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reidsmanuscript · 23 hours ago

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Profiler, profiled.

Summary: When the past creeps up, more vivid and dangerous than ever, at the same time that the attraction becomes undeniable—and so do the mistakes. Pairing: Spencer Reid x lawyer!reader Genre: mutual pinning but painful, angst. wc: 7.3k! TW: Profiler, profiled canons! so Child abuse (implied and discussed), Sexual abuse, Framing/wrongful accusation, Police misconduct, Violence, mentions of traumatic readers' past!, female rage, violent thoughts. not proofread yet A/N: SO EXCITED FOR THIS ONE, this is my take on soulmates, thank u for all the feedback/support btw, really mindblowing <3 part I - part II - part III - part IV

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Something as routine and comforting as traveling to your hometown for your mom’s birthday can go wrong in an instant—sometimes, all it takes is a single moment of doubt. Unfortunately for Derek Morgan, it was the absence of doubt that could become his sentence.

Hotch was notified, as per FBI protocol, that one of his agents had been arrested as a homicide suspect. Maybe it was the fact that he knew Morgan wasn’t capable of something like that—he had been a prosecutor before joining the Academy, after all. As his boss, he refused to believe it. But as his friend, he knew that the smartest move—the one most people failed to make—was calling a lawyer.

The problem? Morgan didn’t have one.

The Bureau’s legal counsel wouldn’t intervene in a case where one of their own was being charged. It had to be someone who knew him, someone who would believe in him.

There was only one person who fit that description.

A.D.A. Woodvale.

So, after issuing an emergency recall for Reid, Prentiss, Jareau, Garcia, and Rossi—Hotch called you.

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One thing some victims, or their families, do after the person who ruined their lives is convicted is express gratitude. Sometimes immensely, sometimes barely—especially when the verdict isn’t what they had hoped for.

Still, they are grateful for your time and commitment to their pain. That’s why some send gifts like baskets filled with fruit, chocolates, candy, or all three combined.

You were at your desk, late at night, again, reviewing case files and drafting a legal brief, absorbed in the task at hand. The basket with its chocolates, and cookies remained sitting on a chair near the window, quietly out of place among the legal paperwork without any card or name, maybe they forgot to put it or it fell on the way.

The phone rings, and you answer immediately, announcing yourself. When the voice on the other end speaks your name, you recognize it instantly.

“I’m gonna need your help.” Agent Hotchner.

You straighten your back. “What is it? A warrant? It’s going to be hard at t—”

He cuts you off. “Morgan is in trouble.” That was enough to tell you this wasn’t just any ordinary favor.

You hesitate, cautious. “What happened?”

“He was arrested as a suspect in a homicide in Chicago.” Morgan? Homicide? For a moment, you’re ready to refuse—this isn’t your field. You put people in jail, not get them out. But then you remember—he saved your life over a year ago. And the weight of that debt settles heavily on your shoulders.

“Hotch, I... What do you want me to do? I don’t have connections there. Maybe I could talk to—”

He interrupts again. “He’s going to need a good lawyer. I know this isn’t what you do, but you know him. You know he’s not capable of something like that.” There’s a brief silence as you weigh your options, considering your next move.

"The jet takes off first thing tomorrow morning," he says, giving you an out—leaving the decision in your hands.

You exhale, and resolve settling in. "Send me the details. I’ll be there."

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As you stepped onto the jet, you spotted Hotch already seated alone. Without hesitation, you slid into the seat across from him, greeting him with a quiet nod, your back turned toward the entrance.

One by one, the rest of the BAU arrived, offering you brief acknowledgments as they settled in. When Reid stepped onto the jet, he barely glanced up—until he caught sight of the back of your head. He hesitated for just a second before moving to a seat diagonal from yours.

Hotch quickly explained that you were joining them to assist Morgan as his defense counsel. The weight of the situation settled over the jet, unspoken but palpable. You noticed it in the way the air felt heavier, in the subtle shifts of the team’s expressions, like how Prentiss shifted in her seat or the way Reid’s lips pressed into a thin line.

Since the Katie Jacobs case, he wouldn’t call it an obsession—that would be an exaggeration, and his mind rejected the idea of something so unscientific, but a fixation? Perhaps. There was something about you that tugged at the edges of his thoughts more often than he liked to admit. His memories of your first meeting were frustratingly blurred, dulled by the lingering fog of withdrawal, but he remembered enough. The way you carried yourself—composed, sharp, unreadable. The precision of your movements, deliberate in a way that suggested control rather than ease. The way your voice stayed measured even when you were angry, like someone who had learned to sharpen their words into weapons rather than waste them on emotion. And your eyes—steady, assessing, like you were always five steps ahead in a game only you could see.

Did you ever place two magnets next to each other and test how close they could be without touching? If they would repel or attract?

Magnets could only get so close before they either locked together or violently repelled each other. If their north poles faced one another—mirrors of the same force—they would push apart, unable to exist in such perfect reflection. But if one turned, aligning its south to the other’s north, the pull would be instant, inevitable.

That was a physicist's way of explaining why, the moment you caught him in the corner of your vision, you noted how his hair was longer than before, tucked behind his ears; how his fingers brushed over the pages of a book, a well-worn paperback pulled from his bag. Crime and Punishment. The same one you had almost mistaken for yours once. North. North.

But now, seeing it again, you wondered—what did he think about Raskolnikov’s theory of extraordinary men? Did he believe true morality could be measured mathematically, the way Raskolnikov tried to justify his crime with cold logic? Or did he see through it, past the numbers, past the equations, past the desperate rationalizations of a man trying to convince himself he was above consequence?

And what would he think about your take on it? That a man was either a fool for failing to control himself or a coward for refusing to own what he had done? Either way you just wanted to know his opinion. North. South.

You were just about to ask him when JJ spoke up. “I don’t understand. Can you even represent Morgan if you’re an A.D.A.? Wouldn’t that be a conflict of interest?”

It was a fair question, one you had asked yourself last night before finding a loophole.

You let out a slow breath, considering. "Technically, I’m not Morgan’s lawyer—he hasn’t called me personally to represent him. And I wouldn’t be joining you as his defense attorney… officially." You glanced at Hotch. "Prosecutors consult on defense cases all the time—off the record. I’m not filing any motions, I’m not putting my name on anything. I’m just… advising."

Prentiss raised an eyebrow. "Advising?"

You exhaled, running a hand through your hair. "I can’t officially defend him, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help. And the police don't need to know every detail about that."

Hotch gave a small nod. "That keeps you in the clear. No official involvement, no risk to your career."

Reid, who had been silent, finally spoke. "But what happens if they’ve already decided Morgan is guilty?"

Your jaw tightened, but Rossi answers first "Then that’s where we come in. We find out who’s setting Morgan up—and we make sure they don’t get away with it."

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As you arrived at the police station, you hung back from the group, not wanting to interfere with the BAU’s process. But when Detective Dennison refused to take Hotch to see Morgan, you decided you wouldn’t stand by quietly anymore.

You stepped forward, standing next to Hotch. “Are you going to take us to see Derek Morgan, or not, Detective?”

He glanced at you as though he didn’t understand the urgency. “Detective Gordinski's in with the suspect now”

“Now is when we need to see him.” you shot back.

“Excuse me?” he started to respond, but Hotch cut him off.

“I have your superintendent's personal cell number,” Hotch said calmly. “And, in the interest of not running roughshod over another police agency, I’ve resisted calling him so far. We need to see Agent Morgan now.”

You couldn’t help but think how Hotch was finally getting some work done.

The detective nodded and, after disappearing into a room, came back with another man. Detective Gordinski, you assumed. It was something you were used to, this unspoken assumption that you were a junior, a minor player in the room, because of your age. It happened often when older men met you—defense attorneys, paralegals, specialists, and even police officers. They assumed you were less than you were. Gordinski was no different. When he approached you, he only offered his hand to Hotch.

“Detective Gordinski, CPD,” he said, as if you weren’t standing right there.

Hotch didn’t seem to notice the slight. “You think an FBI agent, a BAU profiler, committed a homicide?”

Gordinski answered with a level of pride that made your stomach turn. “Actually, three homicides at least, over 15 years.”

You heard JJ and Reid protest, both equally shocked by his ridiculous statement. And the way Gordinski spoke, as though the case was already closed, irritated you. “Has he been charged with anything?”

“I’ve got 72 hours for that,” he replied, clearly still lacking sufficient evidence.

“We’d like to see him,” you said, your tone final. He hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly agreed as Denninson took you and Hotch to see Morgan.

As you entered the interrogation room, you found him in a sort of trance, staring at a photograph in his hands. When he finally looked up, there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes.

“You okay?” you asked, aware of the detective’s overbearing presence in the room.

Morgan exhaled sharply, turning the photo toward you. “This kid—I was with him yesterday.”

“So?” Hotch prompted.

Morgan shook his head, his voice tight. “So, he’s dead. I drove him home, Hotch, and Gordinski’s saying I was the last person seen with him.” His gaze flickered between the two of you, frustration and disbelief written all over his face.

You didn’t need to analyze the detective’s stance to know he had already made up his mind—his persistence was nothing more than a show, an act to reinforce a conclusion he had already reached. But the look in Morgan’s eyes told you everything you needed to know. He cared about that kid.

Turning to the detective, you asked smoothly, “Is there a more private place where I can speak with my client?”

The man hesitated, taken aback. Up until this moment, you hadn’t explicitly stated that you weren’t an agent. His expression tightened. “I’m afraid we don’t have another space for you and the suspect,” he replied with a forced smile.

You returned his look with a cool, unwavering stare. “You do know that any conversation between me and him falls under lawyer-client privilege, right?”

His mouth opened in protest, but you didn’t give him the chance.

“And denying us the proper privacy means that any so-called evidence you think you can get from this interrogation would be inadmissible in court. Not to mention, it’s a direct violation of SSA Morgan’s constitutional rights.” Your tone remained calm, professional—not threatening. Not yet.

The detective narrowed his eyes but gave a short, forced nod, his polite smile not reaching them. “I’ll see what we can do.”

That was code for We’re not doing a damn thing, but we’ll make this as difficult as possible.

Fine. You’d play their game. But first, you needed to find out exactly what they had on Morgan—and fast.

As you step outside, a harsh voice—too raspy and loud for your liking—carries through the room, discussing evidence. You stay quiet, listening. Being on the other side of the law feels strange, but it’s not difficult. If you know how to prosecute, you know the tricks and games cops play. And if you know your opponent's strategy, it’s easier to disarm them and lead them where you want.

The detective asks Rossi if he’s Agent Gideon, and when the detective explains he was the one who sent the profile that led them to Morgan, you curse Gideon internally. First Reid, now Morgan.

"It also said the way the body was placed gently on a mattress, not just tossed on the ground, indicated someone who was probably consumed with guilt, especially for the first victim. The exact words are—'with a guilt-ridden offender,' the BAU postulates the first victim is the most important and the unsub may still visit the place of the crime or even the victim himself.'"

Gordinski’s voice drips with conviction. "Care to guess who visits my first victim every time he's in town?"

You notice Reid glance at you, but you keep your focus on the detective, listening carefully as he continues.

"Then yesterday, another kid ends up dead, and the last person he was with was Derek Morgan. In the boy's pocket, we found one of his FBI business cards, his cell number written on the back. In fact, every time Morgan's in town, he hangs out with kids."

JJ calls it a coincidence.

"A hell of a lot of coincidences," Gordinski retorts.

“I prefer the term 'circumstantial'” you say from the back of the room.

Gordinski turns, sizing you up with an incredulous look—too young, maybe too idealistic. "And you are?"

"Derek Morgan’s attorney." There was no reason to hide anymore, you didn't bother offering your hand.

Gordinski barely reacts before flipping open a file. "Did I mention that your client found the body in 1991? Hidden way back in a vacant lot. Now, don’t they teach you that when a body is hard to find, the person who finds it is always a suspect?"

You do the math quickly, Morgan would have been too young.

And you feel like Reid reads your thoughts when he answers. "There are key pieces of the profile that don't fit, Detective. The age—25 to 35—Morgan was 15 at the time."

"Profile Also says that age is the hardest to predict, and I should never exclude someone simply because of a discrepancy with the age." Gordinski is grasping now, trying to force the facts to fit.

Prentiss speaks up. "What about the speculation that since he didn't leave any evidence at the crime scene, he's likely to have a criminal record or law enforcement knowledge?"

"He may not have had knowledge of law enforcement, but Derek Morgan definitely had a criminal record." He tosses a file onto the table. You open it, scanning the contents. Resisting arrest. Vandalism. Aggravated battery. You inhale deeply.

"So he was a troubled kid, not a murderer. What kind of 15-year-old kills another boy, then deliberately stages the body just to make sure he’s the one to 'find' it?" Your voice is sharp, challenging him to walk into your tramp.

Gordinski smirks. "I’m sure you know psychopaths are very smart people, Miss."

Bingo.

You tilt your head. "So, is Morgan a psychopath? A guilt-ridden killer? Or an FBI agent dumb enough to leave his own business card at the crime scene? Because he can’t be all three, and right now you're contradicting yourself, Detective."

The room is silent for a beat. Gordinski clenches his jaw, his grip tightening on the file in his hands. He glares at you like you are his personal enemy.

You don’t give him time to recover. "You're reaching. And I think you know it." you say as you leave the room to look for your client.

And if Reid hadn’t been so mesmerized with the way you had subtly guided Gordinski, he might have given in to the impulse he had to correct him when he addressed you as Miss and not Counselor.

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Rossi had sent Prentiss and Reid to Morgan’s house to investigate, while you stayed to ensure none of the Detectives would do something sketchy with the proofs.　　

Maybe it was the PTSD Dr. Fitzgerald diagnosed you with when you were 11, but the moment Carl Buford entered the room, something felt off. It wasn’t obvious, more like a second nature—a survival instinct that had been honed over the years. You weren’t always right, of course. You’d had a few false alarms before, but this time, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t in his appearance or his words; it was in the way he presented himself—as someone kind, someone willing to help, harmless. But it triggered something in you. The sirens in your brain went on, even if they were faint, too faint to be taken seriously but still enough to be annoying.

Reid had just returned from Morgan’s house when he saw you standing by the board, JJ on the phone and Rossi talking to you. He noticed how you discreetly stifled a yawn, and it hit him—it was nearly evening. The Cheetos packet that probably belonged to JJ and the half-eaten cheese sandwich from Rossi were the only signs of food nearby. It dawned on him that you likely hadn’t eaten all day.

He didn’t want to be the kind of person who overcompensated in an obvious way, but seeing you like this stirred something in him. It reminded him of the last time he saw you at the mall, how you’d instinctively avoided him, as if you couldn’t stand being around him for more than a few seconds. The longest you’d managed to stay in the same spot was 8.12 seconds.

That had been the last time, though. Now, things felt different. You were talking to Rossi when Reid approached and offered coffee to everyone. You could tell he was overcompensating—or at least, that’s what you assumed.

Then again, maybe you were reading too much into the moment when he’d slightly quickened his pace as you all entered the police station, holding the door open for everyone. Or maybe he was just anxious about his friend and eager to get inside quickly.

Or when you were rummaging through your bag for a pen, and he handed you one without hesitation. It could have been just a simple gesture, a convenient moment. But you couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to it—if he was trying to do something, anything, to bridge the gap between you.

