#this is a face you'd go to war for

[librafleur]

[justarandomhelluvablog]

as someone with a guilty pleasure for isekai and time regression stories I am just thinking of a story where Husk dies and wakes up during the height of his Overlord days with the memories of everything that would happen and has just. From the outside perspective become a completely different person overnight and changed his ways (read: the morals he gained during his afterlife he applies to how he, uh... Overlords?). A Husk whose last soul deal is to get Angel Dust away from Valentino (and offers Angel his freedom, which Angel possibly decides not to take for the time being bc it'd be safer for him to be under contract than not, with Valentino as mad as he is), and who avoids making bets/deals with Alastor like the plague. Starts building alliances with other Overlords (maybe even including Alastor, albeit reluctantly) to steadily create a support network/team (which is also useful when going up against the Vees once they're established), and just bides his time until Charlie and Vaggie open their hotel- which, at the time of his death, he had come to love and support the cause of.

And Husk is ready to be the hotel's sponsor, immediately. Alastor gets there and finds Husk beat him to it (seeing as Husk knows about it before the interview even airs), but unlike Alastor with his ulterior motives, Husk actually wants to help.

After all, he died for the hotel, and its people, once upon a time

[disastrouscarrots]

The kind of face whose picture you stare at before putting it back in your breastpocket, strap your helmet, reload your ak and mutter wait for me by alabama springs my love

[daguerreotyping]

Carte de visite of a Union soldier with identification on back reading "This is David Williams his photograph," c. 1860s

[sleepandblog]

kit conner and rachel zegler are so beautiful... like i know everyone already knows this but i feel the need to post about it anyways because good lord they are so gorg

[sewerfight]

when I was around twelve I used to sit at the family computer and send hatemail to a white french dude named Jacques who was a self proclaimed communist on Tumblr. This was back in the day when you didn't need a blog to send anon hate. I had no real beef with him but I just didn't like his tone. used to send him "SHUT UP Jacques" periodically. and he'd answer every single one of my asks like "who is this?? show your face or I'll fucking kill you" and I'd be like "now now, that doesn't make sense, jacques" all haughty and he'd get so fucking mad at me. One time he posted a selfie and I sent him an ask claiming I was a psychologist and that his hair parting suggested that he wasn't a communist at all. and he took it deliriously serious and went off on a 2,000 word rant. I can remember going to stay at my grandparents over that weekend, so I didn't even respond to the rant until I came back. I could've chosen to end it there, but when I returned, I sent him another ask which was like "psychologist here again: if you were a communist your hair parting would be in the middle. evenly distributed. All behavioural signs point to someone who doesn't take their own values seriously." and he went ballistic. really swearing at me. all caps type beat. he never turned the asks off, btw. which always made me wonder if he didn't know how to, or if he didn't want to cause he was convinced he was fighting a war, and this action would ensure he lost it. anyway this went on for weeks until one day I completely forgot about him like he was some kind of childhood imaginary friend I'd conjured up in my loneliness. but yesterday I happened to recall the whole scenario, because my buddy was like "remember when you were twelve and I came over to your house, and you showed me on the computer how you'd been terrorizing this random French guy for days on end. And you were laughing like fucking crazy. and I said it wasn't funny because he probably had problems, and you were like 'oh.' and you looked a bit guilty for a second, but then you went and got a grapefruit from the kitchen and threw it out of the second story window at my kid brother, who was playing in the street, and then you started laughing again?" Well. when she put it like that, needless to say I felt bad. so Jacques if you're out there I'm sorry I was such a little shit. you had totally normal hair, and you only wanted people to share stuff. If it's any consolation I know every day of my life that I'm probably going to hell for the sick things I have done

[chastiefoul]

nanami kento is known to have a habit of crossing his legs when he sits. when he's reading, or just idly thinking. it's just something he does unconsciously, often time he doesn't even realize it himself.

yet this quickly changes after he got together with you.

now, everytime you come into the same room as him, the man quickly shifted his legs back to a regular position; you know, just in case you want to sit on lap.

fine, he wants you to sit atop of it.

this is all because he had the mistake─one he'll gladly do over and over, of experiencing it once.

the feeling of your body pressed so close against him while you ramble on about absolutely nothing, which he listens to intently with a smile on his face; his hand running along your hair ever so softly while he hums once or twice as response to your animated chatter.

and then you rested your head on his shoulder after getting a bit tired, your strands tickling his neck in the best way possible. his hands moved smoothly to your sides, rubbing up and down. all soothed and relaxed, nanami loves the sight of you being so comfortable near him.

you probably couldn't get closer to him more than this could you? he thought, as he held you tighter nonetheless. he felt content, whole.

so yeah, in short, nanami wants you to sit on his laps.

and with how fast he does it too there's no way you don't notice the subtle change of how he sits lately. yet you don't have the heart to point how obvious he was being, so most of the times you just indulged him, no questions asked. although it's not like it wasn't enjoyable for you, it was the opposite.

not to mention the smile he wears everytime you do it... it's enough to make your knees go weak. a smile you'd go to war for, a smile that's worth doing anything he's asking for.

it seems like nanami isn't the only one who has a new habit, then.

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[lilacgaby]

‧₊˚ what are we?

...nothing. right?.₊˚⊹

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

☆pair. 2ndyear!katsuki x reader. tags. fake dating!trope, fluff, reader is academically flopping for a bit, pet names, cursing, fighting (verbal), happy ending wc. 6k

ღnote. sorry that this took so long lol! i wrote this in chapter form if you'd like to read it here, but this one shot is the same thing.

post-war brought troubles for a lot of the students in class 1-A. especially bakugo katsuki.

he had to completely relearn how to write with his other hand, had to learn how to fight without injury to it.

and he had to learn to deal with his crazy amount of fangirls.

his fight had been broadcasted, the manner in which he pushed himself to the very brink broadcasted to the world. his victory brought spoils, though not in a way he expected.

he didn't expect to be chased down the hallways every morning, to have a line of girls wanting his autograph as he ate. he didn't expect to be gifted things, things they just assumed he liked, but couldn't be farther from the truth.

luckily, you seemed to like chocolate. he found refuge these days sitting on the roof floor of U-A next to you during lunch, passing you the chocolate gifts he'd been given.

he hated chocolate. but to be honest, he loved seeing you smile.

"thanks 'suki." you said for the nth time, picking the best chocolates out of the box and leaving the gross ones alone.

"yeah." he sighed, glancing at you occasionally as he moved to support the weight of his head with his hands. he found himself speechless around you often. words failing as he leant into the comfort of your presence.

you were about to say something, he thinks. your mouth was open though the blaring of the bell cut you off. "oh, let's go 'suki." you said, holding your hand out to him.

he took it, letting you pull him up and holding onto your hand for just a second too long. you dumped the rest of the chocolates in a trash can and made your collective way down to 1-A. you laughed at how he seemed to try and hide behind you, eyes darting around for the general course girls who seemed to have nothing better to do than follow him around.

they didn't come though. he saw a group of them but when they saw your proximity to him..

they left him alone.

a lightbulb went off in his head, he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. as he sat in class, eyeing your seat between momo and jirou, he thought about how he'd ask you.

test papers were being passed out, graded ones. "yo man," kirishima started, looking over his paper, "what'd you get?"

katsuki scoffed. "what do you think? another 100, easy as shit."

kaminari groaned beside him, "you're cheating or something! i got an 80."

"that's high for someone like you!"

"hey!"

"aw man, i got a 70. you're so manly bakubro!"

"yeah, guess i am."

katsuki tried to resist the turning of his head, he really did. but he wanted to know what score you got, if you did well. though from the expression on your face and the way momo patted you on the back,

not to mention the red ink used all over your paper. he knew you didn't.

"man this totally sucks!" you exclaimed, your hands clutching the paper of your test. "i studied and everything, i don't even need math, im a hero for crying out loud!"

jirou's teases and momo's comforts faded into the background as he only focused on you, and the nagging feeling for him to help you.

with another ring of the bell and a sigh from mr. aizawa, katsuki left early to try and beat the crowd of girls who seemed to pounce on him.

he didn't though, he found himself at the entrance at U-A, almost to freedom when the crowd pointed at him, "that's him! i can't believe it!"

"dynamite, an autograph please?"

"hey- don't be so casual. it's lord explosion--"

"who cares? i want a photo!"

at that, they chased him. all his progress down the stairs and through the halls was gone as he was led right back down to class 1-A. he stupidly lead himself right back into a corner.

his head darted around, until he noticed a tuft of familiar hair in the classroom. you hadn't left? oh well, he needed your help and quick.

you were sobbing internally, looking over your horrific test score with a sad expression. a 70? you might as well just drop out now.

as the hours of studying you'd done for waste passed over in your mind, a noise caught you off guard.

he had burst in, making your deflated form jump off the desk. "katsuki, don't scare me like that!"

he rushed over to your side, grabbing your hand off where it was hanging limply on the desk. "be my girlfriend for a second."

the words barely even processed in your brain before you were being manhandled off the desk, your mind rushed to catch up. "wait-- wha-"

before you knew it you were led towards the door of obsessed fan girls. his hand was intertwined tightly with yours, a slight flush on his face.

"listen up." he started, making his fans shush eachother. "my girlfriend hasn't been appreciating all your bullshit. and neither have i, so for the love of god stop it already."

he pulled you alongside him, "move." a path opened for the two of you, letting you two through. he walked you to the entrance, no words spoken between the two of you until you stopped infront of the lockers where you'd keep your shoes.

"[name]-- uh." he took a breath, his heart sped up rapidly around you. it sped up at the simple tilt of your head.

"so. if you help me with this shit, i'll tutor you.

or whatever."

a hand was behind his head, his averted eyes now focusing on you as he awaited your answer with baited breath.

you had an expression of thoughtfulness on your face. your finger on your chin as you looked up to the ceiling to think.

'have everyone think youre dating a cute boy and get a tutor?'

the pinkie of your hand shot out, a closed eye smile on your face. "i'm in!"

a soft smile graced his lips, his pinkie intertwining with yours and sealing his fate in more ways than one.

because you really did have him wrapped around your finger. literally and figuratively.

"let's go to my room so we can talk over it!"

you really were going to be the death of him.

it's not like he'd never been to your room, just not in a situation like this.

not when he'd declared himself your boyfriend an hour earlier, not when his hands were sweaty with his nervousness, and not when you'd agreed so hastily to be his.

he wondered if you'd accept if anyone else asked you. if izuku or todoroki had been facing this situation instead of him.

"'suki?" you patted the side of your bed next to you, "sit with me."

he sighed, the thoughts disappearing from his mind at your words. he really was whipped for you.

"yeah, yeah. i'm goin'" he sat beside you, oddly stiffer than normal. he held his own hands as he waited for you to say something.

"okay, so, we should have like-- a plan or something right?"

"a plan? what the fuck for?"

"like so we don't get caught faking this or whatever. if they find out your fans will just come back running, no?"

he shuddered at the thought. "yeah, don't wanna deal with that shit."

"right? so the first part of our plan, is that everyone has to think we're dating. cool?"

katsuki's mind was racing. cool? more like the best thing that would happen to him. he felt as if everyone knew of his crush on you.. except for you.

being to say he was all yours and that you were all his, even if it was a lie..

"yeah, it's cool."

"great, that's really the only thing we had to establish. we hang out a lot anyways so, we'll just have to be affectionate or something to seal the deal."

his heart jumped at the idea of hugging you, wrapping an arm around you, holding hands with you in public. the ghost of a smile came over him.

"right."

"cool. so nothing else matter--"

"we're starting your studying shit tomorrow. the next test is next week, so we don't have time to play around [name]."

"ughh. i wish you forgot about that." your head fell into your hands. "i hate math, what do i even need it for?"

"advanced math, nothing really. but estimates are important in hero work. estimating time, the abilities of your body, the amount of civilians, all that stuff."

"you're such a nerd."

"hah?"

he continued explaining the importance of math to you despite your grievances. his finger was pointed in the air, you swore you could see the need emoji popping over his face.

your eyes closed, the weight of the day, your grade, and the thought of studying alongside a nerd like katsuki tiring you to no avail. you yawned, laying your head on his shoulder.

you could hear the thumping of his heart, the racing of his blood in his veins. it rocked you to sleep, "wake me up later, m' a take a nap." you mumbled against his shoulder, before falling asleep.

his mouth shut, eyes peeled on your body that now clung to his side. his face grew hot, when did it get so hot in your damn room?

he tried his best to stay awake, to let you nap and wake you up in the morning. but as the clock hit eight o clock, the time he was supposed to head back to his dorm.. he found himself stuck in place.

not by an invisible force, not by some obligation. it was only the thought of wanting to be with you, next to you. wanting to let the comfort of your weight next to him drive himself to sleep.

so he did. he fell asleep, letting his head lay on top of yours, holding your body closer to his. shutting his eyes.

the light of the sun woke him up first, you didn't close your blinds yesterday, and the sun shined brightly,

directly into his face. he groaned, his voice deep from sleep as he peeled himself off of you. he was confused from fatigue, wondering why he was still in your room.

he felt an arm around his waist, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see it was you who was holding him close. he thinks you were using him in place of your huge teddy bear, the one laid neatly in the corner of your bed.

his heart rate quickened once again, wanting to go back to his room, but fighting the urge to stay looking at you.

an absentminded hand moved a couple strands of your hair out your face, pinching your cheek when he got bold.

you don't wake up, he sighed a breath of relief. 'til he felt your body start to stir, you pushed your head more into his chest, your eyes finally starting to open slightly.

"oh? g'morning kat'." you were sleepy, your words slightly slurred and muffled from how you were pressed against him.

"you slept here?" you asked, pulling away from him as you moved to stretch your upper body.

"uh-- yeah." he was once again lost for words at the sight of you, your shirt slightly pulled up from how you'd slept, your hair messy from the lack of a protective style before sleep.

"sorry for waking you up then, 'suki."

"no, i was already up. i just didn't wanna wake you."

"well, you failed." you joked. "anyways, you should get out of here soon, if iida sees you he'll probably flip out and tell mr. aizawa."

"right."

"let's walk to class together!" you clasped his hands in yours. "okay?"

you were going to be the death of him once again. "okay."

you let go and he got up, ruffling his hair slightly and looking back at you who sent him a small smirk and wave. before slowly walking out your door. he did his best to keep his movements quiet and minimal.

he was at the elevator, before uraraka walked out. shit. "bakugo? what are you doing here?"

"uh.. got lost."

her face scrunched in confusion, a knowing smile on her face after a second. "right.. tell [name] good morning for me."

".. tell her yourself." he got into the elevator, already seeing the grin in uraraka's face as he went up a floor to his room.

the same grin everyone greeted him with as he went to sit next to you in the common room, having made you some breakfast. he and you were all ready, you had refreshed your hair from when he was playing with it, simple makeup and your uniform ironed. he admired you while he ate his meal.

"ah, thanks 'suki."

"mhm."

you moved to whisper in his ear, "why's everyone looking at us?"

"fuck if i know."

"so you two lovebirds aren't gonna say anything?" denki said, putting his hands on his hips as he looked you two over.

"'bout what?"

"that you two are totally dating!" mina exclaimed, pointing at you. "and you didn't say anything? wow [name], i thought.. we were closer than that." she mock fully cried.

katsuki was about to say something, you cut him off though. "i thought everyone knew?" with a tilt of your head, a question mark almost visible from the blank expression you wore.

the class only sighed, kirishima shrugged his shoulders. "yeah, we should've guessed. i mean bakugo had a obvious crush on you for the longest."

"yeah, good looks man." sero gave him a thumbs up.

"tch. let's go [name]." he sat up, placing his and your finished dishes in the sink before you followed behind him.

"right! bye guys!"

you grabbed his hand as you walked out the door. nobody was around, there was no need to keep up appearances now.

but that didn't stop him from holding your hand tighter.

and that didn't stop you from clinging even more to his side.

it seemed you two were now together all the time. a clingy couple is what you seemed like to your friends, and more importantly his fans.

at lunch he could now be in the cafeteria again, you were stuck his side as you ate, an arm around you as you shared his food, insisting his cooking was better than the U-A food.

you were caged in by his body, you really did just look like a sappy couple to everyone.

during class, he was caught glancing at you. a lot. he'd roll his eyes and pretend nothing even happened, but everyone knew he was far gone.

during training, as you sparred you noticed he was going harder on you than before. some would think that because you were his crush he wouldn't get so aggressive,

too bad katsuki only wanted to push you harder, get you to show the strength he saw you unleash on those villains in the war. he wanted you to be stronger beside him, if he was number one, he'd want you to be ranked closely to him, because he knew you were strong enough.

that didn't mean it wasn't any more hard to fight him, the man was a maniac.

"you can chill out you know!"

"what? can't take it?!"

"no, slow your fucking roll!" you barely dodged his other attack, just barely moving out the way as he threw an explosion in your direction.

you now had met the conditions to use your quirk, comeback. by generating a max of 8 orbs, they'd absorb energy that you could use back for your offense. the only downside?

melee attacks couldn't be absorbed at all.

a kick to your legs sent you to the ground, you dispersed one of your orbs with the explosion stored inside of it.

"be nice and let me win!!"

"no."

he dodged your attack and pinned you to the ground. he won.

"you're so mean 'suki." you shoved him off you, making him grunt. "a good boyfriend would've let me win!"

a nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him he wasn't yours, you weren't his, and that he was only doing this for his convinience.

"well, i guess i'll be a better one next time."

even that voice couldn't deny that the way he cared for you wasn't anything less than real. that even if this relationship was fake, that he was undoubtedly yours. that the way he held his hand out to you, lifting you as gently as he could fathom.

"wanna go again?" he asked, a boyish smirk on his face.

"you know it!"

your plan of tiring katsuki out with exercise didn't work, so you found yourself in his room at his desk. showered and wiping the dew off your neck with a towel, you sat in front of him with a book splayed open.

he was hammering topic after topic into you.. statistics or something? you weren't really paying attention, you were more interested in the bulge of his muscles out of his tank top.

his words were a blur when you suddenly found yourself reaching a hand out to feel his muscle,

your hand squeezing it.

'firm. hm.' you thought, until he pulled you away, an incredulous look on his face. "this is why your class ranking keeps falling [name]. focus!"

"how can i focus with you in front of me? it's like dancing a donut in front of a cop!" you whined, face planted onto his desk.

"you're.. insane."

"you love me though, don't you?" the words slipped out of your lips without a second thought, your face flushing slightly. "oops, sorry! almost forgot you arent my like-- real boyfriend!"

he swore he heard a bit of disappointment in your voice, felt a bit of reluctance in your movements as you pulled away at him, saw a bit of longing in your eyes.

"uh.. yeah. 's fine. let's just.. take a break." he said, motioning over to lay on his bed and do nothing for a little while.

if you would've told him a couple months ago that he'd be sat, face to face, body next to body, hands awkwardly close to each other as you remained in silence. you'd had a movie on in the background, something stupid he thought. not like he payed attention to it at all.

it was comfortable, being around you. he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't like the fact that everyone now thought you were his and vice versa. not just his fans, not just yours, but your mutual friends. family.

"do you wanna try again?" he asked after a while, voice soft and his hand moving to rub his eyes. it was his bedtime, eight o clock sharp, but he'd break it for you.

"hm? to be honest no." you moved to face him. "you look tired anyways 'suki, you should sleep."

he grumbled, his eyes closing slightly as he slowly swatted your hand away from his face, his grip lingering on your wrist.

"right." he yawned. he didn't know if it was the sleep or impulse, maybe a mixture of both. but he pulled you closer to him. making you crash against his chest with his head in the nook of your neck.

"stay." he uttered, his breath flush against your neck making the hairs stand up.

"katsuki?" you thought you were dreaming. you'd move to pinch yourself if you weren't being pinned down by him.

"please?"

"..okay." your words barely matched your actions. you cuddled more into him, pulling him impossibly closer as you melted into eachother.

a blanket was thrown over the two of you. you fell asleep in his arms, the beating of his heart matching yours as you breathed a sigh of realization.

you were horribly in love with katsuki bakugo. and he was with you.

your 'fake' activities as a couple were coming along a little bit too easily to the two of you.

feeding him a snack in his room as a joke, him finding out he kind of liked being babied, him blackmailing you so you shut up.

all couple things. normal couple activity.

you didn't even have to continue those things behind closed doors, but it just came so naturally. it seemed wrong not to do it.

it seemed wrong for him not to sling a hand over you, not to hold your hand when it was so close to him, not to move the stray strands of hair and tuck it behind your ear.

it seemed wrong for him not to save a spot for you at lunch, not to wake up a bit earlier and slip out of your sleepy grasp to prepare you a meal alongside his.

not to make some breakfast for you, light or heavy, depending on what he'd learned you preferred.

not to walk with you to class, even walking with you to go see your general studies friend in the morning, leaning against the doorway with a smile on his face as he watched you rave on about a show you'd watched recently.

why wouldn't he do it if he could? why shouldn't he watch your favorite shows just to have things to talk to you about?

he found himself fighting to stay focused during your study sessions now too. he found himself noticing things about you, the smaller things.

how you'd flip your hello kitty pencil around while you were speaking. how you'd bite your lips in concentration, your expressions of disbelief when you actually started getting things correct.

he'd have to cover his hand with his face. you were just too cute.

sometimes he'd even get distracted mid sentence. he was explaining simple things over again, just to make sure you knew what it meant.

but it was hard even keeping eye contact with you.

"so, in this problem x would be.. uh.." he went silent, his mouth open but no words escaping.

"x would be what? 7?" you showed your page of work to him, with a nervous smile. "if it's not right tell me already! i know im kinda dumb, it won't hurt my feelings too bad i swear!"

he looked down back at his page. mentally slamming his head onto the table, before recovering. "yeah, no you're right. you got it."

you slammed the work onto his desk, "finally! then we can break now right?"

"yeah, 'guess so."

"let's do something fun. take a walk, my legs hurt from sitting." you pulled him up by his hand, dragging him to his door. "hurry up!"

he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him, you really reminded him of just how young you two were. how he was just a high schooler with a huge crush, how--

"why are you looking at me like that? are you sick?" you placed a hand on his forehead, making him promptly rip it off. a scowl quickly replaced the smile that been on his face moments prior. "no i'm not. let's go."

you walked hand in hand, the sunset the background for your 'date'.

the last few days, he'd been nervous to bring up what was happening between you. he was nervous to ruin the odd relationship you two had, he didn't want to lose you. he thought the things you two had been doing crossed the line between friendship and lovers.

you didn't have to do any of this. though he was sure you knew that already.

"math exam's tomorrow."

"don't remind me! you totally ruined the moment you know."

"you'll pass. i mean, i was your tutor after all. if you fail with me as a teacher? you are a lost cause."

"that's not nice to say." you ripped his hand away from yours, crossing your arms on your chest. "thats really messed up 'suki."

he leant down to face you, the sun goldening you two in its wake as he grew a cocky smirk on his lips. "oh really?"

"yes really."

"n' what're you gonna do about it?" his face was barely an inch away from yours. with a glance to his lips, he moved closer.

he barely pecked you, before he heard a loud, obnoxious idiot speak from behind him.

"[name] and bakugo are totally making out over here!"

denki and kirishima were looking at the two of you, a glare crossed over katsuki's face as he basically dragged you with him back into his dorm. he was about to leave you at your dorm, the hallway empty since curfew was around the corner.

he held your hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckle of yours. he intertwined your fingers, only letting go after a while.

he tilted your head upwards with his two fingers, wordlessly asking for permission. moonlight now struck you two as he moved in.

uninterruptedly, he kissed you. deepening it with a pull of the hand, holding you against him.

he let go after a while, his internal clock signaling it was almost time for curfew.

before he left, he whispered to you. "i don't.. really care what we're labeled. and if this shit is real or not.

i just want to be close to you."

he turned, walking to the elevator. leaving your breathless, with your heart in your throat.

no more words were spoken between you two, not as you screamed into your pillow, and not as he stared up into the ceiling of his room.

you passed that math test. and each assignment that went with it.

the end of the year was now coming quickly, of the school year that is. you and katsuki still kept up your 'act', the activities now stretching to dates after school mixed in with your study sessions.

one's that'd leave the touch of katsuki on you more than the touch of knowledge. but it was working nonetheless.

it was all good between you two, an eternal honeymoon it seemed. after all, by now it had been at least seven months since this began. your class ranking was higher, he no longer had to worry about strolling through the halls, it seemed nothing could get in your way.

well, besides two things.

one: the fact that you two were scared to label in between yourselves yet, too bashful to call him your boyfriend and you his girlfriend in private, yet proud fully admitting it to others.

two, the girl currently straddling him with no regard to you whatsoever. your entire cafeteria table was staring at her, looking at what katsuki would do to move her off.

but when he didn't immediately, didn't immediately curse the girl out and push her off him? you did the job for him.

you yanked the girl by her hair, sending her to the floor with a tray of food falling onto her body. all attention was on you as you stared at katsuki, your mouth agape in anger.

"what the fuck bakugo?" you ignored her, even stepping on her leg slightly as your hands were agitated, your whole body was. you didn't even know why you were jealous. this wasn't real, it never was, he was just playing his role too well.

you should've known katsuki would go too far. he always did.

"babe-- it's not what you think-"

"then what was i looking at? and don't call me that. don't- don't fucking call me anything. we're over."

you knew to him that probably meant something different. you acclaimed the despair in his eyes to the loss of protection, to the loss of ease as he walked in the halls and the lack of paparazzi that'd ask him questions on his love life.

but to him it was so much more.

it was those things, yes. but it was more so the thought of losing you. the thought of the affection over the months being nothing but a memory and not his future. the thought of not having you close to him.

the thoughts of becoming nothing to you, less than a friend.

he didn't know why he didn't move, it was like he physically couldn't. the look in the girl's eyes, the grip she had on him, the weird smile. he recognized her as one of the girls who usually would be in the crowd following him around.

