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#angst fic
Allure Teaser Trailer
Part One:Sunshine release date: Monday, April 1st
Part Two:Knuckle Velvet release date: Wednesday, April 3rd
Part Three:Smoke release date: Saturday, April 6th
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❥MATZ x fem reader
➯a/n: THIS WILL BE A DARK FIC. THE DOVE ISNT JUST DEAD, I THREW IT OUT THE WINDOW. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. i won't include all of the warnings for the full story in this teaser, because it is long and detailed, just know it is a DARK romance. if you choose to read it when it comes out, the warnings will be listed there. i'm very proud of this work and can't wait to share 💕
(>ᴗ•)♡´・ᴗ・`♡genre: yandere, smut, a/b/o au
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: SO MUCH LIKE WOW . for trailer specifically: murder
..........
The beta in the large room ignores Hongjoong as he continuously asks after 'the pretty omega'.
     He just sweeps and sweeps, finally understanding why you hate coming up here. He has his back turned to the cage, and consequently, to the windows.
     High on the tall walls, the narrow glass is opened from the outside. Seonghwa smirks, and gestures his head to it. Hongjoongs gaze follows, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth so he doesn't laugh.
      A skinny figure is sliding its way in through the window sideways.
     He drops to the floor as silent as a mouse, landing on his knees and grinning wildly up at his alphas.
     Hongjoong throws his head back in preemptive relief, while Seonghwa is watching with a similarly wide smile as the man walks straight through the blood ash, breaking the circle with the tip of his shoe.
      The worker still has his back turned as the lock on Seonghwas cage is picked with a long claw. He doesn't even know what's happening as the next thing he knows, he's thrown across the floor.
Blood ash knocks up around him, coughs wracking his body as he looks up to his assailant.
Park Seonghwa, newly freed from his cage, looks down at the worker with his eyes glowing red.
"Now usually..." He begins, crouching to be face to face with him, "I'd go through this whole place just for the fuck of it and cause some beautiful chaos. But I'm looking for someone."
"(Y/n)?" He stutters out, backing away only to knock into Hongjoongs legs. Stuck between the two nefarious criminals, he chooses his own head over yours. "The second floor! Sh-she's on the second floor!"
"Let's go get our omega, Joong."
Nonchalantly, Hongjoong draws his claws and slices the neck of the worker. He hops over the gurgling body and follows his mate with an ecstatic giggle.
........
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yutamayo · 10 months
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The crushing | joel miller x f!reader, 5,2k
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Summary: This is the story of a man who had everything in the palm of his hand and traded it all for an empty space in the hollow of his heart. Or This story follows Joel, two to three years after he cheated on his wife.
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, ANGST, cheater!Joel, Joel's POV, this is NOT “The Falling” from Joel's POV, brief mention of smut (p i v) but nothing too graphic (I think), self-loathing, depression, therapy, flashbacks and memories from the past, alcohol consumption, Tommy being a supportive brother (eventually), as always let me know if I missed anything!
A/N: Ok, so, Joel gave me a whiplash on this one, he was either staring at me through the screen giving me nothing, or he was mumbling unintelligibly in my ear while I was trying to keep up with him. It started out as a final chapter, but I really think that this part should be Joel's POV and the next and -probably- final one should be the resolving, however that may come. I guess it can be read as a standalone, but if you're interested, it's a sequel to “The Falling”. I edited it seven thousand times because I kept adding things along the way, so I hope it all makes some sense and there are not too many mistakes.. Thank you for taking the time to read anything I write! Love you all! 🥰😘
P.S.: I just wanted to take a moment and let you know that I really appreciate everyone who has read, liked, commented, reblogged and asked about “The Falling”. I honestly didn't think a single soul would take the time to read that kind of story. It means more than you know and I didn’t take lightly how close to home this fic hit for some people; yet you’ve given it a chance, sharing some of your own experiences with me. I love you all, take care and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! 🥹🫂
Dividers by @cafekitsune & @saradika-graphics
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...need your reassurance...
...your only focus…
...for the foreseeable future...
He did make it his sole focus. Because of course, he closed the deal, even after he left that damn table like a madman. He still found a way to get what he wanted. That's the man he was. And he wasn't sure if he hated himself for it or not. But self-loathing was a daily occurrence now, so one more reason added to the list was nothing he couldn't handle.
For two years he would wake up every day, is it called waking up if he doesn’t sleep at all?, he would work his ass off, he would go home, he would sink into despair and then he would start all over again the next day. A vicious cycle consisting of 730 days in a row. The deafening silence within the walls of the house was excruciating, the loneliness was unbearable. Even the light penetrating through the windows seemed different than when you were there with him, a dullness surrounding every corner of the now barely lived in space.
You. He hadn’t seen your face in 730 days. He hadn’t smelled your scent or touched your soft skin. He barely listened to your voice anymore, any form of unavoidable communication, you preferred to be conducted by the lawyers, or via text messages, at the most. At the 731st one, he finally knew, something had to change. He couldn’t repeat another day, like all the others that came and went. He simply couldn’t.
Tommy suggested that therapy might help Joel, a few times, but he refused every one of them. Maria was keeping her distance, her place was delicate, being his brother’s wife but also his wife’s best friend. Surprisingly, she was the one who finally got through to him.
“Are you gonna stay a recluse for the rest of your miserable life, then?” Maria wonders, switching her gaze between Joel and the dining room. Everything was untouched, as you left them when you moved out, but the place felt empty, depressing, probably mirroring Joel’s existence.
Joel sighs, closing his eyes briefly. “I’m not a recluse..”, he snarls through his teeth, rolling his eyes at her. He was more than eager to be done with the dinner his sister-in-law insisted on having in his house and be left alone, in his natural state. Alone. Infuriating woman.
“What do you call that?”, Maria persists, goddamn lawyer to the bone.
“What?!” Joel spits back pissed off, looking at his brother next, for support.
“That!” she gestures around his body and his surroundings. “The way you go on for the past two years! Either get over it or do something about it!”, she doesn’t hold back, even when Tommy proposes a gentler approach. Yeah, look where it got you, is the paid answer, so Tommy steps back, shaking his head and raising his hands up in surrender.
“You’ve got him on a leash, hm?”, Joel jokes absentmindedly, “Can you breathe alright, Tommy boy?”, earning himself a hard glare from Maria.
“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..” Maria mutters, causing Tommy’s eyes to widen in horror.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”, Joel retorts doing a double back at her.
“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”, Maria throws her napkin on her plate and leaves the room. Joel remains silent, pondering the meaning of her words. It would be a long time before he understood what she meant.
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Therapy was hard.
Therapy was hard because he had to do it for himself. He had to concentrate on himself. He thought, being the contractor that he was, that he would walk into the room, get the answers he needed and fix his marriage, just as he rearranged the bricks and the wood and the steel on the construction sites.
But this wasn’t about his marriage. His marriage and the way it crumbled down was the aftermath, he came to learn. It was the outcome of insecurities, selfishness, lack of communication, ungratefulness.
He got it all wrong. Everything. Every little thing. He had to rewire his brain and change every point of view he was holding onto. Honesty. Honesty was the key.
“Why didn’t you reach out to your wife after that night?”, his therapist insists.
“I respected her boundaries.”, Joel was quick to respond.
“And what were those?”
“She didn’t want to see me.”
“Did she say that?”
“No-, I mean-, the way she left that night, she didn’t say much in general. But she blocked my number, so.”, he shrugs in defence.
“So, how can you be so sure that she didn't want to see you? Even if you're right, it doesn't mean that she didn't expect a reaction from you, or that you weren't allowed to try, if that’s what you wanted.”
“Why would she? I upset her, she needed time to think, work things out.”, Joel explains.
The therapist swipes her fingers over her lips, contemplating her approach. “Joel, you walk into your bedroom, into what is supposed to be a safe place and you see your partner with another person in an intimate moment. How does that make you feel? Just say the first words that come to mind.”, his therapist changes the point of view.
Joel shudders just at the thought of it. You, naked, flushed, lips parted and swollen, skin sweaty, breaths short and pupils blown wide, coming for anyone other than him. It would utterly destroy him. “Furious, pissed, betrayed, heartbroken.. I think I would lose it, if I’m honest.” he admits instantly, in his haste to throw the abomination of this image from his thoughts.
“I see. But in her case, you think your wife was just upset?”
“No, of course not.” Joel slightly frowns, shaking his head.
“Do you think she felt all those feelings that you just described to me?”
“I believe so, yes.”, god this is so hard.
“You believe so?” the therapist pushes, again.
Joel’s nostrils flare from the sharp inhale, “I know so.”
“So, she wasn’t just upset.” the therapist concludes and Joel agrees without meeting her eyes, “No, she wasn’t.”
Over time, Joel came to realize that his choice of words was a subconscious attempt to diminish the seriousness of his actions.
“You said in a previous session that you gave space to your wife to work things out.”
“Yeah, it was only fair.”, Joel confirms.
“So, it was hard for you to give her that space?”
“Yes, of course, I missed her every day.”
“Was that a constant in your relationship?”, the therapist wonders.
“I’m sorry, I don’t follow.”
“How did you work things out as a couple, before? I assume you had difficult times as partners, no?”
“Nothing major to be honest, my wife was a very calm and reasonable person. If anything occurred she would talk to me about it.”
“And how did you respond to that?”
“Uh, I was there to listen, we always found a solution together as a couple.”
“Hmhm, so, what changed this time?”
“What do you mean?” He knew exactly what she meant.
“Why didn’t you talk to her? Communicate with her? Maybe help her see your side of things, like you did before, find your way out of this together, as partners.” his therapist explains. “And even before the infidelity, did you let her know that something was bothering you, that you felt differently?”
"I didn't feel differently about my wife. My feelings for her never changed.", he immediately corrects her. "My love for her was never the problem," he confesses and it's the first time since his therapy began that he's shared something so personal, so private.
“But there was a problem, something was wrong if you felt the need to be intimate with another woman. So, why did you keep that from her?”
Joel opens his mouth already knowing he does not have an answer. Or that he doesn't want to give one. He shakes his head, raising his brows in a silent admission that he can’t answer that. Or he won't. His gaze is fixed on a loose thread on the fabric of the couch, his fingers keep picking on it.
“Joel?”
“I- I don’t know what you want me to say, I don’t know.” he keeps shaking his head. He can’t answer that. He won't.
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He was so angry when he left the session that day. He was so angry at you. He was angry at your honesty, your clarity, your courage to have a mind of your own and to speak it freely, knowing full well that probably no one else shared the same opinions as you did. That's what he loved most about you, but now he hated it.
“Own it, Joel. Own what you have done. At least that way it will be worth something. Otherwise it was all for nothing.”
This was one of the last things you said to him on the phone, while he was trying to persuade you to change your mind about the divorce. You were always so brave about those matters. Matters of the heart, of integrity. He remembers you always talking about things that he found admirable but utopian. Easy in theory, hard in practice.
“I need to be able to sleep at night. I need to own my decisions; not because I’m always right, far from it, but at least I know I’m being honest with myself. And that matters.” he recalls one of your late-night talks.
You usually found it easier to share your most vulnerable thoughts once you were thoroughly fucked and satiated. When Joel held you in his arms, your breaths almost shared over the same pillow, your scents and your fluids mixed together.
“We’re all imperfect beings, flawed; we all feel embarrassed when we fuck up,” you continue, “it’s hard to admit our mistakes to others, I get that. But deep down we always know what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. Admitting it only helps us to be present in our lives.”
“Be present?”, Joel seems fascinated by the way your mind weaves your thoughts together into deeply rooted beliefs.
“Yes, my love, there's no greater freedom than to live your life truthfully.” you smile at him, softly. Your sleepy eyes roam his face affectionately. Your fingertips caress his jawline, your thumb pressing lightly against the bare patch of his beard. He can feel your devotion pouring from your fingers and sinking into his skin at that moment.
“That’s one of my greatest fears, you know. Living my life in ignorance, in a lie.”, you whisper your deepest insecurity against his soft lips. His hold on you tightens as he rolls you onto your back, nestling his hips between your welcoming thighs. You are safe in these arms. His arms. You surrender to him, body and soul. You can feel his growing erection pressing between your folds, already wet from your combined releases. He tenderly brushes his lips against yours and slowly licks his way into your parted mouth, as he intertwines his fingers with yours. He enters you in one fluid, slow thrust, his warm exhale cooling your wet lips. “Then let me give you something real.”
Thinking back to those moments, Joel couldn't reconcile himself to the fact that he was the one who had brought that fear of yours to life. What broke him was that it was not a lie. Your life together had not been a lie. He loved you. In fact, he was burning up for you. He was a man of control, but not with you. Never with you. You consumed his every thought; being around you for too long made his lungs constrict in pain, begging for a deep breath. Sometimes he was worried sick that if he completely let himself love you like he needed to, he would suffocate you. He loved you. And it killed him that his actions suggested otherwise.
But at some point he had to be honest with himself. He was just protecting his ego. He was trying to get the upper hand out of a shitty, compromising situation. He wasn't being thoughtful, he was being selfish. He was biding his time. He thought the longer he left ‘it’ untouched, the less it would hurt when the inevitable time of confrontation came. He was scared out of his mind that he would lose you forever. No second chances, no redemption, no reconciliation.
No lingering scent on his pillow as your hair pools there, under his chin, as you nestle your face between his neck and shoulder, breathing him in. No laughter through the enormous house, damn, why did he build it so big; you never clarified what the disbelief in your eyes meant when he said he built this house for you, while he pulls you up on your feet for a silly cowboy dance.
No more gentle touches, no more noses brushing together as a silent goodbye in the kitchen before you rush off to work. No more turning around just before you open the door to leave, running to him like a little girl, giving him quick, hungry pecks on the lips while he laughs on your mouth, squeezes your butt cheek and slaps it playfully to say goodbye. Later, baby, he would promise you, his teeth nipping at your earlobe and he could feel your skin crawling with anticipation.
No more I love yous, either breathed, either whispered, either panted, as he makes a home for himself inside your warmth.
When did he fuck you last? He used to have you every day. You craved it every day. You craved him. Why did he stop telling you he loved you every chance he got? When was the last time you said it?
A week before that fateful night, when you touched him longingly, aching for him to touch you back and he told you he had work to do, he wasn’t a teenager anymore. Why the hell did he say that? Why did he sit there and watch the light fading from your eyes? I love you, you said with a sigh against his temple and walked out of his office defeated. Why did you say that? Did you know? Did you suspect? Why didn’t you fight him? You should have said something, anything, pushed him, punched him in the chest, woken him up. Would he have woken up? Or did he need that to come to his senses? Does he have to fall? Does this falling ever stop? Does he have to let you go? Will you come back to him? Does he deserve you?
Days blurred seamlessly into one another. Joel drifted further and further away from everyone. The house haunted him, all the progress he was making within the therapy walls was dissipating once he stepped inside the cold space of his empty house. Leaving the confines of it was his first thought in the morning, while he hurriedly dressed to go to his office far earlier than necessary and his last when he closed his eyes, as he laid his weary limbs on the couch, chasing still your now long gone scent on its fabric, knowing another sleepless night was his only companion until the first rays of sunlight hit the floor-to-ceiling windows to announce the beginning of another day.
People at work tiptoed around him, not knowing how to act. It was as if he was there, but not really. He was focused solely on the Marks project, mechanically going through board meetings, paperwork and supervising the construction site. He. Just. Wasn’t. There.
Joel, will you please sign the papers?
He simply stares at the text message for a good full minute, his thumbs hovering over the screen of his phone. This was one of the rare occasions you had initiated communication with him, always about the progress of the divorce.
No, no, I won’t, the little toddler in him screams, stamping his little feet on the ground.
The papers are not ready.
Joel texts back. He keeps it simple, frightened he might not get an answer back.
Joel, we both know they are. I don’t want any of your assets or your money; this is an easy signature, please.
An easy signature? You think he cares about the houses, or the cars, or the money?
You know I can’t accept that. The house is yours and so is a good part of the money.
The point was to share this house together, Joel, don’t you think us splitting up kind of defeats the purpose? And what on earth makes you think I would ever want to go back in there?
So, there’s nothing I can do to make this easier for you?
Easier? You think money or property can make up for what you’ve done?
Of course not, I wasn’t implying anything like that. Just wanna do something for you, anything.
Can you turn back time?
Of course, he can't. So, he doesn't know what to say to that. He just keeps staring at the screen, lost in thought. After 2 minutes another text follows.
?
You know I can’t..
Sign the papers. Please.
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“Is there anything in particular you want to talk about today, or should I take the lead?”
“Actually I’ve been thinking a lot about that night.”, Joel suggests for the first time. He usually lets the therapist decide where to steer the conversation, then simply refuses to elaborate until he feels ready to talk.
“What about it?”, he shifts his gaze from the window to the direction of her voice.
“I should probably rephrase that. I’m always thinking about that night, repeating it in my head again and again and I’m troubled by something I realized.”
His therapist nods to signal that she's listening.
“Why did she just leave? The more I think about it, the more it doesn’t make sense to me. She just left. No shouting, no breaking things, no attacking either me or-”, her. “Why she didn’t stay? Why she didn’t insist that I leave? She was just- so quiet.”
The therapist smiles in recognition of Joel's near breakthrough. They were beginning to get somewhere, his empathy nudging him under the surface.
“I'm really glad you mentioned that, Joel, so I'd like to take you back to that night and try to understand what might have been going through your wife's mind at that moment," she explains.
“So, she walks into the house, finds her safe space violated by her husband, and she chooses to handle the situation calmly and quietly-” Joel tries to stop her, but she already knows what he's going to ask. “I can't tell you why she chose that path, that's for her to answer, only she knows why.” His therapist continues, “She is making one request of you and one request only, can you tell me what it is?”
“She asked me to leave the house.”
“Hmhm.” the therapist looks at him expectantly.
“I just wanted to talk to her.”, Joel elaborates, “I thought that if I refused to leave, she would accept to listen to me.”
“So you forced your needs on her, while she was in a particularly fragile state of mind.”
“I should have made my intentions clearer, you mean?”
“I mean, that maybe you shouldn’t have had any expectations in the first place. Why do you think was so important to you, to explain yourself right at that moment?”
“Because I knew it was probably the last time I would see her for a while, I just wanted to ease her pain, why is that so wrong? Should I be indifferent? Would that be better?”