You felt stupid for liking his gestures, for craving his attention. That’s why you said yes when he offered the coffee—because you couldn’t help it.

And he was happy to do it. He put special care into preparing your cup, even though he hadn’t asked how you took your coffee. Statistically speaking, most people put about two teaspoons of sugar in their coffee, but he didn’t know what you preferred. Maybe you liked it with even more sugar than that, just like he did. Maybe you didn’t use sugar at all, maybe you used honey.

He caught himself before he poured too much, measuring out what he assumed was the “average” amount, then handed it to you with a small, careful smile. There was a brief moment when your fingers brushed, and maybe his lingered for a second longer than necessary.

But when you took a sip, it hit you. The sweetness of the sugar was overwhelming, and the unexplainable presence of Carl Buford seemed to crawl into your mind, making it worse. It was your fault for not telling him no sugar. Your hand froze for a moment as you fought to swallow, your fingers tightening slightly around the cup.

Reid noticed. He saw how you stiffened, how your grip on the cup tightened, and he assumed he’d gotten it wrong. Maybe you didn’t like sugar in your coffee, or maybe you just didn’t like it at all. He felt a pang of regret, thinking he’d misread the situation. He wasn’t sure why, but for a moment, he wondered if he was always this wrong about you. North. North.

You didn’t want to overreact or be rude, so you quickly excused yourself to the bathroom, needing a moment to splash some water on your face and steady yourself. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, silently telling yourself to calm down.

Maybe you were overreacting to Buford. But that thought was short-lived. The moment Hotch and JJ entered the room and she began speaking, confirming what you had already sensed, everything inside you seemed to crack. Carl Buford—the man who was fervently helping the police catch Morgan, was the same one who had written a letter to clear his record. The contradiction hit you like a punch to the gut, and you couldn’t shake the sound of the sirens growing.

You followed Hotch as he approached the interrogation room, your mind racing with the unsettling sense you couldn’t shake. You didn’t even notice Reid following behind you, keeping a respectful distance. Hotch entered the room, and the questioning began.

"Carl Buford." Morgan’s voice was tight, his shoulders tensing at the name. He stood up from the table where his arms had been resting. "What?"

"Carl Buford. He runs the youth center." Hotch's voice was calm, measured, but you could feel the pressure building behind it. From the other side of the glass, you stood in front of the glass, only for a moment, before Reid joined you at a respectful distance.

"What's that got to do with anything?" Morgan's tone was dismissive, brushing off the mention of Buford like the idea of talking about him was unbearable.

"He's responsible for getting your records expunged." The words hung in the air, sharp and deliberate. Maybe it was the steady presence of Reid beside you that kept you grounded, or maybe it was that something about Buford just didn’t sit right with you. The sirens in your head grew louder.

"I told you to stay the hell out of my business." Morgan’s voice rose, defensive, but not with rage—more like a wounded animal cornered by a predator.

"You said you visit the youth center every time you come here," Hotch pressed, not backing down.

"So what?" Morgan spat out the words like they were poison.

"Buford says he hasn't spoken to you in years. Why don’t you visit the man who made your career possible?"

"Damn you, Hotch." Morgan’s fist slammed onto the table as he stood up, knocking the box over in frustration. That was when you knew. The sirens in your brain were deafening now—loud enough to drown everything else out, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The sickness in your stomach was undeniable. You swallowed it down, fighting the urge to leave, but your instincts were already pushing you forward. You grabbed the door handle, taking one last breath before entering.

"Agent Hotchner, I would like to speak to my client." When Hotch didn’t move, still focused on Morgan, you added, "Now."

With a quiet but firm nod, Hotch left the room, his stoic expression unchanged. You sat down in the chair, your mind racing even faster. If you wanted Morgan to trust you—if you wanted to get through to him—you had to give him something first.

“Aren’t you supposed to be defending me? Looking for a way to get me out of here?” he snapped.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me, Derek.”

“I am being honest. I didn’t kill those kids! He has nothing to do with this!”

“Then why is he so eager to help the police?” you shot back.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything—just glared at you, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. You recognized that look. It was the look of someone who had learned, maybe too many times, that the world didn’t always care about the truth.

"Derek I can't do much if you don't trust me." You say as calmly as you can.

Morgan let out a humorless chuckle. “Trust you?” he said, shaking his head. “I barely know you.”

You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyes flickering over him. That’s fair. Trust wasn’t something that could be commanded, especially not in a place like this.

But you also knew what it was like to sit on the wrong side of an interrogation table. To have someone who was supposed to protect you look at you like you were already guilty. To feel like the walls were closing in, no matter how much truth you were screaming.

You swallowed, forcing the memories down before they could surface. If you wanted Morgan to trust you, you had to give him something first.

“Derek… I’m on your side, whether you believe it or not. Not because I owe you one, but because I can recognize someone whose trust was betrayed by the person who was supposed to protect them.” That made him look at you—really look at you. And you hated it. Hated the way he was seeing straight through you.

Being read, being seen—that wasn’t something you allowed often. But Morgan had spent his life reading people, understanding them, profiling them to find the truth. And you had spent your life sharpening your edges, and weaponizing strategically everything you didn’t like. But right now, you were offering him a piece of yours.

You took a slow, measured breath, and even though the room felt too warm, you forced yourself to keep going.

“My parents… my birth parents ran a meth lab in the kitchen,” you said, voice steady, though your hands curled into fists beneath the table. “When I was four, it exploded. I was sent to the hospital with burns, malnutrition, and withdrawal symptoms I didn’t understand. That was the first time CPS got involved. They put me in the system.”

Morgan’s expression didn’t shift, but you saw something flicker behind his eyes. Recognition.

“And if you know anything about the system, you know it’s broken. It fails. It doesn’t protect the people who need it the most,” you continued, your voice steady, but your chest felt tight. “There are cracks in it, and some people…take advantage of that. They play the part, they act like saviors, they pretend to care.” Your voice caught, just for a second. But you forced yourself to push through it. “I know men like Carl Buford. I grew up with one of them.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened. That name—Buford—hit the air like a hammer. You weren’t just asking for trust. You were offering something real. Something raw.

His fingers curled into fists on the table, and for a second, he looked away, shaking his head like he was trying to push a memory aside. But he didn’t deny it. Didn’t challenge you. Because he knew.

“And what happened?” he asked, voice lower now, controlled but heavy.

You exhaled sharply. “I clawed my way out, just like you did, got adopted when I was 8. And when I had the chance, I became the system—to change it the only way it’s possible, from the inside out.”

Morgan let the silence stretch, studying you, his fingers tapping once against the cold metal table. Finally, he let out a breath, something almost like defeat but not quite. “So what now?”

“Now,” you said, straightening, “We stop playing defense.”

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You stepped out of the room, and though the tremor in your hands had subsided, the warmth lingering on your back remained. Scanning the precinct, your gaze locked onto the person you were looking for—Gordinski.

You strode toward him, your pace sharp, your voice sharper. “Are you going to charge my client with something, or are you just going to keep stalling?”

He smirked, relishing the frustration in your tone. “Miss Woodvale.” The mockery in his voice was deliberate, savoring the way your desperation bled through. “I still have over 40 hours to hold your client as a suspect.”

“Have you found any new evidence? Because all you have is a questionable profile and circumstantial evidence.” You leaned in slightly, wanting to get under his skin.

“We have motive.” He said it like it was a trophy, something definitive, something final.

You let out a short, dry laugh. “No, you have a grudge. There’s a difference, and if you don’t know it, the jury won’t buy it.” You’d seen stronger cases collapse under weaker arguments.

His jaw tensed as he looked down at you, exhaling through his nose like you were an inconvenience. “Look, we have three dead kids and a family that wants closure. We’re just doing our job.”

You knew it was a low blow. You knew it was too much.

“Oh yeah? I wonder where I’ve heard that before?”

That was exactly why you said it.

Gordinski’s expression twisted as realization struck. One of the other detectives snapped at you, voices rising, the BAU stiffened, and you could already see Hotch preparing to apologize—everything was escalating.

Then— “Hey! What, did we turn him loose?”

The tension shifted. The detectives forgot your words in an instant, all eyes snapping to the officer outside the holding room—where Morgan had been.

Chaos erupted. Gordinski bolted toward the room, Dennison scrambled to dispatch patrols, Prentiss and JJ exchanged alarmed glances.

And that’s when you slipped away. Nobody noticed… Well nobody except Reid. He always had an eye on you, even from a distance.

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The air was cold, and in the rush of the moment, you’d forgotten to grab your coat. But in some strange way, you were grateful for it—the chill seemed to cool the simmering anger that was creeping through your veins as you headed toward the community center.

Morgan walked beside you, leading the way. You kept your head low, ducking behind columns to avoid the patrols that were probably looking for you. The familiar sensation of hiding felt strangely nostalgic—if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine the cup of coffee in your hand as you walked through the campus at Harvard.

After ten minutes, you spotted a small field with the lights still on. A kid was out there, playing football by himself. Morgan moved closer to him.

“Lookin' good there, kid.”

You stayed a few feet behind, not wanting to interfere.

“I was tryin' to call you.” The kid stopped running and looked at Morgan.

“I’m here now.” Morgan spread his arms, inviting and friendly.

“Who’s that?” The kid glanced at you quickly, signaling toward you with a tilt of his chin. Unable to stay hidden any longer, you stepped onto the field and leaned back against the fencing, crossing your arms.

“Someone I trust. One of mine.” Morgan’s bold words were enough to drop the kid’s defenses.

You stayed silent, as invisible as you could be, observing how the kid tensed and relaxed automatically when Morgan mentioned needing to talk about Buford. You never thought you were good with kids—didn’t know how to act around them without overthinking, constantly looking for signs and flaws.

The more they talked, the more Derek described Buford’s manipulative ways, using his influence to make kids trust him only to exploit that trust, the more the freezing air of Chicago couldn’t keep the heat from rising inside you. Your hands curled into fists, squeezing your sides, wrinkling your shirt.

There were so many sick ways people used to reward or control others. Buford used alcohol and false bonds to make kids feel like adults, while others used toys or candy.

“My oldest brother’s in jail. My sister was paralyzed in a drive-by... She’s eight years old, and I’m all my mom’s got left. I gotta get us outta here.”

No kid should ever carry that kind of weight. No child should feel like enduring abuse is the only way out.

“Carl’s gonna make sure I get into college. Then I can make something of myself.” The gratitude in his voice was painful—the twisted sense of owing someone everything for their attention, their gifts.

You closed your eyes and looked up at the sky, trying to keep yourself from walking into the building alone and finishing whatever it was you had come here to do.

“James, you are something, man. You’re something right here, right now, without Carl Buford.” Morgan’s words hit you hard. He was right. James was someone. He was someone. You were someone, too. Despite everything, you were still breathing, still standing.

A tiny part of yourself felt grateful when you heard James had told Damien about what he was going through, that he had been brave enough to speak up and look for someone who would believe him and would do something about it. Damien knew. Morgan connected the same dots and realized who was staging the whole thing up.

Carl. Motherfucker. Buford.

Derek eventually finished talking to the kid and motioned for you to follow him. You didn’t know what his next move was, but you were backing him up. “Derek?”

He turned to look at you. “Yeah?”

“Whatever you want to do, I have your back.” You knew he saw it in your eyes—an intense, boiling rage that had driven you to places both good and bad. He knew that whatever he was going to do next, you wouldn’t stop him or doubt him.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

He gave you instructions on how to get through the back door of the office. But when you got there, Morgan was already calling him out.

“All these years, I kept my mouth shut. I let you go on being a hero. Carl Buford, my mentor.”

Buford’s back was toward you, and the more he talked, the more the air seemed to thicken with the heat of your rage. Your vision narrowed, blurred at the edges with red. A man. No—a monster. A predator who walked free for far too long, spinning his web of lies, manipulating, violating, ruining.

And he had the audacity to deny it. The smugness in his voice. The complete absence of remorse.

“Whatever lies James told you…” he said so easily, as if that erased the truth. As if that rewrote history.

Your hands clenched so hard they ached. How many lives had he destroyed? How many boys had suffered under his hands? You had seen men like him before—hell, you had been a child under the power of a man like him once. The weight of their hands. The control they wielded. The false kindness that masked something vile.

Your stomach twisted violently as you took in the sight of his office. The trophies. Row after row of gleaming gold, polished plaques. A shrine to his own ego. A testament to the world that this man was trusted, respected, celebrated.

And then you saw it. Dr. Or you think you did

The word burned itself into your mind like a scar. Dr. Calloway. It wasn’t his name, but your hands trembled anyway, your breath coming fast and ragged, and the sirens grew louder and louder. Was it the name? Was it the way the gold glinted under the dim light? Or was it just the overwhelming wrongness of all of this?

Buford was still talking. Still spewing poison.

“How many lives have I provided? Look at you. You’d probably be dead by now.”

Lives.

Lives he had ruined.

Lives you could still save.

Your fingers curled around the base of a trophy—a heavy one, sharp at the edges. You barely registered the name engraved on it as your grip tightened, your knuckles going white.

For a split second, your mind whispered, Do it. The same one that had accompanied you in moments where you couldn’t move. Moments when your body wouldn’t answer to your orders. The voice of that version of yourself that would unleash violence. Do. It.

But then—Morgan. This wasn’t your moment. This wasn’t your fight.

But if he wanted to tear this office apart, you would hand him every single thing worth breaking. You would burn it to the ground and stand there, just to watch Buford scream as the flames took him.

Morgan’s voice cut through the storm inside your head.

“Actually, I’m saying you have everything to do with making me who I am.”

And so did you. Because this rage—this blistering, all-consuming, blood-boiling rage—was just another scar left by men like him. Men who stole, who twisted, who took and took and took until all that was left was ruin.

The sirens in your mind screamed. The voices clawed at your skull, howling for justice, for vengeance, for something more than just words, more than just silence.

Just like the ghosts of the past. Just like the hands of the past. Just like Calloway in the past. In the present.

Calloway. Buford.

"I never hurt you. You could have said no.”

Your grip on the trophy tightened, the sharp edges digging into your palm, but you barely felt the sting. All you saw was red. All you felt was fire.

"You're under arrest, Carl." The words cut through the haze, sharp and final.

Buford barely had time to react before the officers stepped in, twisting his arms behind his back, snapping cold metal around his wrists. He said something—denial, excuses, more of the same filth that men like him always spewed—but it didn’t matter.

It was over.

The red began to fade. The fire inside you simmered, but the embers still burned low, smoldering beneath your ribs. Your breath came in sharp, uneven pulls as you unclenched your fist. The trophy slipped from your fingers, clattering against the floor with a hollow, metallic thud.

Morgan was still staring at Buford, his jaw tight, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

For a moment, you wondered if he felt it too—that same bone-deep ache, the need to destroy, to make it right in ways the law never could. But then he inhaled, long and slow, and you forced yourself to do the same.

He saw the trophy in your hand, and you expected to find judgmental eyes—eyes that would look at you like you were dangerous, like you had lost control, like you were no better than the man they were dragging away in cuffs.

But there was no judgment in Morgan’s gaze. Just understanding. Maybe even something closer to recognition.

Your fingers trembled around the trophy, your pulse still hammering in your ears, but you couldn’t let go. Not yet. The weight of it felt good in your grip, solid and real. It would’ve been so easy—so easy—to swing, to carve your fury into something tangible.