"you don't mean that." his voice sounded more desperate than it had in the whole time he'd met you, more longing slipping through than he intentioned.

but the sun's casting light had moved away from you, casting you in a shadow. "i do mean it. fuck you."

he was going to run after you, to chase you as you slammed your lunch tray into the trash. heading up to the rooftop to he alone.

but a hand, mina's, pulled him back. "i think.. you did enough bakugo."

she went after you instead, promising to bakugo she'd check on you.

fangirls were one thing? but a messy public breakup where you were never really something in the first place? surprisingly worse.

he'd been more snappy lately, his aura making the girls around him keep their distance.

he'd become quieter, closed off. you didn't come to eat lunch with him anymore, obviously. and he didn't go up to the rooftop to join you.

he didn't know how to speak to you, how to explain what happened, how to say that he was sorry.

he ran the scenario in his head a million times, thinking over the girl's quirk that had forced him into place. but it sounded so convenient, like he was lying.

but since your entire relationship was based off of one, he didn't know how to approach the topic in the first place.

a week. a week passed before he could muster up the words to speak to you.

a week of being ignored in the hallways, side glances and being walked off on. a week of not having you by his side, not having you to talk to, to study with,

to kiss.

you were alone on the rooftop, eating silently as you felt a presence behind you. you saw his hair in the shadow and sighed, placing your plate onto the floor next to you. "what?"

"let me talk."

"...fine."

he breathed a sigh, hands balling as he forced the words out. "i know what you saw. and i know it was bad, but listen. that.. girl. she had some quirk on me or something."

he paused, seeing as your movement shifted. he took the fact that you didn't leave as a sign to continue.

"i couldn't move, i would've. you know that. but, it was right for you to be fucking pissed. i'd be too.

and i know, this is my fault in a way. i've been.. a fuckin' loser about this." his hand went up to support his head, his eyes averting from where he felt yours eyeing him.

"i needed to ask you out, officially i mean, a long time ago. it was wrong of me to use you-"

"it wasn't like that and you know it." you moved now to face him, you taking his hands in yours once more.

"what are we? to you i mean."

"right now..

we're nothing, right?"

your eyes widened, his eyes came back to look at yours.

"what?"

the words settled between you, it sent a cold shiver down your spine at the implication.

"wait-- fuck i'm messing this shit up. i mean, we're, not anything right now. we weren't anything."

your heart sank, eyes falling to the floor though your hand still held by him. your bleeding heart was in his grasp too, it was apparent.

"but,

i'd like to be? if you'd have me."

he squeezed your hand tightly. "i, i think i did this all out of order. but, would you go out with me?"

you let out an anxious laugh mixed with emotion. relief? despair? you honestly didn't know. tears burned the corners of your eyes.

"you're-- you're real weird, you know that?"

"is that a no."

"no, it's a yes. i think."

"ya think?"

"you don't get to question me!"

"yeah, whatever." you shared a laugh of relief together. he held you, moving away to bring something out of his pocket.

a small bento box for you.

you gasped at the sight of it, it was so cute. "thank god! i hate this school shit." you sat down, patting the side beside you, prompting him to sit down.

"wow, a heart? don't tell me you like me or something katsuki."

instead of deflecting, of telling you to buzz off, of shoving you lightly, a small smile came over his lips once again. after a beat, he laughed boyishly.

"you caught me."

...

he patted your back as you choked on the heart shaped seaweed.

your first date was cute, a small picnic with the country of musatafu as your backdrop. it was weird, this scene had played out between you two various times. in his room, in public, in private, to everyone else you two had just recovered from a messy breakup. and yet,

your stomachs were filled with butterflies at the affection between you two.

your rank was high, the dates were endless between the two of you now. study dates, just going to cafes, mundane things became more when you were by each others side.

years passed, and your poor dorm was going mostly unused. you'd sleep in his bed most of the time, actually- you'd spent most of your time in his room. he even cleared out a section for you in his closet despite the fact that yours was perfectly fine.

graduation came along, your careers came rushing at the two of you.

you were the top rated woman hero, and he was number one. just like he dreamt, just like he imagined the future would be for the two of you all those years ago.

you were picking out some drinks from the vending machine, a pocky hanging out your mouth as you decided between two flavors.

you finally chose, having two drinks in your hand for you and katsuki when he suddenly dragged you into an alleyway, grunting when he pushed you against the wall.

deja vu? maybe, you felt like you lived through this before, the same mindless stampede of girls rushing past.

"i told you to clip down your hair."

"shut up. don't they even care that we're married now? why do they fucking bother?." he sighed, annoyed as he lightly grabbed the can out your hand, his frustration not matching his actions.

"well, maybe we need something that'd make it even more official." a lightbulb went over the both of your heads. you faced each other, a streetlight letting you see the slight pink tint of his cheeks.

"a ca-"

"a baby."

you laughed, keeling over at the sight of his face that grew impossibly red.

you went home, hand in hand, the photos of the two of you together making rounds in the media again.

but as you laid with his head laid on your lap, your head rested comfortably against the furniture you'd chosen for your home?

you couldn't help but feel like everything worked out perfectly.

and with the new addition of your family laid sleeping on top of katsuki's chest.

tags (can't tag orange :c): @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @amayaaaxx @i-the-fluffo @irenne-stans @hisonlyobsession @dead-fish-soup @pretty-sparkle-bomb @matchat3a @yura-4life @djlance-rock @zuzukusna @hiimsaraandyou @uy242c

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[drgnflyteabox]

can't get much better

pairing: ghost / simon riley x fem reader summary: simon is forced to take some time off - he makes the most of it. tags/warnings: very soft, pregnant sex, size difference, softdom!simon- he's a masculine man who doesn't let his lady lift a finger :'), oral (f), one (1) butthole kiss, dacryphilia, daddy kink (sigh), minor minor foot stuff, allusions to injuries and chronic pain, title from an adrianne lenker song w.c: 2.5k

You try very hard not to think about it, but it's hard not to notice how massive he is.

Even shirtless, he somehow looks bigger, muscles flush with heat and exertion under the sun. He toils and breathes hard like an ox, working while you sit on the porch wrapped in his big flannel. Wearing his clothes is like being swaddled in a blanket straight out of the dryer, warm and nostalgic and syrupy with love. It leaves you feeling some type of tender. You're afraid of that feeling sometimes, of how soft it is and how soft it makes you. He could ask anything of you, and you'd yield like he was pressing his thumb into a bruised peach.

You have.

"How are you two?" Simon is so quiet when he wants to be. One would think he'd clomp like a horse with how big he is, but he can float like dust. It used to startle you, but you've been sinking deeper into the memory foam mattress of this life with him and it doesn't anymore.

"Tired, even though I'm not doing anything," you squint at him through the late afternoon sun. It haloes him like an angel.

"You're growing my baby in there, love. That's not nothing," his voice is rough, it always will be. But it's rough now like earth and soil rather than rough with pain and smoke the way he'd sounded when you met him.

You're feeling especially nostalgic, it seems, not like it's hard here. His hand is warm on your belly.

"I guess so," you let him pet you for a moment. Your stomach is swollen but not as big as it'll get, just enough to veto pants. A few months to go still. "How's your back?"

"Argh," Simon says, taking a heavy seat next to you. Dismissive and yet he groans a little when his muscles unclench. Classic.

You slowly reach up and nudge him until he's facing the field opposite to you, face toward the golden afternoon sun and his back to you. He's never asked you to do this, to take care of him, but it's your favourite thing in the world.

His back is always rock-hard no matter how many times you take your knuckles and fingers to it. Just a condition of a hard life lived for him, countless falls and impacts and pushing through injuries. There's a slight slant to his spine now that isn't there in the pictures he's shown you of his youth, but the stiffness is the same. You might've said he was born to be a soldier, had you not known him as a father. He could do both, but - you'd never say this out loud - you were privately grateful for this injury. It wouldn't take him out forever, but the recovery would be long. Long enough to get the homestead started, to get you pregnant.

Simon would never be completely still. This was compromise. Sweet compromise, a life started and time with him you could think back on the next time he shipped out. Making the most of things, he would always say. Making the time count.

"That feels good, love" he groans. Bending forward slowly, relaxing, he's like an aloof stallion finally accepting an apple from your hand. Acquiescing. Showing you his back. It's trust, and you savour it.

"I bet it does," you tease back, just a little. Your fingers are nimble and attuned to his specific aches and pains. "Are you hungry for dinner?"

"I'm hungry for something," he turns, slowly, hands reaching for your thickened waist. Huge, work-roughened hands. War-roughened hands, holding you like a delicate egg. Sometimes it feels like he's the only thing that holds you together; all your pieces, everywhere, until he's holding you.

Kissing him is a contact sport. It's his hands moving, cupping your breast and then your pussy through your panties, your own hands wrapping around his broad shoulders like he's the only thing keeping you from drowning. It's open-mouthed, breathing into each other. Impossibly, you get softer, melting like ice on a hot day. 

Before you can lean back on the bench, he stands and lifts you with him. He's still hot from the day, damp with sweat, pushing you into the house while kissing you still.

"Simon-" you start, with no goal in mind. "Please."

"I've got you, love," he murmurs. He always does. Before you know it, you're laid back onto the plush armchair in your living room. Simon knows this is the most comfortable place for your newly-aching body. Affection swells in your chest uncontrollably and comes out through your eyes leaking down your face. Sure, pregnancy makes people emotional - but you're still embarrassed, touched by how considerate he is.

"It's alright, shh," he thumbs the tears at the corner of your eyes. His cock tents his work pants, aroused by them. "Let me take care of you."

The next words he murmurs are into your cunt, right over your panties, tongue laving over the already-wet fabric. "Just need your daddy, don't you?" You clench in tandem with his words, hot all over, skin prickling. He pushes your dress up, bunching it right under your tits.

It's reminiscent of how you spent the first night with him, on the very first day you'd met. Hurried, his big head between your thighs and clothes hanging off you still while he made you fall apart.

He's fucking good at it, too. Pulls your panties to the side and builds up the pressure with which he sucks on your clit, softly and then harsher until you shake. You've been extra horny lately, always wet around him and always so swollen. The scrape of his five-o-clock shadow against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh is what tips you over, clamping his head tightly and shouting your orgasm into the heady summer air.

"That all it takes?" Simon grins, chin wet, fingers moving from your hips to your pussy to gently rub along your slit.

"Give me a second, please," it's humbling how quickly you come nowadays. Quick and intense. Fireworks.

You set your foot on his shoulder and he turns towards it, kissing your ankle. Patience is rare with him, something come about only since you confirmed your pregnancy. You miss being overwhelmed by him, miss the nights where he'd guide you over the edge one, two, three times in succession.

He pushes now, just a little, not waiting for your go-ahead but watching you intently. His fingers spread your cunt in a V and he puffs a breath on your sensitive clit. You jump. He grins again, leaning down to lick you, using one hand to hold both your legs under your knees and push them until they meet the soft bump of your belly.

"Hold them there," he says. It's spoken not to you, but to your hole, which he spears his tongue into. You obey as you're helpless to do, holding your legs up and giving him an unimpeded view. It's more than vulnerable, it's not only baring yourself to him completely but giving him the authority to do what he wants. What you need.

Simon eats you out like it's a kiss, slurping you down and letting you leak until the evidence of your weakness to him is all over you. Your legs are wet, and it drips down onto your other hole. He pushes a thumb into your cunt, dipping it in and out.

"Needed me, did'ya? Watched me all day," he's so smug, sometimes. His lips find your bare foot, kissing your sole. "Been wet like this all day?" His other hand finds the meat of your asscheek, spreading you open further, letting the split of you open to him. He leans down, kissing your inner thigh, then your other hole. You whine and clench your pussy around his thumb. 

"So needy," he murmurs, finally finally moving back to your clit. Flicks his tongue over it, something that might've been teasing before but is intense now. Your hands tighten against your legs, head thrown back.

"Oh please- Simon!" You shout again, abs drawing up, stars in your eyes. "Ahh- I'm-"

"I know, honey," his lips suction again around the hard little pebble of your clit, eating like a man starved. 

This is how he likes you. Losing control, coming apart, helplessly vocal against the onslaught of his tongue. No matter how many times you've done this, it never gets old. The release almost always makes you cry, especially intense like this. You're wet all over, face and cunt and legs. He is, too.

"You still with me, love?" He pets your flank like you're a horse.

"Yes," but that's not what he wants.

"Yes what?"

"Yes, daddy."

"Good girl," and fuck if that doesn't always fill you with warm fuzzy energy. Wipes your brain, keeps you soft and floaty.

He guides you up and out of the armchair, lifts you into his arms when your legs shake too much. That electric feeling is still coursing through you, tingles in your extremities as they come back to life.

The hand he strokes over you is half affectionate, half proprietary. You've been his since the first time he laid eyes on you.

He reminds you of it as he sets you down gently on the bed, your hair a halo around your head and hands reaching to his face where you pull him down for a kiss. Hands find his shirt, pulling it off you, and then the dress. Fingertips touch the headboard, your arms stretching up, making room for him. Slips your panties down your legs.

It's a lingering, indulgent kiss. Breathing each others air, gasping into his mouth, he puts his elbows by your head and lays as much weight down as he can without cramping your full belly. He's as vocal as you, groaning and rutting like a dog.

"Ready for me, sweet girl?" He leans out of the kiss, sitting back on his heels. You nod, desperate and pulsing between the legs again like you didn't just come twice.

"Daddy's gonna take care of you, don't you worry," he rearranges you like a doll, turning you to your side and getting between your legs. A pillow is tucked under your belly, and he tests your flexibility by holding your leg tight to the length of his body. Your hamstring burns a little with it.

A hand holds your knee, another to your waist. His jeans scrape against your sensitive skin.

You focus on little details. His scar, touching his eyebrow and splitting through his nose, ending down by his jaw. The knuckles on his fingers holding your knee, and how rough the pads of his fingers feel on your waist. This man has never had soft hands in his life. Those same hands capable of so much force, so much violence, the very same that hold you and guide you. A shepherd, you his lamb.

The weeping head of his cock kisses your hole, catching there and traveling up. He taps it against your clit until you're tensing, whining, needy again. Tears down your cheeks.

He steadies you, pets your waist, guides his cock inside and it feels like you can breathe again. His mouth laves hot kisses over your ankle, the sole of your foot again, reverent and controlling all at once. The stretch burns - it always does, and maybe always will. Simon is just so big, thick all around and the mushroom head of him could always bump your cervix if he's not careful.

He's careful now, but only just. You can sense his control fraying, his hips driving forward steadily but his thighs tensing and his grip getting meaner. This is your favourite part. Watching him sweat, breathe hard, taking his pleasure in you.

"Yeah-" he cuts himself off with a long, drawn out groan. Deep, from the bottom of his belly and out. "Already so full of me, aren't ya? Can't get full enough."

You plead with your sounds, words out of your grasp. Your hands clutch at the sheets but it isn't enough. He's solid, he's your anchor, but he's losing himself in your cunt and you're free falling.

"Play with your tits for me," he commands, pumping faster. You're reflexively tightening around him, clit jumping for attention, squeaking each time he lets himself in as deep as possible and touches the mouth of your cervix.

Sunlight slowly fades on the bed, the last golden rays escaping out the window as you're bathed in dusk. 

There's nothing to do but obey, hands finding your swollen breasts and squeezing. They've been sore and huge, like that week before you get your period only it's been a couple months. None of your bras fit anymore.

Simon appreciates it, he loves it. Has you cooking for him with your tits out, nipples peaked and pussy leaking. They bounce, now, stopped only by your hands pinching and twisting. It's insane - no one in the world could replicate the feeling. No artist, no musician. Electricity zips from your breasts down to your clit and shit - you might come just like this, untouched, just full of your man and fondling yourself.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me. Fucking," he pants, leaning over you, bending your leg. "Pinching my dick, sweetheart. Your pussy's so fucking good."

The orgasm begins in your toes, tingling. Your muscles tighten, drawing up, up, towards your cunt, which is making obscene sounds around him.

Simon sees the signs, sees your eyes rolling and your body going taut. He abandons your leg in favour of rubbing your clit with two big fingers quickly, up and down.

"That's it, sweetheart, come all over my cock. Go on," his voice is a snarl, barely distinguishable as human, beastly. "Be good for daddy.”

It's like the crescendo of an orchestra, like a summer afternoon in august, like waking up without a clogged nose after being sick, it's - really fucking good. You're near sobbing, crying out his name, abandoning your tits to reach for him desperately. He meets you halfway, shuddering his own orgasm into you. The press of his hips against yours is better than buttered toast, the delicate press of his chest against yours as he lets your leg go is bliss.

"Si-imon," you slur, hands on his cheeks. He laughs and kisses your forehead.

"What's that, sweet girl?"

"I love you," you cry a little more then, feeling him pull out and lay next to you. You're boneless.

"I love you too," his arm reaches across you, pulling you into him. "Both of you." Hand on your belly again.

"That was insane," you pant. He barks a laugh against your hair. "I'm serious."

"I know you are, love," he kisses your forehead, petting your stomach. You can tell it's meaning, can feel the gratefulness behind the kiss. He's saying thank you, for staying with him, for making him a father. Your hand finds his, squeezing back a wordless reply. Of course, it says.

<3

[caffeinewitchcraft]

Everything I've Ever Written (on Tumblr)

I have been writing online since 2016. As a result, I have quite the few short stories listed below! They're all from different parts in my writing journey and I hope you enjoy.

If you'd like to read what I currently put out, please consider supporting me on Patreon (X)

Cinderella Doesn't Believe in Fairy Tales

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

Part 4 / Part 5 /Part 6

Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9

Destiny Universe

You Are the Demon King

The Hero and Hope (part 1) (part 2)

Being Villagers

Heroes and Villains

Therapist for Villains

Juniper and Discus

Self Destruct Villain (flash fiction)

Dandelion (A Villain Story)

You Help Kill Heroes

You are the Shark Hero

Mist into a Tempest

The Civilian and the Reluctant Hero

No Heroes Here

The Spoiler (humor, flash fiction)

You are Legacy

Hero in Title

Dark Lord's Former Coworker

One Minute

The Fae:

You Become Powerful

Your Friend Takes Your Name

Larkin and Yvette

Debt Must Be Repaid (humor flash fiction)

Going to the Hill

The Fae are Free

When They Don't Know (submitted to elsewhereuniversity)

The Chosen One

The Chosen One's Parents

Fate and Mercy and Dead Girls

Amulet to Save Her

Hero's Apprentice (Flash fiction)

The Aftermath of the Chosen One

Wizards Stole My Brother

You are the Chosen One's Knight

The Chosen One is a History Major

You are the Most Powerful Magic User

Time Restarts and She Remembers

Better the Witch than the Kid

Witches

It Was in a Name

The Good Witch of Hawthorne

Berthe the Green Witch

Cursed Mold (flash fiction)

Love isn't Enough

I Can't Believe it's not Proper Adjudication

Devil Deals

The Devil You Know

The Ritual

They Summoned Her on Halloween (flash fiction)

Fairytale Retellings

Ariel and Ursula (age appropriate)

The Gods

Zeus' Son

Faith in Technology

Sci-Fi

Six Red Bulls and Persistence

The Sound of Silence

Emmaline and the Apartment

Humans are Vengeful

Humans Know War (that's why we have diplomacy)

Criminals Forced to Live on as AI (flash fiction)

Misc Fantasy

Wind-Speaker

Wind-Speaker and Her Wife

You Will Become

The Sirens and Leona (flash fiction)

Eldritch Princess (flash fiction)

Princess Maria and the Dragon

Princess Maria is Kidnapped

Immortals are Afraid of Change

Fiona the Dragon

A Violently Won War

Meta Stories

An Abstract Concept

Narrative Town

Narrative Town: Uncle Ralph

Princess Phaedra Breaks

You are a Horror Movie Villain

Ghost Stories

Malevolent Spirits

Your House is Haunted by an Anime Pillow

Don't Open the Door

Grandma's House

Who Is? (flash fiction)

A Face (flash fiction)

Misc.

You Choose Your Fate in Hell

Time Paradox (flash fiction)

You are an Assassin

Multiple Dimension Serial Killer (flash fiction)

An Exercise in Mary Sue

She Comes Back from the Hospital (tw eating disorder)

Roses and Evil (mental health flash fiction)

Big Brother

A Conversation About Anger

Punching Depression

Two Sides (flash fiction)

Immortal Serial Killer in Prison

Theater Romance (flash fiction)

The Lady and the Knight (flash fiction)

Different (flash fiction)

[dawnwriterimagines]

The Verdict Due

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x FEM!READER

Traitors Among Us (Part 1)

Innocents Among You (Part 2)

The Guilty Plea (Part 3)

Clear Skies (Part 5)

Summary: You head to Laswell to talk on the rest of your now ruined military career. Of course, you're forced to confront your team as it happens, the last people on earth you'd like to see.

If you liked this would you Buy me a Coffee?

Simon's steps are slow, lacking energy or purpose. Releasing the buckles strapping his vest down to him, he finally arrives to his door, lifting the camo from himself.

His forehead pressing into the wooden door, he finds it harder and harder to open everyday, seeing reminders of you every moment of everyday, when he closes his eyes, when he lays down in bed. Hell when he opens the door. He hated this room now.

Outside of the place that you both had made your home away from war, from battle, from the base, this was where the two of you had once spent most of your time.

He raised his head off the door, before bringing it back down on it, then doing it again, this time hard enough to hurt. "Fuck," he cursed, cursing himself, his stupid decisions, the times he'd never get back, the mistakes he'll never be able to erase. Huffing out bitterly, squeezing his eyes shut, he's still for a moment, before banging his fist against the wall. "Fuck!" There's a crackle along the wall, a clatter of dust and dried paint hitting his feet.

A shuddered breath leaves him, swallowing down his grief, his anger at himself. But, he can't help it. He's ruined everything.

Simon's head stays there against the doorway, he doesn't want to go in.

His head turns a bit, seeing a figure down the hallway, straightening up, dark eyes squinting. "Johnny?"

Quiet and Still. The Scotsman's mouth is set in a hard line, he runs a hand down his face, smearing the mess he'd made of himself. "I..." he breathes deeply. "I saw her today."

"You what?" Simon perks up, eyes wide. He looks past his comrade, seeing the open doorway of your room, "She's here," he speaks, voice alight and hopeful. Making his way past Johnny, "She's here?" he asks this time, bracing himself at her doorway.

But, the room is a mess and void of you. He'd nearly forgotten how the soldiers had left it, the day it happened he could watch it, it would've been too finalizing of what he thought was your betrayal. Today was meant to be the day they'd clean it all up, due to plaguing themselves with missions and ops that required long weeks, long hours. No one wanted to think about what they'd done.

But, now they'd only made another mistake in waiting too long. And now you had to be greeted by this mess.

"I didn't know it was--" Johnny couldn't turn back to the room, back to Simon, as he spoke. "I didn't know we did so much to her. I thought--how long--how could I--" he shakily began. "--how could you?" Simon's eyes flicker to his friend, dark circles and sunken cheeks seem to worsen. "She was so...she couldn't even look at me, Si. Like I'd make her sick, like I'd--hurt her again...I've never--" his fingers claw at his chest, hoping to rip away the ache in his heart, eyes haunted to tears and staring into the dark of his memory as he thought back. "I'd never--" he can't finish.

"She was here?" Simon asked again.

Johnny's clouded eyes look to Simon, opening his mouth before opting for nodding. Clearing his throat, finally seeming to get a handle on himself, "Just left."

"She what?" Simon bolts out towards the stairs, pushing through the doorway and jumping down the first flight to rush through the rest.

As he gets to the lobby floor, he shoves through the door, revealing the hallway to him, running down the long stretch before ramming into the side wall to catch himself at the corner. He continues down the way, running as fast as he's able, before bursting through the side doors of the front lobby.

He sees you immediately, beyond the glass doorways.

"(Y/n)..."

He's running before he can think to get his legs moving.

---

Leaving the dormitories, finally leaving behind the spare hospital wear that you had swapped for your own clothes, you waved down the first vehicle you'd seen.

The driver letting you into the truck, the two of you unaware as he begins to drive off, Simon shoving his way through the residential doors and coming to a stop in the middle of the street as you drive away.

You, having hopped a ride with one of the soldiers making his rounds, the Jeep shakes with the changing terrain, providing more conversation than the trooper that was much too quiet. Shifting his shoulders, adjusting his fingers around the leather, glancing one too many times through the mirror.

It was getting weird. But, you were a familiar face on the base, unfortunately now, it used to be because you were good at your job, the best sniper they had on the force. But now, it was because you were the first proclaimed traitor of the force in decades and the first to be wrong about.

So, the new attention is nothing to be pleased about.

"Find something interesting to look at, soldier?"

Back straightening, body stiffening and eyes facing the road, the trooper swallows thickly at having been caught eyeing you. "No, ma'am!"

"Then I suggest you keep your eyes on the road."

"Yes, ma'am!" clearing his throat. "Sorry, ma'am, I don't mean to stare."

Arms crossed, head turned to watch the smaller buildings go by, your jaw clenched. "It's fine..." you breathe, before relaxing a bit more as the drive goes farther and farther away from the residential areas. Eyes flickering over to the still tense trooper, you mutter. "Ease."

His shoulders drop, head turning, flustered. "Sorry, ma'am."

It was always strange to be called 'Ma'am' by fellow soldiers, usually you were only a year or so apart, others you had been younger by ten years or older by five. But, this trooper was new to the force, young, clearly still jumpy, you had been the same after your first missions on the Task Force.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the trooper then speaks, shakily.

"You don't have to keep--"

"About what happened to you," he continued. "I'm not sure if you heard that yet, but it's--that sounds--I can't imagine. I'm sorry that happened to you."

For a moment too long you're quiet, holding your breath, staring at the scenery as it whistled on past, the wind whipping through your hair. Your nails tearing into your skin as you rake them over your scars, smearing the line of blood left after ripping out your IV line, abandoning it as you found a ride.

"Get any cool scars out of it, at least?" he jokes, lightheartedly.

Your eyes snap his way, his eyes widening before he looks back to the road, back to stiff.

You open your mouth to speak, but you can't. You're just angry, too angry to find the words. But, you don't want to take it out on him, he was just attempting to alleviate whatever burden he imagined to be on your shoulders. But, all it was was a reminder, this was all anyone could think of anymore, when it came to you, this ordeal.

The apologies, the reminders, the quiet looks, the whispers, the fucking gnawing pain still splintered through your spine, you were tired of it.

The car pulls up to the largest administrative building on the base camp, hopefully you were right and this was where Laswell was posted up.

Quickly pulling the car handle as the trooper steps out of the vehicle to assist you, you hurriedly speak as he reaches to touch you. "I've got it," you hiss out, harsher then you meant. Stepping down and off the platform, onto the sidewalk, you forget you don't have your IV pole to at least stabilize you. So, when you stumble, he grabs your arm, his other resting on your shoulder.

"Woah!" his grip lacks gentleness, though not bruising, it's enough to set you off.

Your arm goes back and over his arm, shrugging him off, roughly. "I said I got it!" Your palm pushing into his shoulder and sending him back and off of you, he shifts back and nearly off his feet, catching himself.

