#muse; kim garcia
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closed starter for @cherrysugcr
Kim surprised herself after deciding to invite Titus back to her hotel room. Maybe it was the amount of alcohol she consumed throughout the entire wedding. Perhaps he had charmed her a bit too well. Kim wasn’t entirely sure, but she wasn’t upset with the current situation. Sure, Titus wasn’t her usual type. He was more of a super sweet, goofy, and sarcastic guy. But he was the only decent guy there, so why not give him a shot. It wasn’t like Kim was a super shallow girl. She just tended to favor more assertive and dominant guys. The brunette opened the door and stepped inside, moving to place her purse and jacket onto the plush chair that sat in the corner of the room. "Make yourself comfortable, I could order us some room service if you'd like something to drink." She turned to face him, smiling softly as she brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
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01 — better than revenge
summary: “she’s not a saint, no, she’s not what you think. she’s an actress.”
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
genre: best friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn
warnings: fluff, angst with a happy ending, Lila is a real piece of work here, VERY CANON COMPLIANT, Spencer’s a bit of an ass :(
wc: 10.4k
a/n: special mention to @astrophileous for beta reading MWAH
SPARKS FLY MASTERLIST // MAIN MASTERLIST
“Hey kid, wheels up in thirty.” Derek nods towards you, dropping a case file on your desk.
You raise an eyebrow, flicking open the case file to the first page. A small laugh of disbelief leaves your lips. “Ooh, Los Angeles, media capital of the world. What’s the occasion?”
“Three murders, all shot in the head executional style.”
Your face falls into a grimace as you grab your go-bag and tuck the file under your arm, following the rest of the team to the jet. “Spence and Gideon are there already, right? Talk about timing.”
Elle can’t help but grin at your words, slinking an arm over your shoulder. “Looks like you’ll see loverboy a lot sooner than you think.”
A shriek of betrayal leaves your lips as you throw her arm off of you. “I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
“Sure you don’t,” JJ all but cackles as she boards the plane, grinning the entire way.
“I’m gonna kill you,” you grumble, dropping your things on one of the seats in the jet. “Seriously, I mean it. I know how to get away with murder.”
Hotch raises an eyebrow at you, his gaze that of a disappointed yet amused father. “Not the brightest thing to say while you’re in a room full of FBI agents.”
Elle lets out a ‘hah!’ as she sits across from you, crossing one leg over the other as she grins. “Get comfortable, buttercup, six hour flight and you’re not going anywhere.”
“Assholes.” You roll your eyes teasingly, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you turn to your case files. “And it’s not like that.”
“Oh, of course not,” Elle snickers, “you’re just friends.”
You throw a pen at her and it bounces off her leg harmlessly. “I can smell the sarcasm.”
“You’ll be smelling more of it,” Derek laughs, ruffling your hair. “Sit tight, kid, we’re in for a long flight.”
Once everyone was settled and the jet was high in the air, the team began to look through the files with Garcia on speaker as usual.
“First two victims, Wally Melman and Chloe Harris,” You recite dutifully, glancing over the grotesque crime scene images. “Seems like they were both killed in public places.”
“Chloe was killed while walking her dog on the beach in Santa Monica which she did every morning, and Wally was killed outside of a massage parlour,” JJ reiterates, sitting down with a cup of tea in her hand.
“In Culver City,” Derek adds.
“Which he went to every Tuesday,” Elle continues.
Derek looks to the rest of the team, a thoughtful look on his face. “Well, if he knows their schedules, maybe that means he follows his victims for a while.”
“And not a single witness. So we know this UnSub can blend in,” Hotch mutters. “Regardless of the location, he has the ability to hide in plain sight.”
“So, he’s meticulous.” Elle nods, her eyes drifting from Hotch to the case file.
“The media is calling Natalie Ryan’s murder the biggest celebrity homicide since Sharon Tate,” JJ adds, looking through the images of the newspaper clippings that were sent to her laptop.
“Great,” You muse, although frustration is clear in your voice. “What does that mean for us?”
Hotch lets out a sigh. “That everybody will be watching.”
***
“This guy is an assassin?” Detective Kim asks with disbelief as the rest of the team reiterates their thoughts once they were in the police department.
“When you look at the victimology, there’s no obvious links,” Morgan points out. “All the kills were clean except in the instance of the last victim, Jeremy Collins.”
You nod, tucking a strand of hair as you reference the case files. “There’s absolutely no evidence left at the crime scene. Labs have found zero DNA, no manifestation of psychosexual release, and from what we can tell there’s no detectable signature of any kind. These kills are straight forward, almost like he’s on a mission.”
“Remember, our profiles are formulated not just by what’s present at the scene but also what’s absent,” Gideon says to Detective Kim.
“From all the evidence that we’ve gathered, we believe you’re looking for a Type Four Assassin,” Elle explains.
“Type Four?”
Spencer immediately jumps in to explain, gesticulating throughout his explanation. “Type One’s are political assassins like John Wilkes Booth. Type Two’s are egocentrics looking for simple recognition.”
“Type Three’s are psychopaths,” Hotch continues, “cold-blooded killers who leave far messier scenes. Type Four, our UnSub, suffers from a major mental disorder and is frequently delusional.”
“The closer we come to figuring out that delusion, the closer we’ll get to finding the UnSub,” Reid points out.
Everyone is left to their own thoughts and you look over to Spencer, a soft grin on your face. “How was your father-son bonding time?”
Spencer gives you a pointed look, but a soft laugh leaves his lips. “It was… fine.”
“Fine? Out of everyone on the team, Gideon chose you to present a talk about behavioural analysis and profiling to the LAPD. You love conferences. C’mon, give me something!” You nudge his shoulder gently.
“We uh.. we went to an art gallery the other day. We met a movie star, so that was cool…” his cheeks are dusted with a soft pink as he talks and your curiosity only increases.
“A movie star, huh? Look at you, mingling with the high and mighty.” You poke his cheek with a laugh. “Tell me about them.”
He flushes at the contact, clearing his throat. “Um… her name is Lila Archer. Have you heard of her? She’s–”
“Reid, (L/N), we’re meeting with someone,” Derek cuts in, nodding towards the both of you.
You blink in confusion as you follow him to another room. “Suspect?”
“Someone received a note,” Derek says quickly, glancing over at the note in Elle’s hands. “On a newspaper clipping of the latest murder.”
“Lila?”
A blonde woman was sitting in the next room over, her legs crossed over as she waits. Her eyes light up in recognition and she stands up. You can’t help but be impressed as you give her a quick once over. She’s gorgeous, exactly what you expect from a famous movie star.
“I’m Agent (L/N),” You say gently, moving from your spot next to Spencer and holding your hand out. “This is Agent Morgan and I’m assuming you already know Doctor Reid. I understand that you received a note this morning?”
She wearily shakes your hand, her blue eyes flitting between you and Reid. “Yeah.”
“We just have a few questions to ask. We know that these things are sensitive, but we promise we’ll try to make the situation as easy as possible for you.” You shoot her a kind smile, excusing her weariness for fear or anxiety. “Is that alright?”
“Sure.” She respond curtly, shooting a smile towards Spencer before walking past you.
“Uh… okay?” You let out a little laugh in confusion and Derek raises an eyebrow at you.
“What was that about?” He asks, frowning.
You shrug your shoulders, watching as Spencer leads her to an empty desk. “Trust me, I have no idea. Maybe she’s just nervous and wants to talk to a familiar face.”
Derek hums in thought. “Maybe. But usually victims like this are more willing to speak to someone of the same gender. It’s strange that she was so direct to you.”
“She’s been through a traumatic experience. If I got a newspaper clipping with a message written in blood, I probably wouldn’t be too thrilled meeting new people either,” You defend, pursing your lips. “She’s probably just… scared, right?”
He doesn’t respond, moving to follow Spencer and Lila further into the police department. A few questions were asks about her relationship with the other victims, only to find that she was in fact the connection between the other victims. Wally Melman was a producer who Lila met with a few times to discuss a role, only for him to cast Natalie Ryan instead. Chloe Harris looked an awful lot like Lila, so it was likely that the UnSub got rid of her in order to ‘ice-out’ the competition.
“(L/N), may I talk to you for a moment?” Hotch asks quickly, waving you over.
You blink in confusion but nod, walking over to where he stands by the desk. “Yeah, what’s up?”
“I want you to try and get as much information from Lila as possible.” He gestures to where Lila sits in one of the victim waiting rooms. “This is your area of expertise. Try and find out if there’s any distinct information that she’s given to anyone so that we can track the UnSub.”
“Got it.” You offer a smile, fixing your shirt as you agree. “I’ll update you if I get any new information.”
You make your way over to where Lila was sitting, trying to look as friendly as possible. “Hey, Lila. Are you alright? Can I get you anything?”
She glances over you for a second, looking you up and down before shaking her head. “I’m fine. Where’s Spencer?”
Your brows furrow at his words. “Doctor Reid…? He’s currently going through the timeline of events with our colleagues. In the meantime, I was hoping to ask a few questions, maybe shed some light on the entire situation.”
She raises an eyebrow before nodding. “Okay.”
“Alright…” you clear your throat, taking a seat across from her. “You mentioned that you receive a bowl of red anemones on the seventh of every month. Do you mind… telling me why you like those flowers so much?”
She shrugs dismissively, running a hand through her blonde hair. “They’re pretty. I like the colour.”
You nod slowly, writing that down in your notes. “Well that’s understandable; they’re very beautiful flowers. But they’re a little uncommon as a favourite flower, don’t you think? If you like the colour, a more common favourite flower would be poppies or roses… are you sure there isn’t another reason? The meaning behind red anemones is forsaken love and death… does that intrigue you at all?”
She scoffs, “are you trying to accuse me of something?”
“Not at all,” you say quickly, “I apologise if it comes off that way. I’m just trying to find out as much as possible about the entire situation. For all we know, those flowers could have been sent by the UnSub.”
A short silence lulls in the room as well as an awkward tension. So, you try to take things from another angle.
“I love hydrangeas,” you say gently, a small smile on your lips. “I like the way they’re always bunched together and the colours are beautiful. Only a few people know that I like them though. My close friend and colleagues, my family… do you remember telling anyone about your favourite flower?”
She’s quiet for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know.”
Your face falls and you press a little more. “Are you sure you don’t remember? Maybe… maybe your manager, or a friend of yours?”
“I said ‘I don’t know’, okay?” She snaps, her hands balling into fists as she glares at you. “God, it’s not that hard to understand.”
You lean back in your chair, your gaze hardening. “I understand that this is difficult for you, but any information–”
“I don’t have any information!” Lila huffs, her hands placed in her lap. “Are you stupid or something?”
“The likelihood of these people being murdered because of you is incredibly high,” You say sharply, shutting your notebook. “If you’re withholding information from us it could prove detrimental to the investigation. I’m only trying to do my job. Asking you questions is part of my job.”
Her lips twitch at your words and she scowls. “I already told you I don’t remember.”
“Not remembering and not knowing are two different things, Ms Archer.” You place your card on the table. “If you remember anything, please give me a call.”
You get up from your seat, heading to the door, only to see that it was wide open with Derek and Spencer standing at the doorway. In seconds, Lila’s gaze softens and she runs out of the room, sniffling as she does. Your gaze follows her as she runs out of the police station, a look of disbelief on your features.
“What the…”
“Seriously (Y/N)?” Spencer demands, a frown on his face.
You gape at his words. “What are you–”
He cuts you off, running after Lila. Derek raises an eyebrow in their direction before turning to you.
“You okay, pretty girl?” Derek asks gently, patting your shoulder.
“Honestly? I have no idea,” You confess quietly, biting your lip. “I’ve never seen him get so…”
“Upset? Angry?” he finishes, a small laugh leaving his lips. “You and me both. Look, kid, it’s not your fault. She was clearly being dismissive of your questions and she needed a reality check.”
“It’s not like I’ve never spoken that way when interrogating someone before,” You point out, brows furrowed in frustration. “Even then, Spencer has never had an issue with it. I just– I don’t understand what’s got him so worked up.”
Derek can’t help but laugh. “You’re a profiler. Isn’t it obvious?”
You pause for a moment, thinking through their interaction. “He has a crush on her, doesn’t he? He likes her. Of course he does. Brilliant, now he’s involved.”
Derek pats you on the back sympathetically. “Come on, pretty girl. We’ve got a job to do.”
***
Despite your original hesitancy, Hotch asked you personally to go with the others, meaning that you had no right to refuse. Well, you could, but that would mean throwing Elle under the bus and she would be much more helpful at the precinct than on set. So, before you could fake being sick and bail the investigation, you, Derek, and Spencer went to check out the set of Lila’s movie, hoping to better observe her interactions with her costars and the staff.
The inside of Lila’s small trailer is hot. Incredibly hot but relatively empty. As you look around, you gather that she’s either a minimalist or just didn’t have to spend a lot time in the trailer at all. Lila sits in front of the little group, wearing a robe to cover her costume: a cyan sequinned bikini set that she looked absolutely criminal in. Her hair has been styled in a classic blowout and you wonder how much time it took to get it to look so effortless.
“I’m not stopping my life,” she says, her voice almost stern as she steps out of the trailer and back onto the set.
You purse your lips as you glance at the paper in the plastic pocket, now labelled as ‘evidence’. Apparently it was taped up to the door of her trailer. Your eyes shift to Spencer who’s gaze doesn’t leave the door that Lila just walked out of for much longer than necessary. Neither of you have spoken since yesterday’s incident.
You hum thoughtfully, as you pull out your notebook, glancing at the notes you’ve been making. “Well, I guess the only thing we can do is talk to the people on set. Maybe they saw something. I’ll see if I can find out who has access to Lila’s trailer.”
Spencer nods in your direction. “Yeah, that’s… that’s a good idea.”
One of your eyebrows quirk up. “Okay…? Why do you sound so surprised?”
He flushes under your scrutiny, clearing his throat as the three of you begin to walk out of the trailer and towards the set. “I’m not! I– I’m not surprised. You’re good at your job.”
“You didn’t seem to think that yesterday,” You respond lightly, your tone petty and passive aggressive, gaze flickering between the cameras and lights on set.
Derek coughs awkwardly before excusing himself and entering further into the set leaving you and Spencer alone outside by a vending machine. Spencer falters at your words and he runs a hand through his hair. The harsh Los Angeles sun beats down against your skin and you fiddle with the notebook in your hands. In turn, he fixes up his sleeves, rolling them up to his elbow, giving you a clear view of his forearms and large hands.
“I’m sorry,” He says softly, chewing on his bottom lip. “I didn’t– I was out of line.”
“You were,” You agree, your gaze shifting between the chilled bottled drinks in the vending machine and him. “Buy me a drink and we’ll call it even.”
A boyish grin grows on his face and he nods, pulling out his wallet. “Yeah. Yeah, okay, awesome. Iced coffee?”
“You know me so well,” you respond with an equally large smile, poking his cheek. “Thank you!”
He presses a few buttons, grabbing a Cola for himself. You can’t help but laugh, giving him a pointed look. He quickly moves to defend himself, “It’s a hot day, okay? An exception.”
“An exception,” You repeat, trying to hide your smile as you crack open the lid of your drink and take a sip. “What happened to ‘Cola has 50 grams of sugar in it. That’s the equivalent of eating two full bars of milk chocolate’?”
He pouts at your words, opening his drink and you watch as a few bubbles rise to the top of the bottle. He takes a swig of his drink, sighing in content. “Shut up.”
You laugh again once you officially enter the set, nudging Spencer with your arm teasingly. He nudges you back, rolling his eyes and poking your cheek. You retaliate by doing the same, swinging your drink as you walk.
Before you could do or say anything else, Derek taps your shoulder. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”
Spencer’s brows furrow. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, just wanted to cross reference answers,” Derek dismisses.
“Let me pull up my list,” You respond helpfully, grabbing your notebook. “Hey, Spence, do you mind canvassing the rest of the crew? See if anyone pays any special attention on Lila?”
He nods at your words, moving towards Lila, sipping on his drink. In the meantime, you turn towards Derek, a curious look on your face.
“Little Miss Madonna has been glaring at you since the moment you entered the set,” Morgan says quietly, his gaze flitting to where Lila was making coffee.
You practically snap your neck as you look up in her direction, watching as she quickly fumbles to make herself a cup of something. You turn away and you could practically feel her gaze burning against your scalp. A frown makes its way onto your face and you resist the urge to roll your eyes. You glance over to where she and Spencer were talking, blanching when you watch as she takes a swig of his Cola.
