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inkskinned · 7 days ago

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you said you were stuck in a time loop, which was fine. i feel like late-stage capitalism has us all in a time loop, ammiright? you came barging in at 5:33. in the morning. i hadn't even processed the idea of coffee.

but you had this look of utter panic in your eyes. terror like the ocean. you grabbed my cheeks. im in a time loop.

i don't know why in movies the first reaction is to deny it. when someone is panicking like that, it's not appropriate to ask them to calm down. it didn't matter if i believed it, what mattered was that you believed it so much that it was consuming you.

so here we are. i pour you some of the dark roast. "you look like utter and entire hell," i say.

you push your fingers into your eyes. "you always say that."

i try to think of something funny to say that i wouldn't have said on previous time loops, but jokes don't land without the proper timing (lol). "remind me to think -"

"-yeah, of a joke that only works in the future. and before you say anything, i know you're pissed i just stole your punchline." you bolt the coffee, which is wild. it's very hot. you don't seem to notice.

i blow on mine to cool it down. i both am very pissed at you and also i can't see you in this amount of panic without wanting to help. but i'm also not really sure what we are, not since i saw you kiss her like that, no offense. it just was like, kind of rude when you knew i liked you.

and besides. i'm just like, barely a person. i write omegaverse fanfiction. i love the concept of a time loop, but what the fuck am i gonna do? send an alpha in there? i open my mouth.

you point at me. "you're about to ask why me. and then say some disparaging shit about yourself. i'm just a nerd who plays dnd or something. that self-own is slightly different each time." you sigh. "i know you think you can't really help me. i don't know who can help me. i only came to you because you fucking believe me." you check your watch, sigh, and throw your head back. you cover your eyes with one hand. "i've come here on 26 separate revolutions," you say. "you have believed me every time. and yeah, i have no idea how you fit into this but i just -" you sigh again. "i just like fucking talking to someone about it."

"do you need more cof-" i start, but you're already holding the empty cup out. i frown at it. "you're not getting any more until you promise not to bolt this one like an animal."

you laugh a little and sit up, pushing your hair out of your face. "okay, that's new dialogue. but to be fair to you, i'm not usually this rude. i'm still pretty new at all of this." you check your watch again. another sigh. i guess you're cruising for a personal best in the Sigh Olympics.

i almost tell you im not an NPC but i've played enough video games to know i'm very much an NPC. i pour you another cup. "so what happens in the loop?"

"really bad explosion." you mutter into the mug. you put your elbows on the table (rude) and bury your face in your arms like an angsty teenager. one hand floats up while you talk, because evidently you literally can't talk without your hands. "i have to save the day and there's this bomb and i have no bomb training and it keeps moving, you know."

"do i die?"

you peek up from your arms. "yeah. bigtime. you keep trying to run or stay or do anything and you always super die."

"oh."

"to be fair, like, everyone dies in it though.... so you're in good company."

i hate that you make me laugh. i hate that being around you always feels tingly and strange, this electric tension between us. something that is evidently (given how you stuck your tongue down a stranger's throat literally 3 days ago) (well. 3 for me) super one-sided. i take a sip of my coffee and close my eyes.

i die today, i guess. a little spark of panic starts at the top of my hands and starts whipping up my wrists.

"shit," you say. you look at your watch and jump to your feet. "i have to go. if i can come back, i will. i am still trying to figure out when is best to do everything, you know? the order of stuff. maybe morning isn't good for us."

i look up at you and think about how you keep kissing me in the back of my car and in alleyways and in the dark. and i can never fucking get a read on you. and i also think about how incredibly panicked you look. how broken. how long have you been doing this? "i don't want to die," i say.

you glance downwards. "well, you're not really dead, you'll come back in the loop."

"but i will have died." my hands are shaking. i am trying really hard to stay calm.

you push your hands through your hair again. "i really have to go. i will have this discussion with the next version of you, though. it is like, something i am thinking about."

"but i don't get a next version," i say. i don't really have the language for this, because i haven't had 26 tries with you. i only have my memories: you, a week ago. drunk and telling me you loved me in my ear. you, kissing her anyway. you, months ago, throwing up on my birthday, whispering to me i ruin everything i touch, always, over and over. please don't ask. i can't ever fucking have that be you.

i run my finger along the rim of the mug. "i don't want to die in this one."

you seem baffled by this. "i get that but - time will reset, you'll be fine, you won't even remember we talked about this."

"but i know now." i stand up too. "i have to live the rest of this day knowing i could die. knowing i probably am going to."

"you could always die, to be fair."

i feel my hands get out of control. "earlier, you said i always say a different insult about myself. what if you're just going through different parallel universes and those are all just different - but real - versions of myself? what if you're not in a time loop, you're in a fucking universe loop?"

"if it helps, i've wondered this too. also, you're hot in all of them. if that helps."

i point at you. "no flirting. i'm trying to figure out if i die today."

"who's flirting?" you catch my wild hands and give me that long, perfect smile. like we're in this together. "i won't let ya die." you check your watch and sigh again. "well. maybe not this time."

i grit my teeth. you are so not making quips at me while i try to explain the existential dread i'm having. "does the time loop reset if i fucking kill you?"

"honestly i don't know how long it continues after i die, because i just wake up. it could be that the loop goes until the explosion for everyone, and we're all in the loop, or it could be that when i die, the loop restarts. when i die i wake up, is all."

i pull away from you and stalk into the kitchen and start doing all 3 of my dishes. "okay, first, you know i was joking. and secondly, this is exactly my point. you don't know if this is just a parallel universe. maybe in the ones where you died, the explosion happened and nobody reset and it's just you travelling." i have to stop and push my heel into my eyeball. "... how often have you died?"

i look at you. you look at me. you give me this very sad, halfway smile and a little what can ya do shrug. something in that action seems so old and weary that i want to burst into tears.

"i have to go," you say. "really. for real. there's this family of five i save from getting into a car crash. and i know it's like oh but we're all gonna die in the explosion anyway, what's the point. and..." you shrug again. "it matters to me, is all. at least i saved them for now. at least i saved anything."

you pad over to me and wrap me in a tight hug. you always seem so tall against me. i feel your cheek rest against the top of my head for a moment. for a second, it's just us, and the space is warm, and my heart is a little broken hare.

you leave me there, and i stand in my stupid badly lit kitchen with my stupid mugs. i think about you. i start texting my mom that she needs to get out of the city, but it feels pointless.

i don't know what to do. tomorrow is the same day for you. but i have to prepare to die in my today.

#warm up #prose #i just realized that there's a horror film in there about being someone NOT in a loop.#if i wanted to make it longer i'd have them come back like SUPER battered and hellish.#on round like 999 #like halfway through lunch like - YOU . I LOVE U . IM SORRY . I RUINED IT BC I LOVE U CANT U SEE THAT #but like. yeah man what happens when someone else in control of ur destiny #what happens to all the versions of u that DO die...#i also wanted a pre-redemption time looper - this person #(who in my brain is they/them)#is absolutelyyyyyy toying with the narrator bc the time looper is caught up in like #an emo angsty '' i can't have what i want bc i ruin things'' self harm spiral #and like literally the way out of that spiral is to TRY bud.#but this is a person pre-redemption. still kind of an ass. still not really listening to her #still a little bit ignoring that they kissed someone 3 days ago #still KNOWS she likes them and DOES like her back. but is just too chickenshit still.#we're talkin that person we've ALL dated that's like ''i can't be with u anymore bc i am Too Broken and I Can't Stand Hurting U"#... i imagine they grow up tho. eventually.

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amoeganism · 3 months ago

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PROJECT PARTER HCS (he wants you so bad) haikyuu

ft: aran, kita, atsumu, osamu, suna

ATSUMU:

HES TRYING!!! but is it successful? (no)

literally cannot shut up the entire time you two meet up but it's ok because he's funny

"hey you wanna see pictures of my teammates" "yeah sure" he pulls out a blurry .5 of suna's nostrils

offers you protein bars and osamus leftovers as snacks

compliments you on literally everything

you wrote two words? he starts cheering and clapping his hands like you're shakespeare presenting a new play

loves pretending to be your strict teacher whenever commenting on your work

makes up for his lack of preparation by making you laugh and flustered

"i think you can add a little more to this part" "you look so sexy calling me dumb"

if you two meet up at a cafe he ALWAYS!!! pays for you

started off as a mistake because he asked you for your order in front of the barista

but he thought for a moment and decided you're worth an extra $5 out of his wallet

always loses his pencils but has dozens of erasers?????

SWEARS by wooden pencils. he sees a mechanical pencil and jumps 5 feet into the air and starts screaming

last few days of the project he looks constipated every time you two are together

"do you need a diaper" "I WANT YOU"

you accept his confession because you unfortunately like him back and because you want a good grade

also because you don't want him pooping his pants

ARAN:

the sweetest!!

always asks how you're doing before pulling out his notes

digital note taker 100%

loves loves loves writing with erasable pen and only uses pencils for exams

is a "let's work on everything together" kinds guy

he says it's to make sure there aren't any disagreements in content and aesthetic (he just wants to talk to you)

if you guys aren't at your house, always offers to walk you back!!!

great academically but if you're making a poster or slideshow do NOT let him decorate it... pls watch out

"does this look good!" "i'm gonna hold your hand when i tell you this..." "omg you want to hold my hand 😍"

starts giggling to himself in his head whenever you guys accidentally touch

you catch him staring at you one day and you don't know what to say so you just stare back

he thinks its so romantic

you're just confused but go along with it

after presentations you think you guys are gonna go back to being friendly classmates but he finds you after class and asks you out :)

KITA:

ACADEMIC WEAPON TEACHERS FAV EVERYONE LOVES HIM

"do you want to read my notes?" he pulls out 5 notebooks with everything color coordinated, sticky tabs, perfect handwriting, and factually correct

he can sit and work for 5 hours straight and still somehow have perfect posture

first time you asked him for help on something you were about to piss yourself because you thought he would call you stupid and send you to hell

he gave you a small smile and started walking you through it with an unmatched level of patience

that was the moment you folded and had to physically restrain yourself from grabbing his cheeks and kissing his face

always offers you tea when you come over and brings out a small tray of snacks

"are you comfortable? do you need any help?"

is suuuuper meticulous but kind with his 739273 different corrections

he swears by the sandwich method of compliment-critique-compliment

"your analysis is amazing in this section but i think you can expand a little bit after because..."

you're the one who confessed first because you thought you would explode from cuteness aggression if you didn't

and also because you thought even if he did reject you, he'd do it in the most painless way

was super happy and bursted into a bright red face but shy smile!!

still told you to go back to the assignment though...

SUNA:

menace i hate him (no i don't)

literally doesn't understand anything that's going on and probably doesn't process what you're saying at first

realizes you're serious about this assignment and forces himself to lock in

asks a BUNCH of questions and jots them down on a google doc

loves to make random conversation when you two are working

actually insane gossiper

nosiest birch you know

allergic to minding his own business that mf has shit on everyone

are you slightly scared of what he has on you? yes. do you still want to hear everything he knows? yes

"i'm taking this info from page 175 of the textbook" "got it, but did you hear that kato is trying to get with his exs best friend??"

leaves notes on your project that are both unserious and encouraging

"omg u are literally einstein"

folds origami when bored

will give you paper cranes, frogs, foxes, and cats whenever you see each other

you discovered that there's small doodles in the posts it's he uses to make them

one day there's your name and his surrounded by hearts like the corny mf he is

confronted him and it and he was just like "oh you found that? well, do you want to go out with me?"

he was NOT SLICK with the way he skipped home and whistled to himself that day after you said yes

OSAMU:

HES TRYING HIS BEST!!! (pt. 2)

can only meet up after school because of volleyball so he offers to cook for you before starting to work

takes notes in class but doesn't understand half the stuff he jots down

writes actual bullshit but half a page in decides to abandon his pride and ask you for help

leans in a little too close whenever listening to what you're saying

tries to make sure your knees are touching and that it's all an accident when your fingers brush (he prepared each scenario in his head before sleeping the night before)

down bad LOSER

spends his time doing his portion of the project while sneaking glances at you

doesn't know how to decorate presentations for the life of him so he is on doodle duty

gives surprisingly good suggestions and takes your corrections to heart

one of the best project partners because of how willing he is to learn and contribute!!! (also because he wants to impress you)

talks shit about his brother to you

atsumu has walked in while osamu was telling you an embarrassing story

they start fighting

osamu gets super embarrassed when you laugh at him

then gets overly confident when you tell him you were rooting for him

will not stop dumb smiling whenever he sees you after that

asks you out after the project is turned in with his hands in his pockets with how they're shaking so much

#haikyuu fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu crack #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu headcanons #atsumu x reader #suna x reader #osamu x reader #kita x reader #aran x reader #miya atsumu #miya twins #miya osamu #suna rintarou #kita shinsuke #aran ojiro #inarizaki #inarizaki x reader

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allurilove · 7 months ago

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Yandere Husband x you

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: possessive behavior, manipulation, pregnancy/ baby trapping, cunnilingus, fem reader, p in v sex, dry humping, stalking, he’s a very deceptive man

*Thank you to everyone who enjoyed my last post of yan!husband 😭🩵 This is a continuation off of my last post, and he’s only referred to as “your husband.” his only existence is to be obsessed with the reader, and without you, he ceases to exist. Here is the third part! This is purely fictional writing!*

Synopsis: Your husband is over the moon. He infiltrated your life, and he will make sure you never forget it. His obsession love for you is taken to new heights, a newest edition blessing your family.

You hated being pregnant as much as you hated being lied too. After learning he’s been stalking you, and purposefully feeding you lies about your whole interactions just being “fate,” he finds ways to make you forgive him.

What a fucking creep. Your husband thought as he watched the realtor get too handsy with you. Actually, everyone was trying to put their hands on you. You were carrying his baby, but others would put their hand on your stomach, acting as if it was theirs. He stiffened as the realtor tried to make a lame joke about the master bedroom.

He automatically appeared by your side, removing the realtors hands on your baby bump. He was in a bad mood the whole entire day. When you two go back home, he pulled you to the bedroom. He’s more careful with your body now, and he gently pushed you down onto the bed. He crawled next to you.

His arms wrapped around you possessively, his face digging into your neck, and you hear him whisper sweet things into your skin. He pressed kisses onto your shoulder, his hands wandering around your body before he groped at your chest.

You’ve gained weight, which was natural and just a part of the process. He loved to fondle your thighs, and his hands start to move upwards. Your husband slipped his hand underneath your dress, his hands touching your inner thigh and near your warmth. He was always the big spoon, loving how you feel in his arms.

“Oh dear…” Your husband whispered in delight, his eyes glancing down to see his hardened dick.

Your husband would always be erect around you, his hands revealing your plump ass to him and he gently smacked it. You scoff and push him away. You still haven’t forgotten…. you thought you found a friend, a guy to talk to about your stresses and worries in life. But he was the perpetrator.

“I said I was sorry…” Your husband frowned. “You sure know how to hold a grudge…”

When you shoot him a glare and make it clear you were still upset, he raised his hands in surrender. “Alright… let me make it up to you.”

Your husband pulled your legs apart, and his hands automatically went for your panties.

You remember a time when he first went down on you. You were in a vulnerable position at the time, as you ran and ran from your stalker, however you couldn’t help feel a bit of happiness. This was a confirmation that you weren’t hallucinating, and all of your friends that didn’t believe you, could suck it. But it also meant you weren’t just delusional, and someone was actually following you. Fatigue settled into your body, and you rested on the wall as you try to catch your breath.

Your husband, who was just a friend at the time, conveniently was walking past. He looked worried, and he feigned innocence when he pretended that he didn’t see a man following you. He walked you back home that night, and he got you so comfortable around him- that his fingers were easily slipping inside you. His tongue lapping up any juices that flowed out of you, and he pressed kisses on your folds.

He was a vessel of safety, and at the time you thought you would be fine for awhile. Completely unaware that your stalker was now sleeping in the same bed as you.

Your husband moaned as his mouth latched onto your cunt, his hands now trailing upwards to feel your stomach. His heart fluttered, and his mind was plagued of ways to keep you by his side forever. Spilling his seed inside you was one thing, and marrying you was another… but he needed something more binding.

He was a bit afraid of hurting the baby, and he always tried different ways of pleasing you than using his dick. He pulled down his pants and he lowered his hips, just enough to be rubbing against your wet core. You feel the soft fabric of his boxers touching your clit, and his lips connect with yours. You can taste yourself on his tongue.

You remember the time when you found out you were pregnant. You were suddenly sick, and your husband was by your side, just mindlessly playing with your tits. He did that often as he read his newspapers, his hand would crawl underneath your shirt, and his excuse was that he just needs something to fondle. That was when you found out he was not who he said he was. That the times he “bumped” into you, was him finding out your schedule, your routine, and months of stalking.

“What are you thinking about, hmm?” Your husband whispered in your ear, one of his hand grabbed onto your ass to help you follow his rhythm. He continues to grind himself onto you, his other hand playing with your hair.

“What will it take for you to forgive me?”

“Will it help if you hit me?” Your husband scoffed as you screamed at him for hours. You cried your heart out, and the person you loved at the time, was the reason for your paranoia. You can still feel his kisses on your neck, the way he pulled your clothes off, and when he bent you over on the dresser, you couldn’t move. His body was smushed right against yours, he humiliated you, made you feel desperate for release, and made your toes curl.