"Alright, jeez!"

You're stumbling back into the light pole luckily a few steps behind you, leaning yourself against the cemented metal, you balance yourself. Shaking off the buzz in your ears and rubbing away the tension built along your skin, taking a few shuttered breaths, turned away from the soldier.

The trooper takes a few steps away from you, expression lifted to frustration and annoyance, rolling his eyes, brows furrowed and back pedaling to the Jeep. "Fucking crazy," he mutters to himself, adjusting his gear and stepping up back to the vehicle.

But, he doesn't make it very far until you're on him.

"What the fu--!"

Taking the opening of his kevlar and yanking him out of the vehicle, unable to catch himself fast enough to get to his feet. You hold a steel grip on the collar of his uniform, literally holding him up by his straps, pulling his entire bodyweight off the ground, leaning down so you're face to face with him. "Say it again," you snapped, eyes dark and boring into his skull. "I wanna have a good excuse for what I'm about to do to you."

He was taller, probably stronger, but looking up at you, he could see the years of mayhem and chaos that's burned itself into your irises, made you the lieutenant he'd tripped up on properly respecting. "I didn't--I didn't say anything! I'm sorry, ma'am, it won't--it won't happen again!"

Nostrils flared, eyes flickering between his wide, fearful ones, your hands loosen around his gear. He falls forwards, landing on his forearms with a groan, releasing a relieved breath.

He looks up, watching as you turn and make your trek into the building. You had seemed so fragile before, with a limp in your walk, scars head to toe and those braces along your legs, he assumed you had no fight in you. He couldn't have imagined, five minutes, he'd be wrong.

---

"Laswell."

The Station Chief turns, manila folder files in hand, brows raised at the intrusion before her eyes widen at the sight of your tired figure.

"Gray..."

You don't wait to be invited inside, instead pulling up a chair as you let the door close behind you. Not fully out of a lack of respect but your legs were killing you and surely if you wait a second longer you'll literally tear a muscle. "You free?"

"Never. But, I can make time," she answers. "Is something wrong?"

You bite down on your tongue. What isn't wrong.

"I put in a request for council in resignation, ma'am. I'm just here to know if it went through."

"I did...receive your request," The woman is still quite surprised to see you, a bit off put at your presence, hearing about your scars was one thing, seeing them was another. "Of course. Though, I expected you to wait for my call before deciding to come to me."

"I'm sure," you feigned a slight chuckle that faded as soon as it started. You say nothing else but stare.

Laswell sighs, tossing down the folder she'd been holding. "Look, Lieutenant Gray--"

"Just (L/N)," you gritted out. "Please." You couldn't stand your codename at the moment, you didn't want to carry a single thing this team had given you.

"Lieutenant..." Laswell pulled up a chair on the opposite side of the long table, facing you, "You've accomplished much on the force, saved lives, eliminated threats that had the potential to level the united nations, your honors and distinctions. At the very least, here, your guidance is a treasure..."

"I'd like my resignation to be approved, Chief--"

Laswell continues. "I need you to careful think about what you're doing here, Gray--(L/n). I don't want you to be motivated by what's happened to you, you still have a place on the force, it doesn't have to be beside your team. Don't waste your talents in the field because of this experience."

"Experience," You scoffed at the word, nose cringing up in disgust at the downplay. "I didn't go on a rollercoaster at Disney World, god--I was tortured by my team for weeks while my fiancé threatened to kill me afterwards..." you were about to lose your mind. "What makes any of you think I'd want to stay here? Why can't any of you just respect my decision to leave? I'm resigning."

Laswell settles back into her chair, lips pressing together, she makes a hum of a sound. "I can arrange a transfer," she compromised. "But, my authorization goes through only after informing Price, he also needs to sign off on this."

Your jaw clenches, your fingers tightening around your clasped hands. "Then how about that favor you owe me?"

Station Chief straightens, brow lifting and arms crossed. "Excuse me, soldier?"

Sighing, reaching a hand into your bag, you bring out a folder of your own, some documents signed off. "I had to wonder who the evidence was sent to, given it was right after our mission and Price doesn't even look at his reports to sign off on something in under 24 hours, it wasn't him," watching as Laswell opened the folder, revealing her own name signing off on the interrogation, just a few of the photos that'd declared you guilty. "Thanks for ruining my career, Laswell."

She spreads out the evidence, her own signature on the papers, she breathes out. "And what are you trying to do here, Gray?"

"Stop calling me that."

"Trying to threaten me with what exactly--?"

"Nothing," you answered. "I'm asking for a favor, from someone I thought was my friend," you find it harder to say, Laswell's jaw clicks and she shifts in her chair. "You owe me that much."

"It's the job, (L/n). I was protecting our own, our resources were very promising."

"Until they weren't, huh?" you sarcastically gritted out.

"Yes..." Laswell sighs. "I do apologize, (L/n), but--"

"Just do this for me," you interrupted, pleading this time. "Please. I can't go to him, I can't even look at Simon, let alone Price. Forget about being in the same room with them. I just--I can't be here, this isn't where I belong anymore," looking down at your hands, the scars that circled your wrists. This was a final decision. "I'm resigning with or without you."

Rising from your seat, Laswell stands as you do, "You resign without clearance, they'll take everything from you. Your pension, your insurance, retirement, everything, you'll be dishonorably discharged, you understand that?"

"'Course, I do," you admit. "Honestly, I thought I'd be dead on a mission somewhere before I saw any of that, I don't expect anything out of this. Nothing's...worth any of this."

As you turn the handle to leave, Laswell speaks once more. "I just wanted to enlighten you on what I'm risking for you, signing off on this."

At that, you glance back to her, watching as the older woman sighs heavily, picking up a pen, opening up the manila folder she'd been holding onto previously. Opening it up to reveal your resignation papers.

"If I do this, when I call on you, Gray," Laswell says. "I expect you to be there."

As she wrote her signature down on the dotted line, you swallowed down the ache that's plagued you for weeks, "I swear."

As the station chief continues down the packet, turning to the next page and signing once again, you slowly slide back into your chair, sitting silently as you watch her sign off on your leave from military service.

You bring your hand up fast as a tear runs down your face, wiping it away before Laswell can see, sniffing quietly.

---

Walking slowly down the side hallway of the admin building, you stare out into space, your eyes glistening as you hold the signed resignation packet to your chest, pressing it to yourself tightly.

Passing the front desk, the security posted up at the elevators, you enter the main hall and come to a stop. Your grip on your documents tightening as you watch rain pour out onto the outer glass of the windows.

Watching the downpour outside, you can't seem to get your feet moving to just leave this place. That's all you need to do, just...walk right through it, into a car, past the gates, onto the highway. Just...go home.

As you flinch at the pitter patter of the rain hitting the building, a short burst of thunder, you try to inch your way closer to the doors but the closer you get, the more you can remember. The more you can feel.

The rain gets louder, and louder. It's cold, although you recall it being 90 degrees and in the middle of the desert. It must just be you.

Putting your folder away and into your bag, the automatic doors open for you, but it's too hard to step through. Staring out into the open landscape, the dividing border of the desert land and the gates surrounding the base. The dry ground now turning muddy, trucks driving by and the mud swelling up at the change in pressure, soldiers rushing through the rain, kicking up mud, flicking up umbrellas.

Breathing deeply, you scuff your shoes forwards, feeling the first drop hit your skin, it's warm, but it's no comfort. Gasping at the feeling, you stumble back into the building, the automatic doors closing.

Short gasps of breath quietly leave you, your nails burrow into the skin of your forearm, you stare at the rain as it pelts at the ground, flooding pot holes and falling into storm drains.

The automatic door opens again, you back up, shifting to the side, as an officer gives you a strange look as he walks past and into the rain.

Your hesitance to proceed into the rain was noticed by a few in the main lobby. Like Kyle, who still stood in his mission uniform, dropping off his reports to the main desk, getting off the elevator to see you staring up at the cloudy sky.

His eyes widening in shock, he's lost in his own world when he begins to take steps towards you, lips parting in disbelief, voice cracking as he breathes out to say, to beg or plead for forgiveness.

The automatic door opens again as you shuffle forwards to try to step outside, he doesn't fully notice your fear of the weather when he speaks.

"(Y/n)..."

You turn at the sound of your name and his eyes flicker to the large scar along your cheek, the red of your eye still, that had changed the color of your iris, maybe permanently. The way you hold your bag tight in your hands as if to shield it from the rain before yourself.

You don't say anything, he hadn't expected you to. You stare at him, surprised to see him, then the expression changes to terror, brows pulling inward and hands sinking into your bag to bring it closer. His heart aching at your reaction to him, his lips pressing together, he doesn't know if she should say another thing. Just let you go.

"(Y/n), I..." he can't help himself as he continues, breathlessly.

You back away from him, out of the building and into the rain. The moment it hits your back, soaking through your shirt, rain hitting the top of your head, down your back, you tense up and spin around.

Kyle's brows furrow, before worriedly witnessing as you curl into yourself instantly, crying out in terror, your hands coming up and over your head. "(Y/n)!"

Realizing what you'd done, your back hits the glass doorway, too late for the doorway to register you wanting to come back inside. You stumble to the corner of the building, just next to the doorway and under the too small gutter to find any shelter from the pelting water at your skin.

A loud sob leaves you, squeezing your eyes shut, you can feel the torture starting again, the unbearable freeze of your limbs, the force of crashing pounds of water along your spine. The screams they would pull from you...

Your torment lasts only a few seconds, suddenly the rain stops, but the sound continues around you. A coat settling around your shoulders and over your head, Kyle's hands on your shoulders, he's yelling over the thunder. "Come on, let's get you out of this. Come on, (Y/n)," he takes your arms. "Let me help you, please!"

"You did this," you cried. "I told you. I told you it wasn't me. But, you kept turning it back on! And then you'd leave it like that and it drove me fucking insane. I'll never be ok again, I can't--" hyperventilating. "Don't touch me, Kyle."

Kyle swallows thickly, head hanging low, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment before leaning down to you. "I can't leave you here like this, please, love," he hauls you up to your feet. You shove him back, pressing yourself further into the corner, shaking, "(Y/n)--"

"Don't put your fucking hands on me. What don't you get, huh?" you spat. Pulling off the jacket he'd placed over you, tensing at ever drop of rain that fell over you after, but you toss it back at him. "I don't want anything from you. Never again."

"I'm sorry," Kyle clutches the jacket. "I'm so bloody sorry. I'm sorry for every damn thing I'd ever done to you. I'm sorry we didn't listen. I should've never done that to you. I didn't want to, I just--I thought I was doing the right thing for all of us," his voice breaks and he cries under the rain as his little sister, his family, hatefully stares him down. "I thought you'd give in, that it'd be over as quick as it started! I'm sorry I couldn't trust that you were telling the truth all that time."

"I don't want your apology!" you yell. "Cause you'll never know the same feeling. You'll never understand what you've taken from me. What you've done to me--" hiccupping painfully.

Kyle looks away from you, inhaling with a shudder, reddening eyes are covered as he raises his hands to run over his face.

"Your apologies. Your wishes for forgiveness," you seethe. " You should keep them. They mean nothing to me."

With that, you shove on past him, re-entering the building and rushing down the hallway, you turn the corner away from Kyle. Leaving the distraught man out in the rain, the automatic door sliding closed as he looks on after you.

Part 5 OUT NOW!

[astonmartinii]

but daddy i love him [guilty as sin part two] | charles leclerc social media au

pairing: charles leclerc x fem sainz!reader

when an unstoppable force (the sainz men when they feel aggrieved) meets an immovable object (charles and y/n)

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

carlossainz55

liked by landonorris, marcmarquez93 and 783,409 others

carlossainz55: never forget where you came from

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user100: insert cricket noises here

user101: who on your PR team said this was a good idea?

user102: they need to be fired, sorry not sorry

landonorris: i love your dad (tell him to stop beating me at golf)

carlossainz55: if he never lets me win he's definitely never letting you win

landonorris: so unfair i thought i was the third sainz sibling :(

carlossainz55: i'm an only child

landonorris: oh-

user103: i need this man to choke i'm being so serious rn

user104: that's so unbelievably fucked

user105: the fact his dad is probably co-signing this shit is insane that's YOUR DAUGHTER

user106: also someone give lando a lil slap around he's on the wrong side of history on this one

yourusername: scandal does funny things to pride

carlossainz55: if the scandal is betraying your family that's all you

yourusername: if we're talking about betrayal then that's your specialist subject mr. i've cheated on every girl i've ever been with - and while we're on the topic of betrayal, yes i was the one who told them

carlossainz55: i've never cheated why are you stooping to lies?

yourusername: you did it right in front of my face when i was a part of this family

carlossainz55: so you've always been comfortable going behind my back

yourusername: that's the thing, when you're treated like you don't exist by your family you learn that blood is not thicker than water

carlossainz55: i can't wait for charles to cheat on you

yourusername: btw i already called marca, they know any of those allegations from you or dad are false - good luck!

user10: obvs i know they should be doing this in private but MORE DRAMA FOR ME BABY LETS KEEP THIS GOING

user107: thank you for the validation y/n i KNEW THE SHIT STIRRING COMING FROM THAT PAPER WAS THE SAINZ CAMP

user108: and they've got the nerve to be talking about stooping - the call is coming from inside the house

maxverstappen1: ugly twins

carlossainz55: really?

maxverstappen1: i said what i said and i mean what i said

carlossainz55: i would say she's not going to fuck you bro but you really never know with her

maxverstappen1: she would never, homewrecking is a trait only the male sainzs seem to have

user109: OOP

user110: max is a real lestappen queen fighting the battles he knows charles can't

yourusername

liked by pierregasly, maxverstappen1 and 893,405 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: if you know within one glimpse, its legendary

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user114: i love how she goes from fighting her brother in one comment section to just showing off her hot bf

user115: tbf charles does have a face you'd go to war for so i get her

user116: i'd abandon my family for that face

yourusername: finally someone who fucking gets it

charles_leclerc: you made me believe in love at first sight

yourusername: awwwwww you're such a sweet talker the REAL smooth operator

pierregasly: i can verify it was love at first sight cause the man did not SHUT THE FUCK UP about you well... ever

charles_leclerc: is it a crime to love my girlfriend?

pierregasly: apparently!

yourusername: he's too cute to go to jail :(

charles_leclerc: they'd ruin me

yourusername: that's my job 🤨

pierregasly: you keep that to yourselves

user117: does this girl need to shade carlos on every single fucking post... yeah we get it he's the only reason you're relevant but god you reek of desperation

oscarpiastri: is this carlos' burner account?

user118: are the grid just sat around waiting to be tagged in to the fight against carlos?

oscarpiastri: what's he going to do? crash into me? he does that every weekend anyway

user119: uh oh carlos oscar is finally fighting back off track what are you going to do

user120: don't worry i'm sure he'll post a selfie with lando and try the whole carlando shtick to get some more PR points

maxverstappen1: oh this was not the shit slinging post i was hoping for

yourusername: something tells me you're having way too much fun with this

maxverstappen1: yeah you might have been abandoned by your family but have YOU considered that this is letting me express all my mean girl energy off track so i am level-headed on track

maxverstappen1: actually i don't even think i'm being mean tbf

yourusername: i'm glad my suffering could be your therapy

carlossainz55: BOO HOO you're not suffering ... it's something called the consequences of your actions (read: actions being a snakey slut)

yourusername: bro over here acting like i committed fratricide

maxverstappen1: TAP ME IN

maxverstappen1: not this man talking about the consequences of actions. kids, here's a little life lesson: if you spend all your time at your current job talking about how you have a much better job waiting for you and how you're too big for this job and plant stories about your co-workers, you can't be surprised that that same job doesn't want to keep you

carlossainz55: i am better than charles

yourusername: lying is a sin

maxverstappen1: and you're going straight to hell

user121: you guys might be mourning the loss of charlos (whatever the fuck that is) but i'm celebrating the absolute shit ton of LESTAPPEN we're getting

user122: max was like oh my bff is dating charles here's my excuse to be nice about him again

user123: if we're being real here the biggest crime of this whole situation is the fact that charles can't really dig the knife in

user124: @ silvia i have maybe £4.50 and a greggs sausage roll to my name but PLEASE LET CHARLES TAP IN

f1

liked by charles_leclerc, oscarpiastri and 1,298,006 others

tagged: oscarpiastri & carlossainz55

f1: f1... the sport that gives you just as much drama off track as we do on track!

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user125: at this point even before the whole carlos ousting his sister i think oscar was about 👌🏻 this close to rocking carlos nascar style we should let him do it

user126: i will personally pay his legal fees tbh

oscarpiastri: i'm only 23 i don't need two F1-related legal cases to my name

yourusername: i've watched legally blonde about ten billion times let me represent you

oscarpiastri: yeah sounds legit

user127: THAT'S IT WE NEED PROXIMITY CHAT IN F1

user128: the way we know there was a shit talking session like no other after this race

maxverstappen1: i don't kiss and tell but well - yes!

user128: okay since this is clearly a safe space... who was there please spill mr. verstappen

maxverstappen1: ME! charles, pierre, oscar, checo, alex and george!

user128: why the fuck were the last two there?

georgerussell63: i was on official GDPA duty 🤓

alexalbon: that's a lie we're just very nosey

yourusername: they're the biggest PTA moms ever don't even lie

georgerussell63: yes i'll make allergy friendly cupcakes for the bake sale but i'll also spit in them and gossip about your cheating husband - sorry about it!

alexalbon: he's not

georgerussell63: i'm not

user129: carlos slagging off y/n but she's really brought the grid together

user130: george and alex being like we do not care about that but we do want the latest scoop

alexalbon: oh don't get it twisted we're firmly team y/n

user131: we even got the f1 admin in on the drama

carlossainz55: she's probably fucking them as well

yourusername: BORING get a new bit babe

carlossainz55: if i see whore i'm going to say whore

yourusername: aren't you still in that damn stewards office?

carlossainz55: tell your little lap dog to keep his front wing away from my car and maybe i wouldn't

oscarpiastri: suck my dick

yourusername: now that's true poetry

user132: oH!

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 763,409 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, logansargent & oscarpiastri

yourusername: florida !!!!!!!!!!! is one hell of a drug. no seriously what is in the water here i keep picking up these little guys everywhere i go

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user135: she's really like i AM spanish and i will colonise this grid

user136: stealing all the lil cuties for her cause

oscarpiastri: proud to be a part of this weird little circus thing we've got going on

yourusername: oh dibs on ring master

logansargent: i feel like my name is written all over tight rope walking

yourusername: okay yes skinny legend

maxverstappen1: obvs we're a cruelty free circus so no lions but if there were lions, that's me babe

maxverstappen1: SOME people could learn... cough, cough trophy hunters

charles_leclerc: idk i'll just take the one where i can sit there and be pretty

yourusername: and you would be the best at it

oscarpiastri: which one does the least? i'll take that one

user137: bro can we slow the fuck down i was just getting over osc telling carlos to suck his dick now we're talking CIRCUS?

user138: for real couldn't it have at least been cabaret i wanna see ALL of that

charles_leclerc: 🤨

carlossainz55: i think a circus is a perfect way to describe your desperate attempt to stay relevant

yourusername: don't you have a job to go to? oh wait...

carlossainz55: as if i'm threatened by a group with the likes of logan sargent in it

logansargent: bit harsh, i'm a nice guy (unlike some)

yourusername: carlos here's a little bit of a wild thing i'm about to introduce to you.... people have friends?

yourusername: also you WISH you had a face card like logie

carlossainz55: i have friends?

yourusername: no you have PR strategies, there's a difference

carlossainz55: bro learnt the word PR and ran with it

yourusername: tell me one person who would let you crash on their couch?

yourusername: QUICKLY.

fernandoalo_oficial: and don't even think about mentioning me

user139: she hit him with the bianca del rio

user140: OOP and also nando just popping up out of nowhere to diss carlos and never say anything again

charles_leclerc: the drug in question being puppy fever

maxverstappen1: tell me you didn't get a dog

yourusername: boy do i have news for you

carlossainz55: are you trying to baby trap him

yourusername: first woman in history to birth a dog you heard it here first

charles_leclerc: you simply can't be babytrapped when you would literally jump off a bridge if asked to

user141: @myboyfriend TAKE NOTES HONEY ^^^

charles_leclerc

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 1,745,093 others

tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri

charles_leclerc: two kids in one month? someone stop us

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user142: y/n really lost an apartment and a brother and gained about 27 f1 drivers and a dog

user143: glow up of the century some might say

liked by charles_leclerc

yourusername: soz it's a coping mechanism

charles_leclerc: and that's okay <3

maxverstappen1: anything to help with that emotional CONSTIPATION

yourusername: have you tried to live with those narcissistic and emotionally unavailable men?

maxverstappen1: you're asking the wrong person that question honey

yourusername: girl are WE good?

maxverstappen1: no

yourusername: BUT THAT'S OKAY

charles_leclerc: not to rain on this parade but i think therapy would really be a positive move here

user144: i feel bad for charles cause i know these hoes are the type to just tell each other EXACTLYYYYY when they make poor decisions

maxverstappen1: true, no smart bitches would let their bff live with THAT man

yourusername: and let their bff constantly chat shit and ruin their image

maxverstappen1: can't ruin my image if i'm spitting FACTS

user145: max will nawt let this go

maxverstappen1: i'll forget you but i'll never forgive the smallest man who ever lived

yourusername: GIRL

maxverstappen1: whoops, one sec. spoiler alert: y/n unleased poetry. trigger warning: c*rlos s*inz

olliebearman: ollie bearman erasure

charles_leclerc: GASP OLLIE I AM SO SORRY

yourusername: no he actually is he's crying

charles_leclerc: it's the pregnancy hormones

olliebearman: it's okay i swear

charles_leclerc: I'M A TERRIBLE FATHER

carlossainz55: i could've told you that for free

olliebearman: why are you in our family buisness

user146: charles is channelling all of his carlos rage through ollie oh my

olliebearman: i am a happy conduit for my father who is in the ferrari PR jail

yourusername: can we send carlos here and throw away the key?

user147: charles is really out there like keep my girl's name out of your mouth cause even the bitch who stole your seat for a weekend is my SON

user148: y/n wasn't joking about with this grid domination

user149: but also i'm glad all of this fun stuff is happening amongst all of the shit that's been thrown at her from her family

oscarpiastri: a leclerc and proud (i race like my dad and throw shade like my mum)

yourusername: the best way to be

charles_leclerc: proud of you, you're such a good dog brother :)

oscarpiastri: i've just learnt to be patient after alpine and lando

yourusername: you still took your shoes being leo's personal bathroom really well

oscarpiastri: he's too cute to be mad at

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen, charles_leclerc and 824,109 others

tagged: charles_leclerc

yourusername: first mother's day with my boys

view all comments

user150: gonna enjoy this super wholesome post before... he... ruins it

user151: manifesting a y/n post without that bitter old hag in the comment section

charles_leclerc: the best mother for our fur baby and our miscellaneous other children

yourusername: only the best with you :(

charles_leclerc: ugh i love you so much

yourusername: i love you even more

user152: they're so fucking cute

user153: damn carlos i too would be angry if my baby sister and my teammate outshined my third PR relationship in six months

user154: the sainz family have generational levels of hating, but one does it for good (poetry) and one does it for bad (anything carlos ever says)

oscarpiastri: happiest mother's day to my grid mum! here's to reading them to filth xx

yourusername: OSC!! i always knew you were my favourite aussie

danielricciardo: did my enchante PR mean nothing?

yourusername: i mean i wear it all of the time... but it's osc ...

danielricciardo: true, i broke my hand before i could even think of accidentally hurting him

user155: also babe is looking so unbothered, moisturised and free we need the skin care routine

oscarpiastri: the tears of carlos sainz

yourusername: and cleansing your life of toxic family members

user156: okay clearly oscar was done with the whole "i'm so chill" bit cause since his adoption by charles and y/n he's been non stop on carlos' neck

oscarpiastri: i'm a ride or die for my mum cry about it

maxverstappen1: as the kids would say ... mother is mothering? @olliebearman did i do it right?

charles_leclerc: stop trying to steal my kids

maxverstappen1: BRO I'M TRYING TO COMPLIMENT YOUR GIRLFRIEND

charles_leclerc: that's literally my job 🤨

yourusername: tbf i'll take as many compliments as i can

charles_leclerc: are mine not enough?

yourusername: when you've got a self esteem this low, you gotta take what you can get

charles_leclerc: oh :(

user157: max and y/n fighting over who trauma dumps more about their upbringing

carlossainz55: this bit is very tiring. you'll be a terrible mother and all these people you think are your friends will drop you as soon as they know who you really are.

yourusername: you done?

carlossainz55: as you loveeeee to point out, i don't have much to lose anymore so i really wouldn't test me

yourusername: trying to make me homeless and stealing all of my money wasn't enough?

carlossainz55: charles will know the truth soon enough and you won't have us to come crying to

yourusername: i'll take those chances thank you

user158: hold ON what do you mean stole all her money

yourusername: i was never allowed my own bank account so all my earnings have gone to them!

user159: okay that's it WE RIDE AT DAWN

fin.

note: oh girl life has been BUSY!!! i just got a new job and have been looking desperately for a flat to move out to. also i've had family visiting and going here, there and everywhere. but i hope you enjoy! this was a lil more light-hearted lol (until the end) so enjoy the addition of the leclerc family lore xx

ALSO i wanted to say a massive THANK YOU FOR 6,000 FOLLOWERS love you all <3

note: hiii extra note from me here. first, i will fix this tag list at some point idk why it's not working rn. secondly, i have been made aware by multiple people that there is a series just like this one down to characters and the name of the series on here and i can't lie i'm bummed about it. as i said on the first part (?) this is an idea i've had since the release of TTPD (and people will back me up on this) so it bums me out that there are blatant copies coming out! i'm all for inspiration but sometimes there's a difference between taking inspo and copying especially when my masterlist was posted ages ago and my first part was posted on the 9th of may.... anyways that's all i have to say! enjoy xx

taglist: in comments!

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: Please Let Me Live - Vil Schoenheit x reader

You get isekai'd into the worst novel you've had the misfortune of reading because apparently your life is a cosmic joke. Now all you have to do is not act like the character you've possessed and it'll be fine, you think? Your fiancé being Vil Schoenheit makes it a little harder to behave like a human being with functional braincells, but hey, atleast he likes you, you think?