He must’ve seen it in you. The way your shoulders still heaved, the way your jaw clenched so tight it hurt.

Morgan reached out, slow, steady. Not to stop you. Not to take it away. Just there.

A lifeline, if you wanted it.

You exhaled shakily, then forced your fingers to unclench. The trophy slipped from your grasp, landing with a dull thud against the floor.

Your hands were empty now. But the fire still burned.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

Resting against the wall, breathing heavily, you watched as they took Buford away under your intense gaze. Gordinski approached you.

“Your actions could be taken as obstruction of justice, Counselor,” he said, the sarcasm in your title not going unnoticed.

An old man threatening you, just to scare you and gloat himself, a pathetic move, especially now when there were still remains of the fire, not ashes yet. You sighed, as if too tired to deal with him, not even bothering to look his way. “And what are you going to do? Arrest me?” You finally glanced at him. “I have the Attorney General one phone call away, and I could charge you with misconduct and Sixth Amendment violation, which could dismiss the case you have been working for so long.”

You let the words sink in for a second while he remained serious. “You got your guy Detective. Walk away while you can.”

Like in chess, any smart player knows when to retreat. He glared at you but ultimately backed off.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed Reid watching. For a moment, you couldn’t help but return his stare. But then, lifting your chin, you towards the SUV, ignoring the strange sting of shame, the kind of shame you feel when you want to show the best version of yourself to someone, only to show the worst. It wasn’t the first time you had talked your way out of a charge, but it was the first time you felt ashamed of doing it.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

You and Morgan were the last to board the jet. After last night, you'd talked—just not about the… incident. He'd invited you to the grave of the unidentified child with him and his family, and, for some strange reason, it had brought you a sense of peace. Afterward, you joined the rest of the team on the way home.

You spotted Reid sitting by the window, absorbed in his book. North. South. You weren’t one to judge anyone’s demons, especially when you couldn’t even control your own. Maybe that’s why you sat in front of him. Maybe you were tired of pretending you didn’t want to know what was going on in his head.

When he noticed you, his eyes widened slightly, and his fingers nervously traced the edge of the page. Was this it? Would you confront him? Would he finally have the chance to explain himself?

"Do you think Raskolnikov ever believed he deserved the punishment?" you asked, your voice quiet but firm, meeting his gaze. "Or did he just convince himself he was too special to face it?"

Reid blinked, clearly caught off guard, but after a beat, he answered. "I think Raskolnikov believed he was above it all. That his intelligence and theories made him different. But that’s the tragedy—he never understood that punishment isn’t just about what you deserve. It’s about confronting what you’ve done. The guilt you carry. Sometimes, it’s about having someone who believes in you, even when you can’t believe in yourself." His voice softened with the words, as if careful not to scare you off.

You didn’t break eye contact, letting the weight of his words settle. After a pause, you glanced back down at the book. "Someone like Sonia?"

Reid’s gaze flickered, sensing the shift in the conversation. You weren’t just talking about Raskolnikov anymore. Maybe it was about him. Maybe about you. "Someone like Sonia," he said quietly. "She believed in him, not because he was special, but because she saw his humanity. Sometimes, it’s not about whether someone deserves forgiveness—it’s whether someone else is willing to help them find it."

A quiet tension lifted from your shoulders, and your expression softened, the unspoken understanding between you both almost palpable in the air. North. South.

　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　

By lunchtime the next day, the events of the prior day still gnawed at you. The feeling only worsened when your eyes landed on the basket sitting in the corner of your office—filled with chocolates and candy.

Taking a deep breath, you picked it up and turned to your temporary assistant, a guy covering for Molly while she was on maternity leave. “I’m stepping out for twenty minutes,” you told him.

Basket in hand, your thoughts blurred together as you walked toward the park. It was a familiar refuge, a place where kids and elderly chess players gathered, lost in their games. A little distraction wouldn’t hurt. It would be good for you to clear your mind—and they always appreciated it when you brought baskets like these or treats from your mom’s bakery.

　　　　　　　 .˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘⋅.˳˳.⋅∘ ˚ ˚∘.˳˳. 　　　　　　　　　　　

So we finally see more of reader's past! been waiting for this since i started drafting the story in my mind. You'll know more the next chapter!　　　　 Feedback feeds motivation! Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated <3 Tag list: @arialikestea @hellsingalucard18 @pleasantwitchgarden @torturedpoetspsychward @cultish-corner<3

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alllovenohate7 · 2 days ago

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I’d always do anything for her. The one. The hardest thing is not seeing her everyday anymore and being able to talk to them about anything whenever we wanted. Not being able to just get a quick look to refresh the only beautiful thing in life and give me hope. Give me strength. And really just so I can look into her eyes. No words. No physical contact. I just wanted to look at the most stunning green eyes I’ll ever see. Cached in my memories are a perfect soul. Playing on repeat as it begins to rain in this quiet room. A good morning with a goddess’s smile receives a small token of my appreciation for her. I miss giving. I haven’t been able to tell her how beautiful she is. I miss her smile whenever I had a chance to remind her she looked beautiful. I made sure to remind her so she would smile. I never wanted to miss an opportunity or a chance to make her happy and make her smile. She was my first real everlasting crush and it stood firm until I fell. And I fell hard. Because I always had this feeling but now, now I was done. After this one moment that I won’t ever forget she was waking by me. Black boots, jeans, and a sweater following behind her as her hair waved with each step. The lights shining down as it god sent her. I looked at her in such awe as she walked by. As she took each step the feeling grew stronger and stronger. I felt it and I knew right away. I said to myself “wow” and I knew. My heart knew. I grew nervous. Her contagious laugh is so soft and pure, it would get me too. I miss asking, did I tell you how much you mean to me today? I miss being there to lift her up when she was down. I miss helping wipe away the tears of the strongest person I know. Shedding tears of the past I so desperately wanted to help rid of. I miss being supportive when others weren’t and didn’t want to be. I want to always be there when she was down and everything else is wrong. I want to be the one right thing in her life no matter what was going left. I want to keep her right. I want to keep her safe as she made when I was with her. Was I was with her everything feel alright. The sound of her voice could soothe me. It could heal me with just a few words. I miss talking about our future and plans being made to fulfill our dreams. I miss sharing every detail with her. I miss hearing empathy in her voice when she wanted to know if I was okay when if I wasn’t. She could give the strength and I mean strength that brings confidence with it. I want to give her everything she deserves and everything she desires yet leave nothing for myself. I want to be her crutch with her legs felt weak to carry it by herself. I want to take the weight off her shoulders and carry it as my own so she can feel free. Her presence would calm me while her spirit rejuvenated my soul. Did my heart find true love or did I let my guard down after years of healing an old wound. When she wasn’t around I felt empty. Nothing and no one person would ever come before her. There’s never been another name or person for as long I’ve loved her. Ever. The sacred meaning behind faith. I know the pain from this and I’d never do that to someone. It’s incredibly life altering and I don’t think it goes away, the real pain that follows it. I wish she could see herself through my eyes and know what I know. See what I see. And the truth in what she asks or thinks. In that moment though when I knew, I saw the next 50 years of my life and I see it with my best friend. I’d give it all up for her. More than most things in life, I miss exchanging I love you before we departed ways. It’s all I ever needed or had at times. Just to hear sometimes. To hold onto. Those three words that have an incredible meaning we don’t usually talk about. Words. Those few words have a powerful impact. Words have profound meaning and is the basis of all things. Those few words allowed me to know that I was real and that I existed. Just a few words can mean everything.

I’ll always do anything for her.

I love you.

♍️ ♉️ 🐝

#my love is forever #unconditional love #the only one worth fighting for #beautiful #I think of you everyday #all day #love matters #truth and honesty #reliving the past I tried so hard to forget #I left everything behind to be with the one #I can’t stop thinking of your smile #your laugh #beeeeeeee #I’ve never spoken to anyone since I found true love #I’m not a bad person 😞

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littleslaywrites · 3 days ago

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sleepless | aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: you can’t sleep when aaron is away.

word count: 0.9k

cw: pure fluff

You’d tried everything to get to sleep. A hot bath, reading in the moonlight, soothing tea. Nothing worked.

The clock ticked mockingly, reminding you of the time passing. Aaron had told you he’d be back that night, but let you know it’d be late and to go to sleep. You tried, but the knowledge that he was on his way was enough to keep you up.

Not to mention it was nearly impossible for you to fall asleep without hearing Aaron’s voice. He always made sure to call you when he was away, knowing the sound of his words would soothe you to sleep. You hadn’t had difficulty falling asleep since you moved in with him, comforted by his presence, and when he was gone, his voice could lull you into slumber.

Giving up on the bed, you moved to the couch. You wanted to be able to hear him come in, considering you were fighting a losing battle with sleep. The streets were nearly empty, with only an occasional car passing. Each time one rolled by, you got your hopes up that it’d be Aaron.

After what must’ve been an hour of trying to sleep on the couch, you finally heard the door open. Sitting up, you rushed over to the door.

“What are you doing awake?” Aaron said, sounding more tired than you were.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you respond in between littering his face with kisses.

He smiles at your affection, wrapping his large arms around you. His warmth immediately comforts you, and you rest your cheek on his chest. He doesn’t want to move, savoring the feeling of you in his arms after being away.

Sensing your peace, he picks you up and carries you to the bedroom. You let him, knowing he’ll soon be beside you in bed. When he drops you off and tries to walk away, you grab at his hand.

“I won’t be long,” he reassures you. When you don’t let go, he leans down to kiss your forehead. Satiated for the moment, you ease your grip.

Aaron slides into his usual routine, checking on Jack before taking a quick shower. Eyes closed, you listen, knowing the sound of the shower turning off means he’ll be climbing into bed before you know it.

You feel the bed dip beside you, and you’re cuddling into his side before he’s under the covers all the way. Your head finds his chest again, and you wrap both your legs around one of his. His warmth reminds you of how cold it is without him.

“Missed you,” you say, laying a hand over his heart to feel its rhythm. In response, he leans into your shoulder.

“I missed you, too.”

Aaron feels his own eyes growing heavy. You’re more than aware that his job is far more tiring than anything you do, but he never makes you feel lesser. You don’t know it, but he has the same trouble sleeping without you. He hates making you worry about him, so he would never tell you, but nights in hotels are always sleepless. That’s why he finds it so important to call you. He needs to hear your voice just as much as you need to hear his.

“Was the case good?” you sleepily ask.

“Mmhmm.”

If it was earlier, or if the two of you weren’t so tired, you’d spend time on the couch, debriefing what the other missed. He didn’t go into detail about most cases, but you provided a much needed light after being surrounded by the darkness of his job. In return, you’d catch him up on the events of the week. He hated not being around, so he’d ask about every little thing. It was to a point where you nearly thought it was ridiculous. He’d ask about what you ate, what you watched, who you saw around. It was endearing, the way he’d listen so intently to the recollection of a trip to the grocery store.

For now, though, he didn’t have the energy to ask, and you didn’t have the energy to respond.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you say. On the surface, you mean that you were glad he was back, returning to your bed after a case. But you mean it even deeper. You’re glad he’s here, in your life. You can’t imagine how you ever slept without knowing he was yours.

His breathing slows, signaling he’s dozed off. In his sleep, he moves closer to you, leaning an arm around you. His weight is a reassuring presence, reminding you he was all yours until he was called away again.

The morning carries a promise of breakfast, and you can only hope you’ll wake up early enough to be the one to cook it. Knowing him, he’d be the first awake, having adapted to the hours of the early morning. You make it your mission to keep him in bed as long as possible, considering the only way he’ll rest is if you force him. He’ll pretend to hate it, but you both know he appreciates your insistence of getting him to take a break whenever he can.

It’s easy to relax with his warmth combining with yours. Your hands wrap around the arm that’s laid across you. You convince yourself that, if you hold on tight enough, you can keep him from leaving your side. You finally fall asleep, the sound of his breath in your ear and his heartbeat under your palm carrying you into hypnotic rest.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner one shot #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #aaron hotchner fluff #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch fluff

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robertsfloyd · 1 day ago

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Military Issued

Bradley was warned he'd be given an Omega if he didn't get his act together. He knows what happens to Omegas with military Alphas - he doesn't want to be the reason an Omega goes through that. But he just can't get his act together.

Alpha!Rooster X Omega!Reader

"I don't want one," Bradley growled out for what felt like the millionth time since he'd stepped foot in Cyclones office.

Nothing about this was right. Being called into the office, Mav standing behind like he had something to do with all of this. Knowing him, he probably did.

"Look, Rooster." Cyclone linked his fingers together and leaned forward in a way that suggested Bradley had no choice in the matter. "You keep flying like you want to kill yourself and you won't give us much of a choice,"

"No."

Every word out of his mouth had been a growl since they'd made the suggestion. No, he wouldn't. He couldn't. He didn't need an Omega.

Maverick sighed and stepped forward. "This is for your own good, Bradley," he said and Bradley glared like a petulant child. Not a man in his thirties. "I can't lose you, too."

An Omega. A military issued one at that. Most Alphas in the navy could only dream of such a thing. Most met an Omega, couldn't bare to part with them and quit their jobs. A military issued Omega stayed with their Alphas on base, only parting for missions and such. It was cruel on the Omegas, but the military didn't care.

His father had been an Alpha. But Nick had met Carole, the prettiest Omega he ever laid eyes on (as he used to say to Mav) and he wanted out. It was Maverick who convinced him to stay, who convinced him to go to Top Gun.

Bradley remembered when his dad died. He didn't remember details, didn't remember receiving the news. But he remembered his mother's screams.

Before they found out what had happened, she was screaming. She was holding her chest and crying out in pain as it felt like her soul was ripped in two. Her alpha ripped away from her.

It was a miracle it didn't kill her.

He didn't remember his fathers funeral, he didn't remember Maverick grabbing his mother to stop her from throwing herself into his fathers grave.

But he did remember the hospital visits. He remembered his mother laying in a hospital bed, in that sterile room, the scent of chemicals burning his nose.

He remembered sitting there alone, the doctor telling him that his mother should be dead, that she was alive for him.

How many omegas went through this? Bradley began to wonder as he got over. How many Alphas were so loyal to their country that it ended up killing their Omega?

He didn't want to be responsible for that.

For a single day, Bradley got himself under control. He stopped flying like he had no reason to come home, started flying semi-sensibly (but you don't become a navy pilot to fly sensibly).

But it only lasted a day. The next day, he was back to his old shit. Back to trying like he wanted to die, back to flying like he wouldn't have cared if he crashed. Back to flying like nobody would miss him.

***

An unmated Omega, you were given two choices. Remain unmated and unsafe, or do what your friends had done and sign up for that programme.

Looking back, you should have done more research into the programme. You didn't know what you were signing up for, who you were giving your information to. You certainly didn't realise it was the military.

An unknown number contacted you. As any smart Omega would, you tried to look up the number before you answered the phone. But you couldn't trace this one. Looking at your friends, you raised your eyebrows.

"Just answer it," your friend said. "If its someone weird, just hang up."

You nodded along and swiped your finger across the screen. "Hello?" You asked, pressing the phone to your ear.

The woman on the phone gave your name in a questioning tone.

"This is she," you answered, scratching at your knee.

"I'm from the US Navy. We saw your profile and we would like to give you the opportunity to be a Military Omega."

