#I asked myself that too as I went wait my site doesn’t have 3???

[emeraldcreeper]

The absolute horrors of retro jrpg releases what the FUCK happened to calling a game the same thing in every region and using the same numbers????? Why can’t they just be normal??????

[luvrrgirlllll]

July 4th ..

Thank u Tara Yummy & the Fourth of July party for this story! ;)

Part 1 of ?

Lmk if you want more. <3

Spicy / mature

•••

"The water proof mascara was the best idea!" Tara said as we hold onto the pool side

"I'm full of good ideas. You'll see." I say taking a drink of my watered down Malibu and pineapple. I need a refill and I'm guessing Tara does too because the way she's currently frowning at her cup.

"Jack and coke?" I reach grab her cup from her hand.

I hear the sliding glass door open to my left and there's only 3 people that haven't came through that door yet.

"Nick! You made it!" Tara shouted jumping up and down in the pool.

"Yeah sorry we had a problem with our mech site! It was ridiculous I don't know why Chris thought it was a good idea to have a drop on the 4th of July.." I can sense his eye roll as he walks up to us.

"Hey y/n!" Nick catches me before I start to make my way to the other side of the pool to get out and run away.

"Hey Nick! I'm going to get drinks. I shake the cups at him. "I'll be back! Do you want a water or anything?" I asking knowing him and his brothers don’t drink when they come to Tara’s parties.

"Oh yes please! Thanks!" He shouts.

At first I wasn't contemplating running away. I really was going to make drinks for me and Tara then come back, but now I'm tempted to climb over the wall like queen charlotte, but unlike her I wouldn't let some brown haired angelic boy stop me.

As I walk past the glass sliding doors I see there's tons of people inside now. When did so many people get here? I catch a glimpse of my royal blue bikini that clings to my body and I can't help but want to stop and check myself out because damn I look good. I got to open them sliding patio door

"Hey! Wait! The floor is soaking wet. He went to get a towel." I look up from the puddle of water and grass that covers the white title to see two sets of icy blue eyes staring back at me.

Well fuck. So much for climbing over the wall.

I back up a ways as Carington drops 2 towels down on the floor.

"Sorry I didn't realize I was still soaked from the pool." He laughed drunkenly and walked away.

I feel their iced stares cooling me down with each step I take towards their direction. Of course I need in the fridge and freezer and Chris is leaned up against the fridge in his famous hoodie and a pair of shorts matches with white air forces. while Matt is leaned up against the counter right next to the fridge in a Boston red white and blue star ball cap, a plain white t-shirt and a pain of Jean shorts and air maxes as well.

"Happy 4th y/n." Matt says not moving at all.

"Happy 4th!" Chris chimes in with a cheery voice making me half smile.

"Happy 4th!" I say past the tightness of my vocal cords. Standing in front of Chris my eyes meet his.

"I'm in your way aren't I? So sorry." He says sliding over to the other side of the fridge.

"Thanks." I say setting the cups down on the opposite side of Matt because he refuses to move.

Dick.

I open the fridge grabbing the pineapple juice. I open the freeze a little to hard hoping the fact that it almost smacked Matt in the face would give him the hint to move, but it doesn’t. His hand lands atop mine and the handle.

"Oops. Didn't see you there." I smile peeking over the door and I swear I hear him chuckle.

He releases my hand as I pull away to grab Malibu and ice tray. Can you get sun burn on the top of your hand? You can can't you because why else would my hand feel like it's on fire. Don't ask me why I have such complete opposite feelings for Matt then I do for Chris or Nick. There's just something about him that pisses me the fuck off.

~Maybe it's because you always want what you can't have.~ A voice in my head taunts me.

Shut up. I don't not want any part of Matthew Bernard Sturniolo.

"How's the party been so far?" Chris asks trying to make conversation.

"It's been fun. Played some beer pong. Won. Played corn hole. Won. Played chicken. Won." It's been great I say turning to put the ingredients back in their places. To my surprise the fridge and freezer were both opened. One door by Chris and one door by Matt.

"They have corn hole out there? We have to go play Matt." Chris says shutting the door.

"I don't think there's a game going on right now. Better hurry." I say flipping my half wet, but still curled brown hair behind my shoulders.

I grab our drinks and head towards the exit, but I know I'm not alone. I can feel both of them stalking behind me. I stop in my tracks and feel a brick wall slam against me.

"What are you doing?" I can feel Matt's annoyance from his words flowing over my shoulders.

"I forgot your brother wanted a water." I said sliding from behind him and turning a complete 180 to avoid his eye contact.

"Why are you such a dick too her" I hear Chris's low voice fade under the music and as I walk father into the kitchen to grab a water out of the fridge. I take a few deep breaths trying not to break my composure and go completely off on Matt.

I met the triplets 2 weeks ago. We all hit it off extremely well the first 2 nights. Then the 3rd night Tara had Nick and I over for a sleep over. Chris and Matt were out of town at the time. Then 2 days ago is when Matt's whole demeanor towards me changed. So I mutually returned the favor and the past 3 days have been nothing but constant ticks of the bomb that's about to explode inside of me.

Some random guy opened and shut the door for me as I made my way back to my friends.

"I thought you took the bottle and ran away." Tara laughed.

"Tempting, but I knew you'd be mad at me later for drinking all of the alcohol." I smiled as I sat down beside Nick handing him his water and her her cup.

As I took a huge gulp of the mixture in my cup the laughter and music filled my ears and instantly calmed me back down. I may have stole a shot or 2 from the bottle while grabbing Nick's water. But it's fine.

After what feels like an hour of chatting with Nick and Tara and all the other random people I hadn’t met. Everyone telling Tara what an amazing party this is and how beautiful her new house is. I feel like I've been baking in the sun. I decide I want to get back in the pool, but I have to pee first and my cup is empty, so a pit stop for a refill on my way to the bathroom is in my near future. I pull my self up from the hot cement and instantly feel the Malibu hit me. Shit.

"Are you going to pee? I have to pee too!" Tara says.

"Yes I'm breaking the seal & switching to water." I say picking my cup up from the ground.

"I need another water, I'll get us some while you guys go to the bathroom." Nick offers.

"Nick, you're so sweet." I look over at where Chris and Matt are playing corn hole with a couple others. Just the sight of his perfect glowing smile makes me want to smack him. I feel my blood literally boiling and before I can think the words fall straight from my mouth

"You know, Chris is super sweet too, but what happened to Matt? Maybe I'd be more attracted to him if he showed somewhat of a sweet side, but it's just not there and it's very disappointing." My arms crossed as I star at the beautiful boy across the yard from me. I look down as I hear Tara giggle and I look down at her wide smile and Nick is trying not to laugh too.

Fuck. "Im going to pee." I say again walking away.

"Wait y/n!” I hear Tara climbing out of the pool running after me.

I shut the bathroom door behind us and I can just feel Tara's questions invading my brain. It's like she's reading my mind.

"Please don't look at me like that."  I say taking a seat on the tub while she occupies the toilet.

"Im not looking at you like anything, but I don't know why you don't shoot your shot. You know almost everyone at this party is single. He's definitely your type?" She questions.

"That's the problem. He is my type, but he was all sweet at first and now he's been a dick to me the last 2 times we've all hung out. I didn't want to say anything because they are your friends. I've just been trying to ignore him."

"You don't ignore people that are mean to you. You silently get revenge. I think you forget I've known you since you were 8 years old." Tara teases.

We swap seats and I can't help but smile at the thought. She's not wrong. I do enjoy driving people crazy especially when they started it. It's not like I thought Matt and I were going to ever be anything, but friends, but since he's trying to make an enemy out of me then an enemy he shall get.

"Y/n, I know that look and I know that things are about to get very interesting." She says touching up her makeup in the mirror.

"We'll see." I say flushing the toilet and meeting her in the mirror to check my makeup out as well. My face is tan, with a bit of pink tones to it letting me know I definitely got some sun today.

We make it back down stairs and it seems like everyone has cleared out of the house. I look at the clock on the stove. It's after 6pm and I feel my stomach rumbling. I take a seat on the counter

"I'm hungry." I say watching Tara grab our mixed drink ingredients out to pour her up another drink.

"Wanna share this one since the bottle will be gone after this?" She offers.

"Sure why not."

I don't know if I really should drink anymore considering the words I spilled about Matt. I'm sure they will get me in trouble later. I don't know, maybe it's the alcohol, but Tara is right. He is my type and any other time I'd be trying hard to get his attention or get him to notice me, but I also told myself when I moved out here I wouldn't be that girl anymore. I'd have respect for myself and I wouldn't just let any guy have his way with me because he said a few nice words. Maybe it's a good thing Matt started being an ass because I was ready to show my interest but that next day he came back from being out of town and he was being so rude it made me shut back down. I feel my cheeks heating up and I can't tell if it's because of being in the sun all day or if I'm blushing or if I'm getting mad at him or if I'm mad at myself for thinking he was different. I hate drinking.

The clinic of the bottle hitting another in the trash can brought me back to reality.

"I'm hungry too. I was thinking we could go to the food trucks along the board walk and then watch fire works on the beach? That's where everyone's headed." She waved another empty bottle around putting emphasis on the vacant living room before dropping the bottle it in the trash can with another loud clinic.

"That sounds like fun!" I said hoping of the counter.

"We can leave here in a few? I want to get all these mother fuckers out of my house first." We laughed as I helped her pick up the living room a little bit before we headed back out to the pool.

Standing by the pool, I take a look around and Matt and Chris are no where to be found there's not to many people out here now either.

"Tara! We'll meet you-

Before I could register what happened or let out a scream my head was under water.

Someone just pushed me into the pool.

When I emerged my eyes immediately lock on the familiar ice from before, but this time the blue has faded and they are more grey.

Matt just pushed me into the pool and by the smirk on his face and Chris and Nicks hands covering their mouth. I can tell it was on purpose.

I swim over to the side without a word and no one else is brave enough to slice the tension either.

A hand is extended and I look up to see Matt's eyes again. Parts of me wants to cuss him out and a slim part of me wants to cry because I don't know what I did for him to be so mean to me. Plus my hair is ruined and will need washed tonight now.

"Thank god for water proof mascara" Tara dared to speak as she stood next to Nick.

A part of me wanted to break down and cry for being embarrassed and pushed in the pool by this asshole for absolutely no reason, but instead I decide to “play nice”. I take Matt's hand and let him start to pull me up as I use my other hand to help pull myself up a little bit.

"Let me help you since Chris made me-

I grab his hand with both of mine putting all of my weight on pulling him down straight down into the pool with me.

I didn't make it to the stairs before a hand gripped my ankle pulling me back under the water. Under the water is silent and peaceful when you're not fighting for your life. I feel the release of my ankle, but arms make their way around my waist holding me tight. My back feelings like it's up against a solid block of concrete. We are both out of the water and I try to catch my breath but it was cut short by the water running in my nose. Did this asshole just body slam me in the water? I push my way out of his grasp and swim fast up to the surface. Coughing the water out my nose and lungs Matt surfaces in front of me.

"Matt what the hell is wrong with you?"

I'm trying to keep myself up, but I can't see. My eyes are burning and we are in the deep end because I can't touch even on my tip toes. This water isn’t warm anymore compared to Matt's warm arms wrapping around me once more.

"Let me go you ass wipe!" I shout. Is he laughing at me?

I'm scared to open my eyes. I feel the sting of the tears wanting to break free. I manage to bring an eye open and I see my hand is covered in black mascara.

Don't break. Not now. Not here. Not around him.

"I thought this was water proof mascara Tara!" I shout again coughing the rest of the water up

"They are gone." I hear Matt say.

"Gone? Where the hell did-" they left us to go to the boardwalk and the fire works.

"Your makeup is everywhere." Matt states the obvious his arms loosen around me but don't quite let go even though I can fully touch the bottom now so I know he can.

"No shit. My eyes are on fire from the chlorine and the mascara." I feel tears escaping, but Matt wouldn’t be able to notice. This is so embarrassing and we are here alone. Why would they leave me here alone with him. Especially after I just told Tara he's been such a dick to me lately.

"Come here." I hear Matt’s irritation floating around me once again.

Before I have time to protest my arms are forced around Matt's neck and my legs are wrapped around his waist. At this point I'm too exhausted to argue instead I lay my head on his shoulder. I can't lie, his hands on my bare thighs is sending the remaining butterflies in my stomach up in chaos.

We climb out of the pool and my reflexes make me cling to him tighter. I hope I'm not too heavy for him the water probably made me feel like I was 20 lbs. He doesn't let me go. Instead his grip tightens a bit, I would be lying if I didn't say his grip on my thigh didn't hurt a little bit. I don't know what I would do if his soaked shirt wasn't the only things between us being skin to skin.

"Hold on to me.” He whispers in my ear.

I do as I'm told. He lets go of one of my under thighs picking something up from the ground. A second later a towel is placed around my body.

Before I know it we are inside the house heading towards the guest bedroom which is where I'm staying for right now. Matt tucks the towel under me, careful not to touch my pretty much bare ass thanks to my skimpy swim suit. He places me down on the counter in the guest bathroom and the switches the light on. Immediately I hear him laugh and I pull my wrapped up hands and towel to my face.

"Where is your makeup remover stuff?" I can see his smile as I peek through the towel

I blinked my eyes a bit under the towel. They still sting but not as bad.

"It should be in my bag by the vanity. It looks like a yellow bottle of water and then I have a makeup remover cloth in there too it's pink with strawberries on it."  I hear him ruffling through my bag before I finish my sentence.

"Okay here." He says coming back into the bathroom

"Thanks you can go now. I'm sure you need to go home and change before you miss the fireworks." I say hoping of the counter with my eyes glued to the floor.

I turn around and look in the mirror. I look terrible. The tears aren't stopping. One roll down and then another. How embarrassing.

"I see a figure move closer to me in the mirror." I didn't even think to make sure Matt was gone. I just figured he walked out when he brought me my stuff.

"Why are you crying?" He bends down to pick up the towel I dropped on the floor.

"I'm not crying. My eyes just burn." I say whiling my face with my strawberry cloth. Watching as the black under my face and the stains on my cheeks disappear a little more with each wipe. His eye roll says it all as he turns to walk out of the bathroom.

I listen as his footsteps fade away from the bathroom door but I can't hear anything else past the exhaust fan. The tears slipping down seems to be making the make up come off a little easier. I really feel so humiliated. I know it's only mascara, but really? I had to look like a rabid raccoon in front of a cute boy and he had to laugh at me about it! The tears are coming like a water fall now. Screw the food truck and the fire works. I'm taking a shower and going to bed.

I jump down from the counter and turn the water on. I wipe the tears from my face and I grab a clean towel from the cabinet under the sink and make my way over to the shower

"Are you taking a shower?"

"OH MY GOSH MATT! I thought you left." I shout throwing my towel at him. He catches it with one hand and the other is placed on the towel wrapped around his hips. Since the makeup is cleared from my eyes I can see his hair is still soaked, but his body is dry and bare now.

"Take a picture y/n, it'll last longer." He says tucking his towel tighter before folding up the one I threw at him. My eyes roll to the clear back of my head. His ego is vomit worthy.

He makes his way closer to me not taking his eyes off of me as he grows closer. I stand my ground with my stare on his. I'm not breaking my composure. I'm sick of him and his ego. Being a jerk to me and then carrying my from the pool, into the house up the stairs with a death grip on my under thighs. I feel the places where his hands where starting to sting. Remembering his touch.

Craving his touch.

No. Stop.

He places the towel over the top of the shower so I can grab it from the inside when I'm done. The warm water is heating up the bathroom quickly.

"I put my clothes in the dryer. If you hurry you can ride with me to the boardwalk and we can grab some food. We have a little while before the fireworks start." He says. I don't know when he got so close to me put drops from his hair slide down my breasts as he hovers over me.

He broke his stare for a split second watching the water trail down my chest. A smirk finds its way to my lips. I won.

"Take a picture Matthew. It'll last longer." I lean up and whisper in his ear. I can't help but let out a small chuckle and turn to the shower.

A familiar death grip finds its way around my wrists. Matt spins me around to face him. The storm in his eyes is a heavy grey blue.

"I keep trying to hate you, but the more I try the closer it brings me to you. Can you explain why that is sweetheart?"

My nose fills with the scent of mint.

"Maybe because deep down, you don't really want to hate me at all." I whisper back trying to keep my breath steady as I feel his grip tighten on my wrists.

In a flash my back is slammed up against the wall next to the shower and my wrists are pinned above my head. I feel the heat growing between my legs and I'm trying everything to keep cool as Matt stares me down waiting for me to break. It's like he wants me to crumble under him and his touch, but I won't. I can't.

His dips his head down brushing his nose against my jawline. I feel his warm breath against my neck and the wetness of his tongue as he slides its down my neck to my collarbone.

"Maybe. Maybe not." He catches the lobe of my ear with his teeth.

"I can tell by the way your body is starting to melt into me that you don't hate me as much as you wish you did either." I feel his warm hand tracing up my bare back and within a second my top is lose and sitting a top my boobs.

"Matthew.." I whisper.

"If you want me to stop. Tell me now." He grips on me everywhere loosens a bit.

"Y/n." He says firmly making my eyes fly open.

"Do you-"

"No Matthew. I don't want you to stop." I say breathlessly waiting for his touch to be more firm against me again, but it doesn't. Instead he drops my hands and takes a step back. Making me frown.

"Are you serious?" I say as he drops his hands to his sides.

"Your mouth is going to get you in trouble sweetheart." I smile at him and he returns the smile with a devious smirk.

His hands find their way to the sides of my bath suit top pulling it up and over my head revealing my breasts fully to him. I've never felt insecure around a guy before, but I've also not been fully naked in front of one in a long time.

"You're so beautiful." His beautiful blue eyes are calmer then before

He picks me up wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Matthew! Give a girl a warning before you just pick her up and carry her around." I laugh. He moves so quickly I don't even have time to think about what he's doing and I'm already set down in front of the bed. His hands find their way into my damp hair fisting it fully.

"Why are you so mouthy?" He taunts my neck with his lips and tongue again.

"I'm not I just speak my mind." I tease. I find my hands on his hips. His body is burning up. His skin is so soft as I let my hands explore all around as he trails kisses from my collarbone up to my neck and then my jaw. He holds us there as we both try and steady our breaths. I want him. I need him.

"Will you please just kiss me already?" I beg and I break.

I knew I'd get a smile out of him with that one, but I didn't think it'd look as genuine as it did. I was sure I'd receive a cocky smirk with a No and then he'd leave me hanging like this is all some kind of game, but he didn't pull away. He didn't laugh at me for giving into him instead he gently pulled my head to his and dipped down placing the gentlest of kisses on my lips.

•••

Hope you enjoyed <3

Part 2??

[privateanxieties]

The Golden Age of New York City

Summary: “I lost Gwen. I couldn’t save her. I’m never going to be able to forgive myself for that. But I carried on, tried to um, tried to keep going. Tried to keep being the - that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man, ‘cause I know that’s what she would’ve wanted but... at some point, I just... I stopped pulling my punches. I got rageful. I got bitter.”

The story of a rageful Spider-Man, and the one who brings him back from the ledge.

Warnings/Spoilers: violence, crime, assault, addiction - generally adult themes. Please read only if you are at least 17.

Characters: tasm!Peter Parker, unnamed original character (she/her), May Parker, miscellaneous characters and perspectives.

Words: 18.1K. Honestly? My best work thus far.

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Peter doesn't listen to the chatter anymore.

Whereas most people have a beginning and an ending to their day, time is blurred together in the young man's mind. As he walks to work, the battered watch on his wrist announces the sunrise, but he wouldn't know it for the bruises around his eyes. In and around crowds he maneuvers, unwilling to look up as he lets his senses lead the way. When the coffee cup burns his palm, his grip tightens, and for a moment he sees color.

He goes through the motions, asleep to the world around him.

The construction site is quiet when he gets there, his supervisor the only person on the premises. He's often caught Peter working before his shift even began, and for this Mr. Daniels sometimes regards him with the fatherly concern of a good man. Though he tries, Peter can't find it in himself to appreciate that.

He does, however, appreciate the opportunity to begin his day in peace and skip the talk with the other guys. After months of keeping strictly to himself, the conversation around him has long shifted from good will to acrimony.  Despite the looks they exchange and the whispers carried by the echo of empty walls, he doesn't react, and his supervisor never berates him. He remains the only employee whose work isn't under scrutiny at the end of each week, and even when he sees Peter lift more than he should reasonably be able to, Mr. Daniels looks the other way.

The day is long and the work is intense, but it's the only thing he can do anymore. He prefers it, in fact - pushing his body and keeping his mind running minimally. He does plenty of thinking between the hours of 3 and 6 a.m., when he waits for sleep to crash over him.

Clocking out takes longer than usual, because it's payday and everyone is already lined up before him. He'd go back to fiddle with some equipment, but he knows he'll get distracted and he doesn't want to keep Mr. Daniels there for longer than he has to be. The man is nearing his sixties, and from what he gathers, a new grandfather twice over. At least someone should get to go home to their family.

As he waits in line outside the small trailer office, his consciousness invades again, as it usually does in the absence of physical stimulation. The chatter he makes a habit of ignoring reaches his ears involuntarily. Two guys from crew B are talking too loudly at the front of the line.

"Yeah, she bugs me about that too. Shoves her phone in my face before I even make it through the door."

"What's so special about that one? Every two-bit reporter in this town wrote about the guy, everyone tryna make money off him."

"Well guess what, I looked this morning - not like I had a choice. She showed me again before she went to school. And you know what, it ain't half bad. Kinda makes you feel sorry for him."

"Yeah? What's it say?"

"I'm not doin' a book report for ya. You wanna read it, ask your daughter. Just make sure you tell 'er not to go looking for him like that crazy woman did, crawling over skyscrapers and shit."

The more he hears, the deeper the frown carves its way into his skin.

"You know girls these days, man. You tell 'em not to do something now, they'll do it when they're old enough just to spite you. I think imma let Salma handle this one."

"Salma? Wasn't she in love with Spider-Man? You think she's gonna tell your daughter not to go looking for him? She'd go herself if she could!"

"Fuck you, Jimmy!"

They laugh and shove each other like they're twenty years lighter, but Peter doesn't hear the rest. He doesn't want to, because it's nothing new.

It's true that every reporter in town has written a piece on Spider-Man, as if it were some rite of passage of journalism. He hasn't read an article in more than two years, and he certainly hasn't been tempted to lately.

When Mr. Daniels hands him his envelope with a kind smile, Peter's own feels unsynchronized and false. He stops by the drugstore on 19th St. where he knows he can pick up ketamine without so much as a raised brow, no matter how many trips a month he might make.

'Wrong', screams his conscience, because he isn't the only one procuring the substance. Other people don't have his resistance or his metabolism. They don't heal from this abuse. However, he doesn't know an alternative to getting through the nights yet; nothing else makes the pounding headache go away, and the buzz that hits a couple of hours in isn't unwelcome either.

He eats when he gets home and forgets that he did an hour later, so he gets pizza from the corner stand. The taste doesn't matter, because it's nourishment he'll need for later.

Head down, hoodie up, headphones in with no music playing - this is how he moves about the city when the mask isn't on.

It's only 8 p.m., and midsummer isn't kind with its extension of daylight. It means hours more to kill before he can finally move, finally breathe. It's why he crushes a pill before he leaves the apartment, and it burns his nostrils when he inexpertly tries to inhale the powder. It's the first time he's done it this way, but he needed a quick fix that would last less before he ingests a proper dose later.

Peter Parker doesn't need anyone feeling sorry for him. Whoever this reporter is, the desperation makes his blood boil. He's used to people following him, trying to ask him questions, trying to take glamor shots of him in a fight.

This, by contrast, is insidious - the nerve to go looking for him in the only place that is his own anymore.

Up.

He looks up in a rare moment, but it's with unbridled anger.

She's been up there, probably on observation decks, thinking she'd… what? See him and get him to sit down for an interview? Wring an anecdote or two out of him? Pester him for metaphors?

The door cracks when he slams it closed.

He's been losing track of time even when he intends to keep it. He knows it's a side effect, but can't bring himself to care, much less worry. Words like addiction flutter about his mind, but they never stay for long, a sign that he's traversing into the deeper end of such struggles.

The alarm he sets for 11 p.m. never rings, because he turns it off half an hour before it even has the chance to do so. He's out the window with a grunt, shooting a web at the last second of the drop.

He lets momentum bring back some of the feelings that make up a person, with tugs and pulls and somersaults that knock him about and rattle his brain around his cranium like sorbet in a cup.

He isn't headed for Park Avenue tonight. Fisk has surrounded himself with state-of-the-art security systems in every single one of his weasel holes, and last time he almost returned home with a hole through his sternum. It makes him bristle, this impotence; this overwhelming knowledge that all his brute strength can't take on endless resources.

He's outworn and past his prime.

The world turns and will keep turning, whether he wins or not. Whatever he does, the world is indifferent and proceeds with abandon.

And Peter matches its disregard as he moves further into the night.

.

.

.

He wakes to news playing on a nearby billboard. It's one of the only ways for him to recall what he even does anymore on the nights that he goes out raging. He listens with one ear while the other lays flat against the roof he passed out on. He doesn't know where he is, but he can guess that it's too central of a location to still be in once the sun has risen.

"…at this time. The NYPD has provided sparse details of the scene, a fact that leaves many speculating whether the police are protecting the public from the knowledge that a once-cherished hero has turned into what we all fear. Is it safe for the city that Spider-Man is out there, imparting the kind of punishment we know him to be choosing? Has New York reached its limit for patience? We'll be addressing all these concerns and more in our special broadcast tonight at 8 p.m. EST."

He lies there, unmoving. If the thoughts in his head could escape and take form, they'd bruise his entire body with their weight.

The public's patience… his own patience is running thin. With himself, with the world - Peter has been over this entire thing for what feels like an unending amount of time. He doesn't remember when, if ever, this brought him joy or satisfaction. The suit is inextricable from him now; he can't imagine himself without it. Whatever awaits him, he'll face it as Spider-Man.

"Coming to you with breaking news: Editor-in-chief and Founder of the Daily Bugle newspaper, J.J. Jameson has just announced he's looking into opening a lawsuit against the former NY Times photographer whose independent work has made waves on social media this week. Jameson sustains that her allegations are quote: 'Nothing more than the musings of an infatuated young lady, perhaps dreaming of being rescued from one of the many life-threatening situations she's put herself in just to talk to a man who breaks the law every night and puts our great city in danger. Parents would do well to not entertain or tolerate admiration for the kind of mind who wrote those words.'

Stay tuned for more details on the developing situation."

A sardonic half-smile turns the corner of Peter's lip.

No one has gotten under Jameson's skin so thoroughly since he started putting on the mask, and for once, curiosity rises within him.

It's more of a fleeting interest in whatever remark she made that riled the old badger up.

A photographer.

Something Peter might've imagined himself to be in another life, had he taken a different path. He doesn't know when he last picked up a camera. He hasn't sold Jameson a photo this year, or the year before.

His worst impulses beckon a little bit of smugness, too. The anger from yesterday, which lingers still, feels soothed. Maybe a lawsuit would dissuade future adventurers from seeking him out in his only refuge. It's a good way to learn a lesson.

When he makes it back to his apartment, he's sweating bullets from the unforgiving summer heat, but his attempt to shower is interrupted by a ringing phone. He doesn't have to look, because it's aunt May.

The ringtone he picked for her years ago is still set, and when it once warmed him up to hear, it now serves as a warning.

He doesn't answer. He hasn't for months.

She keeps trying.

He takes a bath instead, keeping his head underwater until his lungs scorch and his heart pounds in his ears, drowning out the gentle tune from the phone.

.

.

.

The cease and desist letter sits innocently on the glass coffee table, a pair of eyes tracing its contours with amusement.

Jameson reveals himself as the kind of person who thinks he can scare anyone under thirty with an official-seeming document. Since most youths are focused on getting good jobs or pursuing big dreams, it stands to reason none of them have high-powered lawyers at their disposal. He forgets the internet exists, as one is wont to do when one lives in the spring of 1947 - the good old days, when people were fed lies and had few ways of fact-checking.

It didn't take long to figure out the letter is fake, and it comes as no surprise that any serious attorney would refuse signing such a thing. He sent her a cease and desist for a blog post, for crying out loud. The man is clearly not into freedom of speech when that speech hits a little too close to home.

She'll plan what to write about this debacle later, and maybe, over coffee, decide whether she wants to pursue this legally. There might be avenues into a courtroom where Jameson would have to explain to a judge what he thinks intimidation is.

Having seen his published statement in the Bugle this morning, maybe she can tack defamation charges onto the steaming pile of recalcitration that is J. Jonah Jameson.

"An infatuated young lady dreaming of being rescued… maybe I should start signing that at the top of every article," she mutters.

Grabbing the laptop from the armrest of the couch, she settles in for light research and an email answering session. She ignores the ones that are clearly job application rejections. Looks like her next gigs would still be dog weddings for wealthy Brooklynites and vanity projects for Upper East Side widows.

She tries resisting the urge to check the post again, but it's difficult when it's the most success she's had in the last couple of years.

Thirty-one thousand new readers.

1.4 million views since posting date, which was almost nine days ago. Thousands of comments of every shade under the sun.

Was this in any way monetizable? Yes, probably.

Does her skin crawl just at the thought of making money off of words she wrote earnestly and with no ulterior motive? Too much. Enough that the thought is banished soon after it arrives.

Though maybe, if she's honest, it's not so much the words as it is who they are about.

He's been exploited by enough people for enough reasons.

Yes, principles don't really put food on the table anymore these days, but she'd rather her stomach ache sometimes than her mind screech all the time.

With no more to do on another day of being unemployed, she decides on an afternoon walk that will likely end up just as fruitful as the others. Zero progress.

New York seems slow for a Tuesday. It's that special time of day, right before corporate employees revive and amble home as if in a trance, heads and eyes still in the grip of their managers. No one stops working at 6 p.m., not even those with fixed hours.

She makes the trek all the way down to 63rd St. and wonders if another stroll through Central Park would be too indulgent, because these are the worries of the under occupied. Any break feels like too much leniency, and any time spent not producing something is time you are lost to the world.

The oak tree she stops under shields her from the unrelenting sun and in an equal measure invites longing. Existing in place, changing without moving, being useful without doing damage - what a thing. A thing she can't seem to find out how to do.

Photography.

Little did she know when she was barely a teenager that the real obstacle to achieving greatness in art wouldn't be time or money invested in equipment and training.

Finding anyone to care that you have something to say… that was the real trouble.

Earning a living in this profession entails mostly hurting oneself or hurting others.

So far, she's been hurting herself and her hopes with every silly gig she could find around town - the sort of photography that means nothing, even to the people who pay for it.

The other thing that makes money requires a change of scruples: selling a couple shots of some celebrity or other, preferably in compromising positions or locations, would bring a good dinner every time, if she could keep it down.

In the absence of nepotism or wealth, the good jobs and opportunities in this field are close to none, and time… time moves along. It barrels forward, with or without participation.

She wonders, on the way to her favorite spot, what his relationship to time might be. How does he process doing what he does across the increasing compression of the years? Do the months disappear from under his feet too, or can he fit a century's worth of deeds inside an afternoon?

As she walks along the concrete, she feels it burning through the too-thin soles of her yellow ballet flats.

It's a serious thing, this tension. It impresses upon her the gravity of the situation: in her unwillingness to relinquish ambition and purpose, she feels she's losing any usefulness she might have. She isn't gaining any skills she doesn't already have, and nobody is looking to apply her experience in anything she finds worth doing.

There's no pursuit left, it seems - only soulless occupation.

She's old enough to recognize a great deal of immaturity in her stubbornness, but with only one life to live, she'd rather it be short and meaningful than long and complacent.

Perhaps a therapist would untangle all of this and set her straight, but to get money for one, she'd have to do the very thing she finds difficult.

For a while, the New York Times job was a dream come true that she never even dared to have, especially so soon in her career. She was there for eight months before she screwed up. Maybe she wanted too much, pushed too much and too early. Maybe she didn't understand how things were supposed to be done, and the differences of principles between her and her bosses were irreconcilable.

She isn't sure why she expected they'd send her out on investigations that could get them sued every other Thursday. In the end, she turned in one too many folders with photographs that belonged more in an F.B.I. file than a publisher's office, so they let her go. She hasn't done anything meaningful since, and yet the sun keeps shining.

In the intimacy of the nook forged by overgrown roots, she waits for the gleaming orb to take refuge behind the buildings, and she waits for the moon to replace it for good measure. A walk in the tranquil breeze caressing the night always does good. Shoulders exposed, camera strap covering the daisy details along the neckline of her dress, she releases one last sigh before heading back inside her apartment building.

It's nearly midnight, and this has been another day.

The calm fizzles out the closer she gets to her door, thoughts of repeating the cycle tomorrow starting to take hold, but they don't get far.

The door barely clings to its hinges.

She backs away, reaching for her phone, but isn't fast enough.

.

.

.

Peter is still trying to get water out of his ears. He uses his one day off a week to look after his living space somewhat, the only thing he still does that is a remnant of what May taught him.

For the past innumerable hours, he's been scrubbing at the mountain of dishes, gagging at the dead roach he finds in the odd glass, and getting blood stains out of the wooden floors and carpet. A voice at the back of his mind still drones on about how far gone he is, but it's such a mousy one that it's easily drowned out.

The 8 p.m. special broadcast comes and goes, but he couldn't care less. If getting blood out of the carpet is hard, getting dried cement off of clothes is even harder. Miscellaneous stains litter most of the street clothes he owns, with the exception of some that he received as a present for his 19th birthday, the last one he celebrated.

He fiddles with the web shooters the hour before he leaves again, and they're in bad enough shape that they need replacement. Tomorrow. Building new ones right now would cut two hours out of his time, and his skin has been prickling for long enough.

He can, at least, switch the battery with a new one, but when he opens the fake compartment in his work desk, he finds he's all out of those. With a curse on the tip of his tongue, he finds a suitable replacement he can charge after half an hour, and it's inside his old police radio.

He hasn't listened to that thing in who knows how long.

Whether it's sentimentality or an impulse to torture himself, he isn't sure, but he flicks it on still. There's only crackles and coil whines, and he almost has to fill in the gaps himself with memories of ATM robberies, muggings and burning buildings. That used to be his job, but he's since graduated to organized crime.

College could wait, because Peter Par -

"…come in, units north of 117th St., I have a 240-242 reported. Suspects could still be in the area. We have two officers on the scene, a 10-45C. Waiting on EMS. Please set up a perimetre at 416 East 117th Street. Media-sensitive case in progress. Over."

Despite not having heard report codes in a while, Peter knows them by heart. He wonders what happened, but there isn't anything he can do about it. He's more than sixty blocks away. If he goes, he'll go just to come back to Midtown. Waste of time.

He installs the battery, and once his web shooters whirr to life, out into the night he goes.

.

.

.

It's as though criminals also took the day off mid-week, and it would be cause for surprise, if Peter didn't know that many of them actually have families. He scowls beneath the mask, lights from the million billboards in Times Square hurting his eyes as usual. He stops here whenever he hits a snag in the road, and tonight certainly qualifies.

On the one hand, regular petty criminals being afraid to go out at night was something to be proud of. On the other, you can't bust a large drug-smuggling operation every Wednesday at 2 a.m. He's left little to do, whether for the police or the F.B.I., and it irks him more than it reassures.

The real important things, the important players - they were up in their silver towers, and the police wouldn't help take down the people they helped put there. He's once again having to confront ineptitude, and it makes pain bloom right at his brow.

There's no one meandering about Times Square at this hour with the exception of shift workers heading home, maybe the odd teenager or two whose parents don't care where they are.

Peter makes a lot of assumptions these days.

He sees people, but he rarely observes them or tries to picture the breadth of their lives, whether right or wrong. He used to do that for fun - people watching. It used to be a way of feeling close to the city he protected, imagining a connection between himself and the beings he called neighbors and fellow citizens.

He's ceased imagining himself a part of New York, but a guard dog will remain loyal even without its owner's love.

As he stays poised on the ledge of one building, he debates what to do.

He'd go swinging if he weren't running on defective shooters, and he hardly fancies a fall from twenty stories up. It's degrading, somehow, the thought of going in search of crooks. If it isn't making enough noise to grab his attention, Spider-Man no longer cares.

The largest screen in the square that, until a moment ago was displaying a Coke ad quietly, startles him with its sudden volume. He mutters a snide comment about marketing, but is interrupted mid-sentence when CNN comes on.

"Breaking News: We've just received exclusive reports from one of our sources at the scene that tragedy has struck tonight at the home of a former NY Times photographer and freelancer, whose work has captured the attention of over a million people as of today. She was a guest on our show only two days ago, when she tried making a case very few people dare to anymore: that Spider-Man deserves our understanding and requires our help in confronting the forces that bend New York City to their will.

A plea that may not have been well received by many, as we bring you news of an apparent assault at her residence. The police have established a no-entry zone and are currently not taking any questions, but eyewitnesses report paramedics at the scene attempted to resuscitate someone fitting the profile of the young woman. We are uncertain, at this time, if they succeeded. Our thoughts and prayers are with her as we await news of her condition.

Stay with us for more information as we go live to NYPD Chief E.L. Russell at 2:45 a.m. EST…"

A released breath is all he musters, and the air on the way back in almost hurts. The throbbing beneath his brow has expanded to his entire forehead, but he bites it back as he moves off the ledge and onto the roof.

240-242. 10-45C.

Assault and battery. Condition of patient is critical.

He should've gone.

His mind plays the words on repeat as he removes his phone from a concealed pocket in the suit. Her name is plastered over every title on every website he can find that has gotten a hold of the story. Many link directly to the article she wrote.

Peter doesn't hover over any of them, but leaves directly for Mount Sinai, the closest hospital he knows to East 117th Street, a photo he glimpsed of her smiling face imprinted behind his eyes.

.

.

.

It's disconcertingly quiet as he stops to listen over every window, trying to gauge some clue, some indication that he's where he's supposed to be.

The rustling leaves from Central Park provide the equivalent of white noise, and it stresses him out like a ticking grandfather clock.

Who puts a hospital across the street from a park? It's like saying to patients and pedestrians alike that they are never too far removed from a life-changing event. Infrastructure planning in this city is so shit that nobody wins.

He stops to shake his head, as though that will clear his mind of all hazardous thoughts and gnawing anxiety. He's been crawling over every wing of the hospital for the better part of an hour, and so far nothing has been learned.

But he isn't anything if not relentless. So he continues, keeping to the shadows and listening, breathing deeply to stave the blood rush and adrenaline. It's nearing 4 a.m. when the crackle of a police radio is picked up by his sensitive hearing, and it's coming from a few windows over. He stays put as he focuses, and soon enough he knows it's what he's been looking for.

The information relayed on the radio is of no interest to him, but its presence is important. It means there are police officers standing guard in the hallway, and a closer listen to their soft spoken conversation confirms his assumption.

This is it.

As he approaches the window, his breath has trouble staying tranquil. He removes the exterior lock on the frame with ease, and it barely makes a sound. Some security. Though he noticed not all windows sported a lock on the outside, this one provided as much safety as all the ones without. He lifts the frame with care he hasn't exercised in ages, and dreadful sounds hit his ears soon after.

It makes him almost stop and turn back, but something within won't allow it. He has to look.

The bed isn't far, but he takes in the room first. He stalls.

Whenever he moves this stealthily, it's with the intent to harm, and it ties a knot in his throat knowing that he's here to do the opposite.

The officers outside the door are unaware of his presence, and a snarl almost makes its way past his lips.

If someone were here to harm, they'd encounter no resistance.

Try as he might, the chair in the corner and the painting on the wall can no longer distract him from the chest moving up and down in his peripheral vision.

He drags his eyes over the bed, but he's delayed as much as he could.

He stutters on a breath, choking it out - in? He doesn't know. It rattles through him, this unfamiliar grip of something.

It isn't rage. He knows rage.

The longer his gaze holds over every contusion and bruise, and the higher the number gets as he counts them against his will, the more a full-body shiver usurps his control.

The machine breathing for her makes a noise he isn't likely to forget as long as he lives.

Against his better judgment, he grasps the patient chart at the foot of the bed in both hands, and he reads and reads and reads, hoping for hope.

He gathers that her condition is stable, or was at the time of entry, but the knowledge does nothing. It isn't enough.

What he's looking at is debilitating injury. The kind he's - the kind he's -

The flipchart clatters to the floor, and that finally attracts the attention of the officers.

He disappears before they step foot inside.

.

.

.

5:41 a.m.

 There are cracks in the night sky.

There's sharpness over every surface, as if the suit is made of thistle and pumice.

In the stillness of the room, Peter Parker reads.

                                                           ----

We have never seen a time such as this.

The city enjoys a great deal of jubilation for small and big things alike, and it has for as long as it has been here. Throughout all its tender history, our dwelling of permanent enthusiasm and tangible ambition has seen figures rise to its aid in the face of senseless destruction, none more unending in their devotion than the one whose name we've all spoken.

It began with seemingly inconsequential acts of vigilantism, as the authorities deigned to call it at the time. The city had yet to see the terror that extreme abilities can bring when wielded by unstable or ill-meaning individuals, but in its midst, a protector was already taking shape.

We all have to start somewhere.

Small-time crooks and thieves, then violent criminals. Then, criminals no one would hazard calling violent because they attend banquets and fund the campaigns of mayoral and presidential hopefuls, even today.

Somewhere in the timeline of his service, the city took on a whole new quality. We've always stood up for each other, that much is certain; but the people have never rallied behind one person the way they did for him.

A fair share of tourists, co-nationals or not, have learned it unwise to bad-mouth the local hero. The city channeled its legendary zeal for unity into never-before-seen protectiveness. Plain old devotion, staggering in its sincerity.

We have, after all, a great debt to pay - yet it feels like a duty one does with an easy heart.

How simple it was, pretending not to look whenever he staggered home on foot, presumably having consumed the webbing that decorates our streets every day. How innocent - though for parents irritating, I'm sure - the desire of children to sneak to the fire escape in the hours of the morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of red and blue.

How heartwarming, whenever word went around, of delis and pizzerias competing to certify themselves as a favorite of his, and leaving innovative creations in strategic pick-up places.

Easy hearts, easy smiles - it was the Golden Age of our fine city.

It's been getting harder lately.

Of the myriad classes of criminal, only the full-timers remain; those who have seen and done everything there is to see and do. And of those, only the ones with friends in high places are still in business.

You peruse one article or another just to get to the description of the crime scene: blood and teeth and webbed-up zombies, more dead than alive.

Arrests don't happen on the spot anymore, because medical care is needed.

Time passes unsparingly.

And in the torrid summer, under scaffolding and awnings, between fences and billboards, New York begins to whisper.

Tales of a breaking point and a rageful Spider-Man.

The locals speculate. In the absence of concrete proof, you can hardly blame the minds attempting to soothe themselves with hollow myths: perhaps this happened, and then the other thing; perhaps he's done too much, received too little in return.

For the past five years, we've all confounded our journey with his. New York believes in shared failures and triumphs, so the atmosphere turns dour when it senses powerlessness.

We believe whatever touched him, has the potential to wreck us all. Whatever changed him, means a force that won't spare us.

Is it pain, or age, or illness?

Is it bitterness, or hopelessness?

Is it grief?

And do we dare judge?

There are some among us who dare go even further, and who have attempted career-building out of a spiteful penchant for persecution. A publication that has, for as long as this author remembers, been denigrated and ignored, now returns with renewed vigor. Its editor-in-chief would love nothing more than a redemption story - his own, of course. For nearly half a decade, J. Jonah Jameson has professed his hatred of Spider-Man to the fullest of his editorial capability, which is to say, in mediocre fashion. Whatever vindication he now feels will surely fuel more of the fables we've grown tired of.

The city has a mind of its own, a personality of its own; it doesn't need to be told what to believe, especially not by those afflicted with grudges.

Perhaps I should've begun this by stating it is not an opinion piece. It isn't much of an objective evaluation of the facts, either. The only purpose for its existence is remembrance.

Trying to understand Spider-Man is not a task one knows how to begin approaching. He is, at this point, part of both daily life and folklore. You may see him, but you don't talk to him.

Not many people try anymore.

It would have done no good trying to find him, as every journalist in town has already learned. Nobody has been able to claim him as an interviewee. Journalism is not my occupation, but I do wonder as to his. We all have to do something to survive, and Spider-Man does not fit the typology of a spoiled trust fund recipient.

So what exactly does the working class hero see?

Is it people looking down, their nose in a phone or a book on the subway during morning commute?

Is it a bustling crowd, pushing and shoving its way to an unforgiving cubicle and disgruntled customers?

Does Spider-Man look up at a building as frequently as he looks down from one?

Is the ground as familiar to him as the sky?

For this to work, both perspectives should be offered, and here is where I have to confess to a not easily subdued fear of heights, one I had to confront on several occasions.