Series Masterlist

You'd avoided it for so long. For months, your best friend had been pestering you to read the shoujo isekai novel of the year. According to them, it was the epitome of romantic drama, the kind that would "turn your heart into a mess of feelings" and "change your life." So, finally, after a particularly grueling week, your willpower hit rock bottom. You caved. You bought it, poured yourself a drink, and figured, "How bad can it be?"

Turns out, really bad.

You’d barely made it past the first few chapters before your brain began to leak out of your ears. Every overused villainess plot point imaginable was crammed into the story like a contest of "how much nonsense can we fit in here before the reader gives up?" The evil fiancée everyone inexplicably hated? Check. The perfect cinnamon roll male lead everyone adored even though he had the personality of wet cardboard? Double check. The heroine who was so pure that even her sneeze would be enough to unite warring nations who also happens to be the saintess? You had to put the book down and take a moment when she gave a speech about friendship that was so saccharine, your teeth hurt.

Grumbling and filled with regret, you got up to refill your drink… only to slip on bubble wrap you swore yesterday that you were going to pick up later, fall face-first into the kitchen counter, and began to bleed out.

It was a comically stupid way to die. You knew that as you lay there, watching the light fade from your vision, your last thoughts being, This is the dumbest thing that’s ever happened to me.

And then, darkness.

You woke up with a groan, your head pounding. As your vision cleared, you noticed you were lying in a very, very fancy bed. Silk sheets, gold trimming on the canopy, the works. And you were dressed in something frilly, layered, and far too complicated for someone who just woke up from a near-death experience.

"What the…"

You sat up, rubbing your eyes, only to freeze as the realization hit you. This was not your bed. This was not your apartment. This was… Oh god, no.

You whipped your head around the lavish room, recognizing it from the novel you’d been hate-reading just last night. The massive mirror above the dresser, the tapestry with an overly detailed family crest, the obnoxiously large bouquet of roses that smelled way too sweet.

You’re in the book.

Panicking, you scrambled out of bed and rushed to the full-length mirror by the wall. The reflection staring back at you was not your own. Instead, you saw an unfamiliar face—her face. The one mentioned once, maybe twice, in the whole novel before being discarded like an old shoe: the betrothed of the villain.

The fiancée who dumps him for the male lead. The fiancée who gets themselves killed in the process.

“Oh, come on!” you groaned, slapping your forehead. “I’m the villain’s betrothed? I’m that idiot who leaves Vil Schoenheit because I fall for the human incarnation of a sugar cube?”

But there was no escaping it. You were now stuck in the body of a side character so irrelevant that even her death was treated as an afterthought. The one who leaves her handsome, ambitious, gorgeous fiancé for… Neige.

No. No, no, no. You were not about to die over a soggy cinnamon roll.

Determined to change your fate, you gathered your wits and opened the door to leave the room. But of course, you ran headlong into a tall figure, knocking you both back.

“Oof! Careful there!” a smooth, yet stern voice said. You looked up—and froze. Standing before you, looking like something straight out of a high-fashion magazine, was Vil Schoenheit. The man whose heart you were supposed to break, the villain who would later descend into madness after you ditch him.

And wow. In person, he was even more stunning than the novel had described. His golden-blond hair shimmered in the sunlight pouring through the window, his purple eyes were as sharp as they were beautiful, and his posture screamed confidence.

You blinked up at him, utterly dumbfounded. You’re supposed to leave him? For Neige? You nearly gagged at the thought.

Vil raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by your wide-eyed staring. “Is something the matter?”

You gulped. Right. You were supposed to be cold and dismissive toward him, weren’t you? But how? This man looked like he could make the heavens weep with his beauty. How had your character ever even considered leaving him?

“No, nothing’s the matter!” you blurted out, a little too enthusiastically. “Actually, everything’s great! You look fantastic! I mean, not that you don’t always look fantastic—because you do—but, you know, extra fantastic today!”

Vil’s eyes narrowed. “You’re acting strange.”

Abort. Abort!

You quickly cleared your throat. “Uh, I’ve just been… thinking. About us.”

His gaze became sharper. “About us?”

You nodded, plastering on your most sincere smile. “Yes! I’ve realized… I haven’t been very, uh, appreciative of you lately. And I’m sorry for that. Really, I am. So from now on, I’ll be the most appreciative fiancée ever!”

Vil looked at you as though you’d just told him the sun was cold. He clearly didn’t trust this sudden change in attitude. “What exactly brought this on?” he asked slowly, suspiciously.

Time for Plan B. “Oh, you know, just… reflection! Self-improvement! I thought, ‘Why would I ever look anywhere else when I’ve got someone like *you* right in front of me?’ You’re… amazing, really.” You cringed internally at how corny that sounded, but Vil didn’t seem entirely put off.

“Hm,” was all he said, but his piercing gaze stayed locked on you, watching for any sign of deceit.

You were sweating bullets, but at least he wasn’t storming off. Yet.

You knew from the moment you read the back cover that this novel was going to be a dumpster fire of clichés, but you were not prepared for the sheer chaos of it all.

So, first off, we have the heroine—the Saintess—who has somehow never faced a single hardship in her life, despite the fact that she’s supposed to be the kingdom’s beacon of virtue and a symbol of overcoming hardship. She’s engaged to the crown prince, who conveniently disappears on a diplomatic mission and dies offscreen, probably to make room for her new love interest, Neige LeBlanche. Neige. That sparkly ray of sunshine who is so perfect and pure that you feel like you need sunglasses whenever his name is mentioned. Because apparently, what’s more romantic than falling for a guy immediately after your fiancé kicks the bucket?

Then there’s the second male lead, the brooding Duke of the North, who checks all the boxes: tall, brooding, handsome, tragic backstory—yawn. Of course, he’s madly in love with the Saintess, and like any self-respecting second male lead in a trashy romance, he sacrifices himself for her later. Because nothing says “I’m irrelevant” quite like noble self-sacrifice.

And don't even get started on the heroine's best friend. She’s basically there to fawn over the Saintess and then inexplicably fall for Vil, the Grand Duke, after she pressures him into apologizing for insulting the heroine's dress. Like, why? Was his dress critique that alluring?

Now, Vil Schoenheit. The Grand Duke. The guy you’re currently stuck with as your fiancé. He’s actually a decent character—powerful, intelligent, not falling over himself to worship the Saintess like everyone else. But in the novel, he’s wasted. Why? Because he’s engaged to the character you’re now possessing—Miss Mean and Cold—who treats him like dirt because she’s too busy fantasizing about Neige. You know, the guy she has no shot with because he’s destined to fall for the Saintess. Then, when your character eventually dumps Vil for Neige, she dies in a freak accident. Vil, who actually loved her (for reasons no one understands), is so heartbroken that he turns into the main villain.

Yes, that’s right—this whole mess of a plot ends with Vil going full villain mode because the love of his life ditched him for the living embodiment of a children’s snowman and then died in a way that no one can explain. Cue the Saintess and Neige teaming up to defeat him and live happily ever after.

And that’s the story. A tangled web of nonsensical relationships, conveniently dead characters, and more emotional whiplash than you can handle. And the cherry on top? You're stuck in it, watching everything unfold firsthand. It's honestly a wonder the book didn’t end up as kindling.

A few days passed, and somehow, miraculously, you managed to keep up the act. Every morning you would wake up, still half-expecting to snap out of this bizarre isekai nightmare, but instead, you were met with Vil’s meticulous morning routine and the low hum of his voice offering helpful reminders about skincare.

And the more time you spent with him, the more baffled you became.

How the hell could the original character have messed this up?!

Sure, Vil was particular—okay, maybe borderline obsessive—about appearances. His lectures about proper sunscreen application could rival the length of the Odyssey. And yes, the daily inspections of your outfit choices felt a little like going through customs at a royal border.

But… he was kind? Like, actually caring?

Every meal was an event because he made sure you were eating properly and not just shoving random food into your mouth like the gremlin you clearly were before. He listened when you rambled about your day, offering advice with this gentle patience that honestly made you want to weep. How could anyone leave this?

You found yourself in front of a mirror one afternoon, pacing and gesturing wildly at your reflection, as if you could summon the spirit of the character you’d possessed. "What the actual hell was wrong with you?!" you hissed at the glass. “What kind of brain rot would make someone ditch a man like Vil?! Are you missing brain cells, or was your skull just a rental with nothing in it?!”

You paused, glaring at your reflection as if it could offer answers, but nope. It just stared back, helpless.

“Like, hello?!” you continued, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “You had a golden opportunity here! He’s literally gorgeous! He’s got hair that looks like it was hand-spun by some ancient beauty god, his fashion sense could kill a lesser mortal, and he—*gasp*—cares about your well-being?!”

You slapped your forehead dramatically. “How did you mess this up? Were you allergic to good things? Did you wake up every day and choose to be a feral raccoon instead of, I don’t know, appreciating this actual masterpiece of a human being? What, did you look at his perfect face and go, ‘Nah, I’d rather yeet myself into self-destruction?’ Because clearly, that’s what happened!”

Your reflection remained silent, offering no help, which only fueled your rant further.

“You absolute donut! You ridiculous bottle of poorly mixed potion! You—” You stopped mid-sentence, running out of sufficiently creative insults to throw at the former owner of this body. Because seriously, what kind of fool would’ve thrown Vil away?

You gripped the sides of the vanity table, leaning forward, narrowing your eyes at your own reflection. "If I find out that you gave up on this because he once asked you to wear a face mask or told you to drink more water… I swear, I'm going to find a way to repossess you just to kill you again for making me deal with this."

A soft knock at the door startled you out of your self-directed tirade. You nearly jumped out of your skin, spinning around to see Vil standing in the doorway, one perfectly groomed eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Talking to yourself again?” he asked, his voice smooth but with a teasing edge. “You know, that’s usually a sign of stress. Perhaps we should revisit that meditation routine I mentioned.”

You stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless, wondering how much he’d overheard. But then you caught sight of that soft smile he reserved just for you, and your brain short-circuited all over again.

Right. The original character was definitely an idiot.

The first major hurdle hit you when you least expected it.

It all started with what should have been a calm afternoon—a brief moment of peace where you and Vil could actually spend time together, no schemes, no weird confrontations, just enjoying tea. You were finally getting comfortable with each other, slowly building the trust that had been so fragile at the start. Finally, you thought, things were moving smoothly.

Then the overused villainess trope decided to rear its ugly head.

Vil was talking about an upcoming event he’d be hosting, his voice calm, his usual stern features softened just slightly by the moment of peace. You were finally letting your guard down.

That was until the door creaked open and in waltzed the heroine’s best friend, a girl with wide, doe-like eyes and a penchant for stirring up unnecessary drama. Behind her, looming in the doorway, was the second male lead—your eternal source of frustration from the novel. He was tall, brooding, and always, always popping up at the most inconvenient moments. A defeated looking Epel walked in behind them, with a look that screamed 'trust me I tried to stop them.'

“Oh no,” you whispered under your breath, recognizing this scene before it could even play out. You knew what was coming, and you braced yourself for the utter absurdity of it.

Vil’s sharp gaze flicked from the two intruders back to you, his brows furrowing in mild irritation. “What is it now?” he muttered, already sensing the impending nonsense.

The heroine’s friend, ever the bringer of chaos, marched right up to your table with a dramatic flair that could only come from someone who believed they were the only purveyor of justice. “I can’t stay quiet any longer!” she declared, pointing an accusatory finger in Vil’s direction. “Vil, how could you treat the heroine this way?! You’ve been so cold, so distant—and it’s clear that you don’t truly care for anyone but yourself!”

You blinked. Excuse me?

Vil’s lips pursed, the irritation growing on his face. “And what, pray tell, did I do?”

“You know what you did!” she exclaimed, crossing her arms like she’d just delivered the most damning statement in history. “You’ve been ignoring her, brushing her off, and acting like she doesn’t even exist. She’s heartbroken because of you!”

You groaned internally. Oh no, this was that scene. The one where, because Vil once made an offhand comment about the heroine’s poor choice in dresses at a ball, suddenly he was painted as some cruel villain who was emotionally tormenting the delicate heroine. It was such an incredibly stupid misunderstanding that you distinctly remembered wanting to throw the book across the room when you’d first read it.

To make matters worse, the second male lead, standing silently but brooding in the doorway, was glowering at Vil like he was ready to challenge him to a duel at any moment. Because of a comment about a dress.

“Are you serious?” you blurted out, the frustration bubbling up before you could stop yourself.

The heroine’s friend gasped, her eyes wide. “Excuse me?!”

“Let me get this straight,” you said, rising from your seat with a groan, “you’re upset because Vil, what, didn’t shower her with praise at the last event? And now you’ve decided to come in here, storming into our tea time, to complain about it?”

The second male lead’s brooding scowl deepened, his jaw tightening. “Vil has been cruel—”

“About a dress.” You cut him off, waving your hand dismissively. “Vil made one comment about her dress. That’s it. And now we’re doing this whole song and dance like he’s some kind of evil tyrant?”

The room was already tense, the heroine’s best friend visibly fuming, but you couldn’t help it. The words just came out before you could stop them.

“And while we’re at it,” you said, your voice dripping with mock innocence, “let’s talk about that dress. You know, the one you’re all so upset about. I mean, I’m no fashion expert, but who in their right mind thought wearing that shade of mustard-yellow was a good idea?”

The friend’s mouth fell open, but you weren’t finished. “I mean, she walked into the ballroom looking like a sad banana trying to go to a high society function. I get it—saintess and all that—but there’s no reason to dress like the interior of an overripe cantaloupe.”

Vil made a choking sound next to you, and you dared to glance at him. His eyes were wide with shock, but there was an unmistakable glint of amusement. Oh, he wasn’t pleased with the crudeness, but he definitely wasn’t going to stop you either.

“And you,” you said, turning to the second male lead, who had been standing there like a silent, brooding statue, just staring at the two of you menacingly. “What’s your excuse? You came in here with all this brooding energy, acting like you’re about to duel someone over the fate of the heroine. But seriously, what’s with your whole tragic hero act? Is your personality just permanent raincloud or do you practice that in the mirror?”

Vil covered his mouth with his hand, and you could see his shoulders shaking slightly. He was losing the battle to keep his composure, but he was trying—for dignity’s sake, of course.

Epel, on the other hand, had completely given up. The moment you’d said “sad banana,” he had fallen off his chair, doubled over in laughter, his face red as he clutched his sides. You weren’t sure if it was your insults or the second male lead’s thunderstruck expression, but either way, Epel was in hysterics.

“I—” the heroine’s friend sputtered, but you interrupted her again.

“Oh, and you.” You looked her up and down with a condescending smirk. “You really want to talk about fashion? Because I don’t know who told you that wearing ruffles with plaid was a look, but they were wrong. You’re out here looking like you got lost in a fabric store and fell into the clearance bin.”

This time, Vil snorted. Actually snorted. The sound was so out of place that it almost derailed your tirade, but you powered through, buoyed by his reaction.

The second male lead looked like he was ready to explode, his aura now bordering on murderous. “You can’t just—”

“Oh, can’t I?” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Because it seems like all of you came in here with the intent to stir up drama over something as trivial as a constructive remark. If you’re going to go to war over fashion, at least wear something that doesn’t look like you picked it out with your eyes closed. Scratch that, I couldn’t imagine picking that up even with my eyes closed.”

By now, Epel was rolling on the floor, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. “C-couldn’t pick it out… with your eyes closed!” he wheezed, slapping his knee.

Vil, despite himself, let out a low giggle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Well,” he said, his voice steady but filled with mirth, “I suppose subtlety was never your strong suit.”

The heroine’s friend, now red-faced and flustered beyond belief, grabbed the second male lead by the arm and yanked him toward the door. “This isn’t over,” she spat, glaring at you. “We’ll see who’s laughing when the heroine—”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved dismissively, “when the heroine what? Realizes she’s been pining for someone who can't tell mustard from elegance? Trust me, I’m not worried.”

With that, they both stormed out, slamming the door behind them in a huff of embarrassment and frustration. The second they were gone, you let out a breath and sank back into your chair, grinning at Vil, who was now openly smiling.

“You really didn’t hold back, did you?” Vil said, his amusement evident despite his usual calm demeanor. “I don’t approve of such… crude insults, but I must admit—” his lips twitched— “it was rather effective.”

Epel, still recovering from his laughing fit, managed to haul himself back into his seat, wiping tears from his eyes. “That was… that was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said between gasps for air. “I can’t believe ya said that right to their faces!”

“Glad to be of service,” you said with a grin, though your heart was still pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe you’d actually said all of that out loud. But judging by Vil’s pleased expression and Epel’s ongoing laughter, it had been worth it.

Maybe surviving this trash novel wouldn’t be so bad after all.

You’d barely had time to process how bizarrely normal your life as the villain’s fiancée had become when the next absurd isekai plot point decided to rear its ugly, trope-filled head again.

It all started at yet another lavish tea party. Honestly, you’d begun to lose track of how many of these events you were forced to attend. They all blurred together into a haze of polite smiles, floral patterns, and far too much sugar.

This time, you were seated next to Vil, who, as always, looked like he had just stepped out of a renaissance painting. You, on the other hand, were trying not to spill tea on the new dress he’d insisted you wear. The dress itself was lovely, of course—Vil had impeccable taste—but the whole setting made you feel like you were constantly walking on eggshells. Especially since she was here. The heroine.

Today, though, you were determined to get through it without any drama. Just smile, nod, and let the heroine do her thing. Easy, right?

Wrong.

Everything had been going smoothly, too. The heroine, in all her sunshiney glory, was seated at the table, surrounded by her usual group of admirers. You had been doing a great job of fading into the background until someone—the hostess, perhaps?—brought up your previous adventures.

“Oh, didn’t you once accompany the Grand Duke to deal with that bandit problem on the eastern border?” the hostess asked, fanning herself with interest. “What a thrilling ordeal!”

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, feeling the weight of too many eyes on you. “Well, I wouldn’t say thrilling exactly…” you began, trying to downplay it, but your nerves had other ideas. “I mean, the heroine here was probably off rescuing some poor lost puppy while I was just, you know, holding down the real danger.”

The air went cold.

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. The table fell silent, save for the quiet clinking of teacups being set down. Every eye was on you. The heroine’s wide, eyes blinked at you, full of hurt and confusion. And across from you, the second male lead—Mr. Tall, Dark, and Brooding—looked like he was ready to leap across the table and strangle you on the spot.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Why did you leave your filter at home?

You opened your mouth to apologize, but before you could, the second male lead slammed his cup down on the table, the porcelain rattling ominously. “You dare insult her honor?!” he roared, rising from his seat like some kind of vengeful storm cloud. “I will not stand for this!”

*Why did I say that?* You cringed internally, face turning a bright shade of crimson. "I-it was a joke—"

“No,” he declared dramatically, pointing a finger at you. “I demand satisfaction! A duel for her honor!”

You were still too stunned to respond, your brain scrambling to make sense of the situation. A duel? Over this? All you’d implied was that the heroine wasn’t exactly… battle-hardened. Surely that wasn’t duel-worthy? This man was acting like you’d called his mother a turnip or something worse.

The heroine, ever the epitome of grace, tried to intervene. “There’s no need for—”

But Mr. Broody wasn’t having it. “No! Her honor has been besmirched, and I shall defend it with my life!”

Vil, who had been watching this spectacle unfold with an expression of mild disgust, finally rose from his chair. His cool gaze swept over the table, landing on the second male lead with all the intensity of a snake about to strike.

“If anyone’s honor has been besmirched,” Vil said icily, “it’s mine. And I will not allow my betrothed to be disrespected by the likes of you.”

You blinked up at Vil, stunned. “Wait, you’re going to duel him? Yourself?”

Vil turned his piercing gaze to you, and though his face remained calm, there was a glimmer of something softer in his eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I would never entrust such a matter to anyone else. Besides…” His lips curled into a smirk. “It’s been a while since I’ve put an upstart in his place.”

You gulped, suddenly feeling a bit light-headed. Was it getting hot in here?

The second male lead, apparently unaware of just how screwed he was, smirked triumphantly. “Very well! Let’s settle this once and for all.”

The duel was set for the next day in your estate gardens. You spent the time leading up to it pacing back and forth in your chambers, wringing your hands in nervous anticipation. Somewhere along the way, you’d decided that you needed to do something—anything—to support Vil. So you had spent hours learning how to embroider a handkerchief, your fingers aching from the effort. By the time you finished, you were practically shaking, but you were proud of the result.

You didn’t expect Vil to be touched, let alone notice that you’d worked so hard. But when you handed him the handkerchief just before the duel, his eyes widened in surprise.

“You made this?” he asked, holding it delicately between his fingers, as if it were some priceless artifact.

You nodded sheepishly. “I figured, you know, for luck. Or to rub it in his face after you beat him. Whichever.”

Vil chuckled, his usually sharp expression softening. “Thank you,” he said, his voice low. He then noticed the small needle marks on your hands and frowned. “You hurt yourself.”

You quickly hid your hands behind your back. “It’s nothing! I mean, I’m fine. Just a few pricks here and there.”

Vil’s expression softened even further, and for a moment, he looked almost… touched. He carefully tucked the handkerchief into his coat pocket, a small but genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll be sure to put this to good use.”

You didn’t swoon. Well, maybe just a little.

The duel was, in a word, ridiculous.

The second male lead strutted around like a peacock, his sword gleaming in the afternoon sunlight as he swung it dramatically for the small crowd that had gathered. “Prepare yourself, Schoenheit!” he bellowed, pointing his sword at Vil.

Vil, on the other hand, looked utterly unimpressed. He barely glanced at the man before calmly removing his coat and handing it to you. “Hold this, will you?”

You took the coat with a nod, trying not to pass out from how effortlessly graceful he looked even in the midst of preparing for a fight.

The second male lead lunged forward with all the finesse of a drunken ox, his sword clashing loudly against Vil’s. For a moment, it looked like a real duel—until Vil, with a single fluid motion, disarmed the man in one clean strike. The second male lead’s sword went flying, landing in the bushes several feet away with a pathetic thud.

The crowd gasped, and you had to stifle a laugh. It had barely been five seconds, and the duel was already over.

The second male lead stood there, stunned, his hand frozen mid-air where his sword had been. He blinked once, twice, then turned bright red with embarrassment. “W-what?!”

Vil, ever composed, didn’t even break a sweat. He sheathed his sword and gave the man a cold, dismissive look. “This duel is over. Consider your demand for satisfaction... fulfilled. Now, kindly leave before you embarrass yourself further.”

You bit your lip, trying not to giggle as the second male lead sputtered and tried to come up with an excuse, but it was clear to everyone that he had been utterly humiliated. Even the heroine, standing off to the side, looked like she was struggling to keep a straight face.

As the second male lead stumbled off, defeated, Vil turned to you and offered his hand. “Shall we go?”

You took his hand, still trying to process how easily he had won. “You were amazing,” you blurted out, your heart fluttering as you gazed up at him. “Seriously, that was… wow.”

Vil smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching with amusement. “Of course I was.” He then leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And I expect a proper reward later for defending your honor.”

Your face went beet red, and you were pretty sure you’d forgotten how to breathe.

Yep, you thought as he led you away, his hand still in yours, surviving this trash novel might not be so bad after all.

It happened at one of those overly extravagant banquets the royal court liked to throw. You spotted Neige from across the room, all bright eyes and an innocent smile. He was the epitome of purity, as if his very presence could summon woodland creatures to frolic at his feet.

And you hated him on sight.

You watched in disbelief as everyone around him melted into puddles of admiration. He was practically glowing, and his overly cheerful, squeaky voice was grating on your ears.

The overly saccharine male lead stood there, looking like a cross between a baby bunny and a sentient cupcake. Everything about him screamed "pure-hearted." You nearly gagged on your drink, hoping no one noticed your grimace.

Vil noticed your sour expression and leaned in. “Is something the matter?”

“That’s him, isn’t it?” you said through clenched teeth. “The one I used to follow around?”

Vil followed your gaze, and for a moment, his lips twitched in the faintest show of amusement. “Yes. That’s Neige.”

You snorted. "I can't believe anyone in their right mind would prefer him over you."

Vil's lips curled into a smirk, and he tilted his head slightly. “Oh? Is that so?” His voice was silky, dangerously low, but you could see the flash of satisfaction behind his eyes.

“Yeah,” you muttered, still glaring in Neige's direction. “I mean, look at him. He’s so… good. And not in a ‘wow, what a decent person’ way. It’s like he’s one bad haircut away from sprouting fairy wings and breaking into song.”

Vil let out a low chuckle, right next to you ear, (Lord, have mercy) the sound sending shivers down your spine. “I never thought I’d hear you speak this way about him. You’ve been fawning over Neige for as long as I can remember.”

You rolled your eyes, throwing your hands up. “That was the old me. The dumb me. I mean, have you seen you?” You gestured dramatically toward him. “How could anyone even look at Neige when you exist?”

Vil was quiet for a moment, watching you intently. His violet eyes glinted with something unreadable, but you could tell he was pleased. Oh, he was very pleased.

“You certainly have changed,” he murmured, the smirk never leaving his lips. “And I must admit, I find it rather… delightful.”

Before you could respond, a very familiar voice rang out from behind you. “Ah! What a beautiful reunion this is! A moment filled with l’amour, sparkling like the stars in the sky!”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Rook Hunt appeared seemingly out of thin air, his hands dramatically clasped together as he beamed at you both. “I have seen many couples in my lifetime, but none quite so radiant as you two.”

You blinked, trying to recover from his sudden appearance. “Rook… were you just… hiding in the curtains again?”

Rook, ever the dramatist, placed a hand on his heart and smiled wistfully. “Ah, but how could I stay away when the beauty of your love draws me in like a moth to a flame?”

Vil raised an eyebrow. “Rook, you’re not helping.”

“Non, non, mon ami,” Rook insisted, twirling in place with a flourish. “I am merely basking in the glow of what is surely a love for the ages! The way your eyes meet, the subtle tension in the air—it is magnifique!”

You sighed, shaking your head, though you couldn’t help but chuckle at Rook’s antics. Meanwhile, from the other side of the ballroom, Epel was watching the scene unfold with barely concealed amusement. He caught your eye and shot you a grin, raising his glass as if to say, Good luck with this.

But the fun wasn’t over. Oh no. Neige, the human embodiment of a children’s choir, started making his way toward you. As he approached, his bright eyes locked on yours, his smile so innocent and wide that you almost felt bad for what you were about to do.

Almost.

“Good evening!” Neige greeted you, his voice as sweet as sugar. “I don’t believe we’ve had the chance to properly meet.”

You stared at him for a moment, unimpressed. “Yeah, uh-huh.”

