#she asked me why i enjoy Drug Use and i told her it makes my brain shut up so I'm just Percieving

[vaguelydefinedshapes]

so my therapist strongly recommended Mindfulness™ to me and i gotta say. she was right. another win for licensed medical providers

[remember-the-fanfics]

Gen-Z!Overlord!Reader

• Died at 18, been in hell for a few years.

• Came in after Alastor disappeared, just before Vaggie showed up.

• You were never one to follow what everyone else did. Killing, drugs, theft, or porn.

• Kept to yourself for a few months, getting use to being dead and in hell.

• Accidentally became an Overlord after you killed one in self defense.

"In my defense, she was like super creepy and an asshole. A big one."

• The souls were free but you kept your new territory nice so they didn't leave.

• You made jobs and kept the housing in better shape, only made deals to help souls.

• Gave them a job, house, and protection. You give them a limit of a few years of the deal and if they don't mind it, they can renew it.

"Well I don't want to force them to do something, its rude."

• In return, they keep your territory nice, clean, and less violent than most. Work the jobs you made and protect your little town.

• There's been occasions were you trade souls to other overlords, either the soul did something against them or just an asshole.

• The time on the contract would restart

• To every other overlord, you are a child with a knife and to much power.

• You demolished another overlord because they thought you were weak and tried to destroy you territory.

"You ass eatting bitch-"

• You let others fight for new open territory because you're fine with what you have.

• Panicked when you got invited to an Overlord meeting.

• Apparently you had enough power to be one, then you realized you actually were one.

• It was awkward to meet the most of the overlords. Not knowing who you were to begin with.

"This is for overlords only."

"Oh, I'm (Y/n). I got invited."

• Chatted with Rosie before and after it.

• Camilla likes how you run your territory but you seem so young.

• Did apologized afterwards, introducing you to her daughters, apparently you were around the same age.

• Zestial wanted to know how you took over you territory, interested on how you did it.

• You've only meet Velvette because you need some clothes. She recognized you as the up and coming overlord.

• Throwing the clothes you had in your hands away, saying you need to be in the best lastest trend of clothes.

• You were now stuck having a fashion show as she decided what look good on you.

• While not enjoying all the clothes she had you try on, you kept being nice having conversation when she wasn't yelling at everyone else.

• Velvette learned that you were around the same age so she decided that you were acquainted enough to have her number.

• Apparently it wasn't optional for you.

• You brought back way to much clothes for one person, atleast now you have style.

• Chaotic neutral energy

• Charlie meet you after she heard that you improved a part of hell, wasn't expecting someone so young looking.

"Dying just after I turned 18 just means I look young forever."

• Laughing at your own dark humor.

"Ha...ha.

• Charlie did not find it as funny.

• Told you about the hotel idea and you were right on board.

• Thought it was a good way to stick it to the man and help people.

• Vaggie was surprised when Charlie brought back a child.

• More surprised that you're the Overlord that Charlie wanted to meet with.

• Definitely said Vaggie's name wrong for the first time reading it.

• Meeting Angel Dust after he decided to crash at the hotel.

• Not knowing what he was known for but definitely heard his name from someone.

"You're a kind of actor?"

"Of the sorts."

• After you heard what he was famous for.

"Well, he'll do him and I'll do me but never do each other."

• There was an awkward silence of confusion from everyone.

• Having to explain every reference you make.

• Vaggie made jar for everytime you make a dark joke.

• Charlie has asked you why you were in hell. You shrugged, never living a truly bad life but probably just too chaotic for heaven to handle.

• You leave every few days to check back in your little town to make sure everything was running smoothly.

• You know when something happens, feeling the souls you own in a panic.

• Having to let everyone remember why you were in charge a couple of times.

• Either with your words or actions.

• Luckily Rosie just adores your mannerisms and how you don't completely turn away from her with what or who she eats.

"You could say the food was to die for!"

• She finds your dark humor funny.

• So she keeps an eye out for you, sending letters to you every few days.

• You vist her every other week to just chat, she tells you about easy territories that you could get. You say you would rather show up some punks than have more responsibility with more souls.

• Offers food everytime, you say no thanks everytime.

• Rosie would tell you all the tea about the other overlords or her own town.

• Yay! You have an allie with an another overlord by being friends.

• Also with offering truly worse souls sometimes. On a rare occasion.

• Rosie knowing when you offer a soul to her, she would take her time with it. Enjoying every bite.

• Anyway- Sinners would come up to asking for deal when they are completely down on their luck.

• But whats following a couple of rules for free house and job.

• You give them enough warning before you would shake hands then saying you would know if they even thought of fucking your shit up.

• Putting an add for Charlie's hotel in your territory.

• Charlie almost hugged you to death after seeing it.

• When Alastor showed up, the two of you would have a intense staring contest.

• He wasn't expecting another overlord here, oh wait, you're new.

• Alastor not actually taking the hotel serious, pissed you off but he was more powerful.

• Charlie having to keep you and Vaggie from trying to fight him.

"I didn't know there was a new overlord! Charmed to meet you. Whose territory was up for grab?"

"She was a bitch-."

"I know who exactly you speak of, that's good. She never had any manners."

• Watching him summon Husk and Niffty and was shocked.

• Tried it and summoned one of your workers.

• Excited that it worked! Apologetic for interrupting their day.

"Ah ha! It worked! Oh shit it worked! Sorry!"

• You and Niffty vibe on a similar level. Charmingly violent.

• Vaggie has to make sure either of you give the other one a bad idea to do.

• Husk question your age when you went to the bar. Making you do the math.

"Well I died at 18, it's been a few years so old enough."

• Gave you a hard drink which you spit out after tasting.

• You decide hard alcohol wasn't for you.

• Knowing how technology was when you died making you the most technical advance Sinners in the hotel.

-

That's enough for now, just a thought I had when working.

[queenie-the-court-jester]

that isn't very holy of you :/

Yandere church boy x gn!reader

It came out shittier than I hoped for. Not proofread 🌺 I'll fix this when I have the time

Tw: religious themes, noncon mention, minor cult mention

✝️ you had just arrived in the small town of morning star. Having been needing a break from the city life, you rented a one bedroom cabin close by. Planning on staying here for a month, you quickly headed towards your new home, very eager to start exploring the area

✝️ wandering around the town square, it seemed everyone knew eachother. A family like community perhaps? Maybe that's why they all kept staring at you as passed through, must not be use to new faces

✝️that was until a group of children approached, asking you to come play ball with them. You couldn't say no to their puppy dog eyes, and the adult's judgemental stares so you agreed. And it was fun surprisingly! You noticed none of the children had any phones.. or the grown up's for that matter

✝️your first week there you were unsettled, but you just pushed it off as the townsfolks strange behavior, Focusing on unpacking and enjoying your stsy. Until one of the school teachers, a kindergarten one, knocked on your door on a sunday

"hi there honey! On behalf of the people I'd like to sincerely apologize for the cold welcome. It's just been a hard year for all of us! So to make it up you, won't you come to church with us on this fine morning?"

✝️ whether or not you're religious yourself, she managed to convince you to come along. Chatting the whole walk there. Talking about her husband, her children. She mentioned something about having a son your age but you weren't really paying attention

✝️ walking through the grand double doors of the church house, she sat you on the front row with the pastors family, next to a young man. You were startled as she sat on the other side of you, leaning in to whisper In Your ear as she pointed at the pastor preaching

"that's my hubby right there. He's a handsome fella ain't he?"

✝️david looked at his mother in disbelief, he told her a few a times he found you attractive and now look at her! He could practically see the gears turning in her head. thankfully you seemed preoccupied thinking, so he did his best to seem normal while his poor heart beated 300 mph

✝️after the sermon, david turned to you and have you a sheepish smile

"hi.. my name's David, but you can call me dave.. its.. nice to meet you"

✝️you and David hit it off, unlike all the other people. He didn't constantly talk about praising god and forcing his religion down your throat. He was kind, understanding. Laughing at your jokes and nodding along to your words. He never met someone so.. ethereal

✝️growing up, he had a hard time believing in his small towns "god". Watching them cut up and sacrifice newcomers to their false idols, he felt sick to the pit of his stomach heading their screams. But he could definitely devote his cause to you...

✝️he trapped you in this shitty town when he asked you out on a little date a few days later. Unaware he drugged your food and dragging you into his home, waking up chained to a bed. You couldn't tell how long you've been there, but every time you'd try to escape he'd punish you in bed. Not letting you cum or overstimulating you to the point of tears. Why would you want to leave something that can make you feel so good?

✝️he grew up desensitized to blood and gore, so he's confused when you're screaming and crying. Why are you doing that? Don't you know that this is what happens to bad spouses? What do you mean you're not married either? ofcourse you are. Stop being so difficult...

✝️nobody blinks an eye when he strides into town with you on a collar and leash. And that's when you realized, you should have left earlier. Because the whole town was sick in the head. It wasn't like you could call for help because he fucking destroyed your electronics and the people don't even have phones. Something about wifi signals can brainwash you

✝️ he's whipped for you, that much you can obviously tell. but he's smarter than he looks. Eating dinner with his family is just painful,since all they talk about is God god god. It hurts your ears with how often they just Randomly start singing praises. It's bad enough they force you to watch their cult church activities...

✝️if you give in to his demands, he'll let you off the leash but you have to stay close by at all times. If you don't, he'll have to make his punishments a little more extreme. There's also a possibility he'll force you to help around the town. whether that be looking after the children or just running around doing errands. The shock bracelet on your ankle stops you from running into the woods..

✝️if you don't, well.. you wouldn't mind if you became permanently handicapped right?

"don't be so difficult sweetie.. just stay still and it'll cut right through okay?'

[miazetomer]

Heartless | Rafe Cameron x pogue(ish)!fem!reader (Part XI)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, angst, fluff, smut, alcohol use, drug use, takes place during season four, the usual

Summary: You were back on Kildare after two years. You were able to finish your business degree at UNC Chapel Hill in just two years after earning enough college credits in high school. But, you came back as a force to be reckoned with. You had your own very successful development company which just so happened to be Cameron Development’s newest competition. Two years later and you’re still finding ways to get under Rafe’s skin.

a/n: y’all im so sad this is the second to last part of this series :( seriously i just want to say thank you to you all for enjoying this series, well i hope you enjoyed it. i honestly have never loved a series more in my LIFE and i can’t wait for you all to see what i have next in my rafe cameron collection AND I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW I LOVE SOFIA IN OBX AND I HOPE HER AND RAFE LIVE A PROSPEROUS LIFE

prev next

♡♡♡

You paced in front of Mark’s office, tapping your phone against your hand.

“You can come inside.” Mark called from his office.

You took a deep breath and opened the door to his office, walking inside.

“What’s up?” Mark asked, typing away on his computer.

“Um, there’s this gala coming up for business owners and entrepreneurs and investors and stuff like that.” You said, pacing around his office as you spoke with your hands. “And I was thinking it would look good if maybe we went together.”

You had no idea why you were so nervous, you were never nervous. You think it was because of the fight you two had. This was the first time in your life you were possibly facing rejection and that terrified you.

“I agree.” Mark nodded, making you stop in your tracks. You turned and faced him. “Oh, thank God you stopped I was worried you would burn a hole in the carpet. But, yes, I agree. I think it would look good for marketing. And for investors to see us together, to talk to us, together.”

“So, it’s decided then.” You said with a small smile before leaving his office.

♡♡♡

You walked off your family’s private jet in Charleston with Mark, Lily, and your glam team following close behind.

“Did you really need to pack so much for two days?” Mark asked, lugging your suitcase behind him.

“Would you stop complaining? It’s not that heavy.” You said, turning around to look at him.

“Would you like to carry it?”

“Isn’t it supposed to be your job as a man to carry my luggage?”

“Maybe if I was your boyfriend.” Mark mumbled, following behind you.

“Yeah, no way in hell is that happening again.” You scoffed.

♡♡♡

Your assistant quickly checked you into the hotel and you went up to your room.

“You can just leave my bag there.” You told Mark as you dropped your purse on the couch. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow.” Mark said before leaving.

Your suite was a good size. It had two bedrooms, one for you and one for Lily, a glam room, two bathrooms, and of course the living area complete with a mini bar.

“Lily, do you want to grab dinner?” You asked, turning on your heel to look at her.

“Y-you want to get dinner with me?”

“Of course, silly.” You said with a smile.

“Sure Ms. Thornton.”

“Lily, we aren’t at work you can drop the formalities.” You laughed.

♡♡♡

You sat in the glam room of your hotel room, surrounded by your glam team. Your hair was in rollers, you were getting your makeup done, and your dress hung on a hook behind you. You read emails on your phone as you sipped on your latte through a straw.

“Do you ever stop working?” Mark asked, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed.

“No.” You responded flatly, looking at him through the mirror.

“You need to get a life.” Mark chuckled.

“Me? You’re the one who needs to get a life. You know my assistant, Lily, she’s single, you should ask her out.”

“Why would I ask your assistant out?”

“She’s cute, your age, her dad is the CEO of a Fortune 500 company.”

“Which one?”

“McKesson.”

“Her dad is Brian Tyler?” Mark asked, his eyes going wide. “What is she doing working as your assistant?”

“She wanted to do something with her time other than spending her dad’s money.”

“I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?”

“To ask Lily out.” Mark said, before leaving.

♡♡♡

You sighed as you waited for Mark to finish getting ready, checking the time on your phone repeatedly.

“Mark, hurry up!” You shouted as you stood in the middle of his room.

“Sorry.” He said, walking out of the bathroom, adjusting his tie.

“God, took you long enough. We have to go, the driver’s downstairs.” You walked out of the room, Mark following closely behind, and made your way to the elevator.

As you rode the elevator, it stopped just one floor below you. You sighed and moved next to Mark to make room in the elevator. You didn’t do much to hide the disgust on your face when Rafe and Sofia entered.

“Y/n, how nice of you to bring a charity case.” Rafe smirked.

“Rafe, how thoughtful of you to bring an extra bartender so the bar staff doesn’t get overwhelmed. That’s what you did at the club, right Sofia? Before you started living off of Rafe’s inheritance.” You shot back, causing Mark to smirk.

“If I remember correctly, y/n, you worked there for a summer as a cart girl.” Sofia said, holding her head high.

“Oh, Sweetie, I worked there to flirt with the frat boys that came through, you worked there to pay your bills. We are not the same.” You watched as the smile dissipated from Sofia’s face. You leaned in to Sofia’s ear and whispered. “Speak to me like that again and I tell Rafe everything.”

You leaned back and smirked as Sofia’s face flushed red.

“Oh, Mark, I forgot to introduce you to Rafe. Mark this is Rafe Cameron, owner of Cameron Development. Rafe, this is Mark, my business partner.”

“I would say it’s nice to meet you, but you did just call me a charity case.” Mark said, shaking Rafe’s hand when he extended it.

“Nothing personal.” Rafe muttered, shoving his hand in his pocket.

“I don’t know, seemed kind of personal. You must be the ex-boyfriend.”

“Seems we have that in common.” Rafe chuckled.

♡♡♡

“I can’t believe you let her talk to me like that.” Sofia huffed on the car ride to the venue.

“You tried playing with the big dogs and you got bit, deal with it.” Rafe snapped back.

“I deserve to be respected, Rafe.” Sofia said, earning a chuckle from Rafe.

“You deserve to be respected? You’ve done nothing to earn her respect. Respect is earned, not given.”

“I don’t understand why you constantly stick up for her. I guarantee she doesn’t stick up for you like this.”

“I stick up for her because she’s been my friend my entire life. You’ve been in my life, what, five minutes and you think you trump her?”

“Who was here for you when your father died? Who made sure you became a better man?”

“She was there for me when my dad died. Those flowers that came from a fake address were from her. I just never reached out to her because I was giving her the distance she asked for. And I became a better man for her. God, Sofia, when are you gonna wake up and realize it’s always been her.”

“Then why are you here with me tonight instead of her?”

“Because, you were the second best choice.”

♡♡♡

You and Mark quickly found your table before you excused yourself to make your way to the bar.

“Rosé, please.” You sighed, leaning against the bar.

Rafe came and stood next to you at the bar, placing his order.

“You just had to say something in the elevator, didn’t you?” You asked, turning towards Rafe.

“You know I’ve always had a hard time keeping my mouth shut.” Rafe smirked, causing you to chuckle. “Besides, I know you would’ve said something if I didn’t.”

“Mmm, I don’t know how true that is.” You said, taking a sip of your Rosé.

“You and I both know you’ve been holding that bartender bullshit in your canister for a while now.”

“Oh, Rafe Cameron, you know me so well.” You mocked, pretending to swoon.

“I do, and that’s how I know you won’t have a good time tonight with Mark over there.” Rafe said, pointing over to where Mark was sitting.

“Why is Mark talking to Sofia at our table?” You asked, glaring in their direction.

“Oh, funny thing, they put us at the same table.” Rafe chuckled, taking a drink from his whiskey.

“Oh, fantastic.” You muttered, finishing your wine.

♡♡♡

“Not having a good time?” Rafe asked as you found yourself standing at the bar again.

“I’m just having the best night of my life talking to all these people who don’t take a woman owning a business seriously.” You said, sarcasm dripping off of every single word.

“Where’s Mark?”

“Talking to potential investors. I decided it would be best if I let him do the talking tonight. Where’s your girlfriend?”

“I sent her back to the hotel room.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, she’s not who I wanted to be here with tonight.”

♡♡♡

You had pulled Rafe into a dark hallway, away from everyone, away from the party. You paced in front of him as he leaned back against the wall, his hands in his pockets, watching you carefully.

You were thinking out everything you wanted to say. You knew this wasn’t the best place to do this, but you were a couple glasses of wine deep, and wine always got you in your feelings. You wanted to make a big speech, you wanted to tell Rafe everything you had been holding back, but all that came to your head was ‘I love you, Rafe Cameron. I love you, Rafe Cameron.’

You sighed and tossed your hair out of your face, turning towards Rafe. You decided you would just word vomit whatever you were thinking at Rafe.

“Okay, I know whatever I’m about to say is gonna be all over the place and some parts probably won’t make sense, but I need you to stick with me.” You started, as you fidgeted with your fingers. “Look, for the last two years I have tried suppressing every feeling I had for you; love, anger, happiness. And I mean really, really suppressing it, like shoving it so deep down and locking it away for what I hoped would be ever. But, the more I tried to suppress it, the more I thought about you and the more I realized you were, honestly, probably the love of my life. And that was half the reason why I broke up with Mark, because I knew he would never be you, I mean he could never be you. And I-I knew coming back would be so incredibly hard. That’s why I avoided you at the club and parties and anywhere else I saw you, because every time I saw you my stomach did this thing where it felt like I was going down on a roller coaster, you know what I mean?” Rafe nodded and you continued. “I tried telling myself there was no way I could be in love with a man who has hurt so many people I love, including himself. But, then I realized I was in love with him, with you. And I know you aren’t the same person anymore Rafe and I am so proud of you for that. Now, I want to say I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving you and disappearing when you probably needed me the most. I found out I tend to do this thing where I run away from problems instead of facing them head on, and I’m really trying to work on that. I mean I did it to Mark-”

Rafe stepped forward and grabbed your face gently. He leaned down and closed the space between the two of you, capturing your lips with his. At first you stood there, shocked, but then you closed your eyes and started kissing him back, wrapping your arms around his neck, essentially deepening the kiss.

“Sorry, baby, you started rambling.” Rafe said, pulling away from you. You took your hands off Rafe’s neck and put them on the collar of his jacket, pulling on him as you crashed your lips against his.

It felt like every bad feeling you bad about coming home was starting to melt away and all that was left was the one feeling you had been avoiding most, love.

Your lips worked in perfect tandem with Rafe’s, almost like you were made for each other.

“Hotel room?” Was all you said before Rafe took your hand and started pulling you outside the venue, as he texted his driver he was ready to be picked up.

As soon as you got outside, Rafe’s driver was pulling up. The two of you rushed to the car as soon as your eyes locked on it.

You couldn’t even keep your hands off him in the car as you straddled him and placed kisses along his neck, grinding your hips against his. Rafe tilted his head to the side to allow you more access to his neck as his hands quickly found residence on your ass, squeezing lightly.

When you reached the hotel, you quickly pulled a hundred dollar bill out of your clutch and gave it to the driver before climbing out of the car, and rushing inside the hotel, with Rafe following closely behind.

“You look really good tonight.” Rafe said as you waited for the elevator.

“Thanks, I got the dress at some boutique on Kildare.” You responded with a smile. Your dress really was gorgeous. It was a delicate, pretty, yellow, silk, strapless dress with an open back. The only portion of your back that was covered was your ass and your legs. Rafe was always a sucker for backless dresses and you knew it.

“Does nothing for your ass though.” Rafe joked, leaning back a little as he peered down at your ass. You gasped and slapped his arm with your clutch, trying to hide your smile.

As soon as you got in the elevator, Rafe had you pressed up against the wall, his hands gripping onto your hips as he placed delicate kisses along your neck, nipping at the one spot just below your ear, earning a quiet moan from you.

Once the elevator doors opened to your floor, you were practically running down the hallway with Rafe following, not having to do much to keep up with you. You fiddled through your clutch looking for the key to your suite as Rafe stood behind you, his hands on your hips, kissing your neck. Eventually, you found the key and opened the door, pulling Rafe inside quickly.

“We have to be quiet, Lily is sleeping.” You whispered as you walked to your room.

“Who the fuck’s Lily?” Rafe asked, whispering.

“Lily, my assistant.” You said, turning around to face Rafe. “You’ve met her multiple times.”

“Sorry, baby.” Rafe replied, shrugging as you scoffed, turning back around.

You opened the door to the room you were sleeping in, closing it once Rafe stepped through the threshold. He quickly threw his phone on the bed and you threw your clutch on the empty chair. Rafe’s hands were back on your hips the instant you turned around to face him, his lips crashing down onto yours. Rafe guided you towards the bed as you pulled his tie off and pushed his jacket to the floor. Once the back of your knees hit the bed, you laid down and grabbed the collar of Rafe’s shirt, pulling him down over you. He quickly found his place in between your legs, kissing you more hungrily now, as he pushed your dress up to your hips. You made quick work of his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as Rafe removed one hand from your hip and brought it down to where the heat was pooling between your legs.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He groaned against your lips.

“I knew where I’d end up tonight.” You smirked, only for it to be replaced by a moan when Rafe slipped two fingers inside your dripping cunt.

“All this, just for me?” Rafe asked when he removed his fingers from you and inspected them closely.

“Don’t flatter yourself, some of it was for Mark.” You taunted. You were trying to piss Rafe off, he always was a better fuck when he was pissed off.

“Do you always have to be so fucking irritating?” Rafe muttered, standing up at the edge of the bed. You watched him carefully as he took off his belt, then his pants, then his boxers. You groaned at the sight of him, oh how you missed him.

“Only for you.” You said, gasping when Rafe slid himself into you. Your back arched off the bed as Rafe started slamming himself into you, his balls hitting your ass every time your hips connected. Your pussy clenched around Rafe, egging him on. You had forgotten just how big he was until you could feel him stretching you out. You wrapped your legs around Rafe’s waist, keeping him close to you. Pornographic moans were the only sound leaving your lips.

“Who else fucks you this good, hmm?” Rafe smirked down at the sight of you, practically falling apart for him.

“N-no one else baby, just you.” You managed to get out, as you screwed your eyes shut, arching your back off the bed. You were close, Rafe could tell. He moved one hand and started rubbing harsh circles on your clit. Even after all this time, Rafe knew your body like the back of his hand. It didn’t take much longer after that, you were cumming all over his cock, clenching around him so tightly, you worried you were going to break it. Rafe’s thrusts slowed, guiding you through your high.

“Think you got a couple more in you, baby?” Rafe asked, pulling out of you, and you just nodded. You slipped off your dress and Rafe groaned at the sight of you, everything he has ever wanted was right in front of him. You turned over and got on your forearms and knees, arching your back, you knew it was Rafe’s favorite position, it made him feel more in control.

Rafe’s hands made their way to your ass, squeezing softly, slowly spreading your ass cheeks apart and taking a mental picture of the moment. Rafe wasn’t sure when this would happen again, so he wanted to savor every second. He got down on his knees and placed a delicate kiss to your clit before he ran his tongue through your folds. You arched your back more, wanting more contact with Rafe’s tongue, but Rafe sat back and started running his finger through your folds, occasionally dipping one finger into your entrance, never leaving it in for long. You turned your head around to look at Rafe and you rolled your eyes at the sight.

“Are you gonna keep fucking around, Cameron, or am I gonna have to do this mys-” You started but was soon cut off by Rafe slipping two fingers inside of you and attaching his lips to your clit, your back arching in response. Rafe quickly picked up the pace on his fingers, curling them inside you to touch that one spot that only he has ever been able to reach. You moved your hips to meet Rafe’s fingers, pulling him deeper. You opened your eyes when you felt Rafe’s phone vibrate against the bed, you turned your head to look over your shoulder, just to make sure Rafe wasn’t looking and sure enough he was face deep in your pussy, blissfully unaware of the outside world. When you checked Rafe’s phone and saw he received a text from Sofia, you smirked to yourself. You clicked on the notification and unlocked his phone, reading the ‘where are you?’ text from Sofia. Quickly, you took a picture of Rafe and sent it to her along with a ‘sorry, he’s busy eating dinner,’ text. You turned off his phone and shoved it under a pillow.

You clenched around Rafe’s fingers, the stimulation quickly becoming too much. His name fell from your lips like prayer as you squirted all over his fingers.

You moved further up the bed and turned around to face Rafe. You grabbed his hand and pulled him down on the bed, moving quickly to straddle him before he could make his next move.

You took Rafe’s cock in your hand and positioned yourself over it. Slowly, you lowered yourself over it, earning a groan from Rafe as his hands shot to your hips, pulling you down the rest of the way. Your mouth gaped open at the feeling of Rafe’s cock stretching you out.

“So, fucking tight baby.” He groaned out, tilting his head back as the grip on your hips tightened. You slowly started moving your hips, allowing yourself to adjust to Rafe. But, once the pain subsided and the pleasure took over, you moved faster, your boobs bouncing against your chest. Rafe went to sit up but you pushed him back down, digging your nails into his chest as you rode him. Rafe’s hips met your own as your own movement started to become sloppier the closer you got your end. Your head tilted back as you let Rafe take over. It wasn’t long before you could feel Rafe’s cock twitching inside you, his thrusts becoming sloppier as he came deep inside you, you following closely behind. You collapsed against Rafe’s chest, feeling both of your liquids dripping down your thighs.

♡♡♡

Your eyes fluttered open in the morning at the sound of someone knocking on your door. You groaned and pulled your pillow over your head, not wanting to get up.

“Ms. Thornton.” You heard Lily call out from the other side. “You have to get up, it’s almost time to leave.”

You opened your eyes and checked the time on your phone, jumping out of bed once you realized the time.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m up.” You told Lily, before you walked over to Rafe, shaking him so he would wake up. “Rafe get the fuck up.”

“What time is it?” He groaned, running his hands over his face.

“It’s time to wake the fuck up.” You said, running around the room to collect your things as you threw them into your suitcase. Rafe slowly got out of the bed and started pulling his pants on.

“Well, good morning to you, too.” He muttered, buttoning his pants.

“Time to do the walk of shame, baby.” You patted his chest as you walked past him to pick your dress up off the floor.

“Where’s my phone?” He asked, pulling his suit jacket on over his unbuttoned shirt.

“Oh, here.” You said, grabbing his phone from under the pillow and handing it to him. You continued moving around the room, trying to grab all your things as he checked his phone.

“I have like a thousand texts from Sofia.” He muttered to himself. “Did you-Did you send her something?”

You stopped what you were doing and squeezed your eyes shut. You needed to come up with something and you needed to do it fast.

“I just…did the hard part for you.” You said with a small smile as you walked past him. Rafe grabbed your elbow and pulled you back towards him.

“You do realize I have to be in a confined space with her, thirty thousand feet in the air in like two hours right?” Rafe asked, pinching the bridge of his nose with his other hand.

“You do realize Sofia’s not completely incompetent right? She would’ve pieced two and two together when you never went back to your room. Maybe she even realized what was going to happen when you sent her back to your room last night.”

“I could’ve at least had a conversation with her.”

“Look, it could go two ways: she could give you the silent treatment, move out of Tannyhill, and never speak to you again or she could yell at you the whole way back to Kildare, move out of Tannyhill, and never speak to you again. I mean it’s not like you’re gonna be flying commercial where everyone can hear you. You’re gonna be on your own plane with just the two of you, a couple flight attendants, and the pilots. So, if she tries to kill you there will at least be witnesses.”

“This isn’t how I wanted to end things with her. I wanted to let her down easy.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m pretty sure I did make things easy for you.” You scoffed, pulling your arm away from Rafe so you could make your way to the bathroom. You took a second before you sighed and turned around. “I’m…sorry. You’re right. What I did was immature and wrong.”

Rafe raked his eyes over you, like he was sizing you up. “What game are you playing, y/n?”

“I’m not playing a game, Rafe.” You scoffed, turning back around to put all your skincare away.

“Bullshit, you’re always playing a game. You never apologize.”

“It’s called maturing, Rafe. I’m trying to take a step in the right direction. No more games, no more fighting, less parties, focusing more on OBX Development.” You sighed and zipped up your skincare bag. Your eyes met Rafe’s in the mirror as you attempted to hide the smirk forming on your face and you turned around to face him. “I’m being serious. Me sending Sofia that picture last night was just my last bit of fun before my frontal lobe develops.”

“Fine.” Rafe sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you really mean what you said about no fighting?”

“Ehh.” You said, rocking your head back and forth. You smiled over at Rafe and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck before placing a small kiss on his lips. “I’ll see you back on Kildare, baby.”

♡♡♡

“How was your night?” Mark asked as the two of you sat on your plane. He was reading Business Insider and you were reading emails on your laptop.

“Everything went exactly to plan.” You muttered, smirking to yourself. “How was your night?

“Actually, it went really well. I think I even got us some new clients.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, they’re interested in building on Kildare, actually.”

“Oh, that’s perfect.”

♡♡♡

“So, are you and Rafe like getting back together?” Sarah asked after you told her and Kie all about your night with Rafe.

“I don’t know, maybe.” You smiled, wrapping your arms around your knees.

“Just be careful, y/n.” Kie sighed. “Rafe doesn’t exactly have the best track record.”

“I know, I just think he’s…different now.”

“Wasn’t it just a couple of days ago you were yelling at him for knocking JJ off his bike?” Kie pointed out.

“Okay, I know that it sounds bad, but seriously I think he’s different. Maybe he just needs to hangout with us for you guys to see he has changed.”

“You want Rafe to hangout with us?” Sarah asked, her eyebrows raising in surprise.

“Come on, I think it can be fun. We invite him to Poguelandia, we have a bonfire, a couple of drinks, a couple of joints. It’ll be a good time.”

“If you think so.” Sarah sighed.

♡♡♡

Rafe stood around with the boys as they tended the fire and you pulled Sarah aside.

“I have a surprise for you.” You smiled, hiding the surprise behind your back.

“Okay.” She said, hesitantly.

“I was talking to Rafe and I may have convinced him to finally give you your inheritance.” You pulled the paperwork out from behind your back and handed it to her.

“Are you serious?” Sarah asked with a big smile, looking down at the paperwork.

“I told Rafe he should be the one to give it to you, but he said he was too nervous. Don’t tell him I told you that, though.”

“Thank you y/n, seriously.” Sarah hugged you tightly.

“Are the guys getting along?” You asked Kie when she came over.

“Well, besides the fact that they’re fighting over how the fire should be handled, I’d say they’re getting along.” Kie nodded.

“Guys, I think we’re finally getting everything we wanted.” You smiled, looking towards the boys.

♡♡♡

taglist: @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account

[marrycv]

dealer!ellie x reader

warmings: smut, car sex, drug talks (weed), dom!ellie, sub!reader, kinda public sex?, swearing, no use of y/n just nicknames. i think thats pretty much all, tell me if i missed something

summary: Ellie has sold you weed a few days ago, you still haven’t give her money and ellie was growing impatient. She needed that money and you needed a new bag of weed. shes not gonna make this easy.

you were searching everywhere for some money, somewhere.. you had to have some left?! Today was the day Ellie said you’d have to pay her back or else- you don’t wanna think about it.

Ellie was the dealer of your college, well not the only one, but the only one who wasn’t super expensive and she looked good, so she was your favourite one. She always had that brown leather jacket and those dirty boots on her. Like she had some kind of attachment to it, she always wore it. What was even more attractive was that she had some dirty smudge eyeliner. not too much but not like it was not enough.

Plus, ellie played guitar and she was one of the rare lesbians in your school. Everything in your type… huh?

you were still looking around your dorm like you just lost something that cost 20K. As if.

Panicking, you received a text message from Ellie.

Ellie 🚬 : im in the parking, come in my car.

you : omw

You took vest and put it own and got out of your dorm. When you arrived in the parking you realized you still didn’t have any money… you were in serious trouble.

you saw Ellie’s old truck and got in. you greeted her with a small ‘hi’ and you look ashamed. Ellie knew that look.

“you dont have the money? is that why you’re so quiet?” Ellie asked.

she saw right through your mind.

she always did

“i know.. im sorry you said it was my last chance.. i just really dont have anything right now and- i dont have weed anymore. no money, no weed… im so sorry” you said as you were feeling so dumb to not pay her back

“fuck.. i really need that money, i gave you two weeks, which i usually dont do” Ellie said, like she was fucking disappointed in you.

“i’d do anything to pay you back, i swear!”

Suddenly, ellie checked you up and down. she had to think for a minute. everything was everything.

and she needed something.

“anything huh?” Ellie repeated

“please i just dont want you to sell me to some freak…” you were saying some kind of nonsense, like a 19 years old would do that

“C’mon, you know i’d never do that to you” she replied

your eyes widened. she was sending goosebumps to your spine.

you sighed, relieved.

“what can i do to pay you, ellie?”

she nodded her head toward the back of her truck “sit back there” she said looking at you with her emerald eyes, piercing through your soul. she had that kind of power over you, and she knew it.

you did as she asked, no question asked either. just did as she told you to, like the good girl you were for her. Ellie smirked at how easy it was to make you do something, she smirked to see how much of power she had over you now that you would do absolutely anything to pay her back. but you also had the choice to just go back home and… her just, taking everything that would come as money for her. taking your tv or something, you owned her a lot of money.

ellie joined you in the back seat, manspreading, her knee touching yours.

you suddenly realized what was happening. like the dumb fool you were. now, your skirt felt too small, your crop top felt too revealing, your palms were sweaty and there was no turning back.

“so how much do you wanna get rid of that depth you have for me, doll?” That nickname made your heart skip a beat.

everything was happening so fast, at first you were saying how sorry you were and now..? ellie wanted to fuck you dumb, as a mother fucking punishment and for her own guilty pleasure.

“you’re gonna need some kind of consequences to your actions, you know that, right?” ellie asked you as she put a strand of hair behind your ear.

“mhm.. yeah” you tried to master. ellie was just making you insane.

she lighted up a joint and started to inhale some of it. her long and veiny fingers were around that joint, making your underwear slightly uncomfortably wet. you looked away when you catched yourself staring. staring like a fucking dog in heat. whatever, it wasn’t something new for someone like you when you were with someone like her.

Ellie handed you the joint, which you welcomely accepted. bringing it to your lips, making eye contact with her as you inhaled the smoke in your lungs. something you could never be tired to feel.

that tension. that tension that could be broke with one word.

you two just, smoked that joint in a painful quiet awful silence. you could hear the noises of your neighbours doing some kind of frat parties or some drunken men in the streets. your heart beating like crazy, you were sure she could hear it too. you were sure she could smell the nervousness out of you.

the way this all seemed normal for her to smoke with one of her untrusted clients. you would never give her the money at the time asked, ellie knew that obviously.

“sit here” ellie finally spoke as she finished her joint, and tapped her lap. you looked at her up and down, she was still manspreading. she was so mesmerizing, hypnotic, you just did as she asked, without asking for any questions. just like when she asked you to come sit in the back of her car.

you would actually do anything she asked

you sat on her lap. putting your hands on her shoulders to steady yourself. you felt something hard from her pants. which made you gasp.

ellie, would just fucking smirk

“i knew you wouldn’t have that money, princess. i just guessed that i had to find something else to make you useful to”

you felt your checks burning and your heart racing faster than it already was.

“you brought your-” before you could continue ellie cut you off

“my cock? yeah.. guessed you needed it to learn from your fucking dumb behaviour”

“i-“

“you dont have to say anything, doll..” she said as she shushed you. her slang finger cupped your lips, which she started to force it to get into your mouth. you opened wide for her, sucking on her fingers. moaning at the taste her fingers felt on your tongue, you could taste sweat and weed. you found yourself so fucking addicted to it.

she then, kissed you. into a sloppy french kiss, her tongue already in your mouth, dancing with yours. you could feel you wanting more, you could feel ellie wanting more- the way she was grabbing your neck with one hand and your hip with her other, to make you closer to her, as it was even possible. you moaned against her lips, which made ellie fucking crazy.

“so needy huh?” she asked more to herself than at you

her kisses went down to your neck and you found yourself titling your head to the side to give her more access and you also started rubbing yourself against her thigh. needing to add something on your clit that was aching in attention. you were in heaven yet, you wanted to go higher.

she felt you rubbing against her which she took both of her hands on your hips and helped guiding you. you were a whimpering mess and she was kissing the fuck out of your neck- probably making purple marks on it which you absolutely loved to feel. you loved to feel how she made them so you just didnt care if you would wake up tomorrow all purple.

“ellie..” you said, in a whine, needing more

“what? i need your words angel, speak up.”

“i-i need more, please” you were so desperate, you didn’t know how much more you could ask her but you wanted all of what she reserved for you.

“see? you’re such a good girl when you can baby” she said as her hands went on your thighs, making its way under it and under your underwear. But she obviously needed to take her time with you, she loved to tease you. your hips your rocking over her fingers that still haven’t even touched your clit. that made ellie go so fucking confident. the weed started its effects and you felt yourself so much more in need of her touch. you were 10 times more sensitive, ellie the same as you. she was literally holding herself to not stretch you open with her 7inches dick she got just for you.

her fingers did its way under your underwear. running your juices everywhere on your pussy- making you jolt in pain. you just couldn’t take it. you just couldnt endure all that torture.

“ellie, fuck… please”

“dont be so impatient, you fucking deserve it- you little fucking slut, thinking you’ll get that as a reward, yeah? nah, your fucking wrong. so so wrong. your gonna have to wait, princess”

her nasty comments were just making you wetter and wetter. you just could moan at her words as her fingers were everywhere but your clit.

she finally decided to add some pressure on it. making your back arch at the sudden pression you desperately needed.

after a moment, she turned you, making your back face her. she took off her pants and took off your skirt and underwear. you were a bit curious but at the same time you knew what you were about to get.

but you were still surprised when the tip of her strap entered into your hole. making you gasp.

“take fucking it” ellie said whispering in your ear as she started to trust into you without any mercy. she wasn’t soft, didn’t let you adjust for her. it hurted so good.

“ellie! fuck” you moaned out, the pain was turning into pleasure as you started to trust your hips with her trusts.

as she was fucking you dumb with her dick, she brought her hand against your clit and did circle motions against it, which made you cry in pleasure. you needed to be quieter or the whole city would wake up.

Ellie placed her free hand on your neck and threatened you to be quiet while we mouvements were going surprisingly faster as you thought that wasn’t even possible.

she had no mercy and your cries made her only rougher against you. the strap was hitting just perfectly on her clit which made some grunts escape from her beautiful lips.

“els! im gonna- im gonna cum!” you said as you felt your high approaching.

“dont you fucking dare!” ellie said as she was trying to reach her orgasm with trusting in you harder and faster.

her mouvements started to stutter and she was slowing down, she was reaching it

“fuck cum with me yeah?” ellie said as you both then came together.

“fuuuuuckkkk!” you moaned as she was still in you, riding out your orgasm. never had one that powerful, it felt like fireworks. she made you feel something none else could ever make you feel.

“you did so good for me doll.”

you smiled as you both cleaned each others up

this is my first fanfic here, i hope yall enjoyed it 😭

[fictionalreads]

This Was Never Meant to Be What It Feels Like (Part 3)

A/N: Heeeeeeey...How y'all doing?....I know it's been a couple weeks when I said days but a part of this just did not want to be written! Also, this one is a bit of a beast, just over 5,200 words. This is the final part of this lil mini series, I hope y'all enjoy and the conclusion is satisfying for you guys.

Part 1 Part 2

Pairing: Armando Aretas x Original Female Character

Fandom: Bad Boys Movies

Prompt: Mike gets a couple visits, Shay has some news and Armando makes a decision.

Warnings⚠️: Cussing, Mentions of bad parental relationships, uh.... I think that's it for this one.

Mike Lowrey was no stranger to being called into back rooms for an off the books meeting. What was unusual was the CBI agent waiting for him when last time he checked none of the cases he had been part of lately had anything to warrant federal attention. Well, besides the one with his son but he had been cleared almost a full year ago now and Julie had corroborated his story. Nah, this was something new.

“Officer Lowrey, I’m Agent Garrett with the California Bureau of Investigations. Please have a seat.” She was standing at her full height on the other side of the table while gesturing to one of two chairs in the room, the only one near him. He saw straight through her bullshit tactics to make him feel like she was in charge and had the upper hand.

“It’s Detective Lowrey and think I’ll stand. Now why don’t you cut the shit and tell me what the hell you want.” Her jaw tensed and he just barely managed to hold back a smirk. She wouldn’t get what she wanted by using the same perp tricks he had been using when she was still in diapers. You can’t bullshit the bullshitter.

Coming clean, she began, “I’ve been put in charge of running a task force out in LA, similar to your AMMO squad here. Our goal is to find and stop cartel drug from entering the country, maybe stop a few murders while we’re at it.”

So this was about Armando, just more recently than he thought. Damn son of his was definitely payback for the hell he raised when he was younger. If he was back on his shit, he might not be able to help him this time.

“Sounds like a good idea. I wish you luck,” he stated, feigning ignorance as to what this was really about.

“Your son Armando Aretas has many connections on the west coast that could be useful. Figured I could use him to knock down some of my open cases.”

She clearly had found out their connection, but he still wasn’t sure what she wanted from him. “I don’t know if you’ve been watching the news lately, but my son isn’t here in Miami. He’s been on the run for the better part of a year. I don’t know where he is.”

“You’re his father.” Agent Garrett takes the chair on her side of the table. “If anybody could find him, it’d be you. You’d know where to look right?” The flattery, the subtle leading questions to confirm what she believed and the sitting gave her away.

She was desperate.

If he had to guess, those open case files were all big cases that had her boss breathing down her neck. She’d probably been given an ultimatum with her job on the line and now she was desperate to do anything that would get her back on top, including working with a wanted man.

Mike sat. “What are the terms?”

“Terms?”

“What does Armando get in exchange for helping you?”

She looked at him in disbelief. “Terms are you don’t go to prison for aiding and abetting a murderer and he doesn’t get a bullet in his head immediately. Don’t know if you know this but cops aren’t a big hit in prison and I’m betting that’s especially true for you.”

“Don’t fucking insult me, please. Aiding and abetting implies I know where he is and I’m actively helping him. I’ve already told you I don’t know where he is. But like you said I’m your best shot at finding him. I’m also your best chance at not getting your men killed and losing him again. I’m not doing this shit without some assurances on his end. So I’ll ask again. What does he get for helping you?”

She shook her head. “You know when I came up with this whole thing, I did my my research on you. Figured I should know who I was getting into bed with. Everything I read told me you were one hell of a cop, always got your guy and made Miami just that much safer. Are you, this great cop, really going to bat for a murderer like him?”

That was where her approach was faulty. She was trying to appeal to his cop side, but he was a father first. “No, I, a father, am protecting my son.”

“I can offer him protective custody, knock some time off his sentence depending on how fruitful his tips are.” She offered lightly.

Too lightly. This was her throwaway offer, the one she knew was shit but was hoping he’d take anyway. So he called her bluff.

“He won’t come in for that. He had that deal with me already. All the shit that went down last year? The bodies dropped had to be put on someone and he got ‘em since he was a convicted felon, one that was alive and a part of the mess. Not to mention he ran off and became a fugitive. He’s looking at almost double what his sentence was when I arrested him. You’ll have to do better.”

Agent Garrett seemed to be debating with herself. She let out a heavy breath,”I’ve been authorized to grant him a special deal.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

“What kind of deal?”

“The kind that puts my ass on the line.”

Something about this whole interaction was bugging him. “Tell me something. Why are you willing to put your badge on the line for someone you clearly can’t stand?”

“I don’t trust Aretas. But this isn’t about me. Its about making my city safer. His intel could be the key to shutting down major operations. He has connections everywhere, and that’s what I care about. I’m not putting myself on the line for him, I’m doing it for my city.”

“You sure you’re not doing it for your bosses? They up yo ass about getting shit done?”

“I proposed using Aretas. They were against it. Said we were cleaning up just fine but I’m tired of cleaning up after the fact and only getting low level dealers. I want to cut this thing off at the head.”

“At the end of the day that’s my son. I need to know that somebody has his back. Why should I trust that that’s you?”