A silly thing to wonder is what might Spider-Man's favorite sight be. In a city of buildings that touch the clouds, does he hold a preference? And is it the clichéd Empire State?

Full honesty also entails confessing that while I was confronting my fear, I was actively dodging concerns about the legality of what I was doing. One can't help wondering if that's a thought he might've had way back when, in the beginning.

Had I been more alert and not completely focused on maintaining balance and a grip on the camera, I might have realized my approach was all skewed.

Only when I was crawling, quaking knees and gasping breath, over the south eagle adornment on the 61st floor of the Chrysler Building, did I realize that the view was not really the point.

You can't see what Spider-Man sees, unless you are determined enough to steal his eyes straight out of their sockets. I presume many have tried.

The only possibility of getting close to him is through the thrill of feeling what he might feel.

In the absence of superpowers or webbing to prevent a meeting with the ground, you can imagine the thrill verged on paralyzing fear.

New York's skyscrapers are not made for visiting from the outside, making the ease with which he glides between them daily all the more impressive. You see, it's not about the superhuman abilities. We all like to think we'd do the same, were we endowed with them.

But we have proof that he is special, and that what he does must be recognized as amazing once more.

New York has known many who've fallen by the wayside in their pursuit of mastering abilities they either searched for or happened upon. Unfailingly, sooner or later, those people turned towards us with anger and retribution.

Some were not entirely wrong to feel that way.

For all our unity, New York is still a cold city made even colder by all it has endured. It no longer flinches at destruction the way it used to, and some mistake it for resilience.

The truth is that we've been desensitized: to violence, to greed, to the ambitions of powerful men with ill intentions.

We've been happy to let Spider-Man bear the brunt of our ugliest demons.

Can we really be surprised when that inheritance claws away at the symbol we now identify with, the symbol etched onto his back?

Every morning when the sun rises, we leave the shadows of the night behind, knowing there is someone to keep them settled. We never imagine that the only way to hold back the darkness is to take it onto yourself, to keep it trapped inside your chest until it demands to be let out again.

So tomorrow, when the sun rises over a tired Spider-Man, I urge you to remember this:

If he falters, it is because he's doing the job we all ought to be doing, and he's done it for too long already without our participation. We need to help him in a way that matters, and maybe we can start by making the darkness a little easier to bear.

Spider-Man has made the city safer for us, and it's time we return the favor, so he can come back home… to the golden age of New York City.

                                                         ---

The nausea gives way, and he succumbs to the shivers.

If the neighbors hear him scream, they don't make it known.

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.

.

The photographs from the article dance behind his eyelids right up until he wakes, passed out on the roof of Mount Sinai Hospital. It's noon, and he should've been at work five hours ago. He isn't going.

The hole he tore in his throat seems to have healed enough that swallowing no longer sears, but his knuckles are still torn raw.

As he leans on his right elbow, awareness of the faint rumble in the sky brings some relief, though not much. At least he didn't scorch in the sun, because he isn't sure he would've felt it.

He lies there for two more hours, until the gnawing in his stomach and the weakness in his limbs become unbearable.

He checks on her before he leaves, and the daylight is unforgiving in its honesty. He departs as the first drops of rain hit.

Though he isn't hungry anymore, he forces down a meal only to return with some strength in his fist. It's on the roof that he makes new web shooters once the downpour lets up, and it's there that he puts another battery into his old police radio.

Trained as he is on any sounds emerging from her room two floors below, he jumps periodically when a nurse comes in to do their job. It always seems to be the same one, and soon enough he learns the cadence and the weight of her footsteps.

The fact that she comes in so often engraves a near-permanent frown into his face. It's not just once that he nearly goes over while she's there to ask for information on her state, but every time his legs won't move.

That night, when the officers leave their post, Peter's anger comes back in full force. Is that all they were affording her?

Twenty-four hours of protection, almost on the dot, after her life was nearly ended with brutality?

He wants to follow after them, but he ultimately doesn't.

Somewhere in his mind, he knows that even that little crumb they gave her was a move made out of pity. Ordinary citizens don't get police guards by their hospital room, unless they hold something of interest - influence, technology or a degree of relation to some actually important person.

She holds none of those things, as far as he's aware.

And in New York City, if you aren't graced with prominence, you get crushed by those whose ire you provoke.

He'll see to it that Fisk atones. Not tonight, or tomorrow - but his last day on this Earth won't come until the balance is corrected and the debt is restored.

.

.

.

They announce her survival on the news the next morning, and Peter knows that once they've done that, he can't leave. Not that he would have. He follows the broadcast on his phone and peruses articles here and there, and he finds that for once, Jameson has no criticism to offer.

No remark, no observation. Just an apology and a prayer.

He scoffs and grits his teeth, putting away his phone when the speculative articles start pouring in. The who and the why, he already knows. The 'what now' is solely his mission.

It's been over thirty hours since she was hospitalized, and if they were going to come back to finish the job, they would do it in the first forty-eight. It makes the most sense, as her condition would be the most sensitive. No one would suspect foul play, at least not twice over.

So Peter stays glued to the side of her window whenever possible, and keeps hidden when necessary.

She does not stir, and he pretends not to hear the nurse's sigh when she comes in to check on her one last time before shift change.

.

.

.

Nothing happens, and it's almost too quiet as they come up on fifty-one hours, but at 5 a.m. on Friday he taps out unwillingly.

His pounding heart is what wakes him at 3 p.m. inside the alcove on the roof. Although his eyes have been taking in her figure for almost two minutes, he struggles to resist the fear and calm down. Anything could've happened, and would he have heard it?

Would he have gotten there in time?

It was the presence of an unknown gait that made ripples in his senses and roused his consciousness, but a doctor is not a threat. He remarks with befuddlement how little time it took to anchor himself to this room and to that bed. He's learned the sound and all its patterns, knows all the visitors and their schedules - because they all have one.

No one has been at her bedside. No one but medical staff.

A thought strikes that hasn't in aeons.

He returns two hours later, having showered and eaten and called in sick to work. Maybe it's his voice that gives it away, or maybe the old man has been waiting for this, but Mr. Daniels hears only a line or two before he tells Peter to take care of himself and not show up until he's better.

He takes the advice along with a bouquet of daisies.

The nurses whisper among themselves during another shift change, but they keep the water fresh every day.

.

.

.

By Monday, a routine has been established.

Peter keeps watch at night and tinkers with devices during the day. Old junk that hasn't seen the light in years suddenly holds great interest, including a tracker that never made it past the design stage.

He remembers that he felt too much like Inspector Gadget when he was drawing up the sketches for the thing, and it immediately put him off further exploration.

Admittedly, it's not an award-winning invention. The idea was only to have something at his disposal that he could track over long distances when his powers failed him. Years ago he couldn't put together a small enough device that it'd be undetectable and easy to place, but technology has advanced even as he's stood still.

It doesn't take long to find what he needs and for cheap. In an afternoon, he's made four trackers, with nanosensors the size and weight of a fingernail, and in a bizarre way, he feels the need to share the small triumph with someone.

He's shaky and uncertain as he crawls to her window that night, and over the soft beeping of the machines by the side of the bed, Peter whispers the first promise made to another person in a long time.

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.

.

On Tuesday night, as the one week mark approaches, commotion pulls his attention tightly, stretching every sense into a frenzy.

It's a miracle he doesn't burst through the glass when the nurse is just a little too slow to show up for his comfort, but soon he finds out the news. The triumph he experienced yesterday pales in comparison to the one she has today.

Breathing on her own is a monumental step, one Peter chooses to commemorate with deeply pink roses. The florist only asks him one question, and it's what he wants the blooms to say.

"Just that I… that I'm grateful," is all he manages.

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.

.

Despite the breakthrough on Tuesday, nothing else happens for the rest of the week, plunging his mood into the subterranean. He'd thought recovery was on the way, but the nurses stop by at greater and greater intervals by the time Sunday rolls around. He wants to demand an explanation, something to justify this delay, but keeps himself in check for her safety. If word got out that he's inquiring into her condition personally, it might stir the calm.

He doesn't want calm, but it's what she needs, so he stays put.

In the meantime, he keeps tabs on the press and what details have been released to the public. An investigation of his own unfolds over the course of Sunday morning, and it hardly impresses him - the ardent desire of every newspaper to take apart her entire past and present. It's exceptionally deplorable how some don't stray from speculating about her future.

If they want to know, they should come ask him. He wants them to.

Peter notices how none of the publications he's looked at thus far have even attempted to make the connection between her words and their consequences. They all know it. They do. They all know who she pissed off, because it's right there in black and white.

All it took was a mention of campaign money and criminality, because the egos possessing New York's overlords are boundless and fearsome.

The police are hardly trying, he knows that too. They've been relegated to babysitters for those they're supposed to catch, but maybe they were never meant to do that in the first place. Maybe that's just what people are comfortable thinking, and Peter used to be one of them.

When he was younger, he wanted to believe in the sanctity of their mission, as nothing else seemed more important. His dream was to change the world with his intellect, but changing the world through progress takes time, and you need to be and feel safe while you're doing it. He used to believe nothing happens if the police don't do their job.

He's grown since then.

He understands hierarchy now, and the place from which crime springs forth is untouched still. Cleaning up the streets is a temporary solution, and the people he used to leave for the cops to arrest got less and less difficult to empathize with over time. He knows stories - has got nothing but stories. Desperate people stealing to feed their children, threatening pharmacists with empty guns to get their prescriptions because their insurance expired… the numbers grow, and it isn't because people are getting worse. They're not losing their principles, or their decency.

Someone else is taking their lives from them, one yard at a time.

It's something she knows as well, but speaking it publicly attracts penalties. He's looking at the result of defiance right now, watching through the window as the setting sun leaves a gentle glow over her figure.

Not a journalist, she said. The more he looks, the more he believes her. As the cuts and bruises subside with time, natural features reclaim their place and her face as he remembers it is revealed. Granted, he has only photos to compare to, but it changes nothing about his impression.

Gentle.

She seems like a gentle person, is all Peter can think. If he knew nothing about her, he'd assume kindness; yet he does know something - knows too much now. He knows too much to hold back the fierce protectiveness rupturing the confines of his chest.

She's so young.

They're the same age, but somehow she looks younger to him. Maybe it's the delicate skin around her eyes, having gone down in swelling enough that he can see their shape. Maybe it's the neck brace, making her look vulnerable and small. Maybe it's what little he can see of her fingers where the cast ends on her left arm.

Peter doesn't know if a photographer is supposed to look like anything, but he encounters no trouble in imagining a camera around her neck and grasped between her fingers. He wonders how the red light from a darkroom might reflect in her eyes.

He wishes she'd open them.

He wishes she'd open them, so his own wouldn't burn so terribly.

It's been years since he's watched someone in earnest, trying to picture their life, or personality, or struggles. It's been years since he's felt closeness or devotion to a cause, much less to a person. Spider-Man ended up being needed more by him than by the people, so he readily took the symbol for himself, to stall and mute the desperation.

Desperation that returns in a different form when the door to her room opens and a doctor comes through, spotting him behind the window before he can move.

The woman freezes, but her face remains composed as she shuts the door without looking away from him. Peter is also frozen in place, and his predicament is unknown as she steps closer and closer, until she comes to a standstill in front of him. He cannot decipher her expression, but he figures that if she wanted to, she would have called security already. The realization does nothing to relax his muscles.

She taps on the glass with an index finger twice, and to his surprise, lifts the frame all the way up.

Hesitating at first is reflexive when dealing with strangers, but this doesn't seem like a trap and she is a healthcare professional. They're usually decent.

Peter goes in legs first, the motion airy and quiet. In a moment that is eerily reminiscent of boyhood, the woman, mid-fifties, regards him stringently.

"You've been here before," she states, a sentence too simplistic to put his mind at ease. He can't see where she might take it next.

Despite his lack of confirmation, she continues.

"Why do you come?"

Peter almost backs away from the bluntness of the question; if it weren't for the soles of his feet sticking to the floor, he might've stumbled on nothing. It isn't an inquiry he can grace with truthfulness, but he has years of falsehoods under his belt. He knows how to lie.

"To make sure nothing happens..." he murmurs into the stillness of the room.

"You can speak normally. She can't hear us."

Recoiling happens automatically, and the window sill is at his fingertips. He could leave any moment. Yet, the look she's fixing him with keeps him suspended in time and space. He can hear his own breaths against the inside of the mask. The world is smaller.

"You're here to make sure nothing happens? Something has already happened. Where were you?"

This is how the walls close in and the temperature reaches a boil. He's spent months avoiding questions of any sort, and the first ones he hears unravel entire illusions he maintained with an iron grip.

"I have a daughter her age, studying the same thing she studied. She believes in you too. Will she end up like this?"

His heart touches a crescendo, and then nothing. To avoid thinking about himself, he focuses every ounce of strength into a question of his own.

"How is she?"

His voice is rough with disuse when he isn't whispering. He sounds much older than he is, but the woman is older still, and she has seen many more things than either Spider-Man or Peter Parker have. A suit cannot hide shame from the keen eyes of experience.

"I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. I have a responsibility. There are laws."

Laws. Responsibility.

This did end up being a trap, of the sort he never expected. He's tumbling through a loop of his spectacular history, but nothing he finds grants solace. The guilt is blistering the surface of his skin.

"It makes no difference if you know or not. It won't change anything. Nothing I say will make her wake up."

Maybe it's something only mothers are able to induce, this peculiar dread. Of the multitudes roaming the earth, it seems only the best ones hold this power. There is immeasurable love in their eyes at all times, and when it flickers, so does the heart. Nobody wants to look, only to see disappointment - least of all, confidence lost.

There is a mother standing in front of Peter Parker, laying out all his faults with no cruelty. She doesn't look like herself anymore, but like his own mother, of brown hair and the kindest eyes he's ever known.

"Please…"

He doesn't know what he's asking. There isn't anything for which she could use his plea. It shows in her face.

"Her body is healing what it can. She needs time and freedom to recover. That's all that I -"

The doctor is left staring at the space where he once was, and in a moment of doubt, her eyes cast downward.

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.

Spiders are not particularly effective trackers. Their strengths lie in attributes that allow for little expense of energy when setting traps. Great threads are woven in tantalizingly intricate patterns, seducing prey big and small and beckoning it forward. It need only wander in.

There are times, however, when spiders will choose to hunt.

Peter Parker is a sight to behold as he sinks further and further down the spiral from human to predator. Each sense is sharpened to perfection, and in New York City, that means it won't be long before his mind gives way from oversensitivity.

He doesn't have time.

416 East 117 St. is still delineated by yellow police tape. Inside, the door of apartment 5-b has been sealed off, but the impact marks around the hinges remain - a preview for what it might reveal.

Now that he knows which unit, finding the window is no effort.

The surroundings are quiet, even for a Sunday night. There isn't much chatter throughout the neighboring units, revealing perhaps an abundance of uninhabited apartments or - more likely - a frightened lot, as barely two weeks have passed.

He enters through the living room window situated on the west side.

The air is stale and impregnated with scents he is more familiar with than anyone should reasonably be. Acute as his senses are at the moment, the smell of blood is ferociously intense; knowing whose it is tips the edge towards unbearable.

As his eyes absorb the scene, his mind makes immediate judgments that have become second nature in the past five years.

The front door, which he can see from the edge of the room, was not kicked in, but rather out. He deduces they must've entered quietly, expecting her to be home. The door could not have been destroyed after the fact, only before. Did they do it to frighten her, give her pause? Make her wonder what could've happened to it before they grabbed her?

He knows Fisk likes playing mind games with whoever wrongs him. This is his signature, and the ravaged furniture reinforces his belief. It isn't indicative of struggle - it was just smashed up for fun, and perhaps as a false lead for the police to rule the incident as random thievery.

Yet a laptop is lying in pieces, underneath the crushed coffee table. Little fragments of it are tinged dark red among the shards of glass, and the images his mind conjures are expelled before they can seize too much emotion.

No thief would use valuables to inflict harm, least of all in the name of perceived symbolism, but Wilson Fisk is not a thief. He envisions himself a poetic emperor, delivering justice with awe-inspiring significance. At his disposal are considerable resources, many of them material, but a non-negligible part made of flesh and bone.

What the scene before him reveals above all else is just how entwined law-enforcement and the despots of New York have become.

Nobody has touched this place. No forensic experts have analyzed the scene or extracted evidence for an investigation, because  none is supposed to occur.

Despite the expanse of blood soaked up by the carpet, despite the scratches on the hardwood nearby… nobody is looking.

Nobody wants justice. They want peace and safety for themselves.

There is an empty apartment at 416 East 117th that might remain empty. There are clashing echoes of words that might never leave. They will make a home of his agitated mind and tear it asunder, ceasing only when he is no more.

He holds off until he can't - and it's the snapping thread.

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.

.

Vincent likes his job. After all, he gets Mondays and Tuesdays off, and there's nothing better than starting the work week in the middle. Everyone's already miserable by then, and it makes things easier for him.

He does, however, hate the paperwork of Sunday night, and it's just too bad his boss trusts no one else to get it done.

He sits at his desk, yawning and putting numbers together until the lines are blurred. There hasn't been any improvement in shipping costs, but the ease of operations could have a novice doing this on his first day. Or it would,  were there any volunteers left. He had to provide many concessions for Bennie to take a job here, despite being cousins.

Everyone thinks only about themselves these days.

Vincent thinks of the comfort of home: the lush armchair he bought a few days ago, nestled in the warmest corner of the library that he's just finished renovating with wood from Japan; the Titanic model he promised his son they'd build together; the dinner they're all going to gather for tomorrow.

He thinks of all those things so ardently, that he has no chance to see it coming.

He's heard the guys describe it before - those that got away at least. The webs bind tightly. So tightly, in fact, that his lungs feel compressed against his back, and his arms and legs are getting colder by the second.

"Bah! You - you fu - you fuck - mmpf!"

His body collides with the wall, and there it stays. He can't breathe. He can't -

His airways clear.

Vincent gasps for breath, but there's barely any room for it in his chest. Despite what he expects, the spider doesn't bother with him immediately. No, he doesn't even spare Vincent a glance as he reduces the room to rubble. The computer he leaves untouched, and Vincent can guess his intentions. He'd been tallying up before this happened, getting ready to report a bottom line for the end of the month.

He likely won't come to know what it is, but even if he did, he won't be able to communicate it.

As he watches on, he can only await his turn, and it comes soon enough.

If the spider expects him to flinch, he's in for a rude awakening. Nothing Vincent can see coming has the ability to scare him - the only thing he fears is the unknown.

"I only want one thing," is what he says, but Vincent isn't impressed. This is a boy - he knows it is, however the stories portray him. The suit he's wearing is a sign of his inhumanity to some; they look like tights to Vincent.

"Your men - who are they?"

Vincent scoffs as best he can, and his lip curls into a scowl.

"I got many men," he answers.

The spider approaches him, steps light and careful. It's too quick for Vincent to make out, but the hand he feels at his throat cuts off the air supply completely this time. His heart has started the clock.

"The men who crushed her hands… who shattered her ribs… your men."

Head swimming and vision spotting, he can't make out an answer, but neither does he want to. Vincent won't protect his men because of loyalty, but because the spider doesn't kill. It's been his one weakness, and many have exploited it successfully. Vincent won't give an inch. He has principles.

When his neck is released once more, he chokes and heaves but welcomes the air all the same, even if it burns on the way both in and out. Only, without an answer, he isn't privy to oxygen for long.

Something is different about his grip this time. It's different, he thinks, because he can't see anymore. Noise would leave him, but he can't produce any. He has little feeling left in his hands.

On the edge of unconsciousness, there's almost relief, but it doesn't come. He thinks maybe he's dropped to the floor, or maybe he's been hit, yet can't make out which. He can hear his blood pounding in his ears, and all he has left for function in his throat is desperately trying to quell the burning of his lungs.

Gasping for breath on a Sunday night is not how he wants to go out, but now he can't talk. His tongue feels numb.

Though his lips mouth the names the spider wants, nothing comes out.

Just as feeling comes back into his hands, he wishes it hadn't, because he can't do anything to release the pain of bones breaking. He can't even scream.

"That's how it feels. That's what she felt."

His right hand follows, and for a moment it feels like his heart has stopped, but it doesn't last. It keeps going, and so does the agony.

"She couldn't scream either. They crushed her throat."

There are other noises he can't make out, and his eyes aren't focusing. There's color, but no shape. He doesn't know how much time passes, but for once, when he hears the spider talk again, he isn't certain of his future.

"You can't write. You can't talk. You can't see. I know you can't see, so you can't even point them out. But I'll ask again: the men - who are they?"

Even through his pain, it strikes Vincent that the spider isn't really looking for an answer. If he knows he can't provide it, then he's asking just to ask. He's asking as an excuse. He's seen men lost to rage before; they look for reasons to do what they were always going to do.

And as he tries holding himself upright on his elbows, he's got half a mind to crawl away. This isn't worth it. He's got to -

A weight on his back pushes him down bluntly, and his chin connects with the floor. Maybe some teeth break or maybe they don't, but he can taste metal now, and it makes it even harder to breathe.

"Were you there?"

Vincent finds himself shaking his head without even making the decision to do so, noises escaping that resemble only in vibration what he might've said with a usable larynx.

"Are they here?"

They are. They are, but so are seven others, and he can't point them out. Bennie's here tonight, but Bennie wasn't there. He had no part in it. He can't sell him out.

"Do you want to see what else they did?"

Vincent shakes his head again. He remembers some details, but overall he knows what he sent them there to do. It was only by happenstance that the woman survived, so no. Vincent doesn't want to see.

"…'ere… 'ehre'…" he rasps, blood dribbling down his chin.

"Here?"

He nods.

"Where?"

He can't think anymore. To be quite honest, he wishes he were unconscious instead of gasping and wheezing for air. Whatever the spider wants to do now, he should just do it instead of stalling.

But nothing happens for what feels like the longest time when one has only their ears to anticipate an event. Vincent waits, and waits and continues wondering, but no more words disturb the peace.

He's alone.

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.

.

The months that former cadet Jimmy Larson spent imagining his first crime scene appear to have been for nothing. All the time dedicated to fortifying his mind in anticipation of what he considered true police work would have been more useful in the search of a different career path.

He's been retching since he got here.

How do the ambulances have anything to do? Who in that warehouse would want to live?

He understands it's their job, but were Jimmy on the other side of this intervention, he would have quit on the spot. As it is, he thinks it would be disrespectful to everyone else doing their best to manage. Manage the revulsion, the renewed disappointment.

It won't be long before the hunt for Spider-Man resumes with vigor. After tonight, even Jimmy isn't sure he'll have any more reservations with regard to the wall crawler.

Many of his colleagues hold a personal grudge against him for repeatedly busting friends involved in racketeering and extortion, just by virtue of them hanging out in criminal hotspots. It's not inconceivable that whatever public opinion might look like, the police will never really accept him, much less view him favorably. Though they are not a monolith, they're more of a monolith than most organizations. There are codes, and there are incentives to adhere to them.

Now an officer, Jimmy knows what happens to those within the group who don't follow the dogma. He can feel eyes on his back, casting a wave of disdain he tries to let roll off without absorbing it. Defending Spider-Man cannot be done this time, he understands that. But his colleagues haven't forgotten the times he did, and seeing the distress on the rookie officer's face must bring them great satisfaction.

Jimmy isn't torn up about the mangled bodies, however disturbing. It's the loss of hope that makes swallowing difficult and standing tall an unreachable prerogative.

Nothing is left of the man he used to look up to. In just a few years, what has become of New York's symbol should scare even the most determined idealists. Jimmy has been slowly leaving their ranks in the last few months, but tonight sees the door slammed in his face. He can't defend the indefensible.

Of the eight people recovered by EMS, three were on the brink of death, dangling from the ceiling like an art installation conceived in a sadist's mind and spelling a bloody epitaph on the skin of their faces.

Murderers, was the message requiring delivery.

This affectation of justice seems much too personal to be in any way comparable to his previous crimes. Whatever happened tonight, whatever they did… Jimmy knows.

The hero may never come back from it.

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.

He's almost sure he's clean. The scalding water was serviceable enough to melt flesh, nevermind blood that had seeped into the lycra of the suit. In any case, he wouldn't dream of trailing any part of them into this room.

It's quiet. Peaceful. Void of darkness now that he's banished it.

The air feels different against his skin, against his clothes. It's been years since he was anywhere he wasn't supposed to be dressed like Peter Parker, and the cloth mask covering his face had to be dug out of an old suitcase he hasn't touched since leaving home.

He's breathing more heavily than she is, or at least it seems that way the closer he gets to the bed. Eyes catching on the wilting pink of the roses he brought six days ago, he pauses momentarily to remove them from her bedside. It feels wrong to leave them.

As he throws them in the trash, he notices for the first time the pattern of the vinyl flooring. There is nothing interesting about the beige and gray stains, but they're easier to look at while he gathers his thoughts. It's only her and the wind outside that he can hear the longer he remains unmoving.

One syllable harshly scrapes against his throat before he chokes it back. Time contracts and dilates irrespective of his wishes, awarding no relief. He tries again whenever his body allows.

"You're safe now," he rasps.

His eyes trail over the length of her forearm; the one closest to him isn't encased in plaster, but the jagged tear that starts at her shoulder and ends above her wrist is more striking. He can see the cruelty more plainly displayed than in a shattered bone.

"They're gone. Can't hurt you anymore."

It's a mistake he doesn't have control over, but his hand is now on the edge of the bed and he cannot retract it. His fingertips are only an inch away from hers, and if he focused hard enough, he could feel the warmth they give off. He doesn't know if he deserves to.

"I kept my… kept my promise. And you… you can wake up now."

If he dares look up, it's only once, and yet once is enough for his eyes to lock into place. His body reacts by tearing apart nerves that were barely holding on, and his left hand comes up to remove the mask before air runs out. Nothing happens despite his plea. Her eyes don't open like his mind said they would if he did the right thing. The doctor said she needed time and freedom to recover. He removed any obstacles that might keep her in this bed.

Whispered supplications leave his mouth dry and his eyes the inverse, but with each one he keeps hoping. A million ways to beg for redemption and he will go through them all, forwards and backwards. He just wants. He wants.

Peter startles himself into a sob. A tear slipped from his eye and onto her hand, splashing a dainty drop onto his own. When did he touch her? When did his fingers hover over hers? He stumbles backwards on legs not fully in his control, feeling weak for the shortest time.

It could level a city, this rage. It's tried. Peter is always the one devoured, yet so far he hasn't known it. A layer of isolation stood between him and the truth, and years spent avoiding his humanity dissolve as if soaked in acid. It stings. It burns.

He was begging to see her eyes, when until this moment he's put forth supernatural effort to avert his own. He didn't think anyone should look at him.

He doesn't want anything more. He doesn't want anything else.

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.

It isn't a surprise that they have everything required. A local watering hole for addicts like himself would abound in illicit supplies, priced at whatever the highest bidder is willing to pay. Peter's last reserves are depleted for a handful of items, and he hasn't been at work for long enough that the only thing keeping him employed is the kindness he's yet to reciprocate. Perhaps he should've kept thirty dollars and gotten Mr. Daniels an arrangement. Alas, he's now broke.

He wouldn't be, if he allowed himself to use common sense. Why pay for something with money that's going to be seized in less than ten minutes? He tells himself he doesn't know, but it's been harder and harder to lie recently, even in the privacy of his own mind.

He knows why. Watching the red and blue lights flashing in the pharmacy entryway from across the street is only the beginning, and as pain snaps a band around his head, the road before him has never seemed longer.

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.

The two remaining weeks of summer are devoured in a blink, and September continues stealing rest from Peter Parker. He doesn't mind, because there is an end to his obsession now, and he can almost taste it.

He's been staring at the purple substance long enough for his leg to fall asleep. There is nothing more to ponder, but something holds him back from accepting reality. He's succeeded, but his chest doesn't fill with pride like it once did. No rush arrives to carry him further down the planes of ambition, no wild aspirations take shape behind his eyes when he sleeps.

This victory is bitter. Whenever his mind wanders, it always falls to time. There is no changing the past, but the vial in his hands is definitive proof: things didn't need to be that way. None of the horrors that destroyed his youth had to happen. If only, if only.

He almost wishes it would fail, just to spare himself the pain he knows is coming. He almost wants to believe that living is meant to be a rigid thing, not subjected to his or anyone else's manipulation. But the truth reveals itself every hour he goes without the medication he's been dependent on. There are things that are true, and there are fantasies he's been suffocated by for years.

That he couldn't have helped Harry is a fantasy he's embraced in a frenzy. There was a way - it's peeking at him now from between bruised fingers, flowing peacefully inside the glass vial with every tremor of his hands.

The devastation caused by fear and guilt was never inevitable. It was Peter's selfishness that denied his former friend a chance to live normally, because he didn't want to create another Curt Conners. He didn't want the responsibility of dealing with those consequences, and consequences found him anyway. He's despised Harry for a long time. It was his face that he was seeing when delivering callous blows that more than once almost made him a murderer. Nothing's come as close as last month's events. No one has burrowed under his skin and made him feel deranged in the same way, but no one could have. He hasn't had anything of his to protect in a decade.

Gwen… Gwen used to be his hope. She used to be able to reset him whenever he malfunctioned, to reorient his moral compass whenever it strayed. She knew the right thing to do, and was more willing than him to do it if personal cost was involved. These days he won't even dare look at a picture of her. What he still remembers of her face is shadowed, and her eyes are never open. She isn't looking at him, and in his heart, embittered as it is, he knows that if she could, she'd look away. For her to see him like this would be the greatest shame.

Hold on to hope.

He denied Gwen her last wish, like he denied her father's.

Two weeks ago, he thought another promise would be reneged on through a sheer twist of fate. After all, how could he turn back time for her when he couldn't do it for the love of his life? It occurred to him on the night of his rampage, after shedding tears at her bedside - this wasn't about molding time so terrible things never come to pass. She doesn't need time, like the doctor said. Time can't provide solutions for tragedies. Only people can help by bearing the cost and sharing in the grief.

He'd take it all onto himself just so he doesn't have to walk in there with shaking hands and unsteady feet, but he's learning. He can't do everything all on his own.

This time, when the doctor is in her room, he's the one who taps at the window. He's caught her just after shift change, with sundown on his heels. It was the longest he could wait.

The woman proves difficult to surprise once again, but Peter's hesitation to meet her eyes has gone. He invites himself into the room, fully prepared to announce his intentions, but the doctor interjects.

"I thought you'd never come back."

It's a strange thing to hear, and he goes with the first instinct he has. He feels defensive every time he's in this space.

"I've been here every day."

Speaking truthfully is new to him, as is the way he tries watching her without suspicion. She's not that far away, but the room isn't that large to begin with. They are separated by the bed, with the doctor on the left side, doing what seems to Peter like nothing at all. What is she doing here? It's always the nurses doing the nightly rounds, and she doesn't appear to have a task at hand.

His body draws closer subtly, and he spots the name tag on her lapel. She didn't have one last time. Dr. Arnaud.

"Maybe you shouldn't be."

A familiar tension prickles at his jaw, and he does his best to force down the anger and let reality through. He doesn't truly care what she thinks. He only needs her help, and if she won't provide it, he'll figure it out. But, curiosity does invite him to ask.

"Why?"

"You've done enough. Don't you think?"

He knows what she's referring to. It's all anyone's been talking about since mid-August, and with the mayor's bid for re-election came a slew of vicious attacks by the campaign. The moratorium on his arrest at the beginning of Oswald's term was nothing more than a short-lived stint to appease a New York that still liked Spider-Man. He'd be lucky if regular people don't start hunting him along with police.

"I'm here to help."

The woman's furrowed brow and tough gaze are not assuaged by him producing the vial from a concealed pocket, nor is her presence less confrontational the longer he explains. He shouldn't be disappointed. She is a doctor, and injecting patients with foreign substances of dubious origins is at the very foundation of the oath she took. She will not help him, and it would've been a problem, had her assistance been beneficial to anyone but him.

The only thing he wanted her to do was be the one to press the needle into her arm. He doesn't think he can touch her again after the night when his fingers accidentally brushed hers.

"You can't just come in here and use my patient for an experiment you th-"

Peter interrupts her objections with a curt and near-hostile question.

"Will she recover if I don't?"

Dr. Arnaud's glare has little bite behind it this time. Despite her trying to uphold confidentiality, Peter knows that she knows - they're on the same page when it comes to understanding reality. There is no healing from this, not with medicine and not with time. This is her last hope.

"I won't have any part of this," she says harshly, but Peter reads the defeat in her voice before anything else.

"Fine."

"If this fails, and you make it worse, I -"

"You don't need to threaten me. If that happens, you won't ever see me again," he replies calmly.

Perhaps he was too nonchalant about this situation, but there was no other way to speak the truth. If the worst does come to pass, she won't see him again. Nobody will. This night may be the last one he has under the mask that ruined his life. This is Peter Parker's last hope too.

The doctor lingers for a few more moments that do nothing to steady his nerves. When the door finally closes, and he is alone with his fate, all at once a calm washes over his entire being. Time means nothing again.

Her face has healed of all swelling, he remarks with mild glee. It's only a superficial change, because the real trauma lies under the skin. The injuries she sustained have sunk too deep for modern medicine to reach, and even the treatments available for wealthy citizens can't heal this type of damage.

That she survived is remarkable all on its own. He'll meet the effort halfway and bring her back.

As he approaches the bed, he tries to imagine what she might've dreamed of this past month, despite knowing the state of her cerebral activity. If there is anything taking shape behind her eyelids, he hopes it's only good things.

Peter's breaths are heavier now that he's close, and his nose fills up with the scent of fresh shampoo. She's been here long enough that she had to be given a bath, but he doesn't like that her scent has washed away and been replaced by antiseptic. Nothing about these surroundings is welcoming, and her face in that bed simply doesn't belong. She can't remain here.

"You'll be okay," he whispers, a tremor in his voice that willed itself to the surface.

A rush of air escapes his lips as he touches her arm with gloved fingers. Even through the material, a live wire sizzles his nerve endings and rewires his brain to produce an involuntary smile. He's forgotten he can be gentle. He's forgotten that hands can do more than wreck and demolish. He's worked in construction for four years, and yet it takes a moment's touch to remind him life is an infinitude of perspectives.

"You'll be okay, I promise."

His words feel so small, resembling a prayer he hasn't uttered in years and wouldn't dare utter now that he's strayed so far from the right path. The needle finds the vein, just as his heart finds a way to drum an ever worse tempo. Seconds go by in a snap, and he retracts the syringe with care meant for things of high fragility. The room gets quieter over the next few minutes as his blood pressure stabilizes and no longer drowns his ears in anxious terror.

Silence.

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It happens at midnight.

Three hours of careful vigilance dissolve like sugar in ice water, but midnight arrives with a quietude interrupted. A feeble note at once gets louder. If he hadn't been listening with unyielding focus, it would have escaped him.

Her heartbeat has changed. Not in rhythm, but in strength. A minute, then two, then ten - they all pass without latency, without illusions. What he heard at first, he continues to hear. No change is registered by the machines she's connected to, but he trusts those less than his own ears. He knows what he's hearing, because he hasn't ever heard it before in another person. No one's heart beats that strongly in repose, except his own. They've reached the point of no return.

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.

It's raining.

Someone left the window open, and hefty drops grace the scorching pavement with relief it seldom finds. Summer rains never last enough to cool things down. If it's this frigid, it must be one of those rare July thunderstorms.

That particular smudge of paint was not there before. It only invites more determination to finally go through with the renovation project meant to be completed last year. Every inch of the popcorn ceiling must be scraped, lest she never forget the faces her mind conjures every night before bed. There are no faces yet, but it's likely because she isn't tired enough. It's also a lot brighter at this hour than usual, and sinister things don't have a chance to take hold in lit rooms.

A breath, then - several things happen with devastating overlap.

She sits up at once. The room isn't her own, and she doesn't know whose it is. There is no light source anywhere, but one is not necessary. Her neck is tilted at an unnatural angle, a definitive ache all around her throat. Her left arm is heavy, immobile.

It isn't raining. It isn't, but her ears won't stop telling her otherwise.

Something is wrong with the world. The panic in her chest flows beyond skin to infect the air, and it's in this state that reality finds her, splattering flashes of clarity over unfocused eyes. The arrival of her memories summons a buzz of rapacious intensity, consuming every effort to remain anchored in the present. Everything is too loud and bright to be subdued, smell and sound and rasping breath merging into discordant nonsense.

The neck brace comes off with a yowl. She hurt herself, but the relief is instantaneous as her mind stops playing a reel of disturbing apparitions. No sooner she starts to gather her bearings than a distinct sound draws her attention to the window.

Her first impression is soothing - this is a dream. It more than suffices as an explanation for the terrible ache in her arms and chest, and it also places the origin of the violent imagery firmly in her subconscious. It isn't real. She just had a long day in the sun, and as she'd been occupied with thoughts of him, it makes sense that he's now outside her window.

She should be careful. Every time she's had a dream where he appeared, she always woke herself up too soon. Nerves or excitement, the result was always the same: she gets close enough to make out the details on the fabric of his suit, but can never stop him escaping through her fingers. It's nice that he hasn't fled yet.

Now more calm, she removes herself from the bed despite the considerable pain of detaching the wire embedded in her right arm. The floor is too cold for bare feet, but the sensation of walking on needles is more curious than worrisome. Her calves are sore from rigid nodes that flare up and protest with each step.

She walks to the window in a breathless stupor. He is still there, unmoving and deathly silent. If she reached out, she could touch him - it's tempting, as dreams like this are hard to come by. She decides, instead, to say hello. She'd be speaking to herself, but it's no less interesting to see what may be heard back. Only, when her mouth opens and lips come together to form the words she intends to say, nothing resembling her voice comes out. She panics for only a moment, but remembers that things like this always happen when in the snare of such profoundly realistic dreams. They're all about nonsensical occurrences, and so far every requirement has been fulfilled: strange memories that are just a figment of her subconscious being most active, aches and pains that don't make sense, and a figure she's been wanting to see manifesting outside the window. Of course her voice is broken and unusable. Much like the desire to run away from danger in a dream is always met with numb legs, her voice has sizzled out into a whispered croak.

She wants nothing more than to speak to him, so why would it work?

As if ripped from the deepest confines of a mangled throat, a noise emerges that sounds enough like a greeting to relieve the fear of another dream ending without progress. At least this time, she has said hello.

The response is strange. Of all the things she expects him to do, getting closer is not one of them, and when he enters the room with languid movements, she watches in barely restrained awe. But then, he speaks - and it's like the oxygen leaves the same way he came in.

"I'm so… I'm so sorry."

Heart-wrenchingly young. No surprise that that's how she would picture him. But why is he apologizing? Why does her mind think he should apologize? If anything, she should be the one to feel weird, knowing that in front of her stands a figure she wrote about. At the time, she didn't consider that his eyes might flit across the text just like those of other New Yorkers. If this was real, it would be hard for her gaze to lock on so firmly.

He looks interesting up close. Taller than her, lanky and deathly still, her first impression is that he must be more solid than he appears. If she crashed into him right now, as the pain in her back implores her to do, would that be so bad? Somewhere in this dilation of time, she must have already decided - when else is she going to get this chance?

She steps into him with her eyes open, fearful of closing them when her heart begins a gallop. If she wakes up, it won't be before she's got her arms around him - a feat easier to brag about than to accomplish, as her left arm is still encased in plaster and her right won't obey commands as well as she'd like. Nevertheless, she's nothing if not persistent, and though awkwardly, the task is accomplished.

He really is more sturdy than he looks, but the speed with which his heart is beating makes worry flare up in her chest. How silly is she, that her feelings in the waking world translate so well even within the recesses of her mind? Of all things to be consistent about, caring for a stranger ought to be the least helpful.

"You should rest. There's still… there's a lot… you still have to heal," he says. His small voice is a booming echo up close, sending a shiver down her spine that makes goosebumps surge. Something akin to electricity buzzes in her ear.

Heal.

Her mind turns the word this way and that, trying to figure out its own riddle. Once more, the flashes from earlier return and she heaves a sigh against his chest. How horrible. She's never seen anything like it before, even in her most violent night terrors. One continuous narrative keeps playing in abundant detail, not stopping for any of the usual events that returned her to a wakeful state. All dreams, even the worst ones, have to trip and unfurl over something. Extreme fright is what usually does it. She wakes with a jolt, or a gasp, or some remnant of a yelp dying on her lips. In these images, though, nothing makes the violence stop - no plea, no pain and no amount of fear interrupts the brutality. Lying on her front, gasping for breath around the knife in her side and trying to crawl away on an arm that had been carved into with a different knife - she doesn't know why this sequence of events plays so vividly in her head.

Her dreams are never this detailed.

She can feel her cheek press harder into the intricately ribbed latex of his suit, leaving an indentation that stretches from chin to temple and making her warm all over. No. No, it's absurd.

This isn't real. The icy breeze that makes whatever she's wearing flutter against sensitive skin is not real sensation. The way she can feel her lungs expanding with each breath, the hypnotic scenery of dawn break in a strange room, in a stranger's embrace - none of these things can be real.

"Wake me up," she rasps, forcing her eyes to stay open and keep away the blunt vision of hands reaching for her neck. It isn't enough to feel a pair of far more gentle ones slowly caress her back. She repeats the coarse prayer with uncloaked misery, and each time it is met by ever-soaring desperation.

.

.

.

In matters of assuagement, Peter Parker is a few years out of practice. He hasn't comforted anyone in recent memory, and recent memory spans long enough to render his efforts frustrating. Despair is one more thing he cannot overpower by sheer force of will or wit, but knowing what is required of him on paper does not make providing it any easier. He needs help; this is too much, too soon and both parts of him are overwhelmed to the point of malfunction. She deserves better than his hushed apologies and reassurances. What good is promising she'll never come to harm again when knowledge of harm done is already consuming everything?

She thought she was dreaming, and for a moment after she touched him, so did he. Afraid to return any more than a fleeting gesture, he stood frozen for the longest moment of his life. Something important was happening without him. Or it had been, until, among whispered pleas and tears, three words plunged him into a barely faded nightmare.

Stay with me.

He's not left her side in two days.

Seeing her like this, Peter wonders if he did the right thing. It's not that he expected his blood would change anything about her mental recovery, but this is nowhere near a good start. Her body and her mind seem to have gone down different paths during the last forty-eight hours, and with the removal of the cast from her left arm this morning, she's fallen into an unnerving seclusion. It doesn't feel like she's there with him unless he's talking. He's been doing more of that than he's comfortable with these two days, but nothing brings her out from the confines of her thoughts. All things considered, she's done better than anyone could be expected to, at least according to dr. Arnaud, who elected to skirt around the details of her previous state and how it came to improve.

'This is your responsibility. You have to tell her.', she said to him. He failed to pick up on any vitriol from her words or her tone, and in the end, he was in agreement. He will tell her, in due time. Revelations of that magnitude would only serve to overwhelm her completely, and things are bad enough. The only saving grace has been the absence of a particular type of symptom, which he's been vigilantly looking out for whenever he wasn't thinking of what to do. She hasn't eaten much, and he can see in her thinning frame the results of an increased metabolism. She must be starving, but can't muster the strength to eat. It only reinforces the conclusion that he needs help; he can't do this alone. He can't. He couldn't do it for himself.

In any case, whether it be brief or extensive, recovery won't happen here. Last night, Arnaud warned him in hushed whispers that staff familiar with her case are beginning to wonder, and their theories don't stray too far from the truth. She can't stay here much longer, especially as there is now nothing left to treat but scars that can't be seen. As for the ones that can, Peter has seen worse, mostly on himself. However, he knows she likely hasn't, and once or twice he's caught her stealing glances at the mark that looks worst - the one spanning her entire right arm. The hospital gown covers only a small part, and despite the room being quite warm, she's spent the entire day with a blanket around her shoulders.

The thought sparks an idea. He excuses himself for one hour, and to keep it a surprise, he invokes personal reasons for departure. She doesn't protest, but she hasn't at any point, even if he can see her tense when he takes his leave. Her apartment is the same as the last time he was here, and he tries his best at the task he gave himself. It's hard not to feel invasive, rummaging through someone's belongings to hopefully pick out the things they need. Maybe, he hopes, the things that might cheer them up. He packs blouses and sweaters and a thousand different pairs of pants into a duffel bag he finds in the back of the closet, but though he understands those are not all the necessities, his hands don't dare venture into any drawers. These are big steps for him too.

Exactly an hour later, he returns with some renewed faith to find that perhaps he shouldn't have left in the first place. Alarmed to see the empty room, he drops the bag by the window and the toiletries he shoved inside unceremoniously clang together. Maybe he shouldn't have put perfume in there. The sound draws a response from the adjacent bathroom, and he relaxes upon realizing she hasn't gone far, only to tense back up when hearing the subsequent sniffle. A disaster. He isn't equipped to deal with this.