Neige blinked, clearly taken aback by your lack of enthusiasm. He probably wasn’t used to people not immediately falling at his feet. “It’s truly wonderful to meet you! I’ve heard so much about you.”

You squinted at him. “Mm-hmm.”

Vil, standing beside you, looked positively elated. You could practically feel the smug energy radiating off of him. He wasn’t even hiding his smile anymore.

Neige continued, oblivious to your complete disinterest. “I’m so glad we’ll have the chance to spend time together in the coming months! I hope we can—”

“Yeah, no, I’m good,” you interrupted, turning away and pointedly ignoring his very existence.

Neige blinked again, looking like a lost puppy. You almost felt a little bad. Almost.

Vil, on the other hand, looked like Christmas had come early. His arm slipped around your waist, his touch gentle. “I must say,” he murmured into your ear, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ve never enjoyed one of these balls quite so much.”

Yup, maybe this novel isn't that trashy after all?

Everytime you think this novel might not be that bad, it manages to prove you wrong.

The day had finally arrived: the Founding Day Ball. The event to end all events, where the kingdom’s most distinguished were honored in a grand ceremony. And, of course, at the top of the list of honorees was Vil, who might as well have been carved into the actual history of the kingdom itself with how perfect he was.

As his partner for the evening, you were dressed to the nines, dripping in elegance you didn’t even know you were capable of. When you caught your reflection in one of the massive ballroom mirrors, you had to do a double-take.

"Who is that?" you whispered, eyes wide. "Oh. It’s me."

Honestly, if there was a chance of impressing anyone here, you were impressed with yourself.

The ceremony went as expected. Vil was awarded the highest honors, his name met with thunderous applause as he gave a speech that left the crowd swooning. You found yourself half-clapping, half-gawking, wondering how this man kept getting more perfect. Like, was he actually human?

But as the evening progressed, the dreaded scene you despised the most crept into the evening, like a bad smell at a gourmet dinner.

After the ceremony, it was time for the opening dance. Naturally, Vil, being the epitome of grace and nobility, was the prime candidate to lead it. You were fully expecting him to ask you, but before he could even turn in your direction, the heroine — yes, that heroine — appeared out of nowhere, like she was materializing straight from the pages of the worst romance novel ever written.

“Vil,” she said in a voice that sounded like honey and broken promises, “I trust you’ll grant me the honor of the first dance.”

You blinked. *Excuse me?*

She said it so confidently, as if it were a foregone conclusion, like she was used to the world revolving around her whims. It was the equivalent of someone just cutting the line in front of you at the store and expecting applause for their audacity.

Vil, for his part, didn’t even flinch. His expression was as cool and elegant as ever, but you could see a flicker of amusement in his eyes.

“I’m afraid,” he said, voice smooth and polite, “I already have a partner for the first dance.”

The heroine’s face froze in a way that almost made you choke on your own breath. “W-What?” She blinked rapidly, as if her brain couldn’t process the fact that someone had just told her no.

You, too, were a little stunned, for a seperate. Was she actually planning on throwing a tantrum right now? In public? At a literal state function?

“B-But you always dance with me,” she stammered, voice rising in disbelief, her face turning an alarming shade of pink. “I’m supposed to be your first dance!”

You physically had to stop yourself from snorting. Always? He has never even looked at her for longer than five seconds! You couldn't recall a single time Vil had given her anything beyond basic pleasantries. The only reason she’d be in his line of sight was because she was constantly putting herself there.

Vil’s lips twitched slightly, though whether it was out of irritation or amusement, you couldn’t tell. “I don’t recall ever dancing with you,” he said calmly, as though she were discussing someone else entirely.

The heroine blinked, clearly taken aback. “W-What?”

Vil’s voice dropped to an even icier tone, leaving no room for misunderstanding. “In fact, I dislike the very idea of it.”

The heroine made a strangled sound behind you, like a baby bird trying to scream.

You looked around the room, half-expecting hidden cameras to pop out, because this had to be a prank. Who acts like this?!

And as you floated onto the dance floor with Vil, you couldn’t help but marvel at the absolute insufferable nature of the scene you’d just witnessed. This was, without a doubt, the moment that solidified your hatred for the trash-tier novel world you’d been trapped in. People like her actually existed here?

Behind you, the heroine stomped her foot like a petulant child, completely ignored by the crowd. It would’ve been almost sad if it wasn’t so ridiculous.

And as you twirled under the chandeliers, feeling Vil’s warmth beside you and the heroine’s tantrum echoing faintly in the background, one thing became crystal clear:

This novel may have been trash, but at least you were the one dancing with the prince of perfection.

It hit you like a ton of bricks one day—completely out of nowhere. You had been sitting in Vil’s study, watching him work. He was meticulously going over some documents, his brow furrowed in concentration, his golden hair falling perfectly in place despite him having been there for hours. You were supposed to be reading through some kingdom protocol book, but instead, your gaze kept drifting over to him.

He’s so… beautiful.

You blinked, the thought suddenly snapping you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

Wait…

Your eyes widened. Oh no. Oh no no no no no.

You slammed the book shut, startling Vil from his work as you stood up abruptly. “I-I need some air.”

Vil raised an elegant eyebrow, clearly amused by your sudden panic. “Something the matter?”

“No! Nothing’s the matter!” you said, far too quickly, your voice an octave higher than usual. You stumbled over your chair in your haste to get out of the room, nearly tripping on your own feet. “I just—need to—um—fresh air, yes, exactly!”

Before Vil could say anything else, you bolted from the study and down the hall, your heart racing as though you’d just run a marathon. You darted into the nearest empty room and pressed your back against the door, your mind swirling with confusion.

Am I falling for him?

You slapped a hand over your mouth, horrified by the realization. “No… no, this isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m in love with a character from this awful, brain-numbing novel?”

You slumped against the door, groaning as the full weight of the situation sank in. How could this happen? How could my first true love— you gagged at the phrase —be from this trash novel?

There was no escaping it now. The butterflies in your stomach every time Vil looked your way, the way your heart skipped a beat whenever he smiled, the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be close to him… it was all painfully obvious.

You buried your face in your hands. “I’m going to die. I’m going to die of embarrassment in this ridiculous world.”

And the worst part? It wasn’t even one of the good isekai novels. You’d somehow gotten stuck in what could be considered objectively the worst one, and yet here you were, head over heels for a character who—against all odds—turned out to be the most amazing person you’d ever met.

“Oh god,” you muttered to yourself, sliding down to the floor, your head falling back against the door with a thud. “I'm in love with Vil. I’m doomed. Completely doomed.”

“Mon Dieu! What a revelation!” a voice suddenly rang out from the shadows.

You yelped, whipping around to see none other than Rook Hunt—perched in the corner of the room like some kind of overly dramatic bird of prey, his hat casting a mysterious shadow over his eyes. His entire being radiated excitement, and you swore you saw actual sparkles in the air around him.

“Rook?! How long have you been there?!”

“Long enough, my dear,” he said, voice hushed with reverence, as though you had just confessed your deepest, most tragic secret. “Ah, love! The torment, the longing! The exquisite despair you must be feeling!” He took a step forward, eyes gleaming with unbridled enthusiasm. “But fear not, mon ami, for I, Rook Hunt, shall be your faithful cupid! Together, we shall make Vil see the truth of your affections!”

You blinked, stunned. “Uh… I’m not sure that’s—"

“Ah, but you must!" Rook declared, swooping down to kneel dramatically before you. “Love, once realized, must be pursued with all one’s passion and determination! Do not let this opportunity slip through your fingers like sand in the wind! I shall assist you!”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the sheer intensity of his expression made you falter. Rook was looking at you like this was the most important mission of his life.

Honestly, what did you have to lose at this point?

With a deep, exhausted sigh, you muttered, “Fine. Fine! I’ll do it. Help me, Rook.”

Rook’s grin stretched so wide it was borderline terrifying. “Excellent! This will be an adventure for the ages!” Before you could even process what you’d agreed to, Rook leaped to his feet and clapped his hands together. “But we will need more help. A certain someone with a youthful spirit and just enough mischievousness to add that je ne sais quoi to our plans.”

Oh no.

Cue Epel.

“What the hell are you ropin’ me into?” Epel grumbled as Rook dragged him into your predicament not five minutes later.

“I have volunteered you for a most noble cause, mon petit pomme,” Rook said, not even breaking stride as he swept Epel into the room. “Our dear friend here is head over heels for our Vil, and we are going to help them win his heart”

Epel paused, blinking at you in disbelief. “Wait, Vil? That Vil?” He gestured vaguely in the direction of where Vil’s office was.

“Yes, that Vil,” you said flatly, already regretting every life decision that had led you to this point.

Epel gave you a dubious look. “And you agreed to let Rook help you?”

You groaned, dragging a hand over your face. “Don’t remind me.”

“Alright, fine. I’m in.” Epel shrugged, a wicked grin creeping onto his face. “If we’re gonna do this, we’re gonna do it big.”

Thus began the most absurd, over-the-top, and borderline catastrophic schemes in an attempt to prove your love to Vil Schoenheit.

It started innocently enough. You wanted to make Vil his favorite tea. Simple, right? But Rook insisted that it couldn’t just be any tea. No, it had to be presented with an air of mystery and allure.

“Bring it to him while reciting a sonnet of devotion!” Rook suggested. “Declare your admiration with each step, so that he understands the depth of your feelings!”

“I’m not reciting a sonnet, Rook.”

Epel, on the other hand, was far more pragmatic. “Or you could just… write him a note and leave it with the tea?”

That seemed normal. Rational. You’d take Epel’s advice. So, you snuck into Vil’s room, left the tea and a note on his desk, and slipped out before anyone noticed.

The next morning, Vil eyed you suspiciously over breakfast. “Did you leave tea in my study last night?”

You nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, I thought you’d appreciate it.”

Vil’s eyes narrowed, but you swore you saw the corner of his lips twitch into the faintest smile. “I see. How thoughtful.”

Then came Operation: Compliment Vil at Every Opportunity.

Rook, of course, insisted you be poetic. “Tell him his beauty rivals the very stars in the sky!”

“I’m not saying that.”

Epel chimed in with a much more straightforward approach: “Just tell him his hair looks nice. It’s always nice.”

But Rook’s enthusiasm was contagious, and before you knew it, you found yourself blurting out, “Your radiance is blinding today, Vil! Truly, I must shield my eyes from such ethereal beauty!”

Vil, who had been in the middle of inspecting his reflection, froze. His eyes darted to you, and he gave you a strange look.

“Are you… feeling alright? Did you perhaps get bitten by a stray Rook?”

You shook your head vigorously, your face heating up from how ridiculous you sounded. “Totally fine! Just… appreciating your beauty! Yep. Normal stuff.”

Vil didn’t say anything, but you could see a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. He looked amused—and maybe a little pleased—but more than anything, he seemed confused.

At least he didn’t think you’d lost your mind. Yet.

You were convinced this novel had it out for you from the beginning, but this? This was a new low. The memory loss trope, the final attempt to make your life as ridiculous as possible, had arrived—right on schedule.

You knew how it was supposed to go. You’d hit your head (a complete accident, obviously), wake up with no memory of Vil, and immediately make the worst decisions possible, like falling for that knockoff prince, Neige. Cue dramatic heartbreak, public humiliation, and eventual abandonment. Classic trashy novel shenanigans.

But apparently, the universe—or whatever cosmic force was in charge of your suffering—had decided to take a vacation after all the work it had been putting in. Because when you opened your eyes and saw Vil leaning over you, worry etched into his perfect face, instead of forgetting him, you were… immediately smitten?

What?

And it didn’t stop there. When he took your hand in his, gently kissing your knuckles in that heartbreakingly tender way, it was like a light switch flipped. Your memories came rushing back, completely bypassing the whole convoluted plot about amnesia and bad decisions.

Because of course in this disaster of a novel, the solution to everything was true love's kiss. The most overdone, eye-rolling cliché in the history of romance, and yet here you were, living through it.

You almost laughed out loud. Of all the tropes this novel had thrown at you—evil fiancées, jealous heroines, duels for honor—this had to be the funniest. It was as if the universe had taken one look at your situation and said, “You know what? Let’s skip the suffering and go straight to the ridiculous happy ending.”

True love’s kiss. Really. This novel is mocking me at this point, you thought, fighting the urge to scream. But hey, at least you didn’t have to deal with more drama. And as Vil’s concerned gaze softened into a relieved smile, you couldn’t help but think that, maybe, this was one trope you didn’t mind after all.

You'd almost given up on confessing. Maybe you'll just live like this forever, your fate was sealed. The novel clearly doesn't want you to tell him how you feel.

But there was another ball (because apparently that's the only place that nobility had be at in this novel. What was this? the 108th ball of the year?) You'd decided that you'll ask him for a stroll under the moonlight and just tell him.

Of course, the novel is not on your side. What's new?

The ball was going well—well, for you and Vil, anyway. You’d just finished dancing, and he looked absolutely stunning, as usual. You were basking in the afterglow of all the whispered praise and envious stares. That is, until you overheard someone bad-mouthing Vil.

Of course, it had to be the heroine’s best friend, who was apparently using this grand occasion to air her grievances.

“I just don’t understand why Vil is always so cold to her,” she whined, loud enough for everyone within a three-mile radius to hear. “She’s the saintess! She deserves kindness and adoration, not disdain.”

Cue the dramatic gasps from the crowd. Ah, here we go.

You shot Vil a look, but he merely shrugged, rolling his eyes. He clearly didn’t want to start any trouble. But you? Oh, you were about to flip the table on these idiots.

“Excuse me,” you began, stepping forward, the crowd parting like the Red Sea as you made your way over. “I couldn’t help but overhear your incredibly loud complaints about my fiancé.”

The heroine’s best friend froze, clearly not expecting you to get involved. You smiled sweetly, but your eyes were throwing daggers.

“Let me set the record straight. Vil isn’t cold to her because she’s the ‘saintess,’” you air-quoted the title, “He’s cold to her because she’s an insufferable brat who’s so used to getting her way that she throws a tantrum every time someone says ‘no.’”

More gasps from the crowd. You could see Neige stiffening across the ballroom, already sensing where this was going. But there was no stopping you now.

“And don’t get me started on you,” you pointed at the best friend, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “You’re out here defending her honor like you’re some knight in shining armor when, let’s be real, you’re just as bad. You fawn over her like a lost puppy, expecting her to shower you with praise when all you do is enable her delusions.”

Vil, somewhere behind you, was probably trying not to laugh. But you weren't done.

“And as for your precious Neige over there?” you tilted your head toward the prince-wannabe, who was looking more and more uncomfortable by the second. “He’s not some perfect angel either. He’s just a guy with an unsettling talent for showing up at the��most convenient times, with that same doe-eyed, clueless expression, making everyone feel sorry for him.”

You didn’t stop at Neige.

"And as for you," you said, spinning toward the brooding Duke of the North, the infamous second male lead, who had been leaning against a pillar, looking every bit the tall, tormented, handsome cliché. “You’re not fooling anyone either. You’re the king of melodramatic entrances. Always lurking in the shadows, trying to look mysterious, but really, you’re just sulking because no one’s paying attention to you.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—are you brooding? Again? Let me guess, you’re thinking about some dark secret that you’ll drop at the most inconvenient moment to make things worse for everyone, right?” You mimicked his deep, serious voice. “‘It’s the burden I must bear… alone.’” You threw your head back in mock agony, hands dramatically placed on your chest.

He straightened up, clearly offended, but you didn’t give him the chance to speak.

“And stop pretending like you’re some tragic hero,” you added, lowering your voice with a sharp edge. “You’re just a guy with commitment issues who sacrifices himself because you can’t handle the fact that the heroine doesn’t want you. Let it go.”

There was dead silence. You half-expected a chandelier to drop just for the dramatic effect. Even Vil had to look away for a moment, probably to hide the fact that he in tears, about to burst out laughing.

The heroine was slack-jawed, her best friend looked like she wanted to melt into the floor, and Neige… well, Neige just looked confused. As always.

Satisfied, you dusted off your hands and turned back to Vil, who was looking at you with a mixture of shock and awe, as if he’d just witnessed some divine intervention.

You let out a satisfied huff and turned to leave. "Come on, Vil, I can't stand to be in the same room as these second-rate characters any longer, let's bounce"

Once outside, you saw Vil was still recovering, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I think you may have traumatized half the ballroom.”

“Good,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “They deserved it. Especially that brooding Duke. ‘I sacrifice myself for the greater good.’ Ugh, give me a break.”

Vil chuckled, sliding his arm around your waist. "Still, you didn’t have to go to such lengths for me."

You stopped in your tracks, spun around, and looked him dead in the eye. “Of course I did! I love you, Vil. I couldn’t just sit there and let them trash you like that.”

The moment the words left your mouth, you froze. Oh. Well. There it was.

Vil’s eyes widened, a rare, unguarded expression crossing his face. For a moment, he just stood there, taking in your words. Then, without a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you, soft but sure, like he’d been waiting for this moment as much as you had.

When he pulled back, his smile was the softest you’d ever seen. “You love me,” he repeated, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

You nodded, a bit breathless from both the confession and the kiss. “Yes, Vil. I love you. Even with all your ridiculously high standards and obsession with skincare.”

Vil laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.”

Vil pulled back slightly, his hands still resting on your waist, and asked with a quiet, almost teasing tone, "Well then, since you love me so much... should we get married?"

You blinked, your brain taking a second to catch up. "Wait—what? Married? Like, right now?" You stared at him, heart racing, before suddenly, an idea lit up your face like a firework. “Oh my god, yes! Let’s do it. Let’s get married ASAP. Like, today. Right now. Do we even need a ceremony? We can find an officiant and—boom—done. Just tell me where to sign!”

Vil’s eyes widened, taken aback by your sudden enthusiasm. “Are you… serious?”

You grabbed his hand, absolutely buzzing with energy. “Of course, I’m serious! Why wait? This dumbass universe keeps throwing garbage tropes at us, and honestly? Getting married right now is the perfect way to flip the script! Take that, fate!"

Before Vil could respond, an overly excited voice erupted from behind a nearby pillar. “Oh là là! Mon cœur can hardly handle this romance!” Rook leaped out from the shadows, practically sparkling with joy, as if he had been waiting for this very moment all his life. "The passion! The declaration of love! And now, a spontaneous wedding? Magnifique!”

“Rook!?” Vil’s voice was a mix of amusement and exasperation. “Have you been spying on us?”

“Spying?” Rook gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his chest. “Non, non, Vil! I was merely ensuring your well-being as any devoted friend would!” He gave a wink, clearly pleased with his role as an unintended audience.

“Me too!” Epel poked his head out from behind another pillar, grinning sheepishly. “I mean, who’d wanna miss out on somethin’ like this? Y’all are gettin’ married!”

Vil let out a long, tired sigh, but you could see the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s happening,” you said, grabbing his arm again and dragging him forward. “We’re doing this, and it’s going to be the best wedding in this entire stupid book, Rook, Epel, you’re both invited. Wait, scratch that, you’re both in the wedding party now!”

“C’est incroyable!” Rook twirled dramatically, hands clasped together, already imagining his outfit for the occasion. “I shall be the most loyal and stylish groomsman! Oh, l’amour!”

“And I get to wear somethin’ fancy, right?” Epel asked, already envisioning something much cooler than his usual attire.

Vil was now fully grinning, his initial surprise turning into genuine amusement as he looked at you with sparkling eyes. “You really are something else.”

“Yeah, and now I’m gonna be your something else forever.” You beamed up at him, still holding onto his hand like you might drag him to the altar yourself right now.

“Well then,” Vil sighed, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Let’s get married.”

Before you could even start plotting where to drag Vil to find someone to officiate, Rook suddenly gasped, clasping his hands together dramatically. "Mon dieu! How could I forget? I am more than prepared for this moment!"

You and Vil exchanged puzzled looks. "What are you talking about, Rook?" Vil asked, raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow.

Rook grinned, remviong his hat and and dramatically pulling out a folded piece of parchment. "Behold!" he announced, waving the paper with a flourish. "A certified license to officiate weddings. I took the liberty of acquiring it long ago, knowing that one day I’d be the one to unite you and your beloved. C’est le destin!"

“You’re… licensed?” Vil blinked, looking at Rook like he had officially lost it. "And you're walking around with the license in your hat?"

Rook nodded with a dazzling smile. “Why yes, I’ve been preparing for this glorious day! Every flower petal, every gust of wind, every glance of love I’ve witnessed between you both has been leading to this fated moment!” He struck a pose, the parchment still dramatically held aloft.

You stared at him, then back at Vil. "Okay, I know this is ridiculous, but honestly? This is the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, and I kind of love it. Let's just let him do it."

Vil put a hand to his forehead, trying to suppress a chuckle. "Are we really doing this?"

“Yes!” you declared, squeezing Vil's hand. “If we’re going full chaos, we’re going all the way. Rook, officiate the hell out of this wedding!”

Epel, watching the entire spectacle, burst into laughter. “Only in this house, I swear…”

Rook practically sparkled with joy, bouncing on his feet. “Oh là là, it will be my greatest honor! I’ve been rehearsing my officiating speech in front of the mirror for months”

“Months?” Vil repeated, a mix of disbelief and exasperation in his tone.

“Mais oui! Every day, I’d wake up and say, ‘Today could be the day!’” Rook sighed dramatically, already tearing up. “And here we are. It’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of. Now, shall we begin? I have the vows prepared, unless you have your own?”

You leaned into Vil, barely holding back laughter. “I have zero regrets about this. Absolutely zero.”

Vil sighed again but couldn’t stop smiling. “Only you could make something this absurd seem perfect.”

Series Masterlist ; Masterlist

Okay, this became way longer than I expected it to be but to be fair, i was on an extreme caffeine high and i'd just finished an assignment that had been beating my ass

[seresinhangmanjake]

About Time

Tyler Owens x Childhood Friend!Reader

Summary: You’ve been Tyler’s best friend since childhood, but a near-death experience makes him realize he feels much more for you than friendship and he shouldn’t have allowed himself to deny it for so long. 

Warnings/Notes: cursing, mild angst, mostly fluff, typos

Words: 2300

Masterlist

It was when he almost lost you that Tyler knew he was in love with you. When he was forced to play tug of war with the violent winds to keep you in his arms. When he felt your chest move against his with your shallow, rapid breaths. When he heard his name, a soft whimper from quivering lips. 

“T–Tyler…”

He tightened his grasp on your waist and mumbled, “I got you, darlin’. Just don't let go.”

At that moment, he didn't know if he could protect you, but the alternative was an unbearable thought. Living without you was unimaginable, unacceptable, so if the winds planned to take you, they would have no choice but to take him, too. Then at least you'd be going together. 

He’d always felt something for you, and he understood that he probably always would, but he'd been unwilling to give it a name more intense than a teenage crush that just happened to last well past its expiration date. And while your perpetually growing beauty and intoxicating laugh made it hard for him to tame what he continued to feel, he’d managed. 

But that fear of imminent death—more potent than ever—tapped into the depths of those feelings he’d been swallowing for more than a decade. The abuse of pelting rain and flying debris paled in comparison to the overwhelming storm breaking free from the neglected portion of his heart. 

Once disaster moved along, you looked up at him with wide, weary eyes, and he couldn’t think clearly past the repetitive chanting in his head: ‘I love you, I love you, I love you’. Adrenaline was rushing through his veins, overpowering every other sense of logic and reason. He pushed strands of damp hair from your face, cupped your cheeks, then leaned down and sealed his lips to yours in a deep kiss. The first kiss. A kiss that typically has a much better outcome than what followed.

He hasn't seen you since that day. A week has come and gone and not one glimpse of your face, and now he’s more desperate for the sight than he’s ever been before. Missing you when you’re not around is far from new, but having released his feelings, the all-consuming sensation is worse. It’s harder to tolerate.

You're avoiding him, he knows it, but he supposes that can happen when someone kisses their best friend with no prior discussion of deeper feelings. It's not what he would do were the situation reversed—he'd still be all over you, kissing you back, smiling, never letting you go—but you've chosen to handle things quite differently, and in doing so, has left him no choice but to respond accordingly.

—

“Mornin’,” you hear, nearly dropping the pail of milk you’d been collecting all morning. Eyes darting to your right, you find Tyler sitting in one of the living room's quilted armchairs. Your heartbeat stutters. 

When you turn your head to the left, your mother is leaning against the kitchen countertop, her fluffy robe tied around her body and a cup of steaming coffee in her hands that she brings to her lips as she reads the newspaper splayed out beside her. 

“Mom, what is Tyler doing here?”

She glances up, swallows, and swipes her tongue across her bottom lip to catch the remnants of caramel-colored liquid. “Oh gosh, dear, he must've snuck in,” she replies, feigning ignorance. “But I’m not one for kickin’ anyone—especially not a fine, young man—off my property, so I guess he’ll just have to stay.”

With a huff, you set the pail down on the breakfast table, knowing your mother will take care of it, and shoot her a glare before making your way to the living room. Tyler stares up at you. You cross your arms and nudge your head toward the storage barn just behind the house where the two of you used to hold your late-night meetings when you were children, and later, teenagers. Many nights you spent in that barn after Tyler had snuck out of his parent’s house and chucked a pebble at your window to wake you. 

Tyler nods and follows you out the back door to the large structure that protects your privacy from the prying ears of the woman inside the house. 

“We gotta get you a new phone, darlin’,” Tyler says to your back once you're enclosed in the barn. “The one you've got doesn't seem to be receiving my calls…or texts…or elaborate voicemails.”

“Tyler…” you sigh, twisting to face him.

“You know we gotta talk about it,” he says. And he’s right, despite how the complicated element introduced into your relationship is entirely his fault and so you shouldn’t have to owe him the time of day until you're ready to give it. “You didn’t have to run away from me.”

“I didn’t run.” Tyler’s eyes follow the movement of your arms wrapping tighter around yourself and he swallows hard. “I walked.”

“Speed-walked,” he counters. “Borderline jogged.”

You groan, your tense shoulders sagging. “Tyler listen, I just–”

“Do you really think disappearing on me was a fair thing to do?” he interrupts. “I’m your best friend.”

Your jaw drops at the audacity. Not surprising, really; Tyler’s always had a way of wording things that gets under people’s skin, but out of the two of you, he is the last person who should be doling out the criticism. 

“Fair?” you huff. “You’re the one who–”

“I mean, what was so wrong with it?” Long fingers slide through his blond hair. “Can you honestly say you’ve never thought about me in that way? It hasn’t crossed your mind once? No sex dreams? Nothin’? ‘Cause I’ve been wrestlin’ with it since fuckin’ high school, but ok, sure, fine.”