“Did it ever occur to you that you might be depriving her of her right to choose?” Come on, Joel, break some eggs.
Joel now begins to make connections. He rubs his hand over his face, the realization of what has really happened crushing him. “Oh, god, I-” He's been so selfish from the start. He hasn't shown you any respect, not even at this delicate moment. He didn't give you a choice as to whether you wanted to listen to him or not. He didn't even let you choose where you wanted to stay. He just made you leave the house. Did he make you believe he wanted you to leave? That he wanted her to stay? Because he didn’t. Fuck. “-I never thought about it like that.”
Fuck.
How could he be so blind? Why was he so blind?
His therapist insisted on it. Because no matter how much progress Joel made over the course of a year, he never revealed the true reason behind his infidelity.
“Joel, we’ve talked about a lot of things; you’ve tried really hard to make this all about your wife and about understanding what she was feeling and how your actions have affected her, but as I keep reminding you”, she smiles understandingly, “you’re the one in therapy, you need to heal your wounds before you even attempt to heal hers. And although it is in fact a really noble thought, this” she gestures between them, “can only work if you do it for yourself. I know it may sound selfish, but I promise you, it is not. It is the exact opposite.”
Fuck.
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“Yeah?”, his voice hoarse from sleep as he answers the door after the insistent knock at it. Tommy looks at him surprised once he opens it, “You’re sleeping, already?”. No, he wasn’t. He wouldn’t call it that. But when he goes almost a week without any proper rest, passing out is the right word for what he’s doing. “Yeah, I guess I dosed off..” Joel lies. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you.” Tommy responds as he squeezes himself through the door to enter the house. “Yeah, sure, come on in.”, Joel mutters under his breath. “You just saw me at work this morning, is everything all right?”
“I just came to check on you.” Tommy confesses uncomfortably.
“You could have called.”
“Would you have answered?” Tommy deadpans.
Touché.
“Tell Maria I’m fine, Tommy, no need to worry about me; go spend the night where it counts.”, Joel replies in an attempt to push him away, as he walks farther into the house, rounding the kitchen island.
“Hey, brother, I’m here, I am here for you.” Tommy’s eyes narrow in pain and concern as he stares at his sibling's back, following behind him.
Joel exhales hard through his nose, his grip tight as he grabs the edges of the counter, his head lowering between his shoulder blades.
“You shouldn’t, nobody should.” Joel sighs, rubbing the pads of his fingers across his forehead.
“Ok, that’s enough.” Tommy snaps at him. “Enough self-loathing, enough resignation. Enough. You’ve punished yourself enough.”
Joel laughs at that. “Is that right? Is it enough for you? What about her?” he asks, his head turned to the side, looking at his brother over his shoulder.
“What?” Tommy is genuinely confused.
Joel turns his back, resting his waist on the edge of the counter, now looking straight at Tommy. “I should have what? Just get on with my life? Let it all be water under the bridge? Disrespect her even more?”
“Jesus..” Tommy mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand, the other resting on his hip, his eyes shut in frustration.
“Are you doing this for her? Does she even know that?”
“It doesn’t matter, Tommy!” Joel raises his voice, exasperated. “I’m not doing this for her, I’m not doing anything for her, apparently and that’s the problem.”, his voice breaks, the lump in his throat too big to push down. “She’s not here anymore, Tommy.” he’s standing fully on his feet now, pushing himself away from the counter, leaning slightly forward, like he’s trying to make his brother understand; his eyes are glazed, Tommy had never seen him so devastated before. “She’s gone. I’ve lost her.”, his palms clenched in fists in front of his chest, resisting the urge to wrap them around his shirt and rip it to shreds, as he wants to do with his heart.
“I thought therapy was working..” Tommy whispers, his eyes dropping to the floor beneath him.
“Oh, it’s working, all right!” Joel chuckles in irony, sniffing his nose. “I’m getting a front-row seat, witnessing what a piece of shit I am-”
“Hey!” Tommy tries to cut him off.
“-what on earth was she doing with me to begin with, is beyond me.”
“HEY!” Tommy's eyes bulge out of his sockets, angry at his brother's self-deprecating words. Joel bends his waist forward, puts his elbows on the island in front of him and lets his head sink in again.
“Ok.” Tommy breathes deeply to ground himself, his hands in a position of a prayer in front of his mouth, “Ok, we could both use a drink.” he realizes, as he moves to open the cupboard to grab two tumblers and the whiskey from the shelf with the drinks. “..or five.”
The two brothers drink their first round in silence, both calming their nerves down. Tommy refills their glasses without asking; he knows this is going to be a long night.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.” Tommy begins, pushing Joel’s drink back towards him. Joel wringles his brows in confusion, “What are you talking about? You’re always there for me.”
“No, I haven’t, not really.” Tommy admits, “I let Maria take over when all this happened and I’m sorry.”
“There was nothing you could do, Tommy, don’t sweat it.”
“Let me say this, please.” Tommy raises his hand, his palm facing his brother. “I was just- fuck, we all knew how much you loved her, how much you loved each other, so when it all went down, I just didn’t know how to deal with it. What to say to you, how to comfort you. I didn't know how to deal with you.”
“You blamed me.” Joel says matter-of-factly.
“No-”, Tommy weakly refuses but Joel shakes his head dismissively, interrupting him. “It’s ok, Tommy, you should.”
Tommy looks embarrassed, his cheeks slightly pinkish, not only from the whiskey. “It’s just that I- I couldn’t reconcile the image of the man you were with her, with.. you know..”, he stutters.
“..the image of a cheater. Say it.” Joel adds.
Tommy shakes his head, like he still can't believe what's happened. “Besides, while she was staying with us those first few weeks I saw how devastated she was, man- she was a shell of a woman, so I was confused, I didn’t know how-”
“Tommy. Tommy, it’s fine.” Joel feels his skin crawl visualizing you like that in his head, cutting his brother off once again; he deserves every ounce of mistrust and he knows it.
“No, it’s not.” Tommy insists. “Yes, you fucked up. Brother, you really did. You did a number on her-”, Joel’s body tenses instantly at his brother’s words, his jaw clenching as his eyes darken, moving down to his hands, his grip on the tumbler tightening, his knuckles turning white and Tommy stops abruptly, “shit, sorry, I didn’t mean-”, his face twitches with regret.
“It’s the truth. That’s exactly what I did.” Joel’s gaze seems detached as if he's somewhere else right now.
“What I meant to say, is that I should have been there for you in spite of what has happened. I can see you're suffering, it's taking its toll on you, it has been for some time now; tell me what I can do. How can I help you?” Tommy seems almost desperate, like he’s the one in need of redemption.
Your text flashes through his mind, can you turn back time?, making him smile bitterly.
“Can you turn back time?” Joel's repeating your question and as the words leave his mouth he can feel your presence next to him. That's the most he felt of you for the last three years. He's almost blissful.
“You know I can't.” Tommy sighs. Joel laughs earnestly, the irony of the moment too good not to appreciate.
“Joel, brother, please, just talk to me. Help me understand. You act like you’re the one who’s been cheated on. So, what happened? Why did you do it?” Tommy is pleading with him to give him anything.
Silence fills the room for much longer than either of them would like. Joel feels torn between telling his brother everything or keeping his mouth shut. He wants to tell him, he hasn’t told a soul, but he’s not sure he can get the words out. He’s not sure he can bear to hear the words coming out of his mouth. He’s not sure he can substantiate it, make it real. Because that’s how it feels. He talks about it and it becomes real.
But maybe this is the right thing to do. That’s what needs to be done. He needs to talk about it. He needs to tell the truth and admit the pain he’s caused. Make it real for you, too. Perhaps it is time for him to give you what is rightfully yours. Acknowledgment.
Joel’s made up his mind. He’s gonna talk to Tommy. He lifts his glass to down his drink for some liquid courage, freezing his hand in mid-air as the next words fall from his brother’s mouth. “First of all, who was it?”
“What?” Joel's eyes search Tommy’s through his glass for an explanation.
“Who did you do?”, Tommy clarifies.
Joel feels like he’s been struck by lightning. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Who did you fuck, Joel?”, Tommy begins to feel confused, are they not on the same page here?
“You don’t know?”, Joel can barely speak now, his voice low in shock.
“No one does, not even Maria; she never told anyone.”
You told nobody? Not even your best friend? Why on earth would you do that? Did you feel ashamed? Was it just too much to talk about?
But his brain takes pity on him, helping him for once to understand. He’s connecting the dots while your voice fills the corners of his mind through his memories. His head is swarming with images of you standing in that walk-in closet, remembering what you said the last time he saw you. You’re the one I married, not her. I expected better from you, Joel, not her.
You were right.
It didn’t matter who it was. That is why. He was the one making the choice. He was the one breaking his promises, breaking your trust, breaking your heart; breaking you. He was the one who should have known better. He was the one who should have been honest. Easy in theory, hard in practice.
He feels a fresh wave of pain scattering through his body. He welcomes it. Damn, he’s craving it. He’s glad you chose to withhold the identity of the woman. Not because somehow it’s making it easier for him to defend himself, on the contrary.
There’s no one else to blame. Nobody. Just him. All of the anger, the resentment, the disappointment, all of them on him. He embraces them all. Everything. He will take it all, swallow it down and let it rot inside of him.
Joel tells Tommy everything. Everything, but her name.
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Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre
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hailsatanacab · 3 months
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a father's son
Happy holiday truce, @dashing-through-ecto!! I was your gifter this year, I hope you enjoy the fic! Based on your prompt: "Do you need any help, Dad?"
Word count 2.2k - ao3 link
Things have not been going well for Danny Fenton.
Not only did he fail in intercepting Lancer’s call home, so now Mom and Dad know about his latest grades—he didn’t even get enough answers for an F this time, not when he fell asleep within the first five minutes—but they also caught Jazz taking the trash out for him.
“That’s one of your chores, young man! Heaven knows you don’t have many of them, which is why you need to be responsible and actually do the ones that we give you! It’s just not good enough, Daniel James Fenton, do you hear me?”
The full name.
It’s not often he gets it, but it sucks each and every time he does.
What sucks even more is that now, with what little free time he has, he’s cleaning the lab. It’s just not fair!
Broken glass skitters along the floor as he sweeps it up into the dustpan, ectoplasm still clinging to the bottom of the beaker. 
He can’t even goof off—can’t even use his powers to finish quicker—because his dad is sitting at the workbench tinkering with whatever his newest interest is.
Great. Looks like he’s stuck cleaning the boring, human way.
The lab is quiet, but it isn’t silent. 
Ectoplasm drips, maddeningly, from the gloop stuck on the ceiling. That’s a form of torture, isn’t it? Danny’s pretty sure he’s heard that before, that the constant sound of water droplets will drive someone insane. He can relate, because this is certainly testing him.
Dad’s talking to himself, too, little murmurs about what he’s doing, where he should be soldering, how it should be working and why it isn’t. 
Vaguely, Danny wonders what he’s working on. Sure, it’s probably some ghost thing, but that’s not all they do! His parents made some pretty great advances before the portal switched on and monopolised all of their thoughts.
Yeah, that might be wishful thinking, but stranger things have happened! You never know.
Every 30 seconds, the motor on the ecto-filter whirrs into life, syphoning off the excess, pure ectoplasm from the portal and filtering it into something less volatile. In theory.
Underneath everything, the portal hums.
A droning beat that pulses in the same rhythm as his heart. Sometimes, he catches himself staring at it, leaning closer as it calls to him.
It scares him.
“Shit!” his dad shouts, dropping the soldering iron with a loud clang. 
It’s enough to knock Danny out of whatever daydream he’d lost himself in and he whirls around to see his dad sucking on one of his fingers.
They lock eyes, both widening as they realise what’s happened.
“Ah, I mean, suffering spooks! That really hurt…” He shoves his fingers back into his mouth and his shoulders droop as he considers Danny. “Don’t tell your mother.”
Danny laughs.
“Are you alright?”
“It’d take more than that to put Jack Fenton down! All good, Danno, don’t you worry,” he smiles back before shaking his hand out and turning back to whatever he was working on. “Or, I would be, if this hunk of junk was cooperating with me!”
“What’s up?” Danny asks, curiosity getting the better of him.
Normally, he likes to stay out of the lab, as much as he can. 
Obviously, what Phantom does doesn’t count. Phantom can’t help but come into the lab, set ghosts loose into the Zone, trash whatever weapons his parents have got going on, sneak out into the Zone when he can for some much needed R&R. The ectoplasm just hits different there.
“I’m trying to repurpose this toaster, but the ecto won’t run smoothly through the wiring. I think it keeps getting cooked by the element.”
“Oh? Do you need some help?”
Danny doesn’t like spending time in the lab, because if he’s in the lab then he’s either Phantom and he’s trying hard not to be seen or heard, or he’s Danny and he’s being punished.
But his curiosity is piqued.
“Yeah, come here, have a look! Perhaps another Fenton brain can knock some sense into it!”
So, he does.
Hell, anything beats cleaning the lab.
“You’re trying to run it through here?”
Dad nods and shifts in his seat to give Danny a better view.
“But you can’t, because the ecto is tripping the heating element… which is way higher than a toaster has any right to be, wow. No wonder it’s destabilising the ectoplasm, that would destabilise anything.”
Danny pokes around the casing, wiggling the wires back and forth to get a better look at the absolute mess his dad has made of it all. Sometimes it amazes him that his parents' inventions work at all.
“That’s what I’m thinking! But it has to be that high so we can completely break down the ecto!”
“You want it to break down?”
“Yep!” Dad says, clapping him on the back hard enough that he wheezes. He grins down at him when Danny turns around reproachfully. “Think of it, boyo, if we could figure out how to flash fry that ectoplasm high enough so that it evaporates—which it should do, it’s goopy gross liquid, after all!—then you wouldn’t be stuck down here cleaning for so long! We could take it to the streets after a ghost fight and clean up the whole town!”
Well, it’s not a Nobel Prize level invention… Danny’s pretty sure at this point that his parents would be laughed out by the Nobel committee. But, a quicker cleaning of the lab does sound nice.
It would mean he’d be stuck down here a lot less.
Besides… It's interesting.
“What if we…” Danny trails off and pulls the metal frame towards him, grabbing the tweezers as he goes. Vaguely, he’s aware of his dad leaning over his shoulder, the weight of him watching is a comforting presence that he’s not felt in a long while. 
The real trouble is that you need ectoplasm to affect ectoplasm, and that’s not going to work if the object of the game is to evaporate it. 
So what if they don’t introduce the reactive ecto until the end?
He makes quick work of stripping down what his dad’s already done and starts again, this time focussing on keeping the heat contained separately away from the ectoplasm. Just as he’s piecing together a trigger to concurrently shoot a blast of ecto towards the heated tip, Dad exclaims as he realises where he’s going with it.
“Oh! Danny, you’re a genius! Look at that!” Dad laughs and squints closer at what Danny’s doing. “Just wait until your mother sees this, she’s going to be so happy!”
Danny can’t help but grin as he ductapes everything to a piece of toaster casing to give it the first test try. Dad’s enthusiasm is catching as he whoops when the first puddle of ectoplasm burns off in acrid smoke.
They spend another couple of hours perfecting it, welding a case together and branding it with the Fenton F.
It’s not pretty—but then again, when are his parents’ inventions?—a long stick with a cattle-prod-like taser at the end. Instead of electricity, it launches ectoplasm from one rod and superheats the other. When activated, all you need to do is touch the tip to a puddle and poof! It’s gone.
Danny shivers as he watches another pool go up.
But, no! He’s thinking about it wrong. It’s not a cattle-prod, it’s more like one of those sticks you see people using on the highway to jab at the litter on the floor. It’s for cleaning. It’s going to make his lab cleaning chores way easier! It’s—
“Danny, just look at it!”
Danny looks at it, and then back to his father’s face when he can’t bear to see the smoking ecto anymore. It’s painfully happy and Danny does his best to be happy, too.
“Here!” Dad shoves the contraption into Danny’s arms. “You use that and finish what you’re doing and then when you’re done—I can’t believe I’m saying this, galloping ghouls, I’m so happy, I’m working with my boy—we can get to work transferring it over to the Jack o’ Nine Tails! Imagine it, Danny, with one whip and that pesky poltergeist Phantom will be gone!”
Danny freezes.
It feels as if Dad’s just dumped a bucket of ice water over him.
“Poof! Up in smoke!”
The fumes are getting to him. That must be it. His head is swimming and his stomach is churning. There’s a ringing in his ears and it melds with the sharp, stinging whirr of ectoplasm sizzling. It pulses in time with the portal behind him.
He stumbles, almost goes down—almost throws up—but it doesn’t matter. Dad doesn’t see him, already turned away back to the work bench.
It doesn’t matter.
It doesn’t matter.
You know what, it’s okay! It’ll be okay, Danny can sneak back down here later tonight and he can undo it all, it doesn’t matter!
Take a deep breath, now, finish cleaning the lab, ignore Dad—it doesn’t matter—and get this over with. Being here makes his skin crawl, he needs to finish—
“I’m so proud of you, Danny.”
For the second time, Danny stops.
Dad doesn’t say anything else, just sits with his back to him, opening and closing his hand over a screwdriver with the Jack o’ Nine Tails splayed out in front of him.
It takes longer than Danny wants to find his voice, but he manages to croak out, “What?”
“I’m proud of you, Danno. I know this year hasn’t been easy for you, don’t think we haven’t noticed. Your mom and I have been talking about how you're doing at school. We're not blind. We know kids can be cruel, and that Dash Baxter… But we're so proud of you for not rising to it. We love you so much, Danny.”
A lump grows in Danny’s throat and his eyes prickle.
His fingers bleach white where they grip the Fenton Evaporator too tight.
“Look at what you can do when you try, Danny! This is the boy that I know, this is the Danny that I love. I’m so proud of what we’ve done here today. It’ll make the world a better place, just you wait! Now, come on, boyo, pass me that soldering iron and let’s really get stuck in!”
And… And Danny does.
With shaky limbs and tears threatening to spill, Danny reaches over and passes Dad the soldering iron, watching as he gets to work, and when his dad asks him to get his hands dirty—“Here, run this wire up the rope, there’s a good boy!”—he does.
Danny does it all and he does it well.