As he fucked you from behind, he forced you to look at yourself in the mirror. The way drool dribbled down your mouth as you let out silent screams, your eyes rolling back as his thrusts were hard, and demanding submission. You despised him, the way he puts his hands on you, and the way he made you cum.

“…You’re crying..?” Your husband was stumped as tears welled up in your eyes and you started to sniffle. “Because of me?”

You’re tired of him trying to make it up to you. If he really wanted too, he would’ve came clean long time ago and go to jail for fucks sake. You feel his eyes zero in on your tears, watching it dribble down to your chin, and out of curiosity he licked them. He kisses your cheeks and he wraps his arms around you again. You feel suffocated having him on top of you, and you wish someone would take pity on you and take you away.

“I’m sorry.”

You’ve heard it countless of times, each meaningless and empty.

Allure: Sorry that this took awhile! I had to redo this a couple of times, and I wasn’t sure what to write really.

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irndad · 8 months ago

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a/n: continuation to this, but you don't necessarily have to read it first! all you need to know is reader got shot protecting maeve, and both survived. spencer has been in love with her the entire time.

“Have you called Maeve?”

She asks it on a beautiful, rainy day, about five weeks after the event in question. She’s a little too nonchalant about the whole thing, has been from the start- Spencer’s been correcting for that. He’s been treating her like something fragile, a beautiful glass figure that was almost shattered. This is something he knows irritates her, but how can he not?

He tries not to think of it, but the memory of her in a hospital bed, bandages over her abdomen, the wooziness of giving her blood. He can’t help his caution, now. People assume, quite often that Spencer was unaware of the fact he’s in love with his best friend. Like it was something he didn’t know, didn’t have to live with.

Spencer can be oblivious about a lot of things, but being in love with the person he’s shared a desk with for 4 years is not among them.

“No,” he replies, looking up at her as she sits down, handing him the cup of tea she made him. They’re at his apartment. She’s been cleared for desk work, but Spencer had been nervous about the whole thing. They’ve fallen into a rhythm of her going to his apartment after work, and for how determined he is to tell her how he feels, he’s not really able to pluck up the courage.

“Spence,” she sighs, “You have to call her.”

“I did! When it happened, I called her. We talked. We just don’t talk anymore.”

She furrows her brow in an adorable way, and Spencer’s heart threatens to fall out of his chest. He’s been playing a game of she loves me, she loves me not in his mind for the. Past few weeks.

Took a bullet to see me happy. She loves me.

She stirs her ceramic spoon, the clink of it against the mug fills the silence. She bites her lip, clearly disappointed with his response.

Wants me to call my not but kind-of ex. She loves me not.

She’s wearing this blue floral dress, and he is trying not to stare at where the fabric has ridden up, kissing the skin above her knee. She’s got lipstick on, and he tries not to read into how she’s sitting so close to him. Except he is kind of reading into it.

Before she got hurt, he had tried to shove this feeling down- tried to ignore the swoop of his stomach when she walked by, or when she gave him a compliment, or when she let him do a card trick for her. He tried to shove down how much he fucking hated it the one time she had a date pick her up at the office.

She’s just easy to be in love with. She writes little smiley faces on post-it notes and leaves them on his desk, and when the whole Emily thing had gone down, she’d spent weeks taking care of him through her own grief.

She’s sitting on his couch. Five weeks ago, she was half-dead in a hospital bed, and now she is on his couch, in a beautiful dress after returning from the job they both share.

He does not want to call Maeve.

The comfortable silence turns tense as the episode of Doctor Who plays in the background, and he’s still a little gunshy- she’s breathing, she’s okay. He feels creepy, but he lets his eyes close for a moment so he can hear the sound of her breath, to know it’s still there.

“Spencer,” she says, after she pauses the show, and he turns fully to face her, “I am okay.” She grabs his hand, and he takes a couple of seconds to process the touch as she places it over her own wrist. ‘I am fine. They fixed me up. You are allowed to stop worrying.”

Her tone is even, but intentional. She’s giving him permission, as if his presence is some guilt-driven notion that’s stopping him from getting what he really wants. It’s true, though, that he doesn’t always believe she’s okay. Notices how she’ll wince when she bends a certain way, and the scar by her eyebrow is healing well, but he still searches for it in her face.

He savors the feeling of the soft skin of her wrist under his touch, running his fingers over the junction of her hand and wrist with delicate affection. How she hasn’t figured out he’s in love with her is anyone’s guess.

He wonders what it would feel like to kiss her there.

“I know I can call her,” he manages to say back, meeting her warm gaze in a maybe too honestly in love glance, “I’m where I want to be.”

“Before I got hurt, you picked out an outfit, you asked for advice on dating, Spencer. You did that. I just-“ she sighs, moving her hand from his grasp and pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration, “The piece of you that wanted that is obviously still there. You don’t have to spend a Friday night with me in your apartment because you feel guilty that I got shot.”

“You’re not here because I’m guilty-“

“Then why-“

“You’re in my apartment right now because I am in love with you, and if you’re out of my sight for more than twelve hours than it’s like I forget that you’re still alive. That you didn’t get yourself killed before I ever got the chance to actually tell you.”

He’s not yelling. Well, he’s kind of yelling. Talking loudly, anyway. Her eyes widened and he’s hyperaware of how close she already was, is. She smells like lilies and her, and it’s all so present. She could have died. She might have never heard it.

She’s heard it now, he supposes. All the weeks of agonizing, notebooks he’s managed to fill in the last few weeks trying to figure out a way to say it to her that could charm her into loving him back- all gone. He’s told her, now.

All the cards are in her hands.

Her doe eyes almost sparkle at him, her head tipped to the side in a fond, loving gesture, and he wants to kiss her, wants to feel her faded-lipstick pout against his mouth. He wants his I love you to turn into I can have this.

“Spence,” her voice is a trembling, insecure thing. One half of his mind wants to rage at him- there’s no way she’s going to tell him she loves him back, that someone like her could ever want someone like him. But the other half, one that seems dangerously like hope- she took a bullet for him. She didn’t even think twice. “You’re in love with me?”

It’s like it’s not even him who replies. Some bitter thing takes over his voice and speaks for him.

“How could I not be? It’s you.”

It’s then he notices, that oh, she’s tearing up.

A beat passes, and Spencer sucks in a deep breath before rambling an absurd amount.

“You don’t have to- We can still be friends, obviously, you know that. But we can, I just- I needed to tell you because when you were in that hospital bed and you’d never heard me say it, I just couldn’t live with you never knowing. But now you do, and you don’t feel the same, and that’s okay-“

He doesn’t get to keep talking, because she grabs him by the collar of his shirt and kisses him. She’s warm and beautiful and her hair brushes up against his cheek and there’s something in him that takes over when he moves to cradle her head between his hands, both desperate to keep her in his grasp and savor the moments he gets to hold her. She tastes like cherry chapstick and something completely undefinable.

When she pulls away after a moment that feels entirely too short, heavy lidded eyes meeting his in affection, and Spencer thinks he’d like to do that for the rest of his life.

“I love you too,” she says back, and he commits it to memory, the sound of her so-sweet voice wrapping around the words he’s fantasized about hearing since the first time she smiled at his joke about philosophy. “I’ve loved you a really, really long time, Spence. I just thought I lost my chance, you know with- with everything. I never really thought I had one.”

He can’t even speak, really. He doesn’t think he can wrap his head around the fact that she felt like he wouldn’t like her back.

It doesn’t feel like a concern, now, when he leans in to kiss her again. She smiles into him, and Spencer memorizes the feel of her waist encircled in his arms, when he realizes that this is the heart he is able to hold without limits.

She loves me too, he thinks. She is safe, she is okay, and she loves me back.

On the following Monday, when Morgan sees the two of them with linked hands before Hotch gets to the office, he doesn’t say anything.

He does hand Emily 20 dollars, though.

#spencer reid #spencer Reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic

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suugarbabe · 1 year ago

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Unexpected | m.r x reader

prompt: Hii! How are you? This is my first time sending an ask and I just wanted to say that I love your writings! May I ask for a enemies to lovers with Mattheo Riddle? The reader is from the golden trio and they get into an argument with a lot of chemistry and tension. Thank you and I'm sorry for my bad english.

maybe enemies to lovers, like they hate each other and then realize that they are soulmates and then have to figure out what to do. some angst but ends i fluff please

word count: ~3.8k

warnings: slight angst feeling, fluff, e2l, soulmate trope, some heavy petting

an: so there's no argument like the prompt asks (sorry) but when I started writing it just kind of flowed out this way so hopefully it's still okay.

“Go on, show us again,” Ron Weasley was shaking a turkey leg in your general direction, asking to see the words that appeared on your arm this morning. In the wizarding world, on the day you were going to properly meet your soulmate, the first sentence they speak to you, excluding their name, will appear on your forearm in their handwriting.

It was incredibly annoying to you that Ron and Hermione got this mess out of the way the first day on the bloody train. To your and Harry’s amusement, neither were originally excited about the match, but after the chaos that ensued for the four of you by the end of that year they were inseparable. Nothing brings two people closer than tragedy.

Things got even more frustrating for you when Harry and Ginny realized they were soulmates, leaving you the lone wolf in your foursome. Entering your sixth year this year you were hopeful that maybe you would finally be able to find out who your soulmate was, roughly three fourths of those leave Hogwarts knowing who they’re intended to be with, and you would rather Avada Kadavera yourself then leave your seventh year soulmateless.

You grabbed the sleeve of your jumper, tugging it up to your elbow, sticking your arm out in the middle of the table for your three friends to view. There on your arm read a singular sentence, do I intimidate you, love?

Hermione sat back on the bench, “His handwriting really is awful, whoever he is.” You scoffed at your friend, “Not exactly my biggest concern, Mione. More worried about why he thinks he would intimidate me? Who would even think that? By this point in our school life you’d think any of us were more intimidating than the majority of the student body.”

“Yeah, except Slytherin,” Harry snorted, Ron following with his own round of laughter. But you weren’t laughing, you were looking at Hermione who was sporting the same grimace and worried eyes that you were sure your face looked like.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then looked at the two of you. “It was a joke, y/n/n,” Harry tried to ease the tension that was building. “Yeah, I mean, y’don't really think your soulmate might be…one of them,” Ron was anything but subtle with his tone of disgust, as well as his entire body turning around to face the Slytherin table.

Ron’s actions didn’t go unnoticed by a particular group of Slytherin boys. “Staring problem, Weasley? Got a crush?” Malfoy shouted across the dining hall, earning laughs and teasing hollars from his friends.

“Oi, Malfoy, got a present for you,” you stuck your hand in your school bag, pretending to roam around before pulling your hand back out and lifting it high in the air, giving Malfoy the middle finger. His face immediately turned into a scowl. The boy next to him, however, pretended to catch your gesture in the air and put it in his pocket, winking at you in the process.

You rolled your eyes, turning to Hermione who had a look of disgust on her face, “Riddle’s ego really is massive isn't it.” All three of your friends' heads began to nod. “I swear if he didn’t verbalize how much he bloody hated us I would think he was flirting with you y/n/n.”

“Shut it, Weasley, don’t you put that on me,” you pointed your finger at him, tone joking but words serious. He put his hands up in defense, laughing along with the rest of your friends as you all gathered your things and headed towards your first class.

Unbeknownst to you, a similar conversation was being had at the Slytherin table. “Glad to see meeting your soulmate hasn’t deterred you from trying to flirt with anything that breathes,” Pansy took a sip of her pumpkin juice, teasing the curly haired boy across from her.

“Dunno what you mean, Pans,” the dimples on Mattheo’s cheeks popping out as he smirked.

“Show us your arm again, cousin,” Draco’s words causing everyone to look at Mattheo now. The younger boy scowled, rolling up the sleeve of his dress shirt. There on his arm, in beautiful loopy script were the words you’ve got to be fucking joking.

Theo couldn’t help but laugh, “Don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a foul word in such pretty handwriting.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes, pulling his sleeve back down, “Yeah, well let’s just hope the bird is someone I can tolerate.”

You let out a long groan, hands rubbing up and down your face as you leaned your elbows on your knees . Hermione was sat next to you in the common room, rubbing up and down your back, “The day’s not over quite yet, y/n/n. It wouldn’t appear if you weren’t gonna meet them today.”

“Yeah,” Ron put on his best attempt at an encouraging smile, “maybe they’re another Gryffindor and you’ll meet them before we go to bed.” Harry nodded next to him in agreement.

You stood up, grabbing your jumper off the arm of the couch and throwing it on, “M’gonna go for a walk.”

Hermione’s lips downturned, “It’s nearly curfew.” You sighed, looking over at Harry. “I’ll go get my cloak,” he sighed, standing and walking quickly to his dorm room.

After Harry’s return you thanked him, spending an extra twenty minutes convincing Hermione that you would be the utmost cautious and affirmed to Ron that you would stash the cloak if you were to be caught.

Now you were quietly climbing the stairs to the astronomy tower. When you got to the top, you did a quick look over the railing. With no sign of Filch anywhere you dropped the cloak, laying it on the floor so you didn’t have to sit on the bare ground.

As you got comfortable you dug in your shirt, pulling out a spliff. Hermione would murder you if she found out you smoked, however the year you all had to study for your O.W.L’s, you were so stressed you ended up buying from Theo Nott.

He promised to keep it to himself and you promised it was a one time thing, but you found yourself buying from him every couple months. You weren't sure if she would be more disappointed in your smoking, or you interacting with someone in the forbidden Slytherin group.

You mumbled a short incendio before taking a long drag. You blew the smoke out slowly, watching it ripple through the air and up into the night sky. You looked up at the stars, knowing the day was likely to be over soon and wondering if you were the only witch that was destined to not run into their soulmate like everyone else.

You were lost in your thoughts and self pity. So much so you didn’t even hear someone come up the tower steps until they hit the top. You scrambled to your feet, ready to cover yourself with the cloak when you realized it wasn’t Filch, but a boy instead.

The dark of the night made it difficult for you to see exactly who it was at first, that and the fact that every time he took a step forward you seemed to take a step back until your back was against the stone wall. When he finally stepped into the light, your breath caught in your throat. Standing in front of you, signature smirk adoring his face was Mattheo Riddle.

You stayed rigid against the wall as he got closer to you. His fingers brushed yours as he took the spliff, bringing it up to his lips and inhaling. His eyes never left yours as he turned his head slightly, blowing the smoke into the night. His eyes traveled over you, taking in your black sleep shorts and house jumper. When he looked at your face again he locked eyes with you, almost like he was trying to read what was going on in your brain.

“Do I intimidate you, love?” The words seemed to leave his lips without a second thought and you felt like your chest was going to cave in. There was just no way, absolutely bloody not that he said those words, the words you had been anticipating someone to say all day. Him of all people that could’ve spoken them.

He raised his eyebrows at you, clearly looking for you to answer. Instead of some sputtering response of nervousness like Mattheo was expecting, your face just dropped.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking.” Mattheo’s face went white after you responded, and that was all the evidence you needed to confirm that Mattheo fucking Riddle was your soulmate. He hated you. You hated him. How could two people that despise each other be destined to be soulmates?

"What are you even doing up here?" You crossed your arms over your chest, sitting into your hip. His smirk only seemed to grow, "I think the better question is what are you doing up here, partaking in drugs no less? Little miss golden girl."

You rolled your eyes, "What's that supposed to mean, Riddle?" Mattheo's jaw clenched, "It's Mattheo. And you know what it means. Wonder what everyone would think if they knew little miss perfect liked to come up to the astronomy tower to get high."

"Why would anyone believe you over me?" You were acting a little cocky now, but Mattheo was right in the aspect that you and your friends were seen in an overall more positive light than he and his.

However the look on Mattheo's face made you think he knew something you didn't, "I guess I could just have your dealer tell everyone, or are you buying from someone besides Nott these days?"

He was irritating you on purpose now. You grabbed the spliff back from Mattheo, going to sit where you were before but now leaning your forehead against the railing, “This is got to be some kind of mistake.”

Mattheo could only snicker as he went to sit next to you, hanging his arms over the raining as he looked over the grounds, “S’destiny love, no mistake about it.”

“Thanks so much, you’re being really encouraging about this whole thing,” you rolled your eyes, holding your hand out to him. He took it from you, filling his lungs with smoke again, passing it back and forth throughout the conversation.

Mattheo shrugged his shoulders, “At least we’re both fit.” You snorted at this, “Who said I thought you were fit?” He scoffed, “Please, I’ve seen the way you ogle me.” You found yourself laughing, a true full belly head thrown back laugh before you looked at him and he thought the smile you were wearing was actually kind of cute, “How would you know that unless you were ogling me, hmm?”

Mattheo opened his mouth to respond, but found he couldn’t come up with a good enough excuse before you were speaking again. The sigh you let out let him know how stressed you really were, “Our friends are not going to like this.”

He nodded, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he spoke, “Merlin, no. They’re going to bloody hate it. But s’not like it was really our choice.” You knew he was right, and you knew he was trying to be comforting, but the tone in his voice let you know that he was just as worried to let his group of friends know as much as you were.

You opened your mouth to respond to him when you heard the all too familiar jingle of Mrs. Norris’ collar sounding like she was ascending the stairs. Your eyes grew wide as you and Mattheo both jumped to your feet. It looked like Mattheo is contemplating jumping over the tower railing when you grab his arm to push him flat against the stone wall.