Peter knocks on the door with an almost feeble tempo, unsure whether he's trying not to startle himself or her. He fails at the latter.

"Are you alright?" he asks, and the words feel like he hasn't uttered them a million times before.

No answer comes, and the longer the silence stretches, the more his mind conjures ridiculous scenarios. What if the thing he feared has happened? What if he was right all along? He can't bear not knowing. Calling out again, he listens with care for any sound of abnormal distress. On his third inquiry, a few words finally loosen the tension in his neck.

"You can come in… um, if you want."

He opens the door with light hesitation, stepping inside tentatively when he sees that everything looks fine. She hasn't grown scales. Everything is fine. She sniffles again, wiping at her cheeks and straightening her posture before glancing at him in the doorway.

"They said I can leave today," she announces quietly, eyes meeting his only once.

The most she's looked at him directly was when she stood in front of the window, convinced she was in a dream and he was nothing but a figment of her imagination. Peter figures his own impression can't have been largely different. Seeing her walk was enough of a shock to the system. Her eyes boring into his soul for those precious moments where she was unaware of the truth made it all worth it. He doesn't like that she won't look at him the same now that she knows he's real.

"That's uh… that's good. You don't have to stay here anymore, right? No one likes the hospital. You can go home," he forwards timidly, still looking her over in case he missed something and the source of her distress is elsewhere. His attention is not rewarded, because immediately he picks up on a cue he dreads. She curls in on herself before the sink, chest heaving painful breaths.

"I have nowhere to go. I can't go back there. I can't," she gasps out between attempts to calm herself.

She's trying so hard, and he's the world's most colossal idiot. When did he intend to tell her? Each time he's seen her on the verge of panic in the last two days, he's also seen her shove it down forcefully, undoubtedly for his benefit. And each time, he got just a little closer to being as brave as he imagined himself to be.

Be brave now, his mind says, immediately followed up by a reminder to also be normal. Show a regular amount of concern.

"No, no, no, no - no, you don't have to go. You never have to go back there if you don't want to," he says in a soft tone, carefully stepping closer. The bathroom is small. The distance he has to traverse feels longer than it should.

"There is - there is nowhere else. There's nothing. I can't - I don't… I don't have anyone," she sobs.

His hand comes to rest over hers on the edge of the sink, and the touch is a momentary shock that lifts her eyes to his.

"Yes, you do."

With care not exercised in years, he turns her hand palm up, delicately lifting it higher and higher, watching the tears in her eyes slowly retreat. Only once he's brought their joined hands to the invisible seam at his clavicles does he feel true fear.

"You do," he says again for them both.

Nothing of what follows is in his control, but it couldn't happen any other way. It shouldn't happen any other way. So many times the fates of others have been in his hands, mortal peril beckoning closer, and so many times he's succeeded in steering it away that he's forgotten a quintessential truth: people are afraid because they want to live. They close their eyes, like he does now, and like Gwen did, because the bridge into the great unknown can only be crossed blind.

His face is cold on one side and burning on the other. Shallow breaths mark the passage of time almost to the second, until another shock pries open his eyelids. She's holding his face in both of her hands. The cold has gone completely.

"I'm… I'm Peter."

It's what he imagines the voice of someone who's never hurt anyone would sound like, but it came from him. It's with hands that have done so much that he's now reaching out to her, and the knowledge of it all doesn't spoil reciprocation. Somehow, she goes into him like he's someone from whom comfort is worth receiving.

"Hi, Peter," she mumbles into his neck, arms tightening around his middle. The gesture elicits an involuntary whimper that he muffles into her hair, and when his own arms have caged her in, something within him finally ruptures.

.

.

.

Hospital smells, especially when not dulled by the mask, have always left him queasy. For Peter, although no strong association exists between the institution and horrible life moments, he still bristles in the waiting area as though someone dear to him is undergoing surgery.

She's only getting discharged, Parker. Relax.

It's been eight hours since he last saw her. He showered, changed and scrubbed every inch of his apartment clean before realizing how all this could backfire in an instant and become the biggest mistake of his life. How did he ever think he could guarantee her safety in a place that might get blown sky high any one of these days? He's been far from careful in his pursuits, seldom watching his own back when returning home - or whenever. He hasn't had a reason to until now. His apartment is off the table until he can make sure it's not a target.

Still, he made a promise, and the clock flashes in warning that he has only minutes to ensure he keeps it. His thumb hovers over the screen until it starts shaking; no initiative without remorse appears to be the rule for this new self. He's aware of every sound echoing around the mostly empty place as the call goes through.

"Peter?"

He has to move the phone away from his ear at first. He doesn't want to believe he's almost forgotten what her voice sounds like. Sweet. Comforting. The voice he clinged to, the voice that chased away nightmares until he was old enough to be embarrassed about it. He's not heard it in months, this treasured blessing he failed to honor. He still has family. He has people who care, and a life to live. He need only reach out.

"May."

"Oh, Peter. Sweetheart, I'm so happy you called me."

May Parker is a saint. Every part of her is too good for words, and Peter hasn't any to express what he's feeling, but his eyes sting and his voice trembles as he takes another step.

"Aunt May, I need your help."

.

.

.

.

.

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Epilogue

For May Parker, this September morning is at once too short and too long. She's toiling away in the kitchen, her shift at work be damned. The entire world could be on fire, and she would still be where she is, because her house is about to feel like home again for the first time in years. She's chopped all manner of vegetables in a frenzy, unsure what to do with them now that she has an entire counter littered with ingredients. Which of her nephew's favorites should she make? There's no time for all of them. He's going to be here by twelve. The wait is too long to just sit around dilly-dallying, and too short for everything she feels she has to do.

I'm uh… going to stay for a while.

At least everything is clean. She can't imagine welcoming Peter home to a place that looks uncared for, especially knowing he won't be arriving alone. Utterly befuddled - she was and still is to learn that not only is her nephew alright, but he has a friend. Of course, the extent of this knowledge is frustratingly limited. Narrow insights spawn endless vexation, a colleague and fellow nurse elegantly told her before retirement a few months ago, along with a warning that she can't save every patient. May always takes advice with a grain of salt.

Goodness, she forgot to salt any of the food. Rushing to the table, she picks up the small container and almost makes it back to the stove before the doorbell rings.

"What?! It's only nine thirty!" she exclaims to herself.

It can't be him. Peeking her head out the kitchen door, she looks to the entrance, startled to find that it is actually him. Oh, this boy. He's going to make a fool of her and he hasn't even stepped foot inside yet. Her hair is sticking up every which way, and her clothes aren't as nice as when she put them on, but at least she has the wherewithal to remove the dirty apron.  The distance to the door is so short. She can see their outline through the frosted glass.

Her eyes get misty without delay once the door is opened, and her arms work by themselves to gather her boy and hold him close. He looks so different. His eyes frighten her for all the things they must've seen.

"Oh, sweetheart!"

"Hey, May," he says softly, and it's all she's wanted to hear after an entire spring and summer of hopeless heartbreak.

Pulling away so soon is something she only does because they aren't alone, and her manners have always overtaken her needs. To Peter's right stands a young woman an inch or two taller than May herself, with hair pulled back and a hood pulled forward that she reaches up to remove somewhat awkwardly. May has been trying to break the habit of looking at people until they become self-conscious, to moderate success. Her curiosity just gets the better of her sometimes. She could swear the girl looks familiar.

"Hello," May greets kindly.

"Hi, Mrs. Parker. Pleasure to meet you," the woman says in return, voice a little raspy and deeper than May would have imagined it.

"Please, call me May. What's your name, love?"

"Um - I'm…" she pauses to look to Peter in a wordless prompt. Whatever they're communicating to one another, May isn't privy to it.

"We should go inside. Got a lot to talk about. You remember what I told you on the phone?"

She does. She's been pondering the words since the call ended.

We both need some time to get better.

"Well, come on in, then. I have meatballs on the stove."

Peter pulls a face that for a short moment makes him look as young as May knows him to be. They both look much older than they ought to.

"May, it's not even ten a.m."

"Peter Benjamin Parker, you told me you'd be here at noon, so don't go blaming me for your change in plans."

A soft laugh breaks their little stand-off, Peter turning to the young woman with surprise. May's eyes catch the fondness on her nephew's face, memories surfacing of a time when showing affection used to come easily to him. Perhaps it's time for that again, she thinks. Seeing how careful he is with her as he guides her inside, May imagines the days ahead might be the most important in a while. Maybe, they might even be less dour than she anticipates them being, as she overhears an amused whisper intended for her nephew.

Benjamin. That suits you.

Yes, May thinks - that's always been true. And now, he's home.

- fin -

.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Your thoughts are always appreciated, and I hope you are all doing well.

[mggssocks]

Followed

Not My Gif!

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Content Warnings: None just fluff :)

Summary: Spencer makes an Instagram and stumbles across reader’s page.

Word Count: 1,899 words

A/N: This is Season 10 Spencer with Season 13 looks. Also, instead of it being Kate on the team, i put Emily instead because who doesn’t love the season 3-7 team? Also I might make a part 2 depending on how much this blows up. Honestly i’d be happy if i got one like. Anyways.. hope you enjoy!!!

masterlist // part 2 // part 3

It was 8:00 in the morning. Spencer walked in the doors of the bullpen to the bau. He sat his satchel down and began to settle in for a long day of work. It was pretty early so the team wasn’t in yet. Except for Aaron Hotchner who had gotten in an hour prior to Spencer and been in his office ever since. Apparently others had the same ‘get to work early’ mindset as Spencer. Spencer opened a case file but his attention was quickly whipped away due to the sound of the door opening. He sees Penelope Garcia with all her attention focused on her phone. Spencer quirked his eyebrows when she bumped into a fellow coworker and her attention remained on her phone while quickly mumbling a quick “sorry”. As she passed his desk, Spencer decided it would be the great time to speak. 

“Hey, Garcia.” Her feet came to a stop and her head snapped up at him. 

“Boy wonder! I’m so glad you’re here. I really need someone to talk to because if I don’t I’m going to explode!” She sits in the chair across from his desk. 

“Is everything alright?” He leaned back in his chair. 

“No… no everything is not alright. If anything.. everything is all wrong. Very very wrong. I-“ she takes in a deep breath “I was stalking Kevin’s page because the other day I seen him at the mall with another girl. And while I was 56 weeks down in his page, I accidentally liked a picture.” She explained, in a huff. 

“I’m afraid I don’t follow.” Spencer was even more confused now than before she started. 

“I liked a picture that he posted 56 weeks ago!” Her eyes were wide.

“How is that a bad thing?” His lips pouted as he’d never understand social media. 

“Ugh! Reid, you really need to get with the program and get you an Instagram. That means his picture was old and now he knows that I was looking at his page. You understand now?” She asked. 

“Oh. Yeah I understand. It’s bad that he knows you were looking at his page.” He asked as Prentiss, JJ, and Morgan had walked in. 

“Yes. And now I must go into the bat cave and wait for him to call or text me and ask what me lurking on his page was about.” She whined as she stomped her way to her office. 

“What was that about?” Prentiss asked, setting her bags down on her desk. 

“Uhh- rough morning” Spencer shrugged, still not really understanding the whole social media thing. 

“Hey do you guys have an Instagram?” He asked the three. 

“Yeah but I’m barely on it.” Prentiss answered.

“Same here” says Morgan as he takes a seat at his desk. 

“Yeah but I only get on to post the boys and myself sometimes” answers JJ. 

“What about Hotch and Rossi?” He asked.

“Yup! Rossi likes to post about his expensive wine and cigars. Hotch posts Jack every once in a while and a throwback Thursday.” JJ says. 

Spencer’s eyebrows furrowed for what seems to be the 100th time that day. 

“He doesn’t know what that is” Prentiss looks over to JJ.

“It’s something you post like an old picture of yourself every Thursday.” Morgan explains.

“Do you guys do that?” Spencer asked.

“I did last Thursday.” JJ pulls out her phone and opened the app. “This was right after Emily, Penelope, and I caught a guy who was trying to pick up Prentiss by pretending to be an FBI agent a few years ago.” She chuckled showing him a picture. 

Spencer takes her phone in his hand and examines the post. 142 likes. 57 comments. He clicks on her name which takes it to her page. 302 followers. As he scrolls, he sees a picture the team took a while ago and sees a little person profile thing the corner and clicks on it causing other names tagged to each individual team member. Except him. After he examined all of their profiles, he gives JJ back her phone and gets to work like the rest of them. He felt a little left out but he knew it was because of his own decisions and not his team. He liked that they didn’t press him about having a social media because they new he was more old school than anything. And it was ironic because he wastage youngest member of the team with the more old school habits. 

When Spencer got home he decided he wanted the social media app. The idea of being able to share with his friends and only his friends excited him. Being able to post about his favorite things for his friends to see without talking their ears off.

He opened his phone and went to the app store, typing “instagram” into the search bar. He followed the sites instructions as he made his account. Using a snapshot he took of his bookshelf as his profile picture. He sees the option to add the people in his contact list which was only his team, mom, and his mother’s caretaker. But everyone’s profile popped up and he quickly followed each and every one of them. Except for his mom and her caretaker of course. 

Soon enough, he got a follow back from Garcia, Hotch, Rossi, and JJ in that order. Morgan and Prentiss weren’t lying when they said they weren’t on often.

After two weeks, Spencer hasn’t posted anything yet, not knowing what should go on his profile. Morgan and Prentiss ended up following him back and the app ended up adjusting to his interests. Nothing but accounts about interesting facts, books, and doctor who. 

It was Friday night and the team had just got back from a case in Chicago. Spencer opened the door to his apartment and set his satchel down on the couch, exhausted. His mind wonders to get something to eat being that he wonders to get something to eat being that he hasn’t ate since before they caught the unsub. Which was about 5 hours and 7 minutes ago but he still needed to get something into his system. Spencer opened his fridge and sees 3 day old Chinese takeout. He shrugs and pops it into the microwave while looking for a book of his to reread while he eats. After he finishes dinner, he gets on his phone and subconsciously pulls up the app. He clicks onto his explore page to discover something else he likes. While scrolling, he sees a picture of someone reading and clicks on it.

765 likes

Yourfriend’sig whenever people ask me what to give you for your birthday or Christmas, I always tell them to get you a book or something green and it works every single time. Happy Birthday to my best buddy, @yourinstagram !

View all 84 comments

Spencer smiles and clicks the heart button and bookmarks it to look at later.  He liked the picture. Both the picture and caption reminded him a lot of his own love for books and the color green (hence his apartment). 

Once he got out of the shower, he brushed his teeth. He found himself subconsciously scrolling through his instagram bookmarks to find her post. He doesn’t know what it was but something about the picture brought comfort to him. As he brushed his teeth, he clicked on the post once again.This time, he actually clicked on your account. It was a private account with 186 followers. The bio read:

Y/N... bookworm.

Her profile picture consisted of a black cat surrounded by either a bunch of well taken care of plants or artificial ones. His finger hovered over the blue “follow” button. As he bent down to spit his toothpaste out, his thumb accidentally clicked the follow button. But he didn't realize so until he looked down again to see the “follow” button replaced with “requested”. His heart basically drops out of his ass. He quickly clicks the button again, taking back his follow. 

It was now one in the morning, Spencer laid in bed awake staring at his ceiling. Once again, he clicks onto the app. He scrolled down his timeline and saw a picture Penelope posted of one of her new desk animals with the caption “Got her at a thrift shop! Isn’t she cute??”. He saw that Hotch and JJ liked 45 other people. JJ also commented with two red hearts. Spencer likes the post and keeps scrolling. His thoughts wander to the post about the girl again. He’s never thought about a social media post this much since he’s created an account. He wonders what sparked his interest so much about this one. As he makes his way to the post, clicking on her account. Debating if he should follow her. She’s a total stranger. Do the others follow strangers? There’s no way JJ knows 302 people in real life. He mentally shrugs and presses the follow button. Requested. Again.

He swipes out of her account back onto the post now seeing that she commented on it.

yourinstagram thank you, bubs! ily to the moon n back <3333

It was commented thirty six seconds ago. Meaning she’s currently active. Again, Spencer’s heart sinks and he immediately regrets his decision. Going back and unfollowing her. He doesn’t know what to do with himself. He’s a mess. Over a stranger. But he feels like an idiot. Reacting the way that he did just because he saw that she was online. So he goes and follows her.... again.

After clearing out all of his apps, he turns off his phone and lays down trying to get some sleep before work in a few hours. His thoughts wander to her. What she was like. if she was nice or mean. If she was socially awkward or very outgoing. Before his thoughts could get too far into what she was like, he receives a notification from instagram. He opens his phone and clicks on the notification. His heart began to pound when he saw it.

yourinstagram would like to send you a message! 

He clicks on it.

yourinstagram You’ve followed and unfollowed me about 5 times in the past 3 hours. Is there something I can help you with?

Spencer completely forgot that other people got notifications and now he felt like some kind of creep.

spencerreid I’m sorry. I came across your friend’s Instagram post wishing you a happy birthday and i guess i got curious and wanted to follow you if that makes any sense. 

He felt so dumb. 

yourinstagram and following me once wasn’t enough for some reason???

spencerreid Sorry about that. I’m new to this whole social media thing and don’t follow any strangers. You are the first person I’m following that I don’t know in real life. Again, my apologies for the disturbance. I’ll unfollow you’re account If you’re uncomfortable with me. 

yourinstagram i just hope that you’re not one of my raging exes, someone trying to catfish me, or a psychopath lol.

Spencer smiled.

spencerreid Nope. Just me.

She leaves him one read. Spencer’s smile fades when he doesn’t see any three loading dots. She wasn’t texting him back. As he’s about to exit the app, he sees two notifications. 

yourinstagram has accepted your follow request!

yourinstagram has requested to follow you.

********

I hoped you like this!!! If this blows up,i will do another chapter!

[bts-hyperfixation]

Never Such A Blizzard Before

This is real long for a drabble, hope you like it @madygswich

Also I've posted this like 3 times now, it does not want to show in the tags man 😭

Packing for the holidays was not your favourite thing. All of your flatmates had already left for home, and from what you could tell the rest of the dorm had cleared out too. So naturally you did what anyone would do when they thought they were home alone… you turned up your Christmas music as loud as you could and danced around, clearing the rest of your mess from around the communal spaces. You were midway through a tango with the mop when you spotted him watching you from the apartment opposite yours. His nose is scrunched from the giggles you can’t hear through the glass. Heat rises to your cheeks as you quickly abandon your inanimate partner and duck into the safety of your bedroom. Of all moments for Jeon Jungkook to notice your existence, it had to be this one.

Jungkook was fairly well known around your dorm as the quiet cutie. Everyone wanted to talk to him, but he tended to stick to a fairly small friendship circle, much to all of the girls’ dismay. He was stunning. And there he was laughing at you.

You go to the turn your speaker down when it cuts out of its own accord. Frowning, you attempt to get it working again, but its no use. Then you notice the lamp on your desk had also gone out. Before you get a chance to test any of your other appliances, there’s a knock at the door. An equally puzzled looking Jungkook is now at your door. You open it for him to come in.

“Sorry to intrude on your… dance class? But nothing in my apartments working and you are the only other person I know is still here.” He states

“Yeah, my stereo and lights have all gone out too.” His brow furrows.

“Right okay, I’ll call the accommodation office. Hopefully, someone will still be there, and we can get this sorted soon.” Jungkook takes out his mobile and you take the chance to look at him up close. His new undercut does wonders for his jawline, the soft curl just adding to the effect. His lose-fitted black jumper and black skinny jeans suit him well, a signature style you’ve noticed. Despite his good looks Jungkook didn’t seem to like bringing too much attention to himself. Unfortunately, by concealing himself it just left more people wondering what was underneath. You are brought out of your thoughts when he scoffs at his phone before putting it back in his pocket.

“What did they say?” You ask trying not to stare any longer.

“Powers out.” You roll your eyes at the blunt answer.

“Did they say how long?”

“Nope.” He says popping the p. “They didn’t seem to give a shit to be honest, looks like we are just going to have to keep ourselves entertained until it hopefully comes back on its own.” He shrugs and starts looking around your apartment. “I’m Jungkook by the way, your Y/N right?” he sits himself down at your kitchen table, swinging his legs on to the chair next to him.

“Um, yeah Y/N… Aren’t you supposed to be going home for Christmas?” you moved to feel the kettle and are relieved to find it’s still warm. “Drink?” you try to avoid his gaze as his eyes follow you around the room.

“I’ll take tea if you have it… but, yeah I’m going home but not for two days. My family aren’t even home right now so there wouldn’t be a point. Why are you still here?” it really feels like his eyes are going to bore a hole in the back of your head as you busy yourself.

“My family all work running up to the holidays, if I went home, I’d just be alone for the next week, at least this way I get to be alone without my mom yelling at me to wake up as she leaves in the morning.” You shrug and try not to dwell on it any longer. Placing the tea in front of Jungkook, you take a seat opposite him before taking a sip of your own drink. You savour the warmth in silence for a little while. Every so often one of you will catch the other looking, he starts pulling silly faces when you catch him, making you giggle in return. Eventually you find your way into an easy conversation, you tell him about your course. He listens like he actually cares about the mundane inner workings of your course work. You return the favour, asking intricate question about his film course, the only difference being you find his genuinely interesting.

“You got a pack of cards, and some torches?” He asks, sitting up right.

“We’re at university… of course I have a deck of cards, as long as you don’t mind the beer stains that is and I think there is a big torch in the place” You point to a cupboard by the door and he fetches them back.

“If we can’t use anything electronic, we might as well do some good old fashion gambling” there’s a mischievous glint in his eye as he shuffles the deck. “How about strip poker?” the look on your face must’ve been quite the picture as he starts laughing immediately. “Okay… how about alcohol? We can bet sips and shots, that’ll help warm us up too.” You nod and leave the room.

You return with a bottle of vodka, lemonade, and two red solo cups. You watch as he pours a dangerous amount of liquor into both cups followed by about a thimble of mixer. For someone who kept to himself so much, he sure was eager to get drunk with a stranger. You snatch the lemonade from his grasp and pour more into your cup. You start with blackjack, a civil game, 1 or 2 sips bet at most. You can’t help but giggle at the face he pulls trying to swallow his almost straight vodka. You then switch to schlumpf, a game with six rounds: the first four involve guessing the next card in the deck, the fifth is trying to get rid of those cards, the sixth involves only the person with the most cards - they must face the pyramid (climb up four layers of cards without turning a face card).

You find yourself fairly tipsy after a few rounds. Fairly tipsy and extremely cold…

“Hey, did we check if the heating worked?” Jungkook seems surprised by your question.

“No… we really should’ve huh?” the boiler is hidden in a cupboard in hallway, you rush from the room to check.

“Nothing” you sigh “Heating’s broken.” You call behind you, just to find Jungkook had come with you. You nearly smack straight into him as you turn back towards the kitchen. Your lips a hairbreadths away from his, tension building between the two of you. He glances at your lips and then back at your eyes, asking for permission, but you’ve already lost focus. Something catches your eye out of the large window and the end of your hallway.

“OH MY GOD!” you pull back from him a rush to look outside. He lets a frustrated breath out through his nose before following you to see what was going on. “It’s snowing!” he watches you as you watch the snow, admiring the adorable grin that has taken over your face. He takes in the way your eyes sparkle with the light from the streetlamps reflected in them.

“Wait what time is it?” he asks, suddenly aware of how dark it’s gotten outside. You hadn’t noticed the world dimming around your games. You glance at your watch and your eyes go wide.

“3am…” you look up at him and notice how close he is again. Stood directly behind you, if you took half a step back, you’d be in his arms. “Did you want to stay here… I mean it would be warmer if we stayed together… I mean if you want…” you stutter through stupid excuse to try to get him to stay the night.

“Yeah, you know what that seems like a great idea, sharing body heat or whatever.” His nose scrunches in the cutest way possible and he wraps an arm around your waist. “Anything to stay warm.” He whispers into your ear making you shiver. His embrace is gone as quickly as it was there. “Do you have enough blankets? Or do you want me to fetch mine? We could make a little fort to protect us.” There’s no way you’re turning down that offer. You settle in your bedroom and give him the torch and your door keys so he can go in search of more bedding. You sit there wrapped in your duvet a staring out the window and the settling snow until he comes back with more pillows than anyone should ever own in hand. He has also switch into a plain white t and grey sweats, a look classic enough to make anyone hot under the collar. You try not to focus too much on his pj’s focus the torchlight on your building site instead.

By the time you’re finished with construction, you are exhausted. You don’t really think about it as you cuddle into Jungkook amongst your mountain of pillows and blankets. All you know is you are cosier than you have ever been.

When morning arrives, you are all to aware of who you are snuggled up with, even more aware of his morning wood poking into your back. You wriggle a little, trying not to wake him, but he just sleepily pulls you back into him. You resign yourself to your fate and instead revel in the warmth his body provides.

“Good morning” he mumbles sleepily kissing your hair before realising where he is and who you are. “Oh um… sorry… that was weird.” He then swivels his hips as he realises what position you are in. He doesn’t, however, release you from his embrace. “Apparently I just can’t help myself around a pretty girl.” You feel the deep blush that creeps up your cheeks and try to hide it in his chest.

“It s’okay.” You mumble into him. He chuckles at your reaction and strokes at your hair.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah.”

“Look at me?” you pull your head back from your hiding spot and tilt your chin upwards, only to have your lips met with his. Slightly stale from sleep, but somehow still amazing. It doesn’t help the shyness you had been feeling, and it definitely doesn’t help the situation going on his sweats. He pulls away all too soon for you. “So… was that okay?”

“Yeah… yeah that was okay.” You’re a little breathless as you answer.

“Cool… so I’m going to go brush my teeth but, do you want to continue this when I come back? Or I can just not come back… completely up to you… although I do think it’s going to be really cold again today, and it did seem to work better with two people for heat and…” you cut off his nervous babble with another quick kiss before peeling back the covers and letting the cold air in.

“Continuing sounds great, but you better hurry because you’re going to get cold real quick, and if you think I’m going to let you back in here with cold hands, you’re dreaming.” You tease, gaining confidence in his sudden lack. His bunny smile shows as he leaps out of bed, practically running from your apartment to his. While he is gone you brush your own teeth and find your condoms (it’s been a while). You peel back the curtains a little and are shocked to find the snow still going strong. At least two foot covers sparkles on the floor as the blizzard continues.

You scramble back under the covers when you hear footsteps approaching. He flings back the duvet making you squeal as he straddles you and places cold hands under your shirt.

“What did I say about cold hand!” you cry as he warms them on your stomach.

“You said you wouldn’t let me back in… but I’m not in, I removed the blanket completely. Although I am now seeing the floor in that plan” he drags the duvet back over your bodies.

“It’s all well and good putting the blanket back now, but I’m already cold.” You pout.

“Oh… let me help you with that.” He dips down so his body covers yours completely. He kisses you deeply, much more passionately now that he is minty fresh. He waits until you can’t breathe properly and then moves on to trailing his lips along your chin and down your throat. “Willing to get a little colder to get a lot hotter?” he asks signalling to the hem of your shirt. You bite your lip and nod. “God your hot.” He bends to kiss you once more before doing away with the unwanted fabric. His hot tongue circles one of your nipples, playing with it until its stiff. When he’s satisfied, he moves to the other side doing the same while one of his hands plays with the abandoned peak.

You moan as he bites sensitive skin. He doesn’t leave you long to revel in the pleasure. His fingers dip into your waistband a tug. You lift your hips and allow him to shimmy your pants low enough to play with your core. His left-hand pinches at your clit as his mouth returns to yours, swallowing the desperate whines that tumble form your lips as he teases two fingers at your entrance.

“Tell me how much you want me babygirl.” You arch into his hand at the pet name.

“So…o mu...ch” you pant, not able to manage more. But it’s enough for Jungkook as he pushes both fingers into you. The stretch burns so nicely as he scissors and thrusts into you. It’s difficult to focus on him as he shuffles down your bed for his mouth to join his hand.

“Look at me Y/N” his voice is low and commanding. You use everything in you to meet his eyes as his lips wrap around your clit and suck. The sensation makes you squeal. His response is to go harder. The heat in the pit of your stomach grows until you feel like you might explode. Your orgasm overtakes you, coating his fingers and chin as he continues his endeavours. You ride his fingers until you come down, gasping hard from the release.

“Can you take me?” you meet his eyes and find nothing but lust within the deep brown. You nod enthusiastically, reaching for the condom you prepared. He chuckles as he slides his own pants down. He rips the small blue packet open and slides it easily on to his hard length. You kick your pants the rest of the way down your legs while he sorts himself out, freeing up your movement. Unable to hold back any longer, you wrap your arms around his neck and drag him back down to meet you. Your lips lock together, tongues exploring one another, you can still taste yourself on him. It takes you by surprise when he enters you.

You let a low whine as he gets thicker the further in he pushes. Your nails claw into his back at the small “fuck” that leaves his mouth when he’s all the way in. You wriggle your hips under him, desperate for friction and he groans.

“You keep doing that and this isn’t gonna last long.” He bites down hard on his lip and tries to focus on controlling his thrusts. Each smack of skin is accompanied by a grunt, the speed dizzying as you feel your high approaching for a second time.

“Jungkoo..” you whine as you clench around him, just to be left empty as he pulls out of you. You pout at the loss, sad as your high disappears.

“Turn over baby girl.” He helps you flip and presses back into you with little warning. The new angle feels amazing. Never having felt so full. He pulls almost all the way out of you before pushing hard all the back in, hitting every nerve you have on the way. He supports your quivering form with his strong arms. You’re not sure when he abandoned his shirt, but you are pulled back against his sweaty chest. Your high builds back up so fast you nearly get whiplash. This one even more intense than the last. He drops your spent body back on to the mattress and grabs onto your bum for purchase as he goes harder than ever chasing his own high.

It doesn’t take long for him to cum, buried deep inside of you. It takes him a moment to recover, resting his hands on your back before pulling out and tying the end of the condom.

“I almost don’t want the heating to get fixed if this is going to stay an option.” He says collapsing next to you and recovering you both with the blankets.

“I’m sure we could do this again even if the heating comes back on you know…”

Masterlist

[babaleshy]

I'm Autistic

Because this will likely be a lengthy, wordy post about my self-diagnosis as Autistic as well as all of my experiences regarding Autistic traits, I'm going to leave a "read more" link so that you're not scrolling for ages just to catch up on your feed.

Ah, I see you've clicked "keep reading" or "read more" or whatever this site has it labeled as, now. You don't get to be mad at how long this is or how much of a waste of time reading this may be to you because you consciously clicked on the link. Therefore, I am exempt from taking responsibilities of eating up any bit of your time, including the time you've wasted reading this disclaimer.

So... Yes. I am. And it's a self-diagnosis right now.

You're probably thinking that I saw a Tik Tok clip, checked out a page on WebMD, and decided that I'm Autistic (this is in reference to a Tik Tok I saw last night that nearly made me spit out my drink because of how painfully accurate the "what people think self-diagnosis is vs reality" clip was). That is, of course, not the case.

A few years ago (likely 2018), I don't recall what it was I read online, but it made me go, "Oh wow, that makes so much sense to me," in regards to a neurodivergent trait. However, this was then I thought I had ADHD. My husband has ADHD, was diagnosed with it as a child, and because his dad forced the doctor (this was like, in the late 90s, early 2000s I think) to put him on Adderall and Ritalin, my husband does not remember 3 years of his life because he was a drooling, zombified mess. Why did his dad do this? Because his grades were bad. Did this help with his grades? No. Did his dad take him off the meds because he didn't get the desired result? Also no. My husband wasn't even informed on what ADHD was. He was simply told he had it and to take these pills. It wasn't until he (my husband) read the label saying that it could increase the risk of heart issues that he cussed his dad out and flushed all the pills down the toilet. Up until very recently, he wasn't sure if he actually had ADHD until he saw a YouTuber who was actually diagnosed with it display the exact traits he had.

But he didn't see this YouTuber when I thought I had ADHD, so my husband couldn't exactly relate, plus I didn't want to trigger anything with him on the subject.

But the more I researched, the more I realized I could be on the spectrum. It wasn't until 2019 that I was printing out articles, trait lists, etc. to highlight and put into a folder (which is thick and nearly bursting with what I've printed out to have a hardcopy of records highlighting the traits that I have, including traits my husband and my mom see in me) that I realized "I could have Asperger's."

Of course, I no longer use that term after finding out it was named after a n*zi, and I began to embrace the term "Autistic" instead.

But the thing that triggered me into going, "Wait, so it's not ADHD that I think I have, it's Asperger's?" was, like my husband, seeing a YouTuber talk about their traits and experiences. I had identical struggles, myself. (Through this same YouTuber, I also found out I'm greysexual, too! There's a name to describe my experience with sexual attraction! Yay!)

There are a lot of VERY SPECIFIC TRAITS Autistic people experience that aren't mentioned by the YouTuber or in anything that I've printed out and highlighted that I have found through various Tik Toks that I have personally experienced that simply further solidifies the fact that I'm definitely on the spectrum. When I showed the Tik Tok I mentioned earlier (I don't remember their name) to my husband last night, he was wide-eyed because the description of how that individual self-diagnosed themselves WAS EXACTLY WHAT I DID WORD FOR WORD HOLY SHIT.

I was already convinced I am Autistic, but each time I read Twitter threads of people's experiences with their Autistic traits, each time I watch Tik Toks or certain YouTubers share their experiences, it further solidifies that yep, I'm Autistic.

What's amazing is that my husband is very supportive. I'm extremely lucky to have married him. I've been a terrible masker but he loves me anyways. He never gave me shit for my meltdowns and tried to help me out, thinking I was just horribly overly stressed. Now that he knows why I've had the few outwardly noticeable meltdowns that I've had throughout our years together, he knows how to help me more, now. And while he's figured out my traits and what issues I have, knowing that I'm on the spectrum helps him make sense of why I'm like this, and he can help me accordingly whether it's to prepare for something in advance, help me calm down, etc.

(I should also add here real quick that there's a high chance I have OCD as well, but less of the compulsive actions and more of the obsessive thoughts, but I'm not entirely sure just yet if this is the case. I'm actually hoping to see someone about this but with the pandemic, I don't know when that will be.)

Now... onto the traits and experiences.

My Traits (that stand out with neon lights)(Will copy word-for-word a trait my mom or husband see in me and it will be typed in a different color.)

Having a folder that has all of my research I've obsessively looked up, printed out, highlighted what I saw in myself with one color (yellow) while highlighting what my mom and my husband see with another color (pink). I'm also using this folder to make this list as a reference because I sometimes forget certain traits I do have are because I'm Autistic. (I'm 32 as I write this, so when so much of what you think, do, and experience that you see is normal for you turns out to be an Autistic trait, it takes a while to get used to it and thus remember that because you haven't had a label for it your whole life.)

Despite being goth/punk, I dress as comfortably as I can. Textures aren't a very big issue for me, but what feels like strangulation of my body tends to be a problem. I cannot handle having the cross seams of pants feeling like I have a chopstick slowly impaling my vulva, or I can't stand how tight some shorts are that they pinch my hip joints.

I've NEVER spent much time grooming my own hair. It's either tiring, I"m impatient and want it done NOW, or both. This is why I have a Tank Girl haircut (all buzzed except for bangs), where I can basically "wash and go." (Husband does my haircuts and dyes and he's kickass at it.)

Eccentric personality; may be reflected in appearance.

Is youthful for age, in looks, dress, behavior, and tastes.

Usually a little more expressive in the face and gesture than male counterparts.

"May not have strong sense of identity and can be very chameleon like before diagnosis." (This resonates with me in the form that I never saw myself in ANY fictional character other than Tank Girl. My husband agrees with this opinion, but he also says he also sees a lot of me in Caulifla from Dragonball Super.)

I enjoy reading and films as a retreat, often sci-fi, fantasy, children's (sometimes), can have favorites which are a refuge.

Uses control as a stress management (like routines, rules, rigid certain habits, etc.)

Usually happiest at home or in other controlled environment.

I've been seen as "sensitive" by some, and mocked for crying a lot by others.

I struggled with social aspects of college and have 2 partial degrees.

Often have trouble holding a job and finds employment very daunting.

Slow at comprehending at times due to sensory and cognitive processing issues.

DOES NOT DO WELL WITH VERBAL INSTRUCTIONS; MUST BE WRITTEN DOWN

Special interests (I'll get into these later).

Emotionally immature and emotionally sensitive.

Anxiety and fear are predominant emotions (some of which might be due to possible OCD).

I do have some sensory issues such as visual processing issues at times, certain sounds, certain smells, food I think, and issues with sunlight and my goddamn retinas.

Moody and prone to bouts of depression. Both of my parents as well as my husband have described my personality as reminding them of a cat.

Mild to severe gastro-intestinal difficulties (some of which could be due to endometriosis, btw).

I stim a little such as leg-bouncing, foot-waggling, some hand-flapping, some bouncing, the "spine-shimmy," joint-cracking, or playing with my ears.

Prone to temper or crying meltdowns, sometimes over seemingly small things due to sensory or emotional overload.

Hates injustice and hates being misunderstood, which incites anger and rage.

Prone to mutism when stressed or upset, especially after a meltdown, likely to stutter and may have a raspy voice.

Words and actions often misunderstood by others.

Perceived to be cold-natured and self-centered; unfriendly.

Very outspoken at times, may get very fired up when talking about passionate/obsessive interests.

Will shutdown in social situations once overloaded but generally better at socializing in small doses. May even give the appearance of skilled, but it is a "performance."

Doesn't go out much; will prefer to go out with partner only (aka my husband).

Will not do "girly" things like shopping.

Takes relationships seriously.

There's a bit on this chart (some of you probably already know by know what chart I'm using here) that says due to sensory issues, one would either really enjoy sex or strongly dislike it. I'm in the former camp complete with a pretty high libido.

Often prefers the company of animals.

So there are the traits that REALLY stick out like a sore thumb. These come from a site regarding female Asperger traits or however it's labeled as. I have plenty more from two other articles I printed out with lots of highlighting, but the chart actually sums a lot of the definitive shit quite nicely. At some point in this list, I could tell I went "fuck it" and copied many things word for word anyways since I'll be talking about experiences later in this post.

But it was this chart that I'd discovered that I started to realize that I really am on the spectrum, and to triple check, I asked my mom and my husband if they saw any of this in me. The traits typed in green are ones I wasn't sure of and had to ask them if they saw it. I'm not always aware of how I am, who I am at times, etc. I also didn't want to lie about it, so I had to get second and third opinions.

Despite all of this, only very few people that know me IRL know about me being Autistic. This is because I was heavily bullied growing up and since I haven't exactly left my hometown, I really don't want whoever stayed in the area as well to either have more fuel and re-enter my life that way, or try really hard to relieve their guilty conscience and demand that I forgive them or some shit. I also don't want "Autism Mommies" to come at my ass either asking that I help their kid (I'm not fond of children so that's not happening, plus ableism is what fucks a lot of Autistic people over regarding of age but they won't take that for an answer) or that because they---a neurotypical person---have a child who's Autistic, then that means they know all about it and because I'm not exactly like their child then I can't possibly be Autistic. It's just a whole mountain of shit I don't wanna get into.

This next bit will be split into 2 parts. One will be my special interests, and the other will be my experiences from my past that are prime examples of being Autistic long before anyone in the common public knew what Autism actually was.

My Special Interests (Both Forever & Temporary)

The following list will have my special interests but with indicators in parentheses as to whether they are forever-interests (as in, I never lost interest in the thing) or temporary (meaning, it was short-lived be it by weeks, months, or a few years). This will be in chronological order, meaning: the order of which these have appeared throughout my life.

Barney (temporary; helped me skip preschool and become honor roll student in kindergarten though)

Halloween (forever)

the color orange (forever)

dinosaurs (forever)

Donkey Kong Country esp. for SNES (forever)

animals (forever)

Godzilla movies (forever)

monster movies (forever)

Pokemon (temporary; I still like Pokemon, but it's not as hyperfocused as it used to be)

Digimon (temporary; same situation as with Pokemon)

Dragonball Z (forever)

Sailor Moon (on-and-off)

Ultimate Muscle (Kinnikuman Nisei) (forever)

Freddy vs Jason movie (still like, but the hyperfocus was temporary)

horror movies (forever)

Transformers (temporary)

Dark Knight movie (temporary)

Harley Quinn (temporary)

Lobo (temporary)

X-Men (forever, but only certain universes, mainly the 90s cartoon, and the character is always Hank McCoy)

neon-colored stuff (temporary; kind of some sort of semi-rave/techno phase)

books (forever; this was when I discovered it's "legal" to enjoy books if you "aren't smart"; I may explain this logic I had later in the post)

sex/sexuality/sexology (forever on the first two, temporary on the last one)

BDSM (on-and-off)

feminism (temporary in regards to doing research and educating myself; I still hold the views I've developed as a result, just not obsessively researching this topic anymore)

anarchism (forever)

ecology (forever)

Pleistocene epoch (forever)

goth and punk stuff (forever after discovering what these things are all about for real compared to when I was in high school and had no idea how to ask, who to ask, or where to look this stuff up at in rural Ohio)

Hellblazer (temporary)

Serbian heritage (on-and-off)

bats (temporary)

arachnids (forever)

teratophilia (forever; finally have a word to describe this damn kink)

gardening (current; unsure)

Russian language (current; unsure)

DIY things (forever)

Towards the end, it may not be in the proper order thanks to slowly losing my damn mind being cooped up mostly in my room on this farm since moving back here in 2014. The two that are "current;unsure" are ones I have a hyperfocus in right now, but I don't know if this will be temporary or not. I certainly hope not, especially considering how useful these things will be. And while I have gardening as one of them, I haven't properly begun yet because I get empty promises from my parents where they claim they'd help me, not to worry about it, then get irritated when I ask where the help is and they suddenly can't give me the help when I told them I needed it.

I should also note that I don't exactly have an encyclopedic knowledge in a whole lot of these interests that are forever-interests because I'm normally exhausted just trying to exist with minimal trouble from people. I'm hoping this will change. The things I know I have an almost encyclopedic knowledge in would be Dragonball Z, animals/ecology, and... a-and that's it. That's really it. That's all I've got because Dragonball Z was so profoundly different compared to other cartoons I've watched in the 90s that it was a wonderful escape, and I grew up around animals, taking care of animals, and watching nature documentaries. The stress I went through growing up has caused my memory of some of that wonderful animal knowledge to be lost and what could be re-gained may be easily forgotten again, hence why I need to narrow my focus for what I'd like to be an ecologist for. While I love paleontology, I want to help the living world's ecosystems and environments, too. I'd love to go back to school for this stuff now that I'm more informed of who I am and what I want in life (as opposed to being forced to pick a college major while still in high school while I'm just trying to survive the concept of existence).

In terms of collecting things pertaining to my interests, a common pattern you'll see me have is a very slowly growing Hank McCoy collection. This is largely because there isn't too much stuff made regarding this character. (There also isn't much stuff I can find that involves Piccolo, Cyndaquil, Donkey Kong, giant ground sloths, etc. that isn't already snatched up by other fans.)

Now, I'm going to get into the list of experiences. Some of which will talk about my special interests, but I also really want to talk about my struggles, too.

Experiences That Screamed "I'm Autistic"

In gradeschool, I was friends with someone who probably wasn't actually a friend and her mom made her hang out with me since I didn't really have any friends. She has told me several times that she didn't want to be my friend anymore with some kind of hostile catty smile, but I just.. I wasn't getting it. Because there was a smile. Why say that with a smile? After all we've been through? Then she's back to being my friend the next week. She really wanted to hang out with the popular girls (yes, there were cliques in 90s American gradeschool) and has done countless things to sabotage our friendship such as telling me Barney is a fake, Donkey Kong was a real gorilla who hung himself, etc. And I believed all this shit, too, in an attempt to still be an acceptable friend. She even told me that I couldn't be a witch because I liked toads so much (toads were the only wildlife I excitedly interacted with in my back yard on a regular basis).

I love Halloween for many reasons, but one of them (aside from my favorite color being involved) was the fact that it was acceptable to wear a mask. I love (and still do) the idea of covering my face because I feel less "naked" to the world. So this pandemic had a small plus for me in the form of mask-wearing outside of Halloween has become somewhat more acceptable.

In 5th grade, another classmate who had more obvious Autistic traits and was diagnosed with Asperger's at the time was an asshole to me. They would constantly give me shit and bully me for whatever reason. When I finally took a stand, the teachers on duty at recess called me to the bottom of the hill, forcing me to look at them WITHOUT allowing me to have my hands up to block the sunlight that hurt my eyes, and were able to manipulate me into "admitting picking on so-and-so for no reason" because I chased them around the playground where a group of girls (the same cliquey assholes the former "friend" wanted to mingle with) had to group-carry me away. They're the ones who snitched and they gave me those same hostile smiles. That's when I learned that not all smiles meant good things. I was 10.