Military Omega. Your frowned deepened as you tried to decipher the meaning of those words. Military Omega. You didn't think Omegas were allowed in the Military.

"What is a Military Omega?"

Your friends gasped at you, eyes going wide. You tried to look at them, to see whether you should hear this woman out or hang up now.

"Its a sweet gig," the woman said, dropping that air of professionalism she had around her already. "Military Omegas are given an Alpha to take care of them, somewhere near the Military base where your Alpha is stationed to live and a weekly allowance. Really, what else could an Omega need?"

A Military Alpha. An Alpha that would leave you alone when he was sent away. You would have somewhere to live provided for you, money sent to you just for being a Military Omega. It did sound like a sweet gig, you thought.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

"You have until the end of the week." She left a number, one you quickly wrote down, and hung up.

You looked at your friends. They stared back at you, waited for you to say something. "Girls," you started, folding your hands in your lap. "What do we know about Military Omegas."

***

Sitting in an office, a fan above your head, you stared at the man across from you. Definitely an Alpha; you could tell that by his size alone.

He was fucking huge.

If you had less of a leash on your thoughts, your mouth would have been watering. Big Alpha man with big Alpha muscles. To top it all off, he had a pretty face, a moustache that should have been ugly but looked so damn good on him.

He looked like he wanted to kill you.

You stared back at him, waiting for something from him. You had introduced yourself, waited for him to do the same. But he was silent, staring.

You opened your mouth, but he finally said soemthing.

"I'm not scenting you."

You swallowed. A big, sexy, Military Alpha, and he didn't want you. Ouch. "Okay," you said, but, really, you didn't know what else to say. You had made the trip all the way to California to become a Military Omega, and your Military Alpha didn't even want you.

This couldn't get any worse.

You looked up as the door opened and another man walked in. Not an Alpha, you noted by his scent, but definitely Military. "Jesus, Rooster," he said and let out a whistle. "If you don't want her, can I have her?"

"Shut up, Hangman," Bradley said through a growl.

'Hangman' laughed to himself as he strode over to you. Just three steps and he'd walked the length of the table between you. It was nothing at all, but enough that you couldn't reach out and touch the Alpha before you. "He's an old grump, isn't he, sugar?" He asked as he held out his hand.

You cracked a smile, not entirely sure if you should be laughing with him. Taking his hand, you shook it. "I'm Jake. I'm no Alpha, but it won't matter when you're with me," he said and winked.

Suddenly, he was pulled back. Bradley hooked his finger around Jakes colour and pulled him away from you. "Out," he said through a growl. "Get out."

Holding up his hands, Jake walked out of the room. He let the door shut behind him and you released a breath. Maybe the scent of angry Alpha would finally dissipate now that Jake was gone.

But then you heard the lock click.

"Wait!" You cried and climbed out of your seat. Rushing over to the door, you tried to pull it open. Nothing. Locked.

"Bagman!" Bradley roared as he stepped up behind you. You removed your hands from the door handle when he grabbed it and began to pull. But it was a military base. Of course it was Alpha proof.

"Shit," he grunted.

You were conscious of just how close he was to you. He hadn't gotten this close to you... ever. It let you see just how pretty his eyes were, how delicate his brown curls were. Jesus, he was so pretty.

He stared at you, his chest heaving. His nostrils flared as he breathed in the scent of you. "Fuck," he grunted. "Shit, you smell..."

Good. You smelled so damn good. His eyes seemed to glow brighter as he looked at you. His hands reached out and grabbed you, pulling you close.

You whimpered as you hit his chest. He pressed his nose against your neck, moustache tickling you slightly. But you didn't laugh. Not while he was scenting you.

Stumbling back, Bradley pulled you with him. He sat back in his chair and pulled you on top of him. You whimpered as he continued to scent you.

Tipping your head forward, you scented him back. Holy fuck, he was intoxicating. Your fingers gripped his shoulders as your eyes fell shut. You could have gotten drunk off of his scent, you realised.

When you tried to pull away, Bradley released a growl. So, you continued to scent him. You returned your head to rest against his shoulder and scent him. Pure Alpha, that's what he was. Pure Alpha and you couldn't get enough of him.

His arms wrapped around you, not letting you go. Not that you wanted him to let you go. In that moment, you couldn't imagine anything worse than him letting you. You rubbed your head against his scent gland, trying to cover yourself in his scent. The scent of your Alpha.

The door opened.

Bradley let out a growl and you released one to match. Although yours was the higher pitched growl of an Omega. "Scenting is going well," somebody said. You didn't care who it was, you just wanted them to leave yourself and your Alpha alone.

Swallowing, they backed up and left the room. "Mine," Bradley growled as he nosed at your scent gland. "Mine."

a/n: i can't believe this is the first time i'm writing for my favourite man! i know i'm an f1 girlie but big men just make me ugh! like, i'm not even into COD but my friend and i have been talking about the cod men bc they're so hot 😭

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fisherrprince · 4 hours ago

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friends, countrymen. if you feel the urge to go to the chiropractor because your body aches, you do not want a chiropractor, you want a massage.

“but fish” you may say. “that sounds. scary” it’s not. if you really have an aversion to people touching you, at all, ever, maybe this isn’t for you. but a chiropractor isn’t for you either, because they also touch you a lot. In the case that you think you’d be chill with it for an hour, im going to describe in detail more or less what to expect at a massage appointment.

why not a chiropractor?

we’re not going to get into it, but a chiropractor tries to put your bones back in alignment. This is functionally useless if your tight muscles are pulling on your bones in the first place! They’ll just go back to being achy and out of alignment within the week. You need to be addressing the root of the problem. a massage may not fix it (sorry. it takes work on your part), but it may help your muscles relax so you can train them to chill out and sit in their correct spots. plus it feels nice. if you feel like you need something more intense, go for a deep pressure therapy massage. it digs into your sore muscles without the danger of a chiropractor.

what does the room look like?

in most cases, when a massage parlor has an official building, the massage room is a small dim-ish room with one massage table, maybe a chair, and some cubbies or cabinets either for the masseuse's tools or for your clothes. there may be decorations, candles, fake candles, little speakers, a mirror, or pillows. the massage table looks like a little twin mattress with a donut pillow sticking out the top and blankets covering the mattress. The table is also usually heated, and you can adjust the heat by asking for it.

what stuff is also there?

smells there are smells in there, usually woody, floral, or natural scents like cedar, eucalyptus, lavender, chamomile, or peppermint. sometimes you get to choose your smells. if there's a smell you don't like (eg lavender, which makes me sneeze), politely ask not to use that one. very few massage parlors have no smells at all, but I've found that most places aren't nearly as overwhelming as, say, a bath and body works, which sucks to be in.

music or nature sounds. think stereotypical soft spa music. I've never encountered a situation where the music bothered me, but you can also request to change it.

lotions and/or oils they go on your body, because rubbing your hands against your skin for a long time without a buffer irritates your skin! they are where most of the smells comes from, if there's not a diffuser in the room. again, if a smell is bad, politely request to not use that smell. the oils may also get in your hair or on your underclothes, if you keep them on.

warm things sometimes the masseuse will use warm things, like warm towels or warm rocks, on you. they're usually nice in the same way a hot tub is nice - a little hot at first, and then warm. if they use a warm towel, it's probably going on your feet or back or neck. warm rocks will usually go on your back. I've never encountered warm rocks but they're in the promo pictures so, i suppose you'd need to do something other than a deep pressure therapy massage to get warm rocks.

some talking at the beginning, the masseuse may instruct you to take some deep breaths and relax, like the beginning of a meditation. she will usually not keep talking the entire time unless you're talkative. I often fall asleep.

what am I expected to do?

you'll enter the room, the masseuse will ask you what you want her to focus on, and she'll leave for a few minutes to let you undress. You can undress to your comfort level, but I usually at least decide to go topless, because it helps them reach my back better and my upper back hurts. once you're as comfortable as you can be, slide in under the blankets (both blankets if there's two) on the table and leave only your head poking out. if she doesn't tell you to start on your back or stomach, pick one, doesn't often matter.

you are fully expected to let her know at the beginning if there are areas you don't want her touching, and you're expected to let her know if she's going too hard or too gentle on your muscles. her goal is your comfort and relief!

then what happens?

chillax for a while. the masseuse will move around the table, addressing your muscles bit by bit. usually, they'll start with a scalp massage, and then move down. aside from massaging you, she will often move your limbs around, tuck the blanket around you, or put things like rolled towels or pillows under you at times. you are just supposed to lay there, relax, and let her do so.

good massage feels like anywhere from a nice backrub to that good sore you feel poking a bruise or moving after working out real hard. it should not actively hurt -- let him know it hurts if it does.

what do I do after?

when she leaves the room to let you redress, do that, and then go meet her in the lobby to pay her (if you haven't already) or for a brief touch base. if this is like, a fancy resort massage, they'll have a whole dressing room you're supposed to go back to, so you won't see your masseuse again. he's probably washing up.

drink water! often they'll give you some water afterwards. It's because loosening your tight muscles opens them up to water your body wants to give them anyways, so you might get a little dehydrated.

eat a snack with vitamins in it, like nuts or fruit. if you had a massage that really beat you up (I asked for this a few times while recovering from an injury), take an advil too. Normally, you won't need pain reliever even a little bit.

if it was nice, leave a little tip.

miscellaneous tips

if this is your first time, go for the shortest option so you can see if you like it or not. often, they'll have a first time client discount.

don't be afraid to fall asleep or snore or anything. they don't care.

they also shouldn't care about your body type. To be polite, take a shower at least the night before going in, but I guarantee they couldn't care less about what you look like, only that your muscles are stiff.

don't be too annoyed if you asked for neck and shoulders and the masseuse is hanging out at your feet. remember to specify exactly what you want at the beginning, but your muscles are all connected, and your legs are probably tight too.

try to find an independent company. massage envy might be good for a first attempt if you're worried about them pushing too hard, but they aren't as good or personalized as some guy who's been doing this for 40 years.

when you lay on your stomach, stick your face in the donut pillow in a way that lets your face stick out the hole, but try not to line the middle of your neck up with the edge of the bed. it's a little uncomfy.

you are fully within your rights to wear a mask during your massage.

please tell them your allergies! especially if it's to coconut oil!

#made this post for a friend who doesn't like being touched unless they know EXACTLY how and where #i love massage. i get professional therapy massage sometimes but i do self-massage like. nightly #kipspeak #so nice. so pleasant #disclaimer that this isn't EVERY massage parlor. but it is a lot of them basically #and it's a very quick rundown but i tried to make it as detailed as possible

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rackmount-official-my-ass · 2 days ago

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I learned something new! In an SSD, you do actually get a power-of-2 physical capacity (generally more than advertised), but you get some amount less than that as addressable space (in fact, less than advertised: e.g. 1.92T, in a 2T drive). (That’s the part I didn’t know, the rest of this I did know ;)

The buffer is used for wear leveling. In an SSD, every time you write a cell, it’s like sticking a needle in there and injecting electrons. After enough write cycles, the hole gets kinda loose, and the electrons start slipping out, and the data changes. In single-level cells (SLC), each cell stores one bit, it’s either high or low charge. In multi-level cells (MLC), more than one bit is stored, by choosing an intermediate value*: imagine injecting 1, 2, 3, or 4 electrons (not really, but that’s the idea). In MLC, the more bits you store in a single cell, the closer the charge levels are to each other, the tighter the tolerances, and the easier it is for a few missing electrons to literally change the data stored in that cell. Modern flash storage depends on ECC, Error Checking and Correcting. It’ll read a block of cells, run it through an algorithm, and determine what the data was (most likely) supposed to say before the charges started leaking. When we say that an SSD stores a statistical approximation of your data, this is what we mean. It’s having to rebuild the data from scraps a lot of the time. The controller will also re-adjust the charge in each cell to what it’s supposed to be, to help keep things healthier longer.

But the more you write to a cell, the faster it leaks. So, SSDs have extra storage built in, and a big map of which cells are which addresses in the user-readable space. When you read the drive in order, it won’t be reading cells that are all next to each other, sequentially—it’s checking the map for each address and fetching those randomly-placed cells from all over the chip! Then, when you write to an address that already has data in it, it’ll actually just…write somewhere else and update the map to point there. This is wear leveling, spreading out the data to reduce the number of times each cell gets poked. The more spare room on your drive, the longer it’ll last.

You might think: but what about the data we overwrote? It’s still there, just, the map doesn’t point to it. You could have large chunks of data that you’ve deleted and overwritten, that are still in there somewhere! This is one of the challenges in data security, making sure that erased data is actually erased, especially when the SSD controller doesn’t give you much manual control. If you want something gone forever, you have two options:

Only ever write encrypted data to the drive (FDE from the getgo), and then toss the only copy of the key when you’re done with it

Shred/disintegrate/obliterate the drive

Spinning hard drives have some of these issues too, specifically, when a sector goes bad, the controller will remap it to some spare area. They don’t do active wear leveling as far as I’m aware, but they might, and I think there’s some avoidance of overwriting data higher up the stack, but I forget the details.

*This description of MLC actually applies to a lot of things! High speed networking, for example: a Gigabit Ethernet connection uses PAM-5, which has five different voltage levels. This enables much more compact and efficient data transfer than simply using a binary scheme (high and low).