“You don’t mind, do you?” You hear her ask as she drinks and Spencer hurriedly shakes his head.
A quiet scoff leaves your lips and Derek nudges you with a look that reads ‘behave.’ You lift your hands in surrender and follow him over to where Spencer now stands by himself, Lila gone to talk to some other staff member.
“An exception, huh?” You ask Spencer, referring to his aversion to germs and sharing food. Your tone is mostly teasing despite the underlying bitterness beneath it.
“Shut up.” He mutters quietly, cheeks hot from embarrassment of being caught.
Derek snorts, clapping his shoulder before moving on.
***
The next day, you were going over the evidence that was provided by the LAPD. Considering that it was a relatively young case, there weren’t copious amounts of evidence, meaning that there were still untied strings to go through. The entire situation proved more difficult than necessary; no one seemed to notice anything amiss when it came to Lila and her relationships, and considering that the actress wasn’t very forthcoming with the information she knew, you were hitting dead-end after dead-end.
Although geographical profiling was more of Spencer’s expertise than yours, you figured it wouldn’t do anyone harm by triangulating the previous three murders. He was standing beside you, his presence not unwelcome as he guides you step by step on how to plot an understandable and accurate profile. Hotch had asked him to coach you through the entire situation and explain his point of view, as well as his thought process when it came to geographical profiling. With a comfort zone now clearly expressed, you were discussing probable suspects on the phone with Garcia.
“Will Hunter… currently the town hermit, previous criminal record of armed battery and robbery,” Garcia recites, and you pull up his file.
“Mm… maybe? No, I don’t think so. His crimes don’t match the UnSub’s profile. He seems to be messier, uh, tending to use bats and knives than a clean shot to the head. And the profile suggests that the UnSub is able to blend in with the crowd.” You hum in thought, turning to Spencer.
“Hermits like Will Hunter wouldn’t be able to do that,” He explains to Garcia, putting his file into the ‘unlikely’ folder.
Garcia sighs in frustration and you can hear her furiously type away on her computer. “How about–”
“Hold that thought,” Elle says quickly, cutting Penelope off apologetically. “(Y/N), did you know Lila’s here?”
You blink in confusion, slowly shaking your head no. “She’s here? I didn’t get any calls from her.”
Elle shrugs at your words. “She looks like she’s going to burn a hole through your head.”
Your brows furrow and your gaze shifts to the blonde woman through the office window. She has her arms folded over her chest, a scowl on her face, before her cheeks burn in embarrassment of being caught. Spencer follows your gaze, his face lighting up at the sight of the actress. It’s almost as if he has selective hearing when it comes to his celebrity crush, clearly not hearing the part where Elle points out that Lila has been glaring at you the entire time.
“Can we talk outside?” You ask Elle quickly, getting up from your seat, not taking no for an answer.
Spencer opens his mouth to say something before he shuts it, watching as you drag your other co-worker out of the room. Your attention shifts between Lila and Elle, your brows furrowing.
“What is it?” You ask, your back turned towards the actress. “Why is she here?”
“She gave me a list of people who know what her favourite flower is,” Elle says quietly.
Your ears go red at her words, your eyes practically bulging out of your head. “Excuse me?”
“She called me yesterday,” she explains, handing you the list of people. “She said that she remembers who they were and came in today to give me a list of people.”
You scoff in disbelief, throwing your hands up in the air in frustration. “I gave her my card.”
“She called and asked for me.”
You scoff again, rolling your eyes. “Oh, so suddenly she can remember everything when she talks to you, but nothing when she talks to me? She’s not very slick.”
The door behind you opens, revealing Spencer who has been listening in the entire time. His jaw is clenched and a frown is etched upon his features as he looks at you accusingly.
“Maybe she just didn’t remember,” he points out harshly as you and Elle re-enter the room.
An incredulous look makes its way into your face. “Excuse me?”
“She didn’t remember, and now she does,” Spencer says, and from the corner of your eye you watch Elle slowly leave the room once more. The door closes with a soft click.
“That doesn’t change the fact that she went to Elle and not to me,” you respond, trying to keep your voice even and your words clear. You take a deep breath in an effort to calm yourself down.
Spencer scowls at you. “Maybe she has every right to go to Elle after you snapped at her the first time you tried to talk to her.”
“Are you– are you being serious right now?” A humourless laugh leaves your lips as you glare up at him. “Look, Reid, I’m sorry that I’m not her biggest fan and that I don’t kiss the ground she walks on, but I was doing my job. A job that I believe I am quite good at. It’s not like speaking harshly is unheard of when it comes to the retrieval of information.”
He flinches when you call him by his last name but he stands his ground. “If you were so good at your job, you wouldn’t have to speak to her that way,” he argues, and you can see the vein in his forehead begin to protrude.
His words sting and bite you and suddenly you feel your resolve snapping. “You know what?” The words are slow and deliberate as they leave your lips, and you jab a finger against his chest. “I get that you have a crush on her and that you’re finally going through puberty but that does not mean that you can ignore the job you are currently on.”
He swallows thickly and he opens his mouth to retaliate but you push your finger against his chest once more.
“I am not finished.” Your voice is low with frustration and annoyance as you scowl, glaring up at him. “I don’t care who you’re attracted to or who you want to sleep with. I don’t give a damn if that someone is victim in the investigation because it’s not my problem. I do, however, have a problem when you undermine my ability to do my job and do nothing to fix it.
The worst part is the fact that you’re my friend. You’re supposed to be supportive and helpful and– and– and understanding.” Your mouth is moving quicker than your brain can register and you’re stumbling over your words as you snap at him. “I’m supposed to be able to go to you if I’m going through something. I should be able to talk to you if someone or something is bothering me, but now I’m just afraid that you’ll call me crazy and then criticise me all over again.”
His face falls and he looks at you like a kicked puppy as the words slowly sink in. He reaches out to you, his hazel eyes searching your face but the only emotion that you’re showing is anger. You push his hand away, the frown set on your eyebrows. It’s only then when you realise that Garcia has been listening into the conversation the entire time, your heart lurching to a stop when you hear her cough on the other side of the line.
“Um… is now a bad time to say that I didn’t get any other hits for the profile?” She asks tentatively through the speaker, and you feel your face burning.
“I need air,” you announce to no one in particular, before grabbing your files and storming out of the room.
Elle catches your arm on the way out, her eyebrows knitted together in concern. “(Y/N)-“
“Hey. Sorry.” You bite your lip, loosening the grip you have on your papers. “Where’s Hotch?”
“With Derek and Gideon,” she says gently. “Lila got another note and we’re going to check on her manager. Do you want to come with?”
You exhale before nodding. “Yeah. That’d be good.”
“Okay.” She squeezes your arm gently, her eyes flitting between you and Spencer who was inside the conference room, pacing back and forth. “Is… everything alright?”
“Honestly? No.” You offer her a wry smile, shoving your files into your bag. “But it’s fine.”
She chuckles a little in disbelief, leading you to the black SUVs outside. Derek and Gideon were already there, waiting patiently for the two of you while Hotch has already left in another SUV. Apparently the ‘no profiling each other’ rule was thrown out the window as soon as they saw the state you were in, and Derek quickly makes his way over to you.
“(Y/N), are you–”
“I’m fine,” you snap, before closing your eyes tightly and letting out a deep breath. “Sorry, Morgan. I’m okay, just had an argument with Reid.”
At that, his eyebrows shoot upwards. “Since when did you call him ‘Reid’? And what do you mean you had a fight with him? He literally can’t say no to you.”
“Yeah, that was before a Miss Archer walked into the room,” you mutter bitterly. “Shot a literal arrow through his heart. She put her name to good use. I never stood a chance.”
“Hey now, don’t say that,” Elle says, climbing into the SUV. You follow closely behind and she continues. “He’s just confused right now.”
You can’t help but scoff. “I really doubt that.”
Gideon starts the car, looking at you through the rear view mirror. “You’re a profiler. What do you really think?”
The words die at your tongue and you deflate into the seat of the car. You hate to admit it, but Gideon is right. You should be able to figure out exactly what Spencer is thinking. After all, he’s your best friend– you shouldn’t have to be worrying about guessing games when it comes to him.
Hotch is the first to arrive at the manager’s office, watching as your group pull up in front of the building. Once everyone clambours out of the car, they enter the building, a sigh of relief leaving them as they enjoy the air conditioned lobby. With a flash of a badge, the receptionist is quick to tell you which floor and room number Michael was in.
“Floor 11, Room 03,” you mumble to yourself as you scribble it down in your notes.
The elevator ride is silent and you rock back and forth on your feet as the lift begins to rise. Your head is spinning with thoughts and regrets as you consider the harsh words that you spat at Spencer’s face less than an hour ago. You must not have been hiding your frustration well because Hotch finally says something.
“Is everything alright?” He asks, much like a father would when their child is having a tantrum. It’s fitting.
You shrug. “I will be.”
“Is it to do with Reid?”
You cough awkwardly, glancing back at the notes in your hand. “That obvious?”
Derek snorts from behind you. “Yeah, a little.”
“Everyone knows you’re in love with him,” Elle adds, a teasing lilt to her voice.
“I am– I am not in love with him!” You all but shriek, shooting her a half hearted glare and you stutter out a response. “I mean, I– uh– I like him but–“
“You are a horrible liar,” Derek cackles and you groan.
Hotch and Gideon watch amused at the interaction, and the latter finally pipes in.
“Profiling isn’t something you can just turn off,” he explains to you, his tone gentle. He reminds you of a grandfather giving advice to their youngest grandchild, and a small smile makes its way onto your face. He continues to speak, “it’s subconscious and it becomes a habit. The only time it stops is when you either need it most, or when you don’t want to see anything.”
The elevator comes to a stop on the eleventh floor and Michael’s office wasn’t far away. The writing on the frosted glass reads ‘1103, Michael Ryer & associates, talent management’ and Elle raps on the door.
“Hello?”
“Mr Ryer?” Gideon calls.
She knocks a few times again before opening the door entirely. “Michael–”
You’re met with Michael Ryer, dead in his arm chair and shot to the head, just like all the other victims. Despite having faced these circumstances before, you still feel sick to the stomach as you stare at Michael’s lifeless body and soulless eyes. It’s unnerving.
“Up until now every victim was a person who could be perceived as a threat to Miss Archer,” Hotch comments as they enter the room, pulling out his phone.
“Yeah, but Michael was a friend,” Elle says with a frown.
You look up from your notes. “He was a threat to the stalker.”
In less than twenty minutes, the LAPD dispatched forensics and evidence teams to the office. Lila and Spencer were on their way back to her house, deciding that it was best to deny the stalker access to her. You rifle through Michael’s belongings: his schedules, his files… everything until you come to one particular manila envelope.
“Morgan, Elle, look at this,” you murmur, pulling the photos out of the envelope. “Pictures of Lila… nude.”
A flash of a grimace passes along Elle’s face, but it’s gone as quickly as it appears. “He was probably paying someone to keep them out of the press.”
“The name on the file says Joe Martinez,” Derek mutters, turning the envelope over.
The name must have struck a chord, because Detective Kim’s head immediately snaps around to look at you. “Paparazzo?”
You blink. “You know this guy?”
“Yeah, I deal with him a lot,” Kim responds, his face stoic.
“We should follow that lead,” You comment, tucking the photos back in the envelope and looking over at Detective Kim and Derek. “I’m ready to go when you are?”
After an okay from Hotch, you, Derek, and Detective Kim make your way over to the Joe Martinez’s place. After knocking on the door to his place multiple times, Derek decides to open it in the way he knows best: by kicking it down. You grip your gun, holding it out in front of you as you travel through the hallways.
“Clear!” You yell out upon pushing another door open, seeing nobody inside.
“(Y/N), you need to check this out,” comes Morgan’s call, and you follow the direction of his voice
Pinned above a small desk are picture upon pictures of Lila Archer. When she has lunch, when she’s out with her friends… it’s almost as if this person has completely documented her life. It’s a little nerve wracking, knowing that someone could follow you and take photos without anyone even realising.
“Hey is that–” you pause, pulling a piece of paper off the wall. “This is Lila’s schedule.”
Derek blinks in surprise. “I’m guessing he’s not supposed to have that?”
“No,” Detective Kim responds, and your gaze shifts to the table.
“Hey, isn’t that–” you feel your heart practically stop as you see who’s in the photos.
“That’s Reid,” Derek mutters.
Kim shifts through the photos. “There’s a whole bunch of them,” he says, pulling out at least five or six print outs. “Is he a target now?”
Derek scoffs, throwing the photos on the table and pulling out his phone, making a beeline for the exit. “Not if I can help it.”
You and Detective Kim follow him out, making your way to the SUV.
“Reid? Hey, it’s Morgan. Listen, you gotta watch your back over there, we just found a bunch of close-up photos of you at this guy Joseph Martinez’s studio. It looks like he could be the UnSub.”
As he speaks you feel your heart pound in your ears. Your head is dizzy with fear and you’re following after Morgan who’s walking unbelievably quickly.
“He has a ton of photos of Lila and Nathalie plus a call sheet for Lila’s show,” Derek continues, the speed of his walk not wavering. “(Y/N) and I are on our way right now but I need you to be real careful until we get there, all right?”
You look down to shove your notes back into your bag when you hear it. The distinct vrooming of a motorcycle engine. You don’t think too much of it, only turning your head to look over your shoulder, your hand finding the handle of the car door. That’s all it takes for the motorcyclist to drive straight toward you and the others, pointing an arm out.
“Gun!” You manage to scream, just before the UnSub open fires, hitting Detective Kim.
You dive behind the car, grimacing when your knee collided roughly against the pavement. By the time you manage to recover and grab your gun out of its holster, the UnSub is long gone. You stare as Morgan fires a couple shots before watching the motorcyclist ride off into the LA traffic, and you turn to Detective Kim.
“You got hit. Where?” You ask, shoving your gun back into its holster.
He grunts in pain, his entire weight on the car as he groans out, “yeah, it’s fine. Just my shoulder.”
“Derek, call for help,” you order, pressing firmly at the wound with your hand to lessen the bleeding. He lets out a cry of pain and you wince. “Sorry, it’s bleeding a lot. Gunshot wound to the shoulder, no exit wound. Seeing as you’re not already dead, I don’t think it hit any major arteries, but it might have busted your collarbone. You’re lucky if that’s the extent of the damage. The shoulder contains a bunch of important and major bloodlines, as well as nerve endings.”
Derek turns to you with a wry smile. “You’re starting to sound like Reid.”
“You spend four years with him, you’ll start to learn a few things,” you respond with a humourless laugh. You continue to press against Detective Kim’s wound, murmuring an apology.
“You should talk to him,” Derek prompts.
You scoff, “we have a detective bleeding in front of us and the thing you’re worried about is my love life?”
“Isn’t the first rule of relieving pain through distraction?” He asks. You shoot him an unimpressed look and he quickly nods his head. “Okay, sorry.”
Ten minutes later, Detective Kim is hoisted into the ambulance. You cringe as you wash his blood off your hands, once, twice, then a third time to make sure everything is gone. Your shirt has a couple of blood spots and you can’t help but frown; you liked that shirt. At least the stain isn’t too big– just a few splotches here and there.
“It’s a good thing you held the wound,” an EMT praises, working quickly to secure Kim’s shoulder. “He shattered his collarbone, but you seemed to have managed to control the bleeding.”
If it weren’t for the circumstances, you would have shouted a clear ‘I told you so’ to both Derek and Detective Kim, but you keep your mouth shut.
Hotch, Gideon, and Elle arrive moments later, speaking to Derek about the detective’s injuries.
“You okay?” Elle asks gently, squeezing your shoulder.
“Yeah,” you murmur, wringing your hands together. “Just a little jumpy. I’ll be fine.”
“We need to get to her house,” Gideon mutters, glancing at the group.
Without another moment to lose, you’re clambering into an SUV, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles turn white. Elle climbs into the passenger seat beside you, her brows knitted together in concern. She opens her mouth to say something but shuts it, watching as you start the car and speed off into the direction of Lila’s house.
After slamming the door shut and gripping the gun firmly in the palm of your hand, you follow Derek through the back entry of the house. You weren’t even sure if it could even be counted as a ‘house’; the place looked like it had at least five bedrooms on both floors. Derek glances at you, signalling to be quiet, then another to keep your eyes on him. A quiet splashing in the pool alerts your attention, and despite his attempts of getting you to not look, you do. And as soon as you do, you really wish you hadn’t.