I sometimes "lose the ability" to ask for help long before the "help" I ever got in any circumstance was just me being met with frustration by whoever is trying to "help" me or I'm met with "sorry, can't help you there. (The former being with homework or school work, the latter being with going to authorities about bullies.)

Growing up, I was never girly (or girly enough) and I've tried to, but I failed miserably. My special interests would roar through and because it was too odd or different or annoying, it gave other girls fuel for bullying me with.

Regarding the lack of being girly enough, I was at a pool party with the former "friend" mentioned earlier and she started this "game" where she and the other girls would leap into the pool saying, "I love you, Leonardo!" This was in 4th grade and in reference to the Titanic movie, which at that point, I'd never heard of, because I was too pumped for the latest Land Before Time sequel. So when I leapt into the pool, I said, "I love you, Raphael." All the girls were confused, asked who that was. I then asked, "Aren't we playing Ninja Turtles?" Because the only Leonardo I knew of was a fucking Ninja Turtle, goddamnit. Who let you brats watch that shitty romance film anyways? Boring as fuck.

Aside from the occasional weekend visits or sleepovers at the former "friend's" house, I didn't get to socialize much, so I would spend most of my days (especially in the summer) watching what was on TV or watching from our very large VHS collection. During which I would make mental notes on how certain characters acted or what they said and try to remember that to mimic them in a social setting, which would be out of place because I'd be so focused on mainly the dialogue that once it prompts me to say the thing, they don't respond how I expect them to and then I'm at a loss.

I was very ignorant of music and didn't even know the concept of independent or underground bands existed. Plus, rural Ohio is a cultural wasteland. Otherwise, I would've gotten into metal, goth, and punk way earlier in life. So I thought that bands that existed were because television said so.

Speaking of an odd logic... If it was taboo or bad to talk about, I thought it was illegal. Thus, I thought any knowledge about sex was illegal and that it was supposed to happen "naturally."

I also thought that, because I wasn't considered as smart by my peers, some teachers, and even as such in the form of an insult from my parents from time to time (despite what they claim NOW), that also meant I wasn't allowed to enjoy books, because only smart people are allowed to enjoy reading. So therefore, it would be illegal for me, a not-smart person, to enjoy reading a book. So I had to focus on the pictures because if I enjoyed reading, somehow everyone would know and then I'd get into trouble.

I also thought it was illegal to talk about periods.

I socially struggled BADLY when I got to middle school because my brain was like... 4 years behind? How the fuck do people know all these bigger words? Or complex issues? This was also when I had to start suppressing ALL urges to cry because at that age, I'm not "supposed" to cry over everything. So I still, to this day, suppress it to the point of guaranteeing inducing a headache. Because I've always caught shit for crying.

Middle school was when I met an oppressive "friend" who was obsessed with me because she had a crush on me and was rather controlling of who I could and couldn't talk to and got pissy if I got close to making a new friend. Because I was desperate for a friend that wasn't like the former "friend," I allowed this abuse into my life.

High school was me just trying to survive. By the time I got home, I was too mentally exhausted to enjoy anything short of watching TV or whatever was rented from Blockbuster.

My brain was still feeling like it was years behind, and I struggled to keep up with whatever was supposed to be something I knew about, including the concept of masturbation.

Like I said earlier, anything sex-related might've been illegal to talk about, and because masturbation was still kinda taboo, I feared I'd get in trouble, but my teenage hormones compelled me to do it a LOT. It consumed my free time almost like an escape, a form of stimming, but I was shameful of it to the point of suicidal thoughts.

The former bullet was due to being raised in a christian household. My parents didn't have such views on sex like this, but I was afraid of being in trouble for asking, took to the internet, and caught some misinfo about how immoral it was. I mourned I'd be going to hell.

Speaking of religion, I thought it was illegal to change your religious beliefs, and there was only Judiasm, Muslim, and Buddhism outside of christianity (I'm Pagan, now).

While I was excited to get away from my parents presumably for good after high school, college was a new form of hell. The sudden, dramatic change in environment and lack of ANY preparation for living like an adult on my own caused me to mentally/socially/emotionally malfunction. I had outbursts I desperately tried to suppress, I felt stupid because everybody sounded smarter than me, I didn't actually want to go to art school but wasn't smart enough for anything else and never really bothered to better my artistic skills and thus felt like I shouldn't be there anyways, I struggled to fit in better, I had no idea how to function that certain habits such as neglect of my own dishes on my desk developed because I LITERALLY COULD NOT SEE MY OWN MESSES DUE TO THE STRESS I WAS EXPERIENCING. This was 3 or 4 long YEARS of this.

Attending art classes mostly run by very demanding (and demeaning) teachers while my art skills weren't up to par added to this stress on top of me not actually wanting to be THERE in the first place, just away from my parents.

I nearly ruined a friendship with a roommate because of my struggles. I'm not even sure if she is aware of my Autism because I'm afraid to approach her about it for some reason.

Plenty of times throughout my life where I'm loud and don't even realize it.

I've info-dumped on my parents, but right now they half or completely ignore me.

I've tried making eye contact, but it's like staring in the sun not in the sense of pain, but in the sense of by natural reaction looking away. When I force myself to make eye contact, I'm spending so much focus and effort into doing that to the point where I am unable to pay attention to what the person is saying. Instead, I stare at the mouth so I make sure I hear correctly the words they're telling me.

Each time someone is mad at me and gives me the silent treatment, and I inquire what I did to piss them off, they get madder because I'm somehow supposed to immediately know when I fucking don't. Then, half the time, they continue not telling me and I have to hear it from someone else. This further confuses me as to why they don't just simply fucking tell me.

I've annoyed people to listening to the same one or few songs over and over again. A lot (currently obsessed with the Sunset Overdrive and Tank Girl movie soundtracks).

I can "smell" the heat outside on a summer day.

I can smell other people's unique scents sometimes (especially when in someone's house; also experienced this in other people's dorms).

I can't remember what grade this was, but in high school, we went to some kind of space camp facility thing, and our class was split into two groups: one group was the group who was on Mars and ready to come home, the other was on Earth and can't wait to go to Mars. I was in the former group. My job in this little fun display interactive room thing was to examine the isotopes and report... uh.. I can't remember.. Report something that was off. Everyone else was dicking around with what they're supposed to do, and I was actually doing my job, and then said something, like I was supposed to, if I found something that was off (I don't remember the specifics). When the scientist who worked at the facility praised me on "saving the crew," I caught this look from the entire class a look I can't quite describe other than they didn't seem to like the fact that I did a good thing and was being praised for it instead of any of them (or they were shocked that a "dumb girl" like me could achieve this and get praise for it, I don't know.. hard to tell). This was a science class field trip, but despite this, I didn't have an interest in space, and still didn't feel I was smart. (Come to think of it, I think this was actually an 8th grade field trip, I can't remember.)

Just discovered this today: I'm actually very easily overwhelmed that could trigger a meltdown when I wake up. I don't know for how long until that point passes, either. But this could also be explained with how I've reacted to certain alarm clocks (the ones with the bells just induce pure rage in me). Either I will be on the verge of a meltdown or I'll have a fucking headache all day. Normally, I just wanna drink my coffee and either read or practice a little on Duolingo.

I don't always have enough room for a lot of info in my head for things that I like, so I have to carefully narrow shit down. Right now, I'm trying to figure out what to do about my urge to get my hands on some monster movies while making sure nothing else I've retained info for wanes. Not sure if this is due to stress or what. But apparently I have designated compartments for certain categories in my brain. If I get into monster movies, continue to work on my knwoledge on ecology and paleontology, and gain more knowledge about arachnids, that shouldn't impede on the "language" category, so whatever I learn in Russian will remain safe.

Interest "Webs."

I have what I'd like to call an "interest web." My special interests in one thing can lead me to having an interest in another. I care about nature, and I also care about paleontology. Paleoecology is something I'd like to dip my toes into. But because this all involves nature, I have an interest in botany (though it's still intimidating so I'm sticking with local native trees) and arachnids (after conquering my fears and learning more about them). So the web stops at arachnids there (no pun intended).

Back to ecology and paleoecology...

I have a major interest in the Pleistocene because it was just before we humans started writing shit down. Hints of that era echoes within our current environment, from the pronghorn being "unnecessarily" fast (due to miracynonyx, the "American cheetah," which is now an extinct cat) to avocados not seeding like they should without human assistance as well as the yucca trees (Joshua trees) going into retreat thanks to the absence of giant ground sloths.

But the planet is warming, and we could use all the help from plants that we get, especially when it comes to making sure that permafrost stays frozen. So there's this "Pleistocene Park" project taking place in Russia, and one day, if I get into the field of paleontology, I may want to chat with those involved in that project, but one can't expect every other country to know English.

There's also FROZEN PLEISTOCENE MEGAFAUNA CARCASSES BEING FOUND IN PERMAFROST, too.

On top of all of this, Russia's northern lands will become habitable for humans if shit hits the fan and the planet's mostly fucked, so it's still nice to know the language.

See how all of these interests intertwine? (It also helps that since I am of Serbian heritage but can't find accessible resources to learn the language and I wanna know a Slavic language that Russian is kind of accessible. It also seems to be the only Slavic language "commonly" found in colleges when it comes to foreign language courses.) This is why I call them "interest webs." Not sure if other Autistic people have them, but it's something that I have.

The second one could simply involve Halloween, punk, goth, monsters, and teratophilia with Halloween being the gateway because my favorite color is orange.

Just thought this would be a fun thing to touch on real quick.

My Sensory Traits

I do experience some sensory traits, but they're not intense like some people would assume (unless I'm simply not noticing how intense they can be).

I can "smell" the summer heat, which was something I thought everybody else experienced but I'm wrong.

My retinas hurt in bright sunlight despite not looking anywhere near the sun, which I also thought everybody else experienced.

Drinks taste different or off in some way if they're not in a particular mug, glass, etc. that the drink is supposed to be in. (I have certain mugs that I enjoy my coffee in, but the other mugs? They taste off. I can't explain why. I have ONLY TWO acceptable little tumbler glasses for orange juice.)

Breakfast food does not taste like breakfast food unless it's on this one specific plate from my childhood.

Dinner can be iffy on certain plates, but the safest go-to is the knock-off blue willow plates.

Lunch is acceptable on anything, but if I'm having simply a sandwich, it must be on a small plate.

I have specific forks I'd prefer to use because of how they feel in my hand, how the food-part feels in my mouth, and how the fork itself tastes.

Gotta have cinnamon in my coffee. I just do. It's not coffee without it.

I cannot fucking handle hair snippets of any size for any reason on my body. This is why there is a rigid procedure to where my husband must buzz my hair over a paper-towel-covered sink (to avoid clogging the drain) while wearing a particular tanktop Harley Quinn night shirt, and then I must shower immediately afterwards. During the haircut, my skin itches like mad like I'm being poked by the hairs directly even in places where hair snippets have never, ever gone.

I'm overly sensitive to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes.

Also cannot brush teeth with cold water because it's so painful (this was LONG before I had dental issues and persists to this day). Even my tongue hurts from it.

I'm picky as fuck with candy. Trick-or-treating was sometimes difficult because all I cared about was either orange-flavored stuff, or chocolate. Only specific chocolates, too (Krackle, Mr. Goodbar, Crunch, Butterfinger, Reese's, that was it.) Skittles were okay, but a lot of the baggies I got had a LOT the red ones and the red ones suck. Can't stand the other candies. (But my tastes have changed since then, and I opt for European chocolate from Aldi's as they are far superior, especially Moser Roth's 70% dark chocolate and Choceur's coffee and cream chocolate.)

Speaking of candy, the Whopper's Robin's Eggs tasted better than regular Whoppers and I will never be able to explain why.

Despite loving orange flavored stuff, I have trust issues when I see an unlabeled orange candy because there's the dangerous chance it could be fucking peach flavored. *gag* (I like real peaches, but the artificial flavored ones suck balls.) Due to my dental situation, I cannot enjoy very much in a way of candy, and the only artificial orange flavoring I CAN enjoy is through Vitamin D gummies... And even then, EVEN THEN I have to worry about the fucking peach flavors if I have to go with a different brand because we can't get our hands on a bottle from Simple Truth.

Artificial cherry flavoring is death.

The ONLY flavored medicine that was acceptable to me was orange (of course) and those dissolving strips that were grape-flavored that they don't fucking make anymore because fuck me that's why. Everything else was peer-pressured to do shots kiddie edition.

The different colored coatings on M&M's taste different from one another and I cannot explain why. It's very subtle, hardly noticeable, BUT I CAN TELL.

Peanutbutter is fucking amazing.

The smell of peanutbutter is fucking not.

There are these frozen meals my husband gets for days he doesn't have energy to cook and one of them (all from the same brand) smells like fucking hell.

My husband's Nissan Cup Noodle ramen overpowers my incense despite what other household members say.

I love incense, especially dragonsblood, "coffee time," pumpkin spice, raven, and rain.

All of the autumn scents or scents associated with autumn are orgasmic to me.

The smell of artificial cherry is death.

I would love to have perfume or body spray of Play-Doh.

I can compare smells of some places to others, such as the library branch I frequent smells like my gradeschool, as do SOME of their books' pages, and when my husband and I walked through this hall-like tunnel-like storefront in downtown Pittsburgh, I said it smelled like my grandma's basement, and he thought the same, so we're in aggreeance that all grandma's basements smell the same. Except for my Baba and Deda's. Their basement smelled like they actually still enjoy life and had their shit together.

Speaking of gradeschool smells, my gradeschool had two directions of classrooms, one led towards the gym, but the hall off to the side was carpeted, had some nice colors, and held 2 kindergarten classes and 2 first grade classes. That section of the building had its distinctive smells. The other direction led to the office, the cafeteria, and the hall with the 2 classes of grades 2 through 5 plus the preschool and the art/music class was. The smell was different in all classes EXCEPT for the music/art class, and I never went to preschool so I wouldn't know what that smells like.

ALL PRINCIPLE OFFICES SMELL THE SAME. HOW.

I could smell when my husband accidentally put in cinnamon when he thought he grabbed paprika in a dish that I liked. He was terrified of telling me. That was a happy accident and it became a permanent ingredient. He was mortified and shocked that I could smell his whoopsie in my dinner he made me.

I can also smell the cinnamon they use in Little Caeser's pizza crust. Yes. They use cinnamon. But I was the only one to notice.

Honey is like peanutbutter: it tastes amazing. But holy shit fuck that smell.

Gas stations smell like death, sadness, and questioning life's choices.

No two people's car interiors smell alike.

I can smell when it will rain soon, especially if it's about to storm.

I'm the one who noticed that hairy white oldfield asters smell like cake batter.

Dominant yellow filling my entire vision can be sometimes painful.

I used to be able to "hear" the color yellow in my head so much I thought yellow actually made a noise. It was a particular shade of yellow, and it made this Playskool toy-like clicking bell ringing noise, but really obnoxiously, almost painfully. I don't know how to describe the shade other than "cloudy pastel lemon?" It looked like the fucking lemon-flavored medicine I had to take as a kid.

My parents tried mixing in this cherry flavored death medicine in with my orange soda thinking I wouldn't know the difference but I did, so I dumped it down the drain and opened a new can because that can of Big K orange was fucking ruined.

Orange is wonderful to my eyes. But it's a hard color for me to find when it comes to getting things in a particular color. My back-up colors are red, green, and purple.

The sunlight hurts my retinas, even when I'm not looking at the sky at all, but the pain intensity increases the further I look up on a sunny summer day. This has been like this since childhood. Prescriptive sunglasses shouldn't be fucking expensive and should be covered by healthcare insurance.

I have to try really FUCKING hard not to stare at someone's muscles in person because ugh... Good thing I rarely see anybody who's well-built. (No really, this isn't even really a sexual thing, I'm so fucking fascinated and once I realize "oh, so that particular muscle looks like that from that angle", I get a glimmer of hope that I MIGHT be able to draw something humanoid since I suck at drawing people.)

Orange trees as so pleasing to the eye, and these are much more socially acceptable to stare at, lest I'm in person and the property owner might think I'm plotting to steal some (luckily I've never been anywhere near a place that grows orange trees).

Neon lights are amazing and I want them to come the fuck back. I swear, stores were so much more enjoyable of an environment when they were common. Such lights improve my mood in a way I cannot describe. I'm no longer in a hurry to get home if I am in the presence of neon lights.

Sunny days during winter are painful because the sunlight reflects off the snow. I'm painfully blinded if I look outside or go anywhere.

I cannot handle the sight of someone having boogers/snot hanging from their nose, not the sight of someone vomiting, nor the sight of an syringe needle piercing flesh.

I cannot handle the sound of alarm clock bells. I have woken up in a rage and been in a bad mood I try so hard to suppress for a good portion of the day. If I hear an alarm clock bell now these days, I wanna take it and chuck it across the room regardless the time of day or if I'm already awake. It's not so bad if I hear it from a video. In person? That's starting a war with me.

Children crying or screaming (especially babies) are almost painful to me and triggers my fight-or-flight response.

The reason why I was the loudest mellophone player in marching band was to drown out hearing the fucking trumpets. And I did; I was louder than the trumpets. (I quit marching band my sophomore year but for different reasons.)

Much of the music from the 80s that gave it that sound that definitely said it's from the 80s is very pleasing to my ears.

I love punk music for its messages, lyrics, and energy, but goth always puts me into a headspace where I feel like I'm at home; I'm at peace and want to cuddle the monster under my bed.

However, some punk songs can hit deep or strong and live rent-free in my head, such as Anti-Flag's "Racist," Bikini Kill's "Rebel Girl," and Skarpretter's "Nazi Scum."

One particular artist's voice I cannot get over because his is the first voice of any kind that makes me wanna fan myself is Peter Steele of Type O Negative. My favorite song, however, is "All Hallow's Eve" because his voice, the subject, and the lyrical content.

I'm able to hear something off in the oscillating fan my husband likes to use before he notices it.

I'm the one who can hear coyotes at night (doesn't help my mom wants to blast westerns to drown out the world and I'm back here in my room away from that shit though).

I can hear the branches scraping against the house, gently making creepy noises before I realize what the fuck it is, BUT NOBODY ELSE HEARS IT.

I can recognize the call of a robin because we had so many at the house I grew up in, and nobody else in this family fucking noticed.

I tend to notice the sound of the rain over all the house noise first.

I don't like tight clothing, which is why I prefer bralettes because my tits hurt.

If I could, I'd go without the bra because the band can sometimes suddenly feel tighter than it actually is, but because I have large nipples, I kinda need that bra for a bit of protection.

Shorts can be tight around the crotch, hip joins, and lower belly region, and that's a big no-no for me.

I'd prefer baggy pants, honestly.

Can't have tight footwear. No.

The seam at the top of socks or tights hurt my pinky toes if the whole sock/tights shift that way.

I already covered the hair snippet thing so since this is the sense of touch, another body hair thing is I kinda don't wanna shave my pits anymore because they are extremely itchy when they grow back. HAVE to shave my crotch because if I don't it gets horribly itchy, and my thick, fast-growing hair weaves into underwear, gets caught in pads, etc.

Ah yes. Pads. I hate them, but they're far more acceptable than a tampon or a cup because I have vaginismus.

Certain fabric textures are itchy as hell. There's a black shirt I have whose collar and cuffs are gorgeous but I have to wear something underneath to avoid feeling itchy.

Winter is hell for me here in the midwest, as I am very susceptible to the cold to the point of pain, especially in my fingers and toes. I become very slow, too. I feel like I can't get warm enough most of the time.

Air conditioned places in the summer feel almost similar, so I don't always wear shorts if I'm expected to go into, say, a Walmart with my husband to pick up everything. I'll shiver.

(We're gonna get into TMI territory here.) Can't masturbate by hand unless I've got a nitrile glove on because my brain only focuses on what my fingers are touching more than what my cunt feels.

Can't have any sex with my husband without anything brighter than low-light because things can be visually distracting in the room, or lights can suddenly feel way too bright to me. (Halloween string lights or those LED rope lights with adjustable brightness features and colors are excellent for this situation.)

In Conclusion

This is all that I've figured out so far. None of this hit me at once as a realization when I figured out that I'm Autistic. This took a while to realize it, and the realizations were mostly at random times through examples of other people experiencing it on the internet or through me going, "Huh, is that an Autistic trait?"

There may be even more that I'm currently unaware of or have forgotten to type here.

I apologize for how extremely lengthy this was. This took all day to type because of having to get up and do other things that needed to be done. One of the reasons why I really wanted to type this is because it's much easier to organize this on a computer, and I am absolutely shit at organizing files on my computer.

Unfortunately, while my husband is wonderful in supporting me, my parents aren't exactly all that great at it. Especially my dad, who is either vaguely dismissive or outright "forgets" that I'm Autistic (he honestly just... doesn't care, and tries to make things convenient for him at the expense of others most of the time). My mom... I'm not real sure. There are times where she seems to remember and others where she doesn't. I'm honestly wondering if they don't like knowing that I'm Autistic because that means my brother would have been as his traits were far more obvious than mine.

I hope that whoever is questioning whether or not they're Autistic has found this helpful at least in the sense that it would point you in the right direction on where to go next, but I would highly recommend checking out online Autistic communities, as that's where I've discovered that I'm on the spectrum.

[hellzeldagirlsfanfic]

Can I get vergil/f!reader where vergil walks in on reader trying on lingerie, and decides hes gotta ruin a few pieces... right this second?

Here you go Varen! Sorry it wasn’t right this second <3.

***

Her heart was in her throat as she raced up the stairs to her apartment. As someone who doesn’t have a lot of confidence, (Y/N) was eager to return to her home as she didn’t want any of her neighbours asking what she had in the box.

Her heart only calmed down once she was in the safety of her bedroom. The nervousness in her heart turned into giddy excitement.

Her order from the lingerie website had finally arrived. (Y/N) had ordered three sets bra and panties with some garter belts as she wanted to spice up her sex life with her boyfriend, as she felt comfortable with him to do stuff like this with him.

She opened to the cardboard box to pull out the first set.

This set was a set brought because it was cute. The bra was halter-neck stayed that tried around the neck. There was a stylish hole in the centre revealing the side of breast with a single lilac criss-cross ribbon in the hole. The set was violet with white and lilac passion flowers across the fabric.

(Y/N) stripped herself of her clothes and underwear so she could try on her new set. The halter-neck was comfortable and fitted her breast nicely though the thong felt a little bit uncomfortable since she ever wore a thong before. (Y/N) put the garter belt on to complete the look.

(Y/N) pushed her burgundy hair out of her face so she could admire the lingerie on her body in the floor-length mirror. The set looked nice on her.

“This piece is too cute,” (Y/N) said to herself. “I might just keep this one for myself. I don’t want it getting ruin,” She added.

“How selfish of you,” Her boyfriend told her.

The (H/C)-haired woman let out a scream then spun around to see him standing at her bedroom door. She hadn’t been expecting him to come over today.

“Vergil!” She exclaimed. “What are you doing here!?” She asked.

“I wanted to surprise you but it seems that I am the one with the surprise,” He stated, stalking over to her.

(Y/N) felt like a little rabbit facing down a hungry wolf.

Vergil wrapped his arms around (Y/N)’s waist pulling her body closer to him. His hands run up and down her curves.

A heavy blush appeared across her cheeks. She felt her body become hot under the blue devil’s lustful gaze.

“Why would you want to hide this from me?” He asked turning her back around to face the mirror again.

His hands groped her lace-clad breast, pinching her nipples through the material of the bra. (Y/N) let out a shameless moan at the stimulus.

“You do look lovely in it,” Vergil compliment her, running his hands over her body again.

“Thank you,” (Y/N) stuttered.

Vergil pulled the cups to the side of (Y/N)’s breast so he could tease her nipple more.

(Y/N) moaned as Vergil played with nipples. She leant forward holding onto the mirror in front of her as her boyfriend pushed his knee in-between her legs, rubbing it against her cunt.

Once the devil could smell that his girlfriend was wet enough, he removed his knee from in-between her legs. (Y/N) watched from the glassy surface as Vergil undid his belt to his trousers. When he pulled out his hard cock from the confines of his trousers he rubbed it against her clothed entrance before removing the thong from it. He then rubbed his cock against her Labia to gather up slick before penetrating her.

Vergil gripped her hips and roughly thrusting into her.

It didn’t take them long to cum. (Y/N) first with Vergil following shortly behind her.

When Vergil pulled out of her, (Y/N)’s legs felt like jelly after the fuck so kept ahold of the mirror until her legs felt fine again. She could also feel Vergil’s cum leaking out of her causing her to grimace.

Then she heard the sound of clothes rustling. (Y/N) turned around to see Vergil removing his vest and coat.

Vergil gave her a wicked smirk.

“I don’t know what you were worried about,” He gesturing to her lingerie. “I didn’t ruin it,” He said.

“Oh, shut it,” She told him as she fixed her bra and thong.

She then watched as the half-demon pulled out a second set of lingerie from the box.

That set was the one made from admiral blue lace.

Vergil handed it to (Y/N) with a silent command.

The (H/C)-haired woman stripped herself of the violet lingerie to put on the blue one that her boyfriend had handed her.

The set consisted of the bra and a thong. The bra had straps hugging the outline of her breast with lace in the centre, covering her nipples. The thong was a similar style but the lace only covered her lower lips. There were also small bows decorating the thong and bra.

When (Y/N) turned to face Vergil again she could see that the lust in his eyes hand intensified.

“How does it look?” She shyly asked.

The devil growled at her. The growl causing her to flinch. She knew that the growl wasn’t one of angry but one of approval.

(Y/N) looked down to see that her boyfriend was already semi-hard again.

“I’m not ready for you yet,” Vergil told him. “But you could help with that,” He smirked.

(Y/N) knew what to do.

She got onto her knees in-between Vergil’s legs. (Y/N) took his half-hard  cock into her hands. She took the tip into her mouth and gently sucked on it. As she sucked on the tip (Y/N) ran her tongue across his slit, earning her a growl of pleasure. The (H/C) wrapped her hand around his shaft pumping as she sucked on the head. When his cock had become hard enough she slowly started to take it into her mouth.

Vergil gripped her (H/C) locks forcing his cock further into her mouth. Then when he was closer Vergil pulled her mouth off of his cock.

(Y/N) looked up to her boyfriend to see what to do next. He pulled her off of the floor into his lap.

(Y/N)’s legs were on ether side of his with her hands resting on his shoulders.

Vergil ran his fingers over the her clothed cunt. He teased her clit through the thong. He then moved the thong aside and lend back. (Y/N) then wordless lowered herself onto Vergil’s cock.

(Y/N) bounced herself on the cock as Vergil grips her hips and watched.

It didn’t much to make (Y/N) cum again but Vergil held on. He continued to thrust through her orgasm and into her third when he released his seeds into her again.

(Y/N) cling onto her boyfriend burying her into his neck as she came down from her orgasms. She groaned as he felt move. She watched as him pull out the last set of lingerie out of the box.

Her face became hot again as she realise what set he was holding.

“This one now,” Vergil ordered.

She took the lingerie piece and dash off to the ensuite bath. Her behaviour cause Vergil to raise a eyebrow. He also wondered why she had rushed to her bath to change and not change in her bedroom like how she did last time.

The half-demon wait patiently for his girlfriend return.

When (Y/N) returned for the bathroom, her face was as red as one of Dante’s coat. Her arms were covering her chest.

She slowly shuffled towards Vergil, ending back up in-between his legs again.

“What wrong, my dear?” Vergil asked noticing the change in her behaviour. She had become shy and bashful.

(Y/N) just looked down at the feet and didn’t answered.

Vergil let out a sigh. He reach out to her arm to remove them from her chest. When he did he was greeted by the site of her perk nipple. He took in the site and realise that the lingerie set that she was wearing was a quarter-cup bra.

The lingerie was mainly made up of black lace with pink silk on the middle section of bra and cup but lace went over it. The panties and garter belt, the also notice she had added stockings to the outfit.

Vergil gripped her hips bringing her closer to his body. He took one of her nipples into his mouth. He sucked on that nipple whilst his hand played with the other one. When he grew bored with that nipple, the devil kissed his u her chest and to her neck. He litter her neck with kisses, bites and hickeys slowly moving across her neck then traveling back down to her another nipple.

All the time (Y/N) was moaning and whining.

She took Vergil’s hand and guided it to her aching entrance. His finger graze the wetness of her cunt.

When he realise that he had uninterrupted contact to her cunt he throw (Y/N) onto the bed. Vergil open her legs to see what he felt. The panties that she was wearing had no crotch, leaving a uninterrupted access to her inmate part.

The half-demon watched as his seeds leaked out of (Y/N)’s cunt. He let out loud growl before thrusting into her. He angle her hips so he could hit her g-spot as well as using thumb to massage her clit.

It wasn’t long until (Y/N) was cumming for her fourth time.

Vergil pulled out whilst his girlfriend was still cumming. He pulled her face to his, bringing her into a passionate kiss.

As they kiss, Vergil moved (Y/N) onto her side. Her back was pressed against his chest. He lifted up one of her legs when she had clam down from her orgasm, he thrusted into again.

He thrusted into her gently. His index finger slowly tracing circles around her clit. His another hand played with her breast.

“Such an adventurous girl, aren’t you,” Vergil whispered into her ear. “Buying such a dirty clothes to please me,” He added, nibbling on her ear lobe.

“I’m happy that you like them,” (Y/N) moaned.

“Very,” He replied as kissed her behind her ear.

Vergil picked his pace, thrusting into her faster. It didn’t take long for them to cum. Vergil continued to thrusting his hips to milk (Y/N).

Their breaths filled the room as the couple lay there coming down from their pleasure. Vergil removed himself from (Y/N) for the last time. He place a kiss on her forehand.

“You did a good job,” The half-demon praised.

(Y/N) kissed his cheek.

“Thank you,” She said. “I’m really glad you like the lingerie sets. I was super nervous about trying it since I’ve never done anything like before,” The (H/C) confessed.

Vergil lightly kissed her lips.

“I am honoured that you were comfortable to do something like this with me,” He said with tiny smile on his lips.

The two of them cuddle for a little bit longer before Vergil carried her of to the bath room get clean.

[prismacolor19]

Artwork By @zed-sabre

I love this so much! This is making me so sad at seeing Jason like this and seeing him so confused. This artwork inspired me so much that I ended up writing a fanfic about it!

I will edit this tomorrow. I am still not fully done with this fanfic and I have to edit it, but it’s my first full fanfic I have written! My thoughts were on a roll and this fanfic didn’t take me and that long to write and I was so happy when I found out I could finish it the next few hours and post it! I have some other ones that I am almost done with that are longer but, this is my first full one and I was too exited to wait to post it! I still need to come up with a title.

I know a lot of fans have the head canon that not all of Jason’s scars were erased from the Lazarus Pit, especially his autopsy scar but, I love that they were erased So I am interpreting that some of these these scars Jason is seeing are being imagined in his head.

Jason gets out of the shower after showering off from patrol and is about to grab a towel around himself when he suddenly he sees himself in the mirror and stops in front of it and stares at himself as he notices his scars. He then begins to look at and trace the scars he has on his wet body.

As he looks at and traces his scars he thinks about what Joker did to him and then he imagines the scars he used to have from when he was Robin, the scars he got from what the Joker did to him. But the scar he is thinking about and imagining on himself the most, is his autopsy scar. He thinks how he deserves to have those scars.

He thinks back to one of his last few conversations he had with Artemis.

“When I was made whole again......when I stepped from the Lazarus pit......I was upset when I realized all my scars were healed over. From the crow bar. From the bomb. They were my scars. I earned them. Does that make any sense?” RedHood And The Outlaws (2016) #50

He then remembers what Artemis told him that night.

“Of course. Scars are the stories our bodies tell about our lives.” (RedHood And The Outlaws (2016) #50

He remembers feeling so comforted after hearing those words from her and feeling relieved that someone understood him and didn’t think he was crazy. Now he can’t help himself from thinking how he deserves to have those scars marking his perfect skin. He knows his skin is not exactly perfect because he has gotten a lot of scars since he came back to life but, it’s better now that the old ones are gone.

He thinks about how if he still had the scars that were erased on top of the ones he has now, it would be an ugly mess on his skin, and they would be his permanent reminders for his mistake and for the things he has done since he first came back to life. These reminders and these scars would be his punishment he deserves for bad things he has done. Jason then thinks about not for the first time how he still sees himself as a monster and can’t stop himself from thinking that he deserves to have his skin looking like that.

Jason then notices how dark and deep his thoughts are spiraling and thinks about how disappointed Roy, Kori, Bizarro, and Artemis would be if they found out Jason was thinking all of this about himself. Jason knows deep down he is not monster anymore and that he needs to get over what happened to him. He knows he can’t forget about what Joker did to him, but he knows he can’t let what happened fill his thoughts.

Jason then grabs a towel, drys off, goes to his pj drawer and puts on his favorite red sweat pants, goes over to sit down on his bed, grabs his phone on the night stand and calls Dick, who is staying at the manor for the next few weeks. He most times calls Tim, Babs, even Bruce or one of the others but, tonight it’s bad. Not the worst thoughts or moments he had before, but still it’s more dark and he doesn’t want the others to be exposed to it.

He knows they aren’t little kids and could handle it but, their nights are already so dark and if he can prevent them from being exposing to more darkness tonight by just little he will do everything he can to prevent that from happening so they can have a more peaceful sleep without worrying and thinking about him and the things he would have told them. He knows Dick is going to tell them all he went over his place because he was having one of his bad nights and that they will all talk and comfort him tomorrow like they always do.

Dick: Hi Jay

Dick already suspects something is wrong Jason can hear it in his voice. Dick knows that when Jason calls this late night it usually means something is going on. It’s not that late right now it’s 2:30am so Jason knew Dick would be finishing up his reports or sleeping. From the rustling sounds Jason hears as Dick moves his blanket and sheets he knows Dick was about to go to bed and that makes him feel better about calling him when he did. Jason hates it when wakes Dick up even though Dick has told him it’s fine and to call him no matter what time it is.

Jason: Hi Dick

Dick is standing up and is walking over to his closet to grab his overnight bag he always has packed for when his family or fiends call him saying they need him to stay over. From how sad Jason’s voice is Dick knows Jason is not ok and his having a bad nights. Jason and his thoughts get like this sometimes during the day too. His thoughts become dark and deep, he is confused about himself and his life, and sometimes just wants to give up and do nothing but Jason being like this and thinking these thoughts mostly happen at night.

Dick: How bad is it Jason?

Jason: It’s bad right now.

Jason: I am having a hard time controlling the thoughts I think of.

Dick: Where are you now?

Jason: I am at my main apartment siting on my bed.

Dick: Ok Jason stay there I will be there soon.

Jason: Ok.

Jason then hangs up the phone, unlocks his front door, walks back into his bedroom, and lays down on his side on his bed with his back facing the window, pulls his blanket over himself, and cries fast tears wishing he wasn’t feeling this way and thinking about these things.

Dick has his bag on his shoulder, goes to grab his phone, unzips his bag, places in phone inside it and leaves it unzipped. The last thing he grabs is his keys and he then goes to his closet to put his blue sneakers on, and quickly walks out of his the room, down the hall, and down the steps. Right before he walks out of the manor he sees Bruce at the top of the stair case and tells him. “Jason is having a bad night” “Tell the family” Bruce then says “I will” Dick then says “I will text you all when he is asleep” Bruce then says “Thanks” “Tell him he doesn’t have to come over if he doesn’t want too” Dick says you say the same thing every time, but yea I will tell him” Bruce then sends a text in the family group chat for them to see in the morning saying Jay called Dick to tell him he is having a bad night and that Dick will text them when Jay is asleep. Bruce then goes back to bed and hopes Jason decides to come over and Dick runs out the door and towards his car and get in and starts it as fast as he can and is then speeding down the long drive way.

When Dick arrives at Jason’s apartment 10m later, (because he speed down the backroads going 80mph, knowing he wouldn’t run into any cops) he turns the knob knowing it’s already un locked and locks the door. He then walks towards Jason’s bedroom and can hear him crying from inside the room and opens the door. Jason hears his door open and knows it’s Dick and doesn’t care that he knows his crying and is going to see him like this. Jason got over his issues of being emotional and crying in front of his family a year ago.

Dick was already wearing his blue sweat pants when he drove over here so he climbs on the bed, lays down next to Jason, and hugs Jason from behind. Jason then turns over and hugs himself on top of Dick’s bare chest and cries even more. Physical contact helps calm Jason down and sleep and he feels safe when he can feel another person’s body and warmth. Dick wraps his arms tightly around Jason and pets and cards his fingers through his hair. Dick then asks “Do you want to talk about it?” Jason in a teary voice says “No” “Let me know if you change your mind” “If not we can talk about it tomorrow” Jason then changes his mind and says “This isn’t fully what’s going on but, I can’t stop thinking about how I should be punished for the things I have done” “Jason I am so sorry your thinking that” Jason is still crying and says in a frustrated voice “It’s horrible Dick!” “I know it’s not true, and I don’t want to be thinking about this but I can’t stop myself from thinking this!” “I want the thoughts to stop!” “I feel so miserable and I can’t do anything else, but think these depressing thoughts and lies!” “Shhh calm down Jason” “It’s going to be ok” “Do you want to go the manor tomorrow?” “it’s ok if you don’t want to” Bruce said you didn’t have to come over if you don’t want to” “I can stay with you this week” “He always says that” He means it Jay you know that” “Yea I do” “I do want to go over the manor tomorrow and stay there this week“ “This time it will be better for me if I have you all there for me” “They will all be so happy to know that Jay” “Do you want to take something to help you sleep” “No” “Just having you hold me and me hugging and feeling you is helping” “Thanks for coming over” “Any time Jay” “Now to try to sleep ok” “I will try to” Dick then rubbed Jason’s back and kept on playing with Jason’s hair.

After Jason cried for 30m he finally stopped and went to sleep 15m later, Dick carefully reached over to his night stand and texted in the family chat that Jason is now sleeping peacefully and they will be at the manor at 4:00pm. Jason usually sleeps in until 3:00pm when he has his bad nights and an hour would be enough time for Jason to pack and for them to get ready to leave and have an hour and half to spend time with the family before they dinner at 6:30pm. After dinner they would all talk to Jason and help through his problems and the thoughts he is thinking about himself and Jay would feel better after his stay.

After sending his text Dick made sure Jason was still asleep he then closed his eyes and thought about how great it was that Jason had been and still does ask for their help, let’s them help and comfort him, and that Jason asks for their comfort love. Dick went to sleep feeling so proud of Jason, feeling his warmth and listening to and feeling his breaths. It comforted Dick and made him feel so happy he was able to clam Jason down and get him to have the peaceful sleep he deserves.

[cakejots]

this is us trying, Chapter 6 - The Pounce

In this AU, they don’t know each other outside of the suit. And in this AU, Ladybug and Chat Noir love each other. But in this AU, Chat doesn’t want their identities revealed.

Written for @ladynoirjuly 2021

notes: this is a coherent story based on all the prompts; each chapter contains at least 3 prompts. this chapter has 4 prompts

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | Ch 6 | Ch 7 | Ch 8 | Ch 9 | Ch 10

Read on AO3

17. Secrets

Marinette was sure she didn’t have any alarm set for the day. And even if she did, it wouldn’t be this early in the morning. Her video call with Adrien the night before lasted well over a few hours, and it was the second day in a row where she wasn’t sleeping her usual routine. Though tired, she really can’t find herself regretting her actions. She was sure Adrien felt the same, he didn’t want the video call to end so soon and always managed to find something new to chat about.

She thought she could ignore the constant buzzing of her phone, but she’s only clowning herself if she believes that. Marinette tried to use her pillow to cover her head to block out the noise, but to no avail. She tried again with her thick blanket but eventually gave up. She was too disturbed to go back to sleep now anyway. With a grunt, she lifted herself off of her comfy bed and grabbed her phone from the shelves above her.

She eyed the screen and saw the time, as well as the caller.

Alya.

“What?”

“Woah, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“Care to check how many times you’ve called me?” Marinette pinched the bridge of her nose. “You know I hate it when my sleep gets interrupted.”

“I’m really sorry Marinette, but this can’t be put off any longer. Why didn’t you tell me? Are there any more secrets you’re hiding from me?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

Her phone gave off a chime, and it was a link Alya had just shared. “Access that link.”

Marinette grew wary as she saw the first few words of the link. The name of the biggest gossip magazine was etched within it.

“Uhh, Alya, what’s this? You know I hate reading things from gossip magazines.” She’s pissed that she was woken up for this useless bullshit.

“I know I know, just click it please, it concerns you.” Alya pleaded.

Marinette paused. “Me?”

Her mind imagined the worst-case scenario. Was her secret identity compromised? She didn’t manage to read the rest of the link as she quickly clicked on the link.

The first thing she saw when the site loaded was a video embedded at the top of the page, and the thumbnail of the video was of her and Adrien throwing affectionate gazes at each other, with Adrien’s hand buried deep within her hair. Fear shot through her entire being. When was this?

She further inspected the thumbnail and saw that she was in pyjamas. It was the night they revealed themselves, they had just exited the park and were ready to head home.

“Oh.”

Fuck.

“Marinette? Did you manage to read the article?”

She couldn’t take it anymore, she hastily closed the tab. “No, but I see myself and Adrien on the video thumbnail. Shit...” She admitted, not bothering to hide since Alya already saw it.

“Are you okay?”

“What did the article say?” She whispered.

“They were speculating if you’re Adrien’s new fling— ”

“The fuck?”

“—or romantic partner, but they don’t know who you are, so you’re safe.”

“But he’s not! I need to make sure he’s okay.” She was jumping out of her bed when Alya’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Marinette, I think that might be a problem. Herds of reporters are situated outside the Agreste mansion.”

She felt a vein pop in her temple. “Are you there?”

“What? No! The clip is rolling live on TV.”

She switched on her TV and sure enough, the mansion was surrounded by reporters.

“Adrien...” Blood drained from her face as she looked at the sheer number of reporters outside his house. Her vision started to blur. He was no doubt going to blame himself for this again.

“Marinette?”

“A-Alya, I’m sorry, I need some time alone. T-Thank you for telling me,” she stammered.

“Don’t sweat it. And I’m sure you have reasons for keeping your secrets, I won’t pester you now, but I hope to get an update on the both of you once this is over. And please promise me you’ll tell me about it later.”

Comfort flooded her chest, “Of course, Alya. Thank you so much.”

Marinette hung up and was left alone with her own thoughts.

Thinking back, Adrien was acting slightly weird after they got onto the streets. He had asked her to transform out of nowhere. Was that when he had realised they were being followed? Why didn’t he tell her? Marinette browsed her messages and calls, there was nothing she missed from Adrien.

Why was he pushing her away again? Even after the reveal. Why isn’t he opening up to her?

She wiped her tears. This is no time to be questioning his decisions. She needed to save her kitty as soon as possible. He must be feeling devastated dealing with this all alone.

18. Can’t Transform

Adrien was curled up by the side of his bed, his phone all blown up with notifications, calls, and messages from gossip news agencies and the public. It was till the point that he had to reconfigure his “Do Not Disturb” function to stop all the ringing and buzzing that wrecked his phone. He was so overwhelmed that he disabled everything.

His phone was currently by his side, his chat with Marinette on the display. Marinette was online earlier on, and he was happy to see that, but she was gone as soon as she came. Adrien really wanted to ask her for help, but he was sure that she’s pissed with him right now. He didn’t have the right to ask since he brought this upon himself. He just hoped she forgave him for allowing her face to appear on the news.

Marinette (09:01): chaton?

A chime brought his attention back to the phone. Adrien saw her message, but he just stared.

Marinette (09:01): chaton i can see you online

Adrien (09:02): hi

Marinette (09:02): can you call me?

Marinette (09:02): my calls can't seem to get through

Adrien (09:03): i muted everything

Marinette (09:03): oh

Marinette (09:03): then can chat call me?

Adrien (09:03): i can't transform

Adrien (09:04): i don't want to risk them seeing the transformation

Marinette saw that he typed and stopped a few times. She’d be patient with him, he’s allowed to take as long as he needed.

Adrien (09:06): i'll call

Adrien (09:06): but can you give me a while?

Marinette (09:06): of course :)

Perhaps it was her staring at her screen, knowing that Adrien was there. Perhaps she was solely focused on seeing something happen on her screen. Or perhaps she managed to will Adrien into calling her, because he eventually did. And it didn’t feel like it had been 10 minutes.

“Adrien!”

The line had gone quiet. So quiet that she was about to remove her phone from her ear to check if the call had ended when a voice spoke through the speakers.

“Hey, Marinette.”

He sounded apprehensive. Was she coming off too strong?

“How are you feeling?” Her voice gentler this time.

He still took a while, but it was definitely faster than the one before.

“Overwhelmed.”