#storage

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luigilore · 11 hours ago

Text

luigi husband/domestic hcs

(a/n: trying hc format! thx anon for requesting! i hope its okay <3 if anyone wants to talk about domestic lu pls hit up my inbox<3 )

likes going grocery shopping with u like you have a little routine on sundays and he's always searching for new recipes to try

lots of pain management fit into yalls daily routine... massages <3 theragun time <3 tens unit whatever helps him and hes sooo grateful

lovessss showering together

he's great at picking up on your emotions and how you're feeling

words of affirmation- complimenting, uplifting, and supporting you is how he communicates that he cares

when luigi can tell you're upset, he wants and will do anything to solve whatever problem there is and make you feel better

luigi is really perceptive, like annoyingly so, "what's wrong? are you sure you're okay?" you can't fool him at all

he really prides himself on knowing the people he loves

wants to know all about you, even the most trivial things i think he would be so interested in learning about.. a bit obsessive in the most romantic and sickening way and u match his freak so dw

might be (is) a lip biter when kissing like first time he did it was on accident, he just got very excited but you both quickly discover he lovesss it

i think luigi is masterfully good at foreplay, methodical in everything he does... including uh... physical intimacy

luigi has a lot of self control and he prides himself in that... but he is also soooo sensitive he just thinks it's incredibly unfair

like just running your hands through his hair and scratching his scalp lightly, oh he's meltinggg

a very intense lover like his eye contact, his touch- firm grip, his voice- always lower and quiet, intense in the best way possible

oh and once you're married he loves always mentioning or name dropping "my wife," in conversations

he is naturally nurturing so he's very openly and unabashedly the biggest romantic

but your wedding is small, only with your close family and friends OR you elope... (i think eloping is sooooo romantic and i feel like he would be extremely enticed by this... and yes both of ur families are pissed)

omg then planning a big backpacking trip or something for ur honeymoon... oh

lovesss house hunting with you

he's a great partner, very responsible and reassuring, his presence is naturally calming for you

problem-solver, if something's bothering you he wants to fix it immediately. it doesn't matter how big or small, if it's upsetting you, he wants to make it better

you trust him and his decision making 100%

luigi prides himself on how well he knows you

to be loved is to be known and that is very relevant here

he also feels so so so loved and special when you remember little details about him

loves being spontaneous

a great gift giver, will retain you offhandedly mentioning you like this certain book or lipstick and boom six months later it's wrapped up for your birthday

anniversaries? forget about it, he out does himself every single year

luigi loves a romantic gesture, would not care about public embarrassment or judgement at all... do these ever materialize? probably not but he really only sees you and him in public

twirling you and dipping you around the dance floor

but that being said isn't huge into pda like making out in public is not his style

but holding hands, hand on the small of your back, or just physical proximity?

oh absolutely loves pet names, especially honey and baby

but totally melts when you call him any pet name! even just his literal name lol... the way u say it just gets him...

loves just like... being married, having you to go through life with he just really loves it.

loves it when you read to him, will very timidly request it

some nights will read to you as well, you guys take turns picking out books

one of those couples that does everything together but not in a bad way? just codependent but <3

he just genuinely enjoys spending time with you. you never run out of things to talk or laugh about

luigi is great at having a routine down, he's so busy but gets everything done

okay soooo he would be the most attentive dad

has art work from your kids on the fridge and all over his office, present at every single one and is sooo proud

documents everything about your children, like buys the baby books and takes so many pictures it's so endearing

in awe of your baby like she's so precious and luigi can't get over her chubby cheeks or squealing laughter... she's his weakness

of course he reads to the kids too and tucks them in at night

you do have to force him to relax sometimes and take a breather, it can be very hard for him to let himself relax and chill

so busy taking care of everyone else that he's not taking care of himself

loves being hands on with the kids

will somehow teach himself how to build things like your daughter wants a dollhouse? of course luigi can do it... why couldn't he... he's actually designing a 3d printed model rn like okay...

loves cuddling and spooning

like laying on the couch together, legs entangled, his hand on your waist, just reading or working on different things in silence, just the physical touch and intimacy is so nice for him

always wants you to sit in his lap or the arm of the chair

would be the sweetest dad, but would feel perpetually unprepared and terrified for fatherhood

would always be researching the best foods, products, etc

like not full helicopter parent/soccer mom but he's very involved and always trying to find new experiences for your kids

overall, luigi is a great person to share a life with, he's organized, responsible, respectful, and LOVING <3

#luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione fluff

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kaibutsushidousha · 3 days ago

Note

Thoughts on Shuten and Ibaraki (separately)?

Really challenging (separately) there since Shuten and Ibaraki are part of the same myth, introduced in the same event, and generally depicted together, but sure, I can work with that. Shuten and Ibuki, however, are part of the same character and have to go together. Also, see this post if you haven't yet.

Ibukidouji/Shutendouji

In 2002, Colorful Tsukihime established that oni come from two possible origins. Shimousa adds a third kind later, but what matters is that Shuten and Ibaraki were conceived as examples of the original two. Unworshipped gods, those who failed to abide to the rules of civilization, and their bloodlines (Shuten) or mutants with power far beyond what falls within the human category, those perfectly unrecognizable as human, and their bloodlines (Ibaraki).

Her backstory is horribly fragmented, even for Sakurai's standards, but assuming we already have all the pieces (and it really looks like we do), I believe it goes like this. The Hii River existed as part of nature, and the faith of the ancient Izumo tribes deified the river spirit (who was also a dragon for some reason) into Yamata-no-Orochi, who was then slain by Susanoo. Orochi's eight heads continued existing as eight mountain gods, one of them being Ibukidouji at Mt. Ibuki. Yamato colonization happens, despite Yamato Takeru's death at Ibukidouji's hands, and Ibukidouji loses her worship. She takes a wholly unelaborated trip to China during the process, and around the late 900s, returns to Japan now with her divinity pretty much fully degraded. After a minor stop at Mt. Sagara, she eventually takes nest at Mt. Ooe, meets Ibaraki and spends the rest of her life as a freeloader in Ibaraki's place until Kintoki cuts her neck.

Ibuki/Shuten has been through multiple self-identities there and displays completely personalities each time, but there are things are a couple of things that are consistent in every version of her. The first and more outwardly obvious is her free-spirited hedonism. Her moral compass doesn't judge in terms of beneficial vs harmful, it judges in terms of pleasant vs unpleasant. Drinking obviously poisoned sake? Fun. No regrets, no grudges against Raikou. Getting her head lopped off by a sexy blue-eyed blonde? Fun. No regrets, no grudges against Kintoki. But what is her criteria of what's fun and what's not? That's where the other consistent trait of all of her personas comes in.

Shuten describes herself as a devoted oni. Despite her lack of inhibitions, she's very loyal and devoted to the ones she likes. You can see that since her debut event, where she orchestrated temporarily giving her powers to Ibaraki, but the extreme extents of her subservience only show for real when you see her multiple personas. Ibuki/Shuten is, above all else, loyal to the labels assigned to her. She will be what she's expected to be, at all times.

Ibukidouji originally identify as a god, and while this is not a timeframe ever covered on screen, in a few moments, mainly through her Heian portrayal and her costume, she shows her ability to behave regally and imposingly as expected of a god. She also assigned brutal trials to Saburou like he believed a god should and did the same to Dorothea during his own tenure as a Divine Spirit, but I don't know which of the two started this cycle. There's also the one time Yamato Takeru got fatally owned, but we get surprisingly little detail on that.

Ibuki's 1st Ascension aka Tinybuki is, as shown on her interlude, Ibuki with her divinity pretty much fully degraded. It's Ibuki/Shuten at her most serious ever, acting less like a god who does what it wants and more like a part of nature teaching young Kintoki its rules. It's an interesting phase where she lost the freedom of her god label and has yet to discover the freedom of her oni label, so she's kinda just vaguely bitter and no-nonsense. In different terms, it's after she stopped being loved by many and had yet to come to terms with the liberating idea of being the enemy of many idolized by a close few.

Then Shutendouji is the textbook oni. A walking disruption of human normalcy. Shamelessly depraved, violently monopolizing of anything that piques her interest, selfish as selfish can get (superficially) and easily prone to harming, killing, and eating people. An oni so oni that Ibaraki fell in love with her ability to perform the oni label. More on that in Ibaraki's half of the post.

But then Assassin Shutendouji doesn't eat people because her new label is Fujimaru's Servant and Fujimaru doesn't want her to do that. Then she makes a silly magical girl persona for Ibaraki's sake. Then Fujimaru's Ibuki just takes it a step further and adopts a whole new persona as a nice lady from Fujimaru's era. Compare and contrast to the Douman-summoned Ibuki, who stuck consistently to her most divine persona because Douman only wanted power out of her.

Heian's ultimate self-sabotage gets funnier the more you understand the characters, honestly. Douman gave up last minute on making Ibuki a new Beast because he couldn't trust that Ibuki would remain loyal to CHALDEAS like he is, but Ibuki is all about being who others want her to be. And Douman failed to realize despite her use of absolute loyalty to compensate for her lack of a more self-originating personality being something that Douman shares with her identically. I've talked about this before.

Her last major identity is her summer form. Arctic Summer World and her profile phrase her change into a Berserker Saint Graph as "redefining her self as a goddess of summer" and iirc there's even some mention of dismantling and rebuilding herself in there, making the concept feel more literal than it sounds. It shows how radical Ibuki's label swaps are, if true. There she tries to make an eternal summer for Fujimaru to enjoy (mixing her labels as a summer goddess and as Fujimaru's Servant) and then asks to be pacified in combat when rejected (mixing her Berserker and oni-god labels). It's only when her main collaborators Skadi and Douman tell her to stop that she does, because Ibuki/Shuten always is what the people she cares about want her to be, and this reaction proved she was using a persona literally no one wanted.

Then there's Samurai Remnant portrayal that's just weird. She mixes and matches traits from all her versions in FGO, with no intention of trying to be what Yasuhiro wants her to be. I guess having an identity independent of her Master is a that's a mark of impartiality characteristic of the Ruler class, but I think I'll have to come back to this one after the Ordeal in April.

Still, there are a few characteristics that are wholly unique to Shutendouji. Things that clearly came as a product of time and experience rather than as her nature to comply to expectations. The first being that Shuten is far more protective of her Shuten identity. Ibuki is willing to immediately throw her more divine persona to be Fujimaru's sweet neighbor figure, but Shuten, even becoming Oni Cure for Ibaraki, remains very recognizable Shuten. Also, when the Ibuki side of her Saint Graph tries to take her over in her Interlude, she very aggressively says she's Shutendouji and her older self doesn't get a turn on her Shuten Saint Graph. Ibuki and Shuten are otherwise very unshakably flippant, so Shuten's rejection of her past behavior stands out as her rare moment of vulnerability.

The other trait exclusive to Shuten is her clever talent to attend to her friends' needs. Ibuki is described as a corrupting force that ultimately kills everything she touches, but Shuten is very helpful to the one she cares for in very thoughtful ways, while ensuring the circumstances still make her look evil.

Her debut has knocking herself unconscious for the whole event give Ibaraki the power she needed to prove herself and overcome her complexes about not being oni enough. The pair's dialogue is designed to resemble interactions between an employee and an abusive boss, but in reality, Ibaraki is the real boss who only lets Shuten have control because she loves Shuten as an example of a what an oni should, and takes Shuten's fake authority as a lesson that lets survive leading her army of oni. She orchestrates the whole first tower event to help Tomoe sort through her denial of her oni blood while under the pretense of self-interest in human-oni relationships. And so on.

Disclaimer: I hereby promise that I really, really tried to fit a "snake sheds skin" metaphor to describe Ibuki's ability to easily discard personas, but I couldn't a proper place for it in the text. Sorry.

Ibarakidouji

Ibaraki, despite being the more interesting part of the duo, has a lot less things to talk about. She's surprisingly straightforward. Her backstory is as fragmented as Shuten's, but her fragments are clearly meant to be a neat puzzle the player is meant to solve. I have a past post about it. Plus addendum.

Ibaraki's deal is that she's a naturally conscientious, diligent, non-proactive, and cowardly kid trying and failing to be live up to the capricious, arrogant, and decadent image of an oni as described by her dear mother. Ibaraki was raised without freedom and instilled with the idea that should embody freedom as an oni. But when she kills her mother and begins living by her oni identity, she doesn't know how to be free.

In her very human-like way of thinking, she becomes the leader of a band of oni, something unprecedented because a true selfish oni would never think of grouping together. Through that she discovers Shuten and grows enamored with the ex-god's ability to embody the platonic ideal of an oni. So while Ibaraki remains the leader on paper, she made Shuten the freeloader who call the shots. As someone who processes the world as rules that need to be followed, having a role model like Shuten around is the most reassuring thing ever.

What Ibaraki can't possibly know is that she struggles so hard to be an oni correctly because there's a complicated human behind her oni mask, while Shuten, as shown mainly through Ibuki, can perform any label effortlessly because there's a blank slate behind her multiple masks.

#type moon #fate grand order #shutendouji #ibukidouji #ibarakidouji

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copperbadge · 1 day ago

Note

how do you/have you handled Fandom Micro-Fame re: dating, especially people you meet through apps? I dither enough about whether/when to even mention fandom to new non-fannish people! and I'd imagine that letting new people know you've written some very popular fics & having thousands of tumblr followers would look different than casually mentioning your audience to your therapist, for example :P (this is purely curiosity about your position if you're open to talking about it, btw - not looking for advice!)

In all honesty, until last year no attempt I made at online dating ever got that far. I rarely got a swipe on the apps, and usually when I did it was either someone cheating on their partner or, memorably, someone wanting to play out their fetish fantasy nonconsensually (this happened at least twice that I recall). It never got to the point where you'd talk about that kind of thing. In the rare cases I met someone in brickspace and dated, which last happened in grad school, I didn't talk about it -- but partly that's because at that time I had three thousand readers, not thirty thousand.

Lucky in fanfic, unlucky in love :)

The person I'm currently seeing most often knows that I have a blog with a large readership but hasn't asked any further; I only mentioned it to them because I felt comfortable giving further details if they did ask. This is very much a friends with benefits type of situation (by mutual agreement) so I assume it's something we either won't discuss or something that will arise organically. In a way it's fortunate that they're also dealing with a certain level of micro-fame as someone who is prominent in their professional field, so they're not particularly weirded out by my situation just as I'm not weirded out by theirs; they're also familiar enough with fandom not to find it an alien landscape.

Generally speaking I keep fandom and brickspace somewhat separate, though that line has blurred more in the last five years or so. I don't really bring up fandom to family or non-fannish friends, and the friends I made beginning in fandom I now have strong connections to outside of fandom, so they're not Fandom Friends, they're friends I just met online. While fandom is obviously important to me, it's not something I really feel I need to tell people about unless I get an inkling they'd actually be interested.

It's just kind of a non-issue for me, which probably isn't very satisfying as an answer. I talk about fandom with fannish folk, and I talk about other stuff with non-fannish folk. If I feel like someone would understand the crossover I let it happen organically, but especially in dating I just haven't dated enough to develop any kind of policy about it.

#dating #fandom

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jakesaverse · 3 days ago

Text

EXHIBIT A: HEARTBREAK | JAKE SIM (01)

—————————————————————————————

synopsis: a high-profile case pulls you back to Korea, forcing you to confront the past you’ve spent two years avoiding—including the man who once shut you out. With old wounds reopening and a career-defining opportunity on the line, you must decide whether to keep hiding in the background or finally take center stage.

pairings: jake x reader; jay x reader (??) ; a couple of strangers

genre: friends to lovers ; exes to possible lovers; angsttttt; fluff ; slow burn (sorry); swearing; lots of falling outs

warnings/notes: Hi there! Thanks for giving this story a chance! This is sort of an introduction before the chaos hits. There’s not much to warn about this chapter except mentions of friendship dynamics and favoritism 😑.

————————————————————————————-

The shrill ring of your phone cut through the haze of sleep. Groggily, you fumbled around your nightstand before finally grabbing it and bringing it to your ear.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” Jay’s amused voice greeted you.

You groaned, rolling onto your side as you squinted at the clock. Your heart dropped.

“Jay” you hissed, already throwing off your blanket. “Why are you calling me?!”

“Because I knew you’d sleep through your alarm,” he replied smoothly. “Mock trial’s in less than an hour, Y/N. You’re welcome.”

Your brain barely had time to process the words before pure panic set in.

“Oh my god—Jay, why didn’t you call me earlier?!”

Jay’s laugh was lighthearted but entirely unhelpful. “Because this is funnier.”

You hung up on him.

Still tangled in your sheets, you scrambled out of bed, nearly tripping over your own feet as you bolted toward the bathroom. Toothbrush in one hand, blazer in the other, you moved as quickly as humanly possible, mentally cursing yourself for staying up so late preparing for today.

At least—at least—you had laid out your clothes last night. One less thing to worry about.

Not five minutes later, you sprinted out of your apartment, only to skid to a stop at the sight of Jay’s car idling by the curb. He leaned against the driver’s side, arms crossed over his chest, grinning as if this was the most entertaining thing he had ever seen.

“Did you drive here?” you asked, still slightly breathless.

“Figured you’d need a ride,” he said, opening the passenger door. “Hurry up. We’re gonna be late.”

Muttering a string of curses under your breath, you slid into the seat, tossing your bag at your feet as you fasten your seatbelt.