You are met with the sight of Lila Archer in her bikini-clad glory, in the pool with Doctor Spencer Walter Reid. Doctor ‘pools are incredibly unhygienic, harbouring more than 50 million different types of bacteria’ Reid. And as if it couldn’t get any worse, you watch as their lips touch again and again, his hands cupping her face and her hands arms around his neck.
Spencer pulls away from the kiss, his breath heavy and his head spinning. This is wrong. He’s not supposed to being do this. His brain is short circuiting and it’s even worse when he considers all the germs that could be in this pool. His head spins with the names of viruses and bacteria that could be festering in the waters he was currently in, and then he remembers he has more pressing matters to attend to. Namely the girl who was literally pressing her lips to his.
He pulls away, stammering over responses. “We can’t– we shouldn’t. I’m a federal agent and you’re–”
Lila stares at him, amused, with her hands cupping his neck. “There’s no one here.”
“I’m supposed to be protecting you,” Spencer tries again, anxiety gnawing at his stomach. This is wrong. Unprofessional. Then his mind wanders to you and the nagging voice in the back of his mind urges him to do something.
“There are police out front,” Lila says, kissing him again before continuing, “there are coyotes out back.”
“This is completely inappropriate,” Spencer stutters out, his hands reaching for her shoulders. Her skin is cold from the summer night’s breeze, even more so considering how they’re submerged in disgusting chlorine-filled pool water.
“This?” She presses her lips to his once more. “What’s this?”
“This isn’t–” he swallows thickly, his cheeks flared. “No, there’s this thing called transference–”
Lila pulls away, her stare drifting from his eyes to his lips as she asks, “you don’t like me?”
Spencer blanches at the question. “What?”
“You don’t like me,” Lila repeats, more sure of herself now. “It’s because of her, right?”
He frowns at the insinuation. “‘Her’? Who’s ‘her’?”
“The other person on your team,” Lila says, her words bitter. “You like her don’t you?”
His mouth goes dry and he opens and closes it like a fish out of water. “What?”
“Let me change your mind,” she whispers, bringing her lips to his for the nth time.
Spencer barely has time to react, his hands moving to the side of her face and he imagines that she’s you. But she’s not you and you would never kiss him in the middle of the pool. You would never pull him in by his tie and cut him off when he’s speaking. He pulls away.
“Stop. Stop, Lila, I’m sorry, I have to– I have to tell you something.” His mind is blanking. Why is it that when he needs it, his brain shuts off?
“What?” Lila asks, her lips moving to his cheek and then to his jaw.
“I didn’t want to tell you this before because I was a bit worried.” He’s screaming at himself in his head, kicking himself because ‘why the hell did he just say that?!’ Regardless of the way he wishes he could shut his mouth and run out of the pool, he continues, “I don’t know how to say it but I can’t not tell you.”
“What is it?” She finally pulls away and Spencer lets out a breath of relief.
The relief is short lived because he starts to blab, “Your manager, Michael–”
“What?”
“Gideon went to check on him but he got there too late.” Spencer thinks he’s going to hurl, his mind running a million times an hour and screaming, ‘No you idiot! No, no, no! Out of all the things you could say–’
Lila scrambles out of the pool, clearly distraught, and he reaches out to touch her arm… only to be swatted away with her sobbing and telling him not to touch her. He figures he deserves that and follows out of the pool after her.
“How could you– how could you not tell me?” Lila demands, her tears mixing with the pool water already on her face.
“I was afraid you’d be upset,” Spencer says lamely, water dripping from his trousers and he just wants a towel.
“You– you knew what you knew and… how could you not…?” She’s on the verge of hyperventilating and she looks at him before looking away.
“I’m sorry,” Spencer says quietly, not knowing what else to say.
Lila retreats into her house, shutting the glass sliding door behind her and Spencer can only watch as she throws a pillow at the wall before going up the stairs to her room. He stands there, in the cold, dripping wet from the pool water and he wipes his face with his hand. His gun sits on the table, damp, and he has the urge to scream. Before he could do something exceedingly stupid, the sound of footsteps alert him and he spins around.
“Elle?”
“We found him in the bushes,” she says to Spencer, nodding to the guy being cuffed by Derek.
“I told her she should cut those.” He says dismissively, wiping his gun with a towel. He looks at her and then at you. He swallows thickly, noticing the way your eyes look him up and down, the disapproval oozing in your stare. “I– uh– I fell in.”
“Yeah,” you respond, holding the camera up and a sarcastic smile blossoms on your face. “I’m sure there are plenty of photos of it.”
He sighs, “(Y/N)–”
“Hey, stop shoving me, man!” Joe snaps as Derek pushes him to walk forward.
“You’re a suspect in the murder of Wally Melman, Natalie Ryan, and Jeremy Collins.”
You watch as Joe’s face comically contorts from annoyance to confusion as he jumps to defend himself. “Murder? What? Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”
“Just shut up with the ‘whoa’. We know for a fact that you have hundreds of photographs of Lila Archer and Natalie Ryan on the walls of your studio. You have Miss Archer’s daily schedule on your desk. You’ve been stalking her.”
“Look, guy, hold up. Every paparazzi’s a celebrity stalker,” Joe says and the rest of the group turn to look at him incredulously. He continues to speak undeterred. “If you don’t stalk them, you don’t get the shot, and if you don’t get the shot, you don’t sell no pictures.”
“Yeah, well this one’s gonna cost you,” you hum, holding the camera in your hands and ripping the film out despite his yells of defiance.
Derek steps forward, pushing Joe to keep him walking. “Tell it to your lawyer.”
“Wh– I’m still being locked up?”
“That’s right, at the very least you’re trespassing.”
Elle and Derek walk Joe out of the premises, and you push the pulverised film against Spencer’s chest. He grips it in his hands, a soft ‘oof’ leaving his lips at the contact.
“You’re welcome,” you mutter, albeit a little bitterly, as you turn to follow the rest of your team out.
“(Y/N), listen, it didn’t mean anything,” he says softly, squeezing the film in his fist tightly while the other hand reaches out to you.
You roll your eyes, opening up the sliding door. “I told you, Reid, I don’t care who you sleep with.”
He splutters a little, pushing his hair away from his face. “We didn’t– I didn’t– we didn’t sleep together, you know that.”
“Even more reason why I shouldn’t care.”
His hand grips onto your shoulder, turning you around so that you’re facing him. “But you do. ‘Shouldn’t’? You care. You clearly obviously care, (Y/N).”
“I don’t,” you deny, pushing his hand away. “Reid–”
“Stop calling me that.”
“–it doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I’m leaving.”
He grabs onto your arm, stopping your retreat. “Why are you being like this?”
“I am not ‘being like’ anything!”
“(Y/N).”
“Doctor, this is highly unprofessional.”
He has to stop the frustrated groan that was moments away from leaving his lips as he stares at you. His eyes ghost over your frame, stopping directly at the dark red splotches on your shirt.
“What happened?” He demands, taking a step closer. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“Who’s blood is that?”
“Detective Kim’s.”
“What– were you shot at?”
His hands fly to your face, trembling and cold, and you would have thought it was romantic if he didn’t do the exact same thing less than twenty minutes ago with another girl.
“It doesn’t matter,” you dismiss quietly.
“Don’t say that.”
“God, you act as if we’re dating or something!” You snap, pulling away from him.
He stops short, his cheeks and ears reddening at your words. His mind goes blank and suddenly he feels very warm at the idea. Dating you? Every moment he had with Lila in that pool is nothing compared to the idea of dating you.
He watches as you roll your eyes before tugging your arm out of his grip. He wants to cry out again, to say something, but his head just seems to repeat the words ‘we’re dating’ over and over again.
“Just forget it, Reid.” You look to the house and your gaze grows steely once more. “Your girlfriend is calling.”
***
“I want to try and talk to some of Lila’s close friends,” you say to the others after getting off the phone with Garcia. “According to Penelope, there’s a girl named Maggie Lowe on the list that Lila gave us and they’ve known each other since college. Apparently, they spent a lot of time together and Lila helped her get a job.”
“I’ll go with you,” Elle says instantly, climbing into the car. “Why Maggie?”
You start the ignition, backing out of the driveway and onto the main road, following the GPS directions. “They spend almost all of their time together. I mean, she must have noticed something off, you know?”
Elle nods slowly in understanding. “She knows about the red anemones, right?”
“Yeah. And she was the one who found the note taped to the door.” You pause, thinking through the evidence again. “Her apartment is right in the middle of the comfort zone.”
“You think she could be the UnSub?”
“It all seems too convenient. But then again, we didn’t profile the stalker as a woman. There have got to be some inaccuracies or things we overlooked because of the gender,” you murmur, stopping at a red light. “Call Garcia for me.”
The phone rings once before Penelope’s unmistakable voice chimes through. “Speak my pretties, and you shall be heard!”
“Hey, Pen, can you check what vehicle is registered under Maggie Lowe’s name?” You ask into the speaker, parking in front of the apartment.
“Checking, checking… aha! It’s a Honda Motorcycle, she just got it serviced six and a half months ago.”
“That’s the vehicle that the UnSub was driving when they shot at us,” you mumble in realisation. “Call the others, the UnSub might be Maggie Lowe. We’re checking the apartment now.”
“Gideon and Derek are at the art gallery to talk to Parker Dunley,” Elle points out. “I’ll let them know we’re at her apartment.”
There’s a typing on the other side of the line and Penelope chimes in once more. “Bad news, my loves. The cameras report Lowe’s motorcycle leaving the apartment complex half an hour ago.”
“Garcia, call Reid and tell him what we know. Elle and I are going into the apartment. We might find evidence or clues on who the next victim might be.”
With that, you hang up, getting out of the car and running up the stairs with Elle hot on your heels.
“Maggie Lowe?” You call through the door, knocking once then twice.
You’re met with silence and you grimace, deciding to do Derek’s favourite move: kicking the door down. With a crash, the door slams open and you grip your gun a little tighter in your hand. Bathroom, clear. Kitchen and pantry, clear. Lounge, clear. Bedroom, clear– you stop short. Pictures– framed pictures– of Lila hung around the wall. A cork board with newspaper clipping and magazine cut outs were pinned meticulously to the cork backing, each one with Lila’s face and name circled with bold red marker.
“Holy shit…” Elle whispers, holstering her gun and staring at the wall. “This is… this is beyond obsession.”
“You’re telling me,” you respond, putting on a blue glove and flipping through the cork board. “Call the others, Maggie is definitely the UnSub. Someone this obsessed must have…” you pause, filing through the desk on the other side of the room, “… a diary. Each murder was described to detail in each entry, as well as her feelings towards Lila.”
Elle grimaces as she looks over your shoulder to read the diary entries. “Grim.”
You huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”
Above her desk are images of Lila. Every single show she’s been in since Julliard, every time she was mentioned in an article, posters, newspaper clippings of the murders… the entire ordeal makes you feel sick.
Elle sucks in a breath, staring at the desk. “She’s got Lila’s entire life documented.”
“And she’s probably already at Lila’s house,” you mutter, grabbing your phone. “We need to get over there, now.”
***
“The city of angels everything you thought it would be?” Derek asks amusedly, leaning against the wall of the jet as he watches you pour your third cup of coffee in the past three hours.
It’s a couple days after Maggie Lowe was apprehended and the team were on the jet home getting some much needed rest. The aircon was put on full blast and you couldn’t be more grateful for it, enjoying the coolness on your skin in contrast to the hot Los Angeles weather.
“I’m never coming back here,” you quip, your gaze shifting to where Spencer sits. He’s reading a book but he hasn’t turned a page for the past thirty seconds. “If I were to overthrow America, Los Angeles is the first place to go.”
Derek snorts, his eyebrows raising. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do,” you huff, finally looking at him. “I’m serious!”
“Sure kid. Totally believe you.”
He’s teasing, a knowing smirk on his face as he watches you chug the coffee with a grimace. Your tongue burns and you fill the cup with water and chug that as well, ignoring the amused look Derek keeps sending you. From the corner of your eye you see Spencer reading his book. At least, it would appear that he was reading to someone who didn’t know him. But you know him. He’s been staring into the pages for the past minute now and that alone was enough to let you know that he was paying more attention to your and Derek’s conversation than to the words on the page.
You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you sit beside Elle who is already fast asleep. You envy her for a moment as she leans against the plane window, blissfully unaware to your mental torment. Stupid Spencer and his stupidly pretty face. From where you’re sitting you can see the back of his head and you glare at that the ridiculous mop of brown on his head.
The rest of the plane ride is uneventful and by the time you make it back to the office it’s already late. It’s nearing one in the morning and everyone begins to head home. Derek is yawning as he leaves the office and Elle has a look that screams ‘Don’t talk to me’. Gideon is long gone and Hotch was in his office, packing up the last of his papers and files.
Spencer is sitting at his desk, combing through the paperwork and stashing a couple pages into his satchel. He bids farewell to Derek and the others before shoving his train pass into his pocket.
“You’re taking the train?” You ask, finally speaking to him.
His eyebrows raise in surprise and he shifts on his feet, gripping the strap of his bag. “Um, yeah. I took the train here, so...”
“Oh.” You nod, glancing at the clock. “No you’re not.”
He huffs out a laugh. “What?”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m letting you get onto a train at one in the morning,” you say, pointing with your chin to the elevator. “You might be a man and all, but it doesn’t change the statistics.”
You know his weakness. Statistics. Facts. Spencer hates the fact that you know him so well.
He relents, getting into the elevator with you. “I thought you were mad at me.”
He hears you scoff, pressing B1 on the elevator. “Just because I’m mad at you, doesn’t mean that I’m going to let you do something potentially dangerous.”
He hates the way your words makes his heart flutter and he continues speak. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”
“It doesn’t change the fact that you did,” you respond curtly, watching as the elevator doors open. “Come on, my car is that way.”
Spencer flinches at your tone. “I’m sorry.”
You laugh. “You don’t even know what you’re sorry for.”
“I–” the words die on his tongue as he wracks his brain. “I thought it was because you didn’t like Lila.”
“That’s true,” you murmur, unlocking the car. “Look, Reid–”
“Please,” he cuts you off, his voice cracking as he practically begs. “Please stop calling me that.”
He doesn’t miss the way your eyes flicker to him as you tug the car door open. “You want me to stop calling you by your name?”
Spencer’s nostrils flare as he gets in the car. “You know that’s not what I mean.”
You laugh again as you start the engine, glancing at the mirrors. “Everyone calls you Reid. It shouldn’t be any different for me.”
He huffs. “But it is different. You’re… different.”
“How?” You challenge, backing out of the parking spot and getting onto the main road. You’ve memorised the route from Quantico to Spencer’s apartment in DC– an almost one hour drive and you understand why Spencer hates driving to and from work.
He falters before shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just please don’t call me by my last name again.”
“Spencer,” You try again, missing the visible relief in his eyes, “I’m not mad at you because of something as miniscule as a girl. You’re entitled to your own relationships outside of work.”
“I don’t under– oh.” The realisation dawns on him when he recalls all the words you threw at him at the precinct. “I wasn’t a very good friend, was I?”
“No, Spencer, you weren’t.” You don’t hesitate to say it and Spencer winces at how quickly you agree with him. “You were unfair and let your emotions get in the way of the case. You criticised me and undermined my authority and then you had the absolute nerve to act as if nothing was wrong.”
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, the lump in his throat getting bigger.
“It hurt, Spencer,” you say, and your voice cracks as well. “It hurt because you’re my best friend and I would have supported you through everything. You know that. And I get that friends fight, but I thought that we wouldn’t fight about something as stupid as who you hook up with.”
“I didn’t hook up with her,” Spencer says quietly, and he thinks he might cry. “I’m serious, (Y/N), I didn’t hook up with her. She kissed me–”
“It doesn’t matter.” Your gaze shifts to him for barely a second before it’s back on the road. “Like I said, it doesn’t matter who you’re attracted to. I just didn’t think it would effect our friendship.”
“I’m sorry,” Spencer says again, holding onto his bag.
You’re quiet before continuing, “ I know you are. I know that. I’m sorry that you thought that you needed to justify your feelings to me.”
He swallows thickly, watching your face carefully. You didn’t do anything to make him feel like he had to justify himself. If anything, it was Spencer’s conscious that made him feel the need to explain himself. The guilt that he felt after kissing Lila was enough to get him to feel sick. The guilt that he felt after knowing how badly he hurt you was enough to make him want to grovel at your feet.