He sucks in a deep breath, swipes a hand over his eyes, and he helps his dad.
He laughs when Dad tells his stupid jokes:
“Quick! What’s red, white, and blue all over?”
“I don’t know, Dad, what’s red, white, and blue all over?”
“A ghost that we’ve beaten into oblivion!”
And he hopes that his mom is going to be just as proud as Dad says she will be when she sees what they’ve done.
It’s easy, really.
If he doesn’t think about it, if he tucks his mind away and just lets his hands get on with it, then he’s just helping his dad and he can do that. He can do it.
He can do it.
So, no, he doesn’t sabotage what they’ve built. He doesn’t add in a failsafe. He doesn’t loosen a few screws, or overload the element, or untwist a few wires.
Danny does his best and at the end of the day his dad holds up the new and improved Jack o’ Nine Tails and absolutely beams at him. A work of art, he calls it.
Danny doesn’t sabotage it then and he won’t sabotage it later, because it’s a work of art. This is what he and his dad built. Together.
Danny can’t help but grin back, happiness curling in his belly even as it gives a sickening lurch.
He doesn’t eat dinner that night, he can’t.
He stays downstairs long enough to present the new weapon to Mom—very pointedly ignoring Jazz’s look—and then he heads upstairs. There’s an English essay he needs to get started on, after all.
He doesn’t miss the look Mom and Dad share, the fond tenderness, the love, the hope, all directed at him.
He’s happy.
They’re happy.
They’re proud of him.
And despite it all, he had fun today! 
When he lays down on his bed, he smiles and he can’t stop the laughter bubbling up as he thinks about his dad. At one point, he had been holding up a circular piece of metal he’d cannibalised from the lamp shade to his eyes, moving it back and forth as he pulled his funny faces, and some of that full belly laugh creeps back in as he remembers doing the same back.
He laughs so hard until he cries, and he cries, and he cries. 
Today, he and his dad built a weapon. 
Tomorrow, it'll be used on him, but that's okay. 
It's okay because today, today his dad was proud.
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bread4innie · 4 months
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me: i love reading angst
me reading angst:
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sunsetreid · 6 months
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birthday twin [ s. reid ]
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pairing : Spencer Reid x fem!reader
summary / prompt : Spencer and (Y/N) share the same birthday, but (Y/N) has never been fond of her birthday. this year might be a little different though
requested : no
genre : fluff
warnings : not canon compliant, 12 year age gap
AUTHOR’S NOTE - i wrote this in the middle of the night last night bc i wanted to do something for spencer’s birthday yesterday (october 12th). sorry for any typos :)
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
If (Y/N) could sleep through her birthday, she would in a heartbeat. Especially this year because she is turning 30. She’s never looked forward to her birthday.
Especially her 30th birthday.
She’s getting older and time is running out. She hasn’t started a family like she has wanted to since settling down with her boyfriend of three years.
(Y/N) gets why Spencer is so hesitant to propose and start a family. Working for the FBI isn’t exactly the safest job and he is very aware of the fact that his family could be in danger because of his job. He’s made (Y/N) aware of these risks, and she agreed that one day they’ll start a family. She’ll wait until Spencer is ready.
That conversation was nearly two years ago. Nothing has happened since.
When Spencer’s alarm wakes her up and there’s some movement beside her, she keeps her eyes closed. If she opens them then the day will be real. She isn’t sure if she’s ready.
Spencer wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her limp body against his. He begins to press soft kisses to her cheek and jaw. A smile breaks out on (Y/N)’s lips as he begins to hum “Happy Birthday” in her ear.
She can’t help but feel a little happy to be celebrating her birthday with her boyfriend, who just happens to also be her birthday twin.
“Happy birthday, baby,” Spencer mumbles against the swell of her ear. “I know that you aren’t fond of birthdays but I promise this will be the best birthday you have ever had.”
(Y/N) finally opens her eyes and rolls onto her back to look at Spencer. “You say that every year, Spence,” she points out.
“You cannot tell me that the past few birthdays you’ve had haven’t been some of the best birthdays,” he says.
They have been. There is no doubt about that. Being able to celebrate a birthday with the love of your life always makes for a good birthday. (Y/N)’s birthdays have definitely been so much better since Spencer stumbled his way into her life.
“You’re right,” she replies as she wraps her arms around his neck. “Happy birthday to you too, by the way. Sorry you have to go to work today.”
Spencer leans down and pecks her lips. “I told Hotch I needed to leave early so we can get to the restaurant on time for our reservations,” he tells her before he kisses her one more time. “He said it was no problem so I’ll be picking you up from here at six.”
(Y/N) smiles and pushes Spencer’s hair out of his face. “Remind me to thank him for letting you go early,” she teases. “At least I get to have dinner with my boyfriend on our birthday this year.”
Last year, Spencer was in Colorado for a case and it was a week later when he finally got back and they got to have their birthday dinner.
“Hotch said that if we get called out for a case that he would be okay if I left tomorrow to meet them,” he tells her. “I wanted to be here for our birthday. I wanted to be here for you.”
An involuntary smile forms on her lips. “You’d really stay here until tomorrow if your team got called away for a case?” she questions like she doesn’t believe him.
He nods and presses a longer kiss to her lips. “Hotch’s exact words to me were ‘I was young and in love once’ so I guess he understands,” Spencer replies. “What do you want for breakfast? Pancakes? Waffles?” Her ears practically perk up at the mention of waffles. “Waffles it is then. Go take a shower and breakfast will be ready for you in the kitchen.”
After one more kiss, Spencer rolls out of bed. (Y/N) sits up and watches his cute butt gets dressed after their night together. She can’t help but gnaw on her bottom lip as she watches him get dressed into his outfit for the day.
It’s days like these where she thinks Spencer is glad he wears suits to work. He doesn’t need to come back and change after work, depending on what he does at work.
Spencer turns and catches (Y/N) watching him. “You just watched me get dressed, didn’t you?” he asks.
“Guilty,” she laughs. (Y/N) grabs Spencer’s Caltech shirt from the floor and pulls it over her head before she gets up. “You have a very cute butt and I couldn’t resist.”
“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Spencer replies after (Y/N) presses a chaste kiss to her lips. “Go shower. Breakfast will be ready soon.”
She nods and walks toward the bathroom that is connected to their shared bedroom. She pulls off the t-shirt before she turns on the shower and gets the water to a lukewarm temperature.
Her body is still sore from last night’s activities. The warm water helps her muscles relax. She lets out a soft sigh when the water touches her tense muscles.
She lets the water run over her body before she begins her routine.
The shower goes by quicker than she would like, but she does a full shower. Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, shave, and exfoliation. Not in that order but she makes it a point to shave and exfoliate her skin.
She wants to look and feel good when she goes out tonight.
After her shower, she dries her body and towel dries her hair since she’ll mess with it later when she gets ready for dinner. In the bedroom, she pulls on one of Spencer’s button-up’s that have grown too small on him and a pair of boxers he’s given her before she peddles her way to the kitchen.
The sound of beeping greets her when she walks into the kitchen. Spencer is pulling a freshly cooked waffle out of the iron. It smells so sweet in the room.
(Y/N) comes up behind Spencer and wraps her arms around her boyfriend’s waist. “Good shower?” he asks as he pours another round of batter into the iron.
“Would’ve been better if you were in there with me,” she admits. “You know how much I like it when you wash my hair. Feels so good.”
Spencer laughs as he prepares (Y/N)’s plate. He pours syrup over the waffles before he sprays some whipped cream on the top waffle. He turns around and offers her the plate. “I just have one more waffle to finish up then I’ll join you at the table,” he tells her.
She nods and accepts the plate. After thanking him, she makes her way out to the dining room table. She gets settled in her normal seat.
A beep goes off and not two minutes later, Spencer is sitting across the table from her. They both begin to eat breakfast.
The waffles are light and fluffy. The syrup adds to the sweetness already in the waffles and the whipped cream adds a creamy texture to them. (Y/N) can’t help the groan that passes her lips as she chews the first bite.
“If your career at the FBI doesn’t work out, you should become a chef, Spence,” she compliments. “These are amazing.”
A smiling Spencer says, “I just know how you like your waffles. That’s it.”
She returns the smile as she takes another bite.
This morning has been amazing. Waking up to kisses and Spencer humming in her ear. A nice shower and delicious pancakes.
But something has been lurking in the back of her mind. Something she’s been wanting to know for over a year.
“Um, Spencer?” she asks to get his attention. “I’ve been thinking about something recently and I wanted to know if your feelings have changed on it.”
He raises his eyebrows and looks at her. “What have you been thinking about?”
“A family,” she hesitantly tells him. “With you. I know you said you weren’t ready to start one almost two years ago and I wanted to see where you stood on this since it’s been a while she’s either of us has brought it up.”
Spencer finishes chewing before he replies. “My job hasn’t changed, (Y/N),” he tells her. “It’s still incredibly dangerous and I don’t want to put you or any kids we have at risk.”
Her heart sinks at Spencer’s words.
“I turned 30 today,” she tells him after his words have sunk in. “I don’t have a lot of time left to have a baby.”
Spencer takes another bite of his waffles while (Y/N)’s sit forgotten. “Women can have babies well into their forties and even fifties,” he comments. “You have time to have a baby.”
“I don’t want to be 40 when I have my first baby!” she blurts out. “I know your job is dangerous but I want a family, Spencer. I don’t want to be in my sixties when our child graduates high school and college. I want to be alive to see my grandchildren. You’re twelve years older than me so you’d be in your seventies when our children graduate if I wait until I turn 40 to start a family. Do you really want that?”
At that moment, Spencer’s phone begins to ring. It’s buzzing cuts through the tense silence that has formed between them. She stares at Spencer as he answers the call. “Yeah, I’ll be in soon,” is all he says before he hangs up the phone. “Um, Hotch wants me in early. There’s a case but it’s local so I’ll be able to pick you up at six, okay?”
Tears form in her eyes as Spencer gets up and runs away from the conversation. He kisses her forehead before he mumbles an “I love you” and walks out the door.
(Y/N) watches as Spencer leaves their apartment.
That’s not the answer she hoped he would have. She was hoping that he’d say that he’d love to start their family. She was hoping that he’d say that he’s ready.
Clearly he’s not, and she has some things to think through.
So much for this birthday being the best birthday she has ever had.
· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·
Despite being upset, (Y/N) does begin to get ready at five for Spencer to pick her up for dinner. She has been answering calls and texts all day, including some from Spencer’s team. Penelope actually called her while she was waiting on something to come in about the case to wish her a happy birthday.
She wasn’t feeling very happy when she answered the phone.
The restaurant they’re going to is fancy so (Y/N) grabs a short, slim fitting red dress. The collar is drapped and the sleeves are really chains that crisscross on her exposed back. She pairs the dress with a matching pair of heels. She curls her hair and lets it fall down her back. She does a red and black smokey eye look with dark red lipstick.
Well, at least she looks good. She doesn’t feel good at the moment.
She doesn’t even want to go to dinner at this point. She’d rather stay home and read a book with a glass of wine in her hand than possibly have a second tense conversation like the one she and Spencer had this morning.
At six on the dot, (Y/N) grabs her clutch, keys, and phone before going downstairs to meet Spencer so they can get to the restaurant for their 6:30 reservation.
Five minutes later, Spencer is pulling up in his car. “Hi, beautiful,” he says as he gets out of the car. “Sorry I’m a few minutes late.”
With a quiet shrug, (Y/N) gets into the passenger seat of the car with her boyfriend’s help. She looks out the window at the setting sun while Spencer gets in and begins to head toward their destination for the night.
“JJ and Emily pitched in and got me a small cake,” he tells a silent (Y/N). “Derek badly sang ‘Happy Birthday’ while I blew out the candle. Rossi took some pictures so you’ll have to ask him for those. Then Hotch told us about the case. I’ll spare you those details because it’s really gruesome and not what you want to hear at the moment.”
Spencer seems really happy with how his day has gone while (Y/N) cried as soon as he walked out the door this morning.
She truly understands why Spencer isn’t ready to have kids and start a family. He told her all about what happened to Hotch’s ex-wife and son. He told her all about the threats that his mother has gotten over the years and the threats his team’s families have gotten.
It’s a terrifying thought to bring a child into danger, but they aren’t in danger. In the three years they have been together, (Y/N) hasn’t been harmed or had her life threatened. That should be some reassurance to Spencer, right?
Right?
“Have you really not changed your feelings on having kids with me?” she asks all of a sudden when Spencer comes to a stop at a red light. “You don’t have a biological clock when it comes to having kids. You can get someone pregnant when you’re 80 if you wanted to. I can’t. That’s why I’m bringing this up again. I have a good 10 or 15 years left in me, but I don’t want to wait that long.”
Spencer looks over at her. “I understand, (Y/N),” he says. “I see it from your perspective. See it from mine.”
She raises her eyebrows. “I have!” she exclaims. “I saw it when you explained to me a few years ago why you weren’t ready. You’re 42 now, Spencer. I’m 30. We’re not getting any younger. I understand you have a risky job, but that shouldn’t hold you back from starting a family. If it’s me, then just tell me.”
He pulls into the parking lot of the restaurant and parks the car. He turns to (Y/N) and says, “It’s not you, baby. I promise it’s not you. I’m just scared to bring kids into my life with a risk of losing them, or them losing their mother because of my job. It’s not you. It’s literally me as much as I hate to say that because it’s so cliché. We will start a family one day. I’ve promised you that. You will have kids by the time you’re 40.”
(Y/N) nods. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he tells her. “I understand your frustration. I hear you. Don’t worry. We will have a family one day.”
She nods again in reply before they get out and walk into the restaurant. Spencer laces their fingers together as they walk through the door. She smiles to herself and looks down at her feet as she walks.
“Hi, reservation for two under the name Reid,” Spencer says when they walk up to the hostess stand.
She nods and grabs two menus for them. “Come with me, Mr. Reid,” she replies. When she walks into the dining room, Spencer and (Y/N) follow her. She sits them down at a table for two. “Your server will be right with you.”
They both thank her and begin to look over the menus in front of them.
The pasta dishes sound the most appetizing to her at the moment. She might get some kind of pasta dish. Maybe pair it with a glass a wine if she decides to get a drink with her dinner.
Their waitress comes and gets their drink and meal orders. Spencer gets a steak dish while (Y/N) ends up getting the pasta dish she wanted. Neither of them get alcohol to drink.
She plays with her thumbs and Spencer asks, “What did you do today? Did your parents call you?”
“Yeah,” she mumbles. “I wasn’t really in the best mood to talk to them though since you decided to leave and not talk to me.”
Spencer frowns. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I know I didn’t leave you with much of an answer because I had to go to work.” He reaches across the table and rests his hands on hers. “I promise tonight will be better. Okay?”
“You also promised that today would be a good day,” she replies. “It hasn’t, Spencer.”
Their drinks come and (Y/N) pulls her hands apart.
Silence fills the air between them. The soft chatter of people around them keeps it from being dead quiet between them.
(Y/N) goes back to playing with her thumbs and sips her glass of water.
“I was going to wait to do this until we left and I brought you to the spot we met but I can’t keep telling you that I don’t want something when I do,” Spencer suddenly says. She raises her eyebrows. “I do want to start a family with you, (Y/N) baby. I love you and I’d do anything to start a family with you because you’d be such an amazing mother. I want you in my life for the rest of it. I want to navigate the risks and dangers with you. With this, I promise to take care of you and keep you safe. I promise to make every birthday the best one because I know how much you hate today.”
(Y/N)’s eyes widen when Spencer slides out of his chair and down to one knee beside her. He pulls a box out of the pocket of his suit. “Spencer,” she gasps. “I-”
The box is pulled open and inside is a diamond ring. The tears that form in her eyes make the sparkling ring a little blurry. “(Y/N) (L/N), my love,” Spencer finishes. “Will you marry me and start a family with me?”
She doesn’t know what to say. She’s still so upset, but now she knows why he kept telling her today that he wasn’t ready.
He was going to surprise her with a proposal.
“You’re not just asking me because I’m upset about our conversations, are you?” she asks. “Because I am going to actually kill you if you are.”
Spencer laughs and shakes his head. “This was the plan all along,” he tells her. “I’m asking you because I love you and want to marry you.”
The smile that she was trying to suppress finally breaks out on her lips before she nods. “Then yes,” she says. “I will marry you, Spencer Reid.”
Everyone around them begins to cheer as Spencer pulls the ring out of the box and slides it onto her left ring finger. She pulls him into a soft kiss while he’s still down on his knees next to her.
Their dinner comes and a free dessert right after. (Y/N)’s mood is completely different when they walk out of the restaurant to go back to their apartment.
She’s engaged now. The family she has always wanted is finally coming together.
Maybe birthdays aren't the worst thing in the world anymore.
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brightlotusmoon · 1 year
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My friend just said this and I agree:
"New writing minsdet I'm trying out: defeat impostor framing by being just as unhinged, just as fragmented, as your worst critics think you are. The correct response to "this is a mess" is "I know, isn't it cool?" The correct response to "what if no one understands what I'm trying to do?" is "then it won't be anything I haven't felt before." Lean into the hate. Use your weight to throw it off balance like a martial art."
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mumms-the-word · 8 days
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Choosing to Live
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Pairing: Gale x Tav (you/reader POV) Summary: Shortly after Gale decides to defy his goddess and not self-destruct in the caverns below Moonrise Towers, you turn and see him struggling with the conflicting emotional fallout of his decision. CW: death, suicidal ideation, panic attacks, survivor's guilt (implied), coercion (implied) A/N: I was inspired by @gangstagandalf's emotional fanart of Gale and Tav just after Moonrise. It's not quite the same scene as their art but I just couldn't resist writing my own angst version. Check them out, their art is lovely! @gangstagandalf I hope you don't mind if I borrowed a few of your lines from your original post! (Pic is of my tav Dani because that’s all I got) UPDATE: Now on AO3 woooo
You watch as the husk of Ketheric Thorm collapses at your feet, a hollow shell of dessicated flesh and heavy armor. You’ve done it at last—you’ve defeated the Bone Lord’s Chosen, the first of three enemies who have enslaved an Elder Brain through the power of some sort of crown it bears. 