“Like I said this is my proposal. My bosses made it clear that if he fails I fail. He gives me the wrong intel, he leads us astray, he turns on us, I’m fired. I’m just as invested in his success because I have something to lose too.”

“What’s the offer?”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

“Hi, I’m looking for Mike Lowrey?” Shay swallowed down the feeling of nausea, hoping it was just the nerves making her feel this way.

“He’s not in at the moment, but I’m his wife Christine. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Shay hesitates. Could she do anything? Hell she wasn’t sure what this Mike Lowrey could do for her either. She flew all the way to Miami, and for what? Some detective Armando had left the name of in case she needed help? This was a bad idea. She knew he was a cop, and after looking him up a supposedly good one, but how could she trust him when he socialized with a murderer? Ignoring her own dalliances with the man, she could only think about the fact that Detective Mike Lowrey had sworn to arrest people like Armando, not be someone they trusted.

She felt overwhelmed for the millionth time in the past month and a half and was debating just leaving when Christine offered, “why don’t you come in? Mike should be home soon and you can wait inside for him instead of in the heat.”

She wasn’t sure if it was the heat, Christine's sweet voice coupled with the endearing British accent or the way her face screamed warmth, but she found herself saying, “yeah. Yeah okay.”

Christine opened the door wider for her to enter and Shay marveled at the inside of the house as much as she had the outside. This guy was definitely a dirty cop. There was no way he was able to afford this on a detective’s salary. What the hell was she getting herself into?

“Please have a seat,” she gestured towards the couch.  It looked like it was more for the aesthetic than actual use but she was pleasantly surprised to find it very comfortable. “Would you like something to drink? I have water and that disgusting stuff my husband calls sweet tea,” Christine joked.

“Water is fine,” she replied with a smile. Shay watched as Christine stepped past a wall into what she assumes was the kitchen. The creeping sensation of nausea hit her once more. Digging in her purse and finding a ginger chew, she didn’t see Christine come back in the room with a bottle of water. Almost instantaneously she felt relief, so maybe it was all psychosomatic. Just her nerves going haywire.

“How far along are you?” Shay startled at the question.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.

“It’s okay. What makes you think I’m pregnant?”

“I saw the chew and just assumed.” 

She didn’t believe that for a second. “Some assumption based off just a ginger chew. What if I just like them?”

“Honestly the chew was just the cherry on top for my assumption. You hold yourself the same way my sister held herself when she was pregnant for the first time. A bit unsure, scared definitely, but ready for war all the same.”

Well, damn. She didn’t know she gave off that much with just how she stood.

Ignoring how unexpectedly open she felt, she answered Christine’s question from before.“Thirteen weeks.” Suddenly Shay realized how this could look, a random pregnant woman showing up looking for her husband and not telling her what she wants, so she quickly explained. “It’s not your husband’s!”

Christine laughed brightly, “Oh darling the thought never crossed my mind. Mike may have once been that guy, but he’s not anymore. He’s a good man.” Shay kept her doubts to herself.

“Christine? Who’s car is that out front?” The man she assumed to be Mike Lowrey was juggling a duffle bag and struggling to get his keys out of the door, not once looking in their direction.

Smirking like it was a game, Christine replied, “It’s a rental.”

“Why do we need a rental?” He finally looked up, noticing Shay in the room. She could see his guard go right back up.

“Mike, this is Shay. She was hoping to speak with you,” his wife explained to him.

“Do I know you?” He was blunt but not unkind with his words, something she hoped would continue in their conversation.

“Mike!” Christine admonished before turning to Shay with, “Please, excuse Mike. He can bring his interrogation tactics into other parts of his life sometimes.”

“It’s okay. If a random woman showed up saying she needed to speak to me, I’d probably question it too.” She was hoping her understanding would get her some traction and not immediately thrown out when he found out why she was here.

Mike still held caution in his face. “So…?” He left the obvious question unspoken, wondering who she was and why she was here in his home.

Shay paused. She wasn’t sure how to bring it up and didn’t want to say anything in front of his wife in case she truly had no clue her husband was a dirty cop. She may have been desperate enough to find this guy,  but she wasn’t going to be the one to ruin this poor woman’s marriage.

Luckily Christine picked up on her reluctance to speak in front of an audience and excused herself. “I’m going to head upstairs for a moment, give you two some time to talk.”

While Shay relaxed, Mike tensed. Once Christine was gone, he questioned her. “Who the hell are you and what do you want?”

“I was told if I ever needed anything, I should find you.”

Mike carefully focused his attention on sitting his duffle near the armchair, going to take a seat himself. He might not be looking directly at her anymore, but she knew all of his attention was on her as he spoke. “Who the fuck told you that? Better yet, why my house? Why not meet me in the station?”

Ignoring the second question, she replied, “Armando Aretas.”

Mike’s head snapped back to her. She was almost concerned for his neck with how fast he moved.

Continuing at his silence she said, “I figured you wouldn’t want to discuss him at work.”

“What about him?”

“He was in LA a few months ago.”

He first whispered to himself, “Dumbass don’t listen.” Then he spoke louder, clearly to her this time, “What does this have to do with you and why you’re here?”

She wasn’t sure where to start. How does one tell a dirty cop working for one’s murderer baby daddy that you need him to tell said baby daddy you were pregnant? “We were…together. I’m pregnant now.” She hoped he would catch on without her spelling it out but he didn’t.

Instead, Mike blinked. “What?” A million unidentifiable emotions ran over his face before he carefully shut it down, facing her with no emotion at all now.

“I am with child, in the family way, carrying a bun in the oven, whatever you want to call it.” There was still no response from him so she continued her rant, “look I’m not asking for him to come back or pay for anything. I’m fully prepared to take care of this kid myself, but not even trying to tell him was weighing on my conscience. So I figured if I found you like he said, you could pass on the message for me. I just need to be able to know I did everything I could to let him know.”

She had prepared for a lot of responses to her plea. Anger on Armando’s behalf, a dismissal, hell even laughter at her audacity, but his next words were ones she somehow missed in her spiral. “I’m not in contact with him.”

Shay tried not to be hurt at his response, not for herself, but for her baby. Okay, well a little bit for herself. She was in love with the man-yes, still- and knowing he truly didn’t leave a way to contact him again crushed the little bit of hope his note had left behind. Why would he send her to Mike if it wasn’t a way to get in touch with him? “So why would he tell me to find you?”

A pause.

“Armando’s my son.”

The statement was so far from what she was expecting to hear that she paused. “Wait so you don’t…you don’t work for him? With him? Whatever.”

Mike laughed loudly, “nah, I don’t work in that world. I stand by the badge.”

“So how did he…?” She trailed off, confused.

“Look our situation is…complicated, but if he sent you in my direction I’m gonna help you in any way I can. I mean, I’d love to get to know you and be in my grandchild’s life if you’ll let me.” His words were reminiscent of the night she had asked Armando about his family. He too had called his relationship with his father complicated.

Despite the unknown of it all, his offer was partly the reason she had found Mike. A family for her child, something she never really had. “Yeah. Yeah I’d like that.” It may not be exactly what she was looking for, but she would take what she could get. At least her baby would have some connection to their father’s side of the family. But she still had a question, one that had no answer now that her assumptions were corrected.

“So if you aren’t dirty, how do you afford living like this?”

Mike let out a laugh louder than the one from before. “I’m a trust fund kid. Never really had to work but all I’ve ever wanted was to be a cop.”

“Sounds like one hell of a trust fund,” she scoffed.

Turning serious he impressed, “One that continues to grow from a few investments made along the way. This kid will have that same freedom. They’ll be able to do whatever they want in life and never have to worry about money.”

That statement alone almost made her cry. She didn’t have much growing up, wondering if she and her mother would even be able to eat everyday. When she had found out she was pregnant, despite making more money than her mother did she found herself worrying her child would have those same experiences.

She may not have Armando, a partner she’d hoped to have, but he had made sure she had everything she needed.

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Habitual but flexible.

That was Armando’s motto. Habitual in the precautions he took but flexible enough everywhere else to not create patterns. Patterns were how you got caught, and Armando refused to be put in another cage. He always double checked his locks when he left his place, checked his surroundings before leaving and arriving at his place so as not to run into his neighbors. The less people who could identify him the better.

Which is why seeing his door wide open as he turned onto his street was so unsettling.

Normally he would just leave town, dump this alias and start over with another elsewhere, but there were a few things he didn’t want to part with. Upon his first return to Mexico, he had managed to find his mother’s emergency stash and in it was a photo of the two of them before he was forced out of the prison when he turned six. Despite his conflicted feelings on his mother’s choices and the lies she told him, he still loved her and this was all he had left of her.

If she were around she’d chastise his sentimentality.

He also had a letter his father had written him when he left Miami that he kept because even with the complexity of their relationship, he still wished he’d had the opportunity to get to know him. He wished he could have done things differently. That letter may be his only chance to know his father, even a little bit.

The last thing was a photo of Shay. He had taken it one morning before he left on a polaroid camera she had lying around. The sun had been rising and he remembered wishing what they had could be real, that he could stay in bed and wake up with her instead of having to run out and lie all the time. It was the only thing he had left of the only relationship he’d ever have again.

So he weighed his options. Either he went in and fought whoever was there, grabbed his things and hopefully made it out in time to not get caught, or he left now and hoped whoever it was left without calling for backup so he could get his things before leaving town. He either risked his freedom or he risked losing the only items that reminded him of his humanity forever.

He pulled his gun and carefully made his way into the apartment he’d called home for a couple weeks.

“Don’t shoot, it’s just me.”

Armando relaxed, but kept his gun in his hand. “What are you doing here Detective?” His tone was snippy, as though his father speaking to him was a bother. He knew that wasn’t true, but it was like he couldn’t help the animosity that came out when he spoke to his father. No matter how much he’d love to try with the man, he’d just get so angry about it all that it came out confrontational.

“What? A man can’t see his son?” Mike didn’t rise to the obvious bait of his tone, instead trying to lighten the mood with a tease.

Armando simply raised an eyebrow at the deflection. “Not when that man is a decorated detective and his son is a fugitive,” he coldly stated. He needed to know what Mike wanted so he could get on with his life. Who knows how many eyes are on the man, he was risking Armando’s freedom, not that he seemed to care. Irritated at the lack of concern for him, he accused, “you risked the badge once just to let me go, you won’t risk it again, not even for me. It means too much to you.” I don’t mean enough to you went unsaid but not unheard.

“Armando I’d risk everything for you.” The fight left Mike, and he sighed, finding a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re my son and I know I’m not the best at showing it, but that shit means something to me. Our relationship means something to me. I didn’t have the best relationship with my father so I told myself I wouldn’t have kids cause I didn’t want to repeat the cycle. But then I found out about you. And despite the fact that circumstances made it so it isn’t easy, I still don’t want the cycle to be repeated. I love you man. I’ll do whatever you need me to, to prove that to you. Including walking away if you say no to my proposal.”

There it was. The real reason he was here now, he needed something like always. Armando put his gun away in exasperation. He was so tired of just being used that he couldn’t help but get a jab in. “Whatever man. This don’t mean shit to you. It’s all transactional for you, I’m good enough to help you get what you want and that’s why you come around. So what is it this time?”

“Is that what you think? That I don’t care about you?” What the hell else was he supposed to think?

“If you did, you would have come to see me in prison without needing my help on a case.” He argued before quietly following up with, “I would have been enough of a reason to visit.” He hated when this stupid hurt boy routine flared up. He looked weak, like una puta.

Mike stood and stepped close to Armando. Refusing to back down, Armando met his stare head on, ignoring the way his throat was getting tight and tears were pooling in his eyes. “Armando I never needed you on those cases. I knew that if I could get intel from you and put you down on paper, it would help you out. I was trying to help.” He blinked and a single tear made its way down his face. It was too much now and he had to look away.

Mike placed a hand on his shoulder, continuing, “I love you. Nothing is more real than that. If I had known you would take my help as me using you, I never would’ve asked for your help.”

Facing his father once more, Armando spoke lowly, “Si lo hubieras sabido, ¿te habría importado?” He didn’t explain what he meant, knowing his father understood what he was asking.

“Nada me hubiera importado más.” Mike asserted.

He nodded, finally having an answer to the question that had been burning inside him. He focused on the reason Mike was in front of him, not the emotions his answer stirred in him. “What’s the proposal?” He asked much more calmly this time around.

“LAPD is starting up a team like AMMO. They were hoping to recruit you to be a part of it, use your knowledge to help stop cartel drugs from entering the states.”

“And go back in a cage? No I’m good.” He shook his head, a clear no coming from him.

“You wouldn’t be arrested again, you’d be put up in an apartment. Free to walk the city after an initial probationary period of just work and home. After that, there would be twenty-four hour surveillance, random drug tests and check-ins. Eventually you would become a private citizen.”

It sounded like a trap. “If I don’t give them what they want I get arrested right?”

“Yeah, but I have all the faith you’ll be great at it. Plus I made sure it was as ironclad for you as possible.”

“Why would I agree to this? Sounds like a lot could go wrong and land me back in prison. If that happens I’m never getting out again.”

“You aren’t the killer your mother made you into. You only did any of it because she fueled you with rage and ideas of revenge before she pointed you at a target. If you were really a killer, you would’ve killed me anyway. You live by a code, and only do what’s necessary. No more, no less.”

Sometimes when he was feeling really low he’d think about what his life would have been like if he’d had a normal life. Would he have chosen violence anyway? He’d like to think he’d hav e chosen to protect. Maybe be a firefighter or an EMT cause he was still an adrenaline junkie, but maybe he wouldn’t have to hurt anybody. If his father was saying the same thing he thought, then maybe he could believe it to be true. Before he could think on it, his father spoke once more, shifting his whole world.

“Besides, Shay’s pregnant. We not giving another generation of Lowrey these bullshit daddy issues.”

❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

Six Months Later

“Marcus we ain’t got time for that shit.”

“I just asked the man a question!”

“No, you used the question as a cover to try and buy some damn skittles.”

“Oh so now you the skittle police? I thought we worked narcotics?”

“Yo ass ain’t supposed to have that shit and you know it. Don’t try to make it out like I’m the one that’s going overboard.”

“Aye Mike what would they call the skittle department? The rainbow division? Don’t worry everybody! Mike Lowry is working the rainbow!”

“That’s homophobic.”

“It’s the slogan! What else would it be called Mike?”

“Why the fuck are you here?”

“Man fuck you-“

“Your presence really wasn’t needed-“

“I’m just trying to be a good friend-“

“This is a moment for my family-“

“And now I’m not family to you?!”

“You called my family fucked up remember?”

“Yo son was tryna kill us and his mama was gonna let us burn in a fire!”

“Are you pendejos done?”

“Mike! That mean assholes right?”

“Yeah he just called us assholes. But Imma let it slide cause he got to be high on that new father shit to call me an asshole.”

“Nah I just think he don’t respect you. That’s what you get for not raising him. My boys would never.”

“Marcus!”

Shay knew this could devolve again if she didn’t get their attention. “Guys! Do you want to meet her?”

The men focused their attention on the baby Shay was holding against her chest. Marcus visibly melted at the sight, Mike simply softening his shoulders with a small smile. 

Armando joined Shay, leaning on the bed using a finger to trace down their daughter’s arm. When he spoke, he kept his eyes on his daughter. “This is Amada Rose Lowrey.”

“Lowrey?”Mike coughed.

Armando shrugged. “I wasn’t actually an Aretas, I was supposed to be a Lowrey. Figured she and I could claim our real family name.”

Mike nodded. “That’s cool man. Real cool,” he choked out.

“Awe Mike,” Marcus cried.

“Mm-mm Marcus. Stop it right now.”

“But Mike he’s taking your last name!”

Ignoring his bumbling partner, Mike walks over to Shay, giving her a kiss on the forehead. “How you doing Mama?”

“Extremely sore, but happy.”

“Well you did good, she’s beautiful.”

“You wanna hold her?”

Knowing his father’s aversion to holding babies, he goads hims, “Yeah Papa, wanna hold her?”

Surprising them all, he said, “You know what? I will.”

Shay handed her daughter over to Mike, making sure he supported her head correctly.

Armando joined Shay on the bed and wrapped her in his arms now that she wasn’t holding the baby. He simply watched his father holding and whispering to his baby girl with fond eyes, knowing his daughter would know nothing but love and presence from the man. They would have a real relationship right from the start. He and Mike themselves had been working on things, talking through the lies and anger and getting to a better place.

“How’s work? They give you any time off?” Marcus asked him.

In the end there hadn’t been a choice. He was going to be present in his child’s life, no matter what and sneaking into LA would just get riskier every time he did it. If he didn’t get caught just trying to get to his family, he would’ve gotten caught because if how much he would’ve been there to see them. And he’d be damned if he was raising his child from behind bars so he took Agent Garrett up on her offer.

He turned to face his uncle, replying, “Good, we wrapped a case a day before Shay went into labor. I’ll have about a couple weeks at home with the girls before I’m expected back.” 

It had somewhat surprised him how seriously Marcus had taken to being his uncle. The man was supportive of his new role with the LAPD and called almost as often as his father did, checking in and making sure he was being safe. Seeing him at the hospital now wasn’t a shock at all.

“I’m just glad they gave him any time at all,” Shay interrupted. As his employment with the LAPD wasn’t under normal circumstances, he wasn’t sure if they’d grant him time at home with his girls. Agent Garrett had stuck her neck out for him once again and gotten him twelve days exactly.

Armando leaned down and kissed her, forever grateful for the woman who stood by his side despite his past. She had lost a couple friends when they found out who he was, the ones that stayed had definitely judged her and never truly came around to him as a person. She never wavered though, taking it all with grace and holding his hand as they planed for their future. He couldn’t wait to ask her to marry him.

Amada let out a cry, disrupting his internal debate on the pros and cons of asking her right that moment. He knew it probably meant she was hungry again, so he shifted his hold on Shay so she could get the b baby again and feed her.

“I think that’s a cry for mommy,” Mike chimed as he passed the baby back.

“Yeah Mike you ain’t got the right equipment,” Marcus tossed out.

Mike turned to Marcus incredulously. “Now why would you say some dumb shit like that?”

“You don’t!”

Armando turned his attention from the bickering men, whispering to his little family, “Here they go.”

Honestly, though? He wouldn’t trade his family for nothing.

A/N: Don't forget to leave a comment or reblog/like! What did we think? I have a few other ideas in mind for Armando but I'm not sure how they'll play out, so I'm CAUTIOUSLY open to prompt from you guys for drabbles. Please keep in mind that I can't do smut.😅

Translations:

Una Puta - A bitch

Si lo hubieras sabido, ¿te habría importado? - If you had known, would you have cared?

Nada me hubiera importado más. -Nothing would have mattered to me more.

Pendejos - Assholes

Taglist:

@yeahnohoneybye @bootlegroach @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful

[babystrcandy]

the lucky one (pt. 5) | jjk

summary: Growing up you only had one goal: beat Jeon Jungkook. Sometimes you'd win, other times you'd lose. Sometimes he'd lose, other times he'd win. But you'd both walk away from the match thinking the other was the lucky one.

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | sports au, e2l/r2l, angst, fluff, smut word count: 27.7K chapter summary: You and Jungkook had always endured your lives, watching everyone else live theirs. It was time you helped each other learn how to finally breathe like real people. warnings/notes: typos probably, explicit language, jk and oc are the sun and moon 100%, hoseok i’m going to kiss you, karaoke..., yoonmin (i don’t ship them irl, don’t worry; all fictional and for plot purposes), panic attacks, poem referenced: mock orange by louise gluck a barbie dream house but all the dolls are kitchen knives by cassandra de alba, oc and jk are like so in love it’s not even funny anymore, oc in her mid-2521 na heedo era, she’s not doing too good, reporters are vultures, mention of king lear, i’m telling you they’re embarrassingly in love, unprotected soft sex like...soft-soft extra soft, mention of icarus/the fall of icarus, i think that’s it but if i missed anything please let me know, i hope you enjoy, my loves <3

chapter five: violet, roses are red, not blue ( ← previous | next → )  

FIVE WAYS YOU CAN Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

OK . . .

You blinked once. Twice. Then once more, trying to make sense of the words before your eyes.

The thing was: you’d dealt with anxiety before. Hell, you’d been taking to biting your nails until they bled for a while now. You knew how it felt to peel over the edge of a toilet and empty your stomach’s contents just before a game. But . . . you never knew how to handle it or how to deal with it in such abundant measures.

Why were you looking into it now one may ask? Easy. You didn’t care much about how much you could endure, because truth be told: you knew you could handle it. You knew it would pass and while it sucked, you knew it was something you could deal with. And besides, you could deal with a lot, so . . . 

But . . . 

There were certain things that made sense to you. While you knew you could deal with everything on your plate . . . and while . . . while you knew Jungkook could handle himself . . . for some reason, you just didn’t want him to have to. 

It was an odd thing: realizing you’d rather deal with both your problems and his than let him suffer. You supposed that was what it meant to be friends, though . . . and well . . . you’d never really had any, so this was all new territory for you.

So ever since a few months ago when Jungkook told you about what happened to him just last year, you’d taken to the internet. You spent countless hours researching anxiety disorders, how to help, what to say, what to do, and on the off chance he had a panic attack near you, you’d taken to researching what to do then, too.

It made you feel a little stupid, yes, but you didn’t know how else to help. You didn’t want to make him feel . . . different for telling you, but you also . . . you didn’t want him to feel so alone anymore. (You’d even bought a book on it all (it only made you feel more clueless). 

Now . . . you didn’t know much, but you hoped the research would do something. And perhaps it wasn’t too far off either. After all, you’d been helping Jungkook stay away from booze as much as possible, even deciding to stay sober with him and you thought it was helping some. But you knew the late night talks were what helped more. You didn’t know how to say this without sounding full of yourself, but you liked to think you were helping him. 

That was what you truly wanted. To help him in ways you couldn’t help yourself. You could handle everything as long as he didn’t have to. That . . . that was what felt right to you.

So . . . five ways you can help someone with an anxiety disorder, you read again. You felt a little more than clueless. Still.

“Hey, Sunshine—“ Jungkook called for you, snapping you out of your own mind— “come look. It’s done.”

Blinking quickly, you clicked off your phone out of habit, realizing where you were. A tattoo parlor.

Yeah . . . 

It was the weekend of the final tournaments. The win or lose all, and Yunis was up there right next to the big leagues. How? All because of Jungkook. These past few months you and him had been unbeatable. Sure, you’d lost a few, but . . . more often than not, the two of you would end a match with grins on your faces moments before you jumped into his arms and just let yourself . . . celebrate with him.

That was how it had been. You and Jungkook against the world. And to be honest, you quite liked it that way. (Granted, after your little outburst, your teammates had stopped talking about Jungkook altogether and started to . . . almost but not really but also kind of . . . respect him more (except Wooshik, but whatever). That made things a whole lot better, but it was still just you and him and you were sure it would be for the rest of the season.)

Anyway . . . you were getting off-topic. 

The point was: it was almost the weekend of the final tournaments and Yunis was staying at some hotel somewhere in Ulsan. And well, while you and Jungkook were watching some movie in his hotel room, he got an idea. He wanted a new tattoo. For good luck, he’d claimed, and you . . . you hadn’t gotten a tattoo since that one mistake of one. But somehow, someway, Jungkook had managed to drag you out of the hotel and into the nearest tattoo shop he could find on the GPS. 

Which landed you there: sitting in the waiting area while Jungkook went first. (He wanted it to be a surprise. That was what he told you, which you thought was a little silly, but whatever.)

And then it would be your turn. 

Actually . . . 

You turned to face Jungkook, taking in the dopey grin he had spread across his face while he peeked at you through the door leading to the tattooing room. It was your turn.

“Hmm?” you hummed in questioning.

Jungkook shook his head. “Come look,” he repeated as he gestured for you to follow him. “And then I’ve got a couple ideas for yours. Don’t let me forget. And don’t pretend to forget. Got it?”

You rolled your eyes with a huff, but nevertheless, followed after him, shutting the door behind you. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of the artist, but, well, you had never been good at greeting people, so what should’ve been a small greeting wave, turned into you just staring at him with some kind of . . . smile on your face. And when you realized that was so not the way to go, you turned your attention back to Jungkook, grabbing onto the loop of his jeans as he led you to the mirror on the other side of the room.

Jungkook glanced to where you clung onto him, raising his brows as he looked between your face and your hand. “Good?”

You blinked. Then realized what you were doing. Then well . . . you cleared your throat and attempted to tear your hand from his body, but before you could, his fingers curled around your wrist. And without a second glance, Jungkook guided your hand back to him, allowing it to slip into his back pocket. 

All you could do was stare at the back of his head in shock. His dark hair was long now. Longer than it had ever been, to the point it could only be tied back with a hair tie or it’d be in his face all day, which was his go-to most days considering the days were long and hot. And somehow, he looked more like himself like that. He seemed to smile more, too, and you always managed to smile back even when you least expected it.

But you couldn’t help it. He was just . . . well . . .

(Sometimes he made you wonder if you should really find your friend this attractive but you ignored that most days.)

Whatever . . . the point was: you had trouble wrapping your head around his touch; around the fact that while he wasn’t exactly yours, he didn’t mind your hands on him at any time. No one had ever liked your touch this much. You had always been too cold; too harsh; too rough, but around him, you felt like your touch was almost . . . soft.

And that was what always shocked you.

“Are you drooling?” Jungkook asked, snapping you out of your own head.

Only then did you realize you had been staring at him for quite a while now, and well, he would always tease you about that. Because he was . . . Jungkook.

Your brows scrunched together. “What?”

But he didn’t bother to repeat his question. No, instead, he took his thumb and swiped at your bottom lip, inspecting it in thought. “Yep, just as I thought—“ he jutted his thumb toward you— “drool.”

Glaring, you stepped closer. “I don’t drool,” you nearly huffed.

“Mmm, that’s not what the evidence says.”

“It’s chapstick.”

“Really?”

“Really.” You glared a little harder. “Will you just show the tattoo?”

Jungkook only grinned.

And then, he turned his attention to his tattooed arm, slowly pulling up the sleeve of his shirt. Your eyes stayed trained on his arm the entire time, expecting some sort of skull or something stupid, but instead . . . no . . . as he pulled up his sleeve, he revealed a vine of some sort of blue flowers traveling from the empty space left on his lower forearm to his hand, covered by a saniderm wrap.

“What flower’s that?” you questioned, eyes still trained on the fresh tattoo as you carefully brought your hand to his arm. 

“Morning glories,” he hummed while he watched you slowly turn his arm to get the full view. “My mom says they’re a pain. They grow everywhere like weeds. Once you plant one, that’s it, she says. They grow like wildfire. A nuisance.” He laughed softly. “Figured it fit.”

“It’s pretty,” you murmured with a small smile. “Fits the rest.” You tilted your head to the side a little. “Kinda looks like the snake is wrapping around it.”

Jungkook nodded. “Cool, right?”

It was. It actually really was. 

“It’s nice,” you settled with instead, feigning disinterest. 

But Jungkook knew you well. “Admit it,” he pushed on, leaning toward you. “Admit you’re impressed.”

Nearly rolling your eyes, you finally huffed, “Yes, fine, it’s actually cool, Kook.”

“So I’ve impressed you?”

“Well, considering I thought you were going to get a dick, yes, I suppose I’m impressed,” you muttered with a small shrug. 

Jungkook snorted. “Well.”

Oh god. No, he didn’t.

Furrowing your brows, you pegged the question, “Please tell me you did not get a dick and balls tattooed on you.”

His face screwed up as he tilted his head to the side in thought.  “Well . . . “

“Kook.”

Pursing his lips into a cute pout, he offered you his other hand, showing off his fingers. And there on his ring finger was the number three, and on his middle was a sideways U. Meaning, yes, Jeon Jungkook did, in fact, get a small yet visible yet inconspicuous yet not that inconspicuous at all, penis tattooed on his fingers. And no, no, you were not surprised.

“Really?” you deadpanned.

Jungkook shrugged. “Whoops.”

“As long as you don’t think this is a matching tattoo kind of thing,” you started off with your finger pointing directly into his chest. “Because, I’m telling you right now, Jungkook, I am not getting a dick tattooed on my body.”

And Jungkook only snorted, shaking his head. “No, god, I’m stupid, not an idiot. I have my designs in my bag.”

Designs? Your brows twitched. He spent that much time on this? But—

But Jungkook was already one step ahead of you, walking from you toward where his bag lay on the ground beside the tattoo chair. He rummaged through its contents until he clasped his hand around a small sketchbook before he took it out and reapproached you, already flipping through it.

Flip, flip, flip . . . and flip, until . . . he paused on a page and slowly offered it toward you with an almost shy (?) look on his face. Jungkook, shy? You almost didn’t believe it, but still, you took the sketchbook from him without another word, letting your eyes take in the sketch before your eyes.

It was another flower. Well, a stem with a few flowers. Yellow this time. And a little different from Jungkook’s. Perhaps it was a little more peculiar. 

“It’s an evening primrose,” Jungkook began while your eyes stayed trained on the sketch, still analyzing it. “My mom used to have them in our garden back home. They, uh, only bloom at night. I remember every night we’d watch them. They’d do this little shake and—“ he laughed, softly at first, then a little louder— “my mom would say it was like they were yawning.”

You traced your fingertips over the sketch, remembering your own little memories of the silly flowers. That was why you remembered them. They were your mom’s favorite. She used to plant like five batches each spring and force you to come outside and watch them with her, and yes, you said force because you had always been a disagreeable child. But still, every night, you watched them.

“They’re my mom’s favorite,” you voiced aloud with a small smile playing on your lips.

“Yeah,” he hummed under his breath. “My mom said she gives her a bundle every year for her birthday.”

Glancing up, you nearly beamed. “Really?”

He nodded. “Really.”

“I guess they’d be proud of us, hmm?” you murmured, searching his face. When you realized what you’d said, you quickly cleared your throat. “For becoming chummy, you know?”

His brows twitched. “Yeah . . . I guess they would.”

A beat of silence.

Then . . . Jungkook cleared his throat, shaking his head of his thoughts as his eyes turned back to the sketch. “Anyway, uh, they remind me of home, so I thought maybe they’d do the same for you,” he allowed himself to say in a hushed tone. “But, I mean, there’s others. The drawing’s kinda shit, so—“

“I like it,” you cut him off as you held the sketchbook closer to you. “I’ll—“ you shrugged— “I’ll get it.”

Jungkook’s brows nearly shot up to his hairline. “Really?”

You only nodded. “Why not? It’s cool. It means something I think, so yeah, fuck it, I’ll get it. Besides—“ you flicked his nose— “the sketch is not half bad. You didn’t tell me you could draw.”

“That’s because I can’t.”

“Bullshit.”

“OK—“ he agreed with a shrug— “hand me the tattoo gun. I can give you a Jungkook original.”

Narrowing your eyes, you couldn’t help but purse your lips into an unamused grimace. “No, thanks, I’ll end up walking out with testicles drawn on my forehead,” you muttered with just a little bite in your words.

And that got him. Jungkook laughed, his eyes crinkling first before a grin broke out onto his face. All the while, he playfully ruffled your hair, gesturing for you to sit down in the chair a second later. And you let it happen, a small dopey smile on your face.

(And you almost realized that while Jungkook had been smiling more lately, you, too, had never smiled so much in your life. You supposed you had him to thank for that . . . 

Supposedly.)

It wasn’t your reflection which caught your attention in the mirror. No, rather, what your eyes had landed on was the fresh tattoo of an evening primrose placed in the center of your sternum. It was almost similar to Jungkook’s, yet different just like the two of you, and the funny thing about it was . . . it kept managing to bring a small, almost unnoticeable smile to your face. 

“What’s got you smiling?” you heard from behind you as Jungkook appeared in the doorway of the hotel room’s bathroom (completely shirtless, might you add).

“Oh, nothing—“ you shrugged as you reached for a comb (totally not just pretending to untangle the ends of your hair), while maintaining eye contact with him in the mirror— “just the fact you whined and whined about how much pain your arm was in for like, what? An hour after?” Turning slowly to face him, you puffed out your bottom lip into a pout. “Such a pussy.”

His brows raised—a look of challenge. “Yeah?”

A beat of silence.

Another shrug was your only response.

Jungkook fought off a grin, crossing his arms. “I’m a . . . pussy?” Pushing off the doorway, he took a step toward you, head cocked to the side slightly. “Hmm?”

Mirroring him, you crossed your arms over your chest. “That’s what I said.”

“Oh, is that what you said?” he mused, mocking your voice. 

And before you could even protest or drop your jaw in shock, he was in front of you. He caged you in, leaning his hands on the counter behind you. One more inch and his nose would be touching yours, but you didn’t dare close that gap.

“You’re such a child,” you hissed in a hushed tone as if his proximity had made the room that much smaller and you that much more exposed.

“Mmm, am I?” he mused, his eyes trailing over your features with such languid strokes, you wondered how you ever handled his gaze before.

You raised your head ever so slightly.

To which, obviously, Jungkook found amusing. With that small, toothy, almost endearing smile on his face, he closed the gap, his nose brushing yours. “Kiss me then,” he murmured, pressing closer, just enough to brush his lips against yours in a feathering touch.

And you began to wonder how on earth you ended up becoming putty in his hands. “What if I bite you instead?” you murmured, but despite your words, you leaned into his touch.

Resting his forehead against yours, he hummed, “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to that either.”

You felt yourself grin. “Good.”

The only response you received was his lips pressing against yours. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as a grin tipped onto his face. His hands tickled your sides, lightly dancing across your skin before settling on your rib cage just below the crescents of your breasts. 

(Perhaps you forgot to mention that you were entirely topless . . . 

What? It was uncomfortable with the fresh tattoo.

Whatever.)

And well honestly, you couldn’t resist not having him close. So what if it bothered your tattoo? He felt better than any pain relief. 

Quickly, you found yourself tangling your hands in his dark, grown-out hair as you pulled him close enough to have your bare chest pressed against his. It made you feel close . . . closer than you had ever felt with anyone . . . closer than you had ever let yourself. His grip tightened on you instantly, his hands squeezing your sides once more before he gently sucked your bottom lip under the grasp of his teeth.

It only deepened from there. You melted into him, allowing him to meld his tongue against yours. The act squeezed a soft sigh out of you, to which Jungkook couldn’t contain himself. He smiled widely against your lips, and then his arms were around your thighs, lifting you up onto the sink counter. And once you were supported by the countertop, he stepped in between your parted legs as his hands found your face, gently caressing your jaw while he all but sucked on your tongue like he had done so many times before.

“Stop trying to eat my face,” you chuckled against his lips, still kissing him back while your arms wrapped around his neck.

He shook his head, but the small grin you felt against your lips gave him away. “Stop turning me on then,” he murmured back. “It’s just not fair, Daisy baby.”

Daisy baby. That was a new one.

Your brows twitched without your permission as your eyes traced his features. More specifically, your gaze fixed on his lips, watching as he tongued his lip ring—a habit he had accumulated over the years you supposed. 

It made it harder to focus on anything except him. And for the second time that night, you wondered how on earth you ended up being at his mercy time and time again. 

It just felt so unlike you. So different. So new. So . . . unfamiliar. 

Did you like it? 

You questioned yourself over and over again these past months. It felt like something you shouldn’t be able to feel. Really . . . it just made you wonder and wonder and wonder.

Until . . . Yes, you decided. Oddly enough, yes, you did like it. You quite liked feeling like this.

But what exactly was this?

. . . Your eyes met his, and your gaze softened instantly. You had no idea what this was. No idea . . .

Jungkook caught onto the look which crossed your face and leaned forward, burying his face into the crook of your neck. “What’s got you lookin’ like that?” he sighed against your skin, pressing open-mouthed kisses anywhere he could.

And your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch. “Nothing,” you hummed, angling your neck to give him more access to your body. “I just—“ 

But a knock at the door halted the words from leaving your tongue.

The two of you paused.

A beat of silence.

Another knock came.

Jungkook pulled back and your eyes met, confusion passing between the two of you. 

Who could be knocking at the door at this hour? Especially Jungkook’s? (Because, really, after the whole meltdown you had at dinner after the first tournament . . . everyone had steered clear of the two of you. So you wondered once more . . . who could be at the door?)

No words were exchanged between the two of you, Jungkook only took the step into the hall, and peered through the peephole on the door. You watched in silence as he stared a second too long, his posture stiff before he sighed and disappeared back into the room. And well, in utter confusion, you hopped down from the counter, following after him only to find he had put on a tee and grabbed another, moments before he handed that very shirt to you with a tight-lipped smile.

“Who is it?” you whispered, your voice hushed as you put on the shirt he’d handed you, covering your bare chest.

Jungkook tongued his inner cheek, but before you could even press the question, his face softened. A small, stiff smile met his lips as he reached out and caressed your chin with his pointer, while his thumb brushed your bottom lip. “Keep your claws in,” he murmured, that small smile still on his face as if he thought that alone would be enough to ease your wandering mind.

“What—“ 

But he was already gone. 

His touch left you and you watched as he approached the door, while you followed slowly behind. The door was swinging open the next second, revealing—

Oh. You blinked in shock.

In the doorway stood Hoseok, whose back was facing you at that very moment while he talked to . . . Seulki?

Huh?

Tilting your head in confusion, you caught Seulki’s wide dark eyes. Her eyes widened further at the sight of you two as she quickly smacked Hoseok’s shoulder and pointed behind him. The action caused Hoseok to immediately shut his mouth as he slowly turned around, his lips down-turned into an awkward expression as his gaze darted between you and Jungkook.

Furrowing your brows, you sent him a look. 

Hoseok blinked back in response. Seulki nervously waved before trying to pass it off as her attempting to scratch the back of her head. And Jungkook . . . well . . . he was the one to clear his throat, putting an end to the silence. (You, however, caught onto the fact that his eyes remained glued to his feet the entire time.)

That . . . that made you step forward, until you stood beside Jungkook, crossing your arms over your chest as you leaned against the door frame. “Something wrong?” you questioned the two of them, keeping a close eye.

Hoseok opened his mouth, hesitating slightly. “Uh—“

“We were looking for you guys,” Seulki cut in with a wide smile on her face. “So it’s good that you’re both—“ she glanced at Hoseok, starting to fidget with her hands as she cleared her throat— “here. Hoseok?”

Hoseok eyed her, a tad startled before he nodded in agreement. “Right, yeah,” he hummed with a clap of his hands. “We were gonna meet up with some friends from college in Busan for karaoke. They’re just . . . they’re coming to the final tournaments and we thought ‘why not, let’s go out’.” He laughed . . . awkwardly if you might add. “Anyway . . . We’ve got two extra train tickets. Could be yours . . . ?”

Quirking a brow, you glanced between them. “How much?”

A perplexed look crossed both their faces. But it was Seulki who spoke up first. “What?” she mumbled, slightly puffing out her bottom lip into a small pout—something she happened to do a lot that you’d caught onto. “Nothing. We just . . . “

As her words trailed off, Hoseok picked up where she left off. In fact, he took it a step further. “We . . . “ He quickly shut his mouth, shaking his head at his thoughts before he raised his head once more, eyes now locked on Jungkook rather than hiding from him. It didn’t matter if Jungkook didn’t look him in the eye, it seemed Hoseok had something to get off his chest as he took a literal instead of metaphorical step toward him. “I . . . I feel bad . . . for how we treated you. I assumed things. I never asked you. I never thought to. I should’ve gotten to know you before listening to anything Wooshik had to say. I misjudged you. For that, and everything else . . . I’m—“ he touched a hand to his chest before he gestured toward Seulki— “we are sorry.”

And while his words lingered in the air, you hadn’t realized that the stiffness in your muscles had slowly loosened and your gaze was now set solely on Jungkook. How could it not be? 

With a careful glance, you took in Jungkook’s demeanor. It was clear he, too, was taking in Hoseok’s words. His head was still lowered, his eyes trained on his feet, but they kept moving in rapid motions as if he were fighting with himself to not look up. And all you could think was: look up . . . please, please look up.

You hadn’t expected it when you first saw them in the doorway, but you weren’t an idiot. Hoseok and Seulki had come here to make amends. They had come here to admit their wrongs. You couldn’t be angry with that . . . not when you had seen just how happy Jungkook had been the first time he’d been able to . . . see someone.

If he looked up . . . then that would mean he would be OK. If he looked up . . . then maybe he could breathe a little easier. And truly . . . as odd as it sounded . . . all you wanted was for him to be . . . happy.

If Jungkook looked up . . . all of that could be possible.

“Look—“ Hoseok began again, nearly reaching out to pat Jungkook on the shoulder, but he stopped himself before he made contact— “Uh . . . you don’t seem like a bad guy . . . so I was wondering if we could all hang out like teams are supposed to, you know? Not just to apologize . . . but to . . . be friends, I suppose, is what I mean . . . “

You swallowed hard, fighting with yourself not to speak for him. Look up, Jungkook, you repeated over and over again in your head, watching him with careful eyes. Look up. Please . . . please . . .

Another beat of silence, more painful than the last.

Then . . . 

. . . Jungkook raised his head, and his eyes met Hoseok’s, and you knew what his answer would be.

In no way, shape, or form could you comprehend how you managed to make it to some random karaoke bar in the middle of Busan around, like, two in the morning. Hell, you didn’t even remember hopping onto the midnight train to get to the city in the first place, but there you were, dressed in whatever the fuck you could find in your suitcase that wasn’t a badminton uniform, and you were sitting next to one of Hoseok’s friends (Namjoon, you thought his name was.)

And while Namjoon managed to impress you with his choice in cologne, he had been talking your ear off for the past half hour and you couldn’t think straight for the entirety of the time he’d been telling you about well . . . you honestly had no idea what he was talking about. In truth, you couldn’t really hear much . . . because your mind was elsewhere. Because, because, because for the last half hour that Namjoon had been at your side, your eyes had been on Jungkook.

Now . . . you knew how that sounded, but you had a reason. You see, Jungkook wasn’t alone either. He had been sat next to another one of Hoseok’s friends (let’s call him Yoongi and hope you got that right) . . . and he was like . . . looking at him. No, no, like . . . he was looking him in the eyes . . . that is why you couldn’t stop staring, couldn’t stop trying to eavesdrop, couldn’t stop just . . . just . . . just whatever!

Was it embarrassing to say you were proud of him?

But . . . you were . . .

As much as you hadn’t wanted to admit it, he’d become the only person you’d ever been this close to in your life. He’d once told you you were the only one he could see . . . the only one he wasn’t afraid of to look in the eyes, and now . . . in just a few hours, he’d allowed himself to hear people, see them, interact with them beyond the restrictions he’d put on himself the entirety of his contract with Yunis.

And the little thing that made you feel all that more warm, was the attentive, genuine smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever Yoongi was saying. That . . . that made a smile of your own touch your lips as you took in the scene.

“You agree?” you heard from beside you, Namjoon’s voice startling only slightly enough to have you abruptly whipping your head in his direction with a confused expression on your face.

You blinked, furrowing your brows. “Hmm?” you hummed in a questioning tone as you snuck a glance back at Jungkook, only to find . . . oh . . . only to find him lazily shifting his gaze from Yoongi to you with an amused smirk on his face. (Great, so he had seen you looking at him. Great. That he’ll really get you later on with.) “Do I agree—what?”

Slowly, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from Jungkook and finally face Namjoon, who seemed to be oblivious to everything else. You weren’t even really sure if he had heard your question or if he were too busy inside his own head, questioning himself. But it didn’t matter either way, because . . . the music cut out, Hoseok and Seulki’s voices died down, followed by their out of breath laughter, and then:

“Alright, who’s next?” Hoseok called out, offering up the microphone.

Immediately, Yoongi shook his head, leaning back to indulge in his drink rather than the question at hand. And no one else could get another word in before, Seulki and Hoseok had caught onto this little act, only they didn’t exactly . . . go for him. No, rather, Seulki, specifically, all but jumped toward Jungkook. “I vote Jungkookie goes!” she declared as she leaned forward to dangle the microphone in front of his face.

“Agreed! Jungkook-ah, onstage now!” Hoseok exclaimed, closing the distance to Jungkook before he wrapped a hand around his arm, urging him to stand to his feet and take over the spotlight. 

(Clearly . . . something you hadn’t mentioned . . . everyone but you and Jungkook were . . . perhaps maybe a little bit or a lot or yeah, yeah, yeah . . . they were drunk. (So you could see how . . . this had happened.))

And Jungkook all but turned cherry-cheeked. “No, no, I can’t,” he laughed it off, trying to wave them away. “I’m a horrible singer, really.”

Lie.

He once sang for your elementary school’s talent show . . . you know . . .

But the others persisted, whining and whining and blah blah blah—

. . . Five minutes later, no doubt, Jungkook finally gave in with a playful groan. He took the microphone from Seulki, slowly making his way to the center of the room you guys had booked, and then you noticed something . . . his eyes had only been on you the entire time. And suddenly, you began to wonder what that meant, wrapping your arms around yourself as your brows raised in question.

Until:

“Listen,” Jungkook began, a half-grin sliding onto his face as he maintained eye-contact with you, “I’ll sing . . . but I need my sidekick.”

Raising your brows, you knew you’d kill him for that later. But still you didn’t move. All you could do was shake your head, because no, no, no you did not want to sing in front of anyone. 