He looked at you with utter confusion as you grabbed the cloak before turning around and pushing your back flush against his chest. “What are you-”

“Shut it,” you cut him off, indicating to him to wrap his arms around your waist as you threw the cloak over the pair of you. As the cat walked on to the tower landing you felt Mattheo’s arms tighten around you, doing his best to pull you impossibly closer.

He was decently taller than you, having to duck down slightly so the cloak covered you both properly. His face was tucked in close to your neck. His breath warm and tickling your skin as Filch followed after his beloved pet, glancing around for anything out of place.

When he was satisfied, Filch turned around to leave, letting his cat lead the way. You waited a few beats, making sure they were nearly to the bottom of the staircase before pulling the cloak off the two of you and pushing Mattheo’s hands off of your body.

“Thing comes in handy, that,” he pointed to the cloth in your hand. You chucked, “Yeah, m’sure your lot would get a lot less detentions if you had one.” Mattheo rolled his eyes, “Yeah, we can’t all be like the golden quartet.”

You scoffed slightly at this as you headed down the stairs, Mattheo close behind you, “We didn’t give ourselves that nickname, you know.” He couldn’t help but laugh, “Yeah but m’sure you all don’t mind it. Definitely gets you some favoritism.”

You stopped at the end of the corridor, Mattheo running into your back at the action and cursing. You turned to face him, “You know, my friends and I have endured a hell of a lot of shite over the last couple years, maybe we deserve a little break when we’re actually able to do normal bloody teenage things.”

As much as you were trying to be harsh with him, be the slightest bit intimidating, his height gave him all the advantage. Mattheo knew what you meant, what you were saying without saying the words themselves. “I’m not like him. Don’t clump me in your same category of hatred. He’s done things to me too,” his eyes reflected a bit of hurt as he spoke and you knew he was telling the truth.

Everyone in school assumed Mattheo was just like his father, held the same ideals and wanted the same things for the wizarding world. The look you were seeing on his face told you otherwise. Your frustration quickly fizzled, instead turning into something closer to pity, “M’sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he deadpanned, “Let’s just get back to our common rooms.” You walked together in silence until you had no choice but to split off. You agreed to meet each other in the courtyard during lunch the next day and you were racking your brain on how you were going to break this news to Harry, Hermione and Ron.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. When you broke the news to your friends about who your soulmate ended up being it wasn’t exactly well received. Hermione was worried, but understanding of the fact that you had no choice in the matter. Harry was upset, but again was trying his best to be mature and said he wouldn’t interfere with you spending some time with Mattheo to get to know him better. Ron took it the worst, which you wished surprised you but he did have a flair for the dramatics.

You were first waiting for Mattheo on a bench in the courtyard, but you couldn’t stop your legs from bouncing, therefore you found a place beneath a tree, attempting to read the same three lines of a book Hermione had loaned you the other day.

When Mattheo found you and finally sat down next to you, you shut your book immediately, letting out a sigh of relief, “Oh thank Godric, you’re here.” It didn’t go unnoticed by you the way a pair of dimples christened his cheeks, “Miss me already, pretty girl? S’barely been twelve hours.”

You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying to resist the pink that tinted your cheeks at the nickname he used, “Not at all, I’ve been sitting here for the better part of twenty minutes, mind you. Thought maybe you decided to ditch me.” Mattheo shrugged, “M’always late. You’re gonna have to get used to that. And I would never ditch you, we’re soulmates, love. You’re stuck with me for life.”

He had a childlike grin on his face when he said that latter part and you couldn’t help the slight notion of butterflies that seemed to flutter in your stomach or the smile that appeared on your face.

All last night you thought it was going to be difficult to fall for Mattheo, but maybe the universe knew something when it paired you two together.

“So how did your friends take the news?” You tried to keep voice neutral, but you really were worried about their responses. Mattheo leaned back against the tree, “They were shocked for sure, Draco took it the hardest. He was more worried about having to spend more time with Potter than me being with you though. Told him that would probably be more rare than he anticipated. W’bout yours?”

You nodded, “Not as bad as I thought, actually. Mione was understanding, as always. Harry was actually pretty good about it, but very skeptical. Ron actually took it the worst, but he’s just protective. Basically like me brother.”

“How d’ya mean?”

You leaned back against the tree yourself, shoulder to shoulder now with Mattheo. You could feel the heat radiating off of him and you wondered if his skin was always warm to the touch, “Both my parents are aurors so they travel a lot. They didn’t think it was safe for me to go with them, so Ron’s mum offered for me to stay at theirs whenever it was needed. Turns out it was needed more times than not growing up.”

Mattheo nodded, listening intently as you spoke. You both started asking surface questions about each other; favorite color (he said black), favorite hobby (quidditch), favorite class (free period).

When both your friend groups came looking for you after lunch period Mattheo asked if you would go to Hogsmead with him over the weekend. You agreed, finding yourself wanting to get to know more about him. Over the next two months you went to Hogsmead with Mattheo at least one day during each weekend.

You slowly learned that his favorite candy was fizzing whizbees, having to stop at Honeydukes every trip for him to grab some. You learned that he was actually very intelligent even though he tried to seem like he wasn't, as he was passing all of his classes even though he skipped half of them. You learned that even though Draco was older than him, he felt like an older brother to his cousin. And maybe your favorite thing that you learned, purely on accident, was that if you squeeze just above his hip that he was incredibly ticklish.

Throughout all of this you still hadn’t kissed. You kept telling yourself (and your friends) that you didn’t want to, but the more time you spent with him, the more you found yourself yearning for it. There were times of lingering touches; his hand on your lower back as he guided you into a building, his fingertips brushing yours as you walked, his leg pressing against yours while you sat next to each other in the courtyard or at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione, the ever observant friend that she was, noticed your shift in attitude towards Mattheo even before you did. So when she cornered you in the common room, demanding you tell her your true feelings it was almost a relief to let it all out.

“I think I might actually like him, Mione. Like, I know that sounds like something an insane person would say, that they like Mattheo Riddle, like romantically, like someone who isn’t just some daft bimbo, but there's just so much more to him that he lets people see.”

Hermione can’t help but laugh, “I get what you mean. Harry and Ron are coming around, you know. They see how happy you look when you’re with him.”

You tilt your head slightly at this, “What do you mean how happy I look?”

Hermione just shakes her head with a smile, “Like you’re with your person.” You can’t escape the blush that creeps up your neck and covers your cheeks. Hermione’s giggling at you now, “Have you still not kissed him yet?”

You scoffed, “Godric, no.” She pushed your shoulder playfully, “Well why not, y/n/n? Don’t you want to?”

You looked down at your hands, playing with your fingers, “I mean…I think so? But he just hasn’t really…gone for it, you know?”

She nodded in solidarity, “Oh I know, trust me. I had to make the first move with Ronald. Maybe you have to do the same thing?”

You contemplated her words. They invaded a space in your brain for the rest of the night, then the rest of the next morning, and through dinner, and even now as you stood leaning against the railing in the astronomy tower waiting for Mattheo to meet you.

When you heard him coming up the steps you turned only to see him with the sweetest smile on his face. “Hey pretty girl,” he greeted as he enveloped you in a hug. “Hi, Teo,” you had donned the nickname on him your third or so time at Hogsmead. He gave you a good squeeze before letting go, his arms still lingering on your waist with yours around his neck, “What’d you wanna talk about?”

His question was innocent, no implications in his voice that he expected anything beyond you wanting to see him. With Hermione’s advice in the back of your head you knew you needed to just act, as any more talking might lead to you psyching yourself out.

You slid your hands down from his neck, grasping lightly to the lapel of his blazer. He raised his eyebrows slightly at the action, the smallest of smirks on his face.

Without giving yourself time to overthink you pull him into you, lips crashing against yours. He’s shocked at first, but just for a moment before he responds, walking you back until you’re pressed against the stone wall.

One of his hands slides up your body, ghosting over your stomach and the valley of your breasts before settling lightly on your neck. The implication of the hand gesture makes you whimper slightly and Mattheo takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss. Your hands find his hair, tugging lightly at the curls.

When he finally pulls away you find yourself chasing his lips and he smiled at the reaction. “I think I could kiss you forever,” his forehead is resting against yours, lips still so close you can feel his breath on your own. “Yeah?” you laugh a little, smile only increasing when he presses a kiss to your cheek, “Yeah, pretty girl. Forever.”

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle smut #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #golden era #harry potter

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kookslastbutton · 9 months ago

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Guilty Pleasures ༓ jjk, kth (m) | chapter ii

✒ Summary: Three years of being Seoul's power couple earns you nothing but a big fat divorce settlement and your face plaster on every gossip column around town. You're angry, hurt, and desperately want to move on, but worst of all? You're still in love with the man who started the whole mess, even though the most he can ever see you as is a friend. The renowned actor you've hired to be your company's new endorser seems to have a soft spot for you though. He's easy on the eyes, you'll admit, but who actually wants a divorcee like yourself? It's unrealistic really.

pairing: ex-husband ceo!jungkook x ceo!reader, actor!taehyung x ceo!reader

genre/AU: angst, smut, fluff, loverstoexesto ?, coworkers2?, unrequited love

Word count: 4.5k

Warnings: oc and jk are both 30, Taehyung is 32, swearing, fighting, confrontation, tornado of emotions, mentions of alcohol consumption, mentions of sexism in the media and business world, public shaming (both direct and indirect), morally grey characters, mentions of toxic relationships, mentions of abandonment issues, mentions of therapy, attempts to self-regulate but reader is pissed, mentions of self-blame though oc knows its not entirely her fault, mentions of defamation charges, JK is just 🤬 while KTH is 😇

playlist: Unkiss Me, Apologize, Hate That I Love You, etc.

a/n: Woah okay....so had I fun writing this, even though it took me a hella long time to decide whether to continue the story as a series or not 🫣 Anyway I altered the summary slightly from chapter one (and updated for consistency purposes), but it doesn't change my overall plans! As you read this chapter, I hope you will be able to see my vision (I'm nervous af! haha)! Enjoy 🥰 (edited but pls forgive me for any oversights...my typos are ridiculous)

series masterlist | next >>

You’re seated in a wide sofa chair, surrounded by four blank walls, and the gentle sound of water tricking from a faux rock waterfall. Every element of the space is carefully integrated as a means to calm you. Yet it doesn't calm you in the slightest. Your hands are clammy. Muscles tense with the adrenaline spiking through your veins. It doesn’t help that you’ve been running on nothing but black coffee all week either, refusing to eat until the first promo shoot with your company’s new endorser was launched.

A natural in front of the camera, Kim Taehyung was able to speed the process up, yet it didn’t stop the massive dark circles from forming under your eyes. This morning, he'd told you they were unnoticeable but you've seen how you look in the mirror, and they're anything but unnoticeable. Still, you find his gesture to soothe sweet. Thankfully, your new partnership has been smooth sailing which is quite a blessing considering the disaster he nearly walked into.

Yes. You’re referring to that disaster in particular. When, in some desperate last-minute attempt for validation, you threw yourself into the arms of your ex-husband.

More like fixed the collar of his shirt and whoops, slid right on his dick…again.

What is wrong with you?

You’ve been asking yourself the question far too many times. You’d think being a hot-shot CEO of a million-dollar tech company would make you like titanium, resilient as finely pounded steel but no; you're just barely keeping yourself together. You regret your rash decision that day, you regret ever marrying Jeon Jungkook, and you regret ever giving in to your stupid feelings.

That’s why you’re here now, waiting in the office of your therapist’s private practice, hands restless in your lap. You’ve been seeing Melody for just over two months since your divorce was finalized, ready to move on; trying to, more like.

‘JeonX CEO Jeon Jungkook’s ex-wife compensated $1.8 billion in divorce’

‘South Korea’s Golden It couple split with ex-wife taking half the company revenue’

These are the lovely words that greet you from your phone screen.

You have the urge to grab your special red ballpoint pen from your bag and scribble out the entire paragraph, except it’s not a printed gossip magazine— it’s a newspaper column on the internet. Instead, you close out the pesky tab on your phone and reply to its sender.

Chim 🐥: can you believe this crap they’re saying about you?! It's no shit you were given a hefty divorce settlement. You brought in half the income! They’re making you look like some kind of gold digger. I swear if I ever lay my eyes on that pretty ex-husband of yours, I will end him! 😡 [sent at 5:06 pm]

Park Jimin, your childhood best friend, sends you a follow-up text when you don’t immediately reply to the news articles he forwarded over. He’s been extremely overprotective of you lately and especially pissed at how the media’s been portraying you, while Jungkook is seemingly getting a free ride. He’s always had an axe to grind with your ex-husband, to be honest, the divorce gives him only more reason to hate him.

You: Thanks for your concern Chim, but nothing they say surprises me anymore. If you don’t mind, can you stop sending these to me? [sent at 5:12 pm]

You hope your message doesn’t read as cold or dismissive. Jimin’s concern for you is a light in a dark place, but you don’t really want to be reminded of the amount of slandering articles still targeted towards you.

Gone are the days when the public saw you as a powerful woman in business, the one to watch, or the CEO of the fastest-growing startup in the last ten years. You're now simply Jeon Jungkook’s conniving ex-wife; as if you’ve merely seduced him for his money and ran when the going was good.

Of course, the whole situation is skewed to his side; half the world is in love with him after all, and that includes the few lingering reporters who've been practically salivating three feet from you at any given chance, hoping to get an exclusive “inside look”. Your marriage was a sham, you wanted to scream, a mutual business transaction.

Too bad rather than an increase in status, resources, and market share, you gained a pile of twisted, unwarranted emotions and regrets.

“I apologize for the wait Ms. __."

The door swings open as your therapist rushes into the room. She stops at her desk to retrieve last week’s session notes, then takes a seat in the chair adjacent to you with crossed legs.

“It’s okay,” you assure, straightening your posture. “I understand how crazy busy the day can get. It wasn't a long wait anyway."

Melody gives a small smile and jots a few words on her notepad. “Thank you for understanding. How are you doing this week?”

You take a deep breath. "Tired," you respond, "especially this week at work. It's like as soon as I wrap up one project, there's another jumping out from nowhere." You used to be ahead of the game. Now you're barely surviving.

"That's right," she hums. "Last week you mentioned having to attend a charity gala soon. Would you like to start there today?"

Crap, you're suddenly reminded that you have to pick up your gown by 7 pm tonight. You entertained the idea of not going to the gala at all, but that would do you no favors in the end. Given your situation, you can't skip out on such an important charity event.

"Sure," you nod. "The Winter Gala's tomorrow night, actually. It's funny how I used to look forward to it every year, being an opportunity to network and catch up with my peers. I can't say I feel the same thrill this time around."

"Because of the divorce you mean?"

"Exactly. Being the CEO of one of the largest software corporations in the world, my ex-husband's influence far exceeds my own. So whether out of loyalty or political agenda, anyone who's anyone will be on his side of the room. I'm gonna end up being that one awkward person in the corner in a far too expensive Dior gown who no one wants to dance with." You nervously chuckle out the last sentence.

Melody opens her mouth to respond, yet stops when she notices you're not quite finished.

"It'll be the first time seeing my ex-husband after months of no contact too. I guess that's what I'm looking forward to the least."

When you think about it, the most you've seen of Jungkook is his face appearing on the massive screens downtown. He's been featured in at least a dozen interviews lately, teasing a brand-new product his company's planning to release in the spring. Seems he's doing well.

"What you feel is valid Ms. __." Melody seeks to assure you. "In the past, you used to go to these events with Jungkook right? He provided you with a sense of safety, as you did for him, no doubt. I wonder if it's a lack of consistency and belonging that worries you, more than it is about seeing your ex-husband and your peers. Companionship too, of course."

"I suppose that makes sense, but it never used to be this way." Your voice raises to match your sudden argumentativeness. "I used to be very comfortable in my own skin. I used to be confident going to these events alone, long before Jungkook came into the picture."

You pause to take a breath before continuing.

"When Jungkook became CEO of his family's software company, JeonX, he was steps away from being bought out by both our competitors, so a partnership was proposed. We married at 27 as nothing more than two ambitious, rising leaders in business. Neither of us was after love or romance when our careers were at stake."

"But then that changed for you," your therapist carefully observes. "Combined, you both held the largest share of the tech market. You and Jungkook were also in an extremely intimate relationship, yet treated it as a business contract. Unfortunately, those don't always come out clean in the wash. It appears to me that while you gave him three honest years of your life, he stole those three years from you."

The words take a moment to sink in; Jungkook stole three years from you. It conflicts with what you want to believe, though from the bottom of your heart, you know she's right.

"I feel so...guilty. I hate that I fell for him, and I hate that I'm struggling this much to let him go." As you tear up, Melody hands you a tissue from the side table with an empathetic gaze. You mouth a thank you and gently dab your eyes with the soft fabric.

"I'd give yourself some grace Ms. __. But if I may ask, what about Jungkook?" she gently probes. "Do you think he feels the same?"

"No...," you say with remorse, shaking your head. "He's moved on."

Melody remains silent for as long as you need in the moments following, cautious to follow your lead. The last thing a therapist should do is rush their patient through the session, so she sits patiently and waits for your go.

"Sorry," you finally say. "We should continue."

"No need for apologies," she replies. "Take your time."

