaigning with impassioned words about liberating Pokémon, the same ones N grew up with. Some agreed with him, siding with Team Plasma & their message. Some, like us, didn’t.

That’s who N is when we first meet him.

Through BW, he starts to change - he, like me, saw things in the real world that contradicted what he was groomed to believe. He met humans & Pokémon who loved & supported each other, battled & grew together, & made the world around them better. Then, at the end, when we beat him, it finally sinks in that the version of the world Ghetsis showed him was a lie.

That’s why Ghetsis drops his act when N fails, revealing what he really thought of him: warped, defective, & inhuman. He, like most narcissists, demanded perfection & unquestioning loyalty, & the N who lost can give him neither of those things. There was no reason to continue the charade that N was a King, & that this fairy tale of white knights was just a way for him to take over Unova.

In Survival AU, that’s not what happened.

Instead, he praises N for defeating the “false” Hero & found him worthy of sharing his name (aka worthy of being an extension of himself).

Over the years, N had what little sense of self he was allowed erased away, replaced by the King Ghetsis wanted him to be. He might’ve even repressed the memories & emotions that might contradict this image he felt he had to maintain. I can also see him losing the ability of hearing Pokémon’s voices, because he can no longer hear the Truth…

Even then, I think he’d have locked the part of him that knows this isn’t right deep down, somewhere Ghetsis can’t reach. This part shows itself as a misery & frustration under the surface that doesn’t really let him be happy or satisfied with this world he (thinks) he created where Pokémon are free.

I’ve been thinking about Zekrom through all this, how they (like Reshiram) would love N like a child, protect him ferociously like a parent, & if they saw him stray, destroy the region in endless lightning like they did in the past. That’s why I’ve been thinking that maybe Zekrom was forced together with Kyurem, which that part of him deep down would object to but on the surface level, Ghetsis convinced him that this is how it should be.

So he sits there on his cold throne as the perfect King of Ideals.

—

Basically, N is miserable - on the surface level, he shut down his thoughts, memories, & feelings, genuinely believing & following everything Ghetsis says. Somewhere, deep down, he knows this isn’t right, & hopes that, in spite of everything…Reshiram’s Hero is alive somewhere, & can maybe help save him.

I‘d say that when he does receive word that Ansy is actually alive, that’s when that hope becomes stronger, & he starts to question again. From there would be the very difficult & agonizing process of detaching himself from Ghetsis…

But I think he can do it. 🌱

[marauroon]

I heard asks are open?! Can you please, pretty please, with a cherry on top, write something where the reader has chronic pain and is going through a really bad crash+flare up? And maybe this happens right after the full moon, so Remus is also really under the weather. So, James and Sirius are taking care of them? The bit with it being the full moon is 100% optional. I'm just dying from a flare-up and for someone to dote on me and take care of me right now, haha.

𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬. (𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐲.𝐦)

james and sirius never hesitate to amp up the tlc when you and remus are having a tough time.

poly!marauders x gn!reader | 1.2k | h/c | masterlist.

You're already awake when you hear the front door open.

Well, “awake” might be too generous a word. You've been drifting in and out for what feels like hours, wrapped in a fog of pain and exhaustion.

The air in the bedroom is heavy with it, pressing against your ribs like a weighted blanket. Your body feels like lead, every nerve raw, every muscle clenched and aching. It’s been a long night.

A really long night.

The kind where sleep is just another thing your body refuses to cooperate with, where no position is comfortable, where you count the hours in the slow, creeping throb of your pulse in your joints.

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of soft voices and the rustling of coats, hoping—just for a second—that they'll let you be. Not because you don’t want them. You do. But you also don’t want to be a burden, don’t want to be another weight on their shoulders, not when you know they already have their hands full.

But James and Sirius have never been particularly good at leaving you alone when you're hurting.

The bedroom door creaks open. You don’t have to look to know it's them. You can smell the fresh air on their clothes, the damp scent of early morning rain. James, predictably, has already kicked off his shoes—he hates wearing them inside. Sirius, less predictably, is quiet. Normally, he'd beeline for the bed, flopping on top of you like an overgrown puppy. Today, though, he's careful.