“Okay, okay. Are you okay with waiting a while more?”

Is Marinette coming to get him?

“I guess.”

“Nice. Do you think you can transform after the herd of reporters is gone?”

“I think so.”

“Very good. Would you be comfortable with sleeping in my house for a few days?”

Adrien wasn’t sure if he wanted to stay with Marinette after all this was over. What if she interrogated him? Was he ready to tell her why he did what he did? The whole truth? What if she leaves? Or rather, kick him out after she learnt the truth. He didn’t want that. Enough people had already left him. He doesn’t want any more of that. They can’t leave if he wasn’t there in the first place.

But Adrien wanted to be with Marinette. Even more so after what his actions had led to. He may be selfish right now, but he wanted the affirmation that she’d still have him, even after he messed up. He didn’t want to be alone after this ordeal. She has proved repeatedly that she wouldn’t abandon him. And right now, she’s inviting him into her life, willingly.

Justifiably, Marinette is in no wrong here, but Adrien found himself finally believing what she had promised. It might be that words of assurance could only go so far for him. But certainly, it was her actions that solidified his belief in her.

“Mhm.” He sniffled.

“Awesome!”

Adrien wanted to explain. He wanted her to know how much this meant to him.

“My lady, I… I—”

“It’s okay, Chaton. Your safety and wellbeing take precedence.”

“W-Wait! Are you going to hang up?”

19. Trust

“Do you trust me?”

“Always,” he answered so effortlessly.

“Then yes, I’m going to hang up. But I guarantee you that you’ll see me soon enough,” Marinette assured. “Would that be okay?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Thank you, Chaton. Wait for me.”

They said their goodbyes, and Marinette waited for a while before she hung up. She got to her feet and went to work straight away.

.

“What is he doing in there? Can’t he see us? Just come out already!” One of the reporters threw his papers on the ground, getting agitated from standing outside the Agreste mansion for at least 2 hours. “This is taking far too long!”

“Hey! Look!”

He noticed someone pointing upwards and he lifted his eyes.

Soon, the herd of reporters directed their collective attention and cameras to the top of the mansion. They were so determined on getting any footage they could on the occupant of the building that all but one of them failed to realise that Ladybug and Chat Noir had appeared on the rooftop, with Chat Noir piggybacking their target.

“What is this?” Ladybug shouted at the crowd beneath her feet. “Is this any way to treat Paris’ Golden Boy? His love life is none of your concern!”

And with that, she jumped away from the persistent sound of cameras clicking coming from the crowd. Chat Noir followed without missing a bit, with Adrien hugging him tightly.

When Ladybug and Chat Noir had disappeared out of their sight, the media quickly got onto their vans and chased them down.

As the commotion was happening, Marinette texted Adrien to ask for the directions to access his room.

Adrien (09:32): the windows to my room are open. you'll see it once you get to the back of the mansion

She made sure the crowd had dissipated entirely before emerging from her hiding spot from the surrounding rooftops; she then made her way towards the mansion.

Sure enough, she found herself swinging into his room within seconds.

Adrien’s room was one of the biggest rooms she has ever seen in her life when she landed. It was at least twice the size of her previous bedroom, so big and spacious with various game areas across the first floor and a large library of books and CDs on the second.

She was still admiring his expansive room when she heard tiny sniffles coming from the side of the bed.

Snapping her head towards the bed, she spotted Adrien hugging his knees, head buried within his arms. “Adrien.”

Adrien lifted his head and saw her watching him.

He stood and wiped his tears, trying to smile. Turned out, wishing she was by his side was one thing. Having her actually be here with him was an entirely different thing.

Lady Rouge? Rena Bug? Marinette did not look happy. She was biting her lower lips before she started walking towards him.

Adrien began moving backwards bit by bit, anxious about her reactions towards him.

“Tikki, Trixx, Separation.”

Was that disappointment in her eyes? He didn’t know. Ladybug was quickly catching up to him and when he saw that she had raised her hand, he shut his eyes.

He was expecting some reproaching from her. He was expecting some pounding on his chest, or even a slap to his face. But all he felt was a hand wrapped around his head, settling itself within his hair and pulling him into a hug.

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she breathed.

Adrien opened his eyes in startlement, before relaxing into her. Ladybug’s other hand was on his back, pressing him into her. And he circled his arms around her waist, returning the gesture.

“My lady, I’m covered in snot and tears right now.”

“Yeah, you’re disgusting.” But she pulled him in even more and tightened her hold on him nonetheless.

20. Save Me

Adrien wished he could’ve stayed in Ladybug’s embrace longer, she was so full of warmth and love, unlike the mansion. But he needed to pack his clothes for his impromptu stay at Marinette’s over the next few days, to avoid the scandal they were currently in.

Ladybug was exploring his huge room, but he couldn’t see her from the bathroom, so he assumed she was checking out his vast collection of books and CDs on the second floor.

He didn’t like how quiet it had gotten.

“My lady?”

Within seconds, Ladybug dropped from right in front of the bathroom door, face worried. “Adrien?”

“Could you… um, could you stay on the first floor?” He squeaked.

She relaxed and chuckled. “Of course, mon Chaton.” She looked around a bit. “I’ll just take a look around the arcade stations.”

He nodded before continuing his packing. It was quiet again, but at least he knew she was exploring on the first floor.

“Adrien?” He lifted his gaze from his bag and saw Ladybug standing beside his bed, pointing at it. “Can I sit on it?”

“Of course! Go ahead! I don’t see why not.” Surprise laced in his voice by her question.

“Just wanted to make sure,” she replied cheekily before she bounced on his bed.

Adrien was about done with his packing, but he didn’t want Ladybug to be bored.

“My lady, what happened to those illusions?”

Ladybug widened her eyes. “I was sure that the media would follow those illusions, so I had them travel to the outskirts of Paris before making them disappear right before their very eyes.” She then scratched the back of her head and smiled sheepishly. “That was the plan. But uh, the illusions should be gone as soon as I reverted to just being Ladybug.”

Adrien had finished packing and was walking out of the bathroom, bag in his hand. “So, they might be back?”

Ladybug immediately stood and walked to his windows. “I don’t see or hear any crowd outside. So I guess they are still trying to figure out where those illusions went.”

Adrien came up to her, Trixx and Plagg in his hands. “Then, for extra precaution, why not use Trixx’s power again to conceal ourselves?”

Ladybug’s eyes shone with understanding. “That’s a great idea! I didn’t think of that!”

When Ladybug called for her unification, her outfit was similar to Rena Rouge’s. Her dark hair was tied up in a thick ponytail with the ends highlighted in white. A tail was also added to her suit. “Come on, let’s go!”

But Adrien hadn't called for his transformation, and she raised an eyebrow.

“Uhh— right!” Adrien blushed and quickly turned around to retrieve his bag from the side of his bed before calling for his transformation.

“Oh, I see,” a smug look on her pretty face. “You just wanted to see me in this.”

Chat Noir was still blushing when he returned to her side. “Can you blame me? You look amazing in this. Can’t I admire how stunning my girlfriend looks?”

It was her turn to flush. “You can, you absolutely can.” She turned away, ready to use her flute when Chat Noir grabbed her hand.

“In fact, you look beautiful all the time.” He gazed into her eyes. “Marinette, for the plan you concocted to save me, thank you.”

“Anything for you, Chaton.” She grinned.

Chat pulled her into a hug and squeezed. His hand was on the back of her head, pressing her into his neck. “Thank you, so so much.”

[babi-correia]

What Could Have Been (Part 13)

Words: 1655 Warnings: Poorly written medical stuff, mention and treatment of injuries, PTDS (kinda?)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |  Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12

When you come to, you’re having trouble breathing, and if that isn’t enough, the previous events rush to you all at once and your thoughts spin out of control. Suddenly, you’re not in a building in the middle of Chicago anymore; you can feel yourself being blinded by the scorching sun from Afghanistan, you can see the dust in the air, feel the sand under you.

“No, no, this isn’t happening.” You panic, feeling the searing pain on the right side of your hip. Your breathing picks up and your hands start shaking. “I’m in Chicago, I’m in Chicago, I’m not a Marine anymore, Deft Hawk is over.”

You repeat it to yourself like a mantra, shutting your eyes and feeling the tightness in your chest increasing.

“Get me out of here!” You manage to shriek, feeling a scratch in your throat. “For the love of everything, get me out!”

-

Jay looks at Kayla as she stops dead in her tracks, her ears perked up as she presses her nose to the floor.

“You got something there, girl?” He asks, giving her more lead as she moves around and starts whining. “Good girl! Can you find an entrance?”

He unlatches the leash as Kayla searches around, stopping by a displaced slab of concrete. He hears a faint voice coming from under the rubble and his heartrate picks up as he crouches.

“I got something here!” He calls out as he grabs the concrete slab and shoves it out of the way slightly, creating a tiny gap that exposes the hallway underneath.

The firefighters gather around him, someone calling out orders that Jay doesn’t listen; his mind rests solely on the fact that you’re probably down under the rubble, and he must find a way to get to you.

The firefighters join him in moving the concrete slab, opening the gap more and more until a person can go through. Before anyone can process what’s happening, Kayla jumps in and starts barking and running. Jay curses and thinks for a moment before jumping after her, ignoring the calls from the firefighters behind him.

“Halstead!” Severide calls out, making him look up. Jay sees him and Stella peeking into the hole, concern stamped on their face. “Are you out of your mind?”

“I heard her, and I’m not leaving her down here alone.” He says, his jaw clenched tight.

“Wait a bit.” Stella says, earning a confused look from Severide as she gets up and calls someone over. “Move back!”

A bag falls to the floor in front of him, and he recognizes it to be medical supplies.

“Look, we can’t send anyone else in there, it’s too unsafe. We’re going to secure everything the most we can and help you get her out, but for now you’re on your own.” Severide informs, looking glum. “That’s why you shouldn’t have jumped in.”

“I don’t care about that.” Jay says, picking up the bag from the floor and hearing Kayla bark in the next hallway over.

“I’m going to be on channel 3.” Will’s voice comes through before he peeks from the hole too, his red hair disheveled and sweat dotting his forehead. “Be careful, Jay.”

“Always.” He mutters, turning around and calling for Kayla. The dog comes to him and he clips the leash back on her vest before petting her. “Good girl, c’mon, let’s find her.”

The dog runs ahead of him, expertly dodging the debris and apparently following a pre-determined path. Jay slows down as he sees a firefighter’s helmet on the floor, the “3” in the front staring at him and making his heart skip a beat.

“C’mon Kayla, find her, c’mon.” He mutters to the dog, who looks back at him with big eyes and blinks. “You have to find her, I don’t know what I’ll do with myself if you don’t.”

Kayla whines and moves forward, turning a sharp corner and pulling at the leash, making Jay follow her. His breath hitches in his throat once he turns the corner, seeing you laying on the floor with a metal rod stabbing through your stomach and a nasty gash on your right leg. He hooks Kayla’s leash around one of his belt hoops and rushes forward, kneeling by you and removing your SCBA mask, wincing at the amount of blood sticking to your face and his hand shooting to your neck after a pulse. He sighs in relief when he feels a steady heartbeat, switching the radio’s channel with his free hand before pressing down on the button.

“Will, are you there?” Jay asks, flicking the button to leave the radio open. “I found her, but there’s a lot of blood everywhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s impaled by a metal rod, her face is bloody, and she has a pretty deep laceration on her right thigh.” Jay says, undoing the front of your turnout coat and cutting it free from the rod with a pair of scissors from the medical bag.

“Expose the wounds the most you can, stabilize the rod, and do a tourniquet on her leg. Then, you’re going to start an IV for plasma, you have it on your bag. If you need more, come back to the hole and we’ll drop some more bags in.” Will says, the strain in his voice letting Jay know he’s dealing with other patients as they speak. “Let me know when you’re about to start the IV so I can talk you through it.”

Jay puts on the disposable gloves and cuts away the shirt around the rod, exposing enough skin to let him look and stabilize it. He feels himself paling as he sees the exit point of the rod, his hands fumbling around the bag in search for tape and gauze. He quickly stabilizes the rod, watching as the gauze quickly becomes red with blood, but moving on to your leg.

He unlatches the suspenders in the front and gingerly sets them out of your shoulders, pointing upwards. Kayla lays down by your head and licks your hand, whining as you don’t respond.

“You did good, girl.” Jay reassures, carefully pulling the turnout pants down. He peels away the fabric of your regular pants and winces at the blood coming out. “Oh, that does not look good.”

“What’s going on?” Will asks, reminding Jay his radio is open.

“There is a lot, and I mean a lot of blood coming out of the gash on her leg.” He mutters, fishing the tourniquet out of the bag and tying it around the very top of your thigh. “I don’t know how many plasma bags you have here, but either Severide stabilizes this fast or it’s not going to be enough.”

“Stabilize her for now, then we’ll see how to proceed. Focus on the task at hand, Jay.”

Jay nods to himself, securing a big wad of gauze against the gash.

“I’m ready for the IV, Will.” Jay says, checking everything in the bag again. “What do I need?”

“Take a cannula with a 16-gauge needle. A cannula is a little plastic thing that looks like a cross. The needle’s color code should be gray.” Will instructs as Jay rummages through the bag, making a victory noise when he finds the materials. “There’s a vein that leads to her middle finger, find it. If you can’t find it, grab her wrist until her veins pop up more. Clean the injection site, disinfect a wider area to make sure the dressing will adhere to her skin and not the dust. Once that’s done, insert the needle right atop the vein.”

Jay takes a deep breath, getting a small square of gauze and alcohol and disinfecting most of your hand before searching for the vein. He finds it fairly easily, but his hands are shaking when he places the needle in place. He clenches his jaw as he pushes the needle in.

“Inserted the needle, now what?” Jay asks, unable to keep the shakiness out of his voice.

“Above all, stay calm. You see the green thing at the end of the needle? It’s the catheter, push it forward slightly. It’s normal for blood to come out, it means it’s in the right spot. After that, take off the needle and connect the cannula to the catheter.”

Jay does as instructed, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding when a small stream of blood comes out into the catheter. He removes the needle and inserts the cannula, grabbing some modified tape to secure it against the back of your hand.

“Done. Now what?”

“Get the plasma bag, place the bag somewhere above her and let it drip into the tube. Make sure there’s no air, and then connect it to the cannula.” Will says, his voice steadier than Jay feels himself. “You’re doing great. After that you can see if you can get her to regain consciousness.”

Jay sets up the plasma bag on a small ledge of concrete, watching as it drips down the tube. Once he makes sure there’s no air in the tube, he connects it and sighs, feeling a weight come off his shoulders.

He gently wipes some hair off your face, getting a gauze and dipping it in antiseptic, beginning to wipe most of the blood from your face when a loud crash makes the whole structure shake.

“What the fuck was that!?” Jay asks, getting silence for a while before the radio comes to life.

“Some part of the access you went in through came down.” Severide’s voice comes through. “Everything is very unstable and we’re doing the best we can, but clearly we can’t rush it or everything might crumble down.”

Jay lets out an irritated groan, sitting down on the floor as he looks at you and Kayla, the dog’s muzzle resting on your shoulder as she lazily licks your neck.

-

@thexplosivegirl | @godohammers | @savingprivatecass​ | @princxss-fia | @fullwattpadmusictree​ | @bethii1​ | @doramstr​ | @annaallicce​ | @hehurst23​ | @dreamslove92 | @lostsoulwalking | @magicxshadows​ | @lookatallthefeels | @miranda0102​ | @killjoys-make-some-noise-na-na​ | @corebore123​ | @talicat713​ | @jayxuptons​ | @detectiveinchicago​ | @cozyfandoms​ | @justanotheronechicagofan​ | @redsmemories​ | @nocturnalherb16​ | @lovejessejay​ | @zizzlekwum​ | @music-is-my-escape71 | @inlovewith3​ | @panaitbeatrice​ | @goingwiththewind​ | @sesamepancakes​ | @caitoszmerlo​ | @rebel-without-care​ | @poguesvixen​ | @cookiecakeslive​ | @csigeoblue​

[svtwritess]

Chapter 5

ღ word count: 8.2k

ღ genres: fluff, (heavy-ish) angst, smut (there’s actually some in this chapter finally sry for the wait <3)

ღ pairing: wonwoo x female reader, mingyu x female reader

ღ college!au, vampire!au

ღ warnings: mentions of food, vampire stuff, oral (m & f recieving) 

“He came up to you?” 

“Yes!” you nearly yelled into the phone. You’d called Mingyu the second you left the grocery store. “He said he remembered me and that if I needed anything I should ask him, but it didn’t seem like he was talking about groceries.” you told him nervously as you walked home as quickly as possible. 

“If it’s not too much to ask please try not to go there alone. Or just… go to a different grocery store or something.” you could hear the frustration in his voice and even though you didn’t know why he had an issue with Jun, you felt bad that he was so worried. 

“Mingyu, is he a, you know…” you didn’t want to say the word out loud, just in case people heard you and thought you were half out of your mind. 

“A vampire?” 

“Yeah.” 

Mingyu let out a long breath. “Yeah, he is…” 

“Okay, that makes a lot more sense then. I was already planning on it, but I’ll steer clear of him, I promise.” you nodded in understanding, even though Mingyu couldn’t see you.

“Thank you.” he sighed in relief. You smiled at the fact that you were able to lift even the lightest weight off of his shoulders. 

“I’m home now so I gotta go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” you asked as you unlocked your door. 

“For sure, with a coffee in hand.” you smiled at his response and ended the call before entering your apartment, closing and locking the door behind you. 

You placed the few bags you had on the counter and took the items you’d bought out of them. You put the food in the refrigerator and everything else in the cabinet under the sink. As you were collecting the bags to put them away, you heard Wonwoo’s door open. You closed your eyes and sighed, not exactly sure how the interaction was going to go. 

“You’re finally home,” he said, his tone difficult to read.

“Yep.” you replied, tossing the grocery bags in the pantry and beginning the walk to your room. You brushed past Wonwoo, avoiding eye contact, but he grabbed your wrist to stop you. 

“Listen, I’m sorry.” he said quietly and you nearly rolled your eyes. 

“There would be nothing to be sorry for if you had just warned me or something.” you said, annoyance in your voice as you turned to face him. 

“Well we agreed not to talk about that stuff, so I didn’t know where the line was,” he shrugged, letting go of you. 

“Think about it this way.” you crossed your arms, “Would you rather say something as vague as ‘hey I think you should try and find another place to stay tonight I’m doing something at home’ or me walk in on you having sex? Which one do you think is the better option? Honestly?” your words caused Wonwoo to let out a sigh as he rubbed his face with his hands.

“Look I made a mistake and I apologized. I’m sorry it happened, really, so why are you still upset?” he seemed tired and a little frustrated, but it almost seemed like he was more angry with himself than with you.

“Because you could do better than that girl from the coffee shop! I don’t know why you’re wasting your time.” you muttered as you pulled away from his grasp and finished the walk to your room. 

“Y/N!” Wonwoo yelled as he followed you. You went to close your door, but his hand stopped it, pulling it back open. “Do you know how annoying it is? Watching you go through guys that aren’t good enough for you?” 

“Wonwoo what are you talking about?” you slightly raised your voice as you turned to face him. 

“All the guys you had crushes on that didn’t like you back? Do you know how much it sucked hearing you complain about them so much when they weren’t even worth your time in the first place?” he explained, anger evident in his tone. “How much I hated knowing that you were fucking my best friend for half of high school? The way he would talk about you sometimes was like you weren’t even a person, I hated it. And now this Mingyu guy who made a move while you were moving in? How desperate can he be?!” he vented loudly, running his hands through his hair. He let out a frustrated breath as he looked at you expectantly, awaiting your response. 

“I-” you really didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry… I didn’t know you felt that way.” you stood there awkwardly as you looked at the floor, a pained look on your face. 

“Yeah, well, I guess it’s my fault for keeping it to myself.” he leaned against the wall by your door and looked at the ceiling. 

You further contemplated what to say. You didn’t know he had been holding so much inside of him or how he did it for so long. You never had the chance to feel that way toward him because this was basically the first time he’d been with anyone romantically and you hated it, so you couldn’t imagine how he felt. 

“Why do you think…” you started nervously, “it bothers you so much?” 

The window for him to confess was wide open now, you just wondered if he would do it.

“I think we both know the answer to that,” he looked at you, “But clearly that’s not gonna happen, so what’s the point in waiting around, right?” he said as he turned to leave your room.

“What’s not gonna happen?” you asked hurriedly, taking a step toward him. He looked back at you over his shoulder.

“This,” he motioned between the two of you, “us. I know how you feel and it’s fine, I’ll get over it.” he shrugged and finally exited your room, shutting the door behind him. 

You just stood there, face blank as you tried to process everything your best friend had just admitted to you. He had feelings for you? You weren’t particularly surprised, specifically because of everything he prefaced his confession with. How did he not snap sooner? You would’ve been miserable if you were in his position. 

You buried your face in your hands, rubbing your temples before grabbing your phone out of the bag that was still on your shoulder. You tossed your purse on the floor as you fell on your bed, tears starting to fill your eyes. You couldn’t talk to Mingyu about this, but you knew there was only one other person that you’d feel even remotely comfortable talking to about the situation. You went to your contacts and selected their name, the phone only ringing a few times before they picked up. 

“Y/N?” 

“Joshua?” you sniffled, a tear rolling down your face and onto your bed. 

“Are you okay?” he inquired, sounding concerned.

“No.” you chuckled, still barely having comprehended everything. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, his sweet voice calming you down slightly. 

“Wonwoo kind of… told me that he likes me. Did you know?” 

“Wow,” Joshua let out a breathy laugh, “I’m surprised he waited ‘till now to tell you. After we stopped hooking up I asked him if he was into you, because it seemed like he was, and he said yes.” he said casually. You sat up and ran a hand through your hair. 

“God I feel horrible,” you wiped a tear off of your cheek, “what do you think I should do?” you asked as you were truly, completely lost. 

“Well my instinct says you should just date him since he’s been into you for so long, but I know it’s not that easy. He told me you’ve been seeing this guy he doesn’t like, is that true?” 

“Yeah… it’s just weird because I really like him, but if I didn’t like Wonwoo, why would I be so upset about the fact that he’s seeing someone?” you asked him, hoping he would be able to tell you since you couldn’t seem to figure out the answer yourself. 

“Y/N, I hate to break it to you, but it’s possible to like two people at once, so you might be caught in a dilemma here.” he replied and you groaned, flopping back down on your bed. 

“Well this sucks,” you said and he laughed a little. 

“Just do whatever feels right, you have good judgement.” he told you, causing you to smile slightly. 

“Thanks, I try.”

“It’s good to hear from you, Y/N,” Joshua said genuinely, “And if things don’t work out with either of them, you know where to find me.” he joked… or at least you thought he was joking. 

“Thanks Josh. I’ll talk to you soon.” 

“Sounds good.” he said contently and you both said goodbye before ending the call. 

You laid still on your bed, completely unsure of what to do as you tossed your phone beside you. How were you supposed to live with Wonwoo without things being completely awkward? Unless you dated him, but was that what you wanted? You didn’t want to leave Mingyu by any means… Wonwoo would get over it right? He said he would and he was already starting the process; you prayed that that would be enough. 

You picked up your phone again and saw that Wonwoo had texted you. 

from: wonu

1:21pm: leaving for the night, see you tomorrow

You sighed for what felt like the 100th time that night. You didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable in his own home because of you, so you decided that you would sit down with him and talk it out tomorrow. Even if it ended with remaining just friends, you wanted to give him some form of closure. 

You got a little bit of your shit together and decided to go on one of those job finding websites, beginning your much needed search for employment. You created your account, creating a resume and providing the site with the information they required. When you were done, you searched keywords for jobs that didn’t sound completely grueling, like “bookstore” and “receptionist” and even “librarian”. Most of them required some kind of prior experience, but you submitted your resume to the ones that didn’t. The site even recommended a couple of jobs to you as well, based on what you had searched, so you applied to a few of those just for the hell of it. 

You closed the web browser and went to scroll through an app on your phone when you heard a long, very unsettling gurgling noise come from your stomach. The fact that you hadn’t eaten all day smacked you in the face and you forced yourself to get out of bed.

As you padded to the kitchen, you knew exactly what you were going to make yourself. You’d bought some noodles, pasta sauce, and parmesan cheese for the house and though it was simple, it was filling, and in your opinion, delicious. 

You played some music on your phone, dancing around a little as you waited for the noodles to cook. You stirred them every once and a while, making sure the water didn’t boil over. When they were almost done, you put some of the sauce in a bowl and heated it up in the microwave. Once the timer went off, you turned the stovetop off and removed the pot of noodles from the eye it was on. After straining them, you transferred the noodles to the same bowl as the sauce and doused everything in parmesan cheese. 

You decided to watch a movie that you knew Wonwoo would never be interested in, deciding to take advantage of the fact that he (sadly) wasn’t there. Even though you were usually okay with being by yourself, for some reason you felt quite lonely. Maybe it was because you had found someone besides Wonwoo that you actually enjoyed spending time around, and it definitely helped that that someone was extremely attractive and very interested in you. 

You didn’t want to annoy him, but you found yourself wanting to be around Mingyu more and more. You’d always just assumed that he had a life outside of you, but honestly, you weren’t so sure anymore. It wasn’t by any means a bad thing, you had far less of a life than he did, you just hoped that he wanted to spend more time together just as you did.

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, finding Mingyu’s contact and pressing the call button. 

“Why hello, miss me already?” you could hear him smirking. 

“Actually yes,” you admitted, “Can you blame me?” 

“Not at all… I was just thinking about you myself.”

“Ooooh, do I get to know what about?” you asked, smiling to yourself at his words. You loved that he was comfortable enough to admit something like that to you. 

“I’m afraid that’s gonna have to stay between me and the higher power babe,” he chuckled and you blushed at the nickname. He had never called you that before. “What’s up?” 

You hesitated for a moment. “Do you think you could come over tonight? Wonwoo’s gone for the night so I thought it would be nice, but if you’re busy…” 

“I’m helping Chan study for a test he has tomorrow, but I’ll be over as soon as we’re done. I promise.”

“See you then,” you bit your lip excitedly and ended the call. 

You thought that maybe you should, no…. well? Maybe it wasn’t that crazy of an idea. Would wearing something kind of obviously sexy be too much? What if he was more in the mood than you were and then things got awkward? Or vice versa? You knew he wouldn’t push you to do anything you didn’t want to do, but you also didn’t want to give him the wrong impression. It felt like a stupid thing to be worrying about, but admittedly you were a bit tired of just kissing, and moving to ~the next step~ was pretty nerve wracking. 

You paused the movie you were watching and walked into your room, letting out a deep breath and continuously trying to convince yourself that you weren’t being ridiculous. You opened your underwear drawer and dug to the bottom of it, fishing out the sexiest pair you had that you’d only ever worn for you and you alone. You found the bra that matched it and tossed them on your bed, removing the clothes you were wearing before putting them on. You realized the black matching set was surprisingly comfortable as you contemplated what else to wear during his visit. 

You looked through your drawers, quickly realizing that sexy loungewear wasn’t something you owned, and decided to simply wear a large t-shirt that your father had given you a few years ago because it didn’t fit him. It wasn’t particularly sexy in itself, but it sent the right message. 

You padded back into the living room and plopped back down on the couch, awaiting Mingyu’s arrival. As the movie played, you checked your email to see if any of the jobs you’d applied to had gotten back to you, but as you’d only submitted your applications a little over an hour ago, you had no responses. 

You sighed and tapped your foot impatiently against the floor, leaning your head back to rest on top of the couch. You listened to the movie with your eyes closed, nearly drifting off to sleep when finally, right as the movie ended, there was a knock at your door. 

You jumped up excitedly, a smile as your face as you ran over to the door and nearly threw it open. 

“Hi,” Mingyu said, taking in your only partially covered form. You bit your lip and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. He smiled against your lips and wrapped his arms around your waist instinctively, pressing your bodies together. 

“I missed you,” you said quietly into the kiss, gently biting down on his lower lip. He nearly growled at the action, allowing his tongue to explore your mouth as he moved his hands to grip your hips. 

“You just saw me a few hours ago,” he grunted, one of his hands moving down your body and grabbing your ass eagerly. His kisses were sloppy and his lips soft, making it impossible to focus on anything other than him. The way his tongue ran against yours went straight to your core, warmth taking over your body.

“Well you’re just as excited as I am,” you breathed out between kisses, “so what does that mean?” 

Mingyu pulled away from you and rested his forehead on yours, both of you breathing a bit heavier than normal. He smiled before pecking your lips one last time and pulling away from you. 

“I would say it means I can’t get enough of you,” he replied, pecking your forehead then prancing over to your couch. You stood there for a moment, blushing slightly and trying to comprehend his cheesy comment.

“Touché,” you smiled as you turned around. Mingyu was sitting on your couch, man spreading like no other, though you didn’t mind yet as you weren’t sitting next to him. 

“So where’d Wonwoo go?” he asked casually, fingers woven together behind his head, supporting it as he sat. You felt your heart fall into your stomach. How do I avoid this? You wondered. Should I even avoid this? 

“He, uh, just got upset with me and wanted to take a night to clear his head, that’s all…” you trailed off, avoiding eye contact as you took a spot next to him on the couch. He turned his head to look at you, eyebrows furrowed. 

“He got mad enough to leave? That must’ve been bad… do you wanna talk about it?” he offered, placing one of his hands on your thigh. You looked at him with a soft smile and shook your head. 

“Not right now, maybe another time though,” you told him and he nodded in understanding. You leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek, “thank you.” 

“Anytime,” he patted your leg and pecked your lips before standing up to go to the kitchen. You reveled in the fact that you both trusted each other so much. He had his secrets and you had yours, and it made you a bit nervous, but he’d given you no reason to believe that he’d ever deceive you. 

“Are you-” you began asking him as he looked in one of your cabinets, when suddenly a very dark thought dawned on you. 

Vampires don’t eat… they drink.

“Y/N?” Mingyu’s voice shook you out of your thoughts, though your eyes were still glued to the floor and your mouth was still hanging open in sudden realization. 

“I’ve only seen you eat, what, once?” you said quietly as you looked up at him, “because you don’t need to eat...” 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he walked over to you. He sat down on the floor in front of you and put his hands on your knees, looking into your eyes meaningfully.

“I hate this part, everyone always reacts so differently…” he gently, though nervously, ran his hands up and down your thighs, “What do you wanna know?” His voice was soft and calm, but slightly reluctant. 

“I-I mean… you drink blood, right?” you asked hesitantly, again unable to believe that you were having such a conversation in real life. 

“Yeah.” he replied casually, causing you to look at him confusedly. 

“So do you have to… kill anyone to do it?” you twiddled your fingers.

“Well when I first turned I did, no one knows how to act the first week of being a vampire. You’re suddenly so powerful that you feel like you can do anything, so you do…” he looked at his hands, reminiscing on past choices he clearly regretted. “Draining someone is the most satisfying way to feed, but it’s messy and brutal and just… wrong, so I haven’t done it in decades.” 

“So then what do you do?” you asked. You knew you should be scared, maybe disgusted even, but it wasn’t your place to judge. You had no idea what it would be like to be in his position, the things he must’ve felt, the urges he must’ve had… it couldn’t have been easy. Besides, it was 2 centuries ago. You knew he was a different person now than he was then, so if he says he hasn’t... killed anyone in a long, long while, you believed him.

“Personally, I feed on animals. I leave them alive as often as possible,” you winced at the ‘as often as possible’ part. “It’s not very filling, but it’s the safest way to do it. Sometimes Jeonghan will feed on people, on the hook ups he brings home, but he always leaves them alive and…” he hesitated for a moment, “wipes their memory after.” your jaw was on the floor and your eyes nearly fell out of your head. 

“You can do that?!” you exclaimed. Mingyu chuckled lightly, shaking his head.

“Yeah, but it’s not that easy. You have to have the blood of the vampire who’s trying to wipe your memory in your system for it to work, so it’s usually not worth it.” he explained, and you were still completely astonished. 

“How does he-”

“It only takes a drop, so usually he’ll put it in their drink or something. I think sometimes they even do it willingly.” he told you and you looked at him in disbelief. “I don’t know what kind of people Jeonghan hooks up with.” he shrugged. 

“What about Vernon? And Chan, he just turned didn’t he? Did he feed on people?” you asked, suddenly completely immersed in the topic. 

“Chan was the same way I was when I first turned, totally insatiable. I wouldn’t let him feed on people ‘cause I knew he’d go too far, so I snuck blood out of hospitals, donation trucks, anywhere I could really. And Vernon… Well Vernon’s the lucky one. Seungkwan lets him feed off of him basically whenever he needs to, and he has great self control, so it’s really not an issue.” he explained to you, nodding as he finished. 

“Wow,” you tried to take it all in, “how come you ate with me then? That time you made ramen?” 

“Well we can eat, it just basically does nothing for us in terms of stopping us from being hungry or keeping us “alive”, so it’s mostly recreational.” he used air quotes, helping you make sense of things. Questions would not stop coming into your head.

“Wait, so… do you poop?” you asked in all seriousness, though MIngyu threw his head back with laughter. 

“Okay I think that’s enough question and answer for today,” he patted your knee and stood up, heading back into the kitchen. You pouted, genuinely unsure of how a vampire’s digestive system worked, but you decided to let it go. 

You admired Mingyu’s frame as he grabbed a glass from the cabinet in front of him, then reached over to open the freezer. 

“Did you say that Seungkwan lets Vernon… feed on him?” you inquired as a thought popped into your head. 

“Yeah, why?” Mingyu replied as he popped ice cubes out of your ice cube tray. 

“Well,” you began as you stood up, making your way over to him, “how good would you say your self control is?” 

“I don’t know,” he chuckled, “depends on the situation.” He refilled the tray and put it back in the freezer before grabbing the gallon of water you kept in the refrigerator. 

“What if I told you,” you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind as he opened the jug, “that we could try something like that if you wanted to?”

“Try something like what?” he asked as he began pouring the water.

“You… feeding on me.”

Mingyu didn’t respond. You were scared you’d offended him or something, though after a silence that was much too long, you heard water flowing over the cup, and soon it was on the floor. 

“Mingyu!” you exclaimed as you stepped backward, the cold water nearly touching your feet. You heard him mutter a few curse words under his breath before setting the jug upright and nearly lunging for the paper towels.

“Sorry, I-, shit, I’m sorry.” he stumbled on his words as he unraveled the paper towels, ripping off a large portion and cleaning up the water he’d spilt on the counter. 

“Why’d you do that?” you asked, though there was no trace of anger in your voice, just confusion. You grabbed some paper towels yourself and began wiping up the water on the floor. 

“You just… surprised me, is all.” he replied, walking past you to throw his now drenched paper towels away. After the floor was dry again, you followed suit, throwing the damp sheets away before standing next to him. He had his hands pressed to the edge of the counter and was leaning on them, his head looking down at the floor.

“I-I’m sorry if I-”

“God, no,” he stopped you, “don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything, it’s just that… no one’s ever really offered me that before.” he looked over at you, his eyes soft and full of warmth.

“With how long you’ve been alive and how hot you are? I find that hard to believe.” you said playfully, reaching over to rub small, comforting circles into his back. 

“I’m serious!” he giggled, looking back down at the ground. Your smile faded, realizing he didn’t believe your words to be true. 

“So am I,” you stepped in front of him and looked into his eyes. “I meant it, but if you don’t want to then I’m not gonna force you.” He slowly stood up straight and cupped your face with both of his hands, tilting your head so you were looking up at him.

“You trust me that much?” he asked and you nodded. “And you’re sure about this?” you nodded once more. Mingyu leaned down as if he was going to kiss you, but stopped right in front of your lips. “I think,” he pecked your lips as gently as ever, “I’m in love with you.” 

You felt your heart swell in your chest and your cheeks flare up with heat, smiling even though your face was still encompassed by Mingyu’s hands. 

“So soon?!” you asked, not even bothering to try and contain your excitement. He laughed at you, releasing you from his grip and turning to grab his cup.

“Hey, I said I think,” he smirked before taking a sip of water. Your eyes wandered to the floor, and your mind to the events that happened just moments earlier when he walked through the door. Your playful manner suddenly dissipated as you remembered how his hands felt on your body, how his lips felt against yours. 

“Then why did you stop?” you asked quietly.

“Stop what?” he looked at you, clearly confused as he set it glass back on the counter.

“You know, when you got here... and I basically threw myself at you…” you eluded, trying to get him to understand.

“Yeeeah?” he looked at you, everything you were implying going completely over his head. You rolled your eyes and scoffed. 

“I’m not dressed like this,” you motioned to your ‘outfit’, “for no reason!” 

Mingyu chuckled. “I figured that’s just what you wear around the house!” He defended himself.

“With no pants on? When I knew you were coming over?” you questioned, arms crossed. He simply nodded as if he was stating the obvious. You sighed defeatedly as you walked away from him. 

“For a man who’s been alive for over 200 years you sure can be clueless sometimes!” you yelled as you opened the door to your room, heading for your bed.

Before you knew it, Mingyu was bursting through the door frame and picking you up. He threw your back down on the bed as you laughed, bouncing up and down slightly before he climbed on top of you. 

“You think I’m clueless huh?” he asked, his tone and facial expression totally serious. Your smile instantly faded, eyes widening at his demeanor and the sudden close proximities of your bodies. You went to reply, but he spoke again. “Think I didn’t wanna rip this thing off you the second I saw you?” 

He crashed his lips to yours as he lifted your leg up so it was bent at the knee before running his hand up your thigh and tugging at the hem of your shirt. 

“Then why didn’t you?” you asked against his lips, running your hands through his hair as he caressed your side. 

“Cause I didn’t wanna be wrong,” he moved his lips down to kiss your neck, a moan escaping your lips as the warmth of his mouth encapsulated your skin, “but now I know I wasn’t.” he kissed along your jaw, his tongue swiping across your sensitive skin, sending shivers down your spine. 

You reached forward and began pulling Mingyu’s shirt up, causing him to pull away from you and take it off. He looked down at you, your shirt having ridden up to just underneath your breasts. 

“What are these?” he asked, a smug expression taking over his features as he ran his thumb along the top of your underwear. You smirked up at him, glad that your plan was working. 

“Oh, nothing,” you replied as you confidently pulled your shirt the rest of the way off. 

“Oh my god,” Mingyu groaned, throwing his head back before taking in the sight before him that he could not believe he was lucky enough to be seeing. “You’re so fucking sexy,” he said in a low voice as he returned to kissing you. He was rough and passionate, teeth nearly clashing together as he ground his hardening member against your clothed core. 

“Mingyu,” you moaned lightly as you gently pulled his face away from yours, “I wanna try something.” he nodded at your words and you pushed him off of you.

“Sit,” you directed as you motioned toward the top of your bed. He looked at you curiously, but obliged and sat with his back against your headboard. You climbed onto his lap, legs on either side of his waist. He looked at you, admiration in his eyes as he ran his hands down your sides and over your hips. 

“I like this,” he stated happily and you smiled, pulling him toward you and reconnecting your lips. Your tongue ran across his bottom lip, his hands moving down to your ass, grabbing it as he inhaled sharply. “God you’re amazing,” he breathed against your lips.. 

“We haven’t even gotten to the good part,” you said, your voice sultry as you began kissing his neck, leaving a hickey here and there. Whimpers left his mouth as you kissed him, grinding yourself down on his crotch. His hard cock rubbed against your clit perfectly, your underwear dampening. He moved his hands up and unclasped your bra with ease, tossing it on the floor. He groped your breasts with vigor, loving the feeling of your breasts in his hands. Your skin was on fire and his cool hands felt amazing against your nipples

You begrudgingly took his hands off of your breasts and began kissing down his body, your hand moving to palm him through his pants. He let out a low moan, the combination of your mouth on him and your hand palming him feeling better than he could’ve imagined. 

Once you reached the band of his underwear, you pulled his pants down his legs and tossed them aside. You placed your hands on his hips as you ran your tongue along his clothed member, placing light kisses along it as he moaned beneath you. 

“Y/N please…” he begged breathlessly, eyes closed with his head leaning against your headboard. You smiled at his desperation and slowly removed his underwear before throwing it to where his pants were. You turned back toward him and stared at his member in front of you… he was… gigantic? You swallowed your pride, though you were worried that he may be too much for you to handle.

Instead of letting your insecurity show, you licked a long, slow stripe up his shaft, a guttural moan falling from Mingyu’s lips. You swirled your tongue around his tip, collecting the precum that threatened to fall from it. He let out a shaky breath and you looked up at him. His eyelids were heavy, but his eyes were on you, his chest falling up and down in a quick rhythm. You smirked at his fucked-out state and took as much of him as you could in your mouth, nearly gagging when his tip reached the back of your throat. 

“Y/N…” he whimpered, causing you to moan as you pulled off of him. Something about Mingyu, who had such a big effect on you, being so weak at your fingertips had you dripping. “That feels so good.”

“Good, I’m glad.” you smiled as you jerked him off, using your saliva as a lubricant. You moved your head back down and took the top of his member in your mouth, continuing to move your hand up and down the bottom of it. The sounds coming from your room were absolutely filthy, but admittedly, you loved it. 

Mingyu moved one of his hands into your hair as he whined, his bottom lip nearly bleeding from how hard he was biting it. You moved your mouth off of him and he almost began to complain, but then he noticed you moving lower. As you twisted your hand up and down his member, you took one of his balls into your mouth. 

“Jesus Y/N,” he nearly yelled, back arching off of your headboard. You took your hand off of his cock and put him back in your mouth, moving your hand to his balls and massaging them gently. “Fuck I’m gonna cum,” he whispered, his words causing you to moan against him. The vibration sent a feeling of euphoria through his entire body, his seed shooting into the back of your throat as he moaned your name. 

Though it had been a while since you’d blown someone, you thought you handled yourself pretty well. You tried not to make a face as you swallowed his load. It wasn’t your favorite thing to do, but you were by no means a quitter. 

You sat up and fixed your hair, allowing yourself to catch your breath as you admired Mingyu’s figure. His eyes were closed, his arms limp at his side as he attempted to recover from the whirlwind you had just thrown him into. He looked amazing… ethereal even. 

“Was that okay?” you asked innocently as you crawled toward him. He looked at you like you had 3 heads. 

“Are you kidding me?” he questioned, but you just shrugged as you went to straddle him once more. Before you could place your hands on his shoulders, he was flipping the two of you over so that you were on your back. “You’re not gonna remember your own name when I’m done with you,” he groaned against your lips as he kissed you. He ground against you and your eyes shot open as you broke the kiss.

“Are you hard?” you asked in utter disbelief. 

“Yes,” he said impatiently, spreading your legs further apart for more access. 

“But you just-”

He sat up and looked you in the eyes knowingly, “Vampire thing.”

“Oooooh…” you nodded as he returned his attention to your lips, the information you’d just learned arousing you even further. 

His lips were soft against yours, which was a great contrast to the way he kissed you. Your tongue swiped his, messily getting lost in each other’s tastes. You ran your hands through his hair and tugged on it lightly, making him moan quietly into your mouth. 

His lips moved to your neck, teeth lightly grazing across your skin every now and then. You wondered if he would bite you, as you’d given him permission, but his lips merely trailed down to your chest instead. His hand caressed your thigh as he kissed the expanse of your breasts, seemingly covering every inch of skin with kisses. Though, being the tease he is, he kissed around your nipples that were hardened with arousal, which was exactly where you wanted his mouth in that moment. He looked up at you with a smirk, knowing exactly what he was doing. 

He took his time kissing his way down your stomach. He gently ran his hand up and down your side, often whispering sweet nothings against your skin. The pace of your breathing quickened as he moved further down your body, letting out a whimper as he licked up your navel toward your belly button. He hooked his pointer finger around the waistband of your underwear, pulling them off of you in the blink of an eye.

Mingyu brought both of his hands to your knees and spread them as far as they would go. You became slightly self-conscious as he did and said nothing, he simply stared at your dripping core. Before you knew it, he was lunging toward your center, his tongue attacking your clit as if he’d been starved of your taste for days. 

He took turns licking long stripes up your folds and taking your clit in his mouth, sucking and toying with it with his tongue. The noises you were making were uncontrollable at that point, a loud moan falling from your lips when one of his fingers entered you.

“Mingyu…” you whined, your hand making your way to his hair. 

“You’re so beautiful Y/N,” he groaned against your core, “So beautiful....” 

Your cheeks flushed even more at his words. They were cheesy, but they rubbed you in exactly the right way. 

He sucked on your clit as his fingers curled inside you, eyes rolling into the back of your head as your back arched off your bed. The obscene noises you were making went straight to Mingyu’s crotch, causing him to rut his hips against the bed as he ate you out. 

He added a second finger inside of you and removed his lips from your center, causing you to whine in disapproval. He began kissing the inside of your thighs, biting down on the skin occasionally and replaced the feeling of his tongue with his finger, putting pressure on your clit as he rubbed you toward your climax. 