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” He mumbles, wetting his bottom lip. “You had– have– every right to be upset.”
“I don’t want to be upset anymore,” You say as you continue to drive down the freeway.
He’s quiet before he finally says, “I miss you.”
“I miss you too.”
He swallows the lump in his throat and he presses the pads of his fingers into the corner of his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”
You finally park in front of his apartment, leaning against the chair. “I know. I know, I’m sorry too. I said… a lot of things.”
“I deserved it,” he says, a small laugh leaving his lips as he finally looks at you. “You’re right, I wasn’t being fair.”
You hum, leaning over the console to give him an awkward hug. He presses his nose into your shoulder, breathing in your vanilla perfume. His arms wrap around your middle and he realises how much he missed this. How he missed being close to you.
“I won’t do it again,” he promises.
“I know.”
“I really am sorry.”
“You need to stop apologising.” Your words come out like a laugh and he realises how much he misses that sound too.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he says into your shoulder. “Coffees for a month. I’ll even get you those croissants you like, even though they’re really overpriced.”
You laugh again and he smiles.
“You apologising is already good enough,” You say, squeezing his arms. “Now go get some rest, Spence.”
His smile widens at the nickname and he finally pulls away. “Good night. Thank you for driving me home.”
You smile back. “Good night. Don’t mention it.”
The next morning, you find a steaming coffee on your desk and a freshly baked croissant in a brown paper bag. Spencer waves at you and you can’t help the goofy grin on your face as you take a bite into the croissant.
next part →
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...for my Marvel and Bridgerton muses, because they are loud today
Marvel
The Vision: synthezoid; Avenger
Emma Frost: mutant telepath
X-23/Laura Kinney: clone/daughter of Wolverine
Kwannon/Pyslocke: ninja raised by the Hand
Jason Wyngrade: Mastermind; Brotherhood of Evil Mutants
Valeria Richards: genius daughter of Reed Richards and Sue Storm
Sonya Falsworth: MI6 agent; new acting director of MI6
muses with established AU:
Alec Trevelyan: Hydra double-agent at Shield
Penelope Garcia: mutant technomancer at the FBI
Dr. Spencer Reid: hidden mutant at the FBI
Bidgerton
Edwina Sharma: Diamond of the season
Benedict Bridgerton: second son of the Bridgerton family; painter
Eloise Bridgerton: daughter of the Bridgerton family
muses with established AU:
Macau Theerapanyakul: young rake; he and his mysterious family arrived in London at the beginning of the season;
Kim Theerapanyakul: musician; he and his mysterious family arrived in London at the beginning of the season, although it appears that he wants to distance himself from his family.
Like/Reply for a starter! Crossovers/AUs are welcome and our muses don't need to know each other.
#&& a new beginning (starter call)#(remember to reply who you want or be doomed!)#marvel rp#mcu rp#bridgerton rp#period rp#superpower rp
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any suggestions for roles or reboots that would fit 30+ muses well? either existing or new ones!
we would love more older muses around here. some ideas for older muses in existing reboots are listed under the cut since it's quite a long list. however some other reboots that could definitely fit 30+ muses are : 13 going on 30, legally blonde, american psycho, mamma mia, how i met your mother, the office & desperate housewives !!
the vampire diaries: alaric saltzman, jenna sommers, john gilbert, meredith fell, sybil, liz forbes, lillian salvatore, josette laughlin, isobel flemming, carol lockwood, abby bennett, pearl, mikael mikaelson, zach salvatore & esther mikaelson.
the oc: alex kelly, sandy cohen, kirsten cohen, julie cooper, jimmy cooper
one tree hill: dan scott, keith scott, deb scott, karen roe, quinn james.
sons of anarchy: jax teller, opie winston, donna winston, gemma teller-morrow, clay morrow, tara knowles, juice ortiz, tig trager, chibs telford, happy, wendy case, half-sack epps.
gilmore girls: sookie st. james, christopher hayden, emily gilmore, richard gilmore, max medina, michel gerard, mrs. kim.
pretty little liars: ezra fitz, melissa hastings, wren kingston, ashley marin, meredith sorenson, veronica hastings, ella montgomery, byron montgomery, ian thomas, tom marin.
sex and the city: samantha jones, charlotte york, miranda hobbes, mr. bing, aiden shaw.
supernatural: dean winchester, sam winchester, jo harvelle, bobby singer, john winchester, mary winchester, ruby, lilith, castiel, ellen harvelle, jessica moore.
friends: phoebe buffay, ross geller (ross gang), janice hosenstein, gunther, mike hannigan, carol willick, emily waltham, susan bunch, kathy, jill green, amy green.
criminal minds: spencer reid, derek morgan, penelope garcia, emily prentiss, hotch hotchner, jason gideon, david rossi, elle greenaway.
grey's anatomy: lexie grey, mark sloan, derek shepherd, amelia shepherd, izzie stevens, george o'malley, cristina yang, alex karev, miranda bailey, callie torres, arizona robbins, april kepner, jackson avery, owen hunt, addison montgomery.
true blood: bill compton, eric northman, lafayette reynolds, sam merlotte, tara thorton, pam, alcide heveraux.
jennifers body: nikolai wolff
resident evil: chris redfield, albert walker, jill valentine, ada wong, barry burton, rebecca chambers, ashley graham.
scream: gale weathers, dewey riley.
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Hi, Cat. Hope you're having a good night. If you don't mind, could you please help me find a fc for a fairy tale based muse? She's a former servant for a wealthy noble family who later becomes a princess after she breaks the spell the prince is under. She's easily scared at first, but finds her determination and bravery. Race and ethnicity don't matter. I don't have an age decided yet, but anywhere from 21 to 29 should be fine. My first thought was Maris Racal, but I'm having a little trouble finding Bisaya first names, so I thought I'd look at other options. Thanks so much!
Hey, anon! If you're looking for names and culture guides I'd suggest looking over the following by the amazing @minjeongwinters:
quick cheat sheet for bisaya words
volume one: surnames from indigenous philippine languages
so you want to write a filipino muse: a basic guide, from an actual filipino.
But as for more suggestions, most of which have period-style resources, I think Maris would be a great suggestion though!
Stephanie Levi-John (1989) Afro-Carribean.
Sophia Nomvete (1990) Black South African / Iranian.
Adelaide Kane (1990) - is bisexual.
Aiysha Hart (1990) Saudi Arabian and English.
Kiran Sonia Sawar (1991) Pakistani.
Michaela Jaé Rodriguez (1991) African-American / African-American and Puerto Rican - is trans.
Naomi Scott (1993) Gujarati Indian / English.
Hande Erçel (1993) Turkish.
Kim Adis (1993) Bisaya Filipino.
Olivia Cooke (1993)
Zoë Robins (1993) Nigerian, possibly other.
Rose Williams (1994)
Moses Ingram (1994) African-American.
Simone Ashley (1995) Tamil Indian.
Geraldine Viswanathan (1995) Tamil Indian / Swiss-German.
Amy James-Kelly (1995)
Xu Jia Qi (1995) Chinese.
Meng Zi Yi (1995) Chinese.
Katherine McNamara (1995)
Anya Chalotra (1996) Kashmiri Indian / English.
Anya Taylor-Joy (1996)
Ruby Barker (1996) Montserratian and Irish.
Amita Suman (1997) Bhojpuri Nepalese.
Charithra Chandran (1997) Tamil Indian.
Annabelle Davis (1997) - has spondyloepiphyseal dysplasia congenita.
Lana Condor (1997) Vietnamese.
Morgan Holmstrom (1997) Metis of Cree descent, Ilocano Filipino, and Sambal Filipino.
Nicole Maines (1997) - is trans.
Gabbi Garcia (1998) Tagalog Filipino.
Daisy Edgar-Jones (1998)
Joey King (1999) English, other / one quarter Italian, three quarters Ashkenazi Jewish.
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☾ characters list
⋆ here’s a list of the characters i write for & accept requests for. it will change based on my muse & who happens to piss me off in canon, so if you’re unsure about anything just shoot me an ask!
chicago pd
☽ dante torres
☽ kevin atwater
☽ kim burgess
☽ hailey upton
☽ adam ruzek
☽ jay halstead
☽ mouse gerwitz
☽ alvin olinsky
☽ hank voight
☽ erin lindsay
☽ antonio dawson
☽ trudy platt
chicago med
☽ ava bekker
☽ ethan choi
☽ crockett marcel
☽ april sexton
☽ will halstead
☽ connor rhodes
☽ sarah reese
☽ natalie manning
chicago fire
☽ stella kidd
☽ gabby dawson
☽ wallace boden
☽ leslie shay
☽ kelly severide
☽ joe cruz
☽ otis zvonecek
sons of anarchy
☽ juice ortiz
☽ chibs telford
☽ tig trager
☽ happy lowman
☽ wendy case
☽ nero padilla
☽ jax teller
☽ tara knowles
☽ gemma teller
☽ herman kozik
criminal minds
☽ emily prentiss
☽ jennifer jareau
☽ penelope garcia
☽ elle greenaway
☽ aaron hotchner
☽ derek morgan
☽ jason gideon
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Lista de conexões:
Amigáveis:
Melhores amigos (2/2) — São as duas pessoas mais próximas de Tyran, sejam elus amigos de anos ou que se aproximaram bem mais quando ele retornou para o acampamento. Joseph Williams e muse B são quase sempre vistos na companhia do semideus, seja quando ele esta trabalhando ou quando está no seu tempo de lazer. @joswph & @
Ex-amigos (2/2) — Andreas Adlersfeld e Tyran discutiram anos atrás quando ele resolveu largar tudo por amar uma mortal que ele mal conhecia, aconselhando que ele pensasse um pouco antes de fazer uma mudança tão drástica, algo que o semideus não deu ouvidos e acabaram parando de se falar desde então. Com Asteria Castell , ele só acabou perdendo o contato quando saiu do acampamento e quando ele voltou com um filho pequeno, só parecia estranho demais pra reatar uma amizade depois de tanto tempo. @callofvalhalla + @vsteriv
Protegido(a) (1/1) — Considerando seu instinto super protetor que acabou ficando ainda mais aflorado depois que virou pai, ele pegou Kim Haneul como seu protegido(a), prometendo que cuidaria e auxiliaria com tudo que lhe fosse possível. Seja fornecendo uma boa arma/escudo, dando lições de combate ou simplesmente dando conselhos. (Preferencialmente para chars mais novos que ele.) @haneul-ko
Má influência (0/1) — Muse E é a pessoa que sempre tenta lhe despertar o pior, por achar ele muito sério e travado sempre tenta o tirar da linha e o fazer relaxar mais, deixar de ser tão paranoico. As vezes ele considera ouvir as palavras de muse E, isso até o juízo se fazer presente de novo.
Parceiros de treino (2/3) — Ainda que não saia mais em missões, a menos que seja de extrema necessidade, Tyran ainda possui grande apreço pela batalha sendo filho de Morrigan e gostar de treinar, sempre se mantendo preparado para qualquer coisa. Calllum Killoran, Asil Hurşyt Burakgazi e muse I costumam ser seus parceiros para treino de combate mais frequentes. @chaoticvipcr + @asilafada
Cliente N°1 (0/1) — Muse I lhe pediu uma arma uma vez e desde então está sempre pedindo para concertos ou melhorias, dizendo que virou fã do seu trabalho. Ainda que o filho de Morrigan tenha quase certeza de que é apenas por conta da benção que ele recebeu de Hefesto para fazer armas especiais.
Não tão amigáveis assim:
Inimizade (1/1) — Guinevere Grant e Tyran simplesmente não conseguem se entender, talvez não exista um motivo exato, mas ter ambos no mesmo local é receita para o desastre. Ainda que Tyran costume dizer que é simplesmente obra do destino. @evesfeast
Você me lembra de alguém (1/1) — Para a total infelicidade do Doherty, Suzanna Garcia é extremamente semelhante a sua esposa, Ashley, seja em aparência ou em personalidade. O que deixa ele sempre em alerta e esperando sempre o pior de Suzanna Garcia, que provavelmente nem faz ideia do por que do Doherty a detestar tanto. (F) @shuzannag
Meu filho disse que não! (0/1) — É engraçado que a palavra de alguém tão pequeno tenha tanta influencia, mas desde que seu filho disse que muse M é detestável e não digno de confiança, Tyran não pode deixar de desgostar da presença de muse. Mesmo que talvez seja tudo um mal entendido e muse M seja uma ótima pessoa.
Românticas:
Ex-namoradas (1/2) — Katriona Winter Delhom foi um de seus primeiros relacionamentos sérios(ele não teve muitos), isso quando ele tinha seus 23 anos, tudo era lindo e maravilhoso até que caiu por terra. Motivos a serem discutidos. Já com muse O, foi um relacionamento que ele até tentou depois que voltou para o acampamento uns anos atrás, mas simplesmente não foi pra frente, ainda mais com Cailleach aparecendo pra ele em situações inoportunas, o que levou o relacionamento ao fim. (F) @rebcrnwitch
Crush (0/1) — Muse P tem um crush que pode até não ser tão secreto assim, mas com a lerdeza de Tyran, ele simplesmente não faz ideia. Apenas acha que muse P é super educado(a) e gentil com ele, nada fora do padrão.
Escolhida das crianças (1/1) — Declan pode amar muito o pai, mas ainda sendo falta da mãe e Saiorse apesar de ainda bem pequena também se sente da mesma forma. Ambos os irmãos pareceram entrar em um consenso depois de passar algum tempo com Luisa Helena de Bragança, eles acham que seria perfeita pra ser a nova mãe deles, coisa que falam abertamente sem se importar de envergonhar Tyran ou Luisa Helena de Bragança.(F) @luisahelena
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STR4NGRS ... A STRANGER THINGS MULTIMUSE WRITTEN BY BUFFY , PSDS MADE BY PSYCHELIC + CREATIONCOLORS , MUSE LIST UNDER THE READ MORE ... SIDEBLOG TO EXPINK
CANON ...
⁰⁰¹ ˑ MAX MAYFIELD ... canon divergent , mostly s3-4 based , prev. monstears ... SADIE SINK
⁰⁰² ˑ CHRISSY CUNNINGHAM ... canon based , headcanon influence , au verses available ... GRACE VAN DIEN
⁰⁰³ ˑ JULIETTE FAIRMONT ... from first kill , canon based , test muse ... SARAH CATHERINE HOOK
⁰⁰⁴ ˑ KATE BISHOP ... from marvel , canon based , headcanon influence ... KAYLEE BRYANT
⁰⁰⁵ ˑ BETTY COOPER ... from archie comics , canon divergent , super headcanon based ... SAMANTHA LOGAN
⁰⁰⁶ ˑ SABRINA SPELLMAN ... from sabrina the teenage witch , canon divergent , both canon and headcanon influences ... EMILY ALYN LIND
⁰⁰⁷ ˑ IRIS WEST ... from dc comics , headcanon based ... CANDICE PATTON
⁰⁰⁸ ˑ BUFFY SUMMERS ... from btvs , canon based , headcanon influence ... SARAH MICHELLE GELLAR
ORIGINAL ...
⁰⁰¹ ˑ WINNIE SOWE ... verse dependent , cheerleader , rich girl , dumb girl facade ... YANDEH SALLAH
⁰⁰² ˑ DOVE KIM ... nineteen , resident weirdo , ghost girl , "medium” ... JANG EUNSEONG
⁰⁰³ ˑ BEATRIZ GARCIA ... verse dependent , skater girl , pretty obnoxious , tries too hard ... ISABELLA FERRIERA
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open to males
plot: some cute drunk smutty shit
connection: bf, best friend, fwb, taboo, whatever you think works
Kim wasn’t one to always be forward and demanding, that is, unless she was tipsy. It was already past one in the morning, and the two of them had stumbled into her apartment, the male basically carrying her along. She giggled and clutched onto him, trying her best to keep herself steady. She wasn’t smashed, but she was drunk enough to struggle with her surroundings, and she was more clumsy than when she was sober. “Thank you, kind sir. You are quite the gentleman.” She booped the tip of his nose, grinning up at him playfully. He helped carry her to her bedroom, and because she wouldn’t let go of him, they crashed onto the bed together in a tangle of limbs. The brunette giggled as they untangled themselves, sitting up and smoothing out her hair. She then looked at him, smiling softly. “You’re so sweet; I could eat you up.” She murmured, closing the distance between them and pressing her lips against his.