It takes a good minute or two longer of sitting in your car before you can fully compose yourself. As usual, your session with Melody was intense and insightful, but it was far too short. You're gripping the wheel with both hands when her final words of the session echo through your head: "Give yourself some grace; blaming yourself won't do any good."

Seemingly simple advice, yet tough to follow when you constantly feel responsible for the mess you're in. Yes, even though Jungkook has the bigger end of the stick, you made your share of mistakes too. You should have looked into other options when you found out your competitors were looking to buy out JeonX instead of eloping with their CEO.

Just what were you thinking __? you harshly scold yourself. You were trying to protect your company. You both were. Too bad you placed the cart in front of the horse.

Forcing yourself to take a slow, deep breath, your eyes widen in alarm when you catch the time on the clock— 6:38 pm. Fuck! The boutique that's holding your gown for tomorrow's gala is closing in twenty minutes. Without a moment to spare, you yank the seatbelt and slam your foot on the gas.

"Good evening Ms. __." A young woman, fitted in a black pencil skirt and white blouse, greets you with a faint bow as soon as you step foot into the posh boutique.

"Hello, Hana," you refer to the young lady by name with a smile. "I'm terribly sorry to be coming in this late. I came by to pick up the gown I sent in for alterations two weeks ago. The event's tomorrow and I know the shop will be closed for the day."

Knowing the exact dress you're referring to, Hana responds with a soft tone, "Please don't worry Ms. __. We have the gown ready." She disappears to the back of the shop to retrieve it.

As you wait, your mind drifts to memories of last year's gala. You had worn a vibrant, gold gown that evening, slightly risky with a low neckline. Jungkook liked it though, as he wore a matching gold vest himself. You can imagine how crazy the press went when you both set foot on the scene, arms linked and appearing to have coordinated your attire perfectly.

Every investor at the gig wanted to be your friend that night, anxiously pushing through the crowds to speak to you. One of them nearly split your dress in two, as he had accidentally stepped on your gown after one too many drinks. You recall Jungkook scolding the man before turning his full attention to you, making sure you were alright. You consider this to be the first time you truly started looking at him as your husband, a feeling of warmth blooming inside you.

How foolish you were to let that feeling grow.

You're attending the gala alone this year, without him.

Possessing no desire to call attention to yourself this year, you've chosen a rich, navy blue gown instead. It's subtle yet sophisticated. Made out of the finest silk, its silhouette is sleek and falls straight down to the floor without any extravagant frills. The neckline is simple too, paired with a tasteful open back. There are no flashy accessories or embellishments, just a straightforward, classic design. You find the gown beautifully elegant, and nowhere near as bold as your previous one.

"Here it is Ms. __," Hana chips from afar, her heels clacking against the polished floor tiles. In her hand is a generously sized garment bag, your dress flowing underneath.

"Thank you so much, Hana," you say, taking the gown from her hand. "Again, I'm sorry for my tardiness picking this up. I hope you have a wonderful night."

You leave the boutique, the sun having already set.

The Winter Gala takes place on the top floor of Seoul's most luxurious hotel, specifically in its grand ballroom. The walls are adorned with gold trim, and its floors are elegantly lined with polished black marble. Above, a magnificent glass chandelier glimmers, catching the moonlight filtering through the surrounding glass windows.

Despite being a private event, the gala attracts a whole slew of press and locals who eagerly gather on either side of the hotel's front doors, treating it as a prime spot for viewing the red carpet.

Physically, you're ready; dressed to the nines, and makeup done just right. Mentally, you're absent; secretly sipping a margarita at the end of the earth, wherever that is. The day finally comes for you to make an appearance at the Annual Winter Gala and it's clear, you're not prepared in the slightest.

Your nerves consume you as you sit in the backseat of your limousine. You protested against being dropped off at the front entrance. Hell, you hadn't even wanted to arrive in a limo. However, your PR team insisted you be seen arriving, happy to be supporting a charitable event for the eighth year in a row.

Reluctantly, you complied.

Chim 🐥: I wish I could be there with you tonight 😞 No matter what, don't let those snobs get into your head. You look stunning and you have nothing to be ashamed of! [sent at 6:23 pm]

"Thank you, love," you whisper to aloud upon reading your best friend's endearing message. Before you can craft a reply, your door is flung open, with harsh flashes of cameras blinding you. When you step out of the limo, you hear a mix of passionate cheering and interrogative remarks.

"Ms. __, could you share with us your experience of attending the gala without Jeon Jungkook by your side for the first time?"

"Ms. __, it's unexpected to see you here this year, especially considering your recent separation from your ex-husband, who is also on the guest list!"

"Ms. __, how do you plan to navigate the evening's festivities without the familiar presence of your former partner?"

Just keep walking __. If you can just get inside the building and tune out the noise, you'll be fine. You coach yourself with every step, but make little progress with the amount of discomfort only skyrocketing. Your photos are being taken, and questions barrage you from all angles. To top it off, you feel a strong migraine coming on and oh fuck— is that the devil now?

You don't have to glance back to guess the sudden increase in cheering is due to the arrival of another hot A-lister. It has to be Jungkook with a new woman by his side. You think he wouldn't bring a date to an event like this, even if she were a hire? You'd be horribly mistaken.

You fight against the urge to turn around and confirm if your suspicions are true.

"__!" a voice calls out, which you ignore.

But wait a minute.

You stop in your tracks—that's not Jungkook's voice at all; it’s far too raspy.

Peeking over your shoulder, your jaw falls open as you see Kim Taehyung steps behind you wearing a boxy grin on his face. He's dressed to the hills with a shiny maroon, Louis Vuitton suit hugging his slim waist. Quite handsome, per usual, but what is he doing here?

Taking the initiative, Taehyung strides next to you and waves to the crowd charismatically. “My movie shoot wrapped up early so I thought I’d swing by and see what all the excitement’s about,” he says.

You observe how easy it is for him to appease the crowd, a skill you’re still working to sharpen.

“Tae-” you begin.

He then turns to you and looks straight into your eyes. You shiver at from the sudden intensity.

“I got an invitation too, and the gala happens to support a cause that I find close to my heart.” His voice lowers for the next part, allowing only your ears to hear. “I also didn’t want you having to be alone this evening, __. I hope I didn’t overstep my boundaries.”

Taehyung’s words manage to coax you away from your previously frazzled state, comforting you as the chaos quiets around you.

“Thank you, Taehyung. You didn’t, don’t worry,” you reply, giving a tight-lipped smile. “It’s actually a good thing you came since you’re basically the second face of my company after all.”

“I’m happy to hear that. We’ve been working so well together recently, and I don’t want to ruin it. May I?” He offers you an arm.

“You may.” You slip your arm into his and continue towards the hotel entrance. You admit you’re glad to see him.

With Taehyung nearby, your apprehensions of the night start to subside. He’s not always beside you, slipping away to mingle often, yet his mere presence relaxes you. You haven’t even thought about Jungkook to be honest. Well, maybe a little bit.

You take a sip of the drink in your hand and casually scan the ballroom until bingo, you spot your ex-husband by the bar in the middle of half a dozen people. Figures he’s the center of attention, effortlessly tethering people to himself. Jungkook loves the spotlight, and the spotlight loves him. As you continue watching him from across the room, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions swirls within you; longing, sorrow, anger. You haven't seen him in over two months, it feels surreal.

Memories of your time together come flooding back all at once—both the good and the bad, yet mostly bad. It's strange how someone you were once so close to can suddenly feel like a stranger. You allow your gaze to linger a moment longer, curious to conclude a date is nowhere in sight. Perhaps you’re mistaken and they’ve merely slipped away for a second. You’re positive he would’ve brought someone.

Bitterly, you gulp down another sip of your drink. When you place your glass down, you nearly choke at the sight of Jungkook's dark eyes burning holes at you. You avert your gaze immediately, silently begging that he didn’t just witness you staring at him and take it as an unsolicited invitation to come over.

“So,” a provocative voice unexpectedly slides next to you. “Looks like you just traded one bachelor for the next __. I’m shocked to see you’ve shown up to our little soirée.”

Oh god, you roll your eyes, recognizing the owner of the slithery voice like the back of your hand. You do not have the stamina for this tonight.

“Kathy," you greet with the fakest, yet sweetest smile possible. "Nice seeing you again. I haven't seen you since last year. How's the baby?"

"Oh please," she scoffs. "Don't try to deflect, sweetie. We both know it's you who is of far more... intrigue. If you understand my gist."

You want to hurl at this woman's condescending tone. Nothing gets under your skin more than someone your age calling you sweetie. It's not endearing in the slightest, especially when it's Kathy Lee, Director of CommaTen. You despise each other, likely because you both hit it big in the industry at a young age. Meeting someone who reminds you so closely of yourself isn't always a blessing.

“Anyway, as I was saying," she continues, brushing her hair behind an ear. "I have quite the bone to pick with you about stealing that actor from me. Kim Taehyung was mine first, you know."

Hers? She speaks as if a person can be owned. You won't lie, you're surprised Taehyung agreed to partner with you at a time when most of Seoul's elites have turned against you. You're naive to assume that his support wouldn't backfire on his reputation. On the other hand, he's been your endorser for two months now and his following remains fully intact.

“To be frank, I didn't know the two of you were talking business at all," you respond to the accusations with composure, though burning up inside. "But of course, he's free to make his own decisions, can't he? Whatever the reason, something must have enticed him."

“You—" Offended by your insinuation that your offer was better than hers, Kathy doesn't stop what comes next. "We both know the only reason why Kim Taehyung's with you is because Jungkook left you! And you need the extra publicity, isn't that right?"

Fuck. Well, now you're really fucking embarrassed because, at that moment, everyone in the room shifts their attention your way. A pin drop could be heard in the entire ballroom since even the live band ceased their playing.

This is why you didn't want to come. Your fingers fumble with the fabric of your gown.

“Don't act like you're above me just because your company might be worth more than mine, __. We'll catch up with you soon," Kathy spits her final words before spinning around and triumphantly walking away.

Don't cry, you tell yourself. Everyone's staring at you; the press, your peers, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Don't you dare cry.

As the murmurs of conversation gradually resume around you, you force yourself to take a deep, steadying breath. Kathy's words were nothing but a feeble attempt to save her own face. Besides, what company doesn't have at least one endorser?

"Are you alright?" Taehyung's low, gentle voice catches your attention as he swiftly returns to your side, no doubt influenced after witnessing Kathy's verbal jab.

You manage a tight-lipped smile, nodding faintly as you attempt to push back the overwhelming wave of humiliation. "I will be," you reply, though the words feel hollow even to your own ears.

His gaze lingers on you for a moment longer, a silent understanding passing between you.

"I hope you don't take her words to heart, __," he mutters. "I chose to become your partner because I genuinely believe in your product. I'm selective about who I support, so please trust me when I say it wasn't because of material gain or pity."

You're on the verge of responding to his reassurance when you catch sight of your ex-husband from the corner of your eye, striding his way over to you for the first time tonight. His expression is unreadable, so you brace yourself, unsure of what to expect.

"__," he starts, his voice low but carrying an unmistakable urgency. "Can we talk?"

You and Taehyung share a quick glance before you follow Jungkook out of the ballroom, seeking privacy.

As soon as you're out of earshot, Jungkook turns to you, his features softened by a hint of concern. "Hey," he starts. "I meant to get over to you sooner but got tied up. You know how it is."

"Yeah, I know," you respond, though you'd rather he didn't come over at all, especially after being dragged into the spotlight in front of all your peers and colleagues.

The two of you share an unsettling silence before he speaks again.

"You-You look good." He allows his eyes to rake up and down your body, causing you to cross your arms in discomfort. There was a time when his gaze brought a flutter of excitement, but now, you're not so sure it brings you the same pleasure.

"I'm sorry for what happened in there," he says. "You okay?"

"What?" you repeat, your eyes wide with surprise, stunned by his unexpected apology. "Am I okay?"

Where was this concern when he handed you the divorce papers nine months ago? Or when he willingly took advantage of your vulnerability that time in your office, only to disappear afterward, as if he hadn't just torn your heart out of your chest? You clench your fists, trying to contain the rising temperature of your anger.

"Yeah, about what she said about you," he clarifies. "It was uncalled for, and I feel horrible about it." He reaches out to touch you, but you instinctively step back, as if his touch would scorch you.

"Please, don't," you sigh, a trace of weariness in your voice. "It's fine."

"I'm serious __, I can have her charged with defamation for that. It wouldn't take much!" His insistence is unwavering, and it strikes your last nerve.

"You don't need to fight my battles for me, Jungkook," you suddenly snap, voice stern. "I'm not completely helpless now that you've divorced me!"

Jungkook's expression darkens, regret flickering in his eyes. "I'm not saying you are. I'm just trying to help."

"Help?" you repeat, doubtful. "How do you think that's going to look for me in the media? Jeon Jungkook slaps another high society member with a defamation charge for ex-wife. Thanks, but no thanks. I get enough of that as is."

He sighs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I know they've been difficult on you recentl—"

"Difficult?" you interject, your anger bubbling to the surface. "In case you haven't noticed my face is on every gossip magazine, billboard, press release, and anything else they can use to scorn me with. It's unbearable, especially since I still have a business to run."

Jungkook winces, clearly stung by your words. "Then let me help. I'll get them removed for you. I still care about you, __."

You scoff. "You care about me? Is that why you made me sign our divorce papers three months after you found out I wanted more than a fake marriage?"

His jaw clenches, gaze dropping to the floor guiltily. "It's not like that, __. I'm not trying to be an avoidant asshole. I want you to-"

"Find someone else. Yeah, I got it," you mutter bitterly, feeling a fresh wave of hurt wash over you.

"I'm sorry, __. I am."

You stare at him, torn between resentment and a lingering ache for the connection you once shared. Now, he's apologizing?

"So am I," you say, slowly backing away from him. "You don't have to do anything, Jungkook. I'm fine."

You then turn on your heels to return to the ballroom where Taehyung still waits for you, leaving your ex-husband standing in the hallway, alone.

a/n: A much-needed confrontation between oc and jk eh? But... *laughs evilly*..this is not the end...LMK what you think! 🤔🤍

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no reposting, copying, or translating my work– © kookslastbutton

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mahgyu · 10 months ago

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JJK Men: Dreaming about you after your death

· — Even months later after your tragic death by a cursed spirit, they still dream of that terrible day.

๑ Featuring: Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Kento Nanami, Choso Kamo, Toji Fushiguro and Ryomen Sukuna.

๑ Content: Fem!Reader, established relationship, angst, A LOT of angst (*evil laugh*), mention of panic crisis (Choso)

๑ a/n: I enjoyed writing this so much, even though it was really sad. Ah, unlike the others, Sukuna didn't have a dream but rather flashbacks, you will understand when you read.

⸺ㅤGOJO

Gojo woke up startled, trying to grasp something that was no longer there. He barely noticed he was already crying when he woke up, the eyes you used to love and appreciate were now crying for your absence. That man who once laughed and smiled genuinely by your side had once again lost the reason to laugh and smile truly. Gojo sincerely couldn't bear to maintain that facade of a strong sorcerer, physically and mentally. He was tired, he was alone. He promised, he promised to protect you, but he failed. Now he promises that, one day, he will find you again, but for now he would just embrace the clothes you used to wear to feel your scent while he cries. Unfortunately, those clothes were already losing your scent.

⸺ㅤGETO

Geto absolutely refused to accept what had happened. He convinced himself that you would suddenly walk through the door with that smile he loves so much. He would wait however long it took for that to happen, but deep down, he knew it would never come true. That's why Geto woke up already staring directly at the door. In the dream, you walked through that door smiling, just as he had been imagining lately. It seemed so real that he could swear he smelled your scent. But the scent didn't actually come from you; it came from the stuffed animal you cherished, which Geto now slept beside every night to catch a glimpse of you being with him.

⸺ㅤNANAMI

Nanami had just returned from work. Sitting on the couch, he ended up dozing off and had that same repetitive dream about you. The day he proposed to you was certainly one of the most memorable days in Nanami's life. But that dream always ends with that cursed spirit sneaking up from behind and dragging you away from Nanami. Kento always screams and tries to run towards you, but for some reason, he never moves from his spot. Nanami opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling for a few minutes before sighing. He glanced down at his own hand, where he still wore the engagement ring on his finger. He wouldn't dare take it off for anything, even though you're no longer physically there with him, even if the image of you looking beautiful in a white dress is now nothing more than a dream never realized.

⸺ㅤCHOSO

Choso woke up totally bewildered, panting, and in a panic. He sat on the bed while looking around, processing where he was and searching for you, but found nothing, nothing but a photo of you next to the bed. Choso couldn't take it anymore, couldn't bear to have so many panic attacks for not being able to save you that day, he wasn't there to protect you as he had promised. He failed you, and it tore him apart. He hated having to deal with these daily crises; Choso knew it was exhausting to help him in these moments, he hated worrying others. But the moment he promised to avenge you, he would fulfill it, even if it cost him his own life.

⸺ㅤTOJI

Toji woke up slowly, taking a moment to fully open his eyes due to the brightness and gradually realizing that everything he had witnessed was just a dream. In this dream, he saw you humming softly a song he already knew entirely because of you, but before he could touch you, he woke up. Toji realized he wasn't in the place he used to call home, it wasn't a home without you. He was in another one of the places he rented to spend the night. Going back to that house no longer made sense without you to welcome him with your sweet kisses and bright smile. Toji completely lost his way, delving back into the bad paths you fought so hard to steer him away from, but you were no longer there to stop him. He no longer cared about himself.