“Ty–”

“And I know it was unexpected but was it really that shocking? Don’t you think we’d be good together? I think we’d–”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler, will you let me talk!” you snap, your voice carrying throughout the barn.

If you were trying to preserve your privacy, you’ve definitely failed now. Half of town probably heard you and they’re nothing short of a mile away, but at this point, Tyler has pushed you well past caring. Let them hear. Let them know what’s going on between you. They all saw him kiss you anyway.

“We nearly died,” you continue. “People around us did die.”

Tyler’s face breaks down and you instantly regret your words. You know he stuck around after you left. You know he helped everyone he could in the aftermath of disaster while you let your emotions override your system and ran home to cry to your mother over how he just rocked what was your very steady relationship.

“Look,” you sigh. “Even if I wasn’t thinking about death—and that is a massive ‘if’—I told myself a long time ago that you are my friend, just my friend.”

Tyler’s hands settle on his hips. His eyes fall to the floor and his back teeth clench. “Why?”

“Because I repeated it so many times in my head that it solidified,” you tell him, throwing your arms up. “You know why Bradley dumped me last year? And Pete a couple years before that? And Bobby back in high school?” you ask. “Because of you. They all sensed this weird…energy…from you. All of them. Do you know how many times I had to tell them they were crazy? Do you know how many times I had to tell myself that I was crazy whenever they brought it up to me and I actually considered the possibility of you feeling that way?” 

You know exactly how many. Bobby had mentioned it five times before he decided he was done; broke it off with you right before prom and scoffed when he saw that Tyler had stepped up as your date. Pete was shorter-lived; asked you about Tyler three times before he said he could see which way the wind was blowing and had no interest in getting in between anything. And Bradley held the record at seven, each time making the fight outdo the one prior before he was simply fed up with the friendship you refused to sacrifice. Three boyfriends have ditched you solely because of Tyler, and fifteen times you had to talk yourself down from the jolt of excitement you got from imagining him loving you.    

Taking a deep breath, you say, “You don’t just get to kiss me and not let me sort out my thoughts for five damn seconds.”

Tyler’s head snaps up, jaw ticking and eyes blazing. “Five seconds?” he spits. “I haven’t seen you in a week. That’s the longest we’ve gone since I graduated.”

“This isn’t just about you; how you feel; what you think; what you want.”

“Then what are you tellin’ me?” Tyler asks.

The light quiver in his voice unnerves you. Not because you aren’t used to him expressing himself to the fullest—and if he’s ever going to be vulnerable with anyone, it’s with you—but that quiver is typically the trigger for you comforting him, taking him into your arms and holding him, letting him wrap himself around you until he feels better and is ready to stop. For some reason, you never noticed how long he would stay tied to you when you gave him the chance. 

“Are you feelin’ like this is it?” he continues. “Are you wantin’ us to be done?”

And suddenly, you’re irritated again. You can’t stop the roll of your eyes. In no universe would you ever be done with Tyler Owens, and the fact that he would entertain otherwise is asinine. “Don't be dramatic.”

“Well, what do you expect!” he shouts. “You’re actin’ like I’m about to lose you!”

“I didn’t say anything like that!”

“But you're mad that I kissed you!”

“Damn it, Tyler! I am not!”       

Green eyes widen, his breaths heavy from his heaving chest. His mouth opens then closes then opens once more. “You’re—” He licks his lips as you watch him grasp for words. “Then why haven't you called me back?”

You shrug. “I don't know. We've never fought before, and I thought you'd be pissed that I walked off, which clearly you are, so…”

“That’s not true,” he says, moving to take a step closer to you before thinking better of it and staying put. “I haven’t been pissed, darlin’, just terrified. And missing you. And…wanting you.” Heat flares your cheeks, forcing you to tear your eyes away from the desperation in his. “But I’m sorry. I wasn’t tryin’ to…I mean, you left and I thought…”

You shake your head. Whatever he let himself think, he was wrong.

The silence that settles over you is thicker than you're used to in his presence. You're used to laughter and jokes, sweet comments and banter. Tension zings in the space between your bodies, but it's pleasant, electrifying, invigorating. You feel the full impact of everything that was tucked underneath the stress and anxiety of barrelling through such a hard conversation. 

Tyler feels it too. His face shows it. His eyes you can only describe as heatedly glittering as he stares at you staring at him. His brows are pinched from frustration of a different kind. It's his lips, though, that reveal his thoughts better than any other feature. They're softly parted, glistening from a swipe of his tongue like he's ready to lock them to yours at any second. Like he needs to be ready just in case you give him the go-ahead so he can kiss you before you dare rescind your permission. 

“What are you thinking?” you ask, words quieter than you meant for them to be, but Tyler hears you.  

His chuckle is short, half-formed, partially overtaken by the exhale of a breath. You detect a slight tease, as if you should already know the answer to that question. 

“That I wanna kiss you again,” he says. “So fuckin’ bad.”

The corners of your mouth struggle not to quirk upward. “Tyler.” He hums. “You know what it means if we do this, right?”

He nods. “We can’t go back,” he says. “But darlin’, I don’t wanna go back. I wanna keep on goin’...with you.”

“Everything will be different.”

“Not everything. We're still us, we'd just be kissin’ and touchin’ and, you know, doin’ other stuff,” he replies with a smile. “Hopefully.”

You picture Tyler standing before you as you have secretly wished you could have him for years—bare and muscled and grinning and telling you he loves you—and for the first time, you aren’t awash with guilt and shame. It feels right to think of him like this. Natural. There’s a soothing ocean of serenity flowing under the flames of desire, and it hits you that this was probably inevitable. All the pieces were there—friendship, trust, love—all there was left to do was act on it. 

“You won't change your mind?” you ask, stepping to him. 

At your question, distress takes over Tyler's face, but it melts into a grin once he notices your smirk. He closes the remaining distance between you and takes your hand, carefully interlocking your fingers. 

“No chance,” he tells you. 

“Ok,” you say, nodding. “Well, if you’re absolutely sure, then I guess it’s ok if you kiss me agai–”

Your chuckle is muffled against his lips. His fingers untangle from yours and he guides your hand to rest on the back of his neck so he can cup your cheek. His free arm coils around your waist, pulling you in closer, and your body melts into his. Your brain fuzzes. You lose all awareness of your surroundings. You think you might just stay like this forever.

----

Tag List (if you wanna join)

[reidmarieprentiss]

Lucky

Summary: Based on this request! Reader encourages Penelope to go on a date, which ends in tragedy. This event shakes the team, leading to conflict, particularly between reader and Spencer, who blames her for what happened.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU fem!reader

Category: angst, fluff

Warnings/Includes: gun mention, Penelope gets shot, typical BAU crime stuff, people getting mad at reader/blaming reader, Spencer icing reader out, Spencer being questionable boyfriend, Spencer saying mean things about reader, happy ending, Penelope is okay, self doubt/blaming

Word count: 16.7k

a/n: Spencer is kind of an ass for a while but it will make sense ! He is still an angel baby

main masterlist

“So,” Derek says with that familiar smirk, “who’s the lucky guy?”

Penelope's eyes sparkle as she smiles, her fingers toying with a brightly colored pen on her desk. “His name is James. Just this sweet guy I met at the coffee shop. You know... normal, stable. No dark criminal past.” She tries to sound casual, but the happiness in her voice is unmistakable.

“Uh-huh...” Morgan leans in, tilting his head as if scrutinizing her every word. “And you’re sure you want to go out with him?”

A slight defensiveness takes over as Penelope puts her hands on her hips, feigning indignation. “Yes! Why not? Am I not allowed to date now, Derek Morgan?”

Morgan's grin widens, and he shakes his head, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I didn’t say that. Just... be careful, alright?”

Rolling her eyes with a dramatic sigh, Penelope can’t help but huff. “Yes, Dad,” she quips, wondering why Derek is being so weird about this.

But then Morgan’s expression shifts, softening into something deeper, more earnest. “No, seriously.” His voice drops, gentle but firm. “Just... be careful, Baby Girl. Don’t give away your heart to some guy who hasn’t earned it.”

Penelope hardens slightly, feeling slightly hurt that Derek feels the need to lecture her. “I know, Derek. But... he seems nice. Really.”

Morgan nods slowly and walks away, still caught in the cloud of his concern and overprotectiveness. She lets out a soft sigh, looking down at the pile of case files on her desk, feeling a little bit deflated despite her earlier excitement. She loves that Derek cares, but sometimes he can be a bit... much. She starts to drum her fingers nervously against her desk, mulling over their conversation.

That's when you come in. You'd been passing by and couldn't help but notice the tense exchange. Taking a quick survey of Penelope's expression—anxiousness and longing—you decide to step in, offering a soft but encouraging smile.

"Hey, Pen," you say gently, leaning against the edge of her desk, careful not to crowd her. "You doing okay? I saw the little showdown with Morgan. He can be a bit... intense sometimes, huh?"

Penelope chuckles softly, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. “You could say that. I mean, I know he means well, but... I just want to do normal things, like go out with a guy. And James... he seems so sweet, you know?”

“James?” you say, a teasing grin spreading across your face as you lean a bit closer. “Who is this James?”

Penelope's eyes dart to yours, and for a moment, she looks like a deer caught in headlights, her surprise quickly melting into a flustered smile. “Oh, he’s... just this guy,” she says, her voice rising in pitch as she tries to sound nonchalant. “Met him at the coffee shop. He's sweet, you know... normal.”

Your grin widens, clearly unconvinced by her attempt to play it cool. “Normal, huh? And when exactly were you planning on telling me about this ‘normal’ guy?”

Penelope tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, letting out a playful huff. “Oh, come on. It’s just a date... no big deal.” But the glint in her eyes says otherwise, and you know it’s a big deal to her. And that’s exactly why you’re going to keep teasing.

“Well, it’s still a deal!” you exclaim, leaning forward in your seat, eyes wide with excitement. “Tell me all about it!”

Penelope laughs, the warmth of your enthusiasm easing away the hesitation she’s been holding onto. She fidgets with the edge of her sweater, a shy smile creeping onto her face as she starts to talk. “So... I was at my usual coffee shop, you know, the one with the really good chai lattes,” she begins, her voice picking up speed as she gets lost in the memory. “And then, out of nowhere, this ridiculously attractive man just... walks up to me, like he’s in some kind of rom-com or something. And he... he asked me out.”

You lean back, eyes wide, soaking in every detail of her story. “No way,” you whisper, your excitement infectious. “What did you do? What did you say?”

“Well, I said yes, obviously!” she chuckles, though there's an underlying nervousness. “But... I felt so... I don't know. Conflicted. This just doesn’t happen to girls like me.”

“Girls like you?” Your expression shifts from curiosity to confusion, brow furrowing as you try to make sense of her words. “Penelope Garcia, you are one of the most beautiful, kind-hearted, brilliant people I have ever met in my life.” You lean in, your voice gentle but insistent, making sure she understands every word. “ ‘Girls like you’ deserve the world and more. Don’t you dare think otherwise for a second.”

Penelope’s eyes widen, your words hitting her like a warm, unexpected wave. Her smile softens, and she blinks a few times, trying to brush off the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. “You really think so?” she whispers, her voice almost breaking with vulnerability.

“Are you kidding?” you say, a grin spreading across your face as you reach out to squeeze her hand. “James is the lucky one here, Penelope. Trust me on that.” 

She squeezes your hand back, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she ducks her head a little. “So, you’re saying I should go on this date?” she asks, the nervousness wavering just slightly in her voice. “Because... Derek didn’t seem so sure.”

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back in your chair with a dramatic sigh. “Derek is a man, and men are weird,” you say with a knowing smirk. “I bet he’s got some strange alpha-male possessive thing going on. It’s like, in his DNA or something, to protect his pack. Don’t listen to him. You should absolutely go on this date.”

Penelope’s smile widens, and she lets out a soft, relieved laugh. “Well, when you put it like that... maybe you’re right. I mean, he is just one guy. And he did buy me a coffee...” 

“Exactly!” you exclaim, nodding fervently. “You’ve got a very attractive guy who bought you coffee and wants to spend time with you. And, Penelope, you deserve to have fun. So don’t overthink it, okay? Go on the date, be your amazing self, and if Derek has a problem, he can take it up with me.”

She chuckles at that, the tension finally leaving her shoulders, and the smile that spreads across her face is brighter than ever. “Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I’ll go on the date.” 

“Good!” you say, beaming. “And when he inevitably falls head over heels for you, I expect a full play-by-play report.”

“Deal,” Penelope says, grinning, the confidence returning to her eyes as she envisions a night filled with possibilities.

When you walked out of Penelope’s office, a spring in your step from the lighthearted conversation, you made your way back to your desk in the bullpen. As you approached your workspace, something immediately caught your eye — a fresh mug of hot coffee sitting on your desk, the steam curling upward in delicate wisps. A secret smile spread across your face as you set your things down and wrapped your fingers around the warm mug, the scent of your favorite brew filling the air.

You didn’t need to guess who’d placed it there. Glancing up, your eyes found Spencer across the bullpen, and sure enough, he was looking at you with that sweet, soft smile that always made your heart skip a beat. The quiet gesture was simple, but it spoke volumes about the thoughtful, caring man he was.

You mouthed a silent “thank you,” lifting the mug slightly as a toast of gratitude, and playfully blew him a kiss. Spencer’s cheeks flushed that adorable shade of pink that always surfaced whenever you flirted with him, and he shyly ducked his head for a moment before glancing back up to meet your eyes. With a wink and a barely contained grin, he turned back to his work, trying — and failing — to hide just how pleased he was to have made your morning a little brighter. 

The sweetness of the morning, with its light teasing and the comfort of Spencer’s coffee, was short-lived. The moment Hotch called everyone into the conference room, a palpable shift in energy settled over the team. You quickly gathered your things and followed the others into the room, the coffee that had moments ago been a small joy now forgotten as you braced yourself for the case that awaited.

On the screen in the conference room was the face of a young woman — a bright, smiling 19-year-old with curly brown hair and freckles that dotted her cheeks. The smile in her photo seemed hauntingly out of place for what followed. Abby Connors, the name beneath the picture read. Hotch stepped forward, his face grave, and began the briefing.

“Abby Connors was a 19-year-old freshman at the University of Florida,” he explained. “She left home a little over a week ago to move into her dorm, but she never made it back. Her parents reported her missing, and after three days of searching, joggers found her body near a park in the Everglades, near an area the locals refer to as 'Alligator Alley.'”

A murmur rippled through the room as the next image appeared — a crime scene photo, one that showed just half of Abby’s body. You instinctively held your breath as you took in the gruesome details: everything beneath her waist was missing, consumed by the predators that roamed the swampy area. But it was the condition of the remaining part of her body that made the room go eerily silent.

“She was found with an inverted pentagram carved into her chest,” Hotch continued grimly, pointing to the markings on her torso. “Her fingers were all cut off at the second knuckle, and her throat was slit cleanly.”

You exchanged uneasy glances with your teammates, the horrifying nature of the crime setting in as you processed each detail. “So what are we dealing with?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady. “Some kind of satanic cult?”

Rossi, who had been leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed, shook his head. “It's not as simple as that. The idea of satanic cults operating as organized serial killer groups has been widely debunked.” He sat up, his expression thoughtful but firm. “The satanic panic of the ‘80s and ‘90s sensationalized a lot of things, but ritualistic killings like this? They don’t happen often in the way people think.”

“So, not a cult,” JJ mused aloud. “But this is still a ritualistic killing, right? The pentagram, the mutilation... it’s not random.”

“Absolutely ritualistic,” Spencer added, nodding in agreement. “The precision of the throat slitting, the removal of the fingers, the inverted pentagram... they all suggest that this was premeditated, and that the unsub wanted to send a specific message with Abby’s murder.”

“This type of ritualistic behavior can escalate,” Derek said, leaning over the table, a serious look in his eyes. “It’s got all the hallmarks of a kill that’s part of a larger motive. If we don’t catch this guy, he’s likely to do it again.”

“Which means we’re looking at a potential serial killer in the making,” Emily concluded, her voice grim. “Someone with a specific set of rituals and a willingness to mutilate and kill.”

Rossi cleared his throat, drawing all eyes to him as he spoke with an almost reverent gravity. “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate,” he quoted in a low voice, his Italian rolling off his tongue smoothly. Seeing the questioning looks on some of your faces, he translated: “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.”

A silence fell over the room as the weight of those words hung in the air. You knew, as did everyone else in the room, that this case was going to be dark, disturbing, and an all-consuming race to catch a killer who seemed to find something meaningful — perhaps even sacred — in the brutality of his crimes.

And with that, the team set into motion, knowing that every second mattered if they were going to save another girl from meeting the same fate as Abby Connors.

—

After the team closes the case, the team sits in relative silence on the jet, each member deep in thought, processing the horrors. The soft hum of the plane’s engine provides a strange comfort, and the tension of the day slowly begins to ease. Morgan sits across from Rossi, resting his elbows on his knees, staring off into the distance. Rossi watches him for a moment before speaking up.

“You did good work out there,” Rossi says, his voice steady and calm, the kind of voice that always has a way of grounding everyone. 

Morgan looks up, giving a half-smile, but there’s a heaviness behind his eyes. “Yeah... but you know how it is, man. No matter how many of these cases we close, it never feels like it’s enough.” He shakes his head, running a hand over his face as if to brush away the exhaustion. “I just keep thinking about Abby’s family. They’ll never be the same.”

Rossi leans back in his seat, folding his hands in his lap, a thoughtful look on his face. “Yeah, it’s tough. But we gave them answers. And sometimes, that’s all we can do. You know as well as I do, it’s not about winning every battle. It’s about making sure we fight it.”

Morgan nods, his jaw tightening as he absorbs Rossi’s words. “I know,” he says, voice a little softer now. “It’s just... there’s so much darkness out there. And some days, it feels like it’s winning.”

Rossi’s expression shifts into something more reflective, a small, wise smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Maybe it feels like that,” he admits, “but the fact that it bothers you — the fact that it bothers all of us — that’s what makes the difference, Morgan. It means we’re still out there, shining a light in the darkness.”

Morgan's shoulders relax a little, and he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “I guess you’re right. Just gotta keep fighting, right?”

Rossi raises a glass of bourbon from his side table, offering a silent toast. “To fighting the good fight.”

Morgan grins, and they clink glasses in a quiet, shared moment of understanding. The jet continues its journey through the night, a small point of light against the vast expanse of sky.

—

Meanwhile, Penelope walks arm-in-arm with James, her laughter bright and infectious as it echoes down the sidewalk. They reach the front steps of her apartment building, and she turns to face him. “Well, this was... really nice,” she says, giving him a genuine smile. 

James grins back at her, and for a second, he leans in as if he’s about to kiss her. But at the last second, he pulls back, laughing playfully. “Sorry,” he says, scratching his head sheepishly. “Didn’t want to be too forward.”

Garcia giggles, shaking her head at his little fake-out. “You almost had me there,” she teases, turning to fish for her keys in her bag. “Well, goodnight, James.”

“Goodnight, Penelope,” he says, stepping back and starting to walk away, giving her one last wave. 

As she turns to unlock her door, James suddenly stops, a strange stillness in the way he holds himself. He calls out to her over his shoulder, voice casual but loud enough to make her pause. “Hey, Garcia?”

Penelope looks up, smiling as she begins to open her door. “Yeah?”

James turns fully toward her, the smile gone from his face, replaced with an unsettling calm. “I’ve been thinking about doing this all night,” he says, reaching into his jacket pocket.

Before Garcia can even process what’s happening, James pulls out a gun, his movements quick and fluid. The world seems to slow down around her — her eyes widen, her mouth opens to scream, but the sound never comes. 

And then, in an instant, the gun fires. The crack of the shot echoes through the empty street, and Penelope’s body jerks back, eyes wide with shock and pain as she collapses to the ground, her keys scattering across the pavement. 

James stands there for a moment, the smoke from the barrel of his gun curling into the night air. He watches as she gasps for breath, a cruel smile curling on his lips before he turns and disappears into the shadows, leaving Penelope lying there, her life slipping away on the cold, unforgiving ground.

—

Back on the jet, you lean back in your seat, facing Spencer with a thoughtful look. “You know, I keep wondering what Penelope’s date is like,” you muse aloud, spinning your half-empty cup of coffee between your hands. “I hope she’s having fun. She deserves it.”

Spencer’s brows knit in mild surprise, his mouth opening to respond, but before he can even utter a word, Derek’s voice cuts across the cabin. “Wait — hold up.” He’s leaning forward in his seat, eyes wide and brimming with concern. “Garcia actually went on that date?”

“Yeah, she did.” You nod, meeting his incredulous stare with a small smile. “I told her to go for it. She’s gotta put herself out there, right? No reason for her to hold back just because you’re all... alpha about it.”

“Alpha?” Derek echoes, looking around at the others as if searching for an ally. “I’m not... okay, look, I just want to make sure she’s safe. And how do you even know if this guy’s legit? Did you see him? Talk to him?”

You wave a hand dismissively. “No, but she deserves to have fun, Derek. She seemed excited, and it’s not like she doesn’t have a good head on her shoulders. I think it’s great that she’s taking a chance on something new.”

Emily nods along in agreement, leaning back with a relaxed smile. “I think it’s sweet. And Penelope isn’t some naïve kid — she’s a grown woman. She can take care of herself.”

JJ chimes in with a bright smile, “Yeah, and besides, it’s not like she’s going to let someone walk all over her. She’ll know if something’s up. And if he treats her right, then it’s all the better for her. Maybe it’ll turn into something special.”

Rossi, watching the whole exchange with an amused smirk, adds, “Sometimes people surprise you. And sometimes that surprise is exactly what someone needs to get out of their comfort zone. Our girl deserves someone to treat her well.”

Derek’s shoulders stay tense, and he shakes his head, letting out a sigh. “I get that, but... I just want to make sure she’s happy. That’s all. You know Garcia — she’s got a big heart, and I don’t want some guy messing with it.”

You reach over and pat Derek on the shoulder, a soft smile on your lips. “I get it, really. But maybe you should trust her on this. Penelope’s stronger than you think, and she’s allowed to take some risks. It’s not always about protecting her, Derek — sometimes it’s about letting her live.”

Spencer, who’s been listening quietly, finally speaks up. “She’ll be fine, Derek. And she’s lucky to have someone who cares as much as you do. But I think what she really needs right now is support... and maybe for us to just be happy for her.”

Derek looks around at everyone, the tension in his expression easing as he sees the genuine support in the eyes of his teammates. He lets out a reluctant chuckle, running a hand over his shaved head. “Alright, alright. I guess I’m just overprotective.”

“Just a bit,” you tease with a playful nudge.

“Fine,” Derek relents, lifting his hands in surrender. “But if this guy hurts her...”

“Then we’ll all be there to kick his ass,” Emily assures with a wink, and the team laughs, the conversation flowing into lighter banter, the tension dissipating as they talk about how much they hope Penelope enjoys her date — all of them unknowingly letting go of their worry while the truth of the night's events remains just out of reach.

You leaned into Spencer, feeling that familiar warmth spread through you as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer until your head rested comfortably against him. You felt the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your cheek, and he gave you a reassuring squeeze, a silent show of support and affection.

The chatter of your teammates surrounded you, playful jokes about first-date jitters and guesses about how Penelope’s night might be going. It was one of those rare lighthearted moments that made the job feel less heavy. And as you closed your eyes for just a moment, feeling the calm of Spencer’s presence, everything felt okay.

The jet touched down smoothly, and you straightened up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of Spencer’s side as everyone prepared to disembark. But as soon as the wheels hit the ground, Hotch’s phone buzzed loudly against the table. He picked it up immediately, his expression going from relaxed to steely in an instant as he answered.

“Hotchner,” he said, his voice flat and professional.

The team began to gather their things, their attention still mostly on wrapping up the casual conversation, until Hotch’s face went stark white, his eyes narrowing as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. His mouth opened slightly, and you saw the shock in his eyes before he steeled himself again.

“What happened?” he demanded, his tone shifting from its usual calm to something far more urgent. He stood up abruptly, stepping away from the team, but you could all still hear him as the rest of the plane went silent, each of you glancing at one another with rising concern. Spencer’s hand instinctively found yours, and you squeezed it, anxiety blooming in your chest.

“Where was she?” Hotch’s voice was clipped, a mixture of alarm and anger. “When?”

You exchanged quick glances with your teammates. It wasn’t normal to see Hotch like this, and that fear in his voice made the hairs on your arms stand on end.

“Is she...?” Hotch stopped, and there was a pause, a terrible pause that seemed to stretch on forever. You held your breath, waiting, every second feeling like a lifetime.

“Understood. We’re on our way.” Hotch’s voice was low, tight with a struggle to maintain control. He hung up without another word, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the tension in his muscles.

He turned back to the team, his expression grim, and you knew, you just knew, that whatever had happened, it wasn’t good.

Hotch’s voice was like ice, cutting through the stunned silence of the jet as he delivered the news that seemed impossible to process: “Garcia’s been shot. She’s in the hospital, in surgery.”

The world seemed to tilt, a rush of chaos and confusion drowning out everything else. In an instant, you and the rest of the team scrambled to grab your bags, shock and fear flashing in everyone’s eyes. It was like all at once, the air was sucked out of the room, and before anyone could fully understand what was happening, you were rushing down the steps of the jet. The roar of the engines and the slap of your feet against the tarmac seemed distant, muffled, as adrenaline took over. 

Within seconds, you piled into the SUVs, slamming the doors shut as the engines roared to life, and the cars sped off toward the hospital. The journey felt agonizingly long, despite the breakneck speed. No one spoke, but the tension in the car was palpable — every breath was shallow, every heartbeat loud in your ears. Your hand was clasped tightly in Spencer’s, and he held on as if anchoring you to reality, but all you could think about was Garcia and the thought of losing her. 

When you finally pulled up to the hospital, everyone practically flew out of the cars, running toward the entrance. The white lights of the waiting room were harsh and sterile, amplifying the dread that hung over the team. Hotch was the first to speak to the receptionist, his voice firm and demanding answers, but the only thing they knew was that Penelope was in surgery — no word on her condition, no updates, and, most importantly, no word on who had done this to her. 

And so you waited. 

The team paced, hands running through hair, fists clenching and unclenching as they tried to contain the storm of emotions within. The minutes stretched into hours, and the silence felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on each of you. Spencer held you close, one arm wrapped tightly around you as you buried your face into his chest, tears streaming down your face. He murmured gentle reassurances, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles on your back, but his own eyes were red-rimmed and his voice strained, betraying his fear. 