“Hey, sweetheart,” James murmurs, voice low and warm as he comes around to your side of the bed. His hand is gentle as he brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “How’re you feeling?”

You make a noise that isn't really an answer. It’s as much as you can manage.

James hums, fingers brushing lightly over your skin. “That bad, huh?”

You don't respond, but you don’t need to. You know the answer is written all over your face.

On the other side of the bed, you hear Sirius sigh, the mattress dipping as he perches on the edge. His fingers graze your arm, and you shiver at the touch. Not because it's unpleasant—Sirius is always warm—but because even the lightest pressure sends sharp, aching pain rippling through your body.

He must feel the way you tense, because he pulls back immediately. “Sorry, love,” he says, softer than usual. There's a strain in his voice, something tight and frustrated. Not at you—never at you—but at the situation, at the way he can’t fix this for you.

You force your eyes open, just a crack. “‘S okay,” you rasp, voice hoarse from disuse. “Just... hurts,”

James makes a quiet, sympathetic noise, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. His lips are warm, and for just a moment, you let yourself lean into it, into him.

“Have you eaten?” he asks.

You shake your head. The thought of food makes your stomach turn.

“Drink anything?” Sirius presses, frowning.

Another shake of the head.

“Alright,” James says, rolling up the sleeves of his jumper. “We can work with that,”

You blink at him, sluggish. “M’not hungry,”

James just grins, undeterred. “You say that now, but give me ten minutes. You know I can work miracles,”

You do know. And if you had the energy, you’d roll your eyes at him. Instead, you just let your gaze drift closed again.

James presses another kiss to your temple before he slips away, heading for the kitchen. You listen to his footsteps retreating down the hall, the clatter of cupboards opening. Sirius stays.

He's still quiet. Too quiet.

It takes effort, but you turn your head just enough to look at him. He's paler than usual, dark circles bruising the delicate skin beneath his eyes. His hair is a mess—well, more of a mess than usual—and there’s a cut just above his eyebrow that looks fresh.

“Were you out all night?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

Sirius huffs out a breath that might be a laugh, but there’s no real amusement in it. “Yeah,” he admits. "Moony had it rough,”

Right. The full moon.

You turn your head a little more, your sluggish brain finally catching up. “Remus? Is he okay?”

“He’s alright, gorgeous,” Sirius says. “Miserable, but alright. We’ve set him up on the sofa,”

That explains the exhaustion clinging to him, the way he’s more subdued than usual.

You reach for him without thinking, a slow, clumsy movement. Your fingers barely graze his wrist before he catches your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. His grip is warm and solid, grounding.

“I hope he’s okay,” you mumble.

Sirius lets out a soft sigh. “He’ll be fine, James ‘nd I will take care of him, don’t worry,”

But he doesn’t argue when you tug weakly at his arm, urging him to lie down. He just kicks off his jeans and crawls into bed beside you, careful as he curls around your body, keeping his touch light.

The warmth of him is immediate, seeping into your bones, easing some of the tension in your muscles. You breathe him in, the familiar scent of leather and smoke and something distinctly Sirius. He exhales slowly against your shoulder, and you can feel some of the tension in his own body unwind.

James returns not long after, balancing a tray with one hand, a glass of water in the other, Remus following behind him with heavy, uncoordinated movements.

“Breakfast in bed for my loves,” he announces, far too cheerful for the hour. “Because I am, in fact, the best boyfriend in the world,”

Sirius snorts against your shoulder before vacating his place at your side to help Remus into the bed instead. “Bit early to be handing out awards, don’t you think?”

James ignores him, setting the tray down on the nightstand. You blink at the contents—toast, tea, something that smells vaguely like soup. Simple, easy. Your stomach churns at the thought, but you know James. He won’t push, but he won’t let you get away with nothing, either.

“Just a little,” he coaxes, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Two bites, at least. Humour me, okay?”

You sigh. “Fine,”

It’s slow going, but James is patient, coaxing the two of you into a few bites, a few sips of tea. Sirius is quick to doze beside you, his breath even and steady against your skin, a comfortable heat from his and Remus’ bodies radiating against your skin.

And for the first time all night, the pain doesn’t feel quite so overwhelming.