Jay barely gave you a second before glancing over, amusement still dancing in his eyes. “Might want to fix yourself before Jungwon sees you.”

You shot him a glare through the mirror as you attempted to tame your hair. “I hate you.”

Jay laughed as he pulled onto the main road. “No, you don’t.”

—————————————————————————————

The car ride was quiet at first, both of you too focused on the day ahead. You flipped through the case file, double-checking every detail, making sure there weren’t any loose ends.

Then, something caught your eye.

“Wait—Jay, this doesn’t line up,” you said, tapping a page.

Jay glanced over, his brows furrowing. “What doesn’t?”

You pointed. “The witness testimony. The defense claimed their client was at work during the time of the incident, but the timestamp on their own document says otherwise. This completely undercuts their alibi.”

Jay blinked.

Then he grinned. “Nice catch, Y/N. You just made my job ten times easier.”

You shrugged, but inside, you felt the tiniest bit of pride.

Jay continued driving, but you noticed the way his fingers tapped against the wheel—a nervous tic you had never really seen from him before.

“You okay?” you asked, glancing at him.

Jay exhaled sharply, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “Yeah. Just—” He hesitated, which was also unusual. “I don’t know. I guess I feel weirdly… off today.”

That made you pause. Jay was always confident. Always sure of himself. Seeing him like this was…new.

“Jay, you’re gonna do great,” you said, nudging him slightly. “You always do.”

He gave you a small smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”

But something in his voice told you that, for once, he needed reassurance.

—————————————————————————————

The air in the conference room was thick with anticipation. Even though this was just a mock trial, the weight of it felt real. The associates who had gathered to observe were seated in rows behind you, whispering among themselves as Jungwon settled into his seat at the head of the room.

Jungwon adjusted his suit jacket and cleared his throat, his expression cool and unreadable. “Court is now in session,” he announced, his voice carrying easily over the low murmur of the room. “This is a mock trial, but I expect the same level of professionalism and diligence as if we were in a real courtroom. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?”

Jay rose to his feet, buttoning his jacket in one smooth motion. He was composed, radiating confidence like he had done this a thousand times before which, technically, he had.

“Ready, Your Honor,” he said, sending Jungwon a playful smirk.

Jungwon merely raised a brow. “We’ll see about that.” Then, he turned his attention to the opposing counsel, Takahiro, who straightened his tie before nodding stiffly.

Jay glanced at you, and you gave him a subtle nod in return. You had already gone over the case files with him, making sure he was fully prepared. But still, you couldn’t help but feel the smallest flicker of nerves as you held the documents in your hands.

This wasn’t your moment to speak, but it was your job to make sure everything went perfectly.

Jungwon gestured for Jay to begin.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the jury—” Jay started, his voice smooth and commanding as he began his opening statement. He moved fluidly, walking a few steps before turning back toward the table, his eyes flicking toward the associates in the room who were playing the role of the jury.

The case was centered around a high-profile contract dispute, something that, in reality, could make or break a firm’s reputation. Jay laid out the facts with precision, his argument strong and calculated.

But Takahiro was just as sharp.

The moment Jay finished his introduction, Takahiro pushed to his feet with an easy smirk.

“Objection, Your Honor,” he drawled, casting a look toward Jungwon. “Counsel is making sweeping statements without citing any direct evidence.”

Jay barely blinked. “Your Honor, I’m merely setting the stage. The evidence will speak for itself when the time comes.”

Jungwon leaned forward slightly. “Sustained. Stick to the facts, Mr. Park.”

You watched Jay’s jaw tighten briefly before he gave Jungwon a curt nod. “Of course, Your Honor.”

Takahiro shot you a glance as he sat back down, his smirk never fading. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He was enjoying this way too much.

The mock trial continued, the back-and-forth between Jay and Takahiro growing more intense. Jay was handling it well, countering every argument with his usual wit and confidence. But as you flipped through the case files once more, your eyes caught on something from earlier.

A discrepancy.

A mistake in the opposing counsel’s documents.

Your breath hitched. It was small, but significant, something that could unravel their entire argument.

Heart pounding, you leaned closer to Jay and slid the document from earlier towards him, discreetly tapping the section in question.

Jay’s eyes flicked to the page, scanning it quickly. Then, a slow, almost imperceptible grin spread across his lips.

He turned back toward the front of the room. “Your Honor, if I may redirect your attention to Exhibit C,” Jay said smoothly, lifting the document. “There appears to be an inconsistency in the opposing counsel’s timeline.”

Takahiro’s smirk faltered.

You could practically hear the breath he sucked in through his teeth as Jay continued.

“If we follow their claim, their client would have needed to be in two places at once.” Jay paused, letting the weight of the statement settle in the room. “Now, unless they have evidence proving their client is capable of bending time and space, I’d say this argument falls apart.”

A few chuckles echoed from the observing associates. Even Jungwon let out a small, amused exhale before composing himself.

Takahiro scrambled to counter, but the damage was already done. You could see it in his clenched jaw, the slight twitch of his fingers as he shuffled through his own notes.

Jay turned to you, tapping the document once in silent appreciation. You gave him the smallest nod back, a flicker of satisfaction swelling in your chest.

Jungwon straightened, glancing between both sides before speaking. “Given the circumstances, I believe we have our decision.” His gaze landed on Takahiro. “The defense has failed to provide a strong enough argument. The plaintiffs win this round.”

A rush of relief washed over you as the room filled with murmurs. Jay let out a breath and rolled his shoulders back, looking pleased.

But Takahiro?

He was already watching you.

And you knew—this wasn’t over.

—————————————————————————————

After the mock trial wrapped up, you expected Jungwon to call it a day, maybe give a quick rundown of what went well and what needed improvement before dismissing everyone. But instead, he remained standing at the front of the conference room, scanning the room with that composed, calculating expression that made you nervous for what was to come.

Jay shot you a knowing glance, sensing something was coming. You leaned slightly toward him, speaking under your breath. “He’s got that face on.”

Jay smirked but kept his voice low. “Yeah, this is definitely about to turn into something bigger.”

Jungwon’s voice finally cut through the murmur of the room. “Good job today, everyone. Some of you handled the pressure well. Some of you—” his eyes briefly flickered to the opposing counsel, who was still fuming from the trial’s outcome— “not so much. But that’s why we practice.”

Takahiro let out a small, disgruntled scoff, his frustration clearly simmering, but you chose to ignore him, focusing on Jungwon.

“Now, let’s talk about what’s next,” Jungwon continued, his tone becoming more serious. “We’ve got a real case—a high-stakes one—and it requires a very specific, carefully selected team. Over the past few weeks, I’ve been deciding who’s best suited for this, and after today’s mock trial, I’m confident in my choice.”

The room went silent. The tension was palpable. You felt your breath catch in your throat, already anticipating the news.

Jungwon’s gaze swept over the room before landing directly on you and Jay. “I’ll be leading a small team for this, and the two people who will be taking the lead under my supervision are Jay and Y/N.”

A long beat of silence followed. Then, the murmurs started.

Takahiro scoffed again, this time louder. “Of course,” he muttered, his voice thick with bitterness.

You ignored him, keeping your focus on Jungwon, who was still as calm as ever.

Jay, sitting next to you, exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. “Well, guess we’re going to Korea.”

You felt a knot form in your stomach—not from nerves about the case, but from what Korea meant. From what Jake meant. Your chest tightened, but you held it in.

Jungwon wasn’t finished. His tone remained steady, but there was an underlying sharpness. “Before anyone asks—no, this wasn’t favoritism. The decision was based on skill, performance, and how you handled yourselves today. It’s clear to me who is the most capable, and I don’t make these choices lightly.”

Takahiro’s face twisted, but he didn’t dare speak up. He simply clenched his jaw and stared at the table.

“However,” Jungwon added, his voice taking on a more serious tone, “this isn’t set in stone. Things can change. Roles can shift depending on how well everyone performs from here on out. If anyone doesn’t meet expectations, if there are any issues, I won’t hesitate to pull you from the team or reassign your role in the case. This is a high-pressure situation, and I need the best from everyone involved.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of Jungwon’s words settling over everyone. No one dared speak, but there was an undercurrent of discomfort.

Jay raised an eyebrow, clearly processing what Jungwon had said, but stayed silent.

You, on the other hand, felt a slight unease twist in your stomach. The uncertainty was there, if something went wrong, the roles could change at any moment. It wasn’t just about winning the case anymore. It was about proving yourself every step of the way.

Jungwon continued, his voice unwavering. “This will be a huge case—international, high-profile. We’ll be handling corporate giants, and the stakes couldn’t be higher. But, and this is important,” he emphasized, “this will be under Hastings’ orders. So, even though you two,” he gestured to you and Jay, “will be in the spotlight, don’t expect this to be a clear-cut win. Hastings will undermine everything he can, and we’ll have to fight harder than we’ve ever had to. Understand?”

Jay exhaled, his lips pressing together in frustration at the mention of Hastings, but he didn’t say anything.

Seojin, who had been quietly observing, couldn’t hold back her thoughts. “Of course,” she said in a mocking tone, her voice carrying across the room. “Jay and Y/N, always the favorites.”

Her words felt like an unwanted sting, and it wasn’t the first time she had said something like that. She leaned back in her chair, a smug look on her face, clearly enjoying the tension.

You shot her a glance but didn’t respond. Jay looked at you, a flicker of discomfort in his expression, but he kept his voice low. “They’re always going to think that. Don’t let it get to you.”

“Seems like you two always get the high-profile cases,” Minseok added, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s new?”

Seojin chuckled softly, the sound almost too sweet to be sincere. Then, her voice dropped to a whisper, just loud enough for you and Jay to hear. “Guess it’s nice being the boss’s pets, huh?”

The quiet jab didn’t escape you, and the weight of it hung heavy in the air. Jay’s jaw tightened, but he kept his tone neutral when he spoke next, his voice soft but clear enough for Seojin to hear. “People are always going to talk, Seojin. It’s how you handle it that matters.”

You couldn’t help but feel a slight pang of frustration. “We’ve worked just as hard as anyone else here,” you murmured under your breath, “and none of this was handed to us.”

“I’m sure you think that,” Seojin replied, her voice almost too sweet, “but the higher you climb, the harder it is to stay on top.”

Her words were like a cold jab, and you could feel the eyes of the room lingering on you. It wasn’t the first time they’d questioned your worth, but this time it felt different.

Jungwon didn’t acknowledge the whispers. His eyes scanned the room one more time, a small shift in his posture signaling the end of the conversation. “Now, as I said, everyone here will play a part. You all have a role to play, even if you’re not on the ground with us. Everyone will be involved in strategy, intel, resources. The case is bigger than just the people in Korea. But, make no mistake this is a performance-based team. I expect nothing less than excellence from everyone.”

He paused, letting that hang in the air for a moment. “And remember, things can change. No one’s role is guaranteed. If you want to stay on this team, if you want to be a part of this case, you have to prove yourself every day.”

The room was quiet, everyone now fully aware of the stakes. You felt the weight of Jungwon’s words, a quiet determination settling inside you. There was no turning back now.

Jay leaned closer to you, his voice barely above a whisper, “We’ve got this. Just don’t let them get in your head.”

You nodded, but a part of you couldn’t shake the tension. “We’ll see. Let’s just get through it.”

Seojin’s faint chuckle echoed in the background, but you ignored it. This was bigger than anything she could say. You had a case to win.

—————————————————————————————

The moment you stepped into your apartment, you kicked off your shoes and collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic sigh. Jay followed close behind, loosening his tie and rolling up his sleeves, while Jungwon entered last, his expression as calm and composed as ever. But underneath that cool exterior, you could sense something—a subtle tension that had been lingering ever since the meeting wrapped up.

You and Jay exchanged a glance, both of you picking up on it. You weren’t blind. The whispers from the room had followed you all the way here. Takahiro’s barely concealed grumbles, Seojin’s sharp comments, and the undercurrent of discontent from everyone who hadn’t been selected for the Korea case—it was all still fresh in the air.

And then it happened.

Jay let out a small snort, the tension finally breaking, and you couldn’t help it. You burst into laughter.

The sound of your laughter echoed through the apartment, and Jay joined in, both of you completely unable to stop. For a moment, the weight of the day, of the whispers, the resentment, and everything else, seemed to vanish.

“Did you see his face?” you wheezed, clutching your stomach as you leaned into Jay, who was just as gone as you were. “He looked like—like someone just told him his entire career was a lie!”

Jay, barely able to catch his breath between laughs, gasped out, “I thought— I thought he was gonna combust right then and there!”

Jungwon, who had been standing silently in the kitchen unpacking takeout, shook his head as he set down the bags. His voice was dry, but there was a hint of amusement in it. “You two are children,” he muttered.

That only made you and Jay laugh harder, the sound filling the space between you.

Jay wiped his eyes, still grinning from ear to ear. “No, but seriously, you—” he pointed at you, his voice cracking with laughter— “I swear I’ve never seen someone ruin another person’s entire day with just a few words. The way you slid that document to me like some secret weapon? Flawless.”

You rolled your eyes, but the small sense of pride flickered in your chest. “It was nothing,” you said, waving him off. “Just doing my job.”

Jungwon scoffed, finally giving in and taking a seat across from you. “If that’s what ‘just doing your job’ looks like, then I need more people like you at this firm.” He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze steady. “But seriously, Takahiro won’t forget this.”

Jay clicked his tongue, his grin widening. “Good. Maybe next time he’ll check his own damn evidence before trying to play dirty.”

You let out a content sigh, the adrenaline from earlier still lingering but now settling into something lighter. Being here, laughing like this, felt like the right antidote to the stress of the day.

Jungwon eyed the two of you, arms crossed. “By the way, you do realize we can’t exactly be seen eating out together, right?” His tone was casual, but there was that underlying reminder: public appearances mattered. “You know, considering… well, everything.”

You nodded, a wry smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Hence why my lovely home is your dining hall for the night.”

Jay smirked, leaning back in his chair, his fingers tapping the table. “Wouldn’t want the firm to think Jungwon has favorites.”

Jungwon shot him a pointed look, and for a split second, you could swear there was a flicker of something soft in his eyes. “You are my favorites. That’s the problem.”

The room fell into a comfortable silence after that, and the weight of his words settled in, unspoken but clear. No one at the firm knew how long you three had known each other. No one knew about the group you used to be a part of—before you moved to Japan, before you became a paralegal at one of the most prestigious firms in the city. A group that, at one point, included Jake.

Your smile faltered for just a second, the memory creeping in before you could stop it. You quickly shook it off, determined not to let it ruin the moment.

Jay noticed the shift immediately, his expression softening. He didn’t ask, didn’t pry he just reached over and stole one of your fries.

You blinked at him. “Excuse you?”

Jay popped the fry into his mouth without a care. “I’m comforting you. You’re welcome.”

Jungwon sighed, shaking his head as he opened his own food. “Unbelievable.”

But you didn’t let the weight of your thoughts drag you down. Not now. Not here. Right now, it was just you, Jay, and Jungwon in this moment, and that was enough.

For now.

—————————————————————————————

The sound of clinking dishes echoed through the apartment as Jay scrubbed away at the stack of plates. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and mild confusion.

“You didn’t have to do that, Jay,” you said with a chuckle. “I was going to clean them later.”