Across the room, Derek’s frustration finally boiled over, and he lashed out, yelling at a nurse who could provide no new information. “What the hell do you mean, you don’t know anything? That’s our friend in there! You have to know something!” His voice was raw, the anger masking his pain, but before he could cause more of a scene, Hotch intervened, gripping his shoulder firmly and steering him outside. 

The tension in the room didn't lessen, only growing heavier in Derek’s absence. Emily sat with her elbows on her knees, hands clasped tightly together, staring at the ground as if willing time to move faster. Rossi paced back and forth, his jaw tight, not a word leaving his mouth, but the anger and sorrow on his face spoke volumes. JJ stood near you, hugging her arms to her chest, eyes fixed on the swinging doors that led to the surgery wing, willing them to open with some kind of good news.

Hours passed in that awful purgatory, time stretching and distorting until it seemed like you’d been waiting an eternity. And then, finally, a nurse came out and told you that one person could go back to see her. As a unit, the decision was made for Hotch to go — Garcia had named him her emergency contact, and he was the steady hand, the one who would be able to bring back the information without being overwhelmed by the storm of emotions all of you were feeling. 

The waiting resumed, and all you could do was cling to Spencer tighter, the fear and worry seeming to squeeze the breath from your lungs. 

When Hotch emerged from behind the doors some time later, his face was unreadable, a mask of professionalism over whatever emotions he was truly feeling. The rest of you gathered around him quickly, every muscle tensed as you waited for him to say something, anything, about Garcia. 

“Garcia’s going to make it,” he said, his voice low but firm. You let out a shuddering breath of relief, and the room seemed to collectively exhale. “She’s stable, but...” He paused, glancing at each of you, and in his eyes, you saw a darkness that made your stomach drop.

“It was her date who shot her,” he said quietly. “James. But his real name... is Jason Clark Battle.”

The name seemed to hang in the air like a curse, and it took a moment for the shock to register. And when it did, Derek’s expression twisted with a rage so violent it was almost frightening. “No,” he said, shaking his head as if refusing to believe it. “No, no, no—” His voice rose to a shout, and before anyone could react, he lunged toward you, face twisted with anger and pain. “You told her to go! You told her to go with him!”

His hands reached out to grab you, but before he could touch you, Rossi and Emily were on him, grabbing his arms and holding him back. “Derek, stop!” Rossi’s voice was sharp, his grip firm as he held Morgan in place. “This isn’t their fault!”

“Let go of me!” Derek struggled against their hold, his voice hoarse with fury, his eyes wild and filled with a grief that had no outlet. “I should’ve stopped her... I should’ve...”

Hotch stepped between you and Derek, his face set in a stern, controlled mask. “Enough,” he said, his tone brokering no argument. “This is not how we handle this. We find this man, and we make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

It felt like everything around you was falling apart, the walls closing in as the weight of the world crashed down on you, pressing in from all sides. Your breath caught in your throat, and you turned to the one person who could always make things feel right — Spencer. You reached out to him, seeking his comfort, his steady reassurance. But instead of the familiar warmth of his embrace, you were met with a coldness that hit you like a blow to the chest.

He stepped back, his eyes fixed on you with a look you’d never seen before — something between shock, hurt, and a kind of betrayal that cut deep. The warmth was gone, replaced by an expression that made your stomach drop. 

“Spence?” you whispered, your voice trembling, barely more than a whimper. You felt your world spiraling, desperately trying to grasp onto something to steady yourself. 

Spencer’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment, then back to you, and he shook his head, his expression clouded with confusion and anger. “You told her to go,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper but laced with pain. It wasn’t an accusation, not quite, but it felt like one all the same. He kept backing away from you, his face crumpling into an anguish you’d never seen before, like he was fighting to hold himself together. And then, without another word, he turned and stormed out of the waiting room, his footsteps echoing.

“Spencer!” JJ called after him, her voice urgent, but he didn’t stop. Without hesitation, she rushed to follow him, leaving you standing there, frozen in place.

Your eyes welled up with tears as you tried to piece together what had just happened, a sob choking in your throat. It felt like the ground had been ripped out from under you, and you were falling, tumbling into a void. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your own body, trying to stave off the cold emptiness that seemed to seep into your bones. You wanted to scream, to cry out and make sense of the look in Spencer’s eyes, the pain in his voice. But all that came out was a soft, broken whisper.

“Spencer...”

Rossi was there in an instant, a steadying hand on your shoulder, guiding you gently to a nearby chair as the reality of the situation crashed over you in relentless waves. Emily crouched down in front of you, her face tight with concern as she spoke softly, her words trying to break through the fog in your mind. But you could hardly hear her. The only thing echoing in your head were Spencer’s words — “You told her to go” — a statement that seemed to slice through your heart, over and over again.

—

You left the hospital soon after Spencer did. The cold night air hit your face as you stepped outside, but the chill did little to clear your head. Everything felt like a blur — Spencer’s words, the look on his face, Derek’s anger — it all played on a loop in your mind, each second replaying with sharper edges, digging deeper into your heart. You didn’t know how to feel, how to process the whirlwind of fear, guilt, and confusion. But one thing was clear: you had to find the man who hurt Penelope.

The next morning came all too quickly. The sun hadn’t even begun to rise when you arrived at the BAU. The bullpen was already a flurry of activity, the team moving with a frantic energy that matched your own desperate need to do something, anything, that could bring justice for Penelope. But as soon as you stepped inside, the adrenaline wasn’t enough to mask the raw pain that hit you when you saw Spencer.

He sat at his desk, fingers typing furiously at his keyboard, his face drawn tight with concentration. You stood there for a moment, holding your breath, waiting for him to look up — to give you some sign, any sign, that you could start to fix whatever had broken between you the night before. But Spencer wouldn’t look at you. It was as if you didn’t exist, like he’d built an invisible wall around himself, and you couldn’t break through. The red puffiness around your eyes was the only outward sign of the sleepless night you’d had, but the exhaustion in your soul ran much deeper.

When you walked past JJ’s desk, she reached out and touched your arm gently, her eyes full of concern, the pity unmistakable. “Hey,” she whispered, trying to offer comfort, but you shook your head, swallowing hard. The last thing you could bear right now was pity. Not when you had to keep it together for Penelope.

The rest of the team looked at you with the same expressions — sympathetic, worried, but no one knew what to say. And the truth was, neither did you. You bit down on the inside of your cheek, feeling the familiar sting of guilt rise in your throat, and forced yourself to look away, trying to focus on the task at hand. It was time to work, and that was something you could still do. Something you could control.

Well, the whole team except for Derek. 

Every time he walked by, you could feel his eyes burning into you, his anger practically crackling like static in the air between you. And he didn’t hold back, either. With each passing hour, he took every chance to let you know exactly what he thought, throwing thinly-veiled digs and outright accusations whenever he could. 

“This is your fault, you know,” he muttered under his breath when you passed each other in the hallway. “You’re the one who pushed her into going out with that psychopath. If she’d just listened to me, she’d be safe.”

You squeezed your eyes shut as his words stabbed into you like a knife, but you didn’t reply. You couldn’t. You just kept walking, heading back to your desk with that guilt clawing up your throat, making it hard to breathe. There was no time to argue, no room to let Derek’s words take over. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shut them out.

And then there were the moments when Derek couldn’t hold it in, when his anger boiled over and his voice rose loud enough for the whole team to hear. “You know that if she dies... if she dies, it’s on you,” he spat, his eyes burning with a fury so sharp it left you feeling gutted. “Her blood’s on your hands. Because you thought it was a good idea to let her go out with some random guy.”

You could feel the eyes of the rest of the team on you whenever it happened, the tension in the room growing thick and heavy as they tried to balance the grief for Penelope and the pain of watching their family fall apart. JJ would try to step in, her voice gentle but firm as she said, “Derek, now’s not the time—” or Hotch would give him a stern look, that unspoken command to drop it. But nothing seemed to get through to him, and each word he threw at you landed like a punch, his grief and fear bleeding out as anger directed at you.

You couldn’t argue with him. You didn’t know how to defend yourself. How could you, when deep down, a part of you agreed with every word he said? 

So you did the only thing you could — you kept your head down and worked, staring at files until your eyes burned, listening to updates and following every lead until you were numb to everything except the hope that finding Jason Clark Battle would somehow make it right. You tried to drown out Derek’s voice, drown out the guilt, drown out the sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, if you hadn’t encouraged Penelope, things wouldn’t have gone this way. But no matter how hard you tried to bury it, Derek’s words followed you, hanging over you like a dark shadow. 

And the work continued, relentless and desperate, with everyone pushing forward to find the man who’d hurt Penelope. But the team was fractured, split between their grief and their anger, and the chasm between you and Derek seemed to widen with every word he threw your way.

Even as you worked, though, you could feel Spencer nearby — that familiar presence that you could always sense, whether you were looking at him or not. But this time, it felt different, like an ache just below the surface, a heavy, unspoken rift. He still wouldn’t look at you, wouldn’t speak to you, even as you shared the same space, both working to the same goal. And no one pushed him. No one had the time or the energy to force him to talk through his emotions, not when there was a dangerous man on the loose and a life hanging in the balance.

But every time you heard Spencer’s voice — every rapid-fire observation, every note of urgency — it felt like a reminder of how things had changed in the space of a night. You worked side by side, but worlds apart, both desperate to save Garcia, but more than that, desperate to find your way back to each other.

And so, the hours wore on, a relentless, all-consuming search for Jason Clark Battle, with every member of the team driven by the same furious need to bring him to justice. Because in the midst of all the uncertainty and hurt, one thing was clear: no one was going to let him get away with what he’d done to Penelope. Not while any of you still had breath left to fight.

The team found Jason Clark Battle quickly, all things considered. The determination to bring him to justice — to make him pay for what he'd done to Penelope — fueled every moment, every step, every search through records and combing of evidence. But as the moment of his arrest neared, it became a new kind of challenge: keeping Derek Morgan away. 

Hotch had to physically block him from joining the takedown, knowing all too well that if Derek got his hands on the man who shot Penelope, it wouldn’t end in an arrest. “Stand down, Morgan,” Hotch had ordered, his voice like a steel blade, cutting through the thick fog of Derek’s rage. It took Rossi and Emily to finally pull him back, their hands firm on his shoulders as Derek cursed and seethed, every inch of his body vibrating with the need to rip Battle apart. But they couldn't afford to lose two team members to the fallout, and Morgan was forced to stay back, simmering with fury as the rest of the team moved in.

When Jason Clark Battle was finally caught, subdued, and taken into custody, there was a quiet satisfaction in knowing that the man who hurt Penelope would face justice. But the victory was bitter, the relief tainted by the damage left in the wake of what had happened. The case might have been closed, but for all of you, it didn’t feel like a win — not when someone you loved was still lying in a hospital bed, healing from wounds she never should have gotten.

Once the reports were turned in and the team was officially dismissed, you watched as everyone else gathered to visit Penelope. There was a sort of reverence in how they spoke of her, quiet smiles and gentle jokes exchanged as they planned to bring flowers, chocolate, and anything else that would bring a smile to her face. But you couldn't go. The thought of stepping into that hospital room, of meeting her eyes, of seeing the pain and understanding what your advice had led to... it felt unbearable. You couldn’t face her, couldn’t let her see how broken you felt, knowing how close you’d come to losing her because you thought you were doing something good.

So, while your teammates headed to the hospital, ready to surround Penelope with love and support, you went home. The silence of your apartment was suffocating, and it took everything in you to not collapse under the weight of your own regret. The emptiness of being away from the team, from Penelope, only deepened your guilt. But it was better than showing up and making things worse — better than her having to see your face and be reminded of everything that happened. 

Instead, you did what little you could from afar. You sent gift baskets filled with all of her favorite snacks — crunchy caramel popcorn, brightly wrapped candies, a couple of silly trinkets you hoped would make her laugh. You sent care packages with magazines, crossword puzzles, and soft blankets she could curl up with while she healed. You tried to send all the comfort you couldn’t bring yourself to give in person, every basket and letter a quiet apology you weren’t sure you deserved to offer. You only hoped she knew that, despite the distance, you were thinking of her. That you were sorry. 

And as the days went on, and Penelope stayed in that hospital, you wondered if she could ever forgive you — if one day, when she was better and things returned to some semblance of normalcy, she might understand that all you wanted was for her to find happiness. That, even though your advice had gone so terribly wrong, it had come from a place of love. But the uncertainty of her forgiveness lingered, hanging over you like a cloud, and all you could do was hope that, in time, the rift could be healed.

Until then, you stayed away, waiting for the moment you could finally make amends — if that moment ever came.

—

The next workday, you sat at your desk, your eyes fixed on the papers in front of you, but your mind felt miles away. The sound of your own heartbeat seemed loud in the quiet of the bullpen, pounding relentlessly in your ears as you willed yourself to focus on something — anything — other than the turmoil of the last few days. You barely slept, and the fatigue sat heavy on your shoulders, making every moment feel sluggish, disconnected from reality. The tension still hung in the air, lingering after Penelope’s shooting, and it felt like every step you took was on eggshells, threatening to crack under the weight of all you hadn’t said. 

You didn't hear Derek's approach at first, lost as you were in your own thoughts. But when you did catch the sight of his broad form looming in your peripheral vision, your whole body tensed up instinctively, bracing for what you knew would be another wave of anger, another round of accusations that would leave you feeling raw and exposed.

Here it comes, you thought. The guilt clenched in your chest as you waited for the onslaught, already picturing the words he’d throw at you, the blame you knew you deserved.

But then, you looked up, and the expression on Derek's face made you pause. It wasn’t what you expected. The hard lines of anger that had been etched there were gone, replaced by something softer, something regretful. He stood before you, shifting his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other, his hands shoved into his pockets, his mouth opening and closing as if struggling to find the right words.

“Hey,” he finally said, his voice low and rough with emotion.

“Hey.” You nodded back, your voice barely more than a whisper, your body still taut like a rubber band pulled too tight.

Derek glanced down for a moment, and when he looked back up, there was an apology written all over his face. “I, uh... I came to talk to you about... you know.” He trailed off, taking a deep breath as if trying to steady himself. “About what I said. What I did. And... I’m sorry.”

You blinked, the words hitting you like a punch you didn’t see coming. “You’re... sorry?” you repeated, trying to make sense of it, unsure if you’d heard him right.

“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “I shouldn’t have come at you like that. I... I was angry, and scared, and I let it all out on you, and that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault, what happened to Garcia. You were just being a good friend.” He paused, letting out a long, heavy breath. “And I guess... in a way, I’m mad at myself. Mad that I couldn’t keep her safe, that I didn’t know who this guy was, that I couldn’t stop it... so I put all that on you. And I’m sorry.”

You searched his eyes, looking for any trace of the rage you’d seen before, but all you saw now was sincerity, and pain, and a vulnerability that you hadn’t expected to find there. Derek Morgan — the strongest person you knew — was admitting his own fear and guilt to you, and it felt like the world was tilting just a little bit on its axis.

The tightness in your throat made it hard to speak, but you forced the words out, your voice cracking around the edges. “I... I get it. I mean, I don’t blame you for being angry, Derek. And I’m sorry too. I never would’ve... I never thought something like this would happen.” You looked down, feeling your eyes burn with tears you didn’t want to shed, not here, not now. “If I could take it back, I would. All of it.”

Derek stepped closer, and before you could react, he reached out, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t put this on yourself. Penelope’s strong. She’s gonna be okay. And you didn’t do anything wrong — you were just looking out for her, just like I was.” He gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his voice softening. “We’re all just trying to do right by each other, you know? And sometimes we mess up. But that’s not on you.”

The tears that you’d been holding back finally spilled over, and you bit down on your lip, nodding as you tried to gather yourself. “Thanks, Derek,” you whispered, managing a small, shaky smile. “I just... I just want her to be okay.”

“She will be,” he assured you, his voice full of quiet confidence. “She’s got all of us in her corner. And I know it’s hard to believe, but... we’re gonna get through this. Together.”

He gave your shoulder one last squeeze before letting go, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a small sliver of relief, like the weight pressing down on you had been lifted just slightly. 

“Derek...?” you said, your voice small and timid, almost afraid to ask the question that had been weighing on your heart since you’d stepped back into the bullpen. 

“Yeah, baby?” he answered, his voice gentle and warm, and the nickname — your old nickname — made you smile, if only for a moment. Spencer had been the one to call you that more often lately, and hearing it from Derek felt like a return to something familiar, something safe.

You took a breath, biting down on your lip as you looked down at your hands, your fingers nervously twisting together. “Have you... have you talked to Spencer?”

Derek’s expression darkened, and he sighed deeply, the sound heavy and full of exhaustion. He ran a hand over his face, the weariness showing in the lines around his eyes, and when he looked at you again, there was a sadness there that made your heart sink even further. “No, mama,” he said softly, shaking his head. “Pretty boy hasn’t really talked to anyone. He’s got something going on in that big head of his, but he’s not letting us in yet.”

You nodded slowly, trying to keep your face neutral, but you knew Derek could see the worry in your eyes. The way Spencer had looked at you — the way he’d walked away from you — it was like losing a part of yourself, and the uncertainty of not knowing where you stood made it so much worse. And now, knowing that he wasn’t talking to anyone, wasn’t letting anyone in... it made you feel like you were watching him slip further and further away, with no way to reach him.

Derek watched you for a moment, then reached out and placed a comforting hand on your arm. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. “Whatever’s going on with him, it’s not about you, alright? He’ll come around. You know how Spencer is — sometimes he just needs to get in his head before he can come out again.”

“But what if... what if he doesn't?” you asked, your voice breaking on the last word, the fear you’d been trying so hard to suppress finally spilling out. “What if he never forgives me, Derek? What if—”

“Don’t do that to yourself,” Derek cut in gently but firmly, giving your arm a reassuring squeeze. “You know how much you mean to him. He’s just... processing. And it might take him some time, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. Just give him space to figure it out. And when he’s ready, he’ll come to you.”

You let out a shaky breath, nodding, trying to hold on to Derek’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right,” you said, though the doubt still lingered.

Derek smiled softly, a warmth in his eyes as he gave your arm one last squeeze. “Of course I’m right,” he said, his tone lightening. “And in the meantime, you’ve got me and the rest of the team. You’re not alone, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, trying to believe it. “Thanks, Derek.”

“Anytime, mama,” he said, his voice low and comforting. “Now let’s get that coffee. We’ve got a lot to do, and moping around ain’t gonna help nobody.” 

And with that, he led you to the corner of the bullpen, and you did your best to push the worry from your mind, to focus on what you could do here and now, hoping that Spencer would eventually find his way back to you.

—

The day Penelope returned to work felt almost like a holiday. The bullpen was transformed, bursting with bright colors and streamers that cascaded down from the ceiling. Balloons, in every vibrant hue imaginable, were tied to the chairs, and the break room was packed with all her favorite snacks and drinks — colorful cupcakes, glittery cookies, and more caffeine than the doctor would ever allow. The team had gone all out, putting together a grand welcome fit for the one and only Penelope Garcia. The room was buzzing with laughter and excitement as she entered, everyone cheering loudly as she walked through the doors, wide-eyed and grinning.

It was exactly the kind of entrance Penelope deserved. And as she hugged each person, the joy on her face made the space feel warmer, brighter. But you stood in the back, a small smile on your lips, content to watch from a distance. You clapped along with everyone else, but you kept to yourself, too aware of the gnawing guilt that still sat in your chest. It was wonderful to see Penelope smiling, to see her back on her feet and surrounded by the love of her family. But being there, knowing what you’d encouraged her to do, left you feeling like an outsider, not quite sure where you fit in anymore.

When Penelope finally got to you, it took all your courage to step forward and pull her into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” you said, your voice trembling slightly, and you clung to her a little tighter than you’d intended. The relief of finally seeing her in person, of knowing she was safe and whole, made your throat tighten with emotion. 

Penelope returned the hug with a strength that surprised you, squeezing you tightly as if she didn’t want to let go. “I’m just happy to see you, hon,” she whispered, her voice warm and forgiving. “It’s been too long.”

You pulled back, offering a small, apologetic smile, but the warmth in her eyes made it clear that there was no anger there, no bitterness — just pure gratitude and love. And for a fleeting moment, you felt the overwhelming urge to spill everything, to apologize for not visiting, to explain the guilt that had been eating away at you. But Penelope gave you a knowing look, a slight shake of her head, as if to say not now. And you understood. This moment was for her — for the joy of being back, for the healing that still needed to happen. The deeper conversation could wait.

But as the celebration continued and the week went on, you still kept your distance. You showed up, of course, participated in the day-to-day, but any time Penelope tried to engage with you beyond work matters, you found ways to cut the conversation short, to avoid anything that could bring up what happened. You didn’t want to push her; you didn’t want to burden her with the weight you were carrying, the idea that anything you say could put her in danger. And you could see she was trying to give you space, to let you come to her on your own terms. But the longer you avoided it, the harder it became to find a way back to the easy friendship you once had.

By the end of the week, it seemed Penelope had had enough. As you were leaving the office one evening, walking toward the elevators, she appeared beside you with a determined look on her face.

“Going somewhere?” she asked, planting herself firmly in your path, hands on her hips.

“Just... heading home,” you said, trying to sound casual, but the way she was looking at you made your heart skip a nervous beat.

“Well, change of plans,” Penelope said cheerfully, not giving you a chance to argue. “You’re coming over tonight. We need some serious girl talk, and I’m not taking no for an answer.”

“Penny, I—” You opened your mouth to protest, but the look on her face was unwavering, her smile patient but insistent, like she’d already made up her mind and wasn’t going to let you wriggle your way out of it.

“Ah ah ah, don’t even try it,” she said, holding up a finger in playful warning. “We’re way overdue for some quality time, and if I have to drag you to my place myself, I will. And believe me, I’ve got the strength to do it.” She gave you a pointed look, raising her eyebrows.

You let out a sigh, feeling the tension in your shoulders slowly give way. How could you say no? Penelope was right; you did need this. And no matter how afraid you were of having that conversation, of putting her in more danger, you couldn’t keep running from her. “Okay,” you said finally, giving her a small smile. “I’ll come over.”

“Good!” she exclaimed, beaming as she linked her arm with yours, pulling you into the elevator with a bounce in her step. “I’ll see you at seven. And trust me, it’s gonna be like old times. Pinky swear.”

And just like that, with Penelope by your side, the world felt just a little bit brighter again.

Being with Penelope felt so easy, so natural — just like it had always been. From the moment you stepped into her apartment, it was as though nothing had changed, as if the heavy cloud of the last few weeks wasn’t hanging over you. She’d set up her place just the way you remembered, warm colors, quirky decor, fairy lights draped over bookshelves, and the familiar scent of lavender. And Penelope, as if sensing your hesitation, knew exactly how to guide you back into a comfortable rhythm.

It started with laughter, of course. The kind only she could pull out of you, a sound that seemed to break down the walls you’d built around your heart. She leaned back on her sofa, legs curled under her as she went on about the latest gossip in her stack of magazines, her voice rising with excitement and exaggeration. 

“Okay, so tell me this,” Penelope started, waving around a magazine with glossy pages. “How is it possible that Bruce Willis can just get hotter every year? It’s like the laws of nature don’t apply to this man!”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “I guess some people are just blessed like that.”

“And don't even get me started on what I saw in the office last week,” she continued, leaning closer with a conspiratorial whisper. “I swear to you, I saw a hickey on Hotch’s neck. A hickey. On. Aaron Hotchner’s. Neck.”

You nearly choked on your drink, the image catching you completely off guard. “No way!”

“Yes way!” she nodded, her eyes wide with the thrill of gossip. “I’m telling you, our stoic unit chief has a spicy side. And speaking of spicy sides, have you seen how Emily and JJ have been looking at each other lately? I mean, come on, are they not totally vibing?”

The conversation flowed easily, effortlessly, and before long, you found yourself leaning back, laughing, the warmth of Penelope’s company soothing all those frayed edges that had been gnawing away at you for so long. For the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe again. It was fun to catch up, to just be with her, to hear about all the little things you’d missed — the world outside the darkness you’d been living in. And you could see how much Penelope was thriving, back in her element, glowing with that infectious positivity you’d always loved about her. 

But eventually, it happened. The laughter faded, and the unspoken truth sat between you like a presence too big to ignore. Penelope’s expression softened, her eyes meeting yours with that gentle understanding you’d come to know so well. “Okay, hon,” she said softly, resting her hand on yours. “We’ve gotta talk about it. About what’s been eating you up inside.”

You opened your mouth to protest, to make an excuse, but it was like the dam broke before you could stop it. All the guilt, the fear, the shame — it all came flooding out. Tears welled up in your eyes, and you couldn’t stop the trembling as you finally voiced the things you’d been holding onto for so long.

“Penny, I... I don’t know how to say this,” you started, your voice cracking. “But I’m so sorry. I... I didn’t know, I couldn’t know what was going to happen, but I feel like it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t told you to go, if I hadn’t encouraged you to see him, then maybe you wouldn’t have...”

“Stop,” Penelope said firmly, squeezing your hand. “Just stop right there.” Her eyes were intense, her voice steady in a way that cut through all the panic you were feeling. “You didn’t know. None of us did. And what happened — what he did to me — that is not on you. Do you hear me? It is not your fault.”

“But what if it happens again?” you whispered, tears spilling freely down your cheeks. “What if I give you bad advice? What if I invite you somewhere, or we’re just hanging out, and I somehow put you in the wrong place at the wrong time and you get hurt again? I don’t... I don’t think I could handle it. I can’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

Penelope’s eyes softened, and without missing a beat, she pulled you into a hug, wrapping her arms around you tightly. “Shh,” she murmured against your hair. “You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that.”

You clung to her, the sobs coming freely now as all the fear and self-blame poured out of you. Penelope held you firmly, stroking your back, soothing you like only she could. “I know you’re scared,” she said gently. “But, sweetie, you can’t carry the weight of things you can’t control. What happened to me — that was on Jason. He was the one who did this. Not you. You were just being a friend, trying to help me find some happiness. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“But I should’ve known better,” you mumbled against her shoulder, the words muffled but filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have pushed you to go.”

“Hey, listen to me,” she said, pulling back to look you in the eyes, her hands gripping your shoulders. “You didn’t push me. I chose to go on that date. And yes, it turned out horribly. But that doesn’t mean you should stop being my friend, or stop giving me advice, or living your life like you’re walking on eggshells around me. I need you, okay? And I need you to be you, because that’s the person who’s always been there for me, the person I love. I don’t want you holding back because of fear.”