⸺ㅤSUKUNA

Sukuna closed his eyes for a few minutes when he had the vision of your face in your last moments of life, the life he himself made a point of taking, just as he had promised from the moment he first found you. For some reason, the image of your face wouldn't leave his mind anymore, and he hated it. He hated how you looked at him so tired and exhausted from everything, just accepting what was to come, how you seemed so vulnerable and fragile. No, that wasn't right. Sukuna opened his eyes as he clenched his fists, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, while frustration flowed from within him. He should have been satisfied for having fulfilled what he promised, but no, he was dissatisfied, frustrated, and didn't know if it was because you didn't even try to fight him and just accepted your end, or if it was because he had really ended you. It made no sense to him, but still, it ate away at him.

Thanks for reading, I hope you liked my first work here 🩶

ㅤㅤㅤ

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sweatervest-obsessed · 2 months ago

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Last, Last Time

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader (she/her pronouns)

WC: ~7.3k

TW: Angst, guns, violence, mentions of domestic violence, blood, swearing, depression, kidnapping, manipulation, self-deprecating thoughts, heartbreak, arguing, the grieving process, drinking, screaming, crying, sobbing, throwing up, being under pressure, and anything else that comes with a criminal minds episode.

a/n: based on S15 E6 - first date. I love u aubrey plaza <3. Also inspired by the song Last, Last Time by Boys Go To Jupitar. writing this was a little bit of a catharsis since it's one of the first things I've been able to write. I'm sorry I've been so m.i.a., i just moved to a new country and that has been a crazy experience. But to cope with that, enjoy some gut-wrenching angst!

Alternate Ending! Spencer Masterlist

“Spencer I won’t—I can’t keep doing this. I’m sick of arguing in circles.”

“Y/n…”

“I-I feel like you take me for fucking granted Spencer. All I do is work and then come home and wait for you to actually be able to, I don’t know, sleep in the same bed as me for more than four hours.”

The look in his eyes almost took you out but your heart had already been broken long, long before this argument. If anything, you were starting to feel this sense of freedom as you broke his heart.

“Please. Y/n. Just–I don’t—Just give me a few days to convince Hotch to let me have some time off and we can work on this please.”

“Wait for the potential of us?”

Spencer’s jaw loosened. You couldn’t read beyond the initial layer of pain and confusion, which made your chest ache since not too long ago you could have been able to find everything you needed in his expression.

“God Spencer this can’t be fucking news to you. We’ve been drifting apart for months now.”

“I know, I know. You have been so patient with me and I’ve just been….there was that whole thing with Cat and then….I-I was trying so hard y/n…”

“No, first there was that whole thing with Maeve.”

“That’s not fair—”

“Oh that’s not fair? Really? You’re going to tell me the entire Maeve thing isn’t fair to you?”

“I’m sorry.”

You sighed and closed your eyes. “I’m not saying you weren’t trying but come one Spencer. There’s no need to deny this shit anymore. I hate it when you lie to me about these kinds of things.”

Spencer’s hand came up to his face and it dragged down, aging him significantly with the fatigue written all over his face.

“So you’re just going to pack up everything, break my heart, and leave? Were you even going to say goodbye, or was I going to come home to an empty home. A note or....”

“I-I don’t know Spencer. I just don’t…”

The tears were starting to creep in, and you had to place the box down before you lost it.

“This isn’t easy for me either…” Your chest heaved.

The both of you stood in silence, tension simmering surrounding the both of you like heat on a summer’s eve. Neither of you could really look at one another, but it felt wrong to look at anything else. Something was missing but you couldn’t say it outloud. You knew you would always love Spencer Reid but this time it was not enough.

“I’m tired of arguing Spencer.”

Your eyes met his. You felt Spencer’s arms around you before you could even feel the tears hit your cheeks. Your arms immediately went to his neck, so familiar. No longer home.

Spencer’s voice muttered into your ear. “Don’t cry Jolie. It’ll be okay..”

About three years ago, Spencer had decided that he didn’t like that you had nicknames for him, and he had none for you. He spent weeks workshopping different ones : Sugar, Honey, Pumpkin, Sweetheart, Darlin, Pookie, Lover, Sunny (like sunshine), Sunshine—it was a wild few weeks trying to figure out who he was talking to. Then one day, offhandedly, he was trying to tell you about this french film he had been watching, and trying to get Emily to watch with him.

He called you ‘tres jolie’, and blushing you had asked him what it meant. He told you it meant pretty.

And it stuck.

Now? It stung.

All you could do was squeeze tightly onto him, not ready to let go.

“You’re so pretty when you’re lying through your teeth.” You whispered after a few moments, pulling away out of his arms.

“I.” You swallow and step back, out of his reach. “Maybe I’ll...”

Spencer just looked up at the ceiling, trying to hold in the tears that were streaming down his face.

You grabbed the last box on the counter and your keys, and walked out, for the last time.

You awoke in your bed, eyes adjusting to the complete darkness the blackout curtains provided you.

Another fucking night thinking about your decision those four years ago, and how your life may have gotten better because of it.

Moving to get up from the bed, you decided to leave the curtains closed for now, feeling as if you could melt from the sun touching you.

You turned on the bathroom light and started your morning routine. Wash face. Take meds. Brush teeth. Fix hair—

Somewhere in that process, you got lost, and just stared at yourself in the mirror. You weren’t sure for how long. All you could do was replay the last four years.

Did you make the right choice? You were happy, you had your dream job.

Maybe it was true what they say, you can only have a career or love, but not both—

The only thing taking you out of this spiral was the ringer on your phone going off.

This caused some hesitation because your phone’s ringer was always off––the loud noise startling you. There were only a few people who had that emergency bypass, and none of them had called you in four years.

You peaked out of the bathroom and saw the name light up on your phone.

Emily Prentiss

______________________________________________________________

The door to the round room opened up and in walked Spencer Reid. “Catch me up.”

Prentiss clicked the remote, and the TV lit up with a picture of a woman smirking facing the camera while holding a gun up to another one next to her. “Early this morning, Garcia got an email from an anonymous server.”

The second woman was tied up, mouth slightly open, and eyes filled with tears, while a man on the other side just had his eyes closed, tired. .

Spencer just stared at the photo.

Rossi nodded at the picture. “She's not obscuring her face, telling us she's got nothing to hide.”

He never pulled focus away from the screen, mouth dry at the thought of what today was going to be. “Any ideas on the unsub?”

“No.” Prentiss sighed. “Only the unsub's demand. That we release Catherine Adams in 24 hours. I'm having her transferred here for questioning, but we have no illusions. This is just a game to her. We know that. The question is, do we want to play it or not?”

______________________________________________________________

Receiving a call from the FBI was not entirely new to you, since you had been engaged to one of their agents, but receiving one now? Weird. Off brand. Something was deeply wrong from them to have to give you a call.

You hesitantly pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey Y/n, it’s Emily Prentiss—“

“I know who you are, Emily. It’s been a couple years, not millions.”

Emily hummed a brief laugh, and you could hear other voices behind her, unable to make out anything.

“I know this is hard to ask of you, but would you stay on the phone with me and come in?”

“What?”

“I need you to stay very calm Y/n, but I need you to stay on the line with me, leave your apartment as soon as you can, and get to the BAU.”

“Oh my god I totally forgot. It might take me an hour to get there with all this bullshit traffic, could we push the reservation an hour? Would they be willing to do that?”

Your entire tone changed, having remembered what Spencer had told you all those years ago about if people were listening into your apartment, if they bugged your car—all paranoia that didn’t pay off then, might be paying off now.

You were sure you could hear Emily sigh, and it sounded a little upset at the fact that you knew what to do–you knew how to handle a dangerous situation, which made her question everything in her life.

Quickly you pulled on a pair of jeans and threw a sweatshirt over your pajama top and grabbed your keys off of the counter.

You left your apartment, waved to one of your neighbors, and hopped into your car, still on the line, just trying not to panic. Maybe something went wrong, maybe Spencer wasn’t okay, maybe he had died—you refused to even acknowledge that thought and decided it was something else entirely.

It was a very tense hour of driving, that was only about forty minutes since you knew how to drive above the speed limit.

You realized that it was past midday, and you had taken full advantage of the weekend. So at least you had a decent amount of sleep under your belt for what felt like the beginning of an extraneous night.

As you pulled into the parking garage, Emily Prentiss and someone you had never met before were standing there waiting for you. You placed your car in park, hopped out and walked up to them–only hanging up as soon as you were out of the car.

Both of them had such grim looks on their faces, but at least they were trying to pretend like the situation wasn’t as bad as it appeared to your face.

Emily engulfed you in a hug. “Missed you Y/n. It’s been too long.”

“Well Em, next time I end an engagement with someone I’ll consider your feelings first.” You squeezed him back, dryly laughing at your own joke. At least it caused Emily to snort.

“Y/n this is SSA Luke Alvez. Luke, this is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” He gave a small smile and nodded at you.

“I wish it were under different circumstances.” You nodded back and looked over at Emily.

“Let’s head inside?”

The three of you moved inside.

Sure, you hadn’t been here in a while, but you knew your way around the BAU Bullpen if your life depended on it, which was ironic since that was what this feels like.

As soon as you were safely in their round table room, Luke shut the door, and stood by it, Emily coming and sitting down next to you.

“What do you know about Cat Adams?”

That bitch.

______________________________________________________________

“I would like to go on a date. With you.”

Spencer stared at her, face stoic as ever. “A date?”

“Yes. I want to look pretty. And I want to have fun.” She looked him up and down. “And I won't even get physical, ok? Unless you want me to.”

Spencer sat down across from her. “Come here. Closer.”

Cat leaned in, a small smile on her face, absolutely intoxicated by being so close to him.

“The only date that I'll be there for is the one where they stick a needle in your vein.”

Cat scoffed. “You're just going to let her father and sister die? I don't think so.”

“I never said it was a father and daughter. You're already slipping.” He stood up from the table. “We'll find them. We always do.”

Cat leaned back and crossed her arms. “Not tonight. Tonight I win.”

His resolution had yet to change, “The score between me and you is two to zero. By tomorrow morning, it'll be a clean sweep. Enjoy eternal nothingness. It's a metaphor for your life.”

And with that, the door slammed shut behind him.

______________________________________________________________

Both the profilers watched a series of emotions run rampant across your face, before you settled on a somewhat displeased smile. “A lot.”

They exchanged a look, and you didn’t have the energy to pretend like you didn’t know what it was.

“Don’t start with me you two. I know profiling. I know what you’re doing. Ask me the questions you want to ask. Don’t try and trick me into giving the answers you want.”

Alvez bit his tongue and looked away, trying to hide a small smile that appeared on his lips.

Emily, on the other hand, hid her smile a bit better than him, but part of being previously engaged to a profiler meant you picked up on some of their tricks too.

She nodded and pulled a file from across the table. “I’m assuming you know the basics since she, uh, is obsessed with Spencer.”

“Glad to see he still has that going for him.” You muttered and looked into the file.

Emily shot Luke a look when he let out a huff or air, trying his damndest not to laugh.

“What is the last thing you know about her?”

You recounted the days leading up to the restaurant, and then the few days after, decidedly stopping short of the engagement breaking off a week later.

They shared another look, and you didn’t enjoy whatever it was that had moved across their faces.

“What? What happened?”

“Y/n..”

“No Emily, I drove from DC to here, I deserve to know what happened. without some weird sugarcoating, alright?”

Emily then begins to explain to you the past four years of Reid’s life. Cat pretending she was pregnant with his kid in prison, kidnapping his mother, framing him for murder in Mexico, going to prison—

“Spencer went to prison and none of you thought to call me….”

“We didn’t think you’d–”

“I’m a fucking criminal defense attorney in DC Emily. Of course I’d want to know if he was arrested, especially internationally. I know that law better than all of you. If someone I knew was kidnapped, I’d call you immediately. Faster than the cops.”

Both of them went silent.

“So is he out?”

They nodded slowly, silently.

“How long was he in there.”

Nothing.

“I asked. How. Long.”

Luke spoke up. “Three months.”

“Jesus christ.” You stood up and started to pace around the room, taking the time you needed to calm down.

Why didn’t Spencer call you—well you knew why Spencer wouldn’t call you.

“Okay so he’s out.” You said finally. “Why am I here?”

“Cat’s execution is coming up, and we….we found out that she’s convinced someone to kidnap some….people…close to Reid, and we knew you’d be on that list for him.”

Your eyebrows went up at people but said nothing of it. Just as you went to say something else, JJ knocked on the door, another blonde woman behind her.

They entered and JJ gave you a small, yet genuine smile.

You returned it, but quickly shifted your gaze onto the woman behind.

Your whole body shifted slightly, into a place of defense, locking your emotions down. You knew all the profilers were watching it happen in real time, which is why Emily walked over and stood next to you, a hand appearing on the small of your back as a comfort.

“Would someone like to tell me what is going on here?” The blonde woman spoke up, arms crossed.

At least Spencer’s taste in partners with attitude hadn’t changed.

______________________________________________________________

“Victimology is off.”

“How so?” Prentiss looked up at him as he walked into the room.

“Father and daughter. She’s never done that before.”

Lewis spoke up. “She usually kills men that remind her of her father. Children–even adult children, are off limits. Do we have an ID yet.”

Prentiss, Rossi, Garcia, and JJ all looked over at Reid, and he just pulled a hand down his face. “It’s. It’s Issac and Noelle Y/l/n.”

“Y/l/n…as is Y/n Y/l/n.” Tara looked up surprised at Spencer.

Reid nodded slowly, just staring at the picture on the projector.

While Luke spoke up. “Who is Y/n Y/l/n.”

“An old friend.” Rossi quickly interjected, before any more explanation had to be said. It was clear both Alvez and Simmons, that whoever this was, was an extremely touchy subject for Reid.

Tara, who had only known you for a little while, looked back at the picture.

Rossie spoke up. “What do we know about the partner who’s helping her?”

“It’s got to be someone from her prison.” Simmons spoke up. “She hasn’t had contact with anyone else.”

______________________________________________________________

After all of that, you found yourself back in a place you left four years ago. It looked almost the same as when you had first moved in, but there was less of it.

Almost as if he was having trouble covering places where things used to be.

There were almost no photos on the walls, since you had taken half of them, and were in the rest.

Calling someone you once loved a stranger feels wrong.

Max, as you had learned her name, was just sitting on the couch in your spot . She was looking around as you and Rossi stood by the kitchen counter.

“Cat had a cellmate named Juliette Weaver. We believe the two were working together, as a way for Cat to get something against Spencer, and as payment, Cat would get Juliette’s ex.”

You nodded. “How does this affect me?”

“She took your father and sister.”

Your back straightened and immediately brought out your phone, to call your sister, but Rossi just grabbed your wrist (gently) and shook his head. “If she finds out you know, then it’s all over. She’s doing this on purpose. She knows about you and Reid, but she knows that dragging you into all of this will hurt him more than anything else.”

His voice had gone low and quiet, so that the girl on the couch couldn’t hear.

“So why is she here?” You whispered back.

“Because we don’t want anyone in danger.”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “I need a cup of tea.”

Rossi let go of your wrist, and you walked into the kitchen, mostly eyes closed from the stress of the situation.

The apartment was silent, the others watching as you grabbed a kettle, and started to make tea. It was like second nature to you as you turned the stovetop on, grabbed a mug from the cabinet (careful to not grab one of his favorites), and grabbed some tea from the cabinet.

It didn’t dawn on you that you were drinking your favorite type of tea until the second sip, while the entire apartment was still silent.

The pity from Rossi's look was palpable.

“Don’t even start.”

He shrugged and stayed silent.

Until his walkie went off and he looked at Max. “It’s time. Let’s go.”

Rossi looked back at you and gave you a quick hug, squeezing you tightly. “You’ve got this kid. Remember everything we talked about.”

You nodded and gave them both a strained smile as they left the apartment, leaving you all alone in this place you once called home, alone.

Never once, since you left, did you think you would ever be back here. You didn’t even realize you were drinking from one of your own mugs until it was just you. The irony of it was not lost on you, and you sat down in your spot on the couch.

Well first you sat in Spencer’s seat but it felt too weird, so you shifted back into your spot on the couch.

______________________________________________________________

“Juliette staked out in Reid’s life. Found out he was dating someone, but then must have discovered his ex-fiancée.” Simmons sighed. “He was probably so focused on Max, he didn’t even realize that someone was digging into his history, following them around.”

Prentiss nodded as they walked and talked. “But if Juliette was able to find Max, that meant she was easily able to find Y/n and her family. It means she must have access to all of her publicly available information. “

“Well at least we found their hidden agenda.”

“No. We found Cat’s hidden agenda. Juliette doesn’t care about Reid. There’s something we’re missing here. Do a deep dive with Garcia.”

Simmons nodded at Prentis. “On it.”

“I’ll go to Reid's apartment and monitor onsite. Is there a trap and trace on his landline?”

“Garcia’s almost set up.” Simmons walked away from Prentiss, and down towards Penelope’s office.

“Well this went from bad to worse.” Tara walked up to Emily.

Emily sighed in agreement.

Lewis spoke up. “Female narcissists destroy their competition.Y/n really shouldn’t be in there.”

Emily just nodded and the two of them headed out of the bullpen. “Walk with me.”