#muse; kim garcia#open smut#open smut rp#open smut starter#open rp#open rp starter#smut rp#smut starter#indie smut rp#indie smut starter
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( SWEET MAGNOLIAS. )
He was your unlikely muse; you were the weird girl in the park. Could you make it any more obvious?
pairing. myg x named f!reader. s2l.
genre + rating. college!au. fluff, angst, smut. explicit.
tags / warnings. light cussing, yoongi being rightfully weirded out, a whole lotta softness, sadness if you squint at the right times, body painting, and then, of course, the most tender, dumbest lovemaking (unprotected but don’t be silly like them!). there’s also a really bad callback to the titanic. i’m not sorry. lol.
wc. 8.2k
You try not to stare for too long, sweeping your gaze in wide circles so as to be as inconspicuous as possible. You try not to let your eyes linger, follow the contours of his cheeks - soft, pronounced when he smiles - or the shape of his mouth - delicate, petal pink. You try not to make it weird - but it’s decidedly, very weird.
You just can’t help yourself.
He’s always here around this time, laid out on a worn red blanket. Sometimes, he reads. Books like The Alchemist and the Stranger and once, Dante’s Inferno. Other times, he pops a pair of headphones on - oversized, intimidatingly large over his ears - and closes his eyes. Most rare of all, is when he’s not alone, joined at the hip by at least one other boy and on occasion, an entire group of six.
They’re all interesting in their own ways.
There’s one with shoulders the size of boulders, a mountain range situated beneath his shirts. He has a weird laugh that sounds like windshield wipers and your mother’s spring cleaning routine. He yells a lot and even across the lawn, you can sometimes make out his voice.
There’s the tallest one, with kind eyes and dimples so deep you question if there’s treasure buried in them. He reads a lot, too. You’ve seen him in the library more times than you can count, always dutifully tucked away in a back corner surrounded by scattered looseleaf. Despite the course load he seems to have taken on, you’ve never seen him lose his cool. You have seen him lose his phone, though, and pencils and textbooks and AirPods.
There’s Hoseok, whose name you only know because he held your hair once at a fall sorority party. You hadn’t been drinking but somehow, somehow, your roommate had convinced you to apple bob with her. He’d been gracious enough to help you out, fisting your hair in a gentle grip. It’s what spurred you to now always have an elastic on your wrist.
There’s the dancer. He’s slight and even in stillness, far more graceful than you’ll ever be. He’s got pillowy lips and hair that gleams like silk. You’ve sketched him too, once or twice, but never more. It just didn’t feel right - as if you’d never be able to translate that sort of beauty onto paper.
There’s the one from your Art 340 Drawing II class. You’ve wondered, on more than one occasion, how come he isn’t the model. He’s got perfect proportions - defined jaw, strong nose, cheekbones carved from marble. It’s almost off-putting seeing him in person; it feels far more fitting for him to be displayed in a museum, with a plaque that reads Perfection, Mixed Media.
There’s the youngest one, Jungkook. They call him maknae despite the fact that he dwarfs nearly all of them. Maybe it’s just the clothes he wears: boots that look like they’d break your neck and everything in slightly darker shades of black. You run into him at least four times a week - trading greetings at the campus coffee shop and at the library. You’re practically best pals by college standards.
And then, of course, there’s him. Your muse. The one you can’t help but stare at - even when you’re trying your hardest not to. The one who wears glasses though you’re almost certain he doesn’t need them. The one whose smile is more gums than teeth, who looks unassuming and yet often breaks out into the strangest, most inspired dance moves you’ve ever seen. The one who plays recreational basketball on Tuesday nights and who drinks more coffee than you think should be humanly possible.
Min Yoongi.
You sketch him like you’ll never see him again, dragging charcoal strokes across paper until your hand is muddied and the curve of his ear is looking worse for wear. You repeat lines over and over, turning the mop of his hair into ringlets and waves, weaving dimension through the india ink that spills over his eyes. You sometimes add his glasses; you’re quite fond of the look on him.
You paint him sometimes, too, imagining how he’d look with periwinkle blue hair, or maybe dressed in shades of maroon. You swath him in textured fabrics and lovely watercolours, turning him into a fantasy that’ll never see the light of day. Pretty little daydreams with him fixed at the centre.
You fill your pages with his figure, the way he smiles when Hoseok does something silly or how he joins in when Jungkook laughs. You study every bit and piece, learning him in every admiring way you can - despite the fact that you don’t really know him at all.
It’s a staggering lesson in futility but one you take almost daily, armed with pencil and paper and not a single ounce of common sense.
That is, until you’ve done the stupidest thing imaginable.
No, not getting caught. Not in the traditional sense, at least. He hasn’t realised you sit on your bench - yes, your bench, with the sticky metal arm rest and illegible initials scratched into the back - and watch him almost every day. You thank your lucky stars for that.
What you’ve done is much worse - punishable by death by embarrassment.
You have no fucking clue where your sketchbook is.
You could’ve sworn you had it in your bag when you’d returned to your room last night. You can’t imagine you would’ve left it anywhere in the open, orphaning it on a campus full of idiots. You were always so careful. You don’t just lose things.
“I think it’s gone, girl.” You’ve never wanted to yell at your roommate more - not even when you’d caught her and her boyfriend banging in your bed after you’d come home early on the long weekend or when she’d eaten all of your Cherry Garcia ice cream. The desire bubbles about in your chest, fizzing angrily like an agitated soda bottle.
“It’s here somewhere.” The words grit between your teeth, insistent as can be.
“You’ve been looking for like, twenty minutes.”
“It’s here.”
“I really don’t think it is…” Jisoo doesn’t quite deserve how you explode, rounding on her with hands flying and eyes wild. “You’re also going to be late for your class.”
Your words falter with the verbalisation of hers.
Lucky for her; unlucky for you.
The hands of the clock above your desk wave at you mockingly. You are, indeed, going to be late for your class.
“Shit! Shit!” Everything you’d torn out gets shoved back into your tote bag. Band-Aids, mints, too many wayward pencils and pens. You almost forget your phone, attention only drawn to it when Jisoo catches the strap of your backpack and yanks you back.
“Don’t forget,” she hums, far more kindly than your harebrained self deserves.
You forget all the reasons you’re upset with her. “Thanks, Ji.” You force a kiss on her cheek before you’re darting out of your room and sprinting across campus to Art 340.
“Nice of you to join us, Miru.” It’s your professor greeting you as you run in fifteen minutes late, weaving through other students to find your seat near the far wall. Laughter follows you, coiling around your ankles and over your shoulders as you settle into your seat, fully hidden behind the oversized easel.
You can’t help the scarlet that paints your cheeks, creeping high across your temples. You know no one cares - that Professor Kinsella is probably the most laidback professor you’ve had in your four semesters - but it can’t be stopped. You’re already flustered from temporarily misplacing your sketchbook that everything else just feels like shit icing on your garbage cake.
“Sorry!” It squeaks out - a mouse, eaten up wholly by cat-ate-the-canary laughter that sounds over your shoulder and not very quietly.
“Having a bad day?”
You’ve heard the voice a handful of times so it shouldn’t shock you the way it does, nearly knocking the graphite from your hand.
“What?”
Kim Taehyung’s on the edge of his chair, one long leg stretched toward you, the other balanced across his knee. You’re not sure how that’s meant to be comfortable but he makes it look effortless. Then again, looking like him, living probably was effortlessly. You can’t deny you’re a little envious.
“Your face is all red. You’re out of breath. Feels like a bad day to me.”
You try not to dwell on the fact that, apparently, you look like an absolute mess. “No, I’m good.” It sounds fake even to your ears, tinny and wrought with anxiety.
“You sure?” He’s not really paying attention to you as he speaks, tracing the contours of the model across his canvas. He begins where you’d never think to, framing the main masses with a languid twist of his wrist. Unlike you, he doesn’t get caught up in the detail; he sees the bigger picture for all it is, building from the outside in.
You’re watching him for longer than you realise, whipping back around once it dawns on you. “Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“Who knows.” There’s a playfulness in his tone that sets you on edge. You’ve never heard it before, all rounded vowels and molasses laughter. You mean to work as you listen, waiting for some indication of whatever lies just beneath the surface.
It’s a mistake. Your stick of charcoal snaps in half when he continues, low and slow as if he’s dragging it out.
“—maybe you lost a sketchbook?”
“Did you say…” You can’t finish the sentence. You feel like you’re about to be sick.
The amount of mischief in his expression should be illegal. It’s dancing in his eyes, curling wide and unabashed over his lips. It’s practically radiating off of him.
“So, bad day?”
He waits for you to pack up, hands tucked into the endless pockets of his black slacks. At any other time, in any other universe, you’d be giddy. Girls on campus would kill for even a second of Taehyung’s attention.
(It’s true - you’d heard a group of them talking about it one time.)
Here and now, you want to sink six feet under.
“They’re really good, you know.” As if the compliment will dull the mortification that threatens to cleave you in half. “You’re really good at capturing his boredom. That’s not easy.”
“Thanks.” You should make conversation; it’s the polite thing to do.
After all, he was kind enough to find and return your sketchbook. Better him than someone else, right? Better him than Yoongi himself? That’s what you tell yourself, at least.
Yoongi doesn’t know and therefore, it’s okay. Semi okay. Distantly related to the idea of okay.
As if he can read your mind, Taehyung speaks gently, with a hand that burns through the linen of your blouse. You know he means well but it sears white hot, eviscerating your nerve endings. “You have nothing to worry about. I didn’t tell him.”
You don’t answer him. There’s nothing to say - not really. You’re far too lost in your own thoughts to acknowledge the effort he’s making. Maybe this was life’s way of telling you to back off - to find another person to paint.
Or maybe it’s brought you two together, says the silly, naive angel on your shoulder.
You’re ready to flick her off - launch her like some kind of poor Tinkerbell - when your name catches your attention. It’s announced so dramatically that you double take, making sure you haven’t completely run through a picnic or accidentally slammed into someone.
“This is Miru.”
Cognisance comes slow and unhurried, even as your stare swivels wildly in search of context clues.
Laid out before you, right under that familiar magnolia tree, is one blanket, three bodies, and enough takeout to last you an entire week.
“Ohf, phey!” With cheeks stuffed full, it’s hard to make out the two syllables. They crowd against each other, offered in a garbled mess that has you regarding Jungkook with a mixture of concern and confusion. He’s swallowing thickly before he rises far too quickly; you watch a forgotten piece of kimbap go flying, lost to the dirt and bugs. “Sorry. Hi.”
“Do you want to join us?” It’s the angelic one, fitted with cherubic cheeks and a rounded Cupid’s bow. “I’m Jimin, by the way.” He pats the empty space beside him, eyes waning into crescents with the force of his friendliness.
Taehyung had asked if you wanted to grab dinner but you’d never imagined he meant this.
You’ve never been subtle but you try your damnedest to peek at him from your periphery. Unfortunately for you, he’s already sat down, fully made himself comfortable beside the last member of the group.
The one who, for all intents and purposes, appears as if he’d rather be anywhere but here. If looks could kill, you think.
“Don’t worry about him,” Jimin says, so sweetly, with a small bento lid held towards you. It’s already stacked with goodies - a selection of banchan and homemade-looking meatballs sitting alongside a poorly-shaped mound of rice. “Sometimes, he gets like this.”
You want to believe it. Really, you do, but by the way Yoongi’s mouth curls in distaste, all signs point to it being a matter of you rather than a mood.
“Maybe if she respected peoples’ privacy, I wouldn’t have an issue.”
It’s a single sentence quietly spoken and yet it feels like an open-palm slap to the face. Heat radiates over every visible inch, starkly coloured in contrast to the white of your top. It burns as it licks over your cheeks and past your temples, tipping your ears.
“I’m so sorry.” It isn’t clear who you’re apologizing to, the words tumbling wet off your tongue like a waterfall.
You’re gone before anyone can ask.
“That was a dick move.” Jungkook is the first to break the silence, levelling his friend with a disapproving stare. He’s not used to this side of him - the one that can tear a person apart with just a few words. It’s not the Yoongi he knows. It’s not really Yoongi at all.
“Yeah, hyung.” It’s thinner, but just as reproachful. “I’m sure she didn’t mean it.”
Yoongi’s laugh is dismissive but he won’t meet anyone’s stare - a tell-tale sign that he’s just a little affected by their words - choosing instead to shovel bites of soondae into his mouth. “Mean what? Invading my privacy?”
“She’s an artist.” Taehyung doesn’t mean it as an excuse but by how Yoongi bristles, he’s certain the senior takes it as such. Before the argument can begin, he continues, all while wrapping a piece of samgyupsal in lettuce. “I doubt she meant any harm, so just cut her some slack.” Fringe is flicked away from his eyes, something sparkling in the pretty brown of his irises. “I’d actually be flattered, if I were you.”
“Then you be her model.”
You haven’t drawn in four days. Well, not really.
You’ve completed what you need for classes, filling your books with mandatory figures and notes on colour theory. You’ve diligently mapped out proportions and brought to life sunsets and sceneries. You’ve done everything you should be doing but nothing that you want to be.
It just doesn’t feel right. Not anymore.
“I hear he’s a really nice guy.” You can’t count how many times Jisoo has tried to cheer you up. From picking up your favourite ice cream (the one she tends to devour anyway) to ordering in fried chicken, she’s been the picture perfect roommate. It only makes you feel that much worse.
You were moping over something that was your fault. And she had to pick up the pieces! It seemed wildly unfair but when you’d told her to stop - insisted upon it with a wail into your pillow - she’d simply shook her head and wrapped you in her arms.
For all of your stupid, silly little rows, Kang Jisoo was the best roommate you’d had in your entire university career.
“Just go outside.” She’s perched on the edge of her bed, painting her toes a brilliant shade of neon green. She’d offered to do yours too, but you’ve more or less refused to leave the comfort of your burrito blanket for anything beyond classes or food. “You can’t avoid him forever.”
“I can try,” you mumble, words lost to the cotton of your sheets.
Try - and fail, it seemed. You’d already run into him twice. Twice! Even after you’d started taking absurdly long roundabout routes to your classes, the universe had conspired against you.
The first time he’d been walking out of the gym, shoulder to shoulder with another upperclassmen you didn’t recognize. You’d seen him coming from a mile away thanks to his obnoxiously bright Lakers jersey and you’d booked it back the way you’d come, nearly mowing down a couple making kissy faces at each other in front of the lecture hall.
The second time was yesterday afternoon. You’d thought he’d be in his usual spot - so close to your usual spot - that you’d gone to the coffee shop for a midday pick-me-up. Even embarrassed, you weren’t about to suffer a caffeine deficiency. You’d rounded the corner in the same instance he had and you’d sworn he’d seen you, recognition flickering across his face. Fortunately, there’d been a door directly to your right and you’d all but thrown yourself inside.
It was the first and hopefully last time you’d be in a men’s washroom.
“I thought you were tougher than this,” Jisoo hums, equal parts disapproval and kindness. She levels you with a stare - you can feel it burning into your fortress of blankets - and sighs. It’s a bit dramatic, you think.
“Tell me you wouldn’t be doing the exact same thing!”
Then again, she’d probably never be stupid enough to lose something so important nor would she fixate so heavily on one person. Your point still stands.
“Seriously, girl.”
Her nail polish bottle bounces off your bed, tumbling to the floor with a quiet thump. You look up in time to see her staring at you imploringly, so wide-eyed and innocent you can’t help but be a little suspicious. “What?”
“I wanted to have Andy over.”
It all falls into place then. Her boyfriend’s in a frat and your (poor) dorm room is the only place they have any sort of privacy. It makes you want to gag but you can’t blame her. You’ve always had an unspoken agreement; you’d just tossed it out the window the past few days.
Guilt prompts you to extract yourself from your duvet, though you don’t stop the chorus of gross, gross, gross! as you begin gathering your things. You almost leave your sketchbook, only opting to tuck it under your arm at the last minute.
“Please, please, don’t use my bed this time.”
“We love you!” She sing-songs as you tug your sneakers on and slip into the hallway.
You’re at a different bench across campus when you hear the voice. It comes from behind you and to your left, accusatory and sharp. You nearly jump out of your own skin, toppling over your water bottle and plastic paint palette. Orange watercolour soaks into the material on your thigh. Dammit.
“Are you following me?”