“Oh my god, more, please,” you begged, your other hand running through your own hair as your orgasm built up inside of you. Your breathing stuttered when he returned his tongue to your clit, moving it in a similar fashion as he did his thumb and the sensation was one you’d never felt before. A chill ran down your spine when the coil in your stomach snapped, your climax tearing through you with immense force as the combination of how good his tongue and fingers felt finally hit you. 

Your back arched off the bed once more, feral noises coming from your throat mixed with the sound of his name falling off your lips was like music to Mingyu’s ears. He didn’t stop his movements until your grip on his hair loosened and you were whining for him to stop.

He sat back on his heels before licking his lips and sucking his fingers clean. He smirked down at you, crawling back on top of your fucked-out form and pecking your lips lightly. The way you looked in that moment, a light sheen of sweat covering your forehead along with your eyelids that threatened to fall shut, made Mingyu’s heart swell. 

“I think I’ve changed my mind,” he said as he lovingly moved some stray hairs away from your face. 

“Yeah? About what?” you asked as you admired his now messy features, reveling in his touch. 

“I’m definitely in love with you.” 

For some reason your body had woken you up almost an hour before you needed to be awake, but you supposed there was no harm in that. You woke up against Mingyu’s bare chest, a light snore falling from his lips, along with a wee bit of drool. You thought it was more endearing than anything else as you stared at him, nothing but admiration in your eyes and a warm feeling in your heart. 

He was in love with you? So soon? Your mind didn’t want to believe it, but your heart couldn’t help falling for his words. Even if he didn’t mean it, even if it was premature, it felt right. It didn’t scare you. It didn’t make your heart feel like retreating even further into your body and convincing you to run away. You wanted his words to be genuine, and similarly, you wanted to be able to say it back to him just as truthfully someday soon. You knew it wouldn’t take you long to fully fall for him, there was just one thing you needed to take care of first. 

Wonwoo. The only reason you were able to sleep the previous night was because of how worn out Mingyu had made you, and you were grateful for that. You became increasingly anxious as you waited for your best friend to come home, not wanting to talk about the situation, but recognizing that you desperately needed to. 

You slowly slid your bare body out of your bed, careful not to wake Mingyu. You walked over to pick up your discarded clothes from last night, slipping the shirt you were wearing then back over your head. You were feeling cold, so you walked over to your dresser and pulled out a pair of pajama pants, slipping those on as well. 

You heard your front door open and you stood up straight, panic rushing through your body. Your eyes were wide as you weren’t expecting Wonwoo to be home so soon and before that moment you thought you might actually have some time to prepare what you wanted to say to him. Though your mind was telling you to cover Mingyu with blankets and pillows so he couldn’t be seen and stay in your room and be as silent as possible, your feet completely disregarded your thoughts as you began walking toward your bedroom door. You opened it and began walking toward your best friend who was now in the kitchen. You reached his back that was facing you and hesitated.

“Wonwoo?” you said quietly, reaching up and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off. “Do you think we could talk? Please?” you kept your voice quiet, gentle. He turned around slowly until he was facing you. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N.” he shook his head and shrugged his broad shoulders. You looked at him, loads of sympathy in your eyes. 

“Yes there is. I’m not okay with things being so awkward between us and I know you aren’t either.” you replied, trying to maintain eye contact, but he kept his eyes on the floor. 

“And how are we supposed to make things not awkward?” he asked, arms crossed as he mindlessly swiped his sock-covered foot across the tile floor. 

“Listen, if I had known you liked me before I met Mingyu, he wouldn’t even be in the picture right now. I never really admitted it, but I’ve always liked you too. Even now I’m not totally sure how I feel, I just know that I’m with Mingyu now and I really, really like him and you’re with someone else now too, so I think we should both just keep doing what we’re doing,” you let out a deep breath, Wonwoo finally looking into your eyes. “I know it’s not that easy, but… just try and focus on moving on. I’ll give you the space and time you need, I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable here, and I don’t wanna stop being friends.” you explained as calmly as you could, you didn’t want to get too emotional in fear of what you might say.

“Friends?” Wonwoo asked, disbelief in his voice. You were suddenly worrying again, wondering if you’d said something wrong. You went to defend yourself, but he spoke before you. “I thought we were best friends?” a smile creeped onto Wonwoo’s face and you rolled your eyes.

“You scared me!” you swatted his arm, barely taking note of the fact that he was pulling you into a hug, a light chuckle leaving his lips. You’d missed his laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” he hugged you tightly, “we just never got the timing right, that’s all.” he rubbed your back and you nodded against his toned chest.

“If something’s meant to happen, it will.” was all you could think to reply. You believed it, you really did, and if it was fated that the two of you end up together, you knew it would happen somehow.

You stayed in the comfort of his arms for a little bit before pulling away. You looked up into his eyes and the moment you did you knew you shouldn’t have. You got lost in his soft, cat-like orbs before admiring his nose that came to a perfect point. You moved to his lips, and when you had stared at them for far longer than was acceptable, you heard footsteps behind you.

You panicked, immediately pushing Wonwoo away and attempting to collect yourself before turning around. Mingyu was just standing there, fully dressed with a look on his face that was an uneasy combination of disappointment and insecurity. Your face fell upon seeing him. How much had he heard? 

Wonwoo looked between the two of you, but he said nothing. He merely walked to his room as quickly as he could, avoiding Mingyu’s eyes along the way. When you heard Wonwoo’s bedroom door shut, you bolted toward Mingyu and prepared to explain yourself.

“Mingyu-”

“Why…” he sighed, interrupting you, “Why did he leave yesterday?” his voice broke a little as he spoke, your heart along with it.

“He just-” you so badly wanted to keep things vague, make excuses even, but you knew the truth would come out at some point, and he deserved to know anyway. You ran your hands through your hair frustratedly. “He told me that he has feelings for me.” you admitted defeatedly. Mingyu let out a breathy laugh of disbelief, his expression quickly turning sour again.  

“Did you mean it?” he asked quietly, seriously. He was looking right at you, all of his emotions on display. 

“Mean what?” 

“What you said… about me.” his jaw clenched. 

“That… that I like you?” 

“No,” his annoyance finally got the best of him, “When you said that I wouldn’t even be in the picture right now if you had known Wonwoo liked you before you met me. Did you mean that?” his voice was harsh as he took a step closer to you. You knew he wouldn’t hurt you, but it was the first time you’d ever felt scared of him. You knew in that moment you could either lift his spirits or crush them, but in order to be truthful, you could only do the latter. 

“I-” you let out a sigh, closing your eyes. “Yes, but trust me-”

“That’s all I needed to hear.” he cut you off and headed toward the door.

“Mingyu please-” you followed him, but before you could finish your thought, the door was slamming in your face, Mingyu on the other side of it. 

You leaned your forehead against the door, tears swelling in your eyes. You couldn’t believe you’d been so careless with your words when Mingyu was just in the other room. The worst part was that you knew you meant them, but you still wouldn’t trade what you had with him for anything… or anyone. If something is meant to happen it will, your mind repeated, and you ended up with Mingyu; you knew it was no coincidence. 

You felt your heart nearly tear in half when you remembered he’d told you he was in love with you less than 12 hours ago. Warm tears began falling from your eyes, streaming down your cheeks as you ran into your room, slamming the door behind you. 

You couldn’t manage going any further. You leaned against the back of your door, your face in your hands as you cried. You couldn’t imagine how horrible he must’ve felt, hearing you say out loud that you would’ve completely disregarded him if only another man had gotten to you before him. You never thought you would hurt him, and by no means did you ever want to.

As you wiped the salty droplets caused by nothing but your own stupidity off of your cheeks, you saw your phone screen light up and begin to vibrate from its place on the floor. You walked over to it and picked it up, seeing that it was your mother calling. You texted your parents frequently, but your face scrunched in confusion as you rarely ever called each other. You attempted to pull yourself together, drying your tears once more as you answered the call, putting the phone up to your ear. 

“Mom?” 

“Y/N? Sweetie are you okay? Are you hurt?” she asked frantically, seemingly through tears.

“What? Mom, I’m fine. What’s going on?” 

“We were robbed last night.”

a/n: ..hehe :D

[senbons]

do u hv any general tips on writing? ive spent so long re reading ur fics to learn from them, and each time im absolutely amazed at how good it is, like, each word feels like it needed to be there including words like "really" "probably" "even" just small things like that, make it so real, and as if we're actually reading the character's thoughts. also, when it comes to fics, do you base it off your own life? or do you some research, if so are there any sites u use frequently? have a good day <3

Hmmm okay

I'll go slightly out of order (under cut bc trying not to spam dashes):

First off, thank you so so much!! Wowzers! Every time someone says they've read something I wrote more than once, it makes me so, so happy!!! And to do it with the intention of learning?! Whoa! I'm so touched! Someone once told me they learned a lot whenever I did that "commentary" on coming up tails... I planned on doing that w ch. 11 of aibg (that someone requested)... maybe I should rally? Idk, if you think it'd be of some use, lmk and I'll begin this weekend. That said, I never took a writing class apart from one memoir one, so idk much. I'm also just kind of going with the flow and hoping what I write makes sense! I don't think I'd ever have enough confidence in my writing to go into a creative lit class or anything! (funny you'd say that about not having one excessive word bc I'm actively trying to write LESS... I think I always have too many unnecessary words 😂)

(vaguely answered inspo before) I do base a LOT off my own life. Mostly conversations I'm imagining with people I like. Like I have a crush on this guy (see any other post), and a few months back I saw him in a store and we didn't speak, but saw each other. i kept imagining he would wait outside when i exited and i'd walk up to him and the first thing i'd say to him, meeting him in person for the first time, would be: "i'm going to hate myself, aren't i?" "why?" he'd ask. "for having sex with you." and that obviously didn't happen, but i imagined it over and over and am always tempted to write a ST story w work enemies based on that one fantasied-conversation. does that make sense?

The easiest ones offhand are ALL of On Pride. I did get a splinter and meet a classmate at the hospital week one of undergrad. I went to dinner with someone i liked all through law school and he always knew it and it always felt like the timing didn't work, but he also was single and then went out with someone else? but i still am positive liked me? idk (this and hospital were years apart and different people). Or in paper moon, I had a think w a guy in barbados that was similar... or had the same conversation at the cloisters in ny that they have in the church about god... So point of the story: yes, a lot of things are based off dumb shit in my life, but most is based off imagined-conversations with men. also a lot on scenes from media I consume. I'll see a movie, love one plot point, think about it for weeks, and then decide to write it down. (or these days, you guys... i did a rough outline of that whole royal!au/bodyguard!au after someone put it in an ask 😂)

That all said, I don't do research for inspiration... but when I have a question (see this answer) I just google. during oh, oh I'm on fire (worth the tag even though no one will read? 😭) I called my mother so many times to ask about the 70's (i.e. did you say fridge or icebox growing up? when did grandma stop wearing panty-hose?). So that's basically it? (i even read a book specifically for that though!). No specific websites. Sorry I can't be of more help!

And then, finally, general tips:

just write. That’s the most important. Edit later if that helps. Just keep writing.

I am a pro-outliner. But sometimes that doesn’t work for everyone. I love it because I can lay out the big things and then see where I have gaps. And when I need motivation, i already have the section basically drafted. So if I’m having to force myself (which happens — it’s work. There is always a few parts (sometimes more) of a fic I have to grit my teeth through), I already have what I want to say outlined and can just write it out and by the time I finish that section, I’m into it and can move onto the next thing. I love outlining. It helps me see the big picture too. And when I need motivation, I’ll just reread my outline.

If that doesn’t work though, then just write. And when it gets hard, see if you can just eek out one more page, even if you hate everything you’re putting down, just to get over that hurdle.

And find friends! If you ever need someone to look at your writing, let me know! I have no superlative ideas, but can always be around to talk through things/motivate!

Anyway, sorry for this morbidly long answer. I hope at least some of it was of use. And thank you for this message! It really made my day to see it as soon as I woke up!

<3<3<3

[andrewmoocow]

Steven Universe Alternate Future chapter 22: Pumpkin Patch (originally published on August 9, 2021)

AN: At long last, the homestretch of Part 3, which I have already dubbed the Tearjerking Three last time. And for our first entry into this trilogy, we finally get an update on the relationship between Peridot and Lapis, which I found to be done so dirty in Future as a Lapidot shipper. I mean, they didn't even interact with each other even when they were in the same episode together! Plus, Pumpkin just disappeared into thin air once the movie came along, leaving the only hint of where she is now are those similar gourd puppies from The Future. But enough griping, let's get my personal answer on what really happened, and maybe a big surprise that I no doubt have already spoiled on DeviantArt anyways.

Synopsis: Steven, Peridot and Lapis reminisce on the anniversary of Pumpkin's death.

Cast:

Zach Callison as Steven, Pumpkin

Shelby Rabara as Peridot, Squaridot

Jennifer Paz as Lapis, Laz, Zuli

Estelle as Garnet

Michaela Dietz as Amethyst, Ocean Jasper

Deedee Magno-Hall as Pearl

Uzo Aduba as Bismuth

Amy Sedaris as Teal Zircon

Jeff Bergman as Farmer

Featuring Billie Eilish as Turquoise

--

"Maybe I'll find myself smiling on that distant shore," Steven sang to himself while gazing at his watch as the oven timer counted down in front of him. "Maybe I'm not alone."

The timer beeped, notifying Steven that whatever he had in the oven was ready. After putting on some oven mitts and opening the oven, Steven pulled a pumpkin pie out and set it on the counter to cool. "This one is for you two, guys." He said before gazing at a nearby calendar that read June 7th. "I remember it like it was yesterday." Steven then began to reminisce on the aftermath of his visit to Homeworld.

--

A few weeks the Crystal Gems have successfully convinced the Diamonds to help them in healing the corrupted Gems on Earth, these Gems now needed somewhere to live. As far as Steven knew, there was no way they could expand the Temple to make room for all of them, and he's sure none of the newly healed Gems wanted to return to Homeworld, so the Crystal Gems decided that their only choice now was to build them their own little town. They had some basic ideas down, but all they needed now was a name.

"How about Peritropolis?!" Peridot suggested as she wrote down her choice of name on the whiteboard, with little sketches of her face surrounding the name for emphasis. "Pretty cool, huh?"

"How about something that won't stroke your ego?" Steven frowned at the idea.

"What about Barnstantinople?" Lapis proposed. "We are building it around where the barn used to be after all."

"Speaking of which, how's clean-up on that going?" Amethyst asked, looking out the window to gaze at the wreckage that was once Lapis and Peridot's barn house home. "I think some bits of it might be useful somehow."

"I say we put that on hold." Lapis stated. "That old barn caused just as much harm to Peridot and me as much as it did good."

"You serious about this?" Peridot asked her blue roommate. "I mean, we had so many good memories in there."

"Yeah, and a lot of those memories were you just bending over backwards trying to keep me happy." Lapis added. "I know you're still sad about me jumping ship and coming back with only a "Hey", but I still got things to work out, y'know."

"OK." Peridot said just as their pet Pumpkin opened the door. "Oh, hey Pumpkin!"

In contrast to Peridot being excited to see Pumpkin, the little canine fruit let out an exhausted bark before sitting down to nap, revealing wrinkles around her eyeholes.

"Hey, is your little buddy there doin' alright?" Bismuth asked. "I barely know a thing about the lifespan of organic creatures, but even I know she ain't doing so hot."

"Oh, I'm sure she's just tired!" Peridot assured Bismuth. "Just needs to rest, that's all!"

"Don't be so sure Peridot." Garnet advised the little Gem. "Pumpkin was brought to life with magic, which means she's probably lived longer than a pumpkin normally does."

"Just let her be happy Garnet." Pearl whispered into Garnet's ear. "She's already been through so much recently, and I don't think she can take anymore."

"You sure she's OK Dottie?" Steven asked Peridot regarding Pumpkin. "Nothing lasts forever, you know."

"Oh, she just needs some extra time in the Sun!" Peridot laughed. But despite her insistence, that wasn't how the story really went.

--

"Okay, a little to the left!" Peridot commanded Squaridot as the eye Gem Peridot levitated a lifeguard chair around while Bismuth, Ocean Jasper & Teal Zircon dug up the ground to build a swimming pool. "No, your other left!" she corrected herself. "Wait wait, your other OTHER left!"

"There's no such thing as an other other left!" Squaridot yelled and grumpily set the chair down next to where she was standing. "How's this?"

"Perfect." Peridot gave her fellow technician a thumbs up before turning around to see the Lapis twins walk towards the construction site. "Oh, I see our lifeguards wanna start early!"

"Why was it necessary for us to dress in these?" Laz wondered while modeling the red one-piece she was wearing. "I don't think red is my color."

"I don't know about you Laz, but I make this look good!" Zuli declared while flaunting her body in a matching outfit. "We look just like the hotties on Coast Patrol or Destiny from CPH season 3! By the way, where's Lapis? She's head lifeguard, so shouldn't she be out here with us?"

"She still has the suit, but she's not coming out because today is a special day." Peridot stated. "It's the anniversary of a certain something."

"Hey, I think I can see Steven's car!" Ocean Jasper cried out as she peeked out of the hole to find Steven disembarking from his Dondai Supremo and walking over with the pumpkin pie in hand. "And he's got a pie, maybe as thanks for our hard work."

"Naw, I don't think it's for us Ocean." Bismuth said just as Steven walked over to Peridot. "I think we should leave them alone for a bit and get back to work."

"Aw, but I wanted a pie!" Teal Zircon complained.

"I see you got the pie." Peridot said to Steven while gazing at the pie in his hands. "In case you're wondering, we worked on a new meep morp last night dedicated to her."

"Okay, why don't you show me?" Steven offered.

"I'd be happy to." Peridot smiled before turning back to everyone at the in-progress pool. "Keep up the good work everyone, I'll just be taking the rest off!"

"Yeah, take some time for yourself, Peri." Bismuth replied while Squaridot used her burgeoning ferrokinesis to lift the blacksmith out of the pool. "Just don't get too teary-eyed and fill up the pool early."

"Yeah, we're planning on filling the pool for our opening ceremony!" Teal called while struggling to get out.

"And I'm just gonna catch some rays." Laz declared as she sat down on a lawn chair, pulled some sunglasses over her eyes, and began sunbathing. However, her moment of peace was cut off by Zuli loudly blowing into her whistle and laughing.

"So, who's the pie really for Bis?" Ocean Jasper asked as she climbed out the pool before helping Teal and the two sat down next to Bismuth.

"You two got a moment?" Bismuth asked, and the Jasper and Zircon nodded in affirmation. "Well, the pie is actually for a friend of theirs."

--

Steven and Peridot kept walking away from the pool and eventually found themselves in front of the Little Homeworld house that Lapis & Peridot shared. It looked like a smaller version of the barn the two Gems once lived in, but instead of being decorated with a mishmash of items around the barnyard, it now looked like Peridot did most of the construction with bits of metal and advanced technology sprinkled onto a simple-looking two-story cabin.

"Hey Lapis, we're here." Steven called out to Lapis as he and Peridot entered the cabin to find Lapis napping on the couch with a manga on her lap and a red one-piece hanging on a clothes hanger nearby. "Lapis, wake up."

"Agh, don't go with her Pierre!" Lapis yelled as she woke up from her nap and rubbed her eyes to find Peridot & Steven before her. "Sorry you guys, I was trying on my lifeguard uniform, but then I got bored and decided to relax a little."

"You still remember what day it is?" Peridot asked while Steven presented his pumpkin pie.

"Yeah, I still do." Lapis declared sadly. "Want to see the meep morp we've been working on, Steven?"

"Sure." Steven replied before the two Gems took him upstairs to their shared bedroom & workshop, where a very large sculpture of Pumpkin stood, a big smile permanently etched onto the front beneath a pair of innocent eyes. "Almost like the real thing. Except bigger."

"Showing this to you makes me miss her even more." Peridot began to hold back tears. "I still remember how I coped with it too."

--

The groundbreaking ceremony of what would soon become Little Homeworld went quite swimmingly for the Crystal Gems, thanks to the support of their Beach City friends and the Diamonds. But amidst the rejoicing of a new beginning for Gems on Earth, there was some bad news that flew right under everyone's noses.

After Peridot marked the giant pit where the barn once was with Little Homeworld's flag, Pumpkin came strolling up to her green owner looking far wearier and more decayed than she did previously, a sight which worried them greatly. As soon as the ceremonies ended, Pumpkin was rushed back to the beach house.

"Please Steven, you gotta do something!" Peridot begged Steven while Pumpkin laid before the trio with a heavy sigh emitting from her mouth. "Pumpkin doesn't have much time left, surely you must have the solution like you always do!"

"I'm really sorry Peridot." Steven said regretfully. "As much as I would love to help you and Lapis out, Pumpkin wasn't long for this Earth anyways. Death is a perfectly natural part of life. It can be real sad and scary to watch someone you treasured so dearly go, but ultimately, their time will come all the same."

"So, she was going to die regardless?" Lapis said apprehensively while stroking the living gourd's rotting body. "I don't really see how this is possible since you did bring her to life with your powers, but I can deal with it."

"Well, I'm not!" Peridot objected tearfully. "It's not fair! I've already been through so much, why does the universe have to keep nailing the hammer into the coffin?!"

"Peridot, I know you're upset, but you gotta listen." Steven tried comforting his little green pal. "Death is completely natural, even if it's scary. I mean, my dad might die someday, and so might Connie. I'm not sure if I can die like a human though."

"Well, your race is different." Peridot declared. "None of you will ever know what it's like to live forever!" With that, she stormed out of the beach house to vent, leaving her two friends to worry for Peridot.

"I don't think I want to know where this is going." Lapis muttered.

"If it's anything like what happened to Peridot after you left Earth, I don't think she'll take it very well." Steven agreed.

--

Using a trashcan lid, Peridot flew far away from the general area of Beach City and into the countryside, where farmlands were very prosperous. Farmlands like the ones she and Lapis tended to together in the past, and the ones where Pumpkin was born. The very sight of all these fresh crops made her more miserable. What gave them the right to grow so healthy while Pumpkin looked so withered?

"Rackum frackum produce, I'll show you what for!" Peridot mumbled as she touched down in front of a pumpkin patch and swiftly got to work on destroying them. "You walked so Pumpkin could die!" she yelled as her green body became covered in orange pumpkin insides. "Why can't anything go my way for once?!"

"Hey, get offa my crops ya gremlin!" a farmer yelled at Peridot while stomping over to her with a pitchfork in hand. "You got any idea what it's like to work so hard on a great harvest, only for it to be ruined by a bunch of punks?!"

"No, but I'm sure you don't know what it's like to love someone only to lose them!" Peridot argued with the farmer, a retort that stunned him a little before he tried to look more sympathetic.

"Coping, eh?" the farmer said. "Look, you have every right to get mad, but that don't mean you can just stomp all over someone else's hard work! You gotta find better ways to vent, ya know!"

"Look, sir, I literally just ran away from home, I don't have time right now." Peridot coldly rejected the farmer's advice.

"Well, looks like you left me no choice." The farmer shook his head before reaching behind his back and pulling out a scary mask to frighten Peridot with. "BOOGEDY BOOGEDY BOOGEDY!"

"AAAAAHHHHHH!" Peridot screamed loudly before flying away from the farm on her lid.

--

As soon as Peridot returned to Beach City, she soared right towards Steven's house, where she found him making a grilled cheese sandwich, and began pounding on his window.

"Steven! Steven!" Peridot yelled from outside, getting the half-Gem's attention. "Let me in, I wanna talk!"

"You know you can just come in yourself." Steven suggested before opening the door for his green friend. "How have things been going?"

"I got an idea for you." Peridot stated. "How about in exchange for helping me with Pumpkin, I'll do something for you in return. Just name your price, I'll do anything!"

"Peridot, are you trying to bribe me into saving Pumpkin?" Steven asked. "Didn't I tell you earlier that death is a natural part of life?"

"But you managed to save Lars from death with your crying!" Peridot objected. "Why can't you do the same to Pumpkin?! Why does she have to die while so many other pumpkins have to live?!"

"Pumpkins?" Steven asked. "What other pumpkins?"

"I vented my frustrations by whaling on some farmer's pumpkin harvest." Peridot confessed innocently. "He didn't take too kindly to that."

"I think I know where this is going." Steven realized. "Five Stages of Grief, right? First was anger, now you're bargaining. Which means depression might not be too far behind." Just then, as if on cue, Steven's phone started ringing with a message from Lapis that he readily picked up. "Hello?"

"Steven, is Peridot there?" Lapis asked from the other end of the line. "Ever since she fled the house, I took Pumpkin back to our place, and now she wants to see us both before, you know."

"See what I mean?" Steven declared to Peridot, who was now on the verge of breaking down because now, she finally realized it was too late. "Do you want to see her?"

"Yes please." Peridot began to sob and hugged Steven tight. "Promise me that you won't ever leave too, Steven."

"I promise." Steven stated, hugging Peridot back.

--

Meanwhile, at the massive construction site that would soon become Little Homeworld, Lapis gently watched over the slowly dying Pumpkin, whose normally bright orange skin now had splotches of grayish-black, as she let out a weak yip. "Don't die yet, sweetie." Lapis assured Pumpkin. "Peridot will be here soon, I know it."

And right on cue, Peridot and Steven soared right towards Lapis on the trash can lid to see Pumpkin off one last time. Peridot raced as fast as she could towards the groundwork for her and Lapis's new home and tightly nuzzled her pet gourd, unaware that it wasn't in the mood for such a tight hug.

"Peridot, let her go! She's in pain!" Lapis yelled while prying the sentient pumpkin from Peridot's embrace, much to the green Gem's agony.

"No, please!" Peridot cried. "Just let me hold her!"

"I'm sorry Peri, but I don't think she can take much more!" Lapis argued while on the brink of crying just as much. "Pumpkin's already dying. She's so scared right now, so let's just-"

"Don't try to argue Lapis." Steven solemnly interrupted Lapis. "Peridot's already having a breakdown as is."

"I'm sorry about that." Lapis quickly apologized before she turned to Pumpkin. "Pumpkin, if you can still hear me, I want you to know that you and Peridot were the only things keeping me sane here, even when I ran off to the moon." She said to the dying fruit. "I can't thank you enough for brightening my day with your cute little smile, your barking, and all the days we spent playing together. Even if we find a replacement, none can ever replace you, little guy."

"You want a turn, Peri?" Steven said to Peridot.

"Fine, but I won't like it." Peridot sniffed loudly as she walked up to Pumpkin. "You were like an offspring to us, Pumpkin." She said quietly. "When I first saw your little carved face, those adorable stubby legs, it filled my heart with so much joy. Figuratively, of course, since we naturally don't have hearts. But every step we took together, every struggle, kept me grounded here on this crazy planet. Oh stars, now I won't know what to do now."

"Mah, mah," Pumpkin barked weakly with her last breath. "Mommy."

"I promise you," Peridot declared while her gem touched Pumpkin's forehead. "I'll never forget."

And with that, Pumpkin gently shut her eyes, allowing herself to pass on with her mothers and her creator by her side.

--

The funeral that followed was a private affair, with only the other Crystal Gems, Connie and Greg in attendance, and Pumpkin buried outside Peridot & Lapis's house. However, it was after the funeral when trouble began brewing. Just like when she had first begun living with the Gems, Peridot began hiding away in the bathroom for the next week to grieve the demise of Pumpkin and seemed resilient in refusing to come out, no matter how much they tried.

"C'mon P-Dot, open up!" Amethyst called while pounding on the door. "If you're planning on flushing yourself down the toilet again, let me tell you again, I tried that once and it didn't work."

"I think I know what to do." Greg proposed his idea and held up a boombox that began playing a song he knew she would recognize. "I look up to the sky, that's full of stars-"

"I'm trying to mourn here, leave me alone." Peridot despondently declared.

"I say we should respect her wishes." Garnet stated before she turned her gaze to Lapis. "Unless…."

"You think I should go in there?" Lapis asked.

"You are quite possibly Peridot's closest friend." Pearl agreed with Garnet.

"Closest friend?" Bismuth raised an eyebrow. "C'mon, we all know there may be something more than that!"

"Well, okay then." Lapis finally accepted with a shrug and slowly pushed the door open. "Wish me luck." She then said before entering the bathroom and closing it behind her. "You still in here?"

"So, they sent you in now." Peridot observed hoarsely. "I may have lost all hope, but I can still hear you know."

"They do say we're the closest." Lapis said before she sat down on the edge of the tub where Peridot had hidden herself away beneath a cocoon of Steven's bedsheets. "Come on now, get up and sit next to me."

"Okay, if it's you, I'll talk." Peridot succumbed to Lapis's offer and rose from her comfy shell to talk with her barn mate. "I'm sorry for worrying you all this past week, it's just that Pumpkin was basically our baby! Watching her die was like watching a child die!"

"Except the child wasn't human, it was a magical living pumpkin." Lapis remarked, which caused Peridot to glare at her. "No offense."

"But still, outside of our relationship, why did you volunteer?" Peridot wondered.

"Well, because I wanted to return the favor." Lapis answered. "Remember what happened after that boat trip I took with Steven and his dad?"

--

As soon as Lapis dropped Steven and Greg off at the docks following the boat trip gone wrong, she needed someone to lean on in her time of need. It didn't matter who, it could be any of the other Crystal Gems, or one of Steven's human friends. But right now, there was only one person, or rather Gem, that she could turn to.

Lapis could now see the barn in the distance, and as reluctant as she was to admit it, Peridot was the only one who could understand her regarding a certain Quartz. "Peridot, are you there?" she called for her green housemate. "I'm back!"

"Lapis, so glad you could make it!" Peridot exclaimed while racing out of the barn. "I discovered that I can move spoons with my mind, I made some decent progress on my Camp Pining Hearts essay; though I'm still stuck on the poutine theory, and-" However, she realized a bit too late what Lapis was feeling. "Is something the matter?"

"Steven and I found Jasper during the trip." Lapis said morosely. "She wanted to fuse with me again because she says I changed her. And to be honest, I think it was kind of my fault. Unfusing with Jasper drove her mad and I even said I missed taking all my frustrations out on her!"

"Lapis, are you serious?" Peridot gasped in alarm.

"Yes, I'm serious." Lapis declared as her eyes darkened and she turned away from Peridot. "Go ahead, run off and live with the Gems again so you don't have to be another one of my victims. If Jasper says I'm a monster, then I guess I really am one, especially after the way I treated you when we first moved in together."

"Okay Lapis, I don't want your garbage right now!" Peridot yelled, briefly breaking Lapis out of her funk with the almost exact words she described the tape recorder she broke. "I can see you're very stressed out. You want to scream so bad, to hit something, to let your anger out! But whatever you do, don't lose it on other people."

"Wh-what are you saying?" Lapis asked.

"I'm mostly just repeating stuff I read online," Peridot admitted. "I think what you need is a way to vent healthily, maybe on a perfectly defenseless object."

"Like what?" Lapis raised an eyebrow in suspicion.

"One second!" Peridot exclaimed while walking into the barn and coming back out with an alien plush wearing a top hat and bowtie that she gazed at with a solemn expression. "I'm so sorry my sweet." She said softly to the stuffed toy before presenting it to Lapis. "Go ahead, hit it as hard as you can. Or maybe something else violent, whatever."

"Okay." Lapis sighed as she began feeling around the toy for something to do before grabbing at the bowtie and ripping it off the alien's neck, causing some stuffing to spill out of the hole she created. "Whoa."

"So, how did that make you feel?" Peridot asked as the alien dropped from her grip.

"Good." Lapis muttered in awe of what she just did. "I feel so much lighter now, like a real adrenaline burst."

"See, as I told you." Peridot smiled happily. "You just needed healthier ways to relieve stress."

"You're right." Lapis agreed when she got an idea. "Now, how about I try something a little heavier?" She then glanced over to a nearby pickup truck and used the water from Peridot's makeshift pool to lift it into the air. "How about this?"

"Yeah, I think that could work." Peridot nervously replied before Lapis suddenly tossed the truck into the air. "NO WAIT, THAT'S A LITTLE TOO-" she screamed and covered herself to avoid getting hit, but the truck instead crashed into the wall over the barn entrance, creating a massive hole that the vehicle filled. "Hm, guess I was wrong."

"Well, if we're gonna be living here together, why don't we make ourselves at home?" Lapis laughed and put a hand on Peridot's shoulder.

"Yeah, I think this is a good start." Peridot agreed while wrapping her arm around the taller Gem's waist and the two began brainstorming ideas for remodeling the barn.

--

"Yeah, I really was there for you back then." Peridot realized with a grin. "And from then on out, we were so close."

"You bet." Lapis replied and cupped Peridot's face in her hands. "Let me be a shoulder for you to cry on this time. I love you Peridot."

"I love you too Lapis." Peridot responded happily before the two began to kiss, and their gems started glowing as they began to fuse into a tall, slender Gem with turquoise hair, dark cyan hair in the shape of a maple leaf, Peridot's glasses, Lapis's top with a bright yellow star on it, a skirt with a bronze ribbon around her waist and dark teal sandals with bronze accents.

The new, accidental fusion of Peridot and Lapis looked around the bathroom and gazed down at her four hands. Feeling around her body, she felts the gems of her components on her forehead and back before coming to a shocking realization and let out a loud, confused scream. "AAAAAHHHHHHHH!"

"Is something wrong?!" Steven exclaimed as he barged into the bathroom to discover the fusion before him and started screaming as well, but this time in joy. "AAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!" the new fusion continued screaming and covered her face in alarm at Steven as the two continued shrieking at each other.

--

"But was that fusion really an accident or maybe something more?" Peridot asked while she, Steven, and Lapis walked outside to her and Lapis's garden in their backyard.

"Maybe a mix of both?" Lapis answered with a shrug. "I mean, we did kiss each other after saying "I love you" to each other, but the fusion part came out of nowhere."

"Still, we were all so happy to see you two fuse at last." Steven said. "Words could not describe how long I've been waiting for that moment."

"I couldn't shapeshift, so I just assumed I couldn't fuse as well." Peridot observed before they happened upon a makeshift tombstone that read 'In memory of Pumpkin. A good girl to the end.' "You know, all this talk reminds me of a song I've been writing for the past few days. It may seem a little short and I pulled from other sources, but it's the best I got."

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Lapis suggested eagerly. "Sing for us."

"Yeah, we never heard you do a solo before either." Steven agreed with the ocean Gem.

"Okay, if you insist." Peridot declared before she cued a nearby Robonoid tending to the garden to start playing jazzy music, and she started to sing. "My sweet little pumpkin o' mine, a living gourd with a smile so fine. You made us smile with your bark, your stem's like emerald, and filled with seeds of gold. You were our most beloved work of art."

Almost as if Pumpkin was coming back to listen to Peridot's eulogy, many similar living produce like additional pumpkins, some gourds, and squashes, began coming out to watch. "You saw fields of corn, sandy beaches too. In summers so warm, it was just us and you." Peridot continued singing. "And I think to myself, what a wonderful pet."

Soon, Lapis began to join in on the song as well. "Though your time was short, like all things are." She joined Peridot in singing with her own solo. "We'll always think of you, when we look at your star."

"Our sweet little pumpkin of ours," the pair finished the song and embraced each other. "You were a wonderful pet."

With that, the two Gems fused into Turquoise, this time on purpose while surrounded by living Cucurbita, and smiled.

"Thank you for coming today, Steven." Turquoise said to Steven. "It really means a lot to us."

"Nothing to it girls." Steven smiled while rubbing his finger on his upper lip.

In Memory of Thea "Muriel Bagge" White

June 16, 1940 – July 30, 2021

"What courage you have."

--

So ends the first installment of the Tearjerking Three. In comparison to what will come next, I'm pretty sure this will be tears of happiness at these two dorky barnmates basically becoming an item at last and even fusing too (also, I totally took Turquoise's design from @artifiziell, she makes some amazing stuff, go check her out). But next time, we move on from someone being dead for real to someone being dead to Steven. Can you guess which one? Oh who am I kidding, if you watch me on DeviantArt, I basically spoiled everything after this.

[snarkwriteswrasslin]

15.12, le tits now, trent baretta

Title: le tits now ( let it snow wrapping paper used wrongly, ftw.) 

Theme: Wrapping paper

Fandom / Character(s):Trent Baretta, AEW

Warnings: It’s flirtatious and a little comedy. Oh and definitely over the top fluffy. That’s p. much it. 

Word Count: uhhh... roughly 2k.

This is my entry to @champbucks 12 Days Of Christmas Challenge for the day.Listen.. I was shown a picture by my bb @schizoauthoress​ that I immediately took and ran with. So.. thank them for the inspo. The wrapping paper is supposed to say let it snow, but instead, it’s wrapped horribly enough that it reads le tits now. Annnyway. I went full on sexy rom com funny with this, so I really hope ya’ll like it? I had way too much fun writing it.

BTW>. i made the banner thing. No stealing.

Tagging:

@kyleoreillysknee​​​

@rampagewriting​​​

@writertoo18​​​

@thatnerdwriter​​​

@wrestlingismyguiltypleasure​​​

@chasingeverybreakingwave​​​

@waywardwrestlewritingwaif​​​

@sassymox​​​

@champbucks​​​

@hungmanhorsecarriage​​​

@wardl0w​​​

@ryantaylorgirl​​​

@dilfmoxley​​​

@hotyeehawman​​​

@gabbynorth98​​​

@bec0m​​​

@irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​​​

@daddyslittlevillain​​​

[ about page | masterlist | tag list ]

The baseball cap was being passed around Catering and for the most part, I ignored it. Only vaguely noticed it. Hell, if I’m being honest, I was only halfway listening to Brandi Rhodes as she explained the ‘rules’ that went along with Secret Santa.

Kris leaned in and elbowed me, whispering with a soft laugh, “I hope I get OC.”

“I don’t care who I get as long as it’s not Hager. Because I can’t punch him in the dick and call it a present to humanity.” I mumbled, shrugging lazily as I scrolled Twitter.

More to the point, I may or may not have been scrolling Trent’s Twitter… For the fourth time that day. As soon as Kris caught onto it, she smiled and teased quietly, “But you’d really like it if you got Trent’s name.. Right?”

“I mean.. I wouldn’t exactly complain.” I answered Kris, putting down my phone and looking up at her, laughing softly. I could feel someone staring at me but I didn’t bother turning around. It was probably Hager again, being gross.. Again.

The baseball cap made it’s way to our table. Kris went first, pulling out a slip of paper.

“Ooh.”

“What’s ooh? Did you get OC?” I asked, teasing a little. 

“No, actually.” Kris was giving me this smug little smirk. I pretty well knew she wasn’t going to tell me just yet. And it didn’t really bother me.

I eyed the baseball cap. “Well, here goes nothing. Please baby Jesus in the manger, don’t be Hager. Don’t be Hager..” I reached in and grabbed at two slips, letting the first one settle back in the hat and pulling out the second. I opened it, eyes scrolling over the writing on the page.

“Oh thank god. It’s not Hager.” I may or may not have said it a little too loud, because at the table behind us, I heard Chuck Taylor start snickering, immediately launching into an impersonation of Hager that prompted me to turn and laugh as I nodded and gave him the thumbs up.

“You have to sound dumb as a brick next time though, Chuckie.. Man’s as dumb as a brick.”

“Noted, darlin. Who did you two get, huh?” Chuck asked Kris and I. 

“We’re not supposed to tell! That ruins the whole surprise!” Kris’ eyes went wide. I laughed and shook my head. I nodded my head subtly towards Kris when she was preoccupied and Chuck smirked, leaning in to whisper, “Just shove her in a room with Orange. Pretty sure it’ll make both their Christmas real jolly.”

“Noted, Chucky boy.” 

Knowing that Chuck was one of exactly 3 people who kind of knew about my little crush on Trent, I leaned in a second later and whispered, “Any idea who got Trent’s name?”

Chuck shrugged but he waited and leaned across the aisle when everybody else was occupied or talking and muttered quietly, “If I find out, I’ll send ‘em your way.”

“Yeah, that’d be great. I got Kris, but I’ve already got her a present or two.” I explained. And honestly, after that I totally forgot about the whole thing.

XXX

“Who did you get, man?” Chuck asked the question because Trent was.. In deep thought mode and hadn’t been listening to at least the last ten minutes of the conversation currently going on around him. The question was enough to pull Trent out of his deep thought and Trent chuckled, raising his hips so that he could dig around in the pockets of his jeans to find the slip of paper he’d drawn earlier that night in Catering when they all drew names.

Chuck took the slip and looked at it, promptly chuckling.

“So you’re going for it, huh?”

“Mhm. Was there any doubt though, Chuckie?”

“Good. Good, man.” 

Orange spoke up from the back. “I got Trent.”

Trent chuckled.

“Thinkin about tradin though. Found something I wanted to get Kris.”

Chuck rubbed his chin thoughtfully and filed away what Orange revealed for later. Maybe he’d run into his friend again later, when he didn’t have Trent and Orange hanging around.

Orange eyed Chuck and asked, “Who’d you get?”

“Stunt. I’ll get the kid some guitar strings and a few picks or something. That’ll be a damn breeze.”

“Excuse me, did you say you were trading my name, Orange? I thought we were buds.” Trent pretended to pout and Orange rubbed his chin, smirking as he shrugged. He sank back against the backseat and dragged his fingers through his hair. “We are. Just thought it was time I did something.”

“Yeah, same thing with me. I get it, man.” Trent explained. And he smirked to himself, because he had more than a few ideas just how he could go about what he had in mind. 

XXX

I’d just stepped into the hotel lobby when an arm shot out from behind the christmas tree tucked away in the corner. I’d been just about to start swinging when I realized it was Chuckie.

“Dude, what the hell?”

“I have news.”

“Yeah?” I eyed him, wondering what the hell was up. When he explained that he knew who’d gotten Trent’s name and that this person might be willing to trade, especially if I had Kris’ name… I nodded, smirking and giving Chuck a high five. “Take me to this person. Let’s do this. I’m ready for things to… Finally come out.”

Chuck gave me this smirk that gave me the distinct feeling that there was more that he wasn’t saying, but instead of pressing him for it, I chose to follow along. We wound up by the vending machines and while I waited and Chuck texted whoever he was telling me about just a second or two ago, I got myself some junk food and a few sodas for the night, promptly popping the top on a wild cherry Pepsi and taking myself a seat on the floor, my back to the machine.

About a minute later, Orange Cassidy appeared, leaning lazily in the doorway, smirking as he rubbed his chin. “She’s the one, huh?” and he went quiet again, as if he were in thought. “You have Kris’ name?”

“I do, yeah. I already got her presents that I want to give her… Hey, wait… Are you looking for her name specifically?” I flashed Orange a teasing grin and he shrugged, answering with a quiet “Maybe.”

I dug around, producing the slip of paper, holding it out. Orange dug the slip of paper with Trent’s name on it out of his jacket pocket, but before he handed it over, he gave a teasing smirk. “At least you’re cool.”

“I,uh.. Thanks I think?” I dragged my hand through my hair and gave a soft laugh and as we switched names, I asked, “This stays between us… Right?”

“Definitely. See ya around. Chuck, Trent’s looking for you.” Orange nodded towards the check in desk. After another second or two of Chuck teasing me and saying that he should have known I had a thing for Trent because apparently I wasn’t as good at hiding it as I thought I was, Chuck and Orange left, leaving me sitting there to finish off my Pepsi in silence as I waited on the line at the check in desk to die down just a little.

And as I did that, I scoured a few shopping sites, trying to settle on what exactly I wanted to get Trent for Christmas, while mumbling to myself audibly, “I should just show up on the night we’re to meet up face to face in a big red bow…”

From behind me, I heard Kris giggle.

“So you did get Trent…” Kris mused, flopping down to sit beside me. I smiled and nodded. There was absolutely no way I was going to ruin the whole surprise where Orange willingly trading around til he wound up with her name was concerned, so for now, I saw no need in mentioning that I’d traded.

“It might be a little cold for your idea just now.” Kris cautioned and I gave a laugh, shrugging it off. “It was just a thought. I think I’m gonna get him a gag gift the first night.. Something that’ll make him blush.. Oooooh.. Hey.. do you feel like going to that adult store in town with me in the morning before we hit the gym?”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Massage oils. And a new neck pillow for flights. He gets the worst tension in his neck I’ve noticed..”

“Flavored massage oils?” Kris taunted, poking her tongue out at me.

I pretended to be shocked and gaped at her. “I.. Never said that… I mean, not exactly...”

“I know how your mind works, A.”  Kris teased me gently and I gulped, blushing a little over how well she managed to call me out just now. “That is an idea to file away for the future… I mean.. If this all doesn’t backfire in my face.” I pulled myself off of the floor that I’d been sitting inappropriately on, and I reached out, grabbing for the heels I’d pretty much abandoned upon entering the building.