“OK. OK,” Jungkook nodded slowly to himself, but you knew him better than that. He had something planned. And you could just tell by the way he began to walk toward the system in order to plug in the song that was somehow someway on his mind. Then, he turned back around, both microphones in his hands, his eyes solely on you with a mischievous glint in them as the first seconds of the song began to blast through the speakers.

Squinting your eyes in skepticism, you watched him. 

He only sent you a knowing grin.

And you suddenly had a feeling you knew exactly what he had put on.

“ . . . She ain’t got no money,” Jungkook began, trying his best to sing, but his grin kept growing and growing just as your face fell and fell and fell. “Her clothes are kind of funny. Her hair is kinda wild and free. Oh, but—”

You nearly smacked a hand to your face.

“—Love grows where my Rosemary goes,” he continued, beginning to bob his head now to the music. “And nobody knows but me.” Clearing his throat over the music, you knew you were in for it. “Come on, Rosemary, on your feet. Let’s go. Let’s go. Let’s go, because! Love grows where my Rosemary goes! And nobody knows like—Come on!—me!”

And finally . . . finally after being hounded and hounded, you unstuck yourself from your seat, your eyes solely on him as if it were just the two of you against everything, and then you took the microphone from his hand, and you knew you’d sealed your fate. Shaking your head at him, you playfully rolled your eyes moments before you glanced at the screen, checking where you were in the song.

Great, you thought. Fuck . . . OK. Clearing your throat again, this was your Hell. “I’m a lucky fella,” you began, your voice nearly tone-deaf, and certainly agony to the ears. “And I’ve just got to tell her that I love her endlessly.”

“Oh, because!” Jungkook jumped in, bumping you with his elbow. “Love grows where my Rosemary goes, and nobody knows like me!”

Snorting once, you continued for him, “There's something about her hand holding mine. It's a feeling that's fine,” you hummed along, realizing that perhaps . . . this . . . was . . . fun. And slowly, so slowly, you didn’t even realize you were doing it . . . you had begun to dance along, following Jungkook’s lead. “And I just gotta say—”

“Hey! She’s really got a magical spell and it's working so well that I can't get away,” he drawled out, perhaps carrying out his words a tad too much, but there was something about the smile on his face while he did it that you didn’t care. 

That was when you really lost it. Perhaps lost it was the wrong word, but that was when you really stopped caring if there were other people in the room, about keeping up your image or whatever. It just felt like it was you and Jungkook and the music.

And before you knew it, the song had ended, cheers came from Hoseok’s friends, but your eyes were solely on Jungkook. They had never really left him, because this was the song you’d sang at the talent show in elementary. It was also the song you had been too afraid to sing alone . . . because you were perhaps maybe not a shy child, but an antisocial one. And Jungkook . . . Jungkook had offered to sing with you. He’d never wanted to be in the talent show, but you . . . you always wanted the spotlight, and so, it was because of him that you were able to have it that day. Otherwise you probably would’ve spent the entire night crying in the school’s bathroom because you couldn’t force yourself on stage. And he . . . he had saved you back then. 

It seemed he always was . . . 

That made a smile slowly grow on your face, but before it could form into a toothy grin, cheers erupted throughout the room. Eyes widening, you glanced toward the noise, realizing it was not just the two of you but rather the two of you and . . . them.

But this them didn’t feel malicious as it had in the past. No, in fact, before you could even blink, Seulki was already jumping toward you, jumping up and down while she beamed about how that had to be one of her all time favorite songs. And Jungkook . . . well . . . Hoseok had reached him in seconds, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he went on and on about how he had no idea he had such a voice, asking if he’s taken lessons, and blah blah blah . . . all the while everyone else shouted requests at the two of you, hooting for an encore.

It . . . well . . . to say the least, it managed to bring that smile back onto your face, and finally you let yourself look away from Jungkook, knowing you could trust the others with him, and suddenly all you could see was Seulki. You’d never had many friends. Perhaps competition or surface people, but a little part of you saw Yurim, your college doubles partner and probably the closest you’d ever had to a friend, in Seulki. 

Except unlike all those years ago . . . this time you embraced Seulki with a hand on her shoulder and a warm smile touching your face as you finally let yourself tell her the little story of how the song came to be for you. Now, yes, she was drunk out of her mind and would probably forget about all of this tomorrow, but you didn’t care. 

It felt . . . nice . . . to talk to people like . . . this. And—And this feeling when you did . . . Oh what was that feeling called? Like, like warmth but better, perhaps innocent? 

Were you . . . happy?

And then . . . you began to wonder . . . was this what it felt like to have . . . friends? Were you allowed to feel like this? Like . . . like you were happy?

In that moment, you glanced back at Jungkook for a brief second just as he did the same. Your eyes met, and you knew he felt the same. And then: relief, relief, relief . . . 

A beat of silence. 

In it more relief. 

Beat.

Beat.

Beat . . .

But . . . like all things . . . balance. A knock on the door ripped that blissful beat of relief from your grasp. Brows furrowing, you slowly turned to see a blurry shadow just behind the door, indicating that someone was . . . asking for permission to come in? But . . . who? As far as you knew everyone who was there was supposed to be there.

You wondered and wondered, trying to tilt your head to see if you could make it out. And then you heard them call his name, but you didn’t believe it at first. You didn’t quite hear it. Seulki was jumping beside you, and you could have sworn you heard Yoongi announce that it was probably his partner at the door.

And then as Yoongi slowly walked toward the door, opening it to greet the man with this adoring look in his eyes, your heart plummeted to your stomach. Instantly, your eyes snapped to Jungkook, and you saw the entire world crumble before you. You tried to reach him but Seulki was still holding onto you, and you couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t speak, you couldn’t move, you couldn’t do anything but stare and watch as the world fell and fell and fell, leaving you with no way to put it back together.

Amongst the chaos, your eyes fluttered back toward the door and you heard his name once more. Jimin, you could have sworn Hoseok had called out, and you knew this was reality. 

Like an old ghost, Jimin had appeared at the door, almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered in college. His hair now honey blonde, his cheeks full and almost rosy, with this way about him that just screamed he was different now. It made you wonder how different he was now than a year ago when Jungkook left his past behind him. 

Breathing carefully, everyone’s attention was on Jimin, but you caught sight of it first. Jimin’s eyes scanned the room and then . . . then they met yours. Your heart stopped again and you could have sworn his mirrored yours. His eyes widened only slightly, until they shifted just to the right of you, and you watched in silence as his lips parted, his brows twitching upward.

That was weird.

You would have expected him to meet the sight of Jungkook with anger . . . but the only expression on Jimin’s face was that of pain . . . perhaps . . . yearning . . . ? For something . . . ?

And finally, you allowed yourself to glance back at Jungkook, and you began to wonder if it truly were possible to die of a broken heart.

Jungkook stood stagnant, unmoving without even a single rise and fall of his chest. No, instead, his hand was clasped over his chest as if he were in physical pain, but he still didn’t move. Until he did.

Before you could reach him, Jungkook was off. He made a B-line for the door, pushing past everyone while they were distracted by Jimin’s appearance.

And you were a step behind him.

“Kook, where you going?” you briefly heard Hoseok call to Jungkook. “Jimin’s got to show you his vocals, man. He’ll give you a run for your money.”

But Jungkook wasn’t reachable. “I—um—restroom,” he barely strained out and then he was gone, slipping out the door and out of your sight.

You tried to keep up, desperately pushing past the others as you reached the door as well, but a hand on your upper arm stopped you in your tracks. Your eyes flicked from the hand on your arm to the face of the person it belonged to. 

Jimin . . . he was the one who had stopped you. Of course.

But you had never been easily swayed. You quickly ripped your arm out of his grasp, and left without a look back. But it was no use. The hallway was empty. Jungkook was gone.

So what? You’d find him. You had to.

Without another thought, you didn’t even wait to hear the door close behind you as you began to stalk down the hall, but a voice called out to you. 

“Hey, hey, wait,” the voice pleaded.

But you knew this voice well. You knew Jimin well, and you didn’t care what he had to say, not when Jungkook was missing.

Attempting to make another run for it, you put one foot in front of the other, only to be pulled back. Jimin wrapped a hand around your upper arm, pulling you into him and turning you to face him all at once. And you saw that hurt expression once again, but you didn’t care, you didn’t care, you didn’t care! Jungkook was out there and he was alone and you needed him to know you were never leaving his side again.

So fuck it, fuck it, fuck it. You didn’t care!

Desperately, you tried to peel his hand from your arm, but his words halted you in your tracks.

“Is he OK?” Jimin quietly asked, his voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he were ashamed of his own words. 

Taking a step back, you could only shake your head at him. “Are you fucking serious?” you all but hissed, the words burning on your tongue as you finally ripped your arm out of his grasp. “Now you care? Now you want to act like—“ Your words were ripped from your lips, unable to finish the sentence. Instead, another shake of your head came. “You’re fucking unbelievable . . . Of course he’s not OK. He hasn’t been for a while, and you would know that if you hadn’t—“ 

The words died on your tongue, and Jimin watched. While your eyes betrayed you, watering slightly, Jimin looked as if he couldn’t believe his own eyes. His gaze darted across your face, his brows raised in concern (?) while he watched as you fought against the floodgates, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes and the lump in your throat. 

And finally, you were able to force out the words: “He’s not OK. He’s really—“ you quickly exhaled— “really not.”

A beat of silence.

You swallowed that lump in your throat while a look of realization crossed Jimin’s face. It was funny . . . he looked completely different now than he did years ago . . . or maybe it was the look he wore. It was something you had never seen on him before. 

But you really didn’t care.

Sucking in a breath, you cleared your throat and began to back away. “And he needs me so I have to—“

But Jimin cut you off. “So he told you?” he asked almost a little too hesitantly as he took a step toward you.

Nodding, you swallowed hard. “Yes.”

His brows raised. “You guys are . . . good?”

“Yes,” you muttered, nodding again. “He’s—We’re friends.”

Jimin blinked. “Oh.”

“What?”

“I just . . . I didn’t see that coming . . . “

“Well—“ you bit your inner cheek— “it did.”

Another beat of silence.

Then: Jimin took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, almost too under his breath to even hear. “I didn’t expect that he’d be here. I haven’t seen him in . . .  in a year. I didn’t even think he was . . . I didn’t think he was like that.”

Oh . . .

Don’t say it.

Don’t say—

Don’t—

But you couldn’t help but bite out, “No thanks to you.”

Jimin pinched his brows together. “What? What do you mean?”

You just had to say it . . . 

“Nothing—“ clearing your throat, you realized just where your loud mouth had landed you— “just . . . I have to go, alright?”

With one final look at the man before you—a man you once knew that now barely resembled the one you’d known—you walked past him, eyes trained solely on what was before you. Jungkook was the only thing on your mind. Finding him was the only thing you cared about. Leaving the past behind was easy when you knew he was waiting for you somewhere up ahead.

But a hand wrapped around your forearm, halting you in your tracks. Your eyes widened as you heard Jimin speak, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying until you glanced over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his words head-on.

“Look . . . look, I know,” he had said, an almost desperate expression plaguing his face. He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly before he sucked in a sharp breath. “I know. Trust me. I do.” Exhale.

Slowly, your brows scrunched together as you pried his hand off your arm. “Know what?” you questioned, your voice a slightly accusatory tone while you cocked your head to the side, eyeing him with skepticism. 

A moment’s silence passed before he searched your eyes. What he was searching for, you couldn’t quite make out, but he kept searching and searching and searching until his brows twitched upward, an almost pained expression fueling his face. And then: “I know it wasn’t Kook’s fault,” he confessed, his voice soft and quiet as if he were ashamed of his own words. “What happened between him and Tae. I knew it wasn’t his fault.”

Instantly, your heart dropped. 

He knew. He knew and he still let this happen.

You wanted to scream. At him. At everything. At nothing. 

But you stayed frozen, your mind spiraling and spiraling.

“I tried to get them to see that, too, but . . . Kook had always been our glue, not me,” he nearly whispered, harshly pointing at his chest almost as if he were trying to punish or rather condemn himself. “Tae and I would get into arguments over stupid shit all the time, and Kook would always be there to get us to see eye-to-eye. I didn’t know how to help them. I’m not good at that; he was.”

And then you saw it: you saw the past in his eyes. Slowly, it unraveled, and you watched as the three of them practiced day in and day out while you glared at them across the field back in college. You remembered being angry, but you hadn’t known why, and now . . . now you realized you had been envious of the fact that they were . . . friends. While you had none, they had each other. 

To see the three of them in completely separate places now . . . made your head spin and spin and spin. Never once did you think they’d do anything without each other, and now . . . now you were watching the past crumble through Jimin’s sad eyes.

It was almost as if you could see the moment they went their separate ways. Kook alone. Jimin and Taehyung together . . . but . . . distant . . . 

The distance was clear on Jimin’s face, and when he spoke, he spoke with a certain type of nostalgia that you knew all too well. “I knew what I had to do,” he continued, those sad eyes of his not leaving yours. “I chose Tae. I would’ve chosen them both, but I couldn’t . . . so I stayed by Tae’s side. I knew how they both felt. I knew that I could play neutral all I wanted, but Kook was gonna leave and I had to either go with him or stay with Tae.” He shook his head as he chewed on his inner cheek. “And I couldn’t let Tae go through this alone . . . and—and there wasn’t enough time to fix what happened between them, but I thought Kook would be OK. I would’ve fought harder if I knew—”

His words cut off, getting tangled around his tongue as the lump in his throat rose higher and higher. There was no way to tell when it’d finally choke him. What would happen then?

“He was just always so . . . fine,” Jimin whispered more to himself than to you, shrugging his shoulders as if he couldn’t believe it. “I thought he’d be OK. I thought he’d ignore all of this and win that medal we all dreamed of . . . but then he left the team and Wooshik . . he told me where he ended up.” He shook his head once more, his eyes now trained on the wall behind you, tears still glossing over and threatening to spill. “I didn’t think he was . . . struggling. I just thought he was hiding. I didn’t realize he was . . . “

“Well . . . I guess we all have our own ways of dealing with . . . guilt,” you heard yourself spit out before you could stop the words from flowing. You didn’t know why, you just . . . you just . . . you were just so angry. But at him? That you weren’t sure or.

It seemed Jimin was as shocked by your words as you were. His eyes met yours once again, blinking quickly, causing a few tears to slip down his cheeks. He quickly wiped them away, shaking his head in the process. “Don’t do this,” he muttered under his breath.

But you almost couldn’t control it. You were more parts anger than anything else, and there he was, the perfect subject to take it out on. Putting up a fight was useless, your mind was on autopilot. “Tae’s at home bedridden I assume and you’re here? On a date?” you hissed out through gritted teeth. “Mmm, I don’t know . . . sounds—”

“Don’t,” Jimin quickly cut you off, mirroring your anger. “You of all people don’t get to judge me.”

You raised your brows. “Why not?”

“You—“ he shoved an accusatory finger your way— “left him too once.”

And just like that, his words pierced your chest, making the anger spread into your bloodstream. “That’s different,” you bit out, eyes now shamefully trained on the ground.

“Is it?”

Scoffing, you shook your head. “Don’t turn this around. You—”

But Jimin wasn’t having it. “He loved you, you know?” he spat like the words had burned his throat.

The world stopped.

A beat of silence. 

Two beats.

Another.

. . . You could have sworn your heart thud in your chest. But . . . but that could’ve been your breath catching in your throat. 

And then you heard it: your own shocked voice. “What?” you all but gasped out, taking a subconscious step back.

Jimin furrowed his brows as if . . . confused (?) by your reaction. “He loved you,” he went on, keeping a watchful eye on your face. “I don’t know why or how considering you were such a horrible person the entirety of college . . . but he stuck by you. I’ve never seen anyone love somebody that much. Hell, I didn’t think it was real, and I couldn’t understand why . . . but he loved you, and when you pulled that shit on him; when you left, me and Tae saw it. He didn’t talk to anyone for months.” 

He loved you? He . . .

“He slowly came back, and a year later I thought he was fine. I thought he was finally over you, but . . . “ Jimin wet his lips— “I guess some old habits never die.”

Jungkook loved . . . you? In college he—But, no! He thought you guys had been friends. You were the one who had hated him, and he had thought of you as a friend. There was no love there. No, no there couldn’t be. He did not love you. He couldn’t have. No. No . . . No!

“And now you’re here . . . defending him . . . and I just can’t wrap my head around it,” Jimin finished off, his words more stable now. Then, slowly but surely, he nodded as if he had made peace with his thoughts. “But I get it. We all make our own choices. You made yours, but you . . . you don’t get to stand here now after everything and judge me when you left him in the dark for years. I made my choices, and I regret them most days, but it is what it is. You of all people should know that.”

But if he had loved you, then . . . had you broken his heart? 

You knew you’d done quite a lot of damage on him, but you hadn’t considered that you’d broken . . . the very thing you’d come to grow so fond of. Because truly, over the past months, you’d come to know him more than you knew yourself, and you realized he’d always had this softness about him. He’d always had a good heart. That was what you had come to admire most about him. And if Jimin was right, that meant you had hurt that very part of him.

If he was telling the truth, you had done so much more damage to Jungkook than you had thought. Perhaps it had been you who had ruined him.

That . . . that made your rage boil. “I do,” you ended up biting out, your voice harsher than it had ever been as your rage boiled and boiled, nearly bubbling and spilling everywhere. “I regret every mistake I’ve ever made and I know hurting him is at the top of the list, but you knew that, too, and you still repeated what I did wrong. Why didn’t you go back for him? Why didn’t you, I don’t fucking know, try?! Why didn’t you fucking try?! Huh?!”

Those words left your lips and before you knew it, you were face to face with Jimin, not even two inches apart. Your breathing was ragged and you could feel your rage burning through your bloodstream, turning it to rot, surely burning through your skin. 

Had it reached your heart?

“Why didn’t you try?” Jimin mumbled, the anger gone from his eyes as he took in your expression. And his words . . . this wasn’t a question. He wasn’t asking why you hadn’t tried to help Jungkook back then, no . . . he was reminding you that you hadn’t tried for a reason. 

Admit it or not, you hadn’t let him in because you hated yourself. And making yourself hate him, blame him, was easier than admitting you didn’t want to live with the person you had become. 

That was why you hadn’t tried—you were exhausted with yourself, with everything. 

And only then did it hit you. As those final words left your lips, you realized why you were so fueled with anger. You realized why you had chosen Jimin as your punching bag, and you realized what you had done. 

Because, really, you weren’t angry with him. No, you were angry with yourself. It was like he had said . . . you had left Jungkook once, too. 

Looking at Jimin was like looking in the mirror. What he had done to Jungkook was nothing close to what you had done to him. So being angry at him . . . hurting him was an excuse to ignore who you were really angry with: . . . yourself.

And finally, Jimin spoke for the both of you. “Because . . . I was exhausted,” he mumbled through a heavy exhale. “You don’t get it . . . I’ve stayed by Tae’s side for a year, and I’d do it again and again, but that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a part of me that doesn’t blame him, too.”

Wetting your lips, you took a step back, your anger slowly turning to guilt. This wasn’t his fault. Why did you blow up on him like that? Fuck.

Hating him wouldn’t make you hate yourself less . . .

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“After the incident, it was like he just disappeared,” Jimin went on, his voice equal parts solemn and guilty. “Badminton was his dream. I think Tae loved it the most out of all of us, and just like that, it was gone. And without it, he just faded away. I don’t even think he blames Kook. He’s just . . . gone. It’s like he’s been on autopilot for the better half of a year.”

Fuck. Jimin wasn’t to blame. Just like Jungkook, this entire situation was just one big mess. No one was to blame. Fuck, no one was to blame, and yet . . . you were sure they all blamed themselves. 

How could you have been so blinded by rage you hadn’t noticed this before?

“And I . . . I have had to live for the both of us,” he confessed, finally raising his head to meet your watchful gaze. “I knew what I was getting into, and I did it because I care for him, but I didn’t realize . . . I didn’t realize that . . . you can be there for someone as much as you want but there comes a time when caring for someone makes you stop caring about yourself.” His brows twitched only once, but the action carried a world of pain. “Tae is my best friend. They both were, and I . . . I didn’t just lose Jungkook that day. I had to live for Tae, and in doing so, I stopped living for myself.”

I stopped living for myself. Closing your eyes, you were only reminded how wrong you had been. The three of them were all in pain, refusing to admit it. They all blamed themselves, you were sure of it. 

But no one was to blame.

No one.

Still, you stayed silent, keeping these thoughts to yourself. Your eyes fluttered back open, and it was as if you were staring the past in the face once again. And god, did it have such a guilty conscience.

“I know it’s wrong, but there will always be a part of me that resents him for it,” Jimin went on, sighing as his words left his lips. “And he—” he gestured back to the karaoke room; back to where Yoongi still resided— “is the only reason I didn’t lose myself. He is the only reason I can fucking breathe just for a second . . . so that is why I’m here. I don’t care if it’s selfish. He’s my sliver of happiness, which is why . . . “ he wet his lips, staring at you as if you were a reflection of his own past “ . . . which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then. So . . . I don’t blame you either but . . . but I guess what I’m trying to say is . . . I know what I did. I will always regret it and I will always wish I could turn back time and make it all go away, but I can’t.”

Which is why I don’t blame Jungkook for the things he did for you back then, you repeated in your head once more. Was Jimin right? Had Jungkook truly loved you? 

And then, one more final question popped into your head: Did he still?

“Min?” 

The singular name brought you and Jimin out of your little bubble. The two of you turned your heads in the direction of the sound, finding Yoongi had peeked his head out of the karaoke room. His dark eyes shifted between you and his boyfriend, a skeptical look plastered across his face. 

“Everything’s fine,” Jimin replied with a tight smile.

That was when you saw it—the way Yoongi’s face softened instantly with just a couple of words from Jimin. You recognized that look. You’d seen that very expression reach Jungkook’s face time after time again in the past months you’d spent getting to know each other more and more and . . . 

Wait . . . 

Wait, wait . . . you recognized that look, but in a deeper way, in a visceral way. Yes, you’d seen Jungkook wear it many times, but . . . you could have sworn you’d seen it somewhere else, too. You could have sworn you’d catch glimpses of it on your own face when you’d walk past a mirror or catch your reflection in a puddle. And you’d always catch sight of it when . . . Jungkook was up ahead or behind or near. 

Yes, that was it. You’d seen that expression on your own face when Jungkook was involved. But . . . did that mean? 

No, no . . . no. Stop it. You couldn’t think about what this meant or that meant or this or that and those and them or whatever! No. 

Right now . . . right now you had to focus. Jungkook had run off and you . . . you needed to find him, but—

Your gaze fixated on Jimin once again. What happened back then . . . He wasn’t to blame. No one was. They, all three of them, were in pain, blaming themselves and yet too scared to face it. None of them would dare to either. But it was so clear that Jungkook missed Taehyung and Jimin as well. And now . . . now it was clear just how much Jimin missed the both of them . . . 

And well, you could do something about that. Perhaps then this guilt would leave you alone. Perhaps then things could be set right. Maybe then things could be the way they were supposed to be before life got in the way.

The answer was clear, and you couldn’t stop yourself. “Jimin,” you began, clearing your throat and interrupting the conversation between him and his boyfriend. Once his eyes were on you, with a clearing of your throat, you continued. “I’m sorry . . . for blowing up on you. I didn’t realize that—nevermind—just . . . Jungkook . . . he misses you . . . and Tae. I can see that. He’s . . . He doesn’t hate you, you know? He blames himself, yes, but he’s not angry with either of you. I think he just wants you guys back . . . so . . . if there’s any way . . . ask Hoseok for my number.” You paused for only a second to swallow. “You shouldn’t have to live with regrets.”

A beat of silence followed your words once again, almost as if it were mocking you. But instead of turning your words to shit, Jimin welcomed the silence. He embraced it as a small smile lifted onto his lips. And then . . . then he nodded.

It was a silent agreement, but it was good enough for you. 

This could be it.

A new leaf.

For him.

For Jungkook.

For Jungkook, you affirmed, and with that thought, you nodded back. “It was nice to meet you, Yoongi,” you mumbled genuinely, before your eyes shifted back to Jimin once again. Another nod from you. “Jimin. Tell Hoseok that Kook and I went to eat, yeah? We’ll see him at practice tomorrow.”

“Hey—“ Jimin piped up before you could leave— “remember to live for yourself, too, yeah?”

And you nodded back with a smile.

The world fell away piece by piece as you turned from them, their faces still glued to the back of your mind, but you couldn’t waste any more time. As it was, your anger had already bubbled over and burned enough bridges that night to waste a lifetime. You should’ve kept your cool. You should’ve tried to see everything from a bigger picture, but this rage trapped inside you seemed to be bigger than you knew how to control. Sure, it had subsided now . . . but only because . . . because that was what was right.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but . . . Jungkook had become someone important to you, perhaps the most important in your life. You’d never felt that before. You never thought you’d be able to care about someone this much before, but . . . you did, and that was enough to put away that anger boiling deep inside you just enough to do right . . . for him.

Did that make you crazy? Maybe . . . maybe it did, but there wasn’t much in you to care about things like that. All you wanted was to find him. If you found him, everything would be alright. It would. You swore it would. 

Your feet didn’t feel like your own as you raced down the halls of the karaoke bar. The lights had begun to blur together in your vision, creating mixes of blue and purple racing in your peripheral. You’d even looked into room after room, disturbing group after group, solely searching for him.

Until . . . with your heart pounding in your chest, your breathing uneven, and a relentless shiver shaking throughout your body, through the muted colorful lights, you caught sight of a man’s figure crouched down in a corner of the building. His hands were covering his ears, his face hidden in his knees as he breathed heavily, but he was there. You’d found him. Instantly, your muscles relaxed. Exhale.

You’d found him. “Ju—” but you quickly cut yourself off before you could draw any attention to yourself.

Think. You had to think. You couldn’t approach him like you normally would. You couldn’t go in all thorns and nails on a chalkboard. This was different. This was what you had read about. What you realized you had never been good at—comfort.

How could you comfort? You had never been nurturing. Hell, you’d read something once that told you some women just weren’t meant to be mothers, and you knew you were one of them. You knew you couldn’t didn’t know how to be . . . soft.

But you had to try. For him . . .

And then you remembered:

Five Ways You Can Help Someone With an Anxiety Disorder:

Validate Their Feelings by Letting Them Know It’s Okay Not to Be Okay

Don’t Tell Them to Calm Down

Encourage Them to Focus on Things They Can Change

Help Them to Help Themselves

Discourage the Use of Alcohol or Drugs to Cope With Anxiety

But . . . but . . . fuck! How was that supposed to help you now? Let them know it’s OK not to be OK. OK . . . You swallowed hard. You could do that. Focus on things they can change. OK, OK. You could do that, too.

Hesitantly, you took a step forward.

But shit! You paused, halting in your movements. What if that didn’t work? What if you didn’t do it right? What if it only made it worse? What if you only made him worse?

Just . . . just . . . fuck, OK! Just— 

“Kookie,” you heard yourself say clearly before you knew you had even opened your mouth.

In response, his breathing stopped but he didn’t raise his head to meet your gaze. Instead . . . “It’s OK. Just go back . . . “ he muttered out, just loud enough for you to hear, but he still wouldn’t meet your eyes. “I’m OK.”

I’m OK. You swallowed hard. No . . . no, he wasn’t, and unlike all those years ago, you were not going to leave him behind. Not now. Never again.

It didn’t take another second for you to cross the distance to him before you sank to your knees right in front of him, reminding yourself not to startle him. “I’m here,” was all you said, fighting against everything harsh and rough in you, trying desperately to be soft.

The thing was: people could tell you countless amounts of things on how to help someone, but . . . you’d never get it. You weren’t good at it. You couldn’t do that, be that. You knew him, too. He wasn’t textbook like all the things you’d read up on. You assumed no one was . . . so . . . you’d like to add one more to the list: ask him how you could help.

“What—” you inhaled sharply— “What do you need me to do?”

Still, Jungkook would not meet your eyes, but he didn’t need to. You saw his body shift. You saw him process your words. And you knew he wasn’t going to hide from you. “Just—” he all but choked out— “ground me. Put your arms. Squeeze . . . hard.”

And just like that, you acted quickly. You didn’t waste any time as you scooted behind him, wrapping your arms around his figure, locking him into your body, and squeezing as he’d instructed. Resting your cheek on his back, you continued hugging his body to yours, listening to his heartbeat as you did so. Squeezing your eyes shut, you begged for this to help him, but the beat of his racing heart met your ears like a drum.

It wasn’t enough. You had to keep going. 

“OK, OK, what else?” you asked him, your voice clear and calm . . . and soft.

But the beat of his heart was the only thing you heard.

Ground him. You squeezed harder. “You’re here with me. I’ve got you. You’re safe. Speak to me, Koo,” you all but begged.

“Tell me something,” he mumbled, and you nearly exhaled in relief. “Please, say anything.”

Nodding quickly, you tried to scrounge up something, anything. “OK, um, um,” you stuttered out, racking your brain over and over again, until finally . . . “Do you remember when we were kids and my parents rented that cabin for the summer? You had this fake tattoo of a dragon that you really really wanted to put on your arm right—“ you grabbed his forearm, pressing your thumb into a spot— “here, but I wanted everything you had so I just had to have the tattoo. I whined and whined until you finally let me have it. And yet, in the end, my mom forgot to take off the plastic so neither of us ended up with the damn tattoo and we were both pissed.” Smiling against his back, you readjusted your grip on him, holding him closer than before, perhaps so close your souls could almost touch. “Your mom made us hold hands until we got over it.”

And with a small smile on your face, you heard it . . . 

His heart rate had started to slow, his breathing becoming more controlled as he tried his hardest to breathe in deep and exhale long. Was it? Was it working? OK. OK. Speak more. Speak—

“Yeah, and you wouldn’t stop crying, meanwhile, I won that thing in a raffle,” he interrupted before you could rack your brain for another memory. 

Wetting your lips, you replied, “But it worked, didn’t it?” Your eyes danced around the room, the memory almost as clear as day. The smile on your face grew. “We were sitting by the fire, getting way too messy with those s’mores you swore you knew how to make.”

“We camped outside the entire night,” Jungkook mumbled under his breath, his shoulders shaking slightly as a small laugh escaped him.

“Yeah, until you almost pissed your pants because you thought you heard a bear,” you remarked, the smile on your face too wide to contain.

“Hey!” he quipped back as his hand fell to your arm. “I was like nine.”

In shock, you watched as Jungkook slowly raised his hands to cover your arms, hugging them to his chest. Then, you rested your ear against his chest, and you realized his heartbeat had returned almost to normal . . . and . . . and . . . his breathing had calmed. And then you saw it, a drop of . . . something had wet his shirt where your cheek laid . . . and you realized . . . you were crying.

Was this softness that you felt? Or weakness?

The truth was: you didn’t care. Not now. 

Quickly, you wiped your damp cheeks on your shoulder and sniffled. “Scaredy cat,” you mumbled with a soft laugh.

Jungkook breathed out a laugh through his nose. “Brat,” he hummed as he squeezed your forearm.

A beat of silence met the two of you then. You nestled closer, holding him until he finally gave you the go-ahead that he was alright. You’d stay there all night if you had to. And he welcomed this with open arms, holding you as close as he could in his position, and just letting things . . . be, it seemed. 

Until, finally, after what seemed like hours, he whispered against your forearm, “I’m sorry.”

And you couldn’t help yourself. Your brows pinched together, confusion revisiting you as you asked, “For what?”

“You don’t need this,” was his only answer.

Another beat of silence.

And then: “You’ll always be unhappy when it comes to me.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, your only response was to hug him tighter. Fuck.

It is not the moon, I tell you. It is these flowers lighting the yard.

As the night droned on, writings upon writings popped into your head as you tried to make sense of this, of tonight, of everything; one, in particular, visited you too frequently to be ignored; one that you had held onto for years now. You supposed it was a silly thing—realizing just how many poems you had trapped in your head, but you had three years of isolation, three years of loneliness, three years where you only read and read and read. Those three years . . . poems had been all you had.

You supposed it would always end this way.

I hate them. I hate them as I hate sex, the man’s mouth sealing my mouth, the man’s paralyzing body—

And like the poem stated, these words remained true to you. You hated many things, perhaps too much. In those three years, you had grown to hate another’s touch, perhaps because you craved it so viscerally. But . . . the scent of mock orange wasn’t in the form of a man for you. To you . . . the scent of mock orange smelled a lot like a badminton racket.

and the cry that always escapes, the low, humiliating premise of union—

Perhaps you had grown to hate badminton. You hadn’t even realized it, but . . . looking back at it now . . . you had done everything to be someone . . . to be the best, and you had wanted that. You had really wanted that. Sometimes you thought it was the only thing that would ever make you happy, but . . . 

But . . . 

In my mind tonight I hear the question and pursuing answer fused in one sound that mounts and mounts and then is split into the old selves, the tired antagonisms. Do you see? We were made fools of. And the scent of mock orange drifts through the window.

But perhaps . . . like growing pains . . . a part of you had outgrown badminton. Could this be real? Could you really have outgrown the one thing you had ever loved? And if you truly had . . . what did that mean for you now?

How can I rest? How can I be content when there is still that odor in the world?

That odor.

That damned odor of mock orange blossoms.

. . . You had smelt them the day of the incident. The stench had followed you to the hospital, crawling under your skin and resting there for the months to follow. They hadn't even bloomed then, yet you still smelt them every time you breathed. When your heart felt less heavy and your mind was clearer than the day before, when it became month after month after month, the scent finally rid itself from your senses. And you thought you might have actually been allowed to rest without that odor in the world.

But as another month melted into the next, and you tried to get back onto your feet again, the scent of mock orange drifted back into your life. You, of course, ignored this, eager to get back on your feet. You’d been able to take a few steps, which eased the ache you had been carrying around for the past few months. You knew it was stupid to imagine you could actually be healed after a few months, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to walk again . . . maybe run . . . maybe play again with a racket in your hand.

It was nice—being able to dream for a few minutes.

But it did only last for a short time. Soon you being you had gotten too cocky in your progress. You wanted to try longer walks. You wanted to see if you could run.

Then as you ignored the warning signs from your parents, from your doctors, from your nurses, the second they allowed you out on the hospital courtyard, you took off, attempting to run. But . . . before you knew it, something snapped and . . . you were tumbling to the ground, crying in pain.

And just like that . . . the scent of mock orange drifted in and remained in the air.

You remembered just laying there after that, contemplating just how much this would set you back as the nurses hurried you back to your room to be examined. You wondered if you had fucked yourself entirely. You wondered if this was it and you would never be able to play or even walk again. You wondered what that made you now. You might as well have not even been a person anymore, because back then . . . badminton had been all that you had. Back then, if you weren’t the best; if you weren’t someone great, then you were nothing. 

And yes, you knew you had never been particularly interesting, but you never thought you were . . . nothing. The scent of mock orange tainting the air reminded you of the truth—without badminton, you might as well have been no one.

As you were escorted back to your room, examined, and left to rest, you laid there, the scent of mock orange being your sole company, and you realized you hated them. You hated those stupid, putrid flowers as you hated feeling . . . less. You hated them as you hated yourself.

Guilt might have been your ghost, but the scent of mock orange was your shadow.

How could you rest? How could you be content when there was still that odor in the world?

You were sure you never would.

And truly . . . how could you rest? If you were constantly trying to be better and better? When would you finally be the best? Could you be? No . . . no, you knew you couldn’t, but then who were you?

Who were you without . . . badminton?

That was the question on your mind as you flicked at your ramyeon with your chopsticks. You supposed like the mock orange blossoms, your coming-of-age escapades did not deliver the fruits of its promise. Becoming someone was all you had ever wanted out of life. You wanted glory. You wanted greatness. And yet . . . why did the thought of badminton slowly and slowly start to turn into this . . . dark thing? Why was it that when badminton was involved . . . bad things happened?

Now, you didn’t believe in signs and you surely wouldn’t start now . . . but it became evident that you had been made a fool of, wishing on a shooting star that was on its last breath. The scent of mock orange would drift in every time, reminding you that you would never reach that greatness again no matter how many times you tried. 

And that should’ve filled you with rage . . . jealousy . . . pain . . . but . . . you didn’t feel any of that. What you felt, at its core, was a gentle ache in your chest; the same kind of ache which came with nostalgia. 

You just couldn’t stop thinking of it. Actually . . . you hadn’t stopped thinking about that scent of mock orange since you saw Jimin earlier that night. He’d told you Taehyung had loved badminton the most . . . he told you he was a ghost of himself now because of what he lost. And then you began to think of what had happened to you . . . 

Those three years . . .

All you had ever thought about was getting back to the person you used to be. That was all you had cared about, and when you finally won that first game all those months ago . . . you had felt that same joy that you had always felt after a win. Except . . . this was different, you realized.

Remembering the win now, the image of you smashing the birdie down onto the court wasn’t what came to mind first. No, you remembered that day; you remembered the thrill of the win, but the image that came to mind first was Jungkook smiling down at you moments before you sprung into his arms.

Jungkook was what you remembered that day, not the look on the other team’s faces when you took home that winning title. And then you realized what you had been trying to ignore ever since you let your walls come down layer by layer: perhaps . . . perhaps there was more to life than badminton.

In the months you had let Jungkook in, you’d lived more than you had in your entire life. You’d laughed more, smiled more, felt more. You’d felt yourself be more. 

The scent of mock orange never visited you when he was around. It was like he was the real thing. You weren’t even sure if that made any sense. But . . . but . . . if you couldn’t smell those damned phony flowers, then perhaps Jungkook had taken their place. By chance . . . did he smell like an orange blossom? Without mocking, without malice, without trickery? Was he . . . real?

There was just something about the world that Jungkook had shown you that had a way of making everything just . . . mute. It was like before he’d shown you life through his eyes, everything had been loud, intense, brutal. And then . . . there he was, a bright smile on his face and the words ‘trust me’ leaving his lips as he held out his hand for you to take.

And you took it every time.

The scent of mock orange blossoms was left behind. And you began to wonder if just as you had outgrown your hatred for Jungkook . . . had you outgrown this visceral urge to hold a racket in your calloused hand?

Glancing down, you took in the image of your hand. The calluses were still there, the small cuts from accidental injuries, the bitten nails . . . they were all still there. Did they still fit around the base of a racket as they had three years ago?

You blinked, flexing your hand. Whatever, you decided. It would be tomorrow’s problem. (But we all know how good you were about . . . not . . . getting in over your head (so like, give yourself five minutes and you’d be thinking about it again).)

Whatever. Whatever. Whatever.

Anyway.

Focus on the present.

Yes, that was the plan. You nodded at your thoughts as you blinked, forcing yourself back to the present.

The scent of mock orange blossoms still lingered in the air as you tried grounding yourself to reality. Ignoring them was the best you could do. Because right now, you were supposed to be present, aware, and solid. You were supposed to be Jungkook’s shoulder to lean on after what he had endured at the karaoke bar. You were supposed to know what to do . . . but you didn’t know anything. You just . . . you just wanted him to be alright . . . 

And all you could focus on was the fact that the two of you hadn’t spoken since you held him about—

You checked your phone.

—an hour and a half ago.

It had been quiet between the two of you ever since. It had been even quieter the second you stepped inside the nearest convenience store. (Who knew how long ago that was.)

The convenience store was perhaps too quiet now. The two of you had bought some instant ramyeon—one spicy, one mild and sat at the nearest tables outlooking the streets of Busan. Many people had walked back and forth, going about their night (well . . . now early morning), but not once had either of you decided to make little guesses about their lives as you had done many times before. No instead . . . Jungkook was silent. And you were too. 

But . . . you didn’t like the silence; not like . . . this. Slowly, with that thought plaguing your mind, you turned your head toward him.

Jungkook sat beside you, his head lowered slightly as he stared blankly out the window. He hadn’t touched his ramyeon once, which was evident as his chopsticks were all too clean without any stain or color. He just kept staring out the window, following those who walked by with his eyes all the while his tongue toyed with his lip ring. 

It was obvious why he was stuck in this limbo. Sure, of course it was all too obvious, but that didn’t make it any easier. Knowing why he was stuck like this wouldn’t do anything to . . . help.

And suddenly you were reminded of what Jimin had told you that night. Remember to live for yourself, too, he’d said before you left him. He’d told you it was impossible to live for two, but . . . why? Why couldn’t you? Why couldn’t you at least . . . help? You supposed the problem in that was the fact that you had no idea how to help, and that scared you more than you’d liked to admit.

You just . . . you just wanted him to be OK . . .

“You gonna eat that?” you heard yourself ask him before you knew what you were even saying.

Jungkook turned to you instantly with an almost shocked expression on his face as if he couldn’t remember where he was or who he was, but his eyes still shined with recognition as if he could still recognize you despite it all. He blinked slowly, eyes drifting over your face, and then . . . then he slowly started to relax. His shoulders slumped slightly as the stiff muscles in his face loosened. And once he returned to the present, his eyes drifted from your questioning expression to the ramyeon in front of him . . . and then he was shoving a huge bite into his mouth all the while maintaining eye contact with you while he chewed.

You shot him a blank look, because you knew what he was doing—avoiding the inevitable by trying to make light of the situation. “I wasn’t going to force-feed it to you, you know?” you ended up mumbling as you continued to watch him chew, half making sure he ate all of it and half not sure where to rest your gaze.

“Don’t look at me like that then,” Jungkook muttered, his words muffled from the food in his mouth.

“Like what?” you questioned as you leaned closer to him, analyzing the crease between his furrowed brows.

His eyes shifted to the ground ever so slightly before he turned back to meet your gaze. “Like you pity me or something,” he huffed, jutting out his bottom lip into a pout as he averted his gaze to his bowl of ramyeon.

And you couldn’t help but let the corners of your mouth perk up into a small smile. He was still the boy you remembered when you were kids. He hadn’t changed too much. He was still . . . him. Only now, you had grown to appreciate how he was unlike in the past. Now . . . when he flashed you that pout, you wasted no time in waving him off with a small sigh. 

“Oh, Jungkookie,” you all but mused as you grabbed a napkin from the table, “sometimes it’s like you’re still that whiny little kid I grew up with.” You brought the napkin to his lips, gently dabbing. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know?”

With his eyes flicking from the napkin to your face, he timidly licked his lips and mumbled, “I was not whiny.”

You breathed a small, barely audible laugh. “Mmm, if it helps you sleep at night,” you hummed with a small shrug as your hand, now discarding the napkin, reached his face once again, except this time, you barely thought about your next move. Instead, you let your hand drift to his hair gently curling the long, dark strands behind his ear. 

And he just stared at you, his dark eyes warm and gentle as they always had been. His brows twitched as you alternated between playing with his earrings and toying with the longest strands of his hair. He almost seemed . . . at peace, and you wondered if this could be considered a moment of happiness?

Perhaps . . . 

It was moments like this that you wondered how the sick smell of mock orange blossoms had ever ruined your life. 

But like the poem described . . . the smell wasn’t something to be forgotten. It eventually seeped back in. And just as Jungkook had almost allowed himself to sink into your touch, his eyes turned back to the window where he caught a glimpse of his reflection.

It was almost soul-crushing how fast his face fell.

Jungkook took one last look at his reflection, shaking his head slightly as he averted his gaze to the table and clenched his jaw. "Fuck,” he whispered out, his voice hoarse, “this is so fucking annoying. Everything feels so off. I just . . . “ His words tangled around his tongue as he dropped his head to his hands. “Everyone always looks at me like I'm some fucking problem. Like if they get to my core, they can fix me. But I can't be fucking fixed. I fucked up. I ruined my best friend’s life. I don't deserve to be fixed."

And suddenly it was as if you were twelve years old again, seeing your mother cry for the first time and not knowing what to do or what to say. You had grown up that way—not being able to comfort. It had always been who you were. You’d never known what to do to . . . help. 

Yes, you could follow the directions of some online article and you could ask and ask and ask how to help him, but would it ever be enough? And what if he said he was fine when he was so clearly not? What then? How were you supposed to help then?

God, you wished you knew the answers. 

“You’re not broken, Koo,” you started with, your voice just as small as how you felt in that moment.

“What if I am?” he mumbled into his hands. Slowly, he raised his head, and for another time that night, you faced that crushed look on his face. For another time that night, you saw the things he had been dealing with all on his own. You saw him. “What if I . . . ?”

And then you realized: you didn’t know how to comfort, but you did know how to bear things well. You knew how to crumble up the pain of not being good enough. You knew how to deal with a dream being crushed. You knew how to just . . . deal, and if Jungkook needed help, you could carry the load for him.

So, swallowing your own emotions bubbling up in your throat, you began slowly, "I know I can’t say . . . anything. I know that no matter what I do it's not gonna' make you feel better, because shit doesn't work that way. I'm not some fuckin' hero. I know that. You just need to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, okay? I'm never leaving your side." Nodding your head, you could feel your eyes burning again. But you didn’t care. The world could see you cry for him and only him and you’d accept it with a heavy heart.

A beat of silence followed your confession.

The world exhaled.

You inhaled as you rested your hand on top of his moments before you began again, "You're—I care about you. . . and—and that means that no matter what time it is, if you feel like you're gonna do something to yourself, then you call me. We can go throw shit off a bridge or—or punch dummies. You need to scream? Then we can go scream until our lungs bleed, okay? Whatever. It doesn't matter. Just—" you squeezed his hand as your heart pulsed in pain in your chest— "You're not alone."