Min Yoongi stands not three feet from you, arms folded over his chest.
Your heart stutters at the sight of him. It’s hard to speak when it feels like it’s leapt into your throat.
“What?” You hate how you sound - a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You have nothing to be ashamed of. At least, not right now. You’d come all the way here, as far from the magnolia tree and red blanket as you could.
“I said—” His words are glacial and biting. It’s suddenly winter, far chillier than spring should be. You wish you’d brought a sweater or maybe, that the ground would open up and swallow you whole. You can’t be cold when you’re dead. “—are you following me?”
“Of course not!”
There’s nothing but disbelief in his expression. It paints itself in broad strokes, prominent in the shadows beneath his eyes and the curl of his mouth. He says nothing.
“Really. I’m not.” You’re insistent, apologetic. Every nerve ending is shot, going haywire beneath your skin and lighting you up in shades of red. The tips of your fingers are tingling. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” You wonder if he’s baiting you now.
“For…” Words are cherry-picked and perfect, chosen with a shaking head and the utmost care. “I shouldn’t have drawn you without asking.”
“No shit,” he returns, completely deadpan. He’s really not making this any easier.
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” you continue, a little hopeful and a lot bashful. “I just— I don’t get inspiration like this that often. So I couldn’t let it go.” You don’t need to add what you do, but you do so anyway, because you’ve never been great at making good choices. “Your face is really unique and when you’re happy, it’s just so expressive and your smile is—”
There’s a siren blaring in your ears. A red alert going off so loudly you almost miss the way he laughs.
It’s not the same one he offers to his best friends - far more reserved, exceedingly softer - but it’s there and it’s real and you don’t think you’ll ever forget this moment.
“You’re laughing.”
He stops immediately. Fair.
“I’m sorry.” Again. More. Draped in apology and optimism that peeks out between your teeth and shines in the dark of your stare. “Even though I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I did, and for that I’m sorry. Really, really sorry. Please don’t hate me.”
It’s hard to read him, even after you’ve spent hours studying his face. There’s a distinct difference between seeing someone and knowing them, you realize. You might be able to map out every wrinkle of his eyes - replicate every dot and freckle - but you have no idea what it all means or how it comes together to create something more.
Silence fits between the two of you for what feels like a long time. It’s not uncomfortable, though, so you allow it to settle. You figure it’s better than his anger, in any case.
“You could’ve just asked me.”
You can’t wipe the disbelief from your face. “Would you have said yes?”
Yoongi shrugs, a small roll of his shoulders beneath the oversized sweater that dwarfs his frame. “Don’t know, but I would’ve appreciated it.”
Because that’s really what it came down to - the thought, not the action. He’s not entirely sure you understand that yet but he’s willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. Blame his softening on the steady repetitions Taehyung and Jungkook have made the past few days. You were lucky to have them in your corner - even if that meant they’d been a thorn in his side.
“Then… can I sketch you?” You’re probably (read: definitely) pushing it. You can’t help it.
He doesn’t know whether to laugh or scoff at your audacity. He decides on the former, with a shake of his head that swings his bangs across his forehead and a small, private smile. “Maybe next time.”
“Next time?” You imagine he can’t hear you as he’s backing away and disappearing the way he came.
“See you tomorrow.”
True to his word, Yoongi lets you draw him the next time you see him (and the next time and the time after that).
It’s different - working off someone who knows they’re being studied. He holds himself a little more stiffly, a little more carefully. His laughter isn’t quite as loud, his smiles more forced. He apologises, even though he doesn’t need to.
Even his untrained eye can see how you struggle to bring life to a robot.
Over time, though, it comes - comfort.
Like the quietly burning coals that melt him down from the inside out, he begins to warm up to you. It comes slowly but it comes nonetheless, as steady as the sun. You appreciate his effort - his patience - more than you can ever say.
You know he gets it, though. He always does. It’s a Yoongi thing.
“You can relax.”
It’s just the two of you, swathed in sweat and waning light that casts shadows across his cheeks. The days are longer than they’ve ever been and the both of you tend to lose track of time, spending hours under that magnolia tree.
“I am relaxed,” he returns, sinking further onto his back, elbows hardly acting to prop him up. He’d been engrossed in a novel for the first half of the afternoon. Another book you’d never bothered to read outside of high school English class. You never really understood it - you much preferred to watch than read - but you loved when he’d recite the words to you, clear and bright and better than any melody.
“You’re trying to stay awake.”
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“No. You’re just as good of a model when you’re sleeping.”
The smile is lazy, hazy like Sunday morning. It reveals his gums and ticks higher on the left side. It makes your heart skip a beat.
“Go ahead then,” he continues. The entirety of his body sags, drops onto the bag he likes to use as a makeshift pillow. You don’t imagine it’s all that comfortable but he never complains.
“If you’re tired, we can just head in, you know.”
You always offer. He never says yes.
A part of you thinks he likes the attention. It’s different from what he receives from anyone else - thoughtful and careful. You think he might like the quiet, too. The benefit of quality time without any of the effort.
So you push on, charcoal edge meeting paper once more. “Just another twenty minutes.”
“Why me?”
The enquiry comes one day, completely out of the blue. It skips your heart and breaks the pastel in your fingers, dust chalking them a lovely shade of lilac.
“What?” You’re not ready for how close Yoongi is - much closer than he ever is - and you shift back, away from the face you’ve spent months filling your sketchbooks with. “Why you what?”
He’s completely nonchalant as he moves even closer.
You can smell his cologne - a distinctly masculine fragrance that’s musk and cedar - and the coffee he’s been nursing for the last hour. It fills your senses, recentring all of your focus so intensely that you don’t immediately recognise he’s continued speaking.
“Why’d you choose to draw me? Why not someone else?” He seems genuinely curious, even though it feels dangerous - a dangling string that’s meant to unravel you.
The answer doesn’t come easily, despite the fact it’s something you’ve asked yourself.
Why him? Why Min Yoongi?
“I don’t know,” you answer, perhaps too honestly. “I saw you and it sort of… just clicked.” How it sounds doesn’t escape you - like something plucked out of a bad romance novel. “I didn’t expect it to be you. I thought I’d draw you once - okay, twice - and then I’d move onto another subject. But I just… couldn’t?”
“So, what you’re telling me is it was love at first sight?” It’s glaringly obvious he’s teasing you. He’s got that grin of his, sly and feline as it creeps across his mouth.
You don’t bristle, instead painted bright red like the sunset that streaks across the sky.
“I— I wouldn’t say that.”
“Well, you didn’t say otherwise.”
It’s an uncomfortable line of questioning. You’re not used to it and certainly not from him. You hesitate to speak, turning words over and over on your tongue in an effort to make yourself clear.
You’re not weird. You don’t want this to be weird. But you can’t deny - it’s, decidedly, still very weird.
He tries again - a different tactic this time. One that surprises you, despite the unique friendship you’ve forged over the past few months. “What if I told you I was glad?”
“Glad?” It feels like an echo chamber. Repetition. As if you’re going in circles, chasing a tail that remains just out of reach. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“What if I told you I’m happy we met?”
Your blink is owlish, fully caught off-guard. “I’d say the same thing. I’m happy we’re friends.”
Amusement rolls off him in waves, evidenced by the laugh that curls into the afternoon. He shimmies closer and closer until there’s barely three inches between you. His knee knocks against yours, bony and denim-clad. You try to ignore the way it burns through your own jeans, sparking heat all the way up to the tips of your ears and down into the soles of your feet.
“What if I told you I don’t want to be just friends anymore?”
It’s not a surprise, really. It’s something that’s been on your mind the past few weeks, sown by offhand comments and little gestures you haven’t been able to ignore. Jungkook had even practically shouted it at you just the other night.
“I’d say…” You trail off, lost somewhere among the constellations in his eyes.
“You’d say?” The words are parroted back at you, threaded together by gossamer thin hope.
“I’d say you’re welcome. For choosing you.” The confidence isn’t your own. It comes from him, crafted by the support he offers easily, hands out like keys. Keys to his heart, you realise belatedly, with a sudden bashfulness. Of course.
He can’t wipe the smile from his face. It eats up every inch, dominating even the playfulness that shines through, turning it the prettiest shade. It stands bright against his cheeks, staining the pale apples red. “That’s it?”
“What do you want me to say?”
You’re suddenly very determined - because you want to give this to him. Just as he’s given you everything you wanted, you want to do the same. In this little cut-out piece of paradise, there’s nothing quite as important.
The one word isn’t much but it feels like a turning point. “Yes.”
“You want me to say ‘yes’?”
He nods, just once. There’s so much certainty you can’t doubt him.
“Then yes—”
It doesn’t matter what you’ve just said yes to. It doesn’t even matter that it could be something awful or really, anything under the sun. All that matters is the feeling of his lips, soft and warm and dry on yours. It’s better than any painting you’ve ever seen, any song you’ve ever heard. It fills you wholly, stuttering your heart and bubbling giddiness in the pit of your stomach.
You probably sound a little silly, surprisingly breathless from such a little thing. “Wow.”
“Good things happen when you ask,” he states, solemnly. You’d take him more seriously if he weren’t so dopey, grinning at you like he never has before.
“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”
“Nope.”
Luckily, you don’t mind. Not if it gets you another kiss.
You tell him as much and he happily obliges, stealing your breath and replacing it with sugar-coated stardust. You ponder whether you might be able to create with those same particles, turning them into colourful streaks to paint his cheeks. You’d like to find out.
You want a lot of things with Min Yoongi, you decide.
You don’t know how you ended up here.
Actually, that’s a lie. You do. All because of a dumb joke, uttered in passing by Taehyung and now ingrained so deeply in your psyche that you haven’t gone a single day without thinking about it.
“Get out of there,” he whispers right against your temple, lips following to soothe whatever’s got you preoccupied.
“Where?”
“Right there, idiot.” Fingers tap twice, a quick one-two against the side of your head.
You can’t help but grimace, a wrinkling of your nose that your boyfriend chuckles at, pressing kisses across the bridge and over your cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Don’t say sorry - just come back to me.” To this moment, he means.
This strange little scene, with his fingers dressed in non-toxic paint and you stripped down to nothing but a flimsy cotton bra and thong.
Have him paint you like one of his French girls, Taehyung had said. It’ll be fun, he’d said.
You think it might be - if you weren’t bouncing with nerves, all five feet three inches of you fizzling with anticipation. Yoongi was only painting you. This was a bonding exercise. Something to bring you closer, to breach the gap between lovestruck artist and inspired musician. Nothing more.
“You’re beautiful, you know.” It’s not meant to be a reassurance but simply a passing comment, like looking at the sky or seeing it snow. So straightforward it makes you laugh, the sound bubbling about in your throat.
“Thanks, Yoongi.”
“No, seriously.” He levels you with a look. You know the one - a touch stern but ultimately playful. “I wanted to make something beautiful but…” Digits wiggle, Atlantic blue sweeping over the tips and up his knuckles like the sea. “I can’t really improve on something that’s already perfect.”
Your cheeks light on fire, as brilliantly coloured as the red in his - your - palette.
He thinks it looks pretty against his hands. The same ones that cradle your cheek, so precisely you want to remind him you’re a canvas and not clay.
“You’re silly.”
“ You’re silly,” he returns, as if that’ll somehow win him this battle of wits.
The roll of your eyes is undeniable. “Good one.”
“You know, I’ve got a ton of paint, right? Not your best choice, making fun of me.” He punctuates each word with passes of his fingers. Colour appears wherever he travels, dragged over your skin with dreamy twists of his wrist. A line here, a circle there. Goosebumps follow in their wake despite the fact that his touch is like candle wax - soothing and deliberate.
You wonder, idly, whether he can feel you burning up beneath him.
“So beautiful,” he murmurs again, almost to himself as he dips his fingers into another dot of paint. Pink this time - in the same shade as the magnolias outside. He spreads the colour over your chest, right where your heart beats an erratic rhythm.
He takes his time in admiring his handiwork, swirling the two shades together until it’s the most flattering shade of purple.
You try - and fail - to ignore the way it stirs something behind your ribs. A need that flickers to life without any sort of warning and has you pressing your thighs together.
“Can I take this off?” It comes abruptly, with eyes that snap up to yours. There’s already a hand tucked beneath the small of your back, right under your shoulders. He already knows your answer - can see it in the blown out pupils that reflect his entire world back at him. He still wants to hear it.
You’re unable to find your voice. It’s gone, stolen by the way he ghosts his fingers up and down the sensitive notches of your spine. You could get lost in this feeling, if he let you. You almost do, only nodding when he moves no further, flat of his palm a solid weight right against the clasp of your bra.
You don’t mind that the band is coloured pink and blue when he tosses it aside. You don’t have it in you to focus on anything but how he studies you now. Openly admires you, like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen.
“What?” Mellifluous and adoring. Music to his ears.
“I think I’m getting distracted.”
“I think so, too.”
“Is that okay?” He speaks more to your boobs than you, single stained hand coming to rest across your ribs. The pad of his thumb swipes over a single bud, perked and already far too sensitive. He’d put his mouth on it, if not for the fact it’s now covered in paint.
Fortunately, there’s still so much of you - places he hasn’t explored but suddenly, desperately needs to.
From the column of your throat and all the way down to the valley of your breasts, he offers sweet kisses. Open-mouthed adoration that leaves you needy and breathless and writing. He catches your untouched nipple between his teeth, gently working it into the same state as its tinted twin.
You shift beneath him, unable to stop the bolt of electricity that rips through you like a thousand volts. It cracks your composure like lightning and sends your pulse racing like thunder. “Of course.”
He hums, content, and nearly falls, dropping his cheek fully against your chest. You’re so soft beneath him, velvet and pliant under his tongue.
“I think I love you.” It’s his voice but your words, spoken so faintly you almost miss it against the roaring in your ears.
“I think I love you, too.”
Yoongi stares up at you then, so full of wonder that you can’t help but look away. It’s an incredibly intimate moment - so much emotion carried in one simple look that you’re not quite sure how to process it. He’d been your inspiration and now you were his. The realisation is almost too much, filling you until you feel like you might float away.
His hands act as an anchor, keeping you here with him.
“You don’t have to say it back.” It’s careful, loaded with his heart and every key to open it.
“I know - I want to.”
He grins so breathlessly handsome that you can’t help but return it, rubied cheeks crystallised with delight. Those same paint-stained hands of his find their newly discovered favourite home of your chest and he sounds like sin when he speaks. “I want you.”
“You can have me.”
It’s all he needs before he’s ducking down and smothering every uncovered inch of you in sweetness. His mouth burns hot but he’s unbearably gentle, searing the shape of his mouth over your breasts and across your collarbone. He licks and sucks as he goes, soothing any ache left behind by the edge of his teeth.
You’re not quite sure where the bites end and the paint begins. It’s all so pretty you don’t mind either way.
But it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough, you think, even as you whine airily, words stuttering out in a half-formed breath. “Please touch me.”
“Where?” He’s hardly given you room to answer, crowded so closely against you that you can feel his heartbeat all the way through to your own. He’s so warm - so solid - upon you that you almost want to tell him that here, just as he is, is perfect.
A momentary lapse in lust before rational judgment is clouded yet again.
Instead - and with more demand than you mean - you grind purposefully against him. A benefit to having him sitting how he is, knees hooked on either side of your hips. He can’t pretend like he doesn’t feel it, cock twitching beneath the constraints of his boxer-briefs.
Your eyes meet and he chuckles, nuzzling his head back into that spot between your neck and shoulder that has you whimpering. The sound alone drives him crazy.
“You’ll be the death of me.” Yoongi knows this like he knows the sky is blue or your smile is his favourite sight.
You’re teasing him when you catch his face, palms cradling the shape of his jaw. “Then it’ll be a good death.”
He doesn’t disagree - especially when he slips his clean hand along the length of your body. He tweaks your nipple on its descent, tickles the underside of your ribs, and then finds the band of your underwear, all in one fell swoop. A digit dips below the elastic, neatly clipped nail grazing the jut of your hip before shifting and dropping further.
You keen when the pad of his finger grazes your clit.
“Do that again.” He doesn’t need to tell you twice. When he repeats the motion, the sound spills off your tongue without restraint.
He slips further down, pressing his hand to gently part your folds. Digits glide easily, coated in slick that drips between your legs and sorely tests his patience. Yoongi’s not sure what he’d expected but this is so much better it’s making his head spin - and he hasn’t even felt you yet.