“Still think those new stilettos were good for tonight?” Kris was teasing me again and I laughed it off as I debated on whether I actually wanted to put them back on and have my feet screaming at me in sheer agony. 

I quickly decided that no, no I did not feel up to that tonight.

“They made my ass in these jeans look amazing, so yeah. Yeah I do, Kris.” I taunted, making her laugh and shake her head as she remarked, “Opposites attract is definitely true in your case, huh?”

“God, yes.. And speaking of opposites, there he is now..”

I stared like a helpless idiot as Trent walked past with Orange and Chuck flanking him. Chuck managed to look back and catch me staring, holding up two fingers. To anybody else that would’ve been a peace sign. But to me, that was a reminder.

I had two nights until I was face to face with Trent, revealing myself and probably, everything I felt for the guy.

XXX

“You’re actually giving her the present.. Wrapped like that.” Chuck was trying his best to hold in laughter. Almost failing miserably, but he was trying. Trent eyed the box he held in his hand and smirked at Chuck, nodding. “I am, why? What the hell is wrong with my mom’s leftover wrapping paper, huh?”

,, for starters you wrapped it so bad it reads le tits now, but hey.. You do you, buddy.” Chuck could’ve said it, but what Trent was doing was a huge deal. It was something Trent probably should’ve done a while ago, as opposed to just keeping his feelings to himself and going above and beyond to kind of keep his distance from the girl in question unless they had to interact.

Because yeah.. While all the quiet staring and the pining going on was cute as hell between the two, it was getting to a point where the sexual tension was so heavy that literally everyone around them was suffering for it also.

“Tonights night one, man.”

“That it is, Chuck.” Trent took a long and deep breath, almost as if he were centering himself. He waited until no one was looking and made his way into Catering, over to the decorated tree that sat on top of a table in the back already loaded down with presents.

And when he knew the coast was clear, he stuck the box on the nearest pile and quickly, he walked out of catering.

XXX

Everybody was already crowded into Catering when Kris and I made our way into the room and found a seat close to the door. I let the stilettos on my feet hit the floor with a soft thud and tugged my hair free. The blazer I’d been wearing that evening to conduct my two backstage interviews was sitting on the tabletop in front of me, right next to my travel bag.

Britt named herself Santa for the night, so she was calling out names. I was talking quietly to Kris, only half listening for my own to be called.

We were trying to anticipate who we might have gotten. I was trying to resist the urge to tell Kris that Orange had gotten her name. I was more than a little excited for her because just the sheer joy that she had over having managed to get his name was enough to make me truly happy.

I wasn’t terribly worried about who might have gotten my name, because the important thing here was that I’d taken steps to make sure I wound up with Trent’s name. That I was finally doing something I should’ve done months ago.

Britt must have called my name more than a time or two, because I looked up to find Brandi standing over me, trying not to double over laughing as she held out a hastily wrapped gift.

The wrapping paper caught my eye immediately. Whoever wrapped it had chosen wrapping paper that was pretty.. Shiny and sparkly, with silver snowflakes and pale blue lettering. The bow tied on the package somehow did not fit the packaging itself, but honestly, I just couldn’t stop staring at the way Let It Snow was turned into Le TitS now because of the way my Secret Santa had hastily wrapped the box.

I swallowed hard, getting a bit of a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach because at this point, I was at least 90 percent sure that the wrapping paper itself was a clue of some sort.

“Le TitS now, huh? Hager, are you the secret santa? Because if you’re behind this, man.. I can personally assure you, you dumb fucking Okie, you are.. Not even on the bottom of the very short list of men I’d willingly show my tits to.” I mumbled aloud.

“Well? Are you at least going to open it?” Kris asked from beside me. Brandi was watching expectantly too and under the pressure, I tore into the gift after neatly removing the way the bow had been tied so pretty and so carefully.

I wanted to keep that.

“Ooh, you’re gonna keep the bow, right?”

“It’s beautiful, Fuck yes.” I answered Kris as I gaped at the black velvet box in my hand. The other hand raised, catching in dark waves and tousling as my mouth opened and closed. “This is.. Okay.. Let me breathe here, I…”

I was at a complete and total loss for words suddenly.

And when I opened the box and spied the silver necklace with a shooting star pendant that I’d probably made 3 trips past a certain jewelry store in the mall in town just to stare at it…

Jake Hager spoke up from behind me.

“If you want, darlin. I can fasten it.”

“Ew, no! Fuck right off, you dumb Okie. Oh and if you’re the one who got me this, thanks but… This is as far as it goes, Hager. You’re not, nor will you ever be… Seeing any tits.”

Jake gave me a blank look and shrugged, wandering off. Kris was trying not to die laughing from beside me, as were Chuck,Trent and Orange from the table across from ours. I turned to Kris and held it out carefully. “Will you put it on? You’re probably the one other person I trust to do it without trying to cop a feel at this rate.”

“Except the guy you wish would cop a feel.” Kris muttered, making me gaze briefly at Trent, watching as he opened the tiffany blue and white wrapped gift box that contained what I’d gotten him. 

When I saw the way his eyes lit up, I let out a ragged breath. Somehow, I got the feeling that he’d enjoy the controller. And the neck massager pillow that he was putting around his neck already, a goofy grin playing at his lips as he sank back against the booth and muttered aloud, “Nobody talk to me. I’m takin a nap.” 

I couldn’t resist saying something.

“It’s.. heated, I think? There’s a little button on the back to turn on the heat. I..”

,, you absolute goof, what the fuck are you doing, A?”  my mind shrieked as soon as the words left my mouth. I covered quickly, the words tumbling out of my mouth almost breathlessly as Trent’s eyes fluttered open and locked on me intently. When he licked his lips while still staring, I had to cross my legs under the table.

“It does, huh? Awesome.” Trent flashed me that cocky grin and I wanted to melt. If I thought forming words was a bit of a struggle before, compared to now, it seemed so much easier.

“Yeah.. I uhh.. I have a pink one.” I finally managed to stammer, going back to my own conversation and gushing over the necklace sitting around my neck out loud and excitedly with Kris.

I mean, it wasn’t a lie. I did have a pink one exactly like it. And a red one. And I’d actually said a lot more than usual to him tonight. Without stammering or saying the wrong thing entirely like I tended to on occasion.

XXX

“Did you see her face light up?” Trent was still on cloud 9 after watching her open the secret Santa gift earlier in the night. Now he was texting his mother to see if the gift he’d gotten her for the last night of the gift exchange had shown up yet.

Chuck spoke up, chuckling. “Was funny as hell when she told Hager he didn’t stand a chance in hell, man. And then when he tried to sneak up on her under that mistletoe that Brandi put up earlier, her threatening him with her shoe.”

Trent chuckled, even though his jaw set firmly and he grumbled. Right after Jake had tried pulling that stunt, he’d gotten the guy off to himself and quickly told him if he caught him attempting it again, he was going to take him outside.

Lucky for Jake, Chuck and Orange managed to get between the two. Because Trent was personally beyond fed up of the disgusting way that Jake behaved around her all the time. She shouldn’t have to threaten the guy with mase or a knee to the nuts to make him leave her alone.

No woman should.

“You know.. You could’ve done it, man. You could’ve snuck up on her.” Chuck teased his best friend as he glanced over at him.

“I’m saving that for tomorrow, Chuck. I have a plan, remember?”

“Says the man who wrapped the gift so that it read ‘le tits now’.” Orange chuckled from the backseat.

Chuck and Orange burst into laughter and Trent grumbled, smiling and laughing as he flipped them both off. “Yeah, well neither of you saw to point it out either.”

“I assumed you could read the damn packaging? My bad, Trenty.”

“I was just too caught up in getting to the arena and giving it to her, man. You know I’ve been waiting to do this a while!” Trent groaned as he let his head fall back against the headrest behind it and laughed.

“Maybe you should just let Sue wrap it this time, huh?”

“That’s not entirely a bad idea.” Trent chuckled as he said it, texting his mom to ask if she’d mind wrapping the present for him when it finally got to her place the next morning.

“She knew it said that too?” he grumbled aloud a few seconds later when his eyes scanned his mother’s response text.

[ mama bear ] I wanted to tell you before you left but you were so excited…

[ mama bear ] Did she like the necklace, son? I thought it was beautiful…

[ trentylocks] She loved it, mom. Was excited, doing that cute thing where she talks loud and giggles a lot, talking with her hands. Just wish me luck for tomorrow, please? I’m gonna need it.

[ trentylocks ] She loved the bow you tied just as much, by the way. ;) She kept it. When I saw her leaving the arena, she had it tied around her wrist.

[ trentylocks] Did you still want me to invite her over for dinner?

[ mama bear] You talk so much about her, of course! I have to meet her. Make sure she’s sweet enough for my baby.

[ mama bear ] I see you, trying to get her brownie points. But I’m glad she liked the bow. Says a lot about her that she kept it.

Trent slipped his phone back into his pocket and started to nod off, awakening when Chuck cleared his throat and asked aloud, “So what did you get her for tomorrow night?”

Trent smirked. “For the actual present, I got her a photo album. Because remember that time we were in the airport and her luggage burst? And the pictures inside it went everywhere?”

“Awww, for a cranky jerk, you can be sweet sometimes, Trenty.”

“Look who’s talkin, bigger cranky jerk. I also got her an actual warm blanket. Because she’s always walking around with that fuzzy pink thin one draped around her like she’s cold as hell. And roses. But I’m not givin’ her those until we’re face to face.”

“You giant sap.” Chuck teased his best friend as he grinned. “If it helps, man.. I don’t think you have to worry about tomorrow night going south. I think things might surprise you with how they turn out.”

“Oh you do, huh? What are you now, a psychic, Taylor?” Trent asked, giving Chuck a raised brow, wondering why he got the feeling that Chuck definitely knew more than he was saying.

“No, I just know how to read that particular girl, Beretta.” Chuck smirked, not even having to look over to know that Trent was giving him a dirty look at the reminder that Chuck had become friends with her first.

XXX

[ dad] Well, how did the secret santa go, sweetpea?

[dad] did this Trent like his present?

I smiled as I read the texts from my dad while standing in line to check into the hotel. After a second or two, I answered.

[sweetpea] He did! I’m glad I took your advice and didn’t try to go overboard. Now it leaves the romantic part for tomorrow night. Thank you, sir!

[sweet pea] remember that necklace I told you I was thinking about getting myself? The one like mama’s? I don’t have to… apparently, my secret santa knew somehow that I liked it and got it for me?

[ sweet pea ] But the way they wrapped the present, oh my god. I nearly died laughing.

[dad] you should call around. Find a restaurant. Your mama.. She liked cozy candlelit dinners. Just a thought.

[ dad] they did, huh? That’s good! Be careful driving to the hotel, sweetpea. The news said snow for your area tonight.

[sweetpea] Night, daddy. Don’t stay up all night watching the news or Blue Bloods. Go to bed, sir.

I put my phone away and at the tap on my shoulder, I turned. I found myself body to body with Jake Hager. I raised a brow and bit my lip, stepping away from him as quickly as possible. “What’s up?”

His eyes settled on the necklace and he chuckled. “Do you really think I’d have bought you that cheap lookin crap if I were the guy, princess?”

I glared and started to turn around, rolling my eyes. But Jake produced roses from behind his back. I eyed the roses and him and laughed as I shook my head no. “Life pro tip, Jacob.. Save the flowers for your actual girlfriend? Stop wasting your time with me. I have an ideal man and you sir, are not it. And you never will be.” 

“Yeah? How about given a guy a chance?”

A throat cleared from behind us and a look around Jake revealed Trent standing there, muscular arms folded over his chest as he smirked at Jake. 

“Do you have a fucking hearing problem, Hager? Or are you really that damn dense? She’s told you a thousand times to get bent by now.” 

Somehow, in the midst of all this, I wound up right between Trent and Jake.. with my back pressed right against Trent’s chest. I gulped and tried like hell to hold myself together, but it just wasn’t working.

“Hey, whoa.. Can we just not, boys? Please?” I knew Jake would ignore me because he always does, so when I asked the question, I chose to turn.. Body to body with Trent.. And lock eyes with him, biting my lip and giving him my best pleading look.

Because holy hell, is it awkward when people make a scene like this.

Trent was glaring, tensing up all over. But at my question, he seemed to un-tense just slightly, tearing his eyes off of Jake to gaze down at me. “Yeah. He’s not fucking worth it anyway.”

“Exactly, Trent.” I muttered quietly, swallowing hard because I was lost in deep brown eyes and I knew it. And I couldn’t pull myself away from him, either. 

The clerk’s throat cleared and gingerly, I managed to finally break gazes with him and stepped back, pouting before I turned to face the front and check into the hotel.

XXX

“You ready for this, man? Tonight is the big night.” 

Trent chuckled, nodding. “It is. My mom came by earlier and dropped this off. Already wrapped.”

“You got the roses right, buddy?”

“Mhm. Over there.” Trent nodded to a dozen long stemmed red roses. Almost the same vibrant red as the lipstick she always wore.

He smoothed a hand over his hair and eyed the stupid jacket he was wearing. “This is a bit much.”

“It kind of is, man. A isn’t.. She’s not into male model types, man. Just dress comfortable.” Chuck shrugged as he chuckled. Trent took off the jacket and tossed it lazily at the second bed in the room and after he grabbed his key, he started out the door.

“I won’t wait up for you, man.”

Trent paused and gave him a laugh and shrug as he stepped out and into the hallway.

On the surface, he seemed calm, but on the inside?

An actual nervous wreck.

He knew she liked the presents she’d unwrapped in Catering earlier in the night, she hadn’t been without the blanket that he’d gotten her to unwrap there for the duration of the show. And as soon as she’d opened the photo album, she got the softest smile on her face, trailing her fingers over the cover.

She’d looked around the room and then gone back to whispering to Kris. But he’d managed to over hear her say that she knew it wasn’t Hager, because Hager had the emotional depth of a teaspoon and never would’ve thought to get her something as thoughtful as an actual photo album as opposed to her just tossing her photos in her luggage every time she went on the road.

Trent took a deep breath and made himself focus as he stood waiting on the elevator, goofy grin on his face.

He was meeting her at the town square because there was this huge christmas tree there and he liked the way her eyes lit up every time she saw it. It felt like time dragged at a hellish and slow pace from the time he was out in the parking lot, waiting on the Uber he’d called, to the time that Uber was pulling to a stop at the little park.

When he got out, he caught sight of her, approaching from the opposite direction. So he hung back, watched her walking past as he worked on getting himself reasonably pulled together and mentally prepared to reveal himself to her.

He let her settle in on the bench closest to the lit up tree and after a few deep breaths, he stepped out, roses in hand, clearing his throat.

XXX

[galaxybae] well? Is anyone there?

[galaxybae] are you sure this dress I borrowed was a good idea for tonight, A? I feel so damn naked right now…

[galaxybae] answer your texts woman.

[brunettebarbiedoll] not yet.. What about on your end? See anybody familiar?

I typed in the response to her first text and briefly, because i felt the sensation of being stared at intently, almost to the point of literal eye-fucking… It had my thighs clenching. It had me sitting up, alert and looking around, then pouting when I didn’t see anyone right away. I wandered over to the lit Christmas tree, a soft smile coming as the warm twinkle of soft white lights shined on me.

I felt good about tonight. Tonight’s secret santa gifts had pretty much blown my fear and theory that Hager was my secret Santa out of the water because Hager lacked the emotional depth and the practicality to pick out the gifts that my secret Santa had chosen for me.

At the thought, I snuggled tighter into my jacket, wishing I’d lugged the oversized plush winter white throw blanket along with me for both warmth and the comfort it made me feel.. As if I were being wrapped in a warm embrace whenever I had it wrapped around me.

And it didn’t go amiss by me that it smelled familiar somehow. Like a cologne I’d smelled somewhere, on more than one occasion.

And that thought further had me giving a soft and sappy smile over the thought of the gift. My fingers drifted upward, lingering at the shooting star charm that hung from the necklace that had been my gift the night before.

And I realized that I still hadn’t answered Kris’ two other texts. I sighed and looked around again, still seeing nobody around and yet, still feeling as if I were being visually fucked somehow.

Not in bad way though. Just… hungry, maybe.

,, it’s just the frenzy you’ve got yourself worked up into.”

I eyed my watch. I hoped my secret Santa showed themselves soon, because I still had to get through revealing myself to Trent.

And boy, was I ever a bundle of raw nerves over it.

[brunettebarbiedoll] Still nobody. I guess my secret Santa is gonna remain a secret? Either way, I’m kind of starting to get really nervous because I still have to wait on Trent to get here and reveal myself.

[galaxybae] Don’t you dare leave!

[galaxybae] Oh.. Oh.. i.. I think my person is here. Gotta go, bye!

I smiled to myself and put the phone away just as I felt my eyes being covered with something and then felt myself being turned around, what felt like flower stems being placed into my hands. I caught a whiff of the same cologne that I’d smelled on the blanket earlier and I swallowed hard. “Hey, no fair. You’re supposed to reveal yourself, sir.” I managed to get the words out as my body brushed against hardened muscle when I was pulled closer. So much closer. And arms wrapped around my waist.

I gaped as the fabric that had been placed over my eyes was lowered and it gave way to me standing body to body with Trent. Who was staring down at me intently, this soft smirk playing at his lips.

“Trent?”

“Mhm.” he chuckled quietly, a hand moving from it’s resting spot across my lower back to drag through thick dark hair. 

I couldn’t help the fit of giggles that came. He eyed me with a brow raised and when my giggle fit finally died away, I explained with a teasing smile, “I was supposed to be meeting you here to reveal myself to you.”

His eyes widened and he chuckled. “Vanilla massage oil, hm?”

“In my defense, you always seem tense?” I bit my lip as I laughed softly. I was melting into him, awestruck at the realization that my forehead hit almost perfectly at the center of his chest. He used his grip on my body to pull me up a little and I wrapped my legs around his waist, making him laugh as our mouths brushed against each other clumsily.

“Was it an offer though, hmm?” Trent questioned, licking his lips as his eyes locked on my mouth.

“Possibly. I mean, I am pretty good at massages...” I teased, daring to trace the outline of his mouth with my tongue. Which only had him tangling a hand in the hair at the back of my hair and pulling my mouth against his completely. 

The kiss broke and we pulled apart. I climbed out of his arms and leaned against him, raising to tiptoe to press another kiss against his lips as I muttered, “Are you hungry, Trent?”

“I could eat, yeah.. Why?”

“Well, there’s this cozy little place about a block away, I.. Kind of thought that maybe if things went okay when I had to meet you here, I’d ask you if you wanted to go with me?”

He grinned and slipped an arm around me, pulling me into his side as we made our way down the sidewalk.

“Did you wrap the first present the way you did intentionally?”

“No, I didn’t actually.” Trent answered, giving a sheepish laugh. “Did you think I did?”

“Well, when I thought was Hager, I didn’t think it was a stretch to imagine that yeah, he’d purposely done it. For the record.. If you wanted to see my tits, all you had to do was ask.” I teased, not stopping to think how suggestive what I said actually sounded until it left my mouth and I saw Trent’s jaw drop, and a flash of hunger flash in his eyes as he leaned down and muttered against the shell of my ear, “Ya know… I might actually take you up on that, doll.”

[moonflower-31]

I Won’t Forget You - Spencer Reid x Reader

Masterlist 

Part 26  

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader 

A/N: Sorry it’s late. Again. Technical difficulties :/ 

Warnings: None 

Tags: @dra-reid, @eevee0722, @ceeellewrites, @anotherr-fine-mess, @ssahoodrathotchner, @egg-boy03, @helena-way07, @l0ve-0f-my-life, @serendipity-imagines, @kaelyn-lobrutto24, @thatsonezesty13, @bihoeofmanyfandoms 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 

I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity - Edgar Allan Poe 

Spencer raised an eyebrow as Garcia came into the room with her open laptop in her hands. She immediately placed the grey slab on the desk and began typing rapidly. 

"W-what do you mean? What do you have?" Spencer asked, rushing over towards Garcia's side to see what she intended to show him. 

"I've been keeping track of all the surveillance cameras in the surrounding tri-state area. And get this; just an hour ago, I got this glimpse of a very Peter-y looking guy up in Baltimore on one of their traffic cams. He got out of the city but he's headed back here. His license plate wasn't in his name, but he was driving a black chevy truck. I've put it out on the APB so the police can bring him in if they find that car." Garcia shows, turning the laptop towards Spencer to show him the footage. 

On the screen, sure enough Peter was there in what was a chevy truck and with a baseball cap and a dirty flannel. He seemed to be on the phone. Whoever he was on the phone with obviously got on Peter’s nerves, as over the ten seconds of video where he was in the view of the camera, he yelled into it before tossing it out his window. 

Spencer widened his eyes and began to stumble over his words. "D-do we know if that was a-a disposable?" He asks. Garcia looks up at him and shakes her head. 

"I don't know his true personal number so I can't track and see if it's called any numbers repeatedly." She apologizes. Spencer curses under his breath and rubs his face tiredly. 

"I… I guess I'll have to ask (Y/N) when we get back if her phone records still exist from before she abandoned her old life. Maybe we can check the numbers he used to stalk her with. If any of them have any recent repeated calls we need to bring them in for questioning." Spencer insists, pacing through the room instead of getting anywhere on the geographical profile. 

Garcia nodded. "I'll do the best I can for now Jr. G Man." She says, closing her computer and then clicking her heels as she left the room to get back to her temporary office. Spencer sighed tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose as he took an exhausted sip of the coffee JJ had given him. He watched Garcia go, nothing but sleep weighing on his eyelids.

All he could think of was you. But unfortunately, they had a case. And the case came first. 

But that didn't mean Spencer wouldn't be willing to drop everything he was doing to drop kick Peter onto his ass multiple times if he decided to show himself. 

Spencer grabbed the small box he had of pins and got back to work, hoping sincerely that you were okay back at home. 

It wasn't long after he finished that JJ and Emily came back from investigating the main dump site, and came back to inform him of the new findings. 

"Another body? Where?" He asked, turning his head towards Emily as he picked up another obnoxiously red pin. 

"9 miles from here. It fits the distance, except it was 3 miles more than the normal 6-7. What made him change?" She asked. 

"Maybe someone saw him abduct this girl and he drove farther to prevent this murder being tied to the others?" JJ asked. 

The two women continued talking while Spencer added the pin and began to look over the map. He wasn't really listening. Why was he so distracted? He never usually had this much trouble, especially when you were here. 

His mind was going blank as he looked over the blending blurs of the map. He was developing one of those headaches again. The colors on the map all began to blur together and he couldn't make any of them out. He grunted in frustration and gripped the side of his head from the sudden onslaught of pain. 

"Dammit…" he exhaled as he narrowly placed the box of pins yet again in the marker tray of the map. 

"Hey… you okay there Reid?" Emily asked, her voice changing to express her concern. JJ wasn't too far behind her, her voice soft and motherly. 

"Yeah, you've been kind of out of it since we left." 

Spencer shook his head. "I'm fine, alright? Just… another one of my headaches. Garcia's news didn't really help anything." He grumbled. 

"News? About what?" Emily spoke up, putting her pen against her hand. She adjusted in her seat, as if preparing herself for whatever news Garcia had given him. 

Spencer groaned and rubbed the front of his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. "She said she found traffic surveillance footage of Peter in South Baltimore. He wore a… pretty pathetic disguise? Like… a Yankees cap and a stained flannel hiding some sort of beer company t-shirt. The only letters I could come up with from the exposed fabric were C, D, and B. The B ended up standing for beer when he moved and exposed more of the shirt-" he was pacing now without realizing, and stopped himself once he noticed. 

JJ looked towards Emily for a moment, then back at Spencer waringly. "Do we know for sure where he is?" She asked. "He could be in Quantico by now if this footage isn't too old." JJ warned. 

Spencer’s eyes widened. "No… no, no, no… He… Morgan’s at home. He doesn't know my apartment… she's safe…" he began to rant, more to himself than to the women. 

Emily sighed and stood up. "Reid, I think you need to take a break." 

Spencer looked up from the sudden change, his eyes and pupils as wide as saucers. "What?" He breathed. 

"A break. You know, take a walk. Read a book or 16. Call her maybe." Emily suggested, her shoulders rising with her last one.  

Spencer looked back down to the ground for a moment, finally his nerves deciding to take a break from causing him so much distress. "Maybe… maybe I will…" 

Emily smiles down at him, but unfortunately was a little too soon. 

"But only after we find this unsub. Hotch wouldn't want any of us to slack off. Especially with two of our team members on leave." Spencer insisted. Emily sighed and looked to JJ for help. The blond just shrugged and gave her a smile. One that most definitely said 'Well, we tried.' 

"Well… Good luck then Reid. Don't overwork yourself though, okay? If you do I'm telling (Y/N) myself." Emily teasingly threatens. 

Spencer chuckled. "You wouldn't. She hasn't told me anything regarding overworking myself before." 

JJ grinned. "Doesn't mean she won't." 

○●♡●○ 

A few hours passed and Arthur had to leave. Your mother would be tracking him by cell phone before he knew it, and he didn't want to risk giving your mother anymore 'product' to sell to Peter. You understood, and wished him well as he went off, of course not without Morgan giving him a talk about trying to use a disposable from now on. 

But for now, you were doing the dishes as you listened to Beethoven and tried to distract yourself from Derek's obnoxious snoring. Yes, he had decided to catch up on sleep while he was with you. But you didn't blame him. There wasn't much to do. So you settled on chores while Spencer’s favorite composer played over the speakers of your cracked I-phone (Or Samsung). 

You hummed along with the familiar tune and scrubbed at the ceramic plates Spencer had in the sink. It was a miracle they were even used at all, given the amount of paper plates you had found and had thrown away when you first actually got to sleep in the apartment. It seemed so long ago since he first brought you here. He hardly ever used his flatware and relied on the 'Great value' brand to supply him with things in which to put food on to eat. But thankfully, you had been slowly getting him brought back to the light side of the force. But it was an uphill battle for sure. 

"Why do I have to use them? They're easily breakable, (Y/N). The plates I buy are biodegradable." Spencer had grumbled as you insisted on putting the food you had made on one of his ceramic plates. 

You had playfully rolled your eyes. "Because! You wouldn't have to buy the 'biodegradable stuff' if you used plates you could wash instead. Problem solved." 

Spencer had then replied with a very childish and frustrated stuck out tongue and an annoyed huff that had sent you and your aching insides into a fit of laughter. 

The memory brought a smile to your face, causing you to put the plate down so as to not drop it into the sink from how far you had it held in the air. (If you dropped it, he'd really get after you about the paper plates) 

As you continued to wash the dishes, your mind began to travel back to Spencer. You wondered what he was up to. What he was thinking about. Did he think of you? If he did, did he think of you the way you did him? 

A sigh released itself from your lungs, letting your chest fall. The dance you had invited Spencer to was still in four months. Maybe then would be your next chance to tell him how you felt. But with that long of a wait, you didn't think you could do it. You wanted him to know. Even if you ended up being hurt in the end, you wanted desperately to tell him. Unfortunately, cookies and killers were successful at pushing your opportunities away. 

You finished the last dish; Spencer didn't have any more than 6 dishes in his sink due to it only being the two of you. Derek always washed his dish when it was cleared. You turned the sink off and quickly dried your hands with the dish towel on the oven handle. Once the dishes were all in the dishwasher, you began to wander back into the living room. 

You had done what laundry there was to do and Derek wasn't due to wake up for another 2 hours. He had specifically asked you to wake him up when it was 6:30 pm. So you decided that since you had virtually nothing else to do, you'd take a nap. You'd wake up at the same time you were set to wake up Morgan, and then you'd both be rested. 

You turned off all the lights and closed the curtains for a dimmer light. You then grabbed the blanket Spencer had recently been keeping on the back of the couch and curled up in it. You didn't want to head into Spencer’s room and bother Derek just to borrow one of Spencer’s hoodies. No matter how much you really did want to steal one. 

You settled in on the couch, and closed your eyes, letting your body begin to rest more and more with each inspiration and expiration. 

When 6:30 hit, and Derek had somehow managed to wake himself up without your assistance, he groggily got up to go check on you. 

"Hey, Pretty Girl, what happened with you waking me up, huh?" He asks you, rubbing his eyes with his hand. He expected an answer, but instead heard the sudden movement of fabric and the thud of something hitting the coffee table. He narrowed his eyes and looked down at you, and found you asleep. However, it was not peaceful. 

Your leg kept trembling, almost kicking the coffee table as the rest of you shook in terror. You mumbled incoherent pleas under your breath, causing Morgan to panic. He was afraid this would happen. 

"H-hey, kid," he started, gently putting a hand on your shoulder to slowly get you awake without alarming you. He gently shook you, but you proved to be unwakeable. So he took in a deep breath before he shook you a bit harder, calling your name a little louder. "(Y/N), hey, come on kid it's just a nightmare-" 

You finally woke, heavy breathing and a jolt forward followed by a violent shaking came afterwards. You hated this. Even after having just woke up. You felt terrified. Fear was coursing through you and you had no way out of it. 

You whimpered and curled up in the corner of the couch, unable to calm your racing heart or your uncontrollable breathing that came in harsh sobs. 

Derek felt his eyebrows tilt as he looked at you. "Kid I… " he sighed, looking at you pitifully. You and him both were in the same boat. He had been sleeping more often to escape the look in Peter’s eyes he was reminded of whenever he saw you. But he knew you needed him, that was why he had been cutting back on his sleeping. It wasn't healthy anyways. 

"C-call Spencer…" you whispered softly, hugging your knees. 

Derek raised a confused eyebrow and got a little closer to your reserved form. "What'd you say?" He asked, unsure of what you actually said. 

"P-please…" you spoke up a little louder, taking a deep breath as you began your request. "C-call Reid…" 

Derek didn't know how Spencer was supposed to help, but he didn't want to sit by when you clearly needed the genius. 

He nodded and grabbed his phone from his pocket, dialing Reid's number. He pressed the phone to his ear, whispering pleas for Spencer to pick up the phone. He reached over and gave you the option of holding his hand, to which you thankfully accepted. You squeezed his hand for dear life, just wanting to hear Spencer’s voice and hear him recall one of the many poems he'd read to calm your mind. 

Meanwhile, Spencer was currently standing beside JJ, feeling his phone buzz as Hotch tried to deliver the profile. Spencer had given his expertise already, and just wanted to see who was calling him. He'd already been on high alert in case it was you. And no amount of convincing himself to focus on work was helping. 

"Please have all of your available officers out looking for this unsub, and warn women of his type around the neighborhood and in the kill zone." Hotch began to warn. Spencer’s phone continued to buzz, causing the room to turn their eyes towards him. He blushed softly and flashed Hotch a desperate look. He sighed, but nodded. 

Spencer nodded back in rushed thanks before muttering his apologies and leaving the main room to answer his phone. 

Once outside, he picked up his phone and answered.  

"Sorry, we're in the middle of delivering the profile, so I was a little caught up. How is she?" Spencer asked. 

"Reid, she's… I don't know…" Derek replied, wishing he could hug you and soak up all your pain. He took the phone away from his ear and put it on speaker. "She just woke up from another nightmare. She told me to call you." 

You look towards Morgan, gesturing to see if you could take the phone. He nodded, still never letting go of your hand. 

"S-spence?" You whispered into the phone. 

"Hey…" he replied calmly. "Are you okay?"  

Instant relief washed over you. Not completely instant and overwhelming, but you suddenly felt a rush feeling of being protected and loved. Even if Spencer didn't know it yet. 

You sniffled. "H-honestly? No. I'm the furthest from okay." You wiped your eyes of incoming tears, exhaling sharply so as to not encourage more sobbing. 

Spencer felt his heart ache from hearing you cry. He wished he were home with you. So it wasn't just you and Derek. Strangely, after that thought, a misplaced thought of jealousy panged his heart. Seriously? This wasn't the time to be jealous of his best friend for getting to spend extra time with the girl he loved who he hadn't gotten enough courage to confess to yet. He supposed he was just worried that when he'd be ready to tell you, you wouldn't feel the same anymore. 

"Is there anything I can do to help? I still have all of Edgar Allan Poe's works memorized if you need me to recite one." He offers. The idea brings a slight, and small smile to your face. 

Derek's face lit up at the arrival of said smile, showing off his own signature one. 

"Please? S-spence I don't want to i-intrude on the c-case but-" you began to ramble and try to explain. 

"Hey, it's okay. Hotch cleared me to come take this call. You're my top priority right now. Not the case, not the profile, you." Spencer assured, smiling genuinely as he even was able to hear your voice. 

You sighed gently, and let your mind relax for a moment. "O-okay… but y-you pick this time." You replied. Spencer replied in kind. 

"Sure, (Y/N/N). He answered. "How about The Raven this time? It's one of his most well known works, and it surprises me you haven't asked me to read it yet." 

You can feel your nerves slowing down and relaxing as you let out a soft giggle. "S-sure. But you know that's because you prefer the obscure ones." 

Spencer rolled his eyes teasingly, as if you could see them. Derek gave you a reassuring look, and you nodded, letting him sit back for a moment as Spencer Reid began to read yet again another poem to you to calm the raging storm of emotions stirred from your nightmares. 

Spencer cleared his throat teasingly before he began, pulling a slight laugh from you. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore--while I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping…" 

Just as it was each and every time he did this for you, it calmed every part of you to hear his voice alter somewhat to fix the tone of the poem. To hear the way the words rolled off his tongue even without the poem in his hands. 

You were asleep before he could even finish the poem. But that didn't matter to him. He just finished the poem and sighed to himself. 

"Is she asleep?" Spencer asked softly.  

"Yep. Out like a light." Morgan says, readjusting the blanket over you. 

"Good. Just… call me if she needs anything else. I should be able to answer. If not text Hotch for me." Spencer expressed. 

If only he could be there to see your beautiful face asleep on his couch. Maybe even with your head on his chest. To hold you close. To hear your gentle breathing in and out. 

Derek got to do that. 

Spencer couldn't help the jealousy he felt in his heart. Derek could get any girl he wanted. Even you. But Spencer's heart couldn't help protesting that you were supposed to be his. He wanted you to be his. His life. His love. His Darling. Well...

Only time will tell if that will ever change. 

[juniorgman187]

Luck of the Universe (Spencer Reid Screenplay)

Season 9 Reid deserves more recognition. Definitely one of my fav looks/seasons. So I wrote about it :) 

Summary: Years after Spencer saves Maggie’s life, they reunite unexpectedly. Maggie thinks it’s fate; Spencer does not. She challenges him and says they’ll meet again, even without intending to. They do meet again, but not under favorable circumstances. Maggie’s life is in danger and Spencer must save her . . . again. 

Couple: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst, Fluff, Screenplay Content Warning: Profanity, pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, violence, death Word Count: 10.5k

DISCLAIMER: This was originally a screenplay but was adapted to have a more cohesive appearance on Tumblr. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

Spencer Reid sits outside a cafe to enjoy his beachside view from a coffee shop. Foreign to California’s sun, Spencer has aloe and sunscreen packed with him. He even wears sunglasses wherever he goes. While he patiently waits for the arrival of his coffee, he reads The Narrative of John Smith. The exact copy that Maeve gave him over a year ago. 

Serving his coffee is Maggie. This event will single handedly change both of their lives forever. 

MAGGIE: Let me know if I can get you anything else. 

As she sets down the cup, Reid thanks her, and out of politeness, he tilts his head forward ever so slightly so that his glasses will shift to the bridge of his nose. This way she can see his eyes. And when she does see his eyes, they are so familiar to her, but she can’t place where she remembers them from. Spencer notices her looking at him.

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, you just looked really familiar. 

SPENCER: Actually we have met before. I’m the agent that, um, saved you.   

Maggie stands there for a moment in complete disbelief. 

MAGGIE: Oh my God, yes! No, I totally remember you now. Wow. Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner I’m -

SPENCER: Maggie. 

Maggie peers down at her name tag and gives him a funny look.

SPENCER: No, I genuinely do remember you, and I didn’t just read your name tag. Um I have what’s called an eidetic memory. I’m able to recall things with high precision, even if it was a brief period of time on one occasion. 

MAGGIE: Really? That’s incredible. I wish I could say the same. All I could remember after being resuscitated was your eyes. I meant to thank you, by the way, for saving me, but at the time I was too in shock. I went to the police department the next day trying to find you, but you weren’t there. And as it turns out, it’s not so easy searching for a pair of hazel eyes. 

Spencer smiles. 

SPENCER: I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I’m a Supervisory Special Agent with the Behavior Analysis Unit in Quantico, Virginia.

Hearing his name completely changes her. She says it to herself in disbelief. For years she’s wondered who he was, and now she knows.

MAGGIE: So what brings you back to California? 

SPENCER: We finished a case here earlier. I’m just killing time until I go back by reading.

MAGGIE: May I?

Maggie extends her hand to ask for the book politely. Spencer hands it to Maggie. She recognizes it almost immediately. 

MAGGIE: Oh, I love Arthur Conan Doyle. This is just one of those novels I wish I could read again for the first time. 

Spencer doesn’t respond, he’s just so enamored by the way she thinks and speaks. She misinterprets his silence as a sign that he’d rather not keep talking. 

MAGGIE: I should probably let you get back to reading. I wouldn’t want to keep you from the opinionated Everyman John Smith. I hope you have a safe travel home.

Maggie begins to get up from her chair.

SPENCER: Wait um, I don’t normally ask this, but I still have a few hours until my flight and I’d really love to keep talking with you so do you think maybe we could go somewhere or -

MAGGIE: I would love to, but I’m working until the closing shift tonight. 

SPENCER: Oh okay. 

Maggie is conflicted. Against her better judgement, she agrees. 

MAGGIE: You know what? I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere. 

Excitement rises in Spencer. When Maggie goes into the coffee shop, he tries to contain himself. He fixes his hair and straightens out his cardigan and tie. Maggie comes back out. 

MAGGIE: Ever been to the pier?

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are looking out onto the ocean from the pier. It’s one of the rare times that they aren’t being swallowed by a huge crowd. It’s just them, a few other people, and the sunset. An ocean breeze blows through, making Maggie shiver and bump into Spencer. 

MAGGIE: My bad. Sorry. 

SPENCER: Do you want my - 

MAGGIE: No, no I’m fine. 

Spencer ignores her statement and drapes his cardigan around her. Though she would never admit it, it sort of smells like him - and it’s the most comforting smell in the world. 

MAGGIE: It’s beautiful isn’t it?

Maggie says while looking out to the sunset.

SPENCER: Yeah, it is. 

He says while looking at her. 

After a couple seconds, she notices him staring, looks at him, smiles, and nudges him. 

MAGGIE: It’s getting late. We should head back. 

Spencer follows close behind as Maggie leads the way. 

MAGGIE: I wish we could’ve hung out longer, but I don’t want to leave Tony running the shop alone for too long and I wouldn’t want you to miss your flight. 

SPENCER: For what it’s worth, I enjoyed the little time we did spend together. 

MAGGIE: I did, too. 

SPENCER: So maybe, when I’m back here, we could make plans. 

MAGGIE: I’ll look forward to your return then. 

Maggie and Spencer walk a little longer in a comfortable silence, until finally they’re back at the coffee shop. 

MAGGIE: Do you have a pen?

Spencer hesitates for a moment, but ultimately, has to place his hand on Maggie’s hip to retrieve the pen inside the pocket. This gesture startles her and causes her to remember that she was wearing his cardigan. 

MAGGIE: Oh sorry, I forgot that I was wearing this.

SPENCER: No keep it. It looks better on you anyway. Consider it an early birthday gift. September 8 right?

MAGGIE: How did you- Oh right. Eidetic memory. 

Spencer hands her the pen and Maggie reaches for a napkin from the table and writes her number on it.

MAGGIE: So if you’re ever insanely bored at 3 a.m. or you’re not busy saving someone’s life, call me. 

Spencer takes the napkin. 

SPENCER: Will do.

He tries to mask how excited he really is. 

Maggie heads back inside, but stops herself at the door. She turns back to Spencer.

MAGGIE: (genuinely asking) Do you know how often people reconnect without intending to after years of not seeing each other?

SPENCER: Not very often I suppose. 

MAGGIE: This could very well just be a huge coincidence, but it really feels like some luck of the universe that I’m talking to you right now. And I think we’ll be seeing each other soon again. 

Spencer’s intrigued. As a doctor, he’s pragmatic. Romantic notions such as destiny and luck - he wasn’t a believer of. Even God, he was skeptical of. But he wanted to see Maggie again, even if that meant he had to agree that it was fate after all.

SPENCER: And if we don’t?

Maggie pauses to answer his question. 

MAGGIE: Then we will eventually. 

Before Maggie opens the door, she notices Spencer pulling money out of his pocket to pay for his coffee. She stops him.

MAGGIE: It’s on the house. 

She says with a small smile that’s returned with a grin that creeps upon Spencer’s face. When she fully enters the cafe, Spencer is left alone with his thoughts. 

. . .

It’s the next day. The BAU is seated at the round table. Penelope is presenting the case. Reid’s momentarily distracted. He plays with the napkin in his book. It’s the napkin with Maggie’s number on it. His fixation lasts for so long that he misses the presentation entirely. It’s only when JJ asks him a question directly does he tune in and snap out of his trance. 

REID: What was the question?

Reid shifts in his seat uncomfortably and tries to hide his confusion by opening up the case file. 

ROSSI: You’ve been awfully quiet this morning. A little too quiet. Care to share?

REID: Nothing. Just thinking. 

He’s lying and they all know it. The team exchanges suspicious glances.

REID: Sorry, Garcia, could you repeat it one more time?

GARCIA: Why of course! Anything for you, Boy Wonder. A week ago, Brynn Dryer disappeared from her home late at night. 48 hours after she was reported missing, a couple jogging past a lake found her body. In the M.E’s report, there was a terrifyingly large amount of evidence that she was brutally beaten and clubbed. The official C.O.D was blunt force trauma to the head and the lake was nothing more than a disposal site. Less than a day later, Eliza O’ Hara went missing after someone invaded her home. Yesterday local P.D found her in the middle of a  field by the highway. Same M.O. The police department is anticipating that when you land, another girl will go missing. 

Spencer notices something. 

REID: Wait, can you put their pictures side by side?

Garcia does so. Spencer makes a connection. 

JJ: What is it, Spence?

REID: The similarities between the two victims are uncanny. Notice the eye color, skin tone, hair style, even down to the freckles they have.  

BLAKE: Alright so he’s got an aggression toward brown eyed, tan brunettes with bangs and freckles. 

ROSSI: And I have an aggression toward telemarketers but you don’t see me clubbing them to death. 

HOTCH: The cooling off period between kills is getting shorter. He’s escalating and we’re going to put a stop to this before he hits his stride. Garcia, you’re coming with us. Wheels up in 30.

The team is leaving the round table. 

. . .

The team is on the flight. 

HOTCH: JJ, as soon as we land, I need you setting up a press conference to let the women in the area know to be vigilant. After that, we’ll interview the family’s of Eliza and Brynn. I need Blake and Reid working on the geographical profile. Dave, you and Morgan will take a closer look at the bodies and see if you can’t gather more information. And Garcia, 

GARCIA: Yes, sir?

HOTCH: Find as many more connections between these women as you can, and contact any other women who fit the victimology. 

GARCIA: Yes, sir. 

ROSSI: Apparently, it'll be 101 degrees when we land. Remind me again why people live in California?

Reid perks up. He didn’t even know he was going back to California. But now that he does, he’s even more on edge. 

. . .

Reid works on the geographical profile, while Blake assists from her chair. There’s something off about Reid, and she’s about to find out what. 

BLAKE: Hey, you alright, Reid? You seem like you’re a million miles away. 

Reid stops working on the map. He turns around to face Blake. 

REID: I met this girl yesterday. She was actually a former victim I resuscitated. And before I left, she said she had a feeling we would see each other again soon.

Spencer pauses and purses his lips. 

SPENCER: She looks just like the other victims.

BLAKE: So you’re worried that when you see her again, it’ll be because of this case. 

REID: Do . . . do you think I could call her? To let her know. 

BLAKE: I’m not saying I wouldn’t want to break the rules if I were you, but I can’t, in good conscience, advise you to let her know what’s happening. By doing so, you’re giving her an advantage other people don’t have. If she tunes into JJ’s press conference, I’m sure she’ll be safe. 

REID: I thought Maeve was gonna be safe too. Look how that turned out.  

Blake is at a loss for words. Here she is, the linguist, and yet she can’t find the right words to tell Reid to comfort him. 

. . .

JJ sits beside Garcia as Garcia sets up her system. 

JJ: Spence has been acting really weird today. 

GARCIA: So it’s not just me! I knew something must’ve been wrong because earlier on the flight, I asked if he wanted to play online chess with me and he said no. Can you believe that? I know he’s all anti-tech and everything, but he’s never passed up a game of chess. So that’s why I’ve already done some digging.