Tara kept stride with her as they pushed through the doors. Rossi was just getting off the phone with someone and turned to look at the two women approaching him and JJ.

JJ spoke up when Rossi was finished. “So, the hospital just released the dad– Issac Y/l/n. He's on his way here now.

Rossi scoffed. “Question is, why let him go at all?”

“Matt's on that.” Emily gestures in the direction of Garcia’s office. “Juliette Weaver's real agenda should tell us where she's taking Y/n’s younger sister.”

Lewis spoke next. “I still think the play here is to get Cat and Juliette to contact each other, but I have no idea how.”

Prentiss crossed her arms. “I have a plan, but first we have to talk about Y/n.”

______________________________________________________________

Just then, you heard the click of the door, and stood up, watching as the door swung open.

And there he was.

This was the first time you had seen Spencer in four years.

And here he was, kissing Catherine Adams.

The woman you could give partial credit to for ending your relationship.

After a moment Spencer looked up, and took several steps away from Cat. His eyes were wide and locked on yours.

It took a lot of self-restraint to not punch the lights out of Cat, and to stand still arms crossed.

“Y/n?” Spencer’s voice broke a little bit.

You never would say that Spencer was unattractive. In fact, it would be a lie if you ever said it. But something about the past four years aged him like a fine wine.

His hair was a bit longer, he had some scruff—his baby face had melted away and standing in front of you was a man who thought you knew everything about, but was now a stranger.

You didn’t answer him, watching as he took you in, standing in his apartment, for the first time since…

“What are you doing here?”

You looked over at Cat, who had the most devious smirk on her face.

Remember what Prentiss had said to you.

“You know why I’m here.”

Cat nodded and the two of them moved into the apartment, the door closing behind them.

Spencer just stood ten feet away from you, eyes never leaving you, and you watched him right back.

Cat, on the other hand, was walking around, examining the apartment. You could see her take notice of the tea you had made yourself on the counter. You could see the hatred from the corner of your eyes. The two of you were starting to piss her off.

She spoke up, after a few moments of silence. “Did it make you mad that I was kissing your Fiancé?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Your focus had fully turned to Cat, but you swore you swore you could hear Spencer take a sharp inhale as you spoke your next words.

“Well, he's not my fiancé and I kind of have some other things on my mind.”

Cat didn’t scare you, but there was just something so off-putting about her. “Like what?”

“Are you gonna hurt Noelle?”

Cat shrugged. “Not if I don't have to, no. Honestly, if she follows instructions, she might even learn from this whole experience.”

You scoffed. “What does that mean?”

Cat just started fiddling with the chess set on the dresser.

“Spencer, what does she mean?” You turned to look back at him, his name feeling so good on your tongue.

Spencer, who really hadn’t stopped looking at you and sighed. “I think…She means that Noelle isn’t learning from her, but from Juliette.”

You sat down in your spot on the couch, arms crossed. You were on the full defense.

Spencer noticed where you sat and had to look down to conceal any notions of a smile on his face.

Cat watched him before turning and looking at you, some more disdain on her face than before.

“Normally, Spencie and I, we spend our time together playing games, but tonight, I've brought you all here to make a point. You are doing so much better.”

Spencer spoke up. “With you?”

“I'm not talking to you.” Cat snapped at him before she turned to you. “I'm talking to you. Because, girlfriend, you need to know the truth about your fiancé.”

“He's not my finacé.” You were unsure about how many more times you could say that outloud.

“No kidding. When’s the last time you spoke? Right…” Cat walked over to the center of the room, right in front of the couch. “Here?”

Your head whipped around to Spencer. “You told her about that?”

Spencer was pleading with his eyes. “I had to say a lot of things tonight.”

Cat’s voice caused your head to snap back to her. “Yes, he has. He said that you never compared to me, that, um... That no matter what, he will never get me out of his mind, unlike you. Unlike that girlfriend.”

You tried not to wince at the mention of that girl Maxine out in one of the trucks.

Spencer sat down next to you. “Everything I said—I was lying to save your family.”

Cat scoffed. “Did our kiss look like a lie?”

“No.” you just looked down at your hands.

“Thank you. See, now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” Cat started mocking Spencer. “You see, everyone thinks that Dr. Spencer Reid is... Is just this nice, bookish, uh, genius who, uh, always saves the day and has all the answers. And has zero mommy issues, right? But, um... I know the real him.”

“Oh, yeah? Who's the real me, Cat?”

“The real Spencer Reid throws women against walls. And hisses that he's going to kill them.”

Spencer stood up, squaring off against her. “That was a very different situation.”

“No, it wasn't.” Cat was holding the smirk back this time, making your gut wretch.

“Spencer…What is she talking about?” You looked from the psychopath in front of you, to the man you realized you might have never really known beside you.

“You tell her. She's not gonna believe it coming from me.” She huffed.

Reid turned and looked at you. “Two years ago, Cat had her partner kidnap my mother. Just like tonight. She got under my skin and…”

Your chest hurts. “And you threw her against a wall?”

Cat’s smirk was breaking through whatever resolve she had. “Don't skimp on the details, Spencie. She deserves to know everything.”

Every single time she said Spencie you swore a shock went up your spine.

Spencer looked down at his hands, and then over at you. His voice had gotten quieter. “She was pregnant at the time and I knew that when I hurt her.”

“And?” She stood there expectantly, waiting for Spencer to finish. When he didn’t, her face suddenly became solemn. “The next day... I miscarried. The end.”

Spencer looked at her. “That's not true.”

“It is most certainly true. Check my medical records.”

“That doesn't mean I-I would…”

Cat held up her hand to him. “Stop. Look.”

Spencer looked over at you, just sitting on the couch, trying to process everything that was going through your head.

After thinking about everything you had gone through, especially with Spencer. “I thought you were better than that Spence.”

It was the first time you had used a nickname for him in years. And he was hearing it for the first time while you were stuck in a standoff between himself and Cat Adams, your sister being god knows where.

Spencer’s voice cracked. “I'm sorry.”

Cat squatted down in front of you, a sick smile on her lips. She was enjoying this. She truly enjoyed watching his life crumble to bits. “Notice how your Spencie is apologizing to you and not me.”

You clenched your hands. “He’s not mine…”

Spencer just looked over at you.

Cat nodded. “That's good. Because men are all the same. Aren't they, Jolie?”

Spencer’s eyes lit up with an emotion you rarely saw from him when you were together. “Don't call her that.”

And you couldn’t blame him. The word ran you through like a spear and you were sure if you looked behind you, the blade would be through the couch. You tried so hard to not let either of the two people near you see how much it messed with you. Luckily for you, Cat was too busy pushing Spencer’s buttons to see the way her words won against you.

Cat hissed at him. “What, are you gonna throw me against a wall and choke me, or do you only do that to pregnant women?”

You finally spoke up. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you to see it.” She gestured to Spencer. “I want you to see that he is...no better than he was before, or any man after. They’re all the same.”

“Stop.”

Cat squatted down in front of you. “I can see it on your face. What's his name?”

You stared back at her. “It's none of your business.”

That damned smirk of hers returned. “It is exactly my business. In fact, it's my specialty. I mean, I could have Juliette and baby sister go over there if you want. They could take care of him.”

Reid looked over at you. “Say yes. Give her what she wants.”

“Hmm. See, he wants you to get me to make a little phone call so they can trace it.” She moved away from you both and sat down in the lounging chair across from you. “They're so good, the FBI.”

You jumped up and started pacing, a spitting image of four years ago. “What is wrong with the two of you? What is this sick, twisted thing that you have? Listen, I just want to save my sister. Will you please just tell me what I have to do to do that?”

“Tell me his name. Tell me the story. That's it. And then if they can let Juliette exit stage right, then I promise you I will let her go.”

You looked between Cat and Spencer before walking over to the kitchen, and hanging up the phone. After staring down at the decision you had just made, you walked back over and took your phone out. “Here. Use this. Use my phone. They can't trace it.”

She just watched you. “You'd be surprised.”

“I don't even need a call. Just... just a photo.” You held the phone out to her. “Something to prove to me that she's still alive. Please”.

Cat just looked up at your face. “Story first.”

“Y/n. Please.” Spencer turned to you, hoping you’d look back at him. “I have been here with her before. She called the number and told the partner to kill my mom.”

“It is so tricky, isn't it? I mean, who are you gonna trust? The lying, cheating, violent psychopath... Or me?”

You looked down at the ground, refusing to look over at Spencer. “His…His name was Mike Davis. We dated for two years. I met him a month after we…we split.”

Cat’s attention on you felt as if there were a million bees stinging your body all at different intervals, pain coursing through your body. “Good. When did it end?”

“Last year.”

“Was he good in bed?”

Spencer stood up. “Shut up.”

Cat was enjoying this. She was enjoying watching you make Spencer uncomfortable. She was enjoying hurting him in every masochistic way she could. “What? You have to know where you stand.”

“He was good…” You looked back at Cat. “Good at, um, separating me from my friends and my family. Enough that the first time he punched me in the face, I didn't have anywhere to go. And my first response wasn't "get out." It wasn't "go to hell." It was "I'm sorry, Mike." That's when he knew he had me.”

There was a glint in Spencer’s eyes, and you could swear they were tears, but you couldn’t tell from rage or sorrow.

Cat continued to probe. “How many hospital visits were there?”

You showed her a small scar on the inside of your elbow. “None. No, he... He knew how to hurt me just enough to hide it all, I guess.”

“But you found the strength to leave. What did you do?”

“ I planned and I... I waited.”

Cat’s eyes lit up. “Waited for what? “

“I live here in D.C.” You looked between Spencer and Cat. “but I'm also a resident in Virginia. It takes 60 days for the permit to clear.”

Spencer’s eyes widened. “Y/n, stop talking. Stop talking right now.”

Cat shushed him. “No, don't stop. Here. Give me the phone. Look, I'm gonna enter the text. Stick the landing and I'll hit "send."

You handed her the phone and she quickly typed out a message, her thumb hovering over send.

Fiddling with your ring finger, you started to speak again. Slowly. Concisely. “When I was ready, I picked a fight. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear. And he came at me with his fist just cocked back, so I pulled my Glock 19 out of my purse. I shot him.”

Spencer tried to interject. “It was self-defense. He was attacking you—”

“That's what I told 911 as he was struggling to breathe on his kitchen floor. That's why the police never charged me. I’m a lawyer, I know how to plead.” You closed your eyes. “But I... after I hung up, I... I shot him two more times.”

Cat was glowing, spinning around to face Spencer. “Wow, you really have a type, don't you? Quite a dilemma, too. She just admitted to murder.”

Spencer was in disbelief. “She'll beat it.” .

“Probably. But whatever feelings she might have still had for you, and whatever Maxine might have seen in you—-it’s all gone.”

The phone in your hand buzzed.

“Oh, wow. Look at that. Your sister. Alive and well. You're welcome.”

Your face hardened up, and you stood up straighter. Walking away from the two of them, you opened the door. “I got it.”

She took the phone from your hand and you turned back to the two of them. There was no emotion behind your eyes as you looked back at Spencer.

Cat smirked and looked up at Spencer. “I win.”

______________________________________________________________

The prison transport was quiet, with the two guards sitting across from Spencer and Cat. It had been silent for about twenty minutes, but then, Cat spoke up.

“Do you know why I did this? Why I really did this?”

Spencer looked down at his hands. “You wanted to prove I'm a monster just like you.”

“No... Silly. I just wanted to see you again. I just wanted to make sure that you would never forget about me.” She sighed. “'Cause when they do put that needle in my arm, I just want there to be even the slightest chance that... Maybe you're still thinking about me…”

Spencer stiffened as she placed her head on his shoulder. “You didn't have to terrorize 3 innocent people. You could've just written a letter.”

“Would you have written me back?”

When Spencer didn’t respond, Cat knew her answer.

“Bye, Spencie. I really enjoyed our date.” She smiled at him desperately, getting dragged out of the vehicle by the guards to the prison.

______________________________________________________________

The elevator door opened and Spencer walked out of it, his whole body reeked of defeat, and he barely looked at Emily as she spoke. “We need to debrief.”

Spencer just walked right past her, and into the bullpen. His expression changed when he saw you on one side talking to Tara, and Max on the other, looking up at him right as he walked in.

“Spencer, are you okay?”

Her voice caught your ear, and immediately you looked up to see her walk over and embrace him in a hug.

He smiled at her, and grateful returned the hug before muttering that he would be back, and explain everything.

You were never going to get back together with Spencer, but watching it in real time was like unlacing an old wound.

Spencer walked over to you, and you stood up as he approached.

“Uh, Tara, would you mind giving us…”

She nodded at him and walked away.

Both of you went to speak, trying to say something to the other.

“I should explain all of this.”

Spencer shook his head. “You don’t have to explain any of that Y/n—it doesn’t.”

You cut him off. “It was fake—most of it. I didn’t kill anyone, Spence. I was just lying to her to get her to send the text from my phone. It was all…It was made up.”

He just nodded, staring at you really.

You gave him a soft smile, and gently placed a hand on his shoulder. Both of you could feel the pulse between it, making you remove your hand and take a small step back.

“Thank you for saving my sister and father.”

Spencer watched your resolve fully formed, masking whatever you were feeling. He hated watching it happen to him, watching as you placed whatever feelings you had back into somewhere he couldn’t find.

Garcia walked over and placed a hand on Spencer’s shoulder. “I just need you both to know, Cat Adams had a miscarriage, but it was months after whatever encounter you had. It’s not your fault. We looked at her records.” She was speaking low for you both, yet both of you let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“They filled me in on everything that happened between both of you in the past couple years, and they asked me if I would be willing to…help them beat her.”

Spencer looked up at you, and unlike yourself, every single emotion Spencer was feeling was racing across his face.

He didn’t like that you knew about everything that had gone down. He was so happy you were okay. He was a little impressed by the way you beat Cat at her own game. He was upset that you put yourself in danger.

“They gave me an ear piece and everything.”

Spencer shook his head. “You’re not trained—that’s extremely dangerous of you.”

You sighed and nodded. “Unfortunately Spencer, this is…this was the life I was used to when we were together. I knew the stakes. I mean the briefings I had with Hotch after you relapsed…”

Spencer just clammed up and stood a bit straighter. “ I never knew..”

“It was like that on purpose. I didn’t want you to think that you were a burden or too much or—I was doing it for the potential of…” You cut yourself of, flinching at the parallels between this and your previous final conversation.

You looked over at Garcia. “I need my bag Pen.” You whispered, taking a step away from Spencer. “I shouldn’t…I finished my job. My family is safe…”

She had a rueful look on her face, but she nodded and took your arm, walking you back over to the desk where your stuff was.

He looked up at Emily and walked over to her. “I’m…uh. I’m gonna go walk her out and then I’ll be right back.”

Emily gave him the saddest smile, and just nodded. She knew that nothing she could say could make it any better.

You grabbed your coat, and your bag, and the two of you walked to the elevator in silence, riding it all the way down to the parking garage, where your car was still there from this afternoon, all of those hours ago.

You looked over at Spencer, tears in your eyes, having not said anything to him.

As soon as he met your eyes, you dropped your bag, and Spencer wrapped his arms around you tightly, just holding you and resting his head on yours; trying to give you the comfort that he was rarely able to give you.

Sobbing into his arms, you just tightly wrapped your arms around his torso and just held onto him tightly. Trying to decompress, trying to truly understand everything that had happened in the past twelve hours.

It was Spencer who spoke first.

“I’m so so sorry Y/n.” He whispered. “I never meant any of this to happen to you, and for you to get dragged back here and—”

You shook your head slightly, but didn’t move from where you were. Neither of you did.

“It’s what she wanted, Spence, and unfortunately for us, this was always bound to happen.” You whispered.

The hug felt so good, but something about it was just so different.

It’s not the way it used to be.

“I need to go Spencer.”

He nodded, and this time you moved away from him. His hand came up and wiped away one of the remaining tears on your cheek.

You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

“Oh fuck, why is this so fucking hard four years later.” You laughed, trying to regain any sort of composure.

“Y/n…”

You took another step away from him and shook your head.

“We can’t—I’m not.” You tried so hard to find the right words without bursting into tears again. “Spencer. I cannot put myself back to where I was four years ago. I can’t do it. And yes things have changed, but maybe that is for the better. Maybe you were always meant to be my maybe, and not my always.”

You took another breath, but kept going. “You are amazing, and funny, and so smart Spence. But this…we ran our course. It didn’t work then, and I don’t know if I have it in me to try again just for it to fail.”

“Y/n please.”

“I will always love you but this…It’s time to…It’s time to stop. I have to go back to my life, and you go back upstairs to yours, with Prentiss and Rossi and Penelope and…Max.”

Both of you winced as you said her name, but you took a step forward, moving to kiss him on the cheek.

Spencer gently grabbed you face, giving you enough time to back out.

You didn’t.

His lips locked with yours, his thumb rubbing against your cheek as the two of you shared one more moment, just for the two of you.

But it had to end.

You couldn’t go back to the anxiety, the arguing, the petty disagreements. It wasn’t good for you. It was good for either of you.

Stepping away again, you gently kissed his cheek, and started to slowly walk to your car.

Right as you got to your car, you turned around and made eye contact with him one last time before the elevator doors closed, both of you with the most gut wrenching smile slightly plastered across your faces.