Jay shot you an exaggerated look. “Later? You’re just trying to pull that trick on me again. And here I am, stuck doing your dishes again.”

You smirked. “Maybe I’ll just leave them for you from now on. I’m sure you don’t mind. You’re always here anyway.”

Jay paused, hands stilling on the dishes as he looked at you, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’m starting to think I should just make a permanent spot here. Might as well bring my stuff, since I’m basically living here at this point.”

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Yeah, because it’s totally not weird to have your friend live here just because he eats all your food.”

Jay grinned back, completely unphased. “Hey, I cook too. It’s practically an arrangement. I bring the cooking skills, you bring the taste testing. A fair deal, if you ask me.”

Before you could respond, Jungwon entered the kitchen, raising an eyebrow at the two of you. “What’s this I’m hearing about Jay moving in?” he asked, crossing his arms with a smirk.

You looked at Jay, who shrugged, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I mean, I’m already here half the time. Might as well make it official.”

You shot Jungwon a teasing look. “Maybe you should think about moving in too. You know, join the official team here.”

Jungwon chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass, thanks. I have enough of my own responsibilities, you know? But you two really make it sound like an actual living arrangement.”

Jay waved his hand dramatically. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. It’s a pretty sweet deal. Plus, it’s always nice having company after a long day. You should join us more often.”

You snorted, laughing at how easily Jay slipped into his usual charm. “Yeah, you’re so busy with all your important cases, Jungwon. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to be here, hanging out and eating takeout.”

Jungwon raised an eyebrow, the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. “I’m just saying, you guys seem to have your routine. But if I did move in, I’d probably have to take over the cooking. Jay would just end up burning everything.”

Jay threw him a playful glare. “Not true! My stir-fry is legendary, thank you very much.”

You snickered. “The same stir-fry that almost set off the smoke alarm?”

“I’m proud of that,” Jay said with a grin, clearly unbothered. “It’s called adding flavor to the process.”

Jungwon leaned against the counter with a chuckle. “You two are ridiculous.”

You looked between them, feeling the familiar ease of this banter. “Well, if Jay ever does end up moving in, I’m going to need a second fridge just for all the food he’s stealing.”

Jay shrugged with a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll just bring my own fridge then. But it’ll be half mine, right?”

You both laughed, the playful mood lightening the air. Even Jungwon’s smile lingered a little longer than usual.

But then Jungwon, with a more thoughtful look, glanced between the two of you. “But seriously… I can’t remember the last time we all hung out like this, without worrying about something else. Seems like you two have this whole… routine now. Guess I miss that. Just… a bigger group, not as much on our plates.”

Jay didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you’re always invited, Jungwon. You know that. We just don’t want to drag you away from all your important work.”

Jungwon sighed softly, leaning back slightly. “I know. But I don’t know… there’s something nice about just being able to kick back, no responsibilities. Even if it’s just for a little while.”

You raised an eyebrow at him, teasing. “You? Wanting to kick back? Since when?”

Jungwon’s smile was wistful as he shrugged. “I used to… a long time ago. Before everything got so complicated.”

Jay turned his attention back to drying the dishes, a little softer now. “I get it. We all do. But hey, you’re always welcome to join us anytime. We could use your sarcasm at the dinner table.”

You grinned, flicking Jay lightly on the shoulder. “And by using your sarcasm, he means he needs someone to compete with him in that department.”

Jungwon laughed lightly, his usual composure slipping just a bit. “Right, I’d be a perfect fit then.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence between the three of you as Jay finished drying the last plate. You leaned against the counter, watching them both. This—these small, fleeting moments of ease—was the kind of thing you all needed more of. Even if it was just the two of them sneaking into your kitchen and arguing over who made the best stir-fry. It was enough.

—————————————————————————————

After a while, the conversation slowly died down, the kitchen quiet except for the faint sounds of utensils clinking and the soft hum of the refrigerator. You leaned against the counter, feeling that familiar sense of distance between you and the others, the kind you hadn’t noticed until now. It wasn’t just the space between you and Jay or Jungwon—it was the way things had changed. You hadn’t really spent time like this in a while, without distractions, without the weight of everything else hanging over you.

You hesitated, trying to push the feeling of loneliness away, but it was hard to ignore. “Hey… you guys wanna sleep over tonight?”

Jay raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile creeping onto his face. “A sleepover? What, you’re tired of your own company?”

You chuckled, but there was a subtle nervousness behind the smile. “No, it’s just… I don’t know. I’ve been feeling kinda distant lately. Like, we’ve all been so busy and it’s been a while since we just hung out. So, I thought… why not?”

Jungwon’s gaze softened as he looked at you, and to your surprise, he didn’t even hesitate. “Yeah. I’d like that. I miss this. I miss you guys.” His voice was a little quieter than usual, the weight of his words hitting you in a way you weren’t expecting.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden openness from him. “Really? You’re up for it?”

Jungwon gave you a small but genuine smile. “Yeah. It’s been too long. I think we could all use some time to just… be.”

Jay nodded in agreement. “I’ll admit, I’ve missed these kinds of nights. Just hanging out, no work or anything else to worry about.”

You smiled, relieved by their response. It felt good to know that even if things had been complicated lately, they were still willing to share this space with you.

“Well, I’m glad you guys are up for it,” you said with a grin. “But fair warning—if you’re staying over, I do have extra pajamas you can wear.” You paused before continuing, a mischievous glint in your eyes. “They’re… well, they’re Jake’s. I never threw his stuff out.”

There was a brief moment of silence as both Jay and Jungwon exchanged a confused look. “Jake’s stuff?” Jay repeated, eyebrow raised. “Like, Jake Jake?”

You nodded, trying to keep your voice light despite the unexpected tension that filled the air for just a second. “Yeah, I mean, I couldn’t really bring myself to throw out his stuff after he left. Don’t judge, okay? I was feeling sentimental.”

Jungwon chuckled softly, though there was a flicker of something more serious in his eyes. “I mean, we all have our things we hold onto, right? It’s no big deal.”

Jay, surprisingly, didn’t press further either, just letting out a quiet laugh. “Yeah, I guess I can’t judge. I’m still wearing the same hoodie I’ve had since… forever.”

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders at their nonjudgmental responses. They didn’t push you for more, just moved on like it was nothing. The space between the three of you felt comfortable again.

“Well, anyway,” you said, trying to change the subject, “I’ll go grab the pajamas. You two figure out who’s sleeping where. I’m not fighting over the couch this time.”

Jungwon smiled, his usual calm demeanor back. “Deal. But if I end up on the floor, I’m blaming you.”

You chuckled, feeling the warmth of the moment settle in.

Maybe things weren’t how they used to be, but for now, with Jay and Jungwon there, it was like you had found your way back to something that resembled normal.

Or that was until your phone buzzed, pulling you out of your daydreaming. Glancing down at the notification, you saw the familiar name flash across the screen: Heeseung.

A sharp pang of discomfort hit you. The subject line read: Wedding Invitation – Heeseung & Hana. You felt your stomach churn, and for a moment, you thought about ignoring it. But curiosity and maybe a little bit of the old, unresolved pain made you click.

The message was brief, almost to the point of being impersonal.

Please feel free to bring a plus one. No hard feelings about the guest list, but I’ve had to limit the invitations.

You stared at the words, the meaning behind them settling into your bones like cold stone. You weren’t expecting to be invited, but somehow, it still stung. The lack of warmth, the formality, the clear divide between what once was and what now felt so distant—it all came rushing back.

————————————————————————————-

Thanks for reading till the end ☺️ feel free to lmk if you want to be added to the taglist :)

taglist: @belovedsthings @addictedtohobi @blujk @sumzysworld

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caitified · 2 days ago

Note

omg errand run with Cait ND bella would be sooo cute like bringing bella to the store w yall, moms are just kinda bein' goofy and planning out dinners, and when u skim past the toy aisle on the way to batteries or something IDK lol! bella sees a toy she wants and like screeches so loud u n Cait get worried only to learn she just sighted a toy..

trying to be the reasonable mom who teaches bella about the value of prices + how demand doesn't equal receive is counteracted by cait, who tries to support you at first

but bella's all like 'mommy I want i want' pointing to the toy with her puppy eyes. she even grabs it from the cart and clutches it to her adorably while staring at cait (who c'mon, we all know is the princess reinforcer) and when u tell her no, Cait's eyes go from supporting u to lookin' at u like c'mon babe this is our baby

and you're all 'stop Cait, blah blah,' and she's like 'yeah yell at me, let's just get it for her.'

and u and Cait cutely bicker until she just throws her hands up in the air and like seizes bella from the cart to hold her and bounce her around while cradling her head as a way to stop the impending meltdown and sobbing that comes anyway as bella watches u place the toy back

and she's like gently whining in Cait's ear and making her feel even worse, and she's all "please mommy tell her please for me" and u look at them BOTH and they're both sad -- CAIT IS LITERALLY SAD because ur not appeasing yalls' daughter and she has to listen to her beg while telling her 'i know i'm sorry baby next time' while bella just whines and huffs into her shoulder, little hands clutching at her mom for DEAR LIFE like she's experiencing the most heartbreaking thing ever and Cait is acting like she just watched bella get smacked in the face by u because she's so cute and loves her daughter and again the number 1 princess reinforcer

perphaps ends with y'all at checkout with them having survived and calmed down (#divas) finally, and right after the cashier finishes scanning the small stuff u bought to finish checking out quicker, Cait, who's at self checkout, returns to you quickly with the cart, bella in her seat holding her toy.

ALSO I love u so much lmao ur authors note on the last post made me CRY keep being u and doing the best gio <3

-😼

TOY

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

warnings:none

notes: as always i love this i love the detail and please keep requesting 😼

errands with caitlin and bella were always an experience.

it was supposed to be a quick grocery run—just a few things to stock up for the week. but you should’ve known better. between your two-year-old daughter and your overgrown child of a wife, nothing was ever just quick and easy.

you were scanning the shelves, comparing prices on different brands of cereal, when it happened.

the screech.

not just any screech—a full-blown, eardrum-shattering shriek that made you and caitlin both whip your heads around so fast you probably strained something.

“MOMMY, LOOK!”

bella was in the cart, little hands gripping the handle, eyes as wide as saucers as she pointed at the shelf across the aisle.

you followed her gaze and—oh.

a stuffed animal. a big, fluffy golden retriever plushie with floppy ears and big brown eyes. the kind of thing that bella definitely did not need more of.

“i want it,” she declared, already reaching. “i need it.”

you sighed. here we go. “bella, baby, we have so many stuffed animals at home.”

bella’s head snapped toward you, betrayal written all over her little face. “but not this one.”

caitlin, standing beside the cart, let out a quiet snort, but at least she tried to keep a straight face. “she’s right, b,” she said, attempting to back you up. “you have, like, a million of these.”

bella huffed. “but this one’s special.”

and before you could even respond, she grabbed the toy from the shelf, clutched it to her chest like it was her firstborn child, and looked directly at caitlin.

the puppy eyes.

you froze.

caitlin wavered.

bella knew exactly what she was doing.

“mommy, please,” she pleaded, her little voice soft and sweet, her grip tightening around the plushie.

you knew where this was going. caitlin, despite her best efforts, was the ultimate pushover when it came to bella.

“stop it, cait,” you warned. “do not cave.”

caitlin held up her hands in surrender. “i’m not caving!”

bella pressed her cheek against the plushie. “he’s lonely,” she whispered dramatically. “he needs me.”

caitlin’s eyes softened. “oh my god.”

“caitlin.”

“babe.”

“she has enough toys.”

caitlin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “yeah, but—”

“no ‘buts.’”

bella, sensing the impending loss, pulled out her final weapon. she gasped like she had just been mortally wounded, threw herself forward into caitlin’s arms, and started full-on whimpering.

you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“baby,” caitlin cooed, bouncing her gently, one hand cradling the back of her head. “i know, i know. next time, okay?”

“please mommy, tell her please for me,” bella whined, nuzzling into caitlin’s neck, her tiny hands gripping her hoodie like her life depended on it.

and the worst part?

caitlin was actually sad.

like you had just denied her a toy.

she was rubbing soothing circles into bella’s back, pressing little kisses to her temple, looking at you like you had just committed a crime against your own family.

“c’mon, babe,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “look at her.”

“*i am looking at her, cait. and she’s acting like we’re taking away her *oxygen.**”

“because you kinda are.”

“oh my god.”

—

bella did not get the toy.

at least, not at first.

she whined and huffed into caitlin’s shoulder all the way through checkout, but she eventually settled, pacified with kisses and whispered promises of ice cream at home.

you thought you had won.

until—

“caitlin.”

you were at self-checkout, scanning the last few things, when your wife suddenly disappeared.

and then, right as you finished paying, she reappeared—pushing the cart toward you with bella in her seat, holding the toy.

caitlin grinned sheepishly. “look who found her way back to us.”

bella beamed. “mommy got him for me!”

you turned slowly to caitlin. “are you serious?”

caitlin shrugged, slipping an arm around your waist. “listen, babe, we fought the good fight. but some battles aren’t meant to be won.”

you glared at her. “this is why she’s spoiled.”

“yeah, well, if we’re gonna be real, that’s kinda on both of us.”

you sighed, leaning into her. “i hate you.”

she kissed your temple. “love you too, babe.”

bella, completely oblivious, clutched her new plushie and giggled. “he wasn’t lonely anymore.”

and, really—how could you argue with that?

#wnba x reader #caitlin clark x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #caitlin clark #iowa wbb #indiana fever #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin’s family

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nick-writes-stuff · 11 hours ago

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Ransom

Hwang In-ho x spouse!reader (gn)

summary: As much as In-ho tried to keep you a secret, a plot to overthrow and loot the compound involved holding you as ransom. The plan is unsuccessful, but your life wouldn't be the same again.

!warnings: canon-typical violence, home invasion themes, reader is injured and manhandled, hurt/comfort, implied traumatic experiences

a/n: this is probably going to be the last solo in-ho fic for a bit. i don't want to get burnt out from writing him. expect some headcanons or fics about some other characters in the future!

In-ho liked to keep you away from his work. You didn't know all of the specifics. You knew what he was doing was gruesome and shady, but you preferred to stay out of it.

A year or two after he began working as the Front Man, he had reached out to you, hoping to get some piece of his life back. You two had been close friends in your childhood up through your first year of university. You knew him and his brother well. Jun-ho would always pick on him since he thought it was obvious the two of you were pining for each other, but nothing ever came from that.

Then you drifted apart. There was no animosity between you. You talked occasionally, but you were just doing separate things in your lives. You would be lying if you said you didn't think about him every once in a while, wistfully wondering how your life would have been different if you had ever gotten the courage to ask him.

That thought made you feel guilty every time. You heard about what he was doing in his life. You knew he got married, was expecting a child with his wife, got fired for alleged bribery, lost his wife and child, then distanced himself from everyone in his life. Nothing stopped the thought from popping up, but you had never thought about acting in it.

Until you bumped into him at a coffee shop on the outskirts of Seoul years later. You didn't think much of this encounter. He had seemed nonchalant and casual that you assumed he had already cleared things up with his family.

This wasn't a chance encounter like you thought it was. Quite the contrary, as In-ho had meticulously planned it for a month in advance. It included a bit of surveillance on his end, but that was nothing out of the ordinary for his line of work. He met you there, and it felt exhilarating to finally be able to leave the mask behind for once.