At the thought of the crown, you turn your head, seeking out the person who had first pointed out the crown to you. It was the thing that seemed to wake him from his reluctant obedience to his goddess’s command. There had been hunger in his eyes, more than you’d ever seen in him before, and for a brief moment you had thought yourself and him safe from the commands of the goddess of magic and mysteries.
But then he’d steeled himself. You’d watched as he physically and mentally struggled with the weight of the goddess’s demands, preparing himself for what he thought was inevitable.
Death. Destruction. Catastrophe. But one that would supposedly thwart mass enslavement at the whims of an elder brain and three evil Chosen. A noble sacrifice, but one that would kill dozens of innocent lives, too.
You don’t remember what all you said in those panicked seconds between him making his decision and you being dragged into a battle against Ketheric. You recall, vaguely, that you had clutched his robe in your hands and told him you loved him. There had been other words, too, but they were lost to your memory. Whatever it was, it had been enough. Because as of this moment, the elder brain has disappeared, Ketheric is dead, and you are not.
Your eyes find him, your love, your Gale, standing on a far platform where he had climbed to better aim and prepare his spells. He stands, leaning against his staff, panting, staring at the lifeless and inert body of Ketheric at your feet, and then his gaze shifts to you. You, covered in your blood and Ketheric’s black, fetid ichor, in bone dust and illithid matter. You probably look horrible, you think. You know you should bend down to examine Ketheric’s body and see what the glowing stone in his chest is all about, but you can’t look away from your love. Not now.
Not when you were so close to losing him to his goddess’s arbitrary and cold demand. 
But you didn’t. He’s alive. He’s alive. The thought pumps outward from your heart, warm and reassuring like the blood rushing through your own veins, reminding you that you too are alive. Your only thoughts now are of closing the distance between the two of you and peppering his face with kisses, telling him how proud you are of him, how brave he’s been, how much you love him. But as you take a step toward his platform, a shift in him gives you pause.
He slowly kneels down, still leaning heavily on his staff, and for a moment you think he’s praying, in the same way Shadowheart kneels to pray to her goddess. But no, his eyes are wide, staring, unfixed, not closed and reverent. After a moment, he sits fully on the ground, his staff falling with a clatter against the surface of the platform, and he buries his face in his hands.
You go to him immediately, using a last rare scrap of magic to misty step directly onto his platform. He’s shaking with fine, shuddering tremors as you approach, your steps cautious and soft but your heart aching and yearning to rush over. You reach out a hand, your own fingers trembling as they hover suspended above him, and you whisper his name uncertainly.
“Gale?”
You hear his voice but his words are muffled by his hands. You bend closer, making out fragments as his words tumble forth in a soft, whispered babble.
“Oh gods, oh gods,” he gasps. “I nearly—I almost—I could have—the orb. What have I done—”
“Gale,” you say again, finally kneeling in front of him and laying a hand on his shoulder. He jolts at the touch, stiff and startled by you, but you don’t let it deter you. You squeeze his shoulder in what you hope is a reassuring touch, even as the tears threaten to choke you as you watch and feel him tremble. “It’s all right. We’re safe. My love, you’re safe.”
He lowers his hands, one clenching the fabric of his robe over his chest, his breaths coming shallow and quick. His gaze on you is so different than before, all the warmth and steadiness and gentle, shy uncertainty that came with looking at you replaced with abject horror and unfocused panic. You get the sense he isn’t really seeing you, but staring through you to some theoretical what-if nightmare. One where you didn’t make it out alive. 
“I very nearly killed us all,” he mumbles, still clutching his chest. "I nearly killed you."
“But you didn’t—”
“I was so close to—to—th-the orb, I could feel it stirring, like it wanted me to—” He breaks off, his hand tightening in the fabric of his robe. The mark of the orb glows faintly, the barest hint of illuminated magic threading upward toward his eye, casting an orchid-purple sheen to his dark iris. He bends forward slightly, combing a hand roughly through his hair and clutching brown and gray strands tightly in his fist, his eyes wide. You half-expect him to be sick as he presses his other hand flat against his chest, breathing heavily. “And now I’ve defied my goddess. I—”
He turns suddenly, sharply, twisting to prop himself up on hands and knees away from you as his body rebels against him and he retches. Very little comes up—he hasn’t been eating well since you first stepped into Moonrise and he found himself faced with the very real possibility of sacrificing his life—but his body shudders and bucks violently as it attempts to dispel everything inside him. Not just the contents of his empty stomach but the fear and loathing and terror too. 
You don’t shy away from him. You shift closer, sitting on your knees at his side as his body settles into little shivers, his hands pressed flat into the surface of the platform. Your eyes are burning with tears now and you want to sob, your heart shattering for this man, your love, your heart’s song, but you have to be strong for him. You smooth his hair from his face, fingers brushing against his sweat-slick skin, and you cradle his feverish cheek in your palm. You say the only words you know to say and you repeat them as many times as you have to before they break through the haze of his clouded mind and resonate within him.
“Shh. You’re safe, my love. I’m here. I’m here with you. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, my love. You are safe.”
He leans into you and you gather him in your arms, rocking you both gently as he rests his head on your shoulder and wraps his arms around one of your arms. His shoulder is awkwardly pressed into your chest and he’s half-curled into your lap, weighing your knees uncomfortably down into ground, but you don’t mind. Discomfort and awkwardness don’t matter. What matters is that he is alive and so are you. You remind him of that in words, in your stream of murmured comforts, along with all the rest. 
It takes several long moments for his breathing to even out again, and another few for him to finally rest against you without an errant shiver wracking his body. But he calms at last. The tears on your face have since dried, but your heart aches no less than before. To think that your love would suffer so for making the right choice—the choice to live—but to suffer nonetheless out of a sense of guilt and fealty to a goddess that had thrown him aside like a broken toy.
It fills you with an uncommon rage. The gods are ever cruel, but the goddess of magic—you dare not even give her the honor of her name in your own thoughts—she is among the worst in your eyes. Even now, as your love struggles to compose himself, it isn’t a goddess’s arms or a goddess’s blessing that are there to comfort him.
The arms that are wrapped around him are your own. The comfort you have to offer is that of warm flesh and soft breath, mortal and precious. And it is better—better, you tell yourself with all the prideful conviction of a mortal soul—than anything an immortal, unfeeling goddess could offer.
He finally stirs, straightening up to look at you. Or look at your shoulder, rather, unable to meet your gaze. His expression is hollow, sorrowful, but calm. You know the road to him accepting and finding joy in his decision to defy his goddess is not yet over, and the path ahead may still be thorny.
But at least he has the chance to try and walk that path, rather than ending it all here.
"Forgive me," he says softly. He seems to want to say more, but the words don't come easily. You shake your head, not caring what he's trying to apologize for.
"There's nothing to forgive, my love. You made the right choice." You caress his cheek, wiping away the grime and the tear tracks that have collected there. “I love you, Gale.”
He finally meets your gaze and oh, your love, he looks so exhausted. But there is a flicker of his old self still there, a warmth that is familiar in his dark eyes. You press your forehead to his, still caressing his cheek, and close your eyes. 
He’s alive. That’s all that matters. You can figure out the rest as you go.
“I love you, too,” he whispers.
You have to get out of here, out of this cavern of flesh and stone and brine. You have to face the problems of the world at large, the threat of the elder brain and more. You know that. But you steal a few more moments for yourself, breathing softly with Gale, treasuring every breath as though they were more precious than diamonds.
———
You set out to leave the shadow-cursed lands at what you think is dawn the next day. Even with the curse waning, it’s hard to tell the time with the sun still obscured. But the hope is that as the land fades away behind you, you’ll be walking forward into sunlight and not more night.
You and Gale walk at the back of your little group, your companions moving on ahead. With each step, the shadow curse lightens. There are hints and signs of new life all around, tiny green leaves fluttering against once-dead branches, thin shoots of grass poking upward from the cold, dry ground. It restores your hope for good things to come. Not just for these lands, but for you. For your love.
He’s been quiet since the fight against Ketheric. Contemplative. Thoughtful. You had spent the night wrapped in each other's arms, counting his every heartbeat and breath until you were pulled into slumber, suspecting that he had done the same for you. When you woke you both pretended that sleep had cured you of the previous day’s torments and used the task of breaking up the camp to travel onward as your distraction from your concerns. But you watched him across the camp anyway, a knot of worry in your stomach.
Sometimes, both this morning and in the moments traveling now, you see that hunger in his eyes as you did when he first saw the crown atop the elder brain. But sometimes you just see a lingering sorrow. You haven’t been able to bring yourself to ask him about it. Not yet. It’s enough that he’s here with you, and you trust him to speak to you about what weighs on his heart in his own time. But you still worry.
Just up ahead, the shadow curse seems to fizzle out entirely, like a fog that dissipates as the sun burns it away. Beyond the threshold is sun-warmed landscape. Though scarred by the smoldering and abandoned remains of the Absolute army’s campfires and shelters, nothing has ever looked so inviting to you before. You rush ahead, eager to feel the sun on your skin again.
The difference in temperature alone is enough to reassure you that the shadow curse is behind you at last. One second you are enveloped in the chill and dimness of the shadows, and the next you are warm and bright in the light of the sun. You pause just a few steps into the sunlight, stretching out your arms and lifting your face toward the sky, drinking in the warmth. At last. You feel as though you can breathe freely again.
You turn to smile at Gale, but he is not at your side. He lingers in the shadows, watching you. The shadow curse is like a sheer black veil between you, obscuring his expression slightly, but as you step closer you realize his eyes are glimmering with unshed tears.
“Gale?”
He blinks, as if awakening from the depths of his thoughts, and quickly rubs his eyes. “Ah…my apologies. Lost in thought, I suppose.”
You hesitate to leave the warmth of the sun, but you sense this is more important than sunlight. You step onto the threshold of the curse, reaching out a hand to him. You want to pull him out of the shadows and into the light with you. He stares at your hand a moment before taking it, but he doesn’t move. Like he isn’t ready yet. 
“Tell me what’s on your mind, my love,” you say gently. “Tell me how I can help.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but for the first time, words seem to utterly fail him. He swallows, gazing at you with a stricken expression, and tightens his hold on your hand.
“It’s simply…I am…in awe,” he says at last. “Of you. And I am mortified with myself. No, more than mortified. I nearly…”
You sense the flow of his thoughts instantly, your minds connecting via the tadpole, his thoughts unconsciously opening up to you. At first he resists, his mind shutting down like a trap to spare you, but then the shields waver and fall away, and you are pulled into his memories. You feel the struggle within him as he stares at the elder brain. You feel the heat and pain of the orb inside, as if reminding him of his purpose. You see yourself through his gaze, the fear and love warring in your expression as you beg him not to go through with his sacrifice. You feel the moment he makes his decision, his resolve hardening like steel in flame, only to shatter, brittle and broken, the moment the brain disappears, the pieces transforming into needles of doubt that bury themselves in his psyche, his heart, his body.
As the familiar, terrifying sight of the colossal avatar of Myrkul rises into your vision once more, for one fleeting moment, you sense the desperate desire to end it all now, to end the storm of uncertainty in your mind, the pain of the orb, the fear of disobedience, the exhaustion of facing another battle with impossible odds. For one fleeting moment, you consider letting go and letting the orb obliterate you and everything around you.
And then the connection ends, and you are left standing at the threshold of the shadows with Gale’s hand in yours.
“I nearly killed us all with one rash thought,” he murmurs quietly. “The thought of my sacrifice never left my mind, even as I swore to you I wouldn’t go through with it.”
He takes a shuddering breath and a tear drips down his cheek. You catch it with your fingertips as you cradle his face with your free hand, your heart breaking for him all over again. His tears prompt your own and you struggle to hold them back, for his sake.
“And now,” he says, his voice altered, thick with tears. He swallows. “And now I see what I fool I was to doubt. To doubt you and your wisdom. To wish for death so quickly.” 
He meets your gaze and you see a thousand words he hasn’t said yet there in his brown eyes. A hundred apologies, a hundred ways to beg forgiveness, a hundred confessions of love, a hundred praises, all about and for you. It’s a torrent of love and longing and guilt in his eyes and your knees nearly buckle at the sight of it.
“I would have condemned the brightest of stars to death,” he says. “I would have robbed the world of its greatest treasure. And for what?”
“Oh, Gale,” you whisper. You abandon the sunlight to join him in the shadows and embrace him, holding him tightly as he struggles to regain his composure. “No more. You made the right decision. You’re here with me. I’m here with you. We’re alive, my love, because of you.”
“But I could have—“
“But you didn’t.” You pull back to cradle his face in both your hands and wait until he’s looking you full in the face. You want him to see your own resolve, but also your love, your faith in him, your pride for him. “You chose to live, my love. That is the most important thing. That is all that matters right now.”
He stares at you, letting your words sink in, until at last he smiles. Though it’s still tinged with sadness and guilt, it’s genuine. It soothes your spirit and settles some of your worries. 
“I don’t deserve you, you know.”
You shake your head. This isn’t about deserving, but you know that’s a battle you won’t win here. Instead you kiss him, your lips soft against his, and you let that suffice for words for a moment.
When you finally pull away, he seems a little restored. The love is back in his eyes and his smile isn’t weighed down as it was before.
“I love you,“ you say.
“And I love you,” he responds. “Immensely. More than I scarce dreamed I could love anyone.”
“We will find another way to deal with the brain and quiet the orb inside you. Some way that keeps us both alive and together. I swear it.“
“I believe you.” There isn't a trace of uncertainty in his voice when he says it. “I want that more than anything.”
“Want what?”
“To live. With you. To see the dawn of a new day with you, the dawns of a thousand more days. To know that the road ahead, whatever it holds, won't be spent alone, because I'll have you by my side.” He pauses, as if a thought is only just now coming to him. “I can...I can have that hope, now. Thanks to you.”
You smile. You take both of his hands in yours and step back, placing yourself once more on the threshold between shadows and sun. “Then will you join me in the sunlight?”
He looks at you, then at the sunlit road beyond, and then back at you. He nods, letting go of one of your hands but tightening his hold on the other. “Yes. I’d love to.”
Without another word, he keeps his hand in yours as you lead him forward step by step.
Away from the darkness and into the light.
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missmielyhoran · 1 year
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Harry angst fic recs 2
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Neighbors by @1d1195 (completed) [I love this sm😭]
Long way down @hardcandycigarette
Break my heart again @ineffablywriting
Wish you were sober @sooverwhitesandpinks
ex text @writingsfromhome (completed) this one is also so good harry really got on my nerves
a fuck boy will always break your heart @fruitmans
Better off (ongoing) @avatar-anna [🤌🤌]
Needing you @smilesstyless
Laceleaf @be-with-me-so-happily (ongoing) [she slays everytime]
One is enough @harrieatthemet (bestie please fix your angst masterlist cause I'm dying) as you know I'm sucker for dadrry angst check out her whole account it's amazing
Before it all and Dancing away in tears @lonelycowgirls
Gala after gala @gucciwins
this is not angsty but I loveeeee this desire by @enthusiasticharry
Not the same as it was @babyiamperfectforyou
I really apologize for forgetting these masterpiece which broke my heart😭
Power (completed) @goldenbuckyyy
Sick of you @paeries (I need part 3 love😭)
there are so many other amazing ones I have read, but I can't find them😭
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stop-talking · 1 month
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You're his ex, but he's desperate for a babysitter. (pt. 3)
Mike Schmidt x fem reader
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2.8k words
Tags: 18+, mike x reader, no use of y/n, smut, porn with plot, gag, bondage, exes, enemies, enemies to lovers, slowburn? sassy mike, sassy reader, brat behavior all around, switch mike, sub mike, munch mike, dom reader, oral (fem receiving), pet names, banter, angst, love-hate relationship, hate fucking, aftercare, fluff.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 4
This chapter is pure smut. If you're here for the story (cuz pfft who reads this stuff right...) you can skip this and still understand part 4. TLDR: they fuck.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
You sit next to Mike on the couch as you down the last bit of your coffee.
"You know, I think I'd like to use one of my favors." You smirk and put a hand on his leg as you set your mug down.
"O-oh yeah?" Mike stutters out lamely, attention immediately pulled away from whatever stupid show you turned on the T.V.
"Yeah."
Mike yelps softly as you squeeze his thigh, but doesn't make any moves to stop you. Damn it, you know exactly how to push his buttons. You always did.
"What exactly do you want from me?" He narrows his eyes at you, brow furrowing as he desperately pretends he doesn't like to be toyed with.
"What do you think I want, Mikey?"
Mike's eyes go wide as your hand inches up his thigh, but he swallows and returns the sass.
"Why don't you tell me yourself, Princess?"
You huff and shift on the couch, throwing yourself across his lap dramatically. Your back arches from the way you're laying on his legs, and you stare up at him with a pout.
"Just take me to bed already."
Mike does just that, hooking one arm under your back, and the other under your knees. He fucking princess carries you. That's new.
"Damn, you been working out?" You tease him, feeling up his bicep with one arm as you hook the other around his neck for support. He doesn't look especially muscular, hell, he doesn't feel muscular either. Of course, that could be because of the soft hoodie he's wearing.
"What do you think?" He swings you around to face the bench press in the corner of his bedroom as he nudges the door closed with his foot. You'd never seen him actually use the damn thing, but... well, he was carrying you fairly easily.
"I think you've missed me." You look up at him, eyes trailing down to his lips.
"I'm just doing you a favor, sweetheart." He tosses you on the bed before you can get that kiss you were thinking about.
"You mean you're just doing me."
"As a favor."
His stubbornness irks you, and you crawl over next to him as he sits on the edge of the bed.
"Here, let me help." You grab his leg and start taking off his sneaker. Mike's a little confused, but he lets it happen. You take the other one off as well, then wave a dismissive hand at him as you start untying his laces.
"You can take off the rest yourself."
"Fuck are you doing with my shoes?" He grumbles as he removes his hoodie and shirt.
You don't bother to answer him, and when he looks over again he realizes you're completely un-lacing his shoes.
"I need the laces."
"Do I even want to know why?" He scoffs and starts to undo his belt and shimmy out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxers.
"Oh, you'll find out. Lie down and wait."
Mike stays put, scowling. However, It's a little hard to feign annoyance when he's, well, a little hard. He finally gives in when he realizes you're not gonna throw him any hints, and sighs as he scoots back on the bed.
"Good boy." You tease him, finally pulling the 2nd lace completely free of his shoe.