Though the expression on his face didn’t lift, Jungkook accepted your hand, taking it within his grasp to intertwine your fingers together with his. “It’s been months . . . and I still feel like this . . . “ he trailed off, gently shaking his head as he turned back to his reflection in the window.

Instantly, your free hand found his cheek, slowly turning his head so his eyes would only face yours. “I don’t think healing is . . . linear,” you admitted softly. “If I think about it . . . it took me years to be able to play again. Mental shit has to be like that too, right?”

His eyes fluttered shut under your touch. “I don’t know,” he softly sighed as his other hand reached to rest over the one you had caressing his cheek. “I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He swallowed thickly. “I just . . . it’s like . . . I watch everyone else live their lives while I endure mine. And—And I don't know what to do. Sometimes everything just gets so intense, and it just happens. It's like it's some fucked up kind of instinct. Trust me, I wish I could feel something other than this, but I don't feel anything. It's all fucking numb." He nearly dropped your hand, but you clung on tighter, refusing to let him slip through your fingers. "I don't fucking know what I feel. I just . . . I feel like a fucking ghost."

And for the second time that night, you watched the once never-bothered Jungkook reveal another layer of himself to you. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, rang in your ears again.

Jungkook squeezed his eyes tight and slowly . . . a single tear trickled from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. 

I feel like a fucking ghost, once more, and you knew the words which would leave your lips before you even had the chance to think.

"Haunt me, then," you found yourself breathing out in a hushed whisper as your thumb caught his fallen tear, wiping it away with ease.

His eyes cracked open, a shocked expression crawling onto his face. "What?” he barely got out as he searched your eyes for anything that would tell him you hadn’t meant to say . . . that.

But you had.

Haunt me, you’d told him, and you knew you’d meant it. The words didn’t have to cross your mind for you to know what you spoke was the truth.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Haunt me.

Give it to me, and breathe.

That is what you had wanted to say. That is what you had meant. You could only hope he knew you were telling the truth.

Tilting your head to the side, you breathed out the air in your lungs. "I told you before, and I meant it,” you began in a gentle tone. “I'll carry the weight for you. All of the pain, the anger, the hatred . . . all of it . . . I will carry it all. Give it all to me, and I will find a way to deal with it." Squeezing his hand once again, you offered up a small smile. "You're not alone anymore, Kook. You do not have to deal with all your shit on your own. You've got me, and you can hate me, you can push me away, you can leave me stranded with no way home . . . but I promise you, I'm not going anywhere."

His brows twitched. “I can’t do that. You’ve got too much to think about.”

You shrugged with a roll of your eyes as you dropped your hand to your intertwined ones. “Like what? I’ve never thought a day in my life. Barely passed college with a 2.7,” you hummed, your voice a little more chipper now as you tried to keep his eyes on you and coax a smile out of him. “I’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“The games,” he muttered with a small sniffle. “You’re shit at multitasking.”

That time, you did smile wider. There he was. “I can manage,” you mused as you leaned into him, nudging him with your elbow. “How about let’s go feed the fish by our hotel after practice tomorrow, hmm? To relax? Yeah?”

And then . . . you could have sworn he nodded. Maybe it was to himself or maybe it was to you, but you knew what it meant. You would accept a nod.

“You gonna eat that?” he asked a second later, gesturing to the half-eaten bowl of ramyeon in front of you.

And you knew he would be OK by your side. You would make sure of it. (You were the older one after all.)

So with a small smile still on your face, you detached your hands from his and reached for your bowl, scooting it toward him. Quietly, he took it from you and began to devour what you had left.

Yeah . . . he was still the same kid you knew growing up. And that . . . that was enough to make your heart feel warm.

It made you wonder if you could ever be . . . warm . . . like him. Unlike this cold, hollow shell you were so used to. Was that even written in your books? 

Wetting your lips, your eyes fell to your lap, only to be met with the image of Jungkook’s hand resting on your thigh, secured under the holes in your ripped jeans. It seemed without you noticing, Jungkook had absentmindedly reached for you, toying with the strings adorning the rips in your jeans, only to end up nestled underneath in an attempt to feel your skin against his.

It was sweet. Innocent. 

It made you feel warm, yet again, yes. But it also made you feel . . . fuck . . . what was that word?

And that was when you realized something . . .

“You’re wrong, you know?” you ended up muttering out before your brain could catch up with your impulse.

Jungkook hummed, eyeing you. His eyes were still slightly puffy, causing your heart to swell in your chest.

How could he ever think he deserved this?

Wetting your lips, you confessed, “I’m a better person because of you. How could I ever be unhappy with that?”

Jungkook blinked, clearly shocked. Then, he began to toy with his lip ring before he sucked in a sharp inhale and nearly whispered, “All I want . . . is for you to be happy.”

And you couldn’t help but smile. It was warm. It was innocent. It was because of him. “Would you look at that?” you mused in a quiet voice. “Looks like we just came to an agreement.”

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly as he nodded once before the two of you resumed your late-night slash early-morning meal. He finished your food for you, and you watched, making sure he ate it all, all the while, the words, I’m a better person because of you rang throughout the air.

I’m a better person because of you.

How could I ever be unhappy with that?

And you knew you meant every word.

The scent of mock orange blossoms couldn’t reach you now. 

Not here. 

Not with him.

When you were a kid, every Barbie doll your mother ever bought you would end up scalped and decapitated. Now . . . morbid . . . you knew. You weren’t exactly sure why you resorted to . . . that, but playing with dolls just always meant ripping their heads off. You supposed it was kind of symbolic now. 

Maybe you were jealous that their lives were perfect and yours was . . . meh. Or maybe you really just really hated dolls.

You supposed there had always been a certain sickness to you; a certain uneasiness that came with being a preteen girl. You were told sweet sixteen was when the claws came out, but you began to question if yours had grown in long before then. Maybe you had been born like . . . this or maybe everyone just felt this way and spent most of their lives hiding it, because if not . . . 

. . . it felt like life was just some sick joke that you hadn’t clued in on yet.

Perhaps that was why you had become so keen on poetry: it said what you feared only you felt. 

Because really, you used to use pages out of books to fasten a joint in a pinch, too, and now it physically hurt to imagine ever even tearing a page. 

But words felt more comforting now. Sure, a racket felt like it fit into you like a hook in an eye, but now . . . now it felt just a tad more awkward than it had in the past. Words . . . words could never disappoint you, you decided long ago when they had been all that you had had.

There’s something soft in me—

You remembered reading long ago.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.

And maybe it was silly. Maybe it was dramatic, but words made things feel better. It made the world less scary. It made looking at Jungkook and wondering what this feeling in your chest was . . . not so scary. It made things . . . better.

So, you’d read, and you’d overanalyze, and you’d spend your time too wrapped up in words because it made everything that much bearable. Because it made the fact that your claws didn’t come in at sixteen so much easier to swallow; it made the fact that there was nothing soft about you alright.

Because maybe there had been something soft about you long ago. Or maybe you had killed it; maybe you had taken the softness and traded it for survival, only to discover all the rot inside of you that you had been trying to ignore for years now. 

Had the fire gotten a hold of you even back then? 

Is that why you no longer feared it? Because there was nothing left to fear? Did all this rot mean you were no different from a hit deer off the highway? 

. . . 

Whatever. 

It didn’t mean much, right? 

There were no birds coming to feast on your rotting corpse like the deer you wondered if you resembled. Nothing had come to consume your body as the world had consumed your soul. You were just there . . . 

With a sigh, you clicked off your phone, disregarding the poem as you shoved it all away into the back of the pocket of your athletic shorts. And as you stood there, you slowly glanced up only to meet the image of Jungkook walking toward you, a half-smile on his tired face with a duffel bag over his shoulder and a racket in his hand. You hadn’t seen him since you woke up that morning, quickly dressed and told him you’d meet him at the center after your run. And there he was, his hair in a small ponytail with a grin on his face at the sight of you. (You tried to ignore the urge to meet him halfway. (Also ignoring this . . . weird feeling blooming in your chest the second you saw him.))

“Well, it seems the sun’s decided to come out after all,” were the first words out of his mouth as he drew closer. And only then did you realize the day was dreary, filled with dark clouds and humid spring air. 

Tearing your eyes from the clouds above, your gaze landed on Jungkook just as he stopped before you, setting his duffel bag on the pavement beside you. He wasted no time either, poking your abdomen with his racket. “Bad day already?” he questioned, tilting his head to the side in thought.

Sighing, you shook your head. “No, just . . . thinking.”

“Well, stop, it’s aging you,” he lightly scolded.

You squinted your eyes into a glare. “You’re on one today.”

And well . . . all he did was wink. Of course.

Now . . . you knew how this looked. Just last night you and him were up into the early morning nursing each other’s wounds and now it seemed like it hadn’t even happened, but there was a reason for that. The two of you knew each other. He appreciated that you didn’t make it a big thing. You were always going to be there for him; that much was obvious by now given your history with each other. But if there was one thing the two of you both hated, it was being treated as if you were as fragile as glass. So for now . . . last night was a little secret between the two of you, and right now . . . right now you both had to get your heads in the game for the finals tomorrow.

So there . . . that was that. At least that was how it was for you. You were sure it was the same for him, but it wasn’t like you could think about that right now either. Right now you had to think of the tournament as draining as it felt to even acknowledge it.

But just as you were about to move past it all and grab your own duffle bag from the ground, Jungkook halted you with a hand on your wrist. Your eyes immediately snapped to his.

“You sure you’re good?” he questioned once more, his eyes wider now, more concerned than before.

(There’s something soft in me—

But you couldn’t burden him now. Not after what he went through last night. Because you knew him, and you knew he’d do anything to make things right for you . . . even if it meant ignoring his own troubles. And well, despite what you liked to claim, you couldn’t bear to do that to him.

—we killed it and it’s rotting.)

So instead, you blurted out: “Just stressed, you know?”

His brows pinched together slightly, but he didn’t press it further. “Right . . . “

And that was that. You didn’t let another word pass between the two of you as you picked up both your duffel bag and his and began to walk toward the training center. Jungkook, of course, fought you the entire way, trying to grab the duffel bags from your hands, but you insisted, tsking at him as he tried to outsmart you (as if he ever could).

While he repeatedly tried to snatch at least one bag from your grasp, your eyes were training on the scene in front of you. And it was only when the two of you turned the corner, now facing the center head-on, that you realized maybe the dark clouds had been a sign telling you to turn back; to stay inside; to practice somewhere else. Jungkook, on the other hand, was preoccupied, as, in your shock, he managed to snatch both duffel bags from your grasp. And he was mighty proud of himself too until he heard what you had seen . . . and slowly the grin fell from his lips as he turned to face the scene.

Because before the two of you, crowding in front of the training center were reporters on top of reporters with their big flashy cameras and notepads, and . . . behind them, spray painted across the building was your name . . . with the words ‘is a traitor’ too big not to notice.

There’s something soft in me—

we killed it and it’s rotting.

It happened in slow motion. The reporters caught sight of the two of you, and that was it. They were racing toward you in seconds, all screaming this and that, trying to get a story, and all you could do was stare in a state of confusion and shock as if you were waiting for a car to pop out of nowhere and hit you.

Off the highway like another deer.

You’d never seen something like it. Sure, you’d seen this stuff in movies, but never in real life, never because of . . . you. There had been articles published when you fell out of the badminton scene three years ago, but never something like this. Never something like this. Fuck, even the interview you’d done as a team were never like . . . this.

Off the highway like another girl.

What was . . . this?

It was bad. You knew it was bad, but you couldn’t hear anything. You could see Jungkook growing angry beside you, pushing the reporters back as he said . . . something . . . but you couldn’t quite make out what it was. You couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything.

You should have known better. You should've known there was a chance something bad would happen. Because like always, when you got that sick feeling in the pit of your stomach, when the dark clouds came out and the air felt wet but chilly but humid . . . something bad always happened. But you hadn't thought that the world would be so cruel, especially the day before the end.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to—

You felt the world caving in on you. You felt small. Small and disgusting. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to run, but you couldn't. Your mind had been the only thing to stay alert. Just run, you thought. Run. Run. Fucking run.

But you couldn't. You wanted to but the camera kept flashing and the reporters kept yelling and yelling and yelling and all you could make out was that everyone hated you. Suddenly, it was three years ago and everyone was pretending to be nice to you, then bitching about you behind your back. Suddenly, you were falling. Your hip was hurting. You were screaming and nobody cared. Nobody cared. Nobody—and then you were pushing everyone away again. Suddenly, you were alone again. And then you felt it. You felt it all, and then . . . then you couldn't breathe.

I can't breathe. You tried gasping for air, but it never stuck in your lungs. I can't breathe. You could have sworn this was what drowning felt like as your breaths came out quicker and quicker. Oh, my God, I can't fucking breathe.

You needed air. You needed to run.

Your eyes darted to the training center, and you knew what you had to do. You forced your legs to move as you tried to make it to the center. You’d be inside in a minute; you just needed a second. One second and you could breathe again.

But before you could even really move to make it, a hand was on your shoulder, and it wasn’t who you thought it’d be. No, it wasn’t a comforting touch; it was the touch of a reporter trying to make you stay in place just for you to answer their question. There was no making it out of this.

Glancing up, your eyes met the reporter’s and then you finally heard the words you’d been drowning out all morning: “Are the bribing rumors true?”

All air escaped your lungs. Bribing? You? “What?” you weakly asked (you’d never sounded like this before in your life, and yet . . . ).

But before anything else could escalate, Jungkook was stepping in front of you. His body blocked yours from the reporters, his hand carefully resting on your hip as he tucked you behind him while he mumbled, “Don’t bother—”

“What—” you blurted out before you could stop yourself— “What rumors?” 

You just . . . you wanted to know. Bribing? All you’d ever done in your career was try to be the best. You’d put blood and tears and sweat and everything into badminton, and this . . . this was how it repaid you. You’d fucked up your leg for it; fucked up your life; fucked up everything just to hold a fucking racket in your hand and now they wanted to say that you bribed your way into . . . into what? Success? You wanted to know the truth. You wanted to know.

But no one bothered giving you an answer. It was just question after question, confusing you more and more, and all you could come to the conclusion was the fact that the whole world must have thought you were as horrible as a person as you feared you were.

So, the final person asked, “Do you have anything to say?”

And all you could fathom was: “I—” you swallowed hard— “I . . . don’t care.”

That was it.

I don’t care, you’d said even though you did, because you always had. You cared too much. Too fucking much. And you were too much. And this was too much. And just . . . just . . . 

You didn’t bother thinking further. Your mind went blank as you tore yourself from the scene. Dropping your racket to the ground, you took a step backward. 

. . . And then you were gone.

Run, you’d told yourself, and finally, you listened.

And as you ran, you realized, things were easy for you when you could ignore them. If you spent your time worrying about everyone else, then there would be no more time left to worry about yourself. You supposed that was an issue on its own, but that was how you survived. 

A burnt child loves the fire. Yes, and you did. You loved it because it meant you’d have one more reason to survive. Survive enough and you wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath. Just keep surviving the fire. That . . . that was what you were good at.

But you didn’t know how to deal with . . . this.

This wasn’t a fire. Far from it. 

It was almost as if you were stuck at the bottom of a lake, your foot trapped under a rock, unable to get to the surface. And no matter how hard you fought to unsheath yourself, you stayed trapped at the bottom, water threatening to clog your air pipes.

And the thing they don’t tell you about drowning: it only takes forty seconds.

Forty seconds turned into minutes then an hour, and you began to wonder how long you had been left at the bottom of that lake. How long until the water finally reached your lungs?

It was about half an hour ago when you’d finally found the pond just outside the hotel your team was staying in, that you’d finally searched up whatever the fuck had gotten you in so much shit.

Yunis Doubles Player Accused of Bribing Referee to Make Nationals, was the headline. Apparently, an anonymous inside source had come forward and claimed that you’d not only bribed your way into winning each tournament for your team, but on top of that, you were also taking whatever drug to help with your fucked leg.

And get this . . . apparently it was because once you won finals, you’d go on to sign for Russia, leaving Korea behind, essentially making yourself a traitor. So there it was. In less than a day, you were a traitor, a drug abuser, and a cheat. Because apparently, that was true. 

Whatever . . .  it didn’t matter anyway. Even though it wasn’t true, the media had made it so, so it was by default. And as if badminton hadn’t already been feeling like a chore, your love for it lessened and lessened into . . . this hate.

That was what you felt: hate. Had you become hatred now?

Had you become a ghost, too? . . . Had you always been? . . . 

“Don’t do it. You’ve got so much to live for,” you heard a voice say in a joking manner behind you just as you tossed another rock into the large pond below your dangling feet. (The voice had startled you all the same, nearing skyrocketing the rock out of your grasp, but we don’t dwell on that.)

Still . . . 

. . . you didn’t jump. There was no need to. Startled or not, there was no need to fear. You knew that voice, and it only ever filled you with comfort, nothing else.

So instead of answering, you dropped your head in shame, eyes on the koi fish swimming idly through the water below you as your hands tightened around the edge of the rickety bridge. 

Jungkook had found you. Somehow he always managed to make his way back to you, no matter how many times you pushed him away.

(It used to be annoying. Now it was just . . . well . . . it was something else now. It had grown into something . . . more . . .)

His footsteps grew closer. He was behind you now. Close, yet still so very distant.

Silence for only a beat more.

And then, he spoke.

“I was trying to find an excuse to come find you,” he murmured, his words unexpecting of a response as he sat down beside you, dangling his feet over the edge of the bridge.

And you . . . you stayed still, peeking at him through the corner of your eye. Sure enough, he was real, and he was sitting there dressed in his athletic clothes, some of his hair pulled back into a ponytail, while he held in his hands two pieces of . . . bread (?). 

Your brows scrunched in confusion. “Bread was your excuse?” you questioned, your voice quiet.

Jungkook glanced between you and the bread, then back at you until he settled on the bread, tapping a finger to the loaves. “Ah . . . right . . . well . . . buy one, get one free,” he curtly explained. His eyes drifted back to you, then, as he wet his lips and sighed. “You talked about wanting to feed the fish.” Add in a shrug. “Thought this might be where I’d find you . . . so—“ a clearing of his throat— “Just—Are you OK?”

And you couldn’t help it. You took him up on his offer, silently grabbing a loaf of bread from his hands and resting it on your lap. Your eyes followed it the entire way, watching as your hand began to rip a small piece from the corner. “I think,” you finally replied to his question just as you tossed the piece of bread into the water. “I can’t force people to believe me. So—” pausing for a second, you watched as two koi fought over the piece of bread— “whatever, right?”

Jungkook plucked a piece of the bread off, but instead of throwing it to the fish, he plopped it into his mouth, chewing in contemplation. “You were always the best player,” he mumbled through the mouthful. Plucking off another piece, he waved it in your direction, gesturing to you. “They can’t take that away.”

Maybe it was the sentiment or maybe it was how he’d begun to eat the bread he brought solely to feed the fish, but you couldn’t help but fight off a smile. Because when times were like this, you felt fine; you felt . . . almost good, but when you were out there neck-and-neck, trying to hit the birdie again and again, you felt . . . off.

It made you realize that one: badminton didn’t feel like it used to and two: you weren’t entirely sure that the accusation itself was the reason behind your anger. Because maybe it was easier to be angry or sad. It always had been. 

But as you ripped off another piece of bread to throw to the fish, it hit you. You weren’t exactly hard to figure out you’d like to think, so really, put two and two together and you get one burnt-out badminton player looking for an excuse to quit.

Fuck.

It really was that, wasn’t it?

You didn’t want it to be. You didn’t want to believe it either because badminton was your life. There was no without. Like a hook in an eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. Hook in eye. You couldn’t escape it. 

But now . . . after years and years of trying to get back to that same person you were before the accident, you’d ignored just how draining it had begun to feel to practice and practice and try and try and . . . try. You mistook it for physical fatigue; for healing from your injury. You didn’t once think that your disinterest may have been because you had grown further and further apart from a racket in your hand and the sound of the court squeaking under your shoes. And when that reporter asked you if you’d cheated to get back in the game . . . you’d taken that chance to run away; to ruin it for yourself once more . . . and this time not for the sake of self-sabotage but perhaps . . . conservation.

So you began to ask yourself the same question that had been haunting you for a while now: how well did badminton still fit into you? You’d thought about it last night. You thought about it a million times before, refusing to acknowledge it, and now . . .

Then you found yourself turning to Jungkook. “What—” you sucked in a quick breath— “What made you want to play badminton? . . . In the beginning . . . “

Setting the bread aside, he leaned forward, resting his forearm against the lower part of the railing. “I’m not really sure,” he mumbled as he rested his cheek against his forearm. “It was just . . . easy for me. I liked being good at things.”

“But . . . “ (you had begun to toy with the bread instead of tossing it to the fish) “ . . . why did you love it?”

A few beats of silence.

Beat.

Beat.

Beat.

Then, Jungkook spoke: “The people, I think,” he finally said in a calm, collected tone, adding in a shrug at the end of his sentence. “I never really cared about being someone special; I just when I played, I always played with friends. It was fun. I think when I look back on it, it wasn’t badminton that I loved, it was the people. My friends . . . coaches . . . “ his eyes flashed to meet yours, “. . . you.” And he maintained eye contact. “It was the only time I ever felt happy, and when I grew up . . . when badminton felt more like a game of loss . . . it lost its magic. I wasn’t a kid anymore. Everyone had grown up and I was still there, on that court. . . . It wasn’t fun anymore . . . “

Oh.

Because, truly, you’d felt the same. Well . . . perhaps a tad different. Badminton had been fun for you because you always won. It was the only time you felt . . . special, good . . . worth . . . something. And when you lost it all, you felt like nothing upon nothing upon shit. So when you finally gained it all back, it was almost as if with each win, that magic Jungkook spoke up washed away bit by bit. Winning wasn’t fun anymore; it was being with him that made it worth . . . something.

But could winning itself ever have the same effect as it did years ago? Would you ever crave it so violently again?

“Do you think it could ever be fun again?” you voiced your thoughts aloud, hesitant as if admitting this aloud was some kind of sin.

“Maybe,” Jungkook muttered with another shrug. His attention was drawn on the fish now, his round, brown eyes following them as they swam to and fro. “But—” he breathed in heavily— “if I had it my way . . . I’d go back home and help run my parents’ shop.” There was that smile creeping up on his face again at the mention of home. “And if I really had it my way, I’d be thirteen again and I’d never grow up. I’d be small and happy and I’d never have to leave home again. That is what I truly want; to be that kid again . . . but for right now . . . I think I’d settle with just going home, knowing my mom’s special dish is waiting for me.”

Home.

He spoke of it so fondly, and you began to wonder if you’d ever loved it as much as he did. Now, you knew you did. Your parents were good, kind people. They were good parents. You loved them, missed them, but home had never been something that you’d acknowledged if that made any sense. You were just always looking forward to the future and who you’d become. You supposed you never stopped to take in the lines drawn onto the bathroom wall labeling your height year after year. You supposed you never stopped to catch sight of the way your mom would shave off the skin of the apple because she knew you didn’t like getting it in your teeth. You supposed you never thought of home as home because you always knew it’d be there, and now . . . now it was far far away and you were so so small, no longer great and big, and looking forward to the future. 

It made you wonder if this feeling deep inside you had something to do with missing this home Jungkook spoke of. And then you began to agree that, yes, yes you would very much like to be small again, coming home from badminton practice to the smell of your mother’s cooking and your father’s tunes playing on the CD player.

Perhaps . . . perhaps you wished you were little again, too. And perhaps you wished you could start over, this time with badminton as more of a love than a state of survival . . . and maybe then you’d know more of this . . . home.

“Kook . . . “ you began, eyes darting from fish to fish as your thoughts raced, “if I admit something . . . do you promise not to judge?”

Jungkook hummed moments before he reached out to tuck your hair behind your ear. “What’s on your mind, hmm?” he mused, nudging you with his elbow as if telling you to go on.

Another few beats of silence. (It was odd how it kept lurking over your shoulder like a vice.)

And then: wetting your lips, you swallowed the weird feeling in your throat, finding it hard to get these words out for some reason. And then . . . when you were sure the silence had begun to eat at your flesh, you opened your mouth to voice your thoughts. “What if . . . what if I don’t love badminton anymore?” you mumbled, your voice nearly inaudible as you heard your words echo in your head again and again. But just like Pandora’s box, once they were spoken, you couldn’t shove them back down. Your words just kept flowing. “I mean . . . I’m—I’m twenty-five years old. All I’ve ever known is badminton. I ruined my life for it. I wasted three years trying to get it back and . . . and . . . and what if I did it for nothing? I wasted my entire life trying to be the best at something that I don’t even like anymore. What am I supposed to do if—if I don’t want it anymore?”

There.

Right there.

There was the truth you’d been hiding from for so long, and it was laid out in front of you, staring back at you.

What if you had wasted your entire life trying to be the best at something you didn’t even like anymore?

It wasn’t even like you wanted an answer from him either. You just needed to say it. You just needed to admit that perhaps you and Jungkook were more similar than either of you had ever thought. 

And did that . . . did that give you relief? To be understood in this way?

“I just—“ you blurted out, still trapped inside your head— “It’s like you said. I just . . . maybe I just want to go home. I don’t . . . I don’t want to go to the Olympics or—or anything. I don’t want to be who I was. I just . . . I don’t know if I care to be . . . that anymore.”

A beat of—wait—no, unlike you thought, no silence entered your space. No, instead, Jungkook didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, baby—” he sighed, his voice like honey moments before you felt a warm hand cup your cheek— “you haven’t changed one bit either. Don’t you know? Violet, roses are red, not blue.” Your eyes met. His filled with understanding, while yours stained in shock. And then . . . then he tapped his thumb against the corner of your mouth, and offered up a small smile. “Where’s your smile? Hmm?”

Instantly, you sucked in a sharp breath as your eyes fluttered ever so slightly, taken off guard by his words. You wet your lips, trying to form any kind of sentence, but nothing ever came. Until you realized something . . . this feeling . . . it wasn’t something you were used to . . . but it was something you’d heard of . . . and it was . . . soft.

You’d never held something like that. You’d never owned something like that either. You’d never been it. You’d always just been machine parts and badminton plays. Strategies upon strategies. Always thinking and thinking and thinking and never just . . . being . . . feeling . . .

Until . . . 

. . . until him.

And you had no idea how to handle that.

“I’m so scared,” you heard yourself whisper before you realized it was you who was speaking.

Jungkook furrowed his brows as his eyes trailed across your face before he wiped his thumb across your cheek, then dropped his hand to yours. Only then did you realize you had been crying. Not sobbing or anything close, but a few tears had slipped past, and there he was again wiping them away like it was normal; like it was OK.

“Why are you scared?” he questioned softly as he squeezed your hand.

“Because,” you muttered out with a confused shrug. Hell, you didn’t even really know. You just knew . . . you just knew that: “I’m only still here . . . on this team . . . because of you. I think . . . I think what I like about badminton is . . . you. You’ve made it worth something when it’d lost all meaning to me. And . . . and . . . I think what scares me the most is that . . . is that you’ve made me . . . soft . . . and I can’t tell if I hate that or if I . . . if I’m grateful.” Quickly, you wet your chapped lips. “I’ve had good things in my life. I’ve had success and victory and fame . . . but it all felt like it came with a price. You know? Win a competition and you feel great but what about the next one? It was always just a constant race . . . but being around you . . . it doesn’t feel like I have to win anything. I feel softer and—and it doesn’t even come with a catch. It’s free.” Your eyes searched his. “Am I even allowed to have something like that when I should be obsessing over winning this championship?”

Jungkook leaned closer, taking your hand into both of his as he held it close to his chest similar to how you’d hold a teddy when you were a child. And then . . . he spoke, and you couldn’t believe your ears, wondering if this was the same man you knew when you were young. “Have all of me,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving yours as if he wanted you to know he meant this within his soul. “Take my bones and build yourself a home. They’re worn, sure, but I like to think they’re pretty sturdy . . . so . . . take them.” His eyes searched yours deeper. “Take all of me if you have to. Take all of me . . . ”

Blinking slowly, you shot him a look, a small, shocked smile creeping onto your face as you let a sliver of a laugh out before you knew it. “That’s disgusting,” you scolded him, shaking your head at his words, but you couldn’t help but find some sentiment in them. Maybe it was the morbidity to you, but no one had ever said such things to you . . . and you found yourself holding these words close to your chest just as Jungkook held your hand close to his.

He smiled back, too. “Good. I knew it’d make you laugh,” he murmured softly, and you knew this, too. It was him after all. He’d do anything to get a laugh out of you, and you began to realize that it had always been that way. (Perhaps you should’ve spent your childhood laughing more than scowling at him.) But it seemed he didn’t mind as he began to rub his thumb back and forth against your knuckles, his smile slowly fading into a solemn expression. And then: “You asked me to haunt you, but you’re the one who haunts me.”

You swallowed hard.

You’re the one who haunts me.

Oh . . . 

And then you began to wonder: was Jimin right? He loved you, he had told you. And suddenly, you realized that if this were still true . . . it didn’t bother you. You’d accept it even. But what did that mean for you?

You swallowed hard once again.

“You said I make you feel real again,” he continued on, making you forget your own thoughts as you watched his head tilt to the side in thought, ever so slightly. “I’ve thought about it. I don’t want to haunt you. I don’t want to poison your softness. I want to make you keep feeling real and soft and . . . you. And . . . and well . . . you make me want to be real again. You–you make me want to be a person, to be something, to make something of the person I am. I don’t want to end up like your King Weir—”

“Lear,” you felt yourself whisper so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. All you could do was stare at him and stare and stare and . . . 

“I don’t want to be him,” Jungkook restated. A small pause followed as those warm brown eyes you’d come to be fond of searched yours like you were the only two people left on the planet. “I don’t want to be nothing . . . and you’ve reminded me of that.” Wetting his lips, he reached for your other hand, now holding both your hands in his, his thumbs running across your knuckles.  “So I was wondering—” he maintained eye contact, while he gave a quick squeeze to your hands— “if maybe instead . . . well . . . I want you to help me live . . . no haunting necessary.”

I want you to help me live.

It echoed in your ears.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to help me live.

I want you to—

Did he know that he’d given you a whole new reason to keep living? Did he know that when you thought of him, you realized you had another reason to live? Didn’t he realize that it was him? That caring for him had made you a better person?

But Jungkook took your silence as a sign of rejection, so before you could slap yourself up the side of the head, he nearly retreated, quickly muttering out an apology for being . . . weird. Only, this was now and not then, and you were you, and well, you quickly reached for his hands, pulling them into your lap. His eyes followed your movements, clearly taken off guard, but you didn’t let him dwell on it too long.

“How about—” you began, running your thumb across the tattoos dotting his fingers— “let’s take care of each other?”

Jungkook blinked once. Then twice. Then . . . then his brows twitched in longing? Understanding? Or . . . oh what was that word?

Whatever.

It didn’t matter. What mattered was his answer. And you already knew it before you’d spoken those words. 

OK, he nodded. 

OK, he smiled. 

OK, your eyes seemed to glisten back.

OK.

There was a time in your life, where every night you’d have the same nightmare. Over and over again, you’d be trapped in this room with no windows, no doors, just darkness. And in the middle of the room would be you, or rather a version of you, strapped to a chair, with flames slowly licking up your legs, scorching your skin. But you wouldn’t feel any pain, because it wasn’t actually you. Sure, it looked like you, but . . . you were on the other side of the room, watching with wide eyes as you heard yourself scream and beg to be released from the shackles. 

The flames wouldn’t touch you there. They were around, yes. They were burning holes into your clothes, yes, but you couldn’t feel it. All you could do was sit and watch as this variant of yourself burned alive right before your eyes.

And as if watching yourself be scorched alive wasn’t bad enough, there would be this point in the dream where you, no, she, no . . . it . . . would speak to you. Through the flames, it would hiss and whisper that it was your fault. 

It was your fault, and you’d know what it meant. 

But, No! you’d scream back. Because, no, no, no, this couldn’t be your fault. You couldn’t have been the one to ruin yourself. That would just be so, so, so . . . well . . . it would be too much.

(You knew now that it was just one big accident. Sure, trying not to blame yourself for it now was hard, but you’d learned in the past few months. It hadn’t been your fault. It hadn’t been his either.)

But back then . . . back then the incident loomed over your shoulder like a ghost.

You were getting ahead of yourself again, but . . . but the dream, no . . . the nightmare always started and ended the same. You stuck in a burning room, left to watch yourself burn and burn and burn as you, she, it, whatever (!) screamed and screamed, its voice growing louder with each, it was your fault!

And with the last shift of blame, the fire would finally set in. The red, hot flames that had left blisters and boils on your skin would begin to itch, then sting, and then consume you until all you felt was pain, pain, pain.

Then it would be your screams which filled the room.

Only when the pain would begin to shift, your back ripping with agony as this pair of . . . wings (?) split from the wounds, would you think you’d been saved. Because just as those wings had appeared, on the other side of the room, so had a door. And perhaps, perhaps then you could escape the burning room; fly out of there and save yourself. 

That was always your first thought: survive, and you would always head for the door without a second thought. It was only when you’d hear the other you’s screams that this immense amount of guilt would hit you, because there you were, able to save yourself but not without leaving a piece of you behind to burn to ash. 

. . . You never turned around to give yourself one last glance either. Instead, you always counted to three before you stepped off from the ledge, trusting that what was behind the bright light coming from the door would surely save you. And every time as you realized you were falling and falling, the heat would leave your senses and all you’d be able to feel was wind in your hair and the smell of salt water. You were no longer in the burning room. You were free.

With the opening of your eyes, you would be in the sky, your wings carrying you. And for a moment, you would believe that you truly were free; free from the incident, free from your guilt, free from everything.

Until the wind no longer felt refreshing and the vague smell of burning wood could be sensed; until you finally glanced back at what you had left behind, only to realize the wings you had been gifted were not made of feathers and bone at all, but rather wax, and under the Sun’s embrace . . . they had begun to melt . . . 

You’d spare yourself the details of stating what happened next, but the story was simple. Think Icarus. Just like Icarus, every time, your wings would melt and you’d hit the sea below you, shortly drowning but never dying. No, every time you’d get a bit closer to death . . . but you’d wake up just before you succumbed to it.

And every time you’d wake in a fright, sweat coating your body as you panted and panted, trying to figure out if you could still feel the fire on your skin or the water in your lungs. And every time you’d wake wondering if that was why you craved the fire so viscerally; if that was why you felt like you were drowning from time to time.

But . . . that dream, that nightmare . . . well . . . you hadn’t had it for a couple weeks or maybe months (?) now. It used to be something that you just considered part of your routine; something that you just had to deal with. But ever since you and Jungkook had begun this little thing you guys had going on where you’d sleep next to each other almost every night, you hadn’t been having any dreams. 

You didn’t quite understand it. You just knew that the nightmares had stopped . . . and maybe you had him to thank for that (just a little bit).

Slowly, you brought yourself out of your mind, planting yourself in reality once again as you were reminded that you and Jungkook had gone back to his hotel room after you got in a few hours practice after well . . . after your little . . . mishap. You’d showered and washed your hair, brushed your teeth, and blah blah blah. You were already tucked into bed, waiting for Jungkook to finish up brushing his teeth so the two of you could watch something to fall asleep to. (He was slow . . . of course (brushing his teeth while listening to a playlist at max volume)). And you, you were beginning to doze off, lost in your mind as you thought of the peaceful sleep you had awaiting you (partially thanks to him yeah (!) you knew . . . whatever).

Still, you couldn’t help but roll over in bed, your eyes quickly catching a glimpse of him in the mirror just outside the bathroom. And well, you couldn’t help but laugh just a little as you watched him dance to the music playing from his phone, haphazardly brushing his teeth along to the beat. (You couldn’t wait until he hopped into bed next to you and you could finally get close enough to feel his heartbeat against your cheek (not that you would admit that out loud. . . right?)).

“I can see your asscrack,” you called out across the room, laughing slightly because duh you were lying but you couldn’t help but tease him. (Plus . . . maybe a part of you missed him being beside you (you wanted him to hurry up, could you blame yourself?!).)

“Nuh-uh—” he gurgled out through the copious amount of toothpaste in his mouth— “not falling for that again. You’re full of shit.”

You couldn’t help but laugh again, falling back against the bed, the back of your head now laying in the center of the pillow. One, two, three, you counted the swirls in the ceiling. It was literally like watching paint dry having to entertain yourself until he was done. It was an odd thing, wasn’t it? Liking someone’s company that much?

God . . . what had you turned into?

“Do you sleep with your eyes open?” you heard Jungkook ask from beside you just as the bed dipped and he crawled under the covers, no shirt and only in his boxers (as usual).

Ignoring the pitter-patter of your heart, you turned to face him, your eyes immediately trailing across his features. “You tell me,” you hummed, quickly rolling onto your side so your entire body was facing him.

“Probably,” he mumbled as he settled into the bed, propping up the pillow to support his head. “Dunno though. I try not to look at you too much.”

Your jaw dropped. Then a scoff. And you didn’t waste any time, reaching forward to twist his nipple . . . hard.

Instantly, he caved in on himself, clutching his chest as he whined, “Ow. Not cool, baby.”

You threatened to do it again, your hand outstretched.

But he waved a metaphorical white flag in surrender. “OK. OK. I’m kidding. I’m kidding,” he all but begged, twisting away from you.

Falling back against the bed once again, you avoided his eyes. “That’s what I thought,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest as you faked your displeasure with him. 

Jungkook only found this amusing, soothing a hand over his chest before he shifted closer to you, his tattooed arm thrown over your waist as he pulled you into him. It took him no time to bury his face into the crook of your neck, nuzzling his nose just under your sweet spot. “Mmm, don’t be mad,” he mumbled against your skin, slowly kissing his way up to your ear. “You really are the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.” A kiss to your cheek. Then a squeeze to your side as he brought you closer and closer and closer until you were sure the two of you were intertwined. “You always have been, you know?”

Slowly, as confusion and shock twisted onto your features, you turned your head so you were nose to nose. “Don’t be silly,” you whispered as one of your hands found its way into his long hair. “I know you were kidding, you don’t have to overkill it.”

Listen, listen, listen . . . you knew you weren’t god awful, but every girl feels like they’re not good enough. It’s built into us, so sometimes it comes as a shock when someone is so . . . so forward. It wasn’t like people just went around saying ‘oh, you’re the prettiest girl ever duh!’ like duh! Obviously! So . . . 

But Jungkook always managed to surprise you. Always.

And just as you were about to close your eyes, thinking this was over and the two of you were going to actually get some sleep, he surprised you once more. “You know . . . “ he began, his voice low and quiet, almost as if he were fighting with himself to say his next words . . . “I spent the entirety of the sixth grade learning every flower I could just so I’d have something to tease you about,.”

“What?” you all but snorted as you threw your leg over his hip. “That’s insane.”

“Well, I had to get your attention somehow,” he mused, while his hand had begun to trace letters or random doodles on your back.

Scrunching your brows together, you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You’re so dense. Pretty, but—” he tapped a finger to your forehead— “hollow.”

Instantly, you shot him a look. “You wanna talk?”

He only laughed.

A beat of warm silence. You traced his bottom lip with your thumb, toying with the piercing. He nipped at your thumb. Another beat. He pressed a kiss to your thumb. One more beat, then . . . 

“I had a crush on you, idiot,” he confessed against your thumb in the dead of night.

This time you actually did snort, moving your thumb to rest on his chin. “What? I was all braces and forehead acne,” you went on, remembering who you were and how you were and all the little things that you wished had been different about yourself back then. “A crush, JK? Be serious.”

“Hey, hey, I’m not a liar,” he quickly rushed over, humorously defending his honor. “I had a crush on you. Seriously. Why do you think I tried to impress you all the time.”

Your smile nearly faded. (And Jimin’s words revisited you (you pushed them away).)

He wasn’t kidding.

But . . . 

“Impress me? You spent our entire childhood showing off how much better you were at everything than I was,” you said, confusion and everything in between laced in your words. Because, truly, what? “That was like our . . . thing as much as it disgusts me to admit.”

His brows raised ever so slightly. “What?”

Oh no.

No, he wasn’t kidding. He actually did have a crush on you. But that meant . . . that meant the whole reason you had hated him growing up was over . . . nothing. He had never meant to start anything. He was just . . . he was trying to impress you and not . . . one-up you. 

He wanted you to like him back . . .

So then you had—oh, no!

“Wait,” you cut your own thoughts off with a gasp. “Oh my fucking god, are you serious? Kook, I thought you were just trying to be an asshole.”

Jungkook pulled back. “No, what the—” his words died on his tongue as it all dawned on him. “Is that why you thought I hated you?”

“Yes! Obviously!”

“Oh, shit . . . “

And then . . . as if this couldn’t get any more on-brand for the two of you, Jungkook had begun to laugh. Quietly at first, then his hand was slapping against his face as he cackled, his shoulders even so much as shaking. He was full-on laughing. Laughing.

“Why are you laughing?” you exclaimed, squeezing his shoulder

“Because! You hated my guts for like fifteen years and it’s all because you took my sixth-grade flirting as an insult!” he bursted out through small laughs. “You—” he embraced you, his hand cupping your cheek as his eyes searched yours— “are something else.”

“Well . . . it’s technically your fault,” you responded with a quick click of your tongue.

His brows twitched upward. “Oh, is it technically my fault?” he asked while trying to fight the half-grin tipping onto his lips.

“Obviously.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, thinking for only a second before: “At least you’re pretty.”

In response, your mouth fell open slightly. “I will bite the tip of your penis off.”

“Mmm, kinky,” he remarked as he nudged your nose with his.

Scrunching your nose, you tsked, “Ew.”

“Come on, baby,” Jungkook mockingly whined, pouting as much as he possibly could. “No cold shoulder. Gives me the chills.”

But you were having too much fun with this to give it up now. “You had a crush on me,” you all but gagged as you turned your nose up (once again ignoring Jimin’s words . . . ). “Disgusting.”

“Is it?” he questioned in amusement, moments before his lips were on your exposed jaw.

“Mmm.”

Jungkook gently bit your cheek. “I think you’re the one with the crush,” he mused, his lips trailing down to your neck again, this time hovering just over your sweet spot.

“Oh, please,” you scoffed, trying your absolute hardest not to show how affected you were by just his lips grazing your skin. But one gentle kiss to your sweet spot, and you could feel your heart skyrocket to your throat as you all but choked in a breath. It was just that . . . he had this effect on you. (Fuck, did he ever . . . )

“Begging now, are you?” he remarked before leaving another kiss here and then there and the oh, you guessed it, just on the corner of your mouth but not on your lips, of course.

And all you could do was admit you were weak when it came to him, and just give in. Which was, of course, what you did as a soft groan escaped your lips and you turned your head to face him once again. “Would you get over your ego and kiss me?” you deadpanned, all but pouting at him.

That almost got him immediately. His eyes flicked to your lips, then your eyes, then to your lips once again before one of those cocky grins plastered across his face. “Yes, ma’am,” he whispered, his voice like silk.

That was the last response you received before his lips grazed yours. Gentle at first was his touch, like a feather on skin, but as he nudged your nose with his, he finally closed the space between you two, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. You leaned closer, pleasantly sighing into the kiss as you nipped at his bottom lip. A grin tipped onto his face before he dipped in for more, running his tongue along the crease of your lips. You complied quickly, hands tangling in his long, dark hair as you pulled him closer and melded his tongue with yours. He inhaled sharply through his nose as his grip tightened on you instantly, his hand sliding up your thigh, squeezing your hip before it snuck under the hem of your shirt (or rather his old college badminton tee that he had grown out of by now (which meant it was yours by default . . . duh).

A soft mix between a gasp and a quiet moan escaped your lips when you felt the coolness of his hand graze the swell of your breast, palming it. He grinned into the kiss, circling his thumb around your nipple, knowing damn well that it would get to you and have your skin blazing in seconds. 

That was just the thing—he knew how your body worked. More . . . he knew how you worked and perhaps that was why he had figured out how to pleasure you.

Still, you tugged on his hair in annoyance, huffing slightly and pouting perhaps just a tad, which you knew he found endearing. That was the thing, too . . . you knew how he worked as well. He snickered against your lips, proving your thoughts to yourself just moments before he pulled you closer and began sucking on your bottom lip as his thumb pressed down on your puckered nipple, tweaking the bud. You hummed softly in response, grinding your underwear-clothed core against his muscular thigh.

He stilled under your touch for a mere second before his hands gripped your waist as he pulled you down onto his thigh, moving with you while you grinded against him. “Making a mess, pretty girl,” he murmured against your lips as he moved to lightly kiss your neck. His hand was at your shirt again in an instant, fisting it and pulling it up over your breasts.

“You’re such a guy,” you nearly moaned out, your hands now on his shoulders as his head dipped to your breasts, catching a nipple in his mouth all the while he flexed his thigh against your core. He didn’t stop there either. He softly hummed against your skin as he released your nipple long enough to kiss it just moments before taking it into his mouth again, swirling his tongue around the bud and sucking hard. And you couldn't help it, you jerked against him, throwing your head into the pillow as a loud moan sounded from the back of your throat.