“You’re so wet, love.” Shame would swallow you whole if not for the way he speaks with reverence. “How badly do you want this?”
“Don’t tease,” you huff, rutting uselessly against the fingers that tease your centre, barely slipping in before resuming a lazy, leisurely path back up to the bundle of nerves that throbs at the contact. He’s hardly touched you and you’re already at a six, entire body alight with need that thrums heavy in your veins.
“Just tell me.”
“I want this. I need this.” You hope he believes you. You’re not sure what you’ll do if he doesn’t. “I need to feel you - please.”
His entire world is spinning, kicked on its axis by the way your tone pitches, demands and begs in the same lilting voice he so adores but has never quite heard like this. He loves it. “I need to stretch you out. I don’t want to hurt you.”
You whine so prettily he almost cracks. It’s enough to have him choking on his own words, not that he’s saying anything. He’s too focused on how he sinks into you - a single digit but so tightly it feels like there’s no way he’ll survive his cock buried inside.
You’re a dream come true. He never wants to wake up.
“More. Please.” You’re so polite, he almost laughs. You’d really taken his words to heart - always asking for what you wanted now. He can’t deny how proud he is. It blossoms in his chest, juxtaposed greatly against the salaciousness that drives him to do exactly as you ask.
His index finger slips in alongside the other. You make that noise he loves, grinding your core against the flat of his palm as he curls his knuckles and seeks out that spot. He knows he’s struck gold when he taps it experimentally, pressure turning light but unrelenting when a choked cry ricochets off your tongue and onto his sweat-slicked shoulder.
“Right there?”
Your nod is enough of an answer.
He redoubles his efforts, fucking you with measured glides of his fingers and precise presses against your g-spot. In no time at all, you’re barely coherent, mumbling his name in a slew of breaths that has him grinning. You’re a sight to behold, moaning so obscenely you’d be ashamed you weren’t so preoccupied by the fact that every part of you feels as if it’s about to splinter.
“Miru— Princess—” Your clit aches and you nearly shriek when he applies pressure against it with the pad of his thumb, swiping your cum over it in slow circles. He wants you so badly - just as bad as you want him- but he’s torn halfway between watching you unravel by his hand and wanting that same euphoria when he’s buried home in your dripping pussy.
“Please, please, please.” There are tears in your eyes. You’re so close you can practically taste it, entire body shaking with the effort of keeping the coil from snapping. “Yoongi, please.”
He’s a fucking goner then, filling you with a third finger and grinding his palm against your clit as you come apart beneath him.
It starts in your toes, stealing feeling all the way up your calves and over your thighs. You’re only aware you’re trembling because it vibrates through Yoongi’s body, looped back to yours when he mouths across your shoulders, sucking memories into your heated, sweat-sweet skin. The stimulation is what keeps you from floating off on a cloud of bliss, the warmth in the pit of your stomach liquifying your bones.
“Are you tired?” Because you certainly look tired - too fucked out to properly meet his stare as he looms over you, both hands adjusted to rest comfortably over your hips.
You are, but it doesn't matter. You haven’t gotten what you wanted - not really - and you aren’t about to let it go without asking.
He’d taught you that.
You smile up at him, doe-eyed and alluring. A hand reaches for his, curls around the fingers still glossy with your slick, and squeezes. “I still need you.”
They’re words he’ll never tire of - also words that have him kicking out of his briefs and rolling your thong down your legs, all too eager. He’s painfully hard, leaking pre-cum and purple at the tip, but he fists himself in slow, measured pumps regardless. It’s a show for you, more than anything.
“ Please.” So pretty, so ready. He can’t resist.
Yoongi sinks against you, the head of his cock brushing through your folds as he slots himself into place with his paint-free hand. The other, still coloured garishly bright, brushes the curve of your lip, the delicate skin beneath your eye. It’s so tender you can’t help but blink, caught off-guard.
“I love you,” you say, though you’re sure he’s meant to, too. You can read it in his eyes - brilliant and bright like a beacon in the night.
He speaks with a roguish grin and a fluid press of his hips. “I know.”
You fit like two puzzle pieces, the stretch perfect as he sinks deeper, a low groan sounding from somewhere deep in his chest. You’re so tight around him but he glides in easily, coaxed to fill you by your wetness and the soft, whiny noises you make.
“Holy shit,” he manages once he’s buried as deep as he can go, head spinning with the way you clench around him, nearly stealing the words off his tongue. “Am I dreaming?”
Laughter is a salve - a catch-all remedy for anything that ails him. It pulls him to the here and now, drawing his attention from the overwhelming bliss that creeps up his spine and recentring it on you, beautiful and bashful beneath him.
“No, you’re not.” It’s a caricature of your voice but he doesn’t mind. He loves that he can bring you to this.
“Thank God.”
Except it’s not God you’re thanking when Yoongi begins to move against you, dragging his cock through your walls with such slow, measured strokes you think you might combust. It’s his name when he pulls almost fully out of you, teasing your entrance with the head of his cock, before snapping forward to bury himself to the hilt. It’s his name that rolls off your tongue like a mantra, hoping and praying and begging for more as he consumes you wholly, in no half measures.
It’s him - Min Yoongi, your muse, your love - that has you crying out, pleasure coursing through your veins as he adjusts and fills you at a completely new angle, brushing against your g-spot with every thrust of his hips.
“Yoongi - please.” You’re chanting the two words again, turning them into a song he’ll never get out of his head, when you spasm around him. His eyes nearly roll back into his head, the sensation turning his rhythm sloppy as he chases the same high. The hand that had previously been propping him up falls, thumb seeking out your clit as he charges toward the precipice.
“One more, love. Once more for me, okay? I want you to come with me.”
He asks so nicely you can’t deny him - even as the overstimulation takes over. You’re shaking so badly you’re not sure how he keeps you in place; it’s a tremor that won’t stop, traipsing over every limb until you’re sobbing.
“I love you,” he chokes out as he tumbles over the edge, falling headlong into climax with you in tow. It’s so strong it feels like it blinds you, spotting your vision with white as he fills you with his cum and continues to fuck you through it, milking every last moment just like you were his slowly softening cock.
You don’t have it in you to answer, far too exhausted by the last orgasm that has your limbs turned to jelly. Yoongi doesn’t mind though; he likes the just-fucked afterglow and how you sink into his arms when he slips out of you and onto his side.
He eyes the cum that spills onto your thighs, pearlescent and going to waste. He has half a mind to push it back where it belongs.
He only doesn’t because of the words you speak next, hardly above a whisper but loud enough that he groans, burying his face into your hair. “So, thanks, Taehyung?”
“Can you not?” It’s a playful response, with teeth bared against the sweat-slicked nape of your neck.
“Sorry.” A beat. He wonders if you’ve fallen asleep suddenly. “I meant thanks, Titanic.”
author note. this was a drabble prompt i got from the lovely @hecticwonderer and i kind of just... ran with it. oops.
#thebtswritersclub#ficswithluv#heartsforbts#magicshopnet#networkbangtan#cypherwritersnet#bts#bts au#bts imagine#bts fic#min yoongi#yoongi#suga#yoongi au#yoongi imagine#yoongi fic#suga au#suga imagine#suga fic#suga x you#suga x reader#bts smut#yoongi smut#suga smut#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#work.zip#oneshot.zip#suga.doc
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MUSES
BY FANDOM:
9-1-1:
Lucy Donato
Harvin Jacobs (OC)
BAD BOYS:
Kelly Lewis
BITTEN:
Elena Michaels
BRIDGERTON:
Daphne Bridgerton
Kate Sheffield/Sharma
Sophie Beckett
Emma Ashwell (OC)
Eliza Montgomery (OC)
BUFFY/ANGEL:
Cordelia Chase
Faith Lehane
CHICAGO FIRE:
Stella Kidd
Sylvie Brett
Lucianna Garcia (OC)
CHICAGO MED:
Jenna Isaacs (OC) (v)
CHICAGO PD:
Hailey Upton
Kim Burgess
CRAZY RICH ASIANS:
Astrid Leong
DCEU
Harley Quinn (Selective)
DEMI-GODDESS
Cleopatra Kent (OC) Daughter of Ares
Mika Bishop (OC) Daughter of Athena
Alba Murphy (OC) Daughter of Iris
Lorelai Lakes (OC) Daughter of Hecate
Sullivan Thromby (OC) Daughter of Hades
DISNEY: (live action fcs)
Princess Jasmine
Megara
DIVERGENT
Christina
FANTASTIC BEASTS
Lally Hicks
FEAR STREET
Cindy Berman
GAME OF THRONES:
Margaery Tyrell
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
HANSEL AND GRETEL:WITCH HUNTERS:
Gretel (With AU verses)
HARRY POTTER:
Astoria Greengrass
Demelza Robbins
Ginny Weasley
Hermione Granger
Padma Patil
Parvati Patil
Pansy Parkinson
Victoire Weasley
Lily Evans/Potter
Rowena Ravenclaw
Everly Keeler (OC)
Violet Kerrington (OC)
HEMLOCK GROVE:
Letha Godfrey
HUNGER GAMES:
Madge Undersee
JAMES BOND
Paloma
Becka Leithold-Bond (OC)
KINGSMAN:
Roxy Morton
KNIVES OUT: THE GLASS ONION:
Whiskey
LAST KINGDOM:
Eadith of Mercia
Katri Mäkinen (OC) (v)
Magna Sigurdsdottir (OC) (v)
Renia Leifsdottir (OC) (v)
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
Freya Rixon (OC) (v)
Rosalia Menendez (OC) (v)
LITTLE WOMEN
Amy March
LOCKWOOD AND CO:
Lucy Carlyle
Rylie Theakston (OC) (v)
MCU:
Kate Bishop
Maria Hill
Michelle ‘MJ’ Jones
Natasha Romanoff
Sharon Carter
Yelena Belova
Amelia Hudson (OC)
Peyton Coyle (OC)
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
MUSKETEERS
Anne of Austria
Constance Bonacieux
Bea Browne (OC)
Prudence Mallorey (OC)
MYTH/LEGEND/LORE:
Amphitrite (Greek)
Artemis/Autumn (Greek)
Hera/Helena (Greek)
Persephone (Greek)
Athena (Greek)
Aphrodite (Greek)
Mina Harker (Dracula)
Guinevere (Arthurian)
NATIONAL TREASURE: EDGE OF HISTORY:
Jesusita Valenzuela
NARNIA:
Susan Pevensie
Freya Rixon (OC) (v)
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
NIGHT AGENT:
Rose Larkin (Currently Single Ship)
OUTER BANKS:
Kiara Carrera
Kelsey Heyward (OC)
Cece Roachford (OC)(v)
Morgan Kendell (OC)(v)
REIGN:
Mary Stuart
Lola Narcisse
Katri Mäkinen (OC) (v)
Rosalia Menendez (OC) (v)
ROBIN HOOD (BBC):
Marian of Knighton
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
The ROOKIE:
Grace Sawyer
Lucy Chen
SECRET CIRCLE
Diana Meade (Book based)
SHADOWHUNTERS:
Tessa Gray (Infernal Devices)
Izzy Lightwood (Show based)
Sawyer McIntrye (OC) (v)
The SHANARA CHRONICLES
Eretria
The SOCIETY
Helena Wu
Kelly Aldrich
STRANGER THINGS:
Chrissy Cunningham
Nancy Wheeler
Nicole Holloway (OC)
Katherine Hopper (OC)
Cassandra Meyer (OC)
Audrey Meyer (OC)
Flora Cartwright (OC)
Morgan Kendall (OC) (v)
Walker Benson (OC)(v)
Heather Ryder (OC)(v)
Eva Timothee (OC)(v)
Leah Teverson (OC)
SUPERNATURAL:
Bela Talbot
Claire Novak
Lisa Braeden
Jo Harvelle
Donna Hanscum
Sarah Blake
Alana West: (OC)
Grace Harrington (OC) (v)
Oria Hernedez (OC) (v)
Gretel (Canon with Verse)
Henley Knight (OC)
Sawyer McIntrye (OC) (v)
Harper Tripp (OC) (v)
Isla Perkiss (OC) (v)
Rylie Theakston (OC)
Maya Rallings (OC) (v)
TEEN WOLF:
Lydia Martin
Hayden Romero
Cora Hale
Laura Hale
Julia Hale (OC)
Dani Delgado (OC)
Harper Tripp (OC) (v)
Emmy Janson (OC)(v)
Rylie Theakston (OC)
Maya Rallings (OC) (v)
Sofia Perez (OC) (v)
THIS IS US
Sophie Inman
TITANS:
Dawn Granger
Donna Troy
TRUE BLOOD:
Jessica Hamby
Nora Gainesborough
Sookie Stackhouse
The UMBRELLA ACADEMY:
Sloane Hargreeves
Lila Pitts
Samara Akerman (OC)
VAMPIRE ACADEMY:
Rose Hathaway
Sydney Sage
Lissa Dragomir
VAMPIRE DIARIES:
Bonnie Bennett
Caroline Forbes
Katherine Pierce
Rebekah Mikaelson
VIKINGS:
Amma
Katia
Lagertha
Katri Mäkinen (OC) (v)
Magda Sigurdsdottir (OC)
Renia Leifsdottir (OC)
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
Freya Rixon (OC) (v)
Rosalia Menendez (OC) (v)
VIRGIN RIVER
Mel Monroe
WEDNESDAY
Wednesday Addams
Astra Kernals (OC) (v)
Violet Kerrington (OC)- can fit into fandom
The WITCHER:
Renfri
Seraphina Varley (OC) (v)
WOLF PACK:
Luna Briggs
Emmy Janson (OC) (v)
Sofia Perez (OC) (v)
Maya Rallings (OC) (v)
OTHER OC’S: though all OCs can be fandomless too
Sidney Hemmingway: Abilities- Sense and Water Augmentation
Sloan Hemmingway: Abilities- Camouflage and Projection
Adrian Houston - Cop - works in - stranger things, 9-1-1, One Chicago
Paige Temple: Paleontologist/Archaeologist
Lara Matthews: Abilities: Empath
Jenna Isaacs - Med Student
Ava Jackson: Bartender/Owner of the Cellardoor Bar
Cameron Yates: Bartender at Cellardoor Bar
Meredith Price: Museum Curator
Gabriella Diaz: Mechanic
Sierra Wesley: Traveller
Odette Sevigny: French Heiress
Harper Tripp: Phoenix - works in: Supernatural, Teen Wolf
Avery Collingwood - Marketing executive
Lizzie Marsden - Vampire
Sawyer McIntrye: Nephilim - works in: Shadowhunters, Supernatural
Juliana “Jules” Silva: Teacher
Keely Sumners: Art Dealer
Taylor Brockhart: Multiverse (Powers, Werewolf, Fandomless)
Sofia Perez: Werewolf - works in: Teen Wolf, Supernatural, Wolf Pack
Brooke Wilsher: Witch
Kate Steiner: Fandomless - works in: Cobra Kai
Charlotte Deighton: CEO
Isla Perkiss: Witches Familiar - works in: Supernatural, Charmed
Emmy Janson: Wolf - works in- Teen wolf, Supernatural, Wolf Pack
Lucianna Garcia - EMT OC - works in - One Chicago, 9-1-1
Grace Harrington - Witch OC - works in: Supernatural
Oria Hernedez - Demon OC - works in Supernatural
Kennedy Waite - Single mother/waitress OC
Walker Benson - Precog OC - Verses in - Stranger things, Supernatural
Tallulah Spencer - Abilities- Elemental
Sadie Hart - Half Fae
Faye Sibley - Journalist OC
Delia Costillo - Events Planner
Rylie Theakston - Abilities - works in - Teen Wolf, Supernatural, Lockwood &Co.
Quinn Ashwood - Student
Norah Parrish - Yoga Instructor/Fitness Instructor
Greyson Ferris - Marine Biologist
Amy Hartwell -Single Mum
Clara Pennington - Interior Designer
Kamile Acer - Hotel Manager/Receptionist
Kayleigh Brunton - Singer/Songwriter
Blair Kytes - Movie trailer producer
Selene Underseth - Water Nymph
Maya Rallings - Werewolf
Sarah Foster - Photographer
Morgan Kendell - Lifeguard - works in - Stranger things, OBX, has Nymph verse
Beatrix Browne - Historical OC - works in - Merlin, Last Kingdom, Musketeers
Aiyla Kartal - Multiverse - Harry Potter, Royalty, fandomless
SINGLE SHIP
Winnet Mallorey: (Single Ship) Second Gen Musketeer child
Olivia Isaacs: (singleShip) Chef
May Page: (Single Ship) Abilities: Gravitokinesis
Ryan Loughman: (Single Ship) Cop
Ember Rodriguez: (Single Ship) Pyrokinesis
Alyson Kent: (single ship) English Professor - Mother of Cleo
Nicole Robinson (Single ship) Sister of Cassie Robinson
Zoey Upstead (Single Ship) Ex Fiance of Peter Sutherland
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here’s my list of costumes for my muses for halloween! i’m going to post a plotting call for them soon!