He groans, but makes no effort to stop you as you climb up on him in a straddling position. He only wishes you'd taken your shorts off first. Oh well. Not like they're covering much, anyways.
"I'm going to regret this, aren't I?"
"Not as much as you'd regret not doing this."
Mike can't argue with that. So, he doesn't try. He wraps a hand around the back of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss. His other hand finds its way to your lower back and he gives a little tug down, silently begging you to lower yourself onto him.
"Mmmph... nngh..." When the gentle tugging doesn't work, he tries whining, but everything comes out muffled with your tongue practically down his throat. He's not usually the type to just take what he wants, but damn it, he might try it soon if you keep tormenting him.
"What was that, Mikey?" You pull away from the kiss and sit up on him, finally making contact with the twitching hard-on in his boxers.
He's already breathless from the kiss, and now that he can feel you... he can't even talk. You've broken him already. He just pants and looks up at you with those big brown puppy eyes of his.
"Use your words." You scold him, and adjust yourself on top of him to brush up against him. When that doesn't get him to talk, you gently trail your nails down his chest with both hands. That really gets him going.
"Please." He hates begging. He hates this. Wasn't HE supposed to be doing YOU? And yet, here he is, already melting.
"Please what?"
"Please just do whatever-the-fuck you want." He sighs and goes limp, letting his arms drop to the bed as he tries to get his breathing under control. All that kissing made his brain go fuzzy.
"Thank you. I will."
Mike practically growls as you lean down and bite him in the crook of his neck. It quickly turns to a whimper when you start rocking your hips as well, grinding into him with those infuriatingly tiny shorts.
"Shh... Abby's asleep, remember?" Shit. The last thing he wanted to think about right now was his little sister in the room across the hall. You were right though, the walls here are thin. Mike nods and bites the inside of his cheek to quiet himself, then tugs desperately at your hips. He wants you to keep going. He needs you to keep going.
"Aww, you're so worked up already." You can't feel much through your shorts and his boxers, but you can tell his moves are getting desperate. After a minute or so of biting all down his neck and grinding on him, you decide to switch things up before he explodes.
"Fuuuuck." Mike lets out a low groan as you climb off of him. He tries to pull you back down by the hips, but you swat his hands off. No fair.
"Here, gimmie." You take his wrist and hold his arm up, fiddling with something. Before he can even process what's happening, his wrist is tied to the bedpost. Is that... his shoelace? He's not sure whether he should laugh or try and get out while he can.
"You're an evil woman." He groans, but doesn't even try to pretend he doesn't like this. Not with it literally jumping in his boxers.
"This evil woman misses your tongue, Mikey." You tsk at him quietly as you tie up his other wrist. Tight. Damn it, that's gonna hurt later.
"Fuck... sit on my face."
"What was that?" You look down at him with a smirk as you slip out of your shorts and panties, kicking them to the floor.
"Sit on my face." He repeats. "Please."
"Only because you asked so nicely."
Mike nearly dies right there when he feels your thighs wrap around the sides of his head. You aren't quite on his face, instead choosing to sit up on the top of his chest. It's still enough to drive him mad. Damn it, he shouldn't enjoy this so much.
"I... You're so..." He looks up at you, his usual scowl replaced with that dreamy expression you only ever got to see in times like this.
"So what, Mikey?" You prompt him, running your fingers through his dark brown curls with a hand. "Hm?"
"Sooooo mean." He closes his eyes and groans, leaning back into your hand as you play with his hair.
"I wanna be meaner. Suffocate you a little."
"Evil woman." His eyes twinkle as he looks up at you again, unable to hide how eager he is.
Laughing softly, you lift your hips and position yourself over his face. Much to your amusement, his arms tug at the restraints. Has he forgotten he's tied up?
"Hold still." You scold him, carefully lowering yourself. His stubble tickles a bit, but it's a familiar feeling. This isn't your first rodeo, especially not with him.
Mike already has his tongue out before you even touch his face. Honestly, he probably wants this more than you do at this point, even if you are the most infuriating person in his life. He moans when you finally make contact, surprised at just how wet you are. Damn it. You really do love toying with him.
"Shush. No moaning."
Mike whimpers a bit when you scold him, and starts bucking his hips into the air. God, he wishes his hands were free. He can't even bring himself to beg for it, too absorbed in you.
"Fuck, right there." You start to buck your hips slightly as well, grinding onto his face. His tongue is hitting just the right spot, and he fuckin' knows it. Bastard.
As soon as you give him that little sliver of praise, he loses it. Completely. He's a desperate, writhing mess beneath you, pulling against his restraints and thrusting up into the void while he eats you out like he's starved.
With one hand gently pulling his hair, and the other clinging to the headboard to steady yourself, you rock your hips. This earns you another low moan from Mike, and while the vibrations feel amazing against your clit, he needs to shut the fuck up.
"Quiet, or I'll fuckin' gag you." You hiss, yanking his hair a little harder for a moment to make a point. He returns to whimpering, for now.
God, you missed this. Mike Schmidt was a jackass, but he was a jackass that knew exactly how to make you squirm. In fact, you were squirming now. Fuck.
"I'm almost... mmm.... Mike..."
Fuck, now you're moaning his name?
Mike wants to grab your hips and pull you down into his face harder, but his hands are restrained.
He wants to grab himself and finally get off, but again, restraints.
He wants to moan, but you're threatening to gag him.
He wants to keep you in this bed with him forever, but he can tell you're close, and pretty unlikely to stick around afterwards. Even if you could be convinced, he's too stubborn to ask.
He wants to taste your cum. So he does.
"Fuuuuuck." You turn into a trembling mess on his face, your legs going weak as he licks and sucks in just the right way. He knows your body so well.
"Nngh, Mike, stop." You lift your hips, leaving him licking at the air for a moment.
"God, that was..."
Mike watches as you scoot back to sit on his chest again, and feels your thighs gently squeeze his face. When you run both hands through his hair as well, he's in heaven. He doesn't need you to say he did a good job to know he did well. He can tell by the way you caress him, and the slick dripping down his chin. He smiles at the glazed over look in your eyes, and he's sure.
"Did I earn the right to use my arms again, Princess?"
That little smug comment breaks you out of your trance. Bastard.
"Yeah, yeah. One minute." You sigh and stare down at his face. Poor boy is wrecked, your mess all over him.
Mike's eyes go wide as he watches you take off your little white tank top, your only remaining piece of clothing. He only gets a brief look at your tits before you swipe it across his face, cleaning him up.
"Hey, I was gonna eat that." He teases, staring up at your chest with hunger in his eyes.
"Yeah, well, you still can." You chuckle and stuff the tank top in his stupid smug mouth, a makeshift gag for what's to come. or cum. hah.
Mike can't help but be annoyed with you. He's clearly going insane with how badly he needs to cum, he just worked so hard to finish YOU off, and his wrists hurt. And what do you do? Gag him. Wonderful.
As soon as you finish untying one of his wrists, Mike uses his newly freed hand to yank the gag out.
"What was that for?" He scowls, reaching to untie his other wrist himself as you crawl on top of him.
"You're loud when you cum. Put it back in and bite down or you're not getting any."
He rubs his wrists and looks at the woman straddling his legs so confidently. If you'd just scoot up a little, you'd be where he really wants you, right on his cock. But he figured that probably wasn't going to happen.
"You're infuriating." He willingly shoves the gag back in his mouth, attempting to scowl through a mouthful of cotton. All his anger melts away when you tug his boxers down and finally wrap your hand around his dick. He shudders. Fuck, he's not gonna last long.
"Just let it out, Mikey." You coax him, using a soothing voice and quick hand to finish him off. He bucks his hips up into you and whimpers through the gag, eyes rolling back into his head. Precum drips from him almost immediately, and you smile. He definitely had fun.
After hardly a minute of pumping, he explodes all over his stomach and chest. Fuck, some even gets on his neck. You laugh and make a show of licking your fingers clean, eyeing him up and down.
When Mike's eyes finally flutter open, he almost gets hard again. He tries to let the image of you straddling him, completely naked, and sucking his cum off your fingers soak into his brain. He wants it burned into his eyes, Christ. Why did he ever let someone so hot get away from him?
"That was fast."
Oh, right, because she's a total witch.
"You told me to let it all out."
"Mhm. And now look at you. A mess."
Mike props himself up on his elbows and snorts.
"Gonna lick me clean too, sweetheart?"
"Nope."
God, why did he even ask? He lies back down on the bed, sexually satisfied, but mentally and physically exhausted. He hardly registers you climbing out of bed until he hears his bathroom door close.
A few minutes later, you return and toss him a rag. It's warm and damp.
"Clean yourself up, you're a big boy." You taunt him while you slip back into your shorts and panties.
Mike sighs but accepts the rag and starts to wipe himself down.
You reach for your tank top, lying discarded at the edge of the bed. Then you remember you used it to wipe up... hm. Probably best not to wear it.
"I'm stealing a shirt." You announce, turning to rifle through his dresser. Is this the shirt drawer? No, this one?
"Keep the tank-top. Free souvenir."
"Stealing? Not borrowing?" Mike scoffs, sliding his boxers back up.
"Yep. Can I take this one?" You turn and hold up a faded grey shirt with a cheesy pun on it.
"No. I like that one."
"Oookay... what about this one?"
"No. Sentimental value."
"This?"
He's tempted to keep denying you, if only to see you shirtless for longer. Damn, if you hadn't tied up his wrists he would have been all over those...
"Mike? Can I have this one?" You repeat, annoyed.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. Sure." He grumbles, turning away in an attempt to hide his blush. It was stupid. He just ate you out, and he blushes at the sight of boobs?
You chuckle to yourself as you throw on his shirt. It smells like him. Or at least, smells like his detergent.
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
"Hope you had as much fun as I did, Mikey." You lean against his bedroom door, preparing to leave.
"You don't wanna stay for a bit?" Damn it. He sounded pathetic, begging his ex to stay. This was just a favor to you, a quick release. He couldn't help but try, though.
"Hm. Don't you have to take Abby to school?"
Mike glances at the digital alarm next to his bed. Shit. They're definitely running late now.
"...Yeah. I'll, uh, see ya?"
"You promised to get a new babysitter this weekend."
He swallows, heart sinking into his stomach. Yeah, he did say that, didn't he?
"Right. Yeah."
An awkward silence lingers in the air for a few moments, so you clear your throat and speak up.
"You wanna walk me out?"
・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・
After quickly shuffling into some shorts and a t-shirt, Mike walks you to the front door and unlocks it for you while you gather your things. His heart wrenches at the sight of you in his shirt, though he tries not to show it. That sort of thing would usually mean you're his. But you aren't. Not anymore.
"Tell Abby I said good luck in her witching endeavors."
"Will do."
He watches you leave, and the exhaustion finally crumples him. Fuck, Abby's just gonna have to miss the first few hours of school today. He needs a nap. Or a medically induced coma.
─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────────────
Author's note: This was my first time writing smut so uh hope y'all enjoy. This series is also my first attempt at fanfiction in general. I'm so excited to write the last chapter! Sorry to end on a sad note. I love angst. Sad little babygirl Mike. <3 <3
Also, is tying Mike up with shoelaces very realistic? Probably not. But it's hot. And I can't imagine he keeps bondage stuff.
Edit: Part 4
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Text
Baby
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❥Yandere Park Seonghwa x fem reader
SPOOKTOBER SPECIAL
➯a/n: this is a work of fiction and does NOT represent a healthy little and caregiver relationship, or a healthy relationship of any kind. this is messed up but i wanted to experiment with my writing and i think i succeeded. let me know what you think of this cause i would love love looooove to write more
✃ "You're my baby, say it to me." - Mitski, I Bet on Losing Dogs
✫彡wordcount: 4k
♡'・ᴗ・'♡(ಡ‸ಡ)genre: yandere, HEAVY angst
ಠ_ಠwarning/content: stockholm syndrome, mind breaking, spanking, mentions of bribery, mommy hwa (i cannot help myself)
⁂taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg
✩index: little space; a regressed state of mind where one feels like a child. hyung; a name for an older male friend or sibling, used by other males.
MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI
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    "I'm home, sorry I'm late!" Seonghwa called out as he entered the apartment, looking around the empty rooms. "Baby?" He peeked into the kitchen, dinner untouched on the stove. "San?" The living room, the news channel on mute. "Mingi?" Both of his roommates rooms, desolate.
"No!" Your shout calls him to his room at the end of the hall, followed by a clanging and a yell of pain from his friend.
"Baby?! Baby!?" He turns into his room in a panic, eyes wide as he witnesses the scene infront of him.
You're curled up in a ball in the corner of his bed- head in your knees- with San holding Mingis arm as he curses under his breath, one of your bottles on the floor at their feet. "Hyung," He turns quickly and picks up the bottle, pointing it at you accusingly, "she threw this at Mingi!"
"Baby, why would you do that?" He takes the bottle from San and slowly kneels on the edge of the bed, reaching for you.
You say nothing, only whining and kicking his hand away. So he turns his attention back to the younger members. "What happened?" He wants to scream at them, really. How could they make his Baby cry when they know everything he went through and continues to go through to have you as his own? But that would only make you more upset. You don't like when he raises his voice, so he keeps it calm. "Is she hurt?"
"Hyung... We really didn't mean to, we tried to-" Mingi is almost in tears, he truly feels for you. But it's been months. If he could have helped he'd of found a way by now. But they need Seonghwa. And some of the members wouldn't even dream of turning him in- even after what he's done. For selfish reasons maybe. But it doesn't matter why or why not. You've been stuck in their apartments for half a year. They'd thought all of your deficiency had passed. That they could pretend it was okay.
"What happened, Baby?" He turns back to you, gently touching your knee.
That little touch seems to make you snap. Screaming obscenities in his face as you go on and on about how you are not, in fact, his baby. You aren't his at all. You want to go home. You don't love him. You don't like San. You don't like Mingi. You don't like any of the members, actually. You don't like living here. You wish you'd never even met him.
All three of them watch aghast, jaws dropped as you yell insult after insult at them. Hot in the face and tears streaming down like a waterfall so harshly that they wet the collar of your baby blue dress and pool as a drop on your chin. You grab the little plushie that Jongho made with you and hurl it at Seonghwas face, hitting him on the nose.
He watches it fall to the floor and his eyes don't seem to move after that. He's forced to listen as you insult his character directly now. He's a insane person. He's a pervert. He's sick in the head. He's annoyingly overbearing. You loathe his guts. You wouldn't spit on him if he were on fire. You'd shoot him twice if you were in a room with him and a hungry tiger with only two bullets. You loathe his entire being. You aren't his Baby. You aren't even his girlfriend. He's delusional.
The words ring around his head hauntingly. You can't possibly mean those things. He takes care of you so well. He gives you the world and all he asks for in return is your love. And he's gotten it. At least he thought he had. He woke up with you by his side and went back to bed the same way. You gave him kisses on the cheek. You let him play with all of your favorite toys that no one else can touch. You let him bathe you and dress you. You let him do everything.
"Do you hear me?" You scream, throwing his neatly fluffed pillow at his already lowered head. "I hate you!"
The world stops in that moment, the millisecond that word slips from your mouth.
    It's silent in the room. In the apartment. Not only could you hear a pin drop—
    You can hear the single tear fall from Seonghwas eye and collide with the hardwood.
Both of them look at him. You look at him. He looks at the floor. There's a visible shift in his aura. He goes from unreadable to pissed in the blink of an eye. His shoulders tense up and his breathing gets shallow.
He stands up, almost robotically. He picks up his pillow and dusts it off, placing in back on the bed where it belongs. His gaze doesn't even bother to meet yours as you watch him with wide, fearful eyes. He grabs the plushie and sets it down as well. "...Get up. Bend over, Baby."
"Hwa, wait, pl-"
"Before I get the paddle."
He doesn't say anything else, glaring down at you as you move tentatively. After an incident with an unlocked window and some sheets resulting in you being dragged to Hongjoongs room by the ear, you don't even want to see the paddle. You had to sit on their laps or a pillow for two weeks straight, if memory serves you right.
    He doesn't reach to move you faster. He stands at the edge of the bed, deadly silent. He only intervenes when you look to Mingi and San beggingly. "You're not allowed to look at them anymore."
That was a rule when you first arrived. You only got that privilege a few weeks ago. You figured it was probably to make you feel distance to the fact that these were people, who could potentially help you leave him, and not just disembodied voices and lower bodies. A way to make you feel even more lonely. Even when they were so close that you could here their breathing.
Like now, Mingi lets out a few small sniffles here and there. Sans breaths sounds anxious. Like if he moves an inch that he will be next on his Hyungs list.
As you bend your body over the edge, they avert their eyes. They may be complacent with Seonghwas actions, but they will never cross that line. They, all seven of the younger members, promised it. Never touch you. Never take advantage of you. Never directly help Seonghwa control you in any way. In fact, most of them decided it would be best to help you however possible, without ruining all of their lives in the process. Getting you small gifts that Seonghwa pre-approved. Stealing you away to the other dorms for a movie night. Sneaking you an extra sweet or episode of cartoons when you were deep in little-space.
But there was nothing they could do when Seonghwa told you to do something. To go to bed early. To let him wash your hair. To give him a kiss. To suck on his thumb. To bend over.
So they could only look away with heavy hearts as he flips up your skirt and rips -quite literally- your underwear away. The sound makes Mingi cringe, your crying pleas for him make him want to disappear forever. "Ming, please, don't let him! I'm sor-"
Seonghwa doesn't even start easy on you, he smacks your bottom harshly, over and over again until your cheek is sore and aching all the way through to your hip. And then, for the briefest moment, you all think it's over when the loud echo of the smacks finally ceases. But that was only him moving to get a better angle on your other side.
    You cry loudly, and the sound officially makes Mingi cry. He lowers his head and turns his body away completely to try and distance himself from the abuse. San gently takes ahold of his pink in his own. It does little to comfort either of them, but it reminds them both of the pact that they made.
     All of their pinkies interlocked, a promise that they would do their best for their obviously challenged Hyung.
        Both of your cheeks bruising and hot to the touch, Seonghwa finally backs up. He moves his knees from their place on either side of you and lets you crumble to the floor in a pile of sobs. He stops briefly to pull your skirt over you half-hazardly before leaving you completely alone as you blubber into your arms.