“So you agree—” he mumbled as he still flicked his tongue over and over again over the abused bud— “you like that about me?”

Before you could even answer, his hand had gone from your waist and now tangled in your hair, holding the back of your neck. That was moments before his lips detached from your puckered bud and reattached to your lips. His other hand worked quickly, too, as he slid his thigh out from underneath you and swung your leg over his hip, his hardened length now pressed against your aching core.

“Maybe I do a little,” you whispered with a small grin playing on your puffy lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer.

He grinned back. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured back, kissing you quickly before you could respond.

And his comment was long forgotten as he grinded his bulge into your heat, stimulating both you and him. It was intoxicating. No, he . . . he was.

He was so intoxicating, you couldn’t help but whine out, “Take them off, please.” Your fingers were at his boxers, tracing the elastic band as you all but whimpered against his lips. You just wanted him, him, him. All of him.

“Eager?” he mused as his thumb dug into your hip. (You knew this was eating at him just as much as it was eating at you. It always did.)

“Please, Kookie. Can’t take it,” you whined further, all but straight-up riding him to scratch the ache inside you. “Need it so bad. Killin’ me.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, and he didn’t waste another second either. “Love you like this.” His own whines filled the air as the two of you struggled to tear off his boxers, your underwear quickly following after as both the undergarments eventually became lost under the covers. But neither of you cared.

It was a quick descent after that. You couldn’t help but grind your core over his hard length, the sound of your wet arousal evident even over the hum of the air conditioner. The two of you never did this. You’d always done foreplay after foreplay after foreplay, finding it thrilling to tease each other, but right now . . . right now all you wanted was him inside you. You wanted him as close as possible, and it seemed he wanted the same, the both of you unable to think or do anything other than grind against each other. 

Only then when you couldn’t take the throb between your legs anymore did he press a single kiss to the corner of your mouth before you felt him slowly enter you, inch by inch sinking into your cunt. Your eyes fluttered closed as your mouth parted and your head tilted back while you basked in the fullness which came along with his cock sliding snugly against your tight walls. Your breath hitched in your throat just as you felt him bottom out, your core taking him all the way until the hilt.

The next second, you were wrapping your legs around him, locking them together in an attempt to get him even deeper. Your eyes fluttered open next, meeting his gaze instantly as he stared down at you with his brows pinched in pleasure and those big, round eyes of his blown out . . . but was this lust that he gazed at you with? His gaze appeared different, almost warmer, almost softer, almost too soft to touch . . . to have . . . to hold. He looked too pretty like this. Definitely too pretty for you to handle.

It didn’t help when the following words out of his mouth were: "You're always so fucking tight.”

And then he began to move, not breaking eye contact once. No, his eyes watched yours as his cock pumped in and out of your wet heat. His breath hit your face, and you could almost feel his heartbeat against your chest, syncing with yours as the two of you stared into what you could only describe as each other’s souls.

It was odd, too, because while whatever this feeling was blooming in your chest scared you, you couldn’t look away. You couldn’t turn from him. You just wanted him, him, him. Always him. You feared that if you did turn away, when you glanced back he wouldn’t be there anymore. And that perhaps scared you more than anything: losing him.

But there he was. He was always right there . . . 

Almost as if he could hear your thoughts, his grasp on you tightened, his cock sinking deliciously deeper if it were even possible. The pressure in your lower stomach was becoming too much as it bloomed and bloomed, twisting and turning in a pleasurable ache. You bit your bottom lip, turning your head to the side as your breathing became more uneven by the second, but not once did you dare look away. No, you watched each and every twitch of his brow, every shaky breath, every flutter of his eyelashes, and you relished in it, soaking it all in. 

It became clear to you that you couldn’t look away even if you tried.

And it seemed neither could he . . . 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" you rasped out, trying to swallow your spit.

Jungkook nudged your nose with his. "Like what?"

You swallowed, this time harder (Jimin’s words revisited you once again). “I can’t say . . . “

His brows twitched this time. “How could I not?”

How could I not? And you knew what he meant, just as he had known what was playing on your mind. How could I not?

And then he was kissing you again, taking you by utter surprise. Sure, the two of you had had sex over and over again and each time felt a little different from the other, but this . . . this was like the beginning yet the present all at once. It was like you could feel all of him in just this kiss; like you could see his past and he could see yours and neither of you had thought about running once. 

It was soft. So was his hand as he brushed through your hair as he kissed you, tracing your hairline, your cheek, your jaw, then your neck as if he were trying to map out your features. 

(You couldn’t help but melt under his touch.)

Why was his kiss always the softest thing you had ever known?

Then . . . amidst your soft moans and carnal sounds, he pulled back, his eyes finding yours again. He glanced between the two of you where your bodies met, brows rising in marvel as he released a small sigh before rolling his hips against yours again and again. And then . . . then, he grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers together as his gaze met yours once again and he whispered so quietly, almost too quiet you wouldn’t have heard it if you hadn’t been so close, “I don’t even know where you end and I begin.”

And you knew instantly he didn’t just mean where your body met his. No, this was deeper, and you realized he could feel that this time was different, too.

Swallowing hard, you fluttered your eyes in almost a state of shock as you stayed silent. But you didn’t need to speak. No, you took his words, and you held them close, and then you were holding him. Take my bones and build yourself a home, he’d told you, but no, no, you wouldn’t put him through that. He could take yours. He could take all of you. You would give yourself to him.

Fuck, you would give all of yourself to him. Only him. Him, him, him.

“Wanna see your face, baby,” he murmured as he brushed your hair out of your flushed face. “Prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. My pretty girl.”

And you knew that was it.

With one final kiss, you let him know all this, allowing him to take the lead once more. Everything pulsed as he picked up a sensual pace, hitting your sweet spot over and over again as his thumb snuck between your legs, skillfully working against your swollen clit while you chased the coil. It tightened and tightened, rings of pleasure hissing in your ears. His thumb quickened its pace, and then the coil snapped, your release crashing over you. All you could do was surrender to it, tilting your head back into the pillow as your hips raised while your hands squeezed his toned arms. All the while, Jungkook continued the long drags of his cock against your walls, dragging out your orgasm for as long as he could.

“Wanna stay like this,” he confessed, his thrusts growing slower and slower, unsteadier and unsteadier as he nearly whimpered into your neck. “Love this so fuckin’ much. Being with you—fuck. You make me feel so good, baby. So good.”

“I’d let you,” you mumbled against the shell of his ear, your voice a little too hoarse as you were still coming down from your high. “I’d let you do . . . all the time . . . I want—” you were delirious at this point and you knew it, too— “Want you always.”

Your words barely even registered in your brain as pleasure and that blooming feeling in your chest consumed you. It wasn’t long before you found yourself lifting his head so your lips could slot against his. And he graciously accepted your offer, consuming you just as the feeling had done.

The two of you wasted no time in escalating from gentle kissing, allowing you to further calm down from your high before your cunt was throbbing once more. And . . . before his cock had begun to feel too fucking hard inside you, nearly twitching for release as it begged for your addictive touch. 

You let yourself get wrapped up in him for a little longer, too, never wanting to stop. Your hands were on him again as you tangled your fingers in his hair and pulled. This time a loud, deep groan came from his lips, and you knew you had him. He gave another groan of submission when you tugged again, his thrusts barely cohesive now. He was close, and you reveled in this, wishing to bring him to ecstasy. With that thought on your mind, you devilishly reached over his muscular ass, fingers quickly finding his perineum and pressing into it, massaging the sensitive spot.

He was sheathed deeper inside you before either of you could breathe, the two of you too wrapped up in each other to move positions. You just wanted to feel each other again and again and again, because for some reason . . . this time was different.

Different and yet all the same. That was how it had always been with Jungkook.

And you couldn’t quite put a word to the feeling, until . . . 

“Will you cum inside me?” you whispered, your voice hoarse as you omitted a soft moan under your breath. “Please. I need more.” Swallowing hard, you finally met his gaze, and instantly, you couldn’t look away. There was just . . . something . . . there. “I need you.” Your brows furrowed as you soaked in your own words while you searched his eyes. 

Slowly, with another roll of his hips, he sank lower, his abdomen grazing against yours so he could be close enough to brush his lips with yours but not that close to kiss you. But you . . . you couldn’t be without his touch, and found yourself tilting your head to press your lips against his, finally finding that something you had been searching for in his eyes. 

And then . . . then it hit you.

“I need you,” you heard yourself whisper before you knew the words had left your mouth. “I need you, Koo.”

I need you, you’d whispered, and you began to realize . . . you knew what you felt for him wasn’t what you’d feel for a friend. Because you did need him . . . in more ways than you’d like to admit.

And that scared the shit out of you.

taglist:

@hrts4kook , @taehyungs-chopsticks , @loomipee , @st3ft0n3s , @callmenada , @neg-l3ct , @dawn33 , @illegurlbangtan , @jeonsdetails , @rihabaxl , @yoongipost , @jjk1iscoming , @miumiugurl , @sadgirlroo , @lucwithbangtan , @iamsisuu , @shanelleeex , @beonim , @sherlynxx , @fairy1919 , @purplewhales , @bloopkook , @ggukcanim , @bloodline1632 , @jungkooksseuphoria , @tea4sykes , @mugiwaraelly , @darkuni63 , @jalexad , @lpgirl2324 , @fairy-jaykay , @h0tvillainap0logist , @stuffy16 , @keniicastillo , @yoongukie-ff , @seesawe , @chocolatesublimesoul , @yopjm , @jeonlovescoffee , @xmirvamx , @jk-190811 , @percyjacksonlovesannabethchase , @vminkookgf , @werxyz , @tornparts , @aprilspring , @kswr1d , @jimilter , @02010802 , @sunsetnamjin​ , @lonekittycat , @moonchild1 , @hanamgi , @yoongslast , @heronstairsxd @pointofviewyugyeom

[shipmansflannels]

in the heights | natalie scatorccio x reader

hey! I'm back! I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long, really. but I'm happy with the engagement and the new followers here on the blog, welcome everyone and I hope you like my stories below. I haven't made the masterlist yet, but as soon as I do, I'll pin it to organize it better. this first oneshot is super cute, I hope you like it. I'm also not going to open requests for now, but I'll leave my ask open in case you want to send me messages and interact through it too! thanks for following along! enjoy!

sorry for any grammatical or coherence errors, english is not my first language and I'm trying to improve!

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in the heights | natalie scatorccio x reader

-> prompt: you and natalie at a ferris wheel. but it gets stuck. <-

warnings: non cannon, no crash, most fem!reader but it works for gender neutral readers too, natalie having a soft side, a lot of swear words, very cliché and gay.

***

"I already told you I don't want to go. That's for children."

You laugh, watching Natalie blow out the last of her cigarette and use her worn-out sneakers to crush it on the floor. The two of you are leaning against a street light, but you're more focused on the popcorn that's almost gone and the noise of the kids screaming behind you, enjoying the huge roller coaster, or the carousel, or yelling for their mom to buy more tokens to hit the clown's mouth and win a damn stuffed bear.

It's your last year before heading off to college, but you're not old enough to enjoy the rare amusement park event when the mayor is in a good mood, which is why you make a point of not only inviting Natalie, but the rest of the girls on the team.

The difference is that you're not as close to them as you are to the platinum blonde who's snorting as she's being bumped into by a four-foot-tall boy who's running after another boy whose height you haven't yet identified.

"Oh, please, it's just going to be a single ride. I really want to see the city from up there", you insist, using your best whining voice, to try to convince Natalie to join you on the ferris wheel. She rolls her eyes as you shove another handful of popcorn into your mouth. "Then we can go on the ghost train, since you want to be that frightened."

"You know I hate the ferris wheel, (Y\N), no way."

Natalie was always closed off about her feelings and desires - and unless it had to do with addictions, cigarettes and drugs, you'd never guess any of the things she was passionate about. Of course, you knew about her problems with her father, her terrible relationship with her mother and how much she wanted to buy a trailer in the park closest to her school so she wouldn't have to live with this nightmare again, but otherwise, none of Natalie's fears were obvious to you.

So it was fun to hear her complain, in her usual grumpy mood, about how she hated rides on the ferris wheel.

“It’s not that bad,” you tried once more. "One ride, I promise. I'll give you one of my cigarettes later, don't worry."

Natalie huffed again, rolling her eyes at you, and put her lighter in the pocket of her old moss green jacket before walking over to you.

"Just a ride and then it's over. It's not a question."

You nodded, shrugging and swallowing hard, before starting to walk beside her. Oh, one more thing about Natalie that you knew since you met her: she hated holding hands.

***

"I swear I'm going to kill you. It seems like a good thing to push you from the highest point, don't you think?"

Natalie proposed, whispering through clenched teeth as the ferris wheel monitor buckled you up and closed the cabin. There was a noise in the background, coming from other laughing children and families in the cabins behind, so Natalie had to get a little closer to you to whisper in your direction.

"Ah, come on, it's going to be fun!", you murmured, in your usual joy, looking to the side and enjoying the view of the park before the ride started to rise. "But if you feel unwell, I can ask the monitor to stop first and come down."

"It is not necessary."

She murmured, taking a deep breath, and you felt like there was too much air gathering in Natalie's lungs. With your free arm, you passed it over the cabin, around the platinum blonde, in an attempt to comfort her. It didn't help, but you were sure you saw her lined eyes relax a little.

And then, the ride began. The families behind you screamed loudly when the cabins started to rise a little, and then they started laughing when theirs stopped in the air and slowly descended, giving a good view of the city from up there.

You looked away again at the huge windows and the landscape, even though you weren't so high up. It felt good to reassure Natalie at that moment, her fear feeling like it was going to leave her body and hover like a cloud of dust above your heads.

"Are you okay?"

"Absolutely."

You laughed, making a mental note and finding it amusing that Natalie always used colloquial language when she was scared. Suddenly, she looked down, and her clear eyes widened again.

"Holy shit! Why are there two guys down there? And why does it look like they're arguing? Oh, God, don't tell me we-"

You looked down, just to see where she was looking, and then, suddenly, the voices of the families became clearer, as if they purposefully escaped from the windows of the cabins straight into yours. "we're stuck!" "it looks like the toy broke!" "damn, bunch of irresponsible people!" "I want my fucking money back!" "get that fucking toy down soon, buddy!"

Gritting your teeth, you looked at Natalie, and you were sure that she had heard at least half of the whispers, or, well, at best - and probably the most terrible - she had enough intelligence to figure out what had just happened on her own. to happen.

"Fuck me," she muttered, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. Once, twice, three times. And then, you grabbed her with your free arm by the collar of her shirt, the back collar.

"Calm down, it's just a quick stop, it's supposed to give more excitement. Soon the ferris wheel comes back, just try to breathe", you whispered, and obviously it didn't help at all.

"I'm not five anymore, (Y\N). Don't act like you're my fucking parents."

"Hey, don't freak out, it won't help…", you clicked your tongue. "Well, how about if we just try to distract ourselves while the toy doesn't come back? Make small talk? There are some things going on that you haven't told me yet, right?"

You don't know how this caught Natalie's attention, but you saw that her face had returned to its usual paleness, and that she had raised an eyebrow in your direction.

"What are you talking about?"

"Why, the most obvious. You and Travis Martinez, what else?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not what you think. He's just my friend. Just like you are too."

Ouch, that one hurt. It would have affected you more, of course, if you had even had feelings for Natalie, but obviously you had nothing more than a friendly affection for her, and in truth, her and Travis' sudden closeness wasn't bothering you in the slightest. in an unhealthy way…

Absolutely not. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath.

"Just friends? Oh, sure, like, okay then…" You took another deep breath, and then blushed when you saw her raised eyebrow again. "It's just, like, he doesn't seem like the kind of person who would hang out with our gang…"

"You mean he doesn't look like a rebellious kid?" Natalie scoffed, biting her lip and looking away from you. "Yeah, I mean, you'd be surprised by some things about him."

"And how come you know so much, huh?"

She pursed her lips. You had used an intonation that definitely wasn't as ironic as you thought it would be, and in fact, maybe that would have surprised Natalie. You were about to open your mouth to apologize, when she spoke first, her eyes fixed on you and that cheeky smile that only she knew how to give.

"Damn, I didn't know you were that possessive, (Y\N)…"

It was your turn to roll your eyes.

"And I'm not. I don't give a shit about your circle of friends, okay?"

"It's not what it looks like…"

"Okay, let's change the subject…", you pursed your lips too, looking away. "Did you buy the hair dye? Your roots are turning black again…"

She nodded, but that sleazy smile was still on her lips as she looked the other way. In fact, it only disappeared when she realized that you guys weren't coming back down, and that it would probably take hours to do so.

"This shit's never going down again, is it? What the fuck…"

You laughed, looking at her again and shaking your head. "You know, if you're so scared, you can hold my hand. I won't bite you unless you ask me to."

Natalie rolled her eyes again, looking at you with closed eyes. She hated vulnerability, especially when it was her own. Her hand slid across the space in the seat that separated the two of you in the cabin, and then, her fingers caught yours, lightly, as if they were magnets attracting each other.

"If you tell anyone tomorrow, I'll kill you," she whispered, her teeth clenched and her gaze still very serious. That made you laugh and eased the blush on your cheeks a little.

Suddenly, like an answer to her silent prayer, the cabin gave a sharp start and threatened to descend. This caused Natalie's already trembling and vulnerable body, barely secured in the seat belt, to fall until it reached your arms. You held her just in case, but she made sure to lean on your waist to straighten herself up again.

"Oh, God, I think I'm going to throw up," she murmured, returning to the fear inside her. You watched her and, in a rush, had an idea that might help. Well, it helped you with your now rare panic attacks before a decisive test in class.

Instinctively, you grabbed her cheek, pressing your faces together at a considerable distance. Her eyes were on you, but specifically at the level of your nose, and she seemed shocked by your unexpected attitude.

“What the fuck are you doing?”, she whispered, her lips barely moving.

"I'm trying to take your focus away. Pay attention to other things, don't fucking look down," you replied, your tone as neutral as possible, your eyes focused on her. But your closeness was incredibly suspicious and, even if you denied it, it took away some of the attention that should have been hers. Clearing your throat, you whispered again. "Do you feel better?"

Natalie didn't answered. She closed her clear eyes and took another deep breath, swallowing hard. And then, her pale, calloused hands touched your shoulder. At first, it seemed like an attempt to push you away, but then, suddenly, when she unexpectedly pressed your lips together, you understood everything.

Responding to the kiss as best you could, terrified that it would be clumsy, you let your mind wander to the darkest parts, and you also understood that you always wanted, deep down, for this moment to happen. And then, after minutes of the wind in your hair and your body getting hot with the blood bubbling almost to your head, Natalie finally did what she normally would do, using the grip on your shoulders to pull you away from her.

"Fuck, this wasn't supposed to happen," she whispered, trying to apologize. And suddenly, she fixed it. "I mean, maybe it was, but not like this. I guess I was just a little… too vulnerable, my bad."

You laughed, blushing once more before holding her hand again, this time placing your palm on hers.

"It's okay to be vulnerable sometimes. You look cute with that soft side," you whispered, nodding. "Well, not like that…"

"Don't be stupid, of course it's like that," she murmured, raising her eyebrow. "Okay, I'm not going to punch you in the face because you kissed me and because you have feelings for me."

"For the record, you were the one who kissed me."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, fuck. Nobody cares."

Suddenly, the ferris wheel gave another start and, finally, with the screams of satisfaction from all the families who were still waiting up there, it started working normally again. Natalie sighed, still holding your hand in hers, and you smiled, relieved, looking away.

"Just promise me one thing, (Y\N)?"

"Anything, Nat."

"That you won't tell anyone that we kissed-"

"That you kissed me."

"Whatever! Don't tell anyone, do you hear me? Or I'll change my mind and punch you in the face, yes."

You laughed before pulling her closer with your free hand, by her chin, and kissing her once more. "Don't worry. It'll just be our little secret for now."

[ghostofwriting]

Kildare Split Part Two: Place In Me

Rafe Cameron x Reader

Chapter 2: Place In Me

Note: Me: I don't know when I'll post chapter 2 maybe on the weekend but who knows. Also me: posts 3 hours after saying that. Once again I wanted to thank everyone for reading and interacting! I appreciate all of you so much. Not edited so be warned. I confused everyone with part 21 and this doesn't provide any answers! Just more context for other parts of the smau. Enjoy!

Warnings: none, bad writing, Rafe being mean, y/n being mean

Word Count: 3,371

Synopsis: Everyone has noticed that there's been a shift in how Kildare Split acts around each other. Rafe and Y/N used to be so close, they were always pictured together, and always shared stories of each other and for the last few years, there has been nothing from them. A behind-the-scenes look at what went down between everyone's favourite band.

She thought that she made herself clear and that they understood where she was coming from after her speech in the green room.

She’s not expecting Barry to be sitting on the couch of the tour bus she had chosen to sleep in, her hair sticking to her sweaty forehead from her run, slightly out of breath. 

When she opens the door and sees him sitting there, she jumps.

“Fuck, Barry what the hell?” Barry had a very specific regime for show days. He should’ve been napping on the other bus.

“We can’t go on hiatus. You’re being selfish.” She feels her ears start burning, she scoffs at him. 

“Selfish? You better be kidding me. The audacity of you to come in here and accuse me of being selfish?”

“Y-” She doesn’t let him continue.

“I have put up with this bullshit for two years, Barry! Just because I’m tired and need a break doesn’t make me selfish.”

“If you would just talk to him.”

“No. Fuck you. No.”

“If you talk to him, and he explains himself, you’ll understand and this can all go back to normal.”

“No. I will not fix this. I don’t need to fix this.”

“What happened to be there for each other?”

“Barry. You and Topper were supposed to be there for me!” She snaps, her voice rising.

“You were the only people who knew exactly what I was going through not only with Rafe but with the fame and the drugs and the people wanting things from me. You were going through it too, I know you were. But you abandoned me the second Rafe decided to what? Get in a relationship? You threw me away, I was so alone!” 

Tears are threatening to spill over now. She hates how she can’t get angry without crying. 

“I went through everything by myself and the people I thought were my best friends abandoned me. I get it okay. You chose your boy. But I thought I meant something to you. I thought I was your friend. He broke my heart and my spirit.” She stops to catch her breath, “I was a shell of a person and you still didn’t even ask me if I was okay. In two years you haven't checked in.”

“y/n..”

“He told me he didn’t want to live without me and the next day I found out he was seeing Sofia. And suddenly I wasn’t his friend or his bandmate or even a person. I was just someone he fucked. And I don’t care why he said that. I don’t care if he meant it or not or if he was lost and scared. He still said it. I’m done. I’m done with him, I’m done with this Los Angeles, I’m done. I don’t owe him anything. I don’t need to talk to him.” She finishes her chest heaving. Barry is staring at her, eyes wide.

“What does that mean?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay in the band. But it’s work. That’s all. We aren’t friends.” 

Barry’s silent. Still sitting on the bus couch. 

“Get out. Please.” 

+++

The early days of getting over Rafe were hard. She wanted to go back to who she was before him. The version of herself before she got involved with him. Journaling and writing song lyrics and poems could only do so much. Everyone told her that she needed someone else. She understood that but she didn’t feel like it. She wasn’t ready to get her heartbroken all over again. 

Not when she constantly got her heart broken on tour, not only when she saw Rafe making out with Sofia backstage but when Barry walked right by her without acknowledging her existence, or when Topper pretended not to hear her. Her heart cracked every time for the little girl who trusted these boys with her entire being and let them in only for them to stomp all over her. 

She spent endless nights on tour, alone in her hotel room crying at the top of her lungs and on the tour bus muffling the sound of her sobs with her pillow. So when people suggested she needed to meet someone to get over him, well, it didn’t sound like a good idea to just let someone else in to break her even more when they eventually left. 

It got better little by little, the heartache over her friends hating her. The heartbreak over Rafe choosing someone who wasn’t her, someone who was worth it. The loneliness never did. It was crippling how alone she felt. There were times when she wanted to go back to the drugs, drinking, and partying. She would feel so much better if she just couldn’t feel anymore. She didn’t go back on the promise that she made to herself. She would never be that afraid high out of her mind 17-year-old girl again. 

She isn’t sure if she gets over Rafe or if she learned to live with the pain. Sometimes she thinks she’s so angry at him and that’s the reason she doesn’t want him. She misses him all the time, she thinks she’ll miss him forever. At least who they were before they had sex and fucked it all up. 

She lets everyone know that when the time comes she’ll make them all aware. Cleo tells her that she better be the first one who finds out she’s seeing someone. She tells her that she wouldn’t have it any other way.

The day she met him was one of the most ordinary days she had lived in her entire life. She had woken up in her Los Angeles apartment, made herself breakfast, gone for a swim and gotten ready for the day. She didn’t have anything planned for the day, maybe tidy up a little, call Sarah, and run some errands. The craving to make brownies hits her out of nowhere, she doesn’t have any of the ingredients at her house though, the life of a touring artist. 

She’s leaving the grocery store with her reusable bags filled to the brim with all her cravings. She’s digging in her tiny pink purse that can’t hold anything for her keys when she drops two of her bags. 

She doesn’t want to get angry when she sees everything fall, she stares at it for a second, takes a deep breath and moves to pick it up. Once she gets everything together and packed up in her car, she decides that she needs a little treat for putting up with her groceries falling.

Her favorite pastry spot in LA is right by a hotel where all the celebrities who don’t live in the city full time. It’s usually a curse because everyone is hanging out or camping outside the hotel for a small glimpse of someone famous.

She thanks Caroline, the bakery owner and steps out of the store without looking at where she’s going. She feels herself collide into something strong and hard. Someone. Her pastries shake in the box. Of course, this would happen too. Why can’t she just keep herself from dropping her food today?

“I am so sorry.” She says to the man standing in front of her. He’s pretty, she thinks. Dark brown hair, almost black, brown eyes that look very familiar, and strong, and his arms are bulging where his black shirt sleeve ends. He’s hot. 

“Don’t worry, you’re fine.” She hears his friend behind say something in a different language and the man in front of her shakes his head and smiles at her. 

“Are they making fun of me for being a klutz?” He laughs. 

“No, they think it’s funny that I would run into my celebrity crush. Literally.” Any other time, if someone confessed that she was their celebrity crush, she would run so far so fast. Something keeps her there, smiling like an idiot, at a loss for words. She says the first thing that pops into her head.

“Have we met? You look familiar.” She feels like she’s seen him somewhere but she can’t place him. 

“Mira que te ha visto a través de la ventana.” one of his friends says, he shushes him not even turning to look. 

“I’m an actor?” He says it like a question, his cheeks flush, and he’s embarrassed. It’s endearing. 

“Yeah? Have I seen anything you’ve been in?” 

“I doubt it.” 

“So as your celebrity crush, it seems that I have a responsibility to watch whatever you’ve been in, don't you think?”

“No way.” He smiles at his friends doing a quiet chant of something behind him.

“No? Not even if you join me and walk me through it?” She knows she’s giving him eyes now, looking at him through her eyelashes, fluttering her eyelids a little too much. Her resolve is gone, she doesn’t know where her confidence is coming from and she’s going to use it until it’s gone. 

“We could arrange that,” he pauses, “Julio.” He extends his hand out for her to shake. 

“Y/N.” and maybe when she takes his hand she feels a shock run up her arm. 

Maybe she’s being dramatic and jumping the gun but what if everything she’s been through led her to this moment? Right here with him. 

+++

When Rafe finds out Y/N is seeing someone he tries not to lose it. He knows he has no right. His palms start sweating. He feels his breath shorten, he’s honestly a mess though he doesn’t show it. 

At least not until Topper pushes him on the subject when they’re left alone. 

“She’s seeing someone.” The room is eerily quiet, they’re in the studio recording their second album. Y/N had gone off to probably call her boyfriend and Barry was off doing who knows who.

“Yeah.” He’s short with his answer, scrolling on his phone to distract himself from the ever-intrusive thoughts of her her her. 

“You good?” No. No, of course he’s not good.

“I have Sofia.” Topper clears his throat and continues his torture on him. 

“Doesn’t answer my question.” 

“Yeah.” He looks over at Topper, his eyebrows lifting in acknowledgement.

They stay quiet for a few more minutes, the questions and thoughts and everything eating at him.

“Who’s the guy?” The question forces its way out of his mouth. He doesn’t want to know anything about the man that holds her heart.

“Some actor,” Topper responds nonchalantly, looking at him like he’s going to blow up if he moves anymore.

“Cool.” He wants to claw his heart out. What the fuck is happening to him right now.

“Rafe.” Topper isn’t convinced that it’s cool at all. Because Rafe can lie to everyone in his life but not Topper.

“No yeah, that’s cool. It’s great, yeah, good for her.” He knows he still doesn’t sound convincing.

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Let her be happy.” He’s going to be mature about this. He asked Sofia to marry him last year for god sake. If he gets to be happy, she does too. Is he happy?

“Rafe.” Fucking Topper and his questions.

“I’ve fucked her life up enough. She deserves this. Deserves someone.” It spills out of him again, his eyes meeting with Topper’s, begging him to stop. 

“Do you ever miss her?” Topper’s not showing him any mercy today, wanting to know everything he’s kept inside for the past two years.

“More than anything.”

“You fucked up” understatement of his life. He ruined her and in turn, ruined himself. He was stupid and selfish and he deserved the worst.

“Yeah.”

+++

“You have to apologize to her.” Rafe’s once again fiddling with his guitar. The arena is empty except for the techs playing with lightingThe stage had been set up the night before. Y/N was with Sarah exploring the city before she had to be back for soundcheck. Barry was taking a nap and Topper was being a pain in his ass. He tweeted some bullshit at him and Rafe had called him back to talk.

“I don’t have to do anything, she’s leaving.”

“Yeah because of you. Because of what you did to her.”

“I seem to remember that you were included in isolating her.”

“That only happened because she was so hurt she pushed everyone away and I thought I would make it worse by forcing her to talk. Anyway, that’s between y/n and I. You need to take responsibility, Rafe.”

“For what? It wasn’t my fault I didn’t love her.”

“Oh fuck off Rafe. You loved her. You were just scared.”

“Of course I was scared! It could’ve ruined everything. The band, our careers.”

“You shouldn’t have ever gotten involved.”

“I couldn’t help it!” He closes his eyes, doing the breathing exercises they taught him in rehab, in therapy. 

“Please, just talk to her.” 

“She doesn’t want to hear it.”

“You have to try!’

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“Because I’m engaged. I’m with Sofia and I’m happy and if,” he breathes “if y/n were to even give me the slightest greenlight I would burn my whole relationship to the ground. Her whole relationship.” He says the last part under his breath, hoping Topper doesn’t hear it.

“What the fuck, Rafe?”

“I know.”

“Why now?”

“I did and said some shit back then to not fuck up the band. It was wrong, stupid and childish. It’s not a question of ‘why now,’ I never stopped.”

“You still love her.” Rafe doesn’t confirm or deny it. Topper shakes his head. 

“You need to apologize.” Topper leaves Rafe to strum his guitar in thought. 

+++

Everything changes when he comes into her life. It’s like she was living in this deep black hole of anger, sadness, and endless turmoil. He’s her calm. He grounds her and she feels like she can finally breathe. She hasn’t felt wanted in such a long time and even though they are long distance most of the time between his film schedule and her tours, she has never felt alone since meeting him. 

She has a video from him every time she wakes up in the morning. Sometimes it’s just him telling her something that happened to him during the day, or a funny story, and sometimes he sings. She wishes she could drop an album just to feature him on it. She wants the entire world to know that he’s hers and she’s his and she is so incredibly in love. 

It’s scary going from such a low to such a high. The extreme contrast is intimidating at times but she wouldn’t have it any other way. She learned what she wanted in a relationship from an extremely difficult situation and somehow it was all worth it as long as she got to have him in her life. 

They’re together for a year before it gets out. They chose to be private about their relationship, it’s easy when he’s halfway across the world most of the time. That doesn’t stop her from spending every single moment that she isn’t on tour or in the studio next to him in Spain, Italy, France. She loves him. She would do anything for him. She knew that he was the one three weeks into their relationship and when she told him and he told her he felt the same, it confirmed it.

It’s her fault it gets out, he said it was about time and he wasn’t mad about it at all. 

Sometimes she still finds that deep-seated anger she holds for Rafe bubbling over. It’s all-consuming and she can’t stop the venom that leaves her body.

When Rafe’s engagement gets out, she and Julio step out on a date night. Cleo calls the paparazzi for her. It’s a great plan until everyone is freaking out because they’re convinced she and Rafe were dating this entire time.

She loves her fans but sometimes the theories and threads get a little too much. Mostly because they’re correct most of the time. 

At first, she was scared of Julio seeing all those things and seeing how everyone wanted her and Rafe to get married. She was scared he was going to run away. It never seemed to faze him. He never not once doubted her. He understands how people get and believes her when she tells him she chooses him for the rest of forever.

+++

Topper’s words haunt him. He wants to apologize to her and give her and himself some form of closure. He doesn’t know how to approach it. They haven’t talked in years, not really. How does he talk to the person that he hurt so much?

He catches her after soundcheck one day, his wringing his hands together, riddled with anxiety. 

“Hey, Y/N?” He calls out after her as she passes him.

She slowly turns around and crosses her arms, raising her eyebrows at him in surprise. 

“What can I do for you?”

He gulps as she looks at him expectantly.

“I was wondering if you had listened to the album?” What? Why the hell did he open with that?

“Why would I listen to the album?” She asks incredulously 

“Well, because I mean it’s about,” he stumbles over his words, “I just wish you would listen to it and maybe hear me out.”

“You want me to listen to your album so that I can hear you?” She nods her head and puckers her lips. 

 “It’s so stupid that after all these years you can’t apologize to my face so you what? Make an album? Is your apology hidden in there somewhere?” 

“Yes-No, I just think that if you gave it a chance, we could talk about it.”

“You want me to pretend to give a shit about your album when you can’t tell me how you feel right now in person?” She’s laughing a little now. Shocked at his suggestion. He wants the ground to swallow him whole.

“Please, can you just listen?” 

“No Rafe. I am so done with this. I have been done with this. I don’t care about your album, I don't care about you.” Her words hit him like knives in his heart.

“Why do you care about my opinion about your album? Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I don’t know that your album is about me? You called it Angel, Rafe! The fucking nickname that you gave me when we were 12 years old! I’m not some dumb girl who you can just manipulate and get whatever you want out of her. Not anymore. I am not that person for you.” She stops, her hands coming down from where she was waving them. He wants to say something but his mouth is dry and he has a ball the size of a grapefruit stuck in his throat.

“You made it incredibly clear to me that you don’t think of me as a person. Like- what did you say to me? That I’m just a fuck?” He grimaces when she throws his words from three years ago back at him. 

“Yeah, you said I’m just some girl you fuck, ‘you’re just some girl I fuck I don’t care about you.’ Sound about right?” He can’t move. He’s frozen.

“You could have worded it a million different ways and still gotten your message across. You could have been so much nicer. Let me down easy. Let me know in a better way that you found someone that you wanted to get to know. I would’ve put everything aside and just been your friend but no, you decided that I meant nothing to you, that everything we had been through, everything we had built, Our friendship was not important to you.”

 “Because I’m just someone you fucked. So, Don’t worry about me, don’t worry about my opinion because you’re just someone I fucked too and someone that I no longer care about. You are just my bandmate. You are just a coworker, I don’t think of you. I’m done with you. Keep your album. Good luck.”

He was so fucked. It would be a miracle if he ever got her to forgive him.

[siolixz]

~Veils of Crimson~

Chapter 3

<chapter2> <chapter1> <chapter 4> <chapter 5: part 1>

Pairings: oz cobb x reader (Carmine Falcone's daughter)

Chapter three is here!! We got Al's ya-know-what in this one and maybe a more intimate moment with our fav big scary man, too :)All jokes aside, from here on, the chapters overall are gonna get much darker, that's what I initially wanted with this story-I don't know yet if reader is gonna be happy in the end, I mean, I paired her up with the guy that killed her brother, tried to light her dad up in front of the whole police department and we still have yet to see what he's gonna do with Sofia. Also, there will be no “cat fight” or big interaction between reader and Eve, I hate that shit, lets say Oz stopped sleeping with her some time before reader comes back home,mkay?Remember we are seeing this through the eyes of the reader, shes infatuated with him and naive in a way. Please take everything I wrote and I'm gonna write with a grain of salt, this is fiction and Oz "The Penguin" Cobb ain't a nice guy and that's okay, I don't wanna change him-I wanna make him worse!

Again, I took my inspo from Driving Miss Falcone by (https://www.tumblr.com/genevievedarcygranger here on tumblr), check out the story if you can.

Enjoy, give feeback if u want xoxo.

Warnings: mature language, smut (not in this chapter sorry AGAIN next chapter i pinky swear), general horniness.

“You’re just as gorgeous as I remember.”

It felt nice hearing him say that. You hoped that the nerves you felt inside didn’t show up on your face as well.

“Nice car, Oz.” You simply couldn’t help yourself from mentioning that. “Purple’s a nice color.”

He raised an eyebrow and, while still smiling, said, “Well technically it's plum- but I know, right?”

“We three of us have a lot of catching up to do. Why don’t we go for dinner?” your sister interjected.

Oz tore his eyes off of you when hearing her. “Sure, we cou—”

“How about right now?”

Once seated at the restaurant and after ordering some food, Sofia was the first to break the awkward silence.

“Are you nervous, Oz? I would hate for you to be nervous with me. ‘Cause despite what you might think, I don’t blame you.” Okay, here she goes. “I mean if you haven’t gone to my father.”

Oz started fiddling around, smoothing out the tablecloth. “He left you no choice.”

When the food arrived, Sofia had no qualms digging in like a neanderthal, so Oz and you chatted about the last few years, like nothing changed. Except, things did change. Oz ran the Iceberg Lounge; he served as your father’s lieutenant of sorts, and from what you understood, he also ran the drops operation. He asked you about life in Europe and if you missed it. You told him that nothing compares to Gotham.

“Yeah, you’re right about that one, kid.” You don’t know why, but Oz seemed really lost in thought after that comment. He seemingly stopped saying anything and just looked at you.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt this little love affair you guys got going on, but I would also like to ask Oz a few things.” Sofia was done eating and now was on her second martini. Great, she's going to dig into him now.

“Alberto told me he was going to your club last night to get to our father’s loft. I—well, we—” she gestured toward you, “wanted to join, but he has been so protective over us lately that he didn’t want us leaving the house. It was all part of this plan; it was our shared secret. But today I hear you talk about revolutionizing the drug business.” Sofia was right to mention that. How on earth did he know?

“How do you know about his plan?” she continued. “And why on earth would you pitch it as your own? You know, it’s so brazen that you either have to be blindingly stupid or wildly confident that he isn't coming back to reclaim it. So I ask you again: do you know where our brother is?” she asked.

“Listen, Sofia—” Oz glanced at you. “You two are the surprise here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Al never told me you guys were back or that you were in on this thing with us.” All right, so that explains things. “You know me and my stupid mouth. Ya know, I screwed up. Maybe you could put in a good word. I—I don’t wanna put that on you, but he was so passionate about his plan, I thought there was no reason not to move forward, just because he is on another bender, you know the shipment arrives in a few days, right?”

Bender? What was Oz talking about?

“Bender? What do you mean, a bender?” you interrupted.

Oz moved his eyes toward you and said, “Al’s an addict, sweetheart.” You could see him trying to break this news as softly as he could. “He’s got a penchant for drops.” He looked at your sister again. “And booze and gambling, and I’m pretty sure he’s got a sex thing too-so yeah- but look, this isn’t the first time he has gone AWOL. He always comes back.” Oz continued, “And if he was at my club last night—I wouldn’t know. I was actually drowning my sorrows with my lady friend last night, Eve.”

So Oz has a girlfriend. That’s interesting.

“But if it makes you feel better, we can go there right now, scour the joint—I doubt anything is gonna turn up, but it’s worth a shot, whatever will put minds at ease.”

“You know what? You’re right. I think we are both just being crazy. He’s probably gonna turn up. Let's stay in and enjoy our meal.” your sister said.

As you were all ready to leave, you couldn’t help but feel jealous. Eve—what a lucky lady. You wondered what she probably does for a living—you could certainly find out. It’s been five years, you know, expecting anyone to stay celibate in order to wait for you, if you even arrived at all, was unnatural.

After your sister put on her coat, she got on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. She whispered something in his ear you had no idea what, but he looked once again frustrated, lost in thought. Maybe Oz was lying. Maybe not. She immediately disappeared outside, leaving you all alone with him. If she kissed his cheek, now you gotta do that too. Thanks, Sofia.

He winked at you and said, “Next dinner’s on me, all right, doll? You still owe me one after you left me hanging.” He smiled, flashing those gold teeth of his.

Raising your eyebrows, you asked him, “You remember?”

“Of course I do.”

“All right, Oz, you got a deal.” You smiled and raised yourself up to hug him properly. He was one big man. He wrapped his big arms around you and you felt so warm. Being this close to him, smelling him and holding him like this felt almost euphoric. “I missed you,” you said, your voice low enough so that only he could hear. You didn’t want any prying ears to run to the press, even if you did know they would after seeing you and Sofia back in Gotham at a very expensive restaurant.

He lowered his voice and told you, “Missed you too, doll.”

The road home was very quiet. Sofia was too busy looking things up on her phone. Every once in a while, you would mention something, like the floods or the spike in crime ever since your dad passed. You say “passed” so you don’t have to say, “he was shot dead by a crazy maniac while being arrested with the literal entire police department next to him.” Life feels so weird lately, like a dream. With your dad being gone, Al has to step up.

Now, the thing about being a mob boss was that once you die, there is always gonna be a power vacuum. Like sharks, all your enemies and friends are gonna push themselves so they can get to the top; best man will win.

Once in a while, she would acknowledge you with a nod or a tiny smile, but nothing compared to the hour-long conversations you guys used to have. You knew she was angry at Oz, at your family for writing all those letters that solidified her reason to stay there—anyone would be. Arkham was a jungle; it was eat or be eaten—but this quest for vengeance, this anger inside of her, was going to eat her alive. You knew that. Alberto told you all about her fears and how she felt.

Alberto, God, you hoped he was okay. You loved your brother; he was rash and careless, quick to anger and naive in his arrogance—but he was still your brother. He should be running the show; he deserved it.

As you looked outside, you saw some of the destruction that those floods brought. Maybe you and your sister could help make things right for some of these people; maybe you could redirect a percentage of the money toward helping them rebuild Gotham, rebuild the Falcone’s reputation.

She declined your request. Of course she did; why would we help them? “We have so many problems on our back right now,” she said, and while true, you also heard what Oz said. He wouldn’t lie to you or your sister like that, right?

As the hours passed, Sofia became more and more restless. She HAD to find him. You too were worried sick. You wanted to go with her to search the Iceberg Lounge, but she said it’s more important for you to stay, so nothing bad happens to you too. All right, you stayed.

In the meantime, you talked to Viti and Milos. Maybe you could help the family’s reputation. They looked at you like you told them you were gonna start stripping. So you did what you could and sold some of your old clothes, jewels, and shoes that day. You knew just the guy that would buy your stuff; he was surprised to see you but happy. Unlike the people that saw your sister again, you were happy—so very happy. All that money went to a good cause, you could finally appear on the news for a good thing and you weren’t gonna wear some of those old things anyway. As you texted your aunt, when you arrived back home; a car sped past you and crashed into the fountain.

What the hell?

Sofia exited the greenhouse, dressed in all black, like she was going to a funeral. You yelled out her name, scared that a bomb would go off when she got close to the car. Everyone else exited the house- armed guards ready for whatever the fuck that noise was.

The door to the driver's seat was open, and a brick was placed on the gas pedal. You weren’t close enough to see what she was looking at when she opened the trunk; you only read the writing on top: ‘PAYBACK.’

What the fuck was this?

The scream your sister let out was unlike anything you ever heard, and then you knew.

Your brother was dead.

Not long after the discovery of his body you learned who could be responsible for it. Your brother was murdered by the only people crazy or powerful enough to go after the Falcone family—the Maronis.

If Sal Maroni had the sort of power to do something like that while in jail, what else was he capable of? What was his next step? Was he going to go after your sister and then you?

You had to push those thoughts aside. The news of your brother's murder was blasted on every news outlet in the city, and you were constantly reminded of how dangerous this life, that you didn’t even choose—neither you nor your siblings—truly was. You needed to be protected.

A man like Carmine Falcone struck fear in the hearts of his enemies and, well, he struck fear in the hearts of everybody—no one dared to touch you or even look at you weird or disrespectfully.

You knew that Sofia was never going to be allowed to be in charge—she was a woman AND a certified crazy woman at that—so Viti called your uncle Luca to come over and step up as the boss. Another slap directed toward your sister.

As she explained to you, the family’s operation of Drops was being moved. You were losing a lot of profit with those terrible floods and all.

Viti and Milos didn’t even care about the “family” or your guys’ reputation; they couldn’t care less about your sister or you. The more quiet you were, the better.

Well, Sofia wasn’t like that—in times like these, most especially in times like these, you needed all hands on deck.

Every day you checked the news. First thing in the morning, a small part of you hoped you would see your brother there, with the news that he was alive after all—that everything was just a dream. His funeral was tomorrow, and you didn’t even know if you had the strength to get up, get dressed, do your makeup, and then be surrounded by like a hundred people.