You mouthed goodbye, unable to speak it out loud, and he nodded, tears filling his eyes as he whispered it back to you.

The doors shut.

You were all alone in this hollow parking garage.

Your heart was aching, burning.

But there was a sigh of relief, that came with the doors closing, and saying goodbye for the last, last time.

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luveline · 5 months ago

Note

begging on my hands and knees (if you haven’t already) for you to write something about Aaron during the birth of your child 🥲🥲 and jack’s reaction to meeting his new sibling

You suffer through labour, Aaron dotes, and Jack meets his baby sister. fem, 2k

cw for labour/delivery, no graphic imagery

For some people, giving birth is a fast affair. Dilation occurs quickly, and after twenty or so pushes, a baby is born. Some people can go into labour and be finished within the hour.

You, unfortunately, have not had that kind of luck. And that’s okay —it’s also entirely normal for this process to be difficult. Doesn’t make it hurt any less to watch, but Aaron has thick skin. Who cares what he’s feeling? You’re about to have a baby.

He stands at the head of the bed with his arm over your pillow, tired despite himself, a styrofoam cup of ice chips in his hand. He presses it to your cheek, and every couple of minutes he changes it to the other one. Your forehead is wet with sweat, your face puffy with sobbing tears, but you’re beautiful in your sleep. Beautiful to him.

He leans down to press a kiss to your forehead where he stays for some time. Your heart monitor beeps.

A few minutes later, your heart monitor jumps. A strike of pain to warn of an oncoming contraction.

You drag yourself from sleep to find his eyes. “Hi,” you whisper.

He doesn’t know what to say. What can sum it up? Aaron doesn’t think he’s felt this many emotions in his life; he thinks of Jack, his baby face, and he thinks of Haley squishing his pink cheeks; he thinks of your hands, how chapped your palms are, how much he hates to see you crying like this; he thinks of your little baby so close to being here, and all your months of triumph and love and good luck to get to this moment.

This is the biggest privilege of his life, in line with Jack’s birth.

He doesn’t feel like he deserves it, but he makes himself a man who could deserve you. “Hello,” he says, pressing the back of his hand to your raging forehead. “How are you feeling?”

“It has to be time soon.”

“You think so? Should I find someone?”

He speaks in solid but hushed tones, as though a raised voice might hurt you more. You find his chest to press your hand to space above his heart, where you give him a little rub back and forth. “No,” you say, tears welling in your eyes as the monitor spikes, “not yet.”

He helps you into a sitting position which quickly becomes a bent over and keening position. Aaron obviously doesn’t know how childbirth feels, but he has experienced his own scar tissue ripping apart inside his abdomen as his organs flooded with his own blood. By the looks of it, you’re hurting worse than that. You don’t even speak. Your moans turn to panicked shouting before you get so scared your voice disappears.

He doesn’t like it at all. He waits a good long minute with you for the pain to pass, his hand in yours as you squeeze it to mulch, his nose pressed remorsefully to your cheek. It fades like all the others.

“I know,” he says as you start to cry in earnest, “it’s over. It’s over.”

“It’s not over,” you snip, sniffing.

He leans over your lap to press the button that asks for help. “You’re doing amazing.”

It’s a hard night. At nearing one in the morning, they measure your dilation and agree it’s time to push. You tolerate it well, but it still takes two and a half hours of agony and tears. Aaron doesn’t cry, but he does feel an acute ache for you, and an excitement you probably can’t feel yourself. Every push is one step closer to the baby.

Just after three hours, when the midwives are whispering to one another in concern and Aaron is sure he’ll never feel his left hand again, you have a baby.

She’s snipped, cleaned up, and laid gently on your chest within seconds. You’ll never know how whole and brimming Aaron’s heart feels in that moment, to see you crying against the little forehead of your baby, to watch your arms cradle her body tenderly.

He’s sure everyone in the room will forgive him for crying too. Just a couple of tears, smiling as you look down at her in pure joy. No shock, no sign of all that pain.

“Oh, fuck, Aaron,” you say suddenly, to the delight of everyone in the room, “she’s got your frown.”

She’s screaming, as babies tend to do. Aaron presses himself as close as he can to confirm the wrinkle between her brows.

“I’m sorry,” he says, kissing your cheek.

You breathe out deeply. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

Sorry for the pain and gunk. You forgive him for everything.

You’re feeling nearly yourself again when morning comes, Aaron can tell. Showered, changed, swaddled with post-labour padding and with half a sandwich in your stomach, he can nearly forget the sound of your panicked crying. You’re hoarse as though you’ve been out for the night with friends, whispering clumsy love notes to your daughter where she naps in your lap.

“So pretty,” you say, running an awed fingertip over her nose, “so beautiful, baby. You’re so beautiful. Look at your liccle nose.” You dip into sugar. “Aw, look at your nose.”

“That’s your nose,” he says.

“I think so.”

She’s a baby so it’s hard to say for sure, but Aaron hopes she has your lovely nose and that she looks exactly like you, if she only keeps his wrinkled brow.

You lean back. The bed has been wiped down and changed, your pillow from home propped behind your shoulders. Jack’s good luck talisman sits on the night table, waiting for him to visit. Aaron has been away for weeks, sometimes months at a time, and still he misses him after not seeing him these last eighteen hours.

“He’s on his way, right?” you ask, noticing Aaron’s quiet.

Aaron picks up Mr. Bear where he sits on the nightstand and massages the teddy’s arms and stomach. “Can’t you hear him?”

“My sister!” Jack is saying, words too fast to pick up each one, “Jess, we have to be faster!”

“I’m going as fast as I can, sweetheart!”

Aaron meets him at the door. Jack sees his father, probably just the shape of him, and starts to run down the hallway. He slams into Aaron’s legs, who pulls him up against his chest for a two-armed hug that he couldn’t need more.

“Jackers,” he says in relief.

“Dad, put me down!” He must see you over Aaron’s shoulder. “Y/N! You’re okay!”

“I’m more than okay, handsome! Were you worried about me?”

“Is that my baby?” he says, rubbing his eyes with both hands.

You, Aaron and Jess all laugh. “Your baby sister. Are you gonna come and say hello? She’s been waiting for hours for you to wake up,” you say.

“I was waiting for her for hours first,” Jack says, climbing over Aaron’s shoulder, and then slipping back down as his father walks him into the hospital room to stop by your bed.

Jess stays by the door.

Aaron puts Jack on the bed beside you where there’s not much room for him, hands clasped around his arms just in case he does something sudden. “Oh,” Jack says, breathing out slowly. “Wow, dad.”

“Wow,” Aaron echoes.

“Can I touch her?”

Assured he’ll be careful, Aaron lets Jack loose, and the boy waits for your signal before he pokes at the baby’s fisted hand.

“She’s really little, huh?” you ask quietly.

“Was I this little?”

“You were smaller,” Aaron whispers.

“She’s a real baby, dad.”

“She’s super real. Does she look like you pictured?” Aaron asks.

“No, I thought she’d look more like me.”

This is really funny to you. Careful, you hold the baby to your chest and free an arm to cup Jack’s shoulder. “Buddy, I missed you. Aunt Jess says you stayed up past your bedtime, how are you feeling?”

He smiles and goes shy at the same time. “I’m okay. I missed you, too.”

“That’s good, I’m feeling good too.” You sniffle.

“Are you sure?” Jack asks.

“This is the best day ever. My little girl meeting her big brother.” You take a steadying breath, and you turn the baby toward Jack gently. “Do you wanna hold her?”

Jack sits against your pillows and waits with pale terror on his face for you to pass him the baby. He bends over her as soon as she’s been placed, worried she’ll tip out of his lap, and you stroke the short brown strands of his hair, crops of it moving shiny under your touch.

Aaron takes his phone from his pocket. In his rush, he struggles to find the capture button, recording a video instead that will take up most of the memory on his old phone and that he will refuse to part with.

“Did she look like this in your belly?” Jack asks you, frowning.

“Not the whole time. Why, does that bother you?”

“Was she squished?”

“No, she wasn’t squished. ‘Member how big my belly was?” You laugh warmly. “How big it still is.”

“Will it ever be small again?”

“Maybe somebody. I don’t mind.” You stroke his hair again. Baby makes a wet noise. “What do you think, lovely?”

“About your belly?”

“About the baby.”

“I wish I was her.”

You stroke behind his ear. “How come?”

“I’m so tired, I wish I was sleeping too. But she is really small.”

Aaron catches your relieved smile before he puts down the phone. “Do you want a nap, buddy? We can take a nap.”

“I can take him home?” Jess suggests quietly.

Aaron thanks her for everything. When you’re feeling better, he’s sure you’ll want to introduce Jess to the baby as well, but Jess doesn’t want to impose, and Aaron lets her go without fuss. Perhaps it’s a little hard on her to see. He doesn’t know.

But Jess is a good woman, and he knows she’ll want to meet your baby whenever you’re ready. For now, it’s just you, Aaron, Jack, and the baby Hotchner.

Aaron sits in the plastic wrapped chair by the bed and leans back to accommodate sleepy Jack, who falls asleep with little more than a back rub and his family’s proximity. You look like you could sleep, too, but you won’t put the baby in the bassinet. You hold her and watch her for a soothing stretch of time, Aaron watching you both.

“He’ll be more enthusiastic after he’s slept,” Aaron promises.

You pucker and press teeny kisses to the baby’s ear. “He was perfect,” you murmur. “He was so gentle. We’re so lucky.”

Aaron reaches over to hold your hand. You indulge him with an open palm, the two of you shushing in tandem as your children rouse, both of them perfect, and both parents very lucky.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble #criminal minds

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etherealyoungk · 4 months ago

Text

college bf!mingyu scenarios

requested: by anon

pairing: mingyu x reader

wordcount: 893

a/n: i found this long lost in my drafts and thought i might as well post it.

college bf!mingyu who would be the heartthrob of the campus, but in reality, he only had eyes for you. you first met him when you accidentally bumped into him when you were in a rush trying to get to class. and in the process, all your papers went flying. mingyu was sweet and helped you gather your stuff, except you picked up the wrong notebook - his instead and you ran off, not bothering to check until you were sat in class and opened to book only to realise that it wasn't yours. naturally, you looked for him and gave him back his book, but after that day, you found yourself running into him more often.

college bf!mingyu who would pack you an extra lunch for himself so you could some of his too. he knows you love his cooking and you always end up stealing a bite of his food even though you tell him you're not hungry, but he knows better. he'll also pack extra snacks and they're all your favorite ones too.

college bf!mingyu who would follow you around like a puppy in between or after classes, hanging out with you in the library because you told him you needed to study or work on assignments. he'd sit with you too, saying he'll study with you too, but that's just an excuse to be next to you. he's watching you as you're busy solving questions, his arm propped up on the table, his head resting in his palm as he watches you, a smile on his face because how did he get so lucky. he'd be so whipped for you truly.

college bf!mingyu who is just so whipped and in love with you. everyone can tell by the way he looks at you that he adores you with his whole heart and would fight anyone if they posed any harm to you.

college bf!mingyu who would be absolutely appalled when you decide to go to class when you've fallen sick badly. he scolds you lightly when he spots you in the hallway and is quick to scoop you away and drop you back to your apartment. he'll make you a hearty soup so you can feel better, assuring you that the world wasn't going to end if you skipped one class. he says he'll help you on the assignment and gather the notes for you and he does, in a rather impressive manner.

college bf!mingyu who's always planning dates after class. he'll always have a cafe or new restaurant he wants to go to with you. and he's always so excited too, so how can you say no to him when he asks you so sweetly with the most pretty smile in the entire world.

college bf!mingyu who always sits next to you in the classes you have together. he'll always write little love notes in your notebook or draw silly little doodles, which make you smile whenever you open your notebook.

college bf!mingyu who's always and i mean always taking the chance to flirty with you. he'll drop the silliest pickup lines, flirting with you left right and centre and loves seeing you get all shy as you smack his arm in an attempt to get him to stop. "he practices all these atrocious lines on us", seungkwan says in disgust while mingyu just beams at you with his gorgeous smile.

college bf!mingyu who loves sharing his airpods with you during lunch break or whenever you both just want to have a little quiet time but still be with each other. he loves showing you new music he found and you do to.

college bf!mingyu who will always ask for kisses in between classes because,"they recharge me babe please", he says every time, while you just stare at him, crossing your arms. he pouts his lips in response and shows you his cheek as he waits for you to kiss him, getting all happy when you do, not letting you off with just one kiss.

college bf!mingyu who would be your study buddy and tutor you on some subjects if you were having a hard time, especially during exam season. he's also packing you wholesome lunchboxes and will always remind you to take breaks and not overwork yourself. he hates it when you stay up late or pull all-nighters to study and hates seeing you in so much stress. he's pulling you away from your books and getting you to bed, holding you in his arms as you fall asleep in minutes, your body and mind tired and he kisses your forehead, whispering how much he loves you, wishing he could take away all your stress.

college bf!mingyu who would be the one to listen to all your talks about being uncertain about the future and being scared because what if you failed? he'll listen to you keenly as you lay in his arms, protected from the world. he'll tell you how great you were doing and how proud he was of you. he'll tell you that even if you failed, he was going to be here to pick you back up and that he was always going to be there for you.

taglist: @paindivinemp3 @naaaaafla @weird-bookworm @blue-jisungs @icyminghao

@wootify @idubiluv @joshuaahong @fallingforshua29 @n4mj00nvq

@itsveronicaxxx @ihrtboo @frankenstein852 @lvlystars @mirxzii @aaniag

#skye's writing!#caratlibrary #k-labels #seventeen imagines #seventeen fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #seventeen drabbles #mingyu imagines #mingyu scenarios #mingyu fluff #mingyu x reader #svt imagines #svt x reader #svt fluff #svt fanfic #svt drabbles #kim mingyu

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hoseoksluna · 6 months ago

Text

ICHOR | jjk

pairing: idol!boyfriend!jungkook x f. reader

genre: fluff

word count: 2.4k

summary: after a bad day at work, you lose a sense of yourself and jungkook leads you right back to her.

warnings: crying, capitalism, death metaphors, sadness, jungkook is sweaty and is wearing that nike shirt he wore in his working out live, has fluffy hair!

note: hiii, bubbas, so this is fluff fic is partly for @frmisnow bc she inspired me to write this & i also want to make her feel better with this sacchariny-sweet jungkook, partly for me bc i genuinely wrote in detail about what i went through at work these past two days. and, also, for all you guys because i made you go through reading about such evil jungkook in my last berries fic. i hope you enjoy it, let me know what you think. here's to a bit of happiness in our lives *cheers with an imaginary glass of imaginary pink, glittery, strong, fairy alcohol*. <3

You used to be a goddess, the ichor in your veins carried the color of roses, glinted with flecks of gold that would radiate your skin from beneath, make any heads turn, especially the one you loved the most. Customers at work smiled upon seeing your cordial aura, close-knit even though they were mere strangers, preferred to go to you amidst the flock of your other colleagues around. They would become radiated just the same, joy so terribly evident on their faces as their smile would grow. They would frown upon seeing the state of you at this current moment—curled up on your bed while the heat of the beginning of the summer clings to your near bareness, coming through your wide opened windows, the white, translucent curtains billowing up and down in their strange, but magnolious dance.

You’re not Aphrodite. You’re not Euphrosyne, the goddess of joy and mirth, either.

You’re the slain fawn at their feet—for their very own feast and for the feast of those aforementioned customers, who stand behind the dryly bloodied cause of your death.

Work was hell, to say the least.

You always thought death was a kind embrace, not a tight clasp of doom around the nape of your neck, your mental strain and disquietude the half moon marks that ever so slowly deepen. You mimic the movement on the hem of the linen shirt you wore for the day, one that you were too drowsy to take off when you arrived at home, having only a slight wisp of an energy to rid yourself of the uncomfortable tightness of your jeans and crawl onto your bed, knees to chest, on your side. You bunch up the fabric in your fist, wrinkling it, but you hardly vanquish the cuts that your anxiety slashes on your skin. You thought it would alleviate you of your tenseness, but as it seems—it only worsened it.

You don’t even have tears to shed. Wept them all out in your manager’s office while she harshly, yet calmly reprimanded you for your mistake and the gravity of the fact that you almost lost your precious job, that you can’t imagine living without, washed over you and pained you like a splash of salty water in your eyes. Wept them all out when you breathed in the crooked, paralyzed expression of disappointment in her face—and that’s the sole thing that emptied out your system of that ichor, wiped out your reputation of being a good, reliable employee that everybody liked.

Now the next unfolding of your days spent at work shall be filled with silent judgements and secretive gossip, the big talk of the entire building—something that will hang by the strands of your hair for every head to turn to until something else comes along. Another topic, another fuck-up. That’s the face of modern capitalism, the absurdity of day-to-day normalcy its features, and you’re so sick, so repulsed to be staring at it every single day of your life that you yearn to not be anymore.

Death has flattened over you, but has not finished its job. It was Dante who described the process of hell in his Divine Comedy and you hate him for the rotten pulchritude of his mind because you find yourself to be standing in the middle of inferno with no guide—no Virgil, no Beatrice—to hold your hand and lead you through this scalding maze. You’re all alone, your mistake carving the branches of the trees burning down in your hell over your burdened, heavy heart that has been longing for the company of another ever since you walked out of your manager’s office.