     His palm is red, as angry as he was. He takes a deep breath as he takes a pump of lotion, rubbing it into his hands as he turns to the other men.
      "Tell me what happened."
    Mingi wipes his face roughly, straightening up as San speaks lowly, "we turned on the TV. We were going to watch a movie, but... but she saw it on the news before we could even change it."
    "What did she see?"
   "Her missing persons photo..."
The door was locked behind them and there was no noise in the apartment. If you hadn't known better, you'd say they all left. But Seonghwa refused to ever leave you alone. Even when all of the members were busy. You either went with them or had a staff member watching you, one who'd coincidentally received a raise moments before.
You stayed right there on the floor for the longest time, sobbing and snotting all over the floor as you tried to calm yourself.
Oh, you really outdid yourself this time.
Even at his angriest, Seonghwa never left your side when there was a tear in your eye.
You knew he had no tolerance for that word. Hate. Ironically, you could say he hated it. Especially when it came out of your lips. You once said you hated the show he put on. He gave you a fourty minute lecture and three smacks to the behind.
And you just aimed it right at him. You meant to make him angry. And you succeeded.
Now, into the night, when he still hasn't returned, you start to wonder wether you snapped his last string of humanity. If he hated you just as much as you claimed you hated him. If he's out in the kitchen planning how to get rid of you.
Your body aches as you sit up, screaming at you as you crawl into the small pink tent in the corner of the room. It's placed on top of soft play mats and filled with baby-ish things that he insisted you needed every time he saw them. The softest blankets. The cutesy, most hug-able plushies. A small box of your favorite pacifiers and toys.
You untie the ribbon keeping the sheer fabric open and let it drape closed, as if it will shield you. Perhaps, in your fragile mind, it will. He never comes in here, only ever reaches in to grab the blankets to wash every other week.
You let yourself flop onto your side into the pile and find yourself sobbing all over again. Maybe, just maybe, in a fucked up, delusional way... Seonghwa does care for you. Maybe, just maybe, in his mind, he does all of these things because he believes it best for you.
You can still see Seonghwa in his room when he's not there. Maybe that's why you hate being cooped up in here. Always begging members to let you hang out in their rooms instead.
It's so neat. Even after the chaos of earlier. So color coordinated. Grey and white and warm lights.
You're the only exception. Toys and clothes and books strewn about in your little corner, just out of sight of his cam-corder.
   Maybe that's why you get so mad when you slip out of the little space he's built for you. You know you don't fit into his life seamlessly. You know the truth of your situation. So you may as well start making the best of it.
    With a groan of effort, you sit back up.
   It's well past midnight when he turns the lock on the outside of his door. Which also means its well past your bedtime. You've become so well accustomed to it over your time together, he figures you've probably fallen asleep.  
       And he's right. He immediately spots you on his side do the bed, holding his pillow tight to your chest with your swollen eyes closed.
    A pant of regret hits him right where it hurts as he realizes just how much he made you cry. How much he made you hurt. His anger got the best of him, and it hurts his heart that deep down, he knows it won't be the last time.
     He's done it to everyone. His family. His members. Himself...
    His darkest thoughts reach out in the corners of his mind, saying that his Baby is better of without him. But he is quick to slap them away as he tip toes into the room.
    Somethings off, somethings different. Everything is in place.
    All of your toys and coloring books and short stories. All of your pacifiers and stuffed animals. They're on the shelf exactly how he puts them during his Sunday reset cleanings. All of your favorites are on the wall, your side of the bed. The multitude of blankets and throw pillows in your tent are folded and organized neatly. Your tears and snot have been wiped up. Your ripped panties in the bin.
    "Oh, my Baby," he whispers, immediately crawling into bed behind you and holding your back close to his chest, careful to avoid your bottom. He doesn't even want to fathom what he did to you... "My Baby..."
      He can't help but cry, though he tries to do so silently. He wants you to rest, you need it. But the smallest movement of the bed wakes you in your fragile state.
    When you stir, he expects you to crawl away. But you don't. Instead, you roll over to face him and shimmy into his arms. "Hey, sweet girl," he coos hoarsely.
     You were right, earlier. You weren't left alone in the apartment. San was sitting in the living room comforting Mingi as Seonghwa stormed off and went upstairs to Hongjoong. While they sat in silence, he screamed and screamed and screamed until he couldn't breathe.
     Eventually, Hongjoong and Yunho got him to calm down, and they talked and talked and talked. Yunho suggested, lightly, that you should stay the night with them. And then Seonghwa screamed some more.
     In all this time, your nighttime routine had never been interrupted. He had a very specific way the two of you did things before bed and he would have it no other way. In all this time, he's never let you out of his arms as he slept. Even that first night, you kicked and screamed and punched until you passed out. But you did so in his arms.
    "Mommy." It's a simple acknowledgment, but it calms him ever so slightly. He takes pride in that name. And it makes him happy you can still call him that after what he's done to you.
     "Are you okay, Baby?" He knows that the answer is no. But he'll give you the opportunity to speak for yourself. To tell him how to help.
     "Hurts," you sniffle as you press your face into his chest, " 'm hungry..."
     "Come on, Sweetpea, I'll take care of you."
    You koala hug onto him, arms around his neck and legs around his waist as he stands.
    And the nighttime routine starts now, a pattern of familiarity to calm both of your shot nerves.
    He gently sets you in your seat at the table, but not before pacing down a pillow he grabbed while passing the couch. It still burns even with the soft cushioning below you.
You eat in silence. Usually you would speak about your days, and the next one's plans. But there doesn't seem to be any words that either of you can find at the moment.
He rinses the dishes before picking you back up. No matter how many times you insist you can walk- he insists right back that his Baby must be carried. You pass Mingi on the way to the bathroom, and he gives you a small wave, his eyes bloodshot and his posture slumped. But he can't help the small smile that tugs at his lips as you wave back over Seonghwas shoulder.
The pillow goes down on the counter before you, and he starts your meticulous skin care. Your face wash, then his. Your toner, then his. Moisturizer, eye cream, spot treatment, the list goes on until your both brushing your teeth.
You will admit Seonghwa takes exceptionally good care of not only himself, but you as well.
He likes to massage your face after all is said and done. He says it's good for blood flow, which is true. But he does it for a few simpler reasons.
Your face in his hands. And a chance to admire you at the end of the day.
No matter how rough of a day it was. He could always count on this.
He cups your cheeks as he stands between your legs, massaging them gently. "My Baby." He whispers. So quiet you actually miss it. You're too busy melting into his affection. "You're my Baby." He speaks, however lowly.
"Mhm," you moan quietly, blinking up at him, not knowing what exactly he's meaning.
"Say it to me," he says. He pleads. His forehead rests on yours. Eyes growing wet as he uses your eyes as a window into your soul. "Please."
"I'm your baby," you whisper just as gently as he. Nodding against his head lightly. "I'm your baby, Mommy."
He nearly collapses as his shoulders finally relax. His mind flooding with happiness as he hears those words. You're all he's ever wanted. You're all he feels he truly has.
He knew it since the moment he saw you. So delicate, so beautiful and kind. He was overcome with an urge that he can only describe as a mix of pure love and anxiety. He loves you so deeply, how can he ever rest if he doesn't know for certain that your safe and taken care of? So he took matters into his own hands.
He's never felt it before. He knows he'll never feel it again. He will never. Never. Love someone as much as you. As much as his Baby.
You reach up and wipe his tears gently, the tiniest of smiles playing at your lips, "you gonna wash away all the stuff you jus' put on."
He can't help the chuckle that leaves him, leaning into your touch as it leaves a tingle on his skin, "you're right, Baby."
He gently, oh so gently, places a kiss on your lips before your routine resumes.
He leaves you to do your business as he goes to the living room and gathers your pajamas, and when he comes back he finds you all done, rubbing your bottom with a pout. "Oh, Baby, I'm so sorry! I forgot, it must have hurt on the toilet," a pout of his own forms as he crouches and rummages through the cabinet.
"Yeahm," you whine, watching him closely as he grabs a tube.
"Bend over, Baby." That simply sentence almost has you spiraling again before he reaches and rubs your head ever so gently. "It's okay, it's okay. It's numbing cream. Let Mommy put on you and it'll feel better, promise."
You hesitantly bend over the counter slightly, and are relieved to find he's telling the truth. He's barely touching your behind enough spread the cream, his touch is so light. But he manages to apply the treatment without causing you any more harm.
You know that this will be part of your nightly routine again when he sets the tube down with the rest of his products. It mocks you as you look at it. Knowing you'll have to hear those words over and over again until you're healed.
He helps you rid your dress and redresses you in one of his t-shirts before changing into his own pajamas.
As he carries you back to bed, you speak up while fiddling with the buttons on his shirt, "Mommy?"
"Yes, Baby?"
"Can sleep in my tent tonigh'?"
"Oh, Baby, you know I have to hold you to fall asleep. Baby can have a nap in there tomorrow, how about that?"
"No, Mommy too," you look to him with a pout as he closes the bedroom door behind you, "Mommy in the tent." You point to it as if he doesn't know what tent you're referring to, and it makes him laugh how adorable you are when you're so deep in little-space.
"Okay, Baby," he sets you down first and lets you crawl in, watching you with stars in his eyes as you curl up under the blankets and move to make room for him.
His feet poke out of the side even as he's curled spooning you, and he knows the sight is probably ridiculous. But it's very possibly the coziest he's been with you. The tent and the plushies inside of it smell like you. All of the soft blankets have accumulated into a weighted blanket of sorts and keeps you both warm in the cold October air. His chest pressed to your back and your numbed bottom snuggling back into his hips. Your soft, calm breaths luring him into a state of tranquility. He stays just like that, for a long time, it feels like. It almost feels like he's meditating. His soul being cleansed. He can see why you like it here-
Oh. Oh, he's really in here.
It dawns on him as he looks up. What is usually a white ceiling is a pink fabric just a few inches away from his face.
You invited him in.
Ever since he set it up three months ago, you made a strict 'BABY ONLY' policy. And you stuck to that. Not even Jongho, who was admittedly your favorite of his members, was allowed in. They were all confined to the play mat just outside.
But not anymore.
He thought after the pain he had caused, after the outside world had reminded you what he'd done, that your progress would be set back. That he'd back back to square one with a brat. But, you went ahead and proved him opposite.
You proved him that you are and will continue to be,
His Baby.
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I hope I got quick enough for request for the Cupid event!!🫢
The 14-“i would live for you” for law, I quite struggle to voice my feelings, all I have in mind for the thing about me 🫡
Maybe law feel depressed and the reader told him that… idk 🫢🫢🫢
Hello! It's funny bc I think that phrase thinking specifically of Law and may be that with you "struggle to voice my feelings" make me do this so sad- im sorry. I hope you like this and have a nice day ♡
Live for you
Trafalgar Law x gn!reader Note: angst. mention of intrusive thoughts and depression. this is a little much sad. happy ending. just hug this man please.
wc: 1k
Something you had learned after years of knowing Law, long before the two of you formalized your relationship, was that Law was broken. At some point, we're all broken, but Law was an exceptionally depressing case. One of his greatest fears as a result of his entire personal history was the tragic fate of the beings he loved with all his soul. The death. That was also the reason why he was so careful about your relationship. He rarely expressed in words his true feelings and desires with you, the person he trusted the most. It also doesn't help that you're also a person who finds it difficult to express your thoughts, desires and feelings. But it was impossible for both of you to be away from each other. An invisible connection seemed destined to unite them. And you didn't need words when knew for sure that you two would always be there for each other, that with small gestures you could express all the love you felt.
However, sometimes our own head is our worst enemy. It makes us believe things that are not real, see ghosts of doubt and resentment where there is nothing. It's hard, especially with someone as closed off and hurt as Law, but you're always there for him. As he is always there for you. Nonetheless.
It had been a while since the last episode, even longer since the last time Law shared with you the intrusive thoughts dancing through his mind. As a consequence, Law ended up isolating himself from everyone, leaving his office only to fulfill his duty as Captain. It was exhaustive for everyone around him, everyone understood the situation, but that didn't make his explosive humor any less bearable.
Law was always a demanding and perfectionist person, but never cruel. During those episodes his humor seemed like that of a delicate bomb, throwing malicious and cruel comments at anyone who would demonstrate a degree less than perfection. The crew understood that those words were not true, that their captain adored them, but hurt. And then your job was to put together the pieces that your boyfriend broke. It was really exhaustive. You knew that when he got over it, he would apologize and make up for all the damage done. But this episode was even more serious than the previous ones. In this there were no shouts or insults, only orders and absolute silence. Which was worrying. He barely ate, and because of his physical appearance, the need for sleep and hygiene were ignored. It's normal that you worried about your boyfriend and captain.
You tried to reach out after giving him a few days of space, but you were ignorant each time. Two weeks passed before you gathered the courage and entered his office, along with a bowl of soup and vitamins, ready to help the love of your life.
“Law,” you call, entering the darkened room. "I brought you some soup."
The office is barely illuminated by the desk lamp, but you can see the mess everywhere, the smell of confinement and Law's body lying on his chair. He doesn't look at you, doesn't really look at anything specific, he just stares blankly at the ceiling. His hands are over the pit of his stomach, bony and trembling slightly. A lump gets caught in your throat. You've never seen it like this. If it weren't for the trembling of his hands, you would think he was dead. The mere thought makes you want to cry.
“Law,” you walk up to him, taking his hands in yours. "What's wrong my love?"
You ignore the pain in your chest when he forcefully pulls away from you. His expressionless face takes on a sarcastic look and there is a dark gleam in his eyes. You feel like vomiting.
"Love? What do you know about love?" He spits in disgust. "I don't deserve to be your love. Nobody loves me, nobody should love me. Especially someone like you"
You can hear both hearts breaking. Your vision blurs with tears when you see him so helpless. His words are like daggers in your chest, but you don't let that get in the way. No matter how he tries to push you away with what little strength has, you cling to his body in an almost suffocating hug.
"Do not be stupid!" You scream at him, pressing your face tightly into his chest, crying. Trying to express everything you feel at that moment is a disaster. "You deserve all the love I have for you, and more. Everyone here loves you, Law"
"But I-I-don't," you interrupt his pathetic, self-convalescent speech. His voice broken by the tears it contains.
"We all want you here, with us, alive and being the fucking Pirate King!" You finally let go of him only to take his face in your hands. "Do you know why? Because we love you, Law."
Law can't speak, he's just feeling too much to process anything. After all, everything you don't say suffocates you. This is how Law felt before you arrived, before you as always opened his chest in two and hugged his heart. You will kiss his soul. Law knew what it was like to feel loved and love, he just sometimes forgot it. But in your eyes and your words he would always find the right path again. You are always there to show him a reason to continue.
"I would live for you" he confesses to you, with the sincerity of an open soul dedicated to love.
"No," you whisper before touching your noses together in a soft gesture. "Live for yourself, and so we will live together."
In a soft kiss, a light pressure of lips flavored with tears and love, Law promises to continue living. For his family, for Cora-san, for his crew and allies, for you and for himself.
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Linear Lines (Part 2 of Clerestory Rendezvous)
Yoo Jimin x Reader
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GENRE: fluff, angst
TYPE: Two Shot, Request
You can find the first part, Clerestory Rendezvous here
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You, adorned with a white scarf delicately wrapped over your shoulders, swiftly pulled into the parking lot of the familiar cathedral. The soft sunlight cast a subtle warmth before yielding to the November breeze's chill, prompting a shiver as you stepped out of the car. Cursing inwardly at your tardiness, a soft jingle emanated from the blue bracelet on your wrist. You hastily brushed through your wavy hair before ascending the stony stairs that seemed to lead directly to the cause of your heart nearly leaping out of your chest.
Standing before the towering wooden doors, you took a sharp breath before gradually walking in, the echoing of your footsteps resonating abnormally loud within the hushed limestone walls. It had been a while since your last visit, and the thought of Jimin standing under the clerestory windows clouded your mind whenever you returned.
Ethereal glitters from the sunlight scattered through the clerestory windows, painting the marble floors with colorful hues. It was just as beautiful as you remembered, but the reason for your breathlessness was not the cathedral; it was the girl standing in front of the candlelight, a breathtaking smile gracing her lips as she stared at you.
Your heart lurched at the sight of Jimin, momentarily stunned by her presence. Snug in a woolen grey sweater, her hair now back to a raven black, with perfect bangs framing her face, she looked even more enchanting than through your screen. Despite countless FaceTime calls and watching all of her comeback videos, seeing her physically in front of you caused your brain to short-circuit.
"Are you just going to stare at me all day?" Jimin laughed, her nose scrunching adorably at your frozen state.
Your eyes scanned her face, your heart tingling at the sound of her heavenly voice, yet you remained rooted in place.
With another adorable giggle, Jimin took a few steps forward and reached down to tug at your hands. "Y/N-nie." She gently pulled you closer, hoping to break you out of your trance. Her long arms wrapped around your waist as she put her chin on your shoulder, burying her face into your neck.
She deeply inhaled your floral scent, tinged with the familiar faint trace of pastels. Her eyes closed in contentment to finally have you close in her arms after months of longing. The past year had been tough on the idol, with continuous comebacks and endless traveling for performances. AESPA's popularity had soared, and her company insisted on maintaining the momentum. She had barely enough time to sleep, let alone visit you.
The feeling of her hot breath on your neck finally broke you out of your trance. Your arms automatically reached up to pull her closer, eliminating any distance between you two.
 "I missed you," you muttered, your voice slightly muffled by her hair.
Jimin pulled back, grinning at you with soft eyes twinkling. She cupped your face with warm hands, gently caressing your cheeks, leaving a soft tingle in their wake.
 "I missed you more, jagi."
Unable to contain yourself, you looked into her eyes, feeling like you held the galaxies in her universe. Your eyes shifted from her soft honey hues to her full pink lips. Before you could initiate a kiss, she placed her forefinger on your lips, halting you.
 "Let's not blind God with our kisses," Jimin giggled at your pout, pulling you along as she walked out the doors.
Leading her to your car, hands intertwined and swinging between you, she was confused to see you stop in front of a sleek black vehicle. "New car?" She asked.
"Yeah, thought you might've been tired of sitting in my beat-up truck. Last time, you got paint all over your expensive dress," you laughed, turning to look at her.