As you lay in bed, texting your aunt, filling her in with all the information you could remember about your current situation, you heard cars screech in front of the mansion. A shiver ran up your spine; you stopped dead from texting and tried to listen to what was happening downstairs. You were terrified—were these the Maronis? Coming to kill all of you?

When you heard all the familiar voices of your armed guards in the house, you were relieved but still worried. You ran out of your room as quickly as your slippers allowed.

You saw  Oz come inside, brows furrowed, hot and heavy and all bloodied, you ran to him.

“Oz! Are you okay? What—what happened?” you asked.

“Yeah—yeah I’m okay, those sons of bitches caught—” he started, but Viti interrupted him.

“OZ! Come inside, tell us what happened, now.”

He looked at you apologetically, but you told him to go.

While Oz was yelling inside, you were listening to Castillo’s retelling of what happened: the Maronis attacked the shipment, so the situation was clear—this was an all-out gang war.

Not long after, your sister came home as well. You exchanged quick hellos, but she bolted into the meeting room, conveniently leaving the door slightly ajar—an invitation. Get your ass inside; Dad’s dead, everything has gone to shit, and you’re not 19 anymore.

You followed her in, touching her side affectionately as you passed to let her know you were there for her. Oz was still yelling about how he saved the men there, and Viti was very fucking pissed. You leaned back against the table overlooking the men sitting there. It felt like an episode of a reality show.

“Is that all you care about? The product? The money we lost?” Sofia said, smoking.

Oz glanced at you and gave you a quick smile.

“We can get more money, gentlemen. I think you’re missing the point here—the Maronis humiliated our family. They took my brother and shoved his body in the trunk of a car—like he was a piece of trash.” Ugh, maybe you should’ve just gone to your room. “He deserves justice.”

“Look, Sofia, we all cared for Alberto—” Milos started.

“Well, I doubt that, Milos. I really do. Justice is what matters, and that is what my brother, your nephew, deserves,” she said, pointing at your uncle, Luca.

“WHY AREN’T HIS KILLERS STRUNG UP ACROSS THE CITY?!” she shouted. Okay, maybe that was a bit much, you thought. Killing them would be enough, geez.

“When the time is right, the Maronis will pay,” Johnny said.

“Well, if they knew our route, they weren’t working alone. There must be someone on the inside” Everyone turned towards you and the tension in the room was palpable. " helping them—someone in our own family.”

“How dare you two come in here, like you mean something,” Viti sneered, God you hated this asshole. “You don’t call the shots around here—”

“Johnny!” your uncle stopped him from insulting you. “Neither do you. And those are my nieces you’re talking to. Show them some fucking respect! " Luca said. Viti called both your names and apologized, but you could see the insincerity behind his eyes, almost like he was mocking you with the way he apologized.

Luca instructed everyone on what they had to do, and the meeting broke up-he called it a night.

“Do you need anything from me, boss?” Oz asked.

“You’ve done enough,” Luca replied, his voice firm.

As everyone started to leave, you told Oz the hour of the funeral tomorrow. He urged you to get some rest and promised he would see you then.

On your way upstairs, you heard him stop Sofia. You didn’t catch much of their conversation, just something about being desperate.

The next day, at the funeral, the press, the photographs, the protests—it was all too much. You couldn’t find Oz either and you wanted to get home so bad. You quickly went to the bathroom to gather yourself, and when you came back, you spotted him.

“Hey. I didn't see you in there. I thought you didn’t come,” you said, relief washing over you.

“You looked for me?” he asked, surprise in his voice.

“Yes, of course. You promised,” you replied, stepping closer. The suit he wore reminded you of a simpler time; when he was just your driver.

“How are you holding up, kid?” he asked, his empathy evident.

“I’m okay, for the most part. He shouldn’t have gone the way he did. The Maronis will pay, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, they will. I promise.” Standing with him, overlooking the crowd below, you felt a mix of despair and hope. “You know, I’m very well aware that the mob needs a strong hand—an iron fist—to lead it. But an iron fist can be gentle too. It all depends on who has it.”

There was a pause as he took in your words. He nodded, took a deep breath, and continued, “You know, we didn’t have a service for my brothers.” You felt a pang of sorrow for him, knowing how deeply the loss affected him. He went on about his mother, how grief consumed her, how one day-all of a sudden- she got out of bed, told him to get ready and they went dancing to lift her spirits. You knew his brothers were dead and his mom too, but he nevet told you this story.

He looked into your eyes, then at your lips, then back into your eyes. Did he want to kiss you? Oh no, was your lipstick smeared?

“Do you want to go with me to listen to some music and eat some good food one of these days? You promised.” he asked, and excitement bubbled inside you.

“What about Eve, or whatever her name was.” You asked.

He was surprised by your question but he nevertheless told you “Theres all sorts of friends out there, no?” Ok, whatever that means.

"Yeah-sure I'll go. You kept your promise, I'll keep mine, plus I owe you." you said, trying to hide your enthusiasm.

"I'll have my driver-" he started

“You have a driver?” you didn't mean it to sound so stuck up, shit.

“Yeah, I do. What? You think a club owner doesn’t have one?” Oz joked, you were so glad he wasn't bothered by that comment, maybe he knew you didn't mean it like that.

For the first time in a week, you felt genuinely excited about something.

As the funeral dragged on, your mind wandered to what you would wear. You settled on a stunning Yves Saint Laurent dress from the '90s—black velvet, understated yet elegant. You added Oz’s gift from long ago as your necklace and a pair of Tiffany earrings to complete the look. To avoid drawing attention, you had your driver take you to the restaurant instead of arriving together.

When you arrived, Oz was already seated. As soon as he noticed you, he gave a low whistle and flashed that dazzling smile of his. You walked over, and with your heels clicking on the floor, you greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. God, he smelled amazing.

You couldn’t help but notice the stares from the other patrons. A beautiful woman smiling ear to ear with the scariest man they’d ever seen—it was a spectacle.

As Oz took your jacket and helped you get seated, you soaked in the atmosphere of the restaurant. It was bustling but cozy, with soft lighting and a stage at the center where musicians were preparing to play.

“You look gorgeous, I mean, wow,” Oz said, his gaze lingering on you, especially your breasts "Nice necklace you got."

“Well thank you! You don’t look too bad yourself. Nice seat you picked out; we can see everything from here,” you replied, smiling at him

“Yeah, I know the owner- he made us a reservation yesterday. This place is a big deal, ya know?”

“I figured-there's a lot of people-all looking at us.” You wondered if they recognized you.

He chuckled to himself “Ha, trust me doll they are sure as shit all looking at you.”

Your waiter came by and by the time the performance started you already drank half the wine they poured for you. 

The songs were amazing, the food great, the performance was amazing-it was loud, but not too loud so you couldn’t hear each other speak- and the company, whew, the company, was out of this world.

You shared with Oz memories from France and you guys reminisced about the sort of bullshit you used to be up to, from sneaking out to maxing out one of your dad’s credit cards. You don’t remember the last time you laughed this hard.

“Oh this is one of my favorite songs.” Oz said and you quieted down to listen to the music, as he looked at the performance, you had some time to look at him in this light.

You thought he was one of the most handsome men you ever saw in your life, the scar that ran up from his top lip to his cheekbones, gave him this look about him -mysterious and dangerous- he could kill someone in cold blood and then be the sweetest man in the whole world-I mean, what's there not to like?

His brown eyes had such a gorgeous shine. Sure, his hair was thinning at the top and no one in a million years would expect a girl your age and status to be with someone like him. But there was something more about Oz, this charisma he had, he could talk his way out of anything, you wondered what else he could do with that tongue.

The wine is starting to speak now, maybe regular you as well.

He noticed your wine glass being empty and he grabbed the bottle from the table and filled it up again. 

“Thank you.” you giggled. God you wanted him to kiss you. 

He smiled at you. 

“You wanna dance?” he said, gesturing with his head towards the dance floor in the middle of the room, 5 couples were already dancing together and even if you had two left feet, slow dancing was another thing, he leads, you follow-you were way more comfortable with that.

You didn’t answer him, you just got up and followed him to the dance floor. 

Now everyone has a reason to stare at you. 

“How do you feel? Better?” he asked. You were so close to him, you could stretch your neck and kiss him 

“Yeah, I do feel better. Thank you.. for this.” you answered, this wine man, you don’t know what they put in it but it's good. 

The pause that followed wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable, you were both staring at each other and Oz broke the silence

“You know” he started chuckling to himself more like “I think you might be the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.” 

“Yeah right” 

You didn’t even notice when you got so close to his face or when his lips pressed against yours, all you knew your stomach was doing jumping jacks and that you wanted to break out in a smile-which you did. 

It was a very sweet kiss, but rudely interrupted by Oz whispering in your face 

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

This time you kissed him, the scar on his lip felt so peculiar, but nice too.

After your little make out sesh on the dance floor the music stopped and you were forced to do the walk of shame back to your seats. Some of the older people there gave you some dirty looks, like-couldn't you two get a room- maybe it was that, maybe they thought it was wrong to be kissing a much older man-who was clearly- a gangster.

After you two got to your seats, you checked your phone and your smile and good disposition disappeared immediately when you finally saw that you had around 15 missed calls and about 10 messages from Sofia-the last one reading:

“WHERE ARE YOU?”

Author's note: These past few days I've been writing like crazy. It feels nice to be passionate about things. Thank you for reading. Next chapter is gonna be up tmrw, probs.

[runnning-outof-time]

Dear K, you've been spoiling us haven't you? First with all your incredible worlds you've been sharing the last days and now this celebrations - congratulations 🎉🎉 I hope the joy of writing never leaves you! I would like to request

9. "Forget I ever said that" with Tommy with a sprinkle of tone-surprise on top

I hope you have fun and can't wait to see what you come up with! Xx

Val!! Thank SO much for your incredibly kind words!! You’ve been such a big supporter and dear friend of mine! I added some surprise into this, but I’m not sure if it’s how you wanted. A post I’d seen on here about this possibility came into mind and I decided to write it out. I hope you like it. Enjoy! :)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK!

Part of my 3.5k celebration — find other stories here!

Good With Horses

Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: drinking, smoking, language, brief mention of drug dealing

Word Count: 903

Summary: Tommy lets a secret slip while he and (Y/N) have a chat about his youngest brother.

“I bet Pol’s spoke to ya,” Tommy started as he entered the front sitting room, where (Y/N) was relaxing on one of the couches.

(Y/N)’s brows furrowed at his statement, and she watched him as he walked to where the decanters are shelved so that he could grab one and a glass to bring over to where she was sitting. She doesn’t say anything, just watches as he pours himself a glass of whiskey so that he can immediately tip it back. The huffed groan that left his lips after he set the glass down tells her he’s had a long day.

“About what?” she decides to ask him, her brows still furrowed.

Tommy takes a moment to go about lighting himself a cigarette, and he doesn’t speak until after he’d taken a deep drag. “What Finn’s been up to,” he answered, sitting back against the chair as he finally looked at to her.

“She didn’t say anything to me about that,” (Y/N) shook her head, a bit of confusion present on her face now.

A scoff leaves Tommy’s lips and he shakes his head before voicing his thoughts: “she just about ripped my ear off with it earlier.” Rolling his eyes up to the ceiling before he took another drag from the cigarette.

“What’s he done?” she questioned, wanting to know what was going on.

“He’s been off dealing snow. She said that Moss saw him out with some of the junior Blinders.”

“The Blinders you’ve told him he needs to be a part of?” she raised her eyebrows.

“Yeah, but I haven’t told him that he needs to be out dealing with them,” he clarified, his eyebrows raised as he let his frustration seep through. “He doesn’t need to be dealing…he isn’t one of the fucking foot soldiers.”

“I don’t know what to say, Tommy…”

“I need to find something else for him to do,” he sighed, pressing his fingers to the bridge his nose in hopes to alleviate some of the pressure he was feeling. “I can’t have Pol constantly breathin’ down my neck about it.”

(Y/N) pursed her lips in a thin line as she began thinking of some possibilities that could work for Finn, since it seemed like that was the direction this conversation was heading.

“He can work at the tracks,” she proposed an idea.

“No,” he immediately shot it down.

“Why not?”

“Can’t have him around that side of things. Pol wants him to stay in Birmingham,” he gave the reason.

“He’s just barely sixteen, Tom…what sides of this business should he be able to work around? Maybe it’s not the place for him.”

“He’s gotta stay doing something,” he shot down her idea of having him step away completely. “Needs to be put to work,” he mumbled then, sitting up to rest his elbows on his thighs as he hung his head.

Silence settled around them for a few moments, both being consumed by their thoughts. (Y/N) was the one to speak first: “what if you put him at the yard with Uncle Charlie and Curly?” she suggested, her statement making Tommy look up again. The look of intrigue that flashed in his eyes made her continue. “He could help them with deliveries and also with the horses they have there,” she gave more of an explanation.

“He’ll stick with the horses…I won’t have him messing with the deliveries,” Tommy added his own thoughts to her idea. (Y/N) nodded her head in agreement.

“He’s good with horses, isn’t he?” she asked the question - that should have preceded her suggestion - after wracking her brain and trying to think of any memories that she had of Finn on a horse.

“He’s a Shelby…course he’s good with horses,” he answered, an undertone of pride present in his voice. “He’s a better rider than any of us I think,” he mused after a few moments passed.

(Y/N) couldn’t stop her lips from twisting up into a smile as she heard her husband’s statement. Never did she think that he’d admit the fact that someone in his family could be a better horseman than he was. She was certainly surprised by the admission.

“Hey…” Tommy started, the sound of his voice making (Y/N) look at him again. He took the cigarette out from between his lips and gestured it towards her, his index finger pointing in her direction; his eyebrows raised. “Forget I ever said that,” he insisted, his eyes locked onto hers.

(Y/N) pursed her lips together in hopes that her smile wouldn’t grow any larger, but she was betrayed. A giggle bubbled up passed her lips as she looked down at her lap, hoping that her look of surprise would disappear.

“Eh?” he checked with her when she didn’t respond right away.

She tried to put on as straight a face as possible as she looked up at him again. “I will,” she agreed with a nod.

Tommy nodded in response to her, relaxing back into the chair again. “He’ll work with the horses then,” he settled the matter, his eyes shutting for the first time that day.

The grin reappeared on (Y/N)’s face as she looked over at her relaxing husband. She’d most definitely be telling Polly, Esme, and Ada what he’d just admitted the next time the ladies got together.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @lilyrachelcassidy @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @onlydeadcells @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @midnightmagpiemama @cillmequick @rangerelik @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @itscheybaby @gypsy-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @youtifulsunshinelixfics @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @areyenotfondofmelobster @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @iambored24601 @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

[holylulusworld]

Good girls punch hard (1) - Kinktober 7

Summary: You. A baseball bat. An admirer.

Pairing: Raymond Smith x fem!Reader

Warnings: light violence, lust at first sight, stalking vibes, mentions of drugs/weed

Kink: Lust at first sight

Kinktober vs Flufftober 2024

Raymond had better plans. A cup of tea, a good smoke. Maybe he’d indulge and have a glass of his favorite wine.

Instead of enjoying the fruits of his labor, he’s walking along a filthy hallway. Raymond scrunches up his nose, asking himself why he must play babysitter for a junkie.

Push Pete and Bunny follow him hot on his heels. They were prepared to use force if they must. They are silent on their way toward the apartment.

“We go in, get the girl, and get back out,” Raymond makes sure the men know he’s not up to violence. This should be an easy job – junkies and a princess in need—a classic.

“Open the fucking door or I’ll tear it down!” The men stop in their tracks watching you yell at the closed door. One of the bastards dared to slam it in your face. “I know Jasmine is in there. Send her out, and I won’t smash your skull!”

“Boss?” Bunny asks. “What do you want us to do?”

Raymond dips his head. It’s been a while since he found something amusing. He smirks when you swing your pink bat, hitting the door with full force.

“Wait. Let her have her fun. We’ve got some time,” Raymond smirks as you kick the door. The man gasps as they hear a cracking sound. You kick it again, and the door flies open. “Whoa, she’s stronger than she looks like.”

 “Lady! What the fuck!” One of the junkies jumps up to block your path, but you use your bat to shove him out of your way. “That’s my home!”

“That’s a rat-infested and stinking shithole!” You snarl in his direction before turning your attention toward Jasmine. One of the other guys tried to push a needle in her arm, but you grabbed his wrist just in time. You twist it until he screams in pain.

“Aunt Y/N,” Jasmine mutters. “I only tried to have fun and get a little high. You partied too. For once, I wanted to be cool.”

“If you want to get a kick, do it like everyone did. Smoke a big fat joint helping you relax and make you feel good. No one shoots that kind of shit into their veins to try. You’ll get addicted and end up like those assholes.”

“It wouldn’t have gotten addicted,” she whines. “Why do adults always have to ruin all the fun for me?”

You grit your teeth. Jasmine isn’t the smartest, but she was a good girl before she met the losers shooting dirt into their veins.

“Do you want to waste your life, youth, and brain to get addicted to stuff making you go crazy, or offer your ass to the next best guy for the next shot?”

That makes her flinch. Her eyes flick toward the guys promising her a good time.

“She wanted to be a big girl and get dick, mommy!” One of the junkies’ snickers. “Good girls don’t get dick.”

You swing the bat, almost hitting his head. “I was a good girl too, asshat. I got the best dicks in town because smart and eloquent guys know a good girl’s worth. She doesn’t need a limp dick to ruin her first time.” You snap at the guy, making Raymond and the others chuckle.

You twirl around, to face the men entering the dingy apartment, instinctively shoving Jasmine, behind your back to protect her. The leader furrows his brows. He looks at your niece behind your back and then at you.

“Whatever business you’ve got to do with these crackheads, it’s your turn. I’m done here. I haven’t seen you, and you haven’t seen me.” You look the leader straight in the eyes, not showing any sign of weakness.

“Does she have anything to do with these,” the leader scrunches up his nose as he looks at the boys, “people?”

“No,” Jasmine blurs out. “They wanted to show me a good time, and make sure I’ll be cool soon but…I didn’t mean to…”

“Got it,” he says and nods toward you. “What’s your name?”

You size the man up while tightening the hold on your baseball bat. “I told you; I’m done here. It’s your show now. We shouldn’t exchange pleasantries, Sir.”

“Sir, huh?” One of the boys laughs as you shove Jasmine toward the door. “I bet she’s a good little bitch if you give her the good shit.”

Raymond backhands the boy. He gets a wet wipe out to clean his hand before turning his attention toward the girl they came for.

It doesn’t take Raymond long to convince the missing princess to agree on following them out of the shithole.

“So, now that the princess is gone I got one more question for you,” he points his index finger at one of them. “What’s the aunt’s name?”

They glance at Bunny, a fridge of a man standing behind Raymond.

“Do I stutter?” Raymond gets a little louder. He pushes his glasses back up his nose and huffs.

“No, but we know Jasmine’s name, and I took a picture of her hot aunt,” Raymond snatches the phone out of the grinning boy’s hand. He narrows his eyes because it’s a picture of your ass and legs.

Raymond pockets the phone and turns around to leave the dingy apartment. After being here, he’ll disinfect his whole body and burn his clothes.

“He’s not so useless after all,” Raymond talks to himself as he looks at the picture of you on his laptop. Your car is in the picture too. He can see the license plate.

Raymond leans back in his expensive armchair, debating whether to find out more about the woman swinging the bat or not…

“I thought we agreed on forgetting that we met.” You glare at the man standing in front of your door. “Did you not listen?”

“We didn’t agree on anything,” Raymond replies with a smirk. “I let you and your niece go because you didn’t have anything to do with these creatures.” He steps closer, stopping you from closing the door with his foot.

“What do you want here?” You glance at the baseball bat standing next to the door. “How did you find me?”

“I have my ways,” he casually replies. “I thought we could go for tea. I know a nice tea house not far away.”

You blink a few times. “Buddy, did you hit your head?” You question. “We met at a junkie shithole, and you come here to ask me out?”

Raymond adjusts his glasses. He looks at you, waiting for an answer. “Which sort do you prefer?”

“Sort?” You furrow your brows.

“Tea.”

“I don’t even know your name. Why would I agree to go anywhere with you?”

“Name’s Raymond,” he holds out his hand. “If you come with me, I don’t have to follow you around town.”

You sigh. “You’re another love-sick puppy, huh? Is it the baseball bat?” You dip your head to look him up and down. “Fine, if you pay for my tea, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt.”

Tags in reblog.

[jisunghannie]

Under the Influence

PAIRING: Bangchan x fem!reader

WARNINGS: Swearing, Use of the name jagi/jagiya, pet names, unprotected sex, mentions of drugging, mentions of needles/injections, virgin!reader, mentions of a beaten bloody body, soft!dom Chan, praise

SUMMARY: You had had a debt to pay back Hyunjin. Chan, taking an interest in you, decided to have fun. When he became a prey in a web he spun. Lets just say, being close to your client isn't such a good idea.

WORD COUNT: 4,031

A/N:

This is not proofread! You can get sneak peeks of that piece and other pieces of my works on @mr-hanjisung ! Also, apologies if there are grammar mistakes or anything, I hope you guys enjoy this piece!

Sorry for such the long wait! I'm really trying to get more content out but school is so stressful. Hopefully you guys enjoy this piece. The next part of the series won't take as long!!

Taglist: @annybah @softkisshyunjin @queenmea604 @hyunmikim @stayceebs97 @boi-bi-ahaha @lilinaskzz

“Cut the crap y/n.” Seungmin said as you caressed your cheek. “I’m telling the fucking truth.” You spat out as Hyunjin sat in his chair. “Let's get one thing straight.” He said unrolling his legs, “You borrowed our money. You weren't able to pay it back in the required time. Not to mention, pissed off our leader pretty well.” He said, laughing. Just then right on cue, the rest of the mafia came in.

You noticed Changbin's messy hair, knowing well that he worked well with his sex appeal. Which is why you refused to work with him and why you worked with Hyunjin. You watched as Jisung ran his fingers through his hair, his sweat noticeable, his arms covered in scratch scars. You saw how Felix now held a syringe, full. You must've looked horrified because Jeongin laughed.

“How cute, you're actually scared?” Jeongin cooed as you looked at Lee Know as he whispered something in Chan's ear.

How did you even end up like this?

Chan smiled and then nodded his head. But at what? You wondered. Then you felt a pinch in your shoulder. You turned to see Felix injecting you with the very syringe you saw him with. “Don't worry, it's just a sedative.” He reassured you as he took out the needle. You wanted to argue back but your body immediately didn't want to cooperate with you. “It's effective immediately. Amazing isn't it?” He asked as Hyunjin nodded.

“Shall we leave her here?” Seungmin asked Chan as Chan nodded. “Let her stay here for a bit until she realizes her dire circumstances.” He said as they all hummed in response, leaving the room. Your mind was foggy and you were in a daze. But next thing you knew, you were passed out in the corner.

When you woke up, you didn't know how much time passed because there were no windows where you were at but your head hurt and you felt horrible. You rubbed your eyes trying to look around for anything to help you.

Your vision was blurred and your mind was still foggy from the drug but you saw someone and walked to them for help. You grabbed his shoulders and reached to his collar. “Help me please…” You pleaded as you heard a chuckle. “Keep your hands to yourself.” The voice said. You removed your hands and stood up. “Please help me, I’ll do anything. Anything, to get out.” You told the voice as the voice laughed. You were confused as you could finally notice some things about the silhouette.

The silhouette was definitely male. The voice and how his shoulders felt. The silhouette was vaguely familiar. Strangely, you feel like you’ve heard his voice somewhere.

“Goodness, you don’t know who I am?” He asked, pulling your wrist down, making you kneel before him, looking up at him as if you were worshiping a god. “Open your fucking eyes,” He said sternly. “Before you decide to touch me again.” He said, his accent extremely familiar. Then it hit you, “Chan..?” You asked as he chuckled, “Who else would come down here alone?” He said as your vision finally cleared up, realizing what kind of position you were in.

You were on your knees, looking up at him as he glared down at you as if he was someone of power looking down upon you.

Which he does hold power against you. You knew that.

You tried to look down, but when you did you saw how close your face was to his pants. You blushed and got up immediately. He smirked, “I didn’t know you were that desperate to get out y/n.” He retorted as you shook your head. “It’s not like that…” You said, backing up, until he got up and started to walk to you slowly.

Then your back hit the wall. He got closer and grabbed your wrists once again. It didn’t hurt, it was just very firm. Then, he pinned them over your head, causing you to turn away, scared of what would come next. You were barely 20, you didn’t want to give yourself up all over some debt. You then felt Chan’s breath up against your ear, your heart beating faster, unsure if it was because you were horrified or because you were feeling bashful.

He then kissed your cheek.

“Don’t worry love, I won’t do anything.” He whispered as he released you causing you to slide against the wall and fall to the floor. “At least, not yet.” He said, looking down at you once again. “But I will admit, you look lovely in a position looking up at me.” He told you as he chuckled and walked out.

Your heart raced with thoughts pulsing through your mind. You didn't know what to think when he walked out of the room.

You didn't know how much time passed but the next thing you knew Jisung came down and blindfolded you. You then felt him pull you up into another room. It felt like you guys were walking forever.

“Our boss has a proposal for you but it's up to you if you want to take it.” Jisung said as you exhaled slowly. You wondered what the proposal was as Jisung finally took off your blindfold. You were faced eyes-to-eyes with Chan.

You didn't know why but something about his appearance was different. He looked more soft and innocent. He wasn't cold and brooding. His hair was wavy, the wavy curls must've added the effect. But you had noticed that he had taken off his “edgy” glasses and jewelry. Which added more to the innocent look.

“What, you just gonna keep staring?” He asked as you shook your head and took a seat. “So Hyunjin still wants his money, and you want to be freed. So tell you what, either you can work with us and pay back Hyunjin the money, quit, and swear all this to the grave. Or we can kill you right here and now.” He stated simply as he gave you a smug smirk. “The choice is yours.”

You were tempted to choose the former option but if it became too much you might've wanted the latter option.

“Give me about another week.” You told him as he chuckled, standing up and tucking your hair behind your ear. “Don't think you get that luxury… you don't get it, you'll have tonight and tomorrow. If you don't decide on it tomorrow. At noon…” He traced his hand on your nape. “You're dead…” He said simply, as chills ran down your spine. You didn't know what to do but you knew to just nod your head and shut up.

As you were taken back to the place you were at before meeting Chan you wondered if you could appeal to him differently.

Even if it meant swallowing your pride.

The next day you awoke sleeping on a bed?

“You're awake.” A familiar voice said, as you turned to look at who said it. It was Chan. “I have a different proposal for you.” He said, looking at the rainfall hitting the glass window. He was in a black robe, his wavy curls, wet and tight, his posture, stern yet relaxed, as he held his wine glass.

“You see,” He turned to face you, “I have to go to this mafia party. I have to bring my crew along with…” He looked repulsed for a minute and looked away, “My spouse.” He said as he walked closer to you. “The lady who was originally my pretend wife canceled on me because she didn't like the atmosphere and I told her simply to pay me back the prices that I spent on her as my “wife”. Yet she didn't.” He said, taking his seat, “What a shame to her.” He said as he shook his head.

“What are you trying to say?” You asked bluntly as he chuckled. “For your debt to be paid in full, you just have to pretend to be my wife. Of course, being a mobster's wife is dangerous but…” He then got up and stood in front of you, lifting your chin up to face him. “You’ll do perfectly.” He said as you pushed his hand away. “If you think I'll take this damn offer you got another thing coming Chan.” You said standing up as he gazed into your eyes. “Do you, really, wanna continue and go there y/n?” He asked, this time even closer to you.

If he were to get any closer, you would've been skin to skin with him. Touching his arms and possibly entangled with a kiss. And maybe even-

“That's what I thought.” He said cutting off your train of thought. “I'll see you tonight jagi.” He said, kissing your cheek. “Here's my card, go buy the perfect dress, make sure it has a slit.” He told you as you side-eyed him. “Why specifically a slit in the dress?” You asked. “For the sex appeal?” You retorted as he chuckled. “Full of jokes, are we now?” He smiled, “No, it's so if in any case we need to defend ourselves.” He said as he kissed your left hand, looking at it, “Go get a ring. Make sure the ring looks expensive.” He said as he released your hand and left. You fell back onto the couch, leaving your legs feeling like jelly.

You went with Jisung and Jeongin. Why them out of all people? Jisung and Jeongin looked innocent and sweet. Jisung was a great actor and could get a cheaper or even free deal for an item as Jeongin was great at passive-aggressive intimidation to scare people into getting things you wanted. Was it wrong to choose them for your benefit? A little, but you weren’t complaining. You saw the most perfect dress, and of course, another girl wanted the dress.

“Hey, I actually wanted to buy this dress.” You told her blatantly as she gave you an ugly look. “Look, I’m not in a good mood and I really don’t want to be tested today.” She said, snapping her fingers, bringing two men to her side, looking like bodyguards. “Do you even know who I am?” She asked you as you laughed, “Bitch.” You said, snapping your fingers as Jisung and Jeongin walked by you and stood by your side, staring her and her bodyguards down. “Do you know who I am?” You asked as she furrowed her brows, walking off. “You’ll regret this mobster.” She spat, walking away.

You exhaled deeply not believing what you just did, as Jisung and Jeongin looked at you and smiled. “That was certainly something. You sounded like a mobster's wife or daughter for sure.” Jisung said, “Maybe even a mobster itself.” Jeongin said as you shook your head. “Anyway, let's just buy this dress and go look at rings.” You told them as they nodded, following you along.

When you went back, Chan left you with a note on his desk saying,

‘Be back later lover, I have a hair and makeup crew coming within 5 minutes. - Chan 3:30 pm’

You checked the time and it was 3:34 pm, and as if on cue, the minute it hit 3:35 pm a crew walked in and set up everything. Sitting you down and getting to work before 3:40.

Chan returned at 5 pm getting his outfits tailored, his makeup and hair done, and once he was done he went to find you.

He opened the door, to see you in the most tight-fitted, black dress. Of course, it had a slit, as Chan requested. You had black, silk gloves that reached your elbows, a beautiful ring that sat on your left ring finger, over your glove. Your hair was pinned up in a bun, simple black heels to match alongside your black chiffon shawl. Your neck, adorned with the same gems that were on your ring.

You turned to him and walked over to him. “I didn't know that mafia wives needed so much weaponry on them.” You said as he laughed, pulling you in, “How many do you have on you?” He asked as you shook your head. “Too many… one in my hair, I have one attached to a garter on my thigh, a gun concealed under my skirt-” He then covered your mouth. “I get it. Just stop talking and let's go lover.” He said, and oh my god, the way it rolled off his tongue.

You guys then went into probably the most expensive car you've ever seen in person. Before you could reach to open the car door, Chan held your hand and opened the door for you. “A lady should never have to open a door.” He said, kissing your hand, leading you in the car. “Thank you.” You said pulling your hand away, trying not to get attached, as this was nothing more than a job.

The next few minutes were awkward as you guys sat in silence. Chan then broke the silence by saying, “Alright, does everyone know what they are doing in this mission?” He asked as you shook your head, ��I'm sorry? Everyone? Mission? Surely I'm not a part of it.” You laughed out, hoping that he was talking to everyone but you. He then chuckled, “Oh my dear, you have the most important job.” He said as he wrapped his arm around your neck. “You have to go and court the heir who's running this party.” He told you as you shook your head. “I can't.” You said as Jisung spoke up, “You got what it takes. I've seen it.” Minho then chuckled, “Yeah, you have all of us too.” Jeongin then smiled at you, “Agreed.”

Felix then handed you a box full of filled syringes. “This is the same drug I used to drug you with the first time we met. If you use this after you court him, we should be able to collect him for ransom.” Felix said as you nodded still not believing that you are really going to do this.

Once you guys had arrived Chan placed a hand on your back. “He's the one so make sure you get him.” He told you as the clenched your fists tight. “Understood.” You whispered as he chuckled.

Throughout the party, he was flocking from woman to woman.

‘God, what a womanizer.’

You thought as Chan talked to you through the tiny earpiece you had on. “Hey jagi, you need to get a move on him quickly.” He told you. “I'm going in now.” You replied as he watched.

“Hey.” You said plainly as he eyed you up and down. “Ladies, can you give us some space?” He asked, more demanding as they left. “Hey there beautiful.” He said as you giggled. “Care for a drink?” You asked as he nodded. He snapped his fingers and brought over two glasses and poured wine into them. “Don't you think the stars look lovely from the view?” He asked as you turned to look at them. “Yes, indeed.” You replied and he held your hand and kissed it gently, “Not as lovely as you though.” He said as you smirked. “Glad to hear.” You said amused as he held up his glass. “Cheers to you lovely lady.” He said as you lifted your glass, making eye contact with him, “Cheers to me, the lovely lady.” You said as your glasses clinked and you guys drank the drinks.

You then heard Chan's voice through your ear piece, “Don't drink it!” But it was too late. You already did. You looked at him and mouthed, ‘I know what I'm doing.’ However 5 minutes later you were light-headed and the last thing you knew was the heir you were courting was picking you up and walking off.

When you awoke, the heir was beaten to a bloody pulp and taken out. As Chan looked at you.

“My goodness jagi…” He purred, looking you up and down. “At least he knows how to dress you.” He said as you realized that you were now in fully black, laced lingerie. Your face immediately flushed as you looked at Chan, licking his lips. “Unless you wore it underneath?” He retorted as you shook your head. “I have to admit…” He said twirling your now let loose hair, “You look… absolutely… breathtaking…” He said getting closer and closer to your ear. You tried to move but soon realized that you were under restraints.

“Why don't I get a reward for how hard I worked? That is, if you would let me..?” He asked as you looked at him. “You think I would?” You asked him angrily wondering why he would even ask that. “Yes, because after all.” He then got closer to your ear. “I know deep down somewhere, you secretly want me to.” He told you as you blushed.

“So? Is that a yes jagi?” He asked as you gritted your teeth. “How much longer are you going to keep denying me..?” He whispered once again. God, his voice sounded so sweet but you knew that he didn't have innocent intentions. Still, and shockingly, you nodded subtly as he chuckled.

“Adorable…” He said, kissing your cheek. “I'm gonna go ahead and continue, if you feel bad, in pain or under pressure just tell me.” He told you as you shook your head, “Do you know how dangerous it is?” You asked him as he shrugged unbuttoning his tight-fitted button up shirt. “And? I’m a mobster, don’t forget that. My life’s sole purpose is danger.” You bit your lip and you closed your eyes. You heard him chuckle.

“Can't handle seeing a bit of eye-candy?” He teased as you shook your head. You then felt your chin get tugged forward as you opened your eyes, seeing his bare chest in front of you. “My eyes are up here.” He said lifting your chin higher to look at him. You gulped, taking in how truly dominating he was.

His lips curved into a smirk as they kissed down your body, kissing your stomach.

You whined a hum as Chan smirked against your skin. “That sounded very inviting…” He teased kissing to your left inner thigh, licking and kissing it gently as he massaged small circles to your right side. You blushed and tried to bite on your lower lip to muffle your moans, as your wrists were cuffed in your restraints still.

“Channie… release me out of these restraints..!” You whisper-yelled as he licked his lips, looking back up at you. “Oh?” He hummed as he moved your panties, causing you to squirm feeling the light breeze. He smirked at the sight, “You're so wet jagi…” He said as he looked back at you. “What did you need again?” He asked as you sighed and the minute you opened your mouth, you had squealed, your eyes widening, feeling Chan's fingers inside, stretching you out.

This time, you bit your lip once again as he smirked, making the pace of his fingers faster. “Jagiya… tell me what you wanted…” He said as he began to move them faster. You had thought you lost your mind. It was full of lust and you wanted more. You couldn't even think right. “You have 5 seconds.” He told you as you threw your head back, feeling a knot in your stomach.

“5…” You felt yourself get tighter around him as he continued to increase his pace. “4…” You slowly felt the knot untying inside. “3…” Now you didn't know if your body obeyed you anymore, you began to moan for more. “2…” You could see Chan's smirk once he said 2. “And 1…” You were close, so fucking close. Until he pulled out his fingers. Feeling your euphoric pleasure go away you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Remove these restraints.” You demanded as he licked his fingers, the same fingers he was just pumping inside you with. “Since when do you give orders?” He asked as you huffed, now sensitive and not caring much about your dignity now. He's seen your most sensitive and hidden area. What's more to hide now?

“Please… that feeling… that euphoria… I need it… I want it… please… I'll be good I promise…” You begged as he hummed in response. “Look who learned to be a good girl…” He said as he removed the restraints on you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and he chuckled softly, picking you up.

“I don't think this heir keeps condoms-”

“Just do it raw.”

Chan looked at you and furrowed his brows. “Do it like what now?” He asked in confusion as you rested your head on his shoulder. “Just do it raw.” You said again as he sighed, “Do you know how dangerous-”

“What happened to ‘I’m a mobster, don’t forget that. My life’s sole purpose is danger’ hmm?” You told him as he held you speechless and then chuckled.

“Don't say I didn't warn you.” He said as you rolled your eyes.

He placed you on the bed as he unbuttoned his trousers. His shirt was already off, and now that you were looking at him. He was very attractive. Like dangerously attractive. He then cleared his throat and you looked at his face. “Shall we continue?” He asked as you could see a small spot that was wet, probably from action you guys had earlier.

You chuckled and nodded. He then grabbed you a few pillows and set you up properly as he took off his underwear, letting you notice how hard he was.

“Remember, if you feel bad, in pain or under pressure just tell me.” You nodded as you prepared yourself to take him in.

Then, you felt him inside, once you did, you grabbed onto his shoulders. He hummed as he heard you squirm under him. “I'll give you a moment, then I'll move.” He said as you nodded.

After what seemed like forever, Chan began to move, increasing his pace with each thrust. You held onto his shoulders as if your life depended on it. He chuckled as you felt his hot breath against your ear.

“Better than my fingers isn't it?” He asked, sounding more like a statement but nonetheless you quietly moaned and whined.

“Nobody will hear us, just… let yourself go…” He told you as you shook your head no. He scoffed as he increased his speed, putting his index and middle finger near your mouth. “Open and suck.” He demanded as you complied.

You could feel him hitting every single spot. He enjoyed every minute of it. You could feel him smile against your shoulder as he kissed the back of your neck gently. It sent chills down your spine as you arched your back. You heard him groan as if he was caught off guard.

“I’m close… really fucking close…” He groaned out as you were now drooling, saliva coming out of your mouth and onto his fingers. “Did I fuck you dumb..?” He asked now out of breath as he felt you clench around him. He knew you came. He could feel your insides hug him close as if wanting him to release inside as he took a deep breath in.

“I can’t… I need to cum outside so we don’t risk it.” He told you as you nodded. He removed his fingers from your mouth and slowly pulled out, jacking off and cumming on your stomach. “You are so cute when you are being so demanding.” He chuckled as he relished the sight of you painted in his cum.

He then kissed you and hugged you close. “What if you were to actually become my spouse? That'll be your payment to Hyunjin.” He said, joking about that being your payment and not joking that you two should get married. But you were already fast asleep.

He looked at you sleeping and chuckled. “Hopefully you accept my proposal.” He said as he held your hand and held you close, relaxing and enjoying the moment before you woke up and slapped him.

[star-girl69]

enemies to lover with nat !! i’m begging for u to end this drought! spoiled reader who always get on nats nerve very angsty if you could make it

Party Queen

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

a/n: this was so fun to write but idk if i did the request justice ☹️ anyways i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: drugs and alcohol, underage drinking and smoking, swearing, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

“Of course I wasn’t home for curfew,” you chuckle, sending Shauna and Jackie an odd look. You were talking about the keg party you had all attended last night, and how late you had ended up leaving.

“Won’t your parents care?” Shauna scoffs.

“As long as I’m not pregnant, why the hell would Rebecca care?”

Both of them look at you, even more confused now. You sigh, bringing your knee up to your chest to tie your cleats.

“Rebecca? The housekeeper? I told you guys about her, right?” Jackie nods after a moment.

“Yeah, but… I kinda thought you were joking?”

You let out a laugh, bending over on the bench, almost crying as you double over.

“Oh, oh, my God, that is so funny,” you breathe when you calm down. “I mean, like, not to be a bitch, but come on! My dad’s off in like, Canada or something, and my mom’s at a wellness retreat in San Antonio. Rebecca is my second mom, basically.”

“Yeah…” Jackie chuckles. “Because that’s perfectly normal.”

You shrug, setting your now tied cleats onto the ground.

“Oh, that reminds me. I was thinking- team bonding at my house tonight? We can use the pool, and I think the hottub is warm, and Rebecca can order pizza for us!” you stand up, putting your hands around Jackie and Shauna’s shoulders as Coach Martinez calls you onto the field.

“Can Jeff come?” Jackie asks.

“Only if you share,” you wink, and it takes Jackie a moment, but she laughs when she realizes you’re joking.

Shauna shrugs. “I’ll come.”

“Great!” you smile, squeezing their shoulders before letting go to take a knee in front of Coach.

—-

“Hey, Taissa,” you say. There’s a pause in the scrimmage- one of the JV girls had accidentally kicked the ball over the fence, and Misty had volunteered to go get it, conveniently not knowing where the extras were.

“Hey, Y/N,” Taissa says, stretching by pulling her foot up to her back.

“Team bonding at my house tonight?” she raises one eyebrow at you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t have a reputation. “Fine. It’s a party.”

She looks you up and down. “Free booze?”

“And pizza!” you sing. “Bring your bathing suit, too.”

She bites her lip, toying with the idea. “Sure,” she says after a moment, sending you a small smile.

“What could the great Taissa Turner possibly have to say to the Party Queen?” Natalie snorts, walking over just as Misty shouts she has the ball, starting her run back over.

Taissa rolls her eyes.

“Party,” you say, drawing out the world while you fix your ponytail. “Free booze, free pizza, and my pool? What’s not to love?”

She smiles and rolls her eyes. “Sorry, Y/N, I’m just deathly allergic to mansions and the people who live in them.”

“You’re no fun,” you scoff. “I mean, what else are you gonna do tonight? Get drunk and suck someone’s dick? Why not at least do it on my dad’s dime?”

“Ha. Fuck you, Y/N.”

“Will you just come?” you groan. “It’s team bonding.”

She stares at you up and down for a moment, and you adjust your jersey, feeling weird under her stare.

“Fine,” she says after a moment.

—-

Rebecca had only shook her head and said not to cause any damage, before placing an order for a million pizzas, and you changed into bathing suit, putting on a loose white cover-up, making sure the pool was clean and the snacks and pizza were out- before you rubbed some sunscreen on yourself, put on some sunglasses, and sat in the last rays of the dying sun.

“Oh, holy shit,” someone laughs, and you hear the click of the fence gate shut. You pull your sunglasses down, looking at Taissa and Van.

“You’re here!” you smile, standing up, adjusting your sunglasses and placing an oversized beach hat on your head. Van immediately grabs a slice of pizza, looking at you, but you only make a wide motion with your hands. “The hot tubs at, like, 102, and the pool is at 84, I think,” your voice drops to a whisper, even though Rebecca is inside the guest room reading her romance book, “the beer is in the coolers.” You nod your head to the two coolers you had lined up against the wall and filled with cheap alcohol.

“Oh, thank God,” Taissa mutters, immediately walking over to it. The gate creaks open again, and slowly, everyone starts filing in.

—-

Natalie doesn’t arrive until it’s already dark, when it feels like the party is just getting started. You’ve long abandoned all your accessories, instead chatting with one of the freshman, Allie, about how she had gotten invited to prom.

“Hey, Party Queen,” Natalie mutters, looking around, and you’re already a little tipsy.

“Natalie!” you shout, not meaning to, and she laughs and cringes while you clear your throat. “I’m drunk,” you explain, and she raises her eyebrows.

“Just a bit?”

“Just a bit,” you nod, saluting like a soldier, which makes you giggle. “Oh, um, beer is-” you spin around, until you finally find the wall with the coolers. “There. And any pizza left is on the table. You were late,” you shrug.

“Oh, wow. What will I ever do without a slice of cheap pizza?”

You frown. “I love Alfredo’s pizza, though.”

“Oh, God,” she mutters, looking around the backyard. Allie has long since walked away. “This place is ridiculous, you know?”

“Ridiculously fun?” you ask, reaching out to grab her wrist, tugging her over to the lounge chairs. A girl screams as she jumps into the pool from the diving board, and Natalie grins, laughing.

“Not the word I would have used,” Natalie shrugs, and you grab her bag from her and put it on the nearest lounge chair. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, not making a move to grab her bag.

“Won’t you swim?” you ask, feeling slightly bad that not everyone is having fun at your party. You had a reputation to uphold, anyways. Natalie rolls her eyes, and you lift off your bathing suit cover, letting it drop to the concrete.

She looks at your boobs.

“Stoo staring at my boobs,” you grumble, slipping off your flip-flops.

“What- why would I stare at your boobs?”

“‘Cause I’m hot, duh.”

“I think the parties are getting to your brain.”

You shrug and step into the water, looking at her over your shoulder. And she’s staring at you, but she doesn’t make any move to take off your own clothes. You shrug and submerge yourself, swimming over to Jackie, Shauna, and the infamous Jeff.