JJ gives Garcia the face of “You shouldn’t have done that.” 

GARCIA: Okay, but before you say I shouldn’t have, you should see this. 

Garcia pulls up a small window on her computer to show to JJ. JJ is shocked. 

JJ: A three hour call with his mom last night? Could’ve just been his regular check in.

GARCIA: See that’s what I thought, too, but look. 

Garcia scrolls further up the call list. 

JJ: He hasn’t called his mom in months. 

GARCIA: We all know Reid tells everything to his mom. Something must’ve happened yesterday. 

Unbeknownst to Garcia and JJ, Reid walks in. 

REID: Hey, guys - what’re you looking at?

It’s too late now. Reid’s already seen it.

REID: You’re keeping tabs on me now? How long have you been monitoring me? Huh?

Anger possesses Reid. 

GARCIA: Just since this morning. I only looked at your call history briefly. 

REID: Unbelievable. 

JJ: We were just worried about you. We all are. There’s obviously something going on. 

REID: So then ask me about it. Ever thought of that? 

JJ: We’re sorry. 

REID: Yeah no, I’m fine, thanks for asking. 

Reid storms off from JJ and Garcia. 

. . .

Hotch, Rossi, and Morgan all meet Garcia, JJ, and Blake before delivering the profile. Spencer’s missing.

MORGAN: Where’s Pretty boy?

BLAKE: I thought he was going to talk to Jennifer and Garcia.

GARCIA: He did, but something happened . . . he was upset and left. I thought maybe he went back to working on the geo-profile.

HOTCH: Garcia, when did you last speak to him? 

GARCIA: Oh, I don’t know, sir, um, maybe fifteen minutes ago?

HOTCH: Morgan, go find Reid. We’ll deliver the profile. 

MORGAN: Where should I be looking?

BLAKE: He went to a coffee shop yesterday. I’m not sure which one, but it’s a start.

. . .

Reid is frantically entering the coffee shop. He scans the room for Maggie but doesn’t see her. 

TONY: Hey, what can I get for you?

SPENCER: Is Maggie here?

TONY: Who’s asking?

SPENCER: (flashing his badge) I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. Let me ask you again, where’s Maggie?

TONY: Didn’t show up today. 

SPENCER: Did she call in sick?

TONY: Nope.

SPENCER: When was the last time you saw her?

TONY: Last night when we were working the closing shift.  

SPENCER: Do you know how she got home?

TONY: She walked. I tried to offer her a ride, but she said she likes to walk. Something about clearing the mind. 

SPENCER: Did she walk alone?

TONY: Mhm. 

Spencer’s mind swirls. He is living his worst nightmare all over again. When he turns around and sees Derek pulling up. Reid rushes out of the coffee shop and hops into the passenger seat immediately. Derek doesn’t even question it. 

REID: Drive. I need Garcia on the phone. 

Derek dials her.

GARCIA: Did you find Rei-

REID: (cutting her off) Garcia, I need you to look up Magnolia Tate. Get me her address. 

MORGAN: What is it, Reid?

REID: She didn’t show up to work today. Her coworker said the last time he saw her was when she was walking home. She fits the victimology. Garcia, the address? 

GARCIA: 178 Citrus Boulevard. Be safe. 

REID: Thank you, Garcia. 

GARCIA: Of course. And, Reid?

REID: Yeah?

GARCIA: I’m really super-duper sorry about earlier. 

REID: It’s fine. I know you guys were just looking out for me. 

Reid can sense Garcia smiling through the phone so he promptly hangs up knowing their business is resolved. 

MORGAN: Reid, there is a good chance this could just be a coincidence. 

REID: I’m telling you - nothing with this girl is just a coincidence.

MORGAN: Well, have you called her yet?

REID: No.

MORGAN: Then call her now, Reid. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Yes, you can. 

REID: I can’t. 

MORGAN: Why not?

REID: I’m scared that if I call her, I won’t be able to stop, and I’ll want to keep talking to her, but I can’t do that. Not when I know what it’s like loving something death can touch.

MORGAN: Is this about Maeve?

REID: It’s always about Maeve! Morgan, I watched her die in front of me. And just knowing that right now I could be in the same position -

MORGAN: Listen, I know how guilty you feel about Maeve. Man, I feel guilty about her, too, but you gotta understand that if this is connected to our case, you’re gonna save her. Trust me on this. 

REID: Yeah, okay. 

MORGAN: So how do you two know each other?

REID: She was actually a previous victim of ours. Nearly a decade ago, I performed CPR after her ex-boyfriend pushed her off the boat, bound and gagged. They were out on the lake watching the Fourth of July firework show, but a witness recognized her from the news, which ultimately saved her life. Prior to that, he killed practically all of her next of kin because he believed they were responsible for the restraining order she filed against him. 

MORGAN: Why’d he risk taking her out in public?

REID: He was recreating their first date. How do you not remember this? 

MORGAN: Actually, now that you mention it, I do remember the case. Cause you made that stupid joke that he was trying to reignite a spark.

Reid makes an offended/sad face. Morgan smiles.

REID: You know, taking into consideration how much emotional trauma we’ve been through combined, there is a very real possibility that our relationship would be, for lack of a better word, doomed. She has no parents, my mom has schizophrenia. We’ve both been held hostage. I’ve been hospitalized, and she’s potentially been abducted for a second time. 

MORGAN: Seems like the perfect fit to me. 

REID: I’m being serious. 

MORGAN: I am, too. 

REID: Statistically, 40% of all long distance relationships end up failing in some way, including relationships where the partners are married. And of that 40%, 70% of these failures occur because of unplanned circumstances that happen to one of the participants in a relationship. Unplanned circumstances are practically a part of our line of work. Not to mention, most long distance relationships survive on two in-person visits per month. But relying on getting two cases in California per month is completely unrealistic. 

MORGAN: Kid, you can give me all the statistics and numbers to convince me why you shouldn’t be together, but the one thing you haven’t said is that you don’t like her. 

REID: Fine, I don’t like her. 

MORGAN: Then why am I driving to her house?

Reid pauses, not ready to admit he’s wrong. 

REID: Because this could be a lead on the case. 

MORGAN: Whatever you say, Pretty Boy. 

After a long period of time, Reid finally speaks.

REID: At first, I only noticed her because she looked like Maeve. Even when we were talking, it felt like I was talking to Maeve again. But then, she surprised me. She said that seeing me again felt like a “luck of the universe.” That’s when I realized, she’s not a girl who reminds me of Maeve. She’s her own person. She’s Maggie.

MORGAN: See that wasn’t so hard now was it?

REID: I will crush you.

. . .

Morgan and Reid are walking up the flight of stairs to get to Maggie’s apartment. 

MORGAN: Remind me again of the plan. Because realistically, she could just be playing hooky or be out somewhere else. 

REID: Once we get to her apartment, if she’s not there, I’ll call. 

MORGAN: Have we thought about what we’re gonna say if she is there? Oh sorry ma’am, we thought you were kidnapped.

REID: I’ll figure it out. 

Reid and Morgan are in her hallway. Morgan knocks on her door, but the door moves when he knocks on it. It’s open. Morgan and Reid exchange glances. Morgan reaches for his gun as he cautiously opens the door wider to enter. When they do, there’s no one inside. But there was an obvious sign of a struggle. A glass vase has been smashed.

REID: Call Hotch. I’ll call her. 

Morgan goes to the side to let Hotch know.

REID: (to himself) Please pick up. Please pick up.

MAGGIE: (her voicemail) Hey, it’s Mags. Sorry I couldn’t get to the phone right now, but if you leave a message I’ll call you back when I can. 

Hearing Maggie’s voice almost makes him want to break down in tears, but he composes himself. 

MORGAN: Reid, we gotta go. Garcia found something. 

. . .

Hotch, JJ, Blake, Rossi, and Garcia are all together in the conference room while on the phone with Reid and Morgan. 

MORGAN: What’d you find, Baby Girl?

GARCIA: Well after doing some digging, I unearthed Marcus Linden and Toby Forthword. Who are they you may ask? Good question. They are Eliza O’Hara and Brynn Dryer’s sons. And you’re probably thinking, they have children? Yes indeedio they do. The reason I didn’t find this earlier was because when Brynn and Eliza were teen moms, they set up closed adoptions for their sons before they were born. I’ve been trying to find any contact they might’ve made with the agency or their kids since the adoptions, but I haven’t been able to. I thought that was weird, but I started searching for other women that fit the criteria, and would you believe - there was one. 

The pause Garcia takes before saying it, tells Reid it’s Maggie. 

GARCIA: Magnolia Tate.

Reid is at a loss for words. His mind is trying to wrap about what he’s hearing, but it’s all so much. 

HOTCH: Could you find any more connections?

GARCIA: A week before the abductions, all three of them went to a clinic for women who were pregnant or planning to be. 

Reid bites his lips as he tries to grasp it all. 

REID: Is she pregnant? 

All of them know who he’s referring to. 

JJ: Spence . . . they all were.

If Reid’s jaw could be on the floor, it would. Even Morgan winced as JJ revealed the news. A moment of silence falls over the group as they all feel for Spencer. Hotch is the first to speak after nearly a minute of not.

HOTCH: Apply those precedents to teen mothers in the early 2000s and cross it with women that gave birth to sons who ended up in the system instead of being adopted. 

MORGAN: Baby girl, look at kids that are around 18-20 now. He would’ve been recently freed from the system. He’ll most likely have a history of anger management issues or disciplinary issues. 

ROSSI: The mother might also be recently deceased. 

JJ: There’s your stressor.

BLAKE: With the death of his biological mother, he wouldn’t get the answers he wanted. He’d look for them from the women that his mother is similar to. Brynn, Eliza, and Magnolia all serve as surrogates. Garcia, he’d be aiming to work in the system. Not only would he want to prevent other kids from going through what he did, but it would also explain how he found them. 

JJ: You know the fact that all three women were pregnant could account for his anger. To him, that’s the ultimate form of betrayal. Giving their son up, only to have another child in the future to keep.

GARCIA: Got it. 

Spencer is still trying to process. He stays quiet as he fiddles with the napkin. It almost appears as though he might tear it.

. . .

Maggie’s balled up in a corner, hugging her knees. She’s badly beaten. She’s bleeding, her eyes are swollen from crying and she’s looking down at her stomach. The unsub is standing, watching this.

UNSUB: Don’t cry, Magnolia. I wouldn’t have done that if you just answered me. 

MAGGIE: You killed my baby!

UNSUB: And I’ll do more if you don’t answer me!

MAGGIE: Please . . . I can’t give you the answers you want. I’m not your mother. 

UNSUB: If you don’t answer me, I’ll hurt your little boy. I’ve been watching him very closely. His name is Elijah Martin, cute kid by the way. Quite the over-achieving 12 year old. He’s in soccer and track and field. Wanna see his school picture?

Maggie closes her eyes and turns her head so she doesn’t have to see. 

UNSUB: See, Magnolia, what you’re going through right now, is only a fraction of what I had to go through in my foster homes. I was tortured, bullied, abused. All because that old hag didn’t want to make the sacrifice to be a mother. So answer me this, how could you give him up?

MAGGIE: I may not have made the sacrifice to be a mother, but I did make a sacrifice the day I chose not to be his. I wanted to keep him. I cried when I watched him leave with that other family. But I couldn’t be the mother he needed.

UNSUB: Why haven’t you called him? Or tried to get him back?

MAGGIE: Reaching out would’ve done more harm than good. Not knowing who I am, or who his father was, meant that we could never stand in the way of his future. He can reach his fullest potential - free of mine or Charlie’s hindrance. 

The unsub understands Maggie. She’s gotten through to him. But he still carries anger. He groans in frustration and grabs Maggie by the collar of her shirt.

UNSUB: We’re gonna take a little trip.

. . . 

The BAU is at the local Police Department. Garcia is reading to them what she’s found. 

GARCIA: I know a textbook serial killer when I see one. His name is Ray Lewis-Fernandez. Throughout his time in foster care, he was a troublemaker. He never stayed for more than a month in a group home. Quite a Dennis the Menace, according to his foster families. It also says here that he got caught on multiple occasions trying to get his file so he could find his mother. Her name was Shawna Heights, and I say “was” because she passed away exactly two weeks before he was emancipated. 

MORGAN: So this guy is finally able to find his mother on his own, only to realize he missed her by two weeks. 

GARCIA: Talk about bad luck. But that isn’t even the worst of it. If Ray did do some digging after his emancipation, he would’ve discovered that Shawna had two sons and a daughter only a few years after he was born. 

JJ: Did he try to contact them?

GARCIA: No, but that’s the surprising part. I profiled him wanting to reach out and be one big ol’ happy family, but then I remembered I’m not a profiler.

REID: Wait, that might actually be it.

Everyone is shocked to hear Spencer speak up. 

GARCIA: Wait, I’m right?

REID: Foster families mentioned he’d been trying to find his mother but at the core of its meaning - he’s trying to find family. If his mission is to find family, he wouldn’t stay away unless he had to. Garcia, check if there’s a restraining order on Ray. 

GARCIA: Bingo, Boy Wonder! Malcolm, Shawna’s husband, filed it against him just days after Shawna’s funeral. 

REID: The restraining order means he can’t come within a certain distance of the kids, right? So he wouldn’t risk it all just to have lunch with them or send a letter. Think about it - high risk, high reward. Ray would only violate the order, if he could have them completely. But in order to not get caught, he’ll use maternal figures to lure them. They just lost their mother and seeing or talking to someone so similar to Shawna would make them that much more susceptible. But Brynn and Eliza are both mothers who have given up their sons. This means they know what inadequate guardians look like. They’re aware the kids are better off with Malcolm, and they won’t be responsible for abducting them and placing them under Ray’s care. It would completely go against their own reasoning for giving away their children. Their refusal to help him execute the plan angers him to the point of murder. He isn’t just killing because they’re surrogates for his rage, but because they refuse to help him achieve his goal. 

ROSSI: The kids are his endgame. 

BLAKE: All he’s wanted is a family. Now that he knows he has one that hasn’t already betrayed him, he’ll stop at nothing to have them.

HOTCH: What’s the address, Garcia?

GARCIA: Already sent it, sir. 

The BAU rushes out of the conference room. 

. . .

Maggie and Ray are sitting in his car. They’re watching the three children play - staking them out. Malcolm - their father, is nowhere to be seen. We’re to assume he’s at work while they’re at home. 

RAY: You see the boy with the red hoodie? That’s Malcolm Jr. He’s the oldest. Same age as your boy. Then Evan is the middle child. He’s eight. But the baby - she’s my favorite. Her name is Ariel cause of her red hair. She’s six. 

Maggie smiles for a split second before frowning. 

MAGGIE: You don’t have to do this. 

RAY: And I’m not. Because you will. 

Maggie breaks her gaze from the children to look at Ray with shock. 

MAGGIE: No, no, no I’m not kidnapping them. I won’t do it.

Ray retrieves his gun and points it at her stomach. 

RAY: You had a chance to have your family with Elijah. But you gave him up. Now that I have a chance, you’re gonna help me. 

MAGGIE: What if I don’t?

RAY: You’re smart. Figure it out.

MAGGIE: I will not be taunted with death if I don’t help you take someone else’s babies away. So go ahead, kill me. I’ve got nothing left to live for anyway. 

A gunshot. 

Standing in front of the car, is Malcom with his shotgun. The windshield is shattered by a single bullet that penetrated it. Malcolm fired a shot right through Ray’s head. Maggie is alive and in complete and total shock. Once Malcolm knows he’s dead he rushes to her door to help her. 

MALCOM: You have to unlock it. 

Maggie is forced to reach over Ray’s dead body and unlock the car. When she does, Malcolm helps her exit the vehicle. Maggie’s seen putting pressure on her stomach to stop the bleeding. 

Within seconds of escaping, police SUV’s arrive. Spencer is the first to run out of the car. 

Relief overcomes Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Spencer!

She stops him before he can hug her.

MAGGIE: No wait! I’m bleeding. 

Spencer ignores this and embraces her. Maggie sobs hysterically when he does. 

MAGGIE: He . . . he killed my -

SPENCER: Shh, I know. I know. I’m here now, okay?

Neither of them pull away. 

MAGGIE: Oh my god. I can’t believe you’re here. I knew I’d see you again. 

SPENCER: Yeah, you did. You were right Mags. 

These words make Maggie shut her eyes and smile. 

Hotch approaches the pair from behind. 

HOTCH: Miss Tate, there’s an ambulance here for you. Let’s get you to a hospital.

Maggie nods as Spencer helps her limp to a stretcher. 

When she situates herself and is lifted into the back of the ambulance, Spencer turns to Hotch. 

SPENCER: Can I - 

HOTCH: Yes, yes, go. We’ll meet you there. 

Spencer enters the back of the ambulance and sits beside Maggie as they ride to the hospital together. 

MAGGIE: You’re coming?

Spencer nods and gives a small reassuring smile. 

Another tear escapes her eyes as she smiles through the oxygen mask to thank him. 

. . .

The entire team is seated in a waiting room. Spencer is standing up and pacing as he waits for the doctor. 

A doctor soon enters. 

DOCTOR: Is there a Spencer Reid?

Spencer comes over quickly. 

SPENCER: That’s me.

DOCTOR: Come with me, sir. 

Spencer follows the Doctor. 

DOCTOR: Luckily, the lacerations didn’t travel far enough to do a significant amount of damage that would require surgery, but we did have to perform a blood transfusion due to the amount of blood she lost. 

SPENCER: How’s the baby?

DOCTOR: It was too early to tell the sex of the baby before she miscarried. She’s awake now and has been asking for you. 

SPENCER: Thanks. 

The doctor leaves as soon as Spencer knocks on the door. 

SPENCER: (quietly) Maggie?

Maggie’s face lights up when she sees him. 

MAGGIE: Hey you. 

Spencer pulls a chair closer to Maggie’s bedside to take her hand and kiss the back of it. She smiles as he does this. 

SPENCER: How are you feeling?

MAGGIE: Is it possible to feel incredibly lucky and incredibly lucky at the same time?

Spencer gives her that small reassuring smile. 

MAGGIE: I’ll be okay.

SPENCER: Good.

MAGGIE: I’m starting to regret not letting Tony take me home. 

Maggie and Spencer share a laugh. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I think you should let him drive you from now on. 

MAGGIE: Yeah, you’re probably right, but I don't think I want to work there anymore. Or even live here for that matter. 

SPENCER: I don’t blame you. 

MAGGIE: I grew up here, but it doesn’t feel like home anymore. 

SPENCER: Where are you thinking of going?

MAGGIE: Well, I completed my bachelor’s degree to become an English teacher, but I never applied to any schools. I think in my gut I knew I didn’t want a job to tie me down here, otherwise I’d never leave California - no matter how much I should. So realistically anywhere that’s offering positions to English teachers is ideal. 

Hearing Maggie’s an English major doesn’t surprise Spencer. 

SPENCER: You know, when I go back to D.C, I can find open teaching positions for you. Moving there would be a big change, but I think you’d feel safer at least.

MAGGIE: I think I would too. And I wouldn’t mind the change. Getting a couple thousand miles closer to you doesn’t sound so bad.

Spencer cheekily grins. 

SPENCER: Yeah?

Maggie nods. 

Hotch enters the room.

HOTCH: It’s time. 

Reid nods and turns back to Maggie. 

SPENCER: I’ll see you soon.

MAGGIE: Can’t wait. 

SPENCER: Goodbye, Maggie. 

He sits up and kisses her forehead. For a moment, he rests his forehead on hers. Maggie smiles when he does this little gesture. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. 

Spencer nods and shuts the door behind him when he leaves. 

With a heavy heart, Spencer leaves the hospital. 

. . .

On the plane back, everyone is asleep besides Spencer and Hotch. 

HOTCH: How is she?

SPENCER: She’ll be okay, but I can’t seem to figure out why. I thought she’d be broken. And I think deep down she is, but when she smiles, she isn’t faking it. 

HOTCH: “Sometimes the ones who have the brightest smiles are the ones who have known and endured deep darkness.”

SPENCER: Dodinsky. (the author of the quote)

. . .

It’s been a week since Spencer has visited Maggie, but he’s back now. Maggie is lying on her hospital bed, with Spencer entering her room. He hides something behind his back.

SPENCER: Knock! Knock! I brought you something.

MAGGIE: Oooh, fun!  

Spencer pulls out headbands with the words “Fourth of July” in block letters. 

SPENCER: Here. 

He slides one on top of her head and puts the other on himself. 

MAGGIE: What’s this for?

SPENCER: Sometimes when we go through something traumatic, we subconsciously link the tragic event with the date it happened on. It happens most often with death anniversaries, birthdays, or in your case, holidays. But I want to make the Fourth of July a good holiday again. So earlier, I asked the doctors if I could take you up to the roof to watch the fireworks. 

MAGGIE: Spencer . . .

SPENCER: Humor me. 

Maggie’s reluctant but she still reaches out her arms to have Spencer help her out of bed anyway. He wheels over the wheelchair to her and she groans. 

MAGGIE: Are you actually gonna make me use that?

SPENCER: I mean, you’re welcome to walk around the hospital with your backless patient gown.

Maggie laughs and complies. Spencer begins to wheel Maggie out of her room and into the elevator that goes up to the roof. When they finally get there, Maggie’s face lights up. There’s a whole picnic set out for the two of them. A blanket with small fixings is laid out for them. 

Maggie rises from the wheelchair and turns around to engulf Spencer in the biggest hug. 

MAGGIE: Thank you. This is like the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. 

Spencer hugs her back even tighter. His hand is on the small of her back, and for a second he can feel her smooth skin, but like the gentleman he is, he tightly wraps Maggie’s hospital gown to cover her exposed skin. A small gesture that to Maggie, does not go unnoticed. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer's backs are lying flat against the blanket. They’re in the middle of a conversation where each of them are smiling.

SPENCER: JJ said that Henry wanted to dress up as his favorite profiler, and he came into the office as me. I even gave him my badge.  

MAGGIE: That is adorable! I can’t wait to have kids and celebrate Halloween with them. 

Spencer goes quiet, making Maggie realize what she said. 

MAGGIE: Oh, gosh, sorry I did not mean for that to take a dark turn. 

SPENCER: Do you want to talk about it? 

Maggie pauses. 

MAGGIE: Um, I mean, sometimes I get sad, but for the most part I’m okay. I think I’ve finally accepted that it happened. You know, I’m actually sort of relieved that I didn’t carry the baby full term, because could you imagine how complicated that would be? Yeah, it’s . . . it’s better this way. And I’ve always wanted a family, but if I had that sperm donor’s baby, I wouldn’t have a family, it’d just be me and the baby. But I want my child to grow up with a father, you know?

Yes, Reid does know. He wishes his father was around. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I do. 

MAGGIE: What about you? Do you want kids?

SPENCER: Absolutely. It’s funny because I always say that I could never picture myself leaving my job and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. But if I had kids, they’d be the exception. I, uh, 

Spencer lightly laughs and looks down. 

SPENCER: Yeah, I don’t know, I just really want to be a dad one day. 

MAGGIE: You’d be a really good dad. I mean that. 

Originally, Maggie and Spencer were both looking up at the sky, but after Spencer turned his head and Maggie turned hers, their faces were only inches away. Spencer licks his lips as he contemplates kissing her. But he pivots. He smiles and kisses her forehead. 

Simultaneously, a firework goes off, startling the duo. Maggie laughs in excitement. 

SPENCER: Did you know that at MIT, one of the lessons they taught students earning their degree in chemistry was how to make a firework?

MAGGIE: You know how to make one? What do they use to make the colors?

SPENCER: Good question. To create certain colors, different physical elements are used. Magnesium creates a bright white light, like that one right there. While strontium and lithium each showcase a different shade of red, like the first one we saw. But the most dangerous colors to form, blues and greens, are formed from barium and copper. 

Spencer’s explanation continues for a little longer. The view above the pair zooms out. They’re just two small people on the roof of the hospital. 

. . .

Spencer is in his apartment. He’s on the phone with Maggie. 

MAGGIE: So I’m looking at an apartment in Manassas right now. It’s only half an hour away from the school and it’s a 45 minute drive from your apartment. 

SPENCER: You’re not very good at changing the subject, Maggie. Even now, I can read your body language. 

MAGGIE: I’m not changing the subject. I’m just mentioning my other options that are unrelated to the one you proposed. 

SPENCER: Wow, is the idea of living with me really that bad?

MAGGIE: No! I would love to live with you. 

SPENCER: But?

MAGGIE: But you’ve already done so much. You’ve saved my life twice, visited me every week I’ve been in the hospital, made the Fourth of July fun again, and helped me find a great teaching job over there. So I am sincerely grateful, but moving in with you would feel like taking advantage of your good heart. You’ve done a lot for me already, okay? I can take care of myself from now on. 

SPENCER: Okay, think of it instead as a mutualistic relationship. We both receive net benefits from moving in. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me because I’d be gaining something from it, too. I’d have a roommate and my rent would dichotomize. And for you, you’ll only be driving 15 minutes to work instead of 30. 

MAGGIE: Did you ever consider being a lawyer? You’re quite convincing. 

SPENCER: So is that a yes?

MAGGIE: It’s a “Yes I’ll move in with you but only if Plan A doesn’t pan out.”

SPENCER: Promise me you’ll think about it. 

MAGGIE: Okay, fine. I’ll think about it. 

SPENCER: Say it. 

MAGGIE: I promise. 

Spencer yawns. Maggie hears it. 

MAGGIE: What time is it over there?

SPENCER: 11:54. 

MAGGIE: Spencer! Why didn’t you tell me? You should’ve been asleep like two hours ago.

SPENCER: I’ll be fine. I don’t have to be at work until 7.

MAGGIE: You of all people know how bad it is to get less than 8 hours of sleep. I’m gonna hang up now so you can at least get 6. 

SPENCER: Then I’ll call back.

MAGGIE: Then I’ll decline. 

SPENCER: Fine, if I go to sleep, you have to agree to consider living with me as more than a Plan B.

MAGGIE: I already said I would! 

SPENCER: Mmm no. I’m not really feeling it. You have to say it nicely.  

MAGGIE: If you sleep now, I’ll consider living with you as more than a backup plan. 

SPENCER: Music to my ears. Sleep well, Maggie. 

MAGGIE: Sweet dreams, Spencer. 

Spencer lets Maggie hang up. Let it be known, that he has never once ended a call. 

. . .

It’s a few weeks later. Maggie’s finally out of the hospital. It’s official that she has the teacher job - no interview required thanks to Garcia. Currently, she and Spencer are packing the last of her things away into boxes in preparation for the cross country move she’s making tomorrow. 

MAGGIE: I know I’m still a little fragile, but the doctor said I’m all clear to resume normal activities. So would you please let me help you with the boxes?

SPENCER: Mmm, I don’t think so. 

MAGGIE: Need I remind you that I’ve been through worse than packing?

SPENCER: That would violate our designated jobs! I pack the boxes - you label them, remember? 

Spencer picks up a book from her shelf and reads the spine of it. From the looks of how empty the bookshelf is, he’s been packing away the books this entire time they’ve been packing.

SPENCER: By the way, I love your book collection. Very diverse. But the way you’ve organized them is peculiar, though. 

MAGGIE: What do you mean? Each shelf is categorized by genre. 

SPENCER: No, I figured that out, but why not in alphabetical order? Cause, see, you have several books from Dickens, but they’re sporadic on your shelves. And again with Austen and Steinbeck, you have several of their books, so organizing by last name means that all the books by the same author would be together. 

MAGGIE: Alright then, when I move, you can organize my bookshelf. 

SPENCER: Sweet!

MAGGIE: I was joki-

Maggie notices that Spencer actually takes pleasure in organizing her books, so she refrains from saying she’s joking. 

MAGGIE: Can I see a box? I forgot I have stuff on my fridge still to take down. 

SPENCER: Here. 

Spencer hands Maggie a box. Maggie begins to fill the box with her fridge magnets, postcards, and small reminders she put on her fridge. Only one picture is left on the fridge - a sonogram picture. Maggie had completely forgotten it was even there. But she drops the box immediately and pulls it off, placing it close to her chest. 

SPENCER: You okay?

Maggie pauses for a moment cherishing the picture. 

MAGGIE: Yeah.

SPENCER: What is it?

Spencer comes over. 

MAGGIE: I thought I threw this away, but I guess I didn’t. It was my first sonogram. 

SPENCER: Oh, from a few weeks ago?

MAGGIE: No - years ago. This is Elijah’s. 

Maggie smiles when she sees the picture. 

SPENCER: I think you should keep it - the picture I mean.

MAGGIE: Yeah, I think I might. I mean, if it’s stayed with me all these years, no sense in throwing it away now. 

Maggie puts the picture at the top of the pile in the box. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are on the plane heading to Virginia. Reid’s reading and Maggie is sorting through some papers with an earbud in one ear.

MAGGIE: Before we left, I contacted the landlord for that apartment in Manassas weeks ago, but he never got back to me. 

SPENCER: I guess it’s a good thing you have a Plan B then. 

Spencer smirks. 

MAGGIE: Remind me again that we mutually benefit so I don’t feel so guilty that you’re constantly helping me but I can never find the opportunity to pay you back. 

SPENCER: Stop it, okay. I want you to move in with me. 

MAGGIE: I snore really loudly. 

SPENCER: Completely okay. 

MAGGIE: I take long showers. 

SPENCER: Not a problem. 

MAGGIE: Late at night, I’ll get random bursts of energy and get really hyper and bothersome. 

SPENCER: So do I. 

Maggie groans in frustration. 

MAGGIE: I feel like you know the reason why I don’t want to move in with you, but even I don’t know why. 

SPENCER: It’s quite simple actually. You’ve spent nearly a decade living alone. And because of that, you think you prefer isolation over having company. But in reality, you’re just scared. Because the last time you were surrounded by a lot of people, they eventually died, essentially abandoning you. And it might not seem like it, but I know exactly what that feels like. To be scared of abandonment. 

MAGGIE: Really?

SPENCER: When I was three, my dad left me and my mom. And a year ago, my girlfriend was shot in front of me.

Maggie’s speechless. 

SPENCER: You and I - we’re scared to let people in and get attached to them. The reason is because we’re afraid to suffer or let go. So, we think, in order to protect ourselves, we have to stay away from the people we’re getting attached to - which is hard because it is equivalent to avoiding the privilege of becoming happy. So we’re caught in the middle of which pain we’d rather endure - the pain caused by unhappiness and loneliness, or the pain that we know, nobody will ever be strong enough to stand against - the pain of letting go. 

Maggie’s astonished. 

MAGGIE: If our love could’ve saved them, they would’ve lived forever. 

A tear rolls down Maggie’s cheek. Spencer uses the pad of his thumb to brush it away. 

. . .

Maggie and Spencer are at the baggage claim of the Virginia Airport. Maggie yawns and leans into Spencer, who puts his arm around her and comfortingly rubs her. 

SPENCER: Tired?

MAGGIE: Extremely. 

SPENCER: We can get coffee on the way home. 

MAGGIE: Are you reading my mind right now?

Spencer laughs.

Maggie sees her suitcase come through on the conveyor belt. Maggie lifts her baggage up, and they begin to exit the airport. 

. . .

Spencer is driving and Maggie is in the passenger seat, trying to fight her sleepiness. 

SPENCER: Tell me about your parents. 

Maggie’s surprised by not unwilling. 

MAGGIE: My mom’s name was Amina. She met my dad, Sonny, in college, and had me when she was 24, but he took off when she got pregnant. At first, I didn’t mind it just being the two of us, but when I was seven, there was a father-daughter dance at my school. I wrote him a letter inviting him to it. He didn’t show up, of course. Not that I really expected him to, but ever since then, I’ve resented him. My mom used to say that he was the reason why I dated Charlie. She said that I never got to see an example of what a good man looks like or how a girl should be treated. In hindsight, she was totally right. 

SPENCER: How did she react to your pregnancy?

MAGGIE: Well, at first she said she was gonna slap Charlie, but she wasn’t even really mad at me. Instead, she just said that if I wanted to have a future and if I wanted the baby to have a good future, I should set up an adoption. Later that same year, she helped me file a restraining order on Charlie. My mom was always looking out for me. It felt like she always knew what the right choice was.

SPENCER: She sounds like a really good person. 

MAGGIE: And she was. I just wish I told her that more often. Growing up, I thought one day I’d get a job and become rich enough to support the both of us. I’d even buy her a range rover - it was a car she wanted since forever. I never got to do that for her, but she used to say to me, “Some people are so poor, all they have is money.” And I think about that everyday. I was never spoiled or born with a golden spoon, but we were so rich in love. She loved me so much, that she’s the reason I wanted to have a baby. Just days after her death anniversary, I visited the clinic. It’s silly, but I just wanted to be half as good a mother as she was.

SPENCER: I feel the same way about my mom. I wanted to grow up and create a cure for schizophrenia by the time I was 29. And even though I’m far from doing so, I’m not giving up hope that I still can. 

MAGGIE: Does she live here?

SPENCER: She’s in a facility in Vegas. 

MAGGIE: Well, if I ever find myself in Nevada, I’d really like to thank her for raising the perfect son. 

Spencer gaily smiles.

SPENCER: Would you maybe want to visit her with me one day?

Maggie nods.

SPENCER: You two would have a lot to talk about. She was a former professor of 15th century literature. 

MAGGIE: Does she still hold lectures?

SPENCER: She does. I attended one of them years ago. It completely changed my perspective. I realized that I owe all of who I am today to her. 

MAGGIE: Then we have to attend one of her lectures when we visit.

SPENCER: She’ll be so happy when I let her know. 

Maggie and Spencer continue to talk about literature. 

. . .

Now in a coffee shop, Maggie and Spencer are nursing their drinks at a table in the corner of the cafe. 

MAGGIE: Earlier, we were talking about your mom a lot, but on the plane, we spoke about your dad leaving when you were really little.

SPENCER: Yeah, um, eventually he wrote a letter saying that he just didn’t know how to be a dad to me anymore. That and he couldn’t deal with my mom’s paranoid schizophrenia anymore. 

MAGGIE: I’m sorry to hear that. I know it’s not easy growing up without a dad. 

SPENCER: He’s partly the reason I want to have kids. I want to be the dad mine never was.

Maggie nods. 

SPENCER: I’m not as mad as I used to be about it. Over time, I slowly stopped caring about him. 

MAGGIE: As you should. 

SPENCER: Um, we still have an hour before we’re home so-

MAGGIE: Yeah, no of course. Lemme just use the bathroom really quick before we go. 

Maggie leaves her phone and her coffee cup at the table. Spencer sips from his drink but stops when he sees Maggie’s phone ringing. The call’s number has a familiar area code. Spencer instantly recognizes it from Manassas. He realizes that the caller is the landlord from the apartment in Manassas that Maggie said hadn’t gotten back to her. He looks at the bathroom and sees Maggie isn’t back yet, so he declines and deletes the call. 

He wants Maggie to live with him, and knowing the landlord called her back would ruin any chances of that happening. And Spencer wasn’t taking any chances. 

. . . 

Maggie and Spencer are finally at his apartment. They’re climbing the flight of stairs, with Spencer carrying Maggie’s backpack for her - like a gentleman. When they reach his door, Spencer unlocks it and opens it for her to walk through first. In that same breath, confetti comes flying. 

Maggie is startled by this, but comes to realize that the entire BAU is in his apartment. A banner hangs behind the team saying “Welcome!”

She laughs and goes to greet each of them.

JJ: I’m JJ. 

Maggie shakes her hand. 

MAGGIE: Maggie Tate. Nice to meet you. 

MORGAN: Derek Morgan. I’ve heard a lot about you. 

MAGGIE: All good things I hope. 

HOTCH: Aaron Hotchner. 

MAGGIE: Right of course. I remember you from the day you guys found me. 

BLAKE: Alex Blake. Nice to finally meet you. 

MAGGIE: Likewise.

ROSSI: David Rossi. Spencer’s Italian grandpa. 

Maggie laughs and Rossi greets her by kissing each of her cheeks. 

ROSSI: Got any Italian blood in you?

MAGGIE: Oh, I wish. Half Filipino, half Mexican. 

ROSSI: A beautiful mix nonetheless. 

Finally, Maggie meets Penelope. Before Maggie can even say anything, Penelope envelopes her in a huge hug. 

MAGGIE: You must be Penelope!

She pulls away.

GARCIA: At your service. 

MAGGIE: I really like your glasses. Cool color. 

GARCIA: (to Spencer) I love her already. 

Maggie returns to Spencer after all the greetings.  

MAGGIE: Did you know they were gonna do this?

SPENCER: I might’ve. 

Maggie turns back to everyone.

MAGGIE: I wish I would’ve known I was meeting you all, I would’ve worn something nicer than leggings and jet lag. 

They laugh and tell her that it’s not a problem. 

GARCIA: So we thought you guys might be hungry, so there’s chips and guac as well as other little snacks. 

MAGGIE: It’s crazy, because I was craving just that.

Penelope gasps and smiles. She extends her arm for Maggie to wrap her arm around. 

GARCIA: Well then let’s dig in. 

Garcia leads Maggie arm in arm to the food. While Spencer draws back to set her things down. JJ waits up for him. 

JJ: She’s pretty. 

SPENCER: She is, isn't she? And she’s more than that, too. Everytime we talk, she never fails to surprise me with her wit or mind. She reminds me a lot of you. 

JJ smiles as Spencer and her rejoin the group. 

. . .

It’s almost the evening now, and Maggie and Spencer are bidding each guest goodbye. The last one to leave is of course Penelope. But when she does, Spencer and Maggie are alone again. Spencer shuts the door behind Garcia, and turns and presses his back to it and sighs. Maggie exhales too. 

SPENCER: I’m sorry about that. I didn’t think this would last for as long as it did. 

MAGGIE: No, no don’t apologize. I like spending time with them. I’m pretty sure Garcia’s energy cured my jet lag. 

Spencer laughs and walks back to Maggie.

MAGGIE: I think I’m gonna go shower now. Try to wash off the flight from me. 

Spencer nods and leads her to the bathroom. 

SPENCER: Just turn this knob to the left if you want it hotter, and to the right if you want cold water. When you’re done just press down on this. 

Spencer presses on the little knob, and when he does, the shower sprays him with water and sprays Maggie, too. She squeals and begins to laugh when she sees Spencer’s hair is drenched. It’s all stringy and in his face, so she pushes it back to see his smiling face. She leaves her hands around his cheeks, cupping his face. 

MAGGIE: Well that’s one way to get wet!

SPENCER: Oh yeah? What’s the other?

The delivery of his innuedo is so subtly seductive. Maggie dismisses it and laughs instead. 

MAGGIE: Um, just tell me where the towels are and I can bring you one to dry your hair. 

He points her in the direction and Maggie promptly leaves the bathroom. When she does, Spencer sees himself in the mirror and realizes just how ridiculous he looks. But on the inside, he feels doubly ridiculous. He’s so embarrassed from what he just said that his cheeks turn red. 

. . . 

Spencer is cleaning up what was left of the welcoming party. He’s in the kitchen, when he hears Maggie exit the shower. Her hair is damp and stringy, and she’s drying it with a towel. Spencer notices the clothes she’s wearing. She has on sweatpants and to his surprise, his shirt. 

MAGGIE: I forgot my pajamas were with the moving truck. I hope you don’t mind. 

SPENCER: Not at all. 

Maggie thanks him with a smile and walks a little more into the living room. She notices that the couch has a blanket and pillows on it. 

MAGGIE: What is this?

SPENCER: What do you mean?

MAGGIE: Are you gonna sleep out here?

SPENCER: Yeah, why?

MAGGIE: No. 

SPENCER: No what?

MAGGIE: No, you’re not sleeping on your couch in your own apartment. I won’t let you. 

SPENCER: It’s fine really. I’ve slept on it before. 

MAGGIE: Do you not want to share a bed?

SPENCER: No, it’s not about that. I just want you to have the bed to yourself. 

MAGGIE: If anything, I should be sleeping on the couch because I’m a guest.

SPENCER: No, I’m serious. I’ll sleep out here. 

MAGGIE: Okay fine. 

Maggie dramatically flops onto the couch. 

MAGGIE: Then I’ll join you. 

Spencer sighs and shakes his head. 

SPENCER: You’re really gonna sleep on the couch with me?

MAGGIE: Mhm. 

SPENCER: Why are you being so stubborn?

MAGGIE: Why are you being so stubborn?

SPENCER: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

MAGGIE: Are you just gonna repeat what I’m saying?

SPENCER: You’re acting childish. 

Spencer comes over to Maggie. He stands in front of her, towering over her small figure. 

MAGGIE: You’re acting childish. 

SPENCER: Stop repeating what I’m saying.

MAGGIE: Stop repeating what I’m saying. 

SPENCER: I mean it, Maggie!

She shoots up from the couch and makes a grumpy face to imitate Spencer. Their bodies are so close. 

MAGGIE: I mean it, Maggie!

Spencer takes the opportunity of their closeness and uses it to put his arms behind her back and swoop her up - bridal style. Maggie squeals and tries to squirm out of his arms, but he resists and carries her all the way into the bedroom. He tosses her onto the bed and starts to tickle at her sides. 

MAGGIE: Stop! Stop!

Maggie’s laughing so hard, she’s breathless. 

SPENCER: Not until you agree to sleep in the bed. 

MAGGIE: I want to sleep on the couch with you!

SPENCER: Well I guess I’m gonna keep tickling you then. 

Maggie laughs so hard she’s almost in tears. Suddenly, she sees a window of opportunity to escape. When she does she runs out into the living room. Spencer chases after her through the apartment. Maggie dodges some of his attempts to capture her, but is ultimately outrun by him. He gets her to fall flat on the couch as he hovers above her. Both of them are smiling and breathless. 

SPENCER: You’re not gonna give this up are you?

Maggie shakes her head no. 

SPENCER: Alright, I surrender. But if in the morning, you wake up and find that you’ve magically teleported to the bed after falling asleep on the couch, it wasn’t me. 

MAGGIE: Deal. 

. . .

It’s sometime late at night and Spencer has finished showering. Maggie’s traveling through his apartment and looking at everything closer. She notices he has a record player. And all the records are classical music.

MAGGIE: Interesting record collection. Beethoven, Mozart, and Bach. Why am I not surprised?

SPENCER: Am I that predictable?

MAGGIE: Just a little. Care if I try to expand your music taste? 

Maggie pulls out her phone. After some scrolling and typing, she begins to play “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron. Spencer is unfamiliar with this song, but it’s abundantly clear Maggie loves it. 

MAGGIE: Do you dance?

SPENCER: Oh, no, no. 

MAGGIE: Just dance with me. I’ll teach you. 

The song plays in the background as Spencer shyly approaches Maggie. Maggie puts one arm out and Spencer takes her hand. Then he timidly puts his hand on her back, but with confidence, Maggie slides his hand down to her waist. Maggie puts her hand on his shoulder. Promptly, Spencer and Maggie both peer down at their feet as Maggie leads the dance. She does the classic box step, and after fidgeting around, Spencer gets it. 

MAGGIE: There you go. You got it!

They dance a little more. 

MAGGIE: Do you think you can lead?

Spencer nods, and Maggie lets him lead. As the song reaches the chorus, Spencer finally gets his confidence. He doesn’t have to look down at his feet anymore. He finally looks at Maggie. To her surprise, Spencer spins her and dips her. They stay put in this position. Neither of them break eye contact.

MAGGIE: You sure you don’t dance?

Spencer sheepishly smiles and shakes his head. He brings her up from the dip. Maggie’s flustered from the thrill of dancing with him, so much so that she pulls away.

MAGGIE: So, did you um, did you like the song?

SPENCER: Yeah, I did. 

MAGGIE: You know, that, that could be like our song. 

SPENCER: Our song. Yeah, okay. 

. . . 

It’s the middle of the night now. Maggie is sprawled across the couch, asleep. Spencer is at the table reading. He only has one dim light on so as not to make it harder for Maggie to sleep with a bigger light on. He peers over the couch and sees that she’s sleeping so he picks her up and carries her bridal style again. When he lays her in the bed, she stirs and mumbles. 

MAGGIE: (quietly) Spencer?

SPENCER: (whispering) Sorry, I was trying not to wake you. 

MAGGIE: Can you just sleep in the bed? I don’t want you on the couch. 

SPENCER: Yeah, yeah. I’ll sleep on the bed. I’ll sleep soon, but I’m just gonna be outside reading. Goodnight, Maggie. 

Maggie’s already fallen fast asleep again. Spencer leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. 

As Spencer approaches the table, his reading material can be visibly seen. A thick stack of papers within a manila folder labeled “CONFIDENTIAL.” He opens it to resume reading the contents. On the very front, a scanned picture of a man’s driver’s license is paperclipped to another paper. The name on the driver’s license reads, “S.J Glover.” a.k.a Sonny Jr. Maggie’s dad. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*