You finally kept in touch with him. Your relationship only grew from that point on. Before you moved in with him, he sat you down to talk about his work and living situation. He was straightforward for the most part, but he spared you any of the extremely gory details. And you didn't run. You wanted to be there for him. Even if you were morally opposed to his line of work, you really cared about him. And it's not like you were participating.

You had lived with him for a few years before he proposed to you. Unlike every other thing he does, he didn't have a plan for it. Everything was spontaneous, and it was something you really appreciated. Not thinking about it beforehand showed that he really felt strongly about you and didn't have to think it through to convince him.

You stayed in the apartment for most of the time. You found a way to make yourself busy. Sometimes In-ho would have some random tasks for you like baking bread or making dalgona. You didn't know how that was helpful, but you didn't mind.

He was happy to have someone to return home to at the end of the day. But with that came the worry of your safety. The compound was secure, but there was always the fear in the back of his mind. You've taken self-defense courses before. You weren't helpless, but the people who could be a threat are rather unsavory people. They acted rashly and without forethought. Their unpredictability was concerning.

In-ho wanted to teach you how to use a gun, but you refused. You didn't like guns. You witnessed something traumatic that you didn't like discussing, and In-ho knew that. You at least let him show you how to check if the safety was on or off. He did insist that you carry around a stun gun, something you reluctantly agreed to.

You both had hoped you wouldn't have to use it. But sometimes things never go how you planned.

You had been straightening up when you heard the alarm start blaring. You swallowed hard, trying to calm your breathing. Panic would do nothing but make you more vulnerable.

The shrill ring of the rotary phone receiving a call shocked you more than it reasonably should have. You felt your heart stop for a second as it reverberated through the room. You shook your head at your jumpiness and walked to answer the phone.

You picked up the receiver. “You scared the shit out of me.” You said with a slight chuckle.

In-ho wasn't in a joking mood. He couldn't be right now. “Listen, there's 5 players and 2 rogue guards storming the place right now.”

Your jaw dropped. “Oh god.” You muttered, realizing the gravity of the situation. Your breathing quickened as a response.

“Stay calm, okay? You need to keep your mind sharp.” He said. He knew it was a tall order, but he was right and you knew it. His voice was level despite the pit forming in his stomach. “There's one near you. Lock the door and hide in the storage room. Get ready to catch him off guard and lock him in there, okay? I'll get to you as soon as I can.” He said quickly.

You took a deep breath. “I will. I love you.” You said.

“I love you too.” He said. His voice was softer than it was before. He tried to keep you a secret while at work. Sure, some people knew you were living with him, mostly just some of the managers, but he didn't like advertising the fact that you were someone he cared about in fear it would be used against him.

And it was being used against him. There had been a scheme brewing behind the scenes for a few years that they hadn't caught onto. A player who voted to leave and didn't come back to the games decided to make a group to infiltrate the compound and steal the money outright. If they had 45 billion Won to offer the winner, they had to have even more at their disposal. The two guards had been working there for a few years. One of them was one of the managers who knew about your presence on the island. The one who was right outside the door to the apartment.

Things started to piece together in In-ho mind as he watched the events unfold. He became suspicious of other soldiers now. He didn't think he could trust anyone to rescue you except himself. What if they were in on it? Maybe he was being paranoid, but he didn't want to risk your life. He started devising a plan to neutralize the situation, giving out orders when needed. Once everyone knew their task, he made his way toward the apartment.

You put down the receiver the correct way out of habit. You rushed over to the front door, trembling fingers struggling to lock the door. You flicked the lights off and entered the storage room. You flicked those lights off as well. Maneuvering the best you could in the dark, you stood beside one of the shelves with your back against the wall. You focused on the coldness you felt where you made contact with the wall. It was grounding you. Your hand gripped the stun gun in your pocket. You tried to calm your breathing, but it was still shaky.

You flinched the first time you heard a thud. It wasn't a gunshot, more of an impact. The second time, it happened you realized it was someone breaking down the door. And they seemed to have gotten in. You heard heavy footsteps pacing through the apartment.

You hoped they would think you weren't there. Maybe you took a trip outside or even to the mainland. Maybe they didn't even know you were here.

That wasn't the case. You knew it the second you heard him shout. “Come on out. I know you're here.”

You tensed up, realizing how bad of a situation you were in. You just hoped In-ho would be there soon.

You heard him opening the doors one by one, doing a sweep of the apartment. Eventually, he opened the door to the storage room. You took deep breaths trying to stay quiet. Once he walked past you, you made your exit. He noticed you before you got out. “Not so fast.” He called out.

You managed to get through the doorway and start to close the door on him. You tried shoving against him, but you were overpowered and knocked to the ground as he shoved the door open.

You gathered your bearings and started to stand up, but you noticed the weapon in his hand. A pistol. Standard issue for the managers to keep on their person.

You started breathing faster, panicking despite In-ho's words repeating in your head. Stay calm, okay? You need to keep your mind sharp. You took a deep breath as you stood up. You tried to run off, but he stopped you by shoving you into the wall.

“Sorry, but I can't let you get away.” He said mockingly while closing the distance between you. He wrapped a hand around your throat.

“What do you want?” You asked, managing to get the words out despite the circumstances.

He laughed, using his other hand to pull off his square mask and hood to reveal his sick grin. “You're going to be my golden ticket to the fortune it takes to run these games. Your husband has to have hundreds of billions of Won, and he's gonna fork it over if he doesn't want me to put a bullet in your head.” He said. He tapped the barrel of the gun against your temple. You flinched away from it, both out of fear and a reflex from the cold metal.

He was clearly deriving pleasure from watching you struggle, and it made you sick to your stomach. You couldn't breathe, both from the panic and his grip on your airway.

“You don't have to do this.” You muttered, voice hardly above a whisper.

“Oh, I know. It's nothing personal, sweetheart.” He said with a sickening sweet but mocking tone. He had a sadistic glint in his eyes.

Your vision started to blur as he spoke. You reached your trembling hand into your pocket, fumbling with the stun gun. When you got it oriented the correct way, you made your move. You held down the button and jammed it into his side.

He jerked backward, releasing the grip on your throat and the gun. You took a desperate breath as you ducked out of his hold, but he recovered from the volts quicker than you thought he would. He turned and shoved you to the ground.

“You motherfucker.” He growled. He kicked you, causing you to cry out in pain. “You're gonna regret that.” He spat.

In-ho was making haste to the apartment when he heard you cry out. He grimaced under the mask. He tried to calm down his own breathing, but that attempt was in vain the second he heard a gunshot.

“Fuck, no no no no no.” He muttered. He felt the panic rise within him. He didn't know what he would do if he lost you. He can't do this without you. He can't lose you. If he did, it would be all his fault. You didn't deserve this. You didn't belong in the world that he dragged you into.

Why did the universe hate him? Was he doomed to lose everyone he loved? His mother, his father, his wife and child, his brother, his mentor, and now you too. Maybe he was meant to be alone. The universe was trying to show him that, but he never learned, and now he's lost the last person who he cared about.

He quickly noticed that the door had been broken into. Whoever did this was sure of their actions.

Whoever did this was about to be killed as well. He pulled the gun from his own pocket. Part of him wanted to keep them alive and torture them, make them regret the pain they put you through. But he knew you wouldn't want that.

He braced himself for what he thought he would see when he entered the doorframe, but it wasn't what he expected.

You were sitting with your back against the wall. You held the manager's gun in your hands, still outstretched as if you were frozen in time. Your gaze looked far away. Your breathing was shallow.

The manager laid in a heap on the ground, blood beginning to pool around him from the wound.

You shot him dead.

Once In-ho assessed the situation, he was at your side almost instantly, and the black mask was discarded just as quickly. He grabbed your wrist gently, which snapped you out of your haze. You jerked away from his touch, head quickly turning to look at whoever startled you.

“Hey, hey, it's me, okay? It's just-” He started.

The second you realized it was him you wrapped your arms around him. The pistol clattered to the ground. You cried into his shoulder, letting out shuddering sobs.

He wrapped one arm around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. His thumb gently stroked your scalp while he repeated, “It's okay. You're safe,” in a soft whisper, hoping both of you realized it was true.

His own breathing was uneven as well as he tried to keep himself calm. He wanted to be a rock for you to cling to, the calm in the storm. But he was so fucking scared himself. He thought he lost you. He thought he was going to walk in and see you dead on the ground.

So for the first time in a long time, tears ran down his face. He couldn't remember the last time he cried. It was probably when he returned from the games to learn his wife had passed. After the confrontation with Jun-ho, he didn't cry. He just shut down emotionally, distanced himself, and drank a bit too much for a few days. He had never really given himself time to process those emotions except during the recurring nightmares about the incident.

After a few minutes, you heard a voice at the door. “Sir?”

You looked up to see two triangle soldiers. You tensed up, about ready to get up and run out of the room, but In-ho's embrace tightened ever so slightly to keep you with him.

He didn't turn. He couldn't because he didn't have his mask, and he wasn't going to doom the two guards by looking at them. “Get a cleaning crew to deal with this. We'll be out of here when they arrive.” He said, keeping his tone level.

When he heard them leave, he released you from the hug. He pulled back and looked at you. “Could we move into the bedroom? Is that okay?” He asked you gently.

It took you a moment to register his words. Your gaze was directed toward him, but it seemed you were looking through him. You eventually nodded your head. He had been intending on carrying you, but you stood up using the wall to keep your balance. He noticed your grimace from the movement. He suspected you were in pain, but he didn't dwell on it now.

He grabbed your hand gingerly, leading you into the other room. He didn't even care to grab the mask, totally forgetting it as his priority shifted to you.

When you entered the room, he locked it behind you. He didn't want to be bothered by the games right now. He would get the information about the breach later. Right now, he was needed here. Plus, he thought you would feel safer knowing it was only him with you.

You sat on the edge of the bed, feet dangling to the ground. You just sat there motionless, staying into space. He looked over at you, his eyes a storm of anger and fear and worry and love. He sat next to you, an action that startled you until you realized it was still just him.

He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close to him. “It's just us in here, okay?” He said softly. He grabbed your hand in his, fidgeting with your fingers absent-mindedly. Occasionally his fingers would find their way to your pulse point as if he was subconsciously ensuring you were still alive.

He didn't know how long you both sat there like that. He didn't want to overwhelm you, so he just held you and occasionally murmured some comforting words. You could talk when you were ready.

Eventually, you broke the silence. “I didn't know what else to do.” You murmured softly. Your face was still blank, but he took some comfort in hearing your voice.

“That's okay. You did what you had to do to survive.” He said. Explaining this to you felt strange to him. It's the same words used to justify the murder in the games. Maybe his vision was clouded by his love for you, but he didn't think the games and what you just went through were comparable. It felt wrong to use those words even though by the game's logic, these two situations were both considered self-preservation. He didn't have time to go through this moral dilemma. Perhaps he would rethink all of his past decisions in the quiet of night, but right now, you needed him, and that was the most important thing to him.

After a few more moments of silence, you spoke again. “Do you want to know what happened?” You asked.

He sighed softly. “I would like to know eventually, but we don't have to talk about it now if you don't want to.” He said honestly. He didn't want to pressure you, but knowing the information would be helpful for investigating the incident and his own mental well-being. He wanted to know how he could prevent this from happening again.

You took a deep breath before beginning to speak. “He broke down the door and started looking through all the rooms. He was looking for me. I hid in the storage room, and I tried to sneak out like you said, but he was too fast and forced the door open.”

He grimaced slightly. He already assumed that the manager was there for you, but hearing it stirred an anger in his chest. “Did he say anything to you?” He asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. He said that he was going to hold me as ransom for the money.” You said in a small voice.

He stayed silent for a moment before gently cupping your face in his hand. He guided your gaze toward him. “Did he hurt you?” He asked. He tried to keep his voice gentle, but the simmering anger inside him caused his voice to be stern. He needed to know.

He felt you tense up, and that answered his question enough. You nodded slightly. “I got shoved around a bit. He tried choking me out, but I got him with the stun gun. That disarmed him and…” you trailed off, taking a deep breath before adding, “you know the rest.”

He tilted your head up slightly, dark eyes landing on the redness that would certainly turn to bruises. Physical reminders of the pain In-ho felt like he caused you by putting you in this dangerous environment.

There was that anger again. He could feel it coursing through his veins. It was wrath and hatred and fury. He wished you hadn't killed him so he could force the manager to feel at least 1000 times more pain and torture. He wanted the satisfaction of killing him slowly on his own terms.

You wanted to reassure him that you were okay. The bruises will fade with time. The lingering sense of pain where the manager's hands gripped your throat will leave. When he didn't seem to react, you sighed softly. It's time to take another approach. “If you think this is bad, you should see the other guy.” You said cheekily.

You could see it in his eyes. While he was unreadable to almost everyone, you could see his emotions clear as day. Although to be fair, you were the only one to see him without the mask. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I'm fine. Just a few bruises. Nothing that times won't heal,” you said. Physically, at least. This day would definitely haunt you for years, but you knew that wasn't his concern right now.

It took him a moment to register your words, but when he did, he looked down at you. Upon seeing your smirk, he couldn't stop the smile from creeping onto his face. He laughed lightly, shaking his head. “Only you could go through something like that and joke about it after.” He said.

“I just don't like seeing you upset.” You said softly.

He paused for a moment before pressing his lips to your forehead. You leaned into him. You both sat there in the intimate silence for a moment before you spoke again. “You know, I don't regret doing it.” You said. You sighed. “I didn't like doing it, but I think he got what he deserved.”

He tried not to seem surprised. He was surprised, but he didn't want you to think it was him appraising your statement negatively. He didn't have room to judge as he had an obvious reputation.

“And that's okay.” He said gently.

In a strange way, he was almost proud but not for the reason most would think. He could imagine Il-nam praising him for getting you to see the purpose of the games. Others would think he was happy to corrupt you. But honestly, that's bullshit.

He was happy that you had a reason to fight for your life. You considered yourself, your husband, and your future together more important than your personal code of ethics. He had seen how opposed to violence you were, and the fact you would act against your moral values for him was almost heartwarming.

It reminded him of himself. He did the same for his first wife. He was an upstanding police officer, but he decided to work with the people he was supposed to take down. He took loans and bribes to pay for her treatment, and he wouldn't have changed a thing. It was a testament to his devotion. His love language is acts of immorality

In-ho arranged for two nights off to spend with you. You both tried to pretend the other's nightmare hadn't woken you up. He appeared like he didn't notice your hands reach to your next and try to pry off the hands of the man in your dream. You didn't react when you felt his fingers on your pulse point as he calmed himself down. Through the next couple days, you tried to live as normally as the situation allowed. He occasionally needed to step out of the apartment to assess the state of the games and give orders. You waited for him rather impatiently. He also wanted to be with you as much as possible. It calmed both of you from the anxiety which was likely going to linger. Being here was dangerous and that was a risk you both would have to take. And you took it willingly if it meant being together.

He'd do anything for you, too. His list of misdeeds had grown more serious, so it's more accurate to say he would change his ways for the better for you. If he had to break the strict rules or if he had to leave the games behind entirely, that's fine. He'd do it in a heartbeat if you asked him to.

#nick writes stuff #squid game x reader #squid game fanfic #squid game x you #in ho x reader #front man x reader #hwang in ho x reader #inho x reader #inho x you

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