Aerith Gainsborough - woodlands fairy x
Jim Hawkins - purge attendee x
Sierra Chung - devil x
Emmett Cullen - freddy krueger x
Usagi Tsukino- princess x
Flynn Rider - chase carver tomb raider x
Ruby McDaniel - skeleton x
Soul Evans - jigsaw from the saw series x
Honey Lemon - winne the pooh x
Marine Piper - dead bride x
Danny Fenton - pennywise x
Claire Red Field - police officer x
Casper McFadden - lion wizard of oz x
Fionna Mertens - bumble bee x
Gretchen Wieners - lola bunny space jam x
Jake Long - mime x
Howl Pendragon - circus ringleader x
Mavis Vermillion - bubbles powerpuff girls x
Penelope Garcia - monarch butterfly x
Beau Dameron - mummy x
Max Mayfield - kim possible x
Chance Harris - malaria the grim adventures of billy and mandy x
Nina Zenik - an angel x
muses not in attendance: craig, victor, pat, connie, & sharon (subject to change)
#yes i copied lena#lena im sorry#i too would forget my ideas#under the cut is the muses not going but that may change lmao
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Highlights of the 2021/2022 season - JGP Courchevel I and II
Skate America is next week. We’re past the first quarter of the season (yes the season starts with JGP, yall who think otherwise are wrong), and I thought I’d do a brief recap of the various highlights of this period. Good and bad. Amazing performances and dubious music choices, WTF costumes and sometimes everything together.
Hanna Lim/Ye Quan’s RD to Gangnam Style
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So far watching Junior Rhythm dances has been more rewarding then watching Seniors. It doesn’t feel nearly as cringy, some truly original choices. The Junior Korean pair are a pretty good exemple, with their banger of a RD to… Gangnam Style. And it works! It’s great and entertaining and just what I needed to start the season.
Maya Benkiewics and Nicolas Heinault’s costumes for their FD
Sorry for the low quality screenshot. A very young pair, a bit messy still but endearing, but that’s not the point. The point is, WTF are they wearing? Why those costumes? They are skating to a strange mix of Polovtsian Dances and Russian Sailor Song. I mean I get the blue stripes with the whole sailor thing but why is the boy wearing only half a sailor costume, and half a black jacket? And why did the choreographer feel the need to include Polovtsian Dances into this mess?
Regina Garcia de Leon Saab’s Amélie FS
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A junior skater to watch out for. I don’t think she has all her triples yet (jumped 2F and 2Lz iirc), but she has good skating skills for her age. Is fast going into the jumps, and has very decent lines and musicality.
Seojeon Ji paying tribute to both Mao Asada and Yuna Kim by skating to Dance Macabre in the short, and Rach n°2 in the free
Ahsun Yun’s stunning dress for her FS to the Mummy
Kaiya Ruiter’s serene presence on the ice. Arms and upper body still need work, but the way she glides across the ice, her footwork is a joy to watch. Her Opportunities SP suits her very well and showcases her best qualities.
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Arlet Levandi making history and earning Estonia’s first ever JGP medal, and skating to the best Carmen version there is which is of course, Stromae’s
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Casper Johansson’s wonderful FS to Narnia. I have no idea why it is not popular among juniors because the Narnia OSTs are absolute bangers.
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Muse’s I Belong To You proving to be the winning music choice as both Welsey Chiu and the Brown siblings skated to it and won.
#figure skating#figure skating recaps#jgp courchevel 1#jgp courchevel 2#lim/quan#arlet levandi#kaiya ruiter#ahsun yun#seojeong ji#fs highlights
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heya. :-) i’ve been trying to find the perfect fc for my muse but sadly i couldn’t find anyone. is there anyone with a posh-ish vibe but not stuck up, that you could possibly think of ? kinda like emily aly lind, if that makes sense. thank you !!
Pia Wurtzbach (1989) Tagalog Filipino / German.
Laura Harrier (1990) African-American / Rusyn, English, German, Swiss-German.
Greta Onieogou (1991) Nigerian / Russian.
Melisa Aslı Pamuk (1991) Turkish.
MJ Rodriguez (1991) African-American / Puerto Rican - trans.
Chloe Bridges (1991) Honduran / English, possibly other.
Ayça Ayşin Turan (1992) Turkish.
Hari Nef (1992) Ashkenazi Jewish - trans.
Dilraba Dilmurat (1992) Uyghur.
Stav Strashko (1992) Ukrainian Jewish - trans.
Raven Goodwin (1992) African-American.
Julie Vu (1992) Vietnamese - trans.
Kim Adis (1993) Bisaya Filipino.
Jodie Comer (1993)
Maia Mitchell (1993)
Nadine Lustre (1993) Aklanon, Ilocano, Pangasinan and Tagalog Filipino.
Hande Erçel (1993) Turkish.
Elizabeth Gillies (1993)
Sofia Carson (1993) Colombian – including Arab [Syrian-Lebanese, Palestinian], Spanish, possibly English, possibly other.
Natasha Liu Bordizzo (1994) Chinese / Chinese.
Jasmine Curtis-Smith (1994) Ilocano Filipino / Australian [Unspecified].
Zión Moreno (1995) Mexican [Spanish and Unspecified Native American].
Adeline Rudolph (1995) Korean / German.
Ryan Destiny (1995) 75% African-American *25% Irish.
Christina Nadin (1995) Filipino [Unspecified] / English and Irish.
Sasha Pieterse (1996)
Samantha Logan (1996) Afro-Trinidadian / Irish.
Moon Ga-young (1996) Korean.
İlayda Alişan (1996) Turkish
Vitória Strada (1996) Brazilian.
Kennedy McMann (1996)
Sydney Park (1997) Korean / African-American.
Maude Apatow (1997) Ashkenazi Jewish / Irish, Scottish, Finnish, German.
Olivia Holt (1997)
Maris Racal (1997) Bisaya [Sugbuanon] Filipino.
Sharifa Akeel (1997) Filipino, Qatari, and Iranian.
Bahar Şahin (1997) Turkish.
Vajèn van den Bosch (1998)
Daisy Edgar-Jones (1998)
Lovie Simone (1998) African American / Ghanaian.
Banita Sandhu (1998) Punjabi Indian.
Gabbi Garcia (1998) Tagalog Filipino.
Danielle Rose Russell (1999)
Kiernan Shipka (1999)
Auli'i Cravalho (2000) Puerto Rican, Native Hawaiian, Portuguese, Chinese and Irish - bisexual.
Hafsanur Sancaktutan (2000) Turkish.
İpek Filiz Yazıcı (2001) Turkish.
Josie Totah (2001) Palestinian / Lebanese, Italian, Irish and German - trans.
Please let me know if you want different ages but since your example was young I based this ask off that!
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From left: Photo by Gi Naps/Getty Images; Photo by Rose Hartman/Archive Photos/Getty Images; Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images
Today, the House of Jean Paul Gaultier is relaunching its ready-to-wear line after a hiatus of six years. It comes 16 months after fashion’s “Maestro of Mehmed”, as journalist Georgina Howell dubbed her in the early ’90s, took her final bow as the brand’s designer, implying that this iteration of its namesake. will not be designed. Instead, the reins are taken over by a dedicated team from their atelier, with help crafted from the rotating doors of some of the most independent designers working today – Palomo Spain, Ottolinger, Nix Lecourt Mansion, Alan Crosetti and Marvin M’Tumo .
Since starting his own label in 1976, Jean Paul has been instrumental in turning underwear into acceptable outerwear, making sailor fashion sexy and, more generally, paving the way for designers to experiment with diverse and unexpected castings on the runway. have been responsible for. He also dedicated an entire collection – AW97 – to the fight against racism. The collection, titled ‘Fight Racism’, featured graphic prints of young anti-fascists with slogans printed on their chests.
In fact, with such a rich history behind it, and vintage JPGs becoming increasingly collectible since the recent renaissance—partly stemming from the Kardashians’ love of all things net—more thanks to the label’s revival. Couldn’t be the right time- the line to wear from now. Although it is a well-known fact that Jean Paul himself decided to step back from the category in 2014 after a somewhat tumultuous feud with Florence Tetier (graphic designer and co-founder). November MagazineNow serving as the brand’s creative and brand director, Ghar is poised to enter the field again. in an interview with WWDJPG’s general manager, Antón Gégy, described the relaunch as an opportunity to “celebrate Jean Paul Gaultier, its values, its archives and its history”. And what better way to raise the glass to the core of fashion? Horrible Instead look at seven of the most show-stopping moments from its most iconic era, the ’90s. Long live Gaultier!
Photo by Gie Knaeps/Getty Images
Madonna’s Conical Corset from the Blonde Ambition Tour, 1990
Back in 1989, when Jean-Paul Gaultier was told by an assistant that Madonna had told the audience, she was convinced that he was playing a trick with her. They knew how obsessed he was with her, just could not do be true But she soon found herself on the phone to the original queen of pop, making a match in ’90s fashion heaven. Naturally, Madonna already knew what she wanted: to create something for her that surrounded Jean Paul’s signature masculine-feminine crossover. Inspired by his love of the late ‘queen of Paris punk’ Edwij Belmore, Jean Paul conceived a pinstripe suit – the top of ’80s manhood – and a corset with the now famous conical bra, which he designed six years ago on AW84 had started for. /85.
Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images
Eva Herzigova’s cut-out dress, 1992
Thought harnesses were a new thing on the runway? Wrong! After all, you’re not known as a fashionista Horrible Without a sprinkling of kinks here and there, as this look proves well. Presented on JPG’s AW92 runway, this dress, so slick in its fit that clothes can even put on Eva’s body, exemplifies the powerful-yet-playful take on sexuality that serves as a throughline throughout the French designer’s body of work. runs as. Styled with bicep-clad opera gloves and proudly crafting the Czech-Italian supermodel’s bust, there’s a distinctive dome-y tone at play here, though no compromise on the beauty of the silhouette or the quality of the make. It speaks to an ideological throughline that runs through Jean Paul’s work – that no matter who a woman is or wants to be, she always has the right to be chic!
Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images
Houndstooth bodysuit inspired by Leigh Bowery, 1991
In an interview with iD in 2018, Jean Paul declared his love for the “London Way”, which means “just creating your own style, your own creativity and being free to do what you want to do”. When he took the idea back to Paris, it wasn’t very popular, but that didn’t stop him from creating his own trademark approach to design. He spent his youth in the 80s at famous London nightclubs such as Blitz and Heaven, where he met performance artist Leigh Bowery. In a nod to Bowery’s influence on fashion, Jean Paul sent down his interpretation of the Leigh Bowery Houndstooth bodysuit—which would later inspire Alexander McQueen for AW09 and Gareth Pugh for SS07.
Photo by Pierre Guillaud/AFP via Getty Images
‘Chic Rabbi’ Collection, 1993
For AW93/94, Jean Paul presented the ‘Chic Rabbi’ collection, inspired by the traditional dress of Hasidic Jews. Models in streamels and black suits danced to the sounds of a violinist who played live on the catwalk. The usual circle of supermodels was there, but Jean Paul also decided to cast someone who visually embodied the cultural context: a man with a big beard. During the ’80s and ’90s, designers were known for their casting choices, pioneering their diversity. “I’m fascinated by strong personalities, people who capture my imagination because they walk well down the street,” Gaultier explained in a 2014 interview. “Showing just one type of girl is a flaw,” he adds, “something I’ve always fought with. One kind of beauty – no. If I show a bigger girl, I’ll always show a younger girl.” will show.” It is now legend that Gaultier once posted an advertisement in a French daily newspaper release Looking for “atypical” models, saying that “facial distortions should not be avoided in application”.
Photo by Arnal/Garcia/Gama-Rafo via Getty Images
Mesh Tattoo Top, 1993
Back in 1993, the trend Declared this prestigious collection as “a startling vision of cross-cultural harmony”. While we’d be inclined to cringe at the somewhat reasonable look now that Jean Paul drove down the runway for the SS94 (which can actually be read as another nod to Leigh Bowery) it certainly Historical perspective. It also marked the debut of Jean Paul’s iconic mesh tops, which were inspired by a tattoo convention he once found himself spinning around – today, they are some of his most sought-after designs. The collection also includes heavy notes of punk, grunge, and 18th century men’s frock coats made in Jodhpur and denim in the typical JPG style. How did he ever find the place for all this?!
Photo by Pierre Vuthe/Sigma/Sigma via Getty Images
Björk!, 1994
Jean Paul’s celebrity friends don’t start and end with Madonna. A year after Björk’s properly titled debut solo album, First entry, Taking the music and fashion worlds by storm, she appeared on the designer’s AW94/95 show, about a magical train that stopped in a small village somewhere high in some mountains. And what, duh?! As you’d expect from JPG, the show was a mish-mash this time in terms of different styles of traditional arctic costume. The models trotted down the snow-covered runway (which almost tripped Kate Moss), decked out in a hell of a lot of fur, silk, wool, and leather.
Photo by Pierre Verdi / AFP via Getty Images
Op-Art Inspired Catsuit, 1995
Two women riding a motorcycle hit them. One of them descends and climbs onto a loft at a DJ booth. Jean Paul’s AW95 ‘Mad Max’ Show Has Started. As he was in the middle of designing the costumes for Luc Besson’s famous film fifth element In which Bruce Willis and Milla Jovovich fight a mysterious cosmic force, they had science-fiction in mind, which means it was technology and cyber-heavy. The bodysuit inspired by Viktor Vasarelli’s op-art paintings became the show’s most memorable aspect—now made super collectible by Kim K and Cardi B and partly responsible for the JPG-madness we’re seeing on Depop these days. Also on the show was Carmen Dell’Orefice, who walked with a live falcon on her arm and sported ornate football armor that lit up like a circuit board. Really prestigious.
Photo by Victor Virgil/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images
trompe l’oeil torso top, 1995
The next season, Jean Paul took his quest for sci-fi polka dots further, this time translating it into menswear. This time, however, he brought his knack for trompe l’oeil print placement to the table—skills he had previously flexed in the aforementioned Les Tautouzes, and even as early as 1992, when he sculpted the enviable Presented Printed Mesh Top with Toros. The look sported here by Tanel Bedrossiantz is perhaps a little more figurative in its approach, though no less direct is its infrared-style suggestion of what might lie beneath the longtime house muse’s button-down shirt.
Photo by Danielle Simon/Gamma-Rafo via Getty Images
JPG Set Sale, 1998
In a promo video for JPG’s new ready-to-wear line, Bella Hadid is wearing a big red ship on her head. In case you didn’t already know, it debuted at the Haute Couture SS98 show, where it takes us back to the Age of Enlightenment. It was a time of scientific progress, the advent of modern capitalism and of course colonialism. The ‘explorers’ were sailing around the world from Europe, ‘discovering’ new lands for them – a ship serving as a nod to the continent’s shameful past. Some say, however, that it was during the Enlightenment that the fashion we know today – as a form of self-expression that can be accessed by the public – first began to emerge, making the historical period a fashion show. became an ideal subject. .
Photo by Rose Hartman / Archive Photos / Getty Images
Man Himself!, 1992
Sure enough, to write a list of Jean Paul Gaultier’s most iconic looks from his most iconic decade, and not for the man himself. Indeed, as Florence Tetier spoke to her before the label’s launch, “Everybody knows who she is!” whether it’s his striped Whether paired with a pleated black skirt or, as seen here, a denim vest and a punkish tartan kilt, JPG’s personal style has made her one of the most instantly recognizable designers of our time. Plus, there’s a direct connection between what she wore and what we then saw on the runway. While we may have never seen a proper, French Navy-standard Sailor From the designer, “he’s done a lot of stripes and nautical-inspired pieces,” notes Florence. “It’s really nice to see the link between the way he dresses and the way he designs.” we love you, Jean Paul!
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The post Jean Paul Gaultier’s most iconic 90s moments appeared first on Spicy Celebrity News.
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