—-

You climb out of the pool, pretending you don’t feel eyes on you, spotting Natalie and a glowing ember in her hand. She hasn’t even taken off her jacket, and you suppose it’s a little chilly, especially coming out of the water.

The refreshing pool did nothing to make you any less drunk, and you sit on the end of Natalie’s lounge chair, forcing her to tuck her legs up and sit to avoid getting wet.

“Jesus Christ,” she groans, letting smoke blow out of her mouth. You lean forward.

“Give me some,” you say.

She scoffs. “Why would I do that? Not even a please from the spoiled queen? Oh, God, I’m wounded.”

“Fine. You’ve smoked so much I can probably just absorb it from the air around you.”

You can see her smile, slightly forced, like it always is when it comes to you. “Why are you such a bitch? Mad that daddy’s away?”

“I’m having a pool party at my house, unsupervised, with pizza and beer. Why would I be mad?”

“Yeah, whatever,” she mumbles.

“Seriously, can I have some, though?”

“No.”

“Look at who’s the bitch now, huh?”

“You didn’t even say please, you spoiled brat.”

“Please!” you shout, a smile on your face, and Natalie laughs but finally gives in after a moment, putting the join in front of your face, and you eagerly wrap your lips around the end and breathe in the poisoned air.

You cough, smoke dripping from your mouth.

“Loser,” she mumbles, and you choose to pretend not to have heard it. She takes it back, taking her own drag, and the sounds of the girls talking and shouting and water splashing becomes the only noise.

Natalie Scatorccio has hated you from as long as you could remember. Maybe she was jealous, or maybe you had really done something to hurt her- either indirectly, or so long ago and small enough you had completely forgotten.

“Jesus,” she mutters after a moment, shuffling around, before something hits you.

“The fuck?” you ask, only to be faced with Natalie’s jacket.

“You’re shivering. It’s making me cold just looking at you.”

“Aw,” you coo, wrapping the leather jackets over your mostly-dried shoulders. “Who knew Natalie Scatorccio, infamous bitch, had a heart?”

“Who knew Y/N L/N, infamous brat, could be stupid enough to not grab a towel after she got out the pool?”

“Why do you hate me?” you ask after a moment. “Like, seriously. Did I do something super fucked up in elementary school? Because, come on, get over it.”

“I don’t hate you. You’re just annoying and spoiled.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” You turn to her, eyeing her suspiciously, and her cheeks flush, but it’s probably from the weed. “Get over it,” you say after a moment. “Not my fault my dad is like, rich, or whatever.”

She just looks away.

“Well, you’re annoying, too, you know,” you say after a moment, missing the sound of her voice.

“Oh?” she asks, but by the way she smiles- both of you know you have nothing to say.

“Whatever,” you mumble. “This is making me sad.”

You stand, stumbling a bit, throwing Natalie’s now damp jacket back onto her.

—-

By the time Jackie and Shauna have bid their goodbyes to you, everyone else is gone. You sigh, suiting on a lounge chair in the pitch black, stretching and feeling everything pop, before curling up. You think you stay like that for a few more minutes, telling yourself you’ll get up, but you never do.

The gate creaks open again, and you flip over, scared about serial killers-

“Damn,” Natalie mutters. “I just forgot my jacket. You… you good?” you sigh and wrap your arms around yourself.

You love throwing parties. You love the people and the music, the food and the drinks, the drugs, everything about it. They call you the Party Queen and you are- but mainly because you wish they would never end.

There’s this empty feeling festering inside of you, and this sickness that will never be cured. You tell yourself you’re not bothered by your parents leaving, but now, you don’t know.

Natalie takes a few steps closer, and you look up at her.

“I never like the end of parties,” you say.

“It’s freezing outside. You’re gonna catch a cold,” Natalie sighs, picking up her jacket. But maybe you’re too drunk too move. Natalie takes a sip from someone’s leftover beer. She mutters something to herself, before grabbing your hand and hauling you up to stand.

You stumble, drunk and confused, and she’s drunk too, so she barely steadies you, her hands all over you.

“Huh?” you say, and she wraps a tentative arm around your waist and guides you around the pool, and to the faint lights of your house.

“Time for bed,” she mumbles, and you look at her, before unlocking the sliding glass door and stepping inside the cool house.

“Why are you helping me?” you ask, staring at her suspiciously as you both lean on each other, tired and tipsy.

“I would feel like shit if I just let you to die out there.”

“I wasn’t gonna die,” you snort, taking a turn so you end up in front of the stairs. “It’s not cold enough for that yet. Besides, I was gonna get up.”

“You’re drunk,” she deadpans, and you look at her, almost missing a step, but the two of you quickly steady yourselves. “You can’t even get up the stairs, Y/N,” she sighs.

“Okay,” you mumble, drawing out the word, until you finally lean forward and open the door. Natalie helps you sit on the bed, before looking around your room, covered in soccer trophies and medals, pictures of various teams you had been on.

She sighs. “Goodnight, Party Queen,” she says after a moment, and turns to leave.

“How are you gonna get home?”

“Walk,” she shrugs, and you open the window near your bed, looking out at the sky through the faint streetlights. It’s dark, not only from the lack of sunlight but from some dark clouds rolling about in the sky.

“But, like, don’t you live at the trailer park? That’s, like, on the other side of town.” You gesture to the window. “I think it’s gonna rain.”

“Okay, Miss Meteorologist,” she chuckles, but you aren’t laughing. You’re tired.

“You can stay, if you want,” you yawn. “Rebecca won’t mind.”

“Goodnight,” she says again, as you stand up and start to slip off your bathing suit.

“You should stay.”

She doesn’t turn around until you do, until you’ve slipped on a t-shirt and a pair of undies.

“You should stay, Natalie. I would feel horrible if you died out there.”

She looks at you, then at the dark window.

“Fine,” she says after a moment, slipping off her jacket and her sneakers, placing them in a neat pile near your bed. “Only ‘cause I don’t wanna get rained on.”

“You’re drooling thinking about sharing a bed with me.”

It takes her a moment, but she laughs. Like, really, truly laughs in a way you haven’t heard anyone laugh in years. And after a moment, you’re laughing too, and suddenly she’s sitting on the edge of your bed next to you, the laughter dying off.

“I’m going to bed,” you announce, already dreading waking up with a hangover.

Everything you’re doing is shrouded in a thick haze, and you can’t tell which way is up or down, and you can’t turn back. Not now.

“I always thought you were a bitch. ‘Cause you were such a bitch to me,” you say, curling up on your side. She lays on her back, staring at the ceiling, staying far away from you and breathing heavily.

“You deserved it,” she says after a moment. “You always walk around like you own the world- it was my cosmic duty to knock you down a few pegs.” You giggle, and she finally turns her head to face you. She hides a hiccup into her hand. “But, uh, this house is so big and empty, you know? Now I feel bad.”

“I don’t think you’re so bad, Natalie,” you murmur, and she lets out a dry laugh.

“Maybe you aren’t either. I mean, you’re still a spoiled brat, but.”

“And you’re a trailer park loser.”

“Then you’re a desperate loser.”

“Fuck off, bitch,” you mutter into the pillow. “At least I’m not a goddamn drug addict.”

“At least I’m not a poor little lonely girl, waiting here her parents to pay attention to her.” She turns fully onto her side, and you look at her with narrowed eyes.

“At least my parents make money.”

“Shut up,” she breathes. “You don’t even know anything except spending money.”

“And you don’t know anything besides sucking dick.” The air in the room feels heavier, tangible.

“Shut up.”

“At least I have money to spend.”

But the more you talk, the more you don’t mean it. The more smiles form across both of your faces, giddy and carefree, too teenage girls basically home alone in a big mansion- but they only care about this room, this bed.

“Shut. Up.”

She’s whispering now, leaning towards you, and you’re leaning towards her, like you’re two magnets who can’t stay away.

“You shut up.”

She makes a motion that seems to be a shrug, before making the final leap forward, that final connection, and smashing her lips onto yours.

Life becomes flashes of teeth and tongues, lips and hands, until you’re pulling back for air, her hands in your hair, your lips bitten and swollen, the remnants of your lipstick smeared across her face.

She only pulls away enough so that your noses still brush against each others, and you can feel her breath against your skin, labored from kissing.

“At least I’m not a stupid Party Queen,” she gasps after a moment.

You smile. “You wish you were.”

—-

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[downthe-f4ndom-rabbith0le]

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader)

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) Word Count: 14,842 Reader insert: she/her pronouns. She is not American unless you are, just has a previous history in American law enforcement. Warnings: mentions of murder, crime scenes, guns, near-death experiences, slow-burn romance, drug addiction, death, and some MAJOR FLUFF! Spoilers: none, as Criminal Minds has been out for literal decades so don't get mad.

All his life, Dr. Spencer Reid has been told he is a genius - gifted, different. When you, a new member of the BAU, arrive, he expects the same weirded-out reaction from you as everyone does. But when you don't, and you instead find him interesting, Spencer finds himself forming an attachment to you. And as the years go on, is it really any wonder that he falls for you?

This is six times you secretly say I love you to Spencer, and one time he says it back in the same fashion.

This man has been eating my brain alive for the past few weeks and I know I'm late but damn he deserves all the appreciation he gets. This was just a silly little idea I had because I'm the kind of person to get obsessed quickly and can't move on until I write it out of my system. Seeing how long this turned out, I have split each moment into six smaller, digestible chapters as linked below. Enjoy xx

Full Story | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Spencer Reid was performing some of his physics magic for his colleagues when he first saw you.

He'd just mixed up some water with an antacid tablet and placed within a film canister. He'd done it a hundred times on his own, but he'd only just joined the BAU two months ago, and JJ and Derek hadn't seen it before so he just had to do it. Quickly placing the lid on, he said, 'You can turn around now.'

'I don't understand why we had to in the first place,' Derek said as he grumpily turned around.

'A magician never tells his secrets,' Spencer said, rubbing his hands gleefully. To him, showing off his intellect never got boring.

Well, show off wasn't the proper term. He understood that he could be a lot for some people, knowing so much for a man in his early twenties that looked barely old enough to be out of school, let alone with three Bachelors and PHDs under his belt already. Spouting little known facts or remembering minute details about cases that went back thirty to forty years was just his way of expressing himself. It was his way of contributing to the team. And while his team was getting used to his ramblings and intellect, even demonstrated admiration for it, others would call him a freak.

'If you ask me,' JJ said, 'I wouldn't want to know how he does some things.'

'Fair,' Derek replied, all their eyes on the film canister.

Spencer watched it in anticipation, how the bubbles slipped out between the lid and the canister slowly at first, then started bubbling faster and bigger and-

POP!

The canister rocketed up towards the roof, and all three of them watched with wide eyes as it arced over the bullpen and then down to meet the-

'Ow!'

Spencer ducked into his chair as he watched a young lady in a loose button up shirt, dress pants and boots pat her head. He heard JJ and Derek scurry away, but Spencer remained staring at the woman. Who is she? he thought, his eyes scanning over her.

Your (h/c) hair caught the sunlight, giving it a glow that had Spencer mesmerised. Your (s/c) skin shone with it, making your (e/c) eyes stand out most beautifully. And when you stood back up and made eye contact with him, canister in hand, he found himself frozen, unable to avoid the conclusion that he was the culprit.

'What is this, Reid?' Hotch said, walking up to his desk not looking the least bit impressed. 'Actually, don't answer that. Just don't do it again.'

'Sorry,' Spencer murmured out, a guilty smile stretching his lips slightly.

Hotch blew out a sigh. 'Never mind that now. I would like to introduce you to our new team member. Agent (Y/n) (L/n), a transfer from LA.'

Spencer finally realised that you had walked up with Hotch, and now that you were so close (literally standing a desk apart from one another), he was lost for words at how bright your smile was, and how beautiful you looked that way.

'So you're the one that thought my head was a good landing place for your little... rocket,' you said offering the film canister back, laughter dancing in your words.

It took Spencer a moment for him to realise you wanted him to take the canister back, so he scrambled to his feet, fingers fumbling for the canister. 'No, I-I was just showing how a-an antacid reacts with water, and how, put into a small, confined place, that can cause a chemical, gas-like reaction and cause it to exploded.'

'And launch it like a rocket?' you asked.

He paused as he watched your smile slip a little. Oh no. He'd done it again - made someone feel dumber than him. And while technically that was true, he never meant to make anyone feel like that.

'Y-Yeah?' he answered, awkwardness rising up in his throat, freezing his limbs, his brain.

But then suddenly your smile returned, melting his fear and doubt as you said, 'Cool! I've always loved chemistry. I actually did a Bachelor of Science with a major in archaeological science and a minor in chemistry before I started my BA in Criminology.'

'And now you're here,' he said, a soft smile of his own tugging at his lips.

You nodded, looking around what would now be your new home. 'And now I'm here.'

'Fascinating,' Spencer breathed out. He didn't mean to, but it made you smile more so he didn't mind. It suddenly occurred to him that he hadn't introduced himself. He struck out his arm, rigid as a board, and offered his hand. 'Sorry, I'm Dr. Spencer Reid.'

'Pleasure to meet you, doctor,' you said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. You skin was as soft as it looked, Spencer noted. 'I very much look forward to working with you and the rest of the team as we go forward.'

'We've got a briefing in five minutes, Reid,' Hotch interrupted, moving to step away from the conversation. 'I'll introduce you to the rest of the team then, (L/n). And if I find you firing another film canister through the sky, Reid-'

'Yes, yes, sorry, no more rockets. Airspace Reid is officially grounded,' Spencer quickly replied, not wanting to get lectured like a twelve-year-old like he usually did.

Your tinkling laughter drew his attention back to you, and he was baffled by the wonderment dancing in your eyes as you looked at him. 'You are a wonder, Dr. Spencer Reid.'

'T-Thanks?' he replied, although he wasn't quite sure if you were making fun of him or not. Most people did if they didn't straight up tell him he was annoying.

Hotch walked away, but you remained for a moment, leaning in close to whisper, 'That's a good thing, by the way.'

'Oh. Right.'

You flashed him one last smile before following your new unit chief, falling back into easy conversation with him as you gracefully floated through the chaotic goings of the office. Spencer couldn't take his eyes off you as you did, in awe of your grace and poise, and how you didn't even stumble when you spoke with him. You were genuine, upfront and honest. You couldn't be much older than himself, he noted, perhaps even younger. He was used to being the baby of the team, but it looked like that would be changing.

The prospect of being able to connect with someone his own age sent an unfamiliar but not unwelcome flutter through his heart.

'Oh, you've got it bad.'

Spencer spun in his chair to see JJ and Derek standing behind him once more, watching him with knowing grins.

'What? What have I got?' he asked. 'I'm not sick... I don't think.'

JJ rolled her eyes and giggled as she walked away, Spencer just catching a quiet, 'This'll be fun,' as she did. But Derek walked closer, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, and that knowing grin stretched wider, more feline and cheeky.

'Don't worry, pretty boy,' he said. 'You'll figure it out soon. You're smart, right?'

'Well, smart isn't really the quite term for someone with an eidetic memory and an IQ of 187-'

'And pep talk is over,' Derek interrupted, abruptly walking away back to his desk and leaving Spencer in a disarray of emotions.

So he looked back to where you had gone, and found you speaking with Penelope, nodding enthusiastically to whatever she was talking to you about. But you weren't just being polite, you appeared genuinely interested in the conversation, even though Spencer noted you barely contributed to it.

'You are a wonder, Dr. Spencer Reid.'

All his life, Spencer had been told he was a genius - gifted, different. It had just become an effortless part of who he is. It was almost expected at this point to see weirded-out or overly-amazed expressions from people he didn't know. So why then, when you said that to him, did he feel happy about it?

He checked his watch. Almost briefing time. He got up from his seat and made his way to the briefing room where only a place beside you was available. Maybe he would find out soon enough.

~

It became a casual thing, for you to comment on how wonderful Dr. Spencer Reid was. Every day in the office, whenever you travelled to cases, even out in the field, sometimes in not-so-great situations.

It was only ever once, but you always managed to find something to say, 'You are a wonder, Dr Reid,' to him. Sometimes it was his full name, sometimes just doctor. Sometimes, he was just Spencer. Apart from JJ, you were the only one who ever really called him by his first name. Oddly enough for him, he liked it when he was just Spencer, not the Boy Genius or freak or computer.

But the next time you told him that and it meant something to him was ten months after he ended his drug addiction.

He sat at his desk in the bullpen finishing some paperwork, or at least attempting to. They'd just gotten back from a long and exhausting case and his brain (the very thing he knew he could always rely on) refused to coordinate with his hands and eyes. The information he wished to write out felt jammed at his fingers tips, appeared blurry in his vision.

'Gosh,' he breathed out, leaning back in his seat defeated as he rubbed at his tired eyes. No doubt black bags sagged beneath them.

It had been a long, exhausting case. The team had gone to Dallas to find a serial killer who'd been leaving a trail of dead doctors and pharmacists over the span of months which had suddenly turned into weeks, then days once the team joined the case.

The unsub had spiralled, devolved so to say, alluding to a psychotic break. But when they'd found him, he was not the malicious, sadistic person they'd first expected. Spencer was the first on the scene and had instead found a young man in his early twenties, not much younger than himself. All he'd wanted was some off-market narcotic that took away the pain from the physical abuse he received from his father.

And while Spencer's trauma was not the same, he couldn't help but see the parallels. When he'd looked the young man in the eyes, it was like looking into a mirror. All he saw was himself, drowning in his own trauma, his own fear, his own pain.

Spencer scoped the bullpen, suddenly noticing the silence. Not a single person was left. He then looked at his watch - half past ten. He hadn't noticed people leaving whatsoever. Not surprising considering his current state, his current condition.

Spencer slowly reached down to the bottom drawer of his desk, a sudden urge coursing through him to do so. Slowly again, almost hesitantly, he pulled it open and leafed through the many spare manilla folders that sat oddly in there until he reached the bottom.

It was just one vial, but just the mere sight of it sent relief rushing through Spencer. Dilaudid. He gently cradled it up to his eyes, admiring how the glass doors of the entrance became obscured as he looked through the transparent but murky liquid. After this case, what he wouldn't give to have a needle right now. Just one hit-

'Well, if it isn't Dr. Spencer Reid burning the midnight oil.'

Spencer almost dropped the vial as he scrambled to shove it deep into his pant pocket just as you appeared out of nowhere from the conference room.

'Sorry,' you said, an apologetic smile already on your lips. 'I didn't mean to startle you.'

'It's okay,' he replied as casually as possible. It was one thing to nearly be caught out by your colleague that you had an illegal narcotic you used to have an addiction for in your hand, but another when that colleague is one you've admired since the day you met. 'I was lost in thought, anyways.'

'Well just as well then. I can only imagine how depthless your brain must go with all that knowledge crammed in there.' You walked down the stairs to the floor of the bullpen and walked to him. You were still in your clothes from the past twenty-four hours, and your light makeup looked like it was lifting off your face like a second skin. Even your unrelenting smile seemed to sag with exhaustion.

Spencer straightened up in his seat, suddenly concerned. 'You okay, (Y/N)? You look-'

'Like trash?' you finished as you pulled up a chair of your own and sat in front of him. 'I have no doubt.'

Spencer looked behind your back into the conference room, his eyebrows furrowing when he spotted stacks of folders and loose paperwork spread across the table. 'That all yours?'

You looked back to the mess of words and paper you'd just escaped and sighed dramatically. 'Oh, yeah. Seems like the longer the case, the more paperwork you have to do. Poor trees.'

'Yeah...' Spencer found it odd how much paperwork you had to get through. Even he didn't have that much to get through. But before he could question you about it, your soft voice filled the damning void that surrounded him.

'How are you feeling, you know, after this case?'

'What do you mean?' he asked.

'Don't give me that,' you say, your smile now replaced by a seriousness Spencer only saw on you when you were making an arrest or in really dire situations. You've worked together for almost three years now, he knew all the faces you pulled, all of your likes and dislikes, how you liked your coffee only after you've completed one task for the day to prove you can survive without it but choose not to.

He knows you, so it should not be surprising that you know him just as well.

'The moment we found out the unsub's objective, you've been a little... off.'

'Well, it shouldn't be surprising considering that was me just ten months ago,' he said matter-of-factly, pulling back into his shell, putting up his guard. 'I mean, if Hotch hadn't have found out about it, that could've been me-'

'No it wouldn't have.'

Spencer scoffed, but not in a demeaning manner. He just didn't believe you for a moment because he could see the facts, the statistics, in his head. 'Over 45% percent of addicts relapse at least twice. This is without the intervention or support by health care clinics and families and friends, and this case just proved that. So, yes, it could've been-'

'But it wasn't,' you intervened again, your voice echoing like soft thunder through the empty office. It gave you presence, forcing Spencer to look at you, like really look at you, and face what you were about to say.

'You had help and support from people that care about you, Spence,' you continued, sitting forward in your seat. 'And I don't care about the statistics, you're not one of them. You're your own person and you can determine where you add value in life, not by some... statistically-informed percentage prediction... thing.'

That drew a laugh out him, the quiet but sudden sound surprising him slightly. 'Stastically-informed percentage prediction, huh?'

'Shut up,' you grumbled and playfully punched his shoulder. When you both calmed down, you continued. 'When I realised who we were looking for, for a moment I kind of got scared.'

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow 'Scared?'

You nodded. 'The truth is that... when you were kidnapped and... you had to endure all that pain alone... I was terrified. We all were. Even when we found you, I was terrified. Because I knew you would never be the same, and not that it's your problem, but I knew in that moment that I would never forgive myself for not finding you sooner. For not going with you and JJ to the farm.'

Tears welled up in your eyes and Spencer immediately leant forward. To do what, he didn't know, he just needed you to know he was there for you, like you always were for him.

'I'm sorry,' you mutter, blinking the tears away before they could fall. 'Your trauma is not my own. I have no right to express my guilt.'

'There's nothing to feel guilty for,' he said, reaching out slowly with his hands, the ones that slightly shook as he laid them on your own.

To his relief, you smiled. It wasn't full, but it was there. 'You're a horrible liar, Spencer Reid.' That brought some laughter out of you both, lightening the suffocating air of the office.

'But even when we found out about you and the dilaudid,' you continued, pulling yourself together, if only to let Spencer know your true thoughts. 'I wasn't even mad.'

A large lump formed in Spencer's throat, and he had a hard time swallowing it along with the threat of tears that burned behind his amber eyes. 'You... You weren't?'

It was the mixture of surprise and hope that pulled at your heart, that made you feel obligated to keep speaking. 'Why should I have been? I was not the one who was tortured mentally and physically by a split-personality murderer; and who also witnesses the darkest, most ugliest aspects of humanity every single day of his life. It was not my place to judge how you hold onto your own humanity.'

Your eyes until then had never left his, but they flickered downwards then, and Spencer froze at where your gaze landed.

It only lasted a moment before your eyes returned to his, and it startled him the lack of sympathy he finds there, but instead warmth. 'It is still not my place to judge,' you said, twisting your hands so they could clasp his fully. 'All I know is that... you are stronger than you give yourself credit for. So much stronger than me, JJ, Pen, Emily - heck, I'd say you're even stronger than Derek. But not Hotch, Gideon, and Rossi, though. Then again, no one is.'

You both chuckled at that, and all the tension in his body seemed to dissipate at the sound. So light and airy, it was what he imagined heaven sounded like.

'The point is,' you continued, giving his hands a squeeze, 'you are a wonder, Spencer Reid. We all see it. You've just got to now see it, too.'

Spencer stared at you, dumbfounded and conflicted within himself. He felt like he wanted to cry and laugh at the same time. And a great urge to suddenly engulf you in a hug started itching his limbs, which was weird because he didn't care much physical affection, or affection in general. But before he could decide what he wanted to do, you decided for him.

You gave his hands one last squeeze before letting go and standing up. The absence of your touch left him cold as he followed you as you went back into the conference room to pack up. Surprisingly it didn't take you long until you came back out, your coat and bag in hand.

'Don't stay up too long, now,' you said as you passed him by, your smile so radiant it was almost as if you weren't crying just a few minutes before. 'We've got a long day ahead.'

As soon as the elevator door closed on you, he pulled out the vial of dilaudid and stared it down. It was like it was taunting him, sitting idly, innocently, in his palm, as if it knew he desperately wanted it, needed it.

'...you are stronger than you give yourself credit for... you are a wonder, Spencer Reid. We all see it. You've just got to now see it, too.'

For some reason, though, he suddenly didn't need it. The fire, the urge, the want and reliance for it - he was suddenly weightless with clarity, if only for a moment.

Spencer chucked the vial in the dumpster outside the office when he left. It was hard, but he did it. He knew he wasn't cured, that there was still a long road ahead. But it was a start.

The next day when he came into the office, Derek was the first to comment on his haggard appearance.

'Seriously man,' he said, trailing Spencer out of the break room, 'you look like a ghoul. Did you sleep at all last night.'

'I was here late last night doing paperwork,' he explained, sitting himself and his coffee down at his desk. 'You should go see (y/n), she probably looks a little worse for wear herself from staying late last night, too.'

'Oh, she stayed late too, did she?'

'It's not like that,' Spencer insisted, swatting at Derek pathetically. 'She had a mountain of paperwork to finish of her own.'

'Y/N?' Emily said as she walked by with JJ, identical coffees in their hands. 'She finished her paperwork at about the same time I did.'

'Yeah, we were walking out together before she turned back into the office. Said she had to talk with Hotch,' JJ said.

'I remember that,' Spencer added. 'You guys said goodnight to me on your way out.' Not that he had responded, he suddenly recalled, a pang of guilt punching his gut.

'Who had to talk with me?' The man himself suddenly walked by, stopping at the congregated group upon hearing his name.

'Y/n,' Emily answered. 'Last night.'

'Oh, yes. She, uh, asked if there was anymore paperwork to do.'

'Why would she do that when she was done?' JJ asked.

'I don't know,' Hotch said, making his way towards his office, 'but who am I to turn away someone who wants to do paperwork for free? Now, briefing in ten minutes.'

As the others dispersed back to their desks, Spencer didn't know how to feel about this new information. It didn't help the matter when you finally dragged yourself into the office, dark circles peaking out from under your thin layer of foundation. But as you sat at your desk, eyes drooping as you logged onto your laptop, he knew just what to do.

It took you a second to register the cup of coffee being held in front of your dazed eyes, and another to realise who was holding it.

'Late night?' Spencer asked, a coy smile on his lips.

Despite your exhaustion, you managed to grab the cup without spilling any of the precious caffeine that would help you through the day. 'Yeah,' you decided to play dumb, answering as enthusiastically as possible. 'Paperwork, you know. Never-ending.'

Spencer hummed, contemplating his next words carefully. 'Well, I hope giving up your sleep was worth it, then.'

'I'd like to think it was.'

The way you didn't hesitate to answer struck a chord of truth in him that left him dumbfounded once more. Twice in under twenty-four hours? That had to be a new record for him.

But instead of freezing up, he managed an honest smile as he clanked his coffee cup with your own. 'Well... it is certainly most appreciated.'

~

The next time you dumbfounded him, he almost kissed you.

Ever since you had joined the BAU, you and Spencer had alway had a sweet partnership. But after that night in the office, you had become inseparable. Best friends, to put simply. You stayed late at the office to keep each other company, brought each other coffee and treats, spent free days checking out the new films playing in the cinema.

You had inside jokes, and fought like an old, married couple - a fact the team loved to bring up whenever possible. But you liked it like that. Spencer was your person, and you were his.

And as much as he wowed you everyday, you managed to surprise him on occasions, too.

You were both paired up to interrogate a suspect. You personally didn't believe she was the killer, but Spencer didn't like to base anything from solely his gut. In other words, he was skeptical.

'I didn't kill those women,' your suspect said. 'And even if wanted to kill them, it would be for something more worthwhile than a stupid role.'

'Jealously isn't as far-fetched a reason to kill as you may believe,' Spencer stated to her. 'Particularly in women, the feeling of being threatened or in danger of losing something important to them brings out almost a maternal instinct to protect what they believe to be is theirs.'

'You think all actresses are that low? That shallow?' The young woman was pretty, but her face scrunched up in an ugly manner at the insinuation.

'He doesn't think that at all,' you interjected. 'In fact, he quite likes actresses, don't you buddy?'

Spencer gave you a side eye to which you smiled sickly-sweetly at in return. You were never going to let the Lila fling down any time soon.

You looked back at the young woman, your face returning to empathetic, concerned. She had a wall up, she was wearing a mask. If you wanted answers out of her, you needed to connect with her.

You leaned forward on the table, positioning yourself in front of Spencer so all her focus was on you.

'Anna,' you said softly, like you were speaking to a friend. 'I know you didn't do it. You're different than all those other girls right? You've worked hard to get where you are. Small town girl wanting to make a name for herself in an industry that can be ruthless and heartless as the killer that's still out there. You are classically trained, by-the-book, no shortcuts. I bet you started on the stage of your elementary school, landing the lead role.'

The young woman looked at you with skepticism for a moment, then you saw a crack in her mask as she nodded. 'I was Mary in the Christmas production. But it wasn't until high school when we preformed Shakespeare's The Tempest that I knew this was what I wanted to do with my life.'

Spencer noticed your smile now, how it lifted in a manner that sung of melancholy and fondness.

'"We are such stuff as dreams are made on.",' you said whimsically, and Spencer noted a familiarity that had the words rolling off your tongue with ease. Like it was muscle memory.

'Such a beautiful line, right?' the young woman asked.

'Yes, but, when translated into our modern English, it is quite sad really.' You make eye contact with the young woman and hoped she saw the understanding and slight desperation in your eyes. 'It means that life is an illusion, and a fleeting one at that. I don't necessarily believe in the first part of that, but it is true that life is fleeting. So before you end up the next aspiring actress in our morgue, you've got to tell us everything you know.'

The rest of the interrogation went smoothly. Honestly, it was the easiest one Spencer had ever sat in before. And all the while he had just sat there in awe of you.

'I didn't know you read Shakespeare,' he said randomly as they drove together in a local police SUV to meet with the rest of the team at the new suspect's house.

You scoffed. 'See that's the biggest misconception of Shakespeare. That it can only be read. In fact, it actually shouldn't be just read. It needs to be performed.'

Amusement danced upon Spencer's lips. 'Are you saying you were in a Shakespearean play? Which one? Actually, let me guess. Romeo and Juliet.'

'That's a cliche.'

'Twelfth Night? How about Taming of the Shrew?'

'Why do you want to know so badly?'

'Because I...' It suddenly occurred to him that he didn't quite know why he wanted to know. Only that he knows everything and you were his best friend and he didn't know something about you.

You spared him a sympathetic smile from the driver's seat before returning your eyes to the road. 'If you must know... it was actually The Tempest. It was my high school's production, too. And as much as he irritates me, I grew fascinated with Shakespeare's work after that. It even prompted me to do a unit or two in Shakespearean literature and performance during my uni days.'

You allowed yourself to slip back in time a little to those days, that melancholy and fondness finding its way back into your smile, Spencer noticed.

'Outside of Shakespeare though, I'll admit... I was a theatre kid.'

'No way!' Spencer exclaimed. 'You?'

'Why is it so unbelievable that I used to dress up and spout lines that no one really understood?' you asked, but you weren't offended. Simply amused that you seemed to have stunned the (until now) un-stunnable Dr. Spencer Reid.

'Because... it's just so left of field from anyone else in the team.'

'And is that a bad thing?'

'...not at all,' he said after a moment, and then proceeded to drop the matter entirely. Spencer Reid never forgets anything, he couldn't forget, not with his eidetic memory. But he made extra special care to file that little fact about you away for now.

A few days after returning home from wrapping that case up, you came into work to find your coffee already made on your desk, and beside it was an envelope. Curious, you swiftly opened the envelope and gasped with pure surprise at what you found.

'I thought you might like them,' Spencer said as he approached you, his own coffee in hand. 'The ticket vendor said they were the best seats in the house.'

'Oh my God, Spencer!' You couldn't help yourself, you leapt onto the gangly man like a frog and held him tighter than you'd ever hugged someone before, avoiding spilling Spencer's coffee. You were so excited you even smacked a fat, grateful kiss on his unsuspecting cheek before letting him go. 'Tickets to ASC's production of The Tempest?! How did you even get these, I was told they were all gone.'

'Believe it or not, I have connections everywhere,' Spencer answered a bit too vaguely but you didn't care. 'Even in areas that aren't of my particular expertise. I figured you and a friend could go enjoy it before it finishes up.'

'You mean you're not coming?'

Spencer tried not to read into it too much, but he swore he heard a little hiccup in your question, like you were upset. 'W-Well, I, I, uh, didn't want to assume anything. I mean, y-you might want to take JJ, or Emily-

'Spencer.' It was ridiculous how easy he listened when you said his name, how he dropped everything to listen to what you had to say whenever you did. And his heart faltered when he made eye contact with you and saw joy and hope lighting up your eyes. 'Would you like to come to the show with me?'

And it wasn't any wonder, then, that he replied without hesitation, 'Y-Yeah! All right, s-sure. Would love to.'

'Amazing!' Spencer once again had to juggle his coffee and you as you squeezed all the air out of him in another bone-crushing hug. 'Spencer Reid, you have just made my day.'

It was a week later and the night of the performance. You drove yourself and Spencer two and a half hours straight from Quantico down to Staunton to the American Shakespeare Centre, reciting and recalling your favourite Shakespearean moments the whole trip.

Spencer made the extreme effort to look presentable, pulling out a nice suit set, even replacing his usual casual sneakers with some shiny boots. His hair was slicked back out of his face, with only the slightest stubble on his chin and upper lip.

When you picked him up, you said he looked handsome. He never cared much for his appearance, but that comment warmed his heart slightly, made him sit more upright in his seat.

Once you pulled up and got out of the car, he finally saw you in all your glory. A navy blue dress clung to your frame beautifully; kitten heels cradled your feet as you walked up the stairs to the theatre's entrance; your jewellery brought out the (e/c) in your eyes, even further accentuated by your simple makeup and hair.

Spencer has met Nobel price winners, attorney generals, even spoken with the most psychotic people humanity has to offer. And yet there you stood - ethereal, angelic, striking him silent with just your presence.

'You coming, Boy Wonder?'

You'd reached the top the stairs without him moving a muscle. Embarrassed, he tried to cover it up with a cough as he scrambled to catch up with you. 'Boy Wonder? Where did that come from?'

You shrugged playfully as you hooked your arm through his. 'Just seemed appropriate.'

'I'm twenty-seven, (y/n). I'm hardly a boy.'

'Oh, so would you prefer I call you Batman?'

Spencer raised a quizzical eyebrow. 'I didn't know you liked DC comics.'

'There's a lot you still don't know about me, Spencer Reid,' you answered, handing over your tickets to the ticket vendor at the door. 'Like how I've always preferred Robin over Batman, anyway.'

You quickly found your seats, and Spencer tried not to acknowledge how tight-knit the seats were pressed together. His thigh pressed lightly against your own, and he couldn't tell if he hated or liked the feeling that suddenly sprouted in his gut.

It distracted him so much that instead of watching the performance, he looked at you. How you reacted to each sonnet, to the entrance of new characters, to the costuming and the music and emotion that filled the room with every word spoken. He watched it all, your joy, your love. Your heart was on your face, and it struck something new and unexplored inside him.

You cried at one point, and physical touch wasn't his forte, but he intertwined his fingers with yours and gave them a reassuring squeeze that he was there. You'd turned to him briefly and nodded, showing that you understood and that you were grateful.

You didn't let go of his hand for the rest of the show.

'Wow,' you breathed out as you exited the theatre, the performance finally done. 'That was...'

'Yeah. I feel the same,' Spencer finished, his hands shoved into his pockets as they walked down the stairs towards the carpark. His hand still burned from your touch, and that unsure feeling in his gut still remained.

'It was just so... magical.'

'I would say impressive, but magical works too, I guess.'

'Says the guy who still goes trick-or-treating on Halloween and believes in ghosts. Don't tell me you don't believe in the supernatural now.'

'I'm not saying I don't believe. I'm just saying that it's impressive that they were able to make fantastical magic seem slightly realistic.'

You playfully shove him, causing you both to fall into laughter. The two different melodies mixing together made Spencer feel lighter than he'd felt in a while. This was different to when you usually hung out. This time, there was no case, no team, nothing but yourselves to worry about.

'It doesn't matter, anyways,' you said, stopping on the steps suddenly. Spencer went down one more before stopping too. You smiled gratefully at him. It was a cool, autumn night, cool enough that your breath danced like ghosts in front of you as you spoke. 'Thank you, Spence. This was a wonderful night. You didn't have to do this.'

'I know,' he said, and it startled him how quiet and soft his voice was. 'I just... I just wanted you to enjoy the stuff you love. You deserve to enjoy the stuff you love.'

His acute eyes fell to your shoulders and noticed the slight shake in them. 'Here.' He wasted no time pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around your shoulders, pulling it tight to capture the warmth.

You gratefully held onto the jacket, the warmth it captured seeping into your eyes. 'You truly are a wonder, Spencer,' you said, your words dancing in between you two.

He was only the step down now, making you two eye level with one another. He was so close he could see himself in your eyes. He wondered if you could see yourself in his.

'Am I?' he asked, his breath mixing with yours.

'Yeah...'

He felt your warmth, and he suddenly decided that he liked the feeling in his gut. The one that had been driving him crazy all night. The one that had an iron grip on his mind, his heart. The one that pulled him closer to you, to your lips.

His eyes were almost closed and his lips almost on yours. You didn't back away - you didn't want to back away you realised. No matter how hard your heart pounded in your chest. No matter if he was your best friend.

So you leaned in too, and you could just feel the stars and planets align as you tasted his breath-

The front of your heel slipped on the edge of the step, sending you flying forwards into Spencer's chest. His reflexes had improved immensely since joining the BAU, and so he managed to grab hold of you and hold himself up before your momentum could send you both tumbling down the remaining stairs.

You both breathed in heavy gulps of air, steadying both your hearts from what could've happened.

'Nice catch,' you said after a moment, loosening your grip on Spencer only a little.

'Thanks.' He didn't know where to look. You, the ground, his surroundings. It all just felt muddled, as if his whole world had been tilted on its axis.

In a sense, it had.

But he felt your gaze, and he couldn't deny your eyes so he looked at you also. You eyes were blown wide, and the slight catch in your breath had him second guessing himself. Maybe he'd read you wrong after all. He'd never been wrong before, but there was always a first time for everything, he figured.

'(Y/n), look, I-'

Before he could attempt to salvage himself, the irritating ring of his phone went off, breaking the glass dome of solitude you'd' forged together with nothing but words and air.

This forced you apart, awkwardly so, as Spencer readjusted you on his step before letting you go completely and fishing his phone out of his pant pocket. He checked the ID caller: Hotch.

He accepted the call and brought the phone to his ear. 'Hotch, what's up?'

'New case,' the unit chief answered without pleasantries. 'I know we're all meant to be off for the weekend but this one is important.'

'Where is it and we'll be there.'

'You're with (Y/n), right? In Staunton?'

'Yeah, why?'

'Head to the local police. We'll meet you there. That's where the case is.'

'Okay. Gotcha.'

Hotch ended the call and then it was just him and you once more. Although instead of the air feeling freeing and warming, Spencer couldn't seem to get enough in his lungs. It was like he was suffocating, having to face you again.

So he slipped into work mode, keeping Hotch's urgency and the new case in the forefront of his mind. 'New case. Here in Staunton. Hotch wants us to head down to the police and meet them there.'

'Right.' You seemed to think the same as him - it's probably why you were best friends to begin with - as the ethereal light in your eyes dimmed with the severity of the new situation. Without another word, you both bee-lined for the car, jumped in, and made your way to the local police station.

But for the rest of the case, Spencer couldn't help but think about that moment with you on the steps. He'd kissed before, of course, even dabbled in flirting despite how little he knew about the craft. He'd never imagined he'd attempt it all on you, however. Not even in his wildest dreams.

~

He didn't hear your heart-stopping compliment again until it was almost too late.

After the Staunton case, you and Spencer had been... odd. Well, mainly Spencer, as he spoke as little as possible to you during cases, and always offered to go with anyone else but you on certain tasks. He even stopped coming over to yours for movie night each Saturday, claiming each time to be busy or unwell. It was Spencer's only way of ensuring nothing like that night ever happened again.

He convinced himself the moment was fleeting, just a mixture of chemicals in his brain combined with the adrenaline of being with a beautiful women he very much admired that made him read the signs wrong. You were friends, that was all you were, and all he would ever allow you to be.

This went on for three months.

And you were miserable.

Emily, JJ and Penelope recognised the change in your demeanour at work first, and when they found out the reason behind it, they slapped Spencer upside the head on their way out of the office one Friday afternoon and took you with them, promising a wonderful night out on the town.

That night, to Spencer's eventual annoyance, you'd met someone. A charming young firefighter named Riley who lived in Washington DC and was just in town to see family.

That night, you hooked up. And the next morning, he asked you on a date. That date led to another, then more. You were on your way to another one tonight when you got a phone call from JJ saying they found the latest unsub's house and were planning a raid on it.

Spencer knew you were on a date when he also got the phone call to come along. Despite his distance (by his own choice, he always had to remind himself), he kept tabs on you, checked in on you via others. And while the girls of the team were awfully mad at him, they always answered him when he asked how you were doing.

'You know, for a genius, you really are quite stupid,' JJ told him when he asked about you.

He quirked his eyebrow, genuinely confused. 'I'm sorry?'

'She's heartbroken,' Penelope added. 'Her best friend just gives her the silent treatment out of nowhere after what sounded like a magical night at the theatre. Who wouldn't be upset by that, Reid?'

'I just,' he paused, rallying his thoughts into words that couldn't quite describe how he felt. 'It's complicated.'

'Love shouldn't be complicated, Reid,' Emily interjected, a soft but sad smile gracing her painted lips.

Spencer swallowed thickly at that. 'W-What do you mean?'

Derek finished making his coffee and took a sip of it before answering. 'We all see it, Reid. You don't have to deny anymore how you feel.'

'I'm not denying anything, Morgan.'

'Maybe not to us,' Derek continued. 'But you are definitely denying it to yourself. All I can say is don't wait until it's too late. She's already slipping away.'

That's when Spencer found out about your dates with Riley, and an ugly, selfish, hurt part of him wanted to scream with anger. Mainly at himself, but the damage was done and he had to get over you.

But when you showed up to the unsub's home, your FBI bullet-proof vest on and mascara slightly smeared under your eyes, he was beyond confused. And concerned.

'You're here,' he stated matter-of-factly.

'You sound surprised,' you answered stiffly, loading your gun without even glancing at him.

'To be honest, yeah. JJ and the rest all said you were out tonight. I figured you-'

'What? That I would ignore the call because I had something personal planned?' You finally looked up at him, and man did your cold stare pierce him like an arrow. 'This is my job, Spence. I knew, same as you and everyone else, that I would have to make some sacrifices to do it. So please, don't think so little of me just because I attempted to have a life outside of it.'

He grew more concerned at your choice of words. 'Attempted?' he asked, but then he looked closely at your smeared mascara, at the redness circling your eyes. Like you'd been crying-

'Don't worry about it,' you muttered, brushing past him to meet up with the team. 'You haven't for about four months now.'

Spencer tried to ignore the sting your words brought with them as he followed you to the rest of the team, forcing himself to put the case in front of you. But he'd done that for the past four months as you had so brightly pointed out, and look where it had landed him.

'Now remember,' Hotch started, bringing the team and some other officers in to brief, 'this unsub may use this place as his base to build his bombs, but don't discredit the idea that he wouldn't blow it up to save himself. Tread carefully but be vigilant, he is in the house somewhere. Now move.'

Spencer followed you into the house through the front door, gun and flashlight at the ready. All that could be heard were the soft but swift patter of footsteps as the FBI and local police ran in. The lights were on, but no unsub.

You were silently directed by Hotch to investigate the back end of the house, to which Spencer and Derek followed. You focussed on maintaining your breathing as you tried not to think about your date, Spencer, your heart thrashing in your ribcage. Only the unsub mattered.

The three of you broke into the last room of the house, the laundry. Upon entry, you spotted him, the unsub, running out the back door into the backyard.

'Hey!' you called out, immediately breaking into a sprint after him. You broke out of the laundry onto a cemented path towards a clothes line, chasing after him towards the fence line. But as you stepped off the path and onto the grass, something gave way beneath your feet, followed by a resounding click that had your freezing with fear.

'(L/n), keep going!' Derek shouted from somewhere behind you.

'Hold up!' you cried, throwing an arm back behind you. 'I think the yard is full of bombs.'

'Well, let's go around the front and get him in the back streets, come on!'

'I can't,' you replied back, slightly breathless from running, but also from the fear constricting now your airways.

'Why?' You didn't have to see him to know it was Spencer, concern dripping from just one word.

'Because I'm standing on one.'

Spencer knew it was physically impossible, but he was sure his stomach just dropped out of him and onto the bomb-littered grass around them. This was bad. Like very very bad.

'Shit,' Derek breathed out before bringing his wrist up to his mouth. 'Hotch, the unsub got away over the back fence, send some men to intercept him two blocks north from here.'

'Got it,' Hotch answered efficiently.

'And send the bomb squad out here. Yard is like a mine field and (L/n) is standing on one.'