The sincerity in her voice, the love, and the forgiveness shining in her eyes broke down the last of your walls. You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat as you tried to believe her words. “I just... I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered again, your voice small and vulnerable.

“And you won’t,” Penelope said, her voice steady and resolute as she held your gaze. But then, her expression shifted, her eyes searching yours with a gentleness that only she could carry. “But I know that’s not all.”

A flicker of confusion crossed your face. “What do you mean?”

Penelope hesitated, biting down on her lip before speaking, her eyes dropping to her hands as she fidgeted with a loose thread on the blanket draped over her lap. When she finally looked up again, there was a hint of sheepishness in her expression, like she was tiptoeing into territory she wasn’t sure she should tread. “I know you were worried about me, hon,” she said softly. “And I love you so much for that, for being there for me even when you couldn’t actually be there. But… I can tell I’m not the eye of the hurricane inside your head.”

You felt your breath catch, the truth of her words hitting you with a force that left you momentarily speechless. It was as though she had seen straight through you, through all the guilt, all the fear — to the thing that lay beneath it all. And as much as you wanted to deny it, to tell her that it was just about her, you knew you couldn’t lie to Penelope.

You sighed deeply, the weight of everything you’d been holding onto crashing down on you again. You sniffled, trying to steady your voice as you nodded slowly. “Spencer,” you said, the name leaving your lips like an admission of a wound you hadn’t yet looked at directly. “Spencer hasn’t talked to me since we found out what happened.”

Penelope’s eyes widened with sympathy, and she reached out to take your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Oh, sweetie...”

“It’s like he just shut me out,” you continued, your voice trembling. “The day we found out about you, he walked out of the hospital without even looking back. He hasn’t said a word to me since, and every time I try to talk to him, he just... shuts down. I know he’s hurting. And I know he’s probably just processing everything, but...” Your voice cracked, and you shook your head as the tears welled up again. “It feels like I lost him too. Like I lost both of you. And I don’t know how to make it right.”

Penelope listened intently, her face softening with every word you spoke. She could see how much pain you were carrying, how deeply Spencer’s silence had cut you. “Have you tried talking to him? I mean, really talking to him? Not just about work or everyday stuff, but about how you’re feeling?”

You nodded, though your shoulders slumped as the hopelessness of it all settled back in. “I’ve tried, Pen. I’ve tried so many times. But every time I get close, it’s like he just... builds a wall. He won’t even look at me sometimes. And it hurts, because I don’t know what to do to fix it.”

Penelope was quiet for a moment, her expression thoughtful as she processed your words. Then she sighed softly, her fingers intertwining with yours. “You know what I think?” she said gently. “I think Spencer is hurting more than he knows how to deal with. And I think he’s taking that hurt and turning it inward — or maybe even outward. But I also know that he cares about you so, so much. He wouldn’t just turn his back on you for good.”

You shook your head, the tears finally spilling over again. “But what if he has? What if he’s blamed me for this just like everyone else did?”

“Honey, listen to me,” Penelope said, her voice firm but full of compassion. “Spencer Reid might be a genius, but he’s also a human. And sometimes, humans don’t know what to do with all the pain they carry. That doesn’t mean it’s your fault, and that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. He just needs time, and you might need to let yourself be okay with that. I know it’s hard, but you can’t carry both your own guilt and his.”

You sat there, taking in her words, trying to let them sink in. It was easier said than done, but hearing Penelope — wise, compassionate Penelope — tell you that it was okay to not have all the answers gave you a sliver of relief. 

“Do you really think he’ll come around?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability clear in your eyes.

Penelope smiled, a genuine, warm smile that seemed to light up the whole room. “I know he will. And until then, you’ve got me.”

You nodded, squeezing her hand, feeling a small, fragile hope begin to grow in your chest. 

—

The kindness and warmth Penelope had shown you was not extended to Spencer when she found him in the breakroom Monday morning. You were still settling in at your desk when you saw her storm across the bullpen, determination in her eyes and anger practically sparking off of her. You didn’t think much of it at first — Penelope’s strong-willed presence was no stranger to the office. But when you saw her walk straight up to Spencer, her expression dark and unyielding, you knew something was about to happen.

Spencer, who had been stirring his coffee absently, looked up in surprise as Penelope closed the distance between them, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. And then she let him have it.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Spencer?” she hissed, her voice low and venomous as she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Ignoring Y/N for weeks? Shutting her out like she’s some stranger? After everything you’ve been through together, and everything she’s done for you, you have the nerve to treat her like this?”

Spencer flinched at her words, his face going pale as the berating continued. He opened his mouth to respond, but Penelope wasn’t letting him get a word in. 

“Y/N’s been tearing herself up over what happened, blaming herself for something that wasn’t even her fault! And you know what? Instead of being the partner she needs — the person who supports her no matter what — you’re just adding to the guilt. You don’t get to treat her like that. Not after—”

“I almost lost one of the most important people in my life because of her!” Spencer choked out suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion as he interrupted Penelope’s tirade. His eyes were wide and filled with fear and frustration, and he looked like he was unraveling with every word. “I almost lost you, Penelope, because she told you to go on that date.”

Penelope’s expression shifted then, the anger replaced by a deep, aching sympathy as she let Spencer’s words sink in. There was a silence, a heavy silence that felt like it filled every inch of the breakroom. And neither of them knew that in that very moment, you’d walked up to the door, hearing Spencer’s words, and froze. The world around you seemed to fall away as his voice echoed in your head, the raw pain in his tone seeping into your bones. You stayed there, heart pounding, unable to move.

“Spencer,” Penelope said slowly, her voice gentle but firm, trying to rein in her own anger. “That was not her fault, and you know it. Do the math, genius. Jason was targeting me from the start, whether I was on that date or not. He had me in his sights long before Y/N ever said anything. Stop blaming her for something no one could control.”

Spencer scoffed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes as if trying to brush off the weight of her words. “Yeah, well, you say that, but it’s not that simple. If she hadn’t—”

“No, Spencer!” Penelope’s voice cut through his, sharper now, and she pointed a finger right in his face. “You listen to me. That is your girlfriend we’re talking about. Your life partner. Your best friend. Y/N has been there for you through everything. Do you remember when you were so drugged up that you didn’t even know what you were doing, or who you were with, when you lashed out at her in the middle of the night? And did she blame you? Did she shut you out? No. She held you, she comforted you, and she made sure you got the help you needed. She has never given up on you, not once, and you’re giving up on her?”

Spencer was silent. His mouth opened as if to respond, but nothing came out. He looked at Penelope, his eyes burning with anger and anguish and something far more complicated. And for a long moment, the silence stretched between them, his chest rising and falling with quick, shallow breaths. 

When he finally spoke, his voice was barely a whisper, cracking with the strain of what he was feeling. “I love Y/N more than anything else in this world. But how can I trust her to make good decisions for herself, at all, if her last one almost got you killed?”

And that was all you could take. The words hit like a blow to the chest, and before you knew what was happening, you let out a sob, loud and choked and broken. The sound tore through the silence, and both Spencer and Penelope whipped around, eyes wide in shock as they realized you’d been standing there, hearing everything. 

“Y/N—” Spencer started, panic flooding his voice as he took a step toward you.

But you were already moving, already running. You turned and fled, the tears blurring your vision as you rushed down the hall, away from the breakroom, away from the words that had shattered you all over again.

“Shit!” you heard Spencer yell from behind you, followed by the sharp slap of his hand hitting the cabinet in frustration, the loud bang echoing down the hall. But you didn’t look back. You couldn’t look back. All you could do was keep running, trying to outrun the pain that seemed to chase you down with every step.

“Was it worth it, Reid?” Penelope asked, her voice breaking the silence that filled the breakroom after you’d fled. There was no anger left in her tone — only a sadness, heavy and deep, that seemed to echo around them. She looked at Spencer with a sorrowful expression, searching his eyes as if she could somehow pull out an answer that would make sense of what had just happened. “Was it worth it? To get that off your chest?”

Spencer stood there, frozen, his hand still resting on the cabinet door he’d slammed shut in frustration. The thud of it still seemed to reverberate in the air, mingling with the ghost of your sobs. His jaw clenched, his eyes staring blankly at the floor where you’d stood only moments before, now empty. 

He didn't respond, and for a moment, it seemed like he couldn’t find the words. He just shook his head, unable to meet Penelope’s gaze. 

“Did it help?” Penelope pressed, her voice gentle but insistent. “Did it make you feel better? Because from where I’m standing, you just broke the heart of the person you say you love more than anything else.”

Spencer’s shoulders slumped, and he closed his eyes tightly, fighting back the emotions threatening to spill over. “I don’t know,” he finally choked out, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Penelope. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to make this right. I was just... I was so angry. So scared. And I... I took it out on her.” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, his eyes squeezed shut as he let out a shaky breath. “I don’t know how to take it back.”

Penelope’s face softened, but there was no pity in her eyes, only a deep, aching understanding. “You can’t,” she said softly. “You can’t take back what you said. But you can make it right. You can own up to it. You can tell her the truth — that you were hurting, that you let the fear and anger get the best of you. That you don’t actually believe she’s to blame for any of this.”

Spencer finally looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, filled with regret. “But what if she doesn’t forgive me?” he asked, his voice raw with desperation. “What if I’ve lost her?”

Penelope took a step closer, reaching out to touch his arm, grounding him in her touch. “Then you fight for her, Spence,” she said, her voice steady and sure. “You do everything you can to make her see how much she means to you. You remind her that you love her, that you need her, that this — all of this — was just you not knowing how to handle almost losing two of the people you care about most.”

She paused, her voice softening even more as she gave him a sad, knowing smile. “But first, you’re going to have to forgive yourself. Because all that anger you’ve been carrying? It’s not about Y/N. It’s about you.”

Spencer let out a shaky breath, nodding, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He knew she was right — he knew it all along. But knowing it and facing it were two different things. And for the first time in weeks, he allowed himself to truly sit with the pain of it, to feel the regret for what he’d done, and the fear of what he might have just lost.

And in that moment, the truth settled in his chest like a stone: if he had any chance of making things right, he’d have to confront his demons, no matter how much they scared him. Because he loved you. And he was going to do whatever it took to get you back.

—

You found an empty office as soon as your legs carried you far enough away, stumbling inside and shutting the door behind you before you could even think of stopping the sobs that clawed their way up your throat. You leaned against the wall, your hands over your face as you let yourself cry — really cry — until the tears came freely, the weight of Spencer’s words sinking in like a stone in your chest. Every breath hurt, and the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long finally broke. It wasn’t just about what he said, but how deeply it cut. 

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours; you couldn’t be sure. You let it all out, every sob, every tremor that racked through you. And then, as the tears finally slowed and the pain dulled into exhaustion, you knew you couldn’t stay hidden forever. The team was counting on you. Penelope was counting on you. So you pulled yourself together as best as you could, taking slow, deep breaths and wiping your face with the sleeves of your shirt until your hands stopped shaking.

The mirror in the bathroom was unforgiving as you stood there, splashing cold water on your face. You ran your fingers under your eyes, trying to erase the smudges of mascara that had stained your cheeks, and did your best to fix your hair, to smooth away any evidence of your breakdown. But your eyes were still puffy, red-rimmed, the remnants of your tears clearly visible. And you knew, even as you straightened your posture, forcing a calmness you didn’t feel, that everyone would see right through it. That they’d probably all heard what happened.

But you had work to do, and you couldn’t afford to fall apart again. So, with a deep breath, you steeled yourself and walked back out into the bullpen, your head held high, your shoulders squared. Even if your composure was a fragile thing, even if you felt like you could shatter with the slightest touch, you made your way to your desk, focusing on each step as if it were the only thing holding you together.

The bullpen felt different now, the energy heavier than it had been before. Conversations were hushed, the usual buzz of the office subdued as you passed by. You knew they were watching, that they’d seen or at least heard what had happened in the breakroom. But you didn’t look around; you didn’t meet anyone’s eyes. You just sat down at your desk, opened up the stack of files in front of you, and forced your focus onto the work, letting it be the only thing that mattered in that moment.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his own desk, and as soon as you walked in, he saw you. He saw the way you held yourself together — the straight line of your back, the tightness in your expression, the way you refused to let your gaze wander to his. And he hated it. He hated knowing that he had done that to you, his love, that he’d been the reason for the pain and exhaustion etched into your face. He’d never seen you like this before — so closed off, so... dim. 

He watched you bury yourself in your work, your fingers moving mechanically across the keyboard, your pen scribbling across the pages as if each word was a way to silence the hurt. And all Spencer could do was sit there, guilt and shame wracking his mind as he thought about what he’d done — how he’d let his anger and fear control him, how he’d let it spill out onto you, the one person he swore to protect, the one person who deserved none of it. His brilliant, loving, beautiful girlfriend, who had always stood by his side, even when he didn't deserve it.

He made you cry. He made you doubt yourself, blame yourself for something you had no power over. And the light that usually radiated from you — the brightness he loved so much, the joy you carried so effortlessly — was gone, dulled by the weight of the hurt he’d caused.

Every fiber of Spencer’s being screamed at him to get up, to walk over to you and wrap you in the biggest hug he could manage. He wanted to hold you, to whisper a thousand apologies, to promise that everything was going to be okay and that he’d never, ever make you feel this way again. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to move, because he knew that it would take more than that — more than a hug, more than an “I’m sorry” — to fix the damage he’d caused. It would take time, and understanding, and patience — all things he wasn’t sure he even deserved from you after what he’d said, what he’d done.

—

Later that evening, the weight of the day still clung to Spencer like a thick fog. Unable to concentrate, unable to push past the regret that gnawed at his insides, he found himself reaching for a small comfort — your favorite book. It sat on his shelf, the well-worn cover soft under his fingertips as he pulled it down. You had gifted it to him long ago, lovingly annotated with notes, doodles, and highlighted passages. Each page was filled with bits of you — your humor, your thoughts, your heart. Categories like “reminds me of you,” “our jokes,” “my favorite quotes,” and “scenes I wish I could live with you” peppered the pages, showing just how much care, time, and love you’d put into making it special for him. It had been one of the most thoughtful gifts he’d ever received.

He settled onto the couch, the book resting heavily in his lap. And as he flipped through the pages, he let himself be pulled into the memories, letting his fingers brush over your handwriting, your underlines and notes. He read the small snippets where you’d connected a moment in the book to a joke only the two of you shared, where you’d drawn silly little hearts in the margins or underlined lines that spoke to you. And he could almost hear your voice as he read your thoughts, your teasing comments, your kind words. It felt as though you were right there with him, the warmth of you emanating from every page.

The tears came slowly, silently, at first just a sting in the back of his eyes that he tried to blink away. But as he read deeper, the notes growing more tender, the love you’d put into every word more apparent, he let them fall. He let them fall because he could feel the depth of what he’d pushed away, how much you’d loved him, how much you still loved him. And how horribly, deeply he’d hurt you.

He was reading a note that simply said, “This reminds me of the way you look at me when you think I’m not watching”. He laughed softly through his tears at your handwriting, slightly wobbly from when you’d annotated it while on a train, but the joy of that memory only made the pain sharper, cutting through him like a blade. He wished he could take everything back, go back to when things were easier and he hadn’t let his fears get the better of him.

Then his phone started ringing. Spencer’s hand trembled slightly as he reached for it, and when he saw the screen light up with your contact photo, his breath caught in his throat. It was that picture — the one he’d taken when he brought you to New York City for the first time, to the MET and the New York Public Library. You’d insisted on making a goofy growling face next to the stone lions out front, hands curled into claws as you posed, trying to match their fierce stance. He’d laughed so hard as he took the photo, snapping the picture while you were mid-roar. And now, as he stared at it, the memory made him smile, even through his tears.

His thumb hovered over the answer button for a moment, heart pounding in his chest, before he finally pressed it, bringing the phone to his ear. “Hello? Y/N?” he managed, his voice cracking slightly, unsure of what to expect.

“Hi, Spence,” you sighed, your voice soft, almost hesitant. “I’m... um, I’m outside. Can I come in?”

The relief and panic hit him all at once. You were here. You’d come to him. “Y-Yeah, of course,” he said quickly, fumbling to stand as he set the book aside, the pages fluttering closed. “I’ll be right there.”

He hung up, practically stumbling to the door, his heart racing with both fear and hope. And as he reached for the door handle, he tried to steady himself, knowing that whatever came next, whatever words you had to say, he was ready to listen. Because you were here, and he wasn’t going to let this moment slip away.

As soon as Spencer swung the door open, he was met with the sight of you standing there, tears staining your cheeks, your eyes red and puffy, your breath coming out in shaky gasps.

“I’m so sorry, Spencer,” you choked out, your hands trembling as they twisted together in front of you. “I’m so, so sorry for everything. I should have never told Penny to go on that date. I should have... I should have called to check on her, I should have thought about how all of it affected you. I’m—”

“What?” he whispered, his voice coming out strangled with confusion and pain as he cut you off. He stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours desperately, trying to make sense of your words. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I messed everything up,” you continued, the sobs making your voice tremble as you tried to hold yourself together. “I never meant to hurt you, or Penelope, or anyone, but all I did was make things worse. If I hadn’t told her to go, if I had just stayed out of it, none of this would have happened. And you—” Your voice cracked, and you struggled to find the right words, to get out everything you’d been holding inside for so long. “You wouldn’t have had to go through this, you’d still trust me, and you wouldn’t hate me. I don’t want you to hate me, Spencer. Please don’t hate me.”

Spencer’s heart shattered at the sight of you breaking down in front of him, blaming yourself for something you had no control over, something that had haunted him every day since it happened. He couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the thought of you carrying this burden when it was his anger, his fear, that had driven you away. And all he wanted to do in that moment was take away your pain, to make you see that you weren’t to blame, that he had been so, so wrong.

“Hey, hey, stop, stop,” he said urgently, stepping forward to close the distance between you, his hands hovering for a second before he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. “Please, don’t say that. Don’t be sorry.” He pressed his face into your hair, his voice desperate as he tried to find the words that would make this right. “I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. I love you so much. I’m the one who’s sorry, I’m the one who hurt you, who shut you out when I should’ve been there for you.”

You trembled in his hold, your tears slowing down as you clung to him, and Spencer tightened his grip, trying to convey everything he felt through the warmth of his embrace. “I was scared,” he whispered, his voice cracking as he spoke. “I was so scared of losing both of you. And I know that’s not an excuse, but I... I let that fear control me, and I took it out on you, and it was so wrong. You were trying to help Penelope, trying to be a good friend, and I blamed you for something that was never your fault.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes filled with confusion and anguish, and Spencer could see the questions there, the doubt that still lingered. “But... but I was the one who—”

“No,” he said firmly, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that streaked down your cheeks. “No, Y/N. What happened to Penelope — that’s on Jason. Not you. And I should have been there to tell you that, to support you, instead of shutting you out. I was so scared of losing you that I pushed you away and I hurt you. And I am so, so sorry.”

The sincerity in his voice, the tears that filled his eyes as he spoke, the pain of being apart, and the love that still held you together, left you breathless. 

“Please don’t apologize,” Spencer said softly, his forehead pressing against yours. “You did nothing wrong. You were just being you — the caring, loving person I fell in love with. And I am so sorry for making you feel like you couldn’t be that person.”

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your breathing as you pulled away, giving yourself some space. Grabbing a tissue from the side table, you dabbed at your nose and wiped away the tears that still clung to your lashes. Spencer watched you carefully, the anxiety on his face clear as he tried to read your silence. You didn’t speak for a long moment, your gaze fixed on the floor, arms wrapped tightly around yourself as you thought through everything that had happened. He stood there, holding his breath, afraid to interrupt whatever was going through your mind.

“I love you, Spence,” you whispered finally, your voice shaking but full of truth. “I love you so much.” You finally lifted your head to look at him, letting the words hang between you like a fragile thread of hope. 

His shoulders relaxed slightly, a small flicker of relief crossing his face as he stepped closer to you, his eyes searching yours. “I love you too,” he murmured, the words spilling out quickly, like he was afraid you might change your mind if he didn’t say it fast enough. “More than anything. And I’m not going to let anything come between us again.” He reached out, his hands hovering just in front of yours, desperate to close the space between you. “Please... don’t leave me.”

“Leave you?” you asked, your brows furrowing in confusion as you took in the worry on his face. “Spencer, why would you say that?”

“Well, I—I treated you terribly, and we weren’t talking, and we fought, and I was so awful to you,” he stammered, his voice shaky as the fear spilled out. “I... I know what I did, and I know I hurt you, and I just... I was scared that maybe... maybe you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore.”

“Spencer,” you said softly, taking his hands in yours, your fingers intertwining as you squeezed them reassuringly. “That doesn’t mean we’re breaking up. We had a fight. A really bad one. But now we have to work through it. Together.”

His eyes met yours, and for a moment, all you saw was vulnerability — the way he was trying to hold himself together, the way he was fighting not to let the guilt and fear overwhelm him. “But what if... what if I hurt you again?” he asked, his voice so quiet it almost got lost between you. “What if I say the wrong thing, and you...”

“Then we’ll talk about it,” you said firmly, your voice steady as you spoke. “We’ll talk, we’ll talk and we’ll figure it out, and we’ll make sure we don’t let it happen again. But I’m not leaving you, Spencer. Just because we had a fight... that doesn’t mean we’re over. We’re stronger than that.” You paused, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “I know we have a lot to work through. I know it’s not going to be easy. But I love you, and I’m here. We’ll do it together, okay?”

He nodded, a flicker of hope brightening his eyes, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Okay,” he whispered, tightening his grip on your hands. “Together.” 

“And, baby?” you asked, your voice soft but steady as you tilted your head to look up at him, trying to catch his eyes and make sure he really heard you.

“Yeah?” Spencer responded, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes meeting yours with that familiar mix of love and uncertainty, as if he was afraid to say or do the wrong thing.

You squeezed his hands gently, your thumbs brushing over his knuckles, grounding both him and yourself in that touch. “You have to talk to me if something is bothering you,” you said, your tone gentle but firm, the words full of the honesty you both needed. “I can’t fix anything, and we can’t work on anything, if I don’t know what’s going on inside your head. If you’re hurting, or if you’re scared, or angry... you have to let me in. Okay?”

Spencer nodded, his eyes never leaving yours, and you could see how hard he was trying to take in your words, to let them settle in his heart. “Okay,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I... I’ll try. I promise.”

You gave him a small smile, leaning in just a little closer. “That’s all I’m asking,” you said gently. “We have to be able to talk to each other. No matter how hard it is, no matter what’s going on — we have to do it together.”

He closed his eyes, and you watched as he took a slow, deep breath, the tension in his body finally loosening as if he’d been holding it in for far too long. When he opened his eyes again, something had changed. It was subtle, but you saw it — a spark of determination that hadn’t been there before, a promise to do better, to be there for you in all the ways you both needed. But there was something else, too — a hunger, an intensity in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in so long. It was the way he used to look at you, that mix of need and devotion that made your heart race.

“God, I missed you so much, darling,” Spencer sighed, and before you could respond, he pulled you into another hug, his arms wrapping around you so tightly you almost lost your breath. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as if to remind himself of your scent, the comfort of your presence, the closeness he'd gone too long without. His hands gripped your back firmly, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go. 

You melted into his hold, your own arms winding around him as he pulled you flush against him. It was a hug that spoke of all the longing and pain and love that had built up between you, a hug that was both desperate and grounding all at once. You could feel the way his breath hitched as he held you closer, the way his fingers dug gently into your back, and you knew that this was more than just an embrace of comfort — it was everything he’d held back for so long, all the love and want and need finally spilling over. 

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you pressed yourself closer to him. And for that moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you, tangled together, holding each other like you never wanted to let go. 

Spencer pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and filled with a need that made your stomach flip. His hands slid up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks as he spoke, his voice low and breathy. “Can I kiss you, Y/N?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, the words full of both desire and hesitation — a question that held the weight of all that had passed between you, of all he hoped to mend.

You giggled softly, your heart swelling at the sight of him so close, so vulnerable. “I’d be offended if you didn’t,” you teased, leaning into his touch, a smile tugging at your lips as you nodded.

Spencer’s lips twitched into a smile, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw that light return to his eyes — that playful, loving look he always gave you before pressing his mouth to yours. And then he was kissing you, soft at first, like he was trying to remember how it felt. But as soon as his lips met yours, you felt the relief and longing melt between you, and he kissed you deeper, his lips moving against yours with all the tenderness and passion he’d been holding back. 

The world around you seemed to blur, everything fading away as you sank into him, the feeling of his mouth on yours so familiar, so perfect, like coming home. You could taste the salt of tears, his and yours mingling together, and as he tilted his head to deepen the kiss, you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, needing to feel all of him — his warmth, his love, the steady rhythm of his heart beating against yours.

He kissed you like it was the only thing that mattered, like he was trying to memorize every second, every touch, making up for every painful moment you’d spent apart. There was something so intense, yet so tender about it — a kiss filled with all the love and longing, spilling over with every movement of his lips against yours. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t slow either; it was the kind of kiss that lingered and sank deep into your bones, like a promise of something stronger, something unbreakable.

It was the sweetest kiss you think the two of you had ever shared. You felt every ounce of passion and desire radiating off him, every bit of love poured into that moment. Spencer’s hands were gentle as they rubbed your back, his fingers moving in small, slow circles, not daring to roam too far but enough to make you shiver at the warmth of his touch. Each caress was careful, as if he was both holding you close and holding himself back, trying to savor every second of feeling you close again.

You clung to him, your own hands gripping the fabric of his shirt so tightly your knuckles were turning white, and you couldn’t bear to let go. You didn’t want to lose even an inch of contact, afraid that if he pulled away, even for a moment, you’d lose this — lose him. The world seemed to dissolve around you, and all that existed was the pressure of his mouth on yours, the faint taste of coffee on his lips, the way his hair brushed against your forehead as he leaned in closer.

Spencer broke the kiss for just a second, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath mixing with yours as he let out a soft, shaky sigh. And then he was kissing you again, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart for even a second. You could feel the desperation in his touch, the depth of what you meant to each other — not just words, not just promises, but something tangible and real. Something that neither of you were willing to let go. 

And in that kiss, you felt the world right itself, felt the cracks begin to heal, and the pieces of both your hearts start to fall back into place. You didn’t know what tomorrow would hold, but for now, this was everything. And that was enough.

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