"I like the truck. It had its own charm," Jimin said, reaching up to play with the hairs at the nape of your neck.
With soft sunlight cascading on her pale skin, making her light freckles barely visible, you couldn't help but bring your faces closer, brushing her nose with the tips of yours. 
"It had charm because you were there," you said, kissing her eyelids. You heard her take a sharp intake of breath, shivering slightly.
Jimin couldn't resist any longer and closed the gap between your lips. She pulled your face down, and your soft lips met hers. Sighing into the kiss, she felt your lips curve up in a smile. You allowed her tongue access without any resistance, shivering as it met yours. Gently pushing her, her back leaned on the car, ensuring there was no space between your bodies.
When air became a problem, you were the first to pull away. Jimin let out a whine in protest, her lips trailing behind yours. You laughed at her adorableness, looking at her once more. Her eyes were still closed, long lashes fluttering, and her lips were swollen, with her lipstick smudged. This messy version of Jimin was your favorite, and your heart warmed at the thought that you were the only one to see  it.
“C’mon, pabo. We have places to be.” You messed up her hair a bit more, laughing at her as she cleared her throat and glared at you, trying to conceal how much the make-out session affected her.
You unlocked the sleek black car, and she slid into the passenger seat with a satisfied grin. As you settled into the driver's seat, Jimin couldn't help but run her fingers along the dashboard, appreciating the unfamiliar but luxurious surroundings.
"Alright, where are we off to?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.
A playful smile tugged at your lips as you started the engine. "It's a surprise," you teased, winking at her before pulling out of the cathedral's parking lot. .
.
.
.
As you drove, Jimin filled you in on all the things you missed for the past year. The drive was long, so you had stopped at the bakery she was obsessed with the last time she was there, for a few of her favorite Fougasse. It felt right, with your hands intertwined and resting on her legs, as she fed you bits of her Fougasse (more like all of the olives because she hated the taste). It felt like home, and it seemed like she never left. You wondered if you were soulmates in your past life, as she appeared to understand everything about you.
“Are you plotting to murder me in a deserted place?” Jimin teased, a playful glint in her eyes, as you maneuvered down another empty country road.
Acres of land and grass stretched endlessly, devoid of any other cars in sight.
"Hush," you laughed, bringing her hand to your lips for a kiss as your attention stayed fixed on the road.
Her heart fluttered at the gesture; she wished for nothing more than for you to pull over and resume the previous make-out session in the backseat.
“I’m taking you to meet my grandma.”
Silence hung in the air as Jimin's mind raced with concerns. She felt immense happiness at the thought of meeting your family but couldn't shake the fear of potential disapproval from your grandma.
"You mentioned last time that you wanted to go somewhere in the countryside, so I thought it would be nice if we could stay at my grandma's for a couple of days. But we can go back to my place if you're uncomfortable. I'm sorry I didn't ask you first." Mistaking her silence for anger, you slowly pulled over to the side of the road, turning around to look at her with your full attention. 
Jimin quickly shook her head.
"Don't be sorry. I'm just scared that she won't like me. I can't speak French."
"I already told her about you. The fact that you speak Korean definitely won her approval." You laughed, finding her worries endearing. "She always chastised me for my broken Korean."
Still uncertain, Jimin nodded slightly. Sighing, you cupped her face gently with warm hands, attempting to soothe her. You left a small kiss on her forehead, and she leaned in immediately for more. 
"How can I make you feel better?" 
"A kiss," she said without hesitation.
You grinned before pressing another soft kiss on her nose. "Better?"
Shaking her head, she pointed to her lips, a playful pout on her face.
Amused, you gave her a peck on her cheek. "How about now?"
She glared at you in feigned annoyance. 
“I need a couple more.” Jimin said, grinning at you mischievously before locking her lips with yours. 
Before you knew it, you were putty in Jimin’s arms, with her graceful maneuvering herself onto your lap, hands in your hair, and her teeth gently nibbling on your lower lips.
.
.
.
.
The drive to your grandma’s house took a bit longer than expected, the sun having dipped below the horizon by the time you pulled onto the pebbled road leading to the cottage.
Jimin stepped out of the car in awe, savoring the crisp, clean scent of the air and the picturesque surroundings. Your grandma's quaint two-story cottage, constructed from butter-colored bricks, stood proudly amidst a charming garden. Ivy adorned the exterior walls, lending an air of age and mystery. Jimin felt more at peace than she had ever been, far removed from the city lights and urban chaos. She was here, surrounded by the tranquility of nature, with you.
Gently holding her hand, you led her through the garden.
A thunderous bark echoed from the door, which swung open to reveal a large brown Chow Chow dog bounding towards you.
"Bear!" You laughed with excitement before getting playfully tackled to the grass as the dog showered you with affection.
"He’s been waiting for you for hours. What took you so long?" A raspy voice came from the door.
A frail old lady, with wisps of grey hair in a puff, leaned on the door sill with a cane in her hand. Her face bore the marks of time, yet her eyes gleamed with brightness. She exuded kindness and a keen elegance that you also possessed.
“Ah, that’s why.” Your grandma looked at Jimin, and then at the faint hickies covering the idol’s neck, a smile playing on her lips.
“She’s a showstopper. I don’t blame you.”
The raven-haired beauty blushed in embarrassment, her face turning a shade of red as she stumbled forward to shake your grandma’s hand.
To her surprise, your grandma pulled her into a warm hug. “You make Y/N happy, and this is all that matters to me.”
You observed the scene with adoration as Bear continued to slobber all over your face. The two most important people in your life were now together with you. There was nothing more you could ask for.
It turned out that Jimin's worries were unfounded, as she gained your grandma’s approval right from the start. Another point in her favor was when Jimin successfully brewed a traditional kimchi jjigae she had learned from her mom. Your grandma nodded in approval, giving you a wink and whispering, “You better marry her.” They conversed in Korean, at times too rapid for you to comprehend, but you didn’t mind. Seeing Jimin so happy, her face flushed from the soju, and your grandma patting her arms in adoration, this was all you needed. The night passed quickly, filled with your grandma sharing embarrassing stories of your childhood and showing off your awkward baby pictures to the idol. It was well past midnight before your grandma retreated to her room.
“I love your grandma,” Jimin said, laying on your childhood bed, dressed in an adorable fluffy pink pajama set.
"And she loves you," you grinned at her before turning off the lights and settling in bed with her.
She immediately snuggled up to you, her nose stuck to your neck, inhaling your scent deeply. You shivered as her cool breath blew across your neck, goosebumps popping out at her close proximity. 
You hesitated before saying the thing that had been on your mind for a while. You never really brought up the courage to tell the idol.
“But not as much as I love you.”
You felt Jimin still, not taking a single breath. Panic set in, worried that you scared her off. You weren’t together physically for much time, but you couldn’t help falling deeper in love with the idol.
The silence felt so long, but before you could open your mouth to change the topic, Jimin let out a small sigh of relief.
“I love you, too,” she said, giddy and her heart feeling like it was about to burst. “I wanted to say this for so long.”
You pressed your lips to hers, finding solace with her in your arms. The room was hushed as soft whispers of affection and the gentle rustle of clothes falling to the floor filled the space.
Neither of you got much sleep that night.
.
.
The two of you fell into an easy routine, as if you had been living together for half of your lives. You would wake up early, leave lingering kisses on her bare back as she snuggled deeper into your pillow, and start your day with your grandma’s hearty breakfast. Retreating to the study room or the backyard when the weather was nice, you'd begin your work.
After graduation, you had immediately joined one of the biggest event companies in Europe as their event illustrator, working on significant projects, particularly for the entertainment industry. As the Paris Fashion Show approached, your manager requested you to work remotely. The upside was that Jimin was scheduled to attend the show this year, allowing you to see her in all her glory, posing in front of your designs.
As you worked during the morning, Jimin would stir awake to the gentle knocks of your grandma on the bedroom door. Her frail voice followed, calling out “gang-aji” affectionately.  Jimin would then indulge in a delightful breakfast and accompany your grandma for a stroll, often driving her to the early market for groceries and errands. 
The afternoons were yours to share. You would then take Jimin on hikes with Bear, or take her to the lake nearby for a picnic and charm her with all of your random survival hacks you learned from Girl Scouts. The days passed filled with love, laughter, and soft kisses. The initially planned two-day stay was extended to another two weeks, and soon, you were to return to the real world.
You noticed Jimin becoming less affectionate as the day of your departure neared. Despite trying not to think too much about it, you couldn’t help but overthink that this might be your last trip together.
“I don’t want to leave,” Jimin sighed, seeking solace by lying on your lap, her hand idly caressing Bear's large head.
“Hmm?” You answered, concentrating on sketching the idol in your lap, biting your pencil as you stared at your art in your sketchbook.
Jimin waited patiently for you to complete that final stroke, a gentle smile gracing her lips. The days with you had only deepened her affection, and she wondered if she could return to the months of separation. She had started to intentionally distance herself, preparing herself for the impending drawbacks of leaving France, and of leaving you. Tomorrow, you were scheduled to head to Paris for final checks on the fashion show site, while she had meetings lined up with her agency and manager to prepare for the fashion show.
Setting aside your sketchbook, you gazed down at her, brushing soft strands of hair from her face. Jimin looked healthier, dark circles erased, and a few healthy pounds gained, giving radiance to her face.
“Do we have to go tomorrow?” Jimin pouted, her face contorted into a grimace. 
“Unfortunately, yes. But we can always come back whenever you want, baby.”
The idol’s eyes lit up at your comment, but immediately dampened as she thought about the upcoming schedule. Another comeback was scheduled, which meant less time to see you.
"When are you leaving France?" you finally asked, carefully inspecting your girlfriend's expression.
This had become a touchy subject, always leading to small fights whenever you brought up her schedule, so you started to avoid talking about it.
Jimin avoided your eyes and continued to stare at the sky, “Right after the event.”
You nodded in understanding, trying to push back the lump in your throat at the thought of saying goodbye.
“Do you know when your next break is? I could go visit you.”
Jimin simply sat up and harshly said, “No idea,” her eyes burning with frustration.
The conversation immediately changed moods. Jimin didn’t mean to lash out, but this has been bothering her for quite a while. She hated the idea of having to go on days without seeing your face again, she loathed the fact that she could possibly never step out of the spotlights, and most of all, she abhorred herself for thinking that you are just a dream too good to be true and something she would never be able to fully be with you.
Slightly taken aback at her reaction, you nodded, trying not to show your hurt.
“It’s okay, we can figure it out.”
You were met with silence.
.
.
.
.
After a tearful goodbye with your grandmother, Jimin and you got into the car in the early hours of dawn. The drive to Paris was a quiet one, with only the soft hum of the car engine accompanying the two of you as you navigated the familiar roads. The atmosphere inside the car was heavy with unspoken emotions, the looming thought of reality dampening Jimin’s emotions. It seemed that the closer you got to the event, the more closed off your girlfriend became.
Jimin stared out of the window, lost in her thoughts. The country roads slowly changed to the highway, and the trees and sunshine were replaced by the bustling city skyscrapers. She couldn't shake the feeling that her dreams and yours were diverging as you navigated towards reality. It seemed like the past weeks with you were just a dream after all, something Jimin could never have. She wondered if she would ever be able to see your grandma again.
As you parked the car in front of your hotel—shabby but clean, all you could afford—the silence lingered. You exchanged glances, both hesitant to address the unspoken tension that hung in the air. Jimin's eyes, once filled with love, now held a mixture of longing and apprehension.
Once inside the room, you turned to Jimin, searching for words that could hopefully bridge the growing gap between you. She met your gaze, her eyes a stormy black, exposing the internal struggle she was facing.
"I'm sorry," Jimin whispered, her voice barely audible.
You approached her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "There's nothing to be sorry for, Jimin. We'll figure this out, together."
“I just…I just don’t think I can handle being away from you for that long again.” The idol muttered, eyes slightly tearing up.
“Don’t think about it.” You leaned over to kiss her tears away. “We’ll be together in no time.”
“Will we?” Jimin’s voice raised an octave higher in frustration, “I have another two comebacks scheduled, and you’re here working. Is the next time I get to see you another year later?”
You stepped back, rubbing your forehead, trying to calm down your temper. You knew Jimin was not lashing out at you; she was just insecure about how things were.
“What do you want me to do, Jimin?” You asked, knowing full well what her answer was going to be.
She hesitated, wringing her hands in nervousness and desperation. She knew that the moment she voiced her thoughts, things will never be the same. 
“You could leave with me. Go back to Korea with me.”
You raised your voice, furious at how selfish her request was. “I can’t just leave my job. I can’t just follow you around like a lost puppy.”
“Well, I can’t just quit being an idol.” Jimin's voice cracked, her body swaying as she tried to comfort herself.
She looked so small, so defeated, consumed by her thoughts and the overwhelming sadness.
As her tears fell, a sharp ache rippled through your chest. Seeing her cry like this, witnessing her pain over you, tore at your heart. You couldn't bear it. You pulled her back into your arms, but this time, the embrace felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty. 
“Shh…I’m sorry, baby.” You stroked her hair, trying to stifle her sobs.
“It will take us some time to figure things out, but I promise I will find the time to visit you as much as possible, don’t worry.”
“You’re still here, and somehow I already miss you.” Jimin cries into your chest, shaking uncontrollably.
“The past weeks with you made me want nothing more than to be with you every second of the day, but I keep feeling that our lives are so different, like we’re just two parallel linear lines.”
Your heart crumpled at her confession; you could feel it break into a million pieces at the thought of her doubting that your lives are never meant to be intertwined. Perhaps she was right; perhaps you and her were too different, but you were adamant about making this work.
You loved her too much to give up.
“We’ll make it work.” You whispered, but even the promise sounded hollow to you.
As you dropped Jimin off at the luxurious hotel booked by her company, her words of linear lines, of being parallel, kept echoing in your ears. Jimin was a child of stardom; lights followed wherever she went, and you felt that she deserved nothing but the best. and the stark contrast between her grandeur and your shabby hotel, along with your grandma’s run-down cottage, struck you with a painful realization. The nagging thought at the back of your mind of never being enough now loomed large, wavering your confidence.
It was ridiculous how you actually believed you and Jimin were meant to be together. Your life has been parallel since the start.
“I’ll see you soon.” You said, as Jimin slowly unbuckled her seatbelt.
She nodded, trying her best not to cry. This felt more like a goodbye than a see you later, but she wasn’t ready for either.
Jimin leaned over and pressed her lips on yours, trying to convey her love to you. She hoped you understood. She hoped that this wasn't the last.
“I love you.” You muttered against her lips, tasting the salt of her tears.
“I miss you.”
As Jimin walked away, disappearing into her towering hotel, you were left sitting alone in your car. The echoes of shared laughter and whispered confessions lingered, an unforgettable imprint of a love that tried to fight against boundaries.
You didn't fail to notice how her bracelet was situated neatly on the dashboard in front of the passenger seat.
.
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.
.
“Karina! Karina!”
“Look here, Karina!”
“Turn for us!”
Shouts could be heard from the crowd of flashing lights as Karina walked down the red carpet. She moved towards her band members with grace and confidence, poised with precision, dazzling everyone with her beauty.
A faint smile could be seen on her face as she looped her arms with Winter and posed for picture after picture. But you knew her well enough to notice her hand shake slightly in nervousness and the way her eyes tightened when her ex-lover wrapped her arms around her waist for another picture for the scandalous tabloids.
Your heart throbbed in pain, wanting nothing more than to cross the sea of people, breach the barriers, and pull your Jimin into a comforting embrace. But she was no longer your Jimin; she was Karina.
Just as you predicted, she seamlessly blended with the tone and manner of the event decorations, as you had based everything on the thought of her. Karina appeared angelic in her white gown, fitting perfectly with the theme. The soft, colorful glitters of the chandeliers, meticulously designed to replicate the clerestory windows where you first met, cascaded onto her silhouette. She looked unbelievably celestial, almost too perfect to be real. A year ago, you thought she belonged in the Musée du Louvre, and tonight she confirmed that.
As she gracefully moved towards the event, you stood quietly by the walls, dressed in black attire, attempting to blend in as an event worker, avoiding notice from the crowd. Hundreds of people separated you from her, all eager to catch a glimpse of the captivating ethereal being you had come to know so intimately, yet remained a mystery.
And then it struck you.
Karina was the art, and you were just another person in the crowd, admiring her from a distance. 
You were hers, but she could never be just yours. 
You were linear lines, just never meant to intersect.
Well...this ended differently than what I had planned 😬
For all you fluff lovers, I'm sorry 🥲 I couldn't stop myself
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fl3shm4id3n · 9 months
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Fₐₜₕₑᵣ ₒf ₜₕₑ Yₑₐᵣ
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𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐟𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐢𝐦. 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐝 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭, 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫��𝐧𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭.
ᴊᴀᴋᴇ ꜱᴜʟʟʏ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ), ꜱᴜʟʟʏ ᴋɪᴅꜱ x ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ꜱɪꜱᴛᴇʀ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ (ᴘʟᴀᴛᴏɴɪᴄ)
ꜱᴏɴɢ: ᴍɪᴛꜱᴋɪ- ᴡᴀꜱʜɪɴɢ ᴍᴀᴄʜɪɴᴇ ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ
Tw: abandonment, Oldest Child Syndrome, angst, reader cussing out Jake.
A/N: I think that one female rage audio edit (the one were the classical music is playing while there's screaming) fits her well, sorry that it isn't long, maybe the next part will be longer.
Masterlist
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For the last couple weeks you were alone, you wanted to be alone. You had so much on your mind that you didn't want to interact with anyone but yourself. You hated feeling all sorts of things, specially when it came to your siblings. You had gone to the lake were you'd spot Jake and his family interacting, it was a bitter feeling being here, remembering the times Jake would use the excuse that he was busy. You sat on the floor with your feet dipped in the water.
Looking down at your feet, you couldn't help but feel tears form in your eyes. Why did the relationship between you and your dad had to change? He had made the promise that he wouldn't leave like your mom, but he did. Even though he was still here, he acted as if he did not know you. Was it because he was now a na'vi and had a new family? A family that obviously you weren't a part of, no matter how hard your siblings would try to include you in there family events, you were just not a part of them. Sometimes you wished that you had an avatar, maybe he'd recognize you again, you had begged Norm and Max if they could make you an avatar, they said they could try, but it'll take some time.