Your face screws as another agonized emotion rises in you. You can’t stand your aloneness, can’t stand your burden—and before you realize what you’re doing, your fingers have already tapped on your boyfriend’s name in your history of calls. The screen of your phone is cool against the fever of your cheek and you rub your face harder against your duvet, staining the strawberry pattern with the particular tinge of your makeup, which must have been the color of your ichor.

You wince, the rings prolonging in your ear, your impatience running thin.

Then, your heart drops once you hear the broken whisper of your Beatrice, faintly, barely, which causes your heart to spread its longing. Damn iPhones and their bad service.

“Jungkook?” you call out, nonsense coming through the other end—and you repeat his name until his voice smooths out, relief sinking in like a stone in a pond.

It turns out you were exchanging each other’s names and the intimacy of it curls the smallest of smiles on your mouth. You miss him; you need him.

“When are you coming home?” you ask, wishing to descend into the emitting waves of the call, slide through them until you spring to wherever he is, no matter how tired you are—you’re willing to cross the distance.

You hear him turn on his blinker and your heart almost does it for you.

“I’m driving home right now. I’ll be there in ten,” he says and your relief expands in your chest, taking a small weight off of your heart. You place your palm against it.

“Okay.”

A beat of silence.

“Why do you sound so sad?”

Your mouth curls downwards. “Something happened at work.”

An inhale of breath. “Screw that, baby. I’ll be there in five, okay?”

A whimper. “Okay, drive safe.”

And your Beatrice didn’t lie to you. Soon, you hear the banging of the front door closing, the tossing of his keys and the prodding open of your shared bedroom door. The hastened footsteps, hefty on the floating floor, the squeak of the mattress as his knee dips on it and the glide of his hand up your thigh. All before you use the last of your strength to focus your swimming vision on him.

Hearing him alone helped you take a step further in your inferno.

And then you can smell him. The scent of sweat clinging to his favorite ivory Nike shirt, interlaced with his natural, poetic scent, creating something divine that blesses you with the strength to place your palm on top of his hand. Your coworkers hugged you earlier, clasped your hands in theirs in reassurement and more than welcome it, you absolutely despised it. Lingered in their affection only because you thought you should let yourself be consoled, for you know they care about you. But his touch… that’s not something you sense your body to want to run away from. On the contrary, it seems to be something that it’s missing.

You can’t part the stream of your new tears with your other hand.

You spill, completely.

Jungkook coos, squeezing the bare flesh of your thigh as turns you onto your back and nudges himself between them, plopping his body on top of yours. And then, he’s kissing the place your undone shirt made for him, trailing his lips up your neck, where he stays, where he conjures a garden of fluttering gardenias, their tender petals tickling you.

“What did they do to my princess?” he murmurs against your skin, his words muffled but heard clearly by your ears. You sob, your chest shuddering in violent staccatos against his, unable to settle, unable to speak. Jungkook lifts his small head and frowns, his thumb swiping your tears away while the rest of his four fingers cradle your cheek. You lean into the balmy safety of the realm of his palm, gaze fixed on the wrinkle between his brows, mouth letting out puffs of soft, gentle exhales. He kisses your chin, the corner of your mouth, the wetness of your other cheek—buries his nose into it, right beside yours, inhaling you, giving you fresh air to breathe in. “Don’t cry. I’m gonna decapitate them.”

The whisper, the hand that parted the stream. You whimper and he steals the traces of your despondency, pecking the new, smooth surface, planting roses to bloom, its roots bestowing you with the ability of speech.

Two sentences, two miles further in the inferno. Your burnt down trees are lost in the far distance, swallowed by the fire, yet the forest shows every sign of growing anew the longer Jungkook’s heart beats against your breast.

He’s so benevolently patient with you, not rushing you with your explanation. It all the more drives you to disclose it to him—and you open your mouth to speak, your fingers following suit, helping you with your words as you drag them through the soft mop of his fluffy hair.

“I made a mistake yesterday while closing up,” you croak out, licking your lips. Jungkook lifts himself onto his elbows, clutching your shoulders, keeping the close proximity intact. His warm grip is a stability you lean on, one you appreciate with every broken shard in you. “I did it five minutes earlier and somebody came in. I sent them away and they filed a complaint against me. They wrote an email to my manager and I… I almost lost my job.”

The wrinkle between his brows deepens and you thumb it, wishing it away. You don’t want to mar his beautiful face because of your foolishness; you want it to remain that soft ball of light that he always is, but then you realize you’re asking for the impossible. His mouth flattens, pity flashes across his round eyes, which helps you perceive that if he didn’t react like this, he wouldn’t love you—and his love is the air you breathe; his love is the ointment you need for your sadness.

As if he heard you, he kisses you delicately and you sail—skip the purgatory and land in paradiso, a meadow of wildflowers overlooking a cliff that opens the restfulness of the sea, scattered with windswept petals of those lost blossoms, coloring the surface with pinks, whites and the greens of their leaves.

“Did your manager yell at you?” Jungkook questions, his lips lifted a millimeter above yours, his thumbs fondling the fabric of your shirt upon your shoulders.

“No, but she was very strict with me. Told me not to cry—”

His breath wafts over your face when he looks into your eyes, displeased. “She made you cry?”

You cried because through her words you comprehended the gravity of your mistake and its repercussions, not because she deliberately used them to open the dam of your emotions. It’s precisely why she told you not to cry, giving you a hint of her perpetually nonexistent compassion. And you tell him.

“No, she didn’t. She was very professional with me and made me realize what I did after I apologized. I cried because I was so scared of losing my job, of disappointing her and shit like that.”

Jungkook purses his lips, shaking his head, curly strands rippling like the tremor of leaves. “She should’ve dropped it after you apologized. Five minutes is nothing, baby. You did nothing to deserve to be treated like that.”

Your chest heaves, his love and reassurement sifting sand into your bloodstream, the color of ichor. “I know but… you know,” you trail off, indicating the realm of respect all peers must have for the management that you don’t really want to venture into, not when Jungkook had to deal with it as well in his music company. But unlike you, he broke out of its clutches. It cost him tears, frustration and weight loss, but now he’s a free bird of paradise. You don’t wish to make him remember his cage.

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah, baby, I know, which is why I’m telling you that you didn’t deserve that.”

Your chin quivers, the negative thoughts that wore you down in his absence returning at full speed. “It affects my mental health when I’m bad at my job.”

Brows rounding upwards, his eyes flick to your chin, a glossy wetness coating them. He pecks it before he gazes into your irises. “But you’re not bad at your job. You just closed a few minutes earlier. You’re amazing at your job. You make people happy. I’ve seen it with my own eyes,” he says, meaning every word with the way he presses each one into your pupils. You feel its magnetism and you take it. “And I’m proud of you. Every day. You work so hard. Come home tired every day. Deal with people who aren’t always nice to you with kindness that I envy. I’m proud of you, you hear me? You didn’t make a mistake. You did good.”

And there it is, the stampede of your bloodstream—Jungkook has seeped the entirety of the sand until he emptied out his hand and your ichor charges forward, its light like a bud flaring open beneath your skin. And you're floating on that sea in paradiso, your braid adorned with the wet petals that swims back and forth to his arm that holds your body steady upon the surface, the names of the Greek goddesses lining every perimeter, sinking within.

You’ve become them, all over again.

“Thank you, Ggukie,” you whisper, running your hand through the front bangs of his hair, gripping them. It’s as if you’re holding the petals. “I needed to hear that.”

He pouts, touched by the love name. “I know. You need to rest now after such an emotionally exhausting day. No more tears, okay?”

You nod, feeling whole, feeling like you can face tomorrow with more courage. “Okay.”

You pout, mimicking him, asking for a kiss and he gives it to you in that same delicate manner, plunging the entirety of the summer’s heat, molded by his hands, into you, making it bearable for you.

Looks at you for a long time, after. Smiling.

“You know, I didn’t take a shower after the gym for you,” he says, quirking a smile on your face.

You’re intimately acknowledged with the reason why, yet still you ask: “Why’s that?”

He reciprocates the smile. “I thought you’d help me wash up. My muscles are sore and all. I lifted the double amount of your body weight.”

You bite your lip. You’re willing to wash every inch of him with your utmost care. You deem he deserves it for enlivening you, but you’d much rather stay here, inhaling that dizzying scent of him.

“I’ll do that, but let’s stay here for a little while.”

Jungkook nods, kissing your jaw before he finds a comfortable place on your bosom, listening to the rush of your ichor, the sun rays upon the sea of that paradiso, inching you closer and closer to God. Augments the ending of that Divine Comedy.

Doesn’t lead you to the final installment of death, but pushes you to life full of that brisk wind, the humming of the sea and the song of swaying wildflowers.

Holds your hand.

Doesn’t let go.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth.

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joejhang · 1 month ago

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fanon neil vs canon neil

god i am so FUCKING done with the aftg fandom mischaracterising neil i'm literally writing fucking ESSAYS about it and pacing circles muttering about it under my breath it's driving me up the goddamn wall so i am going to word vomit brain dump yap about all of it in an incoherent tumblr text post. spoilers ahead continue at ur own risk

i've said it before and i'll say it again I HATE FANON NEIL. istg this fandom LOVES to mischaracterise neil and ykw i think i know why. they take the smallest most unnoticeable parts of his personality and then exaggerate them to disproportionate and unrealistic levels in order for him to fit their idea of a conventional, stereotypical and desirable main character. they smooth out his jagged edges and prick at his "insecurities" to make him more likeable, more acceptable and more conventional of a narrator/main character and in doing so erase so fucking much of his personality and draw as a character that he loses just about all of the flavour that made me love him in canon. and also especially within the andreil dynamic this fucking fandom just loves to tweak neil's character until he's basically unrecognisable just so they can cram andreil into some preconceived socially acceptable clichéd ship dynamic. because andrew is perceived as the typical mysterious, moody and grumpy love interest therefore neil just has to be the sunshiney smiley blushing cute softboy in exchange. yeah because all gay ships have to be grumpy-sunshine and black cat-golden retriever dynamic. i raise you: andreil's dynamic doesn't work because of their differences it works because of their similarities. if u think about it andrew and neil are honestly very similar people in the way they think and process emotions and events and that's what allows them to connect and understand each other. andreil would not work if neil was super sunshiney and a blushy soft mess and andrew was the stoic, never smiling, unemotional stone of a guy the fandom loves to make them. just accept they do not fit into the conventional boxes laid out by booktok for what gay ships look like. i fucking digress.

neil is also just insanely mischaracterised on his own. people love making him very jittery and insanely oblivious and easily flustered with a generous serving of self-esteem issues. i hate to break it to you guys: neil josten is not insecure. i don't think there's a single instant in the series where neil is actually insecure about anything. as a narrator, person and character, neil is very realistic, pragmatic and logical. ruthlessly so. i'd say on this, neil is even more cerebral and unemotional than andrew is. neil is very straightforward and realistic abt himself in his narration and i'd honestly say his opinion and views about himself are one of the only things in the story that isn't affected by his narrator bias. if neil is anything, it's self-aware. i'm now going to present all my fucking evidence.

neil doesn't have a sexuality crisis. literally in the entire series never once does he even question his fucking sexuality. it's implied he's already figured out he's aspec/demisexual from the moment nicky questions him about his sexuality. neil says "i don't swing" and follows up in his narration: it wasn't quite the truth, but it was close enough. and later when he starts his relationship with andrew he doesn't ever question the nature of his feelings towards andrew or even anyone else and is pretty clear about it when andrew breaches the topic: "kissing you doesn't make me look at them any differently" so yeah neil is pretty certain and aware of his sexuality.

neil isn't insecure about his appearance. i feel like this is gonna require a bit of work to explain but hear me out. it is mentioned several times that neil has a complicated relationship with his appearance because he looks so much like his father/abuser. this is obviously understandable; you wouldn't want to look into the mirror and see the man who gave u all ur scars. that being said, neil doesn't have a lot of strong emotions regarding his appearance. most of his feelings of panic tied to when r*ko dyed back his hair is because of how it would be a lot easier for his father to discover him now that he has his original colouring back. i'm also pretty sure neil knows that he's cute. like it's never explicitly stated but i've reread aftg maybe fifty times and trust me i can read between the lines. neil explicitly says that he has a "love-hate relationship with his reflection out of necessity" and while the "hate" part of that statement is obvious: he doesn't like that he resembles his father, i've sort of just accepted that the "love" part of it is that he knows he's kinda fine. it's not brought up by him at all bc neil as a person is not one to linger on people's appearances almost at all. i think the only people to get a decent amount of lines dedicated to their appearance in the narration are allison and andrew. but yeah i genuinely don't think neil thinks he's ugly or unattractive and he's probably definitely been told how cute he is by others enough that he doesn't harbour any delusions about how he looks. regarding his scars, he never expresses any insecurity towards them and how they look, he just doesn't like them on display understandably bc of how acutely they point to his past and childhood that he's trying to hide.

neil is actually very very confident in his own and other people's abilties. this is esp regarding exy. he knows he's good at the game. like he knows. the most distinct example i can think of for this point is when kevin tells neil that he was at castle evermore to try out for the perfect court when they were younger. neil doesn't even doubt for a fucking second that he would've made it onto the perfect court. never does. he skips over the second-guessing and doubt part and just straight up starts daydreaming about the future he could've had playing with kevin and r*ko. like that really got me bc it's easy to assume neil would be super unassuming and have low self-esteem but no like neil doesn't doubt for a fucking second that he deserves to be perfect court. it's just that he doesn't believe in r*ko's delusions enough to play along with it by the time he gets the tattoo. he's also insanely confident about the foxes and their abilities and also kevin by the end of the series. at the beginning he takes a pretty realistic vantage point and says that with the way things are, the foxes will never beat the ravens. but even with that pov he still has the gall to challenge r*ko on LIVE TV and i doubt he's lying when he declares so boldly to everyone that if the foxes were united they'd be an unstoppable force (and guess what he was fucking RIGHT). and by the end, when the foxes are united, he has no more room left for doubt at all. some guy tells neil to kick the ravens' asses and neil just replies with zero hesitation "that's the plan". like he's so fucking on board with it. and he never once doubts that kevin is the best striker in the game. like literally never. at first he considers r*ko and kevin on par with each other (possibly, it's never stated outright) but by the end he literally has no doubts when he says "kevin is the best striker" like goddamn the amount of confidence neil has is so underrated.

neil is a very unemotional narrator. it actually gets me all the time how logical and ruthlessly pragmatic neil's narration and inner monologue is. some of the only strong emotions portrayed in neil's narration are anger, irritation and occasionally grief, which is only ever triggered by major trauma-inducing events (e.g. dr*ke). almost all of his inner monologue is analytical and observing others and dissecting either other people or the situation he's in. and almost all of his decisions and actions are made based on impulse and instinct. neil is a very instinctive person. this is outright stated in the way he plays exy; in theory, he can't give u a lot, but in the heat of the moment he's at his best. this applies to practically all facets of neil's life. he never plans his moves or what he's gonna say (except like that one time when he planned out what half-truth he was gonna tell andrew post-columbia). he's super quick and on the ball and literally does whatever the fuck he wants at any given moment. he's also insanely good at compartmentalising. like it's difficult to explain but while his priorities are obv hilariously skewed, they're also very clear in his mind. things he considers unimportant he simply just doesn't think about. what others look like and what they think of him don't factor into his internal monologue or his thoughts at all he literally just files them away in the back of his mind until they do end up becoming useful or important to him. he barely comments on andrew's appearance at all until andrew becomes someone worth staring at and admiring for him. the only reason he describes allison and renee in the detail that he does is because it's important in understanding how and why he reacts to them the way he does. this man was literally about to lose his goddamn mind at the fall banquet but he specifically reserved his mental breakdown for after the banquet so he could spend his time roasting the fuck out of r*ko. bro fully locked in and was like "clock riko now break down later" and i respect it.

neil doesn't actually have a martyr complex. it's funny because almost all of aftg is him being the absolute fucking opposite of a martyr. he wilfully sticks around the foxes knowing he's putting himself and them in danger. he doesn't "sacrifice" himself until he's absolutely forced to by his father's people. by then, he's already told himself he can't and won't run and he's smart enough to know he'll never get away anyway. and going to evermore wasn't about self-sacrifice or martyrdom it was about protecting andrew and those two are pretty fucking different. he knew he was coming back from evermore and he knew that he wouldn't die there, despite all the shit he went through, so i don't think that can be counted as "self-sacrifice". he was doing what he had to do to protect andrew, the same as andrew would've done for neil or aaron or kevin or anyone else he'd sworn to protect. the kidnapping in baltimore was the culmination of neil's character arc, which isn't really about learning to be selfless and self-sacrificing, it's about learning to stand his ground and stop running. those things r crucially different: neil not running in baltimore wasn't about selflessness, it was about courage. yes, part of it was obviously inspired by the foxes and motivated by not wanting them to be hurt but i truly believe it ultimately was about neil learning to stand his own ground and make his own home and have it be something he's willing to die for. call it whatever u want honestly i just don't think neil is as much of a martyr/sacrificial lamb as the fandom makes him out to be.

#zoe yaps #god there's a limit to how much i can write #we live in an economy #what the fuck #i'm so mad bro i have so much more to say #whatever y'all have to deal with this for now #take it or leave it this is the real neil josten i know him personally #save me canon neil save me #i hate fanon neil sm oh my days #STOP mischaracterising him for the love of god #aftg #all for the game #neil josten #andrew minyard #andreil

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