After that, it didn't take long for the rest of the team to run outside, making extra careful to stand only on the pavements as they got as close to you as they could. Spencer stood the closest, standing directly in front of you as the bomb squad swept the yard for the rest of them.

'I've got some good news and some bad news,' one member of the bomb squad said as she came up to the team. 'Good news is it's the only bomb in the yard.'

'And I just managed to find it. Super,' you muttered, your tone shaky although the intention was to lighten the mood.

'Bad news is it's a pressure-triggered bomb, meaning that if you move even a fraction it'll go off. Also, by stepping on it, you've set of a timer until it explodes. The only way to disarm it seems to be a code of some kind.'

'How long do we have?' Spencer asked, not bothering to mask his desperation. This couldn't be happening. Of all the people, it had to be you.

'Six hours now,' she said grimly. 'My team and I will do everything we can to dismantle it and shut it off manually, but it's built quite strong so it'll be tough to crack open without setting it off. Your best bet will be to get an answer from your bomber.'

'Uniforms just called in,' Rossi said. 'They're bringing him in now.'

'Good,' Hotch said with a ferocity that would send most people running for the hills. 'He's gonna give us that code one way or another.' He turned to you, determination blazing in his eyes. 'Hang tight, (Y/n). We're gonna get you off that thing.'

'I'll hold you to that,' you joked, and you were grateful to receive a soft smile in return from Hotch and the rest of the team. Except for Spencer, he couldn't find it in himself to smile. He could barely think no thanks to your dangerous position.

'I'll stay with (Y/n),' Spencer said, his voice strained compared to his usual calmness.

'Reid,' Derek started, 'you're our best bet to crack open this guy. If we find something-'

'Then I'll have my phone ready to pick up. I'm not leaving her.'

It surprised you the strength you heard hidden underneath his fear. It was there in his eyes too, blazing like Hotch's, except with more warmth, more determination.

Derek looked to Hotch, and Hotch just nodded. 'Okay fine, but you better pick up on the first ring.'

'Promise.'

'I'll stay to help with the bomb squad,' Emily said while also looking at you.

'No,' you said as Hotch, Derek and JJ left. 'You all should go. In case he somehow remotely sets it off himself.'

'We're not leaving,' Reid said firmly, making eye contact with you. 'Not until you're off that bomb, you hear me?'

You wanted to argue, trying to be selfless and strong. But the truth was you were terrified, and to hear Spencer's strength where you lacked helped you push your pride aside and nod in agreement.

Time had flown by and it was now the last ten minutes. Spencer had received phone call after phone call but nothing had been helpful. They'd tried two potential codes already but they didn't work. The bomb squad quickly realised that they only had three chances to get the code right and so they were down to the last chance.

'You guys should really leave,' you said amidst your chattering teeth. It was now just after midnight and your thin button up and the bulletproof vest were not cutting it anymore. Spencer wished he could give you a blanket, a jacket, his own shirt for God's sake if it would keep you warm slightly.

'That's not going to happen,' he answered without hesitation.

You yawned, eyes threatening to droop close. Your legs had gone numb long ago. You were unsure how you were holding yourself up. It certainly wasn't by adrenaline. Perhaps you were frozen in place.

'I mean it, Spence,' you said, bracing yourself as another shiver threatened to spasm your entire body. 'It's the last ten minutes. You should be clear in case it goes off.'

'I'm not going to do that.'

'Damnit, Spencer. Of all the times to be stubborn, you choose now?'

'I'm not being stubborn,' Spencer argued. Were you purposefully trying to tick him off now? 'I'm trying to save your life!'

'You're right, you're not being stubborn. You're being plain stupid,' you retorted. You weren't sure why you were suddenly so angry, you just didn't like him playing the hero when he didn't have to.

'Yes! I am stupid, I admit that. I'll announce that to the entire neighbourhood right now if you want me to! Because if it weren't for me being an idiot, you wouldn't have had those dates, you wouldn't have had a date tonight, and maybe you wouldn't be stuck standing on a bomb right now!'

You stared incredulously at Spencer. He blamed himself for your situation? For Riley?

Despite the bustling of people around them, everything grew silent as youO stared at one another, Spencer's chest heaving as he sucked in air hard.

'Spence,' you said softly, your anger suddenly dissipating. 'I don't blame you for any of this. I would've ended up on this bomb one way or another. Or even worse, it could've been you standing on it. And as for Riley...' You thought the tears would come up again like before, but your eyes remained dry, and your heart didn't pull harshly.

Not for Riley, anyways.

'Did something happen between you two?' Spencer tentatively asked. His tone bordered on concerned and hopeful, demonstrating his torn mindset to whatever you were about to say.

You nodded. 'I told him I had to go to work, which wasn't unusual, but he just flipped. Said he was sick of me choosing you guys over him and that he was finished.'

He hated himself for feeling the slightest bit happy at the news, but his best friend instincts kicked in, and all he wanted to do was reach out and hold you. 'I'm sorry. You could've said no. We would've understood-'

'Spencer, I will always choose you guys over anyone,' you interjected, and the complete seriousness on your face reflected your sincerity brighter than the full moon above. 'I will always choose you, Spence.'

It was then Spencer saw it: the same feeling he'd had swirling in his stomach for months reflected in your eyes. It scared him, but what scared him more was that it would all be gone soon if he didn't do anything about it.

He would be too late, just like Derek said.

The bomb squad lady and Emily walked up to them both, and Spencer did not like the grim expressions on their faces.

'I'm sorry,' the bomb squad lady said. 'It's the last five minutes. There's nothing else we can do but clear out of the blast zone.'

'What about the code?' Spencer pressed, but Emily shook her head.

'Reid, they've gotten nothing out of him. We've got to go.'

'But we can't just leave her here-'

'Trust me, Spencer, I don't want to either!' Emily cried, tears pricking at her eyes at the thought of you dying. 'But we can't do anything for her here. I've got the remote to input the code if they get another one, but until then, we've got to clear from the blast zone.'

'No.' Spencer shook his head vigourously. He couldn't accept this. He wouldn't accept this.

'Spencer,' you tried gently. 'It's okay. I can do the rest alone. I want you to be safe.'

'Well, too bad, because I'm staying.'

You squeezed your eyes shut as tears rushed down your cheeks. 'Damnit, Spencer. Please, just go. Don't make this harder than it already is.'

Spencer took a daring step towards you, the tops of his shoes dangling just over the edge of the pavement. 'I won't abandon you. Not again.'

You were most likely a blubbering mess, your heart hurting so much at the thought that he would get caught up in your mess. 'God, why don't you just leave-'

'Because I love you, (Y/n)!'

The four of you stood dumbfounded as his proclamation echoed through the yard, the house, the street back out the front. Hell, Spencer hoped the whole world heard what he said, because he felt free for the first time in months, weightless, powerful.

And it was all because of you.

'I love you,' he repeated again, softer this time. As the reality of the situation came crashing down on him, tears of his own sprouted in his eyes and ran down his cheeks. He'd finally built up the courage to tell you, and you were minutes away from being blown up.

Through your tears, you find it in yourself to chuckle a little. It's watery and gross-sounding, but Spencer likes it none the less because it's yours, and you haven't lost complete hope. 'Talk about great timing, you big idiot.' And then there it is, that bright smile he saw day one in the office. You wore it with such pride, such strength it pulled at Spencer's heart strings painfully. 'You truly are a wonder, Spencer Reid.'

'One minute,' the bomb squad lady said, her tone frantic now. 'We've got to move! Now!'

'Reid, come on!' Emily cried, backing up with the bomb squad.

'I won't abandon her,' he replied, never taking his eyes off you.

'Reid please!'

Before he could reply, though, his phone buzzed, and he immediately answered the call. 'Please tell me you go it.'

'HOME! The code word is HOME!'

'Punch in HOME!' Reid called out to Emily, keeping Derek on the line as he stared at you. If you were to die, he was gonna make damn sure the last thing you saw wasn't an unfamiliar face.

'Are you sure?'

'We're out of time! Do it!'

'Spence...' you muttered. But you never finished your sentence, as your breath got caught while watching Emily punch in the code into the device. You closed your eyes. Soon you would be in eternal darkness. You would not fear it, but embrace it.

But when nothing happened, you dared to sneak a peek at what was going on. You saw Spencer first, who looked at Emily, who looked at the device in her hands. The deathly silence was finally broken at the sound of a green light on the device switching on. You then heard a hundred tiny clicks somewhere underfoot and felt yourself being pushed up back onto level ground.

Spencer finally looked back to you, eyes blown wide with hope he dared not realise. That same hope fuelled your frozen, tired legs, to take the tiniest of steps forward, and when nothing happened, you took your other foot off the bomb and collapsed forward into Spencer's arms.

His heart pounded faster than the jet that flew them all over the country every week as he cradled you simultaneously gently and tightly. You sobbed into his chest, your arms circling around his back and pulling him as tight as possible.

Oh, how he had missed your touch, your affection, your love, you.

'It's okay, you're okay,' he soothed, patting your hair down with one hand while he cradled you with the other. 'I'm here. We're all here.' He realised suddenly he'd dropped his phone, and so with one hand, he reached down and picked it up, bringing it to his ear. 'She's off.'

He barely heard the cheers of excitement and relief on Derek's end before he was hanging up and helping you to your feet. After that, it was a whirlwind of the bomb squad excavating the bomb, paramedics arriving, and CSU investigating the house.

After giving his statement of events to the local police and finishing speaking to other officials, he found you wrapped in a trauma blanket in the open back of an ambulance.

'How are you feeling?' he said as he approached you.

You broke free of your own world to look at Spencer, and a soft smile managed its way onto your lips. 'Well, I can feel my legs again so that's a start. And you?'

'All the better now that you're not standing on a bomb.'

You chuckled, though a red tinge dusted your cheeks out of embarrassment. 'I must admit, it's true what they say about your life flashing before your eyes the moment before you die.'

'Really? What did you see?' Spencer had read articles about this kind of stuff before, but had never spoken with a person who'd experience it themselves.

You didn't answer straight away, instead standing up to face him fully. Your legs felt like jelly a little but you stood strong. 'I saw you,' you replied easily, as if breathing air. 'Only you.'

Spencer couldn't hold it back, his fear, his relief. It all came bubbling out in an ugly sob as he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, pressing his face into your hair, using your scent to calm himself. He felt you sobbing too, how your body shook with your own anxieties.

'I missed you,' you said, your words muffled into his chest.

'I know, I'm sorry,' he murmured. 'I missed you, too.' He pulled you back slightly so that he could see your face. He wiped at your tears and forced his best smile just for you. 'But I'm back now. And I'm not going anywhere. That is... if you want me around.'

You heard his silent question, and it made you smile how confident and shy he could be simultaneously.

'Spencer Reid,' you murmured, like what you were about to say next was your biggest secret, 'of course I want you around. I love you.'

He chuckled with relief, tears still pricking at his eyes. But your words sealed your fate, as he used his small amount of confidence to grab the back of your neck gently and pull your lips to his.

You were the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted, and dare he compare you the most addictive drug he could ever hope to get high on. He couldn't get enough of you, and it was such a relief to finally let it out how much he needed you to breathe.

You were equally breathless, simultaneously feeling all consumed by Spencer's love without also having enough of it. Your fingers danced in the soft curls at the nape of his neck, threading yourself into him as much as possible. The truth was, the past four months were torturous.

'I'm not going anywhere.'

As you both finally broke apart, you pressed your foreheads together, nervous giggles of teenagers bubbling up in you both. This was fresh and new, but the love you had for one another had been there all along. No one was going anywhere.

'Finally!'

You and Spencer looked up to see the rest of the team watching from afar, with Emily and JJ smiling giddily, Derek and Rossi trying to suppress laughter, and Hotch having the simplest of grins on his lips.

'Oh, babygirl is going to have a field day when she hears about this,' Derek said, walking up to clap Spencer on the back and give him a hug. 'Well done, man.'

'It's about time,' Rossi said as the rest of the team joined you both. 'I thought I was going to have to take matters into my own hands.'

'Thank God you didn't,' Emily said, both her and JJ giving you a hug. 'As much as this has been traumatic for all of us, I'm so glad it brought you back together.'

'Say that to my poor legs,' you whined, but you hugged them just as tight. Truthfully, you felt the same. And as Reid held you in his arms that night, having refused to let you out of his sight after your brush with death, you couldn't be more grateful for it, too.

~

Your wedding was the next major point in his life that your words had impact.

The past five years leading up to your engagement had been some of the best and challenging in your life. There'd been many more close calls on both your lives since then - kidnappings, hostage situations, deadly viruses, the works. Even some romantic challenges that came in the form of other men and women.

But your bond ran deeper than superficial, petty spiffs. You always found your way back to one another, no matter how dark the road got. It was even on such a dark case that saw both you and Spencer on death row that he asked you. You'd both been captured and locked in a shipping container filled with no gaps for air and no way out. Before that, you'd copped a beating from your capture, forcing Spencer to watch all the while. Truthfully, it hadn't looked good, and that's why Spencer did it.

'What?' you asked deliriously, barely able to see straight no thanks to the lack of oxygen.

'I was planning on asking you... after this case,' Spencer admitted, his face mere centimetres from yours as he held you in a tight hug. He was breathless, running out of air and time it seemed. He had to do it now. 'Had it all planned out... We would go to that place on the hill we go to... a picnic all set out... and just as the sun would set, I'd ask you... and give you this.'

You would've gasped if you'd had enough air to do so, in utter shock to see Spencer pull out a simple gold band with a diamond embedded in it from in his pant pocket.

'I've had this for months... waiting for the... right time,' he managed to get out. 'It's my mothers. When I told her I wanted to marry you... she didn't even hesitate to give it to me.'

You were both weak, but he softly picked your left hand up and looked you dead in the eye. 'This might be it for us, but it also might not. Either way, I want to be yours for whatever time we have left. So, (Y/n) (L/n)... will you marry me?'

The tears that trekked down your face actually cleared your vision enough to see Spencer's smile clearly as you answered, 'Yes. I will marry you.'

Either some higher being was looking out for you that day, or your team was just really good at their job (Spencer never doubted them for a moment), but the team found you both in time, both unconscious and barely breathing, but hand in hand, with yours suddenly bejewelled.

Since then it had been a flurry of work and wedding arrangements and stress over the next seven months. Many speculated you were pregnant and that's why you and Spencer rushed the wedding. The truth was you just didn't want to wait any longer than you had to, not being in your line of work. Any day could be your last, so why waste it.

Spencer messed with the tie of his navy blue suit for the hundredth time as he stood waiting under the arch of flowers in the backyard of Rossi's mansion for you. He wasn't nervous, just... ansty, like he had ants in his pants and wanted to get out of them as soon as possible. But he couldn't deny he was just as excited for this day as you were. All of your friends and family dressed up, no case, no killer, nothing but what dessert they were going to have at the reception to worry about.

'Hey pretty boy,' Derek said, coming up behind him and clapping a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. 'Stop messing with it. You look fine.'

'I know, I just...' Spencer couldn't put into words what he was feeling, not as he stared at his good friend - his best man. Even though Derek had left the BAU, Spencer and him still spoke regularly, and he was more than happy to be there for his best bud at arguably the most important day of his life.

Derek smiled knowingly, straightening Spencer's tie because that's what the best man did for the groom. 'She loves you, Spencer. You've got nothing to worry about.'

'I'm not worried. I just...' He felt the tears already coming on and he hadn't even seen you yet. You were probably even more gorgeous than you already were. God he couldn't wait to marry you.

'I get it, man,' Derek said, and then the piano started playing a soft, whimsical tune that was so you and he stepped back into place. 'Show time, pretty boy.'

Spencer straightened himself up, told himself to hold the tears back. This was not a sad day, but a joyous one. But his breath was stolen the moment the doors of Rossi's mansion opened, after Emily, JJ and Penelope walked through, and you walked out into the backyard on your father's arm.

Your gown was simple, accentuating your body like the goddess you were. Your (h/c) locks were styled to perfection, hidden barely by the thin veil that fell like morning mist over your face. You held your favourite flowers in your hands, the glint of your engagement ring shining as bright as the sun that shone upon the whole ceremony.

By the time you reached him, Spencer was about ready to rip your veil off, kiss the living daylights out of you and runaway. But he resisted, instead waiting patiently for your dad to flip your veil up, and for you to hand over your bouquet to JJ, your maid of honour. When you finally turned to face him, he could've cried. You were so beautiful. And we was marrying you today.

You reached out to him, and he was more than glad to clasp your hands at last.

'Hi,' you whispered, a nervous but excited smile twitching your lips.

'Hi,' he whispered back, the threat of tears burning the back of his eyes again. 'You are gorgeous.'

'Thanks. You look handsome.'

'It's a wonder what a whole eight hours sleep and showering more than once a week can do.'

He was so glad to hear your laugh. It calmed his nerves, and apparently yours calmed too, as your hands no longer shook in his.

'All right, everyone,' Rossi started, stepping up to minister the ceremony. 'Let's get this started.'

The boring, ceremonious stuff went by quickly and soon you were reciting your vows. You'd both wanted to write your own vows for each other - agreeing that the usual script was not enough to express your love for one another, and what you would do to protect that love.

Reid went first.

'(Y/n),' he began, staring you straight in your eyes. He'd written his speech over and over again, but once he found the right words, it only took him a matter of seconds to memorise them. Forever. 'I've always been told I was different. Gifted, special. Being different helped me get this job, this family-' he turned to his friends, who watched them with bright smiles and teary eyes. 'But it also got me in trouble, held me back from experiencing... normal things like friendship, even love. So much so, that I started to believe... I was unworthy of love.'

You squeezed his hands, hearing the stutter in his words, the built up emotion that threatened to consume him. He gratefully squeezed back, grateful to know he was not alone, that he would never be alone from this day forth.

'But from the day I met you, you've shown me that I can be myself and be worthy of love. Theoretically, we shouldn't work. Despite popular opinion, studies have shown that people from different backgrounds, with different interests and completely different personality traits are less likely to feel attracted to one another than people with similar backgrounds, interests and personalities.'

'Come on, Reid. You really want people to sleep through your wedding?' Derek asked, prompting you and the rest of the guests to burst into laughter.

'I have a point,' he countered, and waited for the laughter to die down before resuming his vows. 'And while I usually rely on statistics and facts to make informed decisions about my life, from the day that I met you, you turned my entire world upside, inside out... and I didn't care. Because despite knowing almost everything there is to know about, well, everything, you are the one thing that has and always will make sense to me.'

He saw you trying to hold back tears, so he let go of one of your hands to caress your cheek where some tears rolled down. He swiped them away gently with his thumb without ruining your makeup, the most handsome, beautiful smile you'd ever seen on his lips.

'I love you, (Y/n) (L/n). I have loved you since we first met, at every case, at every movie night, every time you made me coffee. I love how you find the light amidst the darkness, how you give yourself completely to everyone you meet. I love the crinkle in your forehead every time you get mad at me. I love all of you, and I don't have to promise you that I will stay by your side through it all for the rest of our lives. You have had me since day one, and that will never change, even in death. But before that final day comes, I look forward to making the most of what time we have left loving you.'

The guests clapped so loudly that he almost didn't hear your soft sobs. But he did, and he pulled you into a quick hug before you pulled yourself away.

'Oh my goodness, I just want to kiss you,' you admitted quietly to him, bringing laughter out of him. But you quickly pulled your self away, using your free hand to grab an A4-sized piece of paper from JJ and return to face Spencer.

'Unfortunately, I don't have an eidetic memory so I will be using some assistance for this next bit,' you joked, stopping your flow of tears briefly as everyone chuckled, appreciative for the break in overwhelming emotions. Spencer breathed in deeply, steadying his heartbeat as much as possible. His part was done, but he knew this next part would be the hardest to retain composure.

'Spencer,' you began, one hand shakily holding your vows, while the other gripped onto Spencer like your life depended on it. In a sense, after today, it would. 'From the moment I first met you, I knew you were special. That you would leave a mark on my life in one form or another. Some sad part of me sometimes thought it would be when you inevitably shot yourself because you couldn't pass your marksman test after three goes-' Cue Spencer looking to Hotch apologetically while the rest of the guests laughed. '-or because, in our line of work, any day could be our last, and I wouldn't rule out any psychopaths intervening with that. However, despite it all, you're still here, and I couldn't be more thankful that you are. You amaze me everyday, Spencer - with your knowledge of the world, your intellectual insight, how you are almost incapable of growing any substantial amount of facial hair.'

You were glad people were laughing now, because what you were about to say next was going to take all your composure not to fall apart.

'But it is your heart and your ability to connect with people that has captured me completely. Our story has been... unconventional, to put it plainly. We were colleagues first, then friends, then you became my best friend, and I thought I couldn't be happier than that. But maybe it has something to do with some chemicals in the brain that are stimulated when you hang around someone you admire and adore long enough - you know, science stuff - or fate. I don't necessarily believe in either, but I do believe in us, Spencer. I believe that we are two souls choosing to become one for the rest of our lives; I believe you are my person, and the one I choose to face each and everyday with; I believe we haven't overcome all that we have for nothing; and I am not the least bit surprised it took nearly getting blown up to admit how I truly feel about you.'

Spencer couldn't care that what you said about brain chemicals was technically incorrect, it was so you, and there was not a dry eye in the backyard as you looked up at him finally, sheet long forgotten, and (e/c) eyes shining bright with tears and love.

'I love you, Spencer Reid,' you said breathlessly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 'You have experienced the worst of humanity over and over again, and yet here you stand with me, smiling, happy, choosing to believe in happy endings. You are a wonder - my wonder - and I can't wait to spend everyday from now loving you, and being wowed by you. From now... until I cannot breathe, and even then beyond.'

You gave the paper back to JJ, then returned your full attention to Spencer. It was like it was only you two, the clapping from your guests dulled as well as Rossi's final words. But Spencer didn't miss a beat when he heard him say, 'By the power vested in me and my online-approved minister credentials, I pronounce you husband and wife. Go on kids, you've earned it.'

Spencer swooped you into the sweetest, loving kiss he could muster, gently cradling your neck and cheeks as your lips met in a soft collision. It wasn't lustful (that would certainly come later), but it was consuming, like two forces being pulled together by a magnet. You were separate entities choosing to become one, and it made you smile through your kiss and for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening.

You both partied with your family and friends, but you always managed to find your way back to one another despite the chaos. He now cradled you gently as you swayed together on the dance floor, fatigue settling in. You held each other up as you did, content to just be with each other in the final moments of your special day. Emily, your new section chief, had ordered you both take two weeks off to celebrate your honey moon. Because God knew when the next time you'd be able to relax would be when you both came back to work.

You shifted in his arms, manoeuvring yourself to look up at him, a delirious, tired and happy smile adorning your pretty lips. 'I love you, Spencer Reid.'

He leaned in for a brief but loving kiss before saying, 'I love you, (Y/n) Reid.'

Something about how his last named paired with your first name sounded that warmed him inside. The same feeling lit up in your eyes, but maybe that was just the happy tears that formed there, too.

'We're the Reids now,' you whispered in disbelief, probably due to the amount of alcohol you had consumed throughout the day. 'You're my husband!'

'Yes I am,' he murmured, pulling you back to his chest to lay your head. 'Forever and always.'

~

The last time he heard you say those special words was the day you said goodbye.

It wasn't until you fell pregnant with your first child that you found a proper house to live in. You'd been content with the studio apartment you'd found and moved into one year into your relationship, but when you fell pregnant, Spencer knew you would need a bigger space. One that you could call your own and make a home out of.

Your forever home.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken long to find something: a nice rustic, two-storey house on the outskirts of DC. It was in a nice neighbourhood , far enough out of the city to be quiet, but close enough you could both get to work quick enough in case of an emergency. The moment you'd laid eyes on it, you fell in love with it, and Spencer knew without question this would be where you brought your family up.

He traipsed through the house with two cups of tea. Coffee had started to disagree with him after he quit the BAU, as if that were the only place he needed it. Teaching and guest lecturing at all the local universities was nowhere near the stress level of the BAU, and so he'd switched to tea. Somehow, in his (as he called it) pre-retirement, it tasted sweeter.

You had stepped down from being a profiler at the BAU after your third child was born, realising that with a four and two year old waiting outside the birth suite to meet their baby brother, you couldn't risk leaving your three babies without a mother. And while leaving the BAU, your home of close to twenty years, wrought a grief out of you that was close to unbearable, you knew it was the right decision and right time.

And you soon found a love for writing - fiction, non-fiction, poetry, it didn't matter. What you'd experienced in your career as a profiler had changed you, and sometimes writing it out made it less haunting, it gave you closure. You went on book tours, consulted on scholarly and literary journals, you even were brought into Spencer's classrooms to guest lecture from time to time.

All the while building and loving the family both of you had always dreamed of.

Spencer smiled at the dusty pictures that lined the walls, of the faces of his children and grandchildren smiling back him. Of the faces of friends old and new, of ghosts he used to know from a time long gone. Sometimes he hardly recognised himself in those pictures. He wasn't the vain type, but when he looked at himself in his 20's and 30's, he couldn't help the yearning that pulled at his heart when he did.

He compared those youthful pictures against his present day, laughing at the barely existent grey stubble he now sported, of the white hair that curled and stood up in any and all directions, of the glasses he now permanently had to wear. You always said he looked sexier with glasses, anyways, so he didn't mind.

Those pictures were his memory, his legacy, his life. When he felt his brain burning, when his memory became a bit too fuzzy, he could always look at the pictures and find solace in how those moments would live on in the people he loved.

'Spence?'

Your voice prompted him to keep moving, to let go of the past and remain in the present. He wandered through the rest of the house to the backyard, where two garden chairs sat either side of a coffee table, looking over the yard. The gardens were filled with flowers of all shapes and colours. He wasn't a nature guy by any means, but Spencer wanted you to have something to look after other than him or the children, something you could be proud of when you were much older. So he'd planted it himself (okay, he needed help from Derek), filling it with flowers that expressed all the wonderful qualities he loved about you.

There was a small gardening shed in the back, a quaint barbecue/entertainment area to one side, and a build-your-own playground just sitting on the lawn. He found you sitting comfortably in one of the chairs, staring out at the yard contently. He placed both cups of tea on the table before taking his own seat in the other chair.

'Do you remember how Jason used to carry Diana on his back up the slide?' you asked gently, a fond smile cracking your dry lips at the memory of your children playing on the very same playground their children now played on when they visited. 'You always got so scared they would fall and hurt themselves.'

'Isn't that our job?' he asked, taking a sip of his tea. 'To worry for our children?'

'You didn't have to be a helicopter parent, though,' you jibed playfully. 'You got better when Aaron was old enough to climb himself, so I can't berate you for that.'

'Speaking of which, Aaron just called, said him, Rachel and the kids want to invites us to dinner on Friday.'

You turned and smiled at him, but he saw how tired you were. It was in the slight droop in your lips when you smiled, it was in the slouch of your shoulders, it was the way you held out your hand for him to grasp and you could barely squeeze him back. You'd been like this for days, and it broke Spencer's heart to see the love of his life slowly fade away right beside him. He knew it was a natural way of life - considering their previous occupations, he was grateful to be even given the chance to grow old with you.

But despite natural law and despite his many blessings, it didn't dull the ache that grew more painful everyday.

'You don't have to be here, Spence,' you said, voice barely above a whisper, like it was just a secret only you two shared. 'You've seen enough death already.'

Spencer placed his cup on the table before getting out of his chair (a feat he struggled withe everyday now, his BAU days finally catching up to him) and walking around to your side, bringing both his hands to clasp yours as he knelt beside you.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he said, willing every ounce of sincerity and love into his words, into his hands as he held your frail ones. 'Forever and always, remember?'

Spencer almost broke down when your eyes locked with his, those shining (e/c) orbs sparkling with life and mischief and wonder. Despite what time had done to you, you were still his (Y/n), his best friend, his partner, his lover and saviour.

You nodded as if to say yes, I do remember. I always will. You pull one hand free of his grip, and use it to cradle his wrinkled cheeks. 'We've lived a good life, haven't we, Spence?'

He pulled one hand away to caress your hand on his cheek, holding it there for as long as he could. 'Yes. Yes we have.'

Your eyes scanned over him, suddenly seeing your life in rewind.

You saw him as he was now, white, Einstein hair, wrinkled skin and glasses. Then with only little streaks of white in his hair, more sleek. That's how he was with the kids. You kept going back, to your wedding, to your engagement, to the first time you kissed. Every movie night, every case, every late night in the office. Until you were seeing him as if for the first time. Kind of dorky, kind of sweet, wide-eyed and bushy-tailed to explain to you how his "physics magic" worked that very first day in the office.

It was like he was seeing you for the first time as well, as you smiled your bright smile like you did on that first day. The smile you had smiled for him every day since. The smile he saw in your children, and then your grandchildren.

'You are a true wonder, Spence,' you whispered softly, using what little strength you had left to squeeze the hand that still clasped yours as if to say thank you. 'My wonder.'

He waited for the lump in his throat to form, for the words to get stuck in his throat like they always did before. But the lump never formed, and so the words flowed like water out of him, finally feeling right.

'And you are mine,' he whispered back, smiling as bright as he could for you as he held you. 'You always have been my wonder.'

You bring his lips to yours one last time before dropping your hand from his face and sitting back in your seat, looking more tired than you'd ever been. But your other hand still held his, and he certainly wasn't going to let you go. Not yet.

'Spence,' you wheezed, eyes struggling to stay open on him.

Spencer pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, using his now free hand to stroke your grey hair in soothing motions. 'It's okay. You can rest now. I'll join you soon enough.'

The slight dip of your chin let him know you understood, and soon after you closed your eyes, your hand grew slack in his hold and your chest ceased rising.

You were gone.

And he was still here.

It was only then did Spencer allow the tears to fall, to acknowledge that despite both of your acceptances, he was sad. You'd lived good, long lives, and even then Spencer believed it was not enough time to love all of you. He knew it was selfish, but he figured after all he'd been through he would be allowed this one wish.

He held you for another hour before he called your children to notify them of your passing.

He held on for another year before he joined you. Cause of death: a broken heart.

He was buried beside you in the family lot, and on your joint headstone, it wrote:

Here lies Dr. Spencer Reid and Mrs. (Y/n) Reid. Loving Husband and Wife and Parents. "You truly are a wonder."

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Eri Reader x Straw Hats Part 24- Whole Cake Island

This is another doozy of an arc, so there will be abridging!

-Sanji made true on his vow to you, as soon as he saw Big Mom, who was pleased to see both him and you, he immediately asked her, “I will do whatever you ask of me, but do not let my family, any of them, anywhere near Y/N.”

-Big Mom seemed surprised by his request, leering down at him while her children were all doing the same, angered that he was making demands when he was going to be killed at the wedding.

-When she asked him of his reason, while you were hugging Sanji close, your arms wrapped around his neck, “You know what Germa 66 is capable of. If they get their hands on Y/N, who knows the torture she’s going to be put through, to get information on her abilities.”

-This made everyone freeze, they knew exactly what Germa 66 was capable of, that’s why they were arranging this wedding, but to see you in Sanji’s arms, trembling with fear, as you wanted to back to all the others, they were a bit more willing to listen now.

-Big Mom agreed to his terms, “Katakuri, my strongest son, will watch Y/N and keep her safe.” The massive man approached, looking so fall, even taller than Doflamingo, as you were a bit in awe as Sanji agree before looking down at you, as he had told you before this meeting that Luffy would come, he knows he will, “Be good Y/N. I’ll see you soon.” You nodded softly before turning to face the Charlotte Family.

-You were scared but when Katakuri picked you up, his hands almost swallowing you up, you felt something, you could tell that he was very strong, but he wasn’t a bad person, you couldn’t explain the feeling, as he held you up on his shoulder, safe and secure.

-Big Mom, curious of your past, as she had heard a lot about you, invited you to a tea party, where she had so many cakes and tea, “You’ll be part of our family soon enough, Y/N, so enjoy yourself!”

-You were confused, looking so innocent sitting on Katakuri’s knee, “But I already have a family, my big brothers, big sisters, and my mama!” Big Mom chose to ignore you, thinking that you had been brainwashed by the Straw Hats. You would come around soon enough.

-You didn’t know that your tea had been drugged, after you ate a bit, so you wouldn’t get sick, just putting you to sleep, and once you were out, Pudding came forward and used her ability to pull out your memory, which almost looked like a movie film reel, so everyone could see it.

-Big Mom knew about the condition of your body, the scars, and she was fully ready to make each of the Straw Hats pay, thinking they had done that do you.

-Only they didn’t they were the ones who rescued you. They saw this unknown man, Overhaul, experimenting on you, making you scream and cry, terrible sounds and visuals that none of the Charlotte Family would be able to forget anytime soon.

-They saw when Luffy found you, rescuing you, and how kindly he treated you, feeding you, and how you had been treated by the other members, all with gentle kindness, other than the occasional forehead flick when you did some reckless.

-Big Mom was distraught when she saw what your abilities allowed you to do, bringing those back from the dead, tears welling in her eyes as she thought of Mother Caramel. However, when she saw the repercussions of your ability, the high fevers, and the risk it put on your life, she was torn. She wanted to see Mother Caramel more than anything, but she wasn’t willing to risk a child’s health and safety for it.

-Seeing that the Straw Hats were not the ones that did this to you, the murderous intent faded for them at least, as Big Mom demanded to know who this Overhaul was, wanting to find any information about him.

-While Big Mom wasn’t going to go after the Straw Hats, unless if they tried anything funny, she wasn’t going to let them take you back, after seeing what you have gone through the past few years. They were incompetent in her eyes, unable to properly keep you safe.

-A few days later, you thought you heard someone saying something about Luffy, but you weren’t completely sure, as you hugged Katakuri face from the side, from your spot on his shoulder.

-Katakuri was unsure of this feeling he felt for you, it was so strange, so new, it wasn’t like the feeling he felt with his cute little siblings. This was something else, but he liked it.

-He did his job, keeping you safe, keeping a watchful eye on you, even when you were playing with other children, including the Charlotte Family children, making sure that you were safe at all times.

-Katakuri was very open with you, not feeling afraid of you being afraid of him, so he showed you his snack time ritual, showing you his true self.

-Instead of being scared your eyes were huge and sparkly as you watched him eat donuts, “So cool! You can eat such big donuts in one bite!!” This is what made his affection for you grow.

-The only thing Katakuri didn’t allow was for you to see Sanji, despite feeling his heart aching, seeing your puppy dog eyes, seeing you look so cute, calling Sanji your big brother.

-Katakuri took you to a place that overlooked the harbor and pointed out the Germa 66’s ship, “That’s Sanji’s family. From what I know he doesn’t see himself as a member of that family, but he wants us to keep you away from them, to keep you safe.” You remember Sanji saying the same thing, and it made you curious, wanting to know why Sanji didn’t like his family.

-When you heard that Luffy was on the island, along with Ace, Nami, Brook, and Chopper, your eyes lit up, wanting to return to your home on Sunny with them, along with Sanji.

-Katakuri felt like scum when you cried, when he told you that you weren’t going back with them, that Big Mom, or Mama as she had been wanting you to call her, was adopting you and you were going to be a part of her family. You didn’t understand and Katakuri felt guilt, seeing you in such a state.

-It was Luffy and Ace, working together, that led Katakuri leaving you with Sanji, who held you close, hugging you so tightly and Sanji felt the ice in Katakuri’s stare when he told the cook to keep you safe while he dealt with the invaders, not outright telling you that it was Luffy and Ace, so you wouldn’t be upset.

-Your little hands cupped Sanji’s face, seeing that he was injured, having been beaten by his family, being the weakest of them all, which made tears well in your eyes.

-Your horn flared to life, and he caught your hands, halting your actions, smiling softly down at you, “Don’t Y/N. I’ll be fine. I promise.” You lifted your pinkie finger to him, and he couldn’t help but grin, feeling warm and locked fingers with you.

-You then heard a new voice, “Is that Y/N?” you both turned and saw three more men, who looked kind of like Sanji, one with red hair, one with blue, and one with green, and a lady with pink hair.

-Sanji held you close, getting ready to move to run before Reiju came over, beaming down at you, “Hello there Y/N. I’m Reiju, Sanji’s big sister!” your eyes went wide, hearing this, and while Sanji seemed okay with her being close, he took a step back when the other three tried to approach.

-You then saw another man, a large man, following them, looking surprised to see you in Sanji’s arms, as he was curious as to where you were, as he knew that Big Mom had brought you to the island alongside his useless child.

-Niji and Ichiji both came over, telling you their names, as they knew their father’s plan on using you, and if they could get you easily like this, away from Big Mom’s watchful eyes, then they were going to take it.

-Yonji came over, looking cheerful, “And I’m Yonji!” instantly your mood and demeanor went from curious to terrified, your hands winding into Sanji’s shirt, your eyes going wide as you started breathing heavily, like you were panicking.

-Sanji and Reiju were quick to notice the change as your eyes were locked on Yonji, who tilted his head to the side, confused as to why you were looking at him like that.

-Sanji was quick to put his hands over your eyes and you quickly turned, burying your face into Sanji’s chest, trying to hide from this man. You didn’t know him, but his voice… it was the same as Overhaul’s.

-Reiju was quick to slap Yonji, demanding to know what he had done to you to make you so afraid, which caused lots of yelling. Sanji noticed Reiju pointing to the window, giving him an out, as she was terrified to see you look so scared, and Sanji ran, leaping out the window.

-His brothers and father all yelled, seeing him escaping, as Sanji used his sky walk to escape, descending safely while holding you close. Sanji was willing to do whatever it took to keep you safe, and if it was his life or yours, he would always make sure that you were safe, every single time.

-Luck was on his side when he saw Luffy, Ace, and Nami again, running to safety after having defeated Cracker and escaping and he shouted, “NAMI-SAN!!” She turned, hearing Sanji as Niji was closing in on him, using his power suit to catch up.

-Sanji squeezed you once before tossing you towards the group and instantly you felt Luffy’s rubber arms wrapping around you before pulling you into his chest.

-You looked up, tears blooming in your eyes as you cried, “Big brother!!”

-He held you close, not letting you look back, as he looked murderous as Niji, Ichiji, and Yonji were attacking Sanji, while Reiju and Judge looked on, but Nami was the one to grab Luffy, and the three of them ran, looking for a place to hide.

-For a while, you were safe, crying in Nami’s arms as you told them what Sanji’s mean family had done and how Big Mom wasn’t going to let you go with them, that she wasn’t going to let you go.

-Ace just ruffled your hair softly, trying to console you, “It will be okay Y/N. We’re going to get Sanji back and then were going to meet up with the others in Wano.” You sniffled softly, giving him a firm nod and he grinned, seeing you looking happier.

-That was short lived when you were attacked by Big Mom’s children, Katakuri taking you back from Luffy, who was demanding him to let you go. You were trembling, looking scared as they were all captured and taken away.

-Katakuri had been furious to see you there, knowing Sanji had betrayed him, but when he returned to Sanji, Katakuri saw that he was badly beaten, as if he had been violently attacked. Katakuri wasn’t dumb to realize that Germa 66 had found you, and Sanji took you to safety, with Luffy and the others.

-You were crying, seeing Sanji in such a state before you scared Katakuri by leaping from his shoulder, to get to Sanji. He caught you safely, sighing softly in relief, “That was reckless.”

-Another voice then spoke up, “I agree.” You both turned, seeing Reiju there, holding medical supplies, looking upset, as if she didn’t want this to happen to Sanji.

-Sanji, through gasps of pain, as he refused to let you use your ability on him, told you that Reiju was the only good one in his family, beside his mother, Sora.

-You noticed Reiju trying not to cry, hearing her mother’s name, and Katakuri remained silent, letting you be with Sanji and Reiju, hearing the tale of how the Germa 66 came to be, and what Sora was willing to do to keep her children safe.

-You were in tears by the time he finished the tale, telling you how Reiju snuck him out all those years ago, getting him to a ship where he would later meet Zeff

-Your horn started glowing by itself as you sniffled, crying as Sanji tried to move, immediately hissing in pain, “Y/N! Calm down!” Katakuri went to touch you when a bright light filled the room and only moments later, a woman was standing there, blond, with curly eyebrows.

-Reiju’s jaw dropped open, her tears welling as the woman gasped suddenly, taking her first breath, “Mother!!” Sora turned, being embraced by her now much older daughter, surprised to see her there before she gasped, “Sanji!!”

-You stumbled back, holding your head, feeling woozy as Katakuri pulled you into his arms, pulling his scarf off, wrapping it around you as you started developing a fever, tears streaming down your cheeks.

-Sanji was in disbelief, seeing his mother there, tears welling in his eyes, but he didn’t care, he openly cried as she held him close, holding her sweet child in her arms once more.

-Katakuri was conflicted, he knew that the Germa 66 was going to die at the wedding, at least those four men who deserved it, but seeing these three, seeing the love they had, it didn’t feel right to let them die too.

-Sora was pleased to meet you, once your fever broke, as Sanji explained your ability, and how you brought her back to life, as she hugged you close, cuddling you. She was a lot like Sanji, so warm and cuddly.

-Reiju then spoke, “Y/N, what did Yonji do to make you so scared of him?” She had been wondering this, as did Sanji, and hearing this, Katakuri and Sora were also curious, but only Katakuri had pain on the mind.

-You hesitated for only a moment before you pushed up one of the sleeves on your shirt, showing your scars, making the two women gasp in shock as Sanji looked mad, seeing them again, “I… he- he didn’t do anything, but he… he has the same voice as… as Overhaul, the one who did this to me.”

-Sora cuddled you close again, vowing to keep you safe.

-Katakuri then spoke, “I know Mama wants to use you as well Y/N, when you’re older and stronger. She said it was to keep you safe, but the safest spot is with that loud mouthed captain of yours. I’ll help you all get to safety.”

-He then told you all about the plot to kill Germa 66, so big Mom could take the technology for herself, to create weapons, and you realized that she was no better than the Germa 66.

-Sanji agreed to go through with the plan, as Katakuri could see, with his future sight, that shit was going to hit the fan tomorrow.

-You remained with Katakuri, to help with the plan, as Reiju, Sanji, and Sora went to rescue the others, telling them of the plan and the inside friend they now had.

-Luffy calmed, hearing that Katakuri was willing to help you all escape, but he agreed to go through with the plan, as they had their own inside man, with Capone Bege, who was helping arrange for the wedding to go badly.

-Sora was distraught to learn what Judge had done to their children, seeing what they had become, but knowing that Reiju and Sora were good, and that Sanji had you, she was willing to do whatever it took to help where she could.

-Bege had the idea of her being a shock factor, to stop the Germa 66, if they tried to come after them during the fallout, something Reiju agreed to help with, as she was leaving to be with her mother.

-Sanji offered them a safe place with Zeff, whom he knew would take them both in, and they liked the idea of the easy life, working in a restaurant, one that helped raise Sanji into the man he was today.

-You were in Katakuri’s arms, wearing a pretty dress, one fit for a wedding, looking a little nervous as you watched Pudding, who you found out wasn’t as nice as she pretended to be, and Sanji up on the humongous wedding cake.

-Katakuri looked down at you, giving you a tiny squeeze, one that reassured you.

-Shit hit the fan and it hit it hard and fast when Luffy and the others launched their attack, shooting Mother Caramel’s photograph, sending Big Mom into a fit of anguish, one that would have hurt your ears, had Katakuri not put mochi in your ears prior to her losing it.

-Your eyes were wide as you saw Sanji saving his family, who had been encased in hard candy, so they could be easily shot, but he glared down at them as Reiju took his hand, “Never come after me or Y/N again!”

-Reiju beamed at them as they went to stand, to attack Sanji, demanding who he thought he was before a voice spoke up, “He’s my very normal human son!!” They all turned, seeing Sora there and eyes went wide, seeing her alive, realizing that you had brought her back to life.

-Judge looked so elated to see her, trying to approach but she popped off with the mother of all bitch slaps, sending him spinning as she glared hard, “Children are not weapons! I tried to teach you this then, and I’ll teach you this now! Why do you think they had no feelings being faced with death?!”

-Reiju grabbed her mother, hugging her close and took off, using her boots to skywalk, as they rushed for the ship Katakuri had prepared for them, as Sanji had called Zeff, letting him know what had happened and he agreed to take the two women in.

-Katakuri had to make it look like he was fighting Ace and Luffy, to keep up appearances, as they were pulled into the mirror by Brulée, who was in on the plot, willing to help Katakuri, and willing to help you, after you showed her such sweet kindness, one she had never felt before, getting everyone safely to the ship.

-Katakuri hesitated in handing you over, he didn’t want to let you go, Ace saw the look in his eyes and smiled softly, “You’re welcome to join us, if you want to.” Katakuri was startled by this offer, before he shook his head sadly, handing you to Brook, “No, my place is here with my family, just as you all belong together.”

-You caught his hand, surprising him as you beamed, “Don’t forget to come and see me, okay?” he chuckled softly, stroking his thumb down your cheek, before he left, retreating to his family.

-Your eyes were huge and sparkly, watching Carrot go Sulong, which was amazing to see, as you had never seen anything like it, but she was still Carrot, as she hugged you, rubbing her cheek against her own, once she took out several of the opposing ships.

-Ace held you on his shoulders, his hat on your head, as everyone managed to escape as Luffy beamed, “Onward to Wano!!”

-You threw your hands up, cheering with the others, wondering what awaited you on your next adventure!!