You hated it, you hated feeling the way that you did, you hated that your dad had left you behind. You hated everything at the moment. You wished that you were back on earth with the father that you deeply missed, the one that would take care of you and would look at you as if you were the light of his light, you missed when you were his Baby girl, you wished you could turn back the time.
You heard some grass moving, as if someone was walking through it. Looking back to see who it was, it was the one and only Neteyam, the brother who you barely had a relationship with you. "Hey sis.." that's all he said. You only waved at him and looked back down at your feet. Neteyam walked over and sat down on next to you, dipping his feet in the water. "Is something wrong?" he asked. You just sighed, cleaning your tears. "I don't know, everything doesn't seem fine." You said, while rubbing your now red and puffy eyes. "What's wrong? Did something happened?" he asked.
Looking over at him, you noticed his worried expression. You couldn't help but say something. "I've been thinking a lot about the past... how... how my dad used to love me." you said, looking away, feeling your tears coming back. Neteyam didn't say anything, instead he hummed, waiting for you to continue. "..Sometimes... I wished that... I could turn back time.. or.. wished to not be born if this was how my life was going to turn out." You admitted, feeling yourself hiccup as you cried. Neteyam felt bad, he noticed how his parents, mostly his dad would treat you. His first child.
Neteyam wasn't dumb, his dad may think he is but he isn't. He'd notice how you were completely ignored with the 'I'm busy with the kids' excuse. Majority of the time they'd leave the kids in his care and his parent's would be leave together, he always found that weird. Also never understood why you'd get excluded from their family when you were his father's child, also family.
"Can I admit something to you?" he asked, you looked back at him, you nodded while wiping away your tears and nose. "This may sound bad, but... I honestly wished dad wouldn't pay attention to me.." he admitted. "What do you mean?" you asked, a bit confused. "I love my dad really, but... I just.. want to be ignored sometimes you know? All this expectations and responsibilities he has on me are killing me.." he said. It was understandable, it was no secret that Jake would put a lot of pressure on Neteyam, for being the oldest. He was forgetting that his favorite son was also just a kid, a kid who was missing out on everything because he is afraid to disappoint his father.
"I know how you feel, but you never want to be ignored. Its the worst feeling you could have. Being ignored by the people who were suppose to be loving and caring to you" you said. Neteyam only sighed, you could see the sadness in his eyes. All he wanted was to be able to do what other kids did and not worry about being scolded by Jake. You then got close to him, leaning your head on his shoulder while he leaned his head down to your smaller head. This was the first time that you and Neteyam had actually spent time together.
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It had gone dark, when Neteyam noticed the time, he was freaking out that his dad would get onto him. You saw how he nearly died on the spot, so you decided to walk him back and to not worry about Jake. The whole walk back he kept mumbling how his dad was going to ground him, you had to basically calm him down from having an anxiety attack. This was not okay, him almost dying for being scolded was a huge red flag.
When you got to the camp, you watched how Jake was passing around outside the hut while his wife was trying to reason with him. As soon as he spotted you two approaching, he stomped over with an angry look on his face. "Where the hell were you boy?!" he yelled at him, totally forgetting that you were there. Before Neteyam could answer, you responded for him. "He was with me!" you said loud enough, then Jake looked at you, seen your unbothered expression bothered him a lot. "You have any idea what you could of caused?!" he asked, now his full attention on you. "We were only out for a bit more later, but were here now." You said rolling your eyes.
"You should know better! He was suppose to be back before Eclipse!" Jake yelled again, all you did was roll your eyes and listened to him rant. "We're here now aren't we? That's all that matters" you said, this angered Jake. "You listen here young lady, rules are meant to be followed and when those rules are broken they're consequences!" he said. You looked at him wide eyed. He did not just say that, he did not just try to scold you as if you were his kid. You are, but at the same time you were.
"I know damn well you did not just say that to me." You warned. "Watch your mouth or else-" Jake was cut off. "Or else what?! You'll ground me!? Guess what! I'm a fucking adult, you can't fucking ground me!" you yelled, getting the attention of both Neytiri and your younger siblings. "Yes I can, I'm your father!" He said, this made you lose it. "Oh! Now you want to be my fucking dad? After fifteen years of you ignoring me and pretending that I'm not here, you decide to be my fucking dad!? Wow! Give up to the Father of the fucking year everybody!" you screamed, but before Jake could speak, you cut him off. "You may think just because you're my dad you can tell me what to do, guess what, you stopped being my dad many fucking years ago. You know what, fuck you! I wish you were never my father! I fucking hate you!" you screamed, ignoring that everyone around you had stopped and listened, they watched how you basically had cussed out their leader, they were in complete shock, including your siblings.
Before Jake could tell you something, you just took off running. Ignoring how your name was called by your siblings. It was already late and the woods were already dark with animals rooming around, you didn't care if something were to attack you, you just wanted to get away from everything. You finally stopped, trying to catch your breath. Your throat and lungs were burning. You felt your tears coming back, you let out a sob, that sob went to a full on scream. It was a mixture of both anger, sadness and frustration. You didn't care that you were being heard. You just wanted to scream and cry all at once.
Once you stopped screaming, you continued to cry, silently as it began to rain. You didn't care that you were being soaked, that was until you felt a sharp pain in your neck. You winced, touching your neck, feeling some kind of dark on your neck. You pulled it out painfully, feeling your neck sting. Looking back at the object, it was sleeping dark. Everything began to feel strange, you saw how the glowing plants began to multiply and how your eyes began to heavy. Next thing you knew, your body felt numb and you began to stumble around, until you hit the floor. You were trying to stay awake, but you couldn't. Last thing you saw was how a group of blue figures dressed in camo were approaching you, then everything went black.
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ₚᵣₑᵥᵢₒᵤₛ ₚₐᵣₜ, ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ
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haunted-headset · 3 months
Text
💜 Oh, Distant You. 💜
Summary: Tommy asked what happened between you two.
a/n: hello! i was in the mood to make a short angsty fic, so i present this to all of you! this was (obviously) based on "Oh Distant You"
contains: angst, a break-up with you & Wilbur, crying, flashbacks, cursing, a cliffhanger ending, mentions of presumed death, the reader is said to have had mental health issues in the past, & mentions of suicide.
words: 651
tags:@zuuriell @somebody-v @vibestillaxxx @ax-y10 @joviepog@themonsterunderurmom @ogelizasoot @wilburstan@smolsleepykitten@funnyreally2009@crows-death@dykepunz@aresriiots@0miamor0@defonotval@chipch0p@mazzistar16@unmellowyellowfellow@thosecolorfulsheets@vopix@aine-lasagna@merianakross@veeislost@urfav-sapphic-siren@shazbaz58-blog @wifiatthetrainstation@mcr-pr-fob@shd454@rqvii@idioticion@m0thza@artistphantom @lexx-the-gay-rubber-ducky @finleyforevermore @poraphia @radio-to-trenchcoat-demons @mysticalsoot @21-cats-in-a-trenchcoat @strangleetomz (let me know if u don't or do wanna be tagged)
[Wilbur's {3rd person} POV]
Tommy had invited Wilbur to his house for an "intervention". He'd been locking himself in his apartment for days without messaging or calling anybody, streaming, or going to the studio. The Lovejoy members called him & messaged him uncountable times, but he never responded. Some of his friends thought he had killed himself. Nobody had heard from Y/N, either; they were an active streamer, usually streaming twice or thrice a week, but they hadn't streamed for two weeks. Y/N wasn't on tour with their band, either, & hadn't announced a break, so it worried Y/N's followers & fans.
"What's going on with you?" Tommy asked him. "Nobody's heard from you or Y/N in a few weeks. Did you two have a secret wedding & a honeymoon without telling anybody?" While the light-hearted joke was obviously intended to make Wilbur feel better, it just made him feel worse.
"We broke up, Tommy," he murmured, covering his eyes with his hand.
"You what?" Tommy raised his brow, not hearing Wilbur correctly.
"We broke up, Tommy," Wilbur repeated, louder this time.
Tommy was shocked. "I thought everything was good between you two! Why did they dump you?"
"I dumped them, Tommy," Wilbur said shakily, holding back tears.
"Why the fuck did you do that?" Tommy asked.
"Because I'm an idiot, Tommy, that's why!" Wilbur shouted, removing his hand away from his now red & glossy eyes. "Because I'm an idiot who thought prioritizing my music & my career over them was the better option! & they could be dead right now, for all I know! Their mental state was terrible when I broke up with them, so for all I know, they could be hanging from a noose right now, dead as a motherfucking doorknob."
"Woah, woah, woah, Wil, take a breath," Tommy said, his eyes wide from how Wilbur reacted. "Tell me what happened."
"I just--I got in over my head & started panicking & being an anxious idiot like how I was when I was a kid & I thought that my career & my band needed to be prioritized over them," Wilbur explained shakily.
"Why did you think that?" Tommy asked.
"Because I thought my career was better than them," he said softly.
"Is your career better than being with them?" Tommy asked, his eyebrows raised slightly.
"God, no, Tommy," Wilbur said with a catch in his throat. "I hate the way I talk when I'm trying to compliment or praise them because it'll never give off the praised esteem they have. They're two stars from grace & I'm convinced that this world turns for them & nobody else." He paused. "No offense, Tommy."
"Were you looking for somebody better or--" Tommy started.
"If the Lord or the universe or whoever fucking controls everything were to whip up a clone of them," said Wilbur, "I wouldn't even glance at it, so, no, Tommy. & if I did date that clone, I'd have to take a month off work & everything to sit down in the kitchen, & explain all our in-jokes, & cry with them to Wall-E, & still, I'd fuckin' miss Y/N."
"So you regret it all?" Tommy asked.
"Of course I do!" he exclaimed. "I thought I was creating the solution to their problems, that I was being the fix-all, but I was just the villain. & every single modicum of energy that I gave to all the little things compounded all my placidity, & I drove out all the good things & made life so fuckin' heavy, & now I can't wake up & talk to them." He was crying at this point, having to pause a few times to calm himself down.
Tommy held his phone up & pointed at the screen. He was on a call. He was on call with Y/N. He had been this whole time.
"Hi, Wilbur."
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sunsetreid · 6 months
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i'd find you every single day [ s. reid ]
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pairing : spencer reid x fem!bau!reader
summary / prompt : it’s been six weeks since the BAU found her, but (Y/N) still has nightmares from the five weeks she was held captive by her ex-boyfriend … yet Spencer is right there to help her through it even though she doesn’t want him to see her like this
requested : no
genre : angst (w the tiniest bit of fluff)
warnings : mentions of kidnapping / assault / torture, flashbacks that include abuse and torture, talks of nightmares, just a generally heavy fic
【 heavy content below - read at your own risk ! 】
She thought it was over.
The moment Aaron Hotchner yelled “FBI” and she was back in the arms of the man that truly loved her, she thought it was all over.
The beatings, the torture, the countless nights of no sleep she suffered at the hands of the guy she once trusted and loved. She thought that those days and nights were done and over with.
Yet, she lies wide awake again for what seems like the sixth time in the past seven nights. Her entire body is shaking from the nightmare that woke her up. Tears wet her cheeks. Her eyes are on the phone that sits on her bedside table.
Spencer told her to call him if she needed him. She did need him, but she always felt so bad when she calls in the middle of the night.
2:39 stares (Y/N) in the face when she picks up the device. With shaky fingers, she pulls up Spencer’s contact information. She sighs and presses the ‘call’ button.
It rings once, twice, three times before someone picks up the phone. She bites her lip, holding back tears.
“(Y/N)?” Spencer’s groggy voice asks. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”
She wants to tell him everything. She wants to tell him about the nightmares and the fact that most nights, she relives what he did to her.
She begged him to stop. Pleaded with him. Her wrists were bound to the arms of the chair with rope, the skin was raw where the ropes cut into it.
She was so tired from all the crying and screaming. She was so weak from all the torture and blood loss.
“Please,” she cried as soon as she saw the knife in his hand. “Please don’t hurt me. I can’t do it anymore. Please!”
“Too late.”
There was a sharp pain that dragged across her arm. She screamed until she couldn’t anymore, but it wasn’t enough. No one came for her. No one was coming for her because they didn’t know where she was.
“(Y/N).” Spencer sounded more awake when he said her name. “Do you need me?”
At the last second, she says, “No. I’m sorry for calling and waking you up. I’m fine. Goodnight.”
Before he can get in another word, (Y/N) hangs up the phone. She puts it back down on the table before she curls up around a pillow. She buries her face into the pillow and the fabric of the pillowcase soaks up her tears.
A choked sob comes from her throat, followed by another, and another. Frustration and anger begin to boil.
How could he do this to her? He claimed to love her yet he caused her so much physical pain and suffering those five weeks. He has ruined her life.
(Y/N) hasn’t passed the psychological exam she needs to pass before she could return to work at the BAU. All she has been doing the past six weeks is sitting around her apartment with nothing but her thoughts.
She hasn’t even been able to sleep because all she sees as soon as she closes her eyes is the knife he cut her with and his eyes while he did it.
His eyes. That’s the thing she really remembers.
His bright blue eyes darkened every time he put the knife to her skin. It was like causing her physical pain made him happy and turned him on.
A knock brings (Y/N) out of her head and back to reality. She waits and listens to see if it was something her mind had made up. A second knock causes her to get out of bed.
She is surprised to see Spencer standing outside her door when she looks through the peephole. She unlocks all four locks on her door and swings it open. A pajama-clad Spencer Reid stands on the other side in his plaid pants and Caltech hoodie.
“I said I was fine, Spencer,” she spits at him, her voice hoarse. "Go home. "I don't need you here. You have work in the morning so go back to sleep. Sorry for worrying you."
Spencer frowns and takes a step toward her. She backs up a step. "Don't lie to me, (Y/N)," he tells her when he realizes that he isn't going to be able to touch her. "I know you, and even if I didn't, I'd still know that you have been crying. You're not okay, so here I am."
"I'm fine," she tries again. This time her voice is shaky and her bottom lip wobbles. She doesn't want him to see her cry again. Not over this. "Seriously. I'm okay. I just couldn't shut my brain off long enough to get any sleep. I swear I'm okay."
His face softens and immediately she cracks. He didn't even say anything and she's crying.
"Hey," Spencer softly says. He steps forward and envelopes (Y/N) in his arms. He puts his hands in her hair and softly messages it because he knows it calms her. "You don't have to talk about it right now but if you need to talk about it, then I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, okay? I don't care if you tell me you're fine or that you're okay. I'm staying right here."
She nods into the crook of his neck. His hoodie soaks up the tears that are rolling down her cheeks. Spencer reaches behind him and shuts the door. She grips the fabric of his hoodie at his waist and pulls him against her.
This is the only place she has truly felt safe in the past six weeks. The arms of the man she loves have been the safest place for her. They're warm and inviting, and it feels like they're the only two people in the world. She can forget everything that happened a month and a half ago when she's in Spencer's arms.
She closes her eyes as Spencer rocks her side-to-side.
(Y/N)'s head hurt. She didn't know what he did to her. All she felt was blood dripping down her face and blinding her. She tried blinking it away, but it only seemed to make it worse.
"Look at you, gorgeous," he said, one of his fingers running through her blood-soaked hair. "So beautiful."
"Please," she gasped. Her voice was so weak. "Please just let me go. I won't tell anyone. I promise if you just let me go."
He knelt down beside the wooden chair that she had been in for three weeks. He smiled at her. "No can do, my love," he told her. "It's too late. You work for the FBI. They'll come for me. When I'm done with you, I'll have to kill you."
"He was going to kill me," (Y/N) cries to Spencer. "I didn't know how much longer I had left. I did everything he wanted me to do so you had enough time to find me."
Spencer pulls back a bit and cups her face in his hands. Blood was no longer blinding her. She could clearly see how sad he was. "We found you and you're safe now, baby," he tells her. His thumbs wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I'd find you every single day and I'll make sure you're safe for the rest of our lives."
A pout forms on her face as tries tries to stop crying. "I don't deserve you," she mumbles. "I don't-"
"You deserve everything good in the world, (Y/N)," Spencer interrupts her. "I don't care what he told you while he had you. They were all lies. I'm telling you the truth. You deserve everything good, you deserve all the love you get from me and the team. I love you, and I'll keep proving that to you until you believe me."
"You deserve nothing for breaking my heart," he snarled at her. She felt his fist come across her cheek again. She cried out in pain.
"That pretty boy you got for a boyfriend, he doesn't love you. He would've found you by now if he did. He doesn't love you. Your team doesn't care for you. It's been a month. You mean nothing to them, you hear me?"
There was another fist that came down across her face ... and another ... and another until everything went black and she could no longer beg for him to let her go.
"Come on," Spencer says. "Let's go lay down. Maybe you'll get some sleep.
Doubtful, but she doesn't say it out loud.
He leads her down the hall to her bedroom. He helps her under the covers before he curls up around her, almost like he wants to keep her safe from everything.
(Y/N) meets Spencer's eyes as they intertwine their legs together under the blankets. She buries her face into his neck and sighs. He smells like his body wash so he must've taken a shower recently.
Spencer wraps his arms around her shoulders and just holds her. His fingers run through her hair.
"I love you too, by the way," she whispers after a few moments of silence. "Thank you for finding me."
"I'll always find you."
He had been gone for a while. Nearly two days without food and water. (Y/N) grew weaker. She could barely hold her head up. She didn't know how much longer she could stay awake.
She had to. She had to stay awake. Falling asleep wasn't an option.
There was a boom above her and what sounded like footsteps seconds later.
"Help," she croaked. No one would be able to hear her. Not with how weak her voice was. "Help me."
A door opened and light flooded the room. "FBI!" a very familiar voice called out. "Don't move."
"(Y/N), baby," another voice said, panic laced in his voice.
With the last of her strength, she was able to lift her head up. She let out a sob when she realized that it was Spencer Reid and the BAU who stood in front of her.
It wasn't her captor.
"Spencer." Her voice came out as a whisper.
"I got you. You're okay," he said, breathless. Her head fell and her eyes drooped. Spencer caught her head and lifted it so she could look at him. "Baby, stay awake for me, okay? There's an ambulance outside but you need to stay awake."
The last thing she heard before she fell unconscious was "I love you. I'm sorry it